#post revival fic

[danascullysjournal]

Eternity

An X Files ficlet. Post Revival.

TW: Death, Severe Angst.

____________________

He changed.

It was imperceptible at first. Strands of his hair began to mirror clouds on an overcast day, and his face and hands were slowly peppered with darker spots. She called them freckles. He let her. They both knew it was a lie.

Her hair kept the same sheen, and her pale skin freckled, as it always had, but was never taken over by the aging blemishes that most women feared. He noticed smile lines begin to settle in a bit deeper, but not for age. She simply had so much more to smile about with him. It showed.

As the years had passed, his changes became more magnified. His stride, once hindered only by his desire to help her keep up, became smaller. Less sure.

She retired. To spend more time together, she said. Neither of them spoke of the finite nature of his life, or the infinite nature of hers. It would cut too much. Instead, she packed picnic lunches and laid the blanket under the gnarled tree. Clouds passed overhead and changed from one thing to another. Just like him.

The day came when he shuffled. She shortened her stride to match.

Food lost some of its taste. He didn’t want much anymore. She prepared his favorites the best she knew how, adding extra butter. More protein. And pies, homemade, filled with love. He tried to eat, for her. His lack of appetite stifled her own.

They grew thinner together. She cried quiet, happy tears that at least in this, she could share some of his experience.

He slept more. She sat beside him, her fingers curling through his thinned, cinder-flaked hair. He smiled and nuzzled into her as he slept, a child in an old man’s body. She told him stories of strange creatures, of a man hungry for truth and adventure who was willing to sacrifice everything.

“It’s you,” she said. But he knew that it wasn’t, anymore.

The day came when his heart wanted to stop. She found him on the floor, and she fell down to his side. Her compressions on his chest were a hollow, desperate prayer. She couldn’t bring herself to stop.

She watched his lips grow pale through blurred tears.

“I want to come with you,” she said.

Only his eyes could answer. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She watched him slip away, an old man in her immortal arms, and she cursed a future void of the only person that mattered.

The clouds over the cemetery were gray like his hair, cold like his lips. The sky opened, pouring rain over the headstones and the fresh earth above his body. She remembered Bellefleur and starlight, finding ghosts in the darkness, and she sobbed, begging him to find her in this darkest eternity.

________________________

Author’s note: I’m sorry 😭 I couldn’t get it out of my head so I wrote it down. I maintain Scully is NOT immortal and none of this actually happens

[hannibal-is-my-comfort-show]

My favourite lil crack headcanon is that after-the-fall™️, Will and hannibal get together (ofc, it's inevitable post-fall, let's be honest). Except Will ALSO says hannibal died and goes back to work for the fbi for literally no other reason to fuck with them.

Like Will just keeps turning up to work with gourmet meat-based lunches, and yeah, it's been 3 years, but it's hard to forget such signiture dishes, after all how many had Jack shard with Hannibal at this point?

Alana comments on his new branded coat. She knows his job pays well but not that well for such a high-end piece, that is oh so clearly in someone else's taste. He just brushes it off, saying it was a gift from an old friend, recently reunited.

And these shenanigans carry on for months until Jack snaps and searches his house but finds no trace of hannibal which only further drives him insane.

And yeah, they know they'll have to go on the run eventually but they want to have their fun first.

[cuubism]

@magnusbae a surprise for you. finally, more silly rabbit au

--

Dream always listened intently when Hob spoke about his workday. Dream had mentioned, at least once, actually coming to Hob’s lectures to “experience his expertise in person.” Yet somehow, none of this had translated in Hob’s mind into the actual, heart attack-inducing experience of seeing Dream walk into his lecture hall.

He hadn’t really believed it would happen. Not for lack of trusting Dream’s word, but because his presence seemed so incongruous. This was Hob’s normal life. His normal human life of work and chores and errands and bureaucracy.

Dream, meanwhile, was from Hob’s other life, the one made of secret meetings in taverns with an ethereal stranger, the life that knew that magic, in some way, was real. That life seemed, in some ways, realer, for all that it was brief, hidden, threaded between lifetimes of normality. Being with Dream was to dip back into a deeper well of truth he usually had to lock away; his own truth, their truth.

That was not a life that was supposed to be striding down the stairs of his lecture hall and taking a seat in the front row.

“So, um…” Hob trailed to an uneven stop halfway through his description of the first printing press. Dream just smirked at him from where he’d sat down. He’d taken off his coat and everything, as if he really was settling in to listen to the lecture.

A few students’ heads swiveled in his direction, drawn by Dream’s not-so-subtle entrance and Hob’s uncharacteristic stumble. Dream’s gaze didn't leave Hob's.

“So.” Hob forced himself back into motion. “So, in 1482—”

It was only his years of experience that got Hob through that lecture without breaking, and even then, it was a close thing. Every second, he could feel Dream’s eyes on him. Saw more than one of the students looking at Dream, too. God, what was he doing here?

But Hob did manage it, and ignored the curious glances of the students as they filed out of class, leaving only Dream behind. Dream, who stalked over to him with a predatory little smile, stopping by the podium where Hob was shutting his laptop.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Hob asked idly, trying to pretend Dream’s presence here, in this normal part of his life, wasn’t throwing him completely off balance.

“I merely wanted the see the professor at work,” Dream drawled.

Hob chuckled and leaned in quick to kiss him on the cheek. “Not much of a show, to be honest.”

Dream’s brow pinched as if he hadn’t quite gotten the reaction he expected. “Does it bother you for me to be here?”

“No, no, of course not.” Hob held Dream’s arms tight, made sure he was looking at him. “I always want to have you wherever I am.”

Dream’s expression eased, and he tilted his head, waiting for the other half of Hob’s explanation he knew was forthcoming.

