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this list | msr | set during 7x14 theef | smut/pwp, established relaitonship | 2.2k words | nc-17 | ao3 link

prompt 20: “did i ask?”

for the anon who asked for scully edging mulder. 

tagging: @today-in-fic @xffictober


In the car, he’s visibly uncomfortable, flushed all the way down his neck. Lips pressed together too tightly, every muscle stiff.

“Mulder,” she says, keeping her eyes on the map. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” 

His throat bobs. Scully hides a smile. 

“Just fine,” he says, roughly. 

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currently refreshing myself on the guidelines for the new mini-campaign i’m about to run (because i’m….not able to do one-shots yet, it’s just too much i want to do) and a) holy shit this is such a cool concept and b) holy shit the w  o r k 

and i know that part of my issue is that my current internship has dialed up my imposter syndrome related to writing, like, all the way, so unless my d&d basic plot/worldbuilding isn’t up to god tier then it’s absolute shit which is so not a healthy way to be viewing this but it’s just…..the extra angst that i did not ask for 

but i am really proud of the concept and i do think that it’s going to be a fun spooky kind of take on things, but all i can see is plot holes and problems, but I know that i have to just….let things be, because the whole point of d&d is collaborative storytelling and if I don’t leave enough room to breathe, then really are the players able to do anything independently?? and then that gets me started on my fear of railroading and my fear of sandboxing and it’s just……………….

i need to breathe. i’m excited, and i want to do this, but i also want to shut up the part of my brain that’s in editorial mode because that absolutely does not help matters with this planning

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“Young Master, you’ve got something on your cheek.” Meng Yao says, gesturing to his own as he smiles politely at Nie Huaisang. The streak of ink was too wide to be written off as a beauty mark, it was as if Nie Huaisang had accidentally dragged the tip of his brush over his cheek.

“Here?” Nie Huaisang asks, dragging his thumb over the right spot, but on the wrong cheek, and then looking up at Meng Yao expectantly when no ink comes off.

Shaking his head, Meng Yao taps at his own cheek again, nodding when Nie Huaisang’s hand reaches for the correct cheek, though he misses the mark entirely this time. “My young master has been painting again.” Meng Yao sighs, pointing out the obvious as he turns and scans the room for a mirror. They’d be here all day if he let Nie Huaisang keep guessing at where the mark was.

It’s not until he steps away that he notices the ink still drying on Nie Huaisang’s hands. So that’s where the streak on his cheek had come from, Meng Yao is surprised the stains hadn’t reached his robes yet.

He should be frustrated, he’d asked Nie Huaisang time and time again to be careful while he painted, but the only thing he can manage is a fond, tired smile as he reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a handkerchief.

“Perhaps my young master should allow me to take care of it.”

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Here’s a callback for all of you anon buttheads that decided to allow me to join in on the Woso trauma before.


I appreciated the bonding opportunity from yalls and the writing guardian angel. But please, please, spread the hurt out. Try not to hurt me for the next 50 years at least. Thanks

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(For Racket’s 13 Days of Halloween, prompt: bones! I don’t usually write and post on my phone but I had an idea and it struck me as a good one soooooooo here it is. Might clean it up later tonight, definitely will be making an AO3 story with all my art and writing for the month. Anyway. Enjoy!)

AO3 link


“Crowley. Crowley, look.”

Crowley grumbled and snuffled and rolled over, facing Aziraphale in bed. Aziraphale, who was wearing a flannel nightgown and matching cap, and who was also holding Crowley’s mobile, beamed at him. Crowley squinted.

“What are you doing?”

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