#robbed. i am fixing it immediately.

[hinamie]

post-graduation trip airport looks

[lupismaris]

I'm just gonna complain in the tags tw medical stuff tbd etc

[steddiehyperfixation]

with blonde hair and a tan

steddie brainworms so bad i wrote this silly little thing immediately after watching the rocky horror picture show for the first time the other night lol @steddie-spooktober day 30: "where in the hell did you find that costume?" | 1083 words | T |

Eddie can hear Steve and Robin squabbling as he makes his way up the stairs to Steve's room. 

“I just don't know about this, Rob.” 

“It was your idea!” 

“It's too much. I should wear something else.” 

“Little late for that now.” 

“Well-”

“Where in the hell did you find that costume?” Eddie stops in the doorway, frozen in a state of shock at the scene in front of him. His mouth hangs open, eyes wide, and a sudden heat rises in his cheeks. 

Because Steve is standing in front of his mirror wearing only a tiny metallic gold speedo and matching gold boots, his great expanse of tanned skin and muscles and body hair on full display. Robin stands next to him with a spray can of wash out bleach-blonde hair dye at the ready. 

Steve looks over at Eddie. “It's too much, isn't it? I knew it. I told you,” he says to Robin, gesturing at Eddie as if his reaction proves his point. “Look at his face, even he's embarrassed for me.” 

Robin snorts. “Yeah, I don't think that's why he's blushing, Steve-o.” 

“No one’s even gonna know who I am,” Steve continues to complain, thankfully ignoring Robin’s comment. 

“Rocky,” Eddie says. His voice comes out weird and cracked; he clears his throat. “You're Rocky, from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” 

“See?” Now it's Robin’s turn to gesture towards Eddie in vindication. “Totally recognizable. Totally good. It's just one party, and you've got all that unwarranted jock confidence, you'll be fine.” She pats Steve on the shoulder, then turns and tosses the spray dye at Eddie. “Here. You can take over spraying his hair. I have to finish getting myself ready.” 

Eddie fumbles trying to catch the spray can, his attempt to stammer out a protest falling on deaf ears as Robin pushes past him out of the room. “Okay.” He sighs. This is fine. He can totally handle being left alone with this literal golden adonis without getting heart palpitations. He can be cool and chill and normal. He can. 

Steve looks amused. “You don't have to. I can probably manage spraying my own hair just fine,” he says when Eddie still hasn't moved. 

“No, I got it.” Eddie shakes his head, shaking himself into motion. “You won't be able to get the back right on your own anyways.” He approaches Steve - with great restraint, he might add, because there's a part of his brain that's all animal right now and it's just raring to pounce on him. “So are you done trying to talk yourself out of this costume, then?” 

Steve chews at his lip as he studies his reflection again. “I think so,” he decides. His gaze flicks up to meet Eddie's eyes in the mirror. “You really don't think it's too much?” 

Eddie breaks the mirror eye contact before his face can turn any more red, fixing his focus singularly on starting to spray the blonde dye onto Steve's hair. “No, you uh, you look good. You really should've warned me- told me, I mean, what you were gonna be. I would've matched your theme, could've gone as Dr. Frank N Furter.” (His current costume in comparison is quite boring, just a basic vampire - albeit with some pretty impressive fake blood around his mouth if he does say so himself, but ultimately nothing special.)

“Now that would be something,” Steve mutters, the words a little breathier all of the sudden, but Eddie still doesn't dare let his glance wander from his hair. His voice is back to normal in a second anyway. “Well, there's always next year.” 

“Yeah, next year,” Eddie echoes. That really would be something, both of them in flamboyantly skimpy costumes. He's not sure if that would make this situation better or worse for him. 

He pushes up some of Steve's hair to make sure he's covered all the layers in the back, his fingers accidentally brushing along the skin of his neck, and Steve shivers. Eddie finds himself watching with an odd satisfaction as the goosebumps ripple up in the wake of his touch. 

“I think I might freeze to death like this, though,” Steve comments with a self-deprecating chuckle that just barely conceals that weird breathiness that's returned to his voice. “I probably should've considered that before I decided to go out half naked at night in the middle of fall.” 

“I bet you could easily find someone to keep you warm tonight,” Eddie tells him, forcing detachment. He locks his attention back on his hair dyeing work. “You walk in there looking like this and you'll have all the girls at the party falling at your feet. Probably even some of the guys too,” he adds, remembering Steve recently came out as bisexual. 

“Yeah?” Steve sounds like he's smiling, or maybe smirking. He tries (unsuccessfully) to catch Eddie's eyes again as Eddie moves in front of him to get to the last few pieces of hair. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Would you be one of them?” 

Eddie finishes with the hairspray, nothing left to keep using as an excuse to avoid his attention. He finally looks at Steve's face and raises an eyebrow, deflecting. “You want me to fall at your feet, Harrington?” 

Steve shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He glances down for a moment, then looks back up at him from under his lashes and takes a step closer. “I want you to keep me warm,” he clarifies in a murmur as he reaches for Eddie's free hand and guides it to hold his waist. Eddie's blood ignites at the touch and the look Steve's giving him, flames racing along his veins. 

That's as good an invitation as any, and Eddie's restraint shatters. He draws Steve hungrily to his lips. How could he not? The spray can falls from his grip in favor of using both hands to pull Steve closer and roam his body. And if Eddie's wandering hands linger for a while in their investigation of that perfect gold-clad ass, well that's between them and the lovely little sound Steve makes against his open mouth. 

And Robin, who has the misfortune of poking her head back into the room right then. 

She yelps and jumps out of view of the scene, banging her fist against the wall just next to the doorway to get their attention instead. “When you guys are done being gross,” she shouts, “there's a party we're gonna be late for!” 

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part four

part five: i was hoping you'd be there

Robin managed to keep her shit together for approximately ten minutes after she stopped watching Steve make his way through security and into the depths of the airport. In the ride back to Steve's place, her leg was shaking so much Nancy discreetly grabbed Robin's pinky and held it in the back of the car.

The rest of the trafficky route back to Steve's all Robin could think about was how to fix things. She knew Steve didn't tell her about Eddie so she could fix things and Steve didn't run off to Italy to hide from everything but the situation still bothered Robin. She hadn't known Eddie for a terribly long time but he made her dingus happy so she held him in relatively high regard. It didn't make sense for him to just cut tail and run without leaving some sort of door open for a resolution and Robin was going to her darndest to figure out how on earth she could find that crack.

When they got back to Steve's apartment, Nancy didn't let Robin go long without asking for an explanation.

"Robs, babe, what is going on?" Nancy asked.

"I need to figure out how to solve Steve and Eddie." Robin answered.

"I don't think Steve wants you too. He seemed pretty resolved to close that chapter." Nancy urged.

"I know what he said but that's not what he wants. Also Eddie is a huge dummy if he doesn't realize how good he had it with Steve and also that Steve would never cheat on anyone. Especially not after y'all's whole thing. No offense." Robin continued.

"Okay so we aren't letting this go. What's the plan?" Nancy asked.

"Thanks for your support, love. I just can't figure out why Eddie jumped to the conclusion that you and Steve were together again. I mean no offense but like that ship very publicly sailed," Robin said.

"I'm trying really hard not to take offense but the more often you say it the more I am having trouble not being offended," Nancy snarked.

"Sorry, dingus wormed his way into my little heart long before you so I still gotta give you shit over soulmate solidarity. But back to the matter at hand. Eddie only assumed you would only be visiting Steve if you were trying to get back together when really you were coming to see little old me. So what if I came out. Like what if we came out? And shared some of the pictures from like super early on and thanked Steve for being a great friend for many years when I wasn't ready to take that step," Robin knew she was rambling but, hell, she was on a roll.

"Are you ready for that? I'm happy to take your lead on all this. It's not like we haven't already told everyone who is actually important to us. I mostly write freelance nowadays anyways so there isn't really some big bag corporate overlord I need to worry about. You know Steve doesn't need you to do this? It's one thing if you're ready to come out on your own, it's a whole different thing to do it for someone else," Nancy counseled.

"I really think I'm ready. I'm sick of Steve feeling like he needs to come to everything with me and you're stateside a lot more often and I'd love to go out on dates without the next day having like a million articles speculate if you're trying to move in on Steve. I think it's time," Robin rationalized.

"All right, then. We're doing this. Should we use this as an excuse to make Jon take cute couple pictures of us?" Nancy giggled a little at her suggestion.

"Yes! Perfect. Get him over here. Operation Save Dingus from his Self Sacrifice is a go!" Robin jumped up on the couch to make her point and Nancy immediately had to come to her aid as she wobbled enough to lose her balance.

Robin was excited. She was ready for the next step with Nancy and if it helped Steve get out of his own head and/or convinced a certain metalhead with very few remaining braincells to get his head out of his ass then so be it. Robin couldn't wait to think of all the sappy shit Nancy would pretend to be annoyed at she'd be able to do now. Steve would be back in a few weeks so Robin anxiously awaited Jon's response and started several caption ideas in her notes app.

part six

@lololol-1234 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zombiethingy @grtwdsmwhr @dreamercec @anne-bennett-cosplayer @strawberryyyenthusiast @mensch-anthropos-human @kal-ology @ttyrussss @kristmkris @starman-jpg @wonderland-girl143-blog @child-of-cthulhu @legalmenace87 (if you wanna be tagged in future parts feel free to comment! happy to add people)

it's not quite fixed yet but we are getting so close!!!

[aleenuhs]

Arthur comforting crying/ upset reader

𖦹 Always Here

thank u anon <3

word count: 1,099

paring: Arthur x GN!reader

a lil bit of angst if u will.

You had accompanied Arthur, Charles, and Sadie on an outing to Saint Denis, to go play some poker at the Saloon.

Sadie had forced you to go, though you'd wanted to stay at camp finishing up your chores for the night.

But you went.

It was crowded and stuffy in the room, sitting across from the table they were playing at, eating some of the beef jerky you had in your pocket. A bit bored, you looked at the people in the room just watching, careful not to stare because people were easily offended by the gaze of another human being.

Arthur and the others were fully engrossed in their gameplay, which you'd opted out of cause you never understood it, or liked it for that matter. You wanted to go back to camp, not be here with a bunch of drunk men and working girls.

Your eyes fluttered, through all the noise, you somehow fell asleep for a bit.

When you woke back up, you were still sitting in the same chair. Surprisingly, you weren't robbed or anything bad.

You looked around the room again, spotting the table that Arthur, Charles and Sadie were once playing at, and they weren't there. Your heart rate immediately spiked, had they left without you?

You sprung up from the chair that you were sitting at and walked outside to see if they were out there, no clue where they'd went from the time you were awake, till now, not to mention, how long had you been asleep?

You walked around, in search for any of them, and no luck.

You knew Shady belle was within walking distance from where you were, but it was dangerous. And you didn't have your horse, so you couldn't ride back. The worst part was that they'd forgotten all about you, Sadie and Charles. But worst of all, Arthur had forgotten. It made you slightly angry that your own significant other would do such a thing. You walked up to a random person, who you saw had a pocket watch.

"Mister?" You spoke quietly, tapping him on the shoulder.

The man looked you up and down, before nodding.

"You know what time it is?"

"1:20."

Your eyes widened, "1:20, thank you." You repeated before walking off, damn it was late.

No stagecoaches were out at this time of night. What could you even do?

You walked around for a moment before you were met with a overwhelming urge to just walk all the way back to Shady Belle.

So you did. Holding yourself, as it was cold, you walked all the way back, shivering slightly. The tears left your eyes, but you didn't sob, no, they were silent tears.

When you arrived after 30 minutes of walking, you immediately walked into the house and went up to Arthurs room and stood before the bed, watching him sleep. he woke up to you. You looked wrecked, tear stained cheeks and bleary eyes, he could hardly see with just the small lantern lighting up the room.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up next to you. "Why aren't you in bed?" He asked, obliviously, maybe he was drunk.

You wanted to yell at him, but instead your words came out in a soft tone. "You left me, Arthur."

