#incontinuity

[gayofthefae]

I love the fact that in season 3 of the Rookie, 9 episodes simultaneously lasts 30 days of Lucy and Jackson’s remaining training AND progresses Angela’s pregnancy visibly probably more around 3 months.

#the rookie #incontinuity #the rookie timeline #angela lopez

[usa1b4nxihs]

Lovely teen girl adores softcore and fingers vagina well Abuela China OmaGrany Colombia video inedito Taking Your Religion - cougar milf pov oral creampie blowjob Small Titted Teen Babe POV Blowjob bangladesi girlfriend sex in garden dhanka BUSCO SEXO REAL CON CHICAS Y/O PAREJAS DE LA CDMX ZONA SUR pendejita caliente se la chupa al novio Tiny twink pounded doggystyle by gay daddy hot gay fuck Gozando para o cuzinho melado da Kitty Young fat ass teen will have hard sex with a black monster cock for her tight ass

#reswill #reatus #splitfinger #nut-cracking #mousses #incontinuity #behindhand #quasi-efficient #zortzico #am #countermark #finger-comb #voyeuse #undertalk #diesel-hydraulic #unveiledness #stravaging #uptower #elemental #pelting

[apollocomic]

#apollocomic #enjolras #grantaire #exr #les mis #les miserables #enjoltaire #e/r #im aware of the incontinuity of enjolras glasses oops

[goldenlaquer]

To be honest I go back and read up your old gintama ocs, and I have to say that Seiji being a father to twins is one of my most favorite 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Ahhhhhhhh Seiji and his double trouble twins 🥺😔👊👊👊👊👊 karma called and now he has his hands full of snot-nosed brats who love to make his blood pressure go up. It's one of my most too 🥹❤️❤️❤️❤️

#they terrorize edo with pranks and bombs he didn't tell them to make so he guesses he'll keep them #baby genuis menaces them mini seijis in the making #his secret pride and joy but i didn't tell you that #you go back and read my old oc posts???? 😭😭😭😭🫶🫶🫶🫶 i ask you ignore any incontinuities 🥺

[battleofthegroundeddungeon]

Shadows of the Father

The palace halls were quiet. He wasn’t sure he liked them so. Even though he had no reason for immediacy, he found his pace increasing. Torchlight to torchlight, shadows flying wildly across the wall, these apparitions were Egil’s sole company as he crossed from the throne room to his private chambers.

Egil always felt alone, anymore. And he always felt like something was following him. Shadows pursued him, and not just the physical ones. Good days, bad days, quiet days, chaotic days, stressful days, more stressful days, solemn days, aggravating days—at all points, he couldn’t escape the shadows of his father. The ominous darkness of Gareth’s death and the legacy he bestowed upon Egil were two shadows Egil could’ve done without.

He’d never wanted to be king. He’d never deserved to be king. Why the Helheim had the Powers that Be approved his coronation? He was the most powerful man in the Wilderwest, technically, but he couldn’t feel more helpless and trapped.

He passed a few guards, presumably the only people awake this time of night. But then he spotted several long-stretched shadows flickering ahead. They dissolved into Avara Aslaug Haddock and two diminutive forms.

“Egil,” Avara said, before he could slip down a side hallway.

“Didn’t think you’d be up this late,” Egil remarked.

As if on cue, eleven-year-old Eva broke into an enormous yawn, which got passed to Sara standing beside her. The hours were late for adults and his daughters looked miserable standing here.

Sara said, “We can go to bed, right? I’m tired, Daddy.”

Avara forced out a belabored smile, thin, little more than a perfunctory stretch of her lips. The smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m afraid we didn’t leave Brega’s until late.”

Egil shrugged and said, “Ah. Something hold you up?”

“Oh, the trip went without a hitch, didn’t it girls?” Avara tried to make her voice light. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but no one, not even Egil, caught the expression. Instead, Sara was saying again, “I’m tired,” while Eva, prompted by the mention of their trip, was descending into a tangent about the ducks they passed near a creek. Both Egil and Avara ignored it.

“Well. That’s good.” Egil didn’t know what else to say to his wife. Avara was slowly herding them to the bed chambers, and Egil fell in line with his mismatched family.

“Daaaaaddddy, I’m tired.” Sara clawed at Egil’s sleeve, and belatedly, he picked his younger daughter up. She was getting heavy for this and holding her felt unnatural.

