#this article stop divorce

[vipinjha]

प्रेम विवाह में तलाक की दर ज्याद क्यों ?

प्रेम अनंत काल से पवित्र माना जाता है, और प्रेम विवाह सुखी जीवन का मूलमंत्र, ऐसा नहीं है सुसंगत विवाह में प्रेम नहीं होता है, सुसंगत विवाह में मनुष्य के मन में एक इक्षा सदैव रहता है जो कि उसके मन में अनंत काल तक खटकती है, किंतु प्रेम विवाह में मनुष्य को अपने अनुसार पति/पत्नी  चुनने का मौका रहता है, जिसके साथ वो खुशी के संग अपने पूरे जीवन को व्यतीत कर सके!!

किंतु आज के दौर में जैसे-जैसे प्रेम विवाह का दर बढ़ रहा है उसी तेजी से तलाक का दर भी बढ़ रहा है, वैसे भारत में केरल शिक्षा दर में प्रथम स्थान पर है किंतु तलाक लेने के मामले में भी केरल ने ही  सर्वप्रथम स्थान पर कब्जा कर रखा है, जिसका मूल कारण भी शिक्षा है, जब बच्चे उच्चस्तरीय शिक्षा प्राप्त कर लेते हैं तो गार्जियन को लगता है अब बच्चे समझदार हो चुके हैं, क्योंकि उनके पास जीवनयापन के लिए एक परमानेंट नौकरी है, और उनके चुने हुये साथी के साथ विवाह करवा देते हैं, यूपी-बिहार में अभी भी प्रेम विवाह में काफी दिक्कतों का सामना करना पड़ता है प्रेमियों को, किंतु अब बच्चें कही भाग ना जाये या आत्महत्या ना कर ले उस विवशता में बच्चों के फैसले को स्वीकार कर लेते हैं गार्जियन, उनको लगता हैं बच्चे खुश रहेंगे तो हम खुश रहेंगे, पर गार्जियन को इस बात का तनिक भनक नहीं होता इस विवाह से पहले उनके बच्चों ने काफी शर्त पहले ही मनवा लिया है एक-दूसरे से!!

विवाह दो आत्माओं का मेल है ऐसा कहा जाता है किंतु ना तो ये त्रेता युग है ना ही कोई यहाँ पर शिव, फिर भी प्रेम अभी भी अपने मर्यादा और संस्कार के वजह से जीवित है, नहीं तो  87% प्रेम तो वासनाओं से घिरा है और जिसका आंखों देखा हाल आपको आपके आस-पास ही देखने को मिलेगा, और ना जाने इस चक्कर में लाखों लड़कियों और हजारों लड़कों ने अपने जीवन को मृत्यु में तब्दील कर लिया है इसका एक अहम विषय स्वत्रंत रहना भी है!!

अब आते हैं मुद्दे पर प्रेम में पड़े लड़के और लड़कियाँ इतना केयर एक दूसरे को करते हैं मानो प्रेम का मतलब सिर्फ ख़ुशियाँ ही हो,  लड़के हर बात पर हाँ भरने लगते हैं मतलब लड़की को पाने के लिए और अगर उसके संग भविष्य देख रहे हैं तो, नहीं बुझे मने विवाह करने लिए लड़की को इतना भाव देते हैं जिससे लड़की को भी लगता है सच में जीवन इसके संग बिताने के अलावा और कोई दूसरा लड़का हो ही नहीं सकता, उधर लड़की सब लड़को को इतना केयर, बातों में सहमति, घर-परिवार के संग रिश्ता, मतलब लगता है जैसे फ़िल्म सीरियल में होता है कुछ भी हो जाये पर परिवार के संग रहूंगी और कुछ इमोशनल लड़के उनके इन सब केयर को देख जुट जाते हैं परिवार को मनाने में, आग दोनों तरफ लग जाती है शादी की, फिर सैकडों योजन का कष्ट दोनों उठा कर मना ही लेते हैं अपने परिवार को, जहां नहीं मानते हैं परिवार वाले वहाँ हम जैसे लफंडर दोस्त है ना पेपर पर सिग्नेचर करने के लिए!!

विवाह तो जैसे-तैसे हो जाता है किंतु प्रेम का जूस तब निकलता है जब घर के छोटे-छोटे झगड़े, आपसी मन-मुटाव और सोशल मीडिया पर समय व्यतीत, मतलब जो काम पहले बढ़िया लग रहा था अब उसी काम के कारण दोनों के रिश्तों में दरार भी शुरू होने लगता है, किंतु इसका खामियाजा यहाँ भी परिवार ही भरता है, अगर लड़की/लड़का समझदार है तो वो समाज के बीच एक उदाहरण हो जाते हैं किंतु जहाँ लड़का अपना सब कुछ लड़की के प्रति समर्पित कर दे पर लड़की को सिर्फ अपने बच्चें और पति संग रहने का फैसला हो, या अपने मायके वालों को ज्यादा तबज्जो देना, ससुराल वालों के प्रति सिर्फ दिखावा, उसी का उल्टा लड़का करने लगे तब वहाँ से शुरू होती है दरारें और फिर लड़की के बार-बार कहने पर अगर लड़का उसके हिसाब से ना चले तो तानों से शुरू लड़ाई, गली-गलौज फिर थाना-पुलिस होते कोर्ट वाली आर्केस्ट्रा तक पहुँच जाती है, क्योंकि गलती लड़के का है, उसने पहले इतने सपने दिखा दिये जो लड़की को लगा अब उसके साथ गलत हो रहा है, और अपने दोस्त या परिवार के सहारे वो उसी व्यक्ति से दूर होना चाहती है जिसके संग उसने बुन रखे थे मृत्युकाल तक के सपने!!

गलतियाँ कभी एक तरफा नहीं होता है, यहाँ लड़कियाँ भी गलत होती है, शुरू में अपने व्यवहार और प्रेम से लड़को का दिल जीतती है, हर काम के लिए संग खड़ी रहती है, चाहे वो एकता हो या जोड़ना, मतलब ऐसा रूप दिखाती है मानों कोई देवी हो, अगर वो बाहर वालों के लिए इतना कर रही है तो घरवालों के संग कितना प्रेम करेंगी, और लड़कियाँ भी वो हर काम करती है जिससे लगता है समाज में हम एक उदाहरण बनेंगे किंतु कुछ समय उपरांत उसका उल्टा होता है जो एक-दूसरे के मनमुटाव का अहम कारण बनता है, वैसे प्रेम में पैसों का भी एक अहम किरदार है पर जो समझदार जोड़े होते हैं वो उसमें भी निर्वहन करते हैं वो कभी भी पैसों के वजह से तलाक को अहम कारण नहीं बनने देते हैं, इन्ही छोटी-छोटी बातों को दोनों विवाह उपरांत संभाल नहीं पाते हैं जो दो परिवारों को दुश्मन भी बनाती है और प्रेम के प्रति लोंगो को घृणित करती है, अगर हम थोड़ा समझदार हो जाये और परिस्थितियों को खुद समझे देखे कहाँ-कहाँ हम गलत जा रहे हैं, पहले हमने ऐसा क्या किया जो अब चूक हो रही है तो प्रेम विवाह में तलाक दर की संख्या को हम घटाने में काफी कामयाब रहेंगे और प्रेम का जो ओहदा है समाज में उसमें चार चांद भी लगायेंगे!!

ज्यादा लिखना मतलब बकलोली करने जैसा लगेगा, हमें हर रिश्ते में कुछ ना कुछ कमी मिलेगा इसलिए रिश्तों से भागने की वजह हमें उसी रिश्ते को अगर ठीक करने से खुशी मिले तो जरूर कोशिश करे,अरे सिंपल सी बात है भाई अगर बाहर लड़ाई-झगड़ा, मारा-पीट हो जाता है तो उनसे फिर से हम जुड़ जाते हैं, फिर अपने परिवार के लोंगो के संग चंद शब्द से आखिर दूरी क्यों? मिलबैठकर और बातें समझकर ही हम किसी भी रिश्ते को एक मजबूती से स्थापित कर सकते हैं , नहीं तो रिश्तों का शतरंज युगों से चला आ रहा है चाहे वो पांडव-कौरवों का हो या राम-कैकेय माते का, क्योंकि हर रिश्ते में कुछ ना कुछ खोना पड़ता है, पर अगर हम उसको जोड़कर रखने में सक्षम है तो फिर उसके बाद कि खुशी आपको शायद एक ऐसा एहसास जरूर करवा देगी जो  जोड़ना ही प्रेम का पहला और आखिरी पड़ाव है!!

" अकेले रहने में कोई गुनाह नहीं है

किंतु हम कभी अकेले रह नहीं पाते हैं

रोटी भी अकेले नहीं फूलती है

उसको भी आग-चूल्हे और हथेली की जरूरत है"

   Vipin Jha

[yeahlikethebird]

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[papirouge]

I really wonder why Blac Chyna isn't getting the same support as Kanye did when he pulled out his "I'm a Christian" stunt 🙃

[boxboxlewis]

Daniel finds out about Max’s divorce from a Google alert.

“FORMER F1 CHAMPION NEWLY SINGLE, SEEN HITTING THE BARS IN MONACO.” Journalistic excellence from the Daily Mail, as always. But when actual newspapers start reporting on it, Daniel decides to reach out. He texts Max a cat meme. Subtext: sorry about your failed relationship, also I know you like cats. Max texts back Are you trying to cheer me up, and then 😂. It’s unclear if he’s 😂 at the cat or the notion of Daniel attempting to comfort. While Daniel is trying to figure this out a third text comes in. Stop reading stupid shit by dumb assholes who don’t know anything.

Nah it’s all good, I can’t read, Daniel replies. He hesitates, and then adds I am like. Sorry about stuff with kelly or whatever though.

Max thumbs-up reacts the message, and doesn’t reply.

Daniel figures Max’ll probably just start dating another exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely groomed woman with a disconcerting resemblance to his own mother. They’re ten a penny in Monaco, where Max still for some reason lives. 

He’s not prepared for the next tranche of articles his Google Alert brings him. “MAX VERSTAPPEN SEEN LEAVING GAY BAR.” “VERSTAPPEN REFUSES TO ADDRESS RUMOURS.” “VETTEL COMES TO VERSTAPPEN’S DEFENCE: ‘HE HAS A RIGHT TO A PRIVATE LIFE.’” Like… people go to gay bars sometimes, even if they’re straight. But do straight people let Seb Vettel defend their honour in the media?

Daniel opens his text thread with Max and types Hey, are you. You know. 

He deletes it, obviously. He’s got a lot going on in his own life. Brand ambassadorships out the ass, his film production company, his vineyard. He sends Max another dumb meme and calls it good. Max is just doing Max stuff. It’s some belated F1 champion rumspringa, probably, because when he was an actual teenager he was psychotically focussed on racing. He’ll settle down soon enough.

Daniel really isn’t expecting him to announce live on Dutch television that he has a boyfriend. The clip is in Dutch, obviously, but someone has added English captions, and Daniel watches over and over again. RIP his YouTube algorithm. It’s some daytime talk show, the kind of thing Max hates, the kind of thing he’d never do unless someone was twisting his arm about it. The host asks all sickly sweet if there’s a special someone in Max’s life. Max says, “Well yes of course there is my boyfriend.” The “of course” in Dutch sounds like naturally. Naturally, naturally. “And my family I am very close to, as well.” The camera dwells with voyeuristic glee on the talkshow host’s face as she tries and fails to pick her expression up from the floor. “Your boyfriend?” she manages. Max nods, impatient. Daniel rewinds the clip. Your boyfriend? Your boyfriend? Your boyfriend?

Daniel decides to visit Monaco. Not because of Max. It’s summer and the swing of the season is funnelling him that way, that’s all, towards the parties and the glittering people dancing on yachts, getting high, bright and beautiful, living that good life. He doesn’t have an apartment there anymore, but Max does, because Max never left: still has his custom penthouse with its views of the harbour. Unless—it’s a weird thought—unless Kelly kept it in the divorce. But when he texts Max to invite himself to stay, Max doesn’t mention anything about a new address. 

Max also doesn’t sound, like, super enthused, but that’s just how he is. It’s his natural Dutchness, most likely. Fine you can come then. You are lucky I don’t have plans is probably just the Dutch way of saying “Yeah sounds great, looking forward to reconnecting.” You are very annoying is probably how people from the Netherlands express affection. Daniel texts back Love you too my brother 🤘🤘

He gets his hair touched up before he goes, a little bit of tattooing at the roots in the front. He does a spray tan, and gets his face dermaplaned (not in that order). You can’t go to Monaco and not look good, that's all.

It always feels kind of weird, flying into Nice in a non-F1 context, first class instead of private, but Daniel fits, still: gets asked for his autograph at the airport, and then on the concourse, and when he stops to put petrol in his rental car (a sweet little Porsche, nice). He tosses his keys to the valet at Max’s building and the valet goggles. That’s right, baby: twelve-time Grand Prix winner Daniel Ricciardo is in town. Daniel winks and the valet turns gratifyingly mauve.

Max, when Daniel pushes into his apartment, is less enthusiastic. “Daniel. I really do not know why you’ve come.”

Daniel ignores him in favour of crouching down, trying to pet Jimmy or Sassy. “Hey, little guy,” he croons. “Or girl. What’s up? Do you remember Uncle Danny? Am I in town to show your daddy a good time? Yeah I am! That’s right. That’s right.” Jimmy or Sassy scowls at him and swipes with one needle-tipped paw. All right, drama queen. Daniel stands back up and grins at Max. “I mean, mostly I wanted to meet your boyfriend,” he says, for some reason. What the fuck, Ricciardo. He keeps grinning, styles it out. “Gotta give him the old shovel speech, right?”

Max is doing the blank-eyed stare Daniel remembers so well from their racing days. It’s wildly disconcerting coming from this Max, who looks. Different, that’s all. He’s thick, still fit and well-muscled but heavy with it now, t-shirt stretched over the layer of hard fat covering his abdomen, face softer. He’s a bear of a man, he could—he could do lots of things, obviously. It’s fine. It’s just that part of Daniel still expects him to be the gawky teenager Daniel loomed over.

Max says, “What do you want to say to my boyfriend about shovels,” and for a bewildering moment Daniel has no idea what he’s talking about. 

“Oh, no, it’s like—it’s a saying, or whatever, when someone starts dating someone. I mean, usually dads say it, I guess, but like—the idea is if he mistreats you I’ll…” Daniel trails off as he realises he’s not actually sure what “shovel speech” means. “Uh, hit him with a shovel? Or I guess potentially, like, use it to bury his corpse. Whiiiich is a joke! Not actually going to bury anyone.” No, weird comment, Daniel’s not actually going to bury anyone t-shirt is raising a lot of questions et cetera. Hastily, he adds “As long as he behaves!” and then stands there mentally kicking himself while Jimmy/Sassy yowls soulfully near his ankles. He's never like this, he never loses control of a conversation like this. It's agonising.

Max stares at him for a long moment, and then cracks up. “Daniel, you are still so weird,” he says. It sounds kind of affectionate. 

“You know it, baby,” Daniel says. “So, where’s the boyf?

Max’s cheeks go a little red, it looks like. Maybe Daniel’s imagining it. “Ricardo is at the gym,” he says.

Daniel has to have misheard that. “Sorry, what’s this dude’s name?”

“Ricardo,” Max says grumpily. “My boyfriend.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Once again Daniel decides, against his better judgement, to style it out. “Uh, is he Australian, by any chance? And devastatingly charismatic?”

Max sighs, as if Daniel is being really annoying. “He is from Melbourne. And yeah, he is okay I think. Maybe you won’t like him though, because you like always to be the funniest one. Come on, I will show you to your guest room.”

Daniel manages a casual-sounding, “Haha, you got me.” They’re walking through the apartment, now, Max leading the way. For a moment Daniel just watches the sunburned back of his neck.

[mononijikayu]

together — gojo satoru.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence. Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.” You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness. “But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence

WARNING/S: angst, romance, break up, hurt/comfort, divorce, separation, hurt, humor, depictions of failing marriage, depiction of post-divorce grief, depiction of sexual content, usage of pet names and endearments, depiction of grief, mention of grief, mention of sexual content, mention of loneliness;

WORD COUNT: 5.5k words

NOTE: the poll winner from recently!!! this took a while. i wanted to write more but you might get bored of me doing longer stories. i should learn how to stop yapping and get straight to the point too,,,,, but im grateful you come and read it at all. i love you all so much!!! i'll be focusing on writing future projects to keep you entertained too <3 oh~ also the japanese text above is the ending text of the story <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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LIVING ALONE AGAIN WAS STRANGE. You would think that after spending most of your life living alone, solitude would have become a familiar companion, a constant that you’d grown accustomed to. Yet, the nearly decade-long interlude of marriage had fundamentally shifted your sense of normalcy. Your normal wasn’t your normal years ago. That normal was gone long ago. 

The absence of Satoru, though frequent, had always been counterbalanced by his presence at other times—his laughter, his warmth, the shared moments that punctuated the quiet of your home. Memories reverberated in your head often, almost like a broken record repeating over and over again. 

Even with his unpredictable schedule and the long stretches of time he spent away on missions, his mere existence had woven a thread of companionship into the fabric of your daily life. His absence, when it occurred, was never complete. It was always lingering, almost the feeling of the wind on your cheeks. Like the sunlight that doesn’t know where else to go. 

There was always a lingering echo of his presence in the small things: the way he left his favorite hot cocoa mug on the counter, the occasional stray articles of clothing, or the faint scent of his cologne that lingered in the air. You existed alone and yet never truly alone. You were stuck in the pandemonium of him. And you can’t escape it, not him. Not even if you wanted to. You loved him too much, you think to yourself. And perhaps that was the most dangerous, most painful reality. 

Now, facing the reality of your solitude once again, you felt a shift that was more profound than you had anticipated. The house was quieter, emptier, in a way that was starkly different from your pre-marriage solitude. The echoes of his laughter were replaced by a silence that felt heavier, more pronounced. The space that was once filled with the shared rituals and routines was now hollow, resonating with the absence of the life you had once built together.

