#especially if you consider his relationship (for lack of a better term) with memories on the whole....as y'all know by now

[constellationcrowned]

((Considering the fact that Kariom's mother is still alive (because just reading the optional conversation that you can have with him that mentions her and the tone it ends on could absolutely go the other direction, and maybe she did die but was revived in the same way Kariom can be) I wonder what actually happened between them....))

[swallowerofdharma]

movie anon from yesterday coming in to say that i definitely want to know what your favourite movies are, doesn't matter if they are black and white. maybe looking at the list will inspire some confidence to recommend the movies i like too

It’s a bit scary, isn’t it, to share the films that mean something to you on the internet, instead of your two or three close friends you can have longer conversations with and know where you are coming from. For example, there is a very short film directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini called Che cosa sono le nuvole (What are clouds, 1967) which is one episode included in a broader project with other directors and a plethora of very well known artists and actors from that time period that you would have gone and seen as part of a film anthology. It’s just so brilliant, I have to see it again every once in a while. But how would other people take Ninetto Davoli’s blackface? Many times done callously or uncritically in the past, it’s a very good thing to criticize and being disappointed with. In this case, I would say that it is definitely not a mockery on Pasolini’s part, considering the characters are talking marionettes recreating the story of The Tragedy of Othello and the face of Jago-Totò is also painted, in green. And the relationship between Europe and Africa in the context of the process of decolonization that was taking place was too much part of the context and of utter relevance at the time, even for other segments of the anthology. One should also see his documentary film Appunti per un'Orestiade africana, for better measure Pasolini’s choices and his level of awareness in terms of representation. Che cosa sono le nuvole is all about representation after all, the complex relationships between characters, story, the author and the public. The marionettes develop a consciousness about the story they are telling as they are telling it without seemingly knowing what it means and why they are doing what they are doing, asking the puppeteer, who gives them rather unsatisfactory answers. Meanwhile the audience gets so angry at Othello and Jago that they intervene to save Desdemona in the end. The two “bad marionettes” get put in the trash and taken away to a landfill where they are able to see the sky for the first time. I think that I love it so much because in 20 minutes there is so much punch, emotion and eloquence, the music is perfect, the words outstanding, the tragic-comedic tone never overdone and the irony and deep sadness and mystery and beauty of life are so very well communicated. I don’t know if I have ever seen a perfect synthesis in film like this one or someone able to trust so much his audience while also knowing that misunderstanding and bad judgment and condemnation will also be inevitable parts of making art.

I like old films, the texture and the use of light and frame, more than cutting edge pacing and special effects. Color palette, music choices and audio effects and the presence of actors that I am able to withstand and tolerate if there are closeups of their faces also are details that usually make me love a movie or dislike it. And I especially like noir, mystery and cosmic horror vibes, although I am also very much into neorealism and melodrama. So here a brief list of my favorites: Wuthering Heights (1939), Kiss me deadly (1955), Luchino Visconti’s Ossessione (1943) and Rocco e i suoi fratelli (1970), The birds (1963), 8 1/2 (1963), Kwaidan (1964), Wild at heart (1990).

It’s a weird bunch and there are many other titles that are coming up in succession, but I am going with the ones that are imprinted more clearly in my mind: considering my very bad memory it means that they had a strong impact. Please if you want to share yours, let me know as well, even if they are titles that aren’t necessarily in the top ten of many cinephiles. I don’t consider myself one, I missed for lack of commitment or purposely ignored too many of the ones considered important. Thank you for these asks!

[16magnolias]

Week 2 Part 2: Lucía's Relationships Continued

Alejandro

Alejandro Moreno was Lucía’s late husband.  He was a few years older than her and several inches taller.  He had black hair and hazel eyes and though he always considered himself of ‘very average’ appearance, his romantic nature and artistic spirit made him a popular target for flirtations in the village.  Several of Lucía’s former classmates were a bit jealous when they began to court. 

He adored Lucía and often got them into trouble, sneaking her away into the jungle to show her a new waterfall he’d found or some viewpoint that inspired him.  He was passionate and headstrong and sometimes let his passions carry him away – especially in the cases of Lucía, his artwork, and defending the town’s scapegoat.

Alejandro, being just a few years older than Lucía, knew Bruno a bit better than she did – or at least remembered the boy he was before he became an anxious, moody teenager.  He always had a soft spot for the seer and had the same mindset that Lucía’s father did – that Bruno had a hard job and didn’t deserve the ire he increasingly got for his visions.  He apprenticed under an elderly artist of the Encanto when he was a teen and went on to paint several murales depicting the Madrigals, and always treated Bruno with the same respect and attention that he treated the rest of the family.  This, of course, made Bruno nervous because it was unexpected – but it did cause him to stand out in Bruno’s memory, even if he didn't trust at the time that Alejandro was being genuine.

Alejandro became a bit obsessed with Bruno’s story, especially after his disappearance, and was the one who insisted on keeping Bruno in the center of the murales as years passed, because – as he joked with his wife – “if we cannot talk about him, at least we can see him, eh?” 

Alejandro and Lucía tried for years to start a family but it never happened until their mid-30s, when Josefina was born. By then, both Alejandro’s parents and Lucía’s mother had passed away.  Alejandro and Lucía were thrilled with Josefina, their ‘little miracle’, and doted on her. Alejandro was a loving husband to Lucía and father to Josefina, but he did allow his obsession with his art to distract him from them from time to time. 

It was his insistence that he needed to wander the forested mountains on the edges of the Encanto to find new materials for his paints that led to his untimely death – a landslide leading to the tragic accident that took him from his wife and daughter. 

Before Alejandro’s death, Lucía’s relationship with the Madrigals was one of polite and friendly respect. Lucía was born too late to be friends with the triplets and too early to be friends with the following generation.  Their social circles did not overlap much and they did not have great need for any of the Madrigal’s services, aside from the occasional healing food from Julieta or the request for Luisa to move their printer so they could clean beneath it or to help rearrange their bookshelves. They attended the same church and the same village-wide parties and were on good terms but not close.

For various reasons, the Madrigals blamed themselves for not being able to save Alejandro, and Lucía was so deep in grief that by the time her family pulled her through it enough that she began living again, she forgot to tell them that it wasn’t their fault.  She couldn’t bring herself to thank them, even though she knew she should.  But she was never angry at them.  She continued to treat them all with polite respect and welcomed Antonio to story time. The Madrigals never thought she blamed them (or assumed she was too gracious and classy to confront them about it if she did), but in classic Madrigal fashion, lack of communication lead to a burden that no one ever needed to carry in the first place. 

Josefina

 “You have my persimmons to court.”

Josefina Carmen Moreno is Lucía’s only child, her pride and joy, her dear heart, her beloved daughter, her corazón…and her constant source of exasperation and worry.  

Josefina looks very much like her mother in her face and body type, but her eyes are hazel and her hair is wavy and black like her father’s. Her hair is always coming out of her braids. She’s a small child with a lot of energy, and is the extrovert to her mother’s introvert. 

Josefina was almost three years old when she lost her father and doesn’t remember a whole lot about him now that she’s a big six year old, but she loves seeing the evidence of him everywhere around her – in the murales of the Madrigal family, in the books he illustrated in her abuelo’s shop, and in the murales he painted in her room. Josefina is an only child with a big heart and the enthusiasm of three kids.  She loves hearing about her father, looking through his art, and listening to her mother’s stories.  In school, she loves reading stories and making things and she hates math.  She’s always wanting to play or be with people – whether it’s her Tía Sofia’s big family (that she is slightly jealous of)  that lives on the other side of town, or her friends Juancho, Alejandra, Cecilia, Antonio, Manuel, and Juan -  she just loves being around people and being in the spotlight.  (As long as it’s positive attention.  If it’s negative she gets defensive and upset.)  She has big dreams and her biggest one is to one day own a bicycle.

Lucía’s biggest goal in life is to raise Josefina well – to have her grow up knowing she is loved, fully and completely, and that she is capable of whatever good thing she sets her mind to.  Even though Lucía is usually too busy or too worried to see it, Josefina already knows both of those things and is completely confident in her place and her abilities.

…sometimes a little too confident…

When the Madrigals stay with Lucía and her family after Casita falls, Josefina enthusiastically embraces her role as hostess; when Bruno sneaks his rats into the house, she declares him to be just like Cenicienta (Cinderella) and immediately takes a liking to him.  She’s stubborn and spirited and quickly becomes one of Bruno’s biggest fans and biggest defenders, and when her mama and Bruno finally fall in love, she readily gives them her approval.

@encanto-extended-edition

[soubiapologist]

I remember back when the books were being published Yun Kouga mentioned she didn't see it as BL and the fans at the con she was at(? Memory was blurry and this was like second hand online) got kind of upset.

I think she may have realized how much people were, for lack of a better term, missing the point/she wouldn't be able to satisfy them with her ending. Considering how emphasis was put on Shinome and Yuiko when they could be easily written out (especially how both feel about Soubi and Ritsuka) and how explicit it got in the end about how everyone else's history and problems were screwing with everyone now (see "Soubi's teacher's crush on his mom when he was a kid leading to at least one death") it does look like the end of the manga would probably seperate them. Soubi getting some kind of relationship with Shinome who actually treats him like an adult, including calling out his faults, telling him to be responsible, and also praising him when he is good and Ritsuka and Yuiko POSSIBLY being the true loveless pair (assuming Semei didn't swap their names. Ritsuka is so loved and Semei is hated by everyone) though that has issues as while Yuiko has been getting more confident I can't see her as a fighter and this dynamic has caused too many problems it should just be ended.

Anyway maybe that's why she never went back

i think the funniest possible position to be in in the loveless fandom even in the meta writer sphere is "het soubi truther" but honestly with the way shinonome is treated i don't think it's impossible and i do lean to that side of things in the event that soubi "ends up" with anyone.

i've heard various theories about why yun kouga hasn't finished it, some being speculation on her health and some speculating that her publisher isn't paying her enough to make it worth it at this point, but i do also sort of get the sense that there might be some friction between her and the way fans interpret things. honestly the way seimei is written is where i see this the most where he is sort of almost going down the cartoon villain path and while i think she makes it work more or less i do think that what happened with mikado wasn't intended from the start and she may have put it in in an attempt to get people to treat seimei as he is; a monster, and seeing a bunch of fans not care about that would certainly put a damper on my writing spirit lol. i think you can also interpret it as a villainous breakdown that he's having where he's losing control of ritsuka and lashing out and doing more and more dramatic things with less and less thought so for me it does still work but it's like augh...............

[romanarose]

Seattle: Part 4

Marc Spector X Fem!Jewish!OC

Seattle Masterlist

Part 3 : Part 5

Summary: Marc takes Rebecca to meet his friends, who will help with the divorce. Marc thinks back on the ways she saved him, and your younger brother

A/N: This is literally terrible. I needed a chapter between the last one and what comes next and I really thought I could do better but it's like pulling teeth. The flashbacks have no theme, there's no overarching elements, no story. The writing is dry and lack of description. I hate this. But I hope you at least enjoyed our guest stars.

WARNINGS: Usuals for this fic, domestic violence, child abuse. We're talking more about Jack so gonna throw in manipulation and isolation. Also, talk of miscarriage and rape. Just a warning for how the law does not always consider condom tampering rape, but it fucking is. I will block anyone who wants to argue. Same if someone says they are on birth control but aren't, or says they recently had an STD test but haven't anything happening outside of the agreed upon terms is rape. Anyway, lmk if I missed anything.

Note: Kaddish is the part in shabbat services where anyone who is mourning, stands. Purim is a Jewish holiday celebrating the story of Esther, where people traditionally wear costumes.

Italics are marc, bold is steven.

*********

“Thanks dad, I’ll talk to her when she’s up.” Marc had stepped into the hall while Rebecca slept, calling his dad to ask how to help her with the miscarriage, per her request. Elias, as always, was kind and sympathetic as Marc filled him in on the basic details of how she came to move in with him. Elias mentioned no one really hears from her dad much, he’s not at temple save for a few High Holy days, when he pretends like he’s getting his life together, or when Rebecca’s brother, Asa, is in town and Asa drags him to services.

‘Tell her I say hi, and that I’m praying for her’

“I will”

Marc hung up after saying goodbye, taking a breather. Talking to his dad was getting easier, but it could still bring out difficult memories, especially with their conversation today focusing on judaism. Elias didn’t ask him if he was going to Purim, he didn’t pry, just gave the information Rebecca needed, and expressed his  relief she was safe. He had said something about Marc being a good man for taking her in, but Marc didn’t feel like he was a good person for this. This wasn’t an act of service, he didn’t even feel like this was duty, as much as he felt indebted to her. He didn’t have to think about it, any of it. This was simply how they were. Always.

. Rebecca had made her way in life, as Marc knew she could, getting her masters despite teetering on the edge of homelessness some days. Despite couch surfing, rent in dangerous neighborhoods and working full time in grad school, she had gotten her masters in social work as spent hour after hour trying to make sure no kids were in the position she and Marc had been in, and that parents got the help they needed to support their families. She worked hard, and would sometimes call Marc out of the blue to cry, ask his advice, or simply ask him to distract her. She was well suited for it too. Rebecca never took hell from anyone, and could not be intimidated, no matter what parents tried. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, no matter what she saw in that field. And Jesus, she saw a lot.

When she called him one day, initially acting like it was a regular call she’d make on any given day to check in or chat, she casually mentioned she met someone and Marc suspected that was the real reason she called. Marc should’ve said something there, should've jumped in while the relationship was new, before Jack had her wrapped around his finger, before he could hurt her. But he didn’t. He’d meet Layla a few months later, and despite everything, Marc could never find it in himself to regret that part. Layla had been such an important part of his life, especially during the years where he might not hear from Rebecca for months, Layla was there. But still, he couldn’t help wonder what might have been if Marc had simply told Rebecca how he felt. But he was a coward. And he remained a coward as she told him about the guy.

“His name is Jack, and he’s so sweet! We met because I forgot my card at home and I didn’t realize until I went to pay at the coffee shop, and he paid for mine!” I’ve seen him almost every night this week.”

“What does he do for work?” Marc asked, ever practical.

“He’s in finance, makes a lot of money, one of those rich kids, you know? I’m actually meeting his parents this Saturday, isn’t that exciting? We haven't been dating long and he already wants us to meet! I gotta get a new dress, something to impress his rich ass parents.” That had been the start. She didn’t just buy a nice dress. You bought a name brand. The first thing she had done to change herself for him. The dress wasn’t even her style

“Yeah Beccs, he sounds great. Text me how meeting his parents goes, I hope they are nice” Marc tried so, so hard to sound excited for her. It wasn’t that he wanted it to go poorly, and he certainly never wanted what Jack ended up being. He genuinely wanted her to be happy, with or without him… But he couldn’t help the tinge of jealousy, wishing so badly it was him.

Wearing his Nirvana shirt and a pair of jeans Marc brought from her apartment, she looked significantly more like herself as she got ready to go meet the lawyer Marc had gotten for her. 

“Marc, honey, do you have any sunscreen?”

Marc laughed “No, no I don’t have any sunscreen. I haven't worn it since you’d force it on me at the beach.”

She nudged him “Just because you have darker skin doesn’t mean you don’t need sunscreen, Marc” Rebecca said with a smile.

Marc couldn’t shake a bad feeling in his gut, something telling him to keep going. He always trusted his gut, he wasn’t stopping now. “I used to be a lot less dark than you…” He commented on her paler complexion, the beautiful skin he knew from before having given way to a lighter color.

Noticeably, her demeanor changes. “Seattle isn’t exactly known for its sun, sweetheart.” Rebecca tries to hide her discomfort with the conversation’s direction with a nickname. It almost worked, Marc’s brain always got a little fuzzy when she called him sweetheart, because who else but her thought he was sweet?

But Marc wasn’t backing down. “It’s cloudy out right now, why would you need sunscreen?”

She shrugged, all too casually. “Just a habit I got into, protect my skin”

Marc couldn’t help the sardonic laugh that escaped him. “Protect it from what? You get sunshine there once a year at best.”

Her face set in determination, and Marc couldn’t help but be proud of her. She still had fight in her, she wasn’t completely gone. Dark eyes challenging, she countered him. “You still need sunscreen with overcast, Marc,”

Then it clicked. Her hair was lightened and straight, her skin washed out, traces of her ethnicity stripped away. “Oh my god. He wanted you to look less Jewish”

A deep flush took hold of her face and she dodged his eyes, grabbing her purse and storming towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Marc wasn’t resenting as he hurried after her. “Jesus Beccs, what the fuck did he do to you? You loved being Jewish, you were always so fucking proud.”

“Drop it, Spector” Rebecca opened the door and power walked out of the apartment.

 He didn’t even stop to lock his apartment, but he was pretty sure he made his neighbors nervous enough that no one would try anything. He continued after her, not sure how far she thought she’d go when she didn’t know where she was going. “What’s next, Becca?” She was taller than him, not by much but longer legs, so he had to give a little extra effort to keep up. “Gonna wear blue contacts? Gonna be his perfect white, anglican, protestant housewife?”

She spun around so fast, Marc ran into her, and she pushed him into the wall. “Stop!” She shouted, eyes wide with anger. “Don’t you think I’m embarrassed enough!” Watching Marc’s face wince just a bit at her shouting, she took her hands off him and stepped back, but her mouth just kept moving. “I’m humiliated Marc! I was so fucking sick and tired of needing you to rescue me when we were young, constantly, constantly needing you and I was so, so proud of where my life was! I was secure, I had a good life in Chicago and I made it, because of you, but I continued without you because you left! You left me, and it’s fine, and you needed to and I get it but you left, and I figured things out on my own” 

Marc watched as she broke, eyes falling down as she continued venting out her frustration of the last few… years? Decades?

“And things were good, and I was good, and I was happy and I FUCKING RUINED IT, because I let myself get swept up, I let myself get taken over, and controlled, and changed and I watched it happen, I watched it happen, Marc, and I knew damn well what was happening and I didn’t stop it! And now you have to rescue me again, and I’m once again dependent on you and that’s exactly what got me her in the first place!” She finished, shouting loud enough he was sure people could hear, but all he could focus on was her confession.

“What do you-”

“I LOVED YOU, MARC!” Rebecca let out a growl in frustration, angry at herself for letting it slip, but unable to stop the word vomit from spilling. “I loved you, and no one else has ever been you, no one else ever could be you. I didn’t deserve you so I just settled. And in some ways, early on, he reminded me of you” The tears streamed down her pretty face as she spoke, calmer now but still high emotion. “He insisted on buying everything, he took care of me, took care of things, just like you did but it was. It was different. You did it because we were friends. He did it because he wanted to control me, but it worked. It worked and just as I broke out of needing you, I went right back into needing him, until I was so emotionally and financially dependent, he was all I had left.” A sob choked out at the last few words.

“You had me…” He whispered, but she shook her head.

“No, because he took that too. He got me so twisted, he would get in my head. He would make me feel like, like you were the one trying to control me, like you were just playing with me, and Marc I’m sorry, I’m sorry I believed him” Rebecca covered her face as she sobbed, anger and shame radiating off of her shaking form.

Marc hesitated, unsure the correct course of action as he watched her cry. Did she want to be held? Was touch too much? Was she still angry at him? She loved him. At least before Jack, she loved him. And she thought she didn’t deserve him? He had always known, in some sense, that what they had was more than friendship, he had always considered their bond something beyond definition, something fiery and strong, something he could always call too. 

Even that night, that horrible fucking night in Eygpt as he laid at Khonsu’s feet with a gun to his chin he had called to it, reaching out into the universe to feel her, begging for something. He felt her, and his finger hesitated at the trigger, a hesitation that lasted long enough for Khonshu to call on him, long enough for his life to be spared, long enough to bring him back and bring him to her.

Marc Spector didn’t have anywhere else to go. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He could always go back to his parents, that was always an option. Not one he would take. The last time he was there was when Rebecca had heat exhaustion and he needed to take her somewhere she could stay cool. He’d do it again. He’d even have lunch with his mom if it was for Rebecca’s safety. But Rebecca would never ask that of him, and things were different now. She had been doing better. She was engaged in an insane whirlwind romance that had left Marc suspicious. Rebecca was always practical. But maybe she was just in love. Marc missed his chance, two decades worth of chances, and maybe she was finally happy with someone who was man enough to tell her how he felt. 

Only a week ago, he nearly swallowed a bullet. Now he was grappling with what it meant to be the slave to an Eygytion god. Rebecca would have something to say about that, probably lecture him on how he must not have paid any attention during passover, and what would their ancestors think? Well, that wasn’t exactly on his mind as he lay dying, but here he was. Just as he had crawled up the steps of Khonshu’s statue to die, he was practically crawling to her door. Unannounced, no warning, he knocked, hoping to the not-Khonshu God that she was home, having not moved in with her fiance yet, not until the wedding.

Relief flowed through him when he saw her face, ever warm and welcoming. Ever beautiful as the last time he saw her, nearly a year ago, the only difference was her hair was longer. Longer than any time he had ever seen it, save for her childhood when her dad made her grow out her hair. It was often a matted mess, thick and curly, her mother had died without having taught her proper hair care for the curl type, and god knows her dad was no help. He also refused to take her to cut it, insisting girls should have long hair. That was until one day when Rebecca was 12, she chopped it off. Badly. Like, it was a disaster. Carl then told her he wouldn’t pay to get it professionally cut, claiming this was her lesson. Rebecca had come to Marc’s house crying, chunks of hair shorter than others. Marc had, of course, insisted it looked great. That was a blatant lie, but even at 11 he knew better than to tell a girl her hair looked bad. 

Elias had come home to find the girl his son had formed a codependent friendship with sobbing on his couch and took mercy on the poor child, taking her in for a haircut to fix it, and a few more as it grew out over the next year, until Rebecca had started making her own money babysitting. That night, Marc overheard his dad on the phone. Carl had called to yell at Elias, but his dad wasn’t deterred, telling him that he had seen the matted mess his daughters hair had been, threatening to turn him in to CPS if he didn’t drop it. Elias didn’t know Carl was beating her, the way Wendy beat Marc, and had likely hurt her when he saw the haircuts, but this at least shut Carl up. Marc briefly wondered why his dad could stand up for Rebecca, but not him… but he supposed it was different when it’s your wife.

Marc hurt at the idea that Jake had twisted her so fucking far that she doubted their friendship, their love. She had to know he loved her, even if she didn’t think it was romantic, she had to have known he would do anything for her… How had Jack taken that way? All they ever had was each other, and somehow he took that. He had to have known, had to have known that Marc was the only thing standing in the way of total control, so he took out that target. “Can I hold you, Beccs?”

She nodded. “Careful. Ribs still hurt.” She was still covering her face in shame. Rebecca hated crying.

“Of course, Metukah.” Marc hugged her softly, relying more on his arms holding her than being chest to chest. He took a moment to just feel her, to just hold her, exist together as they should have been all this time. “You think I rescued you? All this time, you think I was taking pity on you? Becca, honey, I was trying to repay you”

Finally, she looked up at him. “Hm?”

Marc held the side of her face that wasn’t burnt. “You saved me, our entire childhood, you were my everything, the only one I had after Randall died” It hurt to say his name out loud, even still. “I have spent years trying to repay you, and I will spend the rest of my life, and it will still never be enough. I am forever indebted to you.  You think you don’t deserve me?” He blinked at her, unbelieving she could think such a thing. “You have always been the center of my gravity, my life force, my strength. This isn’t charity, it’s love.”

Her brown eyes watered again as she looked at him. “Love?”

Marc Spector smiled at her. “Yeah. I love you. I’ve always loved you, I just… could never find a way to say it”

Finally, Rebecca smiled at him. “I love you too, Marc” Her lips were chapped and dry from the stress and the near-boiling water that hit her face, but when she kissed him, he felt like there could be nothing better in the entire world. He felt like a teenager again, like they were picking up where they left off.

She pulled away slowly, before it could deepen, and she took his hand, two fingers still wrapped up from where they had been broken in the door. “This is all… everything is very fresh… I love you, and I’m not saying you have to wait for me-”

“Of course, baby, take all the time you need, I’ll be here waiting” He kissed her forehead. “Always right here waiting”

When she answered the door to find him, she smiled at first, but it quickly faded to worry. Marc’s wounds had healed, Khonshu trading Marc’s life for servitude, but it was clear how lost he was, that something was broken in him. Well. Something new, anyway. 

