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strangef0x29.bsky.social
Fox 🐙🍵🌿
@strangef0x29.bsky.social
60 followers 57 following 68 posts
20+ || she/her || writer || pfp by reideero 💥

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStrangeAndPeculiarFox29/pseuds/AStrangeAndPeculiarFox29
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strangef0x29.bsky.social
Fox 🐙🍵🌿 @strangef0x29.bsky.social · Dec 26
this will be the pinned post because i think it’s kind of funny (lame) (lame) (lame)

writer who writes holoen rarepairs and posts on ao3 very infrequently . media tab for small things (a lot of 🍵🔱, probably) .

you can say things to me anonymously: t.co/NAUzLYGyfT
ao3: t.co/avGL3KQGvS
strangef0x29.bsky.social Fox 🐙🍵🌿 @strangef0x29.bsky.social · Dec 25
i wake up in a cold sweat. hey guys . i know i Don’t use tags but if you like using tags… and you make 🍵🔱… tag it #dollfin. for me. the non-tag user. who will scour the tag on occasion. think of me. hungry me. you could probably do that with 🐙🌿 too but idk what you’d call it. just think of me. ok gn
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🍵🔱 (ribbons; from priv over there, bc of something i requested)
she’s tracing crisscrossing green and white ribbons around Ceci’s bellybutton, her claws rasping the fabric with a noise that only swimsuit material would make. she feels like a shrimp the way she’s hunched over her, forehead to Ceci’s chest, but it gives her a nice view of the automaton’s tummy, these ribbons and these quarter-circular slivers of porcelain near her hip. it’s satisfying to look at. she swallows, her mouth too wet and her throat too dry, fingers ghosting at the crown of her head. Gura thumbs beneath the green ribbon closest to Ceci’s bellybutton, her tail moving in wide swings. it’s not cold, not like her fingers. there is a drone beneath Gura’s touch, and it makes the skin here warm. smooth and solid, not soft, the divot that is her bellybutton more for appearances than anything else. Gura still pushes her thumb into the skin, pressing, just so Ceci can feel it, really /feel/ where she touches and where it’s going. and it’s going, of course, around her navel, to intercept another ribbon, to lift and shift it. Ceci begins to giggle then, and Gura’s toes curl, her lips twitching. she doesn’t lift her head, almost embarrassed, passing her fingertips over all the intersections between white and green. “What—?” she asks faintly, her breath wavering with bemused mirth. “You—“ Ceci nearly starts to laugh, embarrassment creeping into the sound, “/It’s, it’s like unwrapping a present./ That’s what you said earlier, but you’re both not unwrapping me and pressing your- your fingers really hard into my skin.” Gura hooks her finger on a ribbon, shoulders hunching sheepishly.
January 30, 2026 at 3:38 AM
strangef0x29.bsky.social
so much i wanna write and so little time for them all 😞😞😞 there’s still a particular 🍵🔱 i keep rounding back to because of a song, but i want a little 🐙🌿, and i’d like to round back on enreco at least once, and i have a Bribe i wanted to make progress on and i havent been feeling it aaaaaaaaa 🛌🛌🛌
January 31, 2026 at 8:31 AM
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🍵🔱 (ribbons; from priv over there, bc of something i requested)
she’s tracing crisscrossing green and white ribbons around Ceci’s bellybutton, her claws rasping the fabric with a noise that only swimsuit material would make. she feels like a shrimp the way she’s hunched over her, forehead to Ceci’s chest, but it gives her a nice view of the automaton’s tummy, these ribbons and these quarter-circular slivers of porcelain near her hip. it’s satisfying to look at. she swallows, her mouth too wet and her throat too dry, fingers ghosting at the crown of her head. Gura thumbs beneath the green ribbon closest to Ceci’s bellybutton, her tail moving in wide swings. it’s not cold, not like her fingers. there is a drone beneath Gura’s touch, and it makes the skin here warm. smooth and solid, not soft, the divot that is her bellybutton more for appearances than anything else. Gura still pushes her thumb into the skin, pressing, just so Ceci can feel it, really /feel/ where she touches and where it’s going. and it’s going, of course, around her navel, to intercept another ribbon, to lift and shift it. Ceci begins to giggle then, and Gura’s toes curl, her lips twitching. she doesn’t lift her head, almost embarrassed, passing her fingertips over all the intersections between white and green. “What—?” she asks faintly, her breath wavering with bemused mirth. “You—“ Ceci nearly starts to laugh, embarrassment creeping into the sound, “/It’s, it’s like unwrapping a present./ That’s what you said earlier, but you’re both not unwrapping me and pressing your- your fingers really hard into my skin.” Gura hooks her finger on a ribbon, shoulders hunching sheepishly.
