#praising-the-foxes

[agentravensong]

thinking about how the extra area added on to a pacifist run of undertale, the true lab, is about alphys's past mistakes. how it ends with the story reaffirming that, despite the pain she's caused, the thing that matters is that she has now made the choice to do the right thing. she's still worthy of her friends' love.

thinking about how undertale doesn't expect the player to get a pacifist ending for the first time. how it's more likely than not that the player will kill toriel the first time they battle her, how lots of players don't initially figure out how to end undyne's fight without killing her, etc. what it expects — not even expects, really, but hopes — is that the player, if they care enough, will use their canonically acknowledged power over time to make up for those mistakes.

no matter how many neutral runs a player has done before committing to the pacifist run, the thing that matters to the characters, to the story, is that you've chosen, now, to do the right thing.

compared to alphys, the player honestly gets off lightly, in that you're the only one (other than flowey) who really remembers any harm you might have caused. and any direct guilting the game could have done about it is long past at this point. instead, as undertale often does, it makes its point via parallels: alphys caused harm, and she knows it. she has committed to being better. in doing so, she has unlocked for herself a better ending to her story. and she deserves it. she's forgiven.

those structural narrative parallels are all over undertale, if you know where to look. and that's one of the things that makes it so fuckin' good.

[voidstilesplease]

well, alex is so in love he could die.

[lover-of-mine]

[imakatperson22]

Y’all. We need to talk about this fandom discourse.

Buck is a bottom. Absolutely just wants the shit railed out of him. He wants to be USED. Praise kink.

Tommy is a top. Confident, considerate, patient. Gives off “I’m pouring your beer for you now but I’m going to destroy you later” vibes.

Eddie is vers that leans top. Aftercare of his partner is his favorite part but sometimes he just wants to let go.

I will not be taking constructive criticism.

[postmodernbeliever]

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

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

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

��good evening, watson!”

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

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

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

“because?”

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

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

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

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

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

“mulder, what the hell are you doing?” 

“your sink is leaking.” 

“yeah, i know, sherlock.”

“did you ask them to fix it?”

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

“jeez, somebody’s worked up.”

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

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

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

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

“what does that-”

“why don’t you let me help you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“what’s gotten into you, mulder?”

“i asked you a question, sweetheart.”

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

“is that a yes?”

“...mhm.”

“can you say yes for me?”

fuck. “yes.”

“good girl. it’ll help, i promise.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’re a dork.”

“you like it, though,” he reassured. 

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

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

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

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

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

“you want me to get to it, hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

“fuck!” you whined, “fox- agh,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“b-but i- i’ve never- oh my god!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“okay, baby, okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“s-so… a-agh, please!”

“mm, i know, baby, keep going,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“foxie,” you admitted in your mindless bliss. 

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

“mm-mm.”

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

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

“here, come here, honey.” 

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

“stuck in your head, hm?” fox asked. 

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

“can you hear me, sweetheart?” 

“mm.”

“good. what’s my name?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“m’kay.” 

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

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

“f-fox.”

“good. what’s my job?” 

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

“good girl. and where are we, honey?”

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

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

“coming back to me, hm?” 

“yeah,” you giggled. 

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

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

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

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

“who, me?” fox laughed.

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

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

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

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

[mindibindi]

“The X Files” 30th Anniversary Celebration | Day 4: Favourite Dynamic | Mulder & Scully

[rainbowmewz]

thinking about gotham edward nygma DID/OSDD representation so hard rn and how the show wasn't perfect with it but was on a pretty alright track and probably just needed a single diversity editor who's well in tune with DID/OSDD to make it amazing representation...

i feel like a big thing that people debate about is how "oh, gotham shows negative representation by having ed have an evil alter!!" no no no no. i get it, riddler's brash and not a good person but... ed isn't either? i feel like the babying of season 1 ed is kind of what leads people to have this thought process in the first place. ed is creepy, ed is offputting, ed shouldn't be getting just the reaction of "aww sweet bby who doesn't understand social cues :((". i love the guy and treat him like my sweet little blorbo too, but come on guys. feel free to disagree all you want, but i actually like how the dynamic of ed and riddler is portrayed because NEITHER of them are good people. one isn't the "evil alter" of the other.