“Beccs, I’m sorry I didn’t call I just-” Marc was interrupted by a forceful hug, then was ushered inside.

“Shower first, it’s cold out, I’ll get you some clothes, okay? Warm up.” She touched his face, smiling gently as she coaxed him into the bathroom with a t-shirt and men’s pajamas. “Take your time sweetheart, then we’ll talk”

Marc nodded, still in a daze. How much he wanted to talk, he wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t push him, she never did, but there was no keeping secrets from Becca, he’d always tell her eventually, so he might as well now. Going through the motions, Marc showered himself, eventually padding his wet feet back out to the living room. Senses still hazy, having barely been able to do more than nod along since he came to the apartment. The whole week felt like a bad acid trip. And yes… he couldn’t help feel a little bit better when he saw you in the kitchen. He knew automatically you were making him tea.

You turn to see him, greeting him with a warm smile and nodding to the couch. “Sit down, I’ll be right there.” Marc nodded and did as he was told, body moving on its own as he continued to live in this haze of a day dream. 

He suddenly found himself holding a hot mug of tea as the couch sank and she sat next to him, looking as beautiful as ever. “Drink some first, I’m not going anywhere.”

There was no hurry, no urgency to be somewhere. Like how they always were, he could take him time around her. When he was ready, she’d be there. He took the spoon and blew on it before sipping the hit liquid, furrowing his brows. 

“What’s wrong? Don’t like it?”

Marc shook his head. “No, I like it, that’s what’s confusing me. Since when do you drink berry tea?”

Rebecca was a big tea drinker, swearing by its calming and healing effects, but she always preferred less fruity tastes, like English breakfast or herbal. Marc didn’t really like tea, but when Rebecca made flavors like pomegranate and put lots of sugar in, he enjoyed it.“Oh yeah.” She spoke casually. “I alway keep the fruity shit you like on hand, just in case you drop by. I have those god awful beef ramen noodle cups you used to inhale back in the day”

That did it. That broke him. Everything that Marc Spector had been holding back this week pushed through, and he started sobbing.

Rebecca didn’t say a word about the dingy building they walked into. She had insisted she could pay for a lawyer, but she was probably glad his friend wasn’t exactly expensive.

As Marc opened the door, Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson turned to greet them, standing in front of the table in the middle of the room. 

“Marc! How’s it going!” Foggy greeted enthusiastically.

“Hey guys, thanks for meeting with us” Marc kept a protective grasp on Rebecca’s shoulders. Not because he didn’t trust the pair, but because the last few days scared the shit out of him, and he wanted her close.

“Of course.” Matty extended a hand to Rebecca, who was obviously a little surprised the blind man knew exactly where she was standing, but took it anyway. “Marc tells us you insist on paying, but we want to do this for you. Marc has saved our skin a bunch of times, we owe him.”

Rebecca shook her head. “No, I appreciate it, but no. Give someone lse your pro-bono work, I don’t need it” Her pride may be wounded, but she was a proud woman.”

Foggy laughed a bit “Ma’am, most of what we do is pro-bono, it feels like” He joked, and Matt gently nudged him. Foggy motioned for them to sit at the table.

“You can give someone else your charity, Mr. Nelson.”

Matt interjected. ”It’s not charity, miss Malcolm-”

“Levi” Marc interrupted. “Her last name is Levi”

“Oh, sorry, we were just going over the documents you sent over-”

“Yeah, Malcolm was that bastard’s-”

Rebecca put a comforting hand on Marc’s arm. “Honey, I got it.” She turned back to Matt. “Malcolm is my husband’s-”

Marc wouldn’t shut up. “-He’s not your fucking-” He stopped when she squeezed his arm.

She continued looking at Matt, not glancing towards Marc as he interrupted her. “-My husband’s name. And thank you, Mr. Murdock, but there are plenty of people in worse situations than me.”

Matt smiled. “We won’t be billing you. If you feel uncomfortable with that, St. Monica’s is a wonderful women’s shelter, I’ve worked with them in the past with other victims, you can donate whatever you think is fair their, and the money will be put to good use, I promise.”

Rebecca was conceeded. “Fine.”

“Now.” Matt placed his fingers over some brail papers. “Marc says you don’t want anything out of the divorce?”

Marc spoke up. “No, but she should, after all that bastard did to her”

“Marc, honey, I got it” Rebecca spoke, and Marc missed the irritation laced in her voice, but Foggy didn’t.

“Sorry” Marc muttered.

Rebecca had taken the information surprisingly well. In a world where norse gods were fighting in New York, anything was possible.

“I suppose an Egyption god isn’t the strangest thing I’ve heard this year”

“Yeah, Might be the the strangest for me” he  muttered

A pause. “I’m sorry that happened. But… you know… it’s not your-”

“Don’t” Marc groaned. “Don’t say it”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know what this means. For… for my life” 

She understood this meant his life would be even less predictable. 

“The wedding is in two months… Stay for that? You can stay here. I’ve been moving my shit into Jacks anyway, I’ll just move all the way in”

“I don’t want to take you’re-”

“Stop, Marc, please? Stay here, do whatever shit you have to do at night just… I want you at my wedding. Please?”

Marc had been invited, of course. He couldn’t help feel the invite a bit of a slap, a visible sigh Jack had changed her. Any other year, he would have been in the wedding. Another life, he would have married her. He had made his excuses as to why he couldn’t come. None of that mattered right now.  “Yeah Rivkah, I’ll stay for the wedding”

Rebecca continued. “I just want him out of my life, I just want to be done. I don’t need anything.”

“Marc has told me some of what happened. I’m very sorry to hear what he did.”

With a dry laugh, Becca smiled sadly. “When I moved to Seattle, I thought it would be different. I wanted to see so much there, really get into the local music scene… But now I just understand why grunge sounds like that.”

Foggy “Ah, yeah, hate grunge”

Me too! Steven made his first appearance of the day. Although Marc was pretty sure he terrified Foggy, Foggy and Steven had become friends.

Matty nodded. “Well, if everything was documented by police and medical staff, you’d have a pretty strong case for cruelty, and can get a settlement that could help you get back on your feet”

“I-” Rebecca started by Marc continued his seeming one way conversation with Matt.

“I made sure they wrote down everything-”

Foggy “Hey Marc, Maybe let Ms. Levi-”

Marc wasn’t listening. “-and I'll have the police report on hand too, we filed for that before we left.”

“Marc,” Rebecca glared at him. “What are you doing?”

Marc blinked. “I’m trying to help“

Eyes wide with that little bit of crazy in her, Rebecca told him in no uncertain terms to stop. “Marc Spector, I have a masters degree in social work, do you really think I don’t know how this works? Do you think I don’t know what needs to be documented and what reports to file for? This is literally a part of my job. Please. Stop.” She begged him.

Marc nodded, turning to Foggy, who was smiling a bit. “What’s so funny?”

Foggy went straight faced. “Nothing”

“Marc” Matt drew his friends' attention away from Foggy “Would you prefer to sit outside?”

“No fucking way”

Rebecca looked at him. “Keep speaking for me, and you will” She turned back to Matt. “Both hospital visits are documented, the times he hurt me that didn’t require the hospital obviously aren’t. I know we can’t prove the condom tampering, but is it possible to claim he’s at fault for the miscarriage?”

There was a pause. Matty spoke first. “I’m sorry Ms. Levi, Marc only told us about the burns, your fingers and ribs. He didn’t say anything about a miscarraige.” He looked sympathetic, Foggy looked downright stricken. He’d seen a lot in this field but cases like this always hurt to watch.

Marc spoke carefully, making sure he wasn’t interrupting Rebecca, but she was looking at him like she expected him to talk. “I didn’t want… I figured you should be the one to talk about it, since it’s very private”

And just like that, all the frustration Rebecca felt with Marc melted. She turned to her lawyers. “I didn’t know I was pregnant until Marc came that day… I…” She glanced at the table in embarrassment, before gathering herself to look back up. “Jack had come to the hospital. We were… we were going to try again, he said he’d stop rinking, and I know it was stupid but I believed him”

“It’s not stupid” Foggy assured. “He manipulated you. After so many years he just got better at it. There’s a reason he didn’t start out violent, he had to win you over first, learn what strings to pull and what games to play. He only ever did what he thought he could get away with.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and nodded, feeling understood, before continuing. “When Marc got there, Jack had went for food. When he came back, Marc was there, he told me I was pregnant” Rebecca explained how she didn’t realize it, she didn’t even think she could get pregnant, and how she had miscarried that night. “He said I thought we used condoms. I assume that means he took it off, or poked holes or something”

Matty nodded. “It will make a difference with what you think he did, between condom tampering and removal, we’ll look into Washington’s specific laws.”

Marc just had to pipe up again. “What? Why? It’s rape. It’s illegal everywhere.”

Matty tried to clarify. “I know, but under different state laws, it depends. In California, condom removal is rape, but condom tampering is just deception.”

Anger growing again, Marc’s voice raised. “If he had to deceive her to have sex, it’s not sex, it’s rape”

“Marc stop,” Rebecca tried.

“I know that, and you know that, but what we believe and what the law says are often two different things, you know that as well as me” Matt tried to reason with his fellow vigilante.

“He raped-!”

“Marc! Out!” Rebecca stood up quickly, trying not to yell. Marc, Foggy and Matt all stood up with her.

Marc looked confused. “Beccs-”

“No!” she raised her hands in defeat. “Stop yelling to these people I barely know about me being raped, and stop talking for me! Stop saying rape, I swear to fucking god, Marc!” She put her hands on his shoulders as Foggy rounded the table. “I love you, I love you so, so much, and I thank god everyday for you but jesus, Marc, you are coming in too hot, and I need to do this alone”

Marc opened his mouth to argue, but Foggy’s hand was on his shoulder. “Marc, let’s step out”

“But-” Marc started, but Steven took the body. “Right mate, let’s go” He leaned over to Rebecca “Let us know when you’re ready, love” and with that, Foggy and Steven walked to the other room.

Rebecca turned to Matt. “I take it Marc’s DID isn’t news to you guys then”

Matty smiled. “No, neither is Moon Knight”

Bursting out in a laugh, rare these days, she grinned at him. “Oh, he told you about that, did he?”

“I met Moon Knight first, actually”

“Oh? He beat up a pick pocket or some shit?”

Matty saw an opportunity. “You just assume I can’t be a hero like Marc, huh? Just like that?”

She goes pale. “Oh! No, I just-”

But Matt couldn’t keep the game going for long, not when he clearly made her panic. He laughed “Relax. I would recommend crime fighting for the average blind person. Just the ones who were blinded by radioactive goop.”

Rebecca crossed her arms and sat back. “Always the radioactive, huh?”

“Yup, just like the song” His hand went back to the papers. “Now, let's see how much money we can get from this bastard.”

As Marc rang the doorbell to Rebecca’s house, he heard the eager pitter patter of feet, and he knew who would be answering the door.

“Marc! Marc! Come check out my nintendo!” Asa took Marc’s hand and dragged him to the living room as Marc called to Rebecca he was going to be with Asa for a bit.

Of course her dad magically has money to buy Asa a nintendo, but Rebecca has to buy school supplies herself.

Asa was 6 years younger than Marc and Rebecca were, leaving him only 3 when their mom died. Rebecca had spent most of her preteens and youth taking care of him, since her dad was usually too drunk. When Marc began coming around after school around age 11, he realized why Becca never did after school activities, despite being smart and knowing so many people; she had a kid to take care of, a mom to a 6 year old at the ripe age of 12. Although Becca would come over to his place sometimes, especially after Asa got older, They generally preferred Rebecca’s, and Marc helped step in with Asa. It wasn’t like Marc exactly had the strongest father figure growing up, but he knew how to be a bi brother. It was cathartic, really. It wasn’t like Marc had to do all that much. Their dad considered Asa the golden boy, while Rebecca was the scapegoat. 

But Marc was there to do stuff brothers did. He taught Asa how to play catch, and later helped him practice baseball on the off seasons, when Asa inevitably joined a team. And he was good, too. Enough to get a small sports scholarship to UNL, which combined with the midwest exchange program for in-state tuition, he was able to scrape by college. Marc had lost a lot of contact with him after him and Rebecca became homeless; Marc wasn’t allowed in the house after their dad found him in Rebecca’s bedroom. He would go years without seeing Asa, but he always asked about him when he saw Rebecca, and occasionally they’d see Asa when both were in town… but Asa had changed. 

Carl blamed Rebecca for everything. When she left home, that rubbed off on Asa, and instead of being grateful that Rebecca was surrogate mother to him, he began to see her as the problem, which, of course, was a problem to Marc. Meet ups became less frequent as they had begun to devolve into fights, where Asa would blame Rebecca, and Marc would fiercely defend her, leading to shouted matches with Becca dragging Marc away. 

Marc wasn’t good at making friends. He wasn’t good with people in general. He had Steven, but no matter what Steven said, Marc knew Steven was there because he had to be. He missed Asa. He missed Randall. He missed Rebecca whenever she was gone. It was nice to have Matt.

When they got home that night, Rebecca seemed tired, but he had something planned, something that couldn’t be moved. “Rivkah? Do you know what today is?” He asked as they entered their newly shared home.

She thought for a second, then eyes went wide with panic “YOUR BIRTHDAY?! Wait. No. Not for two days. Uuuuuuhh.” a small gasp. “Oh fuck, it’s Purim”

Marc nodded, a small smile on his face. “Do you want to go? I know we’ve had a long week-”

“Yeah, but it’s past sundown, no office is going to be open, and there’s no way we’re getting into a service if we don’t talk to a rabbi, not in this climate-”

“Honey” Marc took her hands. “I already called, we’re registered, if we want to go” He looked at her, softening from the wear of the day just by taking in her pretty face. Even with the scar, she was still the prettiest woman he’d ever seen.

“Marc…” She gave his hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to go. I know it makes you uncomfortable”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just… it’s different. Not used to it. But with you with me…” Marc pulled her in for a hug. “I’ll be fine. Do you remember what I said last month, when you called me after getting out of the hospital?”

She laughed a bit “I don’t remember much from the last year, if I’m being honest.”

“I told you if you left with me, if you let me help you, I’d go to services with you. And here you are.”

“You don’t have too-”

“I got costumes.”

Rebecca pulled back at that, smirking at him. “Marc Spector, I knew you as a child, your ‘halloween costume’ was just your dads suit and a drawn on mustache for years. You’re telling me you got costumes?”

“Well…” he raises an eyebrow “These aren't much better. C’mere.”

He gestured her over to the amazon prime box and pulled out what he had. “For me” A red headband, flannel, and a white t-shirt “Bruce Springsteen. And for you,” Long blonde wig, flowy black dress and a black shawl with embroidery. “Stevie Nicks. Whaddya think?”

She looked like she would cry, then nearly tackled him in a hug “I think I love you, Marc Spector”

Holding her close to him, he nestled his face into her neck, taking her in. “I think I love you too, Rebecca Levi”

That night at Purim services, when it was time for the Kaddish, Rebecca stood, holding Marc’s hand.

*********************

Thanks for reading!!! I promise the next chapter wont suck so bad. I have more of a theme/story planned for flashbacks, we're gonna get to know Asa a bit more, see Mark meet Jack, and see the wedding day. Then, our fav Jake makes an appearance.

Be sure to check out my masterlist here, lots of fic with oscar isaac characters, as well as some others like bruce springsteen and Han solo!

LMK if you'd like to join the tag list!!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ninebluehearts @sofi786 @myfandomlikesandstories @tippycakes26 @ahookedheroespureheart @arsonfrogger

[bluegekk0]

How do you think the Pale King would react in your ruined king au if he found the White Lady? Because she is still very much alive, and I wonder how she'd feel now that Grimm yoinked her husband.

ah, already answered this exact question many times, but hey, i don't mind doing it again

when he first left the white palace realm (i imagine it wasn't the same dream realm the radiance resides in, but rather a separate sub-realm, something like the nightmare realm), he was too occupied with looking for food and figuring out how much time has passed to even think of visiting the white lady. besides, they were already divorced at that point, on good terms, but still divorced, and he didn't want her to see him in that state. besides, he figured that she probably already had a new life, especially as he soon realized that a LOT of time has passed since his brain started the hibernation

so during the time he spent roaming around hallownest, hunting animals and hiding away, he didn't once step foot into the queen's gardens out of fear of worrying her, or disturbing her new life. he knew he was a mess, both physically and emotionally, but his idea of dealing with it was, well, not dealing with it at all, until hornet found him and took him to dirtmouth. after reuniting with both of his children, and then grimm, he became a bit more hopeful and that prompted him to start taking better care of himself. and with that, he soon thought it would be a good idea to visit the white lady, especially as hornet told him that she's still self-imprisoned

so he did visit her, and they talked for a long time. about his hibernation (or at least what he managed to figure out about it, as his memories in general were a bit fuzzy), what happened since then, and where they were now. she was happy to hear that he reunited with his children, even if she personally never had much attachment to them, and even with grimm she wished him the best of luck and assured him that she's happy for him

i say assured, because like i mentioned before, she doesn't like grimm. not because of his relationship with pk, she doesn't see it as him stealing her husband, as at some point it became clear that her feelings for pk weren't as mutual as she thought before and that he wasn't into her. no, she has her own reasons to dislike grimm, her instinctual fear of fire being one of them, but also because, unlike pk, she was born a higher being, and has been part of the "pantheon"* of gods all her life, so she knows who grimm is and what his relationship to the radiance is. that makes her dislike him by proxy, even if grimm makes it clear that he shares her resentment towards the radiance. that, and he's annoying, plain and simple. she finds him irritating and he very much enjoys getting on her nerves. so, their dislike for each other has nothing to do with pk, and if there's one thing they both can agree on, it's that they don't want to drag pk into their petty squabbles. so whenever he's around, they form a temporary truce and do their best at tolerating each other's presence hahaha

i said it before, but i'm considering having the white lady end her self-imprisonment and continue with her life. i have some opinions on her involvement in the vessel thing and the lack of effort into stopping the kingdom from falling into ruin (if you've seen the white lady post i reblogged a while back, then you probably know what i'm talking about), but i think the bounds she trapped herself in serve no one, and that at the very least she deserves to move on, so she can realize what state her kingdom is in, if anything. that, and it offers more opportunities for her as a character in the au, i don't want her to just be stuck as the "pk's ex-wife that he sometimes talks to" character, even if that's mostly the extent of their relationship, as he's more focused on grimm and the kids. but i'll have to think about what i want to do with her next

* (not the same thing as the in-game pantheons, it's more like the greek pantheon. i have a lot of ideas for that whole concept in my au and it's quite far removed from the canon lore, so i'm hoping to write it down and share more about it in the future. a lot of it has to do with the radiance, grimm and their past, let's just say that i'm going with the idea that they're siblings from two different mothers. but i'll share more about that in the future, hopefully)

[my-amethyst-world]

How to release trapped emotions AND MOVE ON!

We often read that not expressing your true feelings, that keeping your trapped emotions inside of you while pretending to be happy, is a display of personal strength. As a direct consequence, no one taught us how to release trapped emotions.

And that may well have some truth to it, but how does it serve us long term? How does it help and support us in terms of our health? Can the ability to ease ourselves from unnecessary emotional weight be also considered a strength? I believe so, and many will agree with me.

If releasing repressed emotions seems like a mission impossible, give a chance to this guide, because I’m sure it might help you, as the steps explained below are the same as I used to deal with my own mental and emotional baggage. 

Types of emotional and mental baggage:

First, let me provide you with a clear picture of types of emotional baggage:

Lack of confidence: especially in your relationships. This feeling comes from your unresolved childhood trauma. Working on your self-confidence can help you release the negative baggage you are carrying on your shoulders!

Depression: Is often interlinked with emotions buried deep within us. Holding emotions in your body is definitely the number one cause of depression in modern society.

Feelings of guilt: According to GoodTherapy a definition of guilt is described as a sense of regret over actions taken intentionally or accidentally. When a person is overwhelmed with his emotional baggage he often feels guilty even for the things he is not responsible for. 

A feeling of Regret: Unfortunately, this emotion goes hand in hand with both emotional and mental baggage. A person who lives with his life baggage often regrets things he/she could’ve been in life, or regret all missed chances he/she could take. 

These were the most common signs of emotional trauma stored in the body. After learning the common signs, and if you’ve recognized yourself in some of these, then this is a perfect time to learn to release trauma from your body and start living your life to the fullest.

DID YOU KNOW? Emotions spread just like viruses, emotions spread between people even if you don’t pay attention to them. You can catch both positive and negative emotions from someone you are in a relationship with. 

Are you ready to find out how you can do it? 

Don’t be afraid, it won’t hurt!

I’ll guide you through:

How to release trapped emotions

Learn to Let go

When it comes to carrying baggage from the past, a crucial ability to develop in our lives is the one of letting go. Letting go of the nagging and reoccurring memories of bad experiences in our business life, social - romantic relationships, missed opportunities, fears, and disappointments. Without the ability to drop dead weight from your shoulders, you can easily end up in an emotional sinkhole, where anger and regret will drain you physically and mentally.

It sounds rather simple when explained like this, does it not? And it seems a very straightforward conclusion that no one would like to spend his or her days in quiet misery and desperation because of their mental baggage, yet the majority, by their own admission, do. And to be honest with you, I used to live my life like that. That is why I would like to share with you some of the best advice that helped me get my emotional self back in order.

Change

- Before you start releasing trauma from the body, before anything starts in your life, you have to accept one thing, and that is CHANGE. Change is a constant and ever-present, often painful but very much necessary part of life. Never view change as a shift in circumstances that will threaten your current comfort. This is where a lot of the pain-inflicting attitudes come from. You hurt yourself by not realizing that the process of change is a process that creates new opportunities for you. To grow, to be a better employee or a boss, a parent, a friend, a partner.

And a vision of oneself in the future is essential. Embrace change and answer these questions: How do you see yourself in the near future?

FUN FACT: “It’s only after you’ve stepped outside your comfort zone that you begin to change, grow, and transform.”

― Roy T. Bennett

Forgive Your Self!

- After acceptance of change comes the ability to forgive yourself. You are a human being after all. Both perfect and very much imperfect at the same time. 

Actually, what you can do right now is close your eyes, take a few deep breaths and concentrate. Now say that you forgive yourself for carrying others emotional baggage. 

Firstly, forgive yourself for all the mistakes you have made, the wrong things you have said, or those times when you were lazy and didn't do the job well, or perhaps you hurt some good people by taking them for granted? It can be anything, but that is part of the past and there is a lesson there.

So in order to learn the lesson and become master in releasing emotions from the body, you are holding in your heart, you must forgive your own imperfections. Forgive other people too. I am sure there is a list of people in your head that you feel have wronged you in some way. Picture a conversation with them, in your mind. Tell them it is ok. It is in the past now. Do this because you need to take off any grudges and negative energy that you've been keeping so far. Do it so you can move on, and become a better version of yourself.

Make room for some ME time

Spoil yourself, in a way. Why not? I can not overstate the importance of this one other ability I recommend for you, and it is something you need to develop constantly if you truly want to heal emotional blockages within you.

Learn how to feel comfortable alone, just with yourself. Make some quiet sessions time, in the sole presence of YOU. Start with meditation, start with visualization, or simply learn to implement daily healthy habits. You can use relaxing music, and picture the best versions of your present and future. In your mind, you are the hero of your own life. And your life is your story. Have uplifting visions, and learn to appreciate and love yourself more. The simple truth is that, as long as you do not let go of the things that are holding you back, on some level you do not love yourself enough. You do not accept yourself fully. Therefore, you cannot really drop off the mental and emotional weight you’re dealing with on daily basis. 

DID YOU KNOW: Those who are comfortable spending some time alone can better manage their stress. 

Love Your Being

This is the crucial part when it comes to removing emotional blocks

Learning from the past, not living in it brings positivity in the present and the future. But to become more positive, you need to do more positively. Make someone smile today, help people around you when you can, and do not expect something in return. That is not happiness, that is a call for a transition.

