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notmyneighbor · 1 month

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Special Delivery - Doppelganger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count - 3.3k

Rating - Explicit

CW - masturbation, oral sex

Also available on AO3

You’re being followed.

You’re out later than you’d intended, but there had been a lot of requests that day. Word was spreading. You were getting quite the reputation among the doppelgängers.

Imagine, a human who was betraying her own kind, making forged documents to help the invaders into DDD restricted areas.

You don’t even feel guilty about it, either, because what has any human ever done for you? You’ve been on your own since as far back as you can remember, dealt a bad hand early in life. This scheme you’ve concocted pays well. Better than any of the other less savory things you’ve had to do to supplement your income, and it came with an added bonus: you knew how to write in the alien’s language as well, the symbols you inscribe on the frame of your apartment door and workspaces guaranteeing you’ll be exempt from harm.

Maybe you could’ve done something with your artistic and linguist skills if you’d had the opportunity, but alas, this was your lot in life. Making the best of a less than ideal situation.

You deviate your course a few times, just to make certain you’re still being pursued. Yes, he’s still trailing you. You’re certain it’s male but you’re not pausing long enough to discern more than that. Well, fuck.

You take another detour. Perhaps not the best decision in hindsight. You’re further away from home now. You don’t recognize the street you’re on. There’s a delivery truck parked on the side of the road. Dairy. Should you try to hide inside? The door was open. Where was the driver? You consider your options. No one would admit you into their house at this hour, and why should they, when you’ve been selling out all your neighbors? The truck, then. Your stalker’s footsteps still sounded a fair distance away. It was your only chance at this point. Maybe you could find something to mark the symbols. If there was still time.

The step to enter the truck is high. You have to ungraciously hoist yourself inside, clinging desperately to the sides to balance your weight. Made it. Your nose wrinkles. There’s a faintly sour smell. Spoiled products. The keys are in the ignition. A feeling of foreboding washes over you. The street lamp nearby barely illuminates the interior of the vehicle. You’re afraid to go into the back. You can’t see anything you can use to write the protection phrase. Your breath saws in and out. Too loud. You’re making too much noise.

A foot on the steel step makes you whirl around. It’s your pursuer. Dressed as a milkman, but you know instantly it’s not. Replicant. Deceiver. The clone of whatever human he’s copying. He’d chosen a handsome one, though you doubt it had anything to do with appearances, more a matter of convenience. Broad shouldered. Narrow waisted. He lifts himself into the truck with practiced ease. You’re so fucked.

Dark eyes and hair. Pale skin. He blocks the light from outside as he crowds you further inside. Well, you couldn’t say you’d had a good run, but you’d done your best. You close your eyes. You don’t want to see the teeth emerge before he devours you.

“What are you doing in here?”

Your eyes fly open again. He hasn’t advanced any further. He wanted to talk? Play with his food before he ate it? Maybe he wasn’t hungry. Mabe you could talk your way out of this.

“I…I got lost on the way home.”

“You’re lying.” No malice behind those words, just an observation.

“I heard you following me. I know what you are,” you admit, then instantly regret it. Stupid girl.

“I know who you are, too. You’re the one who makes the ID’s and entry requests.”

“Business hours are Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm.” Were you seriously being flippant with a doppelgänger? You give a little chuckle to show you’re joking around, but the noise sounds more like a dying hyena, slightly panicked and hysterical.

“Those hours don’t work for me.”

“Oh.” So he was a prospective customer then? “Cash up front, half in advance, the rest on delivery. Currently working this week behind the abandoned grocery store off of Burke Street. I have to rotate the site to, you know…”

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds. “For the inconvenience of the hour and short notice.”

You lick your lips at the prospect of making additional funds. What would be fair to charge? “You need it right now? What’s the hurry?”

“Are you able to do it or not?” This now laced with irritation. His patience and good graces were wearing thin already. Best not to ire him further. You’re lucky to still be alive.

“Yeah, I can do it.”

“I’ll drive us there, then.”

“Where am I supposed to sit?” You glance around the front of the cabin. There’s only one seat for the driver.

You see his shoulders raise and lower in a shrug before he sits behind the wheel. You suppose your only choice is to sit on the floor.

“Your truck reeks,” you say, that sour smell assaulting your nostrils again as you lower yourself down.

The engine rumbles to life. “Deliveries didn’t get made today.”

“Did you…” You’re wondering what happened to the original, human operator of the vehicle. Had he suffered some grim fate? Were his remains sitting in the doppelgänger’s gut, being digested at this very moment? You shudder at the unpleasant thought.

He glances down at you. “No. I simply duplicated his form and stole the truck. You humans leave your body substances everywhere,” he says, lifting the cap off his head and tossing it onto the dashboard. “This one perspired all over that.”

That was all it took for a doppel to replicate a human. Just a little bit of something from the original. Sweat. Blood. Mucus. Probably other, even more unsavory substances, too.

It’s uncomfortable on the floor. The truck’s suspension jostles you roughly. Luckily you don’t have far to go. The driver eases behind the abandoned brick building, shutting off the headlamps. There are no functioning street lights in this part of town. You’re shrouded in darkness.

The doppel stands and you struggle to your feet, reluctantly accepting the hand he offers you to assist you to your feet. You’ve never touched one of the invaders directly before. It feels normal. Just like a human. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You’ve been working out of the manager’s office in the rear of the store. You’ve got an actual set of keys, pilfered once you’d broken into the building. Another of your talents, that. Breaking and entering. An additional skill this unfair life has made you adept at.

You’re not used to being here so late. It’s amazing no one’s realized the building is still on the electrical grid. You’re grateful for the mistake, switching on the light in the back hallway after feeling blindly for the switch. The doppel is just behind you. You unlock the office door and hit another light switch, sighing in relief. That was better. Familiar territory. No longer in darkness.

But there’s an anxious invader at your back, and that knowledge is less than comforting. You sit down in the office chair behind the steel desk and he settles into the hardbacked one across from you.

“So, um…about the fee.”

Without a word the alien digs into his pants pocket, extracting several bills from a wallet and sliding them over to you. “Will that be sufficient?”

You’re trying to keep a straight face. Where did he get this much money? “Yes, that’s fine. Do you…do you have a home address for the individual?”

Delving back into the wallet, he now produces a car registration. Francis Mosses. You recognize the area he resides in. A better part of town than the one you’re living in, but maybe someday you could change that.

Although, you’re about to make that area a lot less safe, you think, pulling the necessary tools out of the large bottom desk drawer, including a DDD logo stamp. That had been the hardest item to acquire. The rest were fairly routine.

“I need to take a picture. Do you just want to get that over with now?” He nods. “Can you stand in front of the door? It’s a good blank background.” Another nod as you stand. He closes the office door and positions himself, waiting for you to snap the Polaroid. Damn, he really is attractive. Exactly your type. You don’t even mind the little bend at the bridge of his nose or the shadows under his eyes. You take several pictures, one for the ID card and one for the entry request, with some extras just for…well, maybe just to have options if the others didn’t turn out well.

You’re not used to being watched while you work.

You typically have the doppels come back to pick the forgeries up later. These dark eyes watch your every movement like a hawk, from the way you print onto the request form to the drag of the scalpel blade around two of the photographs(they had all come out fine), carefully affixing them to both documents. You roll the stamp in the black ink pad and press it gently but firmly into each corner, waving a hand over the fresh ink to help it dry.

“You’re skilled at this,” he murmurs appreciatively, and your head lifts to meet his gaze. “I see why you come so highly recommended.”

“It’s not like there’s any competition,” you say, feeling a flush creep into your cheeks over the praise.

“True. Not many humans would betray their own kind, would they?”

Your lips press into a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t need the reminder. Was he mocking you?

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Somewhat mollified, you glance down at your work. It still looked a little moist. You need it to be completely dry before you apply the lamination to seal it in permanently.

The copycat is still staring at you. You, not the documents you’re working on. You clear your throat. “I want to make sure they’ve dried properly.”

“Of course.”

“It’ll just be a few minutes.”

“I don’t mind the wait.”

You lean back and the swivel chair creaks. Your shoulders are aching. You’d made a lot of forgeries today. Too much time spent hunched over the desk. Your eyes are a little sore, too, dry and burning. You needed a bath and maybe a snack and bed. Forget dinner. That sounded too complicated at this hour.

“You’re tired,” he observes.

“It’s been a long day.”

“I am inconveniencing you greatly, aren’t I?”

He doesn’t sound remorseful, exactly. You don’t know what he sounds like. It’s too difficult to process. You’re exhausted, that post adrenaline rush from earlier really depleting the last stores of energy. You don’t even think you’d protest if he decided to turn on you right now, taking the goods and making a meal out of you before he ran. The symbols are more of a professional courtesy than anything. It’s not like it actually prevented the doppels from physically being able to attack.

The legs of the chair he’s seated in drag across the dirty linoleum flooring, making a loud scraping sound. You watch warily as he comes around the desk, easing past a filing cabinet to reach your side.

“We haven’t really negotiated the full price yet, have we?”

Oh. Was that what was happening? He was going to stiff you. Suddenly that advance amount no longer seemed so generous. That was to be your total payment. Honestly, you should have been more demanding.

“I have more money,” he says, immediately canceling out your previous assumption, “but I don’t think that’s what you need most right now.”

“You’re right. I should be at home in the bathtub. Or better yet bed,” you add.

His hand reaches for the edge of the chair, turning you fully to face him. The abrupt movement catches you by surprise.

“Maybe what you really need is some good old fashioned milk.” His hand closes over your wrist, dragging your hand towards what you’ve somehow missed previously. He’s hard. Like full on, bulging, fit to burst out of his trousers. You should be terrified. You are scared, kind of. But turned on. Stupidly aroused because you haven’t had anyone give you this kind of attention in who knows how long. Sex had just kind of fallen by the wayside for you. There was so much else that needed to be accounted for.

You watch the hand pulling the leather strap of the imposter milkman’s belt in wonder, as if you can’t quite reconcile it’s your own doing this. Its partner joining, thumbing the button of the fly through the slot and parting the metal teeth below into a wicked grin. You shove the waistband of his briefs down and his cock springs free, flushed and thick and oozing precum. You stare at that clear bead of fluid as if hypnotized. Your mouth waters. You want it. You want to suck this creature dry.

Your tongue swipes over the crown of his erection and the doppel hums in pleasure. “Good girl,” he says encouragingly, and the praise sends heat right between your legs, your pussy tingling in response. You’re no longer thinking about your unfinished work on the desk beside you, about how dangerous it is to be alone with a doppelgänger in an abandoned building at night. You’re instead wondering how much of that dark pink length you’re going to be able to voluntarily sample before your gag reflex interrupts and he’s forced to fuck into your throat manually. Your sex throbs again. Time to stop wondering and find out.

Your lips close over the head and begin sliding over the shaft. Clean musk. A better flavor than perhaps you’d anticipated. You take a few experimental bobs, testing. He’s stretching you already. Your lips. The fat head bumping your cheeks, your soft palate. His fingers are in your hair, combing through the tresses with a strange kind of tenderness.

“So good. You’re so talented…”

You whimper a little, trying to reach more of him. There it is. That natural barrier of your body’s resistance. You struggle against it until you’re forced to withdraw, coughing and gasping, leaving a trail of thick saliva behind. You give yourself a brief respite, stroking the slick fluids over his prick. It makes a lewd squelching sound every time you massage the shaft. You can feel your arousal leaking between your legs, saturating your panties. You reach under your skirt, no longer caring about how depraved you appear. It’s a relief when your fingers make contact with your clit, dragging that wetness around the nub in frantic circles.

“That’s a good girl. Touch that pussy. It feels good, doesn’t it? So good…”

Your mouth engulfs his cock again. You roll your lips inward and massage the length in short bursts. Now relaxing and planting soft, passionate kisses on the tip. You spit on it and slurp up the liquid noisily. You like the sounds the doppel is making. You’ve never liked the men who were quiet, reserved. This invader isn’t holding back. He moans and groans and hisses. His teeth catch his bottom lip. His head tips back when the ecstasy of the blow job gets to be a bit overwhelming. And you love every minute of it. You savor every sound and gesture as you perform the obscene act while masturbating, grinding your swollen bundle of nerve endings against your pubic bone.

“You’re hungry, honey, aren’t you? Starving. I’ve got what you need, darling.” The nails of the hand you have curled around his hip dig into the cotton and polyester blended fabric of his uniform pants as you push yourself even further down his length, this time bruising your throat. You ignore the discomfort, grateful when the hand in your hair finally tightens and you feel him begin to fuck your mouth, battering the rear of that moist cavern over and over. “You want a drink, baby? You ready for it?”

You hum in agreement and he eases up, withdrawing until just the head of that thick phallus sits on the tip of your tongue. You’re panting, moaning, frantic for his release perhaps even more than your own.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” A couple of swipes along the shaft and that brief pumping is enough to send him over the edge, thick pulses of cum now spraying the inside of your mouth, pooling on the wedge of muscle his dick rests against. There’s a lot. An absurd amount. You can feel it leaking from the corners of your mouth. Bitter, but not the worst you’ve tasted. Sheer coincidence your body decides to shatter the instant you swallow that load, forcing that creamy baby batter down your gullet while your pussy spasms against your relentless finger.

“There you go, baby. Good girl.”

The milkman’s doppel bends to kiss you, surprising you with the gesture, now of all times, licking your face clean before thrusting his tongue between your lips and you crash right into another orgasm, moaning and twitching while the imposter fucks your mouth with his tongue.

Truly wrung out now, you collapse against the back of the chair, your chest heaving. The doppelgänger refastens his pants, but not before you notice it looks like he could go another round soon, and oh, doesn’t that make your cunt throb again in spite of being so recently satisfied, twice no less.

It takes great effort to smooth your skirt and your mussed hair back into some semblance of order, returning your attention to the documents that are certainly ready by now, the ink well set. The doppelgänger doesn’t return to his seat, instead remaining beside you, watching as the final protective layer is applied.

