d e v o n
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
ellievsbear
PR's Tumblrdome
$LAYYYTER
Today's Document
gracie abrams
Misplaced Lens Cap
roma★
No title available
todays bird
Game of Thrones Daily
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Kiana Khansmith
tannertan36
★
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
titsay
Mike Driver
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
@marie-dufresne
I know it’s not Munday but @the-bark-is-worse and I are spending the week together for the first time in about 4 years!
Tonight we are out at Mr. Frenchie’s gig listening to Yacht Rock and eating charcuterie on a vineyard patio. What beautiful adults we’ve become. 🥹
Twinsverse: It’s not easy being uncontrollably chatty.
ficlet for @the-bark-is-worse | @sans-regrets | @kennyfuckingackerman
“Marie do we need to move your seat again?”
Eight year old Marie Ackerman looked up at her teacher, then to the student her desk abutted in the two by two rows of the classroom.
“No…” she said quietly, scooting back over to her own personal space.
Not six seconds after the class resumed did she lean over again.
“I really like your erasers. Can I see one? I like the cat. I like cats. Pink ones too.”
The girl next to her looked over and scowled, scooping up her brightly colored animal erasers and fitting them back into the plastic netted bag they came in, stuffing it onto her lap, away from the prying eyes of the blonde.
“Did you want to play with me at recess? I think we can bring the jump ropes out today.”
“Marie stop,” the girl hissed, using her elbow to push her away, “you’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“I’m just asking—“
“No—stop—and your hair stinks, move over.”
“MARIE.”
Frozen in her seat, Marie looked up this time only with her eyes.
“Here,” demanded her instructor, tapping the empty desk next to Levi, “up here next to your brother, where I can see you.”
The class exploded into a buzz of tiny whispers, most of them having wondered which one of the Ackertwins would be the first to get in trouble today. Marie had won by a landslide, as Levi had sat so far the entire morning, alone and undisturbed.
She sat obediently, pushing her hair from her face and lowering her chin to the arms she crossed atop the desk, a signal of defeat. She couldn’t help it. Her mouth wanted to talk; she didn’t know how to make the words stop.
“Another sound from you and your father gets a phone call.”
Marie opened her mouth to protest that Kenny was her uncle, not her father, but for once, thought better of it, and settled back down, not bothering to open up the social studies book they were all learning from. It’s not like she could read it anyway.
For about twelve minutes she listened to the class unscolded, bobbing her head back and forth slowly until finally she couldn’t handle it anymore and lifted herself up, leaning over towards Levi.
“Levi what did you bring for a snack today?”
Her brother was faster than their teacher and, annoyed that he was trying to listen, turned and gripped his sister by her shoulders, shoving her off her chair and onto the floor where her little legs went up over her head as she backwards summersaulted into the art table, her hair catching on the screws that held the legs in place and she exploded into wailing sobs.
Levi returned to his textbook with a frown, his cheek resting in his open palm.
Their teacher grit her teeth.
Three years until retirement.
Afternoon Luncheon
Warverse: Fifteen year old Levi is forced to have lunch with his least favourite superior and his irritatingly cute family.
“I’m glad you came.”
Marie Dawk looked up from unbuttoning her collared dress and smiled up at her husband, seated at his desk, no hint of cheer on his steadily weathering face.
“Of course we came,” she told him, leaning over to lift their wailing daughter from her pram, cradling the hungry infant against her breast and pausing for a moment as she adjusted the fabric of the dress not to impede Veronica’s lunch.
“What makes you think we wouldn’t have?” she asked, lowering herself onto the sofa and making herself comfortable, heart swelling at the pride in his eyes. Nile didn’t smile much anymore—he hadn’t for well over ten years—but she had learned to decipher his more subtle expressions and pride in his family, in her, was her favourite.
Nile sighed and stood, but not before offering her half a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re busy,” he admitted, “though motherhood suits you, I’m not so ignorant as to assume it does not tire you.”
Ever the day to his night, Marie’s smile lit up her entire face. “I am never too busy to have luncheon with my husband,” she teased.
“And Levi,” Nile added.
Keep reading
Happy Munday! I’m on a besties trip for the first time in my LIFE. In 14 years I’ve never left my family behind for a ‘me’ trip.
