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#this guy probably should get a name at some point but i'm terrible at naming things

angelwithdemonictendencies · 3 months

Text

know me the way you know your childhood scars, like breathing; i wasn't running but if i was i'm glad it was to you.

tz11 x reader: a small town, a fresh start, a shared heart.

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), hair pulling, thigh-riding (this is newish), dirty talk (if you're new, welcome!), mentions of previous relationship being awful, i know i'm forgetting stuff but all my typical things. (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: my favorites - i think jd6 getting traded was exactly what i needed in order to write a tz11 character who is actually a nice guy. i call that the best-friend-getting-a-new-best-friend-who-is-named-cam-york effect. anyways, this is long as hell (14k, anyone?), because i have recently been absolutely so over law school guys. i just want a guy who likes to get his hands dirty and actually has friends. too much to ask? okay. obviously, i got so insanely carried away here, as you will be able to tell. we've got about a million side characters, some of which you will recognize, some of which you will not, because i made them up (tell me why i'm so into the matt/bridget dynamic. could write about just them. maybe i will). you guys know that there will be plot holes and dialogue issues and the likes, but you love me anyways, and i love you for that. tz11 should enjoy this, because i know he will inevitably be back in my bad graces soon enough. next up is someone new (!) because i miss when people used to write about tyson jost left and right. hm, what else? tell me what you think, what you'd like to see. my one year anniversary since my first post is feb. 2 (i actually can't believe how fast it went by, and i'm so grateful for you for sticking with me). so, so much love to you and your snakes. go canucks. until next time.

this was probably a terrible idea, you thought, with your suitcases beside you, your head in your hands at the foot of the bed that would be yours for the foreseeable future. one bed of several at a local inn - local to this town, at least, not local to you.

no, you thought, jittery with unknowing and chance and uncertainty, none of this was familiar to you. not this town in the middle of nowhere, hundreds and hundreds of miles from your hometown, your university. not any of the few people you had interacted with, not the uber driver, the inn keeper, the housekeeping staff.

not one part of this place, this experience, not one part was familiar. but that's what you'd wanted, wasn't it? that was the whole point?

you'd wanted to find yourself, wanted to prove that you could take care of yourself, exist on your own, thrive outside of the bubble that was university.

you wanted a fresh start, away from ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend, their betrayal still fresh, a wound scabbing over on your heart. you wanted to breathe deeply and not worry about who was watching you exhale - a place where nobody knew you, where nobody could whisper about the girl whose boyfriend was cheating on her with her best friend. for three years. she's so stupid, how could she not have noticed?

well, here, you decided, that's what you would get. a humble job as a diner waitress lined up to start tomorrow, a booked room with no check-out date, not a laugh you'd recognize for miles and miles.

this is what you'd wanted, you told yourself, now, loneliness settling in your mouth the way the powder on sour candy does. this is what you have.

completely exhausted from travel and emotional havoc, you passed out that night amidst dreams of fresh starts and trees too tall to see you behind them.

such a lovely image did not last nearly an hour into the next morning, the first day of your new job, just a block or so from the inn you were staying at.

this was part of the reason you had chosen this place for your self-discovery journey, after all - the urgent hiring, competitive wage, amazingly low price for room and board.

you had worked in your university's coffee shop for a year or two to help pay your tuition, so, honestly, how different could it be?

very different, you realized, almost immediately. they were hiring urgently for a reason, which meant there was practically nobody there to train you. one of the line cooks, of all people, just threw you an apron and a name tag to wear over your uniform-compliant black skirt and shirt, mumbled something about a welcome, enunciated something louder about table three needing service.

and so your self-proclaimed new life began completely unceremoniously, with a name-tag that misspelled your name, the smell of waffles and western omelets permeating the air like some grandmother's perfume in an old living room.

at the very least, the business made the time pass quickly, as you paced from table to table, only pausing briefly to introduce yourself to the line, the host, the several curious patrons who asked about you.

"new girl," some impossibly old man husked, "they not have hot coffee where you're from?" he grimaced as he took another sip. "cold as a winter's -"

"okay, that's enough," his companion said, a woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair chopped short. she gave you a sympathetic look, like you two were sharing some inside joke. you liked her immediately. "he's had about twelve cups already. don't mind him."

you felt your mouth tick up in a smile for what might have been the first time this morning as you introduced yourself to her, and her father, who you learned everyone affectionately called "old man peters." you learned that the young woman's name was bridget, and she insisted on giving you her number, in case you had any questions, or wanted to get together, or needed anything at all.

your day was already looking up, you thought, as you lifted your sulking ponytail from you back, loose strands curling at the nape of your neck, around your ears. bridget and old man peters bid you goodbye, and then the young host, a boy who stuttered so much over his name that you still didn't quite know what it was, sheepishly alerted you that he had seated a group at the booth in your section.

your flipped to a new page in your notepad as you walked back to the booth, your gaze quickly being tugged up by a drawl-ish voice blurting out "dibs! i call dibs!"

such as exclamation was followed by several groans and one "not fair, you're the only one facing the door."

your brow was slightly scrunched in confusion when you stood at the head of the group's table, four pairs of eyes faced to you in a way that made you feel like a politician about to give a speech.

you cleared your throat, not quite looking anyone in the face. "good morning," you said, "can i get you guys started with some drinks?"

you looked up from your notepad, clicking your pen against the surface of it, taking in the table of - well, you weren't really sure. construction workers, maybe? craftsmen? the four of them had on heavy canvas-like jackets, worn and worked in, highlighter-bright shirts underneath, callused hands that your observant eyes took note of immediately. they were young, too, probably about your age, which made you blush, only a little. these were not the kind of guys you had met in college, the kind who you would have taken a class on freud with, the kind who thought everything with a woman's hand around it was a phallic symbol.

"just coffee," one of them said, short. he tacked on a please when one of his friends smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

you motioned with your pen around the whole table. "for everyone?" you asked, but the question stumbled out of your mouth when your eyes caught on the last of the four, the one on the bench on the right, closest to you.

that sharp face, high cheekbones and cut jaw, should have been so serious, you thought, like some kind of statue, the kind your art history friends would have fawned over in a museum you didn't really want to go to. he should have been so serious, angular like that, but he was anything but. mirth danced in his eyes, so bright they almost sparkled. his full mouth was fixed in a sort of perpetual smirk, so ready to laugh that he was already halfway there. he had the lines around his eyes that told you his full smile would tear you in two.

you were probably staring at him, you realized, flushing deeper as his smirk broke free into something wider, all over his face.

"see, guys," he spoke, that goofy drawl you had noticed on your way over, nothing like the pretentious academics who spoke in circles. he leaned back in the booth. "doesn't matter that i called dibs. she likes me best anyways."

your face scrunched up in some combination of disbelief and hidden delight. "wait," you began, "when i was walking over here, when you said something about dibs," you fixed him with what you hoped was a glare, "you were calling dibs on me?"

he shrugged off his jacket, drawing attention to his wide shoulders, arms thick even through his bright long sleeve. you snapped your gaze back to his eyes, which shimmered, telling you that you'd been caught. "what's the big deal?"

you scoffed, blew a stray curl from your eye line. "you don't call dibs on people," you said.

"yeah, trevor," one of his friends teased, "what's wrong with you?"

"where to begin?" one of the others said, almost lost in thought.

"c'mon, sugar," trevor said, tilting his head, "'s a compliment, yeah?" his gaze rolled down your frame, almost gelatinous, meeting your eyes again reluctantly. "only 'cause you're so pretty, hm?"

you rolled your eyes, fixed your gaze on the one across from him, the one who looked the least engaged. "but, trevor," you whined, stretching out his name like salt-water taffy, "what if i wanted-" you paused, looked down at the blonde just below you.

"matt," he said, practically bored. you nodded your thanks.

"what if i wanted matt?"

his posture grew even more relaxed as he shifted his knees wider under the table. "oh, what if, sugar?" he mused, his eyes so expressive, never off of you for a moment.

"she's gonna spit in your coffee," matt said.

"how about we cut out the middle man and she just spits in my mouth?" he chirped, smirk so telling it made you flush pink.

you mumbled something about decorum before walking away in a flurry of annoyance and excitement. you couldn't really tell the difference, you realized, as you gave the poor host a pot of coffee and asked him kindly to drop it off at the back booth.

you were not something to be called dibs on, that was for sure, and you were here to find yourself, not anyone else, certainly not some guy. even if some guy had soft-looking hair and a witty mouth. even then.

you took a stabilizing breath and got back to work, noting that the back booth only got coffee, only stayed for about twenty minutes before making to leave, heavy jackets loud as they shrugged them back on.

three of the guys called out their thanks and headed out, leaving only a standing trevor there when you approached to settle their bill. thumbing through his wallet, he grinned down at you when you finally stood in front of him again.

he was taller than you thought, you realized, as he now stood at full height. you had to crane your neck slightly to look him fully in the face.

"thought you'd be shorter," you said, honestly, hoping to knock him down a peg, however mean that might have been. but of course he only smirked.

"get that a lot," he drawled, selecting a bill, putting his wallet back in his pocket with hands you had to force yourself not to stare at. "been told 've got the personality of a short guy in the body of a tall one."

you shook your head. of course someone had told him that.

you couldn't really ruminate on that, though, as he stuck the twenty in the front pocket of your apron, as well as something with a slight weight to it, urging an angry pink to the tops of your ears, the feeling of his wide hand warm, so close to you.

you peered up at him, sucked on your teeth as he pulled out his hand slowly, that ever-present smirk almost faltering at your gaze.

"thanks for the service, sugar," he said, and you probably imagined the way the end of his words sounded strained. "see you around, yeah?"

you didn't break eye contact, only let yourself smile back at him before turning and getting back to work, letting the push and pull of waitressing lull you into a rhythm during which it was practically impossible to think too heavily about bright eyes and broad shoulders.

by the end of your shift, you had been officially tired out. you were sure your hair reeked of coffee, and your ankles ached from standing all day.

going to empty your apron, however, right before you left, your hand settled on the bill from earlier, but also several wrapped butterscotch candies. your face contorted as you stared at them, wondering why trevor had put them there.

exhaustion won over curiosity though, as you thanked everyone for your first day and walked the short block back to the inn.

this won't be that bad, you were thinking to yourself as you walked up the stairs. you already had the phone number of a maybe-friend, after all, and as far as jobs went, this one could be a lot worse. good money, good way to meet new people, maybe even something pretty to look at -

as if summoned by your thoughts, when you turned out of the staircase to your hallway, there trevor was, standing on a ladder, looking into the ceiling, some box of tools on the floor.

you narrowed your eyes, bag suddenly feeling heavy on your shoulder. the presence of a new figure drew his gaze to you, and you had to scold your heart, the way it beat like a teenager at the way he looked at you, then. you didn't know him, after all, and you weren't here for anything romantic.

"you followin' me, sugar?" he asked, stepped down from the ladder, making his way over to you. his voice was slow and tired, from whatever he had done that day. you were shocked at the fact that you wanted to know what that was. his gaze shone as he gently took your bag from your shoulder and slugged it onto his own, fell into step beside you. you let him. "tell me you're following me."

you rolled your eyes, but the small smile on your face wasn't going anywhere. "this is where i'm staying," you explained, "so, if anything, you're following me."

you stopped in front of your door, leaned back against it, suddenly in no rush to lock yourself behind it, alone. not when he was on this side of the door, looking like this.

almost weary with hard work, but not weary enough to sour him, just enough to make his movements and expressions slightly slower, lazier, more indulgent, like they were drenched in chocolate ganache. not when he was here, looking at you like this, like you were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

after years at some preppy, pretentious university, at which ingenuity was the most valuable currency, one you felt you lacked so disgustingly, was it really too surprising that you softened under his gaze? that you wanted to stay in it, just a little bit longer?

"sugar?" he asked, head tilted, and you realized he had been talking.

"sorry, what?" you asked, your voice soft like sponge cake, willing your eyes to focus, your mind to focus harder.

he didn't tease you too badly, though, only let his smile grow sharper with a smirk. "i said that 'm sorry if i hurt your feelings with the dibs stuff," he said, and you were almost confused at his apology. you weren't even upset, and when was the last time someone had apologized to you so quickly after doing something?

your memory cut hazily to your ex, somehow trying to convince you it had been your fault that he cheated on you, that it was something you were lacking that had inevitably led him to do that. you practically shivered, then internally scolded yourself for comparing trevor, whom you had met today, you reminded yourself, to your ex-boyfriend.

"'s fine," you said, waving him off, your back softening further into the door. "didn't really hurt my feelings."

his eyes flashed. "didn't really or didn't, sugar?" he asked, searching your face.

you swallowed, acutely aware of his attention, how it slid down your nose, your cheeks, your jaw, slow and thick as sludge. "didn't."

he gave a nod. "'m sorry anyway," he said, and it came out low. "if you really want to go for matt, i won't stop you."

and part of you wanted to blurt out i don't want matt!

but it was your first day in this place, and honestly, you were still kind of hung up on his apology, and the way it sounded from his chapped lips, and you knew to correct him would be exactly what he wanted.

so you just said "thank you," and were shocked at how gentle it sounded.

"jesus christ, distracted, are we, trev?" the voice of the young inn-keeper called from the end of the hallway. he seemed awfully chipper as he approached, hands in his pockets. "i came up to check on your progress," he said, "or lack thereof, i guess." he looked between the two of you. "now i see who's stolen your attention."

"i'm on my legally-required fifteen minute break," trevor said, half-smiling, turning back to you. "sugar, you know my brother, griff?"

you nodded, suddenly clocking the subtle ways their appearances drew from each other. trevor was taller, griff had a wider face, bigger features. but they had the same eyes, same strong nose, mirroring grins. "he owns my room," you said, dumbly, tiredly.

griff only smiled. "she's had a long day, trev, leave her be."

trevor searched your face again, seemed to find all the proof he needed - your heavy eyelids, drooping shoulders. he gently handed your bag back to you. "i'll see you tomorrow, sugar," he said, as soft as you'd heard him. so soft it startled you. "sweet dreams."

