#THERE WAS ONLY EMOTIONAL PAIN AND THEY BOTH HAD IT

[bonefall]

Mapleshade Discourse O'Clock

It's that time again!!! SO I just kinda want to jot down all of my various thoughts about it as a story and just generally weigh in about Mapleshade.

I like the idea of Mapleshade more than the actual Mapleshade that is used throughout the books.

She has a really good gimmick-- to haunt Applekin though the generations. I don't like how they turn her into a generic "cat satan" for Tigerclaw's Fury and keep making her appear as a vain lackey demon.

I like her characterization in Mapleshade's Vengeance the most, of all her appearances.

But, I don't think my reading of the character depicted in MV is what the author intended.

See, I like MV as a story with no hero. The only blameless characters are the kittens who drowned and Perchpaw, while everyone else is some flavor of selfish, cruel, or vengeful. Everyone thinks they're in the right, but no one truly wins in the end.

Nothing about it was noble. Every tragedy that happened was utterly avoidable. In the end, everyone bears some responsibility for the pain and suffering that happened the day those children drowned.

BUT I'm pretty certain that the intended reading was that Mapleshade would be the one clearly in the wrong the whole time, as she justifies her own actions like a villain does.

Especially knowing how poorly the writers thought of similar female characters like Squilf and Leafp lying about the three, or Nightcloud being jealous her crummy husband is acting strange around another woman.

I feel justified in assuming that when Mapleshade is not happy she's being cheated on, or when she refuses to correct Frecklewish's record knowing it's unsafe if her kits are revealed as half clan, the writer really does think you're not supposed to take her side.

Because women should just not have emotions about being cheated on or something, and lying is unspeakably bad even if the truth puts you and your children in danger.

But. Y'know. We can all use the braincell for a moment and see that this is fucking stupid

SO when the book goes on to have Mapleshade ignore all the warnings about the swollen river, show both ThunderClan and RiverClan being obscenely cruel to her, and then walk across that bridge while insisting in her head that the deaths weren't her fault, I think the implication is obvious AND SHITTY.

Ergo I reject it completely. I can see what the book wants to say, and I think it says something trashy.

In spite of how badly the writer wants it to be Mapleshade's fault the kittens died, I say it was the asshole who threw a bunch of kittens out into the rain for being mixed race, actually.

Oakstar had the power here. Ravenwing had some power as well, but he makes it clear it wasn't his suggestion to throw the babies out into the woods.

And when it comes to Bridge Discourse, it was at least the afternoon, raining heavily, and Mapleshade was trying to get to RiverClan Camp. A straight shot across the stepping stones.

I think it is ridiculous to imagine an extremely emotional parent managing three very scared children, attempting to get out of the rain and dangerous wilderness before nightfall, would be rational enough to realize a large detour would be safer.

MAYBE the distance from ThunderClan Camp to the Bridge is equal to the distance to the Stones. But the distance between the bridge and RIVERCLAN Camp is longer.

I hope this goes without saying; but Frecklewish didn't deserve the Dark Forest.

Even in Banana World logic where she was sitting on the bank watching those kids doggy-paddle. Do not fucking jump in to save drowning people if you are not trained to do that.

I'm dead serious, this is the first thing you learn in any kind of water safety course. They WILL panic, you WILL get dragged down, you WILL become another liability someone else has to save instead of helping your initial target.

And that isn't even mentioning this being a flooded river. That's POOL safety.

In spite of how I think Mapleshade was right to lie, I do think Frecklewish being that upset and angry was understandable.

You're entitled to your feelings, but not how you treat people. She still attacked Mapleshade and called the kittens a slur.

That's what makes her interesting, though.

I don't think she deserves the Dark Forest, but Frecklewish's anger is an interesting trait. I don't like how a lot of defensive interpretations of her character end up downplaying how she acted at the exile

why does a woman being rightfully angry suddenly strike people as "unsympathetic." Girls can also say things in fury they don't fully mean. OR girls can rationalize their unjustified, ballistic response post-hoc out of pride.

Idk let girls be mad. Admit they were wrong without deserving HELL. I don't like the woobification impulse.

It's not really a hot take anymore I think, but Frecklewish is definitely only in the DF because the writing team judges women characters more harshly. Oakstar threw babies out in the rain in fury, and Ravenwing didn't stop it. But somehow only Frecklewish, a normal warrior, gets DF'd.

But what really rattles around in my head about the whole story is the way that the in-universe culture is able to suddenly value ethics like peace, forgiveness, and tolerance when MAPLESHADE is ready to throw those things out, but BEFORE then, it's well established that Clan culture is violent, vengeful, and intolerant.

One of our earliest scenes is Rainfall snarling at Mapleshade that he loves the way Birchface and Flowerpaw drowned. He's threatening that he'll kill even more ThunderClan warriors.

Over in ThunderClan, everyone is itching for revenge against Appledusk for those deaths, even though it seems to have been an accident. Oakstar even hates RiverClan well into sequel books for this.

But then later on, everyone acts Shocked Pikachu that Mapleshade actually went and GOT revenge.

And like, let's be real. This is a battle culture. Yes, by OUR standards Revenge Is Bad.

But in these books, so full of war and clan conflict...?

What I'm saying is that I wish the books let Mapleshade be a little more "controversial" in-universe. Like some cats actually frame the story very differently, and you can learn a lot about a person by who they think the hero is.

And how RiverClan responds to the drowned kids bugs me a lot tbh

We just established over in ThunderClan that there are people who think the babies were born filthy for being HalfClan.

We know everyone there stood by and watched as Oakstar threw them out into the rain-- only Ravenwing even seemed uncomfortable.

AND we know very well that in a few generations, TigerClan will rise. Which openly executed a HalfClan cat and wanted to kill 2 apprentices.

We KNOW the bigotry in Clan culture is deadly and unfair.

But then they go over to RiverClan and Darkstar is sad these three kids are dead? And RC is furious with Mapleshade for that?

Again, YES, you and me with OUR morals know that this bigotry is insane and spiteful. What I'm getting at is that IN-UNIVERSE half clan kittens and their parents face extreme discrimination. Even within this book.

It's odd to me that Darkstar refuses to let Mapleshade bury their bodies, sends her away for the death of the kids while saying it's "not the season for losing warriors" to Appledusk, and it's meant to come across as delusional that Maple thinks her babies were buried dishonorably

I wish more women in WC got so pissed off at the absolute injustice of it all that they went on a girl rampage. Perhaps it's my own taste, but I like it a lot more when the villain isn't entirely wrong and there's several angles you can read the story from. If she didn't do what she did, she would have been the only one who saw any consequences for anything that happened.

Anyway in conclusion uhhh idk murder is wrong. But Mapleshade's allowed to do it because she's a silly billy. Her greatest crime was not killing Oakstar also

#bone babble #Mapleshade #Mapleshade's Vengeance

[pennyellee]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings (preview only): minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, incision wound, blood, suicide attempt, strong language, mentions of God, ...

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 583

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: well, yall, life is getting in my way, it's certainly keeping me from finishing this chapter, but it shouldn't be that long before I actually do. I wanted to drop a little preview before the sacred day I was born, which is tomorrow, 1-2-3 birthday depression. Enjoy the preview and stay tuned for the chapter. I'll be also answering some asks tomorrow, yes, i see them, and i love you all so so so so much, I just have very little of free time lately. See ya soon! lots of love, p. 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡🫧

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII

Time seemed to slow as Yoongi lunged forward, reaching out to stop her, but it was too late. The blade sliced through her skin, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as pain seared through her, her vision swimming with darkness. She felt Yoongi’s hands on her, his panicked voice calling out to her, but it was distant as if coming from a faraway place.

“Seokjin?!!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

He cradled her in his arms, his hands trembling as he pressed against the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood.

The sound of loud footsteps echoed in the corridor as others rushed forward to reach the doctor, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. But amidst the chaos, Y/N’s empty gaze remained fixed on Yoongi, her eyes still burning with flames.

“Stay with me, baby. Don’t leave me please.” Yoongi whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. He pressed his lips to her forehead, willing her to hold on, to fight for her life.

But as he looked down at her pale, lifeless face, he knew that the road ahead would be long and fraught with challenges. For now, all he could do was pray that she would survive, that she would find the strength to forgive him and that they would someday find their way back to each other.

“Please don’t take her away from me, my Lord.”

Yoongi prayed that it was not too late to save her from the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

One thing remained clear in Yoongi’s mind: he would do whatever it took to save her, to make amends for the pain he had caused, and to prove to her that his love was worth fighting for.

Yoongi’s voice cut through the turmoil, his words a desperate plea for forgiveness. He begged for her to forgive him, to give him another chance to make things right. No more secrets, no more lies. No more pain. He was willing to rebuild their relationship from the ground up, on a foundation of honesty and trust.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the tang of fear, thickening the air with a palpable sense of impending doom. He ripped one of his sleeves a while ago, pressing the roughly crimpled fabric to the wound, praying that Seokjin was near. Or did anyone hear him scream frantically enough to relay the message?

“You can’t leave me, baby, please. I promise we’ll work everything through.”

He kissed and caressed her hair with his free hand which was covered with her blood. Tears blurred his vision as his hand trembled at the sight. A blood he never wished to shed.

“Please, Y/N, you have to forgive me.” The weight of his actions pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with the weight of his mistakes.

“Fucking goddammit Yoongi!”

—

Y/N set the plates on the table, pouring the hot water into a kettle of green tea as he joined her at the table. They exchanged smiles, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the kitchen and the windows providing a magnificent view of the sea.

“I’ve been thinking,-” she said with a smile on her face while she set the seaweed salad down in front of him. He hummed in response, reading today’s paper.

“About opening my practice.” He nodded, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

“Thought you wanted to wait until the babe arrives?”

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

PS: accounts highlighted in pink cannot be tagged, so if you want to be in the tag list, please make sure you have it allowed in your settings. 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts @seonghwaexile

#bts #bts fic #yandere yoongi #yandere bts #soft yandere #mafia au #yandere seokjin #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #hard yandere #yandere #yandere kpop #mafia bts #lacrimosa #myg angst #dark!yoongi #min yoongi x y/n #bts x you #yoongi smut #haegeum #suga x you #suga x y/n #suga x reader #historical au #bts historical au #bts yandere au #fic:lacrimosa

[thefrogdalorian]

My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him...

Word Count:  2.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence briefly described, reader provides first-aid to minor, bloody injuries. ✯ Author's Note: A daydream about holding the stubborn tin can man's hand turned into whatever this is!! I've never written unrequited feelings for Din before but it made my heart ache in the best possible way. Hope you enjoyed!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Once the adrenaline of your latest brush with death subsides, your focus immediately pivots to caring for your Mandalorian companion. Although the heightened emotions leaving your body render you a trembling, shaky mess, your priority is to ensure his well-being. Maker knows he will never take care of himself.

As you approach the Razor Crest, you mentally scan yourself for painful areas. Casting your mind back towards the encounter as you try to recall anywhere you could have been hurt. After all, you will struggle to assist him if you are not healthy.

You recall that you had taken a couple of painful blows to the side during the skirmish, but your clumsy assailants had fortunately missed all of your vital organs. Aside from a pounding heart and dry mouth, you have mercifully made it through the ambush unscathed. 

Satisfied that there are no immediate areas of concern to treat, you turn your attention towards Din. You cast your mind back over the altercation, towards any wounds he may have sustained. It is easier said than done, considering how many of them leapt out of nowhere and caught the two of you off-guard as you walked through the thick forest towards the ship.

You remember how many of them Din fought off with his bare hands. Well, through his gloves. Still, you know they will have provided scant protection, so you are keen to check them for injuries. 

You momentarily struggle to remember what happened after Din had seen most of them off as you crouched behind a bush, hiding. 

Then, you recall how one of your assailants had slashed at Din’s hands when he grabbed the remaining pair of them around the throat. It had been a frenzied attack, which momentarily worked as his grip loosened. Just when you had feared that all hope was lost and they were going to escape, Din brought his boot up to deliver a swift kick in the stomach to the slower of the duo, which sent them careening into each other.

Din had used many parts of his body, as well as all of his wits and expertise as a warrior to see your attackers off. He had done a formidable job, considering how much they had taken you by surprise.

Still, the state of his hands concern you.

You are pretty sure they sustained the most severe damage. Plus, as they are vitally important for everyday function, treating them takes priority.

It is settled... Din’s hands are the first area you will treat. 

If he will let you, that is.

Your Mandalorian companion does not possess a reputation for being the easiest man in the galaxy to take care of... a willing patient, Din Djarin is not.

As the two of you ascend the ramp up to his beloved ship, you hope for both of your sakes that he makes this process as painless as possible.

“Din, sit down and let me get the medkit,” you order when you finally enter the familiar old ship's hull. 

“Let me initiate the launch sequence first,” Din stubbornly responds.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you fold your arms, glaring at him.

“Fine,” Din mutters in annoyance. 

It seems your sternness has done the trick. 

