#i kind of want to answer my own questions now

[azullumi]

you're in a crisis !! the crisis being there's only one bed

content tags — featuring: hsr men (not everyone though) | fluff, whatever thing is going in on your relationship, except they have a little crush on you, kind of crack, headcanons | wc: 1.2k

jellyfish notes — guys my phatass cat wont stop hoarding the bed

Phainon is gaslighting himself into thinking that the floor looks the most comfortable even if it actually wasn’t. He absolutely thinks it’s the superior option—sure, his back will hate him tomorrow but at least his dignity remains intact. He avoids admitting that the bed is fine as if he would die the moment he utters his predicament. When you finally drag him to the mattress after what seems to be hundreds of years of insisting, he lies so rigidly he could practically become a table at this point. The barrier of a single pillow between you is a joke. He hates how hyper-aware and sensitive he can be of every shift you make, every rustle of fabric, and when morning comes, he’s a sleep-deprived mess staring at the ceiling. “This is fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

Anaxagoras sees nothing worth panicking over—he raises an eyebrow at your hesitation. “It’s just a bed,” he says, “the both of us will just sleep on it,” he says. Unless you want to complain, then you should go sleep on the couch or the floor or the bathroom even. It is as simple as that (he’s on that nonchalant sh). The problem is he hoards the blanket as if he owns it. The man literally has it trapped under his weight like a wrestler pinning an opponent and you’re left shivering with what you have, wondering why you ever trusted him.

Before you could even say anything, Mydei is already walking to the couch and flopping down on it. When asked if he’s going to sleep on the bed later, he’ll only say that it’s all yours to have. Discussion closed. If you toss a pillow at him, he’ll catch it without opening his eyes before tucking it under his head—that’s the most you’ll get from him.

You should have known what a little shit Caelus is. He'll opt for sleeping on the floor, right close to the bed where you can completely see him, even though there is a perfectly fine couch over there that is possibly more comfortable than the ground he insists on. He is committed to the bit, escalating his performance into Oscar-worthy height, sprawled all over the ground like a fallen hero in a musical. “The aching," he moans, clutching a throw pillow to his chest like a deathbed prop. “UGH, my back! If only someone is so kind as to offer me something warm… like a bed. This is not directed to you, [Name]. How could I ever be so scandalous and greedy to take something away from you.” Except he’s being scandalous. Is this his way of making you feel guilty? Yes. Is it working? Terribly so.

It’s hard to tell what Dan Heng is thinking at the moment, especially with his silence. But suddenly, he moves with the precision of a mechanical robot, prepares the bed and tells you that you’ll have it while he sleeps somewhere else. However, it takes three logical appeals—“The chair will ruin your back"—, one impulsive grab at his sleeve, and his own traitorous exhaustion before he relents and lies down. It’s a little quiet, don’t you think? Is he already asleep? Apparently not, because the ceiling looks more interesting than any kind of dream right now. Eventually, you’ll find yourself asking him random questions to which he answers anyway until you fall asleep. Dawn reveals him exactly where he started, spine straight, hands folded on his chest, as if he’s some kind of a display. The only evidence he ever moved at all is the blanket now tucked over your shoulders.

Jing Yuan finds some kind of delight or entertainment in this situation. He’s having way too much fun with this, so much so that he teases you so much and you have to smack him repeatedly until he stops—he doesn’t though, and you’re so close to just grabbing his lips with your hand. Grinning, he’ll say: “But why would I sleep on the couch? There’s a bed over there.” or something like, “Oh, you’re sure you don’t want to share?”. In the end, you cannot completely win against him so the two of you end up in the same space, only a few inches apart because as fate would have it, there’s only one pillow too.

Give Sunday a moment to just process and look if there are any other beds in the room. When he finally realizes there’s one and nothing else, yeahhh… flustered at the thought of being on the same bed as you? Maybe, but he still tries to be a gentleman and offers for you to take the bed’s comfort and he’ll look for something to work with for his sleep. He is just so close to cracking—his princely composure fading into nothing as he debates the ethics of sharing versus his very obvious crush. "Perhaps… if we both face opposite walls?" he suggests weakly, like that’ll somehow erase the tension. When you finally tug him onto the bed, he lies so still you’d think he’s in a coffin, hands clasped over his chest like a vampire praying for restraint.

Yeah, you and Boothill are sharing that bed despite you insisting that the two of you would not fit in it. You have no choice at all. And somehow, your crisis went from where to sleep to how to sleep because he moves a lot like he’s in some kind of boxing competition in his dreams. He is a one-man apocalypse—he is both the zombie and the survivor, flipping, rolling, and doing everything but not giving you peace. You ended up kicking him out of frustration, perhaps a little too hard because he nearly fell to the ground—-amazingly, he didn’t wake up. Annoyingly, he just comes back like a boomerang and by morning, you’re a shell of a person, while he stretches like he had the best sleep in his entire life.

That is no problem at all because Blade does not fucking sleep. Somehow, that stresses you out.

Dr. Ratio would sigh and ask whether you prefer the bed, the floor, or the couch (if there is any). Whatever you choose, you’re sleeping there, although it seems kind of stupid to give you the illusion of choice because he’ll scold you if you choose anything else other than the bed. Say what? You’re choosing the couch? Okay, have fun sleeping on the bed. Unbelievable, he has logicked you into submission. And when words fail and you still protest, he lifts you like a misbehaving kitten and drops you onto the mattress (those muscles are not just for display). "Go to sleep," he commands, looming over you like a crazed professor.

With the ever-loving gentleman Argenti, you’re always taken care of and considered by him. He is just insufferably chivalrous. "A flower as delicate as you deserves the finest rest," he’ll say, gesturing to the bed like it’s a throne. He’s draping you in blankets, tucking you under them like you’re some kind of fragile artifact, then afterwards, he prepares to rest on a single-cushioned chair. He will not be swayed no matter what you say, so just go sleep and don’t worry about him.

One bed? No worries, Aventurine will just get another room for himself. No room either? Guess, you’re stuck with him now. “What’s the harm in sharing, friend?” What you imagined to be a night of fine wine and dinner ends up in a mess of pillow-fighting after you threw one directly on his face, to which he retaliated, and you, too, also retaliated until it ended into this chaos. Finally, when you grudgingly settle in and resigned to your fate, lounging on your side of the bed, you fall asleep to the sound of his laugh and his whispered words of goodnight. You’ll wake up baffled, however, as you see him curled on the couch, one arm dangling off, having silently relocated sometime in the night. The audacity of this man to play chivalrous after wrecking the room.

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

[sgiandubh]

Slap a shipper Friday?

Oh, yes. I was expecting this one:

[Source: Lauren Lyle's IG stories, posted today, July 11 2025]

As I also expected the very tired, very petty 'Slap a Shipper Friday' from the Trolling & Stalker Corner. It was meant to be. It was absolute kismet and, in a way, the perfect storm.

And it was, without a doubt, exactly what was expected to happen, for many reasons I will try to briefly sum up, knowing full well I am about to unleash a very, very bad remake of The Attack of the Clones, in my Inbox. So be it and fuck them.

Because, case in point, such are the rather primitive dynamics of this divided fandom: whenever the circus is back in town, shippers - these #stupid, #stupid creatures, isn't it? - are expected to whine, hide, lie and finally, to much of those wonderful (not!) people across the street's disappointment, resurrect. Conversely, those wonderful (not!) people's reaction is always the same, crude and rather boring: 'Slap a Shipper Friday'. So yes, primitive. But also as unavoidable as death and taxes: after all these years, people are either completely impervious (my case and not only mine), or disoriented. And the reason they are discombobulated is because their own projections and emotions are playing dirty tricks on their perceptions. Just so - yes, I know that irritates many to death.

The nerve. The entitlement. And the ignorance of how things are done, show-biz and PR wise are absolutely laughable.

I have many questions and many thoughts. And I am going to try and sum them up as briefly as I can.

It is not even a thing of wonder McGill was almost not spotted immediately by the harpies across the street. In fact, it took them almost one hour to start reacting, as the news of McGill being in the picture was starting to make the rounds amongst the Instacrowd:

Perhaps the reason is the same that gave me pause when I first saw that pic. Because, excuse me, but between his last, rather prosperously rotund picture from quite some many moons ago (cortisone was mentioned by some, but what do I know, after all?), this one looks like at least ten years later and twenty kilos less. This man looks older and thinner and, I am really sorry to say so, this cannot be a good look. On anyone. And this is exactly why I will stop any speculation on this topic, which does not belong here. Believe what you want, but don't fool yourself. The difference is sizeable, let's hope it's not tragic. Whoever might be on that pic, after all (I still have some residual doubts, because, of course, I am preemptively calling myself an imbecile).

On the other hand, let's consider the wedding event as a simple plot device in a narrative. Is it the first time it is used, to further agendas/plot lines?

The answer is no. It is the third time and every single time, albeit for different reasons, with rather mitigated success.

An event of this kind was used for the first time to consolidate the dwindling Flukenzie Floozy narative, when she and S took a couple of very contrived pics. This was, as Marple uses to say way 'before my time', but I do remember those pics I cannot even be arsed to retrieve, at the moment. Dental surgery ads looked more engaging, for sure, but it was hoped this would stop rising questioning and speculation. And not only from the Shipper side.

Then came The Remarkable Week-end, in August 2019. Enough said. It was also hoped it would miraculously make the entire shipper side disappear, considering the age and the cultural values of our majority . It didn't and I don't think I have to explain for the umpteenth time why it backfired.

And then we have this wedding, attended (unlike Grandma's), by both S and C, in the open. Now just imagine if C came alone. Oh. Ah. The speculation. The unwanted attention. Um, nope. Not exactly the kind of attention they wanted to elicit, in the first place. Plus, it is simply not done. C is, after all, for all intents and purposes, a married woman, no matter how you choose to look at this. And no matter how many times you keep yelling at this page, which sees the fracture between an inglorious sheet of paper and the farcical reality.

It was somehow important, therefore, that McGill would attend this wedding event in the open, unlike all that long, uninterrupted string of other social functions he might/might not have been a part of. After all, Season 8 is still not broadcast, contracts are still enforced, and all that (financially serious) jazz, leaving open the possibility of sequel movies (something that might be on the table). It was also important to show the OL cast's cohesion (remember the howling of 'they cannot stand each other'?), in a very 'nothing to see there, move on' kind of way. And it was, perhaps above anything else, predictible as hell. And this is why you'll see no bride in this picture: this picture taken at a collateral OL event is primarily for the OL's fandom's consumption and posted by one of the most beloved, credible members of the cast. Lauren, of course.

And perhaps it might (just a tiny 'might', here) be some sort of PR retaliation not only for those recent, nosy and lucky fans, but also for last summer's Taylor Swift Saga. No need to elaborate.

Body language, now. Let's take a closer look:

Distance between the Happy Couple (red arrow) looks greater than the distance between C and Rik the Groom. Strange posture, as if she would instinctively lean on Rankin (blue arrow)?

The only sign those two people might have something to share other than a jovial picture pose is C's posessing signature claw on McGill's shoulder. We've seen that before, on an Australian beach, I believe.

Brown shoes paired with a grey suit and Madame Fashionista says nothing? No tie and looking like the devil may care? At a wedding? Wow, the warmth is palpable, here.

Also: what the hell is McGill's hand doing under S's lovely tweed kilt jacket (my yellow, clumsy X marks the spot)? Clumsy as always, I suppose. But then again, where is S's left paw, that - as we can see by comparison with his right one - can, might and probably did reach far and, eh, wide?

I guess we'll never know. Also, not really needed. This staged pic is a comic fail.

Finally, I was expecting the usual 'remarkable week-end' type of charade from S. And I was not disappointed:

[Source: S's Instagram account, posted on July 11, 2025]

Yes, of course, 'wrong theme tune', since this -one more time - is an OL related event, after all. As I wrote not earlier than yesterday, they need all the traction and attention they can get for BoMB. A prequel, not a spin off, mind you.

But Ramin Jawadi's lovely Game of Thrones main theme also coveys another type of message and S is no stranger to a good double entendre, as far as I know.

So yes, these are my long thoughts and comments on yet another nothingburger. With all due respect, this is rather underwhelming. Ship on, ladies. 'tis not even a scratch.

PS: Love that demeanor, by the way. Macbeth tailored 100%.

[comradekarin]

now, i haven’t had twitter for a hot minute now, but I’m remembering a thread me and oomf had about why the “theoretically, zuko would have taken lightening for anyone” claims are irrelevant, and wanted to just put it up here. this argument kind of treats katara as some interchangeable placeholder for “zuko’s redemption” and undermines how the nature of zuko’s sacrifice impacts katara directly and heavily. i don’t think zuko sacrificing himself for her is supposed to signal, yes, he is fully redeemed now. I think it’s actually supposed to show how he cares very deeply about katara. I mean, sure, zuko would taken that hit for other members of the gang, but the narrative significance wouldn’t weigh as heavily as it does with katara. even the 1st pov shots of them reaching out for each other, the music, the soft looks wouldn’t really make sense for other characters, either.

katara had to watch her mother die in arguably the worst way possible, and a part of her trauma is the fact that she ran away, helpless, and was too late to save kya. kya died protecting katara, and that’s something she has to live with. now we get the finale where zuko—another person possibly going to die for prioritizing her safety over his own, who knows what happened to kya, who was with her when she confronted the man who killed kya—but this time, katara is not only able to stop the present threat, but she’s also able to save zuko’s life. imagine if zuko had died here? what would that mean for katara? it makes me so upset because the nature of kya and zuko’s sacrifice are very similar, but this is something they just never talk about again despite it being so pivotal to both their arcs.

this is all to say that people saying that scene doesn’t matter because zuko would have done it for anyone do not see the importance of katara as a character (and her very unique dynamic with zuko). i think it’s a bad faith argument to make. the question isn’t whether zuko would have done it for anyone else (he would have), the question should be, would that scene look and feel the way it did if you had swapped katara for another character. my short answer is, no. and that’s the point.

[luvly-writer]

A Revealing Performance

Xaden Riorson x Reader

Masterlist

VIOLET

I knock once, and the door swings open almost immediately.

Xaden stands there, freshly changed, sleeves rolled up, collar undone—annoyingly composed as always. His eyes flick to my arm instinctively, probably checking for any lingering signs of pain. I ignore it.

“Brennan’s looking for you,” I say, voice clipped.

He nods. “I figured.”

He starts to move past me, but I step inside instead.

And close the door.

It latches with a quiet finality.

Xaden turns back around slowly, one eyebrow raised, arms folding across his chest like he’s already bracing for whatever this is.

“Why are you closing the door if Brennan’s waiting?”

I breathe in—deep, steady, the kind of breath you take before plunging into freezing water.

“Why is Y/n’s room next to yours?”

His brow furrows for a second, caught off guard, but only slightly. Then he exhales and says, calmly, “Because that’s always been her room.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I say, jaw tightening. “Why is it in the family wing, Xaden?”

He runs a hand through his hair and looks up at the ceiling like the stones themselves might give him patience.

“Violet…” he mutters. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

I take a step forward. “I do want them.”

He exhales through his nose, sharp and frustrated. “Because after her mother began working directly under my father, she spent most of her time here. And since she basically lived in this house—of course she had her own room.”

“In the family wing,” I repeat.

“Yes.” He meets my eyes now, voice firm. “In the family wing.”

“So what was she to you?” I press, heart thudding. “Because people don’t usually put just anyone that close. She’s not a guest, she’s not just a friend. What is she?”

Xaden doesn’t answer right away.

He just watches me.

Then, he sighs again, clearly done with the conversation.

“She was like family to my family.”

It feels like a lie.

Or not quite a lie, but not the whole truth either.

Something about the way he says it—too carefully, too rehearsed—makes my skin prickle.

I narrow my eyes. “That’s not all of it.”

He rolls his eyes with a quiet scoff and moves past me, reaching for the door.

Before I can say anything else, he gently nudges me out of the way, hand warm but brief at the small of my back.

“I have to meet with Brennan,” he says, voice low.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The door closes behind him, leaving me alone.

My stomach churns. The silence feels suffocating.

Because now I know what I didn’t before.

There are parts of Xaden’s life—of his heart—that I’ve never been let into.

And I have no idea how to find the truth.

But if he won’t tell me…

Then I’ll find someone who will.

VIOLET

I’m picking at my food more than eating it.

Again.

My squad’s loud around me—Sawyer and Ridoc arguing about whether Sloane could beat Aaric in hand-to-hand, Rhiannon chiming in with a perfectly reasonable “It depends if Aaric’s shirt is on or not”—but I’m only half-listening.

My eyes keep flicking from Bodhi, who’s a few tables down laughing with Imogen, to my plate, to the edge of the table where I’m tapping my finger restlessly.

Because he’s the key.

Bodhi.

Out of all of them—Xaden, Imogen, Y/n—Bodhi is the one who leaks information like a cracked jug if you tilt it just right. He talks too much when he’s comfortable, especially if he doesn’t know he’s being watched.

But I can’t just ask him. That’ll get shut down in a heartbeat.

I have to be subtle. Strategic. I have to—

“Oh, oh,” Ridoc says, pointing his fork at me, “that’s her scheming face.”

Sawyer leans back with a grin. “What are we up to now?”

I blink. “We?”

“You never make that face unless you’re plotting something,” Rhiannon says, narrowing her eyes. “And when you do, we are always part of it.”

I stare at them for a beat.

Then sigh.

“Not now,” I mutter, standing and grabbing my tray. “Meet me in my room later.”

Rhiannon arches a brow. “Your room? Not Xaden’s?”

I shake my head. “I asked Brennan for one of my own.”

That gets a few raised brows, but no one presses—thankfully.

Later, in Violet’s new room

The four of us sit cross-legged in a tight circle on the rug. The room still smells like fresh sheets and mint balm, but it’s already becoming mine.

And I finally speak.

“All right. I need help,” I start. “But this doesn’t leave this room.”

They all lean in slightly.

I tell them everything.

About Y/n.

About her movements, her posture, the way she interacts with Xaden—or doesn’t.

The conversation we had after I caught her dancing.

The conversation with Xaden in Samara. The way his eyes snapped to me when I mentioned her name. The fondness in his voice when he said, "It’s good that she’s still dancing."

The way Bodhi let it slip—"Old friend? He called her that?"—like he knew better.

And then today. Y/n’s room. Right next to Xaden’s. The family wing.

I watch their faces shift—Ridoc’s smirk fading into curiosity, Sawyer’s brows furrowing, Rhiannon biting her lip in that way she does when she’s mentally building timelines.

“So…” Ridoc drawls. “You think Y/n and Xaden were a thing?”

“I know they were,” I say. “The question is… what kind of thing. And when it ended. If it even did.”

“And Bodhi knows,” Rhiannon says thoughtfully. “Which means Imogen does too. And so does Garrick and Sloane probably”

“Exactly,” I nod. “But they’re too guarded. I need someone who talks.”

“Bodhi,” Sawyer says immediately.

“Bodhi,” Ridoc echoes with a grin. “Bestie can’t keep a lid on it if you just—what did you call it, Violet? Apply pressure from a side angle?”

I smirk. “Precisely.”

I look around at them, this strange, wonderful team I’ve nearly died beside.

“I need you all,” I say quietly. “To help me get Bodhi talking. We need to fill in the blanks. Because whatever happened between Xaden and Y/n—it wasn’t nothing. And if it’s not over…”

I don’t say the rest.

I don’t have to.

Because we all know what’s at stake when love and loyalty collide in a world that can barely hold itself together.

