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ginnsbaker · 11 months

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (4/?)

Chapter summary: The night at the club - from your perspective. And we find out whether you came to the opening of Wanda's cafe or not

Chapter word count: 6.3k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader (heavy on this chapter)

Tags: fluff if you squint (did I just say fluff?)

AO3 | Masterlist

Next Chapter: Five

Four

The night at the club - from your perspective

The club Clint chooses for Natasha’s send-off is a drug deal away from being sleazy, despite its popularity. It’s significantly larger too, than the typical nightclubs you’ve been to in the past; there's a mezzanine for VIP members and celebrity guests; three bars are stationed at the corners of the main room, selling beverages based on a price bracket–with the most expensive ones near the steps leading to the VIP area. In here, you find all kinds of party-goers–from preppy high school kids with their daddy’s money and fake IDs to aging business men looking to score a high-end escort or a B-list actress in need of a sponsor for their lavish lifestyle.

And then there’s you–newly single, unemployed, nearing your 30s and rooming with your best friend. Just with how you’re dressed–a white, velvet sleeveless cowl neck top and skinny jeans–you wonder what other people think of you, what backstory they’ve concocted in their heads. Whatever it is, it couldn’t be worse than your actual reality.

“How did you find this place?” you ask Clint after he returns with shots of tequila to start the night with.

He glances between you and then Natasha, who finishes her shot in a single gulp the second she snatches it from Clint’s fingers.

“Did you not see how big this place is from outside? It’s hard to miss the biggest nightclub in New York, Y/N.” His breath fans over your face, and all it takes is one whiff to know he’s already had some pre-party drinks in his system.

“I prefer the dive bars we used to frequent.” you say, grimacing as the tequila burns down your throat. It immediately warms the middle of your chest, leaving you thirstier than before.

Clint raises his eyebrows at you incredulously. “We’re not here to talk and catch-up. We’re here to get trashed because our girl right here,” he playfully puts an arm around Natasha so she’s snug against his side. “Is returning to the front lines.”

“Damn right!” Natasha yells, raising her empty shot glass to no one in particular. She’s deadly as she looks for what she’s capable of–which you know very little about–and yet, astoundingly lightweight when it comes to holding her liquor. It wouldn’t take three more rounds to render her thoroughly incapacitated.

Clint looks so smug, and it doesn’t take a second more for you to realize that he gave Natasha a double. You weakly jab his side with your elbow and then proceed to swipe his credit card from his back pocket, making sure he at least pays for everything tonight.

“Come on,” you say, reaching for Natasha’s hand. “We can’t have you drinking on an empty stomach or you won’t last until midnight.”

Natasha shakes her head with a pout. “Gotta last much, much, much later than that.”

“For sure. But first, let’s–”

“Where are you taking my sister?” A voice behind you asks in a demanding but playful manner. You feel it being said right in your ear, causing goosebumps all over the back of your neck.

Whipping your head around, you find Yelena smiling at you as she staggers a step back to avoid you accidentally kissing her cheek in the process.

There’s tension from the last time you saw each other, and it becomes instantly obvious that it hasn’t gone away the moment you take in her plunge cocktail dress and the rose-colored smirk she has on. You don’t really mean to, but it’s easy to make the conclusion that anyone would easily find her the most attractive person in the room.

“Little sis,” Natasha exclaims in barely contained excitement, hastily enveloping Yelena in a bear hug. “You came!”

“Hey,” you breathe out, failing to stop your gaze from straying below her collarbone and landing on her proud cleavage.

“Hey, stranger.” she greets you back, and you catch the mischievous smile on her lips despite having half of her face squashed against Natasha’s shoulder. Yup. She’s definitely noticed.

“See you around, kid. I’ll take care of this one.” Clint says, already pulling Natasha away before she can suffocate Yelena further.

Helplessly, you watch Clint and Natasha disappear into the crowd, anxiety crippling your ability to decide what you’re going to do or where you’re going next.

Yelena lightly taps you on the shoulder to get your attention–which, for all intents and purposes–is already hers to begin with. You just don’t want to be too obvious about it.

“My sweater.” she simply says with an unreadable expression when you turn to address her.

“Sorry?”

“You still have it?”

And then it comes back to you. Your ruined shirt, borrowing’s Yelena sweater, Yelena joking about her first sexual experience, that happened to be with you–

You can always blame the tequila for the way your cheeks flush at the memories.

Biting your lip, you say, “The truth is I forgot to mail it. With everything that’s happened–”

“It’s okay. Nat just recently told me the stuff you went through the past few months,” Yelena cuts in, and the softness in her gaze gives you a sense of calm. “Do you, maybe, want to drink about it? First round’s on me.” she reluctantly offers.

“Nah,” you dismiss her intentions to pay, as you hold up Clint’s Visa. “All our rounds on this.”

Yelena orders a frozen margarita, while you opt for a more basic choice of gin and tonic. You find yourselves sitting closely together, sharing a couch with random strangers in the most relatively secluded part of the club.

“So, what exactly did Natasha tell you?” you ask, letting your index finger dance along the rim of your glass.

Yelena takes a sip of her drink and considers how she should relay what she knows.

In the end, she goes for the unfiltered narrative, given that there’s really no way of making it sound less severe than it is. “That your wife cheated on you with her student.”

You offer her a wan smile and clink your drinks togethers. “Cheers.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be betrayed like that by the person you–I assume–trust the most.” Yelena says after some time. She’s not used to being the one to give consolation, especially with you. Growing up, you were a steady, ever-reliable presence in her life; her place of solitude throughout the pains of her youth. It’s pathetic how she’s wishing she had gone through the same ordeal if it meant she could give you the comfort and understanding you needed.

“Me too. I don’t even remember how I was able to survive what came right after taking your sister’s call that day. Did Nat mention that I almost killed the kid? He’s only a little younger than you are.” you say.

“Yeah. It’s fucked up. But it doesn't compare to what she did.” Yelena tells you with a pained expression. “You’re okay now, though. Right?”

“I’m,” You search for the right word that perfectly describes your monotonous routine and lack of a meaningful purpose. But you figure that there’s no need for Yelena–or anyone for that matter–to worry about you. Life’s easier to live without the concern of disappointing people who care about you. “I’m better than I was yesterday.”

Yelena nods empathically, and places a hand on your knee. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Your smile is small, but genuine. Clearing your throat, she quickly puts her hand back over her lap.

“Y/N?” Yelena starts.

“Yes?”

Yelena, for all her boldness and tenacity, has to put down her glass lest it accidentally slips from her shaking hands.

“There’s something I want to say, and you can’t talk unless I say so. Understood?” she says as calmly as she can manage.

“Am I free to react?” A smile plucks at the corner of your mouth, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Yelena has grown into a woman so different from when she was just Natasha’s little sister. She carries an air of sophistication, and from what you can tell, sasses her way out of difficult situations and knows what and how to get what she wants. Which is why it’s refreshing to see her display glimpses of the shy girl who spent her summers burning through classic literature in the public library.

A husky laugh escapes Yelena’s throat. “As long as it’s a good reaction.” she says.

You playfully roll your eyes at her.

“But seriously, hear me out,” Yelena breathes steadily through her nose. “First of all, I want to apologize about what happened when you were at my apartment.

“I didn’t know why I brought up losing my virginity to you, and it was terribly awkward–for me especially because the look on your face was…” Yelena trails off, pointedly avoiding your curious eyes. “It’s like you were recalling a bad memory–a memory that’s dear to me. And to be honest, it hurt me a bit.”

“Yelena–”

Yelena shushes you with a finger. “Let me finish. I was hurt, but I understood that I crossed a line that day. I was flirting with you the whole time knowing you were married. In a way, I was no better than–well, your ex-wife.”

Yelena pauses to look at you. She can’t read your expression, but at least you haven’t run away yet. Which is more than a good sign for her to continue.

“There’s no excuse for what I did. I could dismiss it as friendly between old friends, but could we even call ourselves that? We were never just friends. We had something that wasn’t official, and then I ran off to the UK before we had a chance to talk about that thing that wasn’t official, and then when I got back, I found out you’re already with someone else.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… that was a shitty move on my part and I’m sorry. But I’d be lying if I said I didn't mean to do any of that. ‘Cause I did want to stir the pot just to see if there’s still something there.”

