#that was a bad rhyme someone come up with a better one

[solarmorrigan]

(One more thing about Steve and Robin working at a diner. The other waitresses look out for Steve, small side order of platonic stobin)

Admittedly, the first time Steve comes in for a shift at the diner wearing sunglasses and swaying slightly on his feet, most of the other servers assume he’s hungover.

It’s not necessarily that he’s given the impression of someone who stays out all night partying (or who would drink so much on a Tuesday night that he’d show up still hungover on a Wednesday afternoon), but what other reason could there be for the way he flinches at any loud noise, or the way he squints under the fluorescents of the dining room?

They watch him carefully as he takes an extra few seconds to balance a tray before heading out to his table, but he doesn’t falter after that, so they leave him alone. Whatever’s wrong isn’t affecting his work, so it’s none of their business.

(Naturally, this means they all watch him like hawks for the remainder of his shift. Servers are the nosiest people in the world; they won’t even deny it.)

But then it happens in the middle of a lunch rush; he’d come in just fine, as energetic and ready to complain about unpleasant guests as ever, but somewhere partway through, he starts to flag. He holds himself sort of hunched when he thinks no one is looking, like he’s in pain, and he looks about ready to throw up when the dishwasher slams an entire bin of silverware down on the counter (a noise fit to rattle the eardrums of anyone who isn’t already feeling sick).

When Robin takes her break at the end of the rush, she seeks out Steve, the same as always, and she catches on immediately to the fact that something is wrong. Her eyes narrow in displeasure as she marches up to him, and they have a vehemently whispered discussion in a corner of the server’s line that involves a lot of pointing at the parking lot from Robin and a lot of defensive arm-crossing from Steve.

Evidently, Robin loses the argument, because her lips are pressed into a line of displeasure as she shoves a glass of ice water at Steve, followed by a cup of black tea she’s made from the Lipton tea bags they keep under the counter. She spends the rest of her break making sure he drinks it all.

The other servers are more curious than ever.

It doesn’t happen often. Sometimes Steve will come in looking pale and off, sometimes it will start partway through a shift, sometimes no one will notice anything is wrong at all until the night is over and he lets himself drop, but there doesn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to it. He calls out of work all of once, and Robin catches a ride with someone else that day and spends her entire shift distracted.

The other servers start to worry. What if he’s sick? What if it’s serious?

Something finally breaks one slow evening when there isn’t much to distract anyone from their own boredom – least of all Steve, who seems to power through those days when he doesn’t feel well by keeping busy. He leans against a counter and stares into space for the better part of fifteen minutes and then has to make a dash for the men’s room after he stands too quickly, nearly loses his balance, and turns an alarming shade of green.

It's Dottie who goes in to check on him (she’s 58, has three sons, five grandsons, and reasons that literally nothing going on behind that door could surprise her at this point), and she finds him bent over the toilet losing whatever he’d managed to eat earlier in the day.

“If you’re sick, you need to go home, sweetie,” Dottie tells him. “No one wants that near their food.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not contagious,” he insists breathlessly, spitting into the toilet and leaning back when it seems like his stomach has settled. “Just a bad headache. Should actually start getting better now.”

Dottie frowns, but she doesn’t force the issue. She trusts that Steve wouldn’t willingly spread a stomach bug around the restaurant, and besides that, she’s seen how carefully he counts his tips at the end of the night. He might still be living up in his parents’ house, but she doubts if they’re footing the bill for much these days.

True to his word, Steve seems better for the rest of his shift, but this doesn’t stop Dottie from sharing what he’d said – and it’s exactly that comment that finally clicks something into place for one of the other servers.

Migraines, Arlene insists; her cousin gets them, says they’re like headaches from hell. Sometimes they’ll put her poor cousin down for as many as two or three days. It only makes sense, Arlene declares.

Migraines. Well, now that they have a word, and they’re reasonably assured their Steve isn’t dying, the other servers go about their business.

They keep an eye on him as best they can (though, by and large, he seems to do alright taking care of himself, or being gently bullied into it by Robin), but aside from helping to pick up the slack a little when he stumbles or pushing a cup of tea at him, there isn’t much they can really help with.

At least until the night one hits with the worst possible timing.

It’s Saturday night. Ten o’ clock. The last showing at the movie theater’s just let out, there are teenagers whiling away the final hours of their last free night of the weekend, couples prolonging their dates, bar-goers stopping in for a bite – the diner is packed, the cooks are slammed, the servers are swamped, and Steve drops a plate.

It’s only a side of pancakes, and the cooks already have another one up in the window, but the other servers all catch the way he reacts to the noise as if a gun had gone off by his ear, flinching like he’s in pain.

But it’s busy, and they can’t afford to slow down. The dishwasher pops out of the kitchen to help clean the mess, so Steve goes back to pulling the rest of his order from the window, but anyone standing close enough can see that his hands are shaking. Hard.

He nearly drops another plate—a burger and fries, this time—before Gina swoops in and stabilizes it.

“I can get this, it’s right next to my table. Why don’t you get the drinks for the one you just got sat with?” she offers.

Steve looks like he wants to argue, but he’s got stubbornness and pragmatism in equal measure, and he’ll yield to the latter if he can see he’s slowing other people down. He nods and ducks out of the way, heading for the soda dispenser instead.

Of course, why Gina had thought he’d do better with glasses than with plates is beyond anyone else. He doesn’t drop anything, but it’s a near thing, and the drinks all wobble alarmingly when he tries to put them on a small beverage tray and run them out. He drops the tray back on the counter with a clatter and shoves the heels of his palms into his eyes in a moment of raw frustration.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, not now,” he hisses.

“Honey,” Arlene tries, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I can do this, just– I just need a minute,” Steve insists.

“We don’t have a minute,” Gina says, blunt, but not entirely unkind. “Just let us help. If you can pick up again later, great, if not – at least we won’t all be even more in the weeds.”

It seems unlikely he’ll be able to pick up again later, and they all know it – Steve especially, with his face gone red and his gaze trained on the counter.

“Fine,” he practically whispers, almost unintelligible over the noise of the kitchen and the dining room on either side of the line. “Thanks.”

They split Steve’s section between the lot of them, each taking a table or two to share the load. It isn’t great, but the diner isn’t huge, so it isn’t the worst, either.

They all expect Steve to find somewhere quiet to sit and wait the evening out—the back office, maybe—but it seems he’ll be damned before he stops doing something to help. They find him standing at the cook’s window, pulling plates down to load trays up with full orders. He’s using two hands and going slowly, but it’s still faster than having to stand at the window individually and fish for orders in the sea of plates that the cooks shove their way.

For the next hour and a half, Steve is their serving assistant. He pulls orders, loads trays with drinks, hands out condiments, and restocks the counter with anything that isn’t breakable. Robin shoots him looks through window; she can’t afford to step off the line and check on him, but she sends him worried glances that eventually morph into ridiculous faces that put something like a smile back onto his face.

At the end of the night, he refuses to leave without doing his share of the sidework—it’s clear he’d like to leave, he’s still squinting under the harsh lights, but some sense of pride won’t let him—and each of the other servers approaches him by almost unspoken agreement.

Arlene is first, pulling several folded bills from the back of her server book and placing them on the counter in front of him. “From tables six and seven.”

Steve blinks at her. “Uh…”

“Oh, right!” Gina plunges her hand into her apron pocket and pulls out a crumpled wad of money. “From eight and ten.”

Dottie adds to the pile, and Steve stares at all three of them, baffled.

“These are the tips from your tables,” Dottie explains, as if he won’t recognize the numbers that had been in his section.

“But – I wasn’t serving. I didn’t serve these tables,” he says.

“But they were yours.” Arlene shrugs.

Steve shakes his head. “You guys should keep this, I didn’t – I didn’t earn this.”

“Sure you did.” Gina gives his shoulder a gentle shove. “You worked, same as we did. Just take it, kid.”

Steve shakes his head again, but Dottie heads him off. “We want you to have it. You would’ve done the same as us,” she says. “And if you don’t take it, we’re just going to leave it on the counter, and then the dishwasher will probably take it, and then where will we be?”

At that, Steve lets out a little huff of laughter, reaching out with still-unsteady hands to pull the pile of bills closer.

“Thank you,” he says, quiet again.

And if his eyes are a little wet as he trains them on the counter, they can all just blame the migraine.

(Robin, though. Robin has no trouble acknowledging what they’d done, and makes their employee meals without asking for any kind of order ticket for at least the next week. It all evens out.)

#platonic stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #steve harrington and his migraines #makin friends #stranger things #solar wrote

[charliedawn]

Ok, hear me out... Nurse Y/N that has an identical twin or is an identical triplet. What if they switch to see how long it takes for everyone to notice or if they notice that it's not Y/N? Or one day someone says that Y/N has a visitor and someone identical to her walks in and everyone is just: 👁️👄👁️

(my cousins do this to me all the time and each time I have to guess who is who, it doesn't help that their names rhyme 😭)

Also love the blog! Haven't heard from you in a bit, how are you?

You asked your twin to take care of the slashers while you were out of town, but didn't expect the slashers to immediately see through your trick.

Jason felt it the moment he hugged your twin. He felt her hesitate, whereas you...You had never hesitated before.

He also felt it when he tightened his hold on you and he felt the woman in his arms squirm.

"I...It hurts.", she complained and Jason's breath quickened as he tightened his hold even more.

It wasn't you. It couldn't be.

"...Not Y/N."

He was about to crush your twin when he heard someone clap behind him and turned around swiftly to see you standing there with a small playful smile on your face.

"I see that you've met my twin. Settle down, Jason. She's a friend."

He immediately released your twin who ran to hide behind you and coughed multiple times before smiling.

"Wow. You got quite the strong grip, fella'."

Jason didn't say anything.

Instead, he let out a soft grunt and turned around to leave. He doesn't like pranks.

Freddy didn't notice right away. It took him a few days to realize something wasn't right and it was only when he managed to get a glimpse at your twin's eyes that he was convinced that this wasn't you.

"Your eyes...They're different.", he told your twin who took a step back and answered with a small giggle.

"They're eyes, Freddy. They don't change."

But, Freddy wasn't in a laughing mood. He stared even harder and frowned.

"Yours did. You're not looking at me right. And I find it weird."

He then took a good look at your twin and his frown deepened.

"Ya don't look right either...Come on. What's the matter with ya, huh nursy ?"

He cooed before raising his clawed hand to your twin's face who instinctively took a step back, making Freddy's eyes widen in shock.

He suddenly pinned your twin to the wall in front of him and spat.

"Okay. Who the fuck are you and where is my nurse, ya wannabe ?"

Thankfully, you returned just at that moment and separated the both of them.

You then explained to Freddy what had happened and he took a moment to understand what kind of prank you had just tried to pull on him and finally grinned.

"I see...Good one."

He wasn't particularly mad at you since he did far worse, but wouldn't have expected it from you. But, not bad.

"..."

Knives first. Talking after.

Your twin had no idea what she was getting herself into when she entered Vincent's bedroom.

She was met with various wax figurines and didn't think more about it at first, not until she fell face to face with an exact replica of one of the guards she had seen that very morning.

It seemed so lifelike and then, the statue's eyes moved and she screamed before falling backwards and crawling away from the statue.

Unfortunately, Vincent heard her and came in to find his beloved nurse crawling away from one of his creations in fear.

He was taken aback at first, since he thought you liked his art.

But, shock turned into anger as he saw the way you were looking at him...as if he was a monster.

He grunted loudly before raising his blades in the air to cut your twin in two.

But then...

"VINCENT !"

Your voice brought him to a sudden halt as he looked up and found you at the door with widened eyes.

Your twin quickly got up and hid behind you while you looked at the wax statue with a disapproving frown.

"What did we say about taking living people for your art ?"

He lowered his head in shame and you sighed before turning around to leave.

"I will take my sister back. When I get back, you better have gotten all that wax off the poor man..."

Your sister had asked Bo to drive her to town so she may see you and switch back, but she didn't expect Bo to find her out in the car.

Her mistake: the slight shiver she had at Bo's proximity. Bo had this effect on some people. They could feel his malicious intent before he even told them.

"Yar cold or sumthin' ?", he asked before eyeing your twin up and down suspiciously.

"No.", she replied with a weak voice.

"Hmm...", he hummed before eyeing your twin again with narrowed eyes. There was something not quite right here.

"I need to go check on Lester. Stay here."

She nodded and Bo got out of the car.

It was a lie.

Lester wasn't in St Louis. He had been spared the journey...But, your twin didn't know that.

When Bo returned, his eyes darkened and a naughty smirk spread over his face.

Your twin immediately locked the doors of the car at the sight, but didn't expect it when Bo used his elbow to shatter the window and drag her out.

"COME HERE, BITCH ! LET ME TEACH YA A THING OR TWO ON WHAT HAPPENS TO LYING BRATS !"

He effortlessly shoved her on the ground and your twin screamed as she desperately tried to get away.

Thankfully, your car drove by and you almost jumped out of the car to stop Bo.

"THAT'S ENOUGH !"

Bo indulged and let her go instantly, but you had learned your lesson by the way his eyes stared a little too intensely at your twin.

Never switch again.

"You...smell different.", he uttered next to her ear with a low and threatening voice.

"I changed shampoos.", she tried to explain—but Brahms didn't believe her.

"You're hurting me. Let go.", your twin said as Brahms gripped her arms tightly.

"...Liar."

He then proceeded in almost breaking her arms until you walked in and separated them.

As soon as you explained what was going on, he smiled and nodded understandingly.

But, he preferred if you would have told him earlier.

Brahms doesn't react well to strangers and if you hadn't intervened, I don't think your twin would have made it.

Ghostface knew something was up, but wasn't exactly sure yet.

He stared at 'you' and waited until your twin and himself were alone before tilting his head and asking the question that would be sure to give him the answer.

"...Hello Y/N...Tell me. What is your favorite scary movie ?"

Your twin stilled for a second too long before turning towards him with a fake smile.

"Hum...I'd say Halloween. Why ?"

In an instant, she was pinned to the wall with a knife pressed against her throat.

"Wrong answer, dummy."

He had asked you the question so many times...He knew the answer by heart by now.

"...It is ours. It has always been ours."

His Y/N knew that she was working with slashers, horrifying monsters...soulless killers. And she liked to imagine herself in an horror movie—but one that would end with a happy ending.

So, Ghostface knew by your twin's answer that it couldn't be you.

And he was proven right when you returned just at that moment and separated them both.

But, he wasn't upset. He found it rather entertaining.

"...Not. Ours."

"W...What ?", your twin tried to say without trembling—but she failed.

It only took one glimpse at your twin and Michael knew it wasn't you.

Not only does he have two personalities trapped in one body, but he also memorized your every move and reaction.

He could tell your twin was far too tense and uncomfortable around the slashers to be you.

He waited until the slashers were all gone before calmly standing up and grabbing your twin by the throat and raising her up in the air.

"NOT OURS !", he repeated with an uncanny calmness while your twin was desperately trying to kick him.

Finally, you arrived and convinced Myers to let her go, but he wasn't fond of the prank and you could see it with how he ignored you for weeks after that.

Micheal Myers is not a fan of pranks.

"...You can't fool me, sweetheart. You may look like her, but when you spend as much time with her as we do, you learn a thing or two. For example..."

Jack took a step forward and reached out for your twin's hair to pull on one of the loose strands/curls.

"Nurse Y/N prefers to tie her hair in a knot in order not to let them get in her eyes when she's working and..."

He wiped his thumb over his vest, which left a pinkish trail on its way.

"She doesn't wear makeup. Not like that anyway."

He then smirked before eyeing your twin up and down.

"She also always puts pants on because she knows that there are some serious perverts in the facility."

Your twin hesitated before pulling down her skirt a bit and Jack clicked his tongue before pointing to his own lips.

"And finally, she is always smiling. Because Y/N isn't afraid..."

Your twin tried to smile, but it felt forced...fake. Jack's eyes seemed to bore into hers and even though his posture seemed relaxed—his eyes were drilling holes into her skull.

"Now, tell me...Who the hell are you ?"

The game was over before it even started.

Jack is observant. He's a writer. He likes to watch people and your twin wouldn't even have to speak a word for him to notice the difference—as long as he's sober that is.

"NEW FRIEND !"

Penny didn't hesitate before hugging your twin, but didn't make the mistake.

He knows your mind by heart and would immediately notice the difference.

However, his eyes lit up yellow when he smelt something he hadn't smelt in a long time.

"....Fear."

Penny smirked ad his teeth sharpened before he leaned forward and was about to open his mouth when you came in.

He immediately released your twin, but you weren't fooled.

You looked at the both of them and frowned in disapproval at Penny.

"...Penny...I thought we were over this."

Penny lowered his head, but when he looked up at you—you didn't fail to notice the way his smile widened.