January 30, 2026 at 3:38 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
holomybaby.bsky.social
No, Oz never did give nothin' to the Tin Man
That he didn't, didn't already have

An overwhelmingly kind piece of #ENReco style #Immergination made real by the amazingly skilled @maskofgabriel.bsky.social!
January 29, 2026 at 3:44 PM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🍵🔱 (old idea that won’t be getting its time in the writing room for a long, long while more)
(She bumps into her behind the oldest, cheapest bar in town. An ugly sight, this place, utterly atrocious to breathe in. It’s all stale copper, decaying flesh. The lady she bumps into has pretty jewel-like eyes, aquamarine, doll-like segmentations in her fingers. (/Running from somebody?/ The lady asks, raising an eyebrow. There’s the sheriff’s horse galloping just a ways past the tavern. (/No,/ she says, easily, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Three parts of her all want to look the lady up and down, down and up, borderline inappropriate appraisal. She’s calmly leanin’ against the wall, curling her fingers around her revolver. /No, just— just playin’ a little hide n’ seek with the sheriff. Happens every once in a while ‘round these parts, don’t it?/ (A small smile graces the lady’s lips, pretty little thing. Cruel, she thinks, but pretty. There’s a knowing edge in the lady’s amusement that makes her tense up, tail curving away from her legs, awkwardly bent at the base of her caudal fin. (/In these parts, it seems to happen daily,/ the lady says, smugly, a smidge teasing. /How much is it?/ (A noise slips through her teeth, an attempt at a hum that turns into a hiss. She shrugs her shoulder, nearly taking her hand off her revolver before she pulls it off her belt, taking aim— (It happens in less than a second, the lady’s closing in on her and grasping the barrel, pulling. She stumbles forward, revolver pressed right against the lady’s sternum, the lady’s gaze endless. the shot cracks right through her eardrums, her hand, and the lady is bloodless, unharmed, her expression twisting with inconvenienced discomfort before curling with a satisfied smirk. (/Hey,/ she stutters, tryin’ to pull back, /hey, wait a sec, I didn’t- let’s talk about this,/
January 28, 2026 at 6:07 AM
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🍵🔱 (old idea that won’t be getting its time in the writing room for a long, long while more)
(She bumps into her behind the oldest, cheapest bar in town. An ugly sight, this place, utterly atrocious to breathe in. It’s all stale copper, decaying flesh. The lady she bumps into has pretty jewel-like eyes, aquamarine, doll-like segmentations in her fingers. (/Running from somebody?/ The lady asks, raising an eyebrow. There’s the sheriff’s horse galloping just a ways past the tavern. (/No,/ she says, easily, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Three parts of her all want to look the lady up and down, down and up, borderline inappropriate appraisal. She’s calmly leanin’ against the wall, curling her fingers around her revolver. /No, just— just playin’ a little hide n’ seek with the sheriff. Happens every once in a while ‘round these parts, don’t it?/ (A small smile graces the lady’s lips, pretty little thing. Cruel, she thinks, but pretty. There’s a knowing edge in the lady’s amusement that makes her tense up, tail curving away from her legs, awkwardly bent at the base of her caudal fin. (/In these parts, it seems to happen daily,/ the lady says, smugly, a smidge teasing. /How much is it?/ (A noise slips through her teeth, an attempt at a hum that turns into a hiss. She shrugs her shoulder, nearly taking her hand off her revolver before she pulls it off her belt, taking aim— (It happens in less than a second, the lady’s closing in on her and grasping the barrel, pulling. She stumbles forward, revolver pressed right against the lady’s sternum, the lady’s gaze endless. the shot cracks right through her eardrums, her hand, and the lady is bloodless, unharmed, her expression twisting with inconvenienced discomfort before curling with a satisfied smirk. (/Hey,/ she stutters, tryin’ to pull back, /hey, wait a sec, I didn’t- let’s talk about this,/
January 28, 2026 at 6:07 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
bluesunfish.bsky.social
messing around with markers
January 28, 2026 at 4:30 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
bbbbungle.bsky.social
Store update! 🪧
January 28, 2026 at 12:32 AM
strangef0x29.bsky.social
tiny little 🍵🔱 i wrote before bed a couple months ago
the song Ceci plays on her violin makes Gura think of fire. she’s not sure why. it sounds a little melancholic, and that’s what normally draws her attention—the sadness that haunts Ceci’s little melodies, that trickles into Gura’s chest and sits there, swaying—but she blinks and sees a flame. not a blazing inferno or flickering candlelight. just a flame. Ceci’s eyes open a sliver, a glint of green that catches Gura’s attention. they flutter open again a moment later, flickering. she’s looking directly at Gura, meeting her eyes, and Gura feels like her heart’s been startled.