“There you go. Finished.” You glance up to see the doppel’s gaze fixed on you again, the money forgotten in his hand.

“Maybe…maybe we could work out a deal for the remainder of the payment.”

Your heart speeds up a little. “I’m listening.”

“Maybe I could make special deliveries. To your residence. For as long as it takes to cancel the debt.”

You hum, pretending to consider the offer even though you already know what your answer will be. “What happens after that?”

“We can renegotiate the terms when the time comes.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting as in you want to think it over, or…interesting as in you definitely want more?” He bends to kiss you again. Gentler this time, but no less appealing.

“The latter.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He sets the cash on the desk. “Consider that a tip then, for a job well done.”

You’re not going to argue with that. You hurriedly put everything away and lock the office again, soon finding yourself back outside next to the truck.

“Are you walking home, or do you want a ride?”

You weigh the discomfort of being on the floor in the smelly vehicle against walking home alone at an even riskier hour, where an encounter with another doppel would most assuredly not go as pleasantly.

“I’ll take the ride. But you need to clean the truck out.”

“I’ll do it in the morning.”

“The real milkman must have caught hell losing all these orders and the company car,” you murmur as you return to your former position inside the vehicle.

“Not my problem.”

“Every man for himself, right?” You can hardly condemn the attitude, given your current career choice.

“Exactly.” A flash of teeth in the darkness. He steals another kiss before starting the engine, bending low to capture your lips.

You’re delivered safely to your apartment building minutes later, personally escorted by the cloned milkman.

“I’ll bring you your next delivery tomorrow night, hmm?”

“Okay.” He’s standing so close. It takes just the slightest lean for him to kiss you again.

“Unless, of course, you wanted another advance…”

You shove the door you’ve already unlocked open, inviting the doppelgänger inside.

#francis mosses x you #francis mosses x reader #milkman x you #milkman x reader #francis mosses smut #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #the milkman #that’s not my neighbor #doppel francis #tnmn francis mosses #tnmn smut #tnmn fanfic #divider @cafekitsune

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bloodywankers · 2 months

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Trigger Warning! Implied Non-con! Forced Relationship! Yandere Husband!

Unedited | 1.26k Words

Andre was always rational, never unnecessarily cruel or emotional. That was the worst part about him, he was cold, left you feeling touch starved and alone even in his embrace. He was strict, he wouldn’t tolerate deviation from his routine or attempts to ruin the perfect image he had built for you but he wasn’t cruel. At the end of the day it felt like you only had yourself to blame for your misfortune. He wouldn’t criticise you for no reason but that meant that the instances where he did, he was probably right. He wouldn’t scream or yell but in turn left you feeling like a disobedient child.

His affection left much to be desired but you blame yourself for it rather than him, because Andre was perfect. He always remembered anniversaries and birthdays, never letting you want for anything but you had always felt so alone. There was an emptiness that he couldn’t fill no matter what he did because Andre was an actor.

Nothing about Andre was genuine because a character with no flaws is no character at all. He seemed above your childish tantrums and far too sophisticated to enjoy simpler things, lived in a world that was perfectly tailor made for him. But you weren’t Andre, you weren’t logical, or perfect, your acting was subpar at best and you didn’t fit into his world. You were emotional and living in his cold world devoid of any warmth was not something you could tolerate so despite every well planned argument he placed in front of you, you stood your ground.

“I want a divorce.” You tried your best to keep a firm tone, you were sure he would take advantage of any hesitation that you showed.

“Darling, as I’ve said already, I—.” He spoke softly, as always, interrupting you with his finely built arguments, ones that you were sure would work in any other situation. Arguments that you could reason with if you had not been as fed up as you were, filled with unadulterated hatred for the man you were supposed to love. This time you were set on getting what you wanted, you were sick of feeling like this.

“I don’t care for whatever bullshit reason you have this time, I feel miserable every day I spend with you!” You probably could have gone through with this in a more elegant manner but you were at your limit. Andre had always been rational but you couldn’t understand him this time. You were sure he wouldn’t have trouble remarrying someone better, it’s not like you lived in the Middle Ages where divorce meant your life was over. It probably wouldn’t affect his image much. So why was he so hell-bent on keeping you stuck in a relationship where both of you would be miserable?

You expected another well balanced counter argument, maybe a comment about how foul your behaviour was, how unbecoming it was. But instead he stood there, a look you had never seen before and a scowl that seemed so out of place compared to his usual poker face. You instinctively sunk into yourself, trying to avoid what you thought was his attempt at reaching for you, what for you? You didn’t want to find out. But instead he walked past you, stormed out despite still maintaining his obnoxiously elegant posture.

You thought it would blow over, that he would come back and pretend nothing happened, he didn’t seem like the type to acknowledge such arguments. But he didn’t return at his usual time, and instead you found all the exits to your house locked and your set of keys missing.

When your husband did return, he didn’t go to your shared bedroom as usual, instead went straight for his office, you just barely caught him. Slamming the door to his study shut before you said anything else.

“What the hell is your problem?! Where are my keys?! If you’re going to act like this at least let me leave!”

”You will do no such thing.” That’s it. No reason, no explanation as to why he decided on this, just a singular order. You had started to back up, this was unlike Andre. The atmosphere in the room had changed.

“And why is that? Who do you think you are to decide for me?!”

Andre himself didn’t understand. The logical thing, the right thing to do would be to let you go quietly, to not put up a fuss and part ways. He didn’t have any love in him when he chose you as his marriage partner (before you had ever officially met him), you were just the right choice, at the right place, at the right time and with the right background. It wasn’t him who was drawn to you out of all other potential candidates, you were just the best choice. He has a good memory, that’s why he remembered your birthday, and your wedding anniversary. It would look bad if he didn’t buy you the best present money could buy.

Sharing a bed was necessary for any married couple, not because he searched for your warmth, desperately clinging to it every night, whether intentionally or not.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge, brows furrowed as he came to the realisation. Love? He had come to love you? Has he always felt this way? For someone who boasted a memory as excellent as his, he couldn’t remember when it started. But there was no denying what this was, it was love, an obsessive love that ate at his insides every moment he kept trying to contain it.

If he told you that, you would understand, wouldn’t you? You’d forgive his past sorry attempts at being a good husband and give him a chance to prove himself, wouldn’t you? After all, you’ve always been understanding, despite your recent outbursts, you would try to understand him.

“Darling, let’s try to calm down.” That’s not what he wanted to say, he wanted to say he loved you, to scream it until his voice gave out but it wouldn’t come out, this in turn only irked you more. You looked ready to leave, too annoyed to even continue talking to him. He couldn’t have that, he’d beg if you wanted so please don’t leave.

Well, if he couldn’t tell you, he’d show you. After all, actions speak louder than words. So he grabbed your wrist before you could drift further from him and dragged you to your shared bedroom, ignoring all cries and protests from you. He made sure to lock the door behind him, you looked like you were ready to bolt out the door the moment he let go of you.

“You-! What are you doing, unlock the door now!” However, your protests seem to fall on deaf ears once more.

“You asked why I wouldn’t let you go? I’ll show you why.”

Andre had never been unreasonable or cruel but that night you realised he was as flawed as anyone else, as dirty as any other and as cruel as he could want to be. You realise how much you miss his distant and unfamiliar self, before you got to know him in so many different ways.

How unfamiliar he looked to you as he kissed you in places he didn’t dare to touch before, as his smile resembled that of a madman and his eyes reflected pure euphoria.

Your husband had always been unreasonable and cruel, you just never knew.

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biioshocker · 1 year

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Why Spider-People Suffer

Subtitled: How “Othering” Miguel Killed Hundreds of Cops

I loved seeing Miguel getting othered by his fellow spider-people so casually during this movie, both intentionally and unintentionally, and I believe it’s the reason he convinced everyone their loved ones had to die.

“Othering” Moments in the Movie

I’ve only seen the movie twice so I may have missed something more subtle, but here are the moments I remember where the main cast othered Miguel:

Gwen (unknowingly) making a joke (from Miguel’s perspective, re: “You’re not funny!”) of the fact Miguel doesn’t have a spider sense by letting him get decked by the Vulture.

Peter B. Parker commenting, “You’re not funny, spider-men are funny.”

Miles blatantly in fear of Miguel, on the tram shouting, possibly half-joking, “You have claws? Dude, are you sure you’re a spider-man?”

These seem like inconsequential, even humorous, moments but I believe they’re a lot more meaningful to Miguel than he lets on. It’s not that these moments are massively consequential in and of themselves, but more so that they are part of a persistent, consistent assault on Miguel's Spider-Man Authenticity™ that began with his very…

Origin.

In the comics, and what it appears to be in the movie, Miguel isn’t a “natural” spider-man. Not in the ‘bit and changed’ sense. There actually wasn’t even a spider surrogate for the virus in Miguel’s origin story. Instead, in Miguel’s universe the lab he worked in was attempting to directly recreate their original, dead-slash-vanished Spider-Man by splicing actual spider DNA with human DNA. This immediately deviates from the “typical” spider-person origin story as, usually, tests were being done on spiders and the subsequent escape, bite, and transformation that followed was a complete accident. The only actual accident within Miguel’s origin story was that it was Miguel at all, every other aspect was more or less exactly what the institute Miguel worked for was actually trying to accomplish.

A pretty notable difference between the comics and the movie is the introduction of Miguel’s injections. From what I know of the comics, Miguel doesn’t need to ‘re-up’ his spider-human powers, but we see in the movie that this Miguel needs some kind of supplement. Whether it be to replenish his abilities or to keep his delicate spider-human balance stable, we don’t know yet, but what we do know is that no other spider-person does this and it seems like a private, shameful ritual. A subtle nod to this theory, in my opinion, is Miguel’s “I’m different than them” line taking place at, or almost at, the exact moment he injects.

So, his origin is “wrong,” his creation was a “mistake,” in some manner he has to supplement is spider abilities, and believe it or not those aren’t even the most obvious discrepancies he has from other spider-people. Actually, some of his most noticeable differences lie with his…

Powers.

Compounding that “otherness” Miguel already feels within spider society, he doesn’t have “typical” spider-person powers, notably lacking a spider sense. This is because he wasn’t made the same way other spider-people were. As a literal spider-human hybrid, Miguel derives his powers — talons, paralysis, fangs, light sensitive eyes turned red by super sight — from just some normal, non-radioactive version of whatever spider breed was used in the splicing experiments. The lab didn’t actually know what gave the original Spider-Man his distinct powers, and so what Miguel ends up with is a lot more off-putting than other spider-people.

Humans, and even other spider-people (re: Gwen feeling she needs to reassure Miles he doesn’t need to “be afraid”) are frightened, or at the very least are put-off, by Miguel. I believe this can be attributed at least somewhat (if not entirely) to his powers. Yes, he doesn’t have a very approachable demeanor, but I would hazard that that wall he puts up is in response to the reactions he gets to his powers (ex: “I’m a good guy!” “You don’t look like a good guy!”). They aren’t the pretty, petite, charming powers that other spider-people have. They’re very gritty and raw, and they’re lifted directly from a species of bug that people are notoriously afraid of. And while it’s true that the other spider-people also have behaviors that associate them with the creepy crawler as well, those spider-people have a way to combat their negative character associations that Miguel doesn’t. They’re funny.

Humor is an under-appreciated, though well-established, part of a typical spider-person. The movie even goes so far as to call spider-person humor a “crutch,” but it's more than just making light of dark situations. Humor is how other spider-people connect with their community. This is why despite a persistent hate campaign from the Daily Bugle and calls of vigilantism from local police organizations, spider-people are almost always able to stay in the good graces of the communities they serve. Spider-people, through humor, are able to reassure, console, and win over the hearts of millions of New Yorkers.

So, it is especially obvious to other spider-people that Miguel is distinctly not funny. He is reminded both in comics and in the movie that he’s not approachable like a spider-man “should” be. Miguel doesn’t have humor to use as a “crutch” to offset his unsettling characteristics and because of that, he’s not well-liked by… really anyone.

These perceived shortcomings take a toll on Miguel, and are why he is so convinced of the importance of…

Canon.

Miguel views canon events as the holy grail of spider-person origins because he didn’t have one himself. I don’t think Miguel fully believes he is a true spider-man. Not only were his (atypical) powers acquired through a (botched) scientific experiment, and not only is everyone constantly reminding him that he’s not a “normal” spider-person, but Miguel’s universe already had its “canon” Spider-Man, and he died.

Or, at least he did in the 2099 comics. We can’t be certain about the movie-verse yet, but on the assumption it and the comics share a backstory, Miguel knows the full extent of his Spider-Man’s life. Beginning, middle, and end. That Spider-Man’s story is over and done within Miguel’s universe, which means that Miguel isn’t a “real” spider-man. He’s a knockoff. He was an accident, a fluke, a recreation.

With this in mind, I feel Miguel’s reasoning for dedicating himself to The Canon is two-fold:

Firstly, I think it stems from the idea that because his universe’s Spider-Man story is “complete” that is how the story must be told. There was a set beginning, middle, and end to the Spider-Man of his universe, and he’s easily able to reference it. There’s no guesswork around his Spider-Man’s story because it’s concluded. And to him, that finality is infallible, so he plays it out over and over and over in other spider-verses.

Secondly (most speculatively, but most importantly), but I don’t think Miguel has told anyone that he isn’t a bitten (or born) spider-person. In his introduction, we don’t get the usual “I’m the one and only Spider-Man” cinematic intro we had with the rest of the main cast (excluding Jess). He keeps his introduction short, sweet, and secretive. This leads me to believe he hasn’t told anyone of how he became his universe’s Spider-Man. He might think that if he did, the other spider-people would shun him. He might think they would hate him. He might think they would leave him.

A very, very prominent theme across many of the main cast’s stories is that they felt alone in the world until they found other spider-people, and I believe Miguel feels this isolation the strongest of all of them. He set up the Spider Headquarters in his own home universe. He recruited hundreds and hundreds of spider-people to join him and it looks like many of them live there for at least some period of time. I believe he’s so afraid of being left out of the social spider network that he has outright lied about his origin story, calling on the only Spider-Man story he knows the entirety of— his universe’s Peter Parker. Then, to cover his tracks he began collecting similarities across every spider-person’s reality, enshrining them in gold, and cementing them as The Canon.

