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rancidpancakebatter · 7 months

Text

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob.

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious.

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out.

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth.

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know.

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue.

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk.

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves.

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response.

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him.

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness.

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake.

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend.

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live.

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again.

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow.

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten.

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment.

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you.

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you.

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some.

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head.

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour.

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing.

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare.

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own.

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.”

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist.

“I’m sorry.”

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind.

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious.

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much.

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own.

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right.

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal.

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t.

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it.

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them.

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right.

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you.

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far.

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough.

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow.

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave.

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off.

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions.

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone.

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other.

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger.

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth.

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller.

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it.

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking.

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt.

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn��t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him.

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before.

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it.

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew.

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you.

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did.

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be.

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain.

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from.

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said.

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you.

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long.

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later.

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead.

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear.

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him.

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him.

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries.

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward.

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this.

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer.

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!”

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return.

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to.

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was.

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid.

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him.

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements.

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took.

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go.

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here.

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse.

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence.

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door.

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background.

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right.

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him.

“I’m sorry,” you began.

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off.

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins.

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away.

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for.

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful.

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

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readbyred · 6 months

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I've read that some characters from the moomins like Snufkin, little my and their mother and their sisters are not really humans. So how would Snufkin, Moonin and the other characters react when they meet s/o who is a girl human that one day appeared in moonmin Valley?

You added other characters and I will absolutely use it to push more Sniff content on you! Also yeah. Considering moomins are canonically REALLY damn tiny, the humanoid looking characters would be like fairies or sth. But I will make them human sized bc I think it's easier to write (if you want more accuracy, sent me a message and I'll do one more)

Snufkin is pretty unfazed compared to others. He’s been travelling enough to have come across humans at some point. Pretty surprised to find out that his upbringing is something so strange (I mean, im pretty sure he was allowed to wander around before he would be considered old enough to do so by human standards). Sometimes, when he’s feeling a bit silly he makes stuff up about his kind to trick you. Says it in the most chill voice too so the only way to fact check him is to ask his half-sister. Little My calls him out every time just to be a menace, in true older sister fashion

And when it comes to Little My, she treats you like one of the group regardless. But that doesn't mean she’s not going to complain about your long human legs and so on. Will absolutely use you to get the things she wants off of high shelves. And will laugh if you bang your head on something. I mean, the creatures you come across come in different sizes so it’s not uncommon to find homes and structured built for them. But it's sweet sometimes too (as sweet as she can be) when she calls you her human. And maybe, sometimes (since having humans around isn't something most residents are used to) she’ll drag you around to some events with the neighbors to see their reaction (and maybe to brag about her gf, but she won't tell you that-)

On the other hand Snorkmaiden is so curious! Asks you about human culture and fashion. Sometimes the others joke that she’s turning into her brother. Begs you to take her to a human village, though that would either require crazy high stealth or some magic. Since you just showed up in the Moominvalley, she’s very open to show you all the kinds of wonders that were ordinary to her before. Being with you made her see them as more special, she loves that part of your relationship a lot. Plus, if you compliment her ability to change colour (not sure if that's a part of the show, but she can do that in the books) she’ll flush and turn all colours of the rainbow

Okay, Sniff is a funny one because this guy’s afraid of so much but also wants to seem so brave and cool in front of you. Of course, he insists that he was totally not terrified when you two first met. And he thinks being human makes you kind of special (I mean, in Moominvalley it actually does) so he’ll always emphasize that he’s your favourite. Yeah, that's right guys, he has a human girlfriend and she likes him best. Right? You do like him best, yes? Overall, he’s pretty silly and will exaggerate everyday things just to see the shine of wonder in your eyes (and because he feels like he has to give you something special so you stay with him). Still terrified that you just found your way into the valley though, what if bad humans come too 😰😰

Moomin is a lot more carefree about the idea. He’s so happy to be with you and show you around though he tends to forget that the things that might be ordinary to him are totally new to you. Obsessed with any type of human trinket you have on you. And if he could he’d stay up all night just to hear you talk about your life before coming to live with them. Honestly, he asks a lot of questions and some of them might be a little intrusive, but he doesn't get upset if you don't want to answer them. Oh, and he might have forgotten to mention the hibernation thing to you. Oops

As expected, Snork would ask a ton of questions. Ready to answer any you might have too, but be prepared for a lengthy rant every time you ask. Though to be fair, if he’s your significant other, then you might not find that too dreadful. He’s more of a theory guy though, so half the time when you all go on your adventures, you’re not much more prepared than when you first joined the group. Still, he truly does find your world interesting and will listen, no matter what you choose to tell him

And for the bonus character that nobody asked for - Stinky! To be fair, I think it would be funny for a normal human girl to appear in that magical world and just go like, yeah, I like this mean creature the best. I don't think he would be nice about you being a human, but that's kind of on brand. He would be interested in your human possessions and stories. Even if it's hard to tell that he’s genuinely interested. Later he would add to the stories you told him and scare other creatures with them. You’re free to join at any time if you wish to contribute to the chaos

#moomin x reader #moominvalley #moominvalley x reader #snorkmaiden x reader #little my x reader #snork x reader #sniff x reader #snufkin x reader #stinky moominvalley #stinky x reader

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crispywaffles2 · 6 months

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Can you please give me your general romance headcannons for Present Wukong?

Any gender is fine

Of course!!!! Thank you so much for asking! I'm so excited to be writing this!!!!

Wukong Romance Headcanons!

First things first, let me just say that this monkey is pretty dense when it comes to romance

That's dorky mortal stuff!! The Great Sage doesn't have time for snuggles or.. whatever humans do.

That is, until he meets you!

He is absolutely head over heels, and you best believe he's determined on winning your affections

Whether it's purposefully flaunting his powers even when it's unnecessary by using his staff to fling something over to him, or going shirtless to show off his muscles because "Hey, even immortals overheat!"

He's going all out

Once he realizes that you won't drop to your knees and confess your undying love for him after a bit of showboating, he actually starts taking things seriously

He takes the time to get to know you, commiting every interest and small detail to memory

(He isn't known for remembering important details, so he always tells his monkeys afterwards so that they can remind him should he forget!)

If he is able to overcome his pride and confess to you (which would take way longer than you just confessing first), then he would try to play it off casually

"I mean, I guess you could say I've had a thing for you for a little while. I never really told you cause I thought you'd freak out, but I figured I should just get it off my chest."

"You set up a picnic in front of the sunset with a romantic song in the background just to 'get it off your chest'?"

He threw his staff into the boom box that was blasting slow Bruno Mars songs out of pure embarrassment

Now, finally, once you two actually start dating!

Wukong treats it as basically still being friends with you, but with the privilege of being able to be affectionate

He takes full advantage of it don't worry

You'll get kisses from head to toe if he's feeling particularly smitten

Bear hugs if he's happy (sometimes he doesn't know his own strength and tends to affectionately manhandle things when he's not thinking, but he never hurts you)

Cuddles if he's feeling down

Nicknames are everything for this guy

He'd probably just call you bud to be completely honest, but sometimes he'll tease you and switch it up!

Uses old-timey/corny names like 'sweet stuff' or 'cutie'

Wukong is far from the best at comforting people, but he'll try his very best if you're upset

His first tactic is making jokes or teasing you until he can see a smile begin to spread across your beautiful face, at which he'll tackle you into a hug

If that doesn't work, then he'll try to be gentle and affectionate and talk things out with you. When you don't laugh at his first few jokes, he'll slowly sit behind you and wrap his arms around your slouched frame and bury his face in your hair

"I'm sorry that happened bud.. wanna talk it out?"

And if all else fails, then he'll just sit beside you. Quietly. He'd never leave you alone when you're in your feelings. No one deserves that.