"goodnight," you said to both of them, shutting the door behind you. sleep came easily that night, again, with dreams less so of hiding behind trees and more so of rough hands and laughing eyes.

you were surprised, pleasantly so, at how quickly you fell into a routine in your new home. surprised at how quickly you let yourself call this place that.

maybe it was the way that bridget wasn't just being polite when she had given you her phone number, as she had quickly set up dates to show you all her favorite hiking spots around. your weekly hikes with her became a highlight as she told you more about the town, about her young daughter, about book club, about anything and everything. she was so kind with you that you found yourself so comfortable confiding in her. it felt so easy calling her a friend.

maybe it was the way the town seemed to accept you as one of their own so quickly and genuinely. the line cooks flirted with you in the way only line cooks do (in ways that would not be acceptable outside of a kitchen). they made you food to take home, kept you from starving. the host, harry, began to trust you enough that he asked for your help on homework. the regulars began to recognize you, know your name, ask how you were doing. griff checked in on you, asked if anything was wrong with the room, said you should feel free to use his kitchen anytime (as your room was the simplest kind, and didn't have any cooking appliances). you began to know the names of the streets, the stores, the store owners. your fresh start was starting to feel like just that - a start.

or maybe it was that same group of guys who came in every morning, at the same time, who ordered only coffee and then left in a flush of waves and heavy jackets and called-out salutations. you learned that the one with the curly hair, alex, was the quietest, probably the smartest. his closest friend, cole, was the shorter one, who had the loudest laugh. and matt was warming up to you, you thought. the more you made fun of trevor, the more he seemed to like you.

it was that same group, every day, who came in loudly and left louder, who had paint and dirt smudged on their shirts, their hands. who drank coffee like it was water. who laughed like it was easy as breathing, and maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

and, of course, there was trevor, who, the more you got to know him, the more trouble he became. every day, his "good morning, sugar," would reverberate through your chest, and you would drop a pot of coffee at their table, ask how they were doing, listen for their answers.

some comments about how old man peters' roof is caving in, and he should have told them about it probably a year ago, or about how the police chief's plumbing is fucked, or about how they were going over to fix bridget's sink that day. and, if it was the last one, matt would flush, which would make your eyes widen, would make you pepper him with questions about his crush.

and then, at some point during their morning break, trevor would ask something about you, about how you were, about the way you were wearing your hair, the shoes you were wearing, the book you had been reading the week before. and then, as he left, without fail, he would slip a bill and several butterscotch candies into your apron pocket, each time his hand growing heavier, more significant as it settled so close to you.

it didn't particularly help your small crush that you saw him everywhere. he was always fixing something - in the diner, at the inn, in the park downtown. you couldn't escape him and his deft hands, his working mind, his strong frame and easy laugh and addictive smile.

he was everywhere, so of course he would be here, at the grocery store, after your shift one day. you were roaming the isles, looking for a specific kind of vinegar, your basket hoisted up onto your hip, when a low whistle made you turn. you were met with that lazy smirk, your favorite one of his, the nighttime one, the tired one. he approached you, his work boots heavy on the ground.

"you followin' me, trevor?" you asked, repeating what become something of an inside joke between the two of you.

"maybe," he said, looking down at you, shimmering eyes framed by long lashes. "do you want me to be following you, sugar?"

you hummed, noncommittal, some harmony between the fluorescent lights above, the whir of the fridges the next isle over. you turned back to the shelving, resumed your survey of the contents. "your brother offered his kitchen for me to use while he's out tonight," you said, not looking at him.

"did he?" trevor mused, an almost undetectable bite in his tone.

you nodded, eyes alight with excitement. "been eating pancakes and chicken noodle soup for weeks now," you said, referring to what the line cooks sent you home with. "swear my mouth's watering just thinking about something different." you ran a thumb along your bottom lip, as if checking for spit.

if you had been looking at trevor, you would have see his shallow swallow, the way his eyes tracked your movement, how his gaze hung from your mouth like lacy ribbon. he cleared his throat.

you finally located the vinegar you wanted, on the very top shelf. pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, you reached the tips of your fingers for the bottle, only just out of reach.

trevor only chuckled as he grabbed the bottle easily, took the basket from your hip and into his own hand, dropping the vinegar into it.

"i can carry that, you know," you said, suddenly wishing you had something to do with your hands.

"i know," he said, smug.

you rolled your eyes, huffed a thank you, anyways.

"so, what're you making?" he asked as you led him from aisle to aisle, loading your basket with ingredients.

you explained to him how, in college, this one salad had been your absolute favorite to make when you needed something that made you feel good. something about the combination of arugula, kale, chickpeas, sweet potato, whatever other vegetables you had on hand, sometimes chicken, if you were feeling fancy, something about the simple dressing of oil and vinegar - it was perfect. no meal left you feeling as good as this one did.

and it was how you had made it entirely on your own, too - it wasn't some fancy steak dinner your ex had buttered you up with after a fight, it wasn't boxed brownies shared with your old best friend the night before you found out - no, this was all you.

when you looked back at trevor, there was something molten in his gaze. "sounds amazing," he said, low, like he didn't want anyone else to hear.

you tilted your head, let your smile slant across you face, scrunched up your nose, teasing. "would you want to join me for dinner, trevor?"

his face split into a grin. "i would," he said, "i would want to, please."

and so you found yourself fumbling around someone else's kitchen with an audience, washing kale and peeling sweet potatoes with fingers that twitched towards the figure across the counter, practically irritated that they weren't touching him.

you scolded your hands to behave, which became easier as the night went on, as conversation flowed like cranberry juice, the flavor of it lingering in your mouth just the same.

he might ask you about how the diner was going, to which you would look around as if to make sure no one was there. his eyes would flash. you would miss this.

"harry's been making some real progress in precalc," you would say from behind your hand, speaking of the host, whom you had come to view very fondly. "and you didn't hear it from me, but i think he's going to ask his friend jason to the school dance next weekend."

you would be flushed with excitement and pride, and trevor wouldn't be able to get much beyond that, honestly, the way it lit you up from the inside out.

but then he would clear his throat, and lean forward on his hands, and tell you that if harry needed help asking jason to the dance, he knew exactly the best crew for the job.

"don't tell me you're talking about your rag-tag group of misfits," you would say, cocking a brow as you dressed the kale and arugula.

and he would feign offense, place a broad hand over his heart. "i'll have you know that this group of misfits went 16/16 in high school dance invitations," he would say. "all four of us, all four years."

you might roll your eyes. "real band of heartbreakers, were you?" you would say.

and laughter would shine behind his eyes like christmas tree lights behind store windows, and he would stretch his arms above his head, lazily, comfortably. "'course not," he would say, his voice the sort of raspy that comes with stretching, "only alex."

and this would pull a real laugh from you, as you tossed everything together, the kind of laugh that rung in his ears, that made him pleasantly dizzy.

as the night passed on, time moving altogether too fast and the kind of slow that oozes, you would learn about how he grew up in this town, how he went to trade school, how he had had the same friends his entire life. you would ask questions about if he ever felt the desire to leave (not really), how he got into manual labor (he never really felt like he was that good at anything else), what his family was like (close, but not overbearingly so).

and, in turn, between bites and sips and laughs, you would tell him about how you grew up (humbly), what school was like (hard, but rewarding), how you ended up here (cheap housing, good job, close community). and maybe you would actually tell him about the ultimate betrayal you had faced before you left, why that made you want to be somewhere, anywhere else, somewhere where you had no choice but to make a life entirely for yourself.

at the mention of your ex his jaw might clench, his mouth twitching ever so slightly. he would mutter something about nonsense, and you would smile.

he would ask questions about your family (just your dad and you), your favorite parts of your life here (hikes with bridget, homework sessions with harry, bickering with old man peters).

and he would pout, at that, his bottom lip looking so positively delicious it stole your breath. "'m not your favorite, sugar?" he would plead, joking.

maybe you would really look in his eyes, then, find something hot, tilt your head. "you wanna be?" you would ask, breathier than you intended.

and he would smirk, somehow flipping the dynamic on its head entirely with only a single expression. "you know i do, sugar," he would tell you, low and so loaded you would blush.

it might scare you how easily you let him in, how quickly you were warming up to him. his pretty face might scare you, because pretty faces had hurt you before. there had been no one prettier than your old best friend, after all, and look how that turned out.

so, when the night grew viscous, and the meal was long over, the dishes done, a portion for griff packed up in tubberware on the counter, when he walked you upstairs to your room, both of your steps slow, reluctant, when his gaze lingered on your lips and the smell of him grew distracting, the height of him all-consuming, even then, even though you wanted to, you didn't kiss him. you only bid him a gentle goodnight.

"thank you for tonight," he would say, instead, looping his arms around your neck, hugging you close to his chest. this was so much worse, you thought, as you breathed him in, wrapped your own arms around him and squeezed. the way he held you like he was afraid what would happen if he let go. his hair so messy and his tone so genuine it almost hurt. "sweet dreams, sugar," he said into your hair before pulling away.

even though, that night, you might have dreamed about how his rough hands might feel as they held your soft cheek, how his chapped lips might slot against your glossed mouth. even if you woke up, that next morning, practically sweating. not the sweetest of dreams.

today was your day off. you had plans later with bridget, but you decided to book a haircut and blowout at the salon downtown, since you had the whole morning to yourself. the salon was one place you hadn't been in, yet, and you hadn't had a haircut in months, so you figured now was a good a time as any.

the bell above the door rang when you stepped inside, but no one seemed to notice over the shrill thrum of hair dryers, sinks, and the steady stream of gossip that you appeared to have walked in on.

"she told me her trevor went on a date, julia," one of the stylists said seriously, her eyes expressive as she sectioned her client's head of long curls. "won't stop rambling on and on about her, she says."

your heart jumped in your chest at trevor's name, sunk accordingly. he had been on a date? you weren't sure why you had assumed you were the only girl in his life at the moment, but it stung, nonetheless. you pulled at a thread on your long sleeve, eyes down.

you can't be upset, you told yourself, don't you dare be disappointed-

"oh, honey, how long you been waiting?" one of the stylists called out, making her way over to you and the front desk. "swear you have to throw somethin' at one of us when you come in or we'll never stop talking." she had such an easy way of speaking, a comfortable posture, a genuine face.

"sorry," you said, looking around, still recovering from what you'd overhead.

she just waved you off with a smile. "it's us motormouths who should be apologizing," she said before introducing herself as ginger. "now, what name is your appointment under?"

you told ginger your name, and as soon as you did, her eyes sailed up to meet yours again, wide and bright. she snapped her fingers, getting the room's attention. "you're the doll who stole our baby trevor's heart!"

you blushed furiously, felt the words in your mouth twist and tangle like a toddler's hair. "me? no, that can't be right," you said. there's no way last night counted as a date, you thought. there's no way he's talking about me.

the other stylist just squealed as you were led to a chair. "of course it's you! look at her, julia," she said to the woman in her chair, practically elated, "what a treasure!"

your blush wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

"that boy's been talkin' to 's mama 'bout you, honey," julia said from her chair, her expression knowing. "he's just about smitten, she says."

"and a mother always knows," ginger said, emphasizing her words with hairbrush gestures.

so you spent your appointment getting a couple inches off, hearing about the trouble trevor used to get in when he was younger (apparently alex used to be the biggest troublemaker, though), hearing about how trevor just went around fixing whatever anyone needed fixing.

"swear that sweet boy wouldn't charge a dime if this town'd let him," ginger said as she worked long layers into your hair, "we have to sneak payment into his pockets, and even then he tries to give it back!"

your cheeks burned, your heart heavy with affection as she blew out your hair, leaving it soft and smooth. you paid, said goodbye for about ten minutes, found out just how hard it was to escape salon conversation.

"now go show off for our baby, honey!" someone called out the door after you, making you laugh. you guessed that all the stereotypes about small town hair salons were true.

you went on your weekly hike with bridget, who gave you that understated grin when she saw you. "looking good," she said, bumping her shoulder into yours. "trev doesn't stand a chance."

you rolled your eyes. "didn't get my hair cut for him."

she laughed. "i know," she responded, "but all anyone can talk about this morning is your date last night."

you couldn't help but scoff good-naturedly. "i can't believe people already know about this," you said, "it was literally last night, and it wasn't even a date."

she waved you off. "nobody cares about the logistics. even my girl was moping to me about it. she's got a little crush on her skating instructor."

"trevor teaches your daughter how to skate?" you asked, having never heard of this.

she nodded. "he's the highlight of her week," she said, her eyes soft, picturing her daughter's unabashed smile.

"get in line," you mumbled, covering your face with your hands.

why was everyone so intent on revealing adorable information about trevor to you today? didn't they know he already took up enough of your daily headspace?

"can't somebody tell me he hates animals, or something? or that he's really pretentious about art? or that he has, like, some weird fetish?"

bridget laughed. "sorry, babe," she said, "he's the town's sweetheart."

you were still reeling with all of this information when you got back to the inn, your face rosy from the outside chill, your body pleasantly awake from your walk.

you began up the stairs, humming to yourself, ready to collapse onto your bed, maybe catch up on some reading.

"you followin' me, sugar?"

you looked up, immediately, feeling your pulse in your neck, in your teeth.

there he was, of course, there he was, painting the railing in the stairwell, the sharp smell of paint faint in the air.

all dirtied up from the day, that slouch that only appeared in the late afternoon, that crinkly smile, all of it made him almost too good to be real.

"maybe," you said, like second nature now, after all those times before, his face forcing a tiny smile from your mouth.

you stood just in front of him now, held your breath as he reached up, twirled a strand of your hair around a finger. he let out a low whistle you felt in your stomach.

