#immaterial tag

[geroya]

oh im really in it now.

#☼.txt #ocs #immaterial tag #thinking about if xaris had been taken to be raised as a padawan by carmiya instead #thinking about how FUCKED it would be for him to go all that way only for carmiya to direct him back to the core #a hop & a skip away from his home planet & the memories of his beloved parents #+ thinking about him potentially being assigned lissa as his padawan once he graduates #like !!!!! #IMAGINE !!!!! #HEAD IN MY HANDS #IM RUSTY BUT OH MY GOSH #thinking about him. thinking about him. thinking about lissa looking up to him & their connection over lost parents & #wanting to go home

[emblazons]

hi!

i read the tags you wrote about millie in a post yesterday (i think you deleted the post because i cant find it now) and i just wanted to say im glad theres someone who shares similar thoughts as me. i love millie but i cant even say anything on twitter without her toxic stans accusing me of misogyny and insulting her intelligence, even though thats not my intention.

if byler is canon, how do you think she’ll feel about it? im asking because your perspective is interesting! i think shes going to take it a bit personally because she strongly relates to her character and wants el to be on the same path as her (like getting married young). its understandable though, considering her upbringing.

!! I actually took it off my blog because the other day I resolved the issue of my tags not archiving—but when it got resolved, my blog ended up square in the middle as “top blogs” with the full mlvn name tag because I hadn’t been abbreviating their ship in the tag I used before ☠️ that said, I changed the tag to “anti mlvn” so I could keep myself out of mlvn corners, but a lot of the recent posts that I kept under the old tag are gone or private until tumblr tracks the change—hence the missing post!

Still...me and that tag rant was giving “why would you say something so controversial, yet so brave” for sure (lmao), though I certainly meant it less as a comment on her life decisions themselves and more a "I can tell by the decisions you make as a creator, producer of other films, and in general that you are not The Duffer Brother's target audience, but a lot of your fans can't" kind of way...which is still controversial in several corners of this fandom for sure. 😭

the rest of this answer under the cut because it got long lol

Like, yes, she does play a principal character in the show, but playing a character does not mean the character is modeled to you as a person—just look at Emilia Clarke playing Daenerys Targaryen, Anthony Hopkins playing Hannibal Lecter, or even Rachel McAdams playing Regina George lmao.

Despite playing El since she was a child, as Millie has come into adulthood it's become clearer that she is very different from El—and that The Duffers aren't creating Eleven's arc with Millie's own "coming of age" in mind. Her choices to create things like Enola Holmes, Damsel, and even Nineteen Steps (her new book) showing up as sharp contrasts to not only the women in Stranger Things, but in all of The Duffer's upcoming work on Death Note, The Talisman and The Boroughs prove that well enough, which would be zero problem at all...if a lot of her fans didn't conflate Millie with El is as a character.

To your point though...I honestly don't think Millie is going to be all that personally upset if El ends up single and Byler happens—she's already made clear that she loves El, but is ready to move on and tell other stories and that she would have written the story as a high school drama if she was in control of the direction of the plot (while pointing out that she's not the one in control of it) lol.

Even what she said recently in an widely published and official Seventeen interview shows that she's really just here to finish the story and move on with her career—that she's ready for her role as El (and the drama I'm 10000% sure comes with that) to be done:

At least to me, all of that makes it seem like she is a level-headed young woman who can handle her character not being aligned with how she would live her own life—and will, when the time comes.

That said: imo the real problem is that fans of MBB are confusing Millie's own "I can be young, strong and still have a man" creative and life choices with El's "I am overcoming the bounds men have put on me to become strong by myself" storyline, which only becomes an issue when Millie jokes about things like mlvn getting married—

—and (by nature of being an influential celebrity) ends up with fans who mistake Millie's headcanons (because...honestly that's what they are) based on what she enjoys in fiction as what The Duffers are writing & planning for the ending of Stranger Things.

Basically: as an actress, it's literally MBB's job to bring life to stories that don't necessarily reflect her own values or desires, and she knows it—but because she's been playing the character on people's screens so long (and from a young age) a lot of fans have issues separating the woman from the fiction and recognizing that (as Adam Driver once said) it's not Millie's job to have a feeling about or even agree with who El is as a person—it's her job to bring El & The Duffer's vision to life, even if her life informs how she plays the role.

None of that is particularly Millie's fault (though she, like Noah sometimes, adds fuel to fandom fire with the jokes she makes lmao), though it does get irritating to navigate when you're constantly subjected to arguments rooted in nothing but headcanons when trying to make sense of The Duffer's work itself lmao.

TL;DR - Mills joking about El and Mike getting married feels the same as someone here putting their headcanon out into the world about married & domestic Byler—only, because she's the face of Eleven + has now gotten engaged young herself, people misinterpret her own "cute headcanons" as canonical fact, leaving people who love the actual canon + who enjoy the 'style of womanhood' the Duffers write to arguing with people who misunderstand the actual characters.

Millie is a woman whose had a complicated relationship with celebrity and fame since she was a very young girl, and she has certainly made different decisions than I have (and likes different fiction than I do)—but that has nothing to do with her intelligence or ability to respond gracefully to the character she's played since 12 turning out differently than she would have imagined it if she had written El herself. If and when Byler happens, I'm sure she will meet the reality of it with respect and consideration, even if her fans (and hardcore fans of mlvn) don't lmao.

Hopefully that explains it (and doesn't get me shot for saying lmao). But thanks for the ask!

#the short answer to your question? #I genuinely think she's gonna be just fine with it when it happens even if she wouldn't have written it like that herself #her personal history is immaterial given she's not a 'method actress' and doesn't conflate herself with her characters #when she says things like 'they'll get married' its basically her making joke-y headcanons same as people do here #but...a lot of superfans don't see it like that—they take it as law over anything the duffers ACTUALLY do in the show lmao #tbh its the same for every one of the actors but. her fans seem to take her jokes more seriously than anyone else takes Noah or Finns #also...I could have been nicer in those old tags but I was super annoyed when I wrote them so. apologies for the snark LMAO #asks

[touhoutunes]

Title: 少女たちの祭り (The Girl’s Festivals)

Arrangement: 白鷺ゆっきー

Album: 幻想郷音詩録 吹奏楽のしらべ

Circle: 針の音楽

Original: Demystify Feast

#touhou #touhou project #touhou music #demystify feast #suika ibuki #Immaterial and Missing Power #幻想郷音詩録 吹奏楽のしらべ #針の音楽 #白鷺ゆっきー #this one also takes bits from the u2 arrange of demystify feast #i dont think im gonna make a separate tag for that one tho

[heylinfanclub]

Misconstrued a quote in my head but found it still relatively accurate?

The quote is: Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery-- But I thought 'Irony is the sincerest form of flattery' and while, it's not sincere always, it is still a form of imitation and still flattery because 'haha you hate me so much but you cannot get me off your mind nor can you resist me!'. Woof. It came to mind when it's like 'Oh I make ironic 'IM A GAMERR' comments all the time but is it really ironic or am I like, sincere but hiding under a veneer of irony? AM I PULLING A DAVE STRIDER?' idk

#me. #homestuck #philosophy #irony #[YEAH IM GONNA TAG ALL THOSE #[im high idk #therapy. #[me in my therapy office: yeah yeah i went to school for psychology i get it bUT WHAT DOES THIS SAY ABOUT MY IMMATERIAL SELF

[postmodernbeliever]

how to relax - fox mulder x female reader (smut)

a seemingly endless case in the middle of nowhere has you stressed out of your mind, to the point where the only thing that doesn't push you too far is fox mulder. with all that stress and no way to reel yourself in, your partner decides he wants to help show you how to relax.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

wrote this bc sometimes we (i) just need a (toe curling) self-insert to satisfy our (my) daydreams. i dedicate this to all those who are chubby and in love with fox mulder. if you prefer to read on ao3, you can find me at the same username.

my ao3 | word count; 5,419 (i got excited, okay?)

content tags (i copied from ao3 bc im lazy): dom fox mulder, praise kink, fluff and smut, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, hand & finger kink, subspace, size difference, belly bulge, co-workers, mutual pining, idiots in love, pet names, stress relief, cross-posted on ao3, smut, subtle plus size reader, soft fox mulder, mentions of freudian shit bc come on this is the x files, talking you through it, fox is literally so awoooooga the whole time, fox gets cocky as always, fox mulder the munch, bathroom sex, fox just can’t help himself literally so i hope you enjoy

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

you’d been beyond stressed all day, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for you. what was frustrating was that you had managed to grow so agitated that it seemed nothing could help you calm down. 

your work with the fbi was your life, in all its stress-inducing, time-consuming, hair-splitting glory. you were as tight-assed as they came (ask literally anybody!) all of that pressure on top of a naturally anxious and irritable demeanor made you difficult to enjoy being around, and you knew it. but today, of all days, it was truly catching up to you physically. the muscles of your jaw were sore from the tension they held, fighting between your teeth for release. your head swelled between your eyes and nose, pulsing softly like a glowing light that wouldn’t dim. your throat was dry, your footsteps heavy, your hands restless; you were wound so tight that everyone you encountered feared you might snap like a rubber band, lashing against them in recoil. 

fox mulder was the only one who had stayed on your good side all day, which is surprising, given your partner was typically the casual aggressor of your everyday life- what with his constant nagging and ridiculous speculations about every crime you investigated. he never once changed his attitude, let alone change the color shirt he wore to work every day. yet it seemed this time he was off the hook, because the case you’d both been assigned was dragging like no other. 

