I think this might fall under @leiascully‘s Rest challenge … yeah … I’m gonna slap it under that category and call it a day :)

Also, it’s a post-ep for ‘Millennium’ … 

Enjoy 8^)


Mulder hadn’t seen her this weary in a long time … months since she had shadows that dark under her eyes, skin as pale as winter sunshine, lips faded to a hint of the rose they should be. Walking towards him, he stood immediately, taking in her exhaustion with a blinking glance, “hey there.”

She didn’t really answer, more like nodded her head with the illusion of giving a shit that she was upright and mobile. Dropping her bag on the floor by the coat rack and her shoes beside it, she brandished a file folder, tossed it to his lap, missed, didn’t care, ignored the sheaf of paper fanned across the hardwood and crawled, wobbled, swayed, landed face first across his couch.

He didn’t argue, taking in her rapidly encompassing coma state as a sign to keep his mouth shut of any and all sarcastic comments regarding the commandeering of his furniture for her hedonistic napping session. Not caring to move much himself, given his wrapped shoulder and still pulling scabs on his neck, he eventually picked up the folder, glancing through the final report on zombies or reanimated human-like entities before tossing it back to the floor.

He really didn’t give a rat’s fuzzy butt about the case, preferring not to remember it as his apartment fell to the early winter darkness. He wasn’t a fan of fire; he wasn’t a fan of cold; he wasn’t a fan of conspiring assholes and now he knew he definitely wasn’t a fan of reani- … zombies … whatever the hell they were. He mostly just wanted to forget them and enjoy some TV and a nap.

But Scully was in his TV watching spot, face squished into the cushion where he usually sat, the compressed foam perfectly indented to his rear after countless years and which was now cradling his soon-to-be drooling partner, her arm hanging to the floor, hand bent at the wrist, fingerprints pressed to woven striped rug.

And she was fairly cute doing it.

Settling back in the office chair he currently occupied and would occupy for the foreseeable future, he shifted his good arm up, resting his head against his hand, deciding that since he didn’t have a decent angle for the TV now, he’d just watch her.

Turned out to be the best entertainment of the night.

“Mul … ler?”

That startled him a little. She’d been snoring not half a second earlier and he never expected her to say anything.



“Yes, Scully?”

Still not answering, she broke into a grin, her face shifting enough so he could just make out her mouth in full, “Muller.”

By now, his chuckle had emerged, head tilting further to the side to see her better, “Scully.”

Pulling her arm up, she languidly twisted onto her side, back against the back, knees sliding over each other until she settled again, left arm draped over belly, breasts pushed together in tantalizing, nearly spilling out cleavage.

He could see her knees as well.


He had a thing for her knees. He’d been watching them peak out from underneath skirts for what felt like decades now and he had been fantasizing about his hand on one of them for just as long. Oddly, he had pictured her on her knees doing … things … to him for nearly as long but those fantasies were nowhere near as frequent as the ones where he simply sat beside her, warm palm cupped over her rounded knee, the beautiful 90-degree joint that carried her beside him everywhere and anywhere without fault and without fail.

He was utterly beguiled and bewildered at the sight of her knees. He’d shake his head to bring himself back to a sense of manly reality but, really, why.

Granted, the cleavage did fight for his attention, don’t get him wrong but tonight, he took his voyeuristic time, enjoying his blue-glowing Scully in all her napping glory, knees out for the world to see.

He chuckled again at the realizing that he was so far under her spell, it was shocking he could still function at all in society.

Then again, his society for the time being, consisted of Scully and zombies.

He gave himself five more minutes before forcing himself to stand, go to the kitchen, silently find some dinner, forget his partner on the couch in order to take a deep breath, sort his head back to the here and now.


Like a snapping rubber band, he was back at her side before he knew his feet were moving, “Scully?”

This time, though, her eyes were open, staring up at him, confused and squinty, “am I hungry?”

“I … I don’t know.” Giving her a soft smile, “I was just making myself some food. You got here about an hour ago so you probably are hungry. It’s after 7.”

Time stamp sinking in, “hey, we’re missing ‘Wheel of Fortune’.”