"lookin' awful pretty tonight," he said, not much more than a whisper as he thumbed the soft ends of your freshly-cut hair.

his words settled like thick caramel on your tongue. "thank you," you mustered, your mind spinning with all of the wonderful things you had heard about him, today.

he bent down to one knee in front of you as you collected your thoughts. "um, what are you doing?" you said, strained, dumb.

he looked up at you through those girlish lashes, smirk heavy on his perfect face. he tugged your foot closer to him. "shoe's untied," he said, gesturing to your sneaker. "may i?"

you blinked at him before nodding, because what alternate universe was this? you tried to imagine any other man you'd known willingly getting on the floor for you, just to tie your shoe. you couldn't.

he tightened your laces with nimble hands.

you cleared your throat. "heard something funny today from the ladies at the salon," you told him, trying to focus on something other than his proximity.

he hummed. "nothin' good, i'll bet," he mused, "ginger loves a good story."

"it was a good story," you said, reveled in the way his expression softened, giving you the courage to press on. he began to tie a double knot. "'bout how you're tellin' your mom we went on a date."

he pulled the bow tight, looked up a you for a second, a guilty, childish grin on his face, caught red-handed. you extended a hand to him, helped him back to his feet.

"oh, yeah," he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wall, easy, comfortable. "like how you asked me to dinner, and then cooked for me, and how it 100% was a date-"

you laughed, shook your head. "it was not!" you said, "i never said it was a date!"

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "call it wishful thinking, then, sugar."

and you couldn't focus too much on what he meant by that, so you just shook your head again. "you're too much," you said, wanting it to come out teasing, but instead there was a breathy sort of desperation behind it.

"yeah?" he asked, that smirk present as ever. you had grown so close to him without realizing it, now just a step away. him leaning back against the wall, you right in front of him, looking up at him.

you nodded, swallowed, your blood hot, your skin prickly, alive.

his eyes fixed you in place, teasing. "too much for you, sugar? can't take it?"

you bit your lip to stop any sound from escaping you, because everything seemed entirely too loud, then. you could hear your heartbeat, you swore you could hear his, the radiator could have been screaming at you. you didn't dare think about just how much you wanted to take.

to stop yourself from doing something much more serious, you simply reached your hand forward, swiped at a spot of paint on his face with your thumb.

your touch against his brow bone felt like an exhale, like melting wax. you could feel his warm breath on your hand as you pulled it back, but then he was looking at you, like that, like you were so, so special, like he would have doused his face in paint just to have your hands wipe it all away, and were you imagining the way his gaze grew fiery?

"trev! old man peters says his sink's still leaking!"

griff's voice rattled down the stairwell, smothering the flames in your eyes, if only just. just enough to break the spell, to pull away, to tell him you'd see him tomorrow for his coffee break, for his hungry gaze to follow you up the stairs until you were out of sight.

and so the routine continued, more butterscotch candies slipped into aprons, more pestering his friends, more slyly asking bridget what she thought about matt (she was deflecting, you'd observed, delighted). more helping with homework and reading in bed and cooking and snapping at old man peters to stop leaving his watch behind.

more stolen touches and longing glances and sideways smiles, backwards hats and work gloves stuffed in pockets, damp hair sticking to your neck, the hem of your skirt brushing against your thigh. more flame and softness and sweetness drenching your frame as he said hello, and goodbye, and sweet dreams, and anything else. that coil inside of you twisted tighter and tighter as you wondered what exactly was holding you back, what exactly you were waiting for.

one day, after work, there was a knock at your door. you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little bit disappointed when you opened it.

"you coming?" griff said, "town hall meeting starts in 5."

you scrunched up your nose. "town hall? what, is it required?"

he smiled, kind. "no, but they're usually a good time," he said, "and trevor's going to be there."

you had your jacket in your hand already. "he's not the reason i'm coming," you said, following him out the door and down the street.

"i won't tell anyone," was all griff replied, his smile understanding and gentle.

you had never been to a town hall meeting before. you'd guessed that the closest thing you could imagine was a student government meeting, which you'd been a part of in college.

this seemed much more laid back, though, taking place in the middle school gymnasium. it looked like almost everyone from town was here. you noticed old man peters, sitting with bridget, her daughter buzzing around from person to person. the salon ladies were talking to pretty much everybody. there was harry, sitting next to his mom. you approached bridget as griff went up to talk to the fire chief, one of his close friends.

soon enough, the meeting began, the first issue on the docket being the prospect of a stoplight on the intersection of drysdale avenue and york street.

bridget yawned, "same issue every meeting," she whispered to you. "always divided down the middle." this time was no different, you observed, the parents in the crowd seemed completely for the stoplight, the older crowd significantly against.

"next issue, a write in from the community, quote," the representative began, reading from notecards, "should the implementation of the 'dibs' rule be observed seriously, unquote." he cleared his throat, looked up to the crowd. "thoughts?"

you stifled an embarrassed laugh, held your face in your hands as bridget rubbed soothing circles in your back. "is this actually a real-life discussion topic?" you asked, incredulous.

"just let them have their fun," she whispered in a way that made her smile evident.

"i think 'dibs' is outdated and juvenile," a woman said, "sets a bad example for the kids."

the man up front was taking notes.

"i think it's cute," bridget piped up from her chair.

"me, too!" her daughter giggled, jumping into her lap.

"alright, i've got two for cute, one for bad influence," the man said, "anyone else?"

"i think it's lame," a very matt-like voice said, gruff, short.

"one for lame," the scribe said aloud.

"well, i think you're lame," that goofy drawl called out, making you pull your head up, look around until you spotted him, near the front. he was swatting matt on the back of the head. "and i learned it from alex, so take it up with him."

his curly-haired friend hid a smirk. "it's a high school move," he explained to the crowd, before turning to face trevor. "we haven't done it in years."

"until now," trevor amended, "but you guys understand. you've seen her. you've talked to her."

ginger put her hand over her heart as if swooning.

someone coughed. your face was burning up. bridget nudged you gently.

"she's here, trev," griff said, to which the fire chief let out a hearty laugh.

"really?" he turned to face the crowd, his voice excited, hopeful, searching. "where are you, sugar?"

you raised your hand, of all things, immediately wanted to smack yourself. "hey," you said, mousy.

"hey," he parroted, mocking, but of course not maliciously. his smile broke you apart.

and then you were having a conversation with several rows of people in chairs between you, on a gymnasium floor.

"you're the only one with the dibs curse on you," he said, "so what's your take on it? should we abolish the practice for good? is it outdated?"

you swallowed, were looking only at him as the scribe sat at the front, pen at the ready. "well," you began, "it works, from what i can tell." his smile put you together again. "so it can't be that outdated."

his eyes shone, only for you. "you heard her," he said, "case closed."

"are we actually still talking about this?" old man peters asked, to bridget, but much too loudly.

the rest of the meeting passed, absolutely delivering on laughs and nonsense, as promised.

"last thing before we go," the man said, "does everyone have a ride to the away game tomorrow?"

you leaned over to bridget. "what's that?"

"the rec hockey team is away this weekend," she whispered.

"rec hockey?" you said, confused, "like kids?"

she shook her head. "like kids, yes, but not kids."

"sugar, do you have a ride?" trevor's voice rang clear against the mumbled chatter of the room.

you looked up, met his eyes again. "uh, i don't think i'm going?" you said.

there was a collective gasp, followed by silence. your eyes widened. "babe," bridget whisper-screamed at you. "everyone goes."

you cleared your throat, realizing your grave error. "well, then i don't have a ride."

"you can ride with me, honey," ginger said, sweetly, with a warning in her eye.

"trevor has to go super early since he's playing," bridget whispered from next to you. you nodded, signaling that you had heard her.

"thank you!" you called out.

rides were sorted, the meeting ended, everyone saying their goodbyes, folding chairs scraping against the waxy floor. trevor and his friends caught up with you and bridget on your way out.

trevor slung a heavy arm around your shoulders that you couldn't help but lean into. he smelled like sawdust and something citrusy. "i didn't know you played hockey," you said, looking up at him curiously, not letting yourself ruminate on how good he felt slotted against your side.

he shrugged.

bridget scoffed. "he's good, too," she said, "i hate to pump his tires, but only the best teacher for my baby girl." she pressed a kiss to the cheek of her smiley daughter, whom she had hoisted up onto her hip. "all of them play," she said, a vague gesture to the group. "lit it up in high school."

"not all of them are as good, though," trevor said, which caused some annoyed groans.

"what about heartbreaker alex, over here?" you teased.

"heartbreaker alex has grown up since junior year," alex said, soft spoken. "and it's not my fault my hair looks like this."

the shortest friend of the group, cole, the one with the loudest laugh, whom you had come to rely upon for book recommendations, put a hand in line with his brow bone, as if blocking out the sun to search for something.

"what are you doing?" alex asked.

"oh, me?" cole said, "just looking for all the girls you must be getting, since you've still got all that hair."

alex rolled his eyes, the group laughed.

"what about you, matt?" you asked as trevor held open the door, all of you stepping out into the night air. "i've heard the team's got a perfect record for dance invites. any high school stories?"

matt didn't say anything for a second, but bridget laughed. "you're really telling people that, trev, as if i didn't ask him freshman year?" she nodded towards matt, who was actually blushing, you thought, but the dark made it hard to tell. "was a tough sell, eh? he was so quiet when i asked i thought he pretending that i wasn't there."

"oh, we remember," cole said, tone alight with understanding. "funny how we grow up, but so much stays the sa-" he blew out a breath when matt elbowed him in the gut.

you smiled to yourself. "i'll see all of you tomorrow, for the game, then?" you said, the inn now steps away.

goodbyes rang out, and you made to remove yourself from trevor's embrace, but he only spun you back into his chest, pulling you close, his arms now wrapped around your back, your nose against his breastbone. you breathed in, melted into him, squeezed him back.

"did you mean it?" he said, soft, so only you would hear him.

you mumbled your confusion into his chest.

"when you said it was working? did you mean it?"

your heart jumped, his words so vulnerable you couldn't look at him. "i meant it," you whispered into his bright shirt. "you're working on me, trevor." you felt his lips brush against your hair, featherlight, before he let you go.

"sweet dreams, sugar," he said, and you walked back to your room with wobbly legs and an overactive heart.

the following day, ginger graciously gave you a ride to the next town over. she, of course, chatted you up the entire time, which you welcomed.

"i know i must be super late to the party here," you said, carefully, picking at your nails, "but what's the story behind bridget and matt?"

ginger tsked. "we're a bad influence on you, honey," she said, taking a right. "you're gonna be a big mouth like me in no time."

you laughed. "it's only 'cause matt's so obvious about it," you told her, "they've known each other forever, and i learned yesterday that she asked him to their freshman dance." you trailed off, hoping that ginger would take your cue.

she nodded, smiled fondly. "our bridget was always such a spitfire," she said, "always going for what she wanted. smart as a whip, too, but you know that."

you nodded. you did.

"and she could have had anyone, but she wanted our matthew, and he wasn't a sight for sore eyes then, like he is now."

is matt good-looking? you'd thought to yourself. you surely hadn't noticed. perhaps you were distracted. perhaps your gaze always wandered.

"but bridget marched right up, asked him to the dance, and the poor boy was so stunned it took him a full minute to say yes." she shook her head, lost in the memory.

"did they ever date, like for real?" you asked, enraptured.

she frowned. "no, i don't think so, at least. bridget was always bouncing around flings, trying out guys for a few weeks, then cuttin' 'em loose." her smile grew wistful. "then she had her darling girl, middle of senior year. dad booked it, never looked back. don't think she's been with anyone since."

you frowned, too, hating the thought of someone abandoning your friend, as lovely and wonderful as she was. what a privilege it would be to be a part of her family.

"and matt?" you asked, as the car pulled into the parking lot. you ran your palms up and down your jeans.

ginger whistled. "that boy's been starry-eyed over her since grade five," she said, "but me and the girls aren't surprised he thinks he doesn't have a shot. his self-esteem's never been the highest, not like the rest of 'em."

"not like cole, who swears he could land a plane, if it came around to it?" you said, grinning.

ginger laughed. "exactly. and not like alex, who was never without a girlfriend, and not like your trevor, who's never needed anyone to tell him how great he is."

you sucked on your teeth. "but we do, anyways," you reminded her.

"that we do, honey," she finished, putting the car in park. "let's go cheer on those knuckleheads, shall we?"

the rink was colder than you thought it would be. the walls were practically made of aluminum foil. you wrapped your arms around yourself, blew out a foggy breath, followed ginger to the away section, absolutely packed with everyone you recognized.

as you settled into the stands, your eyes immediately searched for trevor.

"he's number 11," bridget said, coming to stand next to you.

you rolled your eyes. "and what number is matt?"

she shoved you, playfully, but when spoke, it was bashful. "12," she said. "cole's 22 and alex is 39. police chief is 8, fireman spence is the goalie, and griff is the ref."

you furrowed your brow. "isn't that a conflict of interest?" you asked.

she huffed in a laugh. "if anything, it's a disadvantage for us."

the game started, and you realized very early on that maybe trevor hadn't been lying when he said not all of them are as good. he practically flew around the ice, graceful, mesmerizing. and it was obvious that he wasn't looking to show off, either, that he was just playing to have fun, and if he really wanted to, he could run the scoresheet up into oblivion.

you could feel bridget smile beside you. "yeah," she sighed. "it's pretty crazy."

"he could play professionally," you breathed.

she shrugged. "he's happy," she said simply.

cole scored twice, the other team clawed their way back in. griff threw alex in the box for boarding, which old man peters, even with his granddaughter in his lap, would not let go, keeping a one-man ref, you suck! chant going long after the power play was over.

"does he know it's griff?" you asked bridget.

