cop of coffee

2

Yep. Yep I needed to post these.
Paramedic/Hospital!au of my darlings from my last post. Like I said, I’ve been watching too much ER and Sirens and any other show similar.
Miroku and InuYasha work as paramedics, Sango works closely with them as a cop (while simultaneously fighting off Miroku’s advances and coffee breaks), and Kagome works as a nurse in one of the main hospitals that they transport patients to (and gets all cute and cuddly with a half demon paramedic when she isn’t busy saving lives in the emergency room.)
Enjoy!

vimeo

Nicole, Shérif dans la zone de Bethel en Alaska, est appelée sur une scène d'accident. Au bord du burn-out, ses angoisses prennent forme.
Nicole, a Sheriff living in Bethel town, Alaska, is called on an accident scene. In the middle of her burn-out, fears get materialized.

This is the FX short film we did at Gobelins school in a month.

Directors :  Maya AV-RON, Sixtine DANO, Joël DURANDThibault LECLERCQ and Tristan POULAIN.

An illustration I made for emissary-architect‘s new fanfiction “Match”.

It’s an AU and Ava has to deal with those two assholes courting her. It’s hilarious and cute! And it has super neat world building!

It is also a way to introduce you to the OT3. I call it “Fort Asshole”! 

Don’t want to decide what’s more trash? Flaming Arrow or Fire Wire? Then Fort Asshole is for you! It’s 3 at the price of 2! Not only do you get those two garbage ships, but you get Six/Odin as well! What a deal!

Ngl Archi and I talk about dumb Fort Asshole AUs 90% of the time. There is a Cop AU (Six is a cop and Ava is an undercover cop) and a Coffee Shop AU (where Six is also a cop). There may or may not be a lion involved.

I was thinking about those procedural shows, the ones where the cops are questioning a suspect about their missing friend. And the suspect just shrugs and is like, nope haven’t seen them.

And then the cops see The Coffee Table With Two Mugs and they Know the second person has been there. Then come the meaningful glances and the confessions.

And I’m laughing my ass off alone with my five coffee mugs on the table. Sorry buddy, it’s just my lazy ass in this house. All the mugs are mine.

Imagine running into Wanda Maximoff on the streets as she’s trying her hardest to keep hidden under her cap...

Originally posted by knightlley

She had been sitting alone for a whole hour, her coffee long gone as she pulled the cap further down, casting a shadow over her face. 

You had been sitting a couple of tables over taking a seat at the same time she had after you had bumped into her on the street. 

There was something familiar with her, but you had no idea why, the only reason you had sat down at the same cafe as she had was because she looked down. Like she wished a black hole would appear out of nowhere to swallow her whole. 

You decided enough was enough, as the girl yet again pulled on her cap, running her fingers yet another round on top of her empty coffee cop. You got up, and walked over to her, clearing your throat once you stood in front of her. 

You were not going to let this girl slip further into misery, no matter who she was.

“Hey, mind if I sit?” You asked her, and got a weak not back. 

“Should I buy us some coffee first? You seem to be empty of it.” You tried to joke, and smiled triumphantly as you saw her chuckle a little. 

“I would like that.” The girl spoke for the first time. 

“I’m Y/n by the way.” You struck out your hand for her to shake and she reluctantly took it. 

“Wanda” 

Ridiculous headcanon

Nobody at Star Labs can actually make decent coffee. Cisco makes scorched tar water. You get to the bottom of the pot and that stuff crunches. Caitlin kinda waves a coffee bean at a pot of hot water. Barry doesn’t have the patience. There’s no coffee machine in the world fast enough for him.

Iris, now you would think Iris could make decent coffee. But Iris needs a full espresso machine and steamer, sixty-seven kinds of syrup, four options of milk, sixteen varieties of sprinkles, whipped cream, and a recipe card to make anything. A basic Mr. Coffee completely defeats her.

Joe? Joe’s been drinking cop coffee for thirty years. His coffee taste buds have all withered away in despair.

The only one who could make drinkable coffee was actually Harrison Wells. Too bad they defeated him because they’re all severely undercaffeinated now.

Look, there’s a reason this workplace is single-handedly keeping Jitters in business.

I’m still astounded by the fact we don’t really have a proper Valvert coffee shop au
Javert is a cop for gods sake. Cops live off of coffee.
Valjean would love to run a coffee shop with Cosette as his helper and maybe Grantaire and Eponine too because they are broke college students trying to scrape by, and all they’re friends come hang out when it’s not busy.
Javert thinking the hot barista is weirdly familiar and creepily but technically not abusing his police power to find out who he is.
Valjean feeling weird about serving his former jailer but man. Forgive and move on. So he doesn’t feel bad about putting extra shots in Javert’s coffee when it looks like he hasn’t slept in three or four days and under charging him whenever Javert would let him get away with it and oh no he’s actually hot and oh god don’t blush or get butterflies whenever he comes in Valjean this is a terrible idea.
Seriously. The potential. It’s asking to be written.

Daily Phlint: Reassurances

The apartment door creaks a little when it opens, and Phil has told Clint at least three times he should get it fixed, but Clint forgets these kinds of things. Now, the creak sounds like it’s in an echo chamber because there’s no noise inside at all. No television playing some inane cop show, no coffee pot percolating, no shower running.