VIOLET

The trick to getting Bodhi to talk is simple: Keep him distracted. Keep him laughing. Keep him off-balance.

Which is why we’ve lured him into a “friendly” sparring session under the pretenses of team bonding—a thing we never do—and positioned Rhiannon and Ridoc as the rotating chaos agents. Sawyer plays mediator. I play sweet, innocent observer.

The perfect storm.

We’re in one of the smaller, private training rooms—the kind usually reserved for ranking officers or riders who don’t want to get pummeled in public. Perfect for… information extraction.

Bodhi’s already sweating, arms bare, laughing as Rhiannon flips him onto his back for the second time in five minutes.

“Oof,” he groans. “That’s a cheap shot, Matthias!”

“Your guard was down,” she says innocently. “S’what happens when you chat mid-lunge.”

Ridoc offers him a hand, pulling him up and tagging in before Bodhi can catch his breath.

“C’mon, Durran-boy,” Ridoc says, bouncing on his toes. “You’re supposed to be one of the elite. Impress me.”

Bodhi groans. “Why do I feel like I’m being punished?”

“Training is important,” I say sweetly from the wall, twirling a practice dagger between my fingers. “Also, you talk too much when you’re tired.”

He squints at me, suspicious.

But then Ridoc lunges, and Bodhi’s too busy dodging to question it.

Thirty Minutes Later

He’s panting. Sweaty. Distracted.

Perfect.

Sawyer tosses him a water flask and plops down beside him. “Man, I forgot how you and Xaden used to train together. Was it like that growing up?”

“Yeah,” Bodhi says, wiping his forehead. “We were all brought up together here in Tyrrendor at one point. Spent half our days training and learnig and the other half messing around all around Aretia as kids.”

Ridoc flops onto the mat. “Was Y/n with you then?”

“Oh yeah,” Bodhi says easily. “She was always around, practically lived here. Even before the war went to shit, she has always been like... one of us.”

“Wait, really?” I blink, tilting my head just right. “She practically lived here?”

He nods. “Well, yeah. Her mom was working closely with Xaden’s dad back then. Everyone loved Y/n. Especially... Xaden.”

Rhiannon quirks a brow. “You say that like it was more than just friends.”

Bodhi lets out a breathless laugh. “Gods, he was obsessed. I mean, he had a freakin’ ballroom built for her to dance in.”

“A ballroom?” I echo, playing the wide-eyed card.

“He never got to show her,” Bodhi says with a shrug. “Apostasy hit before he got to reveal it. When I tell you that he never missed her performances. Even dragged Garrick and me to every single one.”

Ridoc whistles. “That’s commitment.”

“He didn’t care about rules with her,” Bodhi mutters, lying back flat on the mat. “Even after being sent away with Duke Lindell. Broke curfew, ditched trainings. Said he’d trade protocol for five seconds with her.”

My throat tightens, but I force my voice steady. “So they were—”

“Together, yeah. Before the Catriona mess, it was supposed to be Y/n who married him. She was his first for everything”

I feel my stomach twist.

“And then?” Rhiannon asks, gently. “What happened?”

Bodhi frowns. “That’s the weird part. When Xaden got into his third year, he just... stopped. Stopped writing. Stopped visiting. Cut contact completely.”

“No one knew why?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head. “Not even Y/n. One day he was all fire and devotion and the next—silence. She waited. We all thought he'd come back. But he didn’t.”

I glance at the others.

No one speaks.

Because we all know when that shift happened.

When I entered the quadrant.

And suddenly, a lot of things feel heavier.

Later, in Violet’s Room

We sit in a circle again—same positions as before. Only now, there’s a different kind of weight in the air.

“Well,” Ridoc says, exhaling hard. “That was...a lot.”

“Ballroom. Betrothal. Firsts.” Sawyer ticks the points off with his fingers. “Gods, this isn’t a triangle. This is a love war.”

Rhiannon looks at me carefully. “You okay?”

I nod.

But the truth is—I don’t know.

Because now I know what they were.

Now I know what he never told me.

And still, the biggest question remains:

Why did he walk away from her?

And why does it still look like it hurts him to see her?

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Author’s note: the WAY i didn’t expect this to blow up as it did i’m cRYING! Not only that, I just reached more than 1,000 followers….WHAT!?!? OMG THIS WOW! Thank you to everyone who has read my stories, writing means so much to me and seeing how much people appreciate what I write makes me tear up. On another hand, no honey, this is NAWT the chapter where the angst ends. We have a LONG way to go <3.

[suushiiii]

The final shot: Everything works out in the end

Daphne van Domselaar x Chelsea!reader

a/n: Read pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, and pt.4 first, before reading this one.

Also, this is my first time writing smut, so please be kind :)

Summary: When you finally decided to go talk to Daphne, after a month not talking to her.

Warnings: Smut

Word count: 11.5k

Big thanks to @daphwritesworld for helping me with the smut :)

a/n: I got a bit too carried away with this fic, icl hihi.

It had been a month, a month since Arsenal had won the Champions league and a month since Daphne had kissed you in her hotel room in Lisbon. That night was a complete blur. One moment you sat with Leah at the table, handing you a beer and the other moment, you got pushed against the wall and kissed like it was the end of the world. You were back in London, in your own apartment.

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, birds outside were singing their songs and the honks of cars every now and then. Time moved, but for you, the time was still with Daphne her lips on yours, her fingers tracing the curves of your body. You had pushed her away that night, before it could get out of hand. Ever since then, your mind has been a mess.

You wanted to be angry with her, you really did, but god, those confused eyes after you had pushed her away that night were carved into your brain. You remembered how small her voice was, how it was shaky and trembling. How her hands were trembling at her side, her eyes were glassy and her lips were swollen from the kiss. You didn’t want to replay that night in your head, but it did, over and over again.

You stood in your kitchen, leaning against the counter, a glass of water in your hand, but still fully filled. Daphne hadn’t contacted you and you hadn’t contacted her. You didn’t know if you were waiting for her or that you just didn’t want to, because you were afraid that you let your feelings be real.

What you had said to her in Lisbon was true, you still cared about her with your whole heart, but you had pushed her away and yelled at her with so many accusations, that you thought that it would be too late to reconnect. You picked up your phone and opened Daphne her contact, your thumb hovered over the phone icon, but you never pressed it.

You laid your phone back down and just stood there in the kitchen, the thought of calling or texting Daphne still in the back of your mind. You thought about what you could say or if you should say anything. Did she want to hear your voice? Did your hurt push her away? Had she really given up on you after what happened in Lisbon?

The questions stormed your mind, but you didn’t have an answer for any of them. You shook your head and moved to the living room, the full glass of water forgotten on the counter together with your phone. You laid on the couch, a blanket loosely around you and you stared at the ceiling, but your mind wouldn’t stop with the questions that would be left unanswered.

Time passed, but you stayed on the couch, the tv humming in the background after you had turned it on, but not paying attention to it. You looked at your knee that wasn’t covered by the blanket over your lap. The scar was still visible, not completely healed, but enough that you didn’t need bandages anymore. You closed your eyes briefly, the moment of the match flashed by, but it got replaced by the moment in Daphne her hotel room.

You still felt how her hands were on your waist, her mouth on yours, how she pressed you gently against the wall and how her fingers danced on the heat of your bare skin. You winced light at the memory when you had pushed her off you. You remembered the look in her eyes, hurt, confusion and the look of scaredness, that she would lose you all over again. It hurt you thinking back to that moment, but your mind didn’t seem to mind, because every time you closed your eyes, those memories resurfaced like a tidal wave.

“Why did I say those things?” You whispered to yourself and thought back to what you had said. You know you shouldn’t have, but with Daphne sitting in front of you and saying, “I’m sorry”, like it could erase everything that happened between the two of you. “You’re a coward Daphne! Grow the hell up!” Those were the last things you said (yelled) to her, before you left and didn’t give her a final glance.

You stood up from the couch and walked back to the kitchen counter. You took your phone and this time searched for Leah her contact and called her. You pressed the phone to your ear. You tapped nervously on the counter with your free hand, while the phone rang once, twice, before she heard the defender’s voice. “Hi, y/n. What’s up?” Leah her voice came from the other end of the line. You were quiet for a while, the only sound Leah heard was your breathing.

“Are you okay?” You cleared your throat and nodded, but realized that Leah couldn’t see that. “Yeah, I am, just-” You trailed off, not really knowing where you were going with that sentence. “You need someone to talk to?” Leah her warm voice came through again and you smiled to yourself. Leah always knew what you needed. “Yes, please.” You said with a groan and heard Leah giggle on the other end of the phone. “Alright, our usual coffee place?” Leah asked and you hummed, already thinking about your order. “Great, see you in an hour?” You hummed again and said your goodbyes, before hanging up the phone. You placed your phone back on the counter and moved to the bedroom, getting yourself ready.

First you took a quick shower and brushed your teeth, and changed yourself. You hadn’t really thought about it, but you didn’t know what you should say to Leah, if you should ask about Daphne or let Leah start that conversation. You stood in front of the mirror and put your hair in a ponytail, before moving from the bathroom to the kitchen. You took your keys from the kitchen counter and walked to the front door. The door clicked shut behind you and you locked it. You let out a long breath, before walking down the hallway.

You arrived at the busy café 40 minutes later. The ‘little wonder café’ was filled with people, cutlery hit the plates, coffee machines were pouring coffee and little kids were playing in the kids corner. You moved through the café and spotted Leah in the corner near the window that had the view of the Emirates Stadium outside. You moved closer and Leah spotted you, a smile appeared on her lips as she stood up from her seat.

“Hi.” Leah pulled you into a hug and you returned it, before you both pulled back and sat down. “How are you?” You shrugged, because honestly, you didn’t know how you were and what you were feeling. “I heard you got called up for the euro’s.” You said with a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes and Leah saw. “You would’ve been called up as well, I hope you know that.” Leah her voice was soft, almost careful, afraid to strike a nerve.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately that isn’t the case.” You whispered and traced the edges of the menu with your fingers. The two of you fell into silence. Your mind was full with all the things you wanted to ask Leah, but you didn’t know how and if you should. “Have you made a decision?” A waitress asked when she reached your table. The two of you ordered and the waitress walked away, leaving you and Leah in silence again.

“Can I say something?” Leah asked and leaned with her elbows on the table, and you met her eyes. “Depends on what you’re going to say.” You stated with a small smirk, which earned a soft laugh from the blonde defender. “She hasn’t been herself, ever since that match.” Your body tensed at the ‘she’, you knew who ‘she’ was and a sickening feeling formed in your stomach. You didn’t say anything, you just waited for Leah to continue.

“She hesitates every time a player runs at her, afraid that the same thing will happen and you know Daphne, she never hesitates.” You nodded slightly with your head, letting Leah her words settle. “She always throws everything she has in a match or in training, but the team misses the fire she once had.” You closed your eyes briefly, you hated that Daphne was feeling that way and it was partly your fault, because you hadn’t given her time to breathe when you showed up in front of her hotel room in Lisbon.

“I yelled at her and I shouldn’t have.” You whispered, your eyes on the table where you were still fidgeting with the menu. Leah opened her mouth, but closed it again, when the waitress arrived at the table with your orders. “Here you go, enjoy.” The waitress placed your coffee in front of you and you handed her the menu, before the waitress walked away again.

“What did you yell at her?” You looked up, while stirring through your coffee with the small spoon. “I don’t even know anymore.” You lied, of course you did. The words you yelled have been on a loop in your mind. Leah looked at you, not really believing what you just told her. “y/n, you don’t need to lie to me.” Leah her voice wasn’t disappointed that you lied to her, it was warm and soft and that made you relax just a little.

“I yelled at her that she ruined my career, that she gets to play the game she loves, that she hadn’t contacted me after the match and that she hadn’t visited me during rehab.” You finally stated and you waited, waited for Leah to judge you, but when you met her eyes again, they were not judgmental, they were full with understanding. “And before I left her hotel room, I yelled that she was a coward and needed to grow the hell up. I didn’t give her a second glance after that.” Leah nodded slightly with her head, taking a dip from her coffee.

You looked down at your own mug, tears stinging in your eyes, but you blinked them quickly away. “You know? I always loved the two of you together,” Leah started out of nowhere and you frowned, because Leah had never said that out loud. “the two of you were always so close, always touching or always whispering in each others ears, like you were telling each other a secret.” You smiled softly at all those memories, your heart doing a little flip.

“I kissed her back, you know?” Leah frowned, not knowing what you meant. “In Lisbon.” You clarified and Leah now nodded in understanding, remembering the talk the two of you had outside of the hotel. “Did you want to kiss her back?” You didn’t answer the question immediately, not because you didn’t want to answer it, you just didn’t know if it was true that you wanted to kiss her back.

You shook your head, leaving the question unanswered and Leah smirked just a little. “What?” You asked with a suspicious voice and Leah only shook her head, but the smirk was still there. “You didn’t answer my question.” You blinked, Leah her straightforwardness taking you off guard.

You bit your lip and let out a defeated sigh. “Maybe I did.” You murmured under your breath, Leah barely caught it, but she did. “Then I know what you should do.” You raised an eyebrow, giving Leah a questionable look. “Which is?” Leah laughed softly, because she knew that you knew what she meant, but you didn’t bite.

“Really, y/n? You’re going to be like this?” Leah asked with a smirk and you shook your head, a small smile tugged at your lips. “Go talk to her. Even if it doesn’t work out, you know that the two of you need to talk.” Leah stated and you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You knew that Leah was right. You and Daphne needed to talk, not a screaming and yelling kind of talk. No, you really needed to just talk.

“It’s not going to be easy, is it?” You asked with a sigh and looked at Leah, who shook her head. “It never is with an ex.” Leah stated simply and you groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. You already hated what was going to happen, but it needed to happen, for your and Daphne her sake.

You sat in the park, Leah and you had said your goodbyes 30 minutes ago. The conversations you had were still in your mind and one in particular, the one where you needed to talk to Daphne. In your mind you have been thinking about what you could say, but nothing seemed right.

You looked around you, children were playing or feeding the ducks, couples walking past, people reading on a bench with a book in their hands and you just sat there, like a statue. Your eyes wandered to a bench under a tree and your heart skipped a few beats, it was the same bench where you and Daphne had your first date, and kiss. You closed your eyes, thinking back to the memory, where everything was perfect.

Flashback

It was a warm and sunny afternoon, you walked next to Daphne, who had a bag full of everything in it. Today would be your first date. The days after Leah her birthday party were weird, sure the two of you texted and called, but the word ‘date’ never came out of either of your mouths. Maybe it was because you both didn’t know if it was serious or that you were still testing the waters of what the two of you were to each other. But one evening, when you were sitting on the couch, your phone rang and when you answered, the sentence, “will you go on a date with me?” Daphne had spoken.

It was the first thing you heard and then nothing, like Daphne needed to say that first, before she would back out asking you and didn’t have anything else prepared. You of course said yes, so here you were, on a bench under a tree in the park. Daphne had her camera with her, she told you that she loved photography as a hobby. It was something she did when she had a free day or when she was injured, it was just something to take her mind off of football for just a day.

You just watched with a smile how Daphne took pictures of everything she found interesting, but she quickly put the camera away, because it was a date, one where she was very nervous for. “So, what did you pack?” You asked with a smile and leaned your head on Daphne her shoulder, once she had sat down next to you on the bench. “Well, I didn’t really know what you liked, so I just packed things I think you would like.” Daphne stated with an awkward chuckle and rubbing the back of her neck.

Daphne wasn’t good at dates, sure, she had been on a few, but none of them were where she had asked the other person out, so this was completely new territory for her and it was terrifying. “Are you allergic to peanuts?” You shook your head and saw Daphne taking out a bag of peanuts. Daphne started to talk fast and ramble a lot of things together that didn’t make sense, so you calmly put your hand on her shoulder. “You know that-” Daphne her ramble continued, but you cut her off with your hand in the air.

“Daph, breath, please.” You said softly and Daphne closed her mouth, her cheeks were pink and she folded her hands in her lap. “I’m talking too much, am I?” Daphne whispered embarrassed and looked down at her hands in her lap, but you titled her head back with your fingers under her chin, forcing her to meet your eyes. “Yes, you are, but it’s pretty cute.” You whispered and Daphne let out a nervous chuckle, but smiled.

The rest of the date continued. It was filled with laughter, light touches, leaning in closer to whisper something into each others ears. The conversations were easy, no awkward pauses and thinking about what you could say to fill the silence. The two of you hadn’t even realized, until the sun dipped lower, that it was starting to get late, the night air made you shiver every now and them, and Daphne? She noticed. “Here.” You barely had time to look up, until you felt the warmth of her jacket put around you.

Your hands were freezing, so you were fumbling with the zipper. Daphne giggled softly and reached out, her hands brushed yours, before she helped you with the zipper. “Better?” You nodded and now  looked up, your faces only inches away from each other, Daphne her hand rest on top of yours. Her free hand tucked a stray of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering there longer than necessary.

“So,” Daphne started, her voice in a whisper. “hypothetically, would it be weird if I asked my date if I could kiss them on the first date?” You giggled softly, your hands resting on her shoulder and you titled your head, pretending you were thinking deeply. “Well, hypothetically, I think it depends on if the date doesn’t kiss you first.” You teased, playing with Daphne her hair in the back of her neck.

Daphne hesitantly leaned in closer, her hands slowly found your waist, grounding herself in the moment. You closed the last gap between you two. Your lips met in a soft but hesitant kiss, like testing the waters to see if both of you wanted this. You felt Daphne her lips move gently against yours, her hand slowly and hesitantly found your neck.

Your hands brushed her knees and eventually you rested them there. Daphne pulled back a few inches, breathing heavily, her forehead rested against yours and her hand still gently against your neck. “That was-” You said with a breath, but you didn’t really know how to finish it. “I know.” Daphne simply said and your lips brushed at her words.

“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since Leah her birthday party.” Daphne murmured hesitantly, afraid that it would freak you out and that it was too fast. You let out a breathless laugh and moved your head, which rested now against Daphne her shoulder. “I’m glad you did.” You hummed and Daphne pulled you closer, your arms loosely around her waist. This was the best first date you could’ve asked for.

Present

You didn’t know how you ended up in front of Daphne her apartment complex. The walk to here was a blur. You walked through the city like a tourist who was afraid to ask for directions, but you knew the direction to this complex, you knew with your eyes closed. You stood there for a while, until a resident entered the building. You moved quickly, because you couldn’t bring yourself to press Daphne her buzzer.

You slipped just in time through the door, which closed automatically behind you with a click. Your heart hammered against your chest. You still hadl time to turn around and forget that you ever were here, but your legs wouldn’t move and when they did, they only moved forwards. You let out a long breath, before moving to the elevators. You pressed the up arrow once you reached the doors of the elevators.

You waited, it felt like hours, like the world was giving you a chance to turn around and then ‘ding’. The elevator door opened and you stepped inside, you still knew what floor Daphne lived on, still knew her apartment number, like you still came here everyday after a long training. It was weird to walk through the hallways you knew so well again, it was weird, but something in your chest fluttered.

The walk to Daphne her apartment door was long, too long or maybe it was because you were walking so slow that it took so long. After what felt like hours, you reached her door. There were no things hanging around it or a plant standing next to the door, even though other residents in this hallway had decorated their door.

