doeidawn - Tumblr blog

[doeidawn]

Jan 2024

Drain version idk

[doeidawn]

i either need to get flayed alive or kissed

[doeidawn]

I have decided to be a freak forever

[doeidawn]

18+ mdni

cw for possible dubcon and very inappropriate workplace behavior

john price who uses the workplace as an excuse to get closer to you. in every sense of the word.

he always needs to touch you. like resting a hand on your shoulder or patting you on the back for a job well done. he'll splay his large palm on your lower back whenever he feels like it just to hear you stumble over your words. he likes to walk by you every chance he can get as an excuse to put a hand on your waist and brush his body against yours. just enough that you don’t realize until later how full and firm the front of his fatigues were.

he acts like there’s no such thing as privacy or personal space whenever he gets you in his office. it doesn’t matter what you stop by for, either. he’ll lean back in his chair, roll it far enough away from his desk that you can see the way his hand moves over the front of his trousers. it’s so cute how flustered you get after seeing what you do to him.

he knows you’re so eager to prove your worth and work hard for the team that you’ll do anything he says. he doesn’t have to work very hard to convince you that you need to stay behind. work a little later tonight, make sure things get done, love. you can do that f'me, yeah? it takes a little more convincing to get you in his lap, of course. but it's worth it to see you squirm, pretending like you can't feel his cock nestling against your ass while you absentmindedly scrawl over the papers on his desk. you were always better than him with the paperwork, anyway—this arrangement just made more sense. so you won't care when he starts running his hands over your thighs and grabbing at your hips and waist, right? c'mon, it helps with the stress.

and you were always so kind, so willing to offer your help when he was stressed on long days; you won't question him when he tells you to bend over his desk. just let him have his way, relieve some of that pent-up stress. you wouldn't disobey orders from your captain, would you? of course not—not when his cock stretches your cunt out so deliciously you can't think straight.

you figure it wouldn't matter how much he prepped you, nothing would match how his fat cock filled you, bullying your cervix with each rough thrust. with the way you drool over the papers and your hole sucks him deeper, he knows he's got you right where he wants you. even then, he'll hold you down just in case; a thick arm wrapped around your waist while the other locks around your head to muffle your mewls. can't be too loud, now. can't have people finding out what a cock-drunk whore you are for your boss, can we?

[doeidawn]

GAZ & PRICE IN ATOMGRAD RAID EP. 2 | MODERN WARFARE II

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — save me submissive Soap; f!reader, nsfw 18+ (MDNI)

“Fuck, can you…go a li’l faster? Please?”

That had to be the hundredth time Soap begged tonight. And yet, you never got tired of hearing it.

No one could say the man didn’t work for what he wanted. He pleaded so hard to get you on top of him. Even with his cock throbbing between his legs, angry red and weeping precum, he didn’t even touch himself until you were ready. He’d prepped you with just as much enthusiasm as he always did. Hell, he’d make you cum a hundred times before you even looked at him if it meant you’d give him some semblance of attention afterward.

And now that you’ve given him that attention, he’s an absolute mess.

You had to be careful when you finally sunk onto his cock. Too fast and he would’ve cum in you the second he bottomed out; you could tell he was restraining himself by the way his fingers dug into your waist and his lip trembled when he spoke.

Even when he assured you he’d hold back—promised he wouldn’t finish too soon—you didn’t risk it. You barely picked up speed, swirling your hips in agonizingly slow circles in his lap. You went at your own pace, grinding into him however you wanted. But every time you tried to move with slow and easy strokes, his hips would buck up into you.

“Easy, Johnny,” you coo, leaning down to plant a kiss on his lips. He groans into your mouth as his fingers knead the skin on your hips. “We’re takin’ it slow.”

He whines at that but stops his eager movements. His fingers flex impatiently, strong hands moving from your hips to your waist to your thighs, unable to calm down. “M’sorry, it’s just…fuck, you feel so goddamn good. I can’t help it.”

It was endearing how such a big and strong guy turned to putty when it came to you. He could hold you down and overpower you without a second thought if he really wanted to. But that wasn’t what this was about. He wanted your control—needed to seek out your permission. Even if it meant getting scolded for not listening to you.

