#and some of the combos are just so... off

[iamthatonefangirl]

Hii, I wanted to ask for some "boys being boys" kind of one-shot. The setting is: Sam, Tony, Bucky and Bruce were arguing about how they could make the Winter Soldier some safety protocol for Bucky's gf since she's also a fighter and go with them in the missions (All of this happening while they were drunk, so OF COURSE IT DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A BAD IDEA.) Bucky also doesn't know that the WS knows gf and is already very protective of gf, so when Steve and Reader (who is Bucky's gf and some kind of Steve's little sis) appear, things get a little… weird with WS being a possessive bf.

(Can I be annon ✨🐍/sparkilin snake?)

~✨🐍

bad luck - nsfw bucky barnes/winter soldier

hey anon I love the emoji combo omg. I went a slightly different direction from your ask but this is my interpretation of it :)

disclaimer: mentions of homicide, bucky turns into the winter soldier obviously, fully consensual smut by both parties although not explicitly stated.

for those of you who follow my winter soldier fics - I will list this in my winter soldier masterlist and my bucky masterlist. this will NOT be correlated with my pre-existing winter soldier series.

~~~

you'd only seen the winter soldier emerge twice, so far.

one time in a hydra base on a mission.

a second time in an ambush he wasn't prepared for.

~~~

you were with him the first time it happened.

in the case anything had gone wrong and somehow it happened, you'd been briefed ahead of time to make a run for it, not to engage the soldier. they would be able to find Bucky later and subdue him.

Bucky gave you a different set of instructions.

if somehow he turned, he instructed you to shoot him on sight. don't hesitate, don't wait. do what you had to in order to stay alive.

"goddamnit, Bucky, I'm not going to fucking kill you," you hissed at him, wishing you could just smack him upside the head. "there's a million other options before that."

"listen to me," he pled with you, "if it comes down to it, you shoot me. you do not hesitate. do you understand me?"

you were appalled.

"I'm not going to-"

"no," he interrupted you, voice stern. "either you promise me you'll do this, or I'm telling Steve to send someone else with me."

you almost felt like crying.

you thought about it. you thought about saying hell no, have him send someone else.

but you didn't trust anyone else to not shoot him if it came down to it.

so you lied.

"I'll kill you if I have to."

~~~

you didn't think it would actually happen. no way in hell.

you were roaming the base, trying to find the information you'd been sent for. you separated from Bucky in the attempts of getting in and out quicker.

after a few minutes, you heard a stark cry of your name from the distance, and your heart fell to your stomach.

you ran as fast as you can, hoping to stop it, do anything at all-

you run up to him, grabbing his arms and shaking him.

"Bucky? goddamnit, Bucky, look at me!" you yell at him.

you're met with those cold, dead eyes that you were told meant run for your goddamn life.

you're too late.

so you began to back up, following the orders you'd been given, trying to run. they could save Bucky, they could, but you had to get the hell out of there. you started to back away, ready to turn and bolt.

it was just your luck that you tripped and fell flat on your ass, all while the soldier was stalking towards you ominously.

you didn't have time to get up.

so you unholstered your gun, pointing it at him, tears coming to your eyes. you held it shakily, trying to make the split second decision,

what do I do? what do I do?

this was not supposed to fucking happen. you weren't about to kill the love of your life.

you were met with the greatest surprise of your life when he didn't rip your arm off, or reach out to choke you to death with his bare hands, or anything of the like.

he grabbed the gun from your hand with ease, and threw it to the side, then reaching for your hand and hauling you to your feet.

you stood there, face to face with him, wondering what the hell was going on. why didn't he immediately attack you?

the sound of gunshots filled the room. someone knew you were there, whoever was left of hydra, surely operating under the assumption that the soldier would kill you and then they could take back their precious asset.

you scrambled for your gun, but he picked it up first, pushing you behind him while he easily decimated the agents running at you.

you were stunned. Bucky never killed anyone, he wouldn't do it. but you had just watched him, not him, kill a dozen people without a second thought.

you prepared for him to turn around and shoot you, but he didn't. he looked you up and down for injuries, saw none, and his face relaxed.

you scrambled for what to do next. "the team, they'll come running at the sound of gunshots. you have to go, they can't know you're..."

you trailed off. your thoughts were a mess.

"I have to go."

he let you make a run for the exit.

~~~

obviously, you lied.

you told everyone that you never saw him. all you saw was the mess of dead, bloodied bodies, and no Bucky. which pointed to the obvious: he turned.

no way in hell were you going to admit anything.

a few sleepless nights passed without Bucky by your side, and with each passing day, you worried more and more that you'd never get him back. that by lying, you'd somehow messed up, and that it was somehow your fault you'd never see him again.

when your apartment window opened in the middle of the night a few days after the incident, you grabbed your gun and watched as the dark figure made its way into your apartment.

Bucky, finally.

"fuck, oh my god, you're okay," you say, running towards him, putting down the gun. you bring your hands to his shoulders, taking in his disheveled appearance.

"you've got to be starving," you comment, but then you look back up at his face.

it's not Bucky.

he's staring at you, looking into your eyes so intensely you'd think it's all he knew how to do.

"are you hungry?" you ask tensely, unsure what else to say. he says nothing in response, but reaches out to you for the second time, this time gripping your waist tightly in both hands as though he owns you.

"mine," he growls.

your breaths become shallow, and you debate your options.

he didn't hurt you last time, he protected you. he let you go. he hasn't hurt you this time.

mine?

you don't fight him when he pulls you into his arms and hauls you to your bed.

you would never admit to a single soul that you were eager, that you were excited when he started to yank at your clothes and began to suck at the skin of your neck.

"no marks!" you exclaim in a panic. you can't have Bucky see it, he'll freak. you're most certainly not sure how you're supposed to explain this to him, but you will.

eventually.

clearly, your request pisses him off, but he lets up on his ministrations, running his mouth across your chest without leaving a single bruise in his wake.

his hands are more firm on your skin than Bucky's. he's not giving, he's taking. he's going to do what he wants.

you moan at the realization.

his hands yank your sweatpants off, not wasting any time as he shoves his hands in your underwear, only to find you absolutely dripping for him.

you hear him grunt at the discovery, quickly pulling his own pants out of the way, not wanting to wait another minute to fuck you.

you've taken Bucky a million times, only a few of them this quickly, with this little prep.

you don't let yourself think about the fact that you've never gotten this wet this quickly before.

he tolds you tightly by the waist underneath him, pinning you to the bed, taking what he wants. he's careful not to leave any marks, just as you asked.

