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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

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andar conmigo ~ part 13

Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: misogyny. Violence. Villain shit. punishment! i hate spoiling with warnings, but if violence against women triggers you do NOT read this!!! chapter map

A ningún hombre consiento Que dicte mi sentencia Sólo Dios puede juzgarme… [I consent to no man dictating my sentence, for only God may judge me] -Rosalía, A ningún hombre

The more time goes on, the more certain you are that there is no way Juan will keep his word. Anything could be happening to Paul. You have plenty of time to think about it, your wrists bound behind your back, and your ankles too, laying on the floor of the fiend’s bedroom.

It is full dark, by the time Juan joins you, smug as the cat who drank all the cream. Though the hacienda is wired for electricity, he favors lighting the tapers in a silver candelabra on a table, maybe so you cannot so clearly see the side of his face sporting quite the eggplant purple bruise. His lip is split, and you notice he moves stiffly. You take some satisfaction in knowing Paul gave him a good thrashing–for all the good it did the two of you.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n. You brought this upon yourself, you know. Why must you always do things the hard way?”

You reply with a bad word, which despite your gag he seems to interpret correctly. It just makes him laugh, a terrible sound filled with dark promise. He crosses the room to you slowly, his heels clicking on the wood floors, his dress spurs jangling. It gives you a good look from the vantage point of the rug at his extravagantly tooled boots, their pointed silver tips gleaming threateningly at your eye level.

Your eyes travel higher, up the long expanse of his lean legs, to a leather riding crop resting lightly against his thigh. The sight of it fills you with a cold dread; against your will, a fine trembling begins in your bones.

He tilts his head, looking upon you like a painting in a museum he appreciates. “So beautiful. My spirited little y/n.” He lifts the hem of your skirt slightly with the tip of the crop. You try to squirm away, but all you can do in this state really is wriggle like a furious little worm. It makes him smile cruelly down at you, the candlelight glinting in his pit-black eyes like the fires of hell.

“You know…my father used to say no horse is unbreakable. You just must find the right balance, between the carrot and the stick. I tried to offer you the carrot, y/n. You cannot say I didn’t try.”

Considering how his father died…you’re not sure he gave the best advice on horses–or women.

You answer with yet another expletive, and your captor rolls his eyes at you. Maybe it’s less fun for him when you can’t talk back intelligibly, for he reaches down to loosen the cloth in your mouth. “Everyone is still at the fiesta. There’s no one here to hear you scream,” he informs you. His hands are deceptively gentle, as he touches your bruised cheek.

“Borrachio hit me.”

“Well, I’m sure you were asking for it.”

That is the essential distillation of all this. Women do as they’re told–or they get what’s coming to them. Tears sting the corners of your eyes. To think, you were so close to making it to freedom. You should have taken Paul and ran back to San Francisco after your father died–but you never really dreamed Juan would take things this far.

“You cannot do this, Juan.”

“I can’t?” his obsidian eyes shine with sharp amusement for you.

“Even if Paul isn’t my husband–that does not make you my master!”

He chuckles darkly at this. “So finally, you admit it.”

“I admit nothing.”

“Hmm. Still lying to me, I see. I won’t have that, y/n.”

With the tip of the crop he flips your skirts up to your waist, leaving you bare but for the thin cotton of your panties. “No!” you protest, but of course he ignores you, tracing the leather ever so lightly over the backs of your thighs with a wistful sigh. Your skin quivers at his touch, and you’ve never felt so helpless as in that moment.

With the rough nap of the carpet pressing into your cheek you start to cry quietly. You cry for yourself, and you cry for Paul, who survived so much just to be locked up in a cell in a tiny town in Napa county, probably being beaten by Juan’s paid men, because he had the unfortunate luck of meeting you on a bus.

Juan ignores you, staring down at your prone form with a voracious triumph in his gaze.

“I must admit, it would be a shame to scar up that magnificent culo.”

In a sudden, violent feat of strength he rips open the back of your dress, leaving your shoulders bare.

You know what he’s going to do, and you can’t stop yourself from crying harder.

“Who do you belong to, y/n?” His voice is smooth as silk, the very definition of deceptive temptation. It's not a trap you'll ever fall into again.

You know what the punishment will be, but some damnable thing inside you will not allow you to relent just yet. “Vete al diablo.” Go to hell.

The first strike across your shoulders is crisp and perfect and stings like fire.

More tears spill from your eyes, but you grit your teeth, snarling into the floor like a wild woodland animal.

He soothes you after with a gentle caress of the leather down your spine that makes you quiver.

“Who?”

“Not you.”

Again, he strikes, and it hurts even more the second time. You taste the burn of bile in the back of your throat. You hope this rug was expensive–you’re going to bleed and throw up on it.

“Who?”

“Paul Sutton.”

You speak your truth, because you realize you don’t really expect to make it out of this alive–and his name lives on your lips like your favorite prayer. He fills your heart, your bones, your every cell. You love that man, and even if you never got to tell him…this is the only way left to you, to honor him.

You lose track of how many times Juan hits you after that, the flayed skin of your back become one fiery expanse of excruciating pain. You do break then, weeping into the rug beneath you, screaming until your throat is raw.

“Puta estupida. I would have given you everything!” Juan snarls, and you can’t help but think to yourself that you have broken him. His sanity, at least, and you cry out as he hauls you up by your hair, slinging you unceremoniously over the heavy wood table. “I love you, and this is how you repay me?”

You do not know where you get the wherewithal, to laugh bitterly as he fists your ruffled skirts, hiking them above your waist once more. “This is not love,” you say through the sand in your throat to the hard wood beneath your cheek. “And I will hate you until the day I die.”

“Hate me, love me.” He wrenches your panties down your hips, leaving you bare to the world, exposed to his harsh hands and whatever else he intends to give you. “Either way, you will be mine.”

“Fuck you.”

“Exactly. I will lock you up and breed you here until your belly is swollen heavy with my child. See how far you run away then.”

“I would rather die!” you snarl, struggling fruitlessly to get away.

He just laughs, smacking your ass with his big hand before pinning you into the edge of the table with his powerful thighs. You feel him working himself behind you, the tinkling of silver as he unbuckles his belt, the jerking motions of eagerly undoing buttons.

It’s as though your focus narrows to a pinpoint, as you look at the papers upon his desk in front of you, a golden pen, and the ornate base of the candelabra. The thought you’ve had so many times throughout your life echoes through your brain: All it takes is one good fire…

With the last of your strength you lash out with your body, your head knocking the candles towards the window–and the fine brocade draperies that hang from the ceiling to the floor. You watch with fascination as the little flames touch the old fabric–and erupt as they climb in a column of fire.

With his cock in his hand Juan watches this transpire, frozen with horror. “What have you done?”

He rushes to try to beat out the flames, but somehow just makes it worse.

The flames have spread from the drapes to the ancient wood wainscoting, the oil paintings, the wooden furniture, and the beams in the ceiling. The heat is utterly unbearable, and soon you are surrounded by a circle of fire, all that wealth and heritage Juan is so proud of going up in flames.

