Text
All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Nisei (3x09)
Tumblr media
For years Penny tried to ignore the flashes. It seemed like out of nowhere, she’d be blinded by a bright, white light she couldn’t blink away. Sometimes during intimacy with her husband, his loving face would be momentarily replaced by a familiar stranger looming over her, causing her to cry and pull away. Other times, all she could hear was the whirring sound of a drill.
These flashes would only last a moment, and for years she told herself it was probably just a side effect of the stress her unexplained disappearances caused. A drug habit, fugue state, an affair, everyone had their theories about where she was when she went missing. All Penny knew was that, cumulatively, there were nine months of her life that she didn’t get to live.
But then something happened, and she couldn’t ignore the flashes anymore. Penny had been to the gynecologist plenty of times in her life, but this time she was filled with a sense of impending dread. It was a perfect storm of triggers, being so exposed, her legs spread in the stirrups, the smell of anesthetic, the sharp snap of plastic gloves, the cold metal-
They were strapping her down to the table, injecting her with something that made her vision blur. Her stomach felt like it was going to burst. She could feel the metal rod impaling her.
The next thing she knew, she was in the corner of the room screaming while her OBGYN looked on in horror.
After that, she recognized the flashes for what they were: memories.
* * *
After joining the MUFON group, Penny learned there were some memories all the women in the group shared — the light, the men, the pain. 
But, usually, everyone remembered something that was unique to their experience. Lottie remembered one of her doctors sardonically humming America the Beautiful as he arranged the drill bit. Betsy remembered hearing an Asian language being spoken above her. Quite a few women fervently remembered someone smoking a cigarette.
For Penny, she remembered comforting a young woman with auburn hair. But, just like all the memories, it came back in vague bits, vignettes that were difficult to discern. 
Someone screaming, “Stop! Get away from me!”
The distant sounds of beeping getting faster.
A sense of empathetic dread.
A trembling, red-headed woman who reminded Penny of her sister.
The warmth of holding someone in her arms.
Bright blue eyes filled with tears.
Today, she finally got to put a name with a face.
Dana Scully.
* * *
There was something surreal about knowing the ins and outs of a stranger’s body language.
Dana’s tendency to blink back emotions, the anxious swipe of her tongue across her lips, her need to shield her vulnerability by hiding her face in her hands — Penny knew it all. She had been at Dana’s side during some of the darkest times of their lives, yet she had to resist the urge to pull her into her arms like she’d done a thousand times before. The younger woman didn’t remember her.
Even though Penny found comfort in knowing these other women knew what she’d gone through, she understood why it could make someone uncomfortable. The intimate violations they’d all endured were dehumanizing, cruel, and seemingly senseless. Dana seemed to be a private person, having a room full of people she didn’t recognize talk about her trauma so openly seemed to be too much.
She said she wasn’t ready to discuss her experience, and Penny respected that. Trying to figure out what words felt accurate to the violation was a personal experience for everyone. 
Penny wishes she could take away her pain. The first time is always the worst, and this woman thinks they’re going to kill her. She doesn’t realize they aren’t that merciful. She isn’t sure why they keep allowing her to approach the young woman, let alone hold her for so long, but she isn’t going to question it. Physical touch that didn’t come with pain was rare here.
* * *
There were women just like them all over the globe, women who came together after their abduction experiences to offer support to each other. The people in their day-to-day lives might not have been willing to listen to them, but according to Betsy, some of the women from the European chapters of MUFON said they had caught the attention of people who hadn’t been abducted. There was even a woman who was interested in their stories, who cared enough to document their experiences and accompany the women to their doctor’s appointments.
Getting other people to listen was the first step to being taken seriously, to finding out who was behind this.
There weren’t many of them in Allentown, but they had each other. It was the strength of these women that got her through those experiences, and it was the strength of these women that would help her embark on this dark path they were all destined to walk.
Penny’s hand covers the back of Dana’s neck where an adhesive bandage covers the mark that will tie them together forever.
Dana doesn’t say much anymore, but when she does, it’s usually the same reassurance to herself.
“He’ll find me.”
“My partner, he-uh,” Dana stammered, turning away from the window when Betsy struggled to climb down from the MRI machine, clearly exhausted from the new rounds of tests she was forced to undergo. “He’s waiting for me.”
“I know this is hard, Dana,” Penny whispered, clasping the woman’s hands in her own for the first time in over a year. “But I hope you know you’re not alone.”
Dana offered a small smile and squeezed Penny’s hand before stepping out of the room.
“Do you think we’ll be seeing her again?” Lottie asked from beside her.
“We’re going to get out of here,” the red-headed woman whispers against Penny’s temple, wiping away tears Penny didn’t realize had fallen. “You can’t give up hope.”
With a smile, Penny nodded. “Yes."
Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Ao3
@gaycrouton
21 notes · View notes
death-of-cats · 2 months ago
Text
if i had a nickel every time an adult man in ASOIAF who is Going Thru It™ meets a younger woman or girl with a belief in stories which stands in for the human capacity for goodness and through knowing her is forced to confront his own cynicism and its limits then i'd have at least four nickels. which is a lot if you think about it.
215 notes · View notes
quinnfrankephotography · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Nice walk this morning. Very dark and grey but cool and nice and the park was relatively empty.
It's only been a few days, but I want my old camera back do much.
8 notes · View notes
speedbird1987 · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media
So far so good. I added some details to all characters with their Uniforms prior to their appearance in the series. The latest one that I did was earlier prior to my summer holiday break. I also fixed up the Fire Axe, Flashlight (Torch), and Fire Hose. In case anyone forgot, The list of each character with their Respective Uniform is here.