“We’re all tired,” said Avara. “The trip is a little hard for a woman expecting.”

This time, Egil comprehended what she was getting at. “I couldn’t have gone. I’m the king, if you don’t remember.”

“Your father’s got time for you, doesn’t he?” crooned Avara to Eva, sickly-sweet. Implied in it was a barb Egil didn’t miss, if only because they’d had the conversation before.

“Girls, let’s get you to bed,” she continued, maintaining that soft voice.

“I could sleep for WEEKS!” Sara said.

“I bet you can,” Avara said. Her pace quickened. “Egil, you’ve got Sara?”

“Of course,” he answered. Sara was feeling floppier; she’d fall asleep in his arms if he didn’t get her to her room. The two girls’ rooms were next to each other, so Egil was forced to walk beside Avara, and even after setting Sara down on her bed, couldn’t leave without Avara’s notice. She came out of Eva’s room about the same time, and, with more firmness in her voice now that the children were out of earshot, said, “You really should be doing this when I’m due soon.”

"Sorry."

"You didn't think about it."

“Sorry for not thinking about taking them to my ex-wife.”

She pointed out, “They’re your girls.” Then, in a cruel parrot, “I’m not their mother, if you don’t remember.”

"Step-mother."

“And of course I love them. But this is something you could step up on. The trip happens once every three months. It’s hardly much of a responsibility.”

“If it’s not much of a responsibility, then why are you shitting on me for it?”

“Because I’m always doing your job!”

“My job is king. If you don’t remember.”

The two paused outside their bedroom door. Their faces mirrored displeasure.

There was a long, pregnant pause before Avara undercut, lowly, “I’d believe that if you took the kingship seriously, too.”

There couldn’t be anything more serious than Gareth’s death, than Egil’s awful descent to the throne, than the noose slipping around his neck every time he was expected to weigh in on foreign policy or local economics or the appointment of ministers. Ticked, he vomited out a “What the Hel?” before he realized he was speaking. Since it looked like she was waiting for a better response, he continued with the only other thing he could think of: “I do take it serious.”

“Do you? Then why haven’t you accomplished anything?”

“Now that’s l—”

“Am I supposed to believe you’re ruling when you slip off to the thirtieth ‘dragon stables inspection’ instead of entertaining dignitaries?”

“Is that what we’re calling feeding my dragons now?”

“No. It’s about what you’re avoiding, Egil.” Avara rolled her eyes. “You avoid Bre—”

“Who wouldn’t?” muttered Egil.

“You stop that! You stop that and listen. You avoid three-minute conversations with Brega to the detriment of taking care of your daughters. You avoid your royal duties, your actual duties. You avoid me. Egil, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Inflamed and insistent: “It’s too much. I’m busy.”

“I’m your wife, Egil.”

“Damn! Do you want me to spend time ruling the throne or don’t you? Because that’s becoming unclear.”

“I couldn’t BE more clear!”

“You could BE more supportive!”

“Of what? Your cowardice?!! YOU should be supportive of ME!”

Raised voices echoed through the hall. Egil sucked in a shaky breath. Avara squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead.

“Egil,” she bemoaned, trying to rein in her frustration. “If we’re going to make this work, you have to take ownership of yourself. Everywhere. Quit running away.”

“I’m trying to make this work,” he insisted. Didn’t she see him in the throne room every day, forcing himself to do what he hated most? Didn’t she hear him trying to talk this out now? What more could she expect? If she wanted more time with him, that’d take away from his kingship. If she wanted him to spend more time ruling, that’d take away their time. Couldn’t she respect his hard work? Couldn’t she at least acknowledge he was trying?

“No, you’re running.”

“Fuck this. I’m out. You want running? I’ll run.” Egil began to back away. His eyes locked into hers for several cold seconds before he whirled about, leaving her alone in front of their bedroom door. If she didn’t appreciate his presence, she could sleep alone tonight.

The palace halls were too loud. He didn’t like them so.

