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newstfionline · 1 year

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Thursday, May 25, 2023

Just in case: Anxious retirees, social service groups among those making default contingency plans (AP) Phoenix retiree Saundra Cole has been watching the news about the debt limit negotiations in Washington with dismay—and limiting her air conditioning use to save money just in case her monthly Social Security check is delayed due to a default. For her, air conditioning is no small thing in a city where the average daily high hits 94 degrees in May. If the government can’t make good on its obligations, she says, “I would be devastated.” Politicians in Washington may be offering assurance that the government will figure out a way to avert default, but around the country, economic anxiety is rising and some people already are adjusting their routines. Government beneficiaries, social service groups that receive state and federal subsidies and millions more across the country are contemplating the possibility of massive and immediate cuts if the U.S. were to default on its financial obligations. The number of people potentially impacted is huge. According to the Census Bureau, in 2020 roughly 35% of U.S. households included someone receiving Social Security benefits, 36% received Medicaid benefits and more than 13% of the total population received food stamps.

Typhoon Mawar batters Guam (AP) Many residents of Guam remained without power and utilities Thursday after Typhoon Mawar tore through the remote U.S. Pacific territory the night before and ripped roofs off homes, flipped vehicles and shredded trees. There were no immediate reports of deaths and injuries but the central and northern parts of the island received more than 2 feet (60 centimeters) of rain as the eyewall passed. The island’s international airport flooded and the swirling typhoon churned up a storm surge and waves that crashed through coastal reefs and flooded homes. “We are waking up to a rather disturbing scene out there across Guam. We’re looking out our door and what used to be a jungle looks like toothpicks—it looks like a scene from the movie ‘Twister,’ with trees just thrashed apart,” said Landon Aydlett, a meteorologist with the National Weather Service. “Most of Guam is dealing with a major mess that’s gonna take weeks to clean up,” he added.

Jimmy Carter, 3 months into hospice care (AP) Three months after entering end-of-life care at home, former President Jimmy Carter remains in good spirits as he visits with family, follows public discussion of his legacy and receives updates on The Carter Center’s humanitarian work around the world, his grandson says. He’s even enjoying regular servings of ice cream. “They’re just meeting with family right now, but they’re doing it in the best possible way: the two of them together at home,” Jason Carter said of Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter, now 98 and 95 years old. “They’ve been together 70-plus years. They also know that they’re not in charge,” the younger Carter said Tuesday in a brief interview. “Their faith is really grounding in this moment. In that way, it’s as good as it can be.” But when Jason Carter addressed his grandparents’ admirers Tuesday, he argued against thinking about them like global celebrities. “They’re just like all of y’all’s grandparents—I mean, to the extent y’all’s grandparents are rednecks from south Georgia,” he said to laughter. “If you go down there even today, next to their sink they have a little rack where they dry Ziplock bags.”

World’s Fastest Supercomputer (1440) The US continues to be home to the world’s top supercomputer for the second consecutive year, with Oak Ridge National Laboratory’s Frontier facility ranking No. 1 in the semiannual list of the world’s 500 most powerful systems. Japan’s Fugaku system, which held the top spot in the past, remains at No. 2. Beyond leading the list, the Frontier system, powered by Intel-rival chipmaker AMD, continues to qualify as the first and only true exascale computing platform, capable of performing a billion billion operations per second. The computing power of the system is also believed to be comparable to that of the human brain.

Uruguayans pray for rain as capital reservoir left with 10 days of water (Reuters) Uruguayans in the capital Montevideo are praying for rain amid a historic drought that has left the main reservoir for the city with only ten days of water left. Low rainfall and high temperatures across the southern region of South America have triggered a severe drought over the last year, affecting crops in neighboring grains producer Argentina and triggering steep farm losses. In Uruguay, the water deficit is the worst in 74 years, according to officials. It is affecting supply to thousands of households and leading to poor water quality.

The Castle Where Future Queens Drop the Royal Act (NYT) The rolling green lawns of a 12th-century castle perched on a windy stretch of the South Wales coastline hosted not one but two kings of Europe last weekend. The purpose of the visit to St. Donat’s by the royal families of Spain and the Netherlands was the graduation of their daughters from UWC Atlantic College, a high school housed in a remote castle once owned by the newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst. The scene was a reflection of how Atlantic College, which is part of the United World Colleges group, has become the school of choice for many young royals. What does a teenage princess do with her days at Atlantic? According to the “A Day in the Life” section of the school website, classes run from 8 a.m. to just after 1 p.m., with afternoons left open for community service at local hospitals and schools, as well as activities like kayaking, archery, planting in the greenhouse or working on the school farm, or even serving on the school’s own lifeboat service. Cellphone reception is said to be ghastly (likely to the delight of teachers and parents). “E.D.W.s” (excessive displays of wealth) are banned. Louise Callaghan, a former student who is the Middle East correspondent for the Sunday Times, wrote a column in 2018 about her time at the school. She said it forced many students to “get very used to being around, and getting along with, people who are nothing like you.” These included, she wrote, “refugees from West Africa, Brits from across the social spectrum, California hippies, religious Malaysians.” Learning how to interact with such a diverse group, she said, “is a useful life skill—one, I imagine, you do not gain at a normal private school.”

Russia Border Attack (1440) Russia claimed it killed 70 pro-Ukraine, ethnically Russian insurgents at its western border with Ukraine Tuesday, after what observers have described as the largest Ukrainian push into Russian territory in the 15-month conflict. Ukrainian defense officials denied supporting the foray into the Belgorod region, while Russia characterized the assault as directed by Ukraine. Analysts claim two paramilitary groups led the attack: the Free Russia Legion—estimated at 4,000 members—and the Russian Volunteer Corps, a group responsible for a similar border assault in March. Group representatives claimed they had captured roughly a dozen square miles of Russian territory, much of which was reportedly evacuated by Russia before heavy shelling. Analysts argue the move could be intended to divert attention from Ukraine’s long-anticipated counteroffensive as well as Russia’s claims of success in the city of Bakhmut.

How Erdogan won Turkey’s earthquake-shattered south (Washington Post) The first of the twin earthquakes that rocked southern Turkey on Feb. 6 struck less than 15 miles from Nurdagi, leaving most of the town in ruins. One in 6 people in Nurdagi died in the earthquakes. More than 50,000 were killed across the region, according to official figures; many observers believe the true toll is much higher. The earthquakes came at a fraught time for Erdogan, who was already bracing for his toughest election in two decades. Polls suggested his grip on power was slipping, mainly owing to a faltering economy and soaring inflation. As the scale of the disaster became clear, and his government struggled to respond, many expected there would be a political price to pay. But on May 14, across the quake-shattered south—a traditional stronghold for Erdogan and his ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP)—voters stood firm in their support for him. In a country as polarized as Turkey, the tragedy did not appear to have changed the political fundamentals. “The Turkish electorate is divided into two more or less frozen blocs,” said Murat Somer, a political scientist at Istanbul’s Koc University. A pre-election poll from the Ankara Institute think tank revealed a clean split along party lines: More than 90 percent of AKP voters felt the government successfully handled the earthquakes; nearly 96 percent of CHP voters felt the opposite. It’s a dynamic reinforced by the state’s near-total control of the media, according to Gonul Tol, the Turkey program director at the Middle East Institute: “In polarized societies, and especially in autocracies, where there is limited access to information, truths may not matter as much,” she said.

China’s Youth Unemployment Problem (WSJ) China’s failure to reverse a sharp rise in youth unemployment is becoming a bigger headache for Beijing, with many economists saying the problem reflects a jobs mismatch that could defy government solutions for years. Joblessness among young people ages 16 to 24 rose to a record of 20.4% in April, far above the prepandemic rate of 13% or lower in most of 2019. A central problem, economists say, is that China isn’t creating enough of the high-wage, high-skill jobs that are sought after by its expanding base of educated young people. Some economists believe the job market for young people will get worse before it gets better, with a record 11.6 million college students set to graduate this summer. Rather than trade down for lower-wage jobs, many young people are opting to wait.

Israel’s Netanyahu and allies pass new budget with sweeping grants for settlements, ultra-Orthodox (AP) Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s government on Wednesday passed a new two-year budget, a step that could bring some stability to his coalition and clear the way for it to press ahead with its religious, pro-settlement agenda. While the budget could buy Netanyahu some quiet inside his coalition of ultra-Orthodox and ultranationalist parties, Israel’s most hard-line ever, it also was expected to deepen the divisions in Israel. Critics have accused Netanyahu of increasing spending on his ultra-Orthodox allies for religious programs that have little benefit for the economy and broader society. It allocates nearly $4 billion in discretionary funds, much of it for ultra-Orthodox and pro-settler parties. That will include increases in controversial stipends for ultra-Orthodox men to study full time in religious seminaries instead of working or serving in the military, which is compulsory for most secular males. It also includes more money for ultra-Orthodox schools, which are widely criticized for not teaching students skills like math and English needed in the modern workplace.

Street traders offer a better bargain than stores as Zimbabwe’s currency crumbles (AP) Festus Nyoni picked out a few items in a supermarket in Zimbabwe’s capital, looked at the prices and knew she was in the wrong place. She abandoned her shopping cart and headed for a nearby street jammed with traders offering bargains in U.S. dollars. From the trunk of a car, she picked toiletries, rice and soups. For her two children, a young street vendor dodged traffic to offer her a box of candy. “I can’t keep up with those Zim dollar prices in the supermarket—it’s insane,” Nyoni said, referring to the local currency. “For the price of one in the supermarket, I am getting two soaps in the street.” A yearslong currency crisis that forced the 2009 adoption of the U.S. dollar—one of the world’s most reliable assets—is changing shopper preferences in this southern African nation of 15 million. Many people are shunning brick-and-mortar stores, where prices must be charged in local currency and rise frequently. On the street, costs are more stable because shoppers pay exclusively in U.S. dollars.

House swaps and dog walks: Travelers find cheaper alternatives to lodging (Reuters) Lillian Smith has spent about eight of the last 12 months traveling around the world, hitting France, Morocco, Japan and South Korea. Her cost for lodgings in that time? About one night in a hotel, along with the time she spent walking dogs, watering plants and changing litter boxes. “I have always dreamed of traveling to Japan but didn’t have the budget for hotels and Airbnbs,” said the 30-year-old freelance designer from Mississippi. Her solution was to agree to house-sit, walk dogs, and care for plants for people around the globe. Smith said she has house-sat in France, Morocco, Japan and South Korea after spending $169 on the cost of an annual membership to TrustedHousesitters, a platform that connects pet owners with in-home sitters. She estimates she has saved over $11,000 in accommodations even though she still must pay for plane tickets. Paris-based Nomador, a house-sitting platform, saw a 60% increase in new sitters from the last quarter of 2022 to the first quarter of 2023. Travel strategist Toni McCord, 52, started house-sitting on Nomador in 2016 and now suggests the platform to her clients who are self-employed or work remotely. “People are feeling very limited in their abilities to travel because we’re in a recessive economy but when I bring up house-sitting, they’re like ‘Wait a minute, I didn’t realize that I could do something like that.’”

#headlines #news

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atlanticcanada · 2 years

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'No power, no heat': Tens of thousands of Nova Scotians still without electricity

In Halifax, the sound of generators has been breaking the quiet after the storm, as thousands of residents remain without electricity in the wake of Fiona.

Gerry Dunphy bought his generator last year but didn’t use it. Now, he says it’s been running full tilt since Friday night.

“I’m running a couple TVs, the fridge. I can't run the phone because that's not working, the lines are down,” said Dunphy.

According to Nova Scotia Power’s live power outage map, estimated restoration times for affected customers range anywhere from Sunday night to Wednesday.

“We have no power, we have no heat,” says Christine Barbour. She was counting on her fireplace to keep the evening chill at bay. Fiona took care of that.

“It was scary Friday night,” she says. “I heard the big branch crack…and then we heard the rumbling and more branches, and that's probably when it knocked the chimney off the roof, onto my neighbour's car.”

On Willow Street in central Halifax, a large, downed oak tree did a number on power lines, ripping the power masts off several houses.

It’s the third time Rob MacNeish’s property has been left powerless by the same tree.

The last time was during Dorian in 2019, which knocked out his power for ten days, even after his neighbours were reconnected after three.

He’s been asking the city to cut the tree down since then.

Fiona did it instead.

As he did last time, MacNeish says now it will likely cost him up to $1,000 in repair and reconnection fees to get back on the grid.

“I understand that it's a low priority, we're one family, one unit. But for it to happen again, and us to try to prevent it, it's kind of frustrating,” he says.

Sunday afternoon, a crew of emergency volunteers from across the country came to assess the tree and the damage it caused.

The members of Team Rubicon were equipped with chainsaws and safety equipment to clear trees from roads, but team leader Jeff Becker says the job on Willow Street will take a bit more than that.

Part of the group’s job also includes assessing the work needed for emergency organizations.

“We're logging the information and passing it back through our chain which eventually would go to, in this case, Nova Scotia Power,” he says.

On top of the significant damage caused by Fiona’s winds, several transformers were captured on video exploding in the Halifax area during the storm. There are also several reports of power poles catching fire.

Nova Scotia Power’s storm lead says the damage is widespread and will take days to fix in some parts of the province.

“In some locations, we have whole streets where trees have come down and broken almost every pole along that street,” says Matt Drover. “We're using all those crews [brought in] to make sure we can get those poles fixed as soon as possible.”

The wait for power means many residents are doing what they can.

Without power, chef and restaurant owner Claudia Pinto improvised to keep her business going while using up the food in her freezer at the same time.

“I have charcoal, I have my BBQ, and I have all the yummy food,” she says. “So I thought, ‘why don't I do the charcoal BBQ?’”

The sizzle of the meat on the grill, heard alongside the hum of generators, in Nova Scotia’s largest city.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/rNOh7A1

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

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bitchassbucky · 3 years

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.exe

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: stalkers, bucky being a creepo, reader being a creepo. dark!IT!bucky x dark!reader :-) female & male masturbation, voyeurism (i think), cyber crimes being committed.

A/N: this is my birthday gift to @babyboibucky <3 to my boo, I love you and you have a special place in my heart. this is gonna be a multi-part thing, it's too long to be considered as a one-shot, oops.

please enjoy! :D

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist

CTRL moodboard

4:49 PM

Just 11 more minutes until he can pack his bags up for the weekend.

One new ticket - URGENT

Goddamn it.

Bucky pulled his earphones out in annoyance, just another office idiot who doesn’t know how to print A4 sheets. If the office were to be held hostage and printing out was the only thing that can save them, half of the floor would be dead.

The new name caught his eye, Y/N Y/L. A new hire, it seems like.

Subject: One new ticket - URGENT

Hi, this is Y/N, employee number 0008675309. I’m new here and was told to send a ticket for the equipment request.

Thank you and have a great weekend!

Oh, Bucky’s gonna have a great weekend indeed. Out of pure curiosity, he’s already pulled up your employee file. A cute smile to a cute name. His annoyance dispersing already, just by thinking of ways how he can spend time with you.

Hey, Y/N! Bucky types into the text field, Welcome to the company. I’m Bucky and I got assigned to help you get settled. Do you prefer having a desktop or a laptop? I’ve attached a form in this thread, send it to me once you’re done.

Have an awesome weekend too!

As much as he hates sending out chirpy emails, he can’t help but to smile when you immediately send a reply back.

Thanks, Bucky! So sorry for sending in the request super late. Got caught up with the onboarding. Is it okay if I use my laptop until we can get a unit to my place? PC or laptop is fine with me.

Best,

Y/N

Bucky fights off another smile, rubbing his hand over his stubbled cheek as he carefully types out a reply. Unlike other days, he doesn’t mind staying beyond 5 PM today. It’s not like he has other plans for his Friday night.

No worries, Y/N. He’s already loving your name. Happy to help!

Do you have your laptop with you? I can set it up before you go home for the weekend. I can probably send in the ticket to the guys so you can have your work equipment next week.

His deft fingers are dancing over his mechanical keyboard, clacking away while the clock ticks closer to the weekend.

A ping, another reply from you. You’re new, you’re still excited to make friends in the office. If you only knew how stupid they are, though.

Yeah! I have it on me right now. I actually work on the same floor, I can drop it off there right now.

Bucky glances around his office, looking for any reflective surface he can check himself on. He runs his hand through his hair, taming any stubborn locks that fell out of his low bun. His shirt hangs just right against his huge frame, his pants hugging his figure, accentuating his silhouette even more.

Just as the clock ticks 5:00, a soft knock raps against his door, “come in!”

You are cuter, prettier in person. Your perfume hits his nose and he’s floored—metaphorically.

“Mr. Barnes,” you say, your demeanor somewhat meek and shy. Well, of course, you are. Your frame is nothing against the hunk of the man who just stood up to greet you.

“Bucky.” He prompts, smiling. You reciprocated the smile, but you really weren’t sure what to expect. Maybe a scrawny little dude mousing away on a keyboard?

“Bucky, thank you so much for doing this. I know you’d rather get off of work since it’s Friday and all.”

He hums, taking your laptop in his hands. You notice the rings adorning his fingers—complementing his tanned skin tone and—it’s not appropriate to stare at a stranger’s hand.

Heat creeps up your face as he turns to look at the stickers stuck to your laptop, “you know, I like this band.” Bucky says, pointing to an old sticker, he carefully sets down your laptop on his workstation.

“They’re great,” you muse, taking a seat on a plastic chair by the door.

You take a gander around his small office. There was nothing out of the ordinary but the big black server blinking at the back, so why do you feel trapped?

“Sorry about the temp, we have to keep the room cold for the server in the back,” Bucky explains, noticing how your arms are crossed over your chest. The skirt you’re wearing isn’t doing you any better too.

You stammer out an it’s okay with a small smile.

Bucky worked on your computer quietly, using a USB stick to load all the applications you need to set up a temporary work account on your laptop. After a few minutes, he beckoned you to come here. You scoot over to his desk, rolling the chair forward and beside him. Not too close though.

“So, this note has all your generated passwords. Type those into the app when you first log in, then you can change it if you want to.” Bucky explains, the cursor idles on the screen. He tries not to get too close to you, to give you personal space. It’s a professional workplace after all.

“This app,” he drags a window, pulling up an application, “tracks your hours and your keystrokes. It’s company-mandated because managers want to micro-manage their people, I guess.” Bucky shrugs, his disdain showing through his voice. His tone shifting lower than what you’d expected.

“Sorry, I just hate their new protocol,” his face and voice softening as he looks at you, “it’s a total privacy breach if you ask me.”

You’d normally disagree but something tells you that maybe he’s got a point. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leans closer as if to whisper something, “this note right here? It’s a nifty thing, a little script so your computer doesn’t go to sleep when you’re away. It enables and disables your numlock pad so it counts as a keystroke.”

A smirk finds its place on your face, “well, that’s…something, isn’t it?”

Never in your life would you find yourself flirting with a co-worker but there’s something about Bucky that made you excited. Interested. Intrigued.

Bucky nods, rolling his chair away to fetch a pad of sticky notes. “Another thing from your friendly neighborhood IT guy,” he peels off a leaf and sticks it on your laptop’s built-in camera, “keep your cam covered.”

You give him a chuckle and a playful salute, “yes, sir.”

Bucky’s a modern man. He sees a pretty girl and he gets giddy. He talks to a pretty girl and he gets flustered. But you—you make him feel more than giddy and flustered. There was something familiar about you, and your eyes. Has he seen you before? Met you, even? No, that’s impossible—if he had met you before, he’d surely remember you.

It was 5:34 PM when he gave you your laptop back and sent in an urgent request for your equipment. While taking down the elevator to the lobby, Bucky gave you a few tips on how to ‘survive’ working in the office. According to him, as far as you go in on time and kept your head above the rumors, you’d do fine.

He asked about your first week and he told you about this joint near the building that serves the best burgers and fries.

You’ve got a good feeling that you just made your first friend.

—

The sun was already setting down when you pulled into your apartment’s parking lot. At the very last minute, you turned into a drive-through and got some food on the go. The side trip took out 10 minutes of your time but at least you dodged the awful traffic that was building up by the highway.

Along with your laptop bag and your food, you trudge up to your third-floor apartment. It wasn’t what you wanted—the windows faced the street, the screen door doesn’t lock all the way—but it’s the one you got. As long as it’s got four walls and a roof, right?

You slip out of your work clothes and into some comfy jammies after a rewarding shower; the sooner you can get your food heat up, the sooner you can eat, and drink and then go to sleep.

So while waiting for the microwave to beep, you pry open your laptop. You told Bucky not to shut it down after he worked on it as to not lose your work on another profile, which he understood.

The work account he set up greeted you, along with the bright pink sticky note he stuck to your webcam. That wasn’t real, was it? All those cautionary tales of hackers using webcams to peep on you. Maybe he’s just trying to scare you, like some kind of initiation. Without a second thought, you took off the sticky note. It was kinda annoying anyway.

Clicking the Log Out Work button, your personal account popped into the frame. Your opened apps and documents displaying themselves for you to use. You pulled up Spotify and clicked on the first playlist you saw—which happened to be your intimate playlist.

Sure, the Pavlov reaction is real because halfway through the first song, you already found yourself getting all hot and bothered. This one’s your favorite song too.

You groan in annoyance, your food’s no longer a priority.

Picking up the laptop from the table, you walk to your bedroom, not bothering to shut the door. You live alone, it’s fine. You put the laptop on its loudest setting, setting it on your desk and you plopped down on your bed, the pillows and the comforter pooling on one side.

Your room is illuminated by a streak of light from the street. Your curtains flowing softly with the breeze that just came in.

Glancing at your laptop, you remembered Bucky. How his office smelled when you first walked in. How he stood tall when he greeted you. How he smiled. Those goddamn rings of his.