“‘Can’t help it’? That’s a problem,” you coo. Your already-slow movements come to a complete stop, hips stilling on top of his. He didn't even try to hold onto your hips and move you back and forth. “We'll just have to go even slower, then.”

That makes him tense—fighting the urge to make you move on top of him. “Fuck—c’mon, bonnie. Don’t...” His hands knead your hips, fingers pressing into your skin impatiently. His frustration slowly turns to compliance. “I’ll stop, I won’t cum. Promise.”

“That’s too bad. I’m not movin’ until you calm down.” Your hands run up his arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath his sweat-slicked skin.

“I…okay. Yeah, I’ll calm down.” His voice is strained, struggling to keep steady as he speaks. His breaths are heavy behind gritted teeth. “C’mere…”

His hands slide up your back and push gently against the space between your shoulder blades. It’s more of a suggestion, not forced at all. You take the hint, leaning down over him until his arms wrap around your waist. Immediately his mouth latches on to one of your breasts and the sudden wet friction makes you gasp. He practically drools over you, sucking gently and running his tongue in circles around your nipple.

Each lap of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Even sitting still in his lap, you could feel his cock throbbing inside you. He could probably cum like this if you let him; he was clearly sensitive with the way he moaned against your skin every time you clenched around him.

He can’t keep still, not when he knows how good he makes you feel. His hips buck up into you in sharp thrusts that take your breath away. “Christ, Johnny…” You moan, affirmation that you won’t scold him this time for moving. Feeling both his mouth and his cock lavish you in attention made your head spin. “Easy, baby, you’re gonna make yourself cum.”

His nails dig into your waist, his grip tight and firm on you to keep you still while his hips jerk. His mouth slides off of you with a small pop. The air hitting your now-wet skin sends a shiver down your spine.

“Wanna cum so fuckin’ bad. Please.” His thrusts turn more gentle, giving both of you time to breathe. “Jus’ let me fuck you, babe.”

Your resolve was always tested against his desperation. It was impossible to deny him when he begged like that, when his eyes looked up at you with pure lust and need while he was buried inside you. Seeing him like this sent a thrill through you that had you clenching around his cock.

“Desperate, aren’t you? You gonna cum for me?”

“Aye…” Soap moans as his thrusts become quick and sharp once more. With his arms wrapped tight around you, he holds you in place as he thrusts up into you. “Gonna cum for you, gonna cum so fuckin’ hard. You feel so good, so fuckin’ hot…”

You can tell he’s getting close by the desperation in his movements. Babbling and groaning nonsensically, his grip tight enough to leave bruises on your skin. Every thrust has him moaning louder, holding you closer.

It doesn’t take long before the quick pace of his hips stutters. His moans catch in his throat, a choked combination of heavy breath and the sound of your name, as he spills into you. Your nails dig into his skin, holding onto him as he rides the high of his orgasm.

When he finally comes down from the high, panting and sweating, his grip gradually loosens on your body. You rub small circles into his skin, massaging his muscles and grounding him. You lean down and kiss him gently once his gaze comes back into focus.

“You feel better now, baby?” You coo, brushing your lips over his. He hums affirmatively against your lips. “That’s good. Now, it’s only fair I get to cum now, right?”

He lazily nods his head, hands moving back down to your hips and holding you gently. He tenses as you begin swirling your hips in his lap. As you steadily pick up speed, he hisses at the overstimulating ache.

“You’ll make me cum. Won’t you, Johnny?”

More enthusiastically this time, he nods his head. A small “uh-huh,” is all he manages to get out, jaw setting tight as you continue to ride him. It’d be cruel if you didn’t know he enjoyed it; his cock throbbed inside you, growing harder with each bounce of your hips. 

It wasn’t much of a punishment if he liked it, but he deserved it all the same.

[doeidawn]

every day I'm clocking in for my shift at the not making sense factory . we don't know what we're making only that it's not sense.

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — having a lot of thoughts about Price's thighs; f!reader, nsfw 18+ (MDNI)

John Price was a man of simple pleasures. It came with the lifestyle of a soldier—he had to learn to appreciate the small victories. And he knew how to wait until reward found its way to him.

He was a man with the patience of a saint and the resolve of a warrior. Never was it more apparent to you than moments like these: sat in his lap squirming and whining while he leaned back against the headboard, puffing on a cigar and just watching you.

