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ginnsbaker · 2 years ago

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In Flames I Sleep Soundly (2/2)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath.

Word Count: 9k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Non-graphic depictions of violence

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience, I hope... I don't know what I hope. I'm just grateful that you guys took the time to read this piece and leave comments in my inbox. I do have more to say later, but for now I just needed to post this.

Let me know if you have some questions or clarifications. (yes, I wrote this sentence after sending a work email)

AO3 / Part One / Masterlist

Part Two

You’ve always thought that life is like a train ride.

And as a passenger, you know only two things: the direction of the course and its scheduled stops. And so, it’s like this: get born into the world, take your first steps, go to elementary school, go to high school, go to college, get a job, get married, have children, have grandchildren, and then die in your sleep. If there’s an afterlife, perhaps get resurrected into a young version of you, and move into another train. And then begin another journey.

But what the passenger doesn’t know is that a train can only move forward when it’s on its rails. And this is where the helplessness of every individual in that train becomes apparent. Your life–or at least how you want it to go–is not entirely in your hands.

For you, a single phone call managed to completely derail your train from its tracks. And then, as if still unsatisfied, it plucked you violently from it and left you on your own in the middle of nowhere.

You didn’t know where to go, only where you’ve been. Like a diamond blade that cuts through steel, it segmented your life into just two parts: Before and After.

Before was going home to your wife after a tedious day, resting your head on her lap while she threads her fingers through your hair.

After is knowing those same delicate fingers raked through someone else’s tufts of blonde in throes of passion.

Before was her telling you she loves you and feeling it to your bones.

After is her telling you she loves you and only hearing a lie.

Split in the middle, you presume you can simply choose to live in one or the other.

***

“Love’s a fucking bitch.”

Inside your car, you’ve been quiet the whole time, just staring at the photos in Natasha’s phone. You stare at Wanda walking out of the theater, hand-in-hand with a tall, lanky man you don’t recognize.

“His name is Victor Shade. Goes by ‘Vision’. The only son of a high-profile neurosurgeon on the East Coast.” Natasha tells you, eyeing you closely.

You brush your thumb against the image of the laughing woman in the picture. She wore your wife’s face and smile, but all you see is a stranger.

“What are you going to do?” Natasha asks.

Briefly, you consider this could all just be a prank. Maybe Wanda is watching you fall apart right now, giggling in hiding because she got you this time. At least it’s the sort of cruelty you’d fight over for a day or maybe a week, and then laugh about in ten years.

“Y/N?” Natasha tries again.

You finally look up at her and immediately hate the look of pity on your best friend’s face.

“I don’t even know where I’m sleeping tonight.” you say, handing back her phone.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should talk to Wanda.”

The laugh that bubbles up your throat is nothing short of deranged. For almost a minute, you laugh into your steering wheel until tears begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. Natasha watches you with a worried expression, her hand hovering over your back hesitantly. She thinks about the beautiful person she met in kindergarten, the girl who gave her own blue crayon so Natasha could color the sky properly while she was left to color hers with a red one. It hurts her to witness the light snuff out of the person who was her own light in her darkest moments. And when your laughter subsides into muffled sobs, she cries with you.

When you’re done, you systematically wipe the tears and snot off your face with the sleeve of your shirt. Natasha patiently waits for your next move.

“Did you get his address?” you ask with a surprisingly steady voice.

“Yes, apparently it’s in one of the luxurious apartments near the university.” Natasha says as she texts you the exact address.

“Good,” you say, then turn your attention to the empty roads ahead of you.

You lied when you had implied to Natasha that you didn’t know what you’re going to do.

***

A Victorian style of housing is unheard of in this part of New Jersey, but here you are, standing outside of one. His rental is on the second floor at the end of the street where a sports car is parked carelessly in its spacious garage–an august flex coming from a college kid. Wanda crosses your mind once again as you take in this grandiose lifestyle before you. Was it money that attracted her to him? You never pegged her for a gold-digger, but then again you also didn’t peg her for a cheating whore. You screw your eyes tightly shut at the unpleasant adjectives you now associate with your wife as you lose some of yourself in the process. There’s something frightening and unfamiliar threatening to consume your entire being, and you have no clue what to do with it.

With a deep breath, you walk to his doorstep and ring the doorbell. A few moments later, you jerk in surprise as the door swings wide open towards you, the lock stile of the wooden panel narrowly missing your forehead.

“Sorry, I keep meaning to get that fixed and it’s easier to push,” A man in his early twenties with yellow blonde hair comes into sight.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

You have to tilt your head back slightly in order to meet his cerulean eyes.

“You’re Vision?” you ask.

“Actually, it’s Victor Shade. But yes, everyone calls me Vision.”

“How old are you?”

Vision shuffles his feet, uncertain if he should answer your question. It’s rhetorical of course, a question you didn’t mean to actually come out of your mouth. You could guess–but truthfully, you’d rather not now.

“Who are you?”

“Y/N Maximoff.”

He raises his eyebrows quizzically, your name not ringing a bell.

“Wanda’s wife.” you supplement domineeringly, as if declaring it would stake your claim on her once and for all. He drops his gaze at the mention of your wife’s name, like a child that has been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter that he’s at least half a foot taller than you are. He isn’t quite a man. Not to you.

“May I–May I come in?” you ask as politely as you could.

After a second of doubt he smirks, and then says, “Sure.” You can sense the shift in his stance. He knows you’re onto him, and this is a showdown. Like any Alpha male scrambling to be on top of the food chain, he finds you to be an exciting piece of challenge. It makes you wonder if he was looking forward to this moment as much as you were dreading it.

You didn’t notice before that he’s barely covering his naked torso with a peacoat, and you try not to think about what brought on his current state. If by chance, you had just narrowly missed one of your wife’s regular visits.

Once you’re inside his apartment, you immediately scan your surroundings. There are papers and books scattered all over the floor. You can make out a thin trail of smoke coming from an unfinished cigarette in his living room, where the couch is covered by a tarpaulin smeared with ink and acrylic paint.

On an easel beside it is a painting covered by a dirty towel you assume he’s been working on before being disrupted by your presence. “Can I look?” you point at it.

“No. Sorry,” he says, before taking the painting from the easel and bringing it to his room. “It’s not done yet. An artist’s rule.”

You nod, and then noticing the only thing that he has organized, you say, “Nice vinyl collection.”

“Thanks.”

You stare at each other for long seconds. It feels ridiculous to expect an apology from him, but it’s something you think you deserved at the minimum.

“So, tell me. How did you meet my wife?” you ask when it becomes apparent that he doesn’t have any intention to be an active participant in this meeting.

“Art History 101. I’m one of her–”

“Students.” You complete his sentence with a grimace. Somehow that just makes things more fucked up than they already are. Jesus fucking Christ, Wanda, you curse in thought. Yet in a twisted way, it also kind of makes sense now. What they have is the stuff of sexual fantasies–a goddamned kink show is what it is. You’d never guess she’s capable of this.

“Yeah, and she was really knowledgeable in the subject. Not to mention, a natural teacher. Everybody in the class was awestruck by her.” Vision continues to talk about Wanda as though he’s talking about her to a person who didn’t know her down to the ground. You don’t need to be told how spectacular your wife is. You knew better than anyone. How dare he?

“How’s it going?” You cut him off before he could accidentally trigger something fatal inside of you.

He looks at you, bewildered at the random question. He waits for the punchline that never comes, and then chuckles, “It’s been swell.”

“This is where you meet?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“And she likes it?” You mean this place that looks like it’s been ransacked ten times over.

“Well, I guess. She never complained.” he says, and then cowers at the dirty look you throw his way at his callous comment.

“Do you stay in all the time or do you go out too?” you ask.

“It depends. We actually like to drive to new places in and out of town. Especially in the first week since she’s never ridden a convertible.”

“She likes that? She likes…aimless drives with no particular destinations?”

“Oh, yeah. More exciting than being stuck in a routine, I guess.”

It’s an obvious jab at a lifestyle he thinks you saddled Wanda with.

Heat rises to your cheeks and you walk closer to him. “Did you know that we’ve been married for five years? And before then together for six?”

That you have a dog. Plans to have kids in the future. Plans to retire in a beachfront property. The rest of your lives together. Does all that mean nothing?

“I know,” Vision replies, his tone devoid of any sign that he might be sorry for fucking a married woman. “She also told me you asked to move here because of your banking aspirations.”

“My aspirations? You…talk about me?” You manage to blurt out incredulously. Vision shrugs at that, and actually regards you with mild concern when you start blinking rapidly behind your glasses. You can hear your heart hammering in your chest as all the blood in your body suddenly rushes to your head.

He doesn’t answer “Would you like a drink?”

“Yeah, why not.” you say and lean against the closest wall to you for support.

“I have water, orange juice…”

“Got anything stronger?”

“I think I have some vodka left.” Vision mutters and then disappears into the kitchen. You take his absence as an opportunity to sneak into his bedroom. It’s smaller than you’ve imagined. A huge mirror is hanging across the foot of the bed and you instantly know what it’s for.

Is this where it all happens? Where they happen? Did they watch themselves fuck? Did Wanda watch herself fuck someone who isn’t you and felt guilty about it?

Did she think about you at all?

You sit on the mattress and stroke its silky sheets with shaking fingers. The bed is unmade, and you know there’s evidence on them if you try to look for it.

A framed painting peeking out from his dresser takes your attention. You walk over to it and pull it out of its hiding.

Your eyes go round in recognition. It’s the painting Wanda asked you to retrieve in Soho. You turn the painting over and discover a small piece of paper plastered on it.

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

You crumple the note tightly in your fist. Suddenly, all of it becomes more real than you can envisage: on a Tuesday morning, you’re perched on the exact spot your wife’s been betraying you over and over. You can almost smell Wanda from where you’re sitting–can feel her damp, soft skin, can hear her little sighs as she catches her breath.

You’re not prepared for the overwhelming rage that consumes you next, as you abruptly get up and walk the small distance to the kitchen.

You come to thirty seconds later, to broken pieces of porcelain and an unconscious man lying on a puddle of blood on the floor.

Your first instinct is to call Natasha. She picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Nat,” you say in a rush. “I need your help. I-I didn’t mean to–”

“Hey, hey. Slow down. What happened?”

“I’m at Vision’s. I did a horrible thing a-and I’m so sorry, Nat, I–”

“Focus, Y/N,” Natasha’s voice is eerily collected. “Is he still alive?”

You scramble to place your index and middle finger on his neck, and let out a sigh of relief once you find what you’re looking for.

“I got a pulse. Should I call 911?”

“Don’t, I’ll handle this. Just grab a towel and wrap it around something cold like frozen vegetables or ice, then apply it gently to the area of the injury.” Natasha says.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment to absorb the instruction. Getting a grasp of the situation has started to feel like an impossible task.

“Did you hear what I say?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Natasha says. “You’ll be fine, okay? I’m on my way.”

And then she’s gone. And you’re left to deal with the vestiges of your crime. You have no idea how much longer Vision will have a pulse. You try to do what Natasha told you to, but you find yourself unable to move a limb, stuck in the loop of wanting him dead and wanting to do what is right.

That is, until you hear the familiar tone of a message notification. It came from the rear pocket of Vision’s bloodstained cargo pants. You fall to the floor and dig out his phone. To unlock it, you take his cold hand and press his thumb against its screen.

There’s a new voice message from a certain ‘W’ in his contacts.

Wanda.

You hit play.

“I hate to do this here,” Wanda’s voice is tremulous and you can easily tell that she’s been crying. “But this is the only way I can trust myself to go through with this decision. This needs to end. I can’t live like this. I’m tired of lying and hurting Y/N. She’s my family. Whether you believe it or not, she’s everything to me. I’m sorry. And I hope,” Wanda’s voice breaks on a choked sob. “I don’t know what I hope. I’m sorry.”

You listen to it again before making the decision to delete the message. You slip the device back into Vision’s pants.

Afterwards, you try to save his life.

***

Five Days After

You wake up with a start. The clock on the nightstand reads 4:34 A.M.

The dreams are more vivid now, and they have progressed to you jabbing a kitchen knife into Wanda’s chest as Vision takes her from behind.

In reality, Wanda is lying half-naked beside you, snoring softly. She looks like the Wanda from Before, but your mind knows better. You want to trace her outline with your eyes and your lips, as you’ve done countless times whenever you’d wake up first. You want to kiss her temple and whisper how you love her even if she can’t hear you. You want, and want, and want. But you know what she’s done and with what little dignity you have left, you don’t fall into the trap of your remaining feelings for her.

In reality, her ex-lover is in some hospital in New York with his family waiting for him to wake up.

The first two days were the hardest after finding out about your wife’s infidelity. Wanda could read you like an open book, but for some miracle she didn’t see past the calm demeanor you put forth. You still comment nice things about her cooking, hug her goodbye, kiss her good night.

And then the nightmare starts all over again the minute Wanda leaves the house. Because when she’s near you, you don’t have to wonder where she is or who she’s with. You don’t wonder if she notices the empty seat in her classroom that used to belong to Vision. You don’t wonder if there are another pair of eyes like his, looking at her intrepidly with desire. The longer you carry on with your life as if nothing’s happened, the more you realize how much of your existence the past several months were built on lies.

Maybe the wife next to you is no longer yours, but how do you reconcile that with the truth that you’re still hers?

“Y/N?” you hear Wanda speak as you get up from bed. “Where are you going?”

Wand hugs the comforter to her more securely. You want to scoff at her question.

“Going out for a run.” you say after a beat.

“Want me to come with?”

“No, thanks. Just go back to sleep.”

“Oh,” Wanda glances briefly at the time and then says, “It’s still too dark outside.”

You shrug. “So?”

“Could be dangerous, don’t you think?”

“It’s Westview,” you repeat the same thing she said to you the first night she came home late without calling. The night in which she probably fucked him for the first time. “What’s the worst that could happen to me?”

“Be careful.” she acquiesces softly. “Do you want anything for breakfast?”

“No.” you say, grabbing your running gear from the dresser.

Sparky tries to follow after you but you lock him in the bedroom with Wanda, and head out to change in the guest bedroom.

There’s a slight itch at the back of your throat and you’ve stopped sweating just a while ago. Nevertheless, your tired legs refuse to stop their strides as you reach your tenth mile, and end up in a deserted farmhouse where Natasha is waiting for you.

“He still hasn’t woken up,” Natasha announces, handing you a bottle of ice water. “And while I got rid of the paintings, we’re not out of the woods yet.”

You take a swig from it like someone who’s been left in the desert for days, before leaving just enough of the water to pour over your head.

“What do you mean?” you ask after you recover from your run.

“His family is suspicious. They refuse to believe it’s an accident. You should expect cops to visit your house soon. Don’t panic. I scrubbed that kid’s apartment, they won’t find any traces of you.”

“How many years are we looking at?”

“It’s too early to worry about that. We don’t even know if he’ll ever wake up.”

“If he doesn’t, then I’m a murder, Nat.” you say candidly, like you’ve already accepted the monster that you now see yourself to be. “If he does wake up, then it’s attempted murder. Again, how many years are we looking at?”

“Even if he dies, you’re not going to prison. I promise you.”

“I don’t need you to promise me anything. Just answer the question, Nat.”

“Up to twenty years in the state of New Jersey.”

It figures. Despite it being more than half the amount of years you’ve been alive, you deem it a short punishment for the years you’d be taking from the boy. In twenty years or less, you’d be stepping out of prison to live out the rest of your life, and Vision would still be six feet under and being mourned by his parents.

You look down at your dirty shoes, and say, “I see.”

Natasha puts her hands on your shoulders and ducks her head, trying to meet your eyes.

“You’re not going to prison. I won’t allow it.”

You step back and out of her hold.

“Now, about that other thing. I already contacted this lawyer who owes me big time. You’ll just have to pay 30% of her regular rate for the entire divorce process.”

You look at your best friend, considering it. You could give Natasha the go signal now to hire this lawyer, but in the end all you say is, “Thanks, Nat. For everything.” as you turn your back on her.

Natasha’s brows snap together. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, knowing that for so many years ‘home’ was a person you felt the safest, a person who you could be with as you are. Wanda didn’t just cheat on you, she left you homeless. Home, in every sense, no longer exists.

“On foot?”

“Yup.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Just get in the car, I’ll drive you.”

But you’re already bouncing on your feet and moving in the other direction.

***

The next day, you sleep on your alarm again. It’s the second consecutive week you’re calling in sick late in the morning, and your immediate supervisor at work is understandably worried. He offers you take the rest of the week off, partly fearful for anyone at your branch catching whatever illness he assumes you have. Ironically, broken marriages are arguably endemic in this country. So perhaps, you really should stay away from people for a while.

The blinds were shut, so that as little light as possible dances through the gaps between them. You are encouraged to stay in bed by the lack of sunlight, but as your mind starts to wake up, something about the gloominess of the room urges you out of bed. It’s a Monday, so that means Wanda should be gone already. If you’re missing work, then you could make use of the time to think about your next course of action.

You’re halfway down the stairs when the sound of Wanda’s voice reaches your ears, making you stop in your tracks.

“This will be our little secret, okay? Y/N can’t find out.”

You nearly miss a ladder in your step at the implication of her words, only to see she’s speaking to your dog.

Wanda is sitting in the living room with Sparky who is thoroughly enjoying the morsel of cheese she’s feeding him with. If this was any other day before, you’d already be walking towards her to give her a morning kiss, and she’d complain that you didn’t brush your teeth long enough. You’d impishly lock her in your arms while you blow puffs of breath on her face, and she’d squirm and fight you off until the both of you are nothing but a blur of two idiots happy and in love.

“Wanda,” you blink at her in confusion. “Aren’t you late for your morning class?”

You watch Wanda’s eyes light up before she could spot you at the foot of the staircase.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Actually, I quit my job.” Wanda declares, wide-eyed, her green pools swimming in starry fervor that you almost squint.

“Since when?”

“Since today.” Wanda shrugs, and you can see that she was hoping for a different reaction and not the mild indifference that she’s currently getting from you.

“Why? Did something happen?” You ask as you pick up Sparky and bring him to the kitchen for a proper meal. You hate to see Wanda give up something she seemed so passionate about. But then you recall her recent affair with a student, and there’s really no telling where that passion was truly directed at.

“Honestly, I’ve been meaning to for some time.” she muses while playing with her wedding ring. You leave a generous amount of boiled chicken in his food tray, before moving to sit on the opposite end of the couch, conscious to put much distance between you and Wanda.

“For a while it looked like I finally found a worthwhile career that isn’t so ambitious,” Wanda says. You glower at her allusion that her prior dreams were too extravagant to come true. “But in the process, I also lost myself to it. I sort of left you behind, while you always brought me to every milestone of your achievement. And for that, I wanted to apologize.”

