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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 325: Deku VS the Outside of U.A. ~Conclusion~

Previously on BnHA: Ochako was all “dear bloodthirsty mob, this kid you see standing before you has fought harder than anyone and put his life on the line to protect you all, so please chill the fuck out, jesus christ. like, putting aside that he’s humanity’s best hope and so it’s very much in your best interests to let him rest and recover someplace safe so that he can keep fighting for us, are y’all seriously going to turn away an injured and exhausted child in front of his sobbing mother?? seriously?? come on now.” I’m paraphrasing here but that’s basically how it went down. Anyway so then the mob was all, “...” and Deku collapsed to his knees in tears, and Gigantic Fox Lady and Kouta ran over to give him a hug but then the chapter ended.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “FINE, YOU CAN HUG HIM”, which, was that so hard?? The U.A. Clown Mob is all “come to think of it, we’ve kind of been taking the heroes for granted this entire time, maybe we should be less passive in the future. anyway so Deku if it’s not too much to ask, can you please save everyone and fix everything.” Deku is all “I sure can, and by the way I forgive you for swarming around all menacingly two minutes ago and trying to deny me basic shelter and stuff.” Ectoplasm is all, “hey Todogang get a load of this. [walks in a circle].” Hawks is all, “that’s literally the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.” Rat Principal is all, “anyway so that’s what your students did today, hope you’re enjoying your new *~*ROBOT LEG*~*, Aizawa.” Aizawa is all “[lots of exposition about Kurogiri and for some reason, Toga, while being all brooding and sexy].” All Might is all “[standing here right outside of U.A. doing absolutely nothing and being foreboding AF]” and that immediately sucked away all of the warm fuzzy feelings from the hugs, goddammit.

each new week has become a waiting game of “when will Deku finally get to take a bath so people will actually be willing to go near him and give him the hugs he deserves.” the stakes have never been so compelling. I’ve almost forgotten about AFO entirely

lmaoooooo

me: for the love of god will someone please give Deku a hug before I die of old age

Mineta: YOU GOT IT!! --

Iida: [SWIFTLY CUTS HIM OFF] NOT YOU

fucking losing it at Mineta’s crying face. he really wanted to hug him. I legit feel bad but this is also the funniest thing I have seen all week, omg

somehow Kouta, who last week was only a hand’s breadth away from touching Deku’s head, is now twenty miles away from him in this new chapter

can I make a Loki reference here. is this recap a good place to insert a joke about someone using a TVA time-rewinding device to fuck with my poor boy Kouta over here. well anyway there it is

AND NOW HE’S BACK ALL OF A SUDDEN OMG

(ETA: since when is he “niichan” omg?? can’t handle this cuteness.)

BUT THEY’RE STILL NOT HUGGING HIM FFFFKFFFFF. WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO. WHO DO I HAVE TO BRIBE AND/OR BLACKMAIL

OH NO KOUTA IS CRYING THAT’S IT I’M DONE FOR

“when I heard that lady I knew that I had to go, but then stop again within inches of actually touching you because you smell like week-old rotten onions.” listen Kouta, I’m not saying I don’t get it, but you all can’t keep doing this to me. it’s the way you guys keep teasing it. like, if you’re gonna hug him, hug him. don’t just stand there with your arms held rigidly out in front of you like a molded action figure

OH MY GOSH BUT HE SAID THE THING

KOUTA SWOOPING IN AT THE LAST MINUTE TO TAKE ALL THE CREDIT FOR FIXING DEKU LIKE THAT ONE KID IN THE GROUP PROJECT WHO DOES ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BUT STILL TAGS HIS NAME ONTO THE REPORT ANYWAY, WHAT A KNAVE

GASP

( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )

SHE PICKED HIM UP LIKE A LITTLE BABY OMG?? she just leaned right over and lifted this child like he was a small animal. like a lil baby futon that she was about to hang up to dry. oh my god

-- HEY WHAT

(: well that’s extremely fucked up. though sadly not too surprising given what we just saw these past couple chapters

incidentally, I hope that anyone who was legitimately defending the civilians’ perspective earlier takes note here of how quickly that line of thinking -- “we’re just trying to keep our families safe” and all that-- can lead to straight up bigotry. if you’re willing to deny a child shelter and protection simply because he’s not YOUR child, and because you’ve decided based on Internet rumors (no real-world parallels there, I’m sure) that he might present a threat, it’s really not that much further of a leap to discriminating against entire groups of people simply because you perceive those groups as being dangerous. I’m sure the people who turned Gigantic Fox Lady away also told themselves afterwards that they did it to protect their families. “better safe than sorry.” “she’ll be fine, someone will take her in, but as for us, we can’t afford to take that risk.” people can come up with all kinds of justifications for treating other people as less than human, and the really scary thing about it is how fucking easy it is

one last quick side note, which is that Horikoshi does a great job here of showing how scapegoating works, given that AFO is the one who’s really to blame and who presents the actual threat, and yet Deku is the one who ultimately winds up being the target of the mob’s fear and outrage despite him being as much of a victim as they are. gotta love that irony, which unfortunately plays out far too often in the real world as well.

anyway I’ll get off my soapbox now, sorry about that. let us continue

YES, FINALLY OH MY GOD!!!!

AND THAT’S THE STORY OF HOW GIGANTIC FOX LADY BECAME THE GREATEST HERO. PACK IT ALL UP, WE’RE DONE HERE KIDS

holy shit. the real MVP right there. thanks for getting it done champ

jesus christ I have had it up to here with these people

literally the bar is set so low at this point that I’ll go ahead and take it. helping him because it offers them a tactical advantage is at least one step up from not helping him at all

“WHY NOT SHIKETSU” MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD

-- thank you!!

okay this one guy with the antennae hair is having himself a character development speedrun here

-- okay, but this part?? fucking this part, right here??

can we repeat that again?? the part where this guy acknowledges that the problems of hero society were caused not just by said heroes, but also by said society?? the part where he acknowledges that they treated the heroes like celebrities who were putting on a show for them?? the part where he acknowledges that when push came to shove, the vast majority of those heroes, when faced with a situation that offered no reward, were nonetheless willing to put their lives on the line to protect the very same people who then turned around and blamed them rather than thanking them?? are the civilians of BnHA even allowed to have actual deep thoughts about this stuff. holy shit

bro!!

ANTENNAE HAIR GUY SHOVING KOUTA AND GIGANTIC FOX LADY OUT OF THE WAY TO SLAP HIS NAME ONTO THE END CREDITS AS EXECUTIVE PRODUCER. CONGRATULATIONS SON YOU FIGURED OUT THE CORE PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION AT THE VERY HEART OF THE MANGA. WAY TO GO BUD

meanwhile, on today’s episode of “one more chapter to go till the big volume cliffhanger, how else can I drag things out let’s see”

it’s a panel. of people’s feet. just a bunch of normal feet. with sneakers and shit

this All Might shirt guy is getting more screentime in this arc than 90% of the class 1-A kids

I guess I’m supposed to feel sorry for this dude now that he’s all “if we let you stay here do you promise to somehow magically fix every single problem that we are now currently facing?” those are some ridiculously exacting standards my dude. come on now

KACCHAN SIGHTING

thank fuck I’m not the only one who’s thoroughly unimpressed by absolutely all of this lol. I feel better now. meanwhile Iida and Kouda and Kiri are ready to run over there and hug them all. you guys are way too forgiving. damn you and your pure hearts

anyway so Deku’s like “yeah, definitely”

(ETA: almost forgot to comment on the “I’m no longer alone” part – he basically corrects the guy and says “sorry, but you’ll need to direct that question towards all of us, not just me, because moving forward we’re a team.” good stuff.)

you know what though, all joking aside... fuck yeah. because perfect victory, right. the strongest guys don’t settle for anything less. so I guess Deku has pretty exacting standards himself

also can you all just take a look at this fucking kid who’s got so much light in his eyes now that I’m gonna need eclipse goggles. hot damn. “you’re welcome” says All Might Shirt Guy as he is frantically interviewed by several local news networks asking him how he daringly managed to save Deku all by himself. “well I guess I’ve just never been the kind of guy who can sit back and let a bunch of rabble-rousers blame a little kid for all of humanity’s problems. someone had to step in and take action, you know?”

oH MY GOD THE SCENE IS FINALLY ENDING

don’t let the door hit you on your way out All Might Shirt Guy

but meanwhile, sudden Tododrama action??

oh shit

there are honestly so many ways in which Ochako’s very moving speech could have wildly backfired that I genuinely have no clue where this is headed lol. how exciting!!

so now Horikoshi is once again stalling for time with random filler panels, but this one is 10x better than the shoes lol omg

(1) was Ectoplasm’s jacket always this oversized. (2) did you guys know that if you go back to chapter 319 you can see that Horikoshi gave us a sneak peak at Enji’s Sad Detective disguise and I in fact made a joke about it in the 319 recap not realizing it was actually the stone cold truth. (3) did Shouto deliberately speed up out of impatience because Hawks was walking so fucking slow and he couldn’t take it any longer. (4) and what, I ask you, is up with these dramatic speedlines. so many mysteries here. what a masterpiece

everyone is acting all shocked about something ahh what’s going on

wait what

what the heck. did they just loop around behind everyone. what was the point of that lol. “anyway, so this is what they look like from the back” well okay, thanks for that Ectoplasm

(ETA: so it seems like they were actually hanging out someplace else away from the crowd this whole time, I guess? here I thought they had more faith in Enji’s disguise. I guess Shouto and Hawks don’t particularly want to attract this crowd’s attention themselves right now either, though.)

I am so fucking confused lmao

speaking of All Might WHERE THE FUCK IS HE lol. but yes, good, OFA brings everyone together, and Hawks is very deeply moved about this out of the blue all of a sudden. you know how it is

aw heck yeah now this is another filler panel I can get behind

Mineta really wants that hug, good lord. I genuinely love this actually. Mineta if you could just stay little and cute and keep crying about how much you love your classmates in a non-gross way for the rest of the series I would be so appreciative. you’re doing great

IIDA IS HOLDING DEKU’S HAND THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ONE TIME WASN’T ENOUGH FOR MY MAN HE’S ADDICTED NOW

what did I tell you. Kiri wants to get all of the mob’s autographs now. Kiri you’re a peach

Shouji having a conversation with another mutant type is a very nice touch! we really need to get to his backstory soon. I feel like that casual remark from GFL earlier was kind of hinting at more to come

is this the first time we’ve ever seen the Yaoyorictionary in action?? never forget that Viz tried to call it the “Yaoyorozu Reference Book” because they hate fun

last but not least, KAMIBAKU IS BACK ON THE MENU, FUCK YEAH. Kaminari trying to spice things up and introduce a little bit of controversy by smacking Kacchan on the back of the head for god knows what. I will be deeply disappointed after this if I can’t find at least one person unironically declaring that KamiBaku is now toxic and abusive

lfkdlWLWK TODODRAMA??

oh my god. Shouto’s face. Enji’s face. the back to “oyaji” again. the blunt, not-taking-no-for-an-answer, “I don’t know how much louder the universe can scream at you that doing things alone is not it, so hopefully you got the point” directness of it. fffdlkslj I’m so ready for this Horikoshi please don’t fuck it up my expectations are so high

HOLY FUCK

I SCROLLED DOWN AND HE WAS ALL “( ❛‿❛)” AND I JUST WASN’T FUCKING EXPECTING THAT OKAY. JESUS CHRIST. GIVE ME A SEC

lol okay moment over and now Enji’s pulling his hat down all dramatically like a world-weary Cowboy

OH MY GOD WERE YOU FACETIMING??

AHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: not to put Iida down or anything, but it’s kind of strange that Aizawa is all “the class rep sure did great” when Ochako is the one that was giving that whole big speech for like twenty minutes just now lol.)

(ETA 2: “thank god Iida stepped in just in the nick of time to keep Mineta from hugging Deku.” sorry Mineta I really do like you lately but it’s still low-hanging fruit lol.)

HE LOOKS SO SAD??! HE LOOKS LIKE HEARTBREAK ITSELF??! I AM BESOUGHT WITH THE URGE TO REACH INTO MY SCREEN AND PULL HIM INTO THE SAFETY OF MY ARMS??? MY GOD, AND I THOUGHT DEKU NEEDED HUGS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH okay I was gonna just hold down the letter H for a full minute and count it out loud but within about ten seconds I realized I needed to chill lol

-- but then again NO, I DON’T NEED TO CHILL, I HAVE ZERO CHILL, ACTUALLY, BECAUSE IT’S AIZAWA WITH A ROBOT LEG AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

COMPLETE WITH ROBOT TOES FOR THAT EXTRA TOUCH OF AUTHENTICITY!! I LIKE HOW HORIKOSHI PUT ALL THIS EXTRA “!!!” EMPHASIS AROUND IT IN CASE WE COULD SOMEHOW POSSIBLY FAIL TO TAKE NOTICE. “REMEMBER, EVERYONE?” SAYS HORIKOSHI HELPFULLY. “REMEMBER THAT TIME AIZAWA CHOPPED OFF HIS OWN LEG?” oh wow now that you mention it we somehow forgot all about that. like who do you take us for

OH NO NOT THE SAD BOYFRIEND ANGST THAT I WAS SECRETLY LOOKING FORWARD TO WITH GLEE

well at least he’s not M.I.A. or back with the villains again like I thought he might be. still, that’s gotta be brutal to know your friend is in there somewhere, but to not be able to reach him again no matter how hard you try. that’s the kind of angst that pays off in final battles just when you most expect it. such is my hope, at any rate

what’s this now??

trying to decide if this is Horikoshi’s way of saying don’t worry about that, or his way of saying definitely worry about that lol

anyway so Aizawa is out here being all irresponsibly handsome once again. when is someone going to do something about him

here for Sexy Robot Leg Eyepatch Aizawa clenching his fists and making speeches about revenge. pretty sure we’re all here for that

WELL, WELL, WELL

IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME

I’M VERY GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE AND SEEMINGLY WELL, THOUGH!

BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK THOUGH, ALL MIGHT

ffff. bracing myself for that cliffhanger next week. you’d better not touch one hair on this man’s head Horikoshi. I’m watching you

#bnha 325 #midoriya izuku #u.a. clown mob #class 1-a #aizawa shouta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

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Sexy

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: Tom has a problem when you get asked a sexist question

Masterlist

“For Robert, how has it felt for you as an actor to see what’s branched from that first Iron Man movie?”

You sat back in your chair and looked around the panel as Robert answered his question. He had been to a hundred of these panels throughout his career, but you were still getting used to them. An impressed smile tugged at your lips as he got the audience laughing with an otherwise well worded answer.

“For Tom, how has joining the MCU helped you to grow as an actor?” Tom was asked by the same journalist. He was seated next to you and sat up slightly when his name was called. He gave an answer that showed his appreciation for the opportunity to act along side these actors as well as what it meant to him to be a role model for kids who didn’t fit in. You squeezed his hand under the table, proud of him for answering the question like a professional. Finally, the journalist looked at you.

“And for Y/n, you’re new to the marvel universe and had to join a cast full of very established, attractive men. Did you have any intimate relationships with any of your male cast mates?”

The silence the settled in the room was painful. Robert let out a loud scoff and shook his head in disapproval while the rest of the cast looked at you knowingly. Tom Hiddleston shot you an apologetic smile as Chris Evans laughed to himself. You leaned forward to get closer to the microphone and looked at the journalist.

“I’m sorry?”

Chris laughed harder, gripping his left side the way he did as the audience let out an awkward laugh.

“Well, being around actors like Chris Evans and Chris Hemsworth all day, surely you must’ve gone after one of them.” The journalist continued. Chris burrows his face in his hands, unable to stop laughing at how stupid the question was. You saw Toms jaw tighten beside you as he gave you a pointed look. You put your hand in his knee to let him know it was okay and he gave you a stiff nod.

“I know I’m not actually Iron Man but do you want me to blast her ass?” Robert leaned over to whisper in your ear. You laughed at his offer and gave him an appreciative smile.

“I got this.” You assured him before looked back at the journalist.

“I really want to thank you for asking me that. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for someone to ask such an important question such as that one.” You sighed dramatically. “And you’re absolutely right. It was super hard to be around these actors everyday since they’re all just so sexy. How could I possibly pick, you know?” You laughed like it was obvious. The journalist opened her mouth to speak but you continued.

“Since I am so notorious for being an alluring, devious slut, I do make it a point to sleep with every single person, cast and crew, that I work with.” You said seriously and the cast laughed. “It’s easy when everyone’s on set and I can just pick and chose who to sleep with next, but it can get pretty difficult to track down all the editors and executives so I can sleep with them too. Of course, I always start with the main stars of the film and gradually work my way down the list. I even sleep with all the interviewers so hopefully I’ll be seeing you later in my hotel room.” You winked after her. “It’s really nice to be appreciated for my hard work so I again have to thank you for asking that question.”

You gave her a polite smile and she immediately sat down. A new kind of silence settled in the room as your answer hung in the air. No one said a word as you sat back in your chair and shrugged smugly. Tom looked down at his lap with a proud smile as he reached for your hand under the table.

“Can we take a moment to appreciate that answer?” Sebastian said into his microphone to break the silence. Anthony started a slow clap and Chris quickly joined. Robert grabbed your shoulders and shook you proudly as the room broke into applause. Your smiled shyly as the cast loudly whooped and cheered for you. You weren’t exactly quiet around them, but you certainly never said things like that. You preferred to sit back and watch them interact with a deep appreciation just to be a part of the cast. Shutting down the journalists sexist question officially solidified your place in the friend group.

“That’s a great answer. That’s how it’s done.” Chris Pratt said into his microphone as he looked at you. You waited for the applause to die down before speaking.

“Thank you.” You laughed. “To answer your question, yes I did have intimate relationships with my male cast mates. My female ones too, actually. Over the course of filming these movies, we’ve laughed together, eaten together, traveled together, celebrated birthdays together, even cried together. I consider all of those to be intimate things.”

You looked at your cast fondly as they looked back at you. A chorus of “I love you”‘s rang from the cast as the ones closest to you patted your back. Tom grabbed your face and planted a big kiss on your cheek, too proud to care about the cameras.

“I think that’s a great place to end the panel. Thank you to everyone who came. Let’s hear it one last time for the Marvel Cast.” The host of the panel spoke into his microphone. The audience applauded and you all began to get up from your seats. Tom let you walk in front of him, keeping his hand on the small of your back the whole way out.

“I have to give Harrison something but I’ll be right back.” Tom told you once you got backstage.

“Okay. I’ll be here.” You assured him. He leaned in to kiss you but you held up a hand.

“Tom!” You whispered as you looked around. “There are cameras everywhere. You can’t kiss me in public.”

“But you did so well out there.” He pouted. “I should be able to kiss my girlfriend no matter who’s around.”

“I know. But we agreed to keep our relationship a secret.” You quietly reminded him. He stared at you for a moment before huffing out a breath.

“Right. Fine. I’ll be right back.” He mumbled before leaving to find Harrison.

You sighed as you watched him leave, knowing it upset him to hide your relationship. You didn’t have a minute to think about what to do as people began to pile out of the panel, all commemorating you for your answer. Scarlett found you backstage and enveloped you in a hug.

“Hey, good job back there kid.” She said as she rubbed your back. “You handled that question like a pro.”

“Is it always like that? They get the cool questions and we get that?” You laughed it off, but you hoped she’d say no.

“Unfortunately, it is.” She nodded. “I’ve had to sit through interview after interview where they ask Chris how it feels to be a hero and they ask me how I fit into my body suit. I’m sorry you have to deal with it too.”

“It’s whatever. I mean, it’s not, but you know. Nothing we can do.” You shrugged. She gave you a look that told you she knew exactly what you were trying to say.

“I know. And between you and me, I’m a little offender she only asked if you slept with the male cast mates. What about me?” She scoffed, making you laugh heartily.

“She probably mistook you as a tree and didn’t see you.” You shrugged, recalling Scarletts infamous tweet.

“You’re so right. I’ll see you around, slut.” She squeezed your arm lovingly and walked away right as Tom came back.

“Did Scarlett just call you a slut?” He asked in confusion

“Yes. But I liked it.” You replied, only confusing Tom further. “Let’s go home.”

“Do you want Chinese for dinner?” You asked Tom once you were back at the hotel. His typically gentle features were hardened as he scrolled through his phone from the couch, not even looking up at you when you asked the question.

“Sure.” He mumbled.

“Or should we just order room service?” You asked as you glanced over the menu provided by the hotel.

“Okay.” He said, still not looking up. You eyed him curiously, knowing he wasn’t paying attention to anything you were saying.

“What I really want to eat is some danimals crush cups right out of Dylan Sprouse’s hands. Let me go see if he has some.” You tested him to see if he really wasn’t listening.

“Sounds good.” Tom grumbled. You walked over to him and pushed his phone down from his face with your finger.

“What’s up with you? You’re not listening to me.” You asked him. He finally looked up at you and sighed heavily.

“I’m sorry. I’m just a little distracted.” He set his phone down and pulled you into his lap, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

“What’s wrong?” You wondered as your soothingly brushed your fingers through his hair. Tom impatiently tapped his fingers on your leg as he thought about what to say. You could tell something was seriously bothering him from how flushed his face. His body was tense beneath you, slowly loosening up with your touch.

“I just can’t believe that reporter disrespected you like that.” He grumbled, keeping his eyes down. You furrowed your eyebrows at his statement, having forgotten about the situation yourself.

“That’s what’s been bothering you?” You laughed slightly. “I handled it, Tommy. The journalist is gonna be dealing with backlash from that question for years.”

Tom shrugged and rested his chin on your shoulder with a pout.

“It’s just not fair.” He stated. “You shouldn’t have to deal with these sexy questions-“

“Sexist questions.” You cut him off with a chuckle to correct him.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with these sexist questions all the time.” He repeated with a huff. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, reminding you of a timid child. You leaned your head on top of his and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“That’s just how it is, baby.” You shrugged, not sure what else to tell him. You wished it was different too, but it just wasn’t.

“It shouldn’t be.” He mumbled against your neck. You rubbed his back to let him know you understood.

“I know it shouldn’t be. But all we can do is educate the people who ask those questions and give them sassy responses. And you know how much I love being sassy.” You pulled away so you could smile at him. He stared at you for a moment before giving you a half smile back. You thought you had assuaged the situation until his pout returned.

“She didn’t even mention me.” He recalled. “You’re my girlfriend and she thought you slept with everyone but me.”

“In her defense, no one knows I’m your girlfriend.” You reminded him, unknowingly making him feel worse. His face faltered and he kept he slumped back on the couch.

“Do you think people would stop asking you things like that if they knew?” He wondered out loud after a beat of silence.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’d get asked even worse questions.” You laughed sadly. “There’s no way to tell.”

Tom seemed unsatisfied with your answer and let out a sigh. He sat up from his seat position and wrapped his arms firmly around your waist.

“It’s getting really hard for me to sit back me listen to people disrespect the women of this cast. Or the women of Hollywood in general. Especially you.” He stated. “I’m your boyfriend. I should be defending you.”

“I understand, baby. But I can defend myself.” You reminded him with a soft smile. “Don’t worry about me, Tommy. I can handle a few sexists.”

Tom reluctantly nodded and leaned back in the couch, pulling you with him so you were resting on his chest.

“It still bothers me.” He mumbled before kissing the top of your head.

“I know.” You tilted your chin up to look at him. “It bothers me too.”

“I should’ve said something.” He cursed himself as he shook his head in disdain. “I shouldn’t have just sat there.”

“It’s alright.” You assured him, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“It’s not.” He said definitively. “And it won’t happen again.

The conversation you had resonated with Tom and sat in the back of his mind for the rest of the press tour. The incident at the panel did bring some good, which Tom was happy about, as journalists often sided with you when it was brought up. Since Tom was often put with you for interviews, he was able to closely monitor the questions you were being asked. You managed to get through the rest of the press tour without another sexist question, and Tom assumed you had actually ignited some change.

Until the final day.

“Tom, how would you like to see Peter Parker mature and grow in future MCU films?” Tom was asked during your last interview of the day. It was a simple question that he had gotten before, so he answered it simply. You smiled at him as he spoke, proud of all he had done so far and excited for what he’d do in the future. He finished his answer and the journalist smiled at him.

“I’d love to see that too.” He nodded at Tom. “So, Y/n, your suit is obviously very form fitting. I’m sure you’ve seen the comments so I have to ask, can you wear underwear under the suit?”

You blinked in surprise for a moment as you processed the question. You could hear Tom suck in a sharp breath, practically feeling the heat radiating off of him as anger pulsated through him.

It had happened again.

He was asked an intelligent question about his character and you were asked about your body.

“I’m sorry?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to give the journalist a chance to redeem himself.

“I’m asking since there are plenty of shots from behind but never any panty lines.” The journalist smirked at you in a way that made you deeply uncomfortable. “Fans wanted to know if you were wearing underwear under your suit or not.”

“That’s funny, I’ve never had a fan ask me that. Only you guys.” You kept a tight smile as you tried to keep the situation under control. You shot a look at Tom, who was giving the journalist a lethal stare. He was gripping the sides of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. You quickly reached over and took his hand in yours, not caring about the cameras and just wanting to comfort him.

“Well we-“

“She doesn’t want to answer that.” Tom abruptly cut you off as he shot daggers at the journalist. The journalist snickered and rolled his eyes a little as he looked at his list of questions

“All right, moving on.” He said, slightly bitter. “Tom, which Avenger, other than Tony, would you like Peter to train from?”

Tom looked at you, as if asking for your permission to continue. He was ready to walk out of the interview but only on your call. You gave him a reassuring smile that encouraged him to continue.

“I would say Captain America because I think he understands how it feels to be the little guy. Peter and Steve were both picked on before they got their powers, although Peter was still picked on after he got his powers. But neither Captain America or Spider-Man have guns or fire blasters, just fists and strength, so I think they would get along well.” Tom answered, looking at you the whole time instead of the interviewer. You squeezed his hand and gave him a gentle nod.

“That’s a good answer. Well done.” He commemorated Tom. “And Y/n, like we mentioned before, one of the most noticeable things about your character is her skintight suit. How did you train to fit into that?”

You and Tom exchanged knowing looks before you answered.

“Again with the suit.” You laughed awkwardly. “Are you trying to fit into one or something?”

“I just want to know how you fit into the suit.” He shrugged. “Trust me, I’ve studied pictures of you in it pretty closely. It looks like a second skin.”

“Well, they measured me, so it was gonna fit regardless. Because, you know, they made it my size.” You answered like it was obvious, because it was. Your straight cut answer didn’t satisfy the prying needs of the journalist.

“So no extra squats to make it look as good as possible?” He winked at you and Toms grip on your hand tightened.

“I didn’t exactly go into this film hoping my ass looked good, if that’s what you’re asking.” You said flatly. “I was more looking to be a powerful role model for girls to look up to.”

“But your ass looking good would just be a plus, right?” He laughed and looked at you as if you were supposed to laugh too.

“Um, no.” You squinted your eyes and tilted your head.

“I’m about to end this mans whole career.” Tom said under his breath. From the look on his face, you could tell he had bitten his tongue long enough.

The boy was about to burst.

“What was that, Tom?” The journalist asked, not having heard him.

“Stop being sexy!” Tom demanded. You looked right at the camera with the surprised pikachu face as the journalist laughed in confusion.

“What?” He asked.

“He means sexist.” You informed him.

“What is wrong with you? Is that question seriously on your sheet?” Tom asked angrily, letting go of your hand to point at the paper the journalist was holding.