Before you caught yourself thinking rationally, your fingers are already splayed even over your thighs, caressing the soft flesh of your legs.

Bucky’s smirk and his cologne finding purchase in your fogged brain. Thoughts of him pulling you aside into his office to fool around—voices above hushed whispers as your skin erupts in goosebumps, the chilled air of his office finding its way up to your spine.

Oh, fuck it.

You undress fast, flinging your shirt over your head, dropping it somewhere below the bed. The air in your room making your nipples hard and erect as you pinch them. You breathe out a sigh, the heat of the moment creeping up your torso.

The material of your panties dampening as you imagine yourself bent over his desk, your skirt bunched over your hips as he laps your sopping cunt. Bucky’s tongue exploring your folds up and over until your pussy’s a quivering mess of drool and spit.

Your fingers slip past the band of your underwear. Even you surprised yourself by how wet you are.

God, you met him once and he’s already inching his way into your mind.

But who could blame you? You’ve been all over his Facebook profile when you learned his name via the office’s organizational chart. The first time you saw him, walking around the office with a laptop in his hands, you already knew you wanted to at least formally meet him. A scroll on his page, you found a band that you could tolerate listening to. (They’re okay, just not your taste in music.)

A plan came to mind when your department head told the team that you can work from home from time to time—only if you agreed to use a work laptop, a company-owned one. Your manager advised you to put in the request as soon as you can, for you to secure a unit before the on-hand supplies dwindle.

Deliberately sending in the request late—way, way later—than what your manager told you just so you could pull up the ‘new hire’ card and act dumb.

And it looked like he bought it too.

The image of him fucking you quiet while he grabs you from behind played inside your mind like a memory—a vision. Of how his thick cock would fill you up until your pussy is clenching around him. Would he pinch your throbbing clit, making you squirm and cream around him?

Your fingers are compared nothing to his, that’s for sure. But it does the work for now.

A breathy moan comes out of your mouth as you play with your clit, your cunt dripping down wetness as you continue to fondle your tits.

His hands would make a great addition to your chokers.

Your toes curl and your breath quickens, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening—white-hot heat creeping up your limbs.

Oh, fuck, Bucky!

—

His ears perked up as he heard you moaning his name.

Bucky was busy watching you enjoy yourself when he got caught in the moment and decided to enjoy himself too.

He was barely keeping himself behaved when you first walked into the floor wearing a button-up and slacks that accentuated your backside. Bucky wished he was the one who gave you the tour and know your name for the first time, but that was impossible—he was in the IT department.

So when he got the news that new hires will be given the chance to work from home, he hoped that he gets to be the one to help you set up.

He was losing hope by the time he got your request, he thought that you opt not to work at home but then there you were, sending him an apologetic email on a late Friday afternoon.

Of course, he happily obliged. He even set up himself a little virtual camp in the background of your computer just so he can continue spending time with you.

Just thinking about you is already making him hard again. Bucky already came in hot spurts of white as he watched you desperately undress earlier. What can he say—he was waiting for you to show your tits already. As such, he correctly guessed that you’d be annoyed with the glaringly bright sticky note he used to ‘cover’ your webcam with.

But seeing you fingerfuck yourself all alone just wasn’t enough for him, he has to have you all by yourself.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky x reader fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader fluff #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fluff

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xebecatt2002 · 3 years

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"Gabrielle, Tell him. Do the Bard thing" Chariots of War

From the very first episode Gabrielle is introduced as a storyteller and straight away it is hard not to be impressed with the level of authenticity the writers give to Gabrielle’s skills as a Bard. Many of these stories she tells are based on fragments of authentic myths.

'Chariots of War', the second episode of the series, opens on Gabrielle telling Xena a story as they make their way to the bar in a village tavern. Though we only catch the ending of her story, there is still interesting details to unpick.

G: “And so, Zeus, in his appreciation, turned the two lovers into oak trees. And then do you know what happened?”

X: “Somebody built a boat out of them?”

G: “No-- their branches intertwined, and they spent the rest of their days in each other’s embrace.”

There are a lot of stories in Greek myth involving 'metamorphoses', the Greek word for ‘transformations’, with both gods and mortals turning into other things like plants or animals. The only story that comes close to the one Gabrielle tells is the story of Baucis and Philemon.

The complete version of the myth is only found in the work ‘Metamorphoses'. It is a collection of myths woven together into a narrative through their common theme of transformation. It was written by the Roman poet Ovid who lived between 43 BC and 17 AD, a period of Roman history which saw the end of the Roman Republic and the reign of the first Emperor, Augustus.

The gods Zeus and Hermes (known here in their Roman forms, Jupiter and Mercury) disguise themselves as mortals and travel across Greece. When they seek hospitality from the mortals they encounter, they find themselves turned away from every household until the come upon the simple home of Philemon and Baucis.

‘Looking for shelter and rest, they called at a thousand

homesteads;

a thousand doors were bolted against them. One

house, however,

did make them welcome, a humble abode with a roof

of straw

and marsh reed, one that new its duty to the gods and men.

Here good Philemon an Baucis had happily passed

their youth

and here they had reached old age, enduring their

poverty lightly

by owning it freely and being content with the little

they had.’

Ovid, Metamorphoses, 8.628-635

Here the couple greet the strangers and offer up what little they have, providing them with the best of the meagre food and wine unknowing their true divine identities. Ovid goes in to quite a bit of detail describing the hospitality the couple offer especially the dishes that make up their feast during. While they entertain their guests the cups magically refill with wine.

‘Meanwhile, whenever the mixing-bowl got empty,

it seemed

To refill of its own accord, with the wine welling up by

itself.

Stunned and scared by this wonder, Philemon,

trembling, and Baucis

lifted their upturn hands to heaven and fervently

prayed

For forgiveness after serving so poorly prepared a repast.’

Ovid, Metamorphoses, 8.679-682

Fearing they have offended their divine guest they seek to appease them by sacrificing their only goose. This leads to a comical scene with the elderly couple chasing the goose and failing to catch it. It appears to run towards to gods for safety which seems to work as the gods command them to spare the bird as they are grateful for what they have already provided.

They then proclaim that the couple will be spared from the punishment they will inflict of their impious neighbours who refused to honour the Greek custom of hospitality known as xenia (ξενία), a word derived from the Greek word for stranger xenos(ξένος). Sometimes referred to as 'ritualized friendship' the custom was based on generosity, courtesy and gift-giving that strengthen ties between people. In earlier times when it was thought that the gods walked among mortals it was even more important to respect these customs to avoid incurring the wrath of a visiting god. It would became seen as a moral obligation for both Guest and Host to show respect to each other.

Returning to Ovid's story, the couple leave their home with the gods and head to the safety mountains. There they witness the flood the gods send down to wipe out their impious neighbours. Nothing is spared except the couple’s home which undergoes its own transformation as it becomes a temple to the gods.

The gods offer to grant the couple anything they desire as reward. After deliberating with each other Philemon and Baucis ask to be guardians of the new temple and also, that when the time comes for them to die, that they die together so they don’t have to suffer the loss of their partner. After many years happy years together they are transformed into Trees. Philemon an Oak and Baucis a linden.

"We

ask

to be priests and to guard your temple; and since we

have passed our years

together in peace, let the same hour carry us off, so I

need not

look on my dear wife’s grave, nor she have to bury my

body."

Their wish was granted; as long as life was allowed

them, they served

as the temple’s guardians. When time had taken its

final toll,

and while they were casually standing in front of the

steps of the building,

telling the sanctuary’s history, both Philemon and

Baucis

witnessed their partner sprouting leaves on their worn

old limbs

As the tops of the trees spread over their lip sand concealed

them forever.

Still to this day the peasants of Phrygia point to the oak

and the linden nearby which once where the forms of

Philemon and Baucis.’ Ovid, Metamorphoses, 8.712-720

The devotion the couple have for each other is really endearing. You can really see why this story would appeal to a young Gabrielle who left her home and arranged marriage to find the true place she feels she belongs.

It is also an interesting choice of story to share with Xena, someone she’s just met who is aloof and independent. She’s eager to befriend the warrior but is finding her emotionally distant. This emotional distance is reflected in the physical distance between them. In these early episodes they have clearly defined personal spaces, such as sperate bedrolls, and they spend a lot of time apart as Gabrielle is left behind in a 'safe' location. You could read into this that just as Xena tries to keep distance between her and Gabrielle physically to protect her, she is trying to keep her emotionally distant for safety reasons as well. In some ways Gabrielle may understand this which is why she choses to tell this particular story to Xena. The old couple might seem weak and vulnerable but they are given strength by the devotion and support they have for each other. Gabrielle is trying to show her new friend that caring isn't a weakness but a source of strength by using this story as an example.

X: “What’s the point?”

G: “Come on, Xena. I believe everyone will find their tree in the forest someday-- even you.”

X: “I find the strongest trees in the forest stand alone.”

G: “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Xena; sometimes it’s good for the soul to be soft.”

This moment beautifully foreshadows the relationship that grows between Xena and Gabrielle throughout the series as both become entwined emotionally, spiritually and physically in a multiple of ways. There are moments that the imagery of the myth is invoked in such a way that Xena and Gabrielle symbolically become the lovers. Intentional or not by the writers it is a fantastic coincidence.

One episode that subtly does this is ‘The Abyss’ during one of its poignant cave scenes. After an encounter with cannibals Xena and an injured Gabrielle become tapped in a cave that is rapidly flooding. As Xena tries to get them out, Gabrielle tells Xena her final wish, that she wants to be buried with Xena.

X [Whispers]: "Gabrielle-- Gabrielle-- here-- here. The time's

come. We're getting you out of here, all right?"

G: "Oh."

X: "All right."

G: "Xena, I have a-- a last wish."

X: "I don't want to hear of it."

G: "No-- I'm serious. You don't want to know?"

X: "What is it, then?"

G: "I don't-- want to be buried-- with the Amazons."

X: "All right. Well, in fifty years, when the time comes."

G: "Xena-- I wanna lie with you-- with your family? In

Amphipolis."

X: "What about your family?"

G: "I love them-- but I'm a part of you. I want it to be like

that forever. I love you."

It is the climax of a series of intimate moments that are grounded in their love and devotion to each other. Gabrielle’s words cement their soulmate relationship. They are meant to be, and will be, together forever like the lovers of her story.

The context of this moment adds another layer to this allusion. As Gabrielle is affirming to Xena that she is a part of her, the warrior princess is preparing to save her injured partner by tying her to herself using vines. This nicely invokes images of Gabrielle’s story of the two lovers who becoming trees and entwining together. Also it connects with Ovid's tale of Philemon and Baucis as like the mythic couple, Xena cannot bear to witness the death of her partner. As Philemon and Baucis were spared that fate by being transformed into trees, Xena is using a plant to physically entwine her and Gabrielle to save her from death.

This climb up the ravine walls to escape the rising water could be reminiscent of Philemon's and Baucis' arduous climb up the mountain to escape the flood or just another coincidence. What perhaps isn't is that it is love and devotion that binds each couple together for eternity. Just like the lovers in the story Gabrielle tells in season one, and the myth it is based upon, Xena and Gabrielle will be together for eternity in each other's embrace.

Throughout the series there are a number of different ways Xena and Gabrielle become entwined together. As the emotional distance between them shrinks, the physical space seen in earlier episodes disappears and they begin to embrace each other. Not only is there a myriad of touches and hugs to connect them but while sitting, walking and even fighting they become inseparable.

They become so close that they pick up traits from each other and almost merge into one. This is such a vast topic to discuss it really needs its own post to explore in detail but the importance for this discussion is the idea that they merge into one entity. The idea that they become one is the connection with the myths and invokes the imagery of metamorphosis.

This metamorphosis becomes literal later in the series. In season 5’s ‘Succession’ during Ares’ contest to determine a worthy successor to Xena as his Chosen, he places Gabrielle and Xena into the same body. At dawn they discover that Gabrielle metamorphoses in to Xena and dusk, Xena into Gabrielle. This nicely alludes to Gabrielle’s story as they transform, much like the couple becoming entwine trees, two individuals become one entwined in each others bodies.

This physical metamorphoses happens in the series when it has become fully established that these two are soulmates, destined to be together for eternity. They are truly devoted to each other that they cannot be separated, just as the lovers cannot bear to be parted from each other even when they are transformed into trees.

As Gabrielle predicted at the end of her story, they both found their tree in the forest in each other.

Sources

Ovid, Metamorphoses

Whoosh.org, Episode Transcripts

Screen captures by myself

Thanks to Simjay on the Discord Xena group for the Gifs!

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prof-peach · 3 years

Note

Hello professor!

I run a research and rehabilitation center for Ghost types, and I'm somewhat perplexed by a shiny phantump which has recently come into my care.

According to the ranger base that sent him my way he was rejected by his mother, likely due to his coloration, and found entirely alone. Rare in ghost types as they tend to form strong attachments, but sadly not unheard of. Now, introducing pokemon who have never known others of their own kind can be a nightmare (Gastly, for example, tend to mistake the smog released by others for food) but I've never had too much trouble with phantump.

Until this little guy, that is. He has adamantly refused to play with the other phantump, instead clinging to me like a baby komala and wanting to be carried everywhere. Not unusual for insecure phantump, but he seemed entirely unresponsive to my usual techniques for building confidence. After bribing him with some treats and getting my gengar to translate, he confessed to being extremely insecure about his appearance.

I'm unsure if this was brought on by overhearing the rangers theorizing about why he was abandoned, but he's acutely aware that he doesn't look like the other phantump. The little guy is, understandably, terrified of being rejected again, and his social anxiety is through the roof. I've since begin socializing him with some shuppet, and the calmest and most secure phantump in my grove on a one-on-one basis. My local pokemon center has alsi provided me with a mineral powder that I apply to his bark, which makes it look browner and also helps protect against fungal infections.

This has helped him come out of his shell a little, but he's still terribly insecure about his red leaves. I'm reaching out to you as I am, embarrassingly, not very familliar with grass types. I've been told that, as the forests they dwell in are so dark, they don't need to photosynthezise to remain healthy. Still, I'm definitely hesitant to let him simply cover up his leaves. Is there something that could be applied to them, like "hair dye" essentially, that would be safe for my little guy to use until I can build his confidence up to where he's comfortable with his natural splendor?

Alrighty! So this is suuuuper common, shiny Pokemon can feel quite alienated at times for their colourations and general demeanour. For this particular case I’d advise you do a couple things to settle their nerves, some easy, some perhaps a little more tricky.

So, let’s start easy, the foliage is red, this is not only common in some shiny Pokemon, but also in some variant Pokemon, AND actual plants. Where you are, you may have limited access naturally to plants that are red pigmented. Go to a garden centre or nursery, splash a bit of cash and get some seeds, plants, shrubs and trees that are red. Plant them in an adequate accessible area that the phantump can get to with ease. You can find photinia, Berberis, acers, ivy, heuchera, hibiscus, even hazels which will give you nuts for yourself and Pokemon to enjoy come autumn. The red pigment is common, and we find proving this, even in plant form to Pokemon who are also uncommonly red, makes them begin to see their colour as a more normal and acceptable thing. This space will also give them a safe zone where they feel capable of camouflage, and this will instil a sense of security in them, even if they don’t first notice it straight away. Ask the garden centre workers for help should you not know where to plant certain things, or what would suit your location specifically, but there’s a lot to be said about a good old fashioned google, should you feel a little lost about the needs these plants may need.

This red zone seems trivial perhaps, but we’ve studied the effects this has on Pokemon with the very same issue you’re dealing with, and when given the choice, they go and hang out in the red plants far more than the green ones, should they share the same pigments. It helps individuals feel safe, and shows them that red isn’t bad, it’s just different to green, but equally functional, beautiful and capable.

NOW here’s the harder job that will help them gain some serious confidence, but is sure fire with time and patience.

You need to find an organisation, breeder, wild group, or trainer who also has a Pokemon with red pigments. Shiny Pokemon are rare but variants are far easier to find, and you can find red colourations in many grass types, ranging from Bulbasaur through to Eldegoss, and everything in between. The only criteria necessary for this to work for the phantump, is that the helper Pokemon need to be ok with youngsters, ie non hostile, and confident in themselves. There is endless research, countless papers, and a million studies, all proving that putting a Pokemon who is typically different but nervous about that, with others who are different but confident, will boost the nervous pokemons confidence tenfold given time. Many grass specialists exist around the various regions, so get on the internet or ask at local Pokemon centres and the likes, see what you can find close by, and organise socialising sessions for the phantump to mix with these other red pigment Pokemon. This whole process will take anything up to a year or two, just continuous care, repetition, and mixing with social confident Pokemon like themselves.

I’ll say right now, this is harder with phantump, ghost Pokemon can be a little more nervous, sometimes skittish, so y’all just need some patience with them, it’s hard to feel like you’re different from those around you, so put yourself in their shoes and just take things one day at a time.

I will also offer our labs services should you struggle to find somewhere local, we can make room for the little fella should you have no other options, though it is best to keep them in a location they feel more comfortable with, at least at the start. They’d have a chance to meet not only a huge number of other Pokemon who are red pigmented, but also we have one other shiny phantump in our care who has no issue with his physical appearance thanks to exactly the methods I’ve suggested above. Once they’ve gained confidence we would return them to your care, with a far more robust outlook on life.

With this in mind, weigh out your options, and try to show them others like themselves, be them plant or Pokemon, who have a bit more confidence to pass on words of wisdom, support, and company. This issue can indeed be resolved, it just can be a little tricky if you’re new to this species temperament when they feel isolated or self conscious like yours does. Covering up who they are is a temporary fix, and will not install long term confidence in themselves, dyes for plant matter are a little dangerous when over used, and can damage leaves and healthy growth, we don’t advise it in grass types too much to avoid damaging their soft squishy parts.

Good luck and hopefully you can find more just like them, to show them that it’s ok to be red, it’s not unusual, or wrong, and plenty of things have that pigmentation.

#pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks

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guqin-and-flute · 3 years

Text

Holding Me Holding You--Ch. 5

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

[Ao3 Link]

[This should be the last one of heavy, unabating angstiness--next chapter should the comfort part, finally. If all goes according to plan 😬 But we are mostly through the woods! TW: Dissociative state, mild (dream) unreality, Emetophobia warning--nonexplicit, starts at 'it threatens to curl him over', just lasts for that paragraph line.]

Wangji is wasting away in front of him--like their mother, like their father. It strikes Xichen as he carried his brother back in his arms, blood seeping into rain soaked robes. Wangji remains glazed while he is brought into the bright chaos of his own home, filled with two panicking young boys and the small cadre of confused night guards that had been brought running by their cries.

Even when the doctor he summons rebandages Wangji's wounds and talks seriously over his body about infection and spiritual energy and scars. Even while A-Fu keeps sobbing and sobbing, wild and lost against Xichen's chest as he mechanically apologizes and apologizes and holds him. Even as they coax Wangji's son from out of the corner where he is cowering from the noise in feverish half-consciousness, Wangji is glassy and unseeing, eyes fixed on the door. As if uncomprehending. As if he doesn't understand how any of this has happened.

Xichen doesn't understand either. He can't identify when the decay began.

He just knows that he has seen that look on his father, staring into nothing in the dimness of the Hanshi. Has seen it on his mother, near the end that he hadn’t known was the end. Has seen it on countless cultivators lying broken on the battlefield as they bled out.

Death. The end.

Xichen is losing him, as he had lost them. This was never supposed to happen again. He had promised himself he would be better next time. He knows Wangji better than anyone else. He should have done more.

The horrid crimson of Wangji’s wounds flash in the dressing of his back. The sound the strikes had made against his flesh echoes in Xichen’s ears.

He should have done less.

When the other adults leave, finally, the glances that they cast behind themselves are shaken and dubious. The Twin Jades of Lan, soaked and blood smeared and hollow eyed. Fallen so far.

What is jade?

Xichen is shivering and staring at the same blank, white wall as Wangji. A-Yuan has been taken to sleep in the infirmary in a medicated stupor that is supposed to keep his temperature down where the doctors can closely observe him. Wangji is not aware enough to know that he is gone.

A-Fu refuses to sleep at all, now that he has stopped crying. He digs through one of Wangji’s potted plants and there is just not enough left of Xichen to stop him. Any time he moves, A-Fu’s head whips around to find him, dark gaze intense and panicked. Afraid he’s being left alone again.

He has done nothing but make the boy suffer. Cry.

What is jade? Jade is peerless. Valuable.

Rain is thundering on the roof. The world has narrowed to this room.

It's wrong to attend to business and leave Wangji. Xichen can't abandon him again. He will stay here. He will let the world burn in penance for how it has failed his brother.

It's wrong to stay and leave his post unattended. He cannot be selfish. The pain of Wangji's punishment is right to rest heavy on Xichen's shoulders as well, sharing the burden for his part in every crime against the cultivation world and the Lan. He cannot be his father and abandon his duty.

These truths somehow occupy the same reality, one he is unsure whether he himself occupies, right now. Rule number 1,276: Do not be of two minds. Broken.

A-Fu tips the pot with a dull clank, flopping down with a surprised, “Oof.” Dark dirt spills over his feet. Wangji doesn't blink, staring sightlessly.

It is wrong to inflict the fallout of his inadequacy on this poor orphaned boy. His cowardice. This is irrefutable, singular truth.

Jade is noble. Jade is flawless.

Unbreakable.

When Wangji cannot find it in himself, Xichen can be jade enough for the both of them; for A-Fu, for all the Lan. Unbreakable.

He will do what is right.

Tomorrow.

A-Fu tracks dirt over, toddling and crawling until he pulls himself upright on Xichen’s sleeves. Little muddy handprints. His cheeks are blotchy. He garbles something. Xichen can only catch, "Wanna."

