#but that in no way diminished my enjoyment of it

[taibhsearachd]

Okay, having finished Glass Onion, it is a masterpiece on par with Knives Out...

I will actually lose my shit if I don’t get a romcom fic of Benoit Blanc and what’s-his-name Hugh Grant.

[ancientstone]

that feeling when you get to the end of a season and you love it and apparently everyone else hates it ✌

[funkle420]

*takes my last adderall so i can finish all my work in one day*

*finishes one (1) assignment*

*gets distracted and spends the rest of the day hyperfocusing on delicious in dungeon again*

[tabslabs]

Honestly not sure how I feel about Botbots… I enjoyed the show well enough and I honestly feel like if it wasn’t a transformers show I’d be more gung-ho about it. Idk I watched it all and a part of me still feels like “who even are these guys” about the whole thing. They aren’t even autobots or decepticons.

Idk I enjoyed the fun characters, but the only one I loved was Frostferatu & he’s not in most episodes. The main cast I did grow to like & I legitimately like the art style I just can’t get over the feeling that like I must’ve missed something even though I know I didn’t. It was exactly the sort of episodic goofy kids cartoon with a group cast I love! I really don’t know why the fact that they slapped the transformers name on there is diminishing my enjoyment of it it really isn’t fair to the show.

[beanlot]

ellie, who unexpectedly orgasms as she’s strapping you.

you thought something was off by how sloppy she was handling your hips, her fingers twitching impulsively and the thrusts of the silicone in your cunt is faltering. maybe her stamina is no longer, or maybe she’s just not into you.

but you hear her exhale shakily, her choked up breaths. people usually tried missionary first, but not ellie - she wanted to see you ride it reverse cowgirl, watch your ass from behind in doggy, and she wanted to hear you cry out speed-bump style.

but she’s on top of you now, your lower back angled comfortably on a sweaty pillow, legs hanging off the edge of the mattress.

“fuck.. fuck.. fuck—“ she whimpers silently to herself, and your glossed eyes are fluttering open. you’ll call out her name with difficulty, ellie?

that intangible pleasure in your cunt she used to hit with ease is starting to subside, but it doesn’t matter, because your core is tightening when you see her fucked-out expression. her lids shut, eyebrows arched in ecstasy and my god, williams.. it looks like you’re the one getting fucked.

the constant rocking has been stimulating her poor, swollen clit. and suddenly provoking her orgasm, her hips are twitching like crazy, whimpering exhales sloppily seeping from her lips.

“are you fucking coming?” you gasp jaggedly, feeling the silicone burrow deeply into your hole in these random and unanticipated twitches.

you’ll cup her face, and her skin is piping hot, melting into your sweaty palms. her eyes are closed, and even when they are fluttering, you can only see the pleasured whites of her eyes.

“mm—fuck-‘m sorry, i’m sorry baby-ah—..” she whimpers, too embarrassed to open her eyes fully for you to see her shameful irises, dilated pupils that are so selfish.

she’s using her remaining momentum to sporadically thrust into your soaked slit, encouraging those last ruffles of her rupturing orgasm, humming low and guttural as she does so. “felt so good—fuck, pussy feels so good, baby—“ she exhales breathlessly, her parted lips against your chest.

you can feel the hot air on your skin, condensation melting into the pores.

she tries to continue, for your sake, for your enjoyment. but it’s too much, oversensitivity that has her trembling like a loser; her arms are quivering as they try to hold her up. “i can’t-can’t go anymore—“ she whines, her measly thrusts forcing her clit into overdrive.

just the smallest tap has her overwhelmed. but you’re not satisfied, she knows this.

“keep going.” you demand, determined eyes maintaining a solid gaze at her own, your palms still framing her jaw. “i need to come too.”

and when she pauses, eyes glassy with the overbrimming bliss, you dip her face lower. her ear inches away from your lips, and you whisper with a callous hue. “you talked so much fucking game, so fuck me until i come. is that so much to ask?”

“i can’t-i can’t, it’s too—“ she tries to defend herself, tries to ignore the constant contracting of her hole; the rigorous pulsing of her tormented bud. but you’re quick to deflate it.

“it’s always about you, huh, ellie?” you murmur, slowly rutting your hips against the silicone. she can hear the challenge in your voice, the way you diminish her, the humiliating wetness of her slick.

and she loves it.

“stop being so selfish, and fuck me.” you order, your arms sprawling out to your sides - because you want her to put the work in, make the same mess of you as she did herself.

and she will. she’ll whine, she’ll beg, she’ll plead. it’s too much, i can’t, please baby as she fucks into you like you deserve. the veins in her hands prominent as she tries to keep herself steady, the definition in her abdomen from the clenching, and the pitiful way she’s crying out. whimpering for breath, a pleasured tear landing on your collarbone.

but she fucks you good, and you’re grateful for it.

[toxicanonymity]

Joel Miller Masterlist - NSFW

And other Pedro characters

This is not currently being updated. You can find my latest fics here, on @toxicfics, or on my profile header by clicking "latest fics."

Version 11/11/24 (added: parts - jackson game joel)

see series/collection masterlists for their updates.

Blog FAQ | fic notifs: @toxicfics | fic recs: @toxicrecs

⚠️ I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied, translated, made into bots, put into AI, etc.

⚠️ 18+ joel x f!reader unless otherwise noted. Darkness ratings (D - Darkish to Dark, DD - Extra Dark, DDD - ultra dark) are subjective and relative. dark doesn't automatically mean it has dubcon (DC) or noncon (NC), but many do (check warnings). The noncon I write is physically enjoyed by reader. Dubcon is often situations that diminish the ability to truly consent. Like drugs, captivity, or power imbalance, but in many dubcon fics, reader is willing or even enthusiastic.

If you can't decide where to start, Buzzfeed quizzes are at the bottom 😅

🍒 innocent reader | 💤 somnophilia | 👴/🧔‍♂️ explicit age gap

MASTERLISTS - AUs, Collections, and Series

Night walks (AU) 👴 D, DC (drugs). Hot, sleazy older pothead neighbor who talks dirty.

Raider Joel DD. NC (at first, via implicit threat), DC (stockholm syndrome). This is a big AU with lots of lore and interaction.

Silence can never be bought (dbf, AU)👴 You catch him in a compromising position.

Left in Lincoln (dbf x virgin) 👴🍒 DD Your dads trust him to look in on you while they're gone.

Stepdad 🧔‍♂️D You catch him perving on your insta and start toying with him. You seduce him.

Slasher Joel DD DC - You're DTF the sleazy tow truck driver but end up fcking for your life.

Vampire Joel DC - he's been waiting for you for centuries and can't let you go once he finds you.

The Raid D, DC - Javi & Steve find you on a drug raid and take you under their wing, in a way.

Speakeasy (Collection, no plot) - Exhibitionist one shots and drabbles.

Thighs out (bf's dad) - Your bf strays and his hot, slutty dad makes you feel better, much better.

