#i'm getting more and more numb about this shitshow

[maranull]

wondering what effects the fires will have on the tourist population cause as we all know, they are the most important people in the country, and we should always prioritize them and their comfort

oh, what's that? the fires have been eating houses all night? well, where they owned by rich greeks or rich tourists? then oh mein god, what a horror. they weren't? they were owned by greeks that live on a barely livable salaries? fuck them, who gives a shit

actually, now that I think really, really hard about it, the fires are good cause that's more land to sell to germans and other rich "people" that come to retire here in mansions

yes. yes, the fires are good actually come.

come live your myth in greece 🌊

[mashupofmylife]

I found out that one of my fire department instructors died recently. He had reached out to me when he was first diagnosed with cancer, which was horrifying. But we touched base several months later and it seemed like he was doing okay. He was back at work. I never followed up with him after that. I had been waiting to get fully checked off as a paramedic so I could reach out and tell him since he helped support me through parts of this shitshow and also let me ugly cry all over him because of the stress more than once at random fire department training buildings. I hate that I'm just kind of numb to it. I didn't know him well, but I want to be more sad, or regretful that I hadn't updated him about the progress I was making with my paramedic status, or something.

[okamirayne]

Hi Rayne!

I’m a longtime fan (I read BtB when you were releasing OtC).

I just wanted to pop by as I’m doing my regular reread of the series, which is a habit I reserve for my most favourite books, and say hi and check in on you.

How are you? And (no pressure at all) how are you getting on with your original works? I look forward to the day I can read more of your wonderful writing. I’ve seen your updates on burnout and I don’t think this will help much but I want you to know you have a loyal fan in me who would enjoy and applaud anything that you write. I hope you have a wonderful rest of the year and festive season if you celebrate!

Hello, my dear Anon!💜

I’m a longtime fan (I read BtB when you were releasing OtC).

Oh wow! That's just so awesome. Thank you so much for the love you've shown the series. I'm so ridiculously touched that you return to enjoy the BtB madness and that it ranks among the stories you revisit. So, so happy and insanely chuffed to hear this. 💜💜💜

[..] say hi and check in on you.

How are you? And (no pressure at all) how are you getting on with your original works?

...there is a picture somewhere (a meme) of what looks like a hedgehog losing it's shit...*searches for it*

This, presently, is me. I am this spiky little ball of hot ballistic head injury waiting to happen.

Slightly more realistic representation:

Not sure whether that answers your question, my luv. 😅

My idiocy aside, it's so very sweet of you to check in. Thank you 🙏🏼 💗💜 I'm sadly still muscling my way through the shitshow that is creative burnout and trying to put out a few personal dumpster fires. My recent return to the BtB series has been an attempt to reconnect myself to my creativity...

I've been eyeing HHU for a few weeks now...

I’m considering flexing the atrophied muscle of my writer's brain by working a little on this BtB instalment, just to see if it gets the vital life-giving creative blood flowing again...

My original works remain preserved in a freeze-frame -- not abandoned, just locked behind a bloody glass wall (hence 'holding the wall and screaming'). My poor OCs are a collective entity, sitting with their chins in hand, eyeing me from beneath heavy lids, eyebrows cocked, waiting for me to come alive again.

And messages like yours?

They're a life-giving shot. Hugely nourishing to that deeply sad and starved part of me.

Thank you. 💕💜💕

Seriously. My earlier humour aside, your message has found me grasping another life-line of hope, and another reminder why I will not give this up - Screaming Hedgehog will prevail.

I’ve seen your updates on burnout and I don’t think this will help much [...]

Oh my dear, sweet, humble, beautifully kind, Anon -- how profoundly wrong you are about that, my friend. 🥹 You could not be further from the truth.

[...] but I want you to know you have a loyal fan in me who would enjoy and applaud anything that you write.

*hears her own heart break -- in the best way* 💔💔❤️‍����❤️‍🩹

Anon...This message from you impacts me in ways that, as usual, I fail to be able to communicate in words. I might be able to choreograph it in some dynamic form of hug/glomp/undying-embrace, from which you might not be able to extricate yourself without a tasergun (or tea, I'll take the carrot over the stick). But please, PLEASE, know that by reaching out to leave me this message, what you've done does WAY more than help. It heals. It hits. Hard. Right in the heart. And I clearly need that.

🤔 I recognise that doesn't make much sense, but it helps to remember why it hurts so damned badly not to be writing, otherwise I numb out, and that's devastingly worse than feeling the bottomless sadness. Your message lets me access that, which then lets me access the deep joy, gratitude, and encouragement which comes from hearing that my particular strain of storytelling madness is still wanted, still desired, even after so much time has passed since I last wrote...

I never assume this.

Christ, it's a fear that haunts me at every turn, so to have some of that demonically painful terror exorcised by your beautiful message goes waaaaay WAAAAY beyond helpful. Please don't ever doubt the power your words have had or how deep they reach. I'm talking deep deep roots here. My appreciation is boundless.

Thank you. 💕💜💕

I wish you a generously blessed rest of the year, Anon, however you do your wintering, festive or not, I hope it's fun and fulfilling🌟. Thank you also for your warm wishes! Yes, I usually celebrate, though this year will be a more subdued time due to a personal loss; that said, I will embrace all good tidings for the season of giving -- starting with this beautiful message from you. 💕

[sociieties]