Words are...hard. Harder than they should be. So Xichen pulls Liebing from his sleeve. Wangji's drying, bloody handprint glares from its translucent skin from where he had tossed it aside. He plays, winding, low, and slow.

A-Fu sinks down to squat, blinking slowly, fists still wound in Xichen's sleeves.

A minute later, his eyelids flicker. Then, he tips himself over and lays his head on Xichen's thigh, glassy eyes hooded.

He does not let go.

When Xichen pauses for a breath, the boy mumbles, “Again." So he plays songs of healing, of calming, stirs the sluggish sparks of energy through his meridians, for Wangji and A-Fu.

Wangji lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. Closes his empty eyes.

Good.

The music buzzes in his lips, under his lungs, methodical and numbing--meditative.

Until there is an overbright wringing in his core, flashing out through his meridians like wildfire. The note shrills up piercingly and chokes off. Blood spurts over his tongue, past his lips. Bright and iron-sour--ringing and burning and surging--

He at least has the presence of mind to lean forward, avoiding A-Fu.

He stares at the scarlet splat on the rug by his knee. Feels a single drip from his nose make its way over his lips, down his chin. Overstrained. Qi mismanagement.

Get a hold of yourself .

A breath.

Quelling. Controlling.

Slowly, he wipes his face on his damp sleeve. Rule 783: Do not begrime your clothing without just cause. Broken.

He watches the stain sink, into his sleeve, into the rug, absorbed down into the weave of the fabric, drunk up until it’s indistinguishable from Wangji’s slowly browning next to it. Meditates on that. The abstract form of his emptiness blurring at the edges. Liebing is warm in his hand.

Wangji is asleep. A-Fu is asleep.

If Xichen dreams, he doesn't remember it.

When the sun rises, he unfolds from his post and bundles A-Fu into his blanket. He checks Wangji’s breathing (rough), his wounds (oozing), the acupuncture needles (still set). Takes his wrist and loses himself in his pulse. It’s there, bumping up against his fingertips, the nudging nose of a persistent minnow. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Stay .

He calls for a guard to ensure Wangji cannot leave on his own again. He carries A-Fu back to the Hanshi. Sends instructions back with the disciple that brings them breakfast.

A-Fu insists on clambering into his lap as they eat. Xichen’s mouth is too dry to taste any of the food. He feeds A-Fu with hands shaking so badly, he spills half of it down the boy's robes--but doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he slushes it gleefully across the tabletop.

Xichen barely feels human.

Then let me be jade.

Something displeases A-Fu about bathing, today, and he angrily tries to shove all the water out of the washing tub in a fit of toddler pique, scowling and hollering nonsensically. Soapy water splats to the floor and Xichen’s chest and lap when he thrashes.

Xichen lays his forehead on his soaked arms on the edge of the tub and closes his eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

When he is changing his own twice-soaked and bloody clothes, he hears quick little, unsteady feet slaps come around the privacy screen. Then, "Owie."

He turns. "Owie," the boy insists and raises a hand, eyes fixed on Xichen's back. Numbly, he turns to the mirror. Finds long, purpling bruises crisscrossing across his shoulder blades and back. It's probably from hitting the shelves in the storage room.

They don't hurt. Sometime in the night, his body has moved somewhat to the left of himself and sensations are...distant. It is a sign of how he has neglected his cultivation that they have not healed, yet.

“A-niang kissit?”

Xichen shakes his head, mutely. A-Fu seems to consider this, brows furrowing in thought. Then, “ A-Fu kissit,” he decides, resolutely.

There is a pressure beginning somewhere in Xichen’s chest. Squeezing.

He kneels down. The kisses are applied by A-Fu kissing his own palm and clumsily smearing them on like a healer’s balm to his shoulder. Xichen accepts them without protest.

When they are both presentable, Xichen takes the child by the hand and lets him totter beside him through the wet and misty grass, lets him pull up a clump of flowers out in the front garden of the Hanshi, lets him take the time to marvel at all the shiny facets of the rocks on the path, marvel at a crawling beetle. For when they come into sight of the temporary orphanage, A-Fu freezes, then scrambles to try to climb his leg. “Up! Up, p’ease!"

Xichen can’t move. When clinging doesn't work, A-Fu collapses like a hamstrung deer, dangling from his hand. And begins to plead.

"No p'ease! No p’ease! Nonono!"

The women have received instructions, sent from the disciple who had brought them breakfast, and they are ready this time. Two come out with sympathetic faces and words. They coax and coo and reason as they pick A-Fu up. Peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams wildly, "Nooo!! Ahhhh!! Nooooo !!!"

Jade. Cold. Flawless.

Tiny, wickedly sharp nails rake down his hand, scrabbling.

"A-Huan, you are the eldest. You need to set a good example for A-Zhan. That's enough, now, you're too old for this. Collect yourself. When you are like this, he gets uneasy and unruly. Come, now, show him how it's done. Deep breath."

That pressure is growing.

Jade. He is jade.

The boy abandons words, just shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.

"Huan-er, don't cry, you have to go with shufu. Oh, I know, I know, I don't want you to go either. I'll see you in a month! Next month-- don't cry, I'll see you then. Don't cry, Huan-er, please don't cry--"

It's for the best. It's for the best. It's...

He looks so scared.

Wangji screams Wei Wuxian's name. He hears it from halfway across the battlefield, despite the din. Hooks in his soul…he is so afraid--

The door shuts. The screams muffle.

And Xichen is left standing alone on the grass. He feels nothing but that intense, crushing pressure. It threatens to curl him over. He makes it to the tree line before he throws up bile. Barely.

A crack. A flaw.

Rule 589; Do not be ill mannered.

He coughs. Breathes.

Rule 712; Be strict with yourself

He does not know how long it is until Uncle finds him there shaking. “Who is making so much noise?” There is a silence when Xichen doesn’t respond right away--he can’t. He just can’t. A hand comes, squeezes his shoulder. “Are you well?”

He just shakes his head. He should be asking after Uncle’s health. Reassuring him. He should be….

“Xichen. You help no one if you do not rest properly.” Uncle’s voice is low and persuasive--gentle.

He is failing.

Uncle moves closer, presses the back of his cool hand to Xichen’s forehead, then sets his fingers on the pulse in his wrist. That alien pressure squeezes Xichen’s throat until it’s choking him.

“You cannot go on like this. I will head things until you have collected yourself. Go. Sleep.”

It is familiar command that draws him up by puppet strings to standing straight, to bowing woodenly.

“Look at me.”

Xichen does. His uncle looks the same as he ever has, save hints of darker circles beneath his eyes, the skin thin and bruised. His severe expression holds concern and disapproval and a glimmer of something that looks like fear. “You mustn’t do this,” he says with insistent force. “Your people are looking to you and you mustn’t allow yourself to do this. You are to return to the Hanshi and sleep until you wake naturally and then you are to meditate until you are fully within your own control. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, shufu, ” he says, hoarsely. He has failed in his every duty in every way. He is...He is….

Uncle regards him with growing consternation, his mouth tightening. “What on earth is the matter, Xichen?”

Everything. Everything I have done and have not. “I….Wangji.”

Deep lines appear beside Uncle’s nose, his lips whiten and his jaw works. Rage. Grief. Betrayal. Regret. “Wangji is experiencing the consequences of his actions,” he says, stiffly. “He was given ample time and ample guidance and yet he throws it all back in the face of the Clan who has raised him.” His nostrils flare as he glares down the mountain. “How are his wounds.”

Xichen’s breath is tight and burning, as if he is crying, but he’s not. He’s shaking. He’s empty. “...Will you not go to him?” He whispers.

Pain and anger flicker. “I will not. There is work to be done. He is in the doctor’s hands.”

Xichen bows wordlessly.

And disobeys.

He returns to Wangji’s home, down the mountain on locked kneed legs. The house smells of char and hemostatic and antiseptic and rain. It burns his nose. Wangji is pale and haggard and alone, somehow rendered small in his own bed by his bandages. Xichen rinses his mouth, sheds his boots and his guan and crawls up to collapse next to him, as he had when they were small and Wangji couldn’t sleep. Just like then, he finds one of Wangji’s lax hands and wraps it in his own.

You have me. I’m not leaving you.

Leaving. The memory of A-Fu’s screams tighten his gut and his throat until he is sure he will vomit again. However, the sound of his mother’s voice soothes it away. “How is he doing?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds her kneeling beside the bed, stroking Wangji’s hair with concern. Sitting up, he scrubs a hand over his face and offers her a weak smile. “ Niang, you should be asleep. Don’t worry, I have him.”

Wangji sleeps, his face turned away, back rising and falling.

Their mother stands and rounds the bed, taking Xichen’s face in her warm, dry hands and kissing his forehead, right over the cloud pendant of his headband. “I know you do, Huan-er. You are the best gege anyone could ask for. Don’t you think you should be sleeping?” She teased, tweaking his nose.

“I’m not tired.” And he wasn’t, just very curiously heavy. Every movement of his head seemed to take twice as long, every movement of his hand twice as much effort. “I shouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I need….”

“Oh?”

The words were escaping, jumbling up like mush, and he frowns politely. “Hm.”

“Yes?”

Looking up into her face, he finds it round and sweet and familiar with glittering mischief in her eyes, waiting with a small smile. “I can’t...think of it.” It doesn’t bother him particularly, not truly--a minor frustration--but moisture buds in his eyes like pebbles of rain. Xichen blinks in surprise and wipes them with the back of his hand.

“Oh no, save those!” His mother gasps in alarm, searching about for something. “No, you need those, don’t, Huan-er!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, her frantic energy seeping into his chest. He tries to breathe deeply, to center his qi, to close his eyes, but they will not recede, threatening to spill over. “I’m trying, I don’t...I’m not….”

“It’s alright, love, but quickly, try to remember--who was the last person to have them?”

As hard as he can, he tries, fumbling for the memory. “Was it...was it A-Yao? Or Da-ge….” He remembers them holding something, something warm, something familiar.

“Oh, that sounds right. Here,” she has produced a piece of white silk, though the long ends have been dipped in blood. She hurriedly dabs at his eyes. “Mind your robes.”

“Yes, a- niang, ” he replies dutifully, taking it and soaking up all the tears into the fabric before they fall, holding the blood away from him as she beams down at him.

“Perfect boy. Do you remember properly, now?”

“I think it was A-Yao. I think...I think it was when I ran….”

Her dark eyebrows rise and she pets over his hair--it’s so light that he can barely feel it at all. “That long?”

“I’m not quite sure….”

She sighs, shakes her head. “Wangji needs them, remember, love.”

“Of course,” he says, though he can’t quite remember why. He knows that it’s true, though. “More than I do.”

“Exactly. You have to be strong. He’s so much younger.”

Xichen smiles and takes the fabric away to inspect his progress. Only half of it is soaked and the tears have diminished to just hazing his vision. He feels abstractly proud. “Oh, well, he’s grown since you’ve--” When he looks up, the room is empty.

But reality is seeping in the edges with cold fingers, the feeling of waking from a dream. She has been gone from here for a while. He can feel it. He is alone and has been for a while. How long has he been talking to himself?

When he stands, slowly, weighted by rocks, he is in his mother’s home, in the center of the dark floor, surrounded by a layer of dust, cleared of furniture. The lanterns are all cold and wickless, the windows stuck shut. It is dim, the air thick and stale on his tongue. Had he decided to stay here? He can’t remember.

A deep unease threads through his chest. He cannot stay here. He knows the rules. He cannot be away too long.

When he steps forward, he realizes the door is so much further than he had initially thought and with each step, it seems to fade. When he reaches it, it is a smooth, impenetrable wall and no matter how many times he moves around the edges of the room, it does not reappear.

Did they leave him? Would they be back?

...Did he do this?

He opens his mouth to call for help when--

Raw sound crashes over him, bolting him up in bed. His breath is heaving, icy adrenaline rushing through his veins. It’s pitch black and smells wrong. Rain hisses over the roof, but the windows and door are in the wrong places and for a moment--is he in--was it--

Silent strobes light Wangji’s room as bright as day. Weak relief trickles through him, even as the thunder immediately follows with a boom of wall shaking fury. Not the Jingshi. The middle of the night, with Wangji. Safe.

Another flash, overlapped by another boom that makes him jump, even though he had been expecting it. The storm must be directly over them on the mountain from the strength and instantaneousness of the thunder. Through the dimness, he peers down at his brother, heart still hammering. He seems to have remained motionless in his needle-assisted unconsciousness despite the noise. As the tail end of this last salvo grumbles away, Xichen’s adrenaline slowly bleeds away as well, leaving him watery and exhausted, even as his breath and heart still speed. Laying back, he stares at the bruised shadows lashing in the ceiling in bright purple flashes and finds himself hoping--though he has no right--that across the Cloud Recesses, A-Fu isn’t afraid.

#3zun raise jingyi au #3zun raise jingyi au content #my stuff #my fic #3zun #I say if all goes according to plan because I have a few other scenes that need to happen #and those have a tendency to be a lot longer than I think they will be #But it should be very soon #Also I promise I'm gonna fix it next chapter 😬 We all know what happens. We all know he is Dad™

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mianavs · 3 years

Text

Festered Wounds

The insecurities that brought you together now tore you apart

Bakugo x f!reader

a/n: been thinking about toxic relationships lately and realized i needed to write more mha hehe

tw: dubcon, smut, implied abuse

wc: 1.4k+

The belief that you could climb the ladder of success through hard work and dedication had been your lifeline growing up. It was what your father engraved in your mind as he worked ungodly hours just to keep a roof over your head and food on the table. So you did what you had to do in order to avoid working a measly job with your mediocre quirk. You divided your time studying and improving your quirk until your eyelids grew heavy and your muscles ached.

But in the end, hard work wasn’t enough and your growth plateaued after graduating UA. You did all you could to improve your quirk but, at the ripe age of twenty-two, you were found yourself at a dead-end with the promotion from sidekick to pro-hero nowhere in sight.

They say misery loves company and you suppose that was what kept you tethered to Katsuki Bakugo after the initial attraction subsided. Like you, Bakugo had his own insecurities that ate at him the longer Izuku Midoriya remained the Number One Hero and the larger the gap between them grew.

Where the two of you once found solace in your relationship and licked each other’s wounds, it proved to have been only temporary. Your wounds eventually festered and turned your relationship into an unreliable crutch that sometimes supported you and other times let you fall.

The buzzing noise stirred you awake and you reached over to your nightstand to pick up your vibrating phone. You noticed the mail icon on your lock screen after disabling your alarm and your hands trembled as you rubbed the leftover sleep off your eyes. Impatient fingers opened the email but upon reading the first few words any hope you had dissipated.

[Thank you for your interest but, after further consideration, we have decided to pursue other…]

It was your seventh rejection letter that month and you were starting to lose all motivation to keep applying for a pro-hero position at a hero agency.

As you brushed your teeth, you remembered Bakugo’s words after the first few rejection letters you’d shared with him.

“Tch you’re obviously not looking hard enough. There’s gotta be some agency that’ll take you.”

Resentment reared its ugly head as you rinsed out your mouth. Of course he would never know what it was like to get rejected by an agency. As one of the top three heroes, Bakugo had agency’s lining up to recruit him yet his pathetic girlfriend couldn’t even get one. You’d eventually stopped showing him the rejection letters knowing his reprimands would hurt more than help you.

Taking in your reflection that showcased your swollen eyes, you cancelled your plans with your old classmate knowing the only reason she and all the others sought you out was to either brag about their successful careers or to suck up to Katsuki Bakugo’s girlfriend in an attempt to meet him.

You caught yourself before any more ugly emotions towards your boyfriend surfaced. It’d been a recurring action recently and the guilt that proceeded always goaded you to do things for Bakugo. Most of the time, he didn’t notice the extra-mile you went when you cooked, cleaned, or surprised him at work for a quickie during lunch but it was better that way—your shameful feelings were your own to deal with.

After spending the day cleaning, doing laundry, and buying groceries, you were plating Bakugo’s favorite spicy noodles when the sound of the front door slamming shut hampered your good mood. Used to dealing with his episodes, you waited for him to enter the kitchen and remained silent, hoping the sight of food was enough to lessen his anger.

Bakugo was perfectly disheveled when he rounded the corner and appeared before you. His hair was wilder than usual and you knew it was the result of running his fingers through it too many times. The suit jacket he usually wore for meetings was nowhere in sight and you assumed he discarded it somewhere in the living room. His red tie was loose around his neck and the sleeves of his black button-down shirt were pushed up to his elbows.

Under different circumstances, you would have jumped his bones without a second thought but the hostility in his scarlet eyes had you trembling for different reasons.

The plate in your hands was thrown aside, crashing against the wall and painting it an ugly red as the noodles slid down to the tile floor. Your legs moved on their own and you backed away from your boyfriend whose jaw was set, brows were furrowed, and his mouth contorted into a frown that only deepened as you retreated.

“You can’t look at me like they do, Y/N. Not you.” His strained voice was quiet but you recognized the hurt and comforting words spilled out your mouth instantaneously.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki, but how about you tell me what happened. Please, let’s just talk—”

Hard hands gripped your shoulders and harsh lips swallowed your plea. He was rougher than usual and his teeth clashed against yours while your lips swelled from his bruising kiss. Pain eventually gave way to pleasure and the longer Bakugo’s warm tongue glided against your tongue the easier it was to surrender yourself to your carnal desires.

With your hands around his neck, Bakugo wasted no time in discarding your apron, bunching your skirt up, and backing you up against the kitchen counter. The press of his hard-on against you was enough for your arousal to leak out and coat your panties. You whimpered when his mouth abandoned yours and the only thing connecting the two of you was a strand of saliva that eventually broke and dribbled down your chin. Through lidded eyes you made out the frustration that replaced anger on his face and supposed it was better than nothing.

Bakugo rocked his hips against your wet panties and he placed open-mouthed kisses on your neck that further incited your need for release. You tugged your boyfriend’s hair and started moving your hips on your own accord which was all it took for him to release his cock, pick you up, and press you against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist.

There was always a painful stretch when he sheathed himself into your cunt but normally Bakugo did a good job prepping you whether it was with his fingers, tongue, or cock. This, unfortunately, wasn’t one of those times and you were gasping in pain and digging your nails onto his clothed back as he hammered into you.

When the pain only increased with each erratic snap of his hips, tears streamed down your face but he merely kissed them away and continued to pound into you while your cunt tightened in discomfort. Your safe word almost left your lips but guilt and concern prevented it from being voiced. Left with no other alternative, you closed your eyes and held onto your boyfriend until his labored pants turned into groans and ropes of hot semen painted your walls in their color. Bakugo set you down after pressing a chaste kiss on your temple and you used whatever strength you had left to leave the kitchen and lock yourself in the bathroom without sparing him a glance.

The turmoil of emotions erupted in the shower and you cried not caring if he heard you. After crawling into bed with a headache, the belief that you’d discarded your hurt and anger in the bathroom was proven wrong when Bakugo entered your shared bedroom. The remorse is evident on his face but instead of making you feel better it incites your resentment.

“I’m sorr—”

“You’re pathetic, you know, taking it out on me. Why do I have to be your punching bag whenever Midoriya one-ups you? Maybe if you fixed your shitty personality you might be able to surpass him. But that’ll never happen will it, Katsuki?”

The cruel words spilled out like vomit; once you started there was no stopping it and in the end you felt empty. You waited for him to counter your insults with attacks about your quirk or your position but he only nodded once before turning around and leaving the room.

You were half asleep when Bakugo came back after showering and crawled into bed. You pretended to be asleep when he eventually pulled you into his warm chest and wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

There were countless moments when you were tempted to break it off with him, especially after one of his episodes. The longer your relationship lasted the bigger the arguments, the harsher the insults, and the shorter the moments in between became. But when Bakugo held you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings into your ear, thoughts of leaving him went out the window and all you felt was love and affection for the man whose insecurities mirrored yours.

#bakugo x reader #bakugo scenarios #bakugo smut #mha x reader #mha smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou scenarios #bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha scenarios #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #tw: dubcon #tw: smut #navs.mha #navs.fw

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qitwrites · 3 years

Text

traditions

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Itadori Yuuji/Fushiguro Megumi

A/N: I caught up with the manga, and shit’s pretty fucked, so I decided to amend that with fluff.

[AO3 Link]

Fushiguro - according to Kugisaki - is the textbook definition of a homosexual disaster.

No see, here’s the thing- everything was going fine. Great. No problems at all. Fushiguro respects his seniors, tolerates Gojo, and has the biggest soft spot for Inumaki, but he’s never been attracted to any one in his usual circle. So, school and sorcery and life in general was simple. No distractions, no crushes as such, no complications. All good.

And then Itadori Yuuji barges into his life and upends the fuck out of it by eating a special grade cursed object to save him. Then he joins Jujutsu Tech, and now they work and train and study and live alongside one another.

The thing is, Itadori is cute as fuck. 10/10 would tap that, any day of any week.

It’s not that Fushiguro has a type or anything, but Itadori just ticks all his boxes. When Todo had bullheadedly asked him what kind of person he likes, he’d said anyone with a strong moral compass that doesn’t waver in their resolve.

That’s Itadori in a nutshell.

Also, doesn’t hurt that he’s like, stupidly hot either. His raw physical prowess is reflected on his body in the form of shapely muscles, hard abs, and wide forearms that look like they could pick Fushiguro up and just throw him like a javelin. They actually can- Itadori had to do it for a mission this one time. Fushiguro enjoyed it immensely, and he will take this information with him to his grave.