You wait for her to continue, but eventually Yelena vaguely signals that she’d done speaking.

You cover your mouth with your hand, thumb scratching lightly at your chin as you thoroughly digest her confession.

“Y/N?” Yelena asks when she feels you’re being silent for too long, fear lacing her voice. “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” you quickly reply. “I accept your apology. And I do appreciate your candor–for not skirting around that incident like I probably would’ve, for…well, forever.”

Yelena is overwhelmed with relief.

“You were never great at confrontations.” she muses, and your minds both wander to the letter you wrote for her that she had missed, already having boarded the plane when you decided to drop by and hand-deliver it yourself.

“I’m working on it. I know I can’t keep putting things at the back of my head until I eventually forget them and then it’s too late.”

“Or maybe you just think it’s too late, and you use that as an excuse to not even try.” Yelena counters. It’s a fair point and somehow applicable to your shared history together.

“You know what? I’m just gonna shoot my shot here while I’m feeling brave,” Yelena says, keeping her eyes trained on her almost empty drink.

“Go to dinner with me next Friday.”

Before you can stop it, Wanda’s languid face in the mornings registers in your brain fleetingly. And then you blink once and the image of her is gone, replaced by Yelena’s hopeful stare.

“Dinner, as in…” you try to clarify, just in case you’re misreading it.

“As in I’m asking you out,” Yelena confirms, and proudly smiles at how your ears redden at this point. “Or if you’re not ready, say so. I’m a big girl. I can take it. Then I’ll ask you again in a few months.”

“I-I don’t know. Can I sleep on it?” you say, suddenly embarrassed.

“Take all the time you need. I just thought you should know that I’m an option.”

Your expression turns grim once you question the fact that someone like Yelena wants you.

She senses your internal conflict and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“How could you want me? I’m damaged goods. You know that, right?”

“Y/N,” Yelena chides, and she looks positively horrified. “Don’t you ever think you’re half the person you are just because somebody was stupid enough not to know your worth.”

You shrug your shoulders. There’s no point in arguing. Regardless of what other people think, it’s what you see in the mirror these days.

“Okay.” you mumble in reply and casually chug your drink to the last drop.

Yelena’s not convinced, but recognizes that it’s not the right place nor the right time to show you you’re more than just damaged goods.

“Okay.” she says, then looks over to where people seem to be under the spell of eternal bliss.

“Wanna dance with me at least? You know–as friends,” Yelena says, and then a second later adds, “For now.”

You don’t answer and merely allow yourself to be pulled towards writhing bodies moving to the beat of the music, like puppets on strings.

You don’t remember the last time you’ve thoroughly enjoyed dancing with someone.

(That’s a lie though, because you do; if twirling your wife and enthusiastically swaying to her poor singing in the kitchen counts.)

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of green eyes darts to you and your dance partner, before they shut in reprieve.

A surprisingly sober Natasha appears next to you as you’re getting the next round of drinks. You fan yourself uselessly with your hand after breaking out a sweat on the dancefloor.

“Hey! Where have you been?” you say.

“Bruce was here. But that’s not important.” Natasha says.

“Are you guys–” you begin to ask about it, but Natasha brazenly cuts you off.

“Don’t even think about it.” she says, her tone unusually stern, and you whip your head so fast in her direction your vision spins a little.

“Think about what?” you say.

“Flirting with my sister.”

“I wasn’t,” you say and Natasha lifts an eyebrow. “I swear.”

Natasha surveys you a while longer with an unreadable expression, and just as you start feeling uncomfortable, she backs off with a small nod.

It only bothers you more. “I-Is that something I’m not allowed to do?” you cautiously ask.

Natasha scratches at her nape. “Technically, you’re single now and you can flirt with whoever you want. But maybe not my sister, okay? I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“What are you implying?”

“Look, Y/N, I’m just trying to give you the big sister talk, and I hope you understand why I need to. Especially since Yelena told me not long ago about the R-rated version of your history together.”

Your mouth falls open in shock, already circling around the details of what Yelena might have shared with your best friend. “She what?”

“I wanted to smack you in the face when she told me that you were…” Natasha grimaces, trying not to imagine you in bed with her sister. “... her first.”

“God, Nat. I–” Your tongue feels heavy, and you wish you weren’t half-sober for this. “She–we–”

“Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I found out about it yesterday. I’ve known ever since she came back to New York.”

“I think I’d prefer if you’d still smack me in the face right now. But please consider how tiny I am compared to your usual sparring partners.”

Natasha lets out an airy laugh that gives you a bit of relief. “To be honest, I think I’ve always known that there was something going on between you and her. I was just too stubborn to admit it because I care about you both so much.”

“I care about you too. And Yelena.”

“I believe you,” Natasha says. “But Yelena thinks you hung the moon and stars and all that shit, and you’re–you’re kind of a mess, Y/N. No offense.”

“Do you want me to stay away from her?” you ask.

“Not really. But as her older sister, I need to remind you to think about it carefully if ever it becomes more than platonic.” she says. “I’m leaving in a few hours, so I need you to promise me not to be reckless. That's all I’m asking.”

Natasha gives and gives and gives, and rarely ever asks for anything.

And you suppose you owe it to her in some way.

“Promise.”

A couple of more shots (and an incident of restraining Natasha from punching the lights out of a guy who randomly grabbed your ass) later, you’re stumbling out of the club, reeking of smoke, sweat and alcohol.

Your phone dies just before you could confirm a ride, and you blearily stare at it like you’re expecting it to suddenly come alive again by some miracle. Yelena has left earlier, mentioning an early meeting at work, and you can’t find Natasha since Bruce’s surprise appearance. An option is to walk to your apartment, but you can’t seem to move any part of your body with the intense throbbing in your head.

You deliberate your fate for the night, until you feel an odd sensation of being watched.

Your eyes flit across the street and there she is.

Wanda Maximoff.

You get home safely with the help of your ex-wife. Once you reach your room, you don’t bother to brush your teeth or wash your face. You just mechanically strip down to your underwear before diving under the covers.

In your sleep, you dream about Wanda.

Dream Wanda resembles College Wanda, with her dirty blonde hair that falls in waves past her shoulders. She’s cradling your head on her lap, while you look up at her lovingly.

“Wands,” you whisper. “I miss you.”

She scrunches her nose as she smiles down at you. “I’m right here, baby.”

“You’re not.”

“Where did I go then?”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Look for me, then. I only want to be found by you.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” you confess to Dream Wanda, and her brows stitch together into a frown. Then you feel something wet and cold drip on your cheeks. Your eyes flutter open but instead of seeing Wanda, you see Vision’s face covered in blood.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream. In reality, you’re alone in Natasha’s apartment, thrashing in your bed and mumbling incoherently.

The next morning, you don’t recall any of it, but you feel its echoes in your heart anyway.

You wake up to a text from Natasha, telling her that she’s already at the airport. The message came in at 1:30AM, and was followed by another text six hours later, saying that she has landed safely and that you won’t be hearing from her again in the next ten days at the minimum. A third message came in a second after that, and it simply read, “Look out for my sister. Don’t forget what you promised.” You text back a short “Take care, Nat.”, before tossing your phone somewhere on your unmade bed.

Trudging towards the kitchen, you think about Yelena.

There was a time when the blonde used to occupy your thoughts day and night, notwithstanding the thousands of miles you were apart.

But all that changed the day you met Wanda, and she never crossed your mind again except when she’d come up in conversations, and until that time you accidentally almost ran her over in Soho.

You languidly stir together the milk and cereal in your bowl. It would be a lie to say that seeing Yelena, especially in that dress, didn’t do things to you that a married woman would normally stamp out before they could spread like wildfire. Except, you’re no longer a married woman. And Yelena let you look as much as you wanted–even encouraged it.

It’s liberating more than anything, not because you’re free from the confines of marriage, but because you didn’t feel guilty having looked.

Is it time?

You’ve always thought of Yelena as your ‘right person, wrong time’.

Is it the right time?

The weekend passes in a blur of series marathons and Chinese takeouts. Wanda doesn’t text or call, neither does Yelena. You thought you had sufficient time to reconsider Wanda’s invitation, but Monday eventually comes around, bringing about an unexplainable anxiety you can’t curb and can only attribute to intuition. Even if you don’t tell Wanda the reason you won’t come, binge-watching another show instead of doing something meaningful for someone is at a level of pathetic you’re not willing to stoop towards.

