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jimblejamblewritings · 1 month

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An Observation of Humankind [thinkpiece number: 1]

Every girlie (nonbinary, women and men of all orientations included) is a type of Marauder and their partners are marauder love interest — fandom version included.

James Girlies:

either like sports or play sports, especially soccer/football or rugby

bad eyesight

defends everyone

himbo and ditzy but we love them for that

fanfiction reader/sharer

have had several short-term but very intense crushes

surprisingly not always high school sweethearts (which yeah odd cause of Lily)

nature bros

calls their journal a diary with no shame

are always outside and can't sit their ass at home for too long

love bouquets

own at least one pair of converse

loves pop music and Hozier

have scaled a fence before

might be able to play the guitar

handwriting could be nicer if they tried

didn't get their drivers' license right away

take their coffee any way that isn't straight black coffee

definitely think all people are hot even if they don't swing that way (think lesbians love Thor)

loved Merlin the tv show

James Girlies love Regulus and Lily people, which means:

cold people, smart people, black cat people, painters, polite people, readers, homebody people, gothic people, hippie people, people with beautiful handwriting, black coffee drinkers, whisky lovers

Sirius Girlies:

dog people and cat people equally

doc martens

loves coffee and tea equally

fanfiction writer/reader

gorgeous handwriting, probably cursive

might know or has had an interest in calligraphy

an astrology and/or astronomy girl

speaks at least two languages

plays an instrument, any instrument... but their parents definitely suggested piano

leather jackets

denim jackets

wears way less black than people think

fantasy nerd and has played dungeons and dragons

was a superwholockian

usually the only child or older child

doesn't smoke but everyone thinks they might

cocktails or whiskey and beer, no in between

virgin till like freshman year of college or later, to everyone's shock

looks like a black cat but is actually a golden retriever

however they could kill you don't get it twisted

has trauma but won't trauma bond

crooked smile and not perfect teeth but gorgeous anyway

perfect hair that is deliberately messed with

motorcycles and vespas and small cars

listens to every genre of music

tattoos (even if just one small one)

journal person

can quote certain movies by heart

unfortunately turned on by sweater vests

fashion girlie

Sirius Girlies love Marlene, Remus, and other Sirius people, which means:

warm people, confident people, tall people, flirty people, musicians, readers, intellectual people, fancy people

Remus Girlies:

sweets lover

probably likes dark chocolate the most as well as hot chocolate

owns sweaters, probably vintage, some handmade by their Sirius girlies

plays chess

can draw

mismatched socks

waits till the last minute to do laundry

is more of a cat person but also loves dogs

didn't have strict parents and ended up giving themselves curfews and discipline and only late realized the reverse psychology

keeps a notebook about everything their partner likes

messy cook in the kitchen

loves tea a bit over coffee

is probably the actual smoker of the group

doesn't make their bed

good kissers

always carries a jacket or wears a shirt under their sweater so they can give it to their partner

can hold their liquor a bit too well perhaps

has trauma and might trauma bond

great fashion sense but will wear literally whatever is clean

Remus Girlies love Sirius, Pandora, and Dorcas (hear me out) people, which means:

black cat looks and golden retriever personality, weird people, people that pour their pain and emotions into their art whether music or painting or drawing, people that take time to care for themselves in the morning, witchy people, smiley people

Peter Girlies (pretend there was no betrayal):

underestimated

asks the most off-putting questions without realizing it

takes a camera everywhere

loves board games

tea drinker all day every day

baker

sends selfies at literally any angle because they don't care

always pays attention to everyone

loves breakfast food eaten not at breakfast

had a ukelele phase

cleanest of their friend group

Peter Girlies love Mary people, which means:

sunshine people, almost always happy, excitable people, pda lovers, carefree topeople

#mara #marauders #james potter #peter pettigrew x reader #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #marauders fluff #peter pettigrew

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jamisonwritestf2trash · 8 months

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Random TF2 headcanons bc it has me in a chokehold.

These are set in 2023 bc I want to write these silly geese in present-day situations. (Still haven't gotten into the lore.)

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None of these fuckers like the same fastfood restaurants, they always disagree.

Heavy likes Jimmy Jon's.

Medic likes Subway, he thinks it's the healthier option (don't tell him the bread can legally be considered cake)

Scout likes Wendy's. Sniper pretends to like McDonald's just to mess with him. He really doesn't like fast food at all.

