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youcancallmeelle · 1 month

Text

Are we on the same side?

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI!!!)

Word count: 8K

Pairing: Separated husband!Joel Miller x wife!reader

Summary: Joel and you are trialling temporary separation due to repeated arguments with one another after nearly twenty years of marriage.

He returns to the marital home to do you a favour, flirting ensues and the sexual tension gets out of hand because of course it does.

You may need some clarification on what you are…

AO3

You put up the hearts, and I'll put up both my aces Not very far apart Still on different pages

Before having kids, you used to take every moment of your life for granted.

You were just a kid yourself back then, when you had two babies with a boy who shared your class and you were so in love you couldn’t fathom a life without him. For years you were Mama, the person who fed them and changed them, bathed them and rocked them to sleep. You worked night shifts while the love of your life worked in the day, all so food could be put on the table and an apartment could be kept to keep you all warm and safe. It wasn’t until a few years ago when your kids gained their own independence that you slowly started to regain your own life back, now you were nearly forty and working a job that gave you more freedom even if the stress levels have gotten to you more than once and your marriage… well that’s a separate issue on its own.

You’d spent the morning doing things you wanted to, thanking whoever that your kids were teenagers who could do their own breakfast and helped with chores without coaxing. You’ve been to pilates and the salon and had your infills done, your nails a glossy shade of pillar box red in an almond shape and your toes the same colour. You’d even managed to grab a Starbucks and sipped it languidly as you people watched from the safety of your car, enjoying your chosen playlist on Spotify without the bluetooth getting hijacked. The icing on the cake though? The fact you got to shower at home without someone barging in to ask for foundation or to borrow your strapless bra or your new Adidas Superstars.

It’s mid way through Saturday afternoon that your relaxation comes skidding to a halt in the form of your jaded lover knocking heavily against the pane of glass on your front door, the irritating noise makes you scowl and you drag your feet to answer it.

You crack it open, familiar brown eyes stare at you and yours narrow back.

“What are you doing here?” You ask flatly, the male on the other side picks up on your terse mood and his shoulders rise defensively. If it wasn’t for the little disagreement you’d had a few days prior on the phone over something as mundane as renewing car insurance, you’d have probably been more excited to see him but the way he can sometimes undermine you really grates on your nerves, you hate that he gets so swept up in work that he comes home and talks to you like he’s your foreman.

The minute he’d started questioning your choice like a fucking know it all, you’d merely hung up in irritation, refusing to answer when he’d called you back twice to apparently try and patch it over. You’d read the I’m sorry and I love you more than you’ll ever know text he sent after over and over, trying to figure out how things had come to this.

Nearly two decades together, married, with children and a house. You and Joel Miller have been torn apart by too many petty arguments that end with you sobbing and him walking away, you’d had to call it and come up with a possible solution with the marriage counsellor before it was too late.

He huffs and lifts his hand, showing you the toolbox you’ve seen many times with its contents strewn about somewhere in your house.

“A little birdie told me that you’re in need of a repair.” Joel’s lip twists at the side when your mood seems to perk just a fraction, there’s multiple things that need a little TLC right now but he can certainly worm his way back into your good books with a good old fashioned repair. You can only assume the little birdie was Sarah or Ellie.

You open the door fully and step backwards so all six foot something of him can meander through your front door, he wipes his feet on the welcome mat and toes his sneakers off, nudging them into the neat space where a tattered pair of Vans have been kicked off hard enough to scuff the wall and a pair of spotless ankle boots have been nicely placed beside your shoes.

“Where’s the babies?” He frowns, looking around and noticing the lack of noise.

You smile as you shut the door behind him as he refers to the girls as his babies, despite Sarah being eighteen and Ellie just turned fourteen.

With them both being girls, he’s soft anyway but Sarah is his first born who made him a father and Ellie’s still his tiny baby who he’s soaked up every second of when she was a newborn because you both knew you weren’t having any more children.

“At the movies together watching Twisters, Garret backed out on Sarah so Ellie went instead.” You inform him, sneaking an appreciative glance from the corner of your eye.

Joel makes a noise at the mention of Sarah’s boyfriend, never having liked him for whatever reason, you think it’s because they’re eerily alike so therefore clash.

“Little prick will be back hangin’ around here next week.” He grumbles, placing his toolbox on the bottom step.

“She’s just going through the universal thing of falling for a country boy.” You tease.

“Well as long as he don’t get her pregnant before graduation then we won’t have a problem.”

“She’s smarter than us.” You say.

“I know.” Joel agrees, you sneak one more glance at the country boy who got you pregnant before graduation.

He’s wearing slim fitting black sweatpants with a worn grey t-shirt with a faded motif on, the chain of his St Christopher barely noticeable beneath it and his thick rimmed glasses are perched on his nose.

You miss the hungry look he shoots you when you turn away, chestnut coloured eyes drifting low to the denim shorts you wear that he’s sure you’ve had since you were in your twenties. They fit snug and are contoured perfectly to the shape of your ass, your cheeks barely peeking out. What really makes his dick hard is the fact you’re wearing one of his sweatshirts, an old Dallas Cowboys one that you’ve always been particularly fond of.

“Nice flowers. Who got ya those?” He nods with a smirk towards the vase on the side table that’s filled with blooming peonies and baby’s breath.

The beautiful arrangement of flowers had arrived the morning after your petty argument with Joel, a gift from the universe if you will when you needed something bright and blooming to drag you out of the despair you were frantically becoming encased in.

“Oh.” You hum and feign ignorance, reaching out to gently touch the edge of a baby pink peony. “Just a friend.” You smile vaguely, Joel rolls his eyes. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“A guy sent them?” He presses, shifting his weight, your grin turns devious.

“Mmm.” You coo, feeling thrilled when that lick of annoyance flickers across your husband’s face at your flippant tone.

“Who?” He grins back.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Come on, I just wanna talk to him, I wanna know why he thinks it’s okay to send my wife flowers.”

“Ex wife.” You snort, Joel glares at you.

“We’re separated, not divorced. Y’know what, we’re barely even separated.” He disagrees, you bite the inside of your cheek in amusement.

“Apparently you’re here to fix my shelves and you’re doing a whole lot of yapping, very unprofessional of you.” You goad, stepping backwards when he begins to saunter towards you with a certain look in his eyes.

“I’ll fix your shelves, I’ll fix anythin’ you want.” Joel mumbles, stalking you.

“Big promises.” You taunt, lifting your chin defiantly. His hands grasp your waist, pulling you to him and you let him, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck.

You love this, the playful behaviour and flirting since you decided to live apart for a while. It feels new and exciting, a rush that you felt when you first got together as youngsters just before your world flipped and you were pregnant before your frontal lobe had developed.

He smells delectable, you can’t stop yourself from nosing at his bearded jaw where his cologne is the strongest. Joel’s throat bobs, his fingers drift upwards under your borrowed sweatshirt to feel the bare skin between your shorts and bra.

As his structured jaw slides across yours and his nose just barely brushes your own, you feel his breath hit your lips and you know he really wants to kiss you but is waiting for you to make the first move.

You want to, you really do but you’re scared of falling into a false sense of security when you haven’t even scratched the surface of your underlying problems that the marriage counsellor suggested needed to be covered before you could get back on track.

Joel enjoys the way your head fits against his collarbone, loves the sweet smell of your hair and skin.

“Fix my shelf.” You huff into his skin as you retreat, he sighs deeply but picks up his toolbox and begins to follow you up the stairs with his eyes glued to your backside.

It almost feels strange for Joel to be back in your shared bedroom after three weeks away, he hasn’t been back for any extra clothes or personal items. If he’s come over to see the kids, then he’s stayed downstairs or in the garden with them.

Everything looks the same which is a strange observation given that really you’ve barely been apart for any time at all but it’s comforting to be back.

The bed is made in its usual dress up of plain white sheets with useless throw pillows stacked neatly, there’s a pile of clean laundry resting on your vanity chair but also clothes tossed on the floor where you’ve been indecisive.

Joel whistles when he sees the closet door open and the fallen shelf leaning against the door, there’s a scrape on the inside wall where it’s collided and taken the paint off. It looks like a fairly simple job, the wall plugs have probably come loose over time and needed replacing, it’s not as if IKEA is known for making indestructible furniture.

“You want the step ladder?” You question as he surveys the situation, rubbing the wall with his fingertips to see if the scrape will alleviate some.

“I think so.” He replies. “They in the garage?”

“No, Ellie’s room, she was trying to hang some fairy lights earlier but only got halfway before she threw a fit about the command hooks.” You chuckle, wandering off to go retrieve them for him, already certain he’s made a note to finish the job for her before he leaves.

When you get back, he’s got some tools ready, his drill in hand already. He steps onto the bottom rung of the step ladder, groaning as he stretches.

You observe for a moment, knowing it irks him, he hates being watched on a job.

“Jesus, it’s fuckin’ dusty up here. You’re a terrible housewife, neglectin’ your duties.” Joel pokes, knowing you won’t take a blind bit of notice.

“You wanna know why we really separated? Because you neglected your duties as a husband to satisfy your wife.” You reply easily, Joel chuckles and looks down at you.

“Oh spare me the dramatics, you’ve never been unsatisfied by me in your whole entire life.” He sings, infuriatingly he isn’t wrong.

“I’m telling the kids you were being sexist to me.” You threaten, chewing on a sinister smile. “Ellie will beat you up.”

“She won’t.” Joel grins, you mumble out a complaint. “She’s a daddy’s girl, maybe try your luck with Sarah, I’m sure she’d give me a lecture.” Not that you think he needs one, he’s the biggest supporter of you and his girls.

“They’re both Daddy’s girls, the little traitors. Nine whole months carrying them and giving birth after what felt like days and days with no fucking pain relief and this is the thanks I get? Not to mention my nipples being sucked raw.” You grumble to yourself, kicking some laundry into a pile at the side of the wall, Joel makes you jump when he groans suddenly.

“Just sayin’ but your tits were amazin’ when you were breastfeedin’ - shit, they’re still fucking phenomenal.” He sighs dreamily, closing his eyes. “Fuck, you were so hot carryin’ my babies, I’d have kept you pregnant if I had my way.”

You bite your cheeks to hide the satisfaction that your husband still wants you.

“You can’t say stuff like that to me anymore.”

“Why? We separated or somethin’?” Your husband frowns comically. “Show me your tits.”

“No.”

“Come on, just one.” He grins boyishly. “The right one is my favourite.” You stick your middle finger up at him.

“Asshole.” You sniff, walking back to lay on the end of your bed.

You pick up your phone, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook posts made by the PTA at the girls school while Joel complains about wall fixings or something equally as dull.

In the end, you get bored and toss it away, instead opting to enjoy the eye candy in the form of a senior (essentially) gentleman on a stepladder cussing about how IKEA can suck his balls.

“Piece of fuckin’ shit!” He complains when the shelf slips again in your closet, he takes a calming breath and contains his frustration, you snicker at him. “How did this even break, sweetheart?” Joel huffs, changing out for a larger wall plug.

“Dunno, it just did.” You answer vaguely, looking at your ceiling.

“Bullshit.” He quips. “Did you put too much shit on it?”

“No.” You hum, shaking your head.

“You’re a liar.” He states plainly, equally unamused. “What did you put on here that was so heavy it collapsed?”

“Nothing, maybe it was just your shoddy workmanship to begin with.” You quip, not looking at him though you desperately want to because you can imagine the outrage on his face but you won’t be able to not laugh.

“It wasn’t me that put it up.” He glares.

“Sure, whatever you say.” You smile sweetly at him. It’s quiet for a minute, then Joel speaks again.

“You put filled shoeboxes up here, didn’t you? After I told you nothin’ heavier than a few sweaters? ” He asks knowingly.

Silence and then…

“Yeah.” You nod, he sighs loudly and turns back to drill in a screw now that he seems happy with the stability.

You watch him as he works, angling himself to see better and be able to use his drill at the correct angle.

The muscles in his back move and his shoulders look unbelievably broad beneath his t-shirt, it hugs his biceps and rides up when he shifts to show a slither of his boxers and bare back.

Your mouth almost waters and you press your thighs together but it obscures your view so you part them again to peek at him through the gap in your knees.

It’s well known that your husband is an attractive man, he always has been. You’ve watched him grow from the gangly teenager with a backwards baseball cap practically glued to his head you were first besotted with to the almost middle aged and greying man that now works before you.

Most nights when it’s dark, quiet and the house is still, you pleasure yourself beneath the duvet thinking of him, hips moving frantically against the whir of your vibrator. It can be any scenario of the long time you’ve been together, two decades holds enough memories to fill books upon books with pictures and anecdotes, some that you keep stored away just for you.

Sometimes you dream about the three day honeymoon in Nashville you had when your parents forced you to get married before Sarah was born, back when you first lived in Arlington in a shitty apartment you could barely afford with you both working instead of attending college. Then there was that night just under four years later with sex so explosive that you’d had the fleeting thought you’d immediately gotten pregnant again, only to actually find out you’d been right two weeks later when you’d presented Joel with yet another positive pregnancy test before twenty five.

You chew your lip, lashes fluttering and you’re sure he notices you ogling him in the mirror that puts your reflection in his eye line by the smirk you see.

God, he pisses you off so much sometimes. He makes your cunt wet and your teeth grind all at once, you never knew that was possible.

Rolling off the bed and onto your feet, you casually turn so that your back is to him on the ladder but you’re in the perfect position in the reflection of the mirror in front of him. He doesn’t notice at first over the sound of the drilling but when it stops and he goes to test the stability of the shelf, he freezes and the arm holding his drill drops limply to his side.

He sees you begin to strip down in the mirror, shimmying your shorts down and then yanking off your oversized sweater. Joel freezes, gulping when you turn away to unclip your bra, the expanse of your back is smooth and if he thought your backside looked good in those shorts, the high cut panties you’re wearing hit on a whole other level.

“What are you doin’?” He asks when your fingers hook into the sides of your panties, they flex within the material and you peer over your shoulder at him, big doe eyes the opposite of fucking innocence.

“Just taking a shower, I’m filthy.” You titter, holding his piercing gaze through the mirror.

“Funny, you’ve done nothin’ but sit on your pretty little ass and watch me inhale dust that’s been here for the last fifteen years.”

“Well, you could always join me.” You shrug, finally slipping your underwear down your thighs, Joel’s mouth goes dry. “Only if you want to, of course.” You beam at him and then sashay away into the en suite, Joel’s resolve breaks very quickly (immediately actually) and he’s yanking off his glasses and tossing them onto the dresser and plucking his t-shirt over his head in an instant.

Maybe the solution is to fuck it out and he’ll gladly go as many times as needed, you always did need to be fucked hard when your attitude started to test him.

The shower has been switched on and you’re naked under the stream as he finishes yanking both his socks, sweatpants and boxers off. He admires you through the glass, kicking his clothes into a messy pile before climbing in there with you, the air tight and hot.

His big hands enrobe you from behind, long dexterous fingers gripping at your waist and pawing at all the exposed skin it’s been weeks since he’s seen.

You tilt your head back from the water, resting it against his shoulder and pushing back into him, holding onto his forearms and digging your nails into his flesh.

“Look who couldn’t resist, you bad boy. Whatever will the therapist say?” You mock, pouting those pretty lips.

“You’re a goddamn tease, you know that?” He growls, nipping at your jaw and earlobe, holding the weight of your breasts in his hands.

“If you say so.” You breathe sexily, dragging him by the back of his neck to meet your lips in a hungry kiss.

His cock is trapped between his soft stomach and your lower back, smearing a pearlescent gleam as he anchors himself to you.

You moan into his mouth when he teases your nipples into tight peaks, plucking them and roughly cupping your tits.

“I want to lick your pretty little pussy until you cum on my face.” He admits into your mouth, barely letting you breathe past the fierce kisses. Your clit throbs at his confession and you grab hold of his hand, guiding it down your body to between your legs where he teases your lips.

Your back arches prettily into him, the free hand holding your breast now grips your throat, forcing you to tilt your head back.

“Ah.” You whine when the roughened pads of his fingers stroke your clit. “Mmm, there.” You hum, pushing into his fingers. He entertains you, dipping his fingertips to your honey slick hole and back up again, dragging the gooey wetness to smother on your clit until it’s hardened and desperate to be sucked on like candy.

“Bet you could cum like this.” He says gruffly, beard scratching at your shoulders and neck, wherever he greedily kisses your dewy wet skin.

“Wanna cum on you, Joel.” You whine, reaching behind you to grasp his thickness. He ruts into your hand, smearing more stickiness that you want to lick away from his tip.

You absorb him similarly to a plant and the sun, the bulk of his form plastered against your back so big and strong, skin sun kissed and warm. He’s safety to you, every single thing about him, everything familiar that you know.

“Needy little slut.” He whispers, your core becomes aflame at the debauchery, you nod in confirmation. “Oh, you agree? You just need a cock to sit on and your shitty attitude will be right as rain?”

“Only your cock.” You whine, flicking your thumb against the underside of him, tracing out a vein you’re very familiar with.

“Yeah, baby. Only mine, I know, I know.” His sweet breath is hot against your cheek as he pants, fingers strumming your clit faster. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Show me how good you can be?” You hum and nod, knees almost buckling, this is the fastest you’ve approached orgasm since being separated.

“Gonna cum, Joel.” You say huskily, hips bucking into his hand until it’s only been two seconds since your revelation and you’re cumming - wet and sticky - into the palm of his hand. His mouth is on yours, you’re moaning and moving erratically, Joel’s cock is dribbling a steady stream of pre cum into your hand where you’re gripping his shaft.