It’s the closest thing to a willing confession you’ll ever get from Wanda. Her quitting her position at the university is her way of burying this and moving on. Maybe it would’ve been better if you simply waited for your marriage to fix itself instead of snooping around for her secrets. You wish you weren’t so addicted to the truth. If grace exists in this world, then it comes in the form of ignorance to all of the things that bring so much suffering.

You’re thinking of something to say, but you’re afraid that the dam inside you will burst if you open your mouth.

“I’m sorry it took a while for me to really comprehend how I feel about you.”

“We’ve been married for years, Wanda,” you remind her in disbelief. “That’s something you should’ve comprehended fully before you decided to say yes to a life with me.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” she hurries to explain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, Y/N, don’t get mad. Of course I know how I feel about you. I simply didn’t care to explore the magnitude of it, because I was complacent. And selfish.

“And when it comes down to it, you’re all that matters.” Wanda says and scoots closer to you. Then she takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. Your eyes close in their own accord, sighing at the contact. This might be the only thing that stops you from falling further apart. Even through the worst thing she's ever done to you, you crave to be this close to her.

Wanda tries to read into your thoughts, and then says, “I know, I know. Acta non verba.”

“What?” you ask distractedly.

“It’s what you always used to say back in college: deeds, not words. I’m going to show you. I’m going to make you feel how you make me feel.” she smiles at you tearily.

This isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re to wait it out until the matter with Vision is resolved, and then serve her the divorce papers. She’s not supposed to declare her love for you and for those words to still have a substantial effect on you.

“Wanda, I–”

“Here,” Wanda retrieves a box from underneath the pillows and pushes them into your hands. “An advanced anniversary gift.”

You try to stop your hands from shaking as you stare at the box in your lap.

"Wanda, there's something we need to talk about."

"Later, baby. Please, just open it." Wanda says and you try not to cringe at the pet name.

You're about to pull the lid off when the doorbell rings and Sparky comes rushing to the door, yapping away.

"I'll get it." You mumble and yank your hand from Wanda's grasp. The haze in your head instantly clears up the moment you’re no longer touching her.

You open the door to two gentlemen in a dark suit. You remember Natasha’s warning yesterday, not really expecting them to show up this soon.

"Wanda Maximoff?"

"No, I'm her wife, Y/N. Can I help you?"

The taller one with blonde hair makes the introduction with, "I'm Detective Rogers and this is Detective Barnes.”

You wipe your hands on your pajamas before shaking their hand and inviting them to come in.

“We're here to ask your wife a few questions about Victor Shade." Rogers says.

You hesitantly glance back to Wanda who suddenly looks so stricken.

"They're here for you." you tell her.

"Mrs. Maximoff, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rogers walks over to her and introduces himself and Barnes to her.

He gets on straightaway with the questions. “Where were you last Tuesday afternoon?"

"I was at work, attending a departmental meeting. Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

The two men look at each other. Then the shorter one, Barnes, says, "Your former student, Mr. Shade was involved in a serious accident."

Wanda gawks at their news. "I–I was told he dropped out of school for reasons that were not disclosed to me and the class. I had no idea. My god, that's... That's terrible."

“Yes, we’re aware. His family wanted the whole thing in the wraps in case it turned out to be more than just an accident.” Rogers explains with

“Why would they–” Wanda tries to ask but Barnes interrupts her abruptly.

"Were you close?" he asks.

He watches your wife as you do–closely, and observing every crease in her features that would give her away. But after months of lying, it's evident how she’s become so good at it.

“Uh, no,” Wanda shakes her head and smiles through her absolute lie. A strange feeling creeps at you at having to see your wife display such confidence in front of authorities. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can share apart from how he performed in my class.”

Rogers and Barnes exchange even-handed looks again. Barnes glances at you briefly, before nodding at his partner to continue.

“Here’s the thing, Ma’m,” Rogers takes out a small notebook from his pocket and flips through it. “We found your name and contact in Mr. Shade’s call history. There are dozens of back and forth calls between you and him. This is actually the reason why we wanted to get in touch with you, because you’re the only one aside from a classmate of his that he’s spoken to for the entire semester. We want to know if he ever confided in you or if you knew someone he might have had a disagreement or altercation with.”

You can feel Barnes studying you again, but you refuse to meet his gaze, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible with just a tinge of curiosity.

Wanda remains unfazed and says, “We do communicate over the phone. But again, it’s strictly about his studies.”

“What about his studies?”

“He was having a hard time with his final project. It can be any form of art–a sculpture, a painting or maybe even a video, and they need to emulate their deepest and darkest desires to it. H-He needed my input every now and then.”

“Sounds quite a challenge,” Rogers mutters as he writes on his pad. “And have you seen his painting?”

“No. I highly discourage them from showing me their works in progress. Why?”

It’s Barnes who answers her this time. “There was no painting found in his apartment.”

“Oh, he must have kept it someplace else then.” Wanda says, more to herself.

They don’t comment on that.

“When did you see him last?” Rogers again.

“Monday of last week. He came in late to class. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“May we ask why ‘it doesn’t matter’, Ma’m?”

“I no longer work at Westview Institute.”

“Really,” Rogers lifts an eyebrow, taken aback. “Since when?”

“This morning,” Wanda answers. “Personal reasons. You can talk to the dean for the details if you want.”

Rogers simply nods and scribbles on his pad some more.

“Have you ever been in his neighborhood? Ever been to his apartme–” He badgers on but you interrupt him.

“I think that’s enough,” you say with authority. “I don’t see what other questions could be relevant to your investigation, but my wife’s told you everything she knows.”

Barnes tries to protest but Rogers signals to him.

“Very well. Thank you both for your time.” Rogers says as you usher him and Barnes to the door.

“Wait!” Wanda yells, chest heaving. They both look over their shoulders, waiting. “Is he… is he okay?”

You catch the knowing smirk on Barnes, but it goes away as soon as Rogers warns him with a look.

You weren’t expecting she’d ask about him despite their obvious suspicions on what kind of relationship they had. It hurts you in a way that you can’t even begin to describe.

“Last we’ve heard he’s stable. But I’m afraid he’s still in a coma. For all we know he might never wake up. But let’s hope for the best, shall we?” Rogers says, and then with a polite nod, leaves with Barnes in tow.

“I, uh, I forgot that I need to formally file a resignation letter.” Wanda says after you close the door behind them. She frantically grabs her purse, all the while avoiding your gaze. She’s not appropriately dressed to go outside, but you don’t point it out to her as you continue to act the part of the oblivious spouse.

***

Wanda returns home three hours later. A nostalgic smile finds its way to the corners of her mouth, when she spots the note you left for her on the fridge.

Went to the park with Sparky, it says.

The post-it notes were a long-standing tradition. Sometimes you’d put one on her rearview mirror, something along the lines of “have a great day ahead, I love you” written, and Wanda would stick one on your lunchbox that said “don’t skip on the vegetables”.

And while she blames herself for your recent aloofness, she was hoping to remediate it on your anniversary. She already booked plane tickets to Hawaii and made reservations at a 5-star hotel. Your boss and probably the entire staff of your branch already knows about it, when she filed a week of vacation leave on your behalf. And then she put all the documentation and details of the trip in the box she gave you this morning.

She planned for everything, except the part where two cops showed up at her house to talk about Vision. Admittedly, he was another thing that was never a part of her plans. Wanda used to deride people who make mistakes, and when asked to explain, could only say ‘it just happened’. She’s heard it too many times in the past, mostly from her ex-boyfriends.

It just happened. There’s no better way to put it should you ever find out what she did. She wasn’t lonely or unsatisfied or neglected. The only struggle she could think of about her marriage is thinking about what to have for dinner, because you neither complain nor you ever know what you’re in the mood for.

In actual sense, her life was perfect. Because of you. Because you work for her happiness. The guilt eats at her everyday. But she knows what she’ll lose if she comes clean. And she can’t afford that. She’d rather confront her demons than risk losing you. She tells herself she can’t put you through this kind of pain.

Wanda pulls herself out of her thoughts. She needs to focus on you. She truly hopes Vision would make it, so he can go on to live his life and she’ll live hers with you.

Wanda pads through the bathroom to run herself a bath. While waiting for the tub to fill, she pensively walks around the bedroom, noting how the room still smells of you. That’s when she finds her gift on your work desk, next to your laptop. It’s still wrapped in a bow. Wanda frowns, wondering why you didn’t bother to open it.

All of a sudden, your laptop makes a sound. Acting on impulse, Wanda unlocks your computer with your password–her birthday–and then opens your email account.

There’s a new email from Natasha. The subject reads ‘in case you need them’.

An odd, overwhelming feeling consumes her, and without thinking, clicks on the email.

Wanda waits for the message to load with its attachments and then–

She freezes and her stomach drops.

***

About four pairs of couples attend your small dinner party that you have planned several weeks ago. Your boss, Scott Lang came with his wife and daughter all the way from New York just so he can, in his own words, ‘taste your wife’s famous Paprikash’. Wanda reminded you that you were hosting, and you had spent the rest of the day shopping for ingredients and red wine. She asked if you should cancel, but you figured an evening with seemingly elementary lives would do some good for the both of you.

And you’re right. It’s not a nuisance as you thought it’d be when you were roped into it. In view of the recent episodes that no doubt defined the lowest point of your life, it feels nice to experience a little normalcy in your home. Your introverted nature makes you a disastrous host to these events, but Wanda is the opposite–she’s a natural at hospitality. She’d go around and entertain people, exchange gossip, and make them take shots. She’d dance in the middle of the room, with that devil-may-care attitude of hers, attracting people to her like moths to flame. But at the end of the night, she’d go home to you and sleep in your arms, because she’s yours. As you and Wanda grew older, you became a more exclusive sort of couple. But on rare occasions like this one, Wanda would put on the old party hat while you’d watch her be the best part of it.

The only problem right now is that Wanda went away. Physically, she’s in the receiving room with everyone, nodding and smiling at whatever warrants a nod and a smile, but you can tell that her mind is off somewhere faraway.

“So, Y/N, what’s the first thing you wanna do in Maui aside from stuffing yourself with Poke bowls?” Scott asks.

“I’m sorry?” You tilt your head at him.

“You know, the…” he starts doing what looks like a hula dance, but you shake her head, still not getting any of it.

“Wait, what? Wanda hasn’t–” Scott looks at Wanda, in panic. “Oh, god, I didn’t mean to spoil it.”

Wanda’s been keeping to herself the entire night. And she’s been drinking a lot, the contents of her glass never quite reaching the bottom before it gets another refill.

“It’s fine, Scott.” Wanda says.

You look at Wanda expectantly, but she just studies her drink. Increasingly annoyed, Wanda downs the rest of her wine and then says, “I was planning to take us to Hawaii on our anniversary.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s pretty awesome.” you say.

Wanda huffs out a mirthless laugh, before standing up and telling everyone she’s going to take a nap.

“Good idea, dear. You’re looking puffy around the eyes.” Emma, another co-worker of yours that Wanda never really warmed up to, quips at her.

Wanda clenches her jaw tightly, but chooses not to engage.

You excuse yourself from the group and follow her out of the room. Wanda feels your presence behind her and spins to look at you for the first time tonight.

“I’m okay. Just go back to your friends.”

“They’re not my friends and you don’t look well.” you say.

“I just need a few minutes to myself,” Wanda offers you a smile, but it’s wobbly. “Please.”

You can’t deny her anything and you can’t stop caring about her. She heads to the stairs before you can utter another word.

***

After Wanda sees the last of the pairs to the door, she finds you in the bedroom with all the lights off. She can only make out your silhouette–shoulders hunched and perfectly still, while you look out the window to watch the couple trade playful kisses before getting in their car and driving off into the distance.

From your peripheral view, you watch Wanda approach you slowly, cautiously, like a hunter stalking its prey. It’s easy to guess that she already knows. She has her arms wrapped around herself as a defensive stance, probably afraid of what you might do to her. You nearly let out a laugh at the absurdity of it, because you don’t think you could ever hurt her the way she’s hurt you.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks as she stops a few feet from where you’re standing.

“What did you do? Did you cause his ‘accident’?” she carries on with the questions despite your refusal to even acknowledge her existence.

“Y/N?” Her voice is frantic and presumptuously privileged.

You don’t owe her anything. Especially answers. Anger burns in your chest like a candle–fragile but with the potential to burn an entire field. You imagined the many ways she’d beg you when you discover each other’s skeletons in the closet. You imagined she’d be on her knees, clinging at your ankles, insisting she loves you and that it will never, ever happen again. You imagined you’d kiss her for one last time, right before you’d tell her that you’re done.

You hate yourself for allowing her to beat you to a confrontation. For coasting through this mess until Wanda takes the mantle of the interrogator herself. She gets to nag you with questions as if after weighing each other’s transgression, yours turned out to be worse than her cheating.

“Did you hurt him? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Y/N. Talk to me,” Wanda pleads, and then out of desperation she screams, “Tell me what you did!”

“No. You tell me what you did.” you whisper menacingly, finally letting go of the restraints you placed yourself in for her sake.

You abruptly turn on your heel in her direction, and then stalk towards her in quick, menacing strides. Wanda cowers, but doesn’t yield. She stands her ground like the courageous heroine of her own movie.

“How you fucked him over and over and over! How you lied to me…” Your chin begins to tremble and your vision begins to blur. “...over and over and over.”

“Y/N, please–”

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me now.”

Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, the weight of her sin materializing in the form of your bared teeth and the vein pulsing in your neck and temple.

“You didn’t think I’d know? I wouldn’t feel it? I knew from the very first night. Because I know you, Wanda. Every thought. Every look. Every fiber of your being. I know you and I fucking hate you!” You hear yourself yell, as real as the wetness you feel running down your cheeks.

“I didn’t want to hurt him, I wanted to hurt you!”

“Oh my god,” Wanda sobs out in anguish, cupping a hand around her mouth. “Y/N…”

There was a time, from long before you were married to her, when loving her broke your heart more than it made it whole. You didn’t think it’d happen again, but even if it did, you thought you’d find a way. You’d always find a way for Wanda.

You were happy together, weren’t you? Before this happened, she never gave any indication that she wasn’t. She made plans with you. Five-year, ten-year plans that meant she wanted to continue being with you. In return, you gave it everything you have and more. You turned the dreams into blueprints, and from blueprints into milestones.

The arbitrary nature of her infidelity is what shocked you the most. It meant you couldn’t have done anything to prevent this. It wasn’t up to you. Love is a gamble and you’ve lost.

You’re both on the floor now. You, leaning against the side of the bed, and Wanda, hugging her knees to her chest as sobs continue to rack her body.

When both of you can breathe again, it’s Wanda who breaks the silence.

“I’m so sorry.”

As much as you need to hear it, an apology now is just a drop in the ocean. Wanda can’t unfuck Vision. You can’t un-crack his skull.

A thought suddenly occurs in your muddled brain.

“Was there anyone else aside from him?” you ask.

“No.”

“He must be really special then.”

She shakes her head furiously, denying it.

Against your better judgment, you ask the one thing that’s been plaguing you since you learned of her lover’s name. “Do you love him?”

“No,” Wanda mumbles without a second thought. “I thought I did, but no.”

She didn’t love him. But it still kills you to know that it definitely crossed her mind that she might’ve felt something for someone else.

“Did you…” You stare intently at the ceiling, willing gravity to pull back the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “...ever love me?”

“I love you,” Wanda says, her voice low and trembling, though she dares to look you in the eye. “I know how fucked up that sounds to you right now. But I do, I love you, Y/N.”

“You know,” You wince at the way your voice falters. You’re so tired and dehydrated, and your head is starting to hurt. Your lips quirk up in a bitter half-smile. “You have such a lovely way of showing it.”

Wanda lets her legs slide straight in front of her as she openly weeps into her hands. Under different circumstances you’d be out the door right this second, getting all her favorite snacks and a bouquet of flowers. You have loved her for so long.

“You should’ve just killed me. I don’t see any difference. At least there’s no pain in being dead.” you say after some time.

“Baby, don’t say that.” Wanda hiccups, struggling to control the spasms in her chest.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Even hearing you say my name makes me sick.”

Wanda looks away, like she’s been slapped.

“You can stay,” you say, and Wanda looks up at you with hope. “In this house. For as long as you want. But I’m leaving.”

“No. Don’t leave.”

But you’re already pulling your wedding ring off your finger even as she rushes to kiss you roughly. Wanda pours everything in this one kiss. She has played all the cards she’s dealt with, and this is her final, desperate move.

As for you, you take it for what it is: a goodbye. It’s messy and salty, and everything anyone could ever hope for in a last kiss. When it’s over, Wanda ducks her head under your chin. She finds purchase in the area just above your heart, trying to commit to memory the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You don’t have it in you to push her away, but you take the hand of hers that’s still cupping your face, and put the cold metal that once symbolized your commitment to her, in her fevered palm. And then very gently, you force her fingers to close around it. Albeit the numbness in your legs, you manage to push yourself up into a standing position and out of Wanda’s grasp.

“This isn’t over. It can’t be over.” you hear Wanda speak, but you’re not sure if it’s to you or to herself.

Out in the hallway, you examine the finger where your wedding ring had been. It’s going to take some time before its mark on your skin completely fades away.

***

A Week Later

“He’s awake.”

Natasha sits across from you in the diner. She’s back in town to pick you up and drive you back to her condo in Manhattan, where you will be staying for a while until you find your own place.

You swallow and take a breath, poking at your scrambled eggs.

She’s wary of you–this zombie-esque version of you. And it’s not only apparent in your behavior, the gauntness of your cheek is more noticeable, and your clavicle more protruded. You look like you’ve aged ten years overnight in as little as two weeks.

“He doesn’t remember anything.” she adds and this gets your attention.

“How convenient.” you say.

“Look, Y/N. You don’t need to act tough around me. Because I can see right through every mask you have on. You want me to prove it? Let me prove it.”

“Nat, just–”

“You’re more relieved to know that he’s woken up, than him not remembering anything. You’re compassionate to a fault. There can’t be a purer soul than yours.”

Your best friend’s impassioned speech puts a small but genuine smile on your face. Natasha does a little victory dance with imaginary pompoms, and the laughter comes easily to you.

“I know I have no right to say this, nor do I really understand what you’re feeling right now. But, Y/N, someone will come along and take every broken piece of you back together. They will love you so hard, you’re gonna have to actually beg them to ease off.”

You humor her. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

In all honesty, it’s hard to think about the far-off future without the stinging reminder that Wanda is not in it. But as you sit idly in diner for a very late brunch–and might as well call it lunch–you realize that you’re not left entirely empty-handed. You have Natasha. You have the rest of your friends back in New York, although you haven’t talked to them much lately. You have your career that is getting a fresh start at a new company. Wanda has gotten custody of Sparky. As much as you love him, you have a feeling that she needs him more than you do.

