#you ever look at someone and wonder… WHAT is going ON inside their HEAD

[rebelliousstories]

Old Wound

Relationship: Cooper Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Death, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 1,167

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: She was supposed to be dead. He held her while she died in his arms. How is she here?

“You ever think about what’s gonna happen when we’re dead, cowpoke?” She asked.

It was a cool night, probably winter now if Cooper was remembering right. It had been so long since he felt a proper winter that he was not sure after all these years. He turned his head to the woman that was resting on his chest as they huddled around a fire to keep away the chill.

“You on drugs or somethin’?” Cooper’s serious tone made the woman burst out with laughter. She pushed herself up so that she was level with his face to look into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

“No but, you’ve survived centuries. I may get a few decades if I’m lucky. I was just wondering if you’ve ever thought about what’ll happen when we die.” Her repeated question did not even make The Ghoul miss a beat.

“We’re gonna become food for someone or somethin’ else. That’s what’s gonna happen.” He stated, trying to get the woman to lay back down.

“I meant the afterlife, baby. Like do you think that there’s the pearly gates, or just nothingness?” She laid back down and let the man run his ungloved hand over her head, and through her hair.

“I hope there’s an afterlife, but if there is anything these last couple centuries have taught me is that God is cruel. So whatever is waiting for us, we take it as it comes.” Howard pressed a kiss in the wake of his hand and felt the woman relax into him. That answer seemed to pacify her as they settled in for the night and went to bed.

If only he could ask her what was waiting for them on the other side of death’s embrace. It had only been a couple weeks and the sting was still fresh, but you know cowpokes. They take it as it comes. Cooper had been traveling alone this entire time with a chip on his shoulder, and saddened eyes.

Walking into Filly, there was a vacancy in his pouch where his chems would be. The thought alone made him want to shoot something. She always got his chems for him because they would give the pretty girl a discount, but the ghoul behind her would get nothing. He had not needed to get his own since she began traveling with him a couple of years ago.

A sign on the door pointed him to where he needed to go. His spurs clinked against the wooden floors as he went inside the little apothecary. There was a bell that he ringed, and soon a man stepped out from behind a curtain.

“Sixty chems.” The Ghoul left no room for small talk, and set the necessary caps on the counter between them. Without a word, the man disappeared and retrieved the items for the mutant. Each man pocketed their own items and said nothing as they turned to go back to what they were doing before.

As soon as Cooper stepped out, gasps and shouts were heard through the downtown area. At first he thought it was him; ghouls were not exactly welcomed in many parts, especially him. But it was not. A woman in distressed clothing was walking around and looking for someone or something with desperation in her eyes. Looking at her from underneath the lip of his hat, The Ghoul thought that her clothing was remarkably familiar.

“Get lost, Ghoul. You ain’t welcome round here.” One of the shopkeepers shouted at the woman, who was clearly very lost. She said nothing as she kept looking around and did not even respond to the man. However she did respond when someone threw something at her. Trying to protect herself, she reached for something on her hip, only for that object to not be there. It was not until she turned around the Cooper felt his breath catch and his heart stop.

It was her. His little spitfire girl was right in front of him. There was no way though. She had bled out in his arms. She died in his arms. He felt the last breath leave her body, and her pulse stop. And yet, here she was. Standing in front of him as if nothing had happened. The sound of a gun cocking caught his attention, as well as the end of a barrel trained on the woman. In an instant, Howard shot the assailant first before he had time to harm the woman. She did not flinch, but rather calmly looked to where he stood and gasped out his name in a hushed whisper.

Cooper marched right up to her, and observed. Not a hair was different from the last time he had seen her. He did not even allow for another moment to pass as he grabbed her arm and began to drag her from the market. Once they were in a quiet part, he let go and could not hold his tongue.

“Who the hell are you? Why are you wearin’ her clothes?” Cooper demanded, holding his gun out to point at the woman.

“What- what are you talking about. Coop, it’s me. This isn’t funny.” She pleaded, feeling afraid as this was the first time in years that she had been at the end of his gun.

“Prove it,” he breathed, “what did you tell me you hoped was waiting for us in death?”

“I never told you.” She whispered. “But you told me that no matter what, we cowpokes take it as it comes, so it didn’t matter. Please Coop. Just put the gun down.”