“You stupid, stupid whore!” He grabs your hair, smacking your head against the desk, leaving you to senselessly slide to the floor from the table. “You’d rather die? Then have your wish.”

He dashes for the door, leaving you to burn in this circle of Hell of your own making.

—-----------

*full credit to @treedaddymcpuffpuff for the angry caterpillar reference! *fire divider by animatedglittergraphics **culo - ass ***puta estupida - stupid whore

#paul sutton #paul sutton x reader #a walk in the clouds #paul sutton x you #paul sutton x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #andar conmigo paul sutton fic #don john x reader #don john #don john x you

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softeninglooks · 2 months

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iwaoi week 2024 | day 5: there was only one bed, argentina/california

tooru’s travel backpack slumbered against the foot of the spare bed placed in hajime’s room, emptied of the numerous items they had faithfully carried all the way from san juan to irvine, california. it had been a long journey, and an even longer time since they had last hugged this tightly. when tooru’s tall frame had walked through the automatic gates of the airport, the hours that had separated him from hajime had dissolved into a short-lived memory. the time they had spent separate from one another had shrank to nothingness, the distance had been crossed in a few strides - there they were again, back at the airport, but no longer saying goodbye.

tooru had pulled hajime close and grinned into his shoulder, while hajime had patted him hard on the back.

“long time no see, iwa-chan,” tooru had taken a step back to look his friend up and down. “look how much you’ve grown,” he’d mused to humor hajime. “but you haven’t grown as tall as me yet.”

“and you’re still as annoying as ever,” hajime had feigned anger, his eyes smiling back at tooru.

hajime had driven them back to campus with the car he rented in the u.s., with tooru pointing out every single little change that he noticed about him. he could drive, he had tanned, his english accent had a subtle american melody to it. he was still as scary-looking, though, which had hajime laugh and threaten tooru that he would abandon him along the road.

they were back together as if nothing had changed (nothing had, really), and the same old warmth between them had rekindled, naturally, like the gentle flames of a fire growing greedier from the wind’s touch.

they were twenty, both a world away from everything that they had known before - but the way back to one another was one that could never be lost, for tooru and hajime. it was a certainty without question, a truth.

hajime had shown tooru his bedroom, in which a spare bed had been placed for the newcomer. hajime had spent his free afternoon cooking so that tooru - who must have been tired from the trip no matter how much he protested, hajime knew him too well - could have a quiet evening before they travelled around the state.

the inviting smell of cooked rice had welcomed tooru into the lightly-furnished bedroom, where a godzilla poster overhanging hajime’s bed had had tooru crack a smile. hajime’s numerous physical therapy books were lined upon a bookcase, his notebooks placed on a tidy desk, and a volley ball rested in the corner of the room. like tooru, hajime had grown in more ways than one, but tooru would’ve guessed that the room was his even if he hadn’t known it.

after going on a tour of the campus, they ate heartily in hajime’s bedroom, tooru praising the salmon onigiri and miso soup that his friend had prepared. they teased and laughed, bickered and declared war on each other.

“when we fight, i’ll defeat you,” hajime warned, pointing his chopsticks at tooru. “i’m not giving up on that.”

“you’re on, iwa-chan. my team has been doing really well this season though, so beware. i’ll be the one to beat you,” tooru’s eyes narrowed playfully, but the sharp determination in his voice reminded hajime of all the times that tooru had impressed him, all the faith he had put into him.

“and i’m doing all i can to get stronger here.” hajime showed tooru that he hadn’t forgotten their promise either.

“we’ll fight on the world stage then, iwa-chan.” tooru smiled at hajime, fierce as ever.

underneath their lifelong rivalry, beat the pulse of care and trust, blind belief in one another. hajime and tooru had grown together, raised each other up through thick and thin. this was the only way they knew how to push forward, be it on a japanese high school court, or in different corners of the world. some feelings had been left unsaid, but with tooru and hajime reunited again, they erupted through passing touches, playful smiles, a home-made meal.

and a shared bed.

because the spare bed the campus had provided for hajime’s visitor didn’t last for long.

hajime and tooru found themselves with a broken bed, tooru almost crashing through the underlying slats as they couldn’t handle his athlete’s weight.

tooru had shrieked out of surprise and gripped the rims of the bed, holding on for dear life while the helpless piece of furniture had crumbled underneath him.

after the initial shock, however, laughter bubbled up in their throats. of course something had to go terribly wrong.

“iwa-chan!”

“what?”

“what did you do?!” tooru complained, part laughing, part whining.

“i didn’t do anything. YOU broke the bed!” hajime pointed an accusing finger at tooru, but the smile that he was struggling against gave him away. “what am i going to tell the college?”

“just tell them to get better beds! their beds threaten the safety AND lives of visitors!” tooru tried to sound intimidating, but there was laughter in his eyes. “what are we going to do now?”

“there’s nothing to do. sleep on the floor.”

“iwa-chan! i’m your guest.”

“fine, i’ll lend you some bedsheets to spread on the floor,” hajime deadpanned.

“no!”

“then…” hajime looked around to assess the state of his bedroom. the idea had crossed both their minds - a timid desire that they both felt coiling deep within their chests. as much time as they tried to save time, they really did want it. hajime’s hand flew to the back of his neck, then down between his shoulder blades, nails digging nervously into the fabric of his black t-shirt. “whatever. let’s share my bed. there should be enough room if you don’t move around in your sleep, shittykawa.”

“i didn’t even get a chance to, and you’re already insulting me, iwa-chan!”

“shut up and get your ass into bed,” hajime grumbled, pretending to busy himself with the broken bed to hide the flush that had risen to his cheeks.

a quick glance behind his shoulder told hajime that tooru had obliged. he sat on his friend’s bed, wearing the grey doraemon t-shirt that he slept in and his hair still wet from the shower he had taken. it reminded him of their childhood sleepovers, when they would peek out of the window to stargaze and tooru would tell stories about aliens and undiscovered galaxies.

hajime joined him, taking a seat on the other side of the bed with an awkward edge to his movements.

there had been sleepy bus rides on the way home from competitions before, staying up late at each other’s house and high-fiving or patting each other’s shoulder after winning points. but this was new, as much as both tooru and hajime pretended that it wasn’t.

“so,” tooru began, slipping onto the bed after hajime had turned off the lights and occupied his side. “here i finally am. in irvine.”

“there you are. late as usual, i visited you in argentina last year,” hajime’s reproachful tone joked from the other side of the bed.

“no fair, i have a busy schedule, iwa-chan.”

they were all too aware of each other’s presence. the sound of breaths coming out as amused exhales, their bodies shifting to adjust to the mattress and leave each other enough room. little by little, the wall of timidity between them was taken apart brick by brick, until they could fit back into their own bodies, and the brushing of arms and legs became lucky accidents.

