#and it means so much more to me than i could ever put into words

[faetreides]

oooh art would be lowkey freaky. i feel like he’s also a super munch. he’ll let you sit on his face for hours!!

cw: 18+ mdni, cunnilingus, ambiguous era, afab reader, slight brat!reader, teasing, like two spanks (+ one instance of ass play + very slight anal fingering)

Art devours you like no one else ever could, burying his tongue into your pussy for hours on end. If he could, he’d do it 24/7. He does it enough as it is away. As a wake up call, a way to say goodnight, in the shower, on your period, from behind while you’re cooking, in a pool chair, you get the gist. If you asked what he favorite sexual act to do with you was, there’s not a single doubt in your mind that it would be slurping up your pussy.

You’ve never sat on his face before though, too scared to break his neck after reading a story on your phone about that happening to someone else. It’d be a real mood killer to come down from you high to see your boyfriend dead to the world, literally. You didn’t talk about it again after the initial awkward discussion that ended with you dismissing it. But he just looks so hot in the early morning sun, a rare sleepy day in where you actually get to marvel at what Art looks like when he’s relaxed.

You bite your lip and shake him gently, trying not to shy away and curl up into a ball when he eventually groans and rubs his eyes open.

“Morning, baby.” He grunts in his husky morning voice.

He immediately puckers his lips for a kiss that you provide with less casual confidence than usual. His brow furrows, and he caresses the inside of your wrist with his thumb.

“What’s up? Are you hungry?” He asks you, thinking that you’re needing him to run and get you coffee or something.

You say no and play with your hands, the ache you’ve been feeling between your thighs only grows the more you look into his eyes.

“I just…. I need you.” You whisper.

Art squints his eyes, not sure what you mean. Then he recalls how he usually wakes you up in the morning, “Oh. You need me, huh?”

You nod and spread your legs, giving a view of your bare pussy. You took your underwear off earlier when the feeling got to be too much.

“Can you say it for me, angel? Tell me what you need and i’ll give it you.” He grins, teasing you. “If you woke me up, you must need whatever it is really bad.”

You roll your eyes and straddle him, sighing in bliss when he latches onto your hips. You’d put up more of a fight if you weren’t so horny, but you’ll let Art have his fun this time.

“I need you to eat me out.” You hold back the ‘obviously’ that you want to tack onto the end of your sentence.

Art’s grin widens and he makes you rock back and forth on his clothed bulge. He waist until you’re juices are wetting the fabric of his underwear before he pats your thigh, telling you to get off. You don’t budge and allow him to get into the typical position. Instead you lift your hips and shuffle up the bed until you’re hovering over his face.

“I want you to eat me out like this.”

Art’s grin falters as his eyes widen in shock for a second, you must really be pent up if you’re being this bold. He’s not complaining, he’d been waiting patiently for you to get comfortable enough to use him like a chair. You’re enough of a brat to change your mind if he acts too smug about getting what he wants even if you want it too though, so he tones it down.

“Get to it then, angel.” He smirks, his words trailing off into a satisfied sigh. “Give me a taste of this pretty pussy, don’t hold back.”

He flattens his tongue expectantly and leans his head back against the pillows.

Before you can even hesitate, Art snakes his arms under your legs and yanks your body down, making you drop your weight on him. You yelp but he doesn’t let you squirm away from his mouth. The sensation of his tongue lying still beneath you feels strange for a second, but a slap to your ass snaps you out of it enough to start moving your hips.

You shout and grab onto the headboard, getting yourself off on your boyfriend’s face. You play with one of your tits as you start to bounce on him, craving more of his tongue.

You reach down and tug on his hair, suddenly feeling too shy to make eye contact. He hasn’t looked away from you this entire time, and your cheeks warm in embarrassment at the thought of how messy you already look.

He winks at you, not moving at all and letting you take your fill. Well that’s not what you want anymore, so you tug his hair harder and beg.

“Please, baby, just tongue fuck me already. Don’t you want to? ‘m getting tired…” You whine, pouting down at him.

You stop your hips when you don’t get an answer. Art’s eyes crinkle in delight at your predicament, but he gives in to you. He always does, you just don’t like when he puts you on the spot and makes you wait like this. Secretly you kinda enjoy how he acts in bed, but you like putting up a fight way more.

Art curls his tongue around your clit and you throw your head back. He gives the throbbing bud a few customary sucks and then he jabs his tongue into your wet hole. You moan and grab onto his hair, bouncing on him in time with his tongue’s short thrusts. You roll your hips down against the slick appendage and cry out when it hits the right spot, grasping onto the headboard for dear life.

“Oh my god, feels so good! Wanted you in my pussy, need you there, sucking me dry-what the fuck, yes!” You squeal, firmly keeping his face nuzzled into your pussy and your thighs around his head.

His hands are playing with your ass while he eats you out. You’re mid bounce when you feel one of his thumbs prod at your ass hole, and the barest hint of having two of your wholes filled gets you moving faster on him. He spread your cheeks wider and kneads the flesh, jiggling them in his hands.

Art responds in kind and slides his tongue around whatever parts of your juicy pussy he can, scooping up your juices and guzzling them down as he stabs his tongue through your sopping folds.

You’d normally pull him back by his hair when you got close, not wanting to get him too dirty with your cum. But now you’re tightening your thighs over his ears and and stuffing his nose into your trimmed pubic hair, bouncing like your life depends on it.

Art spanks you again when your walls spasm around his tongue thirty seconds later. He gulps your orgasm down with love in his eyes and a heartbeat in his dick. He coos at your soft sniffles and massages your trembling thighs when you get up and collapse beside him.

“Thanks for breakfast, angel, I’d rate it 5 stars”. He laughs, half jokingly and half seriously.

“Whatever, perv.” You weakly smack him on the chest and groan, trying to keep your soul in your body. “Go get coffee… please.”

#this one is so bad but oh well #mike faist #challengers #challengers x reader #challengers smut #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #mike faist challengers #art donaldson smut #art donaldson challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #challengers film #mike faist x you #mike faist x reader #mike faist smut #🕊️.alivedove #🎧.asks #challengers x you #challengers fic #x reader smut #x reader

[noyasmashing]

Toying with Expectations

Fem!Reader x Sub!Izuku

CW: mean reader, like really mean, fem! reader, crying, head (giving and receiving), semi public, college au, a bit of crying, and degrading

AN: yeahhh not sure what happened with this one

Your breaths came in soft, rapid gasps, barely above a whisper as pleasure coarse through you. You had no choice but use your fingers to steady yourself against the cool tile of the bathroom wall.

"Almost there, don't stop," you urged in a hushed tone, a sharp inhale punctuating your words.

Izuku knelt before you, his head buried between your legs beneath your skirt. With one of your legs draped over his shoulder, his mouth was soaked in a blend of your essence and his own saliva. He fervently slid his tongue up your folds, delving inside you with a hunger to elicit more sounds of pleasure. Simultaneously, his free hand found its way to the bugle in his jeans.

"You know, your mouth serves my pussy much better than your words ever could," you moaned, arching your back and grinding your hips against his face. He emitted a soft whimper, an unspoken affirmation of your words.

"Good boy, Izuku, good boy," you moaned outright, "oh, yes, yes..." his tongue desperately sucked at your clit as you reached your peak. Your roughly gripped his messy hair, using his locks as leverage to grind yourself on his tongue.

Izuku squirmed under your grasp, his moans muffled against your hot cunt as he let himself go. A white liquid thickly coated his jeans, a humiliating reminder of his own pleasure as he rubbed his thighs together.

You leaned against the wall, placing a hand on your chest as you took a few deep breaths. Gingerly lifting up your skirt, you nudged him away with your knee making him fall backwards, catching himself with his sweaty palms. "Jesus, look what you did..." you said, wrinkling your nose at the obvious wet spot in his pants.

He staggered to his feet, hastily readjusting himself by tucking his shirt back in. "I-I’m sorry, couldn't help myself..." he mumbled, still dazed from the encounter. Slowly, he wiped at his face, his tongue lolling out slowly to lick at what lingered on his lips.

"You're so fucking gross," you muttered, slipping into your panties and sliding them back on without a second glance.

"Y/N?" he spoke up suddenly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I n-need to ask you something."

Raising an eyebrow in speculation, you replied, "What?" Your tone conveyed your growing impatience as you shifted your weight and crossed your arms.

"W-would you be willing to come to my dorm room after classes today?" he fidgeted nervously with his tie, which was already a mess.

You tapped your fingers along your folded arms, contemplating his request. With a resigned sigh, you relented, "Fine."

"R-really?" he stammered, dumbfounded by your acceptance.

"Yeah, whatever," you waved lazily as you headed towards the stairs.

"Thanks, Y/N! It really means a lot to me. I've been wanting to-"

"Oh my god, keep talking and I'm gonna change my mind. And I thought I told you to stop following me so closely."

"R-right, my apologies," he replied sheepishly, staying put to give you space as you walked away. He held his burning cheeks, his face flushed with embarrassment, waiting for the sound of your muffled steps down the hallway to fade away.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

You knocked on his door absentmindedly, engrossed in Minas latest instagram post. The door swung open almost immediately, as if he had been waiting right behind it, eager to answer the moment you arrived. Without a word, you walked past him, tossing your schoolbag onto the floor with a careless thud.

"Thank you again for coming," he said, attempting to contain the excitement in his voice.

"Get on the bed," you instructed, ignoring his gratitude as you slid your phone into your skirt pocket.

"H-huh?" he blinked in confusion, allowing you to push him backwards. He stumbled finding himself on the bed, gripping the sheets in a bewildered state. "Wh-what're you..." His words trailed off as you knelt in front of him, parting his knees with ease. His body froze as you deftly unbuckled his pants and pulled the zipper down. "W-wait, Y/N, y-you don't have to... I mean, this is..." His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as his skin began to burn with embarrassment.

"Lift your hips up," you commanded, your tone leaving no room for argument, as you pulled his pants down. His mind went blank, and he obeyed, giving you just enough leverage to remove his pants, along with his underwear. "Aw, look at your All-Might undies, aren't you adorable," you mocked, running your hands along his freckled thighs.

Izuku let out a pitiful whine at your words, his body trembling with anticipation as he watched you. Without hesitation, you took his member, which was now only somewhat flaccid, into your mouth. But of course it didn't take long for him to become fully erect. Izuku's head snapped back, a dramatic moan escaping his lips. He clawed at his sheets, the unexpected pleasure leaving him momentarily speechless.

You dragged your tongue from the base to the slit, savoring the taste of the precum that was already leaking from his pink tip. "Let's see how long you can last without any foreplay..." you murmured, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you prepared to test his endurance.

"I-I, please!" Izuku could only manage a desperate plea as he instinctively buckled his hips in response to the overwhelming sensations. You started by sucking gently on the head, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him, before swirling your tongue around it, causing his legs to shake uncontrollably.

As you slid your mouth down, taking his full length into your throat, his eyes clouded over completely, his mouth hanging open in a silent cry of pleasure. He moaned wildly as you bobbed your head back and forth, the movement causing him to slide in and out of your mouth with increasing intensity.

He wasn't accustomed to this type of pleasure from you, usually being treated as your sex toy. But the sensation of your soft lips sucking on him like your personal lollipop, while your hands traced circles so gently around the bone of his hips, had him whimpering and crying out in a way he never expected.

Out of pure instinct, he attempted to close his thighs, seeking some form of control, but you were quick to deliver a sharp slap to them. He moaned at the unexpected pain, surprised by how much he enjoyed it. Your mouth slowed its motions around his puffy tip, and your fingers dug into his thighs harshly, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain that he found intoxicating.

He couldn't contain himself from the overwhelming stimulation, hot tears forcing themselves from his lash line as he let out slurred words of pleas and thank yous. His bottom lip trembled uncontrollably as he let out the cutest of noises, subsequently making you clench around nothing.

"I can't, I can't..." he cried out, his desperation evident as drool pooled and spilled from his lips. "I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" He whimpered, his release pulsing down your throat as you eagerly swallowed it down, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

He arched his back, the edges of his vision almost going black as waves of ecstasy washed over him, leaving him utterly spent and completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience.

You popped his cock out of your mouth, taking in a huge breath as it twitched several times, still slightly hard. Standing up, you made your way to your bag while Izuku lay on his back, his body still shaking from the leftover waves of his orgasm. Taking out a water bottle, you took a few swigs from it before addressing him.

"Okay, we're even, right?" you asked, turning to face him.

"H-huh?" Izuku mumbled lazily, his mind still clouded from the pleasure.

"This is for giving me head earlier. Fair's fair, right?" you clarified, taking another drink.

"I didn't... I didn't want you to come over for that..." he struggled to sit upright, his expression earnest. "I would never, um, ask you to do that for me..." he cleared his throat, words slightly shaking from embarrassment.

"Really? Huh," you rummaged through your bag again, pulling out a pack of gum and popping a few pieces into your mouth. "What did you want, then?"

"I wanted t-to spend time with you... just... be with you..." he admitted, his eyebrows knitting together slightly.

