#they were talking about HUMMUS

[foldingfittedsheets]

Truly, one of the greatest love language is someone agreeing to eat something atrocious for your benefit.

My first experience with this was in college. My friend Charlie invited me to a jazz club. One would think he’d learned his lesson. I thought nothing of this and agreed to a fun night with a guy friend. We arrived and I saw nothing romantic in the outing.

The menu at the club was very traditional date food- steak, oysters, romancey food. But still, I didn’t catch on. This food didn’t sound like what I wanted. In fact, what I wanted was a hummus plate. Charlie took this turn of events with a slight wince but ordered one for us.

The hummus plate arrived. Sitting politely on the corner of the garlic bomb was a spicy pepper. Laughing, I teasingly dared Charlie to eat it. You see, this kind of rough humor was common among buddies. I thought we were in Buddy Rules. But Charlie was operating under Date Rules; eating the pepper would be a romantic test of his bravery.

He bit the pepper.

His skin was almost as pale as mine and he went bright red instantly, tears stood in his eyes as sweat broke out across his whole body in protest. He barely managed to swallow as he began coughing, his body reflexively trying to spew forth the poison in his mouth.

I was doubled over with laughter and didn’t feel bad until a few days later when Brendan informed me it had been a date. I scoffed initially and only slowly realized Charlie had been intending it as a date. I repented the pepper and promptly dated Brendan in self defense.

Charlies act of romantic heroism went unappreciated but the spirit was there.

Many years later when I’d given up on boys I was dating my beloved wife. Together we took a trip to Taiwan. One of the wonderful things about new places is the food. I still dream about the food in Taiwan. Even the humblest train station cream puff was several orders of magnitude better than any I’ve ever had in the states.

But one place we went was like. Italian food as interpreted by Taiwanese cooks. Some of the combos were as bizarre to me as many Italians probably feel American Italian food is. Specifics escape me, but it felt like I was dreaming some of the menu at the time. At the end we decided to get a chocolate fondue, because why not. We were on vacation.

The liquid chocolate was served with all the things one would normally expect, strawberries, sweets, the usual chocolate accompaniments. And then we saw the tomatoes. Tomatoes and chocolate. We all stared at the tomatoes in horrified fascination.

Now, I hate tomatoes. I can stand a tomato sauce but raw tomatoes and I have nothing to talk about. So I knew that if I tried it I’d find it as repugnant as I’ve always found tomatoes. But I was haunted by the idea that someone who actually liked tomatoes would like tomatoes in chocolate.

My beloved loves tomatoes. And chocolate. I turned the biggest puppy dog eyes on them and begged to know if the combination was actually somehow delicious. My wife insisted that it would be heinous. Still, they speared a tomato sacrifice and coated it in chocolate, for me. For me, they ate it.

It was so wretched that their face collapsed into instant regret. But they didn’t spit it out. They knew I got sick if people spit out half chewed food. So they soldiered on and swallowed the cursed chocolate fruit.

Their devotion utterly delighted me, and even years later I adore that they suffered that tomato to reassure me that indeed, it was bad.

[gothhabiba]

When my life journey took me to Italy, even the mere glimpse of an Israeli flag flying over a food stall in the city of Varese would provoke me. “This is our food!” I told my colleague. “Israelis can sell mujaddara, hummus, maqlubeh and falafel, but they cannot declare them their property!” As if stealing the land, water, and air were not enough?! This food is part of our identity and culture. For me as a Palestinian, each plate has a story that relates to my people, the state, and the fragrances of my homeland.

Israel uses food to claim ownership of the territory and encourage tourism, not only internally but also abroad, featuring it in advertisements and in articles published in international newspapers and world-famous magazines. Israeli chefs present huge events in which they appropriate Palestinian cuisine and our cultural foods, denying the origins of these foods and pretending that they are theirs. As Israelis proclaim ownership of plates whose origins lie in the Middle East, the Levant, or even Egypt, they deny the existence of the people who live on this land and whose dishes and recipes are much older than the state of Israel.

Someone as tenacious as I cannot let this go by unchallenged. Instead, I have decided to use food as a soft power tool to fight the occupation. Food has become my means to speak about Palestine.

Historically, cuisine has been a mirror of civilization, culture, heritage, and the economic status of a people. Likewise, Palestinian dishes reflect all these aspects and elements. Take musakhan, for example, a Palestinian farmer’s dish that traditionally has been cooked during the olive harvest season: tabun bread is drenched in olive oil, covered with onions that have been caramelized in olive oil, and topped with sumac. All these ingredients are the fruit of Palestinian land. As living standards rose, chicken was added, then toasted almonds and pine nuts were sprinkled on top. But despite these changes, the dish has kept its original flavors as its essence has been passed down from generation to generation, preserving the authenticity of the dish.

Our occupiers can take possession of our food in the material sense, as they have done and continue to do with our land. But they cannot transmit its history, traditions, and associated sentiments because we Palestinians consider our food to be a thread that brings us together and connects us to our homeland – especially those of us who live in the diaspora.

It is no coincidence that many Palestinian poets and writers talk about food when they express their longing for their homeland. The famous Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish, for example, wrote while in exile, “Dearly I yearn for my mother’s bread, my mother’s coffee.”

Food is part of Palestinian identity wherever we go. It reflects our culture, heritage, and personality.

– Fidaa Abuhamdiya, "The Soft Power of Palestinian Food." This Week in Palestine Issue 286, February 2022. Palestinian Cuisine: From Tradition to Modernity. p. 57.

[still-searching-for-something]

Let's talk about Israeli cuisine.

Unfortunately, I have less experience with it than I should, as it looks absolutely delicious, but I've never had any. Diaspora Jew in a place with few Jews or Israelis moment :(. And I'm talking less about Israeli cuisine and more about how it's perceived--namely how it's taken from Israelis, denigrated as 'not Israeli', as having been 'stolen' from Arab cuisine as a part of a broader project of 'cultural conquest'. Looking at you, Joseph Massad.

This assertion is not only a bald-faced lie, it is also deeply antisemitic. People have the right to make food. Nobody's going to call a non Italian racist for making or eating Italian food. Nor would an Italian be culturally appropriating if they eat sushi. Yet Jews and Israelis are stealing if they make Middle Eastern food?

More than that, though, it ignores Jewish history. Jews have lived in the Middle East for... as long as homo sapiens have lived in the Middle East? Mizrahim, who make up most of Israel's population, did not grow out of the ground in Israel from 1948-1979. They were expelled, violently chased out of the Muslim-majority countries they had lived for millennia. Before then, they sustained themselves on falafel, couscous, hummus, tahini, halva, shawarma, and every Middle Eastern food under the sun. If there were such a thing as the 'right' to make food, they'd absolutely have it.

But it's instead 'colonization', 'cultural appropriation', and 'cultural conquest'? To bring the culinary practices they and their ancestors had been practicing since Judaism began to the only country that had thrown open their doors to them? After experiencing pogroms, riots, anti-Jewish legislation, the world once sat by and did nothing to stop it. Again. And then members of these countries have the gall--the audacity and sheer disrespect--to accuse them of pilfering their own fucking culture?? After violently kicking them out???

Like, it blows my mind how many injustices Israelis are subjected to by moronic protestors who think 'Zionism is racism' or whatever. Every time someone posts about Zionist colonization of Palestinian food and culture, they're ironically themselves indulging in cultural erasure. The fact that Palestinians often make the same foods isn't indicative of a supposed Zionist plot to exterminate Palestinians and steal their culinary practices, but rather reflective of their shared origins as being Middle Eastern. But these online 'activists' don't care--nor do they care that the implied 'Zionist plot' that runs through their claims is textbook antisemitism.

Middle Eastern food is widespread in Middle Eastern countries. When Middle Eastern people get kicked out of Middle Eastern countries and go to another Middle Eastern country, they make... Middle Eastern food. Shocking, I know.

It isn't stealing. It isn't cultural appropriation.

Now, gut shabbos everyone.

[lolahasmoxie]

Conversations at 3 AM (E.M.)

PAIRING: Eddie Munson x Reader

WORD: 1.3k

WARNING: nudity, language, casual intimacy, established relationship, friends to lovers, mentions of getting pregnant, mentions of sexy times, heart-to-heart talks (Eddie & reader are 25)

CONCEPT: You and Eddie aren't used to people sticking around.

DIVIDER FROM @firefly-graphics

Even though you were born at 6 a.m. on the dot, you were a night owl through and through.

During high school and college, summer meant you became a nocturnal creature, much to the annoyance of your family. There was one person it never annoyed, though.

You had met Eddie in elementary school after he moved into the trailer across from yours. From the day you met, you had been thick as thieves. For years, your friends watched as you skirted the line of will they won't they, watching the other traverse dating and relationships with an envious eye. It wasn't until a year ago, when Eddie kissed you during the middle of a movie night, that you had finally become more.

Tonight, you'd had dinner at Steve's house with the whole gang, seeing as Mike, Dustin, and Lucas were all in town for a long weekend from college. The boys had planned a one-off campaign at your shared apartment the following night, and by midnight, you and Eddie were in your home.

Side by side, you brushed your teeth, trying not to laugh as Eddie made faces at you in the mirror. Once in your Queen bed, Eddie's hands began mapping your body, and in a practiced routine that felt like breathing, you let him love you until sleep came for you both.

However, this time, sleep only came for Eddie.

You had tried everything to fall back asleep: counting sheep, listing Metallica songs followed by Black Sabbath, breathing in time with Eddie. Nothing worked. So, as carefully as you could, you crawled out of his hold, placing your pillow closer to Eddie when he started to stir. As his gangly arms wound around the object, you entered your kitchen.

You had been at the table for a while when you heard soft footsteps coming down the hallway. Turning your head, you watch as your tall metalhead boy walks into the kitchen naked as a jaybird, cock dangling freely as his hands wipe at his eyes like a little boy.

"What time issit." he mumbles as Eddie comes up behind you. He wraps his arms around you, placing a kiss on your hairline. "Why are you still up?"

"Almost 3 a.m. and I tried to go to sleep, but no dice," you say. He nods in understanding before sitting next to you at the table.

"I was having this great dream; you were wearing that black number you wore to our last show at the Hideout? Anyway, you were letting me drag you to the bathroom to do unspeakable things to you when I woke up, and instead of rubbing against my pretty girlfriend, I was humping your pillow. By the way, I'm pretty sure there's a stain, and I'm sorry in advance." You can't help but smile as you dip a carrot into the hummus.

"Didn't want to wake you up. You know how I toss and turn when I can't sleep."

"So there's no reason you're up at almost 3 a.m. eating," he paused as he reached for the container of hummus. "Jalapeno hummus? Holy fuck, you're not pregnant, are you?"

"No, you asshole," you playfully slap Eddie's arm as he tries to play off his terrified expression. "Nice to know how you feel about the topic, though."

"I'm just warning you, we could be on a babymaking schedule to get knocked up; I will still probably freak the fuck out when it does happen, so just a heads up for when we get there."

"Duly noted." you chuckle. Eddie laces his hand into yours and brings them to his lips. You can feel his eyes on you; you know Eddie will give you your space to work out whatever is going on in your brain. But he's also a persistent asshole who won't stop until he finds out why you left him alone in bed. "Does this ever feel too good, Eds?"

"What do you mean?"

"Us. I mean, we disagree on things, but we never really fight. Being together with you has always just felt scarily easy; I've never had that with other boyfriends." You sigh as you look at your joined hands. "Feels like I'm waiting for something, but I don't know for what."

"Easy, I know what it is," Eddie says as he gives your hand a squeeze. "You're waiting for the other shoe to drop." When you meet his gaze, those cow-brown eyes study you, looking at you with more love than you think you can handle.

"Elaborate, please."

"You and I have always been alike," he begins. "our dating histories are littered with people telling us we were too much. Too loud, too needy, or too whatever. But here's the good part, babe. You will never be too much for me. Ever."

"You mean it?" You're impressed that he could sum up your feelings so succinctly. He grins at you, a beautiful smile spreading from ear to ear.

"Of course I mean it. I had to watch you date assholes for ten years; you really think I'm gonna let you go now that I'm lucky enough to call you mine? Not a chance, sweetheart." You reach out a hand and cup his cheek, and you can't help but smile when Eddie leans into your touch.

"Thank you, Eddie."

"No problem; you know, I had resigned myself to loving you from afar a long time ago. Sometimes, when I wake up next to you, I feel like I gotta pinch myself to make sure it's real."

"You're such a cheeseball," you tease. "Why don't you head back to bed? I'm gonna clean up and join you in a minute." You stand from your chair, but Eddie stops you with a tug of your hand. In a flash, you're on his lap. Your hands hold onto his shoulders, although you're in no danger of falling. Edde's grip is secure as he gives you a look you are all too familiar with. You speak his name, and he raises a hand to push the hair from your face.

"You know, it was very mean to leave me in that big bed all by myself," he begins, his hand cupping your cheek. You feel your body warm as his thumb caresses your cheek. "Why don't you let me take you back to bed and help quiet that big brain of yours. Sound good, sweetheart?"

You lean in to kiss your man, his arms wrapping tight around you as he fists your shirt in his hands. When his tongue runs along the seam of your lips, you happily grant him access, tangling your hands in his hair while you slowly start to grind against him. When you feel him hard and warm underneath you, you think you may never want to sleep again.

