#lets pretend its spooky season

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

Mood~ cocoon as known as blanket burrito~

I could get dressed or even dressed up to look cute and pretty (well mybe I'd try) then again could just stay in pjs or sweatpants and oversized shirt or cami for day~

Totally leaning towards pjs~

[embermint000x]

・ :*:・ﾟ☆.・ ゜🎃

[tsukimefuku]

don’t get too scared, or else you’ll moan :: satoru gojo

You and your boyfriend decide to go to the movies for Halloween, and things get a little out of hand — or on it, you might say. His hand.

content warning: MDNI. fem!reader, exhibitionism, public, fingering, use of popcorn bucket as decoy, muffling sounds with sloppy kissing. Somewhat proofread.

wc: 840ish

notes etc: a small contribution for the kinky spooky season, hehe. I'm slowly putting a dent into the smutty drabbles prompts, will tackle a few more this upcoming week

“Can you be good for me?”

Satoru's whispered purr came with a hint of mockery to it, and you held on the armrest for dear life with one hand, while the other plastered all over your mouth to prevent any squeak from escaping and denouncing your less than appropriate lewd activities to every other person in the vicinity.

The shit-eating grin he had on his face and his twinkling azure eyes under the dimly lit movie theater gave you half a mind to slap him - that is, if you could think.

The seats were mostly empty as a B-grade horror movie flashed through the screen, but you hadn’t paid much attention to what was happening on the screen. Not when Satoru was knuckle-deep into your drenched, slick folds and you did your absolute best to bite down every sound involuntarily bubbling up your throat.

“What… d-do you mean…?” you managed to strangle out under your breath, your voice rasp and hurried before your words had the chance to become a needy whimper.

It was an arduous task.

Satoru curled his fingers inside you, his rough digits pressing over your sensitive spot intently, which had you jumping in surprise. The bucket of popcorn that was over your lap almost got tossed on the ground, and some of your neurons were still functional enough for you to grab it before it fell with prickling, quivery hands.

“You have to hold the popcorn, pretty girl,” he cooed lowly, leaning close enough for his breath to fan over your earlobe, “or else we might have an accident.” Satoru followed his remark with a tiny chuckle, and was clearly deriving a huge amount of fun to have you an absolute mess of bated moans and trembling muscles, every tiny falter to keep yourself afloat a