"Ah. No," you replied bluntly, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

"I have shit to do. Bakugo and Kirishema have a study group tonight that I'm going to."

"Oh, they do? I didn't know," Izuku responded, surprised.

"Yeah. They invited the class."

"But I wasn't invited," he laughed nervously, feeling a pang of disappointment.

You raised your eyebrows and nodded. "A-ah, I see," he looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Aw, poor, poor Izuku," you teased, putting your hand on his cheek before giving it a playful slap. "Get over it."

"Yes, of course, wise advice," he grinned, rubbing his cheek slightly. "Thank you."

"If anyone asks why I was here, just say we accidentally switched book bags or something," you instructed, already heading towards the door.

"Not a problem," he replied, watching you leave. He felt a pang of disappointment at your harsh words, but then again, he knew where the study group usually met..

#dom reader #dom!reader #sub character #sub izuku #izuku midoria x reader #mha izuku #izuku x reader #bnha izuku #izuku mydoria #izuku midoriya #sub mha #midoriya x reader #bnha midoriya #sub men #midoriya x y/n #mha midoriya #mha smut #college au #mha #mha x reader #mha deku #bnha deku #deku #deku x reader

[pupcuck]

(I COULD NEVER BE) YOUR WOMAN !

ft. og4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. crossdressing, force fem, short instance of groping/harassment by some gross man, humiliation, dom!reader, a few misogynistic comments surprisingly not from leon, repressed homosexuality, leon n some unnamed cute guy, r slur is used ONCE by same gross dude, slight angst, implied/past sa very light tho, public sex, dub-con

note. title from white town duh has nothing to do w the fic. um unedited n quite bad not loving this but here u go.. 2000s clubbing.. I also want 2 say r slur is used by some dude who is just awful to leon in this.. not meant to be like . y’know there for shock value lol it’s a word I’ve been called a lot so that would be my last intention. um leon has some misogynistic thoughts but I don’t want them to come across as mine LMFAO I know that I do a very close pov so I don’t want my views to mix with the characters as people usually tend to think. comments n rbs greatly appreciated!

“You hate me,” Leon states like an upset child, one false lash deep into a murky pit he couldn’t even grapple hook his way out of.

“No, baby.” You shake your head, smiling at him like you hate him. “I love you very much.” The other lash is stuck on, black and spidery in spiky kitchen knife points. He blinks and the heaviness does not melt away like sleep. “My sweet girl.”

“You do,” Leon says, he makes a vague gesture towards his attire, scooping nothing but air with his cupped hand, “hate me,” he adds after a second, the words hang heavy in the air like sopping wet laundry or a body from a tree. You’re busy giving him a once over, a small hand lightly grasping his chin to keep his head up. You’ve never held him so gently before, but this is how girls treat other girls, he supposes. With great care.

“What?” You use a lint roller to pick up loose fibre and tricky stray particles of dust. “Because I made you all pretty, honey?” You lean forward, and Leon, besotted, closes his eyes as if you’re going to kiss him. “I just did your makeup, no kisses, Leon.” Of course, that’s right, he forgot, no kisses. You lick your finger and smudge your work to give him that freshly fucked and wanting more appeal.

“Sorry.” He looks at his reflection.

Blink. Blink. Blink. His eyes make a tacky noise, as if each blink is unsticking them.

He looks ridiculous, not even like a drag queen, they are tasteful and deliberate in their art. He looks exactly like what he is - a man in a wig. There is no pretty way to put it because what he is looking at is not very pretty. The wig tickles his neck like a pale whisper. It is shining too brightly in the way all fake things do, plasticky in the buzzing bathroom light. Metallic shimmer dusts his eyelids like crushed stars, iridescent-pearlescent is all the rage nowadays, it’s barely visible past the thick black that lines his eyes like you’re actively trying to worsen his bags and push him into panda territory.

Leon thinks it is a good idea to think of nothing ever again, like ever. If he didn’t have that thought, if he didn’t sit opposite you at the dining table confessional-style, if he shut his mouth and never spoke a word—Then he would not be sitting here closer to tears than he ever has been, fists clenched tight enough to make coal into diamonds.

You thumb the corner of his glossed lips. “Ready?” You ask him, then turn to face him, pulling a smile that is so mean it’s somewhat ugly and out of place on a face like yours. “Don’t speak or you’ll ruin it, ‘kay?”

A bag big enough to carry a lip gloss tube and nothing else dangles on your pinky as you check your face in the mirror, usually your gloss would be in Leon’s breast pocket, or his back pocket. Whatever pocket he has available.

Today he has nothing of the sort, embarrassingly, you place a tube between his pecs and it stays. You tip your head back and laugh at him, swiping it away a moment later. “I’m only joking, Leon.”

A considerable amount of muscle has been dropped since he came back from Spain. Cooking is hard, eating is harder, and he only really makes the effort when you visit. You don’t pry, so it’s only now that he notices, filling out your dress too well, that his edge has almost completely been lost to softness.

And it’s still there—He’s still a man with a dick and balls first and foremost. His arms are big, and his chest juts out in the wrong way. Wrong. It’s all so wrong.

This thought is neutered by your hand on his too-big bicep, fingers curling to his shape as you guide him along the stairs in matching kitten heels, he clutches the bannister for support like he’s going into labour.

Today you drive. “Got to treat you like a princess,” you say, smiling at him. All teeth. You take off your heels and kick them beneath the seat where they’ll surely tangle in the cables.

Leon reclines in his seat, closing his eyes and breathing in and out, two minutes away from inducing labour. Dramatics, y’know? Because he’s a girl today, not because he feels like he is being gutted by a claw machine.

You drive, he tosses and turns and squints at the road ahead to hide his creased brow. You drive, and he wonders what led him to this very moment, what has become of him and his pity party life. But Simon Says and Leon does. You say and Leon follows blindly like a die-hard fucking fan of Jesus would. A disciple, he guesses, but in some way even that is too much credit. At least they were, like, on equal grounds. He’s too passive to be Judas, and too much of an unbeliever to be any of the other ones. He is just some fucking mangey street urchin suckling on the teat of a wild dog that Jesus patted once and cured and would not leave the poor dude alone.

Unfortunately, Leon takes instructions better than he does dick and that is his problem. Yeah, that’s what he was trying to say before it all got away from him.

The bouncer questions nothing, no ID is needed, which is both a relief and an insult to Leon. Does he look that old? This makeup, this dress, this stringy mop of a wig it ages him.

The bass of a thousand beating hearts rips through him.

If Leon was a girl he’d simply kill himself. It hurts too much. The dress is itchy and his chest is sweating and his full face of makeup is melting his skin into goop and his feet are killing him. He’s sorry for all those times he requested a girl keep her stilettos on during sex. He’s sorry to you for buying you shoes on all those anniversaries, birthdays and Christmases. He’s sorry for that time he requested a lap dance in heels on your anniversary, his birthday, and that joint Christmas. He is sorry to every fucking woman for the system that has been put in place that requires them to wear heels to work and to dinner dates and to pick their kids up from preschool.

“Are you hurting, baby?” You place a cool hand on his cheek, feather-light, ensuring you don’t smear his pasty foundation. When he nods, pitiful, you coo at him. “Oh, big ol’ Agent Kennedy, I’m sure you can handle it, sweetie.”

Leon shakes his head again, firmer and sadder. “You can handle it,” you tell him, smiling dropping as fast as it came. A hand comes to rest on his waist then slides upwards along his naked back, courtesy of the open back of his blue dress, gliding over his pronounced shoulder blades. Lily-white and spread sideways like lotus petals or something akin to angel wings.

The two of you end up in a booth with four men and a red-headed girl who is decently pretty. She talks too fast for Leon’s liking, and each time she opens her mouth, which is a lot of fucking times for a long fucking time, her spit flies out and lands on his face in beads.

There is a man who’s tall and strapping in the way Leon likes his men in the private fantasies he keeps hidden in the lonely gallery that is his mind. His experience with dick starts with Jack and ends somewhere before you. Jack taught him how to work a dick, and if Leon were to kiss and tell, he’d tell this man how much he wants to play with it, stroke it and love on it.

(Only if he was a girl, which tonight he is.)

You’re midway through telling a story, leant in for added effect, elbows on the sticky table. “And Leon says, she’s like—“ Your voice fades out.

Another guy, stout and ugly, sort of piggish in the face, asks, “Is it a dude?” He jabs his thumb in Leon’s direction. “That’s a dude's name.”

“What, no.” You frown, breezing over your blunder like fingers on silk. “It’s a nickname, y’know, from when we were kids, ‘cause she looks like a dude.” Laughter lifts into the air like plumes of smoke. Leon feels like he is breathing it in, tiny shards crystallise in his lungs and choke him.

He shouldn’t be humiliated, there is nothing to be humiliated about because he is what you say he is. He’s a dude. But he is humiliated, and it is driving him mad, he has killed himself in a hundred different brutal ways in his head while you talk.

“She don’t talk, she got a problem?” He says in his nasty, thick voice. “Is she retarded?” It sounds like there’s phlegm lodged in his throat all the fucking time. “Feminist?” Good lord.

“Oh my gosh, like, I don’t think you can say that,” the ginger smiles nervously.

“She just gets a little scared around guys.” Your smile is so cold it chills him to his core. “Bad experiences, y’know?”

Not exactly wrong. Leon is weary of shared showers, he is weary of urinals, of stalls with busted locks, and he is weary of other men, but he would never say it and he would never show it. But now, sitting here as a girl, as a woman, he trembles.

“Oh, yeah?” The dude sits back, spreads his legs to accommodate a dick he likely doesn’t have. Then he leaves it at that.

You kiss him to make up for the silence, you grope his tits—his chest through the fabric of his dress, you raise your Von Dutch tee to show off your cute heart-shaped pasties. None of it is for Leon, it’s for the guys sitting in front of you, because as a woman you exist for men, to perform and flash your panties and act like you’re into it.

Which you are, he knows your pussy is wet ‘cause of that look on your face, eyes glinting like marbles, you’re getting off on him being stretched past his limits.

An hour later, you push him onto the dance floor, watching through throngs of people and Leon is met with the pig-faced guy, he’s pink and sweaty like one too. Leon denies every advance he lays out. Then fingers splay over the round of Leon’s ass, and his flesh is gripped so tight it mottles how dicks purple.

The guy says something and everything and nothing but fluff. You uppity slut—You think you can—Speak up—Y’know, even the ugliest bitches have wet little pussies between their legs—

Leon really does not.

Leon could push him off. He could break his fingers, disable him, kill him in the middle of this godforsaken dance floor. But he just stands there and stares like a real woman.

(But he has always stood there and looked death right in the eye, it comes hurtling, barrelling into him at full speed like a shit-caked asteroid and all he does is stand there. He’s not had the energy to get back up lately.)

The handsome guy, the one that is taller than Leon, the one that he likes a lot, steps in and saves him. And this is what it must feel like, to be swept off your feet. To be princess carried and loved sweetly by someone worn and rough.

Christ, this wig has a mind of its own. Infecting Leon’s psyche with its mushy bullshit. He wants to go home. He wants a beer and a drag from your cigarette. He doesn’t smoke, but he will tonight.

“Are you alright?” The handsome man somehow manages to shout gently over the music. He is so nice, and so handsome it feels wrong to look at him. Leon thinks he knows, and when this man smiles, Leon knows that he knows for certain. “I won't tell.” He grins down at Leon again, soft and brilliant and kind.

Leon passes you on the way to the bathroom, he tells you that it’s getting stuffy in here, then he leaves to get stuffed with cock in the ladies room as all good boyfriends do.

The click of heels makes him suck in a breath, he plants two hands on the broad chest in front of him, tightens around the dick in him so hard he might cut off all blood flow, salty fingers in his mouth keep him from crying out.

Leon knows it’s you from the clink of your bangles. The source of chatter is the red-headed girl, you likely motion for her to be silent—He counts to twenty then meets your eye under the gap in the door. He whimpers around the fingers in his mouth.

“Oh my gosh, there’s totally someone in there,” you gush to the other girl who gasps, “I saw, like, two pairs of shoes, really cute heels.”

“She’s luckyyy, I hope she’s getting it good,” she sighs, “hey, where’d your friend go by the way, the blonde one?”

“Leon?” You seem to pause, weighing up your options. “She’s a total fucking slut.”

“No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way, I bet she’s gone home with some guy already—I mean, she might be in that fucking stall, wouldn’t put it past her.”

In the stall, Leon shifts, back bumping the wall as he pushes his hips out, grinding down on his dick like he needs this over and done with.

“I could never do that…” The redhead says, “It’s, like, so icky in here…”

“I don’t think Leon minds,” you muse, “I mean, like, don’t tell her I told you, but she gets on her knees in club bathrooms, like, she’s dirty.”

“Gross!”

“I know!” You burst into giggles. “I told her that’s, like, way too far! I mean they don’t even clean these places properly, they send some underpaid dude with a Kleenex out to do the job.”

Leon’s knees ache with the guilt of sucking dick on his knees in a Kleenex-cleaned club bathroom. The dick inside of him throbs, a single push and it spills into the rubber.