it was your fifth day in the desolate yellow countryside of a rural town you so lovingly renamed as bumblefuck, virginia; all you possessed was an immaterial, mulder-esque lead that couldn’t be pinned down (as your fellow agent was torn between shapeshifter and werewolf). on top of that were ten dead bodies, no evidence, and a motel room with broken air conditioning, complete with a leaky sink. you were sick to death of the heat, and the town, and the local policemen who seemed to have but two executive functions: hit on you or ignore your assertions. for a stagnant fifth day, you’d experienced more frustration than ever- the cops have begun to give up on catching a suspect, fox was investigating muddy footprints all afternoon like the freak he is, and you were stuck to sit in the closet-sized archives room at the local library where teenagers and nagging townspeople came in to ogle the “fbi lady”… jesus, no wonder your head hurts. 

fox came by every so often to check on you that afternoon. once with a cup of coffee, once with half of a sandwich he’d thoughtfully taken a bite out of to piss you off, and again with dirt all over his face and a wild story about how he caught a glimpse of his x file mid-attack. if you weren’t used to his personality by now it might’ve made things worse, but in a way his teasing and subtle acts of service were the only soothing memories you had to reflect on. he was a moment of consistency between the endless chaotic installments of the afternoon. 

at the end of the day, you were mentally exhausted, hungry for the other half of that sandwich fox ate, and in need of the shitty motel bed; at the very least some peace and quiet, just for one night. but it seemed your partner wouldn’t let you have it. 

you’d had about an hour to yourself before fox materialized in your motel room. after a shower that quickly ran cold, you slipped into a sweatshirt, a threadbare set of sleep shorts that were a bit tight for your pudgy legs, and two flimsy socks that didn’t match because you hadn’t packed for a trip this long. you’d tried watching the television, but the antennae were spotty no matter how you arranged them. the air conditioning machine clanked and whistled nonstop, and hiding under your pillows didn’t dull the racket. the best part was when you tried to light the little bedside yankee candle and the lighter ran out of fluid- but not before it sparked and burned your thumb. you’d finally begun to decompress when a familiar knock sounded from outside. summoning a forcibly loud groan- so your tall visitor heard exactly how you felt- you clambered off the creaking bed and towards the door, which revealed his trademark smug smile. 

“good evening, watson!”

“what do you want?” you sighed, closing your eyes. 

you felt his hand push your shoulder to the side, and the man squeezed past you into the room. you scoffed and said, “oh, please, make yourself at home!” 

“i will, thank you,” fox teased. “i came to check on you.”

“because?”

“well, you’ve been a wreck all day! didn’t laugh at one of my jokes. you nearly bit the sheriff's head off tonight when we checked in at the station before leaving… i just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“oh? well, you know what? no, mulder, i’m not okay. we’ve been stranded out in the middle of nowhere for a week with no leads and no progress and the food here sucks and i haven’t had a single good night’s sleep and all my socks are dirty!” you ranted, pacing in front of the half-open door like a lunatic. 

fox grinned as if he knew something you didn’t and turned from you, heading towards the tiny bathroom tucked in the corner of the room. you slammed the front door shut and followed him, snapping, “what, you come in asking how i feel and just walk away? explain to me how that makes any sense, mulder!”

the agent leaned against the bathroom sink, hands laid curiously on the lip of the counter. he dutifully watched the little crystal droplets that fell rhythmically down the ceramic bowl. the air surrounding him felt charged, like if you stepped too close, you’d get shocked; almost as if his thoughts were electrifying the oxygen. 

he frustrated you beyond belief sometimes. the man stood in your bathroom like his day was going perfectly fine. a gray t-shirt clung to his lean arms, hugging the curves of his biceps like it was tailored for him alone; his sweatpants were black and littered with lint from the hairy couch in his apartment, and they hung low on his hips, peeping the waistband of his black boxers like a well-known secret. his hair was pointing every which way in its tawny misdirection, and he had the nerve to inspect your sink, and lick his lips like he had all the time in the world to enjoy the southern sticks and lupine mysteries, all while you had to scour newspapers and sleep in ten minute increments to survive. 

“mulder, what the hell are you doing?” 

“your sink is leaking.” 

“yeah, i know, sherlock.”

“did you ask them to fix it?”

“mulder, i will not hesitate to kick you out.”

“jeez, somebody’s worked up.”

the man pivoted on his feet, facing you with a newfound sense of purpose. you were prepared to object his statement, but were silenced by his hands finding your hips. he was so quick to slide you up onto the counter that you forgot your rebuttal- in fact, in his rush to relocate you, you’d forgotten to think entirely. he had your thighs pinned to the cold, white countertop, and parted so he could press his tummy to the spot where your legs met. his shirt rode up in the moment, and you could feel the warmth of his bare skin against the fabric of your shorts. 

fox’s hands felt rough. you stared at them, at the sheer size, and recollected all the little stolen glances of those fingers sifting through his filing cabinets, or analyzing your field notes, or polishing his gun. countless vivid reminders of the strength of them as they pulled you back from bullets and unexpected staircases flashed before your eyes. how often you longed for them, you couldn’t say, but it was clear to you now as those same hands held you down that you had taken a serious liking to them. 

it took you a while, but you managed to mutter, “what are you doing?”

fox could only smile wider and say, “you need to relax, don’t you?” 

“what does that-”

“why don’t you let me help you?” 

you swallowed thickly, feeling a bubbling heat rise in your belly. his calloused palms rode up your legs, finding room for his thumbs to begin drawing soft, sweeping circles against your hip bones. your brain clouded so fast you forgot to answer. 

“i’ve never seen you so aggravated before… like, by every little thing. i mean, i know you get annoyed, but these past couple days have been so rough for you, haven’t they? just can’t calm down, can you? you look so tired, so tense. i can feel all the tension you’re keeping right… here,” he consoled, letting up on your hips to press a hand to your lower abdomen. when you sucked in a nervous breath, the man pressed a little harder, and you twitched beneath him. “i can fix that for you, if you want. show you how to relax a little.” 

“y-you’re not even supposed to be in here,” you wheezed, “agents… agents aren’t supposed to consort in the same room, mulder, remember?”

“awh, come on, don’t start following the rules on me now! don’t you wanna feel better, honey?” 

fox spoke like every word was a secret, leaning in close to your ear. the scruff of his five o’clock shadow brushed against your fresh face, eliciting a spidery chill down your spine. 

“what’s gotten into you, mulder?”

“i asked you a question, sweetheart.”

you panicked, swallowing air like it was water. these kinds of questions felt new coming from him. anxiously, you let out a shaky breath and nodded, hoping that was enough. you couldn’t handle much else.

“is that a yes?”

“...mhm.”

“can you say yes for me?”

fuck. “yes.”

“good girl. it’ll help, i promise.” 

it seemed he couldn’t be going any slower than he was just then, gingerly removing his hands from your waist and biting his lower lip like the reincarnate of a dream you’d entertained too many times before. you watched with a spinning head as his long, spindly fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts. his pale eyes twinkled at you, sage steeped in milk, as he asked, “can i?” in that lilting voice he uses only when the room is begging for quiet. when you eagerly nodded, he chuckled, “lift up for me a little, okay?” 

you followed orders and pressed your shaky hands to the tile, raising your hips so he had room to slide your shorts down. his face melted at the sight of you underneath. 

night after night, he’d fantasized about those doe eyes of yours watching him free you up like this, but he never imagined he’d get the chance. until this afternoon, when he resolved to create the chance. through all these years working beside you, he’s only grown to admire you more. you were cunning, you were gentle with kids, you were smarter than he ever could be (even if you disagreed.) but you were also tired. you lived alone, you slept alone, you never asked for help and you declined every offer. fox hated to see you facilitate your own frustration. and this past week has only exacerbated his need to fix it- watching you so angry, so pent up, so in need of attention- he couldn't bear to let you suffer any longer. it seems he’s been lucky, too, because you sat quietly, patiently, all so that he could take care of you. grateful for the opportunity, fox didn’t want to waste any more time. 

with those dreamy fingertips grazing your underwear, fox was the spitting image of boyish charm. he admired the worn black and grey striped fabric covering what was left of you, thinking aloud, “had these for a while, huh?” 

“since i was in college,” you muttered, “everything i wore was dark back then.”

“nothing’s changed. you’re very punk rock,” he winked.

you didn’t know you were capable of laughing in your current state, but it came bubbling up in a nervous overflow. he watched your lips curl, and the way you threw your head back like you couldn’t stop yourself. you felt embarrassed to be so swayed by his stupid humor, but you had no choice. not when he had you wrapped around his finger like this.

“you’re a dork.”

“you like it, though,” he reassured. 

you watched the man hesitate, eyes darting down to your lips; you closed your eyes, hoping it would nudge him in the right direction, and you were right. fox had to crane his neck down a bit- because even with you on the counter, he was still taller- but he made himself level, and he pressed his lips to yours so gently you almost didn’t feel him there. what announced him was the taste of him, actually; stale coffee on his tongue, and what you deduced to be the black-label chapstick, the kind that tasted like medicine. you toppled into him like you were falling off a cliff, clinging to the hem of his shirt in longing. 

fox seemed to like how you hung on him. it made him feel risky. his hands meandered across your tummy, pushing up under your sweatshirt and roaming the soft skin of your back. he caught your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged softly, and when you opened your eyes in surprise, he nudged your nose like a kitten and let it go. he was good at taking control like this, at making your nerves ebb and flow to his pace. you were so entranced in the way his lips meshed with yours that when his dominant hand found its way to your hips again, you mewled in anticipation. 