"of course he does," she said. "he'll buy him a beer after this."

such was small town life, you supposed.

in the end, fireman spence made some crucial saves, keeping it tied late into the third. with about a minute left, trevor made an unreal, practically magical pass to matt, who finished it off in a one-timer that sunk into the back of the net.

the crowd erupted. you and bridget jumped up and down, holding each other as the goal horn sounded.

the team went through the line in celebration, then skating by the away section before the next face off.

trevor blew you a kiss. you shook your head at him, but couldn't wipe the smile off of your face.

the game ended in a win, and the town migrated over to the local bar. you busied yourself with harry's mom, telling her that no, she had nothing to worry about, yes, harry was quiet, but he was kind as anything, and that was most important.

everyone cheered when the team walked in. you clapped along with them, feeling a smile tug at your lips as soon as your eyes locked on trevor.

his eyes found yours immediately, that lazy grin following as he squeezed past people to get to you.

you met him halfway, a hazy neon light over your heads, making color dance in his eyes like starlight. his long hair was damp, curly at the ends in a way that made you want to reach up and tug at them.

"speechless, eh, sug?" he teased, shrugging one shoulder with exaggerated arrogance. "i know, my play tends to evoke that reaction from people. i-"

you scrunched your mouth to the side, smacked him lightly in the chest. "god forbid i try to think of something nice to say to you," you said, smiling. you made to pull you hand back, but his warm, wide palm came up to cover it, holding it against his chest.

you exhaled, looked up at him, unsure.

"what was your favorite part?" he asked, those shining eyes careful. "did you like cole's between-the-legs? or maybe my last assist?" he winked. "always a crowd favorite."

suddenly confidence welled up inside of you, a vault. but we tell him anyways, you had said. that we do.

tell him, the overhead lights whispered.

"when you blew me a kiss," you said, reaching your free hand up to cup his jaw, textured under your touch from his five-o'clock-shadow. "that was my favorite part."

flame crept into his gaze abruptly, suddenly, shockingly. he settled his other hand on your hip, pulled you closer to him, his grip making your breath catch. "was it?" there was a roughness to his voice that felt tangible.

you nodded slowly, speaking to his mouth. you weren't scared. you weren't running. you weren't stalling. your skin was humming, your blood felt hot. he was so perfect against you, his hand over yours somehow the most intimate touch you could remember.

he ducked his head to yours, just a breath away, so you could see the gold in his eyes. "let me do you one better," he rasped, waiting for your single nod before finally crushing his mouth to yours in a kiss that felt like early sunrises, slow and meaningful and only the beginning.

you pushed up onto your tiptoes, looped both of your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, closer, as he kept one hand on your hip, the other grasping the back of your neck, keeping you from collapsing into him.

kissing your ex had felt almost robotic, scientific, stiff in an endearing way at best, stiff in an awkward way in reality.

there was nothing stiff about this, nothing scientific about him. this was all feeling, all malleable, all calloused hands and chapped lips. he kissed like someone who had to work for it, like someone who didn't have to prove anything to you but wanted to, anyways.

just that was enough for you to sigh against him, the fact that there were other people around the only thing stifling your soft moan.

he smiled into your mouth, like a low-spoken secret between the two of you. "taste like butterscotch," he mumbled against your lips, pulling away only just enough to make sure his words didn't disappear unheard down your throat, almost drowsily. "you like those candies i give you, sugar?"

your chest rose and fell against his. the low music in the background roared in your ears, the neon light making him look like some stained glass thing worth kneeling for. "like 'em because you leave 'em for me," you said, your fingertips tracing the top of his spine.

his eyes shimmered. "can i tell you something?"

you nodded.

he hummed, gave a guilty sort of smile. "gave 'em to you because i didn't like the taste of 'em," he started, smirk growing wider. "and i wanted to convince myself to hold off on kissin' you. not to rush you, you know."

you understood, and your swollen lips quirked at the story, but your eyes flashed with something like hurt. "you don't like the way i taste, trevor?" even if it was his own doing, you suddenly wanted to brush your teeth.

"that's the thing." he ran a steady thumb along your hairline. "think my plan backfired, 'cause butterscotch's my new favorite flavor." his thumb reached your chin, tilting it up to his mouth again. "can't get enough of it," he murmured, a man possessed, barely audible as he kissed you again, this time with a softness that cut like a dagger.

you swore your head was still spinning the next day. what was supposed to be just another shift at the diner quickly turned into a flurry of questions, of neighbors looking for a side of gossip with their french toast, of line cooks swearing there was something different about you.

it was hard to answer anyone, to do anything, honestly, when it felt like you were floating, like your head was far, far away, up in the clouds.

harry gave you a fist bump when he saw you. old man peters told you in a stern tone that public bars were no place for fornication, to which an ecstatic bridget patted his shoulder and reminded him that it was only a (sort of) innocent kiss.

she pulled all the details out of you, lit up as you flushed and stumbled over your memories.

the police chief made some joke about that boy being a bad influence when you accidentally brought him whole milk instead of soy milk for his coffee.

ginger and the girls were like some insatiable beast that only let you be when you reminded them that if they kept you much longer, the diner would go hungry.

of course, your heart instinctively fluttered when that tell-tale gust of loud laughter burst through the door, along with the drag of heavy work boots, the shuffling of canvas outerwear, the shoving of gloves into back pockets.

you made your way to the table with their regular pot of coffee, met trevor's dancing gaze almost sheepishly.

"morning, guys," you said, smiling at all of them.

they chimed their chorus of good mornings, pouring their coffee into mugs themselves, as they always insisted on.

"so, what's new?" cole asked, his head resting on his fists. "probably nothing, right?"

alex and matt hid their laughs.

you rolled your eyes, smiled nonetheless. trevor had a hat on, today, making his hair curl out from the bottom of the brim. you tucked a curling lock behind his ear, ran your nails soothingly along the hair at the nape of his neck.

anyone watching would have seen the way his gaze melted like milk chocolate, how his shoulders softened, his posture relaxing completely into your small touch.

he looked up at you, eyes so soaked in affection it spilled down his face like mascara-stained tears. "i missed you," he said.

his friends groaned, as if they'd heard this a million times. suddenly, with a blush, you had a guess as to what his morning had been like. perhaps he had been just as distracted as you.

"i missed you, too," you said, because it was the truth.

"he almost dropped a crate on my foot this morning," matt said, bitterly.

you put a hand over your heart. "how tragic." you looked up, making eye contact with your friend across the diner. "hey, bridge! matt almost hurt his foot this morning. has science found a cure for that, yet?"

she huffed a laugh as she approached, shook her head at matt when she stood in front of the table. she held the back of her hand to his forehead, as if checking for a fever. "are you sure you're okay, sweet boy? this sounds serious," she joked.

matt had paled. trevor pulled you into his lap and you hid your laugh in his collarbone.

"'m fine," matt bit out, to which bridget smiled.

"thank god, that was close," she said. her gaze wandered, landed on something out the window. she squinted. "did somebody dig up some of the flowers outside?" she asked.

"dig?" alex mused, "maybe rip is a better word, eh, trev?"

"right. almost forgot." trevor held you in his lap with one hand, reached the other to the side. suddenly several flowers were being held in front of you, thin, spidery roots still intact. "sugar, will you go to the valentine's day skate with me?"

you smiled, wide and toothy, touched one hand to his face as the other grasped the humble, earthy bouquet. "of course i will, handsome," you said, "what's the valentine's day skate?"

"pta event, tomorrow," bridget said, looking on with interest. "whole town shows up."

"this town shows up for everything," you replied.

she smiled fondly. "heart-shaped balloons and fruit punch and ice skates. what's not to love?"

you turned your neck to look back up at trevor. "'m honored to have been on the receiving end of one of your famous invitations," you teased, "even if it's not for a dance." his delight rumbled into your shoulders, the back of your thighs, firm and warm.

cole yawned, stretched. "duty calls, fellas," he said, making to get up.

you reluctantly pushed up from trevor's lap, quickly pouring his untouched mug into a to-go cup. the team filed out with their typical string of thank yous and goodbyes, matt's extra glance at bridget met with a returning smile.

then it was you and trevor, as the morning break always ended, like clockwork, like a bedtime story that was comforting in its predictability. he tucked a bill in your apron, several candies, the weight of them alone making you smile.

"did i tell you how pretty you look today?" he told you.

"no," you mused, your hands clasped behind your back, shifting on your feet.

he hummed. "so pretty, sugar, never been so nervous to ask someone out," he admitted, that smug smile lazy across his face.

you tilted your head. "don't be nervous," you told him. "you're the easiest yes i've ever had."

at your words he ducked his wide shoulders down to you, flipped his hat backwards on his head so as not to impede you in any way, kissed you with a rough palm on your soft face, your hands still behind your back as you met him up on your toes.

a different kiss, one so lovely, still, soft and beautiful, drenched in daylight.

would your head ever stop spinning, when it came to him? would you ever come down from the clouds, again? even if you did, would there not be cumulus tufts in your hair, wisps of cirrus in your lashes?

he was proving it difficult, especially that next day, the fourteenth of february.

you had the morning to yourself, existing slowly and methodically, reading and running errands, finally starting to get ready for your date in the late afternoon.

before you knew it, there was a knock at your door, just as you had swung your jacket on. you swung it open to find him leaning against the doorframe, the picture of ease, shoulders drooping the way they always did after a working morning.

"ready to go?" you asked, making to close the door behind you before pressing up on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. he caught your face in a hand before you could, though, steering your lips towards his mouth instead. you laughed against his lips. "greedy," you taunted, pulling away, letting yourself lean into his warm side.

"got no idea, sugar," he admitted, voice twinged with a day of speaking. you walked together to the high school ice skating rink, only a few minutes away, the brisk february air biting at your nose, your ears. you caught up on the morning, what book you had finished, how annoying ginger's husband was being about the state of his rain gutters.

when you entered the rink, finally, pushing forward the old doors, you couldn't help but smile, and trevor couldn't help but watch you.

everyone was here, of course they were. balloons hung from the top of the glass, streamers decorating every archway and spare inch. a massive table of themed refreshments was just next to the bleachers.

it looked like something out a ninety's film, mixed with the unique small town charm and wintery love you had come to know so personally.

you and trevor quickly got your skates on, all lingering touches and knowing smiles, and headed for the ice.

you were shaky at first, but his hands were so tight on yours, you knew there wasn't a chance he would let you fall. he spun you around the rink easily, twirling you like a ballroom dance floor, ever the show-off, anything to make you laugh.

"hey, harry!" you called out, at one point, noticing your host-friend helping a taller, skinner kid his age onto the ice. he waved, his eyes glittery in a way you recognized. is that jason? you mouthed. harry nodded, smiled shyly. you gave him an impressed thumbs up, trevor whistled.

you asked trevor how he got into hockey, watched how his mind waltzed behind his eyes when he talked about outdoor rinks with his friends in elementary school, how even piled-on scarves and hats and puffer jackets didn't stop that flying feeling.

significance would gather in your stomach, butterflies morphing into something much more serious, the kind of flame you'd find in a living room fireplace, in the hearts of teenage lovers.

you skated by cole, scooping up the snow he had made with quick starts and stops, and alex, whose neck was becoming the new home of said snow.

alex grunted, immediately breaking into stride to catch a fleeing cole, whose bright and clear laugh echoed under the roof like church bells.

the fire and police departments had started a relay race, ginger and her girls had formed a circle close to the hot chocolate.

old man peters held his sleeping granddaughter in his lap, bouncing his knee gently, both of their smiles blissful.

trevor's hand found your far hip, pulling you into his warm side. you sighed, looked up at him as you let your fingers trace along his jaw.

"touchy today, sugar, hm?" he said into your hair, a rumble to his tone that told you he liked it.

you hummed, nodded. "you just look so..." you trailed off, in thought, thinking about what, exactly, you meant to say. he looked what? practically edible? like an ocean you wanted to drown in?

how could you tell him you'd been avoiding looking at his hands, for fear you'd blurt something out about wanting them around your neck?

you just swallowed, cleared your throat. his smirk was a flash of teeth.

"you feelin' okay?" he cooed. "should i take you home?"

you found yourself nodding, even though you hadn't been at the rink for long.

"yeah?" he mocked, taunting, his hand on your hip suddenly firm, burning.

bridget's laugh cut through the sizzling air like a stream of cold hose water. you both turned to look at where she now sat, having obviously fallen onto the ice. she peered up at matt through her blonde bangs. "some teacher you are," she laughed, "i knew trev was the right choice for my girl's lessons."

matt shook his head, a barely-there smile on his thin lips. he offered her a hand, steadily helped her to her feet, an almost undetectable shake in his breathing as bridget grabbed onto his forearm for extra stability. "alright, smart ass," he mused, "no help for you, then."

he made to drop her hands, to leave her on her own, but she latched onto him tighter. "yeah right," she said, "you're not going anywhere, sweet boy."

cole's laugh sparkled at matt's flush.

you and trevor were already on the way out, bidding your short goodbyes, half-assed excuses about not feeling well given and taken with knowing eye-rolls.

he walked you back to the inn, up the stairs, his hands on you ever-so-distracting, his voice a careless rasp, your heart beating heavy in your chest.

you finally made it to your closed door, your back against it as he looked down at you with that heated gaze, his frame boxing you in.

"well, get some rest, sugar," he said, slowly, smiling. "since you're not feeling well." he twirled a strand of your hair around a finger.

you sputtered. "what? trevor-"

his eyes widened in mock-surprise. "oh, is there something you want?" he asked.

you clutched at his shirt with your fist, pulled. "please."

"please, what, sugar?" he asked, so smug you wanted to punch him. "gotta tell me what you want, hm?"

"you," you whined, but that wasn't enough.

"oh, is that it?" he drawled, ducking his head down to you, so close, but not close enough, not even a little.

you worked your jaw, so frustrated. "just," you tried, "just please, touch me, trevor, i just wanna feel you."

he smiled, held the side of your face in his palm. "am touchin' you, sugar," he said, "tellin' me this isn't enough?"

you ran your tongue along the inside of your cheek, groaned at his feigned confusion. "shut up," you breathed, his mouth an inch from yours.

