#it’s just constant negativity either putting down that persons edit or just stupid comments

[peachviz]

You know what, Star Trek vs Star Wars debate over bc at least when I make a Star Trek edit I don’t get super rude and misogynistic comments or see really rude and super gross comments on other people’s Star Trek edits (except for the super super rare occasion)

Star Wars on the other hand…

[smediumsmeatbae]

Try Me (Requested)

PAIRING: Chris Evans x Reader SUMMARY: You have a rule about not dating coworkers. Chris aims to change your mind.  WORDS: ~1895 WARNINGS: Brief smut, mentions of a shitty relationship/relationship going sour, drinking, reader doing stupid shit, swearing  A/N: This was requested by a person that shall remain anonymous at their request. This was a fun one to do and I hope they enjoy it!  “Hi! Can you do one where reader worked on mcu too and Chris wanted her for a very long time but she was not having it and then a party happens and finally gets her.” I hadn’t done a POV from Chris yet so the format was a little weird to get used to at first but I wanted to challenge myself a bit.  This was loosely edited so I apologize for any mistakes.  You do not have my permission to post this outside of Tumblr.  Likes are amazing. Comments and reblogs are even better.  Tags will be in a reblog since Tumblr’s being really weird about it. 

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Chris couldn't believe that you were there, in his arms. Your soft lips against his own. He felt like his chest was going to explode. He thought how lucky he was to be there, how happenstance and chance led you two together. 

***

He met you on the set of the first Avengers movie. You had been cast as the new assistant to Tony Stark and quickly became a fan favorite. While Chris and you didn't have a ton of scenes together, it was enough for him to feel the chemistry between the two of you. You were vibrant and funny, always making jokes with everyone on set, making the time in between shooting go by. Beautiful and soft, he found himself longing to place his mouth on your shoulders and neck, feel the swell of your breasts. Chris wanted to put his hand on the small of your back, to hold you close to him, to smell your subtle perfume mixed with your citrus shampoo. He had a crush. He hadn’t had one of those in a long time. 

He found himself looking forward to getting onto set when you two worked together, even through six in the morning call times. Chris would bring you coffee and when you went to thank him, he flashed that boyish grin at you. "I was goin’ anyway." When you were out of earshot, Mackie and Seb teased him that you were the only one that he brought coffee for. They would tell him to ask you out already, they knew he wanted to. If they only knew that he had tried a few times already. 

The first time Chris had asked you, it had been after a long day on set and he was tired but he had finally worked up the nerve. He knocked on your trailer with a nervousness and waited for you to open the door. Once you did, you looked like you had been taking a nap- your hair was messy, eyes half opened. You were wearing a large baggy t-shirt that hit your knees. You still looked adorable. When he asked you out, you turned him down as gently as you could. Your beautiful bright eyes held a small sadness in them. “I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t date co-workers.” 

He was disappointed and, he had to admit, a little crushed by the confession. He had to respect your decision, though. He told you before he asked that it would not negatively affect your relationship and he meant it. You had become one of his best friends on set. He loved talking to you, sharing inside jokes with you, loved getting tacos with you late at night after a long work day. He didn’t want to lose that.

The second time Chris asked you out, it happened under the influence of a few beers after work. You two had gone out with Seb, Scarlette, Mackie, and Renner to a dive bar on the outskirts of New York City where you all wouldn’t be bothered. You had gone outside to get some fresh air and Chris had followed you, needing the same thing. Back leaning against the wall, you looked up at Chris and smiled, whiskey flowing in your blood. He leaned his shoulder on the wall close to you and looked down at you, skin glowing from the lamp light, looking every bit like an angel. And he just… said it. “Go out with me.” He murmured in your ear. You didn’t answer, but pulled him by his t-shirt towards you and kissed him. It was sloppy and sweet, the kind of kiss that happens when two people have had a little too much. Fire igniting in his belly, he stood his body over yours, hands at your hips and kissed you good, nipping your bottom lip. Wolf whistles and shrieks of laughter broke the kiss where he spotted Mackie and Scarlett grinning at the both of you. 