The click of heels fades out as you and your newfound friend exit the bathroom.

“You let your friend talk about you like that?” The man asks, smiling still.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Leon says meekly in a voice that is not his. He has never been meek or scared or anything of the sort. Leon has guts, too many maybe, they make him stupid. That’s what he gets by on. That’s why Leon returns home. Because he tries not to make a place for feelings.

“I know.” The guy shrugs, he spins Leon around so his back is facing the mirrors. Leon twists his head to look. The striated planes of his back. Your nails in his skin.

“Oh.”

Leon gets in your car and apologises.

“Aw.” You pinch his cheek, uncaring of your heavy hand now that his lipstick is smeared in rings around another man’s dick. “I know, baby, my girl just wanted to have fun.”

My girl, my girl, my girl. He’s not your girl. You’re his girl, and he’s your man and that’s the way Leon likes it. He likes to drape his arm over your shoulders in place of a coat when it gets windy, he likes to pay the bill on dates, he likes to drive you around and he likes to hold your shopping bags. Because that is good and swell and—It’s normal.

You drive him home without saying a word, letting him sit and drown in the weight of his problems until you help him inside, he’s hindered by 1.5 inch heels.

When Leon tries to take his dress off, you stop him. “Princess,” you coo, his teeth rot and he smells the cavities, “I want to play with you.”

“Not like this,” he begs, gazing up at you through his false lashes.

“Yes, like this, baby.” You sit him down on the couch, you take off your heels and then bend down to unbuckle the strap on his. That’s his job. Leon should be doing that for you, a tender grip on your ankle as he threads the metal through the needled holes. “Look at these.” You stand back up, taking the seat beside him, one of your small hands grabbing the underside of his thighs and spreading him open, a leg thrown over yours. “These cute tits,” you say, kissing his neck as you shove your hand down the low-cut neck of his dress, grabbing at his chest in pinching handfuls.

“Don’t call them that,” Leon says quietly, his ears pink like the pucker of his hole.

“I’ll say what I want, princess, okay?” You kiss him hard, teeth knocking into his and your wet tongue running over his front teeth like you want to scrape the plaque from them. “I’m going to fuck you like a girl,” you tell him, pushing his legs as far as they go, his toes curl.

“I don’t like that—“

“I don’t like your dick or your stupid sex talk and I don’t like being fucking pile drived, do you think I like being folded like origami you stupid fucking oaf?” It’s said in the same measured tone of voice you always use, the one that makes him feel stupid. “This is what it’s like being a girl, baby, gotta do what I want.”

Then you lift your hips, skirt shed and panties to the side, puffy pussy swallowing the tip of his cock as you sit on it, taking it inch by inch by inch by inch. All four of ‘em. You hold onto his ankles as you fuck yourself on his cock, a soft squelch everytime his cock bottoms out, slick dripping down his thick shaft and balls.

Leon doesn't like this. How you have him. How you’re taking him, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling good. Your pussy is wet and warm and it squeezes around him, gripping his cock like it’s all you’ve got to live for. You reach between your thighs to rub your swollen clit, but Leon beats you, wanting to make himself useful.

“Good girl,” you praise, eyes rolling back into your skull as you slow your pace, coming to a halt as you place a hand over his, urging him to rub you raw. Then you cum as he presses his thumb into your tiny bud hard, cunt spasming around his dick, letting out a gasp and toppling forward into his chest. Leon’s cock slips out of your cunt, rock hard and lonely, he holds you as his legs drop to the floor, feet on the floor where they belong.

“I didn’t… I didn’t get to…” Leon looks at your face and then his stiff dick, pouting almost.

“I know, baby.” You kiss his head tenderly, so tender he nearly forgets why he’s upset. “But you’re a girl now, right?”

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy angst #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil angst #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

[bendycxmet]

Pierced—Vash the Stampede

Summary: How did Vash get that hoop in??

Word Count: ~1.2k

Pairing: gn!reader x Vash the Stampede

Content: fluff, a lil angsty, Vash deserves his sense of self ok

a/n: @aboveweirdest gave me this wonderful idea while we were analyzing this man to death! tyty was thinking about this when i got another helix piercing done recently so i whipped this up before bed

In recent days, you’ve seen Vash eyeing you. At least, more than what is normal. It was unsettling everytime you felt his gaze on you whenever you tried passing the time by creating something out of scraps you found into jewelry, specifically earrings. 

For instance, he was doing it now, as your hands worked the small pliers expertly to transform a piece of gold wire into a hoop. You either usually pierce your own ears with your creations, or sell them in town for some extra cash you both could use for bullets or food. Vash wishes he could be as good as you on the artsy side, but you always remind him that he is good with his hands. No one can beat him in marksmanship.

“Like what you see there, gunman?” you tease, side eyeing him for a split second. Caught in the act, Vash blushes a lovely red that reaches the tip of his ears. You love getting a rise out of him.

“Do you wanna learn? Is that it? Because you’ve been a little too curious these past couple of days.”

“Mm.. ‘s not that. I just… How many piercings do you have?” 

The question comes out of nowhere for you. You think it’s obvious, since mostly all of them are on your ears. Doing mental math, you count what you have on your ears.

“Uh, around 11? I’m thinking of doing more, but we’ve been too busy lately.”

He simply nods, humming to himself as he visibly thinks through your answer. 

“Why do you pierce your ears?” You quirk your eyebrow at him. “Don’t mean that in an offensive way!” He quickly puts his hands up, offering a sign of peace. You laugh at his gestures. “I just been noticing lately that your usual customers are people with loads of piercings, and I never gave it much thought before to get one of my own, but I think…they look so cool on others. They seem so happy with them too, expressing themselves without even saying a word.”

Your hands still at his words, something dropping in your stomach and twisting at his solemn expression. Vash never revealed much about his past, and you never probed him further. Anytime anything connected to his past came up, you could clearly tell whatever happened had left its scars on him, physically and mentally. You respected his decision to close up those details, and reminded him that whenever, if ever, he was ready to share that load with you, you would be there.

You look back down at the gold hoop in your hands, an idea coming to mind. You quickly add the finishing touches, putting a little more effort into it as it was for someone special now. 

“Hey, what do you think of this?” You hold up the hoop to Vash’s eyes, catching the glimmer in his eyes at your recent creation, like that of a thief spotting expensive items through a window. Greed and envy swirling together.

“It’s beautiful! You always amaze me with how you turn a piece of trash into such a pretty object. That one’s gonna sell fast Mayfly!” You warm at his praise and nickname for you. His confidence and support for your skills potentially outweighed yours for how he handled his gun.

Yet, you can’t stand the fake smile he plasters on his face, masking the jealousy he feels for the future owner of the golden hoop.

“Think I’m gonna sell it for free. It’s for someone close to me.” Vash simply cocks his head to the side. You roll your eyes at his obliviousness. “How about letting me pierce your ear for you?”

The change in his demeanor is quick. He straightens his back, eyes shining brightly, nodding eagerly at you. “I’m in your hands!”

Grabbing a small threading needle from your kit, you order him to sit close to you on motel bed. Cleaning your hands and the needle, you search his face, looking for any signs of regret. 

“You sure about this? Do you know where you want it?”

He’s pensive for a moment, eyes looking past you. He hums, pointing at his left lobe. How perfect, you think, same side as his cute little mole. 

You fidget, rethinking piercing his ear. You’ve only ever pierced yourself, so now that you have someone else in front of you, you feel like a total amateur. 

“Hey. Get out of your head there. I know what you’re thinking.” Vash’s voice breaks through your brain fog. He wraps his hand around your raised arm, poised and ready to pierce him. He gently tightens his hold on your waist. “I trust you.” You feel your heart twinge at the soft vulnerability in his eyes.

“Ok, this will be a slight pinch. I know you’re used to pain-” you interject, noting his slightly raised eyebrow, silently telling you been there done that. “-but just follow my rules. Ok, breathe in for me.” You raise the needle to his ear. “And breathe out.” As you feel his breath ghost your arm, you push the needle as quickly as you can through his ear, quickly adding the hoop to his ear. 

You turn around to wash your hands. “And there you go! Your first piercing ever! Crazy, considering that you’re like 150- hey don’t touch-” you catch him as he’s going to finger his new piercing, staring straight at the mirror on the vanity opposite the bed. The warning dies in your throat at the sight of him nearly in tears.

“I…I love it,” he says in a warbled voice.

“Oh Vash, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? I really tried to be careful. Always with you.” You sit beside him, leaning onto his shoulder, rubbing his back in comfort. He sniffs. 

“It’s not you. It’s just…this is the first time I feel like I’ve done something for myself. I feel like my own person. With just a hoop.” Wet tears trail down his cheeks. You press your fingers to his cheeks, wiping his tears. You know how he’s been burdened with his past, no doubt still feeling the shadow of his brother and the destruction that’s come from his actions. Perhaps this earring meant more than you could ever imagine, perhaps it finally binded him to the present, and to his own future that he can create. 

“You’ve always been Vash to me. Never your brother. Just you. Vash the Stampede. The most amazing gunman to ever walk into my life.” He turns to you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his face into your neck.

“Thank you. Now, I feel like everyone else. Maybe they can see me as one of them. Not this humanoid disaster.” You nuzzle into him, hands returning to their rubbing against his back.

“You look nice by the way. It suits you really well. The gold complements your blue blue eyes,” you tease, hoping to get a chuckle out of him. 

He pecks your cheek, another thank you from him. He presses his face tighter to you, jolting suddenly. “Ow!”

“Yeahh, it’s gonna be a bit tender for a bit.” 

masterlist

divider by saradika

#vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader fluff #vash the stampede x reader fluff #trigun #trigun stampede #trigun x reader #trigun x reader fluff #tristamp #vash #vash the stampede #bendycxmet writes

[lesbianphan]

I know this is gonna be mushy and overly emotional and I'm sorry for oversharing a bit, but I feel like it's necessary to put into words what rewatching We're All Doomed means to me personally. I watched the kiswe premiere event live and it was one of the most fun nights I've had in a while, even though my life felt extremely hopeless at the time.

And, look, here's the thing: when the WAD premiere dropped, I had completely given up on improving things. In fact, I was very much in the 'doomed' mentality. I had long accepted that there was no way my life would get better. So Dan's message really resonated with me: it's easy to settle for being at rock bottom and thinking that's all there is for me. I was happy to see Dan doing better, but deep down I didn't truly believe his words either, not really. I did want to, but I wasn't quite there. And I don't believe them all the time, as he himself said he doesn't, and doing the show many times hammers the point home into his head.

After experiencing it, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could stop only embracing the void, but start having the courage to exist as well. Putting myself out there more, trying to make a world for myself in which I'm not the :/ emoji all the time. So I applied for the jobs, I wrote what I wanted, I unapologetically embraced the nerdy things and the fandoms I enjoyed. I decided I can choose happiness in the smallest of ways, even when it sounds silly and unimportant. Because it isn't unimportant really if it means something to me.

Rewatching the show last night showed me how much it changed my life and the big leaps it helped me take in life. I have so much more to learn, but I keep telling myself to be brave (lmao sorry had to sneak the Phil reference) and have the courage to exist. Really truly exist out in the world, not hidden inside my room. And sure, some days are harder than the others, some days I really don't like myself at all. Even in those days, though, I tell myself: all I have to do is have the courage to exist.

I went in to watch WAD with no expectations, and I feel like the message of appreciating the little moments was so monumental, it truly absolutely had a huge impact in my own life. I have a job now, and some financial stability. To be honest, I never thought I'd get this job, I might not even have applied if I wasn't in this mindset. In so many ways, Dan and Phil have profoundly changed my life, and I think WAD is just one of those big examples.

I doubt the real humans Dan and Phil will ever understand the impact they've had on this world, but I'll forever wish them the best. I'll always support them, because their creations have irrevocably changed me as a person, and as much as I like joking around and stuff, I'm just thankful that we share this existence, and we get to have fun and be forever changed by it.

Thanks @danielhowell, you'll never know how huge the impact of this show was, but I am truly crying writing this and I hope one day I get to tell you in person how much you inspired me to keep going when no one else would.

#obligatory come to Brazil comment so I can meet you Dan #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #(lmao soz) #Dan Howell #We're all doomed #WAD #amazingphil #Phil Lester #Dan and Phil #phan #dnp #sheesh I'm crying now help ahaha #amanda yaps #personal

[omkookie]

. "I'll show you how much I love you"

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Smut, drugging, Implied noncon at the end. short and rushed Yandere Reader fic

You’ve had your eyes on the first prince of Obsidian ever since he knocked on your door that one night, to ask you for directions. The man was gorgeous, and you’ve never felt someone give off an aura as seductively dark as his.

He was… something else.

FInding out his identity didn’t deter you from him, as your heart longed for the stranger– You never feared him. The more time you spent with him, the more infatuated you became with him, and being around him made your heart flutter. Gilbert was the perfect man, a bit of a problem maker sometimes... but so cute! He was everything you could possibly wish for.

