#exhausted every possible way to make it work until either it Does or we are so sore theres nothing left to do but be done

[angelhound]

i think i have to start over my start over

[teddybearspankingoffurski]

*Paul blinked himself awake, the white and red of the HR community office a bland sight at eight in the morning. The lady standing up front continued talking.*

HR Lady: We are aware that a lot of you from floor seven, section five are likely feeling very shocked and hurt about the incident that transpired yesterday at 11am. Right now we're working very closely with the authorities to make sure that your office time isn't interrupted while they do their job to find out what happened. If there is anyone who feels they need to take a couple days off to process we encourage it, we want you working at your best and if that requires a few mental health days we are ready to provide it.

*Her voice was sickeningly sweet in Paul's ears, but it felt so manufactured and fake, like artificial coffee sweeteners. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as murmurs spread around the room.*

Coworker 1: Authorities? Does that mean they think it was a murder?

Coworker 2: I bet it was Stephen from cubicle 4A. That guy's a total freak.

*Paul could see Stephen frown beside him, he almost felt bad, poor guy. But who could blame his coworkers when the all the guy talked about was how easy murders would be. Paul stared down at his hands, not wanting to look around the room and risk accidentally catching Ted's stare. He knew Ted had been looking over at him, glancing every few seconds with those exhausted eyes. He looked back up at the HR speaker as she continued talking.*

HR Lady: Now, moving on, before we conclude this meeting we had another matter to speak upon before the unfortunate casualty of yesterday. We'd like to remind all CCRP workers to keep your personal and work lives separate from each other at all times.

*He didn't miss how her eyes flicked over him and Ted for a split second and he frowned, right. That.*

HR Lady: Thank you for your time everyone, please try to have a good day. There are donuts in the hall for everyone on your way out.

*Paul stood up quickly, tie flopping a bit as he left the room without grabbing the free donut. He wanted to avoid as much interaction with Ted as possible for the time being. Sure, he had calmed down a bit since last night, but it still hurt to look at him. He was really trying to forgive him, he was, but he had never been very good at forgiveness until the person was already dead. He stepped back into his cubicle, Charlotte's crossed off with caution behind him as a few Police buzzed around it. He sat down, work on his mind as he began typing into his files again as if nothing had happened yesterday.*

@paul-j-matthews

[Ted forced himself to sit through that meeting, stone faced and completely not put together whatsoever. His hair was a mess and it was clear he hadn't slept very well the night before. After watching a few movies with Pete, finishing off that whole pizza and an entire box of hot Cocoa mix, he sent the kid off the bed. After all, Peter still had school in the morning, and Ted had work. But Ted didn't go to sleep. No. He just is laid there in his bed for 3 hours, staring at his phone screen waiting and praying a text from Paul would appear on it. One never did.

So yeah, he was kind of staring at him through the whole meeting. And yeah, he was kind of hoping to get at least a slight glance in return. He didn't get one of those either.

As soon as the meeting ended he went straight to Mr.Davidson, heeding the HR woman's advice to take some time off. Davidson really couldn't tell Ted no in front of the HR crew, so he nodded his head yes and Ted thanked him before quickly rushing off to the door.

And maybe, just maybe, he brushed by Paul's cubicle on his way out. Just hoping, wishing, praying for some acknowledgement of his own existence. He didn't get one.

The way all that felt was just...awful. He glanced at what was once Charlotte's cubicle, the cops searching for evidence there. That implied it was a murder. Paul seemed to be too laser focused on his work while the cops were right beside him, and he didn't seem very bothered by the meeting either.

The theory in his mind was only being further confirmed moment by moment. But he couldn't say anything. Not yet, not here.]

[nrdmssgs]

Spiraling 2

Masterlist Part 1

Very mild angst, this time with happy ending Pairing: Ghost x you TW: swearing, mentions of military operations, mild mentions of torturing (no detailed descriptions) Summary: You confess him and try to spare him of your feelings right away. But it is not needed.

"The problem is dealt with. I'll be staying here for a little longer. Staying frosty."

The only way, your message could ring more false is if you end it with an emoticon. But Ghost doesn't notice it, he never does. Ghost doesn't even answer on your message. And you know - It's for the best. This way, in a complete silence, it's so much easier to still love him, meeting no rejection.

You've tried so many times to end this for good: stop thinking about him, imagining, how would he react to something, you've just witnessed, stop worrying about him to the point of not being able to sleep or eat properly. Your last attempt was desperate and thoughtless: you came clean before him and dragged yourself as far as it was possible, hoping, that time could help you heal.

At first, you really felt better: new tasks, unfamiliar faces, a foreign country - all this filled the emptiness that you had previously guarded, like the apple of your eye, because only in this void Ghost was only yours. But in a pair of months you caught yourself making a photo of a sunset, as it was so mesmerizing, you thought, he would love it. And you understood: you didn't make any progress. The void was still there. Filling it was harder than filling a glass without a bottom. That's when you sent that fake message, bargaining for some more time.

When you finally came back - it took you all your strength to look calm. And in seemed, that Ghost believed you. You tried to grow a distance between you two. You believed, it would work as a shield from pain. It never did.

You both keep your masks on - only yours is not that obvious. Nobody can see, but your life now fits between short breaths.

Inhale: Ghost is standing outside, leaning against the wall of the barracks, you pass by.

Inhale: you and him are alone in the armory for a few minutes before someone else enters.

Inhale: Sunbeam touches his eyelashes for a second until he looks away.

In between these breaths you fit entire missions, sleepless nights at work, exhausting workouts. Your days are gradually intertwined into one endless thread.

But one day this thread stretches and trembles like a string. You two are alone, surrounded by enemies. Your hideout will be uncovered sooner or later - it's only a matter of time. You can't break through the enemy blockade from the inside: you've used up almost all your ammo. You frantically gut your magazines, trying to get more ammo for Ghost as he covers your trembling hands with his. He obviously got, what were you planing.

"No, we either make it out of here together, or not make it at all." His voice is stern, tone - peremptory.

You raise eyes on him, barely containing your rage. Bloody fool. I'm trying to bargain here for at least your life...

He puts a bunch of plastic clamps into your hand. "Tie me up. Bring `em Ghost and that might buy us time."

"Might?!" You were furious. For the first time in your life, you didn't believe your commander as he asked you to pay the highest price - his safety for a mere possibility of living till the moment the reinforcement reaches your destination. "No! No-no, we are not doing it, no..."

He cuts off your sporadic mumbling, cupping your cheeks and guiding your face towards him. Given, that Ghost barely touched not only you, but anyone - this gesture of his startles you. He wants, needs you to do it. "Look at me, soldier!" His fingers squeeze your face lightly. "Look at me and think of every time I failed you, every bit of pain I brought you. Then take a bloody clamp and tie me up. Now they'll probably beat me, maybe they get more creative, but if you happen to see or hear any of it - I want you to think only about problems I caused you. Is that clear?"

Your lips are quivering: maybe it's his rough voice, that pains you, maybe it's your helplessness in this situation, maybe it's his plan. But you do as he asks. The last thing, you want to do is to risk his life. But you were always such a good colleague, perfect squadmate. Maybe, it's time to play this part one more time, if it makes him happy.

You take a last look at him, before stepping out of your hideaway: a perfect bait, a true beast of man, restrained and humbly quiet under your gaze. You hate to see him so, deep inside you are screaming, begging for his mercy, pleading him to run. He takes a step closer and whispers one word in attempt to cheer you up.

"Showtime."

You feel as if you were thrown into ice water. With each next step, your arms and legs become numb. You do not remember how you led Ghost directly into the enemies' lair, how you yourself knocked him to the ground in front of them. "This dirtbag wouldn't see a lie even if it was written all over his fucking face." You wish, you'd forgotten those words leaving your lips, immediately, but you don't.

But the worst part is what follows: they beat him in front of you, they get creative, you witness everything. But his eyes never leave yours. And both masks: yours and his, stay on. The only thing, that helps you to endure through this torture is a sight of his hands, that were tied so badly, he can escape any minute now.

Showtime. This is so 'not Ghost', so out of character, he must just have heard it somewhere... Every time this word pops up in your mind, a lump rolls up in your throat. But you don't show it.

Beating, mockery, Ghosts barely audible hissing - everything is interrupted in an instant, when a suspicious crunch is heard in the thickets outside the window. "I did not send anyone to reconnaissance," says one of your captors. You look back at him and hold your breath. If your plan is revealed now, you and Ghost are as good as dead. You don't dare to look at the window and let others know, you wait for the attack.

Dead silence is interrupted by a terrible crack, with which Ghost rips loosened clamps and throws aside the chair to which he was tied. You do not have time to turn in his direction when he knocks you down at full speed, and throws you to the ground.