@peachmuses: it's about a week after shuu and mako got into it, and kazuya and tatsuya had all but dragged shuuzou to makotos place, and left him there. he doesn't want to talk to him! he doesn't want to talk to anyone! let him be alone. he's good at it ! but noooooo, neither one is any good at listening and when faced with makoto, shuuzou broke down. it's now around 3 am, and shuuzou still hasn't fallen asleep. " ako-chan? " softly, quiet into the dark of the room. it's a new moon / and no light comes through the window. shuuzous fists clench at his sides, under the covers. makoto makes a noise and shuuzou's eyes focus on the ceiling. " I'm scared. " admitted softly into the night. " there's--- everything. and I'm so overwhelmed. " a boyfriend who won't let him break up with him, a boyfriend who shuuzou knows is textbook abusive but feels familiar anyways and really, doesnt he deserve it school, club, job, trying to keep up with his friends, kazuya, his family. " everything, " he's half choked up and trying to get words out, " everything is changing and I hate it. I hate it I hate it i hate it. " breathing picks up, and tears begin to roll down his face silently. " i don't- I don't want you to leave me too. I- I'm sorry. I just want to go back to when things made sense and I felt in control of things and not this roller-coaster i can't seem to get off of no matter how much I try or scream. I'm so - " a hiccup, " im so tired of myself. "

makoto is alone -- was alone / used to it. also used to someone, usually shuuzou ( a person of which is isn't speaking to currently ), breaking into his house / sometimes kazuya / tatsuya uses the spare key -- his own mother comes home at weird and random hours -- all of which has lead to him growing numb to question the sound of anyone even coming in. ( briefly, makoto thinks every now and again, if someone else ever broke into his house, he'd be fucked. ) this time it's his friends, barging in at one of the worst hours / as makoto lies there in bed wishing everything could stop happening / that he could get off of this shitshow roller coaster and just go to sleep instead of rethinking and overthinking the argument with his best friend.

tatsuya had said that it wasn't his fault day after day, and each time, makoto said that he knew it, logically speaking, but that didn't change the fact that it didn't feel like that was the case. shuuzou, after all, had said that he didn't need him and something inside of makoto broke into four million pieces while he waited for a slamming door that never came. this, he thinks, is a testament to his relationship with shuuzou -- how one thing happens and other things, in turn, also happen, and shuuzou's walking out of his life and makoto can't do anything about it. he is so tired of shuuzou leaving him behind. ( tired of the way shuuzou used to leave his house to go back to his own hell. tired of the way they grew up together just for shuuzou to leave him to go to a different middle school ( that much was a deal, but it was shuuzou's idea, not makoto's. ) tired of the way shuuzou jumped ship and vanished to another country, another continent without so much as giving him a single warning. ) when shuuzou runs away, he is always silent about it / there, then gone, much like a ghost. when he went inside to grab his things just to run away from his own house, it's silent and unfinished like a drafted chapter.

shuuzou said that he didn't need makoto. makoto knows that he's always needed his friend more than his friend needed him. he cried that day and has been feeling himself decay since. ( it doesn't help that the others left, too. tatsuya to go back to akita / he's responsible / he can't just shirk his responsibilities at yosen. kazuya left, presumably to fine shuuzou / makoto hadn't seen him since. )

makoto, however, unlike his boyfriend, has been ignoring his duties, skipping school under the claim of being sick, letting seto take care of the team in his absence. after his fight with shuuzou / he just couldn't / completely shutting down after he'd finally gotten home that day.

and yet. and yet / and yet / and yet / his home is being broken into while makoto can't think -- the door to his bedroom is forced open and kazuya's throwing a wayward shuuzou into his room before pulling it closed and makoto only watches as shuuzou tries for the door only for it to not open. kazuya's doing, no doubt. shuuzou then tries for the window / makoto watches the way shuuzou moves away from it like there's something stopping him for leaving from there, too, before the other deflates in defeat and all makoto can do is stare. why are things like this?

finally, eventually, shuuzou speaks and makoto slowly turns his attention towards his childhood best friend as the other admits to being scared and makoto can feel himself frowning before he knows it. he hates everything about this. best friend cries and makoto is beside himself with guilt. ( his fault / his fault / his fault. ) " shuu... "

makoto shifts, turning over to first face shuuzou, then moves again as he crawls in top of him much like shuuzou tends to do when he's trying to wake him up because he wants attention. " i'm sorry, " it's honest and soft, frown deepening as he again tells himself to get his shit together. " i-- " he's stupid and he needs his best friend, actually. he's hurting enough as is and he doesn't need shuuzou staying away from him. there's enough going on behind the scenes. " i'm sorry, shuu, i went too far, i shouldn't have said what i said. " to go that far over weed was completely incomprehensible, but shuuzou called makoto a bitch and makoto responded with saying some of the worst things that came to mind, none of which were related to the original topic at hand. " i just-- "

he's just got a lot on his plate and he's not like shuuzou. makoto breaks internally before there's something cracking and falling apart inside of him, causing him to implode before he implodes. he's just as much a coil twisted too tightly as he is a shitshow and when the coil gives and snaps, makoto breaks from the inside out. he can't help it. he's shit at dealing with himself.

makoto's tired of himself, too.

" i'm tired, " he admits willingly. " i'm stressed out and tired and sad and angry and-- " his throat tightens and he blinks away the urge to cry because this really isn't about him, but it is, even if it's not and makoto has to explain his actions to be understood. " i'd been on my best behavior for months now and you questioning me indulging one tiny thing felt like you saying i couldn't. " and really, it was just weed. it could have been so much worse. " i didn't like it when you blamed tatsuya because i'm capable of making my own decisions and at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter if he influenced me or not. " tatsuya is his boyfriend, shuuzou, he's been trying to say it for a while now. " and-- "

breath hitches and he again feels like he's watching himself slowly shatter as tears begin rolling down his face as well. " i just sit here and watch things happen that i can't do anything about because everything's either out of my power or no one listens to me anymore and i hate it. i-- i keep feeling like you're pushing me out and picking tatsu and zuya over me, like i'm some sort of chore. " makoto's sat back and watched kazuya slowly become more and more important to shuuzou, more so than him and tatsuya / differently than him. he's had to come to terms with knowing that shuuzou replaced him in america with tatsuya / that tatsuya came to japan and shuuzou came back a different person with a different best friend and there's no space for him. makoto hates change. " like you care more about the both of them more than you do me as if i wasn't you best friend first. like that didn't mean something -- like it never did. "

shuuzou came to makoto. not the other way around.

he chokes back his tears, wiping them away with his wrist as he sniffles. he's so sick of crying, actually. " because you replaced me with tatsuya, and then kazuya, and now i don't know where i stand or why you keep clinging onto the past as if we're the same as we used to be. i'm not the same. you're not the same. i know that, and i hate it, but it is what it is, so i accepted it, but you keep acting like you want to put me into some box -- like you don't want me to grow. "

and it's suffocating and makoto hates it and he hates that he has to say any of this anyway.