January 27, 2026 at 2:48 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
panpanirene.bsky.social
ina
January 26, 2026 at 1:25 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
hechium.bsky.social
1 hr #inART #いなート
January 25, 2026 at 2:41 PM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
tripsout2.bsky.social
testing out my original work

archiveofourown.org/works/781988...
January 24, 2026 at 6:02 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
bbbbungle.bsky.social
fishy.....
#amesame
January 23, 2026 at 2:20 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🍵🔱 thing i wrote on my priv Elsewhere that was really cute… still cute… (pancake)
there’s a helpless little thing inside of her—maybe it’s her heart—that pays a little more attention to Ceci than it does to anyone else inside a room at any given moment. she jokes about maids making her breakfast (pancakes) and winding her up right before they’re served. and helplessly, helplessly, Gura thinks /i can do that for you/ as Raora says to her, “I’ll make you all the pancakes you want if you sleep over at my place.” “Would you really?” Ceci asks, genuinely, and there are far too many people chattering in this room for Gura to cut in. “Yeah,” Raora says, smiling. so Gura slips away from Ina and Fauna and Mumei and gets closer to Ceci, who’s really not all terribly surrounded by people. it’s almost a little quieter where she is compared to where Gura was. “How do you like your pancakes?” Gura asks, rather quietly, a bit mumbly. it’s still loud enough for Raora’s ears to twitch and turn in her direction. Ceci turns to look at her, and Gura feels so helpless, tail swinging. “Fluffy!” Ceci replies, glancing at Raora as if to make sure that she’s paying attention. “Very fluffy. If you have any berries, I want them on top.” Gura knows she has some strawberries in her fridge somewhere. she loves strawberries on her pancakes. she goes /ooo/ as Raora laughs. “Stop,” Ceci barks, near giggling, but her attention is still on Gura, and Gura waits for her to speak. “Do you eat pancakes for breakfast often, Gura?” “I like making my pancakes from scratch,” Gura says, “but if I’m lazy and I got a box, I’ll make ‘em every other day. Strawberry pancakes are really good…” “That sounds so good,,” Ceci hums. “One day… One day, I’ll try yours. You have to make three very fluffy pancakes for me.” (the number stays glued to her brain. helpless. Gura keeps it cradled in her chest like it’s a promise. she’s so—)
January 21, 2026 at 1:01 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
spacemakii.bsky.social
genuinely missed them so bad
#iname
January 20, 2026 at 3:35 PM
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🍵🔱 thing i wrote on my priv Elsewhere that was really cute… still cute… (pancake)
there’s a helpless little thing inside of her—maybe it’s her heart—that pays a little more attention to Ceci than it does to anyone else inside a room at any given moment. she jokes about maids making her breakfast (pancakes) and winding her up right before they’re served. and helplessly, helplessly, Gura thinks /i can do that for you/ as Raora says to her, “I’ll make you all the pancakes you want if you sleep over at my place.” “Would you really?” Ceci asks, genuinely, and there are far too many people chattering in this room for Gura to cut in. “Yeah,” Raora says, smiling. so Gura slips away from Ina and Fauna and Mumei and gets closer to Ceci, who’s really not all terribly surrounded by people. it’s almost a little quieter where she is compared to where Gura was. “How do you like your pancakes?” Gura asks, rather quietly, a bit mumbly. it’s still loud enough for Raora’s ears to twitch and turn in her direction. Ceci turns to look at her, and Gura feels so helpless, tail swinging. “Fluffy!” Ceci replies, glancing at Raora as if to make sure that she’s paying attention. “Very fluffy. If you have any berries, I want them on top.” Gura knows she has some strawberries in her fridge somewhere. she