"Give me one reason to not strangle you right here, you scum," he growls into your face.

Dull, drawing pain flows from your skull along the spine to all the limbs. You are exhausted and lost. You look into his dark furious eyes and don't even understand, what is going on. But your mask cracks and slowly falls apart as pain, sorrow and insults leave your lips. You can't even control it, you spill everything: how you hate growing the emptiness inside you for someone, who never needed it, how tired are you of fighting yourself, how useless you feel, when you spend days resisting every your single urge.

By the time your tirade dries up, you've already forgotten how it started. You both are surrounded by deafening noises, and you can hardly shout it over.

“... I can’t deal with this problem. No matter how far I go from you, no matter how I bury myself in work, my problem catches up with me time after time! I can't do it, I can't!"

An explosion hoots muffledly somewhere deep in the building and Ghost instinctively covers your head with his hands. And only at that moment, you begin to realize what happened. He did not even think to kill you - on the contrary, he protected you, played for time and distracted your enemies from the reinforcements that arrived to help you. By knocking you to the floor, he only covered you from random shots.

At first, pure delight floods your mind. This is why Ghost is on another level: he controls the situation to the very end. But then you notice something: his eyes changed. There is no more cold distance in his gaze. Maybe you hit your head well, but you can swear, you see something under his mask - not the skull one, but his familiar demeanor. There is dismay, even panic there. The surrounding noise gradually subsides. Ghost looks around, and then his eyes meet yours again.

"I'm sorry." He says so quietly, you are not sure, you didn't imagine it.

On the way back, you feel his hand somewhere around constantly. Comforting, reassuring, guiding.

It's only in medbay where you lose his touch, as your mind drifts to sleep.

When you wake up - it's still dark outside. You blindly fumble your hand across the bedside table, hoping to stumble upon a glass of water. But you grope for something unusual - an envelope. Inside is a small sheet of thick paper with two phrases. With incredible difficulty, you find the angle at which the dim moonlight breaking through your window illuminates the leaf.

Familiar handwriting.

"It is not a problem. And never was."

[zet-sway]

So this is TMI but I felt like I had to share somewhere because I just keep thinking about it

I had a positive experience! This post is about NSFW activities!

I actually got organically horny the other day. Like I actually walked over to my husband and said hey let's get it on.

My libido is historicslly terrible. And in fact, recently, I was diagnosed with a partially empty sella. My rudimentary understanding of this is that the sella contains my pituitary gland, which is either abnormally small or is being compressed by cerebrospinal fluid. It's not life threatening, and lots of people have this but never find out. I only found out after an MRI scan for an unrelated condition. A partially empty sella can cause low libido and some other issues (abnormal menstrual cycle etc).

So I have clinically low horny levels. Setting aside the obvious irony that I write almost exclusively smut, you can imagine how this has affected my marriage to my wonderful but tragically much hornier-than-me husband. Let me be clear - my husband is in no way coercing me into activities I don't want. But it does make both of us sad when he asks if I'm down and I say I'm not (which happens often). He's attentive and he tries so hard to make it as easy as possible for me, but most of the time, sex feels like this intangible thing that I know is real but slips from my grasp every time I try to hold it.

When I write fanfiction, I'm often reaching for experiences I know are possible but I haven't actually felt in a really, really long time. I think a lot of the projection in my fics is the desire to actually experience desire. I'm fantasizing about feeling horny, because it's something I want, but does not come normally to me. And for the most part I'm ok with that. But sometimes it's immensely frustrating.

But I actually initiated sex! And for once - fuck, dude - for once it felt like I remember it feeling. For once I felt the full-body takeover I remember from so many years ago. For once I was actually revved up. We even tried some shit we've never tried before, and for fucks sakes I had the one of the easiest and most satisfying orgasms of my life. I usually have to work so fucking hard to get there, it's physically and mentally exhausting and it doesn't help that I'm taking medication known for making climax harder to achieve. But this time it happened as easily as breathing. I felt so alive, so in love.

But it happened. And I'm so happy. Days later I feel like I'm still soaking up the afterglow. I don't know how long it'll be until I have this kind of experience again. I'm just so relieved to know my body is at least capable, however infrequently, of experiencing arousal ♡

[heliads]

platonic!aragorn x reader? i requested a bunch of these a while ago and i just adore how you write him. perhaps something in rivendell where the reader is overworking themselves because their productivity is really low so they work longer (bonus points if reader is a writer) and aragorn gets them to relax. ooh and sibling-style banter pls!!!

bonus points?? i didn't realize i was getting points at all this is fantastic

masterlist

Spring is a soothing time, it always has been. Winter is dark and dangerous; the sun sets early and tempers snap quickly, even amongst the elves. Those who claim to only proffer peace can lose it faster than you think. Grey skies spell trouble, early frost kills each and every bloom that thinks itself tenacious enough to come out before its time.

Every winter you think the cold will never end, that warmth and light will stay dead forever. Every spring, you are reminded of the one truth in this world that everyone seems to forget:  it will get better from here on out. There will, at some point, be a surrender of darkness, and you will heal. We all will, and we will do it together.

You are remembering that now as you walk through the gardens of Rivendell. Stormy nights made the stone and wood structures look cold with gloom, but with the way the sun shines upon them now, you would think yourself in a wholly different place. This is your home, it has been for the last ten years. You were not an elf born, but you came to their city and they welcomed you anyway. Swords can only do so much good. Sometimes poets and scholars are more necessary than guards.

So you found a place tucked away in glen thickets and stone walkways, so you learned to pursue your craft of words and thoughts until a foreign place felt like home and accepted you as one of its own. No life is easy, not while monsters like orcs and trolls still roam the uncharted territories in between cities, but Rivendell is a peaceful life, and it does good by you.

If you cannot find strife in the danger of fighting for your life, however, you will make it yourself. Resting is a difficult thing, even though it shouldn’t be that way. If you rest too long, you start to think, and if you think, you start to realize that you are technically an outsider here, not born within the stone spirals of Rivendell but of some other place, and that means you must prove that you deserve to stay here for longer. Those who stay must have meaning. What, then, could possibly be yours?

You’re a writer, then. Fine. Could your writing compare to those around you? Even the least of the elves still have centuries on you, so much time to hone their craft. By comparison, your scribblings must look juvenile at best. You’re trying, sure, but effort can only get you so far.

You’ll have to catch up on time, then. That’s doable. It should be, at least. You pour hours into the study of manuscripts and texts in the library, force your quill to paper so many times you think you might as well never lift it up. You may not have time as your virtue, but you can force it to work for you anyway.

The problem is getting your brain to cooperate half as well as your hands. Your pattern of frantic writing starts to wear away from you as you attempt to keep up the pattern from dawn until dusk day after day after day. It is exhausting work, but it shouldn’t be– isn’t this writing, what you decided you wanted to do forever? If you were truly gifted at it, this wouldn’t take so much effort, and it certainly wouldn’t drain you the way that it does. Maybe that is another failing, one more thing that separates you from the elves.

You hadn’t realized others were aware of your inner strife until you got a visitor one month after winter ended. He comes with bloodied hands washed clean, armor placed in an unlocked box for quick access, sword still within reach. Peace does not come easily to him either, son of the North, but it does not come easily to anyone. Aragorn might disguise his torment better than you, though. Or so he pretends.

You were not aware that he was stopping by. Perhaps you should have known, if you had spent more time outside of your study instead of unsuccessfully trying to burn through the latest chapter in your work. Regardless of what you could have learned, the result is the same:  your old friend stands in the doorway, shaking his head with mock solemnity even as he fails to hide a grin.

“Y/N, friend, have you ever been able to let yourself enjoy your time here, or must you always suffer yourself to your pages?”

You stand up with a smile and walk over to greet him. “Aragorn, how lovely to see you. What brings you this way?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Tracking business. There are rumors I don’t like about goings-on near Mount Doom, but that’s neither here nor there. Also, I heard that you weren’t doing as well as I would care to imagine.”

You stifle a groan. “You’ve been in contact with Arwen, haven’t you? Tell her she has nothing to worry about.”

“I would if I believed I wasn’t telling her lies,” Aragorn muses, “you seem too tired, my friend. Your brow is lined, your eyes are weary. What is the meaning of this?”

He does not say it angrily, or in any demand for information, just a concern for his friend. It is this and this alone that finally convinces you to open up.

“I need to do it,” you tell him at last, “I need results. I need pages of writing to make up for the fact that I lack the experience of the elves. I may be tired, but I feel like I have to prove that I deserve to be here.”

Aragorn shakes his head, looking surprised. “That cannot be. Who has told you that a person cannot merely live and have that be enough? Not every task must be proven right or proven useful, Y/N. You do not have to outwrite the elves, that truly is impossible. You are here to follow your own path, not theirs.”

