she had enough of your bs

jupiters  asked:

imagine: mulder & scully get assigned to go to an amusement park to try to track/catch something or other and while they're there scully tries to stay be focused and mulder's just acting like a little kid and dragging scully on all the rides (BONUS: a prize for one of the game things is a giant blow-up alien & mulder really really wants it)

Lakemont Place is a self-proclaimed “thrifty” island amusement park. Scully slides sunglasses down her nose and pedantically explains that there are no islands in the middle of Pennsylvania. The park whirs and hums and twinkles in early evening light, with the last late-season stragglers making their way out of the front gates. From somewhere to their left, carousel music.

“It’s a figure of speech,” he says.

“I’d be interested to hear the genesis of “island” as a figure of speech as opposed to a geographic location.”

Scully marks something on the notepad she’s balancing over a folder. Talks without looking up. There is a fine coating of festival dust layering her black blazer. Sometimes, he’d like to kiss that smart mouth.

“Later. We’re on a case. I don’t have my projector with me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You should quit trying to distract me. Really unprofessional, Scully.”

He feels her look up, the twin quirks of the corners of her mouth like hitting the top of one of those archaic light-up tests of strength. And you get a prize.

“My apologies. I didn’t realize your BS came with slides.”

“When hasn’t my BS come with slides.”

She laughs, an escaped, unexpected sound and he forgets that they are looking for what the park’s proprietor had simply called “white bigfoot.” Scully had gently asked if he’d heard of the Abominable Snowman. He wants, suddenly, to win something for or from her or some strange combination of both.

He checks his watch. “We have about an hour until it gets dark enough for it to come out.”

Under her breath: “It.”

“Should we look around? Try to win our weight in cotton candy?” He bumps her shoulder.

“Really unprofessional, Mulder.” She bumps him back.

_

“Your policy on the high striker?”

She’s leaning against a building with cream slats and green siding. Her pathologist fingers, the same ones that have plucked seriously at intestines both small and large, are picking at the remains of a pink cotton candy. The white stick is beginning to show through, like the spinal bones of some fluffy neon skeleton. She licks sugar off her thumb and considers him carefully.

“Egomaniacal and inherently designed to boost machismo.”

He nods. Fair enough. ”And shooting galleries?“

She pushes her sunglasses up so they hold her hair back like a headband, all wisps and the unexpected Catholic school girl sweetness of her face. It feels like five years ago, before nosebleeds and small graves.There is cotton candy on the side of her mouth and she deals with it quickly, thoughtful. ”My policy is that my aim is better than yours and you know it.”

“Ooh, Scully. Better put your money where your trigger finger is.”

She beats him 9 to 7, scrunching up her nose to keep the setting sun out of her eyes. A rifle hiked up against her blazer makes him lose his focus, or something like that. Calamity Jane with a cross necklace. She brushes off the proffered prize and he whirls on her.

Scully.

She closes her eyes and holds out her hand, resting the other on her hip. He’s not sure where the folder or the notes went, but he hasn’t seen them in at least half an hour. She was full of tricks, which is why he thinks she preferred long sleeves - better for hiding them in. “Fine, Mulder. Pick for me if you care so much.”

He signals one of the late-shift park workers, a thin-faced man with an absurdly cliche mustache, to pass him the decently-sized alien that hangs above floppy dogs and an obscenely large Miss Piggy puppet. He puts it into her arms carefully and whispers, “Evidence.”

She opens her eyes and grins, runs the back of her hand absentmindedly down its soft head and says, “Green, huh?”

-

In the center of Lakemont is a sleepy old death trap called the Twister. True to its name, it’s a sharp corkscrew of wooden slats, a roller coaster that’s only mechanism is the screaming logistics of free fall. It is three minutes to sundown, and Scully had leaned back off a carousel horse and said, “Do you think we’d be able to see the whole park from the top? Like a crow’s nest, maybe.”

He’d hummed without agreeing. She’d turned fully toward him and said seriously, “We’ll be able to see white bigfoot easier from that kind of angle.”

That’s when he knew he had her. In the late August shimmer, just off the nauseating carousel turn. She’d said the words “white bigfoot” without a hint of irony and pointed to the top of a sure-to-be-fatal amusement park ride, and he had her. Or vice versa. Or something like that.

At the top, there is no sign of “bigfoot but, like, if he was bleached,” but they can see over the pastel expanse of the crooked little park and the dark green sway of the trees and towns beyond. And neither of them says it - but it does feel like an island. Like a figure of speech. Like they’re alone, surrounded by air and wind and the crash or something as steady and urgent and unstoppable as the sea.

He takes a shuddery breath and Scully turns to look sharply at him.