Brotherly Sharing - Several pairs of miller bros. including uncle tommy & leopard print.

Free Use - D, DC, 💤 👫

jalbird - cellmate's nephew

for survival (2003)

For Survival (1.4k) - Joel, a stranger, saves your life, you fuck during evacuation.

For Survival 2 (1.4k) - fucking in your sleeping bag trying to be silent.

dark mode!Joel ULTRA dark - DDD, 👫

Dark mode (knife)You activate Joel's dark mode for your own enjoyment.

Clicking (horny! joel -> dark mode) He won't stop when a clicker appears. You try to punish him.

just the tip D, DC (power imbalance) 🧔‍♂️🍒

Just the tip 🍒 he coaxes you into full piv.

surveillance (imagine) he watches you.

Just the tip (really) you've been trying not to fuck him and this time it's really just the tip.

VIRGINS

Aches, thoughts, and needs 👴🍒 outbreak

Night Talks 🧔‍♂️🍒 D, DC best friend's dad

Patrol - pt. 1; virgin patrol 👴🍒 DD, DC

Virgin sex worker (v loss) D 🍒

Ready for her ( part of Miller Bros)

See also, Lincoln series and Just the Tip above.

⬇️ ONE SHOTS, miniseries, misc⬇️

Post-outbreak

you almost die then get used D, NC, 👫

Possessive cum play D, 👫

Secret breeder!Joel Refuses to pull out D, 👫

Jealous of you/Tess (degradation) D, DC mean

Bone broth (consensual noncon) 👫

non-con while you sleep D, NC 💤

movie night (in public) 👫 Under a blanket

Caught DDD very mean Joel, ✨At the table

Lazaretto (NC. sex pollen)👴, PART 2, DC

caught masturbating (300) D

the old fashioned way (1k) D He breeds you

parts - jackson game joel

Pre/Non-oubreak/AUs

pawn shop (GILF Joel) ��D

canopy, pt 2 (caught) ��🧔‍♂️ dbf in your old bed

Fucking Joel at your dad's house dbf

Breeding couple ; Pregnant , 👫

in the ass like a good girl anal drabble

Window (peeping tom) pt.2 date next door D

caught Drinking ( DDDNE) 🧔‍♂️DDD, NC sarah's friend is punished

sleeping Beauty 👴💤, 👫 CNC.

that's the spot (masseur!Joel)

gas station skeeze (300) 👴

packing: butcher!Joel DD, DC

personal trainer , part 2 D, DC

daddy Joel ��🧔‍♂️, a day in the filth

dark nurse!Joel (sex pollen imagines)

locket - DC best friends dad x dark! reader

HCs, imagines, other

Free Use / Objectification HCs - you can put Joel in different modes for your enjoyment.

Brothel Reality Show

✨Trucker Joel

Multi-Joel Art & Misc

Lmk if yours is missing, ✨section in progress✨

Joelkémon cards by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

JOELS AS CATS by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Joel's as cats pt. 2 not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Dick HCs - size, appearance, and more

random hot things from HBO canon

Joelkémon astrology by @wannab-urs

Mood board of joels by @milla-frenchy

joels as texts by @iamasaddie

Buzzfeed Quizzes

by @missannfairy & @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Which Joel are you most compatible with?

Which Joel are you?

Which Joel to spend the holidays with?

Compatability: Valentine's Edition

Other pedro characters

Javi G. - Watch you watch him fuck his wife. Nick watches. You're Javi's wife.

Ezra - Sleep time: pt. one (250), two 💤(850) D You bait Ezra pt.3 Ezra strikes back. DC ; ✨ The Green

Javi P.

hunt and peck (2.7k) 6/30

THE RAID ongoing series

[snapscube]

Is it (for lack of a better term) insulting that some people have the Subspace Emissary fandub as their favorite? That one was deliberately made a complete shitshow, yet it’s honestly the funniest one in my opinion. I’m just wondering if that kinda spits in the face all the preparation and work that goes into the other proper dubs.

No not at all! It came out hilariously. Sure it was "purposefully bad" but in a way that was intentionally meant to circle around to being funny in its own right. I genuinely love it and am proud to have it a part of the lineup, in a sense. Doesn't mean I intend to make it the new standard of quality, but I think MOST people do kinda get what we were going for and the majority of enjoyment comes from the same place that we were coming from putting it out. Sure there are a few people who kinda Don't Get It and inadvertently diminish the actual amount of polish and care that goes into a usual episode cause at the end of the day they just see Funny Cussing Videos, but hey to each their own and at the end of the day I'm just glad people like these at all. You say "Subspace Dubbed Over is my favorite" and I say "haha yeah that ones insane" and it doesn't have to be any more complicated than that.

[lizzybeeee]

DATV Spoilers - The Handling of Previous Story/Lore In DATV

Quick PSA: If you’ve read my post on the lore/story threads dropped – it’s not a list of what I expected or even wanted to see addressed/answered in DATV.

It’s pretty much a given that Kieran and the Architect were never going to come back in any meaningful way, I understand that. Questions about what happened to Anora, Anders, Cullen’s clinic etc...never expected to get an answer about them – at all. The line of succession in Ferelden and Orlais? I expected that sometime down the line it would have to be streamlined into one option for both nations, not a problem – there’s so many choices it’s impossible to account for, and I understand that.

This is just a list of plot threads left unanswered that will, most likely, remain unanswered.

There’s no DLC planned – the team is working on Mass Effect 5 now. There’s no conclusion to the fate of the south of Thedas outside of some codex entries and some dialogue. They can patch the Executors cutscene out, maybe - perhaps they could even do the same to anything relating to the south of Thedas. Yes, these areas were not completely destroyed by the Blight – they can rebuild – but it comes across as being so meaningless that I ever cared for these places in the first place. To learn that after ten years of waiting all we cared for get devastated and left in limbo...it’s hard to put into words the bitterness I felt at that realization, and seeing that final cut-scene drove the nail into the coffin of how foolish I felt for even caring in the first place.

A codex entry or letter would have been nice – but my expectations for DATV was solely for a good story that added to the lore and world of Thedas. Instead, it felt entirely reductive – glaringly so when you account for the ‘Executives’ twist.

The world of Thedas has been watered down and its worldbuilding/lore diminished - slavery in Tevinter is non-existent, the Crows being an organization that indoctrinated children is never touched upon, any mystery of ancient Tevinter and the elves is answered (badly!), the Dalish have effectively disappeared and become the Veil Jumpers...it all feels so hollow, so shallow, that I ever cared about these things in the first place.

The issue is that the dev’s gave us only three choices, told us that as the story was contained to the north of Thedas – that our other choices weren’t relevant to the rest of the game with their intent being to not effect anyone's head-canons...before doing so with ‘the blight has devastated most of everywhere you went previously’.

These were story/plot threads that were woven throughout the narrative of the first three games – the things that made me care and become invested in the world of Thedas to begin with. In a game that was set-up to be a direct sequel to Inquisition and Trespasser I hoped that, at least, what was brought up in Inquisition would be mentioned.

