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#my heart has been acting up really bad and i literally spent the first like 6 hours of the day Shaking i was so ill

vetitiscripta · 6 months

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i wanna see ren grow horrified when he realizes mc only follows instruction because theyre literally being controlled by strade. i want to see him question it all and maybe even lose it a bit when he realizes mc hadn't acted alone. and most of the violence had been the same man he'd let bleed out that day on the ground. i want to see how bad that takes a toll on his mind.

anon your mind. mentally kissing you on the mouth anon

for those who missed it- this is regarding my ghost strade au

for this au, i like to think that strade can really only interact/“control” mc in certain moments, probably something like due to strong emotions (take that as you will 😏) or whatever

but god!! ren thinking that mc genuinely wants to do this type of stuff or hang out with him of their own free will only to find out its all because of strade. he would start thinking about everything that has happened and would wonder if any of it was genuine

he’d think about the time he found you late at night on the couch, watching one of strade’s old snuff films. he thought that you had finally understood, had come to appreciate the beauty of it all like he had. he cuddled with you on the couch as you put on another one on. (you had woken up that night in a cold sweat, an intense urge to watch one. strade stood in the corner of your room just watching you, smile on his face every time you looked at him. you tried to ignore the urge, ignore him, but it eventually wore you down. you trudged down the stairs and stood in front of the dvds, letting strade pick the one he wanted. you watched 3 films before ren found you, your tears already dried)

he’d remember the time you willingly slept in the same bed with him for the first time. it was late at night and he was trying to find an anime to watch when you softly knocked on his door. when he opened the door you were basically shaking, eyes darting around. “can i sleep with you tonight?” ren was over the moon when you asked, basically had hearts in his eyes (he’s down bad don’t make fun of him). he thinks you’ve come around, you finally see that you love him like he loves you. he happily welcomes you in his bed, arms wrapped around you so tight you fear he may snap you in half, anime playing in the background as you both fall asleep. (strade wouldn’t leave you alone that day. he was constantly around you, pestering you. sometimes he would just hover over your shoulder, watching your every movement, other times he would be telling you stories, the things he did and how he did them. every waking moment was spent with strade, you were so tired. you were happy when it was finally night and you could sleep. but then you felt the bed dip and felt hands on your legs, slowing inching their way up. you shot out of bed faster than ever and made your way to ren’s room. swallowing your pride for the night would be better than dealing with strade for another 5 minutes)

the encounter with lawrence was a staple in your relationship, you two were brought together since then (he believed) and he was so happy with you, he knows that he you were meant to be his

the day you tell him everything, he seems to crumble. he’s frozen as you tell him everything, fear on his face. he wanted to believe it was a joke, a bad joke that he could punish you for but you knew too much for it to be a coincidental joke. you were crying at the end of it, overwhelmed by everything that had been going on, and ren felt close to tears himself

he thought he was done with strade. sure his body is in the basement freezer, but he was no longer controlled by him, strade had no power over him anymore. (he might be lying to himself on that, he tries to be what strade was, tries to fill the empty feeling he got when he watched strade die)

and now you’re telling him that strade is still here just as a ghost? that strade was watching everything? that strade still had control?

i think that ren would try to regain control, would try to show that strade might still be around, but he is in charge now. he’d shock you before you can comprehend what he’s doing and you would wake up in the basement, tied to the pole. ren stood over you, knife in hand. strade stood just behind him, biggest smile you have ever seen on his face. you focused back on ren as he crouched down, “is he here?” you looked back up at strade before nodding. “good” a glint of metal caught your eye as ren brought the knife to your skin

#anon ask #boyfriend to death #btd #ghost strade au #ren hana #btd ren #btd strade #btd x reader #ren hana x reader #strade x reader #(kind of implied kind of not can be read either way tbh)

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writershapeholeonthedoor · 4 months

Text

Take Care

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Everyone tries to warn Wanda what a bad idea it is to fall in love with the big, bad, scary spy.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language.

READ ON AO3 | MASTERLIST

When Wanda joined the Avengers she was sure she had just walked herself into some type of military team so strict and uptight that she was half expecting their fancy airplane to land in the middle of the desert surrounded by barbed wire and heavily armed men. They were, after all, the main ones responsible for keeping Earth safe from every type of villain that might come to them. Aliens, humans, and anything in between. Their team, formed by a literal God, a super soldier, a man who could turn himself into a green monster, a man whose big ego could barely fit inside his iron suit, and two humans - who, really, were probably better than all the other four combined - should live and breath for training, follow routines and focus on getting better and better every time.

Wanda realized pretty quickly that she had been wrong - very wrong - about her assumption.

Tony Stark was a kid stuck in a man’s body. He could barely keep a serious conversation with anyone and spent most of his time making jokes and provoking his colleagues. Bruce was one of the gentlest souls Wanda ever met - though, admittedly, she hadn’t met many of those during her lifetime - but he was a bit like an erudite and lived inside a lab. Thor assembled Wanda as that overly excited kid who got dropped at the amusement park with too much money. Steve was probably the only one among all of them who took this “hero” job as seriously as they should, though it was a bit wasted on him since he didn’t need to train to keep his shape and he was almost unmatchable. And Clint, well, Clint had so many dad jokes in his pockets that Wanda was as impressed by it as she was by his archery skills.

Less than a month of living with them and Wanda already realized that the men who were the most powerful and skilled people on Earth were just like every other man - but with powers and skills no one else had.

It did wonderful things for her because, for once, she didn’t walk into a military base camp like she thought she was going to when Steve and Clint convinced her to tag along after Sokovia, but also because the grief after losing Pietro was very consuming and it was good to have people around her who made her laugh or roll her eyes. It was good to feel things other than sorrow. She got closer to Steve more than anyone else since he was the calmest of them - centered and sweet - but, after a rough start when Wanda could barely get out of bed, she managed to form a bond with the entire team.

The point is that Wanda was aware that those people sometimes acted like the teenagers she often saw on the sitcoms she used to watch with her family. That, of course, did not prepare her to find out that, above all of that, their team also seemed to be keen on keeping updates to their comrades' private lives. In other words, they were gossipmongers.

“So…” The first one to bring it up had been Thor, surprisingly so because the God of Thunder was spending less and less time around nowadays. “I noticed you have a thing for the widow.”

Wanda was not at all surprised that the team picked up on the little signs that she might have taken a different liking to Natasha - of all people, really, and her heart had decided to beat a bit faster to the woman who could kill on two hundred and God knows how many different ways. There were spies on the team and most of them could, somehow, hear better than everyone else too. Also, they would never have gotten that far in battling the bad guys if they had been oblivious to things around them.

What did surprise her, however, was that someone decided to point it out. To her face. While they were trying to choose the movie for that night - Tony’s idea because he was insisting they should pretend to be some type of dysfunctional family who had movie nights or something like that.

With her eyes wide and heart beating fast inside her chest, Wanda glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone in the communal area where the largest TV known by man was. She could hear Tony and Clint bickering in the kitchen because they both had different ideas of what the night snack should be, and she knew Steve, Natasha and Sam must still be in the training room, so obviously Bruce was in his lab yet probably talking with Vision. Even so, Wanda didn’t look even a bit relaxed when she looked back at Thor.

“What?” She breathed out and then, because the nerves were eating her inside, she let out an awkward chuckle while shaking her head.

Wanda really thought the tall muscular man would let it go. He didn’t, of course. “No need to lie to me, shorty,” he said with a large smile that would’ve been charming if he wasn’t so damn daunting. Wanda also wanted to point out that everyone next to Thor would be short and that she was taller than most, but he didn’t give her a chance. “I can see the way you stare at her.”

Oh, God.

Wanda opened her mouth to try and come up with something to say but there was nothing her brain could use to get out of that situation. She wasn’t surprised people noticed but she was surprised Thor noticed. Because, if he did, so did everyone else. And, God, it was terrifying to have people knowing the things she felt.

She had a very complicated life until that point - and it still was, honestly - and Wanda learned when she was still a kid inside an orphanage that anything people knew about you could be used to hurt you. When Hydra started to make experiments on her, it became even more evident. Wanda proved it herself when she invaded the minds of the same people she now shared a roof with and used their worst memories and fears against them. And, after going through training with Natasha, Clint and Steve, Wanda could immediately panic thinking someone knew her deepest secrets.

Thor must have seen the panic on her face because his teasing smile turned more soft and he actually lowered his voice a bit - not that it would make such a difference since his timbre was so deep. “Hey, I’m not going to judge. Humans have so many rules and what they think is moral or not is based on things I can’t understand.”

It took Wanda a few seconds to understand what he was talking about. Thor thought she was afraid he would have a problem with Wanda having feelings for a woman when, in reality, she was scared that he knew she had feelings at all. If she wasn’t so tense, Wanda would’ve laughed.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about, though,” Thor kept talking and Wanda was amazed he had a plan on what he wanted to talk with her about. Thor was not the type of guy who planned those things. Still holding the remote in her hand, Wanda waited for him to continue. “Look, Natasha is… very brave.” He made it sound like that was the most important quality someone could have. “And scary.” Wanda raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I mean, she’s a good woman. Very beautiful too.”

Okay, he didn’t have a plan.

Wanda slowly nodded. “Sure,” she mumbled, unsure what else she could say.

“She’s also not the woman who do dating,” Thor finally declared, suddenly looking proud of himself. “If you want, I’m pretty sure she would be down to sex, but take care, okay?” Wanda felt her face heating up in a way it had never done before and her eyes glued to the TV in front of her with renewed interest. There was no way that conversation was real. “If you do the sex, don’t get attached,” he warned her gently. “You might end up getting hurt. So, maybe, the best idea is to not have sex. Unless you want to.”

Wanda thought she wanted to disappear, maybe be swallowed whole by a portal or something that would take her away. She had magic and she certainly could make it happen if she tried hard enough but Wanda felt so shell-shocked that she couldn’t move. “Thor…”

The God interrupted her, though, which was good because Wanda wasn’t sure what she could even say. “I just mean that having feelings for someone like Natasha can be very tricky. But, if you ever get your heart broken and need someone to talk to, just come to find me. Unless I’m in Asgard, of course.”

Thor then used one of his ridiculously big hands to pat her on the back, a friendly gesture, but Wanda almost got thrown out of the couch because of how strong the man was. Wanda grimaced and moved away a few inches so he couldn’t reach her again if he tried, and she was about to finally snap and tell him to mind his own business when Tony and Clint entered the space with several popcorn bowls.

“Where is everyone else?” Tony asked and, just like that, the conversation was over.

Wanda couldn’t say she had forgotten all about it after it happened because it was hard to forget that Thor, the God of Thunder, decided to give her love advice, but she was sure it would never happen again. Sadly, Wanda didn’t have superspeed like Pietro to run away if it ever did but she could think about a few other things to escape if she had to.

That said, she didn’t expect that conversation to happen with someone else instead on the very next day. And with Tony of all people.

He had called her inside his lab to help him make some tests on his suit - he was trying to make it strong enough to support Wanda’s magic - and then allowed Wanda to use one of the robotic arms to blow one of the training dummies. Wanda had laughed after that, feeling like a kid playing with things she wasn’t supposed to, before telling him she still preferred the red flow that came from her own hand and giving him the suit piece back.

“Yes, not all of us can shoot explosive balls from our palms,” Tony replied with a scoff while pulling away his things.

“No need to be so jealous,” Wanda taunted him. They walked a long way until Wanda felt comfortable enough around the man and it took a little more time to be able to joke around him, but Tony had a place inside her heart as well.

“Jealous, honey?” Tony teased her back, taking a look at her from over his glasses. “I invented a thing that is pretty much the same you can do.”

“Well, yes,” she conceded before turning one of her palms up and letting a small red ball form just above it. “But you have to carry that suit everywhere.”

Tony sighed and didn’t argue back, which made Wanda smile and put her hands back inside her back pockets. She was about to ask him if he needed help with anything else since she had planned on going out with Vision to show him the ducks by the lake when Tony started talking before her.

“So, you wanna do funny business at workspace, huh?” Wanda had no idea what he just said and just kept staring at him with a blank expression on her face. Upon hearing nothing from her, Tony looked up from where he was typing on the computer and rolled his eyes impatiently. “You know, knock boots.” Tony kept looking, Wanda kept staring, and it became clear she was still lost. He sighed and started waving a hand while he came up with other things to say. “Have some horizontal refreshment, get down and dirty, shake the sheets, practice the act of darkness, have some adult naptime, make an assault with a friendly weapon, do the Devil’s dance, feed the kitty, hit a home run, join amorous congress - Steve would like that one - go cave diving.” Wanda felt like the man had just thrown a bunch of words that had no meaning at her and expected the girl to form a sentence. Tony groaned and his head dropped for a moment before he looked up at her again and declared: “Sex, Maximoff. I’m talking about sex.”

Wanda’s eyes widened, her cheeks became as red as the magic that winded around her fingers, and she took a step back out of shock. Yes, that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with Tony Stark of all people. In fact, Wanda would rather stay still as he blasted her with his Iron Man suit instead of having that particular conversation.

Though, as usual, it could get much worse.

“Let me tell you this, you could have chosen someone better to want to do the fun thing,” Tony huffed and shook his head, although he looked quite impressed. “That’s some dangerous place you want to hide your hot dog at.” Wanda wondered if anyone had ever passed out for blushing too hard because she felt a second away from doing it. “Well, guess that’s not the best euphemism for you. Let me think for a second.”

“You don’t need to,” Wanda murmured mostly to herself since, obviously, Tony didn’t pay her any mind.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Tony called out and Wanda watched with her eyes still wide as the artificial intelligence came to life to wait for what its creator wanted. “Can you tell me some euphemisms for lesbian sex?”

“Of course, Mister Stark,” the robot replied and Wanda reacted before it could get completely out of hand.

“Okay, I’m out of here.” Wanda turned around to walk to the door, eager to escape and be anywhere other than there.

She still heard F.R.I.D.A.Y. declaring: “Play rock, paper, scissors with only the scissors.”

“Come down, kiddo,” Tony called out after her. “I’m just trying to help!” Wanda opened the door and took a step out, ready to flee - run if she had to. “Romanoff is a very dangerous place to try to get funny, especially if you are totally smitten by her.”

Wanda glared at him in surprise. She wondered if Thor said something or if Tony also couldn’t keep his own business - and she knew the answer to that. “Tony, please, don’t ever talk to me again,” she pleaded because, honestly, she would never recover from the conversation they just had.

Tony laughed, though, and gave her a playful wink. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you’re head over heels for our most dangerous, and hot, spy.”

“Bye, Tony.”

“Just saying that, if you want to love her with all your heart and soul, you should know Natasha is all about afternoon delights and nothing else.”