You lifted your fist, it was inches away from the door, but you lowered it seconds later. “What am I even doing?” You whispered under your breath, afraid that Daphne would hear it from the other side of the door. You turned your head to the end of the hallway. You still had a chance to go, to just leave things how they were, but you knew that it would give you peace. You needed to talk to her, even if it meant that it wouldn’t work out. The hallway was starting to go dark, the only light came from the lights on the ceiling.

The light from outside started to fade, it was getting dark outside, the sun dipped lower and the moon started to rise. You kept hovering in front of the door, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. You pressed one hand flat against the wooden door, the cold giving you some sort of comfort and grounding you, while your heartbeat hammered in your ears. You made your flat hand into a fist against the door. You only needed to pull it back and knock, but your body was frozen, even though your mind was screaming ‘knock! Knock! Knock!’

You shut your eyes and you were a second away from knocking on the door, but you lowered your fist at your side and you took a step back from the door. Your mind was a mess with all the things you wanted to say, even though you hadn’t rehearsed it. How could you rehearse it? How could you be thinking about what you could say when you hadn’t even planned on coming?

You felt yourself breathing faster, your heart hammering harder and harder against your ribcage, like your heart would jump out of your chest. You didn’t know what to expect when you would knock on the door. Would Daphne look through the peeking hole and let you stand there? Would she open the door and say something, but not let you in? Would she do the same thing she did in Lisbon, leave the door open and give you a choice? Or would she pull you inside? The questions swarmed your mind, but no answers came.

You only would get an answer if you just knocked on the door. “Okay, just knock.” You whispered to yourself, hoping to encourage yourself, but it didn’t sound convincing to yourself. Your voice was small and fragile, and it wasn’t sure, knowing or brave. You didn’t move to the door, you just started pacing in the hallway. The only sounds were your footsteps on the ground and the sound of doors closing of other apartments from the other hallways. You felt like a damn coward, the same word you had yelled at Daphne in her hotel room.

You hated yourself for not knocking on the door, everything else was already a fucking mess, nothing could make everything more fucked up than it already was. You closed your eyes and leaned against the wall next to the door, and you bended down with your hands on your knees, trying to get your breathing under control.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, before standing up straight and pushing yourself gently off the wall. You stood in front of the door for the third time again, your hands trembled at your sides and your fingers twitched. You felt your stomach twist, but you ignored it, you needed to. You raised your fist, it was only inches away from the door.

You let it hover in front of the door, not quite touching, but you felt the door brush your knuckles that had turned white, because you had tightened your fist, your nails digging into your palm. ‘just fucking knock’ you thought and you gently placed your fist on the door, it wasn’t a knock. You just let your fist rest against the cold surface. You took one final breath and before you could even think about it again, you knocked, the sound echoing off the walls in the hallway.

Your heart started to beat faster once more, but the door stayed closed and you didn’t hear any footsteps from the other side. As the door stayed closed, you went to your last resort, you knocked two times, then paused and then knocked three times with pauses between knocks. You waited, hoping that the routine knock the two of you had would help and then, you heard footsteps behind the door, the lock clicked and the door started to open.

---------------------------------------------------------

Daphne sat in her living room. It was dimly lit by the lights of the kitchen and the only sound came from the tv that was on, with a rewind match of Arsenal against Chelsea last year. Daphne hadn’t put the channel on, on purpose and Daphne wasn’t really paying attention to it, but her head would shoot up when the commentator said your name. Daphne her chest would tighten with something she couldn’t quite place. Pain? Guilt? Shame? Or all of them combined?

Daphne stood up from the couch and headed to the kitchen. She had put down all the pictures of you or you with her, just to give her some sanity in all the chaos in her mind. Daphne opened the cabinet and took a wine glass and poured herself a glass. She didn’t need to worry about matches or training, because the season was done. Daphne leaned against the counter, the glass filled with wine in her hand and she took a sip. Daphne her face contorted.

She didn’t really know why she had wine in her house, probably because of you, because you loved to have a glass of wine every now and then. Daphne stared out of the window, stirring the wine, but not really drinking it anymore. Daphne sighed lightly, she had stood so many times in this kitchen and imagined your laugh and voice, your touch and your pout when Daphne wouldn’t let you taste test dinner. It was the small things of you that helped Daphne to not fall apart completely.

Daphne hovered near the counter with a now empty glass in her hand, and she lowered it, the soft click echoing through the apartment. It startled Daphne more than it should have, but it had been quiet the whole day, so the loud noise took her off guard. Daphne took out her phone and opened her contact list and pressed yours, and she hovered with her thumb over the call button.

Daphne her finger was inches away from pressing it, but she put her phone down, clattering on the counter and nearly missing the glass. Daphne walked back to the couch, letting herself be caught by the cushions and her head rested back against the couch. Daphne looked at the ceiling, the wine didn’t really kick in, not how she thought it would. She had hoped that it would calm her mind and let the storm of questions leave, but it didn’t.

Daphne turned her attention back to the tv and the shot was with you and her after the final whistle. On the screen you both kept your distance, but your fingers would brush lightly against each other. Daphne her pulse quickened and she swore that she felt a breeze against her fingers, but you weren’t there, not next to her on the couch, not brushing your hand against hers, just like on the screen. Daphne felt tears in her eyes at the sight on the screen and the thought of when you were still here, but she quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, before they could fall.

“I lost you for good.” Daphne whispered, the words stinging the minute they left her mouth, because she didn’t want to admit it. This whole time, Daphne had her hopes and had to rebuild it after what happened in Lisbon, but the hope was there. But the second the words left her lips, the stair of hope she had built, crumbled and she fell from it, high and hard.

Daphne leaned forwards, her elbows resting on her knees and her head in her hands. She didn’t cry, she couldn’t anymore. Daphne wanted to feel something, anything other than the hollow feeling you had left in her heart. Daphne turned and laid on the couch, the surface beneath her dipped because of Daphne her weight. Daphne stared at the ceiling, both her arms laid next to her sides. Daphne closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would come or that the lingering pain in her chest would stop.

Daphne turned on her side, one hand under the cushion and her other hand flat besides her. Seconds past, maybe minutes, before Daphne her eyes started to get heavy and started to flutter shut, but then she heard it. It wasn’t loud, it was soft, almost hesitant, but Daphne heard it. A knock. Daphne her brows furrowed, because it was late, too late for someone to show up at her door. Daphne assumed that it was just her neighbor who came home drunk from a night out.

Daphne her body relaxed, but then those knocks came. The knocks that were far too familiar to her and only one other person could know, which was you. Two fast knocks came, then a pause and then three other knocks came, with pauses between them. Daphne froze on the couch, hoping that her mind was again playing tricks on her, just like it had done for months now. Daphne her heart hammered in her chest and she sat on the edge of the couch again, her palms were sweating, her sweater clung to her like a second skin.

Daphne waited a few seconds before standing up and walked with shaky legs to the door. Daphne reached the door and couldn’t look through the peeking hole, too afraid to see you and that she wouldn’t open the door anymore. Daphne swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, her hand rested on the lock and the other on the doorknob. Daphne her fingers trembled on the lock, the same goes for her fingers on the doorknob. Daphne couldn’t help but think that you were here to yell at her again and leave her again, and she couldn’t handle that, not a third time.

She couldn’t handle another round of accusations leaving your mouth and that you would mean them. Daphne her hand on the doorknob loosened, but she slowly unlocked the lock with a soft click that felt louder than thunder in a storm. Daphne knew that there was no way back now, because you had heard the lock, so Daphne her hand found the knob and turned it, opening the door slowly, almost hesitantly. Daphne left the door open with a gap, not wanting to see your face.

The door was barely open, but when you looked through the gap, you saw Daphne her shadow on the wall of the hallway. Both of you didn’t say anything at first, like the open door was like a wall. You didn’t push the door open further. This was Daphne her choice, open the door fully or close it again. You heard her breathing, it wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t ragged breath either. Daphne on the other side of the door, felt her eyes sting from tears when she heard your calm breaths, but she didn’t dare to look between the gap and look at you.

“Daphne.” You breathed out and Daphne froze behind the door when she heard your voice, her legs almost giving out. “Can I talk to you, without a door between us?” Your voice was soft and hesitant, your body still giving you the chance to go. “If you’re here to yell at me again, just go, because my heart can’t take that too, not again.” You heard Daphne her voice breaking and shaking. Your own heart broke at how scared and broken Daphne her voice was, like it was waiting for you to snap at her.

You took a step closer, your hand pressed flat against the slightly opening the door. The pressure of your hand made the door creek open just a little more and your eyes caught one of Daphne her hands. It was trembling at her side, like only her hand got electrocuted. “Daph,” you started, her nickname slipping from your lips before you could think about it.

“I’m not going to push the door open. If you want me here, you need to open the door yourself.” Your words were soft and sure. You didn’t want to corner her, by entering the apartment by pushing the door open. The two of you stood there, minutes passed and you were afraid that Daphne would close the door, instead of opening it more.

You started to lose hope, but then the door left your palm. You looked up and met Daphne her eyes, for the first time in a month. Ever since that night in Lisbon. Daphne didn’t step aside, her hand still on the doorknob, like she was still arguing in her mind if she should close the door or let you in. You scanned her for a beat. Her eyes looked tired, the light pink flush on her cheeks were visible in the dimly lit hallway and she was wearing her Arsenal shorts with one of your old sweaters that you had left here.

Your breath caught at the sight, the fierce and unbreakable keeper you always saw in Daphne was gone, replaced by someone that wasn’t her. Minutes passed, but then Daphne stepped slowly aside, giving you the sign to walk through the door. You waited a beat, giving her a second to change her mind, but she didn’t. You moved forward and when you passed Daphne, your shoulders brushed lightly, sending shivers down the spines of you both. You heard the door click behind you and Daphne moved past you now.

The two of you stood in the silence of the apartment, the tv had started to play a different rewind match and the fridge hummed quietly in the background. You cleared your throat and shifted from one foot to another, before speaking, “Daphne-” The rest of the sentence didn’t come out, because Daphne her voice cut you off.

“Look, I-I know that, god- this is harder than I thought. I know that I messed everything up and that you hate me. God, I hate myself too, ever since that match, that dive-” Daphne was starting to breathe faster, you could barely keep up with what she was saying, but you couldn’t find the space to interrupt her. “Daphne, I’ve been thinking-” You tried again, but Daphne cut you off once again. “That I’m the worst person you’ve ever met and that happened to you? I know, I think about that every- every morning.” Daphne her eyes didn’t meet yours.

She couldn’t look you in the eyes, how could she? Daphne her breathing slowed, her hands unclenched at her side. “I sometimes dream about  missing the ball.” You looked up at her, frowning, confused at what she meant. “I would dream that you came running at me and I would freeze. You would dribble past the last defender and I would blink, and the ball would be in the back of the net, the minute I opened my eyes.” Your heart broke at how fragile and broken Daphne her voice was, tears slowly falling from her eyes.

“In my dream, the minute you scored, you didn’t celebrate. You would fall to the ground screaming and your knee, god, it was twisted in an unnatural way and I stood frozen and then I would wake up, screaming, sweat clinging to me like second skin. My mind reminded me that it was me who had done that to you and I couldn’t take it back, I wish I could or that it was me instead of you. That I was the one who’s leg was snapped in two and that you could run and play the game you love so much,” Daphne was now crying, her knees almost buckling underneath her, but she didn’t want to fall apart in front of you.

“because if I could see you on the field again that would mean everything, that is worth more than a clean sheet, a win, god, I would even trade my Champions league medal, if it meant that you could play again.” Daphne her breathing was ragged and she backup to the counter. She needed something steady to hold on to when you would speak. You let her words settle, your heart hammering in your chest, your eyes glassy from what Daphne had told you. “Daph,” Daphne didn’t looked up, tears still streaming down her face, her body shook at her nickname.

“can you look at me, please?” You asked softly and took another step closer, closing the gap between you two just a little. Daphne didn’t look up immediately, but after a few seconds, her teary eyes met yours that were now glassy, but you didn’t let your tears fall, not yet. You only looked at Daphne for a beat. Tears still falling from her eyes on her cheeks, her lower lip trembled and her body was still shaking. It broke your heart to see her like this, like she was waiting for you to yell and snap at her again.

You hesitated, before closing the last space between the two of you, cupping her face in both your hands, forcing her to meet your eyes once more. You stroke with your thumbs over her cheeks, wiping the tears away that had stopped falling. Her eyes were glassy, her lower lip was still trembling and her body tensed at your touch. “I have been wondering,” you started, your voice barely a whisper, but it was loud in the quiet apartment, your hands still cupping Daphne her face.

“Would you have moved differently if it wasn’t me? If it was someone else running at you with the ball, would you still have gone in that hard? Would you have pulled back?” The tears that had been in your eyes finally fell, your voice cracked when you spoke and your hands trembled against Daphne her skin. “You were supposed to be the one person who would never hurt me. Not like this, not this deep, but you did and I hate myself that I still love you, isn’t that weird?” You laughed bitterly, like you couldn’t understand that you still loved her and were standing here in her apartment, and just a few inches from her face.

You blinked the tears in your eyes away, but they kept coming, your own lip trembling when you parted your lips again to speak. “It told myself coming here would bring closure.” You voice was again in a whisper, like you were sharing a secret that nobody was allowed to hear.

“That after what happened in Lisbon that this would be the last time. That we could properly say goodbye, but the truth is,” Your voice trembled and you closed your eyes, steadying your breathing, before continuing. “I just came here, because I missed you. Because I still feel like you’re the only person who knows me.” You whispered, your thumbs tracing the line of her jaw. “I miss the way you would wake up next to me, how you always tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and let your hand rest there longer than necessary.

I miss how you kissed me, how your hands were always gentle and the words you would whisper. God, I even miss your stupid routine before a match, touching both posts and jumping in the goal to hit the crossbar three times.” You let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob, when you pictured her routine in your mind. “I miss.” You started, but a broken laugh from you stopped you. “I miss that you used to talk to the kettle. I can still hear you say it, ‘come on, come on, be useful, do what you’re supposed to do’ like it was a teammate, who didn’t listen to your instructions. It was so stupid back then, hearing your voice so annoyed at a kettle, but I missed it.” You said softly, your eyes and Daphne’s still on each other.

“And when you had poured tea in our mugs, you would make toast and every time, you somehow burned it,” Daphne her cheeks were going slightly red, because she would always say that she could make breakfast, only because you would always burn the toast, but in reality? Daphne was always the one who burned the toast.

“You would swear at the piece of bread, like it personally offended you. You would wave it around and tell me that the bread was purposely making you fail at making breakfast. You would wave it in tragedy, mummering things, but eat it anyway and I missed that.” You smiled and you felt Daphne her cheeks under your palms going warm.

“I missed your voice notes that you would send me, when we would play on the other side of the world. You would send me a ten minute long note, not making any sense and groaning half the time when you would think back to the moment that you were telling me about. I rolled my eyes every time, but even after…. everything, I still listen to them, just because I missed your voice.” You voice was shaky, but it was sure, like you wanted Daphne to know. “I remember, when you asked me how I was after a lost match and I would say ‘I’m fine’ you would tilt your head and give this knowing look, like you knew I wasn’t fine at all. You would take my hand,” You looked at her, one of your hands moved down on her arm, until your knuckles brushed hers.

You felt Daphne her hand twitch, but you took her hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. “just like this and would lead me to the couch. You would sit down first and pull me with you, until my back hit your chest. You would wrap your free arm around my waist, pulling me closer, until you could rest your head on my shoulder and would whisper, ‘Try again and be honest this time.’ I missed that. I miss that I don’t have to explain my sadness, because you, somehow, always knew.” You still had Daphne her hand on yours, Daphne her thumb brushed unconsciously against your knuckles, which made you smile softly.

Daphne her heart hammered in her chest and her eyes met yours again as she opened her mouth, but you cut her off before she could get a word out. “Please, don’t. If you’re going to say ‘I love you too’ then don’t, not if you don’t really mean it Daph.” Your voice was a plea, your eyes going teary again. “If you’re going to say it, just to keep me here, to not lose me again, then don’t say those three words.” You said through sobs and Daphne turned her head away, tears starting to fall from her eyes once again.

The two of you stood there at the kitchen counter, two souls, two hearts, broken and hurt, but not knowing if they would find each other, even if they were just inches apart. You two stood there for what felt like an eternity, one of your hands still on Daphne her cheek and the other still in her hand, not as tight as before. Without thinking, you leaned forward and rested your forehead against Daphne’s, breaths mingling and both closing your eyes. “I love you, I’m sorry.” Daphne whispered and tightened her hold on your hand afraid that you might disappear.

You opened your eyes and Daphne pulled her head back, just so you could meet her eyes. The three words she had whispered stayed in your mind and before you could react, Daphne leaned in hesitantly, both her hands cupped your face gently, her mouth just inches away from yours. “I meant it.” Daphne whispered and leaned in further, her lips met yours, soft and hesitant. Daphne didn’t move, she waited, waiting for you to kiss her back, to know that you wanted this too.

After seconds, you let your hesitance crumble and your hands found her hips, pulling her closer and kissing her back. The kiss started slow, both still testing the waters, but the kiss deepened quickly. Daphne her hands moved from the side of your face to your waist. Your jacket ruffled at Daphne her touch. With a new found confidence, Daphne spun the two of you and your back hit the edge of the counter. Daphne her hands moved up and found the zipper of your jacket.

Not breaking the kiss, Daphne opened your jacket with the zipper. The cold air never hit you, because the warmth of Daphne her body against you didn’t leave any room. The kiss deepened and Daphne slowly pulled the jacket from your shoulders. The jacket fell on the counter behind you, your arms were met with the cold air, but that was soon replaced by the warmth of Daphne her palms that rested on both your arms.

Daphne hands slid from your arms down to your waist and she pulled you away from the counter, pulling you closer against her. You didn’t mean it, but you let out a sigh against her lips and you felt Daphne her lips twitch upwards. “Please,” Daphne whispered against your mouth, her hands loosened on your waist. “if this isn’t what you want….tell me now. I won’t make you stay.” Daphne her voice was shaky, because she was afraid that the same thing would happen, just like in Lisbon.

You didn’t say anything and pulled Daphne closer by the collar of her sweater, crashing your lips against hers. This kiss was not soft and slow, it was harder and sure. Daphne her hands tightened on your waist again, pulling you closer again, if that was even possible. Daphne her teeth bit softly on your lower lip, before easing the sting with her tongue and you let out a sound that was half gasp and half moan, as your lips parted. Daphne her hand slipped underneath your shirt, her tongue moved past your parted lips, a sound was heard from you, sending a shiver down Daphne her spine.

Daphne her tongue started to explore your mouth, just like she had done a million times before and you couldn’t help the moan from leaving your throat, and you felt daphne smile against your lips. Your tongues met, tangling and teasing. Daphne her fingers danced just under your ribs and a small sound came from you again, which made Daphne deepening the kiss more. You moaned again and breathed Daphne her name or it was just a breathless laugh, you couldn’t really tell.

Daphne her mouth eventually left yours, leaving you breathing heavily, your hands on her shoulders keeping you standing, because your knees would buckle if you didn’t hold onto something steady. Daphne moved her mouth to the corner of your mouth, placing a gentle kiss there, before trailing down to your jaw and you whimpered when Daphne kissed the soft spot just beneath your jaw.

“Still sensitive.” Daphne teased with a murmur, her teeth nipped gently against your skin and her tongue after, easing the sting of her little nips. You whimpered and arched into her, your hands flew from her shoulders to her hair, your fingers tangling into her blonde hair. Daphne left open mouth kisses from your jaw to the place just underneath your ear and nipped again, this time a bit harder, earning another moan from your throat and Daphne her hands tightened on your hips just a little when Daphne her mouth left the spot below your ear and moved to your throat.