“Sexy little thing.” Joel husks into your ear, biting the lob as you heave for air, slowly undulating your hips as you ride the last wave of your peak against his hand. “Good girl.” He praises, taking his hand away when you weakly push at his wrist. He lifts it in front of you, fingers webbed with your cum, runny and clear. You catch his hand, slipping his index and middle finger into your mouth, sucking them clean as he groans and ruts into the hand still around him, the cool palladium of his wedding ring bumps against your cupids bow as you suckle.

You slip his fingers out of your mouth, letting them drag down your chin and back to your tits. “Fuck me.” You demand haughtily, eyeing him.

“I’ll fuck you, baby.” He confirms, softer than you were expecting, he meets you for a kiss and you suck on the plumpness of his bottom lip before turning away. Joel slicks his hair back under the spray and then begins to trace out the curve of your waist and the fullness of your ass, you feel his hand bump you knuckle first where he fists himself to complete mast and then he runs the length of himself through your pussy, hissing at the wet heat that awaits him but he pauses, retracting back unsure.

“You want me to wear a condom?” And you freeze, looking over your shoulder in distress.

“Have you been with other people?” You frown, your heart suddenly sinking into your stomach, making your guts twist with nausea. Joel frowns down at you, blinking away the water clinging to his lashes.

“Course not.” He answers, you relax. “…Have you?” Joel presses.

“Absolutely not.” You state firmly. “So get inside me.” You demand, turning away to place your hands on the tiles. You feel him press kisses to your shoulders as the tip of his cock brushes your ass again, you sigh and push back into him. “Please, baby.” You beg, feeling him smile into your skin.

“I think you’re tryin’ to baby trap me.” Joel says playfully, pulling your hips against him so that your back arches just so.

“You had a vasectomy after Ellie, idiot.” Your hips press insistently against him and you reach back to tug at his length, your fingers barely wrapping around the girth. “Now get your dick inside me, Joel.” You demand.

“Yes, ma’am.” He leans down a fraction and slicks himself up, the entire length of him slipping against your pussy lips once more and nudging your clit. “Fuuuuck.” Joel groans when he does it again and the head of him catches on your hole, slipping inside just a fraction.

“Oh my god.” You pant, your forehead dropping to rest against the cool tiled as he fills you completely. It’s a tight fit, after over three weeks of no sex with him your body is near to combustion.

You wonder if the lack of sex has attributed to the arguments, both working long hours at your respective jobs and not having the time for the normal intimacy you usually share.

This is exactly what you’ve been wanting in the weeks you’ve been apart; a carnal desire to have your husband close.

His grunt in your ear sets something off in you, the relief he feels directly felt by you.

You whimper at the first thrust after he’s settled within your velvet lined canal, body pressed between him and the wall.

It won’t ever be like this with anyone else, you think to yourself - the way Joel fits within you, around you and alongside you.

“Like that.” You pant, pressing back. He grunts into your ear in such a manly way that you reach back to yank on his hair, he growls into your neck and fucks into you harder.

He’s so strong it makes your head spin, this gorgeous man with a heart of gold that loved you when you were young, married you and gave you two babies, helped you create a comfortable life for your family.

It’s overwhelming; that sensation of being full and enveloped within the heat of his radius.

You’ve missed everything about him; his smell, his voice, the way he tastes. You’ve ached for the things you’ve harmlessly bickered about before, such as underwear outside of the hamper, smudges of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror after a deep clean, crumbs on the island.

You don’t mean to let your emotions get the best of you but your eyes well and your throat tightens, your chest constricts something fierce.

The sob that erupts out of your chest can’t be disguised by the noise of the water hitting the floor at your feet or the soft groans of Joel, not the breathless whines from yourself either.

It’s a raw noise, jagged at the edges so much that it hurts leaving your throat.

“Honey?” Immediately Joel has stopped moving and withdrawn, spinning you around to cup your cheeks. “Why are you cryin’?” He presses insistently, thumbs trying to swipe away your tears. Your cheeks are aflame, embarrassed to have spoilt such an intimate moment after so long.

“I just - I just missed you.” You whimper, tucking your nose into his bicep. He cradles you to him softly beneath the spray, hushing you gently. This makes you cry more, thinking about how he’s held your babies like this; tenderly like they’re the most fragile beings made entirely of glass. “Everything feels wrong! And… and…” You sniffle wetly. “And I can’t sleep properly without you and your dumb old man snoring!”

“Oh, baby.” He chuckles into your hair.

“I don’t like the whole limited contact stuff either.” You mumble.

“Neither do I but it’s what was suggested and I think we need to try it, if we don’t like it then that’s a good sign.” He tries to pick your mood up, you pout and nod, leaning into his touch.

“I’m scared we won’t fix this and I’ll have to watch you start dating someone else.”

“I’m not gonna date anyone else, lady. I only want you, I’ve only ever wanted you.” He tells you.

“That’s not true.” You hiccup. “Brandi Neil wanted you and you were going to go to Homecoming with her.”

“Fuckin’ - that was literally over twenty somethin’ years ago and I went with you in the end!” He huffs indignantly. “Come on, let’s get dry and we can talk some more.” Joel guides you out of the shower with a gentle hand, turning off the water and handing you a towel. He leans over on more than one occasion to peck your lips, he smooths his thumbs beneath your eyes to wipe away the mascara that’s ran in the shower from the steam.

Once you’re both relatively dry, there’s an awkward shift in the air as you’re both naked still and Joel looks very much aroused, half hard cock swaying as he moves.

You saunter back to the bed, peering over your shoulder to see that you’ve captured his attention intently and he gulps as you climb onto the mattress, briefly resting on all fours for a split second, wet pussy drooling and exposed before turning onto your back.

You stretch out against the sheets not dissimilar to a renaissance painting, skin dewy with a look on your face that Joel wants to savour.

He climbs atop the mattress with you, pushing your thighs apart to settle between them. His warm mouth finds your nipples, sucking them and biting gently, you stretch and arch into him like a puppet on strings, the weight of your breasts fitting in each of his roughened palms. You feel the brush of his cock sway against your inner thigh and you buck against it, trying to encourage him closer, you huff when he ignores you in favour of worshiping your breasts.

“Calm down.” He murmurs. “We’ll get there.” He promises in that deep baritone which makes your purr. Joel shimmies down your body, palm dragging along your sternum and settling on your stomach where your fingers find his in a desperate squeeze.

The broadness of him fits between your thighs, one tossed over his shoulder to open you up. It’s erotic how he looks with his mouth on you, silver streaked hair visible and it’s not long before you’re clutching at it, writhing and moaning something pretty.

He parts your labia and licks slowly, using only the tip of his tongue, flicking over your clit and coaxing it from beneath the hood, sucking it between his lips and running his tongue repeatedly over it as you gasp and pull his hair, he suckles and there’s a lewd slurp thrown in there.

You purr like a kitten when his fingers enter you, moving steadily and brushing your G spot with such expertise that your eyes water. He knows what you like, having learnt your body and its responses for the better part of twenty years. A gush of slick aids the smooth movement of his ring and middle finger, stroking you from the inside until it proves too much to feel so far from him.

“Up, Joel.” You whine, tugging his tresses with more force than necessary which causes him to bite your inner thigh in retaliation but he allows himself to be malleable at the hands of you, kneeling between your legs and wiping the slick of you from his moustache and beard.

Rocking back onto his haunches, he fists his cock at the sight of you looking wrecked, that deep possessive part of him that’s smug because it’s him that makes you look like that; flushed and desperate.

“I won’t last long, honey.” He warns as he gets into position, wrapping both legs around his waist.

“Don’t care.” You state, reaching down to grab hold of him and guiding the blunt head of him through your lips, teasing yourself before you notch him just right. He eases himself in gentler than before in the shower, savouring that slow stretch as he feeds you himself until the wiry coarse hairs at the base are dampened by your wetness.

He drops onto his forearms beside your head, caging you in as he begins to move, the pendant from his St Christopher bumps your chin. You make pretty noises, clawing at his back in a way that leaves diagonal lines in various shades of pink and red. Chests pressed together, heart to heart, a rhythmic beat perfectly in sync.

“Tell me you love me.” You gasp.

Sitting up, Joel guides your leg over his shoulder, kissing your ankle bone, toying with the dainty gold anklet there that was an anniversary present some years ago. Your back arches against the sheets and you whimper sweetly at the new sensation of his hips fitting snuggly between your thighs and the weeping head of him nudging against the sponged wall of your cervix.

“I love you.” He groans, hands grappling your hip bones, forcing you closer like he can’t get enough, he looms over you. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

“I love you.” You pant back. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” His nose nudges yours, lips hungrily searching to slot against yours, puffy and wet. “You remember night one of our honeymoon?” You press, exhaling hot and tone wanting.

“Fuck yeah I do, fuck - “ His hips snap harder and you keen. “Pretty as a fuckin picture, still in your weddin’ dress on the floor.”

“Fuck.” You sigh, fisting at his biceps with slippery fingers. “Barely made it through the motel door.”

“You looked so fuckin good, honey. Havin’ my baby and ridin’ me on the floor.” His mouth slackens and his eyes slip closed, clearly deep in thought.

“I wanna do it again, Joel.” You gasp, fingers shakily circling your clit, hard and slippery.

“Yeah, baby. We’ll have another honeymoon, renew our vows first and everythin’.” He grunts.

“Baby.” You whimper in his ear. “I’m cumming, fuck me harder.” You say it breathlessly and all his carnal instincts take over, he fucks you that hard the headboard slams into the wall and takes a layer of sage green paint off. You’re loud through your climax, hips jumping and blood rushing through every vein like accelerant and fire.

“Jesus, I’m gonna cum. Fuck!” He groans, fingers moulding into the mattress, orgasm hitting so hard it makes the edges of his vision blacken. “Fuckin’ Christ.” You kiss his throat from your place beneath him, licking his jugular like the fucking minx you are, biting a tendon.

The white of his teeth is blinding as his lip curls into a near snarl, the pulse of warmth as he orgasms spreads within you and you pant, flushed from head to toe.

You kiss him as he grunts to completion, teeth clashing.

“You’re so good - so good.” You murmur into his mouth, frantically pushing his hair from his damp forehead. “You’re perfect.” You hum, enraptured.

“That’s you.” He smiles, lip curving against yours. “My pretty little wife.”

He strokes your hair and traces your features, eyes searching yours for something; hope maybe and you smile gently at him, pulling him down beside you once he’s withdrawn from the warmth of your body.

You rest against him, cheek to his chest to listen to the thrum below. You count his freckles and you trace his knuckles, you kiss his exposed skin over and over, you absorb as much of him as you can, feeling fulfilled for the first time in weeks.

Joel quietly observes you, you lean up on your elbow, dragging your manicured nails down the centre of his chest, he watches you with his arm behind his head. You pause and lean down to rest your chin on his sternum, blinking with those fluttery lashes that cast a shadow high on your cheekbones.

“Thank you for my flowers.” You say, he smiles softly and reaches down to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re welcome.” He whispers. “Wanted to do somethin’ nice for you, Ellie messaged me and said you’d had a tough week at work before that dumb fucking argument we had.” His long fingers comb through your hair, you rest easily on his stomach now, letting your eyes slip shut. “Wanna talk about it, baby?”

“Not really.” You huff. “I don’t want to unload my problems on you.” Joel sighs in exasperation at your vague answer.

“You can tell me anythin’, you know that.”

“We’re supposed to be taking time apart to stop the fighting, me unloading everything onto you isn’t going to help that.” You tell him.

“I think communication is exactly what we need.” He disagrees.

“You’re starting an argument now.” You chuckle with an eye roll, resting your cheek against his warm skin. He rolls his eyes back but doesn’t reply, continuing to stroke your hair, twirling some around his finger. “Joel?” You ask quietly.

“Hmm?”

“What if we can’t fix this?”

“We can.” He replies determinedly. “Nearly twenty years together and two kids later, I’m still so in love with you, whether we’re fighting or not.”

“I love you.” You murmur.

“I love you more.” He replies. “And I love our girls.” Joel adds.

“Me too.” You shift and snuggle into him, resting your head beneath his chin.

He holds you quietly, his touch a major comfort. You think back over the almost month it’s been since the marriage counsellor had suggested Joel move out of the martial house for awhile and stay with his brother, just so you could see if distance would be beneficial after the amalgamation of late working nights, the stress of parenting two teenage girls and life itself along with naturally getting older, you already dancing that line of perimenopause.

The space had made you realise you didn’t want to be without him and you’d both seemed to realise that you didn’t want to split up, you just needed to figure out a way to make things work.

“I think we should trial the time apart for another week and keep seeing the counsellor for a few more months.” You begin. “I’m gonna figure something out at work and reduce my hours, no more bringing it home with me.”

“That sounds good.” Joel murmurs, twisting a piece of your hair. “I’m goin’ to cut my days down to four, I think the finances will be fine and I want to be around here more for you and the girls.” He tells you, you nod slowly and blink away the tears that have suddenly come at the softness of his voice.

“I don’t care if we have to give up any extra luxuries, I just need you and our kids here happy.” You emphasise.

“That’s what I want too, baby. No more arguments over stupid shit, I’m sorry for bein’ so fuckin’ horrible lately.”

“I was horrible too, Joel.” You say. “We just need to keep working on things and if we feel an argument brewing then we should take a step back and reassess what’s caused it and find a solution just like the therapist says.” You advise. “Also we should make time for a date night every week.”

“Sounds good to me, baby.” Joel agrees, tugging you forward. “Kiss me, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He murmurs sweetly and you go easily, moulding yourself over him to meet him for a deep kiss that speaks a thousand words and apologies.

“Hey.” You say suddenly, eyes flitting over to the vanity where multiple photo frames sit. “You remember that trip we took to Seattle when the kids were little?” Joel follows your line of sight where they’re focused on one of the smaller frames holding two polaroids, one of Sarah and Ellie when they were eight and four, then another you’d taken of Joel on the pier with the wheel behind him you’d taken.

“Yeah.” He says fondly. “That was a great trip, the kids loved it.”

“What was that girl called that Ellie made friends with at the aquarium?” You smile as you think of a rambunctious Ellie, stomping around holding her Daddy’s hand in her tiny overalls, pointing at every fish she saw swimming ahead in the glass tunnels.

“Oh er… fuck. What was it? Little blonde girl with a braid.” He recites, thinking back almost a decade. “Abby!” He suddenly exclaims and you hum, nodding.

“That was it, they were so cute together watching the sea lion show, remember how jealous Sarah was that she thought all Ellie’s love was being stolen away.” You giggle, nuzzling his shoulder. “We should go again now they’re grown up.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you bask in the evening sun coming through the window behind the bed, coating you in warmth while you lazily make out with your husband like you used to as teenagers in his beat up truck.

You moan into his mouth when a hand sneakily skims your back and moulds to the fleshiest part of your backside. Sitting back to take a breath, you begin to kiss at his stubbled jaw, focusing intently on the grey patches and working yourself down his throat, to his clavicle and down his chest where he has yours, Sarah’s and Ellie’s name tattooed over his heart.

He props himself up in interest on his elbows when you make it to his sternum, nipping near his navel and dragging your nails through the smattering of hair below it until you reach his groin.

“You think you can go again?” You smirk at him, nipping his hip, sucking a small bruise into the skin above his pubic area.

“Keep doin’ that and I’ll be rarin’ to go.” He huffs, cradling the back of your head when you lick above his pubic area.

You move lower and his cock begins to swell against his thigh, his thighs tense when your hot breath drifts over his length.

Just as you’re about to drag your tongue over the flushed head of him, you hear a car skim across the gravel driveway and you both freeze.

“Shit, that’s the kids.” You panic, sitting up and swinging your legs off the bed to gather up something to wear. “Quick!” You urge Joel who looks equally as panicked as he yanks up his boxers. You find a long floral dress to throw on from the corner and manage to yank up the panties you were wearing earlier, the crotch becomes sodden with the semen but you ignore the uncomfortable wet feeling and try to fan away the flush on your cheeks as you watch your husband get dressed.

You’re both barrelling down the stairs just as the front door opens and you bump into Joel as you skid on foyer tiles, he steadies you as your kids stare back.

You and Joel try to act casual despite the feral things you’ve just done.

“You’re back early.” You squeak, very aware of your damp hair and smudged makeup.

It’s a mere second before your daughter’s come barrelling full force towards the apple of their eyes, pregnancy and labour be damned.

“Dad!” The girls squeal in unison, rushing to hug him. He wraps an arm around each of them, eyes slipping shut with contentment.

“Hi, my girls.” He sighs happily, nosing Ellie’s hairline and then Sarah’s.

“Missed you.” You hear Ellie tell him.

“Hi, mom.” You mock unseriously, crossing your arms.

“Hey, mom.” Ellie mocks devilishly, tilting her head back with the same teasing look her father possesses more often than not. She’s her father’s daughter, a carbon copy of him whereas Sarah is more like you.

“You have a good afternoon?” You ask when Sarah meanders her way into your orbit, wrapping her arms around your waist. She nods against you and you tuck some hair out of her face, she nuzzles into you.

“The movie was packed so we got frozen yoghurt and walked around Target instead, we got you some candy.” She says sweetly, rubbing her cheek into your collar whilst Ellie is resting her chin against Joel’s chest with her arms wound around his waist, whispering something that makes him chuckle and sway her from side to side tenderly.

She stares up at him like he’s hung the stars and the moon just for you, you’re certain she’d crawl into his rib cage and stay there if she could and you don’t blame her.

“Thank you, sweet girls.” You beam. “Hey, are you both in for dinner tonight?” You suddenly wonder.