Wanda could only pray no one heard the man’s raised voice while she walked away. Thankfully, Tony didn’t follow her but Wanda didn’t go find Vision right away. She needed a few minutes to get over the fact that another person from their team decided to step out of their way to give Wanda a warning about Natasha Romanoff. Gosh, that was a bit humiliating.

However, Tony hadn’t been the first and wouldn’t be the last either, something that made Wanda want to go back to the rubbles of Sokovia. It felt like a better alternative than having her feelings rubbed into her face like they were public domain.

It was definitely better than having that conversation with Bruce Banner for sure.

“I guess I should give you my condolences,” Bruce said out of nowhere about a week after her weird conversation with Tony.

Half of the team was away on some type of mission, to which Wanda and Bruce hadn’t been needed, and both of them had ended up inside the man’s lab while he worked on something while Wanda read a book. She could’ve gone to the back of the Avengers’ compound where she could sit under a tree and enjoy the breeze, but Bruce was interested in some of the Hydra’s experiments and she decided to tag along with him in case he had any questions she could answer. Bruce and her weren’t that close, though they didn’t have problems with each other.

Wanda looked up from her book with a frown. “For what?” She asked. Pietro had died a while ago and Bruce had said he was sorry about it as soon as they landed after it happened, even going as far as giving her a gentle hug and a sad smile.

Bruce’s dark eyes glanced at her in sympathy, though he didn’t stop mixing whatever he was mixing inside a vial. “For falling in love with Natasha Romanoff,” he explained and, above all, he actually sounded sorry for her. “We should start a club for unrequited love or something.”

Wanda’s eyebrows rose comically as her jaw dropped in surprise. She had seen inside both Natasha’s and Bruce’s heads and she knew that it had happened, however, they never spoke about it and, as far as Wanda knew, they both preferred to pretend it never happened. So, to have the man address the fact that he had feelings for Natasha at some point in time was a bit disturbing. Especially because, yes, Wanda knew about it too and, all people considered, she was the one who tried the hardest to pretend she didn’t.

It was none of her business, to start with, but to think about it made her stomach churn uncomfortably.

And now Bruce Banner wanted to talk with Wanda as if they had both been cursed by some terrible catastrophe.

Which, Wanda supposed, was understandable yet extremely unfair.

“Surprised I know?” Bruce asked with a hint of humor.

“I’m starting to think the entire world has been watching me,” Wanda groaned as she closed her book but her voice was too low for Bruce to hear it.

“I too once looked at Natasha as if we could have a future together, just like you do now,” Bruce kept talking and, despite the harsh words, he didn’t sound like a jerk while saying it. It was probably his gentle nature saving him. “And that’s the problem, you know? Natasha doesn’t think she deserves to have a future, so she won’t even try to build one,” Bruce sighed and looked back at the vial. “We have that in common. Neither of us thinks we can have what Tony found with Pepper, or build something like Clint has.”

Bruce was fine talking about Natasha but he wasn’t comfortable looking at Wanda while he spoke about himself. The girl felt some rush of anger inside her and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying all the things that ran inside her mind at that moment. She knew Bruce meant well in the end.

“Maybe you’re both too harsh on yourselves,” Wanda pointed out softly.

When Bruce looked at her, it was pretty clear he couldn’t disagree more with what she just said but, maybe to take the spotlight away from him, he nodded. “Perhaps,” he said with a shrug. “I just wanted to warn you. You’re still young and I’m sure one-sided love won’t take you down. Just take care of yourself, okay? Don’t dream too much, keep your feet on the ground.”

It was the most direct way of saying “don’t be in love with Natasha Romanoff” without actually saying it.

Wanda didn’t reply - mostly because that’s not how feelings work, after all - and Bruce dropped the subject right after that. Wanda waited a few more minutes out of respect before excusing herself from his lab, taking her book with her, and that had been it. She would do a lot of things to prevent herself from having that conversation with Bruce again because the last thing she wanted was to hear the man talk about a time when he and Natasha talked about running away together - even if it never happened or if neither of them actually meant it.

The rest of the team returned by the end of the night and Wanda found a seat as far away from Bruce as she could manage when Tony declared they should watch a movie together. Turns out that Wanda realized she would rather hear Tony Stark come up with a thousand different ways to address sex than talk about feelings with Bruce Banner. Who would’ve guessed?

After that, Wanda got a break from the entire “let’s talk about your feelings” thing. Wanda left to join a mission with Steve and Vision, then it was time for Steve to leave with Clint and Natasha for something else. It was some nice good two weeks of not having to talk about how bad she was at hiding her crushes but it didn’t last forever, obviously.

“Hey, Red,” Clint said as soon as he was done eating after returning from his mission. It all went well enough that no one had a bruise or a more serious wound but Clint still had enough adrenaline rushing through his veins that he assured everyone he didn’t want to take a rest like Natasha and Steve wanted to. “You and me, training room. You game?”

It was hard to understand Clint at first when she first met him. Wanda’s first language wasn’t English and it could be hard to keep up when he wasn’t saying all the words. She always thought he would get along with Pietro just fine because of that. As time went by, and the more Wanda had English and accent classes with Natasha, it became easier to follow along, though.

So, she simply nodded and followed him to the training room after changing into something more comfortable. Natasha and Steve had been the ones to give her hand-to-hand combat training when she first joined the team but Wanda now sparred with everyone else since she proved she wouldn’t get herself killed accidentally. Clint was already inside waiting for her and they soon got on the training mattress. Clint wasn’t as good as Natasha but he was still better than Wanda, even more so since she wasn’t allowed to use her powers inside the room, and she quickly started to get her ass kicked.

“You’re still not that good at the whole kicking butt thing,” Clint teased her as he reached out with a hand for her to take it.

She grabbed it and got up with a groan when her muscles protested. “I could throw you across the street with a flick of my finger,” Wanda argued.

Clint simply laughed. “Yeah, right. Come on, try again.”

By the seventh time Wanda landed on the matt, Clint was starting to get tired finally and didn’t try to get her to get up. Wanda lay there, sweaty and out of breath, arms open and staring at the ceiling while cursing herself for never being able to keep up with him. Clint was drinking some water, staring down at her with a smug grin, and Wanda was waiting for him to tease her about it too.

He went to another approach, though. “You know, I thought you would’ve learned more things about it since Natasha was the one teaching you. Thought you would want to impress her or something.”

Wanda groaned because, by now, she knew what was about to happen and she wasn’t thrilled by it. “Not you too,” she complained.

Clint’s smirk told her he had heard her but he didn’t ask any questions about it. “Lemme tell ya,” he paused and pointed at the girl laying on her back, “Natasha would not be impressed.”

Wanda rolled her eyes and grunted as she set down so she wouldn’t feel so damn vulnerable. “You shouldn’t gloat. It’s bad luck.”

The man laughed even harder at that. “Right. Keep that in mind if you ever manage to fulfill your wildest dream to get Natasha to pin you down in a more fun way.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Wanda replied and used one hand to prop herself up. She got to her feet and glared at him. “Do you still want to fight or can I go take a shower?”

“You wish you could share a shower with-”

“Bye, Clint,” Wanda interrupted him so abruptly that he just laughed while she walked away.

Wanda was out of the door before he could say anything else but she had just stepped into the hallway when she walked right against a wall. Well, not a wall, she noticed when she looked up after letting out a small squeak. Steve Rogers.

“Oh, hi, Steve,” she greeted him. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“No problem,” Steve assured her with his sweet smile. “I also wasn’t looking. Are you done training?”

“Yes. Clint is trying to be funny.” Wanda rolled her eyes and heard his deep chuckle. “I thought you were resting.”

“I was but I’m kind of hungry now. Do you want to join me in the kitchen?”

“Yes. You and cap should have a tea party,” Clint said as he walked out of the room as well, not even trying to not hit her with his shoulder.

Wanda frowned and glared at him but the man simply laughed and walked away. Seriously, it was like sharing a house with a bunch of kids.

“I do make some pretty good tea,” Steve commented while giving her a little smile.

And Wanda was hooked.

She went down to the kitchen area with him, happily listening to him tell her about the mission and how it went. Wanda sat on one of the high stools, putting both of her elbows on the kitchen island and her hands clasped together while she watched Steve move around at ease to put some water on the kettle. He then walked to the fridge to find some leftovers he could warm up and Wanda couldn’t help but smile at the scene. A super soldier making some tea and eating old spaghetti.

“How were things while we were gone?” Steve asked after leaning back against the counter so he could eat and look at her at the same time.

“Normal,” Wanda replied, even though nothing had been very normal since the entire team decided to watch her every move because they thought it was so fun to see her little crush on Natasha. “Tony tried to make another movie night and was mad when Bruce fell asleep in the middle of what he called the best movie ever made.”

“Yes, sounds normal.” Steve rolled his eyes although the smile on his lips was fond. “Did you train with someone?”

Wanda shook her head. Ever since her training got less rigid - it happened after Natasha declared she was better in her combat skills enough to hold her own against their usual share of villains and after Steve was confident she could run without having a heart attack - Wanda didn’t go to the training room every day anymore. She liked to run in the mornings because it felt nice to clear her mind for the usual two miles she took and she enjoyed sparring sometimes just to learn some new move she might have missed before, but that was it. She relied a lot on her magic and Wanda was truly fine with it even if she knew Natasha would rather otherwise.

Steve too, though luckily he didn’t give her another long speech about the importance of training. “Well, I’m back now. We could train tomorrow morning.”

Wanda grimaced despite her best tries not to. “Sure,” she replied however because, well, she was a part of the team and people had to trust her. The man seemed amused by that, at least. “Maybe we could do that pair thing again,” Wanda suggested mainly because it was more fun to be paired up with someone while both of you tried to take down the other duo.

“I doubt Clint will be up before noon,” Steve said and finally put the now empty container down on the counter. The water was warm enough by now and he moved to grab two cups from the top cabinet - where Wanda could reach but where Natasha couldn’t, much to her disdain. “You want some too, yes?”

Wanda nodded in agreement. “We could ask Nat and Tony to join us, maybe.” Tony hated those sparring things but Wanda still wanted to make him suffer after making her painfully listen to him talk about sex.

Steve put one of the mugs in front of her, placed his palm on the marble and took a sip of his drink while looking at Wanda with amusement in his eyes. He waited until she drank some of it, watched her small grimace, and then chuckled when he pushed the sugar toward her. Wanda grabbed a cube and dropped it on the hot liquid before taking a spoon to swirl it.

“I once knew someone who put four sugar cubes in her tea,” Steve told her, grabbing her attention again.

Wanda’s eyes moved up when she noticed how much his voice had changed when he said that. Steve’s tone was something between longing and heartache, and his face showed something similar by the way his smile lost all strength. Wanda knew who he was thinking about. She had been inside his head once, she saw the woman’s face, and she felt his sorrow for the life that could have been.

It still took her breath away sometimes because Steve had loved that woman so dearly and then someone decided to transform him into a deadly weapon for the military and he lost it.

Since she didn’t know what to say - and because there was nothing she could come up with that would be truly helpful - Wanda reached out and placed her hand on top of his on the counter, squeezing his fingers tightly. Steve seemed surprised by it but he quickly offered her a small smile and squeezed her hand back.

“Love is a funny thing,” he whispered after a few seconds where he was probably debating with himself if he should keep talking or not. “It can give you the drive to be better, to do better, to fight more, to keep going. But it can also take away all of that,” Steve sighed, looked into her eyes, and tilted his head a little. “It can be a blessing and it can be a curse.”

“I know that,” Wanda replied carefully. “I thought I would never be able to smile again when I lost Pietro.” And there were still days where it was hard, where it was impossible to smile or eat or get out of bed or be reminded that she was still alive and her twin brother wasn’t. But there were days when she would be hit by the sudden wish to live for both of them, to try every milkshake and go to every beach and watch every movie. “I know they’re different situations, but I understand.”

“I know you do,” Steve smiled sadly. “You went through a lot already. More than most people would even be able to take.”

Wanda said nothing because she learned very soon that life wasn’t a competition of who had a more traumatic past, especially when she was part of a team where no one had an easy path to where they currently were. No one there had an easy life.

“Like I said,” Steve kept talking after he realized Wanda wasn’t going to say anything, “love can heal and it can hurt.”

“Steve,” Wanda smiled at him, “if you have something to say, just say it.”

He had the decency to look embarrassed and he averted his eyes for a moment, cheeks flushed and lips curled at the corners. “That was it,” Steve said eventually with a shrug. “That was all I had to say. Love can heal and it can hurt,” he repeated while taking the mug to his mouth again. “We need to be careful about it.”

After saying that, he took a sip of his tea and Wanda copied his movement just to keep herself busy for a while longer. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“It’s not my business, I know,” Steve admitted. “I just worry.”

“That I will break down and screw the team over if Natasha wants nothing to do with me and tells me to shove my feelings somewhere else?” Wanda asked without beating around the bush like Steve was. It was better when people were more direct about it, she decided.

The old man, though, grimaced and pursed his lips. “You’re spending too much time with Tony.”

“You should hear some of the things he said,” Wanda huffed but didn’t explain what she meant.

“I just worry, that’s all,” Steve said. “You went through a lot and… and some people might not be able to know how to deal with it.”

Wanda put her cup down. “That’s what every girl wants to hear, I suppose.”

His eyes went wide open after that. “No, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean like-”

“That’s okay, Steve,” she stopped him and slid out of her seat to go wash the mug on the sink.

“Let me.” Steve approached her to stop Wanda from reaching for the soap. He offered her a smile when she glanced up at him.

She could’ve argued if he hadn’t decided to join the large list of people trying to get their noses on her business. Instead, she let him take the sponge and the mug, thanked him for the tea, and left the kitchen. As she walked to the elevator, Wanda couldn’t help but wonder just how easily people could read her. It appeared like everyone living under the same roof as her could read her like an open book. It was very unsettling, to say the least. She wasn’t a spy like Clint or Natasha but Wanda was sure she should be better at keeping things inside if she wanted to join their hero thing club.

Wanda asked the artificial intelligence to take her to her floor and, seconds before, she was walking down the hallway on the floor she shared with Natasha. It was an entire floor just for them since they were the only women on the team but they barely ever used the small kitchen or the living room area. Wanda remembered being new to the team and seeing Natasha walking that corridor all sweaty after a training session, how her mouth felt dry and how her heart beat fast. She wondered if any of the people who had spoken with her before knew about that.

Tony and Clint would never let her live it down, Bruce might try to form some type of connection with her, Thor would probably give her a high five or something, and Steve would blush for days. How any of those men managed to be superheroes was beyond her.

Wanda sighed as she pushed the door open and then closed it behind her after she walked inside the room. She kicked off her shoes out of habit while debating with herself if she should jump into the shower already or rest for a couple of minutes, though that became an easy decision when her eyes landed on the bed. Wanda fluffed her pillow before her hand found a shoulder to gently push against.

