#trying to revive my tumblr through this

[icewingprime]

OC-tober Day 1!

(Ignore how I’m posting this on the 2nd lol)

Here’s my favorite oc: Ishka Pearce! (More about her under the cut)

She’s the first oc I’ve ever made so this is only her most recent design. This is also just a drawing of her in a human au that I made last year (I still haven’t finished her canon design lol).

In the human au she works as a speculative biologist for her game dev group (the game she’s making is one of my abandoned stories from middle school). She also works as a chemist for her day job. She’s 27, and she has a twin brother named Farrudan who might show up sometime this month.

Ishka’s the most goofy goober I’ve ever made, she’s also my daughter and I take 0 criticism /j

Anyways, despite the fact that I talk about Auster 24/7, Ishka is in fact #1 favorite child… mostly just because she’s also my first.

[seraphicsentences]

HEY! i knwo your on a break but just incase your bored could you write reader sending spicy texts2 streamer!ellie while shes on like a boss level, and then after ‘raging’ at reader for making her lose, she comes back as if the chat isnt questioning the sounds coming from the other room (silly girl forgot to mute)

hi. tumblr j deleted all my edits to this. i’m rage quitting and j posting this version i banged out in the span of 15 minutes 😀 anyways.

FUCK i’m sorry i know this took fucking forever and now i’m delivering mediocrity. loved this req either way this was smf to write. hope you enjoy sweet girl ;)

me when i disappear for a month and come back only to deliver pure dog shit. 🤪🤪

“-KID JUST GOT FUCKING DESTROYED, FUCKING BITCH.”

it was a late friday night, which meant ellie was streaming in her room, and you were supposed to be studying.

this week ellie was hosting a special in celebration of hitting 10k subscribers, and was grinding away to finally defeat Resident Evil’s final boss.

you could hear the chat dinging away with message after message, no doubt blasting ellie with compliments on her play, and the occasional comment thirsting over her hands or whatnot. it was nothing new— you’d seen the countless edits of her on your own social media page, and even had a folder of your own favorites saved away on a burner account.

“let me suck your fing- WHAT?! that is a crazy thing to say,” you could hear ellie’s shocked voice. “either way, chat, i’m married…”

“where’s my ring? UP YOUR ASS. c’mon, leave me be, guys,” ellie jokingly whined, bantering with her obsessive fanbase.

you held back a smile of your own, hand pressed to your mouth as she continued to scold the chat for their outrageously filthy messages. what a dork.

“alright alright, im muting the chat. love you guys but i gotta focus now! this is serious shit and i’m low on ammo now, hah-ha,” ellie spoke to the screen, words slightly muffled through the thin wall.

in the living room papers lay strewn across the floor, couch littered with eraser shavings and crumpled post-it notes, yourself splayed atop it all.

studying was a long-forgotten task you abandoned to instead sweep lazily through your camera roll, attempting to clear up some much needed storage.

you stopped abruptly at the thumbnail of an old video, in which depicted a downright sinful image of ellie’s bared neck for you as she arched back in pleasure.

you quite literally salivated at the veins that adorned her sweat-glistened skin, naked chest that was just covered by the play button in the center, goading you to click it.

quiet sounds of ellie’s desperate moans picked up, her head coming up look just above the camera and deliver the most pathetically fucked-out look.

“ple-ease can i cum, mommy?” she whined, voice breaking with every thrust of your fingers, wet squelching in the background a sign of her neediness.

“let me hear you, baby,” you heard yourself coo through the screen, the video becoming shaky as you picked up your pace— before suddenly ending on accident right as ellie let out a strangled whimper.

you met it with one of your own, frustrated with being left on an unfinished high, the throbbing at your core impossible to ignore.

your thighs shifted against one another, wetness pooling in your underwear as you replayed ellie’s final sound in your head over and over again.

your trance was broken by the sound of a frustrated groan coming from behind ellie’s door.

“fuck, i got it this time, i got it, swear,” she cursed as the game’s recognizable ‘revive’ audio cue played.

she could just do this again next week, right?

without a second longer of thinking, you quickly screen-shotted a clear frame from the video, shooting it ellie’s way and sending a quick text to follow.

~~

ellie choked on her own spit as she clicked the blur away. cough- “fuck-“ wheeze- “shit-“ hack- “sorry, guys, j choked on my own saliva.”

what the fuck? what games were you trying to play?

you groaned, hearing the firing of guns continue on alongside ellie’s commentary.

sliding your panties aside, you spread your legs to display the mess between them, snapping a quick picture.

you shot back another text.

“just one more hit, one more one more one m- i- fuck,” you hear ellie stutter. “oh fuck, yep… and i’m dead, ‘kay, sorry guys just give me like 5 i’ll be back. gotta take care of something.”

you heard the slam of her headphones hitting the table and a screech of her chair sliding back against the hardwood floors.

the door swung open, the look in ellie’s eyes making your heart race with anticipation.

“hey els, good game?” you asked innocently from your position on the couch, legs crossed with your arm resting over the back.

“good game? yeah, great game actually,” she replies sarcastically, sauntering her way over to you. “you didn’t happen to need something, did you?” she asks, hopping onto the couch and quirking an eyebrow up.

“me? no…” you trail off as she leans in to brush a kiss across your lips.

“no?” she tucks your hair aside, before leaning in to whisper, “you mind spreading those pretty legs for me then, baby? i just want a look.”

“els,” you whine, attempting to catch her mouth in a kiss.

she avoids it, dipping down instead to rasp words against your racing pulse, “show me.”

you uncross your legs slowly, a damp patch darkening the very center of your shorts.

ellie grabs the leg closest to her, swiveling your body in one swift move to face her direction, placing that leg over the back of the couch as she runs her other hand up your opposing leg.

“fuck, els, i need you,” you say breathlessly, hips bucking into the air.

“let’s get these off,” she replies with a squeeze, tugging at your waistband. “wanna tell me what’s got you texting me like a slut in the middle of my stream? was it the video? my video?”

she dips her thumb into your leaking hole, swiping your arousal up in a messy circle over your aching clit.

“ah- shit! yes, fuck, y’sounded s-so pretty in it, els,” you moaned, nerves overly sensitive from the wait. “please,” you cried out, unsure of what exactly you were begging for, but you needed more.

“so fuckin’ needy,” ellie laughs under her breath, relishing in the loud groan that escapes your lips when she replaces her hand with her mouth, tongue flicking rhythmically against your swollen clit to draw out more of those pretty sounds.

“oh-oh, god, right there, so good- mmph,” you rock your hips up, hand scrambling to tug ellie’s mouth even closer to you, if possible.

mmhm she moans into your pussy, the vibrations making you jerk up as your legs clamp tightly around her head. ellie’s hands dash up immediately to shove them apart, pressing them wide open with an iron grip as she practically growls, “you asked for this. so fucking take it.”

two of her fingers slide easily into you with the next pull on your clit, and you’re arching up in a manner almost identical to ellie’s in the video, whining nonsensically.

“you’re dripping, baby,” ellie tuts, “just couldn’t wait for me, huh?”

she continues to pump her fingers deep into you, curling them on every outstroke to slide against the spot that makes you see stars.

“c’mon, cum all over my fingers,” she teases, whispering sweet praises between kitten licks to your sensitive clit.

with your head thrown back, you couldn’t help but moan her name like a fucking prayer as your walls started to tighten, legs trembling under her grasp as she worked you through your high.

“that’s it, soak my fucking fingers.”

~

iluvgirls_moms: THAT WAS 1000% A MOAN

elliesleftarm33: guys what the fuck is happening 😀 ellie babes, i think you forgot to mute.

ewilliamsismy_wife: did anyone else j hear ellie’s name. are the voices getting to me?

elliewsjizzfr6996: how to be ellie’s gf no glue no borax? 🥲🥲

1toesuckersslurper: NAH ITS BEEN WELL OVER 10 MIN IM OUTTA HERE

yeahhh… looks like ellie owes her subscribers a real big 10k special next week. and an apology.

[jezebelblues]

live on tour (interlinked) | h.s | 2

pt 1, pt 2 (complete)

summary: we don't talk about it, it's something we don't do—cause once you go without it, nothing else will do.

cw: smut18+ unprotected (piv), degradation if u squint, choking, weed, alcohol, angst, sort of a slowburn idk, fem!reader, hs1rry

word count: approx 8.8k

| okay so here’s pt 2, smuts at the end LMFAO. sorry if u hate ! tumblr (right as i’m about to post) is like sorry too many words 🤪 so i had to SPLIT anyway

masterlist

Outside, rain drizzled. The show ended an hour ago, Harry was busy with greetings and photos. She stood in the doorway of the side exit, the breeze cool and carrying the scent of wet pavement and grass. 

A cigarette hung loosely between her fingers, stains of her lipstick kissed against the filter. She thought it’d quell her nausea, the pins and needles in her fingertips—but all it did was make her chest feel lighter. Everything else stayed. 

She’s heard the song a thousand times, rehearsals the entire summer, soundchecks, shows. But it was different this time. He pulled her to play with him for a reason, their unspoken games—it was a message. 

Her breath hitched as she jumped slightly, a gentle hand against her shoulder. It was Harry, a quiet greeting as he settled beside her, along the wall next to the door. His eyes swept over her face, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes slightly glossed over. 

They had just stared at each other for a while, like their eyes held more words than their mouths could. She took her bottom lip between her teeth as she let the cigarette drift onto the gravel outside, watching the embers burn out under the rain. “Harry.” She sighed, her eyes soft, a frown on her lips. “This needs to stop.” 

He leaned his head against the cement wall, his gaze unwavering. “What does?”

She swallowed hard, shifting to lean into the opposite side of the door frame facing him, the heavy door still propped open. The wind danced in her hair, goosebumps cascading down her bare arms. “Whatever this is. Us. This is just work, Harry, I don’t get it.” 

“Just work?”

She paused, averting her eyes from his to glance back outside. There wasn’t much of a view, gravel, smooth pavement, a large chain-link fence that shook and sang in the wind. “I don’t get it. None of my other jobs have been like this. We tour, we play and it’s easy. Hell, half of the people on the Floyd revival were on coke and it was easier than this.” 

He studied her for a moment, his breaths heavy although he tried to lighten them. His eyebrows knit together, a glint of light shimmering along the edge of his pupil that painted him a tragic work of art. “Easy.” He managed, his voice ragged, as if it was a struggle to get the words out. “This isn’t a gig, or a studio session—we’re a band. A team. It isn’t supposed to be easy.”

She clenched her jaw, snapping her eyes back to his. “Don’t. It’s not about the band, it’s about you. You know exactly what you’re doing.” 

“And what’s that?”

“You get under my skin, Harry! And then you just fucking stay there and pick pick pick until you avoid me again.” 

“You do the same!” He was exasperated, his eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That night in Nashville. It was normal, it was easy.” He echoed the word, mocking. “And you just pushed it away. S’constantly a step fucking toward, two steps back.”

Her belly continued to twist, her frown deepening. “Cause I don’t know what the hell you want from me.”

“What I want—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair as his voice cracked slightly. “You think I know what I want? This isn’t exactly easy for me either, YN.”

The admission stunned her into silence, the weight of his words settling heavily between them.

For a moment, the anger in his eyes flickered into something else—something raw and vulnerable—but it disappeared just as quickly, replaced by his usual guarded expression. “You’re not the only one trying to figure this out.” 

The silence between them thickened, pressing down like the weight of the rain-soaked clouds above. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What was there to say?

Harry pushed off the wall, his movements deliberate but tense, his eyes still locked on her. For a moment, it looked like he might step closer, might reach for her, but his hands stayed stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

“You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse, like it hurt to say the words. “You think I’m trying to mess with you? I’m just—” He stopped, jaw tightening as he looked away, toward the gravel outside. His hand raked through his hair again, his frustration palpable.

She crossed her arms tighter, trying to shield herself from the chill in the air—or maybe from him. “Then what? What are you just, Harry? Because all I see is you dragging me into something I didn’t ask for, and then acting like I’m the one making it difficult.”

His head snapped back toward her, a spark of anger flaring in his eyes. “You think I wanted this? You think I planned for this?” He motioned vaguely between them, his voice rising just enough to make her flinch. “Do you know how easy it’d be for me to just… not? To let this all go?”

“Then why don’t you?” she shot back, her voice sharp as she straightened up, uncrossing her arms.

The question hung in the air like a dare, but Harry didn’t take it. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but whatever it was, he swallowed it down. Instead, he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looked away again. “That’s the thing,” he muttered, his tone softer now, almost to himself. “I don’t know how.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking into her ribs. But she refused to let him see the crack in her armor. She turned her face toward the rain, her jaw clenched, her breaths slow and measured.

“Well, maybe you should figure it out,” she said, her voice quieter but no less sharp. “Because I can’t keep doing this with you.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep, uneven breath, his face unreadable as he started to turn. “Fine,” he said, the word clipped, bitter. “Guess I’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t look back as he walked down the narrow hallway, out to wherever he was going. 

She stayed frozen in the doorway, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her heart pounding too loud in the quiet. The door swung slightly with the wind, creaking on its hinges as she leaned against the frame.

She bit down hard on her lip, a sharp pang of regret bubbling up inside her, but she shoved it down, stuffing it into the same corner where all the other unspoken things between them lived.

The cigarette embers had long since faded, leaving only the faint smell of ash and rain.

Once you go without it, nothing else will do. 

-

The bassline thumped steadily, drowning out conversation and vibrating through the floor of the packed venue. Laughter spilled over from corners where small groups huddled close, their faces flushed with warmth and the buzz of alcohol. Fairy lights strung haphazardly along the ceiling flickered, giving the room an ethereal glow that blurred edges and softened harsh lines. It was October second, a free evening before they had to start gearing up for Toronto, and they had found themselves at this party—an impromptu gathering of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

They had a few days to rest before they geared up for the Toronto show.

YN moved through the throng like a thread of color in an otherwise monotone fabric. Her dress clung to her in all the right places, its silky material catching the light with every movement. Her makeup was immaculate, her lips a striking shade that dared anyone to look away. Heads turned as she passed, her heels clicking faintly against the hardwood floor beneath the relentless pulse of the music.

Across the room, Harry caught the glance of a mutual friend before his gaze settled on her. She hadn’t noticed him yet—or perhaps she was pretending not to. That had been their dynamic since the DC show—stolen glances, sharp words, and an undercurrent of something unresolved that simmered just below the surface. Tonight wasn’t much different. If she felt his eyes on her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she let herself be led toward the bar by a guy whose name she couldn’t quite recall but whose interest in her was overtly clear.

Leo—or maybe it was Geo— was tall, broad-shouldered, with a smooth voice and easy laugh. He leaned in close, brushing his fingers lightly against her arm as he spoke, and her lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t that she found him unappealing—he was attractive enough, charming in a way that was disarming—but she was using him. His attention was a distraction, a convenient shield from the simmering tension she refused to address. She wasn’t about to let Harry consume her thoughts tonight.

“Another drink?” Leo–Geo asked, his voice warm against her ear.

She nodded, watching as he flagged down the bartender and ordered for her. When the drink came, he handed it to her, his fingers grazing hers deliberately. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into him, tilting her head to laugh at something he said. She wasn’t entirely listening, but it didn’t matter. She let him lead her to the edge of the dance floor, where the music was louder and the lights flashed in dizzying patterns.

His hands found her waist as they swayed together, the rhythm of the music guiding their movements. She felt his breath against her skin as he leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of her neck. It was easy, his touch, his attention. It dulled the edges of her thoughts, made the heat of Harry’s gaze on her back easier to ignore.

For a moment, she let herself get lost in it.

But Harry was watching. He stood near the edge of the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The muscles in his jaw worked as he watched her laugh at something the other man said, her hand brushing lightly against the stranger’s chest. His stomach twisted, anger and something else—something sharper, more possessive—flaring within him. He told himself to leave it alone, to let her do what she wanted. But then he saw them moving toward the door, her hand loosely clasped in the other man’s.

Something in him snapped.

He moved quickly, weaving through the crowd with single-minded determination. She didn’t see him coming, not until his hand closed around her arm in a firm grip.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the anger in it.

She froze, her wide eyes meeting his for the first time all night. Her companion, caught off guard, let go of her hand and stepped back.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows furrowed, her voice laced with irritation.

“I said, what the hell are you doing?” he repeated, his grip on her arm tightening slightly.

“Let go of me, Harry,” she snapped, tugging her arm free. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her a step closer, his green eyes boring into hers.

“Do you even know his name?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

Her lips parted, but no answer came. She didn’t know his name, and they both knew it.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry muttered, his jaw clenched. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”

“Harry what—no!” Her voice was louder now, drawing a few curious glances from the people around them. “You don’t get to decide what I do.”

He only ignored her.

“Harry—”

“Go,” Harry said sharply, cutting her off as he turned his attention to the other man. “Now.”

The man hesitated, glancing between them before holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, mate. She’s all yours.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them alone in a small bubble of tension that felt ready to burst.

“Are you happy now?” she asked, her voice shaking with anger, eyes threatening to gloss over. 

“You were about t’leave with a stranger,” he said, his voice still low but tinged with frustration.

“So what if I was? What does it matter to you?”

“It—“ He paused, voice barely above a whisper. His hand finally dropped from her arm, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers. “Forget it, YN.”

The music pounded around them, but neither of them moved. The weight of his words hung heavy between them, unspoken things simmering just below the surface. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

And then, abruptly, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the crowded room, her heart racing and her mind spinning.

After a while, she found her way back to the bar. YN perched on the edge of a high stool, her fingers wrapped around the cold glass of a freshly poured Midori Sour. She wasn’t sure why she kept ordering them—maybe because they were sweet enough to soften the edges of her mood. Maybe because the tang of melon lingered on her tongue in a way she liked. Or maybe because she knew it annoyed him.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry approaching, his strides long and purposeful, the faint clink of his rings catching her attention before anything else. He stopped beside her, leaning against the bar with an infuriating casualness, his profile sharp under the low-hanging lights.

“Another one of those?” he asked, his voice low but distinctly mocking. He gestured toward her drink with a tilt of his head. “You’ve got the palate of a teenager.”

YN didn’t even glance at him. “And you’ve got the personality of a Jack and Coke. Bitter, basic, and way too predictable.”

The bartender chuckled as he slid Harry’s drink across the counter. Harry’s lips twitched at the corners, not quite a smile but enough to tell her her barb had landed.

“Predictable, am I?” he asked, lifting his glass to his lips. His voice was softer now, dangerous in the way it dripped with quiet confidence. “At least I’m not clinging to a sugar high like I’m at prom.”

YN finally turned her head, meeting his gaze dead-on. Those green eyes of his were sharper than the whiskey he was sipping, and the way they pinned her in place made her chest tighten—not that she’d ever admit it.

“At least I’m not controlling your night to avoid saying what I really want to say,” she shot back, her voice steady but low, just for him.

Harry blinked, his brows raising slightly in surprise before he composed himself. He set his glass down on the counter, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And what exactly is it you think I’m hiding?”

The word love slid off his tongue like a taunt, curling around her like smoke. It wasn’t affectionate—it was a challenge, one that dared her to push back. And god, did she want to push back.

YN leaned in too, her face just close enough to his that she could smell the whiskey on his breath, warm and heady. “I think you’ve got a lot of things you don’t say out loud,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise of the bar. “But don’t worry, Harry. I’m not dying to know.”

The tension between them was suffocating now, thick and electric. She saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed against his glass like he was resisting the urge to reach for her instead. Her pulse hammered in her throat, each beat daring her to stay in this dangerous little game they’d started.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out,” Harry said finally, his voice like velvet lined with steel. “But you’re wrong, YN. Dead wrong.”

Her name on his lips was her undoing. She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag and tossing a few bills on the counter. “Why are you here again, Harry?” She muttered, “Your jealousy, which you refuse to admit, is insufferable. You ruined my night and I want to drink.”

Silence.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not doing this.” Her voice was low, laced in anger as she spun on her heel and headed toward the back of the bar where the restrooms were tucked away.

But of course, he followed.

She could hear him behind her, the weight of his footsteps matching the rhythm of her pounding heart. She ignored him, turning a tight corner.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he shouted, his voice low and gravelly. He was close—too close—and she could feel the heat radiating off him, suffusing her skin like a fever.

“Go away, Harry,” she said through clenched teeth, still nearing the bathroom doors that seemed to get farther and farther away with every step she took.

He stepped in front of her, one large step he made quickly and without effort. “Not until you tell me what your problem is,” he snapped. His hands smacking against the walls abruptly, caging her in. His chest was barely an inch from her back, and she could feel the way his breath hitched, like he was struggling to keep his composure.

YN whirled around, forcing him to step back just enough to meet her glare. “My problem?” she repeated, her voice sharp enough to cut. “My problem is you. You’ve been a thorn in my side since June, and I’m sick of it. Sick of the looks, the comments, the—”

“The what?” Harry interrupted, his voice rising. “The fact that I actually give a shit about what you’re doing? The fact that I care if you’re about to make a mistake?”

“A mistake?” she echoed, her eyes blazing. “What the hell do you care if I—”

“What was his name, YN?” He spit, an echo from earlier, nostrils flared and jaw tight. He already knew the answer, she didn’t know. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her anger to a low simmer. “Fuck you.”

They didn’t just hold each other’s gaze. They gripped it. Like a rope stretched between them, fraying under the strain. Her scoff sliced the moment clean, and she ducked under his arm, her stride sharp, deliberate, toward the bathroom door.

Her fingers curled around the knob, twisting it with the kind of force that spoke louder than words. The door swung open, her heels clicking against the tile, a precise rhythm against the muted bass thumping somewhere beyond the purple-painted walls. She spun, gripping the edge of the door, and shoved it back with all the fury her body could muster. But it didn’t slam. It hit something solid—a thud, then a jolt.

