#i literally have medication for This Fuck Shit but guess what.

[violasmirabiles]

i keep repeating to myself im doing better than i was this time last year which is TRUE i was doing fucking awful this time last year BUT i also keep telling myself im actually doing pretty normal now which is pretty rich from someone who didnt sleep at all last night because their hell brain didnt Let them fall asleep because ?? scared?? i was just. scared? something and therefore Everything was Scary and therefore my brain thought it was perfectly reasonable to Snap me wide fucking awake every time i was just about to doze off?? uhh yeah no i dont think im 100% fine here

#i literally have medication for This Fuck Shit but guess what. #the same hell brain that keeps me up at night makes me so so so sure im Not Allowed to take those meds cos im not doing Bad Enough #because (checks notes) its not That Big Of A Deal and also the label does not specify when im Allowed to take them #(unlike e.g. my depression meds & adhd meds which say to take daily) #and the best thing is i knowwwwwwwwwww none of this makes any fucking sense my brain just fucking sucks #unfortunately the bastard is also very very convincing sometimes #i promise im doing Important Mental Health Related Phone Calls as soon as this move is done even though thats so so scary

[rosicheeks]

😓🤬

#I fucking hate doctors and the medical field so much #I was FINALLY starting to get on the right path #called a php place and think I know where I’m going #have a therapist I’ve been talking to here and there #I’ve been trying to get into a psych evaluation right? #called 5+ places the other day and they all had 5-8 month long waitlists #I need to get most of this shit done before June #so that ain’t gonna work #called the psych place my doctor referred me to #(would like to add that I did call this same place right after my doctor visit a few months ago and they never called me back) #so I had no hope they were even going to pick up #I was shocked when I heard someone picked up and even more shocked when they said they had an opening for fucking Wednesday #literally I felt like everything was finally aligning #I scheduled the appt for a zoom meeting at 10am #then I get a bunch of random emails saying my appointment was changed #now I have two different appointments- Wednesday and Thursday both at 9am and with a totally different doctor #so I was like???? ok guessing something happened but I didn’t think much of it - called to figure out what day it actually is #when I called to confirm they told me that I can’t be tested until I get an internal referral #I told them I did get a referral??? #they looked at it and it was just a referral for depression not adhd or anything else #but then when they looked more into it they found in the notes she wanted me to get adhd testing #SO she just forgot to add it to my referral #I get people make mistakes #but this is like the 4th time something like this has happened lately #I’m just trying to be healthy #and it is fucking RIDICULOUS how incredibly hard it is to find the proper help #also the girl yesterday when I made the appointment said yes to all my questions but sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s talking about #was like ‘does this test for adhd and autism?’ ‘yeah for sure’ and then I find out they don’t even test for autism #so now I have to find a totally different person to either do both or just test for autism #either way I feel incredibly disheartened and overwhelmed and sad

[the-trans-dragon]

What if they didn't put ads every 3 posts. Three posts between ads, literally. Not even counting the ad for Tumblr Live.

Also what if tumblr didn't know what city Im in. I do not want my location tracked or stored anywhere unless I give explicit ongoing permission, like with my GPS app that I allow to track me only when the app is open, and then it deletes the data (allegedly) when I stop giving permission.

#ugh i do SO much to try to keep my location private. i use an android with all the tracking things Off (except for my weather app #which is a highly specific app that does NOTHING except provide weather; and i have the location turned Off so it doesnt even know where i #live). my tumblr email is not connected to any real life stuff because i made it when i was very closeted and made a new email and password #for it and never linked them to anything else. i have bare minimum apps. i use firefox and duckduckgo. #for shits sake i use a small barely-known map app because any Map App that has had large success under capitalism is inevitably going to #start selling private info or working with a cheap security system designed to allow quiet data leaks. #i guess i use gmail and gphotos but my phone doesnt HAVE a native Photo App. i have to use one i download and im too damn skittish to try #i guess i did get netflix recently....sigh.... i figured they WERENT tracking me because they email me EVERY TIME I USE NETFLIX to alert me #that OHHHH A NEW DEVICE IS USING NETFLIX AAAAA WHAT IF ITS AGAINST NETFLIX POLICY OH NOOOO. so i figured they didnt have a way to ID me. #UGH. CAN I PLEASE EXIST WITHOUT BEING MONITORED FOR FIVE SECONDS. can i please access Social Media which is a shitty substitute for actual #human connection but its the best i have--without someone noting my location and then trying to sell me things??? can i please watch film??? #i cant go to a theater because my region does NOT believe in covid and not even medical staff attending Very Ill Patients wear masks anymore #stupid fucking homophobic transphobic anti-vax society has made it too dangerous for me to access most Not-Online forms of enrichment. and i #cant even use the Internet (a magnificent ASTONISHING human creation) without being tracked and advertised to. #ugh.. #humanity is just so cool and brave and kind and amazing and yet we have taxes and advertisment IDs and traffic and medicine shortages. #its not like the ads even work. even when it shows me stuff i DO want. i cant fucking afford things. i already have spent too much money on #things that i dont need like Good Food and Entertainment and Juice. ugh....okay i do need food and liquids....Good food even. my body cant #survive on College Foods like it could in the past. And i might literally die if i dont buy juice... #and i guess its really really really heartwarming to have good entertainment to take breaks from all the stress.... its not like i havent l #..... like im so frugal. thank god my partners encourage me to buy myself things. i have been so much healthier since giving in and buying #Non-Water drinks instead of just Chronically Drinking Less Than A Bottle Of Water A Day. my partners are so good and sweet 😓 i shouldnt be #upset with myself for letting them convince me to take care of myself. that isnt fair to them or me so i will stop doing that now. #my faith in humanity is mostly just knowing that my partners exist. theyre so sweet. if people like them exist--then i have faith in humanty #no pressure lol. they are both so good and perfect regardless of how much energy they have to spare for Being Good. they are just inherently #very dear and good to me and for me. but just because i have faith in humanity doesnt mean im gonna stop complaining the whole time!!!!!! i #will whine about the bad stuff forever!!!! and BITE IT if i ever get the chance. but i will complain until the bothersome things go away. #if i complain my whole life with no results then...! so be it. i will whine and it will be art somehow. #sorenhoots

[stairset]

Microdosing on having money by looking at virtual tours of apartments I can’t afford

#literally so annoying i won't be able to move out and get my own place for like at least a year give or take #i might finally be working full-time soon though #like currently i'm just working tuesdays and thursdays at my mom's work scanning medical records #but gamestop is having open interviews so i'm gonna go in monday #i don't actually know if gamestop is hiring full-time though #so if they're only hiring part-time i guess i'll just have to work two jobs #like maybe scan records two days a week and do gamestop the other three #so i'd be making money as if i were working full-time #and that'd hold me over for a while at least until i find an actual full-time job #but yeah even then it's gonna be quite a while before i can move out which is annoying #i just want a fucking place to myself #i've also thought about selling some of my old shit that i don't need anymore to make some extra cash on the side #like old dvds and action figures and whatnot that are still in decent condition #i could sell them on ebay or like trade em in at vintage stock or whatever #my mom always insists that we never sell that stuff cause she and dad spent so much money on them when i was a kid #and i get that. but frankly i don't care. #they bought them for me and i'm an adult and can do what i want with them so if i wanna sell em i can #and if they help me get out of here sooner then it's worth it #shut up tristan

[polaraffect]

.

#damien.txt #venting abt personal life in the tags lol sorry new followers <3<3 #ahhHHHHHHHHHHH why must sleeping be so hard #i cannot for the life of me figure out what the fuck has gone wrong or how to fix it #but here i am AGAIN at 5:30 a.m. contemplating pulling an all-nighter bc i could not sleep #and i just. am possibly going a little bit insane #bc i hate this. it feels awful. (whoa no way not getting enough sleep feels bad? who would have guessed-) #the answer at this point is probably medical intervention #and by medical intervention i mean i need to go to the store and pick up melatonin gummies lol #i am just a broke college student tho man... funding the inevitable melatonin addiction will SUCK #addiction is a strong word to use here. i just know i will want to use it every night if it works #which is like the intended usage but still. that shit gets expensive #anyways i wish having insomnia or something insomnia adjacent was actually cool and fun and edgy #and not just like. being on the verge of tears as you lay down in bed with a headache #but you literally cannot stop thinking and moving around long enough to fall asleep #my thoughts aren't even that bad they are just constant and i would like them to shut up pls <3 #ok i am done ranting lmaoo this is like the 4th rant abt sleep problems ive done on tumblr #maybe i need to like. fix this lol

[nexus-nebulae]

also i just need to be fucking angry about the American healthcare system because holy shit i should not be forced to fucking GOOGLE how to take care of myself after a SURGICAL PROCEDURE