“It’s just… a bit odd to have you in such a normal place,” Hob tried to explain. “This is like… my ordinary life. And you, you’re anything but ordinary. I got used to thinking of our meetings as… kind of separate from all this, I guess. Like, you know. A dream.”

Or perhaps it was Hob’s ordinary life that was the dream, for everything snapped back into multicolored focus whenever he saw Dream himself.

“I have not been around for much of this… normal life,” Dream conceded. “I do wish now that I could have seen more of it.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Hob rubbed up and down his arms. “Though not sure how interesting you’ll find it all, to be honest.”

“Everything about you is interesting to me,” Dream said. He seemed completely sincere about it, too.

“You’re sweet.” Hob kissed him on the cheek. It was flattering—if occasionally unbelievable—to be interesting to The King of Dreams. Though Hob supposed Dream had had vanishingly little normality in his long life, to the point where what should have been mundane had become novel.

“I only hope I am not a disturbance,” Dream said. “You have always managed your life independently. I do not wish to derail it.”

Hob sighed. “My love, even if you were a disturbance, which you are not, I wouldn’t care? I love this job, don’t get me wrong, but you’re so much more important than that.”

Dream’s brow furrowed. “You have always held life most dear.”

“Well, life, sure, but life has infinite variations, doesn’t it? This version falls apart, I’ll make a new one. So long as you’re there.”

Dream still seemed confused, and Hob couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have Dream questioning his importance in Hob’s life.

“Look, you like pictures, right? I’ll draw it for you.”

Hob picked up a blue marker and drew a series of circles on the board, all in a line, touching end to end. “See those? That’s my life. Well, each of my lives, every time I have to start a new one. See how they’re all separate and only touch once one’s had to stop? Well.” He picked up another marker, this one black, and drew a line through the middle of the series, from one end to the other, bisecting each circle. “That’s you. Now do you get the difference?”

“I would have said that your ‘lives’ were more like concentric circles, compounding on each other, not in series,” Dream said, but it sounded weak, an automatic retort.

“The timeline accuracy doesn’t matter. This—” Hob touched the black line. “This matters.”

Dream studied the line. “That is a heavy meaning to draw from me,” he finally said.

Hob stepped back into his space, laid his hands lightly along his hips. “You’re the king of dreams, don’t people make meaning of you all the time?”

“Through me,” Dream said. “But you. See it— in me.”

How could I not? Hob thought. When you’re… it. You’re so much of it. “That’s what it’s like when you love someone.”

“Love,” repeated Dream, with the same awe he seemed to feel every time Hob said it.

“So yeah,” Hob said, “you can join my normal human life if you want to. Only don’t complain to me when it can’t compare to the crazy spectacles of your dreams.”

“You could not be uninteresting to me,” repeated Dream.

Hob leaned in to kiss his cheek again. “Sweet thing,” he said, and felt Dream’s tiny smile against his lips.

Dream clutched onto his hand as Hob packed up the rest of his things, and Hob let him, even though it made the process twice as long. “So did the lecture compel you, then?”

“I know these historical facts, but I enjoy your retelling of them,” Dream said. “However, the students seemed distracted.”

“Ha! That’s your fault, love.” He started leading Dream towards the door. “You created a spectacle. They’ll be mad curious now.”

“I was attempting to be unobtrusive,” Dream said with a frown.

"Oh, unobtrusive, is it? That's what that devious little look meant, hm?"

"...To draw your attention," Dream conceded. "Not the students'. I was affecting an appearance of average humanity.”

Hob snorted. “My love, I don’t think you could be convincingly human if you committed the rest of your eternal existence to the study of it.”

He led Dream out into the hall, and closed and locked the lecture hall door behind them. Dream’s nose scrunched adorably. “Oh? What am I doing wrong, then?”

“For one, you’re too pretty.” Hob tugged him close and kissed the tip of Dream’s nose. “Pretty like a fairy tale creature that’s meant to lure you into the woods. Don’t you dare change it, by the way!” he added, and Dream smirked.

“Is that all?”

“Nope. The other thing is, it is impossible to look at you…” he stepped in close to hold Dream by his hips— “and forget that you are a king.”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “You seem to forget frequently.”

“Willfully ignoring is not the same as forgetting,” Hob told him, grinning. “Besides, I’m not one of your subjects. It’s my job to ignore it and get you to let your hair down.” He scrubbed a hand through Dream’s already-messy hair, which Dream made no move to stop. “But I picked out the regality on you all the way back when we first met, it’s all in your jaw, and the tilt of your brow, and your spine—” he touched each spot as he spoke— “and especially in those eyes. Humans might play at being kings, but you are a king. Divine right and all. You’re a king from another world, a story, or—” he smiled— “a dream.”

“You have made a proper study of me.” They were standing very close now, hovering in the doorway to the lecture hall.

“Only for seven hundred years,” Hob told him. “Still think there’s lots to learn in Dream Interpreting, though.”

Dream touched his face to Hob’s cheek, leaning in close. “Interpret, then.”

Hob turned and kissed him, hands falling to Dream’s hips as Dream’s fingers curled around his jacket. and for a long moment, he forgot they were meant to be going home, as the wet heat of Dream’s mouth kept him firmly in place.

“Um. Professor Gadling?” squeaked a nervous voice from beside them, and they  broke apart, still holding onto each other.

One of Hob’s younger students was standing there, blushing furiously, binder held tight to their chest as if it could somehow block the embarrassment of witnessing their professor snogging on campus.

Hob could just see Dream smirking out of the corner of his eye, and poked him in the side. “Yes, Lily?”

“Um.” The student’s blush only deepened. “Do. Are you still supposed to have office hours after class?”