the writing was... genuinely trying in this aspect i feel? at some points at least. lines like riddler saying he was "in the driver's seat so to speak" to explain him fronting over ed? perfect! including riddler's need to front because of ed's self destructive and lowkey suicidal behaviors in season 4? amazing!! cmon, more please gotham writing team i beg for more crumbs. sure, season 5 was confusing with who was fronting but.. i feel like its a really realistic experience to not be able to tell who's taken over? fronting is confusing at times, and the guy was literally put under microchip command to destroy a whole safehaven at one point during the season.

another thing, CMS did a PHENOMENAL job at portraying switching, especially in that scene at arkham in season 4. its not erratic, and is really only noticeable if you're looking for it. the slight change in facial expression and the way his hands move? this guy needs to win some award for acting please

[nocoastposts]

Praise & Supplication

Alex is always moving, always going, always seeking. He is defiance and brashness tinged with anxiety, but not in these moments. Henry pins him down with a gaze as heavy as his touch, and all of Alex’s motions cease. He is calm, he is obedient, he is pliable. He knows he’ll be broken apart piece by piece, sending waves of heat deep into his core.

or

When Alex gets stuck in his head, Henry helps him let go.

[iamstillovingyou]

Hearing Freddie Fox should've played a Targaryen or no he's perfect as Gwayne testifies to Freddie's acting abilities. Give him a wig he could play Alicent as well

[fideidefenswhore]

Anne Boleyn's personality was first remarked on after her return from France. In an apparent reference to the skills which she had mastered on the Continent, Wolsey's gentleman-usher, George Cavendish, speaks of 'her excellent gesture and behaviour', [which was] [...] a rare compliment to her, made in his Life of Wolsey, which centres on the catastrophe she was about to bring Wolsey.

Hunting the Falcon: Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn & the Marriage That Shook Europe, John Guy & Julia Fox

[television-overload]

Hang on wait a minute

Maybe I'm forgetting something, but how does Gibson Praise not smell Diana Fowley's rotten stench from a mile away

He can read minds, right? He didn't think to mention "Hey Agent Mulder, by the way, that one lady is totally working toward your destruction and is up to no good."

Maybe this got explained and I don't remember, or maybe she's veeeerrry good at hiding things, but 🤨

[peggingeddiediaz]

Eddie Diaz forgetting to log out of his work twitter account part 50/?

[rosesfox]

evangeline is such a dear character to me. i love how, even after everything she's been through, she still has the courage to be vulnerable. i admire the way she has faith in people and gives chances to those who don't deserve it (after all, otherwise it wouldn’t be faith.) i see people saying that she is immature (oh wow, she is seventeen and people are comparing her to characters that are hundreds of years old!) or too innocent, but the truth is that she was only raised by good people who believed in kindness and in love. she is this kind of person and that's not a problem, i actually think it's very brave.

love how the fandom understands jacks and sees him as a deep and layered character, but evangeline is amazing too. i wish the fandom recognized her more since i constantly see people ignoring her or treating her like less.

[cowchickenbeefpork]

gotham was so evil for only making Ed get his narcissism post-season one. NARCISSISM DOES NOT WORK LIKE THAT YOU EITHER GET IT DURING YOUR ADOLESCENT YEARS OR YOUR EARLY ADUT YEARS. IF YOU ARE ABOVE THESE AGES YOU WILL NOT DEVELOP THE DISORDER!!!!! IF YOU GET NPD LIKE TRAITS AFTER THESE YEARS IT IS SOMETHING ELSE YOU DO NOT HAVE THE PERSONALITY DISORDER THE RIDDLER IS SUPPOSED TO HAVE NPD HIS NPD RUINS HIS LIFE!!!!!!!!!

[mytardisisparked]

Cryptid Hunting for Beginners

Mulder takes Emily out to the woods for a fun afternoon.

(Part of the Adoption AU, wherein Mulder and Scully have adopted both Emily Sim and Gibson Praise. Because they all deserve a loving family.)

For EXCELLENT art associated with this story, please go see @singeart's lovely piece here!

