#day of driving I will be exhausted and add emotional exhaustion to that from seeing family and add fucking bitchy mood and being judged on

[milo-is-rambling]

My mother really out here telling me “you just make all the plans for driving and I’ll work around that” and then a couple days later once I’ve made plans and talked to people about shit she’s like hey actually you should come up a day earlier so you can get your grandparents (who are practically falling apart mentally and physically and my grandfather pisses himself and if he pees in the car that I am both sleeping and driving in I will be upset!!!) in the middle of Maine and drive them to New Hampshire for me bc I will be too tired from getting a three hour flight to go drive them :’( AS IF IM NOT DRIVING SIX HOURS OR MORE EVERY DAY FOR A WEEK HELLO??? YOU CANT DRIVE FIVE HOURS AFTER SLEEPING THE WHOLE TIME ON A THREE HOUR FLIGHT LIKE I KNOW ITS CRAMPED AND MISERABLE BUT YOU’RE GOING TO GO FROM A PLANE TO A NICE RENTAL CAR VS ME SLEEPING IN THE FUCKING TRUNK FOR A WEEK LIKE GIRL WHAT YOU ALREADY TOLD ME TO PLAN EVERYTHING AND NOW YOU’RE MOVING SHIT AROUND AND SHES ALL LIKE “well your aunt is gonna be visiting on the 11th so I have to get a flight on the 12th and then graduation is on the 13th early in the morning so I just won’t have time to go get them” LIKE GIRL THIS IS THE SAME AUNT THAT IS COMING TO OUR HOUSE FOR ONE SINGULAR DAY AND THEN WE WILL SEE HER AGAIN IN NEW HAMPSHIRE WHILE WE ARE ON OUR TRIP LIKE YOU LITERALLY TOLD ME “oh don’t worry about missing her we’re gonna do the graduation party at her house when we’re up north” AND THEN YOU WONT SHIFT YOUR PLANS ONE DAY TO FIX ALL OF THE SCHEDULING CONFLICTS BUT YOU WANT ME TO TWEAK A WHOLE WEEK OF DRIVING PLANS BACK A DAY TO MAKE IT MORE CONVENIENT FOR YOU and also I simply don’t want to. Also the garbage truck just passed bc I slept in and I don’t think we got the garbage out and I know we definitely didn’t get the trash from my room or bathroom out of the house and so now moms gonna be pissed at me for that god fuck this is so infuriating I am not planning a trip while on my period ever again I want to bite my mothers head off for even suggesting an alternate plan what is wrong with me I am such a bitch what the fuck no wonder she fucking hates me okay I am going back to bed she can figure this shit out later when she’s not slamming doors and yelling about work

[wanderingcas]

[just a dumb little thing i wanted to write about Cas's bad moods being positively affected by dean's touch]

--

Dean scrubs a hand down his face and resists a loud sigh. Coffee. He needs coffee. Driving for eighteen hours straight isn’t good for anyone, but especially not for someone with a grumpy, newly ex-angel sitting shotgun. 

Cas, tucked in the crowded line by Dean’s side, is oscillating between his typical feelings of disgruntled and fascinated by his surroundings. Just by the look on his face, Dean knows what he wants to complain about: the stuffy, small cafe is too hot, the people are talking too loud, and the barista at the counter is more focused on chatting with her customers than actually ordering their food, and Dean, why do humans insist on small talk if they’ll never see each other again? Most of these people are traveling and are transient, what is the point of commenting on the weather if—

“Would you stop!” Dean snaps. Several heads turn toward them. Ducking his head, Dean mutters a curse. He’s been listening to Cas’s bitching on the road trip for so long that it’s starting to knock around his head. 

Cas frowns. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

“Nothing.” He pushes his shoulder into Cas’s. “Line’s movin’.” 

He’s exhausted. Which makes him feel all sorts of guilty, because whatever exhaustion he feels, Cas must feel it tenfold. Cas’s grace fully depleted only a few weeks ago and the transition has been… less than pleasant for all involved. For Cas, it means feeling human like he never has before. He described the sensations—touch, smell, emotion, temperature, you name it—like a thousand itches that he can’t quite scratch. It makes him a grumpier bastard than usual. 

Sam, as patient as he tried to be in the beginning, recently started losing his cool. Eileen had completely given up on the situation and wisely fucked off a few days into the whole process. When Claire called about the vamp nest she found in Nebraska, Dean couldn’t get in the car fast enough. 

Cas insisted on coming. Sam insisted on staying. And, well—that was that. 

Dean snags a glance at Cas next to him in the line. He’s squinting at the menu above the cashier. They found out he was near-sighted when he went full human, but he refuses to wear the prescription glasses Dean got him. 

“Want me to read it to you?” Dean asks.

“No,” Cas snaps. 

Grinding his back teeth, Dean huffs out a sigh. Which, of course, Cas hears. His frown deepens into a glare. 

Dean’s gonna hear about it later in the car. Something along the lines of I’m so sorry my weaknesses are an inconvenience to you, Dean. Would you be more lenient with me if I was still an angel and could fight your battles for you? And no I won’t wear the glasses because I’m a big angry baby in a trenchcoat that doesn’t have any fucking clue how to manage his own emotions and—

“What can I get you?” the barista asks sunnily. 

Dean slams his credit card on the counter. “Got any liquor?”

The barista’s smile goes a little crooked. “It’s eight in the morning.” 

“Just—a coffee. Big one,” Dean adds as she keys it into the computer. He turns to Cas. “What do you want?” 

Cas doesn’t answer; he’s looking off to the right, a frown on his face. But not his usual pissed-off frown. A curious one. 

Dean elbows him. “Dude.” 

Cas blinks, coming back to Earth, turning to the expectant barista. “Tea. Matcha, if you have it.” 

Dean regrets letting Sam introduce him to that one. Taking his credit card back from the barista, their bill paid, he and Cas step off to the side. Dean finally glances at whatever the hell was so interesting to capture Cas’s attention. 

Two women sit at a table, their eaten food just wrappers and crumby plates in front of them. Their hands are linked on the tabletop. Dean bristles; is Cas going to ask him why two women are holding hands? He can’t be that out of touch with humanity. But no; it’s something else. One woman is smiling, the other isn’t. Is that what caught Cas’s attention? 

Dean sighs through his nose, shaking his head at himself. Trying to figure out what’s going on in Cas’s head lately is like trying to solve a Rubik's cube. 

He feels a little tug at his jacket pocket. Dean paws Cas’s hand out of the way. “The hell are you doing?” 

“I need your phone,” Cas says.

“What for?”

“I want to see how much longer until our destination.” 

“You could just ask,” Dean shoots back. 

Cas frowns. He goes for Dean’s pocket again. 

“Jesus, fine,” Dean mutters, pulling the phone out of his pocket and unlocking it. He shoves it into Cas’s hands. (Cas had a phone, but he left it at a gas station a few hundred miles back. Dean’s not sure if he can fully blame Cas’s inattention to detail on being a human.)

Dean folds his arms over his chest and looks at the women again. They’ve stood up from the table, and the more upset-looking of the two has leaned against the other, who has her arms around her. 

Cas is looking up at the women again, the Google maps app open on the screen forgotten. 

“Large dark roast and matcha latte!” someone calls from the counter. 

Dean turns away from the women and Cas, scooping up their drinks. “Wanna drink ‘em in the car or here?” he asks. He hopes that Cas will choose the latter, because the thought of hurtling down the highway in an enclosed space again is making Dean’s stomach turn. 

Cas’s blue eyes turn to Dean. “Can we drink them outside?”

There’s a small bench next to the entrance door. They park themselves there and sip at their drinks as people filter in and out of the door. The two women come out a few minutes later and go into a blue Prius a few spots away from the Impala. 

“Somethin’ suspicious about them?” Dean asks. When Cas gives him a curious look, Dean juts his chin toward the women. “You’re lookin’ at ‘em a lot.” 

Cas shakes his head. “Nothing suspicious. Just… curiosity.” 

Dean clears his throat. Nods. “Well, Cas, in our society there occasionally comes a time where people feel romantic feelings toward each other, and they decide to express that through—”

“Not that,” Cas snaps. He rolls his eyes at Dean’s cheeky grin. “I’m trying to understand human behavior more. Since I’m… unfortunately part of your species, now.” 

“All right, Jane Goodall, so what’d you observe?” 

Cas takes a sip of his grassy drink. “The blonde woman was upset. The brunette woman comforted her through touch. And it seemed to work.” 

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, “and why is that weird?”

Cas turns his gaze to Dean. “You’re not comforted through touch. In fact, it makes you angrier.” 

Dean snorts, shifting uncomfortably. “I mean. It’s not like I just want people—touchin’ me all the time.” 

“Especially not when you’re upset,” Cas adds.

“Well, yeah. That’s a pretty common thing.” 

Cas shakes his head. “Not necessarily. When Sam is upset, Eileen hugs him. And that’s received well.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re dating.” 

“So touch is only welcomed when one is upset when they’re romantically involved?” 

“Well.” Dean frowns at the steam rising from his coffee. “I mean, not always. Friends hug each other when one of them’s upset.” 

Cas cants his head to one side. “So the two women could have been friends?” 

“I’m betting not,” Dean snorts. “Friends don’t really hold hands. Not all the time.” 

“But sometimes?”

“Sure. Sometimes.” 

Cas nods, seeming to consider this. Dean takes a sip of coffee; then nearly spits it out again when a hand gently falls on top of his. He snatches his hand back and gapes at Cas’s innocent gaze. “What the hell, dude?”

“You said that friends sometimes hold hands.” 

“I mean—you don’t just—” Dean huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Hugging is more in the friendship zone.” 

A line appears between Cas’s eyebrows. “We only hug when one of us is about to die.” 

And—Jesus. Okay. Dean has to blink hard a few times to find his center again from that one. “Um, yeah, I guess we do.” 

“So if hugging is reserved only for mortal danger,” Cas continues, “and holding hands is too romantic—what else is there?”

Dean’s jaw works as he tries to figure out what to say. “I—you just—” He throws up a hand. “I don’t know, Cas! A pat on the shoulder? A friendly high five?” 

Cas’s expression drops a bit. He frowns down at his tea, crestfallen. 

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. Shit. The only thing worse than a grumpy ex-angel is a sad one. 

He glances around them. No one’s paying attention. The bench is by the door, but people are too focused on getting inside to eat, or making a beeline to their cars. Besides, he’s sitting so close to Cas on the bench, it won’t even be noticeable. 

Dean sighs. He holds out his hand, palm up. When Cas just stares at it, Dean moves it closer with a frustrated noise. That seems to make Cas get the picture; with a small smile, he takes Dean’s hand. He even laces their fingers together, which does not make Dean shiver and feel like his nerves are on fire. 

“Only for a minute,” Dean says gruffly. 

Cas nods. “Okay.” 

And they sit there, hands linked between them on the bench, as they finish their drinks.

--

[And no, dear reader, it does not last a minute. In fact, it becomes Dean's new superpower—hugging, holding, or letting Cas glomp onto him whenever Cas is even in a remotely bad mood. Sam and Eileen take notice, but don't comment, because Cas is finally a relaxed and happy human.]

[nowimjustastranger]

fic request for stcmo- just ford helping out a stan. whatever interests you

Lee knew that it was a bad day before he even opened his eyes.