We have a condo with private beach access and I’ve successfully been pummeled by waves just like summers by the sea when I was a kid. 🥹
Also scooped these adorable heart sunnies at 5 below when we got here hahahahaha
HOOOO BOY have I been hard at work. This weekend my besties and I totally revamped the fire pit area.
Anyone who has been here long enough knows I am ✨not✨ an outdoor girlie but I got out there, dug up a crapton of clay, got my hands dirty making mortar from said clay, laid 130 year old bricks, planted shrubs, mulched, painted chairs and only had one meltdown when our initial plan went very very badly. We turned it around spectacularly though and now we have a fireside oasis out back!
Happy Munday! 💖
It is important to know that Marie absolutely would fill a bowl of chips by buying one chip at a time.
While the packaging is uncouth and aesthetically displeasing, she greatly enjoys how the paqui chips pair with her salsa of choice.
Their selections sold in bags are not nearly as delicious.
Continued from {here} w. @desolxte
Levi had never been anything but standoffish and aloof, so when he rose to rifle through her cabinets, she set the spoon down and reached for a glass herself, pulling open her vintage pink refrigerator and pouring him some from milk the matching pink glass jug it was stored in.
So he was extra sensitive to the heat.
“Milk,” she offered, “it helps best. And cheese.”
It was a good thing the sauce was not necessary to complete the meal she had prepared, and though she hadn’t planned on a cheese tray, she had just picked up some particularly good Stilton that morning.
It had apricots in it.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be so spicy either,” she explained, crumbling the fruity cheese onto a decorative tray and arranging a few varieties of crackers, grapes, and nuts, “it’s something…some sort of 'Reaper Pepper' they call it.”
Setting the small snack tray at the table she rolled her eyes at herself. “I suppose the name should have given me a clue.”
Happy Munday! I really haven’t had any fun Monday makes in a while because I’ve been too sick to actually make anything. I did manage to get this project on the loom and had a good day of weaving but who knows if it will be done in any decent amount of time. 😓 I’d like to get a bunch done in time for fall markets but we’ll see how upright I am to do so.
Just browsing as I’m grocery shopping and now I definitely have to stick this in an AU somewhere.
I slept through Marie’s birthday. Actually slept through it. 9am yesterday through 10:30am today. 😴
It’s just that time of life again.
I should be back with ships no one asked for sometime around mid-June. ✌️
Villain apologist? Nah, I don't apologize for anyone. What my lover does on his days off is not my business.
So Mattel literally makes a Marie Barbie. I’ve never added something to my cart so fast in my life. Look at her. 😍😍😍😍
She’s even a curvy Barbie. She’s got thighs for days.
— ARE YOU OKAY?
Concerned roleplay starters. Send me... (Send 🔄 + any emoji to reverse the outcome.)
😭 to find my muse crying. 🤕 to find my muse with an obvious injury. ❤️🩹 to find my muse trying to hide an injury. 🤢 to find my muse visibly sick. 🩸 to find my muse after they've been in a fight. 💤 to find my muse passed out. 🥴 to catch my muse as they faint. 🌧️ to find my muse in the rain without an umbrella. 😵 to find my muse half dead in an alley. 🫳 to put a comforting hand on my muse's shoulder. 🫂 to give my muse a comforting hug.
Happy Munday! St. Jude’s Fundraiser season is in full swing for me right now! 🙌
Right now this year’s Big Blanket only sits at baby blanket size—36”, but I’ll be working every day until Easter 🐥 This year’s spinner is for time so I actually have no idea how big she’ll get. Fate dictates how long I work on it each day. 🤗
Just like last year, it’ll get raffled off when it’s completed and of course I’ll post the finish product. But yeah! That’s one of the things I’m working on now instead of plots no one asked for. 😂
Wrongfully Imprisoned
Seemingly needlessly shut away in her husband's mental wellness facility, Lady Devereaux struggles with her place in the institution as well as her isolation.
January 0007
There was only a brief pause in the movents of the curly blonde when Dr. Araphael Ota let himself into the suite. He watched her for a moment, making mental notes, as this was not a place for pens and clipboards. Her appearance was always of interest to him, so contradicting was the way she looked against the way she moved.
Her youthful face didn’t pin her much older than sixteen or so with her doe eyes and soft cheeks. The unruly golden curls she tried to tame with romantic twists and braids and bows resisted all the more with each effort she put forth to keep them at bay in the way that a cheeky child crosses the threshold of a room they’ve been kept from, but no more than a few tiny toes over that line.