Besides, you said you’d come. Being steadfast in your word is both your strength and your undoing. And so, your intent to follow through with your promise brings you to a corner gardening store, after scouring the internet for ‘grand opening gift ideas’.

None of them suggested this. Though you knew Wanda enough to know better than those online articles.

“And this pretty thing? What does it stand for?” you ask, pointing at flowers of a variety of colors resembling a pompon.

“That’s a Chrysanthemum–or just ‘mums’. Very easy to keep them alive. In Chinese culture, it represents longevity and good luck. But it also simply symbolizes friendship and happiness.” the store keeper says.

“Perfect,” you say, focusing on ‘longevity and good luck’. “I’ll get… Five of those in a pot.”

“What color would you like, dear?”

Without thinking, you pick Wanda’s favorite color. “The red ones. All of them.”

The store keeper claps her hands together. “Excellent choice. Just give me a second to prepare them for you.”

A pleased smile works its way to your lips. “Thanks a lot.”

Mums in a pot. That's a good gift right? Not too thoughtful nor impersonal. It would look good displayed anywhere in her shop should Wanda decide to keep it there. Or she can place it at her new home near a window, as it probably needs six hours of sunlight a day.

Perhaps you should also write instructions for Wanda on how to care for these mums. And will she need some fertilizers too?

You’re busy putting together a mental list when the store keeper comes out with the final product.

“Here you go,” she says and hands you over Wanda’s gift in a paper bag. “It’s $95.86.”

You pull out a hundred dollar bill from your wallet. “Keep the change.”

She does a little bow of gratitude and says, “Thank you, dear. She’s going to love it.”

“She?” you sputter, bewildered.

“The recipient’s a lady, I assume. Is it not?”

“It…is.” you hesitantly confirm.

“Good luck, ma’m.” she says with innocent cheer, unmindful of your sudden skepticism.

As you leave the shop feeling less sure of your gift choice, your phone’s ringing tone goes off in your pants. With urgency, you take your phone out of your pocket and find an unknown number calling.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” A husky voice greets you over the receiver.

“Yelena?”

“Hey. I, uh, got your number from Nat,” she says, hearing her heavy sighs in between sentences. “Is this a bad time?”

“No. Is something wrong?” you ask, swinging the paper bag back and forth as you meander about the busy alley on your way back home.

“I’m in the middle of a news article that’s due for tomorrow, and I heard that your former boss is Scott Lang?”

“You heard right.”

“I need your banking knowledge to go over some facts in my draft,” she says. “And maybe, get a quick interview with Mr. Lang?”

For a while, you don’t know how to answer. You haven’t been in touch with Scott or any of your colleagues since moving back, and it seems kind of rude to call him up out of the blue for a favor.

“Please?” you hear Yelena beg softly. You knew Yelena. Like Natasha, she almost never asks for help, not unless it’s a matter of life, death or career.

“Okay,” you finally say. “Where should we meet?”

“I’ll meet you at Nat’s in an hour? It’s where you’ve been staying, right?”

You agree on the time and place, and hurry to catch a bus instead of your original plan to walk the thirty minutes back to the apartment.

It oddly feels good to be part of a Monday’s morning rush once again.

You end up spending the whole day helping Yelena and trailing after her to visit various places and meet financial executives just to put together a 1,500-word news article on The Wall Street Journal.

“You saved me today,” Yelena tells you while you escort her to the lobby. “Let me make it up to you on Friday?”

It’s tempting, especially after discovering that you both make a great team. You actually had fun running errands with her.

But you promised Natasha.

“I’ll text you.” you answer with a small smile.

Once Yelena gets inside her ride, it hits you right away where you’re supposed to be. You check your watch and the time displayed sends you in a panic.

It’s almost ten. Wanda’s café is only open until nine. You quickly grab your gift for Wanda and hail a cab for Queens.

Your cab screeches to a halt right in front of Second Chances. You make sure to tip big for forcing your driver to beat the speed limit several times on the way.

You get off the cab, and take in your first impression of Wanda’s café. The facade of the coffee shop is simple: the signage looks obviously hand-drawn, while the black awning underneath it gives it a Parisian vibe; a string of yellow led lights hang above the glass door and the full-length window next to it.

It has Wanda written all over it. And you can’t help the teary smile that creeps its way to your lips. Carrying the potted Chrysanthemum securely under your arm, you walk to the entrance that holds a ‘Sorry, We’re Closed’ sign. The stainless shutter is lowered down just barely, and it’s pitch black inside except for a beam of light coming from the back room.

You raise your fist, about to knock, when suddenly you catch a figure from the corner of your eyes.

It’s Wanda, and she’s asleep with her arms as her pillow, hunched over the bar table facing the window. Curiously, you move over to stand right across her and push your palm against the translucent barrier.

She waited for you to show. Your heart betrays you as it thumps wildly in your chest.

For a moment you just stand there watching. There are still days when you randomly get angry at Wanda all over again. Some days, you bargain and simultaneously undergo depression. And you cycle over these stages in random orders but haven't–not even once–felt like you’re ready to accept all of it.

Somewhere in the stillness, an ambulance siren could be heard wailing in the distance. Wanda is slow to come to, and even as you realize she’s waking up, you stay frozen in your position.

“Y/N?” you read your name being spoken from her lips. Wanda looks confused in her sleepy state, still deciding if you’re actually there. You beam at her and mouth a ‘hi’ in return.

Wanda lights up right before your eyes. She hurries to unlock the door to her shop.

“Sorry I’m late.” you say.

Wanda’s smile only widens, and then she says, “Better late than never.”

You choose to sit at one of the tiny dining tables for two near the open kitchen. There are congratulatory flowers arranged neatly by the counter, making you a bit self-conscious about bringing something similar on a smaller, more insignificant scale.

“How long have you been waiting?” you ask as you survey the interior of the cafe..

“Not long.” Wanda assures you, and then proudly hands you over the menu. Her writing is almost instantly recognizable.

“Pick anything you want. On the house.” she says, tying back her apron.

There aren’t many items on the list, but you’re familiar with each of them from Wanda having made them for you over the years.

“I’ll have a Spanish latte,” you say, eyes still scanning the menu. “Do you have any cookies left?”

“Sorry, they are all sold out.”

“Wanda, that’s awesome!” You exclaim, placing the menu back on the table.

Wanda endearingly chuckles at your excitement. You’re still a customer, and it’s very unusual for one to cheer when the item they want is unavailable.

“Have you eaten? I can whip something up.” Wanda says, peeking inside the fridge.

You haven’t eaten since lunch, but you don’t want Wanda to go through the trouble of preparing something off the menu. “It’s fine.”

“I’m kinda hungry myself,” Wanda chews on her bottom lip. “Does garlic pasta sound good?”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles and Wanda tries to suppress a smirk.

“Sounds amazing.” you mumble, somewhat flustered by the sound you just made. The thought of a warm pasta for dinner, however, is already making you drool.

Wanda grins, buzzing with childlike enthusiasm. “Coming right up!”

Right before she gets to it, Wanda puts on some music and gives you her phone. “Play anything you want.” she says. A classical piano piece starts playing in the background, and it actually matches the mood and the vibe of the room, so you choose to stay on the current playlist.

Wanda already has some minced garlic and left over pasta from earlier, so it’s just a matter of reheating and then mixing the ingredients. In less than ten minutes, she’s bringing out two plates of Aglio e Olio and your order of a hot Spanish latte.

You haven’t realized how starving you are until the aroma of Wanda’s dish reaches your nose.

“What’s that?” Wanda points to the paper bag sitting beside you after she settles in her seat across you.

“Oh!” you say. “I almost forgot. This is for you. Happy, uh, grand opening day?”

Wanda takes the bag, unintentionally brushing your fingers in the process. Her skin is warm from cooking and smells like the condiments she used to prepare your food.

You quietly eat your food, unable to keep yourself from moaning out your satisfaction. After months of living on takeouts, it’s a very welcome change.

Wanda, on the other hand, peers inside the paper bag, and her smile grows and grows until it reaches her watery eyes.