You found yourself unexpectedly disoriented by this new kind of loneliness. It wasn’t just the absence of a physical presence; it was the loss of the rhythm of life that had come with living with someone else—the cadence of shared moments, the comfort of knowing someone would always be there to fill the void. You realized that nearly a decade of marriage had redefined what it meant to be alone. The silence you faced now was a different kind of solitude, one that bore the weight of change and loss.

As you adjusted to this new reality, you were confronted with a truth you hadn’t fully grasped before: the difference between being alone and being alone together. The former was an old friend that knows you too well. And the latter had become an ingrained part of your existence, transforming how you experienced and understood solitude. Even in his absence, the presence of Gojo Satoru had left a mark that made the return to your solitary life feel like a disorienting shift. It was a constant reminder, like an afterthought — that you were drowning in both of it. And you wish you weren’t.

The first few weeks after the divorce felt like wading through an endless fog, each step heavier than the last. You’d packed up your life and moved into a smaller apartment, a place devoid of the memories that once filled every corner of your shared space with Gojo Satoru. The silence was a constant reminder of what was lost, and you couldn’t help but notice the emptiness where his laughter once echoed. 

The day you took off your wedding ring, it felt like a final, quiet resignation to a reality you hadn’t fully accepted. You set it aside in a drawer, out of sight but never truly out of mind. And you cried, on and on, for hours that seemed to go on to infinity. Yet, the last name remained, a silent tribute to what once was, even if you weren’t entirely sure why you held on to it. Maybe it was the familiarity, maybe it was a part of you that couldn’t fully let go. But it remained. 

You know he’s changed too since the divorce. At least that’s what you’ve heard from people you know. He moved to a different apartment, a place that probably lacks the warmth you tried to bring into your home together. And you can’t blame him. It was filled with ghosts, your old home. Ghosts of you and him that he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to relive. 

He still keeps his wedding ring, that’s what the whispers say. At times, you imagine him, still as tall and proud as ever, his uniform impeccable, with that wedding ring you thought he’d discard hanging around his neck, hidden beneath layers of fabric and bravado. It’s not that you expected him to wear it forever, but knowing he does fills you with a strange mix of pain and comfort. 

He deleted your contact from his phone, yet you’re certain he could still dial your number from memory, just as you’ve failed to erase him from yours. It was too bad, you can’t help but think. How silly it was for both of you, to still be this attached to ten numbers on your phone screen. That it is now etched in your heads. One way or another, still listed as the emergency number on the first listing of the contact list.

It’s ironic, you think. Almost a decade of marriage, years filled with love, laughter, and moments that felt like they could never end, all reduced to this—two people who still love each other deeply but grew too tired to fight for what they had. Not tired of each other, no. You’re sure he’ll always love you, just as you know that you’ll always love him. But the weight of it all became too much. You couldn’t carry it anymore, and neither could he.

And so here you are, in your separate spaces, living lives that feel incomplete without the other. It’s a strange kind of heartbreak, one where the love is still there, lingering like a ghost, but the life you once shared is gone. The divorce papers were just a formality, a first step made by a child born into this world; the real loss, the real step to living again is something neither of you has figured out how to let go of yet. And perhaps, you will never truly find it.

But at times, love wasn’t enough. Love couldn’t bridge the gaps that grew between you and Satoru. Keeping each other alive wasn’t enough either. Knowing that the other was out there, somewhere, breathing, wasn’t enough to fill the void that settled in your heart. Sometimes, you need more than that. And you certainly did.

You felt alone for most of your marriage to Satoru. Not unloved, but alone. There was a difference, you’re sure of it. Satoru loved you, a lot. You knew he did. If you could see it, you would think it would have been large enough to create a bigger sea than the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps it would engulf the whole planet too.

He chose you, above everything. At least at one point, when duty didn’t matter as much as it did now. When the world still spun in the way that made sense. You still remember how his eyes were as they bore against his family members, standing in front of you. He went against tradition, defying the expectations of those who believed he should marry someone with powerful connections, someone from a clan as prestigious as his own. 

Instead, he chose you, a sorcerer without ties to power or influence. Just you. Plain and ordinary you. He carved out Sundays to be with you, Megumi, and Tsumiki, a precious day reserved for just the four of you, away from the demands of the world you were all trapped in. He tried to be there, he really did. You knew that he did his best. Because he loved you.

Yet, despite all that, most days you didn’t see him as much. Duty outweighed that devotion, that love, that defiance.  He was always somewhere else, pulled in too many directions at once. His duties as the strongest, as a teacher, as a protector—those came first. And while you understood, while you knew that he was out there saving lives, it didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear. Understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. And he knew that too.

You were surrounded by love, yet it felt like you were living parallel lives, close but never truly touching. The days blurred together, filled with brief moments of connection followed by long stretches of absence. You grew used to missing him, to waiting for the rare moments when he’d be fully present, but it wore on you. The love you shared was real, but it wasn’t enough to keep the loneliness at bay.

That loneliness, the growing chasm between you, led to fights—fights that started small, sparked by little things but quickly ignited into full-blown arguments. Screaming matches that echoed through the apartment, tears that blurred your vision, and words that cut deep, words that should never have been said. 

You tried to make sure you never did that in front of Megumi or Tsumiki. But you think they knew. How could they not, when the silence was so loud? And you would rather stay in silence than let them see the tears, let Satoru see the tears. There were moments when the hurt became too much, and the pain spilled over into everything you did, even the intimacy that once brought you closer.

There were nights when the sex was intense, a desperate attempt to reconnect, to remember the love that once held you together. To feel something other than this emptiness, this grief, this pain. But even in those moments, pleasure was tinged with an ache so deep it brought you to tears. Tears that spilled from the heart of someone already grieving, someone who saw the end coming long before the final goodbye. You grieved for the marriage you had, the marriage that you didn’t have. The one that shouldn’t have ended this way but was unraveling regardless.

He lay on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress as his lips traced a desperate path along your neck, each kiss laden with a quiet urgency, as if this was the last time he’d ever taste your skin. His breath was warm against your throat, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held you close, unwilling to let go just yet.

Your arms locked around the small of his back, pulling him even closer as you moaned against him, the sound trembling with the tears gathering in your eyes. The pressure of his body, the way he rocked against your core, flesh to flesh, was both comforting and excruciatingly bittersweet. Each movement, each whispered breath, felt like a silent plea for more time, a way to hold on to what was slipping through your fingers.

You didn’t want to let go, your heart clinging to the connection between you, desperate to keep him close for just a little longer. But even as you wrapped yourself around him, feeling the pulse of his heart against yours, you knew the truth. You knew that this would end, that this was just another fleeting moment before you’d have to let go, before the final goodbye.

Your tears mingled with the sweat on your skin, a physical manifestation of the heartbreak you were both too afraid to voice. He kissed your neck as if he could somehow imprint his love into your very soul, but deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t be enough. No matter how tightly you held on, no matter how deeply he loved you, this was a chapter that was closing, and nothing could stop that.

You felt both raw and exposed, you lay there beside him, your body still trembling from the aftermath, your heart feeling like it had been shattered into a thousand pieces. The air between you was thick with the unspoken, a silence so heavy it pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The ceiling above you blurred as tears welled up, but the words that clawed their way up your throat demanded to be spoken, even if they tore you both apart in the process.

“This isn’t working out anymore, Satoru.” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet like a knife. The moment the words left your lips, you could feel the shift in the bed, his body tensing beside you as if bracing for a blow that had already landed. “You know it as much as I do.”

He didn’t respond right away, the silence between you stretching out into something almost unbearable. When he finally turned to look at you, his expression was a mixture of shock and guilt, as if he hadn’t expected to hear what you both knew was inevitable. 

His eyes, those vibrant blue eyes that once held so much joy and love, were now clouded, searching yours for something—anything—that could change what you had just said. Because he knew. He knew it even before you did, with those six eyes. That it was over. That there was nothing left to find. 

The love was still there, burning bright, but it wasn’t enough to hold together what had been breaking for so long. You watched as the realization settled over him, as the weight of your words began to sink in, and in that moment, you saw a part of him crumble. It was as if the strongest man you’d ever known had been brought to his knees, not by any curse or enemy, but by the simple truth that he couldn’t fix what was broken between you.

“I’m sorry, babe.” he whispered, the words trembling in the space between you, as if they carried the weight of all the things he couldn’t say. His voice cracked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked vulnerable, lost in a way you had never seen before. “I’m really sorry.”

His apology hung in the air, a single thread connecting you to a past that had once been so full of promise, now unraveling before your eyes. You wanted to reach out, to hold him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that you both tried, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you lay there, the distance between your bodies feeling like a chasm that neither of you could cross anymore, the reality of your situation settling in like a cold, unrelenting truth.

And in that moment, you knew it was over. Not just the marriage, but the fight to keep it alive. The love you had for each other was still there, but it had been worn down by the loneliness, the missed connections, the time spent apart. And now, as you lay beside him, you realized that love alone wasn’t enough to save what you had lost. And you were tired. You were tired of it all.

◤━━━━━━━━━━◥

ALL YOU WANTED TO DO WAS CRAWL INTO BED AND SLEEP. That mission really did a number on your energy, you think. But you were just desperate to get it done with. With the rise of cursed spirits doubling, you had to do more than what you usually do. And now that you were home, you wished for nothing more than to take a nice long shower and drink some beer before going off to bed. 

You yawned as you opened the door and took your keys away, the exhaustion settling into your bones as you slipped off your shoes and dropped your bag by the door.The familiar hum of your apartment greeted you, a moment of quiet before you could finally relax. You turned on your AC and put your coat away. But before you could even take a breath, your phone rang, its sharp tone cutting through the silence.

You glanced at the screen and saw Shoko’s name flashing. A small smile tugged at your lips as you answered, “Hey, Shoko—”

She didn’t let you finish. “You need to get to Jujutsu High. Immediately.”

Her voice was brisk, but there was an underlying edge to it that made your heart skip a beat. Your eyes shot a glance at the clock on the wall, noting the late hour with a sigh. You didn’t have to ask, but the question slipped out anyway, “Is it Satoru?”

Shoko’s snicker crackled through the phone, and you could almost see her rolling her eyes. “Who else would it be?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of your nose as a wave of weariness washed over you. It always seemed to be him. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Sho.” you replied, your voice resigned but determined. “Just let me have a shower first.”

There was a pause, and then Shoko’s tone softened just slightly. “Thanks.”

“Keep him entertained until I get there, okay?”

“I don’t really think I can keep promises like that.”

You hung up, the familiar mixture of concern and frustration stirring in your chest. You knew Satoru—how he pushed himself, how he always danced on the edge of danger, how he made everyone worry without ever seeming to care about the toll it took on those who loved him. And now, once again, you found yourself rushing to his side, the weight of your shared history pressing down on you as you prepared to face whatever mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

When you arrived at the familiar room, the sight that greeted you was almost surreal in its familiarity. It was exactly as you had left it weeks and weeks ago, as if time had frozen in this one small corner of the world. But you think in a way, that’s how sentimental your ex–husband was. You sighed. It was still something you have to get used to, thinking of Satoru as your ex–husband. But slowly but little, maybe you would.

Papers were stacked precariously on every available surface, threatening to topple over at any moment. Food containers were haphazardly piled in a corner, one after the other, all empty. Sweet soda cans lay scattered around, rolling slightly with each step you took. Dust had begun to settle on the scrolls and books that were abandoned on the desk and floor, evidence of a mind too occupied to care about the mess surrounding it.

And there, in the far corner of the room, was Gojo Satoru. His cerulean blue eyes, as bright and intense as ever, were glued to a pile of administrative paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Concentration that you rarely see in him when you are at home. Well, when you still lived together. You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, before letting out a long, quiet sigh.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

You watched him for a moment longer, a twinge of something bittersweet tugging at your heart. Satoru had always been like this, meticulous in certain things, striving for perfection in the most mundane tasks. And for a fleeting second, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had wanted to get more than just the budget right. Maybe he had wanted to get your marriage right, too. But like the paperwork in front of him, it had slipped through the cracks, and no amount of precision could fix what had already fallen apart.

You shook the thought from your mind, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s the crisis this time? Or did you just need me to come clean up your mess again?”

Satoru finally looked up, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” 

And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell him you were done cleaning up after him, you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew that some part of you would always show up for him, even now, even after everything.

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?”

He says nothing for a moment and smiles. “Is it that obvious?”

“I was your wife at one point, Satoru.” You smiled back at him. “I would know it all.”

You moved further into the room, your steps unhurried but purposeful as you waltzed toward him. Without a word, you took the seat directly in front of him, the old familiarity of the space wrapping around you like a well-worn coat. The paper bag in your hand crinkled softly as you set it down on the cluttered table between you. 

Finally, Satoru looked up from his paperwork, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes, always so piercing, softened just slightly as he took you in. “You getting worried for me, babes?” he teased, the nickname slipping out as naturally as ever.

You sighed, the weight of years shared between you pressing down on your shoulders. “When have I never been worried?” you replied, the words tinged with a quiet resignation. “Eat up before you die from hunger, you idiot.”

He chuckled, that easy, careless laugh of his that used to make your heart flutter. “I’ll be fine, you know?” he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “I would have been home before 4 am.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the table for a moment. “I know… but I still worry.”

There was a pause, a beat where the air between you grew heavy with the things left unsaid. When you looked back up, his smile had shifted—still there, but tinged with something almost unbearably sad. 

“I hope you stop.” he murmured, the honesty in his voice cutting deeper than any argument or harsh word could have. “It’s not good for you. To worry about me.”

You knew he meant it. Satoru didn’t want you to be weighed down by him, didn’t want you caged like some delicate bird in a gilded cage. He had set you free so that you wouldn’t be in pain anymore, so that you could breathe without the constant worry that had come to define so much of your life together. And in his own way, he was just being honest, just trying to do right by you, even if it meant asking for something that neither of you really wanted. 

But the truth of it hurt all the same, a constant nagging that no matter how much love there was, sometimes that love wasn’t enough to hold you together. And as you sat there, watching him, you knew that letting go of that worry was going to be one of the hardest things you’d ever have to do.

"I heard you got the job at Fukuoka in a few weeks." Satoru whispered, his pearless blue gaze heavy on you. "Congratulations."

You don't know how he heard it, who he heard it from. But your ex-husband always had his six eyes on everything. He has ways. But maybe it didn't matter. You don't think it would have been easy to tell him anyway. You didn't have the heart to. In a way, you feel like you're leaving him behind. And you didn't want to. That was your biggest fear.

That your Satoru would truly be alone. That he would suffer everything the world gave him on his own. As he always has. Because when you think about Satoru, he wasn't the strongest. He was just the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. And now he's the man you loved—still do love. Yet he won't have your shoulder. Now more so than ever that you're leaving.

"Yaga recommended me." You whisper back at him with a tender, broken look. "He thought I would do well as a teacher there. And well, there was a spot opened since Inumaki-sensei retired."

"Inumaki's uncle, wasn't it?" He says, leaning against the back rest. "No, he's definitely older. He's the great-uncle."

"I think so, I'm not very sure." You confess. "I'm not into the clan matters."

He chuckles. "That's okay. Clan matters have always been boring."

Silence befell the two of you as you looked at your fumbling nails. You didn't know what to do now, you didn't think you can meet his eyes. Your grandmother told you that the window to the soul was the eyes. And so, you were hesitant. You were hesistant to see how much damage you could bring to his soul. How much grief you can inflict upon him by leaving.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, and decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “How’s Megumi?” you asked, your voice soft but steady, focusing on something you both still cared about.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now. 

"It's a five hour train ride." You whispered, your eyes still darted to your hands. "Thirteen hours by car and...and I'll stop by for reports and administrative meetings."

"You want me to visit you?" Satoru teased, crossing his arms.

You looked at him, finally. Your lips pursed tightly. "If you want. You know....you know my house is open to you. Wherever it is."

"And you're my home. You always will be." He mumbles lowly, a ghostly smile on his lips. "I'll come and see you, hm? Teleport even."

You could feel a lump gather at your throat. You didn't know what to say. It was overwhelming to hear. But maybe, just maybe — it would hurt less had he said it more often. Maybe it would have been common place. And maybe, your heart wouldn't be breaking over and over again.

"Just don't go on days you have work. Your kids need you too."

He smiles. "No promises."

Satoru’s expression softened further, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He’s doing well, I suppose.” he said, leaning back in his chair as if the mere mention of Megumi eased some of the tension between you. “He’s been training hard, getting stronger every day. You know how he is—always pushing himself.”

You nodded, picturing the serious young boy who had become such a central part of both your lives. For a moment, your mind also crosses to Tsumiki. You dare not ask about Tsumiki. Not just yet. You weren’t prepared for the same answer he’d given you a while ago. 

“That sounds like him.” you murmured, a small smile finding its way to your lips despite everything. “He’s always been so determined, even when he was little. Likes proving himself and getting better.”

Satoru’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching your face as if he could read your thoughts. “He misses you, you know?” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something almost like regret. “He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a fresh wave of emotion swelling in your chest. You swallowed hard, looking away for a moment to compose yourself. “I miss him too.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day.”

Satoru reached out then, his hand hesitating for just a second before he placed it gently over yours, a rare moment of contact that spoke volumes. He gave you a small squeeze and then a faint smile, a smile that you wished wasn’t this broken, this sad.

“You should come see him. He’s already lodging here in the school.” he suggested, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing motion. “He’d like that, having a visit from you.”

You glanced down at his hand, the warmth of his touch both familiar and foreign at the same time. The simplicity of his suggestion made it all the more heartbreaking. As much as you wanted to see Megumi, to be there for him, it was the reminder of what you had lost—what you both had lost—that made it so difficult.

“I will.” you finally said, your voice thick with the emotion you were trying so hard to keep at bay. “I’ll see him soon.”

Satoru nodded, the understanding passing between you in the quiet that followed. It was a fragile peace, held together by shared memories and the unspoken love that still lingered between you. But it was enough for now, even if just for this moment.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now. 

As you prepared to leave, the weight of the moment pressed heavily on you, and you turned back toward Satoru, unable to shake the feeling of seeing him so sad. “It’s hard to see you like this, you know?” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “It hurts knowing how much you’re struggling.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze dropping to the papers strewn across his desk. “I have no one to blame but myself, babe.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a resignation that seemed almost like acceptance. “And that’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I always will. I have to.”