The day after, he had received a text from you, apologizing. The kiss was a mistake and you asked him to forgive you. And he did, but after having that kiss, after having you pulled so close to him, he couldn’t just give up on you. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Chris knew that you felt something for him, that kiss didn’t mean nothing. 

The last time he asked you out, it was more of a question. It was after the wrap party for Infinity War. You were dancing and laughing, having a good time with Scarlett, Elizabeth, and Danai. Chris came up from behind and talked into your ear so that you could hear him over the music. He wanted you to follow him outside. 

“I’m so glad shooting is over!” You laughed as you went outside. There was a nice breeze out and it played with the edges of your dress as you twirled around, seeming to dance to the music in your head. Chris smiled at you, loving you so care free. “Do you like me?” Chris asked, his blue eyes boring into you.  “You know I do, Chris. You’re, like, my best friend.” You giggled at him. “People have been calling you my husband on set.”  “But, do you feel anything else for me?” 

You stopped twirling, looking at Chris, eyes wide. He had never outright asked you before how you felt about him. He was hoping that he could catch you into revealing something. 

“I…”  You trailed.  “I know you said the kiss was a mistake, but I can’t help but keep thinking that you felt something.” Chris walked towards you and took your hand. “So, I have to ask. Do you?” 

You sighed, dipping your head down but you didn’t try to pull away or move your hands. Chris thought maybe he had made it through. He waited for you to speak. 

“I do. I do like you, Chris.” You admitted. “But I still can’t compromise my standards that I’ve set for myself and go out with you.”  “Why not?” Chris let out an almost exasperated breath.  “A few years ago, I went out with one of my coworkers. It was one of my first sets where I had gotten a role that wasn’t background. I was still so new to the industry and so naive… Anyway. We went out for a couple of months, almost got serious. And then we broke up. It wasn’t amicable and got pretty nasty. He made set a living hell for me. It got so bad that I almost quit acting all together.” You paused, shaking your head. “It was then that I decided that I would never date another coworker again. It just complicates things too much.” 

Chris nodded his head. He understood then that it wasn’t about him, but about her experiences. He would never want to put her in a position where she felt uncomfortable  or where anything he did had the potential to ruin something she loved so dearly such as acting. 

“And I’m not saying that you would be like him, I know you wouldn’t. But I could see myself…” You paused at this, trying to find the right words. “Falling for you. You’re so sweet and gorgeous and funny. I just cant…” “It’s okay.” Chris stopped you with a sad smile. “I get it, really.” “Thank you, Chris.” You smiled at him and stepped away, still holding his hand. “Let’s go get shots.”

After that night, he did as you asked and stayed your constant friend. Though he also didn’t stop himself from being interested in other people either. If you wanted to be friends, that was fine, but he had to try to get over you. Maybe he did it slightly out of spite, maybe he wanted to make you a bit jealous. If he was truthful, he was trying to fill in the ache of not being with you with someone else. He also didn’t miss the hurt look on your face when he told you of his weekend plans of dates with different people, though he tried to ignore it. You didn’t get to be mad at him about dating other people.

You were about two and a half months into a five month shoot for Endgame. Chris was walking you back to your trailer after some reshoots between your two characters had taken longer than expected. He asked you if you wanted to go for tacos and before he knew it, you were yelling. Yelling at him. About dating all those women and flaunting it, flaunting it all over, flaunting it in front of you. And he could see the hurt in your eyes, the tears that you were trying not to slip out, whether it was from anger or sadness, he did not know. 