Fuck.

Hob looked at Dream. The bastard looked triumphant now. He sighed and turned back to his student. “No, I don’t think so. But email me and I’ll find time for you, okay?”

“Thanks,” they whispered, and practically fled, scurrying back down the hall.

Hob turned to glare at Dream. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“Me?” said Dream, duly offended. “Govern your own behavior, Professor. I am an unobtrusive bystander. I am not even here.”

“Oh, unobtrusive my arse, you—”

But Dream was gone, only a swirl of sand and a tiny smirk left in his wake.

“Bastard,” Hob swore to the empty hallway. Then went to go find him, inevitably, at home.

[svtskneecaps]

my personal pipe dream is that one monday the egg statistics drop and flippa (and maybe tilin) are just there. at the end. with one heart, and one gray checkmark.

what i imagine is the server flips their shit. alive!!! alive!!! but they log in and they don't see the eggs. instead they get a message. i do not care who it's from or how it's delivered. they're told the eggs are being held captive somewhere, but they're alive. all that's left is to find them, before sunday at midnight pst. bc if their tasks aren't done, they die (one checkmark, one quest set. once rescued they become triple check like the other eggs)

slimeriana come CRASHING back into the server, they don't know jack shit, ESPECIALLY mariana who doesn't recognize 90% of the island anymore but holy fuck, flippa is alive somewhere and they have to find her. and maybe mariana's still in the old server days mindset of raising his kid alone but slime's slowly been indoctrinated into "it takes a village" and honestly the absolute second mariana logs on, someone's gonna be in chat already like HEY MARIANA CAN I TALK TO YOU? be it baghera or cellbit or forever or bad or I DON'T KNOW, COULD GENUINELY BE ANYONE LMAO but like mystery and eggs in danger is chumming the water for this server

which is great bc A) mariana has a concrete goal for logging into the server (finding his daughter) and B) he would be interacting with the rest of the server along the way, because he's not going to be doing this alone (he wouldn't even be allowed lmfao the rest of the server would be at his doorstep asking to help him in like 15 seconds flat) which means C) he might get reasons to log in extending outside flippa and slime. bingooooo

i call this a pipe dream bc i can poke so many holes in this even rn (does cc!mariana want flippa back, like fr? i'm not up to date) but can you IMAGINE. LIKE DAMN. i'm putting this idea into the public domain fr go nuts with it.

[jheselbraum]

Much like how the majority of people who wanted totk Zelda to stay a dragon at the end actually wanted Zelda to be a big tiddy dragon girl, I feel like what a lot of people who say they wanted a more complex Ganondorf for totk actually just want a Ganondorf that's a tumblr sexyman, and are too racist to realize that he already is one

[deathsbestgirl]

did i never post this one fic idea...

mulder & scully go on vacation and stumble onto a case. but it's scully who keeps witnessing the paranormal (not religious) and mulder keeps missing it. she tries to ignore it. like just tells the authorities what she can and move on. but she keeps stumbling back in and eventually, she can't walk away. mulder pretends to be shocked at her working when they're on vacation, and at first he dismisses it as an x files but she's so insistent and he trusts her.

like chinga or tithonus but he's actually with her.

[spacedlexi]

not finishing this before the year ends so take this wip...as a treat..

[augustghosts]

I’ve become awful at naming my writing so this just doesn’t have a title lol.

Idk if i like this im a lil rusty. Some more QZ!tommy because I kinda love him. I went overboard. In my head this was kinda the same characters/universe as this. So this is like, pre candles lmao. But if you don’t like that, this can just be a random stand alone thing lol. I also have some fluff ideas in my head that i just need to convince myself to write hehe. Hope u like <3

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+ smut, not proofread as usual. No plot tbh, just some impractical kitchen table sex lmao. Tommy being soft at the beginning and the end but not during the smut 🤪

Fuck, don’t get emotional Tommy. This isn’t like you. He had found himself talking to himself like that more often recently. He never thought of himself as the type to catch feelings. Recently he had found himself addressing his own insecurities, ones he’d pushed as far down as possible years ago. Being afraid, being unfamiliar, getting emotional. He shook his head as he unlocked the door to his dreary apartment. This is what stood for an apartment these days, a small room with a kitchen and a bathroom. He was grateful, of course. He was alive and safe. Well, kind of safe. But the first thing on his mind every morning was how depressing this life was. He tried not to think about the before, but it's hard when this is the after. He often finds himself being nostalgic. His feelings and circumstances echoing in his head like water dripping from a roof. He needed a drink, something to make the dripping stop.

He turned to stare at his closed front door, she was just across the hall. He wanted to walk over there so badly. That’s nothing new, his longing. She is new, their relationship. But the longing he feels for her has always been there since they met. The dull and drab QZ streets lit up when their eyes met and he found himself addicted to her light. He promised himself he’d leave her alone today, he doesn’t know why he promised himself that. She is always happy to see him but his own insecurities are eating him up.

In her own way, she is expecting him. She’s across the hall also staring at her front door. Waiting for a knock, praying that it’s him. Tommy has a heavy heart, a lot of baggage, and she knows it. She hates to admit that she likes coddling him. She likes comforting him, she likes that he needs her. She needed him too. He protects her - running around the QZ with a Miller brother can bring attention to you. Sometimes not great attention. The QZ is difficult, and she feels safest when Tommy strolls into her apartment at the end of the day and kisses her. The outside world and the QZ disappear and it’s just them, when all they need is each other.