"...Penny sorry."

Yeah. Somehow, you didn't really believe him...

Pennywise knew from the start that something was wrong. You didn't feel the same. You may have looked like yourself, but your thoughts and gestures were different.

He wasn't usually bothered by you—sitting down next to him.

But then, you started touching him. As if you didn't know or care about what he thought.

At the end, he was the first one to notice and when your twin tried to touch his shoulder, he grabbed her and snarled.

"DON'T TOUCH ME !"

It brought the attention of all the other slashers who gathered around the two of you.

Michael was about to stop Pennywise when he stopped dead in his tracks and suddenly, they all seemed to smell the same thing...

Their heads simultaneously turned towards the woman Pennywise was currently holding by the throat as her face was covered in tears and her heart seemed to beat a thousand times a minute.

....She was afraid.

And everyone knew that nurse Y/N wasn't afraid.

So, they all seemed to understand that this wasn't you and when you finally decided to show yourself and explain the situation, some of the slashers were amused—some much less.

Pennywise took it the hardest and grumbled something about 'Stupid humans' and walked off.

Yeah...Give him time and he'd come around.

He usually likes a good prank, but your twin touched him. And that, that was a no go.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 2017 #pennywise 1990 #pennywise x reader #slashers #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #jack torrance x reader #ghostface x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader

[writing-positivelyexisting]

Giving The Bad Batch Nicknames

The Bad Batch/Reader. Headcanons. | writing-positivelyexisting🫧

Hunter

“Hunter-bear”

The obscurity of ‘bear’ throws him off and he’s definitely going to ask why you said it.

“It rhymes, it’s fitting, and it’s cute. Better than ‘babe’, yeah?”

Despite not knowing where that nickname came from, Hunter eventually grows to love it. It’s so endearing to him that you came up with a nickname just for him.

The little name had grown on him so much that one time you didn’t say it, you just said his name, his heart sank and his eyes looked at you with so much concern and guilt. He thought he had wronged you in some way and didn’t think twice to make it up to you.

Flowers, a night out on the town, a cute dinner, a full body massage, anything you even LOOKED AT with interest he bought for you.

When you asked why the sudden flash of romance, he said, “You didn’t say ‘bear’ after my name and I thought you were upset with me. You always call me ‘Hunter-bear’.” He had the saddest puppy eyes and little frown you seriously thought he would shed a tear or two.

You got a good laugh in that day, realizing this nickname really stuck with him. You explained that you weren’t mad and it was an accident. “But, I might keep making the same mistake if this is what it gets me,” you joked.

Echo

“Echo-bird”

The funny look you got from the man almost took the breath out of you. He seemed so confused and a little annoyed, asking why ‘bird’ was necessary.

“Your name is Echo and some birds are known to repeat back phrases and words. It’s fitting,” you laughed softly.

Echo rolled his eyes and huffed. He thought he was through with the echo-jokes. “Oh great.”Then again … it reminded him of his old team.

The first few times you said it, Echo would look at you with a stern gaze. Kind of like when a mother looks at her child, silently saying “watch it”. However, the more you called him Echo-bird the more he felt his body relax.

Your nickname had become one of the most precious things to him. You always seemed to know when to use it, too. When the mission was stressful, causing his mind to cloud with doubt you’d say his nickname in such a calm, sweet, and soft whisper. Your hands would always touch him when you said it, getting his full attention.

More often, now, each time you’d call him by his nickname he would hug you so close to him. It always put a smile on your face when he’d bury his in your hair or in the little nook of your neck.

What you couldn’t see when he did that is the biggest smile with tears threatening to fall behind his lashes. While it hurt to remember his old squad, it felt so much better to know they never really went away.

Wrecker

“Dear”

It’s simple. It’s sweet. And he absolutely loves it.

Wrecker doesn’t question it. He was all smiles and laughs when you first said it.

He picked you up in a hug, telling you to use that all the time. And you did.

“Wrecker, dear, can you help me for a second?”

“My dear, could you grab that for me?”

It fills the guy with so many butterflies and completely melts his heart. Anytime you called him “dear” he would stop what he was doing to help you.

When you can, you kiss his cheek and say “Thank you, dear.” This is the one that gets you lucky.

“Come here, you!” It would be a very short chase full of laughs and squeals.

Sometimes the other guys will joke around, mimicking your voice and calling him by his nickname when you’re not around just to see him lose his cool for a little. (Even Tech would chime in with a logical jest sometimes).

You only caught them poking fun once and it was the last time you heard the jokes.

“You boys better watch yourselves. Just because you don’t have someone to make you feel all warm and good inside doesn’t mean you gotta poke fun at the one who does.”

Wrecker stood behind you, arms crossed, with the biggest “what she said” look on his face.

The men looked everywhere but you two in shame, muttering apologies.

Tech

“Boyfriend” / “Husband”

This man is IN LOVE with the title.

You said it first when you introduced him to a friend. “This is my boyfriend/husband, Tech.”

It sent a tingle through his body and scratched an itch he didn’t even realize he had. It cracked a smile on his lips and it stayed for the whole day.

He requested that you called him by his title regularly and he would call you by your title, too. It made you giggle but of course you agreed with Tech, who wouldn’t?

“Oh, boyfriend/husband!” “Yes, girlfriend/wife?”

“Boyfriend/Husband, what do you think about this for the Marauder?” “Absolutely brilliant, girlfriend/wife.”

Being called boyfriend/husband made this man feel so important and loved. It was definitely an ego boost for him, but you didn’t mind it.

When you two were alone, doing whatever or nothing, you would touch his face so lovingly and say, “My handsome boyfriend/husband.”

Tech would lean into your touch with the softest of smiles, mimicking your actions. “My beautiful girlfriend/wife.”

Crosshair

“Darling”

A classical nickname. Sleek and dark. It suited him well.

It sent a dangerous shiver down his back when you first said it. Crosshair was quick to whip back around to you, a stern pointer finger in your face.

“Don’t say that.”

You swallowed, feeling maybe he didn’t enjoy being called that but you searched his eyes and found skittish curiosity.

It just wasn’t his normal, but you got him to accept it. Through rigorous perseverance of calling him “darling”.

“Crosshair, darling, could you come here?”

“Stop cleaning your rifle and come to bed, darling.”

The nickname soon became a beaconing and Crosshair would come to your side and assist you with whatever you needed.

At some point, he started using it for you as well. It was always subtle, too. Never using a loud voice, always sounding like a grumble.

“Focus, darling.”

“Here you go, darling.”

And of course, once he was comfortable with it, he started using it as a form of teasing in the bedroom.

I had this thought while on a road trip this past weekend and it’s probably the cutest thing I’ll ever write.

#clone force 99 #tbb echo #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #the bad batch #fluff #bad batch headcanons #nicknames #star wars #tbb crosshair #the bad batch x reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb echo x reader #tbb wrecker x reader #tbb tech x reader #tbb crosshair x reader

[friendsoup]

Could I perhaps request Dikke/Tennant with a reader who’s overly emotional/burnt out and cries a lot? (Currently happening to me and they’re like my comfort characters) thank you in advance 🫶🏻

Your Strength

Recipe: Dikke's can be read as romantic or platonic, Tennant's can be platonic if you squint, GN! Reader, Reader is called beautiful (many times), my dove and love, Both Tennant and Dikke are bad with genuine emotions, But they both Really Really care about You, Comfort fic, Shamelessly Indulgent WC: 1,998 (SO CLOSE) Chef's Note: AHHH I tried to get to this one as quickly as I could!!! I hope it's in time to make you feel better, anon :[!!!! Hopefully my work can brighten your day, at least a little bit :]! As always, thank you for the request!

Dikke has never been “in tune” with her emotions. Emotions were something strange and distant to her, they came and went as they pleased, leaving her feeling empty in their absence. To some, she came across as apathetic. That wasn’t exactly true, though. Her emotions simply never reached her face, despite how fiercely they roared in her chest. She could never quite tell how she was feeling. Though she could list symptoms of an emotion, she was never quite able to put a name to it, no matter how hard she tried.

The emotions of others were worse. She knew the basics. A frown meant sadness, a raised voice meant anger. But human emotion had so many intricate working pieces, an entire depth to them she couldn’t begin to understand. Sometimes a frown was meant jokingly. Sometimes a raised voice meant excitement. These little things made Dikke’s head spin.

So when you came into her room, and curled yourself into a ball on her bed, she didn’t know what to do.

The two of you had been seeing each other for quite some time now. Dikke didn’t put any labels on the relationship, and you didn’t mind that as long as you could keep her company. She was a strong shoulder to cry on, and though she was hesitant and awkward with your crying fits, you could always tell she cared.

Initially, Dikke didn’t look up from her blade. You entering her room was not a special event, you did this often regardless of how you felt. She greeted you, then continued to polish her sword, her eyes transfixed on it’s silver gleam. 

When you didn’t respond, a pang of worry hit her. Even at your worst, you always managed to mutter a hello.

She spoke your name softly, turning to you to gauge a reaction. When you did not move from your spot on the bed, her heart began to race. What had happened to you? Were you okay? Had she done something wrong? Had someone hurt you?

She spoke your name again, louder this time, worry dripping from her voice. 

Again, you did not respond.

Dikke put her blade down, discarding it on her desk without much thought. Her mind could not comprehend anything other than panicked thoughts about you. She stood, cautiously moving over to where you sat. 

She didn’t know what to do. Emotions were something so vague and strange to her. It killed her inside, but she knew she wasn’t best suited for the job. She was a hero of justice, meant to serve harsh judgements. She was never meant to be soft or kind or comforting. It wasn’t in her nature.

Hesitantly, Dikke reached out a hand, placing it on your shoulder. You shook beneath her touch, fighting back every emotion in your body. Dikke gave your shoulder a squeeze, as other knights had once done for her. 

“I’m no poet.” Dikke began, slowly scooching towards you. “I cannot sing you ballads of your beauty, nor write sonnets declaring my love.” She was sitting shoulder to shoulder with you now, her hand still resting on your arm. “I could try, if that’s what you wanted, but my voice was not built for anything but battle cries, and my rhymes would all come across as cheap.” When her words gained no reaction, she sighed. Usually, her attempts at jokes gained some sort of smile from you. “But, as a soldier, I can tell you how strong you are.” Her gaze settles on something far in the distance, her shoulders sinking, as if under some heavy weight. “I have seen only a fraction of the things you battle. I know only what you’ve shared with me, and the things we have fought together. Some, you will tell me with time. Others, I will never know.” “And that is fine. I do not need to know the extent of your war to know the strength of your character. I have seen great men fall to what you are fighting. Their minds unable to handle the stress their heart gives. You hold so much love, that it is painful to keep it all in your chest.” You lift your head, trying to form some sort of argument, but Dikke does not leave room for an answer. “Your love takes different forms,” She tells you, “Grief, guilt, anger. You torture yourself with the burdens of others. You try to carry the weight of the world, then grow frustrated when your shoulders grow sore, and your legs weak. You are not Atlas, my dove.” Her eyes flutter over to you, catching yours. “Some things are out of your control. Some things, you do not have to carry.”

“...But I do.” You argue, the words coming out too quick. “If I don’t care, nobody will. I need to prove myself worthy.” You sputter. Warm tears race quickly from the corners of your eyes, staining your cheeks.

“Worthy of what?” Dikke asks, her eyebrows drawn up in concern. “Of life. Of love. Of everything I’ve been given.” You can’t control your sobs now, they escape your lips, leaving you shuttering. “I need to make up for the fact that I exist.”

In one swift movement, Dikke pulls you to her lap. She wraps her arms around you, and you can feel her strength in her embrace. She doesn’t squeeze you hard, just enough to provide pressure. You can tell she’s holding back, as if worried she’ll break you.

“Please don’t say such cruel things to the person I love.” She begged, burying her face in your hair. “Please, be kind to them.” You were unable to say anything now, clinging onto Dikke with an intense desperation. You sobbed into her, unable to pull yourself together again. It was as if something inside you had broken, and now everything was pouring out. For so long you’d managed to keep yourself upright, yet Dikke had managed to destroy any wall you’d put up around yourself.

The two of you stayed there, tangled in each other for an hour. You, crying, and Dikke, muttering lovely words into your ear. Eventually, you grew tired, and fell asleep in her arms. Dikke was exhausted as well, yet she didn’t want to let go of you just yet.

Collapsing onto her bed, she cuddled into you, holding you tighter than she’d ever had before.

Your Beauty

“Genuine” had never been Tennant’s style.

She was a conwoman, who always got what she wanted from her clients. She used any tactic necessary to reach into their pockets. She’d been a lover, a mother, a friend, and an advisor to a wide variety of people. Never did she mean a word she said. It was all a game to her, her prize being the end goal. She didn’t care how she won it, in the end. As long as it was hers.

If you had been another noble lady, appearing on her doorstep in tears, she would have whisked you inside and poured you a glass of red wine. She would listen to your woes, but no matter their contents, she’d have the same solution. Treat yourself with diamonds, wear something nice to fight off the sadness. Show him how much you’re really worth by donning something shiny and expensive. By the end of the night, you would have been under her spell, and deep in her debt. But you were far from a noble lady.

Tennant had no idea how to act around you. She’d been a conning for so long, she forgot how to forge a connection with another human being. So, she treated you the only way she knew how. Soft flirting and batting eyelashes, wrapping you in her arms, but never staying long. The only difference between you and a client, is that she kept her free hand out of your wallet.

So when you showed up on her doorstep in tears, she had no idea what to do. Her mind instantly went to how she could bend the situation to gain your trust, which she hated, as she wasn’t trying to earn anything from you. Yet she didn’t know how to act in anyone else’s benefit. She was completely lost, trying to find some small glimpse of humanity in her heart.

She spoke your name once, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Her touch was light, almost as if she was afraid, as she gently pushed you into her room. “What happened?” She asked, casually. You took a seat on her couch, trying your hardest to muster any words. “It’s so much…” Was all you could say, between choking on sobs and sputters.

Tennant hummed, putting a kettle on heat. As long as she had something to do with her hands, she figured, you wouldn’t see how nervous she really was.

“I’m making tea.” She told you, no question if you wanted it or not. “I’ll make it sweet, for you.” She winked towards your direction.

When her flirt made no difference in your behavior, she grimaced. It was the only thing she knew how to do in this situation. How else was she supposed to get across that she wanted you to be okay? The two of you sat in relative silence. Her, fidgeting with the tea. And you, sobbing on the couch. Eventually, the kettle sang, and Tennant made a glass for both you and herself. Forcing a smirk back onto her lips.

She placed the tea cup down in front of you, and began to drink from her own. The warm cup bringing some comfort during this uneasy interaction. You sniffled, trying to pull back your tears for long enough to drink. When you managed through a shaky breath, you picked up the cup and began to drink. Tennant was right, she did make the tea sweet for you. It was the perfect amount, however. Not enough to rot your teeth, but enough to taste nice. The tea warmed the both of you, making it easy to find some tranquility. When you’d both finished your cups, the two of you sat there, unable to find any words.

You sniffled again, rubbing your sleeve over your nose. You were out of breath, your eyes red with tears, and your entire body shaking with emotional exhaustion. Tennant watched you, observing you closely. This was a private moment, she realized with great alarm. You did not show this face to just anyone. This was you at your lowest, at your most emotional. You were showing her something special, these were not just some pretty tears in order to gain sympathy. 

“You’re beautiful.” She said, without realizing the words were escaping her lips. Her eyes were wide, watching you with great admiration. 

“Right now?” You questioned. “I highly doubt it.” You almost laughed, confused by her sudden change in demeanor.

“Are you kidding?” Tennant spoke, suddenly breathless. “This is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen you.” Your face grew hot at the attention, as you focused on fidgeting with your hands. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You argued. 

Tennant shook her head, reaching forward for your cheek. She guided it gently, until the two of you were locking eyes. “Right now, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. More than diamonds, more than gold. You are a work of art, brilliant and bold. You are something to be marveled at.” “You have me at a loss. I don’t know if I want to keep this expression all for myself, or display your true beauty to the world.” Tennant’s gaze was so intense, you felt yourself melting underneath it. “Your tears are worth diamonds, I can only imagine what worth a genuine smile from your lips would bring.”

You looked away, the ends of your lips quirking up from the compliments. Tennant gasped, dragging a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Better than I could have ever imagined. Priceless.” She whispered.

#x reader #reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #Dikke #Dikke x reader #Dikke x you #Dikke reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 tennant #tennant #tennant x reader #Tennant x you #Let's Make Friend Soup! #order up!

[gffa]

The latest ending of Ahsoka really made me realize one of the big problems with Felony's writing and why so much of the Masndo-verse and Felony's modern writing falls flat compared to OWK and Andor. Shock value. A BIG twist cliffhanger that leaves us all mouth open and HYPING up the next episode in hope and filling the forums with discussions in anticipation. Understandably, he can't write what we wrote in our heads for 7 days and top that. 1.