You both enjoy the kiss, neither of you rushing things. You pull back when you need air, and while Eddie's face is happy, there's something else. You raise an eyebrow as he licks his lips.

"You taste like salsa." You can't help but laugh as you lean forward and bury your nose in his neck. He pulls you closer, hands caressing your back like you're the most precious being in his universe. You can feel his chuckle as your chests press together.

You stay still for a moment to enjoy being surrounded by him. One of the things you loved about being nocturnal was how quiet the world was at almost 3 a.m. You hum contentedly when you feel Eddie's lips against your hair. You close your eyes, wanting to commit this moment, this feeling to memory.

"Alright," Eddie taps you on the ass and breaks the silence. "Let me take you back to bed, alright?" You climb out of his lap and softly kiss the corner of his mouth.

"I'll go brush my teeth. Why don't you go make sure the bed is warm." Eddie hops up, cock bobbing comically as he begins to do a naked run back to your room.

"I'll keep the home fires burning! If I fall asleep, wake me up with head!"

BONUS: THE NEXT DAY

Dustin: I'm just gonna have a seat here, and we can get started.

Eddie: fair warning, my naked ass has been on that chair.

Dustin: 😳

Dustin: like, recently naked?

Eddie: last night.

Dustin: you're a fucking animal.

Eddie: 😁

[xxblairexxss]

Prime

Pairing : Jude Bellingham x reader

Theme : Fluff

Got this idea from those tiktok videos of him playing football with a group of kids. You probably know which one I’m talking about if you stumbled across one. Haven’t proofread! Sorry for any mistakes.

Jude was like your mom’s favourite child. She was eternally grateful for her lovely daughters but when you introduced your boyfriend to the family, you knew she had put him above you and your sisters. Your dad was a huge fan of football and he thought you were joking when you told him you were dating Dortmund player so of course when Jude first joined your family’s dinner, your dad was elated that you thought he would have forgotten about you if it wasn’t for your constant glare at him.

Since then, Jude always got invited to any family events of yours, just like how he always invited you to his family events.

judebellingham has added to their story

Your nephew, Noah was obsessed with football. Guess it ran in the family because of how the obsession went from your dad to Noah. Different from you, who barely knew anything about it. Noah had asked you a week prior if Jude was gonna come to the housewarming party but when you asked why he was so eager to know, he said it was secret. Turned out he wanted to ask Jude to play football with him because he got a proper football ball from his birthday last month.

You were in the kitchen, taking over the duty to cut the fruits so your sister could sneaked out to the nearby store to get some more ingredients for roasted garlic hummus with her husband. You were left with Jude and the kids as your parents are yet to arrived.

You were decorating the plate with the colourful fruits when you felt a sudden impact on your side. It was Noah, who was suddenly crying and hugging on your legs. Confused, you bent down and wiped the fresh tears on his cheek as he pulled away.

“What’s wrong? Did you fell?”

“No…”

“Why did you cry?”

“Jude wouldn’t give the ball back…”

“What…?”

That was when you saw Jude walked in with Noel, Noah’s baby brother.

“Jude Victor William Bellingham! Did you seriously make my nephew cry?”

“I didn’t! He asked me to play like I was in a match.”

“You are so silly! He’s not prime Lewandowski, is he?”

He chuckled in response before leaving a peck on your lips and squatted down to be on the same level with Noah, who was now refused to look at him.

“I’m sorry, buddy. Let’s do another round, yeah? You’ll be in the same team with Noel and I can only play with one leg, how about that?”

Noah responded with an immediate “Okay!” and a wide grin as he ran to Noel to pull him outside. You could see the little one waddled trying to catch on his brother.

Jude stood back up and pulled you closer by your waist. He found you so adorable when you were still frowning at him that he wanted to just planted kisses all over your beautiful face.

“I’m sorry, princess. I swear I didn’t mean it. Anyway, I didn’t know you actually have some basic football knowledge. I thought you don’t know any other players except me. That was kinda hot, not gonna lie.” He bended down his head to kiss on your exposed shoulder blade from your off shoulder crop top, pressing his body against yours even more.

“Well, I’m actually a barca girl.”

Jude tilted your chin up as he brushed his lips against yours before nibbling softy on your bottom lips.

“Shut up, you’re my girl.”

“Jude, come on!” You heard Noah called out for him from the backyard, probably getting annoyed at how long he was taking his time.

“Coming!” He pulled away and strode across the living room to the kids, leaving you with butterflies in your stomach, even after all these years.

[to-thelakes]

sleepy

pairing; matt murdock x fem!reader

summary; re-adjusting to anti-depressants was never an easy task but you have your vigilante boyfriend to help.

warnings; fluff, just pure fluff, reader is on anti-depressants and very very sleepy, also a cheese lover

notes; this one-shot is definitely at least a few months old, i think i wrote it when i originally switched my dosage so it's a little chaotic. i feel like there's a lack of fics talking or discussing antidepressants so i like filling in the gap to comfort anyone who was suffering the sleepiness and shitty feelings like i was those first few months. also this is my first matty one-shot i'm releasing so please enjoy <3

masterlist

You were so tired. The first two weeks of antidepressants, you were told, would be the worst but it hadn’t prepared you for just how exhausted you felt. You had spent most of the first three days, curled up in bed and sleeping the day away. By the fourth day, your snack supplies had already begun to dwindle which is the opposite of what you needed right now.

And by the fifth day, you had to venture out to the store. And that had killed you off. You had gotten back, grabbed a bag of chips and curled up on the couch. Within a few hours you were asleep and you stayed like that for another four hours. The TV had suddenly seemed to get astronomically loud and it woke you from your slumber.

So, with a little huff, you rolled off the couch and began to make something proper to eat for dinner. But you felt exhausted. It clung to your mind, hovering over you as you tried to make cheesy pasta. Everything felt impossible and slow and it was frustrating but it was made better when you heard the familiar tap-tap-tap on the fire escape window. 

A grin spread across your face as you left your pasta to heat up the cheese, pulling the window open as Matt Murdock climbed through. He was still in his Daredevil costume and you thought he looked rather silly but he already knew that’s what you thought of his costume. He liked hearing you tease him.

But rather than saying anything, you just wrapped your arms around his torso and hugged him. Your eyes fell closed as you snuggled into him making him chuckle softly.

“It’s nice to see you too, darling,” He greeted softly. All you had the energy to do was hum in vague acknowledgement. His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a moment before he softly reminded you about the food on the stove. So, you reluctantly pulled back and went over to the pan. You split the pasta into two bowls and turned around just as Matt pulled his helmet off. He placed it down on the counter before cautiously walking over to you.

“I’m sleepy,” You mumbled softly as you passed him the bowl. He took a hold of it, searching for the fork before he began to eat it. You had added a little bit of seasoning, salt, pepper, garlic powder in hopes of giving it a little more flavour. But you knew within the first bite and from the look on Matt’s face that you had gone overboard with the garlic. A huff escaped your lips and you placed the bowl on the side, “I’m going back to bed,” You declared, giving up for the day. Matt chuckled, listening to your footsteps as you walked across the apartment to your bed.

The air moved around you as you face-planted and he couldn’t help another chuckle as he turned around. His gaze landed somewhere near you but you weren’t even paying attention. Sleep was desperate to crawl up your spine and take you in but Matt was here now and you wanted to see him for a bit.

He managed to place the bowl on your side before he navigated his way carefully through your apartment. He could smell a bowl of hummus on the floor somewhere, you had a habit of leaving random crockery on the floor so he was being careful before he reached your bed. He crawled onto it before he sat cross-legged across from you.

“How long have you slept today?” He asked curiously. You mumbled in vague response but he didn’t catch a single word of it. He reached out towards you and gently pushed your head back so that you would tilt your head to the side, “What was that?” He had a teasing lilt to his tone and it made you want to smack him.

“A while but I’m sleepy,” You muttered. Matt knew that you were on new medication. You had tried to hide it from him a few days ago but he could smell your body going haywire. It was the same with everyone he had known who switched medication. Body’s went haywire while they adjusted before eventually settling back into routine.

That’s all this was but he still found your sleepy-grumpiness adorable. Matt held his hand out towards you and you reluctantly dragged yourself so you could curl into his lap. His fingers began to run through your hair but the strands were getting caught on his gloves. You let out disgruntled noises before he decided to take his gloves off. Then his fingertips began to massage your scalp and you hummed happily.

“You feeling better?” He asked. You ‘mhm’d in response and he could tell that you were going to fall asleep in his lap, “I need to change, darling. Need you to get out of my lap.” There was an amused lilt to his voice and another disgruntled noise fell from your lips. You moved out of his lap before dropping onto the top of the bed. Matt always found your mood while sleepy to be not all that dissimilar to a cat. You hated being disturbed when you were curled up and comfortable and when you were, you gave the offender the evils.

You assumed Matt didn’t know that you did that but he could sense it. He had always been able to feel your gaze boring into him.

“In the usual place?” He asked. You let out another hum of agreement before you burrito’d in your covers, snuggling your face into the pillow. He changed silently, listening to your heartbeat and breathing to see if you had fallen asleep. But it seemed you weren’t falling into it quite yet. Once he had changed, he walked over to the bed and lay on top of the mattress.

And that was when you unburritoed yourself and crawled on top of Matt. You practically curled up on his chest, burritoing both of you with the covers as you snuggle into his neck. Matt’s arms wrapped around your back.

“Much better,” You mumbled under your breath. He chuckled softly at your words and you let your eyes close. Your breathe evened out relatively quickly, “Much better.” You snuggled up to him, peppering kisses across his neck before you nuzzled there. Matt grinned and pressed a kiss against your hairline.

“Glad I could be of service,” He teased. You grumbled against his chest but he merely continued to grin, kissing your hairline again before he let his eyes fall closed.

[lemoncrushh]

Best Friends

Summary: You and Harry are best friends, but he would love for it be more.

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 1628

A/N: A cute best friends blurb from 2016. This blurb is a little bit different. It's still written for the reader, but it's in Harry's POV like he's telling you about you and him. It's 1D Harry, but you are roommates (not sure why I did that, it might have been a request lol). Louis, Niall, Liam and Cheryl appear in this one too.

"Y/N!" you heard me call from the kitchen.

"Yeah babe?" you yelled from your bedroom.

"What do you want for dinner?"

You slipped into your shorts and t-shirt, not bothering to put on a bra. You'd been living with me for years, and we were best friends. There was no reason for you to be modest around me. You walked into the kitchen, lightly drying your hair with a towel.

"What have we got?" you asked, my head behind the freezer door.

I stepped back, nearly knocking myself in the head as I looked at you. Jesus, you were beautiful. You were never really one to be high maintenance, but on the daily you always tried to look your best. If we ran into each other in the mornings before you left for work, I always told you how gorgeous you looked. You would smile and say, "thanks babe," giving me a kiss on the cheek. If I took you out with me to a dinner party or some other industry function, you'd look so amazing it would take my breath away. But this...this was my favourite. When you were freshly clean from the shower, your running shorts or a pair of sweats on, no makeup, your hair damp. You were absolutely stunning, and to be honest, I had a hard time not staring.

"Um..." I swallowed, "not much."

You shrugged. "Anything's fine with me. We can order pizza if you want."

Not waiting for a response, you walked back to the bathroom to hang your towel on the rod. Then returning to the living room, you plopped down on the sofa, grabbing the remote control. I watched you as I ordered pizza from my phone, then placed it on the counter.

"How was your day?" you asked me. You flipped through the channels before landing on Friends.

"It was okay," I shrugged, walking over to sit next to you.

"Just okay?" you raised a brow.

"Well, you know. Writing, studio time."

"Is the album coming along?" you inquired, adjusting yourself on the sofa so that you faced me, your elbow resting on the back. I adored the little things like that. They showed me you cared about me, and weren't just making small talk out of obligation.

"Yeah," I nodded with a grin. "It's coming along great. We have six tracks recorded now."

"Eeek!" you squealed, clapping your hands. "I can't wait to hear them! You will let your dear BFF hear them first, won't you?"

I chuckled. "Of course."

You smiled, reaching for my hand to squeeze. "I'm so excited, Harry!"

"Me too," I beamed. I couldn't help it. When you looked at me that way, my heart wanted to beat out of my chest.

We sat and watched Friends together, laughing at Phoebe getting hummus on her dress and Joey walking in with all of Chandler's clothes on. The pizza arrived and we ate it in front of the television. We ended up opening a bottle of wine, enjoying it with good conversation well into the evening. I loved watching your cheeks get pink from the alcohol, your eyelids slightly heavy. I wanted so badly to kiss you, but I knew you didn't feel that way about me. So just like every other night, I pushed the urge aside and continued with our friendly banter.

Finally around midnight, you rose from the couch to take our glasses to the kitchen. I sat back on the sofa, resting my eyes and silently wishing you'd either suddenly feel the same about me, or my own feelings would dissipate. I could hear your footsteps as you returned to the living room, stopping in front of me.

"I'm going to bed now, babe. I'm exhausted."

My eyes fluttered open to look at you, an easy grin spreading across my face.

"Okay, love," I sat up. "Goodnight."