“Yes, sir.” Ellie replies.

“I’ve got no plans.” Sarah shrugs.

“How about we Doordash something? Could eat it on the patio?” You suggest and Ellie cheers, Joel chuckles into her hair.

“Even Dad?” Sarah hesitates as she asks, looking at you hopefully. Your heart breaks, Joel staying away had some serious effects in the first week even though they knew you weren’t going through a divorce and trying to fix things. Ellie acted out at school and Sarah shut herself away, both missing their father’s presence at home even though they saw him most days after school and on weekends if they weren’t out with friends.

You’d never stopped them seeing him and wouldn’t dare to even if things were irreparable between you.

“Of course.” You answer Sarah, Ellie looks between you and Joel curiously, her eyes narrow when she sees him smiling softly at you and clocks you blushing.

“Whatcha both been doing?” Ellie asks slyly.

“Hanging out, your Dad fixed the shelf for me.” You tell her nonchalantly over Sarah’s head. “So uh.. which one of you ratted on me for breaking it?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about, man.” Ellie sniffs, you tug the end of her ponytail.

“Mmm.” You murmur, unconvinced. “Go get changed into something comfy and have a think about what you fancy for dinner.” You order, nodding towards the stairs.

“Race ya!” Ellie bellows suddenly, pushing Sarah into you to get a head start.

“Hey!” Her older sister shouts, barrelling after her while you sigh and head towards the kitchen, the peace and quiet officially gone.

Joel gives you a flirtatious look and your heart jumps, your chest warms as do your cheeks.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You demand, pushing his face away in the opposite direction. He chuckles and grabs your wrist, using it as leverage to pull you to him.

“What? Like I want to eat you?” He murmurs lowly, you hum affirmatively. “Maybe I do.”

“That could be arranged.” You whisper, he takes you back into his arms, walking with you until you hit the edge of the kitchen island. You pull him into a kiss, dragging your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.

He growls lowly and hoists you up onto the surface, stepping between your legs, running his hands up and down your parted thighs.

“The kids are listenin’ to us.” Joel whispers into your ear when he pulls away, nodding outside of the kitchen entryway where you realise you didn’t hear them run all the way to the top of the stairs.

“No, we’re not!” Sarah has the audacity to yell with offence, you giggle into Joel’s t-shirt.

“Get changed before I make your Dad cook his famous spaghetti surprise dinner tonight instead of getting take out!” You holler back.

“That was one time.” Joel complains under his breath.

“Make us a sister.” Ellie shouts from halfway upstairs.

“No chance! Dad got snipped after you anyway, he said you were more than enough trouble and you were barely out the womb!” You shout back, cackling when you hear both her and Sarah gag fiercely.

“It’s true!” Joel adds. “I had frozen peas on my crotch for days!”

“Gross!” They both exclaim.

That night, you sit on the patio furniture, with your husband and children, your feet cradled in his lap with glasses of wine and takeout with quiet music playing from Alexa, giggling and telling them stories of your teenage years and some of a time they’re too young to remember, planning a trip to Seattle they’re ecstatic over.

You’re certain that everything will be okay.

#the last of us #joel miller x reader #the last of us fic #ellie & sarah #ellie & joel #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller

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anki-of-beleriand · 3 months

Text

A Heart Made Of Glass ch.14

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision - CarolxF!Reader

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, smut, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story, I did all the tags you guys ask for but if I forgot someone please do not hesitate to tell me. Thank you for the support.

This chapter is the concept of idiots in love.

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Chapter 14

The thing about love

The world was in complete turmoil.

Norway became the home to non-secret agencies trying to discover what had shaken the foundations of the city while taking its inhabitants into a virtual reality prison. SWORD had taken over the investigation overlooked by Monica Rambeau and the newest director of the reformed SHIELD, Tony Stark.

For some members of the SWORD team, it was Wanda Maximoff the obvious author of such disaster, but for some others the truth might be slightly more complicated. It was easier to blame the one that had been on the run before the Blip and then come back to enslave a group of people in a fantasy world.

Natasha Romanoff knew the situation was far more complicated that what everyone kept on spitting out in the conference room. She left after it was quite evident no one knew what to do, or what was really going on.

The cold breeze from the outside came rushing through the door, she shivered blinking away the blinding white from the snow covering the land. The houses in the distance had been repaired and people was going back their normal lives. The world didn't stop before the hex and it didn't stop now that it was over and two former Avengers, one powered teen and a witch disappeared.

“Still nothing?” Carol Danvers came walking down a makeshift road, she was wearing different clothing but the perpetual frown of inadequacy and concern was still there.

“Nothing useful.” Natasha stepped forward welcoming the crispy texture of the snow under her feet. “They kept on babbling about who to blame, while Tony, Bruce and Strange are trying to find a way to open a portal to the right universe.”

Carol huffed approaching the brunette, “the right universe? That may take centuries! This is something out of our scope,”

“And that's why we have to be patient.” But even as she said this, Natasha glanced with apprehension towards the bunker then back to the direction where Y/N house was located.

Time was passing slowly but surely and still there was not a single workable plan to bring you and the others back. Whatever magic or powers had acted during the attack from Scarlet and Agatha it had left no traces to be followed, it was as if you and the others had disappeared into existence.

Carol dropped her head, her arms wrapping around herself trying to contain the frustration she had been experimenting for quite some time. Natasha looked at her out of the corner of her eye, the blond-haired woman was standing small with the sight of the mountains and the white of the snow behind her, those dark eyes had never stopped glancing back at your home while her power flickered restlessly around her. Natasha knew your relationship with Carol was complicated, it had been for quite some time. The other woman had reached out to you in the hopes to be with you, Natasha had seen the countless invitations to travel through the universe with Carol as well as seen those stares filled with longing that you usually missed.

The door behind her opened and closed, a couple of soldiers left the protective barrier of the bunker to share a smoke. Natasha cocked her head frowning, her thoughts going back to you and the recent complications in your life.

The return of Wanda had been a surprise, not only for you but for everyone. Natasha sighed lifting her eyes to the sky, when did their life's turn so complicated?

“You're thinking too hard,” Yelena approached her sister, the bags under her eyes the only evidence she hadn't had a good night's sleep since your disappearance.

“I am thinking enough.” Natasha replied, Yelena hummed standing beside her eying Carol before settling her eyes on Natasha.

“Why is it so difficult to have any leads?” Yelena grunted, kicking the snow under her feet.

“Apparently is not easy to find the right universe they went through,” it was Carol the one who answered, her voice dripping sarcasm, “I guess there is nothing we can do but…”

“Wait?” Yelena shook her head, “I'm tired of waiting.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, she opened her mouth ready to answer when the air and earth around her started to shake. She frowned positioning her feet on the ground, flexing her knees and lifting her arms to her chest height. Yelena took the same fighting position while Carol stood straightened up with her eyes focused on the spot where a small whirlpool of sand was moving fast on the ground. Electric waves projected blue and silver lights through the air, while the sound of a vacuum filled the silence of the plain.

The commotion brought everyone to the spot where the two widows and Captain Marvel were standing. Tony put on his metal glove with Strange lifting his hands ready to form a shield. With an explosion a portal in the form of a five-pointed star appeared out of thin air and three people came falling on their faces just before the portal closed.

Just as sudden as the event had come, it went away leaving everyone open-mouthed, shaking with eyes wide opened watching the three women now standing in front of them.

You smiled sheepishly scratching the back of your head, your eyes going from Tony to Carol then falling on Yelena and Natasha. The tension was quite evident, and the silence that followed the explosion could be broken by the fall of a single needle.

Wanda came right in with America closed behind, the cold of Norway sneaked inside your clothes making you shivered but you did not move. You knew the moment you crossed the portal you would find everyone waiting, you never imagined Carol or even Tony would be there.

Before you could do or say anything Carol came right at you, her frown softening just as her eyes twinkled with emotion.

“Y/N?” Her name on her lips made you smile, though a sudden grip of pure coldness grasped your heart and a heavy weight settled on your stomach.

“Hey, Marv.”

Carol didn't even wait for a confirmation or more words, her arms wrapped around you holding you with the desperation Carol had felt in the last couple of days and all the love she had always felt for you.

The tension broke, and soon voices could be heard though you were too lost into the embrace to make out any meaning behind the conversations, or to even notice the saddened figure of Wanda who was standing just behind you with her arms around her and defeat written all over her face.

____________________________

A part of you knew what was waiting at the other side.

You were really surprised to see Carol there, but what really caught you off of guard was the hostility with which many were treating Wanda and America. You knew some of the agents from SWORD were quite reluctant to accept any innocent claims coming from Wanda, they had been under the hex and had experimented firsthand the emotions and mental manipulation the witch had imposed upon them.

Their anger could be understood if not justified.

However, as soon as the three of you were free from the hugs and welcomes from everyone else, you were taken into custody to start the normal procedure of investigation. You had been lucky enough to have Natasha and Carol with you, their interrogation always going back to what had happened, where were you and how you came back.

It was a tiresome day, but by the time a new morning came you were happy to discover you were given a nice breakfast and a couple of explanations of what happened after you disappeared. You were tired of talking, too many memories, and too many thoughts invaded your head and it wasn’t until Yelena and Natasha put a violent stop to all the questioning that the agents from SWORD and SHIELD didn’t let go of you.

You rubbed your shoulders glancing at your reflection, the woman staring back at you was looking tired though she was also slightly sad. You sighed putting a strand of hair behind your ear while fixing the shirt you had put on, with a last glance to your reflection you left the bathroom only to stop startle at the woman waiting for you on the bed.

Carol Danvers had not changed too much.

The both of you had not seen one another for over six months. You had been tied to earth, while Carol was still trying to make of the universe a better place to live on. The both of you had clashed more than once, and passion had been the main rule in the relationship you two shared; but words of love and tenderness were scarce and sometimes whispered in the hidden shadows of the night.

Carol sighed lowering her gaze to the floor before lifting her chin to stare at you.

“How are you feeling?” She finally asked though this was not what she wanted to say.

“I’m better, I guess. Tired, and hungry.” You offered a smile approaching the other woman until you were standing right in front of her.

Your hand lifted to brush away her golden hair, Carol closed her eyes leaning into your touch while letting herself feel the closeness of your body. At some point she had been desperate to break into the hex to get to you, to save you from the clutches of an ex-lover you seemed to carry everywhere you went. Now that you were there in front of her, Carol felt you had gone to a place she could not follow.

It was at that moment, Carol realized she had fallen in love with you.

“Quite the adventure you have, eh?” Carol chuckled shaking her head, her hand grabbing yours. “I can’t hardly believe you were in another universe.”

You winced holding yourself from putting your hand away, “yeah, it was kind of crazy.”

“Which part?” Carol asked, and this time around she couldn’t hide the reproach on her voice nor the jealousy she had felt when she found out Wanda had been with you all this time.

“Everything, carol, everything was kind of crazy.” You hardened your tone, stepping back only to be stopped by the other woman.

“I’m sorry, I just…” Carol trailed off, and you let out a shaky sigh.

“Look, it was not easy, okay? First I got into a body that was not even mine, in a world I didn’t even recognize, to a live I never thought would be mine.” You lifted a hand to the back of your neck. “Then I come here to face an interrogation that took most of the day and night only for you guys to find out that yes, this is me. And yes, the multiverse does exist.”

“I was scared.” Carol finally stated. “As soon as I came here, you were gone then they started telling me all these stories about Wanda and the hex, and then how everything was just the same here, and…”

Both of you fell silent for a moment, your heart beating painfully inside your chest. You knew it wasn’t Carol’s fault, and you knew the one who was all defensive was you. You felt guilty because you had allowed your emotions to take over your reason and that might get the woman sitting in front of you hurt.

“I’m glad you’re back, and I’m glad you’re cleared of any wrongdoing, now that Wanda is under custody…”

“Wait, what?” You stopped Carol mid-sentence, Carol was left slightly confused just as she noticed the sudden hardening of your stare. “What do you mean that Wanda is under custody?”

This time around Carol couldn’t hide her annoyance, she stood up crossing her arms.

“It was quite obvious, wasn’t it? She had a history of creating these strange hexes, then she came here with a girl that can travel through the multiverse, whatever she was trying to achive…”

“It wasn’t Wanda’s fault.” You stated forcefully, Carol scowled rolling her eyes.

“Right, now you’re on her side?”

“I’m not…” You took a deep breath, “I’m not on her side, Carol, but didn’t you hear my story?”

“Quite frankly, I only heard the part in which you found out those twins of hers were actually yours and not Vision’s. In another Universe, not this one.”

The moment those words left her mouth, Carol knew she had said the wrong thing. Your whole body went completely rigid, and your eyes flashed a dangerous black twinkle that sent shivers down Carol’s back.

“I am not happy about the whole situation either, Carol. But I am not going to blame someone that had nothing to do with what happened here, or even Westview.” You straightened up walking past Carol to grab your jacket. “Now, I will go to straighten everything up, even if I have to break her out of jail and fight whoever I have to.”

“Don’t leave.” Carol wrapped her arms around your waist, she pressed her forehead against the back of your head. “I’m sorry.”

You were breathing hard, the anger boiling inside your veins while her words resounded inside your head. It wasn’t so much of what Carol had said, but actually the real meaning behind those words. Everything had happened so fast, everything had been so overwhelming that you hadn’t had the time to think, to process everything that had happened. You were trying to stop your spiralling world, but every time you got a chance to stand still something came rushing in to shake you again.

A part of you knew Carol was not to blame, not completely. You were looking for an excuse, for something to make you feel better and not as shitty as you were feeling at the moment because of the confusion you were experimenting. For the love you still held for Wanda, while your affection for Carol was not enough.

You turned around wrapping your arms around her, your lips found hers and soon the both of you were giving in the passion you always felt around one another. Carol held onto you with the need of a thirsty woman, and you held onto her with the desperation to quiet down your thoughts and doubts. The kiss turned into a full make-out session that led to Carol straddling your lap on the bed; your hand sneaked under her winter jumper her skin warm under your fingertips, twitching with every single caress.

“Y/N.” Your name left her lips in a needy whisper, and all it took for you was to hear your voice to know you had to stop.

You leaned back placing a single hand on her shoulder and the other one on her hips stopping the thrusting of her hips. She was slightly dizzy, her cheeks flustered with her pupils dilated, she had a silly smile on her lips nuzzling her nose on your neck. You tried to return the smile but couldn’t instead you brush her cheek with the back of your hand, leaning into place a single kiss on her forehead.

“What are you doing?” She finally realized you had stopped; you were trying to get away from her while being as gently as you could.

You opened your mouth to confess, to actually come clean and tell Carol how what you were doing with her was not fair. But the blond-haired woman put a single finger on your lips, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I just have to go back.” You said placing your hands on her hips, “if what you’re telling me is how things turned out to be I have to intervene, it wouldn’t be fair.”

Carol shifted standing up and moving away from you, she cocked her head shrugging.

“I guess is not, if Wanda did help you out and was not even involve in the whole fiasco it is not fair to pay for everything.” Carol didn’t leave out of her comment the partial fault that the other woman had, at least for what had happened back in Westview.

“Will you come with me?” The question left your lips before you could stop it, Carol shook her head placing her hands inside the pockets of her jeans.

“No, I think I will wait here for you.”

There was nothing else you could say, and if she were to be honest Carol didn’t want to hear any more explanations. The blond-haired woman leaned in pecking you on the lips before nodding towards the door of your room.

“Go on, be a hero.”

You chuckled nodding briefly before putting on your jacket and leaving the room.

Carol stood inside your room for a long time, she leaned back against the dresser while her eyes fell upon the picture of you with Natasha and Yelena resting on the bedside table. Carol had known from the moment she laid eyes on you that a relationship with you would be dangerous, you had always been quite reserved and kept yourself out of any emotional attachment. Carol had been stubborn, curious as to what really was behind your cold façade only to discover a smart and funny woman behind it. She had fallen in love with your smile, your wit, and the way you always seemed to find the bright side of things even though your perception of your own life was quite poor.

Natasha had warned Carol about your broken heart, she had told Carol how difficult it was for you to actually open up to love again. But at that point Carol would take whatever you were willing to offer; she never thought there would be a time in which she would need to give up her relationship with you.

With a last glance to the picture, she turned around and left the room.

Love was a complicated it deal.

_________________________________________________

Yelena could sense your anger even before she could see you approaching the bunker.

From the very beginning she had been opposed to the idea of keeping America and Wanda in holding cells like common criminals. What happened in Norway had not been their fault, they had come all the way to the city seeking protection and help, and that was exactly what Y/N, Natasha and Yelena had done. America was a teen just getting the ropes of her powers, while Wanda…well, with Wanda things were complicated it. But at the end of the day, she was not a bad person. She just had really bad luck.

Yelena cleared her throat glancing at Natasha who was on her feet as soon as she sensed your presence. You were coming with silent rage, your whole-body trembling stretching your powers to the shadows inside the room. Two agents came at you, ready to stop you but were unable to move their feet from the ground.

“Took you long enough.” Yelena said looking at her nails, you snorted stepping closer until she saw Wanda on a chair being held with some sort of necklace on her neck.

“Well, no one told me about this, so it was kind of hard to come before Carol let it slip.” Your fists clenched close, Natasha stood by your side pointing to the cameras and then to the two agents questioning Wanda.

“She is going to be charged.”

“With what?” You replied shaking your head, “where the hell is Tony? Why is he allowing this? I thought he has some jurisdiction in these situations…”

“He does.” Natahsa stated softening her stare, “that’s why he is not here.”

