#my stress is actively causing more stress jesus fucking christ

[bywandandsword]

You ever get fatigued enough that you start seeing the white spots periodically for several days, but your body won't let you sleep for more than five hours at a time, no matter how much trazodone you take???

[barin-mclegg]

Whatever, one more time.

This is not about Gaza specifically. This is not about anyone specifically. "Help two trans women pay rent" is also 'fundraiser or whatever" territory. I do not see how that makes me racist

I'm not actively stating anyone should die, that I don't pay to any charities, that my life is miserable, that I won't ever reblog. I could just as well be funding half of an orphanage in Kenia, or donating to a local homeless shelter, etc etc. You'll never know, because that classifies as private information, and you're mostly assholes that don't deserve jackshit from me.

I specifically said that I don't want people to send them to me. Personally. So, put them in my messages, in my asks (not relevant bc my ask box is permanently broken, but the point), don't tag me specifically. For two of those 3, you need to specifically go to my blog anyway. So this is the best way to make it clear it won't do anything but waste both of our time and energy. I think this is the most respectful way of making that clear.

Yeah it causes me stress to see fundraisers of all kinds in the wild. Whatever. Your blog, your business. I just don't interact, if there's a tag I block it, I just don't want to be there. Again, I think this is the most respectful way of dealing with it.

My personal situation, mental and physical health, exact fucking age (menta or physical), and all that buzz, is none of your business. Fuck right off. Any judgements made about me when I was being actively harassed and getting torture threats, death threats, and suicide baiting is NOT ACCURATE. Wanna guess why? That's right! Emotionally distressing situations have impact on someone's behavior and wellbeing! If you've harassed me, you're the bad person here. I don't care, yes you are.

I DO care. Again, emotionally distressing situation. I said more shit I don't mean, or at least not in the way that it'll be read by, again, people that don't KNOW OR UNDERSTAND ME. I care that bad shit happens in the world, but I can't do shit about it, so I mostly choose not to talk about it or educate myself. This also means I have no opinion on said subjects, because I'm not a fucking dickhead about not knowing things, like most of you.

Yes, my shittiness at communicating IS part of my disability. "ohh disbaility can't do that" Ohhhh so if you can decide why people can't do shit than maybe you should decide that everyone should have a cool life and be a reasonable person, huh? Shut up. You're just a big bitch, at this point. Yes, it's disability, yes, I'm diagnosed, no, you can't fucking know anything more than that. Or are you going to tell my your full medical history and home address? And proof that you're not making shit up? Because then we can talk about the terms of me telling you anything about myself.

To the reasonable people: I greatly appreciate how unhatable you are.

To everyone in general: I, too, am reasonable when not being actively attacked. Try talking to me now. Actually, don't I'm glad for the silence. Also, don't call me a faggot, we're not buddies, you don't get slur rights.

I in no way see how what happened between me and 3000s on the eel post is YOUR business. Most of you are just miserable drama chasers, and I think that's way sadder than curating your internet experience to your best efforts. Go smash some plates or jerk off or something, jesus christ. "Ohhh but I'm traumatized/in an abusive situation/whatever I can't do thattt" Oh my god that's the funniest response anyone could ever give to this. Ohhh god. That's so funny. Ah well, I can only dream, since reblogs are going off again as soon as I hit reblog on this. If your response is something like that do actually send it though it's sooo funny.

Have a reasonably alright day. I know that's what I'm doing, at least.

Don't send fundraisers or whatever to me.

[user98347501938475]

what a fun weekend i am currently having. friday morning woke up to no cuddles and steve on his phone he couldnt even look up to say good morning. then i made the mistake of kicking his laundry basket out of my way in the hallway twice so that means i deserve to get some nasty text messages at 6am. great way to start my day having to apologize, again, with no apology to me for anything, for "already ruining his day" and his reply, "you ruin most of em."

this text thread caused me to go into another spiral of depression, suicidal ideation, that i called my mom later that night and ask her to take me to the hospital because i wanted to hurt myself or go get blackout drunk. 22 days sober today btw woohoo!

so after being given the silent treatment all day, i am sitting crying in the office and steve took himself out to sushi, arcade, and movie date. not a care in the world that i said i was feeling suicidal and wanted to kill myself. but my mistake i made the comment you win and all i get in response is doesnt feel like winning. jesus fucking christ your wife is telling you she wants to end her life you dont give a fuck. honestly that was it for me. i dont think any amount of counseling will save this shit show.

for context when steve threatened to take his life early on in our relationship, i was threatening to call the police i was freaking out banging on his door and took all the fucking shoelaces out of his shoes because he said he had just tried to hang himself in his closet. then i stayed with him to make sure he wasnt going to do anything. and this same man doesnt even ask or care where i will be when i tell him ill be gone for three days, a 72 hour hold possibly.

so my mom and the dr said i would be okay to go home and be under supervision for the night LMAO still gonna wanna die tomorrow but okay cool. literally unless you have active cuts or say im going to go home and kill myself they wont give you any help. and just a thought. people who want to die, me specifically, is embarassed that i am such a failure at life that youre going to make me admit to you that i dont want to be here out loud and then be told youre okay go home. i just dont understand how there is no mental help for anyone living in this shithole society.

my future will be divorced and living in a little shitty apartment by myself and never leave and never make any new friendships or relationships because i cannot make friends and date. i have way too much fucking trauma. i mean my husband doesnt care if i die and my only friend, a gay man, but man none the less, cant even drive home to be with me because hes at his moms house getting drunk,(( his mom who wouldnt move her fat ass to bail him out)) .has been using me as a gooddamn vent stress doll because he was going to be arrested and i told him he would be arrested he didnt listen to me or take any of my advice. this friend needs a whole post of his own. but anyway, guess who was taking care of his loud annoying untrained chiuaua until fucking midnight and driving to lake elsinore to get your truck and then go to the bail bonds place, all of which was extremely stressing and then he gets out keeps me up until 2 am to tell me all about how horrible it was, congratulations welcome to the club of being arrested, maybe just maybe you should have listened to your "friend" when she told you how horrible it would be. but youre a fucking moron and thought the cops woould be NICE to you wtaf.

i dont even have the energy or like xmas spirit to put up my tree. i sure as fuck dont want to celebrate the holiday with steve. he cant even understand that i wanted to visit his family just not during the holiday hysteria. so what does steve do? he buys us $2000 worth of plane tickets to leave DEC 23 and return the 27. UHM WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. i guess you heard me but just dont fucking care what i want ever. or his concern for my arthritus and nausea he doesnt fucking care. HIS family is more important than his wife, obviously how could i be so stupid. i will never be anyone prioirty i have to make myself the priority. and he was shady as fuck acting like i thought we were on the same page...... yeah maybe buit we're reading two spearate fucking books dude. idfk how you could think my wife said she doesnt want to travel during the holidays means leave 2 fucking days before christmas.

so now hes going by himself and leaving the day after christmas at noon and then returning NEW YEARS EVE at ELEVEN FUCKING THIRTY AT NIGHT. boy better get a uber home. dont even fucking ask me to drive to LAX or JWA or wherever the fuck you land because you havent even told me which airline you booked, he probably doesnt even know. the way he buys plane tickewts its just whats cheapest on the day i wanna go idgaf about how horrible the time or airline is. but yeah glad that our first new years as a couple, married as well, that we could have had a new years kiss. but you planned to land on new years eve. he just doesnt think or care about anything i care or think about. we are so fucking wrong for each other.

im so glad i can write here since i only get therapy once a week and steve said he doesnt want to hear me "trauma dumping" or if hes already heard the story he doesnt want to hear it again. thank goodness for the void of internet.

[vendettaparker]

What a Dumbass [P.P]

Summary: Peter’s mistake leads to you being injured. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Swearing, like a substantial amount, suggestive content kinda, gun shot wound, and flustered!Peter 

a/n: I really liked writing this. I couldn’t stop laughing at some of the dialogue. and the mistake peter made to cause the whole set-up of the story is so funny to me. like i can legit see him making this mistake. also, i’m gonna make a permanent tag list, so please send me an ask or message me if you want to be on it! <3

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Peter Benjamin Parker is a fucking dumbass. All the time mostly. Most of the time his dumbassery leads to a lot of annoyed avengers, a lot of clean up, and a lot of spilled secrets. Hence why like three people who definitely shouldn’t know he is Spider-man do. But every once in while his idiocy can lead to an unexpected happily ever after, at least until he fucks something up again. 

     This particular fuck up has yet to be determined as a happy accident or your new 13th reason. It all started when that spider bitch decided it’d be a good idea to watch some explicit content on his laptop. Now, this wasn’t particularly an unknown activity for him to partake in, since we all know about his little impromptu purchase in Germany, but unbeknownst to this dork, his aunt was in the next room over working on a tear in his suit. And to make matters worse, he accidentally just so happened to purchase a subscription using said aunt’s credit card that was pre-setup in his laptop. 

     Now May is a very understanding woman. Very sex-positive, very loving, and inclusive; the whole shebang really. So when she happened to catch this idiot doing what he most certainly shouldn’t have been doing, she wasn’t mad, just thoroughly disturbed. Then she got the notification about the purchase. That was a bit more taboo in her eyes. So Peter was grounded from patrolling for a week and his laptop privileges were revoked for two weeks. That was fucking merciful compared to what this whole fuck up put you through. 

     At the school that following Monday, Peter spent the whole first, second, fourth, and lunch period trying to convince you to take over patrol for a week. Sure, you could definitely handle it, not to pat yourself on the back or anything, but you were significantly stronger than Peter, so it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But you just really didn’t want to. Peter had his ‘Peter Tingle’ to help him find danger, while you’d actually have to look. It just seemed harder for you to do than it would be for him. 

     “Why are you even grounded?” You sighed after Peter's 3rd time bringing up the possibility of you patrolling for him at lunch. 

     “He got caught watching and buying p—” Ned started laughing.

     “Ned! Shut up!” Peter yelled, slapping his hand over his friend's mouth. 

     “How has your identity not been leaked yet, Jesus Christ.” You mumbled, giggling. You flipped through your chemistry textbook, writing notes to prepare for Friday’s quiz. 

     “Yeah, and how come you didn’t know May was home?” Ned pushed Peter’s hand away. “Where was your ‘Peter Tingle’ then?” 

     “She’s not a threat, dude. But shit, I really wish my tingle detected her.” Peter groaned, a deep blush covering his features. “Please (Y/N). I really, really don’t wanna leave Queens without any protection for a week. I’ll try to convince May to let me go out on the weekend, so really it’s only five days.” 

     “I guess I could help you out, but you owe me. I should really spend this time studying for my chemistry test. Iron bitch is gonna have my head on a spike if I fail another chem test.” You said, highlighting more notes. 

     “Okay! Delmar’s for a week, anytime, anywhere.” Peter said putting his hand out for you to shake. 

     “Make it a month, I know my worth.” 

     Peter hesitated, but eventually gave in, “Fine, but you better do a good job.” 

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     So now you were stuck patrolling from 8:30 to 11:00 every night. It wasn't bad per se, and nothing too eventful happened. You stopped a small convenience store robbery, gave a few kids some tips at the skatepark, ran some errands for an old lady, and saved a cat from a tree. Thursday night was the real kicker though. Your night had barely started and you accidentally got in the middle of a drug deal between some smaller mob and a real messed-up junkie. This should’ve been an easy takedown, only six people in total that needed to be taken out, but like was mentioned before, you don’t have Peter’s goddamn, stupid fucking tingle. So after taking all six of the perps out you started to walk away after alerting the police. Unfortunately, one of those assclowns had come to, and grabbed the gun a few feet away from him and shot it towards you. The bullet went through your thigh and out the other side. Screaming in shock and pain, you used your own throwing knives and knocked the gun out of the mobster’s hand, then you proceeded to knock him out again with a few good punches to his noggin, maybe a few more, just for good measure. But this wound would need to be cleaned and stitched up. And if you went back to the Tower, Steve and Tony would give you an earful about “watching your surroundings” and “being more careful”. So in a moment of pure adrenaline and desperation, you texted Peter. 

You: are you home

Spider-Dork: Yeah, why?

You: i’ll be there in 5 

Spider-Dork: What? Why? Is everything ok?

Spider-Dork: Hello??? (Y/N)????

(Y/N) declined (3) calls 

Spider-Dork: Answer my calls idiot. 

     Peter’s texting and constant calling was cut short from a crash in his room. 

     “(Y/N)? Is that you?” Peter called from the couch in the living room. 

     “Yeah, can I borrow a t-shirt?” You called, fumbling around accidentally knocking over another lamp. “Oops, sorry!”

     “Uh, yeah sure. In the closet!” Peter called back pausing his show, prepared to make his way over to you. 

     “And some sweats?” You called back, blood dripping all over Peter’s hardwood floor. 

     Peter got up to make his way to his room. “Yeah, second drawer on the left side.” He said as he made his way to his bedroom. Knowing you were in there, most likely changing, he knocked. “You decent?” 

     “Nope, not really. I need a pair of your boxers too, though.” You called through the door, now seeing that the blood splattered on your underwear as well. “Also, bring the first aid kit when you come in.” 

     ‘What? Why?” Peter said in a more stressed tone, pushing his way into the room, completely ignoring the fact that you were very much not decent. “Holy shit.” He said seeing you out of your suit, in your bra and underwear, blood dripping down your right leg, pooling onto the floor. Your hand, red and bloody, pressed onto what he only assumed was the wound and blood seeping through your fingers. 

     “Bring a mop too.” 

     Peter ran out of the room to grab the first aid kit, plus some extra bandages and a cleaning solution. When he came back in he found you in the same state, standing in the middle of the room, eyebrows furrowed in pain, clutching your right thigh. 

     “What the hell happened?” He gasped, motioning for you to sit on his bed. You hesitated, not wanting to mess up his sheets. He seemed to notice your thought process quickly adding, “I have to wash my sheets anyway.” 

     “Gross.” You mumbled, scrunching up your face in disgust and finally settling down on his bed. 

     “Move your hand and tell me what happened,” Peter said kneeling on the floor next to the bed, positioned right at your hips. You removed your hand, bloody instantly seeping onto the bed. Peter winced looking at the hole in your leg, quickly grabbing the peroxide and dumping heaps of it onto your leg, much to your distaste. 

     “I got shot.” You stated as he cleaned the blood around the hole with alcohol pads.

     “Well, no shit. I mean by who and how?” 

     “Mobster. Sneaky bitch got me while I was walking away.” You winced as Peter inspected the wound further. 

     “I need to stitch this up. Did it go all the way through?” He said lifting your leg to look underneath for an exit wound. 

     “Yeah.” Peter found the exit wound and held your leg up with one hand, pouring peroxide on the back of your thigh with the other. 

     “You have to be more careful, (Y/N)! This looks really nasty.” Peter scolded, setting your leg back down and prepping the needle and sutures. “What if this was in your chest? Or—or if you didn’t get here in time? You could’ve bled out!” 

     “Well sorry that I don’t have your stupid tingle to help me out when I’m being fucking shot at!” You yelped, gripping the bedsheets. 

     “You don’t need spidey sense, you need fucking common sense,” Peter mumbled, stitching his first suture.

     “What the fuck did you just say?” You looked at him incredulously. 

     “I— uh, nothing.” Peter huffed, focusing back on stitching you up.