Daphne left a few kisses there, before trailing back up, but before her mouth could be pressed against yours, you tightened your hands in her hair and tilted her head a little. A gasp escaped Daphne her lips and you pressed your lips on hers, tongues tangled, fighting for dominance and Daphne lost that battle, but she didn’t mind. Daphne tried to gain back some of the control, walked back and pulled you with her towards the couch. The two of you hadn’t even reached the rug on the ground when you were pulling Daphne now. One hand still tangled in her hair and the other slipped underneath her sweater.

When your eyes landed quickly on the sweater she was wearing, a smirk formed on your lips. “You’re wearing my sweater.” You whispered in a husky voice, sending a shiver down Daphne her spine and her cheeks burned red immediately when you finally pointed out that she was wearing your sweater, because you had seen it the minute your eyes landed on her. “Does it have my name and number on the back?” You teased and your mouth trailed to her neck.

You tilted her head back with a tug in her hair, exposing her neck a bit more for you. The sweater was blue, with the Chelsea badge on the left side, so you knew it had to be your sweater. Daphne could only nod to your question, when you sucked at her neck and would surely leave a mark tomorrow. “I need you to say it.” Your voice was commanding and soft at the same time, earning a moan from Daphne.

“Yeah, your name and number are on the back.” Daphne murmured, her cheeks turning red once more, her voice hoarse and breathless from the kissing. “I need it back.” You teased, your fingers on the hem of the sweater and lifting it, only to see that Daphne wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

Daphne pulled her head back. You saw that her lips were swollen and loose skin from your biting. Your fingers moved over her bare skin. Your fingers traced her stomach just above her shorts and then you let your fingers dragging from her stomach higher, each inch was a silent conversation. Your fingers traced the edges of her ribs and then you felt the light swelling just above from where your fingers rested.

You didn’t let your fingers move further up, you let them drag back down to the hem of the sweater and lifted it, and pulled it over Daphne her head. You rested your hands on her waist, pulling her closer and your lips pressed against hers again. Your tongue slipped past Daphne her lips, after you bit down and let your tongue trace over the place where you had bit. A moan escaped her lips against your mouth and you took in the sound, the sound that you had missed so much.

You pulled back from the kiss, only to let your lips brush against hers. Both your mouths were open, breathing heavily and Daphne her bare chest moved up and down against yours. You took Daphne her lower lip between your teeth again, drawing out another moan, which you got when you bit down a little harder. Your lips twitched upward, before pulling Daphne into another deep kiss. You needed to stand on your tiptoes to deepen the kiss, because Daphne was a head taller than you.

You gently started to push Daphne back, not once did your lips part. You felt Daphne roam your body, only the thin fabric of your shirt was the barrier for Daphne, who wanted to feel your bare skin under her palms, fingers and mouth. The two of you stumbled further through the apartment. Every now and then you heard Daphne moan when you would bite down on her lip.

You removed your hands from her waist and unbuttoned your t-shirt and when the gap was big enough for your head to fit through, Daphne pulled your shirt over your head and threw it somewhere in the room, her hands finally resting on your bare waist. Your lips met again and you backed Daphne up against the hallway wall that led to the bedroom, the same bedroom where the two of you had shared multiple moments like this, but now? Now it was different.

Daphne her back hit the wall with a soft thud, her hands cupped your face and pulled you in for a deeper kiss. You gently took both her wrists and pinned them next to her against the wall, your thigh slipped between Daphne’s, adding the slightest bit of pressure, to make Daphne arch her back off the wall. “F-fuck.” You smiled against Daphne her lips, when Daphne breathed that word out, stuttering and already unraveling.

You let go of one of Daphne her wrists and Daphne her hand immediately flew to your hair, pulling you closer. You moved your lips from Daphne her mouth down to her jaw, leaving open kisses there, before dipping lower to her throat.

You heard Daphne whimper and letting out moan after moan, and you loved it. It was like music to your ears, to hear Daphne like this, you had missed the sounds that she would make. Your mouth moved lower to her collarbone and you sank your teeth into the skin, earning another moan from Daphne, who only tightened her hand in your hair.

You smirked once again, letting out a quiet moan when Daphne her hand tightened in your hair. You pulled back and finally let yourself take in the sight of how Daphne was standing here against the wall. Her body was glistering with sweat, her chest rose and fell, she looked beautiful. You took a step closer, one hand found her hip and your other hand rested on her shoulder.

You leaned in again and kissed her gently, your hand falling from her shoulder to her breast, her nipples already hardened. You took one of her breasts tenderly, your thumb rolling over the hardened nipple and you felt Daphne arch of the wall once more, but your hand on her hip pushed her back against the wall. Daphne let out a whine, while you circled her nipple.

You continued to circled your thumb on the nipple and dipped your head to the other, blowing against the left nipple, sending a shiver straight down Daphne her spine as she sighed your name. You moved closer and let your lips brush against the left nipple, sending a shock through Daphne her body, who’s legs were ready to give out. “y/n-” Daphne moaned, a silent plea for you to wrap your lips around the nipple.

You smirked at the plea and obeyed, your tongue circling the nipple, your thumb still circling the right nipple. “Oh god-” Daphne moaned and pulled you closer to her chest. You left wet circles on her breast and nipple, before you finally took it in your mouth. You sucked once and then again, long and firm. You felt Daphne wiggle against you, her hand tangling in your hair. Daphne her chest rose and fell under your mouth and you bit gently on her nipple and then eased it with flicks of your tongue, a high moan escaping from Daphne her throat.

You continued gently sucking on Daphne her nipple, the sound of your mouth on her breast filling the air. You removed your mouth from her nipple after a few minutes and stood eye to eye with Daphne, who’s breathing was ragged and loose strays of hair stuck to her forehead because of the sweat. You crashed your lips against Daphne’s, after she parted her lips.

Your tongue was already exploring the inside of Daphne her mouth and you pulled her closer by the waistband of her shorts. Daphne gasped against your mouth as you pushed her back and the two of you stumbled into the bedroom. You closed the door with a click with your foot.

The door hadn’t been fully shut, before Daphne her back closed the rest of the door and you flushed your body against hers, stomach to stomach, chest to chest. Your hands rested on the edge of her shorts and you leaned in again, pulling Daphne into another deep and hungry kiss. Daphne leaned off the door, but one of your hands came up to her chest, pushing her gently back against the door.

“Don’t move.” You murmured against her mouth, your hand on her chest moved lower, cupping one of her breasts and squeezed it a little. Daphne arched her back, leaning into your touch, her mouth parted and a moan left her lips. “Fuck, y/n.” Daphne breathed out with a moan, her hands firm on your shoulders, so she could hold herself steady. You removed your hand from her breast and moved it lower to her stomach. Daphne shuddered against you from the touch, sending short shivers through her body.

You moved lower, not into her shorts, but your fingers moved between Daphne her shaking thighs. The minute your fingers caught the wetness through her shorts, a groan left your throat. You moved your fingers slowly against the fabric, making Daphne whimper and moving her hips forward, just to get more contact. Your fingers stayed where they were, with each stroke earning a moan from Daphne, while you kissed the place just under her ear. “You are so wet,” You murmured in her ear, biting her earlobe gently.

“and I haven’t even touched you there yet.” Daphne whined, her hands finding your hips pulling you closer and you couldn’t help but smile against her skin. “What do you want, love?” You whispered in Daphne her ear, removing your hand between her legs and Daphne moaned at that. “You.” Daphne stated breathlessly, her hands tangling in your hair. “I want you.” You pulled back, meeting Daphne her eyes and you brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

You leaned in and kissed her nose softly, earning a soft giggle from her. Without saying a word, you lift Daphne by her thighs, her legs wrapped around your waist as she giggled softly. You gently kissed her jaw, neck, the place just below her ear again, before your lips met. Daphne her arms wrapped around your neck, her fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of your neck, while you slowly carried her to the bed.

Once your knees hit the edge of the bed, you lowered Daphne on the mattress and you followed seconds later. You hovered over her and just admired her. How her air caught the light of the bedside lamp, how her palms rested on the side of your neck and how her mouth was slightly parted, still catching her breath. You moved your hands from her hips to the edge of the shorts, hooking both your index fingers and pulling the red and white shorts down. You dipped lower, kissing Daphne her neck, her chest, giving her nipples attention, before moving lower again, leaving kisses on her stomach. You shifted and moved lower, until you were kissing the fabric of her panties.

You looked up, your eyes locking on Daphne, silently asking if you could continue. Daphne nodded ever so slightly with her head, giving you permission and you gently moved her panties down. Daphne lifted her hips, making it easier for you to take her panties off. You looked down at her. Daphne was so beautiful like this, her breathing still ragged and her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Your hands rested on her hips, keeping her still and you kissed her just below her stomach, and you felt Daphne move beneath you, making you smile against her soft skin. You lowered yourself, kissing both the inside of her thighs, but not yet where Daphne wanted you most. “y/n” Daphne breathed out breathlessly again. She knew that you were just building up the pleasure, but Daphne wanted you, no, she needed you.

“Please.” You heard Daphne her plea, and decided to kiss just higher, the wetness making contact with your mouth. “Relax, I’ve got you.” You whispered against Daphne her wet pussy, before sticking your tongue out and tasting her. “Oh, go-” Daphne didn’t get her sentence out, because you had moved to her clit, sucking and flicking your tongue against it. Your tongue moved between Daphne her wet folds, groaning at the taste on your tongue, while Daphne her hand curled into the sheets.

Before Daphne could crash, you pulled back, your lips glistering from Daphne her arousal. You moved higher and hovered over her, you leaned in and kissed her on the mouth, your tongue against hers, letting Daphne taste herself. Daphne moaned at the taste and you trailed your hands down.

Your fingers finding her wet folds. You hummed softly against her mouth as you slipped one finger inside her. Daphne gasped in your mouth, her eyes fluttering closed when your finger started to move inside her. You moved a second finger in when Daphne had adjusted to the first. Your rhythm was even, still building up the pleasure. You felt Daphne shake underneath you, her breathing came more ragged than before, so you knew that she was close. “I-god, I’m going-” Daphne stuttered between your thrust.

You kissed her gently on the lips, then her neck, before moving your lips to her ear. “I’ve got.” You whispered, fastening your fingers inside her and Daphne her forehead rests on your shoulder. “Let go, Daph.” You cooed in her ear and Daphne moaned when you curled your fingers just right. “F-fuck-” Daphne her words died on her tongue, when Daphne her body arched into you, a broken sound came from her throat, her hands digging into the sheets and Daphne her eyes rolled back, her walls clenching around your fingers.

Your fingers slowed, riding the orgasm out, until Daphne would come back from her high. You kissed her temple, her cheek and whispered sweet things in her ear. You leaned down kissing her gently and whispering, “you did so good baby.”

You dropped yourself gently on top of Daphne, who rested her hands on your hips, drawing lazy circles on both sides with her thumbs. You placed gentle kisses on her neck, no biting, no tongue, just gentle pecks of your lips against her sweaty skin. You gently pushed yourself off Daphne after a few minutes of silence and you saw Daphne her eyes, scaredness in them. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving again.” You whispered, your hand rested on Daphne her thigh, which was still very wet.

You stood up from the bed and walked into the bathroom. Daphne took a sweater that laid on the ground, which was one of yours. It was the sweater from last year, when you and Chelsea won the league, your number and name on the back of the sweater. Daphne heard you turning the faucet off and appearing again, a wet towel in your hand. You sat on the edge of the bed and started to wipe Daphne her thighs clean, and you felt Daphne shudder when you moved the warm towel higher.

Once you cleaned Daphne her thighs and pussy, you moved back to the bathroom and took a new towel, made it wet and moved back to the bedroom. This time you noticed the sweater Daphne was wearing. “You’re wearing another ‘Chelsea’ sweater of mine?” You asked, the hint of teasing in your voice and you took a seat on the bed again. “They’re warm.” Daphne hummed and you were wiping the sweat from her collar, neck and forehead.

“Yeah, they are.” You smiled and looked at Daphne, who was still numb from what you did to her. You stood up from the bed again and moved to the closet and threw the towel over the radiator to let it dry. Your eyes landed on the red and white jersey in Daphne her closet. You quickly looked back at the bed, Daphne still had her eyes closed, so you quickly took the red and white jersey, and pulled it over your head.

You moved to the foot of the bed and cleared your throat. Daphne opened one eye and sat straight up against the headboard when she saw what you were wearing. “Like it?” You teased, but Daphne her eyes didn’t meet yours, they stayed on your torso, water was practically falling from her mouth. “Hey keeper, my eyes are up here.” Daphne her eyes snapped up and met yours, they had something mischievous in them. Daphne held out her hand and you took it.

Daphne pulled you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over the two of you and she curled up next to you. “You look hot in an Arsenal jersey.” Daphne murmured against your neck, her lips brushing your neck, sending a small shiver down your spine. “Don’t get used to it, because this is the first and last time you will see me wearing one.” You teased with a laugh and Daphne turned her head deeper into your neck. You rested your chin on the top of her head, your hands found each other under the sheet and you laced your fingers together.

The room was quiet now, the only sound came from your breathing, the ruffling of the sheet when one of you would move just a little or when a car would pass outside. “I’m sorry.” You had your eyes closed when you heard it and you frowned, thinking that you heard it wrong, but then Daphne her voice came again. “I’m sorry for the dive, for not visiting you or texting you.” Daphne her voice was small, fragile even, like one accusation could break her.

You opened your eyes and moved a little, but then Daphne her arms tightened around you, afraid that you would disappear. “Daph, I can’t breath.” You said softly, but Daphne her grip didn’t loosen. “I don’t want you to leave again.” Daphne her voice cracked and your heart breaking at her voice, so you pulled her closer, her face buried into your neck once more. “I won’t.” You reassured her, your fingers combing through her hair and Daphne looked up to meet your eyes.

“I never wanted to hurt you or end your career.” Your heart twisted at her words and you leaned your forehead against hers, your noses brushed light against each other. “I know and I knew that the minute it happened, but I was too angry to admit it back then.” You swallowed the lump in your throat and pulled Daphne into a tighter hug. “Will we be okay?” Daphne her question hung in the air, but then you nodded and a small smile on your lips.

“We were okay the minute you let me walk into this apartment earlier.” You whispered into her hair, before placing a kiss into her hair. Daphne shook in your hold, probably still waiting for you to pull away and walk out. You lifted her head with your hand, forcing her to meet your eyes. You saw that Daphne her eyes were glassy, her lower lip trembled. You stroke your thumb over her cheek, wiping the single tear that had fallen from her eye. You leaned in and gently kissed her on the lips, letting it linger longer than necessary.

Daphne froze, before she started to kiss you back, her hands found your neck and pulled you closer. “I love you.” Daphne whispered between kisses. You smiled softly and kissed her again, feeling Daphne her body finally relax. You pulled back and kissed Daphne her temple. You heard Daphne her breath even out, her hands clutching the Arsenal shirt you were wearing, her eyes fluttered closed. You stayed awake a bit longer and thought back about everything that happened.

You maybe wouldn’t step on a football field again, scoring goals and winning trophies, but you had won the best trophy today, one you didn’t want to lose. You looked down quickly, Daphne fast asleep in your arms, her chest rising and falling slow. You shifted gently, not wanting to wake her up and you laid back into your pillow, and you felt Daphne move closer, if that was even possible. You laughed quietly and wrapped your arms tighter around her waist and whispered into the quiet bedroom, “We’ll be alright, love.” You finally let your eyes close, knowing that you would wake up next to Daphne the next day still in your arms.

[betweenlands]

I believe, Impulse, a voice that is distinctly not a ghost says, that it's about time we spoke.

Impulse's head jerks up from where he's been resting against one corner of the pyramid, waiting for the crops to grow.

Here's the thing -- he'd know if this was a ghost. He really, really would. He's gotten used to the way they cue themselves in, the way they sound, the way they flit around just out of sight all session. The flickers of familiarity in the back of his head when he says something odd. The quality of their voices, fuzzy and distant.

So this is not a ghost. Because he has not seen or heard any ghosts all session.

Whatever is here and is not a ghost laughs quietly, and Impulse winces. That voice is loud and crisp. Distant, sure, but he gets the feeling that distance doesn't exactly mean much to them.

You can keep thinking it over if you want, the non-ghost says. There's plenty of time for that. But I doubt you'll figure it out on your own.

Yeah. Point two. The ghosts don't generally read his mind.

"Where were you all session?" he says under his breath, in case the sharp tone bearing down on him isn't a mind-reader and is just good at reading his body language.

Observing. Another sharp hmph sort of laugh. It's taking me quite a bit of effort to reach you, you know. I can't make these sorts of connections at random.

"Any reason why?"

I needed to be... subtle. You are solidly within my domain, of course, but I really prefer to not be bothered while I'm working.

Impulse thinks this over for a few seconds. Impulse opens his mouth.

Not Watchers, comes a sharp reply. Although I am capable of sharing. But they don't need to know that.

"You," Impulse says, "are up to no good."

It's a death game, Impulse. One echoing the very past itself. Nobody here is up to any good, and anyone who tells you so is lying.

Impulse considers this for a bit as well, then stands up from where he wasn't actually sitting, because, well, you can't just sit on the ground anywhere in modern Minecraft, let alone an old beta version of the game.

"Yeah. I know it's a death game. That's what I signed up for. And you missed a bunch of great moments to chime in with commentary during the session, so what's the point in talking to me now?"

He regrets changing his tone immediately. Not because he's unsure how far he can push that invisible wall with whatever this thing is, but because they sound so insufferably smug when they respond that he knows they were waiting for him to do exactly that.

Plausible deniability, the presence says. Anything I tell you is something you could simply have gleaned from other sources.

Smug? Proud? Maybe both.

"Okay, go on, make the pitch," Impulse says.

Help me help you. That's all.

"That is the least trustworthy thing I have ever heard anyone say," Impulse responds immediately, just in case they add anything else first. "You know that, right?"

I don't need you to find me trustworthy. When has that kind of thing ever helped you?

Oh, that's... okay. The non-ghost is straight up evil. Great to know.

Evil is a relative term, Impulse. Surely you know that by now. Moral alignment is a fickle thing largely in the eye of the beholder -- ah, I'm getting ahead of myself.

"You're not a Watcher, whatever those are," Impulse says. It's technically a question, but they both technically know the answer. "But you're something. So what do you actually want?"

I told you the truth. I won't mince words further. You want to win? Come find us.

"Us," Impulse repeats. "There's more than one of you."

Of course. History is written by the victors, you know.

...That's the kicker, isn't it. He really doesn't.

[spawksstuff]

1984 Space Trek III - Leonard Nimoy directing

Want to hear George, James, and De defend Leonard Nimoy's directing while giving each other compliments? Of course you do.

Reporter: [unintelligible] This is kind of a general question, anyone can answer it. The film seems to be getting really good reviews, the only major things I’m hearing are that- well problems- that maybe Leonard Nimoy is more of a television director than a film director. I’d like to know your response to that and also is it easier working with a director who has been where you are, as an actor who becomes a director rather than someone who has simply been a director.