“Tom, it’s okay.” You put your hand on his shoulder to relax him, but he was seeing red.

“No, I want to see it. I want to know if you’re dumb or just the company you work for.” Tom snatched the little blue sheet from the journalist and read it over. “Look at that, it’s just you.”

He held up the sheet and the questions you had been asked were in on it. You looked at the sheet and made another face at the camera.

“I’m not the first person to think she looks hot in her suit.” The journalist defended with his smirk still present, only angering Tom further.

“But you’re the first person to piss me off enough to the point where I’m about to walk out of this interview.” Tom snapped back and your jaw dropped. You looked at the camera and pointed at Tom before giving a thumbs up. You were almost enjoying it too much to interrupt, but you didn’t want him to get too interrupted.

“Tommy, relax.” You said as you soothingly rubbed his arm. “It’s okay. I get it all the time.”

“That’s exactly why I’m mad.” He told you. “I know you get this all the time. We get the deep, philosophical questions and the girls get the sexy questions.”

“Sexist questions.” You corrected with a smile.

“The girls get the sexist questions.” He fixed his mistake. “I’m so sick of listening to people disrespect my girlfriend all day long. The girls aren’t here for you to drool over during action sequences. Girls strong and smart and tough and deserved to be asked about more than what underwear they’re wearing. Let’s go.”

Tom got out of his seat, took your hand, and walked out of the room. He lead you all the way to your dressing room in silence and didn’t let go of your hand until the door was closed. You folded your arms and looked at him as he looked at the ground sheepishly. His anger was gone now and he just looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I know you said you could handle it but-“

You cut him off by throwing your arms around him and kissing him. He stumbled back a little but regained his footing and kissed you back.

“Don’t apologize.” You smiled and rubbed your nose against his once you pulled away. “I loved what you said.”

“I know you can take care of yourself.” He told you. “But I’m gonna take care of you too.”

You smiled in appreciation before kissing him again.

“That’s okay with me.”

Later that night, you found Tom on the hotel couch again and sat on his lap. He wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you in place as you wrapped an arm around his neck.

“Check out this article I just read.” You smiled innocently at him. “‘Tom Holland goes on feminist rant to defend girlfriend, Y/n L/n. Click here to watch.’ Sounds pretty interesting.” You said sarcastically and Tom grimaced. In the midst of his argument with the reporter, he let it slip that you were his girlfriend.

“Oh.” He pursed his lips. “I messed up pretty bad, huh?”

You laughed slightly and kissed his forehead.

“I don’t think my boyfriend defending women like it’s his day job is messing up. I think it’s pretty sweet.” You shrugged and brushed his hair out of his face.

“But I exposed our relationship.” He pouted apologetically. You took his chin between your fingers and kissed his pouted lips.

“A small price to pay for salvation.” You quoted Thanos, making Tom laugh. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re still gonna get asked sexy questions.” He grumbled as he toyed with your fingers.

“Sexist questions.” You corrected yet again.

“You’re still gonna get asked sexist questions. One feminist rant want solve that.” He mocked the article and let out a sigh.

“Maybe not, but at least I know I have a whole defense team to back me up next time I get asked a sexy question.” You teased him and kissed his nose. “I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you more, baby doll.” He smiled sleepily and pulled you into a real kiss.

“Now that I think about it, what do you wear under your suit?” He wondered once he pulled away. You pretended to be shocked and gasped.

“Hey!” You playfully slapped his arm. “Stop being sexy.”

Tag List 🏷

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #iron man #peter parker fanfiction #marvel #spiderman #marvel cast

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kaitycole · 3 years

Text

a future with(out) you

Summary: Where do you fit in Oikawa’s life after he says his future is just full of volleyball?

Warnings: Angst to fluff

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Word Count: 1851

A/N: Thanks for the request, @burntpeachie. I hope you enjoy it.

It has been seven years since you started dating Oikawa. Your relationship began the second year of high school, it survived the five years post-graduation that included your four years of college and first year of working while he had spent those five years in Argentina living out his dream. Which was why something didn’t feel right after watching his latest TV interview.

“Oikawa-san, what does the future have in store for you now that you are heading back to Japan?”

He smiled his bright smile, the one that made men and women alike swoon. “More volleyball.”

Volleyball.

If you never heard about that sport again, it would be too soon. Volleyball had consumed your life since the day you met Oikawa and while you love him, while you want to support his dreams, his ambitions, you just thought that he might make more time for you. Maybe if you could somehow turn into a ball made of leather consisting of eighteen rectangle panels, you might get some attention.

The door opens and you smile just a little when you see Oikawa walk in. He had gone out with Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi since he finally had some free time after having moved back home. He has settled into your apartment effortlessly which just felt right, but your stomach is still in knots after thinking about that interview all day.

“Hi.” You don’t want to be upset, you know he said what he did for a reason, but it still hurt. You have chiseled away a place in your life for him, kept it free from anything else, but it doesn’t feel like he had done the same for you, leaving you to wonder if he ever had or if the place he made for you had gotten filled with something else.

“Hey sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead, sitting next to you. “I’m still not used to this, to knowing that there’s no flight to catch in less than 53 hours and that me being here in permanent.” He rests his head on your shoulder, lazily tracing the lines on your palm with his fingers.

“Speaking of, do you want me to help unpack some of your boxes? I really don’t mind.” You run your fingers through his hair, smiling when you feel him nuzzle his face against your shoulder.

“No, don’t worry about them. It’s fine.”

You bite your lip, once against his simple words shouldn’t bother you as much as they do. Your relationship weathered the storm of long distance, surely it could withstand anything, right? But again, your stomach knots up, doubt sinking in that maybe he doesn’t plan on staying here long. That maybe with his higher level of fame, a larger number of fans, that maybe he didn’t want to fully unpack because he was planning on leaving you. Why else would he need to keep boxes left packed and sealed if he actually planned on having a life with you here?

* * A few weeks have passed since Oikawa moved back to Japan and to say his behavior has been strange would be an understatement. He seems to have gotten jumpy, constantly logging his phone screen, flipping his phone over and even walking into a different room to take certain phone calls. You hate it, you never thought he would cheat on you, but you at least hoped he would be more creative about it.

Today is particular you’re just completely fed up. He woke you up way earlier than you wanted when his phone went off and he literally flew out of bed and into the living room to take it, you kicked on of his still packed boxes and he seems to be in a whole different world. By the time you get home from work, you’re done, done with today, done with his behavior, you just can’t take it anymore.

“Hey, Y/N!”

“Oh, so you do know my name?”

Oikawa stops midway off the couch, half standing, half sitting. “Huh?”

“The last few weeks you’ve been a blur and even when you are here, you are mentally somewhere else or checking your phone.” You roll your eyes as you walk through the living room, dropping your bags on the countertop in the kitchen.

“I don’t follow.” “Do you even want to be here? To be with me?” You cross your arms, face twisted in irritation.

He stands up, walking over to you, “Of course. What kind of question is that?”

“More volleyball. That’s what you said.”

Oikawa is entirely too confused at this moment, trying to figure out when he said that and why you were repeating it.

You watch as he tries to come up with a reply, trying to formulate a response, but you just want to be far away from him. You’ve let this irritation, this anger fester and now it was demanding to come out.

“In your last interview, you said your future held ‘more volleyball.’” You use air quotes, “I guess I just thought I had a plan in there somewhere, but was wrong.”

You watch as his shoulders drop and his expression switches from confused to somewhat heartbroken. He tries to grab out to you, but you slip pass him, grabbing your purse and going back to the door.

“I need some space.”

Oikawa stands there, words jumbled up in his throat as you slam the door shut. He thinks back to the interview and still struggled with why what he said was so upsetting to you.

“What Shittykawa?”

“So rude, Iwa-chan. Is that really how you answer the phone?” Oikawa balances the phone on his shoulder as he starts going through one of the packed boxes.

“Just when you call.” He rolls his eyes when he hears Iwa chuckle. “What do you need?” “Y/N just left, pretty upset. Apparently, my last interview upset them.”

“Well duh. You basically said that your future only held volleyball, you didn’t even mention Y/N.”

Oikawa stops rummaging through the box and is shocked. He never thought of it like that, but in his defense, he was trying to protect you too. High school was rough with the groups of fans he attracted, he didn’t want to think how bad it could get to publicly mention you.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” “Cause you’re a dumbass.” Oikawa rolls his eyes, internally cheering as he finally finds what he’s been looking for. “Wait, you watched my interview? Aw Iwa-chan, you love me.”

“It was the only thing on.” “Why were you up so early?” “Bye Oikawa. Fix things with Y/N or I’ll hit you.”

* * An hour passes before you finally return to the apartment. When you left, you told yourself you’d call some friends, meet up and stay out late, but they were all busy and you ended up just walking around. You found your way into a small shop, the kind that have a little bit of everything before accepting defeat and heading home. It’s quiet when you open the door and dark, maybe Oikawa had left too. That thought hurt you because you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted space, you wanted the opposite, you wanted the Tooru that clung to you, the one who invaded your personal space more than he didn’t.

You’re really surprised when you see candle lit, did you even own candles? You walk down through the living room, kitchen and partially down the hall before you hear the apartment door open, Oikawa coming back in.

“Y/N! You’re home, thank goodness.” He lets out a sigh of relief, “come here.”

Hesitantly you walk back into the living room, sitting next to Oikawa.

“I’m sorry.” He grabs your hands, “I didn’t think carefully enough when I did that interview.” “It’s fine, Tooru.” You watch his eyes light up when you use his given name.

“It’s not, because I’ve not been doing a good enough telling you things.” He takes a deep breath, “I guess I’ve always saw you in my future so I didn’t think it was important to say it. But leaving you to assuming those things aren’t fair to you.”

“Really? You see me in your future?” You bite your lip, tears pooling in your eyes.

“I can’t see one without you, at least not a good one.” He places a hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheek, gently wiping away the tear that slips down it. “I’m sorry I don’t say it enough, but I promise to get better.”

You want to enjoy the moment, to let the love you feel wash over you, but you just can’t drop his recent and borderline shady behavior. “If you want to be together, why have you been acting all weird?”

His face drops and you fear that maybe you caught him in a lie. He fiddles with something in his pocket, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I was hoping to do this another time, but oh well.” He pulls out a small red box, handing it to you.

“I love you and I clearly don’t say it enough, but a life without you isn’t something that I want. Volleyball is important to me and without your support I don’t know what I’d do, but you, Y/N, you are more important to me. If I could redo the interview, I’d say that my future has more of you in it because I don’t have to worry about leaving the country anymore or scheduling phone calls at the most bizarre hours. I guess what I’m trying to say with all of this is, will you marry me?”

“Just one question before I answer, okay?”

“Of course, ask anything.”

“Why have you been hiding your phone?” You fidget with the box in your hand, the velvet material brushes against your fingertips.

“You just love ruining all the surprises, eh?” He laughs, “I’ve been talking to my sister’s friend. She’s a realtor and has been helping me look for a bigger apartment. I know you’ve been here for a while and I wasn’t going to rent anything without talking to you first, but I thought a bigger place might be nice. A place that’s ours especially for this chapter in our life. If you say yes, of course.”

You feel like an idiot, upset with yourself for doubting your relationship, doubting your boyfriend. Tears trickle down your cheeks, Oikawa quickly wiping them away, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” He kisses your lips softly, “I was acting super strange, I’d probably feel the same way if roles were reversed.”

“Of course I’ll marry you.” You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you.

When you pull back, he takes the box, slipping the ring on your finger. He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your ring finger over and over until you start laughing. You smile brightly when his eyes meet yours before he rests his head on your chest.

“Tooru?” “Mmm?”

“I love you.” “I love you too.”

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #hq angst to fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

She [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series)

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: You meet Steve Rogers for an interview but he’s not what you expected.

Note: I’ve been trying to chill the last five days but I obviously got some writing in. It has resulted in this impromptu series and I hope you all like it. It’s looking like it will be about 10 chapters when all is said is done but that being said, I am still working on it.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Reader

Your left ankle bent as you leaned heavily on your heel. You stood before the thick walnut door, a round frosted window on its face. The townhouse stuck out on the old Brooklyn row and all knew its resident. It surprised many that he remained in the borough and he was cherished all the more for it. He was the golden boy of New York.

Well, that’s what people like to believe. You weren’t there to paint another flowery picture of the saviour. You were there to speak with the real man behind the plan. There was a story behind Steve Rogers that had yet to be told and when you were selected to tell it, you knew you had to do it right. The task was both daunting and humbling. It could be your big break.

You knocked and adjusted the bag that hung from your shoulder. You didn’t miss the group of kids at the end of the block gathered around for a glimpse of their hero. The door opened and you were greeted by the man himself. He smiled at you as his hand rested on the curled door handle.

“Hi,” He greeted you. “Thanks for coming. It saves me a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all,” You shook his hand.

You’d spoken to him briefly over the phone and negotiated the time and place for your interview. You agreed that him coming to the office would cause too much of a flurry. You were sure he was over that.

“Come in,” He stepped back and waved you through.

He closed the door as you looked around the entryway. A thick banister with the same dark wood as the walls led up to the second level and a finely carved archway peeked through to the next room. It was cozy and a lot quainter than you expected. The exposed brick above the panelling lent it a warmth.

“Shoes?” You stopped by the mat.

“Your call,” He said. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers, but I’m fine,” You assured him as you stepped out of your heels. You’d hate to scuff the hardwood. “I’m sure you're just as impatient as me to begin.”

“Steve. And yeah, I suppose. I don’t really do much more than pressers and usually, I don’t do much talking.” He confessed. “Just through here,” He pointed to the front room.

You nodded and stepped through. He directed you to the pair of armchairs before the artificial fireplace and you set your bag down as you sat. He lowered himself across from you as you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone and notebook. You swiped up and flicked your finger across the screen.

“Do you mind if I record you? It helps with editing and of course, accuracy,” You said.

He scratched his jaw and shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Great,” You hit the red dot and set the phone down on the small table with the mic facing him.

🖋️

You were a bit surprised by how it had all unfolded, but, you supposed, you were right when you said no one was ever exactly what they seemed. Steve was nice enough as he showed you the door but you could see the agitated impatience behind his eyes. You should’ve eased him into it more. Timing was everything.

Even so, you had promised your editor a story and if you didn’t deliver after being chosen for such a coveted one, well, you would never see its likes again.

So you sat at your desk in your small but comfortable city apartment. It was nothing compared to the star-spangled hero’s walk-up but it was home. If you could work the interview the right way, it might mean an upgrade, or at least a television that didn’t flicker.

You hit play on your phone for the third time that night. Steve Rogers’ voice was etched into your brain. And that tension in his forehead, the tic in his jaw. A thinly veiled wrath unexpected of the valiant soldier-turned-saviour. You shivered and paused the recording. It was almost startling how quickly he’d turned on you, but you weren’t entirely innocent.

You stretched your fingers over the keyboard and sighed as you stared at your blinking cursor. You couldn’t just sit on this forever. You had a deadline and an extension was an impossibility, if not a death warrant for your career.

So you hit play and began to type, pausing to play back snippets as you went.

🖋️

‘It’s early afternoon in the heart of Brooklyn. Amidst the old brick buildings that line the cracked sidewalks is a townhouse unlike any other. The home of a man born there over a century ago. A living ghost that haunts the block. Most would say he is a friendly spirit.

Steve Rogers answers the door as a boy lets his baseball roll under a car and his friends lower their mitts to watch. A teen on a bike, a ring in his nose, even slows to admire the hometown hero as he smiles; a beacon of the borough. A glimmer of hope for all to think that the block is not the whole world.

He greets me like an old friend. “Hi.” The same smile seen in newsprint. He thanks me for coming and ushers me inside. This is the first time I’ve met him in person. I can’t lie; I’m intimidated. I’m just another person in debt to this great veteran.

His house isn’t what you would expect from a man as prestigious as him. No medals hanging on the wall, no vainglorious cut-outs of his image, or pictures of him shaking hands with men in suits. Only framed baseball cards along freshly laid wood-panels. It’s like any other house in Brooklyn, just newer. An ancient skeleton revived.

We sit in the front room, he offers me a drink. I’m not very thirsty. I’m more anxious to start talking. I can see he is too though his facade is hard to crack. He tells me to call him Steve as my recitations of ‘Mr. Rogers’ become almost pathetic. We begin.

Interviewer: “Great.” I hit ‘record’. “I’ll start by saying you have a nice place.”

Steve: “Thanks.” He seems to relax as he leans back in the chair which is nearly too narrow for his broad shoulders. “It took a while but I think it’s coming together.”

Interviewer: “Can’t take the boy out of Brooklyn, I guess.”

Steve: “Wouldn’t leave it for the world.” He smiles again, though he never truly looks less than amiable.

I: “Only to save it,”

S: “I do what I can.

I: “More than most; New York, Sekovia, the world. You’ve done it all. Do you ever just take a break?”

S: “I try. And sometimes I get a chance to just… be here.”

He looks around, proud of himself, of his home.

I: “Any hobbies?”

S: “You know, I used to love to draw. Nothing special, you know. But I found it calming. I actually bought a bunch of pencils and a pad but I never touched them. I’m sure they're just sitting up in my closet, neglected.”

I listen intently, imagining this man bent over a notebook. It’s an absurd picture as my mind returns to the man in his cowl with shield in hand. The red, white, and blue bullseye is more suiting in my head than a pen.

I: “Anything else? Anything you actually do?”

S: “I like to run. Helps me get to know my neighbours, reconnect with my roots. I read… a little. I’m still not really into the whole internet thing but I try. I still get the newspaper just to read the strips and fill in the weekly crosswords.”

He confirms my suspicion. A man lost in time, but it seems he has found his place.

I: “A man for all times. And you work? I’m sure you get tired of talking about it but well, there’s been a lot of speculation about a possible retirement.”

He ‘s silent as he looks away and fidgets in his chair. He becomes the rehearsed hero at his podium.

S: “I’d hate to fan that fire but I think it’s only natural to consider it.”

I: “Thinking of settling down?”

S: “It’s always a thought but I’m not stupid. It’s not that simple. I’m not the type of man that gets to settle down.”

This remark might break the heart of every woman in Brooklyn and beyond but it seems to hurt him more. A grim truth for a man who many would say has the world in his hands.

I: “And if you did hang up the shield, is there anything you want to do? Anywhere you want to go?”

S: “I’d like to try fishing. I’ve heard it’s relaxing. I love the city but it’s nice to get away now and then.”

I: “Is there anything keeping you from retiring? Besides the obvious; we all know you’re a good man and a great hero. You’ve shown commitment to the city, the world, humanity.”

He looks to the artificial fireplace and shrugs. He’s thinking; perhaps censoring his response.

I: “Co-workers? The world is well aware of what you did for your old friend. And it has proven to be a point of contention, even after the pardon.”

He clears his throat and he’s no longer smiling.

S: “Bucky is an old friend and a commendable soldier. He does his job well. I wouldn’t take anything back. He has more than earned his place.”

I: “So, if you retired, you believe that he would retain his place among the team?”

He’s frowning now. He adjusts his posture so that he seems even bigger than before. A formidable opponent, if not an overwhelming one.

S: “He is not there because of me. He’s there because of himself. Because he is an asset to the world.”

His blue eyes are darker now. No longer the crystalline waves shining in the sun but those foreboding tides which crash together beneath the moonless sky. My ship has gone awry, carried by an errant wind.

I: “Well, I can’t help but point out that many wouldn’t agree. You put yourself and several of your associates on the line to save him. To bring him into your fold. To place a man who was once a national enemy beside you. I hate to say it but, frankly, even if he were pardoned on his own merit, I fail to imagine him being allowed the same access to confidential intelligence and tasked with the protection of civilian life.”

His hands are fists. I could put up a front and say I’m not nervous, but I am. I have done what I once thought impossible. I have angered Steve Rogers.

S: “He wasn’r Bucky, but he is now and he has been cleared. I’m sorry, but I thought you were here to talk about me.”

I: “Yes, I am, but the world is well aware of your friendship with Mr. Barnes and all its implications. It is hard to separate him from your life.”

S: “I agreed to talk about me.”

His tone is set in stone. I attempt to stay calm myself.

I: “We are talking about you, but we can move on. Now, even with its dissolution, there are still questions being asked about the Sokovia Accords and your opposition to it. While many can acknowledge the need for your team and their work, they can’t help but wonder at the lack of restraints placed upon it. There are regulations even for the FBI and CIA and other protective services. So why should you be exempt?”

He sniffs and stands up slowly. He retreats behind his chair and nears a table along the wall. He distracts himself with a signed baseball. I don’t have a chance to ask who scribbled along the stitches as he tosses it and finds his voice.

S: “I never disagreed with the sentiment of the Accords. As heroes, of course, we should have obligations. Our first and foremost being the protection of innocent lives. The hardest to uphold but we do it.”

He is ever the statesman but he isn’t finished and his voice gets low. Dangerous, even.

S: “At the same time, we put our own lives on the line and you come here and nag me about formalities? What is it you want? Paperwork? Reports on how I threw my shield to stop a bullet from striking an innocent bystander? How a piece of shrapnel nearly severed my tendon as I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle?”

I: “With all due respect, I am only asking about transparency. People deserve to know more. They deserve the truth.”

S: “Is that what you’re looking for? The truth? You want to know what we don’t tell you and your readers?”

He puts the baseball down and his hand is on his hip, disapproving. I suspect his lecture will continue. He nears the chair and grips the back of it as he narrows his eyes at me. I fear he might throw it in my direction though for now, I hope it should act as my own shield against him.

S: “About how I have to lie about how many men I lose to keep this world safe. Because I can’t scare the people. Because I have to keep on this mask of the brave hero.”

His eyes go to the ceiling. He takes a breath to calm himself. I can tell he wants to continue. That he is holding back something which has brewed within him for a very long time. It is a moment before he speaks again.

S: “We’re done here. That’s it. Turn your phone off and go.”

The interview is over. What happens next will remain off the record. I leave with a mouth full of bile. My childlike wonder has been extinguished. I came to seek out the man behind the shield and I have done just that, but he is not who I expected.

I was ready for a humble man, a man like any of us; the same wants and desires. Still human despite his enhancements; despite his superhuman status. What I discovered was a man who’s exceptionality has nurtured a sense of entitlement.

And we do owe him our lives, our gratitude, we owe him the world. Yet I cannot dismiss the sense that he might regret his good deeds. That to him, it has become a thankless chore. That we are the needy children and he has been burdened with our cries for help.

So we should not be surprised or upset upon his retirement, not if, but when it comes. And we cannot fault him for his departure. It has been a long-time coming.’

🖋️

You took a breath and sat back in your chair. You rubbed your cheeks as the recording began to repeat itself. You stopped it and checked the time. You’d spend your morning editing and hope you would be ready for submission by the evening.

As you hit save, you felt an odd tremor deep inside. This could be it. Your big story. Or you could be tired and entirely up your own ass. You only hoped it was the former.

🖋️

You sat across from Poppy as she read your article through the glasses which sat low on her long nose. She was just past forty and wouldn’t look it if she didn’t wear the ridiculous half-circle spectacles. She wore a shade of red which paid homage to her name and her lipstick was just as bold. Her long lashes flicked up as she lowered the pages and her blonde hair fell behind her shoulder.

“Well…” She said carefully. “It is…interesting.”

You swallowed nervously as you teetered on the edge of the acrylic seat. Her long manicured nails played with the corner of the article.

“I had initially planned to have this in the back pages. No one really cares about the Avengers anymore.” She said. “But this is… I will discuss it with our marketing team but I know a feature when I see it.”

“A feature?” Your lips parted and you sat back as you gripped the thin arms of the chair.

“Oh, yes,” She said. “Another celebrity break-up is not exactly scandalous and to be frank, I do tire of that ridiculous narrative. But this… you will be hearing from me soon.”

“Uh,” You stood awkwardly at what you were sure was a dismissal. “Thank you.”

“For what? Doing my job? Should I thank you for doing yours?” She countered.

“N-no,” You stuttered.

“Go on then. I’m certain you have other work to do.” She tapped her long nails. “You certainly will once this is ready to print.”

You nodded and left her. She was already on her phone before the door closer behind you and you looked around the blindly bright office. It would be your first feature and it was the first article which had earned you more than a passive grumble from the woman. Perhaps you hadn’t been so foolish to think you had actually done something well.

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #she #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america

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dherzogblog · 3 years

Text

The Birth of The Daily Show: 25 Years of Fake News and Moments of Zen

It was July of 1995 and I had left MTV to become President of Comedy Central. It was the basic cable equivalent of going from the NY Yankees to an expansion team. I was on the job just two weeks when I received a call from Brillstein Grey the high powered managers of Bill Maher, host of one of the networks few original programs, "Politically Incorrect". We were informed Bill and his show would leave the network when his contract expired in 12 months. It was a done deal. Bill wanted to take his show to the "big leagues" at ABC where he would follow Night Line. Comedy Central was left jilted. Terrible news for a network still trying to establish itself. We had a year to figure out how to replace him and the clock was ticking. So began the path to The Daily Show.

It was very much a fledgling Comedy Central I joined, available in barely 35 million homes, desperately seeking an identity and an audience. It was just over three years old, born into a shot gun wedding that joined two struggling and competing comedy networks, HBO’s Comedy Channel and Viacom’s HA!, Watching them both stumble out of the gate, the cable operators forced them to merge, telling them: "We only need one comedy channel, you guys figure it out”. After some contentious negotiations the new channel was born and the red headed step child of MTV and HBO set out to find the pop culture zeitgeist its parents had already expertly navigated. The network had yet to define itself. The programming consisted mainly of old stand up specials from the likes of Gallagher (never underestimate the appeal of a man smashing watermelons), a hodgepodge of licensed movies (“The God’s Must be Crazy and The Cheech and Chong trilogy were mainstays) and Benny Hill reruns. The networks biggest hit by far was the UK import “Absolutely Fabulous”, better know as “AbFab”. Comedy Central boasted a handful of original shows, including the wonderfully sublime "SquiggleVision" of “Dr. Katz”, the sketch comedy "Exit 57" (starring the then unknown Amy Sedaris and Stephen Colbert) and of course Maher’s "Politically Incorrect". In retrospect I don’t think Bill got enough credit for pioneering the idea of political comedy on mainstream TV. Back then he was the only one doing it.

Politically Incorrect performed just fine, but got more critical attention than ratings. It was a panel show, and I had something a bit different in mind to replace it. I knew we needed a flagship, a network home base, something akin to ESPN's Sports Center where viewers could go at the end of a the day for our comedic take on everything that happened in the last 24 hours….."a daily show". I had broad idea for it in my head. I would describe it as part "Weekend Update", part Howard Stern, with a dash of "The Today Show" on drugs complete with a bare boned format to keep costs low so we could actually afford to produce it. We could open with the headlines covering the day's events (our version of a monologue), followed by a guest segment (we wouldn't need to write jokes...only questions!), and finish with a taped piece. Simple, right? We just needed someone to help flesh out our vision.

Comedy Central was a a second tier cable channel then and considered a bit of a joke (no pun intended). It had minuscule ratings, no heat and even less money to spend. Producers were not lining up to work with there. Eileen Katz ran programming for the channel and the two of us began pitching this idea to every producer who would listen. One of the first people we approached was Madeleine Smithberg, an ex Letterman producer and had overseen "The Jon Stewart Show" for us at MTV. We thought she was perfect for the role. “You can’t do this, you can’t afford this, you don't have the stomach for this, it will never work ” Madeliene said when we met with her. We could not convince her to take the gig. Ok then....we moved on. The problem was we heard that same refrain from everybody. No one wanted the job. So after weeks being turned down by literally EVERYONE, I said to Eileen: “We have to go back to Madeleine and convince her to do this with us"!

