#its the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

[thursdayinspace]

Since yesterday was the anniversary of the Sushi episode (Rm9sbG93ZXJz — yes, I just looked it up), here's a little ficlet, set after they came out of that warehouse. I was in need of some fluff, and also I love that episode. tagging @today-in-fic and @poangpals

Somehow, the night seems less quiet all of a sudden as they step back out into the street. It’s almost as if the world has been holding its breath, seeing how this was going to play out. Reality on hold. The nightly noises are back now, wind rustling the leaves, even their steps sounding less hollow. She feels almost dizzy, a little like waking up from a really strange dream. The world feels shaky, not quite solid under her feet.

Mulder sighs deeply next to her and stops walking. She stops too, turning sideways to face him.

“Was that all real?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Of all the strange things we’ve seen…” He laughs softly.

“That was definitely among the strangest, yes.” She laughs with him, shaking her head. “Remember those times I used to call your theories science fiction?”

“The ones you didn’t call outright crazy.”

“Yeah.”

His smile is soft. “Yeah. I remember.” He pauses for a second before he continues. “So. What happens next?”

She has no idea. But there’s always the safe option. “I should probably go home. I’m pretty tired.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He smiles at her and she feels her heart beating faster in her chest. The truth is, she wasn’t entirely sure at the beginning of this evening whose house she was going to end up in. Neither one of them had said the word, but that had been a date tonight. She’s sure of it. And if it hadn’t ended so abruptly, if one of them had said something… Her face falls as realization hits her. “Oh.”

“What?” he asks.

“I can’t go home. My house blew up.”

“You—Oh. Right.”

“I should…” She hesitates. “I should probably check on the state of it. To see if there’s anything there left to salvage.”

“Do yo want me to come with you?”

She doesn’t want to go at all. It seems oddly tempting to just forget about it, to pretend it didn’t happen. Honestly, if it burned down then it burned down. She didn’t really have anything of great value in there. Nothing she would really, truly miss, most of her personal items left behind in boxes at Mulder’s house because she didn’t want the reminder of their happier times. Truth be told, she never liked her new place. “You parked your car in front of my house.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you call us a cab? One with a real human driver.”

“Don’t you want to get your phone back first?”

She sighs. “You’re right.”

Everything is where they dumped it earlier and they gather their possessions—she leaves only the vibrator behind.

He calls them a cab. They’re quiet on the way to her house, both of them exhausted. When she gets out in front of what used to be her home, he follows her. There’s a last, lone fire truck there, and she chooses to stand and wait and process as Mulder goes to talk to whoever is in charge. She says nothing until he gets back to her.

“Well,” she says.

“Shit,” he says.

That describes it pretty well.

There isn’t a whole lot left.

She sighs and wraps her arms around herself. “I think I need a place to sleep.”

“You have a place to sleep,” he says simply.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She doesn’t have an answer to that question.

**

He drives them back to his house. She feels like she should say something, but even if she wasn’t very attached to her place, being pretty much homeless all of a sudden is not a great feeling.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” Mulder says quietly.

“It’s just… strange, not having a home.”

“You have a home.”

It seems he has made it his mission to state simple facts tonight. She has no idea what to say, but they’re pulling up in front of his house at that moment, and so she gets out of the car and waits for him at the foot of the porch steps. He takes his time joining her there. She knows he’s waiting for her reaction but she’s tired and none of her defenses are in place, and if she speaks now she’ll tell him how she feels, and then he’ll know.

So she watches as he locks the car and makes his slow way over to her. She follows him up the steps, into the house, stands and waits as he closes the door behind them. When he turns to look at her, she forgets to be exhausted, she forgets everything that happened.

His eyes on her are all that matters in the world. The softness in his gaze, the way he stands facing her, solid and unmoving, ready for her to step into his arms and be safe there.

She has never loved anyone this way. Nobody else has even come close.

And she’s done, she’s just done. The world is a mess. But she has something to hold onto. He’s here, he’s right here, and she can’t breathe for a second. She doesn’t believe in fate, but she’s so tired she’s just going to accept it as a sign from the universe that her house blew up after she failed to kiss him after their date. A huge fucking neon sign from the universe, an arrow pointing right at him, flashing letters saying “kiss him, you fucking coward.”

So she does.

She realizes she still hasn’t said anything to him. “You have a home,” he told her, and she’s been looking at him in silence ever since. She hopes he understands that this is her answer.

With a few steps she closes the distance between them and pulls him down into a kiss. He kisses her back immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and yeah, he’s right, she has a home.