#doctor moment #idk what this specific kind of bad medical practice would be called so #ask to tag #vent #i guess #but HOLY SHIT I'M SO FUCKING MAD ABOUT THAT #THEY DID NOT TELL ME A SINGLE THING AT THE END OF THE PROCEDURE THEY LITERALLY JUST SHOOED ME OUT #I DID NOT GET FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW LONG TO LEAVE THESE BANDAGES ON #I GOT ABSOLUTELY NEGLIGENT AND HORRIBLY WRITTEN INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO CARE FOR IT #ONES THAT MY MOM HAD TO GO THROUGH AND SIMPLIFY FOR ME BECAUSE I WAS TOO OUT OF IT FROM TOO MUCH ANESTHETIC #BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH THEY KNOW I WEIGH 95 POUNDS AND REQUIRE A CHILDREN'S DOSE THEY GAVE ME THE FULL DOSE #AND REGARDING THOSE INSTRUCTIONS EVEN MY MOM HAD TROUBLE WITH FIGURING THEM OUT #AND SHE'S MENTALLY ABLED AND WASN'T DRUGGED UP ON WHAT WAS MEANT TO BE LOCAL ANESTHETIC #not to mention I WAS NEVER FUCKING TOLD THERE WOULD BE A RECOVERY PERIOD FOR THIS #IT WAS TREATED SO CASUALLY BY EVERY DOCTOR AND TREATED AS IF I COULD JUST WALK IN AND OUT #AT NO POINT WAS I TOLD I WOULD BE RECOVERING FOR TWO WEEKS. #AT NO POINT WAS I TOLD I WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO WALK. #NO DOCTORS TOLD ME ANYTHING EVEN WHEN THE ONES DOING THE PROCEDURE ASKED ME SEVERAL TIMES IF I HAD IT DONE BEFORE #AND I TOLD THEM NO SEVERAL TIMES AND THAT I DID NOT KNOW WHAT WAS GOING ON OR WHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DOING #I WAS GIVEN ZERO INSTRUCTION AND ZERO WARNING #AND I SHOULD NOT HAVE HAD TO ACTIVELY ASK FOR THIS INFORMATION #THAT SHOULD BE FUCKING BASIC TO TELL SOMEONE *GOING THROUGH A MOTHERFUCKING SURGICAL PROCEDURE* #I'm fucking pissed about this. i fucking hate doctors.

[katnissgirlsmakedo]

how is it 3 weeks until my birthday. what.

#there is just no time these days. i haven’t even asked for anything i don’t even want anything. goddamn #actually i should ask for shadow and bone shouldn’t i #i’ll finish the show relatively soon so i’ll definitely have time to make a decision on reading it and have time to ask my mom #there’s literally nothing else though. maybe nail polish i guess. #oh i’m going shopping with my mom this friday so probably anything she gets me will be for my birthday #literally what else is there. what do people ask for for their birthdays anymore #both my aunts that usually totally badger me about what i want for my birthday/christmas are having like. insane medical issues rn #so like i can’t imagine i’m at the top of anyone’s lists. fuck i’m not even at the top of MY list #i almost forgot my birthday was coming up at all goddamn. wouldn’t even notice with the type of shit i’ve got going on!!! #OH. headphones i was going to ask for headphones that’s what it was that i was thinking about like. last week or whenever #well anyway what i really want is another fun puzzle…. i want a cool puzzle to do…. #beth.txt #wow birthday presents were way cooler when i was 9 and getting dolls and stuff

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

#hmmmm. #so i know that like. i come across-- pretty purposefully i knowww lmao-- as someone who Hates doctors #(&like. perhaps medical personnel in general lmao.) #i will give that this is a fair assessment based on my semi-regular bitching. lmao. #but also like i deal w medical personnel&aspiring medical personnel like. a lot lmao. #the actual amount of these ppl i deal w vs the percentage that i go ballistic over makes it a nonissue as far as im concerned lmao. #(actually quite reminiscent of when ppl accuse me of hating yt ppl just bc i complain about them specifically as if i dont live in portland #where the percentage of these ppl i deal w is damn near 100%&would be if i didnt purposefully go out of my way to change that lmao. #it is not my fault that i deal w specific things that can be chalked up to specific categorizations&am willing to note why that is lmao.) #anyway so i had to work around a new oncologist for a variety of reasons lmao&the new doc i have also specializes in #disordered eating which i guess makes sense as a gastric&intestinal focused oncologist&we had the most fascinating preintake convo. #lately my gastroparesis has been like. absurdly bad lmao. its always been a problem but the last couple months ive been dropping weight #again like crazy bc my food isnt getting digested-- just thrown back up after a few hours bc human bodies arent meant to ferment shit lmao. #the meds i started taking a bit ago for it have been helping but not enough to help me gain any weight back-- im back to being #solidly under a 100lbs lmao&its been wreaking havok all over like. everything. lmao. #something something this is likely due in part to the Bad mania lmao. but seeing as im probably stuck w my fucked up head #regardless of the nature or nurture of it all as w most of this shit it doesnt really matter i just need to find a way to fix it lmao. #so anyway we were talking about the mental issues that are starting to surface-- bc if i throw fucking everything up i dont want to eat #(which is i guess the mirror version of what my problem was for YEARS before my diagnosis when i would eat whatever the fuck i wanted #bc it all caused me pain no matter what so if its a choice between a salad&beef jerky+coke+ice cream its literally a no brainer lmao.) #(... i actually won more than one ice cream eating contest back when it was still a thing i could do back home lmao.) #but anyway part of my thing right now is also like. im having a difficult time wanting to eat bc theres the obvious fact that cooking #for myself feels like a huge waste of time&energy if im just going to puke it all back up&be in pain again anyway. #&the other part of my thing right now is that i fucking hate wasting the amount of food im wasting doing this shit. #both these problems are like. life long problems that any permadisabled poor person will def recognize lmao #but lately its been SO BAD. the holy trinity of wasted time+money+food has literally just been too fucking much lmao. #&the doc thus far is really receptive to the practical problems like this as well as the more specific to me+nuanced problems #which is just. so incredibly relieving. at least for right now lmao.

[olderthannetfic]

You know what medical pet peeve, I kind understand it but I still find it stupid and hate it. There's this medication I wanna try for my skin, but I can't use it unless I use birth control. I forgot the English name, sorry. Literally I cannot get it unless I'm on birth control and actively taking it, even though I don't fuck, I don't do casual sex and I am not dating, I'm completely soloing life. Ok? I would also have to piss in a cup each month to prove I'm not pregnant. I can't get the medication unless I take birth control because when pregnant it's bad for the fetus. A fetus I'll not have because I don't fuck, and have no interest in it, and I also in my current position and maybe future, just do not want children.

I can't fucking take birth control because all of the ones I tried leave me completely destroyed mentally and physically, I just don't have the body for any birth control. They make literally everything worse, bloating, nausea, periods, weight fluctuation, itchy for some reason, one even made me leak and then my breasts got so badly inflammed wearing a shirt was agony, etc. The medication I want to take isn't the best for general health either: Dry skin, liver, some other shit. I fucking hate it, I either have to just not do the medication, or I have to completely ruin my health in two ways because of a pregnancy that is just is not going to happen because I don't fuck.

I am guessing this is because of people lying about their sexual activity or some shit, but for the love of everything, now I can't get the medication that would actual improve my quality of life because of these people. I think what got me the most is that the Doctor I spoke to said that even if a woman doesn't have the ability to have children she would still need to take birth control and piss in a cup.

--

[heavytf2tummy]

I have a personal fan theory that medic literally uses heavy's tum as a pillow to sleep, this is NOT headcanon but rather a factual statement.

Take this image as evidence

Heavy canonically sleeping next to his minigun in a separate bed? Now that seems like something he does considering how fond he is of his weaponry, plus this is IN THE COMICS SO IT IS LITERALLY CANON.

Now if Heavy x Medic is also canon (which, yeah, no shit it is just look at the VAs), then that begs the question of "How does Medic sleep in Heavy's bed, if he even can?"

Here is one way that's PLAUSIBLE BUT NOT LIKELY, medic simply doesn't sleep in Heavy's bed

However I'd like to debunk this theory since, well, the floor is cold and he'd be really really cold and sad.

Now here's another, PLAUSIBLE BUT NOT LIKELY THEORY, Medic sleeps on Heavy's chest.

Makes sense in theory, it's got a nice bit of squish and is warm, plus the heartbeat would probably be soothing since organs, why wouldn't this be the place to sleep?

WELL, you see here fine viewer, I see Medic sleeping in the chest to basically be like purposefully taking copper when gold is right next to you. My point with this is, when a much more pillow like substance is below Heavy's chest, why just settle an "eh it'll work" type of pillow replacement? Oh and of course you might be thinking "What about Heavy's breasts???", and to that I'd say it'd be like sleeping on one of these cornhole bags.