Station Officer Norris Steele: Pontypandy Fire Service (1987-1994)
Firefighter Elvis Cridlington: Pontypandy Fire Service (2003-2007)
Fireman Sam: Pontypandy Fire Service (2008-2015)
Firefighter Penny Morris: Pontypandy Fire Service (2015-2022)
Pilot Officer Tom Thomas: Royal Australian Air Force (Flight Suit)
Petty Officer 1st Class Ben Hooper: United States Coast Guard (Rescue Swimmer Dry Suit)
Firefighter Arnold McKinley: Northern Ireland Fire and Rescue Service (Ballyclare EN469 Turnout)
Firefighter Ellie Phillips: London Fire Brigade (Ergotech Action) (2010-2018)
Police Constable Malcolm Williams: Metropolitan Police (Motorbike Patrol)
Sergeant Rose Ravani: South Wales Police/Heddlu de Cymru (Mounted Police Unit)
Pilot Krystyna Kaminski: Pontypandy Fire Service (Air Rescue/Air Support) (2022-present)
6 notes · View notes
meirimerens · 10 months ago
Note
been silently gushing about your patho art on twitter but dear lord it's amazing. and THEN i come on your tumblr and see you're doing THEORIES AND EXPLANATIONS!!!!!! oh boi. it's over for me
"theories and explanations" LET'S NOT GET TOO CARRIED AWAY MOSTLY I #BLOG... i am the one who Blogs... mostly i talk my bullshit for real... mostly i read the lines over and over and start feeling the possession take over me 😏 THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE... THANK YOU FOR HANGING OUT... thank you for liking my Output... more to come. as i say everytime and then do not post art for 3 weeks. 🫶♥
15 notes · View notes
origami-butterfly · 5 months ago
Text
Gcse students (or anyone who's experienced gcses) watch this
youtube
And tell me who won
5 notes · View notes
deathsbestgirl · 1 year ago
Text
is there a fandom word that's about shipping people as friends, no romantic/sexual context.
8 notes · View notes
wetlandwanderer · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Photos from Shenandoah
2 notes · View notes
honeyrisuke · 2 months ago
Text
also if i see one more fucking post saying "in northern europe you are unlikely to be offered food" and this claim is SOLELY based on american cultural understandings i'm gonna turn that fucking wording around on yall real quick
bc i think its horribly fucking rude to already be invited to someones house, then not communicate what you want AT ALL and just EXPECT to be able to stay over for as long as you want without pissing off after what you met up to do is over and also expect to be catered to exactly how you want and like it, all without even saying a goddamn word. it gives "Karen"
#there are places in the world that operate on different social norms than you but what do i expect from a country that doesnt know#what the word 'culture' actually means#specifically in northern europe its generally more serious to 'owe' somebody something. its uncomfy#the less you know someone the more serious it is#so if you pay for a coffee for someone you just met it basically means 'i want you to pay me back'#this can be cute for a first date or sth but if its a one-time-thing paying for that coffee is like an act of guild-tripping#so giving someone food or money you just met is _rude_ in those places bc you force them into that position#its why here in spain when someone offers to pay for everyone the northern europeans will RUSH to the counter to pay for themselves#bc its fundamentally uncomfy for them to owe something even if its pennies and even if they will most likely be able to just pay next time#and the funniest part: the solution to this is literally to TALK ABOUT IT instead of just EXPECTING THINGS#you can literally go to someones house and if you stay during dinner time you can go 'hey can i join you guys for dinner#and they will most likely say yes#and then they may even ask you what you want!!!! can you imagine not expecting stuff. jesus christ#im from a place where offering food is normal but so is declining offerings and talking about it#and this is literally where the cultures who always offer lose me so fucking hard#bc i wanna be able to say 'no' without being rude. if i dont wanna eat sth dont fucking push it in front of my face again. i said no#on the other hand when someones in my house and expects sth specific. ASK ME. dont sit there and act like im rude for not baking a cake
1 note · View note
oldcurrencyexchange · 1 year ago
Text
Irish Coin Daily: Norwegian Imitation of an Hiberno-Norse, Phase VI (Class A, Type 1c) Penny
Date: c. 1102-1103 A Norwegian imitation of an Hiberno-Norse Penny (Phase VI) struck for Norway’s King Magnus III Barefoot (1093-1103) c.1095-1110 This is where it gets really complicated for students of Hiberno-Scandinavian coinage Is this penny a Norwegian (or Danish) copy of an Irish-made coin, or; Is it a Norwegian (or Danish) copy of an English-made coin? If it is the former, where was the…
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
0 notes
rqnarok · 22 days ago
Text
ANIMALS | old man!logan x fem!reader
Tumblr media
summary: old man!logan catches you trying to finger yourself on his bed...
cws/tags: smut, mdni! literally porn w/o plot. old man!logan. fem!reader. daddy kink. exhibitionsm kink. unspecified age gap. petnames (kid, darlin’, baby, etc). logan calls himself ‘old man’. oral (f receiving). not proofread. wc: 2k
Tumblr media
Logan can’t stand you. 
Ever since you enrolled as Charles’ caregiver, you’ve been a little bug crawling on his skin–itching him in bits.
Logan fucking hates how your generation seems to put so much trust in life like it isn’t all absurdity. He despises how you always seem to be bubbly all the time; breathlessly giggling at the unfunniest shit he had ever watched in his life. He loathes your eagerness to make him smile or laugh - he detests you and your youth. 
Or so that’s what he’s been telling himself.
Logan puts all these decoys to bury what he truly feels under the soil–like he always does throughout his life. Tries to hide how his stomach flutters when you tend his wounds, or simply when you get close to him. It suffocates him, you. 
You who cooks the very luscious foods for him and Charles every living day–you who take care of Logan as he has his occurring nightmares–you, who is the life he needed all along. 
You who had him ashamed of himself when he thought of thoughts of you. Visions of your beautiful figure flustering under Logan. He bet you were soft under those clothes, every inch of you. Bet you smelled better if he got nearer. 