"Night," you murmured, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. "I'll go shopping tomorrow for the dinner party."

"Oh. Right." I'd almost forgotten. Tomorrow the boys were coming for dinner and you were planning to cook.

"I love you," you declared.

"I love you, too."

Giving me a soft smile, you turned and headed toward your bedroom. With a deep sigh, I leaned back against the sofa again. If only you knew how much I loved you. If only...

Our dining room was noisy and smelled like a mix of garlic and cologne, which to some might sound questionable, but as for me, I wouldn't have had it any other way. You'd made the most delicious meal I'd ever tasted, and once again you'd proven to be the perfect host.

"Shall I get dessert?" you asked, starting to rise from the table.

"I'll help," offered Liam's girlfriend, Cheryl.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, standing up. "I need to make a toast."

You raised your brows in question, sitting back down and taking your glass.

"To..." I hesitated. "To best friends, best food, and best company."

"Hear hear!" everyone said in unison. I heard the sound of glasses clinking together as I turned to look at you.

"Thank you, Y/N," I grinned. "You're amazing."

You gave me your million watt smile, bringing your glass to your lips. I watched you take a drink before sipping my own.

"I'll get the dessert," you said softly, your eyes still on me.

As soon as you'd left the room, I ran my hand down my face with a groan.

"What's wrong, mate?" asked Niall.

"Nothing," I shook my head.

Louis scoffed, shaking his head.

"What?" I narrowed my eyes.

"It's so obvious, Harry," he remarked.

"What is?"

"That you're in love with her."

"Y/N?" Niall turned to me, his eyes wide. "Ya are?"

"He has been from day one," said Louis.

"I have not," I argued, my stomach suddenly in knots.

"Does she know?" Liam piped in.

"No," I shook my head. "She doesn't have a fucking clue."

"So ya are," Niall nodded.

I glared at him.

"Ya gonna tell her?"

"I can't," I dropped my head. "She seems so happy with the way things are. I don't wanna mess it up."

"Mess what up?" Cheryl asked when she walked through the doorway from the kitchen, three dishes of dessert in her hands. She placed two of them in front of Louis and Liam and sat down with her own.

"Harry's in love with Y/N," muttered Liam.

"Shhh," I put my finger to my lips.

"You are?" Cheryl's eyes widened.

"Am I the only one who picked up on this?" Louis threw up his hands.

"Yes, okay?" I whisper-shouted. "I'm in love with her. I've been in love with her for a long time."

Louis nodded, just as you emerged from the kitchen. My heart felt like it was in my throat as I prayed you hadn't overheard our conversation.

"Here you go!" you sang, placing dishes in front of Niall and me.

I looked up at you while you sat beside me, digging your fork into your dessert. I reckoned you could feel my gaze so you side-eyed me, giving me a smirk.

"What?" you asked.

I shook my head, dismissing the moment and biting into my own dessert.

After everyone had said their goodbyes and we saw them out the door with a gracious thank you, I followed you into the kitchen, offering to help you with dishes. We worked together in silence, my heart racing and my brain on overdrive. I didn't know if you'd heard my confession, but it was nearly killing me that you were being so quiet which was unlike you.

Finally, putting the last dish in the washer and shutting it, you turned to me.

"I heard you," you muttered.

"What?" I stopped. My initial reaction was to question it, because surely I misunderstood you.

"I heard what you said. What you told Cheryl and the boys."

I lowered my gaze to the countertop, my finger tracing a nonexistent pattern.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked.

"I didn't want to embarrass or humiliate you," you replied.

"How...how would you have humiliated me?"

"Harry..."

I lifted my head to look at you. What I already knew was staring me in the face.

"You don't feel the same," I stated.

You were silent for a moment until you shook your head. "It's not that. It's just...I had no idea you felt that way about me. I thought all this was harmless flirting and friendship stuff. It's...it's kinda weird, you know?"

I blinked, nodding my head. You stepped closer to me, reaching for my hand.

"I love you," you declared. "I care about you. I don't want any awkwardness between us."

"I get that," I agreed.

You lifted your other hand to touch my cheek.

"You're so amazing," you added. "And if..."

I covered your hand with mine, looking into your eyes.

"If what?"

You swallowed hard. "If I let my guard down...I could easily fall in love with you."

I felt my lips stretch into a smile as you did the same. Then leaning forward, you lightly brushed your lips against mine, kissing the corner of my mouth. I knew you were still hesitant, so I didn't push further.

"One step at a time," you said, echoing my thoughts, though it was almost a question.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm going to bed," you whispered. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight."

I watched you once again as you walked away towards your bedroom. So, the cat was out of the bag as they say. You knew the truth. You hadn't reciprocated my feelings, but at least you hadn't shut them down either. I had hope. And I planned on holding onto it for a while.

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[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXX. “gut feeling”

parts: previous / next

plot: in an untoward evening, Bruce gets protective.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, violence, drugging, aggression, description of injury, angst, nausea/vomit, basically Gotham being Gotham

words: 6.7k

a/n: oooowieeee Bruce is really starting to show his more flustered side 🤭

PHOTOS: EMT Says Bruce Wayne “Lucky to be Alive" After Harrowing Crash on Tower Grounds

You'd been walking the sidewalk just before Rai's when you got the news alert. Even with his warning, one that left you for a few seconds when first staring at the phone, it was like being pummeled by a brick. Tethered to your screen, flipping through the photos TMZ posted like they were scripture. After a few heavy exhales, you gathered yourself enough to walk inside. The familiar 'Welcome in!' before a double-take. "Y/N? What are you doing here? You said you left?"

In all honesty you'd forgotten about your last conversation, the last moments before tragedy, and hadn't prepared for what you'd say to people outside of what you were to tell Mar. You did your best to laugh it off, but he wasn't taking it. He walked around the register and stood in front of you, right by the Oreos. "Always been able to read you, friend. Tell me, what's on your mind?"

Ding! The door opened to a cluster of women and Rai gave you a playful finger wag. "Foiled this time."

You joined half of the pack as they perused the drink aisle, then the other that clustered by the deli. He was almost out of tabbouleh, and the second best thing in your opinion—baklava—was being thirsted after by the two people in front. You decided to get some pita and hummus to go.

Rai didn't have time to talk to you with the line of people behind you, and for a brief moment you thought about staying—but your bed was calling your name, so you kept it simple. "I decided to stay for a few more weeks, at the very least. I'll be back soon for more tabbouleh." You winked at him, smiled, and found yourself right back where you had rotted the past 36 hours.

Rai sent you a text about fifteen minutes later. Heard you're a big journalist now girl! How does it feel to be published?

The message stopped you in your tracks; it was the first time someone had mentioned the interview without also mentioning Bruce Wayne. It brought tears to your eyes. He was the first person truly interested in your experience with it, about how it was just a project, not the person, that was the cool part.

I'm staying a bit longer for the election. Especially with how much traction my interview got, I think I carved out some legitimacy for myself to maybe make a difference reporting on the mayoral campaign.

He must've gotten swamped because your next text from him wasn't until an hour later. Whatever keeps you near Gotham and tabbouleh makes me happy. Bouleh on me next visit.

It was a running joke how often you ordered it; it was almost a hyperfixation, the flavor of it orienting you to time and place whenever things got harried. You learned a few months after being here that you needed some routine and, well. That was yours. The glow of your iPad screen was also an ever-present friend:

SEARCH: Marian Grange

Google showed that Grange was the former district attorney, a big-time lawyer taking on some very high profile cases in her time. A handful of years ago she had made her way to Gotham—notably, with just enough years of residency to run for Mayor this calendar year. Since coming to the city, she hadn't taken on any more cases, submitting wholly to the pursuit of... socializing? She was often pictured with the elite, holding hands with a beaming smile, endlessly pictured throughout her public-facing Instagram going to various fundraisers and luncheons. Per her campaign website, she wanted to stop the 'targeting' of the city's rich. Out of the many filler words on her 'issues' page, that was the only information you could glean.

SEARCH: Sebastian Hady

Hady's 'issues' page was a bit more complex: in addition to his position of taxing the churches, he wanted to put out an immediate hit on the batman. He'd attempted to run for mayor in the past two elections, falling short of winning enough votes to make the final matchup, and it was clear why: his politics were inconsistent. Tax the churches, but don't tax the wealthy; increase taxes on the poor, so they could 'bootstrap' their way out of their 'unfortunate predicament'. As out of touch as Grange was, Hady made your stomach flip. He'd been a political science major, with no real experience due to being denied access to Gotham University's Public Administration graduate program. Outside of running incessant campaign ads on late-night television and blaring his oversaturated frame across the city streets, he'd mostly laid low.

SEARCH: Lincoln March

BRRT BRRT. BRRT BRRT. "Mar?"

"Have you seen the news? I didn't have any reception in the lounge."

Every time she went to the Iceberg Lounge you wanted to hold her by her collar and give her a desperate talking-to. You gripped the phone tighter. "It's dangerous, you know the type of shady shit that's gone down there the past few years?"

"So you haven't seen it." She slurped away on a drink. “Sour as hell.”

Ding! You pulled your phone away from your ear to see the TMZ article. Your gut cinched.

"It's all anyone's talking about. People are getting into massive arguments on Scypher about it, it's fucking crazy."

"Arguments?" You bit the inside of your cheek.

She scoffed on the other line. "You're joking, right? Some people are saying he was DOA and had to be revived!"

A lurching clump of bile hurtled into your mouth, forcing you to double over and squeeze your mouth shut. Everything about that sentence haunted you, from the almost incredulous way she delivered it to Gotham's colloquial use of shorthand when describing being killed. He might've been fucking dead? Fuck, fuck...

"Hello? Y/N? Hello?" She groaned. "You're acting weird. Haven't even told me why you're still in the city."

"Don't you think it's a heavy fucking thing to talk about like that? You can't throw around someone being, someone being fucking, dead!" You were more shrill than you meant to be, but you didn't exactly have the resources to control your tone while you clutched your stomach and held your breath, not wanting to taste the vomit you'd just swallowed.

"Shiiit, I thought you didn't like him." If she turns this into a conversation about dating...

"I already saw it earlier."

"Think it'll interfere with your interview?" The sound of background whistling and whooping created an unsettling soundscape.

"I really don't care if it does."

"Pretty rude of the guy, in my opinion. Stealing your thunder like that?"

She's drunk. She doesn't know any better. Hell, might even be wasted. Still, your hand shook with anger to the point you had to set the phone on your comforter and scoot back from it. You pressed your palms flat against your mouth to keep from screaming. Screaming what, you didn't know. You were beginning to understand what it was like for Bruce to talk to you as you struggled to speak through gritted teeth. "That's really disrespectful, Mar."

"I'm jooookingg!" She cackled and you heard a clatter. "Oh shit hahaha, my phone. Hello? Still there?"

Don't want to be. "Yeah. Do you need me to call you an Uber?"

"Nahh, this guy's taking me home."

"What about Gianna?" She always hung around Gianna; you'd only met her once when Mar got picked up, and only for about five seconds, but after a brief look over her socials (and an impressive LinkedIn) you were inclined to think she was a good influence. Gianna had to be with her.

"I haven't asked her to be exclusive yet, you know that." Her words were beginning to slur.

"Who's the guy?"

"Some dude I met at the bar, he's super fuckin' rad."

"I'm sending an Uber to your location. Come up to my apartment, we'll spend the night together." Did she always leave with someone when she didn't go out with you? You pictured her being preyed upon, studied in the pulsing lights of the club. It made you sick.

"Okay bossy. No." She giggled to herself. "His apartment is like half a mile north, he's walking me." She hung up. Jesus. You threw on your sneakers, grabbed a taser, and raced outside, scanning your apartment fob to access the free-use bike garage. Iceberg Lounge was about a fifteen minute walk south.

It was terrifying biking on the streets of Gotham. Half the street lamps didn't work, and the drivers were all fiendish assholes who drove like they wanted to smear bodies on the pavement. You'd almost thought yourself lost until you spotted a glint of her neon pink cami.

"Hey!" You tried not to sound too menacing; maybe this was a rare good guy in Gotham, and he was gonna tuck her in safely to his spare bed and make sure she had a nice, non-laced drink of water at her bedside. No fucking way. "Hey,"

"Y/N?" Mar looked shocked at your arrival.

You dismounted your bike and grabbed her hand. When you did, the man grabbed your forearm. You ignored him and spoke directly to her. “Let’s head back to my place.”

”Interrupting our date.” The man laughed, but it was indignant. He still wasn’t loosening his grip on your arm. Getting a closer look at Mar, she was disheveled; her straps were sliding off her arm, exposing the top of her bra; her belt was halfway undone, yet her lipstick was pristine.

“We have a rule to not go home with people when we’re drunk.” You flashed him a smile, his green eyes dark and menacing. Why do I always notice the eyes?

“Sounds like BS to me.” He tried to laugh again when he said it, which only pissed you off. He probably thought he was one of the ‘good guys’ and didn’t understand why no one ever called him for a second date. You snaked your left arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to you. A quick once-over noted him wearing a thick leather jacket with white cuffs, and dark blue jeans with rips in the knees. His shoes were a nondescript pair of white Nikes. “You seem perfectly sober, interesting.” Mar was unsteady in your grasp, her weight leaning slightly too much into you, her knees wobbly. Did he fucking slip her something?