Perhaps my list is a little too detailed with plot threads and issues – if anything that can be attributed to the incredible world-building done in the first three games! I love those games, I love the world of Thedas...which is why this game utterly baffles me with its choices.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a good game but not a good Dragon Age game.

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

Edit: DATV absolutely has a lot of problems outside of its handling of the lore and story of the previous games. I would not say its a good rpg in any sense, but as a weird 'action-adventure rpg lite' game I did have some fun moments and enjoy myself. Would I recommend it to anyone? Absolutely not.

I heard someone describe it as a 'junk food' game and I very much agree with that statement. I found enjoyment in it, but to do so I usually had to turn off my brain, which is not a compliment towards DATV.

The game released very well optimized (especially considering how most companies are content to release half-baked games and patch them later) and did create some really interesting visual set-pieces like the Battle of Weisshaupt. But those moments I enjoyed were few and far between, and far overwhelmed by the negatives of the game - such as story, lack of conversation/conflict/role-play options, bad character writing etc...

Calling the game 'good' is, perhaps, a stretch, and I totally get that. Calling it 'mediocre with some good parts' may be more accurate.

[mariowritesforyou]

Try writing a "plot irrelevant" scene

We all have it drilled into our our literary heads: every piece of writing, every scene, every beat, every single sentence has to have a purpose or be justified for its inclusion on the plot.

I'm a big fan of justifying my narrative decisions but sometimes the writing can't have a purpose right from the moment it's being written.

So much bandwidth is allocated to the intensive brain-intensive process of putting stuff to words, I feel I should myself some slack if I can't fit them into the overarching themes or theses.

This especially becomes a problem on longer works where there's so much room for meaning and mistakes and mishaps. Worrying that everything has to be foreshadowing or pay off or symbolic can sap the enjoyment of building a scene and thus, kill the velocity of writing it.

So, how about if we just don't care for a bit?

Write a scene or sequence that you sort of know might make the cutting room floor, but has something in it for you if you write it, be it spending time with your favorite characters, coming up with lines for later, or fleshing out the tone. Imagine outlandish meetings of characters that would not meet otherwise, see how they react to situations unseen inside the plot.

You see, we know that readers need variety in a story, but the writers need the variety too. There's a point of critical saturation where chipping away at something will yield diminishing returns whose solution is often to rest by doing something different. Your brain will still be working on that plot thread you left on pause, but in a freer, open and more relaxed state on the background.

A bit of horizontal progress can go a long way for vertical progress.

[gatheringbones]

[“As history has shown, and as I was at the time experiencing, a strap-on can be sexy, but it can also be a failure and a threat. It draws attention to how contradictory and fragile our definitions of male and female are, and how tightly we cling to them, even in relationships between women, where gender and sexuality are more flexible.

I think it’s important to look at how this played out, not just in the history of straight men policing lesbians but in the lesbian community policing itself. In the 1940s and 50s a bar scene began to develop in cities across the country, marking the first time when lesbians, particularly working-class ones, gathered publicly and in large numbers. During this time a butch/femme culture developed that included strict codes of dress and behavior both in and outside the bedroom. Butch women slicked back their hair, wore suits and jeans, and were, generally, the “givers” of sexual pleasure. Femme women wore dresses and makeup and were the “receivers” of sexual pleasure. In some ways, this culture was liberating, as it represented a powerful, cohesive group aesthetic and safety in numbers. Especially for women who actually identified as butch, it was also a chance to finally adopt masculine dress without being seen as failed or dangerous but rather as sexy and loveable. For others this culture was a trap, pushing women into restrictive sex and gender roles in the same ways heterosexuality had. It is by no means the only lesbian aesthetic, but I think part of the reason it has stuck around for so long in the popular imagination as the way lesbians are is because it allows straight people to again see themselves as the center of the sexual world.

In either case, strap-ons were not widely used, or at least not talked about. In Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold, a book that documents the lives of Black and white lesbians in Buffalo, there is a pretty exhaustive set of interviews about sex acts and terminology, but no one mentions owning, liking, or even trying sex with a strap-on. Indeed, the one mention of a dildo is one of bewilderment as Vic, a self-identified butch, talks about her friend pulling her into the bathroom to show her the new strap-on she got. “Jesus, she whipped this thing out . . . I’m supposed to be butch and my face felt like a neon sign. I could feel the embarrassment. How do you admire a dildo? No seriously, what do you say?”

Butches in the book took great pride “in their own hands and their ability to please,” which “did not dispose them to think that a dildo would improve their lovemaking.” It’s interesting that they considered the dildo less potent and successful than hands. This could be read as displacing the power of the dick, but, coupled with the silence surrounding strap-on use, it also points to a greater fear about the lesbian body. How regulated and small it had to be to exist. How easily it could be diminished by something outside itself, or destroyed altogether.

In the lesbian radical feminist movement of the 1960s and 70s, there was also a great deal of attention focused on creating distance from dicks. Jill Johnston argued in A Lesbian Nation that the only true road to female liberation was the conscious “withdrawal at every level from the man to develop woman supremacy.” This meant that not only butch/femme dynamics but also penetrative sex were out. Anne Koedt developed the theory that the vaginal orgasm was a myth perpetrated by Freud in order to center male sexual desire for penetration, though her evidence for this was a study done by Kinsey—a man—that found the vagina was not particularly sensitive to touch. True orgasms, Koedt argued, only came from the clitoris—even though she interestingly also called the clit “the female equivalent of the penis”—so if women wanted to have enjoyable sex there was no need for penetration, only clitoral stimulation. Andrea Dworkin went so far as to call the penis “a hidden symbol of terror” and argued that “violence is male, the male is the penis.”

Dorothy Allison writes about the effects this had on herself and other lesbians at the time. “No one admitted to using dildos, wanting to be tied up, wanting to be penetrated, or talking dirty—all that male stuff . . . my lover wanted us to perform tribadism, stare into each other’s eyes, and orgasm simultaneously. Egalitarian, female, feminist, revolutionary.” In attempting to free themselves from the penis, in many ways radical lesbians ended up reinscribing the power of the dick and sacrificing the range of sexual pleasure they could experience in the process.

In a counter to this, the lesbian sexual outlaws of the 1970s, 80s, and 90s argued that dildos were actually great, not problematic, but primarily because they didn’t reference the penis at all. Some even argued that wearing a dildo turns a woman into a cyborg, not woman, man, or even human, just a body involved in the mechanistic movements of giving and receiving pleasure. While there is something freeing about this argument, as it gets us out from under the idea that we can’t talk about strap-ons and that a woman wearing a strap-on is only trying to make up for a never-ending lack, it still bypasses the sticky, complicated reality of the gendered/human world we live in and the simple fact that sometimes lesbians want strap-ons to look like penises.