Sure, it works but a bit small? HOWEVER if you wanna rest there that's your choice I guess 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

However, this is without a doubt most likely how Medic sleeps, HEAVY TF2 TUMMY ‼️‼️‼️ [pillow]

Now yes you might think, "Ermm won't medics legs be off the bed causing discomfort?" and to that I say shut the fuck up, but also, not if the mann is curlled into a ball similar to how cats sleep. Bit of a stretch, but hey that seems reasonable for Medic to do. However I honestly think given the circumstances this is the best pillow for medic to use, since it's:

- Heated, so Medic doesn't get cold during sleep

- Big enough for a human head to rest on comfortably

- Medic would feel heavy's breathing, which is a weird thing to note but considering how much medic is fascinated by organs and stuff I see this as a plus

Oh and of course, medic would do this because I said so and I'm the original poster.

Now to get a theory on why heavy always sleeps with his tum out so I can get people to draw zis /j

(The theory is heavy just stretches before he sleeps, shirt goes up, and badabam that def happens every night)

#tf2 #tf2 heavy #heavy tf2 #team fortress 2 #heavy tf2 tummy #heavy #tf2 medic #team fortress two #team fortess 2 #medic tf2 #heavymedic #red oktoberfest #this has been a theory I've had for a while #im like matpat but not dogshit autismspeaks supporter #also i actually make GOOD theories

[luveline]

More zombie au! Steve!!! Please! It’s literally so good I love how you write Steve all protective <3

thank you ♡ steve zombie au —steve gets sick. you meet a dark-haired stranger while looking for meds. fem!reader 2k

You compare your arm to the bottle in your hand. You've written a list of generic and brand name antibiotics in biro on your forearm, but they're smudging from nervous sweat. You're getting desperate. 

Nothing seems to match. You're shaking with aching arms and legs, fucking terrified as you sift through a floor of orange and white pill bottles that nothing is going to match your list, and worse, the pharmacy grows darker by the hour. You don't have a torch. 

Things are getting pretty bad at camp. There's not enough food to go around, no batteries, and now Steve's… 

A bottle slips out of your hand and knocks into another. You cringe and pick up the next. You've been searching for hours without sitting down, as hiding underneath the bottles is a carpeting of grainy glass from the smashed shelves. Three of your fingertips have cut and scabbed since you got here. 

"Fuck," you whisper, glaring at another wrong medication. "Fuck, fuck." 

Amoxicillin, ciprofloxacin, flucloxacillin. Anything to stop Steve's infection from getting into his blood. It's a gross wound, oozy and inflamed, and when you'd left him with Robin dutiful at his side his skin had glowed with heat like glass held in the centre of a furnace. Even with his eyes closed, he'd known what you were about to do. 

"Don't fucking leave," he'd grit out, fingers twitching up for your hand. 

You'd leaned forward and kissed his damp forehead. "I have to go. I love you. I'll be right back." 

That was ten hours ago at least. You have no idea what condition Steve might be in, so sure you'd find the pills and be back in arm's reach by noon. How sick can he get before it's too much? 

"Shit," you whisper, your fingers tingling. 

"What are you looking for?" 

You fall backward with a sharp gasp, pill bottles biting into your thighs. Your face swings around but the source of the voice is unclear, empty shelves and aisles either side of you. 

"Chill out–" 

"Where the fuck are you?" you demand, scrambling onto your feet with the use of one sacrificed palm. Glass like needles serrates your skin. "Fuck! Come out, loser!" 

"Hey, no need to be mean. I'm up in the ceiling." 

You look up. Peeking out from a displaced ceiling tile is a pale face silhouetted by a matt of dark hair. 

"You fucking little freak," you say, though you feel bad immediately. He's smiling and he isn't pointing any weapons at you, which is more than most strangers allow on the road. "Why are you up there?"

"I wanted to see if you had a gun, stupid." 

"You're stupid, stupid. What if it was in my bag?" 

"Point it at me, then!" 

You stare at him in silence. 

"That's what I thought," he says, framing a face in two hands like a baby angel on a gift card. "Can I come down or are you gonna keep bitchin'?" 

"Don't fucking come down here." 

"Or what?" he asks. 

"I'll get my gun out." 

"Mm, okay," he mocks. "I'll come help you find whatever it is that has your panties in a twist." 

"I swear to god–" 

"Listen. I'm a good guy, I swear." 

"That's what bad guys say." 

The stranger laughs a weird giggly laugh and climbs backwards. The ceiling tiles stress visibly under his weight but make no noise as he disappears from view. He swears a couple of times on the way down, unseen, before the stockroom door swings open and he appears in his intimidating glory in the doorway.

"If you kill me," you say, eyeing his spiked wristbands and the machete strapped to his waist with horrified apprehension, "my boyfriend will avenge me. Like, hunt you to the ends of the earth and slice you into little tiny pieces of vengeance." 

"That sounds like my kind of party, but your boyfriend has nothing to worry about. I got a girl." 

"Don't say rock and roll." 

"How the fuck would you guess that?" he asks, hand flying to the back of his neck for a bashful scratch. 

"My life feels like a shitty gimmicky horror movie, and you look the part." You bite the inside of your cheek. "I need antibiotics." 

"You and everybody else in the world. This for your vengeful boyfriend?" 

You don't need him knowing who they're for. He could be an evil guy, and the threat of Steve waiting for you might be your trump card. "No. My vengeful boyfriend left to look for cans in the shelter." 

"He'll be back soon, then." 

You take a step back. "I'll gouge your eyes out if you try anything, I'm serious. I don't care how big your knife is–" 

"I'm Eddie." Eddie smiles at you, shoving his hands into cargo pockets. Despite his weird questions and his choice of apparel, he looks less intimidating in the lingering light of the setting sun as it seeps between window shutters. "I don't want to hurt you." He frowns. "Any kind of hurt." 

"Can I have the machete?" 

"Nope. I can go put it down somewhere, though, if that's less scary." 

You shake your head, and with a great big sigh, lean down to sift through bottles. If he's going to hurt you, he might as well get on with it. The longer you spend talking to him, the sicker your Steve becomes. 

"You need antibiotics bad?" Eddie asks, his voice softening. 

"My best friend is sick." You toss a bottle, pick up another. "Infection probably getting into his blood. If I don't find something tonight, he's gonna die." 

"Well, we can't have that," Eddie says, crouching down to help. 

You sweep through bottle after bottle of things you wish you needed. Painkillers, sleeping pills, laxatives. Good shit, and nothing you need. 

"You know…" Eddie sighs. "I know you could lie to me, but is it just you, boyfriend and the dying bestie, or?"

You're not sure what the right answer is. Better for him to think you have an army waiting if you get lost, or better to hide them? He could belong to a cult of cannibals. Only… his clothes are squeaky clean. His curls shine with a gloss that comes solely with conditioner, which means he has the time and security to really wash things. 

But murders can wash their clothes, right?

"There's a couple of us," you say. 

"You're not from that place west, are you?" 

You put a pill bottle down slowly. "West?" 

"Yeah, there were people there, hundreds of 'em. We got a few stragglers, survivors from the fucking massacre that happened a few weeks ago. One girl said there must've been thirty, forty kids there, it's fucking awful." 

You swallow a lump. "Awful," you agree.

"Hopper says we can track down the people who did it if we just follow the blood trail," Eddie says, slipping into a theatrical bravado that won't stick. "I don't know… someone needs to stop them." 

You choke, "Hopper? Chief Hopper?" 

"Wait, you're from Hawkins?" Eddie asks. 

You give each other boggled looks, a thrumming hope building in your chest like a flickering flame in the dead of winter. 

"I think you better come back with me," Eddie says. 

"I need antibiotics," you say, wanting to explain it to him and now knowing how. Or even if you should. Awesome, Hopper's alive, but that doesn't mean Eddie's group are good people, or that they can help you. There's nothing anyone in the world can do for you right now if they don't have a handful of Augmentin. 

"You're from The College." 

"I don't have time for this," you say, half apology and half frustration. "Yeah, we were from The College, and now it's gone, and my boyfriend's gonna die if you don't help me find the right pills." You wince and snatch up another stupid bottle. 

"I can get you antibiotics," Eddie says, "but you're gonna have to trust me. Can you do that?"

"No." 

—

Steve wakes up two days later in an unfamiliar building. 

His eyes are made of sand, he can hardly breathe it's that cold, each breath as sharp as a needle as he sucks it in, but there's a roof over his head, a blanket over his chest, and your voice, your laugh rings like a song in the air. 

"He didn't do that, you're lying," you say with a laugh, pulling Steve's hand to your chest. 

"He did." Steve stiffens at the voice. Deeper, rougher than yours. "I swear on my life, he jumped right into Lover's Lake and swam backstroke to prove he could beat Louisa Park's best." 

"Did he beat her time?" 

"No, but he had a condom stuck to his ankle when he got out. Wasn't worth it." 