You swatted away his hand, which had a butterfly effect; he swiftly grabbed your ponytail, yanking on it so you were removed from between them. He grabbed her by the elbow as you stuttered back, tears springing into your eyes from the tension of having your hair yanked. He couldn’t quite walk as fast as he wanted to, her legs catching on every crack in the sidewalk. In this city that meant a long, treacherous walk anywhere, and an opportunity for you to strike.

You pulled out your taser and ran closer to him before slamming your finger on the trigger. A small catch of electricity came from the tip, then faltered. It’s not charged. Fuck. He turned toward the nearest apartment complex, and you lunged for his neck. He was tall, but not too tall, and there were a few steps he’d climbed to the doorway. You were able to wrap your palm around half of his neck, pulling him down hard on the concrete. Before he’d even smacked the ground you jumped down the stairs and slammed your foot into his balls, as hard as you could, your left foot skipping atop the concrete with the force as it struggled to balance. He cursed, spit flying out of his mouth as he clutched his groin. Mar was barely holding onto the siderails at this point, confirming she’d been slipped something. His legs thrashed wildly, his grunts filling the empty sidewalk. He caught your ankle and you fell back, smacking your head against the bottom stair. For a few seconds all you could do was breathe, the air knocked out of you and your vision blurry, stilted. He rose to his knees, and you scrambled back. By the grace of whatever God may or may not exist, you were able to get back on your feet before he did. The transition made you wildly dizzy, and before you knew it you fell to your knees again.

Mar was barfing off the edge of the railing, crying. You figured she had no idea what was going on, just knew that it was bad; the first and only time you’d been roofied was out with Mar one night. You’d tasted your drink and within a few minutes you were feeling woozy. Make it ten minutes later, and the room was a glowing haze of smoke and mirror—literally. You were seeing double everywhere you looked, locked in your own cage of whatever someone else did to you. Thankfully Mar had enough experience to notice the initial signs of being drugged (at least, in someone else) and had immediately called an Uber and notified the staff of the bar. She’d tended to you the rest of that night, and when you woke up her eyes were buggy and bloodshot. “I stayed up all night watching you. I didn’t want you to like, choke in your sleep or something.”

You attempted to raise your head, but it was pounding, whiting out your vision when you tried to support it with just your neck. You grabbed your phone and managed to open it to your phone app, but he smacked it away. You watched through bleary eyes as it soared into a bit of bark dust beneath some shrubs, landing face-down. All you saw was a gentle emanation of dark blue light. It called someone.

“HELP!” You shouted, hoping that whoever it was would hear you. Most of your contacts (you didn’t have too many) had access to your location information. You’d gotten scared after a few harrowing abduction stories in the Gazette and sent a mass text to the people in it with your info. Someone would call, and it would be fine. “CALL 911.”

Mar slumped to the ground and balanced her head against the railing, tears streaming down her cheeks. This part of town was deceptively barren, of course it was. The man grabbed you by the ankles and you screamed, jerking your legs until one broke free. “HELP!”

A part of you thought it would be okay—until you remembered Batman wasn’t on patrol tonight. Your heart sank as you watched him latch both hands onto your other ankle… and then he dropped you. He turned and walked halfway between the road and the apartment doors—why wasn’t anyone coming out to help?—and faced you, his mouth slobbery and in a slack grin. He shook out his body and flexed his fingers, taking a moment to hype himself up. You tried to sit up again, grinding your molars with the effort, but you nearly blacked out. The only thing that came to mind were the earthquake drills from elementary school, of hiding under your desk with your hands over your head to protect from falling debris. He was falling debris. Inevitable. You wrapped your hands around your aching head. Pressed your elbows together in front of your nose. Tucked your chin, barely, to protect your neck. He took off in a sprint for you, his sneakers connecting brutally with your thigh. You screamed, and he kicked it again. And again. And again. “See how you like it, fucking bitch.”

Mar screamed behind you; weak, but undeniable. “Stop it,” She stumbled toward you as his foot barreled into you with unbridled ferocity. She grabbed onto his arm and he shoved her off. She reached back out, her nails digging into his skin. He shouted and shoved her hard against the railing, turning his attention on her. She had enough bearings now to dodge a single hit, rolling out of the way before another landed square between her shoulders. You were busy incrementally lifting your head from the cement, centimeter by slow centimeter sitting upright. The man wiped the arm of his jacket against his mouth, muttering. “Bullshit fucking cunts.” He slammed his foot between her legs, and she yelped, rolling over onto her stomach. A wave of nausea stormed through you.

She was slowly rising, but he slammed his fists into her back and she buckled. Her face hit the pavement so hard you hoped her nose wasn’t broken. She started coughing, stringy spit dribbling off her lips. At this point he turned back to you with a sneer. “Guess I’m getting double tonight.”

Sick freak. The pain was edging out your fear, and resignation was teetering towards fruition. You only needed a few more minutes to get your bearings. Long enough to heat up a fucking hot pocket. He slapped you across the face, and you fell back to exactly where you were. Flat against the ground. Thundering head. Unable to sit up, arrested by searing pain.

The sound of skin slamming into skin disoriented you. Thudding, smacking sounds pierced the air, peppered with the man’s grunts and yelps. He sounded like a hit dog. What, the fuck? You shoved your palms against the ground to support your weight, but it wasn’t working. You physically grabbed your jaw and the back of your head and tilted it up, holding it there to watch the scene unfolding a few feet in front of you. A horrible hollow sound echoed just as the man was hurled against the opposite railing, his chest nearly touching his shin as his body bent around the metal. His opponent was adept at fighting; fully hooded with a black shirt wrapped around the bottom half of his face, a thick, baggy jacket bulking his frame, gauze wrapped around his knuckles. You couldn’t make out his full face, but the feeling you got told you all you needed. It wasn’t quite fear, not quite comfort, or peace, but an indisputable sensation of safety. You let your head fall back, too fast, as you sobbed cries of relief.

The mystery man kept trying to fight back, but not a single hit landed. You saw it all in the lower half of your vision. Saw the guy try, fight, and run, and the other stoop down to Mar and help her sit up. Once she was in a safe, neutral position he turned to you—Bruce’s eyes were framed with black, paint smearing down his cheekbones and into his brows. He took your arm and attempted to pull you up to the same position, but you squealed. “I hit my head,”

He sat back like he was calculating something for a moment before cupping his left hand at the base of your head. Holding you like an infant, he slowly tilted you upright. He held his hand just above your neck a few seconds longer. “Gonna let go.” Tentatively, he did, and you resisted your torso’s urge to flop back down.

A car pulled up right then, one you hadn’t seen before. It was flashy, but not a sportscar. He noticed your eyes follow it and lowered his voice. “It’s mine. I’ll take you both home.” He paused, gesturing with his head. “Do you know her?”

You tried to nod but you felt like your head would snap off your neck. “Yeah. My friend. I think, she was drugged.” The pulsing in your thigh was violent, and you worried you might have fractured something. He gave you a once-over, then looked back to her. “I’ll help her in first.”

Bruce tried to help her stand, but she shook her head. “Y/N,” she called out weakly, moving to her hands and knees to crawl toward you. She managed to make her way to your side, panting with the effort. “Who is, why,”

Shit. “Um, he’s my friend. I called him when, when the guy, shit,” Your head was in agony. You struggled to form coherent thoughts, let alone speech. How, clear is she? Recognize? Him? Disguise?

“I trust you.” Her voice no stronger than a whisper. She reached her arms out to him, and he walked over to help her up. He wrapped his arm around her back and to her armpit, hoisting her up and steadying her to the car. The side door opened as he walked up, and he helped her sidle in. He waited a few seconds while she adjusted, then grabbed the seatbelt. You heard him say something, but couldn’t… only if you want maybe? About the seatbelt?

You blinked and he was holding out his hands for you. The scarred, dirty hands that now had traces of fresh blood from reopened knuckle scabs soaking through the gauze. It made you faint thinking about him at the… Arkham. All at once you sat up, the motion sending you reeling. “Fuck!” Your hands trembled as pain ravaged your head, all the blood simultaneously leaving and filling it. “No, you shouldn’t, fuck,”

He squatted to your eye-level. His stare didn’t waver once. “You’re, recovering, I don’t, thanks,” Between every word was a gasp of pain.

His tone was firm, leaving no room for disagreement. “I’m glad you called. I’m taking you home.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine.” He held out an expectant hand for you to take. You anticipated having to pull your own, but to your surprise he pulled you up with you barely feeling the ground whatsoever. He carried the bulk of your weight, snaking his arm on top of your shoulders instead of under, allowing your neck not to bobble as you both walked. The last time you’d been this close to him you hadn’t known his identity. You recalled his hold being so firm you couldn’t escape, how afraid that had made you until you’d realized it was him. You stopped trying to force your balance and let him guide you the last steps to the car; the door opened automatically again, and he helped you slip in beside Mar. She had her head against the back of the seat, eyes half shut.

“Need help?” He had a finger looped around the seatbelt. Your cheeks heated, and you stammered out a no. He shut the door, and you painstakingly buckled yourself. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you refused to buckle up, and how long he would sit there demanding you put it on before you finally gave in, having sufficiently annoyed him.

When Bruce climbed in, you felt like a child who forgot their lunch on the way to school. You asked him to retrieve your phone, explaining it was under some shrubs by the entryway. Not ten seconds later he was back in, wiping dirt off the screen before handing it back to you. He was so fucking fast.

Mar didn’t talk during the drive, and neither did Bruce, so neither did you. You kept one eye on her at all times, making sure she didn’t fall asleep before you could check if she had a concussion or not. You figured you did, and you were not looking forward to checking in the mirror later looking at the damage done to your left leg. Now I match Bruce. A bitter thought.

You’d had the wherewithal prior to leaving to bring your keychain with you, tucked nicely into your pocket. By some stretch he hadn’t kicked just a few inches higher, which would have probably left you with a gaping wound from the jagged ends of the keys fileting your hip. You held the fob out the window when he pulled up to the garage, and in another blink he was helping Mar out.

“Can you stand?” Mar was slumped into his shoulder as he supported her weight. “Might have to carry her.” She looked exhausted, with her eyes glazed over, her face sweaty. You watched her chest with diligence, and per usual he sensed you, reading you like he was superhuman. “Her respiration’s normal. You can check the rest of her when you get your bearings.”

You unbuckled and tried to stand, but even shifting halfway out the car scared you. The ground phased in and out of your vision, the depth completely lost. As much as it burned… You sighed. “Take her up first. I think I need help walking.”

You handed him your keychain and he went on his way. Only after he’d disappeared up the elevator did you question it. I let her go up alone with a man? In this state? You couldn’t berate yourself much though, because a strong swell of defensiveness ravaged you. It was like the you before and you now were dueling. Condemning your judgment and rationalizing it, back and forth.

There was truly just something about him. Maybe you were infantilizing him and the past week was clouding your judgment. Maybe he moonlighted as Batman to cover up his serial killer tendencies. Keep the cops trained on an alternate identity, a vigilante. But he made you feel safe. He always made you feel held. Even when your mind took over and convinced you he was wrong, convinced you you should be afraid, your body never internalized it. That gut feeling you got around other men; the other men at city hall, the other men at the club, some of the men in your undergrad classes, even some of the professors… your stomach never curdled like that around him.

You didn’t think about it any further.

Bruce jogged out the elevator and helped you out. You ignored how your stomach fluttered being pressed so close to him, fought the tears that begged at the edge of your eyes, and let yourself sink into his chest. At some point you closed your eyes and concentrated on the roughness of his jacket against your cheek, and the patter of his heartbeat. Warmth. Alive. Breathing. Secure.

You being so close to him made him keen to his breathing. His body felt tingly and dizzy. He held you tighter. Every exhale fluttered the hair in front of your face, wisping it across your eyelashes. Was his breathing too loud? Were you falling asleep? He rustled you slightly, just taking a step slightly too hard, not wanting you to—your lashes fluttered, having caught you right before slipping into dreamland. He needed to keep you awake, at least long enough to do a proper assessment. Long enough to make sure you weren’t going to die.

Walking through your doorframe was a beast he realized too late; too narrow to both walk through wide, after your left hip caught on the strike plate and you cried out. He hated how much it felt like someone squeezed his chest when he saw you in pain; if you or your friend had been any less injured, he would’ve taken more time on the perpetrator.

He sat you delicately on the couch, instructing you to sit upright as much as you were able. He unwrapped the cloth from over his mouth, shoving it into his jacket pocket. He asked if he could touch the back of your head, and you agreed. His fingers were as gentle as a cat’s whisker, delicately sifting through sweaty clumps of hair that, if it weren’t for even the air moving past it causing flinching pain, might’ve made you soft, weak. You startled when he removed his hand. “Can’t feel any bleeding, no cuts.” His voice was soft, his eyes scanning everywhere but yours. You were glad.

He asked the date, gave you a few words to recall back, and shined a light in your eyes. You recoiled like he’d slapped you when he pulled out his flashlight, the light causing physical pain. On the jump back, your leg brushed the pillow to your left, and he stared down at it. “May I?” You nodded and he pulled up your shorts; you were biting down on your tongue as his pinky grazed the bruise. “How bad is it?” It was at this point, when he didn’t immediately respond, that you realized he’d turned off the lights in your apartment and only left the lamp on in the corner. Thoughtful.