Just as she stands to cross the room and head to his apartment, a knock at the door stops her. She usually doesn’t go to his apartment, he prefers to come here - incase someone unsavory showed up. She paused, what if it wasn’t him? Tommy smiled for the first time today on the other side of the door when he watched her do her usual routine. As always, he hears the locks click and sees her peek through the gap the door allows as she keeps the chain on. She’s cautious and he loves that about her. Her eyes mirror his and light up as she sees him, the door closes again momentarily and he hears the chain drop before she appears again.

“Hey!” She smiles up at him and he pushes the thoughts that flood his mind away. What did he do to deserve someone smiling at him like that? He hadn’t really opened up to her about his journey to Boston, and he didn’t plan on it any time soon. But all of that left his mind when he was here, walking through her front door was the best part of his day.

“Hi.” He says - He doesn’t quite match her energy and he knows she’s noticed it. She always does. She knows him so well and he's still deciding if he likes it or not. When they first met, he always thought she was a person who wore rose coloured glasses, always seeing things so positively. Tommy took off his rose coloured glasses a long time ago, revealing the negative aspects of his life. Now, it’s all he sees. He soon realized that she encouraged him to start viewing things through a positive lens, and now he can’t stay away.

“Rough day?” Her sweet voice distracts him.

“Something like that.” He knows that if he doesn’t give her a full answer, she won’t pry. Before she can say anything else, Tommy’s lips press to hers in a deep, hungry kiss.

“You’re tense.” She mumbled against his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing new.” He forced a smile, his tense jaw muscles relaxing as her hands came up to cup his cheeks. She hummed, not believing him. She pulled him down to kiss her again, feeling the way his hands on her waist pulled her closer, held her tighter.

“You could talk to me, you know.” She pulled away again, much to his dismay. “You could tell me what’s going on in your silly mind.”

“Silly?” He laughed with her for a moment. “Seriously, nothings wrong. I just want you,” He said quietly, moving his hands to her back. Her eyes softened at his words and her hands moved to his shoulders, slipping his jacket off of his shoulders. He maneuvered his arms to help her slip it off, but his hands immediately took back their rightful place on her hips. Squeezing a little as he said, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

A classic line, but it always affected her. He watched her as her eyes drifted downwards - watched the way her eyes traced the bruises on his collar bones, bruises she had previously left. She knew what he was doing, trying to distract her from the questions she’d asked. Unfortunately for her and fortunately for him it always worked.

“Yeah?” She asked, pulling him down to her mouth again. His tongue slid into her mouth before she had the chance to react. He pulled her tightly to him and her response was just as eager, lips moving with his to make the kiss even more intense - her arms tight around his neck. They both needed this, they both needed each other. Tommy groaned into her mouth, his hips pushing forward against hers- backing her up against the table behind her. She could already feel his cock stirring in his jeans. Tommy hummed softly as his hand came up to cup one of her breasts, his thumb pressing over her nipple. She sighed as a flood of heat rushed straight to her core.

“Tommy,” She whimpered, leaning into his touch. Fuck, he loved that sound. He pulled away from her just enough to grab a hold of her wrists, holding both of them in one hand. He knew she loved it when he did stuff like that, reminding her of how strong and capable he was. The whimper that left her lips boosted his ego and he smirked down at her. Keeping a tight hold on her wrists, he gently bent her backwards onto the creaky kitchen table. She took advantage of the position they were in,Tommy leaning over her like this, and she threw her legs around his waist, trapping him against her.

“Are you gonna keep asking me what's wrong?” He teased, a grin on his lips as he looked down at her.

“No.” She breathed, biting her lip as she looked so lovingly up at him.

“Good girl,” He smiled, eyes on her chest - watching it rise and fall.

“Now come here.” He mumbled, leaning down to kiss her. He let go of her wrists and she fisted her hands in his shirt, tugging him forward as their lips met. His hand traveled up her body, grazing her chest again and locking gently around her throat.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day, baby.” He said. He squeezed his hand a bit tighter, but still being as gentle as ever, relishing in the gasp she let out.

“You like this?” He asked, his mouth was now beside her ear, pressing a kiss underneath it. She nodded quickly, her hands running through his hair. Keeping eye contact with her, his hand still squeezing her throat, he slowly started working the buttons of her jeans open. Impressive, considering he was doing it with one hand. She felt his hand slide into the front, fingers caressing the fabric of her underwear.

“Please, Tommy.” She whimpered, practically rutting against his palm.

“I got you, baby.” He smirked, his finger finally dipping into her. “Fuck, always so wet for me.”

His fingers obviously met no resistance, her pussy easily letting him in. Since she had been worked up since he walked through the damn door, he didn’t need to put much effort into making her feel good. Everything he did was effortless, she always marveled at that. He watched her face, watching as her eyes closed, watching her mouth fall open in a moan. He leaned down when her head tilted back to give him access to the soft skin of her neck. His lips coming down to start kissing the exposed skin.

“Come around my fingers, baby girl,” He said against her skin, his lips brushing a particularly sensitive spot . “You look so beautiful like this.”

“O-oh, my god.” She moaned, followed by his name. Her back arching off the table making it creak below her, her pussy clenching tightly around his fingers as she came.

“I need to be inside you. Can i fuck you, baby?” He asked, already stripping off his jeans before she could answer. She sat up, slipping off of the table as she realised that they were both still practically fully dressed. She finally pulled her jeans all the way off before making her way to her mattress in the corner of the room. Stripping her shirt off on the way. Tommy watched her hungrily, following after her and making sure his own shirt joined hers in the pile. When they were both on the mattress he wasted no time in flipping her over, stomach now pressed against the mattress and her ass in the air. He stood behind her running his hand over her smooth skin.