"Steve," you say. Steve thinks you've noticed he's waking up, but you hug his hand with a sympathetic sigh. "That's so embarrassing. You better wake up soon, I have making fun of you to do." 

"I think I'll stay asleep," he says hoarsely. 

You gasp and choke his fingers between yours. "Steve?" You climb up onto the bed, your weight dipping the mattress under his back. Your hand comes careful and warm against his chilled cheek. "You're awake. You're awake?" 

He strains to unglue his top lashes from his bottom lashes. You beam at him, the little scars around your mouth from a cruel hand shining in the white morning light. 

"What time is it?" he asks. 

"It's, like, seven in the morning." 

"I've been asleep that long?" 

"You've been unconscious for nearly two days," you correct. 

Steve can't remember anything. He has the barest memory of your lips on his forehead. Robin splashing cold water on him and calling him an asshole, and then, much quieter, her best friend. 

"Where's Robin?" he asks. 

"She's being Robin somewhere, you know, she loves being helpful. The kids need help getting settled." 

"And you're being lazy," Steve pokes. 

He lifts his chin so your kiss lands exactly where he wants it, the stubbly space below his jaw. You wrap your arms around him and hug him severely, squeezing his tender ribs. 

"I wasn't lazy, I had to go save you by myself." 

"Save everybody," the familiar but impossible voice adds. Steve doesn't want to believe it. He refuses to. "Like, an entire generation." 

"I didn't do anything," you say, kissing Steve again, a short path to his chapped lips. "Honey," —your voice lowers, your confession for Steve's ears alone— "I'm so happy you're okay. I was really, really scared." 

Steve feels the weight of your fear like a dumbell on his chest, but he's uber confused. Propping his chin over your shoulder and hugging you back, the evil wound on his arm that caused this whole mess throbbing like fire under his bandage, Steve sets his eyes on the boy sitting on the chair next to yours. 

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie says warmly, eyes dripping with a put upon affection. "Miss me?" 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Steve asks. 

"Saving the day, obviously." 

"I can't believe I found one of your friends," you say, sitting up a little to smile at him. You really are gorgeous in his eyes, better than any movie star. Your beatific little grin stirs something, but Eddie's snort stomps it dead. 

"We're not friends," Steve says. 

You stroke Steve's face with the back of your hand. "Don't be like that. He's really nice…" Your smile melds itself to a concerned frown. "I thought you were kicking it, Stevie. How's your arm feeling? Does it hurt a lot?" 

"It's fine," he says dismissively, wrapping his stronger arm around your waist. He's not jealous or anything, it's just cold in here, honest. "Munson, where the fuck did you come from?" 

"Right here, Stevie." 

"We're not far from the camp," you explain, stroking his face once again. "Or, we weren't when it was there. We're merging with this one to make a mega camp." 

"Why would we do that? We don't know that we can trust these people." 

"No, but we can trust Hopper." You smile. Steve knows things are gonna be okay, as long as you can smile like that. He leans his cheek into your hand, loved and relieved and– 

"Hopper?" Steve asks. 

"Jesus, Harrington," Eddie says, rolling his shoulders. "Keep up. If you can't comprehend the easy stuff, you're not gonna believe what we haven't told you." 

"What haven't you told me?" Steve asks. 

You push his shoulders down into the pillows. "I think you better lay down first." 

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

[gold-snek-hoe]

Hello and welcome to Opinions from an Internet Nobody. Today's essay:

"Ger therapy" is the new "You need Jesus": One Weirdo's Navigation through Cultural Shame

This is a supposedly well-meaning sentiment that is often weaponized against people who are behaving outside of perceived cultural norms. It's a favorite of homophobes who see queerness/transness as a mental illness, but I've been seeing it used to demonize kink (which historically is often linked to queerness), and more generally any "weird" behavior that makes people uncomfortable.

For example, otherkin, systems (especially those with fictives), and people who take fictional characters as partners. Y'know, "weirdos" who "can't separate reality from fiction." And, sure, sometimes there can be a problem with that distinction, but I know as well as you that most internet strangers saying "get therapy" don't actually give a shit about the mental health of those they target. It's code for "your behavior makes me uncomfortable, stop it."

Same sentiment as "you need Jesus."

This has actually taken me a long time to figure out. I've been in therapy for my entire adult life, working through various traumas, severe depression, anxiety, all that. Those were the biggest problems as they negatively impacted, and often endangered, my life. It was only after my hospitalization in 2020, where I was finally put on much needed medication, that I could start to grow into myself.

I changed my name. I top surgery. I came out as polyamorous. I finally got my official autism diagnosis. Now I'm fuckin' married! But... there are still things I'm working through in therapy. Mainly, shame over my "weirder" behaviors. My current therapist has been a huge blessing in helping me accept the things I was too ashamed to admit.

Now, I feel comfortable enough to share.

I'm otherkin. Always have been. My connection to my humanity is tenuous, and I'm sure that's connected to my autism. When mad, I feel phantom horns sprouting from my forehead. I have a tail that swishes back and forth at the base of my spine. In my soul, I am monstrous, and years of therapy has not erased that.

I feel like I'm only half in the physical world most of the time. This doesn't hinder my real-world success (I graduated college Summa Cum Laude, have an IMDB page, and am on my third book), but informs the way I look at the world. There's a whole other universe in my head that hums along with me in my day-to-day. That's part of why I'm so skilled as a writer. To ask me to divorce from that is to tell me to stop existing. Sorry, it's how I've always operated.

Lastly, and this is the one I'm really anxious about, I have a fictional husband. Now, looking at my blog, you might say "yeah, no shit," but I don't just ship myself with him. I mean I practice pop-culture Witchcraft, and the Goblin King is my patron. I mean I have a Labyrinth-themed tarot deck that I talk to him with. I mean I held a ritual to spiritually marry him. Basically, I Snape-wived myself.

And guess what? My therapist isn't concerned. It's not hurting my ability to live my life. I have other interests, hobbies, and goals outside of him, which he actively encourages in all our tarot sessions! I wouldn't be doing this if he didn't support me. My IRL spouse is usually there for whatever magical shit I'm doing, and supports me! Some of my closest friends know, and the only complaint I've gotten is "this guy seems important to you, I wish you told me sooner." Hell, my MOTHER knows and supports me, which is huge, because our relationship was pretty damaged after I came out as trans.

If you have a problem with the way I live my life, when literally nobody else does, take a good long look at why. You don't give a fuck about my mental health. You just don't like that I'm weird.

Tl;dr: My mental health is better than it's ever been since embracing the weird, so leave me and my imaginary husband Marak Sixfinger alone.

#essay #in this essay i will #and then i did #the hollow kingdom #goblin king #marak sixfinger #actually autistic #pop culture witchcraft #otherkin #fictional husband #snape wives #this is my life #therapy language #bullying #mental health #discourse #tw suicide mention #fictives #y'all just hate weirdos #just say you hate neurodivergent people and go #neurodivergent #vivid imagination

[peachie-bumblebee]

hi love!! i was obsessed with ur sb nsfw hcs and recently ive had a bit of a fixation on roxy. ik you included her in ur og hc thjng but maybe you could expand on that with more hcs or smth?? whatever you do itd be much appreciated !! thank you sm and make sure to take necessary breaks <33

hi love!!!! i also ADORE Roxanne Wolf and I’d be totally happy to do extended headcanons for you and anyone else who wants them <3

NSFW HEADCANONS WITH ROXANNE WOLF- EXTENDED

NSFW MINORS DNI

she��s so hOT i’m literally salivating

CW: GENERAL KINK

her nipples are PIERCED! no i’m not just saying that cuz mine are and i didn’t go into enough detail last time. they are pierced with barbell jewelry. its so sexy. i’m so correct.

she likes having them played with

she’s so intense, but not in the way monty is. something about her just instantly gets you submissive and she doesn’t even have to try.

like she can just make you melt by wrapping one nail around your chin

…i know she puts her tongue in a pussy AHGDIDGHDIDHCHD

if you’re amab prepare to get the whole shaft licked HSGDJDSG

i’m actually medically needing her its not even funny

she rides FACE she will sit on her partners face and RIIIIIDEEEEEEE

SHE PLAYS THE KEYBOARD. If Chicas fingers are strong, Roxy’s are flexible.

GODDD i know she slides them in and out so painfully slow.

she makes so much casual fun of her partners during sex. “like oh? this it all it takes to do it for you? god.”

she is also FANTASTIC with the strap. hard and lightning fast thrusts up against the wall.

yet she can also make it brutally, brutally slow.

also likes her strap being sucked. she’ll sit on her little chair and have you keep her strap warm with your throat while she lazily practices keyboard or does her makeup.

she’s randomly thrust a little.

if she’s busy and her partner is needy, she’ll literally just cockwarm them

she likes to be worshipped. she just does. it gets her going. she loves to be craved.

she’s a clit/dick head pincher. dooooont caaaare.

the type to say “that’s right” when you do something she likes

i don’t see her using things like floggers like chica does but she DOES use her claws if that’s something her partner would also want.

she’s careful. she has a shocking amount of restraint.

no matter how much you beg, it doesn’t really faze her on the surface at all.