Din perches atop a crate as you grab the medkit in preparation to treat his wounds. You hope he does not make it harder for you than necessary. Din has never made any secret that he is comfortable being fussed over. You are no stranger to the fact that he hates being taken care of like this, but if you do not tend to his wounds, you know he will never do so himself. 

“Your gloves,” you nod towards the two-toned leather which covers his hands, “Take them off, Din.”

Din sighs and lifts his gloves beneath his helmet, seemingly biting at each finger to loosen them before repeating the process with his other hand. You feel like a voyeur and wonder whether you should turn your head and look away, as though his gloved hand disappearing beneath his helmet is somehow sacrilegious. Despite your inner turmoil, you cannot help but watch, unable to tear your gaze away until finally, he slides the gloves off and bares his flesh to you. 

It is not the first time Din has removed his gloves in your presence, yet you still feel a thrill travelling across your body at the faintest sight of his skin. 

For Din Djarin’s bare hands provide you with the tiniest peek at the man that lies beneath the cold, hard beskar. To catch a glimpse of the human side of the formidable warrior, the side of him you yearn to know entirely.

You remember how stunned you had been the first time he had removed his gloves in your presence while he was repairing a blaster several months ago. 

You had been sitting elsewhere in the hull as he worked at the bench, tools spread out as he dutifully performed much-needed maintenance on one of his many beloved weapons.

A grunt of frustration indicated that the parts had been far too intricate to repair with his cumbersome gloves. So, he had pulled on each finger one by one, tugging them off. Seemingly uncaring about baring himself, even ever so slightly, in your presence.

You had tried your best not to look, but you had been unable to resist sneaking a glance at who he was underneath his armour. Although for the most part, you kept to yourselves, there was no lingering frostiness in your dynamic. You and Din were amicable, possibly even friends... if he could even have such a thing.

That day, you watched as his hands meticulously repaired his blaster. You noticed the smattering of dark hairs across the back of his hand, the surprisingly tanned skin and the calluses and scars which littered the back of his hand. It was a fascinating glimpse into the man who hid so much of himself from you, yet you still felt you knew enough about him to believe he was, deep down, a good man.

Your mind ran wild with so many questions. Was his skin a similar colour elsewhere on his body, or was it tanned because his hands were the only parts of him that saw the sun? Did the dark hairs on the back of his hand mean that the hair on his head–if he had any–was a similar colour?

They were questions you knew you would likely never get answers to. Nor did you expect to.

When Din had hired you to care for The Child and attend to maintenance on his ship, he had informed you of the rules regarding his armour and helmet. He would remove neither his helmet nor armour in your presence. You were never to question the reasons why or attempt to subvert this stipulation in any way.

That was why glimpsing a sliver of his skin had thrilled you. It had exposed the man you had been yearning to see in a way that was not a violation of his Creed.

Yet, when you see his hands this time the circumstances could not be more different. Neither could the emotions Din’s bare hands provoke in you. 

Rather than feeling a thrill at the sight of his skin, now you cringe when you see the wounds that litter his flesh. His knuckles are split and bloodied, contusions that will surely colour shades of blue and black before eventually healing. There are also angry red gashes in all directions, a result of the bandit’s vibroblade making contact with his hands. 

You steady yourself, mentally preparing for the gargantuan task of providing first aid to a stubborn Mandalorian. Din values all you do for him. You are certain of that fact, even if he does not often vocalise it. Still, having someone take care of him is an uncomfortable prospect for a man who has spent so long leading a solitary, nomadic existence.

When you finally take his calloused, yet soft, skin in your hand, Din sucks in a harsh breath at the sensation. The sound is amplified and crackles slightly through the vocoder. A reminder that, although he has bared some of himself, he is still mostly hidden from you. He feels like more machine than man sometimes.

You take a bacta wipe from your medkit, and the antiseptic’s sour smell lingers unpleasantly in the air. You hold Din’s hand still, as you carefully bring the wipe towards his skin, your brow furrowed in concentration. 

“This is going to sting,” you murmur apologetically. 

Din nods. You hear him inhale deeply as he braces for the first contact with the remedy. You prepare yourself to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to make the process needlessly painful for him. 

At the first touch of the bacta wipe against his bronze skin, he jerks away from your touch, groaning slightly in pain at what you are sure is an uncomfortable, stinging sensation against his cuts.

“Hold still,” you sigh, flashing a disapproving glance in what you hope is the direction of Din’s eyes, hidden by his helmet. 

“Sorry,” he huffs.

You cannot help how your lips curl upwards at the sight of him sulking. This hulking man, all broad shoulders and gleaming beskar, reduced to a wounded child. You wonder if he is pouting beneath his helmet.

Din flinches again when you resume your task, but this time, you do not chastise him. Instead, you are thankful that he is not making this any more difficult than it needs to be. 

At least he has not told you he can look after himself. 

Content with his behaviour, you diligently tend to Din’s wounds. You ensure each one is cleaned thoroughly with the bacta patch and then wrapped in a bandage. It will take a few days to heal, but he will have plenty of time as you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro again. Unfortunately, it will mean he likely has to refrain from being the hands-on father you know he loves to be. 

When your task is almost complete, you move to sit by his side on the crate. You need to steady your hands by placing your elbows against your thighs as you wrap a particularly nasty wound, which already streaks angry red tendrils across two knuckles. 

Din groans again in pain, and you quickly reassure him, “Almost there,” you whisper encouragingly. 

With the task finally completed, you cannot resist gently taking his hand in yours. Ostensibly, to check him for any wounds you have missed. In reality, it is borne out of a selfish desire to feel his skin against yours. Precious contact you had been yearning for since you first laid eyes upon his skin all those months ago. 

If Din notices the way you subtly lace your fingers with his and hold his hand in your lap for a few moments longer than necessary, he does not say a thing. Only when you disentangle your fingers from his grip does he speak again.

When you move to stand up from the crate, he places his arm across your stomach to stop you. You look at him questioningly, wondering what is going on beneath that bucket of metal. 

“Thank you,” Din finally whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You move to open your mouth, to respond. Before you can, Din’s deep voice cuts through the stillness.

“For everything… I…” Din pauses, sighs deeply, then continues, “I appreciate everything you do for me.”

You simply nod, too taken aback to speak. It is unlike Din to be sentimental or emotional, not with anyone other than Grogu. It is part of what makes him such a respected and feared hunter. Yet, here he is, confessing his appreciation for you. It causes hotness to creep up your neck and face, embarrassed by his earnestness. Desperate to respond, but not entirely trusting that you can keep it together. 

“You’re worth it, Din,” you smile, daring to believe that this moment will change something for the two of you. You hope he will finally realise the depth of the feelings you hold for him; that you have always held for him. 

As you take his hand in yours once again, you sit back on the crate. You take up a more comfortable position and daringly lean your head against his shoulder. The pauldron is bitingly cold beneath your cheek. But with how warm your skin suddenly feels at his words, it is an altogether welcome sensation.

Din noticeably inhales at your gesture, and you momentarily fear you have hurt his tender skin. Until he relaxes once again and squeezes your hand as best as he can considering his injuries, a reassuring gesture that soothes your worries.

As you sit there holding hands in the relative darkness of the hull, you imagine a shooting star passing somewhere far in the skies above.

You wish on it and dare to dream that, one day, Din Djarin will love you, too.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal characters #my fics #pleasE LET ME HOLD HIS HAND AND TAKE CARE OF THIS STUBBORN MAN #JUST ONCE PLEASE I M BEGIGIN YO UU1!!

[nataliasquote]

Welcome To My Head At Midnight | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is her own worst enemy and maybe this fight isn’t one she’s so sure she can win.

Warnings: more depressing stuff, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, isolation, depression, overall angst

wc: 2k

note: inspired by ‘Midnight’ by Bow Anderson. I listen to it too often so why not write a one shot about it to fuel angst. I’ve worked on this in small bits for a few nights now, and it’s not a fic exactly, but anyway, here it is :) enjoy

-⧗-

They say the brightest smiles hold the darkest secrets, their shimmering landscape a disguised war zone of trepidation. And those who dared tread there risked mutilation of their closest loved ones in exchange for the truth. No one came out of there unscathed, but perhaps the one who could never leave had it the worst.

Natasha knew how to keep herself occupied. Her work was her top priority, not having a secure bond with family nor friends to latch onto in her darkest hours. She threw herself into whatever she could, often picking up extra should she find simply a few spare minutes in her day.

But those hours weren’t taken for the hell of it. Her body wasn’t driven into the ground and her knuckles weren’t battered and bruised just for the fun of it. She needed solace, but nothing was ever strong enough to keep the lid on the overflowing terrors in her mind. She never would be strong enough, for this kind of pain was never made to be handled alone.

But the Black Widow, a feared warrior, would only ever be alone. Her hand crafted smile was simply a ruse but no one seemed to see through the cracks in her mask, no matter how large they felt from the inside. Her master manipulation worked a little too well, her silent cries for help falling upon deaf ears.

Among all of this, she couldn’t slow down. Just a momentary standstill had her grip on her emotions slipping, one by one her fingers losing contact with the sheer cliff face she found herself hanging from. Natasha may fight assassins and aliens with a fearless prowess, never batting an eyelid or showing a flicker of terror.

But the same could not be said for her own mind. The part of her that formed her every thought and controlled her every movement was simultaneously destroying her from the inside out. Her thoughts paralysed her, a punch to the gut when her guard was at her lowest. But no hours of running would ever let her escape these violent clutches that her fears had on her. She was trying to lose her shadow, an impossible fight.

She was always two steps ahead of both her enemies and her anxieties. The faintest lurch of her stomach or tightening of her chest had her appearing at Fury’s door in a breathless stupor, voice icy as she demanded an immediate mission. Her superior had his skepticism but always agreed, sending her across the country at the drop of a hat. Natasha never cared where she went; frankly, she never noticed. She would go anywhere, do anything.

But even she was forced to have days off. They felt like a fever dream, and Natasha found herself unable to partake in the excitable chatter rumbling among her friends at the prospect of their weekend plans. She could barely muster a smile, never mind a verbal reply whilst her hands began to tremble and her eyes turned glossy. Dread sank into the depths of her stomach like a stone - a day off meant isolation, it meant fighting her battles by herself - a death wish. Relaxation would never come, yet she braved a smile and lied through her teeth to dodge the inevitable questions.

Lifting her aching body out of bed was an impossible task. Her pillow was often soaked with tear stains but she barely noticed as her cool palms hit the wet fabric. The heavy curtains that fell to block out the world never twitched, and sunlight never got the chance to kiss her pale complexion. She didn’t want a reminder of what the day was like for everyone else. She remained a victim to the darkness, both inside and out.

There were no interruptions, why would there be? What little sleep she got was plagued by nightmares and she still shook from the aftermath as she shuffled to the bathroom, legs shaky and cheeks damp. The harsh reflection in the mirror only highlighted her anxious state, so she ignored it, too scared to be faced with what she knew would stare back at her. Mirrors across her room were covered up- she’d go crazy if they weren’t.

Natasha hated this side of her. Where was the tough woman she was supposed to be? How could she feel this much emotion when it had been beaten out of her since she could walk. How did any of it still remain? Nevermind enough to debilitate her and curl itself around her windpipe, slowly crushing her from the inside out and forcing every last piece of hope out.

She knew she was a failure, but not to this extent. Despite her success, she was fucking up her life and the demons in her head screamed this to her over and over. There were so many little girls who looked up to her. They admired the strength she had and her resilience and she wished she could tell them to stop when they uttered the words she was scared to hear.

“When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

No you don’t. You really don’t.

Because they never got that insight into how she really survived each grueling day. They never saw the way her legs gave way the moment she stepped through the door, or how her hand clamped so tightly over her chapped lips her sobs were muffled. No one saw how many times she’d had to sweep pieces of shattered glass from her floor after her shaking hands had lost their grip on a cup, or the state of her nails after she’d picked them to death in an attempt to calm herself.

Everyone only saw what they wanted to see; the good. They didn’t want to know the bad. But Natasha had no choice, she had to live this nightmare. Her whole life had been spent running and she was exhausted from the fear that was always moments away from drowning her. It rested in her stomach like a grenade, the slightest movement could jostle and be fatal. But sometimes it felt more like the lingering touch of a ghostly figure, slowly dragging a nail down her back and igniting all her nerve endings so her body was on fire.

This ever-tense state that she had found herself in was exhausting and Natasha was tired. Simple tasks had become a chore and even small trips to the grocery store would result in a sudden, debilitating wave of tears and laboured breaths. A box of cereal still in hand as she kneeled on her kitchen floor, forehead pressed against the cupboard as she cried a silent scream. Anxiety hit her like a truck completely unexpected, snuffing any hope she had of a ‘good’ day.

But the worst times were the silent days. She had no tears to cry out, no thoughts to tumble into a panic attack about. She was just floating somewhere between wake and sleep, a hazy mess of a woman with no life behind her eyes.

There truly was no one who was worse of an enemy that she was to herself. She wasn’t afraid of death - no one was able to kill her.

No one but herself.