He was so beautiful…

Every time he looked at you, He made your heart beat faster. How could a man steal your heart this fast? Your strong feelings quickly turn into an obsession, and then you were always with him. Someone tried approaching Gilbert? Well, would you look at that… You suddenly acted out aggressively and hurt the person “By accident”.

Sariel becomes afraid of your sudden change in behavior. He even confronts you about it, soon realizing that you might have gone mad because of how you were describing your feelings for Gilbert. Sariel looked taken aback when you snap at him and bluntly tell him to fuck off.

Gilbert is yours, he's perfect, he's yours.

All of the words leaving your mouth were crazy.

This can’t be the Belle Sariel picked…? right?

.

It doesn’t matter though, Whatever Sariel thinks or if he calls you obsessed.

You now have Gilbert cornered, and you couldn’t be happier. He stares at you cautiously as you slither up to him like a snake, and wrap him up in your firm embrace. His initial resolve to push you away is quickly thrown out of the window when you yank him closer to you and kiss him.

His fingers tremble as they make their way to your lower back, and your tongue enters his mouth to entwine with his.

By the time you pull away, you’ve turned Gilbert into a blushing mess with a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

You push him back against the wall, and he doesn’t resist you as you begin to strip his clothes off and throw them to the side.

Of course, that means that he loves you too… right? His lack of resistance sure does!

You peel his shirt off of him, and he shudders when the cold air hits his heated skin, “Wait.” He says weakly as he tries to push your hand away when you reach down for his trousers.

In his fucked up state, Gilbert still somehow manages to stay coherent and muster some courage to push you away, “What did you drug me with?” He asks sharply while coldly glaring straight at you. “Phencyclidine. Don’t worry about that, Gil.” You coo as you cup his cheek and press a kiss against it. He looks at you with a pained expression before murmuring, “Have you lost your mind? or are you really this bold? If you kill me now then Rhodolite will be wiped off the map.”

“Oh, I’m not doing this to kill you... or for rhodolite.” You tell him

“What?”

“I’m not going to kill you, silly. I’m doing this because I love you~ The drugs take some time to take full effect though.”

He looks dumbfounded, His beautiful crimson eye looking all around the room as he tries to make sense of the situation. “I love you Gil” You say as you press another chaste kiss against his cheek.

“I see…” He whispers underneath his breath as his eye closes. He looks doubtful, somewhat restless, but way less than you expected him to look.

“Lean back, Gil.” You suddenly push his shoulders down, and his back hits the cushion lying on the floor. At least you were thoughtful enough to put a pillow there… Still, this doesn’t sit right with him.

You get on top of him, and although he tries to push you off, you merely brush his hands to the side before your hand wraps around his neck. He can’t deny that the way your hand holds his throat so firmly is somewhat hot and he’s getting aroused, but your predicament was way too fucked up for him to enjoy anything.

“Gil, pay attention to me.” your hold on his throat tightened as your other hand slapped his face. It wasn’t too hard, but it was enough to make his cheek sting. He winces, and though he once again tries to push you off, even kick you, he can’t do that because he was too weak. Disoriented, numb. He was losing feelings and his head was fuzzy.

"I'll show you how much I love you" is all he hears before he feels your hands all over his body.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #gilbert von obsidian #ikemen prince x reader #yandere ikemen prince #yandere ikepri #cw;yandere❤️ #cw;smut🍋 #ikemen prince smut #ikepri gilbert #gilbert ikemen prince #yandere ikemen villains #yandere fiction

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 3/34 - soft blue sweater

[Read on AO3]

That weekend, it is with giddy excitement that Mulder and Scully spend the day at her apartment up to their eyeballs in paperwork, brochures, and Chinese food.

“Next question: where would we live? Together or separate?”

“Together,” she answers, before thinking she should probably soften that affirmative answer with an indifferent, “if that works for you.”

“It more than works for me,” he says with certainty. “I can ask Frohike for the number of the real estate agent who hooked him up with the lair. Or we could live here, either way.”

This is crazy. They’re moving so fast. What they’re thinking of doing doesn’t even make sense. Everyone will think they’ve well and truly lost their minds, and maybe they have!

“This is giving me a headache,” she admits, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

“I’ll flag that as one to revisit later,” he says, jotting something down in a notebook. “This communicating thing is a lot of work, huh, Scully? No wonder we don’t do it more often.” He grins at her, more freely than he has in a long time.

She rubs a hand over her tired eyes. “No, it’s good. It’s good. I’m glad we’re doing this, Mulder.”

“Me too.”

He just looks so happy, she can’t help but smile back at him. The knot of uncertainty she’s been harboring as a result of her overthinking dissolves instantly in the radiance of his boyish enthusiasm. He’s all soft edges today, for once out of his G-man uniform. Instead, he wears that soft knit blue sweater she likes so much, and jeans that hug him in all the right places.

His socked feet rest on her coffee table while he flips through various documents, assembling them into binders with an attention to detail that she’s only ever seen him apply to their files. She’s mesmerized.

This might be her life. If they go through with this… He just said he’d live with her. Weekends spent together flash before her eyes, not having to say goodbye after one of their movie nights, just ‘goodnight.’ Takeout containers morph into home-cooked dinners at the table in her kitchen. Him making coffee in the morning. Driving to and from work together…

As much as the thought appeals to her, there’s one tiny detail missing that could put an end to this entire operation before it even begins.

“Mulder?” she asks, inadvertently cutting off whatever rambling he’s been doing while she wasn’t paying attention.

He glances up at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose to keep them from sliding off. The sight almost makes her forget what she was going to ask, as important as it was, but in this case, her concern far outweighs anything else.

“Do you think they’ll buy the co-parenting thing? I mean, I’m not really seeing a precedent for it in any of the literature I’ve looked at. Would they even accept our application?”

He’s quiet for a second. That second stretches into two.

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

She swears the entire block goes silent, not even the sound of a car on the street outside or the hum of heat pumping through her apartment. It makes his words feel heavy. Meaningful. Like she’s just dipped into unfamiliar and dangerous territory without knowing it.

“And...?”

He rubs the back of his neck, obviously struggling to verbalize whatever is going on in that beautiful mind of his.

And then he just outright says it.

“We could get married.”

Her eyes go wide. 

Married.  

“Mulder…”

He puts his hands up, halting her speech. “No, I’m serious. You just said we’d be living together. What’s the difference if we also happen to have a piece of paper that makes it official?” 

There’s that look in his eye, the one he gets when he sits her down for one of his slide presentations. Never could she have imagined he’d have the same look when trying to convince her of marriage. It’s overwhelming.

“Unless,” he pauses, “you think you might meet someone sometime in the future, which is a completely valid concern…”

She has to stop him there. “That’s not it at all. I just– What if this doesn’t work out and we don’t get a baby? You’d be stuck with me and have nothing to show for it.” 

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, the saying goes. If this fails, she could lose… everything. Is that a risk worth taking? Would he grow to resent her? Would they have to jump through legal hoops to undo all of this if things don’t go their way?

“And you could meet someone too,” she reminds him, “someone that could give you a real family. What then?”

He ducks his head, shaking it in a poor attempt to hide a wry smile. “What’s a real family, anyway?” he counters with a shrug, then grabs her hand. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck with than you, Scully.”

Her eyes find his, searching them for something to clue her in to his thought process. Is he serious? Has he lost his mind? She finds nothing but bare honesty in his emerald depths. Bare honesty, and that hope she’s been seeing there since this whole idea came up. It’s a different look for him, but oh how she loves it. She wants to do everything in her power to keep it there.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve thought of asking you before?” he asks.

Her brows furrow, and though part of her wants to bolt, to declare this whole evening an error in judgment, she stays, looking at him warily. His thumb runs over her knuckles, soothing, as if he had known her inclination was to flee from this conversation. Stay , his touch says. Stay with me.

She shakes her head, lips quivering in an almost-smile, and says what he always loves to hear her say. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not!” he counters, equally amused and defensive. “When you had cancer, and I had to fight tooth and nail to get to see you in the hospital…”

She swallows at the memory of waking to find him collapsed by the side of her bed, his hand clasping hers like a lifeline.

“Really?”

“Really,” he answers, his smile softening into fondness. “Though I’m pretty sure Bill would have killed me.”

That brings out a laugh, which Scully shyly hides behind her hand as she wipes it across her nose. When had she started tearing up?

“We’ll buy you a helmet and some shoulder pads, then,” she concedes teasingly.

His mouth quirks up in a smile, knowing precisely what is implied by that response.

“Is that a yes?”

She pauses for a moment, eyes locking with his. Is it? Is she about to agree to marry her best friend?

It should be more of a question, but it isn’t. For some reason, this feels like the most logical thing to do.

She nods.

He shifts on the couch, suppressing a smile and squeezing her hand before letting go. “Well alright then…” he says, crossing his arms in front of him for lack of anything better to do with them. “We can go to the courthouse whenever you’re ready. Or, if you want an actual wedding—”

“No,” she says, a little too quickly. “No, the courthouse will be fine.”

“As long as your mom doesn’t pool her money with Bill to order a hit on me,” he jokes.

“She wouldn’t do that,” she says, rolling her eyes. He does bring up an interesting point though, one that fills her with trepidation. “God, we’ll have to tell her, won’t we? And your mom. And Skinner .”

The dread increases with each name listed.

“We’ll figure that out as we go,” he assures her, placing a calming hand on her knee. “For now, this is just between us. Until you decide otherwise.”

“Just between us,” she agrees, letting his words melt her worries away.

 -.-.-

He had lingered for a while in her doorway when the time came for him to go back to his apartment. It was awkward, but not in a way that might cause alarm in light of what they’d just agreed to do. 

No, as crazy as it might sound, this was one decision neither of them could imagine regretting. The gravity of the situation, though, was what led to the uncharacteristic silence and shyness as she bade him farewell with an impulsive, last-minute hug. He had smiled, and walked backwards out the door, maintaining eye contact until she slowly shut the door between them.

She lies awake in her bed hours later, unable to sleep.

This morning, she was a perpetually single federal agent with a pipe dream of being a mother. Now, she’s engaged to her partner, and there’s partially filled out adoption paperwork with both his and her names on them burning a hole through her top desk drawer.

The Dana from seven years ago would tell her she’s lost her mind.

But then, that Dana also wouldn’t know how important her crackpot new partner would end up being in her life. Skeptical as she was, she’d hardly believe it anyway.

Engaged . She’s always thought about this day, how it would feel to have a man ask for her hand in marriage. She can say without a doubt that this is not how she expected it to go, but the disappointment one might expect in her situation is absent. They may not be going about this in the traditional way, but it is nothing less than what she’d expect with Mulder. 

He had long since rewritten her thoughts on what a normal life was supposed to look like. Her eyes had been opened, the possibilities now seemingly endless instead of linear and predictable. Despite the heartache she has endured over the years, it’s worth it to live with a more complete view of the world. Sometimes, it feels like she and Mulder are the only ones who can see it.

Sighing, she rolls over, her gaze settling on her nightstand.

She shouldn’t. He could be sleeping.

All the same, the corded device beckons her. It’s a temptation she’s familiar with, although tonight it is particularly strong and irresistible.

Don’t, Dana. It’s not real. He’s not really your– Give him space.

She picks up the phone anyway.

Before she can even change her mind, she hears the line connect, and she greets him in the way he’s come to expect.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

She can almost hear him smile on the other end of the call, and all thoughts of this being a bad idea fly from her mind. 

“Well if it isn’t the soon-to-be Mrs. Spooky Mulder,” he says jovially, sounding much too awake for her to have interrupted his sleep.

She rolls her eyes, but can’t help the flutter in her chest at his words. At the timbre of his voice, lazy and drawn out at this late hour. He can be endearing when he wants to be. A real sap at times.

“Hey, Scully. We’re engaged.”

“I know,” she speaks into the phone, curling in toward it and holding it with both hands up against her ear. Her pillow welcomes her into its embrace, and she sinks into it, grinning into the covers.

“We’re gonna give poor Skinner a heart attack,” he says with a laugh.

Their poor boss. He must have had no idea what he was getting into when he was assigned to oversee the X-Files. 

“He’ll get over it,” she says dismissively.

She hears Mulder chuckle a little, the breathy sound tickling her ear. She can tell he’s tipping back in his rickety desk chair in his apartment by the rhythmic creak that sounds, and she pictures him with his feet up on the desk, maybe spinning his basketball around idly in his hands.

“I don’t know, this might break his heart, Scully,” he teases.

Scully rolls her eyes. “Oh, would you stop that? He does not have a thing for me.”

“He absolutely does, and so does every guy in the building.”

She almost asks, ‘Every guy?’ but thankfully catches herself before uttering those words. Sometimes she wonders, but then everything with Diana had shaken what she thought she knew about him. They are still working on getting back to where they were before. It’s far too fresh for her to make any suppositions about where they stand now.

They fall into a brief silence, each waiting for the other to speak first.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he finally asks, when it becomes clear she won’t tell him why she called unless prompted.

She sighs. “I can’t sleep.”

He hums softly in amusement, the sound rattling over the phone. “I don’t know if I’m really the expert you want to be talking to on that particular subject, Scully. Just what exactly do you want me to do about it?” he teases.