She has him.

“Stay,” he whispers against her lips.

She smiles into the next kiss. “I don’t think I have any other choice right now.”

“No.” He pulls back, his eyes amused and hopeful at the same time. “I meant for longer than just tonight.”

“Oh.” She waits for her mind to start screaming at her that this is a bad idea. For the panic to set in. It doesn’t happen. “Yeah.”

He carries her up to bed for no other reason than that he wants to, and she wants him to. She falls asleep in his arms and wakes up there as well.

It feels like being home. Maybe that’s okay.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 33

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

I really need your reblog! On Tumblr, the content reaches more views and is delivered more through reblog and I really wanted more people to be able to read what I write. I'm counting on you from now on, ok?

Coming home after a day like that became your only goal. You longed for a warm shower, soft sheets, and, for the first time in a long time, a deep sleep. During the rest, your thoughts would rearrange themselves, and the next steps would unfold with more clarity. Little by little, everything began to fall into place, each piece revealing a fragment of what once seemed unreachable.

You no longer felt trapped, like someone with their hands tied, defenseless in the face of the unknown. Because now, finally, you knew your past.

Although still cloudy in some places, it was no longer a complete mystery.

When you crossed the door, the silence hit you like a punch to your empty stomach. You turned on the living room lights, but the space remained sterile, devoid of any sign of life. Even the kitchen counter was spotless, with no traces of breakfast dishes or any hint that anyone had been there.

Your fingers slid across the cold surface of the countertop, and a growing discomfort settled in your chest. The more you examined the perfection of that empty space, the less at ease you felt, from the kitchen to the slow, deliberate steps you took on the stairs.

With a lump in your throat, you walked toward the bedroom, each step echoing in the silence of the house. The doorknob was cold in your hand when you turned it, hesitating for a moment before pushing the door open.

The shock hit you like a dry punch. The room seemed... smaller. Or maybe it was just the absence of him that made it feel so vast and strange. The drawers were open, empty. The closet, once filled with clothes, now displayed only hangers with a few pieces, gently swaying with the draft escaping through the window crack. The desk, where he used to leave scattered notes and forgotten items, was impeccably empty.

Your chest sank. You blinked quickly, as if the simple act of closing your eyes and opening them could change that reality. But nothing changed. He was gone.

For real.

He had simply left, taking with him everything that could have been proof of his existence there. The pain came slowly, first as a tightness in your stomach, then spreading in cold waves throughout your whole body. Your fingers trembled as you touched the bed, feeling the fabric still stretched, untouched.

The truth hit you.

He was gone.

"So this is how you felt..." you said quietly as you sat at the edge of the bed.

Your body weighed like gravity had doubled its force on you. Every inch of that house felt different now, as if everything was a little out of place, a little wrong. The silence became deafening, filling every corner with a breath that pressed against your lungs, making it hard to breathe.

The pain was raw. Ripping.

You experienced in your own skin the same feeling he must have felt the day he was torn away from you without any choice. No matter how much of a mess things were between you, it never crossed your mind to simply leave, to leave behind the home you built together. As if the burning fury inside you for everything that led to that unfair situation wasn't suffocating enough, the deep pain that rooted in your chest and refused to leave only served to fuel it to grow even more.

Time seemed to stop.

And all that was left was his absence.

And through the wavering, tear-blurred gaze, you noticed something among the clothes still remaining in the closet—a small, discreet object that stood out among the fabrics. Your heart raced as your trembling fingers pulled the clothes aside, revealing the outline of a box. Something inside you hesitated.

You pulled the box out of its hiding place, where Noah, perhaps, had left it forgotten. Placing it on the bed, your eyes traced every corner of it, hesitating, while something uncomfortable crawled under your skin, like an intuition you couldn't ignore. Inside, there were papers, aged by time, and as soon as your eyes landed on the neat handwriting on a few of the pages, you recognized it immediately.

They were letters.

Nine of them.

Nine years.

"Just a few days ago, my therapist suggested that finding an alternative way to express my feelings could ease the weight I carry, without having to face one of my biggest fears: saying them to someone.

One of the biggest, because, to be honest, I’m afraid of many things. I’m afraid of making the wrong decisions, of never being good enough, of not becoming someone I can really be proud of. I’m afraid of dedicating my life to the band, putting everything into it, and still failing at not putting it where it deserves—failing not just myself, but my friends. Deep down, I think what scares me the most is the possibility of not being good enough."