You sigh. “It is difficult to not compare my writing with theirs when we live in the same place.”

“I remember that,” Aragorn says thoughtfully, “growing up and learning the way of the sword from elves with many decades already more than me was challenging, but it teaches you things that you would not know from mankind. Do not let them affect you, Y/N, intentionally or not. Only do what you wish to do. That is why you are here, not to do what they can but what you can. That way, they can learn from you as well.”

You run a tired hand across your face. “So you really came all this way to tell me to relax?”

His face splits in a familiar grin. “I figured you would need some advice. Besides, it truly is good to see you. It has been too long since we last spoke.”

You agree with that. “That means you could visit more often, you know, instead of tracking random animals through the wilderness.”

He frowns with pretend indignation. “My tasks are more important than that.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you tease, “you never visit long enough to tell me. And when you are here, you spend all your time following a certain Elf-maiden around. It makes for difficult conversation.”

He laughs. “You’re impossible.”

“Of course I am,” you say gleefully, “that’s why we’re friends. Thank you, though, for your words. I do appreciate them.”

“They are true,” he reminds you, “it is okay to rest. It always will be.”

It is a good message, this. Hard to remember and even harder to practice, but still good. You will try to apply its power in the days to come.

lotr tag list: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @gods-fools-heroes

[vickyvicarious]

Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break down. He raised his hands over his head in a sort of mute despair, and then beat his palms together in a helpless way; finally he sat down on a chair, and putting his hands before his face, began to sob, with loud, dry sobs that seemed to come from the very racking of his heart. Then he raised his arms again, as though appealing to the whole universe. "God! God! God!" he said. "What have we done, what has this poor thing done, that we are so sore beset? Is there fate amongst us still, sent down from the pagan world of old, that such things must be, and in such way? This poor mother, all unknowing, and all for the best as she think, does such thing as lose her daughter body and soul; and we must not tell her, we must not even warn her, or she die, and then both die. Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!" Suddenly he jumped to his feet. "Come," he said, "come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same."

I feel like today's entry, and specifically this scene, is a key characterization for van Helsing in much the same way Mina going across town to rescue Lucy was for her.

He has been running himself ragged trying to solve everything himself. While he's not willing to tell the truth to people, I do think it's out of a protective instinct most of all. He also treats Lucy like a child. This is depriving her of respect as a fellow adult, and excluding her from key information about her own life and death. That's definitely no good either, but once again it seems clear to me that he means it well, and is trying to comfort and protect her. He's trying not to burden other people with knowledge that will only hurt them. It's a serious flaw, but not one unique to him by any means, and not maliciously meant.

In a way, his anguish over being unable to warn Mrs. Westenra about the danger of what she did without killing her (and thus possibly Lucy) sums up his feelings about telling the others about vampires. It's just, the danger they will face isn't physical. But he'll destroy their worldview if they believe him, he'll cause them deep anguish and fear. And if they don't believe him, he might destroy his own relationship with them, and he might lose his ability to try and save Lucy. At the same time, nothing he's trying is succeeding in saving Lucy anyway. It feels like every single time he makes any progress or thinks he finds some kind of solution, he returns to find her dying again. No wonder he talks about fate; it's like nothing he can do is able to help. How can this even happen, without the power of all the devils surrounding them and actively working against them?

But then we come to the defining moment. Because van Helsing refuses to give up. Even if it's a fight he's destined to lose, he's going to fight it all the way to the end, because Lucy doesn't deserve this. He lets himself break down, can't help it - but he ensures that he doesn't show any of it to Mrs. Westenra or Lucy. He tries to be gentle and smiling with both of them. And he gives himself only a minute before getting back up and heading in to resume the fight again. He donates blood himself, this time, and then volunteers to stay up with her for multiple nights to come, even though he sent both younger men home after their own transfusions, and was just talking about how much exhaustion has built up for him.

He hates everything about this. But above all, he wants to protect people. Whether that be their emotions/innocence (in many ways misguidedly), their health, or their soul. He will give all he has, will push himself to keep going until the very end to protect them as best he can.

[carefulfears]

Thoughts on the X Files Revelations episode and what it brought to the mulder x scully relationship?

okay i just rewatched this one so y'all are gonna get some exhausted bullet-point rambles from me <3 much love

1/

the first thing that i noticed while rewatching is that when mulder and scully are speaking with "saint owen" in the attic, mulder is standing with them and engaged in the conversation until it turns to scully's personal religion.

when owen points out her cross necklace, mulder turns to face the wall while they discuss it, only barely peeking back for his smartass church joke.

this almost reminds me of the way he tends to freeze and avert from loss (his mother's hospital room in herrenvolk, scully in the ICU in redux ii, emily's coffin, the little girl's body in paper hearts, etc); he often tries to avoid realities that he isn't prepared for, as though he's surprised and bowled over every time.

in this moment here with owen, he's being avoidant and catty, but it similarly appears that scully's faith is something he's taken aback by, even just in evasion.

2/

after owen is killed, scully begins the autopsy, and mulder continues his comedy routine/bible lecture.

when scully says that she believes in miracles, she believes that god's hand can be witnessed, mulder asks, "even if science can't explain them?"

this is really the core conflict of episodes like this, that center around faith or religion. neither of them know how to move forward outside of their roles, and so much of scully's position depends on only adhering to what science can prove. it's what she's told him so many times over the years in response to his own theories, and both of them waver in the loss of that absolutism.

a couple of episodes earlier, in nisei, she told him that believing is the easy part, that she needs proof, and he had responded, "you think believing is easy?"

part of what makes faith-centered cases difficult for them both is that mulder doesn't have it, and believing is easy for scully.

mulder spends his whole life wanting to believe in something that would allow the kind of comfort people find in faith. it isn't easy for him. it's hard to always be seeking.

he needs proof in order to believe too, but scully has her beliefs without the science that she holds him to, without the burden.

later, in gethsemane, she tells him that proving extraterrestrial life is not her dying wish. and he asks, what if you could prove the existence of god? wouldn't you try, like i try?

she says no. that god can't be proven or disproven, and it doesn't matter to her.

in revelations, he shuts down her claims of faith, and doesn't consider her point of view. when he leaves on another bad joke, the pause that she takes before returning to her work is so telling. this isn't how they interact with each other. something is different, with this case, with this topic.

the look on her face and the way she squares her jaw is almost of someone who's ashamed/afraid to speak up, who's biting her tongue. this isn't what she does, with him, either. and it has a different connotation on rewatch, with the things she says later in the series about authority.

3/

in conversation at the motel, things haven't changed. mulder is still a laugh-factory, dismissing any explanation with religious connotations. scully is still watching him and learning from him, as she has been since day one.

when she finally just snaps and asks, "how is it that you're willing to go out on a limb whenever you see a light in the sky, but you're unwilling to accept the possibility of a miracle?"

he responds instantly, "i wait for a miracle every day. but what i've seen here has only tested my patience, not my faith."

he waits for a miracle every day. it wasn't that long ago that we saw him weep in a church.

"well, what about what i've seen?"

what about what she's seen? what about what she believes? what about her experience?

4/

in the end, mulder's being a sweetie, bringing her coat and asking if she's okay. it worries him when she's not being logical. when she's acting like him.

he says it, in all souls, another faith-based role reversal: "i’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated and it scares me because i don’t know why."

i hate to see people call him hypocritical for this; they both do it. they adhere to their roles so strictly, and there's something uneasy for them that comes with watching the other stray from what they find solidity in, whether that's belief or rationalism.

this scene captures the intent of the script so well, it is sad. this is a sad episode. she's watching him and learning from him and she knows that she cannot share this experience she's having with him.

5/

in one of the series' most affecting scenes, scully goes to confession for the first time in years. not to confess, but to confide. the language in this scene is so specific and emotional, as she tells the priest that normally she can talk to her friend about things but she cannot talk to him about this.

that's such an isolating place to be in, for your closest person and your most pressing struggle to be so at odds.

she tells the priest that she believes she saw things that helped her to save a life, but she wonders if she even saw them at all, because her partner didn't see them. he didn't believe. and usually he believes in everything.

that's such an isolating place to be in, for your hopeful seeker to turn a blind eye.

this isn't the last time that scully will be in this position, so alone in what she experiences, wondering if it's even real if mulder doesn't see it too.

and this scene sets the tone for so much of her character, as she confesses that she is afraid. that maybe god is speaking, and no one is listening.

i know this one is less thought-out than usual, if there's anything here y'all want to chat more about/go into deeper just shoot me an ask. kisses.

scully in this episode is something i've dabbled around with a bit in my writing before here.

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: The New Meds Turn On Me

The new meds side effect wave hit hard and dangerous Thursday, but I'm not sure it didn't start a lot earlier.  