All of this begs the question: can a dyke wear a dick and just have some damn fun?”]

amy gall, from my dick, your dick, our dick, from wanting: women writing about desire, 2023

[saintsenara]

What is your rationale for disagreeing with the fanon that the horcruxes affected Voldemort's sanity?

that it's literally canon that they don't!

i obviously don't have an actual problem with people using the idea that the horcruxes affect voldemort's sanity as a trope, if that's what works for their story, but what irks me is that this idea is often repeated by voldemort enjoyers as canon fact, when the impact of horcruxes on cognitive function is spelled out clearly in half-blood prince:

Harry sat in thought for a moment, then asked, “So if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort could be killed?”  “Yes, I think so,” said Dumbledore. “Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical powers remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without his Horcruxes.”

in half-blood prince - as in every book prior to deathly hallows - dumbledore functions as the "word of god" character, which is to say that the information he provides us - as long as it relates neither to harry nor himself - isn't up for interpretation, it's understood within the narrative as correct. we can also be sure that he's done his research on horcruxes, knows exactly how they work, and is speaking as an expert when it comes to their impact on the mind - and we can also note that slughorn [who also seems to know what he's talking about when it comes to horcruxes and their function] doesn't mention them causing any cognitive damage when discussing them with the teenage tom riddle.

but nobody has ever made as many horcruxes as voldemort! maybe one doesn't affect the mind, but seven certainly could.

except this doesn't align at all with how the series understands the relationship between the soul and the will.

one of the central themes of the harry potter series is the value of choice. all of its main characters have narrative arcs which hinge - in some way or other - on them making a choice, very often the choice between what is right and what is easy. ron chooses to leave and then chooses to come back; hermione chooses to stay. sirius chooses to take a stand against the life his family expect of him. snape chooses to repent of his sins and work forever to atone for them. harry chooses to walk into the forest and die. lily chooses to ignore voldemort's request for her to stand aside.

all of these choices are made of the character in question's own free will - and the same applies to everything voldemort does in the series. he chooses to kill and to keep killing of his own free will, with the full capacity to understand his actions, and he refuses, right until the very end, to show the slightest bit of remorse for what he's done - and it is this, in the narrative's view, which makes his behaviour so heinous and which causes his behaviour to have such an impact on the state of his soul.

if we assume that voldemort's grasp on rationality declines with the number of horcruxes he makes, we are also assuming that his capacity to understand the full wickedness of his actions also declines - but his motivation for killing myrtle to make a horcrux and his motivation for killing frank bryce to make a horcrux are exactly the same: he wants to, and he doesn't give a solitary fuck about the life he's just taken.

and this stands in contrast to something else we see in canon - the idea that killing does not automatically have an impact on the soul:

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?” “You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore.

this - the set-up to snape's mercy-killing of dumbledore - suggests that your soul is not harmed if you know without question that the death you cause is justified.

snape kills dumbledore of his own free will, but this suggestion also implies that it would be perfectly possible for the soul to remain unharmed if a killer was understood to be non compos mentis. that is, if someone lacked the capacity to understand their actions were not justified, then their soul would see them as "not guilty by reason of insanity" and not splinter.

voldemort's ability to make so many horcruxes in the first place, then, must depend on his capacity to understand exactly what he's doing - to know he could choose not to kill and then still do it anyway.

and we do actually see in canon that - while he's shown to be someone who kills with the slightest provocation in the films - the voldemort of the books is clinical and methodical in his violence:

“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face: Then the child turned and ran away... Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand... One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary...

the canonical voldemort's known kill count is actually surprisingly low, and each of his victims is clearly selected with a rational [in the "does he have a disorder of thought?" sense, not in the "is this morally justifiable?" sense] motivation driving his decision to attack them - even if his actions are also affected by an emotional trigger [he does not, for example, kill his father or massacre the goblins who tell him that the cup was stolen for reasons which are irrational or delusional - incandescent fury or fear that your secret is out are not insanity].

voldemort kills and makes his horcruxes out of choice, and the series is clear that his capacity to understand that choice does not degrade across the course of his life.

ok, but you have to admit that he's definitely not... all there, personality wise...

sure. but i don't think this has anything to do with the horcruxes...

the idea that voldemort runs around shrieking and cackling to himself is an invention of the films. the canonical voldemort is shown to be lucid and thoughtful even in deathly hallows, he remains a formidable strategist right up until the end - and i think it's also worth noting that the films really gloss over just how successful his takeover of the government is - and his prodigious intellect and magical talent are acknowledged by the order throughout the series.

his more volatile personality traits - his fondness for monologuing, his rapid switching between being superficially charming and feral, his tendency to get lost in his own obsessions, his emotional brittleness - are all ones the eleven-year-old riddle is shown to possess, and i think it's much more interesting to explore the idea that they remain aspects of the person he once was which the adult voldemort cannot hide behind the mask he has constructed.

but - yes - its certainly true that the resurrected voldemort of order of the phoenix onwards is more paranoid, harder to soothe, crueller to his death eaters, more inflexible in his thinking and so on than he is implied to have been in the 1970s, and so i understand why many readers interpret this as evidence that his last two horcruxes [harry and nagini] - plus the arcane horror of his resurrection ritual - might have sent him round the bend.

but i think that the implication of canon is that this behaviour has much more mundane causes.

in october 1981, all the evidence we have is that voldemort is about to win. he is an unassailable terrorist kingpin with an army of highly-trained, highly loyal minions and - we can assume - widespread popular support.

and then only four of these supporters try to find him.

it's clear - as we can tell from the fact that barty crouch jr. is so shocked to discover that he didn't massacre the reassembled death eaters where they stood - that voldemort is livid that none of his "loyal" servants came to rescue him from the tree in albania his soul piece was hiding in, choosing instead to pretend they were under the imperius curse and that they'd never have been seen dead supporting him had they been in their right minds. it's also clear that he has no choice but to welcome these death eaters back to the fold once he's resurrected because he'd have no core supporters otherwise.

but it's also clear that he doesn't trust any of them one single bit once their commitment is proven to be so fragile - and that it is this, this evidence that he's just a human being with human feelings, rather than a creature of pure magic whose mind has been warped by that magic, which provides a much, much more interesting explanation for his increasing volatility as the war draws to its conclusion.

voldemort is at his most interesting - in my opinion - when his humanity [and his failure to outrun it] is foregrounded. this isn't incompatible with his creation of the horcruxes at all. but it is, i think, incompatible with the idea that they warp his mind.

[kivino]

Platonic!Task Force 141 x Eastern European!Reader

Word Counter – ~1.9k

Summary – a compilation of headcanons about how reader’s Eastern European background would affect interactions with Task Force 141 during an undercover mission together.

Tags/Warnings – Gn!reader, Eastern European!reader (obviously), Platonic!TF141, fluff, mostly.

A/n – RUSSIANS DNI (this is a personal boundary, so I ask you to respect it, if you don’t like it just scroll past this post). Very self-indulgent. Just showing more love to my fellow Eastern European readers. Since it is mostly based on my own experience growing up as a Ukrainian, I’m sorry if certain things don’t resonate with you! This whole thing was made for fun and fun only.