“Please fuck me, Tommy.” She whined, looking over her shoulder at him. Tommy never had to be told twice. He took a hold of his hard cock and tapped it against her clit, smirking at the whine she let out. Just as she was about to beg him some more, he finally slid in. Immediately and easily bottoming out. The feeling caused her head to dip forward, a moan to leave her lips -almost muffled the pillows.

“I want to hear those pretty noises, baby girl.” Tommy hummed, reaching forward to grasp her hair in a ponytail and pull her head back up. His other hand smacking her ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“You feel so good.” She moaned, grinding her hips back against him. He pulled all the way out until his tip was the only thing still inside of her before slamming back in. The burn was deep and it stung so good. She bit her lip as she got accustomed to him, as each slide of his cock sent chills up her spine.

“Is this my pussy?” He growled, his fingers still tugging at her scalp.

“Yes!” She all but screamed, he often wondered if anyone could hear them. They had never heard anyone else, but he wasn’t sure if anyone else was as loud as them. Wasn’t sure if anyone else was able to have as much fun as they manage to have together during the goddamn apocalypse.

“It’s yours, Tommy. Always yours.” She whimpered, his cock hitting spots she was sure hadn’t been hit before.

“That’s it, honey,” He cooed. “You look beautiful like this. Take me so well. You like that?”

She loved when he got like this, when he would start rambling. The things he came out with never failed to push her closer to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” She gasped when his arm snaked around her body to find her aching clit.

“Come on then, baby. Give it to me,” He growled, his deep voice sending a shiver up her spine. He groaned as her whole body convulsed under him. Moans of his name bounced off of the walls as she came around his cock; a silent scream leaving her - her knuckles turned white as her fingers gripped the sheets underneath her.

“Fuck,” She sounded so breathless and he fucking loved it. “I wish I could feel you come inside of me Tommy.”

“Shit, don’t say stuff like that.” He groaned at her words. They had already had this conversation multiple times. He always pulled out, she was obviously scared of getting pregnant during their current situation. QZ’s weren’t known for their outstanding medical care. They knew they risked it by fucking anyway, but they always tried to take any precautions they could. Expired condoms still existed, but what good would they do anyway? Even if they could get their hands on them.

He dreamt about it as well, filling her up and watching it drip back out. Being able to push it back inside of her and tease her about it. Just the thought of it had him regrettably pulling out of her heat and spilling over his hand and her ass with a gasp of her name. She grimaced as he used his shirt to clean it up, after giving himself a moment to catch his breath. She giggled as she collapsed down onto the bed, crawling under the covers as she suddenly realized how cold the room actually was.

She reached for another one of his shirts that lay beside her bed and slipped it on, a clean one that had been discarded during another escapade. He lay down beside her, both of them still panting.

“You good?” He asked. She nodded and cuddled into him, pressing soft kisses to his jaw. His hand stroked down her back. He kissed the top of her head a few times, she always basked in this side of him that no one else got to see. This softness and love that was reserved for her, reserved for this room. Tommy loved it too, he loved being able to be himself after shutting it off for so long. All he could do now was sleep in her arms and prepare himself to put his walls back up again when he left her apartment tomorrow. Preparing to do it all again the next day. But the thought of being able to crawl back into her arms at the end of every day made his lips turn up into a soft, content smile as he drifted off to sleep.

[preciouslittletoonette]

I think it would be so funny for a future Bendy game to do this where in those chase sequences that end with us cutting the Ink Demon off with a door- rather than just accepting defeat, he punches it. Like imagine-

We just narrowly escaped from him through a metal, reinforced door and blocked him off. A few beat passes and because of past games, we think it's safe...

Until the Ink Demon's fist soars through the metal door without a scratch. And he starts to peel the metal apart to create a gap for himself.

I just think that would be really funny and absolutely wicked to witness because we know he's strong as hell

[i-like-media]

If I had the pleasure to write a Dan VS. Episode, I think I'd write Dan VS Elise, but not for the ways you think!

The episode would start off peacefully, blue sky, birds chirping... only to be interrupted by Chris's car FLYING through the air at a high speed as it comes up from behind a hill! It drops back onto the road, and we get a view of what's happening inside the car.

Chris is dressed as a mime. "W-WHICH WAY?" He asks frantically, to which Dan (who is fighting a monkey in the backseat) replies "TAKE THE NEXT LEFT! ............ ALSO MIMES DON'T TALK.". A tranquilizer dart flies through the car window, scaring Chris and making him swerve. They're being chased by a zoo staff! Chris takes that screeching left, which rolls the two in the back over, with the monkey landing on top of Dan. It ooh ooh aah aah's victoriously, only to be hit by a tranquilizer dart. It collapses and Dan takes the opportunity to get on top with a cocky "HA!" ..... only to get darted himself too. "WHICH WAY NOW? .... DAN?" Chris is swerving about like crazy, but with no reply from Dan, he feels the need to look back and check what's going on. Before he can even properly respond, he crashes into another car. The car spins around a couple of times, before coming to a stop. In a matter of seconds, the car is surrounded by cops and zoo staff... and the Scene ends with Chris letting out a measly "oh boy..."

The next scene takes place some time later. Chris had been bailed out by Elise, but Dan hadn't. Which is why we find Dan immediately going to Chris's house when he DOES get out. "Stupid Chris, stupid Elise... (Mumble mumble)... next time they need me I oughtta (grumble grumble)..." We get a shot of the house, without the car in sight. The curtains are also closed. As Dan approaches the building, he hears arguing. He pauses and WANTS to put his ear to the wall, but then the front door flies open right in his face, knocking him to the side. Elise stomps out holding a large bag. "Elise, please... Let's just talk about this" Chris pleads as he follows her out the door. "This isn't the end, Chris. I just need... a break. And I need you to start thinking about who you'd rather choose.... Me, or Dan." Chris is at a loss of words, unable to form words. So with a sigh Elise turns around and walks off.

