#I want to talk about them with someone... I need to be really inane about it. no analysis. no thought. just ehehe cute.

[torterrachampion]

Glad Mochijun let Chloé and Jean-Jacques both have a go at the heroine pose in their partner's arms. Equality.

#personally volume 7's cover is my preference but both is good #I like the possessiveness in volume 7 lol #also in both the difference in size between their hands... cute #vnc #vanitas no carte #I want to talk about them with someone... I need to be really inane about it. no analysis. no thought. just ehehe cute. #i lovw them... #chloé d'apchier #jean jacques chastel

[dulcesiabits]

sacred are these hands of yours.

summary: Mhin interrupts your outing with Vere, for reasons they don’t understand.

notes: 921 words, drabble, fluff, jealousy, Vere makes some innuendoes, spoilers for/reference to the demo

The problem with you, Mhin thinks, is that you were the sun.

Someone that burns their eyes if they look at you for too long. Someone that brings all the dark creatures in the city scrambling for a piece of your warmth. Someone who, for whatever damned reason, lets Vere drape himself over you like a fur scarf, his face much too close as he whispers something inane in your ear.

Whoever you decide to call a friend is your own business. But it’s hard for Mhin to tear their eyes away when Vere is hugging you like a– like a lover, his arms tangled around your torso. The two of you were in public, but you didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you throw back your head and laugh at something Vere says, which causes his tail to swish pleasedly.

It’s not as if there’s something strange about intimacy. This is hardly the raunchiest thing that has ever graced the public streets of Eridia. But something about the way Vere leans his head against you. Something about the way you pat his shoulder affectionately. Something about the fact it’s Vere by your side, with his flirtations and effortless charm, easy with people in a way they could never be.

Something about that makes their stomach turn. You have bad taste, they decide. Terrible taste.

Whatever business they have can wait; it’s their job, isn’t it, to make sure Monsters and Soulless aren’t plaguing the streets? So this has nothing to do with you personally. You were nothing more than someone they have established an uneasy alliance with, and they couldn’t have you jeopardizing their plans by consorting with a Monster.

They’re halfway across the street before they realize it. Vere’s ears prick up at their footsteps, despite their attempts to be stealthy.

“Mhin,” he greets with a sly smile, tossing his head. “Care to join us? I don’t mind taking one more person.”

Mhin’s eyes linger on Vere’s arm, still slung around your shoulder. “You’re not the one I’m here to talk to.”

“What’s up, Mhin?” you say. “I thought you were busy patrolling today.”

“I am,” they respond bluntly. “And you’re adding to my workload. I need to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s something we can’t talk about with other people here,” they emphasize.

“Don’t mind me, Mhin. I’d love to join your little duo and make it a threesome,” Vere says. 

At this distance, they could smell Vere’s perfume on you, something cloying and unpleasant. 

“We should really talk in private,” Mhin repeats. “So get lost, Vere.”

“Touchy! It’s a good thing I like it when people treat me roughly.” Vere leans closer to you, eyes gleaming. “It looks like I’ll have to see you later, sweetheart.”

Mhin reacts before they know what they’re doing; just as Vere leans in to kiss your cheek, they grab you by the shoulder and yank you away.

“Mhin?” you say incredulously. “What the hell was that for?”

It’s at this point Vere breaks out into laughter. “Oh, I know Ais and Leander are going to love it when they hear about this.” 

“Shut up,” Mhin growls, their cheeks heating. Foolish. They were so foolish. They’d fallen into Vere’s trap without a second thought. At the very least, the only price they’d need to pay would be their pride… and Vere’s taunting remarks for the next few weeks.

You shake off Mhin’s hand. “If you really needed to talk to me, you could have just said something. Don’t just tug me around like that.” Then, you nudge them with your shoulder. “So? Where do you want to go to talk?”

They focus on you, trying to ignore Vere, still laughing in the periphery of their version. “I know somewhere. Just come with me.”

You say goodbye to Vere, and follow Mhin through the streets. By the end of the day, would you smell a little more like them, rather than Vere? Normally, though, they smell like blood, the tang of iron never fading no matter how many times they wash– They shake their head. Far too many foolish thoughts fill their mind when they’re with you.

The truth is, they don’t have any new information to share with you, nothing that you don’t know already. But it’s fine; they could make something up. Why had they pulled you away from Vere like that? Mhin can’t understand their own behavior sometimes.

Something about you drove them crazy. The way you smiled, the curve of your lips. Your desperation, the familiar taste of it. The way you gaze at them: with irritation, with mirth, with joy. You gaze at them, and never look away.

You should’ve been nothing more than someone they could easily discard the moment it was inconvenient. You have your own agenda. They have theirs. An alliance should only last as long as you need each other, and no longer. 

So why couldn’t they let you go?

The problem is that Mhin wants to know what your touch feels like: your hands in their hair, your hands on their skin. The problem is that desire is dangerous, and if they weren’t careful, they would fly too close and burn themself, feathers melting away one by one as they plunged into the sea. The problem is that they don’t care if they get burned, lose their mind and their very self, not if you could hold them just once. 

How warm would the sun’s hands be?

#liya writes #touchstarved #mhin #mhin touchstarved #mhin x reader #mhin touchstarved x reader #touchstarved x reader #do u guys still think im sexy if i release a fic about a game thats still in development <3 #mhin my beloved!!!! i saw them. blacked out. and woke up with a fully formed fic

[jahiera]

not including major story issues — most notably wyll’s complete lack of plot, effort, and care in contrast to other origin stories — and not including actual gameplay mechanic stuff, I really hope larian distances and separates itself from fandom feedback going forward like. it’s utterly inane to me to add lines for gortash & durge implying a deeper bond & then immediately remove them because of a sect of player backlash (mostly players from what i can tell that didn’t want their big scary durgeguy fantasy to be gay.) like, we can talk about the effectiveness of the patches, the drip-by-drip implementation of new story stuff that may not exist by the next hot fix, but constantly trying to cater to fan outrage, let alone fan ideas, “fanon,” etc will literally only cheapen the game, and possibly make it borderline unplayable in terms of being attached to certain story things that get patched out for no discernible reason (astarion’s poetry sewn into his clothes you will always be missed.) like, its your story!! please stop listening to twitter clamors for whatever minor story thing they don’t like (that doesn’t actually do anything but impede perhaps someone’s HC or Perfect Playthrough—which is again, where fan works etc come through, not actual changes to the game’s story). put that effort into what’s actually needed, like fleshing out wyll’s writing & having some transparency about THAT. it’s soooooo annoying. fan access to creators has never. ever. ever ever ever worked out well. i know there was a precedent from EA that fan access helped improve story & gameplay, but quite honestly, especially in characterization writing, there were downgrades from EA in some areas that were entirely linked to fan “feedback” that amounted to I Don’t Like When Women Arent Nice To Me. anyways

#augh augh augh augh augh augh augh aughh aguhhhh #this isn’t really a defense or critique of larian — i have no attachment to a studio by default #I think there are some clear blunders theyve made ; also think they’re beset by the inevitable #idiot side of any gamer community — specifically the This Is My Wish Fulfillment And I Get To Complain To The Creators About It! #once again not including major story critique — Wyll — the evil path’s lack of content & effort in comparison — etc etc #anyways. anyways!!!! #complaining once again about things that ultimately do not matter 🫶

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

if you ever watched house the medical drama TV show, know that dr house mean and rude to everyone and very insensitive.

season 3 episode 4 about a severely autistic nonverbal boy with behavioral issues and no way to functionally communicate

of course have bad aspects. filmed in 2006. have bad ABA elements and bad PECS and drills and doctors not knowing how to handle nonverbal autistic boy w behavioral issues. definitely not down playing that. (and some other bad things in the subplot not related to the boy)

but dr house out of all people. is one that actually figured out how to communicate with him.

in this post i talk about how house’s interaction w the boy demonstrates how to connect with nonverbal nonspeaking autistics (despite the “he won’t understand”), presuming competence, the nuance of autism parents, and functional communication. i use the show to go beyond the plot and talk about wider (level 1 speaking) autism community issues.

so even if you not interested in the TV show House. still hope you can read.

“nobody knew how to speak ‘autistic.’ “

procedure need anesthesia mask thingie. and kid screaming and no one can put mask on him and make him stay, everyone trying to hold him down. house came in made insensitive remarks as always, but modeled to kid what to do. house put the anesthesia mask on him and breathed for bit for kid to see until he stopped screaming, then put it on kid, then put on himself, then on kid who successfully went under anesthesia.

which was so important. meant so much to me. because kid so unfamiliar don’t know what people are doing to him, probably no one explain, may or may not understand what happening. everyone so impatient and don’t know how to get on his level, and so many people restrain him so of course want fight back. but house was only one who considered what the kid needs what he is feeling. house mirrored it showed him what will happen what to do to kid in a way he will understand. he was even gentle. he smiled a little.

yes house used rude monkey metaphor to explain reasoning. but does that to every patient nonverbal autistic or not. so really, for house he didn’t treat the patient any differently.

afterwards. house even critiques dr cameron’s construction of “normal” in a somewhat intersectional, race conscious way. and don’t pity the child at all. resisting the idea of institutionalization.

See, skinny, socially-privileged white people get to draw this neat little circle. Everyone inside the circle is normal. Everyone outside the circle should be beaten, broken and reset, so they can be brought into the circle. Failing that, they should be institutionalized, or worse, pitied.

So, it's wrong to feel sorry for this little boy? Why would you feel sorry for someone who gets to opt out of the inane courteous formalities, which are utterly meaningless, insincere, and therefore, degrading? This kid doesn't have to pretend to be interested in your back pain, or your excretions, or your grandma's itchy place. Can you imagine how liberating it would be to live a life free of all the mind-numbing social niceties? I don't pity this kid.

I envy him.

when the medical team was suspecting that parents slip kid alcohol to calm him down (which turned out to not true), house breaks down why martyr parents becomes martyr parents:

How would you know that? The kid can't talk. Why do you think I took this case? He's not going to give away the ending. They quit their jobs for him. Yes, they are everything you'd want in a parent. Unfortunately, their kid is nothing you'd want. When a baby is born, it's perfect. Little fingers, little toes, plump, perfect, pink, and brimming with unbridled potential. Then it's downhill. Some hills steeper than others. Parents get off on their kids' accomplishments. ...They'll annoy you with trophy rooms and report cards. Hell, they'll even show you a purple cow and tell what a keen eye for color their kid has. But this kid, he doesn't smile, he doesn't hug them, he doesn't laugh. His parents get nothing but the right to brag that their kid picked orange juice out of a lineup. So you figure they slip the kid a mickey so they don't have to deal.

i think show parents in dynamic way too. lots of ableism, for sure. the bad coercive compliance drill kind of ABA tactics, for example.

but fully shows how hard it is to raise a “severely” nonverbal autistic kid with behavioral issues and no functional communication. as much as autistic community like to deny it, it is hard. it is a lot of work. and recognizing and acknowledging that it is a lot of work whether because of inherent autism as a disorder or because lack of societal support, acknowledging this fact alone doesn’t make a parent a martyr parent, an autism parent. i think this is where the (level 1 speaking late diagnosed) autistic community get wrong.

the parents are desperate. they do bad things. they don’t mean to do harm to the kid, they think they’re doing what’s right for their kid. but they still do bad things. and they care for the kid, they celebrate the kid’s achievements, yes sometimes misguided but they want to do good. there is nuance to this. the parents aren’t vile. they aren’t evil evil ableist want to force their kid to be neurotypical against all odds regardless of well-being. most autism parents are more nuanced like this. the level 1 speaking autism community need to listen, too.

and the show ended with. as the family is leaving, the autistic boy voluntarily goes towards dr house. and hands him his video game console (like a switch but not a switch idk), something that is a part of his routine that he melts down when interrupted when grabbed, that he probably very attached to. he gave it to house. and looked at house for a long time.

yes, the eye contact part can be seen as the show over valuing eye contact. but. the bigger impact is the fact that. the show showed the boy connected with house. whether it is thanking him, feel safe with him, we don’t know because the boy have no functional communication. but the boy formed connection with house, and expressed the connection in his own nonverbal way. no “thank you,” no hugs, no conventional way, but the boy’s communication in his own unique nonverbal autistic way. looking at his parents’ reactions, this is incredibly rare, probably even first time, and the parents are crying.

and house was able to diagnose the kid because he actually listened to all forms of communication. he didn’t dismiss the kid’s repeated drawings as meaningless. he didn’t dismiss the PECS image the kid picked in response to his question as meaningless and incompetent even though it was not the image/answer he was initially suspecting. and both things were crucial to the correct diagnosis. if house didn’t listen to them, the kid would have died. house listened to all forms of communication. he assumed competence. he assumed the kid was trying to communicate something, he didn’t chalk the kid’s behaviors as meaningless. despite the “he won’t understand you” “it would work” etc throughout the episode.

but. also want to say. these forms of communication, albeit need to be listened to, is still not functional communication. and functional communication is important and should strive towards for a reason.

another thing the (level 1 speaking) autistic community get wrong is saying nonverbal nonspeaking autistics can communicate same way/as effectively as speaking autistics. that only person to blame is evil evil ableist people not listening to their behaviors. if only they listen!

but more nuanced than that. many many ways to decipher the kid’s repeated drawing, for example. house got it right. he assumed that drawing has connection to the kid’s medical symptoms, and that it is a worm parasite. there can be million other interpretation even if you take kid seriously. i thought it was a ocean wave, for example. thought the kid like waves like beaches like ocean.

if the kid had functional communication—and by functional communication, i don’t mean speech, altho that can be a form of it, i include robust AAC—he could have communicated. in words (spoken/typed/written). what he was experiencing. what he was seeing in his eyes, the swiggly worms he was seeing. and the diagnosis would have arrived sinner. been put through less danger. and if house wasn’t there and another another was there and the doctor didn’t pay attention to the kid and dismissed the kid, the kid would have died because he didn’t have functional communication to tell people what he was experiencing.

it’s not as easy as “just listen!!” and chalking everyone who don’t exactly understand the nonspeaker as ableist.