His hand, metal rings against wood.

The door ricocheted toward her before she even registered what had happened. He stepped in, the breadth of him filling the space, his palm swallowing the knob as he pushed it shut behind him. The twist of the lock was a gunshot in the silence, louder than the music bleeding through the cracks.

“Are you fucking serious?” Her voice was a hiss, low and venomous, the kind of sound that cut through everything. Her chest heaved, each breath shallow and sharp, the thin sheen of sweat glinting along her collarbone like glass shards catching the light.

The room was alive, though barely. A flickering bulb above them glowed warm and harsh, its glass casing distorting the light into fractured halos. Yet, there were blues bleeding from LED's in the corner, washing them in warmth and cobalt—fire and ice.

His gaze dragged down her body like he couldn’t stop himself, like she was a work of art, damning and divine all at once. She was something out of a fever dream—wild, furious, her beauty distorted by the tension in the air. “We didn’t get to finish.”

Her laugh came hard and bitter, her nostrils flaring as she raked her fingers through her hair. “Finish what? This?” She threw her hands out, exasperation dripping from every gesture. “This isn’t fucking worth it!”

But he wasn’t looking at her hands. His eyes were on her lips, her eyes, back to her lips—then lower. Her chest, rising and falling. Anger looked good on her, he thought. Anger looked good enough to ruin him. “You didn’t hear me,” he said, quieter this time.

He stepped closer, and the air between them shifted. Compressed. Heavy. Her back hit the wall before she realized she’d even moved, the cool tile shocking against the heat rolling off her skin. She pressed her palms flat against it as though the room was tilting, threatening to spill her out into some uncharted void.

He loomed over her—it was foreboding, yet, it made a heat pool between her thighs. 

“Get out.” She murmured, but her voice cracked under the weight of her own trembling breath. There was no steel in the words. Only rust.

“Say it like you mean it.” His voice was smoke, burning slow and low, roughened edges catching on her nerves. He was too close now, close enough that she could smell him—whiskey and spearmint, aftershave, and something deeper, earthier. The heat of him radiated against her skin.

Her eyes darted to his mouth, to the thin line of his jaw, then lower—to the silver chain around his neck. The pendant at the center gleamed faintly, catching the light like a drop of molten metal. It glimmered orange, blue—a ripple in the ocean bathed in harvest moon. “Harry—” she started, his name trembling on her lips.

But before she could say more, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was raw, like barbed wire snapping, cutting deep and fast. She gasped against him, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt, twisting it into her fists as if to keep herself upright. His body molded into hers, chest to chest, hip to hip, the press of him heavy and solid and absolutely inescapable.

“I hate you,” she muttered, the words breaking into his mouth, dancing onto his tongue. Her fingers were already tugging at the buttons of his shirt, feverish and clumsy, her frustration bleeding into every movement.

He moaned into her, guttural, reverberating from the bottom of his throat. “I know.” He breathed, his lips brushing along her jaw, down her neck.

Her head tipped back, hitting the tile with a soft thud, her hands shoving his shirt open. Her fingers traced his chest, dragging across the heat of his skin. “Fuck—you’re an asshole.” She bit out, her voice shaking with something between anger and desperation.

His lips curved into a crooked smile, amusement tugging at the edges even as his breath hitched. “Keep going,” he urged, his words strained but teasing, his hands finding the curve of her waist. His grip was firm, grounding her as if the tension might otherwise consume them both.

Her mouth crashed against his again, this time harder, rougher. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging like she wanted to hurt him, to punish him for every maddening, chaotic feeling he’d pulled out of her. Every shiver. Every breath. Every ache.

“I hate how much I want this,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with something raw and unfiltered.

“Yeah?” He sighed, his lips brushing hers, his voice cracked and ragged. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking with hers, his gaze searing. “Hate me all you want, but you’re not stopping. Are you?”

Her only response was another kiss, pulling him closer, harder, until the line between them blurred. Until all the anger, the longing, the fire consuming them burned the world around them into ash.

Her fingers found his belt with a kind of determination that burned. Leather sliding through brass, sharp and deliberate. Her nails scraped his stomach as she pushed the belt free, her movements jerky, impatient. Every tug of her hands felt like a challenge, every drag of her fingers against his skin like she wanted to leave a mark.

"You think this is gonna fix anything?" she spat, her voice low and trembling, caught somewhere between anger and something that tasted sweeter. Bitter edges trying to cut through the heat swelling between them.

"Never said it would," he murmured, his voice rough, a rasp that settled low in her chest. His hands were already under her dress, sliding up the backs of her thighs. His grip was firm, too tight, bruising—like he was trying to make sure she wouldn't slip away. 

When he bunched the fabric over her hips, the sound of it pulling free from her skin filled the air between them.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" she bit out, her words sharp and breathless, her desire, her anger tearing through her. Her hands shoved his pants down, knuckles brushing against him in a way that made her stomach twist.

His laugh was dark, rasping out like a rough scrape of metal. "Says the one tearing my clothes off."

"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped, but her voice cracked, betraying her even as she glared up at him. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Sure, it doesn't." His words dripped with mockery—a blade under silk. His mouth brushed against her neck now, teeth grazing her skin. "Keep saying it, YN. You're real convincing."

Her head tipped back as he bit at her skin, the scrape of his teeth followed by the heat of his tongue. "You're so fucking–“ she started, but her words dissolved into a sharp gasp when his hand slid between her thighs, dragging over the thin barrier of lace that still clung to her.

"What was that?" He hummed, his tone laced with dark amusement, his fingers pressing into her just enough to make her hips roll forward, chasing him. "Didn't quite catch it."

"Don't," she managed, though her voice wavered, her breath catching as he moved against her again, more deliberate this time.

"Don't what?" he teased, his lips brushing her ear now, his free hand gripping her thigh and pulling it higher around his waist. His body pressed against hers, the hard line of him undeniable, the heat radiating off him making her skin burn. "Don't stop? Don't touch you?"

Her hands tangled in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth. "Don't act like you have the upper hand," she shot back, though her voice was shaking, her chest rising and falling against his as though the air between them had thinned.

His laugh rumbled against her skin, low and rough. "Petal, l've had the upper hand since the second you let me touch you."

"You're delusional," she snarled, but her body betrayed her again, arching into him as his fingers slipped beneath the lace, her cunt slick with arousal. A broken sound escaped her throat, and her nails dragged across his scalp.

"Yeah?" he breathed, his voice darker now, tinged with something ragged, unsteady. His lips caught the corner of her jaw, moving toward her mouth but stopping just short. "Then why are you shaking?"

"God, you're insufferable."

"And you're not going anywhere.” Harry's hands found her waist with the kind of grip that could bruise, his fingers digging in as he spun her around without warning. The breath caught in her throat as her body collided with the edge of the sink counter, her palms bracing against the cool marble. 

She caught his eyes in the mirror, dark and feral, locked on her like she was prey.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice low and rough, like gravel scraping the edges of his throat. His hands moved to her hips, holding her still as he pressed himself against her. The solid heat of him burned through the fabric separating them, and she bit down hard on her lip to stop the sound threatening to escape. "Desperate for it, huh?”

"No.” she quipped, but her voice wasn't as sharp as she wanted it to be. Her reflection gave her away—her lips parted, her chest heaving, her thighs trembling just enough to notice. "You're so goddamn cocky. It's disgusting."

He ignored her, or maybe he loved it—she couldn't tell. His hands left her hips briefly, his fingers moving to his slacks, shoving them all the way down in a rough, impatient motion. The sound of the fabric brushing against his legs filled the space between them, quick and deliberate.

Harry's hand slid up her front, rough but with ease, fingers curling under her chin. His grip was firm, enough to keep her still, his thumb brushing just once over the edge of her jaw before tilting her head up. The mirror stared back at her, unforgiving and vivid, and his chest pressed hard against her back, pinning her in place. "Eyes up," he muttered, low and commanding, his breath hot against the side of her neck. 

His fingers flexed under her chin, urging her gaze to meet their reflection. "You're gonna watch, yeah? Gonna see exactly what I do to you."

She didn't answer—couldn't. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her body shivered under his touch.

His free hand slid lower, over her stomach, down between her thighs, where his fingers paused, resting just above where she needed him most.

He tutted, staring her reflection down. "Dripping mess already." He smiled, slow and wicked, his lips brushing her ear. "You think that guy could do this to you? Hm? Think he could get you this wet?"

"Shut up," she bit out, though her voice lacked conviction, trembling just like the rest of her. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white against the cool marble, desperate for something solid to hold on to.

Harry's laugh was dark, rich, vibrating against her back. "That's not a no.” He drawled, dragging his fingers down, brushing over her slick folds in a featherlight touch that made her legs shake. "What is it, then? You just don't wanna admit it?"

"Admit what?" she shook, her tone sharp, though her hips betrayed her by rolling forward, chasing his hand.

"That no one else could make y’feel like this." His fingers pressed in harder now, slow and teasing as they circled her clit. His other hand kept her chin steady, forcing her to watch as his fingers moved, dragging against her in slow, maddening circles. "Look at you, YN. Fucking dripping for me. You see that?"

Her eyes flicked to the mirror, catching the way his hand disappeared between her thighs, the glint of wetness coating his fingers as they moved. Her cheeks flushed hot, but she couldn't tear her gaze away, her body betraying her with every soft sound slipping from her lips.

"Harry—“ she gasped, but her voice broke into a moan as he pressed his fingers harder, rolling them against her with deliberate pressure.

"There she is," he smiled, his tone mocking but warm, like he'd been waiting for her to break. "That's it. Don't hold back. I want you t’hear yourself, yeah? Want to know what y’sound like when it's me making you fall apart."

Her hands shook against the counter, nails digging into the marble as his fingers slowed again, agonizingly teasing. Her body jerked, desperate for more, and he smiled, smug and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

"H, please–“ she whined, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"Please, what?" he tutted, his voice dropping lower, rougher. His fingers dragged down, slipping inside her cunt just enough to make her gasp, then pulling out again. "Use your words, YN. Tell me what y’need."

"I hate you," she muttered, but it sounded hollow, the tremble in her voice giving her away entirely.

"Not what I asked," he growled, and his teeth scraped against the curve of her shoulder, a sharp bite that made her head snap back. His fingers pressed into her again, this time deeper, curling just right, and a loud moan broke free from her chest, her body arching against him.

"Look at that," he whispered, his hand still steady on her chin, holding her in place. "Look at you, petal. Such a pretty little slut for me." His thumb brushed over her clit now, slow but deliberate, and her hips rocked into him, chasing every movement. "You like watching, don't you? Like seeing what I do t’you."

Her only answer was another moan, louder this time, her lips parting as her head fell forward—but his hand caught her, tilting her chin back up. "No," he murmured, soft but firm. "Keep watching."

Her reflection burned into her vision—the way her mouth hung open, her cheeks flushed and glowing, her body pressed tight against his. The sight of his fingers moving, disappearing into her before dragging back out, glistening with her arousal.

"Good girl.” He breathed, his voice rough now, almost reverent. His free hand slid to her hip, holding her steady as he shifted behind her, his body pressing closer. "Now, keep your eyes on me. I'm not done with you yet."

Harry's fingers slid out of her slowly, teasing the slick heat between her thighs, a deliberate rhythm that left her trembling. The pressure was enough to keep her on edge, never enough to tip her over.

Every moan she tried to swallow only fueled him, and he made sure she knew it. "Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his voice a low rasp against her ear. "Falling apart on my fingers, and I haven't even fucked you yet.“

"Shut up," she breathed, but the bite in her tone was fading, her resolve crumbling with every slow, maddening drag of his fingers. Her thighs quivered, her knees barely holding her upright, and her hands gripped the edge of the sink like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Thought so," he said, smug and soft, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a wicked grin. His thumb circled her clit, slow and firm, drawing a whimper from her lips she couldn't hold back. "No one else knows how to ruin you, do they?"

Her body jerked against him, hips pressing into his hand despite the defiance still burning in her eyes. She wanted to tell him off, to push him away, but her voice broke every time she tried, each sound melting into a moan.

"Thought you were tougher than this," he taunted, his breath hot against her neck, his chest firm against her back. "Guess I was wrong. Just a mess for me, aren't you?"

Her head tipped forward, a choked sound escaping her throat, but his hand was there again, his fingers curling under her chin, tilting her face up to meet the mirror. "Uh-uh," he snapped. "Don’t let me see you do that again.” 

Her reflection was a blur of flushed skin and trembling limbs. Her lips were parted, swollen and wet, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

His chest, exposed by the open shirt still hanging from his shoulders, pressed against her back, radiating heat. The sight of his hand moving between her legs, glistening with her arousal, was almost too much to bear.

"Harry—" she gasped, her voice cracking, her fingers gripping the sink harder, her knuckles white against the marble.

"Say my name again," he growled, his tone dark and dangerous, his fingers pressing deeper, drawing a broken moan from her lips. "Go on, petal. Let’s hear it.”

Just as her hips bucked into his hand, chasing the pressure, he pulled his fingers away, leaving her empty and trembling. She let out a frustrated whimper, her nails biting into the counter's edge, but before she could snap at him, his hand slid to her throat, curling around it in one firm, possessive grip.

"Patience,” he murmured, though his tone dripped with mockery, his lips grazing the curve of her jaw as he pulled her tighter against him. "Want it so bad? I'll give it to you, but you better fucking take it."

She felt him behind her, his hard cock pressing insistently against her, the rough fabric of his boxers catching on her skin before she shoved them down. The anticipation coiled tight in her stomach, her breath hitching as he pushed them down just enough to free himself.

His free hand guided himself to her, dragging the head of his cock along her slick folds, slow and deliberate, just to make her squirm. He laughed when her hips rolled back against him, desperate for more.

"So fucking needy. Bet you'd beg for it if I made you."

She gasped, her voice shaking as her body pressed into his.

The words caught in her throat, tangled with the moan that escaped when he finally moved, thrusting into her with one hard, unrelenting motion. A cry tore from her lips, loud and unrestrained, her body arching against him as he filled her completely. He groaned low in her ear, his hand on her throat steadying her, his other hand gripping her hip so tightly it felt like he was branding her.

The stretch was slow, deliberate, the sharpness of it stealing the breath from her lungs as he filled her inch by inch. “So fucking tight—y’feel that? How perfect y’are for me?”

Her nails scratched against the smooth marble as he moved, each thrust deep and deliberate, pulling sounds from her she couldn't control. Her body arched into him, her head tipping back against his shoulder, her resolve finally shattering. "God, you're so fucking good like this," he rasped, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Taking me so well. Look at yourself, angel. Look how fucking gorgeous y’are right now."

Her eyes fluttered open, catching their reflection again—her body against his, his shirt hanging loose on his frame, his hands commanding her as though she was his entirely. The sight burned into her, sending heat pooling low in her belly, her thighs trembling as he kept pushing her further and further.

And despite everything—her anger, her pride, her sharp tongue—she couldn't hold back the moans spilling from her lips, louder now, desperate and broken, as her body gave in to him completely.

Harry didn't ease up, not for a second. Each thrust was deep, rough, his grip on her hips bruising as he yanked her back into him, forcing her to take every inch. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the small room, mingling with her ragged breaths and broken moans, her body arching under his hands like it was built for this, for him.

"Love this cock, don’t you?" he growled, his voice gravel and heat, his chest pressing harder into her back. "Like how I fucking ruin you?"

"Please," she bit out, her voice sharp, defiant, even as it fell out as a moan. Her fingers clawed at the sink counter, nails scratching the smooth surface as her legs quivered beneath her. But still, she smirked, tilting her head just enough to catch his reflection in the mirror. "I’ve been fucked harder.” 

Harry's laugh was low, a sound that rolled through her chest. "You're really gonna start with that?" he grunted, his voice a rasp of rough edges and heat. His hand slid up her back, the weight of it pushing her down until her cheek brushed the counter. The angle shifted, sharper now, and when he thrust again, a cry ripped from her lips before she could choke it back.

"And there it is," he moaned, his tone mocking, pleased. "That shut you up quick, didn't it?"

But she didn't give in. She never did. Her smirk twisted into something sharper, her breath coming in uneven bursts as she rolled her hips back against him just to prove she could. "Yeah," she slurred, her voice thick, daring. "What a waste–“ she paused, a moan emitting from the top of her throat. “–of a cock if–“ another pause, “if–if you fuck like this.”

His thrusts faltered, just for a moment—a slip that was more telling than anything he could've said. She'd gotten to him, and the flash of frustration in his eyes was enough to make her smirk widen. 

"You just don't know when to shut that mouth, do you?" he snarled, his voice dripping with tension as he stilled entirely, his chest heaving against her back.

"Guess not," she shot back, her tone cutting despite the quiver in her thighs. "Maybe you're not man enough to–“

Before she could finish, his hand left her back, gripping her throat as he yanked her back up toward his chest again. He found her jaw with a force that made her gasp. His grip was firm, commanding, as his fingers pressed into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open.

"Open," he ordered, his tone low and unrelenting, the kind that left no room for argument. When she hesitated—just for a second—his grip tightened, his gaze locking hers in the mirror. "I said open."

Her lips parted, her glare defiant even as she obeyed. 

"See? You do listen," he muttered, his lips curving into a wicked grin. His index and middle finger slid past her lips, pressing down hard on her tongue. Her eyes widened slightly, a muffled protest bubbling in her throat, but he just smirked. "That's better. Quiet suits you, angel."

Her teeth grazed his knuckles, her tongue squirming under the weight of his fingers, but she couldn't pull away—not while he still held her jaw firmly in place. His hips moved again, hard and unforgiving, each thrust making her body jerk forward against the sink. 

He moaned, watching their reflection like it was some kind of twisted masterpiece. "Still trying t’fight me, even now. Stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

She glared at him in the mirror, her teeth biting down lightly on his fingers just to prove she still could. "Go on," he sighed, his tone amused as his fingers pressed down harder, making her gag slightly. "Bite me. Won't change a damn thing.”

Her body betrayed her-again. Her moans, muffled by his hand, spilled out in broken fragments, her hips pushing back to meet his thrusts even as her mind screamed at her to resist. The tears stinging her eyes weren't from pain, but from the overwhelming heat building low in her belly, threatening to swallow her whole.

He grunted, his breath hot against her ear as his fingers slid from her mouth, wet and slick—a mess of whimpers and moans escaping with it. "That's what you sound like when I've got y’completely undone. Maybe next time, think twice before y’run your mouth."

Her lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but it never made it past her lips. Not with the way he pulled her against him, harder, faster, his hand returning to her throat, keeping her flush against his chest.

Her hands left the edge of the sink, trembling as they reached up to find him. She gripped his forearm, her nails digging into his skin, desperate to feel the solid strength beneath her fingers. Her body jolted with every thrust, her movements uncoordinated, but her claws pressed hard enough to leave marks she knew he'd see tomorrow.

Harry didn't flinch. If anything, her desperation only made him smirk. His hand on her throat stayed steady, holding her firm, keeping her close. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the coiled strength under her palms, and she knew he wouldn't drop her. No matter how rough he got, no matter how far he pushed, he had her.

He growled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice as rough as the pace of his hips slamming into her. "You begging for more?"

Her nails dragged down his forearm, leaving a trail of red crescents in their wake. She gasped, head tipping back against his shoulder, her teeth catching her bottom lip as a moan slipped free before she could stop it. "You'll tire out before I do."

His grip on her throat tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make her feel it, to keep her grounded against him. His other hand slid down her stomach, fingers pressing between her thighs again, circling her clit.

"Feel that?" he muttered, dragging his fingers in slow, deliberate circles, contrasting with the brutal rhythm of his hips. "That's not me getting tired, petal. That's me making sure you'll remember this tomorrow."

Her nails clawed deeper into his forearm, and her hips bucked forward, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation only to slam back into him. Her mind was fogged with heat, her body trembling under the dual assault of his fingers and the relentless thrusts that sent shocks up her spine.

"Fuck, Harry," she whimpered, her voice breaking in a way she hated, in a way he loved.

"That's it," he grunted, almost tenderly, though his actions were anything but. His lips brushed her temple, a cruel contrast to the way he dragged her closer to the edge.

Her grip on his forearm tightened, her nails biting into his skin hard enough to draw a hiss from his lips. But he didn't pull back. He wouldn't. His hold stayed firm, steady, a constant against the chaos he was dragging her through.

"You're so fucking close," he growled, his voice dark and ragged, his lips kissing her temple.

Her head fell further into his shoulder, her lips parted in a choked moan. The mirror showed everything—the way her body arched, her dress bunched high around her hips, his hand between her thighs. The sight of his fingers working her, his other hand wrapped firm around her throat, holding her steady as he pounded into her, was too much. It was filthy, mesmerizing. It was them.

"You're beautiful like this," he muttered, his breath hot against her cheek, his voice shaking with the effort to hold himself back. "Fucking perfect.”

Her hands clawed at his forearm, her nails raking over his skin as her body tensed, her thighs quivering against his. A sharp cry tore from her lips, unrestrained, as the tension inside her snapped all at once, her release washing over her in waves.

He slowed his movements just enough to drag it out, his fingers never stopping. His thrusts turned deep, deliberate, milking every last tremor from her body. "Good girl—just like that."

Her breath came in short, broken gasps, her body slackening in his arms as her hands slipped from his forearm to brace herself against the sink again. But Harry wasn't done—not yet.

His hand slid from her neck, resting briefly on her back to steady her as he pulled out. His release was a low growl, heavy with restraint, as he bent her forward over the sink again, her cheek pressing against the cool marble.

His hands tugged the bunched fabric of her dress, pushing it higher until it gathered at the small of her back.