"make me," he bit back, and then you were kissing him. you swore your lips would be charred, later, as if in proof. you reached a hand behind you, twisted open your door, while the other rooted in his hair, tugged him inside your room as he moaned against your lips.

one of his hands grasped the back of your neck, the other a bruising grip in your side, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees felt the blunt edge of the bed.

you barely registered as he reached under you, flipped you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips as he sat down on the comforter, far too caught up in this kiss, somehow still so different from ones you has shared before. so charged you felt the air might combust at any second, that, despite his relentless repairs, there was no way this inn could withstand the way he was kissing you, now. surely, the roof would cave in under the weight of your want, water would sear straight through the pressurized pipes.

he smiled against your mouth when you started to rock your hips back and forth across his lap, just so desperate for something, anything.

your exhales came out short, little pants as you reveled in the little friction you were getting against his firm thigh, covered in his heavy work pants, nothing close to what you really wanted, but something, at least.

mercifully, he moved your clothes aside, rocked you more forcefully, making the sensation practically blissful. you dropped your heavy head to his neck, moaned into it.

"oh, sugar," he cooed, and you squeezed your eyes shut. "so greedy for it, hm?"

you nodded into his neck, the tough texture combined with the heavy weight of his thigh catching you in just the right spot, urging a whimper from your throat.

"makin' a mess of me, yeah? could cum just from my thigh?" he said, almost like he felt sorry for you, but you could hear the smile in his voice. you bit down gently on the space between his neck and shoulder, your small retaliation, smiled at his groan.

you slowed your rhythm, picked your head up, let your chest rise and fall as you looked at him in the face, searched his eyes.

his face was slightly flushed, his eyes only just a bit glassy, but he looked at you like you were a wonder, like some divine power had made her way into his lap.

you pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, loved the way you could feel his smile crinkle and widen under your lips.

"please, trevor," you whispered, your touch so soft around his neck. "please just give me what i want."

you shifted on his lap until you felt him, hard and hot and heavy underneath you. his voice came out with a strain. "anything, sugar," he told you, "just tell me."

you lifted your hips up, could feel how wet you were, could tell you had probably left a trace of yourself on his pants. "wanna cum on your cock, trevor," you breathed, couldn't help your sly grin when he immediately began to tug his clothes aside. "please, please let me. i know i'm so greedy-"

he was nodding like he understood as he angled your hips up higher, shifted you so that you sat right above him as he pumped himself up and down, once, twice, so obviously ready for you. "you are, sugar," he said, so eager it almost sounded like a whine, "but i'll give you anything you want, swear it." his hands found your hips. "just promise you'll only be greedy for me, hm?"

you sank down onto him with a nodded promise, bit your lip at the slow, scorching pressure, the pleasant stretch that pulled at your middle, that you felt in your toes. you blinked, trying to get used to the sensation, trying to muffle the groan in your mouth.

"fuck," he moaned, his fingers clutching at the flesh of your hips like you might float away if he let go, "all the way, sugar, 'atta girl." you huffed a short breath when he was all the way in.

words felt far away, suspended in bubbles that whirled around your head.

"speechless, eh?" he teased, and you had a sense of deja vu. "don't worry, sugar. common re-"

and you could have growled at him for alluding to the fact that other girls had felt this, that there were other people in the world who knew what this felt like, so you fitted a delicate hand over his mouth and rolled your hips up and back on him until he was the speechless one, moans falling from his mouth, his brow pinched in pleasure.

"don't worry," you breathed, your mouth an inch from his ear. "common reaction."

you began to move your hips up and down faster as the stretch gave way to something dizzyingly good, as he began to thrust back up into you. so hard and fast, but he held you like something precious. his rhythm built until your mouth fell open, until sweat shone on the high points of his face, until time melted away, until you were reminded of what you'd mistaken him for when you'd first seen him, all that time ago - some ancient sculpture. a work of art.

he cursed as your clit caught on his pubic bone, the friction so overwhelming, and you clenched down on him. "give it to me, sugar," he said, but the strain in his voice made it sound like a plea. "fuck, let me hear you, yeah?" his tone grew gentle. "been wantin' to hear you for so long."

you tightened around him further at his small admission, let your nails rake down his neck, probably a little too hard. he grunted, thrusted harder, shifted you closer to him.

you moaned his name at the new angle, one you felt in the tips of your ears, your hairline, your tongue.

you were so close, so impossibly almost there. "please make me cum," you whined, "please, need you so bad." your exhale was practically pained as you ran your fingers over the red marks on his neck your nails had left. "don't i deserve it, baby?"

he grunted, and it was different. you felt his stomach and thighs clench, his hips sputter as his head spun with the fact that you'd gone right to begging him, skipped the asking part. he pressed his hand to your lower stomach, let his thumb catch against your clit, sending you over the edge in moments. "'course you deserve it, sugar," he rasped, gravelly, in your ear as you rode out your high, his thrusts growing wild. "been so good."

you clenched down on him, forcing his own orgasm, fast and all-consuming, the smell of him everywhere, mixed with your perfume. your exhales were warm and heavy, transparent clouds that settled on the floor of your room, making it every bit the dreamland it had become in your mind.

he held you so close to him as he pulled you to his chest, leaned you both back on your bed. you stared up at the ceiling.

about time, one of the tiles whispered, holding a crisp fiver.

couldn't have waited another week? the losing tile muttered bitterly.

you smiled as his rough hand found your face, tilted it towards him. he was smiling. your stomach fluttered as you felt your own mouth pull wider.

"what?" he asked, his voice rough, drowsy with use.

you shook your head. "nothing," you said, "just you." your eyes crinkled under the weight of your happiness. "i'm callin' dibs on you."

his eyes lit up as he pulled you in for another kiss, slow and overflowing with meaning. he hummed. "butterscotch," he whispered against your mouth. "my favorite."

fin.

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alastrrz · 2 months

Note

headcannons for getting drunk with tgc?

like how high their tolerance to alcohol is,

what they usually have,

and stuff similar?

ignore my 'ideas' if you dont wanna do them <3

🫧 anon

absolutely!! i love making hcs like this (i also won't be including larry bc he isn't of legal age to drink :P)

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ﾟ。 drunk ; tgc boys

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre/type: fluff/humor, headcanons

read below!

ISAAC;

absolute unbeatable tolerance. insane tolerance. dude can take 6 shots of everclear and still walk a straight line.

you've only seen isaac blackout ONCE, and it was complete accident. you hadn't seen isaac drinking that much, but he was actually borderline drunk. he asked you in a pretty sober sounding voice, "how many drinks have i had? should i stop?" you say, "i've only seen you take like 2 shots. drink some more!"

horrible move. he blacked out and also woke up with the world's worst hangover.

ever since then though, his tolerance, like i said, is rock solid.

he likes the classic drinks, so i'd say he likes a good screwdriver.

super clingy and COCKY when he's drunk.

drowning you in kisses and hugs, and he goes, "babe, i'm soooo hot. i'm soooo hot and sexy.."

"sure you are."

your two options are to kill his ego or boost it, but it kills you too much to deflate his ego.

"how cocky was i last night?"

"yeah."

TANNER;

moderately normal tolerance, maybe a TINY bit lower than the average person in their mid-20's.

like, if we're measuring in shots of vodka again, like 4 1/2 shots he'd be gone. not black out gone, but "i'm gonna talk about every celebrity i could probably pull" gone.

he's such a YAPPER when he's drunk dude.

will probably do the trend of writing fake band names to try and make you laugh

he's dancing around to loud ass music in the kitchen, invites you to dance with him, he immediately starts shoving himself against you

he won't shut up about how much he loves you

he's definitely got his head in your lap and he's making you play with his hair and listen to him talk

however you have to stop him talking at a certain point, because he'll just start having a crisis and making himself sad.

he's never blacked out, but he has terrible hangovers.

favorite drink? he strikes me as a daiquiri kinda guy. he'd love them.

but if it's more casual drinking at home, he's happy with some soju.

NICK;

literally AVERAGE tolerance.

about 2-3 shots of vodka has him tipsy, 4-6 has him drunk, and don't give him more than 8, he might start drunkenly making an album.

he's not a clear liquor guy, he prefers browns like brandy or scotch.

there is almost ALWAYS a bottle of whiskey in the fridge for nick, he never runs out.

he drinks regularly, but he doesn't HEAVILY drink on those nights.

he's super sleepy when he's drunk. he could literally fall asleep anywhere if given the opportunity

he could be laying on the floor to "stretch his back" he's asleep 10 minutes later

you have to carry this dude to bed (and if you can't do it alone, isaac helps you)

like i said he prefers drinking brown liquors, so i think he'd maybe like a tequila sunrise or just straight whiskey

BLAKE;

"i have a ROCK SOLID tolerance!" dead in 3 shots. don't listen to him lie to you

every time you and the guys go out for dinner at like chilis or something, blake orders a margarita and everyone sighs in unison

the margarita gets him on the verge of drunk. just a little past tipsy.

he can HARDLY casually drink with anyone because his tolerance is just THAT bad

you constantly pick at him for it but he's just accepted it at this point

he's so SILLY when he's drunk man

cracking jokes that do NOT land at all and are not funny unless he's talking to a bunch of drunk people

"so the.. uh.. what? yeah.. uh.."

he suddenly forgets english

he can barely formulate a SINGLE sentence and he's basically speaking in mumbles

he's like speaking in fancy or speaking in riddles like a troll under the bridge or some shit

you have to baby him while he's drunk or he won't know what the hell is going on

i think he honestly.. just likes whatever he can get his hands on.

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strawbby-shortcake · 3 months

Text

✯ Showing Fight Club Characters Memes ✯[all gn! reader]

❀ Marla ❀ You and Marla were sitting inside the laundry mat waiting for some careless person to leave their clothes behind. The two of you rarely hung out or spoke, but when you did, it was to steal jeans and sell them. Marla used the money for cigarettes and you used it for snacks. It was sort of like "bonding time" between you and her. Not that Marla would admit that- or you.

She was getting restless waiting, and she didn't have any cigarettes on her, so she needed a distraction.

"Hey, show me something funny," Marla said, resting her head on your shoulder.

You glanced at her messy hairdo and chuckled.

"Sure," you replied.

You got out your phone and starting scrolling through your gallery. A meme that you made of Jack sleeping popped up. Marla's eyes widened and she started to laugh. She laughed for a while until she had a coughing fit.

"Maybe you should quit smoking," murmured.

"Over my dead body."

✭ Jack ✭

Jack was dozing off in his office cubicle, as usual. You were his co-worker and thought he could use a funny photo to look at while attempting to stay awake.

"Excuse me?" you whispered, gently nudging him.

"Wha-! Huh?" Jack jerked awake and looked around frantically.

"Woah, take it easy. It's just me."

Jack looked at you wearily and rolled his eyes. He was always in such a terrible mood. To be honest, he looked like he hadn't slept at all. Maybe that's why he's irritable.

You showed him a cat meme on your phone, "Here, I thought you could use a nice laugh today!"

He stared at the photo blankly, but didn't give you a response.

"Uhm... okay then, see you tomorrow," you said, quickly exiting his area.

✦ Robert "Bob" Paulson ✦ It was another full house at the testicular cancer support groups. You didn't understand why you were there. Maybe you were curious. A big man with an even bigger chest made his way towards you. His name tag said "BOB" in bold letters.

As soon as he got within two feet of you, he enveloped you in a bear hug. He smelled oddly of a mixture of sweat, perfume, and wood. You were being crushed, but patted him on the back since he was sobbing. Maybe because of his testicular cancer, or he got it removed. Either way, he was in dire need of cheering up.

"Hey, do you want to see something funny?" you asked.

Bob looked at you with teary eyes and nodded.

You showed him a meme from your gallery and he laughed slightly. You were about to put you phone away when he suddenly starting swiping from over your shoulder. Personal pictures, tax documents, the whole sha-bang. Bob saw it all. Did he care? Probably not. He just wanted to scroll.

⍟ Angel Face ⍟

You and Angel Face met at Lou's Tavern one evening. He was a simple-minded guy, seemed to be the highlight of everyone's night, and was easy-going. You two had run out of things to talk about, so you decided to show him a meme from your gallery.

"Oh, what's this?" he questioned.

"It's just a silly picture I saved."

He snatched your phone from your hands and looked at it closely. You tried to grab it back but he jumped away from you.

"What's your deal, man?" you fumed, "that's my phone."

"I'm just trying to get a better look at it!" Angel Face whined.

You sighed and shook your head, there was no use in trying to get it back at this point.

✴ Tyler Durden ✴

Tyler was working on his famous pink soap- the "yardstick of civilization," as he would call it. Lots of high end stores bought from him. He never told you the secret ingredient though.

He'd been silent for quite some time, only humming once in a while or whistling. You decided, like any good friend should, to interact with him and show him some memes.

"Tyler, hey man, wanna see something funny?" you asked.

You poked him in the shoulder a few times before he pushed your hand off.

He took his cigarette from his mouth and paused his soap making.

"What do you want?"

"I was trying to show you something, jerk face," you replied.

Tyler didn't even bothering looking up, he just continued to fiddle with glycerin. You guess that his reaction was to be suspected since he never really listened to you in the first place.

You sighed, "Whatever."

[END]

#funny #fight club fanfic #narrator fight club #fight club #jack fight club #tyler durden x reader #tyler durden #robert paulson #angel face #marla x reader #marla singer #meme #funny memes #lol #haha #so funny #they're having a whimsical time #this is canon now

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utilitycaster · 11 months

Text

I've gotten a couple replies of "and that's terrifying" on this post about the more stable members of Bells Hells, and, to be honest, hate that, so let's talk about it.