#lmk swk #lmk x reader #lmk headcanon #Romance Headcanons #wukong x reader

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arsene-ee · 19 days

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Can we talk about how both Preston Garvey and Wyll Ravengard are pretty much the characters that get treated the worst by their respective fandom? (Also Ik I'm being incredibly Biased here because I love both of them dearly)

Cuz like both tend to be called incredibly bland and are often times just overlooked. While both of them are incredibly complex character (as complex as a bethesda character can get in Preston's case)

Preston is consitently the butt of the same boring ass Joke. "hAhA aNoThEr SeTtLeMeNt NeEdS yOuR hElP, hAhA sO FuNnY" and yes I get it the line is incredibly repetitive, but every characters' dialouge gets repetitive with time as well. The reason this line is so repetitive is that Preston is pretty much the only Questgiver for the Minutemen for a huge part of the game, while other factions like the Railroad (and I assume the BoS) have multiple characters that give you quests. Lorewise Preston being the only quest giver for the minutemen makes sense due to him being like one of the few survivors and all (and the other characters wouldn't really make sense as quest givers, well maybe sturges but he's busy hammering the walls).

Preston has so much interesting lore if you take the time to listen to him, He feels so much survivor's guilt about what happened in Quincy. HE BELIVES HE DESERVES DEATH FOR GODS SAKE.

And I'm still so upset about how he's treated by the fandom, although I do mainly blame bethesda's lazy ass writing. (Also let's not forget that X6-88 is often completely ignored)

Now to Wyll, the love of my life, my babygirl. Wyll was extremly neglected by Larian's writing with him only having about 8.5h of content according to this reddit post. which probably has a lot to do with the fact that he was rewritten very close to release. Wyll is not boring, Wyll is not bland, Larian just didn't want to do him justice compared to other characters (Cough Cough Astarion Cough Cough 12.75h of Content Cough Cough) due to the response to him in EA being low. And let's not forget that up until Patch 7 his dialouge was bugged (apparently), it shouldn't have taken this long to fix it, but Larian was probably busy Animating the 1000000th Astarion cutscene (And don't even get me started on the racist white guy). Wyll didn't even get his own outfit like the rest of the Party (well Lae'zel is wearing Typical gith armor but you rarely encounter them, I recall like 3 or 4 times you actually wearing that armor) Wyll got the basic ass Warlock outfit, and yes it might make sense if you put it as "Well Wyll doesn't have anything anymore, he probably bought or got what was quickly available" well yes but then Astarion should wear some rags or something or at least more plain clothes cuz Cazador most likely would not pay for his clothes to get fixed or get fancy clothes for him, it was just Larian neglecting Wyll again.

And just like Preston Wyll is an incredibly complex character if you take your time to get to know him. His pact causes him pain (mostly mentally n all that) it got him disowned yet he doesn't regret taking it. Wyll was a menace of a Child, almost accidentally robbing a bank, reading smut when he was too young to read such content and then during the game reciting that shit in public. He is incredibly corny and he is proud of that and he fucking fangirls over Minsc. Wyll doesn't even hate his father for disowning him (I'm not saying Wyll should hate or forgive his father, I believe their relationship is incredibly complex), he only speaks rather fondly of him. (also if I see one more person stating Wyll is a Tiefling/Modding Wyll to look like a tiefling I wyll throw hands, he is not a tiefling he is touched by the hells. Same goes for the damn bloodstone eye mod, it's not supposed to be a bloodstone bbg lies about it). Wyll has been under Mizora's close watch for 7 years of course he wants to take romance slow.

Unfortunatley in both offical art and fanwork Wyll tends to be replaced by Halsin or straight up forgotten and in the offical art he does appear in he is often just glued to Mizora (yes I get that a Warlock pact is Binding blah blah) like in the offical art book where every character's alternate design is shown, just not Wyll instead it's Mizora. And I hate it, yes someone may percieve him as bland/boring when they just put him in camp and just don't interact with him, hell if that was a reason to call a character boring I could call Astarion boring but I'm not.

I understand that "good" characters might not be everyone's cup of tea but holy fuck it sucks so much that all the characters I like are just ignored.

The main difference between Preston Garvey and Wyll is that Prestion is the butt of a lame joke and at least is somewhat acknowledged within the fandom, while Wyll just tends to fall behind (Just like X6-88). Both of them are overshadowed by other characters in the game. Preston, Wyll and X6-88 are all pocs and all of them are overshadowed by/less popular than white/white read characters. it's honestly exhausting to see, especially for Baldur's Gate 3, when I see that Larian does indeed respond to fan complains in their content ("Fixing" Tav's expressions for Abuser Astarion kisses...dark romance has ruined fandom).

There is nothing much there can be done about Preston's lazy writing since fallout 4 is pretty much ancient by now (it's like 8 years old so almost a decade). But Baldur's Gate 3 has only turned one (1) year old recently and modern games get consistently updated, it would not be hard for Larian to just add more content for the characters that have less content and make the amount of content each character has kind of equal, hell I would write them the Wyll content for fucking free.

This casual racsim in fandom spaces, whether it's intended or not, is scary to see especially with the curent rise of right wing extremism in western countries (I'm mainly talking about germany here since that's what I can talk about, actually being from such a right wing extremist state).

#I'm so tried of these fandoms #I am ranting again #but it's justified isn't it #bg3 #bg3 wyll #baldurs gate 3 #fallout #wyll ravengard #fallout 4 #baldur's gate 3 #preston garvey #wyll #baldurs gate wyll #screaming into the void

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k-popanimeotomeandyanderes · 8 months

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More len kagamine, please more Len

Part 1

•Len really struggles with his feelings towards you. He's so jealous, but he doesn't want to seem vulnerable. He's used to being the one pined after, not being hopelessly in love with someone else. He doesn't know how to express it, so he'll try to seem indifferent to you or sleep with other people to get his mind off it.

•When he's in a "relationship" with you, he'll only ever cheat when he knows you'll be aware of it. He'll bring people over and make sure you hear everything. He'll make it obvious when other people are texting him or trying to hook up with him. Depending on his mood and your reactions, he might punish you by making you watch him sleep with other people.

•If winning you over by trying to seem in demand doesn't work (which it probably won't), he'll stop eventually. Maybe he'll just play hard to get instead. He might try to ignore you for a little while, but it never works, especially if it doesn't seem to bother you.

•Instead, he'll try to force your affection. This isn't necessarily sexual, but it might be.

•He really likes sleeping next to you. He finds it comforting to wake up next to you and know you're there with him instead of someone else. He also likes cuddling with you and feeling your body against his.

•He prefers not tying you up when you sleep, but if you don't willingly sleep in the same bed, he will.

•He doesn't show it, but he's actually really hurt if you reject his affection, especially the more emotional and wholesome things. He does actually like you.

•After a while in the relationship, if you still don't accept his affection, he'll get more forceful. He doesn't like hurting you or punishing you, but he feels as if he has to. If he can't make you love him, the next best thing is to fear him.

•He doesn't like to leave scars. He loves your body and couldn't stand the idea of knowing he'd left a permanent mark on you like that.

•Since he doesn't want to do enough damage to scar, his physical punishments aren't as intense as some other yanderes. He tends to avoid actual weapons and embraces the more kinky side of punishments. Len really likes choking you and seeing you helpless beneath him.

•Another common punishment is degrading. Len might be in love with you, but he's very willing to say horrible things about you. He feels bad making you cry, but in his mind, it's worth it in the end. He'll also project and call you a slut or a whore, even when he's way more likely to cheat.

•He has a short temper when it comes to you. You make him really emotional, and all his inner turmoil builds up. He'll snap at you or yell at you a lot. He tries to be calculated, but because of all his emotions, he ends up being more impulsive.

•Len feels bad after his outbursts or punishments, especially when you're hurt or if you cry. He'll be affectionate and caring after. He'll cuddle you and kiss the places he hurt you. He'll praise you if he degraded you or made you feel insecure. For some time, until you do something to upset him again, he'll be really sweet that you almost forget how awful he was before.

