#fights over things you cant control 🫶

[pulsedmaggot]

me reading an annoying post: jeez its like these people have nothing better to do than get mad that rpf or shipping real people exists. its like theyre too immature to accept that the internet doesnt exist to please them specifically or to know that the shipping of rich rockstars is 9 times out of 10 going to fall under the radar of said rich (and often, not on tumblr) rockstars. what gives?

[checks their blog]

me: right right of course, my apologies 16 year old south park blog i should be doing my part in making these here fandom spaces more fair and accommodating for you

[auspicioustidings]

THE OMEGA DRABBLES THAT YOU KEEP ADDING ON…. So delicious thank you for the scrumptious meal i cant emphasize how much i fucking love it. Almost want to know how they’d react if reader still found some random alpha to fuck anyways 😩😩💕

not saying it as a way to pressure you into writing more ofc i hope it doesn’t come across that way 😭 also love your kinktober series! Please don’t pressure yourself if you ever get writer’s block for it! 🫶🏻

I fucking love omegaverse, like I only read my first omegaverse book when I was bitterly depressed and in bed at the start of this year and oh boy I have not looked back.

She would find another alpha to fuck is the issue. Lots of ways it can go, but I do love the angsty version even if the fluff or smut versions would probably be more fun.

Like she's not an idiot, she has some self awareness about this weird thing between her and pack 141. Ghost is over protective of her on missions even when he pretends he isn't, Soap consistently scares off other alphas who are around her when she's in the mess or rec room, Gaz is always brushing against her, touching her in the small ways he can without giving himself away and Price... she knows she fucked up with that shirt. She realised too late and by the time she went to grab it he had taken his laundry bag. And yet his shirts keep being left for her.

If she spent her heat with them it would all fall apart. She's barely managing to resist the pull to them as is, she's noticing that sometimes they aren't complete fucking assholes, Christ she's actually finding herself smiling over things they do or say sometimes.

Soap confronts her over the heat clinic paperwork. He's mean, they fight. He says some absolutely horrid things to her about how she's slutting it up with civilians, how she's going to embarrass the whole department presenting like a bitch and whining for alphas. He knows he crosses the line, but he's so angry without understanding why. He barks her. He fucking barks her. "Ye'll naw go tae some fucking clinic tae whore yerself out. Withdraw the application."

It's well over a boundary. Once she withdraws it, it's too late to resubmit even after the bark wears off. They had been in base, she hadn't had any sort of ear piece in to help resist a bark because it was unthinkable any of her allies would do that to her.

He doesn't realised what he's done. Like he storms off thinking he's been a right cunt to her but that she'll go to a clinic anyway because his plan to convince her to spent her heat with him went completely to shit before he could even propose it.

And because he tells the others that's what she did, they all think he's right. They're all mad at her when she gets back from heat leave, cold. Gaz will not touch her. Price doesn't leave shirts. Soap leaves her to the mercy of pushy alphas in the mess and rec room so she just withdraws entirely from those spaces. Ghost takes missions, just removes himself from having to see her at all.

Of course none of them know she spent her heat in one of the military's heat rooms because a sanctioned heat clinic will not take someone last minute (and she wouldn't go to a non-sanctioned one, that would be dangerous but worse could get her fired if found out). The military do not like omegas, so it's almost a punishment. Padded cell, clinical nest, cold hose downs every so often to keep her temperature down. Little camera blinking in the corner so someone can come in and sedate her if she starts hurting herself.

She thinks they are all being extra horrid to her because they watched her lose control, so she is just as angry at them if not more. It was a violation what Soap did, but to watch her in that cell lose her fucking mind? They can go fuck themselves, she's a good goddamn soldier and it's not her fault she needed to go through a heat. They'd never have survived it, they'd never have gotten through the pain and delirium of being forced to do it alone. She is stronger than they could ever fucking dream of being, and she is going to prove it.

(if you want to go ultimate angst version then the military heat rooms have officers fuck her through it and oh boy not only are they awful but they will taunt her with the video footage).