“Already bruising.” He grimaced, seeing the speckled outline of the shoe’s leather binding indented in harsh red streaks along your leg. His grimace made your face fall; he hardly grimaced like that when he had a fucking gaping wound in his leg. “What? Tell me.”

He shook his head. “A bad bruise, that’s all.” He grabbed your shin lightly and asked you to bend your leg. Then put weight on it. Twist left to right. Flex your hip. Everything worked normally. Still, his brow was twisted together, looking like he was gnawing on his cheek. You eyed him skeptically. “What?”

This was the second time he’d pulled someone off of you in less than six months. Your entire thigh would be lit dark scarlet in just a few days. He’d called Gordon the second he got into his car, and whispered an ID to his watch to ping over when he went to get your phone. He was sure they got him, but all he could think about was brutality; he didn’t like the things he was imagining, the drive to crack all the fingers off the man’s hand and shove them into his petrified, quivering mouth, and the equal drive to wrap you in a hug that never ended to make sure no one else harmed you.

You saw the movement of all these thoughts across his face, but the only source you could track them to was hesitation to tell you the extent of your injury. “Do I need to go to the hospital?”

He wanted to scour every inch of you to look for more lacerations, bruises, bleeds. For possibly the first time ever, he didn’t trust his estimation. You needed a professional, just in case. In case he missed something. In case you’d jostled your brain too much, in case the man had loosened a clot in your leg. He nodded. “I think you should.” He could take a back way there, walk you up to the doors and then put you in a wheelchair at the entrance. His mask would cover up enough, probably. He’d bring your friend with you. She could be checked out too.

You looked to his bloodless palms and fingertips that had just explored your scalp. Down to the splotches across your leg. “Why?” You felt like shit, yeah, but…?

“I might be wrong.”

”About what?”

”The extent of it.”

”What, like a brain bleed?”

”Exactly like that.”

You flicked your gaze up to your bedroom door. “I can’t leave her. Is she okay?” You moved to get up, and it was painful, but you managed. You slammed your hand on his shoulder for emergency balance, and you begrudgingly accepted his support across the living area. Mar was on her side in bed, squinting at her phone that seemed to already be on the lowest brightness. You whispered. “I got it.”

He let you go and walked back to the living room, and you shut the door behind you. You limped over to her and sat on the edge, tapping her ankle to alert her. Slowly her eyes moved to yours. The lipstick that had been untouched was now smeared across her cheeks, and her eyeliner bled and cracked off. “Are you, okay?”

”I think so. Are you?” You were doing exactly what Bruce just had; scanning her body at rapid speed, analyzing for any signs of injury. She looked a bit scraped up on the heels of her hands and knees, and you asked her to turn to take a look at her back. There was still the rough, muddied outline of his shoe from where it connected on her spine, but nothing else of note. Some general redness, and when you touched it she groaned, but didn’t shriek.

You looked into her eyes, but knew you had no idea what to look for. “Did he check you out already?”

She nodded, leisurely. “Shined something in my eye and told me to say stuff, I don’t remember what though.” Her words were still slurred, and the top of her nose was scraped, but nothing looked broken. You thought of the kick he’d done between her legs, and asked if she felt any pain there. She almost giggled. “Bastard forgot I don’t have balls. But, how,” She winced as she adjusted, her back rippling with it. “Cool is it he thought, I did.” She sighed and returned her attention back to her phone.

“Do you have pain anywhere?”

She glanced down at her palms and then pointed to her nose. Her biggest thing then was being drugged, and yours was whatever head thing you had going on paired with a throbbing leg. The thought of leaving your warm bed to go to a bright–fuck, BRIGHT–hospital made you want to actually die. You were gonna take your chances tonight. Oh, it was making you sick thinking about it…

“I’m gonna get some meds. Want some?” Whew, just a few steps through to the kitchen. I can do it! I’ve done it a lot! At least half of the journey is carpet, if I do eat shit. She nodded again (you were very jealous she was able to bob her head), and began your slow shuffle to the kitchen. The second you appeared in the doorway, Bruce jumped to your aid. You waved him off. “I think I’ll stay home.” You grabbed the counter for support.

“I’m taking you in.”

Furrowing your brow hurt your aching head. “I’m gonna take some meds, it’ll, be fine.”

“Then I’m staying.”

He sounded like a scolding parent. You shot a look at him and felt the ground wiggle beneath you. You squeezed your eyes shut which only made it worse. Tried to refocus on the medicine cabinet. So high…

“Let’s go.” He made his voice a bit louder, sterner. You finally scooted close enough to reach the handle, and now worked up the courage to grab it. You rustled around in there for a moment.

“You’re not really going to take that, are you?” His tone was biting. Footsteps, then he snatched the bottle of ibuprofen out of your hand. “Do you want to have a brain bleed?”

Shame coursed through you, another one of his thousand cuts. When you were able to look back at him, he had his eyes shut tight and his lips pursed, one hand holding the bottle and the other gripping the counter. He saw you looking at him and hastily turned away. The pop of the plastic bottle on the marble punctuated his apology. “Sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his hood removed somewhere between your bedroom and the couch. He huffed and tilted his head back to stare at the dark kitchen light. His shoulders rose and fell with every cycle of breath, one for every three blinks. The room was silent like that for a minute. He was so angry… no, he was nervous. Upset.

He caught your eye when you turned and his face fell into something softer, more vulnerable. “You’re not going, right?” He gave the smallest shake of his head and flicked the bottle a few inches. He didn’t wait for your answer. “I’m staying.” He made his voice strong, though you both knew you could kick him out and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Bruce,”

“You’re both incapacitated, leaving you here alone, it’s, it’s not an option.” He was getting flustered. You always took him there. He didn’t stutter, he never caught on his words, never caught on the sidewalk, never overlooked a pedestrian, fuck. His voice was raising, only slightly. His breathing got shallower, his fingers feeling chilled. “I need a minute.” He put his hands over his head and walked to the other side of the room, pacing in front of the couch. The fact the silence felt thick made you want to cut it. “I’ll be fine,”

“Please!” He dropped his hands at his sides and stood facing the cushions.

Deep breath in. Hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. Inhale, hold… exhale. He felt his chest start to release. Inhale, hold… exhale. Hold. Inhale, hold… exhale, hold… the feeling was coming back into his fingertips. Inhale, exhale. Hold… Inhale, slow, hold… exhale, slow, hold. Blink. Blink. Look at the wall. Couch. Hands. Jacket. In, out.

Another big sigh and a small shake, and he looked over his shoulder. He swallowed back globs of saliva that threatened to drown his vocal folds. His cheeks were pink, from what he had no idea. “I’m upset this happened to you.” He figured some transparency wouldn’t hurt, seeing as he’d just watched you get bludgeoned on the sidewalk and the… events of the past weekend. His jaw flexed. “And your friend.” He groaned, feeling frustrated tension fill him again. “I heard your shouting from blocks away. There were plenty of people.” His hands tightened in and out of fists, a motion you never failed to dial into. “No one did a damn thing.”

“Seems about right.” You slowly reached for the ibuprofen and put it back in the cabinet, letting it fall shut with a small tap.

Bruce was facing you now. “You don’t seem fazed.”

You shrugged, but couldn’t raise your shoulders in any meaningful capacity. “People don’t give a shit here.” You winced, as another blow of pain emanated the circumference of your skull. “Of course you don’t,” You flinched, speaking causing coils of pain to vibrate in your head. “Get it.”

He held back the full extent of his response, because he had a full argument sitting on the tip of his tongue. “I’ve seen the worst of it as him. I get it.” His enunciation begged no comment, but it was steamrolled.

“You don’t.” It was going to hurt to push all the words out at once, but the adrenaline of more friction with him was enough fuel to edge it out, momentarily. “You’re only able to be him because of your very unique, situation.” It was suffering to continue talking. “Even if people wanted to, to be you.” You took a small breather, placing both hands on the edge of the counter as the world whizzed by. “We can’t. We have, work, school, people are, shit.”

“We can talk about it later.” He walked to the cupboard and drew some water from the sink. You noticed him rinse it twice before filling. He held it out to you. “Drink. Sips.”

Some muscle in your finger had to have direct access to your brain because when you extended your arm fully to grab it, as soon as your pinky gripped the glass, you shuddered like you’d flicked a nerve. The glass clattered to the ground, exploding shards across the floor. When you ventured to move, he stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it.” He didn’t want you tripping with how unsteady your gait was. He moved to your side and grabbed some paper towels, squatting once more to gather the biggest chunks. “There’s a, broom. In the closet by the door.”

“Y/N?” Mar had made her way out of your room in a drunken shuffle. She’d said your name but her squinted, hazy gaze was focused entirely on Bruce, who was now facing her without his hood, without his mask, almost entirely exposed save the black around his eyes. Her eyes widened. “Is that…”

In your periphery you noticed Bruce’s eyes flick up to yours as his hands slowed. For once he was silent, letting you take the lead–naturally, it was the first time ever you didn’t want to. Fuck.

[queerheadcanoncentral]

James Wilson sfw alphabet.

Prompts from @imagineimagineimagine (I just changed one)

—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about their partner?)

Physically: Their neck, hands, eyes.

Mentally: Them being more confident than him.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He definitely wants kids, but he is afraid that he would be an absent father because of his work and because House would constantly drag him away and criticise him for not spending more time with his kid/s.

C = Cuddle (How do they like to cuddle?)

He likes to be the big spoon, make you feel secure and warm, but after a hard day at work he’d like to be the little spoon.

D = Dreams (How do they picture their future with their S/O?)

After three failed marriages he isn’t sure that he wants to get married again. He would put it off for a long time until you finally get sick of waiting and propose to him.

E = Exception (Are they willing to cross their boundaries for you?)

Yes.

F = Feelings (When did they know they're in love?)

You and James have been dating for just a few months and in that time you have been spending at least half of the nights at his place. One night you were cooking dinner in his kitchen and you heard loud knocking on the door. When you looked through the peephole you saw a pair of bright blue eyes looking back at you. You opened the door unsure if it’s the right thing to do. 

“To be honest I expected a female hooker, but I guess Wilson likes some variety.”

 “Ah, you must be House, come on in.” He had a slightly bewildered look on his face but he followed you inside and into the kitchen.

“People usually don’t mention their  best friend to a one night stand.”

“I’m dating him, he’s in the shower right now, should be out soon.”

“Whatcha cookin?”

“Falafel, pita bread with some vegetables and hummus. Want some?”

“No, I don’t want to be eating your dinner.”

“It’s fine. Some of it was gonna be for his lunch tomorrow and from what James tells me you usually eat it anyway so might as well eat it warm.”

“I like you.” Just as he said it James walked into the living room in time to hear a part of your conversation.

“What did you say to them? What did he say to you? What did you say to him?” he said panicked. But who can blame him. It’s dangerous to leave House alone with someone you care about.

“I offered him to stay for dinner, I heard a lot about him and want to see what’s actually true.”

That night you talked for hours. You dogged every jab and rude joke that House threw your way. By the time that your plates were clear and wine glasses empty, you and House became quite good friends and James saw that there might be a long future with you.

G = Gratitude (How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their S/O does for them?)

There are times when he is just too exhausted all the time to notice you doing nice things for him and just responds with a half-hearted thank you. When he finally feels better and gets out of the rough patch, he realises that he wasn’t grateful enough, so for the next week or so when you do something nice for him, even as simple as passing a water bottle, he looks you in the eyes and with a smile says thank you. He will also randomly tell you how much he love you and how lucky he is to be dating you. 

H = Honesty (Do they have secrets they hide from their S/O?)

The biggest secret that he would have would be his feelings. He wouldn’t mention his depression or what annoys him about you. For the good of your relationship you would have to pry it out of him.

I = Injury (How would they react if you got hurt?)

He would absolutely freak out. Even if it wasn’t a complicated injury (like you broke an arm of something because you fell) he would still be overprotective and boss around any doctor that is taking care of you. He would insist on taking you to PPTH even if another hospital is closer.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous? How do they deal with it?)

Oh yes he does! Because he cheated on his wives he is “slightly” paranoid about you cheating. He usually bottles it up and doesn't want to talk about it so you have to bring it up and reassure him that you would never cheat on him.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss you? How do they like to be kissed?)

He likes slow and passionate. If you are trying to give him a quick peck on the lips he will pull you back in for a longer one.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

He does. I mean…have you seen him? He moves faster than U-haul lesbians.

M = Memory (What’s their favorite memory together?)

Getting drunk at night at some medical conference and sneaking away to an orchard to cuddle and have a makeout session(maybe more).

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Absolutely yes. He never asks for anything back tho. Especially when he feels guilty about something (even if there is nothing to feel guilty about). But when you buy something expensive for him he’ll be like “No, you didn’t have to. Are you sure? Let me repay you with a nice dinner.”.

O = On Cloud Nine (What are they like when they're in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?)

It’s very obvious to everyone. He is immediately in a good mood and has a pep in his step. Before he confesses his feelings he's more cuddly, hangs out with you more and buys you gifts all the time. “I saw it and it reminded me of you so I bought it. You look good in it- I mean you always look good- I mean-”

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Darling, Honey, Babie, Sweetheart.