And, unfortunately, what many spider-people have in common is…

Suffering.

Suffering isn’t unique to spider-people. Prematurely losing a loved one isn’t even unique to spider-people. Sadly, it’s not very uncommon at all, and those moments are often defining in people’s lives; they can be even more impactful than the joyful moments. I believe because of their efficacy, tragedies are something that Miguel could most easily use to connect with the spiderverse. Not because these tragedies were meant to happen, not because they’re a part of some greater, cosmic prophecy— but, sadly, because they’re so prevalent in every person’s life.

And most compelling of all, tragedy rarely ever has any reason behind it.

Miguel wasn’t able to find some incredible, world-defining Canon Event among the many hundreds of spider-people he met— he was simply able to find tragedy. The senseless, horrible, incomprehensible moment in every person’s life where they’ve lost someone they cared very deeply for, and no one could tell them why. There was no rhyme or reason to it, their loved one just simply ceased to exist— and what was so insulting about it was that the world didn’t end. The planet didn’t stop spinning, the sun rose the following day, and no closer came. Everyone else’s story just continued to be writ, and that was just as painful because it left them alone with their grief in a moment where they felt helpless, hopeless, and inadequate; in a moment that was impossible to reconcile because they wanted so badly, just like all of us, to understand why it had to happen. But there isn’t a why. The universe is random and underwhelming and every day a few unlucky people will draw a card that ends their game, completely by chance.

And then Miguel came along and he assigned the importance to that tragedy that the spiderverse, and all of us, felt like it deserved.

Miguel told them that their suffering wasn’t random. He told them it wasn’t just another case of wrong place, wrong time. He told them there was a purpose to their suffering. All the pain they endured, it had served to make them better, stronger, more resilient. Finally, there was a reason for it to have happened.

Miguel told them they weren’t alone. He reassured them that this horrible Thing that seemed to happen to all of them was cosmically indomitable, universally inevitable, and entirely inescapable— it was Canon. It was the price of power, it was the universe’s exchange. But now, in that tragedy, they would never be alone in their grief again, and that made all the difference.

When Miguel gave them a reason for their hurt, it became a rallying point among the spiderverse. Not only could they alleviate the guilt and the grief their loss has crippled them with, but they had something more tangible to blame it on— The Canon.

The Canon Miguel introduced to them didn’t have feelings, it didn’t feel anger or resentment or spite. It didn’t hurt them for no reason— it was simply the vehicle navigating them through to the landmarks of their lives. And there was comfort in believing that these tragedies were ordained by some unfathomable, all-knowing narrative. And so the spiderverse seemingly collectively decided it was easier to believe in the Canon than it was to believe in an unpredictable universe, until…

Miles.

Miguel sees his own perceived “flaws” in Miles.

Miles wasn’t supposed to become spider-man in his universe.

Miles has an atypical spider-man origin story.

Miles’ “canon” Spider-Man is dead.

For all intents and purposes, he and Miles are likely the most closely related spider-people to one another, but a key difference between them is Miles… doesn’t care. Sure, Miles is lonely in his own universe; and sure, Miles is overwhelmed by the expectations heaped onto him social and familial; and sure, Miles doesn’t even know he’s an accident. But he’s happy. He’s a happy kid and he was close friends with other spider-people who love and accept him, trained and mentored him. That’s not something Miguel had, and he resents of Miles for it.

We still don’t know for certain if there were other reasons Miguel chose to isolate Miles, but from what we can gather in Part One, it seems like Miguel only had the “original anomaly” excuse. Which he used to prevent Miles from interacting with other spider-people, and other spider-people with him. His reasoning doesn’t really add up though. In theory, the “damage” to the multiverse “caused” by Miles was concluded at the end of the first movie. Outside being an anomaly, Miles isn’t causing any harm to the multiverse by just existing in it (that we know of currently). So why restrict his access to other spider-people? It certainly wasn’t because Miles hasn’t experienced a crucial story beat (Dead Police Captain), because as we saw in the movie, Pav hadn’t experienced his either. Yet, Pav was allowed to join the spiderverse. From this perspective, there was no actual reason to exclude Miles from the spiderverse when he could have helped the cause.

Instead, for what appears to be no other reason than jealousy (or fear) that Miles was (and would be) so well liked by other spider-people, Miguel isolated him in his own universe for a year and four months, barring him from a society he had every right to join, and forbidding any other spider-person from even visiting Miles.

I think that’s what it comes down to with Miguel, really. Jealousy that Miles is an anomaly like himself, but unlike Miguel, people don’t question Miles’ Spider-Man Authenticity ™. They don’t make a joke of his shortcomings. They don’t “other” him. They like Miles. No one likes Miguel.

And on top of it all, probably the most infuriating (and frightening) part to Miguel is that Miles isn’t ashamed. He isn’t ashamed of being an accident; he isn’t pouring over his Spider-Man’s history trying to meet made-up expectations; he didn’t even parody the spider-people who were right in front of him when he was just coming into his own. Miles decided at 14 years old that he wasn’t, and couldn’t, be a Peter Parker copy. He accepted himself as his own, unique Spider-Man, and in breaking that mold and allowing himself to take a leap of faith, he became something incredible.

I think that scares Miguel, not only because his entire organization is founded in the belief that all spider-persons must experience specific events, and not because if Miles refuses to follow his story beats then the entire multiverse will unravel, but because if Miles is right and the multiverse can be as diverse and varied as it wants to be, then Miguel has hated himself for so long for no reason.

And I think that fear and jealousy and resentment all comes to head on…

The Tram.

Miguel’s meltdown during the tram scene felt like it came almost out of nowhere. The abuse he hurled at Miles just didn't correlate with what could reasonably be expected of an annoying chase around the city— and it was completely unnecessary. By the time it happened, Miguel had already subdued Miles. He was pinning him to the tram, he had already caught him. There was no reason to be so viscous at that point.

Except Miles had just moments ago done what everyone else had been doing to Miguel this whole time. Miles had “othered” him.

“You got claws? Dude, are you sure you’re a Spider-Man?”

The skepticism must have felt different coming from Miles, because Miles was supposed to be like Miguel. They were both mistakes, they were both the product of a dead Spider-Man, they were both supposed to be outcasts, but instead, here was Miles acting like all the others. Treating Miguel as different and lesser, and I think that was the final straw for Miguel.

I wouldn’t say Miguel had kept his cool up until that point, but he certainly hadn’t set out to hurt Miles— at least emotionally. In fact, he had previously just been trying to ease Miles into his Canon. Miguel had been trying to console him in the same way he had consoled hundreds of other spider-people before Miles.

But then Miles made a hurtful joke because spider-people make hurtful jokes (a theme, maybe, since hurtful jokes had been what provoked the Spot into a rampage, too: “I’ll become strong enough to be your nemesis. Then you’ll take me seriously.”) and Miguel, who already saw so much of his own story in Miles, was enraged by his audacity— dragging Miles down (to him, to his level), pushing his way into Miles’s personal space (look at me, hear me, respect me), and forcing him to listen to just how “other” he was too (we’re anomalies, carry the shame of it like I do).

There’s really no excuse for it. Miguel was clearly in the wrong. No one should be told they were a mistake, or that they’re the reason someone else died— and especially no one should be made to believe that the value of their life was less than another’s.

It’s horrible what Miguel said to Miles. I do believe Miguel was venting his own self-loathing, but he leveled his abuse squarely at Miles and now Miles is forced to struggle through the aftermath, and there’s no excuse for that.

Conclusion?

I don’t think Miguel is a villain, I think he’s just a damaged man. That doesn’t absolve him of the shitty things he’s done, especially to Miles, but I do think it helps to explain them somewhat. Ironically, as much as he feels ostracized from spider society, I think he’s just like every other spider-person. He’s looking for friendships and acceptance and his happy ending, and above all, he doesn’t want to be an outcast. Much of that feeling probably comes from his unwillingness to accept himself as he is and pave his own way as Spider-man.

I hope in the next movie Miguel begins to consider the similarities he has with other spider-people rather than focusing on the differences, because while the Canon may not be real (or maybe it is, guess we’ll see in Part Two), the connections he made with others through loss and grief were. He helped the entire spiderverse find comfort in one another and because of him, they aren’t alone anymore.

#atsv #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #atsv spoilers #miguel meta for the thirsty soul 😌#corrected this bc i said he didn’t make organic webs but i misremembered lol

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favvn · 3 months

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As always, this is probably the Spirk brainworms, but it's interesting to see the change in body language between Kirk and Spock in Amok Time. When Spock tells Kirk about the Pon Farr, not only is Spock nervously rubbing his hands together in the same way Kirk does when he's thinking, but he is moving around the room versus Kirk who stands mostly still. (My choice of clips aside, lol. Bear with me, I spent over an hour on the web weave post. I will be lazy about my gifmaking now).

Spock has come undone so badly that not only are his emotions breaking through, he can no longer physically remain still. Any stoicism and restraint is going out the window. Spock is as unsettled as a storm, and Kirk is the still, calm center of it. It feels like a reversal given how the two characters are set up to be opposites--Spock as calm/logical/Vulcan vs Kirk as impulsive/emotional/Human--but in reality it's more like Spock is off balance so Kirk's stability becomes even more highlighted in the contrast.

And Kirk, for once, moves his hands to his face and touches his mouth when he is lost in thought. It's an interesting acting choice to make when so much of this episode is centered around communication of need vs the shame of one's need/desire vs the use of secrecy and ritual to avoid confronting it all. To suddenly make the lips/mouth the object of worry, when one uses the mouth to communicate verbally or to kiss another.... It certainly brings attention to itself by deviating from Kirk's usual behavior and highlights Spock's nervous hands as a result.

#star trek tos #amok time #spock #jim kirk #spirk #i would've posted this last night but i decided i'd wait until i could make gifs #what's the point of a pocket computer if it won't play an .avi file in its native video app to enable a quick gif smh 😔#trek meta

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earthtooz · 11 months

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Just an idea that popped in my head (because i love you and your writing) but how do you think gojo would react when he's sitting on couch, waiting for reader to get ready so they can attend a party,and she emerges from their room,wearing the sexiest red dress and red lipstick?

Like,one min gojo is tapping on his phone,the next minute he's choking on air 😂

no mentions of reader's pronouns but reader wears a dress and makeup, suggestive, kinda deviated from what anon originally wanted, gojo is dumb and in love nevertheless.

“if you don’t kiss me this very second, i might die.”

“excuse me?”

“if you don’t kiss me this very second, i. might. die,” gojo parrots, putting more emphasis on his words, as his eyes burn blue flames of determination and unwavering grit.

a laugh slips past your lips, “you’re being silly, satoru,” is all you say before walking past him and towards the genkan where you put out the red heels you were planning on wearing tonight.

“but i’m being serious!” he whines, “you don’t want me to die now, do you?”

“what started this?” reaching down to put on your shoes, your boyfriend is beside you in an instant, holding out his hand for you to grab as if acting like a glorified stand. you take it easily, putting your weight onto him to balance.

“when you’re looking this irresistible i can’t help it, and it’s a red dress, what do you want from me?” the white-haired whistles before bending down to his knees when you’re back on two feet. his hands then reach for the straps of your shoes, wrapping them up for you. “is it so selfish of me to keep you all for myself?”

he kisses your calf when he’s done, standing back to his full height. “well, you are a selfish man, after all.”

“only when it comes to you,” gojo reaches for your hand to place on his cheek. his other hand tightens around your waist, gentle with his grip, but fully possessive. “you’re too gorgeous for my health, i’ll die of jealousy before lack of attention.”

you laugh, drunk on love and affection as gojo pouts at you. “oh satoru.”

“what?” exclaims the sorcerer. “you’re going to capture everyone’s hearts. i don’t like it when other men look at you.”

“is that my fault?”

“no, never your fault, baby. i’ll fight off anyone who looks too long.”

you smile at him, eyes crinkling. “what am i gonna do with you?”

“stay with me forever?”

“if you’re good enough, sure.”

“how about a kiss, then?”

pinching his cheeks, you take a step away from him, breaking the hazy, lovestruck daydream that gojo had entered. “not when i have this lipstick on.”

(he takes a second to admire your retreating figure, only looking away when you send him a pointed and unimpressed look, to his dismay.)

“why not?” his tone is one of utter distraught and like a magnet, the sorcerer finds himself drawn towards standing beside you again, hand snaking up to hold your hips as you check your appearance in the hallway mirror.

“it will leave a lipstick mark, duh.”

“maybe that’s what i want.”

“you’re awful.”

“just one kiss, please?”

“but it will ruin the makeup.”

“i’ll die otherwise, y/n, won’t you save me?”

you scoff. “fine. one kiss.”

the look of pure joy on gojo’s face could rival the brightness of the sun and you wonder how you could ever learn to resist this man’s charms. turning around in his grasp, you pull him in for a kiss that fills his lungs with absolute adoration, a warmth that threatens to melt him into a puddle at your feet.

his heart sinks when you pull away, and hits rock bottom with a ‘thud’ when you don’t return to him.

“hey! that was too short.”

“makeup, satoru,” you lecture pointedly. “we should probably leave now, don’t want to be too late-”

“-i think we just don’t go at all.”

“that would be impolite and rude, we can’t-”

“-we can,” he murmurs before sealing your lips with his, this time with a lot more passion and weight than you likes. however, not one part of you moves to push him away, giving in to his touch despite how you know you shouldn’t.

“satoru, you’re going to have lipstick marks all over you,” you reason against his lips.

instead, he kisses you harder. “just what i want.”

when his hand bunches up your red dress in his grasp, you know you’ve lost this fight, bending to gojo’s wishes under him.

you arrive looking prim and proper whilst your lover’s neck is littered with kiss marks.