You shook your head, frustration and sadness mixing in your voice. “It’s not okay, Satoru. I don’t want you to keep punishing yourself over this. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to anyone.”

He looked up at you, his cerulean eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that he rarely showed. He squeezed your hand again, his grip firm but gentle. You feel like at any moment, you are going to break. He was so gentle, he always was.  When it came to you? He could never be someone that would let Infinity be between you. Gentleness, it's what you deserved. To be loved well, that too. That’s what you deserved most in the world.

“I want you to think of yourself first. You were and always will be my first priority.” he said softly. “You deserve to have a life too, one that isn’t just about me. You need to take care of yourself.”

The simple sincerity of his words broke the dam you had been trying so hard to hold back. The tears you had been fighting to keep at bay finally spilled over, streaming down your cheeks. He lets out a small breath as he takes his free hand and lets his fingers wipe them too. Just as gently as his other hand touches your own.

“I… I don’t know how to do that.” you admitted through your tears, your voice breaking. You bit your lower lip. “It’s hard to just walk away from everything we’ve been through. I keep thinking about how things could have been different.”

Satoru’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently brush away a tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to have all the answers, okay?” he said quietly. “Just take it one step at a time. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, and it’s okay to not have it all figured out right now.”

The tenderness in his touch, the care in his voice, only made the tears flow more freely. You nodded, trying to steady your breath. “I just want you to be okay.” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “I want us both to be okay, even if it’s apart.”

Satoru nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and understanding. “We will be,” he said softly. “It’s just going to take time. But I believe we’ll find our way. You’ll find yours, and I’ll find mine. And we’ll both be okay.”

“Satoru,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of all the years you had shared. “You were… you still are the love of my life.”

The words hung in the air, and you could see them hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes widened as the realization crashed over him—memories of youth, of laughter, of love that once felt unbreakable. The years you had spent together, now mere dried ink on the pages of the book of your life, flashed before his eyes. You could almost see the emotional flood pouring over him, washing away the veneer of his usually unshakeable composure.

His laughter broke the silence, a harsh, choking sound that was as close to tears as he would allow himself to show. He takes a deep breath, trying to still himself. Trying to not let this hurt you even more than it already was.

“You already know the answer to that.” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. His laughter turned into a soft, almost pained smile, as if the truth of your words had cracked something open inside him. “Always. No matter what.”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “I do.” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “And I always will. I’ll always love you.”

The room felt colder now, the space between you feeling like an insurmountable distance. But there was a strange sense of peace in acknowledging what had been and what could never be again. As you turned back toward the door, you took one last look at him, holding on to the bittersweet memory of a love that had been both beautiful and painful. 

And with that, you stepped out into the world that awaited you, the horizon stretching out with possibilities as you carried with you the love that had once defined your past. Even as you embarked on this new beginning, the echoes of what you shared with Satoru would forever remain a part of you, an indelible mark on the canvas of your life.

As you moved away, Gojo Satoru watched you with a mix of sadness and resolve. He knew that this separation was not just a physical distance but a necessary step for both of you to find peace and stability. The sight of you walking toward your new life in Fukuoka, away from the familiar chaos and dangers of what's to come; it filled him with hope. It filled him with relief.

In his heart, Satoru found solace in the thought that you would be safe, shielded from the perilous world that had often intruded upon your lives together. The distance between you was painful, but it was for the best. You can’t be together anymore. He’d only hurt you. And no amount of love can bury that hurt. He knew that too well.

As you vanished from view, Satoru took a deep breath, accepting the weight of the decision and the emotions it carried. His eyes looked down at the picture of you and him, back in your wedding. He lets his finger linger against the glass, against the memory of your smiling face. It was better this way. He sighs and puts his blindfold against his eyes again. He takes a seat again. He looks at the meal you made him and he starts to eat again. Little by little, savoring the warmth that remained.

“You made it too spicy again.” He whispers into the empty room, smiling to himself. "That's cruel."

[ladyloveandjustice]

Yuri Manga for New (AND Not-So-New) Readers

I was talking on discord about some good yuri for beginners, and figured I'd repost here.

I get way more detailed some of these recommendations in this post, and there's great recs from another person too! Check it out!

I'm doing this accounting to various tones and tastes, so what works as a beginner yuri for one person might not for another, just read the info to figure out what your jam is.

I'll put a star by the ones about adults (which is the majority of them) since I've found that's always something people want.

Goodbye my Rose Garden (Victorian yuri w/ beautiful art, just beautiful all around)*

How Do We Relationship? (messy adult relationships and lots of actually realistic intimacy)*

She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat- (A woman loves to cook but doesn’t have a huge appetite, only to find the woman next door to her does! She cooks for her and they really start to bond over food and the trials of being working adults. Yes, this is the one where the woman googles lesbian. It's really good)*

Bloom into You- a common go-to yuri for beginners for a reason, about a girl who believes she can't fall in love meeting a girl who wants to date her specifically BECAUSE she can't fall in love. Find out more about it and hear my thoughts here. It has a gorgeous anime that doesn't cover the complete story.

Doughnuts Under the Crescent Moon (sweet office lady romance, ace rep) *

Catch These Hands! (These two women were delinquents and rivals in high school, they meet up again, one reveals she was always into the other, she challenges her to a fight on the condition that if the other woman loses she'll date her. Lots of slapsticky fun and great for any lover of girl delinquents)*

Run away with me, Girl (there's some abuse shown in this one, but it's a story about healing, the premise is these girls dated in high school, but one of the pressured herself "normal" and marry a man, that man turns out to be abusive, so when the former lovers reunite, they decide to run away together. It's got beautiful art and a well done story)*

The Moon on a Rainy Night (absolutely spectacular, explores the relationship between a hard of hearing girl and her closeted classmate, the characters are complex and the writing is so good!)

Kase-san And...- Starting with Kase-san and the Morning Glories, this is a very fluffy and sweet high school romance. It also has a short movie. (as the manga goes on they become college students, too)

The Two of Them Are Pretty Much Like This (slice of life about a voice actress and anime screenwriter who live together as a couple. Unfortunately the ending is a bit abrupt (and likely premature) but I love their relationship)*

My fave Otherside Picnic is great for scifi and (mild) horror lovers. It's Scifi creepypasta adventure yuri. It's a slow burn but does truly spectacularly deliver on the gay. Has an anime, it's not great, you should start with the novels. Wrote an article here. https://www.animefeminist.com/how-otherside-picnic-masterfully-uses-horror-to-explore-abuse-and-show-healing-queer-love/ *(v young adults, college students)

The Guy She was Interested in Wasn't a Guy at All: (A web manga about a girl who works at a record shop. Her classmate , Aya, wanders in but doesn't recognize her because she has her hair hidden with a hat and is wearing a face mask, and Aya assumes she's a guy. They bond over music and slowly start to get closer...and Aya's finds her heart is fluttering not only over this mysterious boy, but her female classmate that seems a lot like him...) It's going to get a physical release soon.

I Married my Best Friend to Shut My Parents Up (girl and her friend get married simply so her parents will stop bugging her about being single. You can probably guess where it goes from there) *

I Married my Female Friend (similar premise, except no parents involved, it's a platonic marriage they both agreed to with the promise they'll divorce if one of them falls in love. But one woman has decidedly not platonic feeling for the other that she's hiding from her, so It will likely turn romantic, it hasn't all come out here yet so I haven't finished it)*

Monthly in the Garden with my Landlord* (it didn't really hit with me but I might give it a shot again, it's solid despite the terrible title, a woman moves into a house and finds she'll be cohabitating with an idol) (Some more titles I haven't fully read that could appeal: After Hours*, Still Sick*, Cheerful Amnesia*)

My Cute Little Kitten (two roommates adopt a cat...and maybe fall in love?)*

I think all of those work as solid intro- though it does depend on what flavor you're looking for!

This article also covers some of these recs and some manga I didn't mention due to not having completely read it. so check it out: The Beginners Guide to Yuri Manga.

Here's some titles to try when you're a little more familiar with yuri (or you can try them now! I'm not your boss!)

SHWD (action yuri that's taking forever to come out over here physically, featuring extremely muscular women fighting monsters. I think it was forced to end prematurely too)*

Kiss and White Lily for my Dearest Girl: (I'm only three volumes in, but it's really enjoyable. The main storyline is about two academic rivals, where one is determined to rank first in class, and the other is an effortless genius who becomes intrigued at the possibility of someone beating her. Honestly they have the kind of messy combative sexual tension I wish we'd see more often in yuri because it's so good. The story follows other couples too. However, big warning for some nonconsensual kisses in the first volume at least).

Sweet Blue Flowers/Aoi Hana- (This one is a little bit dated, and boy is the ending weirdly paced, but a lot still holds up imo. A painful and sweet coming of age tale, it also has an anime that's good but ends too soon.

One teenage characters backstory involves incestuous (older cousin) the perpetrator of which pulls the "oh no did I turn you gay? thing" but it's definitely framed as a bad thing. )

Yuri is My Job- a story about messy lesbians in a yuri-themed cafe, and how their real relationships differ from the personas they put on. Read more about it here. Big warning for sexual assault of a minor (by an adult villain) in volume 12. Has an anime covering early material.

[shaisuki]

dedicated for @starrbright for bringing up and thirsting with me dilf tsukishima.

cw: dilf tsukishima, fingering, teasing, edging.

meeting dilf tsukishima is the least thing you expected but anticipated since you were partnered with his son. deciding that it was better to finish the project at the comfort of his house since he lives in there and the university's not that far from where he lives, saving time for work. there's no underlying conditions for it with the exception that he lives with his dad.

dilf tsukishima who's closer to his fifties. no signs of a receding hairline and keeping his blond hair a little longer. definitely taller than anyone you've meet and his lanky figure being the same as he was in high school. definitely mature as you can in his features and those golden-brown of his behind his glasses. a frown visible in his face while he stares at you two. standing in his doorway. faking a cough to hide the not-so subtle of checking and comparing him to his son, who is your partner. quickly muttering a greeting as a form of politeness.

dilf tsukishima who isn't so amused in his son bringing a girl, his so-called partner but he's fine with it. educational purposes it is. he thinks but his eyes linger than you for a little longer wondering why his son's lucky for being partnered with you.

dilf tsukishima who's been so single for so long. having finalized that divorce with his bland ex-wife who had been nothing but scorn him for his doings. he also find dating to be boring. women with no interest but to themselves and blabber about their life. deciding he was better off at being single and focusing at his job. when you, his son's partner showed up at his door — looking so bright and beautiful with your flabby arms squished together holding the materials in front of you. hiding your round stomach from his gaze and maybe, the first time in his life other than volleyball he finds you — interesting.

dilf tsukishima who thinks about you often. that's a lie. he thinks about you all the time. his cock twitching in his pants at the mere thought of you. sees your pretty face and your delectable body swimming in his thoughts and he can't help but to jerk. just seeing your flustered expression and he wonders if he can make that same expression when you're under him. moaning and begging desperately for him to let you cum. it's a shame but it's been long since he fucked, not frustratingly jerking thinking about the thought of you.

dilf tsukishima who you get closer after a few numerous visits. he's way interesting than his son or is he? there's a little resemblance to him and he surely takes after his mother but who cares? you have him in front of you, talking to him in stuff that his son never takes interest in. his sarcasm and a few quips of these and this and how see things in a different perspective, it's attractive.

dilf tsukishima silently reading articles for the upcoming event in the museum while you and his son are typing and discussing over the project in the kitchen. reasoning the room was getting stuffy and new space would be good and that's how you two ended up in his dad's kitchen not until he receives a phone call and saying he needs to take it outside which you've just nod. focusing back on the project you're working on. biting your pen and stealing glances to his dad who is quietly reading in front of you. in which didn't go unnoticed by him who was also doing the same.

dilf tsukishima who can't stop staring at you behind those papers he was reading. your cherubic cheeks puffing up whenever you're confused with something and your plumps drawing into a smile whenever you finished your part. your chubby fingers holding your pen and how it would look wrapped around his cock. he breaks in his imagination when he catches you staring back at him before going back to your work with a flustered expression visible in your face and kei's lips twitches into one of his condescending smirk. judging from your squirming he knows you're rubbing your thighs together.

“naughty girl. openly eye-fucking your partner's father. is this what they thought you?” he asks. towering over you while you're still seated. leaning down to meet your gaze and the way your throat moves as you swallowed.

“n-no. i w-wasn't.” you stammer as your try to evade the question not missing how his eyes glints with amusement behind those glasses of his and the smirk evident in his face.

“oh really?” he taunts. his smirk blooming into a bigger one. cupping one of your round cheek. his thumb brushing to your lip and you were left breathless. not being able to speak nor defend yourself cause it's true. you've been dreaming about it and now it's turning into a reality.

his sight landing to your plump lips watching as his thumb sinks and tugs at your lower lip. “what is it you desire?” he asks. his face close to yours and his breath tickles. fanning over the expanse of your skin. the pad of his thumb swiping and grazing your lips before slowly slipping it inside your mouth. in which you only replied by slowly suck his thumb while looking at him doe-eyed.

“tsk.” giving you a glare before responding in a way that leaves your panties soaking wet. “good girl.” he praises you. briefly looking at the side to his son's shadow nearing.

with a pop, your lips parted. “yes. i'm your g-” you didn't finish what you're about to say as he casually pulls his fingers before going back to his seat. his son walking back like nothing happened. clueless about the glare you have given him and his dad looking at him indifferently.

dilf tsukishima who still treats you the same when visiting but doesn't mean he can't bury his fingers in you knuckle-deep while his stupid son is in the next room — wondering where you've gone to.

“k-kei!” you moaned out loudly. moving your hips to meet with his fingers pumping inside and out of your hole. his slender fingers glistening with your juices. “what happened to mister, sweetheart?” he smirks. purposely slowing down and that leaves whining and eager for more before pumping his fingers harshly that your thighs started shaking.

dilf tsukishima who relishes in the sweet moans and the filthy words leaving in your mouth. your fingers gripping oh so tightly to his wrist while he slid his fingers inside you. adding an another finger and coos at you. praising how good you are for taking him.

“that's it, sweetheart.” he chuckles. loving the way your body bounces from his fingers. he got this plush, sweet, young girl and the partner of his son is spreading for him lewdly. “boys your age can't please you properly, hm? that's why you're here.” he says that without waning like it doesn't affect him but it does. just a mere thought of a another man touching you can't satiate the desire just to fuck you dumb. he needs you longing and wanting for him. tell him that no one can satisfy you but him.

“y-yes! can't please me right, please fuck me!” you say through the tears clumping at your eyelashes and the pretty pout you have but dilf tsukishima doesn't budge. oh, do he loves it when you get this needy with him. that's why he loves you high and soaking wet with no release.

“not happening and oops, time's up, sweetheart. don't want my son wondering where you'd gone.” he says, pulling out his fingers before you can cum and that the most cruel way he can get. that's why you're whiny and pouty.

dilf tsukishima who licks off the slick coated in his fingers. burning the memory of the taste of your juices in his and maybe the next meet he could eat you out and finally fuck you stupid with his cock and you would want him more.

“asshole.” you muttered, rolling your eyes at him and he doesn't miss it. he got a brat to discipline. it's fine. he likes it and dilf tsukishima could finally be with the woman he likes not minding the gap between the two of you.

later that night, you've fingered yourself but that leaves you frustrated. your fingers aren't that long compared to his dad. can't reach your sweet spots to bring you release and you lay that night in your bed with nothing but the thoughts of his dad. grabbing your phone to send him a quick text.

“need you. i can't cum.”

dilf tsukishima who reads the text in amusement, a brief chuckle escaping him. he got you bad. that's why the next day when the moment his son leaves, you were desperately grinding him. such a pervert. he muses to himself but don't worry he won't leave you high this time. just make sure you can take him just like he expected from you.

[liver-f4ilure]

The Charleston Church Shooting: Dylann Roof

*NOTE! This is a repost! And it will look familiar CAUSE IVE POSTED IT ON ANOTHER ACCOUNT!! Is it the best? No.*

—

Early life/ Prior convictions

Dylann was born April 3rd 1994 to mother Amelia and father Franklin with 2 sisters Amber and Morgan. During early childhood his parents would divorce and his father would later remarry. His stepmother accused his father of abuse. He would beg his step mother to let him live with her but she wasn’t able to. Dylann would be described to have obsessive compulsive tendencies with germs. In middle school he would stop caring about school and started smoking weed and drinking vodka. In nine years he would have attended seven schools. In 2010 he would drop out of Highschool and continue playing video games and smoking weed and drinking.

(The Roofs home)

In 2015 he was caught with an invalid prescription for suboxone at a mall to which he was banned from for a year. Later that year he was caught loitering in the mall to which they searched his car finding a forearm grip for a AR-15 semiautomatic rifle and six unloaded magazines capable of holding 40 rounds each but was let off it was legal in the state. Roofs Suboxone charge was mishandled and a system error took it as a misdemeanour instead of a felony. Which would have possibly prohibited him from purchasing the firearm.

(The flag of Rhodesia)

Later Dylann would look into the Trayvon Martin case and from an unknown article concluded Zimmerman was in the right. He then fell down a rabbit hole of black on white crime and misinformation. He then found 4chan and would find even more misinformation and hard right ideologies Dylann states he hasn’t been the same since that day. Which leads to his manifesto titled ‘The last Rhodesian’ Rhodesia being the African state founded in 1965 ran by primary Europeans and a white supremacy ideology before being abolished in 1979. The term now sticks with white supremac!sts like Dylann had became, as he also used the flag on his jacket. In preparation before the attack he looked up black churches and found the Emanuel Methodist Episcopal Church and would scout the area and ask around about mass times.