You scowled glancing at her then at Yelena, you opened and closed your mouth several times before pointing a finger at them.

“You allowed this to happen?” The rage you were feeling increased, but before you could say anything else Yelena came from behind you.

“Wanda did.” Yelena glanced at you then at the woman being held inside the room, the questions and the gestures of her jailers becoming increasingly demanding and aggressive.

“What?” This time around you were confused, Natasha softened her features knowing that you had been confused ever since Wanda came back into your life.

“You have to understand that whatever happened to you three, Wanda feels responsible for most of it. She took her responsibility since she was not allowed to do so before.”

Natasha could see how your processed her words, she grabbed your hand in hers squeezing lightly.

“But it wasn’t her fault, Agatha…”

“Agatha disappeared, remember?” Yelena continued, this time around you understood there was nothing else you could say, you could suddenly read there was more at play than just Wanda turning herself over.

Natasha and Yelena were not in the room by chance, you looked out of the corner of your eye the guards still struggling against the invisible ropes holding them on place. When you turned over to the room, your blood boiled in anger knowing that as always there was a hidden agenda trying to get a hold of powered individuals. This time around they had set their eyes on Wanda, who wouldn’t want to change the world around them? To get a hold of an individual that could take your through the multiverse, the power to shape the world to your licking.

“I hope Tony has pretty good lawyers.” You stated before moving past Natasha, your hand lifted pointing at the door of the interrogation room and pushing hard until the door crushed the wall at the other side of the room.

“Agent Schultz, I hope I am not interrupting anything important.”

__________________________________________________________

Wanda wondered not for the first time how much hatred and revenge people could harbour in their hearts.

When she first broke the hex from Westview, she could see the fear in the eyes of the citizens as well as in the eyes of those agents she had captured at some point. She remembered the demands for her arrest, the harsh wording in which they were demanding for her to be imprisoned or at least held tightly unable to use her powers.

It had hurt, it was Lagos all over again.

The accusations never left, and the mistrust in some of the people’s eyes had always been there. It never went away, and Wanda had always been looked at with fear, resentment, and pity; she had tried her best, even with Steve by her side, it was impossible to get past such negative sentiments and thus she had decided to just keep to herself.

“What do you have to say, Maximoff.” The agent pointed to the file with his index finger, the agent to his side playing with a black gadget. “This would be, what? Your third time trying to break into the natural order of things and use your powers to…what exactly?”

The collar tightly wrapped around her neck sent jolts of electricity through her neck, shoulders and arms. It wasn’t the first time she was subject to such a gadget, and the memory was still burned deep inside her mind while the pain felt extremely familiar. Wanda held onto her emotions with as much dignity as she could muster, she could feel her power build up inside her ready to explode and let the men in the room why messing up with a witch like her was a mistake.

She was not about to show them she was the monster everyone believed her to be.

So even through the pain, and the questions that repeated themselves Wanda held herself proud and calm, hoping that Tony and Strange would keep their word and get her out of there without any physical fight.

“I think agent Cho asked you a question, Maximoff.” The black-haired man holding the switch of the collar asked leaning forward. “We need answers, what else can you give us?”

“Nothing else, agent Schultz, I already told your superiors everything they need to know.” Wanda clenched her jaw, her lips trembling lightly when another shot of electricity went through her neck and limbs.

“You are answering to us right now, Maximoff.”

“You were telling us about a different universe, tell us exactly what—” Agent Schultz stopped talking when the hinges from the door gave with a crashing sound and then the door exploded around them.

Wanda never entertained the idea of you coming in her aid.

In her mind, she had always thought you were happy with her gone, after all, that had been the deal when this whole ordeal started. She sat straightened up on the chair, her eyes to the door where you stood up with blackened eyes and silent anger all over your features.

“Agent Schultz, I hope I am not interrupting anything important.”

“Y/N! This is not going to be…” The man trailed of making gagging sounds at the black hand wrapping around his throat.

“I thought everything had been cleared out when I was taken into custody and given my testimony, I don’t understand why Wanda and America are being held under such deplorable conditions.” You pushed the agent back stepping closer to Cho who was trying to get the black switch while looking for his gun.

“I don’t think so, pal.” Yelena stepped on the wrist of the man smiling down on him. “I was waiting all day to do this.”

“Why didn’t you?” You replied crushing the device while approaching Wanda, your eyes locked with hers.

“And taking away from you the chance to save the damsel in distress? No way.” Yelena chuckled cuffing Agent Cho.

You snorted grabbing the collar while locking eyes with Wanda, the young witch didn’t say anything but her cheeks coloured red and her lips curled slightly. You winked t her, unable to help yourself before opening the device making a gesture of disgust.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice was but a whisper, Wanda shifted on the chair letting go of the breath she had been holding ever since she had been incarcerated.

“What could I have said to them?” She replied watching as Natasha and Yelena started barking orders around the bunker.

“Perhaps, that you are one of the good guys?” You could see the flicker of doubt in those green eyes, Wanda lowered her gaze lifting her brows.

“Am I?” She dropped her shoulders, her lips trembling as she continued, “I made a lot of mistakes, Y/N, I’m just trying to pay for them.”

You pursed your lips, this was not the first time you heard such words coming from Wanda and while at first you thought it was the minimum she could do after all the pain she caused you; right now all you could think was to take away the pain and loneliness that seemed to be written into those green irises.

“You have paid for them, Wanda, you don’t need to punish yourself anymore.” Without thinking too much about your own actions, the back of your hand brushed tenderly on Wanda’s cheek just before your fingertips traced the marks left by the collar.

“I still think there is a lot I have to pay for, perhaps…once I have paid off my debt you…” Wanda trailed off unable to continue, you opened your mouth to ask Wanda what she meant, what she wanted to say but before you could do it another set of footsteps came rushing in and soon the both of you were engulfed by the arms of a teenager.

“Y/N! Wanda! You guys are okay!”

Wanda hugged America back, her eyes locking with yours for a moment. Your heart skipped a beat, your hand finding hers in a single touch that lasted long enough to leave you yearning for more; Wanda from her part got hope ignited inside her heart, and once more, wish she was brave enough to do what Scarlet asked of her. To fight for you, to not let go.

To let herself be loved by you.

____________________________________________________

America had never lived so much in so little time.

For a moment, when she could finally stop to take a breath, she felt as if years had passed and she had been thrown into a rollercoaster that took her from open danger to the next one without giving her the chance to assimilate everything that had happened.

That was until she had reached your universe.

Yours and Wanda’s.

America took a sip from the hot chocolate she had been offered, the room was filled with some agents and civilians, all of whom were just grateful that everything was over and life was going back to normal. Or as normal as it could be in a world filled with powered people and aliens running around the universe; America pursed her lips, knowing full well that after Y/N had come to pull her and Wanda out of the interrogation cells something of great importance happened for soon SWORD and SHIELD left.

No questions asked, no more attempts to capture and incarcerate Wanda or herself.

America let her eyes wandered around the room until she noticed Wanda on the far corner of the room. The young woman was alone, with her eyes gleaming with deep emotion she was trying to conceal behind the locks of hair and the glass she took to her mouth every five seconds. With a frown, America followed the stare from Wanda only to see you at the other side of the room.

Unlike the woman she had been back in the other universe, or whenever she had to fight, this Wanda was looking defeated. It was not hard to know why, you were laughing allowing an intimate caress and hold from Carol Danvers who was whispering something into your ear while Natasha rolled her eyes.

You looked happy, completely taken by the blond while Wanda remained in the shadows.

“They are complicated.” Yelena stood by America’s side, her accent dripping through every word.

America pursed her lips shaking her head, “I don’t understand why it is so complicated.”

Wanda’s attention was soon claimed by Tony, the man sat beside her talking slowly with gestures of his hands ensuring the young woman was really paying attention to him. At that moment, your attention drifted to her, your eyes softening slightly while your body turned completely ready to make your way towards her. A hand on yours stopped any movement, and while it looked as if your attention was claimed once more, you couldn’t help but look back to where Wanda was conversing with Tony.

“It is not so easy to forget and forgive,” Yelena shrugged following with her eyes the same scene America had been watching all afternoon. “They had been badly hurt, I don’t know much about Wanda, but Y/N was really hurt by the cheating. She felt as if no one could love her anymore.”

America winced for the very first time understanding where your anger came from, sometimes people ignored what others were experiencing and they forget that the pain and trauma was personal and not just something that could be turned on or off at will.

“But they are still in love with one another, isn’t it obvious to them?” America let out a heavy sigh, “it should be easier, after all this time…”

Yelena snorted this time around she turned to face America.

“You really think love is enough?” This time around Yelena’s eyes softened slightly, it was quite strange to find someone so innocent yet so hardened by the circumstances she had lived.

“It should be, right?” America hesitated chewing on her lower lip, “I mean, if love is not enough then, why are we doing what we do? Save people, save the world.”

It should be that easy, Yelena agreed. Yet she understood why it was so complicated, the former Widow could see your hesitation, the tension in your body for staying beside Carol while the longing in your eyes revealed your real intentions. You wanted to go to Wanda, just as Wanda wanted to go to you ever since you had rescued her from the interrogation room.

Love should be enough.

And now, all they had to proof this theory was time.

But time was not enough, and sooner or later, you and Wanda would need to decide what you really want and what you were ready to give and sacrifice.

++++

“I heard you were saved by Y/N.” Tony sat beside Wanda following the stare of the young woman until his eyes found the form of Y/N. “She came in, broke the door and scare shitless those Agents before putting you out of harm’s way.”

Wanda blushed trying to hide away her expression, she couldn’t help but turn her attention back at you. It had been a moment she had treasured in her mind, the soft caress of your fingers while your words reached the deepest of her soul. She never imagined anyone would come to her rescue, much less the very same woman she had hurt so much in the past, yet here you were ready to break havoc as long as Wanda was fine.

“S-she did what any of you would have done.” Wanda glanced at Tony who merely snorted shaking his head.

“We left you with them, didn’t we?” Tony leaned back letting his eyes wandered to the window, his voice just above a whisper meant for Wanda only. “Everything has been straightened up, you have been cleared of any charges and if you want to, you can come back with me to the State or stay here…whatever you prefer.”

Wanda huffed shaking her head, “I am clear? Just like that?”

Tony shrugged, Wanda narrowed her eyes at the man pressing her lips together.

“What did you do?”

“What I should have done a long time ago, Wanda.” Tony leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “You have suffered enough, I think after everything you went through in the past, and what happened recently with Westview and America, I think you deserve a rest.”

When Tony saw the hesitation in Wanda he placed a hand on top of hers, squeezing tenderly onto her hand.

“It is time for you to be happy, Wanda. There is nothing else to it, but a chance that this universe is giving you to be happy.” Tony offered a smile, his eyebrows wiggling playfully while his eyes were pointing to you. “I’m not saying is gonna be easy, and it probably won’t end where you want it to end, but it is worth a try.”

“She is already happy, and she is with someone else. I just…I’m happy for her, I don’t think I will be bothering her anymore.” Wanda whispered with her heart breaking inside her chest.

The woman tried to be strong, while also feeling a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying lifted when Tony finished his speech.

“I want to thank you for what you did, even though you did leave me on that interrogation room.”

“It was for a good cause, believe me.” Tony clasped his hands in front of him, furrowing his brows with his eyes following your every move.

Even if Wanda refused to see it, it was quite evident for everyone all you wanted to do was to go to where Wanda was sitting. Your eyes had barely left the young woman before her attention was claimed by Carol, though the Captain was not being successful in her mission. It seemed as if you had eyes only for Wanda.

“I think you should speak with her, Wanda. This time around without missions, or the past getting in the way.” Tony finally spoke, making sure Wanda could no pretend she wasn’t listening. “You two lived quite the adventure in this other universe, and believe when I tell you, whenever you get a chance to see the life you could have, the love you could share, the children you could have…well, your life changes completely. Talk to her.”

Wanda couldn’t help but glance at Tony with a new hint of respect behind her green eyes. She had known the playboy, as well as the businessman and the Avenger; she had seen many faces of Tony Stark but this parental one was the one she loved the most. Wanda wished she could be as optimistic as he was, that she could see what everyone was seeing; but she couldn’t and her heart was not ready to take in another wave of heartbreak.

“I will do it but, I need a favour.” Wanda said with her mind already deciding on her course of action.

“Whatever you want, little witch.”

Wanda smiled sadly at the nickname, she turned to you and with a last, longing stare she turned to Tony with a request that left the man highly surprised and confused; behind such a request, Tony could make himself an idea on how the conversation between Wanda and yourself would end up in.

He couldn’t help but feel sad.

Tony had always thought you and Wanda were meant to be together, that the love you hold for one another could work miracles.

Now, all he had was a hopeless hope that you would let go of the past, and that Wanda would not let go of the present.

_______________________________________________

Wanda woke up with a gasp.

She was breathing hard, cold sweat rolling down her face and back. Her breathing laboured, burning her lungs trying to regulate itself while the images invading her mind stumbled one after the other.

There was not a single noise around her, the room was filled with darkness, to her left she could see the flash of a reflection in the window leading to the backyard. The white dots of snow falling, breaking the otherwise blackened night; even though she could tell it was a cold night, her room felt warm. Unbearable warmth.

She lifted a hand to her face, touching with her fingertips the tears wetting her cheeks. Wanda wrapped her arms around her legs, putting them towards her chest, placing her forehead on her knees. The dream had been so vivid, she could see every single scene playing inside her head, her last chance slipping away through her fingers and she was still unable to do anything at all.

Her dreams had been plagued with the memories of Westview and the Blip, she had seen as you slipped away only to come back filled with hatred turning your back on her while walking away with Carol by your side. Her dream had shifted at that moment, and she was back in The Raft tied to a wall with a collar that held her in place while sending electric shocks that made her feel a blinding pain. You were there, laughing with Tommy and Billy glaring at her while asking you to leave Wanda behind.

Wanda held back a sob trying to put the memories of the nightmare away from her head. She tried to get a hold of herself, taking deep breaths while putting together a set of memories that soothe her soul. Tommy and Billy were the first ones that came to mind, her children had been real; they had existed in the way Wanda had imagine them at first, with you by her side rasing them as your own. Wanda couldn’t help but smile when these memories came with a set of pictures she had seen back in the other universe, the both of you had really gone through a lot of hardships, but always together.

Wanda broke into a half-smile remembering the sweet smell of your perfume, the aroma that was unique yours when she woke up in the hospital. The conversation Wanda held with you, while the shared company and closeness gave Wanda hope that things would be different; Wanda lifted her face trying to hold onto the tears while she finally remembered how you came into the interrogation room and pulled her out of the shackles that had been trying to hold her while she was being interrogated.

Wanda remembered that moment, her heart had fluttered with hope when you stood up for her. She had almost melted away when you grabbed her hand leading her to the closest room before offering a half-smile. Wanda had dared to hope until Carol Danvers came right in and you were swept away almost right away.

With a heavy heart, and tired limbs Wanda stood from the bed. Her throat was dry, hurting just enough for her to look for some water hoping she would be protected by the dark of the night and the tiredness everyone in the house was feeling early into the evening.

The house was just as silent as her room, and the darkness was only broken by the strange appearance of a silver moon that came along with snow. Her naked feet made a tapping sound, leading her way into the kitchen, the cold of the night finally reaching out her heated skin making her shiver. She furrowed her brows wrapping her arms tightly around her body until she finally reached the kitchen.

Wanda stopped dead on her tracks when her eyes found those of yours sitting at the table. Her heart skipped a beat, while her lower abdomen filled with butterflies, but with all of this it also came the shadow of her reality. Her eyes dropped to a spot on the floor, her mind and soul pulsating trying to get her to say or do something. The part of her she had shut was stirring restlessly inside her.

She didn't expect to find anyone in the kitchen much less you wearing nothing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Hey, couldn't sleep?” You placed your arms on the table, steam coming out of the mug you had in front of you.

Wanda was not looking so well, you noticed. Ever since you got back she had been all quiet, standing as an outsider while facing interrogation and examinations before joining the celebrations. You couldn't help but notice how far away she looked, yet how close she wanted to be. She was looking just as confused and lonely as she had been the first day she got to your place, your heart shrank painfully thinking about her.

“I was thirsty, that's all.” She stated pointing with her finger at the counter, “I'll have some water and then…”

She wiggled her fingers trying to look everywhere but at you, her feet taking her hurriedly to the counter only to crash against one of the chairs. You were on her in a second, your arms holding her softly, smiling amusedly at her. Wanda looked mortified, her cheeks burning red and her hands trembling, unable to stay still while touching your arms.

“Sorry, I didn't see where I was going, I just…” you furrowed your brows, letting Wanda push you away while making her way to the counter.

“That's okay.” You went back to your previous position, frowning at the mug.

The silence that followed was broken only by the running water and the sound of glass being moved away. You grabbed your mug, taking a long sip from your tea, not moving a single muscle as you heard Wanda pouring the water and taking long sips from the glass.

Wanda dropped her eyes to the sink, she didn't expect to find you in the kitchen but now that you were there she wanted to scream. She wanted to wrap her arms around you, she wanted to hold onto the memories she had of you two being young and in love, as well as to hold onto the life that could be hers if she hadn't messed up.

But she held herself, her knuckles going white for how hard she was holding onto the edge of the sink. She was too late, always too late.

No! You told me you will fight back, that you won't give up on her!

Scarlet's voice resounded inside Wanda’s mind but the young witch shook her head. She wanted you to be happy, and Wanda was not sure she was the person to make you happy. You had moved on whereas Wanda had tried to hold onto hope.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump startled. She turned around to see you standing there with your empty cup and concern flashing in your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, just…” Wanda sighed offering a shaky smile, “I guess I'm still shaking after the interrogation. I never got to thank you for backing me up.”