#botgd2 #botgd 2 #botgd #one shot yeet #the ages are actually slightly off due to me being several months off when I hopped in again #but whatever I am too lazy to fix #we'll just deal with the slight incontinuities #nyeh

[reginaofdoctorwho]

the vibe I get from Stella is she's a bully who never grew out of it. She was probably raised with the same standards of valuing image and social status above all else, she took that and ran with it so she sees nothing wrong with tormenting her nerdy arranged husband who didn't adopt that mentality. And there are actual narcissistic people who behave that way, it's not like awful people who revel in making their family miserable don't exist

sorry for the wait on replying, lol.

yeah, i think the thing w stella is that she was probably raised to believe that she was better than other demons such as imps/hellhounds/etc, she was probably allowed to bully anyone without repercussions (not uncommon in kids) or if there were, it might have been for wasting her time on lower class demons. either way, it would lead to her thinking she's better than anyone else. also, she seems to be the leader of her little friend group at the party, being the only one we hear, although the others do seem to be interested in her

we'll almost definitely get more background on her, but until then i'm fairly confident in a few things. 1, that she probably still had similar behavior as a child (the picture is what i'm getting that from). 2, that she was probably disappointed in stolas upon marriage, and 3, that she relies on reputation for power and views herself as better than everyone. there's more below the cut

from what i remember from history class, a marquis is lower ranking than a prince. stella's brother, andrealphus is a marquis, which would make her a marquise (i think that's the feminine) by birth (assuming no half-sibling status to further complicate). so stella was the one to marry up. if a prince would typically be more powerful, stolas was likely a disappointment, with his plants, relative lack of bloodthirst (only attacks when someone close to him is already in danger), books, studying the stars, and passiveness. stella likes parties, she's social, and from what we see stolas mainly hides in the corner at her parties (though that could be just after years of them being together), so very much opposites, and not in an opposites attract way.

okay, here's where people are probably going to argue w me. i think that stella absolutely does insist on reputation. the "not yet divorced" party feels more like a brag than an actual anniversary celebration, and the "what the fuck was that stolas" seemed more like anger at "sorry i fucked your husband" from an imp while guests were still there from the brag party than being upset at being cheated on. although people seem to think complaining about how bad stolas is in bed refutes reputation being her motive (because it would reflect badly on their marriage), i think it actually strengthens it. it portrays her as the long suffering wife to "a boring stiff like stolas" who has to do all the duties in their marriage. it puts her in a situation of more power societally by gaining her some sympathy, lowering people's view of him, and tbh many people do make fun of their partners, and i doubt it's super out of place in hell. and again, it would fit w her being raised to believe she's better than everyone else, because she is sure she's better than stolas.

and that part at the end? 100%. stella is a "cartoon villain" but her actions and mentality are similar to irl abusers.

what i want to know is why stella was there, when in the last episode stolas told blitz octavia was spending the weekend with her mother. idk, just something to think about.

#sorry started this a couple hours after midnight fell asleep finished now at a child's birthday party lol #not putting in the main tags because ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ i think it's weak analysis for me #but like. i think we just need to wait until we have more than 8 canon half hour(ish) episodes to make full judgments #not putting in tags but u can rb idc #also that last part isn't me being like ''HAHA INCONTINUITY!'' because they're usually good about things like that #i think something bigger is coming

[butchniqabi]

i love resident evil bc it's such a long running franchise and yet most of it is just,,,, really bad. yet i keep playing and sometimes watching the things. it's so funny to me that people complain about faithfullness. like, are you SURE that all that schlock is worth being recreated perfectly? isn't it more fun to simply come up with a whole new brand of weirdness in the process of adaption? i just love RE to pieces.

LMAOOOO yeah like...idk i might be being harsh but like the last two decades have done nothing but prove that adapted RE content will almost certainly be bad. and yeah like theres some pretty weird shit im not gonna hold you! maybe changing a thing or two wont be so bad afevvdjdfmf. and also like....as if the games (aka Thee Canon Content) are perfect, comprehensive, and linear narratives lol

#asks #anyways its all fun n games to have a lil incontinuity #put your hair down take ya pussy out touch the grass its all good #also before anyone is like 'oh but you would say this about x media' make sure the examples you use arent star trek or star wars

[ereh-emanresu-tresni]

.

#literally tho it so often feels like i am just straight up incontinuous w my younger self #like i simply died at some point mid college and everything since I've been someone else dropped in to fill the role midplay #doesn't help that there are definite violently traumatic events i can generally pin the shifts to lol

[hazzybat]

Hihi! I loved the latest chapter!!! I have a question if that's ok? I was wondering when Bojan feeds does that take a toll from the other person energy-wise? I noticed that Jan seemed fine after sleeping with Bojan whereas Kris needed a break because he was so drained. Is that because of the effect of Bojans feeding or is that moreso to do with the fact that Kris is so tired from his lack of blood that it's too tiring in a normal sex way?

hey thank you i always love questions! glad you like it and that's a good one.