She heard an unhappy groan that made her smile before the body on the bed turned around so Wanda was staring at the muscular back. There was a bruise and a small cut there, probably a memoir from the last mission, and she made a mental note to rub some healing ointment later. With another sigh, Wanda slipped under the covers, wrapping her arms around a slim waist and pressing her body against another one in a big spoon position she knew so well. Her nose immediately found the back of a neck between red locks and she took a deep breath in even if she knew there wouldn’t be any perfume to smell - people remember smells, she had been told once, and the goal is to go unnoticed.

“Where were you?”

Wanda smiled at the husky tone caused by drowsiness. “Your friends were either trying to kick my ass or to give me a shovel talk in reverse.” Tony had taught her what ‘shovel talk’ meant when he was telling a story once and Wanda was proud to finally be able to use it in a conversation. There were many American slang she was still learning about.

“Do I want to know?”

“Maybe later, after you had enough rest. You just came back,” Wanda said and then pressed her lips between shoulder blades.

That made Natasha sigh and grab Wanda’s hand that was resting on her stomach. The redhead pulled her closer, impossibly closer. “I’m awake now. Tell me about it.”

Wanda hesitated for a moment because she really wanted the other woman to be able to rest after returning from a mission but she also knew Natasha wouldn’t drop the subject. “Well, it appears that the entire team seems to think I have a crush on you.”

Natasha’s body shook with a chuckle against her. “Where on Earth did they take that idea from?” She joked while pushing herself back against Wanda’s body.

“I guess I’m an open book or something. Everyone has accused me of being in love with you or wanting to sleep with you.”

“They must be insane,” Natasha replied with a smile clear in her voice.

“They think I’m the insane one,” Wanda huffed a laugh and was about to tell the woman to go to sleep again when Natasha started to move. She removed her arm from around the redhead and patiently waited until Natasha turned around to face her, putting a space between them to be able to talk.

“How come?” Natasha wondered. “Please, don’t tell me these people think I’m literally a black widow or something.” She rolled her eyes at that because she could see it happening way too easily.

Wanda laughed. “No, but they do think you’re going to let me down gently. Or not so gently, I suppose. Bruce is pretty sure you’re going to break my heart in a million pieces, Steve thinks I’m too fragile to handle you, and Tony thinks it’s very likely that you would use me for sex and throw me in the gutter.”

Green eyes closed, which made Wanda pout a little because she loved staring at them. “Are any of them wrong?”

There it was. The self-doubting thing returning full force. They had talked about it many times before and Wanda never liked hearing Natasha put herself short. Bruce had made her a bit nauseous but he hadn’t lied about what Natasha thought of herself and her future. Wanda had only a few months to try to make Natasha see that she was allowed to be happy, that she deserved to be happy, that she shouldn’t punish herself for her past, but it was months against a lifetime of beliefs. Wanda knew she still had a long way before her words started making sense to the other woman.

“All of them, actually,” Wanda pointed out. “They didn’t even think you would ever spare me a look.”

“They’re stupid then. You’re a very nice thing to look at,” Natasha teased with a smile and cracked one eye open, which made Wanda chuckle and lean closer to kiss her nose, before she closed it again.

“We agree your friends lack some sense.”

“They’re your friends. For me, they’re coworkers.”

Wanda scoffed loudly at that. “No one believes that. You have a soft spot for them.”

Natasha sighed. “Just because they can’t figure out how to keep themselves alive without me having to save their asses all the fucking time.”

“Well, whatever is the reason,” Wanda said even if she knew Nat wasn’t serious, “they certainly aren’t my friends. They keep telling me to stop looking at you like you hung the stars or something like that. It didn’t make sense when Tony said it.”

“Maybe they tell you that because they’re your friends and because they care,” the redhead commented and opened her eyes again. “They don’t want to see you hurt. They care about you.”

Wanda didn’t have anything to say about that. She was a part of the team for a while now but it felt different to know those people cared for her, that they liked her, that they wanted her around. It was a strange feeling the whole ‘being wanted’ thing. Pietro used to be the only one to make her feel like that and it was hard to feel anything remotely like that ever since he was gone.

“They act like a gossip magazine,” Wanda said instead.

“They do, don’t they?” Natasha chuckled and silence fell around them for a few moments. Wanda was starting to feel sleep wanting to creep in and she knew she had to get up to take a shower before allowing herself to sleep but she felt so comfortable that it was impossible to move. She was about to ask Natasha to roll over again so they could sleep when the woman started talking. “And they think I don’t deserve you. That’s why they keep warning you to stay away.”

“No one warned me to stay away,” Wanda corrected her gently.

“They did and you should.” Natasha bit her bottom lip, looking too much like she was trying not to get emotional at that moment. “I’m broken. All sharp ends and hard edges. You’re soft, you can bruise and bleed.”

“Natasha, with all due respect, I spent the last few weeks hearing our friends try to say how I should or should not feel, sticking their noses in my business and basically saying I was too naive to make my own decisions.” Wanda paused to look deep into Natasha’s eyes. “I won’t hear it from you too. Not after I set there in silence and listened to them talk because they have no idea that you would be laying here in bed waiting for me to join you after you returned from a trip. We agreed not to tell them a thing, I get it, but you can’t agree with them in something like this. Not when you’re living this with me.”

Natasha’s green eyes filled with tears that never fell before she tilted her chin up to kiss Wanda’s forehead. Her lips lingered against her skin for a few seconds until they formed words. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Wanda whispered back.

“And I’m sorry we hadn’t told them yet,” the redhead added.

They talked about it before - about safety, about how it was better if no one else knew, about how keeping them under wraps was better so no bad guy could use it against them - and Wanda now had more arguments to validate that decision. It would be great to see their reactions to find out how wrong they had been but it was also good to know they could keep living their lives without having them trying to get a say about everything. They all meant well, she knew that, though it was hard to remember that sometimes.

“It’s for the best,” Wanda declared with a shrug.

“Suppose it is. I mean, they all think I’m one step away from breaking your heart.”

“They only think that because I’m too soft,” Wanda told her when she noticed the slight pain in the woman’s voice again. “It’s me, not you.”

“You need to stop talking with Tony,” Natasha scoffed before she started to turn around again, apparently tired of the conversation.

“You just wait until I tell them that you bring me flowers sometimes,” Wanda teased her as she wrapped her arm around Natasha’s waist one more time.

“Don’t you dare,” the spy argued fervently. “I have a reputation to keep.”

“And you’re doing a great job at that because everyone thinks you would use a flower to poke my eye or something.” Wanda chuckled at the thought. “Oh, they will never believe it when I tell them about you taking care of me after a nightmare.”

“I’m warning you, Maximoff.”

“And that you rub my feet every time you kick my ass at training.”

“I’m starting to feel like kicking your ass right now,” Natasha groaned.

Wanda just smiled. “How violent. Maybe they’re right and I should take care.”

“Yes, I’m dangerous.”

As she said that, Natasha hugged Wanda’s arm between her breasts to kiss the back of her hand and Wanda thought how lucky she was to be sharing a bed with the big, bad, scary spy.

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iovesia · 11 months

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hi pookie I’m so happy today, it’s my birthday and I’m wondering how Keanu’s characters would pamper the reader on their birthday? Would it be giving them gifts? I feel like jw would do that as well as physical touch, ACTUALLY JOHN CONSTANTINE WITH BIRTHDAY SEX HELLO???? I’m delusional but gosh he would be feeling nice on that day and just let into the reader and treating her nicer than usual (which must include eating her out in the morning cause I swear this man probably gives the best mf head!!! :((( ) John wick on the other hand would probably give her massages no??? Ted Logan would shower her with his cheesy nicknames

(I NEED THEM NEOWWWWWWWW :((((( )

honestly today I need John C. SO BAD THE BRAIN ROT IS REAL ☹️☹️

-🥖 anon

☆ — HOW THEY ACT ON YOUR BIRTHDAY.

[ content. fem!reader! fluff! smut— brief somno! ] ・happy birthday, nonnie! ♡🫧 here's my little gift for you. includes: john constantine, john wick, ted logan.

john constantine.

♪ it's your birthday, so i know you want to rideeeee out ♪

it's damn near out of character how affectionate constantine is with you on your birthday.

MORNING!! AFTERNOON!! EVENING!! ALL NIGHT!! NO BREAKS!!

okay kidding.. kind of.. not really...

he wakes you up with head. you stir awake in the early hours of sunrise to the feeling of soft kisses on your inner thigh. his hands wrapped tightly around your legs, spreading them apart and you can feel his hot breath on your cunt.

"con, what are you.." your words die in your throat when constantine's soft lips meet your wet cunt. arching your back, a whiney moan escapes your throat as his tongue moves faster against your bud of nerves.

"happy birthday, doll."

totally irrelevant— but his raspy morning voice 🧟‍♀️😵‍💫 !!!

he's not very good at actual gift giving unfortunately :// he'd probably pick up some occult trinket or a pretty antique thing that he'd think you like.

constantine would write you a birthday card!! or letter!! he's better with his words. although he's never mushy and sentimental with you all other 364 days of the year— this one day he has an excuse to be extra sweet to you.

it'd be short, but you treasure it like it's your child. even with his cool-i-don't-care-persona, you don't miss the way he's scanning your eyes and your reaction as you read the letter.

"oh my god, this is so sweet!" you gush and he rolls his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. "i love you, john, thank you— really."

he presses a soft kiss to your forehead; "i love you too, dollface."

this might be the first time he's spent a whole 24 hours with you that didn't involve arguing, or running off to battle demons from hell.

⠀⠀⠀

john wick.

two wOOORDDSS: SUGAR. DADDY.

okay i'm joking.

BUTT!!!

he loves to spoil his special girl on her special day :') he's the most thoughtful of the keanu boys. john always pays attention to things that you like or admire at— and would literally run to the end of the damn earth to get it for you!!!

he also gets you a pearl necklace, or some super expensive jewelry to wear.

"john, oh my god," you gasp, holding the golden chain around your neck. the shiny 'j' charm hanging at the end was less than subtle, but made your heart swoon nonetheless. "i can't take this, baby :(( it must've been so expensive—"

"don't worry about that," his baritone voice echoes in your ear, his beard tickling your cheek as he stands behind you. his chest to your back and hands resting on your waist, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. "happy birthday, honey."

john is so sweet to you on your birthday (not that he isn't every other day but he's just so much more doting). he'd spend the whole day with you, doing whatever you want to do.

he feels so guilty that he hardly ever sees you because of his job— and his own internal insecurity that he thinks he doesn't deserve you :(((

so john will go out of your way to make you feel like the only girl in the world.

⠀⠀⠀

ted logan.

oh my sweet, beloved ted.

he's so cheesy it's crazy. ted has that Romcom Rizz™️. most of his moves are from your favorite movies.

he's more excited for your birthday than you are.

like he's just lying down next to you with a goofy smile on his face, waiting for you to wake up. the second you open your eyes, its:

"happy birthday, babe!" he grins, and he gives you a soft kiss on the nose, and then another one on your lips.

"ugh, ted— morning breath!"

he takes you to the arcade!! that's fun!! right? well anything's fun with ted. he spends the whole day making you laugh, and taking you on a wild goose chase around san dimas.

and his gift to you? a song!! what kind of bassist bf would he be if he didn't write songs about the most excellent babe in all of san dimas?? 🤨

"dedicated to the most bodacious babe, my girlfriend!" he winks at you, and picks up his bass— and bill's, of course, standing in the corner recording the whole thing.

you watch as his eyes light up with excitement when he plays his song for you. aside from the occasional off-key note or questionable lyric— you can't stop the dorky grin growing on your lips.

he's a blushing mess, you're a flattered babe, i mean talk about a match made in heaven.

you're the coolest girl ted knows— of course he goes all out for your birthday!!

﹙ ♡ ﹚─ taglist: @desoolate @sughcashsaiki @vezuiv @slutforsoldierboy @br-2408 @jaga2137 @beansricejc @emosludge @nwheregirl . . !

let me know if anyone wishes to be added/removed. ∗ ୧ ‧ ₊ ˚

#love letters.#john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john constantine imagine #john constantine x reader #ted logan x reader #ted logan imagine #ʚ · ◞ 🥖 anon!

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man-down-in-hatchet-town · 1 year

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Until Another Richie Comes Along...

(UPDATE: For anyone who didn't see the live show or digital ticket and are wondering what the fuck I'm talking about, they actually changed the lyrics from the original show for the album and proshoot. This post is about what Max originally sings.)

Well folks, we’re a couple of weeks into the digital ticket run, and I can’t stop thinking about the “who will pray for me” section of “Nerdy Prudes Must Die." Aside from just sounding incredible, it's a vitally important moment for Max’s character, especially as it comes right after “Go Go Nighthawks” and the scene in which Richie finally befriends the popular kids. As much as he claims to be above revenge, Max’s pain clearly shapes Richie’s torment in a very specific way. And it almost…makes me really feel for our literal monster?

Just look at the lyrics.

“Who will pray for me when my body’s gone?” is bad enough. Max has been gone for two weeks, and we get this whole sequence about how his classmates and “friends” just… don’t care. If anything, they’re happy he’s gone. As valid as their response is, there’s something incredibly lonely and horrifying about someone’s disappearance eliciting nothing but a shrug and a “fuck that guy” from those who knew them best. The people Max spent his childhood alongside have no grief to offer, no prayers for the vanished body. And then…

Well, and then we have “until another Richie comes along.” Obnoxious, nerdy Richie with his overactive sweat glands, who is so “unimportant” that Max kept him ground into dust for mere idle amusement. But suddenly Max is gone and all of his “friends” fill the vacancy by literally bringing Richie into their circle (football huddle). They befriend him because they can, they are kind to him because they want to be, they accept him with open hearts. As the person stepping into space left open by Max, it’s almost as if Richie is “another Max” who's come along, one very different from the first, and Max’s people really like the replacement better. That has to hurt.

And so Max puts Richie into his shoes, demanding that Richie wrestle with the same idea of insignificance that Max himself has just encountered. Will those who failed to pray for Max take time to pray for Richie? Who will be the next person added to the huddle in his stead? It’s interesting that Richie receives the most brutal and drawn-out death of anyone—he’s being punished not just for Max’s death or for being a “nerdy prude,” or even for defying Max’s social hierarchy, but for doing so in a way that makes him the face of everything Max has just learned he never really had.

Max spent his life tormenting classmates to make up for being tormented at home. The other kids deserve to feel the way they do about his absence, and the far kinder, gentler Richie deserved to live a long and happy life. But just like Max’s gleeful speech before his fall, like his attempts to protect Steph from the haunted house or his offer to carry Grace’s books, Max’s Act 1 finale moment of monstrous apotheosis ironically recalls the real, hurting person who lurks underneath.