"mine," is all he says, over and over again, the whole time he fucks you.

all the while, you're sobbing out with how fucking good it is, prepared for the neighbors to bang down your door the next day and demand you shut the fuck up.

you don't care. right now, all that's on your mind is that you're his.

~~~

when you wake up the next morning, you're not sure what to expect. you see him laying there next to you, dead asleep. at some point, you both must have stripped off the rest of your clothes to sleep.

you slip out of bed, pulling on your pajamas, telling yourself to not think about how you're going to explain this to him until after you've had coffee.

you're looking out the window above the sink, sipping your beverage, when you hear a familiar voice say your name from behind you.

you whip around, lukewarm coffee sloshing over the sides of the mug, to see him standing there.

"Bucky," you say in relief and run to him.

when he begins to ask questions, you lie. you shouldn't lie to him, but now isn't the time to tell him. you have to wait until he's come to terms with the fact that he was turned again.

you'll tell him when he's ready.

you feed him the same story you fed the rest of the team. you never saw the winter soldier, you only saw the mess he left. when he came in the window last night, you were asleep.

you never saw the winter soldier.

and that's what you told everyone when you brought Bucky in to show everyone that he was alive and himself again. that's the story you stuck to when everyone began arguing over what they were supposed to do, how they were supposed to deal with this. they fought over how to keep you safe going forward, assuming that you would be the first person on the winter soldier's kill list.

you bit your tongue as the anxiety of keeping the secret broiled in your stomach.

~~~

the second time it happened, you weren't there to stop it.

he was only a few blocks from the compound, going for a run around the city, when the ambush happened.

another handful of rogue agents grabbed him, this time intending to set him loose on everyone in the compound. surely they could prevent what happened last time, that they could direct him to kill whoever they pleased.

they were wrong. in the same fashion as the time before, he killed them all without hesitation, the only thought in his mind: you.

you were alone in the fifth floor kitchen, thinking about how it was long past time for you to tell him. it'd been weeks, and he deserved to know.

you just hoped he wouldn't leave you when you told him, that he wouldn't try to convince himself you were better off without him, safer without him.

suddenly, you hear the door slam.

you turn towards the noise, having scared the living daylights out of you, when you see Bucky walking in.

"fucking hell, don't do that, you scared me," you say, tending to your food on the stove, building up the courage to bring up the subject weighing heavy on your mind. "I made lunch. I was hoping we could talk."

he doesn't say anything in response, walking up behind you and wrapping his hands around your waist in the same manner as the time before.

"mine," he whispers in your ear, and you freeze.

not Bucky.

you barely flick the stove off before he's grabbing you all over, a metal hand running up your shirt and his other hand dipping into your pants.

"fuck, how did you-" you begin to ask him, but you know he won't answer you. he probably won't even know the answer.

you lean back against him, letting him carry your whole body weight as he gropes at the flesh of your breast and begins to rub circles over your clit.

"mine."

you almost wonder if it's the only word he knows with how much he repeats it to you.

"yes. yours," you affirm, spurring him on.

this time, he leaves a mark on your neck.

"yours, fuck, I'm yours," you whine as you come too quickly, giving yourself over to him willingly.

"you belong to me," he growls in your ear, wrapping a metal hand around your throat and gently squeezing. the unspoken implication of "not him" is not lost on you.

