ive invented (note: dubious claim) something i call the bear diet which is mostly fruits and vegetables with fish as the main protein source and something like once a month you eat a few hyperprocessed foods of your liking because that is when you, the bear, raid a dumpster in the suburbs
A/N: My Bob fics always do terrible but I just love that man so much I have to keep trying. Thank you @vigilantexreader for the beta!
Summary: Angsty moment of Bob realizing that maybe the poison in him isn’t the Void but himself. Inspired by Noah Kahan’s song Porch Light.
Bob has always known there’s something wrong with him.
Not that there might be something wrong with him but that he knows there’s something wrong with him.
He knows there’s a poison that seeps through his body, his words, and his work.
Everything he touches he could practically see it becoming infected. He can feel it always bubbling below the surface, following his words and movements like a hawk just waiting for the worst possible time to strike. He stumbles through his thoughts and does try to push back against the poison that’s in his blood.
It even affected the things he thought he could have, things that other people had convinced him he could have he knew eventually he’d taint them.
So when she flinched at Bob’s angry words, he felt that poison bubbling in his gut. The same poison he had convinced himself was gone or at the very least contained. That somehow learning to be Bob and not the Void or Sentry had fixed him and he had learned to keep it inside and away from those he loved.
Angry words like his father, reminding him he can never escape the venom that was inside him, ready to hurt anyone who dared to try to get close to him. Not only were they angry words but she also flinched.
Flinched.
Which meant she felt it coming, she knew he would hurt her, she was expecting it the whole time.
He can’t believe for even a second he thought he was a hero that could have normal things. He was truly never a hero - let alone a normal person, the entire thought was laughable at this point. There was something wrong with him, too wrong with him to make a change.
It was like his vision was going dark. Like the darkness had finally spread to everything to even the simplest things in his life, so he does the only thing he can think to do.
He shuts down.
There’s no poison if he’s just…gone.
“No, Bob, wait,” she started immediately trying to pull him back but Bob’s thoughts were already gone as he made quick work grabbing his jacket. He barely feels her hands on his arm, doing anything to beg him to stay and listen, but in his mind he’s already gone.
He’s barely aware of the way he blinks, and he’s suddenly outside in the cold New York air, the Watchtower finally comes into sight right when Bob feels like he can barely keep his body together anymore. It’s the last bit of wind he needed to blink and be back in his room.
Where he had no plans to leave - since he didn’t deserve it. He kept his door locked, breaking at least two different rules and ever since collapsing on his bed he hadn’t been able to find his phone, not even sure if it made it back to the Watchtower with him, but it didn’t matter.
None of it mattered.
He was vaguely aware after four hours in his dark room that Yelena had come by twice to check on him. Knocking started soft and comforting to panicked, begging for Bob to acknowledge her and that he was at least breathing. Threatening to break open his door and when she couldn’t override his lock, she threatened to go through his window.
He threw a lamp across the room and it made the threats stop.
It didn’t make the talking stop however. Each of his friends took turns outside his room, either talking or just leaning against the door to show Bob that he wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t enough to pull him out of this.
He knows it hasn’t been that long since he’s locked himself in the room just by the fact he hasn’t seemed to lose track of his body, maybe a total of ten hours.
“He left his phone, I just found it or else I would’ve run it over sooner.” Her voice sounded outside the door and Bob immediately tensed in his bed trying to curl himself into a smaller ball. As if he could disappear before she could make it into the room.
“He overrode his door lock, you’re welcome to try but none of his have been able to get the door open,” Ava said and he closed his eyes. It might be true they didn’t know the code but-
“I’ve got it, thanks Ava,” she whispered as she punched in the code and Bob felt like a livewire was running through his entire body. Body was tense in his bed as he kept his head towards the wall, eyes clothes even though he could perfectly picture her every movement.
The door opening, her soft padding over, leaving his phone on the nightstand, all to her final spot. Sitting next to him on the bed, a soft hand on his shoulder. But it feels wrong, unearned, and painful against him, even through his shirt he feels like he’s burning.
“Bob,” she said softly, pressing him just a little bit harder with her hand, a painful reminder that she was actually there and not just a living nightmare.
“Bob,” she repeated, this time a little more intense and he let out a shaky breath, keeping his eyes shut and face trained at the wall. “I brought your phone, you left it at my apartment.”
“Okay,” he whispered, keeping his voice monotone, scared of what could come out after if he let himself feel anything past the emptiness.
“Bob, I didn’t flinch because of-”
“Please no,” he whimpered, not wanting to hear the end of her statement. He needed her to leave, to leave him to wallow, and to drown in his own poison.
