crazy scientist is OUT cozy scientist is IN

Occasional writer and/or freak on main Feel free to ask me questions! Phoenix (20+) He/She/They

[godserene]

Hi! I'm Phoenix, you may know me as CozyScientist on ao3 and now on bluesky too

Currently I’m on a trip and my internet access is not always the best so I might end up being a little absent because of it, still any HCs you want to talk to me about or any questions about my fics, characters or AUs are always welcome!

SFW Masterlist | NSFW Masterlist

[louisegluckpdf]

normalize having huge visible bite marks all over your body. also normalize not asking people where they got the huge visible bite marks all over their body from.

[kaxen]

I started reading The Wild Robot because I liked the movie, there are more books, and my brain is soup and I need something easy to read.

I love this run

Also this

[zapatism]

brazilians, imagine you’re a famous futebol player and are about to hit the winning penalty kick at the world cup finals. accidentally, the referee tosses a christian baby at you. would you still kick the baby to the goal and win the hexa championship, and sacrifice the christian baby?

[zapatism]

[lingonberry24]

[aeshnacyanea2000]

[wickedsick]

[godserene]

Nem teme quem te adora a própria morte, o bebê sabe sua missão

[hyperspacecorbeau]

Corbeau loves draping his jacket over your shoulders. The velvety soft interior lining makes it almost blanket-like, and it’s heavy in a way that feels like an embrace.

For you, the lingering scent of tobacco and expensive cologne soothes like nothing else could.

For him, it’s a visual reminder that you are his, that he is loved, and you are staying. The fact that you look so good in his clothes, marked with his logo, is an added bonus.

He’ll insist you wear it whenever the temperature drops even the slightest bit, and sometimes he’ll ‘forget’ to take it back before he goes in to work the next day. When it comes back smelling like you? His workday is much less productive, but the comfort it brings him is worth it.

[hyperspacecorbeau]

Even in his sleep, Corbeau holds you tight.

He always insists on cuddling up to you in some way, adoring the way you snuggle closer to him in your sleep, like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than in his arms. It soothes him to his own rest, where he’ll remain clinging to you, so nothing can pry you away from him. Sleep used to feel vulnerable, sometimes it still does, but your presence night after night gives him the feeling of calm and stability he always longed for.

When he wakes, he likes to lay there and admire you, watching every slow, relaxed breath. He’ll press gentle kisses to your forehead, careful not to make you stir, Arceus forbid he wakes his sleeping love.

When he can afford the time, most often on days off, he loves to treat you with breakfast in bed. He always dreamed of this life, of someone to share in the simple pleasures, so now that he has it, he’s going to spoil you and savour every quiet morning.

[godserene]

Philippe accidentally fathers some grunts

I don't mean he's responsible for them existing

I mean if he sees some grunts doing some dumb shi, he's going to stand there judgmentally with a raised eyebrow and ask just what they think they're doing

It happens various times over the years with various grunts several times

Hell yeah Philippe is the perfect team dad honestly, he’d also carry some things for emergencies. Which can be conveniently pulled out whenever a grunt finds themself in a dire situation. Call him batman for the way he’s prepared.

Would also calm down any grunts having panic attacks and help them out, alongside memorising important details that no one expected him to know. He knows the allergies of the team by heart and keeps an epipen on him at all times. In my heart he’s really good at first aid idk why

[godserene]

So Corbeau is already the king of the criminal underworld in Lumiose. You know what else he should be king of? The literal Underworld. What I'm trying to say is: Hades and Persephone AU

Hell YEAH HADES AND PERSEPHONE AU‼️‼️ My first ever fic idea for Corbeau was actually a Hades and Persephone AU that I never ended up writing but the concept just fits him SO MUCH

Corbeau is extremely Hades coded. Workaholic wife guy who gets misjudged a lot but is actually really kind and loves his scary dog scolipede

Plus Grisham would look hella pretty as Persephone thats all I’m saying. Hair down, flower crown and being so much more terrifying than his man despite no one assuming it at first. Idk who’s Demeter in this scenario, probably Griselle. Return her Grisham or else.