Q = Questions (What are the questions they’re always asking?)

Are you okay? How was your day? How do I look? Wanna go grab dinner? Is it okay if House joins us?

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Read, cook, cuddle, and watch movies together.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/S/O up?)

Cuddles, tea, words of reassurance, doing anything you want, stupid movies.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

We know from the show that he is a bit of a movie buff, so probably movies and anything film related.

U = Understanding (How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

He wants to know the whole you. Always listens and asks about your feelings. He’s afraid of making the same mistakes he made in his previous relationships and losing you.

V = Value (How important is the relationship to them? What is it worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

Absolutely. When James Evan Wilson loves, he loves with his entire heart. If you asked him to move to Alaska with you, he would.

W = Wedding (When, where, and how do they propose?)

If he is the one to propose, he proposes in a place that reminds him of the first time he met you.

X = XOXO (How affectionate are they? In public/in private)

He doesn’t really like PDA (except when he’s drunk). In private he can’t get his hand off of you.

Y = Yearning (How well do they cope when they're separated from their S/O?)

Depends. If he has nothing to do he is completely love sick and mopes a lot. If he is busy with work or with House, he mostly forgets that you exist.

Z = Zeal (Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship?)

Yes! (I don’t think I need to justify that. Just look at what he has done for House.)

[nomadomar]

The Office Transformation: Embracing the Arab Way

Chapter 2: The Influence of Amir

The subtle sound of footsteps approached Michael’s desk, but he was too engrossed in his work to notice until a familiar, warm voice broke his concentration.

“As-salamu alaykum, Michael,” Amir greeted, his tone as calm and reassuring as ever.

Michael looked up, momentarily caught off guard by the greeting. “Uh, hello, Amir,” he replied, stumbling over the words as he adjusted to the unfamiliar phrase. He had heard it countless times now, yet it still felt foreign on his tongue.

Amir smiled, a smile that reached his eyes, and it struck Michael again how effortlessly genuine he was. “Do you have a moment to grab some lunch? I’ve brought a few dishes from home, and I’d love to share them with you.”

There was something disarming about Amir’s invitation, a quiet sincerity that made it impossible to refuse. Michael hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, that sounds good.”

As they walked to the break room, Michael couldn’t help but notice the small changes that had started to creep into his own routine. He had begun greeting a few of his colleagues with "As-salamu alaykum," just as Amir did. At first, it felt awkward, as if he were trying on someone else’s skin, but gradually, it began to feel more natural. There was a warmth in the exchange that went beyond a simple “hello,” a recognition of shared humanity that he found increasingly appealing.

They settled at a table in the break room, where Amir laid out an array of food containers. The rich aroma of spices and herbs filled the air, making Michael’s mouth water. “What’s on the menu today?” he asked, trying to mask his curiosity with a casual tone.

“Just some home-cooked dishes,” Amir said with a modest shrug, though Michael could see the pride in his eyes. “We have lamb kofta, tabbouleh, and a little bit of hummus. It’s nothing fancy, but I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Michael watched as Amir carefully served the food, each movement deliberate, almost reverent. There was a sense of ritual in the way Amir handled the dishes, as if each one carried a piece of his heritage, a link to something greater than the sum of its parts. Michael had always approached food as mere sustenance, but sitting across from Amir, he realized that it could be so much more.

As he took his first bite of the lamb kofta, the flavors exploded in his mouth—spicy, savory, with a hint of sweetness. It was unlike anything he had tasted before. “This is incredible,” he murmured, more to himself than to Amir.

Amir smiled, pleased. “I’m glad you like it. Food is very important in Arab culture—it’s not just about eating, but about sharing, about bringing people together. In many ways, it’s a form of communication, a way of expressing care and hospitality.”

Michael nodded, chewing thoughtfully. He had never considered food in such a light before. It was just one of many small revelations he had experienced since Amir’s arrival. He was beginning to see the world through a different lens, and it both intrigued and unsettled him.

Their lunch conversations became a regular occurrence, and with each meal, Michael found himself drawn deeper into Amir’s world. Amir spoke with passion about his family, about the traditions they upheld, and the faith that guided them. He talked about the importance of community, of looking out for one another, and how those values shaped his daily life.

“There’s a saying in my culture,” Amir explained one afternoon, “that you’re not truly alive until you live for others. It’s about finding meaning beyond yourself, in your relationships, in your contributions to the community. That’s where true fulfillment lies.”

Michael listened, captivated by the simplicity and depth of Amir’s words. In the corporate world he had inhabited for so long, success was measured by individual achievements—promotions, raises, personal accolades. But Amir’s perspective challenged that notion, forcing Michael to reconsider the values he had taken for granted.

He began to question the very foundation of his life—his career, his relationships, his sense of self. The ambition that had once driven him now felt hollow, the goals he had set for himself suddenly seemed shallow. He wondered if he had been chasing after something that would never truly satisfy him.

One day, as they were leaving the office, Michael found himself speaking aloud the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind. “Amir, do you ever feel like… like you’re searching for something more? Like there’s a deeper meaning to all of this that we’re missing?”

Amir paused, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, I do. And I think that’s a universal experience. We all have moments when we question our purpose, when we feel a disconnect between our actions and our deeper selves. But that’s also where growth happens. It’s in those moments of doubt and uncertainty that we can begin to search for something more meaningful.”

Michael absorbed Amir’s words, feeling a pang of recognition. He had been searching, though he hadn’t known it until now. His life had been a series of motions—work, eat, sleep, repeat—without any real sense of direction. But Amir’s presence had ignited a spark within him, a curiosity about a different way of being, one that was rooted in connection and purpose.

Their friendship grew stronger, built on a foundation of mutual respect and a shared desire for something more. Amir introduced Michael to new experiences—attending a cultural event at a local mosque, sharing stories from Arab history, teaching him the basics of Arabic. Michael found himself drawn to the language, the fluidity of the script, the way the words carried a weight that went beyond their literal meaning.

One evening, as they sat in a quiet café, Amir spoke of his faith, not as a set of rigid rules, but as a source of strength and guidance. “Faith isn’t just about belief,” he said, “it’s about how you live your life, how you treat others, how you find peace in the midst of chaos. It’s about knowing that you’re part of something greater, and that your actions matter.”

Michael listened, feeling a stirring in his chest. There was a quiet conviction in Amir’s voice, a certainty that came from living his beliefs every day. Michael couldn’t help but admire that, and he wondered if he could find a similar sense of purpose in his own life.

As the weeks passed, Michael’s transformation became more evident. He started incorporating small aspects of Arab culture into his daily routine—taking a few minutes each day to reflect, greeting his colleagues with “As-salamu alaykum,” and even experimenting with new recipes at home. His friends and family noticed the changes, some with curiosity, others with concern. But Michael felt a growing sense of clarity, as if the fog that had clouded his mind for so long was beginning to lift.

Yet, with this newfound clarity came a sense of unease. The more he embraced these new practices, the more he felt a distance growing between his old life and his new one. He could sense the tension at work, the way his colleagues seemed to watch him with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. His family, too, expressed their concerns, questioning why he was so interested in a culture that was not his own.

But Michael couldn’t turn back. Something deep within him had shifted, and he knew that this was the beginning of a journey he had to see through. It wasn’t just about adopting new habits or learning a new language; it was about redefining who he was, what he believed in, and what he wanted from life.

The influence of Amir was undeniable, but it was more than that. Michael was discovering parts of himself that he had long neglected, parts that craved connection, meaning, and authenticity. And while the path ahead was uncertain, he felt a growing resolve to continue down it, no matter where it might lead.

In the quiet moments of reflection, Michael realized that this transformation was about more than just cultural exchange. It was about finding a sense of belonging, not just in a community, but within himself. It was about the search for deeper meaning, for a life that resonated with purpose and fulfillment.

As he looked across the table at Amir, who was now more than just a colleague but a true friend, Michael felt a surge of gratitude. He knew that this journey was far from over, but with Amir by his side, he felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

The winds of change were no longer something to fear; they were a force of transformation, guiding him toward a new understanding of himself and the world around him. And for the first time in a long while, Michael felt a sense of peace, knowing that he was exactly where he needed to be.

The Office Transformation: Embracing the Arab Way Chapter 1: The Arrival Chapter 2: The Influence of Amir Chapter 3: Internal Struggles and Social Tension Chapter 4: Embracing the Transformation Chapter 5: The Complete Transformation

[radioisntdead]

Ways to piss off an Italian

Alternatively three ways to cartoonishly piss off an Italian

Hazbin hotel x reader [Platonic]

Warnings:

Italian stereotypes, just jokin' around this is all in good fun! I put an Imp OC of mine in as the reader assistant! She just pops in and out to stir things up! Reader's learning to cook other types of food because they've hadn't had to cook for themselves in ages they just had others do it. Ending is a little off but we don't talk about that I finished this at 6 am I need sleep, Angel isn't that pissed mostly dismayed

Good evening folks! This is a side story with Eldritch horror reader and Angel dust because he's Italian, this is somewhat inspired by my own bit of how my younger self made it her mission to piss off Italians because of that Italian TikTok duo back in 2020-2021 [???] She did not succeed as she did not know any Italians and all she did was eat spaghetti noodles with anything but a fork.

this is also the 100 followers special! Now at the time of posting we are FAR past that at 207! but better late then never! Thank you so much for the support, I genuinely did not think this many folks would like my silly little writings, I adore getting y'all's requests, comments, and just appearing in my inbox genuinely it makes my day thank you! And I hope you enjoy!

Angel Dust took great pride in his Italian heritage and culture, as he was truly Italian.

Unfortunately he lived with a centuries old Eldritch horror who may or may not have lived in Europe during the bubonic plague and didn't understand the more "modern'' Italian or Italy at all, and others that didn't understand the "sacredness" of the Italians.

🍝The spaghetti.🍝

You took over cooking in the hotel, you and Alastor had begun fighting over the kitchen, whoever got there first got to cook and today, you were victorious.

You were exploring new recipes you had thus far made spicy tteokbokki and Korean corn dogs, some type of curry that was sonic blue, teriyaki chicken, hummus and other things! You experimented with different flavors, seasonings,

These tasty things would've ended you if you ate it back when you were alive and not dying of the bubonic plague.

Anyways, you decided to give making spaghetti a try because you were in the mood for something fairly easy to make.

As you perused the recipe book while humming along to the songs playing from Alastor's radio show, you nodded noting down the ingredients before pulling out the phone that the little Imp that worked for you had bought you insisting you should have one to contact her instead of hunting her down at random and dragging her away.

You squinted as you scrolled through the few contacts you had until you reached said imp's phone number and slowly texted her a barrage of ingredients to buy.

Cece carefully opened the hotel doors and skittered over to the kitchen, having memorized the route since she delivered ingredients to you almost daily at this point.

You grinned as you took the ingredients from Cece's hands turning around to place them on the counter while she pulled up a chair and sat down waiting for the inevitable "Dear Cece can you cut this" or "Dear Cece can you stir this"

You washed off the tomatoes before slicing in an x and blanching them, you peeled the tomatoes after and diced them up before putting them aside to cut up yellow onions, you gathered them up and placed them into a pan, sprinkling in salt to unleashed the onion liquids and sweetness.

You added in some prechopped garlic and let it saute.

While that was happening you took the tomatoes and crushed them, once done you combined the tomatoes with the rest letting it simmer.

You added other components like herbs, basil and a little olive old at the end just for fun.

You filled up another pot with water to boil, sprinkling a twinge of salt and stirring it in.

You brushed your hands on your apron, as you scooted around to find the box of spaghetti noodles, grinning you opened it and take out the pasta.

It was at this unfortunate moment Angel dust decided to waltz on into the kitchen, intending to see what was for dinner and maybe snag something to munch on, you held the dry pasta over the pot, both hands gripping the ends

"Hey tentacles, what's for- WHAT THE FUCK!''

"Good evening Dearest Angel! I'm making spaghetti!"

You said unfazed as the pasta snapped in half and dropped into the pot as Angel dust watched in pure horror.

"Why would you do that?!" Angel asked, his voice pitched as he asked arms gesturing to the pot of sad broken pasta boiling away.

"Make spaghetti? I didn't think it was such a controversial meal"

"No! You broke the pasta! That's like the biggest sin ya can do! What is wrong with ya?"

"We're already in hell, I don't think sins matter much here," Cece popped in, you jumped slightly forgetting the imp was there.

"They do when it comes to' fuckin' pasta toots!"

Angel dust shouted before promptly turning around and leaving the kitchen, leaving you completely confused and Cece amused, unfortunately her amusement turned into irritation as you asked her to grab the ground beef and roll it into balls so you could cook them because meatballs.

During dinner time your spaghetti was a hit!

Charlie complimented your cooking saying you outdid yourself while Vaggie was grabbing a second serving, Sir Pentious enjoyed slurping up the noodles, Niffty kept stabbing the meatballs foe whatever reason, Husk seemed to enjoy the meal however Angel dust had one pair of arms crossed while he reluctantly ate, it was good he could admit but he knew the sin that you had committed while cooking, he knew that innocent pasta had been broken.