He felt like he was experiencing the world through a haze of numbness, his senses dull. Even opening his eyes to add sight to the mix didn’t help the veil lift, so he found himself staring up at the ceiling blankly. It took him a few moments to register that he didn’t feel present in his own body, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion that no amount of sleep could ever fix.

Lee let his eyes close because he simply couldn’t think of a reason to keep them open, drifting in and out of awareness. However, he knew it wouldn’t last; which came as a muted shock because he wasn’t sure how he knew that until a tentative hand settled on his shoulder. The hand was a warm weight on his bare skin, six fingers spreading out to cover as much surface area as possible.

“Lee,” An equally warm voice murmured, blanketing him with a sense of familiarity that was far more kind than the inescapable nothing that held him in a vice grip. “It’s almost two in the afternoon.”

Lee managed a weak grunt of acknowledgement, lacking the energy to provide more substance to the conversation. Ford didn’t seem to mind his lackluster response though, the bed dipping as he delicately climbed onto the bed beside Lee. And even if Ford’s company was unexpected, it wasn’t altogether unwelcome.

“Can you do something for me, Lee?” Ford asked, his body slotting against Lee’s back with an ease that had his chest tightening. Lee turned his head just enough to peek at Ford from over his shoulder, only able to see the top of Ford’s fluffy gray hair since he had his cheek pressed against the dip between Lee’s shoulder blades.

“Whaddya need, Ace?” Lee mumbled, lazily letting his head flop back down onto the pillow, trying to wrestle his mind into something that resembled functional. Lee already knew that he was going to do whatever Ford asked of him regardless of his poor mental state, he would sooner drive a nail through his own hand than deny Ford anything he needed.

“Could you call for me when you feel like this? I don’t want you to be alone.” Ford whispered, the words saturated with the kind of fear that Lee was all too familiar with. Lee’s eyes closed as the shroud of numbness slipped away, sucking in a fortifying breath before resolutely rolling over to face Ford, who immediately ducked his head to hide his face in the crook of Lee’s neck.

“Ain’t alone, Digit.” Lee huffed, affectionately knocking his jaw against Ford’s temple to try and coax him to come out. It worked like a charm since Ford could never resist the temptation of physical contact, his head raising to nuzzle Lee properly.

“You were.” Ford countered without missing a beat, running the bridge of his nose across Lee’s jaw, tracing an invisible path. “You were alone. For hours. Anything could’ve hap–”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Lee cut in, knowing better than to let Ford’s mind gain enough traction to pursue those dark avenues.

“I know. I know, Lee. But… but I can’t–” Ford couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, unable to find the words that could accurately convey the maelstrom of emotions that resided in his head. Thankfully, Stan could read in between the lines well enough.

“I’ll say it until you believe me.” Lee declared, one of his arms sliding over Ford’s waist to draw him closer while the other stayed tucked between their chests. Ford obediently closed the gap between them with a few calculated adjustments, tucking an arm under the pillow that Lee was resting his head on while his other hand trailed up and down Lee’s arm.

“You’ll be saying it forever then.” Ford warned with a half-hearted chuckle, an undeniable thread of truth in what was otherwise presented as a joke. Lee tenderly tapped his forehead against Ford’s with a sigh, lips twitching in amusement when Ford’s piercing gaze snapped to his face like he was the only thing worth looking at.

“Fine by me.” Lee said with a deceptively casual shrug, holding eye contact until the message was received. Ford slowly nodded with a soft exhale, the tense line of his shoulders easing as he melted into the contact, his eyes closing.

“Lee.” Ford said in a hushed tone, part statement and part desperate plea.

“I won’t leave you. Not like that.” Lee promised, relieved to find that he was speaking the truth. The thought of leaving Ford behind made Lee’s throat close up, blinking rapidly against the telltale burn of unshed tears. Lee couldn’t take another brother from Ford, it would be cruel to give in to his dark urges and condemn Ford to travel down the one-way road of self-destruction.

Funny how it was easier to stay when it was for someone else’s sake.

[brittscafe]

Hello! I absolutely love your writing. First time sending in a request. Toshiro x fem! reader please 😊

I was wondering if you could write something, with someone who is also a Sagittarius like he is? Or a fire sign in general? Who shares similar traits like he has. And yet, she's completely fallen for him because he sees the world from a different perspective from her.

Both seem to love the sky, have strong morals, are respectful, are stubborn and unbending when it comes to protecting those they care for, trains a lot to protect those who cannot protect themself, can be soft and/or playful with those they care for, anxious when they feel their loved ones are in danger, and reserved about keeping their heart (love) to themselves.

But in this case, for fem! reader, an incident happens one day, that causes her to lose control of her emotions and they just spill out like word vomit. She finds herself mortified. She doesn't want to lose him because she lost herself in the moment or out of selfishness.

Sorry if that's too detailed 😖 the rules say to add details. You're the pro, feel free to pluck out whatever makes sense and leave out whatever doesn't 💝

Fluffy or romantic ending please 🙏🏻. If you think it could potentially go into smut territory, I'll take that too!

Hiiiii! I love all the details omgggg <3 Also, I am so so so soooo sorry for finishing sooo late, it's been in my drafts for months <3

You had manage to keep your feelings hidden inside of you, they were true, but reserved. You couldn't possibly ever admit your love for Toshiro Hitsugaya, it's something you are going to keep to yourself until your grave.

You were never reckless on the battlefield, but you were always plenty anxious. Anxious to lose your friends and anxious of them getting hurt, especially Captain Hitsugaya.

Captain Hitsugaya, you, and his squad are out in the World of the Living on a mission when the arrancars decide to attack.

Smoke fills the air as the sky starts to darken to a light grey. You tighten your grasp around your sword handle, panting heavily as your chest rumbles.

"Are they ever going to give up?" Rangiku sighs out, clearly annoyed and exhausted. Toshiro shoots her a sharp glare and clears his throat.

"Stay focused, Rangiku. Take the other squad members to deal with Findorr and Harribel. Y/n and I will take care of Grimmjow," Toshiro states with a demanding voice.

Rangiku nods her head and disappears off the to other side town to deal with the other arrancars, squad members backing her up.

You glance over at Toshiro then over at Grimmjow, a strand of his eletric blue hair hanging down over his face.

"Let's have some fun," Grimmjow chuckles out, eyes full of darkness as he leaps forward, swinging his sword. Toshiro and you easily dodge Grimmjow's attack.

The two of you spin around, expecting to face Grimmjow, but he's nowhere in sight.

Then, your eyes widen and you turn your head around.

It's too late.

Grimmjow's already swinging his sword straight at Toshiro, there's not enough time for him to block the attack.

Your body moves before you can even think; it's not like you had to think about it though. You would lay your life on the line for Toshiro at anytime.

A startled gasp leaves your lips as the sword drives through your lower stomach instead of Toshiro.

"No," Toshiro mumbles underneath his breath, heart ramming against his chest as time moves ever so slowly. Toshiro had no idea that time was like water, moving so slowly.

He watches as the blood spreads throughout your uniform and Grimmjow rips his sword out of your body.

Your weak body now collaspes on the ground, unable to hold itself up. Toshiro glances over at where Grimmjow once was, but he's gone, disappeared back to Hueco Mundo with the rest of the arrancars.

Toshiro kneels down beside you as you pant heavily, sweat beads on your forehead as you stare up at the sky that's now clearing of the grey color, going back to its original blue color.

"Y/n, why would you do that?" Toshiro raises his voice, eyebrows furrowing. Concern fills his icy blue eyes as he pants heavily and your face scrunches up in agony.

Your eyes immediately fill up with burning tears as you gaze over at him, trying to hold yourself together. Your stomach is twisting into uneasy knots, your mind flooding with thoughts.

If you were going die...you can't die without confessing your feelings for Toshiro.

"Because...I'm in love with you," your voice breaks as the tears stream down your cheeks. His eyes widen and the cold wind slaps against his skin.

"What?" Toshiro breathes out, eyes glued onto your mortified face.

"I couldn't lose you," you groan out, pain rippling through your torso and spreading like a wildfire. You squirm on the ground and Toshiro's eyes rake over your face.

He can't lose you. Not like this.

Toshiro stares at you for a moment, gazing into your beautiful, teary eyes. He slowly reaches out his hand in the moment of silence and your stomach twists.

You suddenly ease as Toshiro places his hand on your cheek, thumb caressing your skin. Your skin is so soft against his thumb and he relishes in the moment.

You're in so much pain and he wants nothing to do other than to take it all away.

"I can't lose you either, y/n," Toshiro speaks up, swiftly stepping into action. His arms wrap up your body and lift you up into his tiny, but yet very strong arms.

But that was all that Toshiro had to say to convey his feelings. He couldn't lose you either...

Your eyes are wide in shock as you stare at Toshiro, so desperate to save you. Your face is hot though from his words and you gulp, slowly starting to remember how much pain you're in...after all there is a hole in your torso right now.

"Thank you," you mumble out, resting your head against his chest as he carries you off to safety in his arms.

You eventually passed out from the pain on the way back to the Soul Society. Toshiro took his opportunity to kiss your forehead with a warm and soft kiss...

[klauzar]

Translation before they add engsubs:

Hello, I'm JJ Patiphan Fueangfunuwat, playing Win. It's not just spells like regular "Win", there's also letters ทร์  at the end.

(Person behind the camera: How is it different from regular "Win"?)

It's more glamorous and cool... lol    

[Who is Win?]

Win is driven, reckless and genuinely decent person. He sticks to the truth. Not your average cop, but a good one. Excellent one. He stays true to himself, has his own ideology, not like a typical policeman.

If he is told not to do something, he will find a way to do it secretly. I can't tell you much more than that.

[How do you feel about getting this role?]

How do I feel? Awesome, amazing. Because I won't get the opportunity to be a cop in real life, that's for sure.

I imagined Win as a cool guy, with a beard and messy hair, since he's working as a field investigator. I think he's cool.

Win must be the oldest character in the story. Frankly, the director and P'Pond didn't know how it would turn out. The day I got the part, I posted a story with beard like that, and P'Pond liked it.

He said to teacher Ning: "Let Win have mustache for this role."

[How did you prepare yourself?]

In my opinion, acting mature is not the difficult part. But I needed practice at portraying a police officer. After getting the role, I went for a walk every evening, walking around with arched chest and straight back. Like a police officer would.

Trying to look sharp, cool and active. I don't know if you can see it in the series, when the character is standing still. But I did my homework.

I studied saluting gestures, police terminology and so on. In the script, when they talk about breaking in or arresting somebody, they don't talk normally. They use police lingo. "Entering the area, code 22. Once the target is found, follow the code 24 and detain them. " Cool stuff like that.

[What's the difference between JJ and Win?]

Win is reckless, incredible brave, has very clear principles.

However, he differs from me in one way. In the series, Tongkla is cheating with him. I can't relate, because I've never found myself in situation like that. It's the opposite of my experience.

Win is a good person who's sticking to his principles. He never did anything wrong. This is not a good situation for him, very unethical.

Finding the right emotion is difficult. In order to perform the scene, I have to know what it feels like. In the end, it all comes down to love.

[How do you feel about working with your seniors?]

I've only met Fuaiz. Well, apart from policemen. 5555

We (JJ & Fuaiz) are a good match. We already worked together, so we're close. We've played together, so it's easy, just with different characters.

There's one scene with P'Bas. He's a great actor. Yes, he nailed it.

[Challenges of this role?]

Action scenes: jumping, shooting, exiting from a windows, driving, dodging, escaping the vehicle, doing backflips. I was bruised all over.