you don't have it in you to disagree.

~~~

do we want an angsty part 2?

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[diarinn]

Faster Fingers

content : nagi seishiro x gn!reader, fluff, sfw, pjsk mention, 0.6k words

a/n : first fic on this acc :x

IN NORMAL CASES, after a long day of practice Nagi would be met with the sweet sound of your voice echoing throughout the apartment, giving him a fuzzy feeling inside of him. Today though, there was nobody calling out to him when he walked through the door.

The only thing to be heard was the sound of music and tapping coming from the living room. Sliding off his shoes without placing them on the rack near the door, Nagi walks into the living room to see you moving your thumbs wildly on your phone screen.

Your back was facing him, leaning on the sofa's armrest with the only thing staring back at him was your screen, a bar steadily increasing at the top of your screen.

“What’re you playing?” Nagi asks, bending down slightly to get a better look at your screen. The sudden sound of his voice snaps you out of your trance, your phone slipping out of your hands. "Oh, did I make you lose? Whoops."

Huffing out a dramatic sigh, you tap the top right corner of your screen pausing the notes swiftly passing in along with the pause of the music. "Nothing too bad, just lost my combo for a song," you reply as Nagi casually falls onto the couch, "How was practice?"

"Same stuff as last time," he grumbles into the cushion, the sound of his muffled voice earning a small chuckle from you. "Can I try?" He lifts his head up to look at you.

"Try what?"

"The game you were playing just now, I wanna try," mimicking the swift thumb movements you were doing earlier. You smiled at how adorable he looked before exiting the song you were just playing and going into the song menu.

"Here, you can choose what song you want to play," you pat the spot closer to you before offering the phone to him. Unceremoniously pushing himself closer to you, Nagi readjusts himself to be laying on your lap and taking your phone to see the song choices.

Nagi scrolls through the songs, listening to each for a few seconds before going to a new one, "I recognize some of these." You hum at his words before he eventually settles on a song that you haven't attempted playing yet, "What level do you typically play these at?"

"Hard or expert mode, I can usually do songs that are level twenty-five max," you point to the number next to the song, which was currently level twenty-three hard mode.

Nodding at your words, Nagi chooses expert mode and immediately starts it before you can butt in, "Nagi! The songs level thirty! You're gonna die!" You say, gently tugging at the back strands of his hair.

"Nah, I'd win."

"Don't quote Gojo on me you bastard-"

You cut your own words off before you can finish, eyes immediately attached to how fast Nagi is able to tap the notes on time, not missing a single beat and knowing what to do when a flick came up. Even when it approached the especially hard parts that all players dreaded, Nagi was able to full combo the entire song at 11.3 speed.

"That was fun," was all he said cracking his two thumbs at the same time before handing you back your phone. Ruffling his hair, you didn't know if you felt immense jealousy or amazed at how easy Nagi made it seem to clear a level thirty song.

As you take back your phone, Nagi opts to turnover onto his stomach and wrap his arms around your torso instead of his original position. Staring at Hatsune Miku posing beside the big letters saying 'FULL COMBO!' in disbelief, you pinch Nagi's cheeks.

"Ow," he grumbled half-heartedly, slowly blinking up at you.

"You're so annoying Nagi, y'know that?"

"What did I do?" He nuzzles into your tummy as you play with his hair.

"I hate geniuses," you tussle the ends of his white strands.

"Stay mad that I have faster fingers than you." His words promptly earn a flick on the forehead from you.

© diarinn 2025 : please do not plagiarize, repost, or use my works for ai, thank you.

[glassbxttless]

Hi there! 👋🏽😊 As promised I have made it here to your little sandwich shop!

I would like salami and provolone on rustic sourdough, with mustard and why not make it a combo with hush puppies!

Excited to see what you whip up 😍

Much love,

- T🌙

Dinner for Two

older!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from 28bohemianmoons | when your car breaks down and the very handsome mechanic that promises to fix it invites you over for dinner, he gets a little more than he bargained for.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, bit of an age gap, eddie’s 46, reader’s in her 20’s (i picture her as late 20’s but it’s never explicitly stated. so it’s up to you), oral f receiving, pinv

notes: Order up for T! Thanks for coming by and checking out the sandwich shop 🫶🏻 There’s some parts of this I feel like I could’ve elaborated more on, but it’s already almost 5k and these fics were supposed to stay under 2k lmao (I’m also just a bit tired of fussing with it). So I hope you enjoy! Big thanks to @prettycalla & @keeryhours for reading this over and as always, the biggest thanks to @peachyproserpina for editing! I’m a mess without her.

Your engine coughs once. Then it sputters. Then it fucking dies completely.

You coast to the shoulder of the road with a sinking feeling in your stomach. Your hazard lights blinking uselessly in the evening dusk. You’re not far from town, but far enough to know this is going to be a pain in the ass. You sit behind the wheel in silence for a few seconds, trying to will the car back to life as you turn the key again. No turn over. Of course, just your luck. You should’ve taken your friend’s offer to borrow their car while yours was “being weird”. But no. You had to prove that your own car wasn’t possessed by Satan.

The irony is strong when you hear the low rumble of a motorcycle approaching behind you. You glance in the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of it— black, sleek, and loud. It’s pulling in behind your stalled car like some kind of metal savior. The guy gets off it in one smooth motion, worn in denim and soft leather with wild curls, and to top it all off, rings glinting as he pushes his hair out of his face.

 “Hey,” he calls as he jogs up beside your window, ducking down slightly with one hand pressed to the top of your car. “You okay in there?”

You roll the window down halfway and blink up at him. He looks like he walked out of a hot biker calendar. Except, you know, a bit more real. His jeans are grease stained, you could see a homemade faded Corroded Coffin T-shirt that looked like it had seen better days since the 90’s, hair greying slightly, and a pair of wide brown eyes that seem way too gentle for someone built like a God.

“Car died,” you say softly, suddenly a little sheepish under his gaze. “Pretty sure it hates me.”

He grins, standing up a bit straighter, “Let me take a look, yeah? I speak fluent piece-of-shit car.”

You stare at him through your half opened window, unsure of what to make of him, “You a mechanic or just… good with insults?”

“Both.” He winks at you, then adds with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen a man wear, “Name’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Of course it is. A perfect name for a dreamy man. 

You pop the hood, and open the car door to slide out of it. He slides off his jacket, placing it out of the way and then he leans over, poking around while you stand back. You watch him mutter to himself as he checks connections, pokes at belts, and scowls at your battery. That faded grey t-shirt had a few holes in the hemline and it was riding up his back to show just a sliver of skin above the waist of his jeans. If you look close enough you could even see a bit of his soft belly. You flick your eyes up, taking in the set of his jaw. He was focused, wound tight as he tries to locate the problem, there’s a few wrinkles by his eyes, laugh lines settling close to his mouth. You smile. He’s one of the most handsome men you’ve had walk into your life. After a few more minutes of your silent gawking, he slams the hood down again— it’s not hard, just enough to snap your attention back to the present. He wipes his hands on his jeans as he turns to you.

“She’s gonna need some love. Maybe a sacrifice or two,” he says with a chuckle. “Starter’s shot, and your alternator isn’t looking too friendly either.”

“Awesome,” you mutter. “You have tow trucks too? or do you just deliver bad news on the side of the road?”

He laughs and shakes his head, already pulling out his phone. “No, but I’ve got a buddy at the shop who can come grab it. We’ll get it to my garage, fix it up cheap. No dealership shit. I swear on my Iron Maiden collection.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look him over again. “And you’re not just saying that to lure me into your mechanic lair?”

Eddie grins wider, those laugh lines and dimples on full display, like he appreciates the sass you’re shooting at him. “Hey, you’re welcome to keep your guard up.” He chuckles, sending a text out, as he shakes his head. He might as well give it a shot, “I do have a lair. It just also happens to have a killer lasagna and a very patient dog.”

“…You cook?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says softly, cocking an eyebrow up as he tests the waters. “Could come by sometime. I promise not to kill you. Unless you’re allergic to good conversation and metal records. Then maybe I’ll have to make a sacrifice… you know, for the car.”