The point is, you’ve already seen the bottom of the sea, and it’s time to break the surface.

“As much as I hate your wife…soon-to-be ex-wife… or whatever,” Natasha shoots daggers at someone behind you. “She’s here to talk to you.”

“Did she put you up to this?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“She called me to collect a favor, and this is the best bargain we managed. She’s not going to contact me anymore after this.” Natasha says, and then she gets up from her seat and takes her plate of bacon and eggs to enjoy at another table.

You hear tentative footsteps approach the booth and brace yourself to face Wanda.

Much to your chagrin, she looks as immaculate as ever in her parka over a simple white v-neck and high-waisted jeans, her glossy red hair cascading in perfect waves past her chest.

“Hey,” she says and slides into the booth with you.

You take a huge bite of your Reuben sandwich. “Hi, Wanda.”

“Sorry for cornering you like this. You rarely return my calls and it’s been almost impossible to match our schedules.”

You concentrate on chewing your food, trying to appear perfectly disinterested in what she’s saying.

“Natasha told me you’re already talking to divorce lawyers,” Wanda pauses to catch your eye, and you see no traces of sharpness in them. Her green eyes are bright with determination. “If you’re decided that it’s what you really want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll cooperate.”

You look at her from beneath your dark lashes. “Okay.”

Wanda swallows nervously and interlocks her fingers on top of the table. You can’t explain it, but your eyes automatically search for the wedding band in her left hand.

It’s still there.

“I, uh, got something for you.” she says.

“No, thanks.” you say.

“But it’s yours.” she argues softly, digging for something in her jacket. You watch her pull out a ring box and place it in front of you.

“What’s this?”

“Your wedding ring.” She says matter-of-factly.

“I don’t want–”

“I don’t care. I’m giving it back to you, and I’m keeping mine. You can do whatever you like with it. But I can’t keep it for you.”

You consider it momentarily, what she’s asking of you. In hindsight, it makes sense that she wouldn’t want to hold onto the residual love you have for her that the ring represents.

“Fine.” You reach for the small box and Wanda heaves a sigh.

“So, you have your ring back, and I’ll sign the divorce papers when they’re ready.” Wanda recites mechanically, her voice thinning towards the end of her sentence, as if she’s not at all prepared for what she needs to say to you next.

“Then, I’ll come for you.”

You almost spit out your coffee. Some of it actually dribbles past your lips and you quickly grab a napkin to wipe your mouth. She tenderly smiles at your little accident, finding your clumsiness endearing.

You gape at her, unable to think of a response.

“I didn’t want to believe you when you told me that night that you hated me. But I guess that’s better than indifference.” Wanda’s smile turns into a sad amusement at herself.

“I don’t hate you, Wanda,” It’s the truth. Even though anger is the only emotion you can process most days, you’ve only ever hated the way she makes you feel.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she laments. “Thank you.”

You can tell she has more to say and you wait.

“I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. On us. What we have, and I’ve thought a lot about it, is something I’ll never find in another.” Wanda says, giving you a long, level look.

“I’m not telling you this to get a reaction out of you. I know you’re not exactly thrilled at the idea of me pursuing you, but,” she falters, the first sign of her vulnerability. “This time, I want you to know everything. I don’t want you to be blindsided by my intentions, so I’m giving you a heads-up.”

“Wands,” The nickname rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. “You can’t torture yourself like this.”

“I’m not,” she assures you. “I just refuse to give up on my dream.”

You’re my dream, Wanda had written in her vows. You remember it, clear as day.

Wanda gets up to leave. “I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as Wanda exits to her car, Natasha returns to the booth with a strawberry milkshake in hand.

“Is it over?” she asks offhandedly, referring to your conversation with Wanda.

You hesitate, then look at her with an unreadable expression on your face. You give her the only answer that feels right to you:

“For now.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss #my writing #category: angst #natasha romanoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen

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hunnysnoops · 6 months ago

Text

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Six: Sweater Weather

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.

Premise: It may be possible that hatred is beginning to dissolve. Peace ensues or at least something similar to friendship.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury / crude humour

MASTERLIST

It felt weird sitting next to Kyle willingly on your sofa but you hadn't had much of a choice when the due date for your final project was cutting so close. You were in too much pain to fill the static silence of the room with mindless chatter that would grate in his head, so you stuck asking him which parts of the assignment were already done before settling back into silence.

He wanted to say something, he just couldn't figure out what. It was unnatural to the both of you.

Kyle was still wearing the same thing he had gone to school in, a simple t-shirt, flannel, and jeans- you had resorted to poaching clothes from your dad's closet while he was out of town for a concert. The second you and Kyle got to your place you ran upstairs to slip into a pair of well-worn sweats and one of your dad's old t-shirts from when he was on his college rowing team. His clothes were just about the only thing that didn't irritate your turf burn further than the red segments where your skin had been scraped off.

You had slathered some type of aloe vera ointment all over the burn on your shins and elbows which scent strongly resembled eucalyptus and florals, leaving you and Kyle to work on your Biology project in a living room that smelled like a Bath & Body Works.

"Do you wanna write about the genetic basis of behaviour or should I do that?" You had broken the fifteen-minute silence which seemed like a record for the both of you. Your parents would've been astonished if they were there to see the pair of you sit without insulting the other. The only sounds that filled the room were the rain beating heavily outside like it wanted to be let in.

"I got it, don't worry," He said absentmindedly, focused on making the slide show look presentable.

"I'm not worried," You answer. As much as you liked to complain to your friends about having Kyle as a partner, he was one of the few who actually did their portion of the work instead of texting you last minute that it wasn't finished. You were still suffering PTSD from having to work in a group with Cylde.

There were some beats when the stillness was growing so unbearable that it almost made you squirm, you fought the urge to put on a sitcom as background noise, knowing that you would get distracted and veer off from the task at hand.

You were disrupted by heavy thumps making their way down the stairs "Hey, Kyle," Weston said, making his way to plop himself between the two of you on the couch, a backpack in his lap.

"Hey," Kyle gives your brother a quick glance paired with a smile before his eyes shift back to the screen of his laptop.

"What are you wearing?" You squint your eyes while trying to read the text on his shirt "The worst day of fishing beats the best day of forcefully withdrawing in jail," The shirt had the graphic of a bass splashing around in a lake beneath the lettering "Where did you get that?"

"I bought it."

"With what money? You don't work."

Weston shrugs and there's the glint of a smile on his face. You stare at him blankly until he answers "Okay, fine, Uncle Richie bought it for me, it's an early birthday gift."

"Dad will kill you and Richie if he finds you wearing that."

"Good thing he's in Vegas seeing Doodle mood," Weston leans back, wedging himself deeper between the two of you in a silent attempt to separate you.

"Depeche Mode," You correct and Kyle huffs the briefest of laughs, a grin lingering on his face while he rakes through paragraphs to find spelling errors. He didn't look in your direction but you could see the slight curve of his lips and the smile lines forming around his straight nose "Why are you down here anyway?"

"To see my sister," He raises his chin, tilting his head in your direction to see the screen of your laptop "What the hell is Pathophysiology?"

"I think it's too big of a concept for you to grasp," You say. While Weston's heart was usually in the right place, his head certainly was not.

"Huh?" He furrows his eyebrows "What?"

"You're dumb, shrimp."

"Hey, I'm not above hitting an old woman," He points at you, finger almost touching the bandage over your nose.

"And I'm not above hitting a toddler," You push his accusatory finger down and away from you. Kyle tended to stay out of bickering between you and your brother, the same way you let him and Ike fight it out without interfering. It would be like disrupting the intricate ecosystem that was siblings "What do you actually want?" You look down at the backpack in his lap, it was dirty from all the places he dragged it to. Both of your parents had begged him to wash it for months and when he finally got around to it, it did nothing, like the grime had set into the navy blue cloth.

"Can you drive me to Dustin's?" His face morphed into a tight-lipped smile, feigning innocence.

You let out a long, exaggerated groan and throw your head back into the plush sofa. The rainy atmosphere didn't help you to stay energized, halfway through the school day you decided that you would take painkillers and not leave the couch. You should've predicted that your brother would make plans on the one night when your parents weren't there to drive him and you were lethargic from pain meds. "Dude, I have so much work to do," You really didn't, all that was left on your part was a couple of passages and a statistics graph, you still had a week until you had to turn the project in.

"Why do I even have an older sister if you won't drive me places? I wish I was a lonely child," He rolls his eyes, shaking his head in the slightest.

"It's only child, Wes, a lonely child is what you'll be when I sell you."

"Can you please drive me? We're having a hurricane party and I'm sleeping over."

"We live in Colorado, there aren't hurricanes, just wine-drunk tourists," You turn your focus back to your laptop, turning it away from Weston so he can't see you open a Wordle tab.

"Don't be lazy," He grabs your bicep and begins to shake it back and forth.

You pull your arm out of Weston's grasp "I'm injured, you should be waiting on me and nursing me back to health like a good brother."

"And you should drive me to my friend's house, like a good sister."

"I can take him," Kyle peeps up and Weston swerves his head to look at him.

"For real?" Weston asks.

"Yeah, I need to fill up on gas anyways, I can drive him down and swing back to finish the project."

"Are you sure?" Your eyebrows were slightly furrowed. Usually, these conversations ended with Weston shaking you down and getting what he wanted, whether it was you buying him v bucks or taking him to the movies.

"Yeah, I don't mind," Kyle shut his laptop and gingerly placed it on the coffee table, pushing himself off the couch.

"Sweet," Weston slinked off the couch, hopping over your legs and making his way towards the door but not before slapping the exposed turf burn on your forearm. He hadn't intended to hit you as hard as he did but the skin contact made an audible sound that echoed in the room. A hand flung over his mouth as he watched you jolt forward, jaw hanging slack and eyes wide while you gently held your forearm. The look on your face alone made him grab a pair of sandals and run out the door before he could even put them on or close the door behind him.

"Oh my god," You turn back to look at Kyle who was slipping into a pair of your dad's hiking boots since it was quicker than the century it took to lace up his Converse "Please drive him off a cliff."

"That would make your life too easy," Kyle looks up at you through a mop of red curls, hazel eyes imploring; they tended to look like different colours depending on the light source, at that moment with the dim living room light and dark skies looming outside they sparkled with the rich colours of autumn, a beautiful medley of amber, green, and gold, like fallen leaves swirling in the crisp, cool breeze "Nicer," He says.

"What?"

"For your wordle," He points at the screen of your laptop.

"Oh," You look at your screen where 'river' had been the last guess, you type in 'nicer' and surely all letters flip to green. "Thanks," You say "Uh, do you want money for gas or-

"No, I'm good," Kyle dismisses immediately "My cab services are free, you've done it for Ike more than I can count."

"Okay," You scrape the walls of your brain for something else to say "Drive safe, don't actually drive my brother off a cliff."

"Got it," He shuts the door behind him, shutting out the roar of a heavy downpour. The rain was powerful, a relentless cascade, each drop hitting the ground with force, creating a thunderous choir that drowns out all other sounds, evoking a sense of calm within you, albeit muffled by the walls.

"Is she mad?" Weston stood at the edge of the lawn, waiting by Kyle's car for him to unlock it. He held his backpack over his head in a feeble attempt to keep himself dry though it didn't work, his shirt was soaked and his hair was so full of the droplets that he had to shake them off like a dog at the beach.

"Super mad." Kyle pressed the button to unlock his car, the moment Weston heard the locks shift, he dove into the passenger seat "She's waiting by the door with a shotgun for when you come home."

"Is she actually?" His voice was one hundred percent serious, he fully believed Kyle despite your family not even owning a shotgun.

Kyle ducked into the white Nissan, he prided himself on keeping his car tidy so it was the exact same every time he entered aside from the air fresheners that he swapped out. "Nah, you're fine."

"Phew," He dropped the backpack to his feet "I like your car way more than my sisters, hers always smells like cigarettes and girl stuff."

"Girl stuff?"

"Yeah like deodorant," Weston scoffs.

"You should be wearing deodorant."

"That's what my mom says," He reclines back in the chair, taking in a deep whiff of the air freshener that smelled of Jolly Ranchers "I wish I had a brother but I guess you and Ike are kinda like brothers." It was one of those rainy days that came to mind when someone mentioned a storm brewing.

The skies were grey as cracked pepper, a steady, rhythmic pattern of rain creates a continuous murmur, a comforting white noise that enveloped the surroundings, each drop merging into a flow that washes over the earth. Overhead he could hear thunder rumbling like an angry god was stomping around in the clouds. Cozied up in Kyle's car, safe from the elements, Weston thought that would've been the perfect environment to fall asleep.

"Brothers are overrated," Kyle casually gripped the steering wheel as the rain hammered down on the windshield, the wipers working furiously but barely managing to keep up.

"So are sisters, you're so lucky that you don't have one."

"You're actually pretty lucky that you do have one," His eyes were fixed on the road, a blur of grey and blue on the pavement and his voice was flat "Especially yours, she really loves you."

Weston cast him a sideways glance like he didn't believe him but he didn't prod the topic any further "What are you guys gonna do tonight?"

"Finish our project then I'm headed home," He answers, what he thought to be truthfully.

The younger boy nods, turning his attention to the world outside of his window. He wasn't used to seeing you spend so much time around Kyle or share mutual stories from track or biology, he had always hoped the two of you would get closer and now that it was finally happening he wasn't sure if he liked it.

Kyle cast a look down to your brother, realizing that the talking was over for the time being, he cranked up the radio until Nirvana filled up the car. The trees lining the road swayed and shuddered under the weight of the wind and rain, their leaves rustling like whispers in the night. Kyle could feel the tension in the air, the electricity of the storm to come.

As they drove on in relative silence, the rain seemed to intensify, each drop striking the car with a force like bullets beating down on the roof of his car. He squinted through the windshield, the headlights carving out a narrow path through the darkness, revealing the familiar road ahead.

"I'm just gonna grab some gas up ahead."

"Where do gas stations get their gas?" Weston asked, a crease forming between his brows at the thought.

"Do you actually not know the answer?" Kyle instinctively looked at him with eyebrows furrowed with confusion despite the urge to keep his focus on the road.

"Like did they just find a spot where gas magically comes out of the ground or do they build it over a gas mine?"

"Weston," Kyle said, flat.

"Or is it from a gas pipe that runs underground?" Weston leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his thighs and hands clasped together like he was deep in thought.

"No, they build gas storage tanks under the pumps, there aren't gasoline pipes or mines or whatever else you just said," He was utterly perplexed by your brother and it wasn't the first time Weston asked a question that left someone shocked with its absurdity.

"What happens when they run out of gas?" He asks like an interrogation "Do they tear the gas station down?"

"No, they refill the gas tanks."

"How?"

"Tanker trucks deliver it and they just fill the tanks up when they run out."

"Okay, okay," Weston rubs his chin, humming "So where do tanker trucks get their gas?"

Kyle's hands go flat on the wheel for a brief moment "From gas stations."

"And they all get their gas the same way? would it be illegal if they got their gas in another way?"

Kyle maneuvered the car off the road and into the gas station. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting a cold glow over the puddle-filled lot. He was quick to bring the car to a pump and step out, Weston's questions were becoming a little too much.

"Stay here, I'll run in quick then you can show me to your friend's house," he said, pulling up his tighter before stepping out into the downpour.

"Can you get me some beef jerky?" Weston sweetened his voice "Please." He watched Kyle shut the door and raise his voice slightly so the ginger could hear him "Teriyaki flavour?"

The cold rain immediately soaked through his shirt, Kyle wished he had worn a hoodie to keep some of the rain off his head as he stepped out of his car and into the stormy night. He glanced at the neon glow of the gas station sign, a small beacon of light amidst the darkness and the swirling tempest. The wind howled, pushing him sideways as he made his way to the pump.

He fumbled with his wallet, hands slick with rain, and managed to slide his debit card into the slot. The machine beeped, and he selected his grade of fuel, gripping the pump handle tightly as he began to fill his tank. The rhythmic sound of gasoline pouring into the car was almost drowned out by the rain hammering on the roof of the gas station canopy.

Kyle squinted through the downpour, seeing the lights inside the convenience store flickering. With a sigh, he replaced the pump handle, pocketed his receipt, and jogged towards the entrance, each step splashing water up onto his jeans. The automatic doors slid open with a whoosh, and he was greeted by the bright, fluorescent lights and the comforting hum of refrigerators lining the back wall.

The smell of coffee and hot dogs greeted him, a stark contrast to the cold, wet night outside. Kyle wiped dribbles of water off his brow and ran a hand through his damp hair, making his way to the 'Jack's Jerky' stand he grabbed a bag of the teriyaki as per Weston's request, and he grabbed one for the boy and a little baggie of sickly sweet gummies to give to Ike when he got home.

That was all he had intended to buy but his feet had carried him to the back of the rest stop to the coolers. He opened one, the chill air a refreshing break from the humidity outside. He thought back to which flavour of Powerade was your favourite and silently prayed it was still the same from three years prior when you went camping and stocked up on solely green apple Powerade. As he closed the cooler door, he heard the rattle of thunder outside, the storm intensifying.

He walked up to the counter, the clerk giving him a weary smile. "Rough night, huh?" the clerk said, scanning the drink. Kyle had expected that he would see Kenny behind the counter that night since he had informed him that he would be busy and he tended to take the graveyard shift over weekends for some extra cash.

"Yeah, I don't plan to be out long," Kyle reached into his pocket for his wallet, sifting through it until he found his debit card.

The man nods, typing something into the computer "This is everything tonight?" He looked up at Kyle.

"Yup," He offered a tight-lipped smile, swiping his card through before snatching the green apple Powerade off the counter.

"Stay safe out there," His voice was gruff like he had been smoking for decades and singing folk songs around a campfire.

"Thanks, you too," He walks back out through the doors faster than he entered, rushing to the car like he was trying to race the rain.

Weston peered through the foggy window, watching the rivulets of water race each other down the glass. The interior of the car felt warm and safe compared to the bleak, wet world outside. He glanced at Kyle, who was bracing himself against the wind, his silhouette blurred by the rain.

The doors slid open, and he dashed back to his car, rain soaking through his clothes almost instantly. He slid into the driver's seat, shaking off the water, and turned the key in the ignition. Kyle placed the Powerade into the cupholder, tossed the beef jerky over to Weston and tucked the gummies into his pocket, buckling himself in and readjusting himself until his hands had thawed enough to grip the wheel. "Okay, what's Dustin's address?"

Weston took one look at the green drink sitting between the two of them and looked back up at Kyle "Do you like my sister?"

Kyle nearly laughed, but he caught himself, recognizing the seriousness in Weston's voice. "What?" The tone his voice carried was utterly perplexed "I think there's something in that jerky."

