#I CAN‘T DO THIS

[yoursselo]

brothers

[always-inmyheartx]

I don‘t think i can live without bostonnick being endgame after that beautiful scene. How do i move on if they won‘t be?

[anantaru]

BAHAHAQHQHAVAHAHAH

blade looks like a kid who did something wrong in kindergarden and was put on timeout

[sturnina]

Rule number one

Dealer!Chris x Fem!reader

— tags;; drug use, a lot of curse words, no use of y/n, arguments, angst

— wc;; 1.7k

— author‘s note;; my take on dealer!chris since I find it concerning that people think it‘s a good idea for him to be a druggie, hope you enjoy <3

Rule number one is clear. You are aware of it, Chris is aware of it, everyone knows. The dealer does not take their own stuff. Because what happens then? It goes down way too fast. It is too dangerous.

Everyone knows. With an almost infinite supply of more, always more, it is a risk you cannot take.

And yet, you’re here. Standing in front of Chris, with a deep and dark pit in your stomach. Fuck. His eyes are clearly dilated, and his heart is racing—you can feel it through his shirt when you press your hand against his chest. He mutters something incoherent, a smile dripping from his lips.

“What was it?” you mumble, more to yourself. At least you’re alone with him, away from his brothers or customers. “What did you take?” you ask again, louder this time while gripping his chin and forcing him to look at you.

No. Wrong approach. Violence doesn’t help. But fuck, you need to know what it was.

“Was it K? Ketamine? Chris, did you take Ketamine?” you ask, slowly rubbing his shoulders. Oh, please let it be Ketamine.

He laughs and launches forward, embracing you tightly. “Shush Ma, you’re making me all worried,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head. “It’s alright. It will be alright, trust me.”

The pit in your stomach deepens while the machinery in your mind runs at full speed. Racing heartbeat. Emotional closeness. Dizziness maybe? From the way he is swaying, you can tell he is more than a little lightheaded. **

“What do you feel?” you ask him, pulling away a little to look at him. “How are you feeling? Are you disoriented? Drowsy?”

Chris shakes his head, sighing deeply. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice getting a slight slurred edge.

“Do you have a headache? Or an increased appetite?”

“No?” His voice is disinterested—he clearly could not care less. Unfortunately, this is all you care about at the moment. Increased body temperature, sweating, slurred speech…

“Chris, did you take MDMA?”

“Mmh…” he says, pulling you close again and peppering kisses to your head. “No, it was a longer name…”

“Ecstasy, Chris.” A slight undertone of desperation lies in your voice. How does he not remember the simplest things? “MDMA is Ecstasy. Did you take it or not?”

“Why does it matter?” he asks, pulling away to look at you. His movements are unpredictable and confused—clearly, he does not see the way you do right now. Even if just through his energy. “Come on, let’s go back inside and have fun. Dance with me, pretty girl, yeah?”

He grabs your hands, but you refuse. “You can’t go back in there,” you say sternly.

“But the party isn’t over,” he complains. “I still gotta dance… and deal.”

“You can’t. Deal, I mean.” A lump forms in your throat at the confused look he shoots at you through half-lidded eyes.

“What? Sure I can! Look, I still have-” The second he pulls out a small bottle of pills, you snatch it out of his hand. And you were right—it’s X, MDMA, clarity, whatever you want to call it.

“Chris you have to stop dealing.”

“I know you’re always worried about me, Ma,” he says with a sloppy grin. “But you know I have everything under control. No one’s going to get too dangerous.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you sigh, stepping closer. “Chris, you have to stop dealing. You broke rule number one. You have a practically infinite supply of drugs, and you just started taking them. What do you think is happening now?”

He frowns, clearly having difficulties concentrating. Fuck, how long does Ecstasy last? You go through your memory, trying to find anything about it. From one up to… was it five? Six hours? Fuck.

“We’re going,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room you searched for shelter from the party.

The second you step outside, into the main area, the music clogs up your ears. Smoke burns in your lungs, mixed with the smells of alcohol and sweat. You’ve never been a fan of parties like this, but you came with Chris more and more often, wanting to look out for him—even though you wouldn’t be able to do anything in an extreme case.