You offered a tiny smile, shrugging as if it had been nothing when you knew it had been everything for you.

“It wasn't fair how they were treating you, Wands. You did nothing wrong and people should stop acting as if you did.” Your replied was directed to what had happened recently, though you could see the weight of the memories inside Wanda's eyes.

“Some things were my fault.” Her voice dropped, her heart was beating fast at your closeness, the hand you still had on her shoulder.

“Some things we cannot change, nor can we control. Stop beating yourself up for that.” You wanted to add something else, but just as Wanda, you were confused.

Everything that had happened was overwhelming, it forced you to face a past you couldn't forget, it put you and your feelings for Wanda on the spot. It made you question why you were never able to forge a real relationship with anybody, and why watching what could have been in another world hurt the deepest part of your soul and heart.

You were still in love with Wanda.

But things were complicated.

“I guess you're right.” Wanda offered a crooked smile, she stepped away from your touch looking away from you. “I still have nightmares.”

Her admission broke your stance, you lifted a hand to her face brushing away some locks of hair while looking directly into her green eyes.

“That's the reason why you are shaking right now?” You asked in a whisper, your hand warm against Wanda's cold skin. “That's why you woke up?”

Wanda closed her eyes, weak under your touch and tenderness. She tried to answer, but you stepped closer and all her thoughts and reasoning left her weak on the knees. You softened your features, leaning in until your warm breath brushed against the skin of her neck and ears.

“I'm sorry you still have nightmares about it.”

“It's not your fault.” Wanda finally answered, her voice shaking. She lifted her left hand wrapping it around your hand. “Y/N…”

It was the tone of voice that broke the spell, you frowned stepping back a little. Wanda seemed relieved, though also disappointed, her green eyes begging you to not play with her.

“Have you ever thought about what would happen…” Wanda started but you cut her off with a gesture.

“All the time, when I'm alone and I cannot quiet down my thoughts.”

“Are we happy in your thoughts?” Wanda knew she was not being fair with her questioning, but she needed it to know.

She needed hope

“We are.”

Wanda leaned back trying to smile but coming off like a grimace.

“That's good.”

“Have you ever thought…” You started but Wanda was even faster than you on her answer.

“Yes, every single day.”

You tilted your head furrowing your brows with squinted eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“There hasn't been a day I haven't thought about you, about what could be.” This time around it was her the one that stepped back, she couldn't take her eyes off of you. “I hoped at some point I could win you back and perhaps everything would be back to normal.”

“Things cannot go back to how they were, Wands.” You tried to soften the harshness of your voice with the nickname but it didn't work.

Wanda winced looking down at her feet, she grabbed the counter with her hands her back to the wall and a single rute of scape available to her.

“I know.” Wanda whispered, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “That was the moment I thought of Westview, I just…”

In the last couple of days, you had learnt so much about her and yourself that a part of you understood why Wanda had done what she did. Now it was easy to understand why Vision and not you had shown into the picture, why Wanda needed to be weakened mentally and physically before Agatha could do as much damage as she was allowed to before taken over.

For the first time, in a very long time, you took your time looking at Wanda. Your eyes went from her naked feet, wiggling fingers trying to get warm to her legs covered by a single pyjama pants and a sweater, her face was pale with bags under her eyes that had always shone with sadness in them. Her hair was long, a little unkept, as if she had woken up, a copper-like colour that had always suited her complexion. Wanda was beautiful, and our heart twisted pleasantly at the sight your hands twitching at your side wanting nothing more than to hug the woman in front of you.

“Things cannot go back to what they were, but they can be different, Wands.” This time around you said quietly, Wanda lifted her eyes but she could not read into your expression.

“What do you mean?” She whispered hating the bubble of hope that grew in her heart.

“I mean that we…I mean, we can be friends.” You backed away not daring to say anything else, not daring to expose yourself once more.

The bubble of hope exploded in a spiral of cold nails that went through Wanda's heart. Friends. That was all they could be, right? Things coils be different this time around, a moment in which you were only a friend destined to just not be close enough.

“That…that sounds good.” Wanda tried to smile, her lips trembling under the weight of her emotions.

You offered a tentative smile, “you can…I mean, now that everything is ready, America was thinking on staying over, so if you want…”

“I'll leave tomorrow.” Wanda rushed the words one after the other, her right hand fixing her hair while the left one picked on invisible threads on her sweater. “I…I talk with Tony, and everything is ready, I just…”

You stood expressionless, frozen on the spot while processing Wanda's words. The woman was babbling, never looking at you while bouncing on her feet

“I promise you I will be out of your way as soon as this is over and, I think it is time, I just thought you should know.” Wanda winced, stepping forward, walking past you without taking notice of the pain written all over your face.

“Friends would be good, I guess…we could try it.” Wanda turned around only to see you with your back to her. “Good night, Y/N, sleep well.”

Wanda left and the coldness of the night followed her all the way to her room. She never got a chance to see the broken stare in your eyes, or the same coldness taking refuge in your heart leaving you open to what you really wanted but didn't dare to have.

_____________________

You didn’t say goodbye.

You were not ready to do so, thus you decided to just hide away and pretend Wanda hadn’t come into your life the moment winter began. It was easier than just face the fact that Wanda would leave you behind.

It wasn’t as if she owed you something, that had been the deal. You helped her and America and then, they needed to leave. You had been so full of grief and rage at that moment, you never imagine your emotions would change and that you would be faced with the situation you had been in.

Everything happened too fast for you to just think about it. And, when the moment came for you to do something, you just cowered away.

It was easier.

Running away was always easier.

By the time Wanda had arrived at your home, Winter had started. The days had been short, and the nights long and cold where the northern lights had been visible for most of the inhabitants in the North.

You had been so busy with what was happening, that you had forgotten the magic hidden behind the green and golden lights that ignited the sky. Sometimes it changes into a pink colour, twirling above your home with a flicker of lightning just before fading away.

You had chosen Norway due to its weather, and the quietness of the land. Not many tourists came to the fishing town, and the house you had bought was at the edge of a barely known road. It had been perfect for you to hide, and to run away; now it was looking like a prison, a place you could not escape from when everyone else seemed to walk away.

The wind was particularly strong that morning, it came with frozen bites on your uncovered skin. You turned around watching the mountains stretching through the horizon, the dark waters reflecting the darkened sky. You had come to the lighthouse to think, and to forget.

But you were failing quite miserably.

The first time you walked away from Wanda, you had done so without even saying goodbye. This time around, you had run away before she could say goodbye to you.

You wished there was something you could do, something you could say to Wanda that would change the situation. But you weren't sure what exactly you could say, you and her had ended the relationship a long time ago, and right now whatever you two had was just a shaky friendship.

“Fuck!” Your scream could be heard through the sound of the blowing wind.

“Why are you so frustrated?” Yelena was leaning against the wall, she was wearing a white, winter jacket with her brows knitted together.

You grabbed the railing shaking your head, your lips broke into a bitter smile. Of course, Yelena would be there watching your breakdown, Natasha had been like a mother to you offering her arms and shoulders for you to rest and let go of your pain. But Yelena had been the sister that made you face reality of what you were feeling, what you wanted and what you really needed.

“I don't know.” You turned around resting your weight on the railing, your eyes finding those of Yelena. “I've been thinking about everything that has happened, and I just…I don't know.”

Yelena nodded in understanding; she stepped closer to you crossing her arms. She was covering the fact she was freezing at the moment, her body shivering under the heavy weight of the jacket she was wearing.

“You don't know or you just don't want to know.” Yelena glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, she wrapped her arms around herself pursuing her lips. “I think in the last couple of weeks you have to finally face a situation you had been evading for far too long.”

“I don’t know what I should do, ‘Lena.” You whispered frowning deeply, “everything had been clear a couple of months ago, I was happy until…”

“Until you received the videos?” Yelena set her eyes on the horizon, before tilting her head to turn her attention to you. “They were sent by someone inside SWORD, Agatha had more than one ally in the organization.”

“How do you know?”

“Natasha asked me to investigate while you were away, it wasn’t that difficult to find some of the records.” Yelena shifted the weight of her feet her hand sneaking inside her pocket. “I don’t think you travelling through the multiverse was part of her plan, though capturing you and getting Wanda, America and yourself in the same place was.”

“She wanted our powers, same old story.” You shook your head, “do they ever get original?”

“Don’t think so.” Yelena chuckled bumping against you, her face softening while she put from her pocket a single envelope.

“What is that?” You eyed the object with curiosity, Yelena pursed her lips before stretching her hand and presenting you with it.

“Before she left, she wanted to give you this.” Yelena frowned observing as your expression changed, you went from being slightly relaxed to a tormented soul in a second. “Whatever happened in the other universe, whatever happened in Westview, whatever happened when the both of you were young…I think, Y/N, you need to face the past and decide what to do with yourself and with her.”

You grabbed the envelope, taking care of the letter inside it.

“She left.”

“She did.”

“Yelena, I …” You couldn’t finish your sentence but Yelena was not expecting you to, she smirked shaking her head while rolling her eyes at you.

“The thing about love, Y/N, is that you can’t predict it, you can’t control it, and certainly, you can’t choose who you fall in love with.” Yelena said simply. “Now, it is up to you what will happen next, I think by now we all know what Wanda really wants, and who she really loves.”

“I thought you hate her.” You never took your eyes away from the letter, Yelena snorted shaking her head.

“No, I just didn’t like her that much, you were a mess when I met you.” Yelena stated turning her attention to the house. “She is not so bad, after all.”

You snorted shaking your head, with some reluctance you put the letter away wrapping your arms around Yelena, the young woman smiled allowing the comfort of your embrace while you two made your way back into the lighthouse.

The letter heavy on your pocket, your mind wanting nothing more than to know what Wanda had left behind. It wouldn’t be until latter that day that you would have a chance to read it and, by then, Wanda was too far away trying to hold back her tears while convincing herself she had made the right decision.

Wanda left thinking she would never see you again, and you read the letter knowing you needed to see Wanda again.

At the end of the day, it was about love, and what we did to get a little of it in our lives. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter: You read the letter, Natasha reads the letter, Carol finds the letter, and Yelena and America are kinda desperated with you pinning for Wanda and not doing anything about it. Wanda is finally getting some peace, learning about herslef and her powers when, all of a sudden, she receives a surprised visit.

#fanfic #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wandaxreader #female reader #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader

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probablyasocialecologist · 5 months

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There are enough highways, apartments and offices, malls and hotels, restaurants and theme parks—this despite an ongoing crisis of housing affordability. In the over-carbonised economies of the world’s wealthiest countries, maybe we don’t need to build any more, or only do so in a very targeted manner: hospitals and archives, cooling centres, housing and amenities for climate refugees. Even in these cases, there is often the capacity to reuse and redistribute what we have—to reconsider the role of design as one of maintenance, repair, and adequate comfort. Some buildings are needed. Class A office space and luxury condominiums, not so much. After the Covid lockdowns, the vacant office space in New York City could fill twenty-six Empire State Buildings. Seems like enough. Yet there are still cranes in the sky, still new towers on the boards—indeed, the production of the built environment (and not only in New York) is essential to a growth economy. Any form of enough-ness goes against this premise of relative economic strength being measured by growth, or really by the growth of growth—how much has the GDP gone up, and at what rate? To suggest that, individually or collectively, we already have enough goes against the very foundation of consumer culture. Many life worlds are organized largely, if not exclusively, around accumulation, wanting and getting more—more stuff, more space, more savings. The health of the US economy in particular is measured by rates of consumer spending, and through this measure implicitly directs the global supply chain. What, for example, is the carbon cost of the resurgence of interest in Barbie? The plastics, the shipping, the advertising, the repainting of houses. And given the carbon intensive energy regime that hums beneath this always-growing global economy, all of this—stuff, space, savings—is dripping in oil, vibrating with carbon intensity, keeping the arrow of emissions pointed inexorably upwards. The Austrian/Puerto Rican economist Leopold Kohr referred to this as Skyscraper Economics—how high can we build? How much can an economy grow? Is there a measure of health, or wealth, that is not about this competitive increase, but about a horizontal redistribution? At last year’s Beyond Growth Summit in Brussels, this was framed as a distinction between “ecologically harmful growth competition and well being cooperation.” Architecture’s fealty to growth, investment, and financialization is caught up in this distinction, and faces the challenge of finding opportunities for creativity within a new set of constraints. Why, when a new building is announced on Instagram or in a glossy magazine by some proud firm or client, do we see square footage, a few swanky features, but no mention of the estimated carbon emissions of the building’s life-cycle?

#degrowth #climate change #architecture

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babacontainsmultitudes · 1 year

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Let's Talk About Lincoln And His Dads, Okay?

I think people claiming that Lincoln and Grant "aren't so different after all" because, like everyone else in the show, they both have blood on their hands, have mostly missed the mark on where the core of Lincoln's issues with his dad(s) lie in the first place.

Moreover, I'm tired of people insinuating that Lincoln's troubles pale in comparison to Normal's or Scary's or Hermie's, and I'm tired of people saying that Lincoln is overreacting, or that Lincoln is a hypocrite for calling out his dad's behavior, or that he is in the wrong for setting boundaries, or that he's ungrateful, or that he's responsible for ensuring his dad's emotional wellbeing and not the other way around!

*breathes* So let's. Let's finally talk about Lincoln and Grant (and Marco also him).

[WOAH THERE! Hey you, yeah you, this is a long-ass post, mhm, it's one of those, so please keep that in mind before venturing below the cut. Maybe grab yourself a drink or a bite to eat first, yeah? Additionally, sorry the transcript stuff is a bit messy in this one, tumblr has a 30 image limit and well, I had to find workarounds. Also, I haven't yet added alt text for the transcript screenshots- I plan to when I have a bit more energy for it, but I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause in the meantime!]

Part 1/4: "Honesty is hardly ever heard, and mostly what I need from you"

Lincoln is certainly a pacifist at heart (in more recent times important examples of this include Lincoln's refusal to harm Scary in the Swallows household, as well as Lincoln being the only one of the teens to successfully avoid using violence in front of d00d during their most recent standoff with Willy), and in good paladin fashion functions as the group's moral compass the majority of the time.

Despite this, Lincoln's morals are not so simplistic and idealistic as to not differentiate between different motives for violence, nor does he view acts of violence in and of themselves as signs that a person is "evil" or "irredeemable". He can for example, see the difference between the acts of Willy and those of the kiddads, as he tries to explain when confronted by the other teens on the matter:

In fact, even after Grant tells Linc all of this during the incursion:

Lincoln's primary goal is still to save his dad first and foremost, then offer him the room to explain himself, without immediately chalking him up as a bad person because of what he has done.

Lincoln certainly doesn't approve of Grant and his violence, though he can understand that things are seldom black and white. But the killing is far from the only issue here. In fact, it's not even the main issue.

Grant creates a foundation based on trust and accountability whose importance in the Li-Wilson household is hammered in from the very first episode.

And we see throughout the early episodes of the season just how strongly Lincoln believes that Grant would never lie to him.

Then of course the incursion point encounter happens. There are several elements of this encounter that we will gloss over for now and go back to later, but of immediate importance is the fact that this interaction serves as direct confirmation for Lincoln that his dad has in fact been lying to him his entire life.

Additionally, he learns that Grant possesses a deep hatred of himself, wants to die, perceives himself as "broken beyond repair", and fears that Lincoln will somehow wind up just like him. That's a lot for one kid to have dropped on them, let alone all at once and without warning!

So- Lincoln wants to confront his dad after this both because he wants his dad to explain himself and take accountability for his dishonesty and for his actions more generally, and because he is concerned for his dad's wellbeing.

Now let's look at how Grant has, over the course of the season, responded to Lincoln's attempts to get him to take responsibility for his actions, and talk about his mental health:

The first thing Grant does is pull a classic Wilson "we'll talk about it later". Then the very next thing he does is lie to Lincoln again, now pretending that his plan is to fix things with Erin by offering her a gift (when of course he's actually set out to steal the sun)

Then as a deflection when Lincoln further tries to confront him about the lying, he indirectly equates everything he has kept secret from Lincoln (see the incursion point stuff) to "little white lies" and, contrary to the philosophy he so heavily instilled in Lincoln, argues that sometimes lying can protect the people one cares about:

Which as a point of interest I would like to compare and contrast to something Lincoln says in an earlier episode:

"lies can protect" vs "protecting is also trusting"- anyways moving on,

From there Grant's plan to steal the sun eventually comes to light (heh) and gets foiled, forcing the teens to be the mature ones in the situation and try to negotiate something with Erin. While he is certainly disappointed by everything going on, however, Lincoln's priorities vis-à-vis Grant are still, first and foremost, to ensure that he is safe, and when time allows for it get an apology from him and get him to talk openly about everything he has withheld. At this point in time Lincoln, while obviously angry at his dad, still very clearly cares about his dad and just wants to be able to talk with him without all the lies or deflection or excuses.

Then the teens are backed into a corner when their attempts at negotiation go sour, and ultimately wind up helping Grant steal the sun. Once that is over, Lincoln tries to confront his dad again, now with regards to some of the things he said about himself:

(Do note that last bit especially as it will be of relevance in the next section)

Then after Grant ignores the other teens when they try to talk to him, Lincoln calls him out and once again asks him to apologize, in part for having told Lincoln previously that they were dangerous and that he was not to hang out with them:

(as you might have guessed, Grant does not apologize).