She heard the wet sound of his hand stroking himself, the heat of him close enough to feel but just out of reach. He cursed under his breath, his voice rough and raw, his pace quickening as his own release built.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his eyes glued to her reflection. His free hand slid down her back, his touch possessive, reverent. 

The first hot spurt of his release hit the small of her back, a low groan tearing from his throat as he finished, his hand working himself through the aftershocks. He stayed there for a moment, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, the sight of her still bent over the sink keeping him rooted.

Harry let out a long exhale, his hand sliding up her spine in a firm, grounding touch as he leaned over her, brushing his lips against her shoulder.

The air felt thick now, heavy with the remnants of what just happened. The muffled bass of the music outside thumped distantly, but the bathroom was silent aside from their labored breaths. Neither of them spoke.

Harry stepped back, his hands dragging over her hips as if reluctant to let her go, before he turned his attention to himself. He pulled his slacks back up, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet, followed by the faint clink of his belt as he buckled it.

She stayed bent over the sink for a moment longer, her forehead pressed against the cool surface, her chest heaving as she tried to steady herself. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her back, but she didn't dare look up. Not yet.

Harry moved to the paper towel dispenser, yanking a mess of them free without a word. He returned to her, his footsteps deliberate, and she startled slightly at the first cool touch of the towel against her skin. He didn't say anything as he wiped her clean, his movements uncharacteristically gentle now, precise, careful, like he was undoing what had been rough and unforgiving moments ago.

When he finished, he tossed the crumpled towels into the trash. His hands returned to her thighs, sliding the lace of her panties back up, his fingers brushing against her skin as he smoothed them into place. He let his fingers linger there for a moment, his thumbs grazing the red marks he'd left behind on her hips. 

Her thighs bore the shape of his hands, faint but unmistakable, and when she finally straightened and caught herself in the mirror, she saw the full extent of it. Her skin was marked—her throat faintly bruised from his grip, hickeys scattered along her neck and collarbone like splashes of color against her flushed skin. The swell of her hips ached where his fingers had dug in, and she knew the prints he'd left would bloom darker by morning.

The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful. It was thick, suffocating, a tension neither of them knew how to cut. Harry leaned against the wall like it was holding him up, his head tilted back, his shirt hanging open, and his chest still heaving like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. The air felt different now—charged and heavy, yet hollow at the same time.

She stared at him for a moment, at the way his jaw was clenched tight, his gaze fixed somewhere else. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something quieter, something guarded. He didn’t move to fix his shirt, didn’t even glance at the mirror to see what a wreck he looked like.

She didn’t think before stepping forward, her hands finding the loose edges of his shirt. His eyes flicked down to her, dark and unreadable, but he didn’t stop her. She tugged the fabric into place, smoothing it over his shoulders before starting on the buttons, working her way down.

Her fingers brushed against his skin, still warm from her touch, but she didn’t let herself think about it—couldn’t. The weight of what they’d just done hung between them, heavy and unspoken, something that felt too big, too raw to touch.

He stayed still, watching her, his arms limp at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to move. Like touching her again might unravel everything.

She didn’t dare look at him, her gaze focused on her hands as she reached the last button. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed the fabric flat, brushing out the wrinkles before finally stepping back.

They didn’t speak.

They wouldn’t speak.

It was something they didn’t do—not about this.

Her throat felt tight, her chest heavy, her pulse still racing from the way he’d made her feel. She smoothed her hands over her dress again, though it was already straight. The mirror behind her caught their reflection—two people standing too close but pretending the distance was enough.

Her lips parted, maybe to say something, maybe to breathe, but nothing came out. She glanced up, catching his gaze for the briefest second before dropping it again.

His chest rose and fell in uneven beats, and when he finally pushed off the wall, his fingers brushing through his hair, he let out a long, shaky exhale.

We don’t talk about it.

The words sunk into the hollow space between them like a quiet truth neither of them would ever admit out loud. 

It’s something we don’t do.

Because if they did—if they said it, defined it, made it real—there’d be no going back.

And that terrified her almost as much as the thought of losing this, losing him.

Harry moved past her, his shoulder brushing hers as he reached for the door. He hesitated for a moment, his hand on the handle, his head tipping forward as though he might say something. But he didn’t.

She watched him go, her stomach twisting in ways she couldn’t untangle.

Once you go without it, nothing else will do.

[sandwhitches]

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄! ☎️ 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚

☞ “𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞, 𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨” ☜

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: going to university with your childhood bully is perfectly fine as long as he doesn’t catch feelings for you, and more importantly, you don’t reciprocate them.

-> 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗥𝗘: university! au, SMAU (with some written portions), childhood bully to lover (is that a thing yall?), enemies to lovers, a dash of angst

-> 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: (DNI if you’re under 16 pls) mentions of bullying, mentions of sex (no actual smut), fwb situation, language, crude/dirty humor, “kys” and “die” jokes, mentions of drug (weed) and alcohol consumption, a little bit of angst here and there (list is subject to change; i will try to provide appropriate warnings for each chapter as well, thanks!)

-> 𝗔/𝗡: hey there!! this is my first post on this account but i’m definitely not a stranger to tumblr :B i’m currently going through a hq phase revival so bare with me here. i plan on opening regular requests soon as well as maybe an event in the future yay!! also title is based off of this beatles song if u couldn’t tell idk it kinda has similar vibes maybe sorta kinda maybe not i don’t know shhh :(

-> TAGLIST: open! (comment or send an ask to be added!)

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 / 𝗚𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗣 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗧𝗦

-> ⭐️ “mystical group chat of wonder and love”⭐️ (reader, akaashi, bokuto, kenma, and kuroo)

-> 🫧 “board of directors” 🫧 (atsumu, suna, and osamu)

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 - ✧ indicates a written portion

I. “sworn nemesis”

II. “parent trap”✧

III. “strictly acquaintances”

IV. “first offense”

V. “the worst case scenario” ✧

VI. "study buddies"

VII. "basically platonic"

VIII. "coffee for two" ✧

IX. “the even worse case scenario” ✧

[sp0o0kylights]

Adopt a Jock Part One / Previous Part / Part 10.1 (you are here)

A03

Chapter 10 is complete and will be fully uploaded to A03 this weekend when I can get around holiday shenanigans. It's very long so tumblr gets it in parts. I'm sure I could make a Thanksgiving food pun there if I tried hard enough but alas I am not Steve nor Dustin.

Apparently, if you stumbled into supernatural shit, you were rewarded with a mountain of legal paperwork so absurdly thick that Gareth was almost positive it included a government-approved execution clause for anyone reckless enough to speak about things better left unsaid

So, here they were: barely a week past the lab incident, eating lunch, keeping their heads down, like their entire world hadn’t been turned upside down.

(He couldn’t even appreciate the pun.)

“She keeps looking over here.” Tiff’s pen tapped out a furious rhythm, her gaze fixed on one Nancy Wheeler, “And she’s been following us.”

“Well according to Steve she knows about--you know.” Gareth said, keeping things vague in hopes it would prevent any visits from men in black suits.

“I’m sure she just wants to talk.” Jeff said with a note of sympathy.

The fucking traitor.

“I’m sure we’re not allowed to talk.” Stewart muttered darkly, pushing his peas around his lunch tray with a fork.

“Only with people who don’t already know.” Grant tried to argue, and that rapidly dissolved into an argument regarding NDA’s and tricky legal language that Gareth tuned out in favor of his new found hobby--doing his level best not to think about anything beyond his lunch and what new D&D character he wanted to play.

His last one died in the prior game, and though Eddie had--weirdly and entirely out of character--offered to revive it, Gareth had waived him off.

They needed some normalcy right now, and if that came at the cost of Gareth’s beloved druid meeting her maker, then so be it.

Plus a new character was a great distraction.

(He was set on playing a noble elf known as ‘Gregg from Accounting’, but a second dwarf named Iron the Chef had been tempting…)

“She’s coming!” Tiffany hissed, slamming her pen down.

Mourning the loss of an easy, drama free lunch, Gareth sighed and prepared himself.

“Hi.” Nancy said, announcing her presence with quiet determination, books stacked in her arms and chin raised defiantly.

No one said a word back.

“Jonathan let me know what happened, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry you got pulled into all of this.” She paused, clearly thinking her words over, before adding; “Steve, Jonathan, and I used to practice.”

Nancy stopped again, this time blatantly waiting for one of them to say something.

She got more stares in return.

“Given that things sound a little open ended, and that there were injuries, I thought it might be good to start up again. Steve suggested if we do, you all should come too.” She finished, bulldozing right through her own awkwardness.

“Practice what?” Grant asked, confused and trying to cover it with suspicion.

“Defensive measures.” Nancy answered.

Seeing their unchanged blank stares, she gathered her books in one arm, formed a finger gun with her free hand, and mimed shooting in such a deadpan manner that Gareth almost burst into disbelieving laughter.

While he was haunted by visions of Nancy Wheeler holding a gun, Tiff loudly picked her pen back up, making enough noise that all eyes went to her.

“You beat my score on Mrs. Click’s practice test by two points.”

“Uh--yes?” Nancy said, blinking at her.

Tiff's eyes narrowed. “I’m kicking your ass on the final.”

Another dumbfounded blink.

“Okay?”

“Tiff’s coping, as are we--no…defensive measures necessary.” Jeff said, in a desperate bid to soothe things over, “We appreciate the offer.”

She nodded, seemingly placated by his response. “Actually, where is Steve? I wanted to talk to him too.” Nancy asked, changing topics with ease. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Ah-ha.” Tiff muttered under her breath, as if catching out what Nancy really wanted.

Stewart kicked her ankle.

“He’s with Eddie.” Grant said, covering the sound of their resulting scuffle.

“He’s been spending a lot of time with Eddie lately.” Nancy noted, in that same neutral tone the Feds spoke in. All fake nice without giving a single thing away.

It was a little terrifying.

“We all spend a lot of time with each other.” Tiffany shot back, hackles very much raised and not bothering to hide it. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”

“Man, we are vicious today!”

“She’s really sore about that grade.” Stewart covered, offering a sympathetic pat to Tiffany’s shoulder (who looked an awful lot like she was going to bite his hand for it).

Did Nancy Wheeler even know about the weird academic rivalry Tiff had with her? Gareth took one look at Tiff’s gritted teeth, and thought better of it.

“I wouldn't be if I was able to properly finish that essay,” Tiff motioned to the now hopelessly crumpled paper underneath her pen, “ instead of rushing it because I had to pull someone out of a lab--”

“Nancy’s right.” Jeff cut in, in another desperate attempt to distract them all from eating each other. “I haven't seen much of Steve or Eddie today.”

He turned expectantly to his right. “Gary?”

Gareth frowned back at him.

“Why would I know where they are?”

“Oh,” Stewart said, far too innocently. “You haven’t realized you’re their assigned zookeeper?”

Wadding up his napkin was second nature. So was launching it at his friend's head, who expertly (and unfortunately) dodged.

“So you’re saying you don’t know?” Grant asked, a smile creeping across his face.

Gareth opened his jacket, fishing around for a moment as if he was searching for something, before pulling his hand back to show off his extended middle finger.

Pity he actually had the answer.

“They’re in the drama room. Steve sweettalked Mr. Barns into letting them set up early for Hellfire’s game.” He grumbled, ruining the entire effect.

“See?” Stewart said smugly.

With deliberate slowness, Gareth raised up his other middle finger before waving them both in a circle.

“Fuck you, fuck you--”

“Not in your lifetime.” Tiffany answered, to multiple chortles.

“Don’t bother them, Wheeler.” Gareth continued, ignoring the assholes he called friends to turn back to Nancy. “They’re setting up for the Hellfire’s last game of the year and Ed’s is a little…obsessive about it.”

As in he was known to be a complete and utter terror in the days leading up to his grand finales but Gareth wasn’t telling her that.

These games were a big deal for Hellfire as a whole. Precious things they looked forward to and the finale game was something they often worked several months, if not a solid year, to reach.

This year's game had more riding on it than any one prior. Hellfire’s shared sanity, for example, and a shining piece of normality they all found themselves desperately needing.

(Plus the problem of Eddie flunking again--and not telling anyone.

See--Eddie had been touchy the first time he hadn’t graduated and even with the appearance of monsters and government lackeys, Gareth expected this year to be even worse--but the Steve of it all added a rather explosive emotional element.

“You still have most of Hellfire.” Gareth had pointed out, when he’d hitched a ride home a few days prior and found the paper declaring Eddie’s super senior year a lost cause. “You know you’ll still have them after they graduate too, right?”

“Because they’re going to be looking forward to their old pal Eddie while in college, sure.” Had been the clipped response.

“They will.” Gareth said, with a level of assurance he hoped Eddie could feel. “And if that’s the concern, then you’ll definitely still have Steve.”

Who hadn’t gotten into college, and openly admitted to refusing to try now that monsters were back.

“I guess.” Eddie had said, looking like a deflated party balloon.

In typical Munson fashion, he seemed to realize he was giving away more “real feelings” than he’d intended too, and changed the subject with an energy that Gareth knew was fake.

He hadn’t called him out on it though, and equally, he had not called out the mania Eddie had slowly been succumbing to since that fateful day. He’d get over it--Gareth knew he’d get over it--if they could just make it past the point where Eddie’s own brain informed him the world was ending to prove it.)

All of them deserved a break, and a place to put aside all the stupid shit and simply have a good time, and heading off Steve’s nosey ex-girlfriend before she could cause problems would go a long way to help.

“I’m sure they can spare two minutes.” Nancy was saying, mid creation of the exact problem Gareth was hoping to avoid.

“No--uh,” He flailed about for a reason she couldn’t, and the longer she frowned at him the more his brain simply vanished all forms of higher thought. “Don’t?”

Nancy’s expression soured, mouth twisting in a line Gareth very much did not like. “I’m sure they--”

“Tell us what other things you practice. Besides, you know. The pews.” He interrupted frantically.

Under the table his foot struck out, and though he had no idea who he’d struck he hoped whoever it was understood what exactly he was trying to do.

“The pews?” Nancy echoed, after a painfully long moment.

“You know? Pews!” Gareth mimed a gun, and then made “pew” noises while firing it.

Besides him, Jeff gave a very Harrington-like sigh.

(He’d been doing that a lot lately, Gareth made a mental note to mock him for it.)

“You cannot tell me you guys only practice with guns.” Tiffany huffed. She had not been the kicked party, but thankfully, hadn’t needed the nudge to catch on. “What happens if you run out of bullets?”

Nancy gave her an odd, almost calculating look.

“We use whatever else we have on hand.” She said flatly.

Which just boded so fucking well for the rest of this conversation (and Gareth’s life, given he was uncomfortably aware of the things that went bump in the night.)

“Well, give us an example.” Tiff continued, and given the now increasingly concerned looks that the rest of Hellfire was darting between her and Nancy, Gareth knew the rest of his idiots hadn’t caught on.

On a piece of paper he scrawled--and the underlined twice, for good measure;

‘Go. Find. Byers!’

--and then chucked it at Grant’s head. Who thankfully opened it, even if he made a face while doing so, before proceeding to pass the note around as Tiff and Nancy traded increasingly pointed words about weapons training.

“When you’re in a situation, you use whatever you have on hand. I would assume you knew this, given what I heard happened the other day.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t it make more sense to train and carry with backup weapons rather than just hoping you find something on the way? What if the--what if we’d been in the woods?”

Gareth watched the note travel from person to person, until it was dropped back in front of him.

‘You go find him.’ Someone had scrawled, followed by multitudes of doodles, two of which featured army-hat wearing dicks driving tanks.

Then and there, he decided that perhaps his friends truly did deserve death should a similar situation arise in the future.

Useless. They were all useless.

“You’re welcome to make a suggestion, Tiffany.”

“I will. I’ll make a list even.”

“Good.” Nancy smiled, with all her teeth.

“Fine.” Tiff returned, looking half feral.

Was this some type of weird mating ritual between academic types? God, they were scary.

‘Well, that definitely won’t come back to bite us in the ass.’ Gareth thought wryly as Nancy stormed off in the opposite direction of the drama room, tapping the note against the table. He glanced at the rest of the group, who appeared to be attempting to tempt Tiff out of her snit by way of asking her what dramatic bullshit she thought Eddie would be pulling in the finale.

If nothing else, he decided, they’d prevented ruining Eddie’s day--and possibly, their entire night.

Nothing, save more fucking monsters or equally evil government lackeys could manage that.

(Pity that Gareth had forgotten the third most powerful force on the planet when it came to wrecking plans.

Middle schoolers.)

xXx

The day had dragged but they'd made it, and Eddie in turn, had made that wait worth their while.

The lights in the drama room were low.

The entire table had been set up with such care and drama that Gareth almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Goblets lined both sides, each filled with a dark red liquid Gareth knew damn well could not be wine.

Candles--real ones, had been lit, casting shadows across Eddie’s face as he lounged in his throne, a master in their element.

A castle, meticulously crafted out of wooden sticks and painted a dark, forbidding gray towered in front of Eddie down at the end, with the layout of the insides crawling down the table atop carefully gridded paper.

Monstrous figurines stood in a row off to the side, like little soldiers, planted right in front of a plain, if not comically large, cardboard box.

It was elaborate, meticulous, and half the items had clearly been stolen from Steve’s house, if not outright decorated by the man’s own hand.

“Welcome, my friends.” Eddie purred, breaking the spell that had fallen over Hellfire.

“Oh my God.” Grant breathed, jostling Gareth’s shoulder as he pushed inside.

“Dude, you outdid yourself!” Stewart added, voice awed as he took it all in.

“He had help.” Steve confirmed, materializing at Eddie’s shoulder. He leaned forward, adjusting something in front of Eddie, ignoring the immediate angry swat and hissed warnings about “ruining the moment, Steven!”

“Glad to see you putting your mom’s party planning skills to good use.” Jeff teased, but no one missed the way he ran a hand down the table, staring giddily at the spread.

Steve gave him a shrug, but even in the dim light Gareth could see how pleased he looked.

It was magical, and Gareth felt something come alive in his chest that he’d privately thought the manticore had killed.

A childish sort of excitement, bubbling up as he realized he was about to have a damn fine time.

This, of course, is when the actual children came in.

“I made a timeline.” Dustin announced, shouldering his way in between Jeff and Grant to slam down a massive piece of paper.

“Oh my God where did you come from!?” Stewart yelped, started as more and more children suddenly swarmed Hellfire’s table.

“The middle school is literally next door. We walked.” Max rolled her eyes as she took a seat next to Tiffany. “What idiot let you guys light candles in here?”

El fell in right next to her, stealing what was clearly intended to be Grant’s chair.

Who looked like he’s about to say something about it until he caught sight of her delighted face.

Gareth would have laughed at the obvious way Grant’s shoulders slumped as he accepted his fate, if his own chair hadn’t just been usurped by Michael Wheeler.

“A timeline?” Steve asked, before Eddie could surge to his feet and kick the brats out.

(They all watched him jerk anyway, like he’d intended to do just that and barely caught himself.)

“Uh, everything?” Dustin scoffed, waving a beat up folder in the air. “We took it all the way back to when we first met El.”

Next to him, Lucas had stepped up to the table, running a hand down it in much the same way Jeff had. “We decided it might help us figure out where the manticore came from.” He said absently.

A riot of emotion exploded over Steve’s face, made all the funnier by the fact that it was entirely at odds with the setup he’d so lovingly created.

“I’m sorry, did we not hear the Chief of Police? He’s investigating this, our involvement is over.” Steve made a slashing motion with his hand, as if that would hold them all off.

(Gareth, who once watched all of these children fight each other over an arcade score for three consecutive days, knew it was a lost cause.)

Dustin made yet another scoffing sound in return.

Given how often he seemed to make them, Gareth wondered if he had problems with a sore throat.

“I thought we all widely agreed Hop’s investigation skills are terrible.”

“Hello?” Stewart said irritably. “We were about to get started?”

Eddie swung himself into a sitting position and made like he was going to stand up, likely to pounce on the opening Stewart had just given.

Pity Steve once again, beat him there.

“Yes, but he’s not investigating, is he? We,” Hellfire’s jock made another motion, this one a circular twirl of the hand. Gareth was starting to wonder if the gestures are directly linked to his stress level. “already did that part. He can now do the part he’s good at, which is fixing it.”

“He’s not good at fixing it, look at what happened with the demodogs!”

It was at this moment Gareth made his fatal mistake. In hindsight, he should have known better than to ask out loud,

“Okay, can someone please explain what the hell’s a demodog?”

Several protests, groans, and pencils are flung his way for it.

(“Do you know how often that word has been thrown around!?” He’d defend much, much later. “You guys keep saying it but not what they are!”

“If you stopped eavesdropping all the time maybe you wouldn’t be wondering about such things.” Eddie had responded snidely.

“It’s not my fault you keep talking about this shit when I’m right there you asshat--”)

“What, you didn’t think there were actually feral dogs in Hawkins did you?” One of the kids asks incredulously, like he can’t possibly believe anyone is so stupid as to buy into it.

“They were like the manticore, but small and more, well, doggish.” Dustin dismissed, this time with a Harrington flavored hand waive of his own. “Ask Steve, he was there.”

Gareth turned to do just that, D&D campaign be damned (He would not apologize for wanting to know what else might be out to kill them all even if the finale was technically on, sue him) to find Steve had slipped right into mother hen mode.

“No.” He spat, charging forward as he flapped his arms around, like the children are a flock of birds he can scare away. “You are not sucking anyone into this, and we are not getting involved! You heard Hop!”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a coward, Steve.”

“I’m not a coward, I’m someone who doesn’t need another near death experience! There’s not a reward if you have five in a row, dickheads.”

Seething and not bothering to hide it, Eddie picked up the massive gold goblet in front of him and took an obnoxiously loud sip out of it.