" and mom was pregnant-- " makoto's largest stressor, truly. " she was almost three months, shuu. " he pauses, heaving in a large gulp of air. " or she would have been, but something happened, and she just told me like two weeks ago-- i knew she was and just when i came to terms with that, she lost it and i didn't -- don't -- know what to do or say or think and i've just been keeping it to myself because she didn't want you guys to know since she didn't want to worry you and it's just been slowly killing me and i took everything out on you and i'm sorry. "

[thistle-spores]

Some rambling thoughts on the Shadowlands

(contains discussion of Jaheira and Halsin's deaths)

*Please note that this is my first time really doing the Shadowlands and I'm going into it mostly blind (I do know some major plot stuff, but their locations and how those quests play out I'm not familiar with)

So Standev keeps failing at things and this is definitely because I'm unprepared for the fights, especially the swarming group fights with npcs to protect. That being said it does really add to the ambience of the Shadowlands, and I do think that playing as a Durge has made this even more interesting.

Standev has been very successful so far at overcoming the urges and striking a "balance" between the need to kill on the adventure and trying to only do it for good and productive purposes. But suddenly at the Last Light Inn when they try and do the same thing again, they fail. Isobel was felled running away from one of her attackers before Shadowheart could heal her. Jaheira panicked and cast an ice storm too close, taking out Shadowheart and injuring herself badly. Gale, Shadowheart and Standev died, only able to continue the adventure because Karlach ran around the back of the Inn to escape and got Withers to resurrect everyone. And so Jaheira is dead. Dammon is dead (though we did get Karlach's upgrade first, thank fuck). Everyone is dead.

Poking around Last Light Inn the group found Art Cullagh's corpse and figured out where to find Thaniel. Queue Halsin wanting to enter Shadowfell to find him and well...... he died too. So the Shadow Curse can't be lifted (as far as I'm aware).

These were an interesting series of events as Standev was technically doing everything "right" and "good," but they still failed and the world continued to get worse. They can control their urge, yet good and important people continue to die. Sometimes by their hand!

After the slaughter of Last Light Inn there is some Durge specific dialogue. I only picked 2 of the 4 options because some of them really didn't make sense for Standev (Wyll and Karlach's). I think it's interesting how the dialogue doesn't consider that the Durge just,,, failed to save the Inn. That being said it was very interesting that neither Shadowheart nor Gale lost approval for choosing the dialogue.

Also I don't know if this is part of the game or a glitch, but Standev in addition to Shadowheart was unaffected by the general Shadow Curse. Bhaal and Shar's influence feels very strong. Especially since both Shadowheart and Standev had bad reactions to the blessing of Selune.

Speaking of Shar. I think before the Shadowlands Standev was actually very curious about Shar? The endless night and numbing embrace that Shadowheart talks about is very tempting and comforting to Standev who alternates wildly between murderous urges and ecstasy, and psionic neutrality and deep emptiness/hunger. But then they get to the Shadowlands which seem to be taking away everything they've worked towards. They start questioning what Shadowheart says about the goddess, start doubting how Shar treats her (she has died twice). It's definitely leading up to Standev trying to turn Shadowheart away from Shar.

And on a final note on gods. Standev and crew all had Lathander's blessing (or whatever it's called) when going in to the Shadowlands and it definitely helped when saving the Harpers. So I think there's probably some incentive to go back and get Lathander's blood, since saving the Harpers was the only thing to go right so far, and especially since there's now no way to lift the Shadow Curse. Because Standev was definitely going to leave it and the creche alone (they did not recruit Lae'zel).

Anyways, ramble over I can't wait to see where this shitshow goes next.

(Also can we just pour one out for Karlach. She finally can touch people again only for Mizora to show up that night and then all the bullshit mentioned above rip).

[godihatethissideofme]

I was crying the other day because my mom called me and told me that the venue for my sister's engagement is booked and I didn't even know about it. She told me to call Dad because he is worried about the expenses and all relatives are coming. She told me to call Dad and talk to him once, it'll soothe him. If you don't know, your life will instantly turn into shit the day your dad needs your help because that is the day you realize that he's getting older.

I spend pretty much all day in my office with barely any life outside of it, gharwale bhi puchhte hai kabhi call kyu nahi uthata, messages kyu nahi padhta.

I want to change jobs, get something wfh so I can plan things more easily around my working hours, but I'm terrified of getting rejected. To a point where I have been talking about switching jobs for months and months but still haven't even applied anywhere.

I don't play games with friends anymore because I don't feel like I connect with them anymore. Or anyone for that matter.

There are many many things that I'm supposed to be doing, that I have committed to, but I don't have the energy to follow up on any of them.

Every weekend brings the dreadful question of what should I do? Should I call friends or family? Should I visit someone? Should I watch that movie I really wanted to? Should I watch that show I really wanted to? Should I prep for job interviews? Should I apply for job interviews? Should I sleep all day? Should I go on a trip somewhere? Should I plan to meet my girlfriend? Should I play games? Should I work on any hobbies? Should I get work done so that Monday is less stressful? Should I work out to be fitter? Should I stop thinking so much and just pick something? Should I work on personal projects? All this thought and I end up doing nothing. And that just makes it worse.

My parents are old, I've realised. Older than most of my friends' parents. For my sister's engagement, I need to go home to help. I don't know if I can get time away from work for all of this. I'm going home for Diwali, I'm taking a trip to Vietnam that honestly amidst all this I don't want to go on, I also need to go home for a long time in January. My current job feels like a shitshow that I'm insanely bored in. I'm bored in general. I have no interest in living this mind numbing life. I'm 25. Almost. I have no accomplishments, I'm not doing anything significant, I don't have much to lose. Interestingly I don't have much to gain either. I'm in a possibly dead end relationship and will break up in a few weeks. I don't even have a home right now. I'm not a good son or a good brother. I'm not a good friend or a good boyfriend. I don't want to live and I don't want to die. Time goes by too slow but at the same time too fucking fast. I think one day, I want to learn to cook good food, I want to read many books, I want to play all these games, I want to watch many shows and music, I want to listen to music and make music, I want to learn a 100 different things but I don't have the time or the energy.