And part of me can't help but just think “this poor kid.”

#hatchetfield #hatchetfield meta #nerdy prudes must die #nerdy prudes must die spoilers #npmd #npmd spoilers #Max Jagerman #richie lipschitz #don't worry I will always feel worse for Richie than I do for Max #these poor kids ya know

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stoat-party · 1 year

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My Joshua Graham take (alternate title: stop beingng mean to him!!!!!!)

Now I’m not a Joshua-did-nothing-wrong girlie (I mean, if you can’t recognize his flaws then you get his bad ending, so there’s that), but I gotta defend my boy for a minute. I’m gonna try to tie things back to the facts of the game, but there will obviously be Themes and Context that I can’t even begin to get into, and your mileage may vary.

Mitigating factors

We’ve gotta keep in mind that this guy is in severe and continuous chronic pain. Now, that doesn’t make you a bad person — one of the most loving and giving people I know is disabled with chronic pain, and of course everyone starts dealing with some form of it as they get older. But it can definitely affect how people relate to the world, and the preoccupation of being in constant pain means it takes more effort to act the same as they used to, (assuming they were a good person even then). I’m just saying that I would be a little more prone to anger if I had to tear off and replace my skin every morning.

Also, he and Daniel are both in grief — the Wiki places the sacking of New Canaan in 2281, and while it could have been earlier than that based on the minimal evidence we have, that’s still an extremely fresh wound. Joshua implies he either has or had family in New Canaan. With their numbers reduced to about thirty, he’s undoubtedly lost multiple people, in a violent and traumatizing way, while also dealing with the guilt of having (indirectly) caused it. He’s not acting totally rationally here.

Claim: He spent thirty years acting as a warlord and committing total cultural annihilation in service of a maniac

Hey, granted. That did happen. He doesn’t offer much of an explanation for it, except that he first did it to survive and then kept making compromises until he’d completely lost his sense of morality. And explanations aren’t excuses, we know this, but they do make redemption arcs more palatable. Personally, I don’t understand being against redemption arcs in fiction. They’re my favorite thing.

It’s important to note that the narrative does punish him for his actions — the guy he committed all the atrocities for betrayed him, he has the aforementioned chronic pain and disability now, and then the war machine he created to destroy cultures destroyed his own. So if you’re the type to think redemption needs to include suffering/death, there you go.

Claim: He is racist

The most literal form of this claim can’t be accurate, because everyone in Honest Hearts is GECK-coded as Caucasian (except the caravan company). The tribals actually have races created specifically for them (to account for their tattoo styles), but they're still white. They weren’t all supposed to be white, but that’s how it turned out in the game due to extremely limited production time. The Sorrows are descended from American schoolchildren, the Dead Horses are descended from Germans and Native Americans, and the White Legs are descended from Shoshone, Latin-Americans, and Americans (they’re also the palest of the three, not that it really matters).

Claim: Stereotype of the “white man’s burden”

This is a bit more Doylist than Watsonian, but it wasn’t intentional. Daniel was supposed to be Asian, but again because of short production time he ended up white. I interpret him as biracial.

Claim: He’s culturally elitist

He does believe his religion is the best one, though IMO everyone should feel that way. But he doesn’t think of himself as above the tribals — he considers himself a tribal, and shows distaste for “civilized” places. Daniel is actually worse about this one.

Claim: He’s Mormon

Well, yeah. I take issue with this being considered a punishable offense on its own — unless it’s combined with anti-blackness or child marriage or something, it’s just a religion, and there’s no evidence of the Future Mormons practicing anything like that.

Claim: He’s a missionary

As above, judging based on this without any specific evidence of wrongdoing is a little bit ignorant. Most modern missionaries are basically aid workers with a religious motive, and they make an effort to culturally assimilate with the host community, if it wasn’t their country to begin with. (Are there horror stories, sure. Like I said, Themes and Context.) Based on Joshua’s (and Daniel’s) responses when you openly mock their faith, there’s no coercion going on.

Claim: He’s committing cultural imperialism against the Dead Horses

He did do this as Legate. He visited Dead Horse Point to prime them to join the Legion, teaching them warfare and allowing them to basically worship him. Follows-Chalk says he saved their tribe from extinction, but obviously he did that intending to wipe them out. However, Burned Guy Josh came back to prevent them from joining the Legion, and his track record since then shows a pretty high regard for their culture.

In Follows-Chalk’s quest, Joshua is concerned about influencing them more than he should. Follows-Chalk says he’s the tribe’s leader, but Joshua actually explicitly denies it, the implication being that he’s a little uncomfy with being more than a military advisor. He even says that there are better role models than him.

Claim: He wants to commit genocide

There’s one big misconception I want to correct: The White Legs don’t live in Zion, they live by the Great Salt Lake. The group we meet are a war party. At worst, they had a support staff of non-combatants.

They were trying to commit genocide against the other three factions. You can be on Daniel’s side in the big debate, but the Sorrows absolutely had a right to defend their homeland from people tasked with killing then all, whether or not it was a good idea in practice. (The Dead Horses are also visitors; they originate from Dead Horse Point.)

He does hate them, hence the racism accusations, but according to Ulysses, they really are violent raiders (he and Joshua both call them mongrels, actually). Again, they kinda burnt Joshua’s family to death. His prejudice comes from their collective actions and their affiliation with the Legion, not their race or lack of technology or anything like that. He calls Salty an animal, but he also says that he relates to him from his days in the Legion. His brutal tactics were wrong and that’s the point, but he didn’t want to commit genocide.

Claim: He’s a hypocrite/He uses religion to justify doing bad stuff

Yeh! That’s the idea, and getting him to admit he’s wrong about it is one of my favorite scenes in the game. It’s especially poignant if you’re religious, because you’ve undoubtedly seen others commit this sin and maybe struggle with it yourself. Admitting the motives you’re hiding from yourself, accepting responsibility for your actions, and forgoing revenge on someone who’s seriously hurt you are all really potent character moments, in the game and in real life.

Claim: He extorts the Courier by trapping them in the valley until they do a bunch of dangerous quests for him, then makes them pay for medical care and weapon repairs due to said dangerous quests, and oh whoopsy doo there’s no way of making money in the valley except collecting stuff and selling it to the general store, but MAMMA MIA GUESS WHO RUNS THE GENERAL STORE??

Okay, I’ve never actually heard anyone say this, but it’s true. It’s all true.

#fallout #new vegas #fallout: new vegas #fallout new vegas #honest hearts #joshua graham #daniel fallout #daniel new vegas #fnv #f:nv #fonv

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contritecactite · 3 months

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Ooops, the eternally wonderful @quoththemaiden blessed us with some more thoughts on the Japanese dub of Good Omens and then I got left waiting in a car for half an hour with nothing to do so uh. Quick little Tumblr fic? The discussion was just about "your stupid car is on fire" becoming "your car is burning in the manner of a fool" and I promise this thing gets around to that. After about a thousand words. But the literal translation there made me think about burning in other contexts, and so:

Ways to Burn

Rating: M; tags and fic under the cut

Tags: angst, fire imagery, choking imagery, references to fire, Crowley has a bad time throughout the years but then has a good time, also a brief instance of a very particular kind of good time (blink and you'll miss it unspecified penetrative sex act), post-s1, ignores s2, dramatic tonal shift into silly bickerflirting

Ways to Burn

First: literally. Probably.

He’s scorched when he lands, and that's all he knows for sure.

Shame comes next. He hadn't known he could feel it, much less that it could burn as surely as a flat dark rock with too much direct sun—and hadn't that been a new sensation, too, his tender serpent's belly warming too much too quickly at the contact.

All right, so that one next, the too-warm surface, and then the shame.

He doesn't mean to get them kicked out. Right thing or wrong thing, he hadn't wanted that. Trouble’s one thing. Trouble, actually, is kind of fun. But he's never really liked endings, and this is as sure an ending as anything ever was.

But—a beginning, too.

He never felt the fire of that flaming sword, but he burned sure enough watching that angel admit to giving it away.

It's a long time before he works out what to call that particular sensation, and longer still—much longer—before he lets himself call it that.

The sun burns, and the sand, all those days in the desert, and the fires—those he starts and those he doesn't—and the shame, over and over, of being reminded that before anything in the world had even happened, he had proven to be a failure at his job.

Except.

Some days, it's his new job that brings him the most joy. There are so very many ways to cause trouble, more and more every century, and eventually—

Eventually the frostbite he used to imagine himself sustaining under that angelic gaze eases into something a bit more… well, lukewarm, at first.

And even that burns hot when applied to something chilled to the bone. He ought to know. He's spent time in the mountains. In the snow and the dreary slush of miserable winters.

Doesn't take much of being out alone in all that for come in and sit by the fire, you wretched old thing to do just as much work as a cup full of something spiced and warm.

Heat gives way to warmth the way wildness gives over to domesticity—in the world at large and in whatever passes for the heart of one particular demon. As Crawley made room for Crowley, so too does untrustworthy fiend slip away in favor of my dear.

It's the polite warmth-almost-heat of tea set out for a guest who arrives a little too late, but it's more than enough to fend off icy fingers. And it's safe.

It rises to a slow simmer one day as anything might after nearly escaping a bombing, but he doesn't dare let it grow further. He's been in London so very long now, and he will not allow himself to burn up against his only source of warmth.

There's something perfect in the tension of keeping it there, of striking the kind of balance that leaves something just too hot to touch but cool enough to draw near.

And then the bookshop burns, and Crowley has never been colder, stood there in the centre of the flames and shouting until his throat feels as seared with prayer as the book beside him has been by the tongues of fire.

And then, again, literally: the Bentley is no more than a car-shaped wreath of flame, and Crowley himself has caught, too, but it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter because it can't matter. Doesn't matter because even if the wheel is red-hot under his hands, he doesn't feel a damned thing.

It's a good job the old man in Tadfield knows a thing or two about keeping one's thoughts to oneself; the impression of your stupid car is on fire and you're just sitting there like a fool emanating from him is almost enough to break Crowley's concentration, and if he'd said it aloud, well—

Doesn't bear thinking about.

At the air base he learns all over again that relief is wool blankets and dry socks like what in the world were you doing out in that awful cold, my dear back in 1684 and that grief is swallowing an ice cube whole and feeling it melt while still choking and fear is almost like both at once when you're so used to it that it's more companion than stranger.

The Hellfire he stands in while wearing Aziraphale's shape could never hope to burn the same way as just like that, my love, you feel wonderful when, days later, he sinks down onto Aziraphale for the first time and feels heat inside him and warmth all around.

A warm bath, after, both literally and figuratively—warmer than body temperature but not enough to scald, laughter and joy and something he suspects might be freedom.

“He insulted my car, you know,” he mumbles into Aziraphale's hair.

"Who, dear?”

“Dunno. Man with a dog back in Tadfield. Didn't say it out loud but he was thinking so hard about it being on fire. I swear he said ‘your stupid car is on fire’ and ‘your car is burning in the manner of a fool’ and a dozen other different variations on- oh, no.”

“What?” Aziraphale asks, alarmed enough to try to sit up, but Crowley tugs him back down.

“Well, did you notice the Bentley being a bit. You know. Odd.”

Aziraphale hums, considering, and then makes a small sound of recognition. “There was some new music. And it—well, I thought you must have done it, but when we got out, I thought it winked.”

“Why would I make a car wink? My car? Honestly.”

“Oh, as if you've never been cheeky.”

Crowley groans. “That’s not the point. What I'm saying is, it didn't used to do those things, yeah? And I didn't make it do them. And you, you wouldn't have made it wink at you.”

“Certainly not.”

“I think that when Adam put things back together, since I was thinking about missing it and the old man was out there giving it personality, he might have thought—well, it might actually have one now. For better or worse.”

“Ah. Well. I'm sure no harm will come of it. It's a very loyal car, and you've always taken good care of it.”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Aziraphale burrows in more deeply against his chest. His face seems to grow a bit warmer. “Well, if you must know, Adam left quite a few new books about… well, about haunted cars.”

Crowley snorts. “And you read them? Oh, angel, how far you've—grk. Mn. Nevermind that.”

“Hm.” He's quiet for a moment or two longer, and then: “They made some of them into films, you know.”

“I am not watching anything about haunted cars.”

“I thought you liked spooky.”

“For someone who reads as much as you do, you ought to have a better grasp on spooky versus terrifying.”

“I think you like your car too much.”

“Like you better.” He pauses. Considers. “Don’t tell it I said that.”

Aziraphale only laughs at him and holds on tighter, and it's bubbles in champagne chilled to just the right temperature to be held in a warm, dear hand while the other hand holds Crowley's.

#good omens #my fic #rating: mature #good omens fanfiction #i don't think this one belongs on ao3 idk #i Did Not look over it again so it's prob A) weird and B) riddled with mobile typos #rambled on this thing like an online 'quick recipe for homemade biscuits'

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luidilovins · 2 years

Text

I really would like financial assistance without having to pour out my heart and soul but I think in order to get the help that i need I'm going to have to do that. So let me share what my year has been like since I'm genuinely not open about it:

First of all my brother and I got an apartment together, we get along like peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream. We both suffer from an unexplained seizure disorder. I was lucky enough to have been battling with the doctors until i was put on antiseizure medications but my brother hasn't gotten that far yet he's still waiting out for nine months before seeing a neurologists because they Will Not medicate him otherwise. We got the apartment about an hour drive from where we both worked, i dropped my job and got hired at the same company as my brother so our commute would be the same.

My brother was sick as a dog, i understood. I'd been there barely a year before and i was unemployed for the most part of it as i fought doctors.

I just got out of a bad relationship and i had saved up three quarters of the downpayment and our landlord decided that we'd pay off the rest thru our rent. (Only after we moved out did we learn from our neighbors that we were also spending an extra 200 dollars a month more than everyone else in the complex because we were both openly queer). We were barely scraping by.

Then we tested positive for covid. Spent a week on our asses. And it got worse.

My brother had been taking my dad to court for sa. My father was being investigated under FEDERAL COURT for sa, acts domestic terrorism, and war crimes when he toured in Afghanistan. Instead of being detained, he went to a local gun shop with one bullet, asked to see a gun, loaded it and shot himself in the head in the shop.

My brother was battling him in court for about 6 months and the stress of the news along with planning the funeral, which I have no idea why my mother thought he should be responsible for it, anyways the stress was making his seizures worse and more frequent so we were out of luck for another week. Two weeks without a paycheck was all it took for us to get evicted from our apartment.

My mother took us in, and emotionally abused the both of us KNOWING THE WHOLE TIME about the sa and deciding to live with that man for 25 years and looked the other way. She threatend to call the cops on us and kicked us out of the house after being there for two months and we ended up having to place our belongings in a storage unit. Before that i haven't spoken to my mother in 5 years and i will never speak to her again.