So, not only is Itadori attractive and strong and of good character, but he’s also hella friendly. Fushiguro knows he’s not the easiest person to befriend- it takes a while for him to warm up to people, to share things about himself, to talk about the shitshow that is his family, but Itadori does not seem to give a single, flying fuck. He walks into Fushiguro’s life with the strength and ease of someone that just believes they belong. And Fushiguro lets him, because he is, as Kugisaki very accurately put it, a complete and utter homosexual disaster.

But it’s fine. Crushes happen all the time, and Fushiguro knows it’s hopeless and that’s ok. He knows Itadori likes him and cherishes their friendship, and that is enough. It will be. He’ll move on, and they’ll laugh about it in a few years (if they survive) and it’ll be great. In the meantime, he’s going to hole up in his room and read non-fiction books and stay away from pink hair and large toothy smiles.

Of course, the first person to fuck up his plans is Itadori.

It’s Saturday night, and dinner had been a simple meal of rice, miso soup and some sides made by Itadori. He’s a really good cook, and the home food is such a welcome change from the bento boxes Fushiguro normally picks up from the convenience store. Sometimes, Itadori will drag Fushiguro into the kitchen to teach him a thing or two, and Fushiguro learns, and pines, and smacks Itadori when he says something especially idiotic. It’s routine. It’s nice.

Dinner was an hour ago, and now he’s just curled up in bed with his book. It’s shaping up to be a typical weekend, which is nice considering the number of missions they picked up last week. His bones are aching a little, his feet are slightly sore, and he knows he’s going to sleep like the dead tonight.

He hears the knock even though it’s a bit soft. Fushiguro sits up and cocks his head. Was he imagining it?

And then there’s another knock, more confident. Thud thud thud.

Fushiguro climbs out of bed, setting his book aside carefully. He stretches his hands over his head and walks over to the door. ‘Coming.’

He swings it open, and he sees pink hair and his heart just sort of beats out of his chest.

‘Hiya.’ Itadori’s smile is wide, trusting, and full of gusto. He holds a packet of chips in one hand and a laptop in the other.

‘What’s up?’

‘Are you busy?’

He should say he is. If he says he’s busy, then he doesn’t have to let Itadori in and he can continue with Operation: get over Itadori Yuuji. It’s the most logical move.

‘No, why do you ask?’ Well, apparently his brain has detached from his mouth.

‘Well, I overheard you telling Kugisaki that you’ve never seen the Saw movies and I realized something. Something terrible.’

Fushiguro tenses. ‘And what’s that?’

‘I can’t be best friends with someone that’s never seen Saw.’ Itadori pouts cutely, and Fushiguro is this close to just walking off the face of the Earth. He leans into the door frame, needing the additional support.

‘And I don’t want anyone else to be my best friend. So, the only solution is to make you watch Saw! With me! Like, right now.’

Fushiguro feels so much all at once- he wants to pull Itadori into a hug, he wants to jump off his balcony, he wants to slam the door shut and just cry, and he wants to watch stupid movies with this stupid man.

‘If you get crumbs on my bed, I’m going to kick you in the stomach.’

Itadori beams, and Fushiguro is a lost cause.

There’s a bit of adjusting (Fushiguro, your pillows are too hard, let me go grab mine) and a bit of remodelling (What do you mean we can’t make a blanket fort, that’s literally half the movie experience) and after relenting to a weird half-assed tent structure, the two of them huddle on the bed, backs against the wall, laptop placed on a chair by their feet with a bag of chips between them.

Saw is a terrible movie.

There’s gore and screaming and a creepy dude running around and it’s honestly just horrendous. The main character calls himself Jigsaw, and Fushiguro is tempted to flip the laptop after the hundredth blood spill. He looks over at Itadori who’s completely engrossed, eyes reflecting the colours and flashes of light on the screen. It’s cute, the concentration he’s pouring into it. His hand is stuck in the bag of chips and Fushiguro smacks it away to grab a few of his own.

Fushiguro does his best to watch and gets into it at least a little. It’s bad, but it’s not the worst way to spend a weekend night. He admits that a huge reason why the experience is kinda fun is that he’s doing something with Itadori that isn't life-threatening, which is a refreshing change.

The end credits start rolling and Itadori stretches his arms, fingers pushing through the droopy tent roof.

‘What did you think?’

‘I’ve seen worse.’

Itadori laughs. ‘I know what you mean. It grows on you though.’

‘There’s more?’

Itadori looks at him, blinks, cocks his head. ‘You didn’t know?’

Fushiguro shrugs. ‘I’ve never been a movie buff, so I have no information on this.’

‘Fushiguro.’

‘What?’

‘There’s 9 movies.’

Fushiguro’s mouth drops. ‘What?’

‘Yup, there’s nine in total, and the tenth one is in the making.’

‘Holy shit, that’s a lot of movies in one franchise.’

‘Yup. And we’re watching all of them.’

Fushiguro’s eyes widen. ‘What? No way. Nope. Not a chance. I can’t handle more of this, it was barely tolerable.’

‘It doesn’t matter! It’s the principle of the thing- you’ve started the series so you might as well see it through.’

‘9 movies? How can they possibly have enough content for that?’

‘It’s what they do. I promise it gets better and worse.’

Fushiguro sighs. ‘I’m not getting out of this, am I?’

Itadori pushes into his shoulder playfully. ‘Nope. I’m getting more snacks next time, let’s do two movies.’

Fushiguro sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

He’s really struggling to pretend like he’s upset with this development. He’s not upset. He’s honestly anything but.

---

Itadori comes back next Saturday with some blankets and a pillow tucked under one arm and a laptop in the other. He has a grocery bag with chips and sour patch kids hanging between his teeth and he still manages to smile. Fushiguro is so done.

‘Are you a dog?’ he grumbles, plucking the bag out of his face and setting it by the bed. Itadori gets to work immediately, setting up the pillows and his sad excuse for a blanket fort while Fushiguro brings a bowl for the chips and candy. Once they’ve settled in, Itadori starts the second movie and Fushiguro resigns himself to his fate.

It’s really not that bad.

The movie is whatever, Fushiguro tunes in and out, alternating between watching the screen and sneaking looks at Itadori. He’s as engrossed as ever, and the tip of his tongue is sticking out in concentration and it’s so cute it makes Fushiguro want to curl up in his lap and squish him.

He’s crushing hard. Like, really hard. It’s about the gayest thing he’s ever experienced.

The movie pushes on, and they start to get more comfortable. Itadori isn’t a talker, which is surprising and nice, but when the movie lulls, he does make a joke or two. They sink lower into the bed, and by the end of the movie, they’re firmly pressed into each other from shoulder to thigh, with the bowl of chips on Fushiguro’s lap and the candy in Itadori’s.

Itadori is really warm. Could be his natural body heat, could be the king of curses residing within him, could be Fushiguro’s imagination- who’s to say at this point?

When the credits roll, Itadori stretches again like a cat in the sun, groaning his satisfaction. Fushiguro rubs his temples and wills away his blush.

‘What did you think?’

‘Not terrible, but honestly, what the fuck?’

‘That pretty much sums up the franchise.’

Itadori loads up the next movie while Fushiguro stays in position, comfortable. When he’s done, he leans back and makes himself comfortable against Fushiguro’s side, head leaning against his shoulder, his cheek pressed against bone. He looks smooshed, and it’s ridiculous.

If he gave a single shit about the movie, he’d ask him to move because he’s so far gone now there’s no way he’d pay attention at all.

Fushiguro doesn’t say a word, just sends up a silent prayer that Itadori remains there, pushed into him and all up in his space, for the rest of the evening.

That’s exactly what he does.

---

Fushiguro’s feet are burning.

The soles are achy all over, tender and jolty. Any time he walks, he suppresses a hiss of pain. When he’d taken a look, the entire sole was an angry red, and he’s just so annoyed.

The week had been tough- tons of running around and multiple search and rescue missions and this one tenacious curse that he and Itadori had to chase for several miles before finally exorcising it. By the end of it all, his feet were burning like a low fire in the pits of hell.

Itadori is fine, as always. It’s probably an incredible combination of his own inherent athleticism and lord dipshit within him, but Itadori heals at an accelerated pace, and like, he came back from the dead. Sore feet would be nothing to this guy.

When Itadori knocks on the door as always, an hour after Saturday night dinner, Fushiguro just calls out, ‘Come in.’ He really doesn’t want to walk to the door, so he’d left it open intentionally.

Itadori struggles to open the door on his own, arms filled with so much stuff it’s overflowing everywhere, and that horribly lovely smile is still stretched across his face and Fushiguro is just so smitten it’s ridiculous.

Itadori throws a few pillows in his direction, places a frankly ridiculous amount of snacks at the foot of the bed, and starts building his fort. Fushiguro is yet to help him with this, to actually put in any effort and make it with him rather than just watch him with a bemused smirk, but part of him knows that if he joins in, he’s admitting to something. He’s admitting that he’s invested. That he likes this as much as Itadori, probably so much more. That he likes Itadori so much, it’s all-consuming.

Itadori gives him the laptop while he makes some finishing touches on the fort, and he’s gotten better over the last few weeks. The tent is less saggy, with more room to move around and its range is expanding. It no longer covers just the bed, it extends to his desk and is inching towards his closet. Itadori is taking over his room, his heart, his brain, his life. He keeps taking and taking and taking, and Fushiguro just gives him more, happily, heartbreakingly, with all the love and nonchalance and patience he can muster.

He’s so whipped he’s giving Kugisaki a headache. She’s told him as much, repeatedly.

He’s got the final Saw movie prepped and ready to go, positioning the laptop on the chair as usual. Itadori grabs the bowls and decants their snacks before sitting next to Fushiguro, his head automatically resting on the man’s shoulders. Fushiguro rests his head on Itadori’s soft pink hair, breathing in the scent of the shampoo Itadori always steals from Kugisaki, and muffles a laugh. It’s so silly.

They’re about mid-way through the movie (by movie 9 there’s no milking the plot, it’s them just beating a dead horse ruthlessly) when Fushiguro shifts his legs and his feet bump into the chair, and he bites out a yelp of pain. Itadori sits up immediately, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

‘You ok?’

Fushiguro waves him down, wincing. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, don’t worry about it.’

‘Did you stub your toe? That’s one of the worst feelings ever. And I’ve had my heart ripped out of my chest. And lost an arm. And I’ve been stabbed repeatedly. Amongst other things.’

‘I didn’t stub my toe. And also, what the fuck, are you ok?’

‘I’m fine,’ Itadori laughs easily. ‘Seriously, what’s wrong?’

‘My feet hurt,�� Fushiguro admits with a defeated sigh. ‘We’ve been moving about a lot, and after that pineapple fucker two days ago, my feet have just gotten really sore. I soaked them in hot water a few hours ago, I think I should be fine by Monday.’

Itadori eyes him suspiciously.

‘I’m not lying dumbass. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. Let’s just get this horrible movie over with.’

Itadori hums, turning back to the screen. A minute later, he looks over at Fushiguro.

‘Well, I’m going to apologize for this in advance.’

‘Apologize for wh- HEY!’

Itadori, with his stupidly inhumane strength, yanks Fushiguro’s legs off the edge of the bed and right into his lap. Fushiguro is now laying down with his head resting against the headboard, and he’s about to kick out when Itadori just digs his thumbs into the arch of his feet and Fushiguro narrowly stops himself from moaning obscenely.

He has died and ascended. His soul is no longer in this realm of existence. It has found peace. The meaning of life. Attained nirvana. He can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s seriously that good.

Because Itadori is strong. He’s really strong, so his movements are sure and deep. His thumbs are pushing against the arch, into the heel of his foot, pushing into that junction where his toes meld into the sole, and it’s so damn good. Fushiguro squirms.

‘How are you- ah shit, right there -how are you so good at this?’

Itadori throws him an easy smile. ‘Used to massage grandpa’s feet all the time. Became an expert over time, especially because I had a lot of his nurses guiding me as well. Is it ok?’

Fushiguro tries to throw him a deadpan look but then Itadori’s thumbs just push into a particularly sore spot and Fushiguro’s eyes roll back into his skull. When he’s able to pull himself together, he looks at the pink-haired man, feeling breathless.

‘It feels great. If you tell a single soul, I will drop kick you.’

Itadori’s laugh is loud and boisterous, and it fills the room completely, saturates it with this feeling of ease and honesty.

‘This stays here, no worries. Like a Las Vegas thing.’

Fushiguro smiles at the stupid reference.

After a few minutes pass by, Fushiguro reluctantly starts pulling his feet away. ‘You’ve done more than enough,’ he starts to say. Itadori wraps his fingers around his ankles, holding him in place.

‘I can honestly do this for hours, it’s fine. You can see the screen, right?’ Fushiguro nods immediately. ‘So, let’s just keep watching. I’ll stop if I’m tired, ok?’

Fushiguro relents without a fight because it’s the most relief he’d gotten in ages, and Itadori is touching him and he’s weak in every possible way and he lets himself be. Just this once.

They finish the movie (thank goodness it’s over) and Itadori continues to massage his feet as they discuss what the 10th movie could possibly be like. They discuss theories and plot holes, and Itadori doesn’t let go, his hands inching up and massaging his calves as well, and fuck if Fushiguro’s going to stop him because it feels good. He’s gay and Itadori is hot and his fingers are actual magic- like, they put sorcery to shame.

When it’s well past midnight and Itadori yawns a few times, Fushiguro finally sits up, pulling his feet out of Itadori’s grasp. The pink-haired man lets his hands linger for as long as possible, and Fushiguro decides he’s just imagining it. Surely.

‘I kinda, I mean, I want to repay you for that. You massaged me for hours, you know.’

Itadori pretends to think for a second before breaking into a bright, 100-megawatt smile.

‘Well then, let’s watch more movies! Let’s just make this movie night! We can watch stuff you look up as well, we can watch anything.’

Fushiguro stares at him, stunned. He hadn’t been expecting that and truth be told, he was really sad the Saw franchise was over because he assumed that would be the end of this, and he was too shy to ask what Itadori was so easily asking him. To see Itadori so excited at the prospect of an actual movie night, with no end in sight, made his heart leap and throb and squeeze. It was incredible.

‘Deal.’ He keeps his voice level and his face neutral, but he can’t hide his eyes and Itadori reads him in a second and his smile softens. He knows him so well now, like the back of his hand.

Itadori bids him a soft goodnight, collecting his stuff and shuffling back to his room slowly. Fushiguro falls asleep quickly, and it's deep and dreamless.

He wakes up to painless feet. It’s a miracle in every single way.

---

When Itadori gently pulls his feet into his lap the next weekend, Fushiguro doesn’t bother protesting it. He just gives him a slightly exasperated sigh, a soft smile and hits play.

They’ve decided to pick up the How to train your dragon franchise this time, as a welcome change of pace.

‘What’s it about?’

‘Well, it’s honestly all in the title. It’s about dragons and Vikings and it’s funny and it has great music!’ Itadori lights up while talking about it, and his energy is so damn contagious. Fushiguro feels himself getting hyped. ‘I think you’ll like it. Especially since you have those cool Shikigamis, you might relate to this more!’

Fushiguro hums, and they watch. Fushiguro routinely pushes pieces of chips and sour candy into Itadori’s mouth, and Itadori’s fingers become well-acquainted with the planes and bumps and grooves of his feet, and the shape of his calves.

Fushiguro gets really into the movie.

Not only is the animation top-notch, but the voice actors are great, the storyline is gripping, and Toothless is so childish and sweet and endearing, his heart aches with love. He barely pays attention to Itadori this time. He seems just as invested, even if it’s the hundredth time he’s rewatching it.

To Fushiguro’s surprise, he chokes up at the end, after the big battle. The whole scene feels strangely familiar in some ways, and he tries desperately to hide his growing discomfort. He peaks over at Itadori and his eyes widen.

Itadori is swallowing hard, his eyes shining and glistening with unshed tears. His grip on Fushiguro is tight as hell, but not painful. He’s barely holding on, it seems.

So Fushiguro looks away, and lets himself feel. He doesn’t cry, but it’s damn near the same feeling.

Itadori’s knowing smirk is as annoying as it is stupidly kissable.

‘You seemed to enjoy that!’

‘It was decent. Much better than all the Saw movies combined.’

Itadori barks out a laugh. ‘Decent, he says. I saw you nearly crying through my own tears. And you were glued to the screen. Such a liar.’

Fushiguro relents. ‘Fine, it was really good. I’m hooked, and I cant wait to see the other 2 movies.’

‘You know I’ll be here.’

Fushiguro is helpless against his blush. He barely hides it in the crook of his elbow. Itadori’s fingers are still pressing into his feet and it’s all so much but not enough. His heart still aches.

‘And the next two movies are visual masterpieces. Can’t wait to get into it all!’

Fushiguro nods, and with the promise of next week, he sleeps just a little easier.

---

When Itadori pulls his feet into his lap three weeks in a row, Fushiguro decides it’s time he does more to repay the pink-haired man. It’s definitely not enough to just grace Itadori with his presence and with a weekly movie night.

So, when they come together to watch the third and final How to train your dragon movie, Fushiguro stands in his room, chewing his lower lip anxiously. He feels like he may have gone overboard, and he’s more scared of being found out by Itadori, about his feelings and his hopelessly ginormous crush and just how big of a complete and utter disaster he is than anything else.

Before he can take it down though, Itadori walks in after a quick knock and a shout of Pardon the intrusion but not reaaallllyyyy.

He walks in, snack bag in his mouth, arms holding way too much stuff, and gives Fushiguro a grin before turning to the bed to start his usual set-up routine. That’s when he stops dead on his feet, and Fushiguro at least enjoys the look of complete and utter shock on his face. The snack bag drops to the ground before Fushiguro can catch it with a loud thunk.

So, here’s a fun fact about Fushiguro- he can build insane blanket forts. No, really, you don’t understand, he could be mistaken for an architect because that’s how good he is. And the reason is a bit long and a bit complicated, but it mostly has to do with his sister. When they were left all alone in the world, sharing a small space just between the two of them, they would build blanket forts with all the stuff lying around the house, and within those sheets, they were shielded from the world and all its horrors. They did it for a long time, and it was their tradition. They got better at it over the years, learning what sheets worked best, what make-shift supports held things up at the right height, where to place the pillows.

The minute Fushiguro started to put the fort together, his muscle memory kicked in and took it from there. It brought forth some memories that made him choke up, but he focused on Itadori, and it helped. He adjusted the height to accommodate two growing boys instead of two tiny humans, and before he knew it, the fort had sprawled to encompass his entire room. He borrowed pillows from Inumaki and Panda, who were willing albeit slightly perplexed, and he grabbed Kugisaki’s fairy lights to really spruce things up. The weather had gotten colder, so he had also laid out his thick duvet for them to slip under, and the icing on the cake was the pizza he had ordered. Itadori always bought the snacks, so he wanted to pull his own weight. Also, they were active jujutsu sorcerers- they may have eaten dinner an hour ago, but they were always hungry. It was endless.

Itadori remains rooted in place, and Fushiguro starts to get nervous. A bit anxious. A bit scared. What if it is too much? Had he overstepped in some way? Or what if Itadori looked forward to building the fort and Fushiguro had taken that away from him?

Itadori slowly looks at him, eyes piercing and unreadable and bright.

And then he smiles. The world rights itself a little.

And he smiles big, huge, all-encompassing. Its lips stretched over white teeth and his eyes are crinkling in that really lovely way and the dimples are dotting his cheeks and its utter magic.

‘Fushi,’ Itadori gushes, almost breathless. ‘This is insane. How the hell did you do this?’

Fushiguro bites his lip. ‘You like it?’

‘Like? Fushi, dude, my man, my guy, like doesn’t begin to cover it! I don’t have better words cause I’m kind of an idiot, but it’s. Like. A+. 11/10. I’m so impressed right now.’

And now Fushiguro is smiling with him, stomach flopping around endlessly, and he’s young and in love and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

‘I also got pizza,’ Fushiguro gestures to the table behind him, picking the snack bag off the floor and placing it by the bed. ‘I wasn’t sure what you liked so I just got the same thing you ordered when I was sick.’

Itadori happily bounds over to the box and leans in for a sniff.

‘I love this stuff, it’s yum. And it’s still steaming, all fresh and hot.’ Itadori gives him a big thumbs-up. ‘This is so bomb Fushi, thank you so much!’

Fushiguro almost says No thank you, you’ve been doing so much for our movie nights and I wanted to show you how grateful I am for you and for all of this and I love you so please take my heart and just keep it, I really don’t need it, you know?

What he says instead is, ‘Not a problem. Shall we set up?’

And so, 10 minutes later finds them curled up in their usual spots, except this time they’re under the covers. Fushiguro places all the food between them, and Itadori alternates between massaging his feet (which he cleans meticulously before their movie nights because he doesn’t want Itadori to eat with dirty feet hands) and taking bites of pizza and smiling and laughing and choking up at the movie.

The trilogy ends and Fushiguro can honestly see why Itadori has watched this countless times. It’s just that good.

If Itadori hears him sniffle, he doesn’t say a word. Just squeezes his calf and runs his fingers from his knees to his ankles and Fushiguro realizes, in that moment, that a part of him will always belong to this man.

---

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. They’ve now finished the Saw franchise, the HTTYD trilogy, the Batman trilogy, and the entire Annabelle series. If Fushiguro didn’t hate dolls before, well, now the thought of them sends shivers up his spine. And he fights curses. For a living.

Life is weird.

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. Sometimes it’s Sunday night instead, or Friday. Sometimes it’s earlier in the day, in the afternoon maybe. Sometimes, it’s really late at night, so late that by the time they’re done, it’s already 3am and the world is silent. The world doesn’t exist beyond the walls of Fushiguro’s room, and he’s ok with that.

On those nights, Itadori stays over.

They curl up on his bed together, not quite touching but not quite not touching. It’s a single bed and they’re not small by any means. The touching is inevitable. Fushiguro wonders if any part of it is voluntary.