Part our pitch to her was we would go directly to series. There would be no pilot. The show was guaranteed to go on air. We had decided this show was our to be our destiny and we had to figure it out come hell or high water. As a 24 hour comedy channel, if we couldn't figure out a way to be funny and fresh every day...what good were we? We told Madeliene we were committed to putting the show on the air and keeping it there till we got it right (for at least a year anyway). That, plus some gentle arm twisting got her to sign on. Shortly after that, Lizz Winstead did too.

Madleiene and Lizz very quickly landed on their inspired notion of developing the show and format as a news parody. It brought an immediate focus and a point of view to the process . All of the sudden things started to take shape and coming to life. Great ideas started flowing fast and furious while an amazing collection of funny and talented began to come on board. Madeliene and Lizz were off to the races. Now all we needed was a host.

The prime time version of ESPN's Sports Center was hosted by Dan Patrick and Keith Olbermann back then and it was must see cable TV. But I had recently started to notice another guy hosting the show's late night edition. He was funny, with a snarky delivery reminiscent of Dennis Miller. His name was Craig Kilborn. On the phone with CAA agent Jeff Jacobs one day, I asked if he knew happened to know who repped him? “I do" he said. "We just signed him”. Within days he was in my office along with Madeleine, Lizz, and Eileen who were all a bit skeptical about the tall blond guy with the frat boy vibes sitting across from them. After opening the meeting with a few off color comments that would probably get him cancelled today (an early warning sign fo sure), Craig ultimately won them over and we had our host.

FUN FAC#1: Minutes after the news of Craig's hiring went public, Keith Olberman's agent called me directly to ask why we hadn't considered hiring him?

Ok, we had a host and producers...but what to call it? After sifting through dozens of ideas for a title, Madeleine called me one day and said, "I think we should just call it what we've been calling it all along...."The Daily Show". As we approached our launch date we taped practice shows and took them out to focus groups to get real life feedback. The groups hated it.... I mean with a red hot hate. They hated Craig, the format, the jokes, everything. We were crushed and dejectedly looked around at the room at one another. "Now what?" “Either they’re wrong, or we are". I said I think they are...but it doesn’t matter, we're doing this!" We never looked back.

The show took off quickly garnering some quick buzz and attention, we felt like we had crashed the party. Well, sort of. We had no shortage of fun, growing pains and drama along the way. The Daily Show version 1.0 was about to unravel. In a December 1997 magazine interview Craig made some truly offensive and inappropriate remarks about Lizz and female members of the staff. Whether it was poor attempt at humor or just plain misogynist (or both) is beyond the point. It was all wrong, very wrong. Craig was suspended for a week without pay. Lizz left the show. In the moment I chose to protect the show and its talent more so than Lizz. That was wrong too. It's more than cringe worthy looking back now, and I regret not making some better decisions then. My loyalty to our host was later "rewarded" when in the Spring of 1998 Kilborn's team, a la Bill Maher, unceremoniously informed us he had signed a deal to follow Letterman on CBS when his contract expired at the end of the year. No discussion, a done deal. Comedy Central jilted again. Like Maher, Kilborn wanted his shot at the network big leagues and we had a little over six months to figure out how to replace him. We all know how that chapter ended. That search would eventually reunite us with Jon Stewart who along with The Daily Show took Comedy Central and basic cable to the "the big leagues" on their own terms, redefining late night comedy in the process The rest, as they say, is "Fake News" history.

Fun Fact #2: before approaching Jon (who I did not originally think would be interested) I initially offered the job to a chunkier, largely unknown Jimmy Kimmel, fresh off his co hosting duties on "Win Ben Stein's Money" ...only to have him turn us down.

My fascination with late night began as a kid. I remember how exciting it was to stay up to sneak a peek at the Carson monologue and watch him do spit takes with his chummy Hollywood guests. Later on I also loved the heady adult conversation Dick Cavett would have with everyone from Sly Stone to Groucho Marx. But it was the comedic revolution of Saturday night Live in 1975, followed by Letterman's game changing show in 1981 that truly established late night as the coolest place on the television landscape. I could only dream of one day being part of it.

25 years on, I couldn’t be more proud of The Daily Show and its legacy. Those days helping build it alongside Madeleine, Lizz, Eileen and the team were among the most satisfying (and fun) experiences I have ever had. It was thrilling to take a shot at the late night landscape and try and make our mark, especially when no one thought we could.

I am prouder still of what Trevor Noah and his staff have achieved since they took the hand off from Jon, evolving and growing the show through a new voice and lens. I think my personal "Moment Of Zen" will last as long as Trevor remains behind the desk, allowing me to selfishly boast of having hired every host this award winning and culture defining franchise has ever had.

25 years later. it remains as relevant as ever, a bona fide late night institution, standing shoulder to shoulder with all the great shows that inspired us to start.

#the daily show #jon stewart #trevor noah #comedy central

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seokiloquy · 4 years

Text

Lost In- What Word? Pt 1 - Akaashi Keiji

AU: Single Parent

Requested

Word Count: 4.5k+

Disclaimer: Fem! Reader, Time skip spoilers, Udai being a meta Furudate insert, just fluff

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Akaashi wasn’t sure if Udai was naturally forgetful, or just held so much anticipation in his smaller form that he glossed over details and didn't realize it. Udai was an excellent author despite not having reached the major public yet. His first published work was short and eerie which most of the shonen reading population didn’t greedily rip off the shelves. Although, those that did read it gave him overwhelming support, maybe the rest of the world wasn’t ready for that kind of psychological horror just yet.

When Akaashi originally applied for a position at the publishing company he intended to work in the literature department, editing lengthy novels and picking out grammatical errors, not reading conversations via text bubbles and looking for continuity errors between images. He never did pick out the exact moment he went from editor to fact-checker and archivist. Akaashi also never knew how many different ways there were to translate a single word until he met you. And once he did, he realized that his eyes would follow you across the office as you ran around and spoke to other editors, helping them furnish their translations so that they flowed properly.

“Tenma, isn’t he meant to be out of the rotation for this panel?” Akaashi couldn’t help but grimace when faced with the utter despair that had pulled on Udai’s typically eased expression. The panel itself was masterfully drawn, taking up two pages and showing off Udai’s immense talent in drawing expressions and anatomy.

“I spent 8 hours on that, only to find out that it needs to be scrapped. What has my life come to?”

The yellow office lights made both of the men’s hair give off a green tinge and made their faces look sickly. Udai frowned as he pushed his chair back and let his chin sit on the table of the small meeting room. His hair curled around his fingers as they gently tugged on the ends of the wavy black stands, straightening them only to let them go and have them bounce back into place.

Akaashi flipped through the printed out pages of the chapter, letting the loose papers lay flat on the table. He pointed to the next pages. “These are fine though. They’re in the right rotation here, so not all is lost at least.”

Udai sighed, as he threw his weight back into the chair, making it spin with his momentum. “That’s all well and good, but I was really proud of that panel. It was going to be the attention grabber.”

Akaashi pursed his lips gently, flipping through the pages once more before tucking them into the pale yellow folder and closing it. Udai’s new story was in its beginning stages, only having a sample chapter that would be published in the following week’s magazine, that is if they got it done in time.

“It needs to be perfect. I can’t have this not work and starve for the rest of my life.”

Akaashi opened his mouth slightly, taking in a deep breath, ready to spout out his words of encouragement for his colleague when there was a knock on the door followed by the soft creaking of the hinges as it opened.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to ask Udai about some of the uh… what’s the word? Dang, I’m supposed to know Japanese, it’s my job. The— I give up. Help?”

Udai chuckled and waved you over to take the seat opposite him, you shook your head and bowed slightly as your hand raised, saying you were alright, not needing the chair. Leaning down slightly you pointed at the ruff sketch copy in your hand where your current author’s handwriting seemed to over the edges of the text bubble slightly.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but how in the hell am I supposed to translate ‘paisen’?”

The innocent question seemed to brighten Udai’s mood much more than Akaashi’s monotone words of support would have. The older man launched backwards, nearly flinging himself off the chair, in a fit of laughter. His hands gripped the shirt he wore above his stomach and chest as they tried to ease the laughing pains.

Akaashi chuckled at the sight before looking at your somewhat regretful expression, you were probably too used to your co-workers laughing at your in-fluency at Japanese. “You can probably substitute a familiar nickname or a joking reference of respect.”

You sighed and brushed your hand over the back of your neck, “I swear, Himari had the intent to torture me with this last chapter. Thank you, Akaashi.”

Finally calmed from his fit of giggles, Udai sat straight in his chair and sent you a gracious smile. “Well, at least when you join our team I won’t torture you as much.”

You gave Udai and Akaashi a teasing smirk as you reached for the door handle. “I’m not so sure about that,” you said. “Besides, you need to get the attention of the readers before I join your team. No point in translating a comic that doesn’t even get off the ground right?”

You sent them a wink and the door closed behind you with a quiet click.

“Was that a challenge?”

“I believe so,” Akaashi said, handing Udai a blank sheet of paper. “Looks like we have some work to do.”

The office was, as it was the day before, and the day before that, calm. Udai sat in a small isolated office on his own with a naturally coloured lamp hanging over his hunched figure. The rest of his team, including Akaashi and now you as well, sat outside his door in a row of cubicles that led up to a large window that took up the entirety of the wall. In the corner cubicle, pressed against the window and directly across from him, you sat, typing away on your computer as you translated the Japanese text into Wild Words fonted English.

“Akaashi, is the end of chapter ready to translate?” Your head peeked over the frosted cubicle wall, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips and the corner of your eyes pinching together. Akaashi’s gaze fluttered around.

“Ah, Ya the edits are done so you can finish translating it now.”

The smile you wore only seemed to grow, making Akaashi want to turn away and stare at the same time. The sun’s light contrasted with the dull rectangular lights in the office, making your skin glow. Your fingers tightened on the top of the glass and your shoulders rose to your ears, you narrowly missed knocking over an owl keychain that hung on his side of the wall.

“Perfect,” you said. “I’ll get them done now.”

The day continued like this, everyone working and occasionally calling out to each other through their cubed walls, possibly getting a twirling pen in the forehead followed by a meek apology (coming from you). Every time you spoke to someone you would rise out of your seat to make eye contact with them, refusing to continue speaking otherwise, and even though he wasn’t the person you always spoke to, each time your head began to poke out of your squared corner Akaashi couldn’t help but turn his attention your way, watching as the sun's light danced around you. It didn’t come to a surprise when, like every instance before, Akaashi looked up when you shot up from your seat. Only this time there was a frantic look plastered unevenly on your face, one that the warm light didn’t compliment.

“Please tell me my clock is wrong and that it’s not 4 pm.”

Chiyo leaned back in her chair, setting down her Cintiq’s pen and flipped the watch on her wrist so that the face faced her. “Yup, it’s actually 4:15.”

Akaashi was surprised to hear a not so work friendly English curse leave your lips as you rushed to save files on your computer while simultaneously packing your purse. You continued to swear as you ran out of your cubicle and toward the elevators with a quick “goodbye” being thrown over your shoulder. The office was quiet.

“Does that happen often?” Ena asked as he pulled off his glasses.

The group of artists and their editor sat in stunned silence for a few moments, minds racing over where the young translator had scurried off to. In their collaborative confusion, the team slowly went back to their respective jobs.

Himari came around the corner of the office, coffee in hand, as she chatted with her editor, who was nursing his own mug. The writer looked up for her conversation to see Udai’s team and gave them a polite nod. They were going to meekly return to their work when Himari paused her steps and looked at the empty plush chair that sat rotated and untucked in your cubicle.

“Oh, did (Y/N) leave?” to Akaashi’s surprise, Himari was not.

“Does she do that often?” he asked, setting down his pen on the counter of his desk.

Himari nodded, smiling, “Oh ya, sometimes she gets lucky and her friend can handle it but a lot of the time she has to run out of here by 3.” Akaashi’s brow furrowed slightly as Himari took a sip of her coffee before continuing waving her hand by her head, “Don’t worry too much about it though, she always comes in early to get her work done.”

Before they could question further, Himari was off with her editor sending them a knowing smile.

When the end of the workday rolled around, only 45 minutes after your quick departure, Akaashi found his eyes trailing back to his phone that sat at the corner of his desk on top of a stack of papers. Keeping watch on his phone, he swung his bag over his shoulder and shut off his computer. The device remained silent as the team began to pile out of their seats, toward the elevators and in a fit of contemplation, he reached for the phone.

Your response was quick and vague; Family thing, happens often. I’ll tell you later. See you tomorrow!

After the sample comic was released, Udai was thrown when he received an immense amount of interest for his characters and story, and he was even more excited when he received word from the magazine’s publishers that they wanted him to continue with the path he was on. The months building up to this moment were filled with constant plot revisions, reference excursions, and interviews until they came to a conclusive framework of the story, and continued introductions as new members were added to their original duo to make the workload less hefty.

Today though was the day that the story’s first chapter would finally be released to the public.

Akaashi tracked into the office, heading to the lounge to grab a coffee before coming up to his cubicle against the window and setting his bag down, immediately heading to the lounge. 8:40 in the morning, 20 minutes before the expected time of arrival, Akaashi, back at his desk, was just about to take a sip of coffee when a small snore overlapped the sound of the air conditioners, creating a dishonest harmony.

On the other side of the frosted glass wall of the cubicle was you, head resting on the black mouse pad that had a small plush cushion for your wrist. Akaashi quickly rounded the desks, coming to our side to gently rouse you from your slumber before your co-workers arrived. He was to wake you up gently with a hand on your shoulder, that was the plan. The plan changed when he noticed the small picture frame on your desk, surrounded by various action figures and Funko pops.

With one hand on your shoulder and the other holding the fame, he studied the photo with a kind gaze. He was so enthralled with the image that he forgot that below his other hand, was you.

“He’s cute ain’t he?” you asked, startling the editor back to his current reality as you stretched, arching your back like a cat. Akaashi’s attention was brought back to the current situation as you reached out for another frame in the opposite corner of your desk. “His name is Naoko. Here, this photo is newer.”

The young boy in the new photo looked like you a lot, more so than the previous one where he was just an infant that carried more resemblance to a potato than a human. Akaashi, without taking his eyes off the pictures, pulled the chair out from under Ena’s desk and sat next to you. He didn’t say anything, deciding just to admire the photos he held and letting you decide whether or not he should have the pleasure of hearing a story.

You sighed and yawned, leaning over the armrest of your chair so you would see them too. “He’s six, really quiet. I moved here when I found out. Hardly even out of university, and I was already pregnant with some strangers kid,” you laughed, making Akaashi stare at your features for a moment, wanting to point out which ones could be found on the boy.

“Is he the reason you moved to Japan?” Akaashi was a little taken aback by your willingness to talk, but in hindsight, you didn’t seem like the person to keep secrets, often rattling with your co-workers about your interests. Thinking back, maybe he should have expected something like this, Himari seemed to have known after working with you for several years, happily dancing around the topic of your personal life with your new coworkers when your sudden departure was questioned.

You shrugged, “not entirely, but he sure was a good excuse. I had plans to move to Japan for years before I even got into university. When I found out, I was sort of… uh. English…. Fuck, I need a job. So I applied to be an intern here, moved in with a friend I met online and prepared to have a baby.” Your arms flew about as you talked.

“You act as though it was easy,” Akaashi laughed, placing the frames back onto the table.

You let out a happy chuckle and spun your chair to face Akaashi head-on, eyes not leaving his, “I wouldn’t say it was easy, per se, but I’m happy with how things turned out.” you yawned a bit, “I should also apologize for running out of the office early sometimes, I have to pick Naoko up from school so —”

“You don’t have to apologize for that.” The gentle smile he wore was contagious.

It was 8:50 when the rest of the team came in. Immediately catching sight of Ena, Akaashi pulled away from your side, rolling the chair back to its respective location. He heard a breathy laugh escape you as he scurried around the desks to return to his designated spot across from you, cardigan flailing about.

The rest of your team piled into their seats sending the two of you waves and morning greetings. Ena nearly dropped his ‘don’t talk to me till I’ve had my coffee’ mug as he tripped over his rubber slides just before reaching his desk next to yours.

Sending your friends a smile you quickly slid back into your cubicle to re-adjust the frames on your desk with a yawn. Akaashi gave you a nod when you looked up to his stiff, still standing, form. You made his heart feel much weaker than he’d like to admit and without saying another word, he picked up the forgotten mug filled with brown liquid and handed it over the glass, into your hands.

Naoko was much more reserved than Akaashi expected, definitely a contrast to your more hyper personality. He spent most of the day sitting in the corner behind your cubicle where a table was set up next to a row of cabinets. What the boy was doing, Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure, but there was a small tickle at that back of his brain that made him want to find out.

When you had come in that morning, the group was surprised to see the small boy trailing behind you, holding onto your hand tightly with the both of his. “PD day,” you said. Udai spent the first few minutes of the day gushing over the boy’s cheeks instead of working, only to end up being backtracked and having to cram into his lunch break. Akaashi would be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful for that though.

“What do you have there?” he asked, taking a seat next to the boy and setting down his lunch next to the younger’s bento box.

Naoko curled in on himself, bringing the phone (that was most definitely yours) to his chest. The boy’s knees had pulled up to his shoulders as his feet pushed on the edge of the chair. Akaashi sent the young boy a kind smile and waited. From the corner of his eye, he could see your chair turn around as you took in the sight of your son and co-worker. He watched as you began making large swinging motions with your arms. Akaashi tried not to laugh.

Whatever had been playing on the phone hadn’t been paused in the short time given to do so, making the familiar sound ring quietly around the two of them.

Akaashi looked back your way for a moment, only to see you tilt your head up in a supporting nudge and turn back around.

“Are you watching a volleyball game?” he asked, rousing a more positive reaction from the boy.

Naoko’s shoulders lowered and he slowly placed the phone down between them. As Akaashi had concluded, a volleyball game played on the small screen. He put forward another question.

“Do you like to play?”

The six-year-old shrugged but nodded before scooting his chair in closer and reaching for his food. Akaashi mirrored him, slipping off his collared cardigan and pulling his lunch closer, still watching the game.

“I used to play volleyball.” This caught the boy’s attention, who turned his head to look at Akaashi, brows raised and lips pursed. “I was a setter.”

Naoko swallowed his food and for the first time, Akaashi got to hear him speak.

“I like playing setter too.”

His voice was rather meek and had a sort of authority to it, but the biggest thing he noticed made him stifle a laugh.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he called gently, making you spin your chair around in question. “Why is Naoko better at Japanese then you?”

“Hey! That’s mean!”

Naoko began to wiggle in his seat, desperately trying not to laugh at his mother’s, your, irritation. You shot a look at your son and gasped.

“Don’t you start laughing at me. I speak English better than you do.”

“You don’t need to speak English in Japan, mom.”

Kaashi continued to choke on his laugher as you pushed the palm of your hand into your forehead. “I’m being teased by my own son,” you cried quietly, turning your chair back around to face the unedited pages.

Naoko giggled and looked back Akaashi’s way. “Can you teach me?”

Akaashi didn’t see you still in your chair, listening.

“Of course I can.”

“Udai, seriously? You promised that you weren’t going to use weird industry term slang stuff on me.”

With a wide-eyed look and hair messily tied back, the man in question rotated his chair around childishly. “I never promised. I just said I'd go easier on you.” It was infuriating really.

With a pitiful whine, you shook the rough script in your hand making an angry fluttering sound. “You’re so mean Tenma. You know that I have trouble with slang.”

Udai only laughed and waved you off, “It’s a good way to learn is it not?”

You rolled your eyes but relented, giving a wave and closing the door. Once at your seat Akaashi poked his head out, eyes visible over the top of his square-framed glasses.

“He did it again?”

“Ya,” you huffed. “I can’t blame him though. It’s just frustrating that I can’t remember what a lot of the words mean. I should buy a dictionary.” Akaashi watched as you turned your monitor on. “Oh, um, Naoko was asking about you the other day.”

“Really?”

Your hands came together behind your neck, pulling your head down bashfully. “Ya, he’s been wanting to show you how he’s doing and maybe get the chance to learn a bit from you.”

Akaashi gave you a kind smile, so small that it didn’t even crease his cheeks, and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Your cheeks warmed as you beamed up at him before turning your head down towards your computer screen. Akaashi took a second to appreciate how the cool light from the overcast sky made you look. It was silent in the office for a moment. Just a moment.

“Udai! Another one?!”

In theory, so long as you have space above your head, you can play volleyball anywhere. Your apartment wasn’t ‘anywhere’.

The three-bedroom living space was built as housing and not an Olympic arena, and after breaking one too many of your glasses playing around, it was made clear to you, Naoko, and your sport junky roommate, that volleyball shouldn’t be allowed in the house.

“You guys can go play volleyball with Akaashi at the park, no?” Yukie asked, grabbing an onigiri of the large plate on your kitchen counter and stuffing it in her face. You made a large dinner that day, only to have your friend eat most of it, instead of leaving leftovers for Naoko’s lunch. Not that he complained about it, you sure did though.

Taking Yukie’s words to heart, when the weekend rolled around and Naoko was becoming more anxious, you invited Akaashi to your neighbourhood park to play volleyball.

“Open your elbows a bit more, make a triangle with your hand, and when the ball comes just cushion it with your fingertips before sending it out, okay?”

Naoko nodded, staring at his hands that were being moved around by the older player. Akaashi’s form was kneeled by the boy’s side, his head nearly resting on the younger's shoulder as he tried to make sure he was in the right position.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing the smaller than average volleyball off of the grass. “I’m gonna toss this to you, do you think you can get it to hit my hand right up here?”

Naoko nodded again, eagerly waiting for the blue and yellow ball to come flying his way. You watched silently from the park bench as Naoko tried (and often failed) to get the ball to touch Akaashi’s hand accurately.

“Almost there, you got this Naoko!” Akaashi encouraged.

Earnestly waiting to see the next move, you sat forward in your seat, watching as that ball made a tall arch towards Naoko’s waiting palms. As the ball made contact with his fingertips, he bent his elbows and wrists before shooting them out into a straight line, sending into the palm of Akaashi’s hand before dropping back onto the grassy field.

Your son, as most six-year-olds do when accomplishing something, shrieked. He shrieked very loudly before sprinting directly into Akaashi’s stomach to give him a (breath-stealing) hug. Akaashi coughed as he tried to get air back into his depleted lungs. From the side you giggled, watching as Naoko’s smile grew, head buried into Akaashi’s stomach.

It became standard, going out to the park during your off days. And this day, like the weekends that have come before, the routine of going to the park, ball in hand, continued. But after spending an hour or so watching the familiar movement of the yellow and blue ball fly through the air, Naoko interrupted the serene setting with a loud request.

“Mama! Mom! Can we go get onigiri?”

Looking up from resting your neck on the back of the bench to turn your gaze onto the energetic boy that was hopping around on the grass. “I’m okay with that, but you should probably ask Akaashi along. We don't want to leave him at the park do we?” you teased, picking up your bag and walking toward the two.

Naoko spun again to look at Akaashi, whose hands were now tucked into his jeans pockets. “Please!” he wailed. “Come with us! Please, please, please, please, please!”

Akaashi let out a hearty laugh. “Calm down, I’ll join you.” without saying another word, Akaashi offered his hand out, letting Naoko clutch it eagerly.

“Udai are you sure it’s okay to bring Naoko along? This is meant to be a work trip and I’d hate for him to dis… dic… get in the way,” you gave up at the end, sighing over your tripping words.

Udai gave Naoko, who had been clinging to Akaashi’s arm since all of you had met outside the city gymnasium, a pat on the head. “It’s alright. Besides, he’ll probably be a great resource.”

You nodded and watched as Naoko rattled to Akaashi about his school team and new things they had been practicing. You pouted. Upon their arrival, Ena, Chiyo and the others immediately began teasing you for effectively losing your son’s favour, which didn’t make your whining any less audible. On top of that, the group of artists found your sullen look to be a perfect reference, taking their cameras out.

“Keiji,” you cried, following behind the rest of the group as they waltzed through the gym entrance along with the crowd. “You’ve stolen my son.”

Akaashi paused for a moment, taking in a calm breath before looking over his shoulder. “He’s your son, I can’t steal that from you.”

Naoko threw a large smile over his shoulder, making your dragging steps falter.

When did it change? The expression on his face. When did it become so happy? Did he not smile before?

You picked up your pace, brows furrowed as you watched your son chatter happily.

When did he start speaking so much? Since when did he have so much to say? Was it something new in his diet? Or maybe the new friends on his volleyball team?

You found your gaze shifting to the hand that held his. Without thinking about it too hard, you quickened your steps to come up to Naoko’s other side. Your heart pounded as you held your closest hand out for him to grab hold of. When he finally did, immediately looking forward to dragging the two adults with him, the smile you gave Akaashi was the largest he’s ever seen coming from you.

You looked back at all of your interconnecting hands fondly.

When did he become another person’s son?

I tried going a bit of a different direction with this one in comparison to most Single Parent aus. I’ll admit it could have more meat to it, but oh well, things to improve on.

Question:

Do you prefer weekly one-shots that are shorter in length (like we’re doing) or longer ones with bigger plots and inconsistent updates (Sort of like “Catch Me If You Can” and “Ready Aim FIre” but longer)?

- Bacon

Posted: 31/07/2020

#haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

78 notes · View notes

somethinginthewayiam · 3 years

Text

The universe can be a bitch (Part 2/2)

(this is a continuation of Nightcap)

Pairing: Sebstian Stand x OFC

Warnings: alcohol, smut

Words: 5448

Summary: The rest of the day goes by rather smoothly, but when Anna finally arrives at her hotel, she found Anthony, Chris and Sebastian in the hotel bar as they are staying at the same hotel she is. Anthony can convice her to join them for drinks. She tries to ignore him to her best ability but Sebastian has his own ideas...

Previous chapters: Part 1

tag list:

@himynamebel00 @obliviatevamps

Anna arrived back at her guests’ dressing room just in time. The good thing about being late, it gave you no time to think too much about the things you were doing or had just happened in an office across the venue.

“Alright, gentlemen. Good to see you all found your way back after lunch. It’s now time for your signing booths and as a great finish to this day, we have your panel”, she told them and waited in the open door for the three men to walk out and get going.

“Nice choice with the top there”, Sebastian said as he walked past her. “Shut up”, she rolled her eyes and looked at her printouts once again. “Trouble in paradise?”, Anthony asked with a pulled up eyebrow and seemed to enjoy this little back and forth. “It would feel like a paradise to me if you all would get going to your signings already”, she said with a fake smile and led the way through the hall towards the big door out to the general area.

Right at the door, Melvin was waiting for them to accompany the Civil War group through the fans. “Better?”, she asked him with a little side look. “Way better”, Melvin said with an approving nod and held his left fist up for a fist bump. She smashed her knuckles against his and couldn’t hold back a laugh.

Melvin really was one of the funnier security guards she had worked with in the last few years. He did a great job in guiding them through the crowds that gathered as soon as the men came closer without being too rough or pushing people aside. But to be fair, the fans were behaving really well.

Anna allocated her protégées to their signing booths and when she saw that everything was going smoothly, she walked over to the hall where they would have the panel to see if they were ready for them. People already started to gather at the entrances and were soon to be let in. She already saw that this was going to be a big crowd.