#MEDIOCRE WRITING ONCE AGAIN FOR GOJO SATORU LMFAOOOOOOOOOO ROFL whatever #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo satoru x reader fluff #gojou satoru x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #earthtooz: JJK

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suguruslut · 6 months

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Still not over how well characterized and balanced every character is portrayed in the Teen Titans 2003 series: every single Titan can be funny, dejected, serious, determined, silly, angry, optimistic, vulnerable and tough without major inconsistencies in their overall portrayals.

Huge props to the writers of that show who knew exactly how to give each Titan a realistic range of emotions without deviating away from their basic personalities--it's an extremely difficult feat to accomplish, depicting characters through many different phases and arcs while keeping them consistent, and they did it flawlessly.

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ginnsbaker · 8 months

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In Silent Screams (2/3)

Several weeks into her affair with Vision, the voice inside Wanda's head urging her to end things diminishes to faint murmurs, eventually fading away entirely.

Chapter word count: 8k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision Warnings: Smut (F/M), Cheating, Angst, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dubious Consent, Toxic Relationships

Notes: M rating this time. It gets spicier because what's between them is just pure lust. There will be a full smut scene that is a bit triggering given the context of how it happens, why it happens. I will mark it in red so you can skip it. Again, you will probably hate Wanda here more than the previous part, be warned.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part II

Comfort starts to creep in, wrapping around Wanda like a cozy blanket.

Several weeks into her affair with Vision, the voice inside Wanda's head urging her to end things diminishes to faint murmurs, eventually fading away entirely. And as she allows herself to indulge in the newness of his body and all the ways he is different and not what she’s used to, it becomes even more pleasurable (and addicting) for her when they come together.

Wanda starts to think that maybe being with Vision like this doesn't take away from the love she has for you. It's almost as if she's compartmentalized herself—her relationship with you remains sacred, undisturbed by the dalliances that occupy her days. Vision has become a separate chapter, a deviation from the norm, but he's not taking the place of what she's built with you over time. Every night, regardless of how late it gets or how entangled she becomes in her meetings with Vision, she finds herself retracing her steps back to you. Her days begin with your face, and they end with your arms around her. There's a routine in that, a certainty she clings to.

Being with Vision helps her forget she's even in Westview. She's less haunted by the child she couldn't have with you, by the job she left behind for your sake. She dwells less on missing you, on feeling like she's become a secondary character in your life as you work tirelessly to provide for her. And isn't that what marriage truly is? More than the vows and the rings, it's about choosing the same person every day. It's about finding ways not to hold grudges, to keep the bond strong, to maintain a balance, right?

Her friendship with Vision, devoid of the usual societal filters, feels pure. They share, they debate, they laugh. But as the sun sets, Wanda always knows where she belongs.

To you.

“You’re kidding.”

Vision glances back at her over his shoulder, flashing a playful grin. They're in a park just outside of town, a result of those spontaneous drives they occasionally take. They've found a quiet corner, a place where they can be with each other, away from the rules of their complicated lives. Him being her student makes everything that much more delicate.

“Why would I joke about something like that?” he says, looking pleased with himself.

Wanda puts down the essay she’s reviewing and leans back on the picnic blanket, shielding her eyes from the sun. “You seriously want to buy art from the gallery?”

He shrugs, “I like what they showcase. Plus, I thought... well, it might be a good opportunity for you to earn a commission.”

It’s a weak argument and they both know it. She smirks, “Trying to impress someone?”

Vision pauses, taking a deep breath, serious as he says, “Maybe.”

Wanda sighs, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. “Vision, we need to be careful.”

“Careful? Wanda, we're miles away from Westview. I'd say we're being pretty meticulous about this.” He smirks, pointing to the tall trees that shield them from any possible onlookers. “With all these trees and not a bird in sight, we could even fuck right here in the open if we wanted to.”

Wanda fixes him with a sharp gaze, one that immediately conveys her disapproval. Immediately, the smirk fades from his lips, replaced by a realization that he might have gone too far with his teasing. He reads the message in her eyes loud and clear. Not only is his suggestion off the table, but he also senses that he may have jeopardized his luck in the coming days.

“I… I’m sorry,” he murmurs, going back to his sketchpad. They don’t speak to each other for a while. Wanda is deeply engrossed in the essays she has to review, already behind the deadline she set for herself, while Vision gives her space to cool down from his mistake. Their arguments are always brief but intense, and lately, they haven't been leading to sex as often as Vision would prefer.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Vision starts, “How is it, being with Y/N? Being married, I mean.”

Wanda stiffens at the mention of your name. She's never discussed you with Vision, and a surge of panic begins to rise within her. She hides her reaction by neatly rearranging the papers alphabetically in front of her.

“I told you she’s off limits,” she answers a moment later.

Vision feigns surprise, tilting his head slightly. “Ah, my apologies. I meant no disrespect,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.

Wanda purses her lips, her posture tensing further. “Just... let's not go there.”

Vision nods, though he can't help but steal a quick glance at the wedding ring on her finger. It taunts him everytime he sees it, reminding him of the life she shares with someone else—a life he often finds himself yearning to be a part of. He's been daydreaming about a different reality, where Wanda is by his side not on borrowed time, where he is the one she turns to at the end of a long day.

He's persuaded her to share her thoughts with him, to spread her legs for him; how much more challenging could it be to win her heart next? He'll take it one day at a time if he has to. Patience is something he doesn't mind exercising.

Cleverly masking his intentions behind a facade of casual curiosity, Vision continues, “Hypothetically speaking, if you were to give insights on marriage, just in general...What are your thoughts?” He leans back, making the conversation seem casual, though every word is carefully calculated.

She glances at him, slightly suspicious but not fully alarmed. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Oh, you know," Vision waves his hand dismissively. “It's just something that's been on my mind lately. As a concept, I mean.”

Wanda narrows her eyes slightly, studying him. She knows Vision well enough to understand that behind his seemingly innocent inquiries, there's often an ulterior motive. But she also knows that he's persistent, and sometimes, the best way to deal with him is to play along, to a point.

“It’s…” Wanda finds herself grappling for an answer. She hadn’t expected that the answer would be much more complex now given recent events. She used to look at it in an idealized way, where marriage is what happens at the end of an epic love story, the banner over the path that the two main characters continue their journey on; the natural conclusion when people say 'happily ever after'.

Perhaps she's been wrong to view it that way all along. Perhaps marriage is just a tool to peel back the facade meticulously crafted during dating, for nothing remains hidden in marriage. To enforce a commitment that's always existed. To harness the rights it bestows between two individuals. To—

Wanda can list countless facets of marriage, and yet it wouldn’t change the way she feels about you, with or without it. She can change—she has, and marriage can vanish from the world, her love for you would persist unscathed. While every fiber of her being might be judged for her actions, she believes her love can’t be tainted. She’s sure of it. And so, essentially, marriage is—

“...it’s an indemnity.”

It’s not at all what he assumed she’d say. “An indemnity? That's an... interesting choice of word.”

Wanda nods, pushing a stray hair behind her ear with a thoughtful look. “Right. It's like our safety net, not just from what's out there but from our own doubts too. It's us saying to ourselves—and to anyone watching—that no matter how tough things get, we're in it together. It's a promise that even in the darkest times, we'll stand by each other.”

Vision absorbs her words, trying to see the cracks, the spaces where he could insert doubt or lay the groundwork for his plans. “But don’t you think,” he ventures cautiously, “that sometimes, that very protection, that indemnity, becomes the chain that binds? Don’t you ever feel... trapped?”

Wanda takes a deep breath, sensing the subtext of his question. He has a knack for drawing out the very things she's trying so hard to keep from him. In the end, she still ends up talking about you. If he's truly eager to hear what she has to say about you, then Wanda doesn’t care if he won’t like what he hears.

“I know what you’re trying to do here,” Wanda says with a wry smile. “To assume she's the one trapping me would be a gross misunderstanding.”

He laughs for a long moment. It's loud and over the top, and somewhere in the midst of it, it begins to feel like an insult. Wanda lifts her chin, unfazed by his antics.

After a few moments, Vision's laughter subsides, replaced by a somber look. “I apologize,” he says, even as Wanda goes back to her readings. “I didn’t mean to make light of your feelings. It's just... sometimes I feel like you're still lying to yourself, Wanda.”

Wanda's eyes narrow, her stance firm, but she doesn't rise to the bait immediately. “How am I lying?”

There it is—his opening.

“Yes. Sometimes, I wonder if you're using these philosophical explanations as a way to protect yourself from confronting something deeper. Something you might not want to face,” he says.

She chuckles, but it's devoid of any real amusement. “And what might that be?”

“That maybe,” Vision says, crawling closer to her until they're just a breath away. “Maybe being with her isn't everything you once believed it to be.”

A retort forms on Wanda's lips, ready to be unleashed. But as she looks into Vision's eyes, she notices something genuine and disarming in them.

“All I’m saying is that you don’t need to defend yourself around me,” he murmurs, his voice gentle, fingers lightly grazing her cheek. “You don't need to explain yourself. Not about this, not about anything.”

His lips find the curve of her neck, placing a chaste kiss there, sending a shiver down her spine, making her sigh softly.

“You can enjoy that,” he whispers against her skin, voice husky. His lips move upward, caressing her cheek before they meet hers. His hand slides to her waist, pulling her closer, until she’s on his lap, straddling him. Her skirt rides up her thighs, allowing him easy access to her dampening underwear.

Wanda shifts nervously. “Vision, we're in public,” she whispers sharply, but doesn’t make any move to get away from him.

His lips twitch into a confident smirk. “I know.” His fingers daringly slide beneath the hem of her skirt, edging towards her panties. “Don't worry,” he assures her, “I just wanted to see if your body tells the truth, even if your words might not.”

Her breath catches as his fingers find the growing wetness there. “See?” he murmurs, his mouth twisting into a boyish grin. “Your body doesn't lie.”

She enjoys it. To be brutally honest, without the haunting thought of your reaction if you were to find out, she concedes she savors their meetings. She’s attracted to him and it’s consuming her every thought.

Wanda blushes furiously, coupled with the fear of being discovered like this, she’s surrendered to this wicked game. He doesn’t worship her like you do. He doesn’t try to make her feel like nothing is her fault the way you do. Why weren’t you disappointed that she couldn’t get pregnant? Couldn’t contribute to your household like equals? Why didn’t you agonize over the financial repercussions of her relentless quest to start a family with you?

Why won’t you ever, ever hate her?

It's twisted that she even thinks of you as she tilts her hips upwards, urging Vision to touch her just right.

Without warning, Vision plunges his long middle finger inside her, causing Wanda to gasp and grip onto him. The intimate intrusion is brief, and she barely has time to process the sensation when he withdraws, pushing her off his lap and onto the soft grass beside him. He holds his glistening finger up to the light, then brings it to his lips, never breaking eye contact with her. She watches, entranced, as he deliberately savors her taste.

Wanda’s chest rises and falls rapidly, every nerve in her body alive and buzzing. She feels exposed, laid bare both by his actions and by the force of her own arousal. There's a delicious humiliation in it, a thrill of being seen and wanted so openly.

But before she can get a chance to speak, Vision reaches into his pocket, producing an envelope thick with cash and hands it to her. She doesn't need to count it to know it's a significant amount.

“What the fuck is this?” Wanda asks, looking down at the cash in her hands.

He laughs again. He enjoys riling her up. Makes this all the more charged and exciting.

“It's for the painting from your old gallery,” Vision explains calmly. “Going back to that, yes, I want to purchase it. And that’s just 50% of my intended offer.”

Wanda reflects on all the support you've offered her, the financial aid you generously extended without ever demanding explanations. A portion of the money in the envelope—her future commission— could be a start, a way to repay some of the debts she owes you, even if it doesn't cover everything.

Not that you’ve ever asked her to pay you back. You’ve never once hinted at any imbalance in financial obligations in your relationship.

“I shouldn't take this,” she mumbles, yet her fingers clutch the envelope a little tighter.

“I want to,” he insists. “Although, I want a special request.”

Wanda's eyebrow arches in skepticism. “Which is?”

“A handwritten dedication from you, when the painting is delivered,” he replies.

She averts her gaze. “I’ll think about it.”

Vision nods. “Keep the money while you do.”

Wanda starts leaving the house early too, going to her lover’s apartment before they go to the university together.

Vision sits comfortably on the plush couch, engrossed in his video game, his fingers swiftly moving over the controller. Wanda enters, shrugging off her light jacket, her simple, functional underwear visible from the thin material of her dress.

“You know, Wanda,” he begins casually, “Have you ever considered just... being in your natural state here?”

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks, helping herself to some tea.

“Your body is a work of art,” he replies, pausing the game now and turning to face her fully. “And as someone who appreciates art...” His gaze travels to her current choice of undergarments and back up to her eyes, leaving his sentence hanging.

“Are you suggesting I walk around here naked?”

He grins cheekily. “The thought did cross my mind.”

Wanda's cheeks flush. “That’s not happening.”

“Alright, maybe not that,” he relents with a mock sigh. “But perhaps wear something more... refined? Exquisite?” His emphasis on 'exquisite' draws a clear line between what she currently wears and what he's suggesting.

She's always prided herself on being confident, knowing her worth. But Vision’s playful, yet sharp suggestion chips away at her armor just a bit. For a split second, she wonders if this is how he truly sees her. If her choice of underwear, something so personal and intimate, is a reflection of her self-worth in his eyes. It's crazy to let his comment get to her; she's aware of that. But she can't help but think of you, of the intimate times you both share, the mornings she finds herself waking up beside you, and the nights you take off her clothes.

Do you notice? She wonders. Do you think the same?

It's all these tiny moments, insignificant on their own, but together they build a narrative in her mind. A story where maybe you don't desire her as you once did. That thought affects her more than Vision's words. The insecurity, an old nemesis she thought she had left far behind, resurfaces.

Wanda forces a nonchalant smile. “Why don't you mind your own business, and focus on your own wardrobe choices?” she retorts, but there's a lack of her usual sharpness in her tone.

He snickers, going back to his game. She hopes you don't see her the way he does.

She buys a new set of lingerie—for you.