[gravytrainnaturebornn]

the power of self-talk in the fight against self-sabotage (for binge-eaters and ppl who have never been skinny🫶)

disclaimer: this is not proana. this is for people who struggle with binge eating as a form of self-sabotage, emotional comfort, self harm, etc. overeating can cause just as much harm physically and mentally as undereating. please be safe. now, on with the show!

weight loss, but specifically extreme weight loss, equals change. change equals discomfort, so people tend to subconsciously avoid change. this is why starting to see progress on the scale or your body can trigger the urge to self-sabotage that progress and binge eat.

for people who have been big their whole lives, that fear is heightened by the fact that being thin is completely uncharted territory. by following through, youre entering a new world that youve never navigated before. your brain might get scared, say its much too big a mountain to climb, and tell you to give up. its easier to say fuck it because for most people, unhappiness is a comfort zone. if youre used to hating your body and wanting it to change, then actually *changing* it poses a very serious threat to your comfort and the lifestyle youre used to.

questions like: "what if i reach my goal and im still unhappy/unattractive?" "what if i dont look like myself?" "what if i reach my goal, cant sustain it, and then i gain it all back and humiliate myself?" can all make someone feel anxious about succeeding in their weight loss journey. and for people with overeating issues, this is a big trigger for binge episodes.

so how do you combat this instinct to self sabotage? well, im not a psychologist so take this with a grain of salt, but for me it helps to soothe these subconscious fears and train the brain to fight these urges. self-talk and thought-correction play a HUGE role in rewiring the pathways in your brain that lead you to bingeing. truly, practice and consistency are the only things that are going to cause a big change, so stick with it !

correcting problematic thoughts *immediately* when they form is key to preventing problematic behavior in the future, and that starts with being able to identify those thoughts. the moment you catch yourself thinking about food, cut yourself off with a correction. maybe even think about food on purpose a few times to practice recognizing and correcting it.

for example, if you just ate an hour ago, chances are youre not actually hungry yet. tell yourself that as soon as you realize youre thinking about food. i like to tell myself "i dont need to eat, and im not gonna sabotage myself by eating that." by acknowledging it and calling it what it is--literally an attack, by my brain, on my own progress--i immediately attach a sense of accountability to the actions that follow. there's no deniability. its no longer a passive choice. theres no mindless eating or "i wasnt thinking about it." if i eat after acknowledging the act of eating as self-sabotage, then that is me *actively* choosing self-sabotage over self-control. accountability alone can change a lot if you let it.

what i tell myself changes depending on the situation, but i find that repeating some of these phrases throughout the day helps to fight urges in general, and certain ones help for specific cravings and situations.

below are some examples of things i tell myself that have helped me fight the urge to self sabotage. they dont all have to be true when you first say them, the point is training your brain to think a certain way. it may feel unnatural at first, but the more you say them the more natural it becomes, until eventually it becomes apart of the way you actually think and you dont have to work so hard at it. remember: consistency. is. key.

okay ill stop blabbing! here:

•i allow myself to be thin.

•i accept the change that comes with losing weight.

•i am ready to see myself differently and cope with any complicated feelings that may come with it.

•i am prepared for my body to change.

•i will deal with my wardrobe when the time comes, and im not afraid of dressing differently for my new body.

•i will adjust to my new dietary needs and appetite when i reach my goal weight. i will not always be hungry; eating less will be my new normal, and i will be okay.

•i am not afraid of being hungry.

•food does not comfort me, nor does it solve my problems or make me feel better.

•i am ready to navigate a life that looks different to the one im living now.

•i am not afraid of reaching my goal. if i do feel afraid, i am confident in my ability to work through difficult feelings and continue towards my goal.

•im not going to sabotage myself by eating that.

•i accept that people will perceive me differently, and i am ready to navigate that change.

•i am prepared to receive comments about my weight loss.

•i am not afraid of getting what i want.

•i believe i deserve what i want, and im dedicated to working towards getting it.

•i am capable of adapting to new routines and habits.

•fear is not a reason to give up, and i will continue to work even if the possibility of change makes me uneasy.

•i am prepared to face the future, even though i do not know what it looks like.