"Please," you whine, almost unsure of what exactly you wanted by this point. Your hands brace against his chest, fingers splayed against the coarse hair and calloused skin that covers firm muscle. Your hips drag your cunt up and down the length of his thigh in a pattern so sporadic neither of you can sense a rhythm to it.

You weren't sure how long you'd spent rutting against him. Your thighs burned and your knees were sore but the throbbing need in your cunt was too strong to stop now.

The heat and wetness that pooled between your legs ached, beyond desperate for any other type of friction. But John couldn't seem to care less; couldn't bother to interrupt the show you were putting on for him. His lips wrap around the end of his cigar as his eyes rake over every detail of your body for the hundredth time tonight. Seeing the way his eyes devoured you only made you wish that much more that he'd actually do it. One thing was certain—he reveled in this.

He was kind enough to remove his clothes, although you suspect it was more for his sake—he couldn't have you staining a pair of his trousers, after all. It still wasn't enough to see the outline of his thick cock throbbing against his briefs, but every attempt you made to remove them was met with a scold and a small thwack of his palm meeting your ass.

He'd turn his head before billowing a small cloud of grey smoke from his lips. "Not yet, darling." His voice was such a soft rumble that it was almost easy to forget how aggravating his denial was.

You know he can feel how worked up you are. It'd be impossible not to when your slick painted his thigh, matting fine hair to his skin. But John got a kick out of this. He liked to watch you beg and whine and show him how much you needed him.

"Please just fuck me." All of your mounting impatience bubbled to the surface as you begged—pleaded—with him. "Please, John, I jus' wanna cum. Need you to fuck me."

His free hand would snake up your thigh, grabbing the pillowy flesh on your hip. "I know you do, baby." A reassuring squeeze followed his faux-compassion. "But you can cum for me like this, yeah?"

Of course you could, and he knew it. When he spoke to you like that—encouragement and expectation all wrapped into one—it was almost impossible not to. Even if you wanted more than just pathetic ruts against his thigh, the heat that gnawed at your core was growing increasingly harder to fight back against. You offer him a small nod and hum a quiet "mm-hmm" in reply, almost reluctant to admit to your desperation and give in to his game. Not that he couldn't tell.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, that's my girl."

He flexes his thigh, the muscles underneath going taut and firm as he shifts his leg just enough to press against your cunt. You can't stifle the moan that escapes your lips. The newfound pressure feels amazing; such a small difference yet so monumental when you were this sensitive.

He kneads the skin on your hip, fingers leaving small red imprints as they dig into you. "There you go. You like that?" The smoke curling around his lips as he takes another puff of his cigar makes him look as devilish as he sounds.

A roll of your hips takes your breath away, the air catching in your throat in a choked moan. Your eyes flutter as you meet his darkened gaze. "Mm-hmm," the affirmative sound rumbles in your throat.

Thwack. His palm meets the swell of your ass in a much sharper spank than before. The sudden sting makes you whine and buck against his thigh, hips jerking at the feel of the sudden stimulation. Your cunt throbs as heat blooms over your skin.

As comforting as he is domineering, he runs his hand gently over your flushed skin. "Use your words, darling." Your mind already felt like mush—too tired and desperate to cum—that the warm baritone of his voice was almost too much to bear.

"Yes, I like it." You finally manage to sputter. Nails rake over the hair dusting his chest when your hands search him out for support. "Feels so good."

He groans at that. "Yeah? Y'gonna cum for me?"

"Yeah," you mewl, burying your face in his neck. The combination of his musk and cigars hits you even harder, the scent filling your nostrils and making your head spin further into delirium. "I need it, John, I need it so fucking bad."

The pressure on your body only increases after that. His hand slides to your lower back for support to guide your rolling hips up and down his thigh. He keeps your pace steady, taking some of the work for himself as he watches you squirm.

"I know you do baby." He takes another drag from his cigar, planting a kiss on your shoulder after blowing the smoke away. "Christ, you're makin' a mess, leakin' all over me."

You whine into his stubbled skin, feeling his beard brush against your cheek as you nuzzle closer. You didn't have to feel his cock throbbing against your leg to know he was enjoying seeing you like this (and he probably couldn't stand to just watch for much longer).