With the honest view of yourself as a unique, valuable, rich creation of an infinite Universe, you will realize that most of the life baggage you've afforded is minuscule and borderline ridiculous, at best.

Wrap Up

I have experienced all the things I've written about so I will say, I believe in the human capacity to transform lives and surroundings. I believe in you. I believe that you will learn how to release trapped emotions you are carrying your whole life. 

It’s time to be free, as your soul is like a bird that needs to get away from the cage you built a long time ago!

[reasonablyneurotic]

am reading a good girls guide to murder atm and am like ~300 pages in and I have a couple of thoughts on it but obviously I’m gonna have to spoil it so cw spoilers for a good girls guide to murder up to chapter 37 (though I haven’t finished the chapter) also cw for mentions of animal death. I would also appreciate if reblogs and replies were kept fairly spoiler free.

I am enjoying the book more than I thought, sure it’s very awkward and dare I say “cringe” at points (though I use that term very lightly). the humour feels weird and probably meant for a younger audience and a younger me. but the plot is like REALLY captivating and the entire plot line has had me HOOKED, it’s genuinely a fantastic plot that hits all my personal sweet spots. the author is really clever and is really talented with sparkling in clues that I’m sure will come up later and it keeps me engaged and excited. But despite that I think the book is somewhat lacking when it comes to its characters and their relationship. I would’ve loved it if cara got more screen time ESPECIALLY considering that she’s Pips best friend and should be there with like at least messages and phone calls, encouraging or discouraging her. I don’t think they have a realistic relationship, the author describes them as one type of friendship but shows us a completely other one. They feel more like a couple of friends that are slowly falling out but then I would’ve expected much more bitterness coming from Pip and maybe that will actually be coming up in the following 100 pages but I can’t really see the setup for it. Pips character feels also not very clear with her flaws. Like she clearly has a self isolating problem where she pushes everybody away when she researches and is focused and we simply don’t see it or at least we don’t see the other characters acknowledge it and talk to her about it, from my memory. Just her parents telling her not to push herself and she just brushing them off. EXCEPT for now, Pips dog just died most likely because of her and Pip is now pushing everybody away and blaming herself. She’s pushing Ravi away and they have an entire fight where Ravi ends up yelling(?) at her and Pip regretting everything and lying to his face. The fight lasts for…… not even one chapter, new chapter and Ravi is back and he has SOMEHOW figured OUT EVERYTHING IN LIKE THE ONE NIGHT TIMESKIP THAT WAS THIS NEW CHAPTER ?? AND HE LIKE HAS NO RESENTMENT AT ALL TOWARDS PIP ??? and Pip herself doesn’t show/ GET ENOUGH TIME TO ACTUALLY SHOW that she regrets doing what she did. This entire thing is rushed and I do not like it, even during the fight it should’ve felt sharper and like actually felt like it had an impact and also had the TIME to develop and show the effects on pip. but like who knows?? maybe the characters are going to get better before I finish the book but like I doubt that, character development and relationships don’t really seem to be Holly Jacksons strong suit. I personally value books with strong characters with strong and interesting relationships and personalities or at least the idea of those but this book felt kinda lacking when it came to it. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy the book, it’s currently sitting on a 7.5/10 and I will probably loan the next books in the series because Holly Jackson is really good and clever when it comes to the plot and it’s gripping enough for me to forget how the characters were written. this is my personal opinion and thank you for reading!

[badheart]

of course, she had no honour. that was evident to him, after she had taken the bite & agreed to cover for them. her response was everything he had come to expect from someone like her. what he didn't expect, though, was the mention of family, which had him eyeing him in a way that showed some mild interest—that despite her offence, he was still willing to listen to her, & find out the reason for such a request. the revelation didn't cause any visible surprise upon him, but it piqued something in him that made him wonder about her phrasing. kind of? he'd ask, but the mention of one of his brothers had him pondering on whom the mother was, & the circumstances of the case. ryo appeared thoughtful at that, staring upwards. "does that mean you're willing to take onto the debt?" he concluded, glancing down at her. however, he suspected that wasn't what she had in mind. otherwise, it would be her the one making that offer, rather than ask for it to be forgotten. & she still had the nerve to take some hush money... what a family, she was.

"i'm sure sugawara had his motive." the man added, while trying to make memory of this guy & his mother... the name martinez kept looping in his head. "maybe all of this could've been avoided if you had been there for the mother, before she came to us." which made the situation all the more bizarre to him, if this woman felt comfortable enough to call herself that kid's aunt. he cracked his neck & let a low hum. "we visit plenty of people, so... if you could refresh my mind on her, i could maybe consider it."

Ideally not, she thought and really hoped, it could be solved more easily but then again, she had no idea how Gloria's relationship had been with the Fukuhara Clan. David had to pay back an amount, with which he could finance an entire new house but instead, it would only go to them. It would not really matter to her, but David was basically family for her, so she felt responsible. "Is it really a debt, or not just some fees that are left?" All the hassle, just so David could enter an elite school, one he did not even bother to visit at this point or was kicked out, she did not know, but Gloria's sacrifice had been for nothing and only caused more trouble for her son. If he had at least tried to stay at that school, that thought alone made her grit her teeth.

"Oh, I am sure..." Sadism, nothing else, considering David was trying to pay back instead of fleeing or the like. He even took a job, no one at his age should even do (ideally). "Huh?! I was her friend, not her mother now," Futaba huffed and wanted to slap him for his stupid reasoning. "Ever heard of pride? It's not easy to ask for money." Especially for a case, where a cheaper option existed but she really had wished a good start for her son. "I did not even know..." And she glared at him, a silent warning that he better not try to lecture her further in this matter, where he lacked far too many details.

"But surely not many with the name Martinez?" And even a woman, as men were more guilty to ask for help by the Yakuza. Omori sure was testing her patience too today. But if he had not dealt with her, and it really had been more Sugawara, ... well, maybe she could not blame him so much after all. Nevertheless it annoyed her. "Gloria Martinez, middle-aged woman with red hair, who worked as EMT, y'know in the ambulance." In case he failed to associate the term to anything.

[kyovtani]

𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 – 𝒊𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒛𝒖𝒎𝒊 𝒉𝒂𝒋𝒊𝒎𝒆

࿏ pairing: iwaizumi hajime x chubby female reader ࿏ genre: fluff, smut, angst; best friends to lovers!AU ࿏ word count: 11.6k (at this point i have no explanation, im sorry) ࿏ warnings: swearing, mentions of body image issues, self doubts, anxiety, bullying, fat shaming; as well as violence and blood (iwa gets into a fight mwah); ddlg (daddy dom-little girl) dynamics, soft dom!iwa, body worship, praising, sugarcoated degradation, spitting, choking, fingering, face riding, unprotected sex

࿏ Summary: After four years of trying to get over your stupid crush on your best friend, said male finally comes back home and all of a sudden all of those plans are thrown overboard...

Even though you‘ve known about it for so long now, you still feel your heart skip a beat when Matsukawa mentions his return to Japan and no matter how hard you try to, you can‘t help the way the disgusting mixture of anxiety, nervousness and excitement starts filling your veins.

After all it‘s been literal years since you‘ve last seen him.

Iwaizumi Hajime, former Seijoh Ace, now freshly majored athletic trainer, your best friend of ten years and — love of your life.

However, of course he doesn‘t know about the latter and as pathetic as it may sound, you‘re quite proud of yourself for hiding your feelings for him so well that he hasn‘t suspected anything in all these years the two of you have been friends.

Of course it‘s painful and basically nothing but literal torture to watch the guy you‘ve lost your heart to years ago, move on with his life thinking he‘s nothing but a friend to you, but you know you‘d always choose this pain over the one of rejection and shame.

Because after all you‘re not his type or what he looks for in a partner and you're very much aware of it.

And no matter how many times you daydream about a life as his girlfriend, you won’t ever forget about the fact that Iwaizumi Hajime, basically a literal athlete, would never date someone who looked like you.

Growing up on the bigger side, physically wise, has always been difficult and something you're struggling with to this day. You had always hoped for those extra pounds to disappear once you hit puberty, just like it had happened to all of your friends but those hopes were quickly destroyed when you still found yourself hiding from full length mirrors to avoid having to look at your own body in your third year of High School.

By the time you turned eighteen, you had tried every kind of diet in hopes of losing weight but all of them just ended with you losing motivation and every bit of your happiness and even though you still struggle with it in your mid-twenties, you‘ve come to terms with it.

This is who you are and despite taking literal decades to realize it, you‘ve slowly but surely started accepting it.

However, when it comes to relationships, you‘ve given up completely.

After years and years of being rejected, hidden, fat shamed and disrespected by men who hated their own attraction to bigger women, you stopped wasting your time and energy on dating. If you wanted to hear someone shame you for being big, you could just go home to your family or back in your memory to remember all those mean things the skinny girls in your school had thrown at you.

Or you could just look in the mirror and let your brain do the job after eating literally anything.

Just thinking about a guy like Iwaizumi looking at you in that way has you chuckling coldly and every time you imagine confessing to him, it ends with a broken heart on your side because your brain loves to keep things realistic and never once have you considered the possibility of him liking you back.

It‘s not that Iwaizumi, or any of the Seijoh Volleyball boys, have treated you badly or even slightly differently in the three years you were their manager, but after having to deal with fat shaming your whole life, it has become quite difficult for you to believe that anyone found you attractive at all.

Especially people like the widely known Seijoh third years who also happen to – still – be your closest friends.

And unfortunately, as glad as you are that Iwaizumi remains rather oblivious to your year-long crush on him, the other boys, including the professional athlete to be, Oikawa Tōru who’s currently living his best life in Argentina are pretty much aware of your feelings for the trainer.

So, just as usual whenever the topic of Iwaizumi Hajime enters the conversation between the other two, you’re met with pitying stares from Takahiro and a lot of teasing coming from Issei. But at this point you’ve gotten quite used to it and don’t mind the brunette’s words, whereas you still find yourself growing absolutely annoyed at the way Makki stared at you.

“Stop staring at me like that, Hiro!”, you hiss and roll your eyes, the pity in his face so evident, if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s mocking you.

“Just confess to him already!”, the strawberryblonde hisses, running one of his pale hands through his locks before he takes a big sip from his beer.

“Yeah, sure!”, you spit back, your words dripping in sarcasm and annoyance as you try to avoid your chest from growing even heavier at the thought of your best friend coming back after all those years.

“He broke up with that blondie months ago”, Matsukawa begins, his naturally sleepy gaze roaming your face attentively, “and he’s coming back to Japan. Now you really have no excuse left, Y/N”, and just as usual his words hit the right spot and all you can do is let out a shaky sigh before the intensity of your insecurities breaks down onto you like a huge wave.

“I‘m not his type, Mattsun”, you hiss, the bitter taste of reality coating the muscle of your tongue in the worst way possible, “and I‘ve had enough males reject and– or fat shame me. If I have to add Hajime to that list as well, it’s going to break me.”

You feel the two males’ soft gazes on you, whereas you can‘t help but focus on the napkin in between your fingers in hopes of distracting yourself from all those dark thoughts by nervously pulling at it.

“Iwa‘s not like that, Y/N”, Makki replies, brows furrowed in irritation; something you've grown quite used to seeing whenever the topic of your body image issues occured.

“Has he ever dated a big girl before, hm?”, you reply and look at him with arched brows and your lips pressed into a thin line. At the lack of response from the two men in front of you, you just lean back and nod.

“That‘s the point”, you take another deep, shaky breath; the tears threatening to spill from your glossy eyes at the thought of your pretty faced best friend and only men in your heart, “nobody likes women who look like me in that certain way, my loves. Every guy I‘ve been and slept with wanted to hide me or the relationship we had because they didn‘t want to be seen with a big girl.”

Suddenly you‘re hit with the memory of all those times you went home after any kind of intercourse with a male who had brought your hopes up with sugarcoated lies. Only to receive a harsh reality check when they asked you to not tell anyone about it, knowing it‘s simply because of the fact you aren‘t part of society‘s beauty standards.

“Y/N, we-”, “I‘m not talking about you two”, you‘re quick to interrupt Hanamaki, giving him a soft smile, “I know you don‘t care about it and sometimes I find myself wishing I would have fallen for one of you instead of the professional trainer”, you let out an empty, coldhearted chuckle before you finish your glass of wine in one go.

“I would fuck you without hesitation”, Mattsun shrugs, his plump lips stretching into a playful smirk and the tiny hint of seriousness in his gaze has you rolling your eyes with a soft scoff.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Issei”, Makki hisses and gives his best friend the same reaction as you.

“What? I‘m being serious! You know this isn‘t the first time I‘m offering this to you, pretty one”, the brunette replies and this time you can‘t help but chuckle softly at his words, showing him your appreciation for his ability to make such heavy topics vanish from the surface so easily.

“Thank you, Issei but that guy I met on Tinder has been ghosting me for two weeks after we fucked and that‘s why I‘ve had enough dick for now”, and just when you let your gaze roam over the brunette‘s handsome face, you watch Hanamaki‘s face brighten up suddenly and furrow your brows in confusion.

“Hearing Y/N talk about dick is definitely not what I was expecting to come back to but it‘s surely a surprise!”

And upon hearing the familiar voice of your best friend, you understand the reason behind the change in Makki’s expression.

You watch the other two get up from their chairs, approaching the freshly majored trainer with the biggest smiles plastered on their faces whereas you try your best to stay as calm as possible.

However, the simple thought of Iwaizumi coming back had already stressed you out and having him stand behind you in all his glory made the tightness in your chest and the struggle to take proper breaths intensify just like that.

After what feels like an eternity you finally get yourself to stand up as well, turning around literally convinced you‘re ready to see him again after all these years only for it to be the exact opposite.

Your heart skips a whole beat at the sight of Iwaizumi and for a quick second you feel yourself getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen in your lungs.

“Hey”, he mumbles, his voice deep and raspy, something you‘re used to since the two of you have been talking regularly on the phone over the time yet hearing it in person again sends a jolt of hot arousal right into your core.

You nervously let your eyes roam his face; taking in the sight of his features, which have become even sharper during his absence. A soft sigh falls past your lips when you find the little scar right underneath his eyebrow which he had gotten back in middle school during one of his volleyball practices. The familiarity and feeling of security in the soft expression of his pretty, dark green eyes calms you down in an instant and by the time you feel your muscles ease up a bit, he‘s already approaching you with open arms.

Different than you’ve expected from yourself, you‘re quick to wrap your arms around his slim waist, taking him into your embrace with the intention of never letting him go again and at the feeling of his big hands on your body, you can‘t help but tear up a little.

You sniffle softly against the crook of his neck, Iwaizumi letting out a breathy chuckle at your sweet reaction as he caresses your back gently, subconsciously massaging your soft flesh to calm you down even more.

“Seems like someone missed me a lot more than she wanted to admit on the phone, hm?”, Iwa mumbles softly, placing the sweetest kiss on the top of your head as he holds you tight.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki let out a row of deep chuckles, partly laughing at your obvious reaction and partly because of their best friend‘s blatant oblivion.

“Shut up”, you reply with a sniff, taking in the light yet intense smell of his aftershave as well as the scent of detergent you had missed oh so much.

“Enough now, Y/N”, Mattsun huffs, “you can cuddle his stupid ass some other time, let‘s catch up with Mister America”, he adds and you know too well the tall brunette simply does it to stop you from falling even further into this dark hole you‘ve dug yourself; all those years ago.

Throughout the whole night, you stay rather quiet; listening to Iwaizumi‘s stories, more so to his voice but definitely his stories, too.

And every time he mentions some random girl he hooked up with or one of his ex girlfriends, you can literally feel the way he‘s avoiding your gaze; his eyes moving away from your face to focus on the guys as his voice turns a little less enthusiastic. You try your best not to read anything into it, knowing he‘s always been more hesitant towards you when it came to topics like this and in some way you find yourself appreciating it because it definitely helps to make the pain in your chest a little less heavy.

The atmosphere between the four of you remains calm; the familiarity something you‘ve always missed despite you and the other two boys spending just as much time together as you used to back in High School. Having Iwaizumi in your little circle again definitely has changed the air and it‘s in times like these you realize just how close you all actually are.

However, when Hanamaki and Matsukawa both stand up, cigarettes firmly placed between their plump lips, telling the two of you to give them a few minutes, you feel yourself slowly wandering into a state of anxiousness and slight panic.

It‘s not like you haven‘t talked to him alone during his stay in America, but the thought of having to look him in the eyes as you speak has always been something you‘ve struggled with.

Iwaizumi has this certain expression in his beautiful, dark green eyes, which makes it so much harder to not fall for him even more.

You don‘t know if it‘s the confidence and lack of insecurity or the mixture of softness and home which have the butterflies in your stomach go absolutely crazy.

Neither of you say anything for a good minute, your eyes glued to your phone screen which continuously lights up; Oikawa‘s name appearing several times.

You excuse yourself to give the professional athlete the responses he‘s waiting for, rolling your eyes at his way of telling you to shoot your shot at Iwa and “get that D”.

“Are you still talking to that one guy you told me about?”, Iwaizumi suddenly says, his eyes never once leaving yours and with a soft chuckle, you shake your head; enjoying the amount of protectiveness dripping from his words.

“We fucked and then he ghosted me”, you say casually, not realizing that it‘s not one of the other two boys you‘re talking to and with a soft gasp of embarrassment you try to mumble your way out of the situation.

“Iwa, I‘m-”, “Why the fuck would he even do that? Give me his fucking address so I can introduve his kneecaps to my baseball bat”, he‘s quick to interrupt you harshly, his tone filled with anger as his eyes gleam with wrath.

“It‘s okay”, you smile softly, placing your hand on his balled fists to calm him down again, “he told me not to tell anyone that we did it so his intentions have never been good. And on top of that – his dick game was so bad, I didn‘t even get to finish but had to take care of it myself, so it‘s definitely not worth the headache.”

You watch Iwaizumi‘s expression darken even further, his beautiful dark green eyes roaming your face with irritation oozing from his gaze and for a second you like to believe that there‘s even a hint of jealousy in between all those intense emotions but just as usual you find yourself shaking it off rather quickly.

“Why did he ask you not to tell anyone? What the fuck is even wrong with that guy?”, the brunette spits, downing the rest of his beer in one go.

You know why he‘s this angry and at this point you can’t even blame him anymore. Iwaizumi has never really understood why you put up with guys who treated you like absolute shit; continuously telling you how you deserved so much better and even though you wanted to agree, you simply couldn‘t. Because in your head, all those men who were ashamed of being with you yet still found their way to your door were exactly what was meant to be your life.

“Because being with a woman like me isn‘t anything he‘s proud of, Iwa”, you sigh, the words heavy and bitter on your tongue as you struggle to voice the hard reality.

“A woman like you?”, he replies and you see the genuine confusion on his handsome face, making his oblivion sweet almost.

“A big woman, Iwaizumi. Guys don‘t date big girls because we don‘t fit into society‘s beauty standards so being with us is something they‘re ashamed of because God forbid someone thinks they find us attractive“, you nervously play with the hem of your skirt, not having the courage to look into his face as those thing leave your lips, too embarrassed to meet his usually so welcoming and soft, but now wrath-filled gaze.

“That‘s bullshit”, Hajime is quick to spit back, hating the way you belittle yourself like that because of a random guy.

You smile, a soft scoff falling past your lips before you take a sip from the glass in front of you and even though you know you‘re going to regret those words, you still can‘t get yourself to stop from leaving you.

“Then why have you never dated a big girl, Haji?”, your voice is slightly shaky yet you remain the eye contact like a champion, never once averting your gaze from his handsome face even though the thrumming of your heart in your throat makes it so much more difficult to stay focused.

Iwaizumi seems taken aback; your words obviously hitting a place he wasn‘t expecting and that‘s when the feeling of guilt reaches its peak.

“I‘m not- It‘s not because I don‘t find them attractive I just- I uhm-”, the freshly majored professional trainer stumbles over his words like a two-year-old who just started learning how to speak and at the sight of a deep blush covering the apples of his cheeks as well as the tip of his nose and the whole of his neck, you let out a soft sigh.

“You don‘t have to explain yourself, Iwaizumi. I wasn‘t trying to accuse you of anything or offend you in any way, I promise. It’s just a topic I‘ve grown really tired of in the past few years”, you explain, making sure to choose your words carefully and when the tall male suddenly starts calming down again, you know you‘ve got him.

“Y/N, look-”, “Hey, Y/N the weak-dick-game guy is sitting at the bar with his ugly friends, just for your information”, Matsukawa‘s deep voice quickly cuts Iwaizumi off, his words sending shivers down your spine in the most disgusting way possible and with an almost painful roll of your eyes, you down the rest of your best friend‘s beer.

“Wait- What? Which one is it?”, Iwaizumi grunts, the calmness from a few seconds ago completely gone as you look at him with brows furrowed in slight irritation and annoyance.

“It doesn‘t matter, Iwa”, you say and wrap your fingers around his tattooed wrist, making him look into your eyes with another soft exhale, “he‘s not worth it. Just let it go.”

“Y/N, I said”, Iwaizumi is quick to place one of his big hands on your cheek, the dominance in his aura and the authority gleaming in his eyes has you gasping for air and just as usual you feel your panties growing wetter by the minute, “which one is it?”

His words don‘t leave room for protest; so strict and demanding, no matter how hard you try to think rationally, his naturally dominant persona has you submitting to him in a way no other guy has ever managed to.

“T-The one with the long, dark purple Hair”, you quickly reply, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth at the sight of Iwaizumi‘s anger and determination.

“Good girl”, he mumbles and pulls away, not even aware of the way his praise has your cunt throbbing like crazy and you absolutely hate him for it.

For a second you can‘t even get back to reality, the haze of arousal and longing for the tall male standing in front of you completely taking over your consciousness.

However, as soon as your brain registers Makki‘s panicked voice, you‘re quick to snap back and without missing another beat, you grab Iwaizumi‘s arm and look at him with pleading eyes.

“Please don‘t make a scene”, you whisper, knowing oh too well how much he loves to get himself in trouble because of his friends.

“He fucked then ghosted you all that while saying he doesn‘t want anyone to know he was with you because you're a big girl? That ugly fucker needs a fucking reality check because he can count himself hella fucking lucky to ever get a go with a woman as amazing and hot as you”, Iwaizumi hisses, his words filled with anger yet so, so sweet that without giving it another thought, you simply let go and try not to show him just how flustered he‘s gotten you.

“Are you guys about to kiss right now?”, Matsukawa suddenly says and with an almost audible roll of your eyes you lift your hand up, showing him your middle finger before you watch Iwaizumi‘s brows furrow even further with visible irritation.

“Then don‘t fight him”, you sigh, “please, Hajime, don‘t get yourself in trouble for a guy who‘s not worth it.”

“We‘ll see about it”, is all he says before he moves out of your tight grip, leaving you to stand at the table like that.

You feel your heart picking up its pace at the sight of the love of your life approaching your ex-hook up; several worst case scenarios popping up in your head within a few short seconds. And unfortunately every single one ends with Hajime throwing his fist into the guy‘s face because of his raging anger issues; something he‘s been trying to handle throughout his whole life.

“Makki, please do something”, you whimper and look at the strawberryblonde with glossy eyes; shivers running down your spine at the sudden sound of Hajime's deep voice cutting through the music of the bar.

“Not into you my fucking ass”, Takahiro hisses and follows Iwaizumi with quick steps, whereas Matsukawa remains next to you, watching the scene unfold with the fattest, shit eating grin on his face.

And while you‘re worried about Iwaizumi‘s well-being, said male can‘t even seem to think straight. The only thing he manages to focus on is the raging anger and hot wrath rushing through his veins at the thought of some random, small dicked guy treating you like dirt. With every step he takes, it seems to get worse and at some point the professional trainer is worried about his physical health because of the pace his heart is hammering against his rib cage with.

Iwaizumi has always struggled to understand why you put up with males who are literally unworthy of your presence yet every time he had asked, you simply shrugged and told him that this was how you were meant to be loved. Behind closed doors, hidden away from the world by people who literally worship the society‘s beauty standard.

And all of that when you‘ve had him right in front of you for all those years, ready to love and worship every bit of your body and soul.