His eyes went back to their cold gaze. "Huh?"

"What is not to understand, Arthur? You left me at the saloon in Saint Denis!" Your words were more charged now, but not exactly yelling, just a bit more angry you felt.

"Jesus... Im sorry, I didn't mean to- er.. Leave you there darlin'." His eyes widening after he realized just what he had did. He gets up and puts his hands on your shoulders, and with this. You start to cry.

You don't even lift your head up to look at him, you play with your fingers.

His eyes fixed on how broken you looked, tears streaming down your face, he hardly knew what to do.

"I am so sorry." He speaks, almost silent. He brings you in, hugging you tightly, his big arms wrapped around you made you feel slightly better. But not entirely.

"I had to walk here, Arthur." You murmured.

His breath hitched. "Nobody... did anythin' to you, right?" He would curse himself if you said yes, but luckily, you shook your head. He sighed a breath of relief. "Good, but I truly am sorry, that I left you there, that we left you there."

You didn't respond, the tears still falling from your eyes. His warmth surrounds you, almost overheating your body. "Arthur promise me this won't happen again."

He looked at you, "I promise to try, I never intended for this to happen." He notices your lip trembling, he brings you even closer. "C'mere." He lays down on the bed signaling for you to join him there.

You hesitate for a moment, but end up laying right next to him, you nuzzled yourself right into his neck and sighed deeply. His calloused hand reached up to your face, fingers on your chin. "Look at me, darlin." He spoke softly, a difference in his voice, the voice that was usually brash and loud was somehow comforting you as you cried. "I love you, so much."

A smile reached your lips when he told you that. "I love you too."

"I will always be here for you, I can't believe I let myself do what I did back there." He admits. "I'm sure Sadie and Charles meant no harm by it as well."

You nod, knowing that there was no mailce behind this.

His hand runs up and down your back, soothing you, calming you down, taking away all your worries. He adjusted you, making sure that you were more than comfortable with him. He just held you.

At once, you were just sniffling, no more tears to shed. He had calmed you down, one of the only people who could.

He was truly the definition of duality, he could go from brutal to plain out kind and caring, and it was all for you. Everything he did, was for you, so you didn't have to worry. You could imagine that he was still constantly cursing himself now that he'd left you at the saloon, then walk all the way back to Shady Belle by yourself.

But now that you were safe in his arms, all those worries went away. "Shhh, shh. Rest, you can sleep now." He cooed, rubbing your neck and placing kisses on your forehead and nose.

You fell asleep shortly after.

a/n if u enjoyed it, smash the like and subscribe! jk, feel free to req more honey!

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Eight

TW: nsfw, past traumas + mental health discussion, domestic violence mention

When you finally return to your apartment together you are tired, yet happy, with Tom’s hand engulfing yours, his other arm filled with takeout from your favorite Thai eatery and a bag full of fresh blueberries for his famous morning breakfast.

You feel like somehow, everything is going to turn out ok. You have this warm glow in your chest that you suspect might be an elusive thing like peace, or acceptance, or some other such nonsense this steadfast man beside you is making you believe in again. 

That good feeling disintegrates like cotton candy in the rain, when you realize your apartment door is ajar. Tom notices a moment after you do, and immediately he is pushing you behind him, the bags forgotten on the floor as he retrieves his gun from his ankle holster.

“Stay here,” he tells you in a whisper, as he goes to investigate. You watch while he uses the wall for cover, kicking the door open and advancing inside, sweeping your tiny apartment for intruders. 

You trail behind him after he tells you it’s clear, in shock for the mess before you.

Your apartment is trashed. Completely turned inside out. Destroyed. 

All the contents of your cabinets and drawers are emptied. Your chairs are missing legs. Your pictures are knocked off the walls. Your couch cushions are slashed. Every pot of every plant in your kitchen is broken on the floor, shards of terra cotta and earthy soil scattered across the linoleum. 

Numb, you stand amidst the rubble, finding it hard to process that this is your space. Your tiny little cozy cube that you’d made just for yourself, your personal hideaway from the world, broken to bits. It feels so personal, and you can’t fathom why someone would do this.

It doesn’t even look like they took anything. The tv is still there–with a kitchen knife through the lcd screen. You don’t own any expensive jewelry, or keep stacks of cash around. The only other real thing of value you have…is your laptop. It was on a side table, and now…it’s gone. Fuck.

If you are numb, Tom is furious, his dark eyes blown black with rage as he looks around your ruined sanctuary, his gun still hanging loose in his hand at his side.

“It’s not safe for you here, baby. See if you can get a bag together. If too much is ruined, I’ll buy you new stuff on the way.”

“Tom…don’t we need to call the cops or something?” You were sure you’d need a police report for your renter’s insurance claim, at least.

Bless him for not giving you that ‘I am the cops’ look. Instead his dark brows are drawn together in serious thought.

“Yeah. We’ll get a team to dust for prints. But I think I already know who did it.”

“Who?”

“Our shooters, sending us a message. I think I’ve got some names. Coates, and Freemont. Working on a location. With any luck…I’ll have ‘em by tomorrow.” 

You’re guessing just by his tone that have ‘em does not exactly mean due process.

He looks around at the chaos, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, baby. We’ll fix it, I promise.”

You nod absently, still feeling disjointed from it all, though a well of tears has finally started gathering in your bottom lids. You shuffle over to your prized vanda orchids, picking one up and setting it in a pile of bark medium back on its shelf. At least it will get a little light, until you can repot it.

A warm pressure lands on your shoulder, then molds into the rest of you, engulfing your body in heat and comfort, and as soon as you are hidden and safe with your face tucked into Tom’s uniform, you begin to sob. 

Wordlessly, he picks you up, and makes to leave, probably deciding he doesn’t even want you to be here anymore because you’re such a wreck of a human that can’t even handle her own apartment being robbed, but your fist gripping his shirt and incoherent words stop him in his tracks. “My…My plants. My—“

“Shh, baby, s’okay. Forget the bag, I just need to make sure you’re somewhere safe…Hey. Hey, look at me.” 

You do, quivering and feeling as tiny as a broken winged bird in his arms even though you are a whole woman. There’s no pity in his eyes, just worry and something else. Something bright burning that lights his black orbs gold. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. Maybe realizing this is not the right time to say what he wants to, but rather what you need to hear. 

“I don’t care what happens, you’re going to be safe. I don’t care if I have to burn this city down and then the LAPD along with it. I will do anything to keep you safe. Even if you do decide that I am an asshole and you hate me after all. I need you to tell me that you understand that. That you’ll trust me to keep you safe.” 

“I do,” you manage to choke out. “I do, Tom. Fuck, I do.” 

“And if there is anything. Anything you are keeping from me, then I need to know right now.” He pins you with that impossible to hold gaze…and you look down, earning a tsk. 

It was worth a try. 

And you know he means something you’re not telling him about the case, about the shooting, but all you can think of is Julian—cheating on Tom—how stupid you are. 

You lie. Right to his face. You lie, because you don’t know what else to do. “There’s nothing, Tom.” 

You know you’re lying, he knows you’re lying. Hell, the fucking dying plants know you’re lying. Luckily, it’s not hard to change the subject into more pressing matters, like how you’re sobbing uncontrollably again and burying your face into his thick shirt. 

Thank God that he is a good man. A good man who doesn’t get pissy with you about emotions. A good man who doesn’t tell you to cut the bullshit. A good man who holds you tight and mumbles words of comfort into the top of your hair. 

You don’t deserve him. Not one bit. So, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold on for dear life. Tom is wrong, he is not Poison Ivy’s boyfriend, nor Batman or the Punisher. He is Superman and you are a selfish, pathetic civilian who tricked him into loving you. He could be with Lois Lane or Wonder Woman, and here you are holding him back. 

***

“Y/n? Baby?” 

“I’m in here—the bathroom.” 

“Can I come in?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Hey, I—what in the hell.” An amused, lopsided grin cuts through the serious concern on his face as he looks down at you curiously. Probably wondering why you’ve taken every crisp, cheap hotel blanket and pillow and made a nest in the bathtub with them. 

“I like the hotel bathtubs,” you tell him, glowering, in such an obvious mood that a smile dare not even tap you on the shoulder lest you throttle it. 

Tom has other plans for your pity party. He chuckles, and leans down to kiss-whisper into your forehead. “I really didn’t think you could get cuter.” 

You flush, grab his collar, and pull him down, into the porcelain kingdom with you, not exactly thinking about how he is long and the tub is short. You just want his big solid body on top of you whether he breaks a leg or not, and thank god he’s sturdy. 

Because he bumps his head on the rim, slams his elbow on the bottom basin in an attempt not to shove it into your tummy, and both his legs end up hanging out the side by the knee joint in what looks to be a very uncomfortable position.  

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” you tell him, trying somehow to maneuver his heavy torso and put him back together. He laughs, maybe because you’re tickling him, and definitely because you’re so concerned about his well being. 

Somehow, you both situate, and it’s with you fully on top of him, curled against his chest with his legs bent in half so he’s able to barely fit inside the bowl. You bury your face into his pleasant, itchy stubble, and sigh contentedly. 

“Bathtub a safe space, hm?” 

You nod, and he gets it, stays silent with you wrapped up safe against him, occasionally humming, kissing your hair, running his fingers over the curves and pocks and shiver-inducing spaces in your back. Tom is not built for contortionist work at all, but if he is uncomfortable, he does not voice it. 

You wonder, as your eyes are fluttering closed and your breathing is deepening with the threat of sleep, if you should tell him that you can’t remember a time—ever—where you felt this safe. 

Usually…lately…it’s the bigger part of your brain—the one that is doubtful and cynical and self critical—that plays highest bidder in the auction of your devotion. Not here, in Tom Ludlow’s arms. Here, critical brain function takes a backseat in the trunk of the cerebrum locked inside a tight suitcase, because the rest of your mind (And Heart) is sure that this long man will burn LA down for you, just like he said. 

It's a heady feeling. Tonight, you’re just selfish enough to hold onto it. 

You wake up drooling on his uniform, feeling gross and hot and cramped and sweaty. His head is angled awkwardly against the hard walls of the bath, and you pat his cheek to wake him up. “Tom,” you whisper. “Tom.”

“Yeah, what—what’s up?” His snores cut off abruptly, and he jerks to life, restrained by the confines of the small enclosure. He smiles when he sees you, and you really hope it’s not because of your trainwreck hair and smeared mascara. 

“Can we go to bed?” You ask him, rubbing some drool off the side of his mouth. 

Except sleeping is the last thing you can focus on when he stretches his full body, bare out on the cool linoleum after taking his clothes off. For some reason, you think back to your neighbor, and how she was a strong lady for not having an instant heart attack when he knocked on her door in probably only boxers. 

Speaking of your neighbor…

“Did you talk to the lady next door? Is she okay?” 

He stands you up and pulls your scrub top off. “She’s okay.” A kiss to the spillage of your breasts. “She didn’t hear or see anything, but wasn’t home most of the day.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” You ask him, sharp little breaths pumping your chest while he kisses up your collar, over the heaving skin on your throat. His fingers pull at your bottoms, discard them in a puddle with his own dirty clothes on the floor. 

“No,” he tells you, smoothing back your tangled, puffed hair. “No, they won’t. They got what they needed. I have some of your pajamas, you wanna put them on?” 

“No,” you reply, the word cut by a hungry kiss. 

Despite the day’s events, or maybe yesterday's events—you can’t tell, because it’s pitch black outside; the kind of devouring dark that only comes after midnight—your cunt still swells and weeps for this man, and you end up sitting on top of him with his cockhead nestling your cervix and his big hands digging into your plush hips. 

You’re too tired to keep a rhythm, or really do anything but whine and grind, but it’s enough to make you both cum and stain the sheets, even though you promised yourself you wouldn’t be the asshole person in the hotel room that gets bodily fluids on everything. It’s hard, however, to think about that—or anything—when this man is bare, hard, and leaking in front of you. 