[hyperspacecorbeau]

By starlight I know you

Corbeau x Grisham

mild angst, fluff

A masquerade party surfaces memories of simpler times. A dance with fate ensues.

Corbeau sighed as he checked his reflection in a hallway window. This was going to be such a pain in the ass.

Jacinthe had the idea to host a masquerade party to raise relief funds for the prism tower disaster, and despite already putting a lot of money and labour into rebuilding the city, he knew he had to make an appearance. Not only to keep face, but also to use the opportunity for striking a deal or two with some well lined pockets.

His iridescent mask shimmered in the moody lighting, the colour shift looked just how he’d imagined, deep magenta to a bold striking purple. It was adorned with dark feathers and faux roses, beaded drips lined the bottom, uncomfortable on his face, but iconic to his branding, so he’d put up with it. He wasn’t trying to keep his identity particularly hidden, but he ditched his daily attire for a monochrome black suit look to add to the air of mystery, complete with an iridescent tie using the same fabric that was on his mask. He still wore his syndicate lapel pin, how could he strike deals without influence, after all? At his side, as he so often was, was Philippe. His mask was a steely gray, lightly metallic, and otherwise very simple, by his own request. The aforementioned put a hand on his shoulder.

“All good, boss?”

“Yes, my apologies, I was just admiring the craftsmanship. You were right, we’ve got some talented connections,” he looked away from his reflection, faintly smiling.

“Told you, that MZ kid has an eye for this stuff, I hope the tip helps him get more supplies, he could start a business venture. Hey maybe we could—“

“I don’t think we should give loans to any more Team MZ members, nor do I think they’d do it again.”

“Fair enough.”

“Would be a little funny though,” Corbeau smirked. “Anyway, the night isn’t getting any younger, time to get to socializing.”

“And that is what this is, right boss? We’re mainly here to see the trainers that helped save Lumiose, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, but a deal or two could be made in our favour, no?”

“You’re the boss, just try not to let your whole night be about it. It’ll be fun to see everyone again.”

“We might have different ideas of fun.” He scoffed, but he knew Philippe was right. It would be kinda fun to see what Ivor was up to, and Vinnie always had heartwarming stories about his daughter (who was growing up WAY too fast, he’d cried to Corbeau about that last time they had a few at one of these functions), and Harmony always had silly gossip that made him feel more like a trusted friend than a colleague. He’d hover, he supposed. Scope things out, talk to some people he actually wanted to talk with, then strike at opportunities with others if they arose.

Adjusting his tie, Corbeau smiled, “regardless, I’ll take it easy. There are a few people I’d like to catch up with. Let’s head in.”

-

When he’d received the invite, slid under the window shutter of the Café Nouveau truck, Grisham was sure there must’ve been an error. His past in Team Flare followed his every step, pushing away new bonds and breaking old ones, making connection feel like a distant memory.

Why would a social elite such as Jacinthe invite him and Griselle to an event like this? Sure, they’d played a role in protecting the city during the Ange crisis, but was she so naive as to not realize their roots? Or did she simply believe they’d redeemed themselves? Either way, Grisham hesitated with every step towards the ballroom doors, had this been a trick? A mistake? Griselle seemed to have no such thoughts, walking in like she’d had no burdens left to bear. He walked in behind her, hands clasped behind his back, trying to will his shoulders to look somewhat confident, somewhat belonging.

Catching a reflection of himself in the wine glass he was sipping from, Grisham smiled. The anonymity the mask provided was comforting, not enough to completely obscure his identity, but, with his hair let down as it was, he could definitely slip through a crowd relatively unnoticed if he had to.