“Are you scared?” She laughs it out of her open mouth, everything but unkind. Her breath still childhood sweet from the cotton candy.

He shrugs back. She raises her eyebrows in something like giddy surprise or quiet revelation.

“You’re scared,” she says, taking his hand between both of hers like an agreement or a blood pact. And still laughing, “Oh, Mulder, you’re scared.”

He is and he isn’t. It fluctuates based on the creaking, ratcheting height they’re approaching and the honey-sweet sound of her voice. She holds his hand against her chest so he can feel the machine gun pump of her heart. It seems like she’s been laughing for so long he can’t imagine her stopping.

He says, “Yeah, I am.”

She looks like she might say something like Don’t be or I’ll protect you, G-man or just like she might laugh again. But the creaking stops and the air moves and there is a moment of silence and they’re on an island. They’re at the top of something, and there is a sureness to every movement they make that is not unlike the tide.

He’s scared and she’s laughing. He’s not scared and she’s still laughing. They fall.

i know that home remedies are often bs and stuff like “just drink more water” aren’t going to completely fix your health problems but it makes me so frustrated when someone says they feel bad and they don’t know why and i’m like “are you drinking enough water” and they’re like “no but i KNOW it’s not that, thats terrible advice!!!!” 

i had this exchange with a girl last week and i told her to just TRY IT (she said she felt weak and nauseous, and it was hot, so she was CLEARLY just dehydrated) anyway and she came back an hour later like “i feel so much better……weird”

just fvcking do it sdjfklsdjfsfsdfklsdfjsdl

Beginnings/EXO (Baekhyun)

Summary:  A beginning, middle, and end—that’s how all stories go. But between you and Baekhyun, it seemed all you ever had were beginnings. Beginning friendships, beginning dreams, beginning jobs, beginning, beginning, beginning. But then you left—for so long and with dwindling messages that calling whatever you had been “an end” didn’t seem right. When you finally meet again, it all catches up, igniting in a spark of power-outages, sasaengs, and a frozen theme-park.

A/N: Finally mustered up the courage to post my first ff up on here. Now if you’ll excuse me, *screams*.

Scenario: angst, fluff

Word Count: 4,300 of course my first fanfic is this long


You never thought that it would have begun again like this: locked in your boss’s office during a power-outage, crying, jamming desperate numbers on your phone only to be met with an answering machine each time.

Even your mother didn’t pick up.

At the sound of someone padding along outside, leaving their desk, you gasped and pounded on the door. You could hear them! The slamming of drawers, the slap of a laptop shutting. If you could hear them, then surely they could hear you. You tried once more, kicking the bottom of the door with your crimson colored heels, and you hoped the tack tack tack carried far enough. With an ear pressed between the handle and frame, you strained to listen. The rustling outside ended, and then there was the stairwell exit slamming shut.

That was it. The last person had left the office.

Keep reading

“Whenever I hear a guy say…"she’s too wild, too much, too hard to figure out, too complicated, too intense, too emotional, too opinionated, or crazy”, I hear… “I’d a burned her ass at the stake back in Salem. She is too connected to the Goddess. I won’t be able to tame her. I won’t understand her. I won’t be able to keep her. She won’t need me. She is too powerful and won’t love the wounded parts of me.”

Au contraire, she will see the parts of you that you’re afraid of and love them anyway. A women unleashed will love you without ever needing to change you. She will connect to you on a primal level, needing your body, succumbing to her inner fire, her passion and will rock your world. As a lover, she’ll not just make love to your body or heart, but to your soul.

You will wonder how you ever called it living before you met her.

She will piss you off and when you fight, it will suck. When you make up, you will realize you felt like you were dying as you thought of life without her, but she’s taught you of your strength and how your vulnerability makes you brave. She makes you realize you could survive anything, even losing her, because she taught you to believe in yourself. She will demand more of you and you will be glad she knew you had it in you all along. She will fiercely love you and teach you, nurture you and reach you, which at times make you uncomfortable. She will love the scared, little boy inside that you are afraid exists and acknowledging him makes you feel like the old you died, the one that lived a lie, that BS guy.

That part of you that feels not good enough will come up to heal and she will see through your façade. She’ll push your buttons and make you reach for more within yourself. She will make you ask yourself questions, making you grow, and know way more you thought was even possible. She will challenge you and never will she be boring. She will excite you and infuriate you with her boldness, that she allows herself to just be all of herself, and not parts.

Her tears will scare you and you will want to fix her, her problems, and the world. She will reassure you that this is one way she expresses herself and that it doesn’t mean weakness, that you can cry when you are angry, happy, sad, and for no reason at all. Those tears are an elixir for the soul, a catalyst for letting go, a signal of a change in energy.

It will be a wild ride, an adventure that takes you to the edge of yourself.