There's a couple reasons. The first that I still don't know who the fuck thought the Issylra half of the party split would be Team Levelheaded and not Team Abandonment Issues, because, well, it's the latter. The second is that there's been a near constant undercurrent from quite early in the campaign of "oh Orym...he's going to break...he's a powder keg" and while he's decidedly not a powder keg, we did get him finally breaking a bit, and suddenly everyone's like "HORRIFYING that the guy I kept claiming was uniquely angsty is now having a harder time with the party split than the other characters whose equally tragic backstories I've consistently ignored, diminished, and dismissed."

All three of the Bells Hells characters in Team Issylra have issues related to loneliness and being left behind, which is a common thread through the party, but notably, Fearne, FCG, and Chetney being more stable should not be surprising nor scary. Resilience isn't tied to whether or not you're somewhat chaotic, or have mechanically-induced loss of control, and that's what we're talking about here. The reason why Team Issylra is having a rough time of it - and specifically why Laudna and Orym are falling apart whereas Ashton is doing comparatively well - is because they've been constantly pretending things are okay. Chetney, meanwhile, genuinely does think the worst thing that happened to him fucking rules, and has the age and perspective and sheer survival instincts to pull through; FCG has, within the story, had to face some horrifying realizations about himself and so has some tools for this kind of situation; and Fearne is to be honest still learning that consequences are a thing that happens, but she has dealt with a few profound disappointments and is sitting with them - she openly admitted she's not terribly impressed by her parents.

On the other hand, I think Orym has worked through the earlier stages of grief, to be sure, but he's put a brave face on over it and tried to look at the bright side. Which isn't the worst idea, but it means when the things he's built that idea of a bright side upon - Keyleth's infallibility, his relationships within the Crown Keepers - are nowhere to be found, he doesn't have anything to take hold of. He adjusted to one devastating change by clinging to the constants, and now that many of the constants are gone too, he has no mechanism to process the change in their absence.

And this is Laudna's whole deal, right? I do in fact agree that her initial death was still the worst thing that's happened to her so far, but that doesn't mean she can't still be incredibly upset by major events. It's comforting to know you've survived worse, but it doesn't necessarily help you actually get through a slightly less terrible (but still pretty terrible) situation. She says she can't stop compartmentalizing or she'll cry - but like, she'd probably feel better if she'd just spent the second watch crying. Like Orym, Laudna's developed this idea that she can will things into being okay, and in the end, she can't. Leaning into the "Today SUCKS" attitude would, honestly, help her, and I'm hoping she does so.

Ashton meanwhile doesn't have healthy coping mechanisms, but they do have coping mechanisms that work in this situation (namely, drinking and hitting things). He also, more importantly, has no investment in pretending things are okay. Ashton thinks the world is full of utter bullshit that will fuck you over, and the point is to get through it, and sure, it's a very cynical mindset, but there's a reason why toxic positivity is, well, toxic.

As a sidebar, I also think that Ashton has, fascinatingly and despite their drunken talk with Laudna on the skyship, put their abandonment issues into perspective. Ashton is able to handle the current situation because, logically, they were teleported to a random location beyond their control and with no capacity to contact other people, so it's reasonable to assume the other half of the party is in the same position. No one abandoned anyone. To quote Ashton themself, actually, from episode 25, "Sometimes shit's just fucked up, and the only thing you can do because you didn't do anything fucking wrong, is get the fuck back up and do the exact same thing all over again knowing that there was nothing to learn." On the other hand, the fact that Milo saved Ashton makes that particular situation worse. If Ashton had been left to die in the street and a random uninvolved stranger picked him up? Then you can at least imagine the Nobodies had to leave, or couldn't pick them up for whatever reason, or even perished themselves. The fact that Milo was able to make this choice means the Nobodies also had the ability to make a choice, and the choice was to leave them behind, and that's what stings, and that's the unique loneliness, and that's why this situation isn't comparable.

So anyway, in summary, it's unsurprising the two people who have handled grief and tragedy by trying to quietly (in Orym's case) and not-so-quietly (in Laudna's) smooth it over are finding themselves completely unable to do so and barely holding together, whereas the people who allow themselves to be upset or, frankly, just go apeshit, are doing much better.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #bells hells #Ashton (and Deni$e) are honestly reminding me of the Yasha pit fight in C2 rn #like was that a healthy coping mechanism no but Yasha honestly did feel much better after it and her recovery trajectory went up from there #and ashton has the other dimension of like. he has chronic pain. it's unfair and serves no purpose. shit happens.#it's very they should invent a way out that isn't through but unfortunately they didn't so fuck it i'm smashing the wall #i mean barbarian rage as catharsis isn't a new idea by any stretch but. the thing about a reckless attack is it feels good as hell

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whydon-twego · 10 months

Text

Morgana probably hates him. Or she hates his own plants, he doesn't know which statement is more correct.

"Morgana, do you remember what happened to the cactus you gave me for my birthday?"

Morgana simply shrugs her shoulders.

"I trust that being my plants and with a promise to kill you if they are not all nice and alive when I get back, they will be in good hands."

"You really have no one else to ask?"

Morgana snorts at that point.

"The only person I can trust is Gwen and as you well know Gwen will be leaving with me. It's only two weeks, I trust you'll be able to keep my orchids from dying in such a short time."

Arthur is not at all convinced and, barely five days into Gwen and his sister's honeymoon, he hates himself for always being so damn right.

His sister is going to kill him. *** Gwen, sweet little Gwen who, despite being on her honeymoon, answers him immediately, passes him a YouTube channel about plants and nature in general.

Arthur, looking at the half-wilted orchid in the window, doesn't know if it will be enough, but he has to at least try. *** Merlin (that's the name the guy uses on his channel MerlinLikeTheWizard) has quite a following on YouTube and has a lot of videos, even a few minutes long, explaining how to solve tricky situations.

The orchid with some difficulty recovers, Morgana's roses no longer seem to be on the brink of extinction and Arthur owes his life to a stranger on the internet.

A stranger with sparkling blue eyes, a disarming smile and huge ears.

Arthur may have a small and insignificant crush on him. ***

The plants have returned to Morgana and Gwen's house safe and sound (Arthur hugged Gwen a little harder than necessary, thanking her for saving his life) and Arthur is thinking if perhaps, now that he has a little more practice with plants, he can fulfil his dream of having a little corner of paradise on his over-empty balcony. He has always liked flowers, his mother had always liked flowers, but Arthur has always had the ability to kill every poor plant that has crossed his doorstep.

Maybe now is the right time. ***

"Merlin!"

Arthur didn't want to shout it in the middle of the street, he didn't want to shout it in the face of the stranger who is now looking at him with an alarmed face because -God!- they don't know each other and Arthur looks like a bloody stalker. But when was he ever going to meet his celebrity crush by pure chance in the middle of the streets of London?

Merlin looks at him a little confused but raises a hand in greeting and Arthur takes courage and gets a little closer to him. What do you say to someone you obsessively follow for advice and because their laughter brightens your day?

"You have the biggest ears in the world"

Morgana is terribly right, he must have some kind of mental affliction, there is no other explanation.

Merlin wrinkles his eyebrows and opens his mouth to reply but Arthur stops him by talking over him.

"That wasn't what I meant at all. I- sorry, no, I just wanted to- Thank you for saving my life."

At that, Merlin raises his eyebrows and Arthur finds himself thinking about how expressive the human face can be without having to say anything.

"Yeah, I mean, that's..." Arthur covers his face with his hands for a moment and thinks about what a mess he's making "I swear I don't usually suck this bad at first impressions" Arthur sighs "I kept my sister's plants and you should know that I have the ability to make a cactus die within 48 hours, so I was desperate because my sister threatened me with death about her precious orchid and his wife sent me the link to your channel and, I mean, I'm still alive so thanks"

Merlin spends a few seconds staring at him and Arthur feels incredibly stupid, then Merlin bursts out laughing and Arthur thinks he has an even better laugh heard live.

And what else could Arthur say now? He's at a loss for words and his throat is suddenly dry and would it be too weird to ask for an autograph or a photo together? Is this something people do with YouTubers? He honestly doesn't even have the courage to ask.

Merlin is smiling now, looking at him, and Arthur is stumbling over what to say. God, this is humiliating. We'd better end this quickly.

"Well, yeah, that's it… so thank you."

He turns to put as much distance as possible between himself and that embarrassing figure he will never tell anyone about, but a voice stops him.

"I think you owe me a coffee."

Arthur turns towards that voice he has come to know behind a microphone but which has a much stronger accent in person. He turns and watches Merlin look at him.

"What?"

"I saved your life you said. The least you could do to repay me would be to buy me a coffee."

Arthur looks at him for a few seconds and can't believe his ears.

"Sure!" he says quickly, extending a hand "I'm Arthur by the way"

"Nice to meet you Arthur, I suppose you already know my name"

Arthur looks at him sceptically.

"You mean to tell me that your name is really Merlin? Really?"

Merlin smiles and turns to point at the first Costa they find on the road.

"Like the Wizard" *** Merlin watches Arthur talk about how he has succeeded in creating a small corner of the garden on his balcony, how his eyes light up genuinely happy that he has succeeded in something he thought impossible, observes how he gesticulates animatedly and how he responds in a decidedly snobbish manner when something doesn't suit him.

Merlin watches Arthur and there is something about him that makes him say without a second thought "I'll come and have a look at your garden and we could work on it together"

Merlin observes how Arthur looks at him gratefully and how the coffee they were to have together becomes lunch and how Arthur manages to respond to his sarcasm with more sarcasm.

Merlin will have to buy Gaius dinner for convincing him to open that YouTube channel, months and months ago.

#merthur #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur prompt #merlin prompt #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #morgwen #merlin fanfic #merthur fanfic #merlin fandom #emrys #my writing #merlin #YouTuber Merlin #Fan Arthur Pendragon

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bonkwosher · 1 year

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Gus Fring Jealousy/Possessiveness Headcanons

A/N: Aka Gus dealing with assholes that flirt with you. I'm so absolutely down bad for Gus it's insane. Also, x male reader bc Gus is gayyyyyy.

Contains: Implied age gap relationship, possessiveness, creepy man (Not Gus), jerk, LYLE CONTENT

Pairing(s): Gustavo "Gus" Fring x Reader

I would say let's take it on a "how long have you been dating" basis but Gus is possessive from day one, maybe even before that. He doesn't often have the opportunity to feel jealous, he's much older than you so you two don't really go to parties or clubs. He keeps you in his proximity as often as possible & that wards most off.

He had even gone out & bought you a necklace with his name on it, if he's feeling particularly moody & you aren't wearing it he'll point that out. If you forget to put it on when getting dressed up for a dinner he'll come up behind you & slowly put it on you, looking into your eyes through the mirror that stood in front of you.

Speaking of fancy dinners, that was the first time Gus got jealous. It was your second date & he had invited you to an elegant restaurant. You looked out of place even while wearing a suit. Gus walked briskly up to you & offered you his hand, leading you back to his table. You were a blushing mess.

Everything was fine until a drink appeared at your table, your favorite drink. You noted that & thanked the waiter before they said, "The gentleman over there ordered this for you." Gus looked up to see a man practically drooling over you from the bar. His smile dropped, only returning when you held eye contact with him.

"That's so nice of them, hey, free drink!" You chuckled. 'You're gullible' Gus thought to himself. Thinking the man wanted nothing more than to be nice. He felt his fists clenching, now under the table to hide his anger. Yeah, maybe Gus needs a little longer to process his feelings for you but that doesn't mean someone can waltz in, buy you a drink, & whisk you away before he knows what he wants. On the inside he loves you, he'll deny it because memories of Max will come up, but his heart knows. He tells himself the root of his possessiveness is that he wants to get to know you without other influences.

"What would you like off the menu?" he asked, quickly trying to change the subject. Gus sat in silence as he read through the menu, you pointing out all the things that sounded good. Finally, you found something. The only problem, it was terribly expensive. Your voice went high, "Oh- um, I don't think I'm hungry."

Gus placed his menu on the table, "What do you mean?" You closed the menu & sat back, arms crossed. "I insist that you get something to eat, Y/N. You do know this is my treat right?"

"Are you sure?' You feel almost bad that this man is offering to pay so much for you to eat. "Absolutely. Plus, if some sleazy bar-goer can buy you your favorite drink I have to top that somehow." You pointed out the item on the menu quietly. "Oh! Very good choice," Gus chimed before returning to his own menu.

You guys had a long period of peace right up until you were about to finish your food. The man from the bar had come up to your table, probably a bit buzzed. "Hey there, handsome. I'm about to go but I wanted to get your number." You froze, beginning to stammer out a response. Gus set his utensils down on his plate & wiped his hands on his napkin as you continued to babble. He stood up & faced the man, yeah he was shorter & probably less built, but his cold stare was deadly.

"You should get home before you embarrass yourself any further," Gus spoke, looking directly into the man's eyes. The man felt a shiver but persisted, ignoring Gus, "I have to admit, from the bar you looked amazing but now that I am up close... you are breathtaking." Gus places a firm grip on the man's forearm, forcing your admirer to turn to him. "What is your problem man?" Made Gus' grip tighten, the man let out an "Ow!"

"What do you think you are getting at here, can't you see that he & I are here together? On top of that, he is clearly uninterested! Buying a drink for someone & giving them a rapey look from across the room, get some class! Hitting on a taken man? Clearly, you lack the spine to even close on a relationship so you have to attempt to destroy other's love. I gave you your chance to leave. Take. It. Now."

The man ripped his arm from Gus & put his hands up in surrender before running off. Gus sighed & fixed his coat before sitting back down, "So, are you hungry for dessert?"

Bonus bc I'm amazing /j:

As much as it worried Gus, especially after Hector & Lalo frequented his restaurant, you would visit him sometimes at work. Of course, he didn't voice his concerns because he wanted to wait as long as possible to tell you about his real work, if ever. To attempt to make you stop visiting, he would ignore you as much as he could, using the excuse, "I'm sorry Y/N, I have a lot of work to do."