The mask itself was rather simple, a deep red with golden trim, something he’d made himself in a haste of hot glue and bits of thrifted material. He may not have been as sunken financially as he used to be immediately post-ultimate weapon, but he remained frugal in non essentials, preferring to spend his extra bits of cash on nicer ingredients to improve his recipes. Still, he was proud of what he’d pulled off with the materials he had, maybe his skilled hands weren’t limited to food after all.

He found himself pulled out of his thoughts by a slow song. Some people paired off, others, more like him, stayed closer to the walls. He’d noticed one person in particular, someone he’d recognize in any crowd, someone he’d taught to dance.

“I’m tellin’ you, Grish, I’ve got two left feet, I’m never gettin’ the hang of this!” Corbeau huffed, “I’ll just excuse myself to the washroom if a slow song starts, they won’t even notice!”

“You’ve got to have patience, I didn’t learn in a day either,” Grisham chuckled, “you’ll get the hang of it. Let’s try again.”

“Fine, how’s it start?”

Grisham moved them both into a starting position, “okay, good, now step forward with your left foot, I’ll step back with my right, see how it syncs? Think of it like you’re the one guiding me, don’t let my movements control yours. Perfect. Now your right foot, out to the side.”

“Like that?” He asked, stumbling a bit.

“Yes, just a touch slower, be sure of your footing.”

Grisham suddenly felt much less sure of his own footing. The man of his thoughts waltzed effortlessly, as if there had never been a day where he didn’t know how. Briefly, he let himself imagine scooting his way into that crowd, waiting for a moment of switching to push his way to the man in his past. To be led by him once more, to feel his now confident guidance, as if they’d never stopped practicing together. He ached.

Finishing his glass, Grisham fled to the balcony like a startled fletchling. A cigarette and some fresh air would surely ease his mind, he decided.

-

A sea of obscured faces danced, drank, and chatted. Corbeau scanned the ballroom, mentally separating people he recognized from people he didn’t. He found himself frequenting the food and drink tables between refreshing chats with his known peers, refilling his fancy crystal wine glass and snagging dark chocolates. When a slow song finally started up, he dragged himself to the dance floor, sizing up the crowd as he walked. It was a golden opportunity to charm a few easily impressed rich people, and he happened to enjoy a dance or two himself. It always brought him back to simpler times. Times he’d found himself almost painfully nostalgic for lately.

Once the song had ended, he wasn’t any closer to a deal. Not yet defeated, he decided a smoke break was in order. Just to gather himself before stepping back into the carefully crafted façade. Besides, the heat from the bodies in the ballroom combined with the warmth of alcohol made running off to the balcony extra appealing.

Unfortunately for Corbeau, who just wanted a minute to himself, he wasn’t the only one with that idea.

The other person, mostly obscured in darkness, was taller than him, with shoulder length hair. The lit end of a cigarette created a faint glow on their lower jaw.

Corbeau stood on the opposite end of the balcony, as to not impede. Fishing his cigarette carton out of a pocket, he patted around, realizing he’d forgotten his lighter. Sighing, he turned to the other.

“Hey, you got a light?” He asked, turning to face them, “I seem to have forgotten my…” he trailed off, slowly recognizing the other person.

“Sure, just a…moment…” they froze, lighter clutched in hand, the voice finally registering.

The two made eye contact. Corbeau blinked. Then blinked again, as if his eyes had deceived him.

“Holy shit...” Corbeau managed. “Grish?”

“Corbeau…” there was no air of questioning in his voice, but something else entirely. Fear? Relief?

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked, huh?” Corbeau chuckled.

“Indeed. Nearly five years, if I’m not mistaken.”

Corbeau nodded. “Since his funeral, so that tracks.”

“Knowing what we know now, it feels odd to think about the funeral.”

“I guess in a way it still marked the death of the Lysandre we both knew,” he shrugged.

“I suppose you’re right,” Grisham nodded faintly, “still need a lighter?” He held up a lighter with a charizard patterned casing.

Classic Grisham, Corbeau thought, fighting a smile.