So there you have it, false pretense. 
Deep down, he knows he’s doing everything for the sake of you. Including this week, when he has to stay in Texas for a few days just to earn extra pennies–again, for you. That’s why he got your picture patched in the car rear-view mirror, after all. 
Today, because of several reasons he had not expected, Logan went home a day earlier than what he told you. 
When he got home, by home he meant an abandoned smelting plant in Northern Mexico - he thought you were already tucked in your sheets, deep in a slumber. 
Oh, he was wrong because when he gets in front of his own bedroom door, it was slightly open with the sound of sighing now and then. He vaguely creaks the door open to paint a bigger picture of what’s inside as he hears another sigh, no, a moan.
Logan swears his breath got stuck in his throat when he catches the sight of you. Your eyelids shut tightly as your body jerked under the covers, another noise escaping your faintly gaping lips. He also notes the slow bumps and bulges in the sheets, moving in a repeated pattern of up and down–your head thrown back almost hitting the headboard. 
Are you touching yourself in his fuckin’ bed? His nostrils fumed. 
He called your name.
No reaction. 
“Kid.”
Logan enters the dim room and gives the bed a light shake. 
His act makes you yelp and jolt in surprise; sitting as much as you could in the unorganized space - your hair configured messily - cheeks flushed red. Your bottom lip was red and swollen as if you had bitten something fierce. 
With doe-eyes, you devour the sight of the man before you: Logan in his old white tank top, his belt loosened, his graying beard complemented his face so perfectly, and lastly, his deceitful expression. 
“What ‘re you doin’, huh?”
Gulping down your own spit, you shrank in on yourself, “L-Logan! I-I’m sorry! I cannot sleep… it’s just - your sheets. The- They smelled so nice. Smelled like you.” You find yourself spiraling in this humiliating situation, “You’re h-home.”
Logan’s eyes glance down into your nightgown, then to the bulge in the covers. Your hands, he supposed. 
Fuck it, he thought. Logan is already sure he’s going to hell after all. Why not grab a sweet treat to pile it onto his stack of sins?
“Show me what you were doin’.” His voice is deep as he gives the order, making you shiver in arousal. 
Still, with utter shyness, you kick the covers to reveal your body. You showed the full piece of your sheer nightgown - your white cotton panties shoved down to your thighs - your hands placed on top of your pussy, which was wet and leaking onto his sheets. 
Logan stared at you for a moment then lurked forward. Oh, you could see he was starting to bulge up too. 
“Keep goin’.” 
The high-pitched noise that left you was embarrassing but it did not stop you from doing what you’re told. How can you? When the man you had been crushing on, your employer, is looking down at you as if you’re his last meal. 
You pull your legs up as much as you can, before inserting your finger back into your wet hole, letting your eyes linger on Logan’s face. With his aging lines, he looks more angry and grumpy, brows furrowed and nose wrinkled. Beyond that, he’s focused on where your hand moved. It was so hot—you had never experienced something like this and it felt amazing—but it was not enough. 
“A-ah, please. Help– I need–” You let out a plea as you try to run your thumb over your puffy clit. You moan; pleasure rushed through you like a strike of electricity, gasping and keening.
Logan’s head falls forward, as if surrendering. Really, fuck it. He can’t hold back anymore. 
After a moment, he gets on the bed–making it let out a noise as he gets closer and closer, “Wha’s that, baby? Ya’ need more?” Logan grabs you by the hips and drags you closer to him, “Need Daddy’s fingers, ‘s that it?”’ 
“Y-yeah! Need you, so so bad.” The tips of his fingers rubbing your inner thighs and the ghosting feel of his hot breath make you lose any of your critical thinking. Burning your cheeks even warmer than they already were. 
Logan gets harder as he wonders how many times you have been doing this before. Trying to finger yourself on his bed while he was away—while he was earning money for you.   
A ‘mhm’ is all he grumbled out before his mouth was on your pussy, lapping at your labia and you cry out for the hundredth time.
“Ah!” There you finally understand why everyone was all in a rage about getting eaten out. This is everything, indeed. 
”Dirty fuckin’ girl. Touching herself in an old man’s bed.” Hearing him, you look down to grab a handful of Logan’s turning gray hair and hike up your nightgown even more as Logan’s tongue pushes inside you. Literally, devouring you. 
“L-Logan- ’M gon’ cum! ‘M cumming!”
The older man hums in response, squeezing your plump thighs—feeling like a goddamn animal. Your back arches on the mattress while one of his hands creeps up to fondle your breast, and you explode. 
He could feel your cum drizzling out and even got some of it on his scruffy beard. The world is still spinning around you but he does not give you a chance to rest. Logan shoves your legs higher and places kisses on your sensitive button. “Logan…”
“Not my name, sweet’art.” You cry out when you feel one of his fingers pushing into your hole - how it barely fuckin’ fits makes your body tremble with all the pleasure coursing through your veins.
He chuckles in glory as he glances up at your teary-eyed expression, still pushing his finger into reaching deeper, “Yeah- Your fingers too small?” Logan reads you so easily, “Need Daddy’s fingers to the job, huh?” He murmured, teasing his tongue around where his finger stretched you. 
When he bobs his head up, you can see how his beard is glistening with your slick under the moonlight, “Y’sure you want this, kid?”
“Y-yeah!” You said embarrassingly quickly. But oh, little do you know, this is the best thing in Logan’s life. 
Logan is breathing hard as he gets out of his clothes, nodding and grinning at you, “Been wantin’ do to this f’r a while.” 
You gasp when he climbs after you, spreading himself out above you, “Y-you do?” 
Legs wrapping around him, the both of you slid together against each other and Logan finally kissed you.