“Just talk to me,” she says softly, as if speaking quietly will somehow lessen the embarrassment she feels.

“Ah, so you want me to bore you to sleep. Got it,” he says, taking it in stride. “Which cryptid would you like to hear about tonight, Miss Scully?”

She closes her eyes, her lips tightening into a tired smile. “No monsters, Mulder. You know I find those way too fascinating.”

“Ha ha, Scully,” he says, laughing at her obvious joke. “Okay. How about this? There was this kid at my school growing up. Mark. One of twelve siblings in the same family.”

“Twelve?” she asks incredulously.

“Mm-hmm. All of them adopted.”

Her smile widens, and she burrows further into her pillow, tucking her comforter over her shoulders. She loves these little glimpses she gets into his old life, rare as they are. She doesn’t have to ask why he chose to tell her this one tonight of all nights. His motives are as clear as can be.

“They’d go to Disneyland every summer, all twelve of them plus their parents,” he continues. “Sam and I were so jealous. One of the girls was in the same grade as her, so we all hung out a lot. Well, not all of us. With that many siblings, there were bound to be some you just didn’t get along with. We had fun, though.”

“How’d they afford Disneyland with twelve children?” she asks sleepily.

“It was Martha’s Vineyard, Scully,” he answers simply. “They were filthy rich.”

She hums, feeling herself begin to relax at the soothing monotone of his voice. The line falls silent, but she knows he’s still there. She can hear the gentle sound of his breathing. She allows it to lull her into a state of restfulness.

“After Sam disappeared, it didn’t seem fair. He had so many siblings, while I lost the only one I’d ever have. I stayed away from him for a while after that. He was one of the only people at school that didn’t treat me like some criminal or freak after she was abducted, but I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him or his little sister anymore. It was too big a reminder of what I was missing.”

Scully’s heart aches as she listens. This bedtime story doesn’t have a happy ending, she knows. Though her eyes are closed, she feels a tear leak onto her pillow, hurting for the lonely little boy her partner had once been. She wishes, like she has so many times before, that she could have been there for him then like she is now.

His voice returns, crackling over the line. “Eventually I started going over there again,” he continues, “before they moved away. They were kind to me. Treated me like one of their own. It didn’t make up for Sam being gone, of course, but at least I wasn’t completely alone. And it taught me an important lesson, one I think I’m only just beginning to understand.”

“What’s that, Mulder?” Scully slurs, barely keeping awake but wanting to know the answer—this epiphany he’s had. She has to know how he can tell this story without breaking down into tears as she would if it were her own.

“You can choose your family,” he answers finally, as if it were the obvious conclusion to this story. “They might not have been connected by blood, but Mark’s family was connected by something stronger. Love .”  

He breathes, perhaps lost in the memory of his childhood friend. Perhaps he’s contemplating the great mysteries and joys of the universe. Either could be possible for this deeply philosophical man.

“It seemed to work out pretty good for them.”

Scully’s heart blooms with emotion, her eyes filling with tears.

“It’s time I choose my family, Scully,” he says softly, his voice lowering to just above a whisper. “I hope one day I’ll find out what happened to my sister. I– I still need to have some closure, I think. But it feels good to hope for something else too, for a change. Something more than piecing together a family that was never together in the first place. So, thank you. You’re the one who showed me it was possible. I think I owe you more than everything, at this point.”

She smiles softly into her pillow, reminded of the feel of his breath on her lips that day in his hallway. It’s a thought she has come back to innumerable times since it happened, and though there have been some shake ups since then, it still brings her comfort.

She allows the memory to wash over her, covering her with a blanket of warmth and security.

And finally, she succumbs to the pull of sleep. 

-.-.-

It’s quiet. He listens, recognizing the subtle change in her breathing, and he knows she’s fallen asleep. He could hang up, call it a night, but he selfishly isn’t ready to.

There’s still one more thing he wants to say.

“I choose you, Scully,” he whispers into the phone, too cowardly to say it when she might hear him. “You’re my family. And I can’t wait to see how it grows from here.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

[skythighs]

Calista's Dream

Hi there, this is my first ever attempt at writing and posting anything on Tumblr. I won't lie it's a bit intimidating. However, I decided to give it a try. I love Feyd so much that I was compelled to go for it. This will be a series. I'm not sure how long yet. I wont be following the Dune storyline fyi. This part is in 3rd person but the rest will not be done this way, it just happened and I couldn't stop it lol.All of pictures from my collage are from pintrest and I don't claim them as my own I just put them together for a little vibe.

word count:1.9k

Introduction

10175 AG

“A girl! Your Grace, a healthy baby girl.” called Dr Yueh.

The rolling thunder was all the louder in the silent room. The Red Duke found himself confused, disappointed and yet joyous. He had begged Jessica for a son and yet here he stood father to a daughter. Jessica watched him closely from the birthing bed. She was covered in sweat and utterly relieved her duty was done. 

“Come name your daughter Your Grace.” Said Lady Jessica calmly.

Duke Leto walked across the room slowly and gracefully as if he didn't feel the floor falling out from under his feet. Jessica held the girl snuggly against her chest. The babe was resting peacefully; she hadn't even cried as she made her way into the world. 

“Is she well?” Inquired Duke Leto hesitantly. 

“She is quite healthy. Small but strong.” Answered the doctor. 

Jessica passed the child into his arms. Only once wrapped securely in his arms did she open her big gray eyes. His heart skipped a beat and he was overwhelmed with unconditional love for his daughter. Although she isn’t the son he asked for, she was perfect. His perfect daughter and he would cherish her until his dying day.

“Calista. Calista Atreides.”

“A lovely name.” Said Lady Jessica, smiling to herself.

“It means most beautiful, because she surely is the most beautiful thing i've ever seen. Thank you Jessica, for giving me more than I could have imagined.”

Calista Atreides came with one of the biggest storms in Caladan’s history and much like a storm she was the calm that inevitably followed. 

Leto happily announced her birth and named her his heir leaving many shocked at his decision. He could still have sons even if Lady Jessica wasn’t willing to give them to him, but he was content. Now that he had Calista he didn’t want anything. She was enough, she was a part of him and he was proud. His love for Jessica grew tenfold knowing that she had given him such a gift. 

Thufir Hawat was adamant the Duke reconsider naming his daughter as heir to House Atreides. He came up with endless possibilities of such a thing ending catastrophically whenever he tried to calculate a better outcome none came forward. 

“My Duke, she could be taken away and trained by the Bene Gesserit. She would not be a true Atreides then. She would be one of them.”

Leto considered this and simply informed Thufir his beloved daughter would never be taken from Caladan while there was breath in his body.

By 10185 The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam arrived on Caladan unannounced no less stating urgent business for Lady Jessica in the middle of the night. The Reverend mother wanted to lay eyes on the girl herself. For she could barely accept that Jessica defied her most beloved Duke.

After formalities and respects were paid. Gaius demanded to be brought to Calista Atreides.

Lady Jessica led her through the corridors silently. Neither of them spoke for they both knew the true meaning of this visit. This mere girl would bring forth the Kwisatz Haderach, and she must undergo proper training despite the Duke's wishes to keep her home.They reached the girls chambers and Jessica opened the door as quietly as possible. However when they looked upon her the child was not asleep. She was looking right at them from the comfort of her many blankets and pillows.

“Cali, there is someone you must meet.” Lady Jessica coaxed her from under the mountain of blankets.

Calista sat up and looked at the Reverend mother in the doorway. She felt a strong dislike for the old croon right away. Feeling such a strong aversion to the woman she tensed once she saw her step over the threshold into her bedroom. 

“You look like a viper ready to strike, child. Why?” Asked the old woman her crows feet deepening.

Cali looked at her mother with a question in her innocent brown eyes. Eyes that were once gray like Letos.

“Speak freely Calista. Lies will do you no justice here.”

“I saw you once before, in a dream..in a nightmare.”

Mohiam lifted her head, not surprised by the revelation.

“And what happened in this nightmare?”

“I only remember the start and the finish of the nightmare. You take me away from my home, from my father.”

Jessica stroked her daughter's thick wavy hair. Hair as black as Leto's own.

“What else?” prompted Jessica.

“I die. I die before my time.”

A deafening silence fell upon the three of them.

“How do you die?”

“Bloody and split open, before my child can take his first breath, before he can live.”

Jessica gasps. Calista never mentioned any such dream to her. She saw the boy, the Kwisatz Haderach, the one she was made to bring forth into the world. The poor girl was only ten years old, and yet she knew she would die in childbirth if taken by the sisterhood. 

“And this all stemmed from you being given formal training by the sisterhood? How do I know this isn’t some ploy for you to stay on Caladan.”

“Lies would do no justice here Reverend mother. If what I said was untrue you would know.”

The finality in the statement of a mere child felt too confounding, too absolute. At only ten years old, a babe to this infinite existence of time and space this child carried an air of understanding. 

The truth of the matter was Gaius Helen Mohiam intended on taking Calista this very night to begin training as a Bene Gesserit sister. At ten years old, she had already spent too much time with her parents on caladan when normally she would have been taken during infancy to assure the best outcome of her purpose. However, this was different. She was the Duke's heir, and she was the mother of the Messiah, and somehow, leaving Caladan this night would assure her doom and that of their long-awaited plans. Not only would she die in childbirth, but so would her son. 

“You may stay here child, your mother will train you herself, but you must know you will leave Caladan one day never to return.”

“My mother told me you can’t see the future.”

Ah, there it was the Atreides defiance. Mohiam thought and with that she returned to her no ship leaving Calista tucked away safely in her bed. Her training wasn’t worth the life of all that they had waited for. Jessica was skilled enough to train her here from the comfort of Caladan, it would do.

Calista Atreides was her father's daughter. She was much more Leto than Jessica in every way that counted. She was born an Atreides, and perhaps she would die that way too, but one thing was certain she would never be a part of the sisterhood.

That very same week Leto informed Gurney to begin training Cali in combat. Ten years old was plenty old enough to learn self defense.

“Okay little duchess I want you to mimic my movements as best you can. Like this. “ he demonstrated some simple stances and movements for her to follow. She did so with ease.

“Excellent form Cali, you're a natural. Now I want you to use the movements I've shown you and strike me here.”  he pointed to his padded chest. Small but mighty indeed she fought with everything she had. He didn't even have to coax it out of her. 

“Your father will be very proud to hear of your progress Cali.”

“When will we use swords Gurney?” He smiled at that and the large scar on his face rippled.

“One thing at a time little lady. One thing at a time.”

As the years went on Calista mastered hand to hand combat as well as sword fighting which was led by Duncan Idaho. The discipline needed for sword fighting didn't come as naturally as hand to hand but with time and practice she got there. Her small stature allowed her to move quickly and efficiently. Striking fast and moving away from danger was her usual tactic. 

Over the years she did train with her mother Lady Jessica in the arts of the sisterhood however her heart was not in it as it was with her combat training. Along with combat and Bene Gesserit skills she was taught history, linguistics, and politics at an extensive level. 

When she was just thirteen her father received an order from Emperor Shaddam IV stating she was to be betrothed to Feyd Fautha Harkonnen, the Na Baron of Giedi Prime. He was just one year her senior and already quite the capable Harkonnen if the rumors were to be believed. He was vicious for one so young and Leto feared what would become of his precious Calista. A knock on his study door broke him from his deep thoughts.

“Father, can I come in?”

“Come in Cali, there's something I want to discuss with you.”

His dark haired dark eyed daughter walked to him still in her training clothes. She was still small for her age but her eyes held a wisdom he could never understand. 

“I’ve just received word on your betrothal from the Emperor himself. You are to wed Feyd Rautha Harkonnen on your twentieth birthday. In just six short years I will have to part with you- only for a time.”

“Feyd Rautha. I’ve heard of him, he is my age ,and the Barons chosen heir over his elder brother Glossu Rabban.”

“Yes my darling girl. You are very well informed on these matters it seems.” He pulled her to his armrest so she could sit with him.

She put her small hand on his cheek.

“You look very troubled by this news father. Why?”

“The Emperor forcing my hand in this makes it feel as though you’re a sacrificial lamb being led to slaughter.”

He squints his eyes as he looks at her. He wasn’t sure why he said such a thing to his own daughter but he couldn’t help being truthful at this moment, he would never lie to himself so he would grant her the same courtesy.

“I am no lamb, father. I am you. Feyd Rautha Harkonnen will have no choice but to treat me according to my station. I am a Duke's heir in my own right. I am your heir, your beloved Calista. Do not fear, fear is the mind killer.”

He smiled hearing her mirror her mothers words.

“You are me. I would like to increase your combat training. You’ve made incredible progress these last few years, but when you leave the comfort of your home I want to be certain no matter what the Harkonnen intend, you can hold your own.”

“Size doesn’t matter, skill matters, heart matters. Any man that mistakes me for a lamb will pay with his life.”

“Now you sound like Gurney.”