With a deep breath in and out, he did as she asked. Cooper rushed forward and took in another deep breath, this time with the scent of her. But there was something off about her scent. It smelt much more… ghoulish. Pulling away, he saw her same eyes staring back at him. Those same eyes that he begged to open just one more time a few weeks ago.

“How?” Cooper asked, running his hands everywhere he could.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I am, or what happened that I came back. All I know is that one minute I’m in your arms, and the next I’m picking myself up off the ground and all alone.” She repeated the process of running her hands everywhere she could as her lover was doing to her.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I think you’re a little like me. Who the hell knows with all the radiation bullshit.” He whispered, chuckling lightly at the face she pulled when he proposed his theory.

“I guess there are worse things to be. I’m just glad I found you again.” Cooper was brought into a tight embrace, as she buried her face into his chest and breathed in his scent.

“Me too, darlin’. Me too.” He whispered back, pressing kisses to her hair as he was glad to just hold her in his arms again.

[codenamesazanka]

Dekus "I want to save that little boy" (instead of the ADULT MAN who was right in front of him and ALSO a victim) never sat right with me and I hate that I was right. The story gave up on Shigaraki before deku even decided to save hi-- I mean the little boy

It was just so weird that Deku's supposed/perceived great amazing compassionate let's-turn-into-besties saving hinged on... the memory of a crying child 15 years in the past. He was never able going to bring the child into reality and the present, save some truly bullshit quirk magic, so it was always going to be a 'healing past trauma' gesture to stop Shigaraki's anger and destruction, which means in terms of what will actually happen as actions would be at best Shigaraki meekly head off to jail to pay for his very real present crimes and Deku might feel enough pity to visit him from time to time; at worst Shigaraki will have to kill himself off to pay for his very real present crimes.

At no point did any of this involved Deku advocating for the Villain Shigaraki against other Heroes and the world and treating him as human despite his very real present crimes because Deku doesn't need to - he only needs to deal with The Crying Child.

Plus like. What if he had never seen that psychic vision of The Crying Child? What if he only just saw Angry Adult Shigaraki? Does that mean Shigaraki doesn't deserve to be saved? No, not after what we readers have found out about him. It does however mean Deku becomes a dick who only cares about someone is in pain if they're visibly looking like they're in pain, and he can consider them innocent and good in some sense (see: Overhaul as someone who's clearly unwell but is Evil so no saving for him until he shows remorse!). Without the very convenient psychic vision of The Crying Child, Deku would've just proceeded with defeating a visibly-showing-no-remorse-but-readers-know-his-clear-agonizing-nihilism Shigaraki.

(If the story had just gone with the 'You look like you needed saving' line from the end of Chapter 295 because Deku saw Angry Adult Shigaraki struggling against the creepy parasitic AFO, it would've worked out better!!! But no!!! It turns out he only cared because he felt inside that a little boy crying. So the body horror merge wasn't enough for Deku to care; and he backs this up by only ever talking about saving the Crying Child from then on.

But I guess if Deku wanted to save Angry Adult Shigaraki, he would have to ask why Shigaraki ended up with AFO in the first place. Why Shigaraki is so angry. Why Shigaraki became a villain, and insist on destroying. And all answers would inevitably end up being 'Heroes failed for 15 years to save him from AFO*, failed to give show him anything other than rejection, failed to save his friends and now he's angry on their behalf as well,' which means Deku would actually have to address the major flaws of the society he lives in, which he and the story was never going to do because Heroes! So! Cool! Wish Upon Them Like Gods!

*doesn't matter that AFO is a supervillain and hid him away, it's still a failure on the Heroes' part; even worse failure, because All Might went and beat AFO's head to a pulp without ever finding all those kidnapped children and corpse experiments, which is a massive oversight????

It's possible it would've still been 'Shigaraki Thinks Decay Made Him Evil :(' but by Act III Shigaraki has also clearly integrated the League's grievances into his own, so it wasn't just Decay Made Him Evil. The Crying Child allowed the story and Deku to cut out the League context, and only add it in later, as it did in 418. Taking the easy way out.)

So yeah. 'I want to save that little boy!' filled me with dread since day one. Shigaraki was right there, an ugly adult, sure, but still a victim of society and AFO. But Deku simply could not care about Shigaraki without seeing the frozen in time Tenko. Is it any wonder that when it came time for this final battle, because there was only Adult Shigaraki In Physical Form, Deku can smash without a care?