“but i’m glad i made it here. who would’ve known we’d both be so crazy as to move overseas.”

“issei and takahiro weren’t that surprised.”

“no, they weren’t.”

tooru laughed and hajime rolled onto his back, feeling tooru’s arm next to his, sending ripples of warmth down his own skin.

“it’s all going to work out, somehow,” hajime added, his voice laced with a soft tiredness - exhaustion at the end of a busy day.

“it better. i can retire only after i beat you.”

“already thinking about retiring, old man?” hajime nudged tooru’s side, but was trapped before he could pull away. tooru caught hajime’s forearm, holding it down tightly against his abdomen.

“i got you, iwa-chan!” he triumphed through a chuckle, resisting against hajime’s attempts to wriggle his arm loose.

“careful, i’ll kick you off the bed, shittykawa.”

“how mean,” tooru let go. he turned toward hajime, his face relaxed and earnest, smile fading into peacefulness. “but it’s good to be here.”

“yeah,” hajime nodded slightly, and the fire spread to his cheeks this time. he was thankful that tooru could not see it in the dark - his barriers breaking down, as tooru’s hand brushed against his shoulder.

“thanks for the dinner, i loved the onigiri. you’ve grown into a proper adult, hajime.”

“it’s nothing.”

hajime reached back, hesitantly.

as they fell asleep, stomachs filled with a dinner made with love and freed from the constraint of time zones, their arms were pressed against one another, without either of them willing to pull away from the touch.

#oikawa tooru #hajime iwaizumi #oikawa tooru fanfiction #iwaizumi hajime fanfiction #iwaoi #iwaoi fanfiction #post timeskip haikyuu #post timeskip iwaoi #haikyuu!#hq #haikyuu! fanfiction #hq fanfiction #hq drabbles #iwaoi week 2024 #my writing #writing

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artisthomes · 1 month

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Home of Pablo Casals in Old San Juan, San Juan, Puerto Rico

#Pablo Casals #Old San Juan #San Juan #Puerto Rico

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seijorhi · 2 years

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Sea Change

A follow up commission for Settle by the lovely (and very patient) 🐦 anon

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

w.c 5.4k

tw: non/dub-con, pregnancy, breeding kink (kinda), yandere themes, threats of violence, stockholm syndrome, nsfw, smut

When you were younger, you dreamed of a life spent travelling.

Beautiful sunsets, the melting pot of foreign cities, stretching out on the shores of breathtaking, glittering beaches. Wandering ancient ruins and immersing yourself in the local culture, never growing stagnant, never feeling trapped.

Paradise.

In some way, that lingering desire was what pushed you to go and study in Argentina in the first place. Sure, it wasn’t the carefree, whirlwind adventure you’d imagined as a child, but that didn’t matter. You were leaving home, standing on your own two feet for the first time in your life.

The language was tricky, it took you months before you felt even somewhat confident carrying a conversation. The customs weren’t what you were used to – tiny differences that always left you feeling slightly out of place. Undertaking college in another country brought its own set of challenges, and you were lost and unsure, not knowing whether the course you were on was the right one and terrified of making a mistake.

Still, it was everything.

Argentina stole your heart. San Juan, with its sleepy, historic atmosphere took root inside of you. It felt like home, almost from the first day you spent there. Even when you were stressed, near broke and drowning under your course work, you were utterly enamoured, enthralled by the vibrant city and its beautiful people.

You’d joked once on a call back home that it’d take a small miracle to pry you away from Argentina; you loved it here too much.

Then you met Tooru, and for a while that seemed like a dream come true, too.

It seems cruel, that you’ve been gifted everything you’ve ever dreamed of – and more – with no way of giving it back. Like the universe is laughing at you.

Across the glistening ocean, the sun’s beginning to rise. Perched at the end of the old, wooden pier, your feet dangle off the edge, high tide bringing the ocean up to lap at your ankles. The sky, awash with pink and orange and a smattering of clouds, casts a warm glow over the water, the sea taking on a wine-like hue.

Two seagulls circle overhead, and you smother a bitter laugh, resting a hand atop your swollen belly.

Another beautiful morning in paradise.

A little ways down the shore, the port is already thriving; fisherman returning, others heading out. There’s yachts and whale watching tours and on the far side of the port, a cruise ship, docked for a few days while tourists explore the beaches and the nearby islands, the sight sending an odd pang through your heart.

Here, however, out on the pier in front of the beach villa you’ve made a temporary home, it’s calm. There’s not another soul in sight, no sound but the gentle lapping of waves and the rustle of the breeze blowing through the palm trees.

You’ll take what peace you can get, even if it is at ridiculous hours of the morning. God knows you’re never blessed with it for long.

Just as you think it, and much like the proverbial devil summoned by a mere thought, an elated cry shatters the morning’s tranquillity.

“Mama! Mama!!”

You have only moments to brace yourself – the tiny pattering of footsteps quickly approaching – before two little arms are thrown around you and Hatori buries his face against your shoulder.

You’re supposed to smile. Turn to pull him into your arms, a flurry of sweet kisses while he giggles and kicks in response.

Instead, you stare at the distant port, the cruise ship with its thousand windows.

Five more minutes, you want to plead. Just five more minutes.

But a warm laugh sounds, heavier footsteps following down the pier. “Careful, buddy. You’ve got to be gentle with your mama. You don’t wanna hurt the baby, do you?”

Little Hatori, clutching at your clothes, shakes his head, “Sorry, mama.”

When you can avoid it no longer, you tilt your head towards him, mustering up the required smile. “It’s alright,” you reassure him, smoothing down his windswept locks. “I’m not that fragile.” Though sometimes you feel it; big and bloated, unable to so much as bend over to tie your shoelaces.

He beams at you, his eyes so much like his father’s.

The same father who leans down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “We woke up and you weren’t there,” he says, voice deceptively mild as he settles beside you on the edge of the pier, pulling Hatori down to sit on his lap.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Which is the truth, technically. Between Tooru’s smothering embrace and the fetus the size of a small pumpkin rolling around and kicking your insides (with an apparent fondness for your bladder) a good night’s sleep has become somewhat of a rarity.

And, because you feel his stare boring holes into your profile, you feel compelled to add, “It was stuffy inside, I wanted some fresh air.” He can’t fault you for that, can he?

Tooru hums. Uses the arm not holding Hatori to nudge you closer, curling it possessively around your pregnant belly.

“…I don’t like waking up without you.”

To Hatori, barely paying attention as it is, it probably sounds like the halfhearted grumblings of a husband hopelessly in love with his wife. You, who remember all too well the nights spent with the cold bite of metal around your wrist, know better.

You say nothing, your head falling to rest on his shoulder, watching as the sun continues to rise over the ocean.

—

“Mama, look! Crab! Crab!”

Keeping his little hand in yours, Hatori crouches to study the rock pools. Sure enough, scuttling across the rock face a grumpy looking hermit crab avoids the toddler’s pointed finger.