God, he really should just propose now and get it over with, “want to find the channel and I’ll heat up whatever the hell isn’t nasty in my fridge?”

Hand already digging in the cushions for the remote, “deal.”

Sooner than later, they were buried deep in the couch, Mulder’s feet on the coffee table, Scully’s tucked underneath her, knee touching his thigh and blanket haphazardly thrown over them, empty plates near his toes. As they waited for the final ‘Jeopardy’ clue, Mulder debated whether it was time.

Scully chose action over debate.

Reaching towards him, she quietly gripped his pinkie finger and slowly dragged his hand from his leg to hers, stopping once her knee rounded out his palm.

In answer, he slid a little further down in the cushions, elbow resting on her upper thigh and fingers curved more securely around the sacred bones.

Mulder left it there through the last question, through two episodes of something he didn’t have the capacity to pay attention to because Scully was real and beside him, only one layer of blanket between skin on skin. Then, around nine, he gathered boldness from points unknown and deftly moved from above blanket to below, back to knee, heat on heat, watching her out the corner of his eye and relaxing when he saw the smallest of smiles curve her lip.

He was golden tonight.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to push it.

Soon, cliched date night situations aside, her head landed on his shoulder, the credit music of ‘West Wing’ filling the room as she quietly asked, “would you mind if I stayed here tonight?”

“Of course not. Tired?”

“Yeah … but …” he could hear the hesitation beating the space between them, “mostly I … I’m comfortable and don’t want to go home right now.”

Squeezing her leg, he moved to stand, “let me go find you something to sleep in.”

She let him stand, missing him instantly and watched him trek away, sling band across his back, gait stilting slightly because a jostling walk sent pains through his unhealed bones. Following seconds later, she stood in his bedroom doorway, blanket over her shoulders, “anything is fine.”

Turning, “why’d you get up? You said you were comfortable on the couch?”

“No, I said I was comfortable.” Stepping closer, her eyes twinkled and sparked, “I’m comfortable with you and with your hand on me and being in this apartment and I don’t want to go home. There’s a difference between that and not wanting to get up from the couch to follow you.”

After keeping his grin to mere epic proportions, he gathered a t-shirt and some sweatpants, handing them to her after he moved to stand in front, “here you go and does that mean you’re not ready to go to sleep yet? Should we go see what else we can find to watch?”

Nodding, “go start looking while I change.” Quick like bunny, she came back into the living room and Mulder lost his powers of speech. Looking from her bare knees and the bottom of the shirt he gave her, which fell an inch above the aforementioned knees, to her face, she laughed as she settled back beside him, blanket once again over them, his hand moving under the blanket and back to its spot with little hesitation, “I’ll put the pants on before I go to sleep.”


The next morning, with the blinds closed and the sunlight non-existent behind layers of gray cloud, she didn’t wake up until after eight and that was only because an especially exuberant burble from the fish tank invading her senses. Ignoring the clock, she puttered around the place while she made tea and found a box of semi-expired PopTarts, settling on the couch once again to have her breakfast before she decided to give any kind of thought to work. Mulder ventured forth halfway through her second cup, hair askew and shirt twisted under his immobilizer. Attempting and failing to straighten himself out, he dropped beside her, “when did you wake up and do you know you’re late for work?”

Doing her best not to spew forth a torrent of crumbs when she answered him, “woke up 20 minutes ago and not too sure I care about work today. How are you?”

Taking the bite of PopTart she offered him, he chewed thoughtfully, “better because you’re here.”

“I meant your shoulder but thank you.”

“You make everything better, shoulder included.”

Moving the blanket to cover his legs as well, mirroring the night before, she watched him put his hand back under the blanket, his eyebrows raising when he ran into skin instead of flannel, “still no pants, young lady?”


“You should play hooky with me and not wear any pants at all.”

Pretending to debate, she tucked the blanket in closer under her legs and wiggled against him, “you should find me some cartoons. Flintstones if possible … or Scooby-Doo.”

With a non-chalant and non-presumptuous kiss to the top of her head, “I love you and your cartoony, pantsless ways.”

“I love you and your expired PopTart owning ways.”