And yet…when she moved it was so practiced, so choreographed and meaningful, without blunder or hesitation, as if this had been ritual for fifty, perhaps even sixty years. Her posture never faltered and though she had no servants here, Araphael knew that she saw herself exactly as she carried herself–even at a mere twenty years of age.
The Matriarch.
“How have you been this week, Lady Devereaux?”
Setting down the tea service, Lady Marie Devereaux gave him a little scowl as he reached into his breast pocket for his cigarettes. She didn’t bother to scold him when he lit it this time. Whether she had given up on the offense or didn’t have it in her today was to be decided.
“This week has been just the same as last week,” she replied, offering the plate of individually wrapped snack cakes as if she had baked them herself, “I’m ready to go home now.”
“Are you not comfortable here?”
It was an unusual facility to be sure, her quarters in particular. Lady Devereaux, having the benefit of being wed to the founder of The Institution, was allowed a suite that spanned a square footage larger than many of the staff members’ personal apartments. Almost everything inside had been designed for her to such an extent that none of the other patients on her floor actually knew she was just the same as they were. She held tea in her sitting room, fretted over her outfits in her walk-in closet, lounged in her parlor, and though there were no restraints to be found on her four poster bed, the military grade locks on the doors and windows were all hidden by scrolling filigree and ostentatious metalwork befitting a lady of her status.
“I don’t belong here,” she corrected, “you and I both know this.”
“Do we? You’ve only been here six months.”
As if this were nothing more than a sour business deal, Marie smiled as she added sugar to her tea, leveling her gaze with him.
None of the other patients looked doctors in the eye or served them tea, treating them as peers or even friends. She knew this. She observed, and she absorbed. She did not behave in the manner the others did, with cast down eyes or shrinking back when she was approached. She didn’t speak in tongues or rave. She had no hallucinations or phantom friends, no paranoia or obsessive behaviors. She was not too old for her family to deal with any longer and she was not and never had been unable to maintain control of her bodily functions so no. She did not belong here.
“I know who I am,” she told him carefully. If she got too excited, too aggressive, he would leave and her plea would be dismissed. “I have healed from the accident and I am…fine. If Colin would just come to see me, to speak to me himself, he would see.”
Araphael watched with interest as she spoke, looking and listening for hints that she was any different than the week prior, but alas, she had made no significant change. Unfortunate. A lack of progress made her boring.
“He writes to you. Extensively.”
Lady Devereaux’s jaw set then and he watched as her eyes welled up, frustration thrashing behind them. Yes, Lord Devereaux wrote her exceedingly lengthy letters. They arrived with fresh flowers every five days and while the flowers were such pretty things, this young woman suffered from dyslexia to such a crippling extent, she was nearly illiterate.
“He needs to see me,” she whispered, her words so frosty, Dr. Ota wondered if her tea may have frozen over.
But Colin had no plans to see her. Instead, he enjoyed the reports of her confusion, of her despair, and of her growing irritability, for Lord Devereaux was not the doting husband he donned the mask of. The letters he sent were intentionally difficult and his absence was reasoned away with redundancies and non-reasons despite him so often being in an office just one floor above her suite while she remained alarmingly unaware.
Araphael cared nothing for this marital disaster nor did he find any joy in what was little more than psychological torture, but Colin Deveraux was the front runner in the study of the human psyche. He particularly thrived on molding it which he much preferred over breaking. There was much to be learned here and it was merely an unfortunate coincidence that Marie was a lucid specimen.
“Why did you marry him?” he wondered, helping himself to little cake.
What a strange question, and a more interesting response. As if she had never been upset, Marie sat up straighter, her head tilting to one side ever so slightly, a warm smile plastering on her face. An illumination, like flipping the switch on an animatronic.
“He loves me,” she replied, a hint of laughter in her answer, as if it should have been obvious. It was the same way she responded to the question each time he asked. Uncanny and mechanical. Programmed. Thirty-nine times since her arrival.
“I’m sure he does. But what made you decide to get married?”
Again, she repeated the motions, the moments, the response and the doctor found himself annoyed with it today, like he’d suddenly been locked out of the conversation and could go no further, could discover nothing more.
“So…” he took a different direction, “how did he propose?”
This time he watched as her face lit up even more and she moved forward, setting the teacup down. Ah, this might prove to be interesting. Marie was such an animated character when she spoke freely.