That is the crux. I'm trying to do everything but my life keeps devolving every day. The harder I try to hold on, the faster it all slips away. The faster it slips away, the deeper the pain gets.

Please let death be kinder.

Please.

[hellsfirekeepsyouwarm]

"Don't Come to Me Pt. 2"

Hello everyone, I'm back, i had a real rough time in the last 2 months, so it took a while to write something worthy of posting. I had an idea for this Pt. 2, so it's Billy Russo time again. Enjoy

@intothesoul and @icarus-isflying i dared to tag you guys, cause you two had interest in part 2. let me know if you want to remove the tags. :)

Billy Russo x F!Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, swear words, allusions of SA

Summary: After not talking for days, Reader tries to piss Billy off, but when it turns out to be a mess, Billy shows up to save the day. ( i suck at summaries.)

Pt. 1 HERE Pt. 3 HERE

The past few days has been shit. Frank is unreachable, and you feared the worst. He always tended to find himself in the middle of a shitshow, and that just worsened with time. And now you don't even know what type of chaos he's in. While Frank is being absent, acting dead like everyone thinks how he is, Billy is being annoying, giving hints at a stalker tendency. You know he's watching you. Started with the phone calls, the ringtone of your phone ended up being the all time radio everywhere you went, and when the calling didn't work, the feeling started. The feeling of eyes on you. Well, you can say this is the disadvantage of being best friends with a CEO of a security company.

He always said his job requires safety precautions, like checking in on you from time to time. And it was fine by you, breathed life into the butterflies in your tummy. Butterflies that were killed by him every damn time he messed with your feelings.

At first you wanted to meet Frank again, but soon you realized you couldn't if Billy has eyes on you. Made you wonder if he knows about Frank too. Maybe he fears what's going to happen next. But why would he? Frank's New York rampage didn't affected you, nor him. Yes, he went around like a lunatic, having a killing spree like no other, but you weren't involved. Frank never reached out to you, and as far as you know, not to him either. Maybe he had a watchful eye on you back then too, and you just wasn't so high alert. Maybe he did made sure of you safety. Butterflies. Damn butterflies again. They are having a frat party in your stomach, making the alcohol in your system waving in numbness. You feel your dinner turn in your stomach, you still reach for your glass in hunger of more.

It was a childish temper tantrum really. You thought if you go out, sit at a bar, drink a couple, scoop up a handsome guy to take home will make you feel better. You knew he will know what are you doing, that's what sounded so compelling about this getting drunk and have a one night stand thing. Because his guard dog will report everything back to him, hopefully, and he will know in real time that you have shoved your tongue down of some guy's throat you just met.

But as you found a comfortable seat near the bar, and got a couple of drinks, the mood slipped, and you just wanted to get drunk and force your mind to shut up for the night. Glancing over the phone every other minutes, hoping it shows something interesting. Preferably news about Frank, or Curtis's name popping up. But no other than some work related stuff, couple friends asking if you are free, and your landlord asking if you'll pay in time. Like you ever made them think you won't. You groan as you smash your phone face down, so it won't be so tempting to look at it in a minute again.

Some brave candidates approached you, but you waved them off, not even glancing up from your glass. That did it mostly, but as the night progressed, and everybody had more liquor than they should, guys tried harder, and one dude clearly saw your decline as a challenge. And he wouldn't back down.

The whiskey pushed your body in a welcomed tingling dullness, but with that your mind is fuzzier, the control slipping out of your grasp making it harder try to navigate between sober and intoxicated thoughts and actions. In your mind a simple 'leave me alone' and a slight push is just the right amount of no, but to him, it's just playing hard to get.

So that's how the last 30 minutes passed, him sitting next to you, talking your ears off with seductive voice that you might have found appealing on another night. You drink quietly your whiskey, you lost count on how many you drank so far, and you couldn't care less.

"What do you say darling? Hm?" You hear, the smooth words reaching your ears suddenly.

"To what?" You humm, not really caring about what he's saying. He reaches for your thigh, his fingers pressing down on it, clearing your mind a bit.

"We get out of here, have some fun. I'm sure whoever you were waiting for won't show up." His hand slides up, towards your inner thigh, you attempt to brush him off but it's a weak try , he has a firmer grip on you than you thought.

It's just now you feel how tired you are. Not just tired, weak and close to helpless. He can clearly see that, he grabs the opportunity by the throat. The man slides his arm around your waist carefully lifting you from your seat, your feet meeting with the ground. You breath out a no, but it's nothing compared to the music and talking around you.

He gives you the chills as he smiles down at you, trying to hold up your body to look like you go willingly. You feel the panic creep up on you, seeing only flashes of your surroundings, one second you are just next to the bar, next your are in front of the entrance, cold breeze hitting your face as a few people comes in and out.

You feel your knees give out, his hands digging into your sides to keep you in place. When the cold hits you again, you collapse into a firms chest, almost falling head first down. The ground never comes, hands changes on your body, like you are passed on to another. You feel warmness under you cheeks, a familiar scent hitting your nose.

"This is the right time to fuck off." You snap your head up when you realize that you know the owner of the voice.

"Billy?" You whisper, pushing your face further, nuzzling into his coat. Everything familiar about him hitting you at once, how he holds you close, the scent of him lingering on his clothes, his breathing heavy with fury. You are surprised how many times you found yourself in a position like this. In his embrace, looking for comfort and protection when you really needed it.

"Leave" He practically growls, his whole chest vibrating under your ear. You cling onto his clothes, desperately needing to leave the hot aired space behind you. As on cue, the door opens again with the fresh air flying in your lungs, and soon after you are out in the open.

You hear him talking. No, not talking. giving out orders. You know this voice, it's work voice, boss voice. He makes your legs work, taking slow steps god knows where because you can't see the things around properly.