He’s still softening inside of you when you fall asleep, and you don’t even stir when he gets a warm towel to clean you up, or when he wraps his arms around you and follows you into dreamland. 

The next time you wake up, there is invasive, awful sunlight peeking through the curtains, and you are screaming. 

Soak and wet, soapy Tom is by your side in less than a second, trying to wipe your tears and just getting your cheeks wetter with his mid-shower hands. “Baby…baby. Hey, it’s okay, I’m here.” 

You’re pathetic for doing this to him. A burden through and through. Your parents were right, the man who was just starring in your violent dream was right. They were all right about you and being too much and ruining lives with the burden of your existence. 

No, no no no no. You have to pull yourself back, get it together. PTSD nightmares be damned. It’s been a while since you’ve had one that bad, but you have the skills to rationalize through it and get off the ledge before these violent, hating thoughts eclipse reason and reality. 

Tom’s there to help with reassuring words and damp fingers and the heat of his body. He lets you cry for God knows how long, even with the water still running in the bathroom. 

The first thing you can say through ugly hiccups and heavy breaths is, “is the water going to get cold?” 

He murmurs a soft laugh into your cheek. “No, baby, they keep it warm. C’Mon.”

By the time you're freshened, cleaned, rinsed, and moisturized with little bottles of complimentary lotion by Tom’s big hands in what seems to be his way of soothing you, you feel a lot better. He even tries to brush your wet tangled hair, although it doesn’t work out because he’s way too gentle and afraid to do anything but press the bristles to your outer strands. 

When you rake it through to show him how, he snatches the paddle back, giving you a hard look. “You’re tearing it out!”

You laugh at him. “I’ve been doing it that way for my entire life, Tom.” 

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He holds the brush higher as you try to snatch it back. 

“Not really, my scalp is strong. Give me—“

The phone ringing stops your reaching hand midair. 

“Scuse’ me,” he grins, going to answer and taking your brush with him, obviously underestimating your ability to comb through it with your fingers instead. 

But you don’t, because you like it when he just barely pulls the tips through your locs, fingers tickling over your shoulders and neck and ears. It’s fine, he can brush it all day if he wants, especially if it keeps him holed up in this little hotel room with you. 

You put your wild mane into a loose bun on top of your head, brush your teeth, and grab the clothes you have prepared from the back of the toilet, not expecting such a familiar smell to waft from the pile and physically push you back two steps. You drop the cotton dress and the black shorts as your back hits the sink lip with a painful thud. 

You’d recognize that cheap, Walmart cologne anywhere. It could bring you back from the dead. Hell, it probably has a few times when he hit you hard enough to knock you unconscious. 

The stench puffs from your clothes in a billowy cloud that turns your stomach sour. You have to turn and lean over the sink, get your head right, close your eyes to guard against the onslaught of ruthless memories jostled by this abrasive odor.

Grounding yourself involves picking out three things you can see, and three things that you can hear. It's all you can do to prevent another panic attack. 

Tom’s muffled voice talking on the phone, the drip of a leaky faucet, the whirring air conditioner, the pristine white porcelain of the sink, the bright blue of your toothbrush, the open bottle of Tom’s cologne…Oh.

Trauma is a funny thing. Too many triggers happen too close together—it makes your brain play tricks in the quest to keep itself safe. Brain wants to hide, jump right back in the bathtub and lock this bathroom door and stay huddled up in the damp shelter for the foreseeable future. 

You grab Tom’s cologne and take a whiff, then breathe a heavy sigh of relief when you realize that the smell has the same musky undertone, but none of the gaudy sweet notes that your mind was fabricating. 

It wasn’t from your now wet clothes—they smell like your detergent, and you put them on despite the patches of liquid that cool your skin and make you shiver. 

You walk out of the bathroom, and Tom is sitting on the couch in his jeans and tshirt, legs spread wide, looking at something intently on his phone until his attention is captured by your presence. He looks so good, all sprawled out and formidable, and all you want to do is wrap yourself around him like a soft little koala hugging a thick eucalyptus. 

“Are you leaving?” You ask him timidly, arms crossed defensively against an answer you don’t want to hear. 

“No, I’m not,” he says.

“You can if you have to,” you tell him, lying, forgetting that this man can read you like the alphabet. “I know you have things to do.” 

He tilts his head at you, mouth perking up just a tiny bit in that way that makes your insides flare with fiery fervor. “How about you?” He muses, “you have somewhere to go?”

“Well,” you start, now that he mentions it, “I should go and clean up my place, maybe.”

“You could…” He seems to think on this matter, eyes darkening mischievously. “Or you could come sit on my lap.” He pats his knee, and you giggle at his usual antics.

“Mmmm…I dunno, Tom.” You attempt a sly, flirty grin, hoping you’re not resembling more of an awkward alligator than a pretty fox. Seductive feels a little strange for you right now…You might have to settle for the Koala. “Maybe you should beg me to sit in your lap?” 

Tom Ludlow, bless his heart, and despite all that testosterone dominating his personality, settles back into the couch cushions and submits to you. “Please, baby, please come sit in my lap. I need you.” 

It feels a little wrong—he’d be a bad actor—and it makes you giggle at him, covering your mouth to keep the snorts away. 

He pouts at you, and it makes you laugh harder, because he looks so adorable, and because a scary, big man should not look so adorable, and because you fucking love him and it’s driving you insane. 

You don’t realize he’s pulling you on top of him, falling back to the couch with you in his arms—you’re too busy laughing, then crying, although for an entirely different reason now. 

“Honey,” he whispers, pushing the wisps of loose hair away from your teary, sticky cheeks and letting you snot on his fresh, laundered shirt. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’ve got you.” 

But that’s the problem. He’s got you—your little thin skinned heart right in his strong hand, and it’s so ready to burst like an overripe cherry at any moment and kill whatever part is left of you that cares enough about human connection to let someone baby and shush and pamper you. You try to push him away, and he holds you tighter. 

“Tom…”

“No.”

“Okay,” you say around a sob, coiling up in his lap, giving in to clinging for dear life. 

[miela]

Shattered Memories • Chapter II: A Sense of Reunion • {Peter Parker x Stark!Reader}

Chapter Genre: Fluffy (touches of angst, comedy and sexual tension if you squint) Chapter Warnings: None (?) Extra Content: added in another OC Masterlist

↪ divider by firefly-graphics

It was another boring weekend. 

Peter had just gotten home from his busy yet uneventful day at school, work, and visiting his Aunt May’s grave…his usual routine that hadn’t changed much in the past few years. After watching the Stark Expo a month ago he wasn’t really up for doing anything with his friends much. He spent most of his free time studying and patrolling as Spiderman to distract himself from his racing thoughts. He knew it wasn’t the healthiest thing in the world, but he really didn’t know how to deal with it.

It's not like he can tell them anything about what happened. They would probably think something is wrong with him. Imagine telling someone hey so I'm Spiderman and I really fucked up because I had to make everyone including the love of my life forget who I am because I got a sorcerer to cast to spell to save the multiverse from collapsing in on itself due to me trying to fix something that somehow I caused and five years later I see said love of my life thriving and living her best life and she has no idea who I am.

Kinda sucks to have no one to talk to about this.

He unlocked the door to his small apartment with his key and walked inside with a sigh of relief but as soon as he stepped into his humble abode. Home, sweet home. He thought to himself as he set his keys and backpack down on the raggedy chair that was by his door. All he could think about was what he was going to get for dinner, what movie he was going to watch, and what he would expect on patrols that night. 

But then his senses started to tingle.

The hairs on his body stood up. His senses quickly perked up and he looked towards the direction of the living room. The sense wasn't coming from outside or next door. It was coming from inside of his very apartment.

Just his luck. Somebody’s here.

His senses led him to quietly walk over to where the threat was in the living room. It wasn’t a sense he felt in a long time and honestly, he didn’t like that. It worried him. What if it was one of his enemies from his avenger days? What if it was somebody robbing him (not that there was much to steal)? His thoughts raced as he quietly tip-toed toward the living room. 

He quickly and quietly equipped his web shooters onto his wrists and stayed alert as he made his way around the corner. The closer he got the stronger his senses became… like they were pulling him towards the potential threat.

He hoped it was the neighbor's cat or something.

When he saw someone standing in his living room he didn’t even process who it was before he shot a web their way sticking their arm to the wall behind them with a thud. The figure yelped and looked at him with wide eyes. 

He froze when he saw who it was.

It was you.

Peter’s expression was one of a deer in headlights.

 “(Y/N)...” He said softly.

Peter could not believe his eyes as he took in your appearance. You looked absolutely gorgeous. You were still you but your features filled in the most beautiful way. Your hair was different than before, and you were wearing a face full of makeup and your style was a bit edgier than before but it wasn’t anything Peter was surprised by. You always talked about experimenting with your style and the aesthetic you rocked now made sense to him.

And you were here.

You wore a black sheer floral lace top with a black bralette underneath topped with a loose leather jacket, black fitted jeans with a black velvet belt with a golden lion head as the buckle, a a pair of black Doc Martens that he remembers Ghostface wearing in Scream VI when you two watched it together. He smiled when he saw them as he remembered how you and Celina bought them immediately after seeing the movie. You had golden rings of various sizes and styles on your fingers and your fingernails were painted a dark teal color that reflected gold. Your makeup was something Peter was not used to seeing on you. You had thick eyeliner on with a rustic color on your eyelids. Your lips were painted a warm rose color. 

You looked like a million dark lady bucks and it was messing with Peter’s head.

And you were here. In his shitty apartment. 

"First name basis already?” You asked, lifting your brows with a small smirk. “Wow, we’re moving so fast.”

Peter was so stunned that he couldn't move. He wanted to pinch himself and make sure that he wasn't hallucinating. He thought he was having an out-of-body experience.

“Hello,” you sang, waving a hand in the view of his vision. “Earth to Parker.”

“Huh? What?” he asked, shaking his head a little bit and coming back to reality. 

“Hi!” you chimed. “I asked if you could give me a hand,” You eyed your hand webbed to the wall.

“Oh…!” Peter exclaimed.  “Oh god I’m so sorry-!”

He took the webbing off and you rubbed your wrist in your hand gently. “Thank you.” 

“Sorry for that…” he said again and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 

“Nah,” You said. “I came into your apartment like some creepy ass stalker or something. You really shouldn’t leave your window unlocked.”

Oh.

“No, yeah!” Peter started. “I mean….um….I just…” Peter struggled to find the right words as he simultaneously struggled to find the right way to react to you being here.

It reminded him of the first time Tony came to visit him. 

 “…W-what are you doing here?” was all he could muster up.

You smile softly and cocked your head to the side. Fuck, your smile. He missed your smile so much. 

“You’re Spiderman, right?”

Peter’s eyes went wide again and he blinked rapidly. “Uh…” 

You took out your phone and showed him a video from YouTube of Spiderman stopping a bus from hitting a child who ran into the street to grab a ball and then another video from TikTok of him helping a kitten down from a tree for another child. He looked from your phone screen to you. 

“That’s pretty impressive. I’m a big fan honestly.” You smiled. “And that doesn’t sound exactly appropriate after I just climbed into your window. I promise I’m not a parasocial boundary-breaking dickwad.”

“No, no…I know!” Peter replied quickly. “Uh…what makes you think I’m that guy? Isn’t he like a criminal or something?” His voice was more nervously high-pitched than he would like.

“You just webbed me to the wall.”

Peter facepalmed himself mentally. You Idiot.

“And don’t say some shit like ‘I make his web shooters’ or anything like that.” You added with a mocking deep voice on the web shooter bit. “You’re Spiderman.”

“...Yes,” Peter replied, deciding it was better not to fight it. 

You smiled and hummed in amusement and turned your head to the side again eyeing him up and down for a moment. Peter gave you a thin-lipped smile with no real emotion behind it. He was still unsure of how to respond to any of this. A big part of him knew that you didn’t remember him but a small part of him wished you did.

“Well,” you began. “I didn’t just come here to confirm your hero status. I wanted to make you an offer.”

