why does america not understand the idea of putting tv on every week

Nurse Parker

Pairing: Peter x Reader

Warnings: Cheesy AF, plot makes no sense?, Aunt May’s cooking isn’t that bad guys, a lil’ kiss, okay a bunch of kisses.

Words: 1,987

A/n: I got sick and started having Peter Parker feels and this was born P.s. By “sick” I mean mother nature decided to intervene my life that was going okay for once.

Summary: An accident at work lands you at the Parker’s residence.

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My Hero (Part 1)

A/N: Hi, this is my first time ever posting something on Tumblr, let alone writing an actual fanfic! I’ve had this account for like 2 months now, but I still don’t really know how to use it lol. Anyway, I hope this is good. It’s going to be multiple parts (idk how many though). Fingers crossed that it’s not too bad :) Thanks for reading!! :D

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: Steve gets separated from the team, and [Y/N] (a stranger) has to take care of him.

Warnings: A short fight scene, nothing too gruesome. Steve is wounded

[Y/N] = Your Name;  [H/C] = Hair color; [E/C] = eye color

Word Count: 2,152 (I know, it’s kind of long; I just couldn’t figure out where to stop lol)


“Does anybody copy? Nat? Tony? Anyone…?” Steve said over and over into his earpiece, but he was just met with static.

“Darn it,” he murmured under his breath, shaking the device in his hand. “It must have gotten damaged in the fight.”

Several days before, Tony had received an anonymous tip from one of the locals in a small village in Eastern Europe about a potential Hydra base in the near-by woods. The team immediately followed the lead, but they were ambushed. The Avengers had about a thousand different plans for getting out of traps—they were used to them after all—but it generally helped if they could communicate on their coms…and if the temperature was not thirty below freezing with blindingly thick snow pouring down.

While the Captain certainly was more immune to colder temperatures than the average man due to his super cells constantly radiating heat, even he was feeling the effects of the weather.

I’llhave to find shelter for the night, he thought, trudging forward.

Suddenly Steve felt a searing pain in his abdomen. He looked up to see a stray Hydra agent hiding up in a tree. Before the man could fire another shot, Steve hurled his shield, knocking the man off of the branch with the gun flying in the other direction. The Avenger quickly grabbed his assailant by the collar of his shirt and punched him across the jaw. As he bent down to pick the man back up, he felt another pain, this time in his arm. Looking down, he noticed a knife sticking out.

In the two seconds it took Steve to assess the weapon lodged in him, the agent had thrown a punch to his face, then a well-placed kick to the already bloody gunshot wound.

The adrenaline in the Captain’s body kicked into overdrive, allowing him to finally grab hold of the agent and pound his shield against the enemy’s head. The body crumpled to the ground.

If he’s not dead yet, the snow will definitely take care of him, Steve thought.

However, the temperature was not doing him any favors either. His vision started to blur, and he immediately knew he had to get to safety. It was hard, though, as with each step he took, the pain grew worse and worse.

After walking for what seemed like forever, a small cottage finally came into view. Steve mustered a smile and trudged over to the front door. The place looked abandoned as there were no fresh footprints and no visible lights on inside, but he decided to knock anyway. When there was no reply, he used his remaining strength to kick open the door.

The last things he could remember seeing were a very large frying pan flying toward his face and two very large, very beautiful eyes.


When Steve finally started to gain consciousness again, he saw the same [E/C] eyes that he had seen just moments before. They were not menacing eyes by any means, but for all he knew, their owner could be an enemy sent to destroy him.

“Oh thank God you’re finally awake!” the young woman squealed. Her voice was a bit too loud and excited, causing Steve to flinch. She softly stammered a few, quiet “sorry”s.

He coughed a few times before slowly mumbling, “How long have I been out?”

“Um, about a day and a half I think…It’s kinda hard to tell with all the snowing and stuff…” she replied.

Steve shot up in bed, attempting to get up, but before he could, an agonizing pain flew across his body.

The girl gently pushed him back.

“Calm down. You’re not getting up any time soon if you want to live.”