“You can’t have it both ways, sweetheart.” Chris said calmly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.  “And THAT.” You continued on with your tirade. “I’m yelling at you and you’re just being so calm and sweet and… and…” 

Chris heard you mutter a ‘goddamnit’ under your breath as you pulled his shirt towards you and landed a bruising kiss on his lips. It took him by surprise for only a second, then he was grabbing you by your hips pulling your body into him in turn.  His one hand swept up your waist while the other grabbed your butt. You moaned into Chris’s mouth, grinding your hips into him. You pulled away, eyes lust blown, lips wet with kisses. Grabbing Chris’s hand, you led him up the couple of steps to your trailer and slammed the door shut behind you. You began kissing him again before he was backing you off of him. 

“Wait, wait.” Breathless, he looked into your eyes. “Are you sure you want this? I don’t want another text later that this was a mistake. I’ve just wanted you for so long. I need you to be sure.”  “Yes, I want this.” You whispered and nodded. “I want this so much.” 

***

You had led him to the bedroom and kissed him softly, his chest still beating fast, a heated blush on your cheeks. There was a tangle of clothing and limbs, kisses on exposed skin, moans and whimpers. Every emotion that you two had wanted to convey for so long was flowing out. He said ‘ have me’ in the way that he held your body under him. You said ‘I’m yours’ with the fingers you carded through his hair. You called out his name as you exploded in ecstasy, a flash of brilliant light in your eyes that had squeezed tight. Watching you fall apart under him was the most beautiful thing Chris had ever seen. He buried his face in your neck as he came as well and he thought his soul had left his body. 

As you laid there in the quiet, in the afterglow of your lovemaking, Chris held you in his arms and stroked your hand lazily as it laid motionless on his chest. He vowed to never make you regret this night, to always have you next to him. He was so lucky, lucky you had chosen him and he felt like a king in that moment. He bent down and gently kissed the top of your head as he drifted off to sleep. 

[stannamarsh]