No one could love a killer like her. All the lives she had taken without a single drop of remorse, moving through crowds with a holstered gun like a goddamn machine.

Shoot, reload, repeat. Shoot. Reload. Repeat.

Where did ‘cry’ fit into this? Where did ‘self loathe’ fit into this? Where did ‘drown inside your own mind’ fit into any of this?

It didn’t. It shouldn’t.

Silence wasn’t a word in Natasha’s vocabulary. Screams rang in her ears like tinnitus, although she probably had that too.

‘No one’s going to love you’ she would mutter as she obsessed over her reflection with burning red eyes. Not with those scars. And certainly not when she was so fucked in the head. Who would want to love someone who spent the whole day smiling only to come home, flick off the lights, crawl under the covers and completely break down?

She hated that she craved someone’s touch, the coldness of her pillow failing to replicate the comfort a human would bring. But she was nothing if not a living, painful contradiction. Natasha never let herself get close to people, too scared they’d see the horrors she had to endure. So the chances of ever having someone to hold her at night was becoming slimmer by the day. But it was all the broken little girl inside her wanted. To hear someone’s comforting voice whisper in her ear that she wasn’t a monster. She wouldn’t believe them, her anxiety would fight against it, but to not go through this alone? It hurt her more than she’d ever admit.

The waves got stronger throughout the day until midnight hit and Natasha felt as though she was suffocating, water flooding her lungs as the monsters in her mind finally crawled out of their caves. It was just her in this lonely fight, weakly holding her weapons only to find them clattering to the ground in a matter of minutes.

She was tired, so tired of constantly fighting. She wasn’t born to be a soldier, she was born to be a lover, to be loved. But her trembling lip and curled up body tightened as she wrapped her arms around herself in a grounded effort to ease the pain.

As she silently shook in her bed and finally gave into the horrors, allowing them to submerge her under for another night and drain her energy and desire to live, there was one underlying question that felt heavier than everything else.

Was this her life now? Would she ever win? Or would the end of Natasha Romanoff come not from a wound gained out on the battlefield, but rather from one that had festered inside her for years, slowing growing and expanding until it consumed her in her entirety.

Was there anything worth living for anymore?

#natasha romanoff #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #fanfic #black widow #natasha romanoff angst #mental health #marvel angst #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #angst no comfort #natasha romanoff x you

[wishfuldivine]

Gaz feeling like an outsider after Soap's death?

Gaz was never a man to open up about his inner wounds. He was such a private and prideful person about his feelings, achievements and his family.

His emotions were always in check. Never letting the pressure of the battlefield and near death experiences detoriate his strong spirit and mind. And if he did, he would bounce back quicker than a cheetah. That was, until that unfortunate day when everything went to complete shit.

Soap was gone.

His best mate was absolutely gone. And it was insufferable to go on like this without him around. The Scottish lad's absence is very evident in not only the 141 but also the entire base. A rather quiet and gloomy atmosphere surrounding it. Staff and soldiers filled with heavy hearts as they knew the need to continue on was a must.

The ones not really doing well apart from Gaz were both Price and Ghost. The lieutenant had completely shut down once back from that painful mission. Ever the collected and serious person, broken down. He wouldn't look at anyone in the eye. Would avoid ever interacting with people unless it was about a mission or being fussed over by Gaz. He wouldn't come out of his room back at the private barracks. And at times, when Ghost didn't know that Gaz had gone out for a late walk, how did his heartwrenching sobs be heard.

Price wasn't faring very well either. But he had some composure as the captain of the Task Force. He tried and tried many times again to keep everything as minimum as possible.  But who was he kidding? Everything was too much for him. It went as far as blaming himself for the death of Soap. They had Makarov in their hands, and he practically let him slip away through his fingers. His stupidity led to the death of someone very dearly. It cost him a lot more than he can bargain. There would be days when he was consumed by his paperwork in an effort to distract himself from the cruel reality that one of his own is forever gone.

And Gaz? Gaz had noticed how he, himself, entered a state of inner turmoil. On one end, he tried to come into terms with the huge loss. Trying to help Ghost and Price like a mother hen by being there for them in the best way he could. Always the selfless one out of the team. But on the other, he felt like he was bending over backward and was at his wits' end.

He wished he knew how long this would continue. How far more will he be in this mixture of feelings that left him in complete distraught. And what made matters far worse is that neither Price nor Ghost noticed, and he had begun to question his importance.

#kyle gaz garrick #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod #heavy angst #my precious baby needs a fucking hug #ali writes #there will be a second part! #been keeping this in my drafts for the longest

[vbecker10]

Loki's Silent Sentry

(Part 7 - Final Part!)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Alt Ending (in progress - very sad, please read trigger warnings below and in the link)

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: You are not just a soldier in Asgard's Royal Army, you are Lieutenant Y/L/N, Prince Loki's personal guard, his sentry and you are not supposed to fall in love with him. If you followed your training properly, you should never have even spoken to him. As a sentry, you are expected to remain silent and invisible as you shadow your appointed member of the royal family or member of the court protectively throughout their daily tasks.

Rumors (that happen to be true) begin to circulate through the palace that you serve the younger prince of Asgard both outside and inside his chambers. There is little you can do once word of your off duty activities spread through every maid, cook, gardener and seamstress in the palace. You soon find even the soldiers in your own company are now questioning how exactly you had come to earn your seemingly quick rise to lieutenant.

As the annual Winter Solstice Ball approaches, you come to the heartbreaking realization that your relationship with Loki must come to an end if you are both to fulfill your duties.

Warnings: Angst, arguing, Thor trying to be a better brother, Odin being a terrible father... I promised fluff so fluff you shall have 💚

"If you do this..." Odin walks slowly to the edge of the steps, "You will no longer be my son."

"If you force me to do this," Loki answers defiantly, "It is because you failed me as a father."

You hold Loki close to you to keep him from moving towards his father. You can feel him shaking with anger but his eyes are full of pain. Loki and his father had their issues, no one could deny that, but you never thought Odin would be so quick to throw away what is left of their relationship.

A silence settles over the room as they hold each other's gaze, each daring the other to say something else. Before it can escalate further, Thor draws everyone's attention to himself.

For the second time today, Thor calls to begin the voting. "The vote will determined by the majority. Those among you who are for upholding the existing law shall vote aye. Those among you who wish to revise the law, thus revoking Prince Loki's title and status, will vote nay. Is that understood?"

The members of the council, along with the king and queen agree to the terms Thor explained. Thor nods to one of the senior members of the council and in response, he steps forward to the center of the throne room. A young man follows him with an open book and quill, you presume to keep track of the votes.

The older man turns to the throne and asks the king how he will vote. Loki's eyes are focused on the king as you wait for his decision.

Odin waves his hand dismissively towards you and Loki as he sits back in his throne. "Nay," he says in an emotionless voice.

Loki lowers his head and leans into you as he sighs deeply. You rub his back hoping one day he will heal from the wound his father just inflicted on him.

The council member turns to acknowledge the queen and asks her for her vote. She smiles at you and Loki, "Aye."

Loki's body relaxes the slightest bit but he tenses again when it is his older brother's turn. It's hard for you to read Thor's emotions but he slowly smiles and says, "Aye," loudly.

Having two of the three royals say aye must help sway the council, you think hopefully but you honestly aren't sure. Will most of them still side with Odin purly because he is the king? Or will he allow the vote to continue only to overrule their judgment in the end? Your thoughts race but they calm for a moment when Loki kisses the top of your head.

The senior council member moves to the center of the room and turns to face the rest of the council. He asks for all those voting aye to raise their right hand.

You turn your head, burying your face against Loki's chest, suddenly too nervous to watch the voting. He holds you tightly and you can hear him mumbling quietly as he counts along. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath as a new thought forms in your mind.

The vote doesn't matter, you think. Whether they vote to uphold the law or not, you and Loki will be together. Either as prince and sentry or as two simple Asgardians.

The doors to the throne room close behind you and Loki with a dull thud. You take a few steps down the empty hall then stop suddenly, barely able to breathe.

"Loki," you turn to face him. "Did that... did that really just happen?"

He smiles and puts one arm around your waist, his other hand resting gently on your cheek. He nods, "It did, love."

A wave of excitement floods through you as Loki bends to kiss you. You place your hands on his back, bringing him as close to you as possible. "I just... I can't believe it," you smile up at him.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and smirks, "The only concern we have now, is how quickly can you become a captain?"

"You are dismissed for the night, thank you Lieutenant Y/L/N," the queen says as the two of you reach her chambers.

You bow, "Thank you, your highness."

She smiles as she opens the door, "Have a goodnight Y/N. Tell my son I will see him at tea tomorrow afternoon."

"I will, your highness" you reply.

"Frigga, when you are not on duty, dear," she reminds you warmly.

"Frigga," you repeat with a smile. "Have a goodnight," you tell her.

You walk confidently down the hall, excitement spreads through you as you see Loki waiting for you outside of your shared chambers. You had moved in the night of the vote, almost two months ago. Loki and you still rarely crossed paths while conducting your duties during the day, but you were able to spend every night together and you both cherished that.

You throw your arms around him and he kisses your forehead then your cheek and finally your lips. "I missed you today," he tells you as he holds you close.

You take his hand as he leads you into your chambers, "I missed you too." He uses his magic to help you out of your armor as always and he chuckles when you say, "That is one of my favorite tricks of yours."

A few minutes later, the two of you sit cuddled together on the couch. He plays with your hair gently while you rest your head on his chest and your hand on his thigh. "So... I have something to tell you," you lift your head a little.

"What's that, love?" he asks.

"You know that I went to the city on my day off last week?" you ask him.

"Of course," he answers.

"Well... I didn't tell you but I ran into one of my favorite professors from when I went to university," you tell him.

"Is there a reason you didn't tell me before?" he sits up a bit.

"I wanted to wait until I got this," you take a small scroll out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He looks at you curiously as he opens it. His eyes fall to the paper and he begins to read it, his lips moving slightly.

You anxiously wait for him to finish and when he does he looks up at you, a shocked expression on his face. He looks quickly back down to read it again. "Y/N, is this-" he starts to ask but doesn't finish.

You smile, "It's an offer letter from the university. She told me they were in need of a literature professor for the summer term."

"Y/N..." he says softly. "This is... this is truly amazing."

"I checked the class times with your mother and she says it won't be an issue to schedule your meetings around them," you add. "That was why it took me so long, I wanted to tie up all the loose ends."

"Y/N, you have no idea how happy you've made me," he says as he grips your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

You run your hand lightly over his cheek and kiss him. In between kisses you tell him, "All I want to do is make you happy."

Two years later, you stand at the doors of the throne room in your dress armor at your promotion ceremony. One of the guards standing to the side of the door announces, "Lieutenant Y/L/N."

You walk down the aisle and stop in front of the royal family, kneeling in respect. The crowd gathered to either side of the room is quiet as Odin tells you to rise. He motions for you to come closer and he takes a few steps towards you.

"Lieutenant Y/L/N, you are being promoted to Captain as a testament to your commitment to protect and serve the realm. You have shown a mastery of your duties and the skills necessary to lead future soldiers," the king says loudly so the whole hall can hear him. He pins a metal to your chest and a bit quieter so only you can hear him, he says, "You will make a fine general some day."

You can't believe your ears but before you can focus too much on his comment he goes back to speaking to everyone in attendance. He explains to the crowd that you will no longer be a sentry, you will work at the academy training new recruits. He goes on to tell them you will be the youngest instructor at the academy and he will continue to expect excellence during the remainder of your career.

While he talks, your eyes wander to Loki as always. He smiles broadly at you as does his mother who is standing next to him. She whispers something to her son and he laughs a bit as he nods. You try not to make a face but you are now curious about what she said.

When Odin finishes, you kneel again and when you stand he gives you the smallest smile and says, "Captain Y/L/N."

You bow slightly as the room erupts in a series of applauds. You laugh to yourself when you look towards Thor who is clapping the loudest. He had truly become the older brother you never wanted but wouldn't give up for the world.

Loki looks as if he is going to burst with pride and his mother nods her head towards a particular section in the middle of the crowd. You glance to see where she is looking and you find your parents standing among the onlookers. You fight the urge to run over to them, it's been ages since you've seen them. They had been been assigned to guard a diplomat and his family who lived in another realm. After the shock and excitement of seeing your parents sinks in you look back towards the queen who discretely points at Loki to signal it was his doing.

You stop and turn to look at Loki with a smile but your heart skips a beat when you see him kneeling next to you with a small black box in his hand.

After the ceremony you spend time with your parents, catching up on their lives and yours. They tell you how immensely proud they are of you how much they miss you. You promise to visit them now that you will have a better schedule with the academy.

Loki walks over to where you and your parents are talking and says, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but may I borrow the captain for a few moments?"

"Of course, your highness," your father bows.

"Loki is fine," he says in a friendly manner.

"I don't think that's going to happen," you tell him honestly with a light laugh.