     “This is your all your fault, to begin with!” You accused, shifting uncomfortably, due to the needle constantly being stuck into your leg. “You’re the one that begged me to go on patrol for you! You’re the dumb bitch that got caught watc—” 

     “Ok! Shut up! For God’s sake, you’re never gonna let me live that down.” Peter groaned, finishing up the last stitch. “Flip over.” He commanded, pushing at the side of your waist to help with the movement. 

     “Well, it was fucking dumb. Don’t you check to make sure nobody’s home? God, we all know you’re a vocal bitch too.” You said, fully situated on your stomach. 

     “What the fuck is that suppose to mean!?” He gasped, prepping another needle. 

     “You’re a sensitive boy.” You shrugged, wincing when Peter started his next stitch. 

     “I-I am not sensitive! I’m emotionally and physically staunch!” He defended, going in for another stitch. 

     You just raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Sure, whatever you say, babe.” You winked at him, blowing an exaggerated kiss. 

     “You're a jerk,” Peter mumbled, finishing up his stitching job. “A jerk with a fucked up leg.” 

     You hummed, quite amused. Peter got up and started to collect his medical supplies. He shuffled out of the room to put everything away. When he returned you were trying to get up and walk, wincing at every slight movement. 

     “Here, let me just—” Peter lifted you up, bridal style. A small yelp coming from you when a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Sorry.”

     “It’s fine. Can you help me get dressed?” You said as he walked you over to his desk and set you down in his desk chair. 

     “Sure.” Peter blushed, painfully aware of your lack of clothes. He picked out some clothes from his closet and drawers. He helped you into them, wallowing in the uncomfortable silence, taking in each whimper and wince from you whenever he brushed against your thigh. 

     “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He sighed after you were all dressed. “This is my fault.” 

     You looked at his distraught face, feeling bad for initially blaming him for the events of tonight. “No, Pete. It’s fine. I should’ve made sure all of the guys were knocked out.” You put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

     “No, I should’ve been more careful when I was watching that stuff. I have my spidey sense, I would’ve been able to avoid getting shot. It’s not your fault that you didn’t get bit by a radioactive spider.”

     “Pete, really, I’ll be better by next week anyway. It’s fine.” 

     Peter shook his head, sighing. “I just feel so bad, I shouldn’t have forced patrolling on you.” You hugged him and rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

     “Peter stop. It’s just an unfortunate accident.” You mumbled, hugging him closer. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

     “But it didn’t happen to just anyone (Y/N), it happened to you. And I caused it. I-I don't know what I’d do if something ever happened to you. What if it was worse?”

     You sighed, pulling away from Peter and cupping his face, seeing the regret and shame pooling in his eyes. Without much thought, you pulled him closer, slowly connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. Truly getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the feeling of perfection. 

     Peter’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, before he was kissing you back, reveling in the feeling he’s been dreaming about for months. You finally pulled away to catch your breath. Peter flushed at your actions, unable to stop the wide smile crossing his features. 

     “Sorry,” You mumbled sheepishly, “just needed to shut you up for a second.”

     “Maybe I should talk more, just to see what happens,” Peter smirked, pulling you in for another shorter, but just as sweet, kiss. 

     You hummed against his lips. “I really like you. Even when you're a dumbass.” You sighed against his lips.

     “The feeling is mutual.” 

     “Rude. I’m not a dumbass.” You gasped in faux offense. 

     “You’re the one with a bullet wound.” he deadpanned 

     “You’re the one who got caught watchin—”

     “(Y/N)!”

[mayhemmaybe]

anotherhumanpet

"Jesus fucking Christ..." Dennis let out the longest, weariest sigh of the evening. With how quickly and how frequently these two argued, it was almost as if he had never left home, but he found no comfort in the antics. Instead, he had a growing headache that was actively threatening to become a migraine with every passing second. Maybe he should feign one, just to get some peace, quiet, and privacy... At least Draluc and Ronaldo could move on from their petty arguments rather quickly and by themselves, which saved Dennis some added stress - but not much. The underlying tension in the air still felt somewhat thick to him, keeping him quiet while Ronaldo made his Great Introduction, and Draluc threw a few more barbed words at him for it. "...Thanks." While the book may have been technically illegible to him, Dennis still accepted it out of politeness and some low level curiosity. After all, he had all the time in the world with his immortality, so there wasn't much excuse for him to not learn Japanese and eventually read the book. And, in all honesty too, he was a bit curious and hopeful that the book could tell him all he needed to know about these guys. As loud and annoying as they were, they were still nice to him, and had taken him in with more grace and politeness than he could have hoped for. Dennis was hesitant to call them friends because he doubted they would call him the same, but... Quietly, he set the book down beside the jigsaw case. "So... if you're a superior vampire," he nodded to Draluc, then looked to Ronaldo, "and you're a hunter of inferior vampires, who apparently undress people, then what am I exactly? Cause all I've ever heard or known is just vampire."

The smug look on Ronaldo’s face when Dennis took his novel wasn’t aimed at Draluc, but it hit the vampire all the same. “You don’t have to patronize him.” As the words came out of his mouth, he finally got a look at Dennis. A real look, where he saw how exhausted their guest looked. Which is the only reason he didn’t further his dig at Ronaldo.

Draluc hummed at the question Dennis posed, but it was more for dramatic tension since he already knew his answer. “You, my young compatriot, are a superior vampire. Clearly you get on quite well with humans and aren’t driven by your hunger alone.”

“Don’t be fooled though. Plenty of the so-called superior ones make plenty of dumb decisions. So don’t feel too bad if you screw up down the line.”

Draluc nodded, “When you have all the time in the world, anything can happen.”

“Oh.” Ronaldo set his empty plate down then got up to rummage around his desk. The cryptic act got a curious noise out of Draluc whose eyes followed the hunter all the way there and back. On the return trip he held a chunk of paper out to Dennis, “Both our numbers, case you need anything. Aaaand in case you ever end up here again. Building address is on there too. You ever run into trouble with any of the hunters in the area show’em that.” Not that he thought Dennis would have any trouble. Sure there were overzealous hunters, but even those could usually identify a vampire that wasn’t a threat. This guy hardly had ‘danger’ written on him.

Not wanting to be upstaged in hospitality, Draluc held himself up tall while still sitting, “From the sounds of it, your ‘master’ ” there was plenty of salt added to that word, “and hunter uncle haven’t been able to teach you properly about being a vampire. Should you need any genuine assistance you’ll know where to look.”

"Nu nuu! Nu nuu nu nu."

"John says you're welcome to come over for games anytime you'd like."

"Oh... Right." Dennis deflated, unable argue against the threat of Jaden. The man may have been thousands of miles away from them at the moment, but his protective and familial wrath was still real and very present in the forefronts of Dennis' mind, so the eternal teen was left with no choice but to accept the situational sleepover.

Besides, he really was quite disarmed. With no phone and no wallet, he was practically a helpless baby in this day of age.

"I'll take whatever you have. Thanks." He pulled the pillow and blanket closer to himself, then made a small gesture at John to offer them as a booster seat - should the armadillo so desire. Either way, Dennis would get started on the jigsaw puzzle since the little guy was so insistent on playing with it. Not like he had much else to do anyway...

"Oh, Jaden's not my dad, he's my--"

Ahh, needless arguing between a vampire and a hunter minion. Now where has Dennis seen this before...?

"It's fine," he spoke up as loud as he could without actually yelling, trying to pull their attention back onto himself, "I'm not uncomfortable with staying over or anything like that. I just feel bad for being such a problem for you two, and thought it might be easier and a lil nicer if I holed up somewhere else. I can stay though, it's fine. Jaden's not my dad though. Like I said earlier, he's my uncle, and he's human, like you." Dennis nodded to Ronaldo.

"And I'm sorry for my outbursts earlier." Like Ronaldo was, Dennis started to stuff his food down his throat, using it more as an excuse to buy himself some time between words and as a shield to hide behind while he apologized more than a proper snack. "I didn't mean to yell at you guys or anything. I just... I'm sorry for being a dick."

[aithusarosekiller]

It’s James birthday today, please please can we get the James ranking? <33

Okay ranking James'

1) carpe noctem. My boy has issues. A lot of them, Why is he so angry all the time calm down babes

2) larded with sweet flowers. Ikik, it's bad if my own fic is towards the bottom but I promise I do love him. It's just that he hasn't really done much at all so...there isn't much to love. Maybe I'll love him more when I write the epilogue with his comforting Reggie for 5000 words idk we'll see

3) I love him, I really do, he is so sweet and <3 but the saviour complex makes me sad and sad makes me minus points because I don't like being said. Love him though

4) When you were mine. Man's a good dad, simp and great friend simultaneously, what's not to love? He does need to find better ways to deal with this sexual tension though, the boy will explode if he keeps thinking this shit. See a therapist babes, let some of this stress out, deal with shit in a way that isn't bottling it up and hoping Reg makes a move first so you can't blame yourself for whatever happens bc of the guilt and confusion you're also bottling up. He's a great dad though so.

5) The filth. I love him. He's the perfect mix of assertive and 'I will do anything you want without thinking bc you're pretty and I'm gay' so...perfect. He also has great taste in the men he fucks so. He is like,,,the man everyone wants but nobody gets. Bc he is too nice and most of those men died out loooong agoooo

6) Tell me pretty lies, at the high end yet again because jesus fucking christ kill me. He's really sweet and a fairly good partner and friend but he needs to talk to some professionals about this trauma bc it keeps leading to bad decisions and fucking up his life and relationships so even if he ates talking about it to his parents, the by needs a journal to write it in so one day he can show it to a therapist and get hep bc my baby ad been through a lot I want to hug him.

7) Oh look, Drugs and Surgical Scrubs steals top place yet again, Who is surprised? That man is the definition of golden retriever energy and I love it. He is bribed with sweets, his favourite film is the little mermaid and spends 5 minutes figuring out where to put his sticker for being a good patient for his tired, grumpy crush? I love that for him. He's actively making decisions that will help him in the long run despite the physical and emotional pain it will cause him, along with the strain it will cause on his longest standing friendships, what a king. He has gone through a lot of shit and will probably continue to but babe's trying his best and that's good enough for me.

[synchlora]

I heard apocalypse AU? 👀

YOPOOOOOOOOOOO YESYEZYEZTWSDAGAVZGX

Yes

PARTICULARLY for the bench trio and wilbur :]] this was literally all sparked bc I saw an au where ranboo dies and I got so viscerally upset over it that I went through. so much effort to make an au where he lives. christ

SO :D

(so so many warnings abt graphic medical shit, infection, necrosis, Pain, medical malpractice, just. bad things, please be Careful)

tommy and tubbo r childhood friends. they run into one another quite soon after separating from their families. tommy ran from his family after his parents killed his sister, tubbo ran when his family told him to save himself and he blames himself for not saving them.

RANBOO. shows up half fucking dead lmao. many bites, definitely infected to become a zombie, arm is. very necrotic. and what else do tommy and tubbo do when they see another kid their age slowly becoming zombified?? take him home ofc <3

they live in an old rv out in the woods and ooh its shit but its something. ranboo is like. doing a little better??? bc hes not Actively starving but he is also still Infected and struggling w his arm. so tommy and tubbo have got to figure something out w all this

they decide to raid a nearby abandoned hospital for supplies and after taking a lot of medical equipment and drugs they Do Not Understand, they run into wilbur wandering the halls. they r obviously v defensive but wilbur is very curious, especially abt why they are taking basically Useless medical equipment unless they know how to use it

after some talking and deliberation, they learn that wilbur is (or rather was) a med student who was working an internship at the hospital when the apocalypse happened. no clue what happened to his family, they don't live nearby and there's no way to contact them

after long discussion between the two of them, tommy and tubbo decide to risk bringing wilbur back to see if he can somehow help ranboo. yeah its risky as hell to bring a stranger back to their most vulnerable friend but they're desperate as shit and wil seems to at least have Training lmao

so wilbur helps getting the equipment set up and he takes one look at ranboo and is just like jesus christ ive got my work cut out for me. BUT they get shit set up and start shit <- very technical language /s

tommys good at the tech shit, wilbur has the medical knowledge, and tubbo has the nerves of steel. and oooh boy those will come in handy becauseeeee

they have to amputate ranboos arm

basic details (BIG BIG WARNING FOR GROSS MEDICAL SHIT, BE CAREFUL): wilbur instructed, tubbo performed, tommy monitored ranboo Very Closely (hes on so much fucking pain killers its unbelievable. no general anesthetic, they have access but itd be too risky. they do have localized anasthetics though). applied tourniquet to upper arm around bicep area. pinned ranboos arm so he can't move it too harshly and cause unwanted damage. tubbo cut carefully and didn't shake a bit, ensuring to leave a skin flap of healthy, live skin for sewing and wilbur cauterized the blood vessels and major nerves as they went. obviously, as there is no general anesthesia, ranboo is fucking Screaming and also unable to sit still. that's tommys job, to monitor vitals and also literally keep him from yanking so hard he messes tubbo up. tubbo cut through muscle quickly and had a bonesaw to cut through the bone. hardest part of the entire procedure was smoothing down the bone at the cut. ranboo ended up passing out from pain and despite himself, tubbo was relieved at the lack of screaming. tommy was worried as shit at ranboo passing out but he closely watched to ensure he was still breathing and Alive. tubbo finished up and, with more of wil's instruction, covered the wound with the sewed skin (he would have left it open to monitor, but it was too much of a risk with how high-stress it was for ranboo already) left some drainage tubes, put on heavy antibiotics, and dressed the wound with clean gauze. ranboo took several hours to wake up and awoke screaming once again

it is overall fucking Awful and incredibly traumatizing for all involved

ranboo is Very weak at this point, both from the amputation and the steadily worsening yknow. zombification and shit

so the trio looking after him are scrambling around to do something Anything to treat him and try and save the guy

surprisingly, the amputated arm is doing well??? it does not have its own separate infection and the skin is actively healing, albeit quite slowly, around the wound. they've got enough supplies from the hospital to last a while for clean dressings and medications. jesus fucking christ did I mention how many pain killers hes on????

doesn't mean it doesn't hurt but its like. not entirely hellishly unbearable. only agonizing most days

anyway, through all this time theyre monitoring infection signs closely and wilbur is helping adjust doses of a cocktail of antibiotics and antivirals and even antifungals, just fucking Everything man

and.. things start to change

the sickly green tinge to the skin around his lymph nodes starts turning a more natural pink, the darkened veins start to lighten to a more human shade, the glassy fog over his eyes slowly begins to clear

and holy fucking shit did they just cure an infected person?????

hes been sick since they met him and now he's finally starting to get.. better?

dont get me wrong, hes still struggling and in so much pain and my god the dependencies hes got on a Lot of painkillers oough man, BUT. he is alive

and its an ordeal but. he starts to recover. the infection subsides. his arm is fully able to heal now that his body can focus energy to do that. he starts to actually be able to be himself and by god it really made it all worth it

AND THEY ALL FOUR LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER NO FUCKINH DEATH FUCK THAT THEY GROW OLD TOGETHER ND HAVE A GOOD TIME :]]

[viostormcaller]

okay yall I have a WILD fucking story for you guys today

So, for background, I ordered two things recently: a new onesie to replace my old one, and a pair of wireless earbuds from skullcandy. The onesie came (VERY comfortable btw) but the earbuds never did -- I had already tried once to pay for it and it got declined because I fucked up with the billing address and the shipping address being the same when it shouldn't have been. My fault, but I rebought the product, got my money back from the first payment, and thought all would be well. The onesie was delivered by USPS, and I literally never have issues with them -- every time I order something and they're delivering it, I always receive it. The earbuds, however, were being delivered by UPS, and I was like "oh god here we go" because any company who ISN'T USPS tends to be really fucking incompetent for whatever reason and I can never get my packages delivered to me. I had made the false assumption that maybe it would be fine and there would be no issues.