….aphrodisiac fic anyone?

she tastes like caramel IDK WHY I JUST FEEL IT IN MY PUSSY OKAY

she s p r e a d s. her partners legs during sex. literally has them splayed open so the both of you can watch it go in IM S(CREAMING)

she wants so badly to bite her partners during sex but she holds herself back cuz she knows it could go super wrong

when Chica and Roxy fuck, sometimes Chica will let her a little.

yk how people are like “oh nobody scissors in real life” guess what, i do! and i think she would be very good at it too.

…this is making me seem like a Roxy kinnie- i don’t have the confidence for that

doesn’t tolerate brattiness very well. she can handle it to a certain extent, but after a certain point she’s just like “fine. if you know so much better than me than I guess I don’t need to do anything.”

gives pussyjobs like a pro.

she’s very good at keeping the right angle for it, and sometimes she’ll make her partner cum all over their chest just like that

she groans n shit when she gets close FUCK

GOOOOOOOD

#peachiebumblebee #peachie bumblebee #fnaf security breach x reader #security breach ruin #fnaf #security breach smut #roxanne security breach #roxanne wolf x reader #roxanne wolf #glamrock roxanne #fnaf roxanne #roxy wolf #roxanne wolf smut #fnaf smut #five nights at freddy's security breach #security breach #fnaf security breach

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen at work:

Got hired by a trucking company doing admin to safety stuff.

My new boss, in the interview: I’d love to have you start on *specific date* so that we can do the on boarding stuff, but we’re going to have the Driver Appreciation BBQ literally the day after and I want everyone to meet you.

Me: That’s honestly a good plan. I’m completely available for whatever happens, what time do I need to be there?

My actual second day of being hired and going through the whole set up of Driver Appreciation BBQ Day:

*chopped four onions for burgers and sobbed in the break room*

My boss: *lightly supervises but is honestly a Party Queen because she’s a Hispanic mom and is used to throwing parties for 100 plus people in her own backyard let alone a work bbq, you don’t even understand she literally looked at the corporate list of supplies and was like “nah, too much. Mmm. Maybe. Hm. Not enough.” AND WAS EXACTLY RIGHT she owns her own bouncy house, she’s got this shit on lockdown, ok?

So like two hours into this polite bullshit introductory hell scape (I am fine with meeting new people in large groups but I hate meeting people in “sterile corporate” settings, like, if I’m going to remember you, it’s because you did something actually meaningful or interesting, NOT because you shook my hand for five seconds and said you go by Steve or Becky…)

Me, to EVERYONE because my job is to Hand Out Shirts and Lunchboxes: Hi! I’m the new girl from Safety! Who are you exactly? Please don’t expect me to remember you, I’m terrible at putting names and faces together, but I’m sure we’ll talk again soon! What size T-shirt do you want? Here’s your lunch box!

Me: *finally gets a break and sits down to eat some honestly decent brauts and potato salad, deliberately choosing to sit next to one of the drivers that’s been at the company for a while* Hi, how’s it going? I’m the new safety girl!

Older driver whose name I don’t know YET: I’m doin’ pretty good with all this free food. So, you gonna stick around after the little one comes along, or are you gonna leave us high and dry like the last one?

Me, honestly pretty angry but trying to be cool: Not pregnant, just fat.

*very very very awkward silence, like this dude knew that he fucked up, but also the way my body is shaped I really don’t blame him for thinking what he did*

He did actually apologize right then and there, and honestly the entire way he went about everything was from a genuinely good place, and I personally thought it was funny after it was all said and done. Verbal on the spot forgiveness type stuff.

Guess who fucks up the very next day by UNINTENTIONALLY losing a very important document of the exact driver who “insulted” me?

Yeah. So. I spent my entire first week on a brand new job searching through three giant filing cabinets and 20 years worth of documents for ONE fucking medical card. I didn’t find it. Believe me, I looked at every single piece of paper in those cabinets, I have no fucking clue where I put it.

The driver was really nice about it and we had a good laugh about him putting his foot in his mouth and me swearing up and down I didn’t do it for revenge.

Honestly I have no idea how any of this will turn out, but every one seems nice so far so I’m really hopeful.

#things that happened today #things that happen at work #humans are space orcs #truckers #truckers are a breed unto their own #just have fun with it

[mediumgayitalian]

previous chapter

———

“Take the exit here.”

“How come?” Nico asks, dutifully putting on his blinker and merging into the right lane. “We’re not even at half tank.”

Will clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s, uh, not for gas.”

A pause.

“Oh, Solace, you’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry!”

Nico throws his hands up, ignoring Will’s screech of both hands on the wheel, I value my life! “There is no possible way you have to piss already. You had half a slushie!”

“...Well.”

“William Andrew Solace, I swear to God.”

“I got distracted!” Will cries, eyes big and round as he pouts. “The Abstract Iron Centaur is a monument, okay, I forgot what the point of the rest stop was for.”

Nico groans. “I’m not sure you should be allowed to go to medical school. You’re going to forget a scalpel in someone’s lungs, or something.”

Immediately, he knows this is the wrong thing to say. The sheepish grin vanishes off Will’s face, replaced with something despairing, before it’s hastily shoved back on.

The winding road finally gives way to the advertised rest stop, partially obscured by a Welcome to Georgia sign with a modernist-style image of a peach that annoys him for no reason. We’re glad Georgia’s on your mind. (False. Georgia is never on his mind, except for how Will can’t say Georgia without slipping into his accent and Nico has to take that golden opportunity to mock him. And then die.)

“Right,” Will says finally. He forces a laugh. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, then gets out of the car without so much as a word.

Nico watches him go. 

“Well,” he mutters to himself. “Shit.”

He waits in the car as long as he physically can, which is anything between thirty seconds and four business days. A glance at his watch informs him it’s closer to two minutes. 

He kicks a stone across the parking lot, debating the implications of searching for his friend. It hasn’t really been that long, so he’s not sure it’s socially appropriate, and then he wonders when the hell he started caring about being socially appropriate. They are friends, after all, because in a group icebreaker question about siblings in seventh grade, Nico had growled none, on the account that she was killed by a drunk driver when I was ten and Will had laughed, brightly and morbidly, and said hey, my brothers were murdered, too! Twinsies! and killed the vibe rather brilliantly for literally everybody else in the room. 

He gives into his impulse eventually, striding onto the surprisingly soft grass and looking, halfheartedly, around the spacious grounds (he’d decided searching the bathroom would be a touch too far). His mission gets sidetracked, however, because the heat is less oppressive under the shade of tall, weeping willows, and there’s a small breeze, and he is struggling to shove his various musings into the Repression Box where they belong. 

Will, starts one of said musings, has been acting weird as shit long before he showed up at his house in the middle of the night.

It had started around January? If he had to guess. But Will is always kind of weird in the winter, so he hadn’t thought much of it, just offered to break into his house more often so he didn’t feel too suffocated. The usual. But the strangeness had persisted through the spring – the sudden drops in mood, the hair-triggers to clam him up. Both of which are usually a Nico thing. Will, more often, just shoves all his negative emotions down to the bottom of his soul until he gets one half-mark wrong on a test and sobs himself sick about being useless while Nico stands guard outside the bathroom door, agonised, unsure how to help. And then the two of them never talk about it again. 

Over the last few months, things have been a little less balanced. 

“Hey.”

Nico jumps. Will stands slightly, shoulders still hunched slightly, but definitely less cagey than earlier. He holds out a cup of coffee Nico recognises as from a vending machine.

“Hi,” Nico says softly, smiling tentatively. He takes the coffee. It’s black, and too hot, just how he likes it.

“You are going to stain your teeth,” Will observes, as he always does.

“Bite me,” Nico responds, following the script.

A genuine smile pulls at his face.

“You ready to get back on the road?”

“Yep.”

They fall into step in their hike back to the Jeep – Nico hiked farther than he meant to. Will’s flip-flops slapping rhythmically against the packed dirt of the trail is a familiar sound, and it eases some of his own tension, putting a bit more prep in his step. When he glances quickly over, Will is breathing normally, shoulders slack, much calmer expression on his face.

“You should let me drive,” he says as they approach. “You’ve been behind the wheel since practically dawn; maybe you should take a nap or something.”

Nico shakes his head, waving a dismissive arm. Frowning slightly, Will acquiesces, climbing back into the passenger side.

“I’ve had two coffees and half a slushie,” he explains, resting his hand on the back of Will’s seat. He cranes his neck behind him, careful of the family walking an unleashed dog as he pulls out. “I’m good forever.”