He learns that Itadori’s toes are always warm, unlike Fushiguro’s. He’s a surprisingly calm sleeper. His sleep-heavy voice is deep, and his sleep-heavy smile is soft.

They fall asleep facing away from one another, they wake up spooning or being spooned. They don’t say a word. And they don’t stop.

The night that they finish the latest Annabelle movie, Itadori looks insanely freaked out and Fushiguro doesn’t blame him. That shit’s creepy as hell.

The problem is that it’s only 00:14. Too early for them to call for a sleepover unprompted.

Itadori’s got Fushiguro’s legs in his lap, and he’s pursing his lips as if deep in thought. Fushiguro thinks fuck it.

‘Do you want to stay over?’

The relief flows off Itadori in waves. ‘You’re an actual lifesaver, you know that right?’

Fushiguro smirks, and they throw snarky comments back and forth between them as they get ready for bed. Itadori brings his toothbrush and they clean up side by side, fighting for the mirror. They take the fort down methodically, like a well-oiled machine, and they curl up under the duvet, touching but not quite touching, facing away from one another.

15 minutes later, Fushiguro feels Itadori curled around him, legs tangled and arm carefully slipped over his middle. He feels him shake, and he can taste the hesitation and he knows Itadori will move away soon because they both know they’re both awake.

He moves his hand lower and places it over Itadori’s. He squeezes it once, and moves it away, and evens out his breathing. He feels himself drifting off, and the last thing he feels is Itadori’s arm curling around him just a little tighter, holding him just a little closer. The air tastes less hesitant, more hopeful.

It’s wonderfully frightening.

---

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. Until one day, they do.

The thing about Sukuna is that he’s the King of Curses, Lord Asshat extraordinaire, and an overall terrible being. Not only does he reside in Itadori rent-free, he also chooses when to heal him and when to watch from the sidelines as blood gushes out of wounds that are near-fatal. Itadori’s pain tolerance is impossibly high, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel pain.

Itadori feels everything. He feels so much, so willingly, so wholeheartedly. He’s a feeler.

And so, when one of their missions go haywire (as always), Itadori risks his life for his classmates (as always), and is left on the verge of death (as always). The only difference being he doesn’t improve. At least not at that inhumane pace that he always does.

He’s not dead, but he’s not in the world of the living either. He’s drifting somewhere in between, and Fushiguro feels like he’s drowning. He can’t get enough air; he can’t see beyond the murky waters that are darker than ink.

Fushiguro is in the in-house hospital on campus and he rarely, if ever, leaves Itadori’s side. The incident took place on a Tuesday and it is now Saturday. Itadori’s vitals are stable, his heart is in his chest, beating, and his blood is circulating and oxygenating him.

He does not wake up, he does not speak, and he does not smile.

Something in Fushiguro’s chest cracks.

People come by to visit all the time. Nobara brings snacks and chats with Itadori like he’s ok, like he’ll respond. Only Fushiguro hears the tremor in her voice. Maki holds back from smacking someone in a coma, vowing to get him good when he’s awake for doing something so monumentally dumb. Gojo flits in and out as often as he can, and he always squeezes Fushiguro’s shoulder with a tightness that eases his chest just a little before leaving again.

After dinner on Saturday, Fushiguro decides to do something.

He lets himself into Itadori’s room- messy but not sloppy, and simple. He finds his laptop on his desk and charges it for a bit before taking it back with him. He doesn’t set up a blanket fort, simple loads up a Christopher Nolan movie that they’d decided on last week and lets it play.

He holds Itadori’s hand the entire time. It doesn’t squeeze back.

The crack in his chest widens.

---

He’s not there when Itadori wakes up.

Gojo had pushed him out of the room to go take a shower and grab a proper meal and maybe even take a nap, and Fushiguro had relented to two of the three- showering and eating. With a belly full of terrible convenience store food that could never hope to hold a candle to Itadori’s meals, Fushiguro slowly makes his way back to the infirmary when he hears voices. One voice, in particular, stops him in his tracks.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘My mouth tastes like ass.’

It’s one of the first things Itadori has said in a week and a half, and something between a laugh and a sob gets stuck in Fushiguro’s chest. He moves to yank the door open and throw himself at Itadori when he hears-

‘Where’s Fushi?’

‘Oh, he went to take a shower, clean up a little, all that.’

‘Ah. I see.’

Fuck, he sounds disappointed.

‘Don’t look so upset.’ Gojo teases. ‘He hasn’t left your side since you got hurt, you know?’

‘Really?’

Gojo hums. ‘He’s here all day. He tried working for a day or two, but his head wasn’t in it, so we forced him to sit out for a bit. He’s just been keeping you company here, reading, fretting, pining.’

Fushiguro wants to punch Gojo.

Itadori barks out a laugh. It sounds loud and forced and not very happy.

‘Don’t tease me about that sensei. That’s cruel, even for you.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know what I’m talking about.’

‘I want to be sure. I’m not a mind-reader you know. So tell me,’ Gojo urges, ‘what are you talking about?’

Itadori sighs. It sounds exhausted more than pained. ‘I’ve liked him since the day we fought the curse and saved my senpais. It’s cruel for you to tease me about a one-sided crush.’

Fushiguro is suddenly numb, hot and cold everywhere, and his head is spinning, an echo of ‘I’ve liked him I’ve liked him’ just bouncing around his brain endlessly. He has to force himself to concentrate or risk missing out more of the conversation.

‘I mean, why do you think it’s one-sided?’

‘Are you kidding me? He’s so out of my league, I can’t even think about it. He’s so. Just. Everything good in this world. And he likes dogs sensei, what more could I want in a person?’

Fushiguro’s vision is just swimming and he wants to smother Itadori in a hug and protect him forever. His feet are taking longer to respond to his brain though.

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Gojo sings, laughing. ‘My advice would be to not give up. You’d be good for each other, you know? Also, he’s really not all that perfect. Trust me, I’ve known him since he was a child. This one time, during the spring festival, he-‘

‘Itadori, you’re awake?’

Evidently, his self-preservation instincts had bypassed his brain and forced his legs to move at near inhumane speed. God bless instincts.

Itadori is sitting up, and he looks a bit frail but the color in his cheeks is steadily returning. His eyes widen in surprise before his mouth twists up in a grin so wide Fushiguro is worried he’ll break his face. His eyes are molten, watery, and brighter than the sun.

‘Hi Fushi.’

For once, Fushiguro doesn’t give a two shit flying fuck that Gojo is in the room and will hence tease him for the rest of his life, he just walks over to the bed and gathers Itadori into a hug and holds him there, pressing his warmth into Itadori. There’s the beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, and the smile on his lips pressed into Fushiguro’s shoulder.

The world rights itself on its axis, just a little more.

‘Idiot.’

Itadori’s muffled laugh makes him grin, and he pulls away. He rearranges his face in a scowl.

‘I told you before if you die on me-‘

‘-you’ll kill me yourself. I know, I know. I’m here Fushi, you don’t have to become a murderer. It’s a good day.’

Fushiguro lets his face morph back into a grin before looking over at Gojo. His teacher’s smirk tells him everything- how he knew where Fushiguro was, how he’s seen right through Fushiguro, how he’s going to tease him till the day either of them die. And Fushiguro wants to be annoyed and pissed off but he can’t bring himself to care, not right now.

Itadori’s heart is beating in his chest, and he smiles at Fushiguro, and his cheeks are tinting pink.

Fushiguro’s heart is full.

---

‘Sorry I missed movie night.’

Itadori’s apology is so stupid Fushiguro nearly gwaffs, but that’s undignified as fuck so he settles for a cough and a withering stare.

‘I mean, it’s not like you were in a coma or anything.’

‘You know what I mean! But anyway, I’m here now, so let’s pick up where we left off.’

‘No, we’ll have to move on to the next movie. We watched that one last week.’

‘Huh?’

Fushiguro looks at him, prays he isn’t seven shades of red. ‘Well, I thought maybe if we had a movie night at the infirmary, you’d feel better. Where you were. Especially if you were dealing with lord fuckwad. You know?’

Itadori stares at him in awe and chuckles softly. ‘You’re something else, you know? Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out.’

Gojo’s word reverberate around his skull and Fushiguro just clears his throat. ‘Yeah, well, I’m all about surprising people. Woohoo.’

Itadori bursts out laughing, and they go back to setting up the fort, the pizza, the snacks, the lights, the laptop. It’s easy and familiar and nice. They settle into the mattress, but Fushiguro doesn’t let Itadori take his feet this time, opting to press into his side instead. Itadori barely puts up a fight.

They’re roughly 8 minutes into Interstellar when Itadori asks, ‘How did you set up the movie in the infirmary?’

Fushiguro hums, ‘I grabbed your laptop and put it on a chair to your left. I sat on the right. I sat by your bed and I…’

‘And you?’

Fushiguro should be nervous but he’s not. He’s surprised by how not nervous he is.

‘And I did this.’ He laces their hands together, eyes trained on Itadori's.

It’s like looking at a bowl of liquid amber. His eyes are light brown, bordering on gold, and they’re mesmerizing when you’re this close. He doesn’t look away from Fushiguro, his breath doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t jerk away. He squeezes Fushiguro’s hand with his right one and slowly brings up the left. He rests it on Fushiguro’s jaw, soft skin meeting calloused fingers and there’s a heat building under Fushiguro’s skin that makes him feel that same hot and cold sensation everywhere.

‘I’m going to kiss you.’

Itadori’s voice is deeper than Fushiguro’s ever heard it, low and spicy and sure. His hands are gentle and confident.

Fushiguro doesn’t nod or say Yes or blush.

He just brings his right arm up, wraps it around Itadori’s left wrist and leans in, bringing them together in what is possibly the softest touch of lips ever, in the history of the universe.

It’s not hesitant, it’s just new. And all-encompassing. And maddeningly good. And soft.

Itadori’s breath hitches and he leans his head, slotting their lips together better and Fushiguro is humming because fucking hell is this good. There’s no tongue, just pressure and nips and small licks and bites. By the end of it, Fushiguro is smiling into Itadori’s smile, and he’s kissing it and nuzzling it and he’s drowning in the best way possible.

Itadori finally pulls away, after several small kisses, and does that beaming smile that makes Fushiguro’s stomach do really terrible things.

‘I can’t believe all this happened because of Saw.’

Fushiguro’s smile shrivels away in a heartbeat and Itadori is laughing and snorting, the bastard.

‘Itadori Yuji.’

More laughter.

‘I swear on all that is good and pure, if you tell people we got together because of Saw, I will dump your ass so hard you won't be able to sit down for weeks.’

Itadori laughs some more and presses his giggles against Fushiguro’s lips and dammit he’s so weak and gay.

Itadori’s hand slips down his jaw and cups the back of his neck and he pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together.

‘We both know that’s not true.’

Damn it. He really does know Fushiguro like the back of his hand.

And so he does the only thing he can think of- he kisses him again. And again. And then some more, just because he can.

The movie remains forgotten, and frankly, they couldn’t care less.

#jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #fushiguro megumi #itafushi #itadori x fushiguro #jjk fic #fluff #so much fluff #and movie nights #pining #this is just fushiguro pining #itadori is a good friend #the goodest #jjk #hi hello i hope you all like this #and i hope everyone's doing ok and staying safe!!#much love to you all

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vivifrage · 3 years

Text

Hatchday

Ghost woke to their sibling's hand shaking them awake. Well, more like rolling them like dough, most of their body cupped in Hollow's palm.

They swatted at their sibling's wrist and when they tried to pull away, Ghost latched on, letting themself be hauled up to eye level. Hollow shook with laugher, bouncing Ghost as if to test their weight.

Even after Ghost dropped to the floor, Hollow stroked the space between their horns with a thumb and held one of their hands in their fingers to marvel at how small. Ghost's continued staring didn't bother them, but they finished with their game eventually and gestured for Ghost to follow them.

Rude sibling. Ghost smacked their ankle. They were clutchmates, excuse them. They were not a hatchling.

Something did smell very nice. A food smell? Yes, a food smell, and Hollow was leading them to the kitchen. Food was so fun. Midwife even let them help sometimes, when she cooked! All the siblings were learning, she said. Learning important things like not touching hot stuff, and using knives right. Knives were strange, like nails more than needles, but different even from those.

The kitchen indeed smelled wonderfully. Sweet, but not as sticky-sweet as the Hive. And there was baking smell, too.

They darted around Hollow and charged into the kitchen, shadows bursting around them as they dashed through the doorway.

Midwife curled up by the stove, all her long loops piled together, and she looked over at the siblings' approach. Her mask was all the way on, thankfully, and she didn't seem to be about to remove it. They didn't like how fast she was at that.

"Oh, hello dears! Sit down, sit down. The honey cake is almost done, as best I can guess."

Honey cake?

Ghost immediately disobeyed the command to sit down and launched themself onto Midwife's side, the danger of her teeth forgotten for the sake of honey cake. They stared at the stove and the chamber below, the glow of heat below it.

"Yes, dear." Midwife's voice was a little strained, and so Ghost let her move them back with one of her many legs. (They wondered if, for long things, legs and size were inverse? A wyrm had none, Bardoon had few, Midwife had many.) "I know you two like it, and I thought I ought to make something special. Why not?"

They cocked their head, Hollow doing the same behind them.

"Happy hatchday," came Hornet's voice from the doorway, all tired like she'd been running around too early. Which she probably was.

Ghost jumped off Midwife's side to run to her anyways.

She held out a hand to stop them, her other occupied with a small bucket. They strained to look up at it, Hollow loomed above to look down into it. She chuckled, let Hollow get a good look, then tilted the bucket to show Ghost a handful of little red berries. Small, plump, and overall very nice, but not many at all. Where did she find these?

"Hallownest hatchday tradition," she explained while Hollow nuzzled her, their mask bumping against and almost under hers. "The one who hatched gets a number of these berries according to how many years ago they hatched. I couldn't find many, though, and I don't know how old you two are anyways. Not that we know your hatchday, either, really. Today will have to suffice."

Hollow's arm looped around her for a brief hug. Well, Ghost didn't know this hatchday stuff, but if it made Hollow happy, then all right. Plus, Hornet must have had to go looking and looking for these! A caring sister. They stepped forwards to thank her with a hug of their own.

"Okay, if you two want these, you have to let me go." Even with her batting at them, the siblings were slow to let their little sister go.

Now Ghost sat at the table, watching Hornet as she produced those few berries and set them in front of Hollow and Ghost, one by one, until they had four apiece.

Ghost certainly wasn't four, but if they got the amount of berries that probably matched their real age, they'd not be able to eat them all.

"Go on," Hornet said, popping a leftover berry in her mouth.

Ghost and Hollow both picked up one; it was small even in Ghost's hands, and ridiculously delicate pinched in Hollow's fingers. But both ate them anyways.

Oh! They were sweet! Nice and sweet, with a little pop of juice and barely an edge of tartness. Ghost shoved another in their mouth as fast as they could, bursting it on the roof of their mouth before resolving to savor the rest. Only four this year, after all.

But... maybe five, next year. Five would be nice.

And maybe they'd know how to make the honey cake by then, too, to make it even sweeter.

#hollow knight #did i remember the 4th anniversary? no #will i write up something silly using a bit of headcanon from an AU that's never being posted? yes #jaxx writes

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

Text

Accidental Feminist Icon

Between my own headcanon Barba becomes a very niche viral celebrity for being a mix of feminist icon giving one liners on the news and handsome/well dressed and the DJ Khaled post, this happened.

“Counsellor, are you listening?” Olivia asked as Rafael Barba looked at his phone again. It had been months now since he started trying Manhattan SVU’s cases, and she hadn’t seen him this distracted before.

“I just- why do I have rapid fire Twitter notifications? Over one hundred and fifty?”

“You have Twitter?” He rolled his eyes, not proud of the admission. But he liked to follow politics and music and satire. His colleagues would have discourse on legal proceedings and theory. But when he opened his notifications, the sea of professional headshots making up the icons in his notifications window were replaced by cartoon avatars and selfies. Handles like @Bradley_GreedADA were replaced with @feministkilljxy.

What was happening?

Why were there GIFs of him now?

“Rafael?” He was snapped back to attention by Olivia’s hand passing over his phone screen, and he shook his head, holding the screen out to her. “What am I looking at?”

“Why have a couple hundred- are these all teenagers?”

“Are they following you? Or tagging you?”

“Both?” He scrolled through the mentions.

“Both.” A questioning look.

“Have I gone viral?” he asked herr, eyes wide and his tone disgusted. Twitter was where he posted law books, nice dinners out, homemade dinners in, and the nicer scotch he drank. Sometimes even pictures of himself; some of his friends enjoyed fashion as well, and their twitters all had a heavy thread of their suspenders and ties. Suddenly, he was having photos he’d posted to flaunt his ability to mix patterns retweeted in appreciation of something more than the color scheme.

“I think you have. What have you said now?”

“The girl whose tweet I keep getting tagged in mentioned Jocelyn Paley and the Adam Caine case.”

“That was seven months ago.”

“I’m very aware. I have to get to the office. I’ll get you that warrant.”

He continued to scroll as he walked, alarmed by the number of followers he was gaining and going to open a direct message from a friend to see a wall of messages from names he didn’t know. Once he was able to find Bradley’s message, he saw it was series of tweets with videos and GIFs of him on the courthouse steps. They were all from the same case, he assumed the Adam Caine case. He clicked the video of he and Rita Calhoun.

All I can say, today's Grand Jury indictment is the first step towards achieving justice for Jocelyn Paley.

The DA's office is desperately trying to distract from their recent scandal with a high-profile case.

Don't give me that--whether you're a john in the South Bronx or a $3-million-a-year talk show host, no means no.

He could remember the exchange now, and it had apparently been retweeted thousands of times. Cameras always made him determined to distract, determined to drive home a point. And now, he was seeing some group of teenagers had clung on to his words, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming recognized enough by that demographic to warrant this rapidly increasing follower count.

“Carmen, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr. Barba. Need coffee?”

“No,” he said plainly, shaking his head and showing her his feed. “Is this normal?”

“They found you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you seen the posts?”

“I don’t branch out on Twitter often.”

“I see it mostly, like, on Instagram with captions and people post clips of you on vine.”

“What’s vine?”

“A six second video app. Teenagers and young women post you. Vine is normally comedy. But people are obsessed with you. Niche, but sizable number. I think it’s mostly New York girls who see you on the news. But that means the vines went viral a couple months ago.”

“So now they’re all following me on Twitter?”

“You’re viral for being attractive, dressing well, and prosecuting rapists. Embrace it.”

“I can’t post my clothes anymore.”

“Just continue like usual. Don’t respond to DMs.”

He spent a few weeks terrified of this new following, but after three days, things calmed down. The number of followers he gained was weird and confusing to him, and he decided to listen to Carmen ultimately, keeping the profile the same and pretending nothing had happened. She did stop him one day, showing him that there had been people making fake accounts, yet another thing that was insane to him. She primarily told him because these accounts were attempting to take advantage of the fact young girls were the ones following him. He awkwardly slid the handles to Olivia, and Carmen filled out an application for Twitter verification that left him mortified. Even worse, it was approved.

He was swept away in a case soon enough. Lindsay was assaulted by a whole fraternity at Hudson. They uncovered a previous victim in a hospital, a fraternity known for being a rape factory, and a dean helping create a culture that buried these attacks. It was becoming higher profile than he expected, and it wasn’t easy to try. He’d had to shut off his notifications on his phone during these cases. When Lindsay committed suicide, he accompanied Rollins when she went to arrest the dean. What he didn’t expect was for two of the women they saw to approach him, asking if they were here about Lindsay and thanking them when he said he couldn’t mention it. Then they asked for a selfie. Rafael was mortified but obliged.

“We recognize you from Twitter.”

Well, now he knew he needn’t accompany the squad out anymore.

When he got tweets from the kind of scum that supported the fraternity, it took a concerted effort not to respond. That could jeopardized the case. He’d already had to tell the two girls they couldn’t post about him being there. He tweeted a disclaimer for if people saw him out, feeling like an asshole. Twitter was now becoming a liability, but he could balance it and refused to give up the feed. Slowly, the GIFs and stills of him on the news were collected, and he only got embarrassed again when mami’s students had discovered him and realized he was the guy in their principal’s pictures. Now Mami had a Twitter, and she followed people who praised him joyfully, though he’d managed to convince her not to interact in private messages or respond to people insulting him.

The Jenna Miller case caused another leap in his follower count, and he had developed a little sense of pride instead of embarrassment when his followers jumped from people who mattered in New York to people who mattered elsewhere. A congresswoman from Ohio. Artists. Activists. He’d texted Olivia when Lady Gaga followed him. Plus that woman from True Blood. God, she was beautiful. Plus the hot boybander that had probably made him realize he was bisexual. It was weird, and he was unwilling to publicly acknowledge any of it. Unless they were on twitter, he certainly didn’t tell anyone he knew other than Olivia. Soon enough, someone had made a t-shirt on Etsy of the moment he’d turned on his heel. The media had called after Jenna, the olympian, and he’d told them no questions. Then the had the gall to bring up her sex work. He’d stopped on the steps, turning on his heel and announcing “Except for that one. Paid or not paid, no means no. Consent can be revoked at any time.” And now, Etsy users were profiting on it. This group was niche, but it ran deep. Luckily, he noticed the shop only had a few dozen sales.

Everything was fine until Rafael Barba lost his ability to maintain his composure. Up until now, he’d monitored his name, mentions, and a few hashtags people used with him. It was usually just the GIFs and stills and soundbites. He participated in some banter after the first couple of years, boundaries firm enough he felt he could. But he still didn’t bicker. Carmen said he got a following for being a good guy, and he thought it was gross openly condemning rape seemed to be all it took to be a good guy. But then through his lurking, Rafael Barba saw a tweet about DJ Khaled. He’d had to google who the hell that was, unsure who all of Twitter was piling onto, but he found the tweet objectionable enough to respond.