2. But once that shock is gone when the story has moved onto the next big thing, or you watch it again when you know what it pays off in, or watch the whole series or season again, it just doesn't hold up. It's empty. Vapid. Because it's all about the shock. The twist. The discussion. The hype fodder. It's not saying anything or adding anything. OWK and Andor was a lot better at that, without the use of the nostalgia baiting that Felony relies on. 3. It becomes an endless circle of low lows and high highs, while OWK and Andor both slowly built up to the crescendo of discussions and speculations and both have stayed in the fandom consciousness alot longer thanks to that. And because they have something to say, both to the world and to the viewer. While with the Felony and the Fraudrou verses, it's just a constant barrage of oh wow, moving on, what's next? ehh, it's over, let's move on.

I feel like one day I'm going to do a longer analysis on why exactly Filoni's writing feels weak to me (where I try to be more fair than I'm usually feeling about his writing), because I don't think he's without a lot of talent and there's certain things he really does get about Star Wars, but I think so much comes back to that he's a writer who is caught in a difficult position--playing in someone else's sandbox but has to now establish his own new corners of that sandbox and I'm not sure he's strong enough to be a big picture kind of guy when he works better in smaller focus. His work on TCW and Rebels is content that we do come back to again and again for analysis, during my rewatches of both those series, those shows hold up! But I think they're ones where he had stronger guardrails up, and he was forced to stick to things in one place. I think live action has been bad for Filoni's writing because of the way so much is structured, that there are multiple series going on and I feel like his writing doesn't have the patience to actually tell a story in a single space, that's why we get Grogu's story being split between The Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett, that's why we get Mandalore's story being splintered across Rebels, The Mandalorian, The Book of Boba Fett, and now Ahsoka. We still haven't even seen half of the events that happen in the Mandalore bigger story! And you're right that he and Favreau both lean too hard on the cameos and echoes/rhymes for nostalgia's sake. And those reference points are often extremely fun in the moment! And I'll grant that the Luke episodes are ones I go back to fairly often, because I think there's some really good content in there about what attachment actually means. But I don't think it's that surprising, looking back, how quickly the Favroni shows fell apart for us and how it doesn't feel like they're establishing anything that can support a bunch of books and comics. I suspect that Disney's not allowed to have books/comics/etc. based on Favroni's shows because they want creative control over those characters while they're still actively writing for them, but also I look at the OT and the PT and look how much was built off those movies+TCW as a foundation, I look at how much you're able to still watch those and find new things to analyze, and I just don't feel that with Filoni's writing anymore, not since Rebels, not to that level, anyway. (I'll grant that I've been a lot more excited about the Ahsoka series and what we can say about it/find in analyzing it than I expected, I expected nothing but shitposts like we did with Mandalorian s3, but I've had fun with serious meta in Ahsoka! I was genuinely excited to come on-line after episode 4 and talk about themes and structure and how well Filoni did with that there!) Ultimately, I think Filoni (and Favreau) both have a lot of talent, but I think they're being pushed too hard to make too much too quickly and that it shows that they're making this up as they go along, rather than that they had a vision they've been crafting for years and any kind of idea of where they want the end goal to be. Like, yeah, Lucas wrote some stuff on the fly, he changed his mind about things along the way, but he had an end point in mind for his story, so the echoes/rhymes felt more resonant for me. Favroni don't feel like they have any idea where they're going and so much winds up feeling like shock value and self-reference for nostalgia bad for me instead of something that's Going Somewhere.

#lumi.txt #star wars #dave filoni #sw negativity

[darkclouds-rainsounds]

You know, there's another thing about the couch scene that I haven't seen anyone mention. Maybe someone has and I just haven't come across it. The wedding imagery in that scene is obvious to all, and several things have been pointed out by others in other posts as making that scene so strongly evocative of a wedding, but I haven't seen anyone point out the birds shown flying by.

This happens a little before the confetti and the bell ringing, and there are three birds here.

On my first read, the moment I saw those birds I instantly had an idea as to what they might be alluding to, and that's an old nursery rhyme called "One for Sorrow", sometimes alternatively known as counting crows (or magpies).

One such modern version of the rhyme goes like this (though older versions go basically the same way):

One for sorrow,

two for mirth,

three for a wedding,

four for a birth,

five for silver,

six for gold,

seven for a secret... not to be told.

And here's a more nuanced explanation of the tallies (up to seven, but there are a grand total of thirteen).

One Crow — bad luck, loss, death, unpleasant catastrophic change.

Two Crows — good luck, a major change for the better, joy.

Three Crows — a wedding or celebration, or the birth of a girl

Four Crows — a birth, particularly of a boy, a new beginning

Five Crows — money coming in, good business

Six Crows — major money change, could mean loss or gain, depending on the rhyme

Seven Crows — a secret, a mystery, or a curse

I don't entirely know if it was intentional or just a coincidence, but this paired with all the other symbolic imagery of this scene leads me to believe it might have been intentional.

#trigun #trigun maximum #trimax #trigun meta #vash the stampede #trigun vash #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun wolfwood

[an0nfr0mth3d3n]

more headcanons/story bits/whatever

So one day Pac woke up early because he really needed a piss and he got up out off the bear furs (shush I know we haven’t seen bears yet on purgatory but I had the idea in my head that soulfire uses animal furs as blankets around the base and there’s a sleeping room that is lined with the reeeally fluffy furs and everyone pretty much dog piles in there and it’s pretty much a hot mess, but necessary cause they can’t afford to keep the campfires burning at night because DUH the BASE might BURN DOWN and it gets REALLY COLD so they just have this insulated room and it’s nice and cozy and OKAY I’ll get on with it) and he left the room to go to the elevator and get out.

He got to the surface and went in the woods to do his business, and it was like, that morning purple? Where the sun isn’t up but you can see the outline of trees where they just look like they were painted black against the sky? And occasionally a bird will fly by and they too just look dark against the sky. The first couple whistles of tentative birdsong are echoing in the silent woods and he turns around to go home, shivering and regretting not grabbing a winter coat or at least one of the furs.

When Pac gets near the base however, he sees Fit sitting on a fallen spruce tree, facing towards the sea, sharpening a Diamond sword on his knee. (Rhymes. Hah.)

Fit, who heard him approaching, turns his head and beckons pac over to sit next to him. Pac does so, even though he is SO COLD he thinks if he sits down the bark will freeze to his pants. He sits because he is a massive simp, and they kind of just watch the sky slowly brighten up, and additional details get revealed onto the silhouetted trees as if someone is carefully tracing over them with cyan dye, and bleeding it into a mix with dark green.

Pac is still super cold and he doesn’t NOT shiver because A. That’s hard to do when you are pretty much in your pajamas in 20 degree (FAHRENHEIT BISHES IM AMERICAN although metric is better Fahrenheit is better on a numerical scale cause when it is 109 degrees F it feels like it would be the number 109 and not some wacky other number. I will concede metric units to you because as an engineering student every time I see American units being used in a problem I cry a little inside)

(wait a second Pac would use Celsius becau- oh whatever it doesn’t matter that much)

apologies for the rant

in 20 degree weather, and B. Maybe Fit would-

“Do you want me to. Uh. Go down and grab a coat?” Fit offers, his throat husky from disuse.

Pac mentally facepalms. “Ah, no I’m doing good actually! Great! Really. I’m not, it’s not like I’m cold!”

They sit for a while in awkward silence. The stirrings of the world become more frequent around them, woodpeckers knocking into trees, and the breaching of whales in the distance. Fit turns around to look towards the base where all of their friends are still sleeping.

As if he had been checking that no one could come up and see them, Fit puts the sword into his inventory and reaches over, gently dragging Pac to sit, not in his lap because that would be crossing a line of things that roommates did, but on the log space in between his legs (ok so like I imagine he like, moved back a bit on the log, and like, manspread so there’s a seat there). Fit’s arms wrapped around Pac, just to keep him warm and stop his shivering, it wasn’t as if there was ANOTHER reason what are you talking about of COURSE not.

They sit there, watching the world around the base slowly come to life. The first cloud lights up a golden color, and the sky blushes with beauty. Its still cold, but sometimes the cold isn’t all that bad.

This was not a headcanon what went wrong what did I do oh god

#qsmp fitmc #qsmp pactw #fitpac #hideduo #qsmp soulfire #q!pactw #q!fitmc

[slothmeters]

A little birdy told me - Trevor Zegras

- w/c - 819

- warnings - injury, cussing,

- this is for the anon who wanted an enemies to lovers ft. Trevor:) I hope you like it! I’m new to writing to please give me tips and things that i need to work on 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Trevor Zegras has hated me ever since I joined the team as a trainer. This boy basically refused to get hurt, or if he did, he refused any form of treatment from me.

We were at an away game in Toronto, and the game was going great for the ducks. I was in the locker room prepping the tape, bandages, and gauze because it was nearing the end of the first period; I knew that the players would want to re-tape their wrists and ankles before going back out on the ice for another 20 minutes.

Everything was going smoothly until I heard one of the coaches yelling for me to come out onto the ice, someone had been hurt. bad.

“Y/ln get your ass out there right now. We have a player down and he’s not getting up. He’s awake, but his leg doesn’t feel that way to him.”

I sprinted out of the locker room and onto the ice not knowing what I was getting myself into.

The short run to the ice seemed longer than it needed to be with how quiet everyone was in there. It was like you could hear your own blood flowing.

Arriving to the incident, I saw who was hurt, and pushed every ounce of bitchiness I had in me to help him.

“Trevor, I know it hurts, but you have to stay still so we can get you off of the ice to get a better look at you ok?” I said while he just had his eyes tightly shut the entire time, continuing to move his hands and arms around the areas of his leg that were in pain.

As soon as he heard my voice his eyes snapped open and he gave me a scared look before turning to another trainer, “No, I am not having her help me. Please, anyone but her.” He was pleading, but nobody listened as we helped him up to one leg skate out of here.

Since I was the main Anaheim trainer, I was the one who had to evaluate Trevor. He was begging for another doctor until I shut him up.

“Trevor I swear, I don’t know what I did to you for you to be a dick to me, but I need to look at your leg. If you get hurt worse cause you keep pulling and thrashing away from me that’s on you!”

He stayed silent for the remainder of me checking his leg out, and it turns out he had torn his acl and mcl and was going to need further testing to confirm what was going to happen to him.

“We’re going to have to take you by ambulance to the nearest hospital to get some more tests, is that ok?”

He nodded slowly, before looking back to the TV to watch the game. He was getting frustrated at himself and at his team. 1. because he wasn’t out there helping the team win the game. 2. they were falling behind toronto by 1 and not being smart in his eyes.

When the medics from the ambulance arrived to help bring Trevor to it, he stayed silent until we got in the back of the ambulance, where it was just us.

“You didn’t do anything to me. That’s the thing. I just don’t know how to communicate.”

I looked up at him and I was confused as to what he was talking about, until I thought about what I had said to him in the training room earlier.

“Trev-“

“Let me finish. I finally know what I’m gonna say. Please let me say it.”

We made eye contact as he started speaking again, “I didn’t know how to communicate that I found you cute. That’s why I pushed you away. I know it’s a lousy excuse but it’s all I had.”

Everything started to make sense. That’s why he would never want to be hurt around me. He wanted me to see him as someone who was strong and unbothered.

“You know, I’ve been waiting for your punk ass to get hurt just so you could see that I wasn’t bad. I knew that you would come out of it soon enough. A little birdy with a name that rhymes with Jamie Drysdale told me that you found me cute, and I may have told that bird that I thought he was cute too. He just needs to get his head out of his ass.”

His eyes filled with shock at first, but that shock began to turn into softness as he processed what I said.

“It’s come full circle. Now we’re in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital because I got hurt.”

“Geez Trevor, way to ruin the moment.” We both laughed, as he looked at me with a genuine smile, something I never thought would be directed towards me.

#trevor zegras #nhl imagine #trevor zegras imagine #anaheim ducks #hockey #hockey blurb #blurbs

[ramp-it-up]

Taste

Pairing: Mob Boss! Sam Wilson x Rumlow! Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader (platonic); Steve Rogers x Reader (platonic); Brock Rumlow x Reader (platonic)

Word Count: around 4K

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Childhood hoods, childhood crush, childhood nicknames based upon appearance, young Brock, Steve, Bucky and Sam, skinny Stevie Rogers, sibings being sibings, bratty behavior, Angst, allusion to underage drinking and crime, toxic parents, protective bothers, allusions to underaged drinking, bratty behavior, a punch in the nose (accidental), bloody nose, shirtless Sam, kind of innocent reader, fingering, oral sex (female receiving) loss of virginity, pain during sex, p in v, raw sex (wrap it or don’t tap it), praise kink, after care. This entire fic is comprised of two flashbacks.

A/N: This is in the same AU Try a Little Tenderness and The Representative, and comes directly after Addicted To You. The AU is called This Thing of Ours.

I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

You were ten years old, it was 2002, and you were spending the summer in Brooklyn at your father’s house. 

It was long before the mob war that he created which separated your brother Brock from his best friends. 

And it was a time that would change you forever.

The July afternoon was hot and so was the block. Music was blaring from the speakers of someone’s radio and there was a buzz in the air: adolescence, ambition and a potential for violence. 

You a slave to a page in my rhyme book/Gettin' big money, playboy, your time's up/Where them gangstas at?/ Where them dimes at?/They shootin'! Aw, made you look

They called you Bunny because of your teeth and your size. But you were a scrapper and could stand up for yourself. Your father taught you that. 

You also had a smart mouth, and roasted anyone who dared talk about you or your family. 

Your mother taught you that. 

When you came to your father’s house while your mother took her annual girls trip that summer, you found that your big brother was suddenly different. Gone was the quiet gangly 12 year old who drew up plans for world domination in composition books in his room; a wiry 13 year old who had friends who were just as scrappy and hungry as he was had taken his place.

Little Stevie Rogers never backed down from a fight. That’s where his best friend Bucky Barnes came in, backing him up when Stevie was against the wall. Brock was the kid with vision, the one who had a plan to get them where they wanted to be.

In power.

Your brother tried to ignore you, but you trailed after him because there was nothing better to do. One day, you sat in the stoop and watched him and his friends working to open the fire hydrant across the street from your dad’s house.

Your brother felt your eyes on them as you hugged your knees.You were a sight, bushy hair, glasses, braces, and an intense look on your face. He felt bad. 

For a second.

“Why don’t you go on over there and play dolls with Shandy and “n’em, Bunny?”

You glanced over at the girls playing on the next stoop, their braids wilting in the sun. They were playing with stiff dolls with stiff plastic hair and legs that didn’t bend. Not your scene.

You just poked your tongue out at him and moved to stand in the water now dripping out of the hydrant, your strawberry sneakers with the bows getting drenched. You smiled down at them, thinking of how mad your mother would be.

“Aw, c’mon Brock. She ain’t hurtin’ nobody. Let her have some fun.”

Bucky’s blue eyes shone down at you and you pushed up your glasses and looked up at him, squinting in the sun. Stevie’s bony elbow bumped into yours as you hopped to avoid the bruising gush of water along the pavement as they succeeded in their quest.

“Sorry.”

Stevie smiled at you. He really was a nice boy, even though he was pugnacious. Bucky was a smart ass, however.

“You don’t want her to melt, do ya? Your old man would skin you alive.” 

Stevie and Bucky laughed as Brock scowled. He didn’t have time for benevolence or little sisters. He had plans. He shook his head.

“Focus. We gotta stick with the plan. Sammy Wilson is coming over to talk about what’s happening tonight, and she doesn’t need to be around.”

You flipped Brock off behind Bucky and Stevie’s back, and he just scowled harder at you. No matter what you did, he didn’t engage with you like you wanted him to. How boring.

Bucky whistled. 

“Wilson is fast. That dude can run his ass off.”

Sam was on the track team at the high school down the block.

“I can beat him.”

Stevie puffed his bird chest out and Brock and Bucky laughed at him. You felt bad. 

“I believe you Stevie.”

He grinned at you and ducked his head.

Brock rolled his eyes and you flipped him off.

He pointed back at you.

“I’m sick of you. I’m telling Dad.”

You thrilled at the attention.

“Go ahead, I’ll tell him what you’re up to.”

Brock grabbed you by the shirt, snarling.

“You better not say a fucking word.”

You pulled away and landed on the pavement, your knee skinned. You kneeled, bending over to look at it, and to keep your tears inside, when you heard the voice of an angel.

“Need some help?”

You looked up into a face haloed by the sun. You reached for the hand that was offered and stood up to look into the face of 14 year old Sammy Wilson. And you were done for.