"Well OBVIOUSLY you'd choose me, right?" Dan pipes up, covered in leaves. Chris doesn't react, he keeps on watching Elise.

"...I'll take that as a yes. Besides, we've got work to do! That monkey is still on the loose and that VET is STILL walking around without the iron fist of JUSTICE tainting his tastebuds!" Chris drops to his knees and starts tearing up, dropping his head into his hands.

"Ohhh cheer up, buddy. We both knew it wasn't going to work out <:)" Chris starts sobbing harder. "Ew.... well, he'll be over it soon enough 🤷‍♂️" but little did Dan know he would never get over it. Even worse, Chris becomes the most incompetent "sidekick" to his schemes ever, eating tub after tub after TUB of ice cream and breaking down crying at everything that reminds him of Elise. Which is when Dan gets so frustrated, he swears revenge on Elise (for rendering Chris completely useless in his schemes).

The rest of the episode would be filled with the wacky hijinks of Dan spying on Elise and trying to get back on her, while Chris tags along as a useless, crying mess.

These hijinks would eventually lead to Dan discovering Elise's lab, where he finds all KINDS of weapons. Though, his interests lie in a piece of technology he overheard Elise talking about to someone. A brand new prototype of a device that's supposedly wipe out a person and their entire existence with a single blast. No one remembering them either... Which sounds PERFECT to Dan. With Elise wiped from the planet, he could have Chris all for himself again! So he sets up an elaborate trap to get Elise somewhere in a specific spot so he can blast her... but Chris finds out about his plan, gets Elise out of harms way at the last second and breaks the weapon, showing to Elise that he's choosing HER. He wants to spend the rest of his life with HER because he loves His WIFE. And Elise sees this, and accepts it as an apology. They make up...

And as Dan watches this unfold in frustration, he sighs and eases up. He even manages to crack a short lived smile. It's a bittersweet one, because Deep Down he wants Chris to genuinely be happy. He doesn't like saying it, but seeing Chris so SAD for so long, wasn't great! He thought it was annoying for the most part SURE, but he's also still his best friend. But on the other hand it's bittersweet, because in the process of bringing Chris closer to him again, he only drifted further away. He's officially not getting "his friend back" in the same sense they might've been when Chris hadn't met Elise yet... and that's something that has scared Dan ever since Elise started to become a serious presence.

So in this short moment, he contemplates some of this nuance........ but that thought process is cut short rather quickly when the monkey from before LEAPS out from the shadows and tackles Dan, scratching and clawing and continuing the fight.

Chris goes: "...Huh. I knew I forgot about something.... Oh well." And that's how the episode would end, with the camera zooming out on the whole chaotic scene, Elise embracing Chris and Dan getting mauled by a monkey.

[rosalind-hawkins]

Out of Context WIPs

Rules: Pick a bunch of your WIPs and summarize them as badly as possible, then ask your followers to vote on which one they'd be most likely to read. Multiple/all/none options are completely optional.

Thanks to @alectoperdita for tagging me!

I actually did this before on a whim, but I was actually tagged to do it this time! Yay! I'm going to use all different WIPs this time around (mostly), and I've got more than enough WIPs to make a whole new batch.

Edit: For "fleeing the country" the "bros" is just being used as a synonym for friends because I ran out of characters. Not literal brothers.

Tagging @iamallyetnotatall @enemyoflactose @sturionic @sesshy380 @theduchessofboredom and anyone else who wants to give it a go!

[bougiebutchbinch]

they buried izzy in the garden like their little doggy

[carefulfears]

what do you think their lives would have been like if scully got to keep emily?

if i said and then they lived happily ever after, would you all laugh in my face?

no, i think it would’ve been hard, especially at first. i always got the sense that like…for as much as wanting kids was always on the forefront for scully, and consequently for mulder, they never really had like…a plan…for how that would work…logistically, the plan probably would’ve been close to what they did when she was pregnant with william. scully leaving the field, teaching classes again. mulder left the fbi at the end of s8 and in a perfect world, he would’ve been home.

but that plan only worked because of the specific circumstances that they were in then. they had already learned the truth about samantha. they had doggett working the x-files. both of them could leave. that’s not something that would’ve been possible, back when they found emily. they would’ve had to keep going. (mulder would’ve had to keep going, and, conversely, consequently scully). and that would be hard, in taking on a child, especially one with emily’s medical needs and traumatic situation.

that’s part of the anxiety in emily as an episode, and part of what i really respect about mulder in it. he’s worried about what would happen. he thinks it’s dangerous for scully to pursue the adoption. but he tells the judge that he doesn’t have any right to question what scully wants, and that he doesn’t believe that anyone else does either. even though he knows, it would change things.

but for all of the ways that it would’ve been hard…wouldn’t it have also just been the best? they found a little girl. they spend their whole lives chasing after lost girls, and they found one. and she drew silly pictures and she was shy like scully and she only ever smiled for mulder. and they just loved her. that scene in the end, at the funeral, when mulder says that maybe she didn’t just exist to die. maybe she existed to be found, to be loved. they found her and they loved her.

i think something like this in their lives would’ve gone a long way, to be honest.

emily had to die just like melissa had to die just like samantha’s been dead from the beginning. there is no other end to this story, etc etc…

maybe they would’ve stopped, if this found little girl required it. maybe she would’ve been enough. they stopped when william was born.

and even with all of the help and the support and the conditions that they had then, where were they a year later?