But today, you’re infinitely grateful for having come with him. Who else would force him to go home and not take another pill? His brothers don’t even know what’s going on behind the scenes, he’s taken care of that.

Back at your car, you force him into the passenger seat. Now looking at him, restlessly playing with the decoration on your glovebox, you’re almost relieved he did it. Just because it means he has to stop dealing. As soon as he’s sober, he’ll realise that too.

After getting into the driver’s seat, you lock the doors and reach out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” he asks, pulling out his iPhone.

“Not that one. The burner one.”

Frowning deeply, he crosses his arms. “No.”

“Yes. Chris, do it.”

“No way. That’s the only contact I have with customers and the supplier,” he protests.

“Exactly. Hand it over, I’m not asking you again.” Your fingers move twice in your direction, a sign everyone knows. Come on, you think, don’t make this more complicated.

“A’ight,” he mutters, pulling it out of his back pocket and going back to fiddling with something he found in your car. You couldn’t care less what it is.

“Good,” you mutter, quickly chucking the phone into the backseat from where you’ll pick it up later. For now, you need to get Chris home.

The drive back is silent, except for when he occasionally starts humming a melody and then abruptly stops, grinding his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” you mutter, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop telling me what to do,” he replies, staring ahead like a pouty kid. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” you scoff, a wave of anger bubbling up in your chest.

How could he be so careless? How could he possibly have thought that taking drugs as a goddamn drug dealer is okay? That it works? He knows the dangers of every drug. He’s seen people get completely wasted, slowly destroying their lives and the ones of the people around them.

Why would he do this to you? To his brothers? His friends and family?

Tears are burning in your eyes and you blink rapidly to focus your gaze on the street.

“Ma? ‘re you crying?” Chris asks. His voice is softer but clearly slurred now. The drug seems to be kicking in.

You open your mouth to say something, but not a single sound escapes your lips.

“Why are you crying, love?” he whispers.

“Why would you do that?” you finally ask. “You know drugs. You know what they do. You know they destroy lives. Fuck, Chris, what’s going on? Why did you take it?”

The car is silent, and nervosity settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Chris…?” you ask again. “Why did you take it?”

“I js wanted to try,” he mumbles. It’s clearly not the only answer, but now is not the time to figure out what exactly led him to be so stupid.

After stopping the car in front of your house—you won’t let Nick and Matt see him in this state—, you force Chris outside, into the cool air. He doesn’t react, even as you start shivering. You quickly fetch the burner phone from the backseat and lead Chris inside, pushing him through the front door and to the couch. He seems restless and refuses to sit down, so you let him wander around.

While he’s still in his drug-induced haze, you sit down at the kitchen island and open the flip phone. The first number is his suppliers’, you know that, saved simply as G. It rings only once before he picks it up.

“You run out this quickly?” he asks. No greeting, no nothing.

“No,” you reply. The tension is palpable, even through the phone.

“Who are you?” G asks cautiously.

“You will not supply C anymore,” you say, careful not to use Chris’s name. “Do you understand me?”

“Tell me who you are and I’ll consider,” he repeats.

“That’s none of your business. If you sell to Chris-” Fuck, fuck fuck. “If you sell to him again, I will find out and send the police after you.”

The guy chuckles. “Easy. I’m sure we can talk about this. You his girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, running a hand over your face.

“You worried about him or something?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. “I don’t want him to become an addict. That’s normal, I fear.”

“He wouldn’t. I’ve been supplying to him for a while, he does it for the money, not the drugs,” G says, apparently unimpressed. “Just stay out of his business, yeah? This is no place for little girls.”

“You listen to me, you little fuck,” you hiss, jumping up from the chair. “I know who you are and from where you supply. I know the faces of all the little dealers around here, and they’re all connected to you. I know what parties you go to, and what people you know. I’ve seen you. And I will get you if you deal with my boyfriend again. He took Ecstasy today. And trust me, I know what happens next. I’ve seen it happen. So if one of us ever hears from you again, you will be caught, I promise.”

A stunned silence fills the phone. The only sounds you hear is the clock on the kitchen wall ticking… and heavy breathing behind you.

You whip your head around. Chris stares at you with confused eyes. He reaches out for the phone, but his movements are too uncoordinated, and you dodge his hand.