Of course for you to let him love you he might have had to tell you about his feelings but as the years passed by, Iwaizumi slowly started to lose every bit of hope he had left. During his four year long absence you‘ve had your fair share of boyfriends and after the third one, the only choice he had left was to force himself to move on or else he would have lost his mind.

It‘s not like he never wanted to confess during High School but there was just something holding him back. The thought of losing you was heavy on his chest especially because Iwaizumi was very well aware you didn‘t feel the same. So for his own sake he chose not to tell you about his feelings for you; not even bearing the mental image of going through such rough times without you by his side.

He‘s already lost count of the amount of times he wanted to scream at you about how he would treat you just how you truly deserved to be treated and not like those douchebags who liked to use you for their own pleasure just to throw you away like a used tissue once they were done.

And after not being able to physically do anything for you because of the distance, he‘s finally got the chance to show you that no, those guys‘ behavior is not okay and yes, putting them back into their place is absolutely worth the headache.

“Hey”, the trainer hisses, coming to stand directly in front of the tall, purple haired guy, Rin Matsuoka,  who‘s quick to harden his expression upon seeing the brunette.

“What can I help you with, big guy?”, Rin mumbles, placing his bottle of beer on the counter with his brows raised in curiosity.

Iwaizumi doesn‘t even waste another minute as he harshly grabs the collar of Rin‘sblack leather jacket, pulling him closer to himself. His friends  rather quickly, yet Hanamaki and this time even Matsukawa are faster, coming to stand right next to each one of them with their arms firmly placed in front of their bodies to stop them from intervening.

“You‘re gonna listen to me and you‘re gonna listen good, did you fucking hear me?”, and just like a few minutes ago, Hajime‘s voice is cold and distant, not leaving room for discussion all while making sure to keep his tight grip.

The confusion and immense irritation is clearly visible on Rin‘s features; brows furrowed, jaw tensed and eyes gleaming with some kind of unnameable anger.

And the longer you watch the situation unfold, the heavier the anxiety in your system becomes and as you struggle to take proper breaths, you find yourself approaching your best friends; not wanting him to get his hands dirty on a guy like Matsuoka.

“What the-”, “Iwa please, he‘s not worth it..”, you say and wrap your fingers around his wrist, trying to find his gaze with desperate eyes only for him to gulp harshly and calmly tell you to take a step back.

“You?”, Rin spits, his dark eyes boring into your side as you try to ignore him; the amount of humiliation and shame washing over your body way too overwhelming to handle.

“Haji, let‘s just go, please”, you whisper, taking his face into your hands, his skin literally burning underneath your fingertips.

“No, Y/N, this stupid bastard has to understand that you can‘t just go and treat women like absolute dirt and get away with it”, Iwaizumi moves out of your soft touch, making Rin shift his attention back on you before the deep voice of one of his friends cuts through the tension.

“What the fuck is he talking about, Rin? Do you know her?”, the blonde says, his tone rather degrading when talking about you and at the way his eyes roam your body with a rather opposed expression show you exactly why that‘s the case.

“N-No, I don‘t!”, he‘s quick to defend himself, his eyes shifting to his friends with sheer panic filling the dark color and you feel your heart sink and the disgusting feeling of shame rushing through your veins.

“You‘re such a fucking piece of shit, Rin”, you hiss and swallow your tears; the taste bitter as the realization of being sometjing to be ashamed of hits you yet again.

“You definitely weren‘t acting like this when you fucked me”, you add and roll your eyes, taking a step back as the anger overcomes you and you basically give Iwaizumi a silent free pass to do whatever the hell he needs to, “or better said – when you tried to. It wasn‘t like I came with your weak dick game anyway so..”

“You fucked that fat bitch? Oh, yikes”, the other friend suddenly says, his words hitting you in the face like literal bricks and before you can even take your next breath or shift your eyes to the face the voice belongs to, the guy suddenly falls to the floor, holding his bloody nose.

You let out a shocked gasp, your eyes falling to Hanamaki who‘s busy shaking his hand, his knuckles already reddened and slightly bruised as he looks at you with a satisfied grin, “no one gets to call my best friend a bitch.”

“I was full on drunk and- do you really think I‘d fuck her sober?”, Rin tries to talk himself out of it and with a cold chuckle you throw your head back.

“How the fuck dare you talk to her like that”, is the last thing Iwaizumi spits before he throws his fist right into Rin‘s face with a deep grunt.

Another loud shriek escapes your lips and suddenly the anger and anxiety seem to leave your body and a huge wave of adrenaline hits you at the sight of your ex-hook up falling to the floor and Iwaizumi quickly moving with him.

For what feels like a whole hour but is probably nothing longer than a minute, you‘re literally frozen; your eyes the only moving part of your body as you watch your best friends break their knuckles on the jaws of literal strangers to them.

The following hour passes by in a blur. You can‘t really remember how or who separated them from those guys, or how you got yourself to call an uber and manage to get the four of you to your flat.

By the time the adrenaline stops making the blood rush in your ear, you‘re taking care of Matsukawa‘s wounds with shaky hands; the two others holding ice packs to their faces to ease the swelling of their bruises.

“Stop sighing so much”, Iwaizumi suddenly says, his dark eyes focusing the movements of your hands before he looks at you with a slightly softer expression, “we did what we had to do. And I‘m glad we did it. Those guys already looked so fucking punchable”, he explains and with a scolding scoff you press your lips to a thin line.

“You‘re back in Japan for how long? Two days? Yet already got yourself in trouble, a physical fight at that, Hajime. You‘re not your High School self anymore, start behaving that way, please”, you reply and hand Mattsun a plastic bag filled with ice cubes, softly caressing his bruised cheek before you stand up from your place on the floor.

“You got yourself one hell of a mouth while I was gone,  huh?”, he replies cockily, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue before he follows you into the bathroom.

You feel your body heating up at his words, the sexual tension laying underneath the surface slowly finding its way to you again and with a soft sigh, you ignore the brunette.

“How was I supposed to let him say all those things to you and not do anything, Y/N?”, Iwaizumi replies, a pouty word of gratitude leaving his lips when you take his big hand into yours and start cleaning up the blood on his bruised knuckles.

You try your best to stop your thoughts from wandering to sinful places yet images of those pretty, tattooed fingers wrapped around your throat and knuckle deep buried inside of your cunt have already filled your mind by the time you lower your gaze from his face.

“I‘m used to-”, “That does not make it okay, Y/N”, your best friend suddenly says, taking your chin in between his fingers to lift your head and look at you with those beautiful, dark green eyes.

“You deserve so, so much better and I‘m glad I can finally tell you this in person after all those years. Please stop letting douches like him take advantage of you”, he sighs, taking your hands into his and pulling you a little bit closer to himself.

“It‘s that or Matsukawa‘s cock and I‘d rather have a stranger emotionally pain me than my best friend, so-”, “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”, Iwaizumi interrupts you harshly, your words obviously irritating him.

“After my last boyfriend dumped me a year ago I‘ve only had casual flings because I got tired of using my hand to get off and Matsukawa offered to take care of it instead. But then again, it‘s just a lot less complicated with a stranger than it is with your best friend, that‘s why I‘m putting up with shit like this”, you explain to him and walk back into the living room where Mattsun and Makki are currently busy with your leftover take out from the previous night.

“So if it wasn‘t for that, you‘d let him fuck you?”, Iwaizumi‘s tone has turned cold again, the softness gone and replaced by something a little thicker and more intense than anger. And when you turn around to look at him, you see literal jealousy gleaming in the green color surrounding his iris, basically leaving you speechless.

“Why do you even care, Iwa?”, you reply, dramatically throwing your hands into the air as his tensed demeanor sends you in some kind of haze of irritation.

“Answer my fucking question, Y/N”, is all you get in response; the brunette closing the distance between the two of you with a few small steps and it‘s the lack of space between your faces that has you realizing just how unevenly he‘s breathing.

Your heart starts slamming against your rib cage with rather brutal pace, your head spinning from the sudden adrenaline shooting through your body and on top of all of it you feel your cunt clenching around nothing like crazy as Iwaizumi’s heavy scent fills your nose.

“Yes”, you say and feel your voice breaking, “yes, I would fuck Matsukawa because why not? Hm, Iwaizumi? There‘s nothing else stopping me from it other than-”, “You can‘t and won‘t fuck him”, he suddenly interrupts your outburst, his expression as dark as ever as he softly pushes you against wall.

“I think this is the moment where we‘re supposed to leave”, Makki mumbles, pulling Mattsun from the couch before they gather their things and leave the two of you to yourself.

As the silence surrounds the two of you, the tension grows even thicker, heavier, more present than before and with every breath you take you feel yourself growing more and more aroused.

“And why is that, hm? I can and will fuck whoever I want”, you spit back, trying so hard ot not let the arousal get to your head yet the disgusting urge to submit to Iwaizumi‘s naturally dominant personality slowly starts overwhelming you.

Hajime chuckles deeply, his eyes lazily roaming your face, pressing his strong body even further against yours as your head starts spinning more and more with every second passing by.

“Iwa…”, you whimper softly, throwing your head back and harshly digging gripping the soft fabric of his shirt; the close contact makes you a lot more nervous than before.

He slowly takes a deep breath before he bends down to let his nose graze your jawline, and eventually letting his mouth find its way to your ear.

“Because no one can fuck you like I can, pretty one”, Iwaizumi whispers, his voice a whole octave deeper than just a few seconds before and you hate the way every single one of his words sends a single, hot jolt of arousal right into your core.

“And”, you hear him inhale sharply, his hands finding their way to your hips, groping the soft flesh firmly in his palms before he takes a short break and then pulls away to look at you again, “no one can love you like I can.”

At the sound of those words, your eyes snap open within a second your heart skips a literal beat.

“W-What?”, you whisper, your throat completely dried up, your head desperately trying to process what he’s just said and just as your body is about to fall into some kind of haze, you feel yourself drowning in a wave of anxiety at the thought of having misheard him.

“I love you, Y/N”, Iwaizumi says just when those thoughts are about to take over you.

“Ha-Hajime…”, you mumble; your bottom lip starts to quiver as tears pricker at the corners of your eyes, the first few finding their way down your cheek in an instant.

A few seconds of silence pass in which you two just look at each other, Iwaizumi’s pupils blown out, cheeks tinted in the deepest shade of red and plump lips parted as he also tries to understand what just happened.

After all these years of imagining what it might be like to hear these kind of words from the love of your life, it’s finally become reality and the longer you look at him, the lighter the weight on your chest becomes.

“I’m sorry if I ruined our friendship with this but I just – couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. When I was in America I had promised myself to confess as soon as possible when I’m back so here I am. Those men don’t deserve you. Neither do I but I would have hated myself forever if I didn’t at least try. So”, he finishes his sudden explanation with another deep exhale before he takes a step back, his glossy eyes wandering from yours down to the floor, “thank you for everything and please take care.”

And fortunately your body acts a lot faster than your mind because while you still try to process his soft, sweet words – the words you’ve been dying to hear for so, so long – you find yourself tightening your grip on his shirt and pulling him back into you with a soft sob.

“I love you, too”, you whisper against his lips, pressing your forehead against his as your eyes flutter shut at the overwhelming warmth coming from his body.

“Fuck, baby”, Iwaizumi chuckles breathlessly, wrapping his arms around your body and burying his face in the crook of your neck, “I’m one lucky bastard, aren’t I?”

You smile brightly at his genuine and soft words, the feeling of coming home – a place you’ve longed for literal years – slowly breaks down onto you in the form of waves and for the first time in a really long time, you don’t mind being overwhelmed like that.

“So that means that you’re mine now?”, Iwaizumi whispers, pulling away and taking your face into his big hands, the smell of blood grazing your nose yet easily gets overshadowed by the way he’s looking at you as if you were holding the whole world in your hands.

You nod and move further into his touch, enjoying the feeling of being so safe and secure in one’s hands after not even feeling comfortable with anyone in years.

“T-Thank you for loving me, Iwa”, you gulp harshly, looking at him with teary eyes at the memory of all those who had managed to break your heart in the past years.

“No, baby”, he sighs, pressing the softest kiss right onto your lips, “thank you for letting me love you. When I say you’re literally everything I’ve ever dreamed of, I’m not even exaggerating because that’s what you are to me. A dream come true”, those are the last words Hajime mumbles before he pulls you into a proper kiss; not giving you the opportunity to reply.

The kiss starts off slow and calm. As if both of you were still trying to understand that this was actually happening because despite the hesitant movements, neither of you can hide the intense hunger lingering underneath every soft peck.

Iwaizumi, just as usual, lacks the patience to keep it going like that, not even trying to take it easier for even longer as he pulls your chin down and calmly pushes his tongue into your mouth, easily eliciting a soft moan from you. Your fingers find home in his brown curls, pulling at the thick strands and finally making him grunt right against your tongue; the deep sound sending vibrations and sweet little jolts of excitement through your whole body.

You slowly feel his hands wander; first starting off caressing your back, groping the soft flesh of your waist as well as the fingers of his right hand softly digging into your skin and for a second. You allow yourself to fall deeper and deeper into the perfect feeling of his touch until suddenly a mental image of his most recent ex-girlfriend pops up in your head and you stop functioning completely.

Iwaizumi lets his lips wander down your chin, placing a row of open mouthed kisses on your jaw before he moves to your neck and pulls the sensitive skin into his mouth without wasting another minute. The feeling of his hot tongue on your skin has your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you desperately try to distract yourself from your anxiety‘s attempt to ruin this for you.

You let out a soft whimper when Hajime wraps one of his big hands around one of your tits, harshly groping the flesh while rubbing his hard, clothed cock against your thick thigh.

His deep grunts and needy touches have you ruining your panties in no time to the point where the lacey fabric is literally sticking to your hot flesh in a rather uncomfortable way.

“Need you, baby”, Iwaizumi grunts, the movements of his hips rather sloppy and rushed yet so, so genuine and sweet, you can‘t help but smile softly.

“You got me, Haji”, you reply and take his handsome face into your hands, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs, “I‘m all yours.”

“Fuck, baby”, he moans and suddenly pulls away, his hands finding their way to the hem of your dress before he meets your eyes and wordlessly asks for your consent.

You give him a quick nod, pushing the voice of your anxiety all the way to the back of your head as Hajime slowly pushes the fabric up your thighs, revealing more and more skin before his eyes roll into the back of his eyes at the sight of your black lace panties.

He doesn‘t waste much time; quickly pulling the rest of it over your head and then taking a whole step back to let his greedy eyes roam your body with lust and nothing but adoration.

And when you realize your current, exposed state you take a deep breath to hold those insecurities back, however they‘re a lot faster than you are.

You nervously try to cover your naked body with your arms. Just the thought of him finding you and your body disgusting breaks your heart into pieces and with shivers of shame rushing down your spine, you lower your gaze.

“L-Look, I know it‘s not what you‘re used to and I- you don‘t have to touch me. I can just suck your cock or give you a handjob if you feel more comfortable that way”, you say, your voice a mere whisper and eventually breaking at the end when you give in to the tears.

“Baby…”, Iwaizumi sighs, pain evident in the tone of his voice. He calmly takes your wrists into his big hands before he pulls your arms away from your body, softly asking you to look at him and after what feels like an eternity, you manage to lift your head only to be met with nothing but warm, dark green eyes.

“You‘re fucking perfect”, he whispers and places a tiny little kiss on your lips, leaving you longing for more as he pulls away right afterwards, “there‘s literally nothing I would change about you.”

At the sound of those sweet words, you simply cannot hold back your tears any longer. You look at Iwaizumi with a quivering bottom lip as you let out a row of soft sobs; digging your nails into the skin of his wrists because you simply don‘t know what else to do.

For the first time in your life, your brain isn‘t protesting against a compliment and you know if it wasn‘t for him, there would be no way you‘d believe it.

“B-But your ex-girlfriends are the exact opposite and-”, “They don‘t matter, baby. You‘re you and it‘s all I could have asked for. I‘m in love with every part of your body and that has never been any different”, Iwaizumi interrupts you with his calm voice, placing his hands on your waist before one of them finds its way to your barely clothed ass.

“But-”, “No more buts”, the brunette says, a lot sterner and more determined, groping the flesh of your ass and then landing a firm spank on the soft flesh which has you whimpering into the crook of his neck.

Iwaizumi chuckles and pulls you into another deep kiss, sucking at your tongue, nibbling on your bottom lip all while his hands make sure to graze every bit of naked skin they can find. He pushes his leg in between your thighs, pressing it right against your cunt and without even wasting another second you find yourself grinding against the strong muscle. The fabric of his jeans rubs your throbbing clit in the best way possible, eliciting a row of needy whimpers from you.

You feel yourself soaking through the fabric of our lace panties and you know you‘re currently leaving a huge stain on Iwaizumi‘s pants but the pleasure clouding your mind makes it so easy to just ignore it.

“What a needy girl you are, baby”, Hajime mumbles, caressing the slightly dampened skin of cheeks with his thumb before he moves to graze your bottom lip and eventually pushes the digit into your open mouth.

Your lids fly open at the taste of his skin on your tongue, twirling the muscle around his thumb and then sucking on it softly, followed by some muffled moans of his name.

Iwaizumi watches you attentively for what feels like an eternity. His beautiful eyes wandering from the way you‘re rubbing your clunt against his clothed thigh to your perky nipples and then up to the way your lips look wrapped around his thumb like that and from the way his expression keeps growing darker and even hungrier, you know he‘s more than just enjoying your despair.

“I want to spit in your mouth”, he says, using the dominant tone you‘re oh so used to at this point and there‘s no way you‘d ever say no to him.

Something about being claimed in such a lewd way by the man you‘ve been dreaming of for years has you grinding your pussy into his thigh even harder; making sure to hit your clit with every rushed drag of your hips.

“Yes, p-please, Daddy”, you beg, not even overthinking any of your words as you part your lips and look at him with big, needy eyes.

When you notice the rather shocked and slightly overwhelmed expression on Iwaizumi‘s face, you gulp harshly, tilting your head to the side with your lips pushed into a concerned pout.

“What‘s wrong, Iwa?”, you whisper, way too scared of his response.

“You called me Daddy”, he replies and licks his plump lips, whereas you freeze completely at his comment.

“D-Did I? I‘m so sorry, Iwa”, the apology falls past your lips almost instantly at the realization because you know that not every guy is comfortable with such dynamic and even if Hajime definitely has a natural dominance to his personality, you should have waited a little longer before bringing this particular kink up.

“None of my boyfriends liked it and I don‘t like using it with completely strangers so I g-guess I just feel really safe with you and it slipped and I- oh, God, I‘m so sorry.”

You pull away from Iwaizumi with shaky hands, tears threatening to spill for the nth time within such a short period and you try your best to look everywhere but his eyes.

However, Iwaizumis seems to have other plans.

He takes your chin into his hand and pulls your face closer, nudges your nose with his own and then sucks your bottom lip into his mouth; making you whimper rather loudly.

“Say it again, baby”, he whispers, “tell Daddy how badly you want his spit.”

As his words echo inside of your brain, you let out a loud, high pitched whine, harshly trying to press your thigh further together ss the throbbing of your cunt becomes unbearable.

“Please, Daddy”, you reply, pushing his hand down to your neck and smiling softly when he wraps his pretty fingers around your throat, feeding right into every single fantasy you‘ve been imagining for so long, “spit in my mouth and on my cunt, I don‘t care. I just need it.”

“Good girl”, Iwa growls softly, “open up then, pretty one.”

You part your lips almost automatically at the sound of his demand, sticking your tongue out slightly and looking up at him with anticipation and such eagerness, if it wasn‘t for him, you would have never been as comfortable as this.

Iwaizumi smirks at you, keeping his grip on your throat firm but not too tight as he gathers his own saliva and spits into your mouth with a loud, lewd sound that sends shivers of pleasure straight down your spine and right into your core.

You can‘t stop your lips from stretching into a big smile when his taste coats the muscle of your tongue, swallowing it all in one go before you open your mouth yet again to show him it‘s all gone.

“Good fucking girl”, Iwaizumi praises you softly, caressing your cheek before he lets fo of your throat, “I got myself a perfect little doll, hm?”

“Thank you, Daddy”, you reply quickly, the intense urge to obey to his every word and submit to his every move absolutely overwhelming  at this point, but you would never want it any other way.

“Look at you, using your manners for me. You‘re welcome, princess. What about a little reward for being so good for me, baby? Wanna sit on my face so I can eat that pretty pussy of yours?”, Iwaizumi takes you hand into his, intertwining his fingers with yours before he guides you to the couch, letting himself fall into the soft cushion whereas you try your best not to panic at his words.

Of course the thought of having his mouth on your cunt is more than just tempting but you've never sat on a guy‘s face before; the fear of literally suffocating him with your weight making it impossible for you to even think about it.

“C-Can‘t you just eat me out like this, Daddy?”, you whisper, looking down to meet Iwa‘s hungry gaze and stopping him from pulling your panties any further down your thighs.

“I‘m too heavy”, the explanation follows right away, not wanting him to think it has anything to do with him or his wishes, “I don‘t want to hurt you.”

“Baby, I want you to sit on my face so I can eat your pretty pussy. That‘s it”, Iwaizumi says, his right hand finding the clasp of your bra and quickly getting rid of it before he takes both of your tits into his big hands; toying with your nipples and attentively watching the way your gasps grow louder with every pull on the perky buds, “you don‘t have to if you don‘t want to but don‘t you dare worry about me because this has been a dream of mine for literal years. Oh, how badly I want to be squished by those pretty, thick thighs of yours – you have no idea.”

“I want to! It’s just that I’ve never done this before. A-Are you sure? Please don‘t think you have to want this to make me feel better, I‘m okay with whatever you‘re comfortable with”, you whisper, not trusting your voice when you suddenly feel Iwaizumi‘s fingers tracing patterns on the inside of your thighs.

“Enough of this, pretty one”, his words are accompanied by a firm spank on your naked ass cheek; the pain of the sting leaving your pussy a spasming mess and with a soft moan you tighten your grip in his hair, “now sit on my face or I won’t fuck you.”

“N-No! Daddy, I‘m sorry, I promise I‘ll be good”, you whine quickly letting go of him so he can lay on his back only for Iwaizumi to get rid of his black shirt; revealing his strong, well trained body and all those dark lines adorning his tanned skin to your hungry eyes.

It takes you a few good seconds to gain enough confidence to actually spread your legs over his face, your whole body shaking with nervousness. But once Iwaizumi wraps his strong arms around your thighs and pulls your body even further down to his face, you slowly start easing up.

The feeling of his hot breath fanning against the wet flesh of your cunt sends goosebumps down your back. And the sight of his pretty face between your thick thighs, something you‘ve always been so insecure about, seems to slowly take a place as one of your favorite images to ever exist.

“Look me in the eyes, baby”, Iwaizumi mumbles and sucks at the skin of your inner thigh, his tongue on your skin making more and more juices gush out of your already drenched cunt as you allow yourself to meet his hungry gaze.

And just when your eyes meet, Iwaizumi sticks his tongue out and licks a long stripe over the hor flesh of your pussy before he gently pulls your little clit into his mouth and starts sucking on it.

You let out a loud groan; the sudden stimulation on your needy clit sending literal shock waves of pleasure through your body and without even realizing you slowly grind yourself further against his mouth.

Iwaizumi moans into your flesh, the deep bass of his voice sending vibrations right into your core, making your cunt clench even harder around nothing and if it wasn‘t for the intensity of his stare, you would have looked away already. Yet just as usual, there‘s something about the way he looks at you which has you feeling at literal ease – even in such a situation.

“Come on, baby”, Iwaizumi suddenly grunts, letting go of the sensitive bud with a loud sound before placing an open mouthed kiss on your clit and landing a harsh spank on your ash which has your body jolting in antica, “don’t be shy now. Ride my face like the good girl you are, make me proud…”, he adds softly, his words encouraging you easily and with a sound of affirmation, you start grinding your hips to meet the hot muscle of his tongue.

The following minutes are filled with loud slurping noises, high pitched moans and deep grunts as well as more words of affirmation and encouragement all while Iwaizumi continues to switch between thrusting his tongue into your tight hole and sucking on your clit before he eventually starts fingerfucking you with two of his thick digits.