•Len is one of the more lucid yanderes. He knows what he's doing is wrong, and he does feel guilty about it, even though he tries hard to hide that from you and himself. He won't keep you tied up forever, and he's not going to isolate you from everyone. Ideally, he'll make your relationship seem normal. He wants you to genuinely fall for him someday. If that happens, or if you at least stop trying to escape from him, you'll go on dates and do pretty normal couple things. Eventually, you might be able to live a decent life with Len compared to some other yanderes.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #len kagamine #yandere len #yandere len x reader

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ladykailitha · 1 year

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I would like to rant about something. It's been awhile since I've done that and it's been kinda bubbling under the surface for a long time.

Again: you can headcanon whatever the fuck you want, this just my "takes me out of a story" thing.

There have been a couple posts that I've seen going around lambasting people for using other names for Eddie then Edward (Edwin, Edison, Edmond etc) when it's on his missing poster as Edward Munson.

Only there is a couple things wrong with that.

One: Not everyone goes through every frame of the show and are actual causal viewers! I know, shocking! (heavy sarcasm here, folks) I personally had seen the missing poster gifed and screenshotted a billion times and never caught that they had his first and last name until someone pointed it out.

Two: it lists Eddie's age at 17. So how well can trust it, really? I know I've seen several takes from production getting the age wrong, to Wayne making him younger so people care, to Kas theory, to even Eddie being one of the kids that went missing before Will and his age is listed as what it would have been in 1983 (which could go either supernatural or Wayne just used the old missing poster from then).

So until there is something ELSE in the show that shows his name AS Edward, you can call him whatever you want, because canon just tells us that his name is Eddie.

So why am I bringing this up?

Because the people going around shouting this bit of information tend to also people who will use one or the other or even both of the next headcanons in their meta/fanfics.

1- Eddie CAN'T swim. This one always takes me out of the story when I see it because we have TWO on screen events that show him swimming. The first is the one most people forget. When Jason and his friends chase Eddie out onto the lake and he falls in. If he couldn't swim, dude would have DIED. But he makes it to Skull Rock. The second time is jumping after Steve. Trust as someone who can't swim, there is no way he would go jumping in after Steve if he couldn't. He would go back to shore and let the kids know what was going on.

So I tend to back out of a fic when I see it, because if you're off about that aspect of his character, I'm not sure I want to read further because what else might they get wrong about him.

2- This one is a doozy for me because it really makes me mad. When they say Wayne is Eddie's mom's brother.

"While all the other dads were teaching their kids to fish or to play ball...my old man was teaching me how to hotwire. Now I swore to myself I wouldn't wind up like he did, but now I'm wanted for murder and soon grand theft auto so...uh, yeah really living up to that Munson name."

Right, I had to transcribe the whole phrase because IMDb only had the hotwiring part. Because it's that last part that is so important to my point. Now I don't know if there are other ways to interpret that line, but if Wayne's last name is Munson and Eddie talks about living up to the Munson name...wouldn't the logic follow that Eddie's dad (named Allen Munson in the Stranger Things: First Shadow play and that's how I'll refer to him from now on to make it easier to type) is also a Munson? So if Wayne, Allen, and Eddie all share the same name wouldn't that make Wayne and Allen brothers?

Now, I think I know where this logic that Wayne is related to Eddie's mom and not his dad, is because how could sweet, hardworking Wayne be related to criminal, most likely in jail Al? Because I don't know who needs to hear this: but even growing up poor in a family that isn't known for its honest living (not that I think all the Munsons are like Al, by the way) one can still chose not to follow in those footsteps. Hell, Wayne could have even straightened up FOR Eddie.

Hell we know more about Eddie's dad then we do his mom. The only thing we know is that she isn't around to take care of Eddie. Dead, in jail, or just doesn't give a damn, she's not in Eddie's life.

So yeah, it upsets me because to me it smacks a little classist. Good guy Wayne can't be related to criminal Al *clutches pearls!* He absolutely is.

/end rant

#ladykailitha rants #stranger things #eddie munson #wayne munson #eddie munson's dad #meta #headcanon

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amynchan · 1 year

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How is a show for babies and toddlers so popular with people that are much older?

Gonna take this question in good faith and answer in good faith.

My instinctual answer is because the show is made with the parents who are minding the children in mind. A lot of children’s shows do exactly what’s on the tin and no more: show children how to begin to integrate into a world that is much bigger than themselves. Share, act kindly, think about what you want to say, be good, sometimes rules are there for a reason, etc, etc. However, Bluey has stuff that’s just for the adults that goes a little beyond crude humor (which, this isn’t a dig. It’s just that it’s been done so much that I think a lot of people either expect it as a given or are tired of it).

People will point to episodes like Sleepytime, and Cricket is becoming a fan favorite, but I personally enjoy Chest and Stickbird. Those resonate with me.

For kids, Chest is about Bandit being silly when it comes to trying to teach Bluey how to play chess. It ends in a victory for the kids because they do not want to play chess, and they end up playing on the floor with their newfound pieces who are “not dead” because they’re in charge of the rules now.

For adults, Chest is about Bandit trying to teach Bluey--and by extension, Bingo--a game that should help them grow more intelligent as they grow older. This action, which is taken by many fathers (including my own when he taught me how to navigate a computer and how to begin looking into code when I was 11 or so back in 2006?) is called out and analyzed by his wife, Chili. Chili goes into a monologue about why Bandit wants to teach the girls chess, how he’s doing it because he is actually a good father who wants his children to be able to take care of themselves once he can’t do it anymore, and about how it’s not necessary when Bluey and Bingo are 6 and 4 respectively. “Work on their heads later. For now, just hearts.”

Chest is a sneaky rule-bending fun time for the kids, and it’s a lesson in parenting for the adults. There’s even something for young adults with the line “[I’m] a lousy chess player.” “And you turned out fine” between Chili and Bandit. It’s a bit of a gentle reassurance that I think a lot of people need sometimes, and it made me feel a little better about myself. It even helps me a little bit in my role as an instructor since I teach at a transitional part of my students’ lives and I have to remember that while the content I teach would be easy in isolation, I do have to also take care of what they consider important to them. It’s important to me as a person given where I’m at in life.

Stickbird is different in that it gives the same lesson to children and adults alike because it’s timeless, and we adults tend to forget it as we grow up.

For kids, stickbird is a fun day at the beach where Bluey and Bingo learn to throw. Chili, their mom, teaches them, and Bandit, their dad, is in a funk. It’s not really important. What’s important to kids is that Bingo, the youngest, wants to throw more sticks and so drags Bandit along with her. Along the way, they find a Really Neat Stick and create a sand bird out of it. Fun times! Then they go get more sticks. Then--uh oh!--some other kids at the beach take the stickbird’s head, which upsets Bingo. Bingo spends some time upset and angry, which she states very firmly when Bluey succeeds in learning how to throw and is excited to show Bingo. When Bluey learns that Bingo is upset--not really why, just that she is--she offers a trick shown to her by her friend. Bluey, in true kid fashion, “gathers the upset and angry...from your neck...and your belly...and behind your ears” and then asks Bingo if she wants to keep it. Bingo thinks about it, as all kids do, and says “no.” There’s a funny back-and-forth about giving the angry and upset to either Bluey or Bandit, and neither of them want it, so Bingo asks what to do with it, and Bluey tells her to “throw it away...really far” using the lesson that Chili gave them both. So, Bingo does, and she feels better, and there’s a hooray moment before the girls race each other on the beach, giggling. And that’s where it ends for the kids.

For adults, our focus is immediately drawn by Bandit, the typically excitable and playful father who is in a serious funk. Chili draws attention to it towards the beginning by saying “let it go, babe. You’re missing it.” Throughout the episode, while the kids are watching Bingo and her lack of emotional regulation, we’re watching Bandit and how he, an adult who has learned how to compartmentalize and regulate emotions, is dealing with his own upset. He’s too quiet, and it’s honestly a bit unsettling if you know him as a character. He stands off to the side and interacts a little bit while Bluey explains to Bingo how to deal with her “angry and upset,” and after the girls run off and the kids celebrate, the camera stays with Bandit. He doesn’t say anything. He just starts miming what his children just did, takes a deep breath, and throws the camera itself far into the ocean. Before the perspective plops in the water (in a shot that is honestly gorgeous and made me beam with a joy only being thrown as a kid can elicit), we see a return of normal Bandit, loud and excitable and ready to play with his kids.