“It’s a hermit crab, buddy,” Tooru interjects, watching the two of you with what you can only describe as a fond expression. You used to find it endearing, sweet, even. Now, it earns a far less positive response –muscles tensing, discomfort sweeping through every vestige of your body.

But you shove that discomfort aside, doing your best to lean down, mindful of your pregnant belly to talk to the excited boy.

“Did you know that hermit crabs change their shells? Mhm, when they find a new shell they like, they’ll all come out, line up, try it on and then swap with each other, biggest to smallest.”

Hatori stares up at you, mouth softly parted, eyes wide and wondrous – understanding little, spellbound all the same.

“Though sometimes they think bottle caps and other rubbish are cool new shells and try to move into those too, which isn’t so good for them.”

Hatori’s a month shy of two and a half, and there’s three things that can hold his attention for hours at a time; the construction site across the street back home, the volleyball Tooru had given him on his first birthday, and the sound of your voice.

Tooru calls him a mama’s boy, looking thoroughly pleased each time he says it, much to your quiet dismay.

The reality behind his son’s attachment isn’t nearly so touching.

Hatori clings to you like a mother because you’re the only one he’s ever known. His own abandoned him, and Tooru’s never let anyone else get close. He adores the sound of your voice because there were days where for hours on end, he’d be the only company you had, and talking – even to a babbling infant – was the only thing that kept you from falling to pieces.

You’ve been tempted to resent him for it.

After all, if you’d never taken that babysitting job, if he hadn’t become so attached – if his father hadn’t been so charming and besotted, and you so naive – perhaps you might’ve walked away.

Maybe you’d be back home, in the midst of planning your next adventure to escape the boredom of day to day life.

But Hatori’s innocent in this.

A baby – well, toddler, now. One day he’ll be older, and perhaps he’ll begin to notice that mommy and daddy’s relationship isn’t like the ones his friends' parents share. That mommy isn’t allowed out of the house and daddy’s affection comes off a little strong.

Until that day comes, though–

“Your mama’s a clever one, isn’t she, Ha’rii?”

The toddler nods, bright eyed and beaming, and Tooru winks.

“C’mon, let’s go see the waterfalls.”

He helps you back to your feet, grinning when you quietly – begrudgingly – murmur your thanks. Not one to let you off the hook so easily, Tooru taps the side of his cheek with a finger, an expectant gleam in those soft, brown eyes.

He wants a kiss.

Won’t move until you comply.

It shouldn’t be a big deal; he’s forced you into far more degrading positions, a simple kiss on the cheek shouldn’t faze you in the slightest. Certainly not when you’re six months pregnant with his kid.

Such a small, inconsequential act of affection, and yet he takes great pleasure – judging from the wicked delight curling at his lips at your poorly concealed hesitation – in coercing those performances from you, and greedily reaping the rewards.

Bastard.

Swallowing down the bitter taste in your mouth, you lift yourself up, arms encircling his neck – his own steadying your waist, stroking at your skin – to place a chaste, fleeting peck to his jaw. The bare minimum (you hope) that he’ll accept.

At the last second, though, his head turns and your mouth instead meets his. His grin widens, smug and satisfied, deepening the kiss the moment you try to pull back.

– you’ll play along for Hatori’s sake, even if it means losing pieces of yourself along the way.

—

“I was thinking maybe we could head into town for dinner? I saw a few restaurants on the waterfront when we drove in that looked nice.”

Back at the villa, Hatori down for his nap, it’s just the two of you alone in your bedroom.

“O-or maybe tomorrow for brunch? Ha’rii might enjoy seeing all the fisherman and the boats and stuff…” you trail off, trying not to fidget the longer he stares.

Tooru smiles, perhaps a touch indulgently, walking over to where you sit on the edge of the bed. Slowly he drops his knees, presses a soft, languid kiss to each of your knees and one to your stomach – the baby rolling beneath the strangely reverent touch – caressing you like you’re made of glass.

It’s an effort not to shudder, even now.

For someone in such a public arena, he’s remarkably adept at hiding the depth of his obsession. His sickness. Even around Hatori, he likes to play at being a normal father, a loving husband.

But there’s no need for masks in the privacy of your bedroom.

“Mm, but I have something special planned for tonight.”

You swallow, changing tracks, “What about breakfast, then?”

He pauses his ministrations, chin tilting to the side, “Why? You don’t want me to make you breakfast in bed?”

You can’t remember the last time you ate out, the last restaurant, or cafe, or bar that you actually sat down in–

“No! No, it’s not that, I only thought that it might be a nice change. We’re on vacation, right? You deserve a break, too. A-and the walk would be nice, a chance to see the sights and everything.”

Your smile wavers as the seconds tick by.

And then, all of a sudden, the tension breaks, Tooru chuckling with a fond shake of his head,

“Silly girl.” He rises then, tilts your chin up to kiss you again. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit? It’s been a big day, we don’t want you over-exerting yourself. Or the baby.”

It’s never a suggestion with Tooru, and the door shuts with a quiet click that echoes throughout the room.

—

The three of you eat on the balcony overlooking the ocean. The food is amazing, of course. Not the sort of take-out you used to get back when you were living alone, with food piled high into cheap, plastic containers, presentation pushed aside in favour of ease of transport.

No, each plate is as beautiful as it is delicious, with artfully smeared sauces and garnishes arranged just so.

Idly, you wonder which restaurant he had prepare and deliver it, why you couldn’t have just saved them all the effort and gone to eat it in person at the restaurant itself.

(Not that Tooru would ever allow that. How foolish of you to believe otherwise.)

There’s three courses, four if you include the bowl of bread and dips you’d started the meal with. Champagne (non-alcoholic, of course) and your favourite dessert, which your husband took great pleasure in feeding you while you sat unwittingly on his lap.

It’s a fancy enough affair that you’d be tempted to believe that this was what Tooru had in mind when he’d told you that he’d had something special lined up for the evening.

You’re proven wrong, however, when you return to the bedroom after settling Hatori down to find a ribbon wrapped box set atop the bed.

“I bought you something,” your husband murmurs, coming up behind you to envelop you in another embrace. His lips ghost along the delicate line of your throat, brushing up against your pulse point. “Try it on for me?”

You force yourself to nod.

The box itself carries no brand or name, yet the matte finish and flowing gold bow tied perfectly screams opulence. Your fingers tremble as they brush along the lid; it’s beautiful, undoubtedly high quality, but you’d sooner throw the box into the sea than open it.

Your stomach churns.

“Thank you.”

Funny how such an innocent object can bring about such a visceral reaction.

You barely register Tooru leaving. He likely wants this particular unveiling to be a surprise – a gift of his own to unwrap and enjoy – but you’re grateful for the privacy nonetheless.

Slowly, you pull the ribbon loose and lift the lid, setting it aside. Laying carefully folded between layers of black tissue paper is a lingerie set, a blue lace babydoll with matching panties.

What else?