“Clint?” he calls, but the call disappears into the silence of the place. He looks at his phone for the fifth time since entering the building, but there’s still no call or text from Clint. He sets his keys on the cold marble counter of the kitchen.

His chest is tight and he can practically feel the blood running through his veins, threading down his arm and out into his fingers that twitch uncontrollably in the dim light of the room. He’s sweaty and his teeth won’t stop clenching no matter how much he wills them to. It’s panic threading its way through his body, leaving him breathless and tired.

He climbs the stairs to Clint’s bedroom and should feel relieved that no suitcases or duffel bags are missing, that Clint’s toothbrush is still visible on the cracked bathroom counter. The relief doesn’t come. He looks at his phone again. Nothing. He sits down on the edge of the unmade bed and fingers the pale purple sheets under him.

“I’ll call you,” he recalls Clint saying yesterday, his voice dark and laced with anger. But he hasn’t called, hasn’t checked in at the shooting range, hasn’t been seen in the cafeteria or in the jet hangar where he sometimes just sits in the rafters and watches the techs work on the planes. Now it’s three in the afternoon and his apartment is empty.

The front door creaks. Phil doesn’t jump, but he sucks in a sharp breath and twists the sheets in his fingers. His teeth ache from him pressing them even closer as the sound of the door closes.

“Phil?” Clint calls, and the panic that was filling him to the brim a second ago churns and changes into a new panic, a more dangerous one that might mean the end of everything; while he was still looking for Clint things were up in the air, but now everything was going to crash to the ground and play itself out no matter what Phil wanted.

The steps don’t creak, but Phil can hear Clint’s boots step quickly, like he’s running up to find Phil. He closes his eyes as he hears Clint burst into the bedroom. The bed sinks a little next to him and Clint’s calloused, always dry hand finds Phil’s and pulls it from the sheets.

“Hey,” Clint says, gently and a little breathless. “What happened?”

Phil opens his eye and feels his jaw drop just a little – more than it should; he should be able to control his body better than this. He doesn’t answer.

“Phil, talk to me,” Clint whispers, and Phil hears his own brand of panic in Clint’s voice.

He closes his mouth for a moment and then swallows before he can manage to speak. “You said you’d call. You didn’t call and no one’s seen you today. You weren’t here, and you didn’t come find me.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I thought – I didn’t know –“ He feels Clint stiffen beside him.

“I was angry. I made one bad call and Hill dressed me down in front of everyone and made me look like a fucking stupid junior agent wet behind the ears.” Clint blows a hard breath out. “In case you didn’t know, I don’t handle discipline well, much less when it’s done in public. I had to stay low a while or I was going to do something even more stupid than make a bad call.”

Phil doesn’t know what to do with this information. He should. It’s his strength, knowing what people need and what to do in a tense moment. Instead he just stares at his hand in Clint’s. “I was afraid you’d run,” he says. “Hill shouldn’t have done that to you, and I tried to wait on you patiently, but you said you’d call and you didn’t, so I came here expecting to find you gone.”

Clint closes his eyes and Phil sees the tired lines on his face, sees the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, sees a slight tremor in Clint’s jaw, so he reaches out, runs his finger down Clint’s cheek and presses his palm against his jaw.

Clint leans into the touch. “I wouldn’t leave. I was going to call, and I’m sorry, but Phil,” he says, and Phil’s name sounds like it’s being pulled from Clint’s chest. “Phil,” he repeats. “I wouldn’t leave. Not anymore. Not you.”

At his words, Phil’s chest unfurls, the blood in his veins stops churning, and his muscles loosen.

Clint leans in and kisses him slowly and his cool, wet lips feel like a salve on Phil’s and he loses a moment in the kiss before Clint pulls back gently and runs his hand down Phil’s arm. “You panicked. You thought I’d leave you, and you panicked. I’m sorry.”

Phil closes his eyes. “I haven’t been in a relationship in seven years, and she left me without a word. I might be a little irrational about us for a while.”

Clint presses a kiss to the corner of Phil’s mouth, and when Phil opens his eyes again, Clint is grinning. “For a while, huh? Think we’ll last a bit?” he says, and his voice is filled with mirth, but his eyes are searching Phil’s in earnest. Phil knows Clint has his own insecurities.

“As long as you want,” Phil says, and runs his hand through Clint’s hair.

“As long as we want,” Clint corrects, and pulls Phil down onto the bed. He rolls over so he’s on top of Phil. His eyes twinkle. “Now let me get on to reassuring you that I’m still here.”

The Benders - Part 1

Word Count: 2004 

Warnings: Language 

Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader

Tagging: @letsgetoutalive  @aprofoundbondwithdean @spnfanficpond @pb-5minutefanfiction @faith-in-dean @blacktithe7 @supernotnatural2005 @paolathedragonichuntress @thegirlwiththeimpala @nothingeverdies @deans-cherry-pie1 @queen-of-the-unbroken-hearts

Series Rewrite Masterlist


“It’s 3:30am what the hell are you doing?” Dean complained as he woke up to use the bathroom, finding you sitting at the motel table with a coffee, multiple newspapers, and your laptop.

“Looking for a case. What the fuck does it look I’m like doing?” you answered without even looking up at him.

“At 3:30am? Did you even go to bed at all?” He questioned, sitting in the chair next to yours.

“Yes. And I got some sleep and everything, dad.” You smirked.

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