Stickbird is about handling life’s shit, and that’s a timeless lesson. The lesson is outlined boldly for the kids, but there’s a reminder that we as adults sometimes need to throw the little problems away in order to live our best lives.

To me, it’s kind of like how Phineas and Ferb was jam-packed with so many good things despite each episode being 15 minutes. PnF has 3 simultaneous storylines (the boys and their adventures, Candace and her adventures, and Perry and Doofenshmirtz), and Bluey has 2 (something kid-centric and something adult-centric) jam-packed into 7 minutes a pop. Bluey also has a tendency of bringing back childlike wonder without being condescending or demeaning to the audience, which can be an unintended side effect for many children’s shows when they’re trying to explain big concepts to minds that want to absorb things but have a difficult time parsing fact from fiction. (Seriously, it’s just a developmental stage that those shows are trying to cater to.)

So, yeah, I’m 27, childless, and enjoy Bluey. There are so many teenagers who enjoy it as well. And, of course, parents and their babies enjoy it, too. Some like the healing aspect of it, some enjoy the silly games, and some just enjoy it for being what it is. I can’t tell anyone to love it or anything. All I can say is that it’s a good idea to give some of the episodes a chance and judge for yourself whether you, as a person, like it or not. If you do, then welcome! I hope you find an episode that you really, REALLY enjoy! If you don’t, then I hope you enjoy the fandoms that you, as a person, enjoy while I do the same.

#Bluey #PnF

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vai3r13 · 2 months

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Hello hello! :) I’m here for our matchup trade for Black Butler! (I sent the pictures for the Paparazzi end :) )

Starting off I am a neurodivergent, queer (but attracted to masculinity) female. I go by she/they and im an INFP Sagittarius.

Physically, I am a 5’2” but wear platform converse or boots every day of my life. Style wise, im definitely alternative. However, Im also a fan of the baggy jeans, tight top, kinda side of grunge. Im also a sucker for black with pastels, so I suppose my color pallete would fall under “Pastel Goth” or something similar. I actually really love the style called “Morute” which stands for “Morbidly Cute”. I just absolutely adore the creepy-cute combination, and i aspire to look like a creepy doll somedays.

That also would lead into hobbies, as I love dolls! I collect them and will gush over them any time i see one in public i like. Especially going to cons and seeing the little stands with BJD dolls? I go feral-...and broke. My entire room is decorated in pretty dolls, anime figures, manga, and cherry blossom vines. (I really want a cherry blossom tattoo on my back but im terrified of needles-) My other hobbies include writing, skateboarding, singing/making music, and dancing! I have a band with friends right now. I’m training my voice to be a metal singer despite having a feminine voice, so im a bit shy with it right now.

Personality wise, I suppose it tends to fluctuate, but i think what sticks the most is that I'm extremely sweet and loyal. I used to be very shy, and can even be pretty quiet nowadays too. Im definitely introverted but, ive gotten much better with it. Friends would definitely say that im bubbly, always trying to laugh. Definitely witty too because I absolutely love bantering and softly bullying people. Id say im very emotionally intelligent when it comes to other people. Im definitely a realist, and im told im very good with advice and empathizing with people. I feel i understand other emotions more than mine sometimes. Which annoys me- Because I have a habit of not expressing anything negative. I think it might be due to past trauma, but I have a hard time staying angry or upset with people. Its like- once you screw me over, i have no issues getting rid of you. I dont like that i can easily disconnect from people, as I feel it makes me sound like a bad person, but I just feel l like if i know my worth, and someone isnt treating me as they should, I shouldnt keep them in my life. That does go to say though, that I am an all or nothing person with people I care about. If i am your friend, I trust you can come to me with anything and I vice versa no matter what. I always come through and i expect the same.

Another bad habit though would be disappearing. I wouldnt call it ghosting because I always pop back up, but I usually dont respond or see people for weeks or even months, even close friends. Most that are close know that if they need to talk to me, they have to double text or call me. Ill always answer then. I dont mean to, I just for some reason am really consistent with randomly dropping off the face of the earth for everyone but my partner, or person closest. Texts are always paragraphs though! Im not a dry texter, just forget I exist and have to respond :) Not to mention, i have ran away out of state before just for the sake of going and exploring. (Did a lot of Urbex and trespassing- it was fun but i dont think ill ever go to abandon buildings like that again. That doesnt mean ill stop climbing trains though!) I just love road trips and little late night adventures.

Some notes about me… Id say my fears involve needles, the dark (I sleep with a nightlight but love horror-), Clowns, and deep water. I cannot swim and have nearly drowned before so I actually hate going swimming. I dont see the appeal and start to panic if i cant see or touch the bottom. I wouldnt say im scared of spiders though like most. I actually am the person my job calls for to grab spiders and take them outside. If theyre cute, ill just grab them with my hand. Another thing is that I have OCD and PTSD. My OCD isnt the typical stereotype of being clean, Im just very routine with patterns. The person im with has to be okay with frequent alarms I set for different time frames, my strange eating habits (I cant have anything touching, one food at a time, soft foods over crunchy, and i absolutely love bananas but cant eat them unless someone peels them for me while im not looking) I also get very paranoid about certain things, like for example, i get little episodes sometimes where I freak out because I believe Ill inherent my dads schizophrenia and Ill because dissociated with reality, so whoever im with needs to be able to help assure me i wont just lose my mind- That being said, my least favorite love language is touch! I can be touched, but its very easy to overwhelm my due to past trauma. I also flinch very easily without even thinking and it gets annoying when people make fun of it. Because of this as well, im a very silent walker and tend to scare people because i subconsciously make myself as unnoticeable as possible. Im also an insomniac. I will not go to bed until the sun is up, and even then I wake up very easily. My doctor keeps trying to give me medications for it so i can sleep better, but its so ironic because I stop taking them constantly because I hate feeling tired. SO someone who doesnt mind being up a bit late would be appreciated :)

Random facts are: I absolutely adore raccoons and rats, and used to be a rat mom! I’ll spit out little rodent facts like im google. I know morse code. Im an amazing driver. I will get you there fast and safe….fast as in i max out my car frequently and if i get one more traffic misconduct i lose my license. BUT i know how to be safe with taking those risks, if that makes sense? Like i know where and when to speed and when not to- Most people fear getting in the car with me. But other than that, i think that’s it for now! Thank you <3

Hello!<3 @xxchthonicreaturexx

I apologize for any mistakes! English is not my native language and I'm new to writing:) Written in "you" perspective

possible tw - talk of mental health, mentions of unhealthy relationship ig? idk how healthy grim reapers r, mentions of drowning and suicide

barely proofread

To start, you're gorg and going off of everything I think your Black Butler match would be..

Undertaker !!

Both visually and personality wise I think you would compliment each-other! In my opinion your energies have something similar.

visual

I think Undertaker would like your piercings, he has an industrial himself.

small head cannons

You both have black nail polish, so painting each others nails as a cute activity:)

Doing each others eyeliner/make up.

classic

Undertakers mbti type most likely is ISTJ while yours is INFP. While your compatibility can seem difficult at first, by appreciating each others differences you "balance" each other out.

Sagittarius and Aquarius are an energetic match, being air and fire signs your elements fit seamlessly. In astrology, air feeds fire.

"i can easily disconnect from people"

Is a trait both of your star signs posses, a similarity that needs to be balanced between the two of you.

In terms of style I can see you in lots of similar/ partner outfits, as your style is somewhat similar too. Undertaker would, just like you, adore pastel goth and a creepy cute, dolly like aesthetic, - not on him but most definitely on his partner.

I think Undertaker would definitely share your love for dolls, acquiring many dolls and gifting them to you.

As we can see in the Luxury Liner arc, I'd say he has his own love for "dolls", if you know what I'm saying.

As for your other hobbies I think Undertaker wouldn't exactly share your interest in them, but he'd definitely support you. Ex. Watching your band perform, making tea to soothe your voice after you've practiced. He'd definitely be one to annoy and tease you in a joking manner, while you're writing or doing other things.