"I'm serious, don't get any funny ideas," Weston spoke through a mouth of beef jerky, words muffled.

"I promise all of my ideas are very unfunny," Kyle shook his head, trying to focus on driving through the storm.

"Yeah, sure," Weston's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Kyle felt his face flush, thankful for the darkness that hid his reaction. They drove in silence for a few more minutes, the storm raging outside, the only sound inside the car being the rhythmic swish of the wipers and the occasional rumble of thunder. Finally, the headlights illuminated the house where Weston's friend lived. His eyes weren't on Weston as he walked into the house but on the green bottle sitting in his cup holder.

By the time Kyle got back to your house, he was soaking wet, curls defined by dampness and clothes clinging to his body. "Is Kyle back? Is that him?" Your dad asked through Facetime to which you nodded "Turn me around I want to say hi."

Kyle squinted his eyes before recognizing it was your dad on the phone "Hey," He smiled "How's Vegas?"

"It is awesome," Your dad said "I got Ike and Weston these trucker hats," he held his phone away from him while he held up the merch "And I got you this hoodie, made me think of you," Your dad flipped the camera around to show the hotel bed where a black hoodie was sprawled out with the album cover of 'Violater' on the front.

"What did you get me?" You ask, turning your phone screen back to face you where you were bundled up and tucked into a corner of the sofa.

"Erm," He sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, turns his head and goes out of frame while he shuffles through some things. Your dad places his phone down, thinking that he has muted himself "Honey, what did we get for our daughter?"

"I dunno, we can buy her something at the airport." You hear your mom say "Can you tell her that I bought her ticket for the lock-in?"

"Oh my god," you can't bite back the smile you have purely from how ridiculous they are, looking at Kyle who has his eyebrows slightly raised.

"Gimme that, I wanna talk to her and Kyle," The phone shifts, and the view of the ceiling is replaced with your mother's face, she's holding the phone far out "Hi, guys."

"Hi," Kyle says half-heartedly.

"Did you guys read the storm warnings?" Your mom asks and continues before either of you has the chance to answer "There is a storm outside."

"Yeah, we know, we're in it," You say blankly.

"Yeah, big storm tonight," Your dad crams himself next to your mom so he can squish in frame "I got a notification from my weather app."

Your mom nods like this tame fact needed confirmation "He did."

In his damp pocket, Kyle feels his phone vibrate, his mother is on the other end waiting for him to pick up the call "Mom?"

"Kyle," Sheila says, she's on Facetime as well, wearing a blue silk heatless on the top of her head, red hair braided around it. It was the one you had gifted her for Secret Santa "Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah?" He furrows his eyebrows, looking up at you though you were just as clueless as he was.

"I want you guys to stay inside until this storm is over, there's gonna be hail and the last hail storm his not go well for you," This was very much true. The last hail storm was a year prior in early September, huge chunks of ice had plummeted from the sky in excruciating force. Kyle was at Stan's house when it happened, Sparky had gotten out and the two boys were desperate to chase him back outside but the hail only startled the dog further causing him to dash around the streets in a panic, not even resting for a moment. By the time Sparky was back inside safely, both boys had bruises cascading down their backs in an array of deep purples and reds.

Others weren't so lucky to get away with bruises. Butters had been hit smack in his head and had bled into Cartman's white headrest while being driven to the hospital. The poor guy ended up with five staples in a jagged line on the back of his scalp and a wicked scar to show for it.

"Is that Sheila?" Your mom asked, "I want to see her."

Both you and Kyle had turned the phone screens to face each other, trying to ignore the weirdness of doing so. "Hey," Sheila said, "I was just telling the kids to stay inside, there's a big storm down here."

"And hail," your dad added, matter-of-factly.

"There's going to be hail the size of tennis balls," Gerald hadn't heard your dad through the phone, you could hear him sink into the bed beside his wife.

"What?" Your dad asked "Gerald?"

Gerald peeped over at his wife's phone "How was the concert?"

"I know, crazy storm right," Your dad had taken his phone back from your mother and pretended that he could understand what was being said 562 miles away in the Broflovski household. "Kyle, why are you so wet?" He turned his attention to the boy awkwardly holding his screen out.

"He was driving Weston, you know this." You answer for him.

"In the storm?" Sheila asked.

"Don't go out in the storm," Your mom called from somewhere else in the room.

"Okay, I'm gonna hang up, we will stay inside you have my word," You wait for your dad to answer before hanging up.

"Okay, love you Jellybean, save me that gouda in the cheese drawer," His eyes shoot around the screen, in search of the exit button though, he taps around for a minute, muting then unmuting himself before finally hanging up.

Kyle had wandered off, slowly pacing around by the front door while nodding along to the things his mom was rattling off. It took eight minutes until Sheila finally let him go with one last goodbye "Okay, love you too, Mom."

"Uh," You look at Kyle, who was quite literally dripping on the floor, the white shirt beneath his flannel had turned translucent, clinging to the muscle of his stomach "Do you wanna shower or something?"

He looks down at himself his jeans wet and heavy before he looks back up at you "Yeah, I do."

You pry yourself off the couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like a cape while you lead Kyle upstairs. You were forbidden from touching the thermostat without your father's permission and even though he was in another state entirely, you had a sinking feeling that some way he would find how so you thought it better to bundle up instead.

"Use whatever products, I don't really care," You open the door to the bathroom even though Kyle knew where everything in your house was and would've been fine on his own. To you, it felt like he was more of a formal guest than a friend and you had to show some form of courtesy. "I'll find you something from my dad's closet."

"Alright," Kyle says as you turn away, pushing the door to your parent's room open. You b-lined for the wardrobe, rifling through until you found plaid pyjama pants and one of his well-worn t-shirts that you had seen in pictures from his college years.

On your way back to the bathroom you stopped in your room to shove your feet into your cow slippers since the storm was quickly cooling your house down. Your knuckles wrapped on the door "Are you naked?"

"No," He answers. "Why are-

You push the door open and find him standing shirtless by the sink, looking at something on his phone while his wet shirt and flannel are hanging over the shower rod. Your eyes catch to the glucose monitor patch stuck onto his toned bicep before you catch your eyes shifting down towards the well-defined ab muscles, catching yourself within seconds and plopping the clothes onto the counter. "Taking mirror pictures?" You joke halfheartedly.

He turns his phone around to show you his 'mySugr' app where he had been checking his glucose levels "Yeah, something like that."

"It's just a shirt and pants, I don't want you sharing underwear with my dad," You say abruptly, giving the folded clothes a little pat.

"I don't want that either, so thank you," He presses his lips into a thin smile.

"Okay," You say, glancing around the bathroom to see if you were missing anything before you left, closing the door behind you.

You kept listening for the hail but all you heard was a soothing backdrop to the otherwise quiet house, Kyle's shower blending seamlessly in with the rain. You stood at the kitchen counter, wincing slightly as you adjusted the bag of shredded cheese in your hand. Your broken nose, swollen and tender, throbbed dully, while the turf burns on your leg stung every time you shifted your weight. The painkillers you'd taken earlier had dulled the edges of your discomfort, but they left you feeling groggy and disconnected.

With slow, deliberate movements, you laid a tortilla on the skillet, the soft sizzle of the heating pan. You sprinkled a generous handful of cheese onto the tortilla, your fingers fumbling slightly as the drowsiness made even simple tasks a challenge. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself against the counter, trying to focus through the haze of the medication.

The rain grew heavier, a steady drumming that matched the dull ache in your body. You reached for the second tortilla, placing it carefully on top of the melting cheese. Your reflection in the window caught your eye—a girl with tousled hair, a bandaged nose, and dark circles under her eyes. The bruising was beginning to ebb away and by the time of the junior lock-in, you would be able to take the bandage off for good. Eventually, you would be left with no more than a scar on the bridge of your nose and mark this down as your most tormenting injury yet

The smell of melting cheese filled the kitchen, a small comfort amidst your discomfort. You flipped the quesadilla, the action sending a sharp pain through your wrist, making you gasp. You clenched your teeth, riding out the wave of pain until it subsided to a more manageable level. The medication dulled the pain but didn't erase it, leaving you in a strange limbo between relief and awareness.

As the quesadilla finished cooking, you carefully slid it onto a plate. You cut it into quarters, each movement slow and deliberate, then carry the plate to the table. Sitting down, you gingerly touched your swollen nose, wincing at the contact, then picked up a piece of the quesadilla.

The first bite was heavenly, the warm, gooey cheese a small relief against the storm raging both outside and within your body. You chewed slowly, savouring the simple pleasure of a hot meal on a rainy day. Each bite eased a bit of your tension, the repetitive motion meditative in its simplicity.

You heard the familiar thumps signalling someone was coming down the hardwood stairs and didn't need to turn your head to know that it was Kyle. "Quesadilla?" He sits on the opposite side of the couch from you, grabbing his laptop off the coffee table from the exact spot he had left it.

Silence stretches between you as you wait to chew your bite thoroughly and swallow before answering him "Yeah, do you want one?"

"No, I'm good," He opens the tab with the presentation, picking up right where he left off. He would be stuck with you until the hail hit, and then he would leave. Like he told Weston, he was going to finish the project and go home.

"That's good, I wouldn't have made it anyway."

"Why would you ask me then?"

"Courtesy?" Your answer comes out sounding like a question.

While Kyle was dropping your brother off, you had finished your portion of the assignment, leaving you to scroll through your timeline, tuning out to the constant sound of rain and Kyle's quick typing. With a small groan from the soreness of every inch of your body, you grabbed the remote off the table and began to flip through thumbnails of shows and movies.

You had flipped your phone face down on the table and put on Do Not Disturb. You were the kind who didn't pick up the phone when they didn't want to speak and in that moment you had been forgetting that Kyle was even there until you heard him shift.

"Are you going to the lock-in?" You lift your head the slightest to look at Kyle.

"Maybe," He hadn't entirely wanted to go to a school event where nearly everyone in his grade would be locked in the school's gym overnight, it sounded similar to the nightmares that kept him awake though he was being coerced not only by his mother but Kenny who had been the first of his friends who paid for a ticket. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I was gonna stay at Red's and just tell my mom I went but she's going so," You blow a raspberry "I guess I am, I'll probably wanna shoot myself in the head though."

"Huh," He utters simply in acknowledgment.

Settling on watching a reality show where everyone was yelling at everything all of the time, you pulled your blanket higher, letting your head rest on the arm of the couch. Kyle would claim to hate trash reality but you always caught him sneaking glances at the screen whenever it was on.

The soft glow of the television cast flickering shadows across the room. The wind howls and rain lashes against the windows, creating a constant noise that only heightens your sense of isolation.

The reality TV show you're watching is a mindless distraction, a parade of drama and superficiality that you shamelessly indulge in. It's a welcome escape from the throbbing pain in your nose and the raw sting of the turf burn consistently stinging. You shift uncomfortably, trying to find a position that doesn't exacerbate your injuries, wincing as the movement sends fresh waves of pain through your body.

"How's it going?" you ask, your voice thick from the congestion caused by your broken nose. Speaking still hurts, but the silence is becoming unbearable. You had to say something, anything. It was like there had been a shift, where once you happily accepted ignoring Kyle in silence, now you felt like you were being smothered. You needed to talk even if your conversations were stiff and awkward like they had been all night and would only continue to be.

Kyle looks up. "Getting there. How's your nose?"

"It's chill right now." You lie through your teeth, it was hurting badly. "How's your eye?"

His hand absentmindedly moved upward to gently touch the bruised area. There were a few days when it looked like it was healing nicely but it quickly went downhill, he woke one morning to find splotchy colours over his eye and all he could do was accept the fact. "Better than your- well, everything I'm guessing," He gestured to the burn on your arm.

You glance down as well, moving your arm to inspect the injury "Yeah, it feels like a million miniature humans are stabbing me and kicking me like all the time."

He nods, a sympathetic look crossing his face. "Do you need another painkiller or something?"

You shake your head, regretting the motion almost immediately as it sends a sharp ache through your skull. "No, I'm okay, I have so many painkillers in me that I'm rattling like a maraca."

The room falls silent again, save for the drone of the TV and the relentless battering of the storm outside. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, wishing you could fast-forward through the next few days of recovery. Your eyes drift back to the TV screen, where contestants are arguing over something trivial.

Kyle's fingers tap away at the keyboard, a steady stream of clicks. Finally, he sits back, stretching his arms and letting out a sigh of relief. "It's done," he announces, closing the laptop. "The project is finished."

"Woohoo," You bring your hands together to give him a weak round of applause. Still facing the TV you hadn't noticed the small smile that Kyle cracked, it wasn't the sheepish thin-lipped ones you had grown accustomed to but one that showed his perfect rows of teeth.

He leans back onto the couch, arms crossed while he lets himself tune into the awful show. Feeling a slight chill, he tugged on the blanket sprawled over you until it covered his lap. You hadn't minded when Kyle came under the blanket, giving him leeway so he wouldn't freeze.

You lay on your side, reaching to scratch an itch on your upper lip but instead being met with warm liquid on your fingers. Immediately you shoot up your hand out in front of you, the TV shifts scenes and the room is illuminated, the blood on your hand illuminated.

"Mother fucker," You hiss pushing yourself off the couch to rush to the bathroom before blood from your nose could trickle onto your dad's shirt.

Kyle wasn't sure what had you storming off, he partially thought you were upset about him tucking himself under the blanket but he didn't say anything, he just watched you usher off and up the stairs with perplexing eyes.

You slap the light switch to the bathroom, hands bracing on the bathroom sink while you assess the situation on your face. Sometime while you and Kyle were sitting in darkness lit only by a TV screen you must've irritated the laceration on your nose as it was nose gushing blood and soaking the bandage lying over top.

Despite the pain, you muster the courage to attempt changing the bandage on your own. With trembling hands, you carefully begin to peel away the old bandage, wincing as the adhesive pulls at your tender skin. You grit your teeth, determined to see this through, but as you try to pull the bandage away, you shudder, it is clinging to your nose from the blood soaking in and binding it.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath, frustration bubbling up inside you. You glance at yourself in the mirror, the sight of your bruised under eyes and the trickle of blood making you feel even more helpless. Pounding on the bathroom window you could pinpoint the exact sound that the hail had begun, the patterns of rain turned into a harsh banging noise that crashed over the roof.

Sticky blood gripped onto your skin and the more effort you put into clearing it away, the harder you were pushing on your broken nose. Taking a deep breath, you grab hold of one end of the bandage then rip it off at record speed, trying to ignore the pain that shot through you and how it had tugged on the stitches but it was impossible.

"Fuck, ow!" You shout, throwing the soiled bandage into the sink in anger "I'm not fucking doing this."

Looking up and into the mirror, you see the gash over your nose, the blood dripping from it and pooling around the area, slinking its way into the crevices of your under eyes and knowing that you didn't have much choice. Dabbing a bit of rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad, you brought it up to your nose and winced on instinct, body shuddering from the sting.

You put the cotton pad down, chewing your lip in an attempt to bite back the tears and the array of colourful words you wanted to scream. Tears were brimming in your eyes purely from the sensation. "Kyle!" You call out, hands cupping your mouth.

It took him a minute to reach you but when he did he paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of you "Are you taking out your stitches?" His voice bordered somewhere between panic and intrigue.

"No, but it's bleeding and I need to fix it and it really fucking hurts so can you please do it?"

He spends a moment just staring at you, drinking in the request before it finally rendered "You definitely can't do it yourself?"

"Yeah."

"And it's not one of those wait-it-out things?"

"Don't be a dick, are you helping me or not?"

He runs a hand through his hair, the other on his hip. His nose wrinkled slightly at the thought of pressing too hard on your nose or making the stitches bleed even more "What if I hurt you?"

"I'm already hurt."

"Yeah, okay, fine." Kyle pulls his phone from the pocket of his flannel pants and begins searching for guidance.

You propped yourself to sit up on the bathroom counter, eye level with Kyle as he bent down just the slightest. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Uh, yup," Beside you, he placed his phone, it was open to a wikiHow article on bandaging a broken nose. He carefully soaked a cotton pad and began to clear away the blood, revealing the raw, stitched wound beneath. You clenched your teeth, eyes watering from the sharp, stinging pain that accompanied the exposure of the wound. "Sorry," Kyle murmured, his voice bordering somewhere between concentration and sympathy. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"Okay," You cast your gaze to the side, trying desperately to avoid making eye contact with Kyle when he was so close to you and studying your face with such intensity.

He dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth, wiping away the fresh blood with gentle, meticulous strokes. The antiseptic came next, its cool sting causing you to flinch despite your best efforts to stay still. Kyle couldn't help the face he made at the sight of the bruising swallowing up your nose and the irritation surrounding the wound itself.

You were quick to catch onto this "I know I look gross."

"No, you don't look gross," He shook his head slightly, his hands moved to bring your head upwards, chin between his index and thumb while he wiped away the last of the blood. You held your breath, The strength in his hands and forearms was evident though each movement was slow and benign as a feather-stroke.

He looked like honey and you couldn't ignore that. His ginger hair was streaked with gold from sun exposure, and his hazel eyes were flecked with brown. He remained sweet as honey too, and as gentle as the wings that made it.

He placed the gauze on your nose for padding very meticulously and followed the guide on his phone while taping it. "Done," Kyle said finally, pressing a new, clean bandage over the stitches. He secured it with tender, precise fingers, then looked into your eyes for reassurance "How does that feel?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the snug, secure fit of the new bandage. With a gentle touch, you tapped around at the freshly bandaged area "It's good, thanks."

Kyle nodded, quickly backing up, throwing out the soiled medical supplies and tucking the first aid kit back underneath the sink. He cleared his thought, looking at the window where the hail was slowing down, it was back to the heavy rain "Hails passed, I'll grab my stuff and head out."

"Um, okay," You stayed on the counter, watching him fumble around to his clothes that had been drying on the shower curtain rod. In one minute a million thoughts were mauling at your mind but there was one that stood out from the rest "Or we could watch a movie?"

Abruptly his head swerved to look at you. He had assumed this to be mocking but you just stared at him and waited for an answer, as cool as he wanted to play it he broke into a small small with furrowed brows "Yeah, okay." Suddenly he was wishing he had given you the powerade that he bought for you.

A/N: oml I meant to post this days ago, it’s just been chilling in my drafts

#kyle broflovski #south park #kyle south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle brovlofski #south park hcs #south park kyle #sp kyle

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leaderpinhead · 29 days ago

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Malleus - Girl Talk

Prompt: Fun Because what's more fun than teasing Sebek? And Jamil's new interest in pumpkins? I'm not sorry. Harry, Phyllis and Min are OCs I've created, who attend an all-girls school equivalent to NRC. They are my Yuu's girlfriends, and I take every whim that comes along to write them having girl time. :D

Malleus didn’t realize how stunted his socializing was until he was surrounded by a group of giggling girls. In fact, he was almost disappointed he had spent his first two years at Night Raven College missing all the interscholastic activities. He smirked at the girlish giggles coming from Yuu and her Mourning Dove Institute friends. Silver stood confused next to Sebek, who vehemently protested the behavior with the reddest face Malleus had ever seen on him. “Stop your giggling at once!”