Okay, so I had a viscous headache last Friday night for about three hours, which didn't particularly shock me, as my body just does stuff like that.  Same Saturday.  Normal.  Sunday.  Monday.  I made a note to mention it to the doctor Tuesday morning, but forgot.  I noticed Tuesday's headache at the same time was absolutely crushing for three hours, then shut off like a faucett as if it had never been.  Which is creepy and wrong.  So I'm now weighing if the new meds improvement is worth creepy three hour debilitating headache every day, and if I should call it in the next day.

So Wednesday I wake up to one of my body is very, very bad days.  which is a thing that happens sometimes, especially if my body's been to far which between the uncleaner and the extreme heat and this being the worse time of year for my allergies and assorted RL commitments including the doctor is not weird.  Plus I'm... I forget how many days in on struggling to type on Klaus Laptop because its hard to lift my arm the extra nine and a half inches, and i'm mostly having to drink with a straw because i go half my wake cycle not being ably to lift a full glass of water that high and I'm dropping things because my arms are fucked.  which happens.  All of it really stresses out my body though, you follow?  

So sometimes the alarm goes off because I have to go somewhere and my body nopes out of it, or tries to.  So I'm exhausted.  I have the shakes.  I end up way late to pick up Goth Millennial because it's just that hard to move.  So I drive Goth Millennial around and wait in the car while they do errands.  Goth Millennial goes outside to putter in the garden.  I lung, then take a nap, all with Tavy glued to my chest, because it's sometimes better after a nap.  Resets everything to a more acceptable level of crappy.  

I make it all the way up to minimally functional by the time the other Millennials arrive for dinner.  One of them had brought pre-marrinated and cooked tofu.  Me: I think we should make rice for it.  With coconut milk and saffron and Turmeric.  New Millennial: Oooo!  That sounds delicious!  Me: It's possible I'm edging up towards Indonesian happy rice except I don't have any lemon grass.  But I do have Bay leaves....  So it ends up with New Millennial Making Rice and the two of us keep consulting on spices until i have to lie down again.  The results we excellent.

Tavy is still clearly traumatized from the Uncleaner.  He loves techie Millennial.  Techie Millennial was the first visitor he let pet and play with him.  He hid from the Millennials when they arrived after nap time.  He did eventually come out and watch them for a bit and even rubbed against Techies legs, but ran if it even looked like someone might tough her.  I'm still so angry about the uncleaner traumatizing him like this.

Really, I just wanted to go to bed after they left, but I needed to stay up for the morning allergy treatment.  My body was really not moving well, but I dragged myself there and back, which nearly did me in.  I did manage to prep for bed and climb in, which really fucking hurt, at which point the first wave of hallucinations and fast heartbeat and arrhythmia hit.  So that was fun.  Me: Guess that's it for new Meds.  They were amazing while they lasted.

They must have been really busy at the doctor because they didn't get back to me until afternoon.  I left a message for my doctor's nurse, conveying that I was having severe side effects and needed to know if I should go to the ER.  No one ever got back to me.  The heart stuff got really bad for four or five hours, always with visual hallucinations.  I thought about calling for help, but my right arm wasn't working and my left wasn't great either, and it's usually eight hours minimum to get seen at the ER and they yell at you if you bring in chest pains that turn out not to be a heart attack, and the pain only happened when I moved so it was likely just torso muscles screaming about my arms.  

But the supper high irregular heart beat for hours can't be good.  I wrote this waiting for receptionist call back Friday morning.  I was 36 minutes in on the wait as I typed this sentence.  I really think they should check my heart, but if they are this busy... Yeah.  I'm assuming if it was really dangerous, they'd return my call from yesterday instead of continuing to ignore my message.

[awellboiledicicle]

Order of rescue for the subgate au:

Shadowheart, Astarion, Lae'zel, Gale, Karlach, Wyll and then when the Sunbeam communicates a week in, Halsin.

Shadowheart's pod sank because Stalkers bit the flotation devices and Tav knocks on her pod like 'hi', before kicking a Stalker away and gesturing her to follow them. She does out of sheer 'im not getting to the rendezvous point on my own' and she's just happy not to be alone.

Astarion's pod has a reaper sitting on top of it, essentially. Upside it can't actually hear the emergency ping. Downside Astarion is like 90% of the way into a day long panic attack after watching the reaper eat sand sharks and sit still for several hours. Tav gets him out through sheer power of banging rocks together then swimming away really fast while Shadowheart gets his attention and gestures him out. He proceeds to make it to Tav's pod expressly on adrenaline and then melts to the floor. Partially bc exhaustion and partially because he doesn't want to think about reapers right now, but they can both hear it screaming at Tav in the distance for about an hour. After a span Tav pops up through the bottom hatch like "Good news bad news." "Bad news first." "Bad news is i scanned the thing from inside a coral tube and it ate the scanner after breaking the tube. So that's a loss." "And the good news?" "We rescued whoever this is! Oh, and i got the data. If the PDA is telling the truth, it hunts by sound. So like, downside, it can probably hear us. Upside, the Aurora is making a hell of a lot more noise."

Lae'zel is a day three and Tav less rescues her and more runs into her while exploring for materials. She is armed with a sharp rock and an empty water bottle. Tav is a little intimidated. Lae'zel meanwhile is just happy she wasn't the only one to survive.

Gale spends four days trying desperately to not look down. He knows, logically, if he wants to be rescued with the others, he needs to leave the pod to go to the rendezvous point. He knows to get there he'll need... supplies. Equipment. And that means materials. Which means leaving the pod. But every time he opens the bottom hatch its just.... darkness and he can't see the bottom and anything could be in there and the one time he made himself get in he heard NOISES and nearly choked on the seawater. He's not a coward, far from it, but he IS apparently afraid of not being able to see the bottom. Tav and Lae'zel find his pod and he promptly screams his way out of the pod to the top of it because Lae'zel opened the bottom hatch after knocking and that was a bridge too far for him. He promptly knocked both himself and Tav into the water in his scramble. He was exceptionally embarrassed about the whole thing, especially when Tav brings up the possibility of towing his lifepod to the shallows so they could have double the power available if they pulled the solar cells later. AKA he sits in the pod reviewing all the scans Tav's compiled while Lae'zel and Tav haul the damn thing along behind them using creepvines and determination. He tries to make up for it by designing a habitat in the event rescue is delayed-- which given the whole 999999999 hours until response that Tav got? Likely.

Karlach and Wyll get rescued on day 5 and by this point they're both huddled in Karlach's escape pod because she dragged him bodily inside when she saw a reaper coming. They have been sitting in silence for three days, aside of the screaming and quietly eating and drinking. Tav honestly didn't mean to go to the dunes, but they saw the ping for Wyll's pod and figured they were legally obligated to go see if he was alive. The three booked it ASAP. The interpersonal issues were worked out while sitting on top of either escape pod and stating their cases. Astarion got dragged into mediating as the lawyer. He was largely unhelpful, aside of pointing out that Karlach was being used as a purchased asset, making her not liable for anything she did under orders--owned by mercenary raiders or not. So even if his bounty was for her, her 'owner' Zariel would be who he'd legally have to go after--otherwise taking Karlach in would be considered theft under Alterran law, even if the greater Federation considered actual ownership of another person illegal. Tav ends up being the one to point out that none of the legal points actually matter because they're all up shit creek without a paddle or a submarine.

Halsin gets to meet the gang three weeks later when the Sunbeam actually realizes it's not a bullshit distress signal, and then gets within range to actually send a "we're coming". He's blissfully unaware of that, though, because his radio's been busted the whole time and the only functioning thing is the fabricator and solar panels. He's spent the last three weeks weathering the fucked up weather patterns of the planet on land, digging out the Degasi bases enough to live in the ruins and be growing things to keep alive. He's poked around the alien structures but hasn't attempted going inside yet-- he's kinda anxious about making first contact, if there's anyone inside. Mostly because he's not... he can work out first contact with a moderately aware hive mind. He can work out how things communicate to one another, but not so much sentient and sapient cultural communication. He just doesn't want to fuck it up. So he's taking extensive notes and trying to postulate what kind of being would come from Mass Extinction Planet-- not that he has that data, because every time he tries to go in the water there's Warpers. Or a reaper. He chose no. Meeting up with Tav and co is essentially them all rolling up with a few seamoths and a couple seaglides and jumpscaring him while they have the same reaction. They share data while they wait and Halsin excitedly asks a million questions about every observation.

Naturally, once the Sunbeam goes boom, they all opt to investigate the alien structure because what the fuck. AKA Gale, Tav, Halsin, and Astarion want to. Astarion just wants to know about alien shit because goddamn would that be a mental leg up on everyone if he discovers something about it first. Promptly gets mad when he remembers literally only Tav brought a scanner when they thought they were going to be rescued.