“Oh? O-okay.”

“So, I was going through my father’s files for internships and scholarships and your name came up as an option. It says you wanted to go to MIT but you go to ESU, right?”

Peter nodded. “I do.”

“What changed your mind?”

"Well," Peter started. "I can't be the friendly neighborhood Spiderman when I'm not in the neighborhood."

You giggled. "Fair."

He missed the sound of your voice. It was music to his ears right now and he didn’t want you to stop talking but you guys looked at each other for a silent moment before you spoke again.

“Are you busy?” you asked him after a moment.

“Huh?” he responded. “Right now? Uh…n-no. Not at all,” He rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“Are you sure?” You asked. “Usually you’re out patrolling around this time….Not that I would know that or anything! Why would I? I wouldn’t! Pfft…that’s why that’s why I asked if you were busy or not….heh….” 

Peter smiled softly to himself. You were keeping tabs on him. If it were anyone else it would’ve concerned him a big amount but it was you so he found it endearing….and it gave him hope. He was used to hearing about this behavior from you. When you both were bitten by the spider, you had discovered him on YouTube and watched all of his videos before you knew he was Peter Parker. He wasn’t gonna lie, it gave him a bit of an ego boost.

 “No, I’m not busy right now. I can patrol later.” 

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

You smiled bigger. “Great!” and walked towards the door. “You’re coming with me.”

"Oh, Wh…?" Peter blinked rapidly. "Wh-where are we going, exactly?"

"That's classified." 

Peter looked at you silently for a moment.

“You’ve been there before,” You replied, rolling your eyes playfully. “It will be in public, mostly. I’m not trying to kidnap you, Spidey.”

“The last time I went somewhere classified it nearly destroyed the entire universe,” he mumbled to himself.

“I’m not taking you to space or to some underground S.H.I.E.L.D. facility or some random place in the world to fight off bad guys, I promise, I just wanna show you the offer in person.” You explained. “On my dad’s iron grave.”

Peter decided to trust you on that and walked out of the apartment with you. He closed and locked his door and turned to you to be met with your gentle smile that he adored so much.

“(Y/N),” You started and held your hand out to him. “(Y/N) Stark.”

He knew that you knew that he knew who you were. He also knew that you knew who he was. But this was just part of your whimsical humor that he missed so much.

He looked at your hand for a moment and smiled softly. “Peter. Peter Parker.” He took it gently. 

And that is when he felt it. The feeling he hasn’t felt in so long. Most people would call it sparks, butterflies, vibrational attraction, whatever. But he knew better. He knew that it was different for you two. You had the same radioactive arachnid DNA running through your veins and from both of your research, it was like a magnet whenever you guys were near.

Pheromones.

He remembered the day you were in the lab studying and researching why you felt so…attracted to him and why it seemed to get stronger and stronger the more you guys spent together. It was different from crushing on each other. You wanted to know why you felt a gravitational pull towards each other that was different from what you felt from other people.

"Parker, I need your blood." You told him one day, in front of everyone at the Avenger’s compound.

"....Excuse me?" He asked, confused and his mouth full of a bite of his sandwich. 

"Oh god, she's morphing into an actual spider," Nat joked.

"Watch out, kid, she's gonna harvest you one day," Bucky added.

You gave them both a horrified look. "First of all, no. Second of all, hell no." You crossed your arms and stood in contrapposto. "It's for science, thank you very much."

"Oh yeah, sure, science," Sam smirked.

You rolled your eyes with a blush on your cheeks and turned to a still-confused Peter who was still paused mid-chew. 

"Relax," you said. "We were bitten by the same spider, right? I wanna see how it affects us differently."

“Oh!” He chimed. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that too! I think it’s totally unfair that you can spin your own webs naturally and I can’t so I wanna know what makes us different too.”

You both had gone into the lab and ran some tests with the help of Dr. Cho and Dr. Banner. That is how you found out about your differences as spider mutants and your connection.

Pheromonal Connection.

It was obvious that you felt it too because the expression on your face softened as your hands touched and eyes met. Your (E/C) eyes were looking into his dark brown eyes so deeply like you were trying to merge your thoughts together. 

Man, he wanted to kiss you so bad. Just like all those years ago. 

For a moment, Peter lost control and he began leaning in and you followed before you blinked rapidly and removed your hand from his to lay your hand on your forehead as you made a soft noise of pain with a wince and a hiss.

“Damn it…!” You hissed out softly.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Are you okay?” He asked worriedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been fighting these stupid migraine episodes for most of my adulthood.”

Peter frowned as his face furrowed. You saw his expression and you smiled softly.

“Stark Stress.” You explained with a shrug and a lopsided grin and a small roll of your eyes like it was no big deal. “I’ve been Owner and CEO of Stark Industries officially for two months and everything and everyone is taking years off of my lifespan.”

Peter chuckled at that. “I’ll bet. Do you need any meds before we go?”

“Nah, thank you though.” You smiled. “No type of medicine can get rid of annoyance.”

Peter hummed in response and you both walked down and out of the apartment complex. There was a black large luxury SUV with a stoic-faced man standing with his hands folded in front of him. He had dark sunglasses on but Peter could tell he was looking at him suspiciously.

He recognized him as Happy Hogan. 

What you didn’t know is that they knew each other already from visiting Aunt May’s grave. They had run into each other over the years visiting the cemetery. 

“Hey,” Peter said and waved to him but Happy didn’t respond and just kept looking at him through his dark shades. It made Peter a little uneasy. 

You let out a deep sigh. “Okay, Cobra Bubbles, you can stop staring him down now.” You said to him. “He’s just a friend of mine.”

Just a friend. Oh, if only you knew.

Peter wanted to laugh at your sarcasm but kept his composure. Happy opened the door for both of you. You climbed inside and Peter followed you after avoiding Happy’s not-so-happy gaze and giving a soft thanks to him. The interior of the SUV was set up like a limo with seats that faced each other. You sat on one end and Peter sat on the other end. As Happy got into the car and began driving you two looked at each other. 

“So where are we heading?” Peter asked again hoping to get some clarity.

“Midtown Manhattan,” you replied as you grabbed an icepack from a cooler compartment that Peter hadn’t noticed until now. You put the ice pack on your forehead. 

He realized where you were taking him. “We’re going to the tower.”

“Bingo,” you sang. “I couldn’t tell you inside your apartment. You never know who’s listening. And the car is soundproof. Not Even Happy can hear us right now.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at you as if to ask ‘Oh really?’

“Head out of the gutter, Parker,” you smirked. “That’s not the reason why I made it soundproof, but let me know if you ever need to borrow it. Just make sure you don’t make a mess.”

“Oh my god,” Peter chuckled. “No, god no.”

Not unless it’s with you. He thought, but even then he wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing Happy of all people would be the one driving.

The rest of the ride was pretty chill. You asked him about school and he answered honestly.

Once you both arrive at the tower you walk inside where employees instantly begin greeting you as you walk by. Peter hadn’t been inside the tower in so long that he forgot what it looked like. It was busier than he remembered but that makes sense since so many years have passed since he's been here last. 

A girl with flaming reddish-orange hair, freckles dancing across her cheeks and nose and bright eyes came rushing up to you with a frantic look in her doe-eyes. "Miss Stark!" She exclaimed in a soft voice as she tried to keep up with you two.

You sighed. "Nika, I told you to call me (Y/N), ‘Miss Stark’ makes me sound scary."

"It makes you sound like the powerful CEO of this very distinguished company," the redhead corrected. "But I need you to confirm the list of foundations that are going to be present at the charity gala next month."

You groaned. "Nika, it's my day off."

"Yes, yes, I know," she replied with a sigh. "But you, the owner of the company, which means you don’t actually get a day off, especially right now. This event was your idea, (Y/N).”

“Yes, I know, I know,” You sighed as you arrived by the Elevators. “I’ll look over it tonight.”

Nika gave you a warning look and then looked to Peter giving him a one-over with her eyes. She didn’t look impressed or amused. 

“I better have it by seven. Or else I’ll make up for your incompetence and...distractions” She didn’t take her hard, glaring eyes off of Peter once, but he was addressing you. 

“Nika,” you said in a warning voice. “Stand down. He’s not a distraction. He’s an Avenger. He’s here on Business, not pleasure.”

“I thought it was your day off,” Her eyes flashed back to you. 

You pressed your lips together before speaking. “Nika, I'll have the list for you by seven.”

Nika smiled with no real emotion behind it. “Good girl, enjoy your day off.” 

And with that, she walked off. Peter looked at you in shock. 

“She’s a friend of mine and she takes her job very, very seriously,” you explain as you two stepped on the elevator. 

“I don’t think she likes me very much.” Peter rubbed the back of his head. 

“Not true,” you defended as you put your eye up to the scanner and a green bar that flashed ‘Access Granted’ with your ID information appeared on the screen. “She doesn’t like distractions.”

“So, I’m a distraction?”

“Nah,” you replied, shaking your head and leaning on the wall of the elevator with your arms crossed and one leg crossed over the other. “That’s unless you want to be.”

You both eyed each other as you both dodged the elephant in the room that eludes to the earlier events right outside of his apartment door. Peter wished he knew what you were thinking at this moment because he knew what he was thinking. He desperately wanted to feel you under his hands as he felt his lips dance with yours. He wondered if you had a similar thought. 

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. 

Peter cleared his throat and flickered his eyes away from you. “Ladies first.”

You blinked rapidly as you looked away from him took a deep breath and walked off of the platform. 

Peter, he had to compose himself, and little did he know that you did too.

Once you both walked off and maneuvered around the familiar place, you led him to a conference room that looked very similar to the one at the Avenger’s compound. Peter looked around for a moment before you stopped in your tracks.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest,” you stated.

Peter looked over at you wondrously as he tensed lightly. His senses didn’t sense danger but for some reason, he felt nervous all of a sudden. You turned to him with an expression that he couldn’t read, but your word wasn’t something he was prepared for.

“Peter,” you spoke again. “I know who you are.” 

He looked at you as he could have sworn his heart stopped. “What?” His voice was almost a whisper.

“I know who you are.”

~

Tags: @riordanness

[ltwharfy]

"The Amazing Rudy" and the Evolution of Rudy and Louise's Friendship (Long Post)

Rewatching "The Amazing Rudy" last night made me feel like I finally want to write a little (using the term loosely) analysis about why I love the final act of that story so much. (I thought about doing this during Roudise Week but was too busy with fics.) I think the ending of that story is so wonderful not just because it is sweet in itself but because it reflects one of the things that I love about Rudy and Louise's friendship- that it has grown and evolved over the course of the show.

A lot of stories begin with characters who are always friends, the origins of the friendships are unexplored or pretty simple ("they grew up next door to each other" etc.). Or you get stories where the characters go through one adventure together and are suddenly BFFs. Rudy and Louise's friendship isn't like either of those.

It seems pretty clear that the events of "Carpe Museum" are the first time they've interacted much- but they don't immediately become besties after it. In Rudy's next two speaking appearances ("The Unnatural" and "Bob and Deliver") he doesn't interact with Louise at all. And when the Belchers enter the juice caboose in "The Kids Rob A Train", Rudy introduces them to Beanbag by saying he knows them from school- not that they are his friends. And there are some moments in that episode that I think are really important for their friendship- in particular, the moment when Rudy tries to get Louise to give him the bag full of candy through the train window and she's convinced he'll take it and ditch her, and the moment at the end with Rudy's fake severe allergic reaction- and Louise's panicked response.

But I'm not interested in going through every moment in their friendship. (I mean, I am. Absolutely. But not in this particular post.) What I think is really interesting about Act 3 of "The Amazing Rudy" is looking at in relation to the two episodes where conflict between Louise and Rudy plays a big role- "House of 1,000 Bounces" and "Bridge Over Troubled Rudy". Looking at those episodes, you can see Louise learning how to better read and respond to her friend's emotions.