Yuu snorted with renewed laughter. Min attempted to stifle her giggles by biting her bottom lip, but the bright flush across her cheeks refused to fade. Harry outright guffawed at the demand. Even Phyllis, the most prim and proper one of them, could only stifle her giggles by covering her mouth.

Silver slowly blinked. “I’m not sure I understand what's so funny.”

Grim, who busily nibbled on the croissant Yuu bought him, snickered between bites. “Seriously? Even I get it, and I’m not human.”

“Hold your tongue!” Sebek cried. His face was glowing brighter by the second. He shot a quick glance at Malleus, likely waiting for Malleus to step in and agree with him. Malleus smirked and quietly observed. “This...this is inappropriate to speak about in public!”

“Oh, come on, celery stick,” Harry said. She continued over Sebek’s snappy demand not to use the newfound nickname. “I can think of tons of more inappropriate talk to be had. If ya didn’t wanna hear girl talk, you shoulda stayed back at Noble Bell.”

“And leave Lord Malleus unattended?” Sebek heavily dropped into his chair. He glared at the rabbit beastfolk from across the table. “I would never!”

Harry shrugged and turned back to Yuu, who noisily sipped her foamy latte. “So like I was saying, you just go right up to him and say, ‘Hold me like one of your pumpkins, Jamil-senpai!’”

The foam went flying across the small table thanks to Yuu’s sputtering laugh. More hysterical giggles erupted from the other girls, interspersed with Sebek’s sputtering protests. Silver’s eyes narrowed. “I’m still confused. Jamil is an expert at finding the best produce in the Mystery Shop. He has helped me several times to find ripe fruit. I think that is a skill that should be praised.”

Harry, still laughing, leaned over and fondly patted Silver’s elbow. “Oh, to be as pure as you, you innocent little prince. Alas, I am far too travel worn in my old age.”

Phyllis snorted and took a dainty bite of the small cookies they bought along with the croissants and coffee. “You are only eighteen, Harry.”

“A granny compared to you little froshes.” Malleus was impressed by the way Harry made her eyebrows wiggle. It was reminiscent of a wiggling worm. “I have stories that would make your blushes blush.”

“Prefect!” Sebek cried. Malleus could see the desperate embarrassment shimmering in his eyes. “Stop your friends right now! This is a conversation that should be done in private!”

“You’re such an adorable prude, celery stick!” Harry fondly patted Sebek’s head like he was a child. “You won’t survive the next segment of our girl talk.”

“Next...” Sebek jerked away from Harry’s hand when he realized what she was doing. He slowly backed away from the table and eyed each girl with suspicion. “What could you possibly discuss that was more...more scandalous than this?”

Min leaned onto Yuu’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. Yuu’s mouth comically pursed, and her eyes widened. The two girls dissolved into another fit of giggles, their faces becoming redder. Malleus nearly scooted to the edge of his chair, eager to hear what they planned next.

Harry leaned forward as if she was about to tackle Sebek to prevent his escape. “Who was your first kiss, celery stick?”

Sebek gasped with sincere outrage. “How dare you ask such a personal question? We barely even know each other. You should be ashamed of yourself! In public too!”

“My father taught me I should be unashamed to declare my attachments in front of others,” Silver said. He still looked confused by the turn of conversation, but he was no less confident in his words. “If you refuse to acknowledge your partner in public, then you are admitting you are ashamed by your partnership. Shame strangles the natural growth of your relationship. It leads to a lack of trust and likely an imbalance of power. The only outcome of a shallow coupling is its ultimate failure.”

The girls’ giggles quieted, and they all stared at Silver with various levels of awe and solemnity. Even Malleus started with surprise. Lilia had never discussed such issues with Malleus. The light feeling Malleus felt during this entire outing slowly curdled in the pit of his stomach.

“If I remember correctly,” Silver continued, “Sebek shared his first kiss with his neighbor. He was extremely upset because he had planned to give his first kiss to Malleus.”

Ear-piercing cackles shattered the moment. Sebek angrily shouted at Silver, who silently blinked in sincere confusion. Grim’s laughter made him choke on a mouthful of bread, and Yuu gasped for breath between each laugh while she smacked Grim’s back to dislodge the food.

Malleus chuckled. That sudden curdling feeling in his stomach dissolved. “Is that true, Sebek? Now I have a better idea for why you wished to become my retainer at such a young age.”

Sebek vehemently protested, which Harry naturally highjacked with her teasing. The conversation around the table eventually transitioned to other topics, and Malleus comfortably leaned back in his chair. He chimed in occasionally, but he mainly observed the others interact with each other. The act of simply living in the moment was enough to leave him content.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twstober #twstober 2024 #malleus draconia #silver #sebek zigvolt #twst yuu #original characters

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fuzzkaizer · 3 months ago

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Montreal Assembly - Worng Side Of Uranus

"If you’re a regular Cabinet peruser, you’ve joined me as I waxed nostalgic for time periods I’ve never lived in, you’ve noticed me orating some company and component history, and you’ve almost certainly seen me talk about the best effects in their respective classes. And while there are plenty of classes and there is certainly enough love to go around, today I present you with my favorite pedal of all time: the Montreal Assembly Wrong Side of Uranus.

While many of you know Scott Monk and his amazing company for the Count to 5, he’s been in business for much longer than you think, and he’s made more things than most people know about. I first found out about him in 2009 while chasing wares by one of pedal history’s most sought-after builders, Etienne Blythe of Sonic Crayon.

If you were as into pedals as I was in the late-aughts… well, there’s a chance you still may never have heard of Sonic Crayon. However, at one time, Sonic Crayon’s wares were in extreme demand, with resellers ransacking the limited inventory and flipping the pedals for four times the price. His most famous may have been the Hollow Earth. His most unobtainable may have been the Anti-Nautilus. The one I wanted was the Moth.

The Moth was Sonic Crayon’s bitcrusher, and back in 2008 and 2009, that wasn’t an effect you could get just anywhere. However, Sonic Crayon had an old-school way of doing things: When he felt like making a batch, he did. Then he put 10 or so up for sale on his blog, and by word of mouth they’d sell out in minutes. One time, when checking his blog for a potential drop, I saw a new post where he said that if you’re tired of waiting for a Moth, there’s another Canadian guy making bitcrushers and that his were admittedly better. Who am I to argue? Let’s go.

That company was Montreal Assembly. At that time, Scott had only released two pedals, the Uranus and another insane device called Probability of a Fax Machine. When I heard the crude “basement demos,” I was sold. The problem: the sales tactics were exactly the same as Sonic Crayon—made and sold whenever. I never caught one. But my friend did.

My friend had gone off to college and left a present for me. I took a train and met their dad at a station in the suburbs, retrieved the box and opened it right there on the train. The Uranus was inside. When I got home I plugged everything I could into it. I messaged its creator, Scott, on Gmail Chat and geeked out when he answered.

I asked him if it was possible to add a mix circuit to the Uranus and Scott took time out of studying for signal processing exams to draw me up a somewhat complicated add-on schematic. Being somewhat intermediate with prototyping board, I hadn’t done a whole lot of my own stripboard layouts. Be that as it may, I cobbled it together. It worked. Now, I could blend the clean signal in with the bitcrushed one.

Despite being housed in a spray painted computer project box and featuring a barren aesthetic landscape, the Uranus is an impeccably engineered piece of sonic kit. Like most bitcrushers, there are knobs for bit rate and sample rate reduction. The third is volume. However, the bit rate knob is a pushbutton rotary encoder; as you turn it, it displays the bitrate in the seven-segment display. When the pedal is in bypass, the display flashes “bypass,” one letter at a time. Pressing down on the rotary encoder cycles through a slew of modes—ten to be exact—called things like “Dialup,” “Hostile” and more, including an incredible bitcrushed trem called “Blipo'' and a modulated sample rate mode called “Plunger.” It’s total labor-of-love stuff and I am here for it.

Mine is labeled 2010 and is one of a handful known to exist, and the only one with this mix knob. You may have seen one in a promotional photo that Strymon posted of its El Capistan being used in the studio by Godspeed! You Black Emperor, with the Uranus riding sidesaddle. Many, many people have never heard of it, and some of you may have never heard of Montreal Assembly before now. I urge you to change that.

At NAMM 2020, I actually saw Scott walking by our booth and I recognized him from some old demos. I ran down the aisle and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked right at me, then read my name badge, looked back up and said “Heyyy, Kula, how’s that bitcrusher treating you?” What a legend."

cred: catalinbread.com/blogs/kulas-cabinet/montreal-assembly-wrong-side-of-uranus

#montreal assembly #wrong side of uranus #kulas cabinet #bitcrusher

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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tyvm for 8k+ followers!! 😭

Ignore the crazy number of drafts I have—

WEHHH 🥺 You guys keep surprising me time and time again! Like I always say, thank you for the support!! Each and every one of you has been such an integral part of this journey.

At the 7k follower milestone, I revealed seven NRC dorm uniform designs for Miss Raven (my TWST OC and blog mascot/muse!). For this milestone, I’ll do the same, but for RSA and NBC uniforms 🎵 They’re just sketches, but I hope you find them interesting all the same! I designed them with the prompt of "what if Raven ended up at a different school than NRC" in mind. How would these new environments and students shape her as she learns and grows?

Royal Sword Academy

The hairstyle for RSA!Raven is similar to NRC!Raven, but with the pigtails lifted much higher to represent a shift in her place and role in the world. It's crazy how just the pigtails being higher makes her look so different... almost kind of resembles Hatsune Miku! You'll also notice that it's not actually a single large chunk of hair curling in each pigtail; it's meant to look sort of like two segments intertwining (think like OMGkawaiiAngel from Needy Streamer Overload, but with thicker hair; it looked weird when Raven's hair wasn't thick).

RSA!Raven's look is a mixture of what a tomboyish, active princess would wear and what a more traditional princess would wear. The base look is very Snow White-inspired, since that's an important and historical film for Disney. She has a little red bow clipped to the center of her hair, puff sleeves that resemble the ones on Snow White's dress, and her collar is high and poofs out similar to Snow White's. The bow also appears on her boots, which are high and come with a stable sole for trekking around.

Raven's jacket is long and boasts a flamboyant train that flares out, and with the sash repurposed to her waist and the pleated skirt, it gives the illusion of a dress. On top, she wears a frilly blouse and a cravat of raven feathers. Cinched as an accessory atop the cravat is her magestone inlaid in an RSA brooch. She wears a pair of safety shorts under her skirt so she can run and climb without worry. What if there's a cat stuck in a tree or an old lady that needs help crossing the street?! Have no fear, the tomboyishly heroic Raven-san will come help!!

This version of Raven is much more upbeat and outgoing! Since RSA is a place that promotes teamwork, she's now the type that's eager and willing to fight for her friends and to help those in need! Raven's still ever the curious intellectual, but at RSA, where her wishes and hopes for the future are planted, watered, and left to bloom, she's much more open about sharing her dreams and confiding in others. No trust issues here! In fact, maybe she's a little too trusting (much like how she initially started off at NRC). Even though she may have girlish dreams and small stature, you shouldn't underestimate her! She can pack quite a punch with her small fists and loudmouth. RSA!Raven is a classic bright, doe-eyed do-gooder that would surely piss the NRC boys off. When she's not writing a story, she's going around with Chenya and seeing what fun new things lie in store for her. (It's rare that you'll find Raven cooped up in a room!) She's also the first to admit wrongdoing or defeat if she's done something wrong or stepped out of line. RSA!Raven is just honest to a fault, and it's usually Chenya who has to talk her out of apologizing for everything. "Mmm? What's the big deal if we sneak onto NRC campus? Sure, they may not like us, but there's no rule against paying a visit to old friends! You should come along~ I bet it'll be real fun!"

Noble Bell College

NBC!Raven doesn't have too many outrageous modifications (like, no super short skirts here) to her outfit because in my mind, the school is pretty conservative and wouldn't stand for that. There's a ribbon tied in her beret, as well as another at her chest to secure the diamond-cut magestone there. Usually the shawl NBC students wear is all cloth, but I layered it so there's cloth over Raven's usual feather shawl. The sash coming from her shoulders is also longer and cut a little differently to help signal that she's an anomaly within the student body. Her collar is also a little looser to help her breathe. Last but not least, Raven decided to personalize her uniform a little bit by tying a loose piece of fabric over the longer robes underneath. It has golden beading along the hem, which resembles a piece on Esmeralda's own skirt. Raven wears strings of pearls on her waist in her original NRC outfit, so I thought this would be a neat parallel for her NBC look.

I wanted Raven's hair here to be simple, so it's let down and falls in natural loose waves. Some of it is over her shoulder, but the rest is behind her back, so this helps to slightly differentiate it from the other hairstyles she has worn before. I think it helps to give the impression that she's a studious scholar, but there's a cute and quirky side to her too.

If you thought NRC!Raven was an introvert, hoo boy 😅 you haven't seen anything yet! In the quiet solace of Noble Bell's untarnished halls, peace reigns supreme. Under the watch of the Bell of Salvation, Raven has blossomed into a quiet, stoic, and innocent flower. She does her due diligence sweeping the floors and washing the gargoyles (greeting them every day with a soft smile), then writes stories by candlelight. In the afternoons, she likes to observe the townspeople from a seat at a cafe, or even from up on high, at the tallest tower in the city. Raven respects authority and the rules, and, above all else, believes that justice and equality should be upheld. As expected of someone growing up with the tales of the Just Judge!

If the bad influences of NRC aren't around to be bad influences on her, then surely Rollo will get the job done for them. Thing is, we don't see him acting out in the presence of his peers. This will, naturally, lead to Raven foolishly thinking that he's an excellent role model and thus strive to be just like him. She follows him around like a lost puppy and shyly asks him for advice on various things. Maybe she'd even be a member of student council (secretary?) and hope that her contributions will bring her ever closer to reaching the pinnacle that is the president. With the vice prez and aide, they form the Rollo Fan Club!

... And yet, even though she admires him so deeply, there's a part of her that suspects that Rollo-senpai isn't telling his whole story. She's incredible empathetic and good at reading people (after all, she talks to the stone statues around campus too!)--and her senses tell her that behind Rollo's calm demeanor and dependableness, there's something dark eating away at him. "I wish he would trust us enough to let us know," she says. But maybe someday he will open up to her. (ie Raven is so totally going, "I CAN FIX HIM!!")

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley #my art #milestone #notes from the writing raven #follower milestone #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Chenya #Che’nya #Rollo Flamme #Rollo Flamm #Neige Leblanche

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yeontaescumslut · 7 months ago

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ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 “SWIM”

pairing: yeonjun x beomgyu x readerx2

Genre: non - idol au, smut

Synopsis: INTEREST CHECK!!! (Would you want more of this)

Warnings: none yet

Word count: 835

authors note: This is just an interest check to see if anyone would be interested in this story! If so please leave a note or comment!

Reader one pov

Today started like any normal day, you and your best friend had college classes all day and then work later on in the day. You both worked the same job at the local Boba shop. Luckily today you were both on schedule at the same time, those are the best shifts but also the worst because you never get anything done.

Obviously you both plan to buy tickets, the closest tickets to the stage possible, you just had to see them up close. You both secure your tickets for the show, which was in a week from that day….Time flies and before you know it, it’s time for the concert. You and your best friend are wearing “I ❤️ my Bf” shirts with your favorite member in the center of the heart. Yours is a picture of Taehyun and Hers is a picture of Beomgyu. On the bottom you both are wearing the shortest shorts you could find, mainly because the concert was in the middle of summer…definitely not for any other reason.

The both of you had barricade tickets, you don’t know how you managed to score barricade tickets but you weren’t complaining. You were both so excited for the show to begin and just when you’re least expecting it the lights dim and 5 silhouettes appear on the stage. The lights turn on and you can clearly see the boys now. Yeonjun directly in your line of sight along with Beomgyu… you’ve always been a Taehyun Stan but in that moment Yeonjun took your breath away…his plump soft lips, his pearl skin, his brown hair looking as soft as silk… you don’t notice but your best friend taps you on the shoulder and tells you he’s staring directly at you, very noticeably at that. You finally snap back to reality and notice as well that yeonjun is definitely eyeing you down. He eventually gets caught up in his performance and makes his way back to the other side of the stage. You forget about yeonjun for the moment because Taehyun comes to your side and Is definitely interacting with you. Before you know it yeonjun makes his was back to your side of the stage and you’re reminded just how “excited” he made you.

Reader 2 pov

being too caught up with affiliating with your best friends affair you were too distracted to notice how Beomgyu had not only refrained from moving away from your side of the stage, but has found himself a seat on the edge of the stage almost directly in front of you as his other members get comfortable frolicking around the stage or find other places to sit and interact with fans. Once you leave the land of delusional affairs, you are met with his melanin filled skin glistening from sweat as the sun beats down on him like no tomorrow (hehe). The way his face lifted in amusement once he saw you were now finally looking at him was more than enough to make your heart falter, noting the way his eyes glanced down to your breast..that had his face printed it bold ink on it made his top lip curve up into a smile before flashing you a quick wink. you re-adjusted your posture flustered, hanging onto the barricade for any more support you needed after that occurrence.

Soon enough the sun set and the concert was moving into some of the last segments of the show meaning the boys would change into the more casual outfits consisting of their own tour merch and ripped jeans. those fucking ripped black skinny jeans clung desperately to soobins thighs that have not left your sight since they stepped back out on stage. you wouldn’t know how obvious it was that you were staring at his lower portion that you just so happen to be almost eye level with rather than his upper half but this became more apparent to you when he bent down right in front of you to catch your gaze. singing his next line straight into your soul, right after licking the sweat off his upper lip with a smile before regaining his standing position, eyes still on you waiting to see if you’ll follow him up this time. which thankfully you did seeing that it was probably best you didn’t stare at his thighs right fucking in front of him. if only he knew just what you were thinking about doing with them specifically.

* NOTE*

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, this is a collaboration with my best friend. We are writing this together in our own POVS. We hope you enjoy!

#kpop smut #txt smut #beomgyu #yeonjun #kang taehyun #soobin #tomorrow x together #smut #kpop scenarios #yeonjun smut #taehyun x reader #beomgyu x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts

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nfatcheese · 1 year ago

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I think Thraxa should have had the entire episode to itself and that episode should have been the season finale.

Season 2 so far is going way too fast. A lot of time is passing for the characters in just a few episodes and we're not seeing most of that time. In episode 2 Mark and friends are graduating high school and getting ready for summer, and then in episode 3 they're starting college. The entire summer happened between episodes.