[littlehen]

Medical complaining

My boss just sent me home from work because I’m poorly. I’ve been poorly since 30 November and I had two weeks off in December (in bed over Christmas) but I came back to work and predictably I’ve got worse again. At least I’m not uncontrollably coughing any more, that was actual hell, but now my tonsils and neck glands are swollen up and every time I swallow, it hurts. I just want someone to jab a steroid in my throat to make it calm down, but you can’t see a doctor in person these days.

At my GP surgery, you can sometimes get a phone appointment on the day if you call them up at 8am. There’s no phone queue, no call-back service. You either get through or don’t. At 8am you start phoning and just re-dial, re-dial, re-dial until at 8.50 you finally speak to a receptionist and get told they have no appointments left and ‘you should have called at 8am. You could always try the Walk-In Centre at the hospital’ (where there’s a seven hour wait, plenty of time to sit around and catch covid). For my appointment before Christmas, I had to call 78 times before I managed to get a phone appointment and then the doctor put me on the shortest possible run of antibiotics and that was it, good luck. Impossible to get a follow-up appointment.

This morning I tried and got through about 8.15. All the appointments were gone for today. ‘We had a big queue of people at the surgery this morning and they took all the appointments.’ I said, but your outgoing message says ‘do not come to the surgery unless you have a scheduled appointment.’ I was phoning because I thought I wasn’t supposed to just turn up. She says, ‘yes, but people do, there’s nothing we can do about it.’ I was like, yes there is, you can not give them appointments. That’s rewarding people for doing the wrong thing. (And presumably people who are well enough to stand and queue are less desperate than me phoning from my bed?) She just told me to try the hospital Walk-In Centre. (My GP surgery has the best reviews in my local area, I shudder to think what service is like at the other ones.)

So, feeling devastated, I went in to work, because if I’m at home I’m just sitting around focusing on my throat pain, and at least at work I get distracted. But I was really tired. I told my boss my problem and she sympathised, then said ‘oh! We have employee insurance, so you can use that to access a private GP!’ She looked up the phone number and gave it to me and told me to go home. Like: great, but also she knows I’ve been struggling since November and she’s just telling me this now?

And one of my colleagues is off sick because she has covid, I can’t catch covid on top of all this, I really can’t, I won’t survive it

I called the private healthcare provider. The private GP does 24/7 appointments so I can speak to a doctor tonight at midnight. At the NHS doctor I would have to describe my symptoms over the phone, but the private GP has asked me to send photos. There’s posh. I mean in an ideal magical fantasyland, I could get a real live human doctor to examine me, in person, but the only way to get that is the bloody Walk-In Centre and I’m too exhausted to go traipsing down to the hospital. Everything you see on the news about hospitals right now is apocalyptic.

Suppose I’d better go now and point my phone at my tonsils and take some of the ugliest photos my camera has ever seen. Fingers crossed I get some medicine as a result. I’m so done with all this.

[thatwitchrevan]

like these are examples of my literal tendencies and other things about how I think/interact, all of which are tendencies and therefore do not happen in literally every applicable situation:

wanting to clarify things even if it's not strictly relevant

wanting to answer questions sometimes even if they're rhetorical or the conversation has moved on

sometimes having strong feeling about the 'order' or 'point' of a conversation and getting annoyed or confused when it doesn't pan out that way

being irritated by contradictions or mistakes

being stumped by questions and unable to answer/speak because I don't know if the answers that come to mind are correct - especially when being asked about stuff like how I'm feeling

being frustrated when someone has misinterpreted what I said

over clarifying and over explaining

overthinking about if I understood something correctly, if I was understood correctly, up to days after a conversation

being very hesitant to ask questions, give answers I'm not certain of, or be asked something I don't know or am not sure of out of fear of being wrong

being disproportionately annoyed about clickbait and similar types of embellishment - just generally any form of insincerity that's made to promote something or make you look good (white lies, exaggerating about yourself) rather than for the purpose of humor or connecting with others

not small talk itself but false pleasantness. I'm polite to people by default and if they're rude to me I'm either rude back or feel cheap and annoyed at having to continue to be polite or even neutral. If I don't like someone I keep conversation to a professional minimum. if someone I don't like is continually talking to me beyond what's necessary I do the bare minimum of response until they stop. I understand why people pretend but I don't GET it and it's very hard to push myself to do that. I've worked in the customer service industry for years and a lot of the way I behave IS masking and does come from the expectations in that field but it takes so much out of me, and I cannot perform it for coworkers on top of that, so with my boss, who I do not like, I refuse to make small talk, and it's strange to me when other people who also dislike her still make small talk with her.

when people make general statements or take a general statement from something I said and I feel like they're taking it too broadly and I wanna be like 'well there's so much nuance to that' or when people ask me a question that's just too broad and my brain shuts down

customers will come in and ask if we have like wig glue for example and the answer is we have a couple things that are kind of for wig bonding but 99% of the time not what they're looking for but even though most customers are indeed like 'no that's not what I need' I have to describe or show them each product just to be sure almost every time

almost any time I've made plans or offered to do something and it didn't pan out I feel a little like I lied or something. like I threw out the possibility of making cookies for work again last Christmas and didn't do it and I still feel a little twinge of shame and disappointment about that and feel like people remember even though I know they don't and it's utterly inconsequential. that times everything I've ever said I might do. and everything everyone has offered to do for/with me (that I remember) is similarly filed under 'did they mean it? would it be annoying to bring it up again? did they change their mind?'

just like. so many things like this. weighing connotation and nuance and trying to predict what people mean, following long and exhausting trains of thought, having trouble being both clear and sincere, uhhh. brain stuff.

[northwest-cryptid]

You know I thought Woodcutting was going to be the way to make money in OSRS but it's really not compared to something like fishing.

Consider the following: At level 10 fishing you can use a rod and bait to get Herring and Sardines, Herring sell for roughly 140 (the same price as normal wood logs) and Sardines sell for roughly 80 (the same price as the ash you get from burning logs) both uncooked, in fact cooking them lowers the value (not entirely sure why? I assume it has to do with buying them for cooking EXP).

You need bait to catch them, but bait on the high end can be bought for 5 gp a piece; so even if you only catch Sardines you still make a 75 gp profit per catch.

There's a bank in Al Kharid with a fishing spot just south of it, literally visible on the same screen as the bank. No need to run, in fact it's shorter travel time than the Oak trees. Even if you run out of bait somehow, you can always use a small fishing net to bank Anchovies here. Which raw go for 28 and cooked go for around 50 a piece. Which isn't quite as much as the 140 - 150 a piece Herrings; but considering Fishing is a totally automated system that can grant multiple catches from a single click you're doing less manual work than you are cutting down each individual tree for literally the same profit.

The trick is to buy something like 1k bait ahead of time. Home tele to Lumbridge and take the gate to Al Kharid. Run down to the bank and start fishing; just drop all your fish in the bank as necessary. Once you've exhausted your 1k bait grab some runes from your bank and tele back to Varrock, sell them at the GE and simply Home tele back to Lumbridge, it's going to take more than 30 minutes to use up all that bait.

Consider the following: If we spend 5 gp on each piece of bait that's a total of 5k spent on bait. That doesn't SEEM like a great investment considering a full inventory of wood logs comes out to just about 4k. However remember that if we only catch the lowest possible sell profit of Sardines we're coming out +75 gp per catch. So let's say we catch 1,000 sardines; since it doesn't seem like baiting a fishing spot can fail. That 5k just became a PROFIT (so not you know, total value, but how much you actually make back) of 75,000 gp. If we instead look at max profit from Herring which can sell for around 140 we're realizing that the profit goes from 75 to 135 or a total profit value of 135,000 gp profit from 1k bait fishing in the easiest fishing location.

All the while getting more EXP in fishing so we can fish at better locations. Though admittedly the proximity to the bank in Al Kharid makes this one specific location extremely fast for profit fishing. Not to mention the only fish that sells for more without membership is Swordfish, when specifically cooked which sells for 225. This requires Lv 50 in Fishing and Lv 45 in Cooking. All in all, the best profit to time I can see for fishing actually only requires level 10, a fishing rod; and some bait. With every 1 bait being a profit value of 75-135 gp.

Now technically speaking this does mean I'm making less per inventory batch. Since with a fishing rod and bait I only have 26 slots and with a full inventory of Sardines I'm only making a profit of roughly 1,950 gp depending on the actual sale price given that the GE tends to fluctuate a bit and underselling can actually assure a sale much faster than waiting for an eventual sale. Which as a non-member only having 3 sale slots fast selling means higher profit turnaround. However it's undeniable that fishing is much faster to get results than obtaining a full inventory of Oak logs, burning them all; collecting the ashes and selling them for roughly 10-20 gp more per batch.