“Caffeine doesn’t work on you,” Will points out.

Nico pauses. 

“...True.”

He hadn’t realise Will had noticed, actually. Although he supposes it’s not too surprising – Will has known him a long time, Will is observant, and Will generally enjoys lecturing people about anything he can get away with, up to and including their general health and safety. Nico, in all his bad choices, is a favourite target of his. He can probably recite his solo midnight speed driving from memory.

“It’s just –” Will stops, waiting until Nico’s safely merged back on the highway before continuing. “It’s three and a half hours ‘till we get to Atlanta, Neeks, and it’s already three-thirty. We’ll have to stop again for food, probably, at one point, and we’ll have to stop for food, soon, and who knows what the traffic will be like –”

Carefully passing the person going sixty in front of him, finally breaking into open road, Nico takes half an eye off the road and digs through the centre console.

“– I mean, if it’s bumper to bumper, then what? It’ll be rush hour soon, shit, I shoulda planned for that, shit, do we have a jerrycan? We should have a jerrycan, remind me to get a jerrycan for the trunk –”

Finally catching sight of the CD he’s looking for (and barely managing to swerve and avoid a massive pothole that would have for sure cut their trip short, but he managed, so take that, Reckless Driving Lecture Will that lives in his brain, who’s God now), he hands it to Will. Still actively stressing about literally nothing, he opens it, polishing the disc on habit and sliding it into the slot without so much as pausing. 

Nico smirks. 

Yeah, maybe he knows his friend, too.

“– I mean, just blankets and a first aid kit is not enough. Really, we should have some provisions in there. Oh, and rope, ‘cause what if we get stranded in the mountains –”

The radio clicks as it reads the disc, then, suddenly and without warning, the stereo rumbles with heavy bass and pounding beat.

Will cuts himself off. “Hey, is this –”

Nico smirks wider. He chances another look away from the road, just in time to watch a magnificent smile break across Will’s face, wide and a little crooked, showing all his molars – a real one, the one he gets when he’s caught off-guard, the one that makes his hands fluttery.

“You’re playing In The Zone!” he exclaims, laughing delightedly. “Without complaining!”

Bingo, Nico thinks. 

“Technically, I didn’t play shit.” He gestures at the empty CD case in Will’s hand. “You’re just like a hermit crab. I hand you things, you hold them.”

“Shut up.” But there’s no bite to the command, smile still stretching wide. If Nico looks, he can see the tiny snag of his barely crooked front tooth, but he doesn’t look, because he doesn’t care about that, obviously. He has his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel, fully focused.

Obviously. 

They do get into disgusting traffic. Will is distressed about it, up until someone cuts them off so closely they both nearly actually and genuinely die, and he is immediately lit up in a rage so incandescent Nico wonders if he will ever be able to look away from straining biceps and a clenched jaw ever again. More distantly, he wonders if and I hope you get three consecutive aneurysms and your family leaves you to fucking rot in a hospital bed, you leprous shitdick will be on loop in his head for the rest of time. He kind of wants to put it on a shirt. Will’s linguistic talents should be studied. 

“Stop thinking about it,” Will demands, socking him (hard! What the shit!) in the shoulder. His face resembles, quite exactly, the shade of the setting sun. “Purge it from your memory.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Nico responds, smirking.

“I wasn’t –” A pause. Nico bites back a snort. “Cutting people off is just so rude.”

“Oh, of course.”

“I mean! I mean.”

“Indeed.”

“If it was – an ambulance, or something, I would understand, but he cut us off just to get immediately stuck in the same traffic! I don’t understand the point!”

“Truly the behaviour of a leprous shitdick,” Nico agrees. His grin starts to genuinely hurt his face, but he ignores it in favour of snickering.

Will sinks into his seat, pulling his hoodie over his eyes. His ears, as usual, stick out a little, and they’re red, too. Nico nobly resists the urge to flick them. 

“I hate you.”

“I think you’re quite attached to me, actually. After all, I’m not a –”

“If I hear the word leprous come from your mouth one more fucking time, di Angelo, I’ll give you leprosy. For real. I’ll find it.”

Will probably could find a vial of pure leprosy somewhere, actually, so Nico shuts up. (He’s seen Will’s weird vial collection. Most of it is just, like, various bacteria, he’s pretty sure, but Will is kind of morbid and Nico knows his sense of humour is garbage because Nico’s sense of humour is garbage, and there is a reason they’re friends, and if Nico found a vial of leprosy somewhere he would keep it, too. Can leprosy be vialed? Who knows. Will, probably.)

Once he’s sure Nico is not going to tease him anymore about his temper tantrum, or at least for the moment, he turns back to his book. Every so often, he looks up, observes the three miles per hour they’re crawling, and sighs, loudly and lengthy to himself, muttering something about railway systems and zoning laws and government incompetence. Nico doesn’t ask. He was free from the jail that was history and geography lessons last month. He is determined to learn absolutely nothing for the next six months, at least. 

“I’m paying for the motel or hotel or inn et cetera,” Will says, randomly. 

“No,” Nico replies, easily. 

Will reaches out, calmly, and pinches him on the thigh. Nico does not yelp indignantly because he is a Man, and can handle Will’s weirdly pointy fingers.

“You paid for gas.”

“Yep.”

“And you have car payments.”

“Mhm.”

“And you bought Dunkin’s.”

“True.”

“Nico,” Will says exasperatedly, “this whole damn trip was my idea. Let me pay for shit.”

“I enjoy wasting my father’s money,” Nico counters, and Will pauses, considering. “Come on, commie. I know the idea of spending a banker’s money on stupid shit pleases you.”

He knows he’s starting to win, because Will sighs in a very particular way that Nico has identified as why am I letting this dumbass get away with this again, says, “Spending money is capitalist, Nico,” and turns, begrudgingly, back to his book.

Poorly hidden behind the pages, he’s smiling.

Nico tallies his victory.

The traffic finally eases by around eight o’clock. Victorious, surely, except that they’re still quite a ways from Atlanta. He considers getting off at one of the various exits promising shelter, and in fact decides he is going to, but for some reason, his hand never drifts to his blinker. Never turns the wheel slightly to merge, never eases off the gas. He keeps going, an going, and going, music playing softly, stars beginning to shine through the darkening sky.

Beside him, Will lets out tiny puffs as he exhales, even and sluggish.

“You are a grandmother,” he whispers fondly, shaking his head. In the quiet of the road, interrupted only by the whipping whipping winds – he should have pulled the roof back up when they were stuck, shit – and odd flash of headlights of a passing car, he lets himself soften, sighing back against his seat and easing up slightly on the gas.

Will glows, faintly, in the moonlight.

It’s funny, ‘cause he’s a sun child. Nico has teased him about it for years, in fact; his hair, his bright blue eyes, his stubborn clinging to his aesthetic of wannabe surfer boy. The gold ring he wears on his thumb, the sun pendant that rests on his heart. Swathed in yellows and blues and golds, all the time, with a sprinkling of bright green and neon orange just to remind everyone that yes, he is red green colourblind, and no, that will not stop him from making fashion choices. 

But the silver suits him. It softens him, instead of washing him out, reminding Nico that the sun shines white. The low light casts gentle shadows on his face, too, drawing attention to his strong brow and straight nose. 

Forcing his eyes back on the road, where they should have been the whole time, Jesus, he notices the giant green Downtown Atlanta sign, and follows its arrows. The first exit he sees, he turns, getting lost three times before he finds the hotel that was advertised.

Pulling into the largely empty parking lot, he shuts off the car, then turns to Will, screwing up his face. He has to wake him up, at some point. Obviously. Unfortunately he cannot simply melt into the shadows and reappear in a hotel room. As awesome as that would be, with his luck, he’d pop into an occupied one, and that’d be a whole host of problems. 

Deciding he’ll actually get them a room first, he heads inside, speaking quietly with the desk host.

“Single or double?” they ask pleasantly, voice similarly lowered for the hour.

“Uh,” Nico says, “double?”

The host pauses, eyebrows flicking up at his hesitation. “...Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Nico flushes. He adds, belatedly, “Please.”

Eyebrow raised in amusement, the host reaches into a drawer and pulls out two sleek key cards, tucking them into a little envelope thing and handing them over. “Room 409,” they say, nodding towards the elevator. 

“Thanks,” Nico responds, and walks out the door. He realises, as he exits, how much of a general failure he is at communicating with people who are not Will, and considers climbing through the window of his sixth floor room out of sheer embarrassment. The realization that he does not have the skill to drag Will up there with him is the only thing that stops him.

“Sunshine,” he murmurs, once he’s gathered their bags and some of the red has faded from his face, “we’re here.”

Will hums a little, voice gravelly. Nico’s lip quirk up.

“Where?”

“Somewhere to sleep.”

“‘M sleepin’ jus’ fine.”