The man’s jaw clenched, and in order to ease the tenseness, she introduced herself.

“I’m [Y/N] by the way. And I am so totally sorry for hitting you upside the head… I thought you were, like, a bad guy or whatever. You know, ‘cause there was all that fighting going on not too far away. But after you collapsed I realized who you were, and I felt so bad!” she rambled, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment at her unforgivable sin.

Steve decided he could let his guard down a little. She did not seem like a threat…yet.

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry. I thought no one lived here, so I just busted in your house. I should be the one feeling bad,” he apologized.

“Oh, but this isn’t my house though,” her hands shot up to stop him. “I was backpacking with a couple of my friends—school’s on break—and I got separated from them when the freak snow storm started. I guess I had the same idea as you ‘cause I came in here for shelter. Only difference being that I got lucky. No one was here when I came in.”

She giggled at the last part, a large smile forming on her face.

Although the Captain would never say it, the only thing more beautiful than her eyes and [H/C] hair was her gorgeous smile. It lit up her entire face, giving him a warm feeling in his gut.

She immediately shook her head, “Sorry, I’m rambling again. The real question is: What are you doing here, Captain, and why are you all beat up?”

“Please, call me Steve,” he said. “And I was with the Avengers fighting some Hydra agents when the snow started. My coms unit gave out, and when I was distracted with it, I got shot by an agent.”

“Hmm. Not to be rude, but that guy messed you up real good. You look like crap,” [Y/N] smirked.

Steve chucked, “If you think I look bad, you should see him.”

“What did you do to him?” she leaned forward eagerly.

“Well, let’s just say he’s probably six feet under the snow.”

[Y/N] giggled again. She then suddenly jumped up, saying she would bring him some water and food.

While she was gone, Steve slowly lifted the shirt he had on (he decided that [Y/N] must have changed him out of his suit and put some fresh clothes on him) to look at where the gunshot wound was. He was surprised to see that it was bandaged up. It was done rather crudely, and he knew it would leave a scar, but it was not too terrible either.

“Looks like it’s time to change that out,” [Y/N] commented as she walked back in, pointing to the stained bandages.

She set down the tray with Steve’s breakfast on the ground and made her way over to the bed.

“Ummm…” she blushed. “I’m going to have to take your shirt off, like, you know, all the way. It’ll make it a lot easier to take care of the bullet wound and the cut in your arm.”

It was Steve’s turn to turn red, but he slowly lifted his arms and allowed her to pull it over his head.

“You know, it was a lot less awkward doing this when you were passed out,” she mumbled before unwrapping one of the bandages, and Steve chuckled nervously.

“Did you patch me up?” he asked examining the exposed wound.

“Yeah. I’m not a doctor or anything. In fact, there was a point when the snow let up enough for me to get signal on my phone, so I literally looked up ‘how to fix a bullet wound’ on Google. God am I glad I got one of those out-doors satellite smartphones.”

“You did a pretty good job,” Steve smiled as she disinfected the area. “There are some army doctors that aren’t this skilled.”

“Yeah right,” she giggled. “I had limited supplies in the house and very little knowledge of this kind of stuff. I mean, I suck at anything that has to do with medicine and wounds. Sometimes I still have to ask my mom for help with little cuts.”

Steve gazed at [Y/N] as worked on his stomach. Her hand was warm, but whenever her skin brushed across his, he felt shivers run up his spine. She was going off on tangents about random topics, giggling or smirking every other sentence, but Steve was mostly focused on her beautiful [E/C] eyes and how they lit up whenever she smiled.


Several hours later [Y/N] walked into the bedroom, huffing, “Well, I’m bored, and the TV and radio don’t work. But….the house has a pretty wicked library, and most of the books are in English. How does that sound?”

Steve smiled in response. [Y/N] placed a stack of books on the bedside table, telling him to choose whichever one he wanted. However, after several minutes of silence, the super soldier realized he was unable to focus his eyes on the words for more than a few seconds, and he told this to [Y/N].

“The Benadryl I gave you must be kicking in,” she replied. “If you’d like, I could totally read to you until you fall asleep.”