"I never thought it was necessary to live beyond my own bubble. I always had a single goal, and within my obsession for perfection and control, nothing could deviate even slightly from what I had planned. I never saw the need for anything beyond that. I never had other dreams. I never saw anything beyond the band and the hard work to make it grow.

Until I met her.

I’ve never known anyone like her. Maybe because I never really knew what life outside was like. But she seems to have an absolute certainty about the world, as if she already knows every detail before even living it. She walks with unwavering confidence, makes decisions without hesitation. She has talent without effort, without preparation. And more than anything, she possesses something I’ve always wanted to know: the absence of fear—of living, of diving in headfirst.

With her, everything feels simple. She has this fury to explore, to experience, to feel the world pulsing. To get sick and heal, to get hurt and stand up again. Everything I believed about needing a controlled life crumbles in front of her.

She makes me want to be, at least a little, as brave as she is.

She’s made me her biggest fan."

"I have never felt this happy.

Things are working out in an almost alarming way for someone anxious. I don’t feel like talking to anyone but her. I have no other topic of conversation that doesn’t revolve around her. My eyes can’t capture anything around me except for the furious, blade-like gaze of this woman.

We’re growing more every day, carving out our place. Everything I ever dreamed of is finally becoming real. I feel good. My band is happening. And I fall asleep and wake up every day next to my greatest idol.

I never imagined letting go of the reins would work. But she was right. I can be free too.

Now, the only fear I have left is just one: forgetting all of this one day."

Wiping under your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, you folded the paper in half and set it aside on the mattress before picking up the next one.

"Four years together and we barely had a place to call our own. She gave me a beautiful ring, with a black stone on top, and I… well, I gave her a lightning bolt keychain. It was all I could offer, since everything we made went straight to the band. But things were going well—a solid second album, sold-out shows, our name appearing at bigger festivals—and that persistent feeling that our luck was about to turn.

Knowing her like the back of my hand makes me realize that something’s off. She’s been too quiet, too distant, sometimes acting in ways I can’t decipher. But I’m so immersed in the band that all I can do is hope she’s okay.

This will pass."

"She always dreamed of a bigger house.

We finally have a bigger house!!!!!!

Our house.

I thought our achievements would make our problems insignificant in comparison, but instead, they only grew. They say you never truly know the person you share a roof with, no matter how much time passes. But I don’t believe that, even though the woman of my life is self-destructing before my eyes.

I know her well enough to believe that tomorrow, this problem won’t exist anymore.

I can still save her.

Can’t I?"

"Maybe it’s just exhaustion making me overthink, and I shouldn’t give it so much importance.

But I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t know her as well as I thought. It feels like we’re hiding things from each other. She seems to prefer anyone’s company over mine, as if even the sound of my voice is an irritation.

We drowned ourselves in work, and it drove us apart. We barely talk anymore. She’s lost all interest in the band, always high, always altered. She says I’m suffocating her, but I don’t understand.

It’s been three days since she last came home. I should be writing music, but my mind refuses to function. The stress has been consuming me to the point of physical pain.

I never thought this thought would cross my mind, but now it’s here, relentless.

I think we’re ceasing to exist."

Your chest tightened, crushed by an invisible force with every word in that timeline written by Noah. You had never known what it was like to be on the other side. Overloaded routines served as a shield, pushing you both away from the real problem.

He stopped seeing you as the days passed, but only because, before that, you chose not to be seen.

"I achieved everything I ever wanted—almost everything. I spent years working to bring the band to this point. I dreamed of our name being praised by fans from all over, of world tours, money, critical recognition, seeing our brand everywhere. I wanted this more than anything.

And now I have it.

But I’ve never been so miserable since she left."

"I no longer feel like singing.

With each passing day, I feel more exhausted. The stage, which was once my refuge, now only makes me uncomfortable. Anxiety attacks have become frequent, my nights of sleep shorter and shorter, and my mind seems incapable of forming even two sentences. I’m drifting away from the very thing I worked so hard for.

My band.

I’ve distanced myself from my friends; I spend more time alone than I ever have. The reflection in the mirror is someone I no longer recognize. Maybe I’m sick because that’s how I feel—a body that only breathes and fulfills its obligations, without any pleasure in anything at all.

She definitely stopped loving me."

"We canceled a tour because I collapsed on stage. For the first time, I wondered if maybe I didn’t want to do this anymore.

I wish I could tell her that. Maybe she would understand. We always talked about everything... She felt this more than anyone when I forced her to keep working on my dream.