De: From my own stand, point of view, I don’t know, there are people- what is television and what are motion pictures? I’m sure they have two, but I’ve worked in a number of both, and some pretty good films in my past with different directors. I can’t tell you the difference except the time involved, the speed and what you actually do film. In my way of thinking, there are critics, and I will tell you this, that are film critics quote, who hate more or less to give a film they’re [unintelligible] to give a film of Star Trek’s nature a decent review merely for the fact that they think in terms of television. They think this is a television group which is not necessarily so when you get into the background of the actors and so forth. But that’s the way they clock it in other words. I thought this film had a lot of quality going for it and I felt that Leonard did an exceptional job. As far as working with him, no one knows the show better than Leonard Nimoy. He’s an extremely bright man, knowledgeable. I have never worked, and this includes directors like John Sturges and Edward Dmytryk and people like that. I’ve never seen a director come aboard a show so beautifully prepared as Leonard, knowing what he wanted and if you disagree he’d show you why you were wrong, etc.

Jimmy: Including the editor. ‘Cause he did more homework than the editor. But then there’s, if you’ll go back and watch a movie that was shot before television, right? I mean, I’m talking about some of the goodies, you know. You’ll see scenes that are five and six and seven minutes long all on one camera. Television brought close ups in to the motion picture business, basically. There are all sorts of things like that. But I don’t see anything different really. I go along with De. I think that that’s a lot of malarkey, you know, this television director shooting a movie. What difference does it make ‘cause all the movie directors also went to close ups too when it was necessary. But you can take a scene and I first noticed it years ago in a movie called “Keys of the Kingdom”, Gregory Peck right? Jeez, look at the scene it’s all on one camera. And it’s been going back and forth over here and over here, you know. You saw, five shot scenes. Now you see five shots broken down to three, broken down to close ups. That’s all a question of taste, whether you need it or not and it’s up to the director whether he wants it or not.

George: Essentially what you’re doing, whether it’s on television or on the big screen is you’re telling a story, and how to most effectively tell the story with the [unintelligible] that you have. And obviously on the smaller screen you’re going to use that to the best of that in telling that story. And with the larger screen you’re going to use the possibilities and the opportunities that you have there. And I really kind of fail to understand that critique because what Leonard did was really tell an exciting story with all of the scope and sweep that the big screen offers you as well as the intimate relationships that we have, all of the warmth and humor. And I think that particularly my two friends here, you know, got a chance to let their characters really blossom for it. Jimmy’s line “up your shaft” [unintelligible]. And we knew Bones attitude toward the Vulcan but you know we saw another dimension of it given the circumstances and the stress that he was under. But then he reverted back to that wonderful Bones when he realized what Spock had done. That line “that green blooded son of bitch.” Had a reading that only De can give. And so it was, Leonard told the very small, intimate story, the relationship, as well as the character revelation, and on the big screen.  And he gave us the great grandeur scope, although I really regret the decision of the Vulcan sequences when we got a chance to be exposed to the highly elegant and sophisticated Vulcan civilization but you know those are parts of the risks you take. But I think Leonard used the medium fully to tell this very rich and exciting story. I, again, I think that that critic was being a little persnickety and it reflects, that kind of criticism reflects more on the critic himself rather than the subject being criticized.

De: Not to-

Jimmy: The subject-go ahead.

De: Not to linger on the critic situation too long but I did bring up, I wanted to tell you, there is a critic that can be very, very severe, that’s Richard Schickel of Time Magazine and today was the first time I had the pleasure of reading his review and it’s a very lovely review and this is a man who is not afraid to say what he wants to say. He did not classify this in terms of quote television at all, which gave great review A very severe critic so I was pleased to see that review.

Jimmy: I guess you’ve gathered from this that we really like Leonard as the director, you know.

[alexthebordercollie]

In the Papa-Ford AU, how did we get from Shifty to the twins? My brain keeps looping back to a sliding security door mishap but I'm curious to see what other ideas you have about it.

Ok, so this is an interesting question that took an embarrassingly long time to answer because I was still trying to flesh out and choreograph the scene. Then Ford won the pregnancy poll, and I got ideas. So for context, I'm a trans man and a parent. I've given birth before, and MPreg is a trope I actually have a bit of a personal fixation on. That said, I rarely write MPreg despite really liking well-done male pregnancy stories because it's a trope that gets made fun of a lot. The original plan for PapaFord was not an MPreg plot, but there was a lot of sort of symbolic imagery with the twins' "birth" scene in the original draft. Making it an MPreg story would take symbolic undertones from the orginal plan and make them literal. I did think on how I would do the story if I went with MPreg and did a poll in my discord asking people what version they like better, and the MPreg version won out. This version, aside from being more room for me to write from personal experience, also gives me more room to show more of Bill and Ford's abusive relationship before he splits from him, and adds an extra layer of both stress and intimacy with Fiddleford in the period before they actually get together. It gives Fidds more time in that limbo of being afraid of the twins and not knowing for sure what they are. Also brings Stan into the picture durring a more immediate crisis.

All that said, for those who want the orginal Non-MPreg version here it is.

contains violence, contains blood, contains injury, contains harm to infants

⸸ = violence

Fiddleford's hands shook on the emergency lockdown switch. His breath was shallow. He felt cold, weightless. The screams and inhuman snarls had stopped. It was quiet now, painfully quiet.

Fiddleford only just barely had enough sense left in him to cover his mouth and nose when the room filled up with some unknown mystery vapor. He wasn't sure the source of the vapor, though a storage cabinet of anomalous substances had been knocked over in the struggle. Perhaps something broke, hard to say, the sound of cracking bone and severing flesh had drowned out any other sound.

It was a sick sound.

In rung in Fiddleford's ears through the quiet.

"S-Stanford?" Fiddleford called out on impulse even though he knew neither of them could hear each other through the enforced steel door.

Fiddleford waved some of the vapor from his face and made an attempt to flip the switch again. His grip was weak, his arm was weak, everything, the adrenaline, the fear, perhaps the blood loss too… Fiddleford was just now registering how badly mangled his arm was. With some effort he managed to pull the switch back up and open the door between cold storage and the observation room.

"Stanford!" Fiddleford's voice cracked as he called out again. The vapor was gradually dissipating and he could just make out the silhouette of a human shape on the floor in the next room. "Stanford?"

Something broke the silence. Something other than Fiddleford's terrified warbling or the over confident bark he was hoping for.

Wailing.

The kind of wailing Fiddleford was personally familiar with.

"Fidds?"

Fiddleford looked around the storage room as the vapor settled. Evidence of carnage surrounded him, upturned furnishings and lab equipment, blood, both his own and his partners. The pools of crimson had been streaked across the floor by shuffling feet. Laying in one such puddle was a sight that drained any warmth Fiddleford had left in his body.

"Fidds?" Fiddleford looked through the open door. Ford was sat up in his own red puddle with another one of them sobbing on the floor between his legs.

Where Fiddleford expected two halves of a murderous alien, instead they found two distressingly human looking infants.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Fiddleford nodded and swallowed. He slowly stumbled over to his lab partner, never taking his eyes off the creatures. He hugged the wall, praying his legs didn't give out under him. "That's one damn dirty trick."

If the shape shifter was trying to fool them again, Fiddleford wasn't falling for it. Once he was close enough he hurriedly helped Ford to his feet and away from the second screaming pile of flesh.

God, it really did look just like a baby. A newborn screaming its tiny little lungs out on a cold floor. Two of them, each with just a bit of fluff on their heads, one dark and curly, the other straight and blonde.

Fiddleford couldn't put words together, he didn't need to. He rushed Ford through the next airlock door into the observation room and Ford followed without protest.

Once in the safety of the next room Ford sealed the door and leaned against it a moment to think.

"I think… I think maybe we stunned him?"

Ford's words were breathy and labored.

Fiddleford's eyes were drawn to the deep gashes across the other man's stomach.

"S-Stanford, yer bleedin'." Fiddleford hugged his arm, gripping just above where a chunk of flesh had been ripped away. The pain was present but had been tempered by survival instinct. He was starting to feel it now, gradually creeping in.

"S-so are you." Ford nodded to Fiddleford's arm. He pressed off the door, hugging his injuried gut. "F-first aid. The anomaly is contained. First priority is…"

They could still hear the crying, shrill, ear piercing. It stabbed a primal part of Fiddleford's soul.

Tate must have been missing him about now… The speakers were on in the observation room, pumping in sound from the rest of the bunker.

Fiddleford shuffled over to the control panel and flicked them off. He could still see the infants crying on the camera feed.

"Whatever he's hoping to gain here, he'll have to give up the bit sooner or later," Ford reasoned.

"R-right…"

Fiddleford looked back at Ford again and only just started to take in the severity of his injuries. The monster had slashed open his gut. Fiddleford rushed to his side and pressed him into the nearest chair. "Shit! Sit down before ya keel over!"

"I'm fine," Ford winced as he settled into swivel chair and leaned back. "It's not that deep. It, it looks worse than it is." Still, he kept his hand pressed into the wound to slow the bleeding.

"I'll get the med kit," Fiddleford insisted. He was working with one arm, shaking hands and a burning pain that was gradually getting worse, but Ford's injuries were more urgent.

Fiddleford couldn't move his injuried arm much without it shooting daggers through him, but he could use that hand at least enough to hold things. Thankfully his dominant arm was fine. He sat down on the floor in front of Ford and set the med kit between his feet. He tried to focus on what he was doing but he could feel Ford watching him. His hand shook as he moved Ford's hand aside and peeled his shredded clothes from the sticky pulpy mess of flesh.

"I'm sorry Fiddleford." Ford's voice was heavy.

Fiddleford tried not to look up, to just focus on the task at hand.

"Now's not the time."

Fiddleford took great care cleaning the wounds. They were indeed non-fatal by the look of it, but he needed stitching.

"I mean it, I should have listened to you-" Fiddleford finally looked up, sat between the man's legs on the floor. "Stanford there ain't a lick o' sense in that head o' yers!" he snapped. Fiddleford gripped the bloody gauze in his shaking hand till his knuckles bleached. "It'll be a cold day in hell when ya start listen' ta me."

Ford looked like a beat dog.

Fiddleford groaned. He'd let Ford bait him into looking up. Those big brown puppy dog eyes defused any anger he had the energy for. Goddanmit, why did such a stupid man have to look so pitiful. It was his fault they were in this mess at all.

"I didn't think-"

"That's just it," Fiddleford sighed, all the venom drained from his voice. He looked back down and fished through their supplies for stitches. "You don't think Stanford. Yer too curious and too cocky fer yer own good."

Ford winced at the first stitch. A hand landed on Fiddleford's head and froze him in place. Fiddleford's breath hitched. Ford had no idea what he was doing to him. Fiddleford suddenly felt very vulnerable in this position.

"Fiddleford, please, I'm sorry. I promise I won't let something like this happen again. I won't let you get hurt-"

Fiddleford swatted Ford's hand away. "Don't make promises ya can't keep!"

Ford shrunk back and idly scratched at his wrist for lack of a better place to put his hands. This was acceptable for now.

"Now sit still while I sew ya up."

Fiddleford kept his eyes on his hand.

"I'll help with your arm once you're done."

A silence settled between them for a while. Occasionally Ford with hiss or grunt from another stitch, but overall, the man could take a beating like a champ. Fiddleford was on the verge of tears from the burn in his arm but trying as hard as he could not to let it show.

"He isn't changing back…" Ford observed the monitor.

"I don't care what it does. Once we find a way to kill it or knock it out, it's going in cryo like it should have ages ago."

Ford didn't protest, but he did keep his eyes on the monitor. Fiddleford pulled himself off the floor and sat down on the edge of the control terminal. His sleeve was soaked in blood, and his hands were cold, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped a while ago.

Ford grunted as he leaned forward, a hand on his fresh bandages. He gripped the terminal and took a breath. He moved to pull his shirt back down only to see the sticky mess and opted to shrug off his coat and toss the shredded bio hazard to the floor. The discarded clothing exposed sweat and bruises.

"Do you need me to cut the sleeve off?"

Fiddleford blushed faintly at the offer, looked at the floor. He wasn't confident he could get his coat and shirt off without aggravating the wound, and was almost grateful for an excuse not to take his shirt off. "I think that would be best."

Ford went to pick up the scissors from the med kit.

Fiddleford looked over and tried to stop him bending over. "Wait, hang on, I'll get it-"

"It's fine Fidds, I'm fine." Ford winced when he bent over but moved the kit to the terminal next to him without much fuss.

Fiddleford combed Ford's face as he began cutting away the bloody sleeve. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he found nothing. Ford just looked tired.

Fiddleford choked on his breath when he felt the scissors lightly graze the shredded flesh.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Nah, it's ok, yer f-fiiineee." Fiddleford shook from the fresh wave of pain. He gripped his pant leg with his good hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and grit his teeth. "Go on an' get it off."

Ford carefully slid the scissors up the remaining length of his arm to the circular cut he'd already made around the shoulder. "Ok, on the count of three, ready?"

"One…"

"Two."

Fiddleford shrieked on three as the layers of fabric were peeled from the bloody flesh canyons in his arm. Fiddleford bit his knuckle struggling to ride out the fresh burn. The thumped his heel rapidly against the floor, trying not to cry.

Trying, being the operative word. Fiddleford's breath hitched. He felt the first tears spill over despite his best efforts to keep a brave face. Once the crying started, he couldn't stop it.

Fiddleford broke into open heaving sobs.

"I'm sorry Fidds, I'm trying to be gentle-"

"Fuck! We almost died!"

The weight of everything was finally crashing down on him all at once. Fiddleford couldn't stop sobbing. His chest hurt, breathing was a struggle. He took off his glasses and tried to wipe away the sea of snot and tears with his good arm.

"T-that thing, that thing a-almost killed you-" he choked.

"I almost lost ya Stanford…"

The words came out small, pitiful. A passive, miserable, admission that the thought of losing his best friend was almost worse than dying.

Ford was quiet for a while.

Fiddleford didn't expect anything from him. He was being a big baby. Crying never helped anyone. It didn't fix anything. What's done was done. It was just a little pain, Ford could take it like a man.

Once Fiddleford's sobbing calmed somewhat, Ford resumed his first aid. Fiddleford continued to weep miserably with every cleaning product, disinfectant, every stitch. He kept wiping tears away and tried to restrain the volume of his whimpers as best as he could. He felt exhausted, bloodsoaked, and still shaking. He was still scared but the fear was aimless at this point. He did his best not to look at the monitors.

Once his arm was stitched and bandaged, Fiddleford expected some discussion of what to do with the shape shifter. He was ready to pull himself together, dry his face, and collaborate with his partner on procedure-

Ford pulled Fiddleford into a hug.

It was gentle, careful not to put pressure on his wounds, but encompassing.

Ford didn't say a word, just nestled Fiddleford's face into the crook of his shoulder. Fiddleford felt a broad hand cradle the back of his head. He sniffled, choked for air. He thought he was done crying. He thought he could control himself. Fiddleford buried another sob in Ford's damp, bare skin. He wrapped his good arm around him and raised his other hand as best he could. The other landed on Ford's waist, gripping the meat with whatever strength he had left.

"Please don't scare me like that again. I dunno what I'd do if I lost ya."

Ford stroked Fiddleford's hair. The gesture was soft, soothing. "Go home…" Ford stated simply. "You have a family to get home too Fidds, and I have an obligation to make sure you make it home in one piece." There was something inexplicably sad in his tone. He chuckled morbidly. "It's really no one's loss but mine if I get myself killed through my own hubris."

"Don't say that…" Fiddleford whined into Ford's skin. "I would miss you…"

"I'll try to be more careful from now on."

"Ok…" Fiddleford knew he wouldn't. It simply wasn't in his nature.

They stayed like that for some time, just holding each other in silence. Fiddleford ran out of tears to cry. He was tired and weak and numb.

Eventually Ford checked the monitor again.

The two human looking things were still on the floor where they left them, eerily still now.

Ford flicked on the speaker to listen to the audio from the storage room. Nothing…

"He stopped crying."

Fiddleford put his glasses back on and squinted at the monitor. There was something unnatural about the shifters efforts. These creatures were too still, too pale to be natural…

Ford hit the intercom and attempted to address the creature directly.

"You can drop the act now Shifty, it's not working. If you want to talk, I'm willing to listen-"

Fiddleford pulled Ford's hand from the intercom. "Stanford!" He'd just promised to take more precautions and already Ford was discussing negotiations with the murderous alien that just nearly killed them both.

"What else are we supposed to do, Fiddleford?"

They both looked back at the monitor in anticipation, waiting for a reply. Nothing.

Not a sound, or a twitch. Ford frowned. "I'll check the heat vision camera." He hit a couple of keys to switch views. The body heat signatures from the creatures on the floor were almost negligible. "That's… concerning."

"It's a shape shifter. It's probably just lowerin' it's temperature to play dead."

"I've never observed that sort of behavior before."

"Yeah, an' ya never saw it copy a human before either, or oh, I dunno, try to murder us!"

Fiddleford was at his wits end.

Ford seemed unconvinced, still observing the monitor. "What if he's really dying?"

"GOOD!"

Ford was clearly fighting his instincts not to get up. He looked back at Fiddleford pleadingly. "Don't you want to investigate? We don't even know for sure what happened."

"Stanford, no." Fiddleford was firm, as firm as he could be.

Ford got up.

"Stanford what in sam hill do you think yer doin'?!"

Ford's walk was stiff and pained as he shuffled to the emergency cabinet. He riffled through looking for an aerosol sedative he kept stocked that supposedly worked on monsters. Fiddleford had never seen him use it or think to bring it on any of their expositions.

"I'm going to make sure he stays asleep. I just want to check their vitals. Besides, we might as well get him in containment now while we have the opportunity, right?"

Fiddleford winced back at the monitor. Ford, maybe, had a point, maybe… Fiddleford didn't like it. He didn't trust it. He slipped off the terminal and went out through the security chamber to the bunker.

"You better not go in there alone," he warned.

Fidds picked up the shotgun off of one of the shelves and loaded it with some difficulty. His hands were unsteady and he only had one arm to try and shoot with but it was better than nothing.

Ford had the audacity to smile when Fiddleford came back.

It was a tiny, hopeful, smile.

Fiddleford scowled. "Let's just get this over with." The cold air of the storage room sent a chill through Fiddleford when the door opened. Ford went in first, no fear, no basic self preservation instinct. Fiddleford propped himself and the gun up against the doorframe as best as he could, hoping to balance himself somewhat and absorb some of the knockback if he needed to shoot. The two scientists had their facemasks on as Ford set off the canister he pulled from the cabinet and flooded the room with a gas that should put anything under if Ford's claims about the anomalous substances were true.

Ford knelt down next to the dark haired creature and pressed two fingers to its neck. "There's a pulse, but it's faint. Still breathing… Only barely."

Fiddleford's finger twitched on the trigger. It looked like a baby. Why did it have to look like a baby? More over… It looked just like Tate, back when he was fresh…

Ford got up to check the other one and his boot crunched on broken glass. He lifted his shoe a moment to examine what he stepped on. He froze.

Fiddleford tensed. "Something wrong?"

Ford picked up a broken vial off the floor and read the label. "I… I think I know what happened." He looked back at Fiddleford. "They're not Shifty, Fidds. Not anymore."

Fiddleford lowered his gun slightly. "Well what are they?"

Ford looked back down at the pair of infants. "Something new? And very unwell."

Ford didn't explain much as he directed Fiddleford to help him collect the two infant creatures and move them to the observation room. Ford was in a hurry to get them warmed up and on IV drips. Fiddleford went through the motions too numb by the implications of Ford's urgency to question any of it. If these things weren't the shape shifter, they were something else. Something that looked eerily like his son. Eventually the obvious question bubbled out through the fog.