“I’m also going to remind you that Henderson here,” Steve stopped behind Dustin to rattle his, “is going to camp in a few days? I believe the rest of you also have similar engagements.”

It was Mike’s turn to scoff.

“Lucas is only in summer school until 3 and camp doesn’t start for another two weeks. We have plenty of time!”

“It’s not summer school,” Lucas protested, eyes darting to Max and back as if she wasn’t aware the kid was a nerd. “It’s a creative writing program--”

“Yeah, well, the rest of us are busy.” Steve fired back. “So any theories you have, you can take and shove right up your ass.”

“Why is it always the ass with you Steve? Do you have an ass fixation?”

Gareth watched as Eddie immediately choked on the dyed Mountain Dew he had been chugging down, hacking so hard tears welled in his eyes.

Jeff shared a pained look with Gareth over the table as Grant pounded him on the back.

“I do not have an ass fixation, Henderson--”

“Okay.” Tiffany clapped her hands together, the sound ringing out throughout the drama room.

“Here’s the deal. Summer break is two days away. Steve is right--most of us here are working, if not preparing to go to college. No one needs to go snooping around where we aren’t wanted, and we definitely do not need anymore injuries. Kapeesh?”

Henderson immediately turned on her. “So we’re just gonna trust the guys who fucking started all this!?”

���Given they also have better ways of handling it, yes. We are. Hopper told them about Stewarts goo, they sent some suits in to kill the manticore, and thanks to El’s heads up we caught things ahead of time for once. Can’t we just enjoy that?” Steve was beyond worked up now, repeatedly running his hands through his hair, only to fix it, pick at it, and then repeat the process again. “For fucks sake Dustin, Eddie just stopped limping!”

“I don’t think it’s over.” Mike muttered angrily, pushing a finger against Tiffany’s water bottle.

She grabbed it before it toppled over, glaring at him.

“El, do you feel anything?” Steve spoke like he was invoking a god and not an undersocialized twelve year old.

“No.” She admitted, after a long almost uncomfortable pause. “I do not.”

Steve pointed at her victoriously. “There you go!”

“But--”

“No more buts!” Steve shrieked, before seemingly to realize he’d done so. He coughed, and then said; “I thought you dorks would be storming in here trying to get Eddie to DM for you, not harassing us about the Upside Down.”

“You guys are playing D&D?” Lucas asked, as if he hadn’t been salivating over the spread for the last five minutes.

“I really like your cleric.” Will said quietly to Jeff, having leaned over to look at his character sheet at some point during the argument.

“Will, aren’t you a Dungeon Boss?” Steve asked, to the horror of those around him. “Why don’t you go sit by Eddie, I’m sure you’d enjoy seeing how he does stuff.”

A wince rippled through the members of Hellfire.

There was simply no way Eddie Munson, a man known to be possessive at best, would ever allow any of them to even glance at his notebook, let alone his entire spread laid bare behind his screen.

Those were his secrets--the result of too many late nights and an easy contributor to his failing high school yet again--and this was the grand finale.

Steve sitting next to Eddie had been miraculous enough--and that was with Eddie actively demanding he sit there, in a vain attempt to drag Steve out of his issues.

Fearing the worst, Gareth snuck a glance at their glorious--and notoriously ridiculous--leader.

Eddie sucked on his teeth, the noise painfully loud in the abrupt silence, eyes on Byers the Younger before they drifted back to Steve.

Who clearly had no idea he’d put his foot in it.

Tiff looked ready to break a pencil, eyes glaring a hole in Eddie’s head as if daring him to disappoint the group's golden retriever while Grant, Jeff and Stewart had all magically found something else to look at.

Gareth himself hunkered down, waiting to see how this would play out.

One more painful, pulsing second and then Eddie seemed to come to a decision, rolling out his hand and gesturing Will closer.

“Indeed Baby Byers,” He dropped into one of his many DM voices, something deep but alluring. “come closer and learn from the master of masters. Perhaps you’ll find something here to take back to your own campaigns. Something truly…terrible.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Dustin as Will’s Party groaned, though none of them put up much of a fuss once they saw the sheer smile that overtook Will’s face.

With the unique combination of embarrassment and pride, Will took his place next to Eddie.

Steve beamed in the corner, clearly pleased with himself and it was not lost on Gareth (or anyone else in the know) that Eddie preened only after sneaking an obvious look at Steve’s face.

“God he has it bad.” Stewart muttered, only to hiss when Jeff not so subtly jabbed him with a pen.

Gareth just shook his head, and gave Eddie a grin that said he would absolutely be getting shit for this later.

“Stevie, be a dear and fetch more chairs would you?” Eddie drawled, as he settled back into his throne, baby Byers happily checking out the items he had laid out behind his DM screen.

Which Gareth supposed was Steve’s punishment for inviting the kids along, but then, Eddie may as well have been bossing the jock around all day regardless given the look of the place.

(He’d certainly taken advantage of doing just that while his leg had been healing.)

That was their mess though, and Gareth happily put all thoughts of monsters, murder, men in black and every other awful M word aside to inside pull out his luckiest D20 die.

“Hellfire,” Eddie boomed as the all finally settled, “It's time to show the kiddies how it's done. Let’s roll!”

“And Dustin bitches at me for my puns.” Steve loudly complained as he came back into the room with chairs.

Eddie shushed him again.

[siffrins-therapist]

👾censoredmandibiles Follow

OK time to settle something

EDIT: this post WAY ended up breaking containment. GO CLUTCH YOUR PEARLS ELSEWHERE

🦑tentacleovi Follow

YO FREE BLOCKLIST IN THE NOTES HOLY SHIT

#RIP OP's notifs #i don't go here but i suggest making popcorn before diving into those notes #some of it is puritan bs you'd expect #some of it is discourse i never even knew existed

41.6K Notes

🕷️friendofcharlotte

I think a painting my friend got at a thrift store was painted by Mr. Italy Veneziano? Is there a way to authenticate it? Google isn't helping.

⭐wishonadeadstar Follow

Try here. Turns out my nan's portrait of her farmhouse was originally painted by Mr. Romano when he was living in NY during the 1920's.

🕷️friendofcharlotte

THANK YOU

8 Notes

📽️bisexuallightinggoggles Follow

hey yo so the US rep put like 100 hours into playing that game Spiritfarer just this week... anyone want to go check on the guy??

💿newagepirate Follow

There are literally government workers who's literal job it is to check on him

⛰️lesbianmothernature Follow

how tf do you know he put 100 hours into playing a game anyway????

📽️bisexuallightinggoggles Follow

We're friends on Steam. He adds like everyone who asks.

And for everyone in the notes asking what Spiritfarer is it's one of those cozy simulator games here's the trailer.

#isn't the 'deathiversary' of his friend Davie this week? #i'm definitely not the first person to think of that #okay looking at the notes was a mistake #like i'm not one of those ppl who puts #'DNI if your username makes fun of davies death' but #immortal or not #even if it happend centuries ago #you can still be sad your FUCKING FRIEND DIED

12.3k Notes

🥾hikingawayfrommyfeelings Follow

So if I become a citizen of Ladonia can he just... visit me through my computer?

🦝trashypanda Follow

He gets mad when you summon him :(

🦘callmejoeythewayi Follow

"summon him" Like a fucking demon?

🫒shrekbignaturals Follow

We are NOT rehashing that old discourse.

🎱magic8saveme Follow

Oh god I just revived my blog after escaping x/twitter and last time I saw that disk hoarse, my dash was just post after post of this for DAYS

🪄magictrio-dropout

#was there actual discourse about whether the nation-people were demons? #cuz the discourse i saw on my dash was #whether tales of things like demons vampires and #other immortal or 'came back to life' creatures #were born from when the nation-people resurrecting #or like #doing creepy stuff

IDK about tumblr or the first bit (I've personally never heard that at least not from anyone being serious) but the other stuff has been debated in academia for decades! One of my literature professors is ADAMANT that the vampire myth can be traced to old folklore about the reps and them reviving and possibly the blood-drinking comes from an evolution of the myth when before, old stories talked about blood soaking the earth where vampires rose. If anyone's interested, here's where you can find my professor's paper about it.

🎃warongayxmas

So like. *grabs a bat and slowly approaches a hornet's nest* Then does the Jesus story have the same roots then?

🫒shrekbignaturals Follow

WE 👏 ARE 👏 NOT 👏 RE 👏 HASHING 👏 THAT 👏 DISCOURSE👏

🥾hikingawayfrommyfeelings Follow

Wtf happened to my post???

#so did OP become a Ladonian citizen or what?

187.4k Notes

🐦‍pinchforawish Follow

MY DAD GOT TO SEE MR ENGLAND LIVE BACK WHEN HE WAS IN A PUNK BAND

🐦‍pinchforawish Follow

TUMBLR WTF HOW TF DOES THIS VIOLATE GUIDELINES

🏴dinotonugget-deactivated

Finally. Proof that the site runs so shittily bc Mr. Eyebrows works for staff

🫎moosecrossing Follow

Spoke the truth and got fucking killed for it

67.9 Notes

[somerandomdudelmao]

sitting on my hands, silently screaming because I can't stop thinking about the connection between Casey and Raph and about Casey discovering said connection and So, to temper my hype, I decided to try and find as many Casey-Raph parallels and possible Raph-sourced influences on Casey: (forgive my formatting I am not used to Tumblr) 1. Casey being able to easily mimic Raph's growls, despite having no memory of learning (note: more obvious b/c it happened so recent. though, based on the fact that the other turtles were surprised by Casey making the noise... did Raph teach him?)

2. Honestly, just Casey's protective nature in general? Casey works so hard to protect his family (learning how to carry his much-bigger-uncles, caring to their needs when their vulnerable without question (i.e. tot Leo and Donnie), literally any time he's concerned with the turtle's health))

3. (Slightly-iffy BUT:) Being very conscious of his strength/fragility of others - - which might be a tad silly to say when all his family is bigger and stronger than him, and there is already another connection in that to Leo, but I cannot get Raph ever admitting "I'm the strong one, the big brother, so I need to protect and take care of you guys!!" so I'm calling it a mix of both Raph and Leo

4. The way they hold/cradel the tinies is very similar (note: there might be more reflections of this category but I honestly can't tell b/c most characters are bigger then Casey)

5. Another different, fun pose where they mirror each other pt.3 (except its very obvious)

6. Krang-ified Casey looks a lot like Krang-ified Raph; from the right eye (our left) to the tentacle right arm (our left) to the clawed left arm (our right) to the spikes. too many similarities for me not to at least point it out.

7. Casey and Raph being attacked by (proportionally the same size to them) Tiny Donnies and getting absolutely bodied.

8. This specific expression - - a possible common trait in just adoring cute things? (note: need more data to find this out, cus I did find a similar expression on Donnie, and we can't really see sparkles in Robot!Raph's eyes, but there was one from the show that's rather close.)

... did I over look into some traits that can maybe be explained other ways? probably. did I miss some parallels? definitely, this series is littered with them. but this AU has me by the throat and we are getting backstory on MY favorite of the turtles, so I need to cope somehow. (This is also my first ask. Idk if I'm did it right. I hope it goes through, and at least someone sees it.) (Message to anyone who sees this: HYDRATE OR DIEDRATE, BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T HAVE A DONATELLO WHO WILL REVIVE YOU.)

What a wonderful research

[kataang-week]

Special thanks to our mod @penguinsledder for making this year's banner!

What is Kataang Week?

Kataang Week is when we, as a corner of the fandom, celebrate the ship Kataang on Tumblr! The prompts for Kataang Week 2024 were selected through five rounds of voting over the last few weeks and all prompts were submitted by Kataangers.

Cool, when is it?

Summer Kataang Week 2024 starts on Monday, July 29th - a little over seven weeks from today - and ends on Monday, August 5th.  

Who is the founder of Tumblr's Kataang Week?

@secretsecrettunnel revived Kataang Week in the summer of 2013 a few years after Avatar: The Last Airbender ended and when the fandom was itching for more Kataang during The Legend of Korra’s run.

Who are the mods?

@airbender-dacyon AKA Mod Dan: A Kataang fanfic writer who prefers fluff, but also loves some drama and angst. Mod Dan started writing Kataang stories in 2013 and has helped organize Kataang Week since 2016.

@penguinsledder AKA Mod Atarah: A writer, gif maker, and musician–she enjoys fluffy young adult Kataang and all the ways they complement and parallel each other. She first joined Tumblr for Kataang Week 10 years ago, and started helping out with writing posts and making banners as a mod since 2016!

@itsmoonpeaches AKA Mod Belle: An avid Kataanger with a penchant for angst and mild violence who likes writing. Mod Belle has been a mod since 2021 and helps write posts and social media.

@chocomd AKA Mod Celes: Fanfic writer who adores Kataang for their fun and flirty side but also their bond forged through grief and loss. Mod Celes joined in 2023 and helps with a little bit of everything - whatever needs to be done!

How do I participate?

The most common ways to participate are by creating art or writing a fic and posting it online. Some people try and create something for every day while others only fill one or two prompts.  

As always, we want to reassure you that it’s perfectly okay not to do every prompt! We just hope to have lovely pieces to share on each day.

But I can’t draw or write!

That’s totally fine - there are more ways to participate! You can sing a song, create a graphic, write a poem - just about anything really. You can also show your support by reblogging and liking other people’s contributions.

What are the prompts?

The following will be the running order for Kataang Week 2024:

Cultural Exchange/Culture Sharing/Revival of Traditions - Monday, July 29th

Protectiveness/Bodyguard - Tuesday, July 30th

Parenting/First-Time Parents - Wednesday, July 31st

Post-Battle Reunion - Thursday, August 1st

Disguise - Friday, August 2nd

Jealousy - Saturday, August 3rd

Proposal - Sunday, August 4th

Free Day - Monday, August 5th

* As a reminder, Cultural Exchange/Culture Sharing/Revival of Traditions, Protectiveness/Bodyguard, and Parenting/First-Time Parents were combined during voting as they were very similar prompts. You can interpret them as singular or separate prompts and incorporate one or both for each day.

** And as always, there is a Free Day at the end of the week. You can use this day to post anything you’d like! It can be a prompt that didn’t receive enough votes or something you’ve been wanting to work on, anything goes!

*** Kataang Week is also being hosted by @dailykataang on Twitter this year! In addition, @dailykataang will be extending Kataang Week by another week, exclusively on Twitter. Please see this post for more details on how to participate on Twitter.

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Can I post my stuff other places online too?

Of course you can!

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Why seven weeks? Is that enough time?

Traditionally, we like to provide our content creators seven to eight weeks to create quality content. Kataang Week is also traditionally held in the last week of July.  

If you are unable to complete a prompt in time, please do not fret. You can alert this blog by mentioning it in your post (ex. @kataang-week​) or messaging one of the mods and your content will still be shared even if it is a week (or a month - or sometimes more!) late.

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Good luck, Kataangers, and happy content creating! 😊

- The Mods

[kays-artstuff]

My take on a revived clover AU

I like to think that monsters preserved the human children as a sort of remembrance using similar magic to their food since it doesn’t expire, but since humans have more physical matter it only delays rotting rather than completely stopping it, and since clover had died being much less harmed because they gave up their soul rather than getting murdered they get to be the first to come back with minor changes since they didn’t rot that much and their internal organs stayed in tact.

Also in this au flowey kinda goes MIA on frisk and doesn’t wanna be friends/isn't ready to talk to them juuuuust yet, clover’s kind of an exception though :D which also means frisk doesn't reaaallly know about clover til weeks later cause clover isn't ready to face martlet starlo or anyone else until they feel ready, dying and choosing to be alone as a 12 year old can be not great for the brain

Flowey is technically clovers guide through the underground but is still trying to get the other humans to wake up so he’s kinda busy but will know if clover is near a save like in game.

I might give this clover figerless gloves to hide the more human-lookin' skin

Clover is actually essentially sneaking around places like waterfall and snowdin town, staying places that have small shops and less people that would be able to recognize them

The tumblr user howlonomy gave me so much brainrot in their au so look at it!!! Their clover is such a creaturr!!!! /pos

[benevolentcalamity]

Once a Father, Never a Daddy [Abusive!Doflamingo & Fem!Child!Reader][1/2]

I do not know him enough so I'm not at all confident in my ability to write him, so I apologize in advance. So I'm very happy accepting criticism/tips. (I'm just after Thriller Bark btw.)

Disclaimer: This fic contains graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect and may be considered triggering. Please do not read more if you cannot handle these themes. If you or a loved one has gone through this, you're absolutely not alone, and help/better days are always there.

Also, this is split in two because when you get fics too long, Tumblr just starts lagging and that REALLY annoys me. So I apologize in advance if pacing's not as stellar as most of my stuff. I'll make it up to you.

CURTAINS!

"DADDY, LET ME OUT!!!"

Your little hands bang on the impossibly still door until the skin splits on your knuckles. With all your might you scratch, slap, and pound on the wood, feeling it press a little stronger against you with your resistance. Tears pouring down your cheeks your hair stands on end as the darkness behind you settles in; a punishment you know too well.

"PLEASE DADDY, I'M SORRY!" You scream, hands already raw from struggle. "DADDY, PLEASE, LET ME OUT! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN, I PROMISE!"

A harsh pound that rattles the door, resounding through your room, sends a piercing chill through your stomach and sends you to the floor. Scooting back and hurrying to your feet, you prepare for the doorknob to twist, for him to come barging in and demand you not make any more noise. But this is enough to scare you into silence - and he seems to know that now.

Softly you sniffle, reaching out as the all-too-familiar sound of the knob being secured and locked clicks. Wiping away your tears you stand, reaching and just barely wrapping your hand around it. With all your might you grab and attempt to twist; it doesn't budge an inch.

"... Please let me out..."

There's a sound like feet retreating from the door, and the loneliness finally hits as you back up, defeat weighing your shoulders. Slinking away, you turn back towards your room. First thing to catch your attention is your nightstand, bereft of the lamp Uncle Rossi gave you to cut through the dark. It had a smell to it, somehow, and you really liked it.

Without it you can't stand the dark - and as punishment for not doing what daddy said, it's gone. Wiping a stray tear from your cheek you grab your stuffed lamb Cuppy, putting him on the bed before pitter-pattering to your wardrobe.

creak

Your eyes shoot to the door, back stiffening as your hair stands on end. Every limb freezes, and your heart leaps into your throat. Swallowing, your hands go up to prepare to shield your head, lest your noise have bothered anyone. As your fingers chill to the bone, your knees lock and the darkness creeps back into your senses.

The doorknob twitches. Your hands fly to your mouth to keep from shrieking. Tears revived and leaking, you await on bated breath... It does make daddy especially angry, after all, when you try to hide from him.

You still have the scar on your arm.

A lump forms and engorges, threatening to choke you if you don't make a sound. You learned better from screaming "Go away" or "I hate you", so that's simply not an option. Gritting your teeth you step more into the open, hoping that an effort not to hide would let you get your lamp back. Hiding, running away... all of it is pointless.

After an eternity it jimmies and then turns after a few small clicks, and a familiar black and red lit up by the hallway relaxes you into relieved elation.

"Uncle Rossi-!" You whisper-yell, him putting a finger to his lips and looking behind him.

With quick movements he beckons you forward, and you rush to him in the time it takes to put a plate full of food on the small chair near the door. Kneeling down he pats your cheek and kisses your forehead, giving you a toothy, reassuring grin.

"Don't forget to eat out the window, and drop it once you're done. It's okay, dad won't notice one plate being missing," He whispers, ruffling your hair. "I'm not letting you go to bed hungry." He's done this every time. "... It's going to be okay, little cutie. I promise."

You nod. "... Does daddy still love me?"

For a moment he's quiet. His expression falls solemn, head lifting to look over his shoulder again. With a sigh, his hand ruffles your hair one more time, before suddenly he smiles again.

"I love you!" He chirps. The words wrap around your heart, like a soft fleece blanket, and like a charm, your sorrow is calmed, and your tears finally stop. "Don't forget that, okay? Uncle Rossi loves you."

Nodding, you finally manage to smile. "I love you too, Uncle Rossi."

His head snaps up again, and he pats your head and hurries out. The doorknob again is secured, and his feet fade out quickly. Swallowing, you grab the plate, carefully bringing it to the window. Unlatching it you crouch as the panes swing over your head, setting the plate of food - bouillabaisse - on the ledge and chowing down.

The moonlight peers out from the clouds like your only friend, and peace returns again to your heart.

"... It'll be different tomorrow..." You tremble. "I won't be bad again, I promise..."

Finishing with urgency, you drop the plate and fork into the sea, pushing the window closed and locked. Crawling into bed, you listen to the footsteps above your room, to the sea calming outside. Yawning, you drift into the now placated shadows, hugging Cuppy close to your heart.

___

A sound like something dropping to the ground above you wakes you with a start. Swallowing harshly you're quick to climb out of bed, little time to spare, and wipe your mouth as you rush to your wardrobe. You're just quick enough to grab one of your favorite cotton shirts, a pair of shorts, and a clean pair of underwear as the doorknob is unbound and unlocked.

You swallow, harshly, rushing towards the center again as dad's blond hair peeks atop the door. As he straightens back up, his head doesn't need to look long to find you. Feet planting in place, you watch, hands clenched to keep from shaking and lip wobbling, as he approaches.

"Behave, maggot," He hisses, holding his hand out.

Eyebrow quirked at you managing not to flinch, he impatiently taps his foot as you reach up to it. Harshly he grabs it, yanking you forward. His large pace forces you into a jog, matching his pace with every third step. At first you're staring up at him, waiting for him to even turn his head your way, to ask how you slept, or even just what you want for breakfast. Or maybe, just maybe, that he loves you and today it'll be different. Better, even.

None of this happens. Your bottom lip wobbles as the familiar doors to the bathroom appear past the corner.

