#Deja Vu Alternative Pieces

[curatoroffiction]

HII CONGRATS ON YOUR 350 FOLLOWERS THING! Not sure if you do requests for your existing fics but I'm gonna take a chance. Anyways this is a request for the déjà vu fic! In chapter 13, I remember that MC almost overblots while they’re talking to the brothers in court…soo can I request an alternate scene where MC actually does overblot? (and then the brothers or maybe even Lilith makes them snap out of it)

Oh this is a super fun one. Prepare for multiple pages, because this is an alternate timeline I've thought a lot about. The main reason MC didn't overblot in this chapter was because they hadn't formed deep enough relationships with the brothers for them to be able to help save them from themself. If I HAD gone through with the overblot, this is what that would have looked like by that chapter. For any readers who stumble across this who haven't read my Deja Vu fic, here it is; link This piece will be a re-write of a scene I wrote in chapter 13 of that fic.

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Deja Vu Alternative Overblot Scene Part 1

You slowly stand up, and you motion to Lord Diavolo. "I did what you asked. Your turn to hold up your end of the bargain. Set him free."

Seeing as you didn't acknowledge his apology, Belphegor looks to Lucifer, who reaches a hand to him through the bars. He gives Belphegor's hand a reassuring squeeze. Mammon gripes loudly to you that if they could forgive you for hurting them, you could forgive Belphegor for hurting you, which earns him a smack from Satan. You pause, and you sigh. You're tired of holding it all in. If they get to let loose, so do you. "I'm just... really tired.. y'know?" Your hands tighten into fists as you glare at the floor in front of you. You've turned away from the group, and all eyes are on you as you speak. "Do you know how many times.. I've been the one stuck to solve a problem WAY outside my skillset..?" Your eyes harden as you feel it bubbling inside. The anger, the resentment, the exhaustion. God, you've been so exhausted... "Every corner, it's a threat at my throat." You reach up to quietly touch the marks around your neck, which causes Belphegor to feel incredibly guilty. "My food.. my housing.. my life.. I've been fighting to survive since I got here.." A dark energy bubbles up around the edges of your form. Belphegor's eyes widen as he watches, helpless to stop it. "I've been fighting for my life long before I got here, but god! I'm so fucking tired of it! Of battles that scar me and leave me wondering if the next one will finally do me in!" You laugh. A laugh that causes everyone's stomachs to drop. The brothers who've created pacts with you can't feel a hint of their sins off of you. You envy nothing. Not a single thing could strike your greed. You're not even wrathful. You lust for nothing, pleasure long-since having been abandoned in your survival plan. There is no hunger in you as your body is engulfed by the ink. There is only the grief of the person you once were. The grief of the person you wanted to be. Your body is overtaken by the ink as you laugh a bitter, lifeless laugh. Cynical. Belphegor shouts "They're overblotting, someone needs to help them come down from it!" his hands clutching at the bars- Only for a tendril of ink to lash out and splatter across the bars- Wings.. as inky and dark as an oil slick, begin to fill the hallway. Everyone's stifled. Barbatos sucks a breath in, cursing silently. It's the one outcome he couldn't prevent. The one outcome that relied on you being able to bear the weight of the stress. The one thing he didn't know HOW to save you from. You tear through the hallway, leaving everyone behind. Belphegor cusses loudly; "If you don't snap them out of it, they'll die!" The brothers tear off after you, Lucifer lingering with his youngest brother at the bars, looking at the ink that drips down over the metal. ".. Are you going to be okay?" "I won't be if they die because of me." Lucifer nods. He knows what he has to do. --- [___ is overblotting? Belphegor knows more about it. Help.] He sends a text directly to a new chat made with Solomon, Simeon, and Luke. [What?? Where are you? What caused this??] Solomon, who had no idea you even HAD magic, moves to start getting ready. He knows how dangerous this can be. [Castle. ___'s tearing through the halls. We'll try to keep them here if that's best for you to get to them. I don't think we can stop them.] [What's an overblot?] Luke asks, nervous. This sounds serious. [It's when a human's magic overcomes them through exhaustion or negative emotions. Sometimes both.] Solomon's already tearing out of the Hall of Purgatory. He sees Simeon on his way out, who hasn't even seen the texts and tells him to come along. [I'm coming with you Solomon! ___ needs our help!] [We'll be there soon, Lucifer. Keep them there. Keep them alive. Don't let them expend too much magic.] ----- Part 2: link  [Sorry about the formatting issues lmaoo]

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

i very much subscribe to the idea that outside of the ones where its pretty much confirmed they are a single personality (think szayel and yylfordt in like. the light novels), most of the arrancar are pretty much an amalgamation of everything theyve eaten and become an individual force/personality over time. HOWEVER i do enjoy the idea of grimmjow being some like. british punk from the 70s-80s. and im pretty sure thats billy idol's fault lol

[6ronze]

DEJA VU

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ — l&ds characters : sylus. zayne. rafayel. fem!reader format : short stories/HCs warnings : fluff. angst. sfw. unelaborated suggestive scenes in sylus’s part long story short : when they fall in love with you, but you never existed in the first place notes : inspired by zayne’s alternate universe where he fell in love w mc in his dreams but written my way + i haven't written in a whilleeee

ZAYNE

Zayne knew lack of sleep could cause hallucinations and make someone have their eyes playing tricks on them. What Zayne didn’t know was that he could fall victim to those conditions.

He was disciplined despite his busy schedule as a cardiac surgeon. Zayne made sure he took sufficient naps to make up for the sleep he lost the night before and went straight to bed after finishing his work. He’s maintained this same routine for years yet somehow, he still ends up hallucinating about the same woman he’s seen since childhood.

He was 11 years old when he started seeing this woman around. Zayne as a child thought she was kind, someone he felt awfully fond of. When he wanted to ask his parents if she was a family friend, they merely cocked their heads to the side in confusion asking ‘Who?’. The older he got, the more he was convinced she was just an imaginary friend that children naturally have. But was she really imaginary when he kept showing up in his slumber, his dreams, and even in his conscious mind?

Zayne is 27 years old now. And he’s more convinced than ever that her appearance in his head when he hasn’t even seen her, nor anyone looking remotely similar to her in Linkon City, was connected to his evol.

He’s long accepted that hypothesis of his for the past years was true. Since it was only proven right with the small snowmen he made during every winter. How fond he was of creating ice figures of the plushies he saw when walking past claw machines at festivals.

Zayne often stared at his creations and caressed the snow with the pads of his fingers. He always looked at them with care, feeling the inexplainable need to preserve it—to preserve her. Even if they were just fleeting memories.

RAFAYEL

An artist in Linkon City, Rayafel. His works were as known as his name. Most people were curious about the rarely seen artist, questions about him arising. The journalists that were lucky enough to get to chat with him for a few minutes finally asked —who or what was his muse?

Muse. An inspiration, a devotion—the true cause of his masterpieces that were both stunning, and heart-wrenching.

“My muse.. is a ‘who’. And before you start bombarding me with questions about the specifics—’ *Rafayel answered, taking his time before parting his lips to offer an answer. His eyes flickered over to face the journalist ahead of him, Rafayel’s lips pursed to straight line that wasn’t often seen from the expressive and blunt man.*

“Let’s just say she’s out of your camera’s reach,” The purpled haired man continued, his brows subtly furrowing as he stared into the eyes of the stunned journalist. Rafayel’s answer made room for assumptions, the implication of his muse being out of reach sparking media attention and theories.

In Rafayel’s mind after that interview were only filled with thoughts on how to bring her to life in this world. He had to be careful with his words—the execution. Rafayel wanted a piece of his muse to be shared, a mark, a small hint to others of who truly occupied in his mind when he made his art pieces.

Rafayel started seeing her in a nightmare. It was the same nightmare that reoccured even in the most comfortable nights like a reminder. The thing is—he didn’t know a reminder for what exactly. He’s never seen her, never met her, nor does he heard her name anywhere in Linkon City despite his efforts to search for her. She didn’t exist. Yet that never stopped him from feeling so familiar, so intimate with her, like she meant the world to him once—no, it felt like she still does.

SYLUS

Sylus has been the leader of Onychinus in N109 zone for as long as he can remember in this world. He’s had his fair share of blood and immoralities that came with the job but at least it made sense. At least, it was rational. For survival, animal instinct of a human, pleasure—he could find the cause for it even if it was twisted. But this. This wasn't something he could make sense out of no matter how much he twisted his mind to find the root for it.

He has a girlfriend. Someone he’s decided to pursue after years of merely picking and dropping gems of women he found attractive in the clubs he frequented. This woman matched him—he thought. This would work—he hoped. He just needed something. Anything. To get the woman he kept seeing in his mind off his thoughts.

One would have thought the mysterious girl sylus that plagues his mind was someone he knew. A past relationship, an acquaintance, maybe even a fling. Yet it was neither of those. He doesn’t know her. He’s never seen her in his life. He shouldn’t be thinking about her—fuck, how does he even how she looks like? No matter how much time he spent pondering, recalling, digging information about someone who looked like her, he found nothing. The only conclusion he came to make was that she doesn’t exist.

And maybe someone else might have thought she would appear in his mind in his dreams—but no. It was the darker moments. The near death experiences, the life-risking gambles he took with every decision he made. It was the moments where his eyes would flicker, and his vision would slowly swim into a haze, would she appear. He didn’t like it. Never liked how the sight of her during those moments actually soothed him in ways nothing else could. Her lips that he stared into almost coaxing him to go with her to other side where they could finally meet.

Sylus couldn’t lie—he was truly tempted to accept.

The brows of the white haired man furrowed deeply in the dead of the night of his quarters, glass of wine in hand. He stared out the view out the large windows ahead of him, his free hand lifting to run through his in a rough tug.

His frown never seemed to leave him. Not even after spending a sweet night with his current beloved. He could still see it. The distinct features of that gorgeous woman in the back of his mind.

Sylus gripped his glass tighter, internally scolding himself for thinking about another when his woman was right behind him, comfortably sleeping in his bed, under his covers. He grunted, laying his head back against the headrest of the armchair.

He was frustrated, curious, and all of the above. Feeling his jaw clench at the thoughts that swarmed his mind, he downed the rest of his wine in one gulp and got from his seat. He walked around his bed to the nightstand, placing his glass down.

His crimson eyes landed on his lover that slept in his bed, her bare body covered by the blanket. Sylus felt his frown begin to relax, a soft breath leaving his lips. He took a step closer to the bed, reaching out a hand to brush the hair from her face. His neutral expression turned to one of longing the more his fingers lingered on her skin.

He wanted to find her so badly. Sylus wanted to face her and demand she answer his questions. Although he knows that won’t be possible.

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 11

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You overhear things you were not meant to hear. Or alternatively: The girls boys are fighting.

Content: mild angst, lots of eavesdropping on secrets.

Word Count: 6.9k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The music box sits atop of the wooden counter. For a love song, it’s such a sad and melancholic melody. Made sadder by the off-key note that clangs jarringly five seconds in, after you've wound up the music box to watch the little deformed Anubis inside twirl. 

It's oddly mesmerising in a meditative sort of way, how it keeps spinning round and round with nowhere to go. 

Doing the same thing over and over again. 

Stuck.

Has Anubis always looked so unhappy?

Steven's hand brushes against your back, interrupting your musing, and you jump in your seat despite the gentleness of his touch. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you with a worried frown.

"You're going to be late for work, love," he says, "It’s nearly eight-forty."

"Shit." You’ve lost track of time, fiddling too long with the music box. 

You glance at the table where Steven has already stacked your plate. Two pieces of charred marmite toasts sit atop his emptier plate as he's walking over to the sink. A pang of guilt sits in your chest at the sight of it. 

Despite the effort Steven had gone through, getting up early and having it ready for you by the time you woke up, you've hardly even taken a bite of your breakfast. 

You rush forward, wanting to at least help him clean the plates, but Steven waves you off with a shake of his head.

"It's all right, love. You go ahead, don't want you to be late. I'll clear this up. Donna can't possibly get madder at me than she already is." 

There's a forced smile twisting his lips, and when you don't make any moves to go, Steven sets down the dishes in the sink and walks back over to you.

"Have a good day at work today," he says and tips his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I don't want you to worry about anything alright? Everything will sort itself out." 

It feels like deja vu when he says it, and for a second you worry, because the last time you heard this sentiment aimed at you, the man who said it disappeared without any physical trace. 

As if he can sense your apprehension, Steven continues, giving your hand a gentle nudge. "Go on, love. I'll pick you up after work, and we’ll order something nice for take out tonight." 

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself nodding as you head towards the front door. The sound of porcelain clinking together and kitchen clutter continues in the background as you click the door shut behind you. 

The hallway is dimly lit and gloomy as you make your way down to the lift. 