His tongue wrestled around your mouth, nipping and licking—ravaging you so sweetly, “Y’ve no idea.” You could feel his fingers probing at your heat. They pressed inside gently, only the tips of it, teasing you. Making you moan into his lips. 
“D-Daddy- Gimme more, please—” He was about to continue teasing you but hearing you say that word so meekly, gives him a whiplash. 
He groans out strings of curse words before easily manhandling you into a position, “F-Fuck. Daddy’s gon’ give it t’ya.” Logan rolls you into facing the wall—himself behind you. 
“Ya’ like this, darlin’?” You could feel his hips circling, his large cock sliding down between your thighs. He continues nipping at your ear as he rains you with praises, “C’mon. Use your big girl words, baby. Let Daddy hear ya’.”
You can’t even breathe right and end up whimpering in response, “Yeayeayeah… Like it a lot!”
Logan hummed, pleased at your reply—his girl being so fuckin’ obedient, “Aight’ breath for me now. Jus’ let Daddy slip right in? Ya’ want that? Wan’ to make your old man happy?”
Your head bobs erratically as your smaller fingers wrap around his; Logan’s gone, he pushes inside of you with a throaty groan. The head slipped inside easily. You can’t believe how good it feels when he stretches you. As he keeps pushing, his large hands palm your chest and pinch hard your peaking nipples. 
“T-Tha’s it, sweet girl. Take Daddy’s cock.” And you’re gone too, your eyes rolled back while Logan ruts into you in short, sharp motions, easing your figure with kisses to your neck and shoulders.
Tears fall down your cheeks in utter bliss, “Feel s’good, Daddy.” Your whole body is slick with sweat, baby hairs sticking on your forehead, and Logan’s chest is glued to your back. 
He fills you up into the brim and it is almost like you’re overflowing with pleasure. He moves you again so that you feel more comfortable, “Gon’ go little faster, that okay, kid?”
You sob into his pillows and nod, “Yeah… Daddy, please, yeah—”
He pulls out far enough that even the head barely remains inside. Then he drives in deep again. Hard and fast, pounds into you, making your skin slap as your bodies meet. He sets a mean, cruel pace. He slips out so, so slowly, only to thrust in as hard and as fast as the very first time. 
“Ah, fuck, baby, feel so fuckin’ good, so tight on Daddy’s cock,” You blush at how Logan grunts, voice hitching at every thrust. 
Logan presses himself up against you, his chest feeling so impossibly wide and thick on your back. His arms wrapped around your body; one hand toys with your nipples, and the other gives your clit rough, hard jerks, ripping even more pleasure out of you.
“Daddy, Daddy, ah—” you plea while turning your head to watch him with hald-lidded eyes.
“Keep sayin’ it, baby, keep sayin’ that,” Logan growls between kisses and latches into you. “Say it. Tell Daddy who’s fuckin’ this pussy open.”
“Daddy!” You whine louder for him. “Daddy, Da- ah!”
Just as you could feel the orgasm being punched out of you for the second time, Logan growls again, snapping his hips for a few last hard thrusts.
You feel how Logan fills you up as deep as he could, his warm cum stuffing you—cock pulsing as the both of you came, hard. 
Logan falls onto you suddenly, putting all his bulky figure on top of you, the man’s whole body going lax in the after-orgasm bliss. 
The older man huffs over and over; you smile at the sight, you don’t mind at all. His weight feels safe and comforting, protecting you from everything else.
Still, you are relieved when he rolls himself off you. More relieved when his lips finds yours in instant, sensually kissing you—making you know how much you mean to him. 
Though, you are not relieved when he comes to the shameful confrontation. 
“Y’do this often? Touching y’rself on my bed, kid?” 
921 notes · View notes
all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth · 11 months ago
Text
All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Season Three Master Post
We’ve come to the conclusion of a momentous season! From some of the most iconic episodes to some of the most beloved characters, season three was full of intense chapters!
Check out this thread to see all the characters we got to meet!
Tumblr media
3x01 | The Blessing Way - The Well-Manicured Man (@fridaysat9
They were all living on the precipice of the end of the human race, but they were only concerned with jobs, school assignments, and playdates.
Life, as it should be.
3x02 | Paper Clip - Victor Klemper (@monikafilefan)
The offspring of a rebel syndicate member unearthing truths Victor has spent decades trying to bury beneath buttercups and begonias has marked him for certain death.
3x03 | D.P.O. - Darin Peter Oswald (@gaycrouton)
His friend was scared of him, and it made Darin feel powerful.
3x04 | Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose - Clyde Bruckman (@fridaysat9)
A funny thing happens when you see your own death. At first you try to make sense of it– what could it mean, why the tears, why her? Then you try to change it.
3x05 | The List - Dr. Juan Ullrich (@monikafilefan)
Juan fidgets with an evidence bag, trying not to blatantly stare at the agents holding an entire conversation with their eyes while systematically categorizing every sway of their bodies, every touch of her hands.
3x06 | 2Shy - Lauren MacKalvey (@gaycrouton)
2SHY > You have no idea how beautiful I think you are. I must confess… I feel inextricably drawn to you. I can’t stop thinking about what you said the other day… You don’t deserve to feel lonely, Lauren.
3x07 | The Walk - Leonard 'Rappo' Trimble (@admiralty-xfd)
Every night, he walks again. And every morning he wakes in the same bed with the same phantom pain. Every day he wishes he’d just died; that explosion that didn’t quite kill him cost him his life, anyway.
3x08 | Oubliette - Lucy Householder (@monikafilefan)
She has to go. It’s all so clear now. She has to go back. Through the woods, through the house — into the dark. Maybe she was never meant to leave it at all.
3x09 | Nisei - Penny Northern (@gaycrouton)
It was the strength of these women that got her through those experiences, and it was the strength of these women that would help her embark on this dark path they were all destined to walk.