Wanda decides she’ll do it by the end of the week. Determined to finalize the sale, she picks up the phone while dinner simmers on the stove. With you still out, Sparky remains her only companion, and a pang of guilt strikes her for having neglected him lately.

She dials the gallery. After a few rings, the familiar voice perkily answers. “Hello?”

“Agatha, it's Wanda,” she says. “About the painting I texted you earlier. My buyer is all in.”

“There's already a bid on it,” Agatha interrupts, “with a deposit ready to go. But if you can secure the painting by tomorrow at the latest, it’s yours to sell.”

“Thanks. I'll make it happen.”

Only after hanging up does she understand that she'll need your help to ensure everything goes smoothly. The next morning, she broaches the subject, and, thankfully, doesn’t have to jump through many hoops to convince you. She loathes bending the truth about the gallery's closing hours, but she's pressed to secure the painting promptly.

Of course, you're there for her again. You even go as far as to offer her lunch, but she has to decline; she genuinely has an appointment with the dean. She reluctantly agrees to dinner, already having said yes to Vision to visit the Museum of Modern Art, where he's also set to give her the remaining 50% for the painting.

“We can have dinner,” Wanda proposes tentatively. “Maybe drive to the city for some steaks and a dive bar after?” It’s tiring to drive back and forth like Manhattan isn’t at least one and a half hours away without traffic, but she wants to spend time with you, and thank you for your effort.

“I'll pick you up at seven,” you say. “It's a date.”

She's excited, but deep down she's aware of the tight schedule. It would be nothing short of a miracle if Vision gets her back to Westview on time.

Wanda cancels dinner at the last minute. She's relieved that you're amenable and just texts to ask her what time she’ll be home.

When she gets her hands on the painting, it takes her a long time to think of a dedication message. Truthfully, writing heartfelt letters has never been her strong suit; she struggles to articulate her feelings. But as she contemplates her feelings for Vision, she draws a blank. She considers simply thanking him for engaging her in conversations she hasn't had with anyone in so long, conveniently omitting their other indulgences. At the same time, she doesn’t want to leave a piece of herself behind, not even something as trivial as a personal dedication.

So she settles on a quote:

‘To Vision, the only secret people keep is immortality.’ - W

On a particular plane, it speaks to her. It's a phrase that mirrors the fundamental human longing for significance and a sense of purpose—something she has unknowingly let slip along the way.

Surprisingly, Vision appears content with the note. Wanda doesn't bother to inquire about his thoughts on it. He doesn't make a spectacle of his appreciation for the painting either, and it becomes apparent that he's indulging in a fantasy from some porno, where an older woman brings him something before he takes her to bed.

The sex is always intoxicating in its own messy way, now that she’s ready to admit she’s not after perfection whenever she comes to him. She doesn’t go to him because there’s something wrong with you. It might be because something is wrong with her, but there isn’t really any room to psychoanalyze her own mental state when she’s being taken from behind, facing a full length mirror. As pleasure builds, her eyes roll back, she briefly toys with the idea that she might be harboring deeper feelings for him.

Then, out of the blue, a red flash catches her eye, but with two quick blinks, it vanishes.

“What’s that?” Wanda whispers, momentarily distracted before a moan escapes her lips.

“What?” he mutters distractedly, pulling her hair, when her head starts to droop.

But before Wanda can form a coherent thought, he adjusts, lifting one of her legs and shifting his angle. With a few deliberate thrusts, she's spiraling into an overwhelming climax. And as pleasure washes over her, any lingering thoughts of deeper feelings for him evaporates along with the haze of lust.

Later, she would brush aside the memory of that brief red flash as she stealthily slipped into your shared home, careful not to disturb Sparky, who slept soundly. With a day off scheduled for tomorrow, she had completely lost track of time, fooling around a couple more times with a college kid.

“D-Did I hurt you?”

Right this second, Wanda feels like she'd welcome the ground opening up to take her or a random bullet finding its mark in her heart. Anything, if it would end her anguish.

She watches your face crumple with guilt and hurt, and she can't believe she's caused you to feel this way when you’re just aching for her.

Without missing a beat, Wanda draws you into an embrace, feeling your heart race against her chest. “No, you didn’t. I shouldn’t have made you feel that way,” she whispers. The mere thought of you second-guessing your intentions with her shatters her heart.

You lean into her completely, feeling like a child in her arms. “I’ve been missing you so much lately, and I thought... I thought we were on the same page.”

Wanda insists it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. She desires closeness with you, but she hadn't expected it to make her feel so uneasy beneath her skin, especially considering she had been touched by another less than 24 hours ago. She has to remind herself that you aren't aware. But she knows, and it plagues her mind, why you’d want to touch her.

Your reply, soaked in typical selflessness, is, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Your apology, the earnestness in your tone is starting to make her feel dizzy. The fact that you feel this way, that she has led you to question your privilege—something she has always granted you—to touch her, is agonizing.

“Stop saying you're sorry,” Wanda snaps, her words sharper than she intends, fervently hoping that you understand her outburst isn't aimed at you. “You do everything right. It's me. I've missed you too, more than you can possibly imagine.”

When you softly say, “I love you,” it's filled with so much emotion that it brings tears to Wanda's eyes. It takes her too long to respond with an “I love you, too,” because there’s many more she wants to say. And she can’t say it without revealing the one thing that she fears will drive you away.

She can only hope that you believe her because she means it more than anything.

Wanda can't pinpoint exactly when she developed the habit of locking the bathroom door. It likely started around the time Vision would text her, innocently asking about her lectures. Then, one day, she received a short video clip of him pleasuring himself and moaning her name. She promptly deleted the clip, but from that point on, she learned to check her messages at home only when she was about to step into the shower.

Natasha visits and something inside Wanda unfurls itself. She becomes hyper-aware of her activities with Vision, how she conducts them and where. Before relocating to New Jersey, you mentioned that Natasha had taken an open-ended break from her job, suggesting she might be ready to leave her old life behind. Still, she’s uneasy when she learns about it too late, and Natasha’s already outside, waiting to be let into the house.

You're still in your office attire, donning a pristine suit that would have captured her attention for the entire evening, if not for the fact that she's on the verge of breaking down at the mere thought of you discovering her affair with Vision.

“Why didn't you tell me she was coming?” she snaps, gesturing at the dinner table set for two and the disorderly state of their living room. Her eyes dart to a stack of her students' reaction papers lying exposed on the coffee table, and the unkempt pillows. To you, it might seem trivial, but to Wanda, every small detail could give away something she'd rather keep private.

“You could've at least warned me,” she continues, her tone reflecting more than just her concerns about dinner and the state of the living room, but you fail to catch it. You try to help, reaching out to straighten the living room, but she's too frazzled. Seeing the frustrated look on your face, she can't help but feel cornered. She hastily scatters the pillows about, her movement nothing short of hysterical.

Sensing that things might take a worse turn than they should, you make the decision to be the one to step back.

“If it's too much trouble for you, we can just grab dinner elsewhere,” you suggest, struggling not to lose your own patience.

She can't help but throw you a sharp look, feeling as though your words only made things worse. The mere idea of you and Natasha, alone, maybe sharing stories or opinions about her, feels threatening. But there’s nothing she can do but hope you will veer away from talking about her, that you won’t confide in Natasha how you haven’t had sex in months.

“Fine,” she snaps and quickly retreats up the stairs. “Send my regards to Natasha,” she throws over her shoulder, the guest bedroom door shutting loudly behind her.

She sighs heavily, pressing her back to the door, heart racing. From the window, she sees you walk back to the car, your frustration evident in every step. Natasha looks at you with that questioning glance Wanda knows all too well. She watches as you speak before handing Natasha the car keys.

She gazes up at the ceiling, determined to hold back the tears that are on the verge of spilling. She doesn't want to push you away, but her fear of Natasha, and what might be revealed, leaves her feeling trapped.

Out of frustration, she calls Vision, and they meet in his car, about two blocks from their house.

In the cramped confines of the backseat, Vision is quick to slide into her, the condom barely in place before he's thrusting with a fervor.

She peaks once, but not from him being inside her. She's too tense, too tightly wound for that. So Vision, realizing this, drops to his knees to truly bring her over the edge.

Later, Wanda lies on her side, every muscle tense, acutely aware of the presence beside her, all the while pretending to be deep in sleep.

“She used to crash at our place almost every week,” you murmur into the stillness.

A hint of irritation passes through Wanda, though she can't really tell why. “What?” she asks, her voice low and weary.

“Natasha,” you specify. “I didn't think to mention it because it was just our norm. She'd drop by unannounced all the time.”

You want to have a conversation about it, to work through this issue. She knows how you’ve been trying to give her space, thinking she hasn’t adjusted yet to life in Westview. You’re always thinking about her. Always putting her needs first above yours.

And Wanda can see how it’s worn you down, how you're starting to doubt your own logical reasoning, and how you're piecing together facts to present your case, hoping for her to be more receptive and listen. She despises the fact that she's putting you through all of this, merely because she's determined to prevent her different worlds from colliding.

She can sense you searching her face, looking for answers, trying to understand the wall she’s erected between you too. It’s so tall now, casting a shadow over both of you.

“Wands?”

“Baby?” you try again. It seems like it's all you ever do these days. “Please?”

Wanda resists the urge to turn toward you and pull you into her arms. She knows that if she does, the tears will flow uncontrollably, and she understands that you won't let her keep her troubles to herself. She composes herself, letting out a shuddering sigh.

“We're fine, Y/N. Let's just go to sleep.”

You give into her wishes, because you will always give her what she wants. She extends her hand, delicately interlocking your fingers with hers. It's the smallest gesture she can manage. She pretends not to hear you, feel you shake, as you cry on your own.

She'd planned to watch the movie alone, in the middle of the day. So, when Vision discreetly takes the seat next to her, Wanda stiffens. A few others are scattered in the front rows of the dark theater, chatting softly as they munch on popcorn.

Without turning to face him, she whispers accusingly, “Are you stalking me?”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd catch a movie. Pure coincidence.”

“You hate cinemas,” she counters.

He chuckles softly. “Maybe I'm learning to appreciate them.”

She’s about to retort when she feels a gentle touch on her hip. Wanda's muscles tense under his soft fingers as they start tracing the curve of her waist, moving slowly downwards, caressing her thigh. Her breath hitches, and she turns sharply to face him.

“What are you doing?”

Vision just smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Thought you might want to spice up the afternoon.”

Wanda rolls her eyes. “I'm not in the mood, Vision. Hands off.”

His laugh is a bit too loud, drawing “shhhs” and glares from the front row. Seeing him unmoved by the stares, Wanda huffs and stands up, making it clear she's moving seats. As she shimmies past him, Vision's hand snakes out, gripping her wrist. “Stay,” he murmurs, eyes serious. “I promise to behave.”

She hesitates, looking at him skeptically. Finally, with a sigh, she slides back into her seat. For the most part, Vision keeps his promise. They sit in silence, engrossed in the movie, but Wanda can't help but notice Vision's restlessness. Twice, he excuses himself, claiming he needs the restroom. She can't help but wonder what he's really up to, but she refrains from asking. Whatever it is, she's not sure she wants to know.

Later, when they step out of the theater, they're greeted by the aftermath of a rainstorm. Puddles dot the pavement, making it tricky for Wanda in her heels. Vision holds out his hand, and she takes it, especially when she almost trips trying to leap over a particularly large puddle.

For some reason, she suddenly feels like she's being watched. From the corner of her eye, she spots the black SUV, parked in the same spot as when she arrived at the cinema. But before she can give it more thought, Vision pulls her towards a bookstore, quickly diverting her attention. She brushes off the odd sensation, attributing it to anxiety since the theater she picked is quite far from town.

Wanda stares, open mouthed and shocked, as Vision shows her his final project for her course.

It's a charcoal drawing on canvas featuring a nude woman, with only her mouth visible, reclining on a bench. Wanda doesn't need a second glance to realize that the woman in the painting is her. From the curve of her jaw to the birthmark on her left hip and down to the fold of her knees, the resemblance is remarkable.

There's no way she can allow him to submit this.

His audacity to draw her in such an intimate manner without her consent leaves her momentarily speechless. She briefly wonders what other liberties he’s taken without her permission.

“What the hell is this?” Wanda questions in barely contained rage.

Vision smirks, arrogance dripping from every word. “It's you, obviously. Pretty accurate, don't you think?”

She clenches her fists, anger rising. “You had absolutely no right. This is beyond inappropriate. What were you thinking?”

Leaning against the table, he shrugs nonchalantly. “I was thinking about how hot you were and I wanted to immortalize it.”

She frowns, crossing her arms defensively. “This was private, between us. How could you think it's okay to make it public?”

“I thought you liked when I took control,” he says, stepping closer, his voice dripping with insinuation.

Wanda feels like throwing up. “This isn't a game,” she snaps. “You can't just use our personal moments as fodder for your projects!”

“You never seemed to mind before.”

Wanda replies sharply, “There's a difference between us being together in private and you broadcasting it to the world.”

He squares his shoulders, firming up his stance. “Maybe I wanted them to see.”

“To see what exactly?” Wanda yells, but the fear in her voice is unmistakable.

“How good we are together,” he says. “Maybe I’m tired of hiding, Wanda. Ever thought of that?”

Wanda's mind races, a thousand thoughts crashing into one another. She's always been able to control the narrative, always had the situation in her grip. But now, Vision's defiance, his blatant challenge, terrifies her. The realization that Vision could, and possibly would, spill their secret terrifies her more than she thought possible. For the first time, she's faced with the real possibility of losing everything she holds dear. Of losing you.

“So, what's it going to be, Professor?” Vision challenges, towering over her in a display of intimidation. “Should I submit this, or maybe...” his voice drops to a whisper, “show it to your wife?”

She grits her teeth, trying to gain some semblance of control. “Destroy it. Now.”

Vision grins, leaning in closer until their faces are inches apart. “Make me.”