She picked up the top book on the stack: Gone With the Wind.

She asked, “Is this okay with you?”

Steve nodded in response, commenting on how he had seen and enjoyed the movie in 1940.


For the next two weeks, [Y/N] would read a book aloud while Steve passionately watched her. Sometimes they would sit and talk about what life was like “back in the day.” Other times they sat in a peaceful silence. At some point, neither of them knew quite when it started, the young woman began snuggling up next to him while he laid his arm across her shoulders. Of course because of the super soldier serum, Steve had long since healed, but he enjoyed the time he was spending with her, so he did not feel the need to explain that he was almost completely healed.

It was the closest thing to ‘normal’ Steve had felt for a long time. He did not have to worry about missions, Tony’s crazy inventions, technology he did not understand, or, most importantly, getting killed. As time went on, he hardly noticed that the snow storm outside was growing weaker and weaker.

However, one night, as he glanced out the window, he noticed a shadow running across the clearing in front of the house. He could not tell if it was a human figure or simply a wild animal that had emerged from hiding. Either way, it was a painful reminder to the soldier that he could never live normally and protect the people he held dear from this enemies.

Steve looked over at [Y/N] who was curled up on the couch. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was deep and steady.

He quietly walked into the bedroom and changed into his suit. When he pulled on his sleeve, he noticed a small, crudely sewn on patch where the agent had stabbed him. [Y/N] must have tried to mend it when Steve was unconscious. The captain could not help but give a small smile.

Before leaving, Steve wrote a short letter on a scrap piece of paper he found and left it on the bed stand.

It read:

Dear [Y/N],

I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for me these past two weeks. You’re a great gal, and I’m lucky to have met you. Please know that I don’t want to abandon you out here, but it’s probably safest for you to be away from me.


Captain Steve Rogers

P.S. Please get rid of this note. I wouldn’t want anyone to find out that you helped me.

Just as Steve opened the front door, the wind blew in, waking [Y/N] up.

 “Steve?” she grumbled. “What are you doing?”

 He softly replied, “Hey, just go back to sleep, okay doll?”

 At this point [Y/N] was wide awake. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”


“Don’t [Y/N] me. You don’t get to do that.”


“No. You’re still injured, yet you’re going out there in the freezing cold, alone and with no one to take care of you when you could be safe in here with me!”

In the two weeks they had been together, Steve had never seen her unhappy, let alone as livid as she was at that instant.

“Look,” he averted his eyes, “it’s safest like this for you, okay? If Hydra catches you helping me, I might not be able to help you. They’re dangerous people, [Y/N]. They’ll hurt you in an instant and not think twice about it.”

“Oh, so you’re doing this for me?” she spit out the words like venom. “Steve, if these men are half as bad as you say they are, they’ll kill me on the spot regardless of whether or not I’m with you. So leaving me isn’t exactly helpful either.”

“But–” he started.

“Nope, not gonna hear it,” she crossed her arms like an angry mother. “Steven Grant Rogers, I’m coming with you.”

Part 2


Coronation Street is the world’s longest-running soap opera, it’s available on Hulu, and you need to be watching it.

Okay, I see you rolling your eyes. You’re not wrong; the soap opera is a maligned art form, for mostly good reason. American soaps are the worst, littered with big-haired beauties named Blayze or Flayme, endlessly slapping one another as they tussle for control over the cosmetics company and the love of a hunk of cheese named Rydge or Clyff or Plateau or whatever. But Corrie is doing it right, taking us through the daily lives of the working class residents of Weatherfield, somewhere near Manchester. We meet barmaids, taxi dispatchers, assembly line workers. There’s a bistro, a coffee shop, a bodega, an underwear factory, and the Rover’s Return, the pub where everyone ends their day. And that’s about it. It’s your world. It’s the world.

Here are a few reasons why you should get into it:

-    You can actually believe what’s happening.