I was, of course, wrong.

For further background, the people in my apartment building are theives. Every time I get something delivered here, it gets stolen. They once stole a $5 pack of screwdrivers from me, so I have no faith in delivering anything bigger or more expensive than that over here (and thanks to the heavy police activity this morning they MIGHT be selling drugs up there?? but thats a different story). So I have all packages delivered to my stepdad's mom's house instead because the neighbors there are really honest and they've actually helped me with my packages a few times. But I digress.

I get it sent over there and, of course, the package is nowhere to be seen. UPS says it was delivered and left "with the customer," but clearly that was a fucking lie because the customer (aka my stepsister or me) did NOT have the package. And you know it's impossible to contact an actual human person at UPS?? Their pathetic excuse of a customer support line doesn't even have any support options, nor any options to get in contact with a representative of any sort. They DON'T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING EMAIL. And I tried to file a claim against them for my missing package BUT IT WAS INELIGIBLE FOR SOME FUCKING REASON. I was so stressed out and upset.

Well, as it turned out, when my stepdad came home he told me that the package had been delivered to the wrong house -- the postman that delivered it was a new guy instead of the usual guy, and of course they fucked it up. But whatever, the neighbors who recieved my package handed it back to the delivery guy and said "this isn't mine" pretty much, so UPS has to redeliver it (and I still could really heavy get on UPS for straight-up lying to a customer, but I'm not about to start more trouble). So I'm over here with my at least satisfied self thinking "at least they're honest over there, that package is worth 70 bucks and this is my second time trying to get it delivered so I'm glad I'm still getting it"

The upstairs neighbors at my stepdad's mom's house, however, didn't think that was good enough.

So one of them goes over there (because the place is right up the street) and goes to confront them, asking why they didn't just walk up to deliver it to the right apartment themselves since, y'know, the address is right on the fucking package and that wouldn't be that hard to do. So the two of them start arguing. And the guy who lives at the wrong house my package got sent to starts saying "black lives matter" to start shit and the neighbor at my stepdad's mom's house starts getting upset. A few minutes more of this I guess and the guy from my stepdad's mom's house TAKES OUT A FUCKING KNIFE AND STABS THE GUY IN THE ARM. I guess he then drops the knife and my other stepsister's boyfriend goes over to pick up the knife and walks off with it, so when the cops came they can't really accuse anyone right away because they can't find a weapon. But whatever I guess they did get the guy and brought him in and he was released this morning or something.

But I'm over here like... one, that's MY package yall are fighting over, it's not like it's yours, and two, not even I would stab someone over my own fucking package, why would I want someone to stab someone else ON MY BEHALF????? Like I feel kinda bad because like... I didn't realize this would be a big thing. All I'm trying to do is get some wireless earbuds so I can sleep with music on and not break my over-ear headphones. Like jesus christ if I knew this would end is someone getting stabbed I wouldn't have bothered!

Anyway TDLR; I indirectly caused someone else to get stabbed over a package I ordered and am both in shock and also feel kinda bad about it.

[thefoxsden]

@theclownprnc || starter call

Smoke was rising from the cold steel of the pipes that ran their way through the weathered brick ; rust c r e e p i n g in on the eldest duct as it stuck out above the building.  When the vapors hit the sharp bite of the night air, it was met with a soft rain -- a rain that’d hadn’t quit for days.  The energy had been palpable in the city.  Slow... f o g g y... w o r r i e d.  People had been on edge for something that hadn’t happened quite yet.

I wasn’t sure what to expect.  This hadn’t been the first time it’d stormed like this.  Cloudless nights that somehow brought a piercing rain, leaving the city wondering who was up to what.  I wasn’t too concerned, however.  I had shit to do.  I had a fuckin’ business to run and if people were gonna lock themselves up out of fear then I had to make up for that fact.  I still had a goal I needed to reach.

Despite the Den’s early success, I needed to do so much more to truly earn Falcone’s respect.  I still needed to prepare for Gordon and his men ; I needed to finish our alcohol selections ; I also needed to hire more staff.  Both thankfully and unfortunately so, the down-poor had caused a lull in the crowd today.  This gave me time to sort out my work and prep my interview process, but it also meant a heavier workload later this month to get these fuckin’ numbers up.

The last thing I needed today was an i n t e r r u p t i o n.

Calloused fingers hastily traveled their way down the sleek plastic handle, wrapping tight around its center.  With a jutting pull, a chilly mist was released.  Those same fingers made their way into the cold, reaching, moving, and pulling out a frosted glass.  It was soon filled with a dark brown stout, foaming at the brim.  A transfer occurred, followed by grateful words.

As I shut the fridge door below me, I scanned the room.  Couldn’t have had more than 20 people, all seeming to make themselves regulars ( some ex-cons looking for a break ) .  My burnt eyes darting back to the bar in front of me, examining the papers I had left to fill out.  Stress began to wash over me.  My body leaning over the varnished wood.  A sigh escaped my lungs.

Just as I began sorting my s c a t t e r e d thoughts, the room went quiet.  Cocking my head to the left, I listened for any activity.  There was none.  Abruptly, my neck craned to see what was occurring just now.  As my eyes carried their way through the small pockets of groups, I found only faces of shock and worry.  My mind began to race.  What was it that was about to happen here ?

Before I could finish my thought, my ears caught it.  Hairs on the back of my neck stood up in fear worry.  The sound e c h o e d through the empty, quiet spaces.  A cane, its rounded metal end, plinking its way towards me ; heels, dense wood of a dress shoe, m e a n d e r e d their way into my thoughts.  Breathing one last full breath in, I lifted my head to see who had found their way.

“ JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ” forced out from under my breath.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

sorry for the wait between posts - i’m not great at the time management thing lol. this one is kind of a continuation from the last one, but not really. anyway, enjoy! (also sorry for the weird formatting, i don’t know what happened!)

You know you’re an outsider and that the people of Hawkins apparently don’t take well to outsiders. Especially the female population of Hawkins. Sure, they were pleasant enough when they saw you out and about, but the whispers started up just as soon as they thought you might be out of earshot.

Normally it doesn’t bother you - you learned long ago not to care about other people’s perceptions. But today, with your pregnancy hormones raging, the whispers that followed you from Family Video to the library to the grocery store, were just getting to be too much.

“Fifteen years! Can you believe it?”

”Knocked-up. Thought he was smarter than that.”

”Sure knew how to trap him quickly.” You turn down a different aisle in the grocery store, your free hand resting protectively over the small curve of your stomach. It wasn’t even noticeable - not unless you wore a tight fitting top. But the loose Duran Duran tee-shirt tucked into jean shorts obscured the evidence of your new pregnancy. There was nothing you could do about the age difference between yourself and Hopper. And sure, you’d only been dating just shy of a year when you found out you were pregnant, but that wasn’t so unusual.

What the gossipy, bored housewives of Hawkins hated was the fact that you and Hopper weren’t married. Or maybe they really did just hate that you had “trapped” him when none of them could. You hate the fact that Jim had slept with most of them, not because he’d had an active sex life before you came into the picture - you’d slept with a handful of men before falling for Jim -, but because these women thought it gave them a claim, a stake in his personal life. You throw three boxes of Eggo waffles into your basket and head for the check-out. It’s time to get out of the public area of town and head home. You keep your head down as your groceries are rung up, not wanting to attract more attention. But the whispers continue - about your too short shorts, your lack of wedding ring, the absolutely inappropriate way you had kissed Hopper at the Memorial Day town picnic just a few weeks before. Biting the inside of your cheek, you offer the teenage cashier a tight smile and pay, quickly scrambling to your car with the groceries.

————

Hopper comes home, just before dinner, and finds you curled up on the couch. He frowns when he realizes that you’re staring blankly at the TV, ignoring the opening music of the 6 o’clock news.

“Sweetheart?” he leans over the back of the couch and rests a hand on the top of your head. “You okay?”

“Hm?” you blink a few times, rolling your neck to face Hopper. “Oh, hi, baby,” you say quietly, giving him a small, tight smile, “Fine, just a little tired.”

He squints at you, evaluating whether or not to probe a little more. Eventually he chooses to believe you. “Everything good with the baby?”

“Mhm,” your smile is more genuine now. “I can almost feel her flipping around in there.”

“Her?” he raises an eyebrow and comes around the side of the couch to sit with you. He opens his arms and you settle against his broad chest, draping one arm over his stomach.

His arms lock around your shoulders and you shake your head. “Just a feeling. I could be wrong,” you mumble into his shirt. He smells like cigarettes, even though he was supposed to have quit when you found out about the baby. He must be stressed.

You can sympathize.

“Another little girl would be nice,” he says quietly, only a little sadness in his tone. You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.

You cuddle with him quietly for a few minutes, neither one of you really wanting to move. Suddenly, he asks, “Hey, shouldn’t El be home for dinner?”

“She’s hanging out at Joyce’s. They’ve got some crazy D & D campaign happening. Joyce is ordering them all a pizza,” you reply.

“Got the house to ourselves?” Hopper asks and you can hear the smile and suggestion in his voice.

Any other night and you would’ve already had his clothes on the floor, but the murmurs and gossiping behind your back has really burrowed its way into your brain. You shrug and try to get even closer to Hopper. “Not really feeling up to it, Hop,” you admit quietly.

His hand - warm and large - rests against the middle of your back and rubs slow circles. “Okay, we can just relax and enjoy a kid free night.”

You shrug and feel Hopper shift under you. He gently pulls away and looks down at your face, a concerned crease forming in between his eyebrows. 

“Okay, what’s the matter? You’ve been quiet all night and I sure as hell know that’s outta the ordinary for you.”

You hesitate and then admit flatly, “They’ve been talking about us.”

Hopper’s face sets into an angry scowl. “Thought I made it perfectly clear that you n’me aren’t a gossip topic for this town?”

“You can’t stop people from thinking and whispering to each other,” you mumble. “At least they’ve stopped saying shit to my face.”

“I’m the fuckin’ chief, and you’re my girl,” Hopper growls. “Think they’d show us some respect.”

You let out a joyless laugh, “It’s not like they’re making up lies about me, Jim. I’m 29 and knocked-up with my boyfriend’s baby. I’m a fucking stereotype. At least I’m out of my teens.”

Hopper goes silent and you hold your breath, blinking back tears. He can’t even deny it - everything that’s been said about you is entirely true. Well, except for that fact that you plotted and planned to trap him with a pregnancy. That was entirely Mother Nature’s doing. Damn antibiotics cancelling out birth control.

“It’s fine,” you say, waving a hand in the air and trying so hard to sound casual. “I’m happy with you and El and the baby. I don’t care if a bunch of gossipy women think I’m just an unmarried harlot.”

“What if you weren’t?” Hopper says slowly and it takes your brain a minute for his words to register.

“Weren’t what? A harlot?” you ask, leaning away from him a bit and tilting your head in confusion. “I didn’t think I was.”

“No, no,” Hopper shakes his head quickly, a strangely nervous look settling over his handsome features. “What if you weren’t unmarried?”

You sit up fully, leaning back on your knees to stare at him. “I’m sorry? What was that?”

Jim grins at you - the audacity of grinning when your heart is beating right out of your damn chest - and grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “Said, what if you weren’t unmarried?”

“James Hopper,” you narrow your eyes at him, a slow, disbelieving smile threatening the corners of your mouth, “is that what passes for a proposal in your mind?”

He digs his free hand in the front pocket of his work pants and produces a small velvet box. Your jaw drops slightly. “Would a ring make it a better proposal?” he teases, using his thumb to flip open the lid. A small, sparkling diamond set on a thin gold band greets you.

“Oh!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your free hand. “Jim?” you look up at him, tears gathering in your eyes.

He grins even wider. “Didn’t really plan on doin’ it like this, but what the hell. Y/n, mine and El’s lives are so much better ‘cause you’re in them. Will you marry me?”

He’s not big on romantic words, but you can’t help but feel like Jim Hopper just composed a fucking sonnet on the spot. You nod vehemently, lunging forward to grasp his face in your hands and kiss him soundly.

“That a yes?” he mumbles against your lips when you break for air.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Jim Hopper!” you exclaim, “Of course it’s a yes!”

He slips the ring on your finger and you admire it, smiling softly to yourself.

“Looks good on ya,” he comments.

“I love it,” you reply. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, as if he still doubts your love and commitment. He casts his eyes down at the ring and hesitates. “Wanted to ask you months ago. Kept gettin’ nervous. Then I didn’t want you to think it was ‘cause of the baby.” Your smile falters a bit. “It’s not, right?”

Subconsciously, your right hand traces the curve of your stomach - the baby changed a lot, but you hoped it hadn’t been the reason for Hopper to do something he wouldn’t have done otherwise. Hopper’s gaze tracks the motion and he shakes his head.

“El and I picked the ring out around March, was gonna do it then and there, but the kid convinced me it should be special. She and Max had ideas,” he laughs, remembering the onslaught of romantic actions he was supposed to have taken.

“I don’t need special, Jim,” you say quietly, resting your hand on his knee. “This was perfect.”

Hopper still looks a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, but there’s a happy twitch to his moustache and he pulls you forward into a hug. Kissing the top of your head, he mutters, “Anybody in this damn town thinks they’re gonna say shit about my wife, fuck they’ve got another thing comin’.”

You giggle - his wife. You’re going to be Jim Hopper’s wife and officially El’s stepmother. God, what a wild turn this day had taken.

tag list: @0hour9am @joemhazzello @technicallykawaiisoul @loonimoonylooni @fangirlinginspace@pixiehex1985 @harleyh1989 @fingersock1 @bitch4bagels @pulplorrd @wearethebrokenones@crazyonesarethebest @thatisthemagic @thatprettymvthafvcka @daniphee @hufflepuff25@pwoperfangirl @laneygthememequeen @ayatimascd @kakyoin-cherryboy @justalittlebum@anxietysasshole @l0ve-0f-my-life @billyrussosbutt @onceuponathreetwoone @hartonsleeve-blog @ithisismyusernamebitch @daydreamerzk @coolgh0st @w0nder-marie @cainanelea @leia-saveourskins @happy-hopper @that-aesthetic-wannabe @winterxblogger @girlwiththenegantattoo@gellus-bitches @anmactireaonair @yipthegoddess @thesimsnextdoor @mybulletproofheart7 @aisling1985 @uglyshirts  

[jereviendrai]

||| ooc; does every character on this blog have bpd symptoms? is this problematic, considering they’re all villains or would-be villains? is there a way to give a villain a mental health disorder without stigmatizing the disorder? well--

OH AND BIG TRIGGER WARNING FOR A WIDE RANGE OF MENTAL HEALTH TOPICS SUCH AS: eating disorders, mental illness, stigmatization of mental illness, self harm, suicidal tendencies, and a fuckload more. I don’t go into detail. There are just mentions. I’m not gonna say a bunch of graphic shit, I promise! If I went into graphic detail, this would turn into a PhD thesis proposal, and that’d be WAY too long to be worth writing. Also I have BPD, but I’m not going to pretend that I’m an expert on the subject. I’m not. My word is not law, but it’d be nice if my word was taken into consideration.

this post got so fucking long and disorganized jesus christ

The answers are: yes, not inherently, and absolutely.