“Oh Dr. Ota,” she sighed, he hands splayed out in the air before her, grey eyes bright and shimmering in the glow of her lamps, preparing to regale him with one of the most romantic moments she’d ever lived. “He–”
But there she stopped, frozen. For a few seconds, she didn’t move at all, but then she splayed her hands again, taking a breath, and when she made an attempt to speak, nothing came out. Her mouth didn’t even form a word and he could see the way her eyes danced a rapid vibration the same way they did when she tried to read.
She didn’t remember.
Good.
Her memory was not yet fully recovered from her accident. Colin himself had expressed this, claiming he didn’t want to begin any projects with her until she was at her best, like a sadist who heals their victims between torture.
Defeated, she dropped her hands to her lap, her eyes following suit for the first time.
“I don’t remember,” she whispered, “why don’t I remember?”
Her submission did not last long, challenge rising up in time with her chest, eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“That’s not why I’m here. One fuzzy memory isn’t why I’m here.”
“Was your mother happy that day?”
“Of course not,” she spat, “Claire has hated me since the day I was born.”
“And your father? Was he proud to give you away?”
“Arthur–” another stall. “he–Arthur–my–”
“Tell me about your tenth birthday.”
He knew these sorts of questions were not productive and when she stood, he wondered if he might finally break a wall down within her. Whether it be to trigger her lost memories or to examine a facet other than the one she’d been showing the past six months, he didn’t care. The brain worked in so many ways, he’d study whatever she threw at him.
“I don’t see how that matters.”
“What did you want most for Christmas as a little girl?”
“I don’t–”
“Your best friend’s name? A memorable vacation? The first book you read? Your least favourite relative? Your first pet? Childhood hobbies?”
“Stop it!”
“Lady Devereaux can you tell me anything about yourself that was not dictated to you after your accident? Is there anything you know about yourself that you haven’t been told?”
He hadn’t meant to be so aggressive, but the way she deflated was oh so satisfying. Sinking back down onto her sofa, the blonde stared through the table, wracking her brain and he knew he’d made headway.
“You are here,” he said softly, approaching the subject with apprehension and caution, “because you do not know who you are. You were not able to uncover memories on your own at home. That is why Lord Devereaux brought you to us.”
“I’m not crazy,” she breathed, “I’m not.”
“No,” he agreed, “you’re not crazy.”
That was enough for this week. With any luck, she would stop resisting The Institution and his work with her would be far more interesting than the idle chit-chat and lamenting he’d endured for far too long. After all, he’d been hand-picked by Edmund Hojo to run this facility alongside Colin. It was time he had specimens worthy of his stature in the project.
Though as uninteresting as this socialite was, what had come in earlier that day to the research floor did seem to have much more merit. Hojo’s supposed ‘scraps’.
A young blond man who called himself ‘Zack’.
The New President
As Rufus rises to the presidency, Marie Heidegger isn’t quite sure where she stands.
In a place Marie had always considered a second home, she felt a stranger. It had been nearly a month since she had last entered this building, taking time to work through the emotions of the change that had taken place. The stares she received on her journey up to the new president’s office were expected. The whispers as well.
Marie Heidegger never wore black.
Even Tseng raised his brow at her when she approached, sauntering into the reception room, eyes set for the secretary’s desk, entirely lacking a secretary—and all of her belongings—the lead TURK fingering through the filing cabinet.
“Good Morning, Mrs. Heidegger.,” he greeted.
With a curious gesture with her lace gloved hand, Marie gave him a questioning glance and her ebon handbag swung on her elbow with her movements.
“Is Josie on vacation?”
Tseng let out a little humorless laugh through his nose, withdrawing the file he had been searching for and pushing the drawer closed.
“Josie is no longer with us. We are accepting applications.”
Marie clicked her tongue, giving a little pout. “Aw. Of all Artie’s lightskirts, she was my favourite.”
“Rufus is ready for you, ma’am.”
She took the hint. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk today. That was fine. Neither was she. She was here to push down her anxiety, the questions she had about her future. She’d grown so accustomed to one lifestyle, she’d forgotten it could come to an end.
She passed through the door Tseng opened for her, but when the president looked up, he gave him a little wave. He was in no danger today. He’d heard enough about Marie Heidegger’s tantrums, but he’d never seen one with his own eyes. That wasn’t the relationship they had.
He was, however, very wary of her choice of outfit.
“Black.”