Then my uncle on the other side of the country invited us to live under his roof, so he paid for us to come here. The idea was that he was going to support us until we could move out on our own. We gave up our jobs, our friends our medical appointments and therapists. Everything. To come live with our uncle and we asked him several times if he was SURE he could handle two autistic people with medical issues.

The other day his wife sat us down and said she was tired of taking care of us and she wants us out of her house in at least the next two weeks. My uncle backed her up but said nothing the whole time. This was AFTER she made us pull out credit cards that we didn't want because of debt. Literally since we've got here she's drilled us about "hitting the bricks" and "having a side hustle". She said that she didn't want to build any animosity towards us so its better if we don't live under her roof anymore. SINCE WE GOT HERE She gave us about a month to find a job and pay 300 for rent each (which we're living in her BASEMENT by the way) and we DID find a job in that time. We got hired and filled out the paperwork and they NEVER SCHEDULED US IN. We called and called and showed up at the doorstep several times and it just fell through so my brother got a SECOND JOB. I'm still looking for a second job he just got his first paycheck in.

So now we have less money than we did before the move we used all of it for the move. We have No money saved up for a downpayment even for subletting. We have credit card debt and we have nowhere to go. I have a cat that I'd rather D I E than part with and my brother and I can't be separated. We're both chronically ill, trans, have severe PTSD and need medications to mentally and physically perform. Every family memeber I've ever had has royally SCREWED ME.

I've been trying to get commissions in but right now i cannot fill in the gaps quick enough we're going to either need to find a shelter or live in our car WHICH ITS A 100 DEGREES OUT HERE ON THE EAST COAST.

Please I need help. I need to get back on my feet so I can start making income. I can't lose the only two things i have left in this world. I've never been so low in all my life and I've got nothing to show for.

Help line sources. Inner community stuff. Money. Signal boost. Literally anything.

I'll still do commissions but i need more support than that.

#im not tw this im sorry it needs to be seen #this is my blog #my post #luidilovins

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latibvles · 3 months

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Heyyyy sweet thangggg, you know I gotta drop in for the ask game!! My OCs name is Vienna, you already knowwww. She’s got severe daddy and mommy issues, but she’s tough as nails with a hidden heart of gold. She’s dark haired and bright eyed and is an officer with a military/WW2 father so like she kinda has this whole facade of “it’s not bad until I literally drop dead”. She’s made up of pure determination and spite because she’s spent her whole life being told she would never be enough so she’s just…wild and rageful but also just wishes she could be the softy she really is, regardless of how deep it is buried under a tough woman exterior. She’s seemingly confident and headstrong which helps cover the fact that she has some deep rooted issues. Her nickname is Venom, which comes from her blunt and sometimes harsh reactions to the enlisted men getting on her nerves, in which she is known to get pretty grumpy but also incredibly witty in her responses. She’s a replacement Lieutenant in easy company after she was taken from her position as an army officer.

For those of you unaware, I opened up this inbox game in September to celebrate one year of writing my longfic. While I am not taking anymore submissions, one of the submissions in my inbox will be posted every week at 12pm EST! I hope you enjoy reading about all these lovely characters I'm being allowed to play with.

We’ve talked about Vienna and Daisy before so yanno, don’t want to be a cheater, but you know who we haven’t talked about? Vienna and Patricia “Bleeding Heart, Sweet As Pie” Kegley, and I, personally, think they would make a really fun balancing act. Someone harsh and wild and determined coming into contact with someone who’s really good at disarming people (even if Patty… doesn’t wholly realize she has that effect on people). For those of you who don't know, you can find the masterlists for Vienna's story here, now, without further ado, Just hear me out for a second:

Good old fashioned war wounds — we get a lot of those in SBT, it’s inevitable that people are going to get hurt and when you have a bunch of medics running around doing the damn thing: you tend to get closer to the people who are patching you up.

Enter Patty, who’s so soft and quiet and fumbling with a sense of who she is. And then enter Vienna, who thinks it’s not bad until she’s dead.

And Patty’s never been the type to raise her voice, but there’s something about that mentality that she just can’t sit and twiddle her thumbs about.

Relative rank is good for something after all — and part of it has to be that she can raise her voice and demand Vienna sits down with minimal consequence. And it really is a sight to see, considering it’s usually Rita who does the yelling. Flush-cheeked and huffy, she’s going to tend to Vienna’s wound that first time and huff about how dead officers can’t prove anything to anyone.

And then she’ll apologize after the fact, for the yelling, and for the muttered thinkpiece as well — but truthfully I can’t imagine Vienna minding her directness.

And I think this is the beginning of a new part of the routine for Patty, that being: check in on Easy’s Lady Lieutenant, because Christ knows if she’ll ever come willingly.

There’s a certain irony here, considering she tends to spook fairly easily when it comes to the snappy, blunt types, but also she figures since she raised her voice a bit and lived to tell the tale, she’s already overcome the hard part of approaching Lieutenant Matthews.

In comes: the disarming, the easy smiles, Patty’s ability to shed a little optimism onto the bleak situations they find themselves in time and time again. You can be softer around her, Vienna, it’s fine. This is, in the most serious way possible, a safe space, and rest assured Patty won’t be the one to spill the beans about the sound of your laugh, or the fact that you have an ability to laugh.

#. sbt’s one year #. patricia kegley #poet’s mail box #*poet writes

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taegularities · 1 year

Note

Hello lovely Rid 💕💕💕

First of all...

okaaaaay 👀👀👀 I don't like seeing sad Jungkook (or sad Rid for that matter) but short hair Jungkook makes me crazy, so I'll take it.

Also I wanted to ramble about who I'm a bigger simp for, since you posted that cruel poll making me choose.

So basically, I'm really really obsessed with c&f Jungkook and I can't even pinpoint the exact reason why? I've said this before but I've never been more whipped for a man who I don't fully trust so quickly. There was just something about him that had me from the beginning, even with his very questionable looking intentions. So I'm a big simp for him in a more base level way? Like it's almost involuntary lmaooo.

And then for cmi Jungkook... I mean he has my whole heart. He might be my favourite fictional Jungkook ever actually... Literally all sides of him (that we've seen so far) I'm in love with. Just writing about him right now has me going 🥺🥺🥺. I'm ready to protect him at all costs and he also makes me crazy (in all kinds of ways). maybe i'll save the love letter for him for the cmi anniversary i mean what?

I love both of them a lot though. Thinking about both the c&f epilogue and cmi8 gives me emotional whiplash.

Other than that though, how are you doing, Rid? I saw that you're feeling a little sick and once again I'm ready with all the virtual blankets and tea and hugs since I can't take care of you irl 🥺 I hope you get through it very very soon!!!

I've been feeling very emotional and a little melancholic myself recently. But today I listened to d day and it actually made me feel loads better, Yoongi just always knows how to comfort 🥺 I also got started on a paper that I'm excited to write, for which I received unexpectedly good feedback while I was still at the planning stages! Trying to focus on the good things and set up a good base for when my exam season starts.

I hope you feel better soon Rid, sending you all of my love 💞💞💞

IVI LOL, you really do point out the subtlest things !!! did not think anyone would catch that haircut bit, but look at you :'))

i think you're a simp for c&f jk bc you know a good man when you see one... despite his initially questionable behaviour, he truly is a sweet bean who tends to act monstrous (in bed) at times lmao so i understand the obsession... :')

and i know, cmi jk is just 😭 thank you for loving him so much, tbh he might be my fav jk i've written so far too :(( my lil baby :(( and i can't wait for his return :((((

thank you, ivi !! :') i hate that this happens, idk why i get colds so frequently ?? like i spent most of yesterday and today napping and it sucksss lmao i want to be productive, too :') but i'll take the blankets i love you 🤍🥺 so happy you've been well !! despite the melancholy... i get that feeling. there must be something in the air, bc everyone's been very emotional these days. i'm so glad you have stuff you can look forward to, though, and i hope that mood stays bc you deserve it 💕

(also i've been wanting to say this — i know you said i don't need to be, but im so sorry for being slow with answering at times... you send such thoughtful and incredibly kind thoughts and then i feel bad. but i want to answer just as thoughtfully and the current time has been beating my ass lmao sorry again but i love you rambling and will always get to it bc i love you so fkn much 😭🥺🤍)

#UM WDYM AN ANNIVERSARY LOVE LETTER BTW !!!!!????#notes for rid 🌹#ivi <3 #fic: candles & flames #fic: colour me in #long ask

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alltheboysandmen · 1 year

Text

The first crush

Dear best friends,

I’ve been thinking a lot where I want to start this storytelling endeavour. In the hopes of reflecting on the road that has taken me to where I am today, I feel like I probably should start at the beginning. Or at least as far back as I can remember these days. The first boy I can remember having those feelings for that I couldn’t quite place.

There were many (probably age inappropriate) boys and men who awoke feelings in my pre-pubescent and teenage mind, but none more than Pacey Witter on Dawson’s Creek. Pacey (played by 90s heartthrob Joshua Jackson) was a misunderstood and hurt bad boy who had a mean father and no mother who loved him, but despite it all he was a warm and kind soul who loved and respected his friends and girlfriend Joey. He was an academic underachiever who used humour to cope with his emotional pain, and 12 year old me was absolutely smitten.

The trope of the broken bad boy who was able to reform only to give his entire heart to the girl least likely to love him back became the first example of unlikely love that I experienced such a specific example of. And after this I spent literally 10 years trying to live up to this ridiculous standard for love that these teen shows were peddling us in the late 90s/early 2000s.

It became ridiculous to the point that I was trying to recreate scenes from the shows that I could remember, so that I might be able to act out those scenarios in real life. For example, I would purposefully sit by myself in the school hall and try to look sad or wistful just in hopes that my crush might notice and come sit with me. Of course this never happened because 12 year old boys don’t have an ounce of finesse or nuance in the body, and most likely they called me a weirdo for sitting alone.

I spent many years cursing that I was born in stupid Norway, and not in some small New England town where everyone at my high school worked cool minimum wage jobs and had mansions with huge windows all the teens could climb in and out of at all hours of the night. My dream of going to an American high school was also exacerbated by the fact that I had cousins in the US and that dream was never really more than a few options away. I used to daydream about lockers and pep rallies, football players named Brad and Skyler, driving licenses at 16 and last but not least DATES! My goodness, all I wanted was to be asked out on a date. Norwegian boys didn’t ask girls out in that way and they certainly didn’t take you out on dates.

At the beginning of the new millennium I was faced with a different prospect, when my mother started seeing a man who lived in Los Angeles. Like, LA!! If we were to move there, chances were I could go to high school with celebrities and movie stars. And I would be one step closer to literally all of my crushes, the fictional boys from my shows who didn’t even really exist. But in LA I was sure to find a suitable replacement, right?

But then, as it happens, life moved on. LA became a distant memory and I started high school in Oslo instead (where I once again was hopelessly in love with a guy who didn’t like me like that). I slowly started to mature and understand what a pipe dream the US had been, and that I perhaps was better suited to Norway anyway. But Pacey Witter will forever be the boy that changed my perspective on boys, and awoke something in me that no boy had done before.

Honourable mentions include: Nick Carter, Ian Somerhalder in “Young Americans”, Ryder Strong as Shawn Hunter on “Boy Meets World” and Scott Foley as Noel on “Felicity”.

#blog #blogging #dawson's creek #pacey witter

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adidascoleslaw · 2 years

Text

fall at your feet.

the midnight hours - when twilight strikes pairing: a devereux / reader wc: 7.5k a/n: literally am rushing to put this up bc i’m leaving for a trip LOL. this version does NOT have the italics, but the one posted up on ao3 does! thank you to @evertidings for making my current obsession

edit 7/10/22 - fixed the italics + ao3 link!

Devereux is your first in every way. First to text, to call, to tell all news, be it good or bad—

“Well, I’m seeing someone.”

—but they’re never first in a way they want.

The next breath they take in pricks at their throat. They swallow. “Really?” Devereux asks. “Who?” It feels like fire in their lungs.

They listen as you speak about this someone, the excitement in your voice filling their veins with a bittersweet happiness. A gentle smile graces your lips as you recount the events of your back-and-forth messaging, how all of it culminated in a date planned for tonight, and how fun you think it’ll be because you haven’t gone on a proper date in years.

Proper date.

Devereux flinches at the wording; there’s an implication sewn between the letters. Proper date. Like you’ve been on other dates, other outings that don’t constitute as a date because you weren’t asked, weren’t invited.

Their heart beats and stops, it ignites and stalls. Some tiny part of them (they’re lying—it is every inch) hopes that those improper dates count them and all the nights you’ve spent together. Their blood pumps at the thought of each hangout being a date, of every midnight run to the bodega by your apartment being a little taste of dating you.

Devereux thinks of the early mornings spent with you, the sunrises and sunsets watched from the roof of their apartment complex—how they never really looked at the sky.

How they only ever watched you.

Just as quickly as the warmth spreads through their body, their blood runs cold as they wander into the territory of you getting tired of waiting for them to confess.

To say something.

To ask you out.

“I know there’s a new café, one across the street from that bakery you like,” you say. Your hands are splayed out, weaving through the air like a needle through fabric. Each gesture is made with more and more gusto. When you talk with your hands, it’s as if the room lights up.

Devereux relishes in these moments—ones where they watch you be loud and open. At work, you are more reserved. Quiet. They admire the persona you put on, but seeing who you are outside of the job is a luxury they can’t give up.

Won’t.

“She said we’d be meeting there for our date. I think opening a café by a bakery that already sells coffee is silly, but…” and you continue your rambling.

Their fantasy is ruined again when you remind them that this is a date. That you’re happily out with someone who isn’t them.

Being jealous feels pathetic. Devereux has convinced themself that they can’t be jealous. Shouldn’t be. They’ve kept their feelings locked up to spare the heartbreak, so they can’t be mad that you’re seeing someone.

But they are.

Devereux throws on a lopsided smile, one that just barely reaches their eyes. “Weren’t we supposed to go there together?” Their tone is half teasing and half begging. Even if they hated this proper date, this “someone,” this—whatever—they’d act happy.

Because you’re happy.

Any feeling of annoyance or jealousy is quelled by the sight of a smile on your face. You bite your lower lip and they can’t help but let their gaze trail down.

Goodness grief.

“Next time, DevDev?”

Their heart crashes. A bright blush crawls up their neck, hidden by the turtleneck they’ve thankfully worn. Still, how flustered they get at the nickname is evident in the way the heat makes its way to their cheeks.

Devereux looks down, blonde curls blocking their view of you. They hide a cheek with a hand and pick up their latte with the other. “I can’t say no to that,” they force out. They sip at their drink and keep their gaze turned down. “Not when you’re my number one partner.”