That gap tooth smile, those eyes. That skin.

You stared at him as you registered laughter around you. Sam spoke again.

“You okay?”

He seemed like he really wanted to know how you were.

“Y-yeah.”

He chuckled.

“You better clean that off.”

Sam took your hand and led you back over to the hydrant. He kneeled down, cupped water in his hand and cleaned off your knee.

“Sssssss!” 

It stung.

“Sorry. But it’s for your own good.”

You felt warm, and not just from the heat, as you let him take care of you.

You stared at him as he finished.

“That’s the best I can do. You need to get a band-aid.”

“Okay.” 

You would do anything he said. Sam looked up at you and it was like the air was sucked out of your body. You didn’t know what this feeling was, but it intrigued you.

“No problem. I got a little sister at home. Sarah. Just looking out. You gotta be careful.”

He smiled as he stood up and walked away. 

You watched him move over to the other boys, forever changed because that’s when you fell in love with Sammy Wilson.

You spent that last summer in Brooklyn as the unofficial mascot of the Savage Crims, the newest gang on the block. Steve, Bucky, and Sam adopted you and you became scout, lookout, and spy. It was the best summer of your life.

Your mother moved to Los Angeles that fall and took you with her. She started dating more legitimate businessmen, meaning the same type of men as your father, just with generational wealth and privilege.

It was a different world than New York. You went to fancy private schools and learned how to play the game. You were now a “friendly black hottie,” sidekick to the main character in every scene. 

But you were smart. 

As you grew older, you watched and learned and played the part, and soon, you were running the game. By the time you graduated from high school, you were the center of attention, just the way you liked it. 

Your mother was engaged, and you and she were on the cusp of something she’d dreamed of her entire life: being iconic.

You started your first two years in college at UCLA, but you convinced your mother that fashion was how you would enable yourself to meet the best type of men, and that Parsons School of design in New York was the place to be. 

You acted as if you were uninterested in reconnecting with Brock, who your mom thought hadn’t contacted you in eight years aside from telling you that your father had died.

You convinced your mother that you wouldn’t venture off the island of Manhattan, and she believed you because she was in the midst of applying the full court press on her man.

The truth was, you and Brock kept in touch regularly, and you were eager to see your brother again. 

And his friends.

So you flew back East in 2012, 10 years after you left, butterflies threatening to fly out of your mouth as you landed at Laguardia. 

After a few weeks in the city establishing your dominance, you showed up at the boys’offices unannounced. He knew you were in town, and told you about how successful he was now, with the help of Bucky and Steve. 

And Sam. 

You were going to go see just how successful everyone was. 

And how lucky you could get.

“Who the hell is that?”

Bucky peered at the camera about the buzzer to the brownstone. Steve came over to look as well.

“It can’t be… Brock, c’mere.”

“What is it? We’re trying to work out this next shipment…”

Brock looked at the camera as Sam watched his jaw drop from the table.

“Who is it?”

“Fuck! That’s Bunny!”

Brock backed up as Steve pressed the buzzer. He opened the door to wait for you to climb the stairs.

“Stevie!?” 

Your excited shriek was muffled as the now beefy blonde picked you up immediately to twirl you around into the loft space.

You stood back, feeling his muscles through his shirt.

“Wow! You have filled out.”

“I must have learned from you…” 

Steve looked you up and down when you heard a roar in your ear.

“Bunny!”

Bucky gave you a bear hug to where you couldn’t breathe. You pounded his back and punched him in the pecs when he let go. You caught your breath and then turned to Brock, whose eyes were shining.

“God, you’re grown up. You’re not my little Bunny anymore.”

“Shut up, stupid.”

You embraced your brother, surprised at your emotion. You were choking up, about to sob in his arms.

“I missed you.”

You whispered into his shirt.

“Missed you too, kid.”

You let him go and you dabbed at your eyes. You heard someone clear their throat and looked over to see Sam standing next to you.

“Hey Sammy!”

You tried to make your voice light, so as not to betray your feelings. You’d replayed this moment in your mind a million times.

He was a man now. And damn. What a man. Tall, dark and handsome. But with that same smile. 

Sam tried to be cool. Brock was right. You weren’t little any more. A full grown woman. He tried to not check you out because he knew Brock was watching, but damn. You were beautiful. All over.

“Well? Can I get a hug?”

Sam unfroze himself.

“Of course.”

You seemed to melt into him, your breasts pressed against his chest, his lats seeming to mold around you. He could do this all day. 

When Sam opened his eyes, he saw Bucky’s raised eyebrow and he released you, stepping back and over to the table to try and pretend that all of his senses were not tuned on you.

“How’s Sarah?”

Sam smiled.

“Good. You should call her.”

You smiled back

“I will.”

Bucky interrupted.

“Tell me all about your socialite world, Ms.Y/L/N.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Rumlow ‘til I die.”

You locked eyes with Sam.

“Who does a girl have to screw to get a drink around here?”

You joked and the room fell silent.

“No one.” Brock deadpanned. “And you’ll wait another year until you’re legal.” 

You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, like everything is legal up in here.”

It was just like old times: you giving them all hell. Although Sam’s hell was different now. 

Bucky handed you a bottle of water.

“Thanks Buck!” 

You sat and crossed your legs across from Sam and Brock.

“So. How’s things?”

You four talked for hours, ordering pizza from Sal’s and shooting the shit. It was almost midnight when they drew straws to see who would take you home. Sam drew the short straw. 

Lucky him.

You rode in the passenger seat of Sam’s BMW, arms folded across your chest, an adorable bratty pout on your delectable lips. He’d been watching that mouth all night, torturing himself with visions of those in various places on his body. He was getting hard. 

Sam stifled a moan which he tried to play off.

You jumped a little when he growled at you.

“What the hell is wrong with you, little girl?”

You turned toward him, mad.

“First of all, I’m not a little girl any more.”

“Yeah, Right.”

It sounded dismissive, but Sam was really just agreeing with you.

“Second of all, y’all really drew straws to take me home?”

You glared at him as he laughed at your outrage.

“I’m not the little tagalong from years ago. I didn’t even need you to take me home. I could call anyone to come get me. To come get this.”

You held up your flip phone and indicated your body. Sam’s dark eyes took you in and felt possessive. Holy shit, he was in deep. 

“I’m sure you got lots of hardheads after you.” 

Sam clenched his jaw and looked back at the road as he drove to The Village.

“We’re busy men, Bunny. We got important work to do. Brock will be working for a couple more hours, Bucky is running the streets, and Steve probably has a date right now…”

“At 1 am? You mean a booty call.”

Sam continued, ignoring you.

“But what will never change is us protecting you. We’re family, Bunny.”

You pushed his head and he glared at you.

“Same little boys is all I see. Important crimes, you mean.”

You huffed back into your seat, your breasts bouncing in your spandex dress. Sam fought to keep his eyes on the road.

“I’ll show you a little boy. Don’t try me, Bunny.”

You turned back to him, batting your eyes, but your attitude on 1000.

“I’d love to try you Sammy.”

Sam had the urge to take you by the throat and slide you up and down his dick, but he just squeezed the steering wheel harder, trying to ignore you. 

“Hey Sammy.”

He sideyed you. Your voice was too sweet.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

“Fuck no!”

“C’mon, don’t be a prude. I drank all the time in Europe this summer.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t Europe, and I don’t give a fuck.”

You sat back in your seat, grumbling and frustrated. He would never see you as anything but little Bunny. By the time you got to campus, you didn’t even wait for Sam to park before you jumped out. He caught up with you, long legs gaining ground quickly. He grabbed your arm.

“Hey!”

“Let me go!”

You turned around and popped him in the nose by reflex.

“Shit!” 

Sam held his face and doubled over.

“Oh, my damn! I’m sorry Sammy. Let me see.”

“Stop…”

Sam pulled away from you and as his hands moved, blood spattered all over his shirt and the concrete below him.

“Oh no. Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

Sam was moving away.

“Just.. leave me alone. I’m okay…”

“No you’re not. I’m sorry Sammy. Come up to my place. Please. I’ll clean you up.”

Sam opened his watery eyes to see your remorseful face and let you lead him up to your apartment, up three flights of stairs. You took him immediately to the bathroom and you washed him up, giving him a wet washcloth and telling him to lean his head forward, indicating the toilet.

Sam sat down and did as he was told, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You sat on the floor below him and stared up at him, hugging your knees.

“I’m so so so so sorry Sammy…”

He looked at you, silent, and continuing to pinch his nose.

You stayed with him for 15 minutes until he stopped bleeding and stood up again, cleaning up a bit more. You felt so bad.

You stared at his shirt as he stood.

“Jeez, Sammy, take that shirt off, let me soak it.”

Sam remained silent, but took off his shirt.

You bent over to get some hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet, scrubbed the shirt a little, then soaked it in cold water.

Sam was watching your ass, almost feral at the fact that you were such a brat. You needed to be tamed. But you were Brock’s kid sister. He was so torn. 

“You can grab a sweatshirt out of my –” 

You turned around toward and stopped mid thought, mind blank at the sight of Sam’s shirtless form.

“Holy shit.”

Sam gave you a lopsided grin.

“You keep sweatshirts in your holy shit?”

You didn’t even hear the tease, just licked your lips as you stepped toward him.

“Sammy?”

Sam gulped and tried to calm down. But the look on your face was everything at the moment. He knew he probably should have, but he didn’t stop you as you entered his space. You reached your hand up to his nose.

“Are you ok?”

“I think so.” 

Sam reached up and manually shifted his nose. 

“Probably just broken for the third time. Been in a couple of scraps.”

Your fingers entwined with his and you brought them to your lips. Tears started to slide down your face.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam wiped the tears from your face with his thumbs.

“Don’t cry. I’m ok.”

He pulled you in for a hug, and then leaned back.

As you looked up at him, he whispered, “So damn beautiful, Bunny…” 

Suddenly, he was kissing your face, collecting your salt water with his lips. Then, he pulled away.

“What are we doing?” 

You began to nuzzle his palm, while your hands reached for his pecs.

“Stop thinking so much, Sammy…”

“Thinking’s what got us into this..”

You nodded.

“D’you know how long I’ve been thinking about this?”

Your eyes followed your hands as they traced his chest, then his sternum down to his happy trail. His stomach clenched at the sensation. He was too far gone.

“How long?”

“From the first time someone tried to be with me sexually. I never really wanted to, I mean I’ve messed around, I can suck your soul out, but I’ve never wanted anyone inside of me.”

You were tracing his hard on outside of his pants, your face upturned now.

“Are you trying to say that…you’re…”

You nodded again.

“You were always in the back of my mind, Sam. I only want you.”

Sam tilted his head downward and captured your lips in a kiss, as though it were inevitable.

You both drew back and then your lips crashed together again, your bodies pressed up against each other urgently.

The kiss was everything you ever imagined and everything Sam didn't know that he wanted. Your hands went for his belt buckle. At that moment, Sam placed his hands on your arms and pushed you away from him.

“We can’t do this.”

You nodded, stepped back and took a deep breath.

“You’re right. You’re one of my brother’s best friends. No need for you to pop my cherry or anything.”

You two stared at each other. Then you licked your lips. Sam cocked his eyebrow, trying to restrain himself from the animalistic urges your filthy mouth gave him.

“You little brat.”

Sam grabbed your neck to pull you close to him. He reached down to pull your skirt up and he rubbed your ass like he was trying to shine it. He then put both hands on you to spread your cheeks apart. Your wetness was evident in the sound. You buried your face in his chest, embarrassed.

“Sounds like you really want this.”

For once in your life, you were speechless, and Sam reached down and angled your head up so he could look at you.

“I need you tonight Sam.”

You kissed him again and tried to get on your knees. But Sam stopped you and led you over to your bed.

“You’re the queen right now.”

You pulled off your dress and stood there in your bra and panties as Sam pulled you toward your bed to lay beside him, his hand caressing down the side of your body. 

He moved his fingers over the lace of your bra to find your nipple, and when it was discovered, he pinched it to see your reaction. The way your eyes closed halfway and your mouth opened was everything. He reached behind you to expertly unhook your bra and looked down on you.

“You're so beautiful.”

And he dipped his head running his tongue around the edges of your areola, making your nipple rock hard against his breath. Then, he started sucking in earnest, his huge hand going to tweak and play with the other. You threw your head back in earnest, the feeling in your cunt growing with each pull of his mouth. You started moaning.

“You mean to tell me…. That no one has ever… had the pleasure…”

Sam asked the important question between having his mouth on you. He couldn’t get enough.

You shook your head and furrowed your brow. It was taking you out of the moment. Sex was just a means to an end for you up until now.

“I suck them off, and they’re satisfied. S’not a big deal….. Ahhhhh.”

Sam stopped what he was doing to look into your eyes. 

“It is a big deal, Bunny. You deserve everything.”

Sam tenderly kissed your lips as he pulled your panties off, and then returned to your breasts. Tears slipped down your face to the pillow beneath your head as he finally parted your legs. His hand, led by his long middle finger slid down your wet, wet folds to play in your slick. 

“Mmmmmm. That’s that shit I like.” 

Sam rumbled in his chest, and the vibrations reached your nipple, causing you to arch into his mouth and hand. Sam’s fingers worked your clit and you could feel it get hard and plucky. You heard the sloshing wetness of your arousal. So did Sam. He pulled off to look at you again.

“You ever play with yourself?”

The look on his face was part possession and part genuine concern.

“Of course. But not this goooddddd…. Shit Sam. I just hit it and quit it…. Fuckkkk that feels good.”

Sam was plucking your nipple with one hand and rubbing your clit in expert circles with the other, watching the ecstasy on your face as you neared your peak. 

“C’mon for me now. Cum. right here in my hand…Yes…. That’s a girl…”

It hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Holy mother of……ssshhhhhhiiiiittttt! Sam! Fuckkkk fuck fuck fuck!”

You tried to grab his hand to move it away, but he was strong. Oh so strong. He didn’t stop.

“Sam… I… Sam stop..I can't…”

“You can, and you will. Take it. You’re tough. You can take it.” 

You convulsed as your pulses slowed down and you tried to relax.

“That’s a girl. Just give it to me. Let me have it. Love that shit. You’re beautiful right now, you know that?”

You calmed under his praise and got into the groove of his pleasure.

Sam’s fingers started exploring you, one of them sliding easily inside you, so he added another, but when he reached the second knuckle, you clamped down hard.

“Shit, Bunny. You’re so so tight.”

Sam looked at you with lust and you could feel his cock throbbing against your thigh, his precum making a mess.

“Thought that first one would have loosened you up. Looks like you need at least one more.”

Your eyes grew wide as he slid down your body, fingers still inside you, but now his mouth clamping around your clit, which was still sensitive. Your knees closed around his head and he pried them off with one hand.

“Take it Bunny. You deserve.”

It was the last thing he said before he destroyed your soul with his mouth. He licked and sucked and lapped, and his fingers slid inside you and curled the spark of pain muted by the fireworks behind your eyes as you came harder than you ever had in your life, including a few minutes earlier.

“Hnnnnh, hunnnnnnhh. Sam…”

He was kneeling up now, grabbing for his pants and a condom. When you saw the foil packet, you stopped him.

“No Sammy. Wanna feel you.”

Sam raised his eyebrow.

“Mom put me on the pill when I was 13. It’s like a vitamin now. I’m good.”

Sam nodded and his thumb went to your still vibrating clit as he swiped his head in your viscous slit. He managed to pop his thicker-than-you-thought head inside you, but you yelped in pain as he tried to slide in.

He leaned down, arms on either side of your head as you clutched his shoulders.

“You good?”

You nodded, tears in your eyes as you smiled.

“I want it, I need it. Give it to me.”

Sam looked at you, shook his head and smiled.

He slid inside you slowly, seeming to grow wider and longer with each inch that he gave you. The burning between your legs was soothed by his praise and tender kisses on your forehead.

“There you go.  Feels so so good for me Bunny. You’re doing so good. I can’t believe this… Make me wanna cum already. This pussy is so tight. And so good. Better than I’ve ever had…”

Sam relaxed you, and you began to enjoy that he was taking you apart. When your moans matched his thrusts was when he started to give it to you, his will power waning.

You were the epitome of desire.

He hiked your leg above his hip so that he could dig deeper and his thumb found your clit again.

“One more Bunny. Just one more…”

He felt you flutter around him and he gripped the base of his cock. 

“Sammy….”

“Yes… oh… fuck yes….”

“Ohhh! Ah!”

Your cream gushed around him as you came and Sam grunted and let go inside you.

“Fuuuuucckkkkkkkk aahhhhhhh ahhhh. Fuck!”

Sam felt like he his balls would never empty and he slumped on top of you, feeling your arms snake around him to hold him.

“Mmmm… Sammy.”