loves strawberries on her pancakes. she goes /ooo/ as Raora laughs. “Stop,” Ceci barks, near giggling, but her attention is still on Gura, and Gura waits for her to speak. “Do you eat pancakes for breakfast often, Gura?” “I like making my pancakes from scratch,” Gura says, “but if I’m lazy and I got a box, I’ll make ‘em every other day. Strawberry pancakes are really good…” “That sounds so good,,” Ceci hums. “One day… One day, I’ll try yours. You have to make three very fluffy pancakes for me.” (the number stays glued to her brain. helpless. Gura keeps it cradled in her chest like it’s a promise. she’s so—)
January 21, 2026 at 1:01 AM
strangef0x29.bsky.social
still endlessly endeared by 🐱⏳…
January 20, 2026 at 3:06 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
tripsout2.bsky.social
updated the chart
January 19, 2026 at 7:18 PM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
tripsout2.bsky.social
Repudium ch 10 🔎

archiveofourown.org/works/719291...
January 19, 2026 at 5:02 AM
strangef0x29.bsky.social
👧🎼 1 (that i was bribed for) (that i will eventually finish)
There's nothing, really, preventing any member of Justice from spending a couple of nights away from the lookout. Liz has informed them, time and again, that they /must/ keep their phones on them at all times and that she needs to know where they're going. How long they'll be away is irrelevant, because they must drop whatever it is they're doing at Liz's beck and call. Gigi doesn't lie to Liz, not directly. She'd feel sick if she did that. She could lie by omission because she's done it hundreds of times before—antics with Cece and Rara had worn away the stress she used to get from doing that. Still, a little part of her wrings its hands at the overall riskiness of this endeavor. Liz could catch her misusing Justice's funds to buy taxis and the reprimand would be mild, laughter perfectly trapped beneath her tongue, but this wouldn't end in a mild reprimand. It wouldn't end with even the slightest hint of amusement. She thinks about it on her drive to the hotel. She thinks that's the only thing that keeps her from promising a vacation until Liz calls her, that little worm of anxiety in her belly that ties itself into knots. "She won't catch you," Nerissa says, gently reassuring. It's melodically smooth despite the fuzziness of the phone call audio. Gigi's tail brushes the passenger seat as if searching for the source of it. "I don't think she'd ever suspect you of anything, even if you were always at the scene of the crime." "She would never," Gigi agrees, laughing a little, and the worm writhes like it really wants her to puke all over herself. "But, you know," Nerissa begins, sounding like she's sighing as she speaks, "I think we should move away from that. How long did you say you were going to stay again?" Gigi hums, tapping at the wheel. "Like four days. Maybe a week, if there's still nothing going on." "Not too long," her demon murmurs. It's displeased in a way that makes Gigi want to break five laws just to get to her in six minutes instead of ten. "I was thinking of having a little bit of alone time at a friend's for a day so we'd have a little break from these terrible hotel rooms, but I suppose we'll just have to make do like always, hm?" "Passenger princess in my car for six hours," Gigi suggests as her tail begins to cradle the passenger seat, like Nerissa's right there. "We're gonna find the most expensive hotel within a six-hour drive from here and review it." "Honestly?" Nerissa giggles. "Fuck yeah."
January 18, 2026 at 2:40 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🔱👧 au i wrote mindlessly some time ago, rted on main, & too lazy to format it elsewhere because it’s Really Long and i’ll have to do that eventually anyway (posted here bc i rted it on main over there so…) (minor Eating People warning !!!!!)
January 10, 2026 at 1:35 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
tripsout2.bsky.social
Repudium ch 9 🔎

archiveofourown.org/works/719291...