You roll your eyes and let out a laugh, pulling up the contacts in your phone just to humor him. “I’ll think about it.” He flashed you a grin at that. He leaves you with his number and a promise that your car will be better than it was brand new— or at least newer than it looks now. 

You don’t mean to text him. Really, you don’t. But a few nights later, after a really long day at work, a too-long shower, and a look in your fridge at the leftovers from the night before— you find yourself in your bed. Aimlessly scrolling through social media, that man and his greying curls heavy on your mind. You bite your lip as you think of his arms, splattered with dark ink. You think of that little bit of skin you saw as he leaned over your car. And you let out a breath, opening up your contacts app. You think about it a moment, really weighing your options. It’s just dinner, yeah? If it turned into more you’d be okay with that. He was funny, not too bad on the eyes, certainly one night of a lapsed judgement wouldn’t kill you. But he’s double your age. And you shake your head, scrolling past his number in your phone. But then you pause and scroll back.

Hey. That dinner still on the table?

You half expect him to ignore the message, it’d been days and the last time you spoke was about your car. But he responds shortly after..

Hell yes. Tonight? Come hungry.

When you pull up to his house— a small place outside of town with a beat-up mailbox with MUNSON scrawled across the side, you can see an old blue Chevy in the garage through the open door, right next to that pretty metal savior from the week before. His neighbors are close enough to almost share walls. But the porch light is on and you knock gently. Hearing shuffling around on the other side of the door for a moment, you wait, holding your bag to your chest. The door creaks open and there he is. He’s got an apron on, a shirt with the sleeves cut off showing each of the intricate tattoos adorning his skin. His hair is pulled back in a bun messily underneath a bandana to keep back the flyaways. His face a little flushed and red from the heat of the kitchen.

“You came,” he says softly, clearly shocked to see you standing at the door.

“Of course I did,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “You said to come hungry… and I wanted to meet the dog.”

The dog is a sleepy little border collie named Ozzy, who’s spread out on the couch not paying any mind to the new visitor in his home. “He’s a real killer, can’t you tell?” Eddie jokes softly as he steps back to let you step in. He shuts the door behind you and makes his way back over to the kitchen with you close on his heels. He hands you a glass of red wine and says it’s “the cheap kind, on sale.”

The lasagna he whipped up is genuinely amazing. So is the music— a vinyl spinning in the background, something heavy that makes him close his eyes and nod along like he’s feeling it in his bones. You think you’ve hit the jackpot of men; handsome, a great cook, and has a great taste in music? You ask him about his band when he mentions it in an offhand comment— he still plays sometimes, mostly local gigs. You ask about the shop— he owns half of it now. You ask about the rings— he shrugs and says he’s always had em, “Sweetheart, these fingers were born for flair.”

By the time you finish with dinner, you’re laughing way more than you had planned to. You rest your elbows against the table top, watching as he leans back in his chair. He’s looking at you with a smile that’s almost shy.

“What?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish yourself.

“Nothing,” he chuckles a bit. “I just…didn’t think you’d actually show. Let alone stick around… I really can’t believe it.” He shakes his head a bit, the bandana holding back midnight colored curls from his face. 

You tilt your head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Why not?”

He shrugs, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Bashful. “People don’t usually stick around this long.” He says it like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop with you. But there’s something in his voice— something that makes you want to lean closer, so you do.

“You’re not as scary as you look, Munson.”

He smirks, that playful confidence you’d caught more glimpses of than the coyness he’s been exhibiting tonight.

 “Careful. I’ve got a reputation to protect.” He pushes back from the table to stand, so you follow suit. And then there’s that moment— the pause that stretches quietly. A question that hangs in the air between two people who are both wondering the same thing; Are you going to kiss me? He steps closer just as the thought crosses your mind and you don’t move back.

“You want to see the garage?” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. His voice is low, a little rough, nothing like before. The apron he’d been wearing before dinner was long discarded, showing the front of the cutoff Dio shirt he’d been in. He reaches up, tugging the bandana from his head, the bun still keeping most of his hair contained. 

You grin, biting the inside of your cheek. “That code for something?”

His laugh is quiet now. He’s nervous, that blush that had graced his cheeks earlier is back, plastered across his nose— mixing with the freckles that peppered his skin. As embarrassed as he may be, he holds your gaze. He bites the inside of his cheek and lets out a breath, whispering, “Only if you want it to be.”

You nod. You do. You so desperately want it to be.

And he moves closer in a blink of an eye. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it since the moment he saw your broken-down car on the highway. His hands are tentative at first, one sliding up your back so gently you barely notice it’s there. And when you melt into him, your front pressing up against his body, he moves more confidently. The hand that wasn’t occupied by holding you close to him slides up and tangles in your hair. The pressure makes you gasp into his mouth. And he presses you up against the kitchen wall right between his dining table and countertop. The warmth of his chest is seeping through your shirt, his rings cold where they skim your waist.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, lips brushing against his as you do, “So, is this part of the tune-up package?”

He laughs again, cheeks redder than before and a bit more breathless now. “Oh, sweetheart. This is way more than the tune-up package… this is the extended warranty.”

You laugh, still pinned to the wall when he kisses you again. He’s slower this time, taking his time. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s memorizing the way you taste for when you’re inevitably gone again. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt and press in against your skin just enough to make you lean into him, instinctive. You’re needy and you both know it.

“God, you feel good,” he mutters against your lips before he’s dragging his mouth across your jaw, down your neck. He doesn’t stop until his teeth graze the spot just under your ear. “Can I—? Shit. I didn’t think you’d actually come, and now I’m two seconds from ruining my chances at a second date completely.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Ed,” you breathe out softly. Your hands brushing over his shoulders. “You’re doing great, actually.”

He huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. Hair working its way out of his bun. You feel the rumble of his chest more than you hear it— his breath hot against your skin, his chest is rising against yours. And then he gets quieter, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You reach down between your bodies and grab the hem of your own shirt, whispering, “Help me get this off before I change my mind.”

For him? That’s all it takes.

He tugs your shirt over your head and tosses it somewhere behind him. He scans your newly revealed skin so slowly it almost hurts him. His eyes are glinting in the dimmed light of his kitchen, words stuck on his tongue like he’s in the presence of something so holy that he can’t believe he gets to touch it— that look makes heat coil deep in your stomach. He kisses your chest so gently, you barely even feel the press of his lips. Then he’s trailing his fingers over your hip, up your side. He settles on your ribs, thumb brushing over your skin— he’s not in a rush, he can savor his time with you. He dips his head down again, stubbled chin scratching against your chest as he presses another kiss against your shoulder. His nose brushing against your neck as he slides up to press another kiss below your ear, against your jaw, and then finally your lips. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. His hands are warm and a little rough as they slide up your sides. One reaches back to settle on the clasp of your bra, greedy. You gasp into his mouth when he presses his hips into yours, he’s already hard, straining against his jeans. 

It’s good. So good. So good you almost don’t notice when he adjusts his grip on you, trying to work the clasp loose (he’s been out of practice for longer than he’d like to admit), his free hand knocks something off the counter. You both flinch, breaking from the kiss, as a metal mixing bowl hits the kitchen tile with a clang that rings through the room like a damn alarm bell.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, lifting his head to look you in the eyes. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed and lips kiss bitten. “That was… expensive-sounding.”

You lean forward resting your forehead against his jaw as you laugh softly. “That’s what you get for trying to fuck me next to your Gran’s stand mixer.”