But really he's been disregarding anything Shigaraki actually says and smashing Shigaraki without care all along even knowing of The Crying Child inside since Chapter 369. So. Saving!

[forasecondtherewedwon]

1, 13, and 36!!

Oooh! Thanks for these, Kaye!! I'm not gonna lie to you, it goes a little beyond hand-holding 😂

1) SHIP: Penelope x Colin

13) LOCATION: the Modiste

36) SCANDAL: seen holding hands! BARE hands!

more Bridgerton-themed fic prompts

Wallflower After Hours

Pairing: Penelope x Colin Rating: M Word Count: 2270

Summary: Coincidence finds Penelope and Colin alone at the Modiste one evening, but it's with intention that they address feelings which may have intensified since their kiss.

“Hello, Pen,” Colin said, inclining his head in greeting as Penelope unlocked and opened the door of the shop for him. He stepped inside and smiled at her with evident confusion. “I did not think to see you here.”

She laughed nervously.

“No,” she agreed.

They stood together in the otherwise vacant front of the shop, Colin staring at her as though he would say something, but Penelope glanced towards the door he had just closed. She was wondering whether she ought to relock it. Before she could decide, Colin followed her gaze, emitted an understanding, “Ah,” and reached up to lock the door himself.

She grew even more nervous than before. Not to be alone with Colin (although the circumstances were affective—profoundly), but because Madame Delacroix had only just disappeared into the back of her shop. Everything with this latest edition of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers had seemed to go wrong. Penelope had been forced to feign illness and slip away from her home in order to deliver her pages by hand, and now Genevieve had dashed out to call back the man hired to deliver them on to the printer, who had apparently left after turning up to the Modiste at the agreed-upon hour to find she had nothing for him.

But Penelope could certainly not tell Colin that.

“What brings you to the Modiste?” she inquired brightly. It was wiser to ask a question of him rather than wait for him to press her on her own reasons for being there, and alone at that.

“An unusual errand, is it not?” he said agreeably. “My mother was to send someone to collect a parcel, but I fancied the walk. I did not think it should cause too much speculation, seeing as everyone is at home for the supper hour.”

“Everyone but the two of us.”

“Quite.” He gave her the sort of look she adored on him, one that wordlessly declared them co-conspirators.

“It is kind of you to fetch Lady Bridgerton’s parcel. You are a good son.”

“And you are a good daughter.” He glanced about them. “I assume you were dispatched on a similar errand?”

Penelope readily grasped at this explanation.

“Yes, quite.”

Suddenly, Colin’s eyebrows drew together.

“It is odd that the door was locked. I believed I would find the Modiste yet open at this hour.”

“Oh, it is! It is only, with most people at their supper, as you have said, and with me alone in the shop—” Penelope winced and cut herself off. “Not alone in the shop. Madame Delacroix has only gone to—to retrieve something.” She was flustered.

“She… thought it best to lock the door. For safety,” Colin interpreted. He nodded. “Most sensible.”

“She did not expect anyone else tonight. That is what she told me.”

Penelope fumbled these words from her mouth, but Colin seemed to accept them unquestioningly. And why should he not? Was she not good, dutiful Penelope, ever obedient to her mama? She was assuredly not a young lady who would be assumed to be out alone for some scandalous reason, such as delivering the most-read gossip sheet in the ton! Not the little Featherington wallflower!

“It is good, perhaps, that I have seen you. That I am seeing you now.”

Did Colin seem slightly flustered as well? Now that the lie had been told, the excuse that explained Penelope’s visit to the Modiste, she regarded Colin with renewed awareness. They had not been alone together—completely alone—since she had pleaded with him to kiss her, and he had surrendered to her plea. She had sworn to ask nothing of him, but it was not her eyes, she felt, which were full of questions when Colin caught and held her gaze. Her heart began to pound.

“Is it?” she asked. The words came out sounding ragged, departing a mouth that had gone dry. Penelope licked her lips and blushed to see Colin’s gaze drop to follow the path of her tongue.

She was surely imagining things; it was what her mama would have told her if she had gone home and divulged where she had been and how she believed the Bridgerton boy-turned-man had stared. But she would never attempt to describe it. She could only hope to remember it when, like the kiss they had shared, it inevitably passed. A moment. The flame of a candle.