January 13, 2026 at 12:54 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🐙🌿 (vague descriptions of blood + shifting bones for 🐙’s bigger wings)
the initial growth of her wings had been a painful affair. this was no different. the twist of bone, broken skin. it’s reformation and enlargement all at once, cruelty in its slowness, blood seeping through the tarry void that veils over it. the blood dries where it hardens, what’s healed stained red. it’s too sensitive to clean and so it stays, and Ina is kept tethered to the Church until the dark falls in strings from her wings. the whispers in the back of her mind are dream-like with the pain. they tell her it will be over soon, again and again. they tell her that the cultists are leaving gifts on the stone altar beside the church, gifts for her and her new gift, angelic and holy, her gift as an older and wiser and /invaluable/ priestess. they tell her that it’s been three days, four days, five days— they tell her that flowers are growing through the cracked stone in front of the Church. impatience is a little known quality of hers, Ina thinks, because she is so good at being patient when it matters. not that her priestess duties do not matter—thorny vines and pink roses grow through the cracks in the Church, displeasure for the Ancient Ones and a check-in for /her,/ because she isn’t usually away for more than four days. if she touched them, it’d soothe her. the flowers relay messages to her, Ina knows, but the flowers cannot see her and Ina cannot go see them, and so the display will go, until it can creep into the Church. six days, seven days. the flowers are thornier, and vines are snaking through the cracks. they curl at the door, they tell her, they brush at cultists’ ankles. how persistent, they tell her, because it is almost over. on the eighth day, the strings have all fallen and Ina’s wings tuck close to her sides, despite the futility behind it. they are too large and they are twisted all wrong, so when they tuck close, they tuck more towards her back than her front, the end of the longest primary feather nearly brushing her shoulder. still oversensitive, phantom pain makes them tremble, and the feathers on top of her joints are dark, dark red. but it is over, and when Ina leaves, she finds the door a sliver open, vines curling along the length of it. outside, they’ve slithered around the whole perimeter of the Church. red, blue, and half-wilted pink roses sit further along, some dotting the path leading up to the Church’s doors. /an ominous display of affection,/ Ina thinks, mirthfully. she only touches a red rose before she sets off for home.
January 12, 2026 at 3:05 AM
strangef0x29.bsky.social
🐙🌿 (vague descriptions of blood + shifting bones for 🐙’s bigger wings)
the initial growth of her wings had been a painful affair. this was no different. the twist of bone, broken skin. it’s reformation and enlargement all at once, cruelty in its slowness, blood seeping through the tarry void that veils over it. the blood dries where it hardens, what’s healed stained red. it’s too sensitive to clean and so it stays, and Ina is kept tethered to the Church until the dark falls in strings from her wings. the whispers in the back of her mind are dream-like with the pain. they tell her it will be over soon, again and again. they tell her that the cultists are leaving gifts on the stone altar beside the church, gifts for her and her new gift, angelic and holy, her gift as an older and wiser and /invaluable/ priestess. they tell her that it’s been three days, four days, five days— they tell her that flowers are growing through the cracked stone in front of the Church. impatience is a little known quality of hers, Ina thinks, because she is so good at being patient when it matters. not that her priestess duties do not matter—thorny vines and pink roses grow through the cracks in the Church, displeasure for the Ancient Ones and a check-in for /her,/ because she isn’t usually away for more than four days. if she touched them, it’d soothe her. the flowers relay messages to her, Ina knows, but the flowers cannot see her and Ina cannot go see them, and so the display will go, until it can creep into the Church. six days, seven days. the flowers are thornier, and vines are snaking through the cracks. they curl at the door, they tell her, they brush at cultists’ ankles. how persistent, they tell her, because it is almost over. on the eighth day, the strings have all fallen and Ina’s wings tuck close to her sides, despite the futility behind it. they are too large and they are twisted all wrong, so when they tuck close, they tuck more towards her back than her front, the end of the longest primary feather nearly brushing her shoulder. still oversensitive, phantom pain makes them tremble, and the feathers on top of her joints are dark, dark red. but it is over, and when Ina leaves, she finds the door a sliver open, vines curling along the length of it. outside, they’ve slithered around the whole perimeter of the Church. red, blue, and half-wilted pink roses sit further along, some dotting the path leading up to the Church’s doors. /an ominous display of affection,/ Ina thinks, mirthfully. she only touches a red rose before she sets off for home.
January 12, 2026 at 3:05 AM
Reposted by Fox 🐙🍵🌿
t6slw22.bsky.social
January 9, 2026 at 6:39 PM