He kissed his daughter's forehead and sent her on her way. He had to send his reply to the Emperor. He would accept the betrothal with conditions of course. Feyd Rautha would court her properly and he would meet her family face to face on her home planet a month before the wedding. It was not much, but at least it was something.

#feyd rautha #harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #feyd rautha x oc #feyd rautha x atreides oc #dune part two #dune part 2 #Calista Atreides #Calista's Dream

[coopigeoncoo]

Meat Cute, Chapter 2

Chapter Links: One, Two

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

---

In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour! ---

“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

Extermination came and went with you wrapped up in all the blankets from your bed, crammed into the walk-in cooler Hal used to age gigantic slabs of meat.  Once the distant screams had died down you were quickly pulled from the fridge and put back to work, barely able to hold a knife in your frost nipped fingers. 

“Lotsa screaming means lotsa bodies,” Hal explained, tying the strings of his apron around his wide hips in a tight double knot.  “And lotsa bodies means lotsa meat. ”

As though summoned by his words, a forceful knock sounded from the delivery entrance; a salesman bearing the first of many scavenged corpses sold to the shop for a quick buck. 

You stared down at the man laid across your chopping block, his face contorted to showcase the abject terror of his final moments.

“I'm sorry this happened to you,” you murmured quietly, fingers tracing the jagged cut that had ripped the man open from pelvis to sternum.  “But I promise to do a better job than they did.”

The angels had cut his life short.

And then you cut him into pieces.

It didn't seem particularly fair to you, but you supposed it was as balanced as things could be in Hell.  

Hal, in a rare show of mercy, gave his employees the weekend off to recuperate from the pre and post Extermination rushes.  You had been content to hole up inside your cramped apartment and sleep for the full two days, but once you remembered your promise to Ms. Rosie you managed to pull yourself out of bed and get dressed with a minimal amount of cursing. 

It wasn't difficult to find her once you actually managed to wake up enough to stumble down your apartment stairs without breaking your neck.  You'd pass by Franklin and Rosie's Emporium often enough running errands for Hal.  It would be hard to avoid the boutique considering it was smack dab in the middle of main street; placing it along just about every route through town.  

The Emporium offered a wide selection of impeccably tailored clothes you couldn't ever hope to afford with your meager earnings.  It was nearly impossible to swallow back the sour burn of envy roiling in your belly at the sight of the smartly dressed women spinning in front of mirrors in their tailored waistcoats and silver buttoned shoes.  You self consciously soothed out wrinkles in your burgundy colored skirt, the fabric likely permanently creased from being trapped under the tight sash of your butchery apron.

The checkout line moved slowly as every patron stopped to chat with Rosie or the woman standing beside her, and it felt like a small eternity had passed before you made it to the front of the queue.  Rosie's eyes widened as she saw you, a bright smile stretching across her face as she quickly skirted around to the front of the counter.

“Take over from me, Franklin!” Rosie called out to her companion over her shoulder, motioning you to follow her with an excited wave of her hand.  “I've got a special guest visiting!”

Rosie led you to a darling two person cafe table pushed into an alcove with a giant window overlooking the central square of Cannibal Town, where a barbershop quartet was starting to attract a fair bit of attention from passers by.  Rosie was silent as she slid up behind you, but the weight of her aura was somehow palpable; like a humidity that clogged the air and made breathing a laborious task.

“It's pretty peaceful for a place called ‘Cannibal Town’, isn't it?” Rosie boasted, but you couldn't fault her for her pride.  You knew from stories around town that the orderly life on display was the result of her tireless effort to secure a better life for the sinners under her rule.  

“It is,” you agreed readily, sliding carefully  into the chair that one of her attendants had pulled out for you while Rosie settled down across the table.  “You've built a lovely community, Ms. Rosie.”

“Oh, aren't you just the sweetest thing!” Rosie chirped in delight, hoisting a tray of finger foods up under your nose.  “Canapé?”

You were too nervous to be hungry, but grabbed a couple of crackers topped with thin slices of blood sausage and dollops of roasted marrow to be polite.  Not sure what to say, you quickly popped one of the hors d'oeuvres into your mouth immediately and hoped Rosie would take hold of the conversational reins.

Rosie, mercifully, rose to the occasion.  

“So, you seem to be fitting in pretty well around here.  That's unusual these days,” she said, deftly pouring some piping hot bone broth into dainty porcelain tea cups.  “Hard to find new sinners willing to live without television or cellular phones.”

You couldn't help but think of how much of your life had been squandered in front of screens; the endless hours of scrolling and watching and seeing and wanting - of wondering why your life never seemed to compare to the ones that clogged your social media feeds.  

“Those- those things do me more harm than good, I think,” you admit between small bites of sausage.  

“Oh, honey.  Those gadgets are nothing but trouble for everyone,” Rosie cooed comfortingly before angling her head down to mumble into her cup “especially down here.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over,” Rosie laughed dismissively, pushing a platter of finger sandwiches towards your now empty plate.  You grabbed the one with a thumb poking out, saving the sandwiches stuffed with choicer pinky digits for your host.  

“It's nice to see you don't shy away from the…specialized fare Cannibal Town is known for,” Rosie said approvingly, watching as you skillfully de-nailed the finger in your sandwich.  “Did working at the butcher shop help acclimate ya?”

“A bit.  I won't lie, it was really hard at first.  I spent a lot of time pretending that I was eating other stuff- beef, pork, a really convincing soy substitute,” you admit. “But after a little while that started to feel, I don't know, disrespectful?”

“Oh?” 

“It's like- this person is nourishing me.  I am alive because of them.  It didn't seem right to pretend that they were somehow less than what they were; especially when they were providing me with so much.  Acknowledging their life, what they were-” you paused, considering your words along with the remaining phalange held between your fingers.  “It's the least I can do.  A way I can thank them.”

You feel a bit vulnerable from your confession, never having voiced your thoughts out loud before, and it takes you a moment to muster the courage to look up from your hands and meet your host’s gaze again.  Rosie is positively beaming at you, her small nose crinkled in delight.

“I need you to promise me you'll try and get out more, sweetie.  It's very inconsiderate for you to deprive the citizens of Cannibal Town of your company,” Rosie said, leaning over the table to place her hand on top of yours, the press of her fingers a balm to your touch-starved soul. “You're one of us now.  It's time to start acting like it.”

You'd reluctantly started to make appearances around town.  It started small, with short walks around the park when the belladonna began to bloom, followed by the weekly al fresco concerts once the early spring acid rains tapered off.  

And then suddenly a switch seemed to flip.  People would wave good morning to you from across the street, customers would ask about how your weekend was, and  your coworkers invited you out for drinks after work.  You'd gone from merely existing in Cannibal Town to really living in Cannibal Town.  

You tried to not dwell on how much happier you were in Hell than you were on Earth, fearful about what exactly that said about the sort of person you were. 

The years ticked by and before you knew it the workers at the butcher shop had surprised you with a lopsided devils food cake to celebrate your fifth death day.

“When you're facing down eternity you don't celebrate every single year,” the girl who usually worked the register explained.  “Five is the first milestone party, followed by twenty-five and fifty.  They get more spaced out as time goes on.”

You had woken up early the next day, dehydrated with a headache pounding behind your eyeballs from overindulging at your death day celebration.  Hal, in a show of incredible foresight, had scheduled you for the afternoon shift.  With a mug of watery coffee in hand, you were slowly shambling to the threadbare armchair in the corner of your room when the broken radio on the side table suddenly began shooting off sparks; the device alight with an eerie green glow.

“SWEET SASSY MOLASSY,” you screamed, accidentally spilling coffee down the front of your dressing gown as you leaped away from the ancient box radio.

“Salutations!  Good to be back on the air!” a staticky voice greeted, the cheery tone completely at odds with your abject misery as you pulled your soaked nightgown away from your chest to cool your singed flesh.

The radio was loud, the volume knob having been set to maximum when it suddenly powered on; but the sound inside your apartment was nothing compared to the uproarious cheers you heard coming from outside as the citizens of Cannibal Town overjoyed by the return of their favorite radio program.  

#pigeoncoos🕊 #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x female reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader

[lewkwoodnco]

but daddy, I love him! - lockwood x reader

George tipped Lockwood out of his chair with surprising ease while Lucy started yelling at him. The two boys twisted around in their scuffle until George finally pinned Lockwood down and raised a fist above his head.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't punch your pretty face right now."

Lockwood's scratched and mildly bruised face split into one of his winning smiles, his whimpering temporarily ceased.

"You think my face is pretty?"

George reared back for the punch and Lockwood started shrieking incomprehensibly while Lucy started telling them both off.

a/n - vfvhkefrhu woooo this took a little more time than I anticipated heheh but here it is! <3

warnings/tropes - lockwood x socialite!reader, lil bit of angst, mostly fluff/humour!

word count - 3.8k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Right here, on this plush velvet couch, was where they were going to find her body. They were going to have to scrape her off bit by bit.

It was a dim Saturday morning, and Y/N was rotting in her courtyard living room with two of her friends. Sarah was preening in the full-length mirror, trying to decide if her nose was too small. Hannah was sipping a mimosa on the sofa opposite her, going on about this boy from two towns over who took her to the movies - not that she would ever be seeing him again, given that he was below her station. Y/N thought it was a shame; she couldn't remember Hannah ever showing this much of an interest in someone other than herself.

So there she sat, some unknown frustration distantly bubbling away as she was bored out of her skull. Maybe it was an ungrateful thing to say, but her fashionable lifestyle could feel glamorous for only so long. It was starting to grow stale - as stale as Sarah's obsession with her nose. She stifled a yawn, her eyes wandering to the higher floors, when something made her sit up. There it was again, a little flicker of light reflecting off of something. She mumbled something about a powder room and clumsily got to her feet, excusing herself from her inattentive guests.

It took her a while to figure out exactly where the flash was coming from, but she eventually located the corridor down where she could hear some noises. She heard a set of footsteps approaching her and turned, nearly running straight into a lanky clothes-hanger of a boy laden with all sorts of gizmos, wearing the most horribly ridiculous pair of goggles she had ever seen.

He let out a short scream and clung onto his goggles, and she reflexively caught the supplies that slipped from his arms.

"Who the hell are you?"

He owlishly blinked through his shiny, reflective goggles a few times, before reluctantly slipping them off. All thoughts about his strange attire flew from her head, replaced by one annoyingly nagging thought - he had kind eyes. Soft, trusting, kind eyes, the kind that momentarily knocked the breath out of you.

"I am so sorry..."

Don't be, she wanted to breathe out, transfixed on his eyes. He paused a little and awkwardly gestured to her arms. She glanced down and remembered where she was, hurriedly returning his supplies.

"That's some, um, interesting equipment you have."

He gave a brief smile. "Thank you. Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood & Co."

She frowned. "Lock-wood & Co. That sounds familiar."

"Well, we are a very up-and-coming psychical inv-"

"Oh! The agency that burned down Sheen Road!"

The boy's face took a faint tinge of red, and she immediately regretted putting her foot in her mouth.

"I mean - uh - you have some very interesting equipment."

He opened his mouth to respond when two more figures emerged from the shadows behind them, a girl guiding another flailing and mildly bruised boy, both of whom had donned matching goggles.

"Lockwood, I can't see shit without my glasses. How much longer do I have to make an arse out of myself? 

The girl looked at Lockwood with an injured expression. "And you said these came free from Satchell's."

Lockwood huffed irritatedly at the other boy. "Snitch."

"Boo-fucking-hoo. I told you these wouldn't work." He sucked in a breath to continue but stopped short as he finally registered Y/N. "Hang on-"

"She's alive."

"Damn."

Lockwood gestured carelessly towards the other two. "My associates, Lucy Carlyle and George Karim."

"So you're here about the third-floor Visitor?"

"Yes. We received a report about some footprints..?"

"Oh, right. Those are just below my room. Here." She led the trio to the landing at the foot of the flight of stairs leading up to her room, which was stained with a quickly disappearing smattering of bloody footprints. The other boy knelt and considered the substance.

"Ectoplasm."

Lockwood turned back to her. "How often does the Visitor make an appearance?"

"No clue; I'm blind as a bat to anything supernatural. But the footprints only show up every couple of days, so it might be a while before they show up again."

His associates started examining the scene, and he bid her farewell with a grateful smile. By the time she had returned to the courtyard, she had been gone a bit too long to have her absence go unnoticed by her friends.

"And where did you run off to?"

"Told you, the powder room." She picked up a stray magazine, keeping her tone light. "I ran into some agents on the way back."

"Ooh. From Rotwell's?"

"Lockwood & Co."

Sarah peeled herself away from the mirror, mystified. "Who?"

Her giddy glow faltered. "An agency. Mr. Lockwood was there too. I was just...having a small chat with them."

"What for? They're working class."

"Don't be rude, Sarah." Hannah turned back to Y/N, a pinched expression still lingering on her face. "But...she's not wrong."

Y/N bristled defensively. "I'll have you know they're perfectly respectable company." Better than you lot, she wanted to add.

"Why? They're...poor."

"Y/N, we only want what's best for you," Hannah added in a nauseatingly simpering voice. "And that's...not...with people like them."

She tossed her magazine aside flippantly.