"Take a damn bath." He shoves you to another crewmate, not even giving you a glance. "Watch it, keep it away from me."

Your hand reaches for him as you're guided into the bathroom. "Daddy?" Without a glance or gesture, your lip wobbles further, heart tying in knots. "DADDY!"

A dark cloud weighs on your shoulders again, guiding you to the bathtub as said crewmate puts some soap beside it and a towel. Patting your head in pity, he kneels down to murmur in your ear.

"Disobedient children aren't rewarded." The words are an icy dagger in your stomach. "... If you want your daddy to love you, maybe you should be a good child that deserves to be loved."

With that you're left alone, breath hitched in your throat as your heart runs cold. Staring at your reflection in the water, you cast aside your dirty clothes, stepping into it and sitting. The lukewarm water manages to chill you to the bone, to where you need to hug your knees to feel warm. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glance at the door, waiting... and waiting...

You sigh, pinching your nose and turning sideways to completely submerge. Curling up, your [h/c] hair waves out in tendrils as your legs minutely twitch in unease. As your lungs slowly grow sore, you momentarily wonder if it's even possible to be good... What did you do? Why won't dad look your way?

Sitting back up, you gulp down air as the answer to your question comes from the red syrup of your shampoo.

"... Just do what daddy says?" Would that make him happy? Will he love you? Do what he says without complaining... Yea, it's as simple as that, isn't it? "... I'll be a good girl. I won't complain about daddy's work."

Yea. It's as simple as that.

Rinsing your head clean, you comb the conditioner from your hair under the running water. Reaching you grab the towel and brush, drying off and putting yourself together, painstaking as the process of brushing your hair is. All the same you finish, tying it back. Sliding back into your shoes you jump up onto the knob, it turning in your hold, and let the door swing open, taking you with it. Lowering back onto your feet, you turn-

"Get your ass to the poop deck." You're shoved into a pace, which you continue with a nod. "Captain's orders, help out with scrubbin' if you want breakfast."

"I understand."

__

It's unbearably hot.

Dunking your brush in the cold, soapy water, you wince at the glare of the sun on the sea, washing away dirt and scum. It takes a few swipes, being as small as you are, but you manage. It's a process that sees you biting your lip so hard in concentration that it bleeds, but you do your best, scrub until your arms are sore, and repeat.

"-and as I was saying, Rosinante, it's complete bullshit."

Dad's voice makes you perk up, and you turn a bit to see where he's coming from. A big smile is what you present as he and Uncle Rossi ascend from below deck, waiting for him to look your way. Dad doesn't but Uncle Rossi gives you a massive smile and thumbs up before dad jabs him, regaining his attention.

"We've had issues with this same supplier awhile now. The frequency of our visits is starting to annoy me."

Standing up from scrubbing, you take a deep breath. Pittering over to him you find his leg, swallowing. Rearing, you take a small leap, wrapping your arms around it like a peach tree.

"Daddy~!" You let out, hugging him tightly-

A harsh kick to your stomach, sending you all the way back to your bucket and straight onto your ass.

...

... Oh.

I'm not doing enough... You turn back to the bucket and brush, biting back tears. Just keep going... Do your best. Daddy will love you if you do.

All the same, your tears keep falling onto your hard work.

A hand on your head, ruffling your hair, tugs you from your sorrow. Looking up, Uncle Rossi crouches down beside you, pointing at your bucket. Now it's too cloudy and dirty to clean efficiently. Managing a nod, you wipe your tears with your arm, standing up and dumping the bucket.

Keeping a tight hold on it, you pause just as you're at dad's side, gaze turning from below deck to him.

"... Do you love me?" You ask.

Not even a glance. You raise up on your tippy-toes, tilting your head.

"Daddy?" You ask again. "Do you love me?"

Lowering, you wait, staring and waiting for what... really has to be forever. Before long though tears blur your vision, and you bite back a sniff as you rush below deck. Not good enough - you're just not good enough yet. If you work to the bone, if you're so to-the-letter it's painful, that's when he'll look your way. You just have to remember that.

Be perfect, and nothing less; push past your limits; endure and don't cry. It'll be unbearably hard, but if you manage to do all of this, dad has to love you.

It's not a long walk to where there's more water by any means. Operating the pump, that's the real test, but you manage just by jumping up onto it. It pinches down on your wrist every time it comes back down, but it doesn't hurt long. Rubbing the red marks it makes, you begin the arduous task of carrying the bucket.

Sloshing and rocking against your body, you stiffen your legs anytime you feel yourself wobble. When the water reaches and touches your chin you wince, staying still until it stops. Every maybe three steps and you're losing your grip, but still you try.

Something swipes the bottom of your feet, and your shrieks are drowned by the water pouring onto your face as you fall onto your butt. Bucket landing perfectly onto your head to hide your face, the cruel laughter of passing crewmates resounds through the rotting wood.

"Better mop that up, kid! You made that mess!"

For a moment you're stuck, legs too heavy to move. You try to move your arms, but there's no feeling. Swallowing, you try to open your mouth to complain, but the lump in your throat takes the sound before you make it. A mix of tears and water pours down your face, your jaw starting to wobble. Biting your lip harshly you force yourself back to your feet.

The bucket slides off your head, falling harshly to the floor. For a moment your gaze turns back to the steps leading above deck.

... Mop first.

Clutching your shirt tightly, your shoes squish against the floor as you go to find the mop, usually near the bathroom. Sniffling harshly, you wipe your face, shaking your head like it'll get rid of this horrible lump. Still your lips purse, and still everything hurts when the supply closet door opens. Reaching, you take the mop in your hands and take a deep breath.

Do your best...

'Watch it, keep it away from me.'

It. You.

... Get out of the way. Maybe that's what he wants.

As much as you want to go back, to try again, maybe it'll just be better to put yourself away. It'd be... a nice reprieve, maybe. And maybe they'll have something good to eat for lunch, seeing as you might not get breakfast after all. That's just what happens sometimes, after all.

You want to puke; to cry; to scream; to just run to Uncle Rossi. Everything and anything feels more like a dead end the more you think, until you've come up blank on what else to do.

"... I hate this..." You whimper, rubbing your arm as you pitter-patter back to your room. I don't know what's wrong with me...

... Someone, please...

Tears well up in your eyes.

Someone tell me what's wrong! Tell me what's bad! Please tell me, someone-!

Your pace picks up, eventually zooming past countless doors and shapes.

Just... How much longer...?

In what must have been a blink you're safe back in your room. For a second you turn back to the door, cheeks waterlogged and red, waiting for footsteps. Wanting someone to just scoop you up and hold you, tell you what's wrong with you - or that maybe nothing is... Is there?

Meandering to your window, you crack it open, and dad's voice is the first thing you hear.

"... Where's the problem?"

"What do you mean, Doflamingo sir?"

"I mean, where's the fucking maggot." Your heart feels a sharp, cold sting.

"She- it went back below deck. I can fetch it so it can keep scrubbing-"

"I didn't give it an order to do chores, I gave you an order to keep it away from me. Looks like it knows what that means. But enough about it. We're arriving to Foam Town shortly, for the supplier. Don't forget the orders."

"Get the Devil Fruit, and kill him, right?"

"Mhm. I don't take kindly to someone holding out on me. Especially when I've been so kind and generous. That won't happen again, though."

"Do you need Corazon to keep an eye on the kid?"

"Tch. It won't be an issue. Just as long as it doesn't get in the way of our business, I don't care what it gets up to... Ugh, but I'm going to hear it cry at some point today. Have someone get it some food."

"Understood, sir."

Backing up once you hear the sound of heavy footsteps, you meander to your shelf. Tugging a worn book from it - a collection of fairytales dad let you get when he looked at you - you hurry to your bed, jumping to get onto it without a hitch. Swallowing harshly you open it to a page with a family of rabbits stealing food from a mean old farmer's garden.

You like these stories, very much. But the pages are falling out, and you can't ask for a new one right now.

Just when you're absorbed enough to where the lump in your throat is gone, there's a knock at the door.

"Got your lunch, kid." That's not Uncle Rossi or dad. The door opens a crack and a bowl is haphazardly dropped on the small table. "We're landing soon. Be on your best behavior."

"... Thank you," You manage, the door slamming your reply.

Putting the book down you slide out of bed, going to receive the meal. It's a lobster risotto, dad's favorite. Tears well up again as you take the bowl back to your bed to eat and read. Dad doesn't care that you do so, you've been told, but you're still careful.

"... Foam Town. Okay." You mutter, something lighting up in your chest.

... This time, it's different.

[randomfoggytiger]

React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (My Struggle I), Part I

For David Duchovny’s birthday, I put out a poll asking Tumblr which of his projects I should watch for the first time. 

The Revival won. Welp. 

I then, fool that I am, put up another poll wherein I doomed myself by including an option to watch the whole thing. 

And here we are. 

My Struggle I. 

Oh, boy. 

This post will be long because I'm laying the groundwork for the rest of the series.

MY MODUS OPERANDI

I don’t care how cute or cuddly or happy or heartfelt individual MSR moments are, popcorn will be thrown if those scenes are achieved through incomplete, inane, or nonsensical plot points. Give me 1+1=2 or give me death.

The Revival is part of a whole that includes all of Seasons 1-9 and Fight the Future and I Want to Believe. As much as I prefer to distance this series from canon, the reality that it functions as a direct follow-up remains; and it needs to be judged accordingly.

And, as always, I separate the art from the artist~.

...WELP. It’s time to face my doom. 

Let's go!

MY STRUGGLE IV

The intro’s… fine. Engaging, even. 

I did notice, though: the last series and Fight the Future and I Want to Believe began with the same formula: glimpses from what will be an x-files case, then straight to Scully’s perspective. Usually Mulder’s narration and POV didn’t feature until the tail-end of a two or three parter, i.e. Redux or Amor Fati or… well, even then, it was juxtaposed against Scully’s. 

Scully was the voice of The X-Files-- even Chris Carter noted that her report of each episode’s casefile became a motif of the show. Mulder’s narration was rare, very rare, even in episodes that were written to focus on him. 

A definite and purposed choice, to be sure. Mulder as an active agent in his own story. …OR a story that focuses on Mulder’s voice instead of Scully’s. 

We shall see. 

The intro continues; and it’s still engaging, possibly gripping (too bad I know where this leads)... but the music got a bit LOTR there. Is that just me? Seems… mellow, orchestral, a little more fantasy than sci-fi. Am I nitpicking? Maybe. 

The BIBLE references UFOs?? Lol, no. (Unless you count the objects described in Revelations-- the book, not the episode-- but even then, those are largely considered to be drones, not UFOs.)

Chris Carter, I see you. 

(Note from the future: NOW I see why the Bible bit was included-- lots of heavy-handed "God means this, Scully" in order to get her on-board to join the files. Ugh.)

…They’re really doubling down on the UFO lore, huh. All of which evaporated because of global warming, I guess. 

GUYS, why couldn’t this have been about life on Earth after Colonization?????

It fits with the disaster footage, it fits with Mulder’s voiceover, it fits with the character progression from Season 9 (I GUESS), it fits with a whooooooooooole ton of other factors. 

I’ve never been one for wanting Colonization in canon, but it literally would have worked for this series. There wouldn't need to be a complete wipeout of humanity, maybe just a “disaster happened, but the humans are fighting back” scenario. 

And that would fit with Mulder and Scully’s "breakup", PERHAPS-- they spent so much time working, trying to save the world (she in science, he on the ground or with untainted factions who coalitioned post-Colonization) that their relationship cracks would need to be actively worked through. Not broken up so much as together and repairing.

It would also help CC and co. to avoid the tempest of modern US politics and the more mainstream conspiracies that were taking hold at that time-- a broader reach to all audiences, a "bigger picture" for everyone to unite under.

(Guys, they should have let me write for this show. …I take it back, I’d have quit after three days.) 

Also: The show writers spent all their brain power on this sequence and this sequence alone, didn’t they? 

Obiwan Kenobi and Military Man are going on a bus somewhere.  

...On closer inspection, neither man looks like anything like Obiwan Kenobi, but the nickname is staying.

We’re back to Scully at a hospital-- not unlike I Want to Believe’s opening.

Skinner called? Oh. Didn’t know he was “here” this early. 

WAIT. 

Wait, wait, wait. 

Scully just called up Mulder like nothing’s a big deal? He answered like nothing’s a big deal? She’s smiling over his joke from the get-go?

…And we’re supposed to believe they’re seriously broken up. Which the show will insist is the case. 

David and Gillian really said, “Script? What script?” and did what they wanted. I salute them. 

Also, “What’s happening out there, Scully?” is a great line to point to Mulder’s continued isolation… which the series will IMMEDIATELY toss aside because he’s, apparently, not been as much of a hermit lately? (Granted, this could be a joke at his own expense because he’s no longer claimed by ~the darkness~, but…. I don’t think the writing’s gonna be that clever, I’ll be honest.)  

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

Fine, I admit it. 

I’m loving this so far. 

And that’s gonna make me even angrier later on. 

“Why doesn’t he [Skinner] just call me?”

“He doesn’t know how to reach you, Mulder. I barely know myself.”

Mulder is baffled and a tinge annoyed, Scully is amused and straight shooting. 

THERE IS NO HINT, BEHAVIOR, OR MANNERISM SUGGESTING THEY’VE BROKEN UP. None. At all. He’s isn’t reluctant to answer her call, isn’t sad or withdrawn, isn’t affected by anything she’s saying other than to be teasy or poky. She isn’t hesitant to call, isn’t sad or depressed, isn’t anything other than a little pleased to dangle a juicy tidbit in front of Mulder’s face. 

This is gonna follow IWTB’s ping-pong writing-- they’re fun and in-character, they’re suddenly out-of-character, they’re fun and in-character, they’re suddenly out-of-character, etc. etc. etc.-- isn’t it?

(Mulder taping over his laptop’s webcam is a great touch and not something at all that I’ve done before. At all.) 

“I thought you were done with UFOs-- the ‘stranglehold they put on your very existence’, I believe you put it.” 

“I’m just the messenger, Mulder.”

That’s GOOD, that’s necessary writing. That’s planting the seeds of what happened between them, what led to a cooldown or a breakup or a whathaveyou. AND STILL neither character acts as if they’ve broken up: no melancholy, no sadness, no nothing. 

Mulder’s timbre became a little sardonic while quoting back her words, but that doesn’t mean they’ve broken up. If anything, that points to a bicker and line-in-the-sand between them-- him bringing up UFOs at the dinner table and her reminding him to talk to someone else about it before turning the topic to how the lettuce is growing or something.

Neither actor is performing like one would if pain and trauma and heartbreak and distance were placed between them; and that really complicates things because the breakup is built on top of the aforementioned list of struggles. 

Would Mulder have dug his heels in post 2012, seeing it as a sign that “the aliens” just changed their plans? Yes. 

Would Scully have seen a pursuit down that rabbit hole as a waste of time? Debatable. The Truth S9 Scully wouldn’t have-- the aliens are still out there; and they cost her months of her life, months of Mulder’s abduction, months of Mulder’s death, months of Mulder’s separation, and the ultimate cost: William’s adoption and their life on the run. Post The Truth Scully would have seen this as her quest, too: she won’t give up, she says in the finale, because he won’t. 

IWTB Scully, however, would- and that's a problem. 

I’ve already discussed, at length, how out-of-character Scully was in I Want to Believe (posts here.) Although Mulder doesn’t escape from the same writing blunders, she is really, really scalped: of her courage, of her will, of her determination. 

Whenever Scully gave up, in canon, it was only because she thought she was holding Mulder back, or when she felt Mulder had lost his faith and trust in her. That held true in Season 9-- despite the appalling writing choices there, too-- but didn’t in IWTB. 

The Revival had the perfect opportunity to factory reset the writers' mistakes: portray a wiser duo who continue to fight the fight according to their strengths, like they always have before Mulder ever met Scully. (When Mulder tells Scully to set up a meeting with Skinner, he adds, “Don’t pretend I’m going alone”-- which reinforces my point.) 

But I know that's not going to happen.  

Scully goes without argument-- THAT’S GOOD, THAT’S GOOD CHARACTER WRITING. At this point in the game, of course she would-- they trust each other, they have for years, they’d have reached even deeper levels after going on the run for [insert math] years. All good things! 

The problem: this will create a huge conflict with her actions later.

(I’m already so disappointed.) 

“Uber?”/”Hitchhiking. Relax, Scully, I’m kidding” was a fun modernization of their humor, I’ll take it. 

This scene is starting to highlight the distance between them, which is all well-and-good, but feels tonally different from the previous scene. As in, their two scenes were definitely filmed on different days, in different moods, and with different intents. 

She’s worried about him, with tears in her eyes; he has his walls up; there’s distance, as previously noted. 

“Good for you to get out of that little house every once in a while”/”Certainly was good for you” is followed up with knowing, indulgent, pleased smiles and you expect me to believe these two are seriously broken up. Nope. I’ve seen Scully sad but amused, I’ve seen Scully too sad to be amused, but these two? This moment? Nah.

Tonally dissonant-- the IWTB problem: at-ease and close one minute, at-odds and distant the next. Hoorayyyyyy....

None of this makes sense for a long-term, permanent (as Scully infers later to someone else) breakup. Nor for a short-term, semi-permanent one. Math doesn’t math. 

“I’m always happy to see you,” she says, implying he's the one who permanently pulled away… which will be contradicted later this very episode. 

“I’m always happy to find a reason [to leave the house],” he says, somberly. 

Both of which are odd lines. 

If he’s happy to leave the house to see her… why hasn’t he? 

If she’s happy to see him, always, but says a relationship between them was "impossible" (which she will later), why is Scully staring at him with heart eyes, hoping he gets better so they can continue their relationship? (And mark my words, this tone underscores her interactions with him the rest of this series.) 

Tad’s here. He’s... fine. He represents the overly cautious very well. At least he hasn’t gone full Alex Jones mockumentary (...yet.) 

I’ve heard criticisms that Mulder and Scully don’t act like themselves in this series, but based off the few minutes I’ve seen here… I don’t agree. 

The essence is the same. Truly. Scully’s got the same face that lights up the same way, Mulder’s got the same expressions and young-at-heart humor. Neither are really melancholic. Neither are David or Gillian esque. 

Perhaps that will change. 

(Note from the future: OH BOY. Which Mulder and Scully are we talking here-- OG Mulder and Scully? Nope. IWTB Mulder and Scully? Yep. David and Gillian? Once or twice.)

But, again, their interactions feel… wasted. Hollow. They’re supposed to be broken up, but their breakup doesn’t contribute to their interactions or the plot. They’re supposed to have suffered and are working back to each other… but they aren’t really separated, haven’t seemed to suffer (note from future: except for one scene which comes outta nowhere), and won’t collapse back together on-screen.

They’re supposed to be wiser and more mature, but they’ll still engage in a silly will-they-won’t-they while Mulder eats up the latest UFO or conspiracy slop he’s either already engaged in or debunked [insert math] years ago and Scully clings to her cowardice like a leech. 

First nagging problem: Scully smiling at Tad, Scully excusing Mulder’s mannerisms when he becomes briefly jealous, Scully making nice with a conspiracy nut. 

…Isn’t that Mulder’s job? Didn't she leave because conspiracies were consuming her life? Does this mean she actually does want this life back but is she playing coy or elusive because...?

Furthermore, when Mulder popped a comment off to a witness or informant in the past, Scully never excused him-- just breezed over it professionally with another question. She’s only saying “excuse him” here because she’s taken a shine to Tad. WHY, on this post-2012 global warming green Earth, WOULD SHE?

Tad says Mulder is the X-Files, Mulder says that “book is closed”... WAIT. Wait, hold up--

Pause. Stop. Rewind. 

Mulder wants to believe. Actual proof is hard to come by. 

Tad thinks Mulder is the X-Files. 

MULDER SAYS… *ahem*... Mulder says, “I’m afraid that book is closed.” …Which means he’s no longer into UFOs or aliens, too. SO. why did Scully LEAVE.

If that’s behind him, why aren’t they together again???? Mulder didn’t know who Tad O’Malley was a minute or so ago, meaning he’s been outta the conspiracy scene for a bit. That MEANS his departure from Conspiracyville's been long enough to patch-up his obsession and ensuing depression, I guess.

But then... what about Scully??

Because Mulder wants her to come back (already subtly established in each scene), and Scully is concerned for his welfare; but Scully thinks he’s still into UFO conspiracy and hasn’t come back because of it? BUT SHE ISN’T SHOCKED WHEN HE SAYS “I’m afraid that book is closed” MEANING SHE KNOWS HE’S PUT THAT BEHIND HIM... BUT STILL HASN’T RETURNED?

And both of them aren’t acting as if they’ve broken up, anyway, except for a pointed line of dialogue here and a brief reaction there before they yeet back to the status quo.

They’ve left that behind them, Scully says, for better or worse. And Mulder latches onto that better or worse, making a pointed barb at their breakup, but…. There’s no writing glue, just suggestion and inference; and the suggestions themselves don’t add up. 

Here come the bullet points. 

Season 10 posits Mulder became depressed after the aliens didn’t invade in 2012-- that’s reasonable and logical, his nature is depressive when his expectations are subverted or smashed or etc. 

Season 10 also posits Scully left because Mulder became too much to deal with. That’s… not logical, since her nature is to rescue and nurture, even when Mulder’s being an actual boil on her sittin’ cheeks (ala Demons, etc., etc.) 

Season 10 posits Mulder’s hard to get a hold of-- despite being in the same house the FBI helicoptered to in IWTB-- and posits it might be hard for Scully to get a hold of him-- despite the fact both characters easily got in contact, knew it was each other, and even joked about the fact it’s hard to get in contact with Mulder… which means it really isn't. (The script doesn’t catch these discrepancies, of course, pretending Mulder is very hidden away at the same ol' house he'd been discovered at in 2008.) 