“Is that G?” he asks, slurring his words more than before. “Why would you- what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t go down that path,” you say sternly.

Since you have no more to say to G, and you don’t care to hear his answer, you hang up the phone and guide Chris upstairs, leaving the burner phone on the kitchen counter.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“But ‘m not tired,” he protests, still energised from the Ecstasy.

This is going to be a long night.

masterlist

[von-blutdurst]

i played tf2 for the first time today :3

had a lot of fun, there weren’t any bots, nobody was being toxic, and i didn’t struggle as much as i thought i would!! my friend basically helped me out the entire time so super grateful for that

in case it wouldn’t be obvious, i’m a medic main MWEHEHEH

he is beauty, he is grace, he will saw you in the face ^w^

[nachtstunden]

Have felt really exhausted and unmotivated for a while, so I decided to spend some time this week on redrawing this old Undertale fanart of mine for the fourth time.

[copias-juicebox]

copias BIG ASS head.

Reblog if you agree.

[maxedes]

okay max i need you to either get your place back right now or redo austria & let george win

[shittywriterbrain]

can't believe they good omens'd us

[thegetdownrebooter]

I clutched my pearls everytime ebra was in a church or when he was smoking, but I forgot that he is not canonically muslim and that he is not written by actual somalis.

[alexalblondo]

„Romancing Mr Bridgerton“ is really just what to do when you find out the hot, mysterious guy you‘ve been in love with for years is actually so. So. So weird. Like so weird. Like loser weird. (And liking him anyways) (like he‘s so weird but so hot with it wow)

[streatfeild]

SCREAMING CRYING SCREAMING SCREAMING SCREAMING

[fuckwhoeverpickedallthefunnyurls]

how are you dealing with the ending of good omens season two? take these tissues just in case and these flowers 💐❤️ it's gonna be ok

I‘m. Dealing.

Thank you for the tissues I‘ll need them

Also someone please come talk to me about Gomens

[loderlied]

WHAT IS A SUPER BOOP

[talentlesslizard]

my try at drawing a pinup dwemer centurion. for @nerevar-quote-and-star‘s art challenge

[autumnapricot]

I looooove your writing!! I'm so excited for whatever you decide to gift us next <3

I have a question though, and I mean this in an inspired and curious, not an offensive way: Do you ever have a moment when you're like... what am I doing here writing rpf omegaverse mpreg fanfiction on the internet? I have some ideas and want to write too but I always feel a little weird at the idea because most people I know in my life would shame every aspect of that and think it's so weird, you know? :(

no no no, anon, listen. wrong mindset baby. your friends? ordinary. boring. they got nothing going on for themselves. you? extraordinary. creative and dedicated and blessing other people with your art. 💅

on a more serious note, no worries i‘m absolutely not offended in any way, because yes, sometimes when i think about it too much i do kind of like stop and think…damn. what am i doing? people my age are actually having babies and buying houses sheesh.

and i think unfortunately writing fanfiction is shamed by society, like it‘s accepted for teenagers, but it‘s seen as weird when older/ grown people do it, which is very much a shame itself. i personally admit that no one irl really knows i write fanfic, not even my partner (i will grill his arse rn and say that he knows that i‘m writing but not what exactly, and if he ever went through my docs on the phone…his english is not good enough to read it lol) or my best friend or other friends because yeah, i too think they would think of it as ‚weird‘ or ‚childish‘

however. i love writing. and if i feel inspired to write, i will. and i know that i have read so so many fanfics from other people in my life that even were more amazing, thought-through, and written beautifully than actual books by actual authors, and it would be an absolute shame if i would‘ve never been able to read them because these talented authors felt too scared to write and post them.

so if i may give you some advice—do it anyway. whatever you love to do, do it. your friends think it‘s weird? they don‘t have to know, (lovingly) fuck them. write the things you want to write if that is what you want to do. i sound like an old granny here haha but personally i‘ve held myself back in the past from so many things because i was too afraid of what some friends would say or if anyone would judge it, only to later on reflect and realize, fuck, i would‘ve loved to do that and i regret putting other people‘s opinion of how to enjoy my life over my own.

long story short—write all the damn fanfics you wish to! life is too short! let the f1 men get each other pregnant! 💃🏼💅🥰