•i allow myself to make mistakes, and i will not use them as an excuse to quit.

•my long-term satisfaction is more important than what i want in this moment.

•i am in control of my actions and i am capable of resisting the urge to binge.

•i allow myself to have the body i desire.

•i allow myself to change.

•i allow my life to look different and i am not afraid to see a new person in the mirror.

•i am excited to reach my goal, and prepared to navigate any changes that come with it.

•i am ready to meet and introduce others to the new me.

[lizzie-is-here]

lonely is a man without love

part v- the boat

“we are all like the bright moon, we still have our darker side” - kahlil gibran

summary: the weirdest boat you’ve ever been on.

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: language, death, violence, abuse, red room, more episode five to come

a/n: hiii, i’m slowly getting back into my groove lmao. got the results back on my finals and scraped by in math, saw taylor in the pouring rain, ya know, normal things. thank y’all sm for being patient w these uploads. as always, hope you enjoy, love you all 🫶🫶🫶

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-yourcookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc @theluciansystem @kingtwhiddleston @spider-biter @mxltifxnd0m @sgt-morgan @no-dont-be-suspicious @onzayhe @namorslit @i-cant-write-for-shit @vainillasmil157 @doublevirgogirl @boofy1998

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Now, you’ve grave robbed before. The Red Room had some dirty work, literally and figuratively.

However, you’ve never grave robbed an Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb. Especially not with a man who’s kind of two men who are the avatar of an Egyptian god.

You’ve done worse.

Like shoving your hand down a mummy’s throat because Steven didn’t want to.

“Be gentle!” Steven yelps as you dig around the dead man.

You scoff. “What is he going to do, bite my arm? The integrity of the enamel is pretty shot now, I think I’ll be fine.”

Finally, your hand touches stone. Yanking it free, you victoriously present the ushabti to Steven.

He cheers as you both jump in excitement, passing the ushabti between you both to examine it. Your heart is pounding, both out of excitement and how close you are to Steven.

It turns out to be even closer than you thought when you look up, and almost bump heads with him.

For a moment, you just take in his gaze. How gently his eyes meet yours, deep and dark and entrancing all the same.

“We may have to fight our way out of here,” you cough, refocusing.

Steven shakes his head. “No, no. We can just sneak out a back entrance and-“

“Steven.” You rest a hand on his. “They have a way to track us if we have the ushabti. There are guards crawling all over this place. It’s going to get messy.”

In his head, Marc agrees.

‘It’s gonna be a fight Steven, she’s right.’

“No, no, not everything is a fight.” He’s not sure if he’s talking to Marc or you. “There’s more solutions than- than killing people.” You can’t disguise the way that his words sting.

A loud rumbling of footsteps echoes down the hallway.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

‘Give me the body, Steven!’

In an instant, the mild-mannered Brit is gone, and Marc is readjusting to having control again.

“This is bad,” he whispers, as the footsteps grow louder.

You chuckle. “Yeah, no shit.”

Watching you ready your weapons and aim at the entrance, noticing the way your breath trembles, Marc makes a split-second decision.

“You should run.”

“What?” You balk, never taking your eyes off the tunnel before you. “I’m not leaving you.”

“This is my mess, you don’t need to get hurt for me.”

“Too bad.”

The room is flooded with Harrow’s devotees as you finish your sentence. Dozens of guns, all trained on the two of you. You don’t waver, staring down the barrel of your own gun with a finger resting on the trigger.

“I remember the first morning I woke up knowing Khonshu was gone,” Harrow says, stepping up towards Marc. He doesn’t even act phased by the weapon pointed at his head.

“The quiet was liberating.”

It sounds hauntingly like the chemical-induced control in the Red Room. Voices in your head that aren’t your own.

“You’re a free man.”

Logically, you know that Harrow is speaking to Marc. And yet…

“And, of course, with that freedom, comes choice. And right now, you have a very important decision to make.”

Marc sighs. “Okay.”

He’s not one to give up. That much has been made clear in the time you’ve known him. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s planning something.

The moment he strikes, so do you, shooting down as many men as you can. It’s a whirlwind, Marc with a stolen weapon from the sarcophagus and you with anything you can get your hands on.