He could hear the smile in your voice. He leaned up off of you and kissed your nose, looking into your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You smiled at him and Sam’s heart was gone. You had it locked up.

“Better than okay.”

He kissed you again.

“Stay right here.”

He went to the bathroom, coming backwith a washcloth and tenderly cleaned you up. You heard the bath running.

“You’re going to be sore.”

“Yes. I’m going to feel you for a week.”

Sam grinned and you saw his cock come to life. You smirked and gingerly moved ot get out of bed.

“Join me in the bathtub Sammy. Wanna try the wet and wild….”

Sam was hypnotized by the sway of your ass.

He didn’t think of the implications of what just happened. He’d had a taste, and his hunger was voracious. He just wanted you.

And that would become a problem.

Reblogging is always a good thing if you liked it.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #mob boss! Sam Wilson x Rumlow! Reader #sam wilson x rumlow! reader #mob boss! sam wilson #this thing of ours au #sam wilson x black! reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #mob!steve rogers #mob! bucky #mob! sam wilson #Sam x Bunny #ttoo

[gin-juice-tonic]

Hey there! I have a friend who wants to write a character with OCD, but I'm worried that she might not have a fully accurate image of what it is. I don't really know many people with OCD, but if you could could you give some tips to pass on to her? Sorry if this is weird, and you don't have to answer this if you don't want to. I just thought it would be better to get information from someone who is affected by OCD than skim an article about it. Thanks again (p.s. I really love your comics!!)

This is going to go under a cut cause i wrote more than I really intended. It's very long. I put a video clip of a character who I think is a good representation in media at the end if you decide you dont want to read all of that and just skip down there.

The thing is that OCD varies a lot from person to person. My experiences arent gonna look the same as someone else's who also has it. Some people have very visible symptoms, some people have things that are still obviously ocd symptoms but would only be recognized by someone who knew what to look for, some people only have mental symptoms - you wouldnt be able to tell unless you were a mind reader. And just like any other disorder it has a range of severity.

Also not everyone's triggered by the same things. I know you said you'd rather hear from a person than an article, but I think she should look at articles that detail what typical obsessions are (Though she should go in knowing these thoughts are beyond people's control. They're sometimes extremely upsetting, and theyre of course upsetting to the person who has them. They may be very hard to read if you arent well-versed in this stuff.) In fiction I usually see perfection and contamination, but there are wayyyy more than that. Some triggers come and go even. One day I can be completely fine about something and encountering it a different day it might take me 3 months to stop spiraling about it.

An important thing that IS spread across everyone who has it is that giving into compulsions makes things worse. They are a feeling of momentary relief that can fade incredibly quickly, which is what leads people to do them over and over and over again much to the detriment of the person doing it.

There is not a lot of rhyme or reason to it. And it cannot be logic-ed with. You could be the smartest, most level headed, logical person in the world, but you cannot logic your way out of obsessive thoughts. (This usually creates an obsessive thought spiral even, which is bad and can be dangerous...)

Adding onto that, she should think hard about whether the character would know they have OCD or not. The public perception of OCD is not great. Most people dont understand what it looks like, including people who have it. And the people who do have it often feel like they cannot talk about it. (I was encouraged by a psychiatrist to never! talk about the intrusive thoughts I have to ANYONE. She sucked, but it shows the attitude that surrounds the disorder.) And whether they know or not will make a big difference in how they view themself and their mental health. Personally when I did not know I had it I was doing a lot worse mentally. A lot. Frankly it very nearly drove me to suicide. And then I found out what it was, and it helped. It didnt magically make things disappear of course, but it helped.

She also might be tempted to make the characters symptoms manifest in ways that are comedic or silly. I am not bothered by this necessarily, I think a lot of the things I do are silly and would be perceived as funny by an outsider. But if she is going to do this I ask that she makes sure she shows how frustrating and embarrassing it is for the character. If you want an example, there is a character in the show Scrubs with OCD. (Side note, Scrubs is rated TV-14 so turn back now if youre too young but)

His name is Dr Kevin Casey, though you could probably just find his scenes from looking up Scrubs OCD. He is played off as a jovial man whose disorder makes him quirky, but he is given a scene in which you can really see the toll it takes on him. One line he says "Nobody's supposed to see this" hits especially hard.

So if that was too long and you didnt read most of it the number one important thing I'd personally ask is however inconvenient this characters OCD is going to be to everyone else Id like her to make sure she shows that its a million times more inconvenient to the person who has it.

#suicide mention #tw suicide mention #ask stuff #cw ocd #long post

[dalekofchaos]

Rock inserting himself into the Wrestlemania main event hurts everyone who built themselves up for a main event spot

I'm sorry, but Roman vs Rock hurts everyone.

It hurts Seth and Drew, since that's the obvious direction now that Punk is out of action. Oh and now it gets even better. Now they wanna unify both belts(again) You introduced a new world title when they refused to have Roman drop the belt to Cody, tried to legitimize it, buried the title, buried the champion holding it and want to unify it 8 months later. Y'know what would have been the best solution to all of this? Having Drew go after Seth so it's now Seth vs. Drew, & you still keep Cody vs. Roman. Drew taking Punk's spot in the Seth match would make so much sense for his current character.

It hurts Rhea and Becky. This is Becky's Rocky story and this is Rhea's chance to finally main event Wrestlemania and finally proving her worth as Women's Champion when this stupid fucking company refuses to use her as said Women's champion

It hurts Bayley and Iyo. Bayley FINALLY wins the Royal Rumble and looks to be getting a main event spot now that Punk is out of action and there is a story behind it. Bayley and Iyo now are not main eventing.

Neither women's matches are main eventing Wrestlemania. AGAIN.

It hurts Cody. He never should've lost last year. Then they gave him shit as an excuse to "face adversity" a nonsensical Brock Lesnar feud with no rhyme or reason, a bad Shinsuke feud. I'm sorry Shinsuke is not who he used to be in NXT and he just has go away heat with me, that feud was bad. And the nonstop Judgement Day interruptions. Cody has been eating shit all year, he finally wins the Rumble and now he gives that spot up to The Rock and looked like a putz in the process and gave up said spot to a man who is bad at promos in this day and age, gassed 5 minutes into a brawl and would not survive a main event match against Roman.

Cody just doing a 180 and challenging for Seth's participation trophy championship is just bad booking. Roman's title is STILL the championship that his father lost. It is THE WWE Championship. Fucking over the story in favor for Dwayne is bad booking and bad writing. No one wants Dwayne and this is coming from someone who isn't that big of a Cody fan.

Who does this benefit? It doesn't benefit Roman. He doesn't need to be legitimized as the Head of the Table. HE'S ALREADY HEAD OF THE TABLE AND HAS GOTTEN A RECORD BREAKING REIGN. HE DOES NOT NEED IT!

Rock does not need to be the one to break Roman's reign. What does it say that no one could break the reign? Not Cody, LA Knight, Sami, Orton or Drew can do it, but Rock can?

He used his power as a TKO board member to force the match and killed two years worth of build up in Cody Rhodes for a part timer that was gassed against Jinder. JINDER! and you fucking expect me to believe he's gonna last an entire match against Roman Reigns? I hope the fans boo him out of the fucking building.

Congrats, you buried your entire roster to inflate Dwayne Johnson's already inflated ego.

Things The Rock has ruined to get his way:

Ruined the fast & furious franchise

Killed DCEU with Black Adam

Lost $60 million dollars in the XFL 3.0 and had a tv deal so bad he had to merge with the USFL just to continue

Just ruined the biggest storyline in WWE in the best wrestling boom period since the attitude era

Congrats Dwayne, hope it was worth it 🙄

#WWE #Cody Rhodes #The Rock #Roman Reigns #Seth Rollins #Drew McIntyre #Bayley #Iyo Sky #Io Shirai #Rhea Ripley #Becky Lynch #Wrestlemania 40

[fists-on-up]

My Thoughts on the Loie Fuller + Taylor Swift Connection (Part 2)

This part will be a bit more speculative and subjective than the last, but I think both are important to examine. In this part I want to discuss where I think Taylor's interest in, and dedication to, Loie came from and how I believe she has shown this influence beyond the Reputation Tour.

ORIGINS, MAYBE?

I think that really understanding human nature is fundamental to being a good writer. If a character is going to do or say something, it has to make sense and feel organic. The better aligned with that character's past, values, and intentions something is, the more real it feels. Humans are very predictable creatures, really, and our options for actions or responses to any given thing are much fewer than we realize. Being good at making fictional choices make sense often makes you good at recognizing when real-world actions or statements don't.

It becomes this kind of background process that's always running, and when someone says or does something "off", you feel it. It's not unlike recognizing subverted rhyme. The foundation is laid, you know what the word will be, and when it's subverted, it's obvious. It makes it easy to sort of reverse-engineer someone's motivations, also. If situation A or B would result in saying X or Y but they said Z, A or B could not have really happened and situation C is more likely true. It's hard to explain, but it has as much to do with what people do not say or do as it does what they do. It's a huge part of the reason I ended up in the gaylorverse.

So how might a singer/songwriter and pop star who started in country music come to dedicate a very telling song to a little-known lesbian dancer who lived in Paris a hundred years ago? (Who fled to Paris, even, literally because the culture was clever?)

Maybe because she was very in love with a dancer who also loves Paris.

A while back in my journey down the gaylor rabbit hole I came across this video of Karlie backstage of the 2014 VSFS. I'm not sure if it's a rehearsal, or if it was on the day, but at the time I saved it because it's adorable.

(recall the quote from the excerpt in Part 1 that stated Loie played a "hide-and-seek illusionist game" with the audience. All eyes on you, my magician, all eyes on me, your illusionist, etc.)

Some months later, I came across this video. I'm not sure if this was another take, if this was a rehearsal, or if it was edited but the televised version of this walk we all know so very well does not include this very Loie Fuller-esque flourish Karlie does at the end of the runway.

For reference, here is a portion of Loie Fuller's Butterfly Dance.

Can I say for sure that Karlie introduced Loie Fuller and her history to Taylor Swift? Nope. Nothing is impossible. But it sure seems to me that one of them introduced her to the other, and it seems more likely it would have started with Karlie. I'd expect a gay ballerina to have a greater knowledge of Loie's history than Taylor just as I'd expect Taylor to have a greater knowledge of, say, Melissa Ethridge, than Karlie. And if this is the case, the dedication to Loie could have been a sort of vicarious dedication to Karlie.

BUTTERFLY DANCE / SERPENTINE DANCE

Of course it's applicable as fuck that the two dances Loie Fuller was known for were the Butterfly Dance & Serpentine Dance. Especially considering the association between Karlie Kloss & butterflies since, well, the presumed beginning of her involvement in all of this.

But it gets much more interesting leading up to Reputation when several things happen and Taylor ends up embracing the title of "snake".

It's always a bad idea to pin a label on a girl who's been told who she has to be her entire life. That's not going to go well. But Dear Reader, if you're young this is absolutely the best way to respond to bullies. They want you to fight back. They don't know what to do when you gleefully make it you're entire personality and thank them for it.

If you follow me on TikTok or Twitter, you probably know that I think Taylor was sabotaged from coming out not only in 2019, but before Reputation. I think that was the purpose of whatever album "Karma" would have been and I don't see any other reason why an album would be scrapped entirely.

So presumably we have this knowledge of Loie Fuller, Karlie's association with the butterfly and now Taylor's association with the snake, and I think this is exactly where all of this emerges. It's all so serendipitous, and as a poet I can confirm we sure do love that shit.

I think in a way Loie Fuller and the true reason behind her artistic choices became a way to sort of romanticize closeting. It wasn't forced, it was a magic trick. It wasn't torture, it was a game. If you have to do it anyway, you might as well approach it in a way that makes you hate it a little less. It gives you a sense of control. If you can't make it stop, make it *art*.

And this continues into the Lover era in such a beautiful way. To my knowledge, that's the first introduction of The Crest. And you will never convince me that's not a snake in the shape of an S and a butterfly in the shape of a K. The entire crest is for the Lover. I seriously doubt she used both to represent herself, despite the use of fluffy imagery during the era.

I think Taylor does cover up self interest with a thin (and messy) layer of allyship, but I think it's also true that her inability to honor the one person she wants to honor often makes her look like she only cares about herself. Another example of this is the montage of sweet clips in Miss Americana that are just... all Taylor. The "someone" she had fallen in love with is never shown. Likewise the Rep attic movies in the Lover music video are all Taylor. Because she couldn't make them all the muse like she wanted.

It must really fucking suck to always look like something you're not, but I digress.

I'm adding this depiction of snakes & butterflies mostly because in looking for what I wanted to include here I noticed something about this back tattoo I'd never noticed and I've never seen anyone else talk about - there are two snakes. It's not a snake bursting into butterflies like the beginning of ME!, it's two district snakes with different patterns coiled around one another.

Perhaps two "snakes in the grass" were meant to finally fly free. I'm not sure if that's what it means, but I had a good cry about it anyway.

Of course after the Lover era and the absolute clusterfuck that came with it, it's understandable that everything wasn't sunshine and rainbows anymore.

But one thing that did remain was the crest. We see it again in the Evermore photo shoot, albeit behind glass which I'm sure is a coincidence.

But even now, the crest remains relevant. It pops up again in Anti-Hero, when Taylor's glittery insides are exposed and she ruins her friends' dinner trying to cover it up. Then she tries to drink from a wine bottle with the crest on it, but fails because it's empty.

Once she's OUT of the house, however, a similar wine bottle is able to be drank.

The crest was even in the Apple Music experience thing a couple of months ago, both on the stained glass found in the Lover House, but on the "a message in a bottle" bottle.

Although I do think the crest itself is a symbol of Taylor & Karlie's relationship, at minimum it's an ongoing use of the butterfly/serpent juxtaposition seen in Loie Fuller's work and throughout Taylor's.

I think it's fascinating how much we're all inspired and impacted by one another & those influences are meaningful whether people ever know about them or not. I know I have people who have inspired me but will never know. I'm sure you do too. We're all connected in that way.

I just love to consider the "why" behind someone's actions or choices, especially when it comes to art. I like to understand people, and doing so helps me understand myself. Of course it's impossible to ever get confirmation for these sorts of things, but I think it's as good a theory as any.

If nothing else, I'm almost certain that the Vogue writer had good reason to suggest Loie Fuller was the key to Reputation and Lover, although they left it at that. I suppose they had to hide their thoughts in plain sight too, in a way. Maybe they knew, or maybe when you've had to be the illusionist, you can't help but see how the trick is done. It takes away the magic, but it gives you the truth.

#gaylor #gaylor swift #taylor swift

[resident-gay-bitch]

part one of this can be found here :) it has little steddie

"subtle." steve said, leaning up against the backside of the rv they'd stolen, folding his arms over his chest as he looked on at eddie.

eddie flinched back, almost dropping his cigarette, "shit." he gasped and then relaxed when he saw it was steve standing there, "yeah, well... it's better than getting another lecture about lung cancer from baby sinclare."

steve chuckled softly to walk over and crouch on the grass beside him, "care to share?"

"he rhymes!" eddie said with a little dramatic flare as he passed the smoke over to steve.

steve grinned as he inhaled and they settled into a comfortable silence. they passed the smoke back and forth a few times. he looked at eddie in the silence, playing a thousand different possible conversations over in his mind.

"you'll protect dustin, right?" steve asked.

eddie blinked at him, pressing the smoke between his lips, "what?"

"down there." steve said, like it was simple, "when you're... you'll keep him safe?"

eddie sighed and looked back out at the treeline, "i'd give my life to make sure that kids safe, man."

steve sighed too, a heavy one, a weight being lifted off his shoulders, "yeah..." he looked back at eddie, "me too."

eddie looked over to him, blowing out the last puff of the cigarette before he stubbed it in the grass. they locked eyes, staring at eachother with a heavy weight pushing down on their shoulders. eddie let his head fall back and thump against the rv slumping down until he was comfortably sat. steve mimicked his movements.

they shared a look, one with so much weight and pain, and they both knew what it meant. they didn't have to say it out loud to know that one of them probably wasn't going to make it back out of this alive.

eddie gave him a small smile.

steve nodded his head, "shit."

eddie laughed, and it was pained, but a laugh no less, "i'm gonna need a-fuckin-nother cigarette man."

"we have bigger problems than lung cancer to worry about right now." steve said, holding his hand out as eddie fumbled with his pack of camels.

he huffed a laugh and placed a cigarette between steves long fingers, "damn right."

steve watched with a small smile as eddie searched for his lighter and quickly lit it as steve inahled. eddie's hand lingered, holding the lighter without a flame at the end of the cigarette as steve held his breath. his eyes fixed on steves lips as he drew the smoke away and blew. he only snapped out of it and pulled back when the smoke drifted to his face.

steve handed him the cigarette.