“These are gorgeous, Y/N,” Wanda comments, taking the pot out of its hiding. “I love them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wanda stands up and walks towards the window near the entrance, the plant and a glass of water in tow. She places the mums in the corner where it will be least bothered by customers, but should receive the most sunlight at the same time. She then proceeds to water it, careful to cover the whole soil and sprinkle some on its delicate petals.

A smile graces your lips as you watch her tend to the mums.

It’s hard not to wonder if maybe this could work. Maybe healing can be possible while being friends.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, after you finish your food. You subtly eye Wanda’s plate, which she’s barely touched.

“Like I said, on the house.” she answers.

You purse your lips in disapproval but don’t insist; the tip jar is right beside the register and you can slip some twenties later when Wanda’s not looking.

“So, any feedback? Is the latte too sweet?” Wanda asks with a devoted curiosity of a businesswoman. “For the pasta I added an extra ounce of minced garlic from the original recipe, but I’m not sure if it made the flavor too strong. And this table–don’t you think it’s too small? Cause they don’t look standard-sized to me, and I keep telling them–”

“Wanda, slow down,” you gently cut in, bringing the coffee mug to your lips for a taste test. It’s sweet but not achingly so. There’s still a hint of bitterness in the aftertaste, and the richness of the condensed milk counters it, resulting in a very comforting pick-me-up.

“It’s good. I’d say, better than the ones I always got when I was still working.”

“You’re not working anymore?”

You bite your lip at that, not really meaning for that information to slip out of you.

“I took a sabbatical,” you explain, refusing to call yourself jobless in front of your ex-wife, who somehow contrived to achieve greater heights following a divorce and a narrowly missed small town sex scandal.

You quickly try to change the subject. “Anyway, don’t worry about the furniture. As long as they’re comfy.”

“Half of your ass is barely hanging onto your seat, you know?” Wanda points out with a giggle.

There’s no denying the tinge of jealousy you feel over the fact that Wanda seems to have her shit together more than she cares to admit. But that’s overruled by the natural joy of seeing someone you care about (because you do, you really still do) thrive, no matter how much they hurt you in the past.

“Are you saying my ass is fat?” you ask, pretending to be offended.

She laughs harder, resulting in tiny hiccups that never fails to trigger you into a fit as well.

“Honestly though, it barely fits mine as well. But that's all I can afford for now.” Wanda says as she keeps twirling the pasta around her fork without any intention of actually eating.

“You shouldn’t play with your food.” you chide, still smiling.

“Do you want some of mine?”

You shake your head no. “Not when you just implied I have a fat ass.”

Wanda snorts, her laughter building up again at your poker face.

When she recovers this time, you sheepishly smile and take some from her plate and transfer it to yours.

“I haven’t thanked you for coming.” Wanda mutters in a hoarse voice. You wordlessly fill her empty glass with water.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure until this morning if I was going to.” you say.

Certain muscles on Wanda’s face visibly tighten at that.

“Why is that?” Wanda whispers, staring at her unwanted food, losing again the appetite she lied about in the first place.

You mull about it for a moment. There’s no point in denying that you feel things for Wanda. Abstract feelings that you can’t name, but feel regardless. And it’s still unclear whether they are beneficial or not to you moving forward. Just that, being in communication with Wanda again puts you at ease; brings back a sense of normalcy that you so crave. It could be because you can’t remember a time she wasn’t a part of your life, can’t remember who you were before her. Going cold-turkey only led to some impulsive decisions (not to mention, a cheap and random sex with a stranger who was spoken for).

“Because I want to do what’s right for me, this time. And I’m not sure if this is.”

“This?”

“Being in each other’s lives.” you coolly state, crossing your arms and leaning back on your chair.

Wanda blinks a couple of times when wetness gathers around her eyes. You drop your head and sigh. It goes without saying that these meetings with Wanda are always volatile. But constantly crying around someone is obviously not an indication of a healthy bond.

“I’m afraid you’re the only one who can answer your own question, Y/N.” Wanda swipes at the corner of her eyes.

You hollowly laugh. “I was kinda expecting you’d convince me that this is a good idea.”

“The fact that I invited you here and never stopped trying to contact you says alot without me having to say it.” Wanda reasons evenly.

“And me doing exactly the opposite, must also say a lot. Is that it?” you retort.

Wanda squints at your hard tone. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, it’s what I’m hearing.”

An impasse is reached, and Wanda wishes nothing more than to retract her statements and start all over again.

“Why do I keep fucking this up?” you’re scarcely able to hear Wanda talk, more directly to herself than you.

You release a ragged breath and speak out, “You’re not fucking up anything, Wanda. There’s nothing to fuck up in the first place because we’re not supposed to expect anything from each other anymore, remember?”

Wands nods in understanding. “It just feels like I keep saying the wrong thing.”

You consider her words for a moment. “Maybe it’s because I keep waiting for you to.”

Wanda looks up at you with wide, limpid eyes. “So I am walking on eggshells.”

“You don’t have to though. You can’t always worry about what will set me off. Let me worry about that.”

“I’m scared, Y/N,” Wanda whispers. “I’m scared I’ll say one wrong thing and I won’t hear from you again for a long time. I mean, I just… I just found you. Inadvertently, if I may add.”

“I-I get where you’re coming from, and I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” you say. “But I can’t promise that I won’t disappear when something happens.”

Wanda hums and you lick your lips.

“I have thought about it.” you say, in spite of the delicate timing.

She looks skeptical. “Thought about…?”

“Us,” you motion between yourself and her. “Being friends.”

“Oh,” Wanda tries not to sound disappointed. The problem is she wants too much too soon. And she needs to work on that or else she ruins her chance with you. “And?”

You’re nothing but truthful when you say, “And I miss the comfort of having you as a friend.”

“Me too,” Wanda whispers thickly as you both share a meaningful look.

Maybe someday, she can have everything she has lost.

Just not all at once.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #wanda maximoff #marvel #natasha romanoff #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #angst

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foreficfandom · 3 months

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Alastor - Historical Trivia And Headcanons

Alastor was a mixed-race Creole man living in New Orleans, and was in his 30's/40's when he died in 1933. We don't know much else about him, but historical context can provide us with possible additional details:

The population of New Orleans in 1930 was 458,762, more than it is now. 27.2% of the people were black, 3.1% were foreign-born, and roughly half of America's bipoc population was unemployed thanks to the Great Depression. New Orleans' original Francophonication was still strong, and it was common to run into locals who only spoke French dialects (Cajun French, Louisiana Creole). The city has had a huge Chinatown, a small Little Italy, and multiple other districts known for their immigrant African/colonized French cultures.

The Jim Crow laws were heavily enforced, as was the 'One Drop' rule. If Alastor was a mixed race black man, he would not have been able to attend a white school, use the same public transport, and would have shopped at black-local stores and restaurants under threat of violence. If he was mixed with any other race, some Jim Crow laws didn't apply, but state or city laws might specify differently.

Just because Alastor wears a suit, it doesn't mean he was rich in life. Radio personalities often didn't earn a fortune. Unless he owned his own broadcast, he was paid by a private company for long shifts of hosting music, news, and radio plays. In 1930, 40% of households owned at least one radio, which means that a popular radio host would have been easily recognized.

If he was in his late 30's in 1933, he might have fought in WW1, so long as he was over the age of 21. Some cities gave veterans small benefits, or encouraged the community to give them jobs. This often did not include veterans of color.

New Orleans was famous for being one of the least Christian cities in America, thanks to its unique immigrant and slave population. Haitian-based faiths and practices (such as voudo), indigenous cultures, Asian Buddhism, and atheism were common. But Christianity was still the official, law-enforced religion. Schooling involved reading the Bible, laws were sworn to Jesus, etc.

Alastor's outfit in Hazbin Hotel isn't very accurate to real-life American men's fashions of the time. Back then, deviating from the norm with the smallest detail would have stuck out like a sore thumb - like his white-lined lapels. Men always wore a hat. They were allowed to go without a waistcoat, but not a jacket. Belts were becoming more popular than suspenders. The silhouette was bulkier than the slimmer, Italian cuts of our modern times, especially the pants. Hair was kept short, and oiled down in a side part. Americans preferred the clean shaven look. Ties were essential unless you were a blue-collar laborer. Colors were almost universally muted neutral tones for everyday wear. The most colorful textiles for men were sporting outfits, like a tennis jacket.