If it were jewellery, Tooru would’ve put it on you himself, taking the opportunity to gush over how beautiful you look, how he loves spoiling you, seeing you draped in precious metals and pretty diamonds.

You would’ve preferred jewellery. You would’ve preferred nothing.

You’ve heard of husbands losing attraction to their wives during their pregnancy. Pregnancy glow may be a real thing, and your tits have gone up a full cup size, yet with the added weight gain, your baby bump and stretched skin, the puffy ankles and ugly marks around your stomach and breasts, there’s nothing sexy about this.

Far from being disgusted by it – by you – seeing you pregnant and swollen with his kid seems to have unlocked some insatiable desire within your husband. It’s a rare night that he keeps his hands to himself, this– this is just the cherry on top.

Numb fingers work at the buttons of your sundress, the fabric hitting the floor with a quiet thump. Your panties are next, kicked aside after shimmying them off.

Mindlessly, you dress yourself in the pretty lingerie.

And it’s fine, it’s fine until you make the mistake of looking in the mirror.

Seeing your reflection, bloated and fat, the grotesque roundness of your stomach, clad in scraps of fucking lace–

You’re hideous. Fat and ugly and hideous and horrifically pregnant.

A sob claws its way up your throat, your legs giving way beneath you as you sink to the floor. You never wanted this, never asked for it. Kids were a part of the plan, yes – one day, maybe, when you found someone you loved and you were ready to settle down and start a family.

But this has been forced on you, like the ring on your finger, like the sweet boy sleeping down the hallway. You draw in a shuddering breath, curling in on yourself as much as your belly will allow. You’re disgusting. This baby – this innocent creature with no say in its creation – you’d rip it out of your stomach with your bare hands if you could.

You hate it, loathe this soul sucking little parasite feeding off of you, almost as much as you hate Tooru for putting it inside of you.

Almost as much as you hate yourself, and this gross, jiggling body you had no say in.

Tears fall, anguished and heart-wrenching, the cries muffled by the back of your palm. And still, your cradle that disgusting bump.

Time passes, you can’t say how much, but enough that Tooru’s impatience wins out. The door to the bedroom creaks open, and you hear the quiet, “Oh, baby,” as his footsteps approach.

You don’t look up as he wraps you in a tender embrace and kisses your hair, don’t acknowledge him all. You hiccup and cry, fat tears rolling down heated cheeks.

“Stand up for me.”

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him–

“Baby,” a hint of a warning, now.

Taking the offered arm, you shakily crawl to your feet, refusing to meet his eye. You feel exposed, vulnerable. He’s seen you naked more times than you care to count, but this is different. Every flaw, every ugly part of you on display beneath the ridiculous outfit he’s forced you into.

You’ve never felt less attractive in your life.

You want to curl up and disappear, for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You don’t want him looking at you as he is, lips softly parted, pupils dilated and simmering with desire.

“Fuck, you look amazing.”

Even his voice is deeper than usual, thick and heady. You shiver with revulsion, but words are still beyond you. He tilts your chin up, wetness clinging to your lashes, trails of it running down your cheeks. He thumbs at the glistening droplets. Inhales sharply. Unsteadily.

“So pretty for me,” he breathes.

He kisses your lips then, surprisingly chaste. Cradles your face like it’s something precious, and that sick, disgusting feeling bubbles away inside of you. You can’t stand it; the feeling of his hands on you, the sickening love in his eyes, the unignorable evidence of his arousal pressing against your swollen middle.

“Don’t–” your voice wobbles – a pathetic, miserable sound, “don’t touch me.”

He ignores you, as he usually does, reaching down to cup your swollen, tender breasts, squeezing them with an appreciative hum. “They’re getting bigger.”

“Please, Tooru,” you sniffle, hating that he’s brought you to this new low. “Please not tonight.”

You don’t have the energy to explain that it hurts. You’re sore and hormonal and revolted with yourself, and you can’t bear the thought of him touching you. Raping you.

Because that’s what this is, right?

There’s no use sugarcoating the truth. You might not kick and scream every time he fucks you, but that doesn’t make it a consensual act. He drugged you, stole you, raped you, kept you, and now he’s knocked you up and put a ring on your finger and he’s all that you have. Him and Hatori and the unborn, innocent child inside of you – they’re what’s left of your world.

And you can’t stand it.

“Don’t,” you choke out.

The plea goes unheeded, capturing the hand that weakly swats at him and pressing his lips to your wrist, a heated smile curling at his lips. “Mm, but you look so good like this. Think I wanna keep you in it while I fuck you.”

“Hatori–”

“Is asleep. Now are you gonna lie back and let me take care of my lovely, pregnant wife, or are you going to keep being difficult?” his voice changes then, a hard edge where there wasn’t before.

He’s never hurt you. Not really, nothing beyond a warning slap – with a fraction of the terrifying strength you know he’s capable of.

There was one night, though, when he’d come home to find Hatori screaming and you in a fit of tears, your nails broken and bloodied, that damnable lock around your ankle without so much as a scratch. He hadn’t hit you then, either, only picked up his son to calm him, his eyes fixed on you as he rocked the boy back to sleep.

It was only when Hatori was down once more, and your tears had dried that he came to sit beside you on the bed. He’d asked to see your ankle – the one you’d been so desperate to free.

The terror that gripped you then, watching as he rolled and flexed the delicate joint in his hands (the same hands you’d seen smash volleyballs with the force of a cannon going off) under the guise of studying your self inflicted damage, humming to himself all the while – it’s seared into you.

All it would take was a sharp twist to snap it, he’d barely break a sweat. As his eyes, a deep, dark brown, had met yours, he’d smiled at you. Like he knew exactly where your mind had jumped to, and wanted you to remember that feeling.

‘Are you going to behave, cutie?’

He wouldn’t dare risk anything that would hurt the baby, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a thousand other awful ways Tooru can express his dissatisfaction.

You can’t help it though. Your hormones are swinging wildly out of control, the cracks inside of you fracturing like spiderwebs, and you shake your head, biting down on the pleas that threaten to undo you entirely.

And he sighs. “Baby, c’mon. Work with me here.”

You’re still crying when he ushers you back to lie on the bed, legs parted as he sinks down to his knees between them.

Tooru’s always held a strange fixation with your thighs, noses lovingly at the smooth expanse of skin.

They’re trembling, goosebumps rising to the surface as the warmth of his breath tickles the plush softness there, and you can’t help the gasping breath you suck in through your teeth when his mouth follows suit, sucking a hot, languorous trail towards your panties.

You try to dissociate, chest heaving, cheeks still wet from your tears. Your fingers clutch at the soft, white sheets beneath you while you stare at the ceiling fan above, lazily stirring the balmy summer night air. Anywhere but here. You can be anywhere but here if you close your eyes tight–

Tooru’s teeth nip sharply at your skin. Not hard enough to draw blood, mind you, only to pull your attention back where he wants it. That wicked, awful tongue of his is quick to soothe any hurt, though, laving at the abused flesh, a kiss pressed affectionately over the bite. Distracting you – almost – from the way he toys with the scrap of lace barely preserving your modesty. Fingers stroking and teasing at your folds.