Demo likes Culver's

Spy hates fast food and has never eaten at places like that. He's too good for that (this is a lie. He frequently goes to Starbucks).

Soldier loves KFC with a passion.

Engie likes Popeyes.

Pyro doesn't eat. They guzzle pen ink and glitter glue.

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These old men can not use Gen Z slang to save their lives. However, Scout is horrendous with slang, He has called himself the rizzler. You will not go a day without him saying, "Take the L." This man is menace.

Medic used the word "Rizz" once and Scout almost threw up.

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Engineer loves Legos! He has every adult set. He's done the vespa, he's done the bonsai tree, and any others you can think of. He also buys the small kids sets for Pyro. They do it together for fun.

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Medic. Loves. To. Talk. Shit.

This man is loyal to no one. Show up to the lab with food and wine, and by the end of the night, you'll have dirt on anyone and everyone. Archimedes loves to listen in while he rants and raves.

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Speaking of Medic, whoever headcannoned him as a guy who acts like a teenage girl was 100% correct. This man has a playlist for surgery that's all Kesha, MARINA, Gwen Stefani, and Britney Spears. This man has neon glitter pens and has a fuzzy pink diary (that's where he keeps everyone's secrets!). Man's says "teehee" and kicks his legs. He has a canopy bed and string lights in his room. (And I love him for it 🫶🏻)

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All of them are mentally ill in someway.

Heavy, Demo, and Engie have anxiety, but manage it well enough for it not to be a problem. (Demo just happens to manage with alcohol 😮‍💨)

Scout has ADHD and depression.

Sniper and Soldier have Autism

Spy has depression, and also body dysmorphia.

Medic has autismn, insomnia, and BPD

Pyro has schizophrenia and autism

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Sniper loves animals. Like, let's be for real animals are his hyperfixation. He has a special camera that can take pictures of animals from far away. He loves the fact that he can use his skills as a sniper to photograph animals.

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Spy can't recognize his own face unless he has his mask. His face seems to distort in the mirror after a few minutes. His mask keeps his features in place so it doesn't get a blurry and muddled.

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Demo knits! His mom taught him when he was younger. He has a blanket his mom started and he finished in his room.

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Might make more who knows :)

Love this game and the fandom sm rn.

#tf2 pyro #tf2 spy #tf2 demoman #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 engineer #tf2 soldier #tf2 headcanons #team fortress 2 #team fortress headcanons #tf2 hcs #tf2

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

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john wick x model!reader imagine pt 3

masterlist

trois

-It is a regrettable side effect of your career that the paparazzi are always curious about what you’re up to. For once you’re able to use this to your advantage. The actor Derek Prince has been asking you out for ages. For once you say yes, and take no pains to keep it a secret. You’re photographed going into Nobu, and leaving together to return to the New York Hilton. You don’t accept his invitation for a nightcap, saying adieu politely without even offering a goodnight kiss. You can tell the famously handsome actor is utterly shocked by this treatment. He’s used to having women throw themselves at his feet.

You almost feel bad about it.

-You go on three more casual dates over the next few months with Derek, and the media loses their goddamn minds. The tabloids have you hiding a baby bump, and TMZ claims you are secretly engaged. It really should be illegal, to print such trash. They think you’re the perfect Hollywood power couple.

You are merely biding your time.

You are walking down a tree-lined street in New York when a rider geared in black on an ARCH motorcycle pulls up beside you. Your heart swells, and you just know.

He flips up the visor of his full helmet. “Need a ride?”

“You have no idea.”

You can tell by the crinkle of his eyes that he is smirking at you. You take the helmet he offers you and climb on, so glad you’re wearing jeans, some long-clenched anxiety releasing as you wrap your arms around his waist. You’ve been on a Vespa before, but never a proper motorcycle. It growls like a beast of the jungle beneath you as he pulls away, giving you a thrill from head to toe. Traveling like this with John is a revelation, the curve of his perfect little ass snug between your thighs, your arms around his trim waist. You trust him implicitly, driving this wonderfully dangerous machine through the mean streets of New York.

Maybe it’s ridiculous, but you feel invincible.