Once inside, it’s quiet except for the whirring of mechanical gears from above. It’s almost like being trapped in a music box of your own, except that Steven’s building isn’t fancy enough to have elevator music. There's nothing to distract you here. No twirling Anubis. No melodies. The only thing keeping you company is your own thoughts and memories. 

‘Marc, I mean it. I miss you.’ 

The memory of your own words seems to echo between your ears, and you cringe, shaking your head in an attempt to make it stop. You're restless, the cuticles of your nails itching to be picked as you try to push yesterday's telephone call from your mind. Trying to mute your own pleading voice from playing on an endless loop. 

‘I'm in love with you– ’ 

You’re desperate for a distraction, but the cramped lift offers no distraction. There are mirrors on both walls, and endless Xerox copies of your own reflection stare back at you, repeating off into infinity. There’s no place here to hide from yourself. 

‘–You don’t have to love me the same way. Just come back.’

Your hand comes to your left wrist, seeking something to fidget with to calm your nerves, but the familiar leather strap of your watch is missing. Your forearm is bare.  

Oh, for god's sake. Where have you gone and lost the bloody thing now?

As soon as you think it, you realise where it must be. Can see the watch in your mind's eye, sitting on the porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, right where you left it when you took it off to shower last night. You sigh, pressing the button of the lift back to the fifth floor. This time as the lift ascends the floor, you fix your gaze on the menacing bright red LED sign indicating the floor level, refusing to look into the mirrors on either side of you.

‘Please. I miss you.’

The lift door pings open, mercifully interrupting the replay, and you briskly retrace your steps. You’re so focused on retrieving the watch—and ignoring the unwelcome memories—that you barely register that Steven’s no longer in the kitchen. It’s not until you’re brought up short by the closed loo door that you realise it’s not going to be quite that simple. 

Looking down, you can see the light streaming under the door is cut by a shadow’s flickering movement inside. Steven’s gone to the loo. That’s all well and good—nothing out of the ordinary— except the fact that your watch, which you would very much like to wear to work, is in there with him. 

You sigh. 

You’re already going to be late as it is, but you can’t very well barge in on him in the loo, now can you? The poor man would have a heart attack.

You contemplate your options, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and you have to resist the impulse to tap your feet like some grumpy old biddy. Trying for patience, you take a few steps back, dragging your eyes away from the bathroom to stare blindly off towards the empty kitchen corner. 

There’s not much to look at, just the morning sun streaming in the window to illuminate the pile of sauce-stained dishes waiting to be washed. Your eyes linger anyway. Your mind fills in the gap with an echo of Marc as you’re used to seeing him, standing at the sink or stove, his back to you, outlined in the soft early light. All that’s missing is his voice calling out a soft greeting.

And for a moment, you think you can hear him—his all-familiar American accent echoing from your memories. Better his than yours. Better the voice you've been missing like an amputated limb this entire time he’s been gone. 

“You need to stop.”

You jerk upright because that’s new. 

You’re no stranger to the flat, demanding tone, but you can’t trace the words back to any memory of what Marc has said to you before. 

That means it’s real.

You whip your head back in the direction of the loo where the voice is coming from. 

It’s muffled. The volume muted by the door, but you’d recognise that grumpy, impatient voice anywhere. Been replaying it enough in your mind, that you could pick the owner out of a blind lineup based on sound alone. And you can definitely identify it now in the quietness of Steven’s flat, where it’s just you and him. 

Marc. 

The room seems to narrow to a needle point, the colours blurring into each other until all you can see is the bathroom door. Excitement rushes to your head and everything feels fast and slow all at once. 

Marc is in there. 

Your legs threaten to buckle, and the wooden flooring underneath your feet seems to sink and warp into porous sand with each step forward. Then you’re standing there, in front of the loo, separated from him only by a few feet and the thin wood panelling of the accordion door, so ancient and flimsy-looking that a gust of wind could knock it down. 

You want to knock it down. You raise a shaky hand to hover just above the surface.

All you want is to grab the handle, fling it open and see Marc again. Not as you have these past months, through the lens of the memory—either your own wistful, wishful thinking or the echoes of him that have been haunting your daily life. 

You need the reality of him. To see him in the flesh and bone. Marvel at the ever-present scowl as he tips his head in irritation. That deep furrow between his brow when he’s consumed in some task. The rare half-smile that never fails to make you feel like you’ve won a rare prize at the carnival when you’ve manage to coax it out of him. 

But you can’t. 

Because you know how that will go. Even if Marc is in there, cornered in the loo, the moment he knows you're here and aware of him, he'll spirit himself away like he did last time.  

So you stay there, hand raised, feet frozen to the floor, staring down at the shifting shadow visible through the wide gap like it’s shadow puppet theatre, trying to discern the plot as you listen in. 

“This is how things are now. It’s better for both of you that I’m not around.” 

He sounds tired, weariness weighing down his words, and your throat aches. You don’t need X-ray vision to guess how Marc’s shoulders must be slumped, his hand rubbing over his face and jaw in frustration. 

The worst part is that you know Marc well enough to know that he truly believes what he is saying. Believes that his presence is a burden. That just by being here, he’s causing everyone trouble. 

He thinks he’s doing everyone a favour by not being around, and there’s nothing you or Steven can say that will make him believe otherwise. You know that. But it doesn’t mean you want to say it any less.

You want to break down the door, take him by those broad shoulders, and shake him until his head wobbles as you scream that he’s wrong. That he would be nothing but good for you. 

Because being around Marc makes you happy. Sitting next to him, watching him sip the “rubbish” coffee you’ve made him, makes your chest light up.  Seeing his puzzled expression when you make a pop culture reference he doesn’t know makes you smile.  And even though you’re not a morning person, he makes you look forward to waking up early because you know you get to spend those extra ten minutes with him. Marc makes you happy.

It goes quiet behind the door, and you can’t hear his voice anymore. Maybe Steven is arguing back. You hope so. You hope that Steven is rebutting Marc’s misguided beliefs the way you desperately want to. 

Maybe for once Marc is actually listening. 

"She doesn't know what she's asking for, Steven.” 

Maybe not, the stubborn bastard.

His voice is pained, and you tilt your forehead forward until it makes contact with the doorframe, hovering as close as you dare. It’s not like it makes any difference; not like he can sense you from behind the door—nor would you want him to, given the flight risk. But your heart hurts for him, and you just want to be closer to him in any way you can, despite the divider between you. 

“If I'm around it'll just mess everything up for–” He stops suddenly like maybe Steven has cut him off. Then there’s a grunt of protest, followed by, "Steven… That's not– Steven."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Steven!" This time he sounds almost angry, his voice is low and venomous. And whatever Steven says next must really strike a nerve, because Marc hisses, “Shut up, shut up! Shut UP!" the volume rising to a crescendo with his agitation.

It takes you by surprise, and you jump back, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. Then you scramble back to the door, pressing as close as you dare. Worried that you’ve missed part of the conversation because you can’t hear Marc anymore. 

“Look, maybe if you just, like... chill the eff out for a second, we can talk things over, yeah?” 

That’s not Marc at all. 

Instead, it’s Steven's warm South-Londoner accent spilling through the door. They must have switched.

“You can't keep doing this. You know that right?” Steven demands. “What's your grand master plan here, mate? Hiding during the day and sneaking out like a burglar in the dead of night...? A bit cowardly, isn't it? You have to know that’s not gonna work long term."

If Marc was angry, then Steven sounds properly hacked off, his patience on the last string, worn so thin it’s a surprise it hasn’t already snapped. This is clearly not the first, or even second time, they’ve had this conversation. Apparently the fact that he's been talking to Marc is one of those things Steven "can't tell you right now." You wonder how many times they've had this same argument. From the sound of things, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Steven has tried again and again without being able to even inch Marc to budge from his stubborn position.

"It's not the perfect life though, is it? Not when you’re being a right proper idiot about all this. She wants you here. I want you here, you great pillock!” Steven’s voice is loud and indignant, and you can hear a rattle in there that you’re pretty sure is Steven grabbing onto the sides of the mirror in a frustrated attempt to throttle Marc through it. “And you can stop trying to peddle ‘normal,’ all right? Nothing about this situation is normal, and I for one am perfectly okay with that!” 

You can always trust Steven to come through with the honest truth.

God, you love that man. 

You can’t help but smile as he quite loudly voices everything you’ve been dying to say to Marc in this moment. You agree with all of it, even the throttling. Because Steven’s so very right. Who needs ‘normal’ when you can have something better together? 

“Just–” Steven cuts himself off, and you hear the deep inhale as he takes a calming breath before he continues.

“Listen, Marc…” His voice is softer now, almost cajoling. Trying to negotiate and soothe. 

You lean up on your tiptoes and in closer to the door, until you’re practically pressed against it. In your eagerness, you forget about how flimsy the material is until it gives slightly under your weight, and you flinch back. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle the flimsy thing didn’t collapse altogether.  

“You’re not fooling anyone, all right? I can feel what you feel when you’re around her.”

You wait with bated breath for Steven to continue, selfishly hoping that he’ll spell it out further because you desperately want to know what exactly it is that Marc feels around you. For you. 

“When you wake up next to her, and–” his voice spills from the bathroom, the dry sarcasm unmistakable, “when you drink that bloody awful coffee.” 

Again with the sass about your coffee! 

You scowl at the door, any goodwill towards Steven’s efforts in this conversation quickly evaporating. Surely, your coffee can’t be as terrible as all that. It’s just beans and water! How much of a difference can the ratio make anyhow? 

“Or… Or the way you clutched onto that jacket for weeks after she wore it. Treated it like some bloody teddy bear, didn’t you?” 

His jacket? The one that gave you so much grief and guilt after the almost-kiss in front of the fishtank? And Marc had… what? Snuggled with it? Your mind boggles at the very idea, even as it warms your heart.

“‘Don’t?’” Steven challenges, obviously repeating something you can’t hear. “Don’t what, exactly, Marc? Don’t state the obvious?” He barrels on, apparently unwilling to give Marc time to reply, "I know how you feel about her. And I know what you think about when you spend those extra ten minutes in the shower." 

Extra… minutes? You frown to yourself. You don't understand. What could Steven possibly mean by ‘ten extra minutes’ in the– 

Oh. 

An invading image pushes to the forefront of your mind. Of Marc's stern and focused eyes closed in concentration. Wet curls plastered to his forehead. His fingers wrapped in a tight fist over his hard cock. It’s true that you’ve not ever seen Marc less than fully clothed, but you’ve seen Steven without a thread on his body, and your brain is more than happy to fill in the blanks.

Heat curls into your stomach and settles there. Your chest feels tight, as though the thought of Marc in the shower is squeezing the breath out of you. Your vivid imagination clings onto the image, no matter how hard you try to think of something else. Your brain is too enamoured with it and refuses to let it go. 

All you see as you close your eyes are his perfect cheekbones flushed a rosy crimson as he shudders in pleasure. 

"Well if you don't want me to tell her, you’d best stop playing hide and seek then," Steven continues, clearly exasperated, "You’re being ridiculous, you bloody plonker."

Despite the fact that he's still technically whispering, he's so agitated that he might as well be shouting and the volume would be comparable. Steven never could keep a lid on his emotions. You can just picture the animated expression on his face. 

“She wants you too, you know.”  It’s quieter, comes after a second or two pause, as if Steven’s deliberately tamping down how loud he was.

More silence follows. 

You wait for several torturously slow seconds, but there’s still nothing from behind the door. Is it because Marc has been replying to Steven, you wonder. And if he has, what has he been saying? Is he angry? Brushing Steven off? Or is it like it was on the phone last night—silent because he’s not replying back at all.

Why is that somehow the worst scenario? 

You don’t hear anything else. Perhaps this is how it’s going to end today as well. Another stalemate. Stuck in a loop, like Gus II’s endless pilgrimage back and forth across the tank, forever spinning in this box that you have gotten yourselves into, with no way out. 

How long can the three of you keep doing this for? 

“Did you know… she had a sex dream about us?" Steven says. 

A cold shock grips the entirety of your spine, and you jolt like someone threw a bucket of ice water over your head. 

"That’s right, about both of us, together—said she couldn't choose." 

Oh god. God! What on earth is Steven saying? Has he lost his fucking marbles? He can’t tell Marc that! 

Embarrassment burns with a fury in your cheeks. You bite down on your tongue, trying to keep yourself still, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to ram down the door. 

“Actually, I quite think you do need to be hearing this, mate. If you would just–” Steven breaks off, then tries again, raising his voice like he’s trying to talk over and overpower someone else in volume. 

“If you would just come back and talk to us about it, I'm sure she would… Marc. Take your hands off your ears, Marc. If you would just listen for one bloody second. Can you please just– Oh, right, that’s really mature!” 

“Oh, that is bloody well it!” Steven shouts, and harsh fluorescent light floods your vision, momentarily blinding you, as the bathroom door is flung open. 