Souvenirs From Hell

Souvenirs From Hell, by H.R Martin, (AKA YokoKoko on Tumblr, though this is the best edit.) I worked all day on this and forgot to eat. ----------------------------------------- Maya Angelou once commented that, "There's no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you." A certain person who will be mentioned later gave the opposite advice. Don't tell stories. Stories make one accountable. . Anyway, this story is unapologetic and it is all mine. What I learned recently has to do with the difference between life as a messed up 24 or 25 year old and one as a messed up 29 year old, aka me. It starts with knowing what you want and planning how to get it. Knowing that your fuck-ups are your responsibility. Knowing you're a mentally ill bitch who says harsh things, making the granary of truth in your words harder to hear. It's frustrating that you were attempting to communicate but somehow you got it all wrong. It's wanting desperately to be more thoughtful, helpful, intelligent, necessary and kind with your words. It's striving for the best in every action I choose to take. I want to be a decent human being. Due to my flaws, it's a struggle. Knowing isn't the issue. Doing right is the challenge. As for the five years growth between 24 and 29 I never believed it was that big of a difference until I lived it. That gap, in my experience is filled with codependency and attempts to train or fix someone. This is how we drive ourselves crazy. It's their journey. Not letting others walk their own journey or not being left alone to walk it is 90% of our therapists' jobs. We should work on ourselves. Because many, if not most partners that we try to prod and improve, and love into what we need them to be are stubborn idiots, and frankly so are we, for attempting to do this. I don't want to waste my fucking energy trying to train them to man/woman/non-binary up and be friggin grownups. Not my circus, not my monkeys, and most certainly, not my cage. Now that the intro is finished, the goals. I want: 1) A home that is mine. Not living in a hippie garbage can or benign drug house, albeit one with a chill vibe, in a nice neighborhood full of little-free-libraries, with nice people who are doing their best so you can't really blame them. But goddammit, I want different. It scared me that this was becoming my life. Is this my scene? What about my goals? I got negative and bitchy, and eventually exploded despite your stellar hospitality. I'm trying to work on these things at my own place, but humans are influenced by their friends. I need to distance myself until my living space at Hawk's Ridge is up to my standards, I need to work on that. Yours can be whatever you want it to be. And the hypothetical me with my shit together would give zero fucks about that, once I'm confident that I have my own standards in place. Otherwise, I get very anxious. 2) A solid community of friends and family who are "going places" in life, to the best of their individual ability (which does not mean under the constant influence of recreational yet legal prescriptions.) I'm not judging, given my penchant for these, and the fact that I'm starting NA tonight. Legal drugs that become a grey area between therapeutic and recreational are fun, but they won't help you achieve you goals. Anxiolytics are for anxiety, or the dentist. Vicodin is for pain and don't mix either with copious amounts of alcohol. That's why you spend too much time throwing up instead of doing fun things, like a cancer patient with much nicer hair. Also, drink water if you want to keep up with Mexicans, working in the hot sun without getting heat exhaustion. Common sense, people. I'm not saying your pain isn't real but some of it is your doing, just like some of mine is my doing. We have to hold ourselves accountable, better ourselves, drink and smoke weed socially and responsibly on VACATION (not stupidly or ever before getting behind the wheel.) Get with the program. People with more obstacles than solid doctors, helpful family, and a paid-off home do it every day. This was what I was keeping to myself until I said it in the wrong way while crying in your bathtub, "communicating" why I was harshing your buzz with my negativity. At the time, I had had a Klonopin, a Xanax, a Vicodin, another Xanax, another Xanax, and alcohol. I'm not a puker. I'm a cathartic, brutally honest crier, which is as bad a vomit in its own way. It smells better but takes longer to clean up. I'm sorry I hurt that sweet boy's feelings through the wall and seemed ungrateful for your hospitality. It's my fault for taking all those drugs, but I wasn't comfortable, something was wrong, I couldn't put my finger on it, and I repressed it with anything available to keep from being rude. It didn't work. There was truth in what I said, but the way I put it was mean, and unnecessary. Holding stuff in is bad for me. You said communicate. I said what I said and if I hadn't said it then, I would have done so eventually. Yes, I am grateful to people who open their homes to me, go on adventures with me, share their possessions with me. Catharsis can be cruel. I can't hang around you when I have 99 problems to solve already. Whether you would even want that is a mystery to me. I'll be busy but I still care. Though, I expect at this point, it's tl;dr for the both of you. That's another thing. Friends are people for whom tl;dr does not exist, unless they've had a stroke or something. 