"Stanford… What happened?" Ford held up the broken vial he'd picked off the floor. The label read fusion potion. "I got this from a siren years ago, it merges organisms," he explained.

Fiddleford nodded numbly as if it was a sensible explanation.

Ford paced the floor as he speculated. Where he got this energy was an absolute mystery. "I've never had a chance to test in on sapient organisms before but any two animals merged together appear to become a new single conscious entity."

Fiddleford took a moment to process the statement. He paused. "Uhm… What do ya mean never got the chance? We're ya plannin' to test that bull pucky on people?"

Ford stopped pacing for a second and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Oh, uh, I mean, that would be unethical, probably."

"Probably?!"

Ford rushed to pull out more syringes. He was using sanitary gloves for all this but still had yet to put on a fresh shirt. It was an absurd sight. Fiddleford's eye kept getting drawn to the bandages on Ford's stomach.

"Yer gonna pop yer stitches at this rate."

Ford waved him off. "I'll be fine. I'm going to run a DNA test. You go to the store and pick up diapers and formula. If my theory is correct, we're going to need them."

Fiddleford stood there dumbfounded in the middle of the lab.

Was Ford really suggesting that…

He looked over at the two babies swaddled under a heat lamp on the examination table. Ford pulled out one of their feet to draw blood. The sight of the needle puncturing such a tiny little appendage brought back memories that made Fiddleford's chest ache.

"Y-yeah… I… I'll go do that, I guess…"

Fiddleford left in a daze. Off to go pick up supplies for the babies. Babies, he nearly just killed.

[n1k0laa5]

Helloo!! 💆‍♀️💕

First of all, your post about dealing with fear and how we've already dealt with it during a rollercoaster was so incredibly helpful. Like genuinely dude!! It was kind of eye-opening because it made me realize how shifting isn't anything new to us, it's just becoming aware of how we already experienced these feelings.

My main struggle though is that even though I have shifted awake intentionally and accidentally, they seem to be for a little while. I know that's already something to be proud of, trust me I am so grateful to have found my own method which is "daydreaming" mixed with assumptions, but it doess get a little frustrating that I can't fully "ground" myself there. Is grounding even necessary? It's confusing because I don't ground myself everyday in my CR yet I'm still here 🤨. I like to also mention that my general response to things is freezing, so maybe that has to do with something?

For example I've been trying to lucid dream on command recently, and there have been times where I'm on the edge of realizing I'm in a dream but I don't know how to like yk naturally fire the trigger of being aware I'm dreaming. I feel like this has to be somewhat related to my awake method. I remember my first fully controlled lucid dream a few months ago was unintentional, as well as somehow getting into the void state too for like the second time accidentally?? It's so ridiculous saying it out loud LMFAOO but anyway I remember that after I wanted to go back to the dream in the void I instantly made it lucid because I recognized the scenario calmly, so that's why it's a little confusing if grounding is needed because of these instances.

Thank you for reading my little tangent, I look forward to your input!! ^o^/)"

Honey. Grab a notebook, some tea, and let’s deconstruct every. single. piece.

IS GROUNDING NECESSARY WHEN YOU SHIFT?

This is one of those questions that sounds straightforward, but the answer actually isn’t black or white as it’s layered, nuanced, and entirely dependent on your current relationship with your states of awareness. So let’s define some shit first before we even begin:

Grounding, by definition, is the act of mentally or energetically anchoring yourself to a certain point of reference, usually to create emotional stability, cognitive clarity, or physiological calm. In your CR (current reality), grounding happens automatically through continuity: your memory, your senses, your beliefs, your routines, your body, all of these keep you “here” without you needing to do anything. That’s why you said it perfectly, “I don’t ground myself in CR and I’m still here.” Exactly. Because you’ve already accepted this as home base. The wiring is already set.

BUT…

When you shift, especially awake, consciously, with awareness, you’re breaking continuity. You’re deliberately stepping out of a mental paradigm you’ve practiced for years (your CR) into a consciously imagined and constructed one (your DR), and for many people, that break can trigger dissonance. This is where grounding can become useful. Not required. But useful.

Think of it like this:

You’re not grounding to stay in your DR. You’re grounding to stabilize your consciousness in the DR.

In other words, you’re not anchoring yourself physically, you’re anchoring your awareness, your attention span, your identification with that reality. You’re helping your body and mind say “okay, this is where we live now.”

So when people say they “shifted but popped out,” or “couldn’t stabilize,” or “felt like they were floating,” what they really mean is: I was there, but my attention wasn’t grounded enough to STAY there.

Let’s break it into sections.

GROUNDING = STABILIZING YOUR IDENTIFICATION

Your CR feels natural because you’ve lived here long enough to believe it without effort. You don’t second guess your surroundings every morning. You don’t walk around pinching yourself to check if it’s real. You have muscle memory. Neurological patterns. Storylines. Familiarities. All of it feeds your automatic sense of presence here.

Now when you shift, especially while awake, you don’t have that familiarity YET. So your mind starts scanning for “home.” You’ve trained your CR to feel like “home,” so if you haven’t fully accepted the DR as real, the mind glitches back. You freeze. Or it collapses. You “wake up.” You lose lucidity. You disconnect. Why? Because you don’t feel anchored.

This is where intentional grounding in the DR can come in. Not like some weird spiritual tree meditation, but I mean:

• Looking at your hands

• Touching objects in your DR

• Naming things out loud (“That’s my DR bed, that’s my DR body”)

• Creating sensory repetition (like a DR habit you always do once you arrive)

• Eating a food there

• Moving through a DR routine you scripted

This shit BUILDS your belief and presence in the DR. You don’t have to force yourself to believe it’s “real.” You just have to respond to it like it is.

FREEZING? LET’S ADDRESS THAT.

You mentioned something, your nervous system’s freeze response. That absolutely plays a role.

If your subconscious is trained to freeze in the face of extreme emotion or shock (even positive emotion), you may have developed a habit of mentally checking out when something unexpected or intense happens. Yes, even when you finally shift or lucid dream or enter the void.

You get there. Your body freaks. You freeze. And—boom—you’re booted.

Let’s get clear:

Your nervous system is a tool. Not a dictator.

If you’re aware that you freeze, you can begin to create pattern interrupts in those moments.

This is where practice helps. You need to condition your body to expect the shift and associate it with safety, not shock.

Try rehearsing the feeling of “being there” WHILE doing breathwork. Calm visualization. Mentally walk through your DR calmly, over and over. Affirm things like:

“This is safe.”

“This is normal.”

“I belong here.”

“My nervous system feels calm when I shift.”

“I feel grounded and aware in my DR.”

You’re not doing this to “get” anywhere, you’re doing this to train your body to stay when you do.

LUCIDITY, THE VOID, AND MEMORY: WHY IT GETS CONFUSING

You brought up another major topic, lucid dreams and void state blurring together. Good. Let’s clear that shit up.

You’re not crazy. You’re EXPERIENCING THE SAME THING THROUGH DIFFERENT LENSES.

The lucid dream is a dream you become aware of.

The void is a space of awareness without form, pure I AM.

Both rely on the same fucking thing: YOU STAYING AWARE WITHOUT INTERRUPTING THE FLOW.

You see how all these concepts are tied together? Whether you’re dreaming, lucid, voiding, shifting, daydreaming, or scripting, it’s all variations of the same muscle: sustained awareness inside your chosen state.

Now, when you said you recognized the dream scenario in the void and instantly made it lucid? That wasn’t random. That was your awareness fucking flexing. That’s what I mean by conscious grounding. You recognized the scene. You chose to stay. And THAT brought control.

So is “grounding” necessary? No.

Is it helpful? For a lot of people—yes. Especially if you tend to dissociate or freeze.

And no, it’s not about making it feel “real” or trying to force belief. It’s about doing what you naturally do here, repeating patterns, touching things, naming your surroundings, building familiarity. THAT’S what makes your DR feel natural. Not forcing. Not effort. Just presence.

FINAL REMINDERS:

• You’re already doing great. Most people don’t even know the difference between imagination and awareness. You do. That’s massive.

• You don’t need to force grounding. But you can create DR rituals. Even just washing your hands in your DR bathroom. Lighting a candle. Hearing your DR best friend say your name. Every time you repeat it, you install it deeper.

• If you freeze when shifting/lucid dreaming, practice in neutral visualization states. Practice staying aware when imagining small scenarios. Let your nervous system normalize the shift.

• Affirm safety and presence before AND during.

• “I recognize this place. I live here. I am home.”

Because that’s what grounding really is. Not a technique. Not a hack. Just your consciousness saying:

“This is my home now.”

And the longer you stay with that, the more the DR doesn’t feel like something to shift into, it just feels like you.

Yours truly, Nikolas.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Remember the Blackwater au (Damas takes a very unwilling sick day, Jak ends up taking temporary control of the city, no one has fun)?

This is from a little later in the story that I keep forgetting to post parts of. Featuring my perennial "give Ashelin more complexity as morally ambiguous/sheltered than the games did"

Jak ignored the talk-box the rest of the night. He went home, he patched up the new scars he was probably going to have from the Marauder ambush. He did some gun maintenance. He had no intention of going back out that night.

"Jak."

Jak threw a shirt over the talk-box.

"Go away, Ashelin. I'm not leaving the Wastes and that's final."

"Jak, listen. I didn't want to have to do this, but you've left me no choice."

Jak froze midway through winding bandages around his ribs. "What are you talking about?"

"I told you what would happen, Jak, but you just wouldn't listen. If this is the only way I can make you see their true colors, then so be it."

She'd been bluffing. He thought she'd been bluffing!

Jak swallowed hard.

"He won't believe you."

He wished he felt as confident as he sounded.

"Don't count on it. Damas isn't a forgiving man. It doesn't have to be this way, Jak. You can still leave."

"Rot with your dead gods!" Jak snarled, cutting off the transmission before he'd even finished the curse.

This was bad. This was very very bad. Jak didn't know how convincing of a liar Ashelin was. But after having just come off of a tedious punishment mission for open defiance, Jak was less than confident in his own credibility.

He jumped when the knock came.

Daxter squeaked and accidentally tugged a bandage too tight.

"Agh!"

"Sorry!"

The voice outside the door was one of the city watchmen.

Law enforcement.

"Hey, Jak! You in there?"

"Yep," Jak wheezed, "Door's open."

I didn't do anything wrong. If I show fear, they'll think I'm guilty.

The door slid open to allow Jin, a broad-shouldered man a good several inches taller than Jak, to duck inside. He cast dark eyes around the sparse room before falling on Jak.

"Oooh." Jin sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That looks ugly. What happened?"

Daxter didn't even think to choose his words carefully.

"Some idiot from Haven decided to go sightseeing at the oasis and brought a whole platoon of Marauders down on us."

At the mention of Haven, Jin's face went blank.

He glanced out the door at his companion.

"Haven? What were they doing on our soil?"

He didn't sound as surprised as he should have. News must have traveled fast.

"Practicing for the Audacity Olympics." Daxter glared as he taped off the last bandage.

"Gods, I hate that woman."

Jak knew clarification wouldn't clear his name, but he figured he might as well.

"One of the people who dumped me out there to die in the first place. Showed up pretending to be all remorseful."

"...uh-huh."

Jin took a slow breath.

"Look. Jak. I...man, I hate this as much as you're about to hate it. But I gotta take you in to answer some questions."

"What kind of questions?" Jak fished around for his shirt and painfully shrugged it back on over his bandages.

Jin offered him a hand up, uncharacteristically serious.

"It's...not good, kid. I'm rooting for this all to be a misunderstanding, but- well. King has to do his due diligence whether or not it's true."

Jak swallowed hard and let the guard pull him to his feet. "I understand. I'll um. I'll do my best to clear things up."

It was midnight when he was brought to the tower. In the darkness, lit only by braziers, the throne room lost its peaceful, welcoming air. It felt more like a trap now: a web, with its primary occupant standing gravely at its center.

Damas’s face was completely blank. Not a single emotion lingered behind his eyes as he held up a miniature radio transmitter before Jak.

Wordlessly, he pushed a button on the side, and a recording played.

"Damas. It's Ashelin Praxis. Out of fairness, I feel obligated to warn you that your city is no longer as hidden as you thought. It's not your fault you brought a spy into your fold. Jak has fulfilled his purpose there. Send him back to me, unharmed and without hostilities. and I can guarantee that we will not retaliate."

The recording clicked off, and Damas examined Jak's horrified face.

"Would you care to weigh in on that, Jak?"

This was much worse than Jak had feared.

"It's a lie!" Jak whispered when his voice failed him. "She’s ly- she's lying!"

"About which part?" asked Damas.

"All of it!" Daxter spat. "She's a soulless jorogumo and she's retaliating against us for telling her to buzz off!"

Jak jostled his shoulder to warn Daxter not to say so much. But it was too late.

Damas’s voice was a flat, dead, thing.

"Then you have been in contact with Haven."

"No!" Jak fought to control his breathing. "I haven't, I swear! She- Ashelin called me four hours ago. Right- Right after we got back from the nest. I don't know how she found my frequency!"

A deep pain welled up behind Damas’s eyes, behind the mask of indifference. He folded his hands behind his back and stepped closer to Jak.

"I need you to understand, boy: this a very serious accusation. And no matter my personal feelings, I am obligated to investigate."

"But it's not true!"

Damas closed his eyes and turned his face away.

"I'm sorry, Jak."

He took a slow breath.

"Faro, Jin, take Daxter down to Coryn for separate questioning. Leave Jak here."

"Wait!" Jak made a futile grab for Daxter, who screeched as he was lifted off of Jak's shoulder.

"Let go of me! Let go, ya big bully!"

Daxter fought and swore all the way to the elevator.

Jak felt like a piece of him had been taken.

Without Daxter, how was he supposed to manage the fear?

"Jak," said Damas gravely, "You are many things, but a liar is not one of them. So. I am going to ask you four questions. And I will only ask them once."

Trembling inside, Jak clenched his fists.

"Okay."

"Have you, or have you not, been in contact with the leaders of Haven City?"

"No! I haven't!"

You have to believe me! Please, please believe me!

"Did you, at any point, consider doing so?"

"Never!" Jak answered firmly.

"Have you ever described or alluded to your city in the presence of outsiders?"

"I swear I didn't, Damas."

The king looked as disturbed as before as he asked his final question.

"Then can you tell me why I would have received a message like this?"

"...Yes.”

Damas walked back to his throne with a heavy tread.

He sat and closed his eyes.

"I'm listening, Jak."

"I- it-" Jak struggled for the words. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to string them together smoothly even in sign.

"She showed up at the oasis. Called my comm and told me to meet her there."

"And you went because-?"

Jak tensed. "Because I was afraid that if I didn't, she'd fly that hellcat over the island until she found Spargus."

Damas didn't open his eyes, but his brows were low and tight.

"Why did you not report this to me, Jak?"

That was a hard question to answer. It meant addressing the emuphant in the room.

But if he wanted to get out of this trap Praxis had laid for him, he had to go through with it.

"I...thought..."

"Speak up, Jak," Damas said sharply.

Nerves fluttered in Jak’s belly, fighting to escape.

"I...thought I needed to keep my head down. Not bother you for a couple days. Because of the...the Arena…thing."

The king sighed in exasperation. He propped his forehead on his hand and gestured vaguely to Jak with his other arm.

"If you had told me, young Praxis would have had no foothold to bring an accusation against you."

He opened his eyes at last.

"Now: tell me why she has done this."

Jak’s ribs twinged as he folded his arms protectively over them. Had Damas noticed that he wasn't wearing armor, or even his channeling ring? Did he see the raw scrape up the side of Jak's face?

Did he care?

"She wanted me to go back to Haven and fight for her. I think- there's this council guy, a count -- whatever that is -- who got me exiled. They're rivals. She didn't say it but-"

"She wants me to take out her enemies for her," he spat, "She wants the "Dark Warrior" her father couldn't break me into. I said no."

The shame of it, the indignity roiled in his stomach, burned against old scars.

The mention of Praxis Senior left Damas rigid, spine straight.

"...the scars," he breathed after a terrible silence. "Jak. Jak, look at me. Did Praxis give you those scars? When you were younger?"

Even an allusion to the Dark Warrior Program left Jak lightheaded. The lights of the brazier danced and swam in front of his eyes, and the water wheel descended into muffled ringing. As if from underground, he heard himself answer, "Yes."

He dug his nails into his biceps until the pain grounded him, brought him back to the moment.

To the interrogation.

"Haven's been decimated. Ash- Praxis is desperate, I knew that. I just-" Jak tilted his head back, stubbornly focused on hanging plants until his eyes didn't water so much.

"...I see." Damas pressed his lips together until they turned white. An almost absent-minded gesture gave Jak permission to continue.

"I just didn't think she'd go that far. She told me she would tell everyone I was a spy if I didn't cooperate. I thought- I thought she was bluffing, Damas."

"She was not."

(Cont'd tomorrow)

[ephemeralp1eces]

Beyond the Checkered Flag - Part V

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Summary: Lando offers to fly you to the next track on the team’s jet, only, for once, it will be just the two of you flying.

What to know: sex with you x lando for the first time. It was amazing, but the guilt you feel afterwards quickly ruins the mood.

wc; ~5,000

The private jet felt quieter than usual when I boarded. Probably because it was.

Lando was already seated, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled halfway over his curls. His trainers were off, tucked under the seat like he lived here. Which he kind of did, with all the travel. He looked up when I stepped in and offered a small smile, a cautious smile.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

I dropped my bag onto the leather seat across from him and sank down, exhaling slowly. It wasn’t the longest flight to the next race location, maybe 4 hours tops, but today, the idea of a flight alone with Lando after last night made it feel like it would be so much longer.

Normally these team jets weren’t empty. PR staff, engineers, sometimes even other drivers hitched rides when schedules overlapped. But a last-minute reshuffle; Zak staying behind for sponsor meetings, the logistics crew moving separately, meant it was just me and Lando this time.

Just us.

Alone.

I stared out the window as the jet taxied and lifted off, a quiet hum beneath us, the city shrinking below. Lando didn’t ask me why I was quiet. He didn’t ask what happened with Max.

Maybe he didn’t want to know.

But he knew something had shifted in me. I could feel it in the way he looked at me. He wasn’t trying to search for answers, he was just watching. Patient. Like he was waiting to see if I’d come back to him on my own. I turned from the window and forced a small smile.

“You tired?”

“A little.” He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

Neither did I.

I opened a bottle of water and took a long sip, my mind still clouded from everything I hadn’t said.

Lando watched me for a moment longer, then tilted his head. “You always go quiet when you’re overthinking.”

I smirked. “And you always push even if you’re trying not to.”

He chuckled. “Touché.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. A string pulled taut between us.

“Thanks for coming” he said after a while.

“To the jet?”

He nodded. “To this. Us. I don’t know what this even is right now.”

I looked at him carefully. “Why did you invite me?” It was a stupid question because the answer was so obvious, I had flown with the team so many times. But I wanted to hear the answer anyways.

Lando shrugged one shoulder, but the gesture was tight. “Because I wanted you here. I always want you here”

Why wouldn’t he? It had been that way since we were kids.

“I think about you all the time,” he said quietly, like the altitude gave him permission. “And I keep wondering if that’s been obvious. Or if I’ve been hiding it too well.”

My stomach twisted. “Up until last week, no. But I could tell you wanted me to know yesterday at lunch.”

He smiled faintly. “Good.”

The hum of the jet filled the space between us again. I couldn’t tell if it was the altitude or the history between us, but suddenly everything felt closer. Compressed.