You would chat with Lyle, getting free food & sitting at the booth with the best view. On breaks, Lyle would sit with you & talk about random things or whatever you wanted to talk about. Surprisingly enough, Lyle didn't worry Gus. You would absentmindedly play with your necklace that had his name on it & Lyle must've gotten the hint at that point.

It wasn't until Lyle's friends showed up to check out his work & the quote "food that's to die for." Lyle's two friends sat with you him once they got their food, a man named Jake took the spot next to you. He said something stupid that made you laugh really hard. At that moment, without anyone noticing, a camera stopped while facing your booth. Gus was watching.

The four of you spoke & you kept laughing. Laughing so much your cheeks & core hurt. Normally, Gus would be swooning, mentally remarking that you were the light of his life. Though knowing it wasn't him that was making you happy struck a cord. It didn't help that the man was your age, your age gap being something that made Gus feel guilty.

As you were telling a story to the boys, a cup was placed in front of you. Your favorite drink. Gus took note of it from your second date, trying to take something good out of that encounter. You looked up to see him with his customer service smile & thanked him. You could tell he was about to ask if the food was good.

"Hey asshole, can't you tell we're talking here? Get me a coke while you're out here giving everyone drinks," Jake took Gus' interjection as a rude interruption, arguably going too far. "Jake, he was just being nice. Why are you so-"

"It doesn't matter, Y/N. This guy is some minimum-wage loser that interrupted my conversation with you. He gets paid to make chicken & serve decent members of society like me!" You couldn't help but smirk to stop yourself from outright laughing in his face. Lyle buried his head in his hands, regretting associating with someone like this (Not like Lyle knew, he's best boy).

You looked back up to Gus who now had his cold, soulless stare. You made eye contact with Jake, "That is my boyfriend, the owner of this whole franchise. Decent member of society my ass." The shock on his face from your statement doubled when Gus grabbed him & dragged him out of the restaurant, throwing him outside.

"Do not show your face in a Los Pollos Hermanos ever again," he spoke before wiping his hands together. He turned to you & grabbed your arm, pulling you into his office. You gave him a big hug, but the fact that he didn't hug back scared you a little. You quietly apologized, "I didn't know he was like that. From the looks of it, Lyle didn't know either."

Gus pulled away & brought his hand to your necklace, staring at it silently while brushing his thumb over the lettering. "Gus, I hope you don't think I was into the guy. I love you, only you."

He looked up at you wordlessly before looking back at the necklace. His mind was churning, fighting back every urge to manipulate you into never talking to another man ever again. He promised himself he'd never hurt you but watching you naively satiate every man's need for your attention drove him mad. His intentions weren't to freak you out with silence, rather to protect from the words he could say.

He knew how to stop himself & you from talking. You rambled on about how you were sorry, "Gus, I promise I didn't mean to-"

"Be quiet." Gus gripped the necklace tightly & pulled you forward into a kiss. You were shocked by how this turned around but can't say you were complaining, you thought just a second ago that Gus was going to break up with you.

It was far, far from that.

#gus fring #gustavo fring x reader #gustavo fring #gus fring x reader #giancarlo #giancarlo esposito #breaking bad #better call saul #male reader #brbabcs #brba fic #silly little gay drug lord

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pluckyredhead · 10 months

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Red Hood and the Outlaws #1 (2011)

It's been a while since I've read RHATO, so I figured I'd reread it - and if I'm doing that, why not make you all suffer with me? I will probably get tired of this before I finish all the various series, but let's see how far we get.

Roy, that would probably work better if your bow had a string.

The issue begins with Roy in a prison in Qurac for trying to overthrow a dictator. He's rescued by Jason, in disguise as a pastor in a fat suit (sigh). There's so much wrong with these opening pages: the fat suit, the writing off an entire Middle Eastern nation as evil and corrupt, the fact that there's no way even a collapsed bow would fit inside a hollowed-out bible, the lazy way the panel layouts waste space...and yet. And yet.

These pages. THESE FUCKING PAGES. "His name is Roy Harper. He's an idiot. Nice guy, but an idiot." "His name is Jason Todd. A lot of people say he's crazy...Let's just say the Red Hood is my kind of crazy!"

This kind of parallel narration always makes me think of the 2003 Superman/Batman comic, which used it extensively, to extremely (and likely unintentionally?) homoerotic effect. After I read this issue, I told a friend that I got it now: Red Hood and the Outlaws was Superman/Batman for edgelords.

Which is to say, I'm pretty sure I started shipping these assholes just from these first terrible pages.

(But seriously, there are three pages up there and only five panels. Five panels! Plus some pointless maroon boxes that don't do anything! I want my money back.)

This panel is super misleading, because it implies that Roy and Jason know each other well enough for Jason to tease Roy about being a chatterbox, but later issues will show that barely know each other at this point. But then, trying to keep the backstories straight in this or any Lobdell book is like watching sand run out between your fingers.

And again here, it implies that they were already friends, a team, partners...something. But later we'll learn that they only met once, and it was years ago, when they were kids, so...what gives?

(This page is actually interesting, because Jason is constantly saying playfully mean things to Roy and Roy never seems to mind, but here he clearly hurts Roy, and he knows it.)

Siiiiigh.

To add insult to injury, Jason immediately announces that he's fucked Kori. You'll notice I aggressively ignore this in every fic I've ever written. Part of that is because I love Secret Virgin Jason, but also it just doesn't mesh with his and Kori's relationship throughout the rest of the series or his hilarious lack of game in general, and it's also so inextricably part of Amnesiac Sex Doll Kori that I just want nothing to do with it.

HATE. HAAAAAATE. The devious smile on Jason's face in the bottom row and Roy's calculating expression are so deeply disgusting to me. "This woman can't meaningly consent! She's like a cave fish with a vagina! Sweet!" Scott Lobdell is a vile human being and so is everyone who signed off on this piece of shit. (Fun fact: this was a HUGE controversy when the New 52 launched and the outcry was so loud they walked it back in a later issue when Kori tells Roy she...just lied about all of that for no reason? Okay.)

Also, "ask her about the gang you used to hang with." Uh...what gang is that, Jason? Because Donna didn't exist at this point, Wally was 12, Garth was a literal baby, Vic joined the League immediately upon getting his powers, and Gar was a child being tortured in a lab somewhere. So was it just Roy, Dick, and Raven? And they certainly weren't the Titans, because Tim's team was the founders in this continuity...which Lobdell should have known, since he was also writing that book.

The person asking to speak to Jason is Essence, his ex, who tells him something cryptic about murder victims with missing organs.

YOU DON'T KNOW MOST OF THOSE PEOPLE EITHER, ROY!!! "Remember Garth? The baby?" (Literally, he is a baby who shows up for one panel. In Atlantis.) And who the fuck is Dustin?

Anyway, Kori propositions Roy and he's like "Sure, why not." Did the target audience actually think this was hot? It's so depressing.

Essence tells Jason that something called the Untitled has attacked something called the All Caste, and Jason makes a surprised Pikachu face.

Elsewhere, a guy in a basement looks at a picture of Kori online.

I will admit to liking two things about this page: the fact that Jason's helmet is in the nightstand implies that Roy and Kori fucked in Jason's bed, which is either hilariously rude or an invitation that sailed right over Jason's head, and the red hand print on Roy's chest. It's the first glimpse of a recognizable Roy in this book; he did always like getting manhandled by scarily powerful women, pre-Flashpoint.

Jason goes...somewhere, to a temple of sorts with a lot of vague cultural appropriation going on, and kneels over the corpse of an old lady. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you, Ducra," he says, before a bunch of people attack him. END OF ISSUE!

And that's Red Hood and the Outlaws #1! It's confusing, misogynistic, lazily drawn, and not very funny, and there's no reason to be invested in whatever the fuck happened at the end because I know nothing about Ducra, Essence, the All Caste, or frankly, this version of Jason. And yet I am absolutely going to read nine more years' worth of this shit. See you in issue #2!

#rhato reread #red hood and the outlaws #jason todd #red hood #roy harper #arsenal #starfire

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beardedmrbean · 2 months

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Quote: "We must teach Israel a lesson, and we will do it again and again. The Al-Aqsa Deluge [the name Hamas gave its 7 October onslaught - ed.] is just the first time, and there will be a second, a third, a fourth. Will we have to pay a price? Yes, and we are ready to pay it. We are called a nation of martyrs, and we are proud to sacrifice martyrs."

Point 1. incorrect not like they supply much of either anyhow

They do about half the electricity, which the other half should be fine for what is actually needed, not like there's any reason to keep on sending it there for the people that are trying to kill them or anything.

Maybe they should send some ammo too.

Point 2. bullshit, the IDF is a multicultural military with people of all stripes in it from Israeli Jews to Israeli Arabic Muslims, which will probably come in handy with the apartheid lie I assume will show up soon too. Jewish folks are the only group in Israel with male and female compulsory service, Arabs have no compulsory service they sign up all of their own accord.

Gonna be racists in any military, but filled is just going to be a really bad way to put it.

3. this covers churches and schools any civilian structure really

4 white phosphorous isn't illegal, also those images were from Syria when assad was using the stuff if they're the ones I'm thinking of.

5. bullshit, but if you have the stomach you could go ahead and see what hamass did on october 7 by clicking on this link, I strongly advise against it, it will likely make you sick to your stomach and haunt your dreams.

6. now you're just making things up

7. Every thing hamass has done starting with the attack on 10/7 has been a war crime, and before as well considering all the unguided rockets they send in without any concern where they land and if things are military targets or not.

Their idea is to sow terror and fear, thus that would be why the world considers them a terrorist organization.

As for the other list,

1.Bullshit, see point one about continuing and then maybe look up what they actually wanted in exchange

2. from 2014 even, just like the vox headline up there, so it's not like anyone can claim this is new information

Now then later on they'll remove the uniforms and put on civilian clothing, makes it easier for them to stand in the middle of a crowd of people and start shooting because some guy in fatigues is a dad giveaway that someone is gonna start shooting.

(that's another war crime btw) (So is taking civilian hostages, which has been established that they did)

3. They're trying to murder every single person in Israel, and then if they can manage that they'll expand and start hunting down every Jewish person across the globe, hamass has been quite clear about this and for some reason nobody wants to believe them.

If they just wanted to survive they'd stop trying to kill Israeli's at every opportunity.

You know like the ceasefire everyone was clamoring for that happened in November.

They have a incredibly terrible way of showing they just want to survive, if that were the case they wouldn't do this every fucking time they get a ceasefire.

Also see point one about doing 10/7 repeats for as long as they can.

#deer mageikan

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trojanteapot · 1 year

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Alrighty folks buckle up because I'm gonna rant

Just feel like some of you out here just don't really understand nuance? And it's like what was I expecting because it's social media nuance is dead.

Anyway so all three of you out there who follow me that aren't bots, or people that I know IRL, know that my favourite character in Infinity Train is Simon Laurent, the French incel bastard man. And yeah I know he's terrible but also I must ask the eternal question: Is he actually though??????

Hear me out. Because look I know dude is a murderer and a hypocrite and a whiny little bitch but also consider the facts:

he's a teenager

he got trapped on some nightmare train when he was only ten. TEN!

his denizen was THE CAT, who from his POV manipulated him and then abandoned him!

Now I know what some of you already saying at this point:

-"uh that doesn't justify all the murdering!!!" -"he's an egotistical jackass!" -"he's not a child he's 18! he would go to adult jail in real life!" -"he died in the narrative thus justifying my hatred!" Okay well consider this: it's pretty much canonical that Grace did exactly the same amount of murdering as Simon but y'all are so ready to embrace and forgive her because she had a change of heart?

And which one of you when you were 18 made completely rational not emotion-driven decisions based on pure facts and logic??? Which one of you are capable of doing this now????

And he didn't have a normal childhood to develop his brain in a normal way, again he boarded the Train at age ten!!!! And finally which one of you was a teenager who wasn't a little egotistical???

If Simon was egotistical then what does that make Grace, the leader of the Apex who made a throne for herself???? What does that make Amelia who rejected the Train's attempts to help her move on and instead tried to recreate her dead fiance to the point that there are just renegade failed clones of that person just running around????

Also, I feel like it's important to mention that Amelia probably did more crimes than both Grace and Simon combined but she just didn't get her face eaten by Ghoms just because she was an adult at the time and could outsmart the Train. You guys are willing to forgive her and all the stuff she did... as an ADULT, but not Simon, a teenager, because... reasons???!!!

And other stuff I feel like should be mentioned here:

I think it's important to consider why episode 4 of season 3, came right before episode 5, you know the one where he kills Tuba. Episode 4 was when we learn a ton of info about Simon. Notably that the Cat was his denizen and we all know how the Cat is!

I'm pretty sure we were supposed to draw several conclusions from that episode namely:

- Cat is a schemey little shit - he was a kid when he knew the Cat - he seems to claim she was fake and manipulating him - that seems believable from what we know of the cat - ep 5 hits, Tuba and Simon have heart to heart - Simon then kills Tuba

So why did Simon kill Tuba? IT'S BECAUSE SIMON THINKS TUBA IS MANIPULATING HIM LIKE THE CAT WAS

And my friend brought up a good point where if you think about it, the Train was using Tuba to manipulate him, and using Hazel to manipulate Grace.

The Train we've seen just runs on pure algorithms and doesn't give a shit about the passengers. The Train just sees them as a number that increases or decreases. It just calculated that if Hazel & Tuba met Grace & Simon then it would have the maximum likelihood that those denizen + passenger combos could get their numbers down the most efficiently. It of course did not account for the fact that the Cat went on vacation and then ran into Simon, thus reminding him to not trust denizens.

Simon had as much of a likelihood to do a change of heart like Grace did! But hey, spanner in the works and all that.