The shooting

(The Emanuel Methodist Episcopal Church)

June 15th 2015 somewhere around 8:00pm Dylann entered the church, once he did he was greeted by Rev.Pinckney and given a bible to study with. Roof was sat next to Pinckney as the study continued. As the study closed and the ending pray started Roof stood up and pulled out his Glock 41 .45 calibre handgun and began shooting. Killing Pinckney first. Then 26 year old Tywanza Sanders stood up to plead with Dylann before he said ‘I have to do it. You rape our women and you’re taking over our country and you have to go’ he then shot and k!lled Sharonda Singleton, Dr. Daniel L. Simmons, Ethel Lee Lance, Cynthia Hurd, Myra Tompson and Tywanza Sanders. Dylann would reload 5 times that day. Polly Shepherd was spared when he asked her if he shot her yet to which she replied no he then told her ‘good cause we need someone to survive because I’m gonna shoot myself and you’ll be the only survivor. He then turned the gun on himself realizing he was out of ammo. He then left the church to the surprise there wasn’t anyone outside. The next day the police confirmed the gunman was 21 year old Dylann Roof with witnesses reporting they saw him drive towards Shelby, a town close to Charleston. At 10:44am Roof was arrested at a traffic stop in Shelby where it was then confirmed he worked alone.

(The victims)

The Trial

Five days after the shooting the grand jury announced that Roof was being indicted for 33 federal charges.

12 counts hate crime against black people

12 counts obstructing the exercise of religion

9 counts murder using a firearm.

On June 6th Roof reportedly did not want to be trialed by jury and instead let the judge decide if he was guilty and if the death penalty was reasonable. August 23rd Roofs lawyers called the motion of death penalty unconstitutional and asked to reject the motion. On September 1st an on camera hearing was held in case of outbursts. December 7th 2016 the trial started. During a survivor statement Roofs mom collapsed as she had a heart attack. After 3 days of the trial FBI played a video on which he admitted to laughing and drinking while describing to friends how he’d shoot the church. To which his friend didn’t report to police and said he was drunk and took his keys and Glock that was on him. After 2 hours the jury found him guilty on all 33 charges. Roof wanting to plead guilty but told not to by lawyers.

(Roof at his video hearing)

January 10th 2017 Roof was sentenced to the death penalty,death by lethal injection.

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

[doctor-dusk]

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

the best way to sort things out with your teacher.

warnings: oral and fingering (f receiving), age gap (not mentioned), a bit of angst, fluff too. 

word count: 4.5k

part. 1

for those who were waiting (a total of three people lol), part 2 is finally here. sorry for the delay, i really had a hard time finishing it, so i'm sorry if it sucks :')

one week has passed since mr. turner was at your apartment.

and in the meantime, you only saw him once on campus. 

he was like a shadow of a rat, sneaking through the rooms and holes, scared of being caught. 

yeah, scared. who ever thought that such a self-confident teacher could act like this?

as long as he hates to admit, he was acting like a fucking rat. he didn't want to look at you, didn't want to fall in temptation again. he didn’t want to see how hurt you were that he was ignoring you like this. 

oh, and how hurt you were. 

on the one hand, you understood. you knew it was wrong, that it was unconventional. but it happened. and you couldn't shake his image no matter how many times you tried. just as you couldn't help but look for him either. 

the only time you saw him during the week, right before you had a class with him, was when you were at the campus cafeteria. you were drinking some macchiato and reading an article.

you were so distracted that you didn't even notice that a few meters away, outside the cafeteria, exactly in the middle of an intersection between one corridor and another, he was looking at you. 

surreptitiously, obviously. especially because he couldn't keep his gaze fixed because one of his colleagues was talking to him. he nodded, looked at her and exchanged a few words about what he had understood. but his eyes always stopped on you.

oh, such a dickhead. 

“so, what are you doing next weekend, al?" she asked him, watching him shake his head.

“not sure. maybe rewatch breaking bad or something.” he shrugged, turner didn't really like making plans for the weekend, precisely because he liked the idea of ​​staying at home.

“phew, so boring.” she answered him. he looked away, seeing the exact moment you looked around a little, which forced him to look back at his colleague. “tell you what, my cousin is coming to spend a few days here, doing some tourism in the city, etc. we can arrange a dinner, i think you'll like her.”

“i don’t know, lilian.’’ he simply responded. he wasn't very interested.

''c’mon, al. you've been divorced for a long time, it's time for you to find someone else.''

alex knew that lilian didn't say that out of spite. she just worried about him being alone. i mean, single. it didn't mean he wasn't capable of getting someone for one-night stand and leave without having to report back the next day. oh, that happened often.

‘’i’m fine, thanks for your concern.’’ he forced a smile. he didn’t want to be rude to her. 

and even if he went to a possible dinner, met her cousin, maybe they could fuck later in his flat, would that be enough?

would he want to wake up next to her the next morning? would he want to make her breakfast, or take her for a walk in the park? would he be slowly dying just to see her again? would he look every corner possible looking for her just to catch a glimpse of her walking?

he didn't think so. he knew better.

‘’but i'll think about it, alright? i'll let you know if i change my mind.’’ he replied again.

‘’we’ve been here before.’’ she laughed through her nose, patting his shoulder. it wasn’t the first time that alex said it. and he rarely changed his mind. ‘’but think about it, she seems like enough fun for you.’’

he gave a nod, excusing himself right after, saying he had to be in class now.

on the other side, you looked around once more. you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for. maybe your mind was so dizzy that you were having a hard time paying attention to what you were reading. it was already the third time you were reading that same paragraph.

and then, you saw him. 

walking down the hallway as if in a hurry. fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the brown leather briefcase. his fluffy hair was a bit messy, but it wasn't like he needed to fix it. in fact, it suited him.

he looked thoughtful. in fact, he always seemed that way. as if he was always caught in a chain of thoughts, always serious and methodical. but you were still able to see some softness amid the hard lines of expression on that face.

you followed him with your eyes, hoping he would look back at you, even if it was for a millisecond. you wanted that adrenaline rush from those ebony eyes in your direction, wanted to feel that warmth as if your body was on fire from the inside out. you just wanted his attention. you just wanted him.

but no, he didn't look back at you. 

he fought until the last second. he didn't want to give you hope. or give himself some hope. he couldn’t.

and there you are. on his class. sitting on your usual spot.

turner didn't bother to prepare an elaborate class. he wasn't in the mood for that. all he did was explain the topic in twenty minutes and ask the class to write an essay, pretending to be busy scribbling on some assessment tests he had in his briefcase.

the whole class remained like this, glancing when the other wasn't looking. he really tried not to look up at you, but it was difficult. you had his eyes on you the whole time, so it wouldn’t be any different now.

class ended early. turner dismissed the class and got up to erase what he wrote on the board. he heard the footsteps towards the door, some ‘’until next time’’ of some students, who he responded to by saying the same thing, or just with a nod.

but somehow, he knew you're still there. he felt your presence there, like something stuck in his teeth.

and indeed you were there. you hadn't moved a muscle since you put your stuff in your backpack, just waiting for the classroom to be empty so you could have a moment with him or try to have one. you wanted to understand, at least.

‘’class is over, miss.’’ he said, still with his back to you, finishing erasing the board.

‘’why are you ignoring me?’’ you asked directly, your eyes were staring at your hands in your lap, but lifted when you saw that he stopped erasing the board.

‘’i'm not ignoring ya'. we're talking now, aren't we?’’ he replied and felt like punching himself in the face. why didn't he know how to give you a normal answer? an answer you deserve.

‘’you know what i'm talking about. you... walked away.’’ you said, seeing him turn to look at you. for the first time he had the courage to look at you. he felt melancholy and longing when looking at you.

he was silent for a moment. he didn't want it to be like this. he felt he was to blame for this. and he could barely bear to see the look in your eyes.

‘’i'm sorry, darling. i didn't mean to.’’ he said, leaning his lower back on the edge of his desk. ‘’i'm just…’’

you stood up when you saw he was struggling with his own words. you take a few steps, getting in front of him. oh, how you miss this closeness.

‘’you just what?’’ you asked. you didn't want to pressure him, but you wanted to understand why he was running away. ‘’i know that wasn't the most ethical thing in the world, but…’’

‘’it wasn't, but it was good. i liked it, i really liked it.’’ he said, feeling his saliva go down his throat like needles. you felt your heart beating like a drum. ‘’but…’’ 

he looked down, avoiding your gaze, but you cupped his face with your hands, it was like your hands were made to fit in there. the bone structure of his face was perfect. you made him look at you, feeling his hands close around your wrists, but it wasn't like he was going to pull you away. he loved your touch, how soft your skin was.

‘’you don't need to be nervous. we can talk about this. i just want to understand you and what you're feeling.’’

he felt frozen in place. maybe because he had never thought he would come across something like this, especially with you. he felt vulnerable, but he felt comfortable with you. he felt safe.

‘’i don't think this is the best place to talk about this.’’ he murmured, his thumbs tracing circles on your wrists, his touch as soft as a piano note.

you nodded. someone might come through the open door and check on you both. it was a bit risky. but you needed to sort it out. it was killing you inside. 

“i can come to your place if you want. at 7pm. maybe 8pm.” he said when he noticed that you were silent for too long. 

you kept silent for a little more. you were afraid he was lying. that he was just saying this so you would let him go, and ultimately you would be left waiting for a knock on your door that will never come.

“i want to solve this as much as you do." he said when he noticed your hesitation, rubbing his thumbs on your wrists again, his touch was very smooth. “i'll be there, darlin’. i promise.”

“okay.” you smiled softly, your fingers rubbed his jaw one last time before pulling away. you wanted to kiss him, but it doesn't feel right at the moment. 

you picked up your backpack, looking at him one last time before leaving the classroom, making sure he looked at you until the moment you disappeared from his field of vision.

it was already past 8pm. turner simply hated tuesdays because he was limited to spending the entire day on campus, including at night when he had to teach a single class to an extra class.

and more than that, he hated the idea of ​​making you wait when he promised you he would be there.

he was racing against time, hoping you hadn’t given up. and well, no matter how late it was, you were still there, glancing at your door while pretending to be entertained by an old western movie. still clinging to the slightest hope that he would show up.

and when you heard the four knocks on your door, everything seemed to disappear. your feet acted on automatic, running to the door before he could even think of a way to apologize. you opened the door, finally seeing him there in front of you, a sight for sore eyes. like always.

he took a moment to absorb the relief at seeing that you were willing to see him before opening his mouth to say something.

‘’listen, i’m so sorry-’’

you didn't let him finish, clashing your lips against his with a voracity that even you didn't know where it came from, your mind wasn't acting with all its sanity. but who said you had sanity around him?

without thinking twice, he deepened the kiss, kissing you gently, almost reverently, moving his lips against yours in a slow move while your hands cupped his face, feeling his short beard tickling your palms, but you liked that feeling. you parted the kiss, for a moment thinking that this wasn't a good idea at first.

‘’i'm sorry, i... couldn’t help it-’’

he interrupted you, kissing you again, his lips parting so he could slide his tongue into your mouth in a deep, almost sensual way. his kiss tasted like black coffee, just like you already imagined. one of his hands resting on the back of your head while the other rested on the small of your back, bringing you closer to him. it was like you were some kind of addiction he didn’t know he had. or he knew, but he didn't want to admit it out loud.

‘’class took longer than expected, i didn't meant to make you wait.’’ he said after breaking the kiss, his breath coming out in soft pants as your hand reached for the door for you to close it with a light push.

‘’but you're here, aren't you?’’ you let out a shy, maybe a pathetic smile for thinking about it. you had him there with you, the man who invaded your most erotic dreams and made you think about things that you would never say out loud, not even to your best friend.

“i am.” 

another kiss unfolded, you didn't care what you needed to talk about, if you had something to work out. all you thought about was him, how enveloping his kiss was and how his hands seemed to touch you in the right places as if he knew you like the back of his hand.

you walked backwards, still trapped and intoxicated in the kiss, feeling your back touching the arm of the sofa, making you stumble gently.

‘’sorry, i should learn to control myself.’’ he said, scrunching his nose, but you shook your head.

‘’i don't want you to control yourself, believe me.’’ you said, letting your thumb slide over his jawline. such a perfect jawline, could cut diamonds.

he looked at you, a slight smile appeared on his lips. somehow, he liked what you said. the way you said. 

“you sure?” he asked, his hands finding your hips, his fingers feeling the smooth fabric of your dress. he was dying to be able to touch you, feel you, taste you. but he wouldn't do anything you didn't want to.

you nodded, moving your hands up to the back of his neck, feeling the fluffy and silky strands of his hair tangling on your fingers when you pulled him back to another kiss. now your tongue was more eager to explore the depths of his mouth, bringing him closer to you, molding your bodies as you felt like you’re slowly laying down on your couch with his body hovering above yours.

his breath was ragged when you felt his kiss moving to the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw and neck, making you shiver from head to toe, your eyes closed immediately as he spread wet kisses along the length of your neck. he nibbled softly, as if he was afraid to use his mouth.

‘’you can do it, you know.’’ you whispered to him, letting him know that he could mark your skin if he wanted to.

‘’i was afraid you wouldn't let me.’’ he answered, letting his warm tongue lick your skin, making you let out a soft groan. ‘’your skin is so soft, i really don't want to leave marks that you'll need to use two liters of concealer to hide.’’

you chuckled, your hand moved to the nape of his neck so you could look at him.

‘’don't worry about it. i've been waiting for this for too long to care about hiding it.’’ you replied, feeling your cheeks flushing from admitting it out loud to him.

his heart beat faster, his mouth went slightly dry as he looked at you, as if somehow, he was searching for the sincerity in your eyes. then, he smiled.

‘’so can i continue?’’ he asked, shifting his body a bit, his knees resting on the floor, both of his hands resting on your sides, feeling your curves. you nodded, biting your lip slightly as he went back to kissing your neck, moving down to your collarbone. he wanted to take his time with you, to taste you enough so that he could feel your sweet taste for days in his mouth.

you were so intoxicated, so inert and deeply focused on feeling his touches and kisses that you didn't even realize his head was right between your legs, his hands caressing your thighs, but without invading under your dress. as much as he wanted to ravish you there, he wanted you to feel safe and comfortable with him.

''can i?'' he asked, his eyes looking up at you, almost in a pleading way. if you weren't thirsty for him, you would have a mental breakdown seeing that man on his knees between your legs, practically begging to eat you out.

you not only agreed, but also shifted your body a little, your hands going to your hips so your fingers tugged the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. he watched your every move, as if he were mesmerized by the sight of you taking off your panties, throwing them aside. well, in fact, he was mesmerized.

his kisses started on your left knee, building the anticipation for both of you. the kisses slowly moved further up, reaching your inner thigh, he loved feeling how warm your skin was and how you shivered with each little ministration of his.

and oh, how you were looking forward to this. your fingers tightened the hem of your dress, trying to dispel your nervousness, and of course it didn't go unnoticed by him. he knew how to read you so well, it was almost ridiculous.

‘’are you alright?’’ he asked, his cheek resting on your thigh, his eyes searching for yours. he could already feel your scent filling his nostrils, but he was more concerned with your comfort.

‘’yeah, i'm just…’’  you muttered, pressing your lips together, trying to think of how to explain it to him. but he already knew.

‘’i know, baby. i know.’’ he smiled gently, his hands reaching yours, covering your closed fists, his thumbs making an almost invisible caress. ‘’i'll be gentle, i promise. i just want to make you feel good.’’

you felt happy. relieved, actually. he was being understanding, he would never want to do something you didn't want to do. he was willing to go at your pace, to let you know how much you were desired by him in the slowest and most sensual way possible. his hands that were on yours tightened a little, moving up a little so that you could raise the hem of your dress since your fingers were tightening the fabric of the dress. slowly, your skin was being exposed to him, your body was heating up more as his eyes memorized that part of you that was always covered by your clothes.

his hands moved to your inner thighs, silently forcing you to open your legs a little more for him as he returned to kissing your thigh, moving closer and closer to your center to the point where you felt his hot breath against your sensitive skin, making you clench around nothing already.

when his lips reached your throbbing and needy cunt, it felt like heaven. you were soaking wet, and he couldn't control himself, his tongue sticking out to taste you, licking your slit from bottom to top, from your dripping entrance to your clit, where he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking it gently.

‘’taste so fucking good.’’ he hummed, more to himself than to you. he was dying to taste you, to have you like this, so he wanted to enjoy you like you were a banquet and he was a starving man.

he eats you out slowly, paying attention to your every reaction as his eyes look up, searching your face. but you had your head thrown back, your eyes closed so tightly that it took you a while to get your vision focused when you opened them again to look at him. 

‘’m-mr. turner…’’ you tried to say, your voice comes out as a meow, begging for more.

‘’shhh, it's okay. you taste so good, can't believe i had to wait so long for this.’’ he mumbled again, bringing his thumb to your clit, feeling it pulsing against his digit, circling gently as his tongue lapped your wet folds.

in no time, you're a babbling mess, mumbling incomprehensible words that he was loving to hear, as long as he knew you're enjoying yourself, and better yet, that he was the one who was making you feel this way. your right leg moved a bit, your calf resting on his shoulder as he simply devoured you, alternating between sucking, biting and licking, gathering your juices.

he moved his hand, his thumb still pressed on your swollen clit, but now his fingers threatened to invade your entrance, his mouth sucked the sensitive skin of your groin as you writhed in pleasure on the couch in your living room. his middle finger entered you with immense ease, sliding in and filling you until you felt the knuckle of his hand pressing against you. you could feel his finger going back and forth at a considerable speed, but you wanted more. so much more.

‘’one more?’’ he asked you, feeling your hand on the back of his head. you nodded eagerly, feeling your walls contracting when he added his ring finger, now both pumping in and out of you, curling up, massaging that spongy spot that makes you roll your eyes because of the pleasure.

he moved up, yearning to feel your lips against his, kissing you deeply, swallowing your moans as he felt himself getting harder inside his pants, listening to your cries mixed with the squishy sound your pussy made as his fingers moved in an intense rhythm.

‘’you're so beautiful, so beautiful…’’ he whispered to you, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, feeling the salty taste of the tear you let out as you were feeling so much pleasure it was almost unbearable.

‘’i’m close…’’ you whispered to him, your eyes locking with his as he nodded, keeping up the pace. your words really moved him. having you so completely surrendered to him is better than any thought he could ever imagine. his thumb worked relentlessly on your clit, not slowing down until you're totally satisfied.

‘’yeah, let go for me, princess, let me feel you.’’ he encouraged you, kissing just below your ear. all of this pushed you to the edge, your hips bucking up as you clenched hard around his fingers, a few strangled moans and whimpers coming out of your mouth as you came on his fingers, milking his digits like the purest nectar.

he kept pumping his fingers really slowly this time, letting you come down from your high as your breathing returned to normal and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. you've never felt this good before. he touched you and made you feel things you never imagined you could feel.