#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #nonspeaking #nonverbal #loaf screm

[mysticmellowlove]

wowowow the ceo drabble was so good! i kinda love asshole pathetic men ok. and if you’re up to it, do you think you could write a continuation? or like anything really, love your writing <3

note; continuation of August coming up~ also please don't let your higher-ups take advantage of you! just a helpful reminder :)

warnings; dom reader, gn reader, male sub, switchy reader, asshole reader, bad practice, talk of non-con (past), a very consensual present, ruined orgasm, they're both mean your honour

based off; this

Despite totally wrecking him the other day August was still an asshole, and they were still working a nine-to-five at a company they barely cared about. The incessant tap of fingers on keyboards was driving them just about insane. Linda was sitting next to them chatting about some new company policy. Mark was over by the water cooler trying to flirt up the new intern. It was so inane that they could feel their eyes roll.

That was when they hatched the plan, to try and weasel their way into the big CEO's life. Why work in an office when you can suck dick a few times and get money for it? August was a horrible man with too much money under his belt, someone who had accosted them a few times before. So why couldn't they be horrible as well? It wouldn't be hard to blackmail someone like him, all they had to do was get him in such a pleasure-drunk state that he said some dubious secrets or something.

A message popped up on their computer screen through the work portal, of course it was him... who else would bother bugging them this close to closing time? With a huff they got off their chair and gathered up the file of papers they had been assigned to check over. While they walked over to his office, with its own private floor of course (and frosted windows), ideas began to bubble up in their head. They couldn't do it tonight, they had no tape recorder on them and their phone was in office jail currently (staring at social media during work hours was apparently not acceptable).

But he was such a prick that the thought was tempting.

"Wonderful, I've been waiting on these for over half an hour." August's office door swung open as he stood there, his hand clasped around a phone that was pressed to his ear. He regarded them briefly before ushering them inside, the strict tone he used against them melting away into something much more charismatic as he continued to talk to what they assumed was a shareholder.

Calmly they set the papers down on his desk, making sure to put them in the appropriate place as he'd probably blow a gasket if his precious desk was messed up. Just as they turned to leave though they were stopped by a hand on their arm. With a curt smile he hung up the phone and put it into his suit pocket.

If only he wasn't so disgustingly hot they thought.

"Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I brought you up here. Those documents were half an hour late." He said cooly as he went to sit at his chair, his figure almost looming over his desk.

"You're my least efficient worker and pay cuts are coming soon..." he trailed off as if he was being mysterious. This was how it happened, back when they had first come here they had been so eager to please. Money moved the world, and they needed it more than anyone else. To admit they were a pushover wasn't easy but it was the truth.

"You know what I've had it up to here with you. Years of being this little toy has done a number on me. Have you ever thought that maybe I don't perform as high as you want because your cock is usually shoved into me?" A crude snarl rose to their face as they stepped forward, rounding the table so they could be at his side instead of in front of him.

"And yet here you are, threatening me. We all know you won't survive here without me, who'd make you cream your pants better than I?" A laugh left them as his eyes widened and his face reddened.

"Who are you to say things like that to me?!" He seemed to flare up defensively, just a scared little boy hiding behind his title... that was all he was. Their hand darted out and wrapped around his throat, slamming his head back against his leather chair. A strangled gasp left him as they straddled his lap, of course his dick was already hard against them.

"Come on now, don't fool yourself. I can tell you're cock's weeping at the sight of me. I have it conditioned after all. You've had years of fun and now it's my turn. I know what you are." They leaned into his chest, their free hand palming at his clothed dick. He shuddered beneath them, finally a drowsy look crossed his eyes.

"You're nothing but a cheap whore in a suit. I'm sure if you weren't in the rat race you'd be sitting at home tied to a chair." They laughed as he tried to fight back against them. Despite his arms being free he barely seemed to push them away. Acting as if he didn't want this.

"It's my turn now." They mused as they shucked their shirt off, letting their nipples rise in the cold air of his office. Immediately his eyes trailed to them, his tongue wetting his lips indiscreetly. A snide laugh left them again.

"See, you're like a dog, aren't you. So hungry for me and yet still so high and mighty. You know you never did beg last time." He seemed to be unaffected by their words as he tried to lean into their grip to get closer to their body. With an angry grunt they shoved him back again, their fingers digging into his skin as a warning. A short groan left him.

"It's your turn to sit back and take it yeah? Come on be a good whore for me." His mouth dropped open as they slowly shifted so they could take his pants off, letting his cock spring free of its cotton bounds. They rolled their eyes as they saw the angry red tip drooling precum.

"Insatiable." They whispered under their breath as they ground their pants into him. The rough fabric seemed to please him though as he tried to wheeze a moan out. They loosened their fingers before letting his neck go entirely, instead using his shoulders as leverage to bounce on him.

"Even now I'm only thinking about your orgasm, how annoying. You'll owe me one for later tonight, how about that." They hummed as the fabric of their own pants rolled over his sensitive dick. He looked up at them with glassy eyes, his words slightly slurred.

"W-what?" Was all he managed, seemingly too far gone but still coherent enough to have his snark.

"I quit, I'm done." They said as they looked down at him, a menacing grin on their face. His eyes seemed to widen but before he could say anything they wrapped their hand around him, tugging his cock roughly. A strangled moan left him as his nails dug into the armrests, his words muffled by his enjoyment.

"But this, this isn't over yet. You owe me for all of those years. You would've gone under if I wasn't acting as stress relief huh?" They cooed mockingly as tears budded at the corners of his eyes.

"You didn't let me cum last time." He managed to say as he looked at them, a small spark of defiance in his eyes.

"Better come up with something worth my time or else I'll leave you dry again." It was like a match was lit between the two of them, both feeding off each other's flame. Yet only one could win out in the end and they knew August would falter.

"Fuck." He groaned as his hands clasped around their waist, not controlling the movement but simply resting there. A small admittance of defeat.

"There are other positions open." He finally yielded, his eyes hateful as he looked up at them. They pretended to think as they stopped their movement, teasing a whine from his throat.

"Not interested." Was all they said.

"I'll pay." Their eyebrow quirked up. They didn't know too much about business but in this state neither did August. All he was doing was chasing his orgasm, the one they had denied him before.

"For what?" So close, they were so close.

"For being my..." A deliberate roll of their hips stopped him in his tracks.

"Fucking fine, for fucking me! I'll pay you to fuck me, just finish me off." A curt laugh left their mouth as they slid off his lap and positioned themselves next to him, their hand gripping him at the base.

"Come on now, that's barely what I want." He groaned as his head fell back to his chair, his teeth grit.

"Please make me cum, please please please." He begged, over and over like the broken record he was. They grinned and began to move their hand up and down his shaft, making sure to miss his head on purpose.

Before he could refute their actions they planted their hand over his mouth, intent on giving him his orgasm but not in the way he wanted it. His hips stuttered as his cock jerked in their hands, pitiful spurts of cum dribbled down his cock and coated their hand as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Their hands left him as the cold air seemed to chill him, his eyes trailed over to them as a silent question formed on his tongue.

"My house, tonight. Maybe this time I'll give you a real climax." They grinned as they turned on their feet and walked to his door.

"Consider this my two weeks." With a wink and a snide smile they were off.

#love for anon #sub male #ask #dom reader #gn reader #drabble

[dottores]

okay well, i logged back in, obviously, because there are clearly some things that need to be addressed and have been taken out of context. just because i’m leaving doesn’t mean i should sit here and let my name be smeared. 

to preface this, anantaru and i had a discussion where we came to a congenial understanding of what happened, there's been an acknowledgment on both sides of misunderstanding and believing distorted rumors and people that we probably should not have, but i’m still going to give a full explanation as to the background of everything so you all can understand and come to your own opinions. plus, if there's going to be a call-out post directed majorly at me made, i want an official address of it.

please do NOT send any hate their way, we have ended this discussion on good terms and have worked out what exactly was stirring this discourse between us. (spoiler alert: there was a third-party shit-stirrer that we both considered a decent friend at the time!)

i don’t really need a reason to block someone, and i shouldn’t have to explain it, but i did and i will again but more explicitly this time: @/anantaru made a post that i did not like. it’s as simple as that. it was a post about genshin characters and sex icks and one of the lines were “venti: too drunk.” i’m not anti-dc, but there are topics that i am sensitive about because i was sa’d in my freshman year of college—that is something i have talked about on this blog before, many of you who've been around since my tr era are aware of it. i acknowledged, and tee acknowledged, that this was probably a joke and was not meant to be taken the way i took it, but the aloof/casual way it was mentioned without any TW of implied dubcon, and without acknowledging that it was at least dubcon and could border on noncon in certain interpretations made me uncomfortable. i don’t mind seeing it as long as i’m warned. if it was tagged properly, i would have moved on without much care, but it wasn’t, so i was scrolling through the post snorting and was hit with that and i was made uncomfortable because i didn't like how it was just being passed off as an ick, and i blocked. there was no reason for it to go beyond what it did, yet we are here. anantaru mentioned that if you frequent their blog, you would know that they often write about venti and reader being drunk—i don’t frequent their blog, in fact this was my first encounter with them being reblogged onto my dash by shared mutuals, so it rubbed me wrong. thats the end of it. 

i’m not sure the exact timing, but i believe it was two(?) weeks after this, when i reblogged an unpopular opinion’s post with an opinion that i thought was fairly harmless. sure, looking back on it i could have phrased it better, i’m not going to deny that, but pinpointing my one opinion out of the hundreds of others that were objectively far more controversial than mine and crucifying me for it is uncalled for. you guys know very well that i do not have the time or energy to sift through random people’s blogs to look for minors. every once in a while i glance at the notes of shit posts that happen to be on my dash and i’d be a bit startled at finding a minor in them because i still do think you should at least try to catch minors who interact with shit posts because that’s the easiest way to find them. but i was working at a medium sized firm for a year and a half at the time of the post and i am currently in law school, i do not have the time to be psychotic about people’s likes and interaction, and even if i did have the time?? i’ve always gotten incredible interaction from y’all lmfao, imposing the idea that i’m jealous is entirely inane. i do still stand by the fact that my words were twisted, i was made out, more than once and by more than one person after the next bullet point's events, to have been some psycho that stalks peoples’ posts for excuses as to why they get interaction when that is simply not the case. 

regardless, after this incident, anantaru made a vague post that was almost directly quoting my tags from the reblog and was thus sent to me because many shared mutuals put together that it was about my tags. this was upsetting for multiple reasons 1) i had blocked anantaru by this point so i felt a bit violated that i was being vagued for something by someone that i blocked. 2) i started getting hate anons en masse after it, some of which were very unnecessarily explicit. needless to say, i was very upset and made a subpost on my main account after noticing i’ve been blocked on ao3 because 1) i was already upset and i didn’t even know why anantaru seemed to have it out for me much less go to the point of blocking on ao3 which leads into my next point and 2) i thought it was a bit ridiculous because the only thing blocking on ao3 stops is people from commenting on posts and i clearly was not going to comment on a post of someone who i was not on good terms with. reasoning aside, anantaru can block who they want and i was out of line for making comments about that in particular. i’ll admit that, and apologize for it. 