“Vis—”

Vision's lips crush down on hers in a fierce, demanding kiss. His hand clamps around the back of her neck, holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. It’s fervent, consuming, and fueled by a hunger she hasn't felt from him before. Her brain screams at her to resist, to push him away, to regain control of this spiraling situation. She shoves at his chest, her nails digging in, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he deepens the kiss, his tongue demanding entry, which she denies him.

In her mounting frustration, she raises her hand and slaps him hard across the face. Vision barely flinches, his gaze never leaving hers. His determination only fans the flames of her anger further, but beneath it all simmers an irrefutable want. Without a word, Vision's hands descend to her waist, deftly unbuttoning and pushing down her pants and off her legs. She makes quick work of his belt, discarding them recklessly to the side.

As he inches closer, his breath hot on her ear, Vision murmurs, “Say it, Wanda… say 'I want you to fuck me’.”

She can feel the solid length of him pressing against her, and despite her anger, the way he slowly gyrates his hips makes her weak. She draws a shaky breath, the words stuck in her throat. It’s wrong, and he shouldn’t have this much power on her.

He moves in, his lips trailing down her neck, as his hands find their way around her waist, pulling her in even closer. “Say it,” he murmurs again.

“I want you to... fuck me,” she finally breathes out, her voice breaking into a whiny plea that she would never have believed she could utter, especially under these circumstances.

His response is immediate. Before she can fully register what's happening, he has her lifted, her back pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. With a sharp thrust, he's inside her, filling her completely. While Vision usually found his release before she did, this time was different. She notices he's holding back, which confuses her. Why would he? Especially now. Wanda, lost in the sensation of him inside her, is curious but also a little apprehensive.

She soon realizes why. His fingers find her clit, rubbing it in a rough, almost painful manner that sends shockwaves of pleasure through her. “Come on,” he urges, almost impatiently, his voice strained.

She feels herself spiraling, the coil inside her tightening. His cock angles and adjusts, targeting her sweet spot, making her clench around him. The slickness between them grows, and his fingers work in tandem with his thrusts, pressing, rubbing, coaxing her closer and closer.

“I'm gonna... I'm coming,” she warns, feeling the walls of her pussy fluttering.

And then she feels it—the unmistakable warmth, the pulsing. Her eyes widen in realization as Vision buries himself deeper, releasing inside her.

“No!” Wanda screams silently, the sounds failing to escape her throat as the knowledge that he's come unprotected pushes her further into her own climax. Her instinct is to flee, to pull away from him, but Vision's grip is ironclad. He feels her panic and responds with more pressure on her clit, manipulating the nub with determined fingers. Each stroke sends her further into ecstasy, locking her in place as his other arm wraps around her waist, preventing any escape.

“Stay,” he murmurs into her ear, his voice filled with a possessiveness that she's never heard before. As he continues to spurt inside her, their hips still weakly grinding against one another, the reality of the situation dawns on her. He didn't use protection. He could—he could get her—

Terror claws at Wanda's insides. Was this all premeditated? Had he planned to trap her like this? She struggles to pull away, but Vision holds her even tighter, keeping her pressed against him as the last of his release fills her. He languidly rests his forehead against Wanda's shoulder, taking a moment to revel in the afterglow. When he finally dares to look at her, he expects to see anger or fury or maybe even forgiveness. Instead, he's met with wide, bloodshot eyes swimming with tears that violently spill over, tracing the contours of her cheeks.

His smugness dissipates and his brow furrows in confusion. “Wanda?”

She chokes on her tears, desperately trying to speak. “Did you—did you do this on purpose?” Using every ounce of strength she can summon, she pushes him away, stumbling slightly as her legs threaten to give out. Hastily, she starts grabbing her clothes.

Vision, looking lost for once, reaches out, but she recoils away from his touch.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

“Wanda, please. Let's talk about this.”

As Wanda attempts to regain her balance, she can feel the telltale wetness slide down her inner thighs. The physical evidence of their tryst, the proof of Vision's seed making its way out of her, sends a sharp pang of revulsion through her. Her hand moves instinctively, trying to wipe away the residue, a feeble attempt to erase the aftermath—or perhaps the entirety of their history. Her vision blurs as tears continue to stream down her face, her breathing jagged. Vision, looking both remorseful and lost, reaches out in an attempt to console her, but she flinches at the barest contact of his fingertips.

“Please, at least let me drive you to—”

“To where?” she spits out, her voice mocking. “Home? To my...? I can't—not now.”

Vision's eyes widen, and suddenly he looks much younger.

“Wanda,” he starts, voice shaky and eyes beginning to tear up, “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't think… I-It’ll never happen again.”

But the pitiable sight of him, looking scared and unsure, only adds fuel to the fire. “You think a simple 'sorry' is enough?”

The door is her escape, and she's quick to reach it. As she’s about to leave, he whimpers, almost begging, “Please don't go. I... I'm sorry.”

But she's done. With one final, withering glance, she exits, leaving the door to swing shut behind her.

While Wanda waits for her period to come, she can't focus on anything else. She feels disoriented during the day, and it keeps her awake at night.

In her world, everything's spiraling into a fragmented mess, like a vintage vinyl record that's been smashed to bits.

She tosses out reading assignments like candy at a twisted parade, tells the kids to scribble down essays. For them, it's almost like a holiday. For Wanda, it's a desperate lifeline. By the window, she stands. Watching. Waiting. But not really seeing anything. Vision's eyes, burning into her, but she never meets his gaze. She hasn't been responding to his texts or calls, discarding them immediately without even opening them. The classroom exit strategy is always the same: blend in with the herd, avoid the predator. She doesn't give him even the slightest opportunity to get her alone.

Home should be her fortress. Instead, it's like quicksand. Sparky, always eager for her attention, brings toys to her feet, his tail wagging in hopeful anticipation. But her patience is thin, and she finds herself shooing him outside, much to the dog's confusion. She's been bringing home takeout repeatedly, and the repetition isn't lost on you. While you never openly complain, she notices when you start to take the reins, cooking dinner, a quiet acknowledgment of her current state.

She waits and waits—a ghost haunting a lover, a home, a school, a town, waiting for salvation.

She’s more than a week late for her period when she (terrifyingly) decides to buy a pregnancy test kit. Wanda clutches her coat tighter around herself, hesitating for a moment before pushing the door open. Inside, she avoids making eye contact, moving purposefully towards the aisle she's dreading. As her fingers wrap around a pregnancy test kit, her heart hammers in her chest. With the box safely tucked inside her bag, she hurries back home, sneaking glances over her shoulder, feeling as though the world knows her secret.

When she arrives home, she pretends as if she had simply stopped by the grocery store. She musters a smile as she begins to prepare dinner, maintaining a light and cheerful conversation with you. You savor her food as if it were your last meal, showering her with compliments like a discerning food critic, which brings a slight chuckle from Wanda. You peck her lips when you’re finished, thanking her for it. For a while, it seems like everything is back to normal, and that nothing will shatter the illusion that she’s still living her happily-ever-after with you.

She waits, counting the minutes, ensuring you're deep in sleep before she tiptoes into the bathroom. She reads the instructions multiple times, her eyes scanning over each word as if hoping they'd change. It's as though she hasn’t been through this ritual numerous times before, back when her deepest desire was to bear your child. The irony isn't lost on her: in just a few months, she's transitioned from yearning for a baby to fervently hoping she isn't pregnant.

Finally gathering enough courage, she rips the packaging. Just get it over with, Wanda muses. The minutes that follow feel like hours. The silence is suffocating, the potential consequences bearing down on her. She jumps at the slightest noise, every creak of the floorboards or rustle of sheets convincing her that you've woken up.

The alarm on her phone finally goes off, signaling that it's time. With bated breath, she looks down at the test, her world teetering on the brink of change.

She’s hidden the pregnancy test deep in the trash bin, concealed under tissues and other refuse. It’s the middle of the night, and she ensured it is further out of sight by taking the trash outside.

As the initial relief floods through her, it is swiftly replaced by a profound sense of shame. She sits curled up on the couch, hugging her knees, desperately wishing to escape from herself and her crimes. She realizes, with a piercing clarity, that she can't compartmentalize or keep secrets when it comes to you, because you're not just a part of her life—you are her life. The mere thought of you finding out fills her with a terror so profound, she's left gasping for breath. She'd rather face any consequence, even death, than watch the love fade from your eyes, replaced by hurt, anger, and betrayal.

She loves you, but Wanda doesn’t—she doesn’t know what to do, how to move forward.

But in the midst of her life falling apart, an unexpected sentiment finds its way to the forefront: hope.

A fragile, quivering kind of hope. Wanda's lips twitch, trembling as they pull into a weak smile. Maybe the universe is giving her a second chance. Maybe her not being pregnant is a sign, a way out. It's as if fate is holding out a lifeline, imploring her to take it and mend the fractures in her life. With renewed determination, she silently promises herself that she'll devote every bit of her being to you. She knows she can't change the past, but she believes, fervently, in the possibility of a future where she remains true, where she will never stray again.

Still, the weight of her deeds anchors her to the couch, each sob a violent reminder that she's the villain in her own story. And that’s how you find her, in the dark living room, crying and blaming a nonexistent movie for being in such a mess.

“Wanda?”

She looks up and every cell in her body threatens to crumble. “Hey, baby,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing away the tears.

“Have you been crying?”

“Just a movie,” she lies still, “You know how emotional they make me.”

You smile, your eyes full of that nurturing love. “My big crybaby.” Wanda can't believe a pregnancy scare was what it took to finally wake her up.

Looking into your eyes, a surge of need overtakes her. She longs to claim you, to solidify her stake, and leave no doubt in your mind about where her heart truly lies. She wants to show you just how much she loves you, to make up for all the times she has strayed.

She doesn't hesitate. Before she fully processes her actions, she's on top of you, her weight pinning you down, her eyes blazing with an intensity that threatens to consume. “Take off your shorts,” her voice trembles. Your obedient response sends a thrill through her, but she's barely registered the progress you've made before she's swiping a teasing finger, tasting the essence that's uniquely yours. She watches, entranced, as a shiver runs through you, your voice shaky with desire.

“Patience, baby.”

She barely shakes her head, lips parted. “Don't have any.”

And then she's tasting you, each slow, deliberate stroke of her tongue designed to drive both of you mad. Your body responds fervently, and she can sense your need building, mirroring her own desperate longing. “Please, Wanda, more…” Your whisper is a plea she can't resist. Her lips part to take in more of you, savoring the intoxicating flavor that she had missed so much.

“I've missed you so much, Y/N,” she says, deliriously lost in your pleasure. “I've missed making you feel good. Missed feeling this way with you…” She doesn't quite realize the hints she's dropping, but she doesn't care. This moment is real, and she wants it to be as honest as it can be.

Lifting your legs, Wanda applies gentle pressure, pushing them back until they're almost touching the couch cushions on either side of your head. The sight of you, so openly displayed for Wanda, sends a rush of heat and desire through her core. She can feel the power she has, not just from the position but from the trust placed in her to have you in such a vulnerable state. It feels so good, being this close to you. How could she have ever desired anything else when she had this all along?

Wanda pauses for a moment, mouth watering, her eyes hungrily tracing the sight before her. She senses a slight shift, seeing your eyes flit away, perhaps overwhelmed. But Wanda can't allow that retreat. Gently cradling your face, she guides those eyes she loves back, sealing their return home to her with a tender, grounding kiss.

“I love you,” she breathes against your lips.

You smile up at her. “I love you. More than you could ever know.”

Wanda shuts her eyes, letting your reassurance wash over her. Nothing lasts forever, but perhaps this could be an exception.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #my writing #category: angst #iss #my fic #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n

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jinwoosungs · 1 month

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{ 166 }

too sweet.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

{ you know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain | pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape | if you can sit in a barrel, maybe i’ll wait until that day… }

@nyashykyunnie said: HELLLOOOO. Since you granted me permission to request a daydream uhm… Jinwoo with a reader who hyperfixates on a lot of things! The fungi, the stars and most especially the sea!! Reader lovesloves whales and jellyfishes and sharks lots!! She loves the sea so much,,!!!!, She also draws a lot><!!! Art is her biggest passion most of all!! She’s like a free bird always so cheery and happy!! Loves all things pretty and cute! A very very childish reader who is just a ball of sunshine and energy!! Loves messing ariund with Jinwoo by putting little dabs of paint on his face heheh… And loves comparing hand sizes and cuddless><!!! Sorry it’s so long ueueueu

there were times when jinwoo sung had to wonder just how he got so lucky to be with someone as bright as you.

whereas he was the pure and true embodiment of darkness-

jinwoo was certain you were light personified.

everything about you was achingly sweet to the core-

too sweet, actually.

the moment he had fallen in love with you was one that happened so… naturally. that day, he had taken some time off in order to take his mother and sister to the nearest beach. he rented out a tiny cottage by the sea, giving them the perfect view of the ocean.

while his mother and sister spent some time walking on the beach together, jinwoo wanted to give them a chance to have the much needed mother-daughter moment they both deserved, deviating from the mainland beach when he sees rugged rocks with tide pools settled beneath the harsh terrain. he thinks about all the fascinating creatures that lived within such little pools and steps closer to the area.

however, the closer he got to the tide pools, the quickly he realized that he was not alone.

for settled against one of the rocks was a young woman that was sketching within the confines of her sketchbook-

it was you.

jinwoo was suddenly rendered speechless at the mere sight of you, taking a moment to admire the way your hair shone from beneath the sunlight. your cute features were turned into a look of concentration, with your lips pursed and your eyebrows furrowed in response.

as you inched closer to the shallow pool, you had somehow lost your balance and nearly face-planted within the waters-

had it not been for jinwoo’s quick thinking, making a mad dash toward you as he captured your frame within his arms. his eyes were glowing with amusement, fighting back a smile when he sweetly asks, “are you alright?”

jinwoo helps you safely lean back against the rock, with your hands gripping on tightly to his wrist before meeting his gaze.

not a hint of fear was seen settled in your eyes, and jinwoo found that he couldn’t look away from you. your smile goes wide as you eagerly introduced yourself to him. already mesmerized by your bright and sunny nature, he repeats your name, ready to introduce himself as well when you suddenly beat him to it.