You being more calm/quiet and Undertakers more energetic and chaotic certainly harmonize. You'd participate in a lot of witty banter and Undertakers life mission would be to make you laugh all the time. He'd adore your sweetness and bubbly-ness (is that even a word??) and your loyalty would be VERY important to him. While he acts and is mostly carefree, I think deep down he still wary of deep connections with people, as he doesn't really have friends.

When he achieves said connection tho he might not always act like it but he'd be sort of possessive. Wouldn't let you get very close to Sebastian or Ciel out of a fear, that they would use you against him in some way. It takes a while for him to tell you what he is, it takes him a while to trust someone 100% wouldn't talk about how it happened tho.

I think arguments wouldn't happen very often, when they do tho they would happen out of Undertakers disregard for "human customs", ex. relationships with other people, etc. Undertaker doesn't resort to screaming, he wouldn't even comprehend that you're mad or annoyed with him. After a few days of not talking much he'd try and talk, bring you something, dolls, sweets, whatever. Makes you sit down and explain what's bothering you, wouldn't always get it but he'd try. Makes up by gifting you dolls or figurines.

Would get worried the first few times you disappear, always manages to find you tho. Absolutely goes exploring with you, might not say it but part of the reason why, is because he's worried about you.

Teases you about your fear of the dark, always lights a candle for you at night tho. Undertaker has died through drowning, as shown in a manga panel, so he shares your fear of water. It serves as a constant reminder for him, so you both don't see the appeal.

Might sound weird but he's fascinated with your OCD habits, he asks you about them. Once you explained them, he always makes sure that your food is arranged the way you like it and peels your bananas for you. Doesn't mind the alarms you set, can be your personal alarm clock actually.

Undertaker has dealt with a lot throughout his long life, he has his own problems. He will always assure you that you're going to be okay. Another thing, that might seem insensitive but sometimes he'd joke that you'll be "crazy" together.

Undertaker's very touchy by nature, I would say. After noticing you flinch, he'd be unsure if his presence and being a grim reaper still intimidates you in some way, if he decides talking to you about it, Undertaker will resort to gift giving and quality time.

Being a quiet walker doesn't matter with Undertaker, as he senses your presence, he isn't human after all, or easy to startle.

Grim Reapers require both sleep and sustenance, but have you seen Undertaker? That man runs on two hours of sleep maximum, he also definitely wouldn't mind staying up late. Dancing late at night, while nobody is watching, is definitely a reoccurring activity in a relationship with the Undertaker. He can be a bit overbearing at times.

Depending what century you're imagining this in, Undertaker loves when you drive, it's sort of an adrenaline rush for him.

head canons

Doing each others makeup, sitting on a coffin or your bed. "You have to be still, for me not to smudge the eyeliner!!", while he tries to tickle or smooch you.

Painting each others nails and making a cute date night out of it, lots of candles around you for the atmosphere. Playful banter, which ends in you two cuddling in a coffin.

Going out to explore the woods, him following closely behind you, suddenly disappearing just to appear in front of you, scaring you in the process, making Undertaker burst out laughing. Holding out a hand to help you climb onto things.

Exploring the city at night, when the people are sleeping and the bustling and usually loud streets of London are completely empty. Even jumping roof to roof. (This reminded me of that one Howl's moving castle scene. 01:47-02:10 in the linked video)

Late at night, while both of you aren't sleeping, Undertakers shop is dark, except for the dozens of candles littered across the room, as a music box starts playing a soft melody. Undertaker coming up behind you and offering you a hand, as you start dancing across his shop, moving through the space together, occasionally stepping on each others feet and giggling.

Again, it's my first time writing and English isn't my first language. I hope you could still enjoy this<3

#divider by v6que #undertaker #undertaker black butler #undertaker x reader #undertaker kuroshitsuji #romance #romantic #romantic matchup #match #matchups #english isnt my first language

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dangerpronebuddie · 10 months

Text

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night 7/?

28. An accidental kiss between two exes?

Summary:

Ravi's eyes widened. "Um... what was that?"

Hen and Buck frowned at him. "What was what?" Buck asked.

"Eddie kissed you," Ravi stated.

"That is what boyfriends tend to do," Hen said.

"Bo- boyfriends?" Ravi frowned. "I didn't know you got back together."

(Ravi definitely thinks Buck and Eddie are divorced.)

(Read below!) Muah!

"For the last time, I didn't say the q word!" Ravi cried. He'd been hearing the accusation for the entirety of a hellish twenty four hour shift. Now, standing in the locker rooms, the guys weren't about to let up. Well, guy, singular. Chim started in around their third call in the span of an hour, and hadn't stopped since.

Chim slammed his locker closed. "Somebody must've. It was you or Diaz, I'm certain of it."

"No wonder you always lose the betting pools, Chim," Eddie grinned beside him as he buttoned his shirt. "We didn't say it. It was just a wacky shift."

Chim glared at the two of them. Ravi shook his head and opened his locker. "You're just upset you weren't the one to do the maneuver today."

Chim made an affronted noise. "It was my turn," he defended.

"You can go next time," Buck piped up with a grin.

"Too soon, Buckley," Chim said, jabbing a finger at him.

Ravi had heard several stories about the infamous lightning incident. He knew Chim blamed himself for not insisting on going up. But Buck never once blamed him. There was no one to blame at all. Ravi was just glad Buck was starting to actually process his death, instead of hide it.

Buck shrugged. "Just saying. It was Ravi's turn anyway. He had to have his first time."

Ravi beamed. The maneuver was a lot more fun than it had any right to be.

"Wait a sec," Eddie frowned. "I've never done the maneuver either."

"Because you're always the one making sure I don't fall when I do it," Buck grinned.

"Then next time, I can do it," Eddie declared, shrugging into his suede jacket.

"Oh no you don't, Diaz," Chim protested. "Me first." He hiked his duffle onto his shoulder and marched out.

"I'm gonna convince Bobby to make a chart so we take turns," Buck mused.

"And conveniently leave Chim off of it?" Ravi guessed.

Buck grinned widely. Ravi never wanted to be on his bad side. Again anyway.

The three filed out into the cold December wind, meeting Hen near the doors.

"You guys want to grab a beer?" she suggested.

The three nodded in a chorus of agreement.

"I'll meet you guys there," Eddie said, "I've gotta drop Chris off at a friend's house for the weekend."

"Don't let him forget his coat this time," Buck scolded.

"I still maintain that was on you, bud," Eddie grinned. He gave Buck a quick kiss before marching off to his truck.

Ravi's eyes widened. "Um... what was that?"

Hen and Buck frowned at him. "What was what?" Buck asked.

"Eddie kissed you," Ravi stated.

"That is what boyfriends tend to do," Hen said.

"Bo- boyfriends?" Ravi frowned. "I didn't know you got back together."

"We've... never not been?" Buck's frown deepened.

"But I thought... You guys were divorced weren't you?" Ravi was probably confusing everyone else more than himself. Even Hen was looking at him like he grew a second head.

"Where... did you get that idea?" Buck asked.

"When I was a probie, you guys were always together. Then just before he left for dispatch you were hardly speaking. I just thought you guys broke up or something," Ravi explained, feeling his face heat.

"They're just like that," Hen waved off.

"Uh, hey now," Buck protested.

"Buck, come on. You guys have been divorced maybe three times already," she drawled.

"Okay, technically it was only two. The second time was completely different," Buck reasoned. "The lawsuit and the Natalia thing are the only divorces we've had."

"I'm so confused," Ravi whispered. He really wished he hadn't brought it up.

"Alright," Buck sighed, slinging an arm over Ravi's shoulders and steering him to Ravi's car. "Time for a history lesson, kid."

Ravi looked at Hen, his eyes wide as saucers. She merely cackled and wished him luck as she left for her car.

By the time they reached the bar, Ravi knew it all:

Shannon

The ladder truck (ouch)

The tsunami (double ouch)

The lawsuit (fools)

The well (yikes)

The shooting (which Ravi cried through the story)

And the lightning (which he missed thanks to his own side quest.)