Read on AO3.

---

In some unnamed woods in Virginia, dappled light broke through the trees, falling on two lumps of feathery greens. The larger of the two was doing its best to quiet the smaller lump, which was giggling relentlessly as they moved along the forest floor. 

“Look!” the smaller lump said in a voice that might have been intended as a whisper, but wasn’t. “There’s a tuft of fur on that tree!”

“Very good,” the larger lump said in a quieter voice, “now, looking at the fur closely, what direction was the creature headed in?”

The lumps shuffled up to the tree and looked at the strands of fiber. If anyone else had looked at it, they would have realized fairly quickly that the “fur” were nylon strands taken from a torn bit of yarn, placed purposefully (and a bit obviously). In the imaginations of the two lumps, however, this was evidence of the bigfoot they had been tracking for the entire afternoon.

Emily tilted her ghillie-suit-covered head as she studied the strands. “Um, that way?” She pointed to the left.

“Why do you say that?” Mulder asked as he nodded.

“The fibers are bent to the left, like they were pulled that way.”

“Very good.” Even behind his mask, the smile on Mulder’s face was clear in his voice. He patted Emily on the back. “Let's head that way then, huh?”

They walked for a bit, Emily pointing out birds and squirrels as they went. Mulder would tell her as they got closer to their “bigfoot encounter” to quiet down, but for now he saw no harm in letting her chatter. 

After a bit, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Emily, look.” He pointed to the ground, where a few huge tracks were pressed into the dirt, leading off the main path and into the deeper woods.

“WHOA.” Emily said, kneeling next to the tracks. “We’re really going the right way!”

“We are.” Mulder knelt next to her. “Okay, what do you notice about the tracks?”

Emily tilted her head. “They’re kinda scuffed.”

“Yes, exactly. That means he was running.”

“Oooh, really?”

“Yeah. We gotta move quickly but quietly, okay?”

“Okay!” With her green, fuzzy hand, she made a “zipped lips” motion by her mask.

Mulder grinned and took her hand, jogging at her speed out into the denser trees.

Even though they were jogging and Emily was still so young, she was fast. It made him smile and his chest swell with pride – she may not have been his biological daughter, but she was still taking after her old man. 

They followed the tracks he had laid out that morning using an old pair of boots modified with modeling clay for a while until Mulder slowed, tugging Emily to do the same.

“Okay, he whispered, leaning down by her head. “See how the tracks are closer together and not scuffed here? That means he’s back to walking.”

Emily nodded, lips still zipped. 

“Keep your eyes peeled. He might be close.”

“Eyes peeled.” Emily gave him a tiny salute, which he returned.

They walked quietly until, a few moments later, Emily gasped and pointed.

There, in the middle of a clearing, was a bigfoot.

(Or, rather, a cardboard cutout of one that Mulder had spent a few hours earlier in the week carefully crafting from old boxes and spare lumber.)

Mulder put a finger up and pulled her down to crouch beside him. “Get your camera,” he whispered.

Emily reached under her suit and fished out a yellow disposable camera. Quickly, she took a couple of photos before stuffing the camera back under her suit and grabbing her dad’s hand.

The two of them snuck away, waiting until they were back on the main path before they let their triumphant laughter erupt.

“We found one, Daddy!!!” Emily jumped up and down, the green strands of her ghillie suit flouncing around her.

Mulder laughed, still holding her hand as she jumped. “We sure did! And we didn’t scare it away! Good job!”

“That was better than when we found the Flatwoods Monster!”

“Yeah! You did such a good job being quiet, and you remembered everything we learned last time.”

Emily giggled and skipped down the path, pulling him along. “Come on! We have to show Mommy!”

Soon enough, they were back at the unremarkable house just on the edge of the woods, where the windows glowed with light from the inside, inviting them home.

Mulder and Emily tromped into the house, taking off their masks as the heat of the kitchen hit them.

“Honey, we’re home.” Mulder said with a grin as Scully took in their matching smiles and rosy cheeks.

“Mommy we found one!” Emily skipped up to the table, waving her camera in the air. “And I got a picture!”