I shifted in my seat, crossing one leg over the other. Lando’s eyes dropped to the motion and then quickly back up, like he hadn’t meant to look. But he had.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Do you want to talk about him?”

“No,” I said, and it came out sharper than I meant. “I mean- I don’t think I could explain it if I tried.”

Lando nodded like he understood. “Okay.”

He didn’t push again.

But something hung in the air—thick and unsaid.

I stared at him for a long moment. The curve of his jaw, the little nick of a scar near his eyebrow from when he crashed his mountain bike at fifteen. I was there. I’d cleaned the blood off his cheek while he cursed and insisted he didn’t cry.

He wasn’t a stranger to me.

He was Lando.

And that was what made this so dangerous.

“You’re being weird,” I said finally, half-teasing, after too much silence.

His mouth quirked. “You’re the one who’s acting like she’s about to jump out the emergency exit.”

“I’m not-” I stopped. Laughed quietly. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Lando leaned back again, arms sprawled wide, relaxed in a way I couldn’t mirror.

“You don’t have to run from me,” he said.

“I’m not.”

He looked at me carefully. “Then come here.”

I froze.

“What?”

He patted the seat beside him. “I just want to hold you. That’s all.”

I hesitated for a second that felt like a lifetime. Then I stood and crossed the narrow aisle.

When I slid onto the seat next to him, his arm came around me easily, like we’d done this a thousand times. I leaned into him cautiously at first, my shoulder brushing his chest. But when he pulled me in tighter, I let him.

His fingers moved gently along my arm. I could hear his heartbeat against my cheek. Steady. Familiar.

Safe.

And then something shifted.

His hand paused on my arm. Then slowly moved, brushing a trail across my ribs, then lower, settling at my hip, fingers dancing along my waistband. My breath caught.

He felt it.

Lando tilted his head down, and his lips grazed the top of my head. “Is this okay?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded.

He kissed my hair again, then my temple. His hand tightened slightly at my waist.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t want him to.

Instead, I turned to face him.

His eyes searched mine, and for one second, I thought he’d pull back. But then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and he kissed me.

Soft at first. Careful. His lips brushed mine like a question.

I answered it.

The kiss deepened slowly, deliberately. There was no rush, just heat, building in layers. His tongue grazed mine, and warmth shot through my body.

When he pulled back slightly, his eyes were darker now, his breathing a little uneven. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

I met his gaze. “Then show me.”

Lando kissed me again, harder this time. His hand slid under my shirt, his touch warm and reverent. When his palm grazed the underside of my breast, I gasped softly, and he paused.

“Still okay?”

I nodded. “Stop asking. Yes.”

We didn’t speak after that.

The jet seats weren’t big, but it didn’t matter. We moved together like we’d always known how.

His body settled over mine as he eased me down onto the cushions, his lips never leaving mine. He kissed down my neck, my collarbone, lower still, every inch of me like it mattered.

When he finally undressed me, it wasn’t rushed or greedy. It was intentional. His hands lingered, like he wanted to remember how I looked, how I felt. And when he undressed himself, I sat up to help, fingers trembling as I pushed his hoodie off, then his shirt.

Lando didn’t feel at all like Max. He had finally filled out his frame, but a was toned, muscle from years of conditioning rippled under my touch. His skin was warm, and when I ran my hands over his back, he shivered slightly.

He looked at me, like really looked, and whispered, “You’re beautiful. You always have been.”

And I knew it wasn’t just flattery. He really meant it.

And then his hands were back on me, and we weren’t talking anymore.

He moved over me slowly, giving me every chance to change my mind—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d wanted this. Even if I hadn’t let myself admit it, I’d wanted him.

He touched me with care. My body was familiar, but not yet his, and he worshipped it with his hands, his mouth, his breath.

When he kissed between my thighs, it wasn’t to prove anything but instead to feel everything. His mouth quickly found where I so desperately needed it, tongue moving in ways I haven’t even thought possible. And when I eventually gasped his name, legs trembling, he held me through it like it meant something. Like I wasn’t just a release, but a revelation.

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I want to see you fall apart.”

I did. And he watched. Eyes locked on mine while he made me come undone with his mouth and his fingers, coaxing pleasure out of me like it was a secret only he knew.

When I reached for him, pulling him up, kissing him hard, I could feel how much he was holding back.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t hold anything back.”

Lando swallowed hard. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I rolled my eyes at his concern, “You won’t.”

He kissed me again, slower now. And when he finally slid inside me, it was overwhelming.

Not because of the stretch, or the sensation, but because of what it meant.

We’d crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

He moved gently at first, his forehead resting against mine, both of us breathing into the space between us like it was holy. He cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin as he rolled his hips deeper.

“How do I feel?” he asked, voice nearly cracking.

I was already close again, still sensitive from the first time. “You feel so good.”

He smiled, kissed me again, and deepened his pace.

Every thrust felt like a question, every gasp a new answer. He kissed my neck, my chest, whispered things I couldn’t even fully hear, because my brain was already floating.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” he murmured at one point, holding my hips still while he pushed in slowly, deeply. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

I moaned softly, hips rising to meet his. “Me too.”

It built between us like a slow burn. My fingers dug into his back, my legs wrapped around his waist. He adjusted, shifted, hit something that made me cry out, and when he did it again, I shattered beneath him.

My body pulsed around him, shaking, and Lando’s jaw clenched as he held back.

“Come inside me,” I whispered, not even thinking.

He groaned, meeting my eyes, making me clench as he thrust into me again. “Fuck- are you sure?”

I kissed his jaw. “Yes. Please.”

That pushed him over.

His rhythm stuttered, hands gripping me tighter as he let go inside me, hips thrusting erratically. His mouth found mine again, swallowing my breath as he came with a soft, broken moan. Almost like a whimper.

Afterward, we stayed tangled together with him still inside me, not wanting to move. My body tingled at the warmth.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

Eventually, he pulled out gently, grabbing a hand towel from the cubby next to us so he could help clean our mess.

After it all, he asked one more time. “You okay?”

I turned to him, nodding lazily. “Yeah.”

But I wasn’t.

Not completely.

Because sitting there with Lando, his body still warm, his breath still slowing, I felt something else creeping in.

Guilt.

Not for being with him. But for what he didn’t know. What he had made me forget in the short time I was with him.

Because less than 24 hours ago, Max had been in my hotel room. And while Max and I hadn’t gone all the way, it had been enough. More than enough.

I thought I could separate it. I thought I could draw lines between what I felt for each of them.

But now?

Now Lando was asleep beside me, and I felt like I’d cheated on someone I hadn’t even promised myself to.

He stirred slightly, moving closer, searching for me even in his sleep.

And it broke me a little.

Because after this weekend I didn’t deserve it.

When the jet eventually landed, everything felt different. Something in the air had shifted again.

Lando was… softer. More relaxed.

He kissed me once on the forehead before the car picked us up. His hand brushed mine when he passed me a water bottle. No declarations. No pressure. Just presence.

He didn’t ask if I regretted it.

And I didn’t say that I was confused.

Because I didn’t want to ruin the first moment in a long time that felt calm.

But inside, I knew what I’d done.

What were the chances they would both decided what they wanted at the same time? Or maybe Lando was the only one who had just decided. Part of me knew that Max had wanted me all along, waiting, watching, but I had never taken the bait. I’d let two different versions of myself take control this weekend, one with Max, one with Lando, and now they were both crashing together.

The worst part was, I didn’t know which one I wanted to be.

[rumitome]

what can the harbingers say about aurelia yvaine? pt. i

tartaglia

"the princess, huh… when i first joined the fatui, my very first assignment was to be her playmate, since we were around the same age. i used to complain about it a lot at the beginning— it wasn’t exactly the kind of job i had in mind. but no matter how much i wanted to walk away, i just couldn’t bring myself to leave her alone. over time, she started to feel like a little sister to me. we don’t spend as much time together anymore, but we still exchange letters now and then to stay in touch."

pantalone

"she was such a hassle whenever i tried to teach her about finance. she’d either start dozing off, munch on pastries, ask the maids for more pastries, try to leave early— or do all of that in that exact order. so naturally, i expected her to fail when i tested her skills. but to my shock, she answered every single question correctly. i almost went to ask dottore if there was some kind of scientific explanation for retaining information while asleep. or maybe it’s the pastries she keeps eating— do they have brain-boosting ingredients or something? either way, i started bringing her pastries from different regions just to see if there was any difference. but no matter what i gave her, she still got a perfect score. at this point, i can only conclude one thing: she must be absorbing information in her sleep. yeah. . . that’s gotta be it."

la signora

"the princess! oh, i remember her as such a precious child. she used to beg me to carry her around the palace and would always ask me for sweets— especially when her maids refused, worried she'd get cavities. i used to comb her hair by the fireplace while singing ballads until she drifted off to sleep. and now. . . she's grown into such a beautiful, refined young woman. thinking back on those days always brings a smile to my face—though i admit, there's a bit of melancholy too. a-ahem! but still, i raised her like she was my own flesh and blood, so of course she turned out just as refined!"

sandrone

"a nosy child, i sometimes ought to cut off her hands since she would always place them somewhere they don't belong. somehow, she always found her way into my workshop, even when it was brimming with half-finished automatons.. surely she's old enough to know that they are not toys to play with. eventually, i built her something to play with just so she’d stop sneaking in. i mean, i keep some very dangerous things in there, you know?"

scaramouche

"when i came back to the palace after some lovely quality time in the abyss, i was greeted by an entirely new atmosphere. apparently, the tsaritsa’s daughter had become quite the celebrity— everyone kept raving about how smart, beautiful, and oh so charming she was. but when i finally bumped into her? that 'charming smile' everyone kept swooning over? yeah, it was clearly just a facade. she was trying so hard to win people over, you'd think approval was her only source of oxygen. so, naturally, I decided to ruin her flow. and it's so laughable to see her trying her best to appease to my taste and only to be met by my indifference. that it kills me the moment she finally snapped and showed me who she really is a few weeks later. the others dote on her so much that she has turned into a spoiled brat that thinks she’s entitled to everyone’s affection. well, it's time for her to face reality and realize im not one of those people."

arlecchino

"when i first saw a small child wandering the palace halls, i almost brought her straight to the house of the hearth—only to realize she was the tsaritsa’s daughter. i noticed she would tremble every time our eyes met, so i began offering her little treats, hoping to ease her nerves and help her feel more at ease around me. as time went on, i grew concerned that being raised in such a rigid, overly mature environment might hinder her proper development. so, i brought her to visit the house of the hearth, where she could grow and bond with the other children—especially lyney and lynette, whom she became quite close to. now that she’s grown, she’s begun to reflect many of her mother’s qualities, but her child like tendencies do keep peaking through. but nonetheless, once the tsaritsa falls, i believe that she has whatever it takes to rule a region. and with all my strength i will protect her from her perpetrators and give her the support she needed. but that is if she wants to rule a region, if she doesn't want to then i will support her decision."

[smartylina]

As many people say; ignorance is bliss. Thank the gods that he never found out how, for example, her father and a few more villagers thought about him. Even if Malina didn't truly like him back then, it was uncomfortable to listen to everyone hating on their own ruler. Now, she doesn't want to overwhelm him. He has many other main struggles to worry about.

Malina's lips tug into a smug smile upon seeing him replying to her teasing, and even if her mind is kind of conflicted, her heart flutters in her chest at the mention of the possibility of claiming him as her own. The look of nostalgia is evident in her features when she remembers how he was hers. "Right, I can already imagine all the other peasant girls being jealous that I claimed the wildest Emperor alive. Still, you can't really tell me you'd have fallen for me back then." She retorts.

Funny business aside, the way he avoids her stare again makes her feel bad, especially when he dares to say those words. His ridiculous idea of considering himself a literal God who is not allowed to be afraid makes her blood boil. "Really? Are you still believing that's true?! Kuzco!" She exclaims again and reaches out for him to smack his arm, frustrated with him. "You're not just the Emperor, but more than that. I see a young man who has great qualities and flaws. Who can be an arrogant ass but also a very kind and charming person. You're allowed to have feelings AND weaknesses just like the rest of us." She pauses for a bit before she continues, swallowing hard. "None of us is perfect, even if we try to be. But it's fine... I don't want a God. I want someone real like you are, and I..." She sighs again, not finishing her sentence, and it's her turn to look at the ground; her heart pounds in her chest, and her cheeks turn slightly red. She takes something out from her pocket and balls her hand into a fist.

In her mind, Malina is completely aware that whatever decision she makes will affect their future. In all honesty, she doesn't think she'd find someone else who can make her happy as Kuzco did. She had learned how to be fully herself with him and discovered she could also have a chaotic and fun side like his. He has become her soulmate, and she still loves him, but she still needs to think this through to finally give him a proper answer. However, one thing is certain . . .

"I will never give up on you. I was hoping you'd finally stop if you saw I was taking it off, but I never thought it'd hurt you so much." She admits, feeling extremely bad as she thinks about an answer to his final question, considering his answers and the new information he has given her. She then opens her hand to reveal the engagement ring, showing him that she had never gotten rid of it. "I know... the only thing I can say is that I won't give up or leave you, but I just want to sleep on all of this a little." "Will you give me a couple of days before I can tell you my final decision?" Her eyes search for his, giving him a soft but serious look.

Despite his constant assurance of his peoples adoration, and insistence that anyone who says otherwise is delusional, this remains a point of contention for him. Kuzco used to live blissfully unaware of what his people truly thought about him, convinced that he could do no wrong; so to be so rudely ejected from his own palace and forced to face the harsh reality of how little anyone cared about him wounded in ways he refused to look too closely at.

Malina's laugh startles him from his thoughts and he watches her, amusement dancing behind his eyes. The playful banter is refreshing, and he can't help but play into it, eager to latch on to the normalcy of their regular bickering. " Bold of me to assume? " He echoes, his own laughter coloring the words. " Please, why wouldn't you want to woo the Emperor? Riches? Power beyond your wildest dreams? Being able to claim the single most handsome, incredible man in the entire EMPIRE as your own? It's paradise. "

The moment of levity crumbles with her exclamation, and he winces, tearing his gaze away once more. " It's not that easy, Malina. I'm the Emperor-- I'm not allowed to have 'issues' or 'weaknesses'. " Kuzco admits quietly, making air quotes with his fingers around each unfamiliar word. He leans forward to brace his arms against his knees, breathing deeply to center himself. " I didn't want it to happen either. You weren't supposed to . . . to see that. Ever. When you took the ring off, I just . . I didn't know what to do. I thought you were finally giving up on me. "

He notices the tremble in her voice and looks up, his gaze round and glossy with unshed tears of his own as he studies her. Convincing himself that she had given up on him wasn't easy, but he managed; now that he's watching her, he realizes that it wasn't easy on her either, and he's torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to pretend like their fight never happened.

Truth be told, the ball is in Malina's court. She holds all of the power; Kuzco doesn't think he would ever find someone he cared about even half as much as the peasant girl who stole his heart with her wits, charm and humor, no matter how long or hard he searched. If she decided she didn't like what she saw, or didn't like his answers, Malina would have every right to let the dust settle as it is, and Kuzco would have to resign himself to the fact that he'll likely never find happiness like he had with her-- and it's all because of his own ego and carelessness. " What do we do now? " He questions, hating how small and uncertain his voice sounds. " Where do we go from here . . . that version of me, that you saw. I haven't been him for a long time. Not since moving in with Pacha, or even before that. I hope you know that wasn't me. Not any more. "

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s5 episode 17 "all souls" thoughts

omg!! after complaining of lack a of scully last time, this episode’s description specifically mentions her by name- and with a priest, too! is it time for scully catholic lore?! i am so excited! i fear i should lower my expectations, but it sounds promising!

it’s been a solid week since i’ve watched an episode, so i’m ready to dive in. 

post episode thoughts: idk, this one didn't really do it for me. and i don't know exactly what "it" is. despite checking many of the boxes that i think personally make a great episode (solo scully time and catholic guilt to name a few) this one felt just... too dark and convoluted for me. i literally had no idea what was going on, and then when i started to pick up on it, we circled back to the emily story, which still makes me feel very frustrated and i feel they could have handled it so much better. it also, once again, denies scully any autonomy, which is very frustrating.

surprisingly, in this scully-centric episode, the MVP for me was... mulder? yes, i'm genuinely shocked. he was so protective and caring even while being very grumpy. the way he leaned in to grab her shoulder... calling her back in the rain... gently teasing her and then realizing it wasn't a teasing sort of situation... wow.

and also, as i mentioned before, he looked really good. arguably at his best here.

(this might be my longest post so far LMAO)

very dramatic music is playing as this priest arrives at a house to baptize a young girl. i actually know very little about the whole baptismal process, so maybe this is accurate and maybe it’s not.

this girl, dara, has been baptized, and now the thunder is going wild, which seems spooky. 

also, she either has 6 toes or i cannot count.

did she get out of bed on her own despite not being able to walk before??? and now she’s walking towards a scary man while hearing evil voices. 

she’s on her knees praying to this guy who her father cannot see…. and HER EYEBALLS ARE BURNT OUT OF HER HEAD????????

huh. hey. a lot of things just happened very quickly. 

did the holy water burn her eyes? is she supposed to be a demon? i thought they were going to go with the “holy water healed her” route, which has its own problematic implications, but whatever these implications are, i’m lost. 

(author's note: and i was going to stay lost <3)

shortened intro, i clock you each and every time

scully is entering a church!!! she has on a blouse and not a suit, which feels strange. OHHH, SHE PULLS OUT THE BABY PICTURE OF MELISSA :(

god. she keeps it on her. i'm emotional.

it’s confession time. she’s talking to the confessor about her FBI work coming in conflict with her beliefs. it was father mccue who we saw before baptizing dara, and he said this family needed scully's help. hmm... what for?

scully is crying. OH MY GOD “father, i had a daughter who died” <- WHAT?? ARE THEY ACTUALLY GOING TO ACKNOWLEDGE THIS?????

i'm shook. i thought we were simply never going to speak of emily again.

so father mccue thought that helping this family would help scully process her grief… 

SHE’S SAYING SHE DOESN’T KNOW IF HE CAN OFFER FORGIVENESS? SHE LET A GIRL DIE??

woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, let’s go back a few steps……. oh my god. did scully need more grief to wear like an iron backpack? NO. WHAT HAPPENED HERE???

let a girl die. what. i just cannot imagine scully "letting" this happen??

a week earlier she had gone to easter mass. and she looks so beautiful in white and cream :,)

father mccue wants to speak to her in private. this church seems like it’s hopping, so it must be pretty important.

she’s been coming more often!!! :,) aww i'm happy for her. don't tease her too much father mccue, i'm watching...

but he needs her help. the kernofs lost their daughter dara in a very strange situation. and he thinks that her words might help them.

she looks so pained at this moment. but she goes anyway. god. god. scully. feeling obligated to help despite visibly not wanting to. knowing it will tear her open again. and doing it anyway.

frankly, it seems a bit cruel of father mccue to send her on this mission, but maybe he sees things with a lens i, a mere layperson, cannot

she’s chatting with the couple and they’re explaining how they adopted dara. lance (the father) is angry at god. 

they’re saying she might have been struck by lightning??? she was wheelchair bound and somehow got up, walked out, and was praying. struck by lighting... that would be so weird

the mother says something about god letting this happen to an innocent girl and god. emily. i am still mad at your plot line for feminist reasons, but grief. new grief and old grief and inexplicable screaming at the sky.

back in the confessional booth, scully says she felt drawn to the couple. they were angry at god, and so was she, although she refuses to say that.