Wore protective gear and still got hurt. I don't understand how. Maybe I did a jump the wrong way. That's the real action. Cool but exhausting, to the point of wanting to throw up. I knew beforehand when there's gonna be backflips or other stuff. I didn't eat anything in order to avoid getting sick. I still felt nauseous, and couldn't even throw up.

I was wearing the gear under hot sun... It would burst if I flexed too much since it was so tight. Wireless also is tight-fitting. It's like ninja turtle shell, and on top of that police uniform, gun, handcuffs - it all weights, like, ten kilos.

I remember, during DFF shooting, stunt team taught me how to avoid punches and how not to hurt myself while doing tricks. I guess, I didn't follow their advice and got hurt.

I was tired, but what kept me motivated during that scene is santol with sweet fish sauce. Good stuff. I just want to share. I don't know. It was there and I wanted to eat it. It probably belonged to someone else, someone from the make-up crew, if I'm not mistaken. So I ate it, and the sour taste re-energized me. Santol with sweet fish sauce helped me to get through the scene.

Okay, please watch the 4minutes series on channel one31 and the sultrier version on Viu every friday at 23:15. *salutes awkwardly*

[perpetualproductions]

Never Be The Same- Chapter 8

Stay

- The weight of recent events weighs on everyone, as the couple tries to take a moment to themselves to escape it all... But nothing lasts forever.

(Title Song: Stay by Rihanna ft. Mikky Ekko)

[a/n: A short one. But a doosey. Sorry it took so long. Enjoy.]

CW: Angst. Miscommunication. Overall high emotions.

2.1k words

<-Previous | Next->

The whole car ride home is spent in silence, the heaviness of the situation weighing down on them all. When they eventually pull up to the apartment building, Marie turns off the ignition and no one makes a move to leave yet. After a moment, Jordan starts to get out of the car, but Marie reaches over, placing a hand on their shoulder. Jordan halts their movement, looking back at Marie with a tired and questioning look. Marie looks back to Emma before addressing Jordan. “Hey Em, can I have a minute with Jordan please? We'll meet you inside,” she asks her friend softly, giving her a look that Emma notes, giving back an understanding nod.

“Take all the time you need.” Emma says, giving Marie a reassuring pat on her arm and getting out of the car, leaving the couple to themselves. 

Jordan keeps their eyes on Marie the whole time, waiting to see what she wants. As much as they loved her being back in town, they were admittedly drained (especially emotionally) from their interaction with Andre. Once Emma is inside the building Marie faces forward and starts the engine once again. This earns a confused look from Jordan. “What are you doing?” They ask.

She looks over at them for a second before pulling out and driving back onto the road. “We're going somewhere. Put on your seatbelt.” She adds, simply, not giving Jordan anything to go off in regards to her plans here.

They reluctantly put their seatbelt back on, sighing. “Can I at least know where you're taking me?” 

Marie glaces over, noticing their tense yet exhausted demeanor. “Relax Jordan, I'm not kidnapping you. It's just a short trip. Trust me.” 

Well they definitely trusted her, there was no question about that. And they would argue that this definitely is a kidnapping, but they really weren't feeling up to it, so they relented. “Fine. Whatever…” they sigh, facing forward to the city night streets, trying to see if they could guess where they were headed. 

They'd been driving for almost 20 minutes now, Jordan now giving up on trying to find out where Marie's taking them. The car eventually slowed to a stop, Marie killing the engine and taking a breath. Jordan looks out the window, surprised to find themselves at a park, obviously empty this late at night. “A park?” They ask, turning to look at Marie. 

“Yup.” She responds, taking the keys out the ignition and getting out of the car.

“Okay… why?” They yell after her, also getting out of the car to follow her. Marie doesn't answer them as she makes her way over to the playground, Jordan just behind her. She stops at the swing set, a soft smile finding its way onto her face as she goes to sit down on one of the swings. Jordan takes note of this, looking around, trying to pinpoint what was possibly special about this place. “Um, okay…” Jordan goes to sit down on the empty swing on Marie's left. “Why here?” They ask softly, sensing some emotional significance to this place. 

Marie sighs, before pointing out towards the street. “I used to live just down that road. Before… you know.” She finally looks over to Jordan, meeting their soft gaze. “My sister and I would always come here to hang out whenever we could. She loved these swings.” Marie looks down for a moment, getting a bit emotional reminiscing about her sister. She clears her throat, attempting to recompose herself. “Anyways, anytime I had a particularly rough day, I'd sneak out at night and come here. It's just so quiet and peaceful at night. No one is around to bother you this late.” She shrugs, “I don't know, I thought maybe I'd show it to you and maybe you could use it too-” Marie's ramble is cut short by Jordan, who's now standing in front of her. They move forward, wrapping her up in a big hug, Marie quickly reciprocating it.

Jordan squeezes her tight, burying their face into the crook of her neck, holding her as if they were afraid to let her go. “I missed you.” They mumble to her.

Marie nods, holding on to Jordan as much as she can. “I've missed you too.” she whispers back. Marie nestles into Jordan, feeling right at home in their arms, but a sniffle coming from them causes her to pull back a bit. She's met with a teary eyed Jordan. “Jordan, hey-”

Jordan immediately pulls back, clearing their throat as they wipe their eyes. “Sorry- Sorry, I just-” They switch into their male form, backing up and turning away from her as they try to recompose themselves. 

Marie sighs, shaking her head as she gets up from the swings, stepping closer to Jordan. “No, don't do that, not with me Jordan.” She reaches out to them, to turn them around, which they let her do. 

Jordan looks at her with a tired, tear stained look. They sniffle again, wiping more tears away. “Sorry, I know, I- I'm trying. I'm just…” they take a breath, looking up at the starry night sky for a moment, before looking back down at Marie. “There's just a lot, it's all just a lot. And you know how I get when there's a lot going on, I- I push it all down, I self-destruct or whatever, but-” they pause their rambling for a second as they step closer to Marie, placing her hands into theirs and gently holding them. They look into her eyes as they try to slow themselves down. “But right now… I'm not. Right now, I'm just standing in a park, with you, and- and nothing is moving but me and you. Just- just let me be here, in this moment, with you.” They bring her closer, running their hands up her arms to her elbows and touching their forehead to hers. They look deep into her eyes as their warm breath intermingles with hers in the cold air. “Just for tonight, let's just be here... Please.”

Marie just looks at them, a soft, understanding look on her face as she reaches up to hold Jordan's face in her hands, gently rubbing the tear stains off their cheeks with her thumbs. “Okay.” She whispers, giving a small nod.

Jordan sighs in relief, leaning into Marie's touch. “Thank you.” They whisper back, dropping their hands to her waist, just basking in her presence. 

They stay like that for a couple minutes, holding each other as they gently sway side to side. The warmth of their embrace keeps the cold night breeze at bay as Marie focuses on the sound of Jordan's heart, the steady beat bringing her a sense of comfort that she hasn't felt in a while. She instinctively pulls them closer, wrapping her arms around them, heads resting against each other. She can feel their breath on her face as she leans up, Jordan meeting her halfway till their noses touch. They stay there, lips hovering less than an inch apart from each other. They're hesitating. A few months ago they would have never hesitated to kiss one another, but at this moment, the last time they kissed was weeks ago. They've just been apart for too long. So what were they waiting for? Jordan thought before closing the distance between them, not wasting another second. Lips crash together as they melt into each other, the kiss immediately deepening as they grip the other as if it were the last time they ever would. One of Jordan's hands gently holds Marie's jaw, the other gripping her hip as Marie's hands tangle into Jordan's hair, keeping them close. And it's as if everything is right again. Any and all problems and troubles going on in their lives fade away. There's no work or college or Vought, and they aren't miles away from each other. It's perfect, they're perfect, this moment is perfect. But then, a small nagging thought reminds Marie… perfect doesn't last. 

The thought worms its way into Marie's head, ripping the curtains down and blinding her with reality, her responsibilities. As perfect as this moment is, as much as she loves Jordan, she knows this can't last forever. She's been wrestling with these thoughts for a while now. She wants it to last, she wishes she could stay here in their arms forever, but she has to go back to Maryland, back to school and work and… Annabeth. 

In between all the chaos of balancing school and work, she resumed her search for her sister. She has found something, a clue. She saw a photo from a Facebook account, she recognized a face that could belong to a slightly older version of her little sister. She wasn't tagged, but she tried her best to follow the rabbit hole, figuring out the others in the picture, who took the picture, where it was taken. It could be leading to nothing, another dead end, but Marie feels it, in her gut, that she's close to something. She can't give up on that. 

Jordan feels Marie tense up in their arms, causing them to pause, pulling back to make sure she's alright. Their eyes meet for a second before Marie quickly shifts her gaze away from them. She takes a step back, putting some distance between her and Jordan, but they follow her step, reaching out to hold her arms. Jordan desperately tries to get Marie to look at them, gently squeezing her arms to get her attention. Marie closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She reminds herself that she can't get pulled back into the moment, or she might never be able to leave. They've had their moment, and they'll have another one the next time she can visit. They're busy people, they both have responsibilities that they can't ignore. They can't stay.

Jordan doesn't even bother speaking. They've had their fair share of arguments today. They knew she was gonna pull away again, like she always does. They know she has to drive back to Maryland in the morning, but they thought they had more time, that maybe they'd be able to convince her to stay just a little longer till she actually had to go back. They know her schedule, basically memorized it, and she doesn't have any classes tomorrow, and she can afford to miss one shift to spend time with them, cause she hardly ever does anymore. Of course Jordan is thinking the worst, that she's leaving them, finally fed up with them, moving on with her life. But no, that's not Marie. She wouldn't do that, would she?

Regardless, they've been here before. They know why she isn't looking at them, but still they stare at her, begging her to look back, just this once, and just stay with them. They take a breath, stepping closer and holding her jaw in their hand, trying to get her to look up at them. She lets Jordan lift her head up, as she steadies her breathing, preparing herself to look them in the eye. She opens her eyes, looking right at them. As much as it hurts her to look into their deep, pleading eyes, she knows they'll understand. If anyone understands prioritizing academics and future career, it's Jordan. It was one of the many things she admired about them. And Jordan would understand Marie focusing on finding Annabeth, (Though, she hasn't told them yet. She was trying her best to not get her hopes up. If this path actually leads somewhere, then she'll tell them). Besides, this will only hurt for a moment, but they will be back together again. They always come back together. That's what she holds on to as she steps back, gently pulling herself out of their hold. “I have to drive back to Maryland tomorrow. We should get going.” She speaks in a flat tone as walks past Jordan and back towards the car. 

All Jordan can do is watch as she walks away from them. They hate seeing her walk away. They used to not mind because they knew she'd always come back, but this time… they weren't so sure. 

— 

The ride home is spent in complete silence, neither of them wishing to acknowledge the multitude of unsaid words they really should be communicating with each other. Once they get back to the apartment, Marie b-lines to Emma's room, closing the door behind her before Jordan could do anything. They sigh, switching to their fem form as they shove their jacket off and throw it on the couch. They walk over, pausing for a moment as they contemplate walking into Emma's room, but they give up, walking into their own room and slamming the door shut behind them. 

…She was gone by morning.