3x10 | 731 - First Elder (The Well-Fed Man) (@admiralty-xfd)
The one thing that can be manipulated more effectively than any other is her fear of the unknown… of what happened to her last year.
3x11 | Revelations - Owen Lee Jarvis (@fridaysat9)
He gave of himself, abandoning what little life he’d had, to honor God’s words and do as he had been called.
3x12 | War of the Coprohages - Dr. Bambi Berenbaum (@gaycrouton)
Bambi felt a flush spread across her chest as his hypothesis brought a smile to her face. Hearing that he hadn’t been merely indulging her earlier was a refreshing change of pace.
3x13 | Syzygy - Detective Angela White (@admiralty-xfd)
Detective White stops as Agent Scully finally glances over at her, somewhat defensively. And then she gets it. Everything about the way she’s been treated since the agents arrived makes perfect sense.
3x14 | Grotesque - Agent Bill Patterson (@fridaysat9)
Patterson figured that Mulder might have a theory about a potential copycat killer, but no; he’d been researching gargoyles and goblins. Monsters recorded in dusty old tomes pulled from the library shelves.
3x15 | Piper Maru - Kimberly (@monikafilefan)
Kimberly Cook is good at her secretarial job. So when the man she’s been working closely with for two years is troubled, she refuses to let him file the feeling away like some confidential case in his cabinet.
3x16 | Apocrypha - Luis Cardinal (@admiralty-xfd)
The Scully woman is not simply angry, she’s unhinged. And there’s a small part of him that understands; it’s the part of him that, prior to working for the Smoker, had never been asked to shoot an innocent woman before.
3x17 | Pusher - Agent Frank Burst (@fridaysat9)
Frank doesn’t care if he has to tell him his mother’s maiden name and his favorite breakfast cereal if it means getting his location.
3x18 | Teso Dos Bichos - Officer (@monikafilefan)
He doesn’t get paid enough for this shit.
3x19 | Hell Money - Hsin Shuyang (@gaycrouton)
The gods might not be listening, but the devil was waiting for him down the street, ready to play a game with all the men whose American dreams had turned into nightmares.
3x20 | Jose Chung's From Outer Space - Detective Manners (@fridaysat9)
That's a bleepin' dead alien body, if I ever bleepin' saw one.
3x21 | Avatar - Carina Sayles (@monikafilefan)
She can tell he doesn’t do this. Doesn’t drink alone in a bar, letting a stranger slowly seduce him.
3x22 | Quagmire - Queequeg (@gaycrouton)
Queequeg was loved.
3x23 | Wetwired - 'Doctor' Stroman (@admiralty-xfd)
Another town, another test, another shitty motel room… but always the same boss.
3x24 | Talitha Cumi - Teena Mulder (@monikafilefan)
If only Bill had known back then that the untrustworthy person he was referring to would sleep with his wife and father his son.
Stay tuned for more perspectives coming in Season Four!
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
17 notes · View notes
aboodalashi · 16 days ago
Text
I thought there were still people who could help me. I am Abdullah, 17 years old, from northern Gaza. My family and I live in harsh conditions. My father died and my house was destroyed. I have no source of income. I asked for help and I repeat my request for it. Please, whoever can donate even one penny to save me and my family, do not hesitate to do so.
228 notes · View notes
whoyacallinyellow · 8 months ago
Text
To The Fallen
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Charles Smith x F! reader
Spoilers: major RDR2 events Content: 18+ mdni, m/f smut, drunk sex, angst, tension, possessive, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes Type: second pov (wc - 3693) / pc: pinterest
Summary: After the gang’s downfall, you join Charles on his endeavors. While roughing it in the woods, you convince him to share a drink with you…
Tumblr media
“C’mon Charles, live a little.” 
You encouraged the man, sat upon a log as he tended to the small campfire you shared. He sighed at your relentless begging, gazing at you over the orange flames. Truly torn, he hated to turn you down, but your safety was more important than your idea of a good time. 
“What if something happens?— besides, someone needs to take care of you.” 
The man reasoned with your buzzed mind, gesturing towards the half empty glass you cradled on your knee. 
Your eyes followed him as he joined you, carefully studying his every step before he sat next to you, tobacco leeching off his clothes and filling the air. 
“It’ll be fine.” You reassured softly, watching him glance longingly into the flames once again. His eyes carried a certain sorrow that did not leave since Beaver Hollow. Apathy had stuck to Charles like a ball and chain, burying his friends was a pastime he did not favor, with Arthur being the final nail in the coffin. 
After the fallout of the gang, the two of you spent your time roughing it in sticks, you reckoned somewhere between Canada and northern United States. You felt as if it were the smartest move to be as far away as possible, while Charles was a man who did not like running. He was fully aware the severity of his actions came with a big price— but he was willing to compromise for you. 
Charles always seemed to know what to do, and where to go. He found refuge in your company and trust, the close bond you shared only flourished after being by your lonesome. The man wouldn’t want it any other way, sometimes pondering where he would be, or what he would be doing without you. The doubts he kept quiet and buried deep often resurfaced the moments he was reminded how sweet on you he was. 
“You could use one.” You continued, placing a small hand on his knee with the attempt to break his trance. You so desperately wished to lend him a penny for a thought, but your attempts usually went nowhere. 
The man huffed in defeat, encapsulating his hand over yours tenderly. 
“Maybe just one.” 
Charles reluctantly agreed, his words barely finished before you filled his unused glass with a much needed relaxation aid. 
You scooted closer as a Canadian breeze whipped past, which made his grasp slip politely around you. The man’s arm alone somehow carried more warmth than any blanket could give you. Or perhaps it was the security he offered with each touch.  
“Uh— to the fallen.” 
You propose awkwardly, raising your glass lazily to the man who met you with a stupid smirk. 