Anna couldn’t imagine speaking in front of such a crowd, let alone being funny and witty like Anthony was when she watched him speak about 90 minutes later from the side of the stage. He was sitting on a couch next to Sebastian and Chris was sitting in a big chair to Sebastian’s left. The interviewer was great as well, especially when he pulled out a bag of plums as a joke Anna didn’t get because she hadn’t seen the movie, but everybody cheered and laughed. Sebastian was taking a big bite of a plum and the juice was dripping over his lip onto his chin. Anna caught herself staring and wanting to lick the juice right off his skin.

Anna coughed and quickly looked away to calm herself down again. She felt her cheeks blushing. It had never happened to her that a man could do this to her without even touching or at least talking to her. He was just sitting up there, talking to the crowd or his fellow actors and friends and the way he did it, with such confidence, excitement and pure joy made her want to…ride him until he screamed her name.

Jesus Christ, what was she thinking? She really needed some fresh air. And a drink. She really needed a drink!

Outside the hall, Anna ran into Susan and they had a quick chat about the day so far and the work at such an event to get her mind off things until they heard the final applause from inside. Anna went back in just as the three actors finished the last photographs on stage and greeted them behind the curtains when they came off stage.

“Great panel, you guys. The crowd loved you”, she smiled into the little circle they had formed. “This actually marks the end of today. You’re free to go and I will see you tomorrow at 10 am”, she said and felt like a teacher dismissing her class. “It was nice to meet you, Anna”, Anthony said and hugged her goodbye. Anna was a bit surprised by that but hugged him back. Anthony was a really loveable guy and you immediately liked him when you met him. Chris hugged her as well and thanked her for her work today.

If he actually knew how hard she had worked all day long to contain herself around Sebastian and to do her job…

Then it was down to Sebastian. “Good job today”, she said to him which was the truth. “No hug?”, he playfully pouted and opened his arms. She wanted to say no but she knew it would look weird and more suspicious than if she just did it. “Of course”, she said and tried to put on a professional smile. She kept it short and almost jumped away from him when it was over.

“Okay, see you tomorrow”, she waved at the three of them and walked over to the employees area since Amber was here to escort them out, which Anna was very happy about.

While all the guests and the first fans started to leave, the staff, including Anna, had a meeting to talk about today and the next and final convention day. New schedules and printouts were handed out and after long 80 minutes everybody was dismissed.

“Now let’s get you to your hotel, you poor thing look like you could use some sleep”, Susan said to Anna and patted her shoulder. Just when Susan said that to her, Anna felt how tired she actually was and she couldn’t wait to get to the hotel and sleep until the next morning.

They got Annas suitcase and hopped into the next free cab they could find. Susan told the driver where to go and Anna almost fell asleep in the soft cushions of the backseat.

She must have actually drifted off because she felt like the cab had just took a left turn and then Susan told her that they have arrived. “I’m meeting with some friends from the convention for drinks later, if you want to join, you’re more than welcome”, Susan said as they walked through the doors of the hotel.

Before Anna could answer, she had to cover her mouth with her hand because of a big yawn that came just at the right moment. “Oh, poor thing, where is my head? You clearly just want to go to bed”, Susan shook her head over her own stupid question. “You just quickly check in and then straight to bed, okay?”, she said and held Anna an arm length away, with her hand on her shoulders. “That’s the plan”, Anna smiled and then hugged Susan goodbye. While Anna walked towards the reception, Susan quickly went to the elevators to change and then go back out again.

Anna received her key card, grabbed the handle of her suitcase and walked over to the elevators. She pushed the button and waited for one of the doors to open. “Hey Anna”, she heard behind her and turned around. She didn’t even notice the entrance to the bar of the hotel before, but now Anthony was coming towards her right out of that very door.

“Hey, Anthony”, she greeted him, kind of relieved that it was just him. “I didn’t know you were staying here as well”, he said and hugged her. “I didn’t know it myself until now. My colleague just brought me here, didn’t have time to check in this morning”, she explained. “Me and the guys are having drinks, come join us”, Anthony offered. The guys? Sebastian was here as well? Of course he was staying at the same hotel. She had to concentrate really hard not to roll her eyes.

“That’s really nice, but I’m very tired. I’m glad I’m not falling asleep standing here”, she said and hoped he would not try any longer to invite her for a drink. Well, he didn’t get the memo…

“Come on, just one drink. I think we all could use one after today. See it as a nightcap”, he suggested and stood in front of her with an inviting gesture towards the bar. Nightcap…if this one turned out like the last one she had, she wouldn’t get much sleep this night either. She wanted to say no again but somehow she knew he wouldn’t give up and she didn’t have the power to hold against him. Also Anna really craved a drink.

“Alright, just give me 5 minutes to get my suitcase up to my room and freshen up”, she sighed and just at that moment, the elevator arrived to take her up to her room. “And don’t you dare cop out, I’ll find you and drag you down myself”, he joked but Anna wasn’t too sure about it. She was 90 percent sure that he would actually do it.

“Yeah, yeah, just order me a drink…anything with alcohol will be fine”, she said and had to smile when she saw Anthonys satisfied face that he was able to convince her to join their little after work drinking. What was the worst that could happen? Both of them had to behave in front of Chris and Anthony and she really needed him to.

Anna got up to her room and tried not to pay too much attention to the comfortable looking bed in front of her and walked right into the bathroom to remove her make-up and wash her face with cold water to wake her up a bit. She brushed her hair and put on just a little mascara to look alive. She then changed her clothes to a blue top and a white knee long skirt. Anna was glad she had a second pair of high heels with her. She would have loved to wear her sneakers but that would look just stupid with the skirt. And to know that Sebastian was down there, she at least wanted to look decent.

She grabbed her keycard and when she was about to leave the room, caught her reflection in the mirror by the door. A little lipstick couldn’t hurt. Anna rushed back to the bathroom, applied a berry colored lipstick and then finally left her room.

Downstairs at the bar, she looked over the room with a searching view and discovered Anthonys face at a table in the back corner. She walked over and he saw her first. “Anna, I’m glad you actually came”, he said and got up to greet her with hug and let her slide onto the bench of the booth. “I didn’t dare to stay away”, she laughed and sat down. She ended up sitting in the middle of Anthony and Chris, which she greeted with a little sitting hug, and Sebastian was sitting across the table from her. She just gave him a nod and a little mouthed Hey.

“We ordered you a drink. Sebastian recommended a Jack Daniels”, Anthony said and placed a glass with brown liquor in front of her. “I thought you might like it”, Sebastian said with a flirty voice before he took a sip from his own drink. “I came to like it recently”, she said and looked straight at Sebastian when she took her first sip, remembering how she tasted it on his lips the last time. He looked right back, with a smug grin on his face, basically eyefucking her. Chris and Anthony exchanged some looks that Anna and Sebastian didn’t even notice.

“So, Anna, tell us a bit about yourself”, Anthony said and turned himself a bit to face her. “Is this a job interview?”, Anna laughed, happy that she could distract herself by looking at Anthony. “No, no, but we don’t know anything about you and you probably know anything about us”, he explained. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I know a few things; just the basics really”, she waved off. “Where do you come from?”, he kept asking. “Originally, I’m from Chicago, but I moved to New York for work with my sister when I was twenty, that was…ah, 7 years ago”, she told him. “Sebastian lives in New York too. It’s a miracle you two didn’t run into each other at some point”, he said and threw a little side look to his friend.

Anna turned her head as well for a second and caught Sebastian rolling his eyes. “It’s still New York, I don’t think that’s a miracle at all”, Chris joined the conversation. “Yes, I think so too”, Anna laughed and looked at Chris. “You’re from Boston, right? My brother in law is from there”, she said. “Oh really?”, he asked with honest interest, at least it seemed to her. “Yes, he’s a great guy, but that seems to be Boston number one’s export”, she joked and Chris actually blushed a bit.

She took a quick look at Sebastian to see his reaction about her flirting with his friend. He just looked at her with a light grin on his face like he was saying, “Nice try”.

“They got married 4 years ago and moved to New Jersey. A year later their daughter Rebecca arrived and last month we celebrated little Nicky’s first birthday”, she told them and didn’t know why she gave them the life story of her sister Marissa. Probably to avoid talking about herself because there was really nothing to tell.

Apart from last night, there wasn’t happening anything exciting or remotely interesting in her life. And that’s although she was meeting a lot of rich and sometimes actually famous people at the events she worked at.

“Is she your older sister?”, Anthony asked. “She’s actually two years younger and I hear that every time I go back home. For my mother, having your life together, means having a husband and kids”, she said and looked down at her drink which she took a big sip of. She started to like that drink and not just because of what or whom she associated it with.

“Oh I get that. Both my sisters are married and the oldest has 3 kids and my mom keeps reminding me that I’m not getting any younger”, Chris said and took a sip from his beer. “Oh no”, Anna laughed and felt weirdly connected to Chris because of their moms.

They kept on talking a bit more about their mothers and siblings and then moved on to Annas job in New York and she told them a bit about some weird guest requests or ones that were hard to handle.

The waiter had just brought her second drink, a Cosmopolitan, her absolute favorite, with a little piece of lime on the edge of the glass.

Anna felt more comfortable around Sebastian, probably due to the alcohol she had consumed without having something to eat, but she felt good. Actually she felt a little flirty and this time she directed it towards Sebastian to see what he would do with it.

While Anthony and Chris told a story from shooting the last Captain America movie, Anna looked at Sebastian when she took a sip of her drink. When she put her glass down again, she took the lime and put it up to her mouth. Just like after a shot of tequila, she put her lips around the fruit and sucked the juice out of its flesh. Little splashes of it dropped down her chin and she licked her lips to catch it. Sebastian, who had been leaning back in his chair, sat up straight and rested his elbows on the table, leaning closer to her. With her thumb, she caught the drops off her chin and sucked them off. Sebastian licked his lips as a reply to it.

“Alright, it’s getting pretty late, I think I’m gonna go to bed”, Chris said and ripped Anna out of her stare. She didn’t even notice that the two had stopped talking. She was weirdly embarrassed and looked down to hide her blushing face. “You’re right, it’s late. I should go to bed too”, she hastily said and didn’t dare to look at Sebastian again to not make him take it as an invitation. “No, stay, your drink is still half full”, Chris waved it off and almost pushed her back down onto her seat.

“Anthony, you’re tired too, right? Accompany me to the elevators”, Chris said and looked at him very intensively. “Nah, I’m good”, he shrugged his shoulders and looked at Anna and then Sebastian with a big grin. “That wasn’t a suggestion”, Chris said through clenched teeth, still trying to hold up his smile. Sebastian dropped his head, clearly getting what his friends or more like just Chris, was trying to do.

Anthony got up very unwillingly and Chris and he hugged her goodbye. Anna lightly shook her head as she watched them walk away. “Did you tell them about us?”, she asked with an angry look on her face. Tomorrow would be one hell of a day!

“I didn’t need to. You were basically sucking that piece of lime dry while eye-fucking me, right here. And I happen to know you're not too bad at this sort of thing”, he smirked and took a sip from his drink. Anna rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up”, she sighed.

“I don’t get why you’re still trying to convince yourself that you don’t like me”, he said and leaned back in his seat again. “It’s because I don’t like you, we just shared a…night together”, she responded and had to hold back a descriptive word like awesome, mind-blowing or orgasmic.

“If that doesn’t make you like me, what will?”, he joked and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m working at the Wizard World which makes you a client. My contract actually forbids me to like you”, she said and took another sip from her drink. “You’re off work right now”, he held against it and thought that this was reason enough.

It started to make her mad that he was taking everything so lightly. It annoyed her so much because she would love to be able to forget about her work ethics and just give in to him but she just didn’t do stuff like this. She has always been the good girl. If she had known that Sebastian was a client, she would never have let him into her room last night, let alone her pussy.

But god, those blue eyes and the way he was looking at her…she would really love to give in…just one last time…

She grabbed her glass and emptied it with one sip. “You’re right, that’s why I go to bed”, she said determined, grabbed her keycard and scooted out of the booth. Sebastian dropped his head with a huff.

When Anna was like two steps away, she turned around and said, “Are you coming or what?” and then started walking towards the elevators. Sebastians head shot up and he looked at her with surprise that quickly turned into a dirty smile, but Anna just kept on walking and didn’t even see his reaction. She pressed the button for the elevators and tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach. This would only count as cool if he would follow her.

Just as the doors slid open and Anna stared into an empty elevator, he suddenly spun her around and pushed her in until her back hit the mirrored wall. With a little side-bend, he pushed the button for his floor and even before the doors closed, he pressed his mouth onto hers and let his tongue slide into her mouth. Her fingers ran through his hair, pulling on them to get him even closer to her. She bit and sucked his lower lip and felt the rush of having him that close and she wanted to feel his hands all over.

Anna didn’t know what had gotten into her but she sure hoped that it would be Sebastian in a few minutes!

The elevator stopped and it took them a second to realize that the doors had opened. Sebastian let go of her mouth and took her hand. He guided her to his room. A little green light lit up when he put his key card into the lock and then the door swung open. “Just so you know, I paid for our drinks”, he said with a smirk. “Was about time”, she said as she walked into his room, turned around and kissed him again before he got the chance to close the door.

He put his hands on her ass and lifted her up. As a reaction, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he had to push the door close with his foot. Her skirt was rid up at her waist and his hands were touching her bare skin. For a second she wished she wouldn’t even wear panties right now just to see what his reaction to this discovery would have looked like.

“Remember…what you…said…to me…earlier today?”, Anna asked between kisses. Sebastian just nodded as he walked into his bedroom, carrying her on his waist. “I wanna hold you to your word”, she mumbled at his lips. Anna could feel very clearly how much he remembered their little talk at the coffee bar.

Instead of carrying her to the bed as she had assumed, he walked over to the big window that went almost from top to bottom. He put her down and spun her around. Anna supported herself on her hands pressed against the cold glass. It looked like they were pretty high up, but she was still afraid that someone could see her. But no light was switched on in his room and standing here in the dark room made it feel even more like a secret and it sure turned her on.

“Don’t turn around”, he whispered at her ear and then sucked at the soft skin behind it which caused her head to drop back onto his shoulder. His hands wandered from her sides to her front and up to the straps of her top. He pulled it straight down together with her bra, resting it on her rib cage, just enough so he had access to her breasts. He pinched her nipples hard with his fingers which caused her to gasp and stick her ass out, meeting with his crotch and his hard cock. She could feel it pulsating through his jeans.

Sebastian put one hand on her back and slowly pushed her upper body down so her ass was high up. The next second she felt his hands pull up her skirt that had went down a bit when he had put her down, all the way up until it was rolled up at her waist. With one flowing motion he pulled down her panties all the way to her ankles. She inhaled loudly as the cool air was touching her wet center, but she wasn’t able to catch a clear thought because the next moment she felt Sebastians tongue gliding through her wet folds, all the way from bottom to top. “Oh fuck”, she pressed out, arching her back and stuck her ass out even more.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, she felt two fingers glide into her throbbing pussy. “Sebastian”, she hissed and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. “God, you look so hot, Anna”, he said and she could hear how hard he tried to control himself. Oh, how she wished he wouldn’t! Just when she thought he would let her come, he pulled his fingers back out and she felt cold where his mouth had been. She wanted to see his face, to touch him, but he had told her to not turn around and she really wanted to know what he was up to.

Anna heard the rustling of clothes being taken off and dropped to the floor and she bit her lower lip in anticipation. Then she heard the sound of a package ripped open. “Do you have any idea how hot you look with your ass stuck out and your panties dangling at your ankles?”, he asked and she had to close her eyes to keep her from coming right there from hearing his words.

He slightly pulled up her right foot a bit to remove her panties from one leg to spread her legs a bit further. He rubbed his rock hard cock along her drenched pussy. Without further warning he pushed all the way in, causing Anna to scream out loud. “Fuck”, he said through clenched teeth. After two, three slow strokes, he started to pick up the pace, holding her steady at her hips.

Standing in front of him, with her ass out, still in her heels, he was able to push in deep with every thrust. The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and their bodies smashing together. “Oh god, Sebastian, fuck me hard”, she pressed out with a moan, pushing herself further against him with her hands on the window. She didn’t even care if somebody would see them right now. She wasn’t able to form any clear thoughts in her head besides the wish for Sebastian going even deeper than he already was.

Her head was pulled back by her hair and her next moan got stuck in her throat. “Tell me what you want, babe”, he grunted close to her ear. “I want you to make me cum”, she moaned and the thing she felt wasn’t just warm, it was hot, burning hot, rapidly building up from her center, rushing over her whole body. She started to clench her walls around his hard, throbbing cock and couldn’t wait for the moment her orgasm would wash over her. Literally a second before it happened, he pulled out. “Hey!”, she spat out in confusion. He spun her around again, picked her up and let her slide right back onto his cock.

He moved forward until she had the cold glass of the window in her back which caused her to inhale loudly and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want to see your face when you come”, he mumbled and pressed his lips against hers. She immediately opened her mouth and let in his tongue, eagerly sucking and playing with it.

“I’m going to come”, she mumbled into his mouth. Sebastian pulled his head back. He pressed her against the window while he fucked her hard and fast and Anna started to see stars. She wanted to close her eyes because she didn’t know if she had the strength to keep them open, but she knew how much it turned him on to watch her come. So she concentrated on his face, locked eyes with him, sinking into his stare, much like she was in trance. She entangled her fingers in his hair.

Anna felt her orgasm come in such big waves that her breath got caught in her throat and a deep guttural sound came out of her mouth as she came around his big, hard cock. Her nails dug deep into the skin of his shoulder. She inhaled loudly as she was able to breathe again and actually saw little stars in front of her eyes. “Oh god!”, she groaned loudly.

Sebastian carried her over to the bed and put her down without pulling out. He placed her right at the edge so he could keep standing up straight as he continued to fuck her. Anna wasn’t sure but it looked like he didn’t come yet. He held her legs up by her ankles as he pounded into her dripping pussy that was still throbbing from the orgasm. Anna pulled her shirt and bra off. Her panties must have fallen off her ankle as he had picked her up.

“You…look…so…fucking…hot”, he grunted with every thrust, his disheveled hair made him look even sexier than he already did. His face was flushed and little drops of sweat glistened on his forehead. To know that she was responsible for the way he looked right now turned her on so much and she felt that warm feeling again. She didn’t even know that it was possible, although she had heard from multiple orgasms, but she always thought that this was an invention from Sex and the City.

“Sebastian”, she just said and it sounded like she was begging. He moved slower now, almost pulling out, just to thrust back in as deep as he could. “Oh god”, she moaned. Sebastian wasn’t able to form any words. He just grunted and concentrated on not coming too early. He could feel that she was on her way to come again and definitely wanted to see that happen. He pushed her up on the bed and followed right away. He wanted to be close to her when she came again, just like before. He wanted to stare right into her eyes, feeling her melt in his arms, moaning his name.

“Come for me, Anna. Come for me”, he mumbled at her ear, his hips starting to move uncontrollably. He knew he couldn’t hold it much longer without exploding. Sebastian lowered his head and sucked her hard nipple, biting it. Annas breathing became heavier and louder and he could feel her walls tightening around him. Oh fuck!

He couldn’t hold it back any longer and pounded hard into her as he came with a loud and deep grunt. The feeling of her walls clenching around him made him come so hard like he didn’t have sex in months. It was unbelievable what this woman could do to him.

Even minutes later, both were breathing heavily, lying next to each other. Anna was still wearing her heels and her skirt was rolled up at her waist. “That was unbelievable”, she said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw how he just nodded, not ready to form any words yet.

Anna wanted to remove her shoes and skirt but she didn’t know if she was even supposed to. Last time, Sebastian left her room almost right after they were finished. Now she wondered if it was her turn to get dressed and leave.

She probably should, right now, and not drag it out until it would be embarrassing. Because tomorrow would be embarrassing enough when she was back at work.

“Don’t you want to take off your shoes? Or do you want to sleep in them?”, he suddenly asked and she looked over to him. “Do you want me to stay?”, she asked and hoped it didn’t sound too hopeful. “If you want to…I hate sleeping alone”, he said with a smirk and moved his face closer so he could kiss her gently on her lips. “I guess, I could help you with that”, she smiled and kissed him back.

Then she rolled over and got off the bed. She stepped out of her high heels and pulled down her skirt, well aware that she was full on showing her naked ass, but it was dark, just a few street lights providing the room with a soft light.

Sebastian pulled up the blanket from beneath him and held it open for Anna when she crawled back in. She cuddled up to Sebastian, resting her head on his shoulder. The little light in the room allowed her to see the bite mark she had left on him last night. She followed the little half circle with her finger. Sebastian put his hand up to touch the part of her skin where he had bitten her today. “A bite for a bite”, he said and Anna chuckled.

All of a sudden she felt very tired and worn out. Staying up that late and two orgasms really took their toll. “Goodnight, Sebastian”, she mumbled at his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. “Goodnight, Anna”, he whispered and wrapped his arm, the one she was lying on, around her back.

She took a deep breath of his scent. She would enjoy every second of having him that close to her. It would end soon enough when they would part ways tomorrow after the Con. She also didn’t want to think about the consequences she would have to face if anyone found out about them, she would have time to deal with it tomorrow.

This moment right now belonged to her and Sebastian. She snug up to him even closer and a few moments later drifted off into a deep, well earned sleep.

#sebastian stan #the universe can be a bitch #part 2 #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfiction #smut #imagine #fanfiction #sebastian stan x ofc

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collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

Edible - Connor Murphy

A/N: Mentions of weed use and psychiatric hospitals.

///

If you listed out all the weird places that you could possibly meet a cute guy, the psychiatric hospital’s inpatient ‘boys’ ward would not be one of them. And yet, the kid by the window who was only half pretending to listen to the woman seated across from him was way cuter than you expected anyone in this particular hell-hole to be. He was tall, even sitting down, caved in on himself in some effort to disappear, you could tell he was tall. And thin. Like a vogue model or something. His hair was tied back in a bun and he had on a black hoodie that he kept picking at the sleeves of. He looked bored but maybe it was just medication, and the woman across from him looked seconds away from bursting into tears. You felt like you’d walked into your own ‘It’s Kind of a Funny Story’ except you weren’t a patience. You were just visiting one.

Louder than he needed to be and talking a mile a minute about a video game you didn’t understand, your brother was seated on the computer chair next to you. He was in the middle of free time when you came to visit and unwilling to lose his time in front of the computer. “And then you can run your guy up on the curb like this,” he continued, driving a pixelated jeep through an obstacle course of building.

“I like the car.” You pointed out. Hospital visits made you antsy but you’d been religious in your scheduled appearances at the hospital. It was coming on October now and you had been here every weekend, Saturday and Sunday, since May.

“It’s pretty good. Will’s got a camaro on his which is awesome! I wanna get a Tesla.” Ryan continued, pulling up a side panel of cars to show you exactly which one he planned on getting.

“Dope.” You nodded as if any of the cars meant anything to you. “Hey Ryan, who’s the new kid?” You asked, dropping your voice to a whisper. You had chosen the perfect seat to be both a total creep and an interested older sister.

Ryan glanced over at the boy in the corner, at the most 7 years his senior, and shrugged, “dunno, we’re not in the same group. Tyler’s the oldest in our group.”

The groups were broken up into two sessions, from what you understood when the ward doctor had first explained the hospital to your mom. Eight to thirteens and then fourteen to seventeens. New boy had to be your age.

You kept watching as the woman finally said goodbye, attempting a hug that he didn’t return and then hurrying out of the double doors. She was here less than you thought she’d be, less than you. It was just the three of you in the rec room now. There were two on this floor and this one was mainly used for visitation, probably because it was a little nicer.

“Hey new kid do you wanna play Road Blocs with me?” Ryan called over to him, pointing to the screen of the computer.

New kid looked over and yeah, he was even cuter when you could see his face unobscured. It sounded weird to say it but he looked something like a sad bunny rabbit, if that was a possible facial trait. The sad at least, was a definite. And tired, judging by the purple beneath his eyes. The cute ones could never just be mentally stable could they?

He picked himself up off the couch and walked over slowly, moccasins shuffling and you thought they looked out of place on his feet. “What is it?”

“You drive this car around-“ Ryan went into an explanation of the game while new boy pulled a chair up on the other side. He looked over Ryan’s head at you, eyes meeting. You wondered later, because in the moment you were nothing but dazed and had managed only a small smile before looking away, if he looked at everyone so intensely. Like he was digging through their entire being to figure them out in one glance.

“Sounds fun.” You weren’t sure if he was humouring your brother or actually interested in the game but either way he took the mouse from Ryan and began driving the car around the lot.

“Hey,”

You looked over toward the window to find Connor there. He gave a slight wave and then signalled for you to come over toward him.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you asked, looking back toward the double doors your brother would be coming through soon.

“Alright, didn’t think I’d see you.” He replied, looking back down to his chipped black nails.

“I can’t come on Saturday because I have a college interview so I figured I’d stop by tonight,” you replied, sitting down on the chair beside him.

It would be March soon and you had been coming every weekend just like you always did. Only, things had changed quite a lot since October. It wasn’t just Ryan that you visited anymore but Connor too. He hung around the visiting room on the weekends while you were there with your brother and he even made sure to look out for the younger boy during the week. Mostly though, he used his phone and computer privileges to contact you.

The two of you would talk about nonsensical stuff, like music you liked or movies you wanted to go see or plans you had for the summer. He talked you through homework when you were stressed and he was allowed his hour on the phone. Connor had become someone who was a friend but who was also a little more than just a friend. You didn’t drop everything to spend an hour on the phone with just a friend. Or log on to your computer to email with him the second your phone alerted you to the first message in your inbox. Connor was not just a friend but neither of you had broached the ‘more than friends’ discussion yet.

“Excited?” He asked, twisting to see you better.

“Hardly, I just keep imagining myself screwing it up completely.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” You replied.

Connor reached over, taking your hand in his and surprising you enough that you could practically hear your heart hammering in your chest. Could he tell?

“You’re way too smart to fuck it up, trust me, you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks...but are you sure your mom hasn’t been sneaking you weed?”

“I wish.” He laughed.

The double doors swung open and Ryan came bursting through, looking happy as ever and holding an envelope in his hands. When he saw you he made a beeline for your chair, throwing himself onto your lap and hugging you. Connor let go of your hand and shifted away in his chair.

When he had calmed down enough to stand up you decided it was safe to speak, “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good! I got stickers from Will, do you want one?” He asked, holding the envelope out to you. All the stickers inside were red rectangles with white writing, SUPREME printed on them. When you had plucked one out he passed the envelope along to Connor.

“Are they all the same?” Connor asked, fishing out three. He unpeeled one and stuck it to the front of his grey t-shirt.

“Yeah, I don’t know where Will got ‘em but he gave me the whole envelope.” Ryan replied, “I told him they’d be evenly distributed.”

“Well thank you, I appreciate the distribution.”

“Do you guys wanna play roadblocks?” Your little brother was already making his way over to the computer when he asked, still hooked on that game even after all these months. It was structured enough that he didn’t get bored and chaotic enough that he could follow along without being confused.

“Still with this game?” You asked, grabbing a folding chair to sit next to him.

Connor followed behind you, sitting on the other side of your brother like always. Weekends had become almost predictable. You would meet both Ryan and Connor for computer games. Halfway through Connor would break so that he could visit his mother, who still religiously came in, just like you, and then he’d rejoin the small group. You were certain the first time he joined you was some bizarre fluke but he continued to go along with whatever game Ryan was hooked on.

The gymnasium was filled with families, a buzz of indistinct conversation floated through the air as Connor made his way down the side aisle to where he saw Ryan standing, spinning one of those fidget toys that had been so popular a year ago. When Ryan saw Connor he waved, an excited smile on his face.