You stumble forward, nearly falling through the doorway. The only things that stops you from going arse-over-tits are Steven's solid frame and the fact that you faceplant square into the middle of his chest.

His hands go to your shoulders, helping to steady you, and it only takes a second to regain your footing. And then you find yourself staring up at your fuming boyfriend. 

Steven’s cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, and his beautiful messy curls are bouncing wildly on top of his head. He must’ve been well and truly hacked off at Marc, but at the sight of you the anger melts off of him. 

"Oh,” he says, blinking down at you in surprise, “hello, love. You’re back?” 

Turning back to the bathroom, Steven narrows his eyes pointedly at the mirror, then turns off the light and slides the door shut firmly behind him.

"How... uhm… how much of that did you overhear?" 

"Quite a bit," you admit, not bothering to beat around the bush. "I'm guessing Marc’s still refusing to come home then?" 

Steven gives an exasperated shake of his head. 

"He's being stubborn, as always."

You nod, but there’s a bitter clump stuck in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. Steven must notice your struggle, because his hands trail down the length of your arms until he finds yours and weaves your fingers together, squeezing lightly. 

"Don't worry, love. He'll come around eventually, yeah? He just needs time." 

Steven likes to say the two of you have all the time in the world, but you're beginning to wonder if even that would be enough.

The flickering light from the telly is swathing the bed and surrounding surfaces of Steven’s bookshelves in blues and whites. You’re staring blindly at the ocean scenery playing out before you, without really hearing any of the narration as Attenborough drones on about whale wildlife. 

You feel listless. You try to tell yourself that it’s just been a long day at work. Between Poppy stealing your lunch, (which she denies) and that three hour Teams call that nearly ended your will to live, it’s no wonder you’re ready for this day to end. 

But it’s more than that. 

‘It’s better for both of you that I’m not around’.

Marc had sounded so tired in the loo this morning, like he’s exhausted to the depths of his soul, and you hate that for him. Guilt swirls in your stomach, simmering until it curdles into irritation and then anger. 

You’re furious at the whole situation. 

You hate how angry and defeated he sounded. Can't stand the thought that he's doing something that hurts him to keep you and Steven “happy.” But most of all you hate that he’s alone again. By himself, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like the victim of some tragic Greek myth, condemned to a solitary existence by the gods for all of eternity. 

But your anger isn’t helping you right now, and it certainly doesn’t help Marc.

In fact, nothing you’ve been doing has helped him, has it? All your efforts to get him to come back: spam texting him, poisoning him with your toxic coffee, confessing your feelings… The only thing any of it has achieved is to make him feel cornered and miserable. 

It needs to stop. 

You need to stop. 

“You all right, love?” Steven’s voice near your ear pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts. 

“Hmm?”

Steven frowns at you from where he sits beside you on the sofa. 

“You seem… distracted. Is there something on your mind, love?” 

“Yes, sorry, I think I’m just–” you trail off mid-sentence, the screen catching your eye when you lift your head. The credits are rolling and must have been for quite some time without you even noticing. 

“Let’s go to bed, love. Call it an early night, yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile on his lips. 

Curling up in bed with Steven sounds perfect to you in this moment and you nod at him.  

It’s all he needs to start moving,  Steven stooping to gather up the blanket that’s pooled by your feet and reaches over your lap for the remote to turn off the telly. The room dims without the brightness of the screen, and Steven takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. He watches your progress surreptitiously, keeping his hand steady over yours like he’s a guide dog worried you’re going to trip over your own feet. 

He doesn’t let go until you’re safely sat down on your side of the bed, and even then he stays standing there with an uncertain look on his face, one hand hovering in mid-air, the other hanging by his side, fingers fidgeting. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Steven finally asks, the words bursting out of him as if he’s unable to hold them in any longer. “What happened today, that is. About Marc, and what you overheard.” 

“Marc…,” you begin, and his name barely even leaves your lips before Steven is already nodding enthusiastically for you to continue. “He sounded really quite tired today, didn’t he? It must be hard for him to keep this up. I don’t know why he thinks he has to keep hiding like this.” 

Steven’s chewing on his bottom lip, and there it is again, the feeling that Steven knows so much more than he’s been telling you. You can practically see the weight of the phrase ‘I can’t tell you right now’ perched heavily on his features. 

You look down at your lap, fingers twisting into the blanket. But maybe, it isn’t hard to guess what it is neither of them are telling you. It’s Occam’s razor isn’t it? All things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. And maybe the simple explanation here is that Marc just… doesn’t want to see you. Whatever the reasons, he’s made that much abundantly clear, and you’ve gone and ignored all signs and pushed forward regardless. You told the man you loved him, and he didn’t say anything back. 

“I think that what I said on the phone–me telling him I love him—has probably only made things worse.” 

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you raise your eyes towards Steven again. 

“I just want him to know it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same about me. It’s all right if he doesn’t want this or– Or me. He doesn’t have to hide to avoid rejecting me or to spare my feelings. I don’t want him to be alone because of that. Can you… can you tell him that?”

Steven's eyes widens, and he shakes his head vigorously.  

“No. No, no, no, love. That is not what's happening here. That's not– The problem is– Marc is just–" He stumbles over his words a bit before spitting out tartly, "Just a right twit, is what he is." 

You can’t help the grunt-like snort that escapes, and the levity feels good. It’s nice to be able to laugh with Steven, even as glum as you are over the situation that you’re all stuck in. 

Your laugh must’ve pleased him, because he smiles back at you, eyes crinkling adorably. His shoulders relax too, and his hands stop their nervous fidgeting. 

Climbing knee-first onto the bed, Steven sits in front of you. His hand comes to yours, and he settles both your hands on top of your lap.

“Marc isn’t hiding away because he doesn’t feel the same about you.” 

Your face must show your scepticism, because Steven squeezes your fingers between his reassuringly as he continues. 

“Same body and all that, remember? I’m aware enough nowadays that I can usually feel what he feels when I’m not the one fronting.” 

"What does he feel?" You blurt out. It's a question that has been haunting you since your impromptu phone call confession. Longer even.

Steven hesitates, clearly torn, and it’s enough to make you realise what you've just asked of him. How unfair of a question it is.

"Sorry.” You grimace, your shoulders sagging. "I know you don't feel comfortable sharing things about Marc without him here. And I understand. It's okay. Really it is. It's..."

It's only right, isn't it? Of course it’s not for Steven to out Marc’s private matters. And what can be more personal than one’s inner thoughts and feelings?

"Oh, love," Steven says, voice impossibly gentle, “You're right that it's not my place to tell you.”

You nod, looking down at your lap, feeling like your whole chest has deflated. You know it's the right thing for him to do. You’re glad for it even—that he's looking out for Marc when Marc's not here to look out for himself—but you can’t help but feel disappointed all the same.

“Buuuut…” he continues, and your head whips up, searching his face with a tiny sprinkle of hope that perhaps there's still something Steven can share with you. 

“You heard what I said to him in there, right?” Steven prompts, and you nod. His fingers brush over yours, giving you the time to process. 

You try to remember everything you overheard, any other hints you’ve gleaned. How Marc always drinks your “awful” coffee. That he’d clutched onto his jacket after you’ve worn it. The shower. Your fingertips tingle all over again as the image of him in the shower tries to resurface in your mind. 

“Surely it’s obvious by now how Marc feels about you, isn’t it?” 

Steven looks so certain—like he can’t even begin to fathom why there would be any doubt about this—and you desperately want him to be right. Desperately want to think that Marc might care for you in return. 

He says it like all of the pieces of the puzzle are plainly there for you to see. And they should be, you suppose. Marc has shown you so many different sides of himself, and the conversation you overheard revealed more. The problem is that no matter how hard you try to mash the pieces together to make them fit… They don’t.

What Steven’s implying makes sense, and yet here the two of you are, alone. And Marc is still refusing to join you.

Despite everything, the picture before you is still somehow… incomplete. You can’t help but feel that there’s at least one more vital piece of information that you’re still somehow missing. 

“So why is he still hiding, then?” 

And there’s something there, in Steven’s reaction when you ask him. A quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-it flicker towards the direction of the fish tank. The only reflective surface, lit up as it is in the darkness of the room. 

“Steven?” you prompt loudly, fully intent on interrupting whatever tirade Marc is shouting at Steven. You lean forward, squeezing his hand for attention. “What is Marc saying to you? Why won’t he come back?”

Steven’s head whips back in your direction. His mouth is works, but no words come out, and he’s hesitating like he’s trying to decide how much he should tell you. 

“There are things that we—that Marc hasn't told you,” Steven finally says, eyes flicking to the fishtank again, then back to yours, holding your gaze earnestly. “Things that you ought to hear about from him. He doesn’t think he deserves– Well. He thinks that once you know about everything, you’ll walk away from us both. So he’s staying away. I guess in some way, he thinks he’s protecting me again. Buying me some time before it ends."

“That’s ridiculous!” you shout before you can stop yourself. “He can’t possibly know how I’ll react until he’s told me!” 

Your ears burn and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming out. Why can’t Marc just sit you down and tell you these things instead of making assumptions about what he thinks you would want? What he thinks would be best for you? It’s Steven and the goldfish all over again. 

“And, Steven,”—you look him right in the eye, because you don’t want there to be any doubt about this next part—”I love you. There is nothing Marc could tell me that would make me want to leave you, all right.”

Steven smiles, and even in the dark it’s warm enough to light up the whole room.

"Yes, love, I know.” His smile turns wry, “Like I said… a right twit."

It’s dark. 

Quiet. 

The world isn’t awake yet, and you’re not sure if you are either. You can’t even hear the London traffic outside. There’s too little light in here, and you can’t make out anything except vague shapes in the inviting darkness. You close your eyes again, ready to drift back to sleep. 

Fabric rustles nearby, a soft white noise like the raising of sails. It reminds you of visiting the beach as a child and putting your ear to the opening of a seashell. Everything sounds like it’s underwater.

The surface under you moves, rolling slightly, and then settles again, and it feels like you are out at sea on a small boat. Behind your eyelids, all you see is purple skies dusted with sugared stars. 

Someone is here on the boat with you, warm and sturdy against your side. For a moment or two, drunk on sleep as you are, you don’t quite know where you are or who the person is. All you know is that you feel happy and safe with them. 

The boat rocks again, the surface under you shifting, and the warmth moves away. You want it back. Before you can reach out, the soft weight covering you shifts like a wave, dragging against your hip as it rises up over your torso before settling again, tucked snugly under your chin. 

There are quiet, almost careful footsteps on wooden planks. Then the clink of metal like chains being dragged across the floor. 

It’s all so familiar somehow. 

Didn't there used to be a time when you'd often find yourself like this? Drowsy and half-conscious, pulled towards awareness by the quiet sounds of someone moving next to you, but too far under to fully wake? 

When did it stop?

Oh. Right. When Marc disappeared. 

This must be a dream then. Your brain processing and recycling old memories. Why else would you be out on the open sea? 

The noises stop. 

You can feel the moment drift, pulled away by the currents, but you’re not ready to wake up yet. There’s a long silence, where the dream threatens to slip beneath the inky depth of a wave. 

Squeezing your eyes firmly shut, you try to let yourself float gently on the current, hoping you can relax and prolong this dream. 

The surface you’re resting on dips, and something settles onto your shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. You know this feeling. It’s Marc’s hand, and it inspires the same feeling of safety it did last time, the last time you and Marc were together in person, after you'd cried yourself into exhaustion and he'd agreed to let you fall asleep in his bed. 

It feels nice. More than nice. It feels right.

You nuzzle your cheek into billowing warmth surrounding you that feels like a soft pillow and smells of fresh laundry detergent and coffee. You inhale deeply, sighing contently at the scent, trying to enjoy it while it lasts. 

You don’t want to give this up.

The weight lifts from your shoulder, and you almost rise up in protest, but something sweeps softly across your forehead. Those gentle fingertips, brush the hair from your eyes before coming to linger on your cheek. 

It's a bit funny, isn’t it? A bit cruel even, of your subconscious to conjure up a scenario where Marc’s touching your cheek tenderly like this. After all, isn’t this what you’d thought he might do that night? What you’d wanted him to do, even if you hadn’t known it then? To cup your cheek in his strong, warm hand; to hold you like you're precious to him, beloved, the same way that Steven does?

Marc’s hand moves away again, replaced by the gentle brush of soft lips and bristly stubble against your temple. It’s a barely-there touch, so light and fleeting that you might have imagined it, yet everything inside you aches like a tender bruise. Your skin tingles with an echo of lingering warmth.

You don’t dare to move; barely dare to breathe for fear that you’ll wake yourself up. Your chest constricts with a bittersweet longing that feels large enough to bury you whole. 

"I love you too," his quiet voice says, filling the silence.