He held his cigarette forward, Grisham lit the lighter.

Beyond the warmth of the flame, Corbeau could feel the warmth of Grisham’s hand, hovering ever so slightly below his own. It reminded him of old days, of ditching Lysandre’s charity balls to smoke stolen cigarettes on fancy balconies, of sneaking kisses and holding each other, like love was enough to transcend their fates, to escape the inevitable.

As he took the first drag, Corbeau let himself think such a thought that, just maybe, this time it could be enough.

So many things he wanted to say caught in his throat with the smoke—he’d missed him so much, and the streaks of white in his hair were enchanting, and he couldn’t believe they’d avoided seeing each other for so long that he didn’t know about them, and he was completely overwhelmed, and—

“Would you dance with me?”

Corbeau blurted it out. He all but forced himself not to cover his mouth afterwards, taking another puff of his cigarette instead.

“I’d…quite like that,” Grisham smiled, taking a drag of his own.

“It’s a deal then, next slow song.”

Flicking ashes over the balcony railing, Grisham laughed, a light noise. “You’ve always been excellent at making deals.”

Corbeau chuckled back, feeling a squeezing in his chest. Just, utterly, burningly enamoured by everything about him. The way the last lights of the evening and the glow of his cigarette made him look like a delicate, moody painting. The way the soft laughter he’d always had was somehow still present despite everything. The way his auburn eyes were still as captivating as ever.

Suddenly this whole event was worth his time. He’d been given a second chance.

He could only hope they wouldn’t lose each other again.

They’d talked past their cigarettes, waiting for the starting chords of a slow song to draw them back inside.

“Don’t you worry about your reputation? Dancing with me in front of everyone?” Grisham asked, eyeing the doors to the balcony, “I know it’s a masquerade but it’s not exactly…anonymous.”

Corbeau actually laughed at that, before coughing and straightening up.

“Grish, I run a glorified crime syndicate, what reputation?”

“I mean yeah, but there are a lot of people who still feel really strongly about Team Flare. For good reason, I won’t deny that, but it can cause… problems.”

“Have people been bothering you?” Corbeau’s face darkened.

“Not as much lately,” Grisham hesitated.

“Your truck has a camera, right?”

“It’s fine, really, it’s not that often anymore.”

He shook his head. “It’s gonna be damn near never if I have anything to say about it. I’ll keep someone on lookout near the trucks. You deserve to feel safe at work.”

“Griselle is pretty good at getting rid of them,” he chuckled, a sigh at the end.

“She shouldn’t have to be, it’s not fair. Neither of you ever even had a choice. I’ll make sure it stops.”

Grisham met his eyes, grateful. “I’ve really missed you.”

Corbeau opened his mouth to respond, but, at the same time, the gentle opening chords of a slow song cut through the heavy air.

“Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” He held a hand out.

“Lead the way,” Grisham smiled, taking the hand. Taking the leap.

—

It was as though he was living in a memory, back in the arms of the one he’d taught to dance. For years he’d longed for this moment, so to have it, to be so close again that he could smell the intoxicating mix of tobacco and some fancy cologne, it almost felt like he was dreaming.

Corbeau lead him fluidly and in time with the music, so different from the scruffy kid with two left feet he once was.

When it came time that people switched partners, neither of them even considered it. Instead, Corbeau spun Grisham, then pulled him close again.

“You taught me well,” he spoke, just low enough for the two of them to hear.

“I must have,” Grisham mused, “I think people might be disappointed that they don’t get a chance to switch in.”

“Fuck ‘em. I’ve waited so long to do this again. It was never the same dancing with anyone else.”

“I’m sure they’ll get over it, then,” he chuckled, letting himself fully relax into the familiar movements.