‘’are you okay, angel?’’ he asked silently, hoping he hadn't hurt you or overwhelmed you too much.

‘’yeah, yeah... i'm feeling so good.’’ you smiled lazily to him, watching the fingers of his free hand brush a few strands of hair from your forehead, your cheeks were as red as a tomato. but oh, you're really feeling so good.

he slowly withdrew his fingers, your sore cunt gaping around nothing. he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting you on his tongue as if he didn't want to miss a thing.

‘’is it that good?’’ you chuckled as he hummed and licked his fingers clear.

‘’dear lord, you don't know how much. i could keep my face buried in your pussy all day.’’ he chuckled. you liked his contrast between being respectful, but completely unfiltered in his words.

you laughed, your legs were too limp for you to move, so he carefully moved to the side, joining you on the couch. his lips were still glistening with your wetness.

‘’can i... return the favor?’’ you asked him, watching his eyes move to look down at you.

‘’you look too wrecked now. we can save this for another day, hm?’’ he suggested. he was hard, holding on as long as possible.

‘’but i want you to feel good too.’’ you replied and he smiled, touched that you think of his pleasure too. his hand moved to your face, his fingers squeezed your cheeks, making you pout.

‘’i already feel good with you like this. don't worry about me. we have time for this.’’ he reassured you. you smiled softly.

‘’do we?’’ you asked, your eyes flickered with hope. this meant he was implying that you would continue what you had. whatever it was.

‘’i mean... if you want it too.’’ he muttered, somehow feeling insecure about not knowing if you were on the same page as him. suddenly, he remembered why he had run away from you before. you saw his expression change, taking his hand on yours. ‘’i'm sorry. i just... as long as i want it, i don't want to.’’

‘’why not?’’ you asked him, seeing him avoiding your gaze.

‘’i don't want to ruin you. to… you know. you're young and i don't want to ruin your life.’’ he said, for the first time letting his insecurities show. he felt like he could be honest with you. he needed to. ‘’you have your whole life ahead of you, places to go, people to see. you don't want to be tied down to an old divorced professor like me.’’

you blinked a few times, letting his words sinking inside your mind. and then, you smiled at him, feeling that you had gained a little more strength to sit next to him, your shoulders touching.

‘’silly.’’ you called him out, making him look at you. ‘’i've been wanting you for so long. i don't care if it's going to 'ruin' me. i want it too. i want to live this with you, for as long as we're allowed.'' you answered him in whisper, as if it was a secret you were sharing. 

‘’i just think i'm a little too messy for you.’’ he admitted, feeling you running your thumb on his face, your skin brushing against the little bag under his eye.

‘’don't worry, i'm a little messy too. we can live with it.’’ you reassured him, making him let out a humorless laugh. he smiled to you, his lips brushing against yours softly as he held you close.

you stayed there for a long time. longer than you could count. you were so comfortable in his presence that you couldn't help but fall asleep, feeling his fingers massaging your scalp in a delicate, almost reverent way.

when he looked at his wristwatch, it was late. really late. he wished he could stay, but he knew he couldn't, at least not now. he also didn't know if you would want him to stay. very carefully, he moved his body away, being meticulous so as not to wake you. he saw a folded blanket on the armchair next to the sofa, unfolding it and covering you carefully so you wouldn't feel cold.

he watched you sleep for a while longer, his heart heaving at having to leave you, but at the same time fluttering at seeing you so serene, at knowing that he had you, even if it was only for a short time. he gave you a kiss on the forehead, his lips lingering for a little while before he slowly pulled away.

and then, he was gone.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

'We buy ugly houses' is code for 'we steal vulnerable peoples' homes'

Tonight (May 11) at 7PM, I’m in CALGARY for Wordfest, with my novel Red Team Blues; I’ll be hosted by Peter Hemminger at the Memorial Park Library, 2nd Floor.

Home ownership is the American dream: not only do you get a place to live, free from the high-handed dictates of a landlord, but you also get an asset that appreciates, building intergenerational wealth while you sleep — literally.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/11/ugly-houses-ugly-truth/#homevestor

Of course, you can’t have it both ways. If your house is an asset you use to cover falling wages, rising health care costs, spiraling college tuition and paper-thin support for eldercare, then it can’t be a place you live. It’s gonna be an asset you sell — or at the very least, borrow so heavily against that you are in constant risk of losing it.

This is the contradiction at the heart of the American dream: when America turned its back on organized labor as an engine for creating prosperity and embraced property speculation, it set itself on the road to serfdom — a world where the roof over your head is also your piggy bank, destined to be smashed open to cover the rising costs that an organized labor movement would have fought:

https://gen.medium.com/the-rents-too-damned-high-520f958d5ec5

Today, we’re hit the end of the road for the post-war (unevenly, racially segregated) shared prosperity that made it seem, briefly, that everyone could get rich by owning a house, living in it, then selling it to everybody else. Now that the game is ending, the winners are cashing in their chips:

https://doctorow.medium.com/the-end-of-the-road-to-serfdom-bfad6f3b35a9

The big con of home ownership is proceeding smartly on schedulee. First, you let the mark win a little, so they go all in on the scam. Then you take it all back. Obama’s tolerance of bank sleze after the Great Financial Crisis kicked off the modern era of corporations and grifters stealing Americans’ out from under them, forging deeds in robosigning mills:

https://www.marketwatch.com/story/us-breaks-down-93-bln-robo-signing-settlement-2013-02-28

The thefts never stopped. Today on Propublica, by Anjeanette Damon, Byard Duncan and Mollie Simon bring a horrifying, brilliantly reported account of the rampant, bottomless scams of Homevestors, AKA We Buy Ugly Houses, AKA “the #1 homebuyer in the USA”:

https://www.propublica.org/article/ugly-truth-behind-we-buy-ugly-houses

Homevestors — an army of the hedge fund Bayview Asset Management — claims a public mission: to bail out homeowners sitting on unsellable houses with all-cash deals. The company’s franchisees — 1,150 of them in 48 states — then sprinkle pixie dust and secret sauce on these “ugly houses” and sell them at a profit.

But Propublica’s investigation — which relied on whistleblowers, company veterans, court records and interviews with victims — tells a very different story. The Homevestor they discovered is a predator that steals houses out from under elderly people, disabled people, people struggling with mental illness and other vulnerable people. It’s a company whose agents have a powerful, well-polished playbook that stops family members from halting the transfers the company’s high-pressure salespeople set in motion.

Propublica reveals homeowners with advanced dementia who signed their shaky signatures to transfers that same their homes sold out from under them for a fraction of their market value. They show how Homevestor targets neighborhoods struck by hurricanes, or whose owners are recently divorced, or sick. One whistleblower tells of how the company uses the surveillance advertising industry to locate elderly people who’ve broken a hip: “a 60-day countdown to death — and, possibly, a deal.” The company’s mobile ads are geofenced to target people near hospitals and rehab hospitals, in hopes of finding desperate sellers who need to liquidate homes so that Medicaid will cover their medical expenses.

The sales pitches are relentless. One of Homevestor’s targets was a Texas woman whose father had recently been murdered. As she grieved, they blanketed her in pitches to sell her father’s house until “checking her mail became a traumatic experience.”

Real-estate brokers are bound by strict regulations, but not house flippers like Homevestors. Likewise, salespeople who pitch other high-ticket items, from securities to plane tickets — are required to offer buyers a cooling-off period during which they can reconsider their purchases. By contrast, Homevestors’ franchisees are well-versed in “muddying the title” to houses after the contract is signed, filing paperwork that makes it all but impossible for sellers to withdraw from the sale.

This produces a litany of ghastly horror-stories: homeowners who end up living in their trucks after they were pressured into a lowball sales; sellers who end up dying in hospital beds haunted by the trick that cost them their homes. One woman who struggled with hoarding was tricked into selling her house by false claims that the city would evict her because of her hoarding. A widow was tricked into signing away the deed to her late husband’s house by the lie that she could do so despite not being on the deed. One seller was tricked into signing a document he believed to be a home equity loan application, only to discover he had sold his house at a huge discount on its market value. An Arizona woman was tricked into selling her dead mother’s house through the lie that the house would have to be torn down and the lot redeveloped; the Homevestor franchisee then flipped the house for 5,500% of the sale-price.

The company vigorously denies these claims. They say that most people who do business with Homevestors are happy with the outcome; in support of this claim, they cite internal surveys of their own customers that produce a 96% approval rating.

When confronted with the specifics, the company blamed rogue franchisees. But Propublica obtained training materials and other internal documents that show that the problem is widespread and endemic to Homevestors’ business. Propublica discovered that at least eight franchisees who engaged in conduct the company said it “didn’t tolerate” had been awarded prizes by the company for their business acumen.

Franchisees are on the hook for massive recurring fees and face constant pressure from corporate auditors to close sales. To make those sales, franchisees turn to Homevana’s training materials, which are rife with predatory tactics. One document counsels franchisees that “pain is always a form of motivation.” What kind of pain? Lost jobs, looming foreclosure or a child in need of surgery.

A former franchisee explained how this is put into practice in the field: he encountered a seller who needed to sell quickly so he could join his dying mother who had just entered a hospice 1,400 miles away. The seller didn’t want to sell the house; they wanted to “get to Colorado to see their dying mother.”

These same training materials warn franchisees that they must not deal with sellers who are “subject to a guardianship or has a mental capacity that is diminished to the point that the person does not understand the value of the property,” but Propublica’s investigation discovered “a pattern of disregard” for this rule. For example, there was the 2020 incident in which a 78-year-old Atlanta man sold his house to a Homevestors franchisee for half its sale price. The seller was later shown to be “unable to write a sentence or name the year, season, date or month.”

The company tried to pin the blame for all this on bad eggs among its franchisees. But Propublica found that some of the company’s most egregious offenders were celebrated and tolerated before and after they were convicted of felonies related to their conduct on behalf of the company. For example, Hi-Land Properties is a five-time winner of Homevestors’ National Franchise of the Year prize. The owner was praised by the CEO as “loyal, hardworking franchisee who has well represented our national brand, best practices and values.”

This same franchisee had “filed two dozen breach of contract lawsuits since 2016 and clouded titles on more than 300 properties by recording notices of a sales contract.” Hi-Land “sued an elderly man so incapacitated by illness he couldn’t leave his house.”

Another franchisee, Patriot Holdings, uses the courts aggressively to stop families of vulnerable people from canceling deals their relatives signed. Patriot Holdings’ co-owner, Cory Evans, eventually pleaded guilty to to two felonies, attempted grand theft of real property. He had to drop his lawsuits against buyers, and make restitution.

According to Homevestors’ internal policies, Patriot’s franchise should have been canceled. But Homevestors allowed Patriot to stay in business after Cory Evans took his name off the business, leaving his brothers and other partners to run it. Nominally, Cory Evans was out of the picture, but well after that date, internal Homevestors included Evans in an award it gave to Patriot, commemorating its sales (Homevestors claims this was an error).

Propublica’s reporters sought comment from Homevestors and its franchisees about this story. The company hired “a former FBI spokesperson who specializes in ‘crisis and special situations’ and ‘reputation management’ and funnelled future questions through him.”

Internally, company leadership scrambled to control the news. The company convened a webinar in April with all 1,150 franchisees to lay out its strategy. Company CEO David Hicks explained the company’s plan to “bury” the Propublica article with “‘strategic ad buys on social and web pages’ and ‘SEO content to minimize visibility.’”

https://www.propublica.org/article/homevestors-aims-to-bury-propublica-reporting

Franchisees were warned not to click links to the story because they “might improve its internet search ranking.”

Even as the company sought to “bury” the story and stonewalled Propublica, they cleaned house, instituting new procedures and taking action against franchisees identified in Propublica’s article. “Clouding titles” is now prohibited. Suing sellers for breach of contract is “discouraged.” Deals with seniors “should always involve family, attorneys or other guardians.”

During the webinar, franchisees “pushed back on the changes, claiming they could hurt business.”

If you’ve had experience with hard-sell house-flippers, Propublica wants to know: “If you’ve had experience with a company or buyer promising fast cash for homes, our reporting team wants to hear about it.”

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: A Depression-era photo of a dour widow standing in front of a dilapidated cabin. Next to her is Ug, the caveman mascot for Homevestors, smiling and pointing at her. Behind her is a 'We buy ugly houses' sign.

Image: Homevestors https://www.homevestors.com/

Fair use: https://www.eff.org/issues/intellectual-property

[org4n-failur3]

The Dylann Roof case- In Depth

I DO NOT SUPPORT. THIS IS INFORMATIONAL!

Pls reblog incase I get trmed!

Dylann was born April 3rd 1994 to mother Amelia and father Franklin with 2 sisters Amber and Morgan. During early childhood his parents would divorce and his father would later remarry. His stepmother accused his father of abüse. He would beg his step mother to let him live with her but she wasn’t able to. Dylann would be described to have obsessive compulsive tendencies with germs. In middle school he would stop caring about school and started smoking weed and drinking vodka. In nine years he would have attended seven schools. In 2010 he would drop out of Highschool and continue playing video games and smoking weed and drinking.

In 2015 he was caught with an invalid prescription for suboxone at a mall to which he was banned from for a year. Later that year he was caught loitering in the mall to which they searched his car finding a forearm grip for a AR-15 semiautomatic rifle and six unloaded magazines capable of holding 40 rounds each but was let off it was legal in the state. Roofs Suboxone charge was mishandled and a system error took it as a misdemeanour instead of a felony. Which would have possibly prohibited him from purchasing the firearm.

Later Dylann would look into the Trayvon Martin case and from an unknown article concluded Zimmerman was in the right. He then fell down a rabbit hole of black on white crime and misinformation. He then found 4chan and would find even more misinformation and hard right ideologies Dylann states he hasn’t been the same since that day. Which leads to his manifesto titled ‘The last Rhodesian’ Rhodesia being the African state founded in 1965 ran by primary Europeans and a white supr3macy ideology before being abolished in 1979. The term now sticks with white supremac!sts like Dylann had became, as he also used the flag on his jacket. In preparation before the attack he looked up black churches and found the Emanuel Methodist Episcopal Church and would scout the area and ask around about mass times.

June 15th 2015 somewhere around 8:00pm Dylann entered the church, once he did he was greeted by Rev.Pinckney and given a bible to study with. Roof was sat next to Pinckney as the study continued. As the study closed and the ending pray started Roof stood up and pulled out his Gl0ck 41 .45 calibre handgûn and began sh00ting. Killing Pinckney first. Then 26 year old Tywanza Sanders stood up to plead with Dylann before he said ‘I have to do it. You r4p3 our women and you’re taking over our country and you have to go’ he then wh0re and k!lled Sharonda Singleton, Dr. Daniel L. Simmons, Ethel Lee Lance, Cynthia Hurd, Myra Tompson and Tywanza Sanders. Dylann would reload 5 times that day. Polly Shepherd was spared when he asked her if he shot her yet to which she replied no he then told her ‘good cause we need someone to survive because I’m gonna sh00t myself and you’ll be the only survivor. He then turned the gûn on himself realizing he was out of ammo. He then left the church to the surprise there wasn’t anyone outside. The next day the police confirmed the gûnman was 21 year old Dylann Roof with witnesses reporting they saw him drive towards Shelby, a town close to Charleston. At 10:44am Roof was arrested at a traffic stop in Shelby where it was then confirmed he worked alone.

Five days after the sh00ting the grand jury announced that Roof was being indicted for 33 federal charges.

12 counts hate crime against black people

12 counts obstructing the exercise of religion

9 counts mûrd3r using a firearm.

On June 6th Roof reportedly did not want to be trialed by jury and instead let the judge decide if he was guilty and if the d3ath penalty was reasonable. August 23rd Roofs lawyers called the motion of d3ath penalty unconstitutional and asked to reject the motion. On September 1st an on camera hearing was held in case of outbursts. December 7th 2016 the trial started. During a survivor statement Roofs mom collapsed as she had a heart attack. After 3 days of the trial FBI played a video on which he admitted to laughing and drinking while describing to friends how he’d sh00t the church. To which his friend didn’t report to police and said he was drunk and took his keys and gl0ck that was on him. After 2 hours the jury found him guilty on all 33 charges. Roof wanting to plead guilty but told not to by lawyers.

January 10th 2027 Roof was sentenced to d3ath penalty, and d3ath by lethal injection.

-

NOTE: if I get anything wrong please tell me! This was from an old project I had.

-Vivi

[cvrnelians]

smile like you mean it - chapter five

You knew filing for divorce would be no easy feat. But filing for divorce from Roman Roy?

"No easy feat” might as well have been synonymous with “impossible."

warnings: drug use, alcoholism, miscarriage, Roman and the rest of the Roy family being awful.

chapters 1-3 // chapter four

music

chapter five

10 ways to get someone to like you: A foolproof guide

If you want to be liked, be likable.

Roman scowled and slammed his laptop shut, carelessly tossing it to the end of the bed. 

“What a stupid fucking article.”

He got up and stretched, his limbs still rigid from a heavy sleep. If there was anything positive to come out of the complete and utter shitshow that was the day before, a good night’s sleep took the cake. Rest was something Roman didn’t get a whole lot of lately, but when he did sleep, he slept hard. 

Prior to becoming COO of Waystar Royco, he had always been a heavy sleeper. It wasn’t unusual for him to get eight hours of shuteye even after napping all day. He had a copious amount of (not-so-fond) childhood memories in which Connor, Kendall, and Shiv jumped on his bed in order to wake him up. They often had to hit him with pillows and shake him to the point of nausea to get him to finally open his eyes.

Well, they didn’t really have to. 

There were a small handful of differences between now and then. 

Although he would never admit it, his job was a big source of stress for him. The most pathetic thing about it? Most days he didn’t accomplish even twenty five percent of what his colleagues did. And what he was able to do completely exhausted him. It was a lot to live up to, being the inheritor—and now a figurehead—of a monster he hadn’t created; a monster he wasn’t even sure he wanted to keep feeding. 

Another major difference between now and then was that Kendall no longer needed to shake him from a dead sleep in order to make him feel nauseous. All it really took was watching him walk into your room in the middle of the night, casual as could be, to put Roman into a not-so-ideal headspace.