His accent is so, so heavy with sleep, and it’s just – God, he wishes Wil hadn’t trained himself out of it. In Nico’s professional opinion, Will should talk like that all the time.

Authenticity, and all that.

“C’mon, Will.”

After another minute of coaxing – which Nico indulges purely because he knows for a fact Solace will have no memory of it in the morning, in any other circumstance he’d poke him awake – Will uncurls enough to stagger to his feet, stumbling as he gets out of the vehicle. For his own safety, Nico wraps an arm around his narrow hips, guiding him up to the room. 

“Mnhgh,” he mumbles, the second the heavy door closes behind them. He walks two steps to the nearest bed, face plants in the middle of it, and starts snoring, feet hanging off the end, one flip-flip still stubbornly clinging to his foot.

“Dork,” Nico murmurs. He gets ready like a normal person, tugging on a sleep shirt – might be an old one of Will’s, actually, because Nico certainly never bought a Shania Twain concert t-shirt – and wrapping up in the wonderfully plush blankets. “Goodnight, Will.”

He gets a snore in response. He burrows deeper into the covers, smiling, drifting off to the sound of his best friend’s rhythmic breathing.

———

next chapter

#some backstory!!!! ooooooou!!!! #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #slowburn #nico/will #will/nico #hoo #road trip au #road trip #will solace angst #idk i dont think theres anything else #pining nico di angelo #pining will solace #mutual pining #nvm idk how the hell i forgot that??? anyway #my writing #fic #longpost #there is going to be errors aplenty in this #oops #its 330 clown emoji 🤡🤡

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Hello! I love your writing style!! It's just so on spot, and I wanted to request some headcanons for the mercs with a gn! reader who doesn't really speak but they can communicate through sign language or paper for whatever reason, the thing is, the Merc and the reader find themselves in a really critical situation or just an incredibly intimate and comforting moment, blurting out for the first time something serious or stupid like "y'know when I first met you I thought you're really stupid...(affectionate)" IDK OF THIS MAKES SENSE OR IT'S WEIRD SORRY LMAOOA

(if you don't wanna do all of them you could do your faves & I hope there's a chance to add miss Pauling if possible😔) but anyway, too much to read,, sorry again!! Take care♡♡

Y/N with communication anxiety admits their feelings to the Mercs

Scout:

- He’s very chill and nonchalant about it. Although have fun hearing him talk his mouth off all the time and rant about random things. He takes a liking to you pretty quickly when you join his team and leans on the wall next to you tossing his ball from hand to hand and blowing bubbles with his bubblegum. “Heeey there slugger. What‘s your name? You look like a total nightmare today.” He says. When you don’t answer him and nervously gesture to your throat that you’d prefer staying quiet he pauses for a moment. “Not a talker, eh?”

- Literally will not shut the fuck up. Will talk to you for hours on end. Venting or just saying plain stupid shit to impress you. You find his personality rather charming and in exchange he seems to appreciate your content silence and preference to listen to him. Something that the other Mercs don’t really do.

- “Y’know, Y/N. I know this sounds fuckin’ weird but like— Thank you I guess? For listening to my nonstop ramblin. I mean.. Not many people stop to consider what I have to say.” He says this to you while you sit in Tuefort’s gazebo with him on a cold desert morning. “They just think i’m annoying I guess..”

- “Annoying yet charming and handsome nonetheless, Scout.” You finally work up the courage to mutter to him. Your voice is rasp and you smile.

- Scout pauses, then looks at you in complete disbelief. Did Y/N just speak? Atop of that it seemed to have been a flirtatious compliment. He takes a moment to process the situation and then sort of chortles. He runs his hand through his own hair and acts chill about it but on the inside he’s absolutely mad with feelings. “Wow.. That’s.. Yeah, OK.” he says, failing to find words. Face flushed with heat.

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Soldier:

- He was the first person to approach you in the base. Like ever. When he found out there was a new mercenary he needed to lay the ground rules to them as soon as possible. Instead of giving him a “Yes sir!” like he had hoped, you stared at him blankly. (I’d probably be rethinking this job offer.) Wondering why you hadn’t spoken up to him, he got close to your face and looked up and down you. “I’D LIKE TO HEAR A YES SIR PRIVATE!” Still nothing. You were too busy admiring his muscles. You’ve just met this man but you’d let him throw you off a bridge in an instant.

- When he still doesn’t get a response, he backs up and angrily fixes his helmet “Insubordination I see.. Heh. Okay.” He mutters and prepares to plan a punishment later. You are oddly charmed by his stupid greeting and you head to the nearest chalkboard and explain in writing why you can’t respond back. He lifts his helmet up to read it and then looks back at you. (The other Mercs are kind of stunned that Soldier even knows how to read in the first place.)

- “Ah, I see.. Strange tactical decision but not unheard of.” He responds, then straightens his posture apologetically. You two become close friends from then on. Medic has to explain to him later that you just have “mild” communication issues. For the first few months of your guys’ friendship the dumbass thought you were doing this to gain an upper hand.

- After a match one day you catch him smoking a cigar on a huge pile of bodies in the pouring rain. You step up the horrific mess of blood and guts to meet him. He doesn’t look too happy. Although Soldier never really opens up about anything to anyone. He’s way too deep in his little military fantasy. You sit next to him and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Whatever the hell he was upset about you knew it wasn’t good. After a bout of silence you whisper “You’re a wonderful strategist, Soldier.”

- You can’t see his expression underneath his helmet but you can certainly hear his heartbeat quicken because of how close you are. His mouth nearly twitches up into a grin. He doesn’t respond to your compliment but he’s relieved to hear one nonetheless after all this time.

————————————————————————-

Demoman:

- You find him making bombs in his quarters when you meet him for the first time. He doesn’t look too friendly but as you decide to walk by he immediately calls out to you. “Ayeee! New blood. Get ova’ here a second. Wee lil monster.” He beckons his hand aggressively.

- You walk over to him and he puts an arm around your shoulder. Patting you reassuringly. “Aye.. So It’s not gonna be easy livin’ here just so you know. We’re all a wee bit mad. Don’t take the others’ too seriously when dey bother ye.” He takes the responsibility upon himself to let you know as an older Merc it’ll be okay. He slaps you friendlily on the back after his conversation and sends you off. He doesn’t really question the fact you aren’t speaking.

- You immediately take a liking to him though. Mainly due to his explosive personality on the battlefield (pun intended.) He gets horribly drunk before doing any Mercenary work and acts goofy the entire time. His charisma pulls you in like a magnet. You want to speak to him but it’s so hard…

- After months of simping for this guy from afar, you slip a note under his doorframe professing your feelings to him. You hear him pick it up. The next thing you know, he barges into your quarters the next day after a match and grabs you by the shoulders. Asking you in complete disbelief if you actually meant everything you said.

- “Yes, I just think you’re really attractive!” you blurt out instinctively. Alarmed by his behavior. He lets you go; having heard your voice for the first time. The shock of the revelation and the sound of your voice, atop of the alcohol seemed to have done it for him. He immediately kissed you on the lips without warning. You’re the first person in years to say this to him.

- “I… Er.. “ He walks away after that. You have no fucking idea what the hell even happened.

——————————————————————-

Engineer:

- You hear the sweet melody of a guitar echoing off the intel room. Despite its clearly southern origins you are drawn to it. As if it was some sort of hypnosis. You’d recognize that melody anywhere. The year was 1967 and you were no stranger to your own childhood. That was clearly “El Paso.” You’ve heard that song on the radio a million times already. But somehow this was different. The soothing voice it came from was singing it as if it were his own lullaby to the multiple sentries around him. The ones of his own creation of course.

- Next thing you know, you’re sitting next to him on the intel desk, sleepy as all shit from the melody and the white noise from the patrolling sentries. You wake up an hour later to embarrassingly finding yourself on this stranger’s lap. You want to profusely apologize to your colleague but nothing comes out.

- He doesn’t even seem phased. For some reason he was stroking your hair as he gazed off into the distance.

- Ever since that day you became close to Engineer. He was completely unbothered by your communication issues and actually kind of appreciates the silent times he has with you. He rarely speaks to you while hanging out either, out of respect for your boundaries. Only the occasional conversation here and there. You are both existing together.

- “I love you, Dell.” You finally say, after a night of drinking in his workshop with him. You are perched up on his lap as always and he’s petting you. At first he misunderstands this as platonic. “Aww..” He cooes. “No, I mean it. I’ve always found you so —“ You bury your face into his chest. Muffling the last part of your sentence “Safe to be around.”

- He’s unbelievably boiling with hormones on the inside. He tips his hardhat forward to hide his flustered face. Holding his own chin. “Dammit..” He mutters in an incredibly positive way. You’ve successfully won this man over.