"You know, I wonder how the two of you bear it."

"Bear what?"

"Walking around with your noses stuck in the air all the time."

With that, she exited the living room, fuming. Yes, she was being childish, and yes, it wasn't news that her friends were prone to arrogance, but for some reason, their attitudes were particularly grating today. They hadn't met Lockwood like she had, of course they wouldn't understand. She replayed the feeling of watching him remove his goggles for the first time - unexpectedly climactic, and somehow...familiar.

She was sure of it. They would never understand.

For the next few nights, there would be a Lockwood & Co. employee stationed at the landing, complete with iron chains, flares, and salt. They'd bring along something to occupy themselves, like a book or a 3D puzzle, but it still felt nice to have a short chat with them before she went up to her room. 

With Lockwood, the chats always lasted a little longer, and maybe she stayed up a little later than she ought to on those nights, but really, it wasn't anything special. Little by little, they pieced each other together. She's restoring her father's old radio. He likes his orange juice with pulp. She has an older brother she hasn't talked to in months. He visits his family's graves on the first Tuesday of every month.

The more time she spent with Lockwood, the more she realised how uninteresting she found everyone else. Somewhere between their stilted whispers and muffled laughter, she started to desire something...more. 

"Hey."

Lockwood looked up from his magazine from where he was sitting cross-legged, encircled by his iron chains. He glanced at his watch, startled.

"You're back early."

She wrinkled her nose. "Wasn't enjoying the fundraiser."

"What about your friends?"

"They wanted to stay."

"So they let you leave? All by yourself?"

She bit her tongue. "Nothing wrong in that."

"No, of course not." As he was on the first day they met, Lockwood was quick to be an agreeable companion. But this trait added weight to the few times he chose to disagree. "But...nothing right either."

"It's alright. I'd hate to spoil their night." She sank onto the carpeted steps. "How's the investigation going?"

Lockwood glanced at the temperature sensor placed slightly outside the iron circle. "Temperature's dropping more than usual. Could just be because it's chillier today, but you never know." He looked up, and the moonlight illuminated his starkly pale face. "Do you not have any Talent?"

She hesitated. "A little. Not much, mind, certainly not enough to be an agent. But it was never something I needed to consider. I know people have it bad out there, but I'm just..."

"...too rich."

She gave a wry smile. "What gave it away? Besides the skyscraper ceilings, of course." They laughed briefly, before quickly sinking into a jagged silence.

"What's your home like?"

"It's...it's hard to describe. I don't think I could do it justice. You should come see Portland Row sometime. Have dinner with m-us. Us. Once we're done with the job. If you'd like."

"You should come see Portland Row sometime. Have dinner with m-us. Us. Once we're done with the job. If you'd like."

Lockwood was staring very hard at his sneakers. She found the whole thing highly amusing.

"Lockwood, I'd leave with you right now if I could. Really. It's just...my father..."

Her father would sooner have an aneurysm than let her 'play hooky,' as he would put it, especially with this less-than-glamorous ragtag team of misfits. While it had occasionally been a source of mild annoyance before, she never resented him as much as she did right then. And all that was without considering all the eyebrows that a guy like Lockwood would raise.

The faint moonlight was enough to make out the glimmer of his teeth, the curve of his face, the shadows settling around his deep-set eyes. She ached to know the look on his face, to know how he was feeling. The sprigs of lavender she had weaved into the hem of her dress were heavily perfuming the air, heady enough to make the evocative pull of his gaze strangely irresistible.

She peered at him through the railings, whose shadows marred his face, painfully reminiscent of a prison cell. She slid her hand along the bannister, gripping it firmly. It was moments like these when the rest of the house was quiet, too quiet, that she felt something flutter in her chest. Some compulsion flickering through her tendons to reach out through the railings, brush her fingers across his cheekbone, to have and to hold-

"It's getting late." Lockwood put his coat back on and started gathering some of his equipment. "I think I'll call it a night."

She hurriedly got to her feet too, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. "Yeah. No, me too. I should...I should get some rest."

Still, she lingered at the foot of the stairs long enough for Lockwood to pack away the chains. As he straightened, he turned to her as if he could feel that she was brimming with...something. She wanted to tell him how much she had enjoyed this night, and every night before. She wanted to tell him how happy he made her.

But she couldn't find the words.

"Good night," she said softly.

That was the last of their secret late-night rendezvous, as the Shade finally reappeared the following night and was safely put to rest by Lucy, along with any hopes of a budding romance. 

Five days after what Y/N had thought was the last time she'd lay eyes on Anthony Lockwood (not that she was keeping count), she was quite happily proven wrong. Lockwood and George had paid a visit to collect their payment from her father. 

She was not-so-casually lounging at the opposite end of the living room with her friends. The magazine she was holding upside down wouldn't have fooled anyone if they were paying attention, especially coupled with her relentlessly staring at Lockwood. She had been a little on edge when he had first walked in, hating how their last conversation had ended. But all it took was one of his easy, soothing smiles as he discreetly glanced at her to calm her down. She buried her nose deeper into the magazine as if she hadn't seen it, failing to hold her smile back.

When she had sufficiently composed herself, she peeked over the edge of the magazine to see the boys having some sort of disagreement as her father was writing out a cheque. Lockwood seemed to want to do something and George seemed to be holding him back until the cheque had been written.

As soon as her father had handed the cheque to them, George accepted it with a hurried thanks and a funny bow before practically running out. Lockwood took a deep breath before launching into some kind of monologue while occasionally glancing at her. Openly. Her father's face remained impassive. 

She put away her magazine, mystified as she tried to make out what he was saying, trying to keep the dread creeping into her at bay. Even her friends had picked up on something being amiss as they followed her line of sight.

Her stomach sank as she caught a glimpse of the hard look on her father's face. By now, it couldn't have been more obvious that Lockwood was asking him...about her. She wanted to shake him, yell at him to run away, but some kind of morbid fascination, or perhaps a deep-seated fear, had locked her limbs, forcing her to helplessly watch as the events cruelly unfolded. She knew her father, and she knew Lockwood would never be able to change his mind. At least, she was quite certain.

She snapped out of her haze and leapt to her feet, but it was too late. By the time she had reached the pair, her father was already bidding him a stern farewell.

"...and if you ever talk to my daughter again, I will personally make sure that you never find work another day in London."

Lockwood turned sharply and briskly walked out, his facial features carefully schooled, seemingly oblivious to her hurrying over, or her gasp of despair. He took long strides that made it difficult for her to keep up with him, and he didn't stop until he joined George outside, closing the wrought iron gate between her and him. She clutched one of the bars and he almost immediately wrapped his hand around her.

"Lockwood - "

"You should go back inside before your father sees us."

"Please, listen - I'm really sorry."

"It's alright. I understand."

"My father's never been the understanding type, far from it - "

"I know - I knew that."

"This is all my fault. I should have warned you."

"No, don't...you didn't know I was going to do this."

"We could have kept it a secret."

"And have you sneak around? Lie to your father? Y/N, I'm not above taking the easy route when the situation calls for it, but not in this case. I wanted to do right by you."

Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Lockwood looked as outwardly poised and calm as ever, but with the two of them this close, she could see the frustration simmering in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry - so mad - that he threatened you like that."

"To hell with my agency." He sighed and pressed his forehead against the gate, lowering his eyes to where their hands were clasped together in some pathetic pseudo-embrace. "I know how much his approval means to you. I just wish I could have gotten that."

They were silent for a moment. There was only a gentle breeze but no rustling leaves, and even George seemed sorry for his best friend. It was quiet enough to feel like they could hear each other's heartbeat but from opposite sides of the gate. 

"I'm still sorry."

Lockwood bowed his head. "So am I."

He brushed his lips against her knuckles before pulling his fingers out of her palm and walking out of her life. She watched the two of them walk away, unable to leave the gate and come to terms with what had happened. For a moment there, before her father's expression had shifted, she had felt a glimmer of hope for her happy ending.

But reality had struck, and now all she could do was go up to her room, walk through the empty landing, and sob into her pillow as her heart screamed for the life she ached for so desperately.

She allowed herself the day to grieve, but by nightfall, she had already started plotting her next steps. The next day, she decided to broach the topic at the breakfast table, where her friends were already seated, whispering furiously until she walked in. She sat opposite her father as usual, who was reading the day's newspaper.

"Dad. I want to talk about yesterday. With - with Lockwood."

He gave no indication of having heard her. She could feel her friends' hawk-eye stares boring into her skin. Against her better judgment, she pressed on.

"I think...you should give him a second chance."

She could practically hear her friends salivating in excitement, flinching as her father set the paper down. He had a bit of a temper, no more than her, but it was never unwarranted.

"And why is that?"

"He may not have much, but he's capable, hard-working, resilient-"

"I know exactly the type of person he is, and before yesterday I thought you did too. Or have you forgotten Sheen Road?"

She nervously fidgeted with the buttons on her dress, suddenly feeling trapped and suffocated. This was going to be an uphill battle, she could see that, now that her blaze of self-righteousness was beginning to fade. "That was a one-off," she mumbled.

"Not quite. I rang up DEPRAC afterwards, and they said in no uncertain terms that his agency was one good accident away from being shut down. He's known to behave recklessly and rarely per the law - "

"Have you stopped to think why he might act this way? You've spoken to him yourself - doesn't seem the irrational type, does he?"

He sighed irritatedly.

"Is this really the type of person you want to throw your whole life away for? To tarnish your reputation?"

"It's my life and it's my name. If I wish to burn my life to the ground or throw my name in the mud, that's my choice. You don't get a say in that."

"To do all this over a washed-up, good-for-nothing-"

"But Daddy, I love him!"

"I don't - "

"And I'm having his child."

Sarah shrieked and dropped her compact. Even Hannah was rendered speechless, nervously pulling at her braid. Her father's eyes looked as though they were about to fall out of his head. An uncomfortable, prickling silence followed.

"Okay, I'm not, but you should see your faces."

Sarah gave a dramatic sigh of relief as Hannah released her braid. "Oh my, what a mess-"

"Don't you start." She turned back to her father, fresh out of all the hope and ammunition she had walked into the room with. "Please, Daddy. Never...never once have I complained about any of your rules. Can't I-" her voice broke off as she struggled to hold back a sob. "Can't I please just have this one thing?"

Her father looked unmoved.

"You listen to me, Y/N - stay away from him."

She glanced around the room desperately, trying to figure one last way out. One last way out. That was all she needed.

She found it.

"Fine. Maybe you're right. Maybe he is crazy. Maybe...maybe he is bad news."

She stood up, wrenching her anxious fingers away from her buttons, poised to run out of the room.

"But I love him anyway."

Lucy and Lockwood were at Portland Row going over the floor plans of the house of their next case. Lucy was trying her best to keep Lockwood on task, but she had never seen him this disinterested in their work. 

She was struggling to hold his attention while he was fidgeting with a pen not very skillfully when they heard an insistent tapping on their kitchen window. They looked up to see Y/N waving at them frantically, gesturing towards the front door. Lockwood leapt up from their kitchen table, nearly stabbing himself with the pen, and joined her outside. There was something very nervous about Y/N's body language, especially since she started talking a mile a minute as soon as Lockwood stepped out.

"God, your eyebags look horrendous in the light. Do you ever-?"

The door shut behind the two of them. Lucy waited at the table for a minute or so, but once it became apparent they weren't about to finish anytime soon, she fetched a book and started to read. About ten minutes later, the front door opened again, but this time it was George returning from the Archives.

"Oh, George, can you tell Lockwood to come back inside?"

"What?"

"Lockwood."

"Where?"

"Outside."

"...outside where?"

"Outside, George. Don't be daft."

George stared at her cluelessly.

"He is still outside...?"

The realisation hit them both at once as they tripped over each other on their way to the front door. They looked out into the half-empty street, and the empty parking space in front of their house.

"George," Lucy asked, feeling majorly peeved by now. "Where is the car we rented for the weekend?"

Over the next month, neither Lucy nor George heard a word from Lockwood. After a particularly intense discussion that day, they decided not to alarm anyone by filing a missing person's report. But he had been absent from public view for a suspiciously long time, and Barnes was starting to find the story they concocted about Lockwood's debilitating illness less and less convincing.

Lucy and George had just arrived home after their latest case, which they were lucky enough to finish early. Lucy flicked on the kitchen light and there, sitting at the kitchen table, as he was nearly a month back, was Lockwood. He looked a little taller and a little less gaunt than they remembered. The three of them stared at each other for a moment, speechless, until the two of them launched themselves at him.

George tipped Lockwood out of his chair with surprising ease while Lucy started yelling at him. The two boys twisted around in their scuffle until George finally pinned Lockwood down and raised a fist above his head.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't punch your pretty face right now."

Lockwood's scratched and mildly bruised face split into one of his winning smiles, his whimpering temporarily ceased.

"You think my face is pretty?"

George reared back for the punch and Lockwood started shrieking incomprehensibly while Lucy started telling them both off.

"Wait - WAIT - you'll crumple the invites!"

"What invites?"

"To a - uh - how do I put this..."