--

[Finally did the thing! So sorry it took me so long to upload this. Things just kept getting in the way. But here it is! It's a pretty short one, but it's also filled with angst. Thank you so much for reading my stuff, I'm glad people are enjoying it. And a huge thanks, once again, to Venus @minthandsoap 💜 for helping me out big time with this fic. I'm considering this the end of this act of sorts. Kinda. Really just me saying the next update won't be for a while. Kinda waiting till life calms down a bit, so maybe around august. Until then, thanks for reading.]

Much love, 😎👍❤️

-PB

[sisterspooky1013]

Parallel, Chapter 6/6

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

She wakes with an arid gasp, shooting upright and scanning her surroundings in a panic. It’s dark, and she reaches blindly across the bed for Mulder to find that he isn’t there.

There’s no sunset, no window, no California king size bed. As seconds pass and her hammering heart slows enough for her thoughts to organize themselves, she realizes that she’s back in Georgetown. The bedside clock reads just past 3:00 am, and she scrambles for her watch to confirm the date. Fewer than five hours have passed since she got into bed.

She picks up the phone and begins to dial Mulder’s number, but hangs up before it has a chance to ring. She doesn’t just need to hear his voice, she needs to see him, to smell him, to know that he’s the right one. That he is hers.

She takes all of five minutes to change her clothes and brush her teeth, forgoing any attempt to look halfway decent. Not that it should matter what she looks like; he’s seen her at her objective worst. He’s seen her exhausted, and dirty, and on the brink of death, and he still looks at her with so much wonder, so much admiration it makes her uncomfortable, because she feels so undeserving of it. She walks out the door in jeans and an oversized sweater, her hair combed but her face bare, and her heart pinned to her sleeve.

Her mind is oddly blank as she drives to his apartment, ascends the elevator, and knocks on his door. She’s operating on instinct, allowing her emotions to lead for once instead of stuffing them down. Allowing the ache in her chest to seek resolution instead of ignoring it. He doesn’t answer and she knocks again, more urgently this time, afraid that she might lose her nerve.

He opens the door and squints at the lights in the hallway. He’s wearing flannel pajama pants but no shirt, and his hair is entirely flat on one side. His rumpled, boyish appearance is disarming and endearing all at once.

“Scully?” he asks groggily, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Did something happen?”

She steps forward and wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her nose into his chest so she can breathe him in deep. A feeling of calm washes over her and she sighs with relief. This is him. This is the right one. Her Mulder.

“You okay?” he asks, returning her hug. “Scully, it’s 3:00 am,” he adds with an edge of surprise.

“I’m okay,” she says, her voice muffled against his skin. “I just had a bizarre dream and I needed to know that you were here.”

“Here at my apartment?” he asks, pulling away a little. She nods, not quite ready to explain it. Not quite sure how. “You could’ve called me,” he points out, and for the first time since leaving her apartment she feels embarrassed and afraid of what he’ll think of her.

“I know,” she says, avoiding his eyes. “But the nature of this dream was—I don’t think I would have felt sure it was really you just from a phone call.”

She can feel his interest piquing, and she wishes she’d been more vague. Most people find discussion of other people’s dreams intolerably boring, but Mulder isn’t most people.

“Come sit down,” he says, gently steering her towards the living room. “I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

“It’s 3:00 am, Mulder,” she objects, though she knows it’s useless.

He brings her a cup of coffee in what he must have gathered is her favorite mug among his collection. It’s tall and narrow, bearing the faded logo of a long-since closed diner they used to frequent in the days before she started sleeping with her weapon in her bedside drawer. It has just the right amount of cream and sugar, and she tries to remember when and how he perfected that. He never asked, just observed, like he’s observing her now. Watching her bring the mug to her lips and blow the steam away, take a sip and then lower it back to her lap. Three, four, five times he watches her do this, saying nothing. She feels the weight of his attention and for once she lets it sit, lets herself become acclimated to it instead of distracting it away.

“Was it a nightmare?” he says suddenly, and she lifts her eyes to find that his are on her, his elbow propped on the back of the couch and his head resting on his fist.

Her memory flashes on him wrapped around her in the shower, and then his hand gently kneading her breast, and she feels her cheeks warm.

“No,” she says. “Not a nightmare.”

“What was it, then? Not a nightmare, but strange enough to send you across town at 3:00 am? I’ll admit that I’m intrigued,” he says, setting his cup on the coffee table.

She looks down at her lap, running her thumb along the rim of her mug nervously. Her thumbnail is tattered, her manicure ruined, and she frowns as she examines the other hand to find it similarly defaced.

“I think—” she begins, preemptively embarrassed. “I think that maybe our conversation influenced it. In fact, I’m positive that it did.”

“Our conversation?” he asks, oblivious. Leave it to Mulder to have no recollection of an extensive discussion on alternate universes.

“Albert Homnell’s theories on alternate dimensions?” she reminds him, and in her periphery she sees him nod.

“That’s interesting dream fodder,” he says, taking a drink before returning his mug to the coffee table. “What’d your subconscious cook up?”

She steals a glance at him. He still has that unkempt, unguarded, fresh-from-sleep look about him. His cheeks are dark with stubble and his already hooded eyes are drooping. Knowing him, he likely only went to bed a couple hours ago.

“It’s not important, Mulder. I should go so we can both get some sleep,” she says, moving to stand. The weight of his hand on her forearm stills her.

“C’mon, Scully. You’re already here, and now you’ve got me curious,” he gently chides her, and she acquiesces with a sigh.

“It’s, uh…it’s a bit awkward,” she prefaces, setting her mug on the table beside his so she can wring her hands instead.

“If you were hoping that would dissuade my curiosity, you should know that it has the opposite effect,” he says with a smile in his voice, and despite herself she smiles as well.

“I dreamt that…we were together,” she says quickly, her eyes darting between his face and the wall behind the couch. His eyebrows lift, but he otherwise gives no reaction.

“Together?” he repeats.

“Married, actually,” she says, then sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. It feels like the hardest part is out of the way.

“Married?” Mulder repeats again, his eyebrows sailing higher.

“Mmm hmm,” Scully says with a clipped nod.

“Okay,” he says, studying her closely. She can only look at him for milliseconds before she has to look away. Each time he manages to catch her eye, her stomach does backflips at the memory of his mouth on hers and…everything else. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I don’t think a dream about us being married would make you drive over here in the middle of the night to confirm my existence, so I’m wondering what else happened. There was more, right?”

He’s not being argumentative, and he does have a point.

“Well, it was sort of…it was like an entirely different world,” she attempts to explain. “We lived on the West Coast, and California was part of Canada, and my sister was there, and so was—”

“California was part of Canada?” he interrupts.

She stops and looks at his face. She was about to tell him about Sam, but that very well might just hurt him.

“Yes,” she confirms, but doesn’t elaborate. The more she tells him, the more he’ll want to know, and talking about it makes it feel real again. All of it. She shifts in her seat. “It was very vivid, and a bit disconcerting. So when I finally woke up back at my apartment, I just felt the need to be sure that I am me and you are you, if you will.”

“Was your dream version of me not your dream version of me?” he asks playfully, though she detects a hint of nervousness underneath.

She thinks about the other Mulder for a moment. Tanned, just slightly less serious, unburdened by a lifetime of tragedy. It feels like a betrayal to even entertain the idea that he might be a “better” version of the Mulder sitting right in front of her.

“He was great,” she says sincerely, “but he wasn’t you.”

Something like surprise flashes across his face, and then his eyes narrow just slightly.

“Married, huh?” he asks, and something about the tenor of his voice betrays what he’s thinking. Scully swallows nervously. “How sure are you that it was just a dream?”

Scully balks.

“What else would it be?”

Mulder shrugs, but the look on his face tells her that he’s prepared to defend his theory and she doesn’t quite feel up for that, not after what she’s just been through. And if it was real, what would that mean? For her and the version of herself who is married to Malibu Mulder.

She looks at her lap again, unsure where to go from here. She’d had such clarity back at her apartment, when she could still feel his kiss tingling on her lips. Now, it really does feel like just a dream, fading away into her memories with each passing moment. She notices her thumbnails again and runs the pads of her index fingers over their jagged edges as she tries to recall what happened to them.

So what do you say? Are we finally gonna hit that ghost tour on the way back?

She looks up at him and is momentarily surprised not to see a tanned, shaggy-haired man on the couch beside her.

“I don’t think it matters, Mulder,” she says, and he cocks his head at her. “Regardless of what it was, I think…I think it was an answer of sorts.”

“An answer to what?”

He no longer looks sleepy. His eyes are alert and focused, jumping around her face as he waits for her to speak. There’s so much expectation there, so much interest, and the stakes feel so impossibly high.

“Why did you kiss me on New Year’s Eve?” she blurts out, which is partly deflection but still very much on topic.

Mulder gapes at her, completely caught off guard, and sits up straighter.

“Where did that come from?” he asks uncomfortably, reaching for his mug only to find it empty. “I guess it seemed like the thing to do at the moment. Did it bother you?”

The fact that he seems genuinely concerned that she might be upset about it is almost funny, if not for the fact that they have been stuck in this confusing limbo for what is starting to feel like an eternity.

“No, Mulder, it didn’t bother me,” she says with a slight laugh and a shake of her head.

“Okay. Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

There’s a heavy pause and someone slams a door in the hallway. He answered her question, but at the same time he didn’t answer it at all. He didn’t say what she needed him to say, which was that he kissed her because he wanted to. If he would just give her that, she might feel brave enough to take them the rest of the way.

In her effort to look anywhere but his face, her eyes fall to the scar on his shoulder. She scoots closer and reaches out to touch it, and Mulder follows her hand with his eyes as she brushes the pad of her middle finger across the smooth pink flesh. Without thinking, she leans forward and presses her lips to it, laying her hand on his chest for stability. Beneath her palm, his heart is hammering so hard she has to resist the urge to count out his pulse rate.

I love you, she mouths against his skin.

When she lifts her head to look at him, there’s an incredibly pained expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her hand still resting on his chest, fingers splayed.

“In your dream—” he begins, then clears his throat. “Were we happy?”

“Together?” she asks, and he nods. “Yes,” she says with a soft smile, remembering how easy it felt to just let him love her.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he asks, and now it is she who nods.

It feels as though they could fall down this rabbit hole forever, continuously ignoring the fact that they never seem to arrive anywhere.

“I wonder why you haven’t kissed me again,” she says quietly, and immediately her blood runs cold. Despite a hundred different death-defying situations she’s found herself in, this feels like the most terrifying yet.

“I wonder if you’d want me to,” he says back, and again his heart is thumping against her palm, giving him away. For some reason knowing that he is also afraid makes her feel brave.

“I would, Mulder.”

He sighs, and the warmth of his coffee breath against her cheeks is so familiar she barely hesitates at all before arching up to kiss him. He initially receives her kiss with surprise, but before she can pull away his hands are on her jaw and he’s kissing her back in earnest.

With her eyes closed, muscle memory takes over. It’s not that she’s pretending he’s Malibu Mulder, but that when she was kissing Malibu Mulder she was pretending he was her Mulder. And so kissing him, sliding her tongue across his, letting him pull her closer, all feel like things they’ve done before.

But where Malibu Mulder had the practiced, comfortable demeanor of a man kissing his wife, her Mulder has the nervous, adrenaline-fueled energy of a man kissing his partner for the very first time beyond a peck in a hospital waiting room. And his nervous energy combined with her own un-sated desires from just hours prior put them on a fast track from kissing, to making out, to him pulling her into his lap and grinding his erection against the seam of her jeans.