Warmth blossoms in your stomach, pouring and pouring through you until you feel filled to the brim with happiness. You think you would be content to stay here, in this safe, quiet space, just basking in his loving presence forever.

For long moments, you do, sinking into the feeling of being loved by this grumpy, stubborn, confusingly gentle man.

Then you hear the heavy sigh.

"That's why I can't come back," he says, voice quiet, resigned, “I need you to be safe. And happy. I’ll make sure of that.”

The sea rises as his weight lifts away from you. The whole of the boat shifts unsteadily beneath you, tilting with the tumultuous waves. Set adrift by the unexpected and unwelcome turn the dream has taken, you’re convinced that the boat is going to tip over and capsize. That you’ll slip into the cracks between the planks of the deck and fall into the abyss, never to be seen again.

You reach out to grab the railing, trying to steady yourself. But where you expected a wooden ledge, hard and wet from seawater, your fingers grasp onto something soft and warm instead. It gives way easily under the grip of your hands, like cotton. Like sheets. 

Still you hold on tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable descent, and then…

Nothing.

Nothing happens. You’re still on steady ground. Still surrounded in the stillness of the dark night. The only sound is that of soft footsteps moving away and then the unmistakable click of the front door. 

Wait, what kind of dream is this?

Your eyes fly open, and you’re greeted to the sight of the wooden planks, mostly lost in shadow. The bottom of the deck? Are you in the ship’s hold? 

No, it’s the  lowered ceiling over Steven's bed. You’re in his flat.

There’s an ache in your shoulder from having rested on it too long, and you force yourself upright. Your eyelids feel crusty and dry, as though a desert has sprung up behind them overnight. They sting as you blink, wanting to seal closed again. 

Are you awake now? Or is this just another part of a dream? Ten seconds from now, will you find yourself back down on the mattress, forcing yourself to open your eyes all over again?

It’s dark in here, but that tells you nothing. In wintertime, dark can mean 5pm or 7am or anything in between. Turning to the side of the bed, you pat at the nightstand until you find your watch and raise it to your face, squinting in the darkness to make out the dials. 

Eight-thirty? That can’t be right. You and Steven fell asleep well past eight last night, and it’s too dark outside to already be eight in the morning. You reach over to the small lamp, holding the face of it up to the dim light. The arms counting the seconds is taking much longer than a second to hobble forwards. It’s desperately trying to tick along but it’s not doing a great job at keeping time accurately. 

You really need to fix the bloody thing. Or better yet, get a new one. Everything about it is falling apart. Still you fasten it to your wrist by habit before you move to get out of bed. 

With a heavy sigh, you dip one foot onto the floor, and hiss out an involuntary breath at the chill of it. Your shoulders clutch at the quilt tugging it closer around your shoulder.

Wait, this is…

Real.

The biting cold is definitely real. Not a dream; not your imagination. As fantastical as your dreams can sometimes be, your subconscious wouldn't have the attention to detail to replicate the energy bill crisis. 

Turning your head, your eyes drift to Steven’s side of the bed where he fell asleep curled up next to you. Except, he’s not there anymore. 

You reach out your hand, resting it on the spot of the mattress where he would have been lying. 

Still warm and toasty. 

He must’ve gotten up mere moments ago. The door to the loo is open and dark, so Steven’s not in there. He’s not anywhere, and Steven wouldn’t have left the flat without telling you. Must’ve been Marc then, gone wandering off into the night again.

Your neck prickles.

And all of a sudden you’re wide awake, realisation slamming into you like a runaway lorry.

Oh bloody hell, that wasn’t a dream. It was real. 

Marc was really here. 

He really– 

Oh god!

Shoving the comforter away, you leap to your feet. The cold draft in the room punches the air out of your lungs, but you ignore it and focus on trying to find your clothes and dress as quickly as possible. In your haste, you ricochet off one of the bookcases and have to clumsily pat things back into place to avoid an avalanche of Steven’s mess, picking the first pair of boots that is within reach and your coat. Then you’re out of the front door with a loud slam behind you. 

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

[neithoftheveil]

Encouraging readers to come nudge me so I work on the next chapter of this project!

Ships: Xie Lian/Hua Cheng; Feng Xin/Mu Qing; Yushi Huang/Ling Wen

Rating: T

Summary: Three years after his life falls apart, Xie Lian attempts to start over by reconnecting with old friends and taking over a small flower shop to keep his mind busy, but pretending he can’t see the dark spirit that haunts him doesn’t make it go away. It’s been there forever—along with the nightmares, the deja vu, and the bone-deep longing for someone just outside his memory’s reach.

When a stranger named San Lang wanders into his shop one rainy evening, Xie Lian can’t help but feel like he’s grasped a piece of the puzzle, but his friends are convinced “San Lang” is dangerous, and what’s worse? They might be right. As they investigate his intentions and Xie Lian unravels the mysteries of his life, they find themselves targeted by someone or something hell-bent on taking them out one by one

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Alternate Universe - Reincarnation; Horror; Mystery; Crime; Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic; this is less of a flower shop AU; and more of a “I once worked in a flower shop and I’m making it your problem” set up; Happy Ending; because I only deal in happy endings; but I will torture you first; Additional Tags to Be Added; where in the world does this story take place; fuck if i know?; Multi-POV; everyone is forever and always on the ace spectrum when I write them; A surprising amount of fluff; all things considered

[randomfoggytiger]

Dreams, Alternate Realities, and Agency

In Mulder's dreams or nightmares-come-to-life, he is stripped of his agency: "I had one chance," he grieves in Herrenvolk, "and I let it slip away." His obsessive pursuit for answers is directly correlated to his helplessness during his sister's abduction; and continues to haunt him as he battles against the Consortium.

"She's crying out for help-- but I can't help her. I can't move."

"I dreamt I was swimming this pool, and I could see my father underwater. But when I dove down, the water stung my eyes.... And I had to leave. I couldn't find my father."

"I'm beginning to wonder if... if that ever even happened."

"Well, I've often felt that dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask."

"We do what we can to battle the evil that would otherwise destroy us. But if a man's character is his faith, this fight is not a choice, but a calling."

"At times, I almost dream."

"Fox, help me! Help me!"

"Mulder, make her stop. I can't help myself."

"You have to help me! You have to get me out of here! Please! You have to help me. Help me-- please help me."

"...the deja vu phenomenon could be repressed memories escaping the unconscious that represents the desire to, uh, have a second chance."

"Scully, I was like you once. I didn't know who to trust.... The end of my world was unrecognizable and upside down. There was one thing that remained the same: you were my friend, and you told me the truth."

"Stay where you are!"

"Did I say that? I didn't say that!"

His quest, his fight, is why he can't stop and live "a normal life"-- not until that part of himself is reclaimed.

It's why moments where Mulder actively chooses to "remain with you" (via The Blessing Way and Amor Fati) are so important to his character: he can choose, often aided by Scully's belief in him.

Scully is a pivotal piece to his life because Mulder depends on her capability and support-- to take care of herself and to trust in him-- in order to do his work; but more specifically, to soothe his own worries that he'll fail her, too (which is why he kept nearly falling apart whenever she was in danger.) And he continually rewards that faith by accomplishing Herculean tasks to get back to her side.

In Scully's dreams, she fails despite her agency. While Mulder is "called" to his mission, called to answer those questions that he can't escape even in his sleep, Scully is forced to confront them-- and herself-- when pulled in by prophecies, divinations, and cries for help.

It's why the events of Irresistible, Emily, and Orison hit her hard: they were, she considered, a self-fulfilling cycle of success and failure.

"I'll believe you... if you let me... let me talk to him."

"I'm fine, Mulder."

"There are hits and there are misses. And then there are misses."

"Well, see, it just makes me afraid.... Afraid that God is speaking... but that no one's listening."

"Facing a truth I can no longer deny. Alone, as ever."

"Mommy, let me go. Mommy, please, let me go."

"He cornered me today and told me my life's story. He was kind of frightening, actually."

"The only reason why you're alive is because I asked the judge for life!"

Mulder's quest makes her afraid: Scully is reminded of her human frailty, of the fallible nature of her beliefs, of the losses-- personally and professionally-- she takes because of the truth. Yet her partner's strength keeps her there: she leans on it when her father dies, when she is returned in a coma, when she battles cancer, and when she must confront any number of unexplainable realities on a daily basis.

Of course, dreams and nightmares and alternate realities are incapable of holding back Mulder or Scully for long; and the two find a way to keep fighting alongside each other, hoping to bring about a better, happier reality together.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 10/04/2024

The World Ends With PSY

Season 1 Featured on: GilvaSunner's Highest Quality Video Game Rips: Volume 7: Part mm2wood

Ripped by Metalik

Hey, it's the 10th of April - 10/4, like the 104 building! I couldn't resist!

Here's a fun fact for you: Long before I was running this blog, I was making a certain other SiIvaGunner project, and through working on it decided to reach out to the SiIvaGunner channel head, MtH of Bigger at Night (Chung Yard) fame, for the first time ever. So what was one of the first-ever things I directly told someone from the SiIvaGunner team? "Make more The World Ends With You rips". Yes, I was young(er) and stupid(er), awkward and strange, and I of course now know that good rips come to those who make them, but the sentiment holds true even today. The World Ends With You's soundtrack still means EVERYTHING to me. And, well, though we don't have many rips to go around for the game, I will continue to cherish the ones we do have: because as far back as Season 1, there have been absolute bangers within out small selection.

Now, if you've followed SiIvaGunner for any amount of time, you know about the joke of The World Ends With PSY already. It's PSY, the K-Pop legend, the man behind Gangnam Style, Gentleman and so many more hits, and perhaps more importantly, a YTPMV celebrity. He's had annual days of celebration on SiIvaGunner, one of which I covered back with One Winged PSYcho - V​.​S. Sepsyrop, and rippers have continued to find all kinds of creative ways to utilize the man's distinct sound, including the sentence-mixing marvel of Korean Idiot. Those two rips are still the only PSY-specific I've covered on here, but they lay a pretty concise groundwork, particularly the former: Most PSY rips made for SiIva utilize PSY's "eyys" and "ops" for truly next-level YTPMV-tier postings, the kind that you'll also hear in big meme medley rips like ULTRA S+G. Yet, that kind of makes The World Ends With PSY a neat novelty, in a way: in the days of Season 1 before PSY's presence on the channel was so clearly decided, one Metalik made a PSY rip that goes against the pattern all three prior mentioned rips follow.

Rather than usurping Calling's instrumentation with leads made up purely of PSY's immaculate soundscape, The World Ends With PSY is a no-nonsense mashup, between PSY's Daddy and the aforementioned game track. Calling as a song is defined by the contrast between its noisy electronic backing and its beautiful vocals, like a light trying to shine through the darkness - The World Ends With PSY, then, is as if more noise is added to that blend, with pieces of Daddy's instrumental persisting throughout the track as PSY's own vocals alternate in and out with the original vocalist. It's a really interesting mashup - PSY's always prominent within it, yet the original beauty of Calling's vocals never feel as if they're drowned out, just framed within such a different kind of noisiness. To cut a long yap short - it bangs!! It isn't the kind of vocal/instrumental mashup that wholly changes the track's tone a la My Dr. Eggman Can't Be This Evil!, but it undoubtedly IS different, yet different in a way that highlights the strengths of both tracks used.

And yes, this is a Season 1 rip nonetheless, I can certainly hear some slight cracks in the facade at points - but The World Ends With PSY remains my favorite rip the game has gotten in all of these years. Compared to some other efforts made earlier in the season, such as Three Minutes Clapping literally just being what the track name says, or Deja Vu just switching to the titular Eurobeat song at the chorus' end - funny gags for sure, but none quite feeling like a loveletter to The World Ends With You in the way I've long wanted. We've gotten a sprinkling of rips of the game since, but it was The World Ends With PSY that I first connected with all those years ago - the rip that reassured me that the game's soundtrack is still remembered and cherished by others aboard the team.

[atiny-for-life]

Ateez's Full Storyline Explained - Part 6

Masterlist

Deja-Vu (Z-World)

This is Ateez breaking into the Android Guardian's bunker to steal back the Cromer which is fully covered in the Fever Part 3 Diary Entries

We see Yeosang with a blue butterfly which we'll later see again in Answer and finally learn more about in the Will - The World Ep. Fin Diary Entries

We see a drone flying through the sewer system, likely a reference to the one that showed up at the hideout after Ateez returned to the A-World without Yeosang

We then see a scan of Yeosang, Hongjoong and Yunho which leads to a system error - on one hand, this could just be an editing choice to make it look cool or it's the system detecting that Ateez aren't registered since they're from another reality

After Jongho "explodes", we see a flash of the Cromer and the butterfly hologram which we'll also discuss further when we reach the Answer MV

These pass by quickly before we get a quick shot of Ateez's Hongjoong facing his alternate self inside a glass case much like the one Yeosang will be trapped in in Say My Name

This is a reference to Ateez's encounter with the Black Pirates in the Android Guardians' bunker

They manage to get the Cromer and make it outside (in the Diary Entries, this scene takes place in the lobby of the museum) where Yeosang should've been exchanged for the Cromer after the Android Guardians captured him

Instead, Yeosang snatches the Cromer out of the air before the Guardian could get it, turns it once and smashes it to pieces

We see two hands at the end, reaching for each other - Hongjoong's on the right and Yeosang's on the left before a bright light engulfs them

[thisbetternotawakenanything]

Teaser trailer fuck yeah let’s look at costumes!