“as much as i have my faith, father, i am a scientist. trained to weight evidence. but science only teaches us how… not why” <- OHHHHHHH toss that in the bucket of quotes i will use to psychoanalyze dana scully forever and ever

now she’s chatting with the doctor, who also says that maybe dara was struck by lightning. she asks if scully is religious, and scully replies with “why do you ask?”, which i think is very interesting as a character choice for her to put that space between directly answering. especially since they're in a lab setting. it's less of a pause of making a purposeful separation between faith and science, imo, and more of a cautiousness that comes from thinking her faith will somehow be taken advantage of. but it’s also funny because her cross necklace is very visible. so. you can guess the answer to that question.

dara was found genuflecting??? even in death. and there’s a scar on her hand from where an extra finger was removed. but i def saw an extra toe earlier.

no other signs of trauma… “it’s as if god himself struck her down” oh…

this is going to be a very un-fun time for scully.

who is this man with an upside down cross in his car, entering a psychiatric hospital?

there’s another girl in the hospital, who also has extra fingers. it seems this new father gregory character has come to adopt this paula! but there was a mix-up. there was no approval from the social worker, and he cannot take her home until the paperwork is in order.

but social worker seems like he is lying… based on that zoom in shot…. i know this show and its narrative tricks...

scully is at home looking at the photos of dara, then pulling out the photo of melissa :( oh god :( she really has lost so much :(

she’s biting back tears as she answers the phone. she must be really out of it, because she answered with “hello” and not “scully” like always :(

it’s mulder, somewhere in a phone booth in the pouring rain! oh god bless that man, finding a phone booth to call her back from even while out and about. 

he’s tailing a potential suspect but still makes time for the call, even though he's in a hurry… then he runs into an x rated film showing. now, what is going on with that? hope you catch the guy, buddy.

he wants to know more, but she cannot tell him anything until he gets the birth records on dara :(

back to paula at the hospital. someone is approaching…. and when he approaches, she also hears the scary voices and genuflects like the other girl did!!! and there is a huge flash!!!

what is going on.

scully is at the scene, and finds the cross in her room hung upside down. is satan afoot.....?

MULDER ENTERS!!! “aren’t you the secret squirrel” <- LMAOOOO WHAT A WEIRD THING TO SAY!!! let the record show that this man is my baby girl.

ohhhh, she quietly explains she’s doing this as a favor :( i think he gets the idea not to press or make any other rodent comparisons

but he starts nerding out over the implications of the flipped cross. maybe the guy he was tailing last night is the same guy who did this?

(author's note: there was actually no relation whatsoever, and i think the writers just meant him watching the scandalous film as a weird gag, but for a brief moment there, i thought the narrative stars were going to align. alas!)

anyway, paula and dara were sisters!! they were quadruplets!! so there must be 2 more out there, and they must be in danger!!

(mulder has this five o clock shadow thing going on, and it’s kinda intoxicating)

“look scully, i know you don’t really want my help on this, but can i offer you my professional opinion?” (she nods, almost smiling) “you got a bona fide, super-crazy religious wacko on your hands”

average mulder sentence. he points out the prevalence of eye imagery in the bible, of gouging and smiting and other such cases. and in walks the social worker, who is sure there was not a cross on the wall there before!!

i’m overcome by something pulling at my heart strings while looking at mulder and scully standing together.

paula was about to be adopted, so they journey to church of st. peter the sinner, which has the upside down cross iconography outside and a sign that reads “the darkness is upon us” oh boy! i feel very welcomed /s

mulder is coming too because he is a nice guy in his leather jacket and jeans :)

he really has no life, huh…. god bless him

(i feel like he is in some sort of league basketball every other weekend, and probably goes to the library very often, but this is likely the extent of his social life. aside from sleepovers with the gunmen, of course. and that can be so beautiful)

they find a book of st. peter the sinner, and he immediately identifies it as full of apocrypha!!! which is hot. while someone seems to be watching them from a corner. less hot.

“i’m surprised there’s nothing here from jesus christ superstar” <- A MAN OF CULTURE???????

(i know this man is singing showtunes in his car. oh, i just KNOW it. and i bet he WOULD love jcs. and he was at oxford when some big west end shows were playing: phantom, les mis, evita, cats. a 2 hour bus ride from oxford to london is nothing for a massachusetts boy. just keep these facts in mind while making headcanons)

((and i do feel like he grew up watching musicals, too. just seems like something that happened in that household. they had the money to go see live theatre, but he also grew up in a golden age of movie musicals. idk, just try and tell me he didn't hear songs from west side story and the music man in his house growing up. i bet he thought it was annoying as a kid that his mother was always playing them, but now he looks back at it with fondness. whatever))

they break the news to father gregory that paula has died, which he didn’t know, and he seems to be overcome with emotion as he says he was trying to adopt her. yeah. this is unfortunate.

mulder asks why he wanted to adopt her and he is NOT messing around

“why adopt her?”, he asks. “what, you think i was interested in harming her?” “why. adopt. her” <- OHHH he is NOT going to be going easy on this case when scully’s heart’s on the line!!! everyone say thank you to protective mulder!!

father gregory says he knew the girl’s mother and was trying to protect her, but when they ask who the mother is, he says she died. hmm. yeah. i think having 4 babies at once is pretty unsafe. i can imagine this happening.

but still... he said he knows where she is… and then says she died. which is suspicious. like, why not just say she’s dead? i feel like he's lying.

father gregory says that he used to be in the roman catholic church and he was her confessor before he started his own church, and divulging her name would violate his code of faith. okay, that is great and all. but her kids are being murdered, so maybe pray on it and ask god if you can make a special exception.

this dude is very strange. 

“and yours, i see” he says, glancing at scully’s necklace

ohh…. allow mulder to stride in angrily. “you said you wanted to protect paula. from what?” yeah that is right. you don't let him mess with her.

what the fuck? this dude is so off putting. “whatever your intentions, your secular prejudices blind you from seeing what’s really happening here. two girls are dead- not by the hand of man. unless you accept the truth of god’s teachings that there is a struggle between good and evil for all souls, and that we are losing that struggle, you’re but fools rushing in. you put your own lives in danger. as well as the lives of the messengers”

(deeply pensive scully as father gregory walks away and someone continues to pant from the corner of his church)

wow. so i guess he thinks god just kills poor kids sometime for fun. sounds like a great god. i sure do want to join your church and worship him now. /s

(i'm still so baffled after watching the episode. so he thought the demons were killing the kids? it wasn't god doing the killing? but god lets demons kill kids sometimes unless people like him intervene? but actually it was the seraphim killing the kids and bringing them home to good? which would be a good thing, right? i just don't know what this episode was trying to sayyyyyy)

back to scully in confession. she brought mulder on the case “to help temper my feelings… to keep them from clouding my judgement. i wouldn’t admit it to him, but… as well stood there, i felt as if father gregory were speaking directly to me. in a language only i could understand”

well. i don’t understand it either, so i can’t analyze it. i'm sorry, queen, because i love to analyze you. but i'm glad she brought him along for the ride.

mulder holds the door open for her as they leave, and remarks on how gregory seems deeply suspicious (“he thinks he’s doing god’s laundry” is an exquisite line)

he’s definitely hiding something. 

“but, basically, you’re ruling out any element of the supernatural?” (careful mulder pause) “what do you mean?” 

ohhh, are they going to have this fight again? he seems to be holding something back. like he's trying to carefully measure his words despite being pissed off.

she points out that dara was baptized before she died

“and why would god allow this to happen, and why do bad things happen to good people? religion has masqueraded as the paranormal since the dawn of time to justify some of the most horrible acts in history” (heavy massachusetts accent when he says "horrible", btw, just noting that)

“i was raised to believe that god has his reasons, however mysterious” 

“he may well have his reasons, but he seems to use a lot of psychotics to carry out his job orders”

wow. there’s so much to analyze there.

well, it's not outright denial of her beliefs, which is an improvement from before. he can clearly pick up on how much this case is impacting her, which i commend, especially for a guy whose ahab tendencies in the past have caused him to be oblivious to all things emotional. i will never be over that time he was like "i'm sorry your dog died :( btw i think we are dealing with the loch ness monster who somehow made his way to america. here are a bunch of dinosaur facts-"

mulder says she should autopsy paula before whoever it is has a chance to find her sisters. i think this is a fair judgement.

he is cranky. but he was trying to hold back. and i do appreciate that. cranky man who needs to shave. has he ever looked better??

i get the sense that this is one of those episodes i’ll have to rewatch to analyze more stuff in later. if i can bring myself around to it.

autopsy time. she finds something on both of paula's shoulders.

OH MY GOD, SHE LOOKS OVER AND SEES EMILY ON THE TABLE??!!

SHE STARTS CRYING??? AND SHE HEARS EMILY SAY “MOMMY PLEASE”???

BUT SHE TURNS BACK AND THE BODY WAS JUST PAULA??!!

hey. what. hey. emily jumpscare. what does this mean? she knew that alien child for like 2 weeks. please do not spiritually torment her.

back in the confessional booth, she says she wrote off what she saw as a hallucination based on her emotional connection to the case, but she clarified that is not what it was

damn. little did this confessor know he was in for a WILD story time when she sat down.

she says she was meant to see emily for a purpose. so she could save them. taking on the need to save others... this is such a scully thing to do.

mulder on da phone. he has a lead on the third sister!! 

(dramatic sunglasses removal as they stake out the area)

why does he look so good?? it’s making it hard to focus on the tragic plot at hand. 

he says the third sister wandered into a teen crisis center, which is odd because the other two could not walk at all. and scully points out that there’s some sort of degenerative bone disease in paula.

“and uh, i know you’re going to think that i’m crazy… but i swear i found evidence of something winglike”

DOES SHE THINK THESE GIRLS ARE ANGELS BEING BROUGHT BEFORE GOD FOR CRIMES?? THE REBELLIOUS ONES LIKE LUCIFER?

“well then, maybe she flew here, scully” <- lmao. not totally appropriate for him to say, but lmao.

uh oh… he finds another upside down cross outside the joint. she has more to say, but he has to go.

someone is chasing another girl… LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!!!

mulder approaches...

and this girl, too, hears more of those horrible overlapping voices, there’s a dude with the face of an alien (angel? devil?) and the blinding light?? and she’s doing the same pose as the others!! the genuflection!!

MULDER HAS HIS GUN…. who is here?! it’s father gregory!!! he says it’s too late!!! and that the girl is dead!!!!

and sure enough, her eyes are burned out as well, as a dove flies to the light. i see what you did there, souls ascending and all that.

(but i thought she was taken by the devil, so the soul going to the light seems contradictory... you know what? never mind ❤️)

now they have father gregory brought in for questioning, and mulder has a casual shirt on, which looks strange. “you know, they say when you talk to god it’s prayer, but when god talks to you, it’s, uh, schizophrenia” (he smiles at his own joke)

“you’re not interested in the truth” “i am ONLY interested in the truth!!” <- do not get between this man and his Truth. rest assured, that is his God

all jokes and jests have been forgotten at this point. he’s screaming at father gregory, asking what could possess him to burn those poor girls’ eyes out, with scully watching in the back. 

father gregory makes scully explain the upside down cross… st. peter would only be crucified upside down. out of reverence for christ. sure. okay. seems weird he makes her explain it. feels manipulative somehow.

(very interesting how the upside down cross represents both st. peter and the devil... makes following the plot of this episode even harder)

he says he has risked his life to protect their souls because the devil wants them. well, idk if you’re doing a very good job, tbh. you're 0/3. 

(mulder glares at him before leaving the room) 

but father gregory taunts scully, saying she knows what they are, and if the devil finds her, his victory will be complete. 

man, idk what they’re talking about :(

they think they found the fourth girl, and father gregory asks to be let go or else no one can save her. scully explains in confession that she knew she was meant to save her.

she says the devil didn’t take their souls, but the threat was real, and he gave his life to protect them.

anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?

back to the case. mulder's talking to her and then he asks what’s wrong. ohhh, he bends down to look in her eyes. “scully? scully. don’t let this guy get in your head. that’s the last thing you want” <- oh my god, he’s worried :((((

"you’re not going to find her. i think you’re being misled", she says

“by who?" (heavy pause) "scully, i think you’re the one who’s being misled. and not just willingly, but willfully. i’ve never seen you more vulnerable or susceptible or more easily manipulated. and it scares me because i don’t know why”

he is at once doing his very best and still manages to be a bit condescending, but he is also doing a very good job, at least for him, of saying what he means. so i’m proud

“i saw emily” OHHH she says it. i thought she would keep it to herself “she came to me in a vision”

he grabs her shoulder and pulls her in close: “i think you should step away” ohhh :( ohhh no :(

she tells him to go find the girl and let her finish up with father gregory, and he takes the case file from her hand, lingering over it, holding onto the image of the last girl 

the case worker made his way into father gregory’s room!! asking where she is!! “the others were taken from me” hey, who are you? 

oh my god, he starts burning father gregory????? “tell me father. save yourself” is he the devil?? a demon??

scully goes to talk to him again and the door is locked. father gregory is dead on the floor!! all burnt up!!!

mulder is arriving at the house of the fourth girl.  he is NOT playing around. her father says she’s at school, and he points out she hasn’t been at school for a week. he won’t unlock the basement door, so mulder is going to kick it open. 

her father is saying a priest would take her off his hands!! father gregory said he would take her and let him keep the disability checks!!

huh.......

scully is getting to her car, but she gets a call. “yeah, hi scully, it’s me” aww

(she drops her keys and hears the horrible demon voices as mulder yells at her on the phone to answer him)

before her is a bird alien lion thing???????? the CGI goes crazy!!!

poor mulder is yelling to her while she is witnessing the plot of revelations irl. he's gotta be so worried.

back to talking to father mccue. she says she has seen things. visions. a man with four faces. 

this is troubling to father mccue, who fetches his bible. he’s showing her a page. it has an angel with four faces, which he calls a seraphim. the seraphim fathers four children with a mortal woman, whose babies are the nephelim, the fallen ones. souls of angels, but weren’t meant to be, they’re deformed and tormented. so the seraphim smites them with his glory and they go back to god?

i do not remember this story from sunday school.

“you think that’s what i saw?” “no” <- oh, i didn’t think he would say that… i thought he would be supportive. actually pretty gagged here.

“no. i think what you saw is a figment of your imagination, a half-remembered story from your childhood that surfaced because of this case” <- is he trying to be helpful here?? reassuring?? dismissive??? 

she insists that she saw it. and i cannot get a read on father mccue.

“the text in which it appears isn’t even recognized by the church” <- okaaay, that makes me feel better for not knowing the story.

he is certain god has his reasons. it is how he rewards our fate. which is a nice thing to think about.

the case worker is here, claiming mulder has been trying to reach her. there is latin chanting as they go to father gregory’s church. everything is quiet and the footsteps are clear. 

ohhhh she sees devil horns in his reflection… and he says he knows the last girl here. 

and she finds the girl!!! she was who was watching them earlier!! he’s yelling out to her…. 

she says she won’t hurt the girl, that she’ll get her out of there, take her someplace safe.

she’s trying to guide her out and the demon is saying to bring her the girl. but she’s trying to go forward to him!! 

emily is here?? “mommy, let me go” HUH?? let her go to the DEVIL??? she lets emily go and she walks into the light???

scully is crying. the demon is gone, leaving behind only the dead girl. 

(author's note: i'm pretty sure i actually misunderstood this scene, and the seraphim came and intercepted the girl from the devil- at least, that is what wikipedia says happened. but this was not very clear, and you can imagine my shock at the thought of scully releasing her dead child to the devil. which will make my confusion in the following paragraphs make more sense)

back to the confession… she was sure she was releasing the last girl's soul to heaven. but she cannot reconcile this with the physical fact of her death.

“has it occurred to you that maybe this, too,  is part of what you were meant to understand?”

”you mean, accepting my loss

“can you accept it?”

“maybe that’s what faith is”, she says, crying 

the end.

hmm. hmm.

so scully couldn’t reconcile bringing that girl to heaven with her actual death. 

but i was so confused, i swear the caseworker had horns, like he was the devil!! but then i guess the seraphim swooped in?

so she can only understand the loss of emily through faith, which makes sense, but the emily plot line still makes me frustrated, so idk how i feel. 

you ever get so confused you go to wikipedia?

so the devil took their souls? the devil being the social worker? but then at the last minute the seraphim took the last girl and brought her to heaven even though she died.

so the devil actually got the first three girls? but the bird went up to the light, and scully said she was confident they went to a better place? so must be the bright light guy was the seraphim and he saved them from the caseworker?

listen. listen. i’m going to throw my hands up in the air and admit defeat on this one. i don’t know what the hell went on. but i do believe it was important to scully.

i also believe it was an attempt to wrap up the emily plot line and that it probably won’t ever be addressed again in a meaningful manner because woohoo! we did it! we wrapped it up! /s

hmm. hmm. mulder did endear me today. he was cranky, but he genuinely wanted what was best for her. i think. even if he was lying about tailing a suspect to go watch some illicit films. and i don’t want to think about that. it’s far funnier to imagine him actually tailing someone and having to watch that as a result. 

after watching this episode, i feel very strange. i mentioned before it just didn't do "it" for me, and again, whatever "it" is, i couldn't tell you. but i can tell you this: i am desperate for scully to reclaim agency in her life. and i find that subjecting her to divine will is not agency. maybe you could interpret what happened here as god testing her, or offering her a way to understand her pain, or perhaps even taking god out of the equation, because of the unconfirmed nature of all supernatural elements of this show, she is imagining all of this as a way to deal with her pain. but it doesn't really allow her any freedom or autonomy.

i don't think i can fully articulate my qualms with this episode without diving into the murky waters of if god allows for free will, which is above my pay grade. but i will say this: it felt like scully was thrust into this situation, and her own free will was once again denied, whether you think it is due to father mccue getting her involved or god using her to save these girls and wrestle with the nature of faith versus reality.

and i want to see scully make her own choices. this is a critique of the writers, and not of the fictional character of scully. why is she consistently denied her ability to make choices about her own life? why is she put into these situations that deny her the ability to make choices? why does this happen to the woman in the show and not the man? why does it focus heavily on her ability to bear children? you see what i'm saying? why is the plot happening TO scully but being driven forward BY mulder?

i feel like it is hard for me to analyze what happened in this episode because so little of it involved scully making her own choices. she did choose to get involved with father mccue's request, and she chose to find meaning in her experiences, and even chose to communicate the distress she was in with mulder, but plot wise it was "god is torturing scully again. does he have no one else to torture?"

the emily thing is still always going to rub me the wrong way. it was always clear from the start of the abduction arc that the plot was going in this direction, but that doesn't make me like it any better.

in conclusion: i didn't like this one because i feel it, once again, relied on removing scully's agency and autonomy, and after 5 seasons this is growing old. also, i didn't know the seraphim lore, so i had no idea what was going on.

what did you think? specifically my scully fans: do you agree with my critiques? am i being a hater? did you know what was going on? did you like this episode? i'm always down to listen to someone try and convince me to like an episode! i need to know everything in brutal detail.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

If I didn't already have multiple drawings I want to finish I'd start a series of Constant interacting with their companions. I already have ideas and everything!!

[soupacool]

congrats on taking T and experiencing voice changes, that's so exciting!! 🥳🥳✨✨

thank you!!! it's been a period of intense learning of myself and my place in the world and I wouldn't trade it for anything