“Oh really?” Scully smiled at her. “We can take that to the store tomorrow to develop it.”

“Thanks!” Emily turned to Gibson, who was standing at the end of the table over a metal tray. “What are you doing, Gibby?”

“Dissecting a grasshopper.” Gibson said without looking up. He was pinning open the thoracic cavity with pins from Scully’s personal dissection kit. “Dana’s been teaching me about internal insect anatomy.”

“Ew.” Emily crinkled her nose. “Pass.”

Mulder shared a smile with Scully as he patted Emily on the back. “Go take your suit off and wash up for dinner, okay?” She bounded off, camera clutched safely in both hands, as Mulder turned to Scully. “Internal insect anatomy? Dr. Scully, does your expertise know no bounds?”

She smiled at him. “Old dogs can, in fact, learn new tricks.” She lifted a book of insect dissection instructions from the counter. “The local library is a magical place.”

He grinned and kissed her on the cheek. “Well, I’m still impressed.” He looked down the table. “Having fun, Gibson?”

Gibson finally looked up with a small smile. “Yeah. I’m almost through the digestive system.”

Mulder swallowed, deliberately not looking at the insect. “Cool. You can tell me all about it…  after supper.”

Gibson’s smile widened just a bit and then he returned to his work. 

“I’m going to wash up,” Mulder said as he squeezed Scully’s wrist, just above her glove, “and then I’ll start the food, okay?”

“Thanks.” She rose on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “There’s chicken thawing in the sink.”

“Thanks.” 

He headed to the bedroom but, just before he closed the door he paused; in the kitchen, he could hear Scully’s low voice patiently explaining how to make some kind of cut on the grasshopper, followed by a quiet question from Gibson. In the next room over, he could hear Emily singing some playground song as she washed her hands and face. Outside, he could hear crickets calling and frogs croaking. 

And he smiled, feeling warm inside his home with his family.

[rosemaryreality]

Underrated Sonic & Nine moment

So i was rewatching Sonic Prime, specifically episode 7, when i took notice of a scene that i kind of didn't pay much attention to in first watch, what with everything that happened during and after that same episode.

Sonic and Nine are escaping from the CC when they find the place Nine's ship is at, Nine doesn't hesitate after seeing the guards, he sneaks his way close to them, and he takes care of them with his Tails. It was awesome.

What looked more interesting to me this time watching, however, was Sonic's reaction.

Maybe it's just me, but once Nine goes to attack the robots, Sonic looks a little confused.

It's after Nine jumps over the ship, behind the robots, that Sonic seems to understand Nine's plan. Then...

He smiles, and once again i could be interpreting this wrong, but he looks sort of impressed? Like, he wasn't expecting that Nine would do that but he seems happy for it either way.

Finally...

He tells Nine that he's full of surprises, and i can't describe his face as anything but fond.

But the best part about this is the context. See, i think the reason why Sonic was surprised was because that's not something he would expect out of Tails.

Now, sadly we don't really see *that* much from Tails, but we do get to see him in battle two times.

The first one is during the fight were Sonic fell for Eggman's trap, on this one, Tails is only seen in the Tornado. Now, this is a common sight, while the plane might be technically Sonic's, it is Tails that uses it more often. Now this by itself wouldn't tell us much, Tails fighting in the Tornado is normal, and there's no reason why he wouldn't use it.

No, what is interesting, is the other example of Tails fighting.

In this fight, we see that Tails fights using some sort of machine he created, the way it works he can shoot at badniks from afar, this way he can fight while keeping his distance from the enemy.

The way Tails fights here, it seems he prefers not getting close during a fight.

That was why Sonic was perplexed by Nine's actions, Tails's (probably) wouldn't have chosen to get close to the robots like that.

And that's what makes this moment even more sweet. Here we have Sonic witnessing one of the ways Nine and Tails are different, and feeling impressed by it! telling him he's full of surprises with a fond expression! Nine and Tails being different was presented as something nice!

This gives me hope that maybe at some point Sonic will tell Nine that he cares about him beyond Tails, that he has good qualities separate from him that Sonic admires, that under the projection and misunderstandings, Sonic and Nine did have a genuine bond.