“you sound a lot prettier when you’re not arguing with me,” fox joked. you met him with a soft sound from the back of your throat, and his eyebrows furrowed in amusement. “can barely speak, can you?”

“mm-mm,” you answered, trying to trap his lips again, but he pulled away. 

his eyes shifted shade, and you were now seeing yourself reflected in much darker irises. your back shivered against the mirror on the wall. he broke eye contact and let it linger on your legs, his palms swiping over the skin with intention. swiftly, he bent over and began pressing kisses to your inner thighs. you let out a strangled whine, which made him shudder.

“you want me to get to it, hm?”

“please, f… mulder,” you whispered, blushing like a fool. 

the man rose again to lock you in a soft kiss, one so much more loving than the others that it let butterflies loose in your chest. interrupting their fluttering, he prodded, “what was that?”

it was out of you before you had a chance to weigh the outcomes. “please, fox.” 

having teased long enough, fox dropped to his knees and pushed your panties aside. his mouth was so slick from all the time it spent on yours that it was dangerously warm as it pressed against your heat. you let out a lewd string of moans as his tongue trailed a long, torturous stripe between your folds, taking his sweet time getting to the top. he felt you throbbing, all the blood in your body pulsing like a heartbeat for him. his lips, just a bit swollen, peppered a few gentle kisses to the skin before surrounding your bud and starting to suck. 

you squeezed your eyes shut so hard it nearly brought your headache back. fox grunted between your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing hard into your bones. you softened for his tongue as it swirled inside your pussy, tracing shapes to drive you insane. your hands burrowed into his cropped cut and tugged in desperation, which he liked so much it practically made him growl; the sound bounced between your walls, sending a sensation into your stomach that made your legs tremble. he felt so good inside you like this, lapping like a puppy at your water; you bucked against his big nose, craving the friction, and he responded with relentless thirst for you.  

“fuck!” you whined, “fox- agh,”

coming up for a gulp of air, you caught a glimpse of his slick chin as it glinted in the yellow light. “feels good?” 

“shit,” you panted, “yes, obviously… more,” 

“more, huh?” fox licked his lips with hungry eyes. “i’m gonna need you to say please, baby.”

“jesus, fox, please! pretty please, baby, please just keep going,” 

“fuck, don’t call me names…” the man swooned at the broken cry in your voice, resolving to give you whatever you needed until the day you die. now wasn’t the time for confession, though, so he filed that away for later. “pretty please. god, you’re good.”

you nearly choked as he pushed two fingers into you, curling them in a rough come-hither motion. he bombarded you with himself, sucking hard on your clit and fucking his fingers into the swelling spot inside you, making you lurch against his touch like an animal. with your head thrown back against the motel mirror and pretty mouth gasping for him, he realized that his dreams could never do this moment justice. the sugary, tangy taste you left on his tongue, your soft skin that smelled like shower suffocating him, the way his name rolled off your tongue- you were the real fucking deal, not some half-assed daydream that got him off at night. you were beautiful, and for not being a praying man, being on his knees before you felt right. who was he to stand eye to eye with you, when down here where you were perched above him like an angel, he had so much more room to worship you? 

“fuck, i- oh, i’m…” you whimpered, grinding against his face with fervor. 

“let it go, honey, come on,” he cooed, “i’ll take care of you.” 

“b-but i- i’ve never- oh my god!”

the agent watched you battle with yourself, all the while writhing on the countertop, so he carefully brought his thumb to your clit and picked up the pace. he rose to you again, using his free arm to slither around the base of your back and pull your body flush against his. you bunched his shirt in your fists helplessly and hid your face in his shoulder. it took all his strength not to collapse right then and there, but he kept moving for you, and you rocked against his palm like you were made for it. when he realized you were going to need a little more help, he gave it to you. 

you were stressed, after all, and sometimes somebody’s just got to talk you through it, right?

“never had it this good before, hm? nobody’s ever made you cum, sweetheart? you poor thing,” fox twitted, clicking his tongue. “you work so hard. my smart girl, so good at her job, so independent… you deserve to be taken care of, to feel good, baby. to let go of all that stress,” 

you struggled to think straight as his gruff voice battled the ringing in your ears. his palm pressed against your back with so much care, like if he moved it you’d shatter into a million pieces. it was all so much, to have your partner with you like this; to hear him breathing beside you, to feel his fingers in a place you’d never thought they’d be. he saw the gears turning in your head still, and he wanted to shut your brain off for good. and god, did he. fox coaxed it right out of you like it was his job. 

“come on, good girl, you can do it,” he whispered. “cum for me, honey, i know you can. show me you can.”

for every moment of danger you found yourself stuck in, fox was there to protect you. when you got reprimanded by a director, he was there to hold your hand behind the safety of the desk. when you were late and needed a cover, he was prepared with a detailed story. you’d forgotten a raincoat a comical number of times, so many in fact that he began keeping a spare in his office for you to borrow. fox was always there, waiting to help you, to guide you, and if it was fucked up (so far as to call it freudian) then so be it- you needed it from him. you needed his safety, his warmth, the strength of his arms around you. his reassurance. 

and to hear him care for you like this, too, to pull on your strings and unravel you like a tired tapestry… god, nothing ever felt so good. 

fox’s eyes rolled back as you twitched on his fingers, moaning his name like a prayer into the stuffy bathroom air. your hands struggled to find a place to stay as they combed through his hair frantically, tugging and trembling; it was like you’d never been touched before in your life. you had, but very few times, and it was just like he said- nobody had done it right. but he had. it felt like his hands were crafted to please you. they knew exactly where to touch, how fast, how gentle, how deep. the man figured you out instantly, which was as exciting as it was terrifying. you’ve never felt so out of it in your entire life. 

you panted wildly, and fox gave soft kisses to your hair while you tried to regain your composure. but you couldn’t. you couldn’t get a grasp on anything. the world was floating in limbo around you, all inconstant; the countertop felt as foreign to you as flying did. but even in your daze, you craved more- the second he stopped, you needed him to start again. you could barely speak, but he heard your mumblings: “m…more, more, f… foxie,”

that nickname gave him goosebumps. slowly, he said, “baby, i don’t have anything with me for that,”

“don’t care. please.” you begged. there was no way he could say no to you, not when your pretty, cloudy eyes looked up at him how they did. 

“okay, baby, okay.” 

fox gave no warning, but nothing would have prepared you anyway- you instinctively opened your hips wider just to make enough room for him. he pushed all the way in, letting himself bottom out; the man let out a moan so guttural that you clenched around him in reflex. you were lucky enough to see him make that pretty ‘o’ face, and that might’ve been enough for you, honestly, but it wasn’t for him. he needed you, and he needed you fast. 

his thrusts were no match for all the grinding you could do. he snapped back and forth like a whip, hips rolling so hard that it felt like he was digging inside you deeper each time. you dragged your nails down his back, trying to find something to hold onto, but his moans in your ear as he hid his face in your neck were so distracting you kept having to start over. 

“jesus, baby, you’re so tight for me,” he grumbled, “feels so good, you’re doing so good… fuck, my good girl.”

his praise made every nerve in your body short-circuit. it didn’t matter how he moved, you couldn’t stop babbling. he tugged your hips forward a little more, making you slump against the mirror, and you clutched the countertop for dear life. 

“can’t use your words, huh, baby? look at you, smartest analyst in the fbi and you can barely speak, all because of me,” he tormented. the man pressed his right hand against your tummy again, just like he had before, and he growled with lust. he seized your hand and pressed it flat beneath his in the same spot, and he fucked you harder, forcing it down until you felt his thrusting beneath your palm. you never thought you’d feel anything like this, not with your soft stomach, but he was making it possible.

“you feel that, pretty? feel me inside you, filling you up? you’re mine now. all mine.”

you had no control. you whined, “foxie,” jerking your hips against his cock in a craze. 

“god, that’s right, that’s my girl.” he smiled.

“s-so… a-agh, please!”

“mm, i know, baby, keep going,” 

you had no more words left, you’d used them all. fox had figured out how to take away all your stress, yet in the process, he took your whole mind with it. now you were just his, a thing to be kissed, a fleshy body for him to praise. for a control freak, you loved being the one under another’s control for once. 

you scratched at fox’s shoulders, a mindless drop of drool dribbling from the corner of your mouth. you felt his cock as it swelled against your slick walls, and how it poked against your insides, and if that weren’t enough, he moved his hand to your clit again and resumed rubbing those blissful circles into it. you could only sit there and grind against his touch, muttering strings of curses and unintelligible sounds.

“agh, baby, you’re so pretty like this,” his moans were growing harsh, turning into whines. “all fucked out, mm, so pretty for me,”

his hips started snapping erratically, and your back arched against the increasing speed. his teeth met your shoulder and he bit softly, grumbling, “i’m so close,”

in what felt like a cry but came out as a strangled whimper, you warned, “m’gonna… agh…” 

fox watched your face screw up in pleasure, and it pushed him right over the edge. your body collapsed as you let go, and he rushed to hold you to him and keep you upright. all the way in your gut, where your hand once rested, you felt him pooling all over, thick and warm. his thumb swirled you slowly, working you through it so you didn’t get too shocked. he was stationary for a while, unable to move from the overstimulation; but when he did, he watched the stuff bubble out of you, though only just a bit. his throat closing up at the sight. he gathered some of it on his fingers and raised them to your lips, and you licked them sweetly. his stomach churned as you gazed down at his hand with foggy eyes, somehow still lustful after all he’d done to tire you out. 