He chuckles when you whine, your legs trying half heartedly to push him away. There’s no illusion of control here. Your husband wants, and so he’ll take.

That’s how it’s always been, from the moment he decided, unbeknownst to you, that he wanted you. It’s the way it’ll always be.

Tonight is just another reminder, hammering that message home.

“There’s my girl. Let me make you feel nice,” he purrs, squeezing at your hip when you shudder with another choked back sob. “Let me take care of you, hm?”

Nudging the seat of your panties aside, his hot mouth descends on your cunt without waiting for a response.

And you gasp, fingers tightening in the sheets. He’s in no rush, tasting your sex with a languid drag of his tongue.

If there’s an art to eating you out, it’s one your husband has taken great efforts to master.

It’s embarrassing how easily you fall apart under his ministrations. How your hips jerk when the pink muscle laps and strokes at your pussy, delving into your core in search of the spots he knows’ll drive you wild. The way your back arches, whole body tensing when he sucks your clit into his mouth and flicks at it with his tongue.

He brings you right to the brink, stroking himself through his shorts as your hips buck to meet his eager mouth. It’s easier to give in, to lose yourself to the pleasure he’s generous enough to bestow. And you feel it building, hot and burning, electric as it surges through your body.

More, more, more.

Every moan is dragged unwittingly from your lips, and they may as well be gold for how Tooru chases them.

Your hands yearn to shove him off of you, to scrub the memory of his touch from your skin. Your fingers itch to grab him by his stupid hair and hold him in place so you can ride that dizzying pleasure forever.

The tears fall quicker; you hate him, you hate him, you hate him and you hate yourself even more, but you don’t want him to stop, not when you’re so close. And the moment you begin to tip over the precipice, to hurtle over the edge with him– he pulls back to quickly rid himself of his clothes and wipe off the slick smeared across his jaw.

It’s unfair, you think, how attractive he is.

Sun kissed, golden skin. Taut, well defined muscles. And that pretty face, so lovely for someone so utterly heartless.

“Relax,” he laughs, naked now as he climbs onto the bed to settle between your thighs once more, “I said I’d make you feel good, didn’t I?”

Your cheeks burn, and childishly, you turn your face away.

“… I hate you.”

“No,” he denies, kissing your calf as he lifts it to rest upon his shoulder. “You love me. My pretty wife.”

And he fucks you gently, mindful of your swollen belly, and the baby. Takes his time stretching you out on his cock, slowly sinking into your warm, welcoming pussy, filling you to the brim with every roll of his hips.

“You love me,” he repeats, dark eyes greedily drinking down the sight of you in your pretty lingerie, pregnant with his baby.

Wholly his, and falling apart for him once more.

“You love me,” fingers circling at your clit, the walls of your pussy tightening around his cock.

You bite down on your bottom lip, desperate to keep yourself from giving him the satisfaction of hearing you cum.

“You love me,” he grunts.

And you truly think he believes it.

—

Tooru snores lightly beside you, dead to the world.

At the end of the week this little vacation of yours – the babymoon, as your husband had jokingly dubbed it – would end, and you’d go back to San Juan. Life will return to normal; days spent trapped inside the villa, waiting for Tooru to come home from training, from his games, from press conferences and fancy, promotional events.

Maybe this time he’d take you with him. A breath of fresh air, a night out. You could play the role of loving wife well enough, right? For a few hours, at least.

And there’d be Hatori to take care of, and the baby due in a few months. Then Hatori’ll be a big brother. He’s likely too young to truly understand that, but he does perk up when the topic of his soon to be sibling comes up. He likes sitting in your lap and cuddling your middle – a move which admittedly has become slightly more challenging as the baby bump grows.

You’d love them, love them both despite everything. And you’d be loved in turn.

That’s the truth, isn’t it? Tooru couldn’t love you more if he tried. Warped and poisonous and all consuming, you’d suffocate under the weight of it, and he’d follow you even then.

There’s nothing for you back home, you haven’t spoken to your family in months. You’d had to beg for that privilege on your knees, the burn in your throat and the bruises on your knees sticking with you for days afterwards.

And he’d stood there while you spoke to them, arms folded across his chest, face pinched and unhappy, the timer on his phone counting down. They don’t know about the baby, and if Tooru has his way they’ll never meet her.

Their granddaughter. Niece. Cousin. You’ll never go home.

And as if he’s cognizant of the ache in your chest, your sleeping husband draws you closer, mumbles softly into the crook of your neck, nuzzling you.

No, you’ll never have a home that wasn’t carved by his hands.

… But it isn’t just you that that’s true for anymore, is it?

Tooru’s content with locking you away from the world like a dragon hoarding gold, why should his children be spared that possessive insanity?

Ha’rii’s young, still. So, so young, but it hasn’t slipped your notice that there’s never been any mention of daycare or playdates, you’re hardly able to take him to the park without Tooru getting all huffy.

And your daughter (a girl, you’re having a baby girl), you can’t imagine he’ll loosen that leash for her. Kids need socialisation. They need friends.

They’ll suffer for it, this love of his. Your family. Your children.

Rolling over – away from your husband’s oppressive hold – you stare out the window, the glittering lights of the distant port just barely visible.

It’s so easy to be brave, daring, when you have nothing to lose, and a safety net regardless. Strength was never one of your defining traits to begin with. You broke so easily for him. So quickly.

You gave up.

Played with quiet resentment as if it were resistance, and now you’re nothing but a hollow, broken shell of the girl you used to be.

There’s nothing waiting for you beyond the home he’s built for you.

Your family haven’t heard from you in months, Tooru says that they’ve moved on. If they truly cared, they would’ve looked for you. Your uni friends have long since forgotten you. You dropped out. Disappeared off the proverbial face of the earth. It happens.

You have nothing to your name – and even that he’s taken from you.

The crashing of waves outside the window calms your heart. In a few hours, it’ll be dawn.

In a few days, you’ll return home to San Juan. In a few months, you’ll give birth to Tooru’s daughter, and that little girl will tie you to him for the rest of your lives far better than chains ever could.

Bit by bit, carefully as to not disturb him, you crawl out of bed. A wrinkle appears on your husband’s brow and he shifts with a grumble, subconsciously searching for the warmth you’ve taken with you. But he doesn’t stir, and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

Your clothes from yesterday lie forgotten on the floor, numbly, you slip them back on.

No one else will want you, not now that you’re a mother, pregnant with his child. No one else could ever love you as much as he does.

And you need him. You think that somewhere deep down, buried beneath the layers of bitterness and self loathing, you might even love him.

He’s given you no other choice.

A steady inhale, and you glance back at his sleeping form once more. For all his faults – for all that he takes from you, greedy and demanding and wholly unrepentant – he does provide for you. You, Hatori, your daughter, you’d want for nothing.