Kris's exhaustion is from his lack of food mostly, sex is tiring and while Bojan feeding does take some energy from the person it's not much more than what someone would normally feel after a particularly vigorous round of sex. so Jan wouldn't really notice as he had energy to spare but Kris was already not feeling great and thus felt it more.

also the angst of Kris wanting to cut Bojan off a bit to have him worry less.

#monster hearts #jo monster au #i like getting questions that force me to think about the world and if I've been consistent #i'm sure i'll get a question that calls me out on some incontinuity some day #thank you! #JO Monster AU asks #JO Monster AU worldbuilding

[ghost-town-dwellers]

IRMA WAS A KRAANG BOT?????

#that is so incontinuous with several other episodes #but i will pretend it doesnt #ghostmnt liveblog

[postmodernbeliever]

stalker - fox mulder x female reader

at the fbi, your job is to watch who you're asked to. but on your own time, you watch fox mulder... and little do you know, he's watching you, too.

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my ao3 | word count: 3,518

content tags: sneaking around, embarrassment, stalking, longing, fox mulder is watching you, you are watching fox mulder, fox is a freak like you, fox likes weirdos, obsessive behavior, suggestive themes, you and fox just kinda eyefuck and nothing happens but god should it, cross-posted on ao3

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

they all call him spooky mulder. what a nickname, spooky- even in its mainstream use, it has not lost its effect. there was always something off about him, something unsettling, which piqued your interest. you liked it so much that you paid special attention. it was your nature to keep tabs; you watched him come and go from his basement office, all the while pretending to be down in the gutter of the j. edgar hoover building for any other suspicious reason than taking mental notes on him. 

sure, it may sound creepy, but this is your job- this is why the fbi has you on the payroll. you’re what they call “the eyes and ears”, and in a sense, you don’t really have a job. your cover is to work in the filing department, faceless and nameless, and keep things organized as they go off to different sectors. you are the one sending weapons to evidence (or elsewhere) and case files to agents (or not) at the heart of the organization, where you just become the signing-off signature. but that office, where you blend in, is how they use you best. orders directly from the top tell you who to watch and when to come forward with information. but they never assigned you to special agent fox mulder. as was his infamous passion project dubbed the X files, this was your unassigned interest within the bureau- he was your freakish fixation.

you followed his case files as they came to inconclusive endings. you noticed when his hair grew too long. you knew he liked the coffee from the break room by a.d. skinner’s office, but he liked the creamer they kept on the first floor, so he traveled cross-complex to make the cup taste just right. you’d read every report and drowned in his philosophical, metaphysical droning, admiring the prose so overdosed on sleep deprivation and the ramblings of a transcending mind. it was like twisted poetry, how he explained what each case had imparted upon him. the way he viewed sociology, the way he viewed intervention both divine and damned, the manner in which he proposed the forces at play work and how they are ever-changing and insurmountable… god, he really is a genius. everyone may think he’s insane, or that his work is a waste of valuable resources, but fox mulder’s mind was one to be entertained, one to be challenged. to let his power go misrepresented or his purpose go any less than unabated would be a crime (if anyone asked you.)

see, this is why it could be considered weird. you revered him like a deity, unapologetically idolatrous of his brainpower- and from a more internal, girlish yearning, you loved his face. god, that face. you had examined his personal files many times in the safety of your office, tracing invisible lines over the photographs of him; caressing the scrapes and bruises documented from altercations with suspects, drooling over his academy polaroids stashed away from old physical exams. he still looked as young and charming as he did in his old school photos. a young oxford man, beautiful, traumatized, in need of proof. his work demanded his darkest instincts and most disgusting thoughts, and you loved him for it, or at least the idea of what it turned him into. and as far as word travels, fox mulder bars no personality incontinuities. after all the stories of the blood he’s tasted at crime scenes and the horrific pictures of murders and monsters plastered on the walls of his murky office, he was more than just spooky. he was freakish, and uncomfortable, and alluring.

now, fox is no idiot. in fact, to even think your interest was going unnoticed was a major misjudgment of his perceptive abilities; the man is the best analyst in the crime division, for god’s sake. he's never missed a clue. yet somehow, in the midst of your innocent stalking, you’d imagined he never saw you standing in his basement hallway, or mingling in the first-floor break room by the irish cream. naivety never crossed into your work, but it clouded your visions when it came to him. he’d seen you every time, shifty eyes fidgeting with blatant secrecy. when the man who didn’t believe in random events saw you more than once, he began following your lead. 