You hear others talk to him, and Billy replying, even a thank you slipped out of his mouth you think. Not very Billy like.

He places a hand on your head before gently nudging you to bow lower. "C'mon darling, get in the car." He senses you discomfort as you don't have an idea what's he trying to do. "Careful." You sit down with a big huff, your body relaxing into the leather seat. It's warm in the car, but not suffocating like in the pub.

The door is gently shut on your side, closing out any sounds of the busy New York streets. Finally you open your eyes, just to see Billy getting in on the drivers side, looking sharp and perfect. Calm and collected, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down giving away some disruption in him.

"Drink" He hands you a water bottle, you obey as you chug down almost all of it at one go. "Easy. Slow." He says quietly, taking it out of your fingers before you could send down all of it. His hair slicked back as always, a couple strand sticking out, he's in his usual work clothes, most likely came from the office.

He starts the engine, your eyes watching his every move. How he grabs the steering wheel, hard but elegant. How his eyes remains on the road and street lights, while his attention is on your body the whole time.

"You had eyes on me?" You know the answer, but you would like to hear it from his mouth.

"And thank fucking god i did." He snaps, not raising his voice, but giving it an edge. "Do you have any idea what could have happened if.."

"Yeah i fucking do Billy. I'm a woman. Remember? I know." You charge back at him, but he's right, you were careless, and his overprotective ways gave you an exit.

His gaze turns to you, fire burning in his dark eyes, the street light reflecting back in various colors. Butterflies. Fucking butterflies waking up again, mixing with the alcohol, giving you a dangerous courage you wouldn't have when being sober.

"Don't look at me like that." You turn away, your bravery is enough to talk, but not enough to watch his reaction.

"Like what?" He asks without a hesitation.

"Will you take me home?" That's all you can croak out, teary eyes glued on the sidewalk speeding image.

"Like what Y/N? Finish what you have started. Don't be fucking shy now." The car speeds up, his deep voice dropping more octaves.

"Stop playing with me Billy. You know how." His knuckles go white on the wheel as you look back at him, you can see he wants to push you further, to say what he wanna hear. But he stops, maybe because of your drunken state or the fact that you almost ended up in a black alley with a stranger.

The road is silent from that point, he never glances at you. You know it, because you can't take your eyes of off him, and it must be maddening to him, feeling your gaze on his face, but he does not show it. He never does.

You recognize the familiar street, houses and buildings you walk past by everyday, and soon your apartment window is in sight. He parks close, stopping the engine and undoing his seat-belt. That makes you sigh, satisfied. He steps out into the cold night, shutting the door a little harder than your ears would like. You do the same, releasing yourself from the hold of the belt, reaching for the handle, but he's quicker. He gently grabs your arm to help you out, holding you close by one hand, shutting the door with the other. You hear a beep behind you while he brings you towards your building.

He's patient as you stumble on the even the sidewalk, on the smooth tile of the hallway of your building, not a word or groan from him holding you to his side. You are being clumsy, but you don't mind it now, knowing it means to have him this close.

It's weird, because you felt his body pressed against you many times. Crowded clubs and pubs where you wiggled closer to not get lost in the sea of people, hanging on him on the back of a bike your whole body enveloping him in fear of simply flying off the kill machine he likes so much, or jumping on him when he arrived home from a long tour of duty. But this is always different, times like this, when you are not working as best friends but lovers. Because you can say it's not like that, it would be a lie. The touches constantly turned from affectionate to intimate, bringing more every time, adding fuel to the fire. At this point, its a fucking bonfire.

You hear his heart beating out of his chest, just as yours every time he's this close. The way to your front door is a blurry mess, the only consistent is his heartbeat and breathing.

"Where is your key?" He whispers close to your ear, making you jump a little. The vibration on your skin flushing your cheeks red. You fumble in your pockets, finding it in the inner hidden pocket on your jacket. You hand it to him without a thought, the action is so natural you don't think about it twice.

The door opens, the scent of your home filling your nose, and you sigh, already feeling the comfort of your space. That's when he lets you go, a little, seeing your senses clear up from the familiar surroundings. "Where to?" He asks a little louder.

"Bed." You say, now you pulling him with your newfound sobriety, or what you think is sobriety. He follows you, like he has any choice.

You collapse on your bed, almost bringing down him with you. "C'mon, get rid of those clothes."

"Well, i never thought i'll ever hear that from your mouth." Your voice is bittersweet, you arms trying to reach his clothes to pull down to bed.

"Stop it." He turns you over, going for your boots. Slowly loosening the laces, eyeing you up if you are alright.

Your eyes rolls back in your head, his demeanor annoying you to your limits. How can he be soft and rough at the same time? Scolding you then looking at you with pleading eyes in case he hurt you with his words.

"There was a time i wished to be one of those girls you brought home from the clubs. You know, when Frank had his little girl, and he stopped coming around for a while, remember? Oh those days were the real life." You rumble as he strips you from your outdoor clothing.

"And i remember you having heart eyes whenever Frank appeared in you vision." He states coldly as he searches for your pj's in the bed. At first you thought you just heard him wrong. "That's what i remember."

"And here i am, thinking it was the bombshells of chicks you got laid." You chuckle, no other answer coming to your mind. Better laugh it off, so he might just drop the Frank subject. "Did you know that Frank warned me about you?" You blurt out. If you would have the strength, you would definitely facepalms yourself.

"He did?" He hands you the pj's, turning around so you can slid out of your underwear and put on the bedtime t-shirt and shorts. His shoulders are stiff, nerves clutching his muscles tightly.

"Uhum." Your voice muffled by the material you pull over your head. "You can turn around."

"Maybe he just wanted you all to himself." He avoids your eyes, concentrating on putting you bed properly.

"Do you hear yourself Billy?" He sits on the edge of the bed after a couple of failed attempt to tuck you in, because you keep sitting up, trying to catch his eyes. "He was a happily married man with a kid on his arm. That's what he wanted."

"But you still wanted him." He croaks, brows furrowed, he looks at you with those puppy eyes, making him look lost.