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said, eyes sparkling with amusement as she came in to see her boss still scrolling through his phone. “You really decided this is the time to get involved on Twitter? You only ever respond to what people say to your stuff or your friends.”

He should’ve known she’d be on top of it. He’d given her access when notifications went through the roof the second time, and Carmen helped filter through DMs he didn’t want to see. But now, that meant her phone was vibrating like his in response to his first tweet in response to a stranger or someone who wasn’t in a thread under his own post.

“What? I’m supposed to endorse consent but not enjoyment?”

“You’re going to end up in a Buzzfeed article, sir.”

“If this is my legacy, so be it.”

“Your legacy? Taking it seriously now?”

“This is serious.”

Carmen’s phone buzzed in her hand, and she knew he’d sent another tweet. Her own account got notifications so she could monitor him. She sighed heavily, unlocking the phone and looking at it.

“Mr. Barba, does your mom know you’re bi?”

“No, why?”

“She follows you, idiot.”

“Shit. Well, I suppose it’s time.”

“If you tweet Smash Mouth, I’m quitting. These kids are already thirst tweeting you. They must have tweet notifications on for you.”

“Who’s Smash Mouth?”

“How the hell are you culturally relevant?”

“According to Liv, I’m a feminist icon.”

“Don’t get arrogant sir. I help run this twitter.”

“I’ll change the password. I do all the posting.”

“I won’t tell you if Evan Rachel Wood slides in your DMs.”

“Why would I care?”

“I know why you watched True Blood.”

“Touche.” He paused. “Do you think she will?”

“Give me the phone. I’ll bring it when Liv calls.”

“Why would she call?”

“She made a Twitter, sir. Followed you last week.”

“Shit,” he said, eyes wide. “I posted pictures of my food. She saw me acting like a Twitter guy.”

“You are a Twitter guy.”

He rolled his eyes, ending with a retweet of his new favorite addition to the conversation.

@mia-liz @chasingeverybreakingwave @thegirlwiththemaleficient-tattoo @teachingpanda

#rafael barba #rafael Barba x reader #rafael barba x oc

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thehopefuljournalist · 4 years

Text

The List of Good Things

Hello everyone. I hope you’re all having a good day ❤️ I know many of you are feeling pretty helpless and hopeless right now, but you should know that not everything happening is bad. This is a list of good news stories that I have been gathering for months. I wouldn’t be able to write every single one of them its own post, but I will choose a few of them and write about them separately.

- Bees Are Thriving As Pollution Plummets and Environmental Conditions Improve: as the world goes on lockdown, the bees are thriving. More so, people have started taking notice and are becoming more aware of nature and what’s going on in it.

- Milan announces ambitious scheme to reduce car use after lockdown: Milan will introduce one of Europe’s most ambitious plans, changing street space from cars to cycling and walking, following corona-virus crisis.

- Humpback Whales Have Made a Remarkable Recovery, Giving Us Hope for the Planet: Many humpback whale populations, previously devastated by commercial whaling, are making a comeback, and it has nothing to do with the corona-virus.

- A global coalition of 42 faith institutions are divesting from fossil fuels, calling for a just recovery that puts people and planet at its heart. - Oxford University will be divesting from fossil fuels and align to net-zero strategies.

- Portugal is preparing several billion-dollar clean energy initiatives and projects for post-coronavirus future: Portugal is aiming to leap, rather than tip-toe, out of their lockdown initiatives by launching a series of clean energy projects that could generate 5.5 billion euro in European energy investment.

- Ecosia is planting trees for NHS hospitals: they teamed up with two tree-planting charities in the UK and launched #GrowYourLove, to plant trees around NHS hospitals up and down the country. (Haven’t heard about Ecosia? You should try it out!)

- Community-funded energy projects put power in the hands of the people and are helping transform the UK energy market. These are five of the Thrive Renewables projects going on right now.

- Revolutionary food waste app ‘Gander' is a huge success: award-winning Gander app, created to reduce food waste, has transformed the spending habits of Northern Ireland shoppers with a significant soar in downloads and increased sales of yellow stickered foods since its launch last August.

- White-tailed eagles, Britain’s largest bird of prey has returned to the English skies for the first time in 240 years.

- America’s renewable sources including solar, wind and hydropower generated more electricity than coal-based plants every single day for 40 days, a new report says.

- Trinity College‘s front lawns are set to be wild-flower meadow: after the public overwhelmingly supports bee-friendly proposal in an online vote.

- Court blocked oil drilling in Peruvian Amazon: A judge in Peru has blocked a proposed oil drilling project in the Peruvian Amazon that threatened to damage the ecosystem and the health of isolated Indigenous peoples.

- Solar and onshore wind power are now the cheapest new sources of electricity in at least two-thirds of the world’s population, further threatening the two fossil-fuel stalwarts -- coal and natural gas.

- Luxembourg is the first country to make all public transport free.

- 10 billion trees are to be planted in Pakistan with the help of 60,000 workers unemployed because of the Coronavirus.

- Solar power in India has just had a major boost. The country’s government has announced funding that will enable 2 million farmers to invest in irrigation pumps powered by solar photovoltaic arrays.

- Retired politician got 152 million mangrove trees planted in just 10 years: Ever since the scientific community began to encourage the planting of trees to ‘re-wild’ previously lost forest ecosystems to respond to climate change, some very determined members of the human race have rolled up their sleeves and produced remarkable results.

- Protecting trees, particularly old-growth trees in Alaska’s Tongass National Forest, is a win for local communities and for the climate: federal judge rejected a sweeping logging plan that would have spanned a project area of 1.8 million acres in the Tongass National Forest in Prince of Wales Island in southeast Alaska. Those trees are “key to combatting climate change” and have been protected.

- Consideration of the climate crisis will be front and center in all of New Zealand's major policy decisions. The new rule means that any new proposal before the government that aims either to reduce emissions or has a collateral damage effect of raising emissions will need to go through a climate-impact assessment before it can be considered, according to The Guardian.

- UK’s CO2 emissions have fallen 29% over the past decade.

- More and more academic institutions are setting Ecosia as the default search engine across campus computers: Ecosia on Campus first started as an idea between three students in September 2018. Since then, student internet searches have financed the planting of over 135,000 trees. There are now seven universities worldwide that have made Ecosia the primary search engine on campus – a number set to rise as more motivated students join the movement.

- Coal from Guaíba, Latin America’s largest open-pit mine, will stay in the ground: 166 million tons of coal and 4.5 gigatons of CO₂ will stay in the ground. This is thanks to a partnership between climate justice groups, a local Indigenous association, 350.org Brazil, Arayara Institute and the Coal Observatory.

- Seoul is putting solar panels on all public buildings and 1 million homes: By 2022, every public building and 1 million homes in the city are set to be powered by solar.

- Food waste falls by 7% per person in three years in UK: The UK is making significant steps in reducing its food waste, with total food waste levels falling by 480,000 tonnes between 2015 and 2018 – a 7% reduction per person and equivalent of filling London’s Royal Albert Hall ten times.

- Scotland is on track to move its energy sector to 100 percent renewables by t he end of this year.

- All new rooftops must be covered in plants or solar panels in France: Frances’s new “green roof” law is cooling city streets, cutting heating and air conditioning costs, reducing water and air pollution, providing local, organic food and ecosystems for birds, bees and hundreds of other species.

- Madacascar is planting 60 million trees in ambitious drive inspired by its president.

- Scientists find extremely rare blue bee that was feared to be extinct.

- 5 critically endangered Red Wolf pups were born at North Carolina Zoo.

- Deserted Thai beaches lure rare turtles to build most nests in 20 years.

- These 23 Organizations are eliminating food waste during COVID-19 crisis.

This is what I have for now :) If any of you hear about good news and/or have something you’d like to share with me or with my followers and others, feel free to submit, or send a dm or an ask, I’ll always get back to you as soon as I can. Similarly, if you want to talk, share, or ask anything, if there’s something I can do to help, please let me know. I’ll do what I can. I hope this list helped some of you at least feel happier, or made you smile.

Please stay safe and take care of yourselves. More stories and posts to come.

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sams-sass · 3 years

Text

Same Song Different Show

Hello!!! So this was written for @spnfanficpond‘s unfic challenge. My prompt was “Africa” by toto. I don’t know what happened. I just started writing and couldn’t stop.

Summary: This is basically changing channels, just with you and Sam instead of Sam and Dean.

Parings: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, language, just word length (she’s a wordy one).

---------------------------

You moved your shirt back a little to see the cut across your collarbone. Sighing from exhaustion and frustration, you licked your lips and raised the needle and dental floss to your skin.

"Fucking angels." You muttered under your breath as you moved the floss through your skin. There was a soft knock on the bathroom door, and you instantly knew it was Sam on the other side. Your stomach flipped in your abdomen, and your heart rate picked up. Tonight was weird. Really weird. The angels had come for you and Sam, talking about some divine plan that was laid out for the two of you by heaven itself. They refused to provide all the details, but it was something about the two of you being together…as in a couple. There was something they weren't telling you, and it was driving you insane. How could they drop a bomb like that on you so suddenly? You and Sam? I mean, you would be lying to say you never thought about it, dreamed about it, wished for it, but you never took your secret crush seriously. You saw how adamantly he had denied the possibility of you two. You saw the way he looked over at you like he had never even thought about you as anything other than a friend. Of course, things had gotten physical, and you ended up with a nasty cut. You held pressure on it the whole drive back; the silence in the car was deafening with unspoken words. You and Sam had shared awkward glances, and fleeting eye contact the entire time back to the motel. Neither one of you could say what was really on your mind. You couldn’t ask each other about it just yet. Soon though. Soon you would have to talk about it.

“Hey, Y/N, you doing okay in there?” His voice was soft and smooth, putting you at ease. You gulped and opened the door, finding him leaning against the doorframe. His right arm was over his head, holding his weight against the top of the door. While his left hand was placed on his hip, highlighting his trim waist. He was so close you could smell his shampoo. His beauty stopped you in your tracks, and you dropped the needle, leaving the dental floss handing from your torn flesh.

“Hey, Sam.” You said, letting your mouth turn up into a small smile that widened when he smiled back at you in the cramped space.

“Ya know, I could help with that. I don't think you are going to get a good stitch trying to do it yourself." He said, pointing to your cut. You looked down and sighed, feeling your shoulders relax slightly, and nodded at him before stepping out of the bathroom. He followed you to the bed where you sat on the edge. He grabbed a chair and sat down in front of you, taking the needle in between his fingers and beginning his work. You winced, and he stopped his movements, raising his eyes to look into yours deeply.

“You okay?” He asked, a worried expression on his face.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You said, giving him a small smile for reassurance. It was at that moment that you realized how close your faces were. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you made the mistake of glancing down at his lips for the smallest of seconds. He cleared his throat and licked his lips, tearing his eyes away from you and getting back to work. You didn't know what to do. A part of you didn't want to talk about it, just forget about it and never mention the craziness. Then there was another part of you that desperately wanted to talk about you and Sam together, to pull him towards you and taste his answer on his lips.

"So…tonight was weird." You said softly, casting your eyes towards the floor. His fingers stilled, and he took in a big breath. You licked your bottom lip and let it catch between your teeth, biting it as you nervously waited. He looked back up at you, and you saw his throat work as he swallowed.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was." He said. You could tell he was trying to keep his voice light.

"What do you think they want from us?" You asked, twisting your fingers together in your lap. Sam tied off the stitches and cut the floss, leaning back in the chair.

"Sounds like they want us to uh…well to be together." His voice was a matter of fact. Emotionless.

“Right, but why would heaven care if we were together or not?” You asked, pulling a leg up to your chest and tilting your head in confusion.

“I don’t know. Why do they want anything from humans?" He sounded tired—his voice heavy with sleep and something else you couldn’t place. You nodded your head and shrugged your shoulders, telling him that you agreed with his assessment.

“Well, I’m going to get cleaned up.” You said, standing up and awkwardly wiping your palms against your jeans. “Thank you for the stitch.” You pointed to your shoulder with a little smile.

“Of course.” He replied with a small smile of his own.

----------------------

Sam watched you walk into the bathroom and waited for the door to close to exhale. This day had turned out different than he imagined, and he couldn't stop the feelings building inside him like a tidal wave. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly. What did this mean? Being put together by heaven. For what? Sighing, he opened the door and stepped into the cool air of the night. Pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing Dean's familiar number.

"Yeah?" His brother's scruffy voice greeted him.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, stuffing his unoccupied hand into his pocket nervously.

“How’s it going?” He asked, his mouth clearly full of food.

“Alright, how’s the ghost?” Sam asked.

"Dead," Dean answered quickly. "Did the angels tell you why they were there?" He questioned his brother further.

"Yeah…they uh were here for Y/N and me. Apparently, they set this whole thing up to get us alone." Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“What? Why?” Dean sounded worried now.

"Well, according to them, we are supposed to be together…as in a couple," Sam said, waiting for his brother's disapproval. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Sam thought his brother lost connection for a second, pulling the phone away from his face to check.

"I mean, Sammy, sometimes you just have to accept divine intervention," Dean said, and Sam thought he had stepped into an alternate reality for a moment. He furrowed his brow and shook his head slightly, his mouth comically agape.

“What? No, Dean, no.” Sam stumbled through his words, unable to come up with a real excuse. Dean sighed on the other end of the phone.

“Sam. I see the way you look at her, the way she looks at you too. Maybe this time, one of us should listen to those winged bastards.” Dean said, and Sam could hear the liquid sloshing in the bottle. His phone buzzed, and he sighed in relief.

“I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” Sam said hastily. He opened the text on his phone, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Cas: 1276 Millwood Drive

Sam shook his head and stepped back into the motel room, making his way over to the bathroom door.

“Y/N? Hey, I got a text from Cas to meet up.” He said after knocking. He heard an audible groan in frustration before you opened the door, a bloody cloth in your hand from where you were cleaning your cut.

“About what now?” You asked, placing your hands on your hips.

"I don't know; it was just an address." He said as he grabbed his jacket and made his way towards the door. You rolled your eyes dramatically and let your shoulders slump before following after him.

--------------------------

The address Cas sent was an abandoned old warehouse. Its rusted and worn metal roof creaked in the soft breeze. You made your way inside with flashlights in hand, looking around cautiously for your angel friend. The damp air was thick with the smell of stale mildew. There was an ominous dripping of water somewhere in the distance, and you felt as if eyes were watching you from afar. A chill ran down your spine, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

"Where is he?" You whispered to Sam, who gave you a confused look, shrugging his shoulders and turning the corners of his lips down towards his chin. You stepped through large metal double doors at the same time and were suddenly greeted with a strange sight. You were suddenly in a living room; a beige couch and green rug were on hardwood floors. There was a mirror on the wall over a fireplace. Pictures of people you didn't know lined the sage green walls. You and Sam both looked around with confusion and fear in your expressions.

“What the hell?” Sam said. You looked over at him to give your agreement when you caught sight of him and stopped dead in your tracks. His hair was slicked back with a ridiculous amount of gel, and it looked like he was wearing bronzer. He had on grey dress pants with a flowy cream-colored shirt tucked into them with a black belt highlighting his hips. The shirt was unbuttoned down to his sternum, exposing his chest that you so often dreamt of but rarely got to see.

"Sam?" You asked with wide eyes. "What the hell are you wearing?" He turned to look at you, and his face fell slightly.

"I could ask you the same question." He said, pointing to your body. You tilted your head to the side and looked down at yourself to see what he was talking about. A silky black dress barely covered your body, clinging to your curves, and highlighting your assets. Your feet were decorated with high heels, your legs were bare, and the dress cut off at your upper thigh. You swallowed and ran your hands over yourself.

"What the fuck?" You said simply. You looked around the room again and caught your face in the mirror; your eyes widened at your reflection. Your hair was done into a glamourous updo that framed your face nicely; your makeup looked caked on and thick. Heavy and gaudy earrings sat in your ears, sticking out from your hair and almost touching your shoulders.

A loud bang made both of you jump and instinctively reach for your guns that had disappeared. You threw your arms up in frustration and turned towards the sound. A woman walked through the door that had slammed against the wall, her hips swinging as she strutted into the room. Music started from somewhere. Slow and melodramatic that reminded you of a show your grandma used to watch. You leaned your head back and stared at her. She walked directly up to you, invading your personal space. She smelt like hairspray and cheap perfume.

“You think you are so much better than me, don’t you!” She screamed in your face.

"What?" You asked, looking over at Sam, who was wearing the same look of shock as you.

“He was mine first!” She said with an over the top ugly crying face with no tears. She suddenly reached up and slapped you across the face, making you stumble slightly. You grabbed your cheek and looked at her with an open mouth and angry eyes.

“Oh. You’re in for it now.” You said, squaring up to her and rolling your neck to get the cracks out.

“And you!” She suddenly screamed at Sam. “You leave me for my sister right when I tell you about our baby?” Sam leaned his head forward and narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to talk. She reached forward and slapped him across the face too.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” You asked, taking a step towards Sam.

"Tell me, you don't love me!" She wailed at Sam. "Tell me that you love her more than me, and I'll leave you alone forever." She pointed at you as she spoke, her overlined lips pulling awkwardly over her teeth.

“Uh…yes?” Sam mumbled with a raise of his eyebrow. She threw herself at him, clutching his shirt in her balled fists. He leaned back and tried to get her to let go, pushing at her wrists.

"I will always love you." She whispered, her face coming dangerously close to Sam's, making him lean back even further. Whimpering pathetically, she released him and ran away with her head in her hands. The music changed suddenly, and you recognized the familiar drum beat.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.

There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.

I bless the rains down in Africa.

Gonna take some time to do the things we never had.

“What just happened?” He asked, his eyes scanning the room again in confusion. You opened your mouth to answer, but only a mumbled string of “um”s fell out while you stared blankly ahead. There was a sound like a record scratching, and then the music started again.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.

There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.

I bless the rains down in Africa.

Gonna take some time to do the things we never had.

"I don't know. It's like we're in a soap opera or something." You said, putting your weight on one hip and crossing your arms.

“A…a soap opera?” He raised his eyebrows.

"I know it sounds insane, but think about it for a second. The outfits, the crazy woman slapping us, the ridiculous plotline, the music, and the mood lighting. I'm not sure how or why, but it all fits." You spoke with your hands as you put the pieces together.

“Wait! Y/N, that’s it! We are in a soap opera!” He grabbed your biceps and looked deeply into your eyes with a new sense of understanding. “When Dean and I were trying to stop the apocalypse from happening two years ago, Gabriel put us in this endless loop of T.V shows.” He explained. You placed your hands on his forearms and furrowed your brow.

“Okay, so how do we get out?” You asked.

"Well, Dean and I had to find him; the only way we could move on was to 'play our roles.'" Sam said, taking his hands off your arms so he could use finger quotes.

"What does that mean? Play your roles?" You asked him using air quotes as he had. The record scratched. The song started playing annoyingly all over again, its tune filling the otherwise quiet room with the familiar beat. Sam looked nervous suddenly, his left hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

"Well, we uh…we would do what the role required. Like we were in a hospital in one show, so we played doctors, and that's how we moved on." Sam explained.

“Okay…” You started as you began to pace back and forth, helping yourself think. “So, this is a soap opera where we just found out you chose me over my pregnant, with your baby, sister.” You paused and looked over at him. “I can’t believe I just said that.” You shook your head, feeling the large earrings swinging against your neck before resuming your pacing. “It sounds to me like this is…oh I see.” You connected the dots and stopped dead in your tracks, looking up at Sam like a deer in headlights.

"The part when we get together," Sam said with a nervous chuckle.

“Fucking angels.” You muttered again, closing your eyes and taking in a big breath. You were stuck in place as if someone had poured concrete around your feet. You wanted this, wanted him so badly. You felt a heat run over your skin as he took one step towards you, his face one of determination. Swallowing down your nerves, you reached out one hand and felt him take it between his fingers.

"May I?" He asked, his voice sounded rough. You didn't trust your voice, so you just nodded your head slowly, not breaking eye contact. He touched your shoulder and leaned forward. You tilted your head up and closed your eyes, rising onto your tippy toes. The song started again, the drums beating as his lips touched yours ever so softly. You kissed him back gently, not allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling of him like you so desperately wanted to. He pulled back and smiled down at you, his dimples on full display. You let out a shaky breath and smiled back at him, holding yourself back from throwing your arms around his neck and finally letting yourself show him how you feel.

"Let's try the door." He said. You realized that his hand was still holding yours as you made your way over to the door, and you couldn't stop the small smirk that made its way across your lips at the feeling. You pushed the door open, and suddenly you were on a street. The cobblestone street clicked underneath your heels, your long skirt dragging on the ground behind you soundlessly. Sam was wearing a suit and top hat. His jacket was cut at his waist in the front but falling longer in the back, a pocket watch chain hanging from the front. His bowtie was a solid black, making his green eyes stand out. He turned to look at you, and you didn't miss the way his eyes raked over your body. Making you look down in self-consciousness. You had on a corset that made you stand tall and straight. Its laces were pulling your body into a tight hourglass shape, perking up your breasts and flowing at the sinch of your waist. A frilly and tight maroon dress adorned your body. You swallowed and looked up at Sam, who licked his lips, causing your heart to skip a beat. Suddenly there were people everywhere as if they all appeared at once. The street was busy with the noise of voices and horse-drawn carriages.

“What do you think is going to be our moment in this one?” You asked, looking around at the street.