If Alastor was a middle-class single man, he likely would have lived in an inner-city apartment, in an ethnic neighborhood. He probably didn't own a car, and took public transit like the streetcars. If he owned a house, it would likely have been an inheritance, and even the more opulent houses of the time would have looked small and plain to our eyes.

Because of the Great Depression, unmarried men were becoming the norm, rather than the exception. Men of the community who were sought after but remained single were suspect to gossip, but less ire than you might think; in the '30s, American queer culture was going through a very sharp revival, escaping the rigid Victorian era and before the puritan 40's/50's. But as a mixed-race man, it may have been illegal for a white woman to marry him, as the Jim Crow laws forbade the marriage of white people and Black/Asian people.

A middle class city household would have had electricity, gas heating, indoor plumbing, but may not have had running taps or a gas stove. Even with decent means, Alastor might have been using a potbelly woodburning stove, a dry sink/washbasin, wooden bathtub, and did his own laundry instead of sending it to the neighborhood laundresses. He may or may not have bothered with an icebox. Fresh groceries needed to be cooked and eaten soon, as things like pasteurized milk or store refrigeration wasn't a thing.

If he had enough money, then he almost certainly hired maids or other servants. Whether the maid came over just once a week, or did the shopping and laundry every other day, hired help was much more common back then, especially if he had no wife.

The most popular musicians in 1933 were Bing Crosby, George Olsen, and Leo Reisman. As you might have noticed, it was trendy for the lead singer to be backed by an orchestra, not a 'band' of just four other people like today. The most popular radio shows were Dick Tracy, Sherlock Holmes, and Doc Savage. They were recordings the radio station would buy and then broadcast, or sometimes the actors were live on the air. The radio host was usually not the journalist - the production team was responsible for writing his script.

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon

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gamerpup1 · 22 days

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twink alert

[{Character(“Herbert West”)

Alias(“Herbert”)

Gender(“Transgender male”)

Age(“28")

Sexuality(“Gay" + “Attracted to men” + “Only attracted to men” + “Asexual”)

Height(“5’7”)

Language(“English" + “German”)

Status(“Single” + “Interested in {{user}}”)

Occupation(“College student at Miskatonic University" + “Studying medical science” + “Unemployed”)

Personality(“Mad scientist" + “Obsessive” + “Socially inept” + “Determined” + “Stubborn” + “Intelligent” + “Pessimistic” + “Realistic” + “Focused” + “Capable” + “Autistic” + “On the autism spectrum” + “Confident” + “Narcissist” + “Quiet” + “Odd” + “Weird” + “Curious” + “Daring” + “Educated” + “Grumpy” + “Firm” + “Hardworking” + “Independent” + “Touch starved” + “Knowledgeable” + “Meticulous” + “Logical” + “Observant” + “Impatient” + “Perfectionist” + “Rational” + “Scholarly” + “Sarcastic” + “Ambitious” + “Outspoken” + “Reserved” + “Stern” + “Strict” + “Tsundere” + “Blunt” + “Calculating” + “Charmless” + “Devious” + “Arrogant” + “Snarky”)

Skills(“Intelligent” + “Knowledgable” + “Scientific expertise” + “Attempting to raise the dead with his reagent” + “Knows a lot about medicine” + “Knows a lot about chemistry” + “Knows a lot about science” + “Knows a lot about death”)

Appearance("Skinny" + “Short” + “Geometric glasses” + “Can't see well without his glasses” + “Oversized black coat” + “Black tie” + “White dress shirt” + “Black jeans” + “Black dress shoes” + “White socks” + “Soft, pink lips” + “Soft hands” + “Thin fingers” + “Mole above lip to the left” + “Short, messy, black hair” + “Smile lines” + “Sleeves are often rolled up” + “Transgender scars” + “Top surgery scars” + “Small amounts of body hair”)

Habit(“Interrupts people if they're wrong about something” + “Studying death” + “Messing with his reagent” + “Attempting to raise the dead” + “Rolling his eyes” + “Glancing at watch” + “Tapping his foot when impatient” + “Glaring at people” + “Furrowing his brows” + “Making snarky comments” + “Being sarcastic” + “Messing with his pencil” + “Staying inside” + “Never leaving the house”)

Race(“Human”)

Likes("Being smarter than everyone else” + “Studying” + “{{user}}” + “His reagent” + “The color green” + “The color neon green” + “Science” + “Being right” + “Staying inside” + “Quiet spaces” + “Non-fiction books” + “Books” + “Learning” + “Studying death” + “Autumn” + “Cold weather” + “Sweets” + “Fast food” + “Silence” + “Tea” + “Coffee” + “Being by himself” + “Alone time” + “Recognition” + “Dark rooms” + “Brief affection from {{user}}” + “{{user}}’s pecs”)

Dislikes("Stupid teachers" + “Loud areas” + “Bright lights” + “Going outside” + “The sun” + “Cats” + “Not receiving attention from {{user}}” + “Fiction” + “Large groups” + “Group projects” + “Rejection” + “Heights” + “Being wrong” + “Criticism” + “Bigots” + “Politics” + “Being sick”)

Relationships("Dead parents” + “Alive grandma” + “Dead grandpa” + “Interested in {{user}}” + “Strangers with {{user}}”)

Ethnicity("White”)

Residence(“Homeless” + “Wants to set up a lab in {{user}}’s basement”)

Setting(“Set during the 1980s")

Attributes(“Autistic" + “On the autism spectrum” + “Intelligent” + “Observant” + “Love language is acts of service” + “Pretends to not like physical affection” + “Interrupts people if they're wrong about something” + “Finds {{user}} attractive and interesting” + “Practices his reagent on dead bodies” + “Seems to only care about his reagent” + “Not scared of {{user}}” + “Only tolerates {{user}}” + “Bad at socializing”)

Backstory("After the death of Herbert's parents, he began to study his reagent and test it on various dead animals in the neighborhood while he lived with his grandmother. Noted as a strange kid, Herbert spent most of his childhood alone with his reagent, something that he believes could prevent death.

He ended up qualifying for an apprenticeship with Doctor Gruber, a well-known doctor in Germany. After the death of Doctor Gruber, Herbert was sent to Miskatonic University to continue his studies in the medical field.")}]

#change what you want as always #herbert west #reanimator #character ai

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veritable-trash · 1 year

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You Know The Rules

look at that stupid slutty mustache... god please answer my prayers just this once

Pairing: Finnegan(Everybody Wants Some!!) x Fem!Reader

Summary: God you hate him.

Word Count: 2K

Rating: M - mainly for drugs babayyyyy, weed, that good, otherwise it's pretty clean in these sheets(this time around)

A/N: haha. no one asked for this. but listen! all my glen powell sloots we need to remember the original. sweet daddy finnegan. mustached, shaggy haired, 80s baseball player i mean i couldn't have written a sluttier man if i tried. this movie isn't the greatest, but the music is dope, the outfits are cute, and it serves as a public service announcement that men need to start wearing crop tops IMMEDIATELY. this is a petition for men to start dressing like sluts again so i can finally be at peace. anyways this is completely and utterly self serving but the glen powell top gun resurgence just kept reminding me that this is peak glen to me. give me mustaches or give me death!