“Acting like he was reuniting with an old friend or some shit,” he mumbled under his breath. He got into the shower, his mind going a million miles a minute as he continued talking to himself. “I’m Kendall,” he mocked. “I’m better than everyone now, didn’t you know? I went to rehab. I drink green juice. I’ve read The Secret. I don’t have stress anymore because I never see my own children. Look how stable I am now.” 

This was the one downside of being so well-rested. His brain actually lived up to its potential. His mind simply refused to slow down. No matter how hard he willed himself not to think of you, he only thought about you that much more. Not that this was all that different from any other day. Roman thought about you all the time, sleep deprived or not.

He liked you. Okay? Even with your cheap clothes and your shitty attitude and your refusal to sit next to him in the car, he had some…feelings when it came to you.

Ew.

He hated it when you were upset with him, and he hated it even more when you weren’t around.

From the first time he saw you, he liked you. A lot, actually.

Roman liked you a lot.

He had gone to your room the night before to say he was sorry discuss how hypersensitive you were being in response to the hilarious things he said, but he stopped short in the doorway. 

As it turned out, you were busy. So as any gentleman would, Roman said fuck that noise and booked it back to his room. That was the second time you made him run that day, you little jerk.

He wondered if he should take bearing witness to that stomach-turning embrace between you and Kendall as a sign. Perhaps he should never apologize to anyone, for any reason, ever again. Not even to those who deserved an apology. Not even to you. If that was what he got for trying to be the bigger person, having to watch his stormcloud of an older brother get what he wanted without even having to try, well…what was the point? 

“Likable. Likable? What does that even mean?” he asked himself. 

Why would the author of that article automatically assume the people reading it were the unlikable ones? What kind of introduction was that? Why should he have to shoulder the responsibility of someone not liking him? Why should he have to do all this work to win you over? Why was he even worried about it? You should be the one trying to get into his good graces. You should be the one typing stupid questions into Google at seven o’ clock in the morning, not him. It didn’t matter that he called you a run-of-the-mill, ladder climbing, H&M wearing plebeian (or a coffee gopher). It didn’t matter that he had driven you to the brink of a full blown mental breakdown under his tenure. It didn’t matter that knowing he was the one that made you cry felt like a punch to the gut.

...which didn't even turn him on, by the way.

None of it mattered. He shouldn’t have to apologize for a thing. You were obviously sleeping with Kendall. Kendall! Even if you weren’t working for him, sleeping with Kendall would still put you in the wrong in any context. You were trying so desperately to make Roman believe he was the problem, just as everyone else did. You little gaslighter. 

You weren’t seriously going to leave over a couple of little insults, right?

Right?

He was so distracted by his own thoughts, he somehow managed to get a concerning amount of shampoo in his eyes. 

“Ow, FUCK!” 

Following five stressful minutes of washing his eyes out (or trying to, anyway), he slumped over and held his hands over his face, allowing the water to run directly over his head. He could still picture you crying on the plane, which he had been doing on a loop for the past several hours. He could concede that he came off a little unpleasant at times, but it was more of a defense mechanism than anything. Deep down, Roman knew he didn’t take anyone seriously simply because no one else took him seriously. But you had wanted to be taken seriously, and did everything to earn that. 

You were having some relatively fun banter prior to the moment he turned on you like a feral dog. When he was finished with his cutting little monologue, you looked like you had been slapped. Seeing you so upset and proceeding to mock you for it…

Ugh.

This was not uncharacteristic of Roman, but it wasn't necessarily his proudest moment, either. It made him sick to his stomach, as a matter of fact. 

A lot of things about the past few days made him sick to his stomach.

He could remember having a similar feeling from when he was growing up. Everything would be fine and dandy until he would say or do one little thing to set Logan off, and then bam: 

First came the hurt, then came the ridicule. 

“Oh, you’re crying now? You’re crying? Why don’t you just go tell Kendall about it? I’m sure he’d love nothing more.” 

Roman cringed at his own words.

First came the hurt, then came the ridicule. 

And then he was alone.

If you want to be liked, be likable.

He would never say it to you directly, but if he could, he would.

"I’m sorry I made you so sad."

☽ 

“You have no idea how things will turn out, and it’s very juvenile. It’s fucking dumb. You’re being dumb!”

You cringed as Kendall’s words bounced around in your head.

Last night had been very interesting, to say the least.

For several hours now, you lay flat on your back, slipping in and out of a restless sleep. When you did become lucid, you simply stared up at the impossibly tall vaulted ceiling. It was painted and preserved beautifully, gold borders encasing rich shades of red and blue. You reached your arm up, pretending to trace and retrace the intricate patterns with your fingers. Exhausted yet unable to sleep, you needed something mindless and soothing to wind yourself down. 

Sadly, your efforts were to no avail. Your mind was still racing, hyper focused on what transpired the night before. It was jarring to think that just a simple “so, how have you been?” from Kendall would open a Pandora's box you had no clue even existed. You didn’t have much time to concentrate on it, though. At that moment, two things happened at once.

You felt a stab of panic as you received a notification that your flight was now boarding. You couldn’t believe it. You had missed your flight. You had dissociated to the point of having missed your flight. And before you could even sit up, you were startled by a loud banging noise against your door. It sounded like someone was ramming something into it full force. You weren't even sure who you were hoping not to see at this point.

Not since Kendall went absolutely ballistic on you.

“Knock, knock!” a familiar voice yelled. He didn’t bother actually knocking, nor did he wait for you to respond. He probably thought the unpleasant crash was sufficient enough.

You were almost relieved.

Enter one Roman Roy.

But he wasn’t alone. In front of him was the culprit, the battering ram that nearly gave you a heart attack, in the form of a large metal breakfast cart. If that wasn’t bizarre enough, he was dressed in athletic wear. He looked out of place in such a grandiose room, like you were playing a beginner’s version of “I Spy.” 

I spy with my little eye something reprehensible.

“Here comes the breakfast fairy,” he said in an awkward, singsong voice. He slowly rolled  the unsteady cart towards you. “Here to um…y’know. Bring you breakfast. Breakfast just for you.”

A wheel broke off as he made his way over, making coffee spill onto the tray. He cursed as he shakily lifted the tray up off the cart and reached over to hand it to you. You gawked at him. “Okay, that’s what I get for saying that. That was fucking stupid. I didn’t say that. You don’t remember me saying that.” 

“You brought me breakfast?”

“It would appear so,” he said cheerfully. “Like a good boy.”

“I missed my flight,” you blurted out awkwardly. 

He paused for a second, taking a deep breath before reverting back to his typically rude delivery. “Yeah, not my problem. Can you please just take the tray? It’s really heavy.”  

“I missed my flight,” you repeated. 

He ignored you and slowly set the tray on your lap. He lifted the lid to reveal a pretty solid breakfast as far as you were concerned: a single poptart and two comically large cups of coffee. One was black, the other a latte with a poorly drawn happy face carved into the foam. You would have laughed if you weren’t so stressed out. All of this buildup for a lone pastry and an alarming amount of coffee.

“Where’s the second poptart?”

“I ate it. Obviously. Don’t be ungrateful,” he snapped. “You like wildberry, right? You seem like you would like wildberry. A little fun, a little different. Spice up your life, or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes, breaking the poptart into several pieces before taking a bite. “You could have the most elaborate breakfast in the world, and yet you’d prefer to have this?”

“What? I may be rich but that doesn’t mean I like exclusively rich people things. Have you seen rich people food? I mean, probably not but…” 

You tentatively picked up the latte. “Did you poison this? Did you spit in this?”

“Hah, you wish.”

“I wish?”

“I mean, I can if you’d like,” he said, leaning towards you.

“No!” you yelled, making him wince. You lowered your voice. “Sorry, no. I think I’m alright.”

He reached down to pick up the other mug. “This one's for meee.”

“Of course it is.”

He gasped, cradling the side of his face with his palm in mock excitement. “Uh oh. I have an idea. Do you want to spit in mine?”

“I hate this conversation," you sighed. "You’d probably be into that, so I’m gonna say no.”

“Well, how do you know for sure that the cool one is yours?”

You shrugged. “Because I’m cool.”

“You sure about that?” 

“And I know you like your coffee black.”

“Touché,” he said, leaning against the wall across from your bed. You both drank your coffee in silence for a few moments.

“Did you bring this from home?” you asked, pointing to the poptart. 

“No. I made that lanky muppet go buy me a box.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wh...Wait, are you talking about Greg?”

“Yeah, I figured I would send Gumby on a little errand since I apparently can’t do that with you anymore. Since you’re—” he made air quotes with his fingers—“quitting.” 

“Wait, does he even know how to drive in the UK? How did he even get to a store? We’re miles from—” 

“I told him I would make him sleep outside if he didn’t figure out a way to score me some. I have no clue how he got all the way out into the city so fast. Can you believe that? Being tall does have its perks, I guess. His strides had him moving at the speed of light, apparently.” 

You gawked at him again, horrified. 

Poor, poor Greg.

You dropped the remaining pieces of the poptart on your plate. “I’m not hungry anymore.” 

“Oh come on, it’s funny. Don’t let his efforts be in vain.” He took a big gulp of coffee. “Anyway. I was thinking...”

“Why are you dressed like that?” you asked.

“Like what?”

“Like a fitness influencer.”

“I was getting to that. Don’t interrupt me.”

You leaned your head back and groaned. 

“Okay, drama. Calm down. We’re all supposed to go golfing this morning, but I hate golf. I'm pretty sure you do, too. You told me once. So I thought maybe we could, like. I don’t know. Pretend to go for a run like we usually do? Talk? Only if it’s not going to cut into your busy schedule, of course. Ms. Newly Unemployed.”

“Roman, what could you possibly want to talk about? If you’re going to try and convince me to stay, don’t waste your time.”

“I was thinking we could get to know each other, at least a little bit. That way, I would know what to put in your reference letter when you blow this popsicle stand.”  

“Yeah. Like you would write the letter yourself,” you mused. "Like you even could. You can't even reply to an email in a timely manner."

“Hey!”

“Fine. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. Like I said, I missed my flight and am feeling like a total idiot. Bet you’re really getting off on that one.” 

He stared at you for a few seconds, like he was thinking carefully about what to say next. 

“What?” you asked.

He sighed. “I’m not getting off on it as much as you might think.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“I don’t know how you perceive me exactly, but I have a general idea. And I know this might come as a shock, but like I said, I’m really not that bad. I mean, okay. I am. I am. But not in every situation, not always. I’ll have you know, I do have my moments.”

“Yeah? When?”

“Right now, maybe? Look, I brough—”

“Brought me breakfast. Yeah. I can see that.”

“Which I still haven’t gotten a proper thank you for, by the way.”

“I’ll give you a proper thank you when you give me a proper apology.”

“Fine. Okay, I’m sorry I was a little unreasonable with you yesterday. I’m sorry I, uh…manhandled you when we were getting into the car. Or tried to. Like, really, really tried.You’re pretty strong, you know that?” 

“Is that all?” you asked, cocking your head to one side.

“And I’m sorry for what I said about you and Kendall. And calling you names. I didn’t mean it. That about covers it, right?”

“And?”

“...being a dick?”

You considered not even bringing it up, but since you decided to quit your job, you simply did not care anymore.

“Aren’t you sorry that you lied to me?”

“Wait, what?” he asked, on the verge of laughter. “I didn’t lie to you. Lie to you about what?” 

Your conversation with Kendall rang loud and clear in your ears.

“It’s so good to see you. I wish you could’ve been on the flight with us, but I know you got held up. Work comes first.” 

Work comes first? What did that have to do with there not being enough seats on the jet? 

“Got held up?” 

“Yeah, Roman told us you guys were swamped.” 

“I…I mean, yeah. I’m always busy, but we flew separately because Roman told me there wasn’t enough room on the plane for us.” 

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” 

“Yeah, he said there were some issues with the seats. A few of them needed to be repaired, so there wasn’t enough space for everyone.”

“Are you…oh my god,”  Kendall scoffed. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Ken, I don’t—”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Roman, why did we fly here separate from everybody else?”

Roman choked on his coffee, making him stop to clear his throat. “I already told you, there wasn’t enough space for our sparkling personalities on Dad's favorite plane.”

“Not enough space?”

“Yep.”

“You sure about that?”

“Look, no matter what evocative bullshit you send my way this morning, you can’t change my mind. I’ve already decided. I want to make things up to you. So, if you’re upset that I maybe told a little white lie, I’m sorry.”

“So you did lie, then?”

He eyed you sheepishly.

“Sort of. How did you figure it out?"

“I don’t get it. Of all things, why would you lie about that?” 

“I don’t know, maybe it had something to do with me not wanting to hang out with my family in a torture chamber for hours? What if we crashed? You think I wanna die surrounded by a bunch of scorpions?”

“They’re your family!”

“Unfortunately."

“If the two of us crashed together, you’d have died alongside someone that doesn’t even like you. How is that more appealing?”

"Oh, how you wound me," he said flatly. “That may be so, but you don’t annoy me. Not to mention, you only sting me if I sting you first. It’s refreshing.”

You didn’t have the mental bandwidth to analyze that one this morning.

“Alright, fine. But your apology tour isn’t quite over yet.”

“You do know I don’t have to apologize to you at all, don’t you? You’re leaving. You’re basically nothing to me.”

“And yet, here you are.” 

“What can I say? I’m just such a nice guy.”

You both stared at each other for a second before launching into hysterics.

Roman sighed as you both attempted to stop cackling. “You know this is the most you’ve smiled at me in…like, ever? Is that poptart really that good?”

“I just feel relieved is all.”

“And why is that?”

“Why do you think?” you asked. "I'm finally freeing myself from your reign of tyranny."

"Do you really hate me that much?" he asked, setting down his mug. “We have fun sometimes, don't we? I mean, we got into a blowout argument yesterday and now we're totally fine. Even when we argue, I still don't feel like we're enemies. And believe me, I have a lot of those. Are you sure you want to leave?”

The way he was looking at you was truthfully making you a little sad. But as per usual, he wasn't thinking logically. You were practically attached at the hip every day. Of course there was some level of familiarity between the two of you, even amidst all the chaos. It was easy to mistake for friendship, given how often you were in communication, given how much you did for him. But that was your job.

You had to stop yourself from smiling.

Not anymore, it wasn't.

“Roman, the way we communicate is super dysfunctional. You’ve made me cry multiple times. Yes, I’m sure I want to leave.”

“Ugh," he groaned. "Okay. Look, as far as I'm concerned, you're king shit of fuck mountain right now."

"Excuse me, what?" you laughed.

"What you say goes. Pick a number, I'll increase your salary. Lay out some ground rules. I'm not the most ethically sound person in the world, but I do know how to compromise when it comes to doing what's best for business. And you're probably the only person who can tolerate me, so."

"Roman, I don't think I can come back from yesterday. That was way, way too much. But it's not just you. Last nigh—"

"I was wrong," he interrupted you. "I usually am. Shocker. But here's the thing: you're kind of like...invaluable, to me?" It came out as more of a reluctant question than a statement. His voice was shaky and small as he continued on. "You've, um...helped me a lot. In more ways than one. And I don't want you quitting and just going to work for Kendall again, because I don't really trust him."

"Roman, I can assure you that is not something you will ever have to worry about. Last nigh—"

"Just don't go, please."

You would've been more annoyed with him constantly interrupting you if his voice didn't sound so pitiful, if he didn't look so pitiful. You were caught off guard by the groveling. Not necessarily put off by it, but certainly surprised. This was possibly the most vulnerable you had ever seen him. And the whole breakfast thing; since when did Roman go out of his way to do something deliberately nice for you? It was very obviously to serve his own purposes. He didn't want you to quit, but it didn't seem to come from a bad place.

You had observed him for a second too long, it seemed. He cleared his throat and quickly regained his composure. Just like his kindness, Roman's willingness to be vulnerable also had a very short shelf life.

"If you expect another apology, you can fuck off. And I know you do expect one. But don't actually fuck off, you know what I mean? Out of everybody here, I want you to fuck off the least."

"Wow," you said flatly. "That's amazing."

"I know. I can't believe it, either."

☽ 

kendall 👀👀

@pearlstiare // @ay0nha // @theladyalicnt // @littleladdty @spacebaby1

[darlingshane]

Salt of the Earth ~ Part 1

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x OFC

Summary: She was Carmy's best friend growing up, and Michael never looked at her as anything other than that until years later when she comes back to Chicago to start over. In the process, she turns his sorry excuse of a life upside down.

Content/Warnings: Friends to lovers, Fluff, Angst, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Implied/referenced drug addiction, Alcohol mention, Divorce, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy. Undisclosed age gap (in my mind Michael is late 30s and OC is late 20s, but it's really up to your interpretation).

Word Count: 6.8k // 4 chapters // AO3 link.

A/N: This is set in the year of the Fishes episode on season 2. It starts in summer and slowly builds up to that Christmas.

— This was an anon request that I got a few months ago, I hope you're still around. I tried to fit all the ideas you sent as best I could. There's a bit of info dump on the first chapter, but I hope it isn't too off-putting.

Chapter 1: Best thing since sliced bread

Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes elongate into long hours on slow days like this at The Beef. Especially in summer when the air conditioner stops working for the second time in the middle of August. Any living soul that crosses that door must have a dying wish or be the devil themselves to adventure themselves to what has become Michael's personal hell.

It's been a testing year, and there's so much he can do to fix this place right now. While he waits for Fak to come check the damn AC unit, Michael tends the front while Ebra takes his lunch break.

Turning the paper's pages on the counter, he comes across an article about the extensive fires eating different parts of the country. A wretched thought crosses his mind as he reads – maybe it'd be better to burn this place to the ground and start over. He entertains the idea for a second until the door swings open, inviting more heat into the boiling pot.

He lifts his eyes from the words to find a familiar face approaching the counter. It's not Fak, but a much better vision of someone he used to know.

“Mayhem Maya.”

“Magic Mikey.”

That former thought of burning down this place disappears somewhere in the midst of that beautiful aura that saunters with her big brown eyes, long raven hair, nervous smile, and firm steps.

“It's been a while, Maybird.” Almost ten years since she set foot in this establishment. “What brings you to this hole in the wall?”