Season 10 says Scully doesn’t want UFOs to be part of her life anymore, that it was a stranglehold… yet she came along on a conspiracy gig without question to… what? Be around Mulder? But then, why warm up to the conspiracy guy-- an embodiment of what drove her and her partner apart?

Season 10 posits Mulder chased Scully off with his conspiracy spiraling YET ALSO states he’s put that part of his life-- conspiracies, UFOs, the X-Files-- behind him. Which implies: A. Mulder’s aaaaaaall better now and B. he put that all behind him but Scully never came home and C. Scully shouldn’t know he put that all behind him if that’s what’s keeping her away; but she does know because his declaration doesn’t take her by surprise, which means she’s still driven away and concerned for him for no discernable reason.  

Season 11 posits Scully didn’t leave because Mulder became too much to deal with but because she, too, had issues to deal with. This point wasn't mentioned or hinted at in the episode that introduces their breakup, which makes that line of reasoning a complete rewrite. (Whatever. I’ll judge how well that’s executed when I get there.)

It doesn’t add up. 

Are we surprised. 

Five seconds after this, I had to listen to a back-and-forth between Tad O’Malley and Mulder on conspiracies and Conservatives and alien beliefs and the O’Reilly Factor and….

This seems out of touch, I’m not sorry. 

When this show aired, Conservatives already had their miles-long conspiracy theories. For Mulder to be ignorant of that fact while allegedly knowing exactly who and what Tad believes while also alleging….

More bullet points!

Fox “I’m afraid that book is closed” Mulder has, supposedly, been out of the conspiracy scene. 

Fox “I’m afraid that book is closed” Mulder isn’t aware that not only did 2015 Conservatives believe in aliens-- despite the fact Tad is a watered-down copy-paste of Alex Jones-- but that there were also Conservative believers in the 90s (who were a fringe in their own group, but.) This was Mulder’s expertise; and his eidetic memory isn’t likely to have tossed that info because it was no longer relevant to his life. 

Fox “I’m afraid that book is closed” Mulder has supposedly not been out of the conspiracy scene-- despite saying he is-- because he does know who Tad O’Malley is-- despite not knowing who he was two minutes ago. 

Mulder is assuming that Conservatives “of your credentials” don’t believe in UFOs or “9/11 false-flag conspiracies” despite people from the Left, Center, and Right publicly believing those conspiracies in 2015. 

Fox “I’m afraid that book is closed” Mulder is supposed to be dismantling Tad’s grift; but he (and the writers) sound uneducated and incredibly out-of-touch during this dialogue-- as if all Conservatives were still Bush-era believers. Most were suspicious of the government by this time (they helped elect a man who ran on a “drain the swamp” campaign, after all.) Mulder’s bewilderment here is old and tired, even by 2015 standards. 

This writing is flashy-- long sentences, quick back-and-forths-- but poorly constructed and badly executed. 

This is also the first segment where David Duchovny is peeking through Fox Mulder; where Scully is swinging wildly between absolutely-fine-with-Mulder and we’re-no-longer-together; and where we, the audience, are being force-fed that only one side of the political aisle believes in aliens-- or the Bigger Question or whatever-- on a show that wants to poke at unfounded conspiracy beliefs.

Oh, look! Scully made a Scully-face, so everything’s good now! 

(UuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH--)

Sveta. Aww, I like her--

“You don’t remember me.”

“No, I think I’d remember.”

WHAT WAS THAT. 

Show writers, STOP with the romantic triangulation, it’s NOT. GONNA. HAPPEN. David doesn’t even TRY to make that romantic-ish. Yet you angle on Scully’s face as if she’s supposed to be out-of-the-loop and a tinge jealous. 

WAIT, WAIT, WAIT, hoooooooooooooooooooold up. 

Svetta was a dark-haired little girl Mulder interviewed after her first abduction, meaning she’s set up to be another Samantha. 

So…………………. What’s with the murky jealousy issue, CHRIS. You wedged it in solely so Scully would feel jealous over Mulder? Y’know. Like I Want to Believe? 

And I say Chris Carter because he wanted to play the breakup angle:

"We do it in an interesting way," Carter told The Hollywood Reporter. "We put some of the tension back in that was relieved by them being together. It added to the storytelling opportunities. It's something that I came up with; I had been thinking about it. There was always talk of [breaking them up] if we did another movie."

The first shot canon takes right between the eyes:

Scully being “familiar” with the “screen memories” abductees are given was a cool touch… except she’s never been given “screen memories.” The abductees in Jose Chung’s From Outer Space were given screen memories-- she was returned a blank slate. (Even Mulder didn’t have “screen memories” after his abduction.) 

Scully poking Sveta about aliens taking her unborn fetuses seems a tad (heh) strong except all the alien-related pregnancies have been the result of government testing, not alien probes. So. If this scene followed canon's rules, her skepticism would be warranted.

But this skepticism is still odd. 

Two seconds ago, she was making nice to Tad O’Malley in the car, and now she’s leading the questioning for Sveta. The odd icing on top of this odd cake is that Scully left because she didn’t want UFOs to have a stranglehold on her life, yet here she is leading an interview with an abductee.

Sveta: “I have alien DNA, for sure.”

Scully: “Have you had a doctor confirm that?”

Sveta: “No.”

Me, too, Mulder. Me, too. 

Scully doesn’t question the alien DNA bit, so that’s good. 

…I’ll bet everyone forgets she and Mulder have a bit lingering in their systems from the black oil and his brain thingy and residue from when she touched the ship and and and. 

“Something you can test. Dana.” 

What… what was that. 

Honestly, what was that. Whatever mood David was conveying through Mulder, it didn’t match anything from any previous scenes, let alone this one.

Is he poking at Scully? Why? He’s not jealous anymore (if he even was.) The way he says it and her expression in response implies they have a tense back-and-forth going on, but they don’t. THEY DON’T. 

We’re 13 minutes in and I could make another numerical list. But I won’t. Yet.  

Back to not-Obiwan Kenobi and Military Man. 

That alien’s stupid bad-looking. 

Wait. 

That’s not how canon said Roswell unfolded. 

And the first alien shot on Earth was by Deep Throat’s hands-- that was his whole turning-point backstory. 

CURSE YOU, LACK OF A SHOW BIBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

(Note from the future: All of that past canon? Fake. Faked. All lies. None of that happened.)

“What have you done??” Not-Obiwan Kenobi yells… and what have they done? 

Back to Scully and Sveta. 

Sveta can move things with her mind-- not all the time-- but at least Scully is listening to her claims without automatically shutting them down. 

But also…

“I can move things. With my mind,” should have IMMEDIATELY had a greater impact on Scully, up-close-and-personal as she was to her son’s abilities. But nope! No reaction! Of course! 

Sveta “You were together but now you’re not” is asking the right questions. I don’t even mind Sveta. I’ll bet this episode’s the last time we see her, though. 

Does she contribute to anything? No. But she’s nice, so. 

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT, WAIT, WAIT. 

Scully diagnosed-- wait, hold up, list time. 

Scully diagnosed Mulder with depression. 

That killed their relationship. 

…THAT killed their relationship? After everything? 

The writers are going to have to explain, in detail, why that killed it. 

Why does canon need to explain? Because we have a history of Scully sticking by Mulder during the worst periods of both their lives-- leaving him would have to require a very, very good reason.

And there is no indication, thus far, that Mulder’s depression drove a humungous wedge between them, forcing her to walk away. In fact, there is no indication a wedge exists between them, AT ALL-- only the odd, inconsistent word or phrase here or there that bears no weight on the plot or their ultimate decisions.

Whenever Scully left in canon, it was because she could no longer help Mulder. Season 11 will rewrite Season 10’s initial explanation but setting that aside: we’re not given any indication that she did try to help him; or that his depression was so deep and so dangerous that it drove her away.

And if it were that deep or that dangerous enough to drive her away, Scully leaving would have been the last and worst possible action she could have taken. If Mulder's mental state was in such a massive nose-dive that she couldn’t handle what he was going through, Scully-- a medical professional-- would have had him hospitalized, even temporarily against his will, because she would know (per Demons or Gethsemane or Amor Fati) that this level of depression always manifested in suicidal tendencies for her partner.

But Mulder, as per the rules laid out in this episode, never went that far in his deterioration. (Note from the future: We'll get to that.)

If he had, Skinner would have been aware of his hospitalization and wouldn’t have asked for his help; Scully would have been aware and wouldn’t have passed on the information; and Scully wouldn’t have called from the hospital with a degree of buoyancy when relaying Skinner's request to Mulder. 

In short: Scully leaving = very big, very drastic measure. Mulder suffering from depression = very big, very bad consequences. Scully's nature and past actions = getting Mulder help, even if he resists at first (i.e. shooting him in the shoulder to save his life.) Mulder and Scully's partnership = unbroken, except through distrust or botched writing.

“And you have a child together.”

Wow, that wasn’t clunky at all. 

SCULLY STICKS SVETA HARD WITH A NEEDLE BECAUSE SVETA MENTIONS WILLIAM, darkly saying "That's enough", SO SVETA WOULD KNOW SHE DID IT ON PURPOSE.

I’m… so disgusted. Like, eck. Urk. Awful. 

Telling Sveta to back off, strongly, would be in-character; USING PAIN TO DO SO is…. So wrong on so many levels. Scully never utilized medicine to inflict pain or injury on her enemies.

Wow, this grossed me out. You know why?

Scully diagnosed Mulder with depression and left. At first glance, that seem like an out-of-character action that the writing can salvage later by this or that means.

BUT THEN, Scully inflicts pain on Sveta for mentioning William, leaving the audience with the impression that she’s vindictive. 

Which then connects the dots between “vindictive” and “left Mulder when he was diagnosed with depression.”

And since we, the audience, haven’t been given a stronger reason for how Mulder’s depression got that bad or why she didn’t help him through it, we’re then left with a sour impression of Scully’s character. 

The writers then try to imply Sveta was spilling out Scully’s personal secrets to prove that her powers were real, but that still doesn’t give Scully the right to abuse her power. Especially because a traumatized woman was trying any method possible to be believed.

And the fact that Sveta is also a victim of the government weaponizing science and medicine makes me even angrier at Scully.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, BOY, another helicopter outside the Unremarkable House, my favorite part of IWTB....

Mulder’s never seen… an alien replica vehicle. 

Oh, my mistake: “No. Never. Not like that.” Covering all the bases, I see. Y’know, in case the writers FORGOT MULDER SAW ONE in SEASON 1, EPISODE 2. 

OH, LOOK, he’s got his wonder face back, everything’s aaaaaaaaaaaaall better now!

Running on free energy they’ve had since the 40s, sure Jan. Whatever you say. 

This just feels so old. Like. Tech we haven’t had since the 40S, GUYS, GET IT, BIG MONEY CORPOS KEPT IT FROM US. Yeah, we got it. 

And the flashbacks to Not-Obiwan Kenobi just walking off with an alien corpse because Military Man didn’t… see… value in studying… it. I guess. 

Scully doing “God’s work” giving kids ears because their biology neglected it.

I admit, that’s an intriguing window into her perspective of God vs. science, and how she sees a person’s biology separate from God messing them over or messing them up just because. I dig it.

(Note from the future: This will be used as a plotline club rather than a nuanced discussion of her faith.)

Mulder being the most challenging relationship she’s ever had-- “and the most impossible”-- is a weird line. Because yes, it’s true that their relationship is challenging; but her fervor at impossible is the only time in this episode we see an adversarial tendency, DESPITE My Struggle I trying to drum up moments to prove TENSIONS still LINGER (they don't.) 

It’s IWTB all over again. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

“Yeah. I got that impression.” Tad says, and Scully’s hurt because she thinks Mulder gave Tad that impression of her. 

So. So. Wait. 

Scully lied when she stated “It’s impossible” because she didn't like Tad poking into her private affairs?

But she sounded truly convinced their relationship was "impossible" while saying it.

So, she was either angry or still confused about her emotions-- which is fine, Scully's not always in-tune with her inner workings-- when Tad replied, "I got that impression."

Which explains why she was so hurt at Mulder's seeming rejection.

Because she thinks Mulder’s behavior led Tad to that conviction.

Which means CC just wants Mulder and Scully to be caught in a miscommunication fic.

Also, why is Tad so sad about this? Were they his OTP, or is he pretending to sympathize to get in Scully’s pants? Because that’d be crummy, Chris, to have her be overly nice to Tad only for him to try to twist that into an opening as the new conspiracy guy on the block. 

On a lighter note, Chris Carter said Mulder and Scully could still get it in their 50s, so there’s that.

HE DID, HE DID SET SCULLY UP TO BE PURSUED BY TAD--

WHAT. WHAT. WHAT WHAT WHAT--

KNOCK IT OFF, CHRIS. 

Poor Sveta. She’s gonna be butchered in this script, isn’t she?

The series is EATING up vast amounts of time with very little scale or grounding. For all I know, a day or a week could have passed. 

It’s so, so badly paced. 

Mulder’s investigating now, without Scully, because he noticed Sveta had a tell during the interview. 

Um. 

Sure, that’s a Mulder thing to do.

Oh, wait. This is the “work of men” realization.   

The dialogue between Mulder’s questions and Sveta’s answers are really disjointed, as if they’re mildly talking past each other-- another aspect of IWTB I couldn’t stand. 

Welp, at least it’s easy to prove they were both written by the same people. 

The second shot-in-the-head for canon: 

“Sveta, who took your babies?” 

“Men.”

“Men? Humans? You saw their faces.” 

Also, Sveta’s babies are referred to as her babies, but William-Jackson isn’t Scully’s baby despite sharing half her DNA but Emily Sim was Scully’s baby despite also only sharing half her DNA.

It’s a mess. 

Well… Mulder doesn’t seem too surprised here that men were involved in her abductions (I mean, he's long since been aware the government was involved from day one, so.) It’d be really stupid if the writing made him surprised about this later, wouldn’t it?

…Wouldn’t it?

Another poorly constructed set of lines:

“I haven’t worked for them [the government] in years.” 

“But you always wondered… if they were lying to you, too.” 

No, he didn’t wonder-- he believed it.

A wonky way to address his old skepticisms, for sure. 

JUST AFTER I NOTED THAT MULDER DIDN’T LOOK SURPRISED AT SVETA'S REVELATION, HE CALLS UP SCULLY AND MAKES A BIG DEAL ABOUT IT BEING A CONSPIRACY OF MEN. 

I knew this was coming, but maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan that was so, so poorly handled.

SCULLY WAS GETTING (sort of) WINED AND DINED BY TAD O’MALLEY??????????????

I HATE IT HERE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHAT IN THE WORLD AND WHY, HOW COULD YOU BE SO EASILY FLEECED, DANA, THIS ISN’T AN ED JERSE PARALLEL BECAUSE YOU THINK MULDER DOESN’T WANT YOU, THIS IS STUPID, THIS IS THIS IS THIS IS

WHAT. 

I thought Scully had dated Tad O’Malley in the past (sometime after the breakup) but this is worsefarworse. 

SVETA IS THE KEY TO EVERYTHING, I’M SO TIRED. 

“Mulder, where are you going?” sounds exactly like Scully, and now I’m mad Gillian didn’t use that voice for the rest of the show (voice recovery aside....)

I KNEW SKINNER WAS BEHIND GETTING THEM BACK. He just calls up Scully to call Mulder up, then just unlocks the old office when Mulder wants to get back in. 110% Skinner thought this would help his buddy Mulder. And he’s not wrong. 

Wait. 

Did Skinner put in more effort to save Mulder from his mental health struggles (per this My Struggle I episode) than Scully??????

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-- my brain is broken. 

The hold on Skinner’s face while he says “Can you tell me what this is about” was way too long. 

Also, don’t try to play coy with me, Skinman. 

Now the camera’s zooming around and losing its “X-Files” feel by being too… modern. 

Skinner telling Mulder to calm down is the only time in canon where I agree with him. Mulder’s just spouting and demanding and not really making clear sense and this is why you don't let Mulder back into his basement without Scully by his side, Skinner-- don’t you remember that lesson?

Skinner telling Mulder to calm down then saying he doesn’t take orders from him only for Mulder to say “Who do you take orders from?”, ugh.

GUYS, THIS WAS RESOLVED IN SEASON. 2. BECAUSE MULDER KNEW MEN WERE BEHIND THE CONSPIRACY SINCE SEASON 1, EPISODE 2; AND SKINNER SINCE SEASON 2, EPISODE ASCENSION.

BECAUSE SKINNER’S ALREADY HAD HIS LOYALTY TESTED AND THIS IS HURTING MY BRAIN MAKE IT END.

I’m not even 25 minutes into this, help. 

“Why do you think I called you? Because I was looking out for you, because I’ve always looked out for you.” Is… is Skinner the only character who’s progressed? That’s exactly what he would do-- he’s acting sensibly, rationally, and in-character... and more mature, more veteran, than his agents.

I know the Revival is supposed to be “Mulder and Scully all grown-up” but none of their actions have been intelligent, measured, or informed by their age or life experience. It’s a farce that I hope future episodes will rectify. 

“A decade of my life--” Mulder rants and kicks his poster like a toddler AND YOU KNEW ALL THIS INFORMATION FROM SEASON 1, MULDER. NONE OF THIS IS NEW. WWWWWWWWWWWWWWHAT IS THIS. 

I can’t imagine how disappointed philes were when they tuned into this episode. Well... I can because of how I feel; but at least I knew, roughly, how bad it would be going in. 

This is worse. 

Skinner: “You’re blaming me for that?”

Mulder: “No, I’m blaming myself. I’m sure they lied to you, too.” 

This isn’t a revelation, chump. 

At least Skinner confirms my theory: “There hasn’t been a day since you’ve left that I haven’t reached for my phone to call you, Mulder, wishing you were still down here.” 

Feral Mulder is touched. 

“Since 9/11--” OH NO, WHY ARE WE GOING THERE “--this country’s taken a big turn and in a very strange direction.”

Guys. Guys. This isn’t… this… what. 

“Now they police us, spy on us, and tell us that makes it safer--” CAN THE WRITERS GET OFF A SOAP BOX FOR FIVE SECONDS. Of course it isn’t safer to be unnecessarily policed or spied on, but the answer isn't just "boo, the government!" What… why… my brain’s melting, I feel it deteriorating. 

This, again, feels so Bush-era. Like, whoever wrote this didn’t update their mentality. 

Also, the camera shots and cuts are weird. Holding too long, zooming out at “pause and take THAT in” moments, focusing on Mulder’s phone while he silently calls up Skinner to prove a point… it’s supremely unsubtle.

Back to Tad, I don’t care. You did this to yourself, Scully, cozying up only to be used as a name drop on his show. Stupid. 

Is Scully gonna be shocked she has alien DNA? She shouldn’t be. 

But then again, Mulder shouldn’t be shocked this has all been a work of men, so. 

She’s expecting-- no, hoping-- for a call from somebody named Mulder. 

Sure, they’re broken up with hard feelings. Sure. Absolutely. 

Is this old man Not-Obiwan Kenobi?  

Of course.

At least Mulder seems old hat at this informant business. 

But of course, he’s “not even close” to putting it all together. 

Stupid. 

WAIT.

The countdown was WRONG-- Mulder states it began, not ended in 2012, meaning he's believed this theory for some time. Meaning... why was he so depressed after 2012? Why are there still depression concerns in 2015?? Seriously, what's with his depression if the 2012 Colonization was allegedly the cause of it but there is no Colonization and the clock's simply been reset????

WHY WAS HE DEPRESSED IF HE RECONFIGURED THE COUNTDOWN. WHAT.

Mulder: "Not by aliens, not with aliens, but by a conspiracy of men--"

“You’re wasting my time.” Tell him, old man Not-Obiwan Kenobi!

“Ten years ago, you came to me--”

Wait, ten years ago? What, 2005? The guy showed up while Mulder was on the run? And Scully never… knew about this?

There were no aliens lighting each other on fire??????????????????? WAIT, I NEVER HEARD THIS INFORMATION. 

THERE WERE NEVER ALIENS, AT ALL???????????????????? Like, AT ALL????? 

The writers are saying that Scully's experience on Ruskin Dam in Season 5 was not two warring alien factions BUT TWO GROUPS OF MEN LIGHTING EACH OTHER ON FIRE, OR GIVING EVERYONE FALSE MEMORIES OF ALIENS LIGHTING EACH OTHER ON FIRE, OR...??????

hONESTLY. 

Let's be real specific for a second: Chris Carter expects us to believe that the ENTIRE mytharc from the original show was ALL faked; that there were no aliens, ZERO, ZILCH; and that CSM and Deep Throat and all the others created elaborate schemes JUST to manipulate MULDER because the aliens weren't a threat from the start????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? DON’T BELIEVE YOUR LYING EYES. THEY WERE ALL MEN IN SUITS.

Like… do you realize how stupid that is? How actually, unfathomably stupid that is? It’s not just “the aliens didn’t invade because of global warming,” no, it’s “they were never a problem to begin with, we just manipulated Mulder into believing they were because… because he’s so important, I GUESS.”

Roswell’s also a smokescreen, of course. 

Y’know how, during the 90s, DD thought The X-Files was a stupid sci-fi show? If he thought each mytharc plot was as bad as this one, no wonder he wanted to bail. 

Oh, by the way, the global warming explanation is part of a theory: the fascist elites will dominate the world and escape from consequences into space, leading the rest of humanity to die by a globally warmed planet. The aliens weren't chased off by global warming because they were never a factor to begin with.

Wow.

I CAUGHT A CONTINUITY ERROR!

Scully shows up at his place in her uniform from yesterday, panicked, like she’d just run from Tad’s side to see what happened despite her saying over a day has passed.