3) If there is a love mate out there for me, a soulmate if such a thing exists, I want to encounter this person on my adventures. I don't chase or look, because it depresses me and reduces love "such that it is" to consumption, or a meal ticket, a housing situation, a drug connection, a business deal, or a codependent puddle of mutual enabling. It's worse than any drug, save needles, meth, or crack, and all too often often, "love" drives otherwise healthy people down that road. 4. I want to go to Boulder, CO, my own personal Mecca. My condolences that police and a drugged hippie were mutually stupid and it resulted in tragedy. I mean the guy was strung out running naked in public. The worst child murder/ rape in recent memory went down there too, but people move on and this is where I want to live. This is my goal and I'm strong enough to not let news reports stop me from achieving what I want. 5. I want my MLIS and I will get it in December. When I get my debt and income under control, I want to participate in a BA to MD/PH.D program because once I'm stable, and clean, I know I can buckle down, tear through that MCAT and make it happen. See, when I was messed up, I at least knew enough not to hurt myself or spend the next day vomiting. Let's turn this sad, low-rent talent of mine into something that can help people. Want to be: medical librarian, doctor, medical PH.D (You heard me: MUD/FUDD), writer,Gonzo blogger, adventurer, world traveler, and at times, gainfully unemployed. These will all happen if I go to my meetings and follow Dr. Robert's advice: Get clean, hang out only with stable people who are tackling their goals, and achieve my scholarly potential, which truth be told, is at least a Masters' and an M.D/Ph.D. Not to brag, but that potential is somewhere between Lisa Simpson and Malcolm in the MIddle. (Meaning I'm probably a crazy genius, and if I'm retarded, John is a vegetable, organic I hope, so as compost he can me useful.) People say all the time that you're too old to start over. If someone can't do it they want to tell you that you can't either. Age is just a number. And truth be told, I'd rather die learning than being stuck in mediocrity. 6. I want happiness, stability, freedom from drama. attachment issues, an end to envy that a friend or acquaintance has someone, no matter how messed up the situation. I want independence, to control my compulsive, self destructive need to help others when there's shit I have to do for myself, just to prove my worth and keep them from leaving me. I end up burnt out and I become unnecessarily honest at people. I need to trust my vibes. If a situation feels icky or grasping or just plan dirty, I'm out. It's been real. Thanks for having me. Time to go slay the other goals. 7. MONEY...ENOUGH money that I have everything I want and need,within reason and accounting for storage space: a home, a housekeeper, or at least some kind of professional organizer to help me with cleaning and beautifying my abode, which is not my forte. My wonderful parents Susan Coleman and Donald Jeff Martin are helping me follow my bliss. They are the absolute best parents. I can never do enough to properly thank them for giving me life, taking a great risk to do so, for my dad taking the time to give private preschool quality education to me as a toddler so now math and languages are easy, for my mom who taught me about feminism, and whether she knew it or not, supercharged my innate qualities of forthrightness, justice, and the desire to fight for what's right. Thanks for teaching me right from wrong,and taking care of me. I had an enriched life, despite our initial lack of money. That is a miracle. My parents (and my pets, and my goals) are, together MY EVERYTHING. Gratitude. Balance. Best Life. That's what I'm after. Money is the tool to reach goals, not the goal itself. 8. Lastly, I want adventure....safe, but not so safe that it isn't fun. Exploring the world, writing, experiencing, living. This alone will keep me from getting sucked into any sexist bullshit or dysfunctional "love" vortex. When I achieve THAT, the desire to hurt myself, check out, or die will be OVER forever. I know this instinctively. That's the GP. Hell. I might become a GP. But, I'd prefer something more Housean, such as Pathology or Internal Medicine, I am the queen of my castle. But, to paraphrase Marley, that castle is in my MIND. To paraphrase Thoreau, my castles in the sky are the shit. Now they and I need a proper FOUNDATION. None of this is meant to be a mean dig at Jexi. I call you this because I know you as a unit. Who are each of you individually?(Also, I don't think either of you are notorious enough to be figured out by that alone, so I'm attempting discretion.) This is just my perspective. My truth. Thank you's to: Gino Dykstra, Amy, the therapist, Doctor Robert Wesner, Dr Widitz, Dr. Don St. John, and Linda the P.C, and all the people from Partial Hospitalization and STEPPS. If I forget someone, add yourself. Oh, Lori Parrish Niemi, Christina Morris Penn-Goetsch, William Niemi, Jexi, for helping me gain this insight, and Keith E Gatling. Weirdly, I am also grateful for that squirrelly, two-faced bastard, John Trachsel, who made himself useful for the first time ever, by convincing me to abandon my impulsive suicide gesture. He didn't know who he was talking to so he treated me like a person/ possible lay for a while and pretended to care, right up until the point where he learned he had called me. I could hear him backtracking because he doesn't want people to know he talks to me. When I called him out on this, he called me crazy, "retarded", and finally admitted that he didnt want people to know he talked to me. He, in a his glory thinks he's too good to talk to me? I have his mugshot on my hard drive, named "ThereISAGod.jpg." This is bullshit because most people have no problem acting like a god-damn human toward me. Anyway, this is proof that even a shmuck-a- fuck like him may sometimes do good things by accident. Of course, if he'd caught on quicker, I think that he would have hung up immediately. If he, for one second believed that I, Hanna Martin. was distraught, suicidal, and in need of help, hell, that was his goal anyway, right? But screw you, I didn't kill myself. My point is that even though you badly need therapy and other help, you are not completely useless. There may still be inpatient help for you and I no longer wish you dead. Thanks to all who have helped. One day at a time.