With your tipsy state being more than amusing to the outlaw, your words would be teased and mocked in the morning, in addition to gentle kisses as compensation— if you were lucky. 
“To good health, my girl.”  
He compromised huskily, his words presenting a much more giddy side which had been long erased with time. Charles lounged in the moment, the drink would allow a disconnect from his thoughts, unwilling to think about the gang under the grip of a bottle. 
You took his offer with a small clink, the contents of his glass sloshing and spilling into yours. 
Charles always knew you had his best interest in mind, the same he held for you. And with everything that happened in the past year, maybe he’s been too uptight and miserable. He reasoned that self reflection would come after a night of fun, maybe he did need this. 
The night seemed to slip from his grasp after that point. His incoherent banter blew through the trees and vacant wilderness, undoubtedly scaring any animal or man for miles. Charles would often lean against you for temporary support, his hand sneaking through your inner thigh, and lingering for a moment to prop himself upright before continuing his casual slurs. The bottle loosened his tongue more than you expected, allowing him to exaggerate a memory or two. 
You have not seen the man wear such a toothy grin since Sean was rescued, a celebration where he took the liberty of more than one drink. As you walked past the rowdy group by the fire, he would match Sean and Karen by pulling you onto his lap. A drunken stunt he would never dare pull sober in front of the others, denying every bit of the scandal once teased the day after. His leg would bounce effortlessly to the music beneath you, wobbling you tightly to his chest. All you could think about was the stubble of his chin digging into your shoulder, the way his fingertips treaded dangerously close to your waist—as if he was taunting you. His hard bulge you rested on would go unacknowledged by the man as he bounced his leg, but not you.
It was a sick game he played and perhaps enjoyed a little too much, testing your willpower for him every moment available.  
Charles’ one ended up being your three, his glass being long retired in favor of the bottle, swaying between his fingers as he nursed it sporadically. 
As the man went over the deep end you just spectated, you figured the least you could do was take care of him for one night, as he does for you every other. One night off was the very least he deserved. 
“S’enough now, reckon you oughta sleep.” 
Your words interrupted Charles, an unmistakable hum rattling through his chest. It hurts you how much the gang lived within the man, even while blackout drunk, Javier’s rhythms that played years ago flowed through him. 
You arose stiffly to your feet, which the man unsteadily followed, his arms swaying and outstretched to recoup some balance. 
The fire had died down along with his energy, Charles’ half-lidded eyes wandered, barely illuminating off the flame. 
Your unexpected touch at the man’s nether region triggered his reflex with a stagger as you unclasped his taut gun belt. Relieving him of today's responsibilities. 
“Oh hush,” 
You murmured, your concentration ignoring his sudden silence. 
Glancing up at the man who towered over you was now stiff as a board, arms hung by his sides as he stared back directly into your soul. 
His lips parted ever so slightly, but nothing came out besides a sigh, the bottle dulling his expression, but emphasizing fervency. 
All Charles could do was stare, his mind clouding over his better judgment— the thought of you seemed to do that often. 
He remembered a particularly sunny day at Clemons Point, a job gone not to plan. You tended to the man’s wounds as he recovered in a cot. Your eyes heavy and looming over each part of his injured body, a sense of worship you held for his temple he simply did not. White bandages decorated his torso and bicep, a familiarity with his body and scars that only you held. The sacredness and safety your touch gave him made his pride not allow anyone else to see him in such a way, not that he would ever tell you. 
You would not speak while focusing on him, not even to ask for an explanation of the wounds. But your vibrant presence would keep him company in the midst of your silence. 
The feeling would eventually leave him as you wandered off, he would watch your figure lingering in the distance, pondering while gazing off the beautiful lands camp offered you. Your apprehensive mannerisms worried the man, which he mistook as forlornness. Charles would justify the scenarios, a double edged sword he deemed to be second nature— you knew what type of man he was. 
You would bide your time against a nearby tree in eyeshot of the cot, ensuring his peace. But would return before too long, your eyes slightly uplifted in spirit. Once again presenting Charles with the same feeling he had before you left the tent. 
Perched up on the barrel level with the cot, the back of your delicate hand would linger on his forehead before caressing down his scuffed cheek, the same touches his mother would give him as a boy. 
Your silence was louder than any words you could have said, you loved him and he always knew.
“M’sorry.”
The man uttered after a needy kiss. Insincerity snuck upon his lips, unsure of what exactly he was apologizing for— was it to you? Or was it guilt of the broken man he’s become?— when exactly did he dismiss the morals he subscribed to? 
Now laying in the tent you shared, your lust for him kept him far from his drunken mind, his pants you had undone tempted his desires over redemption. Charles somehow held no recollection of your hands working down there.
Once again your silence was louder than words, fingertips tracing gingerly over his bulge. Subtly begging him to give into his desires, give into you. Charles always had different plans for your first time together, but the past years haven’t been kind, making the time never right— he never once considered taking you while a drunken idiot. 
But your body would soon be consumed by that very same desire, he would only leave your lips momentarily while clothes were kicked off. 
The unsuitable lighting made the man rely on his hands, touches that were a test of how well he knew your body, by now considering it an extension of himself. 
“Charles,” 
His name deliciously exhaled from your lips at the slightest feel of him. Your voice saying his name in such a manner forever burnt a mark into his mind. You molded into every touch of his, which only encouraged his high. His calloused fingertips ran from your hip bones to your breasts, touching the off guard parts of you to everyone but him. 
“Yeah?” 
Charles eventually answered, his gruff voice lowly exiting his chest with an unforeseen force. 
Stroking himself, the man positioned at your entrance, his tip preparing you extensively. Charles’ neck craned back as pleasure began to soar through him, a sharp sigh being exerted at the slightest feel of himself in you. 
“Think you can take me?”