God, I miss her so much. I deeply wished she would feel the same pain I did, that she would be consumed by the same sense of betrayal, that she would experience the suffering of wanting every new day to be the last—just like I have since the moment she betrayed me. I wanted her chest to burn like mine, but every time I try to hurt her, it backfires, like an arrow missing its target and hitting me instead.

I’ve been hating myself more each day because I despise having to act this way.

I’m not like this."

Tears streamed hot down your face, mixing with the suffocating knot in your throat. You had never imagined the pain of separation had been so deep until you saw his words, until you felt, through them, just how broken you both were before you even had the chance to fix anything.

It was unfair.

Before you could even try—back when it was still possible—something bigger destroyed you both. It sickened you. It turned two beating hearts into mere breathing bodies, trapped in a cycle of absence and pain.

And now, all that remained was the crushing weight of what could have been.

With trembling hands, you began placing the letters back into the box, but before you could close it, something caught your attention.

There was another piece of paper.

Smaller than the others, almost unnoticed among the letters. Your heart faltered as you picked it up, feeling the weight of something different.

It was the last thing he had written:

"I feel like I forgot something important."

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

[crowsalvation]

This bed was ridiculously comfy, it curved around them in all the right places and Damon would agree to lay here forever- if that is what she wanted. He made a mental note to ask for the brand, already planning on buying one for them to enjoy together.

If they went home together.

That thought lingered as Elena skimmed through the menu. What would happen between them once they left New York? The tension would be unbearable—Caroline, Bonnie, and especially Stefan. Would they try to talk her out of this? Convince her this was nothing more than a mistake?

Elena stretched out next to him, long and graceful like a cat sunbathing, and he couldn't help but let his gaze li trail over her, committing every inch to memory. She was a sight he would never tire of—not now and not in a hundred years.

“I was planning on staring at you all night.” He teased but with a little hint of truth in it as a hand found its way onto her core, tracing a light and lazy touch. If it wasn’t for the sound of her stomach, Damon would just forget the food all together but he didn’t want her to go without because of his selfishness. “But we can eat first.”

Reluctantly, Damon sat up on the edge of the bed to get the phone and dialed the number for the hotel kitchen. “Hello, yes.” He started off, eyes skimming the menu as he named off the items they were wanting. “Make it rare. The lamb? Medium.” A complete guess on how she’d like hers done, he assumed she wouldn’t stomach it if it was too red. “For dessert, chocolate ganache cake.” A slight pause. “No. Let's do the whole cake. And the final thing…” Damon filled the menu over to the drinks side. “The finest red wine this place has.” The call was over with that, he could tell by the butler taking the order that it was an impressive sized order but probably not the most expensive this place has ever received.

Damon hung up the phone, satisfied. "It'll be here within the hour," he said, settling back onto the bed beside Elena. They could turn on the TV, watch a movie, or play some music, but nothing compared to simply watching her, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. How many nights had he slipped into her house just to check on her, especially when Stefan was away? How many times had he whispered silent prayers to whatever god would listen, hoping that one day he’d get to lie beside her like this?

“Oh you know me, impulsive and reckless.” Damon shrugged with one shoulder, eyes rolling playfully as he quickly thought back to all the unkind things she had said to him in the past about his behaviors, funny how things have turned. There was no real need for him to worry when she took hold of his phone, but that little sliver of doubt crept up  in his mind because he knew who it was. He knew how strong of a hold Stefan had on her for the longest time and there was always going to be that little bit of unease when it came to her and him. What he heard, however, was something he only dreamt of and Damon was left shocked, visibility, by what she was telling Stefan. Stefan would listen to her too, would do as he was told like a good boy but the witch, not so much. 

“I want to be selfish.”He took his phone from her, tossed it to the bed nearby and cupped her cheeks all in one swift motion. “I want to lock us up in this room-” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs before he slowly trailed them down her cheeks, over the curvature of her lips His thumbs followed her jawline, traced the length of her neck, and his eyes hungrily took her in. “-and not let anyone else in.” 

“Let’s order you something to eat first. I’m sure you’re starving by now.” After all, they were out the night before drinking and she’s gone hours at this point without eating. Damon tries to keep up with her human needs- the eating, drinking of the water, and sleeping. It was a lot to keep track of. “Then we can go out, explore the city together.” He couldn’t keep her locked up forever, it is not like they’re safer here where Bonnie could easily locate them than out there in the busy city. 