You hold his arm as he walks you through the garden slowly. After a few minutes, you stop to smell a beautiful burgundy rose and you are suddenly surrounded by a soft green glow. You giggle and spin as Loki's magic replaces your heavy armor with the same emerald and gold gown he had conjured for you at the ball so long ago.

"Loki?" you ask, your hand covering your mouth in surprise.

He smiles and takes your other hand in his. "Y/N, love, we've both waited so long for this moment, I didn't want to wait an extra second. I love you more then anything in the nine realms and I would do anything for you. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met and I-" he says but you interrupt him.

"Yes!" you tell him, nodding furiously.

He laughs, "You aren't going to let me finish? I had a whole little speech." You laugh and shake your head. "Ok, I'll skip to the end. Y/N, will you marry me?"

You jump into his waiting arms, "Yes, yes! A thousand times yes, Loki."

He slips the ring on your finger and kisses you. Then he gets up, picks you up easily by your waist and spins you. You giggle and when he places you back down, you kiss him and tell him you love him.

Ok... so that was the end of this fic and I really hope you like it! It's been so long since I've written anything. I started working on an alternate ending for this based on a song I have stuck in my head.

I want to warn everyone that it will not have a happy ending. It will not be fluffy. One of the main characters will die. (I'm not saying which character cause I don't want to spoil it if someone actually wants to read it but if you message me I'll tell you who so you can decide if you want to read it)

I will have warnings on it when I've posted it but I'm just giving you all a heads up. I mostly just need to write it cause it's stuck in my brain and I have to get it out. I understand it's not something everyone will want to read and I'm totally OK with that.

I won't tag anyone unless you specifically tell me you would like to be tagged.

@soubi001 @michelleleewise @harlequin-hangout @ace-of-gay @xorpsbane @mochie85 @sheris532 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @kkdvkyya @animnerd @peaches1958 @peachyjinx @lokiandbuckysdoll @winterfrostlovetriangle @high-functioning-lokipath @winniewings @pics-and-fanfics @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @crimson25 @goblingirlsarah @janineb86 @chantsdemarins @simone818283 @tonystank8 @im-briana-stan @foxherder @chantsdemarins @catsladen @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @dragonmurray @honeydew3064 @malfoycassimalfoy @kneelingformyloki @newtomofgods @rayne-the-god

#tom hiddleston #hiddlestoners #loki #tom hiddleston characters #loki laufeyson #twhiddleston #hiddlesarmy #loki x reader #loki odinson #hiddlesverse #Loki's Silent Sentry #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader angst #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki friggason #loki fandom #loki x oc #loki x ofc #loki x original female character #loki x original character #loki au #asgardian #asgard #loki of asgard #thor and loki #loki angst #loki and thor

[intromortal]

liability | s.jy x gn!reader wc: 800+

cw: fluff, hurt/comfort (but it's actually just comfort), yes jake smells like earthy rain who's gonna fight me about it

In the middle of the night, you heard the front door of your apartment swing open, obtruding the sounds of leaves crunching on your porch and rain cascading, plinking against the shingles, before closing again gently.

Jake was late, but hearing him come back at all was a surprise. You firmly thought he would not come home that night. Not after the screaming match that had occurred before he left. 

Fighting with Jake was a very uncommon occurrence, you two usually talked about your feelings and worries very openly, an unspoken peace and truce you had worked very hard to achieve.

“Beautiful?” 

Tears poured from your eyes at the sound of his honeyed smooth tone, following the path that the previous dried ones had left behind.

Sobs racked your chest as his footsteps hurriedly made their way to your shared room, a place usually bursting with fondness never felt so empty and dim.

The bed dipped under the weight of Jake’s knees, his usual earthy scent mixed with the smell of the weather outside engulfing you as he brought your trembling body close to his, caging you in his firm arms.

“Breathe in, breathe out, slowly.” The touch of his warm calloused hand on your hair calmed you down, his breathing evening out in an attempt to get you to mimic it as he whispered sweet nothings against your skin, pillowy lips ghosting on your forehead.

Jake’s heart constricted in his ribcage at the thought of being the cause of your pain, thinking back at the poisonous venom he spewed to you that same morning, overtaken by his emotions.

He only pulled back once your sobs turned into sniffles, still holding you close but far enough to take your face in his hands, losing himself in the sight of your bloodshot eyes.

The moonlight filtered into the room through the curtains, turning your face into a canvas of blues and greys, shadows and light. Masterpiece cradled in his palms.

He always wanted to protect you, keep you away from harm, yet you had never looked so frail, shivering at his touch like you might shatter any second. Because of him.

The sensation of your lips tracing the skin of his palm brought his focus to the moment once more, eyes he had not even noticed had wandered somewhere else turned to yours, finding traces of fondness, yet also doubt, in them.

“I thought you’d crash at Jay’s tonight.” Your voice was cracking, raw from emotion.

He kept his gaze on yours, eyes flickering, looking for any clue of meanings between the lines, “Did you want me to?” his voice was hoarse and vulnerable, the anxiety pooling in his stomach audible in his tone. You shook your head, eliciting a sigh of relief from your lover.

“Thought you might not want to see me for a bit,” you nervously bit your lip, “after what I said.”

“You’re my home. I’ll always come back to you no matter what,” he brought you in for a soft kiss, still testing the waters, not wanting to push you too far. “We both said things we regret. I’m sorry beautiful, I didn’t mean any of it.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I know baby,” you whispered softly, “I never meant to be a liability. I hate watching you work yourself to your bones. I just worry for you.”

He drew back immediately, searching for your eyes and feeling bile rising in his throat when he found tears streaming down your face once more. “You’ll never be a liability, angel” he placed soft kisses on the rivulets of tears as if he could absorb them and take away even a little bit of your pain. 

“Still, I overstepped. I never want to be too much to bear again” you grabbed Jake's shirt as he held you close to his chest, his chin on top of your head.

“You are never gonna be too much baby. I was frustrated and took it out on you. It'll never let it happen again,” he lowered his head to kiss the crown of your hair “I promise”.

He rocked you like this, lips never parting from you and arms around your body, until he felt your heartbeat even out, breathing still a little shaky from all the crying. He lowered both of you on the soft mattress, covering your figure with a thin scattered blanket he found next to your nightstand when you refused to let him look for something heavier, scared he might walk a little too far, slip through your fingers and never come back.

He hoped that the thin blanket and his love were enough to keep you warm in the cold of the night.

The last thing you heard before drifting off was his voice, warm breath fanning on your shoulder.

“Sweet dreams angel, we’re going to be fine.”

#can he comfort me too #jake! #soft hours! #enhypen drabble #jake drabble #sim jaeyun drabble #enhypen soft hours #enhypen fluff #jake fluff #sim jaeyun fluff #jake soft hours #kpop fluff #enhypen #jake enhypen #jake #sim jaeyun #jake angst #enhypen angst

[turcott3]

main thing

kirby dach x fem! reader

warnings?: mild smut at the beginning, disgustingly tooth rottingly sweet fluff and cursing (i wrote this for myself and my delusions tbh)

~all i wanna do is spend my time with you, even when the learnings done and nothings new~

positions fics masterlist

-

“oh fuck.” you moan out. you could feel his bright blue eyes piercing your body as your eyes squeezed shut, an orgasm quickly approaching.

“so so good for me baby.” he coos as you collapse over his chest, feeling weak and shaky as your orgasm jolts through your body, hips stuttering as he coated your walls with his own high. you laid on his chest as you both breathed heavily.

“i love you so fucking much.” you say between breaths, pressing a sweet kiss to his jaw.

“i love you more.” he replies, delicately wrapping his arms around your weak body. you laid there for a moment inhaling his sweet scent with your eyes shut.

“baby, you gotta get up.” he giggles brushing your hair out of your face as you sat up slowly. you get up off of him, collecting his discarded shirt and pulling it on over your freshly-fucked body. it was moments like these that you felt the most beautiful. you learned very quickly that post sex glow is very real if you're with the right person.

you slid on your underwear and pulled the lazy brunette out of bed, forcing him to put sweatpants on and tugging him into the kitchen.

"y/n it's 11 pm."

"and i want a bowl of cereal with my boyfriend? i dont see the issue." you giggle as you pull the bowls out of the cabinet.

"fair." he replies emerging from the pantry with the box. this was your average night. you always see couples going out together and partying, which was fun in the beginning but you both quickly learned that both of you preferred staying home with each other. you were home bodies.

“hey baby.” he muffled with his mouth full.

“yeah.” you replied after you swallowed.

“you need your back rubs tonight? you didn’t get em last night.” he says finishing his bite.

“oh, you don’t have to it’s okay.” you reply, heart melting at the gesture. when you were younger, you dislodged a disk in your back during your solo. it had bothered you ever since. occasionally causing you intense pain and somehow, every show week you had he remembered. he’s spent the whole season out with and injury which was both a blessing and a curse. you loved that he was always at your beck and call but it broke your heart knowing that he had to miss an entire season of the one thing he’s most passionate about.

“you don’t seem relaxed, you seem stiff.” he replies which was the truth but most times it felt ,to you, like a burden on him.

“kirbs, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” you reply running your finger through his soft curls.

“no i do want to. i want to make sure you sleep so good tonight. you have a big show coming up baby. i can’t wait to see you look so fucking beautiful on that stage.” he smiles, kissing your cheek sweetly.

“okay.” you smile at the gesture, putting the bowls into the sink. you laid flat on your mattress, pulling the shirt up to your shoulders as his warm hands worked out the tightness of your muscles. you sighed as the pressure was lifted from your back and into thin air. you frowned as his hands left your back for the last time.

“feel better pretty girl?” he says lowly close to your ear and you hum in approval as he presses a soft kiss to your back. a ritual the two of you shared, kissing your “ouchies” better.

it could be all in your head, but it felt like the pressure of his kiss always solved your pain. physical, or emotional.

“thank you baby.” you smile sitting up as a relief washed over your body.

“of course.” he smiles back, kissing you sweetly on the lips. only a smile and a giggle breaking it apart.

“you ready for bed sleepy girl, you got a big rehearsal tomorrow.” he says as you tuck yourself into bed.

“oh definitely.” you yawn out as he joins you in bed. you roll over facing the boy who was already admiring you.

“sorry for staring.” he giggles.

“oh never apologize for that, i’m just as guilty.” you giggle as he pulls you to his chest snuggly.

“you’re just so gorgeous, my beautiful baby.” he whispers into your hair.

“stop.” you giggle turning red.

“what? am i not about to gloat about how lucky i am to be with someone as beautiful and talented and sweet and,”

“kirby.” you say sternly leaning up to his cheesy smile.

“what?” he giggles.

“not too much, you know me and compliments.”

“baby i already told you, you just need to say thank you, you do not have to compliment me back. just let me admire my gorgeous girlfriend.” he replies kissing you on the forehead as he speaks.

“thank you.” you smile.

“of course, you deserve it all baby,” he says placing his chin on the top of your head.

“goodnight my love.” he whispers

“goodnight handsome.” you giggle, pressing a short, sweet kiss to his lips.

the pet names practically made you sick to your stomach with sweetness but with time you grew to love them. you felt so lucky to have been chosen by a man like him. so effortlessly loving and generous.

“i love you.” he whispers, reaching to pull the lamp chain.

“i love you.” you reply as your eyes grow heavy at the sound of his heart thumping calmly in his chest.

-

#kirby dach #kirby dach imagine #kirby dach x reader #kirby dach smut #montreal canadiens #turcs’ talk #positions fics

[moo-blogging]

Hi!

Can you please do a smut where Levi comes home after days out on a mission and he comes home desperate for y/n.

All needy and horny for her and just that "I missed you sex " thingie.

Thanks !

Levi was trying his very best not to run back home to you. He had spent almost a week out beyond the walls for another mission, and he was worn out. But his body was burning for you.

Levi locked the front door behind him as soon as he stepped into the house. He pulled the curtains as he called to you. You grinned as you heard your husband calling your name and rushed out to meet him.

You welcomed him home with a deep kiss on his lips. His arms wrapped around you immediately and yours around him. His palms explored your body as if it was the very first time he touched you, hungrily and greedily. You knew what was coming as his hand slipped beneath your dress. You moaned into his lips.

His finger hooked your panties, pulling it to the side. You felt the cool air brushing your opening. Still attacking your lips, Levi pushed you against the wall. You unbuckled his belt, feeling the bulge between his legs. His cock sprung up as you pulled down his pants.

Levi pulled away for a moment, you both panting for air as your eyes locked. Your hair wild and your face blushing. Levi's face was a mess of different emotions, "God, I missed you so much Y/n." He pressrd his face into yours again, kissing you deeply.

With his arm hooking your left knee up, he pushed himself into you. The sudden force lifted you from the floor, pinning you onto the wall. You groaned in pain and pleasure, digging your fingers into Levi's hardened arms. After a few thrusts, the initial pleasure rush left Levi's brain. He gently lifted you down and moved slower and deeper into you.