This is all amplified by the fact that fishing is ultimately automated to the point I can pretty much just click off to the fishing spot every minute or two and wait until I either hear the sound of my inventory being full or until I notice that my character is no longer fishing as the spot has moved.

Considering I need to make around 9m to get even a single bond, the idea seems much more automated than manually chopping wood for hours for a marginal increase in profits.

It's very funny to me to think about how I used to play OSRS when I was a child, back when it was just "RS" I would do a bunch of quests, mine and forge the higher tiers of armor; explore the world and actually work on my skills. Now as a adult playing this game, I recognize how much I can get through by just having enough gold.

There is plenty you can't just skip over, and I like that; I still need to engage with the world and it's mechanics and such. However, for the most part my attention has been set to making money rather than doing quests or even improving my skills outside of what might be necessary to open new potential money making methods.

I did quests to get enough quest points to sell better things at the GE, I leveled woodcutting and fishing to obtain the ability to make more money with those respective skills. Hell I even leveled my combat skills specifically so I could walk through otherwise hostile locations to get to these money making spots without having to worry about things attacking me, since I believe it's if you're twice the level of a hostile mob they won't attack you unless provoked.

I can't emphasize enough that this isn't a bad thing, if anything the idea of playing OSRS as a sort of "numbers go up money making game" is very enjoyable to me.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Ineffable (Dream of the Endless x f!Reader) - Chapter 1: Daydream

Masterlist - Playlist

best to read the *preview* first before this one

previously on Ineffable....

"Listen. I have a... request. And as such, it is up to you whether you will accept it or not," he mutters deeply, his voice a mere whisper yet I have a feeling it can reach the farthest corner of this room.

My eyes stays locked onto his blue, and I realize I've held my breath for a minute, reeling from what he said.

"Go on," I implore. I want to add, For you - anything.

But I bite my tongue, and wait.

-----------

He pauses, as if rethinking his decision. I wonder what it could possibly be concerning, if he did not bring it up with the others in the room.

"You're not getting rid of me, are you?" I jest, although there is a tinge of worry in the pit of my stomach, some part of me thinking that he would actually do that.

Well...even if he does, I certainly won't go without a fight. I am valuable here. I belong here. For once, I no longer feel as if I'm running away from something, or towards some impossible goal. I've got my feet firmly planted in place, and I know who I am.

A year ago, I was just a normal student living in a shared house in the London suburbs. As normal as can be, that is. For someone like me, that was a feat. It all started when I was 5, one afternoon when I spoke to my father. Nothing out of sorts there, one would think. But I was speaking to him without uttering a single word, while I was in the room upstairs with my door shut.

"C'mooon Dad, I wish you'd please bring back pizza next time. I'm bored of the salads and all that."

"Sure thing, hon." his voice echoed in the kitchen, "Although, you still have to get some greens every now and th..."

He had whirled around, expecting me to be there. But I wasn't.

I came downstairs an hour later, and he'd chocked the incident off to exhaustion. I was too young to understand what I'd done, but the more it happened, the more wary dad got around me. Thankfully, he didn't really end up treating me any differently. My dad said I was special and it reminded him of my mom. And soon thereafter, we developed a game out of it. I'd figured out that in order to communicate through thoughts, I have to be the one to first direct a message into another person's head. Then, I can hear their responses to me. It's not the same as reading minds, no, and I for one am utterly grateful that it isn't. Not long after, I developed other... powers too - which initially did not manifest in the best way, and so I tried to stifle them for a long time.

It came as second nature to me, I thought other kids could do it too. Up until 1st grade, when I repeatedly asked Marianne if I could borrow her crayons, and she'd started crying and yelling at me to get my voice out of her head. Since then, I'd learned to reel in my thoughts and not cross into other people's heads. But I do slip up sometimes. The results of which are either comical or downright infuriating, on my behalf and theirs.

And at 21, while trying to make ends meet as a student and bookshop clerk in London, I met Fiddler's Green. Gilbert, he called himself.

He had walked in the shop, his towering stature and curious demeanor appearing to announce his entrance. I tiredly looked up from my post, and took him in as he tipped his hat in my direction.

He strolled over to Fiction, and began his perusing. I let him take his time, looking over at him again a few minutes later, and noticing Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys in his hands.

"Hmmm... sadly I haven't read that one, but I have to say Good Omens and Coraline were impeccable works of his. I'd happily recommend this author..." I sat up, startled, my thoughts had clearly pushed over to him. Please be busy, I thought to myself. You did not hear me. I am simply thinking to myself, that's all there is to it...

"Is that so?" he thought out to me, "Well, I suppose I'll be giving this one a try then."

I wanted to apologize, or to give some sort of excuse, anything. But something told me that he didn't mind. He had this steady smile that was just comforting, that I nearly forgot about my slip-up altogether.

Until... "Don't worry about it, dear. Our thoughts can escape us sometimes. That does not necessarily have to be a bad thing. On the contrary, your advice truly helped. I'm in for a great read, indeed," He jovially comes up to the counter, "So I'll be taking this one, please."

It's safe to say that nothing was ever the same after that day. And I had Gilbert to thank for it. I'd ended up moving in with him, and his wonderfully eccentric collection of flatmates after I was shortly kicked out of my flat, and never looked back.

From then on, I'd learned more about myself and my abilities. Rose Walker and Gilbert were the first people, after my father, to truly see me and accept me for who I was. They understood my abilities, for they too were like me.

And so, if Morpheus thinks I am going to give up this life easily, he is sorely mistaken.

But...

"No," he seems surprised, "Why would you think that?"

Oh, I don't know. You barely speak to me, for one. Apart from when we discuss important matters that relate to the safekeeping of the Dreaming, or when I throw a question your way that you act like you're answering purely out of courtesy.

"I just... what do you really think of me?"

"I...," he starts, and I can see that he was caught off guard, but in plain Morpheus fashion, he tries to appear unaffected.

I stare him down, not letting the question dissipate between us.

"I find you... intriguing," he says after what seemed like the longest pause, "I mean... you're certainly someone who has become important to the Dreaming. I know Lucienne, among others, has grown quite fond of you. And her judgment is one that I hold in the highest regard."

"Hmmm," I am pleased at this, but dare I press on? "But, have you?"

"Have I what?" He asks slowly. Did I stray too far? I may have gotten cocky there, but I hold my ground.

"What I mean is... I have made friends here. No... family. Lucienne, Merv, Matthew, Rose, Gilbert...." I search his face, "Almost everyone, but... you."

His expression loses its signature stoicism, and he gives me a look that is tortured and amused at the same time.

"Am I not a part of that?" The corner of his lips lift slightly.

"Of course you are." You may be the most important of them all. The most captivating. The most perplexing. I add, "But sometimes I feel as if... you'd rather not be."

The silence weighs heavy afterward. But for some reason, I don't feel weary. Not even anxious. I've said what I wanted, and simply being able to be so candid with him like this, strangely gives me calm.

"I... apologize if I've been rather... cold... towards you. If you've felt overlooked or unwanted, it was not my intention," He whispers, "You are...important... to me."

I feel arrested in my seat, all the blood rushing to my head making me feel lightheaded, if that were even possible in this realm.

"Thank you," I manage, "It's okay..."

"No.. you have to know that..," he pauses, "that it's not easy for me. It never has been. These...things."

He stands much closer now, looking down at me, his gaze keeping me in place. When did he get up from his seat?

I take a deep breath, and rise, decreasing the gap between us further.

His eyes flit from my own to my nose to my... lips. He looks pained.

"Especially with you... I...can't..." His words are barely discernible.

"Can't what?"

Another pregnant pause. He rests a tentative hand on my shoulder, as if testing the waters.

And as if this moment was never so pressing, he turns away.

Well, that was something. Nevertheless, this is probably all he can give me right now. In my time around him, I can see how being the literal Lord over an important aspect of the human condition can take its toll.

"You had a request for me?" I try to steer the conversation into a neutral area, "Is it about the mission I have with Gault?"

"About that. I've just decided that I will come with you instead. I need to show you something."

This was a surprise. The two of us have only gone on a mission alone once before, and this resulted from all the others being occupied with their own thing.

"But it can wait," He turns back to look at me, "You should rest."

"Well, technically, I am dreaming," I smile at him.

"You know what I mean," He gives me just a hint of a smile and then starts to leave.

"Morpheus," I voice out in his thoughts, he pauses in his step, "You're important to me too."

He turns back halfway, and I swear I can glimpse a full smile over his shoulder.

"Sweet dreams, y/n."

End of chapter one.

Neil Gaiman reference! I just had to..

Thinking of adding some *spice* to the main plot, and seeing as I'm a sucker for some jealous!Dreamboat or jealous!Reader-- which do y'all prefer? A bit of Corinthian x Reader, or slight Dream x OFC??