(Nothing, except your freedom.)

It won’t be long before he notices your absence and wakes to seek you out, and so you silently pad from the room.

Unlike his father, Hatori stirs when you push the door wide and step inside. “Mama?” his tired voice mumbles, eyes sluggishly blinking open.

You smile for him, reaching out to smooth down those pretty, dark curls of his. “Shh, go back to sleep, sweetheart,” and you kiss his forehead, pulling the blankets up to tuck him back in. “Mama loves you, remember that.”

He’s fast asleep by the time you reach the doorway.

You have nowhere to go. No money. No passport. No way back home and no guarantee that anybody’s waiting for you there, anyway.

He loves you. More than anyone. More than anything. You’ll never be cared for and adored like you are when you’re with him.

You need him.

… Your daughter needs you more, and it’s that thought alone that spurs you onwards.

There’s some cash in Tooru’s wallet that you slip into your bra, a jacket of his that you pull around your shoulders.

A little ways down the shore, the port is beginning to wake.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon

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chaosqueery · 5 months

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okay, so I still don’t like the cheating aspect at all. Really wish they would have just had Eddie break up with Marisol when he kicked her out. But how they are going about Eddie processing his stuff with Shannon, well, I’m intrigued. And I didn’t think I would feel that way bringing her up again. And all because Tim’s bringing up Vertigo now.

That movie is straight up bonkers.

The entire plot of Vertigo under the cut so don’t read if you don’t want to be spoiled. Also, content warnings for themes involving suicide and murder.

To those who don’t know about Vertigo: It’s one of Hitchcock’s more famous films about a man, Scottie, a retired detective who is convinced into doing one last job for an old college friend, Gavin. He has to follow Gavin’s wife who claims she’s been possessed (by her great-grandmother who was the mistress of a wealthy man and has his child, only for him to take the child away from her, after which she killed herself) and trying to harm herself. After following her around for a while, Scottie winds up saving the Gavin’s wife, Madeline, from trying to drown herself in San Francisco Bay. She goes to thank him the next day and the more time he winds up spending with her, the more obsessed with her he gets, thinking he’s in love.

After she has nightmares that suggest she might actually be possessed my her great-grandmother, Scottie takes Madeline to Mission San Juan Bautista, the ghosts childhood home. Despite just declaring their love for each other, Madeline runs up to the top of the bell tower and falls to her death. Scottie tried to run up the stairs to stop her but blacked out due to his vertigo and extreme fear of heights (the reason he retired in the first place).

After being ruled a suicide, the coroner lays the guilt on Scottie for not doing more to stop her from jumping. He’s so depressed he’s near catatonic and starts imagining seeing Madeline all the places she typically went when he was originally following her. Until one day he actually does see someone who looks almost exactly like her, just different clothes, hair, and her name was Judy.

it’s then that it’s revealed to the audience that Judy was an actress hired to stage the suicide of Gavin’s wife. Scottie was never following the real Madeline, but Judy making it look like she was “possessed”, and when she ran up the bell tower, Gavin pushed his dead wife out the window instead. Gavin knew that Scottie would black out and not make it to the top of the stairs to see the switch.

Having already been in love with him, Judy doesn’t reveal her involvement with the murder. She keeps seeing him and he just becomes more obsessed with turning her into Madeline. He makes her wear her clothes, get her to dye her hair the same color, and she does it all because she wants him to love her, even if it isn’t really her. The Madeline he knew never even existed, she was just a romantic idealization of what he thought he wanted.

Eventually, Scottie pieces together who Judy was and takes her to the mission to get her to confess and confront his madness. He was trying to recreate the scene to shock himself out of it. He takes her up the stairs, conquering his fear heights, and acting like he’s gonna kill her. Once they make it to the top, she admits to everything and begs for forgiveness. They embrace, but then a nun comes in suddenly and startles Judy, causing her to fall to her death. But hey, Scottie’s cured of his fear of heights.

so yeah, that’s the general plot of Vertigo. Ummmmm…

I know they aren’t bringing some murder plot into this. And I don’t think this Kim lady is an actress made up to look like Shannon. Aside from being drawn to someone he imagines as a lost love, I don’t really expect them to follow much of the plot at all. Mostly it will be a reflection of the themes in the story and the goal of shocking Eddie out of his habit of trying to make every person he dates into Shannon and his need to mentally relive what happened to her.

There is also a part for Buck in all this. In Vertigo, Scottie has a long-time friend and ex-fiancé named, Midge. He spends a lot of time with her and she’s always trying to help him get to the root of his acrophobia and vertigo. It’s comfortable and they act like they’re married. She represents who he should be looking at, a love based in reality rather than a fantasy created for him. Something he is too lost in his obsession to see.

Spark notes did a lot better of discussing the themes than I would have, so I am just copying and pasting some shit, then adding my own notes to how they relate to Eddie’s storyline. This is the page I’m taking these notes from (x)

We all know that Eddie has worn a mask the entire time he’s been on the show, only allowing a few peaks underneath here and there. He tries to act like he has it all together while simultaneously harboring all kinds of inner turmoil. We’ve seen the more he pushes it down, the bigger his explosion winds up being. Despite the emotional work he’s done, he still hasn’t broken the habit of trying to replace Shannon or come close to moving on from her death.

Buck, like Midge is to Scottie, is Eddie’s constant. While Midge is aware that she still has feelings for Scottie, Buck remains oblivious. His mask is that of a platonic friend and companion, much more comfortable being there for his friend than really looking at who they are to each other. Instead he’ll be more intent on getting Eddie to see the truth about the Shannon/Kim fantasy, all the while loving him unconditionally because he’s the only one who can really see under Eddie’s mask.

Shanon had her own mask when she was alive, trying to be the wife and mother everyone wanted her to be. Even her memory was painted over with this idealized version of her, and it put so much pressure on her she lost focus of the person she wanted to be. She eventually realized she had to let go of this “perfect wife” so she could work on what was more important to her. To be a good mom to Chris. But Eddie never got the chance to let go of the “perfect wife” because she died before he could.

Kim’s mask is pretty obvious.

I’ll say it again that I think there is something else going on in Eddie’s head to make him suddenly start seeing Kim as Shannon. In Vertigo, they used the same actress for Judy and “Madeline” because she was the same person. Shannon is dead. I do not believe they are throwing a fake death trope at us. But why didn’t they just cast someone who looked a lot like her? It would have been more believable. But i think he is actually seeing her like that, but she might look totally different. Maybe there is something in his brain making him confused, thinking he’s back to when him and Shannon were last together, but it only happens when he actually sees Kim (like maybe he actually thought he was going out with Marisol too, until Kim showed up). Of course this is probably just me desperately trying to figure out how carelessly Eddie’s cheating on Marisol. Seriously, no guilt? Eddie?