“good job, baby, you were so good for me,” he crooned, leaving sloppy, tired kisses all over your neck. “someone’s gotta take care of you, don’t they?” 

you just murmured little hums, and he loved every second of it. 

“you hear me, pretty girl? nobody takes better care of you than me, you got it? who takes good care of you?” 

“foxie,” you admitted in your mindless bliss. 

“that’s right, baby, foxie does. you’re all mine, honey,” he gushed. “not so stressed anymore, are you?”

“mm-mm.”

“are you okay? take a deep breath for me.”

you tried to speak, but the words weren’t forming. you couldn’t string anything together. all you could do was make quiet noises and mutter his name. “mmph… foxie,”

“here, come here, honey.” 

fox tucked his hands beneath your thighs, and after instructing you to wrap your arms around his neck nice and tight, he carried you from the croaking bathroom sink to the motel bed, where he took extra care in laying you down comfortably. he climbed on top of you and adjusted your shirt, smoothing the fabric over your plush tummy and drawing a dopey smile from you. 

“stuck in your head, hm?” fox asked. 

he’d read up on this type of thing before- subspaces. typically common in BDSM practices, but not exclusively. there was a study conducted that detailed the experience theoretically as a headspace induced by rushes of endorphins, causing the receiver to fall into a trance-like state. he remembered reading how when someone is in a subspace their ability to communicate can be impaired and so can their judgment. it was also suggested that asking grounding questions may help coax people out of them (don’t ask how he found such a study.) so being the guy he is, he took everything very slowly from there, and followed the science. 

“can you hear me, sweetheart?” 

“mm.”

“good. what’s my name?” 

your stomach fluttered at the question, and warmth pooled between your hips at the softness with which he asked, but your brain was two steps behind. it took you a minute to answer, and you could only do it with your eyes closed. “foxie,” you muttered. 

“good girl, good job. that’s right,” he rewarded you with a kiss to the collarbone. beneath his breath he muttered, “fuck, if that isn’t cute.”

he could see you were somewhere else. all of your behavior was so needy. you might’ve thought you were a headcase before, but he’s no stranger to id impulses either; he saw how you pushed into his palms, how you refused to let go of his shirt, and he just wanted to help you through it. he wanted to make sure you felt safe. 

“baby, can you open your eyes for me? can you let me see your pretty eyes?” 

you peeked through one and saw his handsome face staring back at you, that toothy grin blooming flowers in your chest. slowly you opened the other, and even though the world was swirling, you managed to keep them open.

“you’re doing so good, thank you, baby,” he chuckled. “now, i’m gonna put your shorts back on, okay?”

“m’kay.” 

you took a deep breath. he watched your chest rise and fall, and your cheeks burn even redder than he thought possible. your hand held his wrist tightly, tight enough that he prayed your nails would leave little moon-shaped marks behind. you shook your head and tried to wipe away the fuzzy feeling. 

“what’s my name again?” he asked, noticing how hard you were trying to focus. he tapped on your hip so you’d know to lift them, and he wriggled your shorts back on, admiring how they hugged the skin.  

“f-fox.”

“good. what’s my job?” 

“you’re… a profiler,” you volleyed, feeling a little more grounded with each passing second. 

“good girl. and where are we, honey?”

you squinted at him and smiled, “bumblefuck, virginia.” 

when fox laughed, it felt like all the angels rung their bells. something about seeing his face light up and whatever was plaguing him, whatever he was in danger of, just wash away in the moment was nothing short of enlightenment. you wished he’d laugh more, so you could see divine intervention on the regular. 

“coming back to me, hm?” 

“yeah,” you giggled. 

fox leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “i’m trying not to let my ego explode right now, you know,” he smirked, “i never thought you wanted me so bad.” 

you blushed, hiding behind your hands. “i… oh, god.”

“no, no, it was cute! really. you… you don’t know how badly i’ve wanted to do that.” he promised. 

“i’ve never felt-” you paused, wondering if it was worth saying. yet, if he could bring you back to earth after fucking you stupid, what secrets could you hide from him? “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”

“who, me?” fox laughed.

“mhm. it’s just…  agh. you. it’s only you, fox. embarrassingly so.”

it was his turn to blush then. fox leaned down to catch you in one more kiss, and you felt his hand search the bedsheets for yours so he could tangle your fingers with his own. he didn’t want to break away, so he said it right into your mouth, pausing for air: “god- i have- loved- you for- so long.”

fox couldn’t help but feel proud of himself as he laid down between your legs, resting his head on your warm belly like it was a pillow. you instinctively took to his hair, playing with the chocolatey tufts and wishing he’d never move. he fit so perfectly right there, and now you couldn’t ever let him go. you didn’t want to.

with one last kiss to your hip, fox grinned. “told you i could help.”

#spooky mulder #x files #fox mulder #smut #smut and fluff #fox mulder smut #x files smut #fox mulder x reader #agent mulder #fox mulder x you #praise k!nk #soft d0m #Spotify

[kiwiana-writes]

Fic Pride Friday

Thank you to the fabulous @rmd-writes for the tag! As always, though, with 239 fanworks on AO3, this is a beast of a task lmfao.

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

This got long (and I'm like... actively trying not to Feel Bad™️ about that), so four fandoms' worth of snippets under the cut!

Tagging: @agame-writes @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise

@dumbpeachjuice @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

@indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @whimsymanaged

And, of course, an open tag to whoever wants to play!

Red White & Royal Blue

What a beautiful tone aka introspective rimming:

Henry has touched Alex in a thousand different ways since he shook the hand of a beautiful boy with a yellow ipê-amarelo in his pocket and fell in love, so he doesn’t quite understand why he’s trembling as he rolls them both until Alex is on his back, hair spread out on the pillow, lips parted slightly and eyes filled with trust as Henry settles on top of him. With his arms bracketing Alex’s shoulders, Henry places a hand on Alex’s jaw and pours all the love and pride that’s been coursing through his veins since Alex delivered his speech into a deep kiss, his tongue running along Alex’s bottom lip, coaxing it further open. The noise Alex makes in response is devastating. He’s a live wire, arching up into Henry’s touch in a way that is somehow both entirely nonsexual and an unbelievable turn on. Alex moves like he’s trying to crawl inside Henry’s skin, letting out soft moans and shivering gasps that burrow their way between Henry’s fourth and fifth ribs and carve out a place for themselves there, somewhere only Alex has ever reached.

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers, the coffee shop 5+1 where Alex is so hot it very literally makes Henry stupid:

“How can I do you today?” Bollocksing, buggering fuck. Henry’s going to have to migrate to Tristan Da Cunha. Actually, while that’s the most remote place he knows of, he’s also fairly certain they’re a British Overseas Territory and therefore speak English, which isn’t particularly helpful in his current predicament. He’ll brainstorm, though he expects that the long and sordid history of global British colonisation is really not going to be his friend here. Walking Wet Dream blinks slowly—once, twice—before his face splits into a wide grin. “Tempting fucking offer, sweetheart.” A tongue peeks out to wet a pair of plump lips, which only provides Henry with some extremely vivid ideas for what else might look good between those same lips, and oh Christ, if he actually gets hard underneath this hideous apron he’ll have to lock himself in his own basement. The fact that he doesn’t have a basement is immaterial, really.

A Practical Arrangement, the arranged marriage AU -- tbh I'm proud of ALL of Alex's internal narration about Henry in chapter one but this is a particular favourite:

“I thought Windsor valued courtly manners?” Alex grins widely, tampering down a smirk at the way Henry’s ridiculously chiselled jaw twitches, obviously displeased at the way Alex is going off-script. “As your betrothed, surely you should be showering me with compliments as you greet me?” Henry raises an eyebrow, and looks at Alex in a way that makes him suddenly, viscerally aware of the four inches of height Henry has on him. It’s a height difference that has always put Alex on edge; it never used to be the case, Alex is pretty sure from the vague memories he has of them in their younger years, but between one meeting and the next, suddenly Henry was no longer at his eye level. “As soon as I find something to compliment, I assure you I shall do so.” Alex almost laughs; that was funny. Rude and untrue, but funny. It’s a shocking amount of personality for Henry to display. “Back in Texas, they extol my many virtues, Your Royal Highness,” he drawls, pointedly ignoring June’s scoff. “Do you need me to give you a list?” “I’m sure they do,” Henry says gravely, but there’s a flicker of something at the corner of his mouth that could almost be a smirk. There’s a long pause before he adds: “…in Texas.” Alex’s jaw drops before he can stop it. That absolute fucker.

Kinda think that I might be his type, the Alex and Bea fake dating fic that blew up in a way I wasn't expecting but am forever grateful for; I'm proud of this whole damn fic but this line made me get up and walk away from my computer after writing it lmao:

“Don’t worry, though.” He winks at Bea, tampering down a grin at the way she bites her lip as she realises whatever he’s about to say is at serious risk of making her laugh. “We’re not going to wait until I’m out of school to start popping out great-grandbabies for you. I wanna be papi for real, not just to my little honeypot here, if you know what I mean.” The sharp clatter of Mary’s teacup against her saucer thankfully drowns out the choked wheezing sound from Bea’s throat; Alex only risks glancing at Bea for a moment, just enough to realise she’s fighting for her life not to burst out laughing. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up before he sounds like he’s reading lines from a terribly scripted and vaguely racist porno.