You’re still catching your breath when you catch his eyes flick toward the back of the house. “You know,” he says slowly, voice dropping to a raspy whisper, “there’s a lot less cookware out in the garage.”

You lift a brow, that’s the second time he’s mentioned the damn place. “That supposed to be your version of romance?”

“It’s where I’m my truest self,” he says solemnly, nuzzling his nose against your hair, lips pressing a kiss against your temple. “Surrounded by tools, loud music, and we have absolutely zero chance of knocking over my Nana’s cornbread tin and denting it beyond repair.”

You narrow your eyes as he speaks. “If you’re just trying to get me out there so I’ll see your stupid truck, you left the door open and on my way in, I already—”

“No arguing, sweetheart,” he says with a tut, already tugging you toward the door. He reaches up and presses a button, until you can hear the tell tale sign of the garage door closing. “You’ve questioned the sanctity of my second favorite place in this entire house. Now you have to come see it, and that isn’t code for anything.”

You let him lead you with all his golden retriever enthusiasm— one hand in his, the other folded across your chest to keep your bra in place. You’re still half-laughing, that spark between you hasn’t dimmed in the slightest— it’s just waiting, simmering, threatening to boil over the second you get your lips back on his. He opens the door, helping you carefully down the two steps until you hit the cool concrete floor. The garage is warm and faintly smells like gasoline, it’s lit by a few overhead bulbs and the sliver of moonlight pouring through the window. You hadn’t realized it was this late. His tools are organized along the back wall in a way that only he would know where anything was. The blue chevy truck’s parked square in the middle, just as you had seen it earlier. His bike parked next to it. Windows rolled down and the hood closed. 

“Wow,” you say, mock impressed as you look around the room. You take in the posters along the wall, worn in and incredibly obvious he’d saved them from his teenage years. “A whole garage dedicated to metal bands. You trying to marry me or something?” You joke softly, feeling hot as soon as Eddie turns his gaze back to you. 

He tuts softly with a roll of his eyes, backing you up until your body is pressed between him and the front of his truck. “Careful, sweetheart. This truck’s seen a lot of action.”

“Uh-huh. Bet it’s jealous.”

“Oh, it will be in a minute.” He dips his head down letting his lips hover above yours. His breath is hot, his eyes are flicking from yours, down to where he’d like to be. He presses his hands against the hood of the truck on each side of your hips, leaning in until he can close the distance between the two of you in a kiss. It’s deeper this time, all of the teasing now burned away by the low throb of tension that’s been building since you stepped through his front door. He shifts his hips closer, until he’s flush against you— one hand leaving the hood to settle on your hip, like he’s finally letting himself have you. He slides it beneath your waistband, toying at the hem of your panties as he lets out the lowest groan you’ve ever heard a man make. 

Your own hands snake upwards, resting on his shoulders. Your fingers brushing along taught muscle before you’re tugging the bun he was wearing loose, a shy little smile on your face. He shakes his hair free, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder. His breath against your skin ragged as you grind your hips towards him— the bulge in his jeans growing by the second. He swears so much blood is running downwards, his knees may buckle. And before you can even catch your breath, he turns you around— your back to his front— and bends you forward over the cold metal hood of his truck. He leans his body over your own, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, his mouth at your ear as he finally unsnaps the clasp of your bra. “You okay with this?” he asks softly, his voice a little hoarse, from want, from need. 

You nod, letting your own forehead rest against the metal. Your breath hitches in your throat, “More than okay, Eds.”

He laughs. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about doing this since the second you popped your damn hood up on the side of the road.”

His hands slide the straps of your bra down off your shoulders, and he carefully tugs it out from under your body, tossing it over the mirror of the truck. He lets one hand trail forward, cupping your tit before giving it a squeeze. He presses another kiss against your shoulder, moving his hands back down to your hips. He thrusts against your ass, fully clothed. You gasp, a little dazed by the sudden shift in energy. He’s not teasing you anymore. He’s hungry, he’s greedy. And he wants you so badly. 

You barely have time to register that his hands have left your body and he’s no longer pressed up behind you. You glance over your shoulder, gasping softly at the sight. He’s on his knees behind you, letting himself look up at you through those pretty eyelashes before his hands are back on you, parting your thighs with an ease you hadn’t seen him display before. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” he says softly, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. He lets his hands drift to your front, unbuttoning your pants and dragging the zipper down so slowly. When he’s finally got it, he makes a big deal of slowly tugging your pants down. He’s deliberate, letting himself get worked up by every inch of cotton that’s revealed to him. “I fuckin’ am.”

He runs a palm over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum. Then he dips his head lower, pushing your thighs a bit further apart. He presses his mouth to the inside of your thigh, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses up, up, up— until he’s right where you want him. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his breath hot over your clothed core, his eyes flick up to watch you, pressed over the hood. “You cold or just impatient?”

“Eddie, pl—”

He doesn’t make you say it. He really doesn’t need to. Not with the way your panties are sopping wet for him already. One hand settles on your hip as the other drags the soiled cotton down to join where your jeans are bunched around your feet. Dipping his head down once again, he slides his tongue over you, so slowly. You nearly collapse forward at the sensation. His grip is firm on you, keeping you steady, holding you there— his mouth is relentless, tongue plunging into your cunt before alternating to lick a fat stripe through your folds. He’s focused, intentional in a way that makes your toes curl with each prod of that muscle against you, with each nudge of his nose. He groans into your pussy when you moan his name, like he’s getting off on the sound of it. Like he could live here between your thighs forever. And it sends a shockwave of vibrations through your spine. That white hot coil in your belly starts to build oh-so-slowly. 

You press your forehead to the truck, your eyes fluttering shut. You rock your hips back into his face, desperate for more. Desperate for him to let you cum. 

“Fuck, you taste good,” he pulls away to press another kiss against your thigh, muttering softly. “How the hell am I supposed to let you leave after this?” And if those words didn’t make you keen, the flat of his tongue surely did when it runs up your thigh, almost to where you’d like him to be. 

Your laugh stutters out halfway into a gasp, fingers curling into fists where they had been pressed against the truck. “Who said I wanted to leave?”

That earns you a sharp nip of his teeth, followed by a kiss right over the bite— so gentle it almost makes your head spin. And then just like how he’d gotten down there, with no warning at all, he pulls away.

“Eddie—” you breathe out, standing on the edge of what may be the best orgasm of your life.

He’s already standing, his own chest heaving— sweat clinging to his bangs and plastering his curls to his forehead. His eyes, blown wide as he unbuckles his belt— tugging his own jeans down just enough to free himself. “You still good?” he asks again, waiting for you to pack it up. Tell him you don’t fuck the town freaks. Even in his forties, Eddie’s scared of letting anyone in. 

You nod, turning your head slightly to rest your cheek against the metal. “Fuck. Yeah. Please.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs. He wraps a hand around his cock, thumbing the base to line himself up with your pretty cunt. He’s so hard he can barely stand it, so he sinks into you with one smooth, steady, hard thrust that knocks the air completely out of your lungs. You gasp, bracing yourself on the hood. Your knees are already trembling. “Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes behind you, both hands tight on your hips. His thumb rubbing circles into your skin. “You feel— fuck. You feel like a dream.” It’d been too long since he’d been here, balls deep inside a pretty girl. Let alone one probably half his age. 

You try to respond to him, but the words in your head die in your throat before you even have a chance to speak them. He pulls back out until there’s nothing but an inch or so of his cock left inside of you, and then thrusts in again, harder this time. That stupid blue chevy rocks beneath you. You moan loud, unable to hold it in— and that’s when his hand snakes up from your hip, covering your mouth from behind as he leans over your body once again. 