“You have been… on my mind,” Colin said carefully. He had his hands behind his back so that the step he took towards her felt leisurely and incidental. Except that Penelope’s heart raced.

“I-I have?”

“In truth…” She watched him exhale and release his hands’ restraining clasp. They hung by his sides. She longed to know where he would place them next. Colin stared into her eyes. “In truth, you occupy my thoughts until I am driven almost to distraction.”

“Colin!”

“It is the truth, Pen. Though I know I should not say it, I must swear that it is true.” Colin gestured emphatically.

He was now so near as to be looking down on her. The summer evenings were still long, but Penelope noticed that the room had dimmed since her arrival. Genevieve, for the sake of the surreptitiousness of their business, had not lit any candles. There were the windows—large, for enticing customers with the beautiful dresses on display—and yet the front of the shop began to feel quite close, quite removed, quite… private.

“You are the reason for my restlessness this very evening,” he confessed in a hushed voice, gaze roving her features. Again, he dwelt on her lips.

“Do you think,” Penelope whispered, “that you should not have kissed me?”

“Pen.” Colin lifted his hand and, with just the tips of his fingers, skimmed her cheek. “I think I should have kissed you much more.”

She gasped until his lips descending upon hers stopped her breath. She whimpered into his mouth. His fingers stole across her cheek and dove into her hair, amorously pressing her face to his. Penelope stretched up to meet Colin in the kiss, to meet him firmly, to let him know that she knew what it was to be alone in one’s feelings, and that Colin most definitely was not. The only reason their previous kiss had not undone her as it seemed to have thoroughly undone him was that she had not allowed it to; her one-sided attachment to him had been forever laced with fear. Following the moment in which it had been given to her, Penelope had locked the kiss away, hidden more securely than coins beneath the floorboards. That way, she had believed, she would be able to go on. She could marry someone else, or, likelier, resign herself to spinsterhood as her mama wished.

This season, Penelope had finally forced herself to acknowledge that it would be best for her to rid herself of the silly dream of Colin Bridgerton. As a child: the dream of Colin Bridgerton selecting her as his teammate in every game the two of them and Eloise played in the garden. As a young lady still two seasons from her debut: Colin Bridgerton escorting her gallantly on his arm to her first-ever ball. As a woman who begged for a kiss while longing for far more: Colin Bridgerton in her bed. The privilege of the sight of his skin under the glow of not a Mediterranean sun but the candles in their marital bedchamber. She had decided to banish all of it from her mind. But Colin had now kissed her twice, and this time, she had not requested it.

Nothing in their current actions felt like mercy or pity or even the sweet devotion of a long friendship. Penelope came to the feeling like a traveler to foreign land, but she knew it to be passion. Colin’s tongue had parted her lips to stroke inside her mouth, and she tugged the collar of his shirt to urge him on. He backed her against the wall of fabrics and Penelope moaned as his body crowded close. The hand that was not in her hair landed on her waist. Hers moved freely: a squeeze to the back of Colin’s neck, a helpful brushing of his rapidly disheveled hair out of his face, a caress of his chest, where she could feel his heart pounding as fiercely as her own behind the layers of his shirt and waistcoat.

When she unbuttoned his jacket, Colin answered the action with a soft groan that set her all aflame. Penelope fairly grabbed at him. He matched her every touch with equal frenzy. The hand upon her waist ran down over the curve of her backside. She slid her fingers beneath his collar, stroking the thin skin of his throat, and felt him shiver. His hips nudged against her, and she felt more than that.

It was not until Colin’s warm hand, which had trailed from her hair down the back of her neck, left that spot and was replaced by the sensation of cool satin that Penelope remembered herself. Remembered the windows that looked out onto the street. Remembered Genevieve, who could return at any moment. Penelope abruptly broke the kiss and slipped out from between Colin and the thick rolls of satin.

“We… we cannot,” she panted, blinking quickly.

“Oh,” Colin said numbly. Then, “Oh, oh, I do apologize. Pen, let me fix—”

“No, Colin, hold still. I must button—”

They worked to restore order to one another’s appearance. Colin bowed his head that Penelope might smooth his hair and she felt it was a shame, such a shame, to right something which was so extremely tempting when mussed. He then insisted on running his hands over her dress from waist to hips, claiming he ensured she did not appear rumpled; she suspected he was merely attempting to memorize the shape of her that he might later do with it… well, whatever might assist him in combatting the restlessness that had driven him from his home this night.