Puck It, the college hockey AU with my favourite analogy I've ever written:

Alex is aware that he might be bisexual in the same way he’s aware that he might be allergic to cats; there have been a few brief interactions to make him think it’s probably true, but so far it hasn’t had any impact on his life, so he hasn’t really had a reason to look into it and find out for sure. Now, faced with Henry’s clavicle and the sudden, vivid mental image of sinking his teeth into it, he’s not sure how theoretical it is anymore.

Handprints in wet cement, the 5+1 celebration of Henry's Oxford Slut Phase that is just so important to me:

“It’s not.” Alex’s fingers flex a little, digging into Henry’s skin. “It’s— you had all these experiences, and sometimes I can’t believe you want to share them all with me. That you’ll just tell me about them, and if it’s something we’re both into, we can just… go for it. It means a lot. You know that, right?” Henry blinks at him. If he’s honest, he’s never really understood Alex’s eagerness to hear about Henry’s uni hookups; Henry himself, while not bothered by Alex’s own past, has never felt any particular need to seek out stories about it either. He’d just assumed it was another facet of Alex’s insatiable need to understand things; he hadn’t realised it was important.

I've carried this song in my mind, the Arthur-from-beyond-the-grave fic, have one of the many MANY passages that made me cry to write lmfao:

You don’t need to find Orion, Arthur wants to tell him. I’m in every constellation, in your heart, in your soul. I’m here. I’m always here. But Henry can’t hear him.

Schitt's Creek

Wander Where They Will, aka the swans fic:

It felt like only a moment later that something woke him, though the pitch-black room made it obvious it had been several hours since he dozed off. It had been so long since he was in such close proximity to other people that David didn’t realise what he was hearing, at first. The gasp that rang out in the silence made his eyes snap open and his body tense up, and there was a thump and a high-pitched, muffled moan before the realisation slammed into him. He shifted in the bed, trying to block out the sounds out of a sense of… privacy, he supposed, or decorum. That must be why his stomach was clenching, so tight he could barely breathe. Patrick, it seemed, approached lovemaking the way David has seen him approach everything else—quiet, determined, methodical. All the noises coming from their corner of the cottage seemed to be Rachel’s; only a rhythmic panting betrayed Patrick’s part in the process. Even at the end, he barely made a sound. David couldn’t help thinking, as silence filled the cottage and pulled him backwards into sleep, that it was a terrible shame; that everyone deserved the kind of pleasure that rushed through them, untamed and uncontrollable.

Femslash February 2021, where I decided one entry needed to not only be a drabble (100 words exactly) like every other day's prompt, but ALSO a sonnet:

A princess resides in a castle fair Who Stevie beholds when sneaking ashore— With aquamarine eyes and golden hair, She’s all that Stevie is so longing for. If she had legs, or the princess a tail, Perhaps Stevie could be part of her world— But fate's harsh currents their union assails, Separating them with an eddy's whirl. So Stevie lingers, and watches, and dreams About a union between sea and land, Wishing it weren't as complex as it seems For them to lie together on the sand. But unbeknownst, a princess dreams, too— Of a raven-haired mermaid, pure and true.

And all the rest's illusion, the fic where Patrick works through his feelings about the word queer and every single comment made me cry:

And that’s really the crux of the issue, because it’s not that he’s uncomfortable in his sexuality. If he was, that would be easier to explain — right from the start, David never put a label onto him. Patrick was the one who’d whispered I’m gay into the sliver of space between them that night at Stevie’s, and David had just given him the same easy smile and nod that Patrick’s sure he would have received if instead his declaration had been I’m bi or I’m pan or I don’t know right now. His discomfort is more of a nagging, deep-seated fear that he’s not entitled to queer; that because he’s never been called a slur or worried about whether or not it was safe to kiss his partner in public or even come out to his parents, the word isn’t his to reclaim.

I haven't met the new me yet, the fic where I just dragged everyone onto the Jake/Rachel train with me by force, no I don't care that they never met in canon:

Despite herself, her eyes keep finding her way back to one of the pool players. He’s tall and well-built, with a close-cropped beard; he carries himself easily, joking with his friend, the flannel shirt stretching across his back as he lines up his next shot. When he stands up after sinking the ball easily, he turns around too quickly for Rachel to pretend she was looking elsewhere and their eyes meet. The smile he gives her isn’t quite cocky, though it’s close; it’s just confident, and confidence has always done something for her. She smiles back before picking up her beer, draining the last of it and trying not to grin around the neck of the bottle when his eyes drop to her throat as she does. She’d forgotten how good it can feel, to flirt with a stranger across a… okay, this isn’t exactly a crowded room, but still. Across a room. She doesn’t make any secret of watching as the guy and his friend finish up the game, the one she’s watching sinking the black easily with several of the stripes still on the table, and he hands his cue to his friend before striding over to the bar and leaning over to get the bartender’s attention.

Meet me out at the end of my rope, aka angstapalooza. The outline @ships-to-sail gave me for the end of chapter three just read "David leaves after possibly the most tender but heart wrenching kiss they’ve ever had, that’s ever been written, ever, in the history of written kissing" and then I had to... write that???

Patrick puts the box down gently before he holds his hand out. When David places the key in his palm Patrick wraps his fingers around David’s, their palms pressed together. Despite everything, it still feels like coming home; before he quite realises what he’s doing he presses Patrick back into the doorframe, his free hand wrapping around Patrick’s neck as he pours all the emotion swirling around inside him into one final kiss. Patrick, for his part, tugs David in close, his fingers winding through David’s hair as he shakes under David’s touch. When David finally pulls away he can see Patrick’s cheeks are wet with tears, and he knows his are too. He doesn’t know if they’re his own or Patrick’s or both. Patrick stares at him, his tone helpless. “You’re the love of my life, David Rose.” David closes his eyes as his resolve almost breaks. When he opens them again, Patrick’s face is blurry and indistinct in front of him as he tries not to let more tears fall. “No one is ever going to love me the way you did.” The words are choked out, but when Patrick opens his mouth to reply David shakes his head to stop him. “But no one ever lied to me like you did, either.”

How much love will you happily take -- I apparently awakened a humiliation kink in multiple people with this one and I will never not be proud of that 🤣

“No, that’s not— it’s not for lack of trying.” David being so kind about this is making it ten times harder to spit the words out and he drops his gaze, picking at Stevie’s faded bedspread so he doesn’t have to see the look in David’s eyes. He can feel the all-too-familiar crackle of humiliation crawling up his spine, knows his embarrassment is clear on his face, and it makes his throat tighten and his stomach clench and his cock twitch and he hates it, loves it, wants to poke at it like a bruise until it consumes him. “It’s been, um, a size issue?” There’s a beat, and then David is placing a gentle finger under his chin and turning Patrick to face him. His face is warm and open and Patrick likes him so much it’s kind of terrifying; he desperately needs this night not to end up another disaster.  “That,” David says, voice soft, “is only an issue if we make it an issue. And I don’t plan on making it an issue.”

Wearing glass slippers, I got my Chucks, the Stevie/Alexis tattoo/flower shop AU my beloved:

“Did people send you flowers when your aunt passed away?” Alexis asks pointedly.  “Yeah.” She doesn’t say, It was a huge pain in the ass, actually, because I had to throw them all out when they died, but from the look Alexis is giving her at least some of that must show on her face.  “Congratulations and commiserations,” she says slowly. “That’s when everyone wants to give flowers: births, deaths, weddings, anniversaries. It’s like, human nature or whatever. There’s something…” she takes a deep breath. “It’s a sign of trust, I think. To be a tiny part of someone’s biggest moments like that. Even if just from the sidelines.” Stevie has tattooed children’s names and wedding bands, handprints and pawprints and important dates. She’s never thought about it quite like that before. “I get that,” she murmurs. 

Great Acoustics, aka the cast did a Zoom thing in-character during Covid and had a throwaway line to justify David and Patrick not being in the same room and I just entered a fugue state and wrote porn about it in like an hour:

They make it ten days before their first noise complaint, which is frankly about nine days longer than David expected. They’ve been worse than usual, to be fair, with something as simple as a lockable door apparently now an aphrodisiac to both of them. Patrick goes about twelve shades of red when the official notice is pushed under their door, and then the pillow makes a reappearance.  It’s all very fucking hot, actually, seeing buttoned-up, in-control Patrick reduced to a whimpering, begging, uncontrollable mess. Eventually, David manages to convince him that if something must go in his mouth during sex, there are several better options. No, not that. Well, obviously, sometimes that.

A focused moment made, kinkverse part one that I very much intended to be a oneshot lmfao RIP

For a few moments, the only sound is their combined harsh breathing as they recover. Almost before David realises what’s happening he’s being pulled gently to his feet, and then Patrick is framing David’s face in his hands and kissing him soundly. And David’s been kissed a lot during a scene, and a few times before one, but never once has someone kissed him in a sex club after they’ve already come. He lets out a startled but not unhappy yelp and Patrick takes the opportunity to plunge his tongue into David’s now-open mouth, chasing the taste of himself, making them both groan. Finally Patrick releases him with one last, almost chaste, kiss. He drops one hand but leaves the other on David’s cheek, gazing carefully at him, his face soft and open. “I’ve never done that before, with a guy,” Patrick confesses after a moment of silence.  David raises an eyebrow, quirks a lip. “The flogging or the blowjob?” “Uh,” Patrick scratches the back of his head as he flushes slightly. “Both? But also, um.” His eyes flicker down to David’s lips and back up, and David gives a soft little Oh of understanding.  “Baby dom and baby gay, huh?”