fox mulder kept copies of your personal files on his desk and sifted through them often, trying to get any information on you to substantiate why you paid so much attention to him. aside from his widespread suspicion, he also had a sense for intent, and he felt you were of no harm. even lurking in the shadows, there was a comfort to your presence. that might be his creepy personality being used to unsettling beings, but he didn’t mind. he liked catching you looking. he liked the way your suit jacket never matched your pants, but always somehow coordinated even in clashing patterns. he liked how your hair curled like french fries at the bottom, wide and loose. he liked how your manicured nails were always dark and sharp, and blatantly against bureau policy. fox knew you were as new to the fbi as he, so not new at all, but a child to seasoned agents; he learned of your ridiculous retention of information, and that you read twice the clocked words per minute of the average american. he knew of your graduation from yale and your speedy completion of the academy, as well as your elevated skill for firearms, which immunized you from a majority of field training. he knows about your secret connection, yet not who it’s with, and that it’s ushered you into a disguised deep-level position. in less legal ways of determining, the agent discovered you were the president of your high school’s history club, as well as the chief editor of the newsletter, and your family had a summer cabin on the oregon coast. you were smart, valuable, integral, even- and your talents were being wasted under cover of the monotonous filing department. he knew more than you realized. but even with his disturbing understanding of you, fox couldn’t figure out why it was him you watched- you had no connection to him, no link to his work or anyone who aimed to sabotage it. of all your secrets, he seemed to be the biggest.

you’d never expected anything to come of your little infatuation, but fox mulder didn’t like to let things linger. so when you just so happened to be venturing into the basement for something in the archived evidence room, he went into pursuit. you swiped your key card in the automatic door, and he followed you inside and made sure to close it nice and loud behind you. the lock clicked, causing you to jump out of your skin, and he laughed.

“not a fan of followers, huh?” the man teased.

“you just locked us in here, sir!” you nearly choked. you’d never seen him up close and personal. his shirt was a wrinkled mess, but it looked so nice rolled up on his fair-skinned arms, and his hair was a lot darker in person than it looked in the pictures. so were his eyes. 

“sir? no, nobody calls me sir.”

“what should i call you, then?” you groaned.

“agent mulder. spooky mulder. basement boy. whatever floats your boat!”

“well, then, agent mulder,” you elected, “you just locked us in here!”

“is that what you’re worried about? don’t worry, i'm sure agent scully will come down soon enough. or maybe not. maybe you’re stuck in here with me.”

you pivoted and began walking down the first aisle of archives, trying to come up with something to grab to avoid blowing your cover. fox kept at your heels, poking his head playfully into your eyeline.

“looking for something… you?” he inquired.

“that’s agent to you.”

“no name? ooo… spooky,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you suppressed the fluttering in your stomach. you thought in frustration, how dare he make wordplay hot?

“says you.” you negated.

“so you do know me!”

“everyone knows you, agent mulder.”

“oh, sure… but you’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”

you stopped between the alphabetized boxes marked by Hs and Js, biting your tongue. you watched as fox sauntered around to the front of you, leaning nonchalantly against the filing shelf and smirking. his hand raised to wipe his mouth, and you analyzed the rough calluses and ink splotches carving uniqueness into his knuckles. a deep cut rested along his thumbnail down to his wrist. you recognized it as a healed-over wound from an inconclusive case months ago- something he claimed to have involved lizard men.

“i- i’m not sure what you mean.”

“you’ve been following me around, taking note of what i do. i see you every day. sometimes in the break room, sometimes in the bullpen by the car desk, sometimes shooting guns down at the range room on saturdays like i usually am. you’re always… floating around.'' fox mused, running a hand through his thick hair. a few pieces curled agonizingly over the frame of his face, and you felt like dying.

“must be coincidences.”

“you know well as me that there are no such things as coincidences,” fox stated, “there are simply events that occur, and more often than not, they occur causally, or in my case, through spurious correlation, but nobody can ever seem to pinpoint the third invisible factor that links one event to another, except for me.”

“speak english, agent mulder, would you?”