"Yeah, i did. I guess i like men who are unavailable. I wanted the happily married father, then i wanted his best friend who couldn't stay with one girl for more than a day. It's fucked up, i know." This is when he looks you in the eyes, jaw clenching. He buries his face into his hands, resting them on his knees.

"When i realized i can't have you like i wanted it, i tried as a friend. And you made it so fucking hard, Billy. Gosh, you still do."

"Fucking hell, Y/N" he breaths into his palms rubbing his face, swiping his hair back in it's place.

"What? You wanted me to talk right? I'm talking."

"You are drunk."

"Yeah, that's why i have the courage to say it." You laugh, thinking it's gonna be the worst morning you'll have in a couple of hours, You might talking out Billy of a years long friendship by admitting you never even considered him as just a friend. "I don't care anymore Billy. Just don't make it worse, don't make me believe that i have a chance."

He groans in frustration, it's him now who can't deal with the subject.

"We'll talk about this when you are sober, okay? I can't..." He articulates with his hands, emotions running high in his body. "I can't do this like this."

"I'm completely fine, Billy. I just had a couple of drinks." You want this conversation more than anything, and you don't know why he holds back right now. Your body screams sleep, but your mind needs to be eased, that only he can give.

"No. You had more than a couple." He looks back at you, now your sitting position is tangled, your body melting into the soft matress, you blink slower, lazier. "Get some sleep darling" He's not stern anymore, he switched again, a way of manipulation, giving you the caring voice, puppy eyes searching for yours.

"I can't figure you out, Russo." You say, tiredness winning you over.

"Funny, you are the one sayin' that." Your back hits the bed, head drowning in the big pillow, he covers you with the comforter, tucking you in like it's something he does every night. When he's done, and made sure you are covered nice and warm, he stands up from your bed. Your fingers grabs on his wrist as soon as his weight is lifted, and the bed feels lighter than you'd like.

"Where are you going?" You ask, trying to make out his face through your teary and exhausted eyes. The alcohol is dawning on your body and mind, the long week behind you finally catching up on you.

"It's okay, i'll grab some water for you. I'll be back in a minute." You nod, your hand falling back to the bed, you have no more power to move any muscle anymore.

Billy makes his soundless way towards your kitchen, leaving your bedroom door open in a tiny crack. He knows your apartment blindly, everything around is etched into his brain, visuals, scents, the materials of your things.

He grabs a water bottle from your fridge, fearing you might knock over a glass when you wake up later. You probably would, he thinks. He's just as tired as your are, burying himself in work, spending nights and days in the office and on the field, the little free time he had was spent laying in bed, staring at the wall thinking.

He goes for the cabinet where you keep medication, searching for something for your very probable headache. The only sound is him brushing little boxes out of the way to find the one, and the soft bzz reaches his ears like a bomb going off next to him. His head perks up, concentrating to find the source of the faint noise.

He takes careful steps from the kitchen, like a huntsman in search for the prey. He quickly finds the object of his search in your jacket, forgotten on the sofa. Your phone vibrating, signaling a phone call from an unknown number.

He stands there for a second, don't do it is repeating in his head. But he slides his thumb over the screen, and puts the phone to his ear nevertheless. He's not even breathing, anticipation and a bitter taste on his tongue. He's violating your space, but fuck, an unknown number in the middle of a night?

"Hey." The voice is gruff but soft on the other side, a tone he rarely heard, but a voice he knows like yours. He listened to it a million times. Billy is tongue-tied at first, not sure what to say or do. "Y/N? Sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. Billy's blood boils with venom. "She's asleep." Is all he says, his voice has a certain edge. Now it's Frank's time to be speechless on the other side.

[shittybabypostsfordays]

what if i just made another blog. or like. made a writing blog and only reblogged very sterile things on main. like just tag the show and warnings. no one ever knowing my internal thoughts. i can talk here.

[prcserpina]

.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 18

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: We stan ✨women in science✨. Bruce uwu. Twitter social media AU nobody asked for. Stephen and Tony are dicks and I'm not talking about their anatomy. Setting up mood for Bruce smut, ngl. PTSD makes things spicy. I'm depressed so please be kind ✌🏻💀🙃

"I really do wonder how can you two fit those egos of yours in your pants," I kept my tone forcefully casual, cheerful even. "Why don't you just fuck already?"

I was met with stunned silence. Suddenly, the room seemed far too large and the people in much too quiet, staring at me with various expressions of horror obvious in their faces. As the strange friendship began developing between me and the team, my "outbursts" - how Steve liked to call them - lessened considerably. I had no need to provoke them into giving me attention, just striking up a casual chat was enough. The Avengers were great conversationalists, to my surprise.

Tony and Stephen, when paired, were the exception. I could count on one hand the amount of times they successfully came to a conclusion without fighting like cats and dogs. It was like each man had made it a personal mission to verbally top the other, more often than not resulting in a thirty-minute shitshow ending with one storming off in a dramatic flourish. It was mind-boggling how two supremely intelligent men could not find a way to communicate efficiently without infuriating the rest of the team.

Plus me. One way or another, I was almost always around. In the beginning, it was hilarious to see the free circus but it got old really quickly when they couldn't decide on dinner or a movie, leaving the rest of us starving and bored. Or the great Cloak debate - that one lasted days and the fussy thing was so upset, it point blank refused to part from Peter for a substantial amount of time. It's pretty fucking creepy that a semi-sentient, ancient piece of outerwear watches you when you sleep - just sayin'. I personally interjected with my own snark and sass whenever Tony and Stephen got too heated, successfully drawing the attention to myself. The fight broke up and I had amazing sex with Tony later, it was a win-win scenario.

Yet, Tony and Stephen didn't stop. To me, their way of "talking" (and I use that term loosely) looked a lot like unresolved sexual tension. Stephen frequently used his greater height to tower over Tony in a childish attempt to establish dominance; the engineer was no rookie and responded with extravagant peacocking such as "subtly" tapping the bracelet that hosted his nanotech suit or parading at dinner in a $30,000 custom made designer outfit. Because Tony could.