Everybody’s favourite reprehensible people show is ready to tease us, let’s see what we can glean from the attire, shall we? The resolution is Twitter shitty, and I’ve pumped up the chroma so we can see colour themes on the blurry pile of screen caps, but let’s go anyway!

First: Team Logan. He’s still in the blue and blue squares we’ve come to recognise as being his attire of loyalty signalling. Hope you choke on your cheesecake, Logan! The Egg and the Egg Sucker got dressed together over FaceTime. Note the entire room of core yes men and women cloaked in blue, and Gerri is wearing PANTS, which is such a radical departure for her I worry for her mental health. But she’s also rocking a punk for her triple ear piercing (J Smith Cameron’s IRL ear piercing, will it disappear before it airs?), and I’ve decided to imagine Roman talked her into that at some point. Kerry in a blue suit version of her Italy pink suit says, “Who’s got the supermax pussy grip now, Marcia? I’m bringing Business Pussy. His favourite.” I am vomiting up my lunch. That purple circle is possibly Laird! Bring back Laird! Logan also addresses his blue and grey company drones, with a beige assist from Cyd Peach.

Now let’s deal with Team Progeny:

ALERT! Roman’s wearing his Probably Fucked Gerri In An Alternate Universe YACHT SHIRT. But also a little piece of flair on his right wrist. What does it mean Miley Screaming dot gif?! I wish I could see his pants. Roman’s always been blue too, but the fact he’s holding on to his blue status despite being booted from the Waystar nest? He’s still bootleg Logan, and still connected in his heart and mind. Gerri in blue, Roman in blue. Can you feel the YEARNING? Connor in blue, no surprises there. Shiv still dragging her beige behind her from season 3, only she’s added some Kendall signature brown to indicate her emotional landscape is fucked. Kendall is still skulking in Earth tones, pretending he’s in touch with planet earth. They’re in LA and Shiv is happy about it. That pink room in (presumably) some LA house! That pink (NY)karaoke bar! Just when you thought Roman’s undershirts couldn’t get sluttier than Italy, somebody put this one on a really hot wash and now it’s so tight we have no choice but to jerk off suffer. Is he feeling constricted, or sexy? Why not both? Undershirt plus business pants including belt is basically Roman’s pyjamas, so his moody hot beverage on a balcony enjoyment tracks with that. Roman, you’d better be on the phone to Gerri (10-20% chance he is) and I’d love it if that bracelet was somehow meaningful in a wanting Gerri to love you way, but I’m not holding my breath. But your long distance couples costuming has been noted!

Bets on which song Connor makes them sing at karaoke? And how much peer pressure will it take to make Roman join in? If it’s We Are The Champions I will catapult myself into the sun. I have a feeling Gerri might be living some season 1 plot deja vu.

Bonus: Excited for Norway!

[ao3feed-fengqing]

all that defines me (is falling away)

by NeithOfTheVeil Three years after his life falls apart, Xie Lian attempts to start over by reconnecting with old friends and opening a small flower shop to keep his mind busy, but pretending he can’t see the dark spirit that haunts him doesn’t make it go away. It’s been there forever—along with the nightmares, the deja vu, and the bone-deep longing for someone just outside his memory’s reach. When a stranger named San Lang wanders into his shop one rainy evening, Xie Lian can’t help but feel like he’s grasped a piece of the puzzle, but his friends are convinced “San Lang” is dangerous, and what’s worse? They might be right. As they investigate his intentions and Xie Lian unravels the mysteries of his life, they find themselves targeted by someone or something hell-bent on taking them out one by one. Words: 4276, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Fandoms: 天官赐福 - 墨香铜臭 | Tiān Guān Cì Fú - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Xie Lian (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Hua Cheng (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Feng Xin (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Mu Qing (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Yushi Huang, Ling Wen (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Mei Nianqing, Shi Qingxuan Relationships: Feng Xin/Mu Qing (Tian Guan Ci Fu), Hua Cheng/Xie Lian (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Horror, Mystery, Crime, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, this is less of a flower shop AU, and more of a “I once worked in a flower shop and I’m making it your problem” set up, Happy Ending, because I only deal in happy endings, but I will torture you first, Additional Tags to Be Added, where in the world does this story take place, fuck if i know?, Multi-POV, everyone is forever and always on the ace spectrum when I write them via https://ift.tt/ABngapJ

[justiceforplutoo]

weird asks numbers 3, 8, and 25 :)

3. Pick a song to play every time you enter a room.

you cannot expect me to choose! i LOVE music, so there'd be a different one every time.

i do love when characters in tv shows have the little themes that play for them!! no matter how much they vary, you can always tell that it's theirs. if i was a movie character i think i'd have to pick some sort of slow guitar version of starman by david bowie, just quietly in the background.

ALTERNATIVELY, do you realize how AWESOME it'd be to kick open doors and have "now the party don't stop 'till i walk in..." play??? freakin' sick dude

8. What would you give a 40-minute presentation on with no preparation?

i would start ranting about my friend group lore...

we're all so freakin' weird and there's so many levels to it?? like i'd just start ranting about the story of what happened March 1st, 2024 (story for another time) and our friend jonas's delve into communism

25. Drop an insane piece of lore about you.

i am 95% sure that i am a prophet?? i know that sounds super insane but bear with me here.

i've always had a very weird sense of deja vu, all the time. even when it stops for a while, it comes back eventually. it's like watching a movie you saw when you were a kid that you barely remember and stumbling across a few scenes that stuck with you. i don't really know how to explain it, it's usually just that something happens and it feels weirdly familiar, like it already happened.

(for example, the other day i went to go grab my dad but he said no because he was talking to somebody, so i jumped back in the car and went "he's with *person's name*" & i felt like i'd already said that?)

the sucky part about it is i always remember that i knew it was going to happen after it happens, but i can't predict things before they're going to happen, and that really frustrates me.

yeah so that's the most insane lore i currently have about myself!! (and while we're on the topic if anyone knows if that's a symptom of something PLEASE let me know i'm genuinely worried)

hehe anyways love you!! thanks for comin' by <33

[sushigirlali]

No Body, No Crime - Part III (Reylo Fanfic)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI (Coming Soon!)

Summary: Assassin!Rey Palpatine is on her first mission for the evil Darth Sidious. The goal is simple: kill Prince!Ben Solo by any means necessary.

Pairing: Rey + Ben Solo

Rating: E

Continuity: Canonverse AU

A/N: The alternative title for this chapter is just the "Sure, Jan" meme lmao ;D

Master list –> AO3 | ff.net | Tumblr

——————

No Body, No Crime - Part III

By: sushigirlali

——————

Hanna City, Chandrila

Midnight

——————

She had to kill him. Tonight.

“Yeah, like it will be that easy,” she murmured to her reflection.

Leaning over the marble countertop, Rey pressed her face against the cool surface. She wanted to scream, to break something, to release all the negative feelings she’d suppressed over the years. Her body felt heavy, her muscles tight, almost like her physical form was at war with her every thought. And maybe it was. 

There was still a missing piece to the puzzle of her connection with the man in the next room, but she didn’t have much time left to decide what to do about it. 

“You don’t even know him.” And yet she did. She could. She wanted to. Desperately. 

“Before yesterday, he was just a name on a list.” But somehow today he was everything. 

Limitless possibilities lay before her, but they all hinged on the outcome of this moment between battles, of her own internal war. 

Bracing her hands on the counter, Rey lifted up so that she could see herself in the mirror again. The underclothes Ben had lent her were a silky peach number. He’d guessed her size somehow, because the fit was perfect against her tanned skin.

He’d liked seeing her in them, too, she could tell. Maybe it would be easier to… no, nothing would make this choice less burdensome. But she had to make it.

Taking a steadying breath, she retraced her steps to the bathroom door and opened it. The room was dark save a single lamp on her side of the bed. Moving quietly across the room, Rey felt a sudden surge of deja vu. Had it only been 24 hours since she last infiltrated Ben Solo’s sanctum? 

“Don’t get distracted,” she berated herself. So what if she was completely confused and conflicted, her mission remained the same.

The only question now was: could she go through with it this time?

As Rey reached the foot of the bed, she noticed that Ben had moved her lightsaber, which had been safely tucked next to him, to the shelf below her nightstand. “But why?” she mused, nonplussed by his trust in her; she knew she didn’t deserve it.

Silently scaling the high mattress, Rey carefully kneeled next to Ben’s still form. He was breathing deeply, his bare chest rising and falling in a captivating rhythm. Even in the dim light, he was so attractive to her that it was hard not to gawk at him.

Dark hair pooled around his head, framing his strong jaw and highlighting his handsome face. He looked like he was chiseled from stone, all pale skin and interesting features…

“Snap out of it!”

Slipping the poisonous green hairpin from her top bun, Rey palmed the weapon, careful not to prick herself. The retracted needle was only about an inch long, but with a flick of the wrist, a single dose could kill a man within minutes. 

But time was playing with her, it seemed.

Rey didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at Ben, then the pin, then Ben again. She wasn’t so much deciding what to do as trying to will herself to do anything.

“Kill him or don’t, save him or don’t, love—” Rey shook her head. “Where did that come from?!”

Steeling her nerves, Rey lowered the needle toward the strong column of Ben’s neck…

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn't force her hand to move another inch. The thought of causing Ben Solo harm was the most abhorrent thing in the universe. He was a puzzle, but she didn’t want to upend the table and start over. She wanted to solve it. Understand it. Him. Them. She wanted something for herself for the first time in her life… and she was determined to get it.

Rey set the pin down on the side table shelf next to her lightsaber and laid down with a sigh, “Maybe tomorrow.”

��—————

Ben came awake slowly, sensing disquiet from his companion. They couldn’t have been asleep for more than six hours, but he felt rested for the first time in a long time. “Maybe meditating isn’t all it's cracked up to be.” 

Turning his head on the silky pillowcase, he blinked a few times until Rey’s elfin face came into view. She was close, her shoulder almost touching his. “Or maybe she wore me out.”

Smiling at the pretty picture she made in his bed, Ben smoothed an errant lock of sable hair away from her face. A crease formed between her eyes and he held his breath, worried he’d disturbed her. Her eyes didn’t open, but flickered wildly under her eyelids.

“Ah, she’s dreaming.” 

He could read her mind, of course, but the notion was distasteful while she was defenseless in sleep. There was a time when his uncle had done something similar to him, albeit for completely different reasons, and it had affected their relationship for years. 

Whatever the topic of her dreams, he could tell it excited her. Her cheeks were flushed, she was gently biting her bottom lip, and her body began to slide against the sheets…

“Ben,” she whispered, slurring slightly, “Ohhh, Ben!”

His eyes widened. “Wait, is she–” 

Ben swallowed a gasp as she suddenly rolled half on top of him, throwing an arm over his chest and a leg over his right hip. The bedding was momentarily caught between them, but pulled away as she shifted her weight onto his side, straddling his thigh. 

“Fuck.” His cock instantly hardened for her.

But Rey didn’t give him time to recover as the tips of her small breasts poked into his chest. The thin bralette and underwear she had apparently worn to bed were the only pieces of clothing between them save his drawstring pants.

Frozen in place, unsure how to react, Ben stifled a groan as she started to rub her lower body against his. He could feel the searing heat between her thighs as she rode him, and was suddenly struck by the similarity of the moment to a dream he had experienced recently.

“Did she pick up on my dream somehow? I’ve always known her, but is she starting to dream about me too now that we’re in close proximity? Or–” 

“Ben,” Rey whimpered, canting her hips harder and grasping onto his shoulders for purchase.

Snapped back to the moment at hand, Ben pushed aside his inquisitive nature and focused on the woman in his arms. He had promised to take care of her, and he would. Emboldened by her whispered plea, Ben bent his knee, lifting his thigh upward and increasing the friction between them as she pressed down. 

“Mmmm, Bennn,” she sighed in response, seeming to gain relief from the simple move.

Lifting the sheet, he slid his large hands down her back to palm the soft globes of her ass, assisting with the push and pull of her hips. Ben helped her hump his thigh until his pant leg was soaked with her juices, until she was barely coherent, increasing the speed and pressure until her slim body jolted into climax.