"did you have a good life, at least?"

eddie shrugged, "ah... i wouldn't say good, but... not bad either, y'know?"

"yeah." steve sighed, "same here."

"really?" eddie hummed around the cigarette, "you got that big house and girls fawning over you and you wouldn't call that a good life?"

steve furrowed his brow and looked at eddie, and if that sentance was said any other way, steve probably would have taken offence to it. but eddie said it with such genuine curiosity that it lead steve to feel a little bad. eddie didn't have a big house, and steve had seen the way that girls would look at him, heard the way they'd talk about him. to steve, those two things seemed so pointless and stupid these days, they couldn't make a good life. but to someone like eddie, those thinks might have been gold.

"yeah..." steve said with a small shrug, "i guess those things are okay... i mean, i've got a big house but it's always so empty. and those girls man? its great in theory, but they all just come and go, only there for one thing. kinda shitty when you think about it."

"oh." eddie said, looking deeply at steve as he tapped the ash off the smoke before handing it to steve, "wheelers the only one that meant somethin, huh?"

steve scoffed and laughed, "yeah..." he took a smoke, "s'bullshit though."

eddie nodded and looked back out to the trees, "i'd give anything for a big house like yours... wayne doesn't even have his own room in our trailer."

"it's so lonely, man." steve shrugged, "maybe if my parents were around more than like... two weeks in a year, or i had a sibling or something, but..."

"oh." eddie swallowed, "didn't know you had shitty parents."

"don't tell many people."

eddie sighed, "i know how you feel... mum overdosed when i was ten, and dad..."

"taught you how to hotwire a car." steve nodded and thumped his head back against the rv, "you needn't say much more."

eddie laughed quietly, "yeah."

"but the good stuff?"

"well... i got my boys, you know, the band-"

"corroded coffin, right?" steve asked and handed the cigarette back. he ignored the way his stomach flipped at eddie's bright smile and the fresh glow in his eyes at the fact that steve remembered- no, that he knew, "dustin doesn't shut up about you, man... he's- he's been begging me to take him to one of your shows because the bar wont let him in alone."

eddie smiled so brightly, bashfully, "really?" he scrunched up his nose, and steve thought he was beautiful.

"yeah... but i kept saying no, cause, like... why would i want to go see eddie, the freak, munsons metal band play in some dodgy dive bar on a random tuesday, you know?" he laughed, and eddie did too, thankfully not offended. steve wasn't trying to offend him, afterall, it was just a fact, "wish i had now."

"don't dwell on the past, stevie." eddie sighed, puffing a thin cloud of smoke out to the sky.

steves heart skipped a beat at the nickname.

"for dustins sake, man..." he gave eddie small smile, "now i'll never get to take him to one of your shows."

"probably." eddie insisted, giving steve a stern glare with an arch of his eyebrow, "not definitely... you need to try your best to make it back to him."

"you too." steve smiled.

"i need to make it back to wayne..." he sighed, "that man, he... he took me in and gave up his whole life to look after me, ya know? it's not fair of me to just... die on the spot."

steve nodded, "same with robin."

"steve..." eddie said, his eyes sinking as he turned his head towards him.

"yeah?"

"promise me..." eddie swallowed, "promise me, if you get out of here... if i don't... tell him thanks? tell him that i love him, and thankyou... for everything?"

"yeah, eddie." steve smiled, his hand reaching out to rest over eddies on the cool grass below them. he gave it a little squeeze, "i promise- but only if you promise to say the same to robin for me?"

"can't you tell her yourself?" eddie huffed, passing the smoke back to steve with his free hand, that wasn't trapped by steves warm one.

"she wont let me." he laughed softly and pulled the cigarette to his pretty lips, "i don't blame her."

"then, yeah." eddie smiled and flipped his hand upwards under steves so their palms connected, and so he could slot their fingers together to hold, "yeah, i promise."

they both looked out at the treeline, watching a pair of birds dance around together in the distance, feeling the cool breeze that came with the slow beginning of the sunset as they shared the end of eddies cigarette. once it was done and stubbed out in the grass, they still didn't let go of one anothers hands, they just watch the sky turn a dusky shade of pink and purple.

"tell me a secret." eddie said quietly, not looking at the other man as he spoke, but he let a soft smile creep onto his lips as he said it, "something no one else knows."

"a secret?" steve asked.

"yeah." eddie looked at him with that same soft smile, "it can be anything... your deepst darkest desire, your biggest fear, the thing that keeps you up at night... or, something super fucking embaressing that you thought you'd never tell anyone."

steve giggled softly and looked over at eddie with a pink splatter in his cheeks, "you wanna know a secret?"

"yes." eddie said with a proud smile and a nod.

"why?" steve asked.

"because... i wanna know something about steve almighty that no one else does- not even buckley!" eddie squeezed steves hand, "i think that would be an awesome power move... you know? eddie the freak, harboring something burried deep in the vault of harrington... plus, if i die, then it dies with me, no one else could ever know. if you die, then you'll be getting it off your chest. win, win."

steve squinted his eyes and smiled, "will you tell me one too?"

"only if you ask nicely." eddie hummed, gazing at steve a little dreamily, honestly.

"okay..." steve laughed, nervous under eddie's gaze, "please tell me a secret in return."

"i promise." eddie smiled.

steve grinned and looked back out at the trees, thinking of something to tell eddie. something no one else knew. something eddie could appreciate.

"okay, robin has seen this, but she doesn't know why." steve peaked at him out of the corner of his eye, and he smiled softly, eddie got rather excited, "i have a ken and a gi joe doll sitting next to eachother on the shelf in my wardrobe holding hands."

eddie burst out with laughter, "what?"

steve laughed too, "get it... cause they're... they're in the closet."

eddie looked at him blankly for a moment, and steve tried to hold back his smile. it wasn't working. he could feel his cheeks burning red and his laughter begging to break out as eddie just looked at him, dead serious.

and then they both broke, laughing loudly to the point of tears.

"i can't believe you have a closeted ken and gi joe doll in your bedroom."

"it has sentimental meaning, okay?" steve scoffed, sending a bittersweet smile to eddie.

"a double entendre, maybe?" he asked with a hopeful glint in his eye.

"yeah." steve sighed, leaning back against the rv again with a saddened smile, "robbie doesn't know about that either."

"i can't believe you remember." is what eddie said next, and it made steve blush.

"it was you." he said simply, looking over at eddie softly.

"hmm." he nodded, "i can't believe i was the start of steve harringtons sexuality crisis."

steve cracked a smile, "don't get an ego, now."

"too late." eddie sighed with a click of his tongue. he grinned wildly at steve, "already got one, big boy."

steve blushed and rolled his eyes, "come on... what's your secret?"

eddie looked at him with a soft smile now. steves skin prickled as eddie started to softly soothe the back of his palm with his calloused thumb. steve looked at him, waiting patiently for eddie's reveal. eddie turned a little pink, and steve found him adorable.

"i'm twenty one and still haven't had my first kiss."

steves eyes widened and his mouth gaped open, "what?"

eddie laughed softly, "i haven't had my-"

"i heard you..." steve muttered with a disbelieving shake of his head, "why not?"

"well, it's not as easy when you're a freak, stevie." he hummed and wiggled their combined hands, looking down at them as he spoke his next words, "plus... this real pretty boy promised to take it when i was nine."

his eyes flicked back up to steve, big, dark, baby cow eyes that steve could stare so deeply into. he swallowed, and eddie did too, and they looked at eachother for a moment.

"he's still the prettiest boy ive ever seen." eddie said, his voice almost a whisper as he just looked at steve.

steve felt himself blushing from the tips of his ears down to his stomach. sure, he was called hot and attractive all the time. but never like this. no one called him pretty, and looked at him with such genuinity and care. no one made his stomach flip like eddie did. not even nancy.

steve hopped they'd both make it out of this alive.

"you know..." steve muttered low, his eyes flickering between eddies pretty pink lips and his beautiful eyes, "i thought this from that day, and every day since... but you're the prettiest boy i've ever seen too."

eddie smiled softly, "you're not gonna let me go without having my first kiss, right?"

steve scrunched up his nose with a little giggle, and eddie laughed, "no... obviously not."

eddie smiled and licked his lips, "i don't know what i'm doing."

"luckily, i do." steve said with a grin, and it made eddie blush again, "i've never kissed a guy before, though."

eddie smiled, "good."

steve rolled his eyes and grinned, tugging on eddies hand to pull him a little closer.

eddie leant over, his other hand landing on steves thigh for support and oh, the way his face turned bright red at the action made steves stomach flip.

"s- sorry." eddie swallowed and pulled his hand away from his thigh.

steve took his hand gently and placed it back there, "its okay, don't be sorry."

"o-okay." eddie laughed a little breathlessly, clearly very fucking nervous.

steve was nervous too.

"you don't have that cough this time?" eddie asked, and it made steve giggle and shake his head.

"definitely not."

eddie grinned.

steve cupped his jaw gently, caressing his stubble ridden skin with a tenderness that seemed to make eddie melt. eddie hadn't been touched with such care before, such gentleness. he'd never had someone want to kiss him, especially not like this. steve pulled him in, and with the first brush of their lips, eddie sighed.

his eyes fluttered shut, and steve held him close as their lips pressed together a little flrmer. he let steve take the lead, because he was clueless, and they kissed for a while.

kissing eddie was good. it was sweet and a little smoky from the cigarette, and his plushy lips were just as soft as steve had imagined. kissing eddie was much better than steve thought it could ever be.

kissing steve was heaven.

when they pulled apart, eddie lifted his hand to brush some hair from steves pretty eyes, to caress his flushed cheek and thumb at his kiss swollen lip. eddie looked over him with a tenderness in his eyes, carving steves name into his heart and hoping the stone would stay that way.

"make it back..." he whispered, his eyes lifting to steves for a moment, a wetness welling up behind them, "come back to me?"

steve sucked in a breath and ran his hand through eddie's knotty curls, "you too..." steve kissed him again, "i need you to make it back too, eddie. promise me."

"okay." eddie whispered and kissed him some more, "i promise."

"i promise too." steve nudged their noses together.

they both ignored the tears that crept their way into the next kiss, knowing that unlike the last, this promise probably wouldn't stay true.

**

tags: @grtwdsmwhr @every-aj-needs-an-angel :) <3

#jay writes #love sick 2 #steddie #angst #steve harrington #eddie munson #volume 2 missing scenes #fluff #sorry not sorry #i'm an angst writer at heart #they're both a little self sacrificial whilst also Really wanting to live for those they love #they contradict themselves #eddie’s a loser #steve loves him for it #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve x eddie #mentions of death #steddie first kiss #first kiss #ficlet #part 2 #minific #little steddie #doomed love #doomed narrative #sad #hurt / comfort

[imadethisaccounttpostonething]

i have opinions on half the new songs from hazbin and i'm telling them to the void known as the internet SPOILERS

don't worry guys. i know, i know you've ALL been waiting for MY opinion on the last two episodes- me, someone who doesn't even have a pfp picked out for this blog yet and whos only post is a bad edit i posted just to get the hyperfixation thought out of my head but- you've waited long eneugh. i'm here! i'm FINALLY going to share all my thoughts on the last two episodes of Hazbin Hotel... well, okay, mainly the four songs cause that's more my expertice but. whatever. buckle in bestie, we're going for a ride...

like i said, i'm mostly a song girlie, and as established you don't know who i am so me going "oh i thought that one line was cute" probably won't matter to you. so imma skip right to the first song, "Out For Love." AND HI! HELLO! I HAVE OPINIONS! THERE ALL NEGATIVE! okay, that's not true. i like... the person who plays Camilla's voice?? i think she sounds... nice? but oh my god this song was just. such a missed oppurtunity?

i already had to cut this section down cause i spent so much time making a list of what purpose musical songs tend to serve, but considering my point is that "Out For Love" doesn't do any of those things, i don't think i should waste so much breath on it. like. every form of media has their pros and cons on how to deliver inforation. books you can have the characters full un filtered thoughts. movies you can see all their facial reactions and little moments. musicals? in musicals, you get a song about them. and these songs, espicially in a show with a tight 22 minute an episode deadline and only 8 episodes total, EVERY song has to pull its weight and teach either us the auidence something or them the characters. and by the latter half of the season, it really needs to do both! and Vaggie, is a character who DESPERATLY needed a character establishing song and... didn't really get one. yeah, theres "Whatever It Takes" but.. she has to split that with Carmilla, who... really REALLY didn't need both the songs in that episode. everything we learned about in her half of the song could have just been a pretty quick conversation with Zariel. and as she tells him that she had to do whatever it takes to protect those we love, THEN we go back to Vaggie and she has her whole own song capatlizing on a similar theme, but also.. more? cause. we KNOW Vaggie loves Charlie. that's like. one of the few things we do know about her. and the thing i hate about "Out For Love" is that it doesn't tell us anything else about Vaggie or even Carmilla! AND IT DOESN'T TEACH VAGGIE ANYTHING! in "Whatever It Takes" Vaggie says she'll be Charlie's armor, which is probably the biggest piece of information we get about Vaggie as a person and who she is. cause she said armor. not a sword, that cuts the danger away. not a partner, that helps their lover through the danger. but rather, armor, that stops the danger from hurting their love, even if that ends up damaging the armor. what she could have learned from Carmilla, and what i think they were trying to get at but didn't, is she has to fight like she has something worth going home for? she can't be Charlie's armor cause she isn't indestructable. if she keeps going to take every hit for Charlie she's going to crumble. if THIS was a duet between Vaggie and Carmilla where Vaggie comes in with her martyr-istic opinions about herself towards Charlie, and Carmilla comes in like "girl. no." THAT would have been just. so much. better? cause with how it is, wtf did Vaggie learn???? like i get Carmilla tught her her fighting strat, but idc about that. the song came across as teaching her a moral lesson but it didn't. it's been WELL established that Vaggie loves Charlie. god. i just. really wish it was better. also, the chorus tries to rhyme "If you want to fight without gloves you better be fighting for love" and i just. like okay homie.

Rosie's advice to Charlie about her relationship was fine and all but god why didn't Charlie and Vaggie have a fucking song about it?? like, i'll get into it in a second but my saphic ass has been waiting all season to get my lesbian duet and i got a thirty second reprise of someone elses song instead of the apology/acceptence duet where they reaffirm their love or whatever. and i'm blaming Rosie. ... which i instantly feel bad about cause i really like Rosie and the song she got out of Charlie but. i have to blame someone so. sorry girlie. i don't really have a lot to say about "Ready For This" mostly cause i've listened to the trailer so many times i just think of it as the trailer song? idk, i did like it but it didn't really hit me as much as i thought it would. i mostly wrote this cause i was so mad about Vaggie's two songs and the other two i think are fine. but i do think Alastor's part was really good cause it helps forshadow whatever the fuck is going on with him. love that creepy bastard.

uggggggh. okay. listen. before i say anything else, i want it well established i'm gay af. i came out of the womb with my Doc Martens and thirty different flannels on and ready for action. my hair is short, i played soccer, insert whatever any other saphic/lesbian stereotype you want. go crazy. i've heard worse from people i know better. you can't hurt me. my point is... i was really hoping to get a Charlie and Vaggie duet, and.. i really wasn't expecting one. so when Vaggie walked into the room with Charlie and music started playing i got so excited....... only for it to be thirty seconds long and it being the reprise of Lucifer's father daughter song. like. am i the only one noticing the pattern of Vaggie picking up a second half of songs about a parent loving a child but applying it to Charlie instead? like... i thought this was cute!! but. there was so much they could have sung about to each other or establish for one another or prepare for or just. do. but it was... a reprise of Lucifer's song??? when it ended, i audily said alone in my living room. "awww. i mean. i'll take it". and that's. pretty much my thoughts still i guess but a little more bitterly? like. Dusk and Angel Dust got a whole duet about being losers together (which was also great and i do ship them at least a little) but the canon and supposedly most developed ship got. a. thirty second reprise as their only duet in the whole season. yay.....

finale was good! i also think Nifty killing Adam in the exact same fashion she stabbed all those already dead angels was like. the most fitting way for him to die if not by Vaggie's hand, and sense Vaggie already got at least slight vengence against Lute, this felt good. OH ANOTHER THING ABOUT "Out For Love"! THEY KEEP SAYING VAGGIE IS CLEARLY ALL ABOUT VENGENCE WHEN SHE VERY CLEARLY ISN'T??? LIKE NEVER ONCE HAVE WE ESTABLISHED VAGGIE IS IN IT FOR THE VENGENCE! ITS BEEN ALL ABOUT CHARLIE. BUT THE SONG IS ALL "OH STOP BEING ABOUT VENGENCE AND KILL FOR CHARLIE" AND IT JUST- okay yeah whatever we've established i don't like that song, i need to calm down. i'm gonna listen to my thirty second saphic reprise that i'll take i guess. maybe i'll share more opinions when i've processed anything better. maybe i won't. peace out homie.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #charlie morningstar #vaggie #vaggie hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #i just realized ive been spelling carmillas na #name wrong the whole time #whoops #im not fixing that

[cloveroctobers]

Richie Jerimovich — summer prompts 🍋

A/N: Love that most of y’all are coming around when it comes to Richie but what’s understood doesn’t need to be explained! Anyways after watching this eye-opening season, it was easy to be inspired for this piece so I hope you enjoy this.