You squeezed your walls with every push, feeling his member cutting through your wet wall, rubbing heat and pleasure into your nerves. Levi knew how to make you feel good. He adjusted his position and slammed into your sweet spot slightly to the side. Your toes curled, your brain went blank and you cummed. Your hips spamsed. Involuntary moans came out like whimpers from your lips. Levi sucked at your neck, breathing warm air onto your skin.

He moved slow and deep, making sure you cummed fully. "You're so wet, baby..." you felt tiny stings on your neck as Levi left a trails of hickeys on your skin. He slammed into you suddenly, making your legs shake with uncontrollable pleasure. Your hips involuntarily moved on its own to fuck Levi's penis but Levi remained deep inside of you, only more pleasure created even with the smallest friction.

You tilted your head back, breathing hard to slow your heartbeat. Levi hooked his other arm beneath your right knee and lifted you completely off the floor. You knew you wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow, but your hole was begging to be fucked endlessly.

"Kiss," Levi asked for your lips. You swallowed a mouthful of saliva and lowered your chin, catching Levi's opened mouth with yours. Levi attacked your tongue with his. You could taste the alkaline in his saliva. Your brows frown in soreness and pleasure, enjoying yourself as Levi fucked you agaisnt the wall.

Your forehead dotted with beads of sweat while your lips area sticky with saliva. Your bodies warm with sweat and your hole red and sensitive to every little movement. But Levi's movement below was rough and fast, deep and strong. You couldn't tell whay liquid was stained and dripped onto your thighs.

The noise of moans from you, groans from Levi, and wet slamming of bodies echoed in the room. Your fingers in Levi's hair, grabbing harder with every thrust. Levi was turned on with your hands in his hair. He repositioned himself, bending his knees lower and pinning you firm agaisnt the wall, Levi fucked you fast and hard. You threw your head back, whimpering in pleasure. You tried to squeeze your walls to stop this over-the-limit pleasure. You felt like your head would explode in any second. But Levi's penis cut through your walls so fast, so strong your walls were hot and numb with electrifying pleasure. Your eyes rolled back, hips spamsed but held firmly onto the wall.

You cummed and so did Levi. Levi's hips spasmed as he cummed. He pushed himself deep into you, ensuring his seeds wouldn't fall onto the floor. After a few seconds stationary agaisnt the wall, Levi lifted his head from your chest and kissed your salty skin lovingly.

Pulling you sore body up, you collapsed into Levi's chest, holding onto him and he carried you into the bathroom.

You really loved this kind of welcome home ceremony.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi smut #captain levi #levi heichou #levi ackerman x reader #levi x y/n #midnight thoughts #levi x you #aot x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman smut #aot smut

[janasrdhr]

Salvation - Simon “Ghost” Riley

──────────────────────

Warning(s): Slight NSFW, Explicit Language

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The rain hammered against the roof of the safe house like an incessant drum, a reminder of the storm both outside and within its walls. The room was stark, illuminated only by the intermittent flicker of an old lamp, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. You sat opposite Simon Riley, the man who was as much your nemesis as he was your ally in this precarious mission. The Ghost.

You had been on opposite sides more often than not, each encounter a chess game where moves were calculated and every gesture could be a feint; two operatives with a common goal but divergent methods.

Maps and documents were strewn across the table, but they were momentarily forgotten as the tension between you and Ghost reached a boiling point.

“For fuck's sake, Ghost, can you not see you're compromising the whole operation with your damn recklessness?” you hissed, your voice low and fierce.

He slammed his hand down on the table, leaning closer, his expression hard. “I get the job done, dove. I always do. Maybe if ya' weren't so bloody rigid, you’d see that.”

The space between you was electric, the air thick with every harsh word and challenging stare you had ever exchanged. It was as if all the years of rivalry and grudging respect had built up to this singular, explosive moment.

“You're being reckless, Ghost!” you snapped, your voice sharp as a whip. “This isn't some solo mission where you can play the hero. We have protocols for a reason.”

Ghost's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. “And ya' think playin' it safe is goin' to get us out'a this? We're not in some bloody trainin' exercise, dove. This is real, and it's dirty, and sometimes ya' have to adapt!”

“Adapt? Is that what you call compromising the entire operation?” Your voice rose, each word laced with accusation. “You think you're the only one who wants to get the job done? I'm not here to clean up your messes, Ghost.”

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping back violently. “Maybe if ya' stepped out from behind yer' manuals and protocols, you'd see that. Ya' think you're always right, but you're blind, dove. Blind to the fact that this world doesn't play by yer' rules.”

The room seemed to shrink, the air charged with your mutual frustration and anger. You stood as well, meeting him eye to eye, neither willing to back down. “And you're blind to the consequences of your actions! It's not just about us, Ghost. There are lives at stake—”

“Lives are always at stake!” he cut you off, his voice booming over the sound of the rain. “'nd I do what I have to, to protect them. Ya' think I don't know the cost? Ya' think I don't carry it w'me, every damn day?”

His words hung heavy, laden with an emotion you hadn't expected to see. It was a glimpse into the burden he bore, a side of him he rarely showed. But the moment of vulnerability was fleeting, quickly masked by his frustration.

“You're not the only one with scars, Ghost,” you said quietly, your anger giving way to a pained understanding. “We all have them. But that doesn't give you the right to be a martyr. Not at the expense of the mission, not at the expense of our team.”

Ghost's expression hardened, the brief flicker of vulnerability vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He stepped closer, his posture rigid, the intensity in his eyes almost palpable. “Martyr?” he scoffed, his voice laced with disdain. “Ya' think this is about martyrdom? You're so wrapped up in yer' rules and yer' protocols that you've lost sight of what's at stake here.”

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his words punctuated by the fierceness of his conviction. “I make the hard calls, dove, the ones you're too scared to make. Ya' hide behind yer' guidelines, thinkin' they'll save ya', but out here, in the real world, it's adapt or die. And I'm not ready to die, 'specially not for yer' idealism.”

You felt a surge of anger at his accusation, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Idealism? Is that what you call valuing human lives? Because I call it humanity, Ghost. Something you might have forgotten in your 'my way or die' philosophy.”

Ghost's smirk was cold, unyielding. “Humanity? In our line'a work? You're delusional if ya' think that's what keeps us alive. It's about making the tough decisions, doin' the dirty work so others don't have to. If that makes me reckless in yer' eyes, so be it.”

The tension between you was explosive, a live wire sparking in the damp air of the safe house. Neither of you moved, the space between you charged with a volatile mix of anger and unresolved tension.

Finally, Ghost straightened, his expression set into a mask of determination. “We're wastin' time here, dove. Ya' can either get on board or get out of my way. But I'm finishin' this mission, with or without yer' approval.”

Your frustration boiled over as you watched Ghost dismissively turn his attention back to the maps. His words echoed in your mind, each one a spark igniting your temper further. He was so certain, so infuriatingly resolute in his methods, and his dismissal felt like a direct challenge to your convictions.

Stepping forward, you snatched a map from the table, crumpling it slightly in your grip. “Just because you're ready to die for this mission doesn't mean you have to drag the rest of us down with your god complex,” you spat out, your voice sharp and biting.

Ghost paused, his back still turned to you. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, and for a moment, you thought he might continue ignoring you, but then he slowly turned around. His eyes were a storm themselves, dark and intense.

“Ya' think y'know better? You think yer' way is the only way?” His voice was low, a dangerous calm that contrasted with the fury in his eyes. He stepped towards you, closing the space with a few determined strides.

“Yes, because my way doesn’t get people killed!” you retorted, your voice rising to match the intensity of the storm outside.

Ghost stopped just inches away, his gaze fixed on you. “You're so damn stubborn,” he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration and something else you couldn't quite place.

“And you're so damn reckless,” you shot back, unwilling to back down, your breaths mingling in the charged air between you.

Suddenly, Ghost's demeanor shifted, the anger in his eyes giving way to a different kind of fire. Before you could react, he closed the gap, his hands gripping your arms as he pulled you into him.

Ghost's grip on your arms wasn't just firm; it was electrifying, sending a jolt of unexpected energy through your body. His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours for a moment that stretched endlessly. Then, without a word, he pulled you harshly against him, erasing the space and the lingering traces of your argument with one swift motion.

His lips met yours with a force that spoke volumes, silencing your protests and melting your resolve. The kiss was not gentle; it was a clash, fierce and demanding, as if he was determined to prove a point. Ghost's mouth moved against yours with a desperate urgency, his frustration and pent-up energy translating into a passion that caught you off guard.

You gasped into the kiss, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against yours, exploring and asserting dominance. The world around you—the maps, the storm, the mission—faded into a blur of sensations. All that mattered was the overwhelming feel of his lips on yours, the stubble of his jaw scratching at your skin, heightening the raw intensity of the moment.

Your hands, initially caught in the moment of surprise, now roved over his body, tracing the hard lines of his back through his shirt, pulling him even closer. Ghost responded with equal fervor, his hands moving from your back to your waist, gripping you tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as if he couldn't get close enough.

The intensity escalated as his hands roamed further, exploring the contours of your body with a boldness that fueled the heat between you. One hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, while the other traced down to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Every touch was electric, sparking a fire that threatened to consume you both.

You responded to his urgency, your own hands exploring his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. Your fingers dug into his hair, pulling slightly, eliciting a low groan from him that vibrated through your lips. The sound only added to the intensity, driving you to explore further, your hands slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin against your palms.

When the need for air finally forced you apart, you were both panting, foreheads pressed together, the storm outside echoing the tumultuous rush of your heartbeats. Ghost's eyes were still closed, his breaths heavy and uneven against your face. His hands still rested on your waist, not ready to let go, as if breaking the contact would shatter the connection you had just forged.

The room thick with the heat of your encounter, the earlier chill replaced by an undeniable warmth.

“We really shouldn’t keep doin' this,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire, but his grip on you contradicted his words.

“No, we shouldn’t,” you agreed, your voice breathy, but like him, you made no move to step back, to break the spell that the intense, touch-filled encounter had cast.

The silence that hung between you and Ghost was thick, charged with the aftermath of the intense connection you'd just shared. The storm outside had dwindled to a soft drizzle, mirroring the quieting of the tumultuous energy inside the safe house.

Suddenly, Ghost broke the silence with a muttered, “Fuckin' hell,” his voice a blend of wonder and frustration as he ran a hand through his hair, looking at you with a complex expression.

You simply nodded, understanding the multitude of emotions behind his words. The air was still heavy with the unsaid, the future uncertain.

Ghost looked at you, his eyes searching. “The hell we do now?” he asked, the raw honesty in his voice stripping away any remnants of his usual composure.

“We'll figure it out,” you responded, your voice calm and sure despite the chaos that seemed to always be at the edge of your lives. “Whatever this is, we'll figure it out together.”

Ghost stepped closer, his presence enveloping you in a sense of security that contrasted sharply with the uncertainty of his words. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace that felt like a safe harbor in the midst of the storm. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, a tender gesture that felt like a promise. With a heavy sigh, he murmured,

“We always do.”

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masterlist - cod masterlist

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

#simon ghost riley x reader #creative writing #writing #cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #simon riley #cod ghost #cod x reader #x reader #cod mw2 #task 141 #task force 141 #cod mwii #ghost x y/n #x y/n #x you #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost #simon riley ghost #simon riley imagines

[your-bestamericangirl]

Tolerate It.

Paige Bueckers x reader || next: n/a || masterlist

(there will be a pt 2!!)

notes: ANGST , ooc paige cuz obviously she isn't this mean, also not really a lot of paige sorry- sorta setting it up for the caitlin picking up the pieces in the second part.

now playing: tolerate it by taylor swift

(Y/n) would not do this to herself again. The warmth that once kissed her features had long since burned out. Her head hung low, eyes tracing the trail of melted wax pooling under the once-lit candle. Each droplet seemed to echo the tears she dared not shed.

How long had it been? The streetlights pouring in through the windows had been the only thing capable of illuminating the empty chair. Unfortunately, that allowed (Y/n) to continue to remind herself that someone was supposed to be sitting across from her.

Her absence was equally overwhelming as her presence. She sat atop a pedestal of achivements. Before, they had been equals, minds intertwined through a delicate thread of gold. Eventually, she rose too far for (Y/n) to reach.

As (Y/n) stared into the flickering flame, the room felt suffocatingly silent. The oppressive stillness was broken only by the faint hum of the streetlights outside, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The empty chair stood as a silent reminder of her absence, its weight pressing down on (Y/n) 's heart like a leaden anchor.

It seemed as though now, Paige only tolerated her love.

The click of an unlocked door echoed throughout their shared apartment, bouncing off the walls.

Steps sounded, their treads light, careful not to disturb the sleeping night.

(Y/n) kept her gaze locked on the wall ahead, lest her tears fell as she found Paige’s blameless eyes.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, baby.”

“You shouldn’t have kept me waiting.”

Paige’s face carried no regret. Her eyes shut, breath from the depths of her lungs was let out in a sigh. 

From her seat, (Y/n) craned her neck upwards to meet Paige’s unbothered gaze. She searched within Paige’s eyes, there laid not even a hint of remorse.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, (Y/n) .” 