You can't help but throw your head back at the immense amount of pleasure; your body and mind slowly reaching a point of complete haze as you lose yourself in the feeling of his touch.

And by the time you finally feel the taste of your high coating the tip of your tongue, your grip on Iwaizumi‘s hair tightens and a row of loud, choked out begs fall past your bit swollen lips.

“Look at your greedy little pussy clenching around my fingers like that”, Iwa chuckles deeply, picking up the pace of his thrusts as he keeps his mouth way too close to your throbbing little clit, “and those pretty begs. Gosh, baby, you‘re going to drive me insane.”

“S-So close, Daddy”, you choke out, your eyes flying open when you feel a third finger joining the two inside of your tight cunt, the pain of the stretch in combination with the pleasure of your upcoming high making your head spin.

“There we go, that‘s my baby”, he takes a deep breath and starts kneading the soft flesh of your ass in his palms, “want you to cum all over my fucking face. Show me what a good fucking girl you are.”

And those are the last words your brain manages to register before you feel the first wave of your orgasm hit you. Your sight turns pitch black and then white for a good second, your whole body tensing up at the feeling of coil in your core finally snapping.

Your thighs are shaking, your breath continuously hitching as you desperately try to regain your composure and if it wasn‘t for Iwaizumi‘s touch on your sensitive pussy, you‘d stay in the beautiful haze of your orgasm.

“You came so hard for me, baby”, Iwaizumi grins and pushes his fingers into his mouth before you finally find enough energy to get off of his face.

“W-Want more”, you whisper, your voice raspy and breathy as you tell him your request; low-key scared of being too greedy yet at the sight of Iwaizumi‘s eyes sparkling with excitement, you know he‘s not one to deny you anything. He‘s never been, after all.

“How about we move this to your bedroom, baby? I‘ve been dying to press your face into the mattress and ruin that little pussy of yours.” You feel a jolt of excitement blooming inside your chest at his words, nodding eagerly before you reach for his hand and guide him down the hall to your bedroom.

“Do you want me to suck you off?”, you say when the two of you come to stand in your room, your eyes focusing on the huge bulge in his pants, which manages to scare you slightly with its impressive size.

You always knew your best friend wasn‘t on the smaller side when it came to size yet you still can‘t hide just how surprised you are by its actual size. And suddenly the three fingers make a lot more sense to you.

“Let‘s save that for another time, pretty one. I‘ve been dreaming about pumping your cute little hole full of my cum for way too long. I can‘t wait any longer”, Iwaizumi replies and finally starts unbuckling his belt.

You take the few seconds he‘s busy to let your eyes admire the beauty of his perfectly sculpted body. You follow the dark lines of his chest tattoo, take in the sight of his stone hard abs and veiny arms as you press your thighs even more together to ease some of the pressure on your cunt.

“Are you done eyefucking me, pretty one?”, Iwaizumi suddenly chuckles, casually pushing his jeans as well as his boxer briefs down his meaty thighs and exposing his hard cock for your hungry eyes to devour.

He wraps his pretty fingers around his throbbing length, the tip an angry shade of red as precum continues to leak out; making your mouth water at the mere thought of having him in your mouth.

“Everything about you is so pretty”, you sigh and look into his eyes, the genuine appreciation in the green surrounding his iris making your heart grow warmer before he comes to stand in front of you in all of his glory.

“I love you so much”, Iwaizumi replies calmly, taking your face into his big hands before he places the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I love you, too”, you mumble and get up, pressing your lips against his and sighing into his mouth when he pushes his tongue past your lips without missing a beat.

Just when Iwaizumi starts letting his hands wander over your naked body, he halts his movements and pulls away slightly, “my pretty little baby, make sure to face the mirror so you can watch while I fuck your brains out. I want you to see just how perfect you are.”

“Yes, Daddy”, you whisper, your lips stretched into a big, big smile as you move out of his strong grip to position yours on your knees just as you were told.

Your heart suddenly starts racing again when you bury your face in your arms, making sure to push your ass as high as possible to give Iwaizumi easy access to your glistening cut. The excitement in combination with the pleasure and deep, deep longing finally manage to take over your brain; shoving the anxiety alongside all those insecurities to the very back of your head and making it easy for you to put your whole focus on the tll male behind you.

Iwaizumi’s rough hands caress your bare ass softly, kneading the flesh and lightly spanking it a few times before he lets a thick drop of his spit fall right onto your clenching pussy; sending goosebumps down your back at the feeling of it sliding down your flesh and mixing with your leaking juices.

You feel the tip of his thick cock nudging your entrance, the memory of his size making you tense up subconsciously and just when you’re about to hold your breath, Iwaizumi’s deep, calming voice echoes through the silence of your room.

“Take a deep breath, baby”, he whispers, knowing you’re going to follow his orders just like the good girl you love to be, “Daddy’s got you, okay? I’m gonna go easy, I promise.”

You lift your head to meet his comforting gaze through the mirror in front of you and without another beat passing, you feel yourself calming down again; the feeling of being absolutely safe and secure in his hand making it the easiest task.

And when Iwaizumi feels the tension in your body easing up, he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes his thick tip into your tight hole. You whimper at the delicious stretch, the pain easily overshadowed by the sound of Iwaizumi’s heavy breathing and little moans.

“I’m gonna go all in, baby or else it’s going to hurt a lot more”, you appreciate his warning because as he’s saying it, Iwaizumi thrusts the whole of his impressive length into your spasming cunt; pushing every bit of air out of your lungs and pushing you way too close to your second high of the night. You can’t help but whimper loudly, tears already streaming down your cheeks because of the beautiful feeling of pain and pleasure mixing inside of your veins from the intensity of the stretch.

Iwaizumi, as always the gentleman, gives you all the time you need to adjust to his size; only growing slightly impatient as you still whine softly after two whole minutes yet you’re quick to lift your head again with quivering bottom lip and teary eyes, begging him to just fuck you.

“Please, Daddy”, you sob, moving away from him in a desperate attempt for some kind of friction; your cunt spasming around his thick cock like crazy and you know you’re only a few thrust and some clit stimulation away from your next high, “please, fuck me.”

“My greedy little whore”, Iwaizumi grunts, pulling his cock out of you astonishingly slow with the sole purpose of teasing you, “you’re going to take what Daddy gives you, did you hear me?”

You moan as the feeling of his tip dragging alongside your spongy walls, your eyes rolling into the back of your head only to find your way back to reality with a couple of harsh spanks on your already sore ass.

“Good sluts answer when being talked to, pretty one”, he warns, thrusting his cock back into you with one quick snap of his hips; burying himself balls deep inside of your overly sensitive cunt.

“Yes, Daddy, yes”, you cry and look up at him with glossy eyes, “just please, fuck my stupid little cunt, please.” Iwaizumi lets out a row of deep chuckles followed by raspy groans in response to your perfect answer before he nods at you and mumbles a few soft praises right into your ear and then straightens himself again.

“Alright then, pretty one.”

Loud grunts fill your ears so beautifully, echoing through the thick air of your bedroom and in combination with the sound of skin meeting skin in a constant rhythm, you feel the exact way your body is slowly falling into the beautiful bliss of another high.

Iwaizumi fucks you fast, harsh and rough. There’s nothing soft and romantic about the way his hips are meeting yours in a steady rhythm; making sure to hit that sweet spot deep inside of your pussy with every single one of his thrusts as he continues to use his whole strength on your burning ass.

But not once do you even think about telling him to go easier on you; this iwaizumi the one you’ve been imagining for all those years.

It doesn’t take long for him to wrap his strong arm around your chest to pull you up, his fingers also finding their way back home around your delicate throat.

“Look at you, baby”, he groans right into your ear, making you open your eyes and meet your own reflection in the mirror, “you’re so fucking beautiful, I can’t comprehend it.”

You stare at yourself with your lips parted in awe, eyes falling to the sight of Iwaizumi’s thick cock stretching your tiny cunt before you go back to trying to recognize yourself.

Because for the first time in literal years, you don’t hate what you see and even if it’s because of IWaizumi’s strong body right behind you, you still feel this certain type of warmth blossoming in your chest.

"Feels so good, baby", he groans, throwing his head back as the movements of his hips start to become slightly sloppier, a little more uncontrolled, "so tight and warm, so fucking perfect", Hajime’s voice breaks at the end of his soft praise because of your walls clenching around his cock even more the closer you get to the edge.

You start feeling dizzy, your sight turning into a blurr and at some point you can’t even in- or exhale without letting out a shaky moan.

Iwaizumi looks at you with wide, hungry eyes, the feeling of your walls gripping his cock like a goddamn vice sending him into an ecstatic state and the longer he watches you getting lost in the pleasure, the more he struggles to keep his rhythm.

You’re mumbling incoherent sentences, desperately trying to tell the brunette about how close you are whereas the pleasure makes it absolutely impossible for you to form a proper sentence.

“Are you going to cum for me again, baby?”, Iwaizumi grunts, tightening his grip on your throat, making you gasp for air as you nod in response to his question.

“My perfect little slut”, he sighs, his hand reaching down to rub your hard, throbbing clit with two of his rough digits, “fucking do it. Cum for your Daddy like the good whore you are.”

And just like a few minutes prior, those words are the last straw and eventually make you stumble over the edge head first. Your walls start spasming around Iwa’s cock like crazy, your loud moans and soft cries are the only thing he can focus on and without missing another minute, Iwaizumi also lets himself get consumed by the beautiful feeling of relief.

Iwa hips still, his cock buried deeply inside of your tight sex as he coats your walls with his creamy cum. Your new boyfriend gets lost in the feeling of finally getting to cum inside of you after waiting for so many years; feeding the fantasy of getting to claim you in the most intimate way possible. He buries his face in the sweaty crook of your neck, his rapid breath fanning your skin as the two of you try to calm down from your intense highs. Your hand finds its way into his dark hair, massaging his scalp with your eyes closed and your legs still shaking from the aftermath of your breathtaking orgasm. Without pulling out of you, despite his own release leaking out of you and down the sides of his cock, Iwaizumi makes you lay down with him; just tightly holding you in his arms.

A few minutes filled with nothing but soft breathing pass by before you finally find the strength to move again; the sudden need to look at Iwaizumi’s completely fucked out face overwhelming you in the best way possible. And when you turn around to look at him, you’re met with a breathtaking sight.

Messy strands of sweaty hair falling into his flushed face, swollen lips and glossy eyes sparkling at you in a way you’ve never seen before and in that moment you feel yourself falling in love with Iwaizumi all over again.

“I’m so in love with you”, you whisper and caress the soft skin of his cheeks, loving the way he moves even further into your touch.

“Always and forever only yours, pretty one”, Iwaizumi sighs and presses his forehead against yours.

࿏ A/N: And here it finally is! My first x chubby reader fic!! As a chubby someone who’s been reading fanficion for a long time, I’ve always craved some kind of representation and now I finally got to join this side of the community and I’m more than just happy about the way it turned out. I genuinely hope you guys will enjoy this and find comfort the same way I did while writing this. Please feel free to leave any sort of feedback if you enjoyed it and thank you so much for everything.

[the-ghost-king]

Hiya! I am curious what are your thoughts- if Bianca had survived & never went with the Hunters, what do you think Nico would have turned out like? What about if Bianca survived, but stayed with the Hunters?

Probably awkwardly late to be responding to this considering the answer I'm giving, but I really don't think Bianca and Nico would have gotten along or at the very least they would have always had a strained relationship... Definitely not a popular take though

It's of my personal opinion that Nico and Bianca got along okay before the Lethe but still had a strained relationship, post Lethe I think they both had very extreme and dramatic changes the Lethe and the way it effected them and theor memories changed each of them some because our memories are part of ourselves and they became more lost/different aspects of themselves more prominent, in addition to this even if Bianca would have left and not died we would stil have her leaving Nico in a way he didn't want and a way that hurt him (and imo selfish, I have a sibling much younger than Nico who would have been 24/7 fully dependant on me at 12(?) and I couldn't imagine leaving her behind then or now where she is closer to Nico's age but then again I picture themwith a estranged relationship so emotions are probably quite different ) and that whole "Bianca left" thingy would probably hurt Nico because she didn't leave him and die and just wasn't able to come back he would view it as her actively chosing opposite of him

I think they would lead quite opposite lives eventually, I can see Nico settling down to one spot and having sort of a "life long home" while Bianca would continue to wander etc.

I legitimately personally think they got along because of Maria knowing how to make them bond some and get along a little bit but once she was gone and especially without any memories of her any chance of them having a strong relationship in any way was gone

Also there's the point that Nico loved Bianca bc of how he acts around her death and I don't doubt that he loved her at all, I'm just not sure I can see where Bianca loved him back as much/in the same way/etc. That's something I could see Nico really struggling to grasp and overcome and just sort of deal with because it's not something he would understand because he loves her and she's his sister he doesn't understand why they wouldn't have equal level of feelings about stuff for lack of a better phrase

But yeah definitely not a popular opinion that they don't get along and that Bianca was wrong for leaving... And yeah I could do like a nuanced and long breakdown of this but this is pretty much my one major flaw in interpretating any and all media I've consumed, like in 98% of what I read if there's a good argument presented in terms of meta I can be convinced but this is the one scene/subject/etc I've never been able to change my mind about or be convinced otherwise and I'm sort of fine with that

So yeah normally I break down things and try to really look at them and compare narrative tools and symbolism along with characterization and plot but this is the place and the subject where I just let my emotions rule unchecked

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Subtitles: Episode 1, Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience

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Summary: [Y/N] has been living in Westview for more almost a month now and yet to properly put down roots. What they hadn’t been expecting was to work so much, have unpacking be so hard, and for a new couple to move in the other house for sale, directly across the street.