I want to get into the mental health of all three characters in a second, but I think it’s important to talk a little about the other two points first. That said, though -- yes, they’re all borderline. All three of them! And they all experience it differently! I will come back to that. Anyway--

I feel like it’s important to talk about villains, mental illness and stigma. There’s a really common (and insanely lazy) tendency for writers to explain a villain’s villainy by simply saying, “oh, well they’re a psychopath,” or, “they’re just crazy.” This is not only lazy and offensive, but it contributes to an unfair stigma against the mentally ill.

Mental illness might, say, compel someone to steal a chocolate bar or snap at someone out of anger. It might make a person’s emotions volatile. It might make someone unreasonable. They might suffer delusions of abandonment, of some plot against them, of people’s secret intent to humiliate them, etc. They might suffer and handle their suffering poorly. They may cause harm. But that doesn’t make them... evil. It makes them complex. And how they react to and handle their negative actions says more about them than any diagnosis could.

When you have a villain with a mental illness, you need to examine how the illness is hurting them. Write about how it hinders their progress. Write about how isolating it can be for them. Write about the impact and struggle. Not how the illness makes them so evil or so irredeemably awful. The illness should be what humanizes them and helps to make them relatable. No matter how untouchable and powerful your villain is, they have some personal struggle that is independent of their villainy. When done correctly, it can go a long way in fleshing out your villain and adding interesting inner conflict!

I know, I know. You might be asking, “yeah, but don’t people with mental health issues sometimes cause harm directly related to their symptoms?” To which I say: yeah, duh, of course. Just like a depressed person might say something mean when they’re having a bad day. Just like someone with ADHD might make someone feel like they aren’t being listened to. Just like someone who has social anxiety might make a friend feel unloved. Just like mentally healthy people also occasionally cause harm.

I’m not saying mental health issues don’t cause problems and maladaptive behaviors. I’m just saying it doesn’t... make someone inherently bad -- real or fictional. And I need people to internalize that.

ANYWAY ON TO THE CHARACTERS AND THEIR BPD

(i know, you’re probably like, “dude oh my god shut up and get on with it” sakjlfdkjsa)

I’m going to be referring to the four subtypes. I know these are controversial to some people. Some really don’t like these labels, others feel comforted by them, etc. They’re just to make it easier to talk about this whole thing. No one fits neatly into any one subtype! Some people don’t resemble any particular one! Everyone is different! Don’t box people into these subtypes if you haven’t been given consent, thanks!

Mr. A / Clark Donovan Mr. A is a classic example of the Quiet Borderline. Someone with quiet BPD mostly directs their symptoms inward. It’s harder to detect than other types, as the symptoms that are most prevalent are mostly expressed, well, inwardly. Self-esteem issues, self-blame, insecurity, withdrawing emotionally, pretending you’re not angry when you are, self harming tendencies, suicidal thoughts, etc. He’s also kind of clingy. Mr. A is an extremely loyal person to a fault. He is a people pleaser and will go to the ends of the Earth to make his loved ones happy, even if it hurts him. This is of detriment to him, as he often finds himself getting hurt on behalf of people who might not care as much as he does. He’s let a lot of bad people into his life solely because they made him feel loved, wanted and useful. He views everyone he loves through rose-tinted glasses and only takes them off long after he’s been laid to waste by them. He has terrible issues with self-image and has thus developed an eating disorder. He also has severe depersonalization/derealization disorder, which is a result of how his mental health interacts with his reality-warping powers. It creates a lot of anxiety with him, watching himself phase through things and bend the world around him on a whim. His motivations in life are connected to this, but his motivation to do evil things is not. He wants to bring other superpowered people together as a united front against humanity, as he feels that humanity is a threat to their continued existence. This has nothing to do with his mental health issues. The part of it that does tie in is that he’s painfully lonely and has chronic feelings of boredom, so being surrounded with a shit ton of different people mitigates that. It’s a motive for him bringing people closer to him, but it is not a motive for him to launch an attack on all humanity. He’d be really offended if you tried to accuse him of doing this on the basis that he’s just a bit ill. His illness literally just makes him crave contact with other living beings just like him. He sometimes does bad or stupid things because of this, but it literally has nothing to do with his motives as a villain. As an addendum of sorts, Mr. A’s alias and reluctance to use his given name (Clark Donovan) are a result of identity issues he suffers due to his BPD. He finds it hard to maintain a stable sense of identity, so he just... doesn’t.

Ivan Chanteur Ivan closely resembles what we like to call an Impulsive Borderline, comorbid with ADHD. He is an impulsive person, as the name of the subtype suggests. He’s a thrill-seeker who suffers from extreme levels of chronic boredom, which he desperately tries to combat by any means necessary. Staying still and doing repetitive tasks is literal torture for him. If he cannot get up and move and do whatever it takes to keep himself feeling fulfilled and occupied, he is probably going to fucking lose it. When he is actively vocalizing his boredom on a regular basis, this means the chronic feelings of boredom have reached critical mass. It’s not just boredom. It’s anxiety, it’s agitation, it’s existential dread, it’s an inability to focus, it’s pent-up energy that needs to go somewhere and can’t just stay in him anymore. If he can’t get it out in healthy ways, he usually resorts to self-harm or less-than-healthy pursuits. He’s been known to dabble in drugs, self-harm, occasional promiscuity on a bad night. While therapy’s helped him get a handle on it, there’ve been a lot of stressful and traumatic things going on in his life have have made it a lot harder to keep himself in check. Ivan is pretty charismatic, able to cast a wide net and catch all sorts of people in his social web. He has a sort of natural magnetism that, on a superficial level, should make him quite popular. But underneath it all, he has difficulty trusting people long enough to actually let them into his life. He’ll act like an open book, only to slam himself shut and reshelve himself before anyone can get anywhere near the end. He’s easy to befriend, but difficult to get close to. This has caused him to feel lonely and frustrated. He wishes he could easily form deep connections, but it’s hard and it hurts him. In addition to all of this, he engages in a wide variety of attention-seeking and risk-taking behaviors. He often spends time with people who are not good to him, simply for the thrill of it. This has often gotten him hurt, but he finds it hard to cut this habit in spite of everything. This leads to a lot of frustration and self-hatred, as it makes it hard for him to protect himself. Every time someone hurts or betrays him, he beats himself up over it and tells himself he should know better by now. All that said, though, he’s come a long way in therapy. He’s not quite able to keep a handle on all of it all the time, but he’s managed to secure one or two decently stable friendships along the way.

Eve Laurier Eve is particularly difficult to talk about, but I’m going to try my best. Eve is what happens when you make a conscious decision to be bad. He knows beyond a shadow of doubt that what he’s doing is wrong, but he feels so wronged by the world that he just cannot seem to motivate himself to care. This... again... has nothing to do with his BPD. If anything, it’s his struggles with this disorder that keep him at least somewhat... grounded in reality. Eve suffered a personal tragedy -- the loss of his twin sister in a housefire. Though ruled an accident, he cried foul play. Consumed with grief at the loss of the only person he felt could truly understand him, he vowed to find the culprit and make them pay. This set him down a path of vengeance that would make John Wick blush. Eve grew up as the heir to his family’s criminal enterprise. This put him in a position of power the very moment he was born. This also left him exposed to a lot of terrible, violent crimes from a very young age. Because this was normalized by his family, he internalized and compartmentalized any misgivings he had about violence. By the time he was ready for university, he had been thoroughly trained to carry out hitjobs on behalf of the family. He was a weapon from the moment he left the womb. He was groomed to do terrible things, and it’s because of this ongoing and continuous trauma that he developed his particular cocktail of mental health issues. He mostly fits in with the label of Petulant BPD. Repeated and violent trauma did a number on him, leaving him angry and hurt over what his parents let him fall victim to. He also experiences feelings of self-loathing over the part he feels he played in his own trauma, despite the fact that it started in early childhood. He is self-defeating and self-blaming. He has a difficult time expressing his feelings and has angry outbursts fairly regularly, often resulting in self-harm and suicidal ideation. He’s been known to reach for the nearest mind-altering substance just to get out of his head for a bit. His mood swings are intense and leave him feeling fatigued and anxious. He has severe social anxiety that sometimes manifests as cold indifference. He also has issues with control, has paranoid delusions about the people in his life and doesn’t often believe it when people say that they care for him. He will find any and every piece of evidence that points to the contrary, even if he has to make it up himself. This usually ensures that he’ll end up alone again. He doesn’t have very many close relationships, if any at all. His BPD is not the reason he hurts people. Any hurt caused by his BPD is directed at himself, not at others. His BPD is a direct result of what actually has primed him to hurt people. It’s a direct result of trauma. He’s traumatized. And no, trauma is no excuse for what he’s done -- but his BPD didn’t make him kidnap and torture Ivan while he waited for Ivan’s parents to send in the ransom. That was all Eve. That was his conscious decision to make, in spite of everything in his head telling him how awful and wrong he would be to do such a thing. He knew it was wrong and ignored it, as he was under the impression that Ivan’s family had a hand in his sister’s death. If anything, his BPD aggravates his feelings of shame and self-loathing when he does precisely what his parents had been training him to do his whole life.

Anyway-- I hope this was helpful or at least interesting.

The point I’m trying to make here is that mental illness isn’t some kind of ultimate litmus test of good and evil. A disorder doesn’t make you good or bad. It’s just another facet of who you are.

So... to that end... please for the love of fuck stop using personality disorders as the reason for someone’s villainy. Please. I am begging.

I wrote a bunch of BPD villains in various stages of villainhood because I have BPD and this disorder often makes you feel like you’re evil, a monster, etc. Honestly, on good days I feel like an inherently bad person who consciously chooses to do good. That’s very flawed and I know that logically I’m not inherently bad, but that’s kind of what stigma does. It makes you feel like you’re inherently bad. And that feeling influenced how I write all three of these characters.

This is an incoherent mess but today’s the day I find out if I have coronavirus and I’m so fucking stressed out and hopped up on DayQuil. Thanks for reading any of this, I guess?

[princessplantasaurus]

A Part 2

Part two of this

Quentin Beck x Female OC Sometime after Iron Man 2 but before Age of Ultron (but we’re getting closer to Ultron now) OBVIOUSLY spoilers for Spider-Man: Far From Home

Content warning: alcohol, strong language, LOTS of sexuality including vaginal fingering, hair pulling, blowjobs, voyeurism, insertional intercourse  Previously:  So more often than not, she did her best to pretend it never happened. Pretend her only contact with him was that day in the break room. Which would’ve been made much easier, if he wasn’t suddenly taking all his breaks at the same time she was, eyes always on her, as if studying her every move. In a way, it was degrading, and yet...it was almost exhilarating. Like a game of cat and mouse. And god, did she ever want him to pounce on her already. But Beck was still waiting, still calculating. He was going to pounce, but the moment, of course, had to catch her off guard.

This didn’t make the weeks leading up to the company Christmas party any less stressful for Veronica. Of course, the holidays were a stressful enough time on their own, without the constant thoughts of Beck in the back of her mind. So when the night of the party did roll around, Veronica’s only plan for the evening was drinking just enough that things got blurry and then finally letting go, relaxing, having a good time.

This plan got spoiled before she even had a chance to finish her first flute of champagne. Swaggering up with a flute of champagne in each of his hands, Quentin raised an eyebrow at her glass, taunting “Looks like I arrived just in time.”

Eyebrows knitting in confusion, she questioned “What are you-”

She was cut off by the gesture of him outstretching an arm, wiggling the champagne flute enough to get her attention, but not enough so that any of the drink spilled. “Here. It’s for you. I got it for you.”

Veronica glanced carefully between her drink and the one in his hand, up to him, and then back to her own drink. Acting on impulse and deciding it best to trust him, she quickly downed what was left of her initial drink, before coyly questioning “Are you trying to get me drunk?” while taking the second drink out of his hand.

“Maybe.” he smirked, but in such a way that only one side of his mouth twitched upwards. Bringing his eyes away from her for the first time since he made his way over, he took a sip of his own, carefully glancing back out into the sea of partying Stark employees, before he questioned “You still sleeping with Stark?”

With a huff, she snapped her head towards him, stating clearly and aggressively “I never was. And I’m still not.”

The sideways glance he gave her was cautious, calculated, and reeked of curiosity “Potts? Didn’t tag you as playing for that team.”

“I’m not sleeping with anyone.” she corrected, with a roll of her eyes, but it was jovial. Unlike the last time they’d spoken, this didn’t seem serious, not a legitimate accusation of her character. Two coworkers joking around, shooting the breeze.

“No one at all, huh?” he questioned, before giving her the classic once over, biting down on his lip before pretending he hadn’t just made such an obvious move, shrugging as he looked back out to the party, mumbling “What a shame.” as his champagne got closer to his lips.

Cheeks flushing intensely, Veronica managed to stutter out “Excuse me?!?”

“I’m just saying” Quentin shrugged casually. “I’m sure a lot of people at this company would gladly trade promotional favors for sexual ones if you were the one offering.”

“Why do I have to be sleeping with someone to get ahead in the company in this scenario?” she questioned “Can’t I just be sleeping with someone cause I’m attracted to them? No strings attached?”

In retrospect, Quentin sitting his drink down and actively walking away from it should’ve been her first clue to where the rest of the night was headed. With a shake of his head a low chuckle, he countered “Oh no, sweetie, that opens up your sexual availability to the likes of me, and you don’t want that.”

“What makes you think you know what I want?” she teased, batting her eyelashes, still assuming this was all a game “Maybe I want that. Maybe I want you.”

With a breathy exhale of “You shouldn’t have said that”, suddenly Veronica’s senses were flooded with nothing but Quentin. Quentin’s hands on her face, his cologne in her nostrils, his beard just lightly scratching the area around her mouth, how surprisingly soft and wet and warm his lips were, the moan he let escape as she dropped her drink, letting her hands rake through his hair, kissing him back just as passionately and urgently as he kissed her.

And then...then they were in a cab. She couldn’t remember when they left, where they were going or how they got there. She remembered still being at the party when his tongue slipped inside her mouth the first time, and then...a lustful haze...and then Quentin’s predatory growls of pleasure as he bit at her neck, hand up her skirt and clawing at her thigh, brushing the silk of her panties just often enough to elicit a sharp gasp.

All it took was his other hand, the one that had been cradling her neck, to slip farther down as he attempted to fondle her breast as best as possible given that her dress was still covering her up, for her to finally break. “MMMM! Fuck!” she cried, causing him to cease the trail of hickeys he was leaving on her neck, lifting his head up to look at her as she whimpered “I need...please…”

Lifting both hands, and practically glowing in the shock that caused her, he touched her again, but only with one finger, to tilt her head to look him in the eye “What do you need, Veronica?”

“I need you…”

“Need me to what?” he continued to play dumb, but in such an obvious way that it was impossible for her to misunderstand why. He was loving every second of this.

“T-touch…”

“I’m already touching you, Veronica. Did you want me to touch you somewhere else?”

“You know…” she whined.

“But I don’t.” he shrugged. “You’ll have to tell me.”