So, let’s assume our beloved Task Force needs to go undercover to get some information on Makarov and his merry band of goons. Obviously, they can’t do it without at least one team member, who is familiar with the way of living in Eastern Europe. So, naturally, Laswell introduces you to them – born and raised there, ready to help them and stop your sworn enemy from escalating an already pretty shitty situation.

“So, allow me to introduce your new team member for the duration of this mission” Laswell nods to the door when you walk in, saying your name and callsign, already catching some looks full of curiosity from Task Force 141.

First thing they noticed about you? Resting bitch face for days. Who needs a mask when you have a death stare that will give the heebie-jeebies to most if not all of your teammates? However, they feel even more taken aback when you suddenly greet them with a warm, welcoming smile and a firm handshake, not a trace of that sour expression on your face.

One would think that you’d spend hours preparing four of them for the mission by teaching them language, helping to memorize names and faces of contacts, Makarov’s trusted allies, and potential targets. Naturally, you did your job, but those precious hours were also spent with you standing next to a whiteboard, ranting about the politics and societal issues of your country, explaining certain national jokes, and teaching them swear words or poetry you studied at school. But hey, they’re not complaining (maybe a little).  

They were skeptical about this whole deal at first. However, there was a shared understanding between the four of them that they needed to do whatever it took to stop the spreading of Makarov’s influence and diminish his resources in other countries. With time, however, they’ve found things that made their life in a completely new environment a bit more enjoyable and interesting.

Soap would pick up on your native language the fastest out of the Task Force. Under all these jokes and goofiness Johnny’s a smart guy, inquisitive as hell too, which makes a pretty good mix. He’d try to write down how you pronounce things in his sketchbook, dedicating pages upon pages to making a small vocabulary of what you say, searching up the translations of words any chance he gets. Convinces himself that it just helps him to get more into his new way of life, and not at all because he likes seeing you all excited when he slips a word in your language somewhere in the conversation.

“So how do you say it?” he points to the sentence, messily scribbled on the page with the ballpoint pen he slipped from Gaz. There is a slight frown between your brows – the word looks unfamiliar, more like gibberish than something in your language. You can practically feel the gears in your head screech and come to a halt as you drill Soap’s handwriting with your eyes.

“Oh, wait. You made a mistake here. No wonder I have no idea what this is.” You quickly take the pen and scratch the right version of the word on the paper, while Johnny chuckles at your brutal honesty. He doesn’t say anything though. Some time passes and you’re already correcting other words he wrote down, explaining the right way to say them. And you can feel a pleasant warmth spread in your chest when you can see Soap’s utmost attention directed at you.

Johnny can’t help but feel that moments like these were somewhat of a way to bond for you two. He’d jokingly offer to give you some Scottish classes each time you playfully flick him on the forehead for a word he pronounced wrong. He never expected you to take him up on the offer until the five of you got stuck in a countryside safehouse and essentially had nothing to do while waiting.

On the topic of Eastern European countryside, Price is not an old man by any measure, man’s not even forty yet, but it would grow so massively on him that it’s concerning. When you finally got a good, reliable contact that gave you some useful information you had to lay low for some time in a safe house not far from one of many Makarov’s places where the next weapon deal would be held. And while you waited several days for his people to show up there, obviously almost all of you were bored out of your minds. Not Price though. The man went exploring. Of course, taking you with him (he only wanted company on his small journey through the cozy countryside, don’t blame him).

Soon enough, during your walk you two come across the abundance of berry bushes and fruit trees everywhere, and while you pick something to munch on from them constantly, Price only scolds you. You smirk in response, giving him a handful of ripe mulberries, your lips and fingers now a dark red color from the juice.  

“It’s going to rot if nobody eats it. People who plant these trees would rather someone enjoy them instead of fruits just falling on the ground, getting squished, and going to waste.” And Price takes note of that with a small smile. Soon enough the two of you find a spring the whole village uses, a willow standing tall beside it, providing shade for you two to rest, chat a bit, and cool yourself off with fresh water. The fact that there are not many people around also doesn’t miss him. It’s quiet and peaceful, Price finally feels like he has room to breathe with his whole chest.

“You know, I could get used to a life like this.” Price finally mutters, enjoying your simple, comforting presence, walking along the river shore, and hearing the distant sounds of a train passing through the village. You look at him with understanding in your eyes, as you see the tension in his shoulders finally slipping away. Your captain relaxes, which is a pleasant change of pace from the frown on his face that you got used to.  

All five of you had to live in the same apartment in an old panel building closer to the edge of town. Not the best place to live, but a good opportunity to blend in with the locals and find leads on Makarov’s criminal “friends”. More than once you’ve found yourself sitting together with Ghost on the balcony that creaked with each blow of the wind, in complete silence while he was smoking some cheap cigarettes that smelled more like burnt paper instead of tobacco.

“Can I join you?” Your voice is a quiet rasp, as you lean against the doorway, pushing the mosquito netting to the side. You couldn’t sleep. Not when the whole world will go down the drain if you fail your mission. Not when it’s been a month already and it felt like you were still right where you started.

“Knock yourself out” the man shrugs, patting the stool near him. You shuffle your bare feet on the newspapers that were laid out on the balcony floor, plopping down on the seat, your eyes immediately getting glued to the view, enjoying the breeze that seeped through the open window. You two sit in silence for so long, but it doesn’t feel awkward, quite on the contrary – weirdly calming and serene.

After that night these nightly smoke breaks became a sort of tradition for you two, a way to wind down after a long day. Ghost would nod towards the balcony, a silent invitation reserved only for you. Regardless of whether you’re a smoker or not, occasionally he would offer you a cigarette from his pack or a hit from the lit one. A gesture of camaraderie.

“Thought you’d be more talkative.” Ghost’s voice sounds gruff after the whole day working your asses off just to discover the lead that you had was absolute bullshit.

“And I thought you weren’t a type for small talk.” You grumble in return, just as annoyed about coming back to this dingy apartment with nothing.

“That I am” He lets out a low chuckle, flicking his cigarette into an ashtray in his hand, avoiding eye contact with you.  

Kyle found himself liking your cooking above everything else. The way he would eat anything thrown together in a hurry by you was quite flattering. So soon enough you offered to teach him how to make some of your favorite national dishes, and he couldn’t say no to your offer. So, you decided to start easy – picking out the fresh ingredients. And where do you go to do that? Not a grocery store, no way in hell. The market filled with tons of people is the place you need. A lot cheaper than your usual supermarket too.

The number of times you got discounts for fruits and vegetables on the market from older women just for Gaz’s pretty eyes was insane. He would just blink at you with confusion written all over his face anytime you glanced at him with that smile and refused to explain why you spent a lot less money than expected on the fresh vegetables. At some point, Gaz even questioned his ability to count before you told him just not to worry about it since you got a “very special bargain”. And, obviously, Kyle was the one carrying the plastic bags filled to the brim with fresh produce.  