Word count: 8,425

Warnings: Sit down and grab a snack because this one’s a bit long! Otherwise nothing, really. Maybe second-hand embarrassment caused by a thirsty Reader.

~~~

    Ever since you left both home and family behind some years ago, you’ve always felt a little out of place in the world. It was a hard time for you, leaving everything you knew behind and instead branching out and trying to find your place in the world. Actually, not only was it a difficult time in your life, but a confusing one; when you attempted to reflect on those memories, all you get is a head of foggy feelings, including a particularly sick sensation that leaves you out of commission for the rest of the day if you’re not careful.

    When you settled in Westview, it was like a breath of fresh air. Finding a home in a nice neighborhood was easy and the moving was done in a pinch thanks to a local moving company helping you get the boxes to your door, though you couldn’t afford to pay for them to do more. You were even lucky enough to find a street with not one but two open houses to pick from; you chose the smaller, more modest abode, as you had no family in town and no intention of getting married or starting a family any time soon. Despite this lack of them nearby and generally solid memories, though, you knew you had a good relationship with your family because as soon as you found a place, you were receiving housewarming gifts and postcards and letters from not only your family but close and extended relatives alike. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for your new house’s already installed fridge to be covered in pamphlet-worthy pictures of places across the nation and kind words from your mother, grandmother, and cousins. 

    There was still unpacking, now of both the furniture and gift variety, that needed to be done before anything else. Then there was the question of a proper source of income—while the money you received from your relatives would cover a month or two while you got yourself settled, you suspected there wasn’t going to be anything else for a long while and, either way, you wanted to be able to fend for yourself. Finally, after the necessities were dealt with, there was the matter of making your house and the neighborhood your home and by making some connections; while you were perfectly content living alone, it would be nice to not feel like such an outsider, to have friends to go out on the town with or take the occasional trip with on the weekends. These were normal goals, you figured, and, with as easy everything else has been so far, they should be simple enough to complete.

    Right?

    Well, at least getting a job was easy enough, you thought as you sat on the stack of boxes that, over the last month, had become a chair by the door that you used to pull on your shoes before work, as you were doing now. It also functioned as a coat and hat rack, as proven by your growing collection of jackets and headwear piled on it, and the occasional bookshelf after a trip to the local library. It used to be a place to hold your keys but you have yet to make that mistake again after sitting down one day and getting a sharp jab to the backside. 

    You were right that getting a job was easy enough—you received a callback for a secretary job at a computational services company only after a week of job searching—but you had yet to follow through with your other aspirations. It’s not like you haven’t tried, but when it came to unpacking, your job left you with very little energy to do much other than collapse on a couch-shaped collection of boxes when you get home and only a semi-decently decorated bedroom to show for your work. In terms of bonding with the locals and making some friends, let’s just say that Dottie is convinced you purposely spilled red wine on her perfect white parlor gown—who wears white when drinking red wine?—and now all you received from the neighborhood husbands were side-eyes and grumbling after telling them you found their attempts at humor in poor taste. At least you’d managed to charm your boss and his wife when they came over for dinner and now Mr. and Mrs. Hart invited you over for the occasional drink and gossip; Agnes, a woman from across the street and down a house, was also among your few successes, and she was a hoot to be around in a big sister or wine aunt type of way, despite her loudness. 

    Speaking of which—

    “Hey, [Y/N],” Agnes hollered from somewhere outside, “haven’t seen you out of the house yet! Better hurry up, the streets are antsville today! Or, at least, you could come with me to say welcome the other new neighbors!”

    Agnes came knocking on your door the same day you moved in and since then, she’s apparently committed your daily schedule to memory because if you’re not heading to work right on time, you get a holler from across the— Wait. New neighbors? You hopped up from your boxy perch after making sure your shoes were secure and peeked out the nearest window. Sure enough, the other house that you had considered moving into, the one immediately across the street from your own, no longer had a FOR SALE sign stuck in its yard and the yard and curtains appeared to have been decorated. Your heart lept into your throat as you wondered when that had happened; you desperately hoped that it hadn’t happened too long ago because you’ve been on a work rampage for the past few days and haven’t noticed much else. Yet another thing you haven’t done correctly. 

Agnes was also by the front yard, leaning against the fence and chatting with the mailman as he walked by. After he passed, she looked up and caught your eye, grinned, and waved. “Come on, [Y/N], no time like the present!”

You wanted to join her and introduce yourself to the new neighbors, you really did. Unfortunately, you would definitely get to work late if you didn’t get a move on, especially if the streets were as crowded as Agnes mentioned them to be, and you definitely didn’t want to greet the neighbors without a housewarming gift in hand. Perhaps you could stop by a shop on the way home and pick up a plant or a pie and welcome them this evening.

“Now, don’t flip your lid, Agnes,” you teased back with a smile as you walked outside. This response earned you a mock scowl, then Agnes’s smile again; you walked over to your vehicle and tossed your bag into the passenger’s seat. “I wish I could join you but you caught me; I am in fact looking to wind up late and I’ll be cruisin’ for a bruisin’ if I don’t leave now. I’ll try to stop by after work!” 

“Well alright then,” came Agnes’s reply, while you hopped into the driver’s seat and started your chariot up. “I’ll tell them you say hi. Congrats on no longer being the new guy!”

Too bad I still feel like the new guy, you mentally grumbled, rapping your fingers on the steering wheel. You took a breath, checked that your hair was in place and your shirt wasn’t wrinkled in the mirror and headed on your way.

“Oh, hello dear; I’m Agnes, your neighbor to the right! My right, not yours. Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you to the neighborhood. My mother-in-law was in town, so I wasn’t.”

Wanda watched the woman on her doorstep, visibly a bit perplexed but smiling either way. She was confused about what special event she and her husband were supposed to be celebrating tonight after seeing a heart on the calendar but now that she had an unknown woman—no, not unknown; one of her neighbors—here, Wanda couldn’t possibly be a bad hostess and turn her away. 

Not that the woman, Agnes, would have let her do so anyway. She shoved the plant she was holding into Wanda’s arms and walked inside, talking without giving Wanda any space to chime in. “So, what’s your name, where’re you from, and most importantly, how’s your bridge game, hon?”

Wanda quickly shut the door and trotted after the woman. She was newly stressed over the unknown event but now also giddy; this was the first neighborly welcome of many, she was sure of it! She reached Agnes’s side and stretched out a hand with a big smile. “I’m Wanda.”

“Wanda,” Anges repeated as if to see how the same felt on her tongue, before taking Wanda’s hand in a solid shake, “Charmed.” She paused, glancing around the house—Wanda felt an odd pang of anxiety—then continued, “Gol-ly, you settled in fast! Did you use a moving company?”

Wanda struggled momentarily for an answer. Of course, she didn’t; she’d used her powers to unpack and decorate quickly, but she couldn’t say that to this stranger. She decided to go with an affirmative answer as it was the easiest route. She went to reply—

“If you did,” Agnes went on, “I should get the name from you. Our other new neighbor across the way still has a house full of boxes!”

Wanda blinked, her head tilting to one side out of curiosity. “Other new neighbor?”

“Why the house directly to your front!” Without waiting, the other woman walked to the front window and yanked back the curtains; she gestured to the house in question. “[Y/N]. They live on their own, you see, and probably could have done well with the help. Actually, they were going to stop by with me but they were running late for work. I told them I’d tell you hi for them—Hi for them!”

The loud car Wanda had heard a few minutes earlier must have been this other neighbor rushing off to work. It was nice to know that even though it hadn’t happened, there had almost been a party of two to welcome her and her husband to the street; it’s too bad that he had left for his own job only a while earlier.

Wanda made her way over to the window as well and took a look. It was more modest in size and build than Wanda’s own home, much more suited to house a single person. Despite Agnes’s claim of them having not unpacked, a few lawn decorations were set up and a pair of [F/C] curtains hung neatly framing the home’s front window. Wanda could make out various boxes leaning up against the window, evidence to Agnes’s statement, but otherwise, the place seemed well-kept. The yard was taken care of, though Wanda wondered if it was because the person had moved in just as recently as she and her husband did or if they just enjoyed garden work.

Apparently, she’d wondered this aloud because Agnes responded, “They’ve been here for about a month, just been too busy making a good impression at work and making a fool out of themselves to the other neighbors to make their house a little more homely. Poor thing’s a darling but struggling in the social department.”

Wanda continued to watch the house as if this other, slightly older newcomer was about to drive back up the street to home. Consider her interest piqued. Wanda wanted to know more about [Y/N], all of her neighbors really, but more importantly, why there had been multiple houses open and if it was common. She hoped this neighborhood was as friendly as it seemed and that it wasn’t danger or unkindness that had made multiple people move out. She opened her mouth to ask—

However, Agnes had moved on to a different subject, as well as a different part of the house. “So what’s a single gal like you doing rattling around this big house?”

“Oh no,” Wanda, sighing softly, switched gears with her and replied, “I’m not single.”

You gulped down a gasp of air as you tumbled out of the elevator of Computational Services Inc, which earned you a few odd looks from unknown coworkers passing by. You’d bumped into one of them while skidding to a halt and you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks and ears and you stepped away, apologizing profusely. You tried to reach your desk in a quick but professional manner, only stopping briefly to make sure your clothes and hair were still in order in the reflection of an office window. As you got closer to your desk, a small thing in an area separated from other employees, you heard the comforting sounds of typing and radio music. You got to your desk, pulled out your chair, sat your bag down, and began to sit, only for a voice to catch your attention.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Would you be so good as to tell me what exactly we do here?”

A British accent? Not something you hear every day around here. You pushed your chair back into place to prevent another worker from bumping into it and walked over to peer around the corner. You recognized Norm, a kind and well-mannered employee that filled out computational forms in this section of the building, standing and chatting with a taller, paler, glasses-wearing man that you didn’t know.

The British voice spoke again and now, at least, you could put the voice to a face. “Do we make something?”

The British gentleman was very tall indeed and quite handsome. He had light wavy hair in a side part, with a sliver’s worth that looked like it could fall into his eyes at any moment; you felt the strange urge to push it back before the idea of running your hands through a stranger’s hair made you blush again. His suit fit his lanky body well, though you’d expect nothing less as Mr. Hart was very strict about his workers’ appearance. His tie was interesting, a dark color with a simple, lighter print of four spots, two larger ones encased in a rectangle, and his glasses framed his curiosity-ridden face very well. Above his lovely-looking, light-colored eyes, his brows were furrowed as he looked animatedly around, as though his workplace was a puzzle he was trying to solve. You noticed he talked with his hands quite a bit and you also noticed that his large, long-fingered hands seemed slightly out of place compared to the rest of his body. They seemed like nice hands, though, and they probably did their job well.

Goodness, [Y/N], now you’re just being ridiculous. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your head against the wall you were hiding around. No, not hiding, because that would make your creeping seem even more bizarre. Definitely not creeping. Investigating.

You shook your head to refocus and looked towards the men, listening again. He is a bit of a dreamboat, isn’t he though?

Norm was answering the man. “No and no.”

“Then what is the purpose of this company?” the stranger continued.

“All I know,” Norm replied with a smile, “is since you’ve gotten here, productivity has gone up three hundred percent!”

Three hundred? That was a startling thought, almost enough to give you a headache. So you’re the reason I’ve had more files on my desk.

The stranger picked up one of said files and flipped through it. “Yes, but what is it that we’re producing?” 

He’s quite interested in figuring out the answer to that question, isn’t he? You felt another pang in your temple. How strange.

Your brows knitted together as you, curious, leaned into the pain a bit. The pain seemed to follow the British employee’s questioning, so you focused on it.

What did they do here anyway?

The harmless pangs quickly turned into a full-blown migraine, similar to what would happen if you thought too hard about your past. You grimaced in pain and reached for your head, only to lose your balance completely and fall forward, into the room you were observing. You hissed as your knees hit solid ground and you braced yourself with one hand while the other gripped the hair closest to your temple. You tried to look around for something else to focus on but your vision was blurry and you couldn’t tell if you were even moving your head.

Then there was shouting, which didn’t help the throbbing pain at all, and you felt what seemed like a hundred pairs of hands grasping at you. You couldn’t understand the yelling other than recognizing the voices as male; you tried to tell them you were alright, shake the hands off and get yourself some space, but nothing in your body seemed to be working quite right. Because of this, the voices and the various hands—or was there just two hands?—didn’t know what you wanted and instead of space, they crowded you. You felt grips on your shoulders and arms, even on your back— Then you were being lifted. Completely off the ground or only to your feet, you couldn’t tell.

Then the hands—only one on your back and another pair holding your arm now—guided you to a place where you could properly sit.

It was quieter now and you could feel the floor beneath your feet and an office chair holding your weight. You realized your eyes were closed so you opened them and you found your vision beginning to refocus. You looked around. 

“Goodness, are you alright?”

You could feel how red your face was—it was probably bright enough to be used as a neon stop sign—when you found yourself staring into a man’s torso. A torso that was quite close. You looked up and directly into the face of the British man, who no longer looked troubled by curiosity but rather quite concerned by you. 

Oh, yes, definitely a dreamboat, you thought without really meaning to.

Then Norm came rushing over, a cup in hand. “[Y/N], are you alright?”

“[Y/N],” the stranger repeated. He took the water cup from Norm, who hovered nearby, and squatted down to be at eye level with you. 

You wouldn’t mind hearing him say your name again.

Good Lord, stop it, you almost passed out!

“That is my name,” you managed. You even managed a definitely awkward smile, a couple of seconds of definitely awkward eye contact.

“Here, you should drink this.” He offered you the cup and once you took it, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up!”

I would imagine so, with how I feel. You sipped the water. Maybe you didn’t look as bad as you thought you did.

“Looks like you’re about to throw up too,” Norm very helpfully added.

Thank you for the commentary, Norm.

“[Y/N],” the other employee said, drawing your scowling gaze back from Norm, “do you have someone you could call? You look ill; perhaps it would serve you well to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him. He did not look convinced but you pushed on, whipping up a quick white lie to cover up your jarring headache. “I didn’t eat this morning and I rushed to work to escape the antsville. I must have gotten overheated on the way and I’m sure an empty stomach helped that. Sorry for worrying—”

“What is going on out here?”

You both jumped to your feet; you moved too fast for having just recovered and stumbled but luckily both Norm and his colleague caught you and straightened you up before you fell over. No one wanted to be seen out of place by the boss and you were currently both out of place and sorts. Even though you knew Mr. Hart already saw you—hell, he was standing directly in front of you three—you glanced around for a place to hide. Instead, you saw files and papers scattered across the floor, the result of your migraine-induced fumbling. You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. 

“Well?”

There was a moment of silence. You felt Norm take a step away from you and you expected the other man to do so as well. He didn’t but you raised your head and squared your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

“Sir—” you started.

“Sir,” the British gentleman interrupted, taking a step forward. “[Y/N] here was walking back to their desk and tripped, and in my haste to help them, I knocked over a pile of files on my desk. I apologize for the racket and the mess I’ve caused; I’ll deal with it right away.”

Mr. Hart looked from him to you to Norm, who was quaking in his nice shoes, then back. There were yet a few more moments of quiet before he spoke again. “Vision.”

Vision?

“Yes, Sir.” 

You glanced at the man to your right. Vision. What an interesting name for an interesting person.

“You better hope dinner tonight goes well after this charade,” Mr. Hart barked. “This better be cleaned up by the next time I come out here.”

Rather than looking upset or stressed, Vision looked relieved. He made a heart with his hands and muttered, “Mr. Hart. Of course…”

“And you,” the boss’s glare now settled on your face. “You were late this morning. In my office. Now.”

“Dammit,” you muttered after Mr. Hart had turned his back. 

“Sorry, don’t think I can help you that one,” Vision chimed in. He was rubbing the back of his head and squinting at Mr. Hart’s back. “You’ll be alright?”

“Promise, it was just a bit of the spins.” You gave him a friendly pat on the arm and made your way to hopefully not get fired. “Nice meeting you!”

“You as well, despite the unfortunate circumstances. Good luck!”

    Mr. Hart was waiting for you by his desk when he entered. He gestured for you to shut the door before he sat and as you did, you saw Vision beginning to clean up your mess before the phone on his desk started ringing.

    “Ugh, I’m exhausted.” You were exiting a shop downtown, squinting against the light of the setting sun. You held the door open with a toe of one shoe while you adjusted the bags on your arms, then moved around to properly hold the door for Agnes, who strolled out after you. “Hart was an absolute villain today! Barks at me for coming in late and not getting work done but then does it for an hour! Well now who’s keeping me? Then this British gent—I swear I’ve never seen him before but he’s apparently the cause of my last few busy work days!”

    “The looker?”

    You blushed a bit; Agnes will never you live it down now that you’ve slipped up and said you’d found the man attractive. “I may have mentioned that earlier—but I digress! As charming as the man was, helping me out even after I knocked over a bunch of his things, he’s still a powerhouse of an employee. Tripled my load of work with his own; now I get what Norm meant when he said productivity has gone up by three times! Imagine, being yelled at by my boss—who was one of the few well-off relationships I’ve had since moving to town—for an hour, and then, when you finally get back to business, your desk is buried in files! I’m barely breathing at this point! Ain’t that just a bite.”

    “Who’s flipped their lid now?” Agnes said with a cheeky grin. You responded with a tired glare and she scoffed. She moved her own bags to one arm so she could give your shoulder a good pat. “Just teasing you, dear! We can’t all be superhuman, unfortunately. Although you’re damn near close; thank you for helping me home, by the way. Ralph had a last-minute “meeting” with some “coworkers” tonight and I’m helping out our new neighbor plan a very important date!”

    That’s right, you had a new neighbor across the street. You’d almost forgotten. You knew there was a reason you’d felt the urge to pick up a small houseplant on your way through the checkout.

    “You have the mouth of a sailor, ‘Nes,” you quipped, cracking a grin.

    “And a drinking tolerance that would put any soldier to shame!” Agnes agreed with a short laugh. After a quick pause, she added, “It’s not like I said ‘fuck.’”

    That time both of you laughed and for the first time since your disastrous day, you felt yourself relax. After bringing up sailors and soldiers, Agnes lept into one of her half-complaint, half-stories about how, one time, her husband Ralph got drunk and tried to fight an entire bar—“Everything including the stools!” While she talked and you escorted her to your car, your mind wandered, curiosity about your new neighbors piqued again. You reached the sidewalk’s curb and helped Agnes stepped down, then opened the vehicle’s passenger door and took her bags. 

    Instead of sliding inside, Agnes watched you as you moved around to the other side of the car and put the bags in the backseat. “You’re a bit of a flutter bum yourself, dear. Look at those manners; you’ve been out and about all day and still came to help me with the groceries! And that voice! Absolute apple butter sometimes, when you want it to be. I’m surprised you aren’t already circled with a couple of children along the way!”

    You snorted as you opened your door and slid behind the wheel. “Just not in my plan, I suppose.” You gestured for her to join you in the car and started it up when she did so. “You didn’t see me today either. Creeping around corners, then these annoying headaches got to me and I was stumbling around knocking down everything! Not to mention the new guy, sweet as pie, saw me do all this and go absolutely red just from looking at him. Sweating, cottonmouth, everything. I must have seemed bonkers! It was awful.”

    Agnes offered, “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.”

    “I’m sure if he ever sees me again, he’s going to turn heel and walk in the opposite direction,” you stated. Then you shifted into gear, pulled away from the sidewalk, and turned towards home.

    You were in the one room in your house that wasn’t a part of the United Boxes, your bedroom, standing in front of one of the few pieces of furniture you’d managed to unpack since moving in. You fussed over your reflection in the mirror, pushing your damp hair from one side to the other, adjusting your tie one moment then readjusting it the next, holding up various hats and cardigans.

Your casual wardrobe was much more unique than the business attire you kept for work, which was generally neutral in both color and style. Tonight, you wore a collared button-up in a bright pattern of your favorite color paired with a tie that was darker in shade but equally bright in color, and you were debating between various cardigans in complementary colors. The pants you wore were more muted, a neutral color to go with the shiny black dress shoes and good quality belt that you usually only broke out for special social occasions. For a little more pop, you also wore a few colorful bracelets on each wrist and a ring or two. You even added a little more color to your still tired-looking face, despite you feeling much better after a nap, shower, and change of clothes. 

You finally settled on the combination of a brighter colored cardigan a more muted hat to pull your entire look together. Slipping the cardigan on and flattening out any creases, you flashed your mirror self your friendliest smile for practice’s sake. Then you gave yourself a twirl, craning your neck over over your shoulder to make sure everything looked just as nice from the back as the front. 

Now we’re cooking with gas, you thought. Hopefully, the neighbors think so too.

Satisfied, you made your way out to the living room where your outfit-appropriate handbag and housewarming gift waited. The young plant, a pachira, sat in a pot whose color accented the color of the house you were going to visit this evening as opposed to the simple white it’d come in. The pot itself wore a big ribbon bow that you’d attached yourself and sticking out of the soil was a card welcoming the neighborhood’s newcomers. 

Perhaps you’d finally make some friends tonight.

You picked up the plant-based gift in one hand and placed it securely in the crook of your arm, then picked up your handbag in the other and made your ways outdoors. It was a quick walk across the street and once on the neighboring house’s doorstep, you steeled yourself with a deep breath. You smiled, then frowned, then smiled again and repeated this a couple of times to make sure the first smile your neighbors saw wasn’t a strained one and raised your hand to use the oddly realistic-looking lobster door hanger.

Much to your surprise, however, the door opened before your hand ever reached it.

And there, in front of you, looking just as shocked as you felt, was your boss and his wife. 

“Mr— Mr. Hart?” you stammered, stumbling backward and almost dropping the plant under your arm. Remembering the last time you and your boss “conversed,” your friendly face twisted into more of a deer in the headlights look. “Mrs. Hart? What are... What are you doing here? You didn’t just move in, did—?”

“Is there a problem, Mr. and Mrs. Hart?”

Not only did you recognize the Harts but you recognized the British voice that came from behind them and the face that appeared with it. 

“Vision?”

“[Y/N]?”

The two of you stared at each other in surprise. That is until Mr. Hart cleared his throat; he and Mrs. Hart still stood directly in front of you, with Vision unintentionally blocking them from stepping back inside. You yelped an apology and stepped to one side, then had to catch yourself on the doorframe as you almost tripped down the front steps.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mr. Hart said slowly as he stepped outside, giving you a particularly unpleasant look, “[Y/N] here lives in the neighborhood as well. Say, you live directly across the way, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded immediately with a tilt of your head in the direction of your home. Then you glanced over at Vision and raised the pot you held slightly for him to see. “I was just coming over to introduce myself and offer a housewarming gift.”

Mr. Hart gave a strained nod, clearly still out of sorts about your work performance today. “Well, we were just out the door after the first dinner with the Maximoffs.” He made it sound like having dinner with your boss, while important, was something more of a religious experience. 

You hoped Vision did well. 

“He did just fine,” Mrs. Hart piped in.

There you go, accidentally wondering things aloud again.

“Congrats!” you chirped in Vision’s direction. You noted that he seemed as uncomfortable being in this situation as Mr. Hart acted and you felt. Perhaps you should have just visited in the morning.

Out of the group, Mrs. Hart seemed to be the only one unphased. She gave your shoulder a friendly squeeze and complimented your outfit—the one that her husband eyed distastefully—then lowered her voice so only you could hear. “I heard about your little brawl at work today. Don’t get bent too out of shape about my husband’s behavior; he has to work the weekend and he’s about excited as a cat that doesn’t get fed on time. We’re still on for bridge this weekend, right?”

You always liked Mrs. Hart. She was a good counterweight to her ever so charming husband and she always made sure to make you feel at home here in Westview, even if you struggled to do so yourself. You gave her a smile and a nod. “Of course, ma’am. You look stunning tonight, by the way.”

“Charmer.”

As you were talking to Mrs. Hart, Vision settled things with the mister, and things finally seemed to be calming down. However, Vision was wishing the Harts a safe way home, and you gave them a “Good night!” and a wave while wondering if you should just go home yourself, when a clatter came from inside the—what was it?—Maximoff household.

A voice followed, “Vis? Is everything alright out there, dear?”

You felt yourself deflate a bit; you already forgot that Mr. Hart had mentioned Maximoffs. Maximoffs, not one Maximoff. You were somewhat disappointed that, from what it sounded like, your new dashing British acquaintance had a partner, not that it was a surprise. He must have had people throwing themselves at him at one point in his life before he settled on The One and they immediately got married and moved into their cozy-looking, bigger than your own, house. Or, perhaps, maybe he was the awkward one falling all over himself to impress the person of his interest and when they finally picked him, he felt like his heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that found their home in his stomach.

Of course you were the only one on the block who was single and living alone.

You wondered if they had kids.

“... come in!”

You zoned back in from being lost in your thoughts to catch only the end of what Vision was saying. He stepped back from the doorway and held the door open for you and looked at you expectantly and, not wanting to make more of a fool of yourself that you already have in front of him today, you made your way inside, just hoping he hadn’t said anything important while you had been wondering about his romantic life. You felt heat on your ears and cheeks.

Vision, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Now that the Harts were gone, he appeared much more relaxed, leaning on the door with one leg crossed over the other and even smiling at you as you walked into his spacious and already unpacked living room. 

That was the first time you’ve seen him smile, you noted. He had a very charming smile, one of those that made his eyes smile too and seemed much more in place on his face than any other expression. 

Vision closed the door behind you as you looked around the space with mild surprise—how long have they been moved in? How had they gotten unpacked so fast?—then he gave you a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. It was then that you noticed more clattering coming from behind a door that you assumed belonged to the kitchen.

“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” he said, making his way to said door, “As you know, my wife and I just finished dinner with the Harts, and my darling Wanda is doing all the dishes. I’ll tell her to wait a moment and come join us! Do you drink fluids?” You must have looked at him oddly because then he stumbled on his words a bit before clarifying, “Alcohol? Or would you like water, juice?”

He certainly did talk with his hands a lot. You liked the way he clasped his hands and fiddled with his fingers while trying to untangle his words.

“Water’s fine,” you replied with a friendly smile.

Seeing that you weren’t bothered by his slip-up, he smiled back and made his way into the kitchen. Halfway through the door, he chirped over his shoulder, “Please feel free to take a seat! I’ll return momentarily!”

Being alone again for only a few minutes still had you beginning to feel the weight of the day’s chaos again. You placed your housewarming gift on the coffee table and rubbed where the pot had been digging into your arm, then wriggled your toes; because these were shoes for special social occasions only, something you didn’t go to very often, they weren’t very well broke in and your feet were beginning to hurt. 

The clattering in the kitchen had stopped but now the muffled voices of Vision and Wanda, which was somehow comforting. You looked around, taking in the classy but simple room. How on earth they’d managed to get unpacked so fast unless they used a company or stylist or somehow bought the place pre-furnished, you had no idea—well, you had a few, clearly. It was still surprising though. However they managed, you hoped your own living area looked half as nice. When you got around to it.

You perked up again as you heard the kitchen door creak… and then felt like your heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that immediately found a home in your stomach.

If Vision was a dreamboat, his wife was a, well, literal vision. Wanda wore a dress that was just as simple and charming as the house she lived in, paired with a pretty necklace and pair of heels. Her curled hair perfectly framed her face and despite appearing as frazzled as Vision had when you first showed up at their doorstep, she wore a smile so gorgeous that your heart, which had apparently recovered from its explosion of butterflies, decided it preferred to do somersaults in your throat.