She really didn’t want to say it. The cab driver could hear her. Having gone as far as they had with someone else present was already voyeuristic enough. But he was locking those beautifully blue eyes with hers, wide and full of feigned naivety, nodding at her to go on. “My pussy.” she mumbled, embarrassed.

“Do what with your pussy?” he questioned. “Use your words, Veronica. Full sentence. Come on.”

“I want you to finger my pussy, Quentin,” she hissed “fuck.”

“Is that all?” he smirked, lifting her skirt back up and sneaking his hand up and under the silk undergarment, rubbing it gently, at first, as Veronica threw her head back in pleasure. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Just gotta ask for what you want, honey. I’ll give it to you.”

And with that, he did give it to her. One finger, at first, just to gauge her reaction, but then pulled out and reentered with two. “I didn’t take you for such a whore, Veronica. Good girls don’t like getting fingered in the back of a dirty cab. But you’re not a good girl, are you?” he paused, as if to see if she was going to argue, but the only noises she made were her laboured breathing and a lot of short cries of pleasure as fingers continued to thrust inside of her. “No, you’re my little whore. Say it. Say you’re mine, whore.”

“Quentin…” she moaned, as she felt it was all she could do.

“Come on,” he urged. “Full sentences, remember?”

“I’m your little whore” she whimpered, almost crying from just how close she was to release, and just how good he was at edging her there.

And then she felt it. His other hand rubbing against her clit. God, she was close. She could literally feel it coming. Any second now. 

“Mmmm, good job.” he smirked.

And Veronica hated to admit that his praise is what did her in, but it did.

And thank goodness, because as she began to come down from her climax, the cab slowed to a stop. As she sat back up and yanked her skirt back down, she saw Quentin pay the driver, and assumed that this was, in fact, their stop. She opened the door to find that they were in Battery Park City, in front of one of the neighbourhood’s more modest looking apartment complexes.

As the taxi drove away, Quentin pulled keys out of his pocket, and then wrapped his arm around her waist with his free hand. “You’ve got to have your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

She giggled with excitement as he lead into the building, climbing the stairs to the second floor. The top of the stairwell, he decided was as good of place as any to kiss the hell out of her again, and Veronica wasn’t exactly resisting. Letting his lips travel south to her jaw, and then her neck, he mumbled “I don’t know if I can make it to my apartment.”

And as much as there was a very active part of Veronica’s brain that wanted to agree and let him take her right then and there in the stairwell, she had also already been fingered to climax in the back of a cab, and she didn’t want to make a habit of the whole public thing, god forbid she might discover that it had awakened something. “How far is your place?” she asked, the fingers previously combing through his hair giving a slight tug.

“Four doors down.” he admitted.

“That’s not far,” she reasoned. “And then you can do whatever you want to me.”

He chuckled, almost darkly, as he countered “I was planning on that anyway, sweets.”

And with a sudden yank of her hand, they were in the hallway, in front of his door, his hand only leaving hers to fumble with his keys, but as soon as the door was open, his hands were on her waist, the door was slammed behind them, and he’d somehow managed to sandwich her against it. Lips and tongues mixing in hot, desperate movements, as Quentin did his best to try and get her dress off of her. Problem being that the zipper to that garment was on her back that he’d slammed against his front door.

Pulling away from their sloppy wet kisses, he muttered “Jesus Christ, am I going to have to rip this thing off with my teeth?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she teased, breathlessly, before sliding out from under him and unzipping the back. “This was expensive though.”

With a smirk accompanied by a borderline predatory gaze, he conceded “I can work with that.”

And suddenly, she hit his mattress with a soft thud, Quentin hovering over her, yanking the dress off of her body, his own shirt gone and his pants unzipped. “Fuck,” he muttered, seeming almost genuinely upset “You really weren’t wearing a bra this whole time?”

“It’s a strapless dress.” she stated, as though it was an obvious forgone conclusion.

“You really are a whore.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond, as he was back to kissing her, now happily letting his hands knead her breasts, chuckling deliciously in the delight he took in hearing the high and sharp “mmm!” she made when his thumbs ran over her nipples, languidly flicking them back and forth. 

“You like that?” he smirked, pulling away. 

Veronica nodded, almost helplessly, and squirmed in pleasure as he lightly booped her nose, assuring her “We’re gonna have a lot fun tonight, honey.”

Before she had time to think about what was happening, she was flipped onto her stomach, Quentin having discarded his pants, working now on removing the panties he’d been so happily playing under not so long ago. “You were so wet when I was fingering you in that cab, Veronica.” he practically purred, lifting her legs around his torso like a wheelborrow. “Slippery job, getting you off. Can you do that again for me? Can you drip all over cock?”

“Wait,” she muttered, turning her head around best she could, her voice clearer and more assured as she asked “Are you hard already?”

She got her answer in the form of Quentin shoving his entire dick inside of her. “Fuck,” he gasped “you’re so tight. You’re such a small thing, Hansen.” 

She wasn’t sure which shocked her more, the sudden slap to her ass as he continued to thrust into her, or the sudden realization that it was the first time she’d heard Beck voice her last name. 

Doing her best to meet his thrusts and match his rhythm (being taken from behind was throwing her off her game), she caught even herself off guard as her back completely arched when, after curling her hair around his fist, Quentin gave the copper tresses a pull. Voice slightly ragged from the physical exertion of pounding into her pussy, his lips were suddenly at her ear, muttering “I think about pulling your hair every single time you pull it into a ponytail in the break room. Taunting me. And now every time you do it, you’re going to think about me, aren’t you? You’re going to think about how good that felt.”

And for a moment, she was back in the break room, tying her hair up, with Quentin watching her. Always watching her so intently. But now she imagined a devious gleam in his eye, a knowing smile. With another yank of her hair she was brought back to the bedroom, back to reality, back to his lips still at her ear, his breath hot, his breathing getting more and more irregular as his thrusts became more and more sporadic. “Fuck,” he muttered, surprisingly gently, before suddenly lifting himself farther from her, pulling his dick out.

Veronica watched in confusion as he climbed off the bed, before he pointed to the carpet, stating “on your knees.”

Apparently, her slow blink in horny confusion wasn’t a fast enough response for him, because suddenly he was pulling her hair again, but in a much less sexy way, as he barked “I said ON YOUR KNEES, Veronica! What part of that are you having trouble with?!?”

She obliged this time, moving as quickly as possible. Of course, she knew what he wanted. She took just the tip in her mouth at first, glancing up as she bobbed back and forth, slowly pushing a little more into her mouth each time. She glanced up, cautiously, but as his eyes rolled back in his head it seemed like whatever caused that outburst had dissipated. He was enjoying it, bucking his hips towards her, needily. There was a shuddered gasp of her name, and then pulling out, quickly, to try and aim to cum on her tits. “That’s my Veronica,” he praised “That’s my good girl.”

She wasn’t about to admit it, but there was something inherently arousing about being covered in his jizz. As he flopped himself back onto the bed, sitting this time, she remained on the floor, slowly but surely massaging the cum by fondling her own breasts. Each of her tits in one of her hands, she moved them up and down, gently rubbing against each other, quickening in pace. She was almost ready to start grinding her clit against the carpet of his bedroom, but as she let out a small moan of pleasure, Quentin’s eyes flickered back to her, and his sudden moan was a lot louder than hers.

“You really are just a sick little slut, aren’t you?” he questioned, moving, not to touch her, but to start stroking his own dick, watching her. With an almost lazy smirk, he added “Perfect for a sick little guy like me.”

She would’ve blushed if her cheeks weren’t already flushed from her own arousal, as she nodded, looking up to him, making eye contact as she let one of her hands drop to her clit.

Immediately, Quentin’s hand was on her arm. “No no no, don’t do that.” his voice was hushed. “Both hands on your tits. Please.”

“But-”

“You need to get off.” he finished automatically, before tapping his thigh, inviting her up. “Come on. Get up here.”

“You sure?” she questioned, standing back up.

He nodded, letting go of his erection, using both hands to grab her by the waist and pull her onto him. “You’re my little whore, remember? I gotta take care of you. And you,” he paused, taking her hand in his, leading it to his cock, making her stroke it “Got to take care of this. This is your fault. You made it show up. Now take care of it,” his eyes widened, in a way she wasn’t sure was playful or not, as he lustfully whispered “whore.”

For a moment, she was content to tease him, continuing to rub his dick, brushing her thumb over the tip now and again to hear him groan. But while he’d gotten off to her mouth just a few minutes ago, she hadn’t gotten off since the taxi over. She didn’t make him wait too long before climbing onto his dick, riding it quickly, deeply, mewling and moaning in how good it felt all the while. 

Beck was quick to buck against her, quickly capturing her lips in his again, now that they were facing each other. Bringing his lips down to leave a slobbery trail across her jaw, his beard scratching at her neck, the sensation only heightening every thrust, every other touch. 

Veronica’s head fell against his, foreheads touching, with a soft whimper of “Quentin…”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered breathlessly. “Tell me I’m the only one who makes you feel like this.”

“Quentin, I’m-mmmm!” 

He didn’t get to hear what he wanted, but he did get the next best thing, as the warm wet walls of her vagina clenched and tightened around his cock, Veronica riding out her climax while still on top of him. Her fingernails digging into shoulders, he felt his own push, doubling up in speed for the next few seconds before he completely poured out inside of her.

“Did you…?”

“I’ll pay for the Plan B, don’t worry.” he assured her, before throwing himself back onto his bed, finally lying down. Waiting for her head to hit the mattress next to him, he turned to her as she did, smirking “So good, right?”

Nodding, eyelids falling from exhaustion and exertion, she echoed. “Good. Really good.”

He nodded back, licking his lips slowly, before finally questioning “Better than Stark?”

“I’m still not sleeping with him.” she droned monotonously.  A small, genuine smile crept up on his lips, as he found himself murmuring “Good.”

[spideyy-girl]

Red Cheeks and Bloody Noses ~ Richie Tozier

Request: HEYYYY beautiful! I had an idea and I thought you’d be the perfect person to write it. I was hoping I could request a Richie T. x reader where she wants to do something nice for Richie so she rents out the Derry’s arcade/roller rink for a cute little hang out but it makes them both all flustered and ends up being a fluffy date with a bit of kissing? ✨

Summary: Richie takes Y/N out to distract her and have a fun day to themselves at the roller rink, even though Richie isn’t the best at skating…

Fandom: IT (2017)

Warnings: mentions PTSD, swears a lot, sexual innuendos (obviously, its Richie), blood (nothing too violent).

Word Count: 2016 (5.6 pages)

Date: March 11, 2019

A/N: So I sort of did Richie is more comforting the reader, but also the reader is comforting Richie sorta. Also sorry this took soooo long but I hope you like it. My first IT imagine yay!! REQUESTS ARE OPEN so if you liked this and want to see more, please tell me!!!!

It had been a week or so since the events that occurred at the crackhead house on Neibolt. It had also been a week since the Losers stopped talking to each other. Y/N sat in her room, legs crossed on her double bed, blank-mindedly staring at herself in the mirror hung up across from her. She had been in a dazed sort of state ever since she saw it, the creature had been plaguing her mind and appearing in her horrible nightmares since. She had tried reading a book, that always seemed to calm her down before, but she couldn’t find herself focused enough to even get through a page. In fact, she felt like she couldn’t focus on most things nowadays.  

The loud ring of the telephone made her jump, and knock herself off the high bed. She rubbed her head, looking at the doorway. She steadily stood up and made her way downstairs, still trembling from the earlier shock. Her shaking hands slowly went for the receiver before picking it up and holding it to her ear.

“H-hello?” she asked quietly, hoping not to hear children singing some creepy anthem again. Her breaths were uneven, waiting for the person on the other line to respond to her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. I thought I ringed Bill with all the s-s-s-stuttering!” Richie Tozier’s loud voice erupted through the smallish device, causing her to immediately bring it away from her ear slightly. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“What do you want Richie?” she asked, slightly annoyed. Y/N L/N and Richie Tozier have known each other for as long as they could remember. Sure they were considered as best friends, but they still annoyed the hell out of each other. To Y/N because he kept asking her out, and to Richie because she wouldn’t accept his offer.

“What do you think I want, babydoll,” Richie says, trying to sound flirty but just coming through as awkward. “I want to take you out and for you to ride me like a merry go round-”

“Oh my fuck, Richie! Do you ever shut the fuck up!” Y/N screamed as to hopefully not hear the rest of that sentence. She closed her eyes tight and cringed, trying to get that horrible statement out of her head. “How many times do I have to tell you, it will never, EVER, happen.”

“You say that now,” Richie counterparts, she could hear his smirk in the way he talked.

“Yeah, and I’ve been saying it for the past 7 years,” she replies. She hears Richie sigh on the other side of the line.

“Yeah whatever, but it will happen!” Richie proclaims. Before you could tell you otherwise, he continues. “So… have you talked to anyone yet?” he said, his voice suddenly getting quiet. It was odd to hear Richie so serious and concerned.

“No, I tried calling Bevvy but she didn’t answer.” Y/N said, feeling sad again. When she had met Beverly, she was so happy that there was finally another girl in the Losers Club, since she had to deal with the four boys for at least a decade. They had gotten really close but had disagreed when it came down to the fighting the demon clown argument. “What about you? Have you heard from Eddie or any of the other boys?”

“Well, Stan invited me to his bar mitzvah, so that’s sick,” Richie said, he also sounded a bit down. “You’re actually, uh, t-the first person I’ve c-called.”

“Look who’s stuttering now?” Y/N joke light-heartedly, earning a small laugh from the boy.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Richie dismissed her quickly, before mumbling something that was almost inaudible, but she had just heard. “Goddammit, Y/N. The one time I tried to be nice to you-” he cut himself off with a sigh, before speaking at a normal level again. “How are you? How’s your, uh, injury?” he asked. Y/N took a deep sigh, before lifting her short sleeve up to her shoulder, revealing a large and still very bruised and puff gash, she pushed it back down, not wanting to look at it.

“Let’s just say that it’s definitely not going anywhere anytime soon,” she said quietly. Her slightly brightened mood dimming out again fast.

“You alright?” he asked again, sounding concerned. Y/N didn’t know, but Richie very much loved the girl, and wouldn’t be able to handle if anything happened to her, which is why he freaked out on the other Losers when her arm was almost slashed off.

“Yeah, Richie, I just told you that it’s okay-”

“I’m not talking about your arm, dumbass,” Richie cut her off mid-sentence. “I meant after what happened, Y/N, you looked like you were about to shit yourself and you suddenly became mute. I know you, Y/N L/N, and you’re an obnoxious loud little bitch all the time. You fucking scared me.” Richie started to ramble, not knowing why he was suddenly spilling everything to her but knowing she probably needed the comfort anyways. After waiting for a response and not getting one, he spoke again.

“Alright, get off your ass and out the door, L/N. We’re going rollerskating! And yes you have to because I know it’s your favourite!” And before she could complain, he hung up. Y/N let out a loud groan before getting dressed and ready.

Half an hour later, Y/N finally pulled up to the rollerskating rink. Bright pink and green neon lights flashing the words right in front of her. She locked her bike and helmet to a nearby pole before walking in. She had tried to cover up the bags under her eyes with her mother’s makeup, and the stress pimple that formed on her relatively clear face, but neither seemed to be successful. She walked through the building, to the attached small diner on the side of the rink, where she found Richie sitting in their usual booth, slurping aggressively at a chocolate milkshake. Another Y/F/F milkshake stood in front of him, waiting for you. You smiled while you plopped down on the bench across from him and pulled the sweet beverage closer to you, already starting to feel better.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” he said, slicking his hair back and nodding at you. You rolled your eyes, trying not to let your small smile peek through.