a screenshot was taken from my personal—not a good moment for me, obviously, but anantaru claimed in their post that it was about them with no evidence. i dmed them about this in particular because i was genuinely confused, we spoke about it, i offered them proof that it was not them because i had a discussion about this post with a close friend at the time of posting it and they believed me. i will attach screenshots below (cropped because there's no reason to attach the whole conversation) because i feel as if this accusation was rather extreme and i wish it would’ve been removed because it was obviously not my best moment. an explanation for the post itself, i was upset over plagiarism accusations regarding something i put my heart and soul into and then seeing the same person that made them consistently on my dash just straight up triggered me, for lack of a better word lol, so i made a vent on my personal. how it got misconstrued as to be anything about anantaru is baffling to me but i suppose that's a question for the subject of our next bullet point. i don’t want to go into detail about the accusations in themselves because i don’t want people to send the actual person who it’s about hate. regardless, that post was not about anantaru, i have never called them a cunt nor have i ever called them a gatekeepy cunt, though i’m beginning to think i should probably remove the word from my vocabulary atp, i use it far too flippantly. anyway, i do not know them well enough to formulate any sort of opinion like that. aside from that, in our discussion we came to an understanding over it and i wish that would have been cleared on their blog as wel. so i'll attach here (i crossed some out because i don't want to breach any boundaries regarding what anantaru might be comfortable sharing but i do think it's fair for me to want this particular point fully cleared as it was a bold accusation remaining up):

5. in our discussion, we came to realize that we have/had a shared mutual who was fostering discourse between the two of us. many of you will recognize her as audri aka alucrds, who has supposedly left tumblr by this point—i suspected this and anantaru has confirmed it while we were talking. audri was sending anantaru my posts claiming that they were about anantaru, but i will stress that the only actual discussions i ever had with anyone about anantaru was with tee and eris about that initial joke because it had upset me at the time, it never extended beyond that and it certainly was never with audri. my only conversation with audri that mentioned anantaru at all was probably around a week or so after i made the post in point 3, when audri asked me about ao3 blocking in casual conversation and i offhandedly mentioned that anantaru had blocked me on there—audri was a close friend at that point and iirc, she had actually told me right after that that anantaru had her blocked on tumblr, i had no idea that they'd been mutuals at all but either way, it was an offhanded comment that led to nowhere (or so i thought LOL). looking back on it, it was clearly her baiting me into giving her information about the post i made a week or so prior because after talking with anantaru, they explained that they got an anonymous message claiming that i was shit talking them for blocking them on ao3 and the only person that could have put together that the vent post from point 3 was about anantaru was audri herself. audri continued to evidently cherry-pick random vent posts of mine to show anantaru and claim that they were about them. why? i wish i could tell you. i considered audri a decent enough friend, and though she had her fair share of issues with mutuals and other friends of mine, i never really thought she’d stoop to this with me. but i guess there’s really no explaining people who thrive in discourse.

6. my comment in my most recent post about being harassed on ao3 and in comments and in asks was not about them at all. i thought it was very clearly about heliotropes (my dottore series) and pressure to update from certain readers, but i'm clarifying that now.

7. i never intended on directly addressing this, which is why i did not directly name anantaru in my post, if i’d known at the time that tee was going to end up addressing all of this, i would’ve just been straight up with all of it.

anyway, i think that’s all, hopefully this will be the last post for real as i am tired mentally and now i am also physically sleep deprived. i've been up since three so forgive me for typos and grammar errors. this all has gone on for over a year. sorry for all the discourse on y'all's dash, wish i could have left with a bit more grace than this. rumors have been blown out of proportions and blindly believed, things have been taken out of context, such is life. i made my fair share of mistakes on my personal blog with my vents, others have admitted and owned up to their own mistakes, some will never admit to their mistakes. such is life. it moves on, always does. i know all of y'all are smart enough to come to your own opinions.

over and out, sorry again, and logged out (hopefully for real this time),

cat

#tw discourse

[jmdbjk]

He wears his heart on his sleeve

...maybe he should just get it tattooed there too.

Jungkookie was very quiet and reflective during his most recent Weverse live, at least at first.

Perhaps he was manifesting his Jimin to appear in the comments because he stared at them for a while... a long while.

Earlier in the evening, with Tae, he attended the movie premiere of Dream, a soccer movie with a ragtag team storyline. A team of misfits who come together and persevere. It stars Tae's friend, Park Seojoon, Wooga squad and fellow cast member on Jinny's Kitchen.

He looked happy to be there but self-conscious at the same time. Unused to the crowds and spotlight after being out of it for a while. He didn't have anyone to hide behind. It looks like maybe he said "oh my god" when he stepped up in front of the bank of cameras (haha).

After having a supposedly fun outing, Kookie came to visit us on Weverse live and seemed to have a lot on his mind. He said he missed us and wished us good health both physically and mentally. I imagine Hobi leaving for service and Moonbin's tragedy last week are fresh cuts to our Kookie's heart. It breaks MY heart that Kookie has to experience those things. I don't know how close Kookie was to Moonbin. But I do know losing someone so suddenly can make you so scary aware of your own mortality and makes you realize instantly what should truly be important and what is irrelevant.

I am thinking his evening out had him keyed up and he came to visit with us in order to decompress and relax. He said the only ones who could create a calming environment for him right now was Army. However, the (I'm sure inane) comments he was seeing were not doing the trick. He seemed a little perturbed at them so he turned them off.

But he said sitting there knowing we were on the other side was calming and enough for him at that moment. He felt at peace knowing we are all connected. And then he let out a big sigh. Sort of a "I'm doing the best I can" sigh. Oh Kookie, I feel you.

Incidentally, the song he said he was obsessed with that evening and that he had playing in the background on repeat was I Really Want to Stay At Your House by Rosa Walton & Hallie Coggins ... some of the lyrics:

Another evening I'll be sitting reading in between your lines Because I miss you all the time...

...I'm on top of you, I don't wanna go 'Cause I really wanna stay at your house

He said he's working hard on new music but its difficult. If he says its not easy, then the final result will probably be OUTSTANDING because he struggled to make HIS version of perfect. Masterpieces are sometimes not easy to create.

He was steadily sinking, sitting in the dark, sipping his highball through a straw but after 35 minutes of solemnity and saying he needed to go to sleep, he all of a sudden came alive when he began talking about food... go figure.

He waffled back and forth about whether he should just get off his butt and make the noodles or go to sleep, but then he really got into it and explained in great detail this recipe, down to the proper color of the perilla oil to use. Though he didn't have the correct perilla oil in his pantry, he made the sauce and boiled the noodles.

The whole idea of him puttering around his kitchen trying out new ways to make noodle or rice dishes is very endearing. He does have somewhat of a head start in advanced levels of cooking though because of the times they filmed Run BTS episodes with Chef Paik. He learned important cooking procedures like "reduce" the liquid in the pan and desirable "viscosity" of the sauce.

When he's into it, HE. IS. INTO. IT. He adjusted his recipe, repeated the ratios of ingredients, explained in great detail every step.

Please. Someone just hug him. JIMIN COME GET YOUR MAN.

#jikook #let him kook #kook cooks #jungkook #btw that machine on the counter behind him is a composter #i need to try cham sauce

[siennafrxst]

↳ fate 𖤐𓈒࣪₊˚

pairing: barney stinson x female reader

universe: how I met your mother (HIMYM)

word count: 1.1k words

cw: cringe 😍

click here to read the sequel.

As Barney swirls the whiskey in his glass, he scans the room to hunt for his next unsuspecting prey. In other words, the next woman he was gonna gaslight into having sex with. (💀)

Then, his eyes land on someone across the bar, sitting all alone by herself. Intrigued, he slowly approaches her while coming up with another one of his inane backstories to entice his victim as per usual.

But then, to his surprise, she turns to face him. “Hey, you need to try this.”

Slightly taken aback, Barney stares blankly at the drink in her hands, not expecting her to be the one to initiate conversation. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

She lightheartedly frowns at his response. “No, I just want you to take a little sip. And no, I promise I didn’t drug it either. Here.” She takes a sip from her glass as proof, as though reading his inner thoughts.

Convinced yet still slightly bewildered, he shrugs. “Alright, fine; gimme.”

She hands him over the drink as he sets his down before promptly taking a sip, his eyes widening at the unfamiliar taste.

“Woah, that’s-“

“I know, right?”

He smiles softly at the grin on her face, seeming to lighten up his mood. “I’m Barney, by the way.” He reaches out a polite hand.

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” She takes his hand in hers and shakes it.

“It’s my pleasure. So, what’s a pretty lady like you sitting all alone in a bar?“

“And if I told you that I was waiting for someone?”

Barney lets out a scoff. “Then you wouldn’t have been wearing that frown on your face earlier.”

Y/N shrugs, knowing that he wasn’t wrong. “Fair enough. You want the honest, boring answer?”

He nods. “Try me.”

“I’m here to blow off some steam. I’ve been trying to find a job for weeks now. Can’t even nail a decent interview.” She chuckles softly, shaking her head to herself. “And what about you? Tall, blond guy in a brooding suit. What’s your reason?”

Barney sighs. “Do you want the honest, not-so-boring answer?”

“Try me.”

He slowly leans in closer, as though he was about to share an important secret. “I was sent as a spy from the future to warn about the upcoming rapture one thousand years from now. And the only way to save the world is-“

“Let me guess, to have sex with you?” she cuts him off, clearly not amused.

Barney blinks his eyes innocently, surprised at her sudden question. “What? Pssh, no,” he says, seemingly appalled. “Do you want to?”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the desperate man. “Okay, I see, so the reason why you’re here is to hit on dumb blondes and gaslight them into having sex with you by using one of your inane backstories?”

“And it seems as though you’re not one of them.”

They smile at each other, both cockily in a way that was playful yet enticing.

“I’m curious, though… does that actually work?”

“Oh hell yeah, and that’s not even one of the craziest ones I’ve used.”

Her eyes widen slightly, now intrigued. “Really?”

Barney nods. “I could tell you more, but we may have to be here for hours.”

Y/N turns around to check the clock on a nearby wall before promptly facing him once more. “I got some time to spare.”

Barney smiles, satisfied with her answer. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He sits on the chair beside hers as he proceeds to tell her more about his desperate ploys.

To them, their conversation had only lasted for a few minutes, but the next thing they knew, the bar was already closing and they had to be personally kicked out by the bar owner for overstaying their welcome.

The two decided to walk around the city late at night, lights flickering past as the moon shone high above, seeming to follow them in their journey.

“Wait, what time is it?”

Barney checks the watch on his wrist, suddenly putting a halt to his movements in surprise. “Woah. It’s almost 2AM.”

She stops to stand beside him, her eyes widening. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, we just spent like 4 hours talking to each other.”

“Huh.”

“Huh indeed.”

They both take a moment to stare at one another, the silence oddly comforting. When they were together, it was as if nobody else mattered. No one else was sharing the moments they had except for the two.

Y/N purses her lips before speaking up, finally breaking the silence. “Well then, I have to confess something before this night ends.”

He hums, signaling for her to continue.

“I don’t usually let some guy even go near me whenever I’m at a bar, sitting alone grumpily.”

He chuckles lightly.

“But… I actually enjoyed our little date that isn’t a date.”

He smiles, taking a subtle step closer towards her. “Well, I think every date that isn’t a date should end with a good night kiss.”

He leans in to connect their lips, but to his surprise, she leans away.

“Tell me, Barney, do you believe in fate?”

Barney — clearly disappointed — frowns at her sudden interruption. “No, not really.”

She simply smiles at his disgruntled expressions. “Well, I do, and if we’re meant to be, then we’ll see each other again.”

“So am I not getting my good night kiss or…?”

She chuckles at his little pout. “Look, if we ever cross paths again, then you can give it to me. No questions asked.”

“Why can’t I just give it to you now? I promise I’m a great kisser. I got like a hundred different girls who can attest to th-“

She puts a finger over his lips, shutting him up in an instant.

“Be patient. I promise, next time, I won’t make you wait one more second.”

“If there even will be a next time.”

Y/N frowns at him as she removes the finger on his lips, earning an eye roll from him.

“Fine, if you want to play hard to get, then so be it.”

She smiles. “Good.”