Then it is established that the "zone of truth" in the Li-Wilson household isn't actually a spell but an agreed upon promise between Marco, Grant, and Lincoln to tell only the truth when someone calls upon the zone of truth, further cementing the degree to which honesty is an important Li-Wilson family value. Whilst in the zone of truth, however, Grant beats around the bush with regards to his intentions, and the teens ultimately decide that they do not want him to come along with them to the church of the doodler, as he is untrustworthy, in addition to Lincoln saying that he needs some space for his own sake. Grant then pretends to respect this decision, though he is in fact once again lying through his teeth, and sneaks back on later.

Before exiting the bus for the first time, however, Lincoln tries to get his dad to open up a bit about his feelings. Grant's response?

Time after time after time, Grant refuses to confront himself and address anything from what occurred at the incursion, and in fact adds on to everything with a whole new slew of lies, and with each failed attempt at connection the rift between Lincoln and Grant increases. And Lincoln, true to his values and how he was raised, is not a hypocrite in wanting openness and accountability from his dad. Lincoln is not and has never acted like he is perfect and beyond making mistakes, but Lincoln takes responsibility for his actions, even when the degree to which he is actually complicit in the crime at hand is questionable. He writes a letter to the families of the firemen because he feels responsible for their deaths. He apologizes to Taylor for lying to him about the bracelets and helps not only Taylor but also Nicky escape the clutches of the FBI, even though the consequence of doing so could easily have been his own death. When he thinks he may have inadvertently lead Hero on, his immediate decision is to take accountability for it and clear things up. All of this in addition to consistently apologizing to his friends when he thinks he may have hurt them for one reason or another.

This is also an important thing to consider when we talk about the place of violence in the show. Yes all the characters, including Lincoln himself, have had to kill at some point or another for the sake of survival and protecting the ones they love. But Lincoln does not use the blood on his hands to justify violence in future decisions. Despite the fact that he has had to kill before, Lincoln, as mentioned in the beginning of this essay, continues to try incredibly hard to act as pacifist whenever he can, choosing to protect those around him with as little collateral damage as possible. Does he have a perfect track record? No! Does he still try his damned hardest to choose kindness and mercy? Absolutely! And this is an important distinction especially between Lincoln and Grant.

And then Grant kills Terry. Now Lincoln must shift his priorities towards protecting his friends from his dad, but in running after Scary still finds himself forced to confront him. So what does Grant have to say regarding his actions?

Both Lincoln and Scary are right to be furious with this response, Terry Jr. is dead and all Grant can offer in response is what is essentially another excuse. Grant's mental state does not absolve him of responsibility or accountability for his actions, which as Lincoln points out (and repeats later) consist not only of the singular choice of shooting Terry, but of every choice he has made before and after that. "I'm sorry your dad is broken" obviously doesn't bring Terry Jr. back, but perhaps more importantly demonstrates that Grant is still not willing to reflect on his actions any further than that and work on himself moving forward.

So Lincoln does what is perhaps the most difficult thing he has done in his life, and disowns his father. This is not a rash, impulsive decision. As established, Lincoln has given Grant many chances throughout the season to address his behavior and at least fucking *talk* with Lincoln about his mental state, but he refused. He refused, not because he means harm, but because Grant truly believes himself to be fundamentally broken and irreparable, and doesn’t see the effect that his own suffering is having on his son. This, in addition to continuously failing to take Lincoln seriously and treat him as more than a little kid, both in failing to listen to Lincoln's voices of concern as well as in disregarding any of his proposals to go about things differently (whether that means avoiding violence, trusting rather than lying, or both).

So when Lincoln says:

"It's not about what you just did now, Dad. It's all your choices. You chose me. There wasn't some passion, or, or just a kid. You chose me as your kid, knowing you were broken. You can't take that back. And… I love you, and I hate that you made me love you, when… you are who you are and you knew it."

This isn't Lincoln saying that Grant should not have had a kid because he is mentally unwell or has trauma, it is Lincoln saying that Grant continues to make choices without acknowledging his agency in those choices and the effect they have on those around him, instead choosing to pin his mistakes on his perceived brokenness without any resolution to do something about that.

And before you say, "but Grant didn't have a choice in becoming Lincoln's parent since he saved him from the Titanic":

This simply isn't true, as strictly speaking there was nothing stopping Grant and Marco from putting Lincoln up for adoption if one or both of them did not feel themselves to be ready or capable of taking care of a child and

Ignoring Lincoln's exact phrasing, "choosing to be a parent" is not just about the literal choice to have a child, it's about every choice you make before and after that. It's choosing not to express your concerns over parenthood with your spouse, which based on Grant's track record:

-Is definitely in-character for him. Conversely, in Marco's case, it may be choosing not to ask your partner about their feelings on the matter (because, really, asking Grant on the spot while literally on a sinking ship if he's okay with adopting the baby they just found is kinda rough). It's choosing not to go to therapy (not that we know whether Grant specifically did/does or not but all the same). It's choosing not to apologize when your child is upset with you because of something you did. It's choosing not to take them or their friends seriously. It's choosing to lie instead of trust. It's an endless amount of choices that Grant (and Marco) made every step of the way!

As a final note for this section, what's particularly unfortunate is that even with Lincoln's disownment, Grant still has failed to show any major signs of change. Note this telling exchange (from episode 40):

Grant: I-I understand that. I just thought. Just something that just occurred to me. Hey Dood.

Dood: Yeah?

Grant: Why did you kill those two guys?

Dood: Because I love you so much and I wanted to protect you.

Grant: Okay. That's all I wanted to know.

In which Grant is still making excuses rather than owning up to or apologizing for anything or striving to change his behavior in the future. What's great about Grant's "point" here too is that the two guards that d00d killed were absolutely unnecessary deaths, so this example does anything but work in Grant's favor.

Part 2/4: "My mother hates her body, we share the same outline"

But this is only part of the problem. As aforementioned, we learn early on and see repeated on multiple occasions that Grant thinks ill of himself to the point of believing that he deserves death, and does not want Lincoln to be anything like him.

This affects Lincoln in two major ways. Perhaps most obviously, it leaves Lincoln greatly concerned for his dad's wellbeing, which in turn acts as his main motivation for trying (and failing) to get Grant to explore and explain those feelings. Additionally, however, Grant's self-loathing also has a passive but deeply damaging effect on Lincoln's self-worth. The most important indication of this is when Lincoln says:

"Okay. Look, Scary, I just... You know what? I don't even care. I just needed a friend and I don't know… I don’t know what you're going through, but… no, my dad always said you can't love somebody unless you love yourself, right? Well, last time I asked him if he loved himself, he… He doesn't. So… I don't know, so maybe he doesn't love me either. And you seem to know what that's like, and, you're my friend! You're dealing with these things and I'm just here. I just, I don't know! I don't love myself either! I don't know! But I know that more people will die if we can't do this together, and you're the only person, like, in this group— I mean you guys are, I mean— [sighs] Look, you can go. I'm not going to stop you. You go if you want to go. I'm done."

Also classic Lincoln move to say he doesn't care then proceed to hug Scary through an Eldritch Blast. In this essay, on why people misuse the word "apathy" in applying it to Lincoln,

Though the issue comes up again in a less obvious but very interesting way when Lincoln says that:

Which I assume probably seems pretty out of left field. To explain a bit what I'm trying to get at here, consider the following scenario:

Your parent, who you care about immensely, possesses certain qualities (say, idk, intrusive thoughts or mood swings or delusional thoughts or *something*) that they possess great shame over, and truly, wholeheartedly believe makes them "evil" or unlovable or even outright deserving of death. Of course, you do not believe that your parent is any of these things, it hurts to see that they feel this way about them-self, so you try your best to support them, even if you know deep down that you are their child and this should not be your responsibility. Your parent does not see the effect that their mental state is having on yours, does not take your voices of concern seriously, and mostly leaves you feeling like you are talking to a wall.

This hurts already, but it gets worse. You are your parent's child, and you are human, and so you inevitably find yourself with some of the characteristics that your parent loathes so much in them-self. Maybe you have similar thought patterns. Maybe you've made similar mistakes. Your parent doesn't love them-self because of these qualities that you now see in yourself, so how can you be sure that they do not hate you for them too? Do they believe that you deserve to die for these things as well? Your parent obviously assures you to the contrary, after all, they love you more than anything. But your parent fails to offer any meaningful line of distinction between their flaws and yours (after all, there isn't one, not really), and continues to assert that, unlike you, they really do deserve to die. Your parent is a hypocrite, and their reassurance does little to convince you.

Hopefully that makes some sense. With regards to the "dreams about killing my dads" part, mostly what I'm trying to say is that these dreams, while certainly very different from Grant's conscious thoughts about violence, still tread the line of mimicking them to some degree, and Grant's "I deserve to die because of how my brain works, don't be anything like me because that's bad!" really doesn't leave Lincoln with a healthy way to process and interpret this fact about himself, even if these dreams don't actually say anything about who he is as a person.

Anyways all that to say, on multiple levels Grant's unwillingness to even try to love himself and treat himself better has been having effects on his son that he can't even begin to realize, in addition to everything discussed in the first bit.

"But baba," I hear you say, "what about Marco? Why has Lincoln seemingly disowned both of his dads?"

Part 3/4: Three is the loneliest number

Well, I think there's a couple things going on here. For one thing, I think in a sense Lincoln sees his dads as kind of a "package deal", which is to say that from his pov disowning Grant means Marco would have to pick a side, and though it pains him immensely (as we see evidence of on several occasions), Lincoln would ultimately rather give up Marco than have Grant be left alone without either of them, because he will always love and care about Grant, and because he's selfless that way.

Additionally, for a good long while, Lincoln doesn't actually appear to harbor any resentment towards Marco:

However, this later part of the season has brought with it a new wave of disillusionment, and in its wake Lincoln has finally come to question the last major issue characterizing his relationship with his parents: social isolation.

We have known from basically the first episode of the season that Lincoln has lived a very isolated, lonely life, and that the only reason he's even going to public high school now is because he finally convinced Grant to let him:

As a side note, I have seen discussion of the fact that since Lincoln was rescued from the Titanic, it's possible that he was homeschooled solely because he did not legally exist. The above statement from Matt seems to work against this theory, in addition to the fact that if Lincoln was missing legal papers to get into elementary school... That would also prevent him from going to high school. Also, I mean. If you actually were to find an abandoned baby there's a whole legal process you're supposed to go through, and since Lincoln surely wouldn't have any close blood relatives around, that would still leave the possibility for Grant and Marco to adopt him legally if they wanted to (and if they chose not to go through said process, that's kind of on them?). Which isn't to say that this theory is out of the question, but in any case being homeschooled is one thing, whereas the actual degree of social isolation Lincoln goes through growing up is way more than just that, as we will delve into.

Now, we know that Grant eventually puts an end to Lincoln and Normal seeing each other on the basis that Lark and Sparrow are dangerous, which... Itself is actually fair tbh, in particular given what we now know about Hero. Not fair to Lincoln or Normal, obviously, but understandable. Much less acceptable, is the fact that Lincoln actually grows up without any friends his age whatsoever:

We understand of course that the motives behind this extreme social isolation are not malicious or otherwise done with ill-intent, but that doesn't make this even remotely okay! Of course then Lincoln is very clingy and perhaps even territorial over his dads, to the point where one of his biggest fears is his parents having another child who would take some of their attention away from him- they've created an environment in which they are basically all he has!

As a direct result of this, Lincoln gets lonely very easily, and when he finally does make some friends of his own, he will do anything and everything for them, even if it means risking his own life (at least then he isn't alive and lonely!)

This is also why Lincoln is so especially distraught after the loss of Mr. Kicks, a digital avatar whom he considered his best (and only) friend.

Additionally, Lincoln's fear of returning to his lonesome childhood creates an unfortunate scenario in which he cannot be honest with his dads about the fact that he is being bullied at school

Even though that is definitely the case (and in fact we see it first-hand on many occasions), because to do so would run the risk of his dads taking him out of public school, and that, to him, is worse.

Lincoln beginning to view this aspect of his childhood (the isolation but also the over-protectiveness and overbearing attitude more generally) for what it is is why Matt's intros have recently shifted from "schooled at home" to "schooled in prison", in addition to pretty directly saying that high school was like heaven compared to his home life (in episode 40), and I don't think Lincoln is even remotely in the wrong for looking back at his isolation and thinking "hey, even if you had good intentions, that was kind of fucked up actually, and I need to distance myself from you for my own sake."

Not that Lincoln wanting freedom from his overbearing dads is a new thing! I mean apart from what one can logically infer from Lincoln convincing Grant to let him go to public school, Matt does drop a bunch of telling details here and there such as Lincoln's favorite sound being "the silence of being home alone and free". It's just that now is when these feelings are finally starting to come to the surface.

It is also something that Lincoln naturally would hold against both Grant and Marco, because they are both aware of and responsible for this aspect of his upbringing (whether Marco acted actively or as an enabler in the matter notwithstanding- though I would look no further than both Grant and Marco getting red cards the one time they tried letting Lincoln play soccer with other kids to observe how that family dynamic plays out), hence feeling the need to cut himself off from the both of them in order to set a long-overdue boundary. That said, to be honest with you, I really don't think he's actually all that upset with Marco, and would mostly just like to see him again.

If the events of the Titanic help to ease any aspect of Lincoln's frustration, it would be this one. Not in the sense that it magically makes what Lincoln went through growing up okay, but it does still recontextualize Grant and Marco's degree of overbearingness and (part of) why they are how they are, and I absolutely think that Lincoln would have sympathy for that.

So, where does that leave us?

Part 4/4: What remains (+ the case study of Scary)

"But baba," you say, "Grant and Marco are not just their mistakes! They've both done so many things right as parents, and they love Lincoln more than anything!"

I turn to you, tears in my eyes. "I know," I say, "I know, but that does not contradict or erase the fact that they have inadvertently hurt Lincoln in many, many ways, and he has a right to be upset with them, and express that, and set boundaries if he feels the need to."

You sigh. "So do you think Grant is a good dad or a bad one?" you ask.

I shake my head. "He's just... He's just a dad. A dad who's had a rough swing of things from the beginning. He never meant to hurt Lincoln, and I truly believe he's got a good heart, but I want to see him try harder. I need to see him try harder than he currently is to better himself, for Lincoln's sake as much as his own."

Is... More or less how I feel. I absolutely agree that as a parent Grant obviously gives a shit, and my intention here is absolutely not to say "hey actually, Grant is awful!"

As I mentioned at the very beginning of this essay, however, collectively I have found over the course of the season that Lincoln's trauma and struggles have gone severely understated and undermined, sometimes to the point of even turning him into the bad guy or depicting him as acting dramatic for a decision that I think was very brave of him, actually. So... It does feel necessary to me to point out that, as much as I care about Grant and recognize that he's suffered immensely too, he's still made a lot of mistakes over the course of the season, and still has a lot of room to grow as a person.

As things currently are, I would not blame Lincoln if he did not forgive Grant by the end of the season. Do I think that's what's gonna happen? No lol.

If you'll excuse a mini side-tangent, because for now I don't really want to make this a separate post, the mid-season evolution of Lincoln and Scary's relationship is actually a great case study for Lincoln's capacity for forgiveness, in addition to his inability to give up on people:

Tony Pepperoni's murder is, I would argue, an attack against Lincoln most personally (relative to the other teens). Aside from Lincoln having the strongest pacifistic tendencies of the group, it's in his home, it's in front of Marco, as established in the 3rd section Tony Pepperoni, by virtue of having been over for dinners at the Li-Wilson household before, is someone Lincoln knows more personally than the other teens and one of the only people in his life he could have possibly approximated to a friend. Most importantly though, Scary goes behind Lincoln's back in letting Willy out and disclosing the location of the party, and that is a significant breach of trust.

So Lincoln kicks Scary out of the house (and more or less out of the group by extension) because protecting the others from her is the most important thing at that point in time (sound familiar?). For the next bit, Lincoln's behavior towards Scary becomes a juggling act of keeping a close eye on her to make sure she doesn't cause more harm (and yes, it's also when they are meanest with each other), but also keeping a close eye on her to look after her (a notable example of this being that he doesn't leave her behind in the hall of mirrors, even when it would have been easier and perhaps even "beneficial" to do so in the context of the anchor quest).

And yet despite all the mutual hostility, Lincoln without question also fights the hardest to get Scary back. He breaks the pick as a sign of trust (and as Freddie put it: "that's love babeeey") and to show her she's welcome back in the group, follows through on this decision despite the fact that it creates a temporary rift between him and the others (Normal and Taylor) who oppose her return (perhaps a good time to also say as a reminder that Lincoln was the most against letting Willy out in the first place), breaks a door down to protect her from Willy even when everyone else in the house treats him as crazy for doing so, refuses to fight Scary when she goes on the offense, and hugs her through a god damn eldritch blast because he can't let her leave and hurt more people but still cares about her to the point that he would literally choose to die before hurting her or giving up on fighting for her. Like, if that's not love and forgiveness, I don't fucking know what is. This in addition to him encouraging the others to go easy on her and otherwise looking out for her past that point.

So do I think Lincoln Li-Wilson has it in him to forgive Grant in spite of it all? That is a resounding yes from me. Will the events of the Titanic facilitate this if only by painting Grant's situation in a more sympathetic light and showcasing some of his virtues? Totally, I mean, there's a reason Anthony decided to make the arc go this way. But will I be a bit disappointed if this forgiveness comes without any major growth on Grant's part? Also. Also yes yeah.