“You know, your version of the dish is not half-bad,” You say, licking the spoon and giving Gaz a wide smile, which he immediately returns to you tenfold. Spending time like this with him was a pleasure. Each minute spent together made you loathe even thinking about the time when you’d have to part ways and you won’t be able to teach him your cultural cuisine like this anymore.

“Well, I have a great teacher to thank for that.” Gaz gives you a charming smile, so glad to finally have a distraction from the constant looming presence of Makarov in his thoughts. Right this moment he caught himself thinking that he was happy they had you here with them. It would be a lot harder if not for you supporting and guiding them through everything. He felt…thankful.

You’d bring the whole Task Force to different cafes that serve your country's most famous dishes, but Kyle would be the one to enjoy these outings the most, barely raising his eyes from the plate to participate in the conversation.

“Wow, are you in a hurry or something? The food won’t run away from you.” You chuckle, while Kyle ignores the odd saying coming from you and continues to eat with the huge appetite he had ever since this undercover mission started.

However, nothing lasts forever, so after finishing their business with you, getting all the information they needed, and “cleaning up the mess” Task Force 141 bids you farewell, returning to their usual duties. Saying goodbye is never easy, even if you knew each other just for several months you still got attached to them, just like they grew very fond of you (as much as some of them hated to admit that). But hey, they promised to visit you after they finish up with Makarov. They promised. And the four of them keep the promises they make.

taglist - @mockerycrow @stridersdiner

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request!

[brostateexam]

Something no one told me about aging is that you watch your older relatives decline. To be more precise, when people mentioned that, I thought they were talking about-- dementia. Cancer. Degenerative illnesses.

My mom isn't who she was three years ago. She is still perfectly capable of living on her own. She is still healthy. She is still smart and funny and great to talk to -- but she is diminishing, bit by bit.

She has less energy. She's less dextrous. She has some hearing loss and now I have to speak louder and slower for her to hear me. She repeats herself, from time to time, in a way that I associate with old people. I guess, as a woman in her seventies, she qualifies as old people. Not infirm, but old.

I'm trying not to be upset by this, both because I am relatively blessed -- she is smart and in good health and living a life she likes -- and because it seems silly to be too upset by the realities of the progression of time.

Nevertheless, I am upset. I don't want her to diminish. I don't want her to realize that it's happening -- so far she hasn't seemed to -- and I don't want her to be upset by it.

She's spent so much of her life caring for people. She worked in healthcare in a direct service role before she retired, and when she wasn't doing that, she was raising me and my sister. With me, she was functionally a single parent, and I was a messed up kid well into my early twenties. Then my sister had kids and she helped with that. Then my grandmother (her mother) got sick and she helped with that, too. She is her mother's medical PoA. She spends about 3 weeks every 2 months overseeing her.

It all just seems like a lot, like a long life of service to others. I'm worried more than anything that by the time she isn't urgently needed by anyone that it will be too late for her to have an independent life.

I know it's not a binary and I know she's had an enjoyable life full of hobbies and vacations and study and meditation and friendship. So I guess if the above is a fear, my hope is that as she navigates the latter stages of life that she maintains her health. So every little chip, no matter how infinitesimal, gives me pause.

[julieee404]

Kinktober day five!!

Wait... Mattheo?

❥ Monster sex(Teratophillia), Cockbuldge, Size difference, Tentacles ❥ Mattheo riddle

POV: Mattheo and you were walking through the forbidden forest when one of his father's death eaters tried to cast a spell at you. Mattheo jumped in front of you and took the brunt of the spell himself.

Trigger warnings: Werewolf/tentacle monster, knotting, swear words,

"No so she told Draco that he took her virginity but he didn't do that. Jack a seventh-year Ravenclaw did" Mattheo and I were walking through the forest in the evening enjoying each other's company. I was telling him about some gossip I picked up on today.

I heard a rustling behind me so I turned around and gasped gripping Mattheo's arm tighter. "Matt" I said fearfully looking at the death eater now standing before me.

Mattheo turned around looking at the death eater and his face turned from a soft grin to a hard glare.

The death eater just raised his wand at me and muttered a curse neither of us understood. A bright purple light came straight at me. Before I understood what was going on Mattheo had already covered my body with his taking the full force of the spell.

He let out a loud grunt of pain, which broke my heart a little. When the purple light finally diminished I was l lying on the ground with a sort of beast over me. The beast turned around and attacked the death eater, tearing out his throat.

The beast was a sort of werewolf, covered in fur, and large wolf-like ears sat ontop of his head. From his back, there were 4 large black tentacles coming out of his body. He turned back towards me away from the now dead death eater.

I scrambled back and let out a scared yelp, seeing blood on his chin. The beast let out a sad yelp but didn't come closer to me. I looked into his eyes and froze, recognising the deep dark brown eyes that belonged to my boyfriend.

"Wait... Matty?" I said full of surprise. He let out a soft mewl and I stood up walking up to him. And cupping his now snout. "Matty is that you?" The beast pressed his snout against my hand.

"How do I turn you back honey?" I said more to myself than to him. Snape taught us about bestiality returns just last week. Suddenly I remembered. "You have to fuck me" I whispered.

Mattheo reeled back looking down at his cock. It was way bigger than his actual dick and had a large knot at the underside. He shook his head no, obviously not wanting to hurt me.

I walked up to him "Love please, it's the only way I know to turn you back. You have to fill me up." He whimpered but his eyes flashed with desire and his cock jumped up.

"I trust you," I said softly and undressed. I put my clothes on the ground to lay upon them and not the forest ground. Mattheo moved above me and started to prep me. His fingers pushed inside of me, careful not to hurt me.

The tentacles on his twitched clearly wanting to do something as well "Darling you won't hurt me, use your tentacles, I trust you." Two of his tentacles wrapped around my thighs pulling them apart and spreading my legs.

His third tentacle rubbed my clit, the suckers on his tentacle sucked my clit in the most delicious way. His fourth and final tentacle replaced his fingers inside of me.

The sensations made me throw my head back moaning loudly. My moans only encouraged Mattheo taking it as a sign of my obvious enjoyment. The tentacle squirmed inside of me hitting all of my pleasure spots and splitting me open.

I felt my orgasm approaching and I kept gazing into Mattheo's eyes, showing him I wasn't scared of him. Not ever and definitely not now. A soft growl left his mouth and he sped up his movements, making me orgasm quickly.

He kept fucking me through my high before pulling out. He moved over me laying his cock on the top of my stomach. I let out a moan at his pure size, fully convinced that it wouldn't fit. It reached above my navel almost to my boobs. He was thicker than my arm.

He started to slowly move inside me making me writhe in pleasure. he filled me until his knot, not able to fit that inside of me yet. He slowly started to fuck me, not wanting to hurt me.

It was pleasurable but it didn't scratch the itch "Mattheo please let go, please" I begged him. His eyes grew wide and he let go of the control, pounding into me harshly, setting up an animalistic pace.