"Spit it OUT - "

"Wedding!"

"Whose?"

Lockwood brought his arms down from where he was shielding his face, smiling bashfully. The three of them exchanged looks ranging from congratulatory to homicidal.

"What about -"

"He came around. We had lunch with him earlier."

"Wow. That's...congratulations. I just can't believe..."

"I know, we can't either."

"...that you didn't come straight home?"

"Geo- look, George, I wanted to, believe me, I - not the face, NOT THE -"

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @ahead-fullofdreams @mitskiswift99 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @mohinithoughts @avdiobliss @snoopyluver20 @mischivana @dangelnleif

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #anthony lockwood imagine #but daddy i love him #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #songfic

[nellscorner]

WARNING: long unintelligible ramble below (I’m feeling emotional)

I just think it’s so funny cause when I was in high-school watching Dan and Phil, I was one of the people who excluded myself from the “shipping culture” within the phandom at the time. I was totally happy thinking about dnp as platonic besties. GUYS WHEN I TELL YOU I USED TO FILTER OUT DAN/PHIL ON AO3 😭Not for any moral reason, but just because I liked to think that such an amazing connection between two people could exist in a completely platonic context. Not that there can’t be amazing platonic relationships but like, I guess what I’m saying is that I have learned so much about myself and the limiting way that I viewed romantic vs platonic relationships just by growing up watching dnp. I am not exaggerating when I say that watching dnp’s relationship has forced me to confront my own issues with my sexuality and aversion to romantic relationships simply by defying my limiting expectations of what a romantic partnership can look like (and I’m not just talking about straight vs gay). It just blows my mind and I can’t really put it into the right words right now but it low key makes me so emotional and grateful and I know Dan and Phil don’t want to make a big deal out of their relationship which is so fair but I just hope they know that, as much as we joke (which I adore), we don’t take everything they choose to share with us lightly. It quite literally means so much. It means more than they could ever know.

#I’m an anthropology and sociology major #so I take stuff like this very seriously as you can see lmao #maybe I’ll write something more well organized later #dan and phil #dnp #dnpgames #phan #dapg #phandom #queer #daniel howell #phil lester

[thursdayinspace]

I was going to do a complete season 1 review for the rewatch, but instead I did a close reading of this scene from 1x24 The Erlenmeyer Flask, because I can’t get it out of my head, I love it so much.

Scully: Wait a second. Mulder? I just want to say that I was wrong. Mulder: It's all right, don't worry about it. Scully: No, um, if you'd had listened to me, we wouldn't be here right now. I should know by now to trust your instincts. Mulder: Why? Nobody else does. Scully: You know, I've always held science as sacred. I've always put my trust in the accepted facts. And what I saw last night . . . for the first time in my life, I don't know what to believe. Mulder: Well, whatever it is you do believe, Scully, when you walk into that room? Nothing sacred will hold.

This is a big moment for various reasons. It’s a defining moment for their partnership. This is almost a summary of the season.

Possibly the biggest thing for their partnership is her admitting she was wrong and Mulder’s reaction to it. We don’t know this, but from all the context we have of his life at this point, it’s safe to assume that Mulder doesn’t get apologies very often. “I just want to say that I was wrong.” It’s important to her to let him know that. And that alone says something about the way she sees him. He’s generally seen as crazy and paranoid. But not by her. More than that, she sees him as a person with feelings that can be hurt, and she wants to make sure he knows that wasn’t her intention. “I should know by now to trust your instincts,” that is a huge thing to say and has to be something that needs a minute to sink in for him. She trusts him. Which is something he knows already to an extent, but to hear it said that openly after how vehemently they disagreed on this is a different thing.

In that context it’s worth looking at their exchange after visiting Doctor Berube. She tells him: “I mean, this has reached the point of absurdity, Mulder. We're out here on half a hunch off of a cryptic phone call chasing down a clue that's based on nothing but speculation.” She voices her mistrust of Deep Throat and Mulder asks her “You think he does it because he gets off on it?” To which she replies: “No. I think he does it because you do.” And then she walks off, effectively ending that argument, she doesn’t have anything more to say. She’s made her point. And to come back from that the way they do in this scene, that is a real testament to how much respect they have for each other. Yeah, he was right. And yeah, he gets that she has to ask the uncomfortable questions.

Just the fact alone that she thinks he deserves an apology is a lot; she doubted him and she’s sorry for that because she knows he’s not crazy. They’re partners and they work as partners. She’s not there with him right now because he asked her. She’s there because she genuinely wants to be and genuinely believes that his explanations of the facts hold value and that she takes them seriously. And nobody ever takes him seriously. He points that out to her right away.

In fact, his whole interaction with her in this scene shows a vulnerability that needs the context of the rest of the season to be fully understood. He could say all of these things to anybody else, word for word, and it would simply be the equivalent of a shrug and a “fine, let’s move on.” But with everything they have been through and with the way we’ve seen them opening up to each other, this means something very different.“It's alright, don't worry about it.” I mean. Shit. The thing is, it probably is alright on the surface. It is a way to shrug it off. Not being taken seriously has to hurt, but he’s used to it, so really, she shouldn’t worry about it, she’s there now and that’s all that matters. But it’s not all that matters to her.

His reaction to her telling him that she should know to trust his instincts? “Why? Nobody else does.” The way he says this, it doesn’t sound like he’s testing her. It sounds a little bitter, but that bitterness is not directed at her. After years of being at best ignored, more often ridiculed, of course he doesn’t have a more positive reaction to something like this at hand. But I don’t think there can be any doubt that it means something to him. She smiles after he says this, and that also says something: she doesn’t count herself among the people who dismiss him and she gets that he’s not dismissing her. She sees the self-deprecating humor in his response. She also hears the “thank you for not being one of them” in his response. His face stays sincere. He isn’t challenging her, but he needs to know why she’s sticking around. It’s such a loaded response. You can hear a lot of things in it if you want, which makes it such a well-written exchange: he is a little confused as to why she’s sticking around, he’s thanking her for being there, he’s bitter about and/or used to nobody believing him, I mean, hell, it isn’t even impossible to find a flirty note in there. In any case, he’s downplaying her apology not because he doesn’t appreciate it, but because he didn’t see it coming since most likely nobody has ever bothered or seen the need before. At the same time, he’s telling her he trusts her too.

Scully has had her beliefs challenged, and she shows right here and right now how much of a scientist she really is. She is ready to admit that one theory hasn’t worked, so she is prepared to examine a different one that looks more promising. This is one of her core traits: she never clings to her theories out of some sense of vanity. She doesn’t have to be right. She just wants to understand, and she needs facts to do so. Poking holes in things is part of science, to see how well it holds up. It’s about getting as close to the truth as they can. And with the evidence to support Mulder’s arguments, she can be convinced to have a closer look at his theory. She says: “I've always held science as sacred. I've always put my trust in the accepted facts.” And that’s what is being challenged here. This is seriously stretching the boundaries of what she accepted to be fact. But she doesn’t stubbornly cling to what she believes. It’s a process, and she respects that as much as he does. Their arguing is never just for the sake of it.

Scully says: “For the first time in my life, I don't know what to believe.” How big is that? But this is something that reiterates and reinforces something we have seen throughout the season again and again: they trust each other. She isn’t afraid to admit her insecurity to him. They’re faced with something she can’t wrap her head around, when knowing things is kind of her job? She makes herself very vulnerable with this statement. His response picks up on that and tells her she’s right to question everything: “Well, whatever it is you do believe, Scully, when you walk into that room? Nothing sacred will hold.” He’s telling her it’s okay, it is all a bit hard to believe. He’s well aware of that. This is not trying to convince somebody to try mayo instead of ketchup with their fries. This is about the fundamentals of her worldview. He does not expect her to be convinced. He is sure she will be impressed. But he accepts her doubt, he always does. “Whatever it is you do believe.” No pressure, but here’s a cool thing that will definitely give you some answers. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen, but that’s a different story.

This little conversation between them is such a pivotal moment. It truly shows who they have become individually and as partners. It wraps up the season very nicely and at the same time cements the foundation of their partnership for season two. Because they can have a conversation like this one and understand what the other one is saying, their pining after each other at the beginning of the next season makes sense. They’ve become very important to each other, they show each other their vulnerable sides, they take care of each other. This little conversation sums that up perfectly.

#txf #the x files #x files meta #msr #mulder and scully #I'm so far behind on posts I've already finished s2 in the rewatch #but I seriously love this and needed to ramble on about it #thursday's x-files rewatch

[phoenixkaptain]

No but the fact that Alma is just as broken as the rest of the family, and the fact that her holding in her emotions was part of the problem and the fact that she recognized that she was in the wrong and that she made her family think her love was conditional, and the fact that she apologizes and the fact that she says “The miracle is not some magic that you’ve got. The miracle is you, not some gift, just you.” and it’s like, wow, that was exactly what they needed to hear and exactly what she forgot to show them and and and

Alma isn’t a bad person, she’s scared. And fear makes people act cruelly. And she realizes and admits her mistake, and she starts trying to make up for it, and I think that looking at her as irredeemable is ignoring the whole point. The point being that family is about accepting each other and understanding each other and opening up to each other and Alma was alone for so long that she forgot this, until Mirabel reminded her that she wasn’t alone.

Alma made bad decisions and she was hard on everyone but goddammit she apologized and she’s trying to make up for it and that’s more than some of us get so let me have my imaginary abuela who tells me she’s sorry and tries to make up for it all and who reassures me that I’m not the reason our family is broken, no matter what she may once have believed, okay?

#alma madrigal #encanto #stop demonizing alma 2k22 #and 2k23 #she’s human sue her #hearing her say those words #the words i’ve always wanted to hear #i don’t care what she’s done #she’s trying to make up for it #she’s trying to remind her kids that she loves them #she lost sight of the true gift #and she finds it in the end #and it’s beautiful #and it’s good #and it means so much more to me than i could ever put into words

[spaceratprodigy]

hewwo!!! coming here to say that i hope you'll have an amazing week & that you deserve happiness <3

@hibernationsuit – Sorry for taking a lil while to answer. I genuinely got a bit emotional and stuck in my own head when I read this earlier and I just couldn't find my words. Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart. This kindness means the world to me and I hope you know how much I cherish it <3

#much love to you my friend and I hope this week is kind to you as well #thank you so very much again #I promise I'll do my best #this really does mean a lot to me to hear more than I could ever put into words #my art

[roselise]

I'm praying for your fast recovery, my dearest friend 🙏🤍

✿ ⊹゜・．🧸 ♡

　 🤍 * . 　⊹ ˚ 🧁

⊹ . ˚ . 　🎀 . ♡

　　

　 🧸 ⊹　✿ ˚ . * . 🤍 ~ !

I am happy squealing right now . . it’s my bestie !!!

*My bestie my bestie my bestie* !!!!! ♡ ♡ ♡

Eee !! I always get so excited when I see you hehe :D

There are so many words in my head, and things I want to say now!

(Hugs ! More hugs ! Also *more* hugs ! My Reis bestie is amazing ! I am so happy we’re friends ! I feel so blessed to know you ! You always know just when I need encouragement ! And I’m *so* grateful for that ! I am so happy right now . . meep! Too many thoughts ;-;)

Mostly though, I just want to say I love you and thank you more than I could ever say !!

Cus it genuinely means a lot to me to have a friend like you who cares about me ♡ ♡

*Aaand* that I’m praying for you, too, always !! For you to be safe, have bright & beautiful days, and that you find lots of little moments of happiness all throughout your week :D

Okay . . ! I’m shipping myself off to you now with lots of love, strawberries, and my puppies !! ♡

(Pepper and Nutmeg say ‘hi’ by the way! Not only am I doing better, but they’re doing great, too !! They have so many cute new sweaters I gotta show you when I find time! )

Take care, my kind, wonderful, and truly special friend! I wish you the absolute best day ever today ~ !!!

　 🧁 ♡ * . ⊹ ˚ 🧸 🤍

XOXO ~ ! 🤍 ⊹ . ˚ . 🎀 . ♡

#<3 #ask #reis bestie ! :D #thank you for checking on me <3 #you always know when i’m not feeling good #and you’re always there <3 #i’m recovering very well !! #i think because i’m trying as much as possible to take it easy for once #and actually take care of myself !! XD #it means the world to me that you cared and wished me well <3 #thank you more than I could ever put into words #for being such a good friend !! #i adore you to the moon and back :D #and to the stars !! #sending hugs hearts and so much happiness to you !!! #take care and all the best to you ~ !! <3 #xo ! <3 #🧁 ♡ * . ⊹ ˚ 🧸 🤍

[theros]

phyresis/compleation as a form of mental/emotional healing

#mtg #magic the gathering #phyrexia #phyresis #i know someone out there has to get what i mean by this and can probably explain it way better than i ever could #i'm prolly gonna reblog this to my oc blog once i get my thoughts together about why i've decided on her being compleated #but for a general/overarching idea. i cannot for the life of me put into words what i mean by phyresis being healing for some people #i feel like a lot of people Get It in the gender way but it's so much more than that #the body is whole but whispers splinter the mind