Standing before his desk, she set her handbag down on one of the chairs, pulling her gloves off by the fingertips.
“I’m not making a statement,” she assured him, “I know we live in modern times but society customs are part of my DNA.”
With a soft smile, she dipped her head a bit, lowering her voice. “I’m mourning the loss of a good friend, Mr. President. That’s all. Three months of black.”
His chest rose slightly, but he kept himself in check. No scathing comments or witty one-liners about his father would be hurled at her. He stopped questioning their friendship when he was a child. She was married to Heidegger (happily at that. Blissfully, even.) so in comparison, any other relationship she fostered was simply ‘what she did’ in Rufus’ eyes.
He invited her to sit, and did the same, steepling his fingers on the desktop.
“You made an appointment, Mrs. Heidegger,” he said curiously. Marie never made appointments. “What is this about?”
“So formal,” she replied, not yet broaching the subject, “’Marie’ has always been just fine.”
In the past, yes, he had been able to be less formal with her, but he could no longer afford closeness or sentimentality. It was also prudent to keep Josef Heidegger’s temper in check. Though he had no amorous intentions towards the fifty-something year old woman before him, Heidegger was a jealous man who reacted before he thought.
If he thought at all.
“You have your scruples, I have mine.”
Marie gave a light chuckle. She could appreciate that. Sometimes she forgot he was grown and here he was, the president, calling her ‘Mrs’. and accepting her appointments.
“Fair enough,” she agreed. She heaved a deep sigh, a sadness overtaking her. No, not sadness. Uncertainty.
“Well,” she began, “where to start?” There was silence for a few moments, Marie looking for a way to issue her request respectfully and Rufus, waiting patiently.
“As you know…though I’ve never been part of this company in any official capacity, I had…I was integral in its development and its growth.”
A spark ignited in the president’s eyes, but he didn’t react just yet. Though he hadn’t been present at any of her outbursts, he had plenty of experience with seeing her manipulate. He’d learned a few of his own tricks from observing her. No one thrived in their circle without a very specific skill set so he didn’t feel disdain for her, but in this moment, he didn’t trust her presence here wasn’t on behalf of her oaf of a husband.
“But I also recognize you have…grown into your own man. You aren’t your father and I don’t expect you to be.”
Reaching over into her bag, she withdrew a keycard, standing slightly and sliding it across the desk towards him with a soft, sad little smile.
“At your father’s side, I had many liberties within these walls. But this is your time now so I will not assume I can behave in the same manner under you.”
Ah. That was it, then. She wanted to know where she stood. He appreciated that, really. Everyone else of her status had to have been put in line. She had the grace to come submit directly. Refreshing, given her spouse.
Rufus considered for a moment, keeping his gaze focused on the keycard before him. Her Golden Ticket to the hallowed halls and all the information she could fit in those ridiculous curls of hers. In reality, from a pragmatic standpoint, her track record suggested keeping her out would be unwise.
From a personal standpoint, he didn’t want to keep her out.
“You were with my mother when I was born,” he said softly, pushing the keycard back at her, “…and you stayed with me when she died.”
No longer being able to afford closeness of sentimentality, he didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t have to. Marie understood, and she took her card back, returning it to her purse. He had her fidelity; there was no need to worry about her presence in the building, no matter where she was.
“I can have that taken care of,” he said, standing and gesturing to the ugly scar that ran down the right side of her face, over her eye, twin to her husband’s. The wound was still healing and it looked angry today.
“Thank you for offering, but no. Josef and Hojo have offered as well but…” she stood, pulling her gloves back on, “I need to live with it. It’s a reminder of what I’ve done. I deserved it.”
“You didn’t deserve it.”
Everyone said that. She didn’t deserve what AVALANCHE did to her, what the stolen children of Wutai had done. She hadn’t known. She wasn’t evil. Evil or ignorant, it didn’t matter to her. She’d committed a grievous crime, then accepted adulation for it.
“You know what they say about good intentions, Mr. President,” she said, her smile turning both radiant and sardonic.
His grin matched hers and he walked her to the door.
“Yes well, at least the road to Hell is paved. It’ll make for a much more comfortable ride.”
Byeeee off to see ACC in theatres! Three of us are all dressed as generic TURKs and look cute as heck!!
When we sat down some guy leaned over to his buddy and was like “looks like some TURKs sat down next to us.” 🙌🙌🙌🙌