“Don’t ruin this for me, Rich,” she warned him, quickly taking another sip of her milkshake before standing up with him and going to the desk to rent a pair of roller skates. Richie followed her, shrugging at her warning. They put on their wheeled shoes and got on the track and started skating around the brightly lit room.

Y/N had always loved rollerskating, she loved to overly loud music playing, the dark room lit up with patterns made up of neon lights on the walls, the oddly delicious milkshakes they made here. She came here almost every day, so it was safe to say that she was quite comfortable when she got on the rink. Richie watched as she gracefully placed one foot in front of the other, gliding against the sleek wood floor, as if it was easier than walking.

Richie definitely couldn’t relate to that sense of easiness when it came to this particular activity. Richie struggled before his wheeled skates even touched on the slippery floors. He must’ve fallen on his face at least 5 times before he joined Y/N on the track. And after that, well it was a bit of a shit show, for Richie at least. To say he was completely flustered would be completely true. Richie thanked god that the room was so dark so that Y/N couldn’t see his terribly red face, even though the darkness was also a factor to him tripping every two seconds.

“You alright, Rich?” He heard Y/N question, after Richie fell again, his face making a loud slapping sound against the wood. Y/N skated to him quickly, bending down and trying to help him on his knees. She gasped when he lifted up his face, revealing a slightly crooked nose and blood, lots of blood. Y/N had to really calm herself down, as the sight of the dark red liquid made her feel like crying, starting to bring up horrible memories.

“Yeah, yup, I’m all good,” Richie says, grasping at his nose. He and Y/N quickly get off the rink, Y/N making sure to hold his arm so he doesn’t trip again.`Y/N unties his laces, not really bothering to do hers in the process, as Richie stuffs his face with tissues to attempt to stop the bleeding. After taking them off, they rush quickly to the bathroom. Y/N immediately sat him on a toilet and got a wet paper towel to put on the back of his neck, as well as an abundance of toilet paper to help stop the bleeding from the source.

“Y/N, I appreciate this and all but… you know this is the boy’s washroom?” Richie ass, as she rushes around the small disgusting bathroom, trying to find more ways to help.

“You know I don’t really give a shit?” She quickly replied, finally walking over to him and kneeling down next to him, holding the paper towels in place as he tries to control stream. “It doesn’t look good, Richie. We should take you to a doctor-”

“No no no no no, I’m feeling better already!” Richie exclaims, attempting to get up, only to be pushed back down by the girl, giving him a stern look. She continued to tend to him, but taking a step back and looking at him. Richie smirked, pushing up his glasses.

“Whatcha lookin at, sweetcheeks?” He asked, wriggling his eyebrows. Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes before going back to help stop the blood.

“The giant fucking mess on your face,” Y/N replied sarcastically, referring to his out of place nose, which she grabbed and snapped back into place, causing Richie to let out a loud groan of discomfort. He grabbed his nose, as Y/N cleaned up the rest of the blood before standing up to wash her hands. Richie stood up after her, going to the bathroom mirror to check out what happened.

“Hey, look! Good as new!” He says happily. Y/N smiled, her teeth peeking past her lips. She shrugged.

“All in a days work,” she joked, taking Richie’s face in her hands, examining the wound. Richie’s face fell and his cheeks went red again. “You should still get that checked out though.” She pulled away, not removing her hands from their position, and looked at the flustered boy.

“O-okay, t-thanks,” he managed to get out, the words falling quickly from his lips. Y/N smiled, she went up on her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to Richie’s lips, her hands winding around to the back of his neck. Richie tried to kiss back, but the kiss ended as quickly as it began.

“Thanks, Richie,” she said, a smile on her lips. “Today was actually a lot more fun than I thought it would’ve been.” Richie smiled nervously at the girl, not knowing how to reply. This was literally his dream coming true. Her hands slipped from his neck back to her sides as she went up and pressed another kiss to his cherry red cheek. “I can’t wait for our second date,” she whispered in his ear, before slipping past a man trying to get into the washroom, giving her a weird look in the process. Richie couldn’t help but stand there starstruck for a few seconds, before a giant shit-eating grin came upon his face as he ran all the way home, shouting and pumping his fist in the air.

“Stan the Man!! You wouldn’t believe what happened today!”

“You’re right, Rich, I probably won’t.”

[dnpsuck]

once you get around to listening to lover what did you think !!! im v curious on your opinions about it heh

thank u for wanting my opinion. i thought i was gonna make it a brief review thingy but i cannot be brief for the life of me. i’m sorry. anyway,

i’mthankful it’s a long album because based on me! i knew i’d like it. not thatme! is a masterpiece or anything but it’s brighter and more fun than herprevious era which i Did Not like. i know reputation is, taylor swift history-wise, important. it’san album she did no press for and allowed the songs speak for themselves and i really like this idea and the sentiment behind it, i’m just Not A Fan of the execution. edgy taylor swift doesn’twork for me. don’t blame me slaps tho. i’ll probably compare these songs to alot of reputation, sorry.

anyway. loveris a more colorful album and probably my favorite pop album from ms. swift, i’m not good at like. Grading things so i won’t be like ‘this is a 8.5 kind of album’ cause like. i don’t know numbers? what you need to know is that it’s a good album. let’s gowith the tracks:

may i add that this is not coming from a taylor swift fan, however i have several friends who are into taylor swift so it’s hard not to get the slightest 2nd hand interest. 

i forgot that you existed: was excited as soon as it started! theproduction is lighter and less dramatic. i feel like contrary to reputationwhere she was kind of obsessed with the people who hurt her and betrayed her inthe previous years, this song is a nice way of letting go. a nicer, yet stillkind of shady, revenge by being like. Oh. You Mean Nothing To Me Anymore.

fave lyrics: “it isn’t love, it isn’thate, it’s just indifference so.. yeah.”

 cruel summer: the chorus…. amazing! i remember reallydisliking her reputation singles, especially “ready for it” because it was veryunnecessarily dark and, again – in my opinion – dark and edgy doesn’t work fortaylor swift.  BUT, rfi had that chorusthat escaped the intense beats and kind of went back a little to her 1989 eraand it’s the one thing from the song that i actually tolerated. and i feel likeall of cruel summer is song that fits the melody of the rfi chorus better thanrfi itself. does that make sense?

fave lyrics:the entire bridge but especially: “i don’twanna keep secrets just to keep you” and “i love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?”

lover: 11/10. fucked me the fuck up. it’s a song aboutlove that isn’t a still-too-fresh-and-uncertain love, or some angsty love. it’sjust love. she’s properly in love and is singing about it with somuch care and certainty. it’s a happy song about the one she loves and how could i hate it? bestsong in the entire album. probably my 2nd fave taylor swift song ofall time

favelyrics: “with every guitar string scar onmy hand” so much is being said in this one fucking line. i absolutelyfucking love it. the fact that this song was 100% written by her is a big plus.

the man: honestly was kinda stressed about the kind of discoursethis one could cause, especially cause of the lack of addressing the whitenessof it all but idk. this is her ownexperience so how much can we ask from her? and also in many ways this feels like 5years late but i’m not gonna complain about this. better late than never (andshe has addressed sexism in her songs before so it’s not like she’s just starting at feminism). she’s made severalpoints w this one and it sounds good. 

favelyrics: the part where she’s like “what if i was bragging about the models i’mfucking?” cause like. girl is aware of aspecific group in her fandom and i appreciate the little nod (it being real ornot)

archer: love the lyrics. this was like. the 3rdsong from this album that she released and i was So Relieved to actually SEEsongwriter taylor swift coming through. it’s a great song about self hatred andreflection, etc. but i’ve listened to it enough times to know i’m gonna be skippingthis one when i’m listening to this album. 

favelyrics: “screaming ‘who could ever leaveme darling?’ but who could stay?”

 i think he knows: the chorus and her vocals… *chef’s kiss*. loveit. cute crush song. more mature yet fun style that works for her. 

fave lyrics:all of the chorus.

miss americana: i get it, i see the politics of it all but. i’mgonna skip it. soz 

favelyrics: “my team is losing, battered andbruising i see the high fives between the bad guys”

 paper rings: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSS. again, pure,happy, bubbly, unashamed love. a love bop that i adore. 

fave lyrics:“i like shiny things but i’d marry youwith paper rings / i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this”

corneliastreet: it’s a nostalgic song that i can’t decide if it’s exactly abreak-up song or not. i like to think the “sacrednew beginning / that became my religion” lyrics are a nod to her bestreputation song aka don’t blame me. i’m so-so on this one but it’s definitely notbad, don’t think i’ll be skipping it for now. 

favelyrics: “that’s the kinda heartbreak timecould never mend / (…) and baby i get mystified by how this city scream yourname”

 death by a thousand cuts: eh? it’s nice and soft and sad-ish but. idk.not right now - since the album is still pretty fresh to me - but i’ll probablystart skipping this one eventually. 

favelyrics: “you said it was a great love,one for the ages / but if the story’s over why am I still writing pages?”

 bondon boy: i am so sorry for every londoner that had tolisten to this one. i could hear it being offensive as soon as she startedsaying those words. it sounds nice and fun but jesus christ taylor. it’s likesomeone from her label said “you gottamake it clear you’re fucking that joe dude or your album won’t sell” andtaylor immediately googled ‘british slang’ and wrote this song. 

fave lyrics:“but something happened i heard himlaughing / i saw the dimples first and then i heard the accent” i’m asimple phannie. i hear the word dimples i think of dan

soon you’ll get better: bro. was not ready. you can hear thepain and fear in her voice. the chorus kind of reminds me of “never grow up”(aka my fave taylor swift song), etc. the sad, almost hopeless addition of “cause you have to” is so heartbreaking. it’sa personal and gorgeous yet sad song, and she goes back to her country roots for this one,so that’s nice. absolutely beautiful. 

fave lyrics:hard to choose but “you like the nicernurses you make the best of a bad deal / i just pretend it isn’t real / i’llpaint the kitchen neon, i’ll brighten up the sky / i know i’ll never get itthere’s not a day that i won’t try” i hate, hate, the notion ofromanticizing a sad and scary situation like this one, and i think i understandthis as less of romanticizing and more of sympathizing with, cause i’ve alsobee in this situation with my family – but because it was just a few days agothat phil revealed his father’s battle with cancer, i couldn’t help but thinkof him too and how much he must have feared for his dad while still trying to keep it together for everyone around him.

false god: love the sax. i know i will fully love thissong at some point. i know it. i’m just not there yet. i like the parts when she has torush her words. i’ll get there with this one. 

favelyrics: “they all warned us about timeslike this / they say the road gets hard and you get lost”

 you need to calm down: fun, boppy, cute. i get what shewas going for and appreciate it. it’s a more carefree pop song and i’m okaywith it. not unskippable though. 

fave lyrics:“and i ain’t tryna mess with your self expressionbut i’ve learned a lesson that stressing and obsessing bout somebody else is nofun”

 afterglow: i don’t know yet. probably one i’ll skip. notbad, i don’t think there’s a song in this album that is necessarily Bad, butthis one is just not really memorable. 

fave lyrics:don’t have one actually. soz

me!: definitely not a masterpiece BUT introduced usto this era which is probably her best pop era. i loved the absolute changefrom the reputation era, bringing back colors, bringing back fun, introducing amore politically active taylor swift, etc. i also like the idea that she knowsthat this is not her best work but she knew that if she was gonna make a catchyradio friendly pop song, she’d make one that’s about self love, etc. 

fave lyrics: i’m a simple girl, “me e e e, o o o oh”

 it’s nice to have a friend: this folk-y vibe? works? is thisfolk? sorry if im being dumb. but it has a lonely vibe, it’s kind of really sadin a way, but it’s lovely at the same time. 

fave lyrics:“something gave you the nerve / to touchmy hand”

 daylight: a song about letting go and forgiving herselffor her past mistakes and learning to focus on the good parts of her life, morespecifically her lover. like new year’s eve was to reputation, this is a nicesong to wrap this album. 

fave lyrics:“you are what you love”

[greekowl87]

Fic: Vegas Embers

Summary: Written for the Summer Fic Exchange. A post ‘Never Again’ fic. While undercover in Las Vegas for “Summer Getaway in Winter,” Mulder and Scully try to resolve whatever is between them. 

A/N: Cross-posting on Tumblr. [Linke to AO3] | @xfilesfanficexchange Link.

Written for @serahsanguine. Prompt was "summer vacation, with loads and loads of UST, alcohol, jealousy on both parts finally resulting in RST" taken someplace between season 3-7. I hope I did this prompt well. I tried my best to stay true to the prompt, especially on summer vacation part. For Serah  @SerahSanguine. I hope you enjoy. Thanks to @clover-covered-hills for a being a second set of eyes.

Songs referenced: “I Don’t Want to Set the World On Fire.” - The Inkspots “Baby, It's Just You.” - Lynda Carter “Love Me As Though There Were No Tomorrow” - Nat King Cole

The classic song, “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire” by the Inkspots, crooned over the radio somewhere in their glitzy hotel room in Las Vegas. The door slammed open with Scully storming in wearing a black dress that hugged her body and Mulder trailing behind sputtering endless apologies. His sharply dressed-suit now sported a large red wine stain down his tie and white collared shirt. “Scully, how many times do I have to say sorry? I’m sorry, okay? What’s done is done. Water under the bridge.”

“You almost blew our cover,” she snapped. “I don’t want to be here pretending to be on summer vacation with you undercover as husband and wife. It was bad enough. Now you had to go and make a fool of yourself and ruin it. Organized Crime was daft to get us involved.”

“There’s nothing else we can do about it,” he signed, dabbing his ruined tie with a cocktail napkin. He shut the door more gently. “The orders came from Skinner. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

The Organized Crime unit desperately needed two agents to pose as a couple for a romantic vacation retreat for married couples titled “Summer Getaway in Winter” that was a front for the mob families in one of their latest money laundering schemes. Someone higher up had tapped Skinner for assistance and, in response, he assigned both Mulder and Scully to go undercover with organized crime and fly to Las Vegas to pose as a married couple and try to gain intelligence about the Di Finamore family’s latest scandal. However, after four days of posing as husband and wife, Mulder and Scully were at each other’s throats.

“This was supposed to be simple, Mulder. Just watch and observe. Then you had to go and ruin our chance by causing a scene! Trying to get closer by getting the autograph of a drag Cher performer is not the way!”

Scully kicked her heels off and lost three inches as she began to take the bobby pins out that had been holding up her hair. She could feel Mulder’s eyes penetrating into the back of her skull and shook out her hair in frustration. “Like me spilling my wine all over my shirt was part of this plan,” he replied.

She heard the acidity in his voice and she kept her steely gaze reflected on her reflection. She could still feel the tension between them. It had been days. Going on over a week. Maybe it was the nonexistent one night stand she had with Ed Jerse that still hung between them. He was still mad at something. Scully shrugged her shoulders. It felt good to have a man give her the attention that she deserved as a woman rather than the FBI agent. However, when she appeared back in the basement office covered with bruises and cuts, claiming her life was her own, that all disappeared. Ever since then, he treated her like an overprotective alpha male and she was sick of it.

“Well, you are awfully convincing about it,” she spat.