“Came to collect that meatball sub you promised at uncle Teddy's funeral, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

Ever since she moved to a different state, he only had seen her a handful of times when she came back for the holidays. Last time he saw her was at the beginning of spring, when her uncle, Ted Silva, passed away.

“I also had an interview at the new vet clinic on the next block.” She places her cross-body bag on an empty stool while she perches her ass on the one next to it.

“How's that going? Did you get tired of California already?”

“No, I love California. But I needed a change of scenery. It's been rough after… you know…” the divorce. She wasn't married for long, but she still can't bring herself to say the word.

“I’ve heard some of it.” He’s pretty much aware of how everything went down. Well, he’s got grapevine’s juicy version of the story, but he never heard her side directly.

Though Michael and Maya know each other as if they were related, they were never close confidants. She always thought he was the coolest guy in Chicago. And he always thought fondly of her, given their families association, and Maya’s close friendship with his brother.

Michael places an order for her sandwich and grabs a soda for her, while she explains she has two more job interviews later.

“Does your mother know you're back?” He folds the paper and props his elbows on the counter.

“She probably does.”

“Still not talking, huh?”

“It's not my fault she made me the black sheep of the family. She’s like vitriol on steroids.”

“Yeah? What happened at the wake? You left before I could say goodbye.”

Michael recalls the tension at the funeral, particularly at the wake when Angela Silva grabbed Maya by the elbow and took her youngest daughter outside the house as if she was still a child that needed to be scolded.

“Nothing. I barely said a word that day. Guess everything I do feels like a personal attack to her. I can admit that I'm not perfect, and that sometimes I've acted up just to get a reaction out of her, but that day she just went off again…” She pauses without finishing that thought to take a refreshing sip of her coke. “And that wasn't nearly as bad as the day I told her I was getting…”

“Divorced? Why can't you say the word? It's not Voldemort.”

“What the hell do you know about Voldemort?”

“How do I… Who took you and Carmy to buy those damn books? Have you forgotten?” Maya shakes her head. “You even tried many times invoking his name, so I was haunted by eaters or something like that. You two were real potterheads.”

“And you were just a pothead,” she laughs, stirring the ice cubes in her drink with a straw. “I totally blocked that out. We were just a couple of nerds.”

“I’d say!”

“Meatball sub!” Richie calls from the pass-through window and takes a second look when catching Maya in the joint. “Maya Papaya?!”

“Please, don’t call me that.” She scoffs while Richie promptly abandons the kitchen and goes around the counter to give her a welcoming hug.

“Did you know she was coming?” He asks Michael, as he props his ass on the bar.

“Had no idea. She just showed up.”

“Did you tell her about Carmy?”

“What about him?”

“He’s in Copenhagen.”

“Oh, I knew about that.”

“You two talk often?”

“Sometimes, I guess.” Barely more likely. They don't even text anymore. She's tried but there's been nothing but crickets at his end for months.

While Richie grills her about Carmy and what she’s been up to, Michael can’t help but look around the shop to notice, from every corner and wall, memories bouncing all at once in his direction. It takes him back in time to those days when she and Carmy were as thick as thieves.

Their shared history goes back to that same street their families have lived on for over thirty years… It’s still clear in his mind, like it was yesterday, when he was forced to babysit them when they wanted to go to the movies or trick-or-treating or the bookstore. That was a little annoying back then, now he fondly remembers all those times in summer, when they’d go to the convenience store to get ice pops on their bikes. Then they’d ride back and sit in the middle of the swanky rug in their living room and watch TV for hours. More than once they were yelled at by Mama Berzatto when she would come home to find melted colorful stains in the fabric. She would lose her shit. Carmy was used to it. Maya wasn’t, but the girl never flinched once cause Donna and her own mother were cut from the same unstable piece of cloth.

Maya and Carmy were really close up until they went separate ways for college. Their bond was something to admire. They had something so special that inevitably, Carmy fell in love with her. She was his best friend and confident. They kept each other's secrets, and Carmy thought she'd feel the same in return. It wasn't a crazy notion. They spent so much time together, everyone thought it'd lead to something more, but that never happened.

Mikey and Richie used to tease the youngest cub relentlessly. They tried multiple times to encourage him to ask her out, but he never found the guts to do it. Especially if it could potentially end their friendship. Carmy didn't want to lose that. Though he never confessed his feelings, Maya always knew. Even in her teens, call it a woman’s intuition, part of her already knew. Maya wished she'd felt the same toward him, but the heart wants what it wants, and she couldn't change that.

What was really fucked up was that she had the most ridiculous crush on the older Berzatto when she was a teen. While she knew he'd never look at her as anything other than Carmy's annoying little friend, that didn't stop her from daydreaming about it for years. It was a secret that no one ever knew and that was placed in a drawer at the back of her mind after she left Chicago.

After graduating, Maya and Carmy stayed in touch for a long time, until their calls and texts became less frequent. They followed different dreams that required a lot of attention and sadly their friendship got hurt in the process.

While she attended Vet School on the west coast, he became a chef on the east.

Maya thrived at school and work. She really went out on her own, and became the woman she always wanted to be. Unsheltered, confident, outspoken. She outgrew her shell and opened herself to new experiences and people. She loved it all. It wasn’t smooth sailing, but for the most part she was pretty happy with her choices.

And now she's back in Chicago, set on a new path and awaiting to see where it takes her.

She’s living in a house in Oak Park with her dog, Coco; Richie fishes out of her. Apparently, she got some money from uncle Teddy, and she’s invested it in a home for her and her beloved staffy.

“Does Carmy know you’re here?” Richie circles back.

“No, I haven't talked to him in months.”

“Why? Did you two have a fall-out or something?”

“There's no why. We're just busy.”

“Mike, help me out here. Weren’t these two fools supposed to get married?”

“Yeah, everyone thought you'd ended up together.”

“Man, I don't know what to tell you, we just didn't,” her head sinks between her shoulders.

“Just get over yourself and hit him up. The kid has been hung up on you since forever. It looks like things didn’t go so well with your marriage and all. You should take that as a sign, you’d never find anyone better than Carmy. The boy could really use some excitement in his life. And so could you.”

“C’mon, leave her alone. Go back to work, Cousin.”

Michael throws her a lifeline, noticing how miserable she looks every time Richie opens his unfiltered mouth.

“He’s not wrong, you know? You and Carmy… it looked like you two had something special.” Michael offers once Richie is back in the kitchen.

“It’s called friendship. You should look it up.” She points out.

“I have Richie.”

“Exactly. You have Richie. Why don't you two marry the other and leave me alone? If you think about it, you were as close to Richie as I was with Carmy. Even more. Should everyone assume you are in love with him? Cause that's what you're implying.”

“Touché. I'll drop it.”

“Look, as hard as it is to believe, there was nothing else between us. I was aware he felt something for me, but I didn’t feel the same.”

“You should give him a chance sometime. He might surprise you.”

It’s not the first time these two have been trying to play matchmaker between Maya and Carmy, and it’s bizarre to see they still do at any given opportunity.

“Okay, if I give Carmy a chance, you have to give Richie a chance. Those are the rules, Berzatto.”

“Oh, I've tried. He's not into me,” he remarks, amused, and leans closer to confess something in a lower voice. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

“Uh, sure.”

“He and Tiffany are having a baby. He just told me a few days ago.”

“What? You let him reproduce? I'll pray for Tiff.”

Chapter 2: Cool as a cucumber

Everything falls slowly into place as Maya settles back in Chicago. She secures the job at the clinic near The Beef, which is a huge relief after her rushed decision of moving back to her hometown without securing a job first. It was part of the plan all along to practice what she loves but never thought this would be the year. As much as she loved California, once her divorce was finalized she felt like something was trapping her there. And the money she got from her uncle gave her some leeway to improvise, get away from all that, and start over.

Maya is spending her morning going through the stack of unpacked boxes, finding a good place for everything, making it feel more homey. It's not a big house, but spacious enough for the two of them. The big selling point was the backyard for Coco to zoom around and cool down in her wading pool, which she loves. It didn't take long for the five-year-old pup to get used to her new neighborhood. They've even made a couple of friends at the park nearby.

A moment before the doorbell rings, Coco whines from her spot by the window, where she often sits to watch passers in the street.

“Who is it?” Maya playfully asks her dog as she makes her way to the front door.

Through the peephole, she sees Michael's profile as he inspects the porch.

“Hi,” her eyes widen as she opens the door. “Didn't know you were coming.”

“Yeah, I would've called, but I didn't get your number the other day.” But he got her address from Richie's intense questioning when she visited the shop.

“I knocked on two different houses until I got the right one,” he explains as Coco curiously circles around his feet, sniffing his pants, hitting his crotch with her nose in the process.

“No, Coco. Sit. How many times have we talked about no nut-tapping?” Maya glances at her with amusement as the dog sits on her haunches.

“It’s fine,” he snorts. “All dogs do that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But she’s not any other dog. I thought I had taught her better. So what brings you here?”

“This.” He offers the paper bag hanging in his hand. “It's just a little house-warming gift.”

“You didn't have to.” As she takes the bag from his hand she ushers him inside before closing the door.

“It's nothing, really.”

He glances around as Maya takes out the box from the bag.

“Wow, a set of knives? That's not nothing.”

“Everyone needs one good set of knives. But you can exchange them for something else if you want.”

“No. I like these. But I gotta warn you that I'm not much of a cook, and I'll probably use the same one for everything.”

“That's fine I can show you sometime though. Is she friendly? ” He points at the dog that keeps staring at him. “Can I pet her?”

“Yeah, she loves everyone. Go ahead.”

Michael cautiously pets the brown coat of her head as her floppy ears lower at the passing of his hand.

“Never pictured you with a pit bull.”

“Me neither. I always thought I'd be a cat lady. But I met her at this adoption drive when she was one, and she stole my heart.”

“I can see why.” Michael crouches down, and pets Coco with both hands. “She's really sweet.”

He lets her lick his chin a couple of times before standing back on his feet. Then they go on a tour around the house.

“It's still a work in progress. I'm thinking of painting a few walls, but we like it so far.”

“Yeah, it has good bones.”

“So you don't have to work today?” Asks Maya.

“No, we've had some trouble with the gas line, and we've been shut down for a couple of days.”

“That sucks. Now where am I going to get my sandwiches and coffee on my way to work?”

“Heard Starbucks is pretty good.”

“Shut up. Don't even joke about that.” She playfully shoves his shoulder as they go back to the living room.

“Are you doing something later?”

She shakes her head. “Why?”

“I don't know, thought you were having a comeback party or something.”

“I don't really have any friends here. And I don't feel like inviting my family yet. As you can see, I still have a lot to unpack.”

“Physically or mentally speaking?”

“Both,” she scoffs.

“Let's do something then? Just you and me. We could grab some pizza, or go out for a drink for old times’ sake?”

“Old times’ sake?” It's amusing, surprising and confusing his sudden interest in her. Maybe he can see how pathetic she thinks she is, and he's taking pity on her. Although, that was never Michael style.

“Yeah, c'mon, Mayhem. You look like you could use some fun.” He picks up a book that's sitting on top from the box opened by the couch that's titled — Dating Again with Courage and Confidence: The Five-Step Plan to Revitalize Your Love Life after Heartbreak, Breakup, or Divorce. “And maybe a rebound or something. You don't need a fucking help book. You only need me to show where to get the best guys, or girls. Whatever you're into.”

“Give me that. I don't need a rebound, a help book, or you for all matter finding me a date.”

“No? Then why do you have that?”

“My friend Paige thought I should give it a try.”

“Maybe she was onto something there.”

“I'm perfectly fine. Just want to finish organizing everything, focus on work and this handful I have right here.” Her hand gestures at Coco. “What are you so interested in my love life anyway? First you try to play matchmaker with Carmy, and now you want me to do what, exactly? Hook up with the first guy I see?”

“No, I'm just asking you to go out and have some fun. I know Carmy was the only friend you had here. And if I was in your shoes, I'd feel pretty lonely.”

“I'm not lonely, Michael. Do I miss my friends in Sacramento? Sure,” she admits. “But I don't wanna force anything. I'm just taking it slow. When the time comes I'll jump right in but for now, this is all I need. Really. Stop pitying me.”

“I'm not pitying you, sweetheart.”

“No? Then what is it? Where is this coming from?”

“I don't know… I've always thought you were the salt of the earth. And though we never really hung out together, I thought you could use… But I can see now that you're different, and that you know what you need right now, so I'll just shut up and back off. Let you do your thing.”

“Thank you. I do know what I'm doing, by the way. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. But I appreciate you coming here anyway.”

“Yeah, of course. And I can help you unpack if you need.”

“Hm, if you don't have anything better to do, be my guest. We could grab a pizza later, if the offer still stands. Or just order some food.”

“Sure.”

Michael helps Maya unpack all the boxes and put everything in place in half the time it'd have taken her alone. They order some food for lunch and spend half the day talking and laughing until late in the afternoon when they decide to go out for some drinks to keep the good vibes going.

At the end of the night, she offers to drive Michael back to his apartment as a thank you for inviting her.

“Did you have fun?” Michael asks from the passenger seat as she pulls up in front of his building.

“Yeah, I did. I'm glad I changed my mind.”

“Me too. I didn't know you were this fun. You're nothing like I remember.”

“Yeah, I was kind of weird growing up. You guys probably thought there was something wrong with me. ”

“Nah, don't be so hard on yourself. We were all weird in our own way.”

“Uh-uh. No Michael Berzatto. You were the coolest guy back in the day, and you still are.”

“I don’t know about that,” he scoffs. “For the record… I never thought there was anything wrong with you.”

“You were probably the only one… Anyway, thank you for today. I know I said I didn't need this, but I guess I did.”

“You're welcome, Maybird. I'm glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Thanks for bringing me home,” he softly squeezes her arm before reaching for the handle to open the door.

“No problem.”

“You know you can call me if you ever miss your friends, y’know?” he throws casually.

“I uh…sure. I will.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she echoes back as he pulls the handle and the door opens.

“Have a good night, Michael,” she says as he gets one foot on the pavement.

“You, too, sweetheart.”

He closes the door and vaguely waves as she sets the car in motion and watches her drive away.

Chapter 3: Don't cry over spilled milk

In the few weeks he's been spending time with Maya, Michael has found himself enjoying her company more than he'd like to admit. Being with her grounds him. She makes him forget for a little while all that's wrong in his life. She's like a beacon in that immerse darkness that his sorry existence has become. Despite having her own set of problems, he's watched her rise above all that with poise. He wonders what it's her secret to her steadfast determination, even when her own family has disavowed her.

After closing shop, he dives into his stash to tame that brewing headache before driving to Oak Park to pay her a visit. She told him earlier via text that she was at Home Depot buying some paint to update the color of her bedroom and asked him to come over to hang out after work.

For some reason, he couldn't say no. Not even the storm in his head is strong enough to deny her request. He has a pull on him, tugging him hard like a dog tied to a leash in her hand, he can’t help but follow her lead.

When he arrives at her house, she's halfway done. Two of the walls shine bright new in a lavender tone as she starts working on the next one.

After having beer and playing a tug of war game with his new friend, Coco, Michael offers his help to finish painting the walls. He uses a brush to paint the corners, while she gracefully uses a roller like a pro with her denim overalls over a tank top, and her raven hair pulled up in a ponytail sprinkled with lavender paint beads. When she lifts one of her arms, he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on the side of her rib cage, leveled to the roundness of her chest that looks like the outline of a dog paw.

“What are you looking at?” She asks after catching him staring.

“You have paint on your chin.”

“Oh.” She wipes it with the back of her hand, but she just spreads the stain along her jaw. “I made it worse, didn't I?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugs it off and continues with the task ahead until the whole wall is covered.

“Is everything okay, Bear?” Maya puts down the paint roller. “You're quieter than usual.”

“Yeah, everything's alright.” It sounds so honest, he almost believes it. “It's just been a long day.”

“I'm sorry that I put you to work.”

“Don't be. This is relaxing.”

“Yeah?” She takes a step back and surveys how much brighter her bedroom looks already after covering most of the former downcast grey. “Is the color right? Do you think it's too girlish?”

Giving the room a once over he says, “it's a good shade. I dig it. It doesn't matter what I think or if it's too girlish, as long as you like it. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

She dips the roller on the tray to cover another section of the wall.

“You never told me what happened at the funeral with your mom,” Michael leans on the stepladder, taking a short break.

“Do you really wanna know?” She glances over her shoulder.

“Yeah. Everyone does. I’ve heard some crazy stories about it. Thought I should get it straight from the source.”

“I never pegged you for a gossip girl.”

“I’m not. I’m just making conversation.”

She mockingly narrows her eyes, drawing a lopsided smirk, “liar.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. But yeah, can’t help being a little curious about it.”

“I don’t mind telling you, but it won’t be as entertaining as those crazy stories people have made up.”

“I’m not here for entertainment. I just wanna hear your side of the story, Maybird.”

Maya lets out a heavy sigh and while keeping her focus on the wall she shares with him what really happened. She’s right to say that is not the best story she’s ever told, though when it comes to her mother, all her stories tend to have a surreal element even she can’t fathom sometimes.

That day at the funeral, she was taken outside during the wake by Angela Silva to get scolded about her imminent divorce. It wasn’t finalized by then, and her mom invoked one last Hail Mary to convince her to stay with her husband, who was also currently dating someone else. It was a messy situation that Maya couldn't wait to get out of, and the fact that her mother never offered an ounce of support wasn’t surprising, but still devastating. Somehow, Angela found that the reason for her separation from her husband was that Maya didn’t want to have kids, and that really vexed Angela. All she wanted for her three kids was to follow the same traditional path Angela was forced into, no matter how miserable she was. Her two older sisters followed her mother’s narrowed traditional values. But Maya, ever-the-nonconformist, swore she would never follow anyone’s drum beat but her own. Her husband thought she’d change her mind eventually. He was wrong. She knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which led her here, to this moment.

“Is your mom ever happy?” Michael has always wondered.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her happy, except when she’s drunk. That’s why she has to make everyone else miserable.”

“Yeah, but she’s always had a fixation on making you miserable.”

“Like I said, every family needs a black sheep, and I’m it.”