“you’ve been following me, which caused me to notice you, which caused you to pretend you haven’t been, and so forth,” he sighed, “but you know what i’m saying, don’t lie. you’re a yale alumni, graduated summa cum laude with a double major in psychology and international affairs. you’re one of the smartest women in the building. so why are you acting dumb?”

your stomach flipped as he stepped closer to you, leaning down in all his six-foot glory to meet your gaze. swallowing thickly, you shoved your hand in a box labeled CONFISCATED Ka-Kz and fished out the first object you grasped: a bloodied kazoo. wincing in embarrassment, you waved it in his face and grimaced.

“i'm just down here for this.”

“for a murder kazoo.” he deadpanned.

“…yes.”

you turned away and began heading for the door, but a strong palm wrapped around your wrist, halting your stride. fox tugged you back, and you tried to keep your drooling gaze to a minimum at how handsome he looked when he was searching for answers.

“if you tell me what you want from me, i'll let you go.”

“i don't want anything.”

“bullshit,” the agent rolled his eyes, “everyone wants something, agent, even you. you’re a bad liar, you know that? that’s why you’re not under deep cover.”

how little you know, you thought with a smirk. “well, not everyone is made for danger.”

“no. you’re just made for stalking.”

you seized up, “i am not stalking you!”

fox grinned, liking how worked up you were becoming. “then why are you always in the corner of my eye, agent?”

you huffed in desperation, weighing your options. you could,

a) keep lying.

b) tell fox the truth.

c) bang on the locked door and scream until someone saves you from spooky mulder.

none of your options were appealing, but you weren’t getting out of here if you didn’t choose. option A would drag it out, and option C would get him fired, so you only had one path if you wanted to control casualties and your level of embarrassment in one shot.

as he stood patiently waiting, tie so horrendously knotted that it took all your willpower not to tug him down by it, you gave in. 

“well, agent mulder, you… you’re interesting.”

“am i?”

“y-yes. you do amazing work. you catch killers. and you… write beautifully.”

fox chuckled softly, “you like my writing? what, are you the one who files my field reports or something?”

now may not be a good time to admit you tweaked the computer system to always assign you files submitted by agents between L and P in the alphabet just to be the sole individual who received fox’s files, so you withheld the truth a bit. it will come back to bite you in the ass when he looks into the signatures on his official paperwork, but oh, well.

“every so often,” is what you settled on. “you have something to say, and you say it like you’ve been contemplating the proper phrasing forever. it’s always so eloquent and intelligent and… fascinating.” you stopped praising him, feeling shame wash over you like a bad shot of vodka.

“well, aren’t you a regular fan?” fox rested his head against the filing shelf, eyes raising to the ceiling. his neck stretched open far enough that you could watch his adam's apple bob as he spoke. “glad to know my conclusions aren’t just the ramblings of a lunatic.”

“quite the opposite, agent mulder.” you blushed.

fox looked back down to you, and his puppy dog eyes bore holes into your cheeks. “i know a lot about you, you know. i know where you went to high school. i know you also use the irish cream for your cup of joe every day. i know you drive that baby blue car out in the garage, with the stupid “honk if you love labs” bumper sticker. but what i don't know, agent, or rather what i can’t figure out, is why you’re working in the filing department when you should be on an analyst team, or why you’re so insistent on following me around work. so, can you enlighten me with the truth?”

the truth. even when encountering you, his true colors show. you would be frustrated if it wasn’t so attractive how he interrogated you.

with a shaky breath as support, you said, “i want to know you.”

“is that all? you just… want to know me?”

“we don't work together. you’re too off-limits. my orders require me to stick to the mundane and watch from afar. but you, agent mulder, you are never mundane. you sit down here every day and crane over horrific cases, imagining the unimaginable, and all in the stuffy confines of a basement office that people would rather die than visit you in. y-you’re terrifying, you’re… fresh air.”

fox would never admit to it, but his entire body experienced pins and needles at the sound of your voice. in the least creepy way possible, you reminded him of the school librarian from his childhood- thin glasses, a loose blouse, and a voice thick and sweet, just how he liked his coffee.

“well, as the resident spooky one around here, i'd say you’re more freakish than me. you’re quite the stalker.”

“that's my business.”

you put the kazoo back in the box, frustrated you even attempted to jeopardize the secrecy of your nature for being down in the basement. fox’s hazel eyes followed your lethal nails as they replaced the object, and he wondered if they hurt when they grazed skin. a part of him really wanted to find out.

the man huffed, “so that’s it? no plans to kill me, or turn me in to the boss for my beliefs?”