“Hey!” Ryan gave Connor a hug, causing the older boy to tense up from the sudden contact. When he pulled away he held the fidget spinner up for Connor to see, “I just got it, it glows in the dark.”

“Oh yeah?” Connor took the spinner, cupping his hands so that it was covered and peering through. “Damn, it does.”

“Told you!”

It was graduation day at your high school and you’d bought an extra ticket for Connor. Since his discharge from the hospital he’d spent most of his free time at your house. With his phone returned he was able to text you whenever he wanted and he did, often, but neither of you had progressed passed the ‘just friends’ status. Cute boys who were emotionally oblivious were probably your type though, so it wasn’t surprising.

Once the actual graduation started and the gymnasium became quiet, except for the person speaking on the stage, Ryan started to get antsy. Connor felt a nudge to his side fifteen minutes into the principal’s opening speech. When he looked over Ryan was shifting positions on his seat. Your mom looked over at the same time, leaning in and whispering for Ryan to behave and sit still.

“Sorry, I’m warm.” He said, shifting once more.

“We can go outside?” Connor asked, looking to the side door. It was warm, with everyone in there. He wouldn’t hate stepping out. “I don’t mind.”

Outside was where you found Ryan and Connor, post-graduation, sitting on curb. Or at least Connor was, Ryan was racing back and forth asking Connor to time him to see how fast he was. When he saw you exit the gymnasium he veered off his path, running over to give you a hug.

“Sorry,” Connor piped up, “we kinda missed the whole thing.”

You shrugged, “hey Ryan, mom’s wants you inside.”

“Alright.” He released you, hurrying over to the doors and heading back inside while you walked over to Connor.

“Thanks for coming out here with him, he can’t really do sitting down.”

“Oh trust me, I know.” Connor replied, standing up and brushing off his jeans. He appraised your graduation gown and the nice outfit you wore underneath briefly, “you got pockets?”

“Why?”

“I got you a present.”

“Mmhmm.” You hummed and nodded. Connor pulled a plastic ziplock out of his sweatshirt pocket with what appeared to be an oversized rice crispy treat inside. You took it skeptically, unzipping the bag and taking a whiff before laughing out loud. “Did you just hand me an edible on school grounds?”

“Not like you can get detention.”

“Oh my god, I thought your mom told you to stop smoking.”

“Well I’m not really smoking am I,” he shrugged, grinning, “by the way, only a little at a time, it’s pretty strong.”

“How much have you had?”

“Are you suggesting I gave you my leftovers?”

“I’m suggesting you like to dip.” You replied, breaking off a tiny piece and eating it before stuffing the bag into your pocket.

“I haven’t had any...from that bag at least.”

You shook your head at him in mock exasperation. You didn’t mind the weed habit, if it made Connor feel better you weren’t going to argue with that. He was balancing it out with CBD oil (a cheaper alternative, you had pointed out, in case he wanted to save his money for something else) which helped Cynthia feel less like her kid was a drug addict. Even your brother took CBD gummies to help his moods.

“Anything else?” you asked. Connor had told you that he had something important to talk to you about today and you were sure that it wasn’t the edible. Or you hoped at least.

“Anything else?” He repeated, raising an eyebrow and looking at you as if he was trying to figure out what you were getting at.

Maybe the edible really was it.

“Anything else you needed to tell me? You texted me this morning and said-”

“I know.”

“So?” You hated when he did this. Played dumb and made you drag out the entire thing.

“So?”

“Connor! What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“I swear to god Connor...what’s the important thing?”

“Oh yeah, that,” he smiled when you groaned at him in annoyance, “go on a date with me?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

You rolled your eyes, smacking his arm gently, “stop repeating everything I say...and, okay. Okay, yes I’ll go out with you.”

“Thank god, otherwise I was gonna take the edible back.”

“What?” You laughed, “that is not contingent upon us dating! It’s a graduation gift.”

“Me taking you on the date is the graduation gift.” He replied, reaching into your pocket and taking the ziplock back so he could break off a piece of rice crispy.

“What about...other dates, after that date?”

“Oh, you’re paying for those.”

My younger brother’s mom put him in a psychiatric hospital for half of the year and he just got out at the end of December, right before Christmas so...kinda based the younger brother in this on him.

#Connor Murphy x Reader #connor murphy au #connor murphy fanfic #Connor Murphy imagine #Connor Murphy fanfiction #dear evan hansen imagine #dear Evan hansen fanfiction #dear evan hansen fanfic #dear Evan Hansen au #deh fanfiction #deh fanfic #deh imagine #deh au #collecting stories imagine

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sweetswesf · 4 years

Text

Week 15

Finally encouraged myself to work out. Big-ups to the Peleton app. I had been on a 2-week streak of no workouts after being on a week streak of working out. I decided to focus on work and not working out, and my horrible desk arrangement at home was not helping my sedentary lifestyle.

These are the books I plan to read. I haven’t cracked them open in a while. I am almost done with Becoming. I have read a few pages of the Ultimate Bible Guide. YouTube and work keep wining! I plan to try tomorrow.

I did a cool thing this week. A person from the outside Black engineering group I am apart of invited me to share my story in a virtual conference he was hosting through Udacity. I got to tell my story, through interview style, of how I transitioned to tech to 100+ people in attendance. It will be recorded so even more will get to hear. I am keeping my anonymity on this blog so unfortunately I cannot share, but if you have been reading, you know it...

One thing I keep thinking back to is when my interviewer asked what kept me focused as it seemed like I went through a lot of hardship to get here. I told him my faith. I try not to be overly religious, but it is hard when He is really the reason behind all of this.

I shared the conference link on Facebook, which was one of the first time I shared my speaking on a panel about tech with my Facebook friends. I have done many, even when I wasn’t a software engineer. Of course my granny jumped on it and shared it with all her Texas family. It is really great to have her support. I also got a share from the high school friend I met up with a few weeks ago. I didn’t get any shares from my God mother whom I reached out to when thing were most recently rough between my mother and I. I didn’t get any shares from my mother’s friend who tried to tell me how I should react a few years back in a random voicemail without ever hearing my side first. I don’t mention them to focus on what they didn’t do, or how they didn’t show up in a way that I had hoped they would, I share that to show that the people that want you to do great will support without you asking/looking around. Thank you, Cristian for liking as well! I know you’re reading. I really appreciate your support!

Sunday, I took the day to actually relax. Easter Sunday. I was more relaxed than I have felt in a while. Sure, I got back on YouTube towards the end of the night, but for the better part of the day, I turned off my electronics and just wrote down what I was grateful for, what I am looking forward to. I am appreciating this time to slow down, think, and, like my mentor said, find what I REALLY want out of life. I was inspired by a quote from one of my pastors, “The church is empty, but so is the tomb.” He is Risen!

My mom made me miss home and meat-eating when she said they cooked mac & cheese and ham and other good eats, as I stared down at my less satisfying vegan plate.

I am grateful for mine, the ability to buy the ingredients, cook them, then eat them on my own, but man did their spread make my mouth water. I should have listened to the tempeh package that said “will last in fridge for 5-7 days”. It had been sitting for twice that long and I gave it a shot because it looked fine. It was definitely fuzzy in the middle. I do not like tempeh. I have tried many times to like it and I just...can’t!

I did try this olive tapenade hummus from Sabra. I thought roasted red pepper was great. Olive tapenade is FLAMES!!

Veganism isn’t so bad. I did have some headaches from not getting enough food/fats. I caved in and started tracking my meals again and saw I was generally getting well over what I needed. This transition has been made easier since I have been playing around with different diets (vegetarianism, keto, whole30, vegan) for the past 6 years now.

I had been feeling sad because I hadn’t cooked anything in a while that I felt really satisfied by...but Wednesday gave me a 2nd wind. I cooked a sweet potato with chickpeas and threw some tahini sauce on it. OOOH WEE!!

So sad I didn’t take a picture of it. I wanted to remember it as my breakthrough meal. It encouraged me to continue with veganism, and continue with anything that is hard, but good for me. It’ll be worth it in the end. Fats, proteins, carbs. Perfect macro meal. Probably too many carbs, fats, and natural sugars, but it was damn good.

I have even checked in and prayed on my veganism, wondering if this is what God wants. I think, as long as I am not obsessing over it and I am doing it for the right reasons (my health and helping the environment) I should be good.

It was my turn to present the Python reading. I of course hadn’t done it. In fact, I was behind 12 chapters. I pulled an all-nighter to do it, and put a deck together, and present. I didn’t feel good prioritizing it over work that I got paid for (which I finished and felt good for doing). I felt like CRAP and it reminded me how important sleep is to bodily functioning. Get your 8-9 hours people!

Next week I should hear the University Programs’ deliberation on whether I stay or leave. I was deciding to wait to get a standup desk and chair for when I get a role, but regardless if I get it or not, I will still be coding from home and still needing a working station that is good for my body. It is an investment in health.

I have been really trying to prioritize my health during this quarantine, and there’s so many factors: how to eat, how to protect your skin from aging, acne, and cancer, how frequent to shower, how to breathe, how to cook, what to cook, when to drink. Here are some of the highlights of what I am doing now/what I learned:

Don’t drink water 30 minutes before or 1 hour after eating

Bodies need glucose to fight viruses

Breathe horizontally (think potbelly)

Refined coconut oil > unrefined coconut oil for cooking, as refined withstands higher temperatures

Wear sunscreen, even if indoors, as UV-A rays can penetrate through

It is recommend to shower every other day or 2-3x/week for your skin so that it is not over-dried and so that the good bacteria on your body can protect you

Vegans often lack iron, B-12 & healthy fats

Taking a lot of vegan cooking tips from Rachel Ama...check her out!

youtube

#sleep #bad girl's club #rachel ama #vegan #veganism #tech #coding #technology #hummus #becoming #michelle obama #women in tech #youtube #women in technology #black in tech #black is tech #python #peleton

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itskateak · 4 years

Text

Oceans and Stars - Chapter 8

Story Summary: A story of how Bucky Barnes falls in love with oceans, stars, and the woman who gave him the reasons to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Velika Dante King (Fem!OC)

Chapter Summary: Bucky's life isn't easy without her, but he's getting by. And he's getting better.

Words: 3.2K

Warnings: Mentions of war, mild language, PTSD, Relapsing, Anxiety, canon typical violence, some fluff, harassment

A/N: I know the words of the song are the same as the last chapter, but that's because that section repeats.

Masterlist

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𝓛𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮. {𝐿𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒}

Bucky glanced at his gloved hands, fingers laced as he rested his elbows on his knees. The waiting room was silent except for the receptionist taking calls from other patients. A diffuser puffed intermittently, spraying oils into the air. He recognized the smell of chamomile and lavender. It was meant to calm and relax people as they waited. Instead, it just made him more anxious.

He hated waiting in the open like this. He was lucky there wasn't anyone else in the waiting room with him and he was seriously considering leaving without even holding his appointment. The diffuser huffed out another dose of the anxious elixir.

Steve had offered to come with him, but he didn't want his best friend to see how broken he actually was. In some ways, Steve glossed over the cracks and believed the front Bucky put on when he was having a rough day or week or even month. It had been especially worse now that Velika hadn't been around.

"James Barnes?" A dark-skinned woman in a pair of jeans and a blue knit sweater called for his attention. She had a pair of thick-rimmed glasses pushed up onto her crown, holding her unnaturally colored box-braids back. Her eyes were a soft brown, which matched her soft and friendly smile.

Bucky stood slowly to not startle her and gave her the kind of smile people give when they hold doors open for others.

"I'm Doctor Naomi Winters. It's nice to meet you, James." Naomi extended her hand to him in a manner that didn't pressure him to return it. He did, though, and shook her hand.

"Bucky, please." He kept his left arm at his side and still.

"I'll make a note of that because I'm sure I'll forget in the next five minutes. It's been a long week. Come on back." Naomi rolled her eyes at herself and gestured with her head.

Bucky followed her down the hall. The walls were painted an awful beige color that reminded him of the sun-faded flour sacks he hauled down on the docks. Random paintings and pictures were hung between offices. Some were of plants and flowers, others were what he thought were meant to be inspirational quotes but really just sounded condescending.

Naomi opened a door to his right and invited him in, shutting it softly behind him. The room was a cool grey with paintings hung on one wall. A black bookshelf filled with various medical journals and alternative books was pushed into the corner. A plush rug in black was laid out across the floor, one edge of it hidden under a desk with a couple of computer monitors in sleep mode. A comfy looking grey couch was under the paintings and a chair by an end table sat opposite it. A deep red blanket was thrown over the back of the couch and a pair of decorative pillows sat against one of the arms. The room was dim, lit up by warm fairy lights in plastic jars.

"If there's anything you need to make you more comfortable, please let me know," Naomi said, grabbing a file from her desk and sinking into the chair.

Bucky nodded and sat cautiously on the couch, unsure of himself now that he was actually in the room with her. She picked up a pen and made a note at the top of the first page.

"Do you need a few minutes to get used to the room?" She asked, pulling her glasses down to rest low on her nose. She looked at him patiently over the top of them.

"I'm okay." He responded, voice much gruffer than he intended. He winced slightly and cleared his throat. "It's fine."

"Okay, Bucky. I glanced over your file and there's a lot to cover. We can start wherever you want and I won't push a subject if you tell me you don't want to talk about it in that session. I want this to be helpful to you and at your own pace," Naomi set her pen down and picked up a steaming mug on the table beside her. She wrapped her hands around it and took a sip.

Bucky nodded hesitantly. Where would he even begin? He furrowed his brow and dropped his gaze to the floor, eyes flickering over the threads of the carpet. There was a lot to cover over his life and finding a place to pull the thread without unraveling the carefully woven web he'd created was more difficult than he expected.

"Alright, I have an idea. I can see you're having a hard time trying to find a place to start. We can start with the intro survey you filled out and talk about each section. This will allow me to help diagnose you properly." Naomi spoke softly and with an evenness that was already loosening the tension in his shoulders.

"Okay." Bucky nodded again, lacing his hands together again.

"You checked most of the boxes for the anxiety parameters. Let's talk about that first." Naomi set her cup aside and took her pen up again.

Bucky took a deep breath. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

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"You okay, Bucky?" Steve checked in with him, putting a hand on his shoulder. They were between meeting people as the groups were being switched out.

"Yeah, why?" Bucky glanced at him before smiling to a fan who had called his name. He waved in the direction of the shout. The sea of people in line didn't let him pinpoint exactly who had said his name.

"I'm just making sure. It's a big crowd and it's a lot of people," Steve said, taking a step away as the next group of people were brought in.

"I'm okay. Promise." Bucky gave him a reassuring smile and had his attention diverted by one of the convention's staff. He greeted the person in front of him, making casual conversation and giving them a hug when they asked. He smiled for a photo, a warm feeling in his chest.

People had been wary to accept him at first. He hadn't attended public events like this often. He would sit on panels and do interviews, but other than that, he never did meet and greets. After attending therapy for a few months, he had felt stable enough to attend a short one.

A small boy, maybe ten, approached him with wide eyes and a smile. His mother stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something when he noticed a pin on the boy's shirt. Immediately, he kneeled to be on the boy's level and pulled his sleeves up to the middle of his forearms.

"Hi!" Bucky signed.

The boy's eyes widened further in surprise. Even his mother seemed a little surprised. They had expected Clint Barton to know sign language since he was hard of hearing, but they really didn't expect Bucky Barnes, the ex-Winter Soldier, to know sign language.

"Hi!" The boy beamed.

"How are you?"

"Excited and happy to talk with you. How are you?"

"A little nervous. My sign is rusty. But happy to talk with you, too. What's your name?"

"My name is James."

"My first name is James, too. But everyone calls me Bucky." He tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. "What's been your favorite part about the con so far?"

"Meeting you." James ducked his head sheepishly. "Your arm is so cool! I really liked the-" James broke into a flurry of signs that Bucky couldn't keep up with.

"Hold on! Slow down, please. I can't understand at that speed." Bucky chuckled at his enthusiasm. It made his heart swell.

"Sorry. I got excited. I talk fast when I'm excited. I really liked the red star on your silver arm, but I know it was tied to really bad things in your past so I'm happy for you now that it's gone. Your new arm looks really, really pretty! I love the gold designs." James' enthusiasm wasn't dulled even with the slower signing. He was nearly bouncing on his feet.

"Thank you. I didn't design the appearance but I really like it, too. Shuri was excited the whole time she was fitting it. It's not as glitchy as the silver one, which means less time I have to spend around the compound missing an arm." Bucky wrinkled his nose up in mock disgust before chuckling. "Did you see anything cool today or buy something from the vendors?"

"I got this replica of your .... and meeting all of you guys was really fun!"

Bucky furrowed his brow and looked to his mother, repeating the sign he didn't understand and asking for its meaning.

"Oh! Motorcycle. That's not a sign I've seen before. I usually fingerspelled it. Would you like to take a picture?"

"Yes, please!"

"Do you mind if I use my phone to also take a photo?" Bucky verbally asked James' mother but signed as well so James could understand him.

"Go ahead!"

A staff member took Bucky's phone from him and he wrapped his right arm around the boy. He held his left hand up with the sign for I love you and smiled.

James' mother counted down with sign and snapped a few photos. The staff member followed her lead. They handed Bucky's phone back to him and he nodded to them in thanks.

"Can I give you a hug?" James asked with a shy smile. Bucky opened his arms up and nodded. James threw his arms around his shoulders, squeezing tightly. Bucky squeezed him back, rocking from side to side slightly.

James' mother tapped James on the shoulder and signaled it was time for them to move on. James pulled back and waved, thanking Bucky.

"I love you, James. You're a superhero."

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Bucky wandered through the bookshelves, head tilted inquisitively as he read the titles. His hands were sunk into his pockets. He'd discovered this small bookshop with Velika on accident. They had been wandering through New York's downtown areas when the rain had suddenly started to pour down. They found shelter in the family-owned bookshop tucked between a thrift store and a business office.

He pulled a book that had caught his attention from the shelf, reading the synopsis curiously. He'd been reading a lot more, finding it enjoyable again. Usually, his mind would wander while reading, and his thoughts would be completely unrestricted. Now, he could read for hours and be uninterrupted by his intrusive thoughts.

The synopsis wasn't as intriguing as he'd hoped so he put it back in its place and continued down the row.

A scoff behind him interrupted the quiet calm of the shop, but he paid it no mind. He did step closer to the shelf in case it was someone wanting to pass behind him. He took up a good amount of space in the small aisles and didn't want to be a bad person.

"I see you're letting anyone in here." The voice was muffled, and obviously feminine, but he heard it clearly. Blame his superhuman hearing.

"What do you mean, Loraine?" The owner, a kindly old Jewish man, asked in a gentle voice.

"You let a criminal in here." She whispered. "He deserves to be in jail. Not browsing your shelves."

"He has done no harm and he is quite kind. You would know if you talked to him. He's a hero. He saved my mother from certain death when he was a Howling Commando. This bookshop wouldn't exist if not for him. If you are going to continue, then you will leave." The owner's voice was firm and the door slammed closed shortly after. "I'm sorry about her, Mr. Barnes."

"You don't need to be sorry, sir. It's completely alright. I'm used to it." Bucky rounded the end of the shelf with a soft smile.

"But you shouldn't be. You should not be judged on the actions you could not control but rather the actions you did. That is what makes you the man you are." The owner extended his hand to Bucky.

"I have never asked your name." Bucky shook his hand firmly and smiled.

"Mendel Belenky. It is a pleasure to truly meet you, Mr. Barnes." Mendel said in a wistful tone.

"Please, just call me Bucky. Would you like to talk sometime about your mother and the war?" He offered, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"I would love to, Bucky. And know you are always welcome in my store." Mendel's warm eyes crinkled up as he smiled.

"Thank you."

"Now, I haven't seen that lovely woman that is usually with you in awhile. Did you two break up?" Mendel asked.

"Ah, no. We weren't dating. We're just friends. Velika is currently fighting on the frontlines of a war between her homeland and her birthland." Bucky explained, face flushing lightly.

"I do hope she comes home. And you finally ask her out." Mendel winked and returned to the counter.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

𝓖𝓻𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓰𝓻𝓸𝔀. {𝒢𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌}

"So, how has the last week been?" Naomi asked, settling in her chair with a sigh. She flashed him a genuine smile as she picked her ever steaming mug of tea up.

"I didn't have any nightmares. At all." Bucky grinned, a feeling a pride spreading through his chest.

"That's great! That's really good!" Naomi's smile grew and she wrote it down on the notepad. "How many times did you feel overwhelmed or anxious this week?"

"Twice. I went on a mission Monday to Wednesday, so I was nervous beforehand. The second time was after I got out of the shower. I was thinking too much and it just hit me." Bucky stretched his right hand against his left, gloves tucked away in his pocket. He'd stopped wearing them as much in public.

"Any progress made is good. You were overwhelmed and anxious five times at the time of our last visit and you had two nightmares. I say that you're definitely getting better with every week." Naomi made another note. "Let's talk about fears this time since you mentioned feeling like you have irrational fears last time we met. Can you tell me more about that?"

"It sounds ridiculous, but I'm terrified of falling. Heights don't bug me, but falling? It scares me." Bucky sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Ever since I fell off the train and into that ravine, I just...I dunno."

"It's perfectly rational, Bucky. You fell something like five hundred feet. Anyone would be scared to fall after something like that," Naomi said.

"Jeez, you sound like Velika. She nearly said something identical to that a couple of years ago." Bucky smiled fondly at the memory.

"Tell me about that, then. And tell me about her."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

"Bucky, there's two on your tail!" Nat shouted from across the room before swinging herself around a guy nearly twice her height.

"Copy that." Bucky turned and engaged with the two men who had followed him. They weren't anywhere close to being a match for him. He continued towards the main server room, hand on the top of the pistol strapped to his right thigh.

"You guys have five minutes to get back out here before the charges go off. Get a move on!" Tony ordered through the coms.

"Yeah, yeah. We're movin' as fast as we can." Bucky ducked into a hall, firing rounds off at the people coming at him. He heard someone approaching from behind him but he wasn't concerned.

A round went off behind him and an exasperated sigh followed. "Barnes, you nearly just got your head blown clean off. What the hell was that?" Natasha asked.

"I...thought Velika was here again. Thought she had my six." Bucky admitted in a quiet voice. Nat's expression changed and she patted his arm sympathetically.

"I know, Bucky. We all miss her."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

"You son of a bitch!" Sam howled, nearly coming across the kitchen table in rage.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you say something, Wilson? I couldn't hear you over the sound of all this money." Bucky dramatically fanned himself with millions of dollars worth of Monopoly money. He had a shit-eating grin as he watched Sam turn red in rage.

"He cheated. He had to have cheated." Tony threw his money onto the board in frustration.

"That's it. You're banned from playing Monopoly with us ever again." Nat threw a handful of popcorn at Bucky and he started laughing.

"Sleep with one eye open, Barnes. You're gonna pay for taking away my win." Sam fumed, crossing his arms.

"Whatever you say, Wilson. Whatever you say."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰.

Bucky leaned his head back against the seat of the couch, emotionless gaze staring at the grey wall. He hadn't slept for the last two days and he was exhausted both physically and mentally. He'd been doing so well and suddenly it all fell apart. So here he was, sitting on the floor of his therapist's office.

Naomi settled next to him, reaching over his legs to set a mug of tea on the solid floor. She held her usual cup in her hand, sitting cross-legged and facing the wall with him. He wasn't ready to talk. He felt numb. Shattered. His arms laid limply in his lap and he stared blankly ahead.

"If you need anything, you just have to ask. When you're ready to talk, I'll be here. I've cleared the rest of my schedule so you can be here as long as you need." Naomi quietly broke the silence.

"You didn't have to do that," Bucky muttered, voice gravelly and hoarse. His gaze didn't waver from the grey wall.

"I didn't, but I felt it was the best option for you. I felt it was what you needed." Naomi took a sip of her tea. "I will be here whenever you're ready."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Bucky felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the notification. Rain tapped against the window, breaking through the soft jazz music playing from an old record player. He unlocked his phone and navigated to Instagram. A memory had popped up from two years ago. He clicked on it and couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

The photo was of him and Velika on the fallen tree above the river. She had her braid pulled over her shoulder, a bright smile on her face as she leaned against his shoulder to be in frame. His left eye was squinted because they were facing the sun, but he was smiling as well. Today's adventure included nearly falling into a river because that one wanted to sit on a tree above the water.

"Let me see her," Mendel said, shifting his glasses further down the bridge of his nose. Bucky looked at him with mild confusion. "Oh, don't pretend it isn't her. I know that smile when I see it."

Bucky turned his phone around to show him the photo and Mendel smiled with a nod. "She is beautiful. An angel, yes?"

"You have no idea."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Bucky laid on the roof with his left arm under his head, watching the stars. It wasn't the same without Velika, but it brought him comfort on the nights he couldn't sleep. He played with her dog tags as he stared, a slight smile on his lips.

"I love you, Velika," He whispered to the moon.

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀.

Taglist-

#oceans and stars #my writing #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x original character #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes fanfiction #velika dante king #mcu #marvel #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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nobody knows where we might end up, chapter eighteen (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4710

AN: The penultimate chapter - it’s hard to believe that this fic will be over by next week. This fic has really pushed me with plot development and storytelling, and I’m so grateful for it. Enjoy this doozy of a chapter. Thank you all for the sweet sweet feedback and reviews, they truly motivate me so much and make me so happy. Writ is the best beta one could ask for <3

(then)

It’s just a Skype interview.

Vanessa can do it.

A Skype interview. She doesn’t have to fly to California or anything for it, either. She just has to wear a nice button down shirt and a blazer, do her makeup and sit in front of the webcam on her computer to try and impress an admissions committee approximately four thousand kilometers and three timezones away.

She’s more confident this time around. The humming in her veins is less so that of nerves about embarrassing herself, and more so her brain running through possible questions that she’s already practiced, her potential answers already rolling off her tongue.

Vanessa’s done this once already. She’s been through this process.

This time, she’s going to do it right.

She doesn’t have to worry about being interrupted, either. The kitties are asleep on the bed and Riley’s resting by her feet, and Brooke, well…

Vanessa doesn’t know where Brooke is. Probably class? Maybe the library?

There’s a tiny voice in Vanessa’s brain that reminds her of how her and Brooke always used to be hung up on each other, even when they were busy. Constantly texting, sending each other funny pictures from things they encountered on campus. The way that Vanessa would always snap a photo of the weird foods the guy in front of her in organic chemistry would always bring to lecture, just to brighten Brooke’s day while she was stuck in her human biology lab.

Hell, the last person she’s texted is her mom. Before that, Silky. Before that, A’keria.

She hasn’t texted Brooke since three days ago when Brooke told her to clean out the fridge when she had time.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke for this interview. She doesn’t need any help in preparing, she’s done it herself.

And she’s going to keep doing it, too. Because she’s strong enough, smart enough, if the last year has taught her anything.

If it doesn’t work?

Well, there’s always nursing school.

“Thank you, Vanessa. It’s been wonderful talking with you and hearing your perspective, especially from the lens of being part of our neighbours to the north, with a differing healthcare system. You absolutely possess qualities that we value in prospective students.” The woman from the panel on Vanessa’s screen sounds happy, actually happy, and Vanessa has to press her palms onto her knees to keep herself from pumping her first.

She’s done well. First interview of many, and she’s done well.

It feels like retribution. Like she’s reclaiming what’s been taken from her, but doing it with her own spin. Making her mark. Staking her claim on what she’s been working so hard towards.

Vanessa’s going to get it. One way or another, she’s going to start med school in the fall.