—————————————————————-

Heavy:

- He’s already met you before the job. Accidentally caught you in a coffee shop in Tuefort being yelled at by an ableist Karen and he took it upon himself to nearly strangle her for you. Heavy doesn’t tolerate behavior like that. You need to insult people with style or nothing at all. Don’t pick on their disabilities. Aim for the most stereotypical high school bully route possible. Come on, you gotta be an asshole skillfully.

- He could tell you were different the moment you joined the team. But that’s fine. He was quite misunderstood too. Heavy wasn’t a dumb himbo. He was a GIANT man with a lust for blood. Although he enjoyed chaos as much as any Merc, Heavy also valued silence. Something that you provided him with your presence. You catch him deliberately body shielding you on the battlefield because he knows this communication issue didn’t come out of nowhere. You’re distressed. This was his subtle attempt to let you know he cared.

- He catches you unable to sleep one night. He opens your door and notes the fact your light was still visible through the cracks. You’re sitting on the bed in an uncomfortable fetal position.

- “Little thing will not sleep?” He asks you. Although he has his typical hardened expression the question suggested he cared. “Hm. Stay here. Heavy will grab bedtime story.”

- He reads you an old Russian classic. Although depending on who you are you might not understand it. Regardless the soft sounds are alluring sleep. It’s clear he’s read people stories many times before because his whispers hit all the right places.

- You mumble to him a thank you. Which makes him pause mid sentence. He doesn’t know how the ever living fuck to process what he’s feeling right now. It’s a mixture of affection and the pang of what is typically the start of romantic attraction. Ew gross he’s feeling soft and fuzzy emotions.

- You pull him under the covers with you eagerly. He grumpily obeys but he doesn’t know why. He nearly destroys your bed with his weight and has to put you on his chest to cuddle. You can hear the sound of the ubercharged baboon heart inside him. Still pumping away and working to keep him going. You slip into slumber easily.

————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Talking is overrated anyway. Nobody really understands Pyro when they speak under the mask. Trying to say something simple like “There’s a spy behind you.” is often met with a confused expression. When Pyro meets you, it’s when he’s allured by your skills on the battlefield. In their point of view you are a glorious unicorn prancing around a field of pollen. (More like debris from the enemy soldiers’ rockets but that’s besides the point.)

- There are rare moments where Pyro is completely lucid and self aware of the fact they’re a mercenary for hire though. They compliment you on your abilities after a match and it takes you a while to understand but you nod.

- They won’t. stop. complimenting. you. You are dragged to his tea parties and childish shenanigans and you find over time it’s surprisingly pleasant to escape from the bloodshed once and a while. Cuddling sessions ensue as time goes on.

- You catch their face without their suit while they’re getting changed. That is vulnerability that Pyro wasn’t ready for yet. They break down sobbing and self depreciating and you feel heartbroken. Who the hell taught them to hate themselves so fucking much? You’re having a bit of empathy overload right now as they squeal and choke up. Finding no other alternative but to speak blissful things about their appearance and personality. Hearing you speak for the first time makes them cry more. (In an incredibly positive way luckily.)

———————————————————————

Sniper:

- Oh shit. Another person whose super quiet for some reason?! Except your situation is different. You’d like to socialize but it’s difficult. Sniper doesn’t want to socialize and he hates basically everybody. But he has that “grumpy older brother who teases you” energy. He’s well aware you’re younger than the other Mercs and therefore a tad easier on you.

- He’s scoping out a crack in the window when he feels your presence behind him. His shoulders stiffen and that’s how you know he senses you. “Blimey. You’d make a terrible Spy.” he mutters. Bringing his gun away from the hole to put it down and face you. His hypersensitivity to noise is no doubt from being stabbed a million times.

- You wonder how he’s able to tell it’s even you in the first place. He’s possibly grown accustomed to how each Mercenary sounds when they approach his nest. You can smell the scent of strong cologne mixed in with bond fire lingering off him. Couple that with the fact that he’s so unbelievably hot? You came to bring him some morning coffee but you end up setting it down to spontaneously hug him.

- “Wh— fuck.” He growls. Both caught off guard and swaying a bit. Trying to adjust to extra weight. He hesitantly hugs you back. Wondering if you were sick or something and needed soothing. He doesn’t understand why anybody would want this from him. It takes him a minute to put his arms around you and pat you.

- “What’s wrong mate?” he says, in your ear. This man might be giving you a voice kink if you don’t already have one. Holy shit. You don’t want to be humiliated by your own voice in front of him and your lips quiver. Incapable of finding the words you’re thinking of. “You’re cute.” you finally say. In a last ditch effort when no other words came to mind. To say you desperately wanted this man was an understatement.

- You hear him take a sharp breath in. He stifles a groan from the amount of energy you just shot into his godamn stomach. Not only was it a pleasure to hear your voice for the first time but it felt intimate. He was very sensitive to things like this. You swore you could hear this man purring in your ear like a cat. He was evidentially as touch starved as you were.

—————————————————————

Medic:

- No speaking?! Oh! this man has to study you like right fucking now. What a curiosity. He’s never met somebody who had issues speaking like this before. He hates to admit —and won’t admit for that matter — that he might be doing this out of emotion as well. Believe it or not Medic can be an incredibly emotion driven person. Not just for the pleasures of harming people but the unwanted sympathy that comes with being human. He hates the idea he might care for you. Why does he even feel that way? It’s not like you’re different from any other Merc..

- Except you are. You’re you. That’s the problem. You’re lovable in every way and no amount of rumination will ever explain why.

- His first instinct upon discovering this about you is to ask you questions about how bad it is. Obviously quickly realizing how stupid that is — he hands you his clipboard and a fresh piece of paper to communicate. “Do you speak if at all?” “Do you experience this in the presence of certain stressors?” “Did you have traumatic experiences that led to this?” “Is this perhaps a case of selective mutism?”

- You scramble to write down incredibly passive aggressive and sarcastic answers but they are answers nonetheless. He seems pleased with the results. Under normal circumstances you’d hate being treated like a guinea pig but his excited smile was charming. The fact that somebody wanted to understand your situation so badly was a bit riveting. He was hungry for information about the human existence. “Danke!”

- You catch something you’d never suspect in a mad scientist such as himself. While he’s drawing mathematical equations on his chalkboard one night he periodically looks over his shoulder to frown at you while he thinks you’re not paying attention.

- He’s doing a terrible job at hiding his human nature. There was a bout of emotion in his eyes about your health. As much as the doctor tried to remove this from his work, it kept rearing its ugly head in certain situations. “I love you, Doctor.” You tell him.

- SNAP. His fingers break the chalk in half. Just like his crumbling facade. You could see his eye twitch as he accesses ten thousand possible answers he could give you in his mind. “Aheh, could you give me a moment, bitte?” He tells you. Waltzing into the other room. You could hear muffled screaming coming from his bedroom. He regrets taking this job and wished he died in police custody.

———————————————————————-

Spy:

- YES! FINALLY SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T MAKE HIM WANT TO PULL HIS HAIR OUT AND BACKFLIP OFF A CLIFF

- Spy elegantly invites you to his quarters one night after weeks of avoiding you the first time you come here. He pours you some wine and hands you a glass. (adjusting your hand in the process because you’re holding the glass wrong.)

- “Do you know why I brought you here?” He asks. Pacing around the room and lighting himself a cigarette from his disguise kit. In all honesty you have no idea why but the sight of such a handsome older man doing this for you was distracting. “It is your performance as of late. You are throughly calculated I must say.” You couldn’t agree with this, but you wondered if he had some sort of thing for competent people. (Your assumptions are correct.)

- …. “Not to mention quieter than me when I scope out prey.” He mentions. Waving the cigarette between two fingers. He was a Spy and you had no doubt he was trying to read you like a book but having difficulties. He was especially accustomed to having small talk with the other Mercs to better fake their counterparts when disguised as them. You couldn’t help but feel a little flattered over the fact that not even a Spy could properly look through you.

- He looked at you rather frustratingly once he realizes you’re still not speaking. “Not even the slightest bit of speaking. Do you realize how much harder you make my job?” He complains sarcastically. You can’t help but crack a humored grin at this. He isn’t being ableist in this situation, rather he’s angry he can’t psychoanalyze somebody. You knew it was within’ a Spy’s nature to instinctively do this.

- He responded positively to your grin. Moving away and dragging his cigarette. Trying to hide a bit of his own amusement. “Yes, yes. You find my suffering to be equivalent to the entire circus.” He says. “But in in all honesty your silence is preferred.” Spy moves in and lifts your chin up with his pointer finger.

- “Tu es agréable à côtoyer..” He hisses. His voice sounding like a hungry cat as he draws closer to you. Spy has a very distinct look in his eye. One that basically screams thoughtful and mysterious. You nearly passed out at the unintentionally romantic gesture.

- “Please throw me off a fucking building.” You say.

- “What?”

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #medic x reader #spy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #pyro x reader #sniper x reader #I FORGOT TO DO MISS PAULING IM SORRY