Finding the Flintstones on some backend cable channel, “today is going to be a good day.”

Already planning a nap, probably in Mulder’s bed and probably not alone, “a very good day.”

Patricia Highsmith and the place where it all began. 📖 🌹 Because every love story has a beginning… 💮 ❄ 📷

Virginia Kent Catherwood (the woman is on the left), it was a 50’s socialite, she married a banker but divorced in 1941, after the intervention of detectives and photographers paid by the husband in a sexual encounter between Virginia and another woman.

Pat (who is on the right), met her three years later at a party and then they became inseparable lovers for two years. They broke up because Virginia, alcoholic and self-destructive, got involved with another woman and Pat found them in bed.

She thought about killing her rival (“The crime fills my heart tonight”, she wrote in her diary) 📑 🔫 but she decided to retire, concentrate on writing and cultivate the memory of Virginia, that would occupy in the future a central place in her works.

Definitely, Virginia Kent, was the first muse for Pat, and her presence is evident in “The Price of Salt” aka Carol, probably Virginia was the woman who inspired the character of Genevieve Cantrell, the actress that Therese meets at a party 💁💃

“In the afternoon of a pleasant October day soon after the surrender of
Burgoyne,” writes L. B. Proctor, “ a young officer wearing the uniform of a member of Washington’s military family, accompanied by an orderly, left the ferryboat which then landed at a point in the river a little north of the present Arch street. The young soldier and his orderly immediately mounted their horses and rode toward the Schuyler mansion. The appearance of an officer who so evidently held a rank that placed him near the Commander-in-Chief of the American Army, created much interest in the city. ’ Who is he and what can be his mission in Albany?’ were questions that went unanswered from many inquirers. There was in his bearing much that increased the interest his appearance created. It exhibited a natural, yet unassuming superiority; his features, though not handsome, gave evidence of thought, intellectual strength and a determined mind; a high, expansive forehead, a nose of the Grecian mould, a dark, bright eye, and the lines of a mouth expressing decision and courage completed the contour of a face never to be forgotten. The elegant horse he rode seemed conscious that he bore the weight of no common rider, and his proud step ‘was the curbed motion of a blooded charger.’ The young soldier sat in the saddle with a grace and ease, showing that he was master of himself and his horse. His figure of the middling height, strongly framed and muscular, gave the appearance of strength and activity. We have been somewhat particular in our description of the young officer, for we have thus presented to the reader Alexander Hamilton. He soon arrived at the residence of General Schuyler. Dismounting and giving his horse in charge of the orderly, he handed his card to a servant who appeared at the door, and in a few moments was welcomed by the General himself, to a mansion destined ever after to be linked almost with his future destiny. His mission there was the most important duty of his military career.


Under the direction of Washington, he visited Schuyler to obtain his advice and counsel in performing it. Their consultation was long, close and confidential—one of the many which had taken place in the mansion that had determined the policy of campaigns and the plan of battles. It was at this time that Hamilton first met Elizabeth Schuyler, who, next to Theodosia Burr, was one of the most beautiful and accomplished of American women. She was then in her twentieth year, had been carefully educated, and had received an intellectual training which prepared her for the exalted station she was destined to occupy in her future life. As the daughter of one of the most wealthy and eminent men in the state, graceful and fascinating in her manner, beautiful in form and features, she had attracted many admirers, and her hand had been sought by suitors of rank, fortune and many rare personal endowments. The impression she made on the mind of Hamilton at their first meeting was deep and sincere. That Elizabeth Schuyler should have greatly admired the young, gallant and gifted soldier is rendered certain by the results of the future.

"Having obtained the advice of Schuyler, Hamilton made his way to the camp of Gates at Saratoga. With the most careful management—the management of an accomplished diplomatist—he succeeded in his mission, and Washington was reinforced from the army of Gates. On his return, he again visited the Schuyler mansion—this time not to consult with the father, but to woo the daughter. In the following spring the acquaintance thus began ripened into an engagement; and on December 14th, 1780, the marriage of Alexander Hamilton with Elizabeth Schuyler was one of the important events in the memorable history of the old Schuyler mansion.”