In "House of 1,000 Bounces", Louise leads the rest of the party guests in stealing the bounce house from Dahlia. Rudy mentions twice that he'd be happy just to do the spoon puppets, but nobody listens to him. And then he blows up at them in Ranger Jail. (And, I think it is interesting to note that he is not just mad at Louise, but at all his friends- "I didn't want to steal that bounce house, but none of you would listen!") Louise tries to make things right by organizing the play with office supplies- and Rudy thanks her for that. But she never apologizes to him for not listening to him earlier- and it seems like maybe she never even noticed he was unhappy until he blew up at her.

At the beginning of "Bridge Over Troubled Rudy", Rudy communicates pretty clearly to Louise that he's feeling stressed because he isn't going to be able to return to his dad's for two weeks; Louise acknowledges that, but then gets caught up in her excitement over the Blaster Bridge, leading to Rudy getting upset, her calling him a weenie, and him asking her to leave. It's pretty clear that Louise recognizes right off the bat that she screwed up- she's taken aback when he asks her to leave, and then there's the whole bit while walking back with Tina and Gene where she decides she can fix things (not that she can yet acknowledge that things need fixing) by moving the bridge. At the end of the episode when they are blowing up the bridge, Louise finally says the thing that she couldn't say earlier in the episode or in "House of 1,000 Bounces": "Yeah, well, I'm sorry I kept pushing you when you were stressed out. And I'm sorry I called you a weenie...And I'm sorry, I didn't just say sorry right away. I'm not great at that, maybe. And I'm glad we're friends." Admitting that she is not great at apologizing right away- or generally acknowledging others' feelings and when she's hurt them- is a big step for Louise.

I know some fans are kind of tired of "Louise learns a lesson" stories, of which "Bridge Over Troubled Rudy" is certainly one, but I don't mind them, if they are actually entertaining and if the lesson stays learned. After all, if a show is going to be on the air for over a decade, why not let the characters have some growth and development?

Act 3 of "The Amazing Rudy" shows that Louise did learn a lesson from "House of 1,000 Bounces" and "Bridge Over Troubled Rudy". In "The Amazing Rudy", without Rudy saying anything specific directly to her, Louise alone among the Belchers realizes just how stressed out Rudy is and why. There is some really great, subtle writing, voice acting, and especially animation, that shows that Louise understands that something is troubling Rudy more than he is willing to admit. After he slips up and talks about the food he ordered, you can hear her suspicion and concern when she asks: "What you ordered?" Then, in Act 3, when Bob is getting ready to drive Rudy back to the restaurant, you can see that Louise is paying attention to Rudy, keeping her eyes on him the whole time, while not saying anything until she proposes her idea about walking back to the restaurant with him. She is the only one of the Belchers to recognize what is truly bothering Rudy- which he may not even have been able to articulate himself: that he feels lonely.

Bob and Linda are clearly (and reasonably) looking at Rudy's situation from a concerned parent's perspective: everything will be okay if Rudy is back with his parents who are worried about him. in Act 3, Tina seems to be very much sitting at the adults' table (metaphorically)- worrying about Vicki's pants and if Bob has his keys. Gene's focus is primarily on getting back to his baked potato lasagna. None of this is to understate how kind the other Belchers are to Rudy in the episode- but at that moment, none of them are as focused on him as Louise is.

In "The Amazing Rudy" neither Rudy, nor any other character, says that he feels lonely or isolated- but its clear from the episode that that is one of his real sources of sadness in that story. He is a kid surrounded by adults who are kind of focused on their own stuff- the scene where they are waiting for their table is the best visual illustration of this but their are others- for example, the multiple conversations where he is in the backseat and his dad is in the front. And then when his parents and their partners are literally on the same level as him- when they are all sitting down for dinner, he feels that he has to be center of attention to make the situation less awkward. He has to perform as The Amazing Rudy (or Rudy the Illusionary Visionary).

What Rudy really needs throughout the story is a friend- and Louise recognizes this without him having to say it. And she not only recognizes the cause of his pain- she comes up with a way to address it, by going back to the restaurant with him.

From "House of 1,000 Bounces" to "The Amazing Rudy", Louise goes from ignoring-and perhaps not even noticing- that Rudy is upset because she took over his birthday party with her bounce house scheme to recognizing and coming up with a plan to address a pain Rudy is feeling that he does not (perhaps cannot) even articulate. And, to me, this doesn't seem unrealistic or out of the blue. Rather, it seems like a logical growth of their friendship, building on "Bridge Over Troubled Rudy", as well as other episodes, with plots or subplots about their friendship that I haven't really talked about ("The Hawkening"; "Bob Actually", among others) and other non-Rudy-focused episodes that show how Louise is developing to be a more emotionally aware person ("Flu-ouise", "Thelma and Louise Except Thelma is Linda", "Prank You For Being A Friend". etc.).

Rudy and Louise's friendship is not the focus of "Bob's Burgers". Not even close. I did the math once, and I think Rudy's in just over 10% of the show's episodes. But I still think that, with Rudy and Louise, the show has done one of the best jobs of developing a friendship on television- from classmates who didn't really know each other, to friends who are still learning about each other and figuring out how to communicate, to friends who can pickup on each other's nonverbal cues and know just the right thing to do.

And I love that.

(P.S.: Someday, I will be able to think about this episode without tearing up. That day is not today.)

[hannahssimblr]

“Evan, can I sit?”

He glances up at me and shrugs, patting the ground next to him so I slump down heavily on it and take a healthy gulp from my bottle. 

“You good, man?”

“Yeah, amazing.”

“I, uh, I see you were chatting to Leah, there? You know each other?”

“Nah.”

“Really? Well... she’s a weirdo anyway, you’re better off getting away from her, like, I just sell her weed and stuff, I don’t really like when she hangs around too long.”

“Yeah, fair enough.” 

“Was she being weird with you?” 

“Nope.” 

We’re silent as we watch the flames. I begin to wonder what time it is, and whether I've stayed long enough now for it to be acceptable to go home. As I watch all of the other friends around the fire have fun together I’m struck by how much of an outsider I really am. Sure, Rob and Katie are nice, but will any of that niceness extend into normal life with the eyes of everyone else at school upon us? Surely they will go back to the steps at the back of the school while I go back to the rugby changing rooms, or the library, as it may be and things will resume as they are, as they've always been and always will be. Realistically, would they ever be seen with me? Would I ever be seen with them? There's this weird, empty feeling in me, a feeling that just compounds day after day, month after month, year after year, and it's like I don’t belong anywhere or to anyone. I'm just floating in the in-between, and who even am I? What does it mean to even-

“Hey,” Evan interrupts my spiralling inner dialogue, “I meant to say to you that it’s cool that you came along, you know, even when Jen and Michelle didn’t.”

This takes me by surprise, “You think?”

“Yeah, I mean, I suppose I kind of thought you were just hanging out with us sometimes because of them, and that you didn’t really want to be there, but,” a shrug, “I suppose that isn’t true.”

“No, I like hanging out with you.”

“And it’s not just because you’ve been ostracised by your other friends?”

I hesitate for a beat, “No.”

Evan laughs, “Wow, I’m so convinced!”

“No, come on,” I rock to the side and nudge his shoulder with mine, “Like, yeah, sometimes it’s nice to have Jen here, but I’m fine, I can handle myself around the emos… and as for Michelle, well, she hates me, so it’s actually kinda comfier when she’s not here, and- oh,” I realise immediately what I’ve said, “um, well I don’t really mean that, it-”

“No, it’s okay,” Evan says, “I know that you two aren’t exactly best friends or anything.”

“Ah, so she’s talked to you about me.” 

“Nah, you’ve honestly never come up in conversation.”

“Somehow that’s worse.”

He snickers. 

“How are, um,” I pick at the beer label with my thumb, “How are things going with you guys? Like, the last time we talked you were feeling kinda…”

A sigh, “Oh, yeah, it’s the same. Like, she’s so nice but sometimes I don’t feel like I get enough from her.”

“Uh huh.”

“I kind of get a bit annoyed about it sometimes, like, how are we supposed to be together properly if I hardly see her? Like, man, she’s allowed to come to my house like, once a week. In the afternoon. And that’s the only time we can… uh, hook up or whatever. It’s so annoying.”

“Just from an outsider's perspective, you know, you seem pretty happy.”

“Yeah. She’s definitely into me,” He musses up and fixes his fringe, “I dunno. It’s fine, just sometimes I wonder about shit. You know what I mean, right?”

“I’m probably not the best person to ask, seeing none of my relationships have worked out so far, and I’m also fairly drunk, so…”

“But you know what it’s like to be with someone who wouldn’t give you the things you needed, right?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“So you do get it.”

“Mm, I suppose,” as our conversation tapers off I let my mind drift into thoughts about love and loneliness and the hollow disappointment of all of my relationships. These are bitter, useless, self destructive thoughts as usual, made even worse by the fact that I’m not exactly capable of rational thought while inebriated. Is drinking bad for me? Am I a miserable drunk? I have to physically shake myself out of my own head before I start talking myself into a hole again.

I turn to Evan to start saying something else about, I don’t know, whether he’s ever tried pranking someone by turning their school bag inside out and putting the books back into it or something stupid like that, but I see he’s distracted by something else across the bonfire. 

It’s that girl with the pink hair. She’s leaning over a bag to rummage for more beer, and her short skirt rides up when she’s bent over like that so that her underwear is visible through the sheer material of her tights. I frown at the dirty little smirk on his face, the way hungry eyes follow her movements, and the look between them as she glances over her shoulder and sees him watching her. I nudge my knee against his to interrupt whatever is going on.

“Wow, nice legs, huh?” 

He looks at me, surprised, but lets out a rough laugh, “Yeah, for sure.”

“Is she into you or am I just seeing things?”

“Nah, I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, c’mon, no, I’m just messing with you, she just looked like… I dunno.”

“Like what?”

I shift awkwardly, “You know what, don’t mind me, I’ve had too much to drink, I thought I detected flirting, or whatever, I guess I was wrong.”

The girl kneels onto the ground and starts asking around for the bottle opener, and Evan doesn’t take his eyes away from her. “She’s pretty though, isn’t she?”

“Hm?”

“Carlie. That’s her name. She’s pretty, do you think?”

“She’s single?”

“Yep.”

“So are you trying to set me up with her or are you just pointing that out?”

“I’m not trying to set you up.” Evan seems agitated by this idea that I might try to date pretty Carlie, who, by the way, treats me like I am contagious. As though it’s any of his business what she does, as if he should even care. Something sour settles in my gut, but I can’t tell whether it’s that I'm weirded out by this conversation or if the alcohol is nauseating me. 

“Right, well, she’s not my type,” I watch his face carefully, “Is she yours?”

“She’s pretty hot.”

Maybe he's looking for my approval or my agreement, which I don’t give him on purpose. To see where it leads me I respond with a benign, “Oh, you think?”

“Uh huh,” They catch eyes again and she smiles coyly and quickly looks away to resume her conversation. That’s flirtation. She’s flirting with him, and him back, right in front of my face. 

“You know, a lot of people would consider your girlfriend to be pretty hot too.” It’s true, I’ve heard those rugby boys saying it before, the only time they ever had anything remotely complimentary to say about any of the emos was to point out the things they fancied about Michelle and what they might like to do to her if she A. wasn’t emo, or B. nobody knew, so that they wouldn’t have to suffer the social consequences. I feel disgusted again at this memory. I know where I was, sitting on the bench lacing up my boots and saying nothing while they spoke casual filth about a girl I know. 

It’s a similar feeling to the one I have now at this bonfire with Evan, and maybe this is how he is when he’s drunk, maybe he just gets a bit… leery, but when he stares across the fire at someone who isn’t his girlfriend I swear I am looking at Willy FitzHerbert. 

He waves my comment away, “Yeah but at least Carlie is interested in sex.”

“How do you know that?”

He leans closer, “Obviously because I’ve done it with her.”

“Yeah?” I say, “When?”

He smirks and says nothing.

I push him again. “A few years ago?”