When an American soap character dies, you know the actor booked a role in a movie and is optimistic about his career. You also know he’ll be back in a couple of years, and we’ll all find out the character faked his death because he was really a spy the whole time. On All My Children, Jesse Hubbard died on camera, had his heart implanted into another character, came back as a ghost a dozen times, yet still returned to Pine Valley. It’s garbage, and it violates the trust you put in the show. On Coronation Street, nobody has an evil twin, nobody will ever become reanimated by the spirit of a demon. When people die- as poor, dowdy Anorak-wearing stalwart Hayley is about to do- they are dead. This is real life, and it can break your heart.

-   Believable doesn’t have to mean boring.

In Weatherfield, tiny things have repercussions. Just last year, Rob put a cappuccino machine in the bookies’ office, and its effect on coffee-shop owner Roy’s bottom line forced him to cut back on Anna’s hours, giving her more time to meddle in the life of her troubled adopted daughter Faye, sending Faye running toward her long-lost father Tim… you get the idea. People’s lives are intertwined. Little actions ripple out into the community, and it’s fascinating. 

Hey, you got excited when (spoiler alert!) Alfred’s tarts turned out okay on Downton Abbey. Same basic idea. 

-    The people look like people.

When was the last time television made you feel good about your face and body? American soaps hire for looks first, acting ability second (or third, or not at all). Corrie’s actors look like you: unruly hair, tragic sweaters, a few extra pounds here, some jacked-up teeth there. But they have charisma! Plus, when someone legitimately attractive moves to Weatherfield (like comely Tina, or handsome Dr. Carter), you understand why characters would break up their marriages to get some of that.

-    You’ll learn all kinds of new words and expressions.

Sure, you’re speaking English, but are you speaking all of it? The British simply use the language better than we do, and the spats between long-suffering matriarch Anna and uppity neighbor Sally are an advanced class in reading. Within a week, you’ll be referring to your sluttiest friend as a slapper, ending every sentence with n’all, and struggling with the desire to call everyone a cow. It will be deeply irritating to everyone who doesn’t watch the show, but it’ll help you find other Corrie fans in the wild, and then you’ve got a friend for life.

-    Once you’re in, you’re IN.

Even though Coronation Street does its exposition well, there are five decades worth of backstory you’ll want to brush up on. A quick search on Eileen and Gail’s long-running feud will send you down an internet rabbit hole of Corrie info; there are blogs, fan sites, YouTubes of classic episodes, a veritable Corrie-copia for you to lose yourself in.

And then there are the British tabloids who follow the actors the way we do our movie stars. I recently wondered why beefy mechanic Tommy had vanished off the Street without so much as a cheers, only to learn via Daily Mail that the actor had been sacked after having been identified as violent, masked YouTube rapper The Phantom. The drama has dimensions, people.

-    It has the best villains in the business.

Days Of Our Lives has Stefano DiMera, a man who dies every two years, rises like the phoenix he keeps reminding us he is, and is bent on destroying the Brady family for reasons that he has never made clear. On Corrie, we have Todd Grimshaw, a vain, insecure sociopath and the most believable LGBT character on television. We have Tracy Barlow, who never worked a day in her life (and might have murdered her ex). We have Karl Munro, whose consuming love for Stella caused him to burn down the Rovers just so he could save her (killing Sunita and Toni in the process). There’s no evil on the cobbles, just believable characters who sometimes do terrible things.

-    The soap opera is a valid art form that America has beaten into the ground.

Human beings have a need for long-form storytelling, from Dickens’ serials straight through Bravo’s enduring Real Housewives series. We simply have to follow characters through the ups and downs of their lives as we endure our own; it’s human nature. We need to watch poor Faye try to fit in at school, because it reminds us of when we did the same. We need to watch gawky Chesney struggle with forgiving beautiful Katy’s infidelity, because it drudges up the memory of the time we dated above our station. American soaps forgot the basics and are headed toward well-deserved extinction, but Corrie has endured for over fifty years by telling simple, honest, relatable stories.

Pour yourself a pint and settle in. You’ll thank me, ya cow.

Dave Holmes is a comic, actor, writer, and television personality based in Los Angeles, CA. He can be seen as co-host of The Morning After. Follow him on Twitter and Tumblr.