The pair of them were standing hip to hip with Wanda carrying a set of glasses and Vision a pitcher of water. They were chatting lightly about how well dinner went as they walked into the living room before turning their set of beaming smiles in your direction. 

Your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to melt, tie itself in knots, or spontaneously combust. You decided to make it stand to properly introduce yourself instead.

Just living in the same neighborhood as these two was going to be cataclysmic. 

“Wanda, darling, this is my coworker [Y/N], the one I told you about earlier this evening.” Vision detached himself from his partner’s side and began snagging glasses from her hands to fill and place on the coffee table as she walked closer. “And [Y/N], this is my wife, Wanda.”

You and Wanda watched him hop around from her to the coffee table and back two more times with amusement, then Wanda looked at you and gave an incredulous shake of her head, offering her hand. “Hi, hon. Don’t mind him; he’s not usually this dancy but dinner with the boss was a bit unexpected on both our parts. I had to pull something together last minute and he’s trying to make up for it.”

“You did so much in such a short amount of time,” Vision added, finally settling on the couch beside Wanda after the two of you shook hands and got seated. “You deserve a break. I can handle filling a few glasses and doing up the dishes.”

“Speaking of which, I hope you got a break yourself, [Y/N].” Wanda’s comment and concerned look made your eyebrows raise with confusion. She elaborated, “Vision mentioned covering for you at work today.”

You flushed slightly and rubbed the side of your neck. Vision noticed and gave you an apologetic look.

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I get these awful migraines sometimes. One just happened to hit me at a particularly bad time today and I fell and knocked over a bunch of files. Your husband was an angel, did something he absolutely didn’t need to do and said it was all his fault.”

“And yet you got punished anyway,” Vision said, still looking apologetic. He wrung his hands a bit as well; you wanted to hold them to make him stop.

Wanda did instead, giving him the sweetest smile in the process. 

“But if it weren’t for you,” you chirped, “I may have just gotten fired. So I have to thank you for that. And I can’t imagine how that may have affected your dinner tonight, if I had known you were having the big boss dinner tonight, I wouldn’t have let you. I’m so sorry, by the way, for barging in immediately after your dinner, too; you two must be exhausted!”

“Oh, nonsense,” Wanda piped up again. She patted you on the wrist; you kind of wished she’d left her hand there but she went to pick up her water instead. “Dinner went quite well actually, if not a bit ill-planned. We had a bit of a misunderstanding of what the calendar said.” She gave Vision a playful glare and he responded with a bashful smile that he tried to hide by running a hand over his face.

“I drew a heart, for Hart,” he explained. “We forgot and thought we missed an anniversary instead.”

You thought back to when Mr. Hart mentioned the dinner at the office and Vision had made a heart with his hands, then tried to suppress a grin of your own. “That’s an easy misunderstanding. Happy to hear I’m not the only one good with planning, though, no offense.”

“Well, maybe you two should be married.” Wanda glanced between the two of you, the playful look in her dark eyes paired with her suggestion making your throat dry.

“You couldn’t remember it either, darling,” Vision countered, giving her a peck on the forehead, “If that’s the case, maybe all three of us were meant to be.”

You went to swallow and ended up having to suppress a choke. You reached for your glass, only to see it empty—when did you do that?—but Wanda was quick to refill it.

You gave her a sheepish smile and soft “Thanks” in return, took a drink and decided to play along. “That would explain why we ended up living directly across from the street and why I’ve been single almost my entire life.” 

You mentally kicked yourself for mentioning that last part and coming off way too desperate. However, when you glanced the couple’s way, Vision was chuckling, and Wanda was giving an understanding nod with a pleased look on her face. Maybe she thought her joke was going to hit wrong? Maybe it hadn’t been a joke?

Don’t get your hopes up, you thought.

Then Wanda spoke again. “You must be joking. You’re living on your own in that house?”

    You shrugged and responded, “I have a fish.”

    “I’m sure they’re wonderful conversation,” Wanda quipped back. 

    “No romantic interest in sight?” Vision asked. 

    Well, I wouldn’t say that but I’m certainly not going into that right now. You shook your head and decided to shift the conversation to a topic that was less likely to make you feel, if either or both of them did happen to ask you to marry them at that very moment, as if you would immediately throw yourselves at them. “Speaking of houses and all that, what a coincidence that we happen to find each other living next door the same day we meet. That’s what I originally came over to do, introduce myself to my neighbors and give you a housewarming gift.”

    You gestured to the pachira on the coffee table and Wanda reached over to touch its leaves, then used Vision’s still-full water glass to water it. “That’s right. It is a lovely plant, thank you very much. I think it will look nice in the kitchen, or perhaps over by the window.” 

    “It’s supposed to bring good luck to the house,” you offered, “and red ribbons are often associated with it but I’m not sure why.”

    “Well here’s to good luck then,” Wanda said, clinking Vision’s empty cup with your half-full one. She read the card you’d attached, smiled, then picked up the plant and offered it to her husband. “Here, dear. Since you’re taking on the role of house-husband tonight, why not take this and see how it looks over by the window.”

    Vision was already standing and taking the plant from her hands before she finished her sentence. “Of course, darling. Tell me where you think it looks nice.” Then he added to you as he walked by, “I may be skilled many things, like filling out computational forms, but the interior decorating is all her. I’m practically color-blind. And furniture-blind. And generally design-blind. Possibly blind-blind, if I’m being honest.”

    Wanda rolled her eyes but she still giggled, then pointed out where she thought the plant would look best. It was off to one side of the window and she explained that she thought it would be visible from your window as well, and thus give both houses good luck. 

    “Maybe it will give me the luck to finally unpack and decorate like you two already have,” you pondered allowed, finishing off your water a second time; Wanda promptly offered to fill your cup again but you politely declined. “The two of you have been here, what? At least a few days now and your home is already made in the shade. I’ve been here in Westview a month if not more and I usually spend my time lounging on a couch made of crates and boxes.” 

    You noticed Vision glance oddly at his wife as he sat back down but Wanda didn’t seem to catch it. Still, she answered quite quickly, “We used a company.”

    “Ah.” You glanced between them but the strained energy that suddenly appeared just as quickly as it came when Wanda gave you another sweet smile and offered to write down the company name for you. “No need, I couldn’t afford it anyway. Thank you, though.”

    That response didn’t seem to please Wanda all that much. She pursed her lips in a way that looked partially pondering and partially pouty—it was a very cute pout—before leaning over to Vision and muttering in his ear. His attention was immediately drawn to focus only on her and they chatted quietly among themselves for a few moments.

    You suddenly felt awkward again and took to looking around a bit. You first looked at your feet and noticed how close one of Wanda’s own was to yours; in fact, the three of you were sitting so close together that her dress poofed out over your leg. Then you happened to look over at where your arm was resting across the back of the couch. Vision’s was too and you suddenly became keenly aware of how, if he were to start talking with his hands like he does, his would most definitely brush your own. You wondered if it already had while you were too engrossed in conversation to notice, then you wondered if you should move farther to the other side of the couch.

    You began shifting to do so when Wanda suddenly leaned back to her normal spot and grabbed your wrist. “Why don’t we come over sometime this weekend and help you unpack?”

    You blinked. She seemed closer than she had been earlier, or maybe it was just the fact that hand hadn’t pulled away yet. Her eyes were as bright and welcoming as they had been since you first saw them, eyebrows raised in what you could only place as eagerness, and you officially decided that if you were to look up the word “sweet” in a dictionary, there’d be a picture of her smile.

    You were so suddenly flustered that for a moment all you did was stare while you figured out how to talk again. When you did, you were surprised at confident your voice sounded when you replied, “Sure.”

    “Great!”

    Wanda and Vision looked equally excited when you looked at them both, which confused you before you remembered that you were only the second person from the neighborhood to visit them since they moved in. Thinking of it now, you were also feeling energetic from the conversation and not just because you happened to be sitting next to a very attractive-looking pair. This was the first time you sat down with people from the neighborhood and it did not only go well but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself; you also enjoyed spending time with Agnes but Agnes was just outwardly friendly to everybody and even if you ran out of things to say, she had enough stories to add filler to seven different conversations at the same time. Wanda and Vision seemed to be just as awkward as you, making unusual jokes that might not make it through and fumbling over themselves and on occasion just being awkwardly silent at times, but it was a weird kind of awkwardness that also felt comfortable, comforting. You felt like you were among friends. 

    Conversation flowed easily for the rest of the night. The three of you made plans to spend the next day at your place, unpacking and decorating and just getting to know each other better, then conversation shifted smoothly from one random topic to another. Wanda had a lot of questions about the neighborhood and the people in it and she and you swapped stories of first meeting Agnes. You were somewhat fascinated with Vision’s almost eidetic memory and couldn’t help quizzing him on random subjects but luckily, he seemed to be just as eager to answer. Wanda mentioned Vision’s ability to play ukulele at one point and he felt is was absolutely necessary to perform and after mentioning Wanda’s breakfast cooking ability—and your stomach grumbling in curiosity—she brought you to the kitchen and made the best breakfast you’d ever had, despite it not being morning, while Vision kept to his word and washed the dishes. Eventually, though, the night caught up to the each of you and you said your goodbyes, hugs included, at the door and you headed back home with a goofy grin on your face. 

    Upon getting home, you kicked off your shoes that you’d long since forgotten were causing your feet pain and went to your bedroom. You quickly stripped, put on your bedwear, and faceplanted onto your sheets. You laid there for a moment in comfortable bliss before turning your head and catching yourself in the mirror. Though looking utterly exhausted, it was mixed an almost childish happiness. You finally felt content in Westview, like you’d finally found your place. 

    You scrambled around to get under the covers and curled up. Quickly dozing off and still grinning, you muttered, “I think I’ll like it here.” 

[anotherkindofmindpod]

Hi there! Thank you so much for your podcast and your recent discussions of Paul and John’s relationship here. I was thinking some more about your statement that a reporter would need to be able to gain his trust. “But whoever it is needs to gain Paul’s trust and reassure him that they will treat this information delicately and disseminate it carefully, in a way that the public can handle.”

I’m wondering if this might not be possible because Paul will still feel he is protecting someone else (John & John’s family) rather than himself, and he’s not going to say something that he perceives as damaging to John’s memory, even if his own thinking has evolved.

I was thinking this in terms of how Paul has answered questions about the Ashers. I was watching old press conferences a few weeks ago and in one (which of course I can’t find now, but maybe you know it?) Paul is directly asked if he’s living at the Ashers, during a time I believe he is (else why would someone have this rumor, too) and he flat out lies and says no. Obviously this protects his own privacy and the privacy of the Ashers’ house, but it also protects Jane’s reputation and the reputation of the family. It just struck me at the moment as an example of Paul not being truthful but feeling he has reason to answer that way.

In one of his Howard Stern interviews, he also talks about sneaking around to have sex with Jane while he was living there, and how her mother never knew, which of course she did, right? The Ashers were very progressive from what I understand and maybe they didn’t talk about this at breakfast but Paul is either very naive in thinking she didn’t know or else is also protecting her memory, after the fact, in a public interview.

I might be reading too much in to these, but wondering whether you think this sort of protectiveness would still stand in way for Paul? Again, thank you so much for AKoM and for putting this discussion into broader public!

I’m wondering if this might not be possible because Paul will still feel he is protecting someone else (John & John’s family) rather than himself, and he’s not going to say something that he perceives as damaging to John’s memory, even if his own thinking has evolved.

Yes, absolutely agree. Your example of how Paul protects the Ashers (lying about his living arrangements contemporaneously and preserving Margaret’s plausible deniability about Paul and Jane’s sexual relationship after the fact) is a fantastic case in point of how Paul treats potentially damaging/embarrassing information, especially when he is not the only party involved.

Additionally, I think many people may VASTLY UNDERESTIMATE how risky and potentially dangerous it is for an older, established celebrity to reveal a queer relationship/identity. For young stars nowadays it is much less of a stigma, but older generations feel so possessive of and attached to the Beatles that they would likely view a sexuality reveal (for lack of a better phrase) as a “betrayal” of what they thought they knew. For someone of Paul’s stature, it would be akin to Barak Obama suddenly announcing he was bisexual! While an Inter-Beatles romance may be accepted or even embraced by more progressive fans and ultimately add to the long-term legacy of the band, it would most likely be a short-term disaster of epic proportions. Fans (and media) have a tendency to feel entitled to intimate personal details of celebrities’ lives, so even those who wouldn’t necessarily be against a same-sex romance in the Beatles (i.e. people who do not consider themselves homophobic) may still be OUTRAGED by the “decades of lying.” 

So yes, in addition to protecting himself from potential blowback, he’d also very likely feel the need to protect John. Not only is he safeguarding John’s right to control information about his own sexuality, he also may be respecting the wishes (explicit or perceived) of John’s family. Not to mention Ringo, George and the extended Beatles family, all of whom would be negatively affected by this kind of news.

In any event, IF Paul is in fact protecting sensitive, intimate information about him and John, that would be an incredible burden. And it would be a much nicer world if Beatles fans were actually kind and empathetic about it.

Thanks very much for this great ask!

[melzula]

Fire Lilies

pairing: Zuko x princess!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, forbidden lovers au

notes: this is my first zuko piece and also my first atla piece ever so pls excuse the fact that it’s a little clunky 🥺 this isn’t really canon to the show but the reader is princess of the southern Water Tribe and a water bender. also this may or may not have been inspired by the secret tunnel song... anyway, i may make a part two to this but for now enjoy!

summary: “Two lovers forbidden from one another. A war divides their people.”

Tensions between the Fire Nation and the Water Tribes had never been higher, and the possibility of war was a continuous threat that loomed over both nations. Constant efforts of parley and council meetings proceeded throughout the years, but neither side could ever seem to reach an agreement both deemed satisfactory. As chief of the Southern Water Tribe, such negotiations seemed to weigh heavily upon your father’s shoulders, and despite being the crowned Princess there was nothing you could do to help him.

“A council of negotiations is no place for a princess,” he would remind you every time you attempted to give your own insight and opinion on the troubles your people faced. Your father would leave you then in the care of your mother and your handmaidens, an apologetic kiss placed upon your forehead before his departure.

“The council is overrated anyway,” you would huff in an attempt to conceal your disappointment and annoyance at the unfairness of it all, “it’s just a bunch of angry old men who are too stubborn to set aside their differences for the sake of peace.”

And yet despite your renouncement of such a meeting, you always found yourself sneaking away from home and towards the council chambers where the negations often took place. Your people believed that women held no place in war, only meant to be gentle hands and spirits that served and guided their people. Such expectations were set even higher for Princesses, and so you were restricted to activities such as practicing your healing and providing aid to your people. You loved your tribe with all of your heart, but you found the traditions they practiced rather... well, for lack of a better term, stupid. You could be doing so much more to help if only your father would let you participate.

The stars are bright on this particular evening, a glimmer of hope that hangs over the dark blacks and reds of the Fire Nation ships arriving at the docks; it’s the southern tribe’s turn to host the meeting. You can’t see much from where you stand other than the outlines of the soldiers, guards, officials, and the royal family, but you know for a fact that the minacious figure leading the procession is none other than Fire Lord Ozai. You’d only ever crossed paths with the man once when you were four, and it had purely been an accident on your part, but you knew that if you hadn’t been the Chief’s daughter you would definitely have marks to show for the encounter.

Considering the fact that you’re the only Princess and heir to the throne, it’s surprisingly easy scaling down your balcony and sneaking off into the night without a second thought. Though you found the underestimation of women in your tribe extremely insulting, the “helpless princess” front sure kept suspicions off your back. The nation is quiet with everyone either tucked inside for the night or present at the meeting, and there is no one to stop you from hiding yourself amongst the shadows outside the meeting hall and taking a peek inside.

Various political figures sit at the long table, your father and the Fire Lord sitting at opposite ends. The atmosphere is heavy and thick, the air silent as each side dare’s the other to speak first, and perhaps part of you is glad that you don’t have to sit through such a meeting.

“What are you doing?” A voice calls, and you’re grateful for the fact that you’re able to contain your startled gasp so as to not blow your cover. You whirl around with a murderous glint in your eye and the intent to blast whoever almost gave you away with an icy cold wave of water, but your demeanor changes in an instant as you realize who the voice belongs to.

“Zuko!” You squeal, all caution thrown to the wind as you fling yourself into his arms. The sheer force of your impact sends you both toppling back onto the snow, but the prince can’t help the laugh that leaves him as he winds his arms tightly around your waist.

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you missed me,” he teases. The two of you sit up from the ground once you release him, and he watches with a fond smile as you carefully brush the snow off of his clothing.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come. Things have been so tense.”

“You know I’ll always come see you,” Zuko comforts before pressing a delicate kiss to your temple. Your relationship with the Fire Nation prince was a complicated one, but there was no denying the love you two shared.

You had first met when you were four and Zuko was five. Originally you were meant to be a playmate for Princess Azula, but she had made it clear that she would much rather torment the white hamsters than spend her time pretending to be your friend. It was Zuko who took interest in your companionship, sledding on the otter penguins with you during the day and sharing secrets at night.

“Princesses aren’t allowed to water bend, but sometimes when no one’s looking I practice my combat skills,” you had told him. “I can also do cool tricks.”

“Really? Like what?”

Zuko watched in awe as you used the water in the air to swirl the snowflakes that fell from the sky into the shape of a butterfly, delicately flapping its wings so that it landed on tip of the young prince’s nose. Joyful laughter escaped him at the sensation, and it was then at four years old that you knew the Fire Nation boy would always hold a special place in your heart.

You kept your courting a secret for the sake of making things less complicated for the both of you. It wasn’t necessarily against the rules for the two of you to be together, but it was just easier to keep it to yourselves. Keeping politics and prying eyes away from your relationship was what made it so strong; you weren’t the Fire Prince and the Water Tribe Princess when you were together, you were simply Zuko and y/n. And it was nicer that way.

“Close your eyes, I have a surprise for you,” Zuko smiles, rolling his eyes at the way your eyebrows immediately furrow in protest. “Just do it.”

With a reluctant sigh you shut your eyes and let out a small hum, waiting for whatever prize may come your way. Something gentle and sweet smelling is placed in your lap, and you open your eyes to see a bouquet of flower lilies resting upon the skirt of your dress.

“Oh, Zuko!” You gasp, picking the bundle up and admiring the beautiful petals. “They’re gorgeous.”

“I knew you’d like them,” he grins. “There aren’t many flowers around here.”

“The snow prevents anything from growing,” you agree with a small smile. “You’re so thoughtful.”

“Anything for the Princess.”

“I love you,” you profess, sighing happily as his lips meet your own in a tender kiss. Times like these were few and far between considering you both came from opposite sides and only saw each other once a month, so you liked to savor the feeling for as long as you could. However, your moment of bliss ended much sooner than you had anticipated.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Your father’s voice bellows from the entryway of the meeting hall. You’re quick to scramble onto your feet and away from Zuko, but the fire lilies are still clutched tightly in your hands.

“Father, I-I can explain,” you begin to say only for him to take hold of you by the elbow and yank you away from a terrified Zuko. The bouquet of flowers falls from your grasp and drops onto the snow.

“How dare you try and soil my daughter!”

“I-I didn’t mean any harm, sir,” Zuko tries to say, “I love and respect your daughter.”

“Love,” your father scoffs. “Fire Nation monsters aren’t capable of love. They only bring pain and heartache wherever they go. For as long as I live I never want to see you near her again, is that clear?”

“Father, you can’t!” You cry, but the deterrent glare he sends your way has you backing down in an instant. You know better than to argue with him when he has that crazed wide eyed look on his face; your father was a good man and a great chief, but he could be ruthless when it came to his people and his family- especially with you.

“Yes, sir,” Zuko utters quietly, eyes cast downward and refusing to meet your gaze. Fighting your father’s decision would only make things worse, and he doesn’t want you to suffer any more than you have to.

“Now run along child,” your father instructs gruffly, “and don’t come back.”

Zuko takes one last longing look at you, and the pleading you look you give him that begs him not to go has his heart breaking into two. Chances are this is the last time he’ll ever see you again, and he wants to commit the details of your memory permanently to his mind. He wants to remember the curve of your lips and the smoothness of your hair, the red of your cheeks from the cold and the tears that brim at the corners of your sparkling eyes. You are beautiful, ever since you were children he thought so, and in his mind he’d always remember you as the Princess with the snow butterfly and the bouquet of fire lilies.

Tears steadily fall down your face as your father guides you home by the elbow, carelessly stepping on the lilies in his path. They crumple and wither under his boot much like your heart had at his banishment of your beloved Zuko.

“Your mother should have kept a better eye on you,” he mutters harshly, glancing sideways at your trembling form. If he holds any remorse for breaking your heart he doesn’t show it, and it makes you feel all the worse. “It was for your own good, y/n. You may not see that now, but someday you will.”

“What happened to keeping the peace?!” You cry in protest. “I thought you wanted our nations to come together in harmony? Zuko and I are proof that it’s possible!“

“There will be no peace,” is your father’s solemn reply. “The Fire Nation has declared war.”

A small gasp leaves your lips at his confession, your stomach tying itself into knots so tight it almost makes you want to vomit. Your father says nothing more as he hands you off to your nurse maids and orders extra guards to ensure you can’t escape again. Everything feels as if it’s come crashing down upon you, and there isn’t a single thing you can do about it.

Snow begins to fall with the departure of the Fire Nation ships, and your forgotten lilies are suffocated underneath the clean sheets of ice.

*part two

[traincat]

I feel like I've read a ton, but I'm honestly still pretty new to comics rn. That being said... What is one more day? Ik we don't like it and it happened a while ago, but that's about it [,=

Time for Spider-Man History With Traincat: Highly Controversial Storylines! And that feeling is totally normal with comics with huge canons -- you can read a ton and still have some fairly big blindspots in your understanding of the total picture. That being said, this is kind of a big one, both in terms of Spider-Man history/canon and in terms of how Spider-Man fandom functions. I would say probably no other storyline has had quite as much impact on how the fandom views and interacts with the source material as One More Day/Brand New Day. It's been the Wild West out here ever since it happened. (Which was in 2007, so like, yes, fairly long ago, especially when you look at how Spider-Man canon has evolved since, but in the grand scheme of things, also kind of recent. One More Day is not old enough to rent a car.)

So when people talk about Spider-Man's One More Day, they're usually actually talking about two related arcs: One More Day and Brand New Day. For the sake of simplicity, I'm going to be covering both. For the sake of transparency, I am going to admit that I think One More Day, as a self-contained story, is good, actually. This is controversial! I admit that! But I stand by my stupid opinions on this blog, for some reason. I think One More Day when you examine it on its own, by which I mean you ignore the decade and a half worth of canon that came after it, as a Spider-Man story and as a PeterMJ-centric story holds up under scrutiny and that people who don't like it don't like complicated love stories and might actually throw their own mothers under buses. No offense to the OMD haters. Little bit of offense to the OMD haters. Brand New Day, which is the continuation of One More Day, on the other hand -- largely bad. Very largely bad.

But let's backtrack. One More Day is a four issue crossover storyline that takes place directly after Civil War, during which Iron Man and Captain America got divorced and divvied up the superhero community and Spider-Man made some startlingly bad decisions and made a fugitive out of himself and his family in a manner that got Aunt May shot, and Spider-Man: Back in Black (Amazing Spider-Man #539–543) which examines Peter's actions immediately after Aunt May is shot and ends with him humiliating the Kingpin in front of an entire prison. One More Day consists of Amazing Spider-Man #544 -> Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #24 -> Sensational Spider-Man v2 #41 -> Amazing Spider-Man #545. In One More Day, Aunt May is dying, all of Peter's efforts to save her have thus far failed, and, consumed by guilt, he is rapidly running out of time. Approached by Mephisto, a literal demon from hell, Peter is offered a deal: Aunt May will live -- and Peter's identity, which was previously revealed to the world at large during Civil War, will once again be hidden from the memories of all but a select few -- if Peter trades him his marriage to Mary Jane. Peter and Mary Jane struggle with this, but eventually both agree to the deal. The clock strikes twelve, the deal is done, and Peter and Mary Jane's marriage fades into history.

(ASM #545) A reasonably simple premise for a story that caused so many problems -- most, I would argue, not actually the original story's fault. So obviously, this was an unpopular move -- Peter and Mary Jane had for a long time been a fan favorite Marvel couple, and in a fictional universe where most relationships are doomed as soon as they begin, the enduring Spider-Marriage was sacred ground. And then, with a snap of its fingers, it was gone: Peter wakes up in Aunt May's house, no longer married, with Mary Jane out of the picture. (She would not return to the book on any sort of consistent basis for over 50 issues.) In the wake of One More Day began Brand New Day, which is basically what it sounds like: a promised "brand new day" of "exciting" Spider-Man content and a publishing schedule where Amazing Spider-Man came out three times a month. (Which sounds good on paper but I think in practice caused more problems than it created good storylines.) Peter, newly single again, had new love interests! And also Harry Osborn was alive again for some reason! I generally like Harry's post-BND stories so that part's fine with me.

But overall? Brand New Day is a mess. It knows it wants to tread new and exciting ground with Peter -- tell new stories! ensnare new readers! make them fork out for a book three times a month. -- but it doesn't know what those stories should be. Readers who were invested in Peter and Mary Jane's relationship -- a major facet of Spider-Man comics for decades at that point -- felt rightfully betrayed that the marriage could be so easily traded in and that Mary Jane herself, perhaps the second most important figure in Spider-Man comics after Peter, could be tossed aside. From a personal point of view, I think Brand New Day fails in large part because it abandons what has always made Spider-Man such a compelling series, and that's the mix of Peter's personal life with his vigilante life. BND sees Peter with new friends, new jobs, new love interests, etc -- it is very much a brand new day! But it isn't a better day compared to the stories that came before it. I do like some post-BND stories, especially American Son (ASM #595-599) and Grim Hunt (ASM #634-637), but compared to pre-BND where I think the majority of canon is good, it's a very lacking body of work that is hurt by the way it divorced itself from the PeterMJ marriage as Spider-Man's central relationship.

"But Traincat, I thought you said you liked One More Day?" Yeaaaaah. I do. This is why I keep saying I like One More Day on its own merits, and not on the merits of the stories it opened the doors for. I like a good romantic tragedy in fiction, and the way Peter and Mary Jane's final scene in One More Day plays out is beautiful. I like the idea of Peter caught in this impossible situation, being asked to choose between two women he loves more than his own life. A really common criticism I see leveled against One More Day is that Peter should have chosen his relationship with Mary Jane over May's life, which is -- okay, I think it's weird that people keep insisting on this, not in the least because by asking Peter to sacrifice his aunt's life they're essentially demanding he commit a callous, out of character act in order to further his own interests. It's also weird because the thing is, Peter already chose Mary Jane over May -- that's what gets them into this situation. It's literally in the scene where May is shot:

(ASM #538) When the gun goes off, Peter's spider-sense kicks in, and he covers Mary Jane, leaving May in the path of the bullet. He does choose Mary Jane over May, regardless of whether he realized what he was doing. And that's why he can't make that choice a second time. His actions in One More Day do make sense for him as a character, whether or not any individual reader likes them, and Mary Jane's actions make sense, too -- after all, she's the one who ultimately tells Mephisto that they agree to the deal when Peter can't bring himself to voice it.