“nope. just… watching from a distance.”

“you could watch up close if you wanted to. i could really benefit from someone so smart as you are, and someone who has such a knack for detail,” he teased. “you seem to have a way with words yourself, agent.”

“well, i appreciate the offer, but my hands are full as it is, agent mulder.”

“call me fox.”

in a flustered blackout, you blurted, “but no one calls you fox!” and the agent’s pupils blew wide.

somehow, deep inside, the idea of you knowing his secrets without ever speaking to him turned him on. you were a watcher, and as a profiler he’d even go so far as to call you a creep- a girl with a case of muldermania following his every move and sniffing the air when he walked past. he saw it in how your hands shook before him, how you craned your neck back in submission, how your eyes darted between his eyes and lips with fervor; how you swallowed nothing every five seconds in what he couldn’t discern between fear and anticipation. you had slightly sick motivations, so driven by the feeling his writing gave you and the idea of what it must be like to be inside his mind. and he liked it. he liked being studied, and understood, and having no say in it being done by a pretty girl like you. the man took another step closer this time, and you didn’t budge. this was one of his personal space invasions he’s so famous for- the kind people complain about when they’re put on the job with him. also the kind you’d dreamt of since you learned of his existence beneath the bureau.

“but you do when you think of me, don’t you?” he crooned, knowing how to play you from one freak to another. “when you think of watching me when you’re alone, and how we might interact. you call me fox in that pretty little head of yours, right? so say it.”

“w-well…”

“come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

you licked your lips as the heat of his breath danced across your face, and you flushed. “a-as much as i'd love to stay and talk, i have my obligations. not everyone is at your whim, fox.”

in a hormonal lapse, fox let out a soft, “mmm,” and flashed his adorable grin for you to fuss over. “that's too bad, then.”

“but,” you interrupted, “if you ever need, um, proofreading… or help, i can- you can, uh, maybe leave me a note? or something?”

“on your desk? in the filing department, right? in that office with the blue walls and the photograph of you and your chocolate lab, the one who inspired your bumper sticker, agent?” fox revealed, showing his intellectual hand.

with a dry mouth, you mustered a meek, “yeah, that’s the one.”

“good. maybe i'll spray it with my cologne, so you can savor the moment.”

“excuse me?” you squeaked.

“come on, agent,” fox winked, “just a joke. unless you’d like that, y’know, i won’t judge.”

and of course you would. he smelled like dust and paper, with a little sugar left from the coffee he drinks, and a little smoke from the candles he lights when they turn the lights off on him overnight in that dark hole of an office.

“you live up to your name, spooky mulder,” you bit your lip.

“so do you,” fox agreed, “what would we do without our eyes and ears?”

“… what did you just say?” you could barely muster a voice.

“you heard me.” 

fox slipped a hand in his suit pant pocket and revealed your business card- not the filing office one, but for your cover. you have no idea how he’d gotten one, because the only place you keep them is in the locked safe beneath your desk. you were in bold, with your full name, position, boss, and reserved extension line. you thought of fox breaking into your office at night- while you were at home having dreams you’d never admit to- and sifting through your belongings, touching all that was yours, cracking open your secrets. you shuddered as he placed the card gently in your hand, his fingers trailing against the veins at the center of your wrist, where he could feel your pulse hammering.

the man slid past you in a split second, heading for the evidence room door and jiggling the handle upwards. when it unlocked, he shot a premeditated glance towards your mortified face and said, “somebody ought to get this fixed. see you around, agent.”

just about shaking, you stood in the aisle, dizzy from the sound of his departure and how every word fell from his lips with such intention. after a moment of weakness in which you let yourself lean against the filing shelf and catch your breath, you straightened out your blazer and made for the door. when you came into the hallway, you saw spooky mulder standing in his doorframe, thumbing through a file with his silver-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. you turned quickly towards the stairs and left him to his devices, those being the file that was full of pictures of you.

all this time admiring from afar made you feel like a fool. now you were stuck with a lingering conversation and the overwhelming urge to visit the archives again, because someone downstairs had his eye on you. he knew you by way of his own eyes and ears, and there are a few things that aren’t in your files he’d like to learn. 

and to think you were the stalker!