Finally, she prevailed upon him to stand up straight so she might refasten his jacket. Their fingers met as they both reached for the buttons. With a soft touch, his stilled hers, and Penelope raised her head to gaze wonderingly into the face of the man her heart had long ago decided was beyond compare. She watched as he swallowed as though readying himself to speak.

“Oh! Monsieur Bridgerton!”

They both turned and had the good sense to spring away from each other as Madame Delacroix stepped through from the rear of the shop. Their hands disconnected their hold as they moved, but Penelope knew Genevieve had seen the linked fingers. Her eyes found Penelope’s and communicated much, including a promise that she would reveal nothing. Though Penelope sighed in relief, she feared the pace of her heart might never return to normal. She had Colin to thank for that.

“Madame Delacroix,” he said, recovering from the surprise. “My mother—”

“The Dowager Viscountess has sent him to retrieve an order. Much as mine did.” With her eyes, Penelope requested that Genevieve play along.

“Ah, naturellement! I have Lady Bridgerton’s parcel ready for you, Monsieur. Your mother, she is well?”

Penelope exhaled as they conducted their business. When it was complete, Colin turned to her expectantly.

“Well?”

“Well,” she replied.

Colin chuckled.

“The item you were meant to collect. You know I would not leave without you.”

“Yes, of course. Madame Delacroix?” Penelope glanced anxiously towards the Modiste.

“It was necessary to make an unforeseen alteration to the… stitching,” Genevieve improvised, “but please inform Lady Featherington that her item will be ready in time for her occasion.”

“Ready in time,” Penelope sighed, knowing their true subject to be the edition of Whistledown she had hurried here to deliver. She smiled at Genevieve in gratitude. “Thank you, Madame Delacroix. I shall pass on the message.”

With a nod from the proprietress, she and Colin turned to leave the shop. He reached for the door handle. Rather than opening, the door rattled in its frame. Penelope saw the flush blossom on Colin’s cheeks as they were reminded that the door was locked, that he had locked it, and of what they had done with their increased, though fleeting, privacy.

Madame Delacroix swept in and turned the lock, releasing them. They mumbled their embarrassed thanks and stepped out.

Colin hailed a hack for Penelope, and she did not tell him it was the same that had conveyed her to the shop to conduct her business. He handed her up. With the door still open, they exchanged a meaningful look.

“Would you like to…?”

With evident effort, Colin shook his head. “I think I should prefer to walk.”

“Very well.”

She could tell he had heard the hint of disappointment in her tone, because he hastened to reassure her.

“It is not that I would not like to. I would.” His eyes burned into hers and her heart, falsely cued, resumed its earlier gallop. “However, I believe it would be prudent for me to… ah… regain control of my thoughts before I reach home.”

Penelope smiled and said, “I quite understand.”

He leaned closer as though to impart a secret: “My heart I have no hope for. It is entirely ruled by you.”

As he shut the door, that organ swelled within Penelope’s chest, and she smiled her overwhelmed delight. She and Colin maintained an expressive stare through the window as the hack pulled away, until she could see him no more.

[shaunashipman]

Sometimes I think about Tim and the audio “Do you ever look at someone and wonder… what is going on inside their head?” starts playing in the background

Istg that man loves chaos

tim really just woke up and chose violence on this fine sunday. I'm just sitting here enjoying the fucking show BoBs are putting on

[midzindagicrisis]

do or die ? — one.

IN WHICH, Varadha Rajamannar found himself entangled in the chaos of emotions as he learns what it's like to live than just merely exist and who better than his new found friend to help him?

( Or Varadha thought the world would end if he moved permanently outside of the walls that caged him in, but little did he know, he'd find himself thinking about how the world for him begins at a completely different place or should I say at a completely different person? )

pairing : varadha rajamannar x reader (platonic!deva x reader ) genre : angst, romance,fluff, chaotic (?) warnings : mentions of violence, blood, sad themes ( it's a salaar fic idk what you'd expect-)

word count : 1.2k ( will probs get longer )

The world didn't end.

It was thriving,breathing and also lively. It wasn't dead.