“Is this okay?” he mumbles against her mouth as his hands slip under her sweater.

“Uh-huh,” she assures him, moving her hips in tight circles when she finds just the right press of his erection against her clit.

Both his hands find her breasts, gently kneading and brushing his thumbs across her nipples. She’s fairly certain that if they keep this up she’s going to have an orgasm fully clothed in his lap. She’s fairly certain that she intends to do just that.

“Mulder,” she whispers, high and needy, and he groans.

Does he know? She wants him to know. Somehow, she thinks it won’t feel as good if he doesn’t. She brings her lips to his ear, circling her hips while he continues to gently pinch her nipples in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wait, stop stop stop,” he says suddenly, pulling his hands out from under her sweater and stilling her hips. Her orgasm slips away, and the stark reality of what they are doing quickly settles in. She immediately feels ashamed and moves to get off him, but again he grabs her by the hips to stop her. “No, don’t go,” he begs. “I just…I need a minute.”

“We can stop if you want to stop,” she says, not looking at his face.

“Scully,” he says sternly, then waits until she looks at him. “I do not want to stop. Do you want to stop?” She shakes her head. “Great, then we’re on the same page. I just—this is a little embarrassing but I just didn’t want to make a mess, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh,” she says with a nervous laugh. The idea that he may have also been on the brink of an orgasm sets off a fresh wave of arousal.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says again, “but I do want to be sure that this isn’t…I don’t know, too fast? Too much too soon? I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret later.”

Scully lets out a blustering sigh.

“You’re probably right,” she says.

“So what should we do?” he asks, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I think I should go?” she says, uncharacteristically lifting the end of her statement into a pseudo-question.

“Yeah,” Mulder agrees reluctantly.

She awkwardly removes herself from his lap, quickly averting her eyes when she sees that he is still very much erect. She walks to his front door on unsteady legs and he trails a few steps behind her. When her hand is on the knob, she turns around and looks up at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answers.

Seconds tick by. Her hand is still resting on the door knob behind her back, but she doesn’t turn it.

“Goodnight, then,” she says, still unmoving.

“Goodnight.”

She turns the knob and the latch pops open, allowing a sliver of light in from the hallway. Still, she just looks at Mulder. He stares back at her, his bare chest rising and falling at a labored clip. He takes one step forward and she reflexively lifts her chin, her mouth falling partly open.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you goodnight?” he asks, and she’s already nodding emphatically before the final word leaves his mouth.

The first kiss is chaste. The second is lingering. On the third, she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip and he hums. The fourth, his hands are on her waist and the door slams closed when he presses her against it with his body. The height difference is awkward, but they are beyond motivated to compensate for it, and he alternately stoops a bit and lifts her off the ground while her calves ache from standing on her tiptoes. His stubble scrapes her chin and his eager teeth pinch her lip painfully, but she’s never been so happy to be so uncomfortable.

When he straightens up she feels the brush of his groin against her belly. The throbbing between her legs is nearly unbearable, and she knows she is past the point of self-control. If Mulder doesn’t stop this, she won’t either. She slips her fingers under the waist of his cotton pajama pants and he heaves a shuddering breath.

“What are you doing?” he asks tightly.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispers around desperate kisses.

“Fuck, I don’t want to,” he groans.

Her hand slides lower until she feels the tickle of his pubic hair against the tips of her fingers. He’s breathing so hard he’s pulling the air right from her mouth as they attempt to keep kissing, making her feel light-headed. His hands move from her hips to her ass cheeks, the grip of his fingers desperate and feral, and she is completely incapable of rational thought. She wraps her hand around his shaft, smooth and thick and warm, and his knees warble before he steadies himself with one hand against the door.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he hisses.

“I don’t want to go,” she whimpers, giving him one firm stroke.

His hands are back on her ass, kneading and pulling her pelvis against him, which makes her bump up against her own hand. He starts tugging at the waist of her jeans, fumbling with the button, then the zipper, and before she really registers what’s happening he’s wedging his hand under the stiff denim with his palm pressed against her belly. There’s no room for him to move, but she feels the brush of his fingers across her clit and an involuntary moan bubbles up from the back of her throat. Mulder’s forehead drops against the door with a loud thunk.

They stay frozen like that for a few seconds, with her hand wrapped around his cock and his fingers resting over her slick lips.

“I want you,” he breathes into her ear. The heat of his breath makes her quiver under his fingers and he groans.

“Then take me to bed,” she says, feeling bold beyond what she thought herself capable of.

He doesn’t need any time to contemplate her proposition. He withdraws his hand and she withdraws hers, and he scoops her up and carries her to his bedroom with a level of urgency befitting the situation. The room is dark save for what leaks in from the living room or around the blinds, and he sets her carefully on the floor before divesting her of her sweater. She pushes his pajama pants off his hips but they get caught on his erection, which makes her laugh. The shine of his smile in the dim room sets her at ease, and they slow down a bit. As much as they both want this, there’s no need to rush.

He lays her down on the bed and peels her jeans from her legs, leaving her panties on while he kisses the insides of her thighs. She knows that the second he touches her she’s going to come, and she’s as excited as she is nervous. He kisses as far as the seam of her leg, pulling in a deep breath through his nose that makes her self-conscious. Then he kisses her right over her panties, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through her pelvis.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

“Is this okay?” he asks, brushing his nose back and forth across her clit.

She feels herself unraveling. She’s too far gone to stop it.

“Oh my god,” she says again.

Her hips arch up off the bed and he presses his face between her legs as an orgasm tears through her, powerful and overwhelming. She cries out, completely unable to contain it, and she feels the wet heat of his mouth directly on her pussy as she comes and comes and comes. When the height of it has passed, she looks down and sees her panties pulled to the side, and Mulder’s face buried between her thighs, eyes closed in concentration. As she slowly comes down, she feels surprised and a little embarrassed.

Mulder crawls up to the bed beside her and kisses her neck while she catches her breath.

“That was…unexpected,” she finally says, feeling her cheeks warm.

“Was it okay?” he asks nervously.

“Yes, very much so,” she reassures him. “Just not the standard order of operations, I suppose.”

Mulder chuckles a little.

“Well, you know I’m never one to do things by the book,” he says lightly, tucking his face into the crook of her neck.

“That quality about you typically annoys me, but I find myself willing to make an exception,” she quips.

He starts dropping little kisses to the side of her neck, and despite her recent release she clenches her thighs together, ready for more. She rolls to her side and finds his lips, and they just lie there and kiss for a while, completely nude save for her panties. Her hand wanders down the firm planes of his back, over his hip, and finally back to his cock, which is stiff to the point of leaking. His breathing shudders and his muscles tense as she strokes him languidly.

“I think it’s only fair that you don’t judge me for my unimpressive stamina at this point,” he says, drawing the end of the sentence out with a low moan.

“I would never,” she says, greedy to see and feel him lose control in the same way he’s seen her.

Releasing him, she wriggles out of her panties and kicks them away, then gently pushes on his shoulder. Rolling him to his back, she slowly climbs on top of him. She still feels nervous, even after what they’ve already done. She settles over his lap, sitting directly atop his shaft such that it brushes across her clit when she shifts her hips forward and back. Immediately she knows that she’ll come again if she keeps it up, and it feels embarrassing for reasons she couldn’t possibly explain. It’s like her body is telling all her secrets to his, revealing just how much she’s wanted this and for how long.

His body answers by gripping her hips to hold her steady and grinding against her. She’s folded in half, her forehead resting against his, and her mouth hanging open in overwhelm.

“Oh my god,” she breathes into his face, and he has clearly already intuited what that means for her.

“Come on,” he says softly, rutting up into her.

She lifts her hips and reaches down between them, taking hold of him and guiding him inside her. There’s a stretch, a sting, and then overwhelming pleasure. She loses herself again, sitting up and planting her hands on his chest for stability as she rides him roughly.

“Oh fuuuuuuuck,” he hisses.

His shoulders lift off the mattress, his hands still planted on her hips. She’s right there, right there on the edge, and when he starts throbbing inside her she is gone, gone, gone.

Later, she’ll blush when she thinks about how loud she was, how brazen. How greedily she continued to fuck him until he was too soft to continue. How he flipped her to her back and slipped two fingers inside her, making her come again. But in the moment, all she knows is that she has never felt so good in her life, so safe. He touches her like he’s done it a hundred times, like he knows just what she needs. And when she finally becomes over sensitive and pushes his hand away, he throws a blanket over them both and wraps his arms around her. It’s nearly 6:00 am and the hazy yellow light of sunrise signals the arrival of morning.

“We have work in a few hours,” she says sleepily, resting her head on his chest.

“I think today is a good day to play hooky,” he tells her, giving her a squeeze.

They are quiet for a few minutes, and she starts to doze off.

“I’m glad you came over,” he says quietly.

“Me too,” she agrees, tilting her head up in invitation of a kiss.

She drifts in a sea of dopamine and oxytocin for some time, slipping into sleep until Mulder sighs or shifts and reminds her that she is not sleeping alone for the first time in years.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, pulling her back again.

“Hm?”

“The dream me, or alternate me…was he an improvement over the model in this universe?”

She props herself up on an elbow and looks at him in the hazy morning light. He looks uncertain. Vulnerable.

“Not any more than the alternate version of me was,” she says, meeting his eye. “I think we’re products of our experiences in many ways, but at the core we’re still the same people. You would still be you and I would still be me even if our lives had taken different paths, but maybe those paths were meant to cross. I don’t wish you were different, Mulder, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The corner of his mouth quirks.

“I was actually referring to the sex,” he admits sheepishly.

Scully’s mouth falls open in surprise, and then she drops her forehead against his chest to hide her face in embarrassment.

“I wouldn’t know,” she tells him, resettling herself.

“Really?” he asks in disbelief. “Not even a kiss?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Wow. It took me nearly seven years to do what that man did in a day. What’s his secret?” he asks, jostling her playfully.

“We were married, Mulder,” she says with an edge of irritation. “Can I please go to sleep now?”

“Okay, okay. Sweet dreams, Scully.”

She snorts a laugh.

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

She falls asleep surprisingly fast and is quickly pulled into the limitless world of dreams. These dreams are of the ambiguous, hazy nature she’s used to. They are non-linear and full of missing context, but when she wakes she’ll recall the twinkle of Christmas lights and Mulder’s hand on her rounded belly, and the loud bark of her father’s laugh.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[tgmsunmontue]

Another Time (Chapter 4/14)

ONE TWO THREE

Summary: Jake wakes up in Rooster's body about ~30 or so hours post-Mission and they have to deal with it. They're adults. Apparently.

(Posting on Tumblr, chapter a day until it's complete (currently 14 chapters already written), after it's complete I will post it on AO3 once a day until it's completed there as well).

                The travel back passes in a fugue state, too long to be anything other than exhausting. He’s sitting beside Coyote who had just passed him Hangman’s packed duffel with a smirk and Bradley had taken it gratefully. He’s gone through the absolute emotional wrecker in the last seventy hours and he’s pretty sure the only reason he’s not falling apart is because his physical injuries are currently not something he needs to worry about. They’ve just ticked past the twenty-four hour marker and he’s ready to give this some serious thought. He somehow wants to get Hangman back to his place, both actual Hangman and the body of Hangman. He’s trying to formulate reasons, excuses or a plausible story when he realizes that they’ve landed and disembarking. Phoenix and Bob are shepherding/supporting Hangman and Rooster scrambles to follow, throwing the duffel over his shoulder.