Less of a question, the man wondered out loud through a slur. The syllables lazily slid off his tongue as he teased his head back and forth through your heat. His jaw had gone slack from a combination of ecstasy and concentration, your wetness and anticipation only grew with each of his strokes. 
He hoped to get more noise from you. So desperately wanting you to be loud for him, no camp, no one to worry about— just you. You were his one and only focus, as it should have been from the start. 
Your silence was temporary, captivated by your lover teasing you between your legs. 
“Go on then,” 
Your voice came out as a pitiful whine, a beg of yours he would not take lightly. 
The large man hummed through his amusement and pleasure, his hands covering every area of skin he could on you. Scooting you closer to his preference came with ease, his pull on your hips united your thighs to his. With how light and sweet Charles’ casual touches were, you sometimes forgot how strong the man really was. 
“Charles!”
Your frustrated moan was music to his ears, it broke through the man’s clouded brain like the sound of a gunshot. A distracted hand was still placed on the base of his cock, threading it through your lips in awe. 
“Okay— ok, sweet girl, don’t know if I’ll fit s’all.”
He contemplated out loud, his voice remained low and primal, glossed over drunken eyes lustfully staring into yours, a hint of playfulness being held within the brown wells.
It was the same look they held the day of your hunting trip for Mr. Pearson. You insisted on joining Charles, less to assist and more to loiter and encourage the man. A simple and innocent request he would never refuse. You held onto his torso as he rode Taima, to his dismay your hands would wander further, and further down, until resting prettily on either side of his groin. You would see the man headbob towards the saddle, infatuated with both your boldness and touch— needless to say, you both returned to camp empty handed that day. 
The wind that rippled through the tent canvas sent chills through your bones, your naked frame being consumed by goosebumps which the man took humor in. His rough fingertips wasted no time fiddling with your nipples before covering you with his body. Finally exchanging his body heat with yours that would not be needed for long. 
Now fixated on your upper body, it did not take him long to cover you in his hungry mouth, his shaft still grinding against your lips as he eagerly thrusted, barely touching your entrance with each movement. 
Taking matters into your own hands, your patience grew thin, reaching down and directing the man where you needed him. 
The abrupt contact caused spots to flood in vision, Charles’ pleasure and whiskey filling his palette in a way he did not know possible. A part of him wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop after taking you, afraid he would accidentally hurt you in his drunken stupor. His lack of control over his dire state only showed the desperateness Charles usually hid from you. 
Your fingers laced around the man’s bare chest, little nothings you would mumble as you took his length. Charles still doesn’t know what got into him, all the pent up desire for you finally being spent with a slow and powerful thrust that swooped to your core. Despite his eagerness and your moans, he somehow mustered up enough composure to allow you to get used to his size. 
“So tight for me,”
Was all the man grunted through his drunken lust, he thought you took his size so well for him, almost as if you were made for him as a lover. 
Your fingernails that dragged along his back earned you some groans and abrupt movements that were particularly passionate.  
Hearing him in such a worked up manner only made you tighter around him. It was enough to nearly make the man lightheaded as pleasure roamed throughout the tent. 
Words weren’t needed for Charles to understand that your desperation was mutual to his. Your walls continued to grow wet and clench around him with every adjustment and word of his, making a mess of the bedrolls beneath you both. 
“You should’ve took me that night— at Shady Belle.”
Your unsteady words momentarily stopped the man in his tracks. His body frozen atop of yours as he mentally mapped out just how long you’ve been wanting him this way. 
Charles remembered the look you gave him as he peeled off the layers of his bank heist clothing, gun belt falling to his ankles with a clank. He was the only man to return from Saint Denis that night. You followed him around camp like a lost dog, eyes glued to him, silently begging for an ounce of him. You always knew if any man were to return from a botched heist, it would be Charles Smith. 
Your need for him then would go unfulfilled, his large hands lingered lovingly on your waist everytime he rushed past you to assist what was left of the gang, as if he silently acknowledged your desperation. Charles always carried that sense of urgency and composure you did not— he was the last man with a lick of leadership, afterall. 
You wore a similar look now, needy and willing.  
A lazy chuckle filled the tent before he planted a sloppy kiss on your lips, feeling your breath quiver against him was a reminder to continue. 
“Should’ve said, my girl.” 
Charles rebutted simply, allowing your moans to once again fill his ears as he moved swiftly but rhythmically. 
After all this time Charles knew what kind of lover he wanted to be for you, in his mind he earned you and your desire to be with him in such a way. Which meant you deserved to experience your importance and much more. 
Sensual and with purpose—at least for the first time. Each of his actions would show how much you meant to him. Charles thought about it more than he would like to admit, the days you would patch him up only encouraged the back door thoughts of showering your body in his devotion, your lingering touch merely drove those thoughts further. 
But the whiskey consumed his prior plans of reverence, only to reveal how badly he needed this— how badly he needed you. 
Every last bit of his self-control was thrown out the tent along with your clothes, discarded in the dirt by the fire.  
His hands gripping whatever skin of yours he could, small marks of his fingertips peppered on you, further demonstrating the long overdue tension he held prior to taking you. 
Lips and tongue that traveled on your breasts occasionally came with teeth, his excitement winning and the principals he usually held washed away with the prior drinks you shared. 
These marks the man would notice in the morning, guilt and embarrassment surging through him while planting soft kisses upon the possessive marks— Did he hurt you? Was he too rough?— Was he foolish?— he doesn’t remember, his head hurts. Your words of praise would feel just as genuine as it did the night prior, reassuring the man you enjoyed him just fine.
Your touch ghosted down his chest and to his bucking hips, tracing the muscles that flexed with each thrust. Both of your thighs now sopping, Charles let out a low moan, his stomach knotting and quivering under your spell. He guided your hands back up, not wanting to reach his peak quite yet, and your excessive touch would overstimulate him to that point. 