I was being used, like a cocksleeve for his huge dick. And I loved every second of it, a second orgasm quickly approaching. I wrapped my arms around his huge shoulders and held on tightly as I fell apart on his member clenching around him tightly only prolonging my high.

He let out a growl and started pounding into me even faster, making me scream in pleasure.

I almost came immediately again, Mattheo pushed his knot inside of me making my head fall back at the insane pleasure I was getting from the stretch.

Mattheo started to spill inside of me, his knot not allowing his cum to slip out of me, so my belly bulged a bit and I writhed in pleasure coming a third time.

After both of us came Mattheo stayed inside of me, not pulling out yet, letting his knot deflate. I kept staring into his eyes. As soon as his knot deflated completely a bright purple light surrounded him again and he turned back to Mattheo.

I smiled brightly and he cupped my face "Love are you alright?" He asked looking over my entire body to see if he had hurt me. "I'm alright love are you?" I asked sitting up and getting dressed again. He nodded and kissed me deeply, thanking me between kisses.

"Come on let's go back to your dorm and shower." He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to my nose "I love you, darling"

Kinktober masterlist 2024

[paperlunamoth]

Is anyone else just entirely enraged by how blatantly sexist 99% of anime is? Like, some of the best stories I've ever come across, the most beautiful visuals I've ever seen in storytelling, the most brilliant examples of raw creativity I've ever encountered, have come from anime. There are some anime that will forever be near and dear to my heart, because they are just so well made and impactful as stories and works of art.

But darn near every anime is RIDDLED with a dozen different sexist tropes and constant examples of blatant sexism. The women are generally significantly less competent and significantly more annoying than the men. Every female character who isn't an old woman is sexualized, even minors are sexualized, just in a "cutesy" way. You got 14yo girls with tits large enough to cause serious medical problems. There's regular fanservice (which unsurprisingly rarely services hetero women), panty shots, butt shots, girls practically thrusting their boobs into people's face. Sexual assault is regularly played for laughs and treated as perfectly acceptable behavior as long as the victim gets to smack her assailant and look annoyed afterwards, which has the added bonus of diminishing the impact of sexual violence by equating its severity with that of physical violence. Access to women's bodies is used to motivate male characters, and it's treated as though it is perfectly healthy for a man to pursue such access in the absence of genuine interest on the woman's part, or for a woman to be comfortable objectifying herself and using access to her body as currency. Sometimes women are portrayed as using access to their bodies to "coerce" men, as though women's bodies are something that men need, and women wanting something from men first in order to access them is a form of bullying or humiliation akin to making a starving person dance for their supper. I could go on. There are probably a lot of other things I missed because this is just an off the cuff rant and not meant to be comprehensive.

Point is, I hate this shit. I hate how just being aware of and caring about the issue of misogyny renders it damn near impossible to enjoy otherwise enjoyable things, and I hate that otherwise enjoyable things are sexist in the first place. And you never hear anybody talk about this, either, which is just the rage-cherry on top. Whenever an anime is being critiqued or reviewed or just generally discussed, all but the most egregiously sexist series being talked about by the most militantly liberal people will be spared even a passing, casual mention of how sexist they are. A character who seems vaguely racist or homophobic? Of course people will mention that (as they should). But constant sexism baked into the very bones of the series? Not worth bringing up, apparently.

[unremarkablehouse]

Domestic Partners: Commingling

Summary: A look into the way Mulder and Scully’s relationship became intertwined with mundane domesticity. WC: 2,262 | AO3 Tagging @today-in-fic

The melding happened so gradually that they could both pretend it was normal and justify their commingling as convenience.

It was small things at first, learning each other’s favorite coffee, a key so she could feed his fish and get his mail. Scully imagined their bond to be one of fellow soldiers in war; fighting together and having each other’s backs. There was a romanticism to the whole dynamic, being part of something bigger than oneself and the intensity paled in comparison to any other relationship she’d ever experienced.

He used to date. Not a lot, but there was usually a woman willing to share a few meals and his bed before they realized just how broken he was. Mulder had long ago abandoned the romantic notion that there was someone who’d understand him, let alone tolerate him long enough to be anything more serious. During the first year of his Partnership with Dana Scully the frequency of which he asked women out had gradually diminished. He found the rudimentary pleasantries exchanged during first date conversations tedious and would swing for the fences with outlandish topics that brought the conversation to an awkward standstill. With little more than a good night kiss on the cheek, the dates ended and Mulder would call Scully to see how she’d answer whatever hare brained topic he’d crashed and burned on. Her answers never ceased to exceed his expectations, and eventually it just seemed more practical to stop asking other women out.

Dana Scully had no trouble attracting male attention. It seemed inevitable that her new Partner would be her lover; just as her Advisors, Supervisors and one Professor had before him. His frequent late night phone calls and his general invasion of her personal space aside, Mulder never made a move. Her feelings on the subject ran the gamut of refreshing to frustrating, unsure as to why he hadn’t used one of their late night work sessions to finagle his way into her bed. So she went on dates with other men, nice guys with respectable jobs who complimented her beauty and feigned interest in whatever she had to say. It all seemed so superficial and her desire to endure these dates waned dramatically. With Mulder, she never had to wonder if his interest was genuine and his ulterior motives were transparent. He made it very clear his desire was to have her by his side while he chased the fantastic, respecting her candor and the value she added to the work. Which is how she found herself caught in some perpetual state of “dibs” by Mulder. A sweet torture only made endurable by the knowledge it was wholly reciprocated.

So, they both dined together instead of with others. Their meals quickly became a well choreographed dance. Lunch; a Turkey club on wheat with a side of fries, split between the two. Scully distributing half a salad, careful to leave out the olives. Mulder adjusted to the low sodium soy sauce and brown rice with Chinese food; and their choice of pizza toppings were the embodiment of peace treaties in order to reach the perfect compromise.

When they first started working together Mulder skipped breakfast, drank black coffee and pilfered jelly donuts from the station or the office. Usually ready with a napkin, Scully had a remarkable knack for preemptively catching errant jelly globs before they stained Mulder’s ties. Only years later would Mulder come to realize that the times Scully had failed to intercept the jelly spills coincided with ties that she found particularly egregious and was attempting to phase out.

It only took a few months, but the enjoyment of having breakfast with Scully was enough to break Mulder of his donut habit. His new routine; a split order of wheat toast, which he smothered in jelly. ‘What’s the difference between this and my jelly donut?’ ‘About 300 calories and 12 tablespoons of sugar.’

Like a kid, Mulder was unable to eat his toast without a blob of jelly always collecting in the corner of his mouth. Scully found herself unable to resist cleaning it off, and without fail Mulder always kissed the stray jelly off Scully’s thumb. Each and every time this was met with a smile from Scully, no matter how tired or irritated she was with him, and he always thought if she smiled at him a second longer he’d just have to kiss her. Scully always turned away with a demure blush because if she looked at his goofy smile a second longer she’d just have to kiss him.