Love a wild one. Let her bewitch you, entrance you, bedazzle you, seduce you, mesmerize you, enchant you, and let her free you.

—  Jenny G. Perry

Okay but, Owen x Claire Timer AU, where you have the clock in you that counts down til you meet your soulmate. 

Owen never really bought into the idea but he had an ex who made him get it. But Claire got it the second she was old enough, and has been patiently waiting for the day she finally meets her soulmate. 

So they finally meet, and have the worst first date ever. So, Owen’s like ‘whatever it’s all bs anyway’ but Claire is so angry and writes a thousand letters of complaint and tries to sue the company that makes the timers because ‘clearly someone who wears board shorts at any time let alone a first date, is not her soulmate’

Then after the events of Jurassic World, Owen make’s fun of her for it all the time. After every fight he goes ‘You going to sue them again?’, or every time he wears board shorts, or every time they disagree on anything. It becomes his favourite story, he tells at least once a week, his children are like ‘Yes Dad, we get, Mum hated you, tbh I see why’

But Claire remains it was the right thing she goes ‘Well if a giant dinosaur didn’t try and kill us, we would have never fallen in love. So I can’t be blamed for not knowing that. In fact clearly the company that makes these timer’s knew about it. This must breach some sort of protection act, I’m suing them again,’

3B Options for Fitzsimmons Based on our new info :D

SO I’m assuming this new tidbit of information has appeared on your dash where (On Fitzsimmons getting together)  “Uhhhh, I cannot confirm!” says Elizabeth Henstridge, adding: “Jemma’s feelings haven’t changed; they’ve only gotten stronger.”

This is great! (hopefully) and gives us a couple of options going into 3B (which is pretty much confirmed to be 3 months later)

1) Fitzsimmons have gotten together. Probably haven’t resolved all their issues, and there’s still conflict to come about it, but they’re working on it and we’ll get some cute couple-ey scenes along with probably some angst/comfort as the DEAL WITH THEIR ISSUES. 

2) Fitz is pulling away but Jemma is chasing because she’s falling harder and harder and she’s 100% convinced she wants him in all the ways she was confused about before (maybe partly from the shock of thinking she lost him at the end of 3x10)

3) They are both being awkward dumb cupcake geniuses and dancing around each other, maybe each thinking the other needs space. But they want it so bad!!! Maybe Fitz still feels guilty about Will and Jemma feels bad about everything too (Jemma stop feeling bad about the writers torturing you! It’s not your fault!) (also UGHHHH NO to this one. We’ve had enough of this already. Try mixing it up!) 

4) Some new BS has arisen to keep them apart but they are pining for each other so bad. 

Anything I missed? 

Whenever I hear a guy say…“she’s too wild, too much, too hard to figure out, too complicated, too intense, too emotional, too opinionated, or crazy”…I hear…“I’d had burned her ass at the stake back in Salem. She is too connected to the Goddess. I won’t be able to tame her. I won’t understand her. I won’t be able to keep her. She won’t need me. She is too powerful and won’t love the wounded parts of me.”

Au contraire, she will see the parts of you that you’re afraid of and love them anyway. A women unleashed will love you without every needing to change you. She will connect to you on a primal level, needing your body, succumbing to her inner fire, her passion and will rock your world. As a lover, she’ll not just make love to your body or heart, but to your soul. You will wonder how you ever called it living before you met her. She will piss you off and when you fight, it will suck. When you make up, you will realize you felt like you were dying as you thought of life without her, but she’s taught you of your strength and how your vulnerability makes you brave. She makes you realize you could survive anything, even losing her, because she taught you to believe in yourself. She will demand more of you and you will be glad she knew you had it in you all along.

She will fiercely love you and teach you, nurture you and reach you, which at times make you uncomfortable. She will love the scared, little boy inside that you are afraid exists and acknowledging him makes you feel like the old you died, the one that lived a lie, that BS guy. That part of you that feels not good enough will come up to heal and she will see through your façade. She’ll push your buttons and make you reach for more within yourself. She will make you ask yourself questions, making you grow, and know way more you thought was even possible. She will challenge you and never will she be boring. She will excite you and infuriate you with her boldness, that she allows herself to just be all of herself, and not parts. Her tears will scare you and you will want to fix her, her problems, and the world. She will reassure you that this is one way she expresses herself and that it doesn’t mean weakness, that you can cry when you are angry, happy, sad, and for no reason at all. That tears are like an elixir for the soul, a catalyst for letting go, a signal of a change in energy.

It will be a wild ride, an adventure that takes you to the edge of yourself.

Love a wild one. Let her bewitch you, entrance you, bedazzle you, seduce you, mesmerize you, enchant you, and let her free you.

—  Jenny G. Perry