“Ben!” she whimpered, shivering madly as she came.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear, holding her until she quieted and fell back into a deep slumber. And even after, he didn’t let her go. He never would.

——————

Rey stretched like a loth-cat against the mound of cushions and blankets she was cocooned in. It felt like she was sleeping on a cloud, the complete opposite of the cold, uncomfortable bunk she used back on Exegol. Dragging her cheek across the surface of the pillow, Rey took comfort in the strong, steady beat of–

“What the fuck?” Lifting her head, Rey gaped as she realized that she was lying on top of the man she’d been sent to kill. “How did–when did–uh??” Hazel eyes flicking to his face, she was relieved to find him very much asleep. 

“Okay, but how do I get back to my side of the bed without waking him up?”

Taking stock of the situation, Rey realized she was stuck between Ben’s big body and the bed linens. Carefully shifting so that she could untangle the sheets from around their legs, Rey jolted as something heavy touched her thigh. “What is–oh!” 

Staring at the foreign object, Rey was momentarily dumbstruck. Ben’s penis was thick and long, the outline under his thin pants blatant. The drawstring was barely holding on and there was a wet spot where his appendage pressed against the fabric, drawing her gaze.

Intrigue suddenly overriding shock, she reached out to lightly trace the bulge from base to tip. Ben shivered slightly, but otherwise didn’t react. It wasn’t enough. Almost involuntarily, she pulled the string below his navel, loosening the waistband of his pants. Another slight tug allowed his cock to break free, spilling out of the untethered fabric like a gift.

“Wow,” she whispered; she’d never seen such a specimen before. Curiosity getting the better of her, Rey ran her fingertips up and down his skin this time, marveling at the distinct feel of his–

“Rey.”

“Fuck!” she yelled, sitting up guiltily. “I–Ben, I–”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said with a slanted smile. “I guess last night wasn’t one-sided after all.”

“Huh?”

“Last night,” he said again, motioning to a dark spot on his thigh.

“What?” Rey glanced at his pants, then back to his face, then down at herself. Her underwear were crooked and still wet with release. “Oh. So, uh, that wasn’t–”

“A dream?” he provided. “No. Well, yes, but no.”

“What?” she said again, mostly just to play for time. Ben had yet to cover himself, and if anything, his dick had only become more prominent in the last few minutes. “Oh, Force.” Rey clenched her thighs together.

“I had a dream about what happened last night some time ago,” he confided. “I think maybe it was a premonition?”

“The Force is a freak, then,” she said sardonically. Ben laughed and Rey felt warm all over. “Ben, I want… I want to touch you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Please,” she insisted, driven by a sudden hunger she could barely contain. “You said I could take whatever I want, remember?”

“Y—yes,” he stuttered. 

“So, can I?”

Ben propped himself up on his elbows and leveled her heated look. “Yeah.”

Sliding between his thighs, Rey sat with her knees tucked underneath her. Studying his sex like an archeologist that had just made a significant find, she tentatively encircled him with one hand. 

“My fingers don’t meet, do you see?” Rey inquired.

He made a choking sound and nodded.

Rey wondered at her boldness, but touching him like this seemed… right. “This is just… experimentation. It doesn’t mean anything,” she reassured herself.

Ben laughed like he caught her thought, and probably he had, but Rey was too focused to care. Circling his penis with both hands, she pulled them up his length. The movement was awkward, but his hips jerked in an encouraging way. 

She spent a few minutes getting the hang of pleasuring him, realizing the fluid dripping from his tip made for great lubricant. “Is this okay?”

“It’s fucking amazing,” he groaned. “You have no idea how hard it was to control myself last night.”

Looking up from under her lashes, Rey said, “Yeah?”

“You were grinding yourself against my thigh,” he said huskily, “and it took all I had not to turn you over and fuck you into the mattress.”

Rey gulped and pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from moaning at the tempting images he’d conjured.

“But do you know what I want right now?”

“N—no?”

“Right now I want to slip my fingers inside your pussy and give you the same pleasure you’re giving me.”

Rey’s pace faltered. “And how would we go about that?” 

“Come here,” he said, laying back and opening his arms. “Lay by my side.”

Hesitating for the briefest of moments, Rey released him and slid onto her side next to his taller frame. Ben immediately turned towards her so that they were facing one another.

“Now what?”

“Put your leg over my hip,” he instructed. 

She complied, but not gracefully. “Sorry,” she muttered when her knee banged into his.

“It’s okay,” he smiled. “Here, like this.”

Rey sucked in a harsh breath as his large paw dragged her closer. It was the most intimate embrace they’d shared so far, and she felt excited and nervous. “What—what else do you want?” she dared.

“A kiss.”

“You’ve kissed me before.”

“Not like this.” Ben cupped her cheek with one hand while the other went to her waist. “Kiss me.”

“Okay,” she breathed. Tentatively learning forward, Rey pecked him on the lips.

“Again,” he whispered.

She closed the distance, but held her lips against his this time. Reaching up to touch his face, she could feel the crease of his dimple, his smile, and it made her almost… giddy. “Not an emotion I’ve felt many times before.”

It was all so new, so weird. And yet… 

“Now, move your lips like this,” Ben instructed, tracing her mouth with his. 

She copied him and quickly got the hang of it. Kissing was like training, she told herself, it just required practice. Focusing on the soft push and pull of their kiss, she was shocked when Ben suddenly slid his tongue into her mouth.

“Oh!” she gasped, pulling back.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“No, it’s…” Rey tried to explain how she felt, but came up empty. “I want to try that again,” she said against his lips.

Ben waited for her to make the first move this time, kissing her back without intensifying the experience. She could tell that he wanted her to initiate further intimacy, so she experimented with deepening their kiss. 

Slipping her tongue from between her teeth, she lightly traced the seam of his lips. He readily opened his mouth to her, groaning when she slanted her mouth across his. Ben’s tongue quickly joined hers in a duel for pleasure, and their bodies awakened further in response.

As the kiss went on and on, Rey frantically tried to push her panties down, but Ben stopped her, breaking their kiss to say, “No, don’t. Leave your underwear on, I don’t want to go too far yet.”

“What if I don’t care what you want?!” she said in the heat of the moment.

“We both know that’s not true, Rey,” he said softly.

“Fine,” she pouted, “then just touch me already!”

Quickly finding her slick nub through the thin layer of silk separating them, he circled it with two long fingers before gently tugging from side to side. She squirmed under his ministrations, the sensation of someone else touching her intimately new and strange and exciting.

“Ben!” Rey moaned as his fingers slipped past her panties and traced her nether lips. 

“Does this please you?”

“Yes.”

“Can I keep touching you?”

“Yes!”

Ben kissed her again and soon his fingers were mimicking the arousing actions of his tongue. He fingered her vagina with controlled vigor, curling two digits deep while his thumb stimulated her clitoris. 

Needing to feel him as well, Rey palmed his penis again and began the hastily practiced motions he seemed to enjoy. She was gratified by the sounds he made in response, the quiver of his lips against hers, the hardness of his erection…

“Fuck, Rey, I don’t know how long I can last!”

“Me too, but I need—ah! Ben!” she cried out just as he began turning his wrist in a twisting motion, seeming to read her mind once again. 

His repeated movements provided the extra bit of pressure she needed to tumble over the edge, so it was no surprise when was screaming her release seconds later. “Ben!”

And as if her euphoria triggered his, Ben shouted in concert with her cries. “Rey!”

Afterward they were quiet, cuddled together in a sticky, sweaty mess on once pristine sheets. Rey could only imagine how they looked, the word debauched raced through her mind, but she didn’t care. She felt no shame in her newfound sexuality. She felt safe here, with Ben, she realized. And powerful and satisfied and just generally amazing.

There were still a lot of questions needing answers, so she wasn’t going to let him off the hook, but Rey understood a new piece of the puzzle now. From just this taste of him, she knew they would fit together quite nicely when the time came. 

She only hoped it would be soon. Before it was too late.

——————

“Good morning, Senator,” someone called through the door to his room while Ben tried to steady his breathing. “Breakfast will be served in 30 minutes.”

Ben anticipated Rey’s reaction and held onto her when she would have pulled away. “Thank you!” he called back. Then to Rey, “Stop struggling, sweetheart.”

“What if they come in?” she said anxiously.

“They won’t.”

“But—”

“Why don’t you have a bath while we wait for sustenance?” he recommended.

She lifted her head from where it was resting over his heart. “A bath does sound nice.”

As soon as she’d shut herself away in the spacious bathroom, Ben swung his legs over the side of the bed and moved to his meditation spot. His mind was in disarray over the intimacy they had just shared. It was too soon, there was still too much to say, but he hadn’t been able to control himself when she started touching him.

The vision of his cum on her taut stomach, of her wetness covering his hand, the smell of her still lingering, almost made Ben double over with renewed arousal. “Control yourself!”

Rey was untouched, he knew. The one thing her grandfather had actually protected her from. Not out of any great love, but practicality. And while he was grateful she didn’t appear to be afraid of sex, it still felt like taking advantage of her when he had so much foreknowledge of what it would be like to be together. How well they would fit, how perfect their union would…

“Ben?” Rey was standing in the doorway with a fluffy white robe around her shoulders. Her hair was wet and dipping, her feet bare. 

She was naked under that robe. “Fuck.”

“I’m not done, but I had a thought and…”

“Couldn’t wait?” he smiled.

“Couldn’t wait,” she agreed. “Did… did you do something to me?”

“What?”

“That first night, when you put me to sleep,” she said slowly. “Did you… connect us, somehow?”

“No,” he said truthfully.

“No,” she repeated. “No, you didn’t. There’s always been something inside me. Something that was reaching… but, then why haven’t I had premonitions about you?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Ben scowled. But not at her, never at her.

“Palpatine,” she said. “He… blocked me. Does he know? Do you think he knows about this… dyad thing? Whatever it is.”

Ben mulled the question over. “I don’t think so. A dyad is a rare thing, something beautiful and special. A connection rooted in… strong emotions.” He withheld the L word for the moment.

Rey seemed to accept his answer, but her sharp gaze told him she knew he was still keeping secrets. “Alright,” she nodded. “I don’t know why, but I trust you.”

“Rey, I—”

“Just tell me one more thing.”

“Anything.”

“Am I feeling… this way… because of the Force, or…”

He desperately wanted her to elaborate on how she felt about him, them, the closeness they’d just shared, but chose to read between the lines instead. “I don’t know. I’ve dreamed about you, known you, wanted… I’ve felt a connection to you most of my life. But meeting you now, in person, being with you, it’s more than magic, it’s right. We’re right. You know?”

“Yeah,” she said in understanding. “I don’t know why, but… yes.”

They were saying nothing and yet everything. It felt like a breakthrough. It felt like a chance.

“Let’s go to the hospital after breakfast to check on the patients. And then we’ll track down my uncle and have him walk us through what it means to be a dyad.”

“Don’t you already know?” she queried.

“I know some, but… it didn’t all make sense without you here,” he said. 

“Okay,” she said simply, her curiosity piqued. “I’ll just finish up and get dressed. Speaking of, what ridiculous costume are you going to foist on me today, your highness?”

Ben laughed at her question, but he already had the perfect outfit in mind. And despite the roll of her beautiful hazel eyes, he could tell she was eager to know what it was.

——————

A/N: This Barbie is the progeny of a powerful darksider who wants nothing more than to kiss the hot prince and eat tons of bread! Ben is definitely going to enjoy dressing—and undressing—his soulmate in the next chapter 😉

[yuujispinkhair]

Don’t worry. I also miss Yakuza Yuji/Sukuna :<

THIS IS SO SWEET OF YOU!!! <3<3<3 Sometimes I listen to music, and a song from my Yakuza AU playlist comes up, and I feel so weird because I get this feeling of deja vu and it feels like being transferred to that time again when I was still working on the story! And then I feel such a longing! It was so nice to live in that world.

I kind of would love to write some companion pieces again. I still have a rough draft of a story about Yakuza Prince Yuuji hiring a new stripper for one of their strip clubs.

And I always low-key wanted to write an alternative version where Sukuna and Reader really leave the Yakuza behind and move to Switzerland (you know, like Sukuna half-jokingly suggested when he and Reader were talking about having kids), and they take Yuuji and Megumi with them, and it would be a really fluffy and comforting story, I think. Just a little alternate future where I show how their lives would be if Sukuna "retired" and left his old work behind.

Anyways, it makes me super happy that you still think about them too!! <3<3

[smartalec121]

Ended up with a alternate opening/prequel/deleted scene for Chapter 15 of the fic linked below, and wanted to post it but wasn't sure where.

All I'll say is that it's part of a series, and that the Tamers and multiverse shenanigans are involved...

“What the hell was that?” Rika called out, simmering but not seething just yet.