He takes you to a cemetery, of all places, but it’s secluded and shaded by old trees, and has a stunning view of the city below. He sits sidesaddle on the bike with you cradled on his lap between his long legs, his leather-clad arms around you. He looks at your left hand, and you do not miss his sigh of relief.

“So, you’re not engaged…”

It’s not elegant, but you snort at the idea. Maybe you’re feeling a little reckless, after your diabolical plan actually worked to bring him out of the woodwork, and back to you. And maybe you’re a little annoyed that it had to come to this. “Not unless you’re asking, Mr. Wick.”

Fuck. You did not just say that out loud.

You feel him stiffen behind you, and your heart goes into a freefall, certain you’ve ruined everything with your big mouth.

But then his arms tighten around you, and he buries his face in your hair. “There is nothing I would like more,” he grumbles into the bend of your neck.

Suddenly, your heart has wings. Is this is? The moment you’ve longed for, for what feels like a lifetime?

“Yeah?”

“But I can’t do that to you, y/n.”

Again, that poor muscle in your chest takes a dive, and you’re certain there’s nothing but sharp rocks below to catch it.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you must have an inkling of what I do.”

“You’re not a spy?”

“’Fraid not.”

“You work for the mob.”

“Not the Italians, but something like that.” A long silence draws on before he actually speaks again. “There are bad people, who if they knew about you, and what you mean to me…”

You’ve seen enough movies to fill in the blanks.

The problem is, you don’t care. You’ve reached the end of your rope.

“I don’t need a ring, John. Or a picket fence. I don’t even really want children. All I want is you. All I’ve ever really wanted is you.”

“You have me, baby.”

This only appeases you slightly.

“You don’t have a lover in every big city across the globe?”

He actually chuckles at that, a sound from deep in his chest you feel rumbling against your back. “No.” A long silence ensues, filled only with the sounds of birds singing. It’s miraculously quiet up on the hill with the dead. His next words make your own heart sing. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, y/n.”

You lean back on his shoulder, offering your lips. This kiss is slow, and deep, and so precious. All your time with him is so precious. “I love you too, by the way,” you say when you finally part, resting your forehead against the scruff of his cheek.

You feel him smile.

-You return to your apartment, the one rented in a different name that the paps haven’t found yet. Unfortunately, it seems that Derek has. You’re sure your agent is to blame for that. He’s loved all the extra publicity of your association with the actor, completely unaware of your ruse.

Derek is waiting in the lobby, and frowns when he sees you walking up hand in hand with some devilishly handsome rogue in a motorcycle jacket. John is already a large man, but the way the jacket pads out his shoulders and chest does things to you. It probably intimidates Derek too, so he puts some extra steel in his tone, lowering his voice in an attempt to sound hard. You just barely repress a laugh, because you have already been cruel enough.

“Who the fuck is this?”

Derek has been in a few action movies, and he fancies himself a tough guy. He starts to square up. You feel the change in John, the tension singing in his frame. Suddenly, he is a loaded spring, a gun ready to fire, and your hand tightens on his, praying you can avoid a scene. Even though Derek’s taller than John, somehow you just know that your real boyfriend would wipe the floor with the actor.

You feel like its serendipity when one of the elevators opens beside you, and fabulous old Mrs. Ginsberg steps out with her yippy little powderpuff of a dog. You pull John into the elevator as the doors are closing. “Sorry Derek. It’s not you, it’s me.” You get to see a split second of his stupidly handsome face turn totally gob smacked before the doors close, and you are heading up. You cackle to yourself, which is sharply interrupted by John’s mouth crashing onto yours.

“Please don’t tell me you actually let that idiot touch you?”

“It would serve you right if I did,” you grumble, still so annoyed by his disappearing act.

He actually growls, and you realize that he really was well and truly jealous. You’re not sure what it says about you, but you fucking love it. He presses you into the wall of the elevator, that intense dark stare locked with yours. Even when the elevator reaches the your floor, he does not move.

“You little minx. Did you orchestrate this whole thing just to get me to find you?”

You lift one eyebrow in answer with a smirk, and you have a split second to anticipate your doom in the clenched line of his jaw before he falls on you, devouring your mouth in another merciless kiss. Then, he honest to god hauls you over his shoulder, exiting the elevator.

“Oh my god, put me down!” you shout, half laughing, half alarmed.

“I don’t think I will.”