“Easy now.” 
Charles whispered, his voice gravelly and hoarse, a vague warning which slipped from his lips as smooth as the booze went down. The man knew you were close under his control, and how malleable you were only drove him closer to the edge. 
His braided hair had gracefully come undone from the intimacy, loose strands both dangling over your bare skin and sticking to his shoulders. 
Your body quivered beneath him, sensing your climax was near with excessive moans and breaths you gave him. Hearing you moan his name fully unleashed would replay in his mind for days to come, your pretty lips trembling was a sight for sore eyes. Hoisting himself back to his knees, his bottom lip slid between his teeth, rubbing your clit while he admired how you gripped his cock. So trusting, so excited, so wet, and it was all for him? 
His thrusts became more attentive, each one pressing and lingering deep within you, his back arching to meet your pelvis, ensuring no part of his length went neglected. 
If Charles didn’t know any better, he would have lingered in you a moment longer before finishing, basking in the pleasure your high presented him with. The same high he has been subconsciously chasing since Clemons Point. But instead his shaft planted onto your stomach as he climaxed, animalistic groans exiting the man as he marked you. 
Your lover’s chest heaved, lingering momentarily as he finished. Both soaked and relieved, he weakly lowered for yet another soft kiss. His necklace and hair tickling your collarbone as he recovered from his high. 
The mind fog prevented any sort of disruption of his focus on you. Charles studied your torso as you recovered yourself, the small faded scar he stitched up for you back in Colter now glistened under his love for you, it seemed so long ago to the man. He never once thought in this lifetime the girl he saved from a seemingly fatal stomach wound would be the same stomach covered in his seed. 
“‘Look real sweet like that.” 
He hummed, pride and satisfaction littering his tone. His voice rumbled in his chest, presenting signs of sobering up after his chase. 
“Oh?” Your lips formed into an amused grin, staring at your tired lover laying beside you, his toned figure barely visible in the tent besides the glossy formations of sweat beading down his chest. His dark eyes still hooked onto the mess he created on you.  
“Real sweet.” 
The man affirmed gently, figuring he would put you out of your misery and clean you off. 
How whipped was Charles? He could not tell. Every kiss you would give him later that night threw him over the moon. Your fingertips soothingly outlined the scar on his jaw as he held you tightly, your frame curled within his, thighs that pressed against him unknowingly gave him a certain friction that begged him for another round. 
But he decided you needed the rest, as he felt there would be more where tonight came from. He would make it up to you then. 
The embers cracked in front of your tent, with the trees swaying the distance, the white noise was enough to lull you to a slumber. But the man forced himself awake just moments longer to experience you. Relishing in a feeling he never wanted to leave him. Charles wished the night lasted a little longer, as he did with most good things he was fortunate enough to have come his way. He always wondered what he did to deserve those things, especially with all the sins under his belt. 
He felt as if he were sinking, or spinning, maybe it was spinning, his fingertips tapped rhythmically down your spine in his subconscious state, gaining your attention. 
“Sleep with me.” 
You cooed against his chest, words he could barely make out from your state of delirium. 
The man kissed your forehead in response, his mind that tried running off into the night was anchored back to you. Like most things were.  
Your wish was Charles' command, and he knew it would be the beginning of many more.   
~
314 notes · View notes
speedbird1987 · 11 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
The final updated version of the rescue team with their uniforms when they were in Pontypandy or before they arrived in Pontypandy from an Emergency Service, the Coast Guard, or the Military. It includes how long they were wearing this particular uniform, including how long they've been with their last Emergency Service or Military service (For some of them). The list is Below.
1. Station Officer Steele - Pontypandy Fire Service Woolen Tunic and Iconic yellow Leggings (1987-1994)
2. Elvis Cridlington - Pontypandy Fire Service Woolen Tunic and Iconic yellow Leggings (2003-2007)
3. Police Constable Malcolm Williams - Metropolitan Police Motorbike Officer Uniform (2013-2018)
4. Firefighter Ellie Phillips - London Fire Brigade (2007-2015), Ergotech Action (2010-2018)
5. Pilot Krystyna Kaminski - Pontypandy Fire Service (Air Support) Flight Suit (2022-Present)
6. Sergeant Rose Ravani - South Wales Police/Heddlu de Cymru Mounted Police Unit (2011-2018)
7. Firefighter Penny Morris - Pontypandy Fire Service Updated Tunic and Iconic Yellow Leggings (2015-2022)
8. Petty Officer First Class Ben Hooper - United States Coast Guard Rescue Swimmer (2003-2012)
9. Fireman Sam - Pontypandy Fire Service Updated Woolen Tunic and Iconic Yellow Leggings (2008-2015)
10. Pilot Officer Tom Thomas - Royal Australian Air Force Olive drab Nomex flying suit (1995-2002)
11. Firefighter Arnold McKinley - Northern Ireland Fire and Rescue Service Ballyclare EN469 Turnout Gear (2009-2015)
2 notes · View notes
amplifyme · 2 months ago
Text
Okay. So here's something that tickles my brain every time I watch Memento Mori. Mulder tells Scully in the hospital hallway that he got scared when he couldn't find her in her room and read some of what she wrote. Like, we saw him pick up her journal earlier and skim it, right?
But what if... What if, during those many hours Scully was in with Penny Northern, Mulder got bored sitting in that hard and dinky chair in the hallway, wandered back to her room and didn't read some, but all of what she wrote? And I wonder if maybe that was the night it dawned on him that Scully loved him. I mean, really loved him.
Has anyone written a fic exploring that particular scenario? Because I'd be down to read something like that. If not, gotta admit the muse is especially intrigued. But she's been such a fickle bitch the last year or so that I can't depend on her anymore.
Any recs? Any thoughts? Bueller?
129 notes · View notes