“Shh,” His lips are brushing against the shell of your ear. “You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. I’ve got neighbors.”

You whimper against his palm, letting your eyes close as he grinds his hips deeper inside of you. The hair growing back in at the base of his dick scratching against your skin burns in a way you’ll know you’ll feel it tomorrow. And he groans, letting himself get an eyeful of you. Fuck, you’re so pretty like this— bent over his truck, desperate and begging with just the rock of your hips. Taking everything he lets you have. He rocks his hips hard, steady, pushing deeper each time like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else. His pace is unrelenting as you clench around his cock. One of his hands slips down the front of your body and between your legs, deft fingers finding your clit. He starts working against that little bundle of nerves in tight little circles, and it’s enough to make you start seeing stars. The pressure in your stomach growing more taut by the second “That’s it, baby.” he grits out between his teeth. “Let me feel you cum. You’re squeezin me. I know you’re close.”

And that band finally snaps with a particular hard thrust of his hips, dragging against that spongy front wall of yours. You cum with a choked out cry against his hand, in which he just presses harder against your lips. Your body is clenching around him so hard he nearly follows you into euphoria right then and there. He drops his head to your shoulder, the hand on your hip sliding around your waist to hold you as close as he can. His thrusts are slowing, getting a little sloppier. There’s another slip of your name, and two more thrusts, before he buries himself deep inside of you one final time. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his nose against the nape of your neck as he spills inside of you. Cumming hard. 

You stay pressed against one another there for a second— both of you panting, trembling, bodies still resting over the hood of his stupid truck. After another minute passes, he pulls his head up and presses a kiss to your shoulder. He’s a little shaky and a little pussy-drunk. “Well,” he chuckles a bit. “This service is definitely going in an ad for the shop. Imagine the business boom.”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head just enough to catch a flash of his smile. “You put this in an ad and I’m keying your truck and the bike.”

He grins, curls falling every which way as he gives a gentle shake of his head. “Fair.” 

He tugs you upright as he pulls out. And then he’s tugging your clothes— at least your panties and jeans— gently back into place, pressing soft kisses to your neck like he’s trying to soothe the bruises he left behind. And then he’s stepping back, grabbing your bra from the side mirror to help slide it back up your arms. “Next time,” he says softly, turning you to work the clasp closed. He smiles as he reaches down, tugging his own jeans up and zipping them with a little hiss, “I’ll show you the actual bedroom.”

You arch a brow, teasing him. “Next time, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, grinning like he’s already planning it and knowing you aren’t going to object, “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

tags ;; @peachyproserpina @missjadesfics @iheartgrayson @meetmeatyourworst @punkrockmlchael @prettycalla @getaapologist

[yourfaveisintersex]

This is the second time I've had a self-righteous weirdo on my blog going "ummm akstually MRKH isn't intersex 🤓☝️" and this second time being a massive fucking transphobe which, besides just loving my fellow peers who have MRKH and identify within the intersex community, it's straight up distressing seeing an intersexist+transphobe wombo combo right after waking up.

I need to get this off my chest as a result but intersex people on my blog who's variations don't cause "a mix of male & female sexual characteristics" or hell even if they do and exclusionary people seemingly deny you a place in the community anyway, I love you so so so much and I'm so fucking sorry some people are downright awful about your existence.

Weirdos who encounter my blog and are like the dipshit mentioned in the first paragraph (and for some reason think they won't get blocked?), gargle sand.

[wallysletterman]

you wanted inspo for wally - so here I am!! I've been thinking about stealing his letterman jacket for DAYS at this point, & wondering just how proud he would get seeing his name displayed so clearly on my back/chest.

57

pairing: wally clark x reader

word count: 0.9k

authors note: omggg this is so cute !!! i enjoyed writing this so much i hope you love it :3

wally clark adores his letterman jacket. he would wear it to bed if it weren’t for your protests. you have to remind him how gross it would be, but the only response from him are rolled eyes.

it’s a point of pride for him. for wally, there’s no better feeling than walking the halls with his teammates in those jackets. it makes him feel like he belongs to something bigger than him.

the five white letters in a cursive scrawl give him a sense of accomplishment. those simple letters made him feel on top of the world: Wally.

because of that pride, you’ve rarely had the chance to try it out for yourself.

there was one time, though. while wally was out on the field for this year's homecoming game, you convinced him to let you keep it warm during those two hours.and that’s where the jacket lay, across your shoulders.

that was until wally ran up to you and, without hesitation, begged for it back. you couldn’t take it personally. as much as you wanted to. it was wally, and if it comforted him, you weren’t going to complain.

but inevitably, you had had enough. seeing the other girls strutting down the hall with their boyfriends' jackets made you just the tiniest bit jealous. but you’d never admit that to him. wally was going to give you his jacket, whether he wanted to or not.

it was on a random tuesday morning when you decided to head to school slightly earlier than usual.

you headed straight to wally’s locker, 208.

you methodically turn the dial to the simple three-digit combo, 03-06-01. you hurried, worried wally was, by some miracle, going to show up early.

alongside his chemistry books, polaroids of you both, and random loose papers, was his jacket. you quickly slipped it on, feeling proud of what you were about to get away with.

the bell echoed throughout the school, signaling third period would begin in just five minutes: trigonometry. ugh.

you hadn't bumped into wally all morning and although you were eager to surprise him, you decided to touch up in the bathroom first. you wanted to make an entrance.

as soon as you stepped into the classroom, you caught wally’s gaze. you interrupted his conversation with one of his teammates, completely ignoring anything coming out of his friend’s mouth. his jaw practically fell to the floor.

you tried your best to act nonchalant as you took a seat in front of wally, politely apologizing to mr. reed for your tardiness.

the two numbers in bright white lettering stared back at wally, 57.

you were his, and you both knew it.

you hadn't spoken a word to him the entire period. you wanted to tease him for as long as possible, ensuring he would give up his jacket willingly next time.

as soon as you heard the dismissal bell, you quickly gathered your things. , feeling wally on your heels as you approached the hallway.

“what’s that you got on, y/l/n?” he asks, a hint of playfulness in his voice. without turning around, you responded, “oh, nothing, just something to keep me warm. it’s pretty chilly to-”

before you could finish your teasing remark, you felt wally gently tug at your wrist.

you had no time to protest as you found yourselves in an empty storage closet.

“wally, what are you doing? we have to go to our next peri-” you’re cut off by his lips on yours.

his minty breath was a stark contrast to the heat of the kiss. his lips, soft and inviting, were your absolute favorite thing about him, second to his everything. he was intoxicating as his tongue slipped between your pouty lips. you let out a small yelp as he brought his hands down to your ass, which his jacket covered it ever so slightly.

“i could fuck you in nothing but my jacket right now.” he let out in a hurried mumble.

before the kiss could get more heated, he gave you a final peck to your lips. gently grabbing your face, he whispers, “i liked your little stunt back there. it was cute.”

the light coming from the small crack of the door illuminated his eyes just so. you could tell he was hungry for you.

“i got tired of seeing every other girl wearing theirs," you tell him with a hint of annoyance. “i figured i’d take it into my own hands.” you sigh dramatically.

“i’m sorry y/n,” he says softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. you can tell he’s sincere. it makes you feel lousy about what you did. your boy didn't mean to hurt you.

“i wanted to ask if you'd wanna wear it," he begins, his tone a mix of anticipation and nervousness. "all the guys have been asking their girlfriends. i was just waiting for the perfect moment.” he finishes.

“i’m sorry,” you start to explain, feeling even worse. “sorry for what, baby?“ he interrupts.

he grips your hand, the warmth of his touch sending a flutter through you. with a playful grin, he spins you around, your laughter mingling with his. “i love seeing you in it,” he says. wally's eyes sparkle with admiration as he watches you twirl, enjoying the oversized look on you.