Going to ignore his “What are you doing here, Scully?” because we’ve ping-ponged back to the out-of-character Mulder that the writers use when it’s time to remind everyone he and Scully are broken up. 

It’s IWTB all over again, I’m so tired. 

They’re talking past each other and he’s touching her shoulders now because he needs her to trust him and yadda yadda yadda. 

It’s soooo, sooooo, soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo highschool, I’m sorry. This is Riverdale. This is [insert whatever teen series you want to watch.] These are teenagers masquerading as adults, for the angst.

None of this holds up, their emotions shift left and right without provocation, things just happen, and there is no strand of continuity stringing anything together.

Scully trying to talk Mulder down from further pursuit doesn’t make sense because, AGAIN, she’s the one who's always gone back to the files even when he walks away; and every time he’s given up, or wanted to, SHE'S called him back and held him accountable and kept him going. 

This is the Scully from IWTB with no gumption of her own, who denies her leaps forward because of plot, plot, plot. 

Guys, I’ve been religiously dosing myself with caffeine (via chocolate), but my body keeps trying to make me go to sleep because it’s so uninvested. I don't even need sleep.

“This is my life, this is, this is everything I believe in--” HOW. MANY. TIMES. Has he said this before. WHEN HAS THAT LINE EVER WORKED ON SCULLY.

But that's beside the point: "this" was no longer his life after Amor Fati, by his own choice. Closure brought him closure, but he was already spittin' walk-away talk by Requiem, chose to leave in Vienen, and insisted Scully stay gone in Alone. In Season 9, it was Scully who had to beg him into hiding to pursue the Truth or whatever; and it was Scully who brought him the case in IWTB and Scully who relayed Skinner's request and tagged along both times until she got uncomfy and decided never mind, too hard.

Y’know? This claim gets to me because it’s a lie. A lie so blatant that 90s Mulder would have thrown hands over it, a lie so baseless that it erases his declaration in the hallway:

“I don’t know if I want to do this alone. I don’t even know if I can.” And every time Mulder yells his “THIS IS MY LIFE”, he erases that part of his past, the part that willingly left the files or the big Truth or the next chase to save Scully’s life or to keep her by his side. 

Chris Carter said Mulder and Scully were The X-Files post The Truth… but I guess he keeps conveniently forgetting that. More accurately, he keeps making MULDER forget that, in spite of all evidence in Mulder’s history and personality to the contrary. 

It infuriates me. 

“Tad O’Malley is a charming man--” get outta here. 

Now Scully’s been played the fool so she’s going to think Mulder’s being toyed around with by a social media sociopath. You’re an idiot, Scully. 

You’re an idiot, Mulder. 

You expect us to be idiots, writers. 

Here’s some ham-fisted “Fate” dialogue for you, *ahem*:

Scully: “How do you know he’s not playing you, he’s a player!” (You would know, Scully.) 

Mulder: “He’s a Godsend!”

Mulder’s not a believer in God, BUT this is also supposed to refer to the God conversation Scully and Tad had in the hospital, which will inadvertently make Scully ~believe~ again.

“What are you talking about?” I’m with ya there, Scully. I’m with ya, there. 

Scully’s trying to insist Mulder's on a verge of a breakdown, which… UGH. 

This scene implies Mulder hasn’t had a breakdown or a break from reality YET-- Scully spends the episode constantly concerned for his health and begging him, here, to watch what where he's stepping because he’s on the verge of spiraling. 

Which means he hasn't spiraled, because she's afraid of what would happen to him IF he did.

MEANING that there wasn’t an inciting factor that made her leave: no alcoholism, no outbursts, no nothing. He just became depressed, probably withdrawn, and wouldn’t change; so, she left. 

Do you realize what that means, per this episode? It means Scully ANTICIPATED a breakdown and left BEFORE it happened. Then hoped he’d get better before it did. 

Which breaks the established morals of her character. If she had been able to help, she would have stayed. If she hadn’t been able to help, she would have found another way to help him, even if it involved calling in a third party against his will. Instead, she withdrew and hoped he would get better BEFORE he reached a breaking point-- essentially, leaving him to an impending breakdown while hoping and praying against it.

This makes her decision to leave a mark of weak character-- not because she was a woman who left her depressed husband, but because Dana Scully, whose character we amply know, left. It checks none of the boxes she'd have to clear first before choosing to take one step out the door.

All the fic I’ve read to justify their breakup-- and make no mistake, CC wrote her to say “as your friend” intentionally--  or time apart or whathaveyou had Scully reach a breaking point. Because, of course! That's logical. But here, in canon-- in black and white-- that didn’t happen. 

We, the audience, have to create a plausible scenario in our minds to justify the steps she took. Because. it. Is. not. In. canon (as per this episode.) 

Now Scully’s gonna get jealous of Sveta, I’m so done. Riverdale, uuuuuuuuugh. 

Mulder just lets Scully walk away because Scully thinks he wants Sveta but “Sveta is the key to everything” and if Scully wants to misunderstand that she should have more trust in him, I guess, and I NEED A RESPIRATOR.

He just says “Scully” once  and lets her huff off.  

TAD’S BACK, GO AWAY. 

WAIT, TAD STOPS HER BEFORE SHE LEAVES. 

Mulder: “I would have invited you, Scully, but I didn’t think you would come.” 

That’s…

That’s….

Let’s break down this stupidity: 

Scully shows up. 

Mulder had Sveta in the house because he was calling her and O'Malley for a group meeting. 

When Scully becomes nearly hysterical over his safety, he doesn’t reason with her, just spouts like a lunatic. 

When she misreads the Sveta situation and stomps off, he lets her go with a weak, “Scully"--

--because he knew Tad was right behind her and was pulling in to stop her from leaving. 

Because Tad and Sveta were invited but Scully was not. 

And Scully was not invited because.  

Because she might not show up. 

I’m just preaching to the choir at this point, continuing on. 

Scully gave in, just like that. Guess she’s not leaving, anymore. 

She’s so, so… spineless. Has been since Season 9, has been a BIT since Season 8 (though that was at least justified and kept to a bare minimum.) 

I’m just. So sick of passive Scully. 

I HATE THOSE STINGER NOISES NOW. 

It’s always, “You can't let this information out because these men work in secrecy”/”What is it?”/”You’ll see”; then stinger; then we, the audience, are immediately shown what it is.

No suspenseful build-up.

Tad: “Then why are you [Scully] here?”/”Scully: “Mulder, what are you up to?”/Mulder: *knowing look*/stinger/next scene.

KNOCK IT OFF ALREADY.

“Implanting of alien embryos”-- so Sveta’s babies weren’t her babies. 

So Scully’s baby wasn’t her baby. 

But Emily was her baby but William isn’t. 

Sure, Jan. 

In spite of this information, the Revival will paint William as their son until it doesn’t; despite, again, stating from day one that the alien babies are implanted embryos and not biological babies.

So, these two boneheads should have suspected that William wasn’t theirs, anyway. 

Even though William is theirs because the CSM timeline doesn’t add up, which they would have mathed in their heads by the time little William was snuggled in their arms. 

It’s all so stupid. 

Why does this feel so fearmongery about the government? And I’m not going to sit here and say the government should be trusted-- it has a VERY bad history, I'm aware. But this is “my first conspiracy” level of worldbuilding.  

Did the writers think it was clever to set O’Malley up as a bad actor then reveal he was a good actor, modeling him after the notorious Alex Jones only to point and jeer, “HAH, you assumed! He’s actually on Mulder’s side!” 

Because that’s not genius, that’s laziness. 

Scully only now decides to inform everyone Sveta has no evidence of alien DNA? So, what, she was never going to tell them unless Mulder kept being, what, crazy? 

“They got to her,” says Mulder about Sveta, but Scully LITERALLY SAID she had no alien DNA, so what was Sveta supposed to believe???????? That Tad O'Malley wasn't using her for as a hoax???

Mulder ran all the way to her house, or ubered then ran, or whatever… and she’s gone, of course. 

Poor Sveta. 

Tad O’Malley’s Truth Site is gone, oh, noooooo. 

Look, I’ll always be against censorship. But this is sending so many odd and mixed signals that it’s creating craaaaaaaaaaaaazy levels of dissonance. 

Mulder wrote “Don’t Give Up” in Scully's car dust…. 

Riverdale. 

Mulder presents the global warming = no aliens theory? 

I’m so tired. 

WAIT, SCULLY BELIEVES MULDER'S THEORY NOW THAT HER BOY TAD’S BEEN PULLED OFF THE NETWORK. 

“We need to find her [Sveta], Mulder,” Scully insists. 

Hold on, prediction time: Scully only changed her mind because this case now involves her-- i.e. only extending empathy to Christian (a boy that reminded her of William) and not to the string of missing, possibly murdered, women in IWTB.

OF COURSE. Her results for Sveta ended up being wrong AND HER OWN GENOME HAS ALIEN DNA IN IT, TOO. 

You selfish, self-centered clone of Dana Scully. 

Scully truly hasn’t recovered since… Season 9, let’s be real, where she told Mulder to leave then spent the whole year crying over his absence. In IWTB, she brought Mulder a case then left him when he wouldn’t stop his pursuit (to SAVE. LIVES.) And in the Revival, she called Mulder and the gang crazy until her own genome showed alien DNA. 

Hate this, hate this, HATE this. 

Also, yeah, she already knew she had alien DNA in the OG series, moving on.

Oh, and now they get a call from Skinner just when Scully says someone has to stop the bad guys. 

OF COURSE. 

Remember the God convo from earlier, guys???? GOD. FATE. SOMETHINGSOMETHINGSOMETHING. 

You had ONE good idea to explore-- how Scully views God vs. the aberrations of biology-- and then just... used it as a convenient club to beat in the “God/Fate means for us to do this” instead. 

“Scully, are you ready for this?”

“I don’t know there’s a choice.” 

Can’t someone PLEASE just explore her faith with nuance? PLEASE? 

Sveta's DEAD???????? I’M SO MAD, I liked her!

YOU FAILED HER, SCULLY. 

YOU FAILED MULDER, SCULLY. 

WHY DOES SCULLY HAVE TO KEEP FAILING PEOPLE???????????? 

Skipping the CSM scene because I don’t care, the END. 

CONCLUSION

How does Scully’s mischaracterization keep reaching new lows? 

How does Mulder become less wise with age? 

How is Skinner the only mentally mature character here?

I’m so tired.

[incorrectcreepypastafam]

Creepypasta As DanAndPhilGAMES Quotes After The Revival

Toby: I’ve graduated into fuckland

Jeff: just stop speaking

Toby: okay

Toby: soft launching the gay

Jeff: I’m gonna hard launch you out of that window

Liu: know what I mean?

Jeff: no

Jeff: is it hard for you to speak sometimes

Lyra: did that work

Jeff: not really

Lyra: I tried really hard

Jeff: what is the most emo clothing we got here

Jeff: my brother, WELCOME TO THE BLACK PARADE

Lyra: look at this magnificent bitch

Brian: communities that shit together stay together

Jeff: I will try to be normal

Tim: where’s your mind at

Toby: where’s your mom at

Toby: and now I’m wet in this suit

Lyra: uhhhhhhhhhh

Lyra: you pissed?

Toby: I’m gonna stop breathing

Jeff: thank you, Toby, that’s a good volunteer

Ben: maybe they got struck by lightning

Jeff: where was the lightning bitch

Ben: I’m gonna haunt every generation of your family

Tim: should we take it in turns with the swinging?

Tim: that’s what someone’s mom said last night

Game: it’s been a long day

Liu, to Jeff: me sitting next to you

Brian: I’m grabbing my boobs

Sally: is it an alien or Squidward? What are we being chased by?

Sally: it’s hard for me to tell

Liu: THATS THE SHADOW OF THE ROSE ITS NOT A DEMON

Jeff: if that baby comes out I’m gonna kill you

Toby: I’d like that

Toby: you know what they say about big feet

Lyra: what

Toby: big socks

Lyra: okay

Jeff: half an hour montage of Tobias Rogers attempting to learn how to put on a cape

Toby: can you help

Jeff: no

Toby: and then I just saw some lightning happening in the microwave and thought “what a beautiful night for a thunderstorm”

Sally: I don’t do drugs I don’t know what grams are

Lyra: im hot I don’t know how to count

Jeff: maybe I am heaven

Sally, pointing at plastic spiders: that’s Ben. That’s Ben 2. That’s Ben 3

Liu: I’m gonna give us a solid 7/10 on that one

Jeff: just a seven? Are you fucking kidding me

Liu: I was being humble

Jeff: fuck humble

Jeff: do you ever reflect on our lives and just think… stop

Liu: yeah all the time

Tim: I wanna fuck the Eiffel tower

Jeff: dead people in France

Liu: STOP IT

Ben: im gonna hit you with a meteor

Sally: im gonna microwave you

Toby: can I just show you something

Jeff: is it a dead person in France

Jeff: im in my cougar era. Watch out twinks, Jeff is on the prowl

Lyra: I wanna do things to this house

Liu, through his teeth: what do you want to do to the house, Lyra?

Liu, through his teeth: respect the house, Lyra

Jeff: what happens when you tap the emo dragon

Liu: you want me to tap it?

Jeff: yeah

Liu: *taps dragon*

*g note plays*

Jeff: that’s damn right

Ben: I do not think playing this game is how Christ would want us to start his season but here we are

Jeff: but Santa would and so would his brother, Satan

Ben: okay

Jeff: I don’t own any sex toys that go chomp chomp

Jeff: but nice to know that you do

Jeff: I’d say Jesus Christ but I know he’s not listening right now

Toby: five strokes and you’re done

Jeff: that’s what they call me. Five strokes Jeffy

Jeff: who’s they? What am I saying?

*trying to figure out what lmb stands for*

Jeff: lobotomy maybe bestie

Toby: look mate… BITCH

Jeff: it’s making you more intelligent that’s why you’re winning at golf

Jeff: we finally found a way to fix you

Sally: you’re banned from friendship

Ben: this is a safe space

*literally five minutes later*

Ben: point at the guy who doesn’t know how to crouch

Lyra: I would like you all to tell me how I can be better at this game

Ben: um don’t walk down hole

Lyra: okay

*playing Lethal Company*

Jeff: Ben’s not here let’s have a party

Ben: please get back on the ship or I’ll be leaving without you

Jeff: we thought we found a wheel. It was a mine

Jeff: they’re both fucking dead as fuck

Ben, laughing: good job

Jeff: Tim, you’re a top bunk kinda guy right?

Tim: that’s not what Tumblr says

Jeff: is that brown Grimace

Jeff: what the fuck am I looking at

Toby: I’ve never watched an episode of My Little Pony

Jeff: no because you’re normal

Game: who invented the lightning rod

Sally: me

Lyra: what’s the opposite of tears

Jeff:

Jeff: piss

Jeff: and the moral of the story is

Jeff: fuck books

Jeff: get paper cuts

Liu: no

Jeff: what

Liu: stop

Jeff: oh I missed this completely

Liu: is there some kind of grimy wall from your childhood we need to talk about

Jeff: it’s you bitch

Lyra: I put up flyers for car washing. I washed someone’s car and then they said I scratched it with my rings. Why was an eight year old wearing rings?

Jeff: did they try to scam an eight year old?

Lyra: YES

Jeff: you should’ve killed them

Brian: I would give birth to a child on this

Tim: yes

Brian: I would eat the child straight off it

Tim: no

Liu: let’s just grab an apple and try our best

Toby: hey Siri what’s 25+6

Ben:

Ben: girl-

Ben: 31

Toby: 29

*playing Poppy Playtime*

Jeff, to a toy oven: come with me, Owen

Liu: Owen needs to stay where he is

Jeff: I will love you, Owen

Jeff: I don’t like to contribute I just like to judge

Liu: but, Jeff, what is a VPN?

Jeff: virtual private gnome

Liu: gnome begins with a g

Jeff: :0

Sally: everything is just too heavy

Sally: even milk like

Sally: why are you heavy

Lyra: honestly liquid needs to calm down

Lyra: you know what we say about

superstitions

Liu: that they’re not real?

Lyra:

Lyra: do you wanna fight

Toby: just like Sonic The Hedgehog we’re going speed dating

Toby: … as he was known to do

Ben: what

Toby: what fictional characters could we see here

Toby: what are you expecting

Lyra: I’m expecting an anime boy

Lyra: I don’t know who else

Toby: Bill Clinton

Lyra: okay

Toby: he’s real

Jeff: I don’t care if Mozart did this when he was five he’s a nerd

Liu, about baboons: they only live up to 30 years in the wild and 45 years in captivity

Jeff: oh my god you’ve only got a couple years left

Ben: life comes at you fast and so does Trombone Champ

Tim: unleash the babussy

Jeff: did you just g note me with a fucking trombone

Jeff: last time I lost my voice. I’m loud as fuck today you’re gonna wish I had

Lyra: they ate

Liu: okay

Jeff: I was 26 doing that on YouTube

Jeff: fuck yeah good for me

Jeff: did you know that we are celebrities

Toby: celebritenis

Jeff: we are vips

Toby: vipenis

Jeff: we are influenc-

Jeff: *vomit noise*

Jeff: what did you just say

Toby: vipenis

Jeff:

Sally: when I did 23andme it said I was 8% lobster and I think we all know why

Brian: I think I looked snatched

Toby: *dies laughing*

Brian: did I use that right

Jeff: look it’s hard being this pretty

Lyra, reading the question: if they were having a party, what would they serve

Jeff: cunt

Jeff: sorry

Toby: I mean anything could’ve slipped onto something

Jeff: what

Toby: I don’t know what I mean

Jeff: oh god

[discord-lurking]

Dungeons and Daddies Wiki Drama: A Greek Tragedy Told through the Medium of Forum Posts (Part 1)

Prologue

Greek tragedies are typically formatted in three or more acts interspersed with choral interludes, beginning with a prologue, and ending with an exodus. In these, protagonists often meet their downfall due to their fatal flaw, or hamartia: the ways in which the protagonists are their own undoing. Our own human failings are the things that bring us the most pain.

When considering a three-act Greek tragedy structure for this, my first thought was to use the Oresteia as a framing device, a trilogy of plays written by Aeschylus about Agamemnon's family in the aftermath of the Trojan War. Upon reflection, though, the themes of the Oresteia (revenge vs. justice, perpetuating a cycle of violence, honor and punishment) didn't quite fit the story I was trying to tell.

No, this is a classic tale of hubris: excessive pride and its ultimate downfall.

After all, what position could come with more power than that of wiki moderator for a Dungeons and Dragons podcast series?

Act One: The Beginning of the End

The D&Dads wiki has historically been... unhelpful, at best. (Source: Myself.) Trouble had been brewing for a long time.

Forum posts from spring 2022 began noting issues cropping up around the wiki. First, it was a complaint about anonymous users "disrupting" the wiki (specifically on Jodie-related pages) while also fixing mistakes in articles.

I'm unsure what specific "disruptions" were meant, but the proposal to ban anonymous users didn't garner much traction.

March 21st, 2022:

After little activity for months (only one forum post, related to infoboxes), wiki user TwoRatner had a radical proposition: wiki migration.

December 17th, 2022:

TwoRatner suggested an alternate platform that would have different editing options, then made a potentially-prophetic statement: the wiki might be cursed.

This warning went unheeded.

December 27th, 2022:

Ten days after the migration suggestion, TwoRatner came back to ask if there were any recent changes. This went unanswered for months until new user Penguinwithafancytophat reported adding art to character pages (including Glenn, a main season 1 character since the start of the podcast in 2019, who incredibly might not have had any official art on his wiki page before March of 2023).

Spring of 2023 seemed to bring along a revival of the wiki, with new editors coming in, engaging with the forum, and attempting to make suggestions on how to improve wiki organization.

March 31st, 2023:

May 27th, 2023:

July 17th, 2023:

October 2nd, 2023:

Interestingly, the only administrator seen to be interacting with these enthusiastic new editors? Gaycowboyrats. Let's put a pin in that.

Enter: the drama.

It started out simple enough- a forum posts for administrators to discuss changes that needed to be made.

November 3rd, 2023:

76 replies.

Seventy. Six. Replies. Each deeply interesting in its own way.

However, this is a Tumblr post, not an Hbomberguy video essay, so I'll keep it brief.

The discussion started out as one might expect a wiki admin discussion to start:

Mods discussed blocks, deleting stub pages, spam, etc. Standard wiki business.

The first reply to ping my interest:

Removing cast pages from a wiki about their work seemed like an odd decision, in my non-wiki-editor opinion, but the last line is what really stuck out: "Besides, I hate the idea of someone vandalizing the pages to defame them."

Several questions arose for me:

Was this a known problem? Were people constantly vandalizing cast pages?

Would a vandalized fandom wiki page really defame somebody?

Isn't the point of wiki editing to remove vandalization on articles?

The administrators began to stand out to me as deeply invested in a very specific sense of wiki justice.

Users TwoRatner, Brazil86, and TheOneTrueGod41 agreed with Honic's take.

Another thing to ping my interest: these users seemed to share a similar odd, slightly stilted, writing style. Almost Tommy Wiseau-esque.

Brazil86 expressed optimism about users engaging with wiki pages, something that would begin to set them apart from other administrators.

As I read, themes began to emerge: wiki justice, and incongruous one-liners.

Quoth Honic Washington: "I just found a wave of nonsense fish. My backyard is full of them. Hey, TOTG41, do you like jazz? I like jazz."

Truly, modern poetry.

Administrator Marth8204 suggested giving people more time. More time for what? Unclear. It seems a plan was afoot.

TwoRatner came in with a hot take: "I feel like we need a community more right now, than adding links that people can search for in the search bar."

Brazil86 agreed: Changing the navigation was less important than getting people editing and making friends.

Another theme began to emerge: wiki community as more important than wiki functionality.