"Cum for me like this and I promise I'll make it up to you." His hand gently tangles in the hair at the back of your head. Fingers interlace with the strands as he tugs just enough to pull your head back and meet your heavy-lidded gaze. "Give me a nice li'l show and I'll fuck you proper, fill you up good. But you need t' cum for me first, love."

A strained curse leaves your mouth as your hips buck wildly against his thigh. The friction of firm muscle and soft skin makes your cunt throb against him. Your lips find his in a messy fit of kisses. The taste of old tobacco coats your tongue and adds to the haze of sensations.

His grip loosens in your hair before his hand slides down the bare expanse of your back, resting at your waist as fingers curl to hold you firmly. His teeth tease and pull at your bottom lip, drawing a whine out from you between your heavy breaths.

You can feel his lips curl into a smile against your mouth. "That's it," he groans, leaving your panting mouth behind. "There you go, love, cum all over me. Show me how good it feels."

His encouragement is what sends you over the edge. The heat that had been building in your core spills over, making your body tense as waves of pleasure flow through you. His hand digs into your waist as you pant and moan against him, the sensation grounding you amidst the overwhelming feeling of relief.

A strong tobacco scent hits your nose. Fluttering your eyes open, your sweaty body goes lax against him. Lifting your hips, you can feel your slick string between his thigh and your cunt. You smile down at him, cupping his jaw in one of your hands.

Your fingers thread through his beard. Leaning in, your nose brushes over his before you plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "Gonna keep your promise?"

"Always do."

[doeidawn]

[doeidawn]

So embarrassing but who cares. But so embarrassing but who cares but it’s so embarrassing but also who cares but it really is embarrassing but really who cares BUT it’s so embarrassing though probably nobody cares but it’s embarrassing asf and nobody cares but

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — Gaz my beloved <3 u know that man is a pussy worshiper; f!reader, nsfw 18+ (MDNI)

Just the mere thought of you tested every ounce of Kyle’s self-restraint. Nevermind the years of training wherein he learned just how crucial it was to have patience and control himself—this man would give up everything if it meant he could live between your legs. 

He’s typically on his knees within seconds of walking through the door when he returns home. No matter how long he’s gone or why he left, he kneels and works his mouth like there’s no sweeter prayer; like he’ll cease to exist if he doesn’t taste you. There was no question that the man worshiped the very essence of your being.

Some nights he would be so desperate to feel you cum that he would do everything he could to make you lose yourself hard and fast. But that wasn’t the norm. No, Kyle was a man who loved to see every minute detail—every little reaction—that he could coax out of you. There was no sweeter agony than his determination to turn you into a mess. He knew exactly how to touch you. He knew exactly where to place his mouth and when to back off.

You could always tell straight away when you’d end up with a night of teasing and begging. Kyle would spend minutes rubbing and squeezing the pillowy skin at the top of your thighs before he even thought about touching you anywhere else. He loved to hear the way your breathing grew deeper, loved to watch your legs spread without being asked. If you were lucky, he’d brush his fingers over your panties as a fleeting promise of more. 

He didn’t often grant you that luxury.

No, oftentimes Kyle would hold your legs apart by the underside of your thighs and simply enjoy himself. He’d litter kisses over your thighs, starting at your knee and slowly—by God, did he always go so slow—working his way to the dip where thighs met pelvis. His tongue would dart out occasionally to lap at sweat-slicked skin. Teeth grazed old hickeys and love bites, planting new ones wherever he deemed necessary. He’d do that for long and arduous sets of two on each side until you either begged or squirmed enough. 

He loved it when you wore lighter-colored panties so he could see the fabric darken with evidence of your desperation. It was only then would he lean in to place a wet kiss on your clit through the fabric (and maybe even a second if he was feeling generous.) Long, slow licks with the flat of his tongue covered your panties as if he was trying to taste your slickness off of the fabric. It was almost aggravating; not enough friction to be pleasurable, but just enough to make you need more. 

You’d beg him for more, to take the restricting garment off. “C’mon, Ky…take ‘em off, please,” you’d whine. All he would offer in return was a dismissive “mm-mmm” against the fabric that ever-so-slightly vibrates your clit. 

And he’d do that until he had his fill, until he decided he needed to taste the real thing. He’d tug the thin material down your thighs and off of your legs before his hands return to keep you propped open. He’d take a moment to admire—no, to assess—the state of you.