She felt the weight of Paige's words like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. The ache in her chest deepened, a gnawing emptiness that threatened to consume her whole. She struggled to find her voice, to articulate the storm of emotions raging within her.

"You don't know?" (Y/n) 's voice rang with a mixture of hurt and indignation. "Of course you wouldn’t know how it feels to wait for someone."

Paige's expression remained impassive, unmoved by (Y/n) 's pain. It was a familiar sight, one that she had grown accustomed to over time. The realization only fuelled the bitterness welling up inside her. Wood gathered under her nails, scratched off as she gripped the table. Whether it be for stability or out of anger.

"I'm tired of waiting for scraps of affection, Paige," (Y/n) 's voice wavered, betraying the depth of her despair. "Why can’t you see me."

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of their breathing. In the dim light of the room, (Y/n) could see the weariness etched into Paige's features, a reflection of her own exhaustion. She always wondered how Paige could be so oblivious to her pleas for affection. 

Long ago, Paige had thrown her weight onto (Y/n) , overwhelming her senses all at once. Perhaps dulling out what their relationship really meant. When Paige suddenly stopped reciprocating anything, (Y/n) had been thrown off balance. Where had the longing gazes departed to? The warmth coursing through both their veins turned cold. Though it had been evident who was was capable of living that way.

"I know," Paige finally spoke, her voice soft but devoid of warmth. "And I'm sorry."

Eyes shut, (Y/n) scoffed. “So?” She questioned, surely that wasn’t all Paige had to say.

It was all she ever did. Early on, (Y/n) worshiped those little apologies. Welcoming them as they had been all she had wanted to hear from her lover. Soon enough, it had been clear that Paige was accustom to using empty words.

And so, (Y/n) found herself trapped in a cycle of longing and despair, unable to escape the crushing weight of her unrequited affection. 

“I said I was sorry. What more do you want?” At this point Paige stood, exasperated and defensive. Her eyes turned sower, expression twisted as she took in the state of (Y/n) before her. 

“Where did you go?” (Y/n) questioned, her voice down to a whisper.  As the candle burned low, casting eerie shadows that danced like ghosts in the darkness, (Y/n) knew she would not do this to herself again. But the ache in her heart, the echo of her lover's absence, remained as a haunting reminder of what she had lost.

“Why are you so sensitive? I just came back from Em’s, calm down.” The answer shot out, burrying it’s resentment into (Y/n) ’s gut and spreading throughout her blood.

“No, Paige,” At last, the table became stained with tears. Ever so slowly, (Y/n) ’s heart broke. “Did you ever love me?”

(Y/n) s heart sank as she waited for an answer that would never come. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. With a heavy heart, she rose from her seat, her gaze lingering on Paige's impassive form for a moment longer before turning away.

As she stepped out into the cool night air, (Y/n) felt a weight lift from her shoulders, a sense of liberation washing over her like a cleansing tide. The streets were deserted, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights overhead. 

The night air was cool against her skin. (Y/n) breathed it in deeply, letting go of the pain and disappointment that had held her captive for so long. 

She left behind the empty promises and broken dreams of her past. She walked with her head held high, her heart filled with hope for the possibilities that lay ahead. And as she disappeared into the night, leaving behind the echoes of a love that was never meant to be, she knew that she was finally free.

a/n: OKAY HOPE YALL LIKED IT (may or may not be based off of my own experiences-) sorry for not that much Paige, but send in more requestssss LOVE YALL MWAH

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers headcannon #wlw #uconn huskies #wlw fic #writing #x reader #uconn wbb #nika muhl

[lottiecrabie]

going off of your recent galatea ask - do you think she’d develop feelings for him again if they were in close proximity for an extended period of time again? idk just a theory :3

oh what a very interesting question! cracking my fingers Ok congress let’s get this discussion started (typical mad ramblings below the cut)

i think my first gut reaction would be yes, but solely because she would want to. when i went through a Very Galatea Moment this winter lol, i typed a beginning to a galatea take two in which they were working on her third album and she was specifically seeking him out as a producer to fall in love with him all over again and use that pain to fuel her. it was all written before sleep in one night so i don’t really know where i wanted to follow that emotional line, but i assume she would have revived her feelings — fully knowing and embracing she was pygmalion — and then maybe the pain of it would have been too masochist, or not enough, not album-of-the-year enough, and it’d feel meaningless. i don’t know!

thinking about it now though, i don’t really enjoy that idea, and i don’t think i would have ever followed it if i had actually decided to write galatea take two. much too straightforward, taking away all the nuance of the characters, all the tragedy that they accidentally fall face first into and realize only too late their mistakes.

this also brings up the question on if she ever actually loved him, the real him, and not the one she made up in her mind. we know that she romanticized him, that she made this grand summer love affair bigger than it was, and that by the end of august, she’s left reeling with the knowledge that she created him. it could make you wonder if it was all fantasy, if she really knew him, if she only loved the idea of him. then, if she was working on her third album with him, there would be nothing to fall back into; it was never there anyway. or, maybe, to the contrary, she’d know him without the theatrics she pushed onto him and fall in love with the real him. in which case it would theoretically be the very first time.

i don’t know if i’m satisfied with that one either. both side of the argument on if she loved him or not have merit (me saying ‘argument’ like it’s not just me and the voices lmao). i don’t think it’s as easy as saying people’s feelings are Fake just because they might have been mostly lived in their own minds. that’s still Something, and if it’s valid or not is up to you and your interpretation. i don’t think i’d ever had gone down the ‘ends up falling for the “real” him’ route either though, just because it’s a little too clean-cut and fairytale ending-y, the antithesis of galatea take one.

in the end, i do believe that she is, to her core, delusional and a dreamer and a romantic, and that she builds things up in her mind and invents meaning where there’s none. so yeah, i think she’d probably have feelings for him again, though it’d have almost nothing to do with him and more to do with her. she can’t help herself; she says she’s not listening to the instinct to romanticize him and wax poetics about his every little looks, but in the end it’s still there. at least until she’s worked on it, she’ll just fall back into her habits. but i think she could do it to and with other people in her life, not just matty.

tldr// yeah probably lol. but every theory is valid and has weight cos this is Galatea and it’s made to be Interpreted

#if u guys have different opinions lmk i’d love to hear them🤗 #here she go again……. #galatea take one #ask

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XIII): The Erosion of Scully’s Security, on Tape

Scully’s abduction is split into many mini arcs. Season 2 scratched the surface of her trauma with allusions to her and Mulder’s recovering stability (One Breath, Firewalker, Red Museum, Irresistible, Our Town, Anasazi); Season 3 taps into the loss of Scully’s family and innocence; Season 4 will dig deeper into her denial and loss of faith; Season 5 will twist her burgeoning confidence into a weapon against herself; Fight the Future will find her center; Season 6 will show her determination and growth; and Season 7 will shed the last of her self-consciousness with resolution. 

Each of these arcs showcase the impact of the wrongs done to her and the women (and people) by the Consortium, as well as her strength of character, righteous conviction, and unbreakable spirit and will. While Mulder initially crumbles under loss and heartache, Scully battles against it; and, once finally exhausted, leans against her partner for strength to move forward. Both of them fight hard in the coming years; and on the heels of Paper Clip, their reliance on each other is so unbreakable that Mulder and Scully never question their reciprocal loyalty, despite the allure of pretty faces or treachery of madness. The show may hinge on Mulder’s childhood trauma, but it takes equal (if not more) time to explore Scully’s pain and emotional turmoil properly-- which is fair and right.

EVIDENCE OF THINGS ONCE SEEN

Season 3 continues its focus on Scully’s losses, bookending the arc with the Syndicate and their video tapes, ala Nisei and Wetwired. 

OH, NISEI CAN YOU SEE IN THE CAR OF 731

Scully and Mulder get in trouble (again) when Mulder’s magazine alien autopsy video tape leads them straight to shifty activity and a suspicious Japanese diplomat. After further (officially discouraged) investigation, Scully stumbles upon a MUFON group where the women claim to know her. Here, the seeds are planted for her cancer arc in Memento Mori, complete with an introduction of Penny Northern.

One of the women asks Scully: “Did you have an unexplained event in your life last year? Were you missing for a period of time that can’t be accounted for?” 

This implies that Scully was part of the latest round of abductions; and that no one has been taken since their return last November (post here.)

“You may not remember-- you’ve only had one experience. Most of us here were taken many times.” 

“Taken where?” Scully asks. 

Their answer-- “The bright, white Place”-- unlocks a flash from her experiments. 

At her reaction, another member asserts, “You remember it, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” she responds, shakily. 

“There are men there, performing tests,” the member continues. 

“What men?” 

“They don’t reveal themselves. They take our memories away; but somehow, they start to seep back.” 

“Some may have come back to you, but they don’t make sense,” Penny adds; an unintentional foreshadowing to her and Scully’s interactions in Memento Mori. 

When asked if she knows about regression hypnosis, Scully looks down, closing her eyes and answering, “Yes.” This is the first of several reminders of Melissa's impact on Scully-- it was Missy, after all, who'd urged her into hypnosis therapy; and Scully who'd bailed from the session right before her sister’s death. 

“Have you ever considered it?” the women press; and Scully backs away from the subject as fast as she can, regaining her scientific skepticism in the face of their probing: “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m ready to discuss this.” 

“You’re afraid to remember, aren’t you?” the member from before questions, moving closer to Scully in understanding. “It’s okay. We were all afraid at first.” 

Scully takes in the women seated around her-- all different ages and stages of life-- trying to fit herself into a group so disparate yet united under one common tragedy. She doesn’t yet know these women have prepared to fight for their freedom and lives; and will all, in a matter of months, die before her own battle against cancer begins. 

“I don’t know: when I opened that door and saw you standing there, it was like a revelation-- the image your face was so clear to me,” the first MUFON women expounds.

The dialogue here is filled with biblical language, likely on purpose: image and revelation hand-in-hand-- a nod, perhaps, to the fated and religious undertones Chris Carter often works into his scripts. Scully and Mulder are often painted with allegorical higher callings and fated purpose, creating a contradiction between the mytharc fate versus stand-alone freewill episodes. Scully, in this case, seems fated to be abducted and returned, to meet these dying women, and to get cancer; but she turns out to be the only one to beat this fate, and survive. This could play into my hypothesis on breaking the soulmate curse inflicted on her, Mulder, and Melissa Rydell in The Field Where I Died, (post here), or fall in line with fate ala the Navajo’s White Buffalo prophecy (post here.) I think that topic requires more in-depth discussion than would fit here; and suggest we press on with Season 3 for now. 

“But why is it I don’t remember you?” Scully prods, shaken. 

“All you remember in the beginning is the light,” Penny consoles. “And then sometimes the faces of the men that performed the tests.”

This triggers another memory Scully forgot-- the stomach air pump-- and she scrambles for a different explanation other than the simple truth. “How do you know you’re a not mistaking me for somebody else?” 

“You have the mark, don’t you?” the other MUFON woman says, drawing Scully’s attention and showing her the recent scar on the back of her neck. 

Scully closes her eyes again, fearfully. 

The women then show their extracted implants, proving their words as one. 

Afraid to believe, Scully tries to flee, (her go-to trauma response, post here): “I have to go. I just came--"

“--to see Betsy,” the women chime in. 

“Yes-- to see Besty Hagopian. Why are you all at her house? Where is she?” Scully raises her arms, surprised she hadn’t questioned this fact before. 

The MUFON spokeswoman and Penny then take her to Betsy’s oncology treatment center, explaining she is in "the advanced stages of full-body tumors"-- a different type of cancer than Scully had. 

“They’d been taking Betsy since she was in her teens,” Penny reveals. “This is what’s going to happen to all of us.” 

“What do you mean,” Scully softly questions. 

“I don’t know if you understand this or not, Dana,” the spokeswoman spells out, “but we’re all going to end up like Betsy." 

“We’re all dying,” Penny confirms, “because of what they do to us.”  

It’s especially heartbreaking because this scene confirms two things: 

Scully is the only MUFON woman to be abducted once-- confirming that she wasn’t an intended target, only collateral decided upon on Sleepless because her expertise; and only returned alive because of CSM’s intervention. Meaning she, unlike the MUFON women, was intended to die in captivity. It’s a testament to her knowledge and skill that Scully was such a threat to the Consortium so early on: still green; and barely on the field before being yanked off of it. 

The MUFON women never realized their chips were the cures to their cancers. Each woman still had their chips intact-- only Scully’s had been damaged due to Pendrell’s tampering-- and could, probably, have had them reinserted. But would they have done so? Would these women have wanted their chips reinserted, allowing nefarious abductive forces to easily find and recapture them for test after test after test? Regardless, they were never given the opportunity to choose. 

When Scully reunites with Mulder, she’s both stunned by her experience and stunned that Mulder isn't curious about her discoveries (at first):  

“Why is the door locked?"

“I’ve got something to show you.” 

“Do you have any idea where I’ve been?”

“Allentown.” 

“I went to go see those MUFON members to find out about that woman-- Betsy Hagopian?”