Angel dust almost died a second time when he walked into the kitchen later that night for a midnight snack and witnessed a probably drunk Husk eating leftover spaghetti pasta with ketchup because the sauce you had made was on a higher shelf in the refrigerator and he didn't feel like climbing.

🍕 pineapple pizza time.🍕

You and Alastor had... For lack of better words got into a little fight over the kitchen, tentacles, shadows, mild mind control and other things were used until Vaggie stepped in and separated the two of you,

It was decided that pizza would be ordered for the hotel, much to Alastor's disapproval.

Cheese, pepperoni, pineapple and ham, and supreme were the pizzas ordered unbeknownst to Angel dust since he was coming back to the hotel from a hangout with Cherri.

"Angel! Welcome back we ordered pizza!" Charlie said waving the spider over as Vaggie placed the pizza boxes onto the table.

"Great! I'm starvin'!" Angel walked over just in time to see the box containing pineapple pizza opened up.

"Nevermind I'll starve."

"We have other pizzas Angel."

Vaggie did not get paid enough to deal with this, she didn't even get paid!

Angel dust was extremely disappointed in you, you were the one to suggest getting pineapple pizza because you quote, "Never had it before and wanted to try it",

You were well over a few centuries old, you weren't a child, you had gone to hell and become an overlord that rained terror for a couple of years and therefore you should've been able to tell that pineapple on pizza was a crime against humanity, so what if pizza wasn't a thing during your time, it was a thing that came to be while you were down here!

He had later lectured you about it, it was amusing to you! You were a feared overlord and yet this little Italian guy had the gull to lecture you, this was normal in families right? To not be afraid of each other? How wonderful!

The lecture eventually switched over to Husk who was eating pizzas folded which was just weird because he was just tasting the crust! What about the cheese? The sauce? THE SAUCE HUSK? DO YOU NOT TASTE IT?

Husk was too sober for the lecture, Alastor found it amusing though.

🇮🇹Italian PowerPoint presentation 🇮🇹

"Alright tentacles, we're havin' a intervention!" Angel dust said throwing his hands down on the coffee table as you sipped something from a teacup, probably tea.

"Is what you dragged us here for? This shit?"

Husk was here, how did he always get dragged into these things? Niffty was beside him trying to stab a roach, Charlie and Vaggie were out of the hotel, Alastor was hell knew where, probably doing radio stuff and Angel dust had somehow tracked down your assistant and dragged her there.

"Oh! Whatever for dearie?" You asked head tilted as you placed your cup on the table,

"You've committed so many fuckin' crimes in the past week! Ya' broke the pasta before puttin' it in the pot! Ya' put cream in the carbonara! Ya ate pineapple on pizza, I get we're in hell but are ya fuckin' kiddin' me?-" Angel moved his arms around to empathize his point "Not to mention that little fusion stunt, ya' deranged octopus!"

You hummed thinking about the meals you've made recently before responding, "I don't think I made anything bad?"

"You decided to put tomato sauce, cheese and pepperoni on cooked ramen and stuck it in da' oven and ate it."

"It wasn't as good as the little people on the interwebs said."

"OF COURSE IT WASN'T GOOD IT WAS A CRIME! IT CAME OUT OF THE DEEPS OF HELL."

"Eh, it wasn't that bad" Cece popped in to stir the pot, Angel slowly turned around becoming slightly more spidery

"The fuck did ya just say?"

Cece shrugged, "Food's expensive and I need to eat."

Cece was picked up and thrown on the couch with you as Angel dust set up a PowerPoint presentation about the history of Italian food and whatever else, You did not want to be here you'd rather be drinking your drink in peace, Husk didn't want to be here he'd rather be drinking, your hellborn imp assistant didn't want to be here, she's never going to Italy she didn't need to know this and Niffty, well she's still stabbing things on the floor.

By the time Charlie and Vaggie returned you had zoned out completely and your mind was elsewhere, Niffty was napping on your shoulder, Cece had escaped by asking Angel if garlic bread was Italian and while he went on that tangent she ran out abandoning everyone.

Husk was more dead inside then per usual, he wasn't paid enough for this, the first hour was fine but this had been going on for five hours at this point, how did Angel dust manage to drag this PowerPoint presentation out so long?

Vaggie shut it down after it was realized that you weren't responding and they thought you had somehow died,

You did not die and you eventually snapped out of it when a white cloth was put over you in order to hide the body.

Good evening folks! Thank you for turning on in! I hope you enjoyed, my apologies for taking forever to get this out, if your wondering why it feels like there's a missing gap that's because I wrote a whole lil' thing of reader and Alastor combining forces to annoy Angel and I accidentally deleted it.

I'm gonna rewrite it eventually and add it to a different fic with Eldritch horror reader, also If your wondering why I have an imp OC in here there is a reason with Eldritch horror and their family complex you'll see eventually

I'll be getting the readers backstory which will be the 200 follower special out [hopefully] soon so tune on in for that! Thank you again have a wonderful day!

[bowandcurtsey]

When the kids ask for a second child (haikyuu) 

So I did this with the BC boys and I thought of some scenarios for the Haikyuu boys too ♡ඩ⌔ඩ♡

Kuroo | Bokuto | Atsumu | Tsukishima | Oikawa x f! reader

d/n : daughter's name s/n : son's name h/n : her name

TW: pregnancy, implications of nsfw but not mentioned, unchecked.

Black Clover Version

Kuroo Tetsuro

"Daa daa!!" d/n ran towards her dad the first thing he stepped into the house. Her eyes were red and there were still tears left in her eyes.

"hey there little one," your husband picked your 3 year old up, "are you crying because you missed your daddy soooo much?"

"you wish," you laughed at your husband, giving him a peck on his lips as he frowned.

"so you don't miss daddy anymore? My princess is all grown up now, huh?" he feigned a hurt expression to your daughter.

"I do.." d/n gave a little pout exactly like her father's, "but daddy, Aunty h/n and Uncle Bokuto are having another baby!!"

"oya?" Kuroo looked at you in confusion, "why is this a news to cry about?"

"It's not fair!" d/n wailed, "I want another baby too!"

Kuroo laughed as he tossed his daughter in the air, giving a little kiss to her forehead.

"I'm on it," he winked at his mini him, "give daddy about 4 weeks, then you can share with Uncle Bo that you're gonna have another sibling too~"

"Tetsu!!" you pinched his sides, but something tells you that he was indeed serious.

Bokuto Koutaro

"Mummy! You're buttercup, I'm Blossom and d/n is Bubbles!" Your twin daughter came running to you while you were making an afternoon snack for the family.

"Hey! how about daddy!" your husband whined.

"You're professor!" d/n, twin number 2 exclaimed.

"But that makes mummy my daughter!" you husband finally got the logic right, "That's wrong! Mummy's my wife!"

You always found it funny how your husband liked to bicker with his 4 year old twin daughters about small matters like this.

"Okay!" twin number 1 exclaimed, "Mummy, we need another sister!"

"YA!!" twin 2 shouted from the living room.

"HEY HEY HEY!!" your husband stood up, skipping towards you with sparkles in his eyes.

He picked up the carrot you were slicing and dipped it into the hummus, "I think that's a great idea, mummy."

The carrot and hummus were placed right at your lips, "I think we can have the powerpuff boys next~"

"BO!"

Miya Atsumu

"alright, let's eat!" Osamu placed the pot of curry down on the dining table. You, Atsumu and your 3 year old son were visiting Osamu and h/n at their new home. Of course Osamu the chef had to cook personally for his favourite little nephew, s/n.

s/n always loved eating whatever his uncle made. He would polish his plate clean and that always made Osamu very proud.

"So~" h/n started to talk as everyone began eating, "we have news to tell you guys~"

"h/n is pregnant!" Osamu could barely contain himself.

Atsumu and you cheered loudly. "s/n! Uncle samu gonna have a baby! you'll have a play mate!" Atsumu told his son.

s/n stared at everyone with a blank look, feeling confused at what was going on. He didn't really understood the words 'pregnant', or 'playmate' quite yet."

As the four of you settled down, s/n suddenly broke the silence. "daaadaa! I want baby too!"

Everyone broke into laughter again as Osamu scruffled his nephew's hair.

Atsumu propped his head on his elbows as he looked at you with a grin on his face, "we'll have to see what mama says about that, little monkey~"

"Okay, let's just focus on dinner, shall we!" your face was flushed red.

Tsukishima Kei

"daddy~" your little princess tugged onto her dad's fingers. It was always when she wanted something from her dad, she'd do that.

"What is it, d/n?" The middle blocker picked his daughter up.

"Stella said that she's gonna have another sister in awhile so she won't have time to play with me next time..." she pouted

"oh, Stella from school?"

"Uh huh.." she frowned, "daddy?"

"Mhmm?"

"Can I have another sister too?"

Tsukishima blinked twice at what his daughter just said. The heat creeping up to his face as his ear tips reddened.

He cleared his throat, "What if it's a brother?"

"no, I don't want a brother!" d/n crossed her arm.

"But we can't really decide on whether it's a boy or a girl, princess.." Tsukishima gave his daughter a little sheepish smile.

"okay.. I just want another baby so they can play with stella's baby and I can play with Stella again!"

Tsuki raised a brow at his daughter. She was indeed smart but in kinda the wrong way. He shook his head, deciding not to further explain the situation.

"I'll talk to mommy tonight, okay? So you'll have to head to bed earlier so mommy and I have time to discuss about this."

Oikawa Tooru

"daadaa maamaa!!" your four year old was excited to see both of you pick her up today.

Your husband carried her in one arm and held your hand on the other. Even as he grew older, your husband's charisma never faded, there were still many moms stealing glances at his handsome features. But now as he held your daughter and you, all you felt was pride.

"Teacher Daisy is having a baby in her belly!!" she excitedly exclaimed.

You both looked at the young teacher, and congratulated her, wishing her all the best and to take good care of yourself.

"Cupcake, you have to be careful around Teacher Daisy, alright, do not knock into her or cause her to fall, her little baby in her belly might get hurt." You reminded d/n.

"Okay mama," she nodded her head

"When you were in your mommy's belly, daddy was very careful too~" your husband smiled at the memory, "daddy watched as you grew bigger in mommy's belly~"

"daadaa, I want to take care of mama and the baby in her belly too!"

"mama has no baby in my belly right now, cupcake." you giggled.

"That can be changed," Oikawa winked at you.

"Tooru!" you gave him the look.

d/n clapped her hands, "yes yes!! baby!!"

"Honey, we have to give our little cupcake what she wants~" Oikawa wriggled his brows at you.

[southernsolarpunk]

Hey check this out

I was making a zine (solarpunk ofc) and decided to use a bunch of old National Geographic magazines to cut up and use in a scrappy diy scrapbook fashion and of course I started reading them. This one in particular:

It caught my eye because it’s from September 1980 & talks about the Middle East. My brain wonders if they mention Palestine and they do! I copied the text for accessibility, but I put pictures at the end of the original pages.

“Jerusalem: reunited or occupied? The question has divided the city's 400,000 Jews and 100,000 Arabs since Israel annexed East Jerusalem in 1967.

BEIRUT, JANUARY 1975. Armed soldiers lead me through labyrinthine back streets, up a dark stairway to a midnight rendez-vous. Only a bare bulb lights the temporary command post; Yasir Arafat, chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization, seldom dares spend two days in the same place. “Our argument is not with the Jews” He tells me. "We are both Semites. They have lived with us for centuries. Our enemies are the Zionist colonizers and their backers who insist Palestine belongs to them exclusively.

We Arabs claim deep roots there too."

Two decades ago Palestinians were to be found in United Nations Relief Agency camps at places like Gaza and Jericho, in a forlorn and pitiable state. While Palestinian spokesmen pressed their case in world cap-itals, the loudest voice the world heard was that of terrorists, with whom the word Palestinian came to be associated. Jordan fought a war to curb them. The disintegration of Lebanon was due in part to the thousands of refugees within its borders.

Prospects for peace brightened, however, when President Anwar Sadat of Egypt, most powerful of the Arab countries, made his historic trip to Israel in November 1977. A year later Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin signed the Camp David accords, a framework for the return of the occupied Sinai Peninsula to Egypt.

The former enemies established diplomatic relations and opened mail, telephone, and airline communications.

The Camp David accords also addressed the all-important Palestinian question but left it vague. Sadat insists that any lasting peace depends on an eventual Palestinian homeland in the Israeli-occupied West Bank and Gaza. Israel agrees to limited autonomy for those regions, but, fearful of a new and hostile Palestinian state suddenly planted on its borders, insists that Israeli troops must maintain security there.

Crowded Rashidiyah refugee camp, set among orange groves south of the ancient Phoenician port of Tyre in Lebanon, lies on the front lines. Frequent pounding by Israeli military jets and warships seeking PLO targets has war-hardened its population, some 13,700 Palestinians.

At the schoolyard I watched a solemn flag raising. Uniformed ashbal, or lion cubs, stood rigid as color guards briskly ran up the green-white-and-black Palestinian flag.

Ranging in age from 8 to 12, they might have been Cub Scouts— except for the loaded rifles they held at present arms. Behind them stood two rows of girls, zaharat, or little flowers. Same age, same weapons.