Of course, cornering a wanted mercenary and a Black Widow in a small space is a recipe for violence.

Harrow knows this.

You’ve heard a lot of gunshots in your life, even felt a good dozen or so. The scars littered across your body tell that story without uttering a single word.

So you know when you’ve been hit.

And you know that this one is bad. Really bad.

A shot to your stomach, then two more to your chest. You can feel your clavicle shatter and ribs crack, but you can’t hear yourself scream. Maybe you don’t even make a sound.

The pain is blinding and absent all at once, and the only thing besides the ringing in your ears is Marc’s panicked movements as he catches you before you fall.

“Hey, hey, hold on. You’re okay, I’ve gotcha.” His words are muffled, but you swear you feel him press a kiss to your forehead. Not such a bad way to go.

He’s cussing, holding you close and shielding you from the onslaught of bullets when he takes two shots to the back.

That’s all it takes.

He topples into the pool of water with you still cradled in his arms, and the darkness only gives you relief.

You don’t let yourself think about Sam, Bucky, and Steve. Or Tony and Peter. Not even Nat and Yelena.

About how the Avengers will hunt this man down. About how they’ll find your body in the water.

Will the world mourn a killer?

Well, the only “world” to you right now is the dark water you’re sinking in and the man holding you tight, so you suppose it doesn’t matter all that much.

———————————————————————

You open your eyes to a hell you never thought you’d return to.

A large, open room, cold and dreary. A woman looms in the corner and about twenty or so little girls look up at you expectantly.

When you turn to the wall covered in one large mirror, you’re met with something else.

A ballerina. White platter tutu bejeweled with gems, worn pointe shoes, your hair tightly pulled back.

The woman snaps her fingers. You instantly jump into the motions you thought you had forgotten, executing a routine with a kind of poised grace that would only ever come with the Red Room’s brutal training.

Finishing with a bow, not even breaking a sweat, you are dismissed, and the world seems to shift.

Now, the room you’re in is bathed in red light. When you look down, you’re in a Black Widow uniform.

You’re not too alarmed by this. No, what scares you is what you know lies in front of you. The bodies on the floor.

The sirens in the halls.

The man in the room, examining your technique.

There’s a fog in your head that you know all too well.

“The chemical seems to be working,” a familiar woman says. Her hair is done up in more braids than you can count. “It wasn’t even this successful on my pigs.”

“I don’t give a shit about your pigs,” the man growls. “I just can’t have another Widow escaping.”

You blink, and they’re gone. The room is white and the haze in your mind is receding. You’re still in the uniform, but you don’t mind that as much.

Wandering the bright hallways, you find yourself in a hospital. The lights seem to sway, and your balance is faultier than usual. Must be a side effect of the flashbacks.

Voices are echoing down the hallway, and you can’t help but feel that they sound… familiar.

“But Marc, Marc-“

“The hospital! That’s the imagination.”

Why would their voices be separate? They continue arguing as you turn the corner, just as Marc turns around.

His breath catches in his throat, as if he’s seeing, well, a ghost.

“Oh, c’mon,” he sighs. “That’s just cruel.” Marc walks forward, still not really believing in this whole “afterlife” deal or that you’re here.

Because that would mean you’re dead.

“Where are we?” you ask, hurrying around the corner only to see… uh, a hippo, and maybe more concerning, Steven.

You mutter under your breath in Russian, only stopping when Steven puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but-“

“We’re dead,” Marc finishes, groaning audibly. There’s no way around it. “Harrow, he- he shot you, and then…”

He blinks away the image of you, bloodied in his arms.

“Wait, if this really is the afterlife-” Marc says, approaching a door. “Then what’s on the other side-“

He flings the double doors open, revealing that the swaying of the building wasn’t a hallucination.

You’re on a boat. In the middle of a fucking desert. And you’re also apparently dead.

“Oh, what the shit,” you gasp. “Where the hell are we?”

Steven follows behind you. “It’s the underworld.”