“At least let me walk you home. Where’d you say it was you lived again?”

She gives him a knowing look. “Haha, nice try,” she says in a sarcastic tone.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying. But seriously, you sure you’ll be okay? It’s pretty late, and New York is filled with all kinds of creeps.”

Y/N smiles at his worried expressions. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I don’t live that far from here.”

Barney’s eyes light up, pointing a finger at her. “Aha! So you do live somewhere in this area.”

“I could also be messing with you.”

He rolls his eyes at her once more as she giggles at him.

“Good night, Barney.”

He returns the smile on her face. “Good night, Y/N.”

this isn’t one of my best but I haven’t been posting in a while so… yeah. thanks for reading. x

click here to read the sequel.

likes and reblogs are vv appreciated.

#barney stinson #barney stinson x reader #barney stinson x female reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #himym #how i met your mother #how i met your mother fanfic #oneshot #one shot #barney stinson fanfic #barney stinson fic #barney stinson oneshot #barney stinson fanfiction #himym barney stinson #himym barney #himymedit #reader insert #mine

[sirianasims]

Classic mom and Conrad. It felt like everyone else were having more fun than I did. I thought about what she had said. What did I really want?

I wanted what both of my parents had, separately. But without the absolute dumpster fire of a relationship that resulted in me. Dad and Cecilia seemed blissfully in love, and mom and Conrad could never keep their hands off each other, even in their late fifties.

Of course I wanted a boyfriend. Rather desperately, if I was being honest. I wanted to experience the same things that everyone else did, the excitement and the kissing and the touching. But I also wanted a family that wasn’t broken.

Ideally, I’d find a really solid husband who never drank alcohol, never talked to other women, loved me, and never left. And then we’d have a couple of perfect, well-behaved kids, I’d be a famous football player and the best mother ever and we’d live happily ever after.

I rolled over and sighed. It actually sounded a little dull when I spelled it out like that. But I didn’t want the pain and heartbreak that my parents had been suffering through – or causing.

Most of all, I never wanted any of my children to feel like an accident.

Maybe I was foolish for thinking that I’d get to control everything. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t relax.

Then I heard it.

I could just make out voices, quietly talking and laughing in the hallway outside my door, before moving to the other side of the wall. Samuels’ room. It got very quiet for a while. And then, the faint moans of a girl.

I sat up. Oh no. Anything but this.

The moans got slightly louder. I wasn’t sure what to do. If I went downstairs, they’d know I could hear them. I felt paralysed by the sheer awkwardness of the situation.

The moaning was now accompanied by a faint, rhythmic knocking of wooden bed against the wall. Shit. I wondered if I’d be able to get my headphones without making any noise, but for some reason I couldn’t move.

The girl giggled. “Oh, Sammy!“

I was seething. His name is Samuel. I didn’t have time to seethe for long, however, because a much deeper groan now joined in.

I had never heard him sound like that. I got chills. I wanted to hear more of that voice, wanted it to be moaning in my ear, whispering my name. I needed to drown myself in that voice.

On the other side of the wall, Samuel groaned again as the girl babbled on inanely.

I wanted to make it stop, to run in and rip Samuel away from her. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to do unmentionable things to him, to have him do unmentionable things to me.

I had to get away, immediately.

I leapt out of bed, stomped across my room and loudly slammed my door before stomping into the bathroom, slamming that door as well. As I passed Samuel’s room, it was quiet. Good. Hopefully the mood was spoiled.

I waited anxiously by the bathroom door, straining to hear what was happening outside. A minute or so later, I heard Samuel’s door open, quiet voices, and someone going down the stairs.

Yes! She was leaving!

I exited the bathroom, relief washing over me.

Only to immediately find myself face to face with Samuel, waiting for me outside. He looked about as displeased as could be expected.

“Freya, what the actual fuck was that about?”

“What, did I ruin something? Maybe if you’d tone it down a bit, I would be sleeping by now!”

“Well, if you… Never mind.”

As he turned his back on me, he paused briefly, shaking his head.

“You can be such a piece of work, Freya, did you know that?”

Then he shut the door behind him.

I sat on my bed, feeling like I’d somehow won a battle but lost the war.

I hated him. I wanted him. Fuck, when did he get so hot? The sound of his groans still rang in my ears, his naked torso seared into my memory. My entire body felt like it was on fire.

My hands moved down, almost on their own, and for the first time in my life, I made no efforts to be quiet. 

I’d show him exactly how much of a piece of work I could be.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen4 #freya duchelli #samuel ward #stupid sexy samuel too

[amostimprobabledream]

forbidden fruit is the sweetest (Gin Ichimaru x Reader)

Wrote this little AU smutfic because there isn't enough of Gin in general and he should be in more porn. Also available on Ao3!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53897803 Your nails tap against the wineglass on the table. You haven't touched much of it because the taste is acidic, sour. You're not sure if it's a bad bottle or if that's just how this brand tastes - you're not much of a wine drinker, but at least sipping from it (or pretending to) gives you something to do between awkward silences. To be honest, this entire evening is well out of your comfort zone. You don't know what you were thinking letting Rangiku talk you into this - one day she just plopped herself down in the seat across from you, her chest heaving. "We really need to get you out there." she declared in final tones, like she was continuing a conversation you'd just been having. "It's not good to mope around after some guy."

It’s pretty ironic, really, since no doubt Rangiku had done plenty of moping over the same person you were. But it wasn't like you could tell her that - even if nothing official had been confirmed, you weren't stupid, you knew that Gin and Rangiku had a long, complicated history that an outsider couldn't possibly hope to understand. And how you were supposed to compete with a woman like Rangiku Matsumoto - even if you wanted to? So here you are, at a speed dating thing, sitting here in the vain hope that you might find some guy that might make you forget about Gin Ichimaru and the fact that, despite your better judgement, you were in love with him.

"So, um…" the fifth guy opposite you stumbles through his line of questioning, and you can't even remember his name. All the men you've spoken to so far tonight talk like they were given a script they didn't bother to learn properly - the same questions, same responses and the whole time you want to scream. You've even started just making things up to just try and inject a little variety into your responses, because why not? “Where are you from?”

Oh, riveting question. It’s not like I haven’t been asked that four times tonight.

You know you’re being judgmental, so that’s a winning combination, judgmental and unattractive, but you tried going into this with an open mind and despite your expectations being low, you still find yourself feeling disappointed. How can so many different people all talk the same? It doesn’t help none of them are that attractive, either.

You wonder if you can overcome cost sunk fallacy and just get up and leave – just walk out of here and leave the shitty wine and overly loud music and interminably dull conversation behind. Sure, you’ll go home, curl up on your futon and feel like a failure, but at least you’ll be at home, in your futon, and not here.

The conversation peters out, namely because the responses to such inane questions can only be milked for so much prattling smalltalk before it dwindles into awkwardly nodding at each other. You play with your phone, wondering if it’s normal to feel so desperately ill at ease you want to rip your own skin off. Probably not, but you’re sure you can’t be totally alone in that regard. When it’s time for the men to get up and move seats, you don’t even bother hiding the relief on your face. After all, no doubt he was as keen to get away from you as you were him.

That’s when the next guy sits down and introduces himself as Takeshi. A salaryman. He’s nice. Which may sound like you’re damning him with faint praise, but considering everyone else has been mediocre at best, you’ll take “nice” gladly. You tell him your name and he smiles, like you’ve given him some good news.

"What do you do for work?” he asks, picking up his shochu.

“Well...”

You hate answering this question – it’s just a job. It’s not like you’re not a doctor or a firefighter or something, someone who lives for their job and studied for years to become one. You do your work because you have to, because it’s how you pay to live in your apartment and that’s preferable than living under a bridge. It doesn’t really say much about you as a person, really, except for the obsession with your boss.

Stop it. You think to yourself, sternly. Give him a chance.

Rangiku is right – you do need to get laid.

Easy for her to say, though. Rangiku doesn’t need to attend events like these because the idea she’d ever need to is absolutely laughable. You’ve seen men actually walk into things because they were too busy staring at her to watch where they were going. Women either hate her or they look at her in awe. Rangiku Matsumoto ever being short on offers for dates, or sex, or even someone to just do her bidding is ridiculous. But it’s not for you, even though you hate yourself a little bit for admitting it, because you know it’s the truth. You’re not like her.

“Oh, nothing special, just office stuff.” You say, trying to sound breezy. “What about you?”

God, you sound so fake. Why can’t people talk about things that are actually interesting? This is the equivalent of conversational elevator music. When does expected standard become acceptable to ignore for the sake of spicing things up a bit?

Perhaps you’ve been a little spoiled, though. You can think of someone who always manages to keep you on your toes and never bores you. But you give your head a quick shake like you’re trying to flick away a fly and try to pay attention to Takeshi, even though you’re more focused on the movement on his lips than the words themselves.

“So…what do you like to do for fun?” Takeshi asks.

Another kind of generic question, but at least he does sound somewhat interested when you answer. He's easy to read, you notice. His emotions are all just right there on his face, which feels…strange. Not necessarily in a bad way, but it’s like the difficulty on a video game has suddenly dropped.

“And you?” you prompt, deciding to go out on a limb and ask something direct. “What brings you here? Looking at you I wouldn’t think you have problems getting asked out.”

Shit, did that sound sarcastic? You didn’t mean it to be. But Takeshi seems pleased by the comment, and you notice he has a dimple when he smiles.

“Well, to be honest I’m usually so tired after work I go home and just crash.” He says with a self-deprecating laugh, combing his fingers through light brown hair. “And most of the women in my office are married. Or over fifty and smell of boiled sweets.”

“Ha!” you bark out a laugh, the first time you’ve laughed or even smiled genuinely all night. “Yeah, I get that. Plus, there’s that whole worry about if things don’t go well with a colleague, you still have to face them all the time over the water cooler.”

“Water cooler?” Takeshi blinks.

“Nevermind.” You take another sip of your wine, then make a face. It truly is disgusting – why are you still drinking it at all? Time to be the change you want to be. “Excuse me, let me go buy myself something less vile.”

“I’ll come with you!” he practically jumps out of his seat.

Things flow surprisingly easy once you find someone you can talk to – Takeshi doesn’t understand all your little jokes and you suspect he finds your habitual sliding into sarcasm somewhat confusing, but he’s at least got enough social intelligence to ask questions and reply with more than one-word answers and he even insists on paying for your drink. A little unease creeps through you, wondering if it’s a trick and he’s trying to build a tab against you by doing it, but he seems so eager to be of use in some way that you capitulate. You can always buy him one later.

Soon enough there’s a call for a break – apparently events like these are split into two to give everyone a little time to gather their thoughts, buy more alcohol, go to the bathroom, smoke, whatever. You decide to slip outside, where there’s this surprisingly pleasant little outdoor seating area with picnic tables and a few plants in huge planters (probably so drunk people can’t knock them over), an alleyway leading out to the street. You perch down at one of the tables and suck in a deep breath, before checking your phone and generally enjoying some quiet. With the music pumping through the speakers and the buzzing of conversation, you know that if you linger too long, you’ll wake up with a headache tomorrow. You make a mental note not to just collapse into bed when you get home no matter how much you want to and get something to drink – juice or whatever you have in the fridge.

“There you are.”

You glance over your shoulder. Oh. Of course, Takeshi followed you out – why wouldn’t he? Still, a little irritation nudges at you, which you try to ignore.

“Yeah. The music in there is…kinda loud.” You say, with a friendly grimace.

“Yeah, it is.”

He comes to sit down next to you, and he’s very close, his thigh pressed against yours, denim rubbing up against your skin. Again, a spark of annoyance at how he didn’t even think twice about encroaching on your personal space when you clearly want a minute alone. You clear your throat, feeling a sudden weight between you that wasn’t present when you were talking inside. Rather than being exhilarating, you feel nervous. Almost a little queasy – now there’s a subtle sort of pressure, bearing down on you. An expectation has formed and one way or another, you’re going to have to meet it. Irrationally, you resent Takeshi a little for this, for this sudden invisible hand pressing down on the back of your neck.

Do you have a right to feel uncomfortable? Isn’t this why you came here – for something like this to happen?

Yet…

Takeshi says your name, making you jump, and when you turn to look at him, he’s staring intently at you, his eyes looking oddly gooey and wet in his head, almost like he’s on the brink of tears. Or is that just a trick of the light?

“Yes?” you say, hyperaware of everything suddenly. Your clothes, previously sitting comfortably on you, feel itchy. You want to take off your necklace, your makeup. You want to run away. To not be seen.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes.