There was something familiar about the sensation, yet it had been unrecognizable enough that Jeri couldn't quite place the sense of deja vu she was feeling. Calling the energy that Lopmon emitted a wave might even have been overselling how sudden it was, but Jeri had started tuning out Rika and Suzie's disagreement and the moment had brought her attention back to them.

“I don't know,” Suzie replied, her eyes dropping to the DigiVice and modify card in her hands.

“What do you mean you don't know?” Rika shot back, slightly raising her voice. “You did it!”

Jeri's eyes wandered to the source of the disturbance, finding Renamon kneeling down to help Lopmon stand upright again, the latter having fallen down after releasing whatever energy Suzie had given her. For a brief moment, Jeri fixated on Renamon, eventually it registering that the kitsune had her attention divided, assisting Lopmon while staring across the yard.

Jeri slowly followed Renamon's eyeline, and then immediately started staring herself. A new individual was standing there, or at least trying to with how her legs seemed to be shaking. Her blue dress and loose ponytail threw Jeri off for a moment, but she quickly started putting the pieces together.

“Rika...” Jeri said softly, to no one in particular.

“I just swiped a card!” Suzie continued.

“Which card?” Rika questioned, the both of them still focused on each other.

“Rika!” Jeri shouted, instantaneously causing Rika and Suzie's attention to snap in her direction, and the other Rika to finally lose her balance and fall on her backside.

Their Rika looked Jeri in the eye, a very reluctant understanding passing between them. Rika buried her face in her hands, ironically telegraphing the mix of emotions that were likely going through her head.

“I can't believe this is happening again,” Rika muttered, almost whining.

“Well, it is, so we have to deal with it, right?” Jeri tried to keep her tone even. The situation was already a stressful one, but she needed to be present to deal with it.

“Right...” Rika fished her cellphone out of her pocket, and started walking in the opposite direction. “I'll call the others.”

Jeri didn't give a verbal affirmation, instead looking forward again. Part of her said to just wait, that this was a problem for Henry and Hypnos to solve and that she had nothing to contribute. Looking at the scared girl wearing her friend's face, however, she knew she had to compartmentalize her self-doubts for the time being. This was her job, and she was going to see it through.

Taking a deep breath, Jeri moved across the yard. At first, this Rika only glanced at her, wide and nervous eyes seemingly more interested in her counterpart. In typical Rika fashion, she was quiet, whatever fear or confusion she was feeling only manifesting in subtle body language. While Jeri couldn't be certain if the girl was about to go into shock, she also didn't want things to get that far.

“Hello there.” Jeri drudged up a warm and friendly smile, her “customer service smile” as she occasionally caught herself referring to it as.

“Hi,” Rika replied, finally looking up at her.

“You're a little out of place here, aren't you?” Jeri crouched downward, eventually sitting and criss-crossing her legs so they could be at eye-level. “But don't worry, everything's gonna be okay.”

Rika took another look around. “Am I dead?”

“Why do you automatically jump to the worst case scenario?” Jeri felt a little bad for the disappointment that she knew had come to her face, but again, it was a very Rika thing to do.

“I'm sorry?”

Jeri refocused and smiled again. “No, it's alright. What you've been through is a bit jarring. I even passed out one of the times I made the trip.”

Rika raised an eyebrow. “What kind of trip did I make exactly?”

“Right...” Jeri paused, drumming her fingers against her chin, trying to come up with the best way to explain the situation. “Given our circumstances, can you keep an open mind?”

“I guess...” Rika eyed her cautiously.

“I'll take it!” Jeri gave a quick thumbs up. “Okay, you know how manga and comics like to play around with the idea of parallel realities, alternate timelines, and stuff like that?”

“Uh huh...”

“So, yeah, that's kinda what we're dealing with right now.” Jeri spoke calmly, fully aware of how she probably sounded to an average person. “Not exactly sure on the how just yet, but I think we accidentally pulled you into our dimension.”

Rika stayed quiet at, and then slowly looked past her. “So that's me?”

Jeri turned around, finding her Rika futzing with her cellphone. She was a terrible texter, so the fact that she wasn't just calling Takato or Henry said a bit about how many different places her thoughts must have been in.

“More or less, yeah,” Jeri explained as she turned back around, eyes lingering on the new Rika's dress and her less athletic frame. “Sometimes these alternate realities are a bit like a fun house mirror.”

“Are those Digimon?” Rika asked without a second pause.

Jeri glanced over her other shoulder, noting Suzie had moved to stand near Lopmon and Renamon, and that all three were watching them. Expressions seemed to vary amongst them, and while there did seem to be traces of guilt on Lopmon's face, curiosity seemed to be first and foremost where Suzie and Renamon were concerned.

“Yep,” Jeri answered. “Do you have them in your world?”

“Yeah, just, uh...” Rika hesitated for half a second. “They just typically don't hang around my house.”

“Right...” Jeri considered the statement, being able to gleam quite a bit from it. Not wanting to dwell but also knowing they had to push forward, she extended a hand to her friend's doppelganger. “I'm Jeri, by the way.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you...” While Rika's words weren't necessarily sarcastic, they were a bit deflated as they shook hands.

“You're still scared, aren't you?” Jeri squeezed Rika's hand, not so tightly that she couldn't pull free, but enough to reaffirm her presence.

Rika nodded. “Am I gonna be able to get home?”

Jeri paused just long enough to gather her confidence. “See your counterpart over there? She's a bit prickly, but she's also one of the best friends I've ever had, and on a good day I like to think the feeling is mutual.” Jeri noted Rika tilting her head, following her words but maybe not tracking what the point of them was. “That's just a long-winded way of me asking you to trust me, because I promise we can figure this out.”

Standing herself up, Jeri gently tugged at Rika's arm and helped her back to her feet. Her legs now steady, there was a pause as she looked Jeri over. What she was thinking, Jeri could only guess, but the fact she was calmer made Jeri feel optimistic.

“Alright...” Rika finally said as she pulled her hand free. “Since I haven't ruled out the possibility of this just being me going crazy anyway, why the hell not?”

“Again, I'll take it!” Jeri chirped, the conversation having been easier than she had anticipated. With that thought, though, another poked at the back of her mind. “Oh, real quick: Don't take anything my Rika says too personally. She's just a little...” Jeri paused, trying to dig up the most diplomatic words possible. “Well, I'm sure you'll be fine.”

“Okay?” Rika raised one more eyebrow.

Jeri decided to withhold any further comments, instead leading the girl over to meet the others. She knew this afternoon was far from over, but at least they were taking some small steps forward.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Written in 2019 (2) Masterlist

part one

A Human Heart (ao3) - andthenshesaid-write (ladyknight1512)

Summary: Phil's mother has always said that there are creatures in the forest and Phil has always thought they were just stories. Then one day he runs into the forest looking for somewhere to hide and meets Dan, a man with antlers and the ability to talk to trees. Phil's world opens up but there are dangers in the forest that he can't even begin to imagine.

an act of infinite optimism (ao3) - happy_endings15

Summary: Raising an exuberant child is easy. Raising a moody teenager who wants nothing to do with you, though, is another thing entirely.

But maybe Dan's fascination with a certain 22-year-old can teach Karen a thing or two about being a mother—and herself.

An Alternative Bahamas Incident (ao3) - Do_it_with_the_Howell_Lesters

Summary: Phil is set to be the best man at his brother's wedding, but his mother insists on him bringing a real date. So obviously he asks Dan to be his fake boyfriend for the week. But can Phil’s heart really take that? Can Dan’s?

(TW) because (& other words we use too much) (ao3) - readerbeware

Summary: Phil's boyfriend is taking him apart, piece by piece. Because that's how he says I love you.

Phil lets him because I love you sounds foreign to his ears anyway.

Dan watches from the sidelines because he hasn't found the right words yet.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:

Or: Phil Lester looks for love in all the wrong places.

black butterflies and deja vu (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: Once upon a time...there was a little boy, his name was- well, that’s not important. There was a little boy, and he didn’t have lots of friends.

But don’t worry, this isn’t a sad story, even though it sounds like it, I promise.

Business and Pleasure (ao3) - Do_it_with_the_Howell_Lesters

Summary: Dan and Phil are both extremely popular porn actors. They’ve worked on almost every scene out there, but never with each other. Until now.

Christmas Coming Out (ao3) - FandomFeels17

Summary: He didn't intend to come out to his mum in his future mother in law's kitchen at Christmas... But here he was, doing exactly that.

Do You Know How in Love With You I Am (Please Notice) (ao3) - phantasticworks

Summary: Dan works at a small paper company, but the brightside to this boring career is that his best friend Phil is just a few feet away at reception. The downside to this is that he's hopelessly, irrevocably in love with said best friend. Oh, and Phil is engaged, too.

A short little story about best friends, being in love, and pining hopelessly after the boy you think you can't have. But, don't worry, there's a happy ending in here somewhere.

Domino Effect (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: After years of keeping sex and friendship separate, Dan finds himself on the edge of falling in love.

Evolution (ao3) - breatherepeat

Summary: While on family holiday, Dan and his family learn more about one another. Past truths are revealed that lead to understanding and healing.

How I Met My Boyfriend on Queer Eye (warning: super gay) (ao3) - danhoweiis, twoheadlights (fizzfic)

Summary: au where dan is a hero on queer eye and accidentally falls in love with one phil lester

It's Like We're Going Under (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: After a very rough year in their relationship, Dan is not sure if he should quit or keep trying to salvage what they had.

Just Let Me Adore You (ao3) - Yiffandquiff (paradisobound)

Summary: Dan didn’t know what to expect when he agreed to go to Switzerland with his brother to ‘find themselves’ again. But he certainly wasn’t expecting a massive snow storm to pass by and completely shut down any roads, train stations, and airports. However, when the snow gets worse, a mysterious man stumbles into the hostel he’s staying at, and Dan figures out pretty quickly that he and the man are going to have to get to know each other fast.

kiss me in the dark tonight (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Dan's selling merch for a local dj and crushing on the dj's brother.

like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere) (ao3) - palomeheart

Summary: Dan is in his second year of uni studying law– or he would be if he hadn’t failed his resits. After being talked into a semester-long leave of absence to get his life in order, he takes a job at the café of a local botanic garden through a flatmate’s family connection. Or so he thinks.

Love me (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Dan is cute and he knows it, and he really wants his boyfriends attention. So he decides to annoy Phil until he gets what he wants.

....

Dan loudly clears his throat, “Um excuse me? Yeah your cute boyfriend is right here and asking for attention.” He over-dramatically gestures to himself.

Phoenix Rising (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan challenges Phil to a period of forced abstinence while on tour in America. The game becomes unbearable, and each man has moments of weakness. In the end, it is all about passion and urgency.

Phil Lester, The Spy who Shagged me. (ao3) - CactiPhan

Summary: Phil Lester, AKA 009, is an international spy working with MI6 When an unbearably cute boy compromises one of his missions, but they end up becoming secret partners in crime to save the world- till one of them gets hurt...

plus one (ao3) - animad

Summary: Dan tells his family he's bring a date to his cousins wedding. Except Dan doesn't have a date to bring. Luckily Phil is there to help.

super soul (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: Phil has spent his whole life believing that meeting his soulmate will give his life the meaning he’s been looking for.

Then he meets Dan.

Terminal (ao3) - phantasticworks

Summary: Phil finds himself stuck in an airport in Florida when a nasty storm blows in from the coast. His phone is dying and his will to live without it is too. He stumbles across a cute brunette who may be just as dorky as himself, and of course flirting ensues. And maybe this cute stranger has a charger to spare?

Really your goal as a reader is to solve the incredible important mystery of whether or not he gets his phone charged

The Path to Happiness (ao3) - nebulous_frog

Summary: Phil, Prince of Stratalary, has an arranged marriage with Daniel, Prince of Iridacia. He doesn't think he'll have any feelings for the prince, that is, until he meets him.

the scariest part (is letting go) (ao3) - huphilpuffs

Summary: Dan's journey with sexuality continues long after he meets Phil.

thought of you often (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: On Daniel's twenty first birthday, a man walks into his banquet hall that he hasn't seen in years.

too high (can't come down) (ao3) - danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)

Summary: Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

too loud in public (ao3) - dizzy, waveydnp

Summary: dan is too busy snogging a cute stranger named phil in a closet at a university party to realize the cops are about to break it up

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector’s Edition: Many Mondays and “The Creeps”

Monday-- ahhh, the good ol’ angst episode rife with unlimited potential for fic writers everywhere. And not only are these unlimited fill-ins and alternate endings for Mulder and Scully’s harrowing bank event, they are also fics that deal with possible memory recoveries for Mulder and Scully (or both???? The world may never know~~~.) 