As the years of their partnership go by, so do the clothes in Mulder’s wardrobe until the majority have been purchased or approved of by Scully. It started early on, an airline losing his bag, handing some cash to Scully to pick him up some clothes while on assignment. Giving her his credit card to pick up some new shirts for work after she announced she was shopping with her mother on the weekend. Mulder detested shopping and was grateful to relinquish control to Scully in this domain. There was something about shopping for a man that Scully has always loved, and Mulder was the perfect specimen. Unsure whether Mulder’s mismatched ties and suits were a result of his color blindness or lack of fashion, Scully picked suits that were better fitted and easier to mix and match for Mulder. She loves soft textured sweaters on him and supplies him with colors that made his hazel eyes sparkle. Even though Scully knew his sizes by heart, Mulder always made a show of trying on his new clothes for her, pretending to be oblivious to her stares as he parades around half naked while changing.

The two agents have more tactical clothing in their respective wardrobes than any other agents at the FBI, which is something they’re both proud of. It started as a battle with Finance on their first case. The FBI would not reimburse Mulder and Scully for their suits that were destroyed in the Field as a matter of policy. Outraged, Scully challenged the decision, adding the expense of every additional clothing item that was destroyed between the pair to the ongoing exchange regarding the expense report and then kept including more senior officials to the debate. Finally, a Director who may have had more than a passing interest in Scully, responded and explained the policy was due to the IRS. Essentially, the issue came down to suits and dress shoes being a non-deductible expense so they could not just be reimbursed financially for the loss of work clothing, however they would receive credit for any lost clothes so long as it was used for items deemed as tactical gear. Thus began the great L.L Bean haul, where Mulder and Scully tried to recoup close to a thousand dollars worth of lost work clothing on hiking and sporting gear. They both got multiple sized mag lights, hiking boots, thermal underwear, socks, trench coats and a variety of waterproof jackets. As far as bureaucratic victories goes, this was one of their greatest triumphs and buying new “tactical gear” became a beloved ritual between the pair as they got some form of justice for their destroyed garments.

When it came to cleaning their clothes, a clear division of labor had been established between the pair. Mulder was responsible for taking all their dry cleaning in and picking it up. They had an understanding that Mulder always pays to clean both their clothes as he owed Scully a lifetime of free dry cleaning based on Tooms alone.

Scully does the rest of their laundry at her place because she has a machine in her unit and knows how to soak and pretreat things. Mulder loves that his clothes smell like her and wonders what she does to his undershirts to make them so soft. He would ask her, but doing it himself would lose the magic because part of the truth is that it is the care Scully puts in that makes it special.

Most professional travelers rarely check luggage, opting for carry on only. With the size of Scully’s medical kit and the sheer variety of climates they end up in, the pair often share a checked bag as well as their individual carry on. Where possible they try to avoid transfers, opting to drive from major airports to the towns, trying to reduce the risk of lost luggage and missed connecting flights.

They usually carpooled to the airport in a routine so familiar it became muscle memory. Mulder puts Scully’s bag in his trunk while she settles in the passenger seat and starts sipping on the coffee he’s brought for her. Without discussion Scully takes a bite of half of Mulder’s bagel and always makes a face when she realizes it’s light cream cheese. He resists the urge to kiss her pout, but keeps his bagel order the same; tempting fate each time they travel.

There are ongoing games they play while traveling; spotting license plates, hypotheticals, twenty questions, fact or fiction, thumb wrestling. They try to keep the games fun and light hearted, but Scully is competitive and Mulder loves goading her. On long stretches of empty highway Mulder liked to pretend that they’re the only two people left on Earth and for some reason that thought made him happy.

Despite his adamant denial, Mulder gets car sick when attempting to read in the car so often he drove and Scully navigated. For all her many skills Scully isn’t great with maps, but much to her annoyance Mulder has an almost eerie intuition when it comes to directions. She questioned him every so often, willing him to be wrong just once, but so far it has only made her more certain that Mulder is part compass.

Between the pair they’ve taken a two star tour of motels across America thanks to the FBI’s guide of approved accommodations. The fixtures, beds and set up between the rooms vary slightly but after a few years of working with Scully these motels start to feel more like home to Mulder than his own apartment. Mulder has no qualms making himself comfortable in Scully’s room, leaving clothing behind and lying on her bed. Despite her futile objections, Scully understands that their rooms are a shared space, and has grown accustomed to her motel pillow smelling like him.

Scully regularly falls asleep in his room; late nights reviewing case notes, jet lag or just watching tv. Through their partnership they’ve shared a bed more often than not, but it doesn’t seem to count if they don’t talk about it and one of them leaves before the sunrise.

It was Scully’s suggestion that on the weekend they start spending time apart, eager to create some work life balance. For Mulder, this seemed like a punishment, and initially he spent the first few weekends calling her with feckless excuses simply to hear her voice. Despite feigning agitation, Scully never hesitated to take his calls, and enjoyed their chats more than she let on.

Within a few weeks a compromise was made and Mulder was invited to join her in eating leftovers made by her mother on Monday nights. On mention of this new routine, Maggie quickly started making up plates specifically for Fox, baffled as to why Dana just didn’t bring him to dinner on Sunday. Scully noticed that Mulder’s plates always had the biggest pieces of casserole and he was always supplied with dessert (even at the cost of a dinner guest not getting seconds). 

Friday nights became when they would watch movies at his place. For years they kept up a pretense of reviewing case notes on these nights, but the rented video and take out easily distracted them and their productivity never eventuated passed a vague discussion of whatever case they’d been working on.

Scully’s boundary to maintain some professional distance over the weekend began to fail miserably as they started bumping into each other at museum exhibits or movies they’d mentioned to each other during the week, so it just became logical to coordinate to go together.

Soon grocery shopping became an activity they started doing together because the supermarket in Virginia stocked the fancy cheese Scully liked and she could make sure Mulder bought more than just beer and poptarts. Scully always stocked poptarts and sunflower seeds at her house for him. Mulder always has diet soda and carrot sticks in his fridge for her.

She steals his shirts and sleeps in them because they smell like him. Mulder steals them back after she cleans them and pretends not to notice when he sees her wearing one to bed or around the house.

He has accused her of being a cat because she always snuggles into him when she’s cold and only wants affection on her terms, she also gets pissy when she gets wet. This is met with an eye roll and a decidedly feline look of disdain from Scully that Mulder adores. If Scully is a cat then Mulder is her unwieldy golden retriever, a statement met with glee by Mulder as he shakes his head like a dog and gives her a big slobbery kiss on the cheek, earning him a laugh while Scully scratches her hands through his hair.

One day they’ll argue over when exactly their anniversary is because how could you possibly pick which milestone gets precedence? The truth is they were a couple long before they were ever ‘together’ and perhaps that alone means the start was their beginning.

Note: This is a completely new style for me, it’s almost head canon and kind of poetic. I’m contemplating doing other chapters but I’m not sure if it works. Let me know in the comments if it’s worth doing a Relationship chapter and an IWTB era chapter. No beta, just me and my scrambled brain.