If he notices that the pause that follows this question is slightly too long, he doesn’t comment on it. Perhaps he chooses not to notice it. Your throat feels dry, and you swallow.

“Okay.” You answer, because you’d feel like a hypocrite if you said no.

So he does.

It's…fine.

Damned by faint praise again, huh? You think, as his mouth touches yours. He only makes a couple of seconds pretense at actually kissing you, before he’s clumsily licking at your mouth to ask for you to open it. You do, because the way he’s licking your lips is tickling them and it’s kind of irritating, and then his tongue, a wet slab, thrusts between your top and bottom teeth. Your own tongue is buffeted to the side for a second and you have to push it into his mouth just to get some air.

And, most damning of all… in your head, a countdown starts – you’ve been kissing for a couple of seconds and you’re already bored and waiting for it to be over.

You make a noise like a gag and draw your head back, wiping saliva off your chin with the back of your hand. Ugh. Ew.

“Sorry.” Takeshi says with a breathy laugh, and he can’t ignore the disapproval in your face. “Let me try again-“

“My, my.”

You both freeze.

Like something out of a comedy movie, except you don’t feel much like laughing, both of you slowly turn your heads towards the voice, even though you don’t need to – you know who has caught you out here – you’d know that voice anywhere.

Gin stands watching you both with a slight tilt to his head, that permanent smile stretched wide.

And your heart, weak, traitorous thing it is, begins to thump loudly at the sight of him, like a dog wagging its tail.

He looks good too – white shirt, black trousers, a thin silver chain of a necklace disappearing into his collar. You can smell a hint of the cologne he uses, a subtle tease to your nose instead of the cloying, overpowering brands you’ve been unintentionally inhaling all night.

Both you and Takeshi stand up in sync, like you’re in a play and have just remembered your stage directions. Gin glides closer with graceful, soundless footsteps, the white of his shirt making him look not unlike a ghost in the dim outdoor lighting.

The appearance of Gin drives home a truth that you have been subconsciously fleeing from, as efficiently as a sledgehammer whacking down a nail. Because the thing is, it doesn’t matter if somebody is nice, or if they’re a decent kisser, or if they don’t mind waiting politely for you to make up your mind about what you want to do next.

The fact is, as long as Gin Ichimaru holds your heart in his hands, there is no hope of giving it to anyone else. And he knows it.

You freeze and a trickle of panic crawls down your spine. Your lipgloss is smudged and it's pretty obvious what you were just doing. Your eyes dart from Takeshi to Gin - does he know? Know that your heart didn't even change its speed the whole time Takeshi was touching you? Know that all you could think about when you spoke to every guy in there, you could only see inscrutable smiles and long, elegant fingers in your mind's eye?

"Sir." you say, feeling silly - it feels a little late to fall back on protocol now, but what else can you say?

"I'll take it from here," Gin says, ostensibly to Takeshi, but it’s no doubt difficult for him to tell considering Gin’s eyes are closed as usual and his face is still squarely facing you.

“I-“ Takeshi says, glancing at you, but you barely register the quizzical tilt of his eyebrow, too busy staring at Gin like a deer in headlights.

Ordinarily a man gatecrashing another man’s date and summarily dismissing him would provoke anger, defiant, maybe even the beginning of a fight, but despite the constant smiling, Gin’s don’t-fuck-with-me vibes are immaculate and since you clearly know him, Takeshi gives in rather quickly.

“Oh, um…sure. Goodnight, then.” He said, with an awkward little nod.

You know that you should be insisting he stay, apologise for…well, for before, that you should do something. But keeping him around for Gin to torment would be far crueller than indifference, so you just nod back.

“Night.” You say, firmly, and wearing a look of polite bewilderment, Takeshi goes back inside.

Silence settles like snow as the door shuts with a dull thus behind Takeshi. Gin looks at you, and you find your eyes sliding away. Words tangle in your throat. “Why are you here?” you demand rather rudely, blinking hard to fight back the peculiar but strong urge to tear up. Did Rangiku tell him about this?

Why does he have to spoil everything?

“I went for a walk,” Gin replies with that fucking smile still adorning his face and he moves closer to you, his footsteps smooth and flowing as water. “Imagine my surprise to come across such a racy little scene. Tell me, do ya always let strange men kiss you in alleyways?”

“How’s that any of your business?” you bite back, yet your find yourself being crowded back against the wall as Gin steps closer, getting in your space.

His smile doesn’t waver, but working under him for so long has made you something of a specialist at reading the subtle nuances of his facial expressions – there’s a slight forcedness to his smile and a pinch of tension between his eyebrows that even he can’t totally smooth away.

“So, she has a tongue.” Gin hums, as if to himself.

His hand reaches out, pinching your chin, tilting your face up. You don’t resist and hate yourself for the undeniable crackle of electricity when he touches you – Gin rarely puts his hands on anyone, so that you’ve pushed him to do so gives you a stab of victory, paltry as it is.

But your feeling of triumph is incredibly short-lived as, with deliberate care like he’s excavating a fragile artefact from the ground, Gin swipes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip. Your mouth tingles where he touches you and you stand stock-still, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

Gin raises his hand to his mouth and, slowly, his tongue glides across the pad of his thumb, licking off the sweet tasting gloss that had been formally coating your lips. You can only stare at him, transfixed, watching his tongue slide back into his mouth.

“Tastes sweet.” Gin remarks in that teasing lilt of his. He still hasn’t let go of your face. “But I think…”

You’re given no time to react before suddenly, he is pulling you in, one hand clamping on your waist, leaning down to your mouth-

Oh, fuck.

This isn’t possible. It can’t be. As long as you’ve known him, Gin has always held you at a very specific arm’s length – far enough to leave you in a perpetual state of yearning, but close enough so that he can have you yanked back to him by a crook of his beckoning fingers.

That he could cross this barrier any time he liked to kiss you and chose not to, only to do it now, is almost inconceivable.

But-

His lips are surprisingly warm against yours, which is funny because his hands are cold. But heat is all you can think about, your body surging with it, a blush rising to your face, your mouth opening for him without a thought. He invades your mouth like he invaded your head, leaving you no room to say a word, he won’t allow for any feeble denials or pointless questions. There are many ways to communicate, after all – words are just one of them.

Your back meets rough brick wall and you give a muffled grunt. Gin has your wrists pinned either side of your head and you feel like a butterfly on a slab – yet your cunt doesn’t seem to have the common sense to be wary of him like your brain does, because you can feel a telltale throb of excitement between your legs as he easily holds you in place, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“Gin - sir-“ you stumble over your words.

“Shsh.” He hisses, and you shut up.

He pauses as he looks you up and down, even though his eyes are shut as always. A teasing smile curls at his lips and you dimly note he’s probably never seen you dressed up before, at least if you don’t count work Christmas parties. It seems he doesn’t have any problems with what you’re wearing, since nothing catty leaves his lips.

“I was right,” Gin nods slowly, his words a slow, measured singsong, like he’s about to read you a story. “Things like this gotta be savoured, y’know? I wonder…do you taste so good everywhere?”

Your mouth drops open, and your cheeks turn hot. Is he implying what you think he is?

“I- that’s-“ you splutter, because he’s always had the power to turn you into a gibbering moron even when he isn’t casually dropping sexual innuendos like a bomb.

Gin chuckles and gives your cheek an affectionate poke, before he tips his chin down, and slowly, with elegance, sinks down onto his knees. You can only watch him, transfixed, as he settles comfortably between your legs and he doesn’t have to tell you to part your legs – you do it without even thinking about it. You make the mistake of looking down.

Gin is looking up at you, between your spread thighs, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly that you know you’re going to have bruises where his thumbs are digging into your flesh.

And his eyes are open. Oh, fuck me sideways. You think, your own widening.

“Be a good girl and hold still.” Gin says in a silky voice, and now his eyes are open the gleam of amusement in them is all too visible to you. You could almost kick him for keeping them shut most of the time – they’re a beautiful shade of pale blue. You don’t have time to admire them for long though. Gin has business to attend to.

And attend it he does. He barely needs to do anything to keep you pressed against the wall, you’re rooted to the spot as his hands slide up your thighs, taking the gauzy material of your dress along with them. Cool air brushes up against your legs, but that isn’t the reason you’re shivering.

He smirks at the sight of your underwear – you’d worn something somewhat sexy to try and get into the spirit of tonight, but not a thong since you knew you’d be sitting down a while and didn’t want to think about it the whole time. So instead, he’s greeted by black panties with lacy panels on the sides, heated flesh just concealed beneath it.

“Now these,” Gin says in a singsong voice, snapping the elastic against your hip, the pop of noise in the stillness making you jolt. “Are the kind of panties you’d wear if you wanted to get fucked.”

“G-Gin…” you mewl.

He snickers at your embarrassment, eyes shifting back to your crotch. Teasingly slow, like you’re a dessert he wants to savour, he starts to peel your underwear down, fingers massaging your flesh, kneading it. He leans in, his breath hot on your core.

His tongue is skilled, you knew that already, but now you’re getting a real firsthand experience with it. He isn’t shy about nuzzling up against your cunt, nails digging crescent marks into the flesh of your legs as he licks inbetween your folds, hot and mercilessly and you keen out loud. If anybody comes outside for a smoke right now, you are so fucked.

But all of it – the thrill of getting caught, shock of Gin touching you, the roughness of the brick scraping your bare skin, the chilly bite of a spring night and the way your head is swimming from nasty cheap wine and boiling-over lust…all of it throws what’s going on into blinding focus.

“Gin…” you keen aloud, wanting to pull his pretty silver locks but you don’t quite dare, so you settle for resting a hand on his shoulder instead, your fingers clamping down on him in a voice grip. “Oh, fuck…nngh…”

He just gives a muffled chuckle and amps up the pace, his long, slender fingers creeping up to tease at your clit while his mouth attends to your cunt. Your legs are wobbling as you try to maintain your balance, but it’s not easy when he’s working you over like this, reaching places you could never manage with your own fingers…how the fuck is he so good at this?! It’s like he has a perfect, 3-D map of where everything is and exactly what to do to drive you insane. Your head has gone from verging on a headache to pleasantly, blissfully light and fuzzy, electricity zipping up and down your limbs, heat blooming in your core. He has to stop or you’re going to explode, but if he stops now you think you really might die…

“I’m coming…” you gasp out, tilting your head back, breath coming out in stuttered gasps. “Gin, please, fuck…don’t stop…”

Fuck you. I love you. Fuck you. The words ring over and over in your head as – for once - Gin obliges you.

The feeling is so intense that for a second you’re practically swooning, supernovas of lust and relief exploding like fireworks behind your shut eyelids. It’s ridiculous – you’re against a brick wall outside a bar, you can smell cigarettes from a nearby ashtray, it’s chilly and any moment somebody wanting their nicotine fix could see you. Yet your heart is pounding, warmth painting your face, swelling in your chest and yes, the satisfaction of seeing Gin leaning back, licking his lips and slowly rising to his feet like he did nothing more taxing than tying his shoelace helps. You hurriedly make sure your dress is safely floating about above your knees once again, smoothing it down with shaking hands. As illicitly thrilling as it is to do this outside, you don’t want anybody who passes you to immediately know just what you’ve been doing. Though you’re sure it wouldn’t be hard to work out – you probably smell of sex now, overpowering the perfume you’d picked out to wear tonight. Of course Gin would figure out a way to exert his influence by masking your scent as well as ruining your lipgloss.

How are you supposed to go back inside now? Well, obviously, you aren’t. Gin’s made that abundantly clear – no toy of his is to go exchanging clumsy kisses with other men until he’s bored of playing with them, and if he has to go to extremes to prove his point, so be it.

He's a fucking cruel bastard.

You nearly ask, What are we? Out loud, but thankfully before you can speak, Gin grabs your wrist and starts tugging you along after him. He doesn’t explain himself and you stumble after him on unsteady legs, still tingling with the afterglow and feeling the phantom touch of his tongue on you.

There’s a taxi waiting in the street outside, the driver sitting patiently, checking something on his phone. Your eyes snap to Gin – how long has that been there? When did he order it? But you don’t get to ask any of these questions, before Gin steps across to the back door and opens it, practically bundling you inside.

“Take this one home, will ya?” he says cheerfully to the driving, reeling off your address and you’re astonished that he knows it well enough to be able to repeat it off the top of his head. “She’s had enough to drink, I think.”

“Gin, what-? Why-?” you blurt out, trying desperately to get some semblance of an explanation for all this out of him.