-A Godchild of Washington: A Picture of the Past by Katharine Schuyler Baxter

Up Until The End // (Sebastian Stan Imagine) OG Character

A/N: This is a bit messy since I just wrote it on the spot and decided to post it without any overlooking 0_0 (no judgy) so enjoy but sorry if it’s a messy one! (No pics are my own) 

Originally posted by love-buckybarnes

“She did this on purpose!” Chris yelled, out of breath from his scene he had just completed. He was pointing at me, the pregnant woman sitting in a chair with a tiny fan on my face as it was summer of 2017: and we were on site in South Africa. Laughing at him, I gasped and shook my head, holding my bouncing belly.

“I did not! You think I planned a unplanned pregnancy with my Fiance so I could get out of stunts in the movie, Evans? Are you in that much despair… Honey.” I sweetened the last word and received the finger from him. Only to hear a shout from Sebastian making me giggle. “Hey, take that finger back from my Fiance, and your fake ‘Girlfriend Superheroine’ Evans! Or you’ll be receiving five fingers in the face courtesy of your best friend.”

“Fake or Real?” He smirked, making Sebastian slap the man on the back in retaliation. “Seba, stop slapping your boyfriend and help your fiance up- please?” Looking over at his love, Sebastian walked over, in full gear; taking my hands as he hoisted me up and off my ass for it was time for another scene.

The Russo’s decided to start parceling out my scenes during the day to help me out since it was nearing the end of my pregnancy, and back to back scenes of me standing up led to swelled up feet in kick ass red leather boots that would soon be bringing me to tears, when I had to take them off due to the damned swelling.

Looking down, my feet, in sandals that I blessed the Lord for letting me have now for shoots, were already starting their inflammation. Sebastian saw my stare down and looked too, shaking his head. “Nope. You’re not going out there with them feet babe. They’re too swelled, we can try reshoots tomorrow, I think. Right Anthony?” I turned with two hands on my back helping me stand straight and I saw the Russo look up and sigh, taking off his glasses.

The co-director and writer walked over to me, giving my shoulder a soft rub as he sympathetically smiled at my state. My ridiculous state that is.

“I look ridiculous, Anthony. Maternity leave is happening any day, why can’t I start it now?” I asked, leaning into Sebastian while I moved my hands from my back to my belly that started moving around; Lil Stan was deciding to reposition themselves.

Yeah: twins. Fuckin’ twins at nine months and here I am in a costume only from my (now enormous) breasts up. The rest was a flowing-like gown attached to it that wardrobe made for these kinds of shoots. The two surprising cell-bundles were not a plan Seb and I had in mind until we were married in December, when all the shooting would be done. But now, we’d be having two new guests at the wedding and they were not invited, necessarily. Already selfish little turds.

“Look, Sebastian, Viv, I’m so sorry. But I can’t allow that! We did that when it was over 100 degrees the other day and it put us back- now! I know it was needed but right now we are deadlocked, guys. I’m really, so so sorry Vivianna.” Looking down, I felt the hormonal tears kick in and I nodded, rubbing the two rolling bowling balls in my stomach. Trying to settle them as they tried moving in their cramped housing. “I-it’s fine. Sorry! I know, I know.” I swung a hand out to motion the tears weren’t really meant to be flowing, but they were unstoppable like a lot of things nowadays for me.

Work hours, tears, cravings, uncomfortable spots everywhere, and sometimes peeing…

“Aw, I’m so sorry, V! I really-” I waved him off and laughed, wiping the tears before they ruined my makeup. Sebastian had his arm around my back and was softly rubbing it, helping ease the back pain a bit just with his gentle touch. It wasn’t until I turned to receive a hug from my fiance that I saw his tightened jaw, and fisted left hand that wasn’t on my back.

“This is bullshit- come on, Anthony! She’s miserable! I’ll personally pay what is needed for a break.”

Everyone stopped moving- Mackie, Evans, and Downey: the one who spoke out.

(Who had been watching this conversation unfold over to my right in a security-like manner. He was protective of Seb and I. Seeing so much love and care for each other and the two new arriving babies; he wanted us to make it in this tense, frustrating industry we loved so much.)