He lowers his voice and looks at me with eyes that glitter with salacious excitement. I don’t think I’ve ever once seen another boy look so pleased with himself as he says: “Try a month ago.”

It takes all my self control not to react. I just pause for a second as a shock of revulsion rips through my body, I feel it from my feet to the top of my head, and then, when I decide to speak, my voice is strange to my own ears, “While you were with Michelle.”

A shrug, “It just happened on a night out when she wasn’t there. I dunno.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“Course not. She’d break up with me.”

“And... you don’t want that.”

“No, because we’re in love. This stuff with Carlie, it was just… you get what I mean. It’s not like that with her.”

I sigh, “Uh, yep.”

So it appears it is the same for Evan as it is for all the others. Michelle is the virgin, Carlie is the slut and he wants it all at the same time. A girl worthy of love, and a girl interested in sex, two things that cannot converge. There is no girl that can be both.

“It felt good to let loose with someone who knew what they were doing, and like, not have to think so hard about making the other person all safe and comfortable and, blah,” he rolls his eyes, “Carlie is cool.”

“Right, yeah, she seems it.”

“You get me, right? Guys like us, you know, we need to be able to just relax sometimes, not think so hard…”

“Yeah, for sure… Guys like us, huh?”

“Hell yeah!” He clinks his beer bottle against mine, “I knew you’d get it, honestly, I wasn’t sure if I should say something but I feel good now that you understand what I meant.”

I try to laugh but it sounds weird and strangled, so I bring the bottle to my lips in the hope that drinking will disguise my discomfort, or at the very least numb it a bit. I finish the last two thirds of it and toss it somewhere amongst the miscellaneous rubbish, remnants of a hundred other miserable bonfire nights on Dollymount strand.  

Then, after a minute or two Evan nudges me again. It’s hard to look at him but I force myself to because it is what I would do if this situation was normal, “You’re not going to say anything, right? Like, to Michelle or Jen? Like I know you probably won’t...” A laugh as he adjusts his fringe, “That'd be insane, I know, but I wanted to make sure.”

“Me? Nah,” I say, “Why would you even have to ask? Don’t worry about it,” I scratch the back of my head, “your, uh, your secret is safe with me.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[yasminthespiritfaninnit]

Hello everyone! I have something to say. I have seen some arguments that I didn’t like at all. But, I still respect everyone who made it.

So, Imma say my perspective.

Tommy didn’t deserve Exile or to be exiled at all.

Dream didn’t deserve to be tortured in prison or to be imprisoned without a fair trial.

I will detail what I mean the best that I can.

First, let’s start with Dream and the prison.

Dream was imprisoned, after Punz led the entire server to him, before he could kill Tubbo in front of Tommy.

Am I saying that he shouldn��t have been arrested? Hell no. His list of war crimes and atrocities against humanity at this point was and still is a mile long.

But the group failed to give Dream a fair trial to defend himself.

Instead, Tommy (after killing Dream twice as revenge for the two deaths that Dream committed against him. Note on that one, I completely understand Tommy’s rage. But killing Dream was not right, nor did it help anyone.) had Sam, (the warden) to imprison Dream after he claimed that he could revive Wilbur.

Neither Tommy or Sam or anyone here had the authority to imprison Dream. Especially not without a fair trial. But they did it anyways and that’s not right. Dream was unlawfully imprisoned against his will.

Now, the torture. Imma say it bluntly. It was 100% not Dream’s fault.

Quackity, who had no authority to do this, wanted the revive book.

Dream said no as he had the right to say that.

So, grossly abusing his rights as a visitor, Quackity started to torture Dream.

So, yeah.

And now, we get to Exile and Tommy.

Exile was an overreaction and rigged from the start. Plain and simple.

Was Tommy completely in the right for the conflict? No. (In order of least to most fucked up in my opinion.) He grief-ed and robbed George’s house, compared Tubbo to Schlatt, tried to frame Niki, and tried to use Dream’s dead horse against him.

But also, Exile was both a unfair punishment and one that was pushed so heavily.

Dream, (the main ring-leader for getting rid of Tommy from L’Manburg) provoked Tommy to make him look worse, pushed Tubbo into a corner about the topic, and tried to frame Tommy of many more griefing incidents (with the help of a unwitting Puffy.). He was pulling the strings when the real victim, George, didn’t even give two shits. Tommy’s damages were easily fixed and everything stolen was easily recovered.

Should Tommy be punished for griefing George? Yes. But he should have been put on probation and made to fix the damages (and recover the stolen property) to George’s house, not put through a rigged series of events that got him banned from his own home.

(And I have an extra argument for this part. Canon is canon. Just because nothing came of something doesn’t mean that it is not important. Tommy’s framing of Niki was immediately shut down. But he still tried instead of fessing up. Dream’s framing of Tommy didn’t seem to do much. But he still did that, showing that he was trying his hardest to get Tommy out of L’Manburg no matter what.)

And now, the exile itself.

It was 100% not Tommy’s fault. Nothing during exile was his fault and nothing was exaggerated by the fans.

Dream really did make Tommy throw his stuff down the hole to destroy it.

Dream really did beat Tommy with an axe if he mustered the tiniest rebellion.

Dream really did changed up his rules and the rules of Exile on a whim.

(For example, Tommy was only banned from L’Manburg. But when they got there, Dream told him that he couldn’t go *anywhere* that was established.)

Dream really did make sure that Tommy was dependent on him for everything.

And Dream really did all of this to control Tommy, to make him a protégé. (Cc!Dream confirmed this over Twitter.)

When people say that Exile was abuse, we didn’t exaggerate it. In fact, I think we didn’t do the horrors justice. Exile was torture as much as the prison was for Dream and Vice versa.

If anyone wants to discuss, please reblog this with your opinions or comment on this blog.

[roohuh]

Your Grave

Part 32 of Year Seven in Obliviate

Ominis X MC

Summary: You find Ominis digging up something from a grave

Warnings: kissing

Waking in the modest bedroom you and Ominis now share, you search in immediate panic for Ominis. The indentation in the bed where he once lay is quickly cooling. You bolt out of the empty cottage wand in hand ready for anything.

“Ominis!” You scream in panic. Only to see his head poke up from next to a gravestone. Letting out a long steady breath you laugh at the sight of the man kneeling next to the grave, up to his elbows in dirt holding a small muddy black box. The sun is not far in the sky, pink blushing clouds meander by.

“What on earth are you doing?” You laugh. Holding a hand behind his back he stands and kisses you on the cheek.

“Just some early morning grave robbing.” Craning your neck you try to see what he dug up and is now hiding. He moves his body blocking your vision while he whispers,

“Not yet, love.” Eyes flicking to the headstone you read your own name inscribed with the words “dearly loved beneath.” You sit in front of the grave, solemnly taking in the sight. Laying a hand on the smooth stone you wonder what would have happened if you actually were dead. Would Ominis eventually have moved on and met another?

“I really was dead…” you breathe. Gently Ominis sits next to you taking your cold hands in his.

“You were. We should go and see your parents today, they had a funeral for you a couple of months ago.” A pit starts to form in your stomach, you lay your head against Ominis for comfort.

“What am I supposed to say?” Brushing the hair from your eyes he traces around your face with his fingers then kisses your forehead tenderly.

“The truth.”

“I don’t know if I am ready to talk about the truth. What if they make me leave this place? I will not be separated from you again.” His arm circles your waste seemingly deep in thought. Watching his face you think about how handsome he is. The night before he had shaved his face and let you cut his hair, you did your best but you are certainly no barber, despite your best efforts he is still handsome as ever. Breaking your admiration he comes out with,

“Then marry me.” Lifting your head you scan his face for any sign of jest.

“Do you mean it?” There is a slight quiver in your voice. Lovingly he smiles, soft sightless eyes seemingly fixed upon you.

“I meant this to be more grand. You deserve the most grand of proposals but…” he reaches into his pocket producing a familiar small black box. Getting on one knee before you, he kisses the back of your hand.

“MC, I do not deserve it. I can only try my best each day to be worthy of you. But… I want to fall asleep every night with you and awake every morning by your side. I want to share my entire life with you. The good, the bad, and the mundane. I want to devote my days to fulfilling your every want, I want your dreams to be my dreams. MC, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Opening the box he reveals a beautiful antique ring delicately made and set with a black stone. Taking his face in your hands you kiss Ominis freely shedding tears.

“Yes.” You whisper joysouly. Picking you up by the waste Ominis spins you around laughing and crying. Tenderly you are placed back upon the earth as you are peppered with happy kisses. He takes your hand, sliding the ring on your finger.

“I know this is not traditional, but my Aunt Noctua gave it to me when I was a boy, before she disappeared. If you do it like it we can…” cutting him off you proclaim,

“It is the most beautiful ring I have ever seen. Made even more beautiful by the sentimental value it holds. I will wear it with such pride.” Again and again he kisses you,

“I do not deserve this. I do not deserve you.” You put an affectionate hand over his lips.

“Ominis, I will not hear that anymore. If I say I love you it is because I think you do deserve it… I love you... Ominis I love you!” Your voice is pleading, willing him to see in himself everything you see. Embracing you, his forehead goes to yours. Your arms twine around his neck as you absorb the moment feeling as if you could die from happiness. Sebastian wonders out and groans in mock disgust at the twoof you,

“Back to the nauseating behavior I see.” Not even Sebastian’s teasing can dampen your spirits, lifting your hand showing off the ring.

“Now I understand why you wanted to hide this!” You call to Sebastian.

“You proposed already? We had a whole plan!” Sebastian chides Ominis.

“You knew about the ring?” Ominis moans his palm thumping against his forehead. Laughing apologetically you explain,

“Under your pillow is a terrible hiding place.”

“When we’re you in my room?”

“When your mother took you we searched your room.”

“And you thought I was under my pillow?”

“Well not exactly…”

“She was giddy to go through your things.” Sebastian rats you out. Shooting Sebastian a stern look.

“I did not know it was intended for me or for you to propose so it was still a surprise.” Bending down to kiss you Ominis laughs shaking his head.

“I guess I will have to love you despite you ruining my surprise.” Another groan from Sebastian.

“Anne sent me out here to tell you two that breakfast is ready. So when you are done snogging I will be inside.” Eager to tell Anne the news you pull Ominis inside mentally noting to make Anne sit and rest while you clean the dishes.

[ghostonly]

I think one of the worst ways we rob ourselves and others of feeling compassion is saying that certain things don't bother us in order to justify being okay with them

Am I bothered by someone in the room beside me disrupting my sleep because he woke up coughing? Of course I am. That's inherently annoying. But if he asked me, "Did that bother you?" I would say no, because there's no easy way to say yes, but it's okay.

People in our present day society are so anxious about being perceived by others in a way that's even remotely inconvenient, that to suggest that you were bothered by something but that it's okay would be immediately taken as passive aggression. Because the idea that someone could be annoying and for that to still be okay is just completely incongruent to most modern people. If I were to dare suggesting that they were annoying and it was okay, they would interpret the it being okay as a falsehood meant to cover up my true feelings - that I think they're annoying and, in fact, so annoying that I needed to lie to inform them of this opinion.

So, we're forced to say, "No, it didn't bother me at all," when in reality, the truth is, "It bothered me, but that's okay."

I know what it's like to wake up after inhaling a droplet of spit or whatever and then going immediately into a coughing fit. What are you going to do to stop it? Absolutely nothing! There's no way to stop it but to cough until it fixes itself. Suppressing the cough will just make it worse. It's no one's fault if they cough in the middle of the night or if they spill something because they lost their balance or if they made a loud noise because they were suddenly frightened or if they accidentally dropped something while you were sleeping or if they had their music on loud enough for you to hear without realizing you could hear it.

Everyone does these things sometimes. You do. I do. Everyone does. And that's okay.

We are a society. We are a community. We do not owe each other a bother-free existence. We owe each other compassion and consideration. And sometimes, when someone is a bother, those simply must make up for it.