Worry not! The Reader's abilities/background will be more fleshed out in the coming chapters.

Also, this fic WILL contain angst. However, I want their relationship to develop healthily and naturally, to some extent. We'll see!

[woozingie]

1:32

member: woozi genre: domestic fluff! word count: 1k content warning: mentions of sex lil note: if this isn’t what came to me the other night when i realised it was not 10pm but in fact 2am and i was still writing like a madwoman Jihoon shakes his head a little and chuckles at the sight of you, sprawled out on the couch of his studio, lips slightly parted to let out tiny breaths he can only hear in the silence of the night. He gets up from his desk chair, grabs the blanket carefully folded under the table specifically for times like these, and realises he has one last obstacle to face before victory is his: your hands are still resting on your laptop as you sleep soundly. The device has to go before he can tuck you in and call it a success. The clock reads 1:32am; you didn’t even last an hour, the thought pulls the corners of his mouth into a smile.

See, Jihoon is known to be busy, but you’re no stay-at-home partner either. You have work to do, work you love doing, and your free time does not always align with his. But when you are both busy—the type of busy that requires to stay in one spot and force something good to come out of just sitting there and staring at a screen—you make the most of it. For its cosy feel and dreamy aesthetic, you always choose Jihoon’s studio. Who’s allowed in? No one if empty-handed. Who’s on speed dial? Mingyu, only if he agrees to cook for you so you eat more than fast food. How much do you mutually distract each other? Actually, very little. Sure, at first it was hard not to turn every break into a game of have we had sex on this surface and how quick can we make each other come?, but thankfully, the honeymoon phase does fade away, and the importance of a job well done takes over the satisfaction of an orgasm. You once mentioned to your lover that it was Audre Lorde who wrote that a fulfilling sexual life helps you find what you truly love in life by looking for orgasm-like bliss in daily satisfactions, which he had found endlessly funny and had inspired him some dramatic moaning every time he got a sound right for a new track. He loves making you regret you ever mentioned that.

But there is a major difference between you and Jihoon: one of you has learned to sleep whenever possible, and work whenever there is an opportunity for peace and quiet. That person is not you. Yet, you had made up your mind to try and work until 5 or 6am, whenever the music man decided a night of work well done was completed. You got to the studio at 7pm with dinner, and Jihoon took a break to eat with you and chat about his day. By half past eight, he was itching to get his headphones back on and so you pulled out your laptop and announced you’d be working along with him until morning. “Really?” he had simply asked, eyebrows raised high, not buying it one moment. But he knew better than to point out your overly ambitious plan, and so he went to work, discreetly checking on you from time to time. At 10:30, you got up to get a coffee. By 11:30, the sounds of your yawns were more frequent than the sounds of your keyboard. At forty past midnight, Jihoon turned around and stared at you, as if he had something terrible to announce.

“You should sleep,” he said in a serious tone. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. I don’t mind, you know that.” “I’m good! I can still go until like, 2am, and if I don’t regain some post-fatigue energy after that, I’ll get another coffee. Look! I’m so awake!” You point at your widened eyes and all he sees are two red, exhausted eyeballs. But he nods anyway, keeping the savoury “told you so!” for later. 

So, as expected, when he steals a quick glance at you not even an hour later, you are fast asleep, laptop screen now black, your hands still ghosting over the keyboard. The sight is endearing, but you’ll never need to know that: he takes in your slightly furrowed brows, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your legs twitch a little bit as you fall into a deeper sleep. He feels sorry to have the privilege of seeing you vulnerable like this more often than anyone else, but to enjoy it so rarely because of his lifestyle. He brushes off the guilt quickly though, because you only complain when he apologises for it. Jihoon knows you support him unconditionally, whatever that may mean. He knows he could decide to turn his back on his career and work the land, and your only reaction would be how excited you are to move to the countryside with him. He just wonders if he is truly returning the favour, or exhausting your patience a little bit every day. 

But then he reconsiders. You’re asleep in this uncomfortable position on his studio couch because you tried to pull an all-nighter to be with him, be like him. Your voice echoes in his head as he remembers you saying, “I need someone focused enough to keep me focused too.” He made nothing of it when you said it as you made your plans the night before, but now he sees it as your way to express how much he influences you. How he makes some things easier for you. He doesn’t need to do anything to be helpful, and he should understand that, because you do that for him too. 

Just this time, though, he’ll be helpful on purpose. He lets the blanket fall into a fluffy pile on the floor, takes the laptop out from under your hands ever so slowly, and puts it away on the table. He picks up the blanket and covers your sleepy figure, admires his handiwork, and snaps a picture for future proof he was right: you can’t pull an all-nighter, babe. But it’s ok, he thinks to himself. Now the studio smells like you.

[cutelittlevamp]

Marked

Well, hello there^^ hope you're all doing good

Now, strangely, this onshot was a damn dream I had (to say I was distraught by it would be an understatement ...)

Either way, if it's yandere or not ... you can judge that. I think it could be if I worked it out

So far it's a Leech Twins x Reader x Rook (and I seriously don't know why Rook showed up. Like I said, I dreamed this sh*t, bare with me)

Stay healthy everyone^^

tw: biting; blood; angst; getting chased; reader thinks they might get eaten

______________________________________________________________

“Eh, Jade, do you think the little Shrimp tastes as good as they smell?” “Well, there’s only one way to find out. Shall we Floyd?”

You were running as fast as you could. The familiar forest path seemed so much longer today and you kept on stumbling over rocks and roots you normally knew to avoid. The twins did not know the woods the way you did and you guessed that may be the only reason they hadn’t caught you just yet. That - or they were playing a very cruel game with you.

They had definitely been surprised when you managed to slip out of their hold and lock yourself in another room of the house though the only reason you managed that was probably that they thought you weren’t able to walk anymore with your hurt leg. Lucky for you the doors were really solid which gave you some time - not to calm down though. No, more to open the window and then continue to climb down the wall in the safest way possible. You still hurt your foot a bit on your way down but that was the least of your worries. Trying your best to ignore your now aching foot and bleeding bite wounds you turned and ran towards the forest as fast as you could. You could hear the door give way and Floyds calling out to you just as you reached the treeline.

You didn’t turn around to face him. That was way too risky. The chance you had to actually get away from them was slim enough already. There was no need to give them even more advantage than they already had.

Your neck was hurting like hell from where the twins had bitten down into the tender flesh. They seemed delighted when you started to scream in pain.

“Our angelfish really does taste divine.” “Hm~ I wonder what sound they’ll make if I bite their side …” “Or their thigh?”  Well, you screamed, of course but it felt as if they grinned into your skin, satisfied with your reaction.

You had thought they were your friends. You had trusted them. How could they do this to you?

Your inner thigh was bleeding, the pain from where Jade had bitten you was almost unbearable and seemed to get worse with every step you took. It was far worse than Floyds bite by your right rib cage yet that one didn’t help with your breathing either. You wanted nothing more than a short break to catch your breath and calm your raging mind but you knew that if you were to stop you’d break down on the spot and wouldn’t be able to go on anymore. That couldn’t happen.

Who knew what they would do once they caught you? You didn’t even want to imagine it.

Having strayed from your normal path through the wood might have brought you a bit of an advantage. Even though there was no real pathway to follow, you still knew these woods and they did not. You just hoped that they weren’t able to smell the blood that drenched your shirt by now.

By now you were merely stumbling over the roots. Just keep on walking. Maybe you could get some help if you somehow managed to reach the village. You knew the way. It wasn’t that far anymore. You just had to keep on walking - a gloved hand clasped over your mouth from behind. As exhausted as you were by now your trashing and fighting against the hold was weak but you still struggled …

… at least you did until you heard voices a short distance behind you. Two voices. Definitely the twins' voices. 

But if both of them were still a bit behind you then who -?

“Don’t worry, Trickster. If you’d allow me to offer my assistance, I’ll get you out of this messy situation, tout suite.”

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT PHILLY

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-

Harry is predictable.

He falls into the same patterns during every tour since he was on the Up All Night with One Direction.

The excitement that comes with the first couple of shows begins to fade as he starts his world wide tour that doesn’t end for nearly eight months.

His constant adrenaline wears off and his exhaustion from not having toured in two years settles deep in his bones.

YN senses it from a mile away, has nearly eleven years experience dealing with her jet-lagged, exhausted, and stubborn husband.

It hits the day of the Philadelphia show, they got in late the night before, and YN always set her alarm for seven thirty in the morning to workout.

Ninety-five percent of the time, Harry got up with her and they either did a jog around the new city or they took advantage of the in-hotel gym.

Four percent of the time, he would whine and tug the comforter over his head, whimpering, “M’too tired, baby. Stay in bed w’me.”