                “Rooster!”

                “He needs to go to the hospital,” Phoenix snaps and Bradley frowns, because he knows that.

                “Yeah, I was going to take him there and then take him home.”

                “Home?” Phoenix asks him, one eyebrow raised and Rooster realizes then that Hangman would have no idea that he has a house off-base.

                “Yeah, he gave me his keys,” Bradley says, and it’s an outright lie because he pocketed them automatically when he’d packed his duffel earlier but it suits the moment, although he can tell Phoenix is suspicious, although the fact he pulls the keys from his pocket adds credence to his claim. Hangman looks pale and sweaty and Bradley wonders if the ibuprofen he had twenty-four hours ago was the last time he had painkillers, the vibrations in the COD wouldn’t have helped anything. “He’s under strict orders to go directly to the hospital…”

                “He is. And I will take him there.”

                “Oookay. Yeah. Sure,” Bradley agrees, because he learnt long ago not to argue with Phoenix. “I’ll get a lift back to his place and then meet you at the hospital with his car so I can bring him home.”

                It’s a compromise, and Hangman isn’t known for being so accommodating but this places him in his own fucking house, able to look after Hangman as he suffers the pain of dealing with Bradley’s body post-mission and he’ll take his wins where he can. He watches Maverick trail after them and wonders if Ice has directed him to have a full check-up as well. Hopefully anything Hangman says can be put down to pain, exhaustion or being drugged to the gills; because he expects that to happen. Drugs that is.

                He returns the hug Coyote gives him, tells him he’ll see him soon, and they have a further debrief tomorrow, although he has no idea how that’s going to work when he has no idea what the fuck Hangman was doing while he was chasing after Mav… Fuck. Hangman having to try and justify his actions without knowing anything. Ugh. What a shit show. He’s glad someone is driving him and is even gladder when he’s standing outside his childhood home, the sense of homecoming still there despite the emptiness. He takes the time to shower, shaves and tries (and suspects he fails miserably) at styling Hangman’s hair before heading to the hospital. He’s not got many options in terms of clothes in Hangman’s duffel, but dark jeans and one of his own Henley’s make him feel a little more comfortable. He’s off the clock.

                He gets to the hospital and follows the instructions to the fracture clinic, where both Mav and Hangman are being seen. Phoenix is sitting in the waiting room, and he makes himself comfortable in the chair beside her.

                “They good?”

                “Both had x-rays, and then Mav mentioned that some of his injuries were probably old, from a different ejection a few weeks ago. Bradley vommed everywhere, so they drugged him up with anti-nausea and some morphine. His ankle is fucked and the way they were talking about it was making me feel queasy so I excused myself.”

                Bradley doesn’t even know where to start with that flood of information. TWO ejections. Fucking hell. And his ankle is apparently fucked, which doesn’t tell him anything. He pats Nat on the shoulder and murmurs about going in to check on them and she mutters a good luck under her breath, clearly thinking him a fool. He pushes the door open and both Mav and Hangman look to him.

                “Looking good Hangman…” Hangman slurs and Bradley wonders if he’s even aware right now of what he’s saying and who to. Bradley starts the automatic reply though, feeling near hysterical amusement bubbling through him.

                “I am good Rooster, – ”

                “Too good to be true,” Hangman finishes and Bradley throws back his head and laughs.

                “Man, you are high.”

                “He sure is. Was talking about the time he fell off a horse and broke his arm as a kid. He’s never ridden a horse.”

                Bradley nods and smiles, feeling a little manic, because Seresin probably has ridden a horse. He wants to ask Mav how he is, but he’s not him right now. Fortunately the doctor enters the room and she’s looking between the three of them.

                “Are you here to take him home?” She asks, gesturing toward Hangman.

                “Yeah, is he good to go?”

                “As good as we can get him. We’ll want to do another CT in 24 hours once the swelling has gone down further.”

                “Too good to be true…” Hangman mumbles and Bradley’s lips twitch.

                “Are you staying with him?”

                “Uh. Yeah. He’s, we’re, uh… yeah.”

                Fuck. Mav is watching them both, soft smile on his face and Bradley wants to offer… something. Anything. Whatever he says though is not going to come across right, is going to cement firmly whatever assumptions Mav is making about him and Hangman. Which might not actually be misplaced in a few months’ time but right now… it’s just too much. He takes the discharge papers and listens to the instructions about pain meds, concussion protocols and asks for a pen so he can make a few notes. Says he can pick up the script easily enough. Or even ask Phoenix to do it.

                He can worry about Mav later.

FIVE

[darkrpfinders]

[M4F] In search for a kindred spirit 🌹

... Let's try something different, shall we?

Aren't you tired of bland roleplays that only consist of one liners? Or extensive, tedious paragraphs of nothing? What about partners that suddenly ghost you without any reason?

If so, look no further!

Creative spurts come out of nowhere, and the one I had came in the form of a longing for a story that would inspire in me the same kind of passion and intrigue I felt from the books I read many years ago, and probably also because of my great passion for D&D and fiction in general. That tenderness mixed with the right dose of wonder that once filled my mind with endless daydreams, stories and characters... If you get what I'm talking about, you'll be a perfect roleplay partner!

In short, I'm mainly looking for someone to be a huge nerd with 😅

Think of it as a detailed, long-term roleplay with everything a story needs to be good, and filled with all those things dorks like me go crazy for, like being emotionally invested in fictional events or even giving characters musical themes!

The standard setting would be a high fantasy one in whichever place our characters would fit the most, but nothing says we can't play modern, sci-fi etc. Being it the classic scenario of enemies who constantly bicker but slowly grow fond of each other, an unlikely friendship that can either bloom into something more or end up in tragedy, or something as simple as a character being in love while the other remains hilariously oblivious, every kind of scenario and character dynamic is well accepted, no matter how tropey. As long as it will keep both of us affectioned to the characters and constantly wanting to see where the story will go, I will call that a wonderful experience~

Needless to say, the story will be pretty balanced, so rest assured, despite it being detailed and with a rich plot, it won't just be an endless LOTR book or a tame fairy tale. Manipulation, fights, betrayals... some strong emotion is always needed, and how else could there be that sweet, sweet drama if not? Plus... I might have a thing for Femme-fatale like characters, hypnosis, seduction and toxic manipulation 💖

Further information about the characters I have available, along with sheets and image references, can be discussed in private~

⚠️ Last thing to add, might be VERY important to know that I hate playing dominant roles 🤭

🌹

The man's steps echoed through the forest, each one causing the veil of dried twigs and leaves to crackle under his feet. It were hours, or maybe even days that he was wandering aimlessly in those woods in search for the ancient artifact, but until then it seemed like all he did was walking in circles. The tediousness of his task was almost driving him crazy, and he was constantly on the verge of giving up for good, but for better or for worse his determination dictated him to continue.

And then it happened. At first, it seemed almost like a mirage, likely given how thoroughly exhausted he was, but upon closer inspection the figure he saw moving amidst the foliage became more and more definite. From occasional glimpses of white and purple, he could then make out the outline of a body, a feminine one, and its erratic movements less and less dictated by chaos... It was a dance, performed by what would have been a normal woman hadn't it been for those long, luxurious white hair that elegantly flowed behind her and bounded with every step she took.

Awestruck, he walked closer without even considering what to say, such was his curiosity, but be it for distraction or a deliberate choice, once he was just a couple of feet from her, she suddenly twirled, making her silken locks swipe right across his face. Upon impact, a cloud of velvety rose petals wafted from it, and the combined effects of its silken softness and flowery fragrance made his eyes flutter.

From there, the world seemed to slow down

🌹

What else to say? If this sounds like what you're looking for, and you too want a story to remember, don't hesitate to hit me up~!✨

(Looking for 20+ writing partners, GMT+2)

.

[hamilgodd]

This feeling

—Is driving me crazy.—

Pairing: Lando/Oscar | Mention of Carlando

Word counting: +800

Warnings: Slight jealousy, self doubt, not a lot of dialogue.

Oscar is proud, not only of having climbed ten places; but that Lando had achieved second place. A race that had left them breathless, that had brought out the best in each of them and that in the end, everything had paid for their effort.

He feels his hands tremble and his face begin to hurt a little because of the smile he knows he carries; he observes with eyes full of happiness the podium where, bathing in champagne and with the trophy of the second place Lando celebrates. His partner, friend, confidant, boyfriend... has made a spectacular career and all his effort has borne fruit leading him to be on that podium, being admired by the whole world.

The mechanics next to him celebrate, the camera flashes blind him for a few seconds; he can hear the screams of the fans behind him while waving pennants with the characteristic orange color and Lando’s number. He deserves it; he deserves to be celebrated, loved, admired and recognized; he deserves the brilliant trophy, the kind smiles, the soft hugs; he deserves everything and Oscar is sometimes afraid.

Fear of not being enough, of not being up to his height; that at any moment the other will get up one day and realize that Oscar is not the one he wants by his side.

He can see the way they look at each other, or at least how Carlos does it. With tranquility, with tenderness, warmth, love... so much love that it is impossible to overlook it. He observes him with longing and a little mixed sadness that can be seen in the way he passes his arm over the shoulders of the lowest, in the way he attracts him and sticks him a little more to his side. It’s too much, too much; it’s painful to see because it feels right. The two of them are like pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly, and Oscar feels like the card that no one knows where he is going.

Know the story of both of them perfectly, what they lived in their days as companions; those dreams that they never realized, that longing that was never said out loud. Lando has had no qualms about telling him, because for the Briton it is nothing more than a memory that has remained in the past, something that will never be and that no longer has a chance of happening. But Oscar can see the moment when his gaze wanders, in how he clings to Carlos with a little more strength than necessary, as if for a few seconds he misses what they never had.

The media add wood to the fire that slowly burns his heart, photograph after photograph is published on every social network you can imagine. Under the bright lights of the podium and their smiles that are reflected in the trophies they hold, they look incredible, magnificent; two potential world champions. Talent overwhelms them and Oscar feels like a zero to the left. The statements they both give at the post-career press conference, the way they end each other’s prayers or how they seem to share little jokes that only they understand don’t help either.

Everything is too much and he doesn’t want to be the person responsible for ruining the spirits.

He walks to the garage where silence reigns because the team, eager to go to celebrate, has already abandoned it. The lights are turned off and his footsteps that resonate around the place calm him slightly. He doesn’t want to think about anything he has seen, he doesn’t want to let doubts consume him for something that hasn’t happened and isn’t going to happen. But it’s tiring, living under the shadow of a ghost that lives everywhere is exhausting.

“I was looking for you everywhere” he jumps a little when he hears Lando’s voice coming from behind him “I saw that you were for the award on the podium, but I couldn’t find you after that” there is a stop of happiness still in his voice. Oscar does his best to smile without his negative emotions being present.

“Congratulations on that P2” chooses to answer instead “you made a wonderful career” there is not a trace of a lie in that statement, there is nothing more than love and adoration that seeps into his voice.