SYNOPSIS: Richie’s found his purpose and doesn’t want to reflect on the past (much) but is looking towards a better future…which may include baby steps to outsiders but it means everything to him.

WARNINGS: language ofc it’s the bear & me we’re talking about, mentions of drugs & anxiety, mentions of slight sexual themes, and a little heaviness but mostly two goof balls expressing their love for each together.

Decided to throw a prompt into the mix as well so I’m using: “can we make cookies?” “it is 92 degrees outside, no!” 

*GIF BELONGS TO: @p3iyin9 *

꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱**

[July 10th]

[4 months, 14 days later…]

It’s her birthday and she’s here.

She’s not alone and Richie’s half expecting her to be here with some new guy, some guy that’s more around her age and has their shit together. It’s a bitter thought to have but he can’t lie and say that it didn’t occur, the constant insecurity of not being good enough.

He knows it’s his own fault, he’s the one who pushed her away not long after she welcomed him between her thighs during a brutal winter. The details were vivid even with his eyes wide open, burning into space. He wanted to be angry being so intimate with someone else when there was always the thought of his first love on his mind.

Tiffany.

His ex-wife.

He was still hurting from being officially divorced for about a year now (separated for three) and she was moving on he learned. It was bound to happen, a woman with a heart like her’s? Richie wasn’t sure why he was still holding on to hope for them to rekindle their relationship. He wanted it to work but he was the constant screw up and Tiffany deserved better…he just didn’t expect it to be with some construction owning guy named Frank.

Richie already didn’t trust him.

It was the common tale of curing a broken heart, trying to get underneath someone else to get over someone, to feel anything else but the continuing ache that sat on the left side of his chest.

Freya Mazari was someone Richie met not long after “the thing with Tiff,” happened, outside of a bar that was famous for bourbon and risqué wall art. He spotted her outside at the start of summer on a surprisingly quiet sidewalk cracking her knuckles—out of a possible bad habit, blue bruise the side of an apple on her cheek, and a unlit spliff tapping against her thigh afterwards as she seemed to be mumbling some lyrics to a Busta Rhymes song.

That was the first thing that had him sold on their soon growing friendship.

Freya’s surrounded by a group of diverse women who are laughing it up over drinks while Freya is standing; embracing Sugar and falling into smile-filled chatter with the blonde. Richie instantly feels a pull to head over there himself but be figures he can just get entail from Sugar later. Carmy’s been over to Freya’s table already, handing out a, “it’s on the house,” birthday special but they still weren’t on the best terms really. It was strictly business now and that was something Richie never wanted to be part of.

A strict relationship with a family member—except for uncle Jimmy of course, he really had no choice with that one. That night back on opening day in May, seemed to be something they couldn’t get pass just yet and that was another hard pill for Richie to swallow.

Carmy messing up something good on the surface level and taking it out on everybody else with his mouth, changed the trajectory of their relationship.

Would it be forever? Richie couldn’t tell you.

Nonetheless he wasn’t here at the bear to talk about need-a-diaper carmy. Right now? He needed to figure out how to handle this…this distance with the woman he considered his close friend.

He’ll deal with that family shit in due time, don’t worry.

“Who are we hiding from?” A familiar voice causes Richie to clench his eyes shut.

He doesn’t have to peer down at the shorter tatted man who’s behind him as he says, “I’m not hiding from nobody.”

“Really? Because it looks like you’re creeping on…Freya! Yeah Freya over there. Do you know it’s her birthday today? We had the best birthday hug, she may even be a better hugger than me.” Fak informs the taller blue eyed tux wearing man.

Richie pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “of course I know its her—what did I tell you about touching things that don’t belong to you?”

He battled with himself countless of times this entire morning to call her up but ultimately fought against himself to just do it.

Fak hummed, “hey, she’s my friend too! And doesn’t belong to either of us but we’re included in her life and it’s her birthday! I’m sure she’ll be happy to receive a birthday wish from you too.”

“I can’t say I agree with you on that.”

“Why not? Oh…it’s because you guys did the dance with no pants—

Richie’s hands immediately slaps over the animated man’s mouth and starts talking to him calmly, “what did I say? To not ever mention that shit here at the original bear.”

That’s Richie’s new spin on the restaurant name, yes there are shirts on the way!

Patience is key.

Fak hummed as Richie scolded him. It wasn’t that big of a deal in the first place on Fak’s side of things. He was just thrilled that Richie was involved in being intimate with someone he cared about for once…compared to the others that shall not be named. Fak thought Freya and Richie could be something great but he wasn’t aware what Richie was so scared of.

“Yuck! Did you just lick my hand you—

Richie shook his hand about, halting himself from saying something insulting. Sometimes it just slipped out but he was doing much better and it was usually a place out of love when it came to Fak. He was like a puppy in training, always excited and doing whatever came to mind but most of the time you had to lure him to take a fucking nap.

“Yeah I did! Just go talk to her! Make her dreams come true.”

“Fuck are you talking about? Do I look like Hall & Oates to you? Like I’m her dream guy or somethin’?”

“Hey, I thought we weren’t doing this. I don’t like you talking down on yourself buddy! You need to go into the restroom and give yourself a quick pep talk in the mirror.” Fak ordered, pointing in the direction of the restrooms.

Richie blew out a raspberry at Fak’s encouragement. He didn’t take him serious but once the man started shoving him about, Richie was all elbows flying and slap-fight inflicting between the two.

Sydney calls from the kitchen, “Hey! What’re you two doing? Aren’t you supposed to be up front?”

“Sugar’s up front.” Richie informs with a slight turn to face the braided woman.

Fak immediately straightens up, not providing much answers, “Yes ma’am! I mean chef.”

Sydney blinks at the two, wondering why they’re not moving, leaving Fak to take a few deep breaths before slapping Richie on the chest as he mutters, “Taking one for the team again! You’re welcome and get it together!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Fak.”

Fak shrugs his shoulders and spins to leave the entry way of the kitchen, while the pace of the kitchen has started to slow down the movements are still precise. It’s late, after ten pm and there’s about three to five parties left, which means closing time should be wrapping up within the next thirty to forty-five minutes.

Business was booming still almost two months later but the rush always seemed to slow down once the late nights arrived. The Bear was formerly known as mainly a lunch or late lunch spot but after this new reno, dinner became much more important.

“Richie,” Sydney steps away from her spot behind the stand, “Everything good?”

Richie exhales as he mutters, “Freya’s out there.”

“I heard.”

He fidgets then.

“Have you talked to her? It’s her birthday.”

“I’m aware, I put in the word for Marcus to give her a little piece of home since I also hear she’s a little homesick. Mkhabez.” Sydney tells Richie, as she eyes the jittery man.

Richie chews on his fingernail in thought, “right that’s some type of cookie. Almond cookie? She told me about how her uh, Jidda used to make them for her as a little girl with her siblings back in Algeria.”

Sydney nodded her head, “yeah…are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“Not to be an asshole but you look like you’re gonna pass out or hurl and if you are, please give me a fair warning so you don’t ruin my coat.” Sydney cautiously took a step back as Richie used the back of his hand to wipe at the beads of sweat on his forehead and not because of the heat in the kitchen.

Richie scoffs, “No need to worry, Chef. I’m not gonna empty my belly or pop a smooth criminal lean. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I probably need to pop another xan.”

“Uh, that’s probably something you shouldn’t mention to me.”

“Why? You’re not gonna snitch on me, are you?”

“No…but I might snoop through your stuff and fry them all in a pan.” Sydney honestly says while she folds her arms as Richie peers at her.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I could,” Sydney challenged, “if you need a minute take it but you can’t run forever.”

“Who says I’m runnin’?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” Sydney states, “and you just need to rip whatever this is off like a band aid, you’ll feel better afterwards.”

“And what if I don’t?”

Sydney pauses with her arms still folded before she peeks around at the remaining chefs in the kitchen, Carmy not in sight before she whispers back up at him, “then fuck it, at least you tried.”

Richie can’t help but to snort out some laughter before he claps two hands down on Sydney’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze, “Well thanks for that, Syd.”

“Sure, whatever. Now get out of my kitchen.”

“Our!” Richie points.

Sydney nods her head from side to side with a playful roll of her eyes as Richie clicks his tongue at her. Down the hall he goes in search of the bathroom to in fact, give himself a pep talk but most importantly to calm down.

Richie’s disappeared for over half an hour. He didn’t realize it until Carmy barged in to see him sitting on the bathroom sink.

“I said I’m in here!”

“Yeah, with your ass in the sink.” Carmy’s tone is monotone but quick to point out, “which is unsanitary by the way.”

Richie can’t help but to roll his eyes as he hops off then, fixing his tux before he slaps his face, bringing himself out his daze. He spins back around, getting another good look at his reflection for what felt like the thousandth time but he exhales and quietly excuses himself from around Carmy who appears as if he wants to say more.

But he doesn’t.

Richie’s steps echo in his ears as he circles around to the dining area. He hasn’t realized how long he locked himself away until he’s in the room, half of the chairs flipped up onto the tables with lofi music playing through the speakers.

He can only guess who picked this shit.

A blonde pregnant lady probably.

“Damn.” Richie rubs at his mouth in frustration, briefly noticing the booth Freya previously sat in was now empty.

That didn’t lift the weight to now know that she was gone for the night. In fact it made him feel worse, that he didn’t have the nerve to just walk up to her and talk.

You know? like friends were supposed to be able to do.

His skin is red as he pinches at it in aggravation, until he picks up on the sound of heels slowly clacking against the floor. His breathing hitches as he lifts his head to meet Freya’s dark sharp eyes.

“Hey,” Richie chest feels tight but he breathes, “I thought you scrammed outta here with your girls.”

She shakes her head as she keeps some distance between the two, “some of them have early mornings tomorrow and the rest I told to just go home. I was hoping to run into you actually.”

Richie swallows as she steps forward, “why? To smash some cake in my face?”

“Now there’s an idea.” She lightly laughs and it sounds like Christmas bells, “but no, I wanted to see you.”

Richie quirked up a brow as he carefully moved out of the way so Freya could grab her things, “…really?”

“Yeah, we have some things to talk about.” Freya slips her bag over her shoulder, “Like you ghosting me for one.”

Richie rolls his head up to the ceiling, “yeah, about that—

“Let’s go for a late night walk.”

“How about a late night drive since I know your feet are hurting or about to be soon,” Richie looks at Freya’s fit, knowing she wasn’t much of a heels wearing woman (although she wears them very well) preferring sneakers more than anything on her feet.

Freya laughs as she sways a bit, probably a little tipsy, “you’re not wrong about that…so get your keys and take me to yours.”

“Mine,” Richie questions while pointing to himself, “I dunno what kinda guy you take me for—

“Oh Shut up, I’m not giving you any of this birthday cake.” She poses in her fitted dress, “I’m only propositioning a conversation between Richard and the birthday girl.”

“Yeah you giving this a whole title isn’t helping the innuendo, baby.”

“And neither are you in that tux,” Freya smoothes down the arm of it before placing her hands back on the strap of her bag, “Didn’t get the chance to tell you last time face to face but you clean up very nice, Richard.”

Richie gives a grin as he says, “Give me two minutes.”

Which leads to the pair pulling up to Richie’s condo/apartment. It’s normally too quiet at night for his liking, especially when he’s not jamming out with Eva here. After unlocking the front door, he holds his arm out for Freya to lead the way, which she has no issue doing, a natural sway in her steps as she walks down the foyer bare footed now.

“I’ll put the AC on.” Richie rushes out as Freya makes herself at home, placing her shoes against the couch and plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

He messes around with the finicky thermostat until it chokes out some cool air from the vents in the ceiling above, battling against the humidity in his two bedroom home.

“What can I get you? I’ve got beer, Gatorade, tap and—

“Orange juice?” Freya asks as she lays down on the couch, one arm is held up and over her head, eyes closed for a moment.

“Yeah I’ve got that too,” Richie responds from around the corner in his kitchen.

It’s about ten minutes until eleven and Freya is all yawns as Richie arrives back into the living room, holding two red cups, one filled with ice and OJ just how Freya likes it and one just filled with the orange liquid. He sits down beside her as she sits up and moves over to give the man some room in his own house.

She’s gulping the cold juice down and licks at the top of her lip before placing it down on the side table, “you need coasters.”

“Ah, just use some toilet paper.”

Freya crinkles her nose, pressing her fist into the side of her head as she rests back against the couch, just eyeing Richie who is looking forward at everything else but her. The cold air is wheezing but there’s relief filling the room, in contrast to what Richie maybe feeling.

“This silence is killing me, Richard!” Freya pokes his thigh with her seashell painted toe, “just talk to me already, will you?”

“Okay…how’s the birthday going?”

Freya honestly says, “I’m a little sad my mum didn’t call.”

That gets Richie to look at Freya then. Although their friendship was still fairly new, he knew that seemed unlikely for Freya’s mother out in North London to forget her eldest’ birthday. Of course it was possible, Richie didn’t have the best relationship with his own neglectful mother, hasn’t spoken to her in years or knows where she even fucked off to but it seemed like Freya at least communicated with her mother across the ocean on a daily basis.

“Has your brother or sister been in contact with her?”

“Oh yeah, she was in the background on FaceTime with my sister. Not even a hello but it’s probably because I told her I couldn’t send her any money a few weeks ago. Whatever.” Freya shrugs her shoulders.

She was a dental hygienist assistant and didn’t care for her job much but the pay and benefits were decent enough in this economy.

Freya was originally born in Algiers to a father that worked in labor and manufacturing while her mother was a stay at home mom, mostly due to a disability she faced as a child. Money wasn’t the best growing up so it wasn’t until Freya was about twelve when her father moved her, her mother, and her baby sister to London where they stayed with Freya’s maternal aunt for a few months until they got into their own flat. Her brother stayed with her father for awhile until they soon started making their visits.

Eventually her father decided to let the brother stay there while he continued making money and hoping for better work in London. However there were a few opportunities but it seemed like Freya’s father kept turning it down, just to find out he was participating in extramarital affairs behind her mother’s back. Not long after that, her mother stepped up to work with aching joints at a sporting goods store to provide for her three kids.

Freya as the eldest was also used to working underneath the table so it was no different in the UK. She learned quickly how to provide for her family too.

After that they learned her father had fallen ill due to his diabetes and needed his leg amputated. When Freya was twenty-one and living in Toronto with a boyfriend, he was living in London with his sister-in-law and died from congestive heart failure. Freya’s upbringing wasn’t always so cloudy, there were sweet moments with her parents that she liked to hold dear to her heart but the reality is, you’ll always bring something from your childhood into your adulthood good or bad.

“I’m sorry. That sucks ass forreal.” Richie comments and Freya just deeply inhales.

“You know what else sucks?” She exhales, “Not having you around to talk to.”

Richie presses his elbows into his knees in thought, “I uh—I’m sorry about that too. I didn’t mean to, what did you say back at the spot? Ghost you? Yeah. I didn’t mean to do that, I was just dealing with some shit inside that didn’t really have anything to do with you.”

“So the sex wasn’t trash and I didn’t scare you off?”

“What? Are you kidding?!” Richie’s wide-eyed as he quickly looks back at Freya, who’s face is full of a smirk, that it makes the dent on the center of her chin more prominent.

He soon laughs, “you’re fucken annoying you know that?”

“I’m supposed to be. You’ve met your match,” Freya winks.

“It—I’m gonna be real with you. I panicked because it was you on top of—it was you—and not just some random one night stand. With those I never really felt anything unfortunately for me but with you—

“It was like the Fourth of July-ly-ly.”

Richie scoffs and rolls his eyes, “I’m all here for your confidence in my skills truly but shut up.”

Who was being annoying now? She was clearly talking about herself but whatever floats this man’s boat—which she already knew—BUT she’ll save you guys the details.

“I’ve been quiet for months and I’m just trying to help fill in the gaps, sheesh!” Freya flicks her black parted hair back over her shoulders.

Richie shakes his head at the thirty something year old woman who didn’t mind rambling even when she wasn’t tipsy.

“It’s just you know, I didn’t think I would ever feel something again after the d—the thing with tiff.”

Richie still couldn’t say it, although Tiffany was officially steering her life in the direction of a another man. He still couldn’t say “divorce” because then that would mean he would have to start his own healing of a end of a special era with a woman he deeply loved and created a precious life with.