The main problem that comes of this is that months have passed for the characters since they saw Nolan, but it's only been a couple episodes for the audience. It creates a major disconnect between the amount of time the characters have had to move on and heal from the season finale and how fresh it is for us. We had eight episodes of Nolan being evil and only three of him being gone. For show-only viewers especially, it feels like Nolan's redemption is starting way too soon.

If they waited until episode 8 to bring Nolan back, instead of episode 4, we would have had almost the entire season to move on. In season 1 several events were shuffled around to accommodate Nolan leaving at the end of the season instead of just a few issues in. The same thing could have been done in season 2, maybe have Angstrom Levy's plotline play out so we have another major antagonist besides Nolan.

Then the final episode should be entirely about Thraxa, or at least entirely segmented from the rest of the episode like Allen was in episode 3. The stuff about Debbie and Eve and the Maulers could be covered in a different episode, and then Thraxa is thirty to forty minutes of uninterrupted tension and carnage like the season 1 finale was.

It would have allowed some good bits from the comics to make it into Thraxa as well. In particular, when Mark is flying to the cave in the comic, he's being chased by a Viltrumite and is flying as fast as he can, but he can't outrun him. When he gets there he's tired, which is something he didn't think could happen, and it makes him realize that he needs to exercise.

There's so many other good moments from the comic that didn't make it to the show. Things like Mark checking Nolan is real and not another Thraxan disguise, or Nolan explaining how his name was pronounced on Viltrum. And the fight itself could have been so much more brutal. Just look at the sheer violence of the comic compared to the show:

Notice in the background panels how the sky goes from dark to light. They're fighting for so long the sun comes up. The fight in the show didn't last nearly that long.

Also we could have gotten this awesome line from Nolan:

#invincible #invincible spoilers #still love the show don't get me wrong #i criticize it because i care and want it to be better #the season's also not bad by any stretch #and this episode in particular handles mark's reaction way better than the comic #but damn the comic knew how to make a good fight

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absolutebl · 2 years ago

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This Week in BL - Ending the Year FINE & simple

Dec 2022 Wk 4

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying the most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Never Let Me Go (Tues YT) 3 of 12 - Butler Dad (v.2) is going to be a problem, I can tell. Chimon is a cute, if suspicious, flirt. Palm, on the other hand, is the gentlest flirt imaginable. He wants spoiled prince + attack dog dynamic so bad. As, indeed, do I.

Between Us (Sun iQIYI) 8 of 12 - still enjoying it very much, annoyed by filler couples, WATCH ALONG HERE.

609 Bedtime Story (Fri WeTV) 6 of 11 - Oh, I see! The Mint storyline is to give more characters motivation to murder Dew. It’s all set up. How clumsy. Meanwhile, we got a confession right on schedule, classic romance beats.

I Will Knock You (Fri Gaga) 7 of 12 - Whatever.

Remember Me (Sun Gaga) 12 of 14 - Honestly? I’d DNF this show but its almost done and I've watched 12 already. Sunk cost fallacy in action. I’m not going to make this mistake with this production house again. JaFirst cry well, but I’m vetting and binging these in future.

My School President (Fri YT) 5 of 10 - no ep this week, resumes Jan 6

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

The New Employee (Korea Weds Viki) 2 of 8 - It’s giving me life, this one. Pining boss. Drunk lesbian bestie of awesome. Plus gay player (former college heartthrob) is a fun background for the faen fatal, not to mention rainbow rice cakes. COME ON. RAINBOW RICE CAKES!

HIStory 5: Love in the Future (Taiwan Thurs Viki) 1 of 20 - A cheerful kid from 1999 travels to 2022, works as a deliveryman, and meets an heir with a domineering personality. Directed by Nancy Chen (HIStory 4, Papa & Daddy). The time travel premise is interesting, the leads are giving me whipping boy vibes, but I don’t like seme’s stalker energy. It feels very HIStory franchise which means it could go any direction but sensible and I’m expecting problematic tropes. However! The sides are GREAT - they’re an office romance boss/intern relationship. And this is 20 full episodes so we will get plenty of them. Also, is that Taiwan I see giving us a femme character? I am all amazement. I think I like this show, actually. (Note; will be referring to this as H5 going forward.)

The Director Who Buys Me Dinner (Korea Thurs iQIYI) 5-6 of 10 - Is there a not very small part of me that wishes this were a love story between the earnest assistant baby boi, and the older anxiety-riddled rockstar? Yes. Although I did not expect Korea to go there with the lipstick mark AND an actually gay idol. What alternate reality are we currently living in? Also, is every character in this show slightly insane? Yes. Is every actor in this show slightly too pretty for my emotional well-being? Also, yes. Bring it on 2023.

Candy Color Paradox AKA Ameiro Paradox (Japan Fri Gaga) 3 of 8 - I think I just don’t like the photographer character much (although he’s very typically Japanese tsundere seme). Really quite a good kiss though, for Japan. On the flip side, it was nice to see the reporter being good at his job (competency porn is a very underused trope in BL). Then we get confession, immediate retraction, and a disbelief counter attack. Then more kisses. Huh. This isn’t progressing how I expect. And that’s kinda nice too. Oh Japan, you so cute & trixie.

It’s Airing But I’m Not Watching It

Love Bill (Vietnam Sat YT) - Bah Vinh is back but I’m too distracted. Also there’s a lot of fund raising stuff going on with them. I’ll wait and binge.

The Star Always Follow You (Vietnam YT) - same Team RL peeps we have seen before (Sunshine, Stupid)

Till the World Ends (Thai YT) 10 eps - it seems to be good but I don’t know about the ending with that kind of title, so I’m waiting.

Moonlight Chicken GMMTV’s Midnight series (Weds YT) 1 of 8 eventually - first segment has begun bit it’s not the EarthMix messy gays. Sorry all, I’m so not interested in messy hets, so I’m waiting until they grace my screen.

In Case You Missed It

Coffee Melody special feat TitNuea & Jean like it’s counterpart was rather dull, but I find this a more appealing couple than the mains so I liked it better.

Moments Of Love - featuring SmartJames AKA LeonPhob from Don't Say No) from Foremorfilm Production supposedly aired Dec 24 directed by Golf Tanwarin (609 Bedtime Story and The Eclipse). But it has no rating on MDL so I guess not?

Next Week Looks Like This:

2023 forthcoming BL master post is in the works... wait for it... I’m doing all the 2022 wrap ups first. Also waiting for the last of the studio announcements.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Mujigae-tteok (Korean rainbow rice cake) - a new item has entered my never ending food quest list.

OhmFluke do domesticity well, gotta give them that.

Quick end of year thoughts on 2022 BL & the future of these weekly posts:

Honestly? Overall it’s been a fine year for BL with some good shows & and some ho shows, and also a lot of dross. But the most notable aspect was the overwhelming quantity to keep up with. My work world is opening back up with tons of travel. This plus my recent revelation that I actually prefer binge watching (especially the lower quality stuff) means that I can’t keep up with BL if it keeps up this insane pace.

So in 2023 you can expect me to try to keep these weeklies updated with what’s airing, of course, but also pull back on how many I personally watch and summate.

In 2022, BL sort of became my 2nd job, and it doesn't pay well enough for that.

All that said I think...

2023 is going to be GOOD for BL. Happy new year!

(last week)

Current Kpop earworm? I’ve been in a “beastly” mood recently so it’s Lee Gikwang’s (Beast, Highlight) Don’t Close Your Eyes. I forgot how fucking banging that opening rift is. Thank you Kpop gods for putting the 2nd gens through the ever eternal slut phase.

Now just put them all though a BL phase and we’re golden. Yes, I am thinking of Unintentional Love Story (Gongchan B1A4), why do you ask?

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greatcheshire · 2 years ago

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How would you rank your vids based on how much you like them?

Ah yes!! I can answer this one

The Many Adaptations of Berserk: I feel like it has to be this one as my fav. There’s parts of the video I wish I could redo (mainly the audio), but to put out such labor of love and have it receive such a positive response back, it’s so fulfilling. From people telling me it got them into Berserk to survivors messaging me to tell me how much the video meant to them. It’s a sense of pride and accomplishment that I never thought I’d ever feel with my art.

Spider-Man Musical: This, for me, feels like the prime example of what I want my channel to be: exploring relatively obscure things in a way that shows how strange they are while also taking it seriously and really examining them. As someone who has been fascinated with this musical for over a decade, finally finding a way to make an essay about it and letting people know about things like the spider fucking and the shoe song.

Dollar Store Game Show: I wish I could redo the audio here. God I wish I could redo the audio here. That being said, I’ve always seen this as the hidden gem of my channel, and whenever I talk to other creators, chances are this is the video of mine they bring up. The Facebook conspiracy “In Motion” part might be my favorite editing gag I’ve ever done

Demo Reel: I would’ve ranked this much lower if I hadn’t rewatched it a few weeks ago for the new Demo Reel vid. Despite some first time video mistakes that I would happily fix if I could, I think the script here is really solid and could have been way worse. I get why people like this one so much. I probably would’ve been really into this video if I wasn’t the one who made it. I still can’t believe I actually got away with the Evangelion intro gag.

Kitchen Nightmares: I started outlining this video back in my college days. I rewatched it about a month ago and my main note is that it feels like a video anyone could’ve made on Kitchen Nightmares, for better or for worse, and lacks a lot of the… personal energy I like to include in these things? But I still think it’s pretty solid. I also meant to include an entire segment on Nathan For You and just… forgot to lmao oops

The Return of Demo Reel: This one is still so new that I haven’t fully processed my feelings on it. This is probably the meanest video I’ve done so far lol I wasn’t sure how much the two halves would connect together, especially since it’s the only video I’ve done so far that isn’t broken up into segments but is rather scripted as one long thing. The stinger is my second favorite stinger I’ve ever done for the channel. I’m so glad that landed for people as I almost cut it entirely lol

The Cinemassacre Backlash: It feels weird to rank this one so low. I still am proud of the result, but I also think it has the same issue as Kitchen Nightmares where it’s like oh, anyone could’ve made that. I did like getting to interject my perspective into the discourse as someone who co-writes and makes online content and I have gotten a lot of praise for this one by my peers which has been nice. Having it blow up so much was wild and has definitely been a career benefit, even if I’m unsure if I’ll ever do a video like this again

Harley and Ivy: I don’t know why but I can’t help but feel like I could’ve made this one better. I’m not sure how, but it just feels like it exists to me. I actually didn’t even remember that I did the whole thing with the Be Gay, Do Crime scale until I saw it referenced on my TV Tropes page

Lost Film About Internet Memes: This one is fine but it sits in a lower place in my head for a lot of reasons. First being that a lot of personal life stuff surrounding the release and aftermath of the video. Second being my hatred of the original thumbnail and the belief that it tanked that video in a way it’s only now recovering from, which affected future business dealings and negotiations and algorithm stuff. Then the fact that this is the only time I’ve regretted going soft in one of my videos. I originally put more stuff in the script about how I believed the guy who made it was a grifter who seems to do a lot of scams but I changed it to make it more subtext and less of a personal attack and then in the aftermath of the vid it turns out, oops, this guy had a history of screwing people over and grifting and jumped into cryptocurrency because of course he did. I don’t think I’d ever revisit this subject, but if I had a time machine, I would’ve had way more testimonials in the vid from former PopMalt people.

Existential Horror Of Making Content About Content: The nicest thing I can say about this one is that it was the first time I ever made a thumbnail myself and I’m actually pleased with how it turned out, all things considered. Otherwise I can’t see myself ever watching this again

I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m too harsh on my own work lol I just have a unique relationship to it, I think. I’m generally proud of my videos, even if I do have issues with them as their creator.

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somedaylazysomeday · 2 years ago

Text

Winner Take All - Part Two

Nathan Bateman x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Almost ten years after graduation, you run into Bateman again. You still aren't impressed.

Rating: Explicit, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 7,000

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, bad language, references to events at the end of Ex Machina, crassness, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv, creampie.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

A little more than a decade after graduation, you were settled comfortably in a chair that cradled you like something precious. You had a drink in your hand and your phone in your lap. Not your business phone, either. Your personal phone. Since you had started Primary, you had refrained from combining the two, and it meant you could leave your work phone at home on your nights off and avoid any distractions.

After all, you couldn’t disturb the haven that was trivia night at the Estuary.

The decision to move back to Cambridge, Massachusetts hadn’t been one you made lightly, but it was also the easiest choice you had made in a long time. When you had left almost a decade before, the move had been accompanied by a sense of poignant loss. You had loved your time here, and coming back held a sense of homecoming that was comforting given everything else that was going on.

You had worked for the same company for almost ten years after graduation. After starting out on the research team for vasculitis, your focus soon shifted from research to drug development for a potential treatment you had helped identify. You were moved to the Celiac disease team after the drug was successful. You were proud of the work you had done there, but when a position opened up on the multiple sclerosis team, you had lobbied for it. Apparently, the reputation you had gained and the papers you had published worked in your favor, since you got the position and made several important connections besides. After years on the multiple sclerosis team, you had been next in line to lead it.

All your work hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the Vice President of Development had asked you to check out the Cambridge market, scope out the potential for a Massachusetts branch. You were a natural choice since not only had you gone to school there and were familiar with the area, but you also knew what to look for in several key departments.

You had reported back favorably. The biotechnology industry was busy, especially in nearby Boston, but there were several key market segments that weren’t being served. You wouldn’t pretend you didn’t harbor hopes of being assigned to that branch, either.

Unfortunately for those hopes, the company had chosen not to open a branch in Massachusetts. And unfortunately for the company, you had decided to do it yourself. Was it an insane thing to do? Yes. But you knew the area, you knew the field, and you had the contacts. You had applied for grants before you even left your old company and, as an alum, you had secured a place in one of MIT’s business incubators. You had filed the paperwork just before you moved here and you were the proud founder of your own biotechnology company, Primary Enterprises.

It had taken off, and you had been steadily growing for the past three years. The work was varied and interesting. Your interests always skewed closer to biotech than business, but you liked to think you were doing fairly well running Primary. You were busy, though, so your limited free time was spent doing things you loved, like going to the Estuary for a round or two of trivia.

Your first time back here, you had felt like a washed-up creep, trying desperately to relive your college glory days. Pushing that mindset away had been a process, but well worth it. You had played trivia in college because you enjoyed it. Why should that change simply because you were older?

With a slow, savoring sip of your drink, you watched the screen. Trivia still wasn’t incredibly popular, but it drew a few people. Usernames trickled in, surrounding your usual Champ until you could hardly pick it out in the crowd.

Though when The Conqueror flashed up onto the screen, you saw it without any trouble.

It felt like your heart stopped as you scanned the familiar interior of the Estuary, comparing your memories of Bateman against theories of what he might look like now. At last, you caught a glimpse of him.

He was sitting at the bar, chatting with Noor, Mira’s husband. They took turns bartending while the other watched their adorable daughter. Bateman turned his head to the side, glancing at a nearby group of students who had gotten noisy. It was tricky to recognize him with the way he had shaved his head and let his neat beard grow into something wild and bushy, but you knew that nose, proud and strong with glasses perched on its bridge.

When you had positively identified Bateman, you relaxed back into your chair. The adrenaline that had flooded your system eased off, but your heartbeat picked up. You hadn’t thought about him in years, so you weren’t about to approach him.

But… you mused, firming your jaw. But maybe you could beat him. You were, after all, older and wiser. You had accumulated more knowledge than you ever had in college.

As the game started and you began rolling through the questions, it seemed that wasn’t going to be the case. Maybe you had learned some things over the past decade, but Bateman apparently had, too. You were never ranked further down than third place on any question, but if you were ranked first, The Conqueror was second. He was beating you again.

You played fervently, your attention rapt on the screen in front of you or the smaller screen of your phone, but it was no use. You lost, a somewhat distant second place to The Conqueror’s first.

After the final scores appeared on the screen, you glanced at the bar only to feel an odd surge of disappointment. Bateman was gone.

The spike of regret was an unwelcome surprise. You took a moment to puzzle that out while you finished your drink. The best theory you came up with was that you were sad to miss an opportunity to catch up with someone from your past, even if you had never particularly cared for the young genius.

Ah, well, you decided, pushing yourself up and out of the comfortable armchair. You had other things to focus on. You had unwound slightly from the pressures of the day, but Primary Enterprises would take up most of your attention for the rest of the night and the entirety of the next day. Maybe you could sneak in some planning when you got back to your apartment. If you were going to continue competing with some of the bigger biotech companies, Primary would need to push for something innovative…

You had waved goodbye to Noor and were within sight of the exit when you felt fingers close around your wrist. You turned sharply, raising your eyebrows in a way that took your resting bitch face to an incredibly active bitch face.

“Whoa, whoa,” the man entreated, releasing you immediately. “Just wanted to say hello.”

Despite having seen Bateman from across the Estuary earlier, you hadn’t recognized him then. It was the glimmer of mischief in his intense eyes that finally made you remember. “Bateman.”

He grinned, looking you up and down while you took the opportunity to do the same to him. Bateman was even more muscular than he had been as a student. Apparently, he had kept up with the workout routine even after he had graduated. That beard was a wild thicket around his jaw, but it made his teeth gleam, turning his familiar smile into something blinding. His glasses were more stylish, the frames thinner and better suited to the shape of his face.

Bateman opened his arms, his plain shirt straining across his chest with the motion. For an unbalanced moment, you thought he was inviting you in for a hug, but it became clear that he was gesturing to the table. “‘Bateman’? Is that seriously all I get after a fuckin’ decade? Sit down, talk for a minute! We gotta catch up.”

You settled into the chair across from him - mostly because he had kicked it out with such force that you were worried it would break your knees if you didn’t sit down in it - but before you could ask why he was in Cambridge, he spoke.

“What have you been up to for the past… how long has it been? I dunno, a decade?”

He knew exactly how long it had been, unless he’d suffered a life-altering concussion at some point that you hadn’t heard about. Still, you humored him, your excitement at catching up with a familiar face outweighing the fact that you didn’t remember liking him very much.

“Well, I’ve started my own biotech company,” you started, the familiar words falling from your lips even as they curved into a polite, professional smile. “We mostly focus on auto-immune diseases, but we’re looking to expand into the hormone therapy field. We’ve been-”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, cutting your elevator pitch short with the wave of a hand. “I mean, what have you been doing? Outside of the company?”

“Out- I mean, not a lot,” you stammered. “Primary takes up a lot of my time…”

Bateman tsked at you and you started remembering just how much you hadn’t cared for him in college. With your temper sparking, you leaned forward enough to catch his eye. “And what about you? From all reports, you’ve made Blue Book your entire personality.”

“That isn’t true,” he countered. “I also box.”