[bread-bird-writes]

Was relistening to Death at the Gas Station tonight while sewing, and something caught my attention: what do you guys make of the fact that Jack tells 'Death' that Carlos isn't dead when Antonio pretty decidedly is? Maybe I'm overthinking it, esp when Jack mentions in. What, book 2? That if he wants to keep posting stories on the blog, he just has to change a couple of details enough for them to fly, but even if that's the in-universe explanation, it just sort of feels like a strange detail to change.

[andreabandrea]

So, I am absolutely not the smartest Undertale or Deltarune theory crafter out there, not by a long shot. But sometimes I think about how I called it with regards to the abilities of the red soul without really trying to.

In early 2018, I wrote a (too-edgy, really) story called 'Unname the Fallen' in which a post-No Mercy route Frisk learned magic when starting a new run through the Underground (in the interest of not rambling about my unfinished fic and making this post even longer, I'll leave it at that).

(I later deleted it because I was embarrassed by the Ow The Edge factor.)

In the fic, Toriel was teaching Frisk how to use their newfound magic.

“I believe a stick is a wonderful idea! The ability to summon multiple will come in handy. Perhaps one day you will encounter multiple dogs who want to play fetch. You’ll need lots of sticks for that,” she said. It took a moment to resume her pedantic, teacherly front rather than her dorky mom side. “… Anyway.”

(Excerpt from Unname the Fallen.)

She taught them that every different soul color has a type of magic associated with it, and that magic can be projected onto other beings.

For example, blue souls could make others turn blue (like the way Papyrus could. Even though he had a monster soul, monsters could use magic associated with soul colors-- like Undyne turning you green, and Muffet turning you purple, and so on).

Now, every soul color in Undertale has a sort of virtue associated with it, right? Cyan is patience, yellow is justice... we learn these from the 'ball game', but we never learn one for the red soul. Fan theories have gone around on the red soul's true nature. 'Hope'... 'Determination'...

And smarter people than me, again, have written about how it's unlikely that the red soul is 'determination', since all human souls have determination. So I interpreted the red soul as 'individuality'. "Try as you might, you continue to be yourself," the ball game says. "Despite everything, it's still you."

"But Andrea," you're saying, "other theory crafters suggested that already! You didn't come up with that!"

You're right, I didn't. But what I did come up with is how 'individuality' could be projected onto another being.

You might think that turning another soul "red" would just give them freedom to move around the box however they want (and possibly to grow little legs and flee from combat). The way I interpreted it is that projecting red soul magic onto a monster is that it gives you control of them. You project your individuality- your will- onto them.

This time, red bathed the monster slowly, spreading like a disease. Its little arms became immobilized, and it tried to run, but then its legs followed suit. Something interesting: now they could feel everything it felt. The pounding in its chest. The wideness of its beady eyes. [...] They moved Ice Cap’s legs as if parts of their own body-- no magic words, no moving their own arms, they were simply able to turn it around and walk it toward them like a remote-controlled toy. Its face was frozen in fear at what was happening to it. They walked it around more, experimentally, even making it jump and crouch.

(Excerpt from 'Unname the Fallen'.)

Using the power of the red soul, Frisk was able to control monsters. It was a power unique to them-- unique to the soul. This, rather than the red soul being 'individuality', is what I think I predicted.

Later that year, in 2018, Deltarune Chapter 1 was released. And we learned that Kris is possessed by the red soul, which is controlling them.

And in 2021, with Deltarune Chapter 2 and the weird route, we learned how the red soul can be used to manipulate monsters-- even when the host is down.

Granted, the red soul didn't literally possess Noelle and make her walk around against her will, but it did command her nonetheless.

I'm sure I'm not the first one who came up with the idea. The Undertale community is full of extremely clever and creative people, and like I said, others had thought of the red soul as 'individuality' before me.

I'm not trying to claim to be the first one to come up with this idea, and I certainly don't think I came up with it before Toby himself or anything. I just remembered my old fic the other day and I thought it was funny, so I wanted to post about it.

"Why are you only posting this if you think it's funny?" Because it's my blog. You're at the circus, you might as well watch the clown dance.

BONUS:

“I am sure you are aware of auras. Most humans cannot see them. They are extensions of the soul. The auras of humans are quite powerful because you have physical forms,” she said.

^ Excerpt from Unname the Fallen, early 2018.

^ Screenshot from Deltarune Chapter 1, late 2018.

The idea of Frisk using magic came from screenshots of early builds of Undertale in which Frisk could use a 'spell' command.

'Talk' was later changed into 'Act', of course, and 'spell' was never implemented. We do know that humans can use magic in some capacity, since they sealed the monsters underground with "a magic spell".

With more chapters of Deltarune upcoming, and many questions still surrounding Hometown and the nature of magic in the light world, I'm excited to see more regarding magic and the red soul in the future.

This has been me rambling over a now-deleted fanfic, thanks for reading if you made it this far.

[silverysongs]

quite a nasty ride

The ride back from London was terrible. Arthur’s ridiculous rhyme about the weather played in a loop in her head, and not for the first time did Guenevere curse the climate in England. Rain smacked on the top of the carriage, deafening when they passed under a copse of trees, and she closed her eyes against her pounding headache. The bruise throbbing underneath her eye and across her cheekbone kept her from leaning against the carriage wall.

Across from her, Sir Lionel sat scowling at the sword in his lap. She was certain he had his own bruises; she could see a line of dried blood trailing down his cheek even though his head was bowed. He hadn’t spoken to her except to apologize, profusely, face aghast, before they had set off again rattling down the road. As irritating and unpleasant as he was, she reflected, at least he had enough integrity to be remorseful.

Finally the noise of the carriage changed from rumbling to rattling—a sure sign that they were on cobblestones and not a dirt road. She couldn’t bring herself to feel relief.