“you’re jinwoo sung, i know.”

you know?

“that’s interesting.” jinwoo couldn’t stop himself from letting out a chuckle. usually, those that met him treated him like some celebrity or idol, getting tongue tied as they bowed down to him, stuttering out their greetings while avoiding his gaze-

but you-

you were oh so different.

your gaze met with his in an unflinching manner, with your lips tilted up in a smile that manages to make his heart pound in response. the more he looked at you, the more he could feel his heart becoming filled with your sweetness and light.

after trading pleasantries, he helps you down from the rock, walking along the beach with you while softly asking if he could see your sketchbook. you would give him a sheepish expression, your cheeks being filled with heat before giving him your sketchbook as you told him your sketches “weren’t much.” as he flips through the pages, you were clearly downplaying your talents as each and every sketch was filled with a vibrancy he had never seen before.

but that all changes when jinwoo sees a sketch of himself hidden amidst the pages.

your gasp and the way you immediately tried to take the sketchbook away from him was amusing, with jinwoo holding the book up high, his eyes glowing while they took in the sight of the drawing you had made of him.

from the soft expression to the way his hair was carefully layered, jinwoo couldn’t help but feel a hint of pride, seeing how pretty you had made him.

“beautiful…” after ensuring that your sketch of him was burned into his very memories, he returns it back to you, basking in your shy expression and the way you suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze.

“you weren’t supposed to see that. now, i’m sure you find me… strange, right?”

yet instead of teasing you further-

he asks you out on a date later that night.

and the moment you accepted his offer for a date-

the rest was history.

a single date meant as a simple thank you for allowing him to see your sketches turned into something a bit more frequent; a bit more permanent.

jinwoo would find himself spending every weekend to visit you, allowing the seemingly simple and innocent crush to grow into something much deeper.

and truly, how could he not fall in love with you?

each time you spoke passionately about your interests-

(of the sharks and colorful jellyfish that lives within the crystal blue depths of the ocean;

of the strange mushrooms seen growing within your backyard, seeming to have a life of their own as they lengthened and grew beneath the emerald green grass;

of the constellations seen shimmering within the night sky from beneath the light of the full moon…)

never once did jinwoo get tired of hearing your musings and rants that pertained to your current hyperfixations, and more often than not, he would find gifts for you that further helped strengthened your love for each and every one of your interests.

(an encyclopedia for the ocean creatures and various fungal life; a book that goes into each legend of each constellation seen within the night sky and a telescope…)

in jinwoo’s eyes, no gift was ever too much for you. for you were the sole person that stole his very heart at first sight.

when he finally put a label on his relationship with you, he swore he would never forget the look of utmost joy within your eyes. your sweet voice would call out to him before you wrapped your arms around his neck, already planting a kiss against his parted lips.

a choked sound of surprise escapes from jinwoo, making you gasp as you quickly pulled away from him. a slew of apologies were heard coming from you-

and jinwoo wasn’t having it.

with a grunt of your name, he keeps your head still before diving in for another kiss, basking in the way you momentarily let out a gasp before practically melting against him. in mere seconds, jinwoo quickly became addicted to the soft and sweet taste of your lips.

already so enamored with you, he pulls away from you, only to murmur against your lips, “you’re too sweet for me… but… i have a feeling i could get used to your taste…”

it came as no surprise when jinwoo decided to move in together with you, not being able to handle a single moment spent separated away from you. each and every day was spent in an almost blissful manner, with the s-rank hunter cherishing each and every part of you.

and tonight was no different.

for your one year anniversary, jinwoo had taken you back to the beach where you had first met, preparing a home cooked dinner that consisted of all your favorite foods. after your meal, you had laid against jinwoo’s chest while resting on the blanket, simply enjoying the colors that seemed to set the sky aflame while the sun began to set over the horizon.

jinwoo’s eyes were closed, simply basking in your warmth and the way the setting sun had painted his whole world in hues of a gentle twilight. while he was resting, he could feel your hand inching closer to his as you carefully held on to it. jinwoo could feel a smile begin to spread across his full lips as you flattened the palm of your hand against his, clearly measuring the size of your hand in comparison to his.

a soft chuckle escapes from him, “sarang, silly love of mine, just what are you doing?”

he opens up one eye to look at you, a half-smile painting his handsome features as he allowed an arm to wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest as he remained laying down. basking in your giggles once more, he feels his heart began to race again the moment you lean down to press a kiss against his chest.

“i love you so much, jinwoo.”

“heh, i love you more, sarang.”

jinwoo presses a kiss against your hair while letting you play with his hands. he watches you with adoration, seeing you pick up his hand before interlocking your fingertips together. a wide grin paints his features when he gives your hand a squeeze before turning you around so that you were now settled with your back against the blanket.

your breathing comes out as gentle giggles, and jinwoo takes this chance to press several, audible smooches against your features. the more you let out those melodious sounds of your laughter, the more he kept littering your face with those achingly sweet kisses.

jinwoo successfully distracts you, and you couldn’t help but frown when you felt a sudden weight against your left ring finger. catching your shocked expression, he allows you to sit up while looking at the ring settled against your finger.

it was an incredibly cute and endearing ring, with your favorite gemstone shaped into a heart as you met jinwoo’s gaze, eyes going wide with your lips parted in response. “jinwoo… what’s this?”

“a promise.” his reply comes out as hoarse and shaky, taking your hand as he presses a kiss against the ring he had just gifted you. “i know it feels… a bit too soon to propose any… ah… commitment. but still, i wanted you to know that i’m completely serious about you.”

“this ring will serve as my promise to you… of what is to come.”

with a choked sob of his name, you lean forward to kiss him once more, perfectly slotting your lips against his as jinwoo kissed you back with just as much passion.

jinwoo knew right then and there that he had made the right decision of keeping you; for you were (and always will be) his sole light.

a.n. - when kyunnie made a second part to her most gut wrenching angst, i was so elated and happy that i wanted to write / make a daydream of hers come true. i hope i wrote your daydreams well enough! 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling x reader #.stories

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natalyarose · 1 month

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𝒜𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 & 𝒮𝓎𝓂𝒷𝑜𝓁𝒾𝒸 𝒜𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓎 - 𝕍𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕜𝕙𝕒 🐅🌸

using Mid-Mula Galactic Center ayanamsa ♥

Hey! So, many have fallen in love with the way Vedic astrology can be applied to understand appearance & symbolism in peoples' lives, and it constantly amazes me how much it makes sense. People have done a lot of phenomenal work analysing appearance & peoples' lives through Nakshatras, but I noticed that in a lot of these studies and compilations, there will be a couple of people included who kinda- don't fit? I've since learnt that it seems almost every time someone deviates from the patterns despite seemingly having the same placements; they are in fact a different Nakshatra when Applying Mid-Mula Galactic Center Ayanamsa. As always, I have no desire to pressure anyone else into using the same calculation, it's a personal journey- but I do aim to highlight the patterns I've seen 🩵

In this post I'm focusing on Vishakha natives- specifically Vishakha women; but you'll find a lot of these things apply to Vishakha men too anyway.

Vishakha Nakshatra is the Tiger yoni 🐅 As we know, tigers are fierce, they are known to be some of the strongest, fastest animals in the jungle & natives to Vishakha reflect that. Vishakha is known as 'the star of purpose'. Natives can feel an intense, passionate drive to fulfil a vision, or a sense of destiny. Being Jupiter ruled (the planet of expansion, fame, fortune, wisdom) & ruled by the powerful Vedic God, Indra 'King of the Gods'; Vishakha natives find themselves in a prime energetic position to have major influence . Once they find their footing in their career/goal, they can have major success and incredible power. Vishakha shines brightly in its courage, strength, power and influence.

You'll notice in the examples below, the intense focus & determined look in the eyes of Vishakha natives- like a tiger ready to pounce lol.

I've noticed Vishakha women (likely due to the Tiger yoni) often enjoy leopard or tiger print, so I've shown that in my examples. Also; I acknowledge that using examples who've had work done can be misleading so I've tried to balance it out!

Three of the women in this post are Swati Nakshatra in Lahiri- namely Priscilla, Kylie & Kendall; and I wanted to show them alongside other Vishakha ladies to demonstrate the significance of considering Mid-Mula Galactic Center ayanamsa.

𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓬𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓵𝓮𝔂 - 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓱𝓪 (Swati in Lahiri) I've seen a strong theme of Vishakha women being known for their marriage. In fact, despite Vishakha & Jupiter's independent determined nature, Vishakha natives can intensely prioritise their marriage (Swati in contrast is loving, but not as enthused by the thought of being 'tied down'). The determination can be channelled into doing everything possible to make their marriages and other partnerships work out. Vishakha's connection to marriage is seen through its symbol being 'a triumphant archway'; directly related to the decorative archways we see in marriage celebrations & victory ceremonies.

While she of course had her own vibrant career; Priscilla was and still is especially famous for her marriage to Elvis. The most famous photos of her being her gorgeous self on their wedding day. It is said that Vishakha natives can get married young, which is true of Priscilla. Vishakha women often end up being the provider in partnerships- literally or emotionally. She is famous for her beauty also which can be a theme with Vishakha since it is mostly in sidereal Libra- associated with beauty, love, partnerships, etc.

𝓛𝓪𝓷𝓪 𝓓𝓮𝓵 𝓡𝓮𝔂 - 𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓱𝓪 𝓐𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓽 Lana is another Vishakha woman who gives it all in relationships and we hear of this through her music. She also has that incredibly wide breadth of influence we see with Jupiter Nakshatras (especially Vishakha)- there are a lot of people who have achieved a level of fame, but having influence over the people to the point that you are worshipped is a different thing; and Lana has it. Vishakha's Shakti, meaning its power, is to achieve. The abundance this woman has in the way of creativity, wealth, power, intelligence, etc. is very Vishakha- Vishakha is directly associated with the word victory etymology-wise too.

Lana worked hard for years pursuing her goals in music; and of course that hard work came to fruition.

𝓚𝔂𝓵𝓲𝓮 𝓙𝓮𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓻 - 𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓱𝓪 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷 (Swati in Lahiri). I have seen research floating around on how Vishakha natives can often have a 'glow up' of sorts where they really take charge of their image and actively choose to embody an extremely seductive energy. Achieving magnetic power through their appearance. This is seen in Kylie's famous 'reinvention'. Again, she radiates this intensity, purpose, is very business driven etc. Whilst Swati radiates this airy sweetness, Vishakha radiates Lord Indra & Jupiter's sheer sense power & easily inspires a sense of worship from people.

𝓚𝓪𝓽𝔂 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 - 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓱𝓪 & 𝓢𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓾𝓶 (Swati Sun however- but notice how she has the more 'air-y' quality that the others don't due to this placement?) Katy Perry is another star who in her 'prime time' of fame was more than just another famous person; she had hugeee influence the way we see in Vishakha. Little girls everywhere were singing her songs & she was inescapable on the radio (not that that's a bad thing lol, her songs are vibes). Her song 'roar' and the video to it is incredibly Vishakha but also Swati- the song is in essence about getting back up on your feet and being determined even when someone knocks you down. I talked about in this write-up how in Swati there is a direct theme of natives being discouraged and needing to have faith in themselves and remember their gifts. In Vishakha there is a full embodiment of this power.

Aside from that, of course the song being called 'Roar' & the tiger/leopard/jungle imagery is as Vishakha as it gets!

𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮 - 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓱𝓪 I confess, I really don't know much about Beyonce but I do know that she's got an incredible amount of influence! She is often referred to as the 'Queen'; which makes direct sense since Vishakha's ruler (Indra) is the king of the gods, so there is this theme of Vishakha energy being regarded as godly again. She is known for her incredibly powerful vocals too which we see a lot in Jupiter Nakshatras, Jupiter ruling the throat & the element of 'sound'. Beyonce and her marriage to Jay-Z is very famous, them both being artists in the public eye.

𝓚𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓙𝓮𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓻, 𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓴𝓱𝓪 𝓢𝓾𝓷 (Swati in Lahiri) - side note that I've noticed all of the Kardashian sisters have a strong Tiger yoni Nakshatra in their chart with the exception of Kourtney. Kim with Chitra Sun & Mercury in Vishakha as her chart ruler, Kylie with Vishakha Moon, Kendall with Vishakha Sun, Khloe with Vishakha Mars ruling her Sun in Dhanishta & Moon in Mrigasira... I don't know much about the Kardashians aside from what's obvious in the media, but I found this so interesting and telling of the power and influence prominent Vishakha/tiger yoni natives can fall into. Of course, Kendall really embodies Vishakha appearance-wise too.

Something cool to think about is that while Vishakha is so intimately connected to themes of beauty, power, infIuence, achievement, success & abundance, it is interestingly a Mleccha nakshatra; meaning 'outcaste'. As one can deduct from the name, Mleccha nakshatras are associated with 'shunning' and being a social pariah, even being regarded as animalistic. Mleccha Nakshatras deviate from the crowd in some way, they make a statement. It makes sense that a Mleccha Nakshatra be strongly associated with fame & influence, since those who are truly influential must be doing something original, or 'different' to what's already been seen/done. Even if that simply means being controversial. I've seen themes of Mleccha heavy people being shamed for their more 'outside the box' nature, and then getting their 'revenge' in a sense, later gaining extreme abundance due to that very same quality they were initially outcasted for.

I'll have to do a more formal/in depth write up on Vishakha sometime, this was more of a casual post to highlight the ayanamsa discrepancy and some connections.

I hope this is enjoyed by/interesting to someone! ♡

#nakshatras #vedic astrology #astrology #birth chart #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #sidereal astrology #libra #scorpio #astrology notes #astro posts #vishakha #nakshatra #ayanamsa

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fallout-lou-begas · 2 months

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Not sure if you’ve been asked this before, but what are your favorite/essential mods for new vegas? I’ve only ever played it unmodded so I’m curious

Good question! I definitely have answered this before, but that was so many years ago. It's only now that I've taken the opportunity to overhaul and modernize my own mod set-up that I've been figuring out the answer to this question myself. But I can definitely talk you through the most important parts of my new load order.

