im so mad abt this natalia kills thing ?? like they were slamming this guy who suffers from anxiety (bc of the chch earthquakes as well like ??) for wearing a suit and “””copying””” willy moon but then the host comes out and ?? hes wearing a suit ?? wtf ???? they dont slam him but ?? this kid who is so brave to be up on stage (KILLING IT might i add) gets eaten alive by these pretentious self centred assholes ??
“Ladies and gentleman, I am just going to state the obvious, we have a doppelgänger in our midst. I…as an artist who respects…creative integrity and intellectual property I am disgusted at how much you have copied my husband, from the hair to the suit, do you not have any value or respect for originality? You’re a laughing stock! It’s cheesy, its disgusting, I personally found it absolutely artistically atrocious. I am embarrassed to be sitting here in your presence having to even dignify you with an answer of my opinion.”
We all may disagree about Neal, but at least the Fandom can stand united in the absolute WTF factor of Archie rooting around in Snow White’s cleavage for a solid 20 seconds.
What the heck was that about??? you couldn’t find some other device to build the suspense? You had to take the most modest character and shove him betwixt the bosom of the second most modest character? While Charming and the dwarfs drink and LAUGH?
I, as an artist who respects creative integrity and intellectual property, I am disgusted at how much you have copied my husband, from the hair to the suit, do you not have ANY value or respect for originality?
Ok honestly unpopular opinion time but like beyond the sheer wtf factor I don’t think this pig thing is anywhere near as egregious as burning a 50 pound note in front of a homeless person, which is an act of actual meaningful violence against an oppressed person and a kind of psychological terrorism.
It really bothers me that such an act apparently carries no political consequences in Britain, and that what I consider the more scandalous and grotesque act is apparently the more acceptable act, socially.
All was quiet now, and that was just how you liked it. Days spent working for the Avengers as live-in nurse/cook/impromptu therapist tended to be long, hectic and heavily laced with a WTF factor. It was only to be expected, of course, because they were the lovably neurotic superheroes they were. And you loved your job, truly. But you still treasured those few silent hours after everyone sane had gone to bed (Tony was usually in the downstairs lab, but you couldn’t here him from here.) Your bedroom was filled with the soft golden light of the bedside lamp, and you sat propped up in bed, re-reading a very worn copy of your favorite book. The only sounds were the humming of the Tower’s technology and the faint traffic far below. A night breeze idly blew the curtains in from the open window. You felt the day’s tensions start to ease away from your shoulders as your breathing came more evenly. The door was cracked open a litte (technically you were still on duty) but you didn’t think anything would happen tonight. Thump. A sound from the room adjacent to yours. Bucky. You pursed your lips, hand hovering ready to dog-ear your page. Did he need help? “No!” The single word, heard through the wall, conveyed immense terror and pain. “No no no please no…” Something in your heart twisted painfully. Ever since Steve’s long-lost friend became an Avenger, you’d had a feeling about him - he might be scary, might have done terrible things as the Winter Soldier, but he was also a good man, worth saving a hundred times over. Broken, maybe, but you’d always loved the people who needed the most help. Bucky had been doing much better lately - watching movies with the team, learning about the modern world (he was a surprisingly quick study) and - tentatively - smiling, laughing even. He was easy to talk to, once you got over your initial shyness. But at night, all bets were off. He couldn’t defend himself against the memories there, and you’d heard him crying out in the night. Usually Steve was the one who comforted him, calmed him down, reminded him he was safe. But Steve wasn’t here. He’d gone on an overnight mission with Nat and Clint, and had asked you to keep an eye on Bucky while he was gone. Hence, the open door. A sharp cry from the next room startled you; you rose from the bed, heart hammering. Would he recognize you if you went in there? Try to hurt you? Ugh, why were you such a coward? He needed your help! “Please don’t make me, please no…” Bucky’s hoarse voice trailed off. You snapped the book shut and slipped on your shoes. That did it. Hastily tying your hair back, you hurried into the hall and refused to hesitate when you turned the handle on the next door. The room was dark, lit only by faint flickers of city light from the window. Everything was neat and in order - the desk and chair, clothes hamper, even the pictures on the wall. Against the far corner, the bed was a different story altogether. The pillows were strewn about, sheets twisted and the duvet was mostly on the floor. Bucky slept uneasily, the sheets twisted around him. He was shirtless (but now was so not the time to be admiring how gorgeous his pecs were) and his metal arm was raised above his head as if in defense. He’d cut his hair short again, and kept his face clean-shaven - said it helped him remember. But his handsome face was screwed up with such terrible pain that every endless year as the Soldier could be seen etched there. You swallowed, throat stinging. Tears pricked your eyes. Poor baby. He mumbled something under his breath, inaudible but just as desperate, just as hopeless. “NO!” He shot up in bed, eyes wild, breath ragged. His gaze flicked rapidly around the room, then settled on you. He scrambled back against the wall, curling in on himself. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please don’t make me.” “Bucky,” you whispered. “It’s okay, it’s me. You don’t have to do anything. You’re safe now.” You took a step closer, lifting a hand in comfort. His face flashed animal rage, and the sound he made was more a growl than anything else. Tears spilled from your eyes and your voice shook as you began to sing. “If you go out in the woods today, you better go in disguise.” Despite the shaking, your voice was sweet and soothing. Bucky froze. You continued with the next line that Steve had told you they’d both heard as little kids. “If you go out in the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise.” Bucky swallowed hard, jaw working. His eyes were still wide and wary, but his stance had lost a tiny bit of its tension. You reached out a hand, still singing, and slowly, slowly settled it on his sweat-sheened shoulder. His chest heaved, but he didn’t shake you off. The lullaby he’d heard as a baby seemed to calm him down, though his breath still shuddered. Moving at a snail’s pace, you settled on the bed beside him and kept up the song. You didn’t break eye contact, watching him and knowing he could easily kill you. “Today’s the day, the teddy bears have their picnic.” The last note trailed into silence, and still you watched each other. Slowly, so slowly, awareness came back into his eyes. Then he shuddered and gave a hoarse kind of sob, and crushed you to his chest. He buried his face against your shoulder and held you there like a lifeline. His bare skin was clammy with cold sweat and he shivered, gooseflesh rising where your hands brushed. You laid your head against his shoulder and stroked his hair with feather-light fingers. “Shhhh. It’s okay, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m here. Shhh.” “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Damn, Y/N, I could’ve killed you and I"m sorry and I didn’t mean to hurt anyone -” “Shhhh.” You cut him off as his speech became more frantic. You shifted and sat back to look at his face, so strong and yet so vulnerable. “Like I said, it’s okay. You needed help and that’s good enough for me.” He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. The barest trace of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Some people might call that stupidly reckless.” “Some people might be right,” you countered, “but they’re usually assholes, so that doesn’t count.” The smile got just a little bigger, and you couldn’t help smiling in response. “Do you want me to stay?” you asked before you could talk yourself out of it. A flicker of unease crossed his face; he glanced down at his metal arm self-consciously. “Are you sure you aren’t -” “Nope.” You cut him off again. “Not at all. Shove over.” He shook his head in disbelief, but made room for you in the bed. You grabbed a pillow from the bedside table and pulled the blanket up off the floor, then snuggled against him. “I may be tiny, but I’m great at keeping nightmares away.” Bucky gave a disbelieving laugh, looking down at you. Then he shrugged and settled down to sleep again. ************* When Steve walked in the next morning to check on Bucky, he found the two of you still sleeping peacefully, snuggled up to each other in the most innocent of ways. With one arm around you as he slept, Bucky’s sleeping face was peaceful, relaxed. He was smiling.