You laugh at the sight. “Thanks, DevDev! You’re the best.” Devereux fidgets and you laugh harder. The blush has spread across their whole face.

“Are you embarrassed?”

They sip louder. “No!”

***

The date goes well.

Too well.

Devereux is happily annoyed. You don’t talk about her, not always, but between tasks they find you looking at your phone. The lull in conversation is often accompanied by the rapid tap, tap, tap against your phone screen.

Though the work day is over, the two of you are still attached at the hip. At least, as attached as two people can be without being... together.

Devereux stands at the stove in their apartment while you sit at the kitchen table. The bottom right burner is turned on. A soup-filled pot rests on top, the liquid not even close to simmering. Next to the stove are styrofoam containers full of noodles packed to-go.

The scene is normal on evenings like these. One of you orders takeout, and the other sets up the table to eat.

Tonight, you took the liberty of ordering.

Leaning against the counter, Devereux looks at you, arms crossed against their chest. Your attention is still directed toward your phone, and they watch you grin at the screen. Their gaze trails up, first to the way your nose wrinkles with your growing smile, then to your eyes and how soft they are.

A fire stokes in their stomach, their skin burning with envy.

(How silly, Devereux thinks to themself, that they look like you when it’s the other way around. When you text them, call them—it doesn’t matter. You could never speak again and they’d still rise with the sound of your smile.)

Devereux turns their head to look at the pot.

Simmering.

They know it’s a bit nonsensical to heat up fresh takeout—you always tease them about it—but the habit of heating up soup is just as habitual as being by your side.

“I still don’t get why you dump the broth in a pot right when you get home,” you tell them.

Devereux looks back at you. “It’s nothing serious, partner,” they joke.

Your name scorches their tongue. It burns to be spoken, to be released in the air, but Devereux kills it with the clenching of their jaw. They can’t trust their voice; the thought of speaking your name has their blood trembling.

“Number One,” Devereux sighs out, “you don’t have to worry about it.”

You smile and, grief, Devereux watches the way your lips quirk up at the edges, how much deeper it gets when you talk to them.

“Not serious, huh?” you tease. “You make it sound like it is, Number Zero.”

They can’t hold in the grin that cracks through their skin.

Number One, Number Zero. Even if they put you first, you find a way to put Devereux ahead of you.

“You’ll hold the whole thing over my head.”

You snort. “Yeah, me and a pair of platform boots. DevDev,” you mock. They feel the blush start to rise through their skin. “I promise I won’t make fun of you. Pinky promise.”

Devereux reaches over, pinky extended, and wraps it around yours. The touch sends electricity through their veins and fuels the fire in their blood.

Somehow, they keep it together.

For a moment, one that feels not long enough, they keep their pinky hooked around yours. You make eye contact with them and tilt your head, as if to prompt them into speaking.

Devereux clears their throat. “My brother,” they say, pulling at the collar of their shirt, “got sick a lot when we were young. I think it’s because the goof was always out in the rain with no shoes on.”

“Yuck!” Devereux laughs as you wrinkle your nose again, this time in disgust. “Your brother? Dev Junior? He looks too... clean to be playing in mud.”

“Yeah, now,” they emphasize, “but when we were kids, he left dirt tracks everywhere. I would know—I had to clean them.”

You lean forward in your chair, a signal that Devereux takes as ‘get on with the story.’ Before they can open their mouth, the sound of bubbling reaches their ears.

Devereux quickly turns to see the pot nearly boiling over. They rush to set the pot on an empty burner and turn off the stove.

“Hold on a sec.” Devereux doesn’t need to look to know that you’re nodding in response.

They grab the takeout boxes and place them next to your empty bowl on the table. Devereux goes back for the scalding hot broth on the stovetop, the weight of the pot familiar in their hand. They walk to your side, carefully pouring the broth into your bowl.

“That goofball only wanted soup when he was sick.” Devereux sets the pot down on a placemat. They open your takeout box and, with a plastic fork, slowly start dunking your noodles into the broth. “He loved soup. Still does. Even if it was hundred degrees outside and he was running a fever, he’d ask me to heat something for him. When we were really young, I’d just make him canned soup. As we got older, I got a little better at cooking, so I could skip on buying a lot of the canned stuff.”

“You’d make it yourself...” you trail. “That’s... Dev, that’s so sweet.”

Devereux hands you the fork, smiling as you dig into the dinner. “It’s nothing,” they say. “Taking care of others is what I know how to do, so I try my best.”

“All the soup-making talent and you still nearly burn—”

“Shut up about that!”

Devereux juts their hand out blindly grabs a fork. They shove it into your bowl, ignoring your protests, and eat a forkful of your dinner.

***

“Are we still on for our usual on Sunday?”

Devereux stands by the sink, washing the dishes and handing them to you to dry.

You purse your lips. Devereux catches your brows knitting together from the corner of their eye.

They know the answer.

“It’s alright. To say no, I mean.”

“…are you sure?” You place the damp bowl face down on a drying mat. “We do this every week. I’d feel awful missing out on—”

Devereux raises their hand in the air. “It’s okay. I get it. Remember when I canceled on you back when I went out with that one guy? With the beat-up truck?”

You stifle a laugh. “I never really understood why he had it when he insisted on you driving everywhere.”

Despite the ache that grows in their chest, they’d sooner give up one day with you if it meant you’d be happy. They muster up a half-smile before asking, “Are you forgetting that he tried running me over in that piece of garbage on wheels?”

“Nope!” you say, loudly popping the ‘p’. “I just choose to ignore that part.”

They could live like this forever—stuck in a banter with you in the middle of their kitchen, moon peeking through the half-closed blinds.

Devereux would take any life if it meant they could share it with you.

They turn off the faucet. A tense silence settles in the air.

For a while, the two of you stay voiceless. Devereux absentmindedly plays with the soap suds in the sink, gaze turned away to stare at the clock on the wall. You tap your fingers against the counter.

“You’re my best friend,” they hear you say. Devereux’s eyes flit toward you, resting on the way the ceiling light hits your skin. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” they scoff.

You throw the drying rag over your shoulder. “Good.”

The sight of you scatters any coherent thought. Devereux wonders if this is what a living with you would look like—disheveled, tired. Shirt wet from the drying rag that should have been replaced five dishes ago. Pants wrinkled from a long day of work.

A smile, goodness, the one that makes them go crazy every time they see it, finds its way to your face again. Before Devereux can take it in, you press a palm against their shoulder blade.

They short-circuit.

“Huh?” they sputter out. Garbled words tumble from Devereux’s mouth when they feel the tips of your fingers curl into the fabric of their shirt.

“Just... look, Dev—” you start, then screw your lips shut. Your fingers flutter against their shoulder, hesitating in their spot like a flickering flame.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!”

You shift and, suddenly, the feeling of your forehead pressed against their shoulder replaces the curling of your hands.

(It’s not.)

Silence strikes then—shatters. You say their name, syllables whispered through bitten lips. It fills the air with honey. You say it again, louder, and with intention. The feeling of their name on your tongue, the sound from your voice (how right it feels to hear it), glues their lips shut.

“You can tell me anything, okay? If something annoys you, or makes you sad, or frustrated. All of it, okay? You’re”—you press further into their shoulder, mouth covered by the fabric— “you’re my number zero.”

Devereux doesn’t say anything. They lean against the counter, unbothered by the cold puddles of water that soak into their shirt; they do nothing to stop the heat that flushes their skin.

You’re my number zero.

“I know.”

***

5:21 AM.

Devereux rubs their eyes as they blearily stare at the screen of their clock.

Up again. Late, like always.

The weekend is meant to be enjoyed, savored. For work, they are right on time, but for the weekend, they rise with the flow of their body.

Sunday, the first day of the week they have reserved for you, is spent preparing for the sunrise.

(Their mind flashes back to a few days ago. The little moment by the sink, the feeling of your hand on their shoulder, your lips barely—just barely—grazing their shirt.)

On a normal Sunday, Devereux stumbles out of bed. Some days, you’ll be knocking on their door, a thermos in hand and full of hot cocoa for the morning. On others, you’re already inside. You’d be on the couch, turned away from their door as you sip on the cocoa and wait for them to get out of their room.

The best days are when you’ve slept over.

You take the floor, always, despite Devereux’s insistence on giving up the bed. The shaky compromise you’ve made is sleeping on the floor together.

Devereux piles blankets and pillows until the carpet is a made-up fantasy and all that exists are pieces of bedding on the ground. You’d lay in the middle, hogging the best pillows, but they’d hit you with a flat, decade-old pillow and roll you over with their feet.

(“My house, my rules,” they joked one night. Devereux had pushed you off the blankets and onto the tile of the kitchen next to the living room.

You hurled a stray pillow at their face. It landed and sent them stumbling back onto the couch.

“Last time I checked, you’re a renter.”

Devereux groaned. “Semantics!”)

There is no knock on the door, no sign of you in their apartment, and no blankets that litter the floor.

Devereux sinks into their bed and sighs. They grab their phone off the nightstand, gaze pausing on the old polaroid in the back of their phone case. Written in tiny, black script on the bottom is the date it was taken. The photo was after your third mission together; you invited Devereux to get takeout from a restaurant a few blocks away from your apartment and to celebrate you had taken the picture on an old, beat-up couch that you no longer own.

They squeeze their eyes shut, forcing away the memories. Turning their phone around, Devereux turns it on to see two unopened messages from you. Without reading them, they already know what you said.

Sorry that you can’t come over today. You’ll get them something to make up for it.

Devereux half-imagines asking you for a date as a way to make it up, a request they’d never truly make for fear of ruining what they already have.

They swipe open the messages and skim through the words.

You: thank you thank you thank you <3 i’m really sorry i can’t watch the sunrise with you today. jeanie asked me out to the cafe again You: i’ll stop by your place right after i swear!!! they have an almond latte with caramel and mocha that i think you’ll like!

Devereux sets their phone back on the nightstand.

Jeanie. The girl you’ve been casually seeing for the past three weeks. They silently curse her name before backpedaling. It’d be a pain for fate to come back and bite them in the ass for it.

Devereux heaves themself out of bed, squinting as the sun from the open blinds shines into their eyes. They shimmy into a pair of pajama pants strewn on the floor and stuff their phone into a pocket.

They shuffle from the bed to the door and open it. Despite the earlier messages, Devereux halfway hopes that you’re on the other side waiting for them. That Jeanie canceled the coffee date and you’re free to spend the morning with them like you always do. That something will finally, finally go their way.

But the apartment is empty.

And Devereux is alone.

***

Sunday passes without any other problems. You held up on your promise and showed up a few hours later, latte in hand and a sparkle in your eye that Devereux could only compare to the shining of a star.

Today, you’ve opted to spend lunch in the media room despite the fact that it is Blane Rekner’s second home.

Rather than spend a few hours arguing with Rekner in what is meant to be a quiet place away from the rest of the workplace, Devereux mopes by the latte machine. Two empty cups sit beside them as they sip on a third and look down at their shoes.

“Hey, stranger,” they hear from their side. Devereux shifts their gaze up to see Alves clad in a ruffled button-up and lab coat.

Devereux crosses their arms. “Hey yourself, Alves. Not hiding out in the lab the whole afternoon this time?”

Alves laughs at the comment as they step around Devereux. They reach out for the pot of coffee and pull out a mug from their bag. They have their own little coffee routine that Devereux’s picked up on over the years; Alves always brings a coffee mug—ceramic, decorated with red and yellow leaves—and fills it just above halfway.

As Devereux expects, Alves takes two brown sugars and a single cream to stir in before topping it off with more coffee.

“Just taking a bit of a break,” they say. Alves leans against the counter with Devereux. The hum of the coffee pot fills the air before Alves cuts into it like a knife into butter.

“What’s wrong?”

Devereux stiffens. “What do you mean?”

“Well”—Alves takes another long, drawn-out sip— “you aren’t with a certain someone. And you’re out here on your third cup of coffee.”

“Third latte.”

Alves shakes their head and chuckles. “Yes, third latte.” They set their mug down next to Devereux’s empty latte cups. “Anyway, the only time I see you alone is when you get into a fight with your partner. Of course I’m going to ask you if you’re all right.”

Devereux’s mouth twists into a lopsided frown. Were they really that obvious? They chug the rest of their latte before turning their head away from Alves.

“It’s nothing! Seriously. We aren’t fighting right now.”

“Right now,” Alves emphasizes. “Sounds like there’s a little more to this.”

“Alves, please. I—We’re... there’s no fighting going on. It’s just... Lord.”

Alves nudges Devereux with an elbow. “I have a feeling this is about that girl—Jeanie?” When they stiffen, Alves knows they’ve struck a chord. “I guess I’m right.”

“Y-yeah.” Devereux buries their face into their hands. “This whole thing is so ridiculous. I wish I wasn’t so miffed about her taking up all their time, really. I bet Jeanie’s nice, but...” they trail off.

The coffee maker fills the air again, its humming a welcome participant in the conversation.

“...do you get it? Like, wishing someone felt the same?” Devereux’s cheeks flush a bright red. “I just don’t want to mess things up. I care a lot about what we have, and if I do something, I might lose it.”

Alves stares at Devereux, eye contact unbroken until they let out a strangled sigh.

“I do,” Alves says after a tense moment of silence. They shut their eyes for just a second too long, but not long enough for Devereux to notice. Alves smiles at them. “I understand that fear of ruining everything, but”—Alves pats Devereux’s arm—“how would you know if you don’t say anything?”

“Wh—Say—” they sputter. “Alves, I can’t say something now! Not when things are going well with them and Jeanie. She makes them happy and I won’t take that away!”

“Call me crazy, but I have a feeling you’ll get your chance soon enough.” Alves rolls up their coat sleeve to check the time. They take their mug and step away from Devereux. “Look, I have to head back to the lab soon, but I’ll see you around!”

Devereux can only nod and watch as Alves walks off.

(You’ll get your chance.)

They keep Alves’ words running through their mind.

***

Face hot with anger, you step out of the media room. In your arms are carelessly stacked papers and booklets. A few of the papers are creased and wrinkled, but you could care less.

Blane Rekner sure has a way with words, you think to yourself as you walk off to grab a late lunch. The hunter, as prickly as ever, gave you more than a few choice words before you left the room.

How you ticked Blane off, you aren’t sure, but you think it has to do with your existence in general.

Whatever.

Your mini journey from the media room to the cafeteria is put on pause when Alves runs into you.

Literally.

“Agh!”

The impact from smacking straight into Alves forces a sound from your lungs as you fall onto your rear end. Papers scatter into the air and the booklets land on the ground with a smack.

“I’m so sorry!”

You look up to see Alves, still standing from the collision, reaching a hand to help you to your feet. They pull you up in a swift motion and quickly snatch at the papers falling through the air.