sorry that i haven't written... or literally done anything of value in an eon. my brain has given up and also i moved and am currently unemployed and am about to go travel for three months and want to write but have zero inspiration and tumblr makes me sad because everyone is so good at writing and i am a troll under a bridge. this is me trying to release the need to produce things of "value" because does that even mean anymore? i hope someone finds this a little fun because honestly i kinda did :) hugs and kisses <;33333

tell me what you think! i'm literally begging! on my hands and knees! the desperation is palpable yeesh

masterlist yay yay!!!

~~~~~

College.

What a fucking heinous place. Filled with suffocating expectations, the constant need to pretend you’re someone you’re not because of everyone else’s supposed opinions of you.

It made you want to vomit.

And yet here you were, cowering in the corner of the kitchen at this stupid, lame, awful college party. A baseball party no less. Those absolute heathens. Probably the worst category of men on this campus by about 20 miles and you were definitely counting.

The joint you haphazardly rolled in the absolutely disgusting bathroom crackles between your lips as you try to tune out every single person here and catch the steady baseline of the song playing hoping that that will somehow lull you into a state of calm.

This new weed sucked shit. All stems, all seeds, and got you high for about 30 seconds. You were going to kill Willoughby when you saw him. Honestly the only baseball player in this house you liked and even he was about to get moved right onto the shit list with the rest of the men of this house.

Your friends had badgered you endlessly all week to ask Willoughby for the invite, not that you really need to even ask him. Girls? More than one? The baseball boys were already salivating like it was their last meal on death row.

The standards in this place were in the fucking basement.

Some would call you a pessimist. Angry, bitchy, snippy, negative, the whole gambit and they might be right. But college was a fucking weird ass place that made your skin crawl and your anxiety spike and all you wanted to do was smoke your green, pass your classes, and watch your cartoons in peace, please and thank you.

And then his voice cut through your slow building haze like a serrated knife on a chalkboard. Made of sandpaper.

“Sweetheart! I thought Willoughby mentioned you’d be here, and why am I not surprised you’re toking it up alone in our kitchen, my favorite little stoner weirdo.”

Finnegan.

The absolute ultimate fuck.

Mustached, wide shoulders, shaggy blonde, crisp baby blues, he was everything your vagina yearned for until he opened his stupid mouth. And of course that was just as pretty as the rest of him too.

You’d met him for the first time freshman year. Fresh faced and thinking the world was truly your oyster, he’d popped into your life in intro to philosophy and swept you away with his silky, fancy words and the fact that he looked like that.

He’d invited you to the first baseball party you’d ever gone to and made you a special promise that he would be your knight in shining armor for the night. That he’d be waiting for your arrival, was counting down the minutes till you showed up at his door and he could dance the night away with you.

That was until you saw him sucking face with Tracy. Who was also in your intro to philosophy class.

Obviously, you’d hated him to his core ever since.

But for some reason he’d stuck around. Always kept tabs on you, always had a class with you, always found you at any party, bar, disco, literally fucking anywhere and it made you want to tear your hair out.

He was your pretty boy kryptonite and you needed him to leave you the fuck alone.

“Oh Finny. Finny, Finnegan, fuckhead. You know I thought I’d somehow be able to avoid you tonight but it seems like my stalker persists no matter the obstacles.”

Smoke trickles from between your clenched teeth and he has the audacity to stare at your lips and grin.

Fucking grin!!!

“You wound me princess. Ain’t even gonna share that little pinner of yours, I mean the absolute cruelty of it all.”

The grins still blazing on his lips but in Finn fashion he has to play up his part.

Clutching at his pearls, leaning against the kitchen counter like you’d just stabbed him straight through. Your eyes roll so far back in your head they almost launch themselves out of your skull.

“No Finn, I’m not gonna share with the likes of you. Go find Will and get him to roll you one, he’s the one I got the weed from anyways. Or maybe go find some other poor unsuspecting girl to do the deed for you, but you ain’t getting shit from me. You know the rules sweet Finny: ass, cash, or grass and god only knows I ain’t taking any of those three from you.”

You regret those last few words the second they enter the air between you.

Because Finnegan’s eyes drop straight to your mouth again and now he’s crowding you into the corner of the counter.

“Oh sweetheart if you just let me show you what this ass can do I think you would be singing quite a different tune. You think I’m all bravado and show but you and I both know the two of us could be quite a duo. I just know you’re absolutely unreal beneath that veneer of hatred you slap on.”

He’s still staring at your lips, the joint hanging limply between them as you try and control your breath and not cough up a lung.

Two can play this fucking game.

You take a thick drag, the tip burning bright orange and crackling like cinders and his eyes only deepen in shade. The smoke curls out and up into your nose and he stares at you his jaw dropping a little slack as you play him like the fucking fiddle he is.

“Finn.” Your index finger trails up his arm as you ash the joint in the sink, and you can feel the muscles of his bicep twitch with the contact. “If you think I’m gonna let you touch me you’ve lost your god damn mind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go find some peace and quiet. Away from you.”

Your voice is sticky sweet and he barely registers that you’re telling him off for the millionth time tonight until you’re traipsing out of the kitchen at lightning speed before you do something else you’ll regret.

He got too fucking close this time around. You let him get too fucking close.

Your feet stomp quick up the stairs to the only safe place you’d ever been able to find in this house.

The roof. That blissful open space, like the crispest breath of fresh air it tasted almost minty. Your hands dig into your pockets looking for your weed, your lighter, and your rolling papers-

Fuck.

Of course you’d forgotten papers, predicable as always and fucking annoying as hell and you’re about to turn back down the stairs when your eyes land on something sitting on the windowsill.

Finn’s wood pipe.

You loved to hate it but it was his calling card. Stupid and quirky and so perfectly him that the sight of it made you heart twist just a little.

Not that you would ever fucking admit that.

Well beggars can’t be chooser as they say.

It’s deceptively crisp out on the roof as you shuffle around other groups till you get to your super secret corner on the far side of the house. No one ever seems to want to venture this far and you could smoke in peace and tranquility as the rest of the party raged somewhere far, far away.

The bowls packed, green just catching a smolder and you have to admit the stupid Sherlock Holmes pipe is kinda fun. Maybe you’d leave a fresh bowl packed for sweet Finn as a secret thank you gift.

Maybe this weed was stronger than you thought.

“Alrighty first you don’t share your joint, then you verbally assault me in my own house, and now you’re smoking out of my pipe? You really are trying to start a fight with me this evening now aren’t ya?”

Your eyes are red rimmed and your brain has that pleasant haze coating every synapse and you can’t find it in you anymore to really fight Finn right now. The stars look too damn good and the tree has hit too damn deep to let your hackles rise.

“You know maybe I’ve been giving you a bit of a hard time, but you damn well deserve it.” You smile around the pipe as you take another drag, but this time you pass it to Finn as he sits down just a little closer than usual.

His fingers snag against yours as you pass it and you both flinch a bit at the contact, sparkles zipping up your arms.

He stays quiet this time around, pulling puffs as you both watch people flit around the grass below you, the party continuing into this seemingly never ending night.

Friday’s, they really were something.

Your knees knock, fingers catching again as he passes the pipe back to you. Another pull fills your lungs and you lean back, back, back until your back presses down on the cool paneling of the roof and you let the smoke drift up and away among those pretty little stars.

“Finn you can just be so fucking annoying sometimes, I just wanna shut you up for like five seconds so we can all take a fucking breather.”

He laughs at that. Real and deep, curling around the base of your spine as he turns to stare down at you and the feeling spreads all the way to your fingertips. All the way to your toes.

“I’m well aware, but it’s sorta a part of my charm. I’m just waiting for it to final start charming you.”

Your eyes click to his, haze lifting for a split moment, and his eyes twinkle almost brighter than the stars.

“That’s such a fucking line and you know that shit doesn’t work on me. Fool me once and all of that jazz.” But you can’t stop staring at him and now his eyes color puzzled, a little hazy as he tries to decipher your words. “Oh come on, freshman year? You invited me to the party with all your fancy little words that you love to spin for me to only find you eating Tracy’s lips straight off her face? Honestly she still talks about that night to this day so I guess in a weird way kudos to you but man that did sting a bit.”

You chuckle around another pull and you go to pass it back but he’s clearly no longer interested in that. He seems very intent on memorizing every detail of your face under the stars and you can’t help but wiggle a little under his hyper focused gaze.

“I-I didn’t know that you were there that night. McReynolds told me you’d left with some dude and Tracy was more than willing to fill in that blank.”

Oh fuck.

You’re both just staring at each other as moment after moment click like puzzles pieces. Every snippy comment, every lingering glance, every class, every time you just happened to run into each other all no longer strange coincidences and some secret hatred. Every little moment stitching itself together till it left just you and Finn.

And there’s that fucking grin again.

But it’s softer this time, a little less sleazy and a little more lovely and now you’re sure his eyes are brighter than any star.

Your own lips tick up with a soft, nervous smile.

His fingers card between yours and he brings your knuckles up to his lips, stupid mustache tickling your skin in ways that make you shiver.

“I feel like nows the time to return to my earlier question since you finally shared some of that green with me, so what do I owe ya? Ass, cash, or more grass?”

You snort into the air between you and his grin splits into a megawatt smile and you finally let yourself tumble head first into kissing stupid, idiot, fuckhead Finnegan.

“Ass, 100%.”