“How long is this going to go on, Scully?”

“What are you talking about?” She turned her head slightly as she took out her pearl earrings. “This farce or what this bullshit going on between us?”

“You’re still mad at me about Philadelphia?” he panned.

“And you’re still mad about me having a life outside of what we do?”

“That’s low, Scully, even coming from you.”

“Bullshit, Mulder! Instead of treating me like your pretend wife, you treat me like a whore.”

Mulder’s eyebrows shot up. “Woah! Woah! Now, wait just a second there, Scully. That is low and untrue.”

“Then why are still trying to punish me for a nonexistent one night stand. How many times do I have to tell you, Mulder? I didn’t sleep with Jerse! Get it through your thick head!”

“This isn’t about you and Jerse!” he snapped. “This is about us, Scully! How do you expect us to be husband and wife if we can’t even act like partners!”

Mulder was trying to undo his ruined tie in frustration, pulling and yanking at the silk. Scully came forward in frustration to help him as the radio band sang, “I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim. I just want to be the one you love.”

“The song is rather ironic,” Mulder whispered. He stilled as Scully’s skilled fingers undid the knot and gently slide the tie from his collard.

The song continued hauntingly. “I don’t want to set the world on fire. I just want to start a flame in your heart.”

She refocused her gaze and met his eyes. “We need to come up with another game plan if we want to get the intel tonight.”

“Scully, Dino is gone for that night. You heard him his wife. They’ll be back tomorrow morning for breakfast, which I promise we’ll be there.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Scully rolled her eyes. “You only do things when it’s convenient for you, Mulder. Scully, I’m going on vacation, go to Philadelphia and chase down this lead. Scully, how could you sleep with a man that ended up being poisoned by hallucinogenic tattoo ink? Why on earth did you get a tattoo, Scully?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Why do have to be so controlling, Mulder? I told you, this is my life too! We are supposed to be partners. Do you know what that means?”

“Scully…”

“Part-ner,” she stressed the syllables using her doctor’s voice. “Noun. Singular. Either a pair of people engaged in the same activity. Definition two: be the partner of.”

“I don’t need to recite to me the actual definition of what a ‘partner’ is, Scully. What do you want me to do? I’m trying.”

“Are you really? What has been bothering you most? Are you still mad about me and Jerse?”

“Are we really going down to this road, Scully? Now while we are undercover?”

“We have to have it sometime,” she said. She crossed her arms and stood up to her full five foot two height. Mulder looked away as he tried to finish undoing his tie. “The minibar is stocked full of booze if it makes it easier, Mulder.”

He glanced down at the fake wedding band on the left hand. He bit his lip before considering his words carefully. “Why now, Scully?”

“Well, let’s begin with the obvious,” she started.

She was already unzipping that gorgeous black dress that had been driving him crazy all night as she disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed. The bobby pins were coming out of her hair and he heard the pinging of them as she laid them down on the bathroom counter. Mulder was already growing uncomfortable he felt his blood rush downwards. He tried to rub it away. “Not now,” he hissed.

“Did you say something, Mulder?” Scully called.

“No,” he called. He tore off his tie and dress shirt, revealing a white t-shirt was stained with red wine under it. Scully emerged with her red hair flamed curling and wearing a white, fluffy robe. She stood in front of the bathroom with her hands on her hips. “Scully, are you trying to torture me?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mulder. Are we doing this talk or not?”

Mulder shuddered to hear the boldness in her voice. “I might need something if we are,” he winced. “I’m almost afraid to say anything since you know how to get away with murder legally.”

“I’ll pour us a couple of drinks. This is on the Bureau's dime after all.”

“I suppose it is,” Mulder whispered in reply. This entire situation was already incredibly uncomfortable as far as he was concerned. His rational mind began already screamed that he should full brakes on this entire situation. “Scully, we really don’t have to do this.”

“I think we do,” she answered. “Ever since Jerse, you walk around with a giant chip on your shoulder. You couldn’t even finish your sentence the day I came in all bruised. I told you, Mulder. This is my life too. I won’t let the x-files or the work consume me.”

“So,” Mulder swallowed, using all of his, “how do we start this conversation?”

“I’d suggest talking.”

“It feels like we are incapable of that sometimes, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, you’re the one with the fancy Oxford education, Agent Mulder. How would you suggest we begin?”

Scully set down two rocks glasses filled with ice and clear liquid. Mulder eyed it warily. “It’s vodka. A very, very good vodka,” she replied to his unspoken question. “The stuff you and I could not afford with our government paychecks.”

She sat down on elegant white leather couches that accompanied the California King bed in the other corner. She folded her legs under her so that her bare toes were the only things that stuck out from underneath her fluffy robe.  Mulder crossed his legs uncomfortably in a vain attempt to hide the growing evidence of his distraction. “How about the way I treated you? Maybe we should just keep my mouth shut before I do something else embarrassing.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Anything I say to you gets me in trouble regardless.”

“Aw, Jesus Christ, Mulder. Quit playing the martyr card. I don’t have time for that shit.”

“Just like you did with Jerse.”

Scully’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I did not sleep with him! I merely spent the night. What the hell makes you think I did?”

“The police reports, Scully! You were wearing a man’s shirt!”

“Doesn’t mean I fucking slept with him, Mulder! You know me for Christ’s sake.”

“Then what do you call it?”

Scully picked up the expensive vodka and downed in one smooth gulp. The fiery liquid burned in her veins and she winced. “I don’t know, Mulder. What would you call it? Being an overprotective ass? Some summer vacation this is turning out to bed.”

“It’s February,” he muttered in annoyance.

“Doesn’t matter. We’re in the desert. Las Vegas. This marriage retreat is ‘Summer Getaway.’ We’re on summer vacation,” she corrected bitterly. “Why the fuck does  the exact choice of words matter, Mulder?”

“So what? Now you’re cursing like a sailor?”

“I’m mad!” Scully slammed the glass down. “I’m mad at you! Do you think that I am incapable of feeling emotions?”

“I don’t know? You are so fucking closed off to the world. How the fuck am I supposed to know what you are thinking?”

Mulder was furious at this point. The combination of being tired of Scully’s closed nature and endless nagging was quickly wearing him down. She frowned and her brow creased with anger. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What do you want me to do, Scully? How am I supposed to treat you?”

Scully arched an eyebrow. “What are you afraid of, Mulder? Are you jealous?” Mulder recrossed his legs and grimaced. “Does it bother you that I am finally speaking my mind?” She leaned forward, grabbed the other glass, and emptied in one draught. “Or the fact that I am not acting like the usually Agent Scully that you know?”

Mulder could not help but glance down her robe before quickly looking away. He missed her satisfied smile. “What do you want, Scully?”

“I want you to acknowledge me as you used to, Mulder. As your equal.”

“I still do!”

“You haven’t in weeks,” she scoffed. “You’ve been treating me just like any man who has tried to take over my life.”

“Scully.”

She poured another hefty helping of vodka into the two glasses and glared at Mulder. “You know, you haven’t moved once since we sat down. Have a drink with me,” she challenged. “Show me.”

“Show you what?” He asked. “What on earth has gotten into you, Scully? You aren’t acting like yourself.”

She held out the glass and he took it reluctantly. “Maybe it’s the alcohol. What bothers you more, Mulder? The fact that beneath this,” she motioned to her robed body, “or is that fact that I can be more than Agent Scully?” She shook the vodka glass as the ice clinked against the sides, mocking Mulder. “Is it the thought of me with Jerse?”

“Scully, stop it. I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

“This is supposed to be summer vacation. We’re undercover. You know, Jerse took me to some rock bar. It reminded me of something from my teenage years. It was nice to pretend but it wasn’t me.”

“What’s you?”

Scully smiled enigmatically. “You’re looking at me like that again.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t know what to do with me.”

“I don’t.”

“Tell me, Mulder,” she answered. “What do you see?” She sipped the vodka and slipped onto the couch next to him. Her expert blue eyes caught the evidence of him being uncomfortable. “What do you want from me?”

Mulder could see this situation spiraling horribly out of control like an airplane falling to the Earth about to explode. But the look in her eyes pulled at his heart and he found the jealousy that sprung like a vocal no originally ebb underneath her healing gaze. “I was hoping this undercover assignment would be a chance for us to turn the page, start anew. You’ve been nothing but mad at me since we got here. I am tired of us fighting, Scully. I was jealous.” She raised an eyebrow and he corrected himself. “I am jealous. I wish we could really take a summer vacation and just get away from it all.”

“You just had a vacation,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t really that exciting. I would have rather been with you.”

Scully rested her head on her hand and sipped the vodka. “I was really pissed at you.”

“I can imagine. I think you shot me the last time.”

“I still saved you.”

“That’s my favorite scar,” he whispered. He watched her eyes glaze over either from the alcohol or emotions. “I know that sounds a bit macabre but it is true.”

Silently, Scully set the glass aside and leaned closer to him. She glanced down at his lap. “That evidence suggests you are hardly jealous of Jerse,” she murmured.

He tried to pull away but her gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. “I don’t know what you are trying to do, Scully, or what you want.”

“What do you want, Mulder? Did you wish it had been you?”

“Scully, I don’t think you are in your right frame of mind,” he stuttered trying to push away.  

Scully got up in a fit of rage. “What do you want me to do, Mulder?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “At one moment, I thought we were just partners. The next, after Jerse, I thought you jealous, genuinely jealous. Maybe we could have something after you finally got it through your thick skull that this is my life. I choose who I want to be with. And I see that this…” She gestured wildly to her robe, the empty glasses, and vodka bottle, “was useless.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, standing up suddenly. The blood rushed to the groin again and he winced. “You have me acting like a fool, Scully. I don’t know what you want me to do. Do you want me to be angry? Do you want to pretend what we have is nothing?”

Scully crossed her arms and eyed the enlarged bulge on his suit pants. “What we have is not nothing,” she sighed. “I didn’t sleep from Jerse because of you. You are the one who stopped me. No matter how mad or angry I get with you, it means nothing at the end of the day.”

The radio switched to a new song came on by Lynda Carter, “Baby It’s Just You.” The upbeat jazz ensemble began as she began like a siren. “Like an earthquake starting to roll, I felt my world shake out of control. Like a new world war starting to brew. Baby, it’s just you.” Mulder held out his hand as the song continued.  “Like a cyclone, wild and extreme, I got my mind blown, stalking a dream. Waking up without a clue, ‘cause baby, it’s just you.”

The longest moment paused between them but Scully grasped his open hand and allowed him to pull her close. Roles were forgotten. Work was nonexistent. It was just them. Mulder and Scully. She wrapped her other arm around his neck and pulled him down with gentle pressure. Their foreheads bumped awkwardly and Mulder smiled. Scully pressed against him. “This is for me, huh?”

“For once, I don’t have to hide it.”

They smiled as the singer’s voice continued her siren song. “Help me, help me, rescue my heart. Save me, save me from falling apart. Take me, take me, baby I’m sure. You’ve got the power, you’ve got the cure.”

They swayed together as Scully wrapped her arm around his neck pulling him close. The tempo picked up and she smiled and chuckled. In perfect time, they continued their small little waltz. “I was hoping we could put things to rest,” Mulder continued. “I...I realize that this, whatever it is...we could move forward somehow. Or at least get rid of the bad blood between us that presides over Jerse.”

“I’m willing to move forward if you are,” she whispered.

The song continued and Mulder swayed with her. “Yes,” he promised.

Taking that as a hint, she inches forward, and gently kissed him. It was a simple innocent kiss but the flame swallowed them whole. They broke away briefly to ground themselves in the hotel room. Scully’s hand snaked downwards, her deft fingers unbuckling Mulder’s black leather belt, undoing the button, and zipping down the fly. He took a deep breath and gave a weak smile. “You have me at an unfair advantage here, Scully,” he whispered.

She squeezed him firmly. “I’m a doctor, Mulder. It’s my job to always have the edge.”

He smiled. “Well, Agent Scully, let’s investigate shall we?”

He kissed her again, delving his tongue into her mouth, tasting the drops of vodka from earlier. She moaned in appreciation and began to pull him backward with her to the large king size bed. “Turn out the lights except for the lamp,” she ordered softly.

Her blood was singing as she had fantasized about this moment before. Sometimes it was in their basement office or some motel on the road as they were wrapping up the case. Maybe it had been in a moment of passion or anger. But not like this. The idea of pretending to be someone else was alluring. She played with those cards while she had been of Jerse in Philadelphia but nothing had come of it. Their undercover roles as husband and wife weren’t right either. She twisted off the fake wedding band and placed it on the nightstand. Mulder turned out most of the lights except the lamp she had indicated.

The radio faded to Doris Day and he smiled. “The radio is playing all the right tunes, Scully. Why can’t we?”

“Leave it on.”

The music slowed time as if freezing the moment. Mulder kicked off his shoes and socks. Scully propped herself up on her arms to watch him. “Take off the wedding ring, Mulder.”

“What? How come?”

“Just do it.”

He slipped off the gold band and placed it by the white leather couches. “Now what?”

“Just come here.” He took of the stained white shirt and cast it aside. It was almost like a weight being lifted off of him. He was no longer chained to being Agent Mulder or whatever stupid alter ego the Bureau had dreamed up for their undercover case. He was himself again. They were themselves. “What?”

“Just thinking,” he murmured.

He walked forward, slowly, trying to look confident and in control but Scully burst out laughing. “Stop it, Mulder. You're not making this any easier.”

“First times are never easy,” he answered. He lay beside her on the bed. “I was trying to play it cool. They are awkward, uncomfortable, sometimes forgettable.”

“I’m certain this won’t be.” She propped her head up on her hand and gently traced the puckered wound near his shoulder. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

“Yes. You?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “No regrets, Scully. Whatever happens between us, it doesn't change a thing.”

“What happens if it does, Mulder,” she asked. Scully let her mind drift to malignant possibilities of what they had destroyed. “What happens…”

Mulder silenced her with a searing kiss that zapped away any lingering doubt that she had between them. She let released her arms and rolled onto her back pulling Mulder closer. “No ‘what happens’ or ‘what ifs’ tonight, Scully.” He kissed her again on her forehead, her temple, her lips. She unconsciously arched her back slightly. “I was jealous. I only imagined what Jerse did to you. I was filled with regret. Regrets that I wasn’t the one who could show you how you deserve to be treated.”

He leisurely ran his hand down her bare thigh. He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Well, it’s you now,” she whispered.

“Do you want to pretend some more?” He kissed her softly. “Pretend that we are on summer vacation? Have another drink?”

“I don’t want to cloud my senses anymore,” she told him. “I’m already quite buzzed and feeling quite good. No. I want to do this just as us, Scully and Mulder.”  She raked her fingers through his hair. “I want this to mean something.”

“It already does.” Mulder chuckled and pulled at the knot bounding her robe. She breathed sharply as the cool air hit her bare skin and Mulder’s warm fingertips traced her smooth abdomen. “You were holding out on me, Scully.”

“Hm. Maybe I had a feeling or maybe I finally knew what I wanted with my life,” she told him. “There are still some barriers between us.”

“I want to take my time first.”

In true Vegas fashion, the radio changed to Nat King Cole’s “Love As There Is No Tomorrow.” They smiled at one another as Mulder peeled the robe back like a forbidden fruit. God, how long he had dreamed and fantasized about this moment. Scully, before him as the amazing goddess who stood by him over the past four years as the chased monsters in the dark and became his staunchness defender standing over an autopsy table or by his side in front of Skinner’s desk. He, himself a feeble mortal, allowed to worship at her alter.