“you can wear it as often as you'd like, baby." he gives you a gentle peck. "i would love to let the whole world know you're mine."

and just like that, it became a routine. you wouldn’t have to ask for his jacket anymore. as soon as you two would step onto school, he’d immediately take the jacket off and slide it onto your shoulders, always stating, “i should’ve given this to you a long time ago.”

he loved seeing his name scrawled across your chest. he’d never forget to remind you how good it made him feel. it gave him a sense of pride he’s never felt before. wearing the jacket wasn’t just about keeping you warm, it symbolized your relationship.

it meant you were his forever.

[istharoth]

Little Light wc: 1.3 | fem-reader | not proof-read | angst There are a few weeks left before the Inspector becomes the anomaly. Should Sho confess now or should he let these emotions rest? AN: I'M ALIVE.

Missions with Vagastrom are never easy; at least that’s what Y/N thinks. Alan Mido, the Captain, is doable–she thinks he’s like a doberman, but if she were to mention it to anyone, specifically Leo Kurosagi, the Vice Captain, he’ll never let her live in down. She can see the near future: him twisting her statement so that it could benefit him. She doesn’t hate Leo–hate a strong word–she dislikes him. 

Perhaps she only feels some affection for him because of who he hangs around–Shohei Haizono. A normal guy. 

Is there another way to describe the chef-ghoul-athletic smartass (affectionate)? She doubts there is. Speaking of the mission, it was as per usual–find the anomaly that put an object or person under a curse, hope to find clues about her own curse and bring back said anomaly to Darkwick Academy. 

“Y/N,” Mido calls from all the way from the vending machine, pointing at it, as if asking if she needed anything. 

‘More time to not become an anomaly please,’ But she can’t say that to Mido. She has maybe three weeks before she's captured by Darkwick and put into a prison for becoming the Kyklos. Y/N had considered asking Rui Mizuki -bearer of the killing curse- to kill her, but alas, she loves him too much to turn him into a murderer. 

"I'm okay, thanks." She answers, walking towards the tall, well-built captain. The autumn breeze sways, bringing along dried leaves in their wake. She crouches next to Mido, looking at the endless options offered by the vending machines. 

Maybe she should get something? "What are you getting?" He mirrors her position, eyes strangely hardening at the choice of choosing something. Knowing Mido, he'd get something for the first year ghouls too. Leo likes anything spicy as for Sho... she doesn't know. 

Despite knowing each other for a while, they aren't close. Y/N wouldn't consider her to be as close to Sho as she was with Rui or the Chaos Combo. Sho is just a junior she's come to adore—be it his passion for cooking or his appearance. 

She glances at the first year combo waiting for them just outside the convenience store; she raises her hand, grinning as she waves at the duo. Sho's eyes linger on her, as she turns away to face Mido again; they're talking about something but he isn't curious in the slightest. 

She’s been bright, akin to the summer sun that pierces anything, that illuminates the world, even those hidden in corners of the world. 

Leo from beside him, glances at his long-time friend and then at the senior who was turning into a plant anomaly. Shohei Haizono is, well, a playboy. He's been throughout junior high and high school, but seemingly that came at a pause ever since he met her. 

The way he looks at her: enraptured, whole. His gaze lingered on her; even as she plucks the loose feather off her hair and flicks it back to the ground, his gaze remains. Almost as his terrified of losing her even for a moment. As if he's falling into a hole he shouldn't fall into.

"It's not worth it." Leo mutters, turning around, pocketing his hands into his pant pockets. Honestly, he doesn't know what Sho sees in that NPC. She's average in every way: appearance, intelligence, strength. 

Yet, she keeps the ghouls wrapped around her finger, specifically Sho Haizono. 

Leo glances at her one last time. When she becomes the anomaly, someone will have to kill her and it won't be him or Sho. 

Night had fallen, and the quartet hiked into the forests to find an anomaly. They'd already discussed positions—Leo and Mido would do the actual capturing and if the anomaly had escaped, Sho and she would attempt to capture it. 

Simple enough, says Leo, before he casually strides into the deep forest with Mido.

"You'd think they'd know not to make me team up with you," Y/N idly states, tapping her foot. 

Sho looks at her, and then back at the forest—he can't look at her. If he does, he can't tear his gaze away and this mission would only take longer if Leo and Mido fail in capturing the anomaly. 

"What do you mean?" 

She spares him a glance and returns to keeping watch for the anomaly. "It doesn't work very well on you, does it?" She pauses for a moment, looking back at him. "My power, I mean." 

... Ah. He was certain she'd realized it was a ploy by Leo and himself to get her killed but, no. There's no reason she doesn't know about it. 

"Want an apology?" He scoffs, and she only chuckles, shaking her head. 

"No need. He said you had nothing to do with it and," she sighs, crossing her arms. "It was an order, wasn't it?" Right—'course she'd notice. Of course, she'd know Hyde had spies around campus, one of them being his younger brother. 

She doesn't have long to live as a human. Sho knows this and yet... and yet--"I'm sorry." He can let the anomaly escape; they can always find it afterwards, but he can't lose this. He doesn't want to lose her. 

"What for?" She blinks owlishly, hand twitching slightly, always a sign she was nervous. Before she harnessed the power of the ring, before she took her academic and physical exams, her right hand had always twitched. 

Sho knows he's making the wrong choice, but truly, he wants to relay this to her. Perhaps so she can feel burdened by these words, so that she'd remember him as she loses her mind in that prison. 

"For liking you." Like feels too weak of a word, but he can't say love. He won't say he took one look at and knew what love felt like because that wasn't it. Sho didn't decide one day he was in love with a human turning into an anomaly—he only recalls them together in the dead of the night at Mystery Diner, trying to recreate dishes the anomalies had. 

And perhaps it was then. It had to then—when she. When she did every single little thing, and in his mind, he knew he was screwed. It was love, yes, but he can't bring himself to say it.

And to the Honor Student, to the Inspector, love was unfathomable. She wouldn't digest it, would never accept it. He's unfortunately seen one too many people profess their love to her only for her to deny them. 

"Sorry." She quickly apologises. 

"Don't." Sho chuckles dryly, strangely feeling more at ease than he did before. "You won't accept it because of your fate, yeah?" He asks, to no avail. He'll take the silence as confirmation. 

"It's because I don't want them to mourn me, even though I'll be alive." 'In anomaly form' She leaves out but certain he'd figure it out. He'd always been good at reading between the lines, even when he didn't need to. 

He'd mourn her, despite staying alive—he'd grieve her fate. 

Y/N thinks the silence is unbearable. It had always been comfortable around the first year ghoul, but after his confession, the silence was heavy.

"You don't think it's presumptuous?" It's not meant to be a serious question, it's something to fill the void, but his stare on her lingers. It lacks any pity -one she's so used to seeing- or fear. 

"I'd mourn you." Her eyes widen in shock—how long had he looked at her like that? Why did he look... bewitched, betrothed? 

"Not what I asked." 

For the rest of his life, he'd mourn her. 

She doesn't know what else to say. What else to do except apologise over and over?

So she does, "I'm sorry." Yeah, that's all she does—apologise. Yet, somehow, strangely, even that part of her was enchanting. Falling feels awful, but what can he do? He's human, after all. 

"Thanks for listening." He mumbles, turning around to face the endless forest. She only nods, rubbing her neck hesitantly. What an ending to their friendship. 

[parasolladyansy]

Howdy there again ^^

Say wanted to ask... not trying to pry but... if you guys ever did runs for ansy and ikrit in alola... what starters would you two both pick?

Oh, and for the sake of asking... when it comes to making stories that are pokemon and trainer focused ,like most stories are, how do you usually go about your pokemon choices... other than for types or team combos and stuff.... I feel like you have answered this before... but i just had to ask

I'm making my own original stories with specific ideas and headcanons and I would love to hear more ideas from another creative

*also it me the guy who asked about ishi before*

Hi again!

So. Kinda off-topic, kinda not. >u> I REALLY wanted to like Moon / Ultra Moon. I have some ties to Hawaii on my mother’s side, & a lot of the Pokémon there seemed interesting. But I (& Ikrit) just couldn’t get into it. I feel like part of it was the lack of a traditional Pokémon League? Either way, didn’t get very far ^^;

On our short-lived runs (plot-wise we joke they just had a short vacay to Alola 🏝️), we actually both picked Popplio - I almost always choose the Water Starter, & it’d be fun to have a Water / Fairy (Rowlet was a very close second, because I also like birds). I feel like plot-wise, trainer-Ikrit would probably choose Litten instead, being a more fitting match =w=