MM. I DON'T REALLY KNOW HOW TO END THIS ONE TBH. Heh. Well, thank you for one thing, for taking the time to read a post this long. If you're reading this not too long after I posted it I am most definitely pacing around rn going "oh god they hate it!" but uh. Well that's a me problem lol. Anyways, I hope this proves to be at least somewhat insightful? ...Yeah no apart from that I really am struggling to end this properly and honestly I'm real sleepy lol so I'll just say again (whether you agree with the points listed here or not) THANKS FOR HEARING ME OUT Y'ALL AND TAKE CARE.

#dndads #lincoln li wilson #grant wilson #Nervous about this one! Well I always am with these but people can be a bit touchy when it comes to Grant especially so there's that.#dungeons and daddies #but what can you do ig!#marco li #long post #baba babbles #<- tag I still don't use usually smh #second section especially I think is where I'm really like- man I *hope* I'm expressing myself alright and people get what I'm laying down #scary marlowe #suuuuure yeah enough Scary here that I can tag her in I think

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like-likes · 5 months

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I've just inherited my late father's farmhouse. No I'm not kidding - That's why I haven't posted in a few days. My husband and I decided to take over his old colonial house after lots of consideration with the current housing market being ridiculous and unaffordable and such.

The house needs a complete room to room cleaning, fresh paint, a few major repairs and many minor repairs. 2000+ sq feet of living space with an enormous attic. Thankfully it has a newer heating system and a new roof already. I already had the septic tank repaired while we were prepping the house to go on sale last fall.

So I guess in a way I am playing Stardew Valley IRL, The property sits on a 4 acre lot. I can't see my neighbors... Surrounded by trees,,, It's beautiful! There is a barn foundation/pit we like to use for cozy little fires. I'm really happy for the opportunity to honor my late father in bringing life back to this old house. I'm also pretty excited for our 2 kids to get out of the suburb/city and into this much quieter, slower paced place. I lived here when I was their age. It's peaceful.

Anyway, got to get going... I'm thinking of starting a side blog for the before and after pictures and overall process. Or would you like to have me just post them here? hmmm....

I'll still play Stardew - I always come back to it! Yes at the moment - My mind is filled with ideas on how to make this place a happy beautiful home that reflects some of the original style of the house (colors for the walls, curtains, rugs...) mixed with some modern comforts and designs...

My kitchen is going to be mushroom themed! Never had a themed kitchen before :) So fun!

See ya ;)

#stardew #sdv #this old house #farm house #story time #stardew valley

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welcome-to-green-hills · 6 months

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Do you think that we’ll explore the town of Green Hills, Montana in the series and Sonic 3? Like slice of life stuff or more history? I don’t think that there’s a whole lot to the town other than it being described as a “dinky backwater town.”

Hi Honey! ❤️✨

Believe it or not, the town of Green Hills is very fruitful in its foundation! It may not feel like it, but there’s definitely a rich history of when the town was established. (Whew! Now y’all get to see how big of a nerd I am. That’s either a really good thing or a bad thing). I’ll hyperlink all of my sources/claims to specific information so y’all can review it at a later date. Hopefully, this add a bit more detail than what the Sonic Wikis have for the films.

Down below are bullet points and photos of Green Hills, Montana:

Green Hills was founded in the early 1800's by a group of explorers surveying and mapping that state of Montana. The rugged explorers took nearly 30 years in making a complete map of the state and claiming the area as home. Green Hills is located in the middle of the state and known to have fascinating geological features. The town was called "Green Hills" due to the unique shades of green found in its flora. Essentially, the town was founded by chance because it took so long to survey between 1806 to 1835.

One of the town's founders, Morgan McConnell, specifically wanted to build a town in the heart of Montana because of the area's geological feature--checkered patterns. Morgan McConnell was credited for charting nearly a quarter of the state, including the town, and coined as as THE explorer of Montana. His favorite location to sit and work at was the Devil's Pinkie (the ledge that Sonic stands at in the first and second film). Unexpectedly, McConnell fell off of the Devil's Pinkie and died. According to town legend, McConnell's name echoed through the valley ranges for hours after he died. It's unknown if these are still heard in the area today.

Between 1870 and 1883, the town of Green Hills became one of the firsts settled areas along the Northern Pacific Railway. The transcontinental railroad system stretched from the State of Minnesota, the Pacific Northwest, and along the main line opening at the Great Lakes. A town plaque describes Green Hills as a "golden spike" by former USA president Ulysses S. Grant and viewed as an important hub. The town is credited as a supply depot, as well as known for bringing in large immigration populations. The railroad system is still a crucial necessity of the town today.

The first settlers of Green Hills, Montana didn't start making their migration to the area until the 1860s. The settlers were faced with hardships of the land, lack of infrastructure, and brutal winters. Families were known to mingle together in small dwellings and form small communities. Polygamous families were common until Christian morality arrived to the area in later years (Welcome-to-Green-Hills, 2021).

Main Street features the town's first general store, a feed and gardening supply store, and post office.

Green Hills, Montana takes pride in country hospitality. The warmer months have communal events such as hoedowns, harvests and festivals, fishing derbies, farmers markets, and horseback riding events. The business district features Dr. Maddie Wachowski's veterinary clinic, antique shops, a brewery (AKA, the Beer Gardens), a stationary shop, a butcher's shop, and the Mean Bean Coffee Shop (the slogan: "drink mean"). (Tails Channel, 2021).

The Green Hills Community Theater is a town gem. It was established in 1905 and has been known to put on spectacular and successful productions for over 100 years.

The Green Hills Bulletin (the local newspaper) says that they've been the hot spot for a classic car show for the past twenty years, have a "Dog of the Week" section, a local artist guild that does mosaics for the town, recently had a worker's strike on repairing the railroad system in town, and are in the middle of a movement for accessibility laws for disabled residents.

In the first movie's novel, Green Hills is known for its massive Blueberry festivals in the fall. This is an event that's welcome to all of the farmers in the state and neighboring states. Tom is known to actively take part of the festival.

In the 1900's, the town saw an influx of United States veterans occupy the area. It's seen as a "retirement community" to those not actively serving.

The town as a population of nearly 2,000 residents, as implied by the "Welcome to Green Hills" sign at the speed trap.

There's definitely more that the town has to offer in terms of history. When I have the chance, I'll give this post some more attention and add to it. Until then, enjoy some historical facts about our Dinky Backwater Town!

#sonic movie #sonic movie 2 #sonic cinematic universe #mystery anon #off topic

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n33dlew0rk · 2 months

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Crollo

rated T | 1113 words | cw: cheating, scarce emotional management, angst

for @steddieangstyaugust prompt “angst with happy ending” (day 4)

This is not even inspired by, I directly quoted/translated some parts of “Crollo” by Quercia.

Yeah yeah yeah, so Steve was not prepared for that, honestly. He was ready for a lot of things but most of them were way outside of the humans hurting other humans emotionally spectrum. Hell, if anything he probably deserved some kind of reward, because the speed at which he turned his more than well-earned freaking the fuck out moment into a demonstration of probably not as much well-earned devotion, was truly compelling.

His heart was left inside dessicating while his trust left the building without a word.

And he couldn’t even relate to most of the typical rockstar wives enduring the obvious implications of the touring life drama, because it wasn’t a matter of fans and groupies and drugs and trashed hotel rooms, no. He was a producer, a friend, a more than three yearly bbqs with families and acquaintances and coworkers good buddy, a fishing directly into Steve’s worst paranoia of not having enough in common with Eddie nightmare, also a fucking steady gig, apparently.

So Steve did what seems to be the thing he does best: he babysat his relationship through the motions. (The motions being lots of tears and make-up sex and talking a lot about forgiveness and listening to a lot of good reasons why the love of his life was supposedly kind of right in looking out for his own emotional needs instead of talking with Steve even if he couldn’t think of a single time he denied Eddie anything and months of hush-hush couples therapy because tabloid-wise Steve did not exist and ironically nor did Danny).

Yeah, so time went by, slowly piecing together the crumbling foundations of their love with gold-infused hope-based and will-reinforced glue.

And seeing as helping others was his true call since his long lost life-altering teenage years, Steve can’t really be blamed for forgetting about the festering consequences of those same fractures inside himself. Make them feel good and you’ll feel good too eventually, right?

Steve opened his eyes every day pretending to see the sun filtering just through the blinds of their bedroom instead of through all the cracks not even the purest 24k gold could fix in his attempt to rebuild a fragile vase-like life with Eddie.

One could say that forgiveness has many different fashions of coming into existence, that there’s no one-size-fits-all solution to restore a relationship. And while this is all theoretically very true, it is also true that in bullshitting his way through nearly one year of Kintsugi style patching up his entire world, Steve was brought to the conclusion that repairing his love life even if with golden-plated good intentions would never bring it back as it was.

And as soon as Steve folded under the pressure of this realisation, so did everything else. Like the debris of a fire, hurt spread like an infection, a wedge in a rift long-simmering, not undetected but surely underestimated.

So Steve left.

He packed all the shards in a suitcase, heavy with grief and resentment, leaving a trail of wounds he didn’t even know he had growing inside himself like freshly baked bullets aimed at Eddie’s heart.

Steve left and the ground behind him where once their beautiful house rose was so burnt he was sure he sentenced to death every slim chance Eddie and him could ever even hope to grasp.

Almost a whole year later, during his first solo therapy session in a new city with a new job and a new apartment and such newfound freedom he never asked for he spent nearly half an hour crying, stuck on a single phrase he kept on murmuring, condemnation on his shoulders more than a prayer for repentance: “I never fix myself in time to not make myself hated”.

It was after a few weeks of pouring waterfalls of regret and bile, after the first painful tries at cleaning the cut splitting him in two, that Janine -bless the woman- said to him: “Steve, how about we ditch this whole” she gestured vaguely at him with her wrinkly blood red lacquered fingers “rebuilding what once was concept”.

Steve looked at her confused as a pre-schooler who’s just been told that he cannot call the teacher ‘mom’. “What do you mean?” he half-sobbed.

She sighed, “I mean that it’s been years for you and weeks for us and still the only direction you seem to be able to look at everything that happened is the one where somehow you magically discover a way to turn back in time and resume your happy unaware life.” That was an unusually long sentence for Janine, whose primary and native language consisted of sceptical nods, expressive and judgemental eyebrows and the occasional grunt.

Predictably it was an exception and the precious sliver of patience was slipping quickly from Janine’s eyes.

“I- I don’t know what else to do” Steve said, trying to fight tears with a very weak composure, straightening his back on the plush chair. “I tried to fix it, I fucked it up more instead.”

“And you think that the only thing on the other side of that is what? Perfection?” Janine slapped her thighs, getting up and around her desk. “Steve, our session is running short today, but listen to me carefully”, she paused, putting both her hands on Steve’s shoulders.

“The before you’re so stubbornly looking at through rose tinted glasses is the same place where everything you’re trying to untangle now was born.”

Steve lifted his glazed eyes to hers, mid-way between a(nother) breakdown and hopefulness.

“You’re scared. You already know you can’t have it back like it was, you already tried to puzzle your way into a life that wasn’t good enough for either of you.” She said.

Steve rose from the chair, slowly walking towards the door. “The sooner you let yourself break, break free from your already crushed castle of romanticised nostalgia, the sooner your fears will disappear.” Another pause, the bitch really was going in with the dramatics. “Then you can build anew.”

You reached Steve Harrington. I’m currently unavailable, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. “Hey Steve, I know this is kind of out of the blue and I’m calling despite... fear eating me out because honestly. I mean, fuck, I can’t say I would still wanna talk to me if I was in your shoes, but.. Sweetheart I need to at least try, because... I haven’t seen you in more than a year and you’re still the only thing missing from my world for it to be even tolerable. So… what do you say about lunch and I don’t know, start over?”

Divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #angst with happy ending #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #angst #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #I seriously need to stop starting a project just because a song hits me right in the feels because man I need a plan this was hard

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foundationsolution · 2 months

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Understanding Concrete Flaking And Its Similarities With Spalling

Concrete, which forms the integral structure of many modern buildings, is renowned for its durability and strength. However, despite its robust nature, it is susceptible to natural wear and tear, harsh environmental conditions, and poor construction techniques, all of which can result in damage over time. Two of the most common problems that afflict concrete […]

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stillness-in-green · 1 year

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On Heteromorphs and Heteromorphobia (Arc XV - My Villain Academia)

(Skewing away from the wiki arc titles here, because come the eff on; everyone on god's green earth calls this My Villain Academia, not "The Meta Liberation Army Arc.")

At the request of a kind asker, I'm trying something different with footnotes this time; you'll find them at the end of the relevant bullet point, rather than at the bottom of the post. I've also flagged the numbers in purple, though I left the text itself the default color. I hope people find that a little easier to handle than having to scroll all the way to the bottom, have two tabs open, or wait until the end when they've forgotten the context.

Content Warning: Mentions of the KKK, as well as anti-Korean hate crimes/speech in Japan.

The My Villain Academia Arc (Chapters 218-240)

Chapter 218:

Tsuyu’s weakness to cold is noted in-canon, rather than in a volume extra profile.

All of the people featured specifically in the Detnerat commercial are heteromorphs—a four-armed woman, a walrus gent, and a little gelatinous boy. Re-Destro pontificates about how people with these “newer types of bodies” struggled in the new era because they couldn’t find products that would meet their daily needs; mass production was not equipped—could never really be equipped—to handle the endless variety of body shapes and sizes that came about due to the Advent of the Extraordinary. It recollects the mall scene back in Chapter 68—or, even further back, Ojiro’s character sheet and UA’s lack of varied desks—and calls the reader to consider, once again, the sorts of special needs that those with heteromorphic bodies might have, and how difficult it can be to meet those needs. RD says that his company’s ability to rapidly customize and produce unique goods for every customer has made them #1 in their industry (lifestyle goods). Assuming there’s at least some truth to the commercial shpiel—and the newscaster does at least call Detnerat “a big player”—it suggests that plenty of other companies are not so good at the rapid+customizable combination. Of course, not all companies are trying to be all things to all people, but specialization costs money—as do speed and customization, really, and note that nowhere in the commercial is there a talking point about affordability! So mainly what the commercial leaves me wondering is what degree of inconvenience is still felt by heteromorphs, especially those who are somewhat cash-strapped. That strikes me as a particular hazard when it comes to child bullying. Of course, Japanese schools have uniforms, but I wonder how available tailoring and alterations are for students with particular needs? Is there a provided budget for that sort of thing? Financial aid? How much did Ojiro’s parents have to pay for him to have a full set of uniform pants with a hole for his tail in them? How about Shouji getting all his uniform tops made sleeveless? What arrangements had to be made for Shouto’s gym uniform to be fire retardant? Even setting uniforms aside, there are also their social lives outside of school to consider. Kids will absolutely notice when one of their number wears the same clothes all the time, or home-made clothes instead of name brand, or with obvious patchwork and repair. As in real life, it’s at the intersections of more than one type of disadvantage—in this case, a heteromorphic body combined with a low-income family—that problems become more likely.

Here in 218, almost fifty chapters after the first mention of them, we finally get the proper introduction and explanation of the Meta Liberation Army. Of course, they aren’t heteromorph-specific—the closest any of the named commander-types in RD’s inner circle get is Curious, with her bright blue skin and black sclera,[1] though certainly Re-Destro himself has drifted somewhat away from baseline compared to his ancestor. Regardless, their foundational belief is the deregulation of quirks, stemming from a time when any deviation from the norm made meta-humans targets. The compromise society reached—that quirks require a license to use—is restricting enough on those whose abilities are found with a baseline body, but, as I’ve brought up before, it makes life even more potentially fraught for heteromorphs. That kind of thing is basically a pre-written excuse for heroes or police to stop and harass a heteromorph they don’t like the look of! And while the evidence of that kind of bias has been pretty circumstantial thus far, it’s about to get way, way less so. [1] Wacky hair colors being somewhat de rigueur in anime, we’ll give her a pass on the purple hair.

Chapter 220:

Here we finally hit the major leagues: the Creature Rejection Clan, or CRC. The Japanese is igyou haiseki shugi shuudan, with igyou and shuudan being pretty straightforward—igyou is, of course, “heteromorph,” and shuudan is any sort of organized or self-identifying group of people, anything from a family unit to a business organization, even all the way up to a nation. Haiseki shugi is the important bit, with shugi meaning “doctrine; principle” and haiseki meaning “rejection; expulsion; boycott; ostracism.” Thus, “group whose doctrine is the rejection of heteromorphs.”[2] Note that, in the Japanese, the word in the group’s name is heteromorph; they didn’t pick something more insulting or derogatory. They didn’t really need to, since igyou is, as discussed back in the introduction to this piece, plenty derogatory all on its own. So Caleb Cook went with a translation of igyou that would better get that derisiveness-in-the-context-of-a-hate-group across than his choice way back in Chapter 14. Creature Rejection Clan is a fairly localized translation, but Cook was pretty frank in his Twitter thread on the chapter that he was thinking about the KKK when he made the decision. And it’s not an unwarranted comparison! Of course, I wouldn’t think to presume Horikoshi’s that up on the history of racism in the U.S., but combine the cod-religious trappings and the full robes and hoods with an explicit textual description of hate crimes, and it’s an extremely easy parallel to draw. [2] The Japanese also gives the abbreviation of CRC, with the databook eventually coming out and revealing that it really stands for the name they’ve chosen for themselves in English, the Curious Rejection Committee.

That established, it’s notable that Spinner, in describing them, says that they commit hate crimes against “people with heteromorphic quirks”—a nearly word-for-word translation of the Japanese igyou-gata no ningen. This leaves aside the idea I’ve spent so much time talking about, that heteromorph discrimination is aimed broadly at those with heteromorphic bodies, and not only those with the more narrowly defined heteromorphic quirks. Shortly, however, I’ll cover some evidence that Spinner is over-generalizing, or just misinformed.