Loose chronological order below~ 

Mondays and AUs 

Obfusc8er’s Convergence 

“"Oh no." She groans. A yellow piece of paper flaps rhythmically under a windshield wiper on Mulder's car. "He's really going to love this," she mutters to herself as she leans over to look at the ticket. He had stopped there ten minutes too early, before the parking zone changed. "Oh, Mulder." A helpless expression crosses her face for a second. She tries not to pity him very often...he finds it embarrassing...but this day is just spiraling out of control. How on *earth* does he do this?””

On one of many Mondays, Scully ruminates how she and Mulder had clung to each other after their losses, accumulating in their office burning down. This day ends just as badly for him. 

@anders-hawke/@iwtbscully/BananaChef’s 

We Always Reveled in the Pain - Chapter 3 

““Ma’am, please let us—”

“No! I won’t let you take him from me!”

“Scully,” Skinner says, voice reaching for soothing but falling short as he crouches next to her. “You need to let the EMTs take Mulder.””

Mulder dies; and a shattered Scully is held together by Skinner and Maggie. 

@wexleresque/hllsteeth’s do you think I’m spooky? - Chapter 4 

““The man who is responsible for her condition screams at Mulder, waving his gun around. Mulder ignores him, sweeping Scully’s hair away from her face and wiping blood off of her cheek and neck with his sleeve. “Come on, Scully, please,”

For a split second, it looks as if she might be listening.”” 

Scully dies; and Mulder embraces death as the bomb goes off. 

@tatooedlaura-blog/tatooedlaura/LauraSprys's Luck and Stubborness 

““Nine minutes.

How had only nine minutes passed? Unlike Oregon, where nine minutes had gone by in a literal flash, these nine minutes had dragged on for millenia, minimum.

Bullet number three caused body number two, this one beside Scully, covering the side of her face with a splatter pattern of warm sticky blood. She hadn’t caught up to reality yet and wasn’t sure why the man beside her was now dead but she realized she’d better begin to pay better attention.””

Scully thinks she’s dying and gives up, ultimately suffering from prolonged detachment and PTSD post-rescue. Mulder sticks to her side, giving unwavering support as she slowly readjusts. 

@ghostbustermelanieking/skuls’s mondays on an endless loop

““She doesn't speak, but her eyes are surprisingly alert; her leg is moving, off to the side, and he'd like nothing more than to hold her, to try and help her. “Don't move too much,” he tries, moving a few inches closer, hoping Bernard isn't watching. “It's okay.”

Scully grunts, very pointedly, and he sees her leg moving again. He looks down to her foot and sees what she is doing: she's sliding her gun over towards him with her foot. Bernard forgot to get it.””

A selection of Mondays: Skinner drives desolated Scully to Mulder’s apartment; Scully tries to save Mulder as she dies; both blow up; Pam kills Bernard; and lastly, Mulder doesn’t go to bank at all. 

These are fabulous-- I love to dip back into skuls’s work whenever I can.

shannono’s In the Loop

““Deja vu all over again...

This isn't the first time I've crouched on a cold, hard floor and watched my partner's life spill out in a wash of red. Once was more than enough, and I've replayed it so many times now, in my mind, with so many different variations, that I've lost track of what's real and what's my imagination.””

A Monday variant with an “I love you” dropped just before everyone is engulfed in flames.

Callunarose’s Trauma Bonding

““She cannot imagine a world without the fierce, burning force of him, but that weak pulse is fading fast and his eyes are rolled back into his head revealing the whites. His gums are pale, another sign that the end is fast approaching.

At 3am the night before she had come awake suddenly for no reason.””

A Monday with Scully and Mulder already together-- Scully's loops are in the form of continual premonitions of Mulder’s death, only to wake next to him and think they were just dreams.  

@mldrgrl’s (Ao3)

Unnamed Prompt

““The suspect they took into custody,” she says.  “Bernard Roe.  Witnesses said you warned everyone that he had a bomb.”

“Mm.”

“How did you know that?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve just had the weirdest sense of déjà vu since this morning.  It’s like I’ve gone through it all before.”

She reflects wearily back on her dream.  She wasn’t in that bank when everything went down, she was doing her best not to fall asleep in Skinner’s office, but it felt like she was there.””

A Monday without Monday-- Scully saved Mulder from the episode’s opening credits; and questions his prescience of events, possibly recalling her own. 

Once Upon a Mattress

““The thing about the couch,” he said, “is that there’s no empty space to fill.”

Frowning, Scully got up onto her elbows to look down at him. Her right eyebrow rose half an inch into a pointed arch, wrinkling her forehead. Mulder’s eyes were closed and without opening them, he reached across and felt for her shoulder, pushing her lightly back down to the bed.

“Don’t look so worried,” he murmured, still with his eyes closed. “You know I’m saving myself for marriage.””

~Extra Content~ Post Monday Mulder needs a new mattress and recruits Scully in a thinly veiled attempt to find out her preferences. Scully doesn’t get it, at first; but her Diana suspicion is quickly put to rest (hah, bed jokes.) 

Post Mondays 

InTroubleWiththeKing’s Call It A Feeling

““Scully sighs. “Well, today has been eventful.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mulder replies.

“Uh… like, a bank robbery, a thwarted suicide bombing, a handgun… I dunno, Mulder. It was a tad bit out of the ordinary… even for…”

“Is that all?” he cuts her off.

They stare at each other. Silence.””

Mulder and Scully's day is capped off by another rowdy guy right after Pam’s death, causing Mulder to seriously contemplate the word associations that are repeatedly looping in his mind. Scully silently shares his sense of unease.  

@thescullyphile​’s (Ao3) Tuesday (Ao3)

““He felt phantom memories of timelines that didn’t exist, felt a pang in his chest that he knew Scully felt too, the last, fading reminders of how close to death they both had come earlier that week. If he focused hard enough, he could feel the panic flutter up in his gut, there and then gone. Mulder rests his chin on her shoulder, and they both fix their eyes on the screen, feeling that looking at each other might irreparably rend their necessary defenses. He feels her hot pulse against his cheek, feels her swallow as his voice rumbles out from deep in his chest. He is tired. “We’ve had an interesting few days, haven’t we, Scully?”

“More like an interesting few years.””

Waterbed-less, Mulder bunks out with Scully. Their “sleepover” mood can’t buoy his sorrow over his perceived failures; but Scully always rises when he falls.

@impulsive-astrophile’s (Ao3) Heaven and Hell Were Words to Me

““He’s gone for 5 minutes that afternoon to use that bathroom, and her hands start to shake again.

He’s gone for 30 minutes the next day to pick up lunch, and she can barely type, noting reluctantly that her resting heart rate climbs to almost double her regular resting rate and into tachycardia - hovering around 130.

It’s ridiculous, she tells herself. They’re both fully functional, independent adults who can operate without the other.

But Mulder seems reluctant to be away from her, as well...””

Post Monday Mulder and Scully hover around each other, suppressing the emotional chaos of their experience. Mattress shopping leads to bunking out, which leads to confessions about their nightmares.  

Spooky2u2′s Next Time There’ll Be Baseball 

““Every night it was the same-- First an overwhelming panic that Scully was in danger, then sadness, and finally a blinding fear that he was slipping away from his body, his life...from Scully as her eyes pleaded with him to stay.  That's when he always woke-- Just when he was sure that the tethers which held him to this earth had been severed with cold, calculating precision.””

Mulder escapes his post-Monday nightmares by dragging Scully out to a field and throwing dirt at the stars. 

Zephathah’s Breathing in Time 

““Just wanted to make sure you were still breathing." 

She considers me for a moment, then closes her eye and takes a deep breath, filling her lungs completely before letting it out between rounded lips. 

Her eye pops open again.  "Yep, still going." 

I smile at her, a big one this time.  "Good.””

Post Monday nightmares lead Mulder to Scully’s motel room to check her “living” status. Scully huffs, complies, and brushes it off as just Mulder-being-Mulder. 

@alienbaby-babymama/ABBM515’s Deja Vu

““Wait...didn't we already have this conversation?"

"So you're experiencing it, too? It's not just me?"

"I don't know what I'm experiencing..."

Suddenly she was hit with a flashback of Mulder in a bank, her cradling his head in her lap...and an obscene amount of blood seeping from his body.””

Mulder and Scully feel a strong sense of deja vu while in their basement; and Scully’s slight recall propels her to make definitive moves on Mulder. 

Ten’s Mondayitis 

“"Set what kind of things right?" 

"Whatever's wrong." 

Of course. "Mulder, it's more likely that we're talking about simple neurochemistry - a glitch in the brain's ability to process recognition and memory. Doesn't mean that the memory's authentic. My dreams just feel authentic, and there are many possible reasons for that. My fear of you dying is enough to make them very realistic." But even as I say that, deep inside me, I have doubts, no matter how much I am trying to bury them. Something about these dreams is different. They are so vivid, so different to the nightmares I have had over the years after other cases. 

"But what if it were authentic?" Mulder insists, unaware of my thoughts.””

In Monday’s aftermath, Scully tries to flee her nightmares by bunking out with Mulder. Even sharing a motel room doesn’t cut it; but she surprises him and herself by accepting his “clairvoyant” theory and upping his ante by recalling the events of Dreamland. 

This entire story is juicy in its twists and turns-- love it! 

ML/ML_is_me’s (Ao3, Gossamer, DW, Invidiosa) 

The Nobody (Goss)

““She knew it was wrong, but she did it anyway. With trembling fingers, she dialed the phone, holding her breath while she listened to it ring and ring and ring...

Then he came back into the room. "Who you calling?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nobody," she said. A nobody calling nobody.””

Pam’s bedraggled, hopeless POV.

Do Overs (Goss)

““It sounded like it was coming from upstairs. Scully? He grabbed his gun and took the stairs two at a time.

The bedroom door was ajar and Mulder pushed it open cautiously. "Scully?" he called softly. "You awake?"

He saw her go still. For a few seconds she didn't answer. Then she slowly sat up and turned toward him. Her features were indistinct in the dimness. "Mulder?" she said in a sleep-slurred voice.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," came her uncertain-sounding reply. Another pause. He could almost hear her mind working. "I had a nightmare," she said finally.

Well, if she could admit it, so could he.””

Arcadia Mulder and Scully ruminate over the move he made after Monday, wondering what it means for them. It develops into honesty about nightmares, fate vs. free-will, and a finally-committed relationship after they finish the case.

Love this fic as well! 

Penny Sycamore’s Nightmare on Autumn Terrace 

““His thoughts turned back to Scully, and what could possibly inspire her nightmares. There was certainly enough raw material from which to draw, after all the years she spent around him. Just the psychos who had stalked her...men who wanted to violate her body or her mind, men who tried to lobotomize her, men with talking tattoos, or death fetishes or worse. Normal people counted sheep; Mulder was counting Scully's psychos.””

Arcadia Mulder is confused by Scully’s distance. When he realizes it’s because of her vulnerability from continual nightmares, he admires the great courage she has to square her shoulders and keep at it. She soothes his guilt as well. 

VivWiley’s Autumn’s Threshold - Chapter 1 

‘“The drive out was quick, and along the way she drifted into what she called her Traveler's Fugue. A state of consciousness where 90% of her brain was carefully concentrating on driving safely. The remaining 10%, however, was mulling over decisions, facts, emotions that didn't yet have names or shapes, but which were gradually coalescing into some conclusion that she thought might very well reshape part of her world. Since the constant traveling with Mulder had started some months ago, something nebulous had been shaping itself in the back of her head. Settling into odd nooks and crevices of her mind, and only if she turned suddenly, caught the light at an oblique angle did the glint of something possibly precious glint through the shadows.””

Scully hikes out to the mountains on her weekend to clear her head. Refocused, she shows up at Mulder’s, ready to start a relationship. 

AweburnPhoenix’s Every Monday

““Yesterday you said that your landlord check would bounce if you didn’t deposit your pay soon. I shouldn’t have let you cover for half of the procedure. It was too much to ask for.”

“Hey, hey. Stop right there," he faced her, putting up his puppy eyes that he knew she couldn't resist. "If I recall correctly, you didn’t ask for anything. I offered. I insisted . It’s the least I can do. Well, the second least,” he grinned.

“Still…”

“Money is not a problem. Trust me. I just keep it in different accounts. Langly’s orders,” he shrugged and proceeded to tear the check. “Please, let me do this right.”

He felt like telling her that he wanted to be involved in every way possible, but he didn’t want to scare her yet. She had too much on her plate and needed not to be anxious about it. He had almost blown the whole thing by pushing her away after the whole Diana business a couple of weeks back. He had promised himself to be on her side from then on. Mulder had wanted to do this from the beginning. He needed to redeem himself.””

AU IVF arc-- Mulder and Scully are currently in the weeds of trying IVF when Monday happens. Mulder remains convinced of success; and both are rewarded when it takes. Baby IVF girl is named Pam in the other-Pam’s honor (or they just followed the Chris Carter script and recycled the name, ha.) 

Enjoy!