"I don't know; I think we should move, though," Sam said, walking along the street. He held out his elbow, and you placed your gloved hand into the crook as you strolled across the road. His body was so close to yours, and the feeling of warmth it was giving made you feel calmer in this unfamiliar and uncertain land. A market with tents and booths appeared, you and Sam walking under its shade together.

“A flower for the lady!” A man with a huge mustache and glasses called out to you loudly. His outstretched hand held a rose. You took it between your fingers and smiled at him.

“Thank you.” You said, bringing the flower up to your nose to inhale its scent.

"Doctor!" A voice called from afar. You and Sam both looked to see a man running towards you with papers in his hands. He stopped in front of you, his breath coming in fast and ragged.

"I am sorry to interrupt, I did not see you there, madam. I will leave you while you are courting your betrothed." He said quickly, bowing his head in respect.

“Betrothed?” You and Sam asked in unison.

"I mean, yes, of course." Sam corrected himself and stood a little taller.

“If I may suggest, the park is rather splendid this day. Maybe a spot of lunch.” He placed his hands behind his back and smiled warmly at you.

“A wise suggestion indeed. Thank you.” Sam said, clearly fumbling over his words. You walked away, still arm and arm, and made your way to the park.

“Okay, how do we move on?” You asked quietly, keeping your head low.

"I don't know. We need a door." He said, looking around. "There!" He said, pointing to a building on the corner.

"Let's go." You said. The two of you pushed the door open and were greeted by a sight you could only dream of—towers of books surrounded you on all sides. Shelves of literature were all around you, and you couldn't help but feel the amazement. Emerald, red, navy, and black book spines pointed towards you as you walked through the aisles. You found a door in the back of the library and faced Sam, nervously rubbing your hands together and waiting for the kiss. He took you by the arms and pulled you to him while the orchestra swelled in the background. There were no words this time, but it was the instrumental version of the song playing earlier. His lips touched yours with more authority this time; he left his lips on yours for a beat longer than you expected. Your body melted against him, and you could feel the restraint in his kiss. Did he want more? Did he like what you wanted? He released you, and you instinctively licked your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. He cleared his throat, and you found the closest door, pushing it open.

Your eyes took a second to adjust to the bright light suddenly surrounding you in an overstimulating bedroom. There was color everywhere. The blue curtains clashed with the red and white rug. Green walls were lined with obscure and abstract paintings. Fabric hung from the ceiling fan, curtain rods, and full-length mirror next to a mannequin. You looked down at yourself and saw that you were pinned into a flowing red dress that was surprisingly tasteful given your surroundings.

“You might be my best work yet!” A voice said from behind you, making you jump slightly. You turned to see a cute girl with a measuring tape hanging around her neck and a pincushion on her wrist. She was examining you as if you were art in a museum.

"Where is Sam?" You asked; you frantically looked around the room for him and began to panic when you couldn't find him anywhere.

“He will be at the party! Waiting for you,” She paused, clasping her hands together and looking up into the distance with a blissful look on her face. “his true love.” She whispered.

"Um…what?" You asked with a furrowed brow. What the hell was going on? Who was this person? If you were here, where was Sam? The sound of a door opening interrupted your thoughts, and you leaned forward to see who it was. A girl practically skipped into the room and let out a high pitch squeal. Her curls bounced with her as she and the other girl did an in sync hip movement. You watched on with wide eyes and a confused expression.

“Oh my god! Y/N! You look ravishing!” The second girl shouted excitedly…too excitedly.

“Tha-tha-thank you.” You stuttered through your confusion. She reached up and made a claw with her fingers, roaring in your direction.

"What the fuck?" You mumbled under your breath. You looked around the room and at these women. The realization started to slowly sink in all at once—the over the top dialog, the one-dimensional friends, the bright colors. You were in a romantic comedy. The sound of a bottle of champagne popping confirmed it to you.

"Alright now. Let's get you ready for that party.” The girl who was clearly playing your “artsy” friend moved towards you with an awkward shoulder roll. She took the pins out and pushed you into a chair where your "bubbly" friend played with your hair and placed jewelry across your skin. A happy song played in the background as you all drank champagne and played with makeup. You sat awkwardly silent as they fell into hysterics about…nothing. Not a single thing was even remotely funny. Holy crap. You were in a montage. You placed your glass of champagne down and picked up the bottle, chugging the bubbly liquid down as fast as you could.

As if time didn't matter at all, you were suddenly standing at the top of a descending staircase. Sam stood at the bottom, looking as handsome as ever. His tux was fitted to him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and slim waist. You swallowed and made your way down the staircase, eager to get to him as an orchestra started playing on cue. You felt eyes on you from every angle, as if everyone in the building was waiting for you to arrive. Finally making it to Sam, you breathed a sigh of relief when you felt the party resume behind you.

"You look beautiful," Sam said, almost as if he couldn't help himself. You let a shy smile cross your face before playfully nudging him in the chest with your shoulder.

“A romantic comedy. Can you believe it? Dean is going to be pissed he missed out.” You asked him, laughing and looking at all the doors for the best way out.

"I know where were you? I have been waiting here looking for you for like a half-hour." Sam asked.

“Ugh. Sorry. I had to get ready with tweedled dee and tweedled dumb over there.” You flicked your head in their direction. “They laughed about nothing. Absolutely nothing for like ten minutes.” You muttered, shaking your head of the memory. There was a squeak next to you, and your eyes closed in premature annoyance. You knew what was about to happen.

"Hey, guys!" Your bubbly friend said. You both turned and gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“The dance floor looks really nice.” Your artsy friend chimed in, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

“Yeah, you guys should go try it out.” Bubbles said, once again bouncing in place.

“What? Oh no, we are fine here.” You said, shaking your head and waving your hand in their faces.

"No! You have to!" Artsy said, shoving the two of you out onto the dance floor. You and Sam both stumbled onto the wooden floor, holding onto each other for support. A familiar tune started, and you both straightened at the song.

I hear the drums echoing tonight.

But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation.

She's coming in, 12:30 flight.

The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation.

I stopped an old man along the way.

Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies

He turned to me as if to say, "Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you."

Suddenly everyone on the dance floor started moving along to the song in a choreographed routine. Swaying bodies and smiling faces were prancing around you in a blur of color and fake smiles.

"Oh, sweet Jesus. It's a dance scene." You said, watching as everyone got more involved with the approaching chorus.

“No, no, no. I am not doing a dance number.” Sam said, stiffening under his jacket.

“Okay, then kiss me.” You replied quickly, turning your face towards his.

“Y/N, are you sure?” He asked, ever the gentlemen.

“Sam.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed the back of his head, pulling him towards you and kissing him fully on the mouth as the chorus broke out behind you.

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.

There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.

I bless the rains down in Africa.

Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

This kiss felt more emotional than the others had. It felt more passionate, real, and raw. His hand came up to cup your cheek. You wanted to let yourself have the moment. To fall into him and drink him in like water, but you had to get out of here, and you had to do it now. You broke away, letting him still hold you close to him as you took in a heavy breath. You released each other and ran away from the dance floor before your “friends” could find you to have another montage.

Charging through the double doors at the same time, you and Sam found yourselves suddenly in a black and white world. Your body was draped over a couch, a silk robe cloaking your skin. Pearls and jewels hung on your neck, leading to a nightdress that hung to your mid-calf. A glass with a dark liquid was perched in your right hand, balancing on your hip. A knock on the door made you get up and walk across the lavish room, opening the door to a maid. She bowed her head slightly and spoke in a soft voice.

"Excuse me, miss, but he wants to see you now." She said, lifting her head to look into your eyes.

“Very well.” You played along, turning back into your bedroom to find clothing.

“Would you like my help, miss?” The maid asked, already taking a step into the room.

"What shall I wear?" You asked her, sitting back down onto the couch and crossing your legs. She made her way to a closet and began looking through hangers. You followed behind her and let yourself openly gawk at the number of dresses in front of you.

"If I were you, I would wear this, miss." She said, holding up a floor-length beaded gown. You nodded and took it from her hands, smiling at the opportunity to get so dressed up for once.

"I agree." You smiled at her, and she let out a breath, as if she had been holding it for quite some time, and smiled back at you happily. She helped you take off your jewelry and hung up your robe and nightgown for you as you changed into the dress. Her thin fingers zipped up the dress in the back, and she lightly ran her hands over the fabric to make sure it laid flat over your body. Then, as if time wasn't a thing, you were stepping out of a car—a hand coming to help you keep steady on your feet. Your face turned up towards the lively building in front of you, music and lights seeming to flow from it and into your soul. You walked through the doors and found Sam immediately, his tall frame towering over everyone else. He raised a hand and fixed his cufflink, sending a wink in your direction. Your blood ran hotter in your veins as you stepped towards him until you were face to face.

"Champagne, madam?" A waiter asked, holding out a tray with two flutes of the bubbly liquid balancing perfectly on it for the taking. You and Sam each took one, clinking your glasses together in cheers before taking a sip. You couldn't help but notice how his eyes didn't deviate from yours or how he seemed to have a new confidence. You smiled and looked around at the night club. Dim lighting and white table cloths filled your vision. The air was smokey and warm on a summer night. People bustled about, drinks in gloved hands—dresses and suits a blur in the festive atmosphere. The band played on in the back, filling the crowded space with a slow beat.

“This song is for the owner and his lovely date.” The singer spoke into the microphone, pointing directly at you and Sam.

"That's our cue," Sam said, taking the glass from his hand and placing it on a table with his own. He stretched his hand out to you and wrapped his fingers around your hand gently. You made your way onto the dance floor, and a slow rendition of what was quickly becoming a song you shared with Sam started.

I hear the drums echoing tonight.

But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation.

She’s coming in, 12:30 flight

The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation.

I stopped an old man along the way.

Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies

He turned to me as if to say, “Hurry boy, it’s waiting there for you."

Sam wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you tightly against him, moving to the beat of the song. His large hand splayed over your back, the pads of his fingers pushing lightly against your ribcage. You tried to calm your heart, swallowing hard and telling yourself it was all for show.

“You seem different.” You said, looking up at him.

“I know. I just figured that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if we played along a little bit.” He said, taking you completely by surprise. You cleared your throat and smiled. You could live with this, with the feeling of him against you tightly. With the way, he was looking at you right now. It was as if time stood still. As if nothing else mattered except you and Sam being together forever. Between the way, his body felt on yours, the champagne, and his hot breath on your face, you decided to be brave.

“Ya know, to get out of here, you have to kiss me.” You said, your voice breathy. He looked down at your lips and bent his neck to capture his lips in yours.

It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you.

There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do

I bless the rains down in Africa.

Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

This kiss was what you would consider the first kiss. His lips moved lightly against yours, opening ever so slightly. You kissed back, letting yourself explore the feeling of him no matter how fleeting the moment. He broke the kiss first, placing his forehead against yours gently. You glanced up at him again to smile, and the two of you took off to the nearest door.

The smell of beer was the first thing you noticed.

“Y/N! Sam!” A voice called out over the noisy crowd in the bar. You felt Sam's hand take yours, and you moved through the tables together.

“Took you guys long enough, finally expressing your undying love?” The man who had called your name asked, taking a sip of his beer. A laugh track sounded around you at the stupid joke. Awesome. A sitcom.

“What?” Sam asked him, leaning forward slightly.

"Come on, dude! Lighten up. I just want you to be together so I know I don't have a chance with Y/N, and I can move on." He said, and your face scrunched in confusion and disgust. Who talks like that? You wondered as the laugh track went off again.

"Um. Whatever." Sam said, taking your hand and moving through the bar. A girl ran up to you, squealing in excitement. Her hands were clapping together in front of her.

"Oh my, god! You guys are holding hands. Did it happen? Did it finally happen?! Tell me everything, and don't leave out a single detail!" She said, her voice high pitched and whiney. "Oh! Amber! Y/N and Sam are holding hands!" She yelled to another girl loudly. You opened your mouth to say something, but the other girl appeared out of nowhere.

“Cool.” She said with an emotionless face, cueing the laugh track once again.

“Sam.” You said out of the side of your mouth, leaning into him and making the laugh track go off once again.

"On it." He said, retaking your hand and moving until you found a back room for you to hide.

“We need to get out of here.” You said as soon as the door closed.

"Agreed," Sam said, the audience roaring with laughter.

"Hey, Sam." You said softly.

“Yeah?” He turned to face you.

“I..uh…well, I just can't stop thinking about how all these people want us to get together, it's like I don't know what to think anymore." You said, exposing your true feelings to him.

“I feel the same way.” He agreed, leaning against the wall and hunching his shoulders slightly. “I have been feeling different since we got here, T.V. land, I mean, like somehow this was the right thing. I don’t know what to think anymore.” He said, his fingers twisting together as he spoke. You felt your heart rate quicken in your chest at his words. Could he really want you as you wanted him? You had to know. Had to quiet the racing thoughts in your mind. You licked your lips and let out a puff of air.

"Can I try something?" You asked him, taking a step towards him, making the crowd make one long "ohhh." He nodded and swallowed. You stepped up to him, placing your hands on his chest and looking deeply into his eyes before leaning forward. His hands took your face within them, and he bent down to you, his thumbs moving along your cheeks. Your lips connected, and the crowd went wild, cheering, and hollering. The song started playing, but neither one of you pulled away. This time you opened your mouth to him, letting your tongue run over his lower lip. His fingers twisted into your hair, his tongue caught yours, moving into your mouth and pulling a small moan from you at the feeling. He wrapped his arms around you, arched your back into his chest, pressing yourself even harder against his body. He pulled away and looked at you, running his thumb over your bottom lip. You could see the change in his eyes, could feel it within your own heart. This was right. He was right. You were meant to be. Together, forever.

The rain was warm and hard against your skin. Your eyes took in your surroundings—grass and trees with a heavy moon perched high in a black sky. You were drenched, your hair and clothes sticking to your body. You looked for Sam, finding him walking towards you in the milky light of the moon. His white t-shirt was clinging onto his muscular torso, showing off his abs and biceps. You walked towards him across the field until you were face to face under the night sky. This time there were no words spoken. This time, his large hands wrapped around your thighs, and he lifted you against him, your legs wrapping around his waist. It was your turn to lean down and connect your lips to his without holding anything back, to let your feelings show through the kiss. His hands held you against him as you ran your fingers through his wet hair, feeling the strands slip between your fingers. His teeth took your bottom lip between them, and he bit ever so gently. Your tongue slid against his, tasting him, and the rain at once. He was perfect. This was perfect, everything you ever wanted and more. Your love-drenched brain finally put the dots together, and you broke away, holding his face between your hands.

“We never opened a door.” You said. He looked away for a moment before placing you down on the ground to reach into his back pocket. He pulled out his phone and gun from his waistband. You were back, back to reality.

“We’re back.” He said, echoing your own thoughts.

“We’re back!” You cheered, jumping into his arms once more and latching your lips to his, kissing him through smiles and laughter. The song started playing in the background, and your stomach dropped. Were you wrong? You pulled apart to see Gabe standing there with a boom box above his head. Africa was playing loudly from it.

“Gabriel?” You asked, squinting at him in the rain.

“Glad you guys finally did it! I was going to put you in a musical next.” He said with a sarcastic grin.

"Next time, can you just like talk to us? Or just let us do it on our own?" Sam said, his arms crossing over his chest in annoyance.

"On your own? I wanted you to get there before old age took me." He joked, placing the boom box on the ground. "Alright, alright, I'll take you back to the motel now. Dean has been going crazy for days now."

“Gabe. Why Y/N and I?” Sam asked.

“Oh, right. Some things are just written in the stars. You were each other’s destiny and heaven was tired of waiting.” He reasoned, as if he was talking about the weather. He said, lifting his fingers.

“Wait!” You said quickly. “Why Africa?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

“It’s a catchy song, had it stuck in my head for days.” He shrugged and didn’t wait for a reply before he snapped his fingers.

Tags: @spnfanficpond @watermelonlipstick @hot-mess-magee @calaofnoldor @thinkinghardhardlythinking @doctorlilo @shelleyj @enderroyal @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat @winchest09

#spnfanficpond #spn fanfic pond #unfic challenge #Sam Winchester #sam imagine #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader #SPN #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic

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girlgirlgirlnormal · 3 years

Text

I want her to be mine Part 2

Kuina x OC (female OC)

word count: 3.6k

part 1

TW: Death; Niragi (Yes, I’m including Niragi as a trigger now, even though he is very ooc here and OC’s best friend); harrasment, sexual harrasment mention, bullying, gun play

The next morning Ino woke up before sunrise, Niragi was still sleeping as she got out of the bed. She slipped out of her nightgown and put on a nice red bikini and her shorts. She wouldn’t wear a shirt today. She wanted to show some skin for Kuina. She strapped on her thighholster with the knive and her hipholster with her handguns and quickly brushed through her hair.

She took the elevator to Kuinas floor and silently entered her room. The girl was still sleeping. She looked so pretty and peaceful. For a moment she considered letting her sleep, then she shrugged her shoulders and ripped open the curtains. Kuina groaned, pulling the covers over her head, making Ino chuckle. Kuina tensed up. Slowly uncovering her head and turning to Ino.

“What the fuck”, she whispered, sitting up.

“I told you I will find you”, Ino said laughing, “The early bird catches the worm, and you my pretty little princess”, she walked up to the bed cupping Kuinas cheek, “are the worm.”

Kuina looked up to her with shock widened eyes.

“Come on, princess. Get dressed”, Ino said, “I have plans for us.”

She waited infront of the door as Kuina was getting dressed. It didn’t take long for Kuina to step out of the room, dressed in her blue bikini.

“Great”, Ino said, taking Kuinas hand, and leading her to the elevator, “So, this is going to be really awkward if you don’t like girls”, she said, as they got off the elevator and walked the steps up to the roof, “But I prepared us breakfast.”

The last part sounded more like a question. She had sat up a little breakfast picknick on the middle of the rooftop. It looked cosy. She had given it her best. A white blanket was laid out and she had been to the kitchen and gotten fresh fruit, cheese, and bread. A bottle of some expensive champaign was sitting in the middle and she had even found two flutes.

Kuina observed the scene infront of her, then she turned to Ino.

“Why?”, she asked.

Ino shrugged, “You’re pretty. You seem intelligent. I like looking at you.”

Kuinas mouth was slightly open.

“What?”, she asked, with a confused look on her face.

“Oh”, Ino said, “You don’t like girls?”

“I do”, Kuina answered, still looking confused, “But why did you do this?”, she pointed to the blanket.

“I just said I like looking at you”, Ino answered, walking over to the blanket and sitting down.

“So, this is a date?”, Kuina asked surprised, taking a step towards the blanket, “I thought you’re with Niragi? Or that he at least kills everyone you dance with for some other reason.”

“He is my best friend”, Ino clarified, “and he has graciously agreed to let you live if you ever”, she paused a moment, “danced with me.”

“Glad to know that my live is not on the line”, Kuina laughed, sitting down on the blanket, “You’re not so bad to look at yourself.”

Ino smiled, filling the flutes with champagne and dropping a single strawberry in each before handing one to Kuina. She took the flute, her gaze fixated on Inos guns. Realizing that the guns were making Kuina uncomfortable she slowly unbuckled her holster and put it down infront of Kuina.

“You don’t have to be here if you’re uncomfortable”, she explained slowly, “If you stay, you can keep the guns as long as you’re here. I just want to talk to you.”

“About what?”, Kuina asked, slowly taking a sip of her champagne.

“I don’t know. I’m just assuming that I will like listening to you talking just as much as I like looking at you.”

Kuina smiled, “Is this me paying you back for yesterday?”, she asked.

“Yes, but you don’t need to stay”, Ino said, not wanting to gaslight her into having breakfast with her, “If you want to leave; I will count the debt as paid.”

Kuina took a slice of bread and a piece of cheese, “This looks good.”, she said, taking a bite of the cheese.

“I’m sorry that it isn’t a more traditional breakfast”, Ino apologized, “I don’t like eating hot stuff on warm days and it wouldn’t have paired well with the champagne. I really did my best to find this champagne – it was my parents favorite.”

“Its good”, Kuina said, taking another sip and examining the bottle, “looks expensive.”

“Thank god for the apocalypse. I didn’t have to pay for it”, Ino laughed, picking up a raspberry and popping it in her mouth.

“Do you miss your parents?”, Kuina asked, watching the bubbles in her champagne float up.

“Of course. We were”, she stopped, correcting herself, “are very close. This little bird never really left the nest”, she laughed, “I lived just around the corner from them after moving out and even worked at my father’s firm. We were basically together all day. It’s weird not to have them around all the time. That’s why Niragi is always with me. He is the only one who I know I can trust.”

Kuina was swirling her drink around in the flute, still watching the bubbles, “This has great bubbles”, she mumbled.

“Do you miss your parents?”

Kuina halted, “I miss my mother”, she answered, “She is in the hospital and needs my help to even relieve herself. That’s why I need to get back to the real world as soon as possible.”

Looking at her number, she sighed, “11 is not that far away, I guess”, she said, looking down at her own number, she was the number five. Five was better than eleven.

“What about your father?”, she asked, after a moment of silence.

“We don’t really talk”, Kuina answered, focusing back on her bread, “That’s nice bread.”

“I made it”, Ino said smiling, “I got up very early and I thought a breakfast at 4 in the morning would be overkill.”

“Wow, you really are an early bird”, Kuina laughed, “Do you always wake up so early?”

“No, I guess I was just a bit nervous.”

They went silent for a moment.

“How did you get the scar?”, Kuina asked one hand slowly extending her hand to her cheek before stopping, leaving her hand hanging in the air.

It was Inos turn to tense up. Her hand instinctively went to her collarbone where the scar was the reddest and thickest. It was a mess. She hated it. She hated it. She hated it. Grabbing her holsterbelt she stood up.