Your heart is keeping time with me, the 50 First Dates AU that I think has the best ending I've ever written? So, uh, spoilers-ish, I guess:

This isn’t a romantic comedy. There will be no miraculous, medically impossible recovery. Every morning for the rest of his life, David will wake up and have to be told that he has a husband he doesn’t recognise; a husband who loves him. But after he’s been told, Patrick will set out to prove it to him, with laughter and music and patient understanding. And because love is so much more than conscious memory, David will go to sleep each night in Patrick’s arms, safe and secure and content. Even though it’s not a film or a fairytale, they will still live happily ever after.

Other

We always walked a very thin line, aka the fic I furiously spite-wrote in three hours after watching Happiest Season lmfao:

When they were little, they were convinced if they practised enough they could develop some sort of psychic link; talk to each other over long distances without tying up the phone lines their dads always used for important business calls. They gave up eventually, but Riley finds herself desperately wishing for the talent now. Come on, Harper. Be braver for her than you were for me. “She’s lying!” The words burst hysterically out of Harper’s mouth, and Riley’s heart sinks.

We knew we were the fortunate ones, because obviously I watched episode 3 of The Last Of Us and immediately started writing, what do you take me for?

He knows that the last four years have been kinder to him than to almost anyone else; he also knows that he doesn’t look like those men in the magazines, the ones he used to drive thirty miles out of his way to buy, shoulders hunched and not making eye contact with the store clerk in case he found himself subjected to judgement — or worse, conversation.

#fic pride friday #kiwiana-writes

[gettinshiggywithit]

「“ᴍʀ & ᴍʀꜱ”」

Scenario :- “hmmm what about something like being kuni's housewife idk i just want him to come home and eat my meals” ( @diagonal-queen )

Pairing :- kunikida x wife!reader

Genre:- fluff!

Type:- headcannons!

TW:- mentions of sex but no actual nsfw!

A/N :- here’s a little something i did for @diagonal-queen!Hope y’all like it!

Okayyy so you wanna be MRS kunikida huh?

Let’s see what it’ll be like!

First off if you actually make the cut? Congratulations!

You’ve effectively beat out 99.99% of the women population 😭

But no fr if u and Kunikida actually get hitched that means you are his perfect person.

No matter what flaws you have or you think you have,to him it’s all immaterial.

And if you ever get down,remember he chose you!

If you guys get hitched and you wanna be a housewife he’s all for it!

Its very classic, if u know what i mean.

And he kinda likes that at least this one thing could be simple(in his not-at-all-simple life)

Let’s go back to your wedding day shall we?

Okay imagine after a beautiful ceremony yall go back to your room and then have the most romantic night ever.

Just you and him in each other’s company~

After that you move into his apartment and settle down.

Kunikida is a hard working lad so he most probably won’t be around much after your honeymoon.

He goes to work everyday without fail and comes back home to you,also without fail. (Although sometimes he’s a little more scraped up and scarred than usual)

He texts you to see if you’re okay during his breaks and always lets you know when he’s goin on a mission and where.

If he needs to cut communications cos it could interfere with the mission,he tells you and reassures you that everything would be alright

And honestly youre only worried about his and his colleagues safety.

Cos like let’s be real, a relationship with Kunikida would be secure af! Because we all KNOW he would never cheat!

On days where he gets days off he still works at home🥲 (im sorry but buddy NEEDSS to have his stuff in order

But when he’s done he spends his time with you.

Whether it be baking,watching a movie or your favorite show,or just cuddling or vibing,yall are together.

And lemme tell you mans is talll

He’d be the big spoon when cuddling btw!

Oh and on days when he does work he looks forward to coming home to you and unwinding~

Oh and he LOVESS your cooking!

It reminds him of his childhood and it’s just that good.

One time you suggest packing him some lunch for work and he later got sooo much shit from dazai (that bandaged bugget was making kissy faces and shit and jusy not letting mans eat!)

One time dazai sneaks a bite and then he’s like “okay yeah no i get it now”

(buddy takes a bite and says, serious as ever, “Kunikida…this food is truly magnificent! Please tell y/n to make me some on the day before my suicide🥰. He gets promptly whacked on the head☺️)

Oh and this man can COOK

in any instance where youre tired or dont feel like cooking,mans has got it!

Makes a simple yet delicious meal and astounds you~

OH! And imagine for your anniversaries he gives you a card and as you open it he says “doppo poet!” And he turns it into a mini bouquet! (And when i say mini,i mean it.remember guys he can only summon stuff that are smaller than or the size of his notebook!)

Oh and he never forgets important dates😌

He’s a little new to romance but is surprisingly good!

And when it comes to more intimate times, he knows exactly what to do and how to make it enjoyable for the both of you

(ROMANCE AND/OR EROTICA READING KUNIKIDA!!!!)

And in conclusion,

He’d literally be the best husband ever.all parents wish their daughters could marry him

And here you were! Doing just that!

I wish y’all the best frr♥️♥️

Tagging: - @kemis-world @diagonal-queen

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#🎙jaya speaks #📚jaya’s tales #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd kunikida #kunikida headcanons #kunikida doppo #kunikida x reader #kunikida fluff #bungou stray dogs kunikida #kunikida hcs #kunikida x y/n #kunikida x you #Kunikida x fem!reader #bsd x reader #bsd fanfiction #bsd fanfic #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x female reader #bsd fluff #bsd hcs #bsd headcanons #kunikida bsd #doppo bsd #doppo x reader #💜 dia #💜 wifey💞

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

What about any fluff hc's you may have for Euronymous, Gabriel or Kappa it's your choice!

Love your writing! <3

Hello, anonnie! Thank you so much for your request 🖤🌸

I kinda more or less dragged my ass from the last pits of creative burnout hell for this but for the time being, I felt it <3

🌼Fluffy and soft gn!Reader x Kappa HCs, here we go! 🌼

Tagging the horde (gosh, I miss y'all!!):

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @lifelessvessel @doddernix @svgarcaine @amayalul @basementgrl222 @kristennero-wallacewellsver @iiheartsai @fan-goddess @shady-the-simp

🌼 Kappa would absolutely love to cook for you! Anything from a simple mashed taters with sausages to a full 5 course meal. Pretty much the best van life haute cuisine he could come up with, anything and everything to paint a big, wide smile on your face.

🌼 I just know for a fact that Kappa would be a slave to watching you hang up the laundry outside of the van. With your linen blouse ever so slightly riding up your stomach, showing off some soft tan lines from the plenty of days spent at the beach. He'd be so grateful for you doing the chores, plus absolutely enthralled at the sight of your body in the warm Californian sun.

🌼 Personally, I like to think that Kappa and you would take time out of every evening to listen to your favourite records. Whenever you pass a new town, each of you buys a new vinyl at the local record store to show to each other, to talk about to artist and to have a banter about the lyrics!

🌼 "I'm sorry to report that's immaterial, sugar!" Kappa would murmur to you, with his arms tightly wrapped around your waist after you uttered a something something about feeling insecure about your body. He'd simply sweet-talk your insecurities out of you.

🌼 Uhm...showering alone? Not on Kappa’s watch! 🤨 He'd be squeezing his bum into the bathroom right after you, insisting to lather you in soap just to wash it off with soft and tender hands a little later.

🌼 Immediately after that hot and soothing shower, he'd tuck you right into bed, brew you a nice, fresh cup of camomile tea to sip on whilst you flick through your current, rather addictive page-turner from the gas station the two of you passed about 160 miles ago. It might not be his jam at all, but as long as it has you smiling and cackling at the end of the day it's fine with him.

🌼 Speaking of sleep, Kappa would hold and cuddle you tight all night long. He'd make sure you fall asleep comfortably, granting that'd you wake up well rested for another day on the road to wherever I'd take you!

---

Not to toot my own horn, but if you like the vibe of this, you may enjoy my hippie!Kappa playlist 🖤🌸🖤🌸

#tam rambles #rory culkin #asks are appreciated #asks are always open #kappa #kappa x reader #kappa black mirror

[broodwolf221]

15 Lines of Dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

tagged by @dreadfutures, thank you! this was a lovely opportunity to dig into Antiquation and Velari's character ;u; so hard to pick lines that expressed her character w/o being too much of a spoiler lmao...

tagging w/o any pressure:

@lyriumlullaby-ao3 | @starstruckkittyface | @rosieofcorona | @kcwriter-blog

“I lived in my fury for years.”

“I want what I want. I have been imprisoned for too long, I will tolerate no false bindings.”

"Blast wisdom, subtlety, and all the rest.”

“We do not know where Corypheus’ army is. Should they attempt to strike at Skyhold while he draws the main forces of the Inquisition away, they might overrun it, even with our wards in place. Everyone else will stay here and guard this place.” 

“No, the problem was that I did. I believed you, trusted you, felt your sincerity. But if I was wrong? The price was too high, Solas. I couldn’t risk it. My own feelings were… immaterial.”

“I'm not the saint you have all made me out to be.”

“The curiosity kept me alive.”

“Does the Inquisition serve a purpose any longer? Everyone wants us disbanded, and I understand, but it feels… wrong, somehow.”