I was pleasantly surprised when Natasha started laughing at my remark. Full-blown, belly laugh. Those were rare, coming from the Widow, her usual mirth was quiet, sophisticated, just like her. Deadly (adorable). Bucky followed suit, snorting together with Clint and Loki.

Steve looked none too pleased with me. But then again, was he ever? "Doll, don't be rude."

"Brat," Bruce said at the same time, palming his face.

"People always call me a brat. And guess what, Steve?" I popped my hip, twirling a cotton candy pink coloured Dum-Dum between my fingers. "What can you do about it? Nothing," I shrugged, leaning my head against Bruce's shoulder affectionately.

Steve just shook his head in disappointment. "Can we get back on topic? Please?"

"Captain, I think that Stark..." Strange began talking with Tony dramatically groaning in the background and I instantly tuned out the useless babble. Steve should've been smarter and revoked speaking rights from Tony and Stephen. Or asked Loki to magically render them both mute for ten minutes.

"You're not wrong," Bruce quietly whispered next to my ear. "Ten bucks says Wanda meddles and those two finally work out their frustrations," The scientist hid a grin against my head. I felt the amused, giddy energy radiating off him like a plasma beam.

"I don't even have to bet," I rolled my eyes. "If she doesn't do it, I will."

Both Tony and Stephen were throwing me equally infuriated glances. One promised me a good, hard fucking and the other saw me a short, poisonous lecture on appropriate behaviour in the nearest future - you can guess which is which. If I had it my way, I'd skip the lecture and go straight to a hot, filthy threesome with two men twice my age. I wasn't blind, Strange was hot as hell and could be decent and even nice once in a blue moon.

He could, but he wouldn't be. I wanted that raw, unadulterated lust, tension so concentrated it walked the razor's edge between violent craving and repulsion. Ever since the incident with Clint, I had this ugly mess inside of me, like a live wire about to snap. My brain was constantly racing, darting between how utterly useless I am in a group of supers and embracing my normal-ness, amplifying it by hosting game nights and spending time trying to convince people to start a dungeons and dragons campaign. Or something.

My sleep was like Swiss cheese, riddled with holes where I stayed awake for one or two hours at a time in the middle of the night after waking up sweaty, with my heart hammering out of my chest. Sometimes I dreamt of Clint's lifeless, sickly white body, sometimes the whole room flooded with blood and I couldn't stop it no matter what, there was so much of it, I drowned in it, I startled up with the taste of it in my mouth. Rarely, the worst of it came - the one where Clint was alive as millions of millions of little fluorescent, poisonous jellyfish burst out of him and he screamed and screamed and screamed...

I had PTSD. Yay, me. As if my uselessness wasn't enough of a burden, my brain decided for me that it wasn't good enough that I saved Clint and now it was punishing me for being close to a group of people who routinely saved the WORLD.

I contemplated my usual habits - going to a party, getting trashed and dancing until my legs were numb. I just wanted to shut my brain off for a moment, give it a hard reset so-to-say, but with Tony on my back like a jet-pack, I didn't doubt he'd show up to the place and drag me out of there even if I was kicking and screaming. And he was a Stark, a billionaire, so visiting my dad in Cali wouldn't be possible on my own. Tony would gas up the jet and the rest of the team would find and excuse to tag along, too. As much as I loved being the baby menace who could get away with anything, I hated the way they all herded me, like I was an actual child. I couldn't get away from myself, not even for a moment.

I had the backup-backup plan and I was going to have to execute it. Desperate times, desperate measures. "I don't doubt y'all enjoy listening to Tony and Steph flirt," The nickname escaped unmoderated from my lips before I could catch myself. "But what are we doing for Halloween? I need to know if I gotta get a costume," Bruce chuckled next to me and wrapped an arm around me, happy for the distraction. Unlike me, the scientist was obligated to listen and participate in the avengers-themed discussion. Which was difficult because the engineer and the sorcerer constantly bickered, inadvertently taking over the talk.

"Halloween?" Steve groaned.

"We should do something," Bucky side-eyed his boyfriend. "For the children." Something told me he wasn't thinking of the children, at all. The man was positively leering, probably thinking about what kind of a tight suit he could convince Steve to squeeze into.

"A party!" Tony immediately exclaimed, interrupting Stephen mid-setence.

"Tony, no," Steve stated firmly.

"Tony, YES!" Clint perked up. "A snack bar. A bar-bar."

"I will not be helping you all if you get alcohol poisoning," Stephen crossed his arms.

"So it's a party," I stated firmly, throwing a contemplating look at Wanda and Pietro. The twins looked unsure but excited. I knew I could count on fellow young people to support my decision to have fun, dance a little, drink a little. Let loose. To nail my point, I turned to Bruce with a mischievous smirk. "Fifty bucks says Stephen is too stuck up to show up in costume."

"Beg pardon?!" The sorcerer exclaimed. His eyebrows threatened to meet his hairline.

"I think you give him too little credit, Princess," Bruce winked at me and we solemnly shook hands. It was great having a fellow partner in mischief. Loki's approving smirk just sealed the deal for me.

"It's not my fault you sometimes act like you have a stick up your butt," I gave in the way of explanation, shrugging my shoulders innocently in Stephen's direction. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

"I don't dare to imagine what's been up yours," The sorcerer retorted dryly, in an uncharacteristically childish fashion, arms still crossed. It almost looked like he was pouting.

"Tony," I simply said, leering salaciously at the man.

"Ooh, kinky," Clint reached over and we promptly high-fived each other in the wake of multiple embarrassed groans emanating around the room. "Strange, you're a boring old man, get over it."

"And you regularly end up in dumpsters, Barton," Strange retorted quickly. "Not my idea of fun."

"You wouldn't know fun if it hit you in the face!" Tony grinned triumphantly, confident in his superiority over Strange. Look at that, the team was doing the work for me and I didn't even have to try.

"I'll show you fun," Stephen retorted darkly. It was obvious the man was planning something.