“No, no! I should be apologizing,” you say as you kneel back down to pick up the last few documents. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Standing up—without help this time—you dust yourself off and clutch your reorganized papers. Alves hands you the ones they managed to catch.

“Where are you headed?”

“Ah, just grabbing lunch. I hope there’s still something decent to eat at this time.”

Alves raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t eaten yet?”

“Eh, kind of,” you wave them off. “I had some chips from the vending machine.”

“I don’t think that’s a real lunch. Or breakfast.”

You shrug. “I’m not too worried. I’m supposed to be getting dinner tonight, anyway,” you laugh. “I guess I’m just saving my appetite until then. I might just grab a drink instead.”

“Dinner? Are you heading out with Devereux?”

You know Alves is just trying to make conversation—it is their way of showing kindness to you when Blane so often gives you the opposite. The difference between the two makes you laugh; how they work as partners, you don’t know, but you’re happy that Blane has someone as forgiving as Alves by their side.

“Ah, um,” you stutter. You scratch the side of your cheek and look away from Alves. While you’ve scratched the surface of an acquaintanceship with them, Alves still knows a few things about your personal life, including the recent updates dating-wise. “No. With that person I matched with! The one I told you about a few days ago.”

The admission has you pulling at the collar of your shirt. Match. It feels a bit embarrassing—going on dates with a person you met through a dating app—but she makes you happy.

“That’s great!” Alves exclaims. “I’m glad it’s going well for you.”

You hug the documents to your body, trying to hide how flustered the whole conversation has you feeling. “Thank you!”

“I’ll let you go now—I wouldn’t want to be in the way of you eating lunch, you know? I was supposed to be back in the lab earlier, to be honest,” Alves says. They beam at you. “Let me know how dinner goes?”

“You’re too nice, you know that?”

Alves rubs the back of their head. “Really?”

“Really,” you reply. “You and Devereux, honestly. I don’t get how you two are still on the market.”

Alves shrugs with a kind smile then waves goodbye as you turn away. You miss the way their gaze lingers before you disappear behind a corner.

***

“Moping again?”

Devereux tenses at the sound of your voice.

“I’m not moping.”

“It’s your fifth cup, partner,” you drawl out. “I think something is up.”

“How do you know this isn’t water?” (It isn’t.) “What if I’m just drinking water in a coffee cup?”

“Because I know you.” You roll your eyes and set your stack of papers down next to them. “The last time we went to Chipotle and I told you to just get soda in a water cup, you chickened out.”

“That’s different!” they exclaim.

You lean toward them and, just as quickly, Devereux leans back. Reaching up, you pinch their cheek. “No, it’s definitely the same.”

Devereux grumbles. They bring a hand up to pull your fingers away but struggle against your grip.

“Let go!”

“No.” You pinch harder. “Not until you admit I’m right.”

“You are not—ouch!”

You finally let go when Devereux pouts. They rub their cheek and clutch their cup. Devereux has half a mind to stick their tongue out at you, but they know you aren’t afraid to grip at it.

Devereux sips at their latte. “Takeout tonight?” they ask.

You sigh.

Devereux casts their gaze to the side. They read the papers you set down and skim over the printed words. It’s easier to take the rejection when they’re distracted.

“It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

***

Much like Sunday, the week flies by. Weeks turn into one month, then two, and—

—Devereux finds themself standing at the door of your apartment. It has been three months, two weeks, and five days since you started your whatever with Jeanie.

And it’s been one week since she broke it off.

You’ve been inconsolable ever since.

At work, you pretend everything is fine; it’s easy to make it seem like it is. With the amount of chaos that happens on your floor, it’d be hard not to.

You keep it normal—you have to.

IAOS watches one half of its top duo eat lunch and drink coffee like you haven’t experienced your first heartbreak in years since you graduated from university. You keep the jig up by acting more friendly, more warm toward your coworkers. The more you talk, the easier it is to get your mind off the pseudo-breakup.

The change in attitude has been the latest gossip, however. Some people have loudly whispered that you finally got into a relationship, while others have decided that you’re playing some sort of long con.

They haven’t seemed to notice the dark circles that have gotten darker. The redness in the whites of your eyes that hasn’t gone away. The sandpaper sound of your voice when you speak.

Devereux is the only one who has.

When they knock at your door, a long silence follows. All that fills their ears is the sound of their beating heart. They knock again, a little louder, and wait for the sound of shuffling to come closer.

Metal against metal, Devereux listens as you slowly unlock the door of your apartment. Their heart freezes when you peek through the crack.

The time it takes you to fully unlock the door is excruciating.

“What are you doing here?”

If it were any other situation, Devereux would scold you. They’d call you out on running away from them. Any form of chastising dies at the back of their throat when they take in how exhausted you look.

A blanket sits around your shoulders, held closed by your fists. They can hear the tiny hiccups you make despite how hard you try to cover them up. Your eyes are red-rimmed, and your cheeks are both tear-stained and shimmering with new tears.

Devereux wraps their arms around you. The thought of personal space briefly escapes them, but before they can pull away and apologize, you weakly put an arm around their shoulders. The action is a bit of a struggle with their height. Devereux leans further down and closer to you, adjusting so your arm wraps fully around them.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. Your apology is whispered over and over, voice cracking with each repeat no matter how hard you try to steady your words. Fresh tears start to run down your cheeks, burning the rubbed-raw skin of your eyelids.

“Don’t apologize. Please,” they beg into your neck. “How could this be your fault? You didn’t ask for this.”

Slowly, Devereux eases you back into your apartment. You hold onto them the whole way, fingers gripping into the skin of their arm as they lead you to your couch. They sit you down and clear the coffee table. From your seat, you sniffle and watch as they throw away old cans and crumpled snack bags.

“You don’t have to do that, Dev,” you whisper. The words come out forced, uneven. It takes all of your energy and then some to speak.

They ignore your protests. When you try to stand, Devereux places a hand on your shoulder and gives you a pleading look. Their eyes are glassy, full of unshed tears that you know they’re holding in for your sake.

You relent.

Devereux goes back to cleaning your living room. You don’t miss the little glances they send your way, as if making sure you stay rooted on the couch cushion.

They plop down next to you once they throw the last of the mess away. It looks much more livable; the only thing it’s missing is a sense of peace.

Devereux crosses their arms and tilts their head backward, resting it on the couch. You scooch closer to them. A sigh escapes their lips.

“I want to,” they say.

You rest your head against their shoulder. “Want to what?” you ask. Closing your eyes, you listen to Devereux’s quiet breathing. You focus on the warmth that radiates through their shirt, on the slow beating of their heart.

“To take care of you.”

You laugh. It sounds nothing like your usual laugh. It rings hollow, devoid of the usual sweetness that fills the action. Behind the laugh sits the taste of bitterness that licks at Devereux’s skin, seeping down into their tender nerves.

“Why?”

Devereux tilts their head and places it atop yours. They press your cheek against you. “Because I want to,” they reply. “Because you’re my best friend and the best partner. You’re my number one.”

You swallow the lump growing in your throat, but it does nothing to stop the new flow of tears that cascades down your cheeks. A sniffle escapes you.

Then a sound of disbelief.

It all devolves into a cacophony of choked sobs that echo in the air. Your heart bursts into pieces, it breaks and shatters despite how sloppily you try to keep it together.

“Why?” you wail into their shirt. “Why, why, why? I don’t understand what I did wrong, Dev. I don’t know why I’m so bad.”

Devereux feels their own tears start to break free. They flutter their eyes in an attempt to keep them at bay, but they fall when you look at them, snot-nosed, and beg for an answer to why you can’t be happy.

“There’s something wrong with me, there has to be. I wish I knew why”—you stumble with your words, mouth moving but not speaking until you find your voice—“why I’m so fucking awful. Why I ruin everything I touch.”

You hiccup as you try to breathe. Tears run along your lips, dripping down your neck. They stain the collar of your shirt and dribble onto Devereux’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out.

Devereux crushes you into a hug, mostly to comfort you, but partially to hide their tears. They rub circles into your back as you continue crying out into their chest. Your wailing dies down, soothed by the vice-grip they have around you.

You feel Devereux loosen their grip, but not enough to let you go. They pull back to look at you, eyes red and puffy from the quiet tears they shed. Devereux brings their hand to your cheek. Their thumb brushes against your skin, slowly moving to wipe the tears from your face.

Devereux leans in and looks you in the eye. They’re a breath away. The closeness would normally have them flustered, but the feeling is drowned out by the need to ease your insecurity.

Their hand rests on your cheek. “There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, your gaze is pointed away from your partner, too scared to lock back with their intense stare. “You don’t know that.”

Devereux glares. “I do know,” they assert. “She had three months with you, so what? I know you.” They press their forehead against yours, an action that has you locking your eyes back with theirs. “I know you,” they repeat, their tone much softer than before.

Just as abruptly as they pressed against you, Devereux pulls away. “I’m with you all the time. I’ve seen your worst, and even lower than that.” You frown at that statement, but Devereux continues, “And I’ve seen you at your best. I know you in-between and mediocre. I know you with morning breath and with food between your teeth. I know you at work and at home.

“Someone who could only catch you in the morning with a cup of coffee she made you pay for doesn’t know you—not the you that matters most. So what if she paid for a few dinners? And so what if she drove you around? All I know”—Devereux takes a deep breath and closes their eyes—“is that she’s missing out. Who cares if she already has someone else lined up after you? It means jackshit about you.” They open their eyes. “Besides, I’ll always be here.

“You’re my partner, always and forever.”

Devereux watches as you muster up a smile, one that gets stained with a few tears that slip from your eyes.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Number Zero.” You pull Devereux into a hug. “You’re too good to me.”

***

Three weeks.

4:36 AM.

Devereux wakes up to the sound of the TV playing in the background. They rub their eyes, their vision blurring together before it slowly clears up. A video game commentary plays on a low enough volume to not disturb the neighbors, but loud enough to have them jolt awake.

They sluggishly look around, taking in the room through the darkness. They stretch out and feel their joints crackle and pop. Devereux tilts their neck and groans at the loud cracking sound it makes.

They had fallen asleep on the couch.

Devereux breathes in and out, steadying their heart. They feel their eyes start to droop as they listen to the droning sound of the commentator on the TV. Right as they drift back to sleep, they hear a shuffling sound from behind.

Like a spring, they jump at the sound and find themselves on their feet.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

Devereux blinks.

“How did you get in?” The sleep laced in their voice is evident in the way Devereux’s words slur together. “I thought you lost your copy of the key.”

“You have a bad hiding spot for your spare.”

Devereux groans. “Are you the one who keeps moving it? I got locked out a few days ago and couldn’t find it.” Despite the way they scold you, a sweet playfulness wraps around their voice, lightly casting away the sleep from earlier. They climb over the couch and shuffle toward you. “Really though, what are you doing here?”

You tug at the hem of their shirt and drag them to the table. The action is done in silence, but Devereux doesn’t mind. They pull out a chair and drop into it, uncaring of the creaking sound it had made. Pulling out the chair to them, you carefully sit down.

Devereux blinks and, like magic, you’re holding a mug of hot cocoa in front of them. They accept the drink and hold the mug close, letting it heat their frozen fingers.

“It’s Sunday.”

“It is?”

“Duh.”

They sip the cocoa. A rich, white chocolate hits their tongue. “Almond milk?” You nod. “It’s good.”

You smile in response and Devereux feels a familiar heat running up their neck. They’re relieved when you avert your gaze and focus on the open window by your side.

After going to your apartment and letting you cry it out, Devereux stayed with you for a few days. They were reluctant to leave you alone—too scared of the thought of you bearing it all by yourself. The image of you crying still haunts their dreams. They only left at your insistence that you’d be alright, but even then they tried to stay.

As excruciating as it was, they let you have your space, pinky promising that they wouldn’t drop by unless you asked. It took a week for you to be comfortable with getting takeout, and another for you to let it be the common occurrence it used to be.

Still, Devereux held off on any weekend visits until you made it explicitly clear you could handle it.

Devereux stares at you as they sip at the rest of their cocoa. They linger on your folded hands and follow the twiddling of your index fingers. Trailing up, they take in the way you look out the window; the barely-there sunlight that crawls up your torso, the fluttering of your eyelashes. Your lips quirk and Devereux feels their thoughts wander as your smile grows softer.

You turn your head and make eye contact with Devereux. They quickly look down into their half-empty mug, flushing at being caught. You don’t let their wandering eyes ruin the silence, not yet.

It is only when your face twists into a grimace and your eyebrows knit together that Devereux knows what you’re about to say. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing.”

You frown at Devereux. “I’m going to do it, anyway,” you argue. “I’m sorry about the other day, Dev. I... I should have told you about it sooner. I just didn’t want you to worry so much.”

“You can’t expect me not to worry,” they sigh. “When it’s you, I’m always worried. I never want you to feel bad.”

Devereux’s statement makes you bashful, but you do your best to shake off the feeling. “Still! I didn’t want you to see me like that, you know? Crying over a little rejection.” You let out a little laugh as you sink deeper into your seat. “You break peoples’ hearts all the time, Dev. Do you ever wonder if you make them feel like me?”

“I hope not.” Being the reason someone goes sobbing doesn’t sit well with Devereux. They think of you, alone—alone—wrapped in a blanket and wiping away a fresh set of tears. Of you, hand wrapped around your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your wails while you breathe through your nose.

“I hope I’m never the reason you go home crying,” they say. Or why your heart breaks.

You pull your knees to your chest. “You could never”—you pause, pursing your lips as you try to think of the right words—“make me feel bad.”

The hitch in your statement is enough to make Devereux raise an eyebrow, but not enough to make them ask what you mean. It’s too early in the morning to indulge in the fantasy world where you love them back.

(They still think of confessing right then and there. Of going down on their knees and squeezing your hands while they look up at you. They pretend that you’ll accept.

That their fantasy is a few steps short of coming true.)

You turn your head to look at your phone and click it open. A small grin adorns your face. They’ve forgotten how much they missed it.

“Looks like the sun is about to come up all the way.” You place your hands on the armrests and drop your feet down to the floor, using your muscles to push yourself up and out of the chair.

You step in front of Devereux. “Did you want to join me and watch the rest of the sunrise, Number Zero?”

“What kind of question is that?” Devereux looks up at you and your hovering hand that waits for them to take it. “I think you’d be a little mindless to think I’d say no, Number One.” Devereux takes your hand and grips it.

You squeeze back.

***

Bonus:

Devereux walked you home after your morning escapade. Normally, you’d insist on going home alone, but you felt no need to deny their presence. They dropped you off and, with your ear pressed against the door, you listened for the jingling of their keys to fade away before you slid down to the floor.

And here you are now, a few hours later, still against the door.

The speaker from your phone crackles before a distorted voice comes out.

“Did you say something?”