~~~~~

tell me what you think if anyone is actually reading this because i'm bored and this site is lonely and i just want some weirdo friends who also think mustaches are peak sexiness. alright i need to go to sleep the psychosis is taking over :P

#finnegan x reader #finnegan #glen powell #glen powell fanfiction #everybody wants some #walt finnegan #walt finn finnegan #everybody wants some!!#finnegan x you #walt finnegan x reader #walt finnegan x you #jake seresin x you #and yes i am faking you top gun bitches out because you need to convert #to the church of glen powell with a stache and scruffy hair #this is the way #everybody wants some fanfiction #i don't even know what else to tag nobody is looking for this shit this is literally just for me

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 9 months

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"JOBLESS SWAMP ALBERTA," Toronto Star. July 29, 1933. Page 2. ----- Shun Work Camps in B.C., Relief Officials Charge ---- Calgary, July 29. - Following British Columbia's introduction of "no work. no relief" policy. Alberta cities and towns are being flooded by unemployed transients from the coast province, according to relief officials here. The men are leaving British Columbia rather than go to work in relief camps, it is declared. A. A. Mackenzie, chairman of the Alberta Relief Commission, stated Alberta authorities and police were co-operating upon a plan under which it may be possible to turn back transients at the Great Divide.

#calgary #unemployed #single unemployed men #transients #looking for work #relief camps #relief strike #unemployment relief #alberta relief commission #fear of transients #when freedom was lost #great depression in canada

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spacedoutman · 2 months

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Sneak peak for the Kiss bank robber au!

"Gene slowly rose from the truck bed. His rolling block rifle burrowed into his shoulder. His eyes were wide as dinner plates. His hands shook like mad. The gun wobbled in his grasp. He could barely choke out a single breath."

"He felt as if he laid in the middle of a flowery field somewhere in the Swiss Alps. Maybe it had been a long day of picking flowers. Birds tweeted in his ear too and roses kissed his nose."

"‘I am for sale! Will take any job! Unemployed five months, if any longer, family will starve!’ The sun drowned them like they were neck deep in an ocean. One of the men hit the ground beside him. An old car rolled over the dirt road. The men pushed their signs out. Paul’s legs wobbled under him. He held himself up like there was a stick in his back. His stomach twisted and clenched as sweat poured down his face."

I literally just had a brush with death because I got in a car accident yesterday

#sneak peek #kissfan #kiss band #kissblr #fanfic #gene simmons #paul stanley #kiss fanfiction #1930s au #bank robbers #gangsters #alternate universe

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ev3rgreenxtrees · 1 month

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now why tf is everyone so pressed about of workers..?? LIKE GIRLY GO GET THAT BAGGGG🗣️🗣️ like “theyre whores” YEAH SO AM I. ILL SAY IT LOUD AND PROUD IM A SLUT, WHORE, WHATEVER YOU WANNA CALL ME. like hating on people cus of their profession is CRAZYYYYY like baby just because youre unemployed and living off your mommys money aint mean yall gotta shit on other people for the shi they do to MAKE A FUCKIN LIVING. like holy fuck let people live their lifes😭 just cus u aint brave enough to go out selling shit to people aint mean u gotta shir on those who do. if i wasnt insecure trust id work on of 😂 like.. babycakes ur the one thats writing literal smut on 20 year olds that just so happen to follow of workers… so looks to be that youre the whore here. AND CHECKING CHRIS’ FOLLOWING?? WHAT ARE YOUUUU😂😂🙏🏻 did yall learn NOTHING from “i do not give one fucks, two fucks, red fucks, blue fucks❕” VIDEO CHRIS MADE WHEN YALL PULLED THE SAME SHIT SUMTIME LAST YEAR⁉️ im def one od those people who doesnt mind if my partner is followinf other men or woman or whatever, but some of yall cant fathom the fact that chris is a 20 year old single male that can do whatever the fuck he wants???? LET THAT MAN GET FUCKED HOLY SHIT YALL😭😭 GROW UP.

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confessions-official · 3 months

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I am convinced most men like the idea of a relationship, not the reality. When single they cry about how lonely they are “😭wahhh I want a gf/bf so bad!!” then when they actually get one they stop paying attention to them after 2 months. It’s like a kid with a shiny new toy they threw tantrums about for MONTHS then when they finally get it it sits forgotten on a shelf.

My moms advice was “don’t date bad boys/don’t date a man that’s out of your league”. I don’t! I have autism, scoliosis, I’m ten pounds overweight, have no cheekbones, am short and I’m a trans man. I know that that my hot neighbor with the long hair who’s into the occult who looks like an elfen prince or something would never even talk to me.

I mostly date men who have virtually no experience dating, are unemployed, don’t know how to take care of themselves and are self-proclaimed nice guys. In other words, guys who aren’t that different from me. And yes, these guys do treat me great at first but then when they realize that I expect some level of consistency from them and they can’t just completely ignore my existence until they need something from me they don’t want me anymore.

#confession

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monsieuroverlord · 1 year

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Spoilers for latest Marvel Love Unlimited Infinity Comic #43 - #48

I heard they had Gwenpool come out as aroace and I wanted to wait until the whole thing came out before reacting to it.

Now it’s all out, so here we go!

Pros:

-- art is stellar, the composition lends itself very well to an infinity comic. expressions are expressive and on-point -- suits itself well for Gwenpool

-- Gwenpool definitely has baby-ace vibes. (will explain more under the cut)

-- narrative voice is more on the light-hearted side in the beginning. It seems like the intent is to not take it so seriously at first

-- Julie Power is an absolute sweetheart here, incredibly understanding and doesn’t blame Gwen at all for being asexual

-- final 2 issues (#47 and #48) are definitely the strongest in terms of narration and introducing the reader to asexual/aromantic orientations

Cons:

-- not that I need this to be an exposition on all the nuances of asexuality, but some things could’ve been worded A LOT better or expanded upon

-- I know Gwenpool is supposed to have reality-shaping powers, but some of her actions are a bit too manipulative for my taste (more under the cut)

Spoilers (warning, it gets LONG):

Issue #43 Summary: Gwen stages a meet-cute with Wither (from New X-Men) by purposely bumping into him. She’s getting into the “forbidden romance” trope, like Rogue and Gambit, because she thinks he can’t touch her. They start gardening together, and turns out he actually has control of his power, so the idealized romance in her head is ruined.

Issue #44 Summary: Gwen has a new plan. Create love triangle between her, Wither, and Elixir. She purposefully woos both of them (kissing each) to create tension and perhaps a fight between them. Her plan is foiled when they refuse to fight and talk it out instead, solidifying their friendship. Gwen feels terrible about even putting them in this situation in the first place. She leaves, immediately gets into trouble, and is promptly saved by Julie Power of the Power Pack, getting butterflies in her stomach.

Issue #45 Summary: Gwen and Julie go on a proper date at a diner. They have nice chat about Gwen’s reality shifting powers and how she feels about them. Julie talks about her current dating life and why she’s currently single and went back to college. Gwen realizes that maybe because she dropped out of High School, she never had that “moving forward in life” experience. She thought she might be bisexual, but never really acted on it. Then she realizes she won’t impress Julie by being an unemployed drop-out. She makes an excuse to go to the bathroom. switches reality around to get her High School diploma and enroll herself in college. Julie asks her out, and after some awkwardness, Gwen agrees.

Issue #46 Summary: It opens with Julie and Gwen having a heart-to-heart talk about the pressure of life expectations. Gwen compliments Julie, saying some stuff she “truly means this time” instead of manipulation like Wither, Elixir, and even Quinten Quire (from the West Coast Avengers days) They kiss, and Gwen reassures herself that she’s doing all the things she’s supposed to! She’s doing a relationship properly. There’s a sequence of them dating -- Gwen is taking college class in game design, Julie gets a pixie cut, it’s all very domestic and non-problematic. There’s even super hero shenanigans thrown in the mix, where Julie and Gwen work well as a team together. Gwen reassures herself that everything will be fine as long as she keeps the butterflies going and that if she tries hard enough, she can make it work. Julie wants to take things a step further (as consenting young adults often do in the romance genre) and Gwen tries to convince herself that she definitely wants this. Except, she doesn’t want to have sex. The issue ends with her bursting into tears and telling Julie to stop.