Surely he can’t have done all that for his own amusement. You never were sure if Gin was fully aware of how you felt. Most people in your office tend to be wary of him at best, so your skittishness with him could easily be attributed to that. But Gin is a very perceptive man, so perhaps those times when he would lean over you as you worked to point at something on your screen, or stood too close to you whenever you were in the lift together, or when he’d send you these secretive little smirks across the room…maybe that was more than just a tease. Was he trying to tell you all along that he knew?

He leans in close to you, one hand gripping the door, and your heart flutters in your chest, wondering if he’s going to kiss you again, wanting him to but also feeling that familiar swoop of fear and excitement-

He just smiles and boops your nose and unceremoniously shuts the door on in your face, and the car speeds away into the night. And belatedly, you realise something else, something that makes your legs clamp together – He took your fucking panties.

His voice rings mockingly in your head, the last thing he said before sending you on your way, the mirth in his voice brimming over.

“See you on Monday.”

#Gin Ichimaru #Gin x Reader #Bleach x Reader #Fanfiction #Smut #Gin being a bastard #Reader Insert

[silencingspellsongs]

y'know what i think we all stopped talking about unnamed caller too soon. i'm not done with him just yet.

first of all, sorry to ya'll trying to call him john or whatever but wow i just hate that. live your life i guess but i'd cut out my tongue before ever calling him john lmao (personally i imagine him as a liam 🤭)

but anyways i love the theory that he's a stealth. he could also be a daemon, some of his vibes feel very similar to regulus but with maybe like a serenity daemon twist (all that talk about "i'll make you happy" and "i'll fix things") but also it would be so close to regulus that i feel like erik wouldn't want to go that route. a stealth adds a new little bit of intrigue... plus stealths are cool and sexy

and maybe it's because of the plot pushes recently and unnamed caller all swirling around in my head together but after the last update to the balance arc when elliott and aaron finally talked with the department and now we know that they're sending in a team of stealths to try and extract sunshine, i cannot stop thinking about unnamed caller as a department stealth going on that mission.

i don't want this in the way of like "oh, connection to sunshine oh man maybe he's stalking them in his audio after all the balance stuff is resolved!!" or for it to tie him in any way to the plot or anything like that. no i just want the smallest like blink and you miss it type easter egg hint of we just hear the voice of one of the department stealths during or post rescue mission in passing and it's that sort of gruff voice and i want to sit there while listening and think to myself "... is that the caller's voice?" and have no proof that it is or not. i want the mystery of it.

caller really gives off the energy of someone desperate for control that they don't have in their normal day to day life. the way he speaks to sweetie, he is demanding and insisting that they listen to him and do as he says. and nothing says no control like a cog in the magical government machine. apathetic worker, not getting the respect and recognition he feels he deserves.

it's like what we got from the recent milo audio about how the department treats its workers like sweetheart. who's to say caller hasn't reached the point where he's been beaten down, chewed up, and spit out by his thankless job and he's fighting back for control over his life by projecting it onto someone that caught his eye until it has now spiraled into an unhealthy obsession. sweetie probably just like smiled at him on the street one day and that's all it took, just a kind gesture from a stranger to a man who wanted to be noticed.

this is all just inane ramblings but idk man i just can't stop thinking about him. i want to believe that we will get more unnamed caller someday. i gotta know more about him. you can't just end an audio with a foreboding "soon" and then leave the guy as a one off. it would ruin me.

i need him. i need him so bad. like you don't even get it, i need him right now. give him to me. please.

#redactedverse #redacted audio #redacted stranger #redacted caller #argent rambles #sorry i started thinking about him and then i blacked out and hit post #this *67 ass bitch smh #erik whatever you were going through when you made his audio.... keep going through it #(im joking) #(or am i)

[the-wayside]

Because there is wine, there is the last snip. This is comes after the last part, but not directly. Kinn in this isn't honorable. He wants what he wants and he will do whatever he can to get it. There be ~feelings.

the memories of you, excerpt 3.

Previous parts.

One of the more inane tasks of the day is to be present over Kinn and Tawan’s dinner date. Porsche had tried to put someone else on it since it was inside the compound and the risk was low, but Pete had given him a ‘tough luck, buddy’ pat on the shoulder. So, he’s here, with Arm, the pair of them trying not to drill holes into their eye sockets over the boring childhood memories talk.

“What was Kinn like when he was younger?” Tawan asks Porsche out of nowhere and he’s sure his left eye is twitching. He’s stood with his back against the wall, his eyes on Kinn at the head of the table and Tawan to his right and in Porsche’s direct line of sight. He flicks his eyes up to the door behind them, silently praying for someone, anyone, at this point, to come in and save him from this melodrama. Still, he looks at Kinn, and he’s silently listening, his gaze trained on the plate but he knows when he’s eavesdropping. He’s about as subtle as his oldest brother, which is not at all.

“Short,” is what he says and Kinn looks up at him and Porsche rolls his eyes. “Look, my job is Khun Kinn’s safety. I didn't spend any more time with him than his other teachers who probably know him better than me.”

It’s true and not true. Kinn spent a lot of time on his studies, improving himself and becoming the man who can carry the weight of his father’s expectations, but with his tender heart, he needed that beaten out of him the most. Porsche had slammed him into the mats more than anyone else. Punished him more than anyone else. Refused to let Kinn become a princeling who looked the part but would die the moment he was on his own. Porsche made sure that Kinn would live, even if Porsche died.

Tawan gives him an inscrutable look. Porsche now knows he’s thirty-three, as old as Porsche was when things fell apart. He really should know better than to keep pushing on something that is either none of his business or he won’t like the outcome. He’s also now certain that Tawan knows that something happened between them and he’s fishing.

“Kinn isn’t the same little kid I met almost fifteen years ago,” Porsche continues, “You want to know what hasn’t changed? He’s tenacious, dedicated, and loyal.”

Porsche catches as Kinn swallows. Clearly, Porsche’s words are unexpected for him. For everything that has happened, Porsche won’t let anyone say that Kinn is anything less than what he is, which is a good person, even if he is a brat. He bows his head to Kinn and excuses himself because he isn’t here for getting into Kinn’s relationship drama.

He gets about three feet out of the door when Kinn calls from behind him, the door slamming shut, “Porsche.”

“I don’t know what your boyfriend’s problem is, but I’m trying to work.”

Kinn stands with his arms loose at his sides, almost a little lost to talk to Porsche, but it doesn’t stop Porsche going off: “Whatever his insecurity is, you need to deal with it, okay? Relationship 101.”

“You’re going to educate me on relationships?” Kinn bounces back, suddenly with something to sink his teeth into, “When the longest relationship you’ve had is with your right hand or my little black book?”

Porsche puts his hands on his hips and scoffs, “And that’s your issue, right there. Always with an answer and an attitude. Grow up, Kinn.”

“Better to confront it than to run like a coward,” Kinn says calmly and Porsche feels it like a stab.

He can’t help but walk back and get into Kinn’s face, “You don’t own me. If I say it’s done, it’s done. If I say it’s over, it’s over. Go back to your boyfriend.”

Kinn’s eyes flicker down to his lips as he speaks, “Because you’re the boss?”

The tension is palpable between them, thick and dense enough to cut your teeth on it.

“Because what we did was wrong,” Porsche sighs and steps back. “You refuse to see it, that’s fine, but I’m not going to be a part of it.”

“I lo—” Kinn starts and Porsche covers his mouth with his hand.

“You were twenty-three and I knew better,” Porsche corrects him. Kinn’s big hand wraps around Porsche’s wrist and pulls it down.

“Stop pretending like I’m some fragile child who lived a fairy tale existence. I killed a man when I was 16. My father didn’t clean up the body. You did.”

“And that’s how it should have stayed.”

Kinn lets out a breath, “No.”

Porsche shakes his head and Kinn doubles down on his wrist, holding it so tightly it hurts, his voice even and sure, “Maybe it was broken, maybe it would have failed, but we deserved a chance.”

Porsche tries to get out of Kinn’s grasp without hurting him, a bit of pressure in the right spot and he’ll let go, but Porsche doesn’t want to hurt him. He never wants to hurt Kinn. He pulls away as much as he can.

“You think that I wanted a body? A warm hole to fuck?” Kinn speaks in a low tone and Porsche feels it in his gut, low in his belly, making him squirm, “You can find those a dime a dozen. I wanted the person who saw me; too skinny, too kind, too merciful, and didn’t care. That was you. And the bit you hate, the reason why you pushed me away is because I saw you. I saw how you wanted to be loved, how lonely you were even in a room full of people who looked up to you. Your eyes are always scanning, always looking, but when I—”

Kinn yanks him back in, “When I was inside you, you closed your eyes. You trusted me when you trust no one. You trusted me because I’ve always been by your side.”

“Maybe I can’t make him happy,” Kinn laughs bitterly, “but I know I can make you happy.”

Porsche is shoved back and he stumbles as Kinn turns on his heel to go back into the dining room.

“Cowards don’t get happy endings in fairy tales, Porsche. The brave do. Maybe it’s you who needs to grow up.”

Kinn leaves him there, scraped out and raw, and unable to put back together the edges he just ripped. Porsche puts out a palm against the wall and silently screams and kicks the wall.

#the memories of you #way writes #kinnporsche #text #ficlet #LAST SNIP OF THE SNIPS

[pennyserenade]

listen: a fanfic where javier peña has to follow fox mulder around a small town while mulder tries to convince everyone why the string of local murders might actually be related to aliens due to a crop circle that was found there in the summer of 1940, and not any reasonable, earth-bound explanation like i don’t know, the town has a heavy crime rate as of late due to the recent drug peddling. javi is not happy; he is pouty lipped and brooding behind his unrevealing dark sunglasses every time he has to hear that man go on about grey men and why it makes sense because time stops and people don’t remember and there are marks on bodies. javier is disgruntled because he has the statistics and an insider named lola, who served him warm coffee with a few grinds when he first rolled into town (and fucked him on a creaky motel mattress once or twice, maybe even three times). lola tells javier about the men evil enough to do this, the ones that take the promising futures of young men in this war on drugs, and javier believes her. she is earnest and openly aching with furrowed eyebrows and sorrow-filled eyes, having lost someone to this. fox looks up to the stars for answers, and doesn’t talk of dead sisters or the way javier reminds him a little of his partner back at home, who doesn’t ever believe him either and who would no doubt take to lola too. they stand solemnly over victims and feel too much during this, because it is personal for them both, but in slightly different shades. 

they wear so much blood on their hands and every case they take these days feels like a chance at redemption that never quite follows through. but they take them anyways because they desperately want redeemed. mulder bumps into javier at the motel during odd hours of the night, 1am and 3am, and once at 5am. javier’s lips are bruised and puffy and his pants are partially undone. he was going to get ice, unthinking of being caught because he never does at these strange witch hours. fox’s green blue eyes are ringed with dark circles and filled with soft frenzy, having poured over case files and articles online for hours. fox wants to know the truth, wants badly to know, and in the pursuit of it he has found out a few other things: that javier peña is a psychologist too, that he knows spanish and has a dead mother, and oh, he has unconventional ways of going about getting information. javier understands it then, as they looked at each other, that fox already knows he’s been fucking the informant that he’s been vouching for. peña is used to the jokes men make about what he does with women, so he starts feeling vulnerable, knowing in the morning he might’ve made another woman - lola - the butt of some office joke. they pass each other with polite nods and in the morning, javier finds no one is any wiser about his late night activities. fox brings him a black coffee later, around 10am when they are told of another dead body. they take a shared car and fox tells him jokingly on the way there that he’s more of a phone line guy himself, but he is understands the need for a more hands on method. the joke makes javier grin briefly, but more than that it makes him ask about the grey men and why fox thinks that stuff is real. he finds fox mulder is heartbreakingly earnest too -- so, so, so earnest, really, like a javier before colombia -- and he hardly can understand it, but after he pinches his face with focus when fox tells another normal person this inane theory of his. javier tries to find logic in between the lines of mulder’s madness, pieces together bits of his brilliant mind’s workings enough to chalk up a palatable theory to give to local law enforcement and the townspeople for the rest of the day. fox tells javier about dana over lunch mulder pays for--about how she does that for him too, makes him easier to swallow for the public. they laugh and joke and make friends, which is so rare for mulder and he can hardly wait for go back to the hotel and debate about calling dana about it. he won’t of course, but he will think about it. mulder is in love, javier deducts by the end, which makes him like the insane man all the more.

the case would probably end like they all seem to, with mulder right about the grey men but empty handed and half-defeated as he trucks back to washington dc with nothing to show for his sleepless nights and endless devotion. javier peña will be a changed man, more jaded but more open, too, having seen the truth -- mulder’s anyways - in glimpses like mulder always has. somehow it makes javier feel worse and better, that in this world there are things that happen that he really can’t account for. for every death he thought he could prevent, there are millions that he really can’t. he still wants to save everyone, sure, but will never be able to and now he knows and its so much, too much. javier is saved and cursed by this truth like that eager and foolish fbi agent seemed to be too. sometimes after that, agent mulder and agent peña email. javier peña falls in love with lola and they move to somewhere warm. 