“Robert…” I shook my head, turning to him only to receive a nice kick in my kidney. Making me lean into a stunned Sebastian. Now keeping a hold onto me as my standing started to falter. I felt a hot breath in my ear as my eyes closed in pain. “Come on, back to the chair, dovey.” I nodded, and walked over; getting assistance with Evans too, who grabbed my other side gallantly.

There was no lack of gentlemen that would drop everything to help bring me a chair or back too one. Even just grabbing my hand in support as I received lovely kicks in the bladder, kidney, and appendix. That’s one thing I can tell you wasn’t lacking on this movie.

“Robert, that’s so, so just.. Insanely nice of you but we can’t let you do that. I’ll pay it with my salary for this movie, Anthony.” Sebastian shouted, getting me an ice pack for my stomach and a fan for my sweaty face. He kissed my sweaty brow as I quickly grabbed his hand, shaking my head profusely. “No, no. Seba, no. You are not giving up your earnings for a day off.”

“No, Viva. We’re talking about a whole break from the movie: month or two weeks off. That’s talking at least over a million dollars in repayment for work, set spots, and everyone else’s paycheck here.” Well that just made me more anxious. “No! Stop it!” I said, slamming my hand against my seat’s arm guard, “Just- s-stah. Fuck me! Oh my god!”

I was screaming as a pain wrapped around my uterus, and cervix: it was like a vice was grasping at my whole stomach, squeezing my two in there. Sebastian dropped his ice that he had gone to grab quickly and ran over, trying to get me to look at him in the eyes, but I couldn’t; the pain was so bad. “Baby, look at me. Hey, hey. Is this it? Is it?” I gasped for a breath and heard Robert say enough was enough; and set was done for today. I screamed out of pain (and frustration) as another contraction viced my babies. “Uh huh. Seba, I-I hurt. Am rănit peste tot , domnul meu în ceruri . La dracu! La dracu!” It hurts so much. Oh my lord in heaven. Fuck! Fuck!

He spoke back in our native tongue, and then asked Chris for a hand. (one of the reasons we bonded so well in our first meeting of each other way back in 2013 when I got casted in Winter Soldier.) “Bine, mergem la spital. A lua geanta, Chris! NU, Hemsworth- Chris ! Este în camera de toaletă cu o etichetă uriașă pe ea spunând ” Hosptial BAG “ Vă rog!”

“They don’t speak our language you dumbass!” I screeched, squeezing his hand as another one came over me- these shouldn’t be coming so quickly!

“Okay, we’re going to the hospital. Get the bag, Chris! NO, Hemsworth- that Chris! It’s in the dressing room with a huge label on it saying “HOSPTIAL BAG”. Please!”

Hemsworth nodded, and bolted. I felt the help of Mackie grabbing my fan, ice, phone, towel, shoes, and saw Downey negotiating a deal with Anthony Russo. The two, though were wishing us well on our travels to a nonnative hospital in the middle of a country unfamiliar to us.

They looked like we were fucked. And we were.

Because an hour later, we finally made it to the hospital with already one baby trying to come out, and my screams ringing in Evans ears and my adored fiance’s too. He tried wiping my tears as I cried from the pain in the van on the way here. He tried to keep me occupied with thoughts of the future- 24 hours from now we’d have two babies to care for, two babies to love back home in New York for five months together. We were lucky enough to have these babies, I knew that. I knew we were lucky to be having two new additions that weren’t unhealthy and weren’t being treated with the best care they could get.

But fuck all that when a corset-like feeling of strings trying to squeeze two babies- of whom had their father’s rounder head that felt watermelons, as they came out of me not thirty minutes of arriving at the hospital.

“I can’t believe I just did this,” I said. Crying as I held my baby girl, and Sebastian held his baby boy. Sebastian, leaning against me and the bed rails felt tears run down his face. “You did it, Mrs. Marvel.” And a marvel she was, to Sebastian. Working literally up until birth. She was his warrior who gave him these two new beauties.

He was a daddy now.

Vivianna was a mommy.