Now intrigued: “What’d you find?”  

“I found out that she’s dying.” Scully looks down-- an instinctive response when facing information that is personally implicative, “along with a lot of other women who claim to be dying, too. All of them who say they have these implanted in them,” she adds, handing over one of their chips to Mulder.   

When Scully adds, “It’s the same thing that I had removed from my own neck,” Mulder’s head immediately snaps up, worried; and he quickly asks, “But you’re fine, aren’t you, Scully?” 

“Am I?” she parries, seeking as much assurance from him as he is from her. “I don’t know, Mulder. They, they said that they know me, that they’ve seen me before.” 

It’s a trigger response Scully has when lacking security, latching onto Mulder or “other fathers” or illusory footholds when science offers little clear-cut answers for her-- i.e. Beyond the Sea, Fresh Bones, Never Again, all things, etc. Scully largely expunges all outward traces of this behavior from Season 4 onward, thinking she must become what her mother calls “the strong one” in the face of Mulder’s fragility post Herrenvolk, The Field Where I Died, Paper Hearts, and Memento Mori.

“They know things about me, about my disappearance,” she rambles, watching Mulder scrupulously zero in on the chip in hand. 

This interaction also shows a parallel aspect of Mulder’s: when Scully faces a personal crisis-- her panic over glowing bugs, her fears, her cancer, her daughter’s illness-- he puts up a front of strength, grounding her focus with logical, provable facts, even if (and when) he suspects the worst. 

“That is disturbing,” he quietly agrees. “But I don’t think you should freak out until we find out what this is.”

Scully is hindered from a clearer admittance when the phone rings; and the conversation takes a turn away from the MUFON trip. 

As Mulder fills in Scully on his findings about Dr. Ishimaru’s ghastly experiments, she recognizes one of the men in the faxed photo but is dissuaded (“I don’t think so, not unless you’ve been in Japan in the last fifty years”-- which she was, in 1966. Post here.) Four of the doctors in the photo were recently murdered; but Scully isn’t yet ready to draw ties between their and the Nazis' experiments to alien-human hybrids; and neither have connected the dots between these inhuman experiments and her recent disappearance.  

When she begins to discredit his theory, Mulder cuts in reproachfully-- “Scully, after all you’ve seen”-- before softening-- “after all you’ve told me you’ve seen, tunnel filled with medical files, the beings moving past you, the implant in your neck-- why do you refuse to believe?” 

At Mulder’s question, Scully looks down to hide her fear, continuing the pattern of avoidance begun in Beyond the Sea and The Blessing Way. “Believing’s the easy part, Mulder,” she insists. “I just need more than you-- I need proof.” Proof allows her something to cling to when the foundations of her beliefs are shaken. Scully eventually comes to term with that realization, shifting away from strict reliance on proof as learns to trust her instincts (all things.) 

“You think that belief is easy?” he retorts, a window into his naturally cynical, pessimistic view of life. That cynicism is eventually addressed in Amor Fati, and fully (or mostly) resolved in Closure. 

Scully can’t rebut his statement; and with nothing else to say, she sighs and hangs her head. 

“Well, we have proof,” Mulder reassures, switching topics to comfortable ground and revealing his ace: a picture of a secret government train car. When asked where he got it, he discloses “From someone like you who wants proof.” Weighing the cost of his next words, he decides to mildly confront her once more. “Who’s also willing to believe.”

Scully remains silent, both aware she’s not ready to take that next step.

Scully takes the chip to Pendrell, who raves about its sophistication and other scary technological advancements (and coming off a tad creepy.) The full weight of the government using computer chips to possibly monitor their test subjects appalls Scully, spurring her to take a more active role in the current investigation. 

Back in the office, she reviews the video Mulder bought, realizing her recollection of Ishimaru stems from her abduction. 

After Mulder jumps on the train car, Scully is contacted by a Syndicate shadow man (for the second time) and reiterates the (half) truth sold to her: government experiments, yes; but not alien government experiments. “It all makes sense, Mulder-- Ishimaru Zama, he was using the secret railroad to conduct his tests across the country….”  

The conclusion of the Nisei and 731 mini arc is the deepening of Scully’s denial. Without Melissa there to push her, and with Mulder (who is supposed to fill-in for her sister, post here) focused on the bigger mystery, her abduction trauma is shoved aside and minimized. 

As we will learn in Piper Maru and Apocrypha, Scully has yet to make peace with her sister’s loss; and those open wounds spur her burning desire for revenge-- becoming more and more apparent the more turmoil is piled on her plate. 

STEERING THE SHIP OF MEMORIES

Scully’s childhood is the backbone for these two episodes, from the first conversation with A.D. Skinner to her reminiscence on the base with her father’s friend. 

Skinner calls Scully into his office, informing her that the investigation into Melissa Scully’s death has bellied up. Stung and indignant, she confronts the FBI’s obvious oversight and his placatory platitudes.  

“It’s strange,” she bites, furious tears in her eyes, “Men can blow up buildings; and they can be nowhere near the crime scene but we can piece together the evidence and convict them beyond a doubt. Our labs here can recreate out of the most microscopic detail the motivation and circumstance to almost any murder-- right down to a killer’s attitude towards his mother and if he was a bedwetter. But in the case of a woman-- my sister-- who was gunned down in cold blood in a well-lit apartment building by a shooter who left the weapon at the crime scene, we can’t even put together enough to keep anybody interested.” 

“I don’t think this has anything to do with interest,” Skinner begins. 

“If I may say so, Sir,” she cuts in, unwavering, “it has everything to do with interest. Just not yours. And not mine.”  

When Mulder asks after Scully’s mood, she deflects his concerns back to their newest case, later impressing him by recognizing a submerged North American P 51 Mustang aircraft. She explains: “It’s the shape of the canopy. I watched my father and brothers build World War II model planes as a kid.”  

As we know, little Dana Scully was a tomboy; but it’s interesting to learn which activities she did and didn’t think were worth her time-- the Dana who shot air guns but didn’t play baseball, who memorized plane models but didn’t build them; and who learned Latin in college and always loved The Exorcist. 

While pursuing a new lead, Scully momentarily relives a happy memory with her and Melissa playing on a similar military base sidewalk. 

Young Dana is triumphantly swung around by an exuberant young Melissa, both overjoyed by her unbroken hopscotch; and modern Scully’s smile slips back and forth between the somber present and nostalgic past as she slowly drives on.

Meeting up with her father’s old colleague, she introduces herself with a delighted, self-conscious smile. “I’m Dana Scully-- I used to live three doors down. My father was Captain William Scully. I, I went to school with your son.” 

The past is a haven for Scully, even now (for now): a place to become at home and centered in. Her father died suddenly, with words unsaid; her sister died tragically, with justice delayed; but still they bring a smile to her face in reminiscence. But more than that, Scully beams with pride at meeting a man so like her father in age and familiarity-- her Starbuck nature bobs to the surface, putting her best foot forward in her efforts to please. 

“I’m sorry, my memory isn’t what it used to be,” Commander Johanson says, a mirror of Teena Mulder’s pretend amnesia (post here.) At first, he assumes-- or pretends to assume-- Scully is asking after his son; but when questioned about his past with the Piper Maru, he again pleads forgetfulness. 

“Say hello to your father for me,” the Commander suggests as they shake hands goodbye. 

“I wish I could,” Scully remarks, her smile dropping a shade and (again) looking down out of discomfort. “He’s passed away.” In response to his “I’m… very sorry,” she gives a tight-lipped smile and walks away without comment-- fleeing the moment (again) as quickly as possible.  

An interesting thing happens next: Commander Johanson changes his mind, having his visitor’s car pulled over so he can quietly fill her in on the coverup courtesy of CSM, Bill Mulder, and other Consortium men. Captain Scully’s death hit him hard: it connects his to Scully, the fact that they have both lost a loved one to the dead; and it itches and itches at Johanson, driving him from the house and after his friend’s daughter for atonement and peace.

Scully, when commanded to pull over by Johanson, immediately obeys, surprised but not suspicious. Loyalty to her father and his associates runs deep, even after three years, a murder, and a Conspiracy.  

“I can’t give your regards to my son, Scully,” Joe wobbles, addressing her by name not only for the first time but also as an equal. “He was killed in a training accident.” 

It’s here that Johanson passes on a statement that rings true as it sinks and settles into Scully’s mind: “We bury our dead alive, don’t we? We hear them everyday-- they talk to us, they haunt us, they beg us for meaning. Conscience. It’s just the voices of the dead, trying to save us....”

He tells her his tragic, paid-off history, concluding with: “Whatever killed them, I was allowed to live: to raise a family, to grow old. None of us ever got an explanation why.” 

Skinner is shot and Scully rushes to his side, bouncing from Mulder’s room to his while advocating for his interests. When he admits the shooting might be a coverup to permanently halt Melissa’s murder investigation, Scully flares up: “You’re saying that they closed down my sister’s case not because of lack of evidence but because they didn’t want us to catch the killer.” 

In the last twenty-four hours, Scully’s trust in her country’s higher ups has eroded so rapidly she now concludes, rightfully, that Melissa is disposable collateral in their latest coverup. 

Ignoring Skinner’s warning, she presses for more details, fuming over Krycek’s involvement.  

“Listen to me,” Skinner warns, “anger is not a luxury you can afford right now. If you’re angry, you’re gonna make a mistake-- and these people will take advantage of that. …Scully, if you can’t keep your head, it’s all right to step away.” 

“That’s exactly what they want.” Scully’s anger is fueling her thirst for vengeance, driving her to more dangerous potentialities.   

After returning on Mulder's hunch, she finds Skinner mid-relocation to another hospital; and quickly hops on the ambulance in time to counteract another attempt, intercepting the gunmen and forcing him to give her answers at gunpoint.  

“Are you Luis Cardinale! Are you the man that shot my sister! You shot my sister! TELL ME!” she screams over his pleas, weapon drawn with lethal intent. Her motions are erratic, aggressive, and unhinged, tears building as her voice climbs higher and higher. 

Cardinale bargains for his life and Scully wavers, hunched over her prey while an inner voice screams shoot him, shoot him repeatedly in her head. She is so unstable, so unsure, that she looks like her younger, greener self watching the fabric of her world fall apart in Luther Lee Boggs’s cell (post here.) But the cops appear, yelling at them both before she can decide; and, with one final struggle, she lowers the weapon in anguish and retrieves her FBI badge. 

Luis is toted away in handcuffs, leaving Scully alone with the equal horror of her loss of control and opportunity. 

She calls Mulder, confessing his instincts had been right and relating that they’d caught Melissa’s killer; but immediately cuts off his potential sympathy by turning his attention back to the mission. 

In the end, it’s all in vain: Scully and Mulder lose the salvaged UFO and Krycek, nullifying future leads for the case. Grateful to at least have Luis behind bars, she visits Melissa’s grave with flowers, taking a moment to commune in the language of the dead: with her conscience, in silence. 

Mulder arrives with a bouquet of his own; and she bites her lip, moved by his gesture and frustrated with her surfacing emotions. Pulling herself together, Scully smoothly stands, accepting his consideration and shoulder touch with a genuine though fleeting smile. 

“I was just thinking about what a man said to me. That the… that the dead speak to us from beyond the grave. That that’s what conscience is.” 

“It’s interesting. I never thought of it that way,” Mulder considers. 

“You know, I thought-- when we found him, this man that killed Melissa-- that, that when we brought him to justice, I would feel kind of closure. But the truth is, no court, no punishment is ever enough,” Scully confesses-- a follow-through to her Paper Clip closing line: “I’ve seen the truth, Mulder. Now what I want are the answers.”

And Scully is denied even that, having to listen to another victim of these men in power confess/admit that justice was derailed, that Luis Cardinale was murdered in his cell before he could face trial. To Mulder, the end of Cardinale’s existence is a form of justice; but to Scully, it is a cruel circumvention of the system she believes in and fights for.  

“I think the dead are speaking to us, Mulder. Demanding justice. Maybe that man was right-- maybe we bury the dead alive.” 

Mulder considers this, too; and is silent. 

In this episode, the darkness infesting Scully’s life stained backwards to her childhood: her brother and father building WWII planes that were sunk by the Consortium, her father’s friend a bought-and-paid-for Syndicate witness, her hopscotching sister murdered by a hired gun. Those incidents may not have directly touched the Scullys’ lives as they were then, but the innocence she was able to escape to is no longer afforded to her without darker shadows crying out from the corners. 

HERE BE MONSTERS

Wetwired is the last straw. 

During her investigation into malevolent mass hysteria, Scully thoroughly watches each and every infected tape she and Mulder recover from the crime scene. Slowly, it eats away at her security, eroding the last shred of credibility the infested, corrupted system had to offer her: the valor of moral individuals. And the last, moral individual she could trust-- the man in the trenches with her, who lost and fought and continues to fight for a brighter day-- was Mulder.

Hallucinating Mulder feeding intel to CSM, she spends the next morning, afternoon, and evening harboring heightening paranoia against her partner; and finally snaps when he ignores her command to stay away, shooting at him through the door of her ruined motel room and running away. 