In the meantime, take note of a few things the CRC guys[3] actually say here, starting with the fact that they call Spinner a lizard. Instantly, a word that was previously a snippy and dismissive little shrug in Dabi’s mouth takes on the weight and ugliness of a slur. Further, they call the League of Villains “sins against nature”—or, in a more literal translation, “impure criminals.” I provide the more literal translation there because it’s more specific. My immediate question of the English translation would be whether the CRC judge the League as being sins against nature simply because of their criminality, or because of their association with Spinner, but the Japanese makes clear that there are two separate labels being flung there: the League are both criminals and impure. This idea of impurity brings in a religious dimension to heteromorphobia, a dimension heightened by the line (dropped by the English translation) in which the CRC accuses the League of invading a sanctuary—in Shinto, shrines have to be kept pure. The CRC calling their hideout a sanctuary, with the added context of, “They have a lizard with them. How disgusting,” thus makes it pretty clear that the impurity is about Spinner’s presence, not just the League’s assorted crimes. This spiritualistic justification for bigotry will later be made even more explicit in Shouji’s flashbacks. [3] With skull masks right there on their hoods! A real, “Are we the baddies?” moment, but given some of the other things we get on them later, it's possible the skulls are meant to contrast what e.g. Spinner or Koda’s skulls might look like: baseline human versus animalistic or “misshapen.” Credit to @codenamesazanka for connecting the dots on that!

Spinner also gives us here the line that I covered back in the terminology section at the beginning:

We’ll go with the official version this time.

So here we have the observation that the word absolutely everyone uses, the word that, as far as we know, academically defines an entire category of quirks, is an unpleasant, even rude word. But what is the alternative? We’re never given one. Indeed, Spinner doesn’t suggest one; he says that the nice thing to do is “avoid” the word instead. In other words, talk around it. See again what I said at the start about all the difficulties baked into that prospect.

Later, we get the first drops of Spinner’s backstory, and hit again on the “lizard” thing, with the note that Spinner’s backwater, stuck-in-the-last-century hometown called him “the lizard freak.” He grew up with it, grew accustomed to it, thought there was nothing he could do to change it—he might even have internalized it somewhat, though clearly by the time Chapter 160 rolled around he was ornery enough about it to complain. It's perhaps also notable that Spinner knows who the CRC are. Though we’ll later find out that their numbers have hugely diminished, he not only recognizes them, he’s not even surprised to see them—unlike many, Spinner knows the CRC never truly went away. (Compare his lack of reaction to, for example, Shouji's unsuspecting classmates, who will later be shocked, just shocked, that this kind of ugliness still exists in their country.) So just to state the obvious here, yes, the presence of active hate groups does irrevocably shift the lens on everything we’ve seen up to this point. You can’t say calling a heteromorph an animal is harmless, a little insensitive at worst, maybe even meant as a cute nickname, when that same language is used by openly violent bigots.

The volume version gives us, at the end of the chapter, further notes on the CRC. It’s full of relevant tidbits, so I’ll provide the text in its entirety:

Once superpowered society grew more stable and less chaotic, this group emerged, based around a lack of acceptance for those with body-altering quirks. They started out with demonstrations and protests but eventually started committing violent hate crimes. Most felt this was taking things too far, so the group saw a sharp decline in membership and a scattering of factions. These days, one faction might only reject people with animal properties, while another focuses its hate on people with irregular heads. These two, among others, have very few members left. The faction that Tomura and the villains attacked was one that stood by the original group's fundamental tenets.

So what is there to gather from this? Let’s break it down a point at a time.

“Once superpowered society grew more stable (...)” If you’ve ever lived through a time of increasing acceptance for a marginalized group, particularly if that acceptance involves measures for legal protections being passed, you’ll recognize what this is. Just to pick a few U.S. examples, the KKK didn’t exist until after the Civil War;[4] proactive federal bans on same-sex marriages didn’t start getting passed/proposed until individual U.S. states started legalizing them and civil unions. When opposition to something is the norm, said opposition often doesn’t start organizing until they see that status quo being threatened; they weren’t organized before because they never imagined they’d need to be! That’s what we see with the CRC: they didn’t formally declare themselves until it started looking like quirks—and especially non-baseline quirks—were going to find legal acceptance. [4] Literally. The last day of the war was May 26, 1865; the date the first Klan was founded was December 24 of the same year. Easily the most vile thing I learned in the process of writing this piece.

“(…) based around a lack of acceptance for those with body-altering quirks.” This is what I was referring to when I said Spinner's characterization of the CRC might be a little bit off: the CRC wasn’t founded because of a hatred for specifically heteromorphic quirks; they were founded because of a hatred for different bodies, a descriptor that could also apply to those with transformation-style quirks! Those, too, are quirks that alter bodies, after all; it’s just possible for people to turn them off, which is not the case for those with heteromorphic quirks. So Spinner was not quite on the mark before. Further, note that the phrase “body-altering quirks” is used here—a phrase that’s similar in meaning and much less othering than igyou. It doesn’t fully cover everything I use “heteromorphic” and “non-baseline” to cover, in that it’s still murky in situations like e.g. Cementoss’s, where his emitter quirk is entirely independent of his oddly shaped head, but it’s still a useful term! Except for the small complication of where it isn’t found: anywhere in the actual story. The fact that Horikoshi uses it in an author’s note, but it comes up nowhere in BNHA proper, puts it in an unclear place as far as in-universe alternatives go. Has it just not come up because Horikoshi hasn’t thought to include it? Or has it not come up because it’s not a phrase people in-universe use?

“They started out with demonstrations and protests but eventually started committing violent hate crimes. Most felt this was taking things too far, so the group saw a sharp decline in membership and a scattering of factions.” Confirmation here of what Spinner said about the CRC and hate crimes, but note what this doesn’t say: that the CRC was outlawed. There are, I suspect, a couple of factors influencing that. o Firstly, while Japan has legal methods to restrict undesirable organizations,[5] making it difficult for them to raise funds or engage in publicity, the country doesn’t actually de facto criminalize membership in such organizations. That distinction is part of the legacy of violent crackdowns on labor groups and protest movements in the first half of the 20th century; people tend to get very loud about anything that whiffs of the government trying to give itself the power to get that heavy-handed again. Assuming that the laws haven’t changed overmuch in HeroAca!Japan, then, I wouldn’t expect membership in the CRC to have been criminalized outright, but the volume extra doesn’t mention any kind of legal repercussions at all. That, I think, may go more to my next point. [5] The relevant laws are aimed mostly at terroristic groups or organized crime. o Secondly, another thing Japan has very, very little of is hate crime legislation. From my research, there are only two laws of any note: a federal law passed in 2016 and widely regarded as toothless thanks to it lacking any criminal provisions targeting offenders,[6] as well as a local ordinance passed in Kawasaki in 2019 that went as far as mandating fines against repeat offenders, among other measures.[7] [6] It required the government to start “implementing measures” to eliminate such speech/behaviors, as well as to “respond to requests for consultation” from victims, but did not directly mandate consequences for offenders. [7] I suspect from some of what I read that Osaka has picked up a similar ordinance, but I didn’t find anything detailing it specifically. Osaka and Kawasaki are home to the largest and second-largest population of Koreans living in Japan. One major thing neither of these measures did, though—and something activists have been pressing for—is to establish standards for considering discriminatory motivations when issuing sentences against those who have committed violent crimes. To pick an example that made the news last year, a man committed arson out of openly admitted hatred for the Koreans he targeted, but nowhere in the trial or discussion of his sentence did the prosecution ever bring up discrimination.[8] [8] https://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20220829/p2a/00m/0na/015000c Also, it’s worth noting that both of these measures were aimed at ethnic discrimination—speech and behavior targeting people living in Japan while being themselves, or being children of, people of non-Japanese ethnicities. They did not address discrimination based on e.g. religion or sexuality. Folding both of those points together, the image we have of the CRC is of a violent hate group whose existence is regarded as perhaps distasteful and extremist, but not actually illegal. Even what few laws Japan has now wouldn’t have applied to anti-heteromorph discrimination, because, while they may look wildly different from a prototypical Japanese person, heteromorphs still are Japanese, and therefore not protected by a law based solely around ethnic discrimination. Incidentally, the ordinance in Kawasaki laid out a number of specific examples of the kind of behavior it was looking to address, and one of those examples was likening victims to something other than human. I know why that was included in the context of anti-Korean sentiments,[9] but it certainly does shade e.g. Dabi calling Spinner a lizard more harshly to know that there’s legal precedent for categorizing such dehumanizing language as hate speech. [9] An extremely common form of anti-Korean hate speech in Japan is to refer/allude to Koreans as cockroaches.

“These days, one faction might only reject people with animal properties, while another focuses its hate on people with irregular heads.” This is a good echo of the sort of factionalization you see in organized religion, wherein the minutiae of tenets that seem similar to an outside eye are the topic of vicious, vehement inter-group debate. More to the point, however, it provides an excellent illustration of the senselessness of bigotry. They can’t even keep their own discriminatory dogma straight! Probably the second most common complaint about the story’s use of heteromorphobia—after calling it retconned-in bullshit that didn’t exist until Chapter 220—is that it’s illogical, that it makes no sense to judge people because they look a little different in a world where everyone is now a little different from the way we see the world. And I wonder if the people who say that are listening to what they’re saying. “Illogical bias that has no foundation in reality is unrealistic?” What do these people think bigotry is? Racism, sexism, xenophobia, ableism, religious discrimination, all the many different shades of queerphobia: all of these are built on foundations of fear and hate for people who are fundamentally still as human as anyone else, yet they all exist, and have existed, and will go on existing for quite some many years still. Because irrational hatreds are, by definition, irrational. Heteromorphic discrimination is the most realistic societal dynamic in the entire series! That little rant aside, I also want to highlight the first group in the excerpt above—people with animal properties. Check any talk on the theme of, “So you can believe dragons but not black people in fantasy?” and you’ll run into the ways people are much more ready to suspend their disbelief for full-on fantasy than for something that, rightly or wrongly, pings them as incorrect, and it’s easy to imagine animal-associated heteromorphs running into a similar issue: it’s fine for people to just look weird, but looking like an animal, that’s bad and unnatural. A heteromorph who just looks like nothing in particular other than “non-baseline” is not evoking the baggage of animal anthropomorphization and cultural animal symbolism that someone who looks like a bird, a lizard, a dog, an orca, etc. is.

Chapter 223:

Shigaraki refers to Gigantomachia as a gorilla. It’s debatable how much this is of a piece with Dabi calling Spinner “Lizard”—Machia’s only actual animal quirk is Mole, not anything simian, nor is Machia particularly ape-like in anything other than his large size—but it does stand out to me that Spinner, who we know to have strong opinions about animal epithets, just refers to Machia by name or as “the big guy.”

Chapter 224:

Mr. Compress calls Machia “our pet gorilla”; see note above.

Chapter 226:

Curious introduces the idea of quirk counselling, telling us that its goal is to align people to a unified understanding of how the world and society work, but that it’s flawed in that it winds up emphasizing peoples’ differences instead. The advisor at the hospital raid will include quirk counseling in his litany of grievances, so I’ll discuss its possible utilization against heteromorphs more there, but for now, recall that I talked previously about how quirk-based behavioral tics might vary from person to person by comparing Hound Dog with Sansa. With that in mind, it’s not a big reach that some heteromorphs might run into similar problems with quirk counselling.

There are a good number of what appear to be heteromorphs through the Curious fight; whatever the MLA’s core views on quirk supremacy, the organization self-evidently makes ample room for heteromorphs, even if, like e.g. the red panda guy in the crowd jumping Toga inside the noodle joint, they don’t seem to have any other stand-out powers beyond the fur and fangs.

Chapter 229:

Twice notes in his flashback that something about his eyes always rubbed people the wrong way, scared them. We’ll eventually see this same thing with Tenko on the street—a totally normal-looking child, but the look on his face scares people away even more than the blood. And I can’t help but think, “If even a totally baseline person’s eyes can creep people out, how much easier—and more extreme—is that reaction for the more out-there sort of heteromorph?”

Gori makes the tiniest of cameos in Twice’s flashback, playing backup off to the side when we will, in current times, find him having worked his way up to the interrogation chair himself.

Chapter 230:

Geten brings us quirk supremacy via his understanding of the MLA’s goals. It’s hard to say how accurate this is, since the MLA leadership is inconsistent on what exactly their vision of Liberation entails. Whatever it is, it certainly doesn’t seem to dissuade the MLA’s own heteromorphs, though of course there’s a big difference between how e.g. Spinner or Ojiro versus Gang Orca or Mirko would fare in a societal quirk free-for-all. Likewise, the MLA is a cult, so one can’t discount the likelihood of double-think in its members.

Chapter 232:

Re-Destro talks about the state of the country in Destro’s infancy, a period in which metahumans suffered “constant abuse—blatant discrimination.” Merely for speaking out that her child was just like everyone else—that his special power was just a quirk—Destro’s mother was killed by an anti-meta mob. This gives us further evidence of the violence metahumans faced. Of course, in that time, the hate wasn’t distinguishing between types of quirk, but with that being said, an emitter and a transformer can still hide the truth about themselves with far more ease than heteromorphs—recall All Might’s discussion about the early days of quirks back in Chapter 59, in which the panel showing four people with quirks contained only one baseline person. It would be entirely unsurprising for an outsized number of the metahumans killed in those days to be heteromorphs.

Chapter 233:

The confrontation between Trumpet and Spinner gives us Trumpet clucking about Spinner having a weak meta-ability—Gecko lets him cling to walls, and that’s about it. It’s a striking contrast to someone like Mirko or Gang Orca, or even Tsuyu, all of whom have some combination of big power moves and a veritable fleet of sub-abilities. We can see the way Hero Society prizes powerful, flexible quirks in this. Having a strong quirk can help overcome the societal bias about heteromorphs, but if you’re stuck with a weak quirk and a weird face, you lack that metaphorical ticket out.[10] [10] Incidentally, the fandom reflected some of that attitude as well. There was a widespread assumption that Spinner’s quirk would be really useful or situationally powerful, otherwise why would Horikoshi have hidden it for as long as he did? Then, after the reveal, there was a certain amount of complaining that Spinner was useless to the League, and why even bother with him? Sometimes, life imitates art in some very unflattering ways.

Trumpet brings up that Spinner was a recluse, “mocked and pilloried,” and we see Spinner in his hikikomori days. What we’ve gotten on Spinner up to this point suggests that the abuse he endured was mostly verbal, though one can imagine it was pretty rough when he was young enough to be the target of school bullies. There’s a certain amount of temptation to minimize that in comparison to his response: most people who are bullied or targeted by discrimination don’t grow up to become terrorists. But there was, we will eventually find, more visceral stuff going on—and parts of the country that were even worse than Spinner’s hometown.

Spinner spent most of his life trying to fit himself into the world around him; his strongest parallel in the League in this regard is Toga, as they were the two that held themselves back, let the world define what they were and how they should act, right up until they saw something that caused them to snap.[11] Trumpet tries to do much the same to Spinner here (albeit probably less as an intentional psychological attack than Skeptic’s attempts on Twice), but Spinner, like Toga, is long past the point where he would swallow that abuse without fighting back. When you tell someone they are something long enough, they eventually start to believe it—but if you aren’t careful, they’ll start to embrace it, at which point those weaponized words change hands. [11] Shigaraki and Dabi, by contrast, pushed back harder, trying to get the world to accept them and never accepting it when their families (and particularly their fathers) told them to stop. Twice was ejected without getting the chance to try to contort himself into a shape that fit the world, whereas Mr. Compress seems to have been raised to reject his society's accepted norms from the start.

Chapter 234:

We see an image excerpted from Quirks and Us, a children’s book published by Curious’s outfit, that exhorts the reader not to judge people by their quirks. It really, really begs the question, “If this is what’s being said in literature published to coax people towards anti-suppression radicalism, what on Earth is normal society saying?” Regardless of that absolutely wild disparity, though, the fact that there are children’s books being published about quirk bias being wrong suggests that the world very much does have a problem with quirk bias. Indeed, that much has been shown throughout the series, not merely in terms of anti-heteromorph bias, but also the bias against “villain quirks,” as well as the widespread idea that people with weak quirks—or no quirks at all—are weaker people overall, pitiable folk who lack the power to live their fullest lives or pursue their dreams unhindered.[12] People on more than one of these axes of discrimination will, as in real life, be more likely to experience discrimination and violence. [12] Villains like All For One and Geten may say it more loudly, but it’s not only villains who believe it—perfectly good-hearted people like All Might and Midoriya Inko fall into that trap as well.

Chapter 237:

Nothing much to say about Shigaraki’s flashbacks save to note that, if people won’t stop to help a lost and bloodied (and baseline) child, they sure as hell won’t intervene in anti-heteromorph bullying. Recall that Kirishima was accused of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong for trying!

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Thanks as ever for reading along, everyone! How was the new footnote format? Should I keep that up for lengthy meta going forward?

I was kind of expecting to be able to wrap this up (the main canon, at least) in one more post, but I underestimated the amount of writing I'd be doing for the first war arc. For next time, then, I'm looking to cover the Endeavor Agency, Paranormal Liberation War, and Dark Hero Villain Hunt arcs. See you all then!

#bnha #heteromorph discrimination plot #bnha worldbuilding #bnha meta #my writing #creature rejection clan #tw racism #tw hate crime #bnha spinner #iguchi shuuichi #meta liberation army

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