“It’s incredible, I still can’t believe it” he slightly raises the trophy he’s been carrying with one of his hands “it’s not a first place, but it feels like it is”

“Soon, I am sure that you will soon be able to win” Oscar knows that Lando is waiting with excitement and anxiety for that Grand Prix where he is proclaimed as the winner, where all the lights of the spotlights are on him to celebrate his victory. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

“The mechanics have gone to dinner and Carlos has invited me to the party with his team” the Briton can see the almost imperceptible grimace that Oscar makes and the way in which it is removed uncomfortable. They haven’t been together for long, but he is proud to be able to say that he knows him almost perfectly;

He doesn’t like to see him that way, hiding what he feels so as not to overwhelm him. Lando wants to tell Oscar that he has nothing to worry about, that there is no one else; that he could never have. That those moments of uncertainty are a thing of the past and that they are going to stay there no matter how much others want to relive them. There is no space in his life for the years that have already left, there is only room for the present that he lives and the future that he longs for.

“You should go celebrate” the Australian tries to convince him but Lando has other plans in mind.

"I don’t want to leave you behind” he promises that he will do everything necessary to show Oscar how much he loves him. In addition, spending a night with the minor in his arms in that hotel room where they are staying; it sounds like the best celebration you can think of.

So this was a bit difficult to write cause I keep wandering into the angst side and I really wanted to be cute(? So, i think this is a very acceptable middle ground. I am wondering if I should do a second part(?

[justmeinadaze]

Hi just wanted to add a little perspective on that post you just made. Feel free to ignore this though lol. But I think a lot of that aggressive attitude comes from absolute frustration.

Because seeing someone go through your entire masterlist, spam like everything and not even bother to leave any kind of comment or reblog is extremely disheartening and discouraging. And having it happen over and over again can be exhausting for a lot of people. Especially when they put so much hard work into it.

On this platform, reblogs are what keep posts alive and circulating. On AO3 it’s kudos and comments. So when people purposefully don’t reblog something, it can come off as really disrespectful.

While I don’t necessarily agree with people coming off so hostile about it, I can understand it’s coming from a place of frustration. Because we do this for free. And at the end of the day if someone’s taking the time to read the fic and like it, they can move their finger over a tiny bit and hit the reblog button too.

Anyway sorry for the word vomit omg 😂

First off

I'm giving you a big hug for responding the way you did! I appreciate that.

Secondly!

I'm picking up what you're putting down. I thought I put that in there...that i understand being frustrated. Sometimes my PTSD writes but my fingers dont get the message. Lol.

I understand it comes from a place of frustration. As a writer to I know we work so hard on our stories and to feel underappreciated is just... awful. For me that hits when like 900 people liked part 1 but then only 400 liked part 2. I'm like "Aw...oh no.🥺." Lol.

But I get that's me and everyone is different. I'm not gonna lie if other writers explained it the way you just did I feel like it would make more of an impact. You werent belittling or condescending. You made your points clearly and while you referenced emotions you didnt let emotion drive the explanation.

Dont apologize for your word vomit!

[svndaze]

This is a long one. I feel like such a hypocrite. At my worst I am negative and resentful and hateful, mostly kept to myself and I try not to let it be shown on the outside. I feel insane inside sometimes. I have a tendency to think hateful and hurtful thoughts. I know a lot of people do, it's human, but for me it can be scary and irrational. Luckily I dont act on them, and I've gotten so much better as an adult. I have a much better grasp on my emotions in my 30's than any other period of my life. I'm also a lot more understanding as to why people are the way they are. And I understand that everybody has trauma that makes them act the way they do. But how can I judge men with anger issues and look down on people who don't benefit society and the people around them, when I'm essentially just doing the same? Who the hell am I? I expect everybody else to treat people with kindness and take into consideration what others are going through, but I slip up and forget to do it myself. It's mostly with people who react a certain way... With people who react with hostility and judgment towards others. I get so passionately angry about it. But at the end of the day, I know inside of me that people who act in anger and judgment have probably been brought up that way, and/or have trauma of their own like we all do. So why do I have such a hard time empathizing with them? I fucking empathize with everyone, except rapists and people who kill in cold blood of course. But I catch myself judging others all the time. Maybe not for dumb shit like the clothes people choose to wear (I hate it when people judge others for stupid things like that. who CARES!?), but I still catch myself judging people for shit. I know it's human of me, but still - why do I do this? I am so flawed and I have so many characteristics that I despise about myself, so who am I to be bothered by other people's flaws? Or I get irritated with people who drive too slow. Or too fast. Or this or that. I judge people who blast their personal info on social media for everyone to see, but I try to remind myself that maybe it's their only outlet that helps them sleep at night and if it doesn't concern me then why should I care.

I judge people that walk around with more than three kids - but actually, I dont care about that one lol. In this day and age with all the shit going on in this world and all the pollution and trash we add to this planet on a daily basis, and you have the audacity to add MORE to it? We're so overpopulated as it is. Humans have absolutely trashed poor Earth. And people just carry on spitting out more offspring as if it doesn't matter. As if their kids are really going to impact this planet in a beneficial way. But then I come back to myself and think, well what the hell am I doing to benefit anything or anybody?

I am full of so much empathy and compassion, but it can change in a split second. I can become so resentful, defensive, and angry in a matter of seconds. My emotions are so intense, and again I cannot reiterate enough that I have grown so much and become a healthier person in my adult life; but I still hold so much resentment in my heart from old experiences and trauma that I should have healed from by now. And certain behavior really just still triggers me.

I'm sad and angry too because I dont have a lot of positive influences in my life and never have. I did for a while, years ago, but those friendships were sabotaged and ended for certain reasons. I want so badly to build new relationships and get positive people like that back in my life, but it's been exhausting trying to find my people. I havent had much luck. I went to meet an old friend the other day + her girlfriend and her girlfriend's best friend. We went to a dj set, so I thought I'd drag myself out of my house to be social and have a good time. But I showed up and her gf and gf's best friend were just sitting on the outskirts, couldnt even see the stage, and kept judging everybody and talking about people. I got so irritated so quickly. Like, I volunteered my precious time for THIS? They were talking about some girls that had their feet in the dirty city fountain. Was it gross? Sure, I wouldnt put my feet in there nor touch that water. Do I care that some strangers decide to? Hell no. It doesnt concern me. I literally do not care. But those two wouldnt shut up about it. And she kept talking down to my friend. I'm not keen on watching people talk down to their significant others, especially in front of people. I've been with people who did this shit to me - both romantically, and so-called "friends". It's really triggering to me. If you talk down to your partner, fuck you. Especially if they're MY friend! I really wasted my time trying to pull myself out of my house and out of this deep slump that I have been in for weeks, and see my friend, just to spend it with two little judgmental assholes. I wish my friend wasn't dating her. She seems to keep getting with girls who act this way. Then I think...damn, I keep getting with people who treat me like shit, too. Nobody I've been with ever really made me feel loved, unless it was during a short phase at their convenience. It's so sad. I'm sick of being around negative, miserable people. I, too, have been miserable and negative in my past and I cant be around people who dont lift me up anymore. It's awful for my mental health. And I tolerate it significantly less now that I've reached my 30's and have some actual self esteem. My time is precious. So is yours. Don't waste it on people who don't deserve it. Spend it with people who make you feel good about yourself. Unfortunately, for me it seems to be harder to find people that are good for me. I really just dont connect with others. I have a lot of friends and acquaintances, but nobody I genuinely connect with. On the flip side, I made a good friend recently... Still getting to know each other, but so far she seems like a great candidate for a new friend.

And apparently there is a tornado watch right now. Wtf.

[paleode-ology]

okay! one week into adhd meds. since I already made this post I’m just gonna add on for reference when I have my follow up appt.

- my doctor warned me that some people experience nightmares for the first few days on adhd. I haven’t had nightmares but I definitely had very vivid dreams for the first few days. It’s not unusual for me to dream and remember my dreams but every night for a week in a row is a bit out of the ordinary for me.

- I feel like I’ve been dehydrated? My mouth has been getting dry a lot more than usual I guess?

- I had a Very Emotional Week, and while I DO get myself into Very Frequent Drama (👁️) I wouldn’t be surprised if the emotions had been exacerbated by the meds. Which in turn would have made the drama worse. Which would have made the emotions worse. Which would have-

- I’ve been exhausted. Some of this is my fault, I’ve been letting myself stay up way too late, plus emotional exhaustion, and I think I’ve been doing “being social” wrong since the end of summer.

- Since I have been tired and keyed up 24/7 I have been avoiding doing work. So aside from practicing piano my actual capability to pay attention and focus for long periods of time haven’t really been tested yet 🤷🏻 whoops. I did read an entire book (a graphic novel; so not a huge timesink but it WAS in one sitting) and have been steadily making my way through a sci-fi short story anthology that I have so that’s progress on something at least. Sooo we’re still 0 for 0 on homework lmao

Notes about things that aren’t about meds under the cut, I don’t want this post to be any longer than it already is for the sake of your dashes, but I want to keep my notes on ADHD Things in one place for now

Unrelated to medication, I have a few other notes on Dealing With ADHD (Since Actually Being Diagnosed). I started coaching, had my first session a few days ago. Love my coach, they’re honestly really helpful and open, and in even one session managed to start changing how I view tasks and scheduling. So that’s cool.

Being away from school has been harder than I thought it would. Which is insane because like. I just got done spending a year and a half doing school entirely from home and that wreaked absolute havoc on me, so I’m not sure why I thought this would be different. The structure to my days is completely different than it’s ever been before, and I haven’t really been making an effort to adjust to that. Socially it’s been difficult also. Most of the time I spend completely alone except for occasionally talking to my parents (who both work from home) and my sisters when they’re not at school or sports things. I have some in person contact with my one class which is in person, but. That’s school. Fun school, but still. When I DO see my friends, it’s really fun, but making a day out of it is pretty overwhelming? I love seeing people when I go back to campus but I end up hanging out with different people all day which inevitably ends up exhausting me (not to mention having to drive for an hour and a half in a given day is A Lot, even if it’s easy as hell) So any given day has the wrong amount of socializing but there’s not a lot that I can do about that right now? I might talk to my coach about that. It’s highly possible I just need to suck it up until I go back to school in January.

I think that’s it? That’s all that’s coming to mind anyway. This is shit I should be writing in my journal but my phone feels easier right now so sorry if anyone actually reads this it’s literally just for my personal use ahdhfh

okay so today is my first day being medicated for adhd, I’m on extended release adderall, and for the most part I don’t feel too different but here’s what I’ve noticed:

Definitely different:

- food cravings. Normally I feel like I need to constantly be having little treats in order to get through my day, like I go through sooo much juice and chocolate milk boxes in a week it’s insane. Today I haven’t done that at all, but my appetite is normal like I had lunch and stuff

- I practiced piano and was able to focus on it for a lot longer. I felt like I was practicing more efficiently also? I’m not sure how long I practiced, should’ve timed it, but I only stopped bc my stepdad had a call and the mic would’ve picked up the sound.

Maybe different:

- ability to initiate tasks? I haven’t done too much today bc I just don’t have a lot I need to do, but I read for fun for a bit and made my bed finally (this one was coerced by my mother so I’m not sure if I would’ve done it on my own? Maybe? But I was able to do it all the way through, I only had one or two distractions which were minor like turning on my lamp etc)

- I feel kind of tired now, but I’m pretty sure that’s just because I was up too late last night. But I napped for like twenty minutes and I was a lot less restless than I usually am when I nap, I feel like I was able to zone out a lot faster.

- I think that my thoughts are a bit more coherent? As I’m typing this I don’t have a lot going on in the background of my mind, mostly just echos of what I’m typing or only one or two words ahead.

Things that might be affected but haven’t been tested yet:

- driving. I’m REALLY curious about this one, especially because I don’t think I could placebo myself into being a better driver. I’m fine at driving but keeping track of everything that’s going on or looking far enough ahead is often difficult for me.