“The Inquisition has become a bulwark, something to stem the tide: we will play that role once more.”

“They can plan without me, for the moment. They can.”

“I know. But I don’t intend to fail.”

“If they have, we might be walking into a chaotic situation - keep your wits about you, stay on guard, and don’t get separated.”

"You need to go! Go! I'm not worth it!"

“I’m not good… I only learned when forced to.”

“Why am I leading an army? Why am I standing at the forefront of human religion?”

#velari lavellan #she.... <3 #tag game #I JUST NOTICED I KEPT IXCHEL'S NAME WHOOPS #copy paste woes... #i was so confused lma o

[ghostoffuturespast]

Tagged by @shimmer-like-agirl and @therealnightcity! Thank you!

Here's whatever this is. From upcoming Ch. 41:

The wind brushed holo-cherry blossoms across her skin, their touch immaterial, unlike her knobby scratched knees that cradled her head. The bustling anonymity of the crowd an ever shifting folding screen for the vibrantly dressed neons of the square. A few red maple leaves fell down. Scattered around in the breeze like the blood and guts spilled on pristine kitchen tile, framing the beautifully vacant milk-white gaze of her sister. A look that burned white-hot amidst a cold inferno, an explosion that rocketed through her left shoulder and stabbed him across the wreckage of a broken jungle. He landed in ravenous hands of silver, porcelain, and bronze. Each one etched more delicate than the next. They caressed him, a blush blooming underneath metal and ink and scars, at a worn and humble shade of brown that she missed. That felt safe. Was a home they could only imagine. That would eat them. She breathed it in and he held it in both hands before it was smacked out of his grip and buried with the rich decay and warmth of laughter, along with every single frivolous ambition. The worms grinned in the mud as they died, drowning from all the rain collected by a soldier's footprint. His head whipped to the side at the hand across her cheek. At split lips and bruised knuckles of two sad absent mothers that whispered. “Johnny, she’s dead.”

fic: so it goes

Tagging (no pressure)... @baublekute @streetkid-named-desire @dani-the-goblin

And as always, if I didn't tag you but you want to share whatever you're working on, ping me and I'll come take a look!

#or what i like to call i don't know how to start this next section #cue nightmare fueled dream sequence #cyberpunk 2077 #writing #fan fiction #fic: so it goes #wip whenever #wip wednesday #johnny silverhand #oc: valerie hye jin li #my grandpa v #stinky not fresh #finally making some headway in this next chapter #it has been such slow going

[geroya]

also also. thinking about how xaris has a 'mother' figure whose claws are dug so deep into him while lissa's mother quite literally wants nothing to do with her<3

#☼.txt #ocs #immaterial tag #mothers / #biting my fist #xaris who bristles at any mention of carmiya but stands tall and good and nods and bows his head for carmiya anytime she's in front of him #sORRY NINA'S DRAWING IGNITED SOMETHING

[spotsandsocks]

Fuck it Friday

Tagged by my lovely lovely hippo @hippolotamus I’m looking forward to,your fic later and @heartbeatdiaz loving the author!Buck actor!eddie already.

I challenged myself to write some 500 word fics which turned into this series which I liked but didn’t get much love so hey it’s Friday so I will self promo my lil socks off. Several chapters of 500 words which move from missed opportunities to wedding vows. 5.5k in total

Here’s the first one. It’s angsty but the rest are pure fluff.

Moments Series

“What are you doing out in this?”

Standing on Eddie’s doorstep, a rare thunderstorm as his backdrop Buck hasn’t really got an answer.

“Buck, it rains like three times a year and you choose now to go for a run?” Eddie’s exasperation is clear as he shepherds him inside.

Yes he did. He’s not really sure why but there’s only one place to run to and he’s reached it. The rain is immaterial, an advantage really, it hides things.

“Kitchen.” A hand on the small of his back drives him forward.

Eddie doesn’t notice, why would he; his face is just wet from the rain, he’s dripping, making puddles on the kitchen floor.

Leaving a mess like he usually does.

With the rain on his face Eddie won’t see the tears running down his cheeks, they’ll go unnoticed.

But that’s not what happens.

Eddie finds the hot tracks of tears lost between the raindrops and he wipes them away, his thumb a hotter brand against his skin than the tears.

“What do you need?”

He wants to say it he really does.

The single word in his heart.

The truth.

He wants to rest the ache in his chest in Eddie’s hands.

He wants that so badly but he can’t. It’s impossible and unfair, unfair to them both to reach for what he wants, it would break what little of his heart he has left. The part he hasn’t already given wholly to the man waiting for him to answer.

It would make Eddie so sad to know there was something Buck needed he couldn’t give him. He can’t do that, you don’t hurt the ones you love like that.

But-

Eddie’s so close.

He’s so close, standing between his legs, a space he might have been made for he fits it so well. His hand is warm and his thumb still rests below his eye. He’s waiting for his answer with kind eyes.

He could say it; he could tell him and then maybe he’d kiss him.

Maybe he'd love him back.

Maybe he’d mend all the broken jagged parts inside.

Eddie asks again, voice gentle in the quietness between them.

“Buck? What do you need?”

He opens his mouth to answer.

“A beer. A beer would be good.”

Eddie nods his heart sinking, for a moment he’d hoped. He wants to give Buck what he needs, he just wishes it was something else that he wanted.

“Sure, no problem.”

When Eddie turns away Buck misses the disappointment in his eyes - that he’s not what Buck needs and as Eddie moves to hide his heart he misses seeing the hands that clench into fists by Buck's side as he stops himself from reaching out for something he doesn’t know is already his.

The moment is missed, it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last but one day they’ll both be looking at the same time, in the same direction.

One day there’ll be a moment they don’t miss.

Tagging @shortsighted-owl @panbuckley @monsterrae1 @alyxmastershipper @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @elvensorceress @bekkachaos @ronordmann @cowboy-buddie @heartshapedvows @buddierights @jobairdxx @megsvstheworld @fiona-fififi @rogerzsteven @wh0re-behavi0r @jacksadventuresinwriting @sibylsleaves @the-likesofus @like-the-rest-of-la @prince-buck-diaz @spaceprincessem @thewolvesof1998 @thekristen999 @

Anyone else who sees this and wants to say I tagged them please do

#buddie #911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 fic #911 on fox #911 fanfic #911fic #fuck it friday

[archaiclumina]

FFXIV is part of aetherpunk in this essay I will...

No but really haha.

One of my recent reblogs was about the fusion of tech and science fiction elements with fantasy elements in FFXIV. I mentioned in the tag that the genre term for this is actually aetherpunk! Which I already mentioned think fits the game perfectly c':

Anyway, for those interested in learning a bit more about aetherpunk, I thought I'd put together this itty bitty reference document for people wanting to explore it more. And also maybe hearing why I classify XIV as part of it 人´∀｀)

At it's very simplest, aetherpunk can be explained as:

the genre of fantasy/sci-fi that features magically enchanted weapons, armor, and machines. a style of design and fashion that combines magic or enchantments with clothing and armor.

Thanks wikitionary, for your continual service to fiction and fandom terminology o7

Back in 2013, a Duck Prints Press staff member wrote up a fantastic little explainer for what the subgenre is, and what you can consider to be aetherpunk. The full version is linked below, but I think this excerpt will probably really speak to XIV players! Also new players, please read with caution, there are some minor spoliers for the game's narrative ahead!

Aetherpunk, the genre, explores what the world would be like if, rather than finding out aether was simply a confused explanation for how energy moves through space, we discovered that it was a real element, something we could both detect and harness. The nature of the aether isn’t what makes aetherpunk what it is. Rather, it’s the exploration of the development of society from the turning point when we discover that the aether is real—how that changes the world, the people, the past, and the future.  Aether, the invisible force, can be everything and nothing. It can be magic, or it can be material. In some disciplines, like alchemy, it’s both. Aether is made of faith. It’s ephemeral, often immaterial, and only visible once the viewer knows what they’re looking for. It can cause disaster or provide beautiful, clean energy for wondrous technologies. It can be a source of progress or of fear. But in the end, it’s still a thing that must be discovered and cultivated. It can’t be forced into existence.

Another thing which the staff member very accurately points out is what is quintessential to a form of media being classified as part of a '-punk ' subgenre

For a story to be classified in a punk genre, it typically requires two key elements: a distinctive type of technology (whether social technology like myths and lore or physical technology like steam engines, diesel-powered airships, or nanobots) and a point of view about that technology.

I'm sure we can all agree that there is absolutely no doubt the introduction of distinctive technologies, both mythological and technological, and the way people in the world relate to these changes, play a huge role in the narrative of FFXIV. (Looking at you Allag, and also looking at you Garlemald. And looking at you Skysteel and the discovery of the MCH class. And also looking at you entire lore of the First and the mythos your people created to cope with the introduction of Ascian knowledge and the resulting Calamity it caused... need I go on? haha)

I think the final point that really hammers home XIV's place in the genre, and which I think also supports the ground for a lot of the great lorebending the community does (such as this post, also floating around on my dash recently) is this:

Aetherpunk, as we’ve described, is born of magic, and thus the technology to use it focuses on cultivation and focusing energy rather than on producing something by force.

A large portion of the conflict in XIV's narrative is exploring the differences between these two elements. From the times of Allag, to the magi of Mhach and Amdapor, all the way to the current Era and our soiree in the past on Elpis and in Pandæmonium, the consequences between using force over cultivating a balance with the natural element of magic present in the world is a continuing theme the game explores.