You still don’t understand how the two are separate, even as Marc laughs and pats his alter on the shoulder. “I’m not crazy,” he sighs in relief. “I’m dead.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, watching as the boat coasts over dunes.

“We’re sailing to A’aru. To the Field of Reeds, right, Taweret?”

The hippo, apparently Taweret, nods. “Ah, so he’s the smart one, eh? Well, if your heart’s balanced in life, then you will spend eternity in paradise. The Field of Reeds!”

She coughs before reaching out her hands toward Marc and Steven. “But before we get there, I’ve just got to do a little…”

Her hands pass through their bodies like air, and when she pulls them back, in her hands are two, identical, white hearts.

“Oh, goody! It worked! Look at that! Here was little old me worrying I’d blow your chests wide open.” You wince, before stepping forward.

“I guess you have to do that to me?” you ask, hating the answer.

She nods, and just as gently removes your heart, cradling the three.

“You’re more of a standard case, really, no offense to you boys. We’ll weigh yours first.”

“What’s happening?” you whisper to Steven.

“She’s going to weigh your heart on the Scales of Justice against the Feather of Truth. The ancient Egyptians believed that the heart was the sign of who you really were in life.”

The space in your chest feels cold now.

“If the Scales balance by the time you end the journey, then your soul is permitted to pass into the Field of Reeds.”

You feel a chill run down your spine. “And if it doesn’t balance?”

“You get thrown overboard,” Taweret politely informs. “Whoo! The dead will drag you down into the Duat, where you will remain forever, frozen in sand.”

Wonderful.

You watch as she sets your heart on the scales, waiting for it to almost fall over from your heart’s weight.

But it doesn’t.

It sits rather politely, perfectly equal to the feather.

“I think your scale is broken,” you mumble. “I’ve done a lot of, um, less-than-balanced things in my life.”

The hippo shakes her head kindly. “No, the Scales aren’t wrong. However, your heart does feel heavier than most. Perhaps there’s something in the boat to help lighten the load?”

Next, she sets down Marc and Steven’s hearts. They had been talking in hushed tones a few paces away, but Taweret’s voice brings them back.

The scales are rapidly shifting, never stilling on one side or the other.

“What’s it doing, why is it moving like that?” Steven asks.

The goddess shrugs. “I don’t know. I do not have a card for this.” She carefully removes the hearts.

“Oh. It’s the hearts. They aren’t… full.” She chuckles a bit. “And trust me, I’m a goblet-half-full kind of gal, but… It’s like they each feel incomplete.”

Marc crosses his arms. “What does that mean?”

“Without balanced scales, the Duat will eventually claim your soul.”

“So what do we do?” you ask.

“This boat contains all of a life’s memories,” Taweret says. “Now, I don’t know what you two have been hiding, but my advice, get in there and show each other the truth. Balance your scales before we arrive at the Field of Reeds, or your souls will be destroyed.”

You don’t hesitate, hurriedly opening the doors, and jogging down the hallways as Marc and Steven reluctantly follow.

Behind the doors, you see flashes from their lives, intertwined and blurry behind the glass.

Behind you, they argue, going back and forth at an increasing volume until they start peeking in doors.

A scream comes from further into the ship. It’s a little boy. You and Steven take off after it, but only you seem to notice how Marc hangs back.

The sound came from a cafeteria, apparently. And at each table, there are posed bodies. Some bloodied, some strangled.

“Just a creepy caff filled with dead bodies,” Steven jokes as his voice shakes. “That’s all it is. No prizes for guessing whose room this is.”

Marc studies the bodies, before he starts naming locations. You know exactly what he’s doing.

“You killed them,” you say. It’s not a question.

“Surely not all of them?” Steven asks.

Marc is still looking at the countless people. “They were criminals. Murderers. Predators. The worst of the worst. Khonshu wanted them punished. It’s what he meant by protecting the travelers of the night.”

A pang of guilt stabs through you. He was killing the guilty. You killed the innocent. In another life, you might have been one of the bodies in this room.

“Marc! Look, the Scales are slowing down. It’s working,” Steven says.

“Okay, all right. So now what? Do you go next?”