Lionel dismounted first and then helped her down, surprisingly gentle. They made their way into the castle, painfully slow it seemed, or at least painful and slow. Her head still ached, and she had a suspicion that Lionel kept her hand tucked into his arm on purpose so that she wouldn’t stumble.

“Where to, ma’am?” he asked quietly.

She sighed. “The king’s office, Lionel.” She didn’t say thank you and he didn’t bristle like she thought he might.

They passed servants and knights as they moved through the halls, who watched their battered queen with wide eyes. She forced the corners of her mouth up to try and make an appearance of serenity, but she wasn’t sure it was very convincing.

Then Lancelot rounded the corner, and she felt a stab of dread. He stopped, bowed his head to her in respect, and then took a second look with narrowed eyes. “Your majesty—” he began.

“We were accosted by bandits on the road,” Lionel interrupted. “Entirely my fault. Which is what I’m going to relay to the king.”

“Your majesty—” Lancelot repeated, looking intently at her, but she held up a hand.

“I’m fine, Sir Lancelot,” she said, summoning the scraps of her imperiousness. “No need to hover. I’m retiring to my rooms as soon as we see the king.”

She meant it as a dismissal. He pressed his lips together very tightly, face a blaze of fury, but he nodded. “Sleep well, your majesty,” he said, and turned sharply on his heel back the way he’d come.

She had known he would be angry, and she was already exhausted by it. He had hated Sir Lionel since he joined the Table, and this would only made him hate Lionel more, which would create an even larger chasm between the English knights and their single French compatriot. And besides that, he would regret his anger—she could practically see him at the Table, shrinking himself to be smaller, shifting guilty glances her way—and he would treat her as though she were made of glass for the next few days, scared of hurting her more.

Lost in her thoughts, she was almost surprised when they reached the king’s office. The door was open, and she could see him at the desk, surrounded by uneven burning tapers, gnawing on the end of a quill. What a terrible habit, she thought, but even through her fatigue the thought was fond.

He looked up when they entered, smiling. “Genny! And Sir Lionel,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you together.”

“It’s not for a happy occasion, your majesty,” Lionel said heavily.

The smile faded from the king’s face, and he rose from the desk. “Sir Lionel,” he said, suddenly very serious, “why does my queen have a black eye?”

Lionel cleared his throat. “We were coming back from the fair and we were attacked,” he said. “There were highway robbers, waiting for some unsuspecting carriage.”

The king didn’t take his eyes off her face. “And you were unsuspecting?”

She heard the note of danger in his voice. “Arthur,” she said tiredly. “It was raining, and it was growing dark. He fought all three of them off once they were on us. Don’t judge him too harshly.”

“On the contrary, your majesty,” Lionel insisted, “I take full responsibility for whatever punishment you would give me.”

Arthur gave a long and hard look at his knight. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, only that like Lancelot, he was angry. When Arthur felt any strong emotion, he talked, and right now she could feel a tirade building. Please, she wanted to say, even though it was childish. Please don’t argue. Please don’t raise your voices. Just leave and let me go to sleep.

“I will think on it, Lionel,” he said finally. “I’m not in the best state of mind right now, and I’m afraid I’d be unjust. But I do thank you for getting the queen safely home.”

Lionel bowed his head. “Your majesty.”

Arthur watched him leave. His eyes flickered back to Guenevere’s face when the door scraped shut. “You could have been killed,” he said quietly. “They could have held you for ransom. Or taken you back to France.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” She was trying to be ironic but she could hear it fall flat.

His expression softened. “Let me look at you,” he said, taking her hand and guiding her to a chair. “Sit down. How did this happen?”

He was reaching a hand to her face, and she sighed. “When they jumped the carriage, one of the men slammed my head against the window,” she said. “I think they were trying to knock me out.”

He touched her chin, gently, and moved her head to the side so that he could see. Whatever he saw there, he winced at. “You’ll be a sight for a few days.”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she asked, scrounging up some dry wit.

“Believe it or not,” he said, peering at her hair, “when you’re fighting a war someone’s bound to fall off a horse. We all learned what to look for pretty quickly.”

His tone was light, but she bit her tongue. She didn’t want to think of the war. And horses made her think of the bandits, and she had determined not to think of them tonight, not when the memory still made her heart speed up.

He probed at her scalp and she flinched. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “You might have a headache in the morning, but you’ve got quite the goose egg, so I think you’ll be all right to sleep.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

His eyes showed surprise. “For what?”

“For not getting angry at Lionel,” she said. “For not starting a duel for my honor right here in this office.”

He smiled. “Believe me,” he said, rising and fetching a damp cloth, taking her face gently, rubbing the dried blood away from her face. “I’m angry, all right. In fact, I’m tempted to cancel the cattle show in London henceforth. Forever.”

“But?” she asked, then winced as he moved to her scalp. He stopped for a moment, and his hand dropped to her shoulder, steadying, almost as though he hadn’t thought about it.

“But,” he said. His eyes, so blue, and soft like water. “I was telling the truth. I didn’t think I would be fair to Lionel if I dealt him a blow here in this room.”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek very hard, to not show her disappointment on her face. “I see.”

“And,” he continued, focused again on her head, “besides all that, you looked exhausted.” His eyes darted to her face, very quickly, and then away.  

Now she was smiling, despite the stinging pain as he tried to be gentle with the cloth. “I see,” she said again in a lighter voice.

He worked silently for a few more moments, and then finally leaned away. She was sorry for the loss of him. “Well,” he said, “that’s the most of it, anyway.”

The relief must have showed on her face, because he smiled. “What a day you’ve had.”

“Wait till you hear about the cattle,” she said.

He laughed. “Come on, Genny. To bed with you. You can tell me about the cows tomorrow.”