A lot of people also like to nitpick One More Day by going, well, why could (x) or (y) with life saving powers save Aunt May which is like -- yeah, I guess, but if we're going to ask that about this specific comic book near death setup, you kind of have to do it with every single one, and I'm not going to stake every single moment of comic book drama on whether or not that gold kid from the X-Men was busy at the time. Comics are soap operas in flimsy paper form: serialized longform storytelling that relies heavily on melodrama. Sometimes you have to go with things. Sometimes you sell your marriage to the devil. Stuff happens. That in and of itself doesn't make One More Day a bad story -- and while some people blame the Spider-Marriage's dissolution entirely on One More Day, I think that's a little shortsighted when you look at the history of Spider-Man since the turn of the century. It's clear -- and Marvel themselves have been perhaps a little too open about this -- that Marvel in the past few decades has had trouble with the direction they want to take Spider-Man. They WANTED Spider-Man to appeal to a distinctly youthful audience that they didn't think they were actually reaching -- understandable, considering that Marvel nearly went bankrupt around 2000 and was saved by Ultimate Spider-Man, an out of main continuity series which retold Spider-Man from the beginning and focused heavily on Peter as a teen -- but the problem was Spider-Man in the main continuity was at that point in canon a happily married man who was pushing the dreaded 30 whether or not they wanted to admit that. This is also why Marvel has continually pivoted away from Spider-Man having kids, because they feared that making him a dad would age him too much and make him unrelatable to their coveted audience of Teens. (This is also why almost every new Spider-Man property, especially the live action movies, perpetually stick him back into high school, despite that occupying a very small slice of 616 canon.) So around the year 2000, they started trying things in relation to the Spider-Marriage, which was viewed as a major problem -- after all, what's more adult than being married and liking your wife. First, they had Mary Jane presumed dead. Then, they had Mary Jane and Peter separate. Then, when Mary Jane and Peter had only recently gotten back together, One More Day struck. If One More Day specifically hadn't gone the way it had, it's pretty clear that the Spider-Marriage was going to go one way or another -- it's a little bit of a shame it happened when it did, because OMD is the end of J Michael Straczynski's run, and JMS wrote a really beautiful Peter and MJ relationship. But Marvel as a company and especially editor in chief at the time Joe Quesada viewed Peter and Mary Jane's relationship as a major problem in how they wanted to portray Spider-Man and thought that striking the relationship from the books would allow them more freedom in their portrayal of him as younger and more relatable to their Desired Audience of people who I guess really wanted to see Peter sleep with characters who weren't Mary Jane.

(ASM #546. Younger! Fresher! Less attached! Kissing random women in the club!)

The problem with One More Day has always been in the follow through -- from the content of Brand New Day to the pacing of events to the fact that Marvel withheld key information for such a long time that it allowed misinformation to thrive. After all, what does it MEAN to trade Peter and Mary Jane's marriage to the devil? It altered the events of canon in Peter and the majority of other characters' memories so that the marriage didn't exist, but it left people wondering -- did the relationship as they remembered it existed? How much of Spider-Man canon was altered? And the answers didn't come for over 100 issues of Amazing Spider-Man. One Moment In Time or OMIT (Amazing Spider-Man #638-641), which revealed that while Peter and Mary Jane never got married in the altered canon they did continue their long committed relationship up until just after Civil War, was published in 2010, so essentially readers were hung out to dry without answers for three years. That's a long time to string people along, but not as long as it took Marvel to confirm that the popular fan theory that Mary Jane retained her memories of the original timeline as part of her own deal with Mephisto was also true, which happened this year. I would say, at least from my perspective, a lot of the frustration doesn't come from the individual One More Day storyline so much as how Marvel has continually dragged out the aftermath, using the promise of a Spider-Marriage return to keep fans on the hook. Which is why One More Day continually comes up in discussion of current Spider-Man, because Spencer's run has relied very heavily on imagery from that period with a serious question of whether or not there actually was going to be payoff, something which is still up in the air.

This has been Spider-Man History With Traincat, brought to you by anonymice like you.

[nugnthopkns]

don’t say you miss me

word count: 5.5k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, references to sex but nothing explicit, cursing, recreational drug use (marijuana), alcohol consumption, there is no happy ending

recommended listening: overnight | maggie rogers

series masterpost: here

a/n: second installment of hiiapl! little overnight inspired ditty that i’m actually pretty proud of. i’m having so much fun with this it’s insane

You had never meant to get attached.

It was a lot easier said than done – especially with Kevin. He was loud and obnoxious, sure, but it was part of his charm. When you first met him, outside a club in downtown Winnipeg, you were blown away by his duality. He had been so loud with his group but quietly brought you a bottle of water after you puked on the sidewalk. After insisting you take his number so you could let him know you got home safely, Kevin convinced you to go to dinner with him. One meal turned into several and before you knew it you were engaged in a casual fling with the Winnipeg Jets’ newest centre. It was mostly sex, with the ocasional interaction outside of the bedroom, but something about Kevin made it feel like more than just a hookup. Over the few months you slept together your feelings shifted, and you began to harbour a rather large crush.

Just when you were going to take the leap and talk to Kevin about getting serious fate reared its ugly head. After only being in Winnipeg for six months, electing to not return to Massechusettes right away after the Jets playoff run finished, Kevin was traded out of the city. The news split your heart in two – there was no way the two of you could become a couple. Though long distance could have been an option, you weren’t going to ask him to commit to that. Being a professional athlete is tough as is, and having a girlfriend a six hour flight away was extra stress you refused to put on Kevin. 

The last night you spent with Kevin was emotional. Lots of tears were shed, mostly from you. You knew he was compartmentalizing it all and trying to not let you know how much the trade was affecting him. Whenever the two of you had talked about hockey, Kevin was always quick to mention how much he loved Winnipeg and how much he wanted to stay. Neither of you talked much, too focussed on wallowing in sadness and committing each other’s bodies to memory. He left the next morning, and there was a silent agreement that whatever the two of you had was over. It was fun while it lasted but now you both have to be adults and get on with life. 

☼☼☼☼

Nearly six months later you consider yourself to be getting on with life just fine. You’ve got a better paying job, a new apartment, and enthusiastically throw yourself into any project that’s presented. To others, however, you’re barely hanging on. Any time you get a text notification, you hold your breath until a name flashes that isn’t Kevin’s. A notification from Instagram saying he viewed your story makes your heart beat three times as fast. You constantly check for updates on how he’s playing, and watch as many Flyers games media blackouts will allow just to catch a glimpse of his face. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t shake Kevin Hayes. 

“They’ll be in town this weekend,” your best friend Rachel says. “Are you gonna reach out to him?”

You nearly drop the carton of chinese food you’re eating on the floor. “I didn’t know that,” you stammer, trying to make your surprise believable. Kevin will be back in Winnipeg for the first time since being traded. You knew this already, of course, because you have the Flyers scheduled imprinted in your memory.

She narrows her eyes at you. “Don’t fucking lie to me. You knew they were coming to town. The NHL app stays open on your phone at all times.”

Caught in your lie, you can do nothing but duck your head. You’ve thought a lot about what you’re going to do. Should you send him a text, let him know you’re available after the game? Or should you ignore him completely and make it seem as though you’re doing much better than you are?

“I don’t know Rach. I’ve never had a sort of ex come back to the city he left me in.”

“He didn’t necessarily want to leave you,” Rachel points out. “He got traded. If you want my two cents, I don’t think you should give him a call. You need to move on, not stay stuck in the past.��

Your friend is right, and you know that’s what you should do. Moving on from Kevin would be easier if you didn’t try to contact him. He hasn’t reached out to you so you assume you’re the only one in the relationship still struggling to come to terms with his departure. You struggle with the decision until puck drop, but ultimately decide against texting him. It simply wouldn’t be beneficial for your fragile heart. 

A small group of friends has gathered at Rachel’s to watch the game. You’re lucky, or unlucky, to run with a crowd of die-hard Jets fans who get together any time they play, whether it’s at someone’s house or a sports bar around the corner from the arena. Though you tried your best to get out of it tonight, making up any excuse you can think of to stay at home and sob quietly into a pillow, Rachel knows better than to let you be alone and forces you to be in attendance. 

It’s a pretty quiet game with the Jets dominating the first two periods. The Flyers are sluggish, not connecting passes and taking far too many penalties. You’re pretty sure Winnipeg has it in the bag when the puck drops for the final twenty minutes of play, so you turn your attention away from the television, picking up a conversation with Christina, the girl your friend Tyler brought along. 

Some choice words must have been said to the Flyers in the intermission because they come out swinging. Before you can comprehend what’s happening, they’ve tied the game. The period is full of contact, with multiple players from each team spending time in the penalty box. Your attention is once again returned to the large screen for the final few minutes, and your jaw drops as you watch Kevin dangle through the Jets defence to sink the puck into the back of the net. It turns out to be the game winning goal, and you sit in silence as your friends pay up the money they lost in bets and check their updated fantasy pool standings. Maybe you should text him. 

“Don’t fucking do it,” you hear Rachel whisper in your ear. Your other friends know of your past with Kevin, they were around and spent some time with him, but they don’t know how much you were still holding on. Everyone besides Rachel assumes you’re alright – that Kevin is just a blip in your past. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, but tuck your phone back into the pocket of your jeans. It stays there – out of sight, out of mind – until it buzzes some time later. Expecting it to be your mother hounding you for not calling in a while, you pull it out. A message from Kevin flashes and you go whiter than a ghost. 

Taking the boys out celebrating the big win. You in? 

The words, so casual, feel like a punch to the stomach. Why the months of radio silence just to ask to see him like you’re friends? Making sure that no one is paying attention to you, you quickly type out a reply. 

That’s not a good idea and you know it Kevin. 

You send the message and immediately turn off your phone. This way you won’t have to deal with the aftermath until much later. You allow other things to hold your attention and don’t head home until you’re so tired that it will be impossible for you to think about Kevin’s text. 

When you power your phone back up in the morning, you’re shocked to find that Kevin never responded. He obviously didn’t care too much about your absence, and part of you wonders if he was just being polite. It doesn’t make sense, but instead of letting your brain overthink the lack of response you throw yourself headfirst into cleaning your apartment. Hours later it’s spotless, and you slump onto the couch in a pile of exhaustion. You check your social media notifications, a few mentions from your friends about the shenanigans you all got up to the night before and your sister tagging you in a post letting you know she’d like to visit a specific beach the next time she comes to visit. Kevin’s profile photo sits at the top of your instagram feed, and before you can stop yourself you click to view his story. 

It’s a snapshot of his teammates with bright smiles on their faces. Each of them is holding a can of beer, and a few look as though they shared a joint before entering the establishment. The photo is captioned ‘glad to be back in winterpeg’ and is accompanied by a couple of snowflake emojis. Your heart clenches inside your chest – it hurts more than you thought it would to see him enjoying himself as though he has no bittersweet feelings about being back. It would be beneficial to unfollow Kevin, but you can’t force yourself to pull the metaphorical trigger and completely cut him from your life. 

Kevin leaves the next day for Vancouver. You know this because you watch his story yet again, and curse yourself for grasping at straws. Why must he have such a strong hold on you after so long? A call to Rachel has her driving to your place in minutes, ready to hold you while you cry and distract you from the pain that still lingers from his first departure.

☼☼☼☼

It’s easier to forget Kevin without him being in the city – you do your best, and eventually it sort of sticks.

He no longer crosses your mind every few days. You go weeks, sometimes a month or two, without thinking about him. It’s nice to no longer get sad when you enter a bar you frequented with him or wince when someone mentions how he’s playing. It also helps that he never returns to Winnipeg. 

There’s no reason for him to. The Flyers don’t play another away game against the Jets the rest of season, and as far as you know he doesn’t frequently talk to his old teammates. Your life fades into a quiet routine you come to love dearly. The world feels balanced for the first time since Kevin left and you’re nothing but thankful. 

Life moves on, and you find yourself succeeding in your career – so much so that you’re quickly offered a promotion. The change increases your workload and doesn’t leave you much of a life outside of work, but it doesn’t matter much to you. It’s a welcome distraction and keeps thoughts of Kevin out of your mind. No one comments on your genuine improvement, but you know they can see it. Rachel is proud, and she’s told you exactly once. It’s all you’ll get out of her so you take it and roll with it. The rest of the regular season passes without you so much as knowing, or caring, and before you know it there’s a notification for an article saying the Flyers were eliminated in the second round. For the first time you find it really hard to care.

☼☼☼☼

Summers in Winnipeg are your favourite. The city is warm for the first time all year and the flowers look beautiful in full bloom. With the promotion you’re afforded more vacation time, which you plan to take full advantage. There’s nothing you love more than hanging with friends in the sun, soaking up the rays, and casually drinking. 

The days bleed into one another in the way that all good summers should, and before you realize it it’s your last day at work for a week. It will be nice to be free from workplace constraints for a while, and your friends have the time off as well. The group of you are heading to a cabin on Falcon Lake where you’re sure lots of partying will take place. You suggested getting farther away, but settled on the area in case Tyler’s sister goes into labour. He’s a very family oriented person and offered to watch his nephew when the time comes. 

Four o’clock comes faster than you ever could have imagined, and you cheerfully wave goodbye to your co-workers. Some complain of your ability to leave during the busiest season of the year, but most of them wish you well. You put an immense amount of work into your job regardless of the quarter and know you deserve the break. If you don’t stop at the grocery store on your way you’ll be in trouble since you’re in charge of all the breakfasts and you currently only have a half-eaten loaf of bread that could go stale any day. 

You’re in the cereal aisle, deciding whether or not you really need Honey Nut Cheerios for the trip, when you hear his unforgettable voice. It’s loud and booming and brings back so many feelings that you’ve learned to repress that you turn on your heel and head to the nearest self checkout despite only gathering half the items on your list.

Back in your car, you dial Rachel’s number and try to regulate your breathing. 

“Hello?”

You don’t bother with any formalities. “Kevin is here.”

“In Winnipeg?” she asks, more than a tad confused. “Why would he be in Winnipeg?”

The interior of the Ford Escape you drive feels too small, so you crack a window and peel out of the parking space. Rachel’s voice reverberates throughout the car thanks to the bluetooth system. “I don’t fucking know, but he’s here.”

“I don’t think that’s possible Y/N,” Rachel says, always the realist. “He lives in Boston. What would he be doing in Winnipeg in the middle of July?”

You aren’t sure, and make sure to tell her so. “But it was him,” you swear. “He was in the grocery store.” You stop at a red light, placing your blinker on and checking both ways before turning right. A few more minutes and you’d be safely tucked away in your apartment, away from the world and the possibility of running into Kevin.

“There’s like a hundred tall gingers in the city babe, you didn’t see him.”

“You’re right, I didn’t see him,” you agree. “I heard him. How many tall gingers are there in Winnipeg with Boston accents?”

“Oh fuck. I’m coming over.” With that, Rachel hangs up, and you pull into the parking garage. You sit in silence for a minute or two before deciding your shaking legs can hold you upright. Perhaps you weren’t as over Kevin as you thought. 

Rachel spends the rest of the afternoon and evening with you, ensuring you don’t do anything stupid and letting you spew all your feelings, both good and bad. More than one bottle of wine is consumed, but you have more than enough time to nurse a hangover. If you play your cards right through the week this won’t be the only time you do it either. 

You wake up on top of your pristine sheets, Rachel grumbling beside you – she’s never been as good at holding her alcohol.

“What time is it?”

The alarm clock on your bedside table flashes a few numbers and you have to stare at them for a minute before you comprehend them. “Just after eight,” you say, sitting up. Surprisingly, you feel fine. Maybe the crippling weight of your feelings for Kevin cancels out the hangover you most definitely should be feeling. 

“We need to get going. Gotta pack the car and hit the road. I’m the one who needs to get the keys so we have to be there before everyone else,” she sighs, grumbling something else under her breath as her feet hit the floor. 

You just laugh at her and head into the kitchen. While Rachel showers you make coffee and pack the food into the ancient cooler your father gave you when you moved out many moons ago. It has served its purpose on several trips like this – you’ll be sad to see it go eventually. You switch places with Rachel, and once you’re feeling refreshed the two of you stuff your trunk and hit the road. 

The drive is rather uneventful, with the both of you sitting in silence, and it doesn’t take you long to approach your destination. Rachel is a poor navigator so you’re tasked with figuring out where you’re going and making sure you get there, but it could be worse. You have a general sense of where you’re going. Getting the keys is painless and you get to work unpacking your overloaded SUV.

“Do you think there will be other people around we can party with?” Rachel asks as you close the trunk for the last time. 

You shrug. “Don’t know Rach. It doesn’t look like it.”

She drops it, agreeing with you, and you separate to unpack your personal belongings. The cabin is large enough that no one has to share a room, which you’re grateful for. Though you love your friends dearly, they don’t always know what personal space is. At some point in the afternoon the rest of the group trickles in, and by dinner you’ve all settled and are ready to party. 

Tyler figures out how to use the ancient barbeque and sets to work cooking the burgers. Everyone else gets side dishes ready or sets the table, with Christine starting a bonfire. You don’t know her well, only having met her a few times, but your friend seems to be infatuated with her. She fits in great with the group so you aren’t worried about any awkward tension. Dinner passes in a fit of giggles and shouts, and once the dishes are done you can relax fully. 

The beer you grab from the fridge on your way out the door makes your insides fuzzy in the best way possible. By the fire, surrounded by those who care about you the most, you feel at peace. You’re yet to think about the sudden reappearance of Kevin in Winnipeg, and you’d like to keep it that way. Someone grabs the beat up acoustic guitar you found in the living room and thrusts it in your direction. You’d taught yourself to play in college, and it comes in handy for times like this. 

“I refuse to play Wonderwall,” you laugh, shooting pointed looks at each and every person sitting around you. 

“Come on Y/N,” Rachel groans. “Just once?”

“Fuck off.”

You don’t mean it, of course, and strum the opening chords with a grimace on your face. Tyler counts everyone in and they sing for you, which is appreciated. You might be decent at playing, but your singing voice is one that shouldn’t see the light of day if it can be helped. It’s more fun than you imagined it could be so one song turns into three, and before you know it your makeshift jamboree attracts the attention of the neighbours you didn’t know existed. 

Applause erupts from behind you, and you flush enough that your cheeks warm significantly. “You guys are so good I hate to disrupt the rhythm,” a deep voice says, “But do you mind if a buddy and I join you? We’re a little lonely by ourselves next door.”

Tyler’s out of his seat in a heartbeat, jumping up to pat the man on the back. “Of course man, come on over! I’m Tyler, and that’s Rachel, Christine, Marshall, and Y/N.”

You all wave politely, and the mystery guest introduces himself. “Nice you meet you guys. I’m Nolan.”

It’s then you get a good look at who you’re speaking to. He seems to be a few years younger than you, maybe early twenties, and he has a face you just can’t place. Maybe you’ve seen him around Winnipeg – the city is small enough that you can often spot the same faces in a crowd. “I’ll just yell at him to come over and we can get the party started,” Nolan explains, “Kev, bud, come on over! And bring a couple beers.”

All the blood rushes from your fingers at the name. You shake them intensely, willing your circulatory system to function properly again. If you had to hazard a guess there’s probably a million people in Manitoba named Kevin. There’s no reason for it to be Kevin Hayes. You’re most certainly still spooked from your near encounter with him yesterday. 

“Fuck Patty, you couldn’t come back and grab your own?” the emerging figure grumbles in the vocal stylings you’ll have imprinted on your heart until your dying day. Kevin is here, and if you don’t leave in the next few seconds you’ll be face to face with him for the first time in over a year. 

You stand abruptly, not stopping to explain your hasty exit to anyone, and practically run into the house. The door slams behind you and you do your best to make your heart rate return to normal. Tyler shouts something you can’t quite comprehend, but you know it’s probably some sort of reconnection greeting. He’d met Kevin a couple of times while the two of you were together and had gotten along with him well. 

“Hey,” Rachel whispers, “You good?”

You hadn’t heard her come in. “Not really,” you admit. “I mean like I knew he was in town but never in a million years did I think he’d crash my fucking vacation.”

She nods in agreement. “What do you want to do?”

“Stay in here forever?” An eye roll is sent your way but you choose to ignore it. “I’m serious Rach, I can’t go back out there, at least not tonight. Every time I think I’m over him he finds a way to make me realize I’m just faking.”

“I know,” Rachel says simply. She really does – as your best friend she’s privy to your every thought on the matter. After making sure that you'll be okay she heads back outside, armed with an excuse for your early departure. 

You spend the rest of the night tucked under the covers, listening to the laughter of your friends outside, no doubt in your mind that Kevin is the source for most of it. He’s always been good at commanding an audience. Thoughts swim freely in your brain, most of them occupied by Kevin in some capacity. Was tonight just a one off? Will you have to eventually face him? What will you say? Eventually sleep comes, though it’s fitful and fleeting. 

☼☼☼☼

You do your best to avoid Kevin, and it works for a day or two. Tyler has stricken up a friendship with the athlete, and spends more time with him and Nolan than your group. You don’t mind all that much because they typically are out on Nolan’s boat or lounging in their cabin, but every night the group reconvenes at your firepit. The excuses are starting to run out – there’s only so many times you can say you have heat exhaustion before someone stops believing you.

“Y/N, Kevin hasn’t even mentioned you,” Tyler whines one night after dinner. “It won’t be awkward. We only have a few days left, please spend time with us?”

“I’m spending plenty of time with you,” you grumble. “You promise he won’t say anything?”

Tyler shoots you a smile that lets you know he knows that he’s broken down your resolve. “Why would he? If he was going to do it he would have already.”

You aren’t sure if that makes you feel better or worse. You’re glad he’s faring better than you, but on the other hand you wish he’d at least make an effort to inquire into your well-being. Maybe it was simply proof that you were still holding onto something that didn’t mean much of anything. Eventually you’d have to face the music, whether it be with Kevin or someone in the future, so you make the decision to try and at least get used to seeing former flames in social settings. 

“You’re rolling my joints tonight asshole,” you grumble, shoving your sock clad feet into a pair of worn out sandals. 

There’s a small commotion, mostly in excitement at your begrudging agreement, and you roll your eyes as you grab what is destined to be your first of many beers from the fridge. Rachel slides up beside you on the way out the door and squeezes your hand, letting you know she’s ready to support you no matter what happens. It’s comforting, and the nerves in your stomach settle a small amount. 

Marshall is already outside, helping Nolan start the fire. They seem to be extremely similar and you’re glad they can seek each other out when the rest of the group gets too rambunctious. The rest of your party filters out of the house and takes up residence in the adirondack chairs. Kevin doesn’t appear to be around, so you allow yourself to speak freely, loud and unabashed. 

“No I’m telling you,” you insist, trying to convince Nolan your stance on Jack Antonoff is correct. “Jack is literally responsible for reinventing pop production.”

He laughs at how into the conversation you are. “Why the fuck should I care?”

“Because you fucking listen to Lorde!” 

Someone else is laughing along with you and it nearly stops you in your tracks. At some point Kevin had joined the party, but you hadn’t noticed. Knowing that he was listening makes you suddenly self conscious, and you wrap your sweater tighter around your shoulders. Nolan can tell you’re uncomfortable and does his best to relieve the tension. 

“Kev, do you wanna run back and grab the weed?” he asks. 

The auburn haired man pulls a baggie out of his hoodie pocket. “Got it right here baby cat,” he grins. “And it’s ready to go. You got a light?”

Nolan tosses him the lighter and Kevin expertly puts the joint between his parted lips. He lets the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling, and you watch him more intently than you should. You’re thrown back to the memories of Kevin’s apartment downtown, where you’d smoke in content silence after a night of passionate sex. The scenes flash in your mind and you’re overcome with melancholia. You had been so happy in the moment, and now you’re in a similar situation but feel nothing. Other than sharing in your laughter, Kevin is yet to say anything to you. 

You must have been lost in your thoughts, because Kevin is staring at you with a quizzical expression. “Y/N? Do you want a hit?”

It takes you a second to snap out of your daze, but to cautiously take the lit joint from his hand. “Thank you Kevin,” you say, voice timid. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since he left Winnipeg for the first time. 

He shoots you a dazzling smile and your insides threaten to turn to mush. No matter how hard you’ve tried to convince yourself you over him, that you’ve moved on from Kevin, you know you’re wrong. Kevin Hayes will have some sort of hold on you until you die. To distract yourself from the overwhelming amount of emotion you inhale deeply, hoping that the buzz smoking will bring can clear your mind. You really don’t want to think about what you lost when he’s right in front of you. 

The three of you sit in silence, passing the joint in a circle, and listen to the conversation your friends are engaged in. Marshall ropes Nolan into a game of cornhole and he goes begrudgingly. As he stands he sends you a sympathetic look, and you know that he’s familiar with your history with Kevin. It doesn’t surprise you – Kevin isn’t exactly one to keep secrets. 

“So,” Kevin says once it’s just the two of you, “How have you been?”

You do your best to swallow the lump in your throat. “I’ve been good. Work has been crazy lately, so this break has been really nice.”

He presses, and you indulge him in a conversation about your new job, though it can barely be considered that now. Everything is surface level – you’re afraid of letting Kevin in too much. Though your fling may have been brief, it didn’t make his departure or the lack of contact any easier. He tells you about his life in Philadelphia and how much he loves it there. Before you can stop yourself, you ask him a loaded question. 

“Do you like it more than Winnipeg?”

Kevin falters. It takes both of you a moment to process what you said. Not one to lie, he answers truthfully. “Yeah.” It comes out in a sort of deflated sigh. “But I miss –”

“Don’t say it,” you rush, trying hard to keep your voice down. “You don’t mean it.”

An embittered huff comes from him, and you watch carefully as he peels the worn ball cap off his head and tugs on his curls. “I do,” he insists. “I absolutely miss you.”

You no longer care who can hear you. “If you missed me, you would have texted. Called. Anything,” you say cooly. Everyone else has clued in to the fact that something is going on between you and Kevin, and have migrated inside in an attempt to give you privacy.

“I did. You’re the one who said it wasn’t a good idea to see each other again.”

“Because it had been over half a year!” you shriek. “And it had been radio silence before then. You left Kevin, and I’m not blaming you. I know it’s your job. But you left and it was so fucking hard, and it stung because you didn’t even try. So when you hit me up after that game I knew I had to say no. Because no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I’m still so in love with you that if you asked I’d uproot my life and follow you to Philly. I don’t want to be that girl.”

The outburst leaves you gasping for breath. Never before had you spilled heartache so fast – with a sort of reckless abandon. Anytime you’ve had these types of conversations you’ve been calm and collected. You’re currently the farthest thing from it. 

Kevin’s expression softens, and a sadness fills his eyes. “I was scared,” he begins, “Because for the first time in my life I was with someone I could see spending the rest of my life with. Sure, we weren’t serious, but I was going to take it there. Then I got traded and the plans I had went to shit and I was too scared to do anything about it. So I let you slip away.”

Silence fills the space between you. You don’t know what to say, so you focus on unraveling the loose thread from the hem of your cardigan. Kevin shuffles in his seat awkwardly. “Where do we, uh, go from here?”

The question shocks you. To the best of your understanding, you had made it perfectly clear where your relationship was headed. “Nowhere,” you breathe. “You head back to Philly, meet another girl, and fall in love. I stay here, do my job, and learn to be content with myself.”

“There’s no room for us in your little plan?”

“We’ve run our course Kev. As much as I still love you, will always love you, we’re too fundamentally different for us both to really be happy in a relationship. You have to know that.”

He nods. “I do.” With that, Kevin rises from the chair, gives you a sad smile, and leaves. You assume he’s calling it a night, and you wish to do the same. Finally having that conversation was exhausting and all you want to do is sleep for the next twelve hours. 

☼☼☼☼

The rest of the trip passes without you seeing Kevin again. He and Nolan left early the morning after your conversation, and you do your best to enjoy yourself. Part of your brain makes you believe you’re the reason they left, though Tyler tells you otherwise. No one asks about what happened between you two, not even Rachel, and you return to the city determined to start anew. Eventually you break the cycle of obsessing over Kevin’s stats, and take it upon yourself to unfollow him on social media. Life goes on. 

Things never really get easier. You still find yourself grieving the loss of Kevin, late at night when you can’t sleep, but are confident in your decision to say goodbye for good. Time heals everything, and eventually you’ll be okay. 

☼☼☼☼

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