Which, in my (very) humble opinion, makes it a perfect fit for the aetherpunk subgenre, and also makes it make perfect sense when some of us expand on the technology that the game already presents us with via our head canons. It's hard to put "cyber"punk elements into "steam"punk stories and vice versa, but elements from both of these subgenres can fit neatly inside aetherpunk — the quintiessential element of magic being what powers technology creates a lot more opportunity than static period or post-apocalyptic based takes you can see in other -punk genres.

Anyway, that's my little rant over c': hope for those who hadn't heard of the term before, this provides a bit of background and maybe even a springboard for exploring a really cool subgenre of print and online fiction, films, videogames and tv shows!

#rare ooc #lorebending #kinda i guess #ffxiv rambles #this is just like my opinion tho man #anyone is free to disagree ofc c': #minor spoilers #arr spoilers #heavensward spoilers #stormblood spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #endwalker spoilers

[liaromancewriter]

That Funny Feeling

Premise: Three nights in Sienna’s life when she felt something deep in her soul.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,355

A/N: I saw the Seven Nights prompts from @creativepromptsforwriting on my dash, and it inspired this fic. I'm using the first 3 prompts. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills.

I. Falling Star

Nothing was how she wanted it to be, and she desperately wished for this night to be over. Sienna Trinh glanced around the nearly empty emergency department and wondered how life could change in an instant.

In the last few hours, she and her friends had triaged hundreds of casualties from the subway tunnel collapse. Red, yellow, green, black. Colors she could never see in quite the same way again because now they were a symbol of who lived, who got help and who didn’t.

This is what she’d signed up for, she consoled herself. Being a doctor was all she’d ever wanted, but it was not without its share of heartache. And yet, those precious moments when she truly made a difference? That’s what made all the bad days worth it.

Sienna caught sight of Danny, the friendly nurse, on the other side of the room. Her brown eyes softened briefly at his calming presence. He looked busy, and she started to turn away before he could catch her staring at him.

As if sensing her perusal, his head shot up, and their eyes connected across the room. He smiled briefly, and she lifted her hand in an abbreviated wave. Her heart fluttered for a second, and she wondered what this funny feeling meant. She was in a strange mood tonight.

He looked away first when a patient tugged at his arm. Sienna was grateful for the reprieve and walked away before she could talk herself out of it. She wasn’t ready to face this, not barely an hour after she’d broken it off with her boyfriend of six years.

Her pager remained silent, but she still had patients to check on. Nibbling on her lips, a nervous habit from her childhood, she stepped into a waiting elevator. On impulse, she pressed the topmost button on the panel, gripping the steel railing behind her as the car quickly ascended.

The helipad on the roof was quiet this time of night. City lights twinkled all around her, a kaleidoscope of colors she couldn’t make out. The wind whistled around her, but it was strangely soothing, not eerie.

Sienna made her way to a pair of garden chairs someone had placed in the corner overlooking the water in the distance. She sank into a chair, rubbed her arms for heat, and wished she’d thought to grab a hoodie from her locker.

Tilting her head back, she absently drummed her fingers on her torso and wondered what it was like to watch stars twinkling in an inky sky. In New York and now here, the city lights were too bright for the night sky to ever be dark.

A falling star streaked across the sky — she refused to believe it was a passing airplane — and she mused, how am I single again after all these years? And what now?

II. Electric Storm

The night was still young. Everything was possible on a night like this. Maybe it was the tequila shots she’d been downing all evening, or perhaps it was the handsome man with the mysterious smile. Sienna didn’t care.

She wanted all the possibilities this night had to offer. She longed to feel Max Valentine’s arms around her, his scent enveloping her. For him to flash that flirtatious smile at her and not the busty surgical resident hitting on him at the bar.

I saw him first, she grumbled internally. She frowned as jealousy reared its ugly head. She had all his other lovers to contend with and didn’t need more competition for his attention.

She saw herself marching over there and dragging the other woman off him, marking her territory. How, she wasn’t sure. But surely, the horny pheromones would give her away.

She mentally dismissed the fact that pheromones likely didn’t work that way. Facts were immaterial in this case.

When Elijah glanced at her perplexed, Sienna realized the dismissive wave hadn’t been quite so mental after all. Maybe that last tequila shot (or two) hadn’t been such a good idea.

She shrugged an apology and practically pounced when her phone signaled a text, and Max’s name flashed on her screen.

Cute?!? She muttered under her breath. That was a word reserved for sisters and children and maybe sister’s children. She was a grown woman for crying out loud. She was surely a step above cute?

Ugh, she sulked. Great. I meet a gorgeous guy, and he thinks I’m just cute. Sienna wanted to slap herself when Max replied, and she realized she’d texted him her inner thoughts. What exactly was in that last shot of tequila anyway?

Before she knew it, Max was there, holding out his hand. Sienna slid out of the booth, placing her hand in his, her smile wide as he led her to the impromptu dance floor at the back of Donahue’s.

It wasn’t a song made for slow dancing, but his arms slipped around her waist, pulling her in. She gazed into his green eyes, and her mind emptied of everything except him and the music beckoning them closer.

Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight Lead me out on the moonlit floor Lift your open hand Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance Silver moon's sparkling So kiss me

Sienna felt that funny feeling in her heart and wished she could be as bold as the woman in the song. As if reading her mind, he leaned in, and she tilted her face up. She felt the electric storm raging between them and gave in to her desires.

Max captured her lips in his, the touch butterfly soft at first, deepening with every passing second. Sienna wished the kiss could go on and on, but it wasn’t the place. She rested her head on his shoulder instead and let the magic of the night carry her away.

III. Starstruck

Light fell through the window, illuminating the couple lying in bed, entangled with each other and perfectly content with it. This night, this man, this place, it was theirs, and that made it enchanting.

She trailed one fingertip along his hipbone, marveling at their differences. Max was lean, with muscles in all the right places. His skin was hard, whereas hers was soft. There were callouses on his palms, but not the kind from hard labor.

Sienna traced a light scar on his forearm and wondered how he’d gotten it. It looked old, so maybe it was a mishap in his childhood. There was so much she didn’t know about him, or him of her. But they had their entire lives together, and there was no rush.

Butterflies fluttered in her chest with a funny feeling as his lips quirked endearingly at the edges as if he could read her thoughts. No surprise there. Max knew her better than anyone else.

He made her feel delicate but powerful, too. She grinned as her fingers teased his hard length. What a difference really good sex makes, she chuckled to herself. She’d clearly been missing out most of her life.

But it was more than that between them, she marveled as he cupped her face and gazed into her eyes. His were full of wonder as if he couldn’t believe she was there. Hers were likely starstruck that of all the beautiful women he could’ve had — and did — he chose her.

They chose each other, Sienna decided vehemently, her expression turning fierce. She’d chosen Max despite everything, and he’d picked her because of everything. It was love, it was friendship, it was deep caring and it was desire.

It was desperation and longing, waiting for the stars to align so they could be together. Her fairytale romance with her Prince Charming and a happy ever after.

And then Max rose above her, his erection nudging against her inner thigh as his mouth covered hers, coaxing a response. She surrendered to her seduction, her moans bouncing off the ceiling.

Forget Charming. Max might just be the Dark Prince instead, Sienna thought wickedly as he thrust deep inside her. And then she wasn’t thinking at all.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Max & Sienna only: @aallotarenunelma @storyofmychoices @kyra75

#open heart #open heart choices #sienna trinh #sienna trinh x oc #choices fanfics #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #sienna trinh x max valentine

[honkifyourelonely]

thank you @lesbianjudasiscariot for tagging me :-) very cute!

decorate my tree!

tagging @gaygollum @hennessygf @hondayota @knightmearh @thedreamthieves @darcyolsson @kindaorangey @ford-pinto @immaterial-pearl @stringcage @greenribon and anyone else who wants to! 🎄💌

#original #tag game #now the calendar’s just one page

[dorianbrightmusic]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

i might tag some mutuals rather than askbox it, but let's go!

disarmingly honest statements of care. @srijellyfishtempura once simply said the words 'i care about you', and i nearly cried because it was so straightforward and kind.

when we scoop up my dog and carry her occasionally, there's a household tradition of calling her the 'baby jesus' in this position. and i can confirm that the baby jesus is extremely cute, especially when she's also wrapped in a towel

tiny weird mixing details in music. the way the 'she will not let you go' and the 'this time i'm not coming back' in 'With Teeth' (NIN) are panned ever so slightly on opposite sides, but so subtly that you can barely tell until you've listened fifty times. the fact that 'Immaterial' (SOPHIE) does not have a kick drum, but sounds like it does. the 'i'm in a box' sound of slap delay, and how it makes 90s acoustic songs sound like 70s music (especially with Tori Amos and Alice in Chains). the distortion that comes in ever so briefly in 'Waiting for the Night' (Depeche Mode)

kudos on fanfiction. especially kudos on MY fanfiction (please and thank you)

avuncular, playfully grumpy teachers and university lecturers, and the way they seem to delight in having their quotes written down.

@srijellyfishtempura @soullessbutsenile @0rchidrose @a-suspicious-lack-of-bagel @doot-boi (oh wait never mind you already did it. sorry) @thekiereneffect@most-definitively-a-human @so-you-read-the-usernames (i'll stop at 8 tags) y'all are all up next

#ask #chain post #no pressure