And of course he wouldn’t give you exactly what you wanted quite yet. He’d lean in just enough to brush his lips over the apex of your thighs, letting the anticipation stir as you grow needier and wetter. His hands would move inward, thumbs spreading your lips apart as his fleeting kisses trail closer. Sometimes his tongue would dart out to collect the slick that coated your entrance, other times he would plant kisses around your hole until you pleaded for more.

The teasing was relentless, almost endless on some nights. It never became easy to deal with when he tormented you with those gentle touches, but, Christ, was it always worth it when his mouth finally connected with your pussy and gave you that hot and wet friction that you needed more than air.

Kyle knew you wouldn’t last long if he completely devoured you—could probably time it if he really wanted—and sometimes he’d grant you that. But, typically, he’d take his time and let you really feel his tongue as it lapped slow strips from your hole to your clit.

Then his hands would slide slowly upwards, taking your hips in his grasp, his thumbs pressed gently into the dip of your hipbone. That was his way of keeping you in place while he worshiped you; he wanted to make sure you felt every little movement of his mouth over your sensitive flesh.

Sometimes it was seconds later, sometimes it was torturous minutes away, but he’d always give you what you wanted. The flat of his tongue lapped hungrily at your clit as he sucked just hard enough to make your toes curl.

Perhaps the best part about his devotion was how much he let you know he loved it too. Aside from the wet sounds your cunt and his mouth made together, Kyle was never one to shy away from moaning at your taste. 

He loved to speak right into your cunt, letting his breath hit your core and watch as you twitch in response. “Christ, you taste so damn good, love. All f’me, innit?” And when you could barely form words because of him, he accepted a breathless but affirmative grunt as an answer. “That’s right, yes it is. Pretty li’l cunt is leakin’ for me.”

He didn’t care if his words were muffled or his praise was lost between groans and sloppy wetness. As long as he could let your pussy know how much he loved it, he would.

He’d slip in a finger or two if you asked for it, but he preferred to make you cum with nothing but his mouth. He liked to see how wet he could get you and feel you clench and throb around his tongue. To him, there was no greater sense of accomplishment. It was an addictive high. So much so that he never left you with just one orgasm; two was the absolute bare minimum. But Kyle wasn’t one to do the bare minimum. 

He was so knowledgeable of your body that he seemed to know your limits before you did. He knew when he could get another one out of you before you crashed for the night. Even if it felt like you had nothing else to give, he somehow always coaxed another one out of you.

It helped when that sickly sweet tone of his encouraged you to keep going. “You can gi’me one more, yeah? Just one more, baby.” Greedy, that’s what he was. “I know you can do it. Just give me one more. Just one more time, alright?” Greedy, but damn good at getting your body back to that peak.

He’d hold you down tighter if you squirmed too much, but, truthfully, he loved feeling your thighs tense around his head when you got sensitive. Plush skin would cover his ears and drown out the rest of the world—leaving only him and your sweet pussy.

You can barely recall a time when your legs didn’t tremble as he’d pull his mouth away. Of course, he never left his prize without a set of departing kisses that trailed back down to your knees. It was a wonder he didn’t always smell like you—his face was an absolute mess every time; slick and coated with his saliva and your cum. 

You bet he’d keep his mouth on you all day if you’d let him. 

[doeidawn]

you and soap kissing around ghost's tip, spit slicking both your lips and chins as you make out desperately while ghost is staring down at you both, all flushed and softly panting, pupils blown wide as he watches you both and rolls his hips at the feeling of your tongues as you kiss before he finally has enough, grabbing both your heads and pushing you together so both of your lips are flush with his cock, tongues pressed against each other as you and soap stare into each others eyes and ghost thrusts his fat cock between you two, groaning about how good you both are for him, how it feels so good, such good toys for him to play with before he pulls away slightly so he can cum over both your faces

[doeidawn]

my blog is a safe space for me. the rest of you are in danger i think

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — 896 words of possessive Price; gender-neutral, nsfw 18+ (MDNI)

Price always told himself he wasn’t a jealous person. He knew what he had, knew what was his, and he was perfectly fine keeping it to himself. He wasn’t one to bare his soul or brag. The sense of superiority was lost on him. 

Until you came along.