Varadha Rajamannar felt it would. He didn't think he'd know anything would exist beyond the concrete walls that surrounded him like a cage, literally and metaphorically.

He was trapped. He knew nothing but the language of violence and sorrow that was engraved deep into his blood, deep into his heart and mind that even as he spoke, each word resonated with authority, stillness and what could only be described as a calm rage.

But when he found out, he'd be able to get out, get away from the walls he'd long thought would be the only thing he'd ever see until the day he'd die. Until the day he'd be killed. But no, it seemed as though fate had other plans for the princely man.

He knew he'd have to someday come back, perhaps in a while but for now, the chains that pulled him back no matter how far he'd go, broke. He'd gotten free from the shackles of hierarchy that ceased him from living.

He didn't know who to go to. He didn't know what he'd do. Didn't understand anything but he just knew the world didn't end.

In fact for him that day, it began. All over again.

You knew for a fact when the man in front of you was weary that there was something definitely wrong.

Devaratha Raisaar didn't exhibit weariness on his face just out of nowhere. No, as far as you knew, one thing he was in life, was that he was a very focused man. Having known him for the better part of almost a decade, you were certain enough to understand him from the inside and out.

Meeting Deva was perhaps what you’d consider as your greatest accomplishments. Maybe even being able to wield a place through the bubble he was surrounded by was the second.

He was, in better words, your best friend. One of your first and most likely the last.

So when your best friend walks into your house, (At this point, he’d come by whenever he wanted, unknocked,unnoticed and you were used to it.) a look you could only describe as being lost, you were taken aback to say the least.

“Hel-woah.” Your words got stuck in your throat when he stood in front of you all of a sudden. You were a tad bit worried considering his face began to morph into an expression of…pleading?

“I-uh I have a favour to ask.” He seemed as though he was embarrassed to ask that, especially to you. It felt kind of hilarious to see such a composed man seemingly lose his cool.

You snorted as you shook your head, wondering why he was being dramatic over needing some help, “Deva, you’re making it seem like I might kill you if you asked for help. Is this what a decade of friendship equals? You know you can ask for help anytime. Anyways, what is it that you need?”

“I have someone—a long lost friend— I was wondering if he could stay with you? For some time at least. It's a huge thing—I know—but please? I want you to consider it.”

A long lost friend?

This was news to you. Never in your time had you ever heard of an old friend of his that existed. In all the time you knew him, you very much thought he was like you. No friends, other than the two of you.

And then in your mind, it seems a puzzle piece fell into place.

Perhaps this was the other boy in his stories.

Deva had this thing at one time, even though it was rare now but, he'd narrate stories to you. Stories which he would claim were told to him so he just wanted to share them with you.

All of them included two boys. No matter what the scenario, time or age, the two boys were essential to each.

Suddenly thinking of all the moments where you'd see the far off look in his eyes when he'd tell you these supposed stories made sense.

Those weren't just mere stories. It was his life at one point.

Which is definitely not what it is now, but what once was.

You were more intrigued than anything.

“Alright.” You didn't even notice Deva let out a sigh of relief. After all, he was one to hold no expectations from anyone so he was still sceptical for asking such a favour from someone, even though it was you.

Allowing a stranger into your house just based on his request was something quite risky but it showed where he was and what he was to you.

You trusted him.

And he was more than glad you did.

He just hoped none of this would come to backfire at him.

The man in front of you was assessing you as if you'd been the one who stepped into his home without a warning.

His gaze, lined with deep black Kohl, only made you more uneasy than you already felt.

Though the uneasiness was not something that held you back from thinking of the fact that he was simply in other words, unreal.

He looked handsome. Beautiful even. The way his hair was set, not in a proper way but as if he'd naturally always been like that made him the more awe striking. His beard only made him even more attractive.

His aura showed confidence, his stance showed his pride.

His eyes however. His eyes showed discomfort.

Beneath the judgemental stare, laid a discomfort that shone if you looked closely into his demeanour. His body language, his eyes wandering throughout the room.

It was obvious to you.

“Greetings. I suppose Deva must have already told you about me.”

As if he'd heard you from afar, he came walking behind the man. Only then did you actually realise how…large the man was.

Deva held a suitcase in one hand, making you wonder why the man himself didn't carry it. Surely, his arms definitely did not signal as to him being a weakling of any sort.

In fact, you were worried he'd have noticed how many times your eyes drifted towards them.