That brings us to the second part of your Ask: it’s the Pokémon we used when we played those games, &/or Pokémon that seem to fit them.

For Sword x Shield, I probably took the most creative liberties for both Ansy & Ikrit’s teams. For Ansy, I combined my Gardener run (where my girl Leafeon, Moss, led the team instead of Rain) with my standard Parasol Lady run. For Ikrit, I added a Lunatone to represent his Hoenn roots as well as his working for a meteoriticist investigating the Wishing Stars.

Meanwhile, Diamond x Pearl REWRITE are our literal teams (for me, my 3rd run - I usually do a practice run where I get the lay of the land & just do what’s natural, then do a more themed run. BDSP needed a third one because I didn’t know Castform was available & I HAD to have Sora!)

Basically, I would observe the teams your trainer uses, what Pokémon you / they are attached to, maybe their trainer class or personal history, all to pick a fitting team for them.

Actually maybe a good example for that is Emmet:

Obviously he can’t his usual team in Sinnoh due to customs (my personal HC on why we can’t have certain Pokémon in certain games), so I had to invent his entire team. I noticed Emmet seems to like Electric, Bug, & Steel types, as well as Fossils going by his Archeops, & like all train worker Classes out there (Depot Agent, Rail Staff, Subway Boss), he’d have at least one digger.

I picked Electivire for him since his yellow fur might’ve reminded him of his precious Galvantula (& Joltiks). His Bastiodon is both a Fossil & a digger. Ingo has a Magnezone in place of his Klinklang, which Emmet has a twin of, so I gave him a Magnezone to match. The rest matches up more with what I observed about him.

So yeah! Hope that answers your question, & I look forward to see what you (or anyone else this helps out) come up with.

—

PS: oh! Editing to add that I also make sure the teams are still viable in battle with the help of some Pokémon team builders. My favorite was Marriland, but there’s a bug that happens whenever I use it now that crashes the site. If anyone has an alternative that works just as well up to Gen 9, pls lemme know! ^o^

[reipastua]

this was a fun thought exercise. my pitch is Baby's First Papers Please.

game starts with you filling out a job application which is just a way for you to choose your name bc the protagonist is just some idiot and because depending on your name the ending either becomes very spooky or really funny.

so y/n is applying for an overnight shift at freddys, but uh oh the economy isn't doing too well and one minimum wage job thirty hours a week is not enough to put food on the table. luckily your boss has promised you a bonus to your paycheck depending on how much of their paperwork you can do for him. nice! and this isn't arbitrary, at the end of each month you have to do your budget and if you don't do any of the busywork, you will not have enough money to pay your bills and the game ends with you losing your apartment.

the game is sort of a combo of fnaf 1 and the night sections of pizzasim. you have the office with the blast doors, but you also have a stack of paperwork to fill out every day with phone call instructions from your boss on how to fill things out(SUBTITLED. with an option to view the transcripts). there are no power restrictions, but the doors and lights will only stay on if you're actively holding the button, so you can't just leave the doors closed and the lights on. day ends once you're done with your tasks so you arent just left sitting on your ass holding the button for the rest of the night.

anyway as you might guess you start to realize that this is some weird fucking paperwork, and forms that definitely shouldnt be filled out by the night guard. employee accident reports where you're instructed to write that the employee acted completely irrationally to injure themselves, tax returns with numbers that don't add up, and orders for supplies that don't seem very necessary for a pizzeria. you're also instructed to shred irrelevant documents, which don't seem very irrelevant at all, these are some concerning police reports.... it's obviously implied, but afton's having you cook the books and "forge" paperwork so that any of this can be "revealed" to have been slipped in by an employee, while all of his of course perfectly above board paperwork got shredded. but, yknow. you have to do it, or you can't afford to eat. you can piece together the MCI, charlie's murder and the employee deaths from the paperwork.

meanwhile you're still playing freddy fivenights so you got animatronics on your ass. we're sticking with just the basic five and the puppet because it's her birthday. that said i do really like hallucinations as a mechanic. when you're looking at paperwork the game is angled so you can see the window and cameras in the corner of your screen so sometimes you can see flashes of childrens' faces or the animatronics themselves. one of the ways you can tell when an animatronic is right there is that you'll start to hear their audio, and sometimes you can hear a raspy high voice saying.. something.

in-universe the game takes place over five months, in-game five nights. you start up, do your tasks while fending off the animatronics, and then do your budget for the night. at the end of the fifth night, your boss thanks you for helping him get caught up on paperwork, but now that you aren't getting the extra cash he's going to bump you up to seven shifts a week since your coworker recently left the position, so you'll be coming in tomorrow too. it's good news for your wallet, so you show up on saturday.

there's just one problem. the door, uh. won't close. and your only task is to fill out an employee accident report, for you. jumpscare, game over.

There’s a couple of videos on YouTube now of how people would reboot the FNaF franchise. If you were tasked with coming up with a FNaF reboot - meaning no prior games are considered canon - how would you go about doing it? Make it as detailed or as brief as you’d like!

EDIT: I love how this post started getting some reblogs and the common consensus is “I’ll be back with a 10 page google doc”

[phansterdam]

severance was so right about scary numbers

[thebrainrotsreal]

Was pondering how Mark’s rigid ass mask/lens is prob a Budget Thing (since squishy, bendy lens are pretty much a mandate for all hero animated series, like JL, BTAS, TNBA, Spider-Man, etc), and then I was slapped with a vision of Mark in a more JL/BTAS-ish style and I had to see it through. I am a genius btw.

[fascinationstreetmp3]

I have what you're looking for. High quality. Befitting a man of my tastes. I have a room over on Divisadero, not too far a walk.

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

DIVORCE! DIVORCE! DIVORCE!

[littlenimart]

tojoctober day 1 - dance

y0-era kiryu and goromi is my favorite AU space to play in (っ˘ω˘ς ) they shoulda hit the disco together…

[pa-pa-plasma]

I know the concept of more supernatural/paranormal elements is cool but it will never stop being funny to me that in every series ever, when a ghost shows up the main characters have to do rituals & research the history of the haunted item or house or even whole town & use specific items like salt & incense & talisman to banish the ghost all dramatically & supernaturally, but in Danny Phantom this kid just shows up with nothing but his fists, a thermos, & pent up aggression. put em the fuck UP, you ectoplasmic son of a—

[joshuamj]

EoW Zelda and Link designs

[turtleblogatlast]

Combining the boys’ abilities (and I mean actual combining not just using them at the same time) because I was thinking about it and wow they’re kinda cracked actually-

[ cw: death mention / def not for them though 💀]

Raph & Mikey: infinite clones (aka unbeatable) + strength completely unparalleled + infinite cloned chains + the clones are very fast and can fly + potentially reverse any damage on main shield clones or even damage in general

Mikey & Donnie: constructs that also can last much longer than usual possibly forever + potential future vision + every single cable or wire or anything of that sort has the potential to be taken over akin to Mikey’s chains + full telekinesis

Donnie & Leo: pinpoint portal/teleportation themselves or constructs just by knowing where to aim (aka instadeath for any enemy if used right) + telepathy

Leo & Raph: teleporting clones who can grow or shrink at will (which can also be instadeath like above if used right) + said clones can also act as homing spots to switch places with + potentially swap damage taken to clones

Raph & Donnie: they literally can make Voltron, but more than one + basically impossible to destroy shields + constructs can also be cloned

Mikey & Leo: freezing time and being able to move during it + heat death of the universe + “oops hey it’s other alternate iterations of us???” + this is a time and space team up you’re not winning this-

Basically any combo is an instant “you win.” I wanna go further into these combos later and maybe even add or subtract as I think more on it because there’s so many I left out and I can always extrapolate on and explain these ones more, but this was fun and these boys have terrifying powers even without combining them all together.

Seriously, should each of them train these abilities to the best they can be, there is no beating them even if they’re alone.