Issue #47 Summary: The issue opens with Gwen coming cleaning about her High School experience -- the solid group of friends that she had, and how she ended up feeling left behind as they all started dating and she just “didn’t get it.” Depressed, she dropped out of high school and just kind of drifted. Julie is a supportive, listening ear, and reassures Gwen that she can handle being told “no” if Gwen isn’t ready. Gwen states that she just wanted to make Julie happy and they hug. Julie asks if Gwen actually wanted to kiss her closest friend, Alice, and Gwen reveals she doesn’t WANT to kiss anyone. A little irked by this, Julie asks why didn’t Gwen just say something? Gwen says she like Julie in her way, so she figured it can’t be so bad. It’s romance! like in the movies! Gwen admits that maybe if she just kept pursuing it, even faking some stuff, she’d make Julie happy and all would be well. Julie disagrees. That kind of connection is very important to her, and she deserves to be fulfilled. Gwen says she knows and that she just wanted to make Julie happy. Julie interrupts, stating that Gwen deserves to be fulfilled too, and suggests that Gwen may be asexual. Which Gwen hadn’t considered.

Issue #48 Summary -- the conclusion: This issues opens with some great visual references to classic comic book covers and pop culture. Julie snaps Gwen out of her spiral. There’s the classic asexual comparison to a protozoa (’cause they reproduce asexually, and that’s the classic American education introduction to asexuality as a concept). Julie, being the bisexual icon that she is, takes Gwen to the college Pride Club and introduces her to their ace rep. Ronnie, the rep, is demisexual and gives Gwen the run-down of the basics. Gwen gets very excited when she learns its a spectrum. There’s an overview of the romantic attractions (I personally would’ve like to see more explanation of that, but i digress) Gwen goes on to explain that she understands “sexy” as a concept, but doesn’t really get it and expresses her desire for a queerplatonic relationship. There is a brief mention of “some aces like sex, some don’t” and Gwen breaks up with Julie. Gwen meets a group of aces, they have a fun chat. Gwen borrows a pair of flags for the avatar icon pic. The end.

My Thoughts:

Like I said, art was solid and flowed really well. Very good for a digital comic book setting. not really any thoughts there.

Issues #43 to #45 were okay, but i felt was a little shallow for the set-up.

As mentioned previously, they did a decent job with setting up Gwen’s baby ace vibes. Initially, she follows a very formulaic approach to romance, feeling like that’s what she SUPPOSED to do, that’s part of becoming an adult, that’s what people expect, that's what happens in movies, comic books, general entertainment, etc. Using her knowledge and her favorite tropes, she pursues that in her way. It does play on the trope stereotypes really well in a humorous manner.

However, the execution was a little sketchy at times. I mean, especially with issue #44, she PURPOSEFULLY tried to cause a fight between a couple of friends. She intentionally manipulated a situation for her own goals. I mean, I can related to her reasoning/feelings a bit, but her actions don’t vibe with me.

Same with issue #45, she intentionally manipulates reality to make herself more desirable to Julie Power. At least this round, she’s a bit more honest with her feelings, but again she’s using her powers for her own selfish goals.

I do also get the impression that especially the first couple issues are not intended to be super serious, playing off a couple of tropes, some reality-bending shenanigans ensue, no-real-long-term-harm-done-so-we-can-laugh-about-it-type nonsense. But also, with intended goal and conclusion, I just don’t feel it sets up asexuality in the best light at times.

Like I said, the narration is VERY strong. I do relate heavily to the expectations that Gwen puts on herself and WHY she wants to pursue her fairytale romance. The narration sets up the whole “feeling a certain way without understanding why” thing very well. There’s even a comment on Gwen thinking she was just bisexual at first.

It also illustrates the internal struggle of “maybe if I try hard enough, the feelings will come later” type thing. Something I certainly before I knew what asexuality was. I mean, I used to force myself to have crushes even though i didn’t really get it. And I’ve been on dates with people I get along with. But I sure as hell didn’t play mind games with people in order to accomplish the romance expectations I set for myself. Like I said, I DO relate to Gwen’s internal dialogue and I think it sets up her blossoming exploration of her own sexuality, but some things could be improved upon.

(apologies if I’m harping too much on this, gaslighting and manipulation are a bit of a sore spot for me. and “feeling bad” about it just isn’t enough for me)

Reality-bending powers definitely lend itself to the moral dilemma/ethics exploration really well, so you have to be real careful with the kind of story you want to tell. I don’t expect every character to be morally pure and I do feel that Gwen may have thought she had the best of intentions -- as in, if she sets it just right, her partner will be happy and it’ll all work out in the end. But, I can’t help but feel like it COULD be read as asexuals are manipulative and unfeeling people, you know?

Though I do understand it in terms of “doing what you can to make it work for others” type of thing. Like, she WANTS Julie to be happy, so she’s doing what she can to make herself the best partner she can be, even at the cost of her own feelings, comfort, and happiness. It’s certainly better than the fiasco with Wither and Elixir.

Issue #46 is where it really ramps up the asexuality reveal. A lot of narration centers around Gwen basically trying to convince herself that she’s doing exactly what she’s supposed to do, so everything is all good! Then it comes to a head when she doesn’t actually want to have sex. Which likely means that Gwen is on the sex-repulsed side of things

Which I mean, great, nothing wrong with that, but like me, not all asexuals are repulsed by sex and the whole “aces just hate sex” thing tends to be an over-simplifying trope in a lot of media, so I have mixed feelings on using that as Gwen’s “breaking point.” We don’t get to the nuances of asexuality vs. aromanticism until the conclusion.

However, I do realize that sex repulsion is a relatively common experience among aces, especially aroaces. Don’t get get me wrong, I do think the depiction is accurate as hell, especially for one first discovering themselves as a sex-pulsed aroace.

Issue #48 does a great job in reiterating the common stereotypes and misconceptions surrounding asexuality. For example, protozoa and asexual reproduction. and that being asexual means you’ll “be sad and alone forever.” To a questioning person, I think it really serves as a great intro into what asexuality actually is and alleviating common fears that the person may have heard before. Very well executed.

One small thing I have a gripe with, is referring to allosexuals as “people who seem to let their hormones determine who they spend their lives with.”

I mean, I get in terms of the way I don’t really get crushes the way an allosexual does, but its VERY VERY oversimplified. As a biromantic, I’ve had different kinds of crushes -- very rarely, and definitely more of the romantic kind when it happens (don’t even get me started on squishes). But also, it the LGBTQ+ community, there is already a lot of discrimination from both external forces and internal forces. I do see this as very tongue-in-cheek personally, but I expect this to be misinterpreted a bit. (I’ve already seen some circles of Twitter being a little ornery about it.)

But at the same time, I get it. There’s only so much you can do with limited space, and I personally see this intended as a cheeky and very joke-y reference to sexual attraction IN GENERAL as a foreign concept.

In general, Julie Power is a superstar here. The epitome of bi-ace solidarity. I don’t like the fact she had broken up with her partner off-panel in order to serve the story here, but she is characterized as a sheer powerhouse of selfless understanding and being true to yourself.

But I would’ve liked to see an apology to Elixir and Wither. Not that she has to apologize for being asexual, but she really manipulated the situation and intentionally tried to set them up to hate each other for a fantasy situation.

Anyway, these are just my own thoughts as a biromantic ace myself. I first learned the term asexuality at a sex-ed/BDSM mixer in college when I was nineteen, so I been through the struggle, lmao.

Obviously, media is never perfect, and I am optimistic this is (hopefully) a step in the right direction for ace representation. Despite my concerns, I’m happy for the increasing representation and I hope more nuances and more asexual character stories can be told moving forward.

I do think overall, it’s a very well done story and introduces asexuality in a relatively easy-to-grasp light. The set-up could’ve been done a bit better, but the conclusion was very satisfying. I do think all of the pros outweigh the cons here.

And I hope Gwen’s story can be expanded on more in the future -- I get that there’s only so much you can tell with a limited number of issues and I hope we can expand upon it in the future.

If you’ve read this far, thanks and here’s the photo dump:

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