#misc. #this is long omg #i've been Thinking #i'm not gonna write this but i needed to write this post lol

[chaoscheebs]

It's Midnight, Cinderella, chapter 1

In which Seto Kaiba meets a mystery man at a masquerade and things just click, but who could this man be...

(Chapter 1) - (Chapter 2) - (Chapter 3) - (Fic Tag)

-----------

Sometimes, being a CEO sucked.

Once again, Seto Kaiba had to fulfill some inane obligation to attend a gathering of people who he either found intolerable, were seeking to use him to gain a step up in life, or worse, both. The worst part of it was this was supposed to be a masquerade, but no one seemed to bother putting in the effort to at least play up the one fun part of the concept and were largely in generic formal wear except for him. Pathetic.

Or he was alone in caring about style, until he spotted him. Soft blond curls falling softly to just above his shoulders. A carefully-tied cravat around his neck, ruffles adorning the bottom of his sleeves, shining buckles on his shoes, looking like he was a prince who walked out of some fairy tale. And judging from his frown and the way he looked around the venue, he was every bit as disappointed no one else was pushing style boundaries as Seto was.

Seto was hardly a social butterfly, but this man looked at least less insufferable than the rest of the people there, so he decided to walk over and strike up a conversation. If it turned out this man was just as dull as the rest, he was perfectly capable of walking away, after all.

Or he was going to strike up a conversation, but the man in question spoke first. The man looked him over, then smiled. “Thank goodness, I thought I was the only one who took this seriously. I was thinking about going home to change…” His voice was soft, but deeper than he expected for a man his size. It almost reminded him of…

Never mind what it reminded Seto of. The past was in the past, and he needed to remember that more often. “Hmph, don’t let others dictate what you do, especially when it’s clear you’re the one in the right. It’s them who wouldn’t know style if Special Summoned a monster right in their faces.”

The man laughed. “So you play Duel Monsters too? Glad to see I’m not alone there either.”

Seto faintly smiled. Well, now, this is shaping up better than expected. “Oh, really? Are you in the competitive scene?”

“Mm, sort of?” the man said, tapping a finger to his chin and tilting his head slightly to one side. “There’s someone who’s… I want to call him a ‘rival’, but is it really a rivalry if the other person never acknowledges you? Anyway, I’m looking to defeat him and prove myself to him.” He laughs weakly. “Kind of pathetic, don’t you think?”

“Only if you think of yourself as such,” Seto replied, frowning. “You’ll never defeat him if you have no confidence.”

The man laughed again. “Oh, I have plenty of confidence in my gaming skills! It’s just everything else that’s the problem.”

“Even that can have an impact,” Seto told him. “Walk tall like you mean business, even if you have to fake it. It’ll come naturally with practice.”

“Talking from experience?” the man asked with a smirk.

Seto took a half-step turn away from him, crossing his arms and scowling. “Do I look like the kind of man who needs to practice that?”

“With a reaction like that, yes,” the man said, stepping out so he was in front of Seto. “It’s kind of cute, though, in a tsundere sort of way~”

“‘C-cute’?! ‘Tsundere?!?’ What—?!” Seto sputtered indignantly. On what planet was he, Seto Kaiba, cute?!

“Extremely cute~” the man teased, raising himself on tip-toes to get closer to Seto’s face. “Adorable, even~” Seto turned his head with a “hmph”; a clear signal for the man to stop teasing him. “All right, all right, I’ll lay off now. Even if you are cute~”

“Anyway,” Seto interrupted forcefully, “what brings you here tonight? I don’t recall seeing you attending one of these things before.”

The man rubbed under his nose, suddenly feeling bashful. “Ahahaha… A friend of mine, who runs a small indie game company that’s been trying to break into the mainstream recently got an invite, and he sort of dragged me along, saying I need to ‘make more connections’ in the industry.” He looked around, frowned, then sighed as he gestured to a man with long, dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail, who was currently flanked by several women. “Unfortunately, he immediately decided to go flirt with girls instead of helping me with that.”

Seto smirked at the man’s dismay. “You know women can work in the gaming industry too, you know.”

The man rolled his eyes, or at least Seto presumed so, judging by the displeased tilt of the man’s head. “Well, yeah, of course, but I also know how he works. There is almost zero chance they’re talking about Dungeon Dice Monsters, believe me.” He shook his head and muttered, “And he knows I’m not the best at this kind of thing either…”

“You seem to be doing all right with me.”

The man heaved a sigh. “That’s different, you came up to me first. I never know where to start and how not to sound like a game-obsessed weirdo to people. It’d be one thing if this was a convention, but this is…”

“Full of stuffy executives who wouldn’t know a fun game if it noclipped through them and ragdolled in front of them?” Seto suggested.

The man smiled. “You. You get it.”

“I’d like to think so,” Seto said, smirking, “but I am more hands-on than most people in my position. Maybe if things had been different…” He trailed off abruptly. What was he thinking, he had just met this man and he almost started telling him his life story.

“Oh? ‘If things had been different’?” the man asked. The mask had some sort of tinted lenses obscuring his eyes, but somehow Seto could feel the concern in them coming through the lenses anyway.

“… it’s nothing. We’ll just say I’m fond of tinkering and leave it at that.”

The man frowned and started to reach out a hand, but thought better of it and let it drop. “… OK. If you’re not comfortable talking about… whatever it is… then I’m not going to pry.”

“Thank you.” Seto’s eyes briefly darted away, then returned their focus to the man. “I… appreciate the concern, however,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear over the background chatter all around them. “Anyway. Duel Monsters,” Seto ever-so-smoothly changed the subject to, “What kind of deck do you use?”

“A control deck,” the man answered, “I like seeing how I can make weak monsters actually viable, y’know? It’s a fun challenge.”

Seto raised an eyebrow, not that is was noticeable behind his own mask. “Really? I know someone else who uses one, and he’s regarded as a formidable opponent.”

“Ahahahaha, you don’t say…” the man said, looking away as he absently tried fixing some imaginary flyaway lock of hair.

“He wouldn’t happen to be your would-be rival, would he?” Seto asked. “If so, you have an uphill battle ahead of you. For all the… difficulties between us, I would be lying if I thought just anyone could take him in a duel.”

The man, suddenly looking startled, waved his hands in front of him. “Oh, no, no, no! The man I’m after uses a beatdown deck and has this thing for dragon cards in particular! I’m not—I really couldn’t—!”

“Dragons, hm? Sounds like a man with taste,” Seto said approvingly.

The man’s eyes (Seto presumes) traced over the Blue-Eyes White Dragon embroidery adorning Seto’s suit, the head of the dragon resting over his shoulder. Pointing at the dragon’s head, the man says, “You’re a fan of dragons too, huh? Wouldn’tve guessed~”

Seto smirked. “You haven’t seen the best part of this yet, either.” He glanced around him, mentally calculating if he had enough space for what he was about to do, then reached into his jacket and flipped a hidden switch. White dragon wing materialized behind him, flapping gently for a moment before wrapping around him like a cape.

The man’s jaw dropped, then raised his hands just below chin-level, curled into fists. “That. Is so. COOL! Oh my gosh, that had to take a lot of effort to get right, especially with the energy consumption! I mean, whatever’s activating that has to be smaller than the compartment in a duel disk that contains the battery, right?!?”

“Correct,” Seto affirmed. “Unfortunately, that means there’s an issue with battery life that needs to be worked out still. This was only a side project I did for fun, after all.”

“’For fun,’” the man repeated. “Haaaa, I’d say that’s a weird idea of fun, but I’ve literally forced myself to learn coding and game engines so I could join month-long game jams, so I shouldn’t judge.”

“Really? What kind of games do you make?”

“Horror ones, mostly,” the man said. “At least in my indie work, anyway. I like trying different styles of game in the genre.” A thought struck him, then he quickly fished a card holder out of his pocket and pulled out a card to hand to Seto. “Here, in case you wanna check them out later.”

Seto accepted the card, nodded, and tucked it into a pocket without looking too closely at it; something he would later regret. “I’ll look into them, then.” The holographic wings flickered, causing him to sigh. “And that would be the battery life issue…” he grumbled, reaching into his jacket again and flipping off the switch.

“Ahaha, you at least got it working! That can be half the battle in itself,” the man said.

“True,” Seto admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Still, there’s room for improvement, and one way or another, I will get this so it can stay on for a full night, damn it.”

The man smirked at him. “You’re the stubborn type, huh? How cute~”

Seto rolled his eyes, scowling but feeling faint heat building his his cheeks and ears. “There you go with the ‘cute’ nonsense again.”

The smirk became a wide grin, and somehow, Seto couldn’t bring himself to deny it was, dare he say, ‘cute’? “Sorry, sorry,” the man said, without even the faintest hint of remorse. “There’s just something about you that make me want to tease you a little~”

“You’re nothing if not bold,” Seto replied, very pointedly not meeting the man’s gaze. “Most people wouldn’t dream of attempting that.”

The man shrugged. “I spent all of high school trying to hide,”—he muttered the next part bitterly—”and apparently failing at it—” he then resumed his normal volume, “that I was bi; I vowed nothing was gonna shove me back in the closet now~”

Seto’s mask may have hidden part of the now-deepening blush, but he just knew his ears were giving it away. Damn it. “I… see. So you really think…”

“That you’re cute? Absolutely~” the man said, looking infuriatingly smug as he stood on tip-toes to close more of the height distance between them. “It’s not every day you find someone smart enough and passionate enough about his hobbies to make holographic wings for himself and who’s also charmingly dorky on top of it~”

“First I’m ‘cute’, now I’m ‘dorky’?”

“The dorkiness is part of the cuteness!” the man insisted, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. Mask or no mask, it was clear he was enjoying himself and it infuriated Seto that he wasn’t infuriated by it.

“Ugh, why are you charming?” Seto grumbled to himself, earning a cute squeak from the man.

“Y-you think I’m charming?!” he said, his previous teasing bravado fleeing in a heartbeat.

Looks like he can dish it out but can’t take it, Seto smugly thought. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t still be standing here. I don’t tolerate wastes of time.”

The man looked at the floor, shyly rubbing his arm. “Ahahaha, I guess you wouldn’t, huh…?”

Some small part of Seto recognized this as somehow familiar, but that thought was shoved aside in favor of enjoying watching the man squirm. “Anyway, do you happen to have your deck on you? I want to see what you’ve got.”

The man frowned, then shook his head. “Unfortunately, I left that at home. Apparently most people frown on dueling during formal events?” he said, like this had either happened before or he had been scolded before he had a chance to try. Probably both, Seto thought; this man looks like the stubborn type.

“Sounds like it’s a ‘them’ problem and not yours,” Seto said before pulling out his phone and unlocking it. “How fast could you assemble a functional deck if you were provided cards?”

The man looked up and tapped his lips in thought. “Only functional? Probably not that long. It wouldn’t be that good, tho’. A good deck needs time and care.”

“True,” Seto agreed, tapping out a message on his phone. “I suppose in the interest of fairness, I’ll be making one up on the fly as well. It’s no fun crushing an unprepared opponent with the big guns.”

“Yeah, it’d only—what?” the man said, abruptly changing gears when the penny dropped. “Are you seriously—?!”

He didn’t need to finish the question; as if on cue a man appeared, carrying a large and very familiar briefcase. Satisfied, Seto tucked his phone back in his pocket and started to walk away in the courier’s direction. “I am. Come along now, time’s wasting.”

The man stared at him for a moment, laughed softly as he shook his head, almost as if he was used to this sort of thing, then went to follow Seto.

-----------

“Haaaa…” The man made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh as he set down his hand of cards. “Told you it wouldn’t be a good deck.”

Gathering his cards up, Seto replied, “True, but it put up a better showing than expected. You might have a chance against your mystery rival.” They had long since moved to a private room at the hotel the event was held in, because apparently it was considered rude to play cards during a non-card game event. And they dare call themselves professionals in the gaming industry; pathetic. Maybe if they would actually play a game every so often they could come up with something interesting.