Movement catches your eye. The small boy who called out before. But unlike the others, he’s alive.

“Marc, who’s that?” You point to him. The man pales visibly.

“Wait, wait, don’t go near him!” Marc pleads as Steven rushes after the boy, who runs off as quickly as he appeared.

Chasing after them both, you only catch up after Steven has entered a memory, with Marc banging on the locked door.

You start looking for other entrances when you see it.

All of Marc and Steven’s doors are white. They match the hospital and are denoted with a small crescent moon on the door handle. This one is made of dark, heavy metal. And you’d recognize that red insignia anywhere.

This is your door.

You don’t even bother looking in it. You see your worst memories every night, so why would you want to watch them again?

Turning back to Marc, you ignore the door completely.

“Let’s look for another way in, yes?”

You both race down the halls, peering in each door for Steven. However, the further you go, the more of your doors appear.

Marc can only catch glimpses of what’s inside. Red lights, gunfire, sharp commands in Russian. And lots of screaming.

He’s trying to push the sounds from that cave out of his head, but all he can hear is water. So much water.

When he opens his eyes, you’re staring into one of his doors. With a tentative press on the handle, it swings open.

The scene is a funeral. There’s no mistaking that. Two parents sit together, and a picture of a young boy is surrounded by flowers.

It all pieces together.

“Your brother,” you whisper. “He died.”

Steven nods from the staircase, soaked in rain and the memories of what he just saw.

“I want my RoRo back,” the mother says, voice hoarse. “I want him back.”

Light steps on the stairs reveal a younger Marc, eyes wide and teary. And you know exactly how this is going to go. Not that it makes it easier to watch.

You close your eyes as she blames the child, screaming as the family tries to calm her down. The boy races back up the stairs, and Steven follows with Marc not far behind.

You’re stuck in place, breath heaving as the mother, Wendy, sobs uncontrollably. Then you blink.

And you’re back in hell.

———————————————————————

Steven and Marc chase each other through more scenes of Marc’s childhood, through birthdays, and arguments, and when he eventually left that hell of a home and never looked back.

But when he tackles Steven, they land in a memory that isn’t theirs.

They see a little girl holding a gun. It’s clearly too large for her hands, given the way that her middle finger rests on the trigger rather than her index finger, but she aims it steadily.

She’s aiming at a man tied to a chair, bag over his head. Steven and Marc barely have time to look away before she shoots.

She doesn’t miss. You never miss.

The girl hands off the gun to a trainer, who nods in approval. As people come to clean the room and dispose of the body, she exits, the two alters following.

They both know it’s you. Neither of them want to say it.

The next room they enter, the girl is a bit older, maybe preteen.

An angry man with glasses looms over her while a woman stands in the corner.

“You failed the Red Room. We’ve put all this effort into making you perfect, and you can’t even finish a mission!” His hand flies out, striking her as Marc’s vision blurs. The sight is all too familiar.

“You… will be punished for your little ‘slip up’. Then, you’ll go back and clean up your mess. No witnesses can be left alive.”

The girl speaks in a way that seems detached. Cold, analytical. “But the witnesses aren’t-“

Another blow lands.

“Don’t speak out of line.”

The woman finally pipes up, her voice cold. “I believe she should go through her graduation ceremony. It will provide… motivation for the next mission.”

Apparently, there’s more to the ceremony than Marc or Steven know, because the little girl’s eyes go wide, and she finally shows emotion.

“No! No, please don’t make me! I’ll never fail you again, Dreykov, just don’t make me-“

He waves a hand. “Take her to the medical wing.”

The scream that the child in front of them lets out is guttural, and she pleads as she’s dragged fighting all the way to the door.

For a moment, she breaks from their grasp and falls begging at the man’s feet. It’s all breathless words and choked breaths.

Dreykov doesn’t even bat an eye. Not when the girl starts sobbing, not when the guards grab her again.

“We shouldn’t be watching this,” Steven says. “These aren’t our memories.”

Marc shakes his head, opening the next door. “We have to find (Y/N), and she’s probably in one of these.”