- social interactions. I’m going to a family reunion/birthday party tomorrow and will be interacting with a lot of people I don’t normally see for a very long time. Curious to see if anything seems different.

- doing homework. I haven’t done any yet today so I’m not sure how much easier it will be (if at all) to start and finish it. That’s for tomorrow or Sunday. In that vein, class as well. I have an online class on Monday and an in person one on Wednesday.

- concerts! I go to a lot of classical music events bc my grandmother is a classical fanatic and lives really close to us, but I ALWAYS struggle to pay attention bc the listening alone just isn’t stimulating enough to me. On Sunday I’m going to an organ concert, so we’ll see how that goes.

- sports! Im on a rec vb team, we only play once a week but maybe something will be different. Or not.

[soulrph]

" 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 "  𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

a wonderfully patient and creative nonnie asked for a list of prompts based on interactions between two good friends in the aftermath of a trauma that happens to one of them, and i’m nothing if not a sucker for angst and deeply emotional connections! so here we go! i’m hoping these will be up to the nonnie’s expectations! have a wonderful day, my lovelies, and DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST !!

“ i really hate seeing you like this... “

“ why don’t we hang out tonight? like we used to, you know? order in cheap take-out, watch crappy movies, go for a walk... whatever you want, right? “

“ please say something... anything. even if it’s telling me to shut up and leave you alone... just say something. “

“ i really miss you, you know. “

“ i’m here. you got that? i don’t care if you never say anything to me ever again. i don’t care. i’m not going away, and i’m not going to stop being here for you, no matter how long you glare at me or ignore me or pretend that you’re okay. because i know you’re not. i know. “

“ talk to me. i don’t care what we talk about. it doesn’t have to be anything big. we don’t need to talk about whatever happened to you, not unless you want to. i just... just talk to me, will you? “

“ you know, i talk to a lot of people every single day. i hear all their voices telling me all kinds of stuff; i hear it all. and the only voice i really wanna listen to is yours, you know? even when you’re driving me crazy. so come on. please... just drive me crazy again? “

“ ...seriously? no come-back? no witty retort? no... sarcastic shot at me? come on, i... i know we never ask these things, but, honestly, i’m worried about you. what’s going on? “

“ penny for your thoughts? hell. a dollar? ten? fifty? my whole life-savings? damn, at this rate i’d give away everything i own just to hear your voice again. “

“ this is like, the ninth voicemail i’ve left, and i know you hate voicemails, so i’m thinking this might be the one that pisses you off enough to pick up the phone and talk to me. because despite the number of times i’ve told you to shut up, i’m actually begging you to say something, now. weird how things work out, isn’t it? anyway. pick up your freaking phone, moron. please. “

“ will you please talk to me? please? “

“ i have exhausted every single topic that i can think of to get you to open your mouth and say something to me. all of them. you leave me no choice... how are you? “

“ listen, we’re all really worried about you. okay? and we wanna help you, but we don’t know how. so how about you write us a note, or something? maybe just, open the door, huh? i just wanna know that you’re okay. “

“ you’re not alone, you know. you’ve got people who love you. who care about you. you’ve got me. and i’m not going anywhere. “

“ look, i don’t know what happened to you. and i don’t need you to tell me, okay? i don’t... i just want you to know that i’m here. i got you. no matter what. and if you need some space, then... then i can leave. just tell me what you need, okay? “

“ i don’t need you to say anything. you don’t even need to open the door. i’m just gonna slide this paper under the door, okay? you tell me what you want for dinner, and i’ll bring it up. “

“ i’m sending you on a list of therapists and group support meetings in the area, okay? you don’t have to go, but... promise me you’ll take a look at the list, right? “

“ listen, i know you gave me a copy of your key for emergencies, and this feels like an emergency, but... if the silent treatment is part of you trying to get some space, then i don’t wanna intrude. you know? so just text me if that’s what this is, and i’ll leave you alone. “

“ i know, i know. you asked me to leave you alone. but that was two weeks ago, okay? and i haven’t heard from you. you aren’t answering my texts, you aren’t even reading them. nobody’s seen or heard from you, and... and now i just want to know that you’re okay. so please, open your door, and let me make sure that you’re safe, will you? “

[oxygenbefore1775]

Reiner strikes me as a not-mad-just-disappointed type

pairing: reiner x gn!reader

wc: 0,6k

No matter in which way you fucked up exactly. Maybe you came home late at night black-out drunk or went against his advice and spent all of your shared budget to buy your dream house from that "totally not scam-y" looking real estate agency (the price seemed to good to be true, especially given the photos) — Reiner never gets angry with you.

This time you call him from a police station, asking him to bail you out. You are terriefied to hear him sigh at your request on the other side of the cable — you can almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. The are no follow-up questions, zero attempts to find out what the fuck landed you in a cell whatsoever. Reiner just calmly asks you to give him the address of the police station.

The silence in the car is almost deafening as Reiner drives both of you home. His eyes are focused on the road and so are yours because you're too ashamed to look at him directly.

"So-o," you finally decide to speak up in an attempt to learn just how bad your current position is, "How was your day today?"

"That was very irresponsible of you," Reiner's voice is calm and robbed of any expression.

Shifting his gaze from the road, he looks at you for the first time since picking you up. His face doesn't betray any glint of emotion except for utter tiredness. You curse under your breath. But of course your carelessness left him restless and he ended up stressing himself out to the point of exhaustion. Heat flushes yor cheeks and the tips of your ears as the guilt sets in. You almost wish he started screaming at you and accusing you angrily (and rightfully so) — anything to be relieved from the silent pressure of his heavy gaze.

"Are you mad at me?" you ask bluntly, now wanting to beat around the bush regarding his state of mind.

A silent sigh falls past his lips as Reiner's grip on the steering wheel grows tight.

"At you? No. Just disappointed."

The words put a downcast look on your face.

"But I'm rather mad at myself," Reiner adds after a moment of hesitation.

You turn to him in surprise. Reiner's shoulders visibly slump as he notices your intent gaze on him. He's already regretting saying too much.

"It's just—" Reiner starts hastily with an explanation, "Everytime you do something like that I always blame myself. Was I too inattentive? Too slow to prevent your mistake? What kind of partner am I if I can't look after you?"

Flustered by his words, you furrow your brows in concern. You place a hand on his knee and start rubbing circles on it in a soothing motion.

"It's not like you are responsible for my fuckups. All the fault for my actions rests on my shoulders only."

You tilt your head with each word as if trying to hammer in the message. Reiner purses his lips as his attention is divided between you and driving. Rewarding him with a tooth-rotting smile, you carrry on.

"But if my antics upset you so much," instinctively Reiner replies with a curt nod which manages to squeeze a soft chuckle out of you, "I can't promise I'll stop fucking up but I can at least try stop fucking up"

For the first time during your conversation, you notice familiar warmth filling Reiner's gaze as he lays his hand atop your palm.

"I'll take it," he responds with softness to his voice that you've became so used to.

[variousqueerthings]

so I went off a bit about this online and offline so ok rocking up to these emotions 45 years later (or however long) than everyone else but hey you get to see someone having these emotions For The First Time In Real Time!

Hawkeye leaves the base without proper permission in a reckless bid to properly say goodbye to Trapper, because Trapper (for reasons I hc as relating to general bad mental health behaviour, similar to how when we see Hawkeye in opening s4 is even less respectful of Frank and generally “how he is perceived” than usual -- because they’re both grieving Henry’s death) Did! Not! Leave! Him! A! Note! Nor a Letter!

(he left him a kiss, which I would hazard was not intended for on the cheek, but Radar did his best but no note and Hawkeye can’t accept the lack of words, he needs those words whatever they are, however messy)

so Hawkeye drives hell or high water to catch Trapper in what to modern audiences is recognisable as the 11th hour most romantic of moments: The Airport Run, an unfailing plot-device that I have never seen fail

and then Hawkeye

FAILS the airport run

he doesn’t manage to say goodbye to Trapper, despite disobeying direct orders not to leave base, despite lying to the guards on the road, despite driving so fast he’s covered in dust (right after coming back from a large hangover and dousing himself fully-clothed in a shower)

he looks like shit, he doesn’t care who tries to stop him and

he FAILS THE AIRPORT RUN!!!**

not for any particular reason, there’s nothing that stops him. he just... was never going to be on time -- he fails it BY TEN MINUTES, and is walking around like a man in shock covered in dust from the road, repeating it to himself (ten minutes??? I missed him by ten minutes????)

* * *

and in the midst of all of these repetitions (are you sure he didn’t leave a note? nothing? ten minutes???), which, on top of Henry dying after he’d left Korea, just seems to add to the amount of senseless cruelties mounting on top of each other, he meets BJ Hunnicutt for the first time

literally as he is processing that he cannot say goodbye to Trapper, BJ appears in his pressed new uniform, and is introduced to him, and Hawkeye isn’t supposed to be there to meet him! He’s only there because of his -- and I keep stressing this -- failed airport run

if Hawkeye had been reachable on-leave instead of (from the sounds of things) being even more depressingly hedonistic, or if Trapper had left him a note instead of getting drunk for two days, he probably wouldn’t have gone there, and those actions feel like they were marinated in grief and exhaustion (+ I think of that episode of that guy who becomes paranoid after he’s discharged and so tries not to touch anything for fear of him getting injured -- I think of Henry who said goodbye and then died, probably only a week or two earlier, and then I think it’s easy to read Trapper as terrified of saying goodbye of speaking about feelings to Hawkeye, just in case saying those things mean a permanent goodbye...)

the fact that he missed him (By! Ten! Minutes!) and that it was the exact time that BJ was arriving --- that feels like fate

BJ Hunnicutt: new suit, bright and afraid and a new father and Hawkeye seizes upon the distraction, buys him a drink and decides to steal a general’s truck because their own disappeared and why the hell not! Let’s show the new guy the ropes!

and because of the timeline/confluence of events they get shot at and then stuck in a mortar shelling where BJs fancy uniform gets completely muddied and he throws up (but recovers and does his job well and Hawkeye comforts him by holding him and placing a hand on his forehead) and they help a girl who triggers a mine, and take her to a dilapidated hospital, and then they get even more drunk in a bar down the road from the unit and after that I guess they can’t become anything but inseparable, because they both just went through one of the worst days of each of their lives together

I don't think it was meant to be construed specifically as I construe it in the hindsight of 2022 (what with the Tropes in play that I don't even think existed then), but the episode really does feel like something special...

it’s as if the whole of the opening of season four is mired in reckless abandonment and incorrect decisions (Hawkeye being unreachable, Trapper leaving without a note) brought on by grief, that just quietly tears Hawkeye and Trapper apart -- he doesn’t fail because of anything, he just couldn’t have made it on-time --

only for the universe to gently offer Hawkeye the chance for a new story --

and the episode makes it very clear that the story won’t be daisies and daffodils, but he won’t be alone in it

he wasn’t on time to say goodbye to Trapper but he was just in time to welcome BJ to Korea

--

--

**Sidenote: seriously when did the airport run become one of the most well-known staples of romantic gestures? did it exist prior to this episode? I need to know if this whole sequence is done consciously invoking romantic text, or if by some mad happenstance it just retroactively not only invokes it but fucking subverts it before it even existed by having him fucking fail! I am tearing my hair out here (metaphorically, I am only tugging on it intermittently literally)