Over lunch of flat bread, hummus, yo-gurt, and chicken I commented to my hosts, a group of combat-ready fedayeen, that 30 years of bitter war had settled nothing nor gained the Palestinians one inch of their homeland. Was there no peaceful way to press their cause?

"Yes, and we are doing it. Finally, after 30 years, most countries in the United Nations recognize that we too have rights in Palestine. But we feel that until your country stops its unconditional aid to Israel, we have two choices: to fight, or to face an unmarked grave in exile."

AFTER CROSSING the Allenby Bridge from Amman, I drove across the fertile Jordan Valley through Arab Jericho and past some of the controversial new Jewish settlements: Mitzpe Jericho, Tomer, Maale Adumim, Shilat. Then as I climbed through the steep stony hills to Jerusalem, I saw that it too had changed. A ring of high-rise apartments and offices was growing inexorably around the occupied Arab side of the walled town. Within the wall, too, scores of Arab houses had been leveled during extensive reconstruction.

"Already 64 settlements have been built on the West Bank," said a Christian Palestinian agriculturist working for an American church group in Jerusalem. "And another 10 are planned," he said. Unfolding a copy of the master plan prepared in 1978 by the World Zionist Organization, he read: "Real-izing our right to Eretz-Israel... with or without peace, we will have to learn to live with the minorities...

The Israeli Government has reaffirmed the policy. In Prime Minister Menachem Begin's words: "Settlement is an inherent and inalienable right. It is an integral part of our national security."

"Security" is a word deeply etched into the Israeli psyche. The country has lived for 30 years as an armed camp, always on guard against PLO raids and terrorist bombings.

Whenever such incidents occur, the response is quick: even greater retaliation.

In Jerusalem I met with David Eppel, an English-language broadcaster for the Voice of Israel. "We must continue to build this country. Israel is our lawful home, our des-tiny. We have the determination, and an immense pool of talent, to see it through." His cosmopolitan friends a city plan-ner, a psychology professor, an author gathered for coffee and conversation at David's modern apartment on Jerusalem's Leib Yaffe Road.

Amia Lieblich's book, Tin Soldiers on Jerusalem Beach, studies the debilitating effects almost constant war has had on life in the Jewish state, a nation still surrounded by enemies. As she and her husband kindly drove me to my hotel in Arab Jerusalem afterward, some of that national apprehension surfaced in the writer herself.

"We don't often come over to this part of town," she said. "Especially at night."

I DROVE OUT of the Old City in the dark of morning and arrived a few hours later at the nearly finished Israeli frontier post, whence a shuttle bus bounced me through no-man's-land to the Egyptian ter-minal. As a result of the Egyptian-Israeli treaty, it was possible for the first time since 1948 to travel overland from Jerusalem to Cairo. An Egyptian customs man opened my bags on a card table set up in the sand. I took a battered taxi into nearby El Arish, to a sleepy bank that took 45 minutes to convert dollars into Egyptian pounds, Then 1 hired a Mercedes for the

200-mile run across the northern Sinai des-ert, the Suez Canal, and the Nile Delta. By sundown Cairo was mine.

Despite official government optimism, I found many in Cairo worried that President Sadat's bold diplomatic gestures might fail.

The city was noticeably tense as Israel officially opened its new embassy on Mohi el-Din Abu el-Ez Street in Cairo's Dukki quarter. Black-uniformed Egyptian troops guarded the chancery and nearby intersections as the Star of David flew for the first time in an Arab capital. Across town, police with fixed bayonets were posted every ten feet around the American Embassy. Others were posted at the TV station and the larger hotels. Protests were scattered, mostly peaceful. None disturbed the cadence of the city.

Welcoming ever larger delegations of tourists and businessmen from Europe and the U.S., Cairo was busier than ever-and more crowded. Despite a building boom, many Egyptians migrating from the countryside, perhaps 10,000 a month, still find housing only by squatting among tombs at the City of the Dead, the huge old cemetery on the southeast side of the capital.

Even with the new elevated highway and wider bridge across the Nile, half-hour traffic standstills are common. Commuters arrive at Ramses Station riding even the roofs of trains, then cram buses until axles break.

Cairo smog, a corrosive blend of diesel fumes and hot dust from surrounding des-erts, rivals tear gas.

Despite the rampant blessings of prog-ress, Cairo can still charm. In the medieval Khan el-Khalili bazaar near Cairo's thousand-year-old Al-Azhar University, I sought out Ahmad Saadullah's sidewalk café. I found that 30 piasters (45 cents) still brings hot tea, a tall water pipe primed with tobacco and glowing charcoal, and the latest gossip. The turbaned gentleman on the carpeted bench opposite was unusually talk-ative; we dispensed with weather and the high cost of living and got right to politics:

"Of course I am behind President Sadat, but he is taking a great risk. The Israelis have not fully responded. If Sadat fails, no other Arab leader will dare try for peace again for a generation."

Across town at the weekly Akhbar El-Yom newspaper, one of the largest and most widely read in the Middle East, chief editor Abdel-Hamid Abdel-Ghani drove home that same point.

"What worries me most is that President Sadat's agreement with Israel has isolated Egypt from our brother nations," he told me. "When Saudi Arabia broke with us, it was a heavy loss. The Saudis are our close neighbors. Now they have canceled pledges for hundreds of millions in development aid to Egypt. Some 200,000 Egyptians-teach-ers, doctors, engineers live and work in the kingdom.

"And Saudi Arabia, guardian of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, remains for Muslim Egypt a spiritual homeland."

This magazine was published before my mom was born, and yet the sentiments have basically unchanged. An interesting look at the past, and more proof this didn’t start October 7th. (But imagine my followers already knew that)

[piinktearxs]

bunny food

prompts by @raccoonbabey

prompt: Character A is hungry, so Character C spoils them with candy and baked goods. (Bonus: Character B scolds Character C because “That’s not real food!”)

for anon (im sorry it wasn't exactly what you wanted! but you did motivate me to write lol)

pairings: cg!sam winchester, cg!dean winchester x little!OC (munchkin)

warnings: talks of ghosts and graves!

send me more fic asks! :) i love doing these!

tags, as promised: @bunnybeeblog @simpforstefan

It was a long drive back to Kansas, with a case located in Wyoming, 6 hours of route back to the bunker ensued.

Nobody in the crew really minded, by this point it was almost routine, plus this was an easy case, a run of the mill salt and burn - the only particularity being that munchkin had to distract the ghost while the boys digged the grave. So, she was pretty beat after the hunt, the boys knew from experience that, after most hunts, munchkin regressed - it was her way of processing all the emotions that she felt during the hunt, or anything really, plus, the boys loved caring for her whether she was small or big, they all really cared for each other a lot, but when she was small, she was just "so damn cute" as Dean put it.

They were 2 hours in, 4 left to go, they had had breakfast at the motel, only thing was, they had forgotten to get snacks before the drive.

Munchkin was in the back of the car, taking a little nap, when suddenly the car came to a stop, she then slowly woke up.

"Hey sweetheart, Daddy went to the bathroom, you wanna get somethin' to eat at the convenience store?" said Dean, turning to face munchkin from the driver's seat, she was starting to feel hungry, so, she nodded and rubbed her eyes, still sleepy from her nap. Dean went to open her door for her and unbuckle her, she could do this on her own, but he knew that it made her feel extra small when he did little things like that for her.

As she climbed out of the car, Dean offered his hand "What do we do when we cross the street?" He asked "Hold dada, daddy or dae's hand!" She responded chipperly, fully awake by now, as she took his hand "Attagirl" Dean said as they walked to the convenience store, they ran into Sam, who was just exiting the men's room.

"Hey there kiddo, had a good nap?" Sam asked as he bent down to munchkin's level - "Mhm!" She responded "Dada and I was jus gettin' some snackies 'cause we hungry!" She said, looking at the younger Winchester with a big smile on her face. Sam was happy to hear his little princess verbalizing her hunger cues "I think I'll join y'all then, I'm getting the munchies, too" he said as he took munchkin's free hand and started to chat with Dean when they entered the convenience store.

Sam, being the health nut that he is, immediately went for the veg aisle, whereas Dean took munchkin to his favorite aisle, the baked goods aisle- specifically where the pies were.

As Sam joined them, with a basket containing a big bag of baby carrots and ranch, Dean put in some pie and cookies, he then picked some worm gummies and red skittles, munchkin's favorite candy "I think we're all good to go, ain't we, Sammy?" Dean asked his brother, heading for the checkout counter "Uh, Dean I think we need to get some real food in there" Sam said, seeing that the basket was 70% sweets "Seems pretty real to me" Dean responded.

As the two brothers bickered on what was real food and what wasn't ("Rabbit don't equal real!" "OH, and processed does?" "You're such an almond guy" "There's a difference between almond and healthy!" "Yeah but you're an almond" "That's a meme! And I'm so not" "You so are") munchkin went around the store, picking what she was craving, she saw some carrots with hummus, and grabbed those, she then saw an individual bag of salt and vinegar chips and added that one, too, when she returned to the sweets aisle, she tugged on Sam's sleeve "Daddy in how much time are we gettin' lunch?" she asked, "In about two hours, why do you ask, bunny?" he asked, as munchkin put her picks in the basket "ta see if ima be veery hungry or not so much" she said as she took out her gummies and put them back "gotta leave some room for lunch" she said with a shrug "okie now we ready to go!" she said with a smile.

The boys looked at each other, perplexed, what did their little one just do? She never denied candy of any kind, Dean crouched to her height "Baby, is everything alright? You love gummies" he said, concerned "I know dada, but they's not goin' nowhere, plus, I'm craving skittles more today and we're havin' lunch soon, an' i don't wanna be full by lunch, an' i also wanted carrots an' chips" she said, very sure of herself, it did make sense, what she was saying, still, both boys were confused at her sudden vegetable frenzy, when she was small, she usually dreaded those "you can have bunny food AND sweet food, is all 'bout balance, plus I got some hummus because it tastes better than ranch"

The boys shared an "oh well" look, and the argument was settled, they paid for their items and got back on the road, where they shared what each had gotten, and sang along to their shared road trip playlist all the way back to the bunker.

[totally-sick-blogger]

Low energy/low prep snack and meal ideas

I've been thinking a lot the last few days about how difficult it can be to find the energy to make food when you're having high symptoms or low energy so I thought I'd make and share a list of snack and meal ideas that require minimal preparations.

You can make one serving of these things when you're hungry or most of them are also great to prepare in advance on a day when you're feeling really good or when you can have a friend, family member, or caregiver help you out. Snacks

dried fruits

precut veggies and dip

trail mix

popcorn

apples with cinnamon

cheese and crackers

pretzels and peanut butter

crackers and hummus

yogurt and berries (greek yogurt has lots of protein)

pickles

peanut butter on toast

guacamole and tortilla chips (guac can be homemade or store bought)

Meals

Cheese quesadilla (this obviously is not authentic lol)

boiled eggs

ramen (neither is this. I’m talking mr noodles. Not the real thing)

avocado toast

canned soup

rice (can be mixed with eggs or veggies or whatever else)

I hope these were helpful and as always leave any other suggestions in the comments

Love u all <3

[lab-trash]

I am once again begging for an Oblivious Hopper fic. Begging.

Here are more ideas. I like the ones in the og the most, but here are some more.

For pre-relationship (and there might be a crackfic like this already?), Will asking Hopper for advice on how to get with the person he likes. Hopper doesn't realise it's Mike. Maybe he doesn't even realise it's a man. But he is very encouraging, especially since Will both had never shown much interest in anyone, and had been pretty stand-offish around him.

Hopper is like... shocked and devastated upon learning it was Mike.

And now for more established relationship ideas.

Will gushing about a date and Hopper either thinking it was just a friendly hang-out or not realising it was with Mike.

Hopper thinking Mike is coming over to flirt with El even though he's not even like... around her. At all.

Even more so, Mike coming out of Will's room all kiss-dazed and Hopper being disgusted at the fact that Mike and El would do that in Will's room of all places. Despicable.

A bit if pity upon seeing Mike and Will kiss at midnight of New Years.

Just straight up confusion upon seeing Will cooking in the kitchen with Mike wrapped around him. No theories, no suspicion. Just confusion.

Finding Mike and Will on patrol in the backseat. Weird. Maybe they were working on a campaign. El had been participating lately, maybe they couldn't do it at home. And it was very late, maybe no where was really open. Just get home safe, nothing strange going on there.

Will putting a Lot of pressure on getting a gift for Mike on "some random Tuesday." (Spoiler alert, it's an anniversary)

Hummus. Heck, I'd fucking love for hummus to happen with all of their family. Hopper, El, Jonathan, Joyce, even Nancy. Throw the party in there. Byler gets everyone into hummus to hide their relationship. Maybe they only find out upon learning Steve's pulled this shit (potentially with Eddie)

Hopper spectating a D&D game (maybe they're playing at the table or living room or smth, he's just around) and hearing Will or Mike sweet talk the dm (the opposite) into letting them do something they Definitely shouldn't be allowed to do. All the party members groaning in annoyance about it.

Getting mad at Ted for being a dick to his kid and Ted saying "will turned my son gay," much to Hopper's confusion. Because of course Mike wasn't gay. Mike dated his daughter; he would know if Mike were gay.