It just fizzled out and damn it hurt.

“And you did with me,” Freya voiced and was understanding, “glad to know that wasn’t only one sided.”

Richie finds himself asking, “Did you tell that no good locked up son of a bitch about it?”

Freya’s ex was some abusive guy that landed himself in jail right after New Years and it wasn’t for him stalking, harassing, or hitting Freya. It was from attempted armed robbery and now he was serving time for it and Freya finally felt like she could breathe for once.

Richie knew the feeling of being held back.

Counting your breaths are actually helpful, shout-out to anger management!

“No. Did you?”

“That jagoff can choke!”

“I mean, did you tell Tiffany?”

“Fuck no! I needed to see how we were feeling about it first and it’s not like she tells me her every move—besides her getting engaged to some other guy.” Richie’s almost glaring now at the fact of the matter before fixing his tone some, “Which I guess she gets points for letting me know and if the bastard is gonna be around my kid full-time.”

Freya spoke, “You just never thought there would be someone else. I get it.”

“Never! For either of us, then you came along and then came Frank and it’s a constant loop of emotions but I’m happy to be in Eva’s life and to feel something other than dread when I step into the original bear.” Richie’s plucking his nail against the plastic cup, slightly anxious at being this vulnerable.

However Freya wasn’t one to judge much, sure she had her opinions and can get loud from time to time when she’s pissed off or passionate but she was usually open to hearing all perspectives before she said her peace. Richie’s view was not one she spoke much on, she listened, really listened like he needed someone to and offered words when it was time for him to hear them.

“That’s something to look forward to.”

“Yeah but I still miss you.” Richie rubbed at his face before saying, “I miss our friendship and I don’t know what to do about us after what we did…yet somethin’ inside is telling me that nows not really the time to be jumping into anything. I’m just figuring things out and I know that’s gotta count for something.”

“Which is fine, richie!” Freya says with a light shove to his shoulder, “I wasn’t chasing you down to force you to be with me or anything! I gave you the space you clearly needed. I know we both got our own shit to deal with but being with you helps put that on pause for awhile …even if it’s as friends. I’m here whenever you need me, you wanna vent and scream about shit, have at it. You don’t wanna talk? Let’s have a dance party instead. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’ve got two, take your pick!”

Richie snorts at this but he honestly appreciates it. He almost forgot what it felt like to have a friend.

“Just don’t cancel me out for months at a time, and expect things to be normal without a conversation, you hear me you prick? I’m your friend, you can talk to me ya know? I want you to feel safe with me, confide in me.” Freya holds Richie’s navy eyes against her ink colored ones and Richie has to slap a hand over his mouth to hold back a sob.

Richie chokes out, “ugh! Why are you making me feel things?!”

“Because it’s cancer season and I love and respect our friendship. You held me down in my lowest and I’m gonna keep uplifting you during yours and your growth.” Freya places a hand over the one that’s resting on Richie’s own knee.

Freya goes on, “It’s not our time to be romantically involved and I’m quite okay with that but that doesn’t mean I suddenly stop caring for you.”

Richie pressed his chin into his shoulder, staring at her underneath his lashes, “Wow…you sure you don’t wanna make-out just to confirm that?”

“I knew you liked how I look in this dress.” Freya playfully runs her nails through his buzzed hair, “say it back though, tell me you care just as much.”

There’s that “words of affirmation” shit people talk about right? Garrett would probably find this amusing.

He gently rests a rough hand against her cheek, “You know I do but I’m gonna say it anyways since you wanna be mushy as fuck right now. Thanks for everything and coming into my life, I care a lot about you and us. Your heart is beautiful and you’re my friend who also happens to be a total smoke show! I know you must feel amazing in that dress, you wear it well.”

“Thanks, good looking!” She winks.

“Act like you know,” Richie smirks.

“Oh, please!”

Richie hyped himself up with a roll of his shoulders, “Look good, feel good.”

They share a laugh staring at each other with Freya balled up beside him and Richie just enjoying her company. He wasn’t sure what to make of this but he didn’t have to have all the answers tonight. This Freya also confirmed.

He was just happy to be around her again and to have her be part of his journey.

She pops up then, “Can we make cookies?”

“Didn’t you just have some back at the restaurant?” Richie asks before saying, “It’s 92 degrees outside, no!”

“That was much earlier, though.” Freya argues, eyes darting to the side as she thinks about it.

It really was a lovely day to spend her birthday, although she wasn’t on a boat somewhere in Monaco or Miami…it was a somewhat chill day.

“Didn’t you already have some cookies at the restaurant?”

He knew she was a hungry drunk but she was nowhere near drunk, shockingly on her day.

“So? If you don’t know how to make some basic chocolate chip cookies just say that.”

Richie scoffed, “What?! Who said that? I make the best got damn cookies ever, just ask Eva.”

“She’s probably sleeping?”

“…fuck, you’re right.”

He definitely would have called her up if it wasn’t passed her bedtime.

“Well? What’re you waiting for?” She kicks his thigh again.

Richie pressed his forehead against Freya’s as he hollered, “Game on, Queen Elizabeth!”

“Don’t you ever!” She tapped his jaw and pointed at him.

Richie moved his jaw along blinking, “I’m sorry! I forgot.”

Thats how the late night evening included making homemade cookies, with Richie hovering over his phone trying to read off ingredients to Freya as they made a mess of his kitchen.

“Where’s the dark chocolate?” Freya searched Richie’s cabinets and drawers while Richie tried to keep his eyes away from the kitchen door, where he had Freya propped up against with him down on his knees.

“What? I said salt?” Richie’s eyes followed the woman as she moved around the kitchen as if she were being timed, “I dunno where the hell you got dark chocolate from.”

“We can do dark chocolate since it’s superior and a pinch of sea salt?”

Lines appeared against the skin of Richie’s forehead as he raised his brows, “How about hell no, Betty Crocker?”

“Who made you the number one cookie critic?” Freya gibed as she gently closed the drawers shut with her hips.

Richie taunts, “your mother!”

Middle fingers and a sarcastic smile later were handed right over to the 6’1 man, “Piss off, Richard!”

“Well…whadda want to do? Eva and I ate up all the last of the candy I had here. She might be coming to see you soon actually but don’t tell tiff that if you happen to see her, alright?” Richie slaps the palms of his hands against his kitchen counter.

Freya let’s out a dramatic sigh as she begins pacing on her side of the counter. She stops to lean her elbows against the counter and looks at the plastic large bowl in front of richie. Still sighing Freya reaches over to use the smaller spoon that was off to the side to dip into the batter.

Hey, Freya was no baker or chef but she liked looking at the consistency and details of things. Turning it to show to Richie, she takes one finger and flicks the spoon back so the batter can fling forward and stick right on Richie’s nose.

She’s cackling at the image of Richie closing his eyes shut in disbelief. His tongue goes out then to lick some of it off before swiping it away with his fingertips. He stares hard at a laughing Freya, who has her head thrown back, hugging herself while Richie is focused on his next move.

He’s carefully taking his jacket off now, smoothing it down before using his long limbs to toss it over at the dining table top on his right. Freya doesn’t notice this as she’s wiping the corners of her wing-lined eyes, still closed as she’s almost snorting now, skin of her nostrils sinking in a bit, like she’s squidward or some shit as she carries on laughing.

“You think you’re so funny don’t you?” Richie asks with a palm full of flour now.

She’s still laughing as she nods her head, too full of giggles to get any words out.

Instead of Richie sprinkling some salt, he throws flour across the counter right to the side of Freya’s face, “Well I’m funnier, asshole!”

That gets Freya to stop laughing then. She stands up straight and it’s Richie’s turn to fail to cover his own laughter with his fist.

It was on then.

A flour fight began between the two friends, coating most of the kitchen with white powder.

“I think you threw salt in my eye you turd?!” Freya’s holding her eye now, after this has gone on for at least ten minutes.

“Shit, I’m sorry! Everything is starting to look the same.” Richie’s coming to her aide now, fanning the air as he steps to her, hands reaching for her forearms, “let me see.”

Freya fools him, “Gotcha!” Before whacking him in the neck with a whisk.

“Ow! Hey you’re fighting dirty, Frey!” Richie scolds before snatching a wooden spoon making Freya eye him wildly, “uh huh let me see you try to win this battle now.”

“I’m definitely gonna win, whether you like it not, Richy Rich.” Freya got low, ready to aim at Richie’s torso since she had that to her advantage being shorter than him.

Richie blows a raspberry, tapping the wooden spoon against the palm of his hand, “you must not know the strength of a wooden spoon and my wrestling skills, sweetheart. I got the team to championships!”

“When? In 1948?”

Richie tightens his eyes at this before they’re in a fencing match now. Which doesn’t last long as one of the two lost their footing due to the flour covered floor.

“I think I broke my ass.” Richie groans holding his back.

Freya’s laughing again as she’s resting right on top of Richie, “I’m glad I don’t have that problem, flat ass.”

“I don’t appreciate you slandering what I lack, some of us weren’t blessed okay?” Richie sasses as he wraps a hand around Freya’s waist to sit them both up.

Freya cooed at him, pinching his cheeks while Richie rolls his eyes. They sit in silence with freya on his lap as they take in the sight of his kitchen now. Flour on the upper cabinets, flour even on Eva’s personal drawing table, flour of course covering the counter, flour all over the floor, hair, face and their clothes.

“Great…now I gotta clean this up!”

“Eh, maybe later yeah?”

“Later? Well what else do you have in mind since we didn’t actually make those cookies you wanted so bad?” Richie waved his hands about.

Freya makes an explosion in front of Richie’s face, his round eyes following her fingertips for a moment before she says close to his face, “I have a better idea, it’s actually a good one.”

Richie was half expecting Freya to get him to break out into a dance routine like last time to Madonna’s, “Material girl,” but he was sure the man above was probably tired of their shenanigans tonight.

So that’s how he ended up here, covered in flour with him watching as Freya made herself comfortable on his couch again, head pressed against her folded up hands.

One eye pops open almost like a jumpscare, “are you gonna stand there the entire night like a creeper and just watch me sleep or are you going to join me, Richie Lawrence?”

Richie scratches at his head in confusion, “stop with the whole middle-name name drop, you’re making me think of my bastard dad. And I’m not sure what you want me to do here?”

“Make yourself comfortable, it’s your house.”

“There’s a bed on the other side and a shower…”

“So you’re gonna make more suggestions on my birthday but then say respectfully a romantic relationship isn’t what you want out of this on my birthday? It sounds like you want to give me a certain gift on my birthday to end this birthday party.” Freya rambles, now sitting up on her elbow.

Richie squints, “how many times did you just say birthday?”

“Get over here!”

“God, you’re getting bossy in your old age.” Richie jokes as he sits down by Freya’s legs, who swings them to the floor so Richie can scoot in behind her.

He keeps his hands and feet where he can see them, staring at the back of Freya’s head and he can smell her sweet but floral scent. Richie takes the time to digest how this feels, with Freya in front of him radiating off a comforting warmth even when she snatches his arm to rest against her waist.

Richie is just waiting then for the anxiety to kick in but it doesn’t arrive for the rest of the night. Which makes him sink further into the couch, tightening his hold of Freya. His nose then presses down into her bare soft shoulder blade, right where her round mole sits and exhales.

“I’m proud of you.” Freya croaks out, ready for sleep, “and you should be too.”

And that makes Richie’s heart swell. He always wanted to be good at something but wasn’t sure how to make a career out of it. He had to find his footing in this world constantly and slowly he felt like he was beginning to locate it. They say it’s in your daily routine if you’re unsure and engaging with all sorts of people was something richie didn’t mind being part of.

It felt natural to him.

Holding Freya felt just the same but she didn’t need to know that just yet. He loved physical touch whether you were his family or not, it was the best form of love Richie wanted to give and receive.

He didn’t realize he squeezed her tighter against him at her words before he presses a kiss to the back of her head, “Happy birthday.”

A smile graces her lips.

In the early hours of July 11th, the sky a faded dim blue begins to peak through Richie’s living room curtains, revealing that a new day was among them.

Richie’s always been a early riser since sleep hardly existed according to the bags underneath his eyes. It had to be around 5 in the morning and he knew he would be ready for some coffee soon but this time he enjoys the silence. He feels Freya roll back against him, arm looping around his neck as she stretches in her sleep.

“Morning to you too,” Richie greets, “Question for ya, how’s bell-pep the iguana doin’?”

You heard that right, Freya was a “Guana-momma,” who she named after a vegetable specifically and Richie was ready to baby sit the guy at any time—as long as it didn’t freak Eva out too much but he doubted that. She had his blood in her veins.

Freya shushed him straight away, removing her arm from around his neck to curl that same arm to press the back of her fingers against his lips, “When I step up in the place, ayo, I step correct.” She starts before moving those fingers to create a wave up in the air.

It only made sense to Richie for her to be rounding off lyrics early in the morning, especially when he was asking questions and she wasn’t sure if she even knew her name just yet.

“Woo-hah, got them all in check.” Richie proceeds, head lifting a little to see if Freya’s eyes were even open as she rounded off lyrics.

Freya concludes, “Go to sleep.”

Enough said.

“I’ll try.”

The sight of flour sticky limbs entangled between two reconnected friends on another summer’s day went like this: cheek pressed against her’s, his facial hair pricking her skin which she didn’t seem to mind as snores actually escaped Richie’s lips, with his hand gripping Freya’s that was clutched to her own chest as their bodies gently rose in deep slumber.

The cares of the outside world were put on hold once more and Richie envisioned that this must be what heaven felt like. Nothing but a bit of light right in front of his eyes or in his arms to lead the way.

Cheers to some fucking clarity!

Sorry for the foul language dude or person or divine power up there…but Richie was thankful for it all.

꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱** ༉‧₊˚✧ ↝ ꒰ ° ꒱**

Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.

#Spotify #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx #Richie jerimovich #richard jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich x oc #ebon moss bachrach #neil fak #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto #carmy berzatto #sydney amadu #summer prompts #queued #the bear s2 #the bear season 2

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Question? What Akutagawa doing during subordinate au? Is he a yandere? Does he feel conflicted on how to feel? On one hand, he cares for you and hates to see the expressions on you face that you make while Dazai and Chuuya are tormenting you. But on the other, they’re your superiors, they have their reason for being so rough on you. I for some reason had the feeling that he just broke into your house to leave treats or medical supplies, maybe even bandaged you up himself if he’s feeling bold and you were to lazy to do it before bed. land I just realized I’ve been using “you” the entire time but am to lazy to go back and change it?

yea, you got the idea. akutagawa can't exactly do anything about your situation, since he's also likely suffering from the same treatment as you. but it doesn't mean he won't try. at first, there's no reason for him to help you except for the fact that both of you understand each other's pain in a way others probably couldn't, and both of you didn't want to be in this situation with the pm.

he may not start out as a yandere, but it's possible for him to grow into one. he tells himself initially that dazai's rough treatment could help you become stronger, and you'd learn to defend yourself and keep up to his expectation like he was doing, but he soon realizes he couldn't be more wrong. akutagawa is perspective, and he picks up on the fact that dazai hurts you just because he wants to prove he's your superior, and not necessarily wanting to toughen you up.and you weren't learning, except to dodge better. and akutagawa realizes something is very off when he sees how hot and cold dazai was with you, sometimes overly doting and clingy, and sometimes especially cruel and condescending. there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his actions.

but what could akutagawa do?

in the grand scheme of things, he was disposable. if dazai so deemed that he was meddling too much, it would cost him his and gin's lives. the only way he thought he could help was by providing silent solidarity. a nod of acknowledgment when nobody else was around, instructions on dealing with your newest injury. it escalates, and though he means well, he fails to realize that breaking into your apartment to leave you supplies and food may not translate across the way he wants to. in fact, you probably assume it's chuuya or dazai who left you those, not realizing how close of an eye akutagawa keeps on you.

the rare times when you're in very bad shape, dazai does take care of you to feed his own fantasies, bustling around to keep you comfortable. but sometimes, it's not enough. dazai is far from having good medical knowledge and akutagawa knows how to bandage you in a way that doesn't hurt you further. sure, you don't know it's him, and you never asked, but he wasn't hurting you, so it was fine that you had no idea he was doing this for you, right?

sometimes he wishes he can come across to you as an elusive, mysterious hero. someone who conveniently comes around to save you and take care of you. he knows, though, that at most, he's awkard and stiff, and you could never know what he's been doing, lest the both of you get in trouble. the most he could hope for was the day you'd be able to roam around on your own, no longer subjected to dazai's 'mentorship'. maybe then, you'd let him walk beside you?

#bsd 🐟 #ask 🐟 #subordinate au 🐟 #akutagawa 🐟