It was evident even before you were together; he had to be the one to take up your time. He had to be the one to make you smile. He had to be the one you came to when you needed help. He had to be the one you chose to bother. And while he never bragged about it, just knowing that others were aware—that other people knew that you chose him—gave him a sense of adrenaline that no battlefield could ever compare to.

But no, he told himself, he’s not possessive. 

He just wanted everyone else to know you enjoyed his company. That you thought highly of him.

Then came the physicality of it all. At the first confirmation of a relationship—something beyond formality—it grew harder to hold back. A man who prided himself on his resolve fumbled completely just at the mere sight of you. 

It started with fleeting touches and lingering glances. Innocent hands on shoulders and waist, fingers brushing over fingers, a quick peck on the cheek. The mindless need to feel your skin against his whenever convenient.

It was almost subconscious the way it evolved. Suddenly, whenever another person entered the room, his hand landed somewhere on your body. Arm, thigh, hand, shoulder—it didn’t matter. Then it became kisses whenever another was in the line of sight just for the satisfaction that they might notice him press his lips to yours. As if saying to the world “this one is with me”.

Price was not possessive. He was just…proud of you. 

And wasn’t an old man allowed to be proud? You were quite the sight to behold, after all. Even if he wanted the only eyes on you to be his own. 

And right now, they were.

He was the only one who got to see you like this: sweaty and trembling, panting and drooling from swollen lips, bare skin flushing red. He rocked into you with every ounce of his being, taking and giving in equilibrium.

Every shudder, every scratch of your nails along his back, every pulse of your body around him was his. He earned it from you. No one else.

His brain was on autopilot now (had been since the first time you came around him) and no ounce of common sense could halt him when his mouth attacked the bare expanse of your neck. Wet lips and hungry teeth grazed your skin, bruising and imprinting his mark onto you.

He barely registered the sound of your voice when you panted against him. “John…” you croaked, voice quivering as the coarse hair of his beard skimmed along your neck. “You’re gonna…fuck—people are gonna s—”

“Let them.” He didn’t give you the chance to finish the thought—no, the warning—that had the foresight to cross your mind. “I fucking hope they see.”

Perhaps leaving your skin littered with love bites and the imprint of his teeth wasn’t the smartest way to keep attention off of you. But he didn’t care right now. He couldn’t deny that a sick part of him thrilled at the thought of someone noticing the trail of red marks at the crook of your neck. 

His marks. From his mouth.

His cock twitched at the thought. His thrusts picked up speed, hands snaking around your waist to hold you tightly. Whether it was to keep you in place or to remind himself that you were really here, he wasn’t sure anymore. 

He was relentless, desperate and needy for something only you could give him. He silences your wanton moans by pressing his lips against yours. Moans that were just for him.

He barely pulls back to mutter against your mouth. “You're mine.” His hot breath mingles with yours, wet lips gliding against each other. “All fucking mine. Say it, baby, c’mon—tell me you’re mine.”

He needed it more than anything. If the conviction in his voice wasn’t enough to convince you, the desperation in his eyes certainly was. 

You nodded with what room he granted you. Your hands found their way to his cheeks, fingers threading through his beard as you cradled his head. “Yes. I’m yours. I’m all yours, John.”

The sound that came from him next was one you never heard before. Like a whine and a growl mixed into one—a declaration of his ownership and the neediness that fueled it. He buried his face into your neck as his body tensed. The nearly incoherent mess of your name and the word “mine” was panted hotly against your skin, caressing the indents his teeth had left beforehand.

Neither of you moved for a while afterward. Even after breathing steadied and sweat dried, both of you were content to lay just like that: with his hands wrapped tightly around your body in a wordless plea.

Those marks lasted for a while. He hadn’t realized how hard he bit and sucked until the bruises began cycling through colors as they healed. His eyes landed on them every time he saw you. And God how he hoped other people did the same.

Maybe Price was a little possessive.

[doeidawn]

WRITE IT!!! WRITE THAT SELF INDULGENT SHIT!!!

[doeidawn]

I think one of the most beautiful things about x-reader fanfiction is discovering pieces of the writer sprinkled throughout the fic. Whether it's in their characterization of the canon character or the reader or details about how they like to be touched or loved, or little bits of dialect and personal habits, it's just so endearing. A homage to one of the most basic forms of self expression, and a vulnerable baring of one's soul for others to see. It's so, so special