He even got the abridged version of how Buck and Eddie became a very much not divorced couple. Of all ways, Ravi did not expect how it actually happened.

He assumed it would be after one of their many close calls, or after a night out drinking. Even a quiet afternoon in a park somewhere seemed more plausible. What actually occurred was a jealous Buck kissing Eddie just within eyesight of the PTA after no less than thirty parents spent the evening hitting on Eddie.

When Ravi asked why Buck picked that specific moment, Buck shrugged and said something about tomorrow not being promised to anyone.

#911 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #ravi panikkar #hen wilson #chimney han #fanfic #my writing #i need a tag for these

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zhongster · 2 months

Text

Nobody asked for this I’m so sorry

Here are some shamefully presented burping headcanons for one Bobby Nash

THIS IS KINK CONTENT, DNI IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT

CEO of tucking his chin into his chest when he has to burp

His cheeks tend to puff out too

Like his burps are giving so much old man y’know

Sometimes after he burps Athena will reach over and lightly pat his chest in like an odd congratulations 😭

Never fails to say “excuse me”

Even when he’s alone

He’s such a dad about it you guys you don’t understand

Like if Buck burps at the station he’ll give him a look until he excuses himself

So if he were to burp anywhere in Buck’s vicinity Buck would immediately scream something like “Bobby!” with an exaggerated gasp + pearl clutch combo

The day that Buck learned that Bobby is, in fact, capable of out-belching everyone at the 118 was a huge day for him

It happened on accident of course; Buck tried to make protein shakes for everyone forgetting that Bobby is incredibly lactose intolerant

He held it in for as long as possible but eventually he was so bloated he just had to take the L

Aside from the fact that he effectively poisoned his captain, he was delighted to learn that Bobby could absolutely body any of them in a hypothetical burping contest

Bobby also always burps into his fist

Like every time

He sometimes gets those burps that start out closed mouth and end up being bigger than he anticipated and it forces his mouth open

Athena laughs at him when this happens

Pretty prone to indigestion

He’s from Minnesota there’s no way he’s comfortably ingesting anything spicier than pepper

Lowkey loves when Athena rubs his belly but he’d never outright admit it

Even if he does stretch out like a cat when she lays her hand on it

Athena also definitely loves his belly so much (me too girl)

Sometimes she rubs it when it isn’t even upset and Bobby’s no fool he’s gonna lay back and enjoy it

Sometimes something gets him so bloated that all he can do is try to burp at the most opportune moments throughout the day because the burps are coming and there’s nothing he can do to stop them

He’s been known to burp in the engine/truck on the way to calls as well as hiding behind the ambulance with Hen at the actual call and trying to muffle them as much as possible in order to remain as professional as he can be

The team knows not to make fun of him during these particular days as he’s usually in pain or otherwise miserable which means he’s gonna be grumpy as hell

He’s almost certainly an acid reflux king but I don’t think he’s entirely aware of this

Athena definitely is aware of this and tries to modify what he eats when she can

He gets pretty embarrassed when he burps in front of anyone that isn’t Athena but he plays it off usually with just a “Oh gosh excuse me, not sure where that came from” accompanied by a hand to his chest

I think over time he gets more comfortable if he ends up having to burp in front of any of our people™

He still excuses himself but he doesn’t get quite as internally embarrassed

@moraygrotto posted this the other day and it immediately made me think of him

Sometimes he’ll take his work belt off and a huge unexpected belch will come straight outta his chest, often to the surprise of himself and anyone else (usually Athena) who’s around

Since he doesn’t drink alcohol he ends up drinking a lot of club sodas and such when he goes out with the group which sometimes means he’ll have to turn his head to the side and let out a few deep closed mouth burps into his fist

This usually ends up with some iteration of a “Woah there Cap that was pretty good but I bet I could do better!” from Buck

Wherein Bobby will reply with something along the lines of “That was not an invitation to start a contest Buck”

He already has a visible belly but when he’s particularly bloated it’s even more apparent

Their restrictive dress shirts don’t really do anything to hide it which Bobby’s usually a bit embarrassed by

Here’s a video reference for him >:)

#guys i’m so normal about him #i’ve been thinking about his burps every night before i go to sleep #almost like brainstorming #burping #eructophilia #belching #burp kink

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stardust-sunset · 5 months

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What's the issue with people drawing art of Kyle that gives him a negative opinion about what's happening in Gaza? I'm sure he would canonically be upset about all the killing going on. I could understand if people were saying Kyle would be calling for the total abolishment of Israel or supporting Hamas but I haven't seen anyone doing that. The only Free Palestine art involving Kyle that I've seen was actually done by a Jewish person. A lot of Jewish people, even within Israel itself, agree that their government is going too far in their retaliation so why is it bad to think Kyle would be one of them? I'm not trying to start a fight or something. I'm genuinely curious why it's wrong.

It’s kind of an objective thing. It’s not really something that you would want to have people draw. From what I’ve seen nobody drew stuff like that when it came to Russia and Ukraine. It’s also because most of the art is just of Kyle, and because people tend to use it to tokenize Kyle. And the art only ever seems to be of Kyle. And I’m convinced it’s because he’s Jewish. It’s wrong because it tokenizes him and it gives permission for others to tokenize and marginalize him. I’ve also seen that that kind of stuff tends to hurt other Jewish people so regardless of whether the person drawing that stuff is Jewish, it hurts other people sometimes. And a Jewish person drawing art that can tokenize Kyle kinda gives permission for anyone to tokenize him. But I do suppose it isn’t my place to speak. I don’t wanna get political on here. He would be angry about the killing. But I also don’t think he would ignore October 7th. It’s hard to forget that too. That’s where it’s hard with this. Not just the thousands of years of conflict, but also the fact that you can’t ignore the rep it’s given Jews outside and within Israel. Like you said, it’s the government. And tokenizing doesn’t help people. And it just adds fuel to the fire and gives an okay for non Jews to do it too when it’s made by a Jewish person.

I know it’s a stretch but it’s like me making fan art tokenizing Jimmy to being disabled. It’s not okay to do just because I’m technically disabled. Idk, am I making sense?

#idk am i wording this right #south park #kyle broflovski #skipper speaks #asks #anon #answered

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cringelordofchaos · 2 months

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Before You Follow

This isn't a threat, just a heads up

I tend to vent at times, which will be tagged as #tw vent most of the times

I sometimes post about rather triggering topics and I do everything in my best effort to tag common triggers properly, so just make sure you have your triggers blocked in settings

At times I threaten myself with suicide, do not take it seriously - and do not worry - I do not actually want to kill myself, but sometimes I get upset and impulsively post things like "I'll kms" and tend not to tag it, though I'm trying to not do this anymore

I am fine with gendered terms such as girl, dude, queen, king, bro, and anything else ; they do not alleviate my gender dysphoria so feel free to call me anything

I tend to get obsessed with a thing, typically a franchise, and post a lot about it, too much even, make a ton of mutuals from the fandom associated with it, and it lasts for about.. a month or two? Until I switch to another thing - so just a heads up if it looks like I'm a fandom blog, I'm not - just obsessed but it doesn't last too long usually

I choose not to publicly disclose my gender identity or pronouns because I'm unsure of what I actually am, and I don't want others to know what's in my pants, and quite frankly I don't think they need to

I make mistakes ; I don't know everything ; if I said something wrong, point it out! that way I can edit my post so no further misinformation spreads, and I learn what not to say in the future. I am pretty sensitive and tend to take others correcting me as a threat at times but I'm trying not to - but if you can, please be somewhat tender with your criticism

Sorry if you compliment my art or anything else and I don't respond !!! I highly appreciate it, it makes me sooo happy but I tend to either forget to respond or not know how to respond !!!