She looks underneath the couch cushions, trying to find her cellphone. She’s gotta call her mom, tell her that she did well, that things are finally, finally coming together. If she’s done well with this Skype interview, who’s to say that she won’t with the interviews in person at all the Ontario universities? Vanessa feels like the Skype interview has given her a boost of confidence, pulling her off of the ground and towards the ceiling that’s been holding her back. And now, she’s going to break through it.

Vanessa grumbles when Riley gets up from his spot on the floor, because of course her phone had fallen on the ground earlier and he’d been sitting on it the entire time. Typical.

Her phone is already up to her ear and ringing when the front door bursts open, and there Brooke is, waltzing in and dropping her bag in the entrance and opening the fridge while…some strangers wait in the doorway?

Vanessa hangs up as Brooke turns to her, biting into an apple. “Oh, hey. Came to drop stuff out before heading out again.”

Vanessa wrinkles her brow. “Where are you-”

“The second year med students are planning some prank on the third years, apparently. Supposed to happen soon. We’re gonna go watch.” Brooke throws out the apple core as she finishes it, turning back towards the people at the door still shouldering their own backpacks.

“You ain’t even gonna introduce everyone?” So what if it comes out saltier than Vanessa intends it to be? It’s been a semester and a half that Brooke’s been in med school and Vanessa feels like that part of her life is completely separate, untouchable to her.

“Oh.” Brooke pauses. “Well. Steve, Jon, Aurora, Courtney. In that order. Everyone, this is Vanessa.”

The guy farthest on the right (Jon? Steve? Vanessa’s missed it), his arm around the guy beside him, lets out a noise that makes the normally loud Vanessa want to plug her own ears. “You! You’re Brooke’s girlfriend!”

“The one and only.” Or so Vanessa hopes. Not that she wants to go down that spiral.

“Honestly, we were beginning to think that you didn’t exist, from the way we’ve never seen you.”

“I may as well not.” Vanessa mutters it under her breath, so that they don’t hear. As much as she’d love to start shit right now and as much as she loves mess, she’s not gonna stoop low.

“Well, come along with Brooke to our library study sessions sometime. We get stuff done. Occasionally, at least.” The girl with the bleach blonde hair turns towards her friends. “Remember that time that B ordered pizza to the library? And we snuck it in and-”

“We ate it and hid it from the security guard under the table-”

“-that was hysterical.” They’re all cracking up, the lot of them, and Brooke is too, and Vanessa wants to disappear into the couch. More inside jokes that she’s not a part of. Probably will never be a part of, at least not in the same way that a group of friends sharing a med school class are a part of.

It’s fine.

“Yeah, sure, maybe.” The words leave Vanessa’s lips halfhearted, because really, does she want to go and hear about people that she doesn’t know and classes that she’s not part of, and generally feel like she’s still on the outside looking in?

Not really.

“Brooke?”

“Yeah?” Brooke looks surprised, almost, that Vanessa’s calling out to her. It could be due to the fact that they haven’t been speaking much over the last few weeks, or maybe not.

Who’s to know for sure, really?

But Vanessa’s interview went well, real well. And she kinda wants to share it with someone. Someone there in person, not just on the phone. “Can we talk for a sec?”

Brooke bites her lip, looking between her friends and her phone. “Um, can it wait? Just got the text from a girl in our class that everyone’s meeting outside Convocation Hall to watch. We gotta go.”

Sure, Vanessa expects it, because the two of them aren’t each other’s highest priority anymore. But it still fucking stings. She patches up the hole in her chest, the one looking for Brooke’s pride, Brooke’s approval, the one that preens under Brooke’s appreciative glance because she’s not going to get it anytime soon. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

She could fight right now, yell at Brooke for being flippant. But does it matter? When Brooke probably won’t even give a shit?

It’s not like she really does these days, anyway.

The door closes behind them and Vanessa pats the couch, letting Riley jump onto it and curl up beside her. She buries her face into his fur as the sounds of talking get softer and softer down the hallway.

Vanessa doesn’t feel like calling her mom anymore, either.

Brooke comes back when Vanessa’s already climbed into bed, reviewing her notes for her upcoming microbiology exam. Vanessa doesn’t want to look up, she really doesn’t, when Brooke climbs in beside her.

They don’t automatically snuggle into each other the way they used to. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between their sides of the bed, and Vanessa’s not sure which one of them keeps on adding the bricks on to it.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Vanessa flips to another page of her review, trying her hardest to focus on the virus that she’s supposed to be studying, but can’t help pulling her eyes up.

“The second years set a bunch of chickens loose on the lawn in front of Convocation Hall as they left their lecture. It was hilarious.” Brooke lets out a small laugh, evidently remembering the sight in front of her. Not that Vanessa cares.

“Fun.”

“Yeah.” There’s an awkward pause, one that makes Vanessa want to fidget before Brooke speaks again. “You wanted to tell me something earlier?”

Oh. That.

“It doesn’t matter.” Vanessa mumbles the words as she turns another page over, because it really fucking doesn’t. Brooke didn’t care enough a couple hours ago. She doesn’t care now.

Vanessa doesn’t need any reactions or cheering from her.

“What? Just tell me.” Brooke shifts on her side, raising an eyebrow. “What was it?”

“I ain’t gotta tell you anything,” Vanessa snaps, suddenly annoyed. The interview feels like it happened ages ago by now, anyway. She’s already told her mom and Silky and A’keria and celebrated how well it went by ordering in Postmates and why should she have to retell it, when Brooke didn’t even want to hear about it in the first place?

“Fine,” Brooke huffs, crossing her arms. “Don’t say I didn’t ask, later.”

“Fuck off.” Vanessa doesn’t want to deal with this, doesn’t want to end up in the shitty mood that Brooke always manages to put her in. She’s tired of it. “Not like you actually care.”

Though apparently, Brooke isn’t. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Excuse me?” Vanessa feels her voice raising as she finally puts her review down on the bedside table because is now the time that Brooke is going to come for her? Really?

“I don’t actually care? You’re the one who never talks to me anymore, you never want to come to things with me or meet my friends and, you know what? I’m tired of trying with you.” Brooke looks cold, real cold, in a way that Vanessa’s never really seen directed towards her. The kind of closed off expression that she only gets when she talks about her parents, or when she’s ranting about one of her professors. The kind of Brooke that Vanessa’s not quite so used to, not when the Brooke that she normally gets is soft and open and not so closed off.

Vanessa’s about to run her mouth, though Brooke isn’t done, cutting her off before she’s able to say anything. “All you’re doing is pushing me away. Like the past three years have been bullshit and don’t matter anymore.”

“You’re the one who’s left me behind!” Vanessa runs a hand through her hair, because how doesn’t Brooke get it? Brooke’s moved on, moved onto other things and left Vanessa floundering in the dust and they’re supposed to be a team.

That’s what they’re supposed to be.

“No I didn’t, and you know that. I’m still trying, I’m the only one that’s still fucking trying between the two of us because you can never bother to even give me the time of day anymore.” Brooke’s jaw is set and she swallows hard, as if she’s trying to push everything back down and it’s not fair. Because Brooke is acting like this is solely her fault, when it isn’t.

“You’re never here anymore, how do you expect me to even do that? You’re always in class or hanging with your own friends or doing some med school event or the other. Not like I can even come to those.” Vanessa crosses her arms. She’s not going to follow Brooke to the ends of the earth to try. Not when Brooke wouldn’t even do the same for her.

“It always comes back to med school, huh?” Brooke lets out a bitter laugh. “Always the thing that makes you snap.”

“Don’t-”

“You still blame me because you didn’t get in, don’t you? Or at least, you take it out on me. Because I’m here and the admissions committees don’t exactly respond well to any sort of threats.” Brooke hasn’t raised her voice, not really, but the words still set Vanessa on fire, make her angry because Brooke’s so damn calm while she says them.

“You think real highly of yourself.” Vanessa doesn’t care about being quiet anymore, unlike Brooke. Not when she’s being like this. “You ain’t that important, bitch.”

“Believe whatever you want.” The ice is back, the tendrils beginning to creep along Vanessa’s skin from her words. “We both know it’s true. That’s when things started to get like this, when you stopped trying to actually talk to me about things. When you didn’t get in and I did.”

“Fuck off.”

“Maybe try a little harder for this next year and you don’t have to be so bitter anymore.” Brooke has a smirk on her face, the bitch. As if it’s all a joke to her.

“You really think I didn’t try hard? Like I didn’t put in as much effort as you, didn’t deserve it like you did? Like I wasn’t supporting you that whole fucking time?” Vanessa’s mad, real mad, because how dare Brooke even say that she didn’t fucking try hard, when Brooke was the one who was there, and saw her. “Maybe the reason I didn’t get in was because I had to spend so much time trying to make you feel better. Holding your hand constantly when you got anxious and stressed and had to put my books down to make sure you didn’t fucking blow a gasket on me.”

It’s a low blow and Vanessa knows it, by the way Brooke’s eyes darken because this isn’t something that they make light of, or joke about. Either of their mental health. But part of it is true. Sure, it comes with being in a relationship, supporting your partner. But maybe, just maybe, it’s taken away success from Vanessa too. Or at least, that’s what she’s going to tell Brooke, to drive that knife in just a little bit deeper.

There was a time when the last thing that Vanessa wanted to do was to hurt Brooke.

That was a long time ago.

“I didn’t realize I was such a huge burden to you.” Brooke narrows her eyes, and Vanessa can see the way that she’s covering up her heart, reinforcing it with every brick that she puts in front of it for protective armour. “You know what, though? I’m doing just fine. Just fine without you, don’t you think? Meanwhile, you look like you’re falling apart.”

Vanessa wants to scream and tell Brooke that she’s not, that she’s just fine, but the words don’t come. Because Brooke’s right.

And Vanessa hates it because it means that Brooke really has moved on.

“What, you don’t have anything to say, now that you don’t have anyone to blame anymore? Now that you actually have to take responsibility for something, for once in your life with no one to pick up the pieces for you?”

Vanessa doesn’t.

“Fine.” Vanessa’s off the bed, grabbing her coat that’s hanging on the back of their bedroom door, because she’s done. “You win.”

“Can you just fucking listen to yourself for once? It’s not about winning!” Brooke’s following her and she doesn’t care, she’s not going to stop even with how frustrated Brooke sounds. Because she’s wrong.

Brooke’s won, left her in pieces the way that she’s so good at doing again and again.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke to build herself back up.

(now)

The light of dawn makes Brooke glow in shades of gold.

It’s 5:45 a.m., and Vanessa’s unable to sleep anymore because of the rays of sun that are beaming directly into her eyes from Brooke’s bedroom window.

Their surgery starts at 8 a.m. sharp. They’ve done the practice run, have had consult meeting after consult meeting. Vanessa would probably be able to do the procedure with her eyes closed. Even if the surgery is approximately four and a half hours long.

Vanessa’s done longer. They both have. She’s not worried.

For now, her thoughts are solely drawn to the woman lying beside her.

There’s something about Brooke in sleep that continues to be absolutely mesmerizing to Vanessa. The way her lips are slightly parted, the way the worry lines etched into her face smooth themselves out while she’s dreaming. The slight twitch of her fingers and the soft breaths that she lets out as the sheets brush her skin.

She’s beautiful.

Vanessa gets up as slowly as she can to not wake Brooke up, and pulls on one of Brooke’s sweaters before she heads to the kitchen. She can’t help the little curses she lets out as she tries to get Brooke’s Keurig to work, different from her own at home.

“Stupid, damn machine-”

Though she doesn’t have to grumble to herself for long, two steaming drinks in her hands before the clock strikes 6:00.

When she heads back to the bedroom Brooke is awake, a hand running through her hair and her eyes wide as she sits up. Vanessa can see the palpable relief in Brooke’s eyes when she spots her in the doorway, along with the way that Brooke’s grip on the sheets begins to lessen, her body releasing the tension that had began to build up.

“You okay?” Vanessa hands Brooke a mug before sitting down beside her on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, I-” Brooke draws in a breath, looking down at the sheets. “Thought you’d left.”

The words lie heavy in Vanessa’s heart, because she knows she’s the one that’s made Brooke so afraid of it.

“I ain’t gonna leave, B,” Vanessa starts, voice soft, “Unless you want me to.”

Brooke looks up at her and Vanessa can see a vulnerability in her eyes. Neither of them are talking about this morning anymore. Vanessa knows it, she knows that Brooke knows it.

Vanessa’s not going to leave.

“You know it’s different now, right?” Vanessa puts her hand on top of Brooke’s on the mattress, feels Brooke’s hand turn over to grab hers. “It’s not like it used to be. We’re not like that anymore. We’re different.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Brooke’s just as soft, her voice on par with the way the sun is beginning to rise even more, lighting up the room.

“We’re not gonna end up like that again. I won’t let it.” Vanessa won’t. She can’t, because she’s already lost Brooke before, slowly and then all at once. Ripping off the band-aid at a torturous pace.

“How, though? How do we know we won’t end up like that again?” Brooke’s voice is almost pleading and Vanessa gets it, she does, because the tug in her heart is asking the same question. Waiting, just waiting, to catastrophize and concoct scenarios of how they could go all wrong.

“‘Cause we’re not gonna let that resentment build between us. We’re killing it in our own fields, both the heads of our departments. We’re not competing against each other anymore. We’re cheering each other on.” It does make a difference, it really does, when Vanessa thinks about it. Not having to vy for the same opportunities, same goals.

Brooke’s success isn’t a detriment to Vanessa’s own, and vice versa. She knows that now.

“Plus, I’m not a bitch ass, immature, twenty year old anymore.” Vanessa is sheepish as she says it, watching Brooke giggle. “You succeed now? I’m gonna have my phone out to record everything with a proud fucking grin on my face.”

“Same.” Brooke tilts her head and the sunlight glints off of her hair and Vanessa’s never seen a more beautiful girl in her life. “I want those memories with you. I want them to happen.”

“Look at you getting all soft on me, B.” Vanessa leans forward to kiss her, cutting off the half hearted protest on Brooke’s lips (‘I’m not that soft’).

But it’s true, Brooke is. So soft and open in a way that Vanessa loves, in a way that she feels so lucky that she gets to experience, since Brooke likes to keep that part of herself hidden away, not showing it to just anyone. Vanessa had been lucky enough to have that version of Brooke in university in the early years. And now here Brooke is, trusting her and letting her see the most beautiful parts of herself again.

Not the fact that Brooke’s a great surgeon, even though she is. Not the fact that she’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant, a fact that everyone already knows.

But rather, the fact that Brooke’s grip on her hand always tightens when she’s happy, and also all the little kisses that she presses to the crook of Vanessa’s neck whenever they snuggle as they’re about to fall asleep. The way that Brooke seems to remember little flippant things that Vanessa says, ever so thoughtful, like when she brought coffee before their consult meeting with the entire team yesterday and Vanessa’s had a dash of vanilla, just the way she likes it.

The softer parts of Brooke that contrast from the tight ship she runs as a surgeon, the rigidity that she imposes. The parts that make Vanessa realize that she really still loves her, so so much.

Brooke’s alarm clock blares as the numbers shift over to 6:30, making them both jump. Brooke turns it off, and Vanessa can’t help the way she leans against her side, revelling in how Brooke wraps her arms around her and rests her chin on top of her head.

“We have to get ready.” Brooke mutters the words into her hair before pressing a kiss there, and it makes Vanessa want to squeeze her eyes shut tight.

“No, we don’t.”

“We have a surgery scheduled at 8:00 a.m. sharp.”

“Who said that?”

Brooke snorts. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

The term of endearment makes Vanessa’s heart flutter more than she wants to admit, as if she’s eighteen again and crushing on the girl that sits beside her in anatomy class with two french braids in her hair.

Except, now? She knows, really knows, how much this girl actually means to her. And how hard she’s going to work not to lose her again.

“Tie up the back of my gown for me?”

Vanessa dries her hands and turns to see Brooke standing with her back towards her, scrub cap already on along with her face mask, surgical gown on top of her scrubs but untied.

“Sure.” Vanessa double knots the ties on the gown the way she always does with her own, always remembering the one unfortunate instance when she hadn’t tied her gown properly and it promptly came off on top of a patient’s open chest. Not one of her finest moments.

“All done. Anyone tell you how fucking adorable you look with a scrub cap covered in cats?”

Brooke’s mask is covering half of her face, but Vanessa can still see the way she blushes, the top of her cheeks glowing pink. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious! It’s cute.” Vanessa protests, pointing to her own covered in puppies. “Besides. We kinda match.”

“That’s true.” Brooke grins behind her surgical mask, and Vanessa can tell by the way that her eyes scrunch.

The charge nurse for their surgery yells out a timecheck, and it makes Vanessa remember that they’re really about to do this together. After so much planning, so many late nights. So many fights in the early stages, which seem almost comical now, looking back at them.

She and Brooke are both too damn stubborn sometimes, though it’s something that Vanessa hopes never ever changes.

“You ready?” She reaches out, squeezes Brooke’s hand before letting go. They’re still at work, after all, but she knows how Brooke can get, how an extra check in never hurts.

“Yeah. Now c’mon.” Brooke tilts her head towards the operate suite, at the way their team is finishing their set up for the surgery. “It’s a beautiful day to save lives.”

Vanessa gapes. “You did not just quote Grey’s Anatomy at me-”

Brooke cackles as she follows her into the suite. “I’m quite the McDreamy, aren’t I?”

“You wish.”

Vanessa massages her own shoulder as they stand in the line for Tim Hortons, neither of them particularly keen that morning on packing lunches for after their joint surgery.

“I’m fucking sore from being hunched over.”

Brooke looks over at her with an adorably furrowed brow. “You’re a surgeon. You do this for a living.”

“And you’re supposed to say you’ll give me a massage.” Vanessa pouts, though it morphs into a grin when Brooke wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“If you’re patient and can wait until the end of the day. Can you do that?”

“It’ll be real difficult.” Vanessa lets out a fake sigh as they head to their table, where some of the neuro and cardiac surgeons have already began to eat. “I dunno if I’ll have it in me.”

“If you’re good, you can have something in you-”

“Bitch-”

They’re both giggling as they sit down at the table, and Vanessa can already see the incredibly curious faces of their coworkers.

“You two aren’t fighting?” Kameron points between them, squinting her eyes as if she’s attempting to solve a complex math problem.

Brooke shoots Vanessa a look, almost asking permission. Vanessa nods, because what the hell. It’ll be funny to see everyone’s reactions.

“Considering she woke up in my bed today, no.” Brooke takes a sip of her coffee as their table erupts into chaos.

“Goddamn! And y’all say that I’m the loud one.” Vanessa yelps when Yvie grabs her hand to high five it, ducks out of Kameron’s bear hug directed towards her. “Absolute animals.”

“So. Tell us.” Plastique looks delighted as she takes a bite of her sandwich. “Was the sex good? After that much fighting, it must be good.”

“A lady never kisses and tells.” Brooke smiles faux demurely before stealing a Timbit from Vanessa’s lunch.

“Hey-”

“Sorry, baby.” Brooke doesn’t look the least bit sorry as she pops the Timbit into her mouth. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

She’s so cute that Vanessa can’t even be mad about it.

Yvie wrinkles her nose. “You two are already gross. Unbelievable.”

Brooke grins. “Says the girl who wouldn’t shut up about her date with her girlfriend during the temporal lobe tumour removal last week.”

Yvie sticks her tongue out at both of them. “Hateful.”

“Truthful.”

Vanessa’s about to chime in, when she’s interrupted by the slam of Asia’s tray on the table, Asia herself looking out of breath and quite smug.

“You all won’t believe the tea I have on these two from yesterday.” Asia looks positively delighted as she points between Vanessa and Brooke.

Vanessa can’t help herself. “We already told everyone else. It ain’t breaking news no more, Anderson Cooper.”

“Damn. And here I was actually excited about something for once.” Asia scowls, before pausing. “Wait, how do you know who Anderson Cooper is?”

Vanessa scoffs. “I watch shit sometimes. Nah, I’m playing. It was on the TV in the cardiac outpatient waiting room the other day. I prefer 90 Day Fiancé, myself.”

Kameron snorts. “A woman of culture.”

“That I am, bitch.”

Brooke nudges Vanessa’s side. “Gotta go. Consultation with a patient in ten.”

Vanessa gives Brooke her best fake pout. She knows that they’re at work, surrounded by coworkers and patients and families, but sometimes it feels like time spent with Brooke passes by too fast, like it’s in fast forward.

“Don‘t give me that face.”

“Hmph.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a meeting in ten, too?”

Vanessa shrugs. “Maybe so.”

“You’re something else.” Brooke reaches over to ruffle Vanessa’s hair and Vanessa yelps, because her curls don’t stay this nice with anyone messing them up.

“I’ll see you soon?” Brooke’s eyes are expectant as she stands up, gathering her things from the table.

“That you will.”

It’s true, in more ways than one. Vanessa doesn’t want to let Brooke go anytime soon.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #holtzmanns #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #hospital au #nobody knows where we might end up

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timelock97 · 5 years

Text

Time Never Stops

Chapter Seven: Just a Bug

Word Count: 2075

Prologue Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6

Warning: Mentions of getting sick, slight angst (not really)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alrighty," I rub my hands together as I sit down in front of my computer, "Are we recording Golf with Friends first or going over what we are doing for the PAX panel?"

"Record first," Arya states as Marz plops down beside her with two mugs in hand, "We then can practice our little spiel after the fact."

"Sounds like a plan. We ready for intros?" Kyle asks, stretching his arms over his head.

"Yeah, lets get-" my stomach lurches, causing me to pause and place a hand over my stomach.

"You okay there, TL?" Marz asks.

I shake my head before quickly standing from my seat, hand over my mouth, and sprint for the bathroom, the voices for my friends yelling from Skype behind me. I collapse to my knees and vomit into the toilet, groaning after finally emptying my stomach of what I had eaten for breakfast. I gasp for air, leaning an arm on the seat while laying my head on top to catch my breath and let the lightheadedness pass before flushing the toilet. I stand slowly and move to the sink to rinse out my mouth, then brush my teeth. I take a chance to look at my tear stained cheeks and pale face. I let out an annoyed breath before slowly making my way back down the hallway to the kitchen. I pop the fridge open to grab a bottle of ginger ale from the door shelf and grabbing a pack of saltine crackers from off the counter before walking back to the recording room.

"What the hell was that about?" Marz yells as I plop down in my chair, setting the bottle off screen while I reset my mics, chewing on the crackers.

"I haven't been feeling well the past few days, I'm fine, just a bug." I state quickly, running my hands through my hair. "Am I good to start the intro?"

"Yeah," Jac says with a raised eyebrow, Kyle cracks his knuckles next to him, "start us out, TL, before you get sick again."

I flip him off before clapping my hands together, "What's up guys, you're on with TimeLock,-"

"JacKylegameplays," the boys shout

"Welcome," Arya murmurs directly into the mic

"to Oblivion," Marz rasps

"And you're on," I state

"With GameSquad."

"Thanks so much for watching," Arya calls smiling at the camera after a two hour recording session.

"We will see you all, in the next one!" Jac and Kyle call out.

"Don't forget to check out our personal channels if you miss us." Marz states, pouting out her lower lip.

"And make sure to give that like button a little bit of love." I state, smiling at the camera.

"Until next time, this is GameSquad, signing off." We state together before stopping our recordings and giving everyone a thumbs up to show that we are all stopped.

"Okay," Arya groans while Marz moves from her seat to grab her phone from off the charger, "who is editing this bad boy?"

"It's the boys turn to edit the video. I don't know who is doing it, but the we have edited the last 3 weeks." Marz states before sitting back down in her chair.

"I have to pee, I'm not doing the editing, boys." I state, bouncing in my seat.

"Send over your recordings and I'll edit them," Kyle says, running a hand through his freshly dyed midnight blue hair while Jac pushes his chair away from the desk and rolls off screen. The girls and I upload our recordings and get them ready to send while we chit chat back and forth.

"I think this is the first time we have actually recorded since you've been back, TL." Jac yells off screen when I return from the bathroom.

"Yeah, I mean we pre-recorded videos for about a month so we wouldn't have to worry about it while I was gone then when Marz and Arya went on that trip with their family." I yawn, uncapping my pop to take a swig.

"And you haven't told us about your trip with Spiderling, TL." Kyle says, wiggling his eyebrows at me, making me laugh.

It had been five weeks since Tom and I departed from Oregon and went our separate ways since he had to get ready to go to premieres and interviews for late June.

"Sorry I couldn't travel back home with you, love." Tom murmured against my lips while we stood at his gate.

"Not like you could have changed it, babe." I whisper.

Tom cards his hand through my hair before cupping my face. "I love you, (Y/N), so much."

"I love you too, Tom, and just think. In a month and a half I'll be out in L.A. to join you for your premiere for the newest Avengers movie."

"I get to show you off as my girlfriend, and I cannot wait," he whispers, leaning his forehead against mine before pressing his lips into mine again, smiling into the kiss.

I pull away, looking into his brown eyes that in his swim with nothing but love. "You're going to miss your flight if you aren't off." I whisper, only to be cut off again by his lips.

He takes his time, before moving from my lips to my cheeks, my jaw, then my forehead before sighing. "I love you, darling. Call when you get home?" He states, backing up until all he is holding is my hands.

"Only if you call when you do." I whisper, lifting his hand to my lips, "I love you too. Now," I squeeze his hands before spinning him toward his gate, "Go before you miss your flight."

He laughs before spinning back around and kissing my lips. "See you in seven weeks."

"Seven weeks." I repeat before he finally walks to the door, but not before he gives me another wave, and walking inside.

"Everything was super fun, we visited so many places: the Japanese gardens, Mt. Tabor, art museums, the zoo, and more. And as you all know we figured out that we admitted that we loved each other," I muse.

"The ship finally sailed!" Marz yells, making us all laugh.

"Well, we are very glad that you are happy, TL, and that you had a great time." Kyle says, smiling at me.

"I do have a question, though." Arya says, looking intently at me. "How long have you been sick, (Y/N/N)?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, a few days." I state, leaning into my headrest, "Why?"

"Just curious, it seems odd that you are a bit sick five weeks after your trip with Tom." Arya states, leaning into Marz's side.

"And what exactly are you getting at?" I accuse, white, hot anger running through me.

"I think Ari is assuming that you and Tom did a little more than just kissing on your trip." Kyle wiggles his eyebrows, making Jac laugh.

"I'm not pregnant," I state, shaking my head, the group gasping as I roll my eyes. "It's just a bug, probably got it from flying home."

"I know, I mean, it is you. You don't have to get pissed about it" Marz laughs. "Damn, dormant virus," she giggles. I give here an apologetic look before shaking my head and laughing along with her.

Once the subject jumps away from my illness I pull my phone out of my desk drawer while we get ready to perform our little script for PAX. The lock screen revealing a picture of Tom after one of our days 'spent in bed.' I open my contacts and pull up my recent messages, clicking into Izzy's.

(Y/N/N)

Are you at the store?

At work?

Izzy

I am

Need something?

(Y/N/N)

I need you to pick something up for me

And you CANNOT freak out

Izzy

Okaaaaaaay

Whatcha need?

(Y/N/N)

Um...

Pregnancy test...?

Izzy

You have explaining to do

But will grab it for you.

I'll check it out so no one asks either.

(Y/N/N)

You're the best

And I'll explain when you get here

Chinese?

Izzy

Yum 😍

See you at 6

"TL?" My head shoots up from where I am looking down at my phone to the rest of GameSquad. "You alright?" Kyle asks.