“Was nice talking to you”, she said, walking to the staircase.

“What?”, Kuina groaned, “No.”

Ino stopped, “No?”

“We’ll talk about something else”, Kuina said, “just don’t run away.”

“I was not running away”, Ino said one hand on the handle to the door.

“I think you are”, Kuina said, standing up and walking over to the other woman, “You don’t have to talk about it. Let’s talk about something else. How did you make this bread?”

“I made it according to my favorite recipe. It’s a wonder that I still remember it”, Ino laughed, “It’s a pretty easy recipe.”

Kuina was just about to open her mouth to praise the bread, as the door opened and Niragi stepped out on the roof.

He was casually lighting a cigarette, his gaze lazily taking in the two girls sitting on the blanket.

“You really are trying, huh?”, he asked, plopping down next to Ino and taking her champagne and gulping it all down.

“Hey”, Ino said, playfully hitting his arm, “That was mine.”

He didn’t react to that, he was watching Kuina. Inos guns were laid out infront of Kuina and the girl looked distraught.

“I wouldn’t have thought that that is your type”, he said, still watching Kuina, “I thought the kind of girl you like was more like Chrissy. She and Chrissy have nothing in common.”

“They’re both pretty and I think Kuina would not have a problem with hitting you if you’re being mean, just like Chrissy did”, Ino said, smiling at the thought of her ex-girlfriend.

“Who is Chrissy?”, Kuina asked.

“A total bimbo”, Niragi answered, “and her ex.”

“She is a bimbo who used her social media following to talk about misogyny, anti-capitalism and loving yourself”, Ino explained, “We broke up a year ago, I don’t know why Niragi is bringing her up now.”

“She is the last girl you dated”, Niragi shrugged, “and it has been all dicks before and after. I don’t have any other girls to compare her to. I really liked Chrissy.”

“Then don’t”, Ino said, shrugging, “Also, Chrissy would’ve punched you for comparing people the way you do.”

Rolling his eyes Niragi took a piece of bread and some butter. Ino grabbed his rifle, putting it on top of her own guns. Niragi groaned but didn’t say anything.

“Sooo”, Ino said, “Kuina, do you want to explore New Tokyo later?”

“I already have plans with Chishiya, maybe sometime else?”, Kuina hadn’t had a bite since Niragi arrived, she was just sitting there, watching them tensely.

Niragi scoffed, but Ino started talking before he had the chance to say something, “Sure, let me know whenever.”

“We don’t have time for that anyway”, Niragi said, pulling a piece of paper out of his pants pocket, “Aguni is sending us out to the city.”

Ino grabbed the paper and unfolded it. It was a list of things they needed. Mostly medicine and food.

“We should go to the company, we have most of the medical stuff there and I don’t believe anyone could’ve scavenged that”, Ino said, “Kuina, it was really nice to talk to you. Feel free to approach me anytime you want.”

With that she stood up, grabbed her holster and disappeared through the door. Sneaking another piece of bread Niragi followed her.

“Did you have to barge in like that?”, she asked Niragi, as he finally appeared next to her in the elevator, “I was trying to get to know her.”

“She is no Chrissy”, Niragi commented.

“Nobody is Chrissy. That doesn’t mean that Kuina is not just as nice and worth of loving.”

“You don’t know her.”

“That’s why I was trying to get to know her!”

They had arrived at her father’s old company. A tall glass building with the words Yamanaka Gaming written in bold letters over the door. Normally the words would glow, right now, without electricity it looked sad. Ino could feel a knot forming in her throat. She tried to ignore it, wrapping her arm in her jacket and punching the glass door a couple of times before it shattered into a million crystals.

“Come on”, she said, ducking into the building, “You take the infirmary on the 15th floor, I’ll go to the executive floor.”

“What do you think you’ll be able to cross off the list on the executive floor?”, Niragi asked with a grimace.

“If the beaches generators still work, that could mean that ours do too”, she announced.

“And what good will that do? Do you wan to continue making that game?”

She rolled her eyes. She had stayed awake day and night working on the game. She never got to finish it. She would never get to finish it.

“There’s some stuff I want to get”, she answered, “I`ll help you check the cafeteria after that.”

Niragi nodded. They had had personal belongings there. He and Ino and everyone in her family. He didn’t blame her that she wanted to retrieve some. He watched as she went behind the reception desk and started to fumble with something under the desk. The lights flickered on.

“See, the generator works”, she smiled, “we can even use the elevator.”

They didn’t spend much time in the company, having found the medicine, many packets of instant noodles and ramen, and some personal belongings, they left the building and drove with a fully packed car back to the beach. Ino smiled as she handed Niragi her fathers watch. It had belonged her grandfather before and she knew her parents would’ve laughed to give it to their son in law on their daughter’s wedding day. They had hoped for the longest time that Niragi would be that son in law. They had felt betrayed then they found out that Niragi would stay her best friend but neither of them was planning to marry the other.

“Really?”, he asked, taking the watch.

“It’s what they wanted”, Ino shrugged.

“Shouldn’t you give this to the love of your life?”

“You know how I feel, Niragi”, she said, watching the streets of Tokyo pass by, “I love you. I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. I just don’t love you the way my parents would’ve liked me to.”

She really did love him. He was her best friend. They had been together for a decade now. If she had believed in soulmates she would be sure that he was hers. The love she was feeling was not romantic. It was just love.

“I love you too”, he said, his voice solemn, “That’s why I don’t like the idea of you being with Kuina.”

Ino groaned, “If you continue bringing up the subject, I will get really mad. We were having a good time until you arrived.”

“But don’t you need someone you can have a good time with then I am with you?”, Niragi asked, “I had to break up with that girl because you didn’t like her.”

“She was a dick”, Ino groaned.

As they finally arrived back at the beach Ino simply exited the car, without taking anything but her personal belongings. The others would help Niragi get everything else inside.

She walked straight to her room and started unpacking. She had taken some clothes, some jewelry and a picture of her family. Smiling she placed the picture frame on her nightstand and grabbed the short pink dress she had taken. Chrissy had called that her bimbo dress. Its deep carmen cut didn’t leave much to the imagination and it barely reached the middle of her thighs. She took out the makeup supplies she had taken with her. Drawing on some dramatic winged eyeliner and coloring her lips red like blood, she put her black hair in a dark ponytail, admiring herself in the mirror. She looked great. She hoped Kuina would think the same. Putting on her sneakers, she made her way to the pool. All eyes were on her. The diamonds on her neck were sparkling in the light.

It didn’t take long for her to spot Kuina. She was sitting alone, her plastic cigarette between her lips like always. Ino didn’t want to approach her. She was afraid of coming on too strong. She had told Kuina to come to her. She would wait. She didn’t want the woman to feel trapped. She walked to the bar and ordered a Zombie, her favorite cocktail.

“What’s the occasion”, she heard a voice beside her.

She turned, seeing Last Boss waiting for his drink. The tattooed man was not smiling, but she had only seen him smile then he was getting excited about killing something or someone. It was a good thing that he was not smiling.

“I’m going to get laid”, she answered, making Last Boss quirk his brow.

“By whom?”

“Don’t know. We’ll see.”

Last Boss smirked, but he didn’t say anything else, took his drink and disappeared. Ino shrugged. Seems like it wouldn’t be him who fucked her tonight. She hated being so needy, but she really needed someone to spoil her. She was already on her third drink, as her eyes landed on Kuina again. No. She would not approach her. Kuinas gaze met hers. She watched her stand up and walk in her direction. She could feel her gut clench in anticipation. She wanted to get to know her. She wanted her to not be a mere one night stand. Yet she was so needy. God. All this neediness could only mean that she would get her period soon. She had looked for her birth control pills but couldn’t find them. Her hormones would kill her.

“Hey”, Kuina greeted her, as she sat down next to Ino.

“Hey”, Ino answered, taking a long sip from her cocktail. She loved the sweet and bitter taste. Her lips were already numb. She loved it.

“Why are you dressed like this?”, Kuina asked, her eyes scanning her body.

“You don’t like it?”, Ino answered with a question.

“No, it looks great”, Kuina answered, “Its just not something that I’ve seen you wear around here before.”

Ino laughed, “I used to wear stuff like that all the time. I loved partying so much that I had this dress in my office, for the times that I spontaneously decided to go out after a long day of work. I miss that so much.”

“You can party here all day”, Kuina informed her, taking in the womans beautiful features.

“Its not the same”, Ino said, “It was so much more fun back then. If you kissed a stranger in the club you could be sure that you would never see them again. If I kiss someone out here, Niragi makes sure no one ever sees them again.”

“But I am safe?”, Kuina asked.

Ino smiled, cupping Kuinas cheek, “You are safe and free to do whatever you please.”

“Whatever I please?”, Kuina echoed.

Ino nodded, her gaze fixated on Kuinas plumb lips. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to please her and for her to please her back. Where did this obsession with Kuina even come from?

“Do you want me?”, Ino whispered, leaning in. She could smell the girl’s natural scent. She smelled sweet and spicy. She didn’t know what she was doing as her tongue dipped out of her mouth, slowly licking Kuinas jaw. She wanted her so much. Her smell was even more intoxicating then the alcohol.

“Will you be done with me if I give you what you want tonight?”, Kuinas voice was shaky.

Ino shook her head, “But I will leave you alone if you want. You don’t have to do anything. Just tell me if I’m bothering you.”

She wasn’t looking in Kuinas face, her head was still in the slightly tilted position she had taken to lick her jaw. Her smell was intoxicating. She bit her tongue to stop herself from licking her again.

“You’re not”, Kuina answered, “I just don’t understand why you are showing so much interest in me.”

“Because you are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Prettier than Chrissy?”, Kuina asked.

Ino chuckled, lightly kissing her throat, “You sound like Niragi”, she laughed, “I loved Chrissy, but we broke over a year ago. She was pretty. I don’t know how I would’ve have answered if I still were in love with her. But today”, she drawled off, this time kissing her jaw, “you are the prettiest girl I have ever seen.”

Ino looked up, Kuina had closed her eyes. It looked like she was enjoying the small kisses. Ino kissed up her jaw up to her ear, slowly taking her earlobe between her teeth.

“Tell me if you need me to stop”, she whispered.

Kuina shuddered, “You are drunk.”

“Mhm”, Ino said, sucking Kuinas earlobe.

“I want you to stop.”

Ino straightened up, trapping her own hands between her legs so she couldn’t reach out for the pretty woman. Kuina finally opened her eyes, looking at her.

“I don’t want to be your drunk fuck”, she said, with a stern look in her eyes, “If you really think that I am that pretty, you can wait, no?”

Ino nodded, “Until you’re ready.”

Kuina put a hand on Inos knee, “Good”, she said, “I need time. There are things that you don’t know about me and I don’t do one-night stands.”

Ino nodded again. She didn’t know if it were the hormones or the alcohol, but she was feeling so overwhelmed by this woman’s beauty. She wanted to touch her. To be touched by her.

“I will do everything for you”, she blurted out, “You just need to tell me what you want.”

Cupping Inos cheek, Kuina said, “You’re drunk. You should go to your room and sleep it off.”

Ino nodded, “Will you come with me?”

Kuina shook her head, “I’ve got stuff to do. I think it would be better if you were alone.”

Ino pouted. She had just told her she would do anything for her. Anything did include going to her room alone. She balled her hands into a fist for a moment. She just wished she wasn’t so horny.

Ino stood up and turned away without looking back or saying another word, she walked up to her room. She didn’t fully close her door, but she made sure that Niragi was already sleeping in his room. Undressing she laid down on her bed, gun in one hand, the other hand playing with her breasts. A soft moan escaped her lips. She brought the gun up to her face and slowly licked the tip. She could feel herself soaking. The hand that was previously on her breast slowly dipped between her legs, as she saw a silhouette in her doorway. She moaned again. Eyes glued on the door. She felt guilty for a moment, but Kuina had only told her to go to her room alone. Not to stay there alone. She switched her hands positions, tasting herself from her fingers and shoving the gun between her legs.

“As you said you were going to get laid, I thought were would be at least one other person involved”, she heard Last Boss voice.

Giggling she brought up the gun to her face again, licking it clean, “Join me”, she said seductively, “Please?”

She didn’t have to ask twice.

#hikari kuina #kuina #alice in borderland #kuina x reader #kuina x oc #wlw #chishiya #last boss #niragi #suguru niragi #niragi x reader

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supersonic-womanofyou · 4 years

Photo

My first attempt at an interview fic! Read this on Ao3, or under the cut.

Spotlight on Eric Bittle

Interview by Elizabeth Chu

Photographs by Jack Zimmermann

The internet personality, author, and baker talks about his childhood, his relationship with Providence Falconers captain Jack Zimmermann, being a LGBTQ role model, why he struggled with his overnight success, and his upcoming cookbook.

I meet Eric Bittle in person for the first time on a Saturday afternoon, in a trendy coffee shop in downtown Providence. Even though I’ve heard of it in passing, I’ve never been inside. Eric obviously has, since when I approach the table where he’s chosen to sit, Eric is already chatting familiarly with one of the waitresses.

But after a couple minutes talking to Eric, I mentally revisit that assumption. Eric Bittle has a way of putting people at ease, of making even the most distant strangers feel like long-lost friends-- through his warm personality, but also through his seemingly-never ending supply of homemade baked goods. By the time I sit down across from him, I’m already in possession of a whole pie and two jars of jam.

Most of the celebrities I’ve met have on screen personalities that are vastly different in person, but the Eric Bittle I meet that Saturday could have been pulled directly out of his Netflix series or one of the episodes from his vastly popular vlog. He’s perennially bright and cheery, with a Southern drawl that’s been blunted by years in New England, but is still very present. When I mention it, Eric laughs. “I used to hate my accent, but I think it’s become as part of my brand as pies are. I’d probably lose all of my followers if I started talking like a Yankee,” he jokes.

The source of Bittle’s accent is his hometown-- Madison, Georgia, a town of barely four thousand people. When I ask what drove him to move up north, he gestures to himself as a whole. “Not too many opportunities for a baking, skating, Beyonce-loving gay boy in Morgan County.” He turns more serious, though, when he continues: “I was bullied a lot as a child. When I think back to my childhood, to living in Georgia-- for people who looked or acted different, it could be suffocating. I remember feeling like my future was just so starkly outlined for me-- going to a state school, settling down with a nice girl, spending the rest of my life just pretending. It sounds like overdramatic teenage angst now, I know, but I always knew if I wanted to live honestly, I needed to get out.”

And so Eric applied-- and was accepted to--Samwell University in Massachusetts, which touts itself as one of the most LGBTQ friendly schools in America, under the motto “one in four, maybe more.” According to Eric, it’s where he began to come to terms with himself and his identity, where he finally said the words “I’m gay” out loud, where he continued to bake and vlog and began to think seriously about a career in both, and where, perhaps most famously, he met his now-husband, Providence Falconers captain Jack Zimmermann.

“We both played on the hockey team, but we weren’t exactly friends at first,” Bittle says about his relationship with Zimmermann.

So, of course, I have to ask him-- what is it like, being a baker married to a hockey player? Eric and his husband seem like almost comical counterpoints in every aspect of their careers and personalities. Eric makes his living through baking and cooking, Jack plays in the notoriously-macho NHL. Eric has built a brand and a food empire off of cheeriness and Southern hospitality, Jack has a reputation of being a “hockey robot,” with his cold, generally disagreeable demeanor during interviews.

“Well, with it all laid out like that, it really does sound like we’re night and day,” Eric laughs. “But honestly? We just work. We both love skating-- that’s what we bonded over in college, actually. We also both technically majored in history, even though we have very different specialities and did so for pretty different reasons. But even our differences are compatible. Like, I love talking, he doesn’t, so we’re never talking over each other or silent. Also, pro hockey players have to eat an insane number of calories, so Jack’s always there to eat my cooking, and that’s really all I can ask for.”

Eric and Jack, who played on a line together briefly at Samwell, took the sports world by storm seven years ago when they kissed on the ice after the Falconers won the Stanley Cup, making Jack the first openly LGBTQ player in the NHL. The pair broke yet another barrier for LGBTQ people in hockey soon after, when Eric became the first openly gay NCAA Division I hockey captain.

When I ask Eric if he ever thought about following in his partner’s footsteps and pursuing a career in professional hockey, he just laughs. “Oh, definitely not. I love being on the ice, but I don’t think I would have made it very far in the NHL or AHL.”

His fame may have started out in the (relatively niche) world of professional hockey, but since graduating from Samwell, Eric has found incredible success beyond the legacy of that historic kiss. His first book, published five years ago, spent several weeks on the New York Times Food and Diet bestseller list, and was applauded as a fresh, vibrant take on Southern cuisine and desserts. Check, Please reads as seventy percent cookbook, thirty percent memoir, with every page infused with Bittle’s indomitable, ubiquitous personality. His vlog, which he started in high school and has updated continuously ever since, has millions of subscribers, who tune in every week to hear Bittle talk about everything from pies and cookies to relationships and family. Finally, and perhaps most famously, Bittle hosted his own Netflix series last year, applauded as a combination of Marie Kondo and Queer Eye, in which he taught baking with his usual brand of positivity and universal appeal, interspersed with feel-good moments and life lessons.

It strikes me that while Bittle’s career may have been jump-started by his relationship with Jack Zimmermann, he’s certainly managed to make a name for himself in the years since. To the hockey world, he may still be an afterthought to Jack Zimmermann, but to the baking world (and a good portion of Netflix’s viewership), the name Jack Zimmermann is an afterthought to that of Eric Bittle.

“Jack definitely gets a kick out of it when we’re in public together and I get recognized, and he doesn’t,” Eric says. “It’s kind of crazy, actually-- I definitely couldn’t have imagined all this ten years ago, back in college or in high school.”

And what did Eric imagine himself doing? “To be honest, I don’t think I had any idea. When I decided to go to Samwell, I didn’t even have a major in mind or anything. I just wanted to get out of Georgia. And at Samwell-- I mean, I majored in American History, of all things. Talk about a useless degree! I literally just chose the major that let me take the most baking or baking-adjacent classes.” He pauses, and laughs. “It drives Jack crazy, actually-- I never have a plan for anything, really, big or small. I’m the kind of person who just crosses my fingers and hope it all shakes out for the best.”

His husband’s opinion aside, this tactic seems to have worked out pretty well for Eric. His next, eagerly anticipated cookbook, which follows much in the vein of his Netflix show, is due to come out in two months this August. “It’s going to be focused on easy, cheap cooking and baking that’s still healthy and fulfilling. I think there’s a mindset that to make tasty, healthy food you need to have expensive ingredients and tools, or a lot of time on your hands, or have a lot of experience. But like-- I made food for an entire hockey team in a frat house on a college student’s allowance for four years, so I know something about cooking healthy on a budget,” he jokes. “I really just want to make good, healthy food accessible for everyone.”

Well, he’s managed to do that, and more. Eric Bittle’s career so far has certainly been a whirlwind. He’s gone from publishing his first cookbook to hosting his own show in what’s only been a matter of years.

“I do have to pinch myself sometimes, “ Eric says about his dizzyingly quick ascent to fame. “Like, Carrie Underwood tagged me in a tweet about hockey husbands the other day. Carrie Underwood!” The disbelief is clear in his voice. “I mean, Jack’s always been the bigger fan of country music, but the Georgia boy in me had to lie down for a moment when I saw the notification. So I think-- I still can’t really believe all of it, you know? It feels like yesterday I was still about to graduate college, with barely any plan and procrastinating on my thesis. And I guess sometimes-- sometimes I do feel a bit guilty, you know? Like-- there’s so many people fighting for this, fighting for what I’ve got-- getting books published, getting a show, everything else. I definitely had a leg up in name recognition because of Jack and hockey, and even when Jack and weren’t married yet, I never had to worry about having a roof over my head if the vlog wasn’t bringing in enough money or the cookbook wasn’t selling well enough.” He pauses, pensive, and it’s not the first time in this conversation that I mentally reassess my first assumptions about Eric Bittle. Behind the nationally famous smile and welcoming accent is a thoughtful young man still grappling with becoming a public figure and a role model, with a sprinkling of imposter syndrome, who doesn’t understand exactly what millions of people across the country see in him.

But perhaps that as well is an unfair assessment. It’s clear that Eric has a refreshing genuiness that few public figures possess, and that this is part of what has managed to speak to so many people from all backgrounds. That on some level, his modesty about his own fame is part of what constitutes his appeal.

When I mention this, Eric flushes a bright shade of pink. “Oh, aren’t you a flatterer. Well, I suppose so.”

So after this cookbook, what’s next? Is fatherhood on the horizon?

“I did mention that I never have a plan, didn’t I?” he quips. But he does confide that he and Jack have been talking about having a family. “We’ve always wanted kids, but there’s always been something going on. Jack’s job and being on roadies all the time, me trying to get my career started. We don’t want our kids to be raised by babysitters and nannies, you know? We want to be there for them, so while it’s definitely something we’re considering, we’re trying to balance timing. But it has been a couple years, so.” He blushes. “We’re revisiting the idea.”

“But other than that-- I have been approached about the possibility of some other projects and shows in the future, but I probably can’t talk about those,” he says. “And though it’s always been a dream of mine to own a bakery, that would be a pretty huge commitment. So I guess I’m just trying to say that I’m not really sure exactly what comes next.” Nevertheless, he grins, as if to say, and isn’t that exciting ?

Fatherhood or his own bakery-- I’m sure that no matter what comes next for Eric Bittle, he’ll forge ahead with his characteristic positivity and Southern grace, with plenty of baked goods along the way. *

#omgcp #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #interview #multimedia fic #art #magazine #fic #omgcp fic #zimbits #pov outsider #omgcheckplease

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