[writing-on-the-wahl]

O Positive Part Three

Hi hi my lovely chickens! It’s been a while but I am back with more of O Positive! Y’all can thank @im-a-wonderling for the request and all her amazing encouragement and edits. Fun story I was almost done with my first draft when I realized I’d written it in first person (the perspective my manuscript is in) and I  was too lazy to go back and fix the entire thing so sorry lovelies! I hope you still enjoy:)  

Part 1   Part 2 

The sun was high in the sky, shining down between the towering skyscrapers, warming the sidewalk and reflecting happily off of the dozens of windows on the building I approached. I squinted my eyes and glared at the reflective glass, the low throbbing in the back of my head making me wish I’d thought to bring sunglasses. 

A pedestrian shoved past me as I slowly shuffled down the sidewalk. I stumbled forward for several steps before I managed to use a conveniently located lampost to keep the ground from swooping up to meet me. I glared at the retreating suit, clenching my fingers around the bottle in my hand to keep from returning the favor and shoving him down into the gutter. Normally, I would have immediately felt guilty for the violent thought, but it had taken the other heroes hours to find me last night, and after freeing me from the streetlight and demanding a detailed explanation of my failed fight with Villain, they’d requested [Read: required] that I join them in canvassing the streets for Villain. A pointless, idiotic gesture, if ever there was one. As if Villain would be stupid enough to hang around four hours after robbing an art gallery and cuffing me to a lamp pole. So between my utter lack of sleep and the two pints of blood I’d already donated this morning, I didn't have much sympathy for rude civilians. 

Finally, I reached the double doors at the base of the offending shiny building. A temporary banner hung above them proclaiming, “Blood Drive Today!” 

“Really, you are sadly predictable.” 

It took my fuzzy brain much too long to process that the words had been spoken by a man leaning against the building, and another to recognize that the person behind the aviator sunglasses and casual shirt and jeans was Villain. 

By the time my sluggish brain caught up to the situation, he was standing before me, crowding my space and giving me a death glare I could feel even through the dark glass that covered his eyes. 

“Villain.” 

“Hero.” 

He said my name like a parent scolding a toddler. 

“I thought you told me we wouldn’t be having a repeat of last month.” 

“We aren’t.” I shoved past him, grabbing the handle of the door. But I couldn’t resist shooting over my shoulder, “I’d hate to burden you again in such a way.” The overwhelming bitterness I felt at the last month of pretending nothing had happened slipped into the words, and I bit my tongue. 

As Villain’s brows rose above the rim of his sunglasses, I darted into the cool reception area. 

I made it about half a step before Villain caught up to me, hand wrapping around my elbow. 

I let him pull me to the side, out of the flow of traffic that bustled through the large space--regular office workers breezing past the brightly colored signs hanging above folding tables, making an odd combination of suits and dresses mixing with the more casually dressed donors that were much too few in number for what the city needed. 

The sparse group gathered on the other side of the room only hardened my resolve. I twisted my arm from Villain’s grip and managed a step towards the blood drive before Villain got in front of me. 

He didn’t try to grab me again, though. In a sense, we both had our hands tied, unless we wanted to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves and risk outing our secret identities. 

My headache throbbed as I tilted my neck to look up at the irritating man. “Move, Villain.” 

He folded his arms across his chest, staring me down. 

My will was stronger than his, but my aching self unfortunately was not. I dropped my head, rubbing my neck with a sigh. “Please--just, don’t. I’m going to do this.” 

Villain dropped his angry stance and sighed. “Your day job is do-gooding. Why is this so important to you?” The words themselves should have set me on edge, but I couldn’t deny the utter sincerity with which he asked. 

I swallowed back the painful memories enough to get out one word, the most important one. “Sidekick.” 

I couldn’t look at Villain, but I felt the moment he understood. The tension in the air drained as all the fight went out of him. I turned away and walked towards the registration table, trying and failing to ignore the long-legged shadow behind me. 

“Here to donate? Bless your heart.” The elderly woman behind the table smiled as she passed me a registration form. I reached out to take the clipboard, but an arm shot in front of me, snagging it from my fingertips. 

“I don’t think so,” Villain murmured in my ear as his free arm wrapped around my waist. It took everything in me to convince my exhausted body that it was a bad idea to lean against him, let him take some of my weight. 

Instead of dropping the form on the table and dragging me from the building like I half expected he would do (and half-hoped? - my headache was getting worse and worse), he instead led me to a chair and pushed me down into it, claiming the one next to it as he pulled the pen free of the clip. 

That jolted me out of the fog that surrounded me. No way was I telling him all my private information. 

I made a rather pitiful attempt to reclaim the papers, but Villain just looked at me in a way that confirmed how pathetic the attempt had been. I dropped back down into my chair, turning my bottle of orange juice around in my hands. 

 “This is really that important to you.” 

“Yes.” This time I set my orange juice down before reaching out to take the forms again. 

Villain sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a plea for help. Then he held the forms between us like a peace offering. “What if we trade?” 

My nose wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

He tugged the clipboard back onto his lap. “If you agree not to donate any more blood today” I started to protest but his hand covered my mouth and I froze. “Then I’ll—” He gritted his teeth as though the words pained him. “Then I’ll donate instead.” 

Too preoccupied by his hand pressed to my lips, it took a moment for the meaning of his words hit me. 

“You?” I mumbled against his hand. 

Villain’s hand dropped away and he let out a put-upon sigh, but how could I not question his statement, especially when he said it like I’d asked him to return every cent he’d ever stolen? I hadn’t even suggested he donate, for crying out loud. 

“No.” 

Villain’s head reared back a little at my forcefulness, and I seized on his distraction to make a grab for the clipboard. My fingers didn’t even graze it, but I teetered forward, cursing myself for the sudden movement that had made the word turn all swirly-whirly. 

I closed my eyes against the wave of dizziness, not fighting as Villain shoved me, gently, back into my chair. “I wasn’t asking, Hero.” His long, lockpicking fingers—so skilled at freeing objects from their homes—wrapped around the curve of my shoulder, trapping me in place. 

I cracked one eye open, trying to piece together our conversation. 

“What?” Or at least that’s what I meant to say. It came out more of a “hammmgggh?” 

“You heard me.” He picked up the pen tucked in the top of the clipboard. 

The bout of dizziness passed, and a better solution presented itself. I looked around for a free volunteer. We were going to need a second clipboard. 

“Orrrrrrrr,” I dragged out the word, not quite believing what I was about to suggest. “We could both donate and save twice as many lives.” 

Villain shook his head, but didn’t look up from the paperwork he was now flying through. “You can let me donate in your place, or, I can drag you out of here kicking and screaming.” 

Why did I get the impression Villain would prefer the second option? 

I finally flagged down a free volunteer across the room and mimed writing on a clipboard. He nodded and I turned to glare at Villain. “It’s not up to you whether I donate or not.” 

“No.” He snapped, his voice rising. “It's not. Fortunately for you, you already donated today.” I blinked in confusion as his scowl morphed into a sweet smile. 

Until I turned and saw the volunteer hovering in front of us, nose crinkling in confusion as he shuffled the clipboard in his hands. “Oh, you already donated today?” 

Villain leaned back, releasing his death grip on the clipboard to swing an arm around my shoulders and pull me against his side. I tried to ram my elbow into his ribs, but as close as we were, it was barely a tap. 

“Yes.” His voice was a sweet, honeyed tone that completely lacked the mocking edge it normally carried. “She donated first thing, and when she told me about how desperate the need for blood is, I couldn't help but volunteer.” 

His hand tightened on my shoulder as he spoke the word desperate, but I ignored the insult, running through the usual donor sites, mentally calculating the next best option. It would be easy enough to slip away from Villain once he was hooked up to a blood bag. If I ordered a ride on my phone now, it should be ready by the time I slipped out the door. 

And despite his bold words, Villain wouldn’t make a scene, or waste his donation by ripping out the tubes and chasing after me. 

I felt a prick of guilt at basically conning Villain into donating blood. But. It was his idea. And I’d never actually agreed to not give more blood today if he did. 

When I snapped out of my planning, the volunteer had moved on, and Villain had returned to his paperwork. What he hadn’t done was remove his arm from around my shoulders. 

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel nice. Familiar.  As warm and comforting as it had felt a month ago draped across the back of the couch behind me as Villain gently felt for my pulse. 

My mind whirred as I implemented the first step of my plan. I tried to stand. Villain's arm instantly pulled me back down, trapping me next to him. 

Feigning irritation, I huffed and sank back into my chair. It had the wonderful consequence of me being buried further into his embrace. Villain’s pen paused, and I froze, waiting for his reaction. When he resumed writing, I slowly relaxed, easing my phone out of my pocket. I tried not to enjoy the warmth of his arm around me, knowing it was short lived. But oh, did I love the way it draped across my shoulders like a warm blanket, the way his fingers unconsciously rubbed circles across my arm as he frowned at the endless pages of the questionnaire. 

I tried to keep my expression bored as I googled the nearest blood drive. 7 blocks away. I rubbed my aching head. I’d definitely need a ride. 

Unfortunately, seeing as it only took me 37 seconds to speed across the entire city, I’d never had need of one before, and so I watched with impatience as the ride-share app slowly downloaded. 

The phone was plucked from my fingers before I could react. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

A spilt second glance at my screen was all it took for Villain to figure out my genius plan.

I shrank away from his impending judgment, but he simply shook his head and tucked my phone into his pocket. 

Before I could try to bolt for the door again, he stood, pulling me with him. 

“C’mon. I didn't fill out all this stupid paperwork for nothing.” He trapped my hand in a vise-like grip. I was a hairsbreadth from wrenching free when his thumb skated across the back of my hand. My already fuzzy brain short-circuited at the tenderness of the gesture, and I numbly followed as he tugged me towards the registration table. 

Villain flashed the nice old lady from earlier a too-wide, slightly terrifying smile, the expression so foreign it wrenched my brain free of its daze. I frowned up at him. The wide, sharp grin was nothing like his usual overbearingly confident half-smirk. No, it was all hard edges and gleaming white teeth and none of the soft eyes and quirked lips he usually wore. 

I shook myself as Villain shoved the forms across the table. I didn’t have any business telling his smiles apart. 

Yet I couldn’t help but wonder at the difference as he spoke, an unfamiliar, strained note in his voice. 

“Here’s your forms. Let’s get this done.”

Taglist: 

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000@selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess @thepenultimateword

[lunarsun12]

Jay Parenting Dilemma

Masterlist

After a week babysitting, Jay kids. Heesung has enough of their behaviours. First he got pushed by Sunghoon as he claims the bathroom first. Then Sunoo literally tried to rob him! Luckily Jake was there to stop him.

Heesung decided to make a bet with Jay. If he can actually control his kids, then he will be Jay chauffeur.

Will Heesung be Jay chauffeur?

Back At Enhypen Chat

Today 16:00

Niki🕺: Who took Sunoo and Sunghoon soul?

Jake🐶: Same question, those two are being so nice. Sunoo didn’t call Lyla a furr ball

Niki🕺: Sunoo even complimented Sunghoon his hair. And the scary part, I saw them giving eachother a hug

Jungwon🐈‍⬛: Your Uncle Jay has been strangely responsible. He made Sunoo say sorry to Sunghoon for stealing his clothes

The day before the strange behaviour

Back At Heesung and Jay Chat

Today 1:00am

Jay🦊: HYUNG! Why did you call me! It is 1am!!

Heeseung🦌: You wouldn’t answer if I texted you so calling you is the best answer

Heesung🦌: We need to have talk about your kids!

Jay🦊: They are fine! Mind your own business! Look how angelic they are

Heesung🦌: I wish…I don’t have to intervene BUT when it was my turn to babysit the kids. They almost turned against me when I said no when they asked for more money!!

Jay🦊: They love the hustle and bustle. What’s the problem?

Heesung🦌: Name one time, there hasn’t been a problem with them?