"Yeah. Uh, want me to get started?" I ask, watching as everyone nods. "Alright everybody," I clap my hands together, leaning toward the screen, "storytime."

I wave goodbye to the rest of GameSquad before turning off the computer for the night. I run my hands through my hair before I stand and walk out into the hallway and into the kitchen. I glance at the clock, 5:15 PM.

"Time to call for food." I mutter as I grab my phone out of Tom's blue hoodie and dial my favorite Chinese place. Once the order is placed I spend the next twenty minutes moving around the apartment until I find myself back into the kitchen. I play with my lip as I lean against the counter, grabbing a water bottle in my hand and tossing it in the air, flipping it. I jump when there is a knock on the door and I quickly move to answer it. I yank it open and cause the man behind it to jump. "I'm sorry, a bit on edge, how much do I owe you?" I ask, pulling my wallet out of the front pocket.

"Fifteen sixty." The man states, handing me the bag for my food.

I pass him $22 and mutter a quick, "Keep the change." I shut the door and deposit the bag onto the kitchen counter, breathing in the savory smells of the contents. The sound of knocking, the tap, double tap, tap on the door signals Izzy's arrival pulls me from my thoughts.

"Hey there, (Y/N/N), I have the, uh, tests." Izzy calls from down the hall.

"I'm in the kitchen, Iz. Food just got here." I call back. Izzy walks into the kitchen with bag in hand.

"Uh, do you want to do this first or eat?" Izzy asks, setting the bag on the counter.

"Food, that way I can tell you about, uh, why I needed these." I grab the bag and motion for her to follow me into the living room.

"You and Tom what?!" Izzy yells, making me blush and let out a small laugh, "(Y/N/N)-"

"Okay, it wasn't planned, it just kinda happened. And then it happened, uh a few more times-" I shake my head, placing a hand over my forehead.

"I do not want to hear about this." Izzy laughs, then she looks at me seriously, "but you think that there's a possibility that you are pregnant?"

"I'm on birth control," I state, setting the empty to-go container on the coffee table, "but it is always possible that it didn't work." I whisper, looking at a few picture frames that sit on a bookshelf to my left. Showing pictures from my high school graduation, Izzy's first book signing, my first PAX, and the first premiere I attended with Tom.

"Well, I'm not leaving until you take the test. And, you know me," Izzy grabs my hand and smiles at me, "I am here for the long run."

"Thanks, Iz." I lean forward and pulling her into a hug. After a few minutes I pull away, letting out an annoyed groan. "Well, now I am gonna go in the bathroom and, pee on a stick." Izzy laughs as I stand from the couch and walk to the bathroom with the box in hand.

I pace the small length of the bathroom while Izzy sits on the bathtub, waiting for the timer on my phone to go off.

"Everything is going to be okay, (Y/N/N)," Izzy states, holding out her hand.

I take it and squeeze, "I just," I run a hand over my face, "I just don't know how I should feel about-" the timer on my phone going off on the counter cuts me off. I look at her in a panic, and begin to shake my head, "I can't look at it, I can't, Izzy."

"We will look at it together, and whatever happens, everything will be okay." Izzy states, holding my hand. The two of us walk over and take the test upside down in our hands. She looks at me, "Ready?"

"As I will ever be." I whisper. We take one more deep breath before flipping the test over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! Reblog and comment!

@revenantwriting | @bellagrayson-wayne | @jackiehollanderr

Chapter Eight

#cg writes #tom holland x reader #dad!tom holland #bestfriend!tom holland #best friends to lovers #time never stops #tomhollandxyoutuber!reader

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ardentmuse · 5 years

Text

Perchance a Parchment (George Weasley x Reader) - Part 1

Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k

Series Summary: After your owl decided the proper destination for the note intended for your best friend is Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, you find yourself in an anonymous romance with the man of your dreams. But little do you know, he is also the owner of that obnoxious joke shop just down the street from your store, the one that is slowly putting you out of business.

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

A/N: Woohoo Part 1 is here! I am excited for this cute little journey of ours. :) I hope you like this.

“Oy, Georgie! You gotta come see this,” Fred screamed from the first floor of their shop.

George could hear the commotion clearly from where he was sitting at the top of the spiral stairs, buried under a stack of papers in the circular room that worked as a makeshift office. He imagined for the previous owners, this might have been a place to keep the most valuable wares, to walk the wealthiest customers up the long helix until they felt intrigued by the exclusivity offered only to them. The tall wood-paneled walls were lined with glass cases, now filled to their brims with potions ingredients, meticulously labeled and sorted; each box for a different best-selling product and an entire case for “experiments.” But for George, even the amount of order he and Fred managed was not enough to keep up with the chaos that was his mind. The business was expanding at an alarming rate and it took almost all of George’s energy to simply keep up the books, let alone the supply and creation of new, innovative products.

He’d have to hire a new cashier soon, and maybe even an accountant. But the prospect of interviewing made him a little bit nauseous. More to do. Always more to do.

“Georgie!” Fred screamed again.

With a sigh, George closed the giant tome that was functioning as a legger. He checked his reflection in the glass for just a moment -- you never know when a beautiful woman might decide to stop in -- and with a quick adjustment to his vest, he descended the stairs.

As the shop came into view below him, colorful shelves and school children running all around, collected in corners and laughing with their friends, it wasn’t very hard to find what had Fred in stitches. A young boy, at least he presumed he was male, had hair growing wildly all around his neck and each time he tried to speak to George’s twin, who casually sat upon the counter overlooking an adoring crowd of youngsters, his voice came out as a purr or a roar; a little lion in all but body.

Fred turned to his brother and smiled. “Combined those jelly beans and the shape-shifting gumdrops you released last week. Wish we would have thought of it ourselves.”

And with that, Fred jumped onto the counter and reached into his pocket. He examined the candies within and with a quick decision, tossed two George’s way.

“Ready for some fun, Gred?”

With the eager eyes of the children and the cheshire grin of his brother upon him, George left the mounds of paperwork behind him in exchange for some mischief.

“After you, Forge, my good sir!” George called as he too hopped up on the counter, the crowd around them growing ever stronger.

“Now, friends, don’t try this at home,” Fred said, to which George followed up, “Yeah, wait until you get to school. Give ol’ Minerva a show for us, won’t ya?”

And that was what you saw as you walked back to your bookstore as the sun began to set. Not George Weasley, the wonderfully brilliant mastermind behind new and amazing treats, the skilled bookkeeper and investor, the hilarious and bright man who found such joy in his work and his family, and the soft and caring brother who always knew the right things to say to make anyone smile. No, what you saw was a self-obsessed fool standing on a countertop with a face vaguely resembling a seal as he tried to balance massive gumballs upon his snout. You saw only a man who was fueled on the adoration of others and on creating chaos for the sake of chaos, running a shop that was so popular it was encroaching on the entirety on Diagon Alley.

You looked on only for a moment, at the bright yellow lights of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, like a beacon to children of the joys within. And you thought just maybe that strangely beautiful pompous Weasley brother met your gaze just before you continued your journey to your humble shop down the road.

“You okay, George?” Grizzly bear Fred asked his brother. But George didn’t really hear him. His eyes were intent on the street just outside. Bright eyes, the brim of an adorable nose, and the shine of a maroon cloak in the setting sunlight consumed his vision, but not more than the saddened pout on that near perfect face, a perfect face that slipped into the crowd of busy commuters and was gone as quickly as it came.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” George said after a moment. “Just--”

“A pretty face?” Fred asked with a wink. Immediately, George began to blush, or at least he thought he was. It was hard to tell with the strange texture of his skin at present.

“Prettier than Angie’s?” Fred asked later that night as they locked up the shop.

George sighed, “You know that’s over, Fred. Please stop bringing it up.”

As Fred clicked off the last of the lights, he addressed his brother who was already halfway up the stairs towards their apartment. “Maybe if you’d gone on a single date these past four years, I would. Speaking of which, I’m meeting Lee at the Leaky Cauldron if you want a crack at getting back in the game?”

George laughed, “Lee’s not really my type, mate. Have fun.”

George heard Fred screaming, “You’re not going to find that pretty face in our apartment, Georgie. At least not until you invite her up yourself.”

And George shut the door to their suite before he could hear any more of his brother’s silly encouragements. Thought George knew he was right, he had more pressing things to focus on at the moment. Romance could come much later. If this woman was perfect for him, she’d be perfectly fine waiting until the business was settled.

Though he’d been saying that to himself for years now…. Would things ever settle or had he and Fred opened a can of worms that would consume their lives forever?

That night, in your apartment over your shop just ten doors down the way, you also laid in bed contemplating the same things. Years now you had been with the same person, the man you thought you’d marry someday if things kept going as they had when you first started up. But they hadn’t. Thomas was still your dear friend, and you owed him so much for helping you transition to life in the UK, but the passion was completely gone. You were both going through the motions, you knew, neither of you willing to say the words to end it for good.

Passion. When you first opened your shop, you were so excited about bringing fiction to the lives of the wizarding community. All the books shop you had seen only sold textbooks and reference literature. Occasionally there was “fiction” masked as memoir, but a proper narrative was lost on adults. You wanted to expose witches and wizards to adventure, horror, humor, and romance. You even brought in books from muggle communities. You had a robust section for children and a daily story time that was widely attended, mostly due to your impressive use of magic to create visuals and voices to go with each story. But sales were questionable. You loved what you did but it wasn’t necessarily sustainable. The landlord was already on you about a potentially having someone else willing to pay a higher price for the space. If that were true, you may have to kiss this dream goodbye. But then what would you have left? Thomas who hadn’t kissed you with love in months?

At least you had a good group of friends who’d let you crash on their couches until you figured out your next career move. The Weasleys had a help wanted sign up still, didn’t they? You laughed at the thought of working for those pompous fools.

But speaking of friends, you lifted yourself out of bed and lit the candle upon your desk, waking Diomedes, your owl, and penned a letter to your longest and dearest friend.

The following morning, George insisted on now interruptions. He needed several hours in the office to get up to date on the books before they met with the realtors next week to discuss expansion.

And as lunch time came and went, George had almost actualizing the previous month when he heard a strong and insistent banging at the window just beside his desk. He pulled his head away to see a tawny owl, more cream than brown, with a long piece of parchment tied securely to his ankle. The owl tilted his head, asking to be let in. George obliged his request.

Immediately, the owl swooped in and positioned himself on the end of the desk, his leg in the air to be plucked of the parchment. He didn’t recognize the bird. Maybe Ron got a new bird through work or Ginny is using one from a local owlery while she’s in tournament play.

“Someone trained you well, little mister,” George said to the animal. As if hearing him, the bird screeched and flapped before settling back against the bookshelves in the far corner of the room, clearly awaiting a reply.

And so George opened the scroll, expecting the opening line to explain the unfamiliar bird but instead he found a note in pleasant script addressed to a, “Peaches.”

Dearest Peaches,

I’ve been thinking a lot about those nights you and I spent in your clubhouse during summers as children. We would talk about how we wanted life to be when we grew up. I remember each night was a different elaborate story. We would start a band and travel the world performing in every tavern and pub in the wizarding world until someone took us seriously. We’d buy a house in the hills of the Pyrenees and catalogue all the creatures that hid within. We become two of the greatest aurors the world would ever know and tear down dark wizards around the world, maybe hunt vampires and werewolves too. We’d marry brothers so we could be sisters-in-law and have a brood of children who’d be best friends. We had so many dreams.

Did you ever notice that we never simply imagined being happy? Each story was always about doing something grand. All the small moments of life -- the lunches with friends, the Christmas dinners with family, the books we’d read and the vacations we’d take -- were completely left out. But isn’t life just a series of small moments? Does there have to be a grand adventure, a great love, an epic quest, to make this life meaningful? Or can we just exist? Can we just be two people happily moving forward each day?

Don’t get me wrong. I want passionate love. I want harrowing escapades. I want tales to tell. But more than anything I want to wake up each day to something that makes me smile and fall asleep to the same. And I feel like I am just getting there...

I hope today you find something to make you happy, my friend.

Yours,

Cherry

As George read the words, he felt he could anticipate the next sentence. Had he not wanted the exact same thing as a child? He pictured sitting with Fred in their beds, pushed together despite mum’s protests about how to doing so would scuff her floors, and plotting the trajectory of their lives. Dragon-taming with Charlie or curse-breaking with Bill or playing quidditch for England’s team as they won the World Cup. But now, as adult life was settling in, he was realizing he was much more fulfilled by the smiles he put on children’s faces, by the laughs he shared with Fred as they came up with a new treat, and the coos of his nieces asleep in his arms after Easter dinner.

Whomever was on the other end of this letter, this “Cherry” which he assumed was a codename, seemed to know just the tiniest part of his soul. He found himself smiling at the thought of a woman for the first time in many moons.

“Dear Cherry,” his letter began as he completely ignored the growling of his stomach letting him know he needed lunch. The tawny owl was staring at him intently as he put words to paper.

Your owl seems to have confused my office for the home of your dear Peaches. Thought I must say, I am not sure he made a mistake. I needed to read your words today. Things have been overwhelming stressful and I have found myself trying to see the forest through the trees. Your letter has helped remind me that the trees are valuable all on their own.

I like to think I’m the kind of guy who can find joy in most things, but sometimes the pressure to succeed is overwhelming. Work used to just be fun. The fact that it made me money was an added bonus. But now… I don’t know. It feels like work. Like you, I think I’m getting close to the things that make me happy. Maybe I just need you to help change my focus...

But, tell me, Cherry. I’m intrigued. How come a woman with a lovely mind like yours hasn’t found herself some passionate love?

Sincerely,

Ge Call me Rhubarb

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt, @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot

Perchance a Parchment tags: @cucumberinmyass, @justducky0423, @thequeen-ofnerds, @yuaasa, @comic-creature, @hermionebennet, @semicharmedkindofali, @sugerquill, @can-i-fangirl-yet, @doct0rstrange, @igotmadskills, @otherthingsinhead, @olixerwxxd, @caramiriel, @gryffinclxw, @lizmar20, @indicisive-af, @confettidreameryouwhoreo-blog, @hellizhelusive2, @kaitsubaki, @dooriha, @justfollowtheroad, @memogorgon

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #hp #hp imagine #weasley twins #reader insert #george weasley x you #fred weasley #perchance a parchment

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years

Text

II.

Sarai Nazaire

“You know what I forgot to get while in the city? A pizza. I kept telling myself over and over again that I needed to order a pizza to the hotel and never did. Don’t get me wrong, we have good pizza spots in Atlanta, but there’s nothing like a New York slice. Being that Jesse’s from Chicago, you know they have their own style out there and we debate all the time about which region has the better pizza, but New York takes it by a landslide. Just don’t tell him that I said that.” I stuck the applicator back into the tube of my MAC “Spite” lipglass while she plopped back against the seat in disappointment for having failed to fulfill her craving. I wish she had of said something last night when she decided to travel over from the city to spend her final night on the East Coast at my house. We ordered a couple of dishes from this local Mexican restaurant that left my stomach in shambles throughout the night. I still feel slightly uneasy. Had we gone with a pizza, I probably wouldn’t have had to skip breakfast this morning.

“You’ll be back. We can grab pizza then.”

“I will be. The question is, when are you coming to Atlanta? Come down so we can have some fun in the city. We’re not New York, but the southern hospitality is damn good.”

“As soon as I find the time, I’m on the first flight out there. Contrary to what you believe, I actually enjoy Atlanta. I wouldn’t mind living down there. It’s a great city.” My eyes caught her own as she glanced at me from a side angle and a snide snicker followed to match her mood.

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. You’re an east coast girl to the core. I remember when we were in Toronto at All Star. You looked like a fish out of water. I don’t think I can ever see you moving anywhere else for an extended period of time until you’re saggy and old.”

“First of all, just because I’ll be old doesn’t mean that I’ll be saggy. Have you seen Angela Bassett? That’s the goal right there. Second, I do love it up here but I’m not opposed to living elsewhere at some point in my life. It just depends on the circumstances and opportunities. Right now, aside from it being home, it makes perfect sense to be on the east coast. So, until something comes up, this is where I’ll be.” I was the third hire for The Sports Haven and it was a time clenching phone call that came just before I was due to take another opportunity ESPN presented me with out in Los Angeles. I contacted a realtor in hunt for an apartment and intended to return to settle where I’d be residing, but my destiny ended up being in Connecticut. Though I wasn’t mentally prepared to make such a move, I prayed on it, and was ready. I’m sure it may have been my mother’s prayers of desperation to God that kept me here. She dreaded the reality that I wouldn’t be within close proximity to her though I’m not sure why. We’re not in one each other faces much regardless.

“With the position that you have up there at ESPN, I don’t blame you.”

“And once you’re up there with me, we’re going to turn it up. I need a bit more estrogen on that panel from time to time, even though I hold my own against all three of them.”

“That you do sister. That you do.” Our hands met for a high five and I pulled my small mirror out of my traveling case to check and see if I put on enough concealer. I’ve been dealing with sleep deprivation for the past two weeks or so and it’s certainly starting to show in my under-eye area. The seemingly endless hours at work aside, whenever I do have time to myself it’s either invaded by wanted or unwanted plans with the very view people in my life or I’m trying to tie up loose ends that I am not able to do during the week. I’ve considered hiring a personal assistant but I don’t think I’m at a point where I have the potential to become disorganized or worn down just yet. I intend to give it a bit more time.

“Your face looks good. You don’t need to double check anymore.”

“I’m just making sure everything is in place. I refuse to have Linda touching my face today or ever again. I avoid it at all costs.” I’m not one to discriminate against anyone or much of anything for as long as it’s not arming people, but I absolutely do have a bias when it comes to who does my hair and make-up. I need black hands and talent involved in the process at all times. Sure, there’s talent in every ethnic group, but when it comes to those of your own, there’s a certain level of respect and dedication you’re not going to get elsewhere. I know my foundation shade is going to be on point and that the concealer shade won’t have me in front of the camera looking like Casper The Friendly Ghost. My baby hairs are going to be slicked down just right when I’m rocking some braids and the frontal on my wigs will blend into my hairline seamlessly. If it’s one thing that I don’t play around with, it’s my personal presentation and it’s because I know that I’m going to be critiqued the harshest for two specific discrimination types; my blackness and womanhood. During my contract negotiation, EPSN agreed to hire hairstylist Annagjid Taylor, a mutual friend of my sister and myself. I’ve yet to find a make-up artist but until I do, I’ll handle it on my own. Linda can stay out of my dressing room.

“That woman slightly messed up your make up once and you’ve been holding a grudge against her ever since.” I couldn’t join her in the laughter that filled the SUV. My ears, overall face, and neck were three different colors that day and it was beyond obvious. My mother was the first one to call me and ask what the hell was going on and she doesn’t even watch ESPN. Social media had a field day with it.

“And I’m keeping that grudge.”

“I forgot to mention that I saw you speaking with Odell at the party. That’s one of my favorite guys. He has such a humble spirit and he’s super nice.”

“Hm.”

During the time frame when I was researching his career and background, I viewed plenty of interviews where I can easily admit that he exuded a calmness that I did not expect. After having heard so many opposing and confusing opinions about his character, I presumed that he’d be the “push back” style of athlete who deliberately gave reporters a difficult time in drawing information and responses out of him simply because he could. I’ve dealt with many of those types and it takes the patience of God to be able to sit or stand before them without reacting to such brutal attitudes. Marshawn Lynch is a prime example of one, but I’ve gotten used to it and we’ve built up a mutual respect for one another. Beckham Jr., on the other hand, isn’t likely to behave that way. He’ll give you short answers if he’s flustered or dealing with the disappointment of a game loss. You might receive a deliberate straight-faced expression if he’s being asked the same probing question repeatedly, but he’s never disrespected a reporter. I have never come across any bad commentary about an interview with him.

“He’s been wanting to meet you, actually. He spends a lot of time out in L.A. during the off season. While in town last month, I ran into him at an event out there and in the midst of our conversation he asked about you. He thought you were there too. He mentioned something about you two having failed chance encounters. What is that about?

“I don’t know.” Friend or not, I refuse to get into the details about why I had no desire to meet him or the particulars of what he said last night. With Taylor, I know I’ll never hear the end of it.

“So, what did he say last night?”

“He thanked me for what I said and that was it.” Technically, that is it.

“And what did you say?”

“Uh…you’re welcome.” I couldn’t refrain from laughing at that. “What else was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you two would have ended up speaking more. He’s been eager for that moment. He’s a really big fan. One of the things that I respect about him is how much respect he has for women. There’s no discrimination on his end. The man hosts a football clinic for women every year and the camp that he does for kids is also extended to girls. Whenever we talk, he always gives me props for my career path and then he fangirls over you. He goes on and on about the way you read off career stats and how much you care about the talent over everything else. He’s confident that you’re the best analyst on the network.”

“I’m not the best.” Surely, I’m working to get there, but as of right now, I’m still learning the ropes.

“It’s his opinion, not yours. Stop selling yourself short either way.”

“Well, I appreciate his kind words.”

“He’s a nice guy.” Our eyes met and mine instantly narrowed at her emphasis on his niceness. Initially, I didn’t understand the point of it until that all too familiar smile appeared on her face. “I’m just saying.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you so short about him?”

“Why are you so long winded about him? I thought Jesse’s your guy.”

“I don’t want Odell. I’ve never viewed him in that manner, but I’m not Stevie Wonder and neither are you. The man is fine as hell.”

“Okay.” I’ve encountered more athletes than I can count over the last four years. Initially, I found myself paying attention to the exterior of a few of them because all of that muscle is right there in front of you, but eventually, it became so normalized in my life that it began to roll right off of me. When you’re so focused on getting the job done, who gives a damn what they look like?

“You’re such a hermit crab.”

John slowly came to a stop in front of Terminal B at Newark Liberty International Airport. We’d made it in just enough time for her to comfortably get through TSA and to her gate without having to put her black Converses to the test.

“Text me when you land so that I can know you’ve made it back safely.” We tightly embraced one another as we always do whenever we greet and leave one another. “And don’t forget because you always do and then I have to call and curse you out.”

“I won’t forget. It’s been a fun week with you, even though I’m sure you’re drained because we’ve hung out just about every day after you left work. Finish up strong today and get some rest. I know you need it.” That’s a fact.

“I will. I’ll be in the bed with some sort of take out as soon as I get home tonight.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see you soon.”

“You will. Enjoy Jesse, because I overheard that he’s heading your way in two days and it’s not for work.” It was my turn to imply what actually is the truth. Despite her playful denial about what they feel for one another and how they navigate it, I know what she feels is sincere. Her face instantly lights up at the mere mention of his name.

“You bitch. Shut up. You enjoy your day because I have a feeling that it’s going to be a pleasant one.”

“It’s always pleasant for the most part.” There are days when it isn’t, but anyone with a job can attest to that no matter what position held or how much money is being made.

“Love you. I’ll text you.”

“Love you.”

With two years in, I’m still considered to be a rookie around the studio and yet I can’t recall too many moments when I’ve ever felt like one. The executives, producers, and all of my colleagues have been pleasant. One of the surprising perks has been my dressing room. Like all spaces in the beginning, it started off as nothing more than a desk and a chair in the corner of the room. Since then, it has transitioned from looking like a prison cell to being filled with the warmth of nude shades and the comforting scent of eucalyptus and spearmint. There are a few finishing touches that I’m going to work on, but even without them, it’s nearly as comfortable as my den area at home.

“Good morning Sarai.” Amy poked her head into a small opening at the door in the same manner that she always does, as if it makes her presence any less invasive since she doesn’t knock.

“Morning.”

“So, I just want to make you aware of a slight change on the docket today. We’re going to pull about twenty minutes of the show’s typical running time for a one on one with you and OBJ. It’s just preseason talk. Of course, you two can get into your commentary about him. It’ll be a full circle moment to put a close to that.”

“Excuse me? Is Chad not available for it? I thought we’re having Chris Broussard and Terrell Owens on today?” On Monday we went over everything for the entire week and although we do briefings every morning, nothing has changed until now. I haven’t heard a single comment of possibility that he would be joining us here at the network today.

“As a content creator yourself, you know that it doesn’t make sense for Chad to do it. This is a last-minute call by Chip. I didn’t even know about it.”

“I don’t have any questions prepared for this. This is bullshit.” For the first time ever, I blurted out profanity in the workplace and despite not being proud of it, I couldn’t help myself. I hate being put on the spot with a passion. I am not spontaneous. I’m no daredevil. No, I don’t do everything by the book, but I damn sure try my best to do so, because I can’t stand fucked up results.

“I’d say just pull from priors and maybe draw up a few over the next thirty.”

“Priors? I’ve never interviewed him. Amy, you know this.”

“And I also know of your capabilities, so this will go smoothly. It’s not an in-depth sit down. It’s preseason talk. There’s nothing to stress about. You got it Sarai. You always have it.” Before I could respond, she slipped out of the door.

And that’s the problem. You let people pull some crap on you once and they’ll continue doing it if you don’t put your foot down. They’ve had me go into a random one on one with Serena Williams that wasn’t expected and then there was another with Kobe, prior to his retirement and him being my colleague. Granted, it’s what made him respect me, but I still would have preferred to be ready.

“Girl, you get to sit across from that fine ass man today. Can I meet him? You know I never ask you to meet anyone, but him? I just want to stand in front of him and see if he’s just as fine as he is in magazines and on television. I don’t even care about sports, but I’d make a sport out of slurping him.” I nearly choked on air. Annagjid salaciously ran her tongue over her lips as I glared at her though the mirror and had the audacity to follow up her lewd behavior with a pelvic thrust.

“Just for that, I’ll make sure he keeps his distance. I’d hate for him to refuse to ever come here again.”

“Did you say cum?”

“Anna!”

“I’m just saying. The man looks like a Greek God. That’s Zeus and I’m trying to be Hera.”

“You do know that Hera was most famous for being extremely jealous and vengeful against all of Zeus’ lovers and the illegitimate children he had with them, right?”

“And that’s exactly what I would do if that was my man. Let a bitch try to come after what’s mine and I’m whooping ass on sight.” Her antics never fail to make me laugh and I needed something to lighten the mood after Amy’s curveball in my day.

“You’re nuts. I swear.”

“And your ponytail is looking bomb too. I made sure those edges are slicked to perfection. This dress is hitting every curve and got the ass looking right. You’re ready.” I’d chosen an ash blue sleeveless Roland Mouret pencil dress for today. The only other option I had in mind was this exact dress in black, but it’s Friday and I’d rather not look like I’m heading to mourn someone’s death. It’s classy and there’s something about the golden zipper in the back that makes it sexy. My mother would be pleased. I doubt she’d deem me to be her son in a skirt today.

“I’m ready for what?”

“You have to look your best while in front of him. Every woman should.”

“For what? If I could, I’d interview him in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s not President Obama.”

“Obama and those Dumbo ears wishes he looked like that.”

“You know what? I’m not about to allow you to disrespect my forever President over a New York Giants wide receiver, so I’m going to act like you didn’t say that.”

“Oh, I said it. Know and remember that.”

Owens and Broussard were our first visitors which gave me more than enough time to figure out some type of format and direction to what I’d ask Beckham Jr. during every commercial break. I’d describe today’s show as rather lax because we spent far more time laughing at Chad and Terrell’s antics than we did speaking about the up and coming football season and the tension between Kyrie Irving and Lebron James that has lead to him wanting to be traded. You put a set of best friends who happen to be former NFL players together and what do you get? Endless jokes.

“Aye, don’t go too hard on Odell either. You nice as hell but you mean as hell too.” Chad squeezed my shoulders playfully as his warning went into one ear and right out of the other.

“I am not mean.”