Gaycowboyrats had some (incredibly reasonable) objections to this, pointing out that the wiki was a resource for many visitors who might not participate- something that is generally true of wikis as a form of content.

Honic Washington responded to this, the signs of wiki-related stress beginning to show.

Honic posts a long rant about the thankless task of moderating a wiki, which goes largely unacknowledged.

Notable TwoRatner quotes:

"You can't crack open a few omelets without punching a few egg-rolls."

"Now Freddie will get more money. What do you all say? I think I helped quite a bit."

Another theme emerges: discontent in the wiki moderator ranks.

Honic reaches full Joker mode. Again, this goes largely unacknowledged.

Honic: "I am leader. I am a painter! Keep your rules. Keep your status. Keep your friends."

"Keep your status"- words that will reverberate throughout the rest of this tale.

The final theme? Wiki moderator status, and the maintenance of it.

After Honic's bomb drop, conversation about regular wiki moderation continued, with mods considering the addition of a bot to make edits.

Admin Discussion Zone, first started by Honic Washington, ends not with a bang but with a whimper.

Over nearly a year of forum posts, patterns emerged.

Firstly- users attempting to engage in the wiki, wiki administrators not engaging with these new users, then wiki administrators bemoaning the lack of user engagement.

The notable exception was Gaycowboyrats, the only wiki administrator to engage with new users in the forums. Gaycowboyrats, the administrator whose (incredibly reasonable) suggestions ended with Honic Washington's villain-esque monologues and denouement as a moderator.

Secondly- administrators putting forth large-scale, drastic solutions to real or perceived wiki problems. This includes Cheesoid4 wanting to ban anonymous users, TwoRatner suggesting site migration, Honic deleting cast pages to prevent vandalism, and more to come.

Thirdly- wiki administrators seeming to share similar styles of speech and occasional non-sequiturs. Interestingly, this mainly seems to include the wiki administrators who agree with each other.

Funny how that happens.

Chorus

Stay tuned for Part 2, where the forum drama really starts to heat up.

[rohansdisciple]

𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔯 ☀︎ .

summary : you and astarion sneak of into the forest for a night of fun .

warnings : romance / smut / nsfw . fem / afab reader . established relationship . nipple play . oral (fem reviving) . orgasm denial / edging . pet names used . erm tears / crying. aftercare / cuddles . and i think that’s it ! tell me if i missed something ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ !

word count : about 2.1 k *

reading time : about 10 minutes *

other : 16+ ** . i don’t have bg3 so i don’t play it however i think interpreted astarion character as well as i could so i’m proud of myself ! and this is set after the act 2 romance scene but inspired by the act 1 romance scene. may have some minor grammatical errors && the entire story is written in lower case and the punctuation has double spacing in between the words * .

a/n : i went through the 5 stages of grief while trying to get an idea for this fic…however i had fun writing it and studying astarion’s character in the process and growing to love astarion even more ! anyways, enjoy :> !

credits to @ rookthornesartistry on tumblr and @ angelwhispersunknown for the dividers !

after a long day of adventuring , sitting by the fire and staring up at the stars is just what you need to relax , but when you feel a hand on your shoulder , you are jerked out of this state of serenity . " hello , sweetheart , you look lost in thought , " astarion says as he takes a seat beside you . when you hear and see astarion , you can't help but smile . " not necessarily ; i was captivated by the stars , they're lovely , " you say , gazing up at the stars . " it's a lovely night , isn't it ? the moon and the stars are beautiful , but not as beautiful as you , love , " he whispers while looking up at the sky , his hand finding its way to your thigh .

" a perfect night for two lovers to sneak off and have some fun , no ... ? " " it's been a while since we found some time for intimacy , after all ... " astarion says suggestively . you then quietly laugh and say , " your offer sounds enticing , my love , so I'll take you up on it . " " excellent , dear ! i actually put some thought into this , so I set something up in a secluded spot I happened to come across , " he says to you , sounding very proud of himself , as he stands up and brushes the dirt from his hands ; you do the same . " we'll set off when the others are asleep then , " you reply , looking into astarion's crimson eyes . he gently takes your hand in his and kisses it , " i can't wait , darling ... " he murmurs seductively.

once astarion knows the others are fast asleep , he comes to get you . " come , my sweet , let's venture into the forest , " astarion states as he extends his hand to you . " all right , my love , " you laugh . " i'm really looking forward to seeing what you've prepared for us , " you say to him , taking his hand in yours . astarion chuckles , and without a word , he whisks you away into the forest .

after a bit of walking , astarion leads you to a secluded and grassy spot in the woods that's far away from the others so they won't hear too much of the noise you two will be making . you noticed he had laid out a sheet on top of the grass ; he also seemed to have placed some purple flowers he found on the sheet as well . astarion looks at your face to see what your reaction is , he's quite nervous about it , and he says , " surprise , darling ! it's not much , but ... "

you then stopped him before he could finish his sentence . " it's cute and thoughtful ; thank you , astarion , " you comment , your eyes filled with affection for him . " i — uh — thank you , my love . i'm delighted that you like it , " astarion says to you , with a somewhat flustered expression . " i tried to make things a little more romantic — you know , to set the mood , " he adds as he lays down and motions for you to join him on the sheet . when you join Astarion , he softly pins your body beneath his and passionately kisses you .

" well , looks like someone's eager , " you tease once astarion breaks the kiss . " of course , i am ! it feels like it's been an eternity since we've had some alone time , darling , " he states with a playful pout while he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer . " i ... love you , y / n . " astarion mumbles , his words trailing off as he looks at the curves of your body . there's a lustful glow in his eyes as he draws you into another passionate kiss .

during the kiss , astarion touches your body , his hands slipping under your shirt , unclipping your bra , and then breaking the kiss . " you won't need this anymore , sweetheart , " he says as he removes your shirt and bra , tossing them aside . astarion lays you on your back and looks at you as if he's about to devour you . he then starts kissing your neck , moving his lips lower and lower till he reaches your breasts , leaving a path of little hickeys on your skin . astarion then begins to softly suck on your nipple , occasionally nibbling at it . "ah ... gods ... a - astarion ... " you moan as his tongue slides over your sensitive nipple , pinching and rolling the other between his fingers .

astarion loves seeing you squirm and moan because of his touch ; one can even say it feeds his ego and boosts his confidence when it comes to pleasing you . once he had enough of teasing your sensitive nipples , he pulled away and looked at you with a playful look in his eyes , knowing you didn't want him to stop . " c'mon , why'd you stop - " you whine as the cold breeze hits your saliva - slick nipples . your whines and pleas for him to continue fall on deaf ears . then astarion says , " i do love this sensitive body of yours , dear ; you always have the cutest reactions . " He chuckles . " maybe I can get some more reactions if I touch down here , too ... " he continues teasingly while tugging at the waistband of your pants . you can tell he's going to take his time with you simply by hearing him say that .

he slowly strips you of your last pieces of clothing , tossing your pants and soaked panties aside with your shirt and bra . astarion then opens your legs and gets in between them , and you swear you heard him snicker . " you're so wet , darling ... all this for me ... ? " he teases as he spreads your pussy lips with his fingers , thumb grazing your clit as he does . a quiet moan escapes your lips . " mmph ... astarion , please , " you moan . " please what , y / n ... ? " astarion asks you , touching your aching clit once again , earning another moan from you . you groan , knowing that if you don't beg — at least a little — he won't do what you want . " i - i want you to eat my pussy ... pretty please , astarion ... " you beg . luckily for you , astarion loved the way you begged for him to please you . " alright , i'll do it since you asked so nicely , my love ... " he says with a smirk , then placing his tongue on your clit . 

you feel astarion's tongue moving softly and slowly over your sensitive bundle of nerves . " g - gods ... that feels so good ... please don't stop ... " you moan as your hand moves and grips onto his white curls instinctively . the feeling of his tongue lapping at your clit faster drove you insane ; he always knew which spots to lick and suck on , to the point where you didn't even care how loud you were moaning or how lewd you sounded . you feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter ; you really want to cum — you want him to let you cum so so badly . " mmph ! astarion , please ! i - i'm gonna - " you moan out desperately .  

astarion stops lapping at your clit , not wanting you to cum just yet ; he wanted to deny you your orgasm for a little while longer . " ah , ah ... not until i say so , darling , " he says , voice dripping with lust . then an idea comes to him , and he adds , " i need you to hold it in for me until i've had enough ; you can do that for me , right , my love ? " he asks because he knows that if you're desperate enough to cum; you'll comply with whatever he asks of you . " y - yes ... i'll hold it ... i - i just wanna cum ... " you whimper out desperately .

after a few minutes of antagonizing waiting , astarion goes down on you again , except not letting his tongue touch where you want , simply to tease you for his pleasure . he would pull away just as you were about to cum , refusing to give you the orgasm he had repeatedly promised you if you just " held it in " . you've lost track of how many times he denied you your release ; you think it was his fifth — no , sixth — time doing so . " a - astarion , please , p - pretty , please . i want to cum ... " you beg him , practically on the verge of tears .

" shh , my love , it's alright . you can cum this time , okay ... " he says lovingly , wiping the tears streaming from your eyes . through your teary eyes , you watch astarion slowly rid himself of his clothing and tossing his clothes over to the side with yours . his cock looks painfully hard , leaking with pre - cum , and his tip a rosy red , even twitching a bit . astarion gets on top of you , and you wrap your arms around his neck before he moves and puts you on his lap; it's his favorite position since he enjoys seeing your face while fucking you senseless . " i'm going to put it in now , darling ... can I do that ... ? " he asks you in a hushed tone . " yes ... please , fuck me astarion ... " you whimper .

astarion then slides his cock into your sloppily - wet cunt pretty easily , and he lets out a low groan . " g - gods ... your pussy feels s - so good around my cock - , " he murmurs in your ear , trying his best not to thrust up into you . after a few short seconds , you start to become restless , beginning to move on his cock slowly . " l - look who's the desperate one now , y / n , " he says with a quiet moan escaping his lips as he grabs onto your waist , taking the lead and speeding up the pace a little . " ngh ... f-fuck s'good ... s - shut it and just go faster - " you manage to say through your moans . the faster he bounces you on his cock , the more uncontrollable your moans became , and the closer you felt to cumming .

astarion can feel that you're close to your orgasm from the way your walls are clenching around him . " g - gods ... y / n ... p - please cum for me ... you can do that for me , right - ? " he moans while he thrusts into you at an a rough pace , wanting to feel your warm walls clench around his cock some more . he starts to rub your clit with his thumb to get you there , and after a few rubs , you feel the knot in your stomach starting to unravel . you moan so loudly it is practically a scream , " mmph ! i - im cumming ! " your legs begin to shake violently , and you could hear astarion panting heavily in your ear . you can tell he's trying his best not to cum inside you .

" that's a good girl ... " he murmurs as he pulls out of you , a ring of white visible around the base of his cock . astarion flips you on your stomach and harshly squeezes your ass . " ass up , darling ... " he tells you while he caresses your waist . your legs feel weak and they're all shaky , but you do what he asked of you . " mmh ... yes , astarion ... " you say , sounding completely out of it . 

you can hear a husky groan escape astarion's throat as he puts his cock back inside you . " y - y / n ... ngh ! " he whimpers . astarion grabs your waist and pounds into you from behind as quickly as he can to reach his orgasm . he's not sure how much longer he can hold it in , and he doesn't want to stop fucking your warm and sloppy pussy ; you feel too good . but , on the other hand , he does want to cum . " f - fuck ! s'too much ! " you whimper , now in tears from overstimulation.

the sound of sex is the only thing that can be heard in the forest ; astarion's thrusts are becoming animalistic and rough . when he feels his orgasm approaching , he immediately pulls out of you . " mmph ! y/ n ... shit ! a - ah gods , i - i'm cumming ! " astarion moans loudly as he strokes his cock , cumming on your back and ass . you collapse on the crumpled sheet underneath you while astarion calms down from the rush of his high , breathing heavily .

once astarion calms down from the rush of his very intense orgasm , he wipes your back off with a handkerchief he brought with him . " you did so good , darling , " he says sweetly , pulling you close and now resting with you on the sheet . " i wasn't too rough with you or anything , right ? " astarion asks . " no , no , of course not ; it was perfect , astarion , " you softly say , kissing his cheek . " well then you took it well , as you always do, my love , " he says cheekily .

astarion then moves his body so that he is now lying on top of you , right over your heart . he then lets out a content sigh . " i love you , y / n ... " he murmurs , his attention focused on your heartbeat . " i love you more , astarion ..." you say affectionately as your fingers run through his hair , and astarion's eyes close , falling asleep almost instantly . when you hear astarion's soft snores , you laugh quietly ; he's the cutest thing when he's asleep . " sleep well , astarion ... " you say before falling asleep with him in your arms , the sounds of the tranquil forest calming you both as you rest .

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔡 ☀︎ ...

read the second part here 🧛🏻 !

[dunmeshichilchuck]

For That One Guy On Tumblr, part 2

Chilchuck x !fem !Halffoot Reader

@dunmeshimeshi @leguink

Yes, union! What-" Chilchuck stopped and frowned. "Wait...how long had this dungeon been open when you entered?"

"...maybe six months? I joined on with a party dedicated to finding and destroying the mad mage instead of treasure hunting. How long has it been?"

There was a stunned silence. 

Finally it was broken by Chilchuck whistling through his teeth. "pheeeeeeewwww, you've been here a long time then. It's been almost six years since this dungeon was discovered."

The tall man beamed. "Woooahhhh this is so cool! I guess it doesn't matter how long it's been, as long as the body isn't too damaged and everything is there the soul sticks around! That means if we preserved bodies in something like vinegar they could stay in stasis indefinitely!" 

The elf rounded on him. "thats not- this poor person just found out she's been...gone for almost six years and that's your reaction??"

The tall man raised his hands defensively. "It could just have a lot of applications, okay? Has anyone even been ABLE to be revived after so long? No one thought it would be possible but clearly-" he gestured at you "she's living proof it is!" He stopped abruptly, as if realizing something. "Ah, sorry! What's your name? I'm Laois!"

Your mind whirled. How did this happen? What about the people you knew? Oh god, what about your sister? She'd be up near what...27 now? Was she technically the same age as you now? God she'd never let you live that down. 

"I'm...y/n....six...six years? How is that even possible? Oh! Who wound up defeating the mad mage? Did they wind up being the ruler like the dead guy said?" 

There was an awkward silence. Finally Laois said "ahh...hmmm... Well he's not been defeated yet...people have been trying all this time..." 

"What...? How? We figured we had to get in fast before everyone else started flooding in but....six years? Has someone at least gotten close?" 

A sudden pang of regret struck you. There was no hurry. Your party could have prepared more. You could have vetted your party members more....maybe you could have made it. And since Laois would definitely know if they had succeeded...they were either dead or given up. The thought gave you some small satisfaction.

You hoped it was a trap that did them in. Fuckers shouldn't have tossed you aside so easily.

Laois continued "but! I think we've got a solid shot at it now! So don't worry, we'll definitely defeat the mad mage!"

Chilchuck quietly snorted, and rolled his eyes at you. 

The elf stepped in. "It's nice to meet you y/n! My name's Marcille." She pointed at the dwarf and then the cat girl and said "his name's Senshi, and she's Izutzumi." 

"Nice...nice to meet you..." You stuttered out.

"Nice to meet you!" Senshi said, smiling up at you. Izutzumi just continued looking bored. 

"Food is ready!" Senshi continued "now I'm sure you have more questions for us, but you must be starved from resurrecting and there's no rush. Let's eat a meal first and then we can talk. But! Before we eat you're going to need to wash up and get some fresh clothes. No sense in eating a meal with dirty hands." 

You looked down at yourself, he was right, you were filthy and your clothes hung off you in tatters, grimy and soaked with disgusting water. Now that you paid attention, to your embarrassment you realized you definitely smelled. 

Marcille hung up some blankets to give you some privacy so you could quickly rinse off, and you could hear them rustling around in packs and discussing what would fit you. The water felt amazing, and you realized even before your....death. you hadn't bathed in a very long time. You must have already absolutely reeked before you went into the ice.

After a few minutes Marcille popped back inside triumphantly brandishing a pair of pants, a shirt, and a...length of white fabric? The shirt looked like it would fit you, the pants....not so much. 

"We found some clothes for you! Chilchuck had an extra shirt and I had some pants. We'll roll them up for now so you can go ahead and eat and then we can hem them up later."

Chilchuck interjected from outside the blankets. "I'm going to want that back at some point! That was my one extra shirt!" 

Marcille ignored him and thrust the clothes at you. "Oh! And-" she dropped her voice to an embarrassed whisper. "I knew my um...underclothing wouldn't um...fit you...but I figured we could make a quick ah, fix using some fabric? And maybe a better one later?"

"Oh you mean wrap this around my chest as a makeshift bra? Sure we can do that." You didn't bother lowering your voice. Who gave a shit if some random guys found out women wore bras. 

You quickly dressed, making a makeshift bra with the fabric that you were actually kind of proud of.

The pants ballooned out around your legs but it couldn't really be helped, and you could tailor them to you later. Surely they had at least a needle and some thread.

You felt optimistic for the first time. This could actually be doable. You could be useful enough to earn your keep, especially if they had plenty of food anyway. You were pretty good at drawing off and distracting bigger monsters so even with fewer traps you'd come in handy. This could really be your chance to carry on with the quest and succeed, or if they sent you back, oh well, you wouldn't be worse off than when you started. 

Yeah, this could really work. 

[elainsgirl]

Just going to drop some theorizing that my friends and I have been doing in GC over elriel especially since there were question in a previous AMA i think you might love this.

it's come from late night tumblr stalking and wild conversations so you might have heard some of it already because it's not completely original. i'll try to say all sources to give credit

theory from highbabyofthenightcourt:

(she went on to talk about the book of breathings and found a quote)

and this one quote which made sense to me

"life and death and rebirth" -feyre coded

"Sun and moon and dark"- nesta coded

"Rot and bloom and bones"- Elaine coded

hello sweet thing, hello lady of the night, hello fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, Sing me.

her theory is that there is three phases to connect to the sisters

feyre's journey was to find love, not just for rhys but for herself and for life "love me"

Nesta's line "touch me" could be an indicator of how she reclaimed her body through touch, through connection. (WHICH WOULD EXPLAIN THE SEX FILLED BOOK!)

(Elaine's comment kind of confuses me because for one it says "Hello fanged beast and trembling fawn" is it talking about just elaine here? because she did use azriels shadows. is she part of him and he is of her? or is she secretly also a fanged beast.) but she eludes this comment of "sing me" could be linked tot he shadow singer! we have no way of knowing until the book is out

life, death, and rebirth:- feyre (human, death, fae)

sun and moon and dark- nesta ( sun could be rage, moon could be pain, and dark could be atraxia)

rot and bloom and bones- Elaine (rot of her old self, bloom into something new and bones we won't know until the next book.)

now onto soemthing i just happened to notice myself from reading a depiction of when Elaine was rescued by Ariel. there was a huge foreshadow in the description alone.

the comment consisted of this "the two of them having to be physicaly seperated by Rhys"

it brought up the thought this is exactly what happened in the bonus chapter. rhys had to seperate them.

then i realized "who is azriels biggest obstical for the next book?"

it's his own high lord. his loyalty and love to his own brother.

who was luciens biggest obstacle? his own highlord, and suffice to say he did not do well in holding his own and standing up against him which in turn led to the event of elaine being turned.

how would elaine ever want a spineless mate?

i think azriels test to overcome will be going against his hgihlord and having a spine. it connect rhy's villianous behavior becoming more apparent rhought the books and sets up the motions for us the readers to relish and revel in his humbling.

i think azriel will show elaine he is not lucien and will not just follow whatever orders he's given at the detriment to other people.

Hey 🫶

oooh im always down to talk about elriel theories,

starting from, “fanged beast and trembling fawn” - I think this could be referring to Elains powers. “Trembling Fawn”

As for “fanged beast” - either Elain can shapeshift which was potentially hinted at in acofas when she asks Amren about choosing her body, or a more unrealisticc crack theory approach is that each Hl has a beast form. If Elain is the one to revive Dusk and become a ruler off it - then wouldn’t she also be given a beast form like the other Hls? It could also be metaphorical. Elain has two sides - the sweet, gentle, gardener Elain and the savage Elain will do whatever it takes to save the people she cares about such as kicking the hounds of Azriel, warning Feyre about Tamlin and stabbing Hybern in the neck for Nesta - all acts one may not have expected from someone like Elain.

As for the line, “love me, touch me, sing me” - this I believe is how each sister needs to feel loved or communicate their love. Rhys showed Feyre true love, Cassian and showed their passion/love through physical touch and as for elriel, sing me could be how Az shows his love for Elain - Ik there’s some theoried of Elain “dying” and Az will be the one to bring her back, in some mythologies this can be done through singing a song to a God and pleading them for their lovers’ life.

Good catch, in acowar - Rhys is the one that takes Elain off Az. And in the bonus he again, seperates Elain and Azriel. Now again, you can look at it metaphorically. Rhys representing a higher power that separates Elriel - maybe the cauldron. Potentially Koshei.

Omfg I love this parallel. Lucien couldn’t stand up to Tamlin, even for his mate - he was still by Tamlins’ side in acowar and only left when Feyre was going. He didn’t take initiative or do much, wanting to see if she was worth 🤢 fighting for. Yet w Azriel? “You can’t do that” - said to Rhys when he immediately pulled rank. Azriel deciding to go against Rhys and be with Elain will be a huge moment (I dont think they’ll have a secret or on going private relationship) something Lucien couldn’t do. And I think for Elain it will a significant moment too, someone wanting her so much they’re going against their HL. She means *that* much to them. Two characters choosing each other over power.