He wondered if Griselle could see them, wondered what she’d think. Her and Corbeau had always butted heads a bit, but she still let Grisham tell her all about him back then. ‘You sure know how to pick em,’ was said frequently those days. She’d dealt with the years in between, watching him swallow down the silent longing whenever they’d walk by the Rust Syndicate building, or catch the familiar logo on a grunts blazer getting coffee at their truck.

That logo now glistened in the light in front of him, pinned to the lapel of Corbeau’s suit, and this time it didn’t make him ache.

Corbeau hoped the shaking of his hands wasn’t obvious, holding onto him again after all this time made his body twitch with nerves. He took a deep breath, then truly took in the view; Grisham looked an absolute vision tonight in his red suit vest. The white shirt underneath’s collar was adorned with a beaded necklace rather than a tie, and the black slacks he chose accentuated his waist in a way that momentarily drew Corbeau’s mind to some less appropriate places.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by the song they’d been dancing to coming to an end, last notes hanging in the air. Still, he held onto Grisham, in the shape of the last steps of the dance.

Grisham smiled, shy, making no moves to pull away. “I was hoping it wouldn’t end.”

Corbeau shrugged. “It doesn’t have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our dance, who said it has to end?” He emphasized his point by twirling Grisham again. “The music doesn’t have to agree.”

“You have always been a rule breaker,” Grisham teased, chuckling as he was pulled back into a dancing rhythm.

“Some rules are meant to be broken,” Corbeau smirked, “I’ve missed breaking them with you.”

[godserene]

Do you think Grisham ever doodles little hearts with his and Corbeau's initials in them like a lovestruck schoolgirl

HE SHOULD

He’s a professional yearner he needs to have it on the corner of far too many pages of his recipe notebook and of the little notebook that Griselle writes down orders in, to her great annoyance.

He would also draw so many little hearts on Corbeau’s cup when he comes around to the cafe, alongside little encouraging messages and occasional poetry. Corbeau is secretly gathering all of them in a little scrapbook, which makes his life very difficult whenever Grisham writes all around the cup. No one specific part of it for Corbeau to cut and place in his scrapbook, he needs to jigsaw puzzle it to make everything fit.

[isuggestkillingyourself]

[tactfulsaboteur]

[psybomb]

Every time I see that last pic, I have to note that the funniest line is the one immediately after the highlight

[nartothelar]

commission for @ask-philippe: young trans philippe coming out to young corbeau

[hylianane]

functionally suicidal character saying “I would die for you” to their significant other and its like. I get the sentiment, honey, but if a hot dog vendor told me he’d sell hot dogs for me, I wouldn’t feel very moved now would I

[maseratus]

Now a functionally suicidal character saying “I will live for you”. Now that’s a dynamic I can sink my teeth into.

[mousidy]

now how about a functionally suicidal character saying "I will sell hot dogs for you"

[mousidy]

[bisthefairy]

Hotdog vender lays down their life to protect their suicidal partner, who then takes over the hotdog stand to carry on their memory...

[scribeherself]

I love saying “no worries” instead of “it’s okay,” like do not spend a single millisecond of your finite mortal existence letting anxiety over this situation consume you. I have already erased the incident from the timeline. It is gone. You are safe now.

[kittiescatlover]

Idea of kitties so mazing

[kittiescatlover]

Youre Little Friend With The Ears

[scribeherself]

people will say “they’re only friends” and then show me two people who would crawl through broken glass to hear the other laugh once. two people who have memorized each other’s coffee orders, fears, childhood stories, and emergency contacts. two people who would haunt each other’s houses as ghosts. be serious.

[scribeherself]

Just an FYI—the original intention of this post was to challenge the way people say only friends, as though friendship is somehow lesser than other forms of love. As if being deeply known, cherished, and chosen by another person could ever be a small thing. Normalize profound platonic love. Some of the most fulfilling, transformative, and enduring relationships we will ever have are friendships. 🫶🏼

[d3athwish]

me, mentally flipping through the various daydream universes i’ve crafted up like records in a crate: hmm, which fantasy shall i indulge in tonight?