“Is that why you became a vet?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So, it's true, you don’t wanna have kids? I’m not judging. I’m just curious.”

“I honestly don't know. I just knew that when he told me he wanted to have a baby right away, it didn’t feel right. I said that maybe in six or seven years I’d be okay with it. Told him I wanted to travel and just be us for a while, and he said that was too long to wait. I don’t know… he stopped talking to me, and it was clear that he wasn’t changing his mind, and I wasn’t changing my mind, so. At some point I got tired of trying… He got a girlfriend as soon as I filed for divorce and I got a text from Paige the other day that said he got her already pregnant, like… that was never me. I guess it served me right… I married him on a whim, an impulse without really talking about what we wanted…”

“Hey, don’t feel sorry for yourself. You dodged a bullet there.”

“You really think that?.”

“Yeah, I do. You stood up for yourself and knew when to step back when it didn’t feel right. Not everyone has the balls to do that. Think how miserable you’d be by now if you had tried to please him or your mom. You seem happy now. That's what matters.” He means that with all his heart, and wishes he had the same drive to follow those same steps. As much as he loved the restaurant, he chose to run it to please people within his family. And that love turned into a nightmare he couldn't escape.

“You know… I liked you better when you were quiet,” she quips.

Michael huffs a soft laugh, picking up his brush to resume painting.

When the room is finished, she plugs a couple of fans and closes the door to keep Coco away.

Maya washes her hands and face in the bathroom sink. When she comes out, she catches the motion of Michael's arm as he shoves what looks like a pill into his mouth before taking a gulp of water from one of her glasses.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It's just a headache,” looking down, he runs a palm over his short growing beard.

“Is it the fumes?”

“No, I had it before coming here.”

“Michael,” she sighs softly at his name. “You should've told me. I wouldn't have let you help if I knew.”

“Would you stop that? I wanted to help.”

“Okay, c'mere. Let's sit down.”

“No, I think I should get going.”

“Nonsense. I'm not going to let you drive until you feel better.”

He yields with a long exhale, and follows Maya into the living room, where her bed is settled askew in the middle of the space.

She takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and waits for him to sit next to her.

“Give me your hand,” she shows her palm up, as his eyes narrow. “C'mon, don't be a baby, give me your hand, Berzatto.”

“When did you become so bossy?” He slowly lifts his hand and as he lays it on top of her palm, his fingers tremble upon contact with her skin. Maya then uses her opposite hand to clip the webbing between his thumb and pointer fingers with her own and begins massaging that spot.

“My friend Sierra is really into acupressure. She says this is a pressure point that helps with headaches.” She explains while slowly increasing the force. “Does it hurt?”

“Not one bit. Is that like acupuncture?” His voice comes as a whisper as he focuses on her diligent fingers.

“Kinda. I think. I’m not really sure.”

“You don't have to fix me, you know?”

“I'm not trying to fix you, Bear. I just wanna make you feel better.”

“Admit it. You just love a good wounded animal.”

She smiles softly, placing his hand down on his knee and picking up the other. “Does it feel any different?”

He’s not really sure, it wasn’t truly a headache that led them to take that pill but the annoying rambling of his thoughts. She shouldn’t have seen that. And he shouldn’t have lied. But having her hands on his like this is straight up lovely. Inside of him, it truly feels like something is broken, wounded, and missing, and this is giving him a sliver of relief as he waits for the pill to kick in. If he was a better man, he’d tell her the truth. But he’s too far gone for saving. All he can do is keep that facade up.

“Does it?” She insists after not getting an answer.

“A little.”

“Do you wanna lay down?”

Swallowing, he responds with a nod, and they both lean back on the mattress at the same time. Looking at the ceiling, she keeps kneading that pressure point, unsure if she’s even doing it right.

They stay in comfortable silence for a good five minutes and when she finally places his hand down, Maya glances to the side and sees that his eyes have closed, and his chest gently rising and falling. She calls his name softly, but she can see that behind the sharp edges of his face and the ever-growing shade of his beard, he’s truly exhausted, so she doesn’t insist. She extends her hand to turn off the lamp, and curls on the other side of the bed without disturbing his sleep.

“Good night,” she says softly and closes her eyes.

From a dusty corner of her mind comes crawling that little forgotten part that used to harbor a lot of feelings for Michael. Though a few weeks ago he seemed practically the same Michael she knew, over the past month she’s keenly noticed little changes here and there. His eyes sometimes cast a dark shade tainted in nothing but sadness, it’s barely noticeable for other people. It comes and goes, but it tells her he’s not truly as happy as he pretends to be.

Michael wakes up disoriented at the crack of dawn.

It takes him a few seconds to remember he’s still in Mayas’ bed in the middle of her living room and that the weight that has his arm pinned is her body pressed against his. She’s warmly snuggled on his side, with her arms tucked between his chest and hers, and a peaceful expression on her beautiful face. She’s so awfully close, he can smell the scent of her hair, and feel the heat of her breath every time she exhales.

It's such an odd moment for him to have her that close. He's unsure of whether it would be better to slip out of bed unnoticed before she wakes up, or just stay there and watch her sleep for a bit longer. Either option would make him look like a creep, he thinks. So he opts to gently wake her up. His free hand reaches to his forehead to move a stand of hair away. Her brow scrunches as his light-feather touch grazes her skin. His lips curve up as he traces the shell of her ear to see her stir awake. She blinks slowly a couple of times until her focus shifts onto him.

“Hey, Maybird.”

“Hey.” Her lips move, it's barely audible.

“Sorry, I fell asleep.” His fingers absentmindedly massage her earlobe.

She's so stunned by waking up to that level of intimacy, she simply nods, as her mouth softly draws a smile.

“It's fine. Does your head feel better?”

“Much better. That pressure thing really worked.”

“I'm glad.”

“Listen, I gotta go open. Maybe we could do something later?”

“Okay,” she swallows nervously, hoping that waking up with him like this isn't just a dream. “Can you do me a favor first?”

“Sure.”

“Can you stay five more minutes?”

“I uh… I think I can,” against his better judgment, he decides he can stay for a few minutes more holding her.

The way her lips pull up timidly at the corners, revealing the dimples framing her mouth, completely disarms him. He’s always felt a certain affinity towards her, but being this close to her awakes a longing within that feels dangerous. He can’t bring someone new into his life. Not while everything around him is falling apart. It’s already hard enough having to pretend around other people.

He couldn’t do that to her. He won’t.

Michael will have to fight harder because when her arm tucks around his waist he can’t help but press his lips against her forehead.

Chapter 4: Hard nut to crack

Four months later…

After that initial moment of weakness when he fell asleep on her bed, he fought hard to elude that odd longing that has only grown into a big mass of love toward Maya. To anyone else in the world, a feeling as big as that would be a blessing, especially when it's reciprocated. To Michael, it's a weakness he can't afford right now.

Spending all that time with Maya has been like discovering a whole new planet Michael never thought existed. She's all vast, uncharted territory that fazes him more than it should. Despite his best efforts, he’s fallen into her alluring orbit and can’t find the way out into his own universe.

Far gone is that moody teenager that would mumble a few words here and there. And now there's this tragically stunning woman that looks you directly in the eye, says anything that crosses her mind, and laughs without a care in the world.

Though falling in love with her wouldn’t be completely wrong, it's not quite right either. It fills him with guilt to think about her in that manner. Moreover, it feels like a betrayal to Carmy, who’s far away in a different continent, prospering in his craft.

Michael tries to fool himself into believing that this is just temporary infatuation. He’s even attempted several times to convince her to get in touch with Carmy but hasn’t succeeded. It’d be easier for him if she were to put her focus on someone else instead of him. He has nothing to offer to her and has deemed himself unworthy of her, or anyone for that matter. If she only knew what’s really going on with him, she wouldn’t want Michael nearly as she believes she does.

Layer by layer, she’s tearing all his walls and defenses down. And after all the back and forth, he's absolutely sure she wants more than he can offer her. She’s been giving him the right signals. She doesn't shy away from it. Maya is direct and impulsive, and everything about her is fascinating and intimidating.

It’s time to either cut her loose, or accept that he’s madly in love with her and do something about it.

Amidst coming to terms with a final decision, he's lured into a surprise party she's organized for his birthday.

Michael is left speechless by her determination. And a little annoyed too for reasons he can't explain. To be honest, he’s never been a fan of surprise parties, but the main problem is that this would make things much harder for him to let her down easily. She’s carved herself into his life and the longer he drags this out, the worse this is going to hurt.

He’s aware that it’s selfish and obtuse of him for being that ungrateful that someone who cares that profoundly about him, that they would go all out to prove that. He feels like an asshole, but the train has already left the station.

Using the same tiring self-defense mechanism, he draws his best smile and brings out the Michael everyone seems to love. Not without help. There's always that crutch tucked in his wallet in the form of a pill. Being high numbs him enough to deal with the situation.

The cherry on top comes at the end of the night, when he walks her up to her car and asks if he's had a good time. He lies through his teeth and for the first time, he can tell Maya is not buying it. Perhaps she never did, but he's well-versed on her tells by now, and he can clearly see she's fed up with all the bullshit that comes out of his mouth.

“Look, it's not that I didn't like the party. It's just that I hate surprises, and I was exhausted today. But it was a nice thought, sweetheart. I just… I wasn't in the right mood.” It's seemingly convincing the second time around, but her face shows nothing but regret. “I love the jacket you bought me, though.”

Michael has never been interested in fashion, but he's always loved vintage jackets, and the one she picked it's a perfect addition to his collection. It's a bomber jacket, aviator style, in brown leather with a couple of patches and fur collar.

As they reach Maya's car, they come to a stop. She turns to him, “I know I can be a little too much sometimes. But I promise no more surprises from now on.”

“You and I both know, you won’t be able to keep that promise even if your life depended on it. That's part of what makes you– you, sweetheart. Don’t let my bad mood ruin that.”

“I’ll try.”

After a beat, without hesitation she leans in to leave a goodnight kiss on his bearded cheek and on a whim, she decides to press a second one on his lips.

It takes him completely aback. He wants to dive so badly into her mouth, but he freezes on the spot. And when Maya attempts to deepen the kiss, he finally reacts by placing a placating hand on her shoulder as he pulls his head back.

“I'm… I'm sorry we can't do this, Maya.”

“Wait, I thought… Did I misread something?”

“No, you didn’t misread anything. I just can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“I can't.”

“You can't or don’t want to?”

“Guess I don’t want to.”

“Can you at least tell me why? Did I do something wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” He wants to spill out the old – it's not you, it's me – excuse, but he refrains. Every thought and action go against every good instinct he's ever had. He hates himself for making her feel insecure. And yet, he can't backtrack now.

“Stop calling me sweetheart. You see how misleading that is?”

“Sorry. I think I gave you the wrong impression.”

Her eyes narrow, and he can see the gears turning for a long moment before opening her mouth.

“I don't think you gave me the wrong impression, Michael. I think you're too chickenshit to admit that there's something between us and, for whatever reason, you're just taking the coward's way out. You've been weird the whole night, especially with me. I just threw a party just for you, the least you can do is tell me why.”

“I didn't ask you to do that. And I don't owe telling you shit! I was trying to let you go easy, but nothing is ever easy with you. So I'll just say it. This, you and me, is never going to happen.”

It sounds ridiculous as it comes out of his mouth, but he stands firm on that statement as her heart breaks in front of him.

In the end, it'd be better for her, he believes.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

This might be a bit of an uncomfortable topic, but do you feel that Kate's cancer diagnosis has changed the Sussex PR strategy?

I'm seeing a lot less olive branches, and less of that kind of PR overall. It stopped the "royal racist" line of attack stone cold dead.

Where do the Sussex go from here - if you care to offer an educated guess based on tracking new rumors and PR analysis - when they can't take potshots at their favorite target?

Yes and no.

Yes, the racist royal storyline has definitely been dropped, but I don't think it was exclusively because of Kate's illness. I think it was because of the hot mess Scobie (and Meghan) got into with the Dutch translation of Endgame leaking out; the only way that they could rescue themselves was if the racist royal story was dropped completely, and then Kate was sick right after and someone had a tiny sliver of humanity to know better. (My theory is that it was WME who knew better, because Sussex Squad was still going all in on kkkate.)

No, because the olive branch and reconciliation stories are still out there. It's just Harry being the face of those stories this time (they were Meghan's stories a bit before this) and they're spinning it in a "we just want to support them and help however we can" kind of way. I think the difference why this round of olive branches and reconciliation isn't getting any traction is because William and KP has done a very good job making it unequivocally clear - through leaks, through the rota, through their reactions to Charles's trial balloons - that the Waleses do not reciprocate the desire for reconciliation because they have other, more urgent, more bigger things to focus on at the moment...like health matters.

As for when they'll fire up the Kate cannon again, well, it depends by what you mean. Sussex Squad has already been fired up, each time Kate makes an appearance. They make comments on social media, which then gets picked up by the blogs and the royal rota, of things like "hmm, she can go to Wimbledon in a designer dress but she can't go to a cancer charity" or "that's a fake lookalike because her smile is different" or "look at that line on her face, that's definitely a facelift scar" or "suuuuuuuuuure, she's getting chemo because look at all that hair" or "she's really faking that smile, she absolutely hates standing next to William, they're definitely divorcing." And they'll continue making these comments every time Kate makes a public appearance because that's what they do.

If you mean when will Harry and Meghan specifically say something that targets/attacks Kate? I don't know. It could be the fall, if they see William back on his "regular" schedule but Kate is still convalescing; they could make a dig at Kate thinking William won't notice. It could be after Kate has the all-clear and is able to resume working (because the optics of beating up on a cancer patient in the media definitely isn't good, let alone a cancer patient as well-loved as Kate is). It could be if/when the Sussexes becomes desperate enough for new attention from the BRF or William.

I do feel pretty confident saying that one of the reasons the Waleses are being very careful about Kate's day-to-day is because she worsens with stress. And if there's one thing everyone knows about the Sussexes, it's that they cause, and add to, stress everywhere they go and no one wants to take the risk of the Sussexes adding to Kate's stress and triggering flare-ups. (Because my takeaway from Rebecca's article isn't that Kate was sick for weeks or months before they planned surgery, she was actually suffering for years, like maybe it was a chronic condition she could manage by avoiding triggers and it just became critically urgent in January to address.)

So I would speculate that the Sussexes might be a little more hands-off regarding their use of Kate in the media until she's fully back full-time but they'll use Sussex Squad to poke and poke and poke in the meantime.

But we'll see. Things can always change.

[reviewsdefinitionofsatisfaction]

Taylor has been lying on Joe since You’re Losing Me (Important Thread)

I’ve been confident in this theory since Midnights, but didn’t know how to spread it. Taylor is now blatantly lying about Joe and rewriting history. SHE was the one who didn’t want to get married, and Joe broke up with her over it. She chose fame over marriage, and the evidence is all over her music.

Ever since I heard “Mine” I instinctively knew Taylor was afraid of marriage. It’s the classic child-of-divorce case. “You say we’ll never make my parents’ mistakes.” / “Brace myself for the goodbye ‘cause it’s all I’ve ever known.”

Her fear of marriage continues throughout her discography. Don’t let “Lover” and “Paper Rings” fool you—those were false promises to Joe at the start of their relationship. Listen to “champagne problems,” a song she and Joe co-wrote. What couple writes a song about breaking up because the girl is terrified of marriage 4 years into their relationship? Why, one where that’s happening, of course. “Your Midas touch on the Chevy door,” aka how she always references Joe turning things to gold. And don’t forget “Renegade,” a song where in the music video SHE is the one anxiously staring out the window being told to “open the blinds.” (“Is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything or do you just not want to?”, the lyric referring to Joe asking for marriage) This was a song written by Taylor from Joe’s perspective at the time. “I tapped on your window on your darkest night” (referring to Rep era) / “Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night.” … “And then you squeeze my hand as I’m about to leave.” (Joe’s POV) / “It’s on your face, don’t walk away, I need to say…” Taylor was the one always blowing up on him and then apologizing, as illustrated in Afterglow, The Great War, and most obviously her post-breakup behavior. Joe was NOT the volatile one of the two (also supported by articles released by her team, stating Joe’s personality was “great for Taylor” because “he is very calm”).

Then, just look at Midnights. The Bejeweled music video (which Taylor wrote and directed) is the clearest thing. A video all about choosing pop-stardom over a ring from a prince? While she and her boyfriend are having marriage disagreements? Hmmm. Interesting. Seriously, just go watch the intro to that video and tell me Taylor was the one fighting to get married behind the scenes.

Midnights lyrics: “He wanted a bride, I was making my own name. Chasing that fame.” (a person who WANTS to get married would NOT be writing this song!!!) “All they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride. The only kind of girl they see is a one night or a wife.” “No deal the 1950s shit they want from me. I just wanna stay in that lavender haze” “I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser.” “I have this dream my daughter-in-law kills me for the money. She thinks I left them in the will.” (accompanied by elaborate scene displaying family-related anxieties in music video)

This is someone who is terrified of marriage and being an adult. I believe she launched herself into a fame-hug to avoid confronting her issues with Joe at this late stage in their relationship. After he broke up with her, she realized how deep of a mistake she made during the Eras Tour. Hence, the big lie in “You’re Losing Me” (which was written THEN, in 2023, conveniently dropped during the Matty Healy controversy) and her daring him to “say something” about the lie. (False God lyric: “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this, staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town.” When they fight, he was always the one ignoring her craziness.) And soon after, her peculiar surprise song choices on June 23: “Paper Rings” (“I’d marry you with paper rings”) and “If This Was A Movie” (“If this was a movie, you’d be here by now”).

The initial breakup article by People (Tree Paine’s mouthpiece) even outlines this story. “According to multiple sources, Swift and Alwyn had been ‘talking about marriage as recently as a few months ago.’ But at the end of the day, the couple wasn’t ready for a future together. ‘Taylor didn’t see them working out in the long run,’ says the insider.” This was before she wrote YLM, trying to provoke him, and now she will be driving it further with this new album I’m certain she wrote during 2023, NOT 2 years ago like she and Jack are trying to push. Her having Jack drop YLM’s “2021 date,” and then liking that tweet implying Sweet Nothing was not about Joe (when it was clearly about Joe)… she’s rewriting the narrative. You can’t trust a word she says.