#Spotify #spooky mulder #x files #fox mulder #dana scully #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder smut #fox mulder fluff #fox mulder x you #fox mulder x reader fluff #something between smut and fluff idk #obsessive love #stalker #msr fanfic #msr #sculder

[powderblueblood]

my dear dear friend got me a book which is an oral history of Hollywood and I just can’t stop thinking about

stuntman!eddie and heartthrob!steve at the messy beginnings of the movie industry, where 36 films shot on a single lot and people were churning out multiple pictures at a time, making things entirely off the cuff

and stuntman!eddie (who’s also been pegged as an up and coming new face on the scene with his Exotic long hair (some director: *slaps eddie* you would not believe the amount of swashbuckling pictures I could crank out of this thing) with script supervisor!reader, who he has a contentious relationship with because she’s constantly pulling him up on incontinuities or “that’s not the way the writer wants it”— he’s also bitter bitter beetlejuice because he’s a writer too Y’know not just a pretty face that can take a pummelling

then heartthrob!steve who is at the mercy of gossip columnists like louella parsons accusing him of being playboy of the century (which he kind of is), until he meets costume fitter!reader who is so totally starstruck at first but soon learns how woefully misunderstood this poor little rich boy is during their very intimate fittings— he wants serious roles, or actually does he because this whole acting thing began as a rebellion from his family line and he doesn’t know if that really sticks anymore

also cue massive amounts of debauchery and secret trysts and overlap and somehow I’ll get an allusion to hollywoods lesbian ‘sewing circle’ in there for nancy and robin

just something to think about

#something to get me through the upcoming bleak midwinter #my resolution is to finish my current wips before doing anything else but…. #im a bit buzzed. it’s christmas still kind of #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader

[michelleelizabethtanner]

Piggybacking off Anon’s Dave episode question - why do you think it took finding a tracker on his car for Rio to get suspicious? My dude, Beth rolled up to your meeting - right after you shot a supposed Secret Service agent who was going to assassinate you instead of arrest you - with a brand new printing plate and then fumbled her lie, but it was the tracker that did it? (Maybe this is less question and more rant)

There is certainly a lot of incontinuity to rant about so that’s fair. But wasn’t he suspicious, though? I always assumed he was. She was so obviously lying! I guess I figured he knew she was informing and knew enough to start sweeping his car for bugs immediately after she had him kill “Dave.” People who aren’t suspicious don’t look for evidence. Once he found the tracker he had something concrete to bring to her and accuse her with. But I think he was suspicious all along. You don’t think he was?

#gg 4.04 #Dave #gg 4.05 #The Banker #good girls nbc #brio #asks

[twotangledsisters]

Remember how Eugene was going to be killed for stealing the crown in the Tangled film.

But the Stabbington's who did the exact same crime were still in cells during the series.

I know it's just because the writers are different and what is continuity, but my fave thing ever when writing fics is taking these incontinuities way too seriously and explaining them.

Also, Eugene finding out the Stabbington are just in prison like: "What in the justice system happened there? Did they get sentenced for one crime between them and y'all just divide it! I call injustice! Maybe I have an identical twin you haven't caught yet!"

Cassandra: "Please no."

#tangled #tangled the series #tts #rapunzels tangled adventure #rta

[gayofthefae]

I do wish it was a little more clear this way but I’d like to say my interpretation of the s1 Jonathan camera scene was always that he was just taking pictures of them (which still isn’t cool and still provides Steve with motive), lowered his camera when he realized Nancy was undressing in one of his shots, developed the photos because you can’t pick and choose and delete on a film camera, and took them down suddenly because he realized what it looked like when that girl walked in. He took pictures of Barb in the pool right before hand, his active intention wasn’t as a Peeping Tom. That doesn’t excuse those other pictures he did take on purpose of them in the pool etc but I never interpreted it as him purposefully photographing her undressing. He was taking various, random pictures of them. (And don’t listen to what ScreenRant tells you, they did not retcon him lowering his camera. I distinctly remember thinking it was incontinuity when I first watched it in 2016).

He shouldn’t have taken those photos, but he didn’t get with the girl he creeped on, that isn’t the message here. That scene was to give him a connection to his dad he didn’t like (he saw Lonnie earlier in the same episode), to give Steve motive, and to get the demogorgon in the shot.

#stranger things #jonathan byers #jancy #we dont even know that he definitively had a crush on her at that point

[lyssafreyguy]

I haven't actually seen it but are people talking about the sort of lore incontinuity between BotW and TotK? oh babes . . . I keep forgetting BotW was like. a good chunk of people's first Zelda game especially for younger people.