Jay🦊: Hmmm, it’s late! My brain is not working right now

Heesung🦌: Hah! I bet you can’t go a week making the behave. Without having me and Jungwon to intervene

Jay🦊: Is this a challenge? I show I am always responsible. When I win, you will to be my chauffeur

Heesung🦌: Hah, that is never going to happen. Good luck making them behave

Present day (Day 6) …

Back At Enhypen Chat

Heesung🦌: I wonder how Jay is holding up?

Jungwon🐈‍⬛: He is doing fine…actually. He is making them his 3 hours curry

Niki🕺: Eomma can we come over! I want to try his famous curry recipe

Jake🐶: Us too!!

Jungwon🐈‍⬛: This is suspicious! I have the police on speed dial. No one come near Jay house tonight

Sunoo☀️: Good Evening fellow family!

Sunghoon❄️: Today is the best day! Appa finally told Sunoo off. He immediately started to be beareable

Sunoo☀️: Appa, finally stopped showing favouritism to Sunghoon. Naturally I will be nice

Niki🕺: This gotta be a joke…

Sunoo☀️: NIKI! WHEN YOU ARE COMING OVER! I MISSED YOU!!

Niki🕺: You guys are seeing this..

Jake🐶: SOMEONE FIX THEM OR ARE WE IN A PARALLEL UNIVERSE

Jungwon🐈‍⬛: Could get your Appa to come. We have some questions

Heesung🦌: Drats, Jay is taking it seriously. I gotta do something fast before I really become a chauffeur

Jay🦊: Hey guys! What’s up? Who knew parenting is so hard. Thanks Sunghoon for helping!

Jungwon🐈‍⬛: You okay hyung? You actually sorting your family out?

Jay🦊: It’s time for me to change my attitude! I have forgotten how cute my kids are

Niki🕺: Something is wrong you…YOU NEVER COMPLIMENTED THEM LIKE EVER

Jungwon🐈‍⬛: Sunoo and Sunghoon is your Appa making you act

Sunghoon❄️: I don’t act. That’s sunoo job, he actually sorted the bathroom fight this morning and gave us a hug

Sunoo☀️: Appa is the best!

3hours later…

Jay🦊: YOU BRATS! HOW DARE YOU RUIN MY CURRY. YOU BOTH HAVE ONE JOB!!

Sunoo☀️: We didn’t do anything….

Jay🦊: That’s it! THIS IS THE THANKS I GET FOR BEING NICE. I WILL CONTINUE MY OWN WAY!! Heesung Hyung is a liar!!

Jungwon🐈‍⬛: Hold on hold on! How about you continue this new leaf. What about you said calling them cute

Jay🦊: Cute my butt! They are little demons! This is coming out both of your pocket money!

Sunoo☀️: THIS IS NOT FAIR! IT WASN’T US!!

Jake🐶: Has anyone seen Appa? He has been missing for some time…

Jungwon🐈‍⬛: Awww you miss your Appa? He said he is going on a run, don’t he will be home soon

Sunghoon❄️: This didn’t last long! Sunoo can be so annoying..

Sunoo☀️: YOU NOT INNOCENT EITHER!!

Jay🦊: Why did I even adopted kids! I just can’t win!!

30mins later…

Heesung🦌: I’m so glad, I put a stop to this. I can’t be Jay chauffeur my rep

[thebisexualdogdad]

Cullen Row x mechanic Male!reader headcanons

● you met Cullen when he brought his and Harper's car in to your garage to get the engine fixed

● he heard through some mutual acquaintances that you could fix up cars for cheap thanks to "finding" parts that frequently "fell off" of the transportation trucks

● you thought he was cute and was flirting with him hard, offering to fix the car for free in exchange for a date

● he was really into you but nervously said yes because the last guy he went out on a date with did a total 180 the moment he found out Cullen was trans 

● the date went better than Cullen could have even imagined and he really wanted to tell you the truth before he fell too hard for you and got his heart broken

● he was surprised when you were completely unfazed by it 

● "you're still into me?" 

● "of course I am, I like you a lot Cullen and I'm going to kiss you now if you're okay with that" 

● "I am really okay with you kissing me" 

● when Cullen told Harper he had a boyfriend she immediately needed to meet you

● she pulled the whole "if you hurt my brother I'll hurt you" speech

● but unlike most people you knew she actually meant it 

● you and Harper end up getting along really well finding common ground in your shared love for mechanics and engineering 

● Cullen brought you into his, Harper's and Duela's little thievery club

● you're the perfect getaway driver and can lose any cop car in a high speed chase when needed

● a lot of the crews stash gets hidden in your garage now since the three of them of don't have any permanent residency so it's safer than them carrying it around town in backpacks 

● Duela still hasn't forgiven Harper for having her backpack with $500 in it stolen on the subway after pawning a bunch of designer handbags they lifted while breaking into some rich lady's penthouse 

● Cullen much rather prefers sleeping in your bed in the small loft above your garage than in their car or whatever cheap and trashy motel room they can rent for a week 

● and when winter comes around and the shitty motel owners in Gotham raise the room prices to take advantage of all the unhoused folks trying to get off the streets Harper and Duela start sleeping on your couch 

● Duela gags having to watch you and Cullen be all cute and coupley 24/7

● Duela "I think I'd rather go freeze to death in the snow than have to be subjected to this tooth rotting sweetness any longer" 

● Harper "if you leave I'm keeping your cut of the jewelry we stole last night" 

● Cullen "I think Duela owes Y/N part of her cut anyways for scratching the new paint job on his car" 

● "seriously Duela you are never driving my car again" 

● Duela "it's not my fault you were busy getting handsy with Cullen in the backseat when you were supposed to be on lookout for the cops"

● "Hey Harper is the one who should have known the store had a silent alarm!" 

● Harper "I told you those models of glass cases weren't supposed to have motion sensored alarms!"

● Duela "children, children that's enough, I just got a text with a new job offer… anyone up for robbing Bruce Wayne?" 

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2023: #14 & #13

14. ESTONIA Alika - "Bridges" 8th place

Decade ranking: 40/116 [Above Circus Mircus, below TBA]

Tweak some bangs, Alika's Shart.

It is amazing how a few on-point tweaks can make a song significantly more appealing. I went up and down on Alika throughout the months, but a year after I've put her low on the pre-show ranking I am ready to lock in my final verdict: Bridges is kind of really good.

Ofc there were huge problems down the road cuz you know, vocal masturbation ballad in a BorisBubbles ranking, and also, clear jury carry the year after Marius Bear and Nadir Whatshisgjon, but Estonia ironed out their most glaring flaws, so what else can I ask for? I got what I wanted.

Estonia's problem for me, as I've come to realize once I started liking Alika again, was always one of aesthetics, and specifically visual aesthetics (keep that in mind when I rank Europapa low for the lack of bags-over-head (lol if I rank ESC2024 to begin with (I mean, I probably will (I am not readly to enter that discourse yet tho (regardless, that haircut is a capital offence))))). A big inherent flaw of vocal flex ballads like "Bridges" is the lack of dynamism and emotional gravitas (as the vocal technique goes against these principles - "loud" is a pitch, not an emotion) - it's a flaw that comes with the genre and that's something only charisma can fix. Pre-show Alika looked like she'd been dragged out of a river and then SHOUTED into a mic without moving, so yeah, that's where I bail. Slimane your way into someone else's simple and easily-impressed heart please, I Am Not The Demograph. (-- Alesia Michelle).

The version in Liverpool though was - by textbook definition almost - a glow-up. Alongside her Jenevelle hair, Estonia actually put Alika in a beautiful gown and made her move around. Observe:

NOW I SEE MAHSEEL BEELDING UP A WOALD OF BREEECHEEEEEEEEEES

Apparently a lot of people were mesmerized by the self-playing piano but for me the biggest factor in selling "Bridges" was just Alika herself. Props are nice embellishments but the true art of live performance is when score and vocal come together via the power of Personality. Which she finally showed in Liverpool after what felt like an eternity.

By allowing Alika to just do... idk, Alika things with her body lang, face and hands, Estonia broke the monotony of "three minutes of loudness" and made it fun, camp and digestible. If theres anything The Gays (me) like, it's a neat lady doing silly things with fierce confidence. Yasss Go Slay Queen.

Ultimately, a lot of people think Alika's top 10 is nonsense and a strike against juries and here I disagree. That a strong glow up and performance such as Alika's went unappreciated by the televote is a huge strike against the televote, not the other way around. I am happy she got her spot in the limelight, and 8th place is a good, if somewhat generous representation of what she brought. I'll never be a huge fan of the song "Bridges", but at the end of the day Alika really ate that live, and that's something worth rewarding.

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

13. POLAND Blanka - "Solo" 19nd place

Decade Ranking: 39/116 [Above Alika, below Stefan]

"ARIANA GRANDE IF ARIANA HAD NO TALENT" -- my immediate instinct when i first heard "Solo"

Were my instincts wrong, though? Her lack of performance skill and talent, the online response, the severed heads of Jann and Iru she keeps mounted on a pedestal in her boudoire. Blanka was the Mery Bass of 2023. She has no business being this good.

btw yes, lmao so hard that THIS ENTRY was somehow one of the more controversial ones in recent ESC. Honestly, the 13th place I'm giving here is at least half thanks to the controversy which made "Solo" feel iconic - it is exceedingly funny to me that it caused so much outrage for... existing? What did Blanka ever do? Certainly not rob better acts - Listen to Jann and listen to Iru and tell me straight-faced they were better.

BEJBA! IS KINDA KRAJZA!

As a song, "Solo" was always fun femmetrash. Ever since Eleni the majority of the Eurovision girlbops have been attempting to recreate Fuegos with varying successes - Competently staged with intricate choreographies to commemorate our inner faggotry. "Solo" represents a style of girlbop that's gone out of fashion - the "Aphrodisiac"-like basic bop by useless bitches for useless cigs. (Fuego is what gays see themselves as, Solo is what they actually are). Aphrodisiacs have become nearly extinct at Eurovision because they nearly always lose the NF nowadays. So thank you Jann for performing 'Gladiator' in Scooby-Doo vocals so that we could witness Bejba fullfill her beautiful destiny in Liverpool.

And what a destiny it was. In a way, most of the things I wrote about Alika also apply to Blanka. A few small tweaks to the performance can make the whole a lot better. Unlike Alika though, who ampted up the sophistication, Blanka went a route I respect more: She listened to fan feedback.

Slight paraphrasing:

Fans: "EWW BLANKA HAS NO TALENT, CAN'T DANCE, CAN'T SING, WON BASED ON MONEY!!!" Blanka: "... so? 🙂"

I don't know WHEN Blanka decided to be everything the fans accused her of (talentless, washed-up, plastic), amped up to comical levels, but thank fuck she did because it made her instantly epic. It is rare for a Eurovision artist to address her online haters by Now I Betta Troll'em, Troll'em, and Blanka as it turns out is masterfully skilled at trollery. She elevated it into an art.

The Cheap VFX <3

The badly performed wooden choreos <3

The Dutch angles <3

Doing the Eleftheria thing of having your backing vocalist sing over you, while you mug the camera with semi-fierce faces and placeholder hairflips.

Accused to having no performance skill or talent? Add in a cheap dance break anyway, and enjoy every second of it, live your dream while they fume on Twitter, angry that Poland qualified over Georgia.

Guess where I am, honey? 💋 I'm in the final. 💋 And I'm here to stay 💋 :dramatic cymball:

"Solo" was incompetent, plastic and a huge mess, and that was great because it was all deliberate. That made it epic. Poland really took all the negative criticism they received and yanked it up to 11 and it made the entry better. If that isn't a taunting flex in the face of toxicity, I don't know what is. Given how venomous the fandom has been since the pandemic, that is an approach to life I can totally get behind.

THE RANKING

AND WITH THAT WE MADE IT OUT OF THE MILD LIKE ZONE, HOO-fucking-RAY. Now bear in mind that the next few eliminees are very LOW lush greens and there's quite a few of those before we get to the really good stuff, but eh. Soon I'll be able to talk about the songs I loved, and that's always a treat.