I'm not actually as old as my bio suggests (plus I'm a minor, so no "funny business" or you could potentially face some unnecessary charges)

If you send me an ask and I don't respond, it probably has nothing to do with what you said, I just forgot to respond or didn't know how to respond but will eventually ("eventually" can range from days to months to more)

Do not worry about being "cringe" or "weird" around me!!!! I know what it's like, I won't judge the way you phrase anything, or the way you approach me,

Don't need tone tags most of the times, and I generally don't really used them, sometimes for sarcasm or reference ("/s" or "/sarc" and "/ref")

Most of my posts aren't screenreader friendly due to reblogging posts with undescribed images, writing in fonts or ways not all screen readers can read, and many times forget to tag it. When I do I tag such posts as "screenreader unfriendly"

I don't have a dni, I'm fine with any blogs following me or interacting with me, even ones I disagree with or feel uncomfortable with. However if someone is doing something that breaks Tumblr TOS (that I agree with.. wink wink teehee) I will report them

You aren't being annoying for initiating conversation or interaction with me !!! (I am, though)

I tag fandoms reblogs with acronyms and not the full name most of the times. (Eg I tag sonic the hedgehog related reblogs as "sth")

More to be added

#intro post

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sgcairo · 2 years

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Hey

What if Anastasiy had a really bad nightmare and his baba pantalone is out there somewhere for a job?

Oh, my friend... You're opening the Pandora's box of ideas here, don't even get me started on how terrible the poor baby would feel.

Anastasiy already suffers from a lot of separation anxiety, but having nightmares while Pantalone is away and having no one but Dottore and Irnes to comfort him? It would be a living hell for everyone, not just the segments.

While Danya is usually a pretty quiet crier, and tends to keep to himself while he's feeling down- nightmares are a whole other monster, and he continues to struggle with them even later in life. Climbing into bed and snuggling up to Pantalone calms him down most of the time, and he can go back to sleep in a few minutes. But being alone in a scary room, and running into the arms of someone with the same face and eyes that give you night terrors? That's not great, probably worse than the dreams themselves.

The first few nights are terrible. Danya barely sleeps, and Dottore can't do much to comfort him. He tries holding Danya in his arms, reading him a story, singing him a lullaby- hell, he even lets Tartaglia try his hand at soothing the boy, but nothing works. The other Harbingers have reached the point of genuine concern, Anastasiy's face has become seriously raw from all the crying. Some are beginning to suggest calling Pantalone back early from his negotiations, or perhaps even shipping the boy out to him.

This continues for several days, and Danya is at the point of misery. Dottore is trying, really trying to help, but he's not exactly good at comfort. The poor boy can't sleep, which is only making his mood worse, and by extension has Anastasiy randomly crying in the middle of the day because of small things. Dropped one of his plushies off the bed? Instant tears. It takes him a whole hour to calm down. His clothes are itchy? He bawls in his room for a while until Dottore finally catches on and pulls him out from under the desk.

Things are looking desperate until Irnes comes up with a genius idea. They technically have another "Pantalone" in the palace. Perhaps the physical and psychological trickery might just work!

In the end, giving him to Earl actually manages to calm him down, even if Pantalone's clone is quite unsettling to look at. Danya relaxes instantly as soon as he's placed in Earl's arms, and falls asleep in record time. While his rest is still fitful, he's finally able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, which he desperately needs.

Dottore is... upset, knowing that he couldn't do anything to help his own son, but he's very careful to not let it show. He needs to keep his facade of not caring up, and showing that he's disappointed and upset with himself is not the best method for maintaining that indifference. He can't let himself be affected, no, especially not by the fact that one of his own clones, an inferior version of himself, is more comforting than he could ever be.

By the time Pantalone does get back, Danya is still having small fits of not being able to sleep, Earl can only replace Pantalone for so long. Pantalone arrives home to find a grumpy and tired Danya and a brooding Dottore, both of which desperately need sleep, which he remedies by pulling them both into bed. Anastasiy is out in a second, finally able to comfortably sleep squished between the two, but Dottore is clearly angry about something, as he won't look Pantalone in the eye.

"Are you really going to ignore me all night, Doctor?"

"Mhm."

"You really are a dramatic bastard. How foolish of me to forget."

"...Shut up. At least the kid likes you."

Oh, so that's what this is about.

"That has nothing to do with the conversation, dearest Doctor. However, I can't say that I'm not intrigued. Please do enlighten me."

"He likes you more than me. What else is there to say? He cried the whole time you were gone, and doesn't even bat an eye when I leave."

"Dottore..."

"Don't 'Dottore' me. He's made it clear who he prefers."

"Yes, but-"

"Just shut up, Regrator. I'm going to sleep."

Of course Dottore is bitter and straight to the point. He's always been, it's a part of his nature.

Pantalone doesn't speak again, at least not that night.

He has a lot to consider.

#anastasiy #babytorre #dottore #il dottore #pantalone #dottolone #fatui harbingers #genshin impact #earl #irnes #il dottore's clones

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lunaraindrop · 2 years

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The Lie Becomes the Truth- A Steddie Fic (Part 4)

Link to Part 3

At some point, Steve was going to have to get used to embarrassing himself.

While Robin was always kind enough to remind him that he sucked when he struck out with the ladies, Steve was a jock.

He was strong.

He was handsome

He had good hand-eye coordination, a wiz with his nailbat, and could beat up a Russian asshole with a phone.

Not too shabby, if he did say so himself. (Which he *did*, thank you very much Robin and Dustin.)

From the movies they played in Family Video, Steve had seen many action heroes saving the day. They would get shot, stabbed, blown up even, and still save the day.

So. Eddie was not some dainty damsel, and Steve, while being a strong, handsome former jock, was no action hero from a movie. After taking a few steps, Steve nearly fell over.

Right. He was injured too. Shit.

After some rearranging, Steve ended up with a new Eddie backpack. Or as Dustin liked to call it, Eddie was riding “Yoda-Style”.

Steve kept to himself just how much he didn’t think Eddie looked like a Muppet.

(Steve would tell Robin later, much later, that it is possible to crush on a musician that doesn’t look like they were created by Jim Henson. She flipped him off. It was great.)

Something else Steve learned? His piggyback companion didn’t think of him as that safe Shire place.

He couldn’t feel upset about that, because he found out that he was something far, far greate than a place.

He, Steve, was the Samwis!

Actually, that was a bit confusing. Eddie had said, “Samwis”. Dustin said the character Eddie was asking for was named “Samwise”.

That wasn’t what Eddie was calling him.

A plus on Eddie being pressed up tight against his back, (besides the obvious), was that Eddie’s words were clearer. No more garbled half sounds. Being off the ground made the metal head also more of his chatty self.

Still delirious as fuck, but at least they could understand the words coming out of his mouth.

Even if they did make Steve blush. He was confused as shit, but well…

How was he supposed to react when these things were crooned in his ear?

“Oh Stevewise. My gardener. My paladin. My fluffy haired knight. You water my flowers, tend my hedges, fight off Shelob…carrying me outta Mordor.”

Dustin kept looking over, furrowed brow, as he limped between his Nancy and Robin crutches.

Steve knew that look.

The little shit was contemplating.

Gears were working overtime in Dustin’s head, trying to make a picture out these random puzzle pieces he thought Eddie was giving them.

To be honest, there were gears turning in Steve head, too. (It was easier to focus on that than the pain in his sides or how only a few minutes before Eddie was….how *Steve* was a liar.)

He knew what a knight was, easy. He knew his hair had incredible volume. But the rest of that? What the fuck? Were those from that book his likes? From the *Dorks and Disasters* game? Was he speaking in code?

And most importantly…how the hell did Eddie know he liked to garden?!

Eddie didn’t have much of a yard at the trailer park, but he had brought some flower pots over to Max’s to brighten the place. But how did Eddie know he grew them?

Something warm was filling is chest, like liquid sunshine.

If Eddie wanted him to be his gardener, he would be the best god damn gardener Eddie had ever seen. What little lawn he had would be trimmed and green. He would keep Eddie’s house full of flowers every week. He and his uncle would drown in fresh vegetables. Forget the farmer’s market. *Steve’s* their farmer’s market, baby.

It was when they entered the trailer that Eddie’s chatter took a despondent turn.

As Steve put his precious, heavy load on the couch, Eddie…sang.