“You don’t know where we’re going.”

“Then you’d better tell me.”

You give him the number, and he has to put you down so you can get out your keys. But once the door is open he grabs you up again, and he doesn’t let go until much, much later.

-In the quiet of the night you stir in John’s arms, realizing he is wide awake, stroking light circles on your shoulder as he stares up at the ceiling. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“There might…be a way.”

Your sleep addled brain doesn’t compute at first. But then it dawns on you, and you pop up on your elbows. “Really?” You know you sound desperate. You don’t care. You would risk anything. You are so miserable without him.

He nods, his eyes shining like obsidian in the dark. He traces the curve of your cheek, and you close your eyes, realizing that tears are streaming down. “John…”

You would give anything, you realize, to actually have this man by your side. The relief you feel inside at hearing there is even just a possibility is palpable. Like a muscle long clenched finally released. You narrowly clamp down on the urge to weep. A small, strangled sound escapes you, and he holds you harder, as though he knows. He knows your every tell. He knows the agony of possibility and uncertainty.

“Would they really let you go?” You hate how small your voice sounds. You don’t know who they are, exactly, and you know better than to ask by now. But you do know that you hate them. You hate them, because this man belongs to you. He is the other half of your soul. By cosmic rights, he should be yours at night, and in the day too. Every hour, by your side, in your arms.

“I’m going to try.”

“Will it…be dangerous?” You are so afraid of the answer, which you are already certain is yes.

“Maybe.” He is hedging. He doesn’t want to scare you. You appreciate the lengths he’s gone to, to protect you. You really do. You also know that you don’t really truly understand. How could you?

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

The smile he pays you is so tender, without a drop of condescension. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think so.”

“What will you have to do?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Will you have to…kill people?” His hand against your skin freezes, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far.

“Wow. I really haven’t fooled you at all, have I?” he marvels.

You press your lips. “That night in London, at the Ritz? You had blood on your shirt.”

He closes his eyes.

“You knew all this time?”

“Maybe.”

“And still you wanted me?”

“I’ll always want you, John.” It’s simply the truth.

He looks at you with wonder and reverence in those soulful brown eyes.

“Baby girl.”. He kisses you softly, and you can feel the love in it. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. He does this for a long time. “I’m not a good man, you know.”

“You are, to me.”

- Before he disappears into the darkness again, hopefully for the last time, you ask him how he got into doing what he does. He admits that he was taken as an orphan, and moulded into a weapon for their own ends.

“You mean you were...a child soldier?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ, baby...”

Your heart breaks for him, and you pull him close. At first he is tense, resisting your sympathy, but then you feel him relax, resting his head on your breast with a heavy sigh.

“How...” How the hell did he turn out the way he did, you wonder silently. Kind, and sane. And yet, you have seen glimpses of the darkness that lurks below. He has never offered it to you, but perhaps there is a savagery he saves for others in the world. You believe to the marrow of your bones though, that he does not hurt anyone who does not already deserve it.

You do not judge him. You are no angel either, and the resilience of this man’s soul is a marvel to you. You don’t know how its possible, but you love him even more.

-When you say goodbye in the wee hours of the morning, John looks at you with an intensity that gives you chills, as though he's memorizing your every molecule. You have no way of knowing, but he is thinking to himself that there are only two ways this can go: he’ll come back to you, or he’ll be dead.

He can’t live without you anymore either.

He kisses you with toe-curling tenderness, his big hand cupping your jaw. He has learned over the years that there is such a thing as the self-fulfilling prophesy. So he pushes thoughts of his doom aside, and makes you both a promise.

“I'll see you soon, y/n.”

“Very soon,” you amend. He smiles at that.

“My greedy girl.”

“Only for you, John.”

He releases a shuddering sigh as he presses his forehead to yours again, as though you are the altar he prays upon. “I meant that I am not a good man, y/n. But know that I loved you with my whole heart.”

“Do not speak of yourself in past tense to me.”

He pays you a grim smile that squeezes your heart like a merciless fist.

“Promise me you'll come back to me,” you insist, your fingers curling in his jacket.

He nods.

“I'll be seeing you.”

It had to be true. The alternative…is unspeakable.

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masterlist <<PART 2 PART 4>>

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x helen #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #ahhhrgh ok ok one more part to go #so fucking long #im losing my mind

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