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her lips, and for a second, there was nothing else—no Stefan, no Bonnie, no looming consequences. Just them. But then, as always, reality found its way back in and he heard her stomach confirm what he was thinking. “Told you, “ He was smug about being right, and his kiss averted from her lips to her nose with a little peck. “You need food before I can properly ravish you.” Damon disappeared from in front of her, only to reappear on the bed with his inhuman speed, the menu for the hotel now in his hands as he reads on the listen what sounds good to them. “I’ll get… a steak, rare of course.”

[sammygender]

the thing thats always missing in conversations about gender in general is the fact that 'cis', as an identity, is not a innate Thing Some People Are, but rather a state of acceptance society grooms us into from birth

[tenderjock]

I’m with you, my love The lights shining through on you Yes, I’m with you, my love It’s the morning and just we two

[xxplastic-cubexx]

do u think either charles or erik had trouble coming to terms with their love for one another?? like religious guilt, internalized homophobia, etc.

Many such cases really … not hard to imagine them dealin with that …

[luvfy0dor]

Evermore best Taylor Swift album (through tears)

[dreadfuldevotee]

im hit sometimes with how desperately i miss my friends and its just...ugh its bad because i know we will never all be together again and thats life but there is that stubborn part of me that doesn't want to make New Friends. It's the novelty of feeling like I belonged for the first time and everything else has just felt...idk. shallow.

[frobby]

i love madoka magica however i dont think we as a fandom talk enough about how tragic madoka herself is. probably because the narrative itself steers you away from thinking about her personally. shes not a character shes a desire that homura has, shes a force of good, shes homura's foil. but those are all madoka's narrative roles but madoka herself as a person is not really looked at because we are viewing this world from an unreliable narrator(homura) who only sees madoka as those things. The best thing homura could have done for madoka was give up on her, to let her go. because every time we go back in time the image of madoka is distorted, she loses more of herself every regression of homura's as she tries harder and harder to save her. We don't even know what madoka originally wished for to become a magical girl in the original timeline. and she actually acts quite differently than the madoka we meet. shes a lot more honest and caring and bold. by the time homura's has reached the actual anime madoka has been reduced by the sands of time to a figment of herself. she has no wants or desires of her own beyond wanting to do good and help her friends and when all her humanity is stripped away is when she finally acends to godhood because thats all thats left of her. an ideal and a faith in her. madoka kaname died a long time ago and all that is left is her ghost.

[wickershells]

not everyone feigns sincerity

[flufallo]

DID NEIL GAYMEN WRITE DBD

He wrote the comics yes

[ccaptain]

Things that successfully fluster H:SR Kaeya and render him speechless:

- Pet names (sugar, sweetheart, darling, love, etc.) - Someone he considers close calling themselves ''his'' (ex. ''your [Name]'') or calling Kaeya ''theirs'' (ex. ''my Kaeya''). It really helps him settle with the closeness - Drawing him close by the waist, or simply resting an hand/an arm around there. There's just something- - Slipping off his gloves. Equals to something like a marriage proposal, and I wish I was kidding. Similialry, fighting the coldness of his hands to try and hold them - Very casual touches during completely normal situations (ex. talking with someone else and resting his hand anywhere on him, etc.) - Flirting honestly. As in the compliment you're paying him is so genuine in both tone and expression he can't overanalyze it - Talking low in his ear. I think he'd just act like a cartoon slowly flushing from his neck up and then explode like the head of a mercurial termometer.

[sentfromwolves]

taps my microphone: do you have a minute to talk about our lord and savior carfu--

[0tul1ss]

.

[vamptastic]

it's not like in the transphobes world i could even just go oh okay i'll stop trying to transition and go back to square one - the goalposts are constantly shifting. can i still use a masculine name? what constitutes a masculine name? can i still dress like a man? how does a man dress? does liking other men make me less of a man? and in that case, what would liking other women, as a woman, make me? when have i accepted my role as a woman enough for you? when i wear skirts and dresses? grow my hair? marry a man? carry a child? i'm jewish, do i follow my cultures standards of womanhood or yours? my hormone levels are already that of a 'man' from pcos, should i start taking estrogen? there is no woman version of me to return to, this is just how i am. it's asking me to invent a fascimile of myself that has never existed. i genuinely wouldn't know how to do it. not only would i be profoundly miserable, but i would be an outright different person. the version of me that never realized what was making me so miserable and how to begin to fix it would be dead by now.

[mystichistoria]

Tonight was fucking weird.