You sigh. “No, Alves. I chickened out at the last second.”

Alves laughs on the other end. You hear a crinkling sound through the phone—likely a wrapper from an energy bar to keep them sated until they head out for lunch later.

“I get it, you know? Confessing is a scary thing, and it’s worse when you’re still getting over a heartbreak.”

“Yeah...” you mumble. “Maybe I should just wait. I don’t know.”

“Well, do you think you’re ready for something?”

“Right now?”

“Mhm.”

“...not really, no.”

You can feel Alves’ smile through the phone, a feat you think only they are capable of. “Then I think you shouldn’t worry about this. At least, not at this point in time. Wouldn’t it be better to get ahold of your feelings first before running into something new?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you grumble. “I’ll get out of your hair now, Alves.” You shut your mouth, then add, “And thank you. You didn’t have to check up on me. It’s your day off and I know you’re supposed to be seeing Blane later.”

“It’s fine! Just because Blane doesn’t like you doesn’t mean I can’t help you out,” they laugh. “See ya!”

“Bye.”

You at the end call button on your phone and drop your head into your hands.

Alves’ concern is logical. You shouldn’t be running into a relationship, not when you still get misty-eyed thinking of the failure of your recent fling.

But they don’t know that the only reason you had one was to ignore the bubbling feelings you had for Devereux.

It was easy the first few weeks, especially with the bout of infatuation you went through with your match. And it helped that your partner had been supportive of the whole thing; not once did you hear an open complaint about Jeanie. Their insistence on you getting to know her only fueled the need to forget about your feelings—

—because how could they love you back if they wanted you to be with someone else?

Losing Jeanie was only a small part of your breakdown. Most of it went off from all the overthinking that accompanied the breakup—all the thoughts of being unwanted, undesirable... unloved.

If Jeanie could so easily bend your heart out of shape, then what would rejection from your best friend—your number zero—even begin to feel like? You just kept breaking your own heart with each scenario of losing Devereux, of being told that you could never be someone they loved in a way that you wanted.

(Besides, I’ll always be here.)

Devereux’s words of comfort are seared into your mind.

(You’re my partner, always and forever.)

Days like those, ones where Devereux takes care of you when you fight against their compassion, give you enough hope to keep on going.

A buzz from the floor distracts you from your thoughts. You unlock your phone and read the message.

Number Zero: coffee later?

You tap a response, unable to hold the smile that starts to stretch across your face.

You: what time? i’ll pick you up

Maybe they’d love you back—you don’t know—but you won’t be the one to say it out loud.

Not yet.

So you’ll pretend, in the morning, that these little moments are dates; that this is the closest you can get to the real thing. And you’ll pretend, at night, that these coffee shops and sunrises mean more than just a close friendship. That maybe, one day, you’ll get your chance.

#reader insert #a devereux #when twilight strikes

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thebuttsmcgee · 1 year

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ALRIGHT so I finished the rest of tgamm's S2 eps so far and to both test out this read more trick that I haven't learned how to use even after all these years and for everyone's convenience, my long thoughts will be in the read more.

My abridged thoughts, are that the eps were p good! Very solid batch all around and I'm sure the later eps will be just as fun, maybe even more! 👍!

Aaaaas for the longer thoughts, well they're not that longer tbh.

I was a bit. Hm. Not disappointed but more, surprised? I guess, that they focused a lot more on the main cast rather than some side character and their story but that's not a bad thing, I just find that some of my fav eps from S1 tended to do that tho! And thankfully, the writing like usual managed to be good enough that I didn't really think that much about it, while watching it.

Anyways, Scratch's backstory that was literally shown for less than a minute. OOOH. OHHH THAT WAS GOOD. LEGIT WAS SO GOOD. It perfectly captured that touching emotion that S1 had looooots of moments with. Also worth noting is that the soda was founded (I think?) in 1909, so Scratch probs isn't that old. Ooh man I hope the theories from way back about how his sailor themed memorabilia is actually for a purpose!

Oh yea, Scratch as chairman. Neat. Hm. Not bad, but hm. Just kinda neat I guess imo of course. Eh ya know what, now that I think about it, the show has been handling it rather well, its not an instant problem solver and it hasnt gotten in the way so far, yea its p neat. He spent the first half of the ep just being like "enjoy yourr afterliiiife [:○)" just to drift to "GET OUTTA MY HOUSE" and that was funny.

Oh yea and as always, the backgrounds were colorfully delightful, the voice acting was top knotch, the animation and different storyboard artists' styles were great and the music remains baller. Reaaaally hope it gets more appreciation this time around!

I FORGOT LOL Scratch's ass being plot relevant is fantastic. Like. Wow.

Sharon's episode was great!!!!!! I love the real emotion of unsure fear, uncertainty, but being able to overcome it due to support from loved one. GGGRHH THIS SHOW AND THE FAMILY WRITING WOO. They always nail it. Seriously I hope that this ep gets more recognition among fans.

Andrea's ep was also fun! Really stuck to their idea of her just being a bit misguided, not really mean hearted. I also love that they chose to talk about how convenient enterprises can unfortunately take over independent businesses and that it's up to the people to choose those independent businesses, not the corporate world.

Libby's ep was p fun! Very nice that she's getting more attention, and that they had an ep based on her love of her family library.

Molly overworked herself, again, but at least by the end she got to have fun 👍

Darryl's was p okay, definitely better than his last one, but I kinda feel like maybe Darryl also could have learned something? Buut then again he's just a kid and his parents accepting him for who he is, is a wonderful message so it all evens out :^).

As for the Chens, they're okay! I like June, autism blast has been deployed and that's rad. Ollie is okay, DEFINITELY overhated like geez he's literally just some guy. Granted, I'm not sure how this whole ghost hunter thing is gunna turn out tho. Considering that Scratch IS family, it makes for a neat obstacle I suppose.

And as for the thing that's been the main talk of recent, The Ship.

Reuben and Pete.

Gotta say it's p good, good on Pete.

Oh yea and molly and ollie is okay? I guess. Not really bad, not all that interesting imo tbh but it's really harmless. It clicks in a bit too much for my taste. Like Molly has been shown to be a bit too optimistic for people, then some guy shows up and is almost exactly like her. Ehhhh, again, not bad but some people DEFINITELY need to calm down, after all the show is mainly centered around the family and love between them, not romance. Just not my cup of milk ya know?

The actual in characters in the show, in their real life shipping them tho, was, hm. Don't. Don't quite know how to feel about that.

Pete and Reuben tho. C'mon.

Oh yea, new antagonist on the way too ig, he's voiced by Jeff Bennett so good for him!

Iiiii guess that's about it! Overall, p good batch! Hopefully the rest will be either just as good, or even better!

And lastly but certainly not least,

a dope hat makes any design look better 10/10

#tgamm spoilers #tgamm season 2 spoilers #its. a lotta spoilers #the ghost and molly mcgee spoilers #the ghost and molly mcgee season 2 spoilers #tgamm #okie Im tired as hell thats all Im tagging for now lol

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obsessivelollipoplalala · 1 year

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As usual with Brian, people have the most bad faith takes possible with this, ranging from saying he was him "projecting" onto Freddie (god, do I hate that take), to saying he was infantilizing Freddie by being worried about him (total brain worms there), to saying he hated that Freddie went to gay clubs (worse brain worms), but it ignores that...yes, he had legitimate reasons to be concerned about Freddie from the late 70s into the mid 80s. For just one example off the top of my head, there was a point where Freddie's fake friends were literally leaving him knocked out in a dumpster, only for him to cry his eyes out after. There are probably equally bad or worse stories that never went public! Clearly, Brian was right to be worried about Freddie's safety and happiness on the club scene, and to feel like he had fake friends who used him and didn't have his best interests at heart!

This is the first time I'm hearing of that incident but wtf.

Keeping that aside even the aspect of known fake friends aside, people instead of assuming that Brian, someone who personally knew Freddie had personal insights that most people don't, act like them - who have never spent a second with Freddie know better based on nothing but fantasies.

I do think the root of all this is this image of Freddie that has been made up in people's mind - the macho man who lived life with no regrets. Had no negative emotion at all. So when there's something that shatters that illusion people become angry.

"The Freddie Mercury" in people's minds is not the same Freddie Brian knew. It all really comes down to the same thing over again. People don't see Freddie as a human but Brian sees Freddie as nothing but a human.

Ohh yes, Mack was the one who told that story.

Yep, yep, yep. It's what I keep saying. Freddie was a human to Brian, the man he grew up with and considered family. ~Freddie Mercury~ is nothing but a powerful rock god to these people, so they got really mad when Brian says that Freddie was as human as the rest of us, susceptible to being used and manipulated and making mistakes. It's funny, you said, "the macho man who lived life with no regrets. Had no negative emotion at all" and that's a trap Phoebe has fallen into. I remember him saying something about never seeing Freddie cry or something, and he generally has made some weird statements in recent years which present Freddie in a really shallow way, and it's part of why I think someone like Phoebe is stuck on their hero worship of Freddie, as opposed to Brian, who has never dehumanized Freddie.

#queen #replies #Anonymous

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strideofpride · 2 years

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Hiii

Last year I was watching GG for the first time and I was Dair shipper (still am) and I don’t remember if it was you or another Dair blog but they said something about how GG could be so much interesting if they knew how to approach the generational theme? Like the “not wanting to end like their parents” thing

Well, I’ve been watching a show called rebelde (not the Netflix version but the 2004 telenovela) which is about a group of teenagers who go to the most prestigious school in Mexico. And I noticed some similarities. For example, there’s a Serena, a Blair, a Dan, and a Chuck. And funnily enough they are the main couples. But while I HATED Chuck with all my heart; I could not hate Diego (chuck’s counterpart?) And I think it’s cause they do put way more emphasis to them not wanting to be like their parents and repeating patterns, and that they behave a bit more like teenagers than in gg. So if they did something bad, you couldn’t really hate on them much because it’s not as bad as selling your girlfriend for a hotel????

Anyways so now every time I’m watching the show I draw connections and get even more upset at some of the narrative direction that gg could have taken if it cared enough at the end to end generational patterns. Hope this random ask doesn’t bother you!

Random asks never bother me!

And yeah, I think that's something that a lot of us have been talking about. Like to me, the ending of Gossip Girl does work, but only if you acknowledge it as a tragedy, you know? Like the characters all ended up like their parents anyway and that's really sad, but the problem isn't that they do, it's that the show sees this as a happy ending, even though they spent literal seasons telling us none of them wanted to go down those same paths.

And yeah, I guess from the start part of the original appeal of GG was teenagers acting like adults, which isn't all that uncommon in teen dramas anymore anyway, but GG took it to such ridiculous levels, it's hard to almost acknowledge it as something that could plausibly exist in our reality. Like I joke that the West Wing is my favorite sci-fi show, cause in real life the people that run the US government do not care about being good, upstanding people who run things with morality and ethics, but GG has some sci-fi elements as well.

Like I was thinking the other day about it actually. How Chuck being given his father's company isn't ridiculous, but Chuck being given his father's company before he even has a high school diploma?? And with no insistence that he even go to college or get an MBA?? Absurd. Same goes for Blair and Nate. Like neither of them graduate college before becoming CEOs, neither of them have business experience, or design or journalism experience respectively. It's not the nepotism that's shocking, it's the complete lack of regard for experience that is. Even in the most nepotistic cases, the child usually still has to spend time learning the ropes before they get handed the keys to the castle.

Hell, even Dan getting published in the New Yorker in high school and a book published in college (both without his consent which I really don't think would be possible) is pretty ridiculous too.

This got away from me, but yeah! GG is a bad show lol.

#gossip girl #gg meta #anonymous #strideofprideanswers

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chaosvents · 2 months

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i hate election years living with my parents, man. the world is burning, the arctic is melting, the wealth gap is spreading, wages are stagnant, cost of living is skyrocketing, and rights are being taken away and regulated at the whim of old men with hearts full of hate. meanwhile i have to gently talk my mother through an explanation of why it's bad that donald trump said he'd be a dictator, but only on his first day. she also said if biden loses he will also incite an insurrection? and that idk what makes her think that but she also yelled at me for saying trump is a convicted criminal. "so is joe biden" not... not for attempting a coup in response to losing an election though. but she doesn't see the difference. granted my mom kind of revels in her stupidity, i don't really understand her. she's proud of not knowing things, but i'm very much the type of person who is trying to learn every minute of every day, i jokingly call it 'need to know everything disease' and it is a blessing and a curse. the curse is Knowing How Bad It Really Is, obviously. but the blessing is knowing wtf is going on with the world. but she's proud of not knowing anything i'm ever talking about. she's been married to my dad for almost 30 years and she jokes nonstop about how her eyes glaze over when he talks about his work (that he's been doing for 40 years). like... that's not the flex you think it is?

anyway. all rants end up with my mother because she's the root of most of my trauma. my point here is that i was telling her i was anxious about the election and she decided to spend a couple hours arguing. and her point just drives me nuts. basically, she's not voting out of protest ("i'll vote when i see a good option, im 55 and i never have"). no amount of gentle slow explaining can convince her why that's not the protest she thinks it is. her secondary point is that all politicians are vicious criminals who hate you. which, like, yeah, but she uses it as an excuse to play dumb. she's proud of not knowing literally anything at all about politics because the depth and breadth of her knowledge is "politics is boring and politicians are bad". like please. please. the anti-intellectualism is killing me. why do you hate learning.

and that's another thing she does that makes me insane! she's one of those "i make fun of you because i love you" people and bringing it up will just get you a fuckton more teasing. i've spent a decade begging her not to constantly make fun of and bully me because it makes me feel like im in school again. but every time i bring it up she asks "if i didnt tease you how would you know i love you?" as if i wouldn't feel so much more loved if she listened to me. anyway one of the things she teases me about is that i like to learn. i will bring up something cool i learned and she immediately bursts into laughter. i've asked her questions afterwards and she always answers like "i don't know, i wasn't really listening". i'll tell a story and she'll respond with something completely random in a way that shows she wasn't listening even a little bit. that happens especially when im excited and telling good news and she responds with "oh, it'll be okay, hopefully tomorrow is better". like???? okay not only were you not listening, you also see my excitement and joy and assume you need to comfort me? what the fuck is wrong with her.

my sister is a nurse and her and i talk about this all the time. my mom acts stoned constantly. she takes 30-60 seconds to respond to any question and her response is "...what?" at least 1/3 of the time. the rest of the time it's a toss-up whether her response will be a random sentence she pulled out of her ass, or something that has anything to do with the topic being discussed. she doesn't do drugs either! no weed, no pills, not even alcohol. i swear to god she's proud of being stupid and slow. like she's doing it on purpose. she never used to be like this. it makes me want to slap her. wake the fuck up! react to something! join a conversation! learn something about your kid or husband! fuck!

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