No amount of money was unpayable for them now to get their five months alone with the two newest little Stan family members; that laid in their parents arms asleep. Happy and healthy. Which in the end: is all you can ask for.

                                           Born on July 28th, 2017
Luminisia Eliora Stan 6 lbs & 9 oz and Felix Sebastian Stan 8 lbs & 4 oz

seevikiifangirl  asked:

- You’re part of the guerrilla theater club on campus and crashed my class for a performance E/E

plus “my friend dragged me to this party and I just saw my ex quick make out with me” that i’m fairly certain somebody else requested. title adapted from a morie satoshi one-shot.

In the Battlefield Where We Lost Our Words

He never shut up. That was the thing about him. Soliloquies dripped from petal-red lips as effortlessly as breathing, tempered by the fire in eyes that were the color of a July heaven. His voice was a length of golden silk, endless, rustling between the bones of the ribcage, trailing down the spine.

Éponine first heard that voice on a cold September afternoon. The leaves outside the classroom window had just started to turn red, and those slow flushes of bright color amidst the mottled greens and browns swayed gently in the autumn breeze, mesmerizing her as she sat at her desk, barely listening to the professor’s lifeless gray monotone.

And then someone else began to speak. She was looking at the silver-blue sky when she heard it, the voice like a sweet poison fume that went straight to her bloodstream.

“To build up, you know, we have to tear down first. I had a dream once— or did I see it? I thought the Day of Judgment was come upon the world…”

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Living on Internet Time

Stacey D'Erasmo on atemporality in the Internet Age:

We seem to have entered the Age of Relativity, wherein we finally experience time as Einstein imagined it, contracting and expanding relative to the velocities of observers. … If it’s an anxious moment concerning time, it’s also a playful and expansive one. All temporal bets are off, including, given climate change, the seasons. It’s still one earth, but it is now subtended by a layer of highly elastic non-time, wild time, that is akin to a global collective unconscious wherein past, present, and future occupy one unmediated plane.

Photograph by Emmanuel Pierrot/Agence Vu

Three Million

Summary: Phil hits three million subscribers, Dan’s channel turns nine, and Manchester ties it up in a pretty little bow. 

A/N: This has literally no plot I just found the idea of Dan and Phil being quietly super proud of each other and Dan trying to be super mushy all day really cute. And also yes I realize there was really another show tonight, I conveniently forgot that when writing this.

Genre: Fluff (holy shit an aro like me is squirming), reality (sorta)

Word Count: 1845

With how busy everything has been, sometimes Phil’s energy is so occupied with everything in the future that the last thing on his mind is where he started: youtube. But he sits, a day off from the tour, the constant sound of a hotel shower and nothing in particular on his computer screen, and he remembers for the first time in days to check his youtube account. Slow clicks lead him to his channel’s page, at which he stares, shocked and expressionless, at the number beside his name. 

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Hungarian students’ demonstartion, “The University is ours!”

The hungarian government is trying to take away the free places at universities and colleges. The number of the free places will be tierce of the current number, so the students will need loan, which is very expensive, or they will need to work during their semesters (more than the half of the university students have job, but I think this is the situation in the other countries), because their family can’t pay for their study. 

There are thousands on the streets even it’s lower than -6°C. The demonstrators are not even university students, but parents, teachers and students from the secondary school.

The govern is going to vote about this law tonight, and still don’t give a shit. 

like all true accelerationists i live close to the international date line so that i can truly occupy futurity, and also, so that it is christmas for me before it is for all u sorry fucks. merry christmas nerds.


Light and shadow. 
Bright and dark. 
We live with contrasts. 
Socially and professionally. 
In enclosed spaces. 
Very difficult to change. 
Here perpendicular lines, right angles. 
Pure and simple Cartesian geometry. 
Spaces defined concretely. 
Our spaces are however virtuals
But our behavior is real. 
Geometry of our space is complex. 
Lines are our paths, our ways. 
Shadows simulate our obstacles. 
Intersections show locations of potential conflicts. 
Panels illustrate our shelter. 
White spaces are places to occupy. 
Are our desired future. 
Spaces and paths are there. 
Let’s begin our journey …