“Shit. You boss my bald ass around all the time, but that’s okay, because I like it. You beat by the way. Face is snatched. Edges laid. The ratio between the front of that sandal and your big toe is on point. Apply pressure on they asses.” Chad’s my second favorite, after Fred. I don’t think he takes much of anything seriously and I appreciate it so much because it brightens my day around here.

“You are such a clown yo. Move.” Our laughter filled the set as he wrapped me into a bear hug from behind.

“Don’t laugh too hard because your foundation is going to crack and then you’re going to have smile lines.”

“Never that!” I learned a trick a long time ago to make sure that never happens.

The space where I’d be interviewing Beckham was just another set a few feet away. Though a bit too intimate in setting for what I planned on asking him, I’d take it. It’s less cameras and lights involved. There’s also much less man power around directing which way to sit, which camera to look into, and the timeframe in which you have to get your thought out before moving on to the next topic. When I think back to my days of strictly writing for ESPN Magazine and Sports Illustrated, I can admit that I miss it from time to time. There’s nothing quite like being able to sit down somewhere, with your laptop or even a pen and paper, and just pour your everything into whatever your focus is. I don’t want to say that broadcasting is microwavable journalism because that would be insulting, but it’s extremely fast paced and often time, stories are left behind as quickly as they’re told. I still have clippings of some of my favorite sports articles from my childhood. I have bookmarks online of articles that I’ve enjoyed over the years, some written by people I’ve met in school or elsewhere, and others from those I simply admire from afar. I still grab magazines from the newsstands in the city. Though I do watch all of the other shows on this network, I certainly do make sure to visit the website to check out what our online journalists are writing. There’s something special about studying a subject and descriptively writing about who they are in a manner that exudes the perfect imagery and it moves me unlike anything else. Though I don’t write as much as I used to, I still try to convey that art when I’m sitting down with someone. My aim is to humanize before anything else.

“Sarai Nazaire.”

His low-pitched and yet calming voice commanded my attention and I granted it by turning to where he stood. Much like a week ago, his piercing eyes pervaded my own, as his blonde curls poked out beyond the hood covering his head. He chose to be lax, in a warm green sweat suit and Nike sneakers.

“Hello.” I extended my hand for his own and our skin met in an instant. “How are you?”

“I’m well. How are you?”

“I’m well.”

“This is my mom, Heather.” It was easy to tell. He resembles the tall beauty quite a bit and they have identical smiles. Whenever he speaks of her, he hails her as his reason for not only being but also for the athleticism. She’d been a tremendous track star in her earlier days and even gave birth to him before she could head to the Olympic trials. It makes perfect sense for her to have believed in him when he assured her that he was going to be an NFL player when he was about eight years old.

“Mrs. Van Norman. It’s nice to meet you.” I released his hand and immediately reached for hers.

“Please call me Heather and it’s so nice to meet you. We’re huge fans. We all love you in our house.” If I were their complexion, I’m sure my cheeks would be the color of apples right now.

“Thank you so much.”

“Oh no, I have to thank you. You know, he’s a grown man but he’s also my baby and whenever he is or feels attacked, it feels like it’s coming down on me too. I have never heard anyone outside of friends and family speak as highly of him as you did and it caused such a shift in the way that he is reported on nowadays. He can be a knucklehead and all is fair when he’s having one of those moments, but it really does feel like he’s being given a fair chance to be himself without hell to pay for it.” I’m not a mother, but I can imagine what it feels like to turn on your television or surf the web and see such negativity about your child all over the place. It’s even worse when the negativity stems from situations that aren’t crimes. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing when I sounded off about him, but to hear the manner in which it comforted his mother means quite a bit to me.

“There’s no need to thank me for that, really. The one thing that the naysayers cannot negate is his talent. When he’s on the field, he performs. Everything else is just noise. I believe you birthed a once in a lifetime talent.”

“Thank you.” He voiced the answer for the both of them. She’d been too wrapped up in a huge smile to do so before him.

“So, I’m sure you’ve done a million of these. I’m only going to ask you a couple of questions. It’s a short segment. Anything off limits?” Usually, a manager or an agent would approach me prior to any interview and run down a list of details that are off limits. It’s a power move to make sure whoever they’re representing doesn’t have to face the music when asked a difficult question. If you’re smart, you’ll figure out a way to work around it or rework questions to the point of them telling on themselves.

“Nothing is barred. I’m cool with whatever you want to ask.”

“Oh yeah? So, I can ask about your girlfriends?” A light joke for what is sure to be a lighthearted dialogue between the two of us.

“I don’t have any, but you can ask. I don’t mind.” His broadly built shoulders shrugged while a smirk tugged on his lips.

“Is he telling the truth Heather?”

“I suppose so. I haven’t met anyone just yet. I’m waiting on it though. There’s going to have to be a point in time when someone comes to take over and take care of him.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” He glanced over his shoulder at his mom. I hope to muster up enough courage to ask her about her skincare routine because she has a glow that’s stunning.

“Of course not, but it’s the circle of life my child.”

As the room began to clear, I offered him the seat directly across from my own. I looked on, in observation of his body language. That’s the first marker of whether you’re going to have a smooth or difficult time. He chose to sit upright, with credence, and yet his back rested against the chair in an eased manner. Interestingly, he chose to mirror my actions by glancing over my frame to read me. The odd prickling in the nape of my neck that slowly spread all over was a sign that he’s doing a better job than I am.

“All set.”

It’s go time. This is my field and I’m the quarterback here.

“Welcome back to the Sports Haven. I’m Sarai Nazaire and we’re here with All Pro New York Giants wide receiver, Odell Beckham Jr. Odell, welcome to the show.” Much like our greeting earlier, we shook hands for the sake of the camera.

“Thank you for having me.”

“Now, you’re entering your fourth season with the Giants organization. You guys are coming off of a season where it all seemed to be gelling together towards the second half and that led to a playoff run which ended up being cut short by the Greenbay Packers. What are you most looking forward to going into this season?”

“Winning. I know it sounds cliché because that’s what everyone wants to do, but it really is what I’m looking forward to. It was disappointing to lose in the way that we did. It was a blowout but it just served as fuel for me in the off season. I went harder in everything, honestly. I took some for myself but even in the midst of that, I just worked.”

“Did that loss also cause you to have a hatred of boats?” I had to ask and thankfully, he took it in jest. The infamous photograph of a number of the Giants ballers and Trey Songz hanging out on a yacht in Miami just days before that Greenbay game instantly became a media sensation once they lost. The memes and blame game were non-stop for days. If I were them, I don’t know if I’d want to see another boat again let alone be on one.

“No, I still like boats. I spent time on a boat or two during this summer.”

“But given that you’re on this superstar level, you know that it comes with you living your life under a microscope more than most people do including many of your teammates. So how are you handling that now? For most people, it digs under their skin and it’s understandably so. I know you’ve had your moments of frustration. Unfortunately, it’s not something that’s not going to change. All good comes with bits of ugliness, right?”

“Right. One of the things I’m doing is trying to stay out of the microscope. I’ve found myself spending a lot more time at home and away from anything that draws too much attention to me. It’s been different but in a good way. It feels good to be able to comfortably strip away the guard that you have to keep up because of that microscope. Also, I’ve really taught myself not to take things so personally. I play a position in a sport and it comes with all of that, so I had to realize that it’s not so much of an attack on me and even if it is, it all really stems from that position. I can’t allow that to dictate how I live my life or have my happiness.”

“And you had that awakening during this off season?”

“Yeah. I spent a lot of time reflecting and dealing with a lot of emotions that I’ve never felt before and even some pain that I’ve never felt before. Some of it involved football and there were things that didn’t. I had to sort that out and it did a lot of good for me.” I’m always impressed when I hear athletes speak on their mental health. The world views them as figures who play a sport for a living and earns far more money than they deserve to have simply for being entertainers. The majority of them make more money than the doctors who repair them after injury, which can be quite mind boggling when you think about it. Because of that, spectators believe they’re entitled to dictate the manner in which these people live their lives, the way in which they speak, and the level that they believe each and every one of them should be performing at on the field day after day. People wave the entitlement flag at them when they’re not being puppets on a string and never once take the time out to think about the emotional strain the pressure of impressing an entire public of people can put on a person. I’ve had many conversations, off the record, with athletes who have admitted they’ve fell out of love with the sport they play and represent because of the unnecessarily harsh scrutiny and relentless pressure.

“Do you feel like there are people who want you to fail?

“That comes with the territory. There are a lot of people who do, but it’s fuel for me. It serves as motivation for me to continuing grinding and moving forward for those who do support and believe in me. They’re the most important to me. I meet so many people who tell me that I inspire them to be great. On Instagram I see and sometimes I meet kids who go to their barbers and get the dye and haircut done. I can’t let down everyone who buys a jersey to represent me. After what you said about me, I can’t let you down either.” I held my breath as a faint fluttering filled my core and my body’s response was to reposition itself in the seat. My follow up question instantly became stuck in my throat.

“How does this new found inner peace contribute to the up and coming season and to the Giants locker room? How has Odell improved?”

“I’ve become a better route runner and catcher, but I think the most important part that I needed and have become is a better teammate and listener. I’m giving more and putting more into everything. I can feel it in my conditioning, I put it to the test at training camp, and I’m assured in what I intend to bring to the field this season. I’m excited.”

“I’ve been looking into the offense. There’s Brandon Marshall and your young tight end. Sterling Shepard is looking good. I think you guys have a good season ahead of you.”

“Yeah, the defense has always been there, so it’s up to us to get the job done and I think we’re in a pretty good position. We learned from that disappointment at the top of the year.”

“I’m looking forward to it Beckham.”

“You have to come to a game then. Not as an analyst though, just as a normal citizen coming out to enjoy some Sunday night football.” My laughter infectiously sparked his own fit of giggles and the smile that remained on his face warmed my soul like a ray of sunshine. Does this happen with everyone who sits across from him? How the hell does anyone stay angry with this guy?

“That sounds like a plan. I’m about twenty minutes from the stadium.

“And you have to wear this.” I hadn’t even noticed there was a jersey hanging behind his chair. What made me roar in laughter wasn’t the jersey, but the fact that the numbers were in snakeskin. I’ve been gifted many jerseys but I’ve never seen one customized like that. It’s interesting looking in a good way. I’d wear that as a cute top for a chill outing with friends if the circumstances were different.

“I’ve seen a lot of football jerseys but with snakeskin? Never. Thank you.” I held it up for the camera to see for the sake of good TV and placed it across my lap.

“You’re welcome.”

“Odell, it’s always a pleasure to have you up here. You have to come back soon. I wish you all the best on this up and coming season.”

“Thank you, Sarai.” Yet again, we shook hands and I held up the jersey once more before we officially wrapped.

I’m usually a bit more courteous in the way I send guests off before disappearing into my dressing room, but my goodbye was brief and my heel clad feet couldn’t move fast enough to escape the odd tension in the room. I’ve never wanted him to feel like he owes it to me to be nicer than necessary because I said a couple of decent words about him. While I don’t believe that he has any ulterior motives, I do wonder if there’s this sense of sympathy for the manner in which it worked for and against me. I don’t want to be Odell Beckham Jr.’s charity case because he isn’t mine and he certainly wasn’t that day either. I did my job as an analyst; nothing more or less.

Though she insisted on meeting him, Annagjid left for a weekend at home in Philadelphia but made sure to send me a text message ogling over the way Beckham’s sweatpants hugged his thighs throughout the interview. I’m thankful she’s gone, because if given the opportunity, she would have audaciously told him what I read in that message and it would have been the reason I combusted into a pillar of dust out of sheer embarrassment. With that segment done and no Podcast episodes needing to be recorded today, I can get started on my weekend. I’m not only going to grab a bottle of red wine on my way home, but I’m leaving my favorite spirit shop with two. Once I have my take out ordered, I’ll curl up on the floor in front of my living room table a la Olivia Pope and skim through whatever the premium networks are offering OnDemand. I’m behind on Homeland. Then again, I’m way behind on House of Cards, so a lonesome Netflix and chill sounds much better.

“Come in!” My heels were idly lying next to my chair. I walking out of here in Converses. The bougie can go for the week. Street chic is where it’s at.

“Sarai?”

I’m convinced I’m suffering a karma for something that I don’t quite remember doing or the universe is trolling the shit out of me. Whichever way you put it, over the course of these last seven days, all of the silent and yet minimal requests I’ve had for God and my subconscious have not only been the opposite, but have also been a ferocious time frame of mental gymnastics.

“Beckham. What’s up?” With no hesitation, he stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. The oxygen supply is diminishing as we speak.

“About those tickets. Look.” There were two of them in his hand.

“You never said anything about tickets.” He didn’t. He only encouraged me to come out and support the team. I figured it was in jest.

“How could I invite you to a game and not have tickets for you? These are for the Philly game. We play the Cowboys during week one and the Lions during week two, but I feel like our Philly games are super competitive and fun to watch. It’s the better choice.”

“At home or in Philly? You really didn’t have to do this.” And he shouldn’t have. It’ll only worsen the claim that I baby him and deliberately overlook his transgressions because I have a soft spot for the young players. I never want to be differentiated based upon gender but it’s the way of life and I get the short end of the stick depending upon what I say and who it’s in reference to. It goes beyond people questioning my job and instead, they question my character. My credentials are online for all to see and yet I still am accused of fucking my way to the top. Gossip blogs have connected my pussy to every athlete that has stood within five feet of me and I don’t personally know any of them beyond the former ones I work alongside five days a week. My dating life is endlessly analyzed though the only thing I’m in a relationship with has batteries and sits inside of my bedside drawer. I don’t know what narrative will be painted if a camera catches me at one of this man’s games and I don’t want to know. I’m looking forward to the day when I’m no longer identified by his story. I’d like to think he’s just as sick of seeing my name synonymous with his in the headlines.

“In Philly. I can get you a ride out there if you need one.

“I’m sure that I can manage. I don’t have a car, but I’m looking into a couple of Mercedes Benz dealerships in New Jersey so that I can finally get the car that I’ve been eyeing.”

“What kind? My guy Phil Campbell manages the inventory in both Manhattan and Paramus. I can reach out to him for you. He’s a cars guy, believe me when I tell you. He’ll get you right for sure.

“Nothing too special. Just an A-Class sedan for now. My pockets aren’t as deep as yours.”

“I’m still on my rookie contract. I wouldn’t say they’re that deep.” Rookie contract or not, with his Nike deal and all of the other endorsements he has, he’s a millionaire many times over already.

“Well I’ll tell you this much, my ESPN contract certainly isn’t worth ten point four million dollars.”

“It should be.” This guy. What a paradox.

“So, this Phil guy can help out?” I don’t care about cars enough to research specs and special features. “All I want is a sunroof, seat warmers for the winter, and an amazing sound system. Everything else is whatever, honesty.”

“He knows his shit. I can send him your information. Knowing him, he’ll get back in touch with you within the next hour or so.” Help is help and my pride can shrink enough to get out of the way when it comes to something that I don’t know. I’ve had my fair share of being loud and wrong and it’s not fun being the idiot in the room once it’s all said and done.

“Okay, hold on.” On my desk, I have my ESPN cards to purposelessly give out in exchange for the management or agent cards of our guests. In my wallet, I keep a few business cards where my personal phone number and e-mail are for the sake of obeying my father’s rule about a business card being “far more professional” than stating your phone number out loud while they plug it into their phone. I don’t give much of those out either. “This is my business card. My e-mail and number is there. You can give him the information whenever. I’m not in that much of a rush.”

“I’ll send it to him in a few minutes, that way you’ll be able to go over the specifics about whatever you want.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. So, about that Philly game. You’ll be there?”

“I’ll try to make it out.” I’m not going. I wish he had of gifted these to a super fan who would have loved to be in attendance.

“Okay then. I’m looking forward to seeing you there. I already helped with one part of your outfit; you just have to figure out the rest.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to be in Giants gear? What makes you so sure that I’m not an Eagles fan? It’s looking like they’re going to have a damn good season this year.”

“If you are, I intend to change your mind.”

“Hm.” The universe can kiss my black ass and it’s quite black by the way.

“I’ll see you soon Sarai Nazaire.” What’s his fascination with saying my first and last name? I’ve never met anyone who has done that and admittedly, it doesn’t roll off of anyone’s tongue in the manner that it does his. Maybe it’s the French connection in Louisiana that aids in him pronouncing it so well.

“Goodbye Beckham.”

Last Friday I had no desire to hear anything playing on the radio and yet the end of this week has John and I bopping to my best of the 90s Hip-Hop playlist on Apple Music. Who the hell wouldn’t start an eighty-seven-degree Friday off with Craig Mack’s “Flava In Ya Ear” remix and an Oreo Cookie Blizzard from the Dairy Queen? The next stop is for the wine and then I’m free to lounge in my living room in nothing more than an old t-shirt and the lace black thong covering my lower half. I may even turn my phone on “Do Not Disturb” until sometime tomorrow. Hell, is Monday morning a stretch?

The buzzing of my phone in my lap paused my backseat party and the foreign number along the screen riddled me into confusion.

You’re not an A-Class sedan type of woman. That’s not for you. An E-Class Coupe fits your mold; sophisticated, sleek, and breathtaking. If I had a say so, that’s what you’d leave the dealership with, but I don’t. Maybe you’ll take my advice? Have a great weekend Sarai Nazaire.

My eyes panned down to observe the minor trembling of my hand and the appetizing blizzard that was now turning into a milkshake.

Or maybe I’ll throw my phone into the Hudson River.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic

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go-diane-winchester · 5 years

Text

Misha Collins cant keep track of his own lies.

Misha ''I was a homeless kid' Collins was interviewed by an art magazine, because apparently he is very artsy fartsy. Whilst given the opportunity to speak about his supposedly favoritist subject: himself, Misha couldn't remember all the fallacies he had spouted over the years. I guess Misha figured his mostly underage, deranged fanbase might be too busy, furiously fingering themselves to badly written fanfiction, to actually read something from an intellectual source. Something tells me that, just like in the mugging case, this reporter wasn't quite buying his lies. Here are some of the highlights, with Misha's self-indulgent rambling in italics, and with my running commentary in bold [the interviewer is in bold italics]:

''Like most kids, I liked making things with my hands, and my mother helped facilitate this when I was pretty young. But I followed that impulse to an apprentice-level devotion. I would seek out woodworkers when I was 10 or 11, going into shops and learning how to use a lathe or – just asking. I grew up in western Massachusetts, and by the time I got into high school I was fully into this – just talking to people and learning things from them in person.''

So his hippy, drug addict mom who stashed pot down her youngest child's underwear for fear of being arrested, and who, for a short time, raised poor Misha in a car, honed his artistic skills when he was pretty young? When? When they were living in the woods? And using a bowl of ice as a refrigerator? So either his story of his childhood is greatly exaggerated or....yeah, that's all I got. How gullible does he think people are?

Then in high school, I needed a job, so I started doing some manual labor.

So whilst at his elite private school, where there are rich dads and moms dropping off their darlings every morning, Misha chooses manual labor. He likes to talk to people but he didn't speak to Mr and Mrs Moneybags? He could have been a petty gopher in one of their companies and fared better. After all, he needed a job. I wonder why he chose ''manual labor''? And why he chose to word it like that, instead of saying ''I became a carpenter's apprentice''. I guess it sounds honorable. That's is nothing dramatic about saying that you flip burgers at McDs. Saying that you work in a menial, underpaid job for a multimillion dollar company, does have a more dramatic feel to it.

I built that barn on my mother’s property. Our house had burned down, so with the insurance proceeds, we built that and...

Wait, wasn't Misha's mom a pothead who lived in a car for some time with her two children? Now, not only does she have property but she has the money to pay for insurance. When did you live in the car, Misha? When the house burnt down? Why didn't you live in that house you showed footage of, on twitter? Its a nice house, complete with Christmas stockings. It doesn't quite gel with your underprivileged childhood narrative, but nice nonetheless.

I worked a lot when I was in college, probably 30 hours a week most of the time. I did some handyman stuff, some carpentry stuff. After sophomore year, I took a year off. I interned at the [Clinton] White House, worked at NPR, became an EMT, started a summer camp for kids. It was a great year.

What is he? A career whore? So he was artsy fartsy, but he worked everywhere doing jobs that were unrelated to each other, instead of staying in his field of carpentry, and making money from that. He got EMT certification. Was it free? Did he pay for it with his tuition fees? What was the purpose of it, if making money for fees was of paramount importance? That doesn't make sense, because if he was working 30 hour weeks, when did he have time to study? The average work day is a tad longer, about 40 hours a week. And if he was studying and working, when was Superman sleeping? Why was he working so hard? To put himself to college, don'tcha know. Even though colleges offer student loans and don't accept their fees in installments. And yet, he took time off for one year after sophomore. Was it to make a lot of money for his tuition fees? Nope, it was to become an EMT and start a summer camp for kids. I guess summer camps are big business and you can pay off great debts if you start one. Good to know. His internment at the Whitehouse only lasted four months, and yet he has acquired all the knowledge there is to acquire, to become a political knowitall on twitter. Sidenote: Is it normal for internships at the Whitehouse to last, such a short time. I am genuinely curious, because it doesn't sound right.

This is where I think the interviewer started to sound like she was side-eyeing the wood working maestro and his yarns of tall tales.

After graduation you got into acting, and in 1999, you moved with Victoria to Los Angeles for film and television work. There, in 2001, you bought your first house. Tell us about it. You were a starving actor?

Yeah. Right after we bought it, our realtor said, “There’s a TV show that would like to shoot your house.” They brought this [house-hunting] couple through, and when we saw the episode, they had surveyed the house and were like, “We don’t want to touch this piece of s---.” It was a real wreck, had been seriously neglected. It was built in the 1920s, and built by people who weren’t carpenters, didn’t know what they were doing. It was built so poorly, and everything was sagging – the window frames, the eaves.

Can you believe that? The starving actor bought a house. Let that sink in. He recognized that the house was built by non-carpenters [how was this building standing. Twas a miracle, I tell you.] And despite being a starving actor with a small amount of money, and a knowledge of carpentry, he bought a house that was badly built by non-carpenters. So he knew he was buying a liability. Why?

The kitchen floor you put in is beautiful. Yes, that’s gunstock, from a gun manufacturer in Northern California.

Mr Gun Free supporting the Gun manufacturing industry. Man, this guy is a hypocrite.

You lived in that first house for 11 years. Do you still own it? We rent it out to some lovely people who love it, so it’s good.

Fun fact: Mr Humble Pie has two pieces of property. And he is making money off of one, but he chooses to attend cons with the same torn T-shirts from years ago, or has to fleece off of Jensen's wardrobe and generosity, otherwise he would be doing his panels naked, poor thing. Why doesn't he stop his cruises for a year, and use that money to buy decent threads? One shirt can last a few years. The lies are embarrassing, but miraculously his minions believe him.

On the way to this house, you became very successful with this hugely popular TV series. Life changed. Do you still manage to make time for handwork?

Yeah. I’ve discovered that I really like working. Work can be respite for me, and switching gears is really key. Going from working on scripts to working with my hands is therapeutic, for sure. I am still managing to work with my hands. I was just doing some woodworking yesterday. I do a lot of cooking. That’s a big part of my life, and also I think a barometer of emotional health. When I’m not cooking, it’s a sign that I’m too stressed out and I’ve got to dial things back a little bit. I do a lot of canning. I put up 120 jars of blackberry jam this fall.

What an irony! One of the greatest instigators of stress for his co-workers and their fans, gets stressed out himself. Yeah, guilt can do that. Plus, he likes quantifying accomplishments. That is why Gish exists. Quantity over quality.

Which artists inspire you? I love Christo and Jeanne Claude, because of the mind-bending scale on which they’ve created things, like they’re rethinking what’s possible. I’m somebody who kind of likes to break rules, to bend rules when appropriate.

I could write a whole big post, on Misha's rule breaking and bending. From stealing Whitehouse property [and bragging about it] to telling fans about the scratched line in the Crypt which got Jensen a barrage of abuse on Twitter. The one thing that he spoke about that doesn't make sense is his story about almost getting arrested for reading a book on a building rooftop. It makes no sense. There is a portion of the story that is missing, I'm sure. Misha is a great exaggerator.

Have you turned any Supernatural castmates on to craft? On a set, there’s tons of downtime, a lot of sitting and knitting and crocheting. And I have occasionally been in the mix there. Last year Jensen [Ackles], my co-star, walked up and saw me knitting, and he just looked at me and said, “Really?” But I could tell there was jealousy behind it, more than criticism. So I’ll teach him to knit, and it’ll be fine. We’ll get through this.

Will you look at that? There are around 70 people on set at any given time. Many of them must have seen Misha knitting. And look who Misha decided to mention. Was that a ''just in case, a nutty heller is reading this'' insertion? No mention is made of Jared, because who cares about him, right? Got to give the crowd what they want. I am side eyeing the knitting claim myself, because I do knit and having seen a photo of him knitting, I can safely say that, that is not how you grasp at the yarn. You knit with loose fingers because yarn is abrasive.

The first big project we did with Random Acts was we built an orphanage and community center in Haiti. I would not have thought that was a tackle-able enterprise if I didn’t have a background in building. Our biggest fundraising driver for the projects that we do – like building a school or an orphanage – is we bring folks down in groups of 25 or so to Haiti or to Nicaragua, and they help in the building process. We roll up our sleeves and get our hands dirty.

Wow, he built the 500K orphanage with his own hands, but didn't think about lights for the children. His response regarding the lights was ''it's Haiti and it takes three f*cking years to get an electrician''. Wow, I am a third worlder too, but we have electricians. How backwards is Haiti that he couldn't find a single electrician in the whole country, to light the place up for the poor orphans? He couldn't squeeze in one electrician in the group of 25 or so. Are there no philanthropic electricians in his circles? My word, electricians are such selfish people, don't you think? They don't want to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty. Why couldn't he just pay for one instead of waiting three years? Fun fact: According to their website, the orphanage, aka, the Jacmel children's center houses only 15 children, but another page says there are 27 children living in the house. They don't know how many children they are looking after. But that is still a small amount. So where did all these kids go?

Misha either staged this picture with school kids on an excursion or all those kids got adopted by the staggeringly high quantity of rich couples living in Haiti, right Misha? SMH

This question made me smirk. The interviewer had to know Misha has never been to public school. Look how Mr Bleeding Heart answers the question.

As we know, art programs in K-12 public schools these days are in decline, especially shop class, manual arts. How can we nurture creativity in kids, and why is that important? When I was 9 years old, I had a paper route. One day my younger brother and I were collecting money, and Mr. Haigis answered the door. He started talking to us, and he discovered that our parents were separated, and we didn’t live with our father. In the 1960s, he had run a woodshop for little kids. He had stopped doing it because he got busy with his career. Now he was retired. These two boys show up delivering papers on his front stoop, and it just comes to him: “I’ve got to do the same thing for those kids.”

So Mr Haigis left all the poor, underprivileged children and decided to help these two boys who were going to an elite school? Sounds legit. What about public school children, Mr Haigis? Don't you care about them?

I was a starving actor for at least a decade.

Misha was a starving actor who worked on 24 projects before getting SPN, but he still managed to buy a house. Fun fact: he was an associate producer on a docu-movie, ''Loot'' which won best documentary at the LA film festival. His movie didn't need sock puppets to win this one. Misha should produce more. That way he wont be on screen, festering up the frame. The less we see of him, the better.

http://www.jacmelchildren.org/about/team/

http://www.jacmelchildren.org/

https://craftcouncil.org/magazine/article/builder-baker-angel-maker

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