His expectant look, aimed at you from just over the top frame of his glasses, irked you. You snapped, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Bateman. I started a company, we’re competing against companies with more people and bigger budgets and it’s completely taken over my life. Happy?”

“No,” Bateman denied. “I could have gotten all of that from your LinkedIn profile. You really need to change that fuckin’ picture, by the way. That sweater was doing you no favors.”

You stared at him, wishing you could come up with something scathing to say about his appearance, but other than the bottom-heavy look earned with the combination of his shaved head and full beard, you had nothing. “You’re an asshole.”

“You knew that,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, and I chose to talk to you anyway when I could have been spending my time doing more important things,” you bit out. “Like rearranging my sock drawer by color or cleaning my ice-maker.”

To your displeasure, Bateman seemed to find that hilarious. His head tipped back as he gave a loud laugh. When he returned his gaze to you, he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’ve missed this,” he said, gesturing back and forth between himself and you. “Our little will-they/won’t-they back and forth. Too bad you graduated and fled the state before we could get to the resolution last time, huh?”

If brains were capable of creating audible noise, yours would have made the iconic sound of a computer making a dial-up connection. When the screeching finally faded enough to allow you some semblance of thought, you managed, “You need to get out of your mom’s basement and interact with real people more often. There was no back and forth.”

Bateman’s eyebrows rose in sharp skepticism as he tilted his head to peer over his glasses at you once more. “Yeah? What do you call all of this, then?”

“Irritation!” you burst out, standing up. You thought briefly of trying to deliver a parting shot, but it wouldn’t be worth the effort. Instead, you simply turned and left.

To your displeasure, Bateman was at the next trivia night as well. You weren’t proud of it, but you had researched him when you got home. Apparently, Blue Book had a conference scheduled in Cambridge. You couldn’t get too pissy; it had been on the company’s calendar for a full year. But at least it was starting that weekend. Odds were that Bateman would be gone before you ran into him again.

The second time you saw him at the Estuary, you rationalized that the conference may have run longer than expected. After all, you hadn’t researched how long Blue Book conferences lasted. For all you knew, it was a week-long affair. Bateman beat you soundly at trivia that week and you were looking forward to it being the last time that happened.

The next week, Bateman was still there. Maybe he had some administrative stuff to handle before he went back to… wherever it was that he lived. You did manage to beat him in that trivia game, but only because a swarm of college students - most of whom were decked out in Schwarzman sweatshirts - distracted him during a few pivotal questions. He didn’t look happy, but he did salute you with his beer bottle as you left for the night.

When his shaved head still showed up the following week, you’d had enough. “What are you doing here?”

He had turned slowly, rotating on his barstool to face you with his thick brows already raised. “It’s a public place, sweetheart. I’m allowed to exist in those.”

The old endearment rankled just as badly as it had ten years before. “Don’t call me that. Why are you so determined to exist here all of a sudden?”

“Someone told me I need to interact with real people more often,” Bateman said dryly. You rolled your eyes and left.

Nearly another month had passed when Amber sent you a screenshot of an article about how Blue Book was opening a branch in Cambridge. Beneath the image, she wrote, Weird, huh? Guess he’s trying to take advantage of all the interns and graduates from Schwarzman.

The following week, you managed to beat The Conqueror, and it was by such a wide margin that you took a screenshot of the results. Halfway through sending it to your old college friends, a silhouette came between you and the nearest lamp. “What the fuck?”

You glanced up, unsurprised to find that the demand had come from Bateman. You answered the likely-rhetorical question as you finished your message. “It’s called a cell phone, genius. I would have thought a tech guy would know that.”

“First off, that’s hardly a phone. It’s so old, I half-expect it to have a slide-out keyboard… or a rotary dial,” Bateman mocked. “Secondly, you’re cheating.”

“Cheating?” you repeated immediately, lowering your phone. “I am not! If anyone is cheating, it’s you!”

Noor was nearby, gathering up empty glasses and wiping down tabletops. He paused, frowning at both of you. “The system doesn’t really allow-”

“Leave it,” Mira told him, tugging on his elbow to lead him away. “This has been a long time coming.”

“I’m not cheating!” Bateman denied, outraged. “But this is the second time this month that you’ve beaten me. It’s statistically unlikely to the point of near impossibility. You have to be cheating.”

“Well, I’m not,” you replied, crossing your arms childishly. “Maybe you’re getting dumber.”

“I’m not even gonna dignify that with a response,” he told you. “There’s only one way to make sure you’re not Blue-Booking answers: I’m gonna sit by you on trivia nights.”

You were halfway through rolling your eyes - already preparing a reminder that genericization wasn’t a good thing - when the second part hit you. “Fine, then I’ll be able to prove that you’re the one who’s cheating!”

So that’s how trivia nights went from that point on. Over time, you decided that, since you were sitting together, you might as well split a pitcher of beer. Then it turned into beer and an appetizer or two. Then, suddenly, you were hanging out even on non-trivia nights.

One such night found you playing a game of pool at the Estuary. Nathan lined up his shot, calling “Fourteen, corner pocket.”

You scoffed. “Bateman, there are a half-dozen balls between fourteen and the cue. There’s no way you’ll make that shot.”

“Yeah?” he asked, then hit the cue ball with a decisive motion. To your shock (and childish dismay), it avoided all obstacles before cracking into the fourteen ball, which sank neatly in the corner pocket. Nathan turned to you with a cocky grin. “I’m the master of everything around me.”

You were both a little tipsy by this point, which was the only reason you brought up the one subject you had steadfastly avoided up to that point: “So that wasn’t you who got stabbed by your own AI last year?”

Nathan’s face froze for a split second before he recovered. “Nope, not me.”

“Hmm…” You drew out, squinting at him. “For the founder of a major company, you’re a shitty liar.”

Nathan scoffed. “How dare you? I am an extremely gifted liar. It just so happens that I’m telling the truth about this.”

“Mm hmm,” you hummed, carefully broadcasting your skepticism.

“Come on,” he continued, “none of those articles even mention me.”

“That’s exactly my point,” you argued. “The mysterious ‘sources’ mention a tech mogul and every damn news source spent the next month speculating over who it could be… but none of them mentioned you.”

Nathan avoided your eyes, sinking the ten ball instead. You ignored his lack of ability to take turns and continued with your pet conspiracy theory instead. “You’ve spent the last decade making sure you’re linked with any mention of ‘tech’ or ‘genius’ or ‘innovator’. It was suspicious. You’re notable in the blank spaces, Nathan.”

He glanced up at you, dark eyes wide with surprise. You realized too late what you had done. You made a point to call him ‘Bateman’, though he had been ‘Nathan’ in your mind for a while now.

“I-” Nathan paused, the tip of his tongue coming out to sweep over his bottom lip as his brows furrowed. “I… I think that’s a song. Did you just rip off Taylor Swift?”

You paused for a moment. He was uncomfortable and you couldn’t blame him. Instead of pushing this, you decided to give him a momentary reprieve. With a loud snort, you said, “Maybe if I was talking about getting your name tattooed on my body.”

“Great idea! You should,” Nathan agreed, his eyes sweeping down over your form. His gaze was so heavy, you could almost feel its weight. “Do I get to help decide where?”

“To be clear, I’d rather die.”

“Pity. Anything would look good…” He paused, letting the silence stretch for a beat too long. Wildly, you wondered if he was going to compliment you, but he finished, “-with my name on it.”

You rolled your eyes. “That just makes me feel bad for your chauffeur. You must get crazy horny when you drive past the massive Bateman building Blue Book is constructing downtown.”

“Oh, you’ve seen that?” Nathan asked, perking up slightly.

“You’ve made it hard to miss.” You took advantage of the less-crowded pool table to sink three balls in rapid succession.

“It’s gonna be great!” Nathan enthused. “I’ve already started a program with MIT to work with their students, offer internships and stuff. I’m even starting a scholarship program for promising students. I’ll pay their MIT entrance fee and tuition if they sign on to work for Blue Book afterward… Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not stupid, Bateman,” you told him. “I can recognize a misdirection when I see one. You were the one in the news, weren’t you?”

“No,” he insisted stubbornly.

Your gaze fell to his torso. “You would have to have a scar. You’re vain, but not vain enough to get plastic surgery for something that could be hidden so easily.”

There was something hollow around his eyes despite the salacious grin he sent your way. “If you’re so desperate to get my shirt off, you could just ask.”

You shook your head, recognizing the end of the conversation. “For the record, I’m glad you’re okay.”

His mouth opened, but no sound escaped him. You bent your attention back to the game, sinking the eight ball. “I win, Bateman.”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate spending time with you?” Nathan complained. “And, for the record? I liked ‘Nathan’ better.”

Problem was, you did, too.

Trivia nights were lasting longer and longer for you and Nathan, and that wasn’t the only change in the Estuary. Mira had gotten rid of the armchair in your typical section. It had been old and worn-looking, but when you complained about the change, Mira had told you that it was damaged in a drunken fight and couldn’t be repaired. She’d had to throw it away, but she had replaced it with an extremely comfortable couch. Unfortunately, that couch was just barely long enough for two people to share.

…Which was how you had ended up in your current circumstance. You and Nathan had been sitting together during trivia and you simply hadn’t moved apart after the game ended. Now, it was several hours later and you were curled up on the small couch together.

You were leaning into Nathan and his head was resting on your shoulder. Your feet were propped on the small table in front of you. Nathan had mocked you for it, but you didn’t see the harm. The only thing on the table was an empty beer pitcher, two mostly empty glasses, and a plate that had once held an appetizer trio.

He mumbled something that you didn’t quite catch. You hummed absently, the inflection managing to turn the sound into a question. Nathan leaned off of you, resting against the thickly padded back of the couch instead. He repeated his question more distinctly this time: “Did you really never feel anything between us?”

You frowned, pointedly not looking at him. The section where you sat was mostly empty. Hell, the Estuary itself was mostly empty. It was near closing by then, and whatever crowd had existed on the weeknight had long since dissipated.

You probably would have gone on ignoring your companion, but he planted his elbow in your side and nudged you gently over and over until you finally gave in. “Well, I don’t think you’re irritating anymore.”

“That’s it?” Nathan asked with a disbelieving laugh. “Can I get a little more than that?”

With a sigh, you said, “I don’t know what it means - or if it means anything at all - but I have more fun arguing with you than spending time with anyone I actually get along with.”

“Well, if you want to know what I think-”

If you never had to hear another thing that Nathan thought, it would be great. So, to avoid hearing this particular thought, you grabbed his chin and angled his face so that you could deposit a kiss on his lips.

It was supposed to be a light kiss, just a brush of your lips across his. Enough to distract him without crossing any lines. Unfortunately, your body didn’t seem inclined to listen to you. After that first light kiss, you returned for a second, then a third - each touch of your lips on his deeper than the one before.

Part of you wished you could blame your actions on the alcohol you had drank that evening, but it wouldn’t make sense. The beer pitcher had been empty for an hour and Nathan had drank the last glass… and subsequently refused to buy another, but that was only him being his typical asshole self. The point was, you were in full control of your senses. The only thing driving you to act as you had was desire, pure and simple.

When you pulled away, the motion was reluctant. You didn’t want to break that contact, but you also knew you had crossed a line… even if Nathan had been kissing you back. You opened your eyes as you sat back, trying to adjust your vision as quickly as possible so you could see Nathan’s immediate reaction.

He was pouting.

Nathan Bateman, head of the biggest tech company in the world and high-ranking member of the Forbes Billionaires List for the past six years, pouted when you stopped kissing him.

“C’mon,” he complained, though his voice was quiet enough to lack the grating tone normally present in his whining. “Been waiting ten fuckin’ years for that. You can’t stop now.”

Well, that answered that question.

You smiled despite yourself, and watched with amusement as Nathan’s lips quirked into a smile as well. “I guess that was a better answer, then?”

“I’ve always been a slow study,” he told you, trying to kiss you again. When you turned your face to keep your lips out of reach, he contented himself with kissing and nibbling at your jaw. “You might have to expand on it for me.”

“What would your shareholders think?” you asked. Nathan was an incredibly public figure and, while you weren’t a direct competitor, there could be questions about what he was doing with someone like you. There would be accusations that you were trying to scam some funds from him, at the very least.

With dark eyes and a rough tone, Nathan insisted, “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. Never have, except this one super nerd with a weakness for biotech.”

“Yeah, you’ve really had a weakness for me,” you scoffed.

“Wait, are you serious?” he asked, sounding almost offended. “I wasn’t exactly subtle when we were in college.”

“First, remember that I was pretty sure we hated each other,” you reminded him. “Second, I thought all of the flirty shit was you messing with me.”

“Why did you think I always sat somewhere else until the game was over?” he pressed, exasperated. “I kept getting hard every time you’d beat me.”

“I didn’t beat you that often,” you said inanely. To be fair, you were still trying to process everything he had said up to that point.

“Every question you beat me on, sweetheart,” Nathan amended. “Fuck, nothin’ hotter than someone who’s smart and isn’t afraid to prove it. And then the first game you won, you didn’t even brag about it or rub it in my face. Hot and classy. I barely got back to my dorm.”

You laughed disbelievingly and Nathan held his hands up. “Listen, I’m not trying to talk you into anything you’re not interested in… but if you are interested, I’ve been down for ten years. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

A precious handful of moments were wasted between you as you struggled to come up with a clever word to say, but you tossed it out the window and pressed another kiss to his lips. He responded eagerly, instantly trying to deepen the kiss into something that wouldn’t have been appropriate in public, but you pulled back.

“Was that enough of a confirmation, or do I need to actually say it?” you asked, feeling playful at the heat and eagerness in his eyes.

“Babe, the only thing I want you to say is my name.” His dark brows waggled at you and a smirk gave his full lips an asymmetrical tilt. His hand in yours pulled you steadily toward the door of the Estuary.

When you reached the street, you paused, a thought occurring to you. “Nathan-”

He interrupted before you could finish what you were saying. “Yeah, kinda like that, but sexy.”

“How’s this for sexy?” you challenged, “My apartment is closer.”

He paused, looking torn. “I wanna argue that, but my place is a while away. I also don’t have neighbors, but after we’re done pissing yours off, we can relocate.”

The thought that he was planning some kind of future with you - even just the kind of future that was a handful of hours away - warmed you and you opted to walk to your apartment instead of trying to hail a ride.

When you reached your building, Nathan started to laugh. “You seriously moved a few blocks down from the Estuary? Be honest, you chose this place because it’s close to your trivia hookup.”

You tried to bristle at his theory, but he wasn’t wrong. So you kissed him instead.

As far as you knew, the elevator had been updated to teleport you to your floor, because the trip seemed to take no time at all. You fumbled with your keys while Nathan counted how many times he could make you shiver as he trailed fingertips up and down your back. You pulled him inside, already kissing him again even as you locked your door.

“I would offer you a tour,” you explained between kisses, “but I know you don’t care.”

“I care,” Nathan replied, his words interrupted just as often as yours had been, “just not right now. Wanna get you-”

He broke off with a groan as you grabbed his ass and gave it a healthy squeeze. “Where’s the bedroom?”

You laughed, hardly recognizing the throatiness of it. “Now you care?”

Nathan’s eyes were starting to look a little unhinged. “I’ll fuck you here, but we’d both be more comfortable in a bed. You have ten seconds to decide.”

In a few steps - and exactly eight seconds - you were in your bedroom. Nathan was already peeling away the material of your shirt while you worked at his pants. Fortunately, neither of you had dressed up for a trivia night at the bar, and stripping took very little time… though you would treasure the way Nathan’s face froze when he saw you in nothing but a bra and underwear.

Before long, he was pressing you back into the mattress, kissing you all the while. His body settled between your legs and you gave a subtle wiggle, trying to gauge whether you were wet enough to accommodate him just then. It was close, but you were ready enough to risk it.

It didn’t matter.

Nathan broke away from your lips, planting his hand on your chest when you tried to follow him. “No, no. You just lay there and keep making those pretty fuckin’ sounds for me.”

You shook your head, smiling ruefully. You should have known Nathan would never get straight to things. He liked to take his time, experiment, and - more than anyone knew - torment. Ah, well. At least you would finally get to see if his mouth was good for anything other than pissing you off.

True to form, Nathan started off with a tickling exploration of you, observing every way you reacted to his touches on your outer lips. Then he moved his attention to studying how you moved when he traced your inner folds. Teasing fingertips parted you, tracing every bit of delicate flesh until he ended with a soft brush against your clit.

You tilted your head up, ready to complain about his slow pace. As you parted your lips, he sealed his mouth over you, brushing your clit with his nose even as he thrust his tongue as far inside your core as he could reach. You choked on the breath you had taken, collapsing back onto the mattress even as the muscles of your stomach contracted with pleasure.

Nathan was good at this. Surprisingly good, you admitted to yourself. His mouth was plundering you, but never in a way that felt overwhelming. Not that you were in control of your senses - in fact, the opposite was true - but the pleasure never seemed to melt into an amorphous shape. You could feel every little thing that he was doing to you, and it was always just spaced out enough so that you approached the edge of orgasm, but couldn’t manage to hurl yourself over it. Even the odd scratch of his beard against your sensitive folds had you ready to beg for something a little more.

“Nathan,” you barked. Or, at least, you tried to bite out his name, voice harsh to show your irritation. Instead, it came out in a whine, a plea so desperate that it rose almost out of hearing at the end.

He grinned against your folds. “There it is.”

You grimaced at him, but Nathan thrust two fingers deep inside of you and lavished attention on your clit, pulling your legs up and over his shoulders to circumvent any attempt of squirming away from him… Not that you could even consider it. No, you were too busy imploding around his fingers and trying not to scream.

Instead, you writhed across your mattress, gasping his name as he kept the waves of pleasure crashing over you until you were worried you would drown with it. Eventually, he let you press his head away. Before you could fully recover, you heard something strange. You looked down to find Nathan cleaning the shining remnants of your orgasm from his mouth. His beard was damp with what his tongue couldn’t reach and that distracted you so thoroughly that you almost didn’t notice the way the muscles of his arm were flexing.

And then you did notice and it was all you could concentrate on.

“Bateman,” you said, quickly amending that to, “Nathan.”

He glanced up, face quizzical like he wasn’t jerking off at the foot of your bed. You bit back a growl, turning it into, “Get up here and fuck me.”

The grin that spread over his face seemed even wider with the darkness of his beard and it made you smile back. His kiss pressed you back against the mattress again, but he cut it off to ask, “You wanna be on top or bottom?”

You considered it for a moment. “I don’t think either of us want to wait for me to get my leg strength back. You can be on top.”

He nodded, shifting with pent-up energy. You glanced down between you, catching a glimpse of his cock straining to reach you. He was visibly leaking and so hard that he had to be in pain. Even those mindless movements had turned to helpless little thrusts against the bed.