Steve didn't pay very much attention in school. But he did remember something about ocean sirens using beautiful singing to hypnotizing sailors to drown themselves, or something like that.

Yeah. If Eddie was a siren, then Steve would be drowning.

It wasn’t some heavy metal ballad, like most might expect. No. It was all the words he has brushed the shell of Steve’s ear, plus more, put to song. Steve was pretty impressed. Eddie was some fucking musician, making a song on the spot with all that blood loss and being nearly unconscious. But unlike how happy the words made Steve before, these were…sad.

"Oh Stevewise. My gardener. My paladin. My fluffy haired knight.

You water my flowers, tend my hedges, fight off strange things in the night.

You carry me out of Mordor, Safe, Mount Doom a distant shore

But you'll go back to the Shire, marry Rosie. And I...I’ll go West with the Elves, forevemore"

Dustin’s head snapped towards Eddie. His genius gears stopped turning. There was an epiphany. One completely lost to Steve. Completely lost to Nancy too, it seemed.

But not to Robin.

Despite him knowing for a fact that Robin didn’t play D&D or read that book (he asked, okay?), she knew a thing to two about music. Where Dustin got some secret code in he words, Robin heard something n the notes.

Something that made her cry and cover he mouth.

Nancy had turned to her and ask what was going on, but she just shook her head.

“It isn’t my place to tell.”

Dustin turned to her, looking so sad and lost, before he limped over and gently hugged Eddie.

“Oh Eddie…that isn’t how the story has to end! Frodo doesn’t have to go into the West. We love you. I love you! Your family loves you! Stay with us.”

Wait a fucking second. Was Eddie talking about…dying?! Again?!

Not on Steve’s watch!

Frantic, Steve gripped Eddie face. His eyes were still closed, so Steve got in close.

“Listen here, Munson! Stay AWAY from any fucking lights at the end of tunnels, okay? No walking West, or any shit, okay? Plus, ah…”

Eddie had talked Elves, right?

“Plus, the Elves are dipshit asshole...”

What was something Eddie hated?

Steve’s eyes lit up.

He knew this!

He slapped his hands and snapped his fingers.

“JOCKS! The Elves are total Jocks!”

Robin, bless their shared brain cell, picked up what he was putting down. “Yeah! And not the nice, dumb kind! Jason Carver? Totally a zealot, child hurting, friends-of-Dorothy-hating Elf!”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Eww.”

Smiling, Dustin jumped back in. “The West is full of Jason Carver Elves! Don't go towards any lights! Stay in the Shire. Your uncle is in the Shire.”

“Wayne?”

Steve put some curls behind his ears.

“Yeah. Wayne’s waiting in-in the Shire. Why don’t we go say hello?”

While the three of them were talking Eddie out of his dark mood, Nancy had used the time to fashion a new rope out of towels from the bathroom, and even a makeshift seat out of Eddie’s guitar strap. Somehow, big brains Nancy made the rope twice as long, and developed a pulley system with a towel rack, a floor lamp, and a plastic wheel-thingie with wrapped black cable that must have been from Wayne Munson’s job.

Jesus, sometimes Steve wondered if that woman was a female McGyver. How did she end up with an idiot like him, again?

Going as carefully as possible, Nancy crawled through first. Dustin was next, put into the guitar strap and towel seat. Nancy repositioned the mattress. Robin helped Dustin up as he climbed with Steve pulling on the rope. Hands were going bloody and raw from the terrycloth, Steve grunted and smiled when Dustin made it to the other side.

It was time for Eddie.

Unlike Dustin, Eddie wasn’t able to sit upright. He needed to be wrapped tightly in a blanket, while in the seat, and secured with some of the cables before they could pulley him through.

Gingerly laying him on the floor, Eddie started speaking again.

“Shire Time?”

Checking the belt already around his body, Robin answered back.

“We need to make you an Eddie burrito, but yes! We’ll get you to the Shire, then the hobbit hospital for magical stiches and rabies shots. How does that sound?”

Steve lifted Eddie as best as he could, and placed him in on the blanket. Something was still troubling Eddie, Steve could tell. As he and Robin wrapped him up (with “helpful” instructions from both Dustin and Nancy, Jesus), asked him what was wrong.

“But what about Rosie?”

Steve remembered him calling Nancy a flower, but he started to think that maybe even that had to do with that book too. That song of Eddie’s had him-Sam-Stevewise-whoever the fuck he was marrying this Rosie.

And that? Yeah, no.

He couldn’t let Eddie think that.

After all, he was Eddie’s gardener. And secretly damn proud of it.

Man, Steve really needed to read more.

A scary thought crossed his mind.

What if Eddie was so out of it that he *wasn’t* his gardener? What if the Samwis guy was a gardener, and Eddie was just reliving his favorite book while his mind was checked out?

“Hey, Eddie?”

In his cocoon, Eddie’s head lulled towards the sound of Steve’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know who I am? Like, really?”

Robin looked at him, curious and concerned.

“Steve, he’s lost a lot of blood, maybe don’t-“

“Steeeeve Harrington.”

Steve smiled, while Robin looked, nervous? Huh?

“Okay, yes, you’re right! I’m Steve.”

“Stevewise, the Gardener.”

“Steve’s not-“

Steve interupted Robin.

“Yes, I do like to garden.”

Robin raised an eyebrow.

“You do?”

“Who do you think takes care of the plants at my house?”

“I don’t know, a gardener?”

“Yes, that would be me!”

“I meant a hired gardener! Your parents pay for scented toilet paper and fancy stinky cheeses! I didn’t know!”

“Any time, guys!” Dustin yelled from the ceiling hole.

“Tone, Merry!” Eddie spoke back.

Steve got close to Eddie’s face, sweeping his hair behind his neck.

“See, this is why I asked. You called him Mary. Do you know who that is?”

“That’s…Dustin.”

Thank God, Eddie was becoming more lucid.

The two of them hoisted Eddie up. Tying Eddie with the cable to the rope, Robin curiously asked, “And who am I?”

“Robin, the Fool of a Took, of course.”

“I don’t know how to take that.”

Nancy yelled this time. “I think I see an ambulance outside of the windows! Come on!”

An ambulance?! Why the fuck was an ambulance out there?

Steve decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Eddie needed medical attention, and fast.

Steve pointed up, even though Eddie was yet to open his eyes.

“And who was that?”

Something ugly and sad crossed Eddie’s face.

“Rosie.”

“And who is Rosie?”

The next words were not what he was expecting.

“Your wife.”

Not Nancy. Not your ex. Not “The girl I think you will marry.” No.

Your wife.

Robin and Dustin were silent. Nancy?

Mortified.

There was a time when Nancy appearing near dread at the idea of marrying Steve would have hurt him. Deeply. But that was a long time ago. Things changed. She would always be his first love.

But she was no longer going to be his last.

Locking eyes with her, Nancy’s shock and quiet panic melted into a surprised understanding.

Of course she was going to figure him out. If anyone was going to recognize a Steve in love and with a breaking heart, it would be Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy, doing her good friend Steve a solid squared her shoulders. As Steve pulled the rope, Nancy called up to a rising Eddie.

“Okay, let's get one thing straight. Stevewise isn't marrying Rosie. Or Violet, Petunia, ANY flower, okay? Nobody is marrying flowers, right Steve?”

Pulling harder, feeing the fibers in the cuts of his palms, he agreed.

“That’s right! Stevewise is not marrying Rosie. The only flowers he has are in his garden.”

Robin and Dustin were watching both he and Eddie closely.

Eddie? For obvious reasons.

But Steve? He knew it they were questioning why Steve and Nancy were making it official that they were not getting back together. He knew Dustin thought he was in love with Nancy. Robin too. She went as far as to tell Nancy that they were platonic with a capital P.

That was one of those important capital noun words.

And had he not had the nuggets talk with Nancy?

But now was not the time to tell his best friends that his ex just figured out that he liked guys, and he only wanted the one that nearly died on them.

With one final tug, Eddie Munson was through the portal.

And the rope broke.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #luna is a writer #steddie fic #lunaraindrop #eddie talks in lotr references #lotr reference #eddie sings

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