“Varadha.” Deva spoke to which the man —Varadha— turned his attention towards him.

“You'll be staying with my…friend here.”

Why were you nervous upon hearing those words? It was your house!

“Um, come on in ; I'll uh show your room.”

It was as though your brain had short circuited whilst speaking to him. You couldn't understand why you were behaving this way, this was very very unlikely of you.

You paused in your thoughts when you realised something.

“By the way, I am,”

You remembered you hadn't really mentioned your name. Even if he probably already knew from Deva, but you just felt like saying it again, in case he forgot by chance.

“Varadha. Varadha…Rajamannar.”

What caught your attention was the way he spoke of his second name. As though it was something of distaste. Something he didn't want to be associated with.

Odd.

“Nice to meet you then. Varadha.”

Raising your hand, you pushed it forward for a handshake, eyes glancing between the known man and the unknown.

The latter stared at your raisen hand for a second. But you suppose he deemed it as safe when he reached out and kept his hand in yours.

His hands were rough. Calloused. His hands held stories and unspoken words. That was something you loved after all, stories. And your mind was now itched to know more. You weren't sure if it was right but curiosity was something you always indulged in.

With a gruff tone, he spoke up,

“Likewise.”

a/n : this is very spontaneous. i suddenly opened this draft and was like woah this had potential and I just. started writing. ( I know abt the fact that I haven't updated "false gods" on wp in 5 MONTHS 🙏 but with this motivation found for this, perhaps I'll pick the draft back up soon enough. for now, pls enjoy this. no update schedule or anything fixed for this but lmk if u ever wanna get tagged for the rest ( it'll be super short tho max. 3 parts or so 👍)

taglist (open!) : @ek-ladki-bheegi-bhagi-si ; @mad-who-ra ; @warnermeadowsgirl

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

midzindagicrisisⒸ 2024

feedback is always appreciated 💌 !

[thesamestarlight]

yassen gregorovich. character of all time. he’s a contract killer. he’s babygirl. he makes no damn sense. compels me though

[dnpbeats]

d&p slow dancing to thinking out loud remains absolutely batshit because we all know it was scripted but WHY??? WHAT WERE THEY TRYING TO ACCOMPLISH WITH STAGING THAT?

[swagspren]

I think it is sweet that, even though we have Adolin’s POV since the start, you the reader get to go on the “I think this guy might suck” to “okay this guy is not so bad” journey with Kaladin. I feel like tWoK and beginning of WoR it still feels like I know Adolin means well, but he is really out here yelling at his dad and being on his high horse (lol). Even when he locks himself up with Kal I was a little like “okay, as he should.”

Then he’s out on the plains like goofing around with the water kid and stuff and I was like okay! He got us! He got me with that one! And that is also the scene that Kaladin concedes that he is likeable and a good guy etc

[wontbyers]

This is what I was talking about here btw

[pinkeoni]

I can’t help but wonder what Vecna was going to do with Will if the gate wasn’t closed at the end of s2. What were his plans with Will’s body once he completely took it over? Is he disposable like Billy, was he just a means to an end, or did he have bigger plans with him?

[nero-neptune]

“Y’know, blockbusters, hundred-million dollar box office. It’s all they say they want down there these days. I just don’t think I have one of those in me…MTV says it all started with Steven and the shark. And then came the extra-terrestrial. And George brought us R2-D2 and Indiana Jones. Batman. Dick Tracy. Entertainment Tonight calls it “high concept”…I don’t think I’m a “high concept” kinda guy. ”

NORTHERN EXPOSURE 1.06 “Sex, Lies, and Ed’s Tapes”

[shadowpeachyuri]

macaque with an inside out-style crew of emotions in his head but instead of the normal joy-sadness-fear-anger-disgust ensemble he has Fear, Homosexuality, Regret, Fear 2, and Smugness

[geosabor]

Dominion of Hate Page 26

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[kamillenciya]

[braceletofteeth]

Moonjo's stare.

[styona]

English is not my first language so I didn't understand what 'hung' meant in this context right away and I thought he wanted to be hung as in killed and I was like well that's some weird flex but ok, cause at this point nothing he says in his interviews can faze me anymore I guess. And I didn't know who the dude was cause I sure as hell was not expecting Tobias to mention an actor of that kind of industry. But that still was SO out of pocket