It reveals another hallway, but not one from the ship. A closed door beside them is marked as having a surgery in process. A hysterectomy. And from the sounds inside, you were both awake and without any form of sedative.

“No…” Steven says. Trying to block out the screaming and crying he can hear, muffled by the heavy door. “They didn’t…”

Marc nods. “I did some research on the Red Room a while back. They would… sterilize the agents for max efficiency.”

“Marc, we need to leave!” the British man exclaims. “These are very personal, traumatic memories that we’re sifting through, we don’t have the right to do this. You didn’t even want me seeing yours, and now you’re okay with looking at (Y/N)’s?”

The other man sighs. “How do we know she’s not digging around ours right now?” The two head for the next door, flinging it open. “For all we know, she’s watching what I didn’t want you to see right now-“

They stop in their tracks for two reasons.

Firstly, there’s a past version of you in the middle of the room, panting heavily. On the ground are 19 dead bodies. All young girls. You’re covered in blood.

Secondly, you’re here. Not just past you, but actual you. You’re perfectly still, watching the scene with an unreadable look on your face.

“(Y/N)?, what is this?”

You whip around at the sound of Steven’s voice. Only then, in the dim red lighting, do they see the tear tracks running down your face. You wipe them away.

“I got lost,” you whisper, voice soft. Your eyes keep flitting back to the bodies littering the floor.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “I was with you guys, then I blinked, and-“ A silent sob tears its way out of your chest. “-and I was here again.”

Marc and Steven can’t help the way their chests ache at your voice. Not confident or even sarcastic. Just scared.

The former surveys the memory frozen in time. The same man from the earlier memory, Dreykov, stands with another woman.

“What happened here?” he asks, attempting to get your eyes off of the floor.

You wipe your eyes again. “That man, Dreykov. He’s the head of the Red Room. And Melina-“ You point to the woman next to him. “That’s Natasha and Yelena’s mom.”

“After Natasha escaped, they started working on a chemical that would allow Dreykov to control every aspect of his Widows. My group was the first successful run.”

Steven keeps his eyes averted from the bodies. “So why are they all dead?”

“Girls are sorted into groups of twenty when they’re trained to be Widows. Only one survives.”

You stare down at the bodies of your friends, almost your sisters, battered and bloody at your hands.

“I killed them all. I didn’t even hesitate. It was me or them, and I-“ Before you can start spiraling again, you are suddenly wrapped up in two sets of arms.

Letting yourself relax into the group hug, you exhale a heavy breath. Being completely enveloped also has the added bonus of hiding the scenery around you.

“It wasn’t-“

You cut Steven off. “Don’t tell me that it wasn’t me. It doesn’t change the fact that I did it.”

His voice is muffled in your hair. “That’s not what I was gonna say.” It was definitely what he was gonna say, but he quickly changes his plan. “But this, you’ve already lived through all of this. You’ve grown, and now you’re an Avenger. Hell, you charged right in to help us and now you’re dead too.”

“Speaking of which-“ Marc pipes up. “You don’t seem very concerned about being dead.

As they guide you out of the room and back into the ship's hallway, you sigh in relief. Your shoulders visibly relax, and the darkness clouding your eyes relents the tiniest bit.

You offer a smile that’s still a little sad, but a smile nonetheless.

“Oh, please. One of my best friends is a multiversal being that can rewrite reality on a whim. I wasn’t that worried about being dead for a little while,” you joke.

The three of you walk down the hallway until a door that isn’t yours appears. It shows the desert at night, with a similar body count to yours sprawled in the sand.

But there’s another figure. Marc. Dragging himself toward a temple. A thick trail of blood coats the sand.

“Oh, great,” Steven quips. “More dead people.”

Marc’s eyes don’t leave where he’s crawling on the ground. The amount of blood loss is astonishing, really.

“Taweret said you have to tell each other the truth, right?” you ask. “This is part of that.”

Marc steels his nerves before sharply nodding. They just saw some of your worst memories; it only feels right to reveal some of his own.

With a shaky hand, he opens the door.

[nextstopparis]

What about some merlin questions are you up for that?