“Bob, let me talk and then I’ll leave, okay?” she said gently, in an almost too sweet tone as she leaned down and kissed the back of his neck, making him shiver. “I didn’t flinch because you scared me. It was muscle memory, I know you would never hurt me. I trust you, I’ve just…had bad luck with angry men but you are not that. I know you’re not like that.”
Bob sighed, feeling her words and wanting desperately to fight them, that she’s wrong and that he is an angry man, but he can barely contain himself as a sob rakes through him.
“Oh, honey,” she whispered before finally fully climbing in his bed, slotting herself behind him and practically pulling himself against her. He lets her, but not fully as he curled slightly in on himself.
“But maybe, there’s just a part of me that can’t help it, that is an angry person who just…hurts people,” he said between sobs and her grip tightened around him.
“Bob, the fact that you’re this aware of a small movement that was muscle memory tells me you’re not an angry man, you care so much and not just about me. You care about your friends and doing the right thing, you care so much about making sure everyone is happy and taken care of. Bob, an angry man would not give a shit about any of that, you would be focused on hurting others and controlling them, yelling without reason and making people feel uneasy. You do the exact opposite, you feel like…coming home after a long day, you’re soft and comforting. You have to believe me, okay?” She started crying in his ear, clearly aching for him.
“There’s a poison inside me and I can-” Bob started weakly and she let out a sob that shook him to his core.
“You are a good man, Bob Reynolds. There is no poison inside of you and I will say it every second of every day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe me,” she said firmly and definitively and he let out a sigh that was a mix of relief and an inkling of disbelief.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, finally moving to grab her hand that had been squeezing his arm tightly.
“Don’t be, Bob. I’m here,” she whispered and he moved his head back, knocking the back of his head against her forehead as a ghost of a smile played on his lips.
"'I don't know' isn't an answer" alright man then I'll just. Fuckin. Enter my philosophical mind-palace and check the fuckin akashic records. Real quick lemme just catch and cook and eat the Salmon of All Knowledge. Tell me ur question again so I can real quick climb to the highest branches of the Yggdrasil and lay it at the feet of Freda the all-wise Queen of Heaven. Dickhead.
I raise you freak4freak autistic readerxroommate!adrian
"Did you eat the last fucking burrito in the freezer? You know that was mine, right?" Sharply accusing your roommate. Adrian ducks around the corner, peering over the doorframe to the kitchen.
"I don't recall the particular ownership of the burrito, no." He says, unfortunately no tone indicators. Not sarcastic.
Continuing to push the issue by closing the freezer a little harder than necessary, you follow with, "I was looking forward to eating that." That being your most recent safe food.
His face slowly spreads into his signature evil, boyish grin. "Would you like it back?" He teases. Thinking on his offer, you decide that you indeed would like it back. You stalk over to where he's positioned himself to lean against the doorframe and reach out a hand to gently touch Adrian's arm, letting him see your intention and giving him time to stop you. He doesn't, so you push his arm away from his side to get access to his pocket. His face turns to confusion as you shove your hand in to find what you know is there- his pocket knife. Pulling it out and unfurling the knife, you hold it to his abdomen- the tip of it just close enough to be threatening.
"Am I gonna have to gut you like a fish for it back?" Keeping purposeful intense eye contact that he can't help but break. His previous expression has melted to one that's closer to...
"Sorry to break the role play here, I'm so fucking turned on right now." Adrian squeaks out, his expression now clearly being read as aroused. You tilt the knife to press the edge of it to his clothed stomach rather than the tip, as to not actually hurt him.
"Go to the store, get another box, then we'll talk." Abruptly removing the knife and closing it, you harshly shove the handle of it against his chest so he reflexively grabs for it. You push past him to go back to your room, knowing that sooner than later he'll come knocking with your burrito, and his pocket knife, in hand.
we justifiably give Biden a lot of shit but I think "at least 3" is the funniest possible response to some right wing dipshit asking you how many genders there are
I need to stop replying to “how do you make friends in your 30s?” threads because all my answers boil down to “you have to want to know people instead of have friends” and I don’t think people wanna hear that
It’s like. People can tell if you don’t really like or connect with them. If you aren’t truly enamored with someone you will have a hard time coming up with activities to do together to deepen the friendship. Because you don’t really like that person that much.
this is not a mistranscription, as some of them are on this account!
Prosper Fagot (probably pronounced with a silent t since Prosper is mostly used in France or French families as a first name), age 45, lived in Dawson, Nebraska in 1900, with his wife Sophy (age 40) and teenage children Clay, Pearl, and Millie
Young Cathy and Heathcliff find a half staved unconscious Jane Eyre on the moors and poked her with a stick to see if she's dead. She isn't roused by their proding and they don't care enough to try and help her so it isn't mentioned in either book.
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jacobvanloon
dededos
kianamaiart
annaxmalina