When you leaned back, spreading your legs for him, the awestruck look on his face erased any shyness you may have felt. (Though there was a limit to how shy you could really be since his face had been buried in your pussy only a few minutes before.) You could feel the wetness of your core, dripping with Nathan’s spit and your own slick.

“Are you-? Shit, I need a condom…” Nathan moved to stand, but you caught at him. He had bragged about his clean bill of health a week before - though you hadn’t thought to tie that to anything more serious than idle conversation at the time - and you were feeling adventurous.

“If you want,” you told him. “But I’m clean and I know you are, too. I’m on the pill. We can-”

You never got the chance to finish your offer. By that point, Nathan was on top of you fully, his cock falling heavily against your folds. He gave a short groan. In half a moment, he was inside you, having thrust inside in a single ill-paced move.

You gasped sharply, your nails digging into his back as you struggled to adjust around him. Nathan wasn’t a small man, and even your well-prepared body could have used a slower entrance.

“Fuck,” he growled. “You good?”

“Yeah, just… just need a minute,” you panted, feeling the way your inner muscles were dancing over his length as you stretched to fit him.

“Sure, sure,” Nathan agreed, eyes half-closing as his jaw flexed. “Feel so good. So good. If I had known… I would never have left you alone. Would have begged you for this.”

“You never left me alone anyway,” you pointed out, a slight tightness in your voice the only thing that betrayed you.

He chuckled, and the low rumble of it ran through you like a pleasant shiver. Your breath caught as your body switched from ‘don’t move’ to ‘please move please-please-please’.

You rolled your hips, working him a fraction of an inch deeper. Nathan’s shoulders flexed with effort as he shook his head. “Don’t do that, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to lose control.”

You did it again, fighting back a grin when he looked down at you with wild eyes. He must have caught whatever mischief was in your face, though, because he nodded intently. “If that’s how you feel…”

His first full thrust drove the breath from your lungs and you never did feel like you got it back. Part of that was from the incredible thickness of him working in and out of you, the way he felt sliding from you and pushing his way back in. It was a gorgeous sensation, and your toes were curling with the pleasure of it even as your brow crinkled.

But the feeling of him inside of you wasn’t the only thing that kept you off-balance. No, the intensity on Nathan’s face had you stumbling. Those dark eyes were burrowing into yours, and you felt like he was studying your very soul even behind the lenses of his glasses.

You closed your eyes as he hit your g-spot, sending shivers running through you.

“Don’t do that, sweetheart,” he pleaded. “Keep those eyes open, okay? Need to- fuck… Need to see you. Want you to see me…”

That command - along with the searching kiss he planted on your lips - left you too close to come back. “Nathan, I- I’m…”

He nodded easily, like he was coolly unaffected by the news of your impending pleasure, but his hips thrusted so sharply that you let out a little cry. “Go ahead, come for me. Shit, come on me. I’m gonna- Won’t last much longer, either.”

You rolled your hips just a little harder, purposefully clamping down around him. Nathan hissed out a breath, his head tilting back with it before he fixed his eyes on you once more. There was a groove between his thick brows, like he was fixing all of his concentration on you alone.

It was the sexiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he urged, fingers tightening on your hips as he managed to spear a tiny bit deeper into you. “Come on, let me feel you…”

You felt your core tighten around him - tighter than you could ever dream of doing normally - and then release, milking him for cum he wasn’t giving up yet. He gritted his teeth and fought to keep going, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

At the peak of your orgasm, your mouth fell open and you could feel that sound was coming out. What that sound was, you didn’t know; there was a roaring in your ears too loud to hear past. But, from the smugness on Nathan’s face, it was safe to assume that it was his name.

Just as you were coming down from your peak, Nathan reached his. Those dark eyes were still locked on yours, but you could see the way they tightened around the corners as he speared himself as deep into you as he could go. Through your own aftershocks, you could feel the way he was pulsing inside of you, painting you with hot streams of cum. When Nathan finally relaxed, he was resting almost his full weight on you.

It should have been unpleasant, you reflected. You were both sticky with cooling sweat, and you could feel cum beginning to gush from around Nathan’s softening cock. Your thighs ached at being forced apart for so long and you could feel the beginnings of beard burn forming in several fascinating places.

Yes, it should have been unpleasant, catching your breath with Nathan Bateman. But even as you struggled to catch your breath, you both found enough air to share a chuckle.

“Guess I should stop crushing you now,” Nathan murmured, pulling out before rolling off you.

You grimaced and squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to fight the flow of cum steadily leaking out of you. Nathan saw the motion and grabbed something off the side of the bed, handing you a piece of fabric in the next moment. You snorted when you realized it was a sock.

“I’d offer to get you a washcloth, but my knees aren’t working yet,” Nathan told you. He squinted around the room. “And I have no idea where your bathroom is.”

You snorted. “Well, there are three doors in this room and we came in through one of them. I like those odds.”

“You think 50/50 is good odds?” Nathan asked, sounding scandalized. “Remind me never to go gambling with you.”

“50/50 would be incredible odds in gambling,” you argued, feeling faintly ridiculous bickering about it with a sock pressed between your legs. “Just admit you’re not a gambler, Bateman.”

Nathan rolled onto his side to face you and your eyes were drawn down to the scars on his chest and stomach. You pulled your gaze away quickly, but the wariness on his face told you that he had seen you. Quietly, he said, “I only gamble when it matters.”

To break the mood, you scoffed. “I’ve seen you bet whether a bird would eat some roadkill.”

“It was a hawk and it was trying to fly away with an entire racoon!” He sounded outraged, but there was a glimmer of good humor growing in his eyes once more. “I made fifty bucks on that bet, too.”

“The true foundation of your fortune,” you replied.

He rolled away and stood up, pausing a moment as if to check whether his knees would hold up. “I’m going on a brave, daring quest to your kitchen. Assuming I make it alive, do you want anything?”

“I’d love a glass of water,” you requested. As he reached the door, you said, “If you reach the piranha moat, you’ve gone too far. And if you run into the dragon, the password is ‘butterscotch’.”

“Ha, ha,” Nathan fake-laughed over his shoulder as he disappeared into the darkened hallway.

You sat smiling like an idiot for longer than you would care to admit.

---

Author's Note - And that's it! Thanks for reading - I would love to know what you thought!

I don't offer a taglist for explicit works, but you can find other works on my masterlist!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2023 #fanficfebruary #ex machina #ex machina (2015)#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #reader insert #reader insert fic #reader insert smut #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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mariacallous · 11 months ago

Text

In early December, a rightwing Wisconsin organization called HOT Government sent out a breathless email: Mike Lindell, the pillow salesman turned election conspiracy theorist and staunch Donald Trump ally, had nominated an important Wisconsin politician for a dubious award.

The prize would go to the person who exemplifies “leadership in BEING AN OBSTACLE TO STOPPING ELECTION CRIME”, the email declared.

Lindell’s target wasn’t a Democrat, nonpartisan election official or even a moderate Republican – it was Robin Vos, the powerful Wisconsin Republican assembly speaker.

The nomination reflects a stark turn of fortunes for Vos, who has spent more than a decade using every tool at his disposal to cement Republican power in Wisconsin, touting a deeply conservative record including on voting.

Vos helped re-draw the state’s legislative maps in 2011, ensuring Republican control of the legislature ever since. The same year, he followed former Republican governor Scott Walker’s lead in creating the most restrictive voter identification law in the country and passing legislation to kneecap union power in a state where organized labor was once the core of the Democratic coalition.

Vos was elected speaker of the assembly in 2013 and has used his years in office since to shore up his party’s minoritarian lock on power in the swing state. When Republicans lost the governorship in 2018, the assembly quickly passed legislation that curbed the power of the incoming Democratic governor. And after Trump lost the state in 2020, Vos initiated an investigation into Wisconsin’s election, hiring a promoter of the “Stop the Steal” movement to lead it.

He was in all respects a loyal rightwinger. But Vos has drawn a line at embracing Trump’s false claim that he actually won Wisconsin in 2020 and refused to join colleagues who suggested overturning the 2020 election. His unwillingness to cross that line has turned him into a pariah on the far right, a target of Lindell, an enemy of Trump and a symbol of the current state of the Republican party where loyalty to Trump is the key litmus test.

Now, Vos is fighting elements of his party that rejected the results of the 2020 election and have come to view him not as a hardline conservative who has done more than almost anyone else to strengthen Republicans’ power in the state, but as a corrupt establishment hack complicit in Trump’s undoing.

With the Trump flank of the grassroots Wisconsin Republican party as strong as ever ahead of the 2024 election, Vos is scrambling to appease his hardline party detractors so he doesn’t become a casualty of the movement he helped create.

“There’s a segment of the Maga crowd who despises him, because they adamantly believe President Trump was cheated,” said a veteran Wisconsin GOP operative, who spoke anonymously given his role within pro-Trump circles. “Where he is right now is kind of emblematic of the fight going on within the Republican party – here in Wisconsin and across the nation.”

From the young Republican …

Since he was a child, Vos led a political life. In sixth grade, he tagged along with a teacher to political events, then joined the Young Republicans and worked for former Republican governor Tommy Thompson before starting college. During his first semester at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater, Vos ran for and won a seat on the student senate and then went about lobbying every member of the Wisconsin state legislature for reduced tuition hikes.

His eagerness was rewarded two years later, when Governor Thompson appointed Vos to be a student member of the University of Wisconsin system’s governing body. Vos surrounded himself with other young Republicans: his roommate and friend at UW-Whitewater, Reince Priebus, would go on to chair the Republican National Committee for six years before working as Donald Trump’s chief of staff in 2017.

After graduating in 1991, Vos snagged a job as a legislative aide to Bonnie Ladwig, a leader in the Wisconsin state assembly, then returned home to Burlington, in south-east Wisconsin, and won a seat on the Racine county board. When Ladwig retired a decade later in 2004, Vos won her seat.

“Jim and Bonnie Ladwig were super close to me,” Vos told the Guardian, sitting at the end of a long and formidable wooden table in his Capitol office. Vos had been taking back-to-back interviews all day but he was focused and energized. “They were like a second set of parents – and then Tommy Thompson, I talk to him almost every week – Governor Evers, annually.”

Vos advanced quickly in the assembly, learning how to manage the personalities in the Republican caucus and when to make bipartisan alliances. Perhaps emulating his slogan as a college politician – “We want your views” – Vos earned the reputation of listening carefully to his colleagues and learning their vulnerabilities and strengths.

“I really want to be a consensus builder,” said Vos, who said he believed eking out a policy win, even a small one, was worthwhile – and faulted the contemporary Republican party for adopting what he viewed as an all-or-nothing politics.

Mark Pocan, a progressive Democratic congressman in the state, who sat on the joint committee on finance with Vos, formed an unlikely friendship with the legislator. “I always found him someone that I can have [a] conversation with,” said Pocan. “He’s very effective in knowing how to work his members to get things done.”

“Everybody seems to think that Robin tells everybody in the caucus, ‘You will vote this way, you will do this, you will do that,’ and it’s not that way at all,” said Kathy Bernier, a Republican who served in the assembly for five years under Vos’s leadership. “He will be always cognizant of the vulnerable members of his caucus.”

But Vos has also gained a reputation for cracking down on uncooperative members of his caucus and withholding committee seats from disloyal members. In 2016, he withheld committee appointments from three conservative lawmakers who had previously clashed with him. Most recently, his caucus removed Janel Brandtjen, an election denier and Republican staterepresentative, from her leading role on the elections committee after she endorsed his primary opponent.

None of the seven leaders of the Republican caucus in the assembly agreed to an interview.

… To ‘the prince of darkness’

Under Vos’s leadership, the Republican-controlled legislature has flexed outsized power in Wisconsin. While statewide races are often determined by vanishingly narrow margins, Republicans can comfortably count on strong majorities in the legislature – a product of the 2011 redistricting law Vos helped craft. He currently presides over a 64-35 seat majority in the assembly, which he has leveraged to strengthen Republican power in the state.

But Vos is quick to contest the view, held by many Democrats, that his legislative style is anti-democratic – or really anything but good, effective politics. “Democrats can’t accept that because they think the only reason they’re losing is the maps – maybe it’s your strategy. Maybe it’s your campaign, maybe it’s the issues you run on.”

Also in 2011, Vos helped push through one of the most restrictive voter identification laws in the nation; independent studies have found it disproportionately impacts low-income and Black voters, but the law has nonetheless survived numerous court challenges by voting rights advocates. When Wisconsin’s government accountability board found in 2015 that the legislature had failed to provide sufficient education around the new voter ID rules, a requirement of their own law, the assembly voted to dissolve the board.

After Democrats won races for governor and attorney general in the 2018 election, Vos rushed through laws limiting the powers of both offices in the weeks before they took office. The “lame duck” legislation, among other provisions, limited the governor’s authority to appoint leaders to certain state agencies and gave the legislature the right to hire outside lawyers to intervene in lawsuits. The power grab outraged Democrats and good-government groups and illustrated the lengths to which Republicans in office would go to wrest power from their opponents. A 2022 Politico article referred to Vos as the state’s “shadow governor”.

In 2015, Vos even tried to bring about a law that would shield state lawmakers entirely from public records requests. The effort failed, but he and other members of his caucus are known to habitually delete their work emails – a practice that, while legal, makes it harder for journalists and the public to access documents.

“When it comes to sunshine in government, Robin Vos is the prince of darkness,” said Bill Lueders, a political journalist and the president of the Wisconsin Freedom of Information Council.

He has developed a reputation for obstinance towards working with Democrats in office. In early 2020, while Republican- and Democratic- led states across the country delayed primary elections amid the rapidly-spreading coronavirus, the state legislature shut down attempts by Tony Evers, the Democratic governor, to move the date of the Wisconsin primary. In a viral image, Vos, donned in head-to-toe protective gear and volunteering as a poll worker, told voters it was “incredibly safe to go out”.

A ‘rigged and stolen election’

After years of fighting Democrats, the 2020 election brought Vos into a separate and unexpectedly fierce conflict – with his own party.

A day before the scheduled certification of the presidential election in Congress, as Trump supporters piled into buses headed for Washington, DC for a rally that would devolve into the January 6 Capitol riot, 14 Wisconsin lawmakers – including 13 members of the assembly – signed a letter addressed to Mike Pence, the vice-president, urging him not to certify the election. The missive, signed by lawmakers in five swing states, accused governors and state officials of “obfuscation and intentional deception” and claimed state legislatures have the final say in certifying the election results. The chair and vice-chair of the Wisconsin assembly committee on campaigns and elections were among the signatories.

Vos did not sign. But in a press conference that day, he told reporters he took the party’s rightwing base seriously and said the widespread doubt about the election results called for a re-evaluation of the electoral process. Since then, he’s sought to walk a tightrope of appeasing his base while refusing to bow to their wildest demands. But that has proven challenging.

Trump and his allies spent months filing lawsuits to try to overturn his loss in Wisconsin and other states. When his lawsuit asking the Wisconsin supreme court to toss out thousands of votes cast in Democratic strongholds failed, he tried to pressure Vos and other Republicans in the legislature to decertify the election themselves.

“I think it is unlikely we would find enough cases of fraud to overturn the election,” Vos told reporters at the time, suggesting that the state first investigate the 2020 election.

The Republicans’ refusal to actually attempt to decertify the election angered Trump. In June 2021, as Wisconsin Republicans gathered for their annual convention, Trump issued a statement accusing Vos and other legislative party leaders of “working hard to cover up election corruption”.

Vos has responded to Trump’s attacks by alternatively rejecting his wild claims while at the same time granting political concessions to groups peddling conspiracy theories.

Under pressure from Trump, Vos in 2021 announced an investigation into the election, appointing Michael Gableman, a former Wisconsin supreme court justice who had bolstered Trump’s disproven claims of election fraud and spoken at a Wisconsin “Stop the Steal” rally shortly after the 2020 election, as special counsel. During his investigation, Gableman traveled across the US, speaking at an elections conference hosted by Lindell and viewing the discredited Cyber Ninjas election audit in Maricopa county, Arizona.

A year later, when the Wisconsin supreme court ruled that the use of ballot “dropboxes” during the 2020 election was unlawful, the former president approached Vos with another call to decertify the election. “I explained that it’s not allowed under the constitution,” Vos told WISN-TV 12 News in Milwaukee.

Trump was furious. Days later, the former president endorsed Adam Steen, Vos’s election-denying primary opponent, calling Steen a “rising patriotic candidate” and denouncing Vos.

Vos barely survived the primary, winning by less than 300 votes.

“One of my biggest regrets was hiring Gableman,” said Vos, who fired the judge days after his primary. “He was way wackier than I thought. He was disappointing. He was inept. He was way worse for the system.”

As Trump turned on Vos, cracks within the Wisconsin GOP deepened.

Vos was roundly booed at the state convention in 2022 for telling the delegates that lawmakers “have no ability to decertify the [2020] election and go back and nullify it” .That day, more than a third of the delegates voted to oust him from party leadership.

Vos will not break the law to try to win them over, but he’s still looking to win back some of their support – all while trying to keep himself and the Republican party in power amid a shakeup in the Wisconsin supreme court.

After voters elected liberal justice Janet Protasiewicz to the state’s highest court, Vos entertained the idea of impeaching her before she could rule on the constitutionality of the state’s gerrymandered maps, only dropping the cause when a panel of former justices recommended against it.

Vos has also come under pressure from election denying groups to oust Meagan Wolfe, Wisconsin’s nonpartisan election commissioner who became a target of false claims that she broke the law to hurt Trump in 2020.

“As the leader, [Vos] takes the brunt of it,” said the state senator Duey Stroebel, a Republican who served in the assembly for four years and has, like Vos, worked on restrictive voting laws during his tenure. “He’s kind of the poster boy for these things.”

Vos has echoed calls for Wolfe to step down. But he has slow-walked impeachment efforts, referring impeachment articles to an assembly committee in November, where they have languished since. A group that goes by the name “Wisconsin Elections Committee, Inc” has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on TV and newspaper ads running regularly since November pressuring Vos to impeach Wolfe.

“It’s not gonna happen,” Vos said brusquely, voicing his irritation at Trump and his allies’ unyielding focus on the 2020 election. “Donald Trump’s unhealthy obsession with 2020 is not what Americans want to hear about in 2024.”

But at this point, it seems unlikely Vos can do much more to satisfy the far right base of his party. Even if he pivots and sees Wolfe’s impeachment through, a move that could destabilize elections ahead of 2024, the right wing will likely continue to ramp up their anti-democratic demands.

“As long as Donald Trump is politically active, they will be politically active,” said Bernier, who has been vocal in pushing back against Trump’s election lies – and counts Vos as a friend. Wisconsin activists who challenge election outcomes, she said, “will continue this until Donald Trump is no more”.

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