Mulder calls Maggie after the sun is up and the investigation is already in full swing, having probably put it off until the last second in hopes of recovering Scully first. Maggie, still in bed at 6:01 AM, picks up the phone the phone, giving us an opportunity to scope out the family pictures displayed on her bedroom table.  

An interesting revelation: Melissa’s photo is placed most prominently, perhaps to honor her death; then Dana’s; then her and a mystery baby… which leaves one of her children off of the table.

My guess? Charlie is missing, as he is likely absent from his mother’s life at this point. If this is true, Maggie seems to use her photos as an indication of her children’s interest in her life, not as a showcase of her favorites.

How can we prove this?

Melissa is dead; but while her eldest daughter was alive, Maggie was constantly rubbed the wrong way by her insistent, unmoderated proclamations at the tensest moments (posts here and here.) Yet, her picture takes center-stage. 

Bill Scully is often the Scully child most likely to cater to her whims or speak in a language she understands (to be explored in Seasons 4 and 5.) Yet, his picture is placed at the back. We know he is often at sea during this period, pointing to infrequent contact between himself and his mother; and probably even less contact than that, because he would more likely call his wife Tara instead. 

Scully’s picture is of second “importance” on the table, despite Maggie’s reliance on and openness with her daughter (acting as her comforter in the following scene and calling her “the strong one” in Memento Mori.) There is often a loving side she reserves for her baby girl, sensing that Dana needs it more than Bill does, or Melissa did. 

Which leaves Charlie. Scully doesn’t mention him after Roland-- except for a slight mention in Piper Maru-- until Home (stating she babysat her nephew for the weekend.) Very little is known about Charlie other than the brief glimpse we see of him in Beyond the Sea (post here) and One Breath (post here); and it’s Maggie’s fond flashback of him we are privy to in the latter episode. So, what’s Charlie’s deal? Is he estranged by his own choice; or does Maggie keep him at arm’s length, only remembering him in childhood when he fit her expectations? 

From what we know of Maggie Scully thus far, it seems unlikely she would cut a child off for a personal decision they made-- in fact, her actions prove the opposite (i.e. reconciling Dana to Captain Scully in Beyond the Sea, putting up with Melissa’s New Age speeches, trusting a Navajo medicine man to watch over her dying daughter, and celebrating the anti-Church conceptions of both Bill’s and Dana’s sons.) It seems out-of-character for her to isolate the youngest Scully from her affection, no matter his choices. 

Or an alternate theory presents itself: the baby is an old picture of Maggie's only grandson-- the nephew Scully babysits in Home. That would mean only one of the two boys flanking Charlie in Beyond the Sea is biologically his... which makes an interesting other implication about his possibly older wife and her own son. Theories, theories.

“Mrs. Scully? Hi, it’s Fox Mulder.”

Maggie immediately knows something’s wrong, her voice dropping an octave. “What is it, what’s the matter?” 

“I was hoping that you’d heard from Dana,” Mulder responds. It would seem Mulder calls Scully “Dana” to Maggie, either for Mrs. Scully's comfort's sake or because he and she communicate so rarely he's yet to fully define his and Scully's partnership.

“No, something happened?”

“I’m not exactly sure there’s… there’s some confusion here.” Mulder hunches slightly, pursing his lips and looking down ashamedly-- a posture he's exhibited on a larger scale to his father (post here.) At Maggie’s “What do you mean ‘missing’?”, he stumbles over his words-- “Well, she ran off last night-- screws up his face, and beats at his thigh, anticipating a disappointed or angry reaction-- “We, we’re looking for her as best we can, but we are a little concerned.” 

Skinner arrives, and Mulder knows it’s time to go. “Look, Mrs. Scully, I hate to do this to you, but I’ve got to hang up on you right now.” 

“Fox, would you please just tell me what’s going on?” Maggie asks, respect and civility barely keeping her from demanding an immediate reply. 

“Hang by the phone, I’ll call you as soon as I know something,” he answers, disconnecting the call immediately after.

It’s only after hours of frantic search and heartache that it dawns on him where Scully might have gone. 

Where does Dana Scully run to feel safe whenever her life spirals out of control? Home.

Sure enough, Maggie opens her door strung out: jumpy and tense, unwilling to let Mulder in. 

“Is she here?” he asks, hopeful. 

“Uh, no,” she refutes.

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” Mulder prods, not unconvinced but still suspicious.

It’s Maggie’s exit-- “Well, I’ll call you when I hear from her, okay?”-- that gives her away, too smooth and too quick to slam the door in his face with a daughter missing for the second time. 

“I need to see her,” he insists in desperation; and when she still refuses, Mulder ignores her pleas and barges through, halting only when met with the barrel of Scully’s gun.

Maggie isn’t afraid, only scared for him: getting into his face as he carefully pushes past, then shutting the door behind him to prevent someone else from walking in.

“Dana, put down the gun!” Maggie shouts, only drawing Scully’s attention momentarily from Mulder. 

“I’m here to help you, Scully,” Mulder announces quietly.

“I told you, Mom-- he’s here to kill me,” she warns, quivering and shifting her stance for a surer shot. 

“I’m on your side, you know that,” he replies. 

“Put the gun down, Dana,” Maggie repeats, more calmly. 

Scully’s eyes, wide and panicked, lessen only slightly when they glance toward her mother, growing wilder when Mulder tries to advance. She warns him back while cocking the trigger.

Maggie, sensing Dana has reached the end of her rope, backs him up: “Dana, he’s telling you the truth.” 

“It’s not the truth, Mom,” Scully wobbles, betrayed. “He’s lied to me from the beginning. He never trusted me” Despite Mulder’s heartfelt, “Scully, you’re the only one I trust,” she rebukes, “You’re in on it. You’re one of them.” 

Pausing, she gears up for her most wrenching accusations: “You’re one of the ones that abducted me. You put that thing in my neck! You shot my sister!”   

“That’s not true, Dana,” Maggie repeats. 

“It is,” Scully insists, voice weakening in heartbreak. 

Maggie steps forward in spite of her daughter's escalating cries, beginning her attempts to talk Dana down.

“You trust me, don’t you? You know that I would never hurt you. That I would never let anybody hurt you.” 

Scully begins to sweat, wavering between fear for her life and belief in her mother. 

“That’s why you came here, isn’t it? You’re safe here. Put the gun down, Dana.” 

Scully slowly points it up and away, but doesn't relinquish it even as she collapses, sobbing, in her Maggie's arms. 

Later, Mulder joins both happy ladies in recovery, sticking up his arms in comedic effect for their (vague) amusement. 

Mrs. Scully, sensing they need space to reestablish their equilibrium, soon after leaves the room.  

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

And in expected Starbuck fashion, her first response is: “Ashamed.” He waits, letting her fill in the silence at her speed. “I was so sure, Mulder. I saw things, and I heard things. It was just like the world was turned upside down. Everybody was out to get me.”

“Now you know how I feel most of the time,” he jokes-- a balm of understanding. 

She smiles, continuing her train of thought with less discouragement. “I thought you were going to kill me.” 

“I’m not surprised,” he nods, leaning forward to summarize his theory on paranoid mind control: “...a virtual reality of their own worst nightmares.”  

“Like me thinking you were going to kill me.”

The knowledge that any action of his holds that much weight in Scully’s life is a fearful realization in itself; and Mulder tries to ward off the power of it (and the last twenty-four hours) by leaning on his shaking, folded hands. 

“I was so far gone, Mulder, I thought that you had gone to the other side.” 

Sinking further into his posture, he asks, “What do you mean?” 

“That Cancer Man-- the man that smokes all those cigarettes-- I was sure I saw the two of you sitting in your car in the motel parking lot. You were reporting to him. You handed him a video tape.” 

And while Mulder runs off to check out that lead, we conclude where we began: the video paus de deux, a rectangular reel that bookends the beginning and end of Scully’s media madness. 

CONCLUSION

Scully concludes her erosion arc with Mulder's steadfast loyalty, the one stable variable in her insane, topsy-turvy world. The past may be lost, the present may be shifting, and the future may be uncertain; but Mulder is her assurance.

Season 4 then shifts that upends that assurance by turning dependable into dependent.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #meta #The Scully Family In-Depth #mine #In-Depth #Part XIII #The Erosion of Scully’s Security on Tape #xf meta #Scully #Maggie Scully #Melissa Scully #Bill Scully Sr. #Bill Scully Jr. #S3 #Nisei #731 #Piper Maru #Apocrypha #Wetwired #Mulder #the x files #x-files #xfiles

[chloecherrysip]

Mario watching his and Luigi's commercial in Punch-Out Pizzeria

#mario movie #mario movie spoilers #mario and luigi #super mario bros #super mario bros movie #super mario bros movie spoilers #cherrysip edits #if you got notifications about gifs from this set yesterday shhhhhhh i was having PROBLEMS #anyway i'm currently working on a gifset for the whole scene of mario getting back up in the pizzeria but then I HAD THIS IDEA #and i was like 'wow that sounds like a comparison that's going to cause me emotional pain' and i was right it absolutely did :) :) :) #[gesturing wildly to gifs while tears stream down my face] U DON'T UNDERSTAND MARIO IS IN THE EXACT SAME PLACE BOTH TIMES #the first time he's nervous but also SO excited and happy about what the future is gonna bring and seeing this commercial is #the culmination of everything he and luigi have been striving for and they're holding each other tight and the world feels wide open #and the second time everything is different. mario has been beaten down. he is terrified and aching and exhausted and convinced #that everyone has been right about him. he's a joke. he's a failure. the only thing he's ever done for his brother is drag him down. #but then he sees the commercial and everything comes back. the joy and the excitement and him and luigi against the world #the only difference is that he doesn't have his brother next to him and that's everything. mario doesn't feel whole otherwise #mario always does his best but when he and luigi are together working in sync he truly feels like anything is possible #and now his brother is out there somewhere in the chaos and bowser isn't gonna stop. he's gotta get up again. he does get up again. #IT'S A LOT BASICALLY. IT'S A WHOLE LOT AND I LOVE THEM DEARLY

[sheryl-lee]

hey. turns out i likely have idiopathic condylar resorption, a degenerative joint disease that causes progressive/rapid bone loss in the jaw. i've had it since i was a kid but went undiagnosed for over a decade; my severe functional issues, pain, and other symptoms were repeatedly dismissed by doctors for years. my mandibular condyles have deteriorated, my jaw is slowly shrinking to the point where i look unrecognizable, and none of my teeth touch anymore. the pain is increasing more and more by the day. it's extremely difficult to breathe, eat, talk, sleep, and exist.

this is a progressive condition, so nothing will stop it or slow it down until the joints have been completely eaten away. my only option is a total temporomandibular joint replacement, where the two diseased joints that literally hold my face together are removed and permanently replaced with metal prostheses. aka a major surgery with a 6-12 month recovery 😃

#basically my face is disappearing because my body is attacking itself which has been really Fun to experience #i've had this disease since i was like 10 but only found out after doing my own research because most dentists/orthos don't know about it #i always knew something was really wrong and that my pain/ facial changes were not normal and getting worse #so it's both relieving and frustrating to *finally* be taken seriously #but yeah i'm having a lot of emotions about this and it's been really tough to process #getting major jaw surgery was not how i thought i'd be spending my early 20s but deep down i knew i would have to do it eventually #better than being in chronic pain for the rest of my life for sure #and if i wait any longer i risk severe deterioration/unsalvageable bone loss and total airway collapse in the future #sameera.txt

[woodenfawn]

He then proceeded to, among *many* other things, punch him in the face, literally bite his hand, and spit blood on his clothes

#re zero #re:zero #natsuki subaru #subaru natsuki #vincent vollachia #abel re zero #I cannot get over their dynamic. It is SO interesting!!!! The way they both claim to hate each other so so much but also #helping each other and abel's absolute trust of him in other senses. The fact they can literally hold each other at knifepoint #And scream at each other and let their emotions out the way they dont with anyone else #But will protect each other from any outside harm #If you thought julius and subaru had a complex relationship this is like that squared #Subaru's relationships keep getting more and more aggressive dont they #Emilia: oh youre so sweet youre the love of my life!!! Ill do anything for you!!!! #Reinhardt: Friend!!!! Buddy!!!! Handsomest coolest knight!!! #Rem: we're a little more than a bit codependent but thats only due to the circumstances :)) we're both in pain but we support each other :) #Julius: I wont get over you beating me up and being too handsome therefore i will be tsundere >:( #Otto: You'll punch me in the face and I'll laugh at your feelings #we'll torment each other a lot but hey we're buddies. #And then abel and subaru are just. Completely concerning as a duo but somehow id hesitate to call it toxic #I dont know what they are. Except maybe gay idiots #You cant tell me abel's not gay #Can you tell the Chisha Gold chapter and the shut the hell up/vincent & subaru chapters stuck with me a lot #Btw im caught up with re zero's web novel!!!! (Besides the last 3 chapters)