And then the one percent, which was today.

The alarm emits a low, constant beep that rouses YN, in the time she takes to rub her eye and come back into reality - Harry hisses with a sharp edge, “Turn tha’ fuckin’ thing off.”

She bites her tongue at his tone, reaching to turn it off but she can already tell what day they’re going to have.

YN slips out from under the covers and automatically gets a comment from her husband, it another whiney demand, “Cover m’feet, y’too the blanket off them.”

“Yes, your majesty,” YN replies reproachfully, rearranging the blankets before quietly moving around the room to change.

“Stop makin’ so much noise.”

“Turn off tha’ light.”

“S’too early f’this, d’you not care that m’tired?”

She chooses to ignore the remarks, hoping that he can sleep off the attitude.

When YN is about to leave, he grumbles, “Y’need to kiss me goodbye.”

Harry purses his lips for a soft kiss, not moving a muscle, and after that - she leaves to head down to the gym.

YN is required a body guard, definitely when she isn’t with Harry or a group of people, and she decided not to follow those rules today.

She had her TPWK water bottle in hand, a cute workout set on ***, and her AirPods tucked in her ear with some Spice Girls playing.

It’s only about twenty minutes into her exercise, a light jog on the treadmill, that a young girl slips up beside the machine.

YN is kind, stopping the belt to smile for a selfie before the girl scampers off and she resumes her run - music blasting.

However, what YN didn’t know, is that fans had found out early in the morning which hotel they where at and a hoard was rushing towards the small gym.

It’s not even ten minutes later when a swarm of fans in rushing into the work area, lining up around her machine with their phones flashing and recording.

She tries to be nice, “Hey! Uh, I’m just trying to workout. I’m sorry, but no pictures please.”

Then there is loud protest and people shoving each other, begging and pleading for a selfie or for her to sign something - all because she was Harry’s wife.

There is literally no exit to escape to, so she relents and anxiously calls Frank - one of the body guards - to come retrieve her.

-

The whole way back up to her hotel room, Frank is lecturing her about safety and how she could have gotten hurt.

And when he scans the keycard for her hotel room, she feels her stomach drop because Harry is sat against the kitchen counter.

His brown locks are rumpled and going every which way, just in his briefs that are low on his narrow hips, and absolutely irate expression on his face.

“Are y’fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Harry snaps, brow furrowed and jaw clenched - his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

“Good morning to you, sunshine,” YN mutters, shutting the door and kicking off her tennis shoes to the side.

“Don’t,” Harry replies sourly, “Please explain t’me why I get woken up by Frank to be told y’getting mobbed in the gym? And y’didn’t to call him.”

YN bristles at his tone, giving him a pointed look as she steps further into the room, “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Y’right about that, y’weren’t thinkin’. It is a big deal, y’could have gotten hurt - shouldn’t have t’babysit m’own wife,” Harry huffs, stomping back over to the bed and sliding back under the covers.

“You better watch your tone-“

They’re interrupted with a knock to their door, Harry throws the covers over his head and leaves YN to open the door.

It’s Jeff, who barges in with a coffee in one hand, “Come on, H. Did you forget? You have soundcheck early today and then you have to meet with FullStop to review the details of that new merchandise contract.”

“No, move it,” The popstar groans, muffled from the heavy blankets over him, and his manager and wife give each other a knowing look.

“We can’t. Get up, we need to leave in fifteen,” Jeff replies casually, unbothered as he sips from his to-go mug.

It has Harry dramatically ripping off the covers and getting out of bed, as he charges off towards the bathroom, he shouts backwards, “Wish someone would have fuckin’ told me! Like m’manager or m’wife!”

“Oh my god, here we go,” YN groans quietly to Jeff, snatching up the few things she needs for the venue as well as Harry’s and shoving them in his duffle.

He comes out a few moments later, dressed in running shorts and a vintage Queen shirt - going to tug on his Nikes without a word to either.

But in true Harry fashion, even when he’s mad, he’s still a gentleman. He slips the duffle off his wife’s shoulder so she doesn’t have to carry it.

“Thank you,” She murmurs but he avoids eye contact, being the first to open the hotel room and trudge towards the awaiting car.

It’s a quiet ride, Harry looks out the window with a deep frown and puffy eyes - eyes heavy from the lack of sleep.

Usually, he’d be curled into YN - snuggling as close as possible and asking for her to pet his hair to soothe him.

Not today. But he does have his hand on her thigh.

There’s already fans at the arena and Harry doesn’t acknowledge them - keeps his head down and walks quickly into the private entrance past the barricades.

When a irritated fan screams, “Asshole! We waited all night here for you!”

YN watches as Harry goes to turn, to say something but she pushes him forward through the door to prevent him from doing something he’d regret when wasn’t in a foul mood.

They manage through the long hallways, filled with bustling tour crew, and everybody there to make the show happen.

Sound check isn’t as fun as it usually is, the band stays low-key when Harry does exactly what he needs to do and nothing more.

And after the merch meeting, Harry has reached his limit apparently.

He was so tired, so fucking moody that he couldn’t deal with anymore human interaction.

YN has to step in when she gets a text from Harry Lambert.

Come get your husband. Sarah’s Kitchen.

She sighs, excusing herself from hanging out with Jeff and Glenne - she can hear him from the hallway and now she’s finally get irritated.

“I asked for that specific brand. It’s literally one of the only things I’ve asked for on this tour.”

YN takes a deep breathe before stepping in, there are crew trying not to stare as Harry complains to Sarah about something unimportant.

“Harry,” She says flatly, “Come on.”

He snatches his water bottle and follows his wife out without another word, trailing behind until they end up in his dressing room.

“You need to stop. You’re being a literal nightmare today,” YN tells him, watching him as he digs in the duffle.

“Where is m’charger? Did y’not pack it?” He ignores her words.

“I must have forgot. Harry, I know you’re tired but you can’t be treating everyone like-“

Harry pushes back the bag, seething for no reason, “I’ll treat people however the fuck I want!”

“You’re acting like a spoiled popstar right now,” YN replies, attempting to stay level-headed and calm with him.

“S’my show! M’tour!”

“Yes and everyone is here to support you and you’re treating them like shit. Including me, I’m your wife - the one person in the world that’s here for you no matter what and you’re being downright mean.”

“Y’so fuckin’ sensitive,” Harry mutters angrily, digging around to try to find a charger in a different bag.

And…that stung a bit.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks up and notices how her demeanor had changed - it brings him back to reality for a little bit.

“I’m not going to stay here and be talked to like that because you don’t feel good. I’ll leave you alone because you are being insufferable.”

“Bab-“

YN is already out the door, storming back to Sarah’s kitchen to apologize for her husband’s diva behavior and everyone shrugs her off - knowing it’s not her fault.

She is sat down with the band and a few others when her husband saunters in, he doesn’t look at anyone else as he walks up to his wife.

“Baby, can I talk to you?” He mumbles, his warm hand coming to cup her shoulder.

“Harry,” YN says back, they’ve been together for so long that those words are all she needs to say for him to formulate a response.

“Come nap w’me please, need you. I’ll apologize t’you,” Harry says, his palm encompassing and big on her.

“Harry,” She repeats.

The crew looks on in amusement as Harry huffs, he lifts his head and speaks loudly to the room at once, “I apologize for my behavior. I have no excuse for getting upset like I have been today. I hope you guys can forgive me.”

Everyone assures him that they forgive him, most of them have dealt with actual spoiled celebrities and Harry was just having a bad day (which still really wasn’t that bad.)

“Okay, come on, bunny,” YN agrees, satisfied and can’t help but smile a bit when she stands up and Harry automatically intertwines their fingers to hold her hand.

The sofa in his dressing room folds out to be a bed and they still had hours before the show.

Once they’ve locked the doo and settled down on the mattress - they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” Harry whispers, “I haven’t been very nice t’you today. I was just upset about the gym thing and just being so tired.”

YN hums, combing throwing his fluffy curls with her fingers as his hands explore over her hips and belly like always.

“You always get like this every once in a while on tour, like a little spoiled popstar,” YN says softly, no sharpness in her tone, “You also need to be nice to your wife.”

“M’always nice t’my wife,” He mumbles childishly, leaning forward to nip at her chin, “I am sorry, know tha’ when I act like that it embarrasses you.”

“You’re better than acting like that,” YN reminds him, allowing him to tug her into his warm, now bare chest, “I’m never gonna let you turn into some fame monster. You’re gonna stay the kind, funny, compassionate person I met when I was young.”

And when YN doesn’t get a reply, she glances to see Harry’s eyes shut, mouth slightly parted as he breathes rhythmically and his entire face relaxes as he sleeps.

“Still my boy,” YN murmurs lovingly, nuzzling before letting sleep overtake her.

-