"Ok, boomer," I raised my eyebrows in muted satisfaction before turning around and grabbing Bruce to drag along with me. "I'm confiscating your best scientist to amuse myself. I am bored. We will go and do actual science whilst y'all argue. Bye."

My patience had run out. We were examining the parasites we found in the murder-anthropods-from-space, codename MAFS, courtesy of yours truly, and their amazing properties to penetrate cell membranes and feed on metals in organic life forms. Without Bruce's help I understood maybe half of it but he had the patience of a saint and dutifully and understandably explained to me the finer points of studying aliens. Signing half a dozen NDAs was never more worth it.

Steve's sigh consisted of 99% suffering and 2% disappointment. Natasha face-palmed silently in the corner, clutching a mug of coffee, a poster child for existential dread.

"Wait for me," Tony whined, going for the door and promptly being stopped by Steve pointing out the team needing his input on one mission or another. The engineer sighed. "Baby girl, don't let the green mean to start any experiments without me." Tony instructed, pointing an accusatory finger in our direction.

I clutched at Bruce dramatically, feigning hurt feelings and was rewarded with a swift motion of his arms. I shrieked delightfully at being thrown over the scientist's shoulder as he hastened his pace towards the elevator, hightailing it out of there. "I'd never snitch on science daddy," I wiggled my eyebrows in Tony's direction, sticking a hand down the back pocket of Bruce's pants, dangling over his shoulder like a happy sack of potatoes.

The lab smelled strongly of alcohol and bitter chemicals, the solution that Bruce developed to ensure the optimal state of the alien pathogens. The man's genius never ceased to amaze me: Bruce came up with the needed formula in the span of a few hours while running low on sleep, post a Hulk-out session.

We put on our protective gear - "science onesies" I called them - along with a respirator and goggles and set to the segregated part of the lab where the specimens were kept under a blue light. The glass wall between Bruce's and Tony's lab was dimmed; I reflected in it, looking positively futuristic in my double-stacked white platformed boots and white hazmat suit.

"Wait," I motioned to Bruce to come over.

"Oh, right, our music," He was already half-way to being in total Science Mode. "Friday, please put on the "Get Schwifty" playlist, 60% volume."

The playlist that me and Bruce came up with for our lab sessions. The man was such an adorable dork. Thirty percent my music, thirty percent of his indie rock shit and forty percent 00's bops. In other words, utter perfection.

I finally managed to fish out my phone from my pants. "No, let's take a selfie," I struck an impressive pose and pointed the camera as Avril Lavigne sung the first verse to Sk8r Boi.

Bruce laughed but abided by the request, giving me bunny ears in the photo, tapping the fingers of his other hand on my waist to the rhythm of the song.

"He was a skater boy, she said see ya later boy!" I sang along, switching my Instagram to stories and posting the short clip of us just vibing with the caption #sciencetime, Bruce laughing openly behind his respirator. I looked cute and silly in my outfit.

"Send the video to me, I'll post it on my Twitter," Bruce requested. I indulged him then put my phone away, ready to conquer the world of microbiology. Or die trying. Science was calling...

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[sword--heart--online]

Oh my fuck I'm so done. One month, one month ago I was so grateful and optimistic about this new job, but every day it's been one shitshow after another and no one seems to care that I can't get any work done. I wouldn't care either except that I'm new, and the noob is always the scapegoat, so whose fault is it going to be that customers don't get their prints? Not the machines, not the techs, mine. Still a good thing I haven't replaced my 25 year old car that's falling apart because I probably won't get to this year (or even next year) either!!

Meanwhile, my mother has serious problems of her own but doesn't want to take any steps to fix them, she just wants someone to tell her "that's rough buddy." She quit therapy and wonders why she's still having mental breakdowns. idk, maybe because you won't help yourself like the therapist (and I) suggested? Then she bitches at me when I offer my input. "Could you not argue with me?" Fine then, next time I'll just nod and not pay so much attention if you don't want my help. I want to tear my hair out.

Meanwhile again, the cat I've fought so hard to keep and won -- thanks to this new job sealing the deal -- keeps staying out all night, worrying me to death. I suppose one day he just won't come back, and that's more money I've wasted on cats I can't keep. Story of my goddamn life.

I hate my life, I thought things were looking up but it's just a new version of the same old shit. The only difference is now I'm paid to hate it, and I get out of my shitty house all day, so whatever.

I'm afraid to get on the scale because just as soon as I reached 20 lbs lost last month, I started this job, and it's been so stressful I've hit the sweets hard. I don't want to undo 15 months of hard work. Even though it doesn't matter that much since I give up trying to land a mate. Every fucking day I'm glad I don't have to deal with a useless, lying, cheating partner, not when I've got two severely mentally ill family members and a son (cat) who does whatever the fuck he wants.

And I've got no friends to tell this garbage to, so onto the secret tumblr it goes lmao. I give up on twitter because my one follower doesn't like my posts anymore. I give up on instagram bc my one friend there said she was deactivating and wouldn't DM me there anymore, but she's still quite active with posting her bonkers religious ramblings via photographs. Plus I think she's a Covid denier and anti-vaxxer so uh... yeah, no big loss. And I give up on my "public" tumblr, which has like 3 followers who don't care about me, just the handful of entertaining fandom posts I've made. For fuck's sake, what happened to people wanting to be friends? Does everyone on social media expect everyone else to be content creation machines? Now I know how comedians feel.

This day started out shitty ever since I had a dream I was having sex with my last crush (from 2018, jfc). I woke up thinking nope, my newly-declared ace ass does not want this, and went back to sleep to dream of something a little more pure from my childhood. But I'm still mad about it. I think my sexuality facet is feeling left out since I never include her in picrews (to be fair, she's never around to tell me what she wants out of them), so this is her revenge. Or she's picking fights with her now-ace sister because she gets attention via drama. Presidential alert: the girls are fighting.

God okay. I'm going to read my ""hateful"" gossip forum now (which I was taking a break from bc it got boring, but hopefully something funny happened the past few days) and wait for the sleepy time drugs to kick in. Or maybe I need another dose. Going to work numbed from perfectly legal otc drugs sounds like a plan.