Some of you just like hating on him because he's a white guy and coded cishet and it really shows.

I'm sure y'all are gonna say I'm defending the patriarchy or whatever for defending cishet white guy colonizer man Simon Laurent as a queer femme POC but also fuck off with that bullshit and just look at the actual text of the narrative presented to us instead of reading bad takes on Twitter.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

#infinity train #simon laurent #grace monroe #samantha the cat #the cat infinity train #tuba infinity train #hazel infinity train #infinity train book 3 #rant #in defense of simon #im showing my whole ass i know #i am going to hell #and idgaf

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burningexeter · 1 month

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Since just like with a certain voice actress on a 2000s Cartoon Network show, there's not a lot of information on in this case writer/director Shane Acker, the man behind the dark, twisted, action-horror post-apocalyptic animated film 9 from you guessed it 2009.

So here's all the trivia that I could find on the guy if anyone's interested in reading for yourself:

• In an interview, Acker cut to the chase on why he hasn't directed a movie since aforementioned 2009 and here's what he said — "Have a lot of the movies I've been attached to as director fallen into development hell, yes. But the bigger reason is mainly personal, I've just been living my own life. I would absolutely love to direct another feature or anything really but at the same time, I'm enjoying what I already have in life. I'm kind of a schlub that way right down to the fact that I'd nowadays rather sit back on a nice Sunday, watch football and eat bacon and pepperoni pizza than deal with modern studio executives who probably get higher pay every time they yell and scream in your ear".

• He's already listed The Brothers Quay, Don Hertzfeldt, Jan Svankmajer and brothers Christoph Lauenstein as influences previously however recently he's named Terrence Malick, Edgar Wright, Gore Verbinski, Jordan Peele and Richard Kelly as some of his favorite filmmakers.

• Speaking of favorites, he's given some of his favorite movies — Donnie Darko, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Dredd, The Watcher In The Woods (1980) and The Chronicles Of Narnia: Prince Caspian (surprisingly).... then he gave some his favorite TV shows — Tales From The Crypt, Bob's Burgers, Squid Game, Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Sons Of Anarchy.

• When asked what was it like working with Tim Burton since he was producer, Acker spoke high praise saying "I would work with him again if the time comes. Tim was a phenomenal producer who allowed for so much creative freedom while at the same time contributing his unique voice and view to the project".

• On the flip side, here's what he thought of the other producer Timur Bekmambetov — "He was very, very, very, very, VERY fucking russian as all hell. I'm surprised he was a Hollywood producer..... he was quite the interesting person".

• He does indeed have an idea for a new project that he not only wants to do but intends on having it be his second film as director, describing it as "The Incredibles crossed with Raiders Of The Lost Ark, it's an animated action-adventure with edge we haven't seen since honestly the early 2010s. I'm still deciding on whether it should be another PG-13 or an actual R".

• On modern media, here's his blatant thoughts on it so tough shit to any dope who reads this and gets offended because of stupid reasons — "I think it's been awful. There's barely any genuine storytelling now and instead it's all politics. It's all about representation, obnoxious wokeness, pandering, subverting expectations and shoving as much modern bullshit themes into them than actually telling stories with characters who you care about".

• He's most certainly not a fan of a certain film called Star Wars: The Last Jedi — "I know this is saying quite a lot since I've only been able so far to direct one feature but honestly I wish Last Jedi was never made at this point. Not only is it a truly terrible movie but it's created so much hostility, so much shilling, so much toxicity that it becomes unbearable. If this is that film's legacy than it's a failure".

• There is however one positive about all of this and it's that the one movie that he's excited for and interested in — what is it....

#9 2009 #tim burton #shane acker #elijah wood #cult classic

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misc-obeyme · 1 day

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Hola

🐆

Regarding the conversation about the om og cast and their previous sexual/romantic relationships

While it's possible they have had their fair amount of fun before mc I really do believe that at some point they got bored of having any without any emotional depth to the relationship

Like they will try it few times and see there was no actual benefit from it beside the release that they could do themselves without going through the trouble of pretending to like someone

From my personal experience the deeper the relationship the better it feels during sex lol and if these guys love for million years on end after awhile it will get boring

Thats my flow of thought anyway

CC if you're interested I can write you the meaning of the names in the game in hebrew/aramic since it's one of my mother languages, let me know I'd be happy to do so :)

Have a great day and drink some water ❤️

NSFW MDNI (just for discussion of sex, nothing explicit)

I mostly think it's unlikely that they haven't done anything ever considering how old they all are. I very much think that if they're doing hookups or one night stands, it's an "as the opportunity arises" sorta thing. Like I don't think any of them are going out looking for such encounters. (Not even Asmo... I think he probably gets plenty of people coming onto him so if he's interested, he doesn't have to go find someone himself.)

In my opinion, the point of casual sex is that you don't have to pretend to like someone and all that. It's just an encounter where two people are horny and that's it. And I kinda suspect there are less repercussions for such a lifestyle for demons. So it seems likely to me that they would all have such moments come up, especially considering how famous they all are and everything.

But I think that deeper relationships are harder for them. It's certainly a different experience to have sex with someone you love, but most of those guys strike me as very protective of themselves and each other for various reasons. I think some of them have had serious relationships, but I just think they're few and far between.

I'm sure it gets boring after a while. And I suspect a lot of them have other interests that they'd rather focus their energy on. But I also think it probably ebbs and flows somewhat.

The thing is, it's hard to say since they're demons. They might not have the same kind of sexual drive that humans have in general. Maybe it's perfectly normal for demons to never have sex until they find their one and only. Maybe demons mate for life. Maybe they're the complete opposite and have crazy high libidos and need to have sex every other day or they explode. I mean, I'm just saying it can pretty much be whatever you want lol!

In the end, I think it's all up to individual interpretation! I mostly based mine on my own personal preferences. Though now I'm kinda thinking I should get more creative with it, I love the idea of exploding being a consequence lol.

And OH yes, I am in fact very interesting in name meanings! I love information like that, it's fascinating! So if you wish to share, please do!

Ah, anons are always telling me to drink water and I continue to be terrible at it, I swear I'll go drink some lol.

I hope you have a lovely day as well, 🐆 anon!

#I think all opinions on this are valid and correct #because there is zero canon about it #except for the implied situations with some of the characters getting sexy with mc #obey me #obey me nightbringer #🐆 anon #misc answers

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pancake-breakfast · 9 months

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The final stretch for Volume 7! We got this!

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 7, Chapters 5-6 below.

Chapter 5: Late Arrival to the End of the World

CW: Body horror

Ugh, Wolfwood did it. He brought him all the way to Knives' citadel. I know this is where Vash wanted to go, but still....

Also, I'm just gonna note this is only volume 7, so things aren't exactly gonna resolve here.

Vash's plan of attack is terrible.

Geez, he's barely walked in and his power is already going off a bit. At least he looks calm about it for once.

Wolfwood!!! Crosses? Eye of Michael turning on him? (I mean, sure, they have reason, but....) Or... is this Legato? Legato does have a thing for skulls.

Uhhh...

I'd be more worried, but I was promised a couch, so mostly I'm just terribly confused.

Oh, gods. It wasn't real. How was I supposed to know it wasn't real?!?!

Sounds like it was Legato. We don't know much about Eye of Michael, but for some reason I don't think they have weird mind abilities like that. And if they do, then they'd probably get recruited into the Gung-Ho Guns. But Legato? We've already established he can communicate telepathically and he has an established motive (he's tsundere and Wolfwood's received "undue" attention from Knives), so I'd bet it's either him or some unknown party.

"The full VIP treatment." Yeah, sure whatever. Like, Vash is that important to Knives, but Knives doesn't see other people's wills (especially Vash's and the other Plants') as seperate enough from his own to actually be able to make good calls there.

I'm not convinced Vash will be fine, but he's not wrong that Wolfwood should be particularly careful.

Wolfwood's always surprised and a bit bummed at Vash perceiving things about him and then trying to take care of him. Silly man. It's ok for the people you're closest to to worry about you from time to time.

I love how he makes an attempt to stay back, but then he can't stop himself from trying to run after Vash. If it weren't for Elandira, he'd be right there... probably being a liability. Reminds me of a post someone made about Stampede and how Wolfwood was like, "Who in their right mind would go up against that (Knives)?" when the answer was Wolfwood. Wolfwood would try and go against Knives.

Oh, honey. Elandira's a badass, but that thing earlier was not her style.

YES EXACTLY. Elandira doesn't have beef with Wolfwood. If she's gonna pick a petty fight, it will be with Legato. Otherwise, she's just doing her job. And she certainly has no desire to tear Wolfwood limb from limb. If she's ordered to kill him, a nail through the head would be good enough for her.

They're still gonna throw hands, huh? He's that desperate to follow Vash? I'm sorry, but this goes way beyond job professionalism. Or sane behavior.

Ah, that's definitely an Eye of Michael Cross. Though IIRC, Legato was the one mucking around with EoM folks last time we saw them, so... maybe this is a joint "let's take out Wolfwood" effort.

Yyyyyyeeeeaaaaahhh... there's Livio and... I forgot the other one's name.

Wait, Elandira's got her nail gun pointed at Livio??

Is this wheelchair guy the real Chapel?

LOL, Elandira doesn't have time for their shit.

Livio's still firing stuff off into the sky just to make a point, I guess.

Ugh, he's talking about Livio like he's just a pet. And... it seems like he used to be in charge of Wolfwood, too.

I like the idea that this man just... wheelchaired backwards out of there for dramatic effect.

So, Wolfwood failed to kill the person he was trying to impersonate, and he fell for his mark. I'm beginning to think he might be a sub-par assassin. (I joke, but I'm guessing it's less a matter of skill and more a matter of too much heart.)

LOL, Elandira casually flirting with Wolfwood. Probably not flirting-flirting so much as just trying to annoy him a bit.

GG Wolfwood, misgendering the canon trans person. /s At least he caught himself.

Yeah, I don't think it's blind faith from Elandira so much as it's acceptance of the inevitable demise of everything at the hands of the twins.

WTH is this stupid temple thing Vash is going to? Did Knives build himself a stupid temple??

Knives, buddy.... That canNOT be healthy.

Look at Elandira, that badass. We know Wolfwood's pretty tough, but she just wades through Knives waking up without batting an eyelash. Meanwhile, Wolfie's having to take her advice to not pass out under serious consideration.

IDK how I feel about an impending giant angel fight. Wait, yes I do. Not good. I feel not good about it. Very not good about it.

Chapter 6: Conflict

CW: Body horror, SA imagery

Oh, we're starting with Legato? That's... great. Just great.

Vash? Serious? Never!

Goshdarnit, Knives. I get you're doing this for your brother and I guess you probably don't have any intention of setting off his angel arm at this time, but... like... this isn't healthy. So very not healthy.

At least he's not surprised Vash is shooting at him this time?

Dude, your name is Millions Knives, not Hundred Guns. Put those away.

Legato, WTF are you doing?! With this... little... giant... skull scythe arm thing... just... scootching along the floor, I guess....

"Why are you so worked up?" It's because senpai hasn't noticed him and is paying attention to someone else. Duh.

This pouty face, though. I just can't with this man. He's such a freaking mess. Please throw him in the sea.

Knives: "I'm sure you understand now." Knives, a few pages later: "Dammit, Vash! How come you don't understand?!"

I love this because, in spite of everything, it's just not. Hells, it was only a few minutes back that Wolfwood tried to follow him into hell for no other reason than because he cares about Vash, and Wolfwood knows. Wolfwood knows all of it. Knives really needs to get out and meet more people.

OMG BABYGIRL <3 <3 <3 PROTECT HIM I LOVE HIM SM

In Stampede, Vash basically gives this whole speech to Knives, doesn't he?

Ah, dramatic coattails have become even more dramatic. This time on purpose and not just for artistic effect.

Not really sure what's unplugging here. Part of Vash's outfit?

Ah, yeah, that was it. I guess it's now a gun, too?

Ha! He's using the other tube to reload. Something something Stampede.

Knives... don't power that thing up.

Gods, Legato just looks like a muppet on this page.

I'm sorry, but the image of him slowly ker-plinking slowly up all those stairs in his little bag with his silly little mechanical scythe attachment thing is hilarious.

VASH. YOU PUT THAT AWAY, TOO!!! Ugh, for once I'm grateful for whatever the hell Knives is about to do to get in Vash's way.

Wait. WAIT, I TAKE IT BACK.

Knives, your logic SUCKS.

Don't worry! Someone has arrived to save the day! Behold, our hero... *checks notes* Legato Bluesummers?

I mean, fr, he's probably pretty upset already that Knives has merged with people other than himself. I guess merging with someone who he thinks might affect Knives's consciousness is too much? IDEK.

Going for some more overt rape imagery here, I see.

Gods, Knives doesn't even call Bluesummers by his name. He's just "you."

Folks... I've seen '98. I have spoilers. I know Legato's gonna break me in all different ways all too soon. But right now? I can't get over how much of a crazed muppet he is and it's just making me laugh through all the serious stuff here. But look at him! He's so giddy! Knives-sama has given him a Very Important Job! Knives-sama recognized Legato and knows Legato is here to help! Knives-sama knows this is a job for only Legato, because Legato is that dedicated to Knives-sama and is the only, ONLY person who should be at Knives-sama's side!

Oh. Yeah, I'm also worried about Vash here. I just got distracted by Legato's stupid face. I should add it to my collage.

I'm trying to decide if that's Wolfwood on the right of this shot. It looks an awful lot like Wolfwood.

Author Bonus Chapter

LOL, otaku boat....

Is that a Vash head half buried in the sand? Looking very annoyed?

Oh, I guess there was a Trigun game. I don't really know anything about it.

Waaaaaiiiiiit, that's not Trigun! That's Gungrave!

Ha! I remember when a game with dynamic world elements like that was considered top-of-the-line....

What's with this list of target audience people?