“You really think so?” the man asked, doing the same after adjusting his mask. He seemed anxious about removing it, so Seto let it go and thus there it still sat upon his face.

Seto gets it. He doesn’t always want to be himself either, so he left his own mask on in some weird sense of solidarity. “I do. It takes a significant amount of skill in of itself to make a functioning deck in such a short time frame, let alone one that could actually give me pause.”

The man’s lips curved up into a smile—a genuine one, not a teasing one this time—and Seto found himself wanting to see more of it in the future. “That really means a lot to me; thank you.” The man then set his cards aside, stretched across the table, a hand on the table for stability and the other on Seto’s shoulder, and kissed Seto on the cheek.

The man lingered for a moment, and that’s all it took. Maybe the rush of winning got to Seto, or maybe the man’s teasing flirtations finally won him over, or maybe the man was just that damned attractive, but Seto found himself reaching out and pulling the man into a proper kiss on the lips, earning him a cute squeak of surprise from the man.

The surprise faded quickly, however, as that hand on Seto’s shoulder curled itself into a fist, clutching Seto’s jacket tightly, unwilling to let go. One kiss became two kisses, two become more, until the man climbed over the table and onto Seto’s lap.

Well. At least Seto knew where the man stood on continuing on. One hand buried itself in those soft blond curls, the other rested on the man’s back, slowly sliding downward until it found the soft curve of his ass and squeezed.

For having such a dull start, this was turning out to be a good night.

#yugioh #seto kaiba #yugi muto #rivalshipping #fanfiction #my fic #(yeah spoilers yugi is the mystery man but if you followed my rambles you knew that already) #it's midnight cinderella

[ofmermaidstories]

About blocked anon. In general i agree with merms. Howevre. Ok im a silent reaer too for the most part. Tried a sideblog, but i get sidetracked and end up not using it. If the writer has an ao3 i try to leave a comment there but i have more trouble reblogging and interacting on tumblr fro some reason. I have been blocked too for not reblogging fics! But honestly I don't feel particularly bad about it cause I feel like I can't really blame a writer for blocking ppl who don't support their fics.

Like, it's not about talking to the writer, it's about reblogging their fics and show appreciation to the work they put in them and posting them for others. If that's important to that particular writer and they don't feel good with ppl who just lurk (like me) then it's their right to deal with it however they see fit.

I still look at their blog thoughthey just don't show on my dash. If anon wants to put the work and reblog and comment fics on a side blog if they don't want to do so on their main, and ask the writer to unblock them i'm sure they will (unless there's a different reason, like maybe the writer saw soemthign on anon's blog and was like "hmm don't like that". Can't do anything about that.)

You’re allowed to disagree with me, Anon, LOL, I promise don’t mind it—a difference of opinion (on inane things, and I would consider anything that happens on tumblr dot com short of harassment to be inane) is good! Healthy. 😌 Mix things up a bit. But—okay, let’s talk about the reblog debate.

I just don’t vibe with it, LOL. I don’t vibe with sniping people for being lurkers. 💅🏽✨ I don’t respect it, actually, if we’re going to get serious—yes, people can (and should!) curate their followings as they need to. If someone decides to deny you access to their online space then, no, you can’t do anything about it. I just also happen to think it’s one of the more stupid reasons you can block someone lmfao.

I know that the general (touted) thought process behind blocking lurkers is generally a parroted, “it’s about supporting writers”. And to be honest, I would respect the push more if people just admitted they wanted more comments LMAO. Because!!! I think that’s perfectly fine!!! It’s okay to be like, “hey I worked hard on this, and I would like to see a big fat number of notes or to have people in my inbox”. We are real people—real people taking the time and effort to create fun things for free, and it can be bitterly disappointing to have that met with silence or entitlement.

The solution to that though isn’t blocking people for being silent readers. Because that’s turning around and doing to them exactly want we don’t want done to us, as writers—it reduces them from being living human beings to numbers who are measured by how they can best serve (or “support”) you.

I can hear the “Merms this isn’t this serious, we just want more people to reblog fics” already but tbh… it is. I think it is because it lets the worst of us get away with treating each other really, really appallingly. You are absolutely allowed to deny someone access to your online space. But if you’re denying them that access and also making them feel bad (“you haven’t reblogged enough fics/you haven’t liked enough of my posts to fill the weekly quota/you’re not doing enough for me to be allowed to see this content I provide online publicly and for free”) then idk… sounds like ur the problem to me.

And look, I don’t say that easily. Tumblr has always been a site where mass hysteria breeds like mould; it tends to happen when online spaces become our Third Place for socialising. We don’t have the normal, social safety-rails that like, actual real-world Places like work or school have for us—we’re unleashed here in our downtime and feel protected by the anonymity of a screen. By the fact that we can’t see each other’s faces when we say things like, “you don’t do enough for me” to random strangers. I don’t like that! So I don’t police it on my own blog. 🫡

Fandom is one of the precious few spaces we have where anything goes. You can create whatever you want, however you want, and it’s all done purely for the love of it. It’s indulgent and silly and fun. So to come into this space and then directly make demands of the other people in it (“reblog x number of fics or else you’re not a real member of the community”) goes against the spirit of why we’re all in this shared space in the first place.

We can absolutely have a conversation about how to support each other—writers and readers—without fear mongering about lurkers being why “omg the community is dying”. I think the community is falling into a lull because people get obsessed with new things; a new show or game. New technology, like ChatGPT for instance, which gives maybe otherwise passive readers a chance to create their own fiction or pocket boyfriend, instantly. Maybe it’s even a generational thing—a change in how people socialise. We are in constant contact with each other, with constant availability—controlling what little we can, what we spend our energy on or how we engage with things in our third space is sometimes only control we have. I’m sure we could even dig digger about like, the consumerist behaviour and entitlements so many of us subconciously take on now—wanting instant updates or reading completed fics only or taking it for granted that we’ll be given an entire season to binge in one go.

I appreciate that writers want to push back against the audience entitlement that can come with creating readily available smut about popular characters. And yeah, reblogging does help showcase art and writing! But it can’t be demanded. It just can’t. Just how no-one has the right to demand you write how they want you to, or upload when they want you to, you don’t have a right to dictate how engage with your work (beyond not being dicks to it!!!!!! underscore!!!!!!).

Should we try and support each other, even through a small act like a reblog? Yes!!! It’s so so so good!!! Despite the essay I’ve just written, I am all for support being shown in whatever small way it can be!!!! But—there’s no entry fee, to being in a fandom. Not for lurkers, not for active readers, not for writers and not for artists. Demanding a fee like that just pushes people away and feeds them into traps like ChatGPT, which, while I understand and emphasise with it’s popularity (especially for younger readers), I will never support it. It’s using it’s current popularity as free training and when it’s learnt enough it will be monetised, but only after it’s stolen so much from all of us. And this is why we should protect the freedom of things like fanfic, and why we should say no to trying to turn each other into numbers or updates—we’re already products that are being sold, in so many other aspects of our lives. We desperately need spaces where we are free to be unhinged about little kissy stories and the characters they’re attached to.

I’m sorry Anon, I know you were just offering a counterpoint to blocked anon lmao, and I didn’t mean to unleash—but I am actually incredibly passionate about this topic, and the broader implications for the community a debate like this brings.

#ofmermaidstories-asks #‘it’s not that serious’ i say—before taking it perfectly and utterly seriously #the reblog thing—discourse

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

y’know not to jump onto the string of posts that i’ve been seeing about “please learn small talk for the love of god”….. but i think the memes around “all i want is deep talks and REAL conversations. none of this shallow shit anymore. i have to talk about space and existence and everything when i first meet someone” really do rot your brain.

because during my time in UG uni (2015-2018) i was very much on my high horse about needing deep conversations. but following that line of thinking is mostly why i made next to no friends at uni. i was so obsessed with the idea of needing “deep, meaningful and insightful” or whatever the fuck the memes said convos, that i really struggled to build small talk skills about “inane shit” (as per memes) like the weather, sport, the daily mundane hum-drum of life. and also work (but we all know i never worked during uni so this bit doesn’t count for me). i forgot how to ask people what their fave shows were, what their fave music was. hell, even what their fave flavour of coffee was or whatever. y’know, besides all the lame getting to know you ice breaker games at the beginning of each semester…. that tried and always kinda failed at trying to get everyone to build common ground and be friends, i really never asked these types of questions to anyone during undergrad. so obvs, in turn, no one/barely anyone asked them of me outside of icebreaker games. so, it was very isolating and lonely, to say the least.

but when it came to it, i never actually wanted the deep conversations, really. my degree was deep enough, being english and philosophy. so much so, that i didn’t even want to explain things to people (like the symptoms of my stomach tumour- ie constant bouts of nausea and extreme tiredness) which is exactly one (1) of the many, many things that put me off dating for the entirety of uni. i just wanted empty conversations, to keep my mind off of my assignments and the sheer amount of course content that i was trying to avoid for them. i wanted time to stop. to freeze. to slow the fuck down. and god. i just wanted someone to talk to. but lo & behold, fucking dumb ass early 20s me also didn’t want to talk to anyone bc “the conversation isn’t quality and deep”; all because of the amount of time i spent on This Here Hellsite (affectionate)™️ reblogging those bs memes and also liking them on fb. but what fucking early 20something year old actually knows what Quality Conversation™️ is anyway???? lmao. sure asf not me back then. and i’m sure asf not many other early 20somethings would know, either.

but now that i’m finally in a job, i see the importance of small talk. i see how it helps build routine and build connections slowly, but surely. i’m still building friendships at work. but god. it’s so much easier to blab about the shows you’re watching, what you did on the weekend, your fave wine/s, the good places to eat in the city or whatever the fuck else small stuff that you talk about at work.

because holy fuck. if someone had come up to me on my first day in march this year, demanding that “oh hey! we have to talk about quantum physics and the essence of being a solid state of non-celestial being and how that effects the very existence of humanity in the world” or some other weird sounding deep shit, i would have ran straight out of the office. like no joke: what the fuck is up with todd??? because we sure as fuck aren’t in a quantum physics lecture or a philosophy of science or physics lecture that would begin that debate. bc bro. simmer the fuck down and tell me if you like to surf or not. good fucking god. we’ll get to those convos on lunch break, eventually. but not when i barely fucking know you. sweet baby lord jesus.

like don’t get me wrong. yes. we need to have deep conversations with people. but you’re never going to get them if you totally block out and dismiss ALL small talk as “pointless, inane and useless” or “vapid and empty” as opposed to putting “deep conversations about time and the universe and how people meet in the cosmos (not counting vision boards)” on a pedestal…. and trying to paint yourself as a pretentious pseudo-intellectual (i guess) douchebag who only wants to talk about that stuff. because like i said earlier, no one wants to talk about the state of the human race or whatever the fuck the first time they meet someone, really.

(although asking political beliefs and stuff is probs a good idea but that’s a whole other post).

basically my point is: for anyone who is Terminally Online™️ and a Humble Meme Farmer™️ like myself and has had the Internet Brain Rot Worms™️ infiltrate their brain with the “fuck small talk! i have to have deep conversations the moment i meet you!” bullshit….. please try to break free from them. practice small talk in the mirror. practice in the shower or the bath. practice it while you drive yourself around (if you have your licence/a car). practice it in the dark of night in a seance of small talk demons. idek whatever your style is.

just. learn to build small and simple connections with other people with easy things like “what’s your fave colour?” or “what’s your dogs name??” et al. ad infinitum. because for crying out loud. when you really think about it, that’s what all those OG tumblr askbox question posts were all about. small talk. but it’s easier obvs with only a keyboard in front of you, and an imaginary audience. but it’s obvs different in person, where you can’t delete words and screwups. but who the fuck cares???

just get the fuck away from your laptop and actually talk to people in the real world. not just your fellow terminally online meme farmer mutuals on various social media sites. because then you’ll realise that small talk, albeit it being a bit of a pain sometimes, ain’t all that bad….. even for a socially awkward ambivert/introvert infp (like myself- see i’m still ~quirky ✌🏻✨~)…. and is kinda inevitably essential to building stable friendships/relationships…… instead of believing that being deep and meaningful and trying to force The Big Deep 🧐🌊🔮👽🤯™️ on everyone, all the time, is the only way to have good conversations.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #i did make a huge rant piece about this on a post about it MONTHS ago now #but i’m not bothered to go back into my archive or my posts to find it rn