First, however, every single person modding this game in this day and age absolutely needs to start with the Viva New Vegas modding guide, and follow every step to the letter. The recommendations are air-tight and the instructions are written and presented as if you, the reader, have never even seen so much as a computer before. It's amazing. The "Base" of VNV contains nothing but bugfixes, lightweight unofficial patches, performance optimizations, and other under-the-hood stuff designed to remedy FNV's infamous stability issues while maintaining a completely "vanilla" feel. This makes it absolutely necessary, in my opinion, even for people who don't actually want to play with any (other) mods. Especially crucial to this guide is its mandate to use Mod Organizer 2; if you're using Nexus Mod Manager, Vortex, or Fallout Mod Manager any time since Biden got elected, you are shooting yourself in the foot plain and simple. The best endorsement that I can give of Mod Organizer 2 is that it mods you game completely virtually, meaning that if you fuck your mods up beyond repair, you can just go to your actual FNV launcher in your root folder and boot up the vanilla game like nothing ever happened.

And the "Extended" section of Viva New Vegas consists of more modding tools, quality of life tweaks, content restorations, and a curated list of strongly recommended gameplay modifications that nevertheless all come down to your personal preference (though deviating from their provided list may make you use your brain a little bit when choosing the right compatibility patches, and so on).

This isn't going to cover every single thing that I play with, but here's everything that I would think to suggest to anybody who asked. With that said, here's Fallout "Lou" Begas's Mod Recommendations, 2024 Edition:

Viva New Vegas Extended: Lou's Preferences

VNV Extended recommends several gameplay modifications that come down to personal preference. I installed just about all of them, with a few exceptions (I don't care at all for B42 Optics, for example). Here's some specific details:

Just Assorted Mods has a hell of a lot of features but I actually enable are breath-holding, the vanilla sprint, and the loot menu (though I flip-flop often on using JAM's Bullet Time in place of V.A.T.S.). If you install VNV and boot up the game and wonder "what is all this fucking shit on my HUD," it's probably some of Just Assorted Mods's components. Just disable the ones you don't want in the in-game Mod Configuration Menu, which you will also have available if you followed the instructions for VNV Base.

Vigor is a modernized fork of JSawyer, the mod that was originally created by FNV's own director after the game's release that tweaked a lot of under-the-hood game settings and statistical balance to his personal preferences. JSawyer Ultimate Edition a more faithful modernization of the original JSawyer whereas Vigor is "a more lightweight alternative" that dials back some of the more drastic features of JSUE. Your choice of these, or none of them, is purely personal preference, and my preference is for Vigor. Any form of JSawyer is strongly recommended if you play in Hardcore Mode.

Simple Vigor Config is used in conjuncton with Vigor and is an intuitive and easy way to overwrite Vigor's gamesetting changes with your own preference. I use the config to adjust carry weight to a much more punishing (25 + 5*STR) formula that incentivizes the use of backpacks, mindful inventory management, and companion inventory space; and to increase the starvation, thirst, and sleep Hardcore Mode rates to 10, 5, and 14 respectively.

Desert Natural Weathers is the weather mod to end all weather mods, in my view, and it includes configuration for customizing the darkness and visibility of nighttime. This effectively obsoletes former dinosaurs like Darker Nights Ultimate Edition. Refer to the post that I made on DNUE's Nexus page here for a copy of my settings to darken those dang nights with DNW.

In AIStewie's Tweaks's nvse_stewie_tweaks.ini file, I set bCustomSpecialPoints = 1 and iNumPointsToAllocate = 35. This slightly reduced starting stat spread forces you to make tradeoffs in your character creation, because it starts with a perfect middle 5 in every stat. Every addition above average will require a subtraction below average. The "Essentials" INI included with VNV Base is all that most players will ever need, so this is my one specific personal tweak that'll keep you from scrolling through every single option in the whole damn thing (though I also recommend enabling the tweaks that hide all of your skill check tags in dialogue for more immersive and less gamified roleplaying in conversation: set bNoSkillTags, bRemoveFailedSuccessText, bRemoveRedOutline, and iRemoveTags to all = 1. )

Lou's Personally Valuable or Sentimental Tweaks and Fixes

Better Pause Menu Screen (Simple Blur). I play with an ultrawide resolution and the vanilla pause menu filter doesn't actually extend past 1920x1080. So this is really vital, lol.

Vanilla Animations Weapon Scale Fix. This mod will fix a common issue with custom weapons and animation mods where your weapon will become invisible because its scale has gotten stuck at 0.

Companion Carry Weight Fix. All companions in the game have an invisible attribute called "companion suite" that, among other things, halves their carrying capacity based on their actual stats. If you play with a super low carry weight formula like I do, you can see how this is a problem. Here's the solution.

Miscellaneous Tweaks Collection includes a few files that I get great use out of: No DLC Recipes Early (great unless you integrate DLC crafting ingredients into your base game somehow) and Vendors Have Throwables (why the fuck are throwing weapons so hard to find in vanilla!). There are others that I use as well but I recommend these two the most generally.

Lucky 38 Suite Upgrade Terminal Tweak is a very cute little mod that removes the ugly wall-mounted terminal and makes you purchase your suite upgrades from the actual computer on the desk in the master bedroom instead.

I Fought the Law - Simple NCR Start finally gives you a good reason to check out NCRCF if you're not siding with the Powder Gangers.

Hire Cass Early was my "dream mod" for the longest time, and thanks to some help, it's finally a reality. Simply pick up the letter that this mod adds to the Mojave Express office in Primm and you can recruit Cass right away (through the usual persuasive requirements) without ever stepping off the road from Goodsprings to the Mojave Outpost. Part of my ongoing "make @ikroah real" project.

Harder Strip Access. Getting into Vegas to finally confront Benny should feel like a tremendous accomplishment. This mod makes it so. Better pony up the caps or call in one hell of a favor, kid! With any kind of tougher economy mods, especially, this mod makes it wonderfully Herculean to just buy your way onto the Strip.

Balance Tweaks

Pseudo-Realistic Carry Weight - No Weightless Item Overhaul and Realistic Bottle Cap Weight. The former is actually an optional file; the main file just implements the the carry weight formula that I was coincidentally already using. The latter just forces you to think strategically about how much money you're walking around with. Can you tell that I love inventory management? Note that if you give bottlecaps weight, you should definitely let yourself drop them when necessary by editing Stewie's Tweaks (bShowCurrencyInContainers = 1).

Carry Weight Affects Speed, Med-Tek Trauma Kit (Lou's Version), and More Conditions to Fast Travel. The first appearance of my own mods on this list! These three mods in conjunction tie your encumbrance and your overall health to your mobility far more strictly. I love the balancing act of packing enough supplies for an excursion while leaving enough room for loot that I can still fast travel with, and the choice to get greedy with more loot than I can comfortably carry and just hope to not run into danger on my slow walk back toward a merchant. My tweaks to the classic Med-Tek Trauma Kit mod apply this level of emergent gameplay and resource management to your limb health, though it makes the game much more difficult unless your character specializes in Medicine. I haven't tried it myself, but Simple Healing System is fully configurable, modern mod that I've had my eyes on and that might be better for most general playstyles, and it might even be compatible in conjunction with my Med-Tek mod for extra intensity!

Better Charisma (Charisma Affects Dialogue Skill Checks) and/or Charisma Affects Reputation. I've always been very frustrated with how much of a meaningless dump stat Charisma is, and the phenomenon of the 1 CHA 100 Speech player character in general. These two mods, which you can use just one of or both together, give Charisma much more meaningful and palpable functionality.

Terrifying Presence (Lou's Version), speaking of Charisma, changes the requirement for this perk from Level 6 and 70 Speech to Level 2 and 6 CHA, making it much more accessible to more types of intimidating characters. This same mod includes alternate options to take it as a trait instead, with the drawback(s) of either tanking your Speech and Barter and/or increasing your addiction chance. See also: Less Snarky Terrifying Presence.

New Vegas Karma Rebalance is a great under-the-hood mod that makes FNV's nearly vestigial karma system less nonsensical without removing it or its effects on the player entirely. Thanks to this and Mass Ownership Tweaks, which is already included in VNV Extended's recommendation of Essential Vanilla Enhancements Merged, Cass won't hate your guts just for stealing a few things from Caesar's Legion at Cottonwood Cove, especially not after you've already killed them all.

Damage Multiplier solves the sluggish damage sponge problem that plagues Bethesda engine combat by simply multiplying all damage dealt globally, both by and to the player, by a factor of your choosing. I use 2.5x, which is usually enough to kill any level-appropriate human being with a single shot to the head. 2x should be the minimum. Combine with Combat Enhancer NVSE and NPCs Use Ammo for overall faster but much more ferocious and intense combat engagements.

Visuals and Animations

Third Person Camera Overhaul. Though I'm still getting used to its extremely specific configuration settings, this is vital for a third-person enjoyer like myself. It obsoletes any and all "dynamic camera" or "shoulder swap" mods of the past. Once you figure out how it works and what you like, you're set for life.

Realistic Movement and Dramatic Inertia. Although a little goofy, it has never felt better for me to physically move around in the game than it has before. I like the weight and get-up-and-go that this mod has for me as a player, but it's especially significant in firefights and other combat situations where, now, your targets can't dodge bullets by shifting direction instantly or stopping and turning on perfect dimes. For a single, less heavyweight alternative, try 360 Movement and Diagonal Movement together instead. Each pair of these mods is incompatible with the other pair, however.

B42 Loot, B42 Interact, and B42 Inject. I recommend a lot of the B42 family of animation overhauls in general (except B42 Optics, lol) because I just love seeing my character actually do the things they're doing. For B42 Loot, I use the included config file to disable the "force pull" effect, and for B42 Interact, there exists compatibility patches between it and its more third-person oriented counterpart Animated Ingestibles, but I'd only look into that if you know what you're doing (though, I do).

Character Kit Remake is a mod that I was turned onto recently. For a long time I have scoffed at character appearance overhauls out of nostalgia for those classic gamebryo engine potato-faces and what I thought was, to be blunt, the tasteless ineptitude of the actual overhauling. But I do really like this one, even if the showcase of screenshots do a really bad job of selling it. It looks a lot better in motion and in game, I promise. i think that these people are just not good digital photographers.

Height Randomizer. It's funny how much you can get attached to a minor character when they are, for whatever reason, especially tall or short. This lightweight mod just adds some height variance to all NPCs in the game that don't already have a non-normal 1.00 height setting in vanilla.

The Strip Groove. Dance on command. Endorsed.

Items, Economy, Crafting, Survival, Repair, Etc.

Gloves Galore (Lou's Version), Power Armor Gloves, Combat Armor Gloves, and White Glove Society Wear Gloves. Anyone who has followed me long enough on here should know that I have strong, totally normal feelings about gloves.

Armed to the Teeth Redux and literally any backpack mod. I've used this duffel bag forever, for example. I love these ones because I personally love when you can physically, literally see the things that a character is supposed to be carrying.

Flashlight NVSE. Another piece of Agnes Sands's arsenal, this is the one "old" mod that I can't quit. Even if it is a little janky, I've yet to find a better directional flashlight mod. Only install this is you think you can handle wrestling with it a little, and make sure your "Exterior" flashlight settings are all on the lowest quality regardless of computer specs (or else it causes flickering). It's a must-have for darker nights, too.

Famine is the last "loot scarcity" mod you'll ever need. Combine it with Harder, Barter, Faster, Stronger from the VNV Extended recommendations list for a really tough time affording even basic necessities without tailoring your build for mercantile success... which is just how I like it.

Cheaper Repair Costs. The vanilla formula for determining the cost of weapon and armor repairs at merchants is, in a word, fucked, where it literally costs twice the weapon's base value to repair it from broken. This mod lets you adjust that proportion so that you won't be better off literally selling and buying another gun in every single case. I play with a rate of 67% (which means that paying a merchant to repair a completely broken weapon from 0% health to 100% health will cost 67% of the weapon's base value).

Alternative Repairing does too much cool, practical shit to the base repairing system to even get into here. To keep it short, it intuitively incentivizes actually scrounging for all kinds of formerly useless junk that you can now scrap for spare parts. Check it out.

Water Overhaul. Ever play with a Universal Water Bottling mod and find things suddenly far too easy? Water Overhaul combines all the convenience and sense-making of bottling water anywhere with the much-needed tradeoff of truly purified water being much rarer. All that convenient H2O is now just radioactive enough to keep Goodsprings Source from singlehandedly breaking the survival economy of the game (not to mention the literal economy).

Cowboy Coffee and Coffee Grounds, my own mod that adds brewable coffee to the wasteland. While mostly just created because it's cute, it's really nice to have a reliable and palpable source of sleep deprivation relief when playing in Hardcore Mode.

Gun Oil From Animal Fat, another mod of mine that provides a cheaper, craftable, and less demanding but less effective repair option to complement Weapon Repair Kits. I patched this one recently to fix some old issues, and it's great for incentivizing emergent gameplay (since you need to hunt for meat, and cook the meat for fat, and combine the fat with loot to make the gun oil).

Sound

Less Constant Music and Passive Combat Music Tweaked do exactly what they say on the tin and are perfect for people who like to get immersed in the natural sound of their environment, especially if you're a chronically stealthy player like me and you've trained yourself to constantly listen for enemy footsteps. I do recommend keeping Less Constant Music disabled when you first start a game, though, because until I can figure out how to add an exception to it myself, it will remove the background music from character creation at Doc Mitchell's house more often than not, and I really like that music.

SPEAKING of Doc Mitchell's music, Try Not To Get Killed Anymore is one of the first mods I ever made and it has never left my load order. It simply replaces the musical sting that plays when you die with an emphatic, tolling bell and the refrain from Doc Mitchell's theme, plus an optional version that includes his ghostly voice telling you to try not to get killed anymore. Two of my other personal sound replacers are the Mysterious Stranger Level-up Theme, Simple Snap Sound Effects for Quest Updates, and Mechanical Camera VATS.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #mods

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