Mulder’s fingers traced her body, slowly working his way upwards. Nat King Cole continued in the background. Scully closed her eyes and let her simply enjoy the moment. He gently traced his fingers around her left areola before trailing his tongue and smothering it away with a kiss before moving onto the right. Scully continued to run his fingers through his hair and sigh with ecstasy.

Scully didn’t know why she had let herself go for so long without feeling this...this moment. Everything that encompassed it. He was gentle in his explorations, revenant even. He tore away the remains of the rob as she took of the remains of his lower clothing. Time stood still as they explored each other. Mulder worked his way down, his lips and tongue leaving a path like breadcrumbs to the ultimate treasure. Scully sighed with pleasure as her entire body shivered.

The reaction did not go unnoticed by Mulder. He continued to run his hands up and down her body reverently, trying to memorize every aspect of her and this moment. Scully closed her eyes. Jerse didn’t even come close. Ethan was just to proper and his nagging pressure to marry him properly was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Jack continued to treat her as his subordinate, never fully able to disengage with the role of instructor. While their relationship had its sweet moments but mostly was one-sided. They mutually ended it after three months.  Then Daniel. She fell for him because of what he represented. She ended it because he wanted to tuck her away on a shelf like a replica of a bygone era as his wife.

But Mulder…

She gasped as he struck gold. It had been so long since she allowed herself to be a woman and simply be present in the moment. This recent strike of rebellion was not born out of resentment towards Mulder (although he did act like an ass). But it was a sudden desire to change things between them.  A few weeks ago, Scully had experienced a horrific nose bleed. She tried to put it out of her mind but then there was a second nose bleed. At a regular check-up, she mentioned it off handly to her doctor who suggested seeing a specialist for high blood pressure. After all, Scully was in a very dangerous profession. But because of Philidelphia and this stupid undercover assignment, she had yet to find the time.

But in the back of her mind, despite the doctor’s assurances and her own medical training, she had the growing feeling of something bad happening. With that growing feeling slowly starting to gnaw at her insecurities, she decided to take a chance tonight and confront Mulder and see what would happen. She was not complaining at all.

She left his nose nudge that sensitive area away, that marvelous sunflower shucking tongue of his play her like a violin. The warmth was slow at first, like a distant memory, growing at the base of her spine and pelvis. But it was growing slowly, like a smoldering wildfire. He pinched, licked, and teased. It soon became all too much for her and she screamed his name in satisfaction. Mulder lifted his head with a shit eating grin on his face.

“I bet Jerse couldn’t make you scream like that,” he told her.

Scully was on her back, panting heavily. Mulder’s large hands were tracing her legs, her body, everywhere. She chuckled and pulled him upwards so they could be even. “No one has,” she whispered.

She felt like her entire body melted. Had it really been so long since she allowed herself to feel this good? He was gentle in his ministrations, kissing her tenderly. She could taste herself on his lips and it made her weak in her knees. They crawled beneath the 800 Egyptian thread count cotton sheets and he propped his head upon his arm to drink her in. “Scully, you okay?” His fingers traced her profile. She nodded and turned onto her side to press herself against him. She felt the length of him against her stomach. This moment was going to her head. She couldn’t think or reason. Mulder smiled. “Just be in the moment, Scully.”

“Be in the moment. I was by taking a risk like this.”

“I think it is ending up rather well, don’t you?” She was silent. “Scully? Did I say something wrong?”

“Is this just a meaningless one night stand?”

“No!” He promised. He kissed her again and Scully knew she had been lying to herself for a while. “No, I promise. I don’t know how to put into words what I feel. We’ve never actually, uh, been good at that.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” she murmured.

“They do.”

Both burst out laughing after a serious moment of silence as Scully rolled on top of him. “Enough chatter,” she whispered. “I’m tired of waiting.”

She was beyond ready. Mulder’s admission that this meant more than a one night stand sealed the deal. She slid down his engorged member and they both moaned at the sensation. Nothing had ever felt so good. Maybe it was whatever had been between them vanishing or four years of pent up stress disappearing or just finally consuming the next evolutionary step in their relationship.

They moved in synchrony, just like they did together in their work. Mulder watched, entranced, as she moved above him like a graceful spirit. He was convinced that this was too good to be true. After all this time. Scully place both of her hands on his shoulders, the pad of her thumb caressing the puckered bullet scar. He grimaced at the pure pleasure of being in her surprised by her own inner strength. “Mulder,” she whimpered.

She rested her forehead against his. A thin sheen of sweat covered his back. “I love you,” he confessed, unable to stop himself.

“I know, Mulder. Me too.”

Their frequency increased, either out of desperation or eagerness to feel every aspect of one another. “I’m close, Scully. I...I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

She nodded wordlessly, panting. “Let go, Mulder. Let go.”

“What about you?”

“It’s okay,” she hushed.

She took his hand with hers and guided below him into the familiar circular rhythm that had gotten her through many lonely nights. Mulder’s eyebrows raised in surprise ad his hazel eyes focused with the intensity that she shuddered. The orgasmic pleasure both felt was overwhelming. It was Mulder first that broke as he cried out into her shoulder. Scully held him close as she rode out the last of his orgasm to help her own. With curled toes and stars behind her eyes, she felt the wave crash over the cliff with both of them on it.

“That…” Mulder laughed. “That was something.”

He wiped away a strand of her wild hair and she smiled. Drunk off their post-coitus lovemaking, laughed like she hadn’t in ages. Mulder held her tightly, his own laughter dancing off the Vegas suite. Then she felt it. The light trickle above her lip. She touched her finger to her nose and saw red blood. “Not again,” she muttered, rushing to the bathroom.

Scully nearly tripped over the sheets dashing to the bathroom with Mulder hot on her heels. She grabbed a wad of toilet paper and pinched her nostrils in an effort to stem the flow. “Scully?” Mulder asked. She could detect the worry in his voice. “Are you okay?”

She jumped feeling his warm hand trace down the length of her spine, momentarily forgetting the current state of their undress. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. It’ll stop in a few minutes.”

She looked at their reflections in the mirror. Mulder stood behind Scully, wrapping his arms around her waist, and resting his chin perfectly atop her red hair. Holding the tissue to her nose, she tilted her head back and rested it against his chest. She could vaguely hear his heartbeat and had a strange sense of deja vu. After ten minutes, she managed to stop the bleeding and Mulder hugged her tightly. “Ready for bed?”

“Yeah,” she answered him.

She threw away the bloodied toilet paper and eyed it one last time before letting Mulder bring them back to bed. He held the blanket open for her as she climbed in first and then him. Scully let herself be wrapped up in his embrace, forgetting about the bloody noses and the fact they were supposed to undercover.

“You know, Scully,” he whispered, “we should consider summer vacation more often.”

“It’s February,” she yawned. “In the desert.”

“Don’t ruin this fantasy, Scully,” he whispered. “This the beginning of something wonderful. I promise.”

“Promise me that nothing will change between us,” she breathed.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re still equaled.”

“In every aspect. Do you want me to get you a desk?”

“No. Not right now.” A small smile played on Scully’s lips. They watched the Vegas lights dance outside their room window. “This is perfect right now.”

[alrightinbed-betterwithapen]

Clever Little Things — Part Two — David Dobrik x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: this came flying outta me because I’m engulfed in this series. I hope y’all are loving this as much as I am! Thanks anon you da best!!

Summary: When is there not a problem for (Y/N)?

——

Everything was going good when Jason lets you know he’s going with Trisha and David back to Boston and Chicago for a 10 day period. You’d understood when you took the job there would be some travel weekends, but 10 days seemed excessive and you were wondering why you even needed to be there with wi-fi being a thing. Jason explained how vlogs become super up in the air while traveling. Things change, opportunities arise and it’s easier when all three of them can edit together. He also lets you know it is excessive and you can totally skip out on this one.

But here’s the catch, Jason also wanted you to edit for Trisha’s vlogs during the trip. (Which isn’t hard at all. You’d watched a few of her vlogs at this point and the cuts were lazy and extremely simple.) There’s a thirty five hundred dollar bonus in it and everything will be paid for. You agree too quickly, hungry for the money. And a couple paid trips.

You could deal with Trisha and David for that period. No problem.

——

There is always a problem.

——

It’s not an unpleasant journey out to Boston. Everything is chill. You’d already pieced the first half of Jason’s next vlog together and Trisha would give you footage to edit two days after you settled in. You really had nothing to do except enjoy the flight.

You were sat next to Joe, he was David’s addition camera/assistant editor? Joe explained he helped bounce ideas off David but didn’t actually edit any of the footage unless it was adding music over pre-cut material and then giving back to Dave for finally touches. What a fucking control freak, you can’t help thinking. Joe’s such a cool guy, you don’t know how he put up with that. But he seemed chipper while explaining, it didn’t seem like he cared. It blew your mind.

The flight is half over when you notice someone sit in the seat Joe had left a few moments ago, and it wasn’t Joe. David plopped down next to you, looking jazzed, on the edge of the seat brimming with energy. You pull your headphones off and use all the professionalism in you to not roll your eyes.

“So... you got my apology?” He starts, smiling at you with all the charm he’s got.

“Yeah, I did. Did you realize there wasn’t actually an apology anywhere in there? Cause I did,” you tell him, looking back to the phone screen, unimpressed with his presence.

He scoffs, like a sitcom character.

“Seriously? That’s how it’s going to be? I’m trying to play nice with you and this is what I get?” he implores, amusement in his tone instead of the disdain his words held. You don’t look up from your phone.

“I mean, what did you want from me? I don’t play anything. You don’t have to be nice to me, you can just be professional,” you explain, dragging your eyes to his deflated form in the seat. It makes you smirk, “We work together, David. It’s all good.”

“Yeah, it sure seems like it,” he snipes at you, becoming defensive all of a sudden. He’s sitting back up and turning to you when he asks, “Why don’t you like me? Besides the texting. You obviously have a problem with me.”

You click your phone shut and turn properly to him, mirroring his stance. You bore through him, contemplating your next sentence while he squirms in his seat. The smirk doesn’t leave your face, and you can tell David is uncomfortable with the way your demeanor had changed.

“I don’t know, but what I do know is I never told anyone we work with that. So, it’s purely gossip at this point,” you challenged, “But, I think the better question is why does it bother you?”

David looks slightly appalled, you don’t know if it’s your words or the question at hand. It makes you feel smug though, you’re getting to him.

“Why does everyone have to like you? And why do you care if they don’t?”

He just stares blankly until you lean back in your seat, slip on your headphones and pull the screen back to your face, letting him clearly know the conversation is over.

He doesn’t leave for another minute.

——

“What the fuck?! Why? Why does she hate me this much?” David’s babbling to Jason as they run out to grab food to bring back to the hotel. Jason can’t help the giddy laughter that pours out of him. He’s never seen a person David couldn’t charm, he’s also never seen it eat at the man like it is now. Jason loves David, but he always thought the man needed to be brought down a peg to keep his head. Success as thick and swift as David’s can ruin people if they’re not brought down to earth every once and awhile. And Jason’s mostly amused it’s his editor.

“I don’t know man, but if she’s not going out of her way to be a bitch, then-,” he’s starting before being cut off by David.

“She’s not going out of her way, but she’s there, engrained into our work lives, actively disliking me. Like, how the fuck am I suppose to deal with that,” he stressed, gripping at his hair in the passenger seat of their rental.

“Jesus Christ! It’s moments like these I’m reminded you’ve never worked a real job a day in your life! You’ve never had to deal with a co-worker that hates you, huh? Well, take it from me; if she’s not actively trying to ruin your career, leave it the fuck alone. You can function without it being a big deal,” Jason’s lecturing, eyes flicking from the stressed man to the street.

“Yeah, well she kinda accurately pin pointed that it really fuckin’ bothers me when people dislike me. So, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” David’s rolling his eyes, brow furrowed.

“Wait, she said that to you?”

“Yeah dude, she was spitting all kinds of venom. I didn’t even know how to respond. I just left.”

“Damn, Trish is right. She is a bad bitch,” Jason’s chuckling, looking over at the man who had grown quiet. “That didn’t actually bother you, did it?”

“I mean, no? Like, I already knew that about myself, but it fucked me up to hear it from someone I barely know, ya know?” David explains, biting on the skin of his thumb. He looks confused in the seat, nervous.

“You gotta let this go, Dave.”

And he knows Jason is right. He does need to let it stop eating at him, and he decides he will as their parking at the restaurant to pick up their food.

——

He doesn’t. David is devoured whole.

——

David knocks at your door at 11:45 in the night. You’re up and adding to Jason’s vlog, and you’re not blown away by the fact he’s here. You have footage of bits he needs for his next vlog, and he can let you know about stuff you can and can’t use. Jason and Trisha were doing the hometown date night thing, leaving the two of you to work. It made more sense to work together, but you always get sucked into willing solitude when you edit. David invited himself over.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence. You’re stretched out on the window sill in your room, large and comfy enough to sit with your headphones perched lopsided, one ear out to hear the man if he starts speaking. David was laying on the bed closest to the window, playing his vlog out loud in the room.

It’s inexplicable why you don’t tell him when you finish editing and start doing some coding side work for a friends website. He doesn’t need to be here after that, but you tell yourself you get sucked into your work with a sound track of The Weeknd and IDKHOW playing through your computer.

It’s almost three am when you notice David standing beside you, looking at your screen.

“You’re a web developer?” He asks astonished, you can’t help but scowl at that. You’re brought back from your little happy place to this placating bullshit?

“Yeah, a girl can totally have two jobs in the same field that she kicks ass at. I don’t know,” you challenge as he backs up, your tongue getting ready for the kill, “I suppose I just don’t understand people who can fulfill their lives completely with editing. It really is a simple, mediocre skill at best. I gotta do something to not get bored. How’s your four minute video coming? You’ve been working on it for, what? Two days now. I guess you wouldn’t understand,” you are straight up sneering at the man, having fully risen from your seated position in the midst of your tirade.

David looks so taken aback before a fire alights behind his deep brown eyes, taking in your sharp words. He looks so furious, he’d stopped backing up, hands turning to fists at his sides. You are briefly thinking he might honest to god hit you, striking a deep nerve with the usually unwavering man. You’re too busy staring and contemplating this to stop him from lunging forward at you, hands jutting forward to grab your face.

You expect something painful, but you get David’s chapped lips surging onto your own, hands tilting your face upwards. It’s rough and heavy, his tongue immediately going to lick at your lips. You can’t move in that moment, your eyes had slipped shut at the first touch of his fingers to your skin. You were floored, chest tightening with excitement and a flush going through your body. You were absolutely okay with this and that was surprising.

He’d noticed your lack of reaction and is going to pull back when you reach out and ball your hands in his shirt, pulling him closer to you and opening your mouth for him in one movement. The groan he lets out is kind of intoxicating and has you pressing up into the kiss, fighting for dominance while trying to bite at his lips. His hands slip to hold your throat, fingers shockingly gentle on your skin and you take the opportunity to suck David’s lip into your mouth and bite down. You draw out another groan from him, a mewling, harsh sound that’s interrupted by a loud knocking on the door to your hotel room.

You’re both instantaneously reeling back from one another, eyes wide and jerking from the source of the noise to the other person.

What the fuck?

——

There was always a problem.

——