No matter why these visions of Shannon are happening, it’s pretty clear that it’s about shocking Eddie’s system out of this endless cycle he’s found himself in. Reliving her death over and over again, keeping him in the fantasy of who she was instead of confronting what was wrong between them, and not allowing himself to look at what’s actually good for him. Or who.

Buck is the love that’s actually real. When all of this is over and Eddie has gotten the chance to really say goodbye to Shannon, he’ll finally be able to see this relationship he’s been building for years. The person he loves inside and out, to the core, without needing to project any idealistic persona on him.

Marisol’s purpose? To startle Kim out of a bell tower (in the finale “All Fall Down”)? Seriously, though, I think she mainly just there to highlight how lost Eddie is in this. To do something like cheat would take A LOT and it keeps the seriousness of the situation in perspective.

#I’ll probably wind up editing this more #But I’m tired and I want it posted #911 spoilers #911 speculation #vertigo #eddie diaz #buck buckley #Shannon diaz #buddie #sparknotes #cw sui mention

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simply-ivanka · 3 months

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"The only man who could have caught that ball just hit it." - Remembering Willie Howard Mays

“Mays is the only man in baseball I’d pay to see play.” — Ty Cobb

“Willie Mays is the greatest ballplayer I’ve ever seen. I never saw Joe DiMaggio play, but if Joe DiMaggio was better than Willie Mays, he belongs in Heaven.” — Roberto Clemente

“Outside of Joe DiMaggio, Willie Mays is the greatest all-around baseball player of my time. Certainly, he’s been the most daring. Mays would steal home, a tough play and one in which you’ve got a great chance to look bad. Willie didn’t even think of that, he’d just go. Nine times out of ten, he’d make it.” — Mickey Mantle

“You used to think if the score was 5-0, [Mays] would hit a five-run homer.” — Reggie Jackson

“[Mays] scooped the ball up at the base of the 406-foot sign, whirled and fired. It came in on one bounce, directly in front of the plate, and into the glove of catcher Tom Haller, who put it on the astonished Willie Stargell. It was described by old-timers as the greatest throw ever made in ancient Forbes Field.” — Bob Stevens, San Francisco Chronicle, August 25, 1965

“I couldn’t believe Mays could throw that far. I figured there had to be a relay. Then I found out there wasn’t. He’s too good for this world.” — Willie Stargell

“They invented the All-Star Game for Willie Mays.” — Ted Williams

“Willie Mays, to me, was the best ballplayer I ever saw in my life. …Nobody in the history of baseball is going to see anyone like Willie Mays. Everybody loved Willie in the clubhouse. Willie used to do a lot of things for different players, especially the rookies. Willie used to take players to clothing stores to buy them clothes. Sometimes he would get free clothes, shoes, and stuff, and give them to the players. He was like the mother of the team.” - Juan Marichal

"Willie Mays was to me the greatest player I ever watched. People ask me that, and I don't hesitate....he could have been an All-Star shortstop, that's how good an athlete he was...he could run backwards as fast as he could forward." - Don Zimmer

"If somebody came up and hit .450, stole 100 bases, and performed a miracle in the field every day, I'd still look you right in the eye and tell you that Willie was better” - Leo Durocher

"The best Major League ballplayer I ever saw was Willie Mays. Ruth beat you with the bat. Ted Williams beat you with the bat. Joe DiMaggio beat you with the bat, his glove and his arm. But Willie Mays could beat you with the bat, with power, his glove, his arm and with the running. He could beat you any way that's possible." - Buck O'Neil

“Hopefully, they can say, ‘There goes the best baseball player in the world.’ I honestly believe I did everything in baseball that a baseball player can do, and I did it with love.” — Willie Mays

#willie mays #the greatest

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afeelgoodblog · 2 years

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#061 - The Best News of Last Week - October 31, 2022

🎃 — Happy Halloween! Let’s read some good news to start the week!

1. A New Climate Reality Is Coming Into View — in just 5 years humanity has cut expected warming almost in half

Nice to see balance coming in on this stuff. The situation is *not good*, but the reporting and social focus until now has been “…and therefore you are doomed.” This causes apathy, just like when people say “all politicians are the same” when they are very clearly not.

We need to focus both on how bad things are, but also the solutions for how we get through this. They exist, and we can have them. It’s going to be a life-long fight, especially once you realize that certain people make a lot more money if you think you’re doomed.

2. Germany plans to legalise recreational cannabis

Germany’s coalition government has agreed on a plan to legalise recreational cannabis use among adults.

Possession of up to 30g (1oz) for personal use would be allowed. Licensed shops and pharmacies would sell it.

3. Hundreds of rare birds rescued from island cut off by Hurricane Ian

Volunteers helped transport the flock from a bird sanctuary to a temporary new home, where they’ll stay until bridge access can be restored to Pine Island.

The birds have been relying on food donated by wildlife officials since Hurricane Ian hit, but the supply of fruit, peanuts and other edibles would soon be hard to come by because of the downed bridge and the scarcity of gasoline on the island. In the hours before the storm, the sanctuary owners herded their flock of birds and packed them into their home to shield them from the ferocity of the elements.

4. A train passenger saw a woman waving for help. It was a hiker who’d been missing.

An injured hiker near Silverton, Colo., was rescued earlier this month after a train passenger spotted her from the window. She was frantically waving on the other side of a river, having just spent two days trapped in the wilderness with a broken leg.

The rider alerted the crew of the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge diesel engine №461, according to the San Juan County Office of Emergency Management. They then notified the train inspector, Delton Henry, who was in a motor car behind them.

5. Same-sex marriage is now legal in all of Mexico’s states

Lawmakers in the state of Tamaulipas voted Wednesday night to legalize same-sex marriages, becoming the last of Mexico’s 32 states to authorize such unions.

The measure to amend the state’s Civil Code passed with 23 votes in favor, 12 against and two abstentions, setting off cheers of “Yes, we can!” from supporters of the change.

6. North Expedition finds cache of cameras on remote Yukon glacier, 85 years after mountaineer left them behind

A DeVry “lunchbox” camera left behind on Mount Lucania in 1937. An expedition team recently uncovered the camera along with other artifacts stashed by legendary mountaineer Bradford Washburn 85 years ago

The team recovered a portion of Washburn’s cherished aerial F-8 camera — a format he would later become known for worldwide — as well as two motion picture cameras and old climbing gear, tents and cooking items. (That included part of a T-bone steak, Post noted — “They were eating pretty well out there, it appeared.”)

“It was just the full array of gear from what they were using in the 1930s,” said Post, a professional skier and mountain explorer.

7. Ray of joy: Nasa captures image of the sun ‘smiling’

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#best news of last week

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klemannlee · 3 months

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"The only man who could have caught that ball just hit it." - Remembering Willie Howard Mays

“Mays is the only man in baseball I’d pay to see play.” — Ty Cobb

“Willie Mays is the greatest ballplayer I’ve ever seen. I never saw Joe DiMaggio play, but if Joe DiMaggio was better than Willie Mays, he belongs in Heaven.” — Roberto Clemente