I'd like to know what your favorite episode or story arc is and also if you could write a canon compliant alternate universe fic that would come true which episode or moment would that be?

OHHHHHHH OKAY omg idk if this will be long but. if it is im sorry

my favourite episode has changed over time. it used to be the eye of the phoenix episode (bc of gwaine, ofc, but also bc competent/smart arthur is nice to see every now and again etc), but i think now its 2.08 (which im sure no one saw coming😫) however special shoutout to 1.09, 2.12, 3.07, and 5.13 bc 🫶🫶🫶🫶 (i also want to give SOME props to the troll eps because while they do make me uncomfortable and i think theyre ehhh… i also think some of the best writing for arthurs characterization came from them so. sigh. you win some u lose some i guess)

my answer for everything else sort of branches off from 2.08 being my favourite. i love the history between nimueh and uther and ygraine and i looovveeeee all the complications and twists and implications that come with arthur being born of magic. that the thing uther has raised him to hate and fight and whatever is directly responsible for his birth and so very inherent to him as a person—not just bc of his destiny but because its literally responsible for his existence. like we always talk about how big of a hypocrite uther obviously is but i dont think ive ever seen anyone talk about how deeply fucked up it is that uther has such a deep rooted hatred for the thing that—sure, may have killed his wife (though thats his own fault) but also—made the birth of his SON possible. and then made his son hate it and fear it as well. (and just the fact that it never quite stuck, anyway.)

i really like the story arc of 2.08 and how arthur proves himself noble and worthy to morgause just by virtue of being himself and sticking to his ideals. i love the interaction he has with ygraine (and the fact that it could be ygraine or it could be not ygraine or it could be mostly ygraine but not fully). i love that the first thing he says to her is sorry. i love love love getting a glimpse into how arthur thinks of his mom and the relationship he has with her and her ghost and so on. just everything about that interaction (from the hug to the reveal to the sudden loss to the lighting to the fact tHAT HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE HER to her saying she loves him shes proud of him uthers betrayal doesnt matter she wouldve given her life willingly anyway) is so so so good to me.

i also like the confrontation with uther. i cant tell you which one i like more because the idea of arthur having such vulnerable and significant interactions with BOTH his parents maybe a day apart is overwhelming even for me but. theyre both excellent in different ways. i love how cold he is at first when confronting uther and i love how he figures uthers hypocrisy out in 2 seconds flat and i love how he progressively loses the cold control and becomes so betrayed and angry and HURT and sksbsksnksjsks just. 2.08 is honestly one of the best episodes ever. i could go on about arthur in the scene with uther but like i dont even know how to articulate it. “you speak of honour and nobility. you’re nothing but a hypocrite and a liar.” really just speaks for itself. (ALSO THE FIGHT SCENE WHERE HES LITERALLY FOCUSED AND ASSESSING HIS FATHER LIKE AN ENEMY AND UTHER FUCKING AIMS TO TAKE HIS HEAD OFF EVEN THOUGH THAT MOVE IS NOT NECESSARY IN ORDER TO PROTECT HIMSELF? LIKE HE LITERALLY GOES FOR A KILL AIM AT HIS OWN SON TWICE DESPITE SAYING I DONT WANT TO FIGHT YOU AND IM UNARMED AND BLAH BLAH BLAH) (like this episode is great for arthur and thats the main reason why i like it so much, but its also a very telling episode for uthers character. LIKE HE HAS A CHANCE TO COME CLEAN AND JUST FUCKING LIES ANYWAY AND ACTS LIKE THE VICTIM OHHHHHHH IM sorry im getting angry. love the ep but the anger i feel because of how they chose to end it will keep me rolling in my grave).

that being said, if i COULD write a canon compliant fic (i mean u can find two here) i would change the ending to that episode. i dont care if merlins there and just doesnt lie or if merlin somehow is absent, all i would change is that arthur would not be lied to again. i would make it so that he knows the truth. thats it. i dont care if he kills uther (to be honest i dont think he wouldve anyway but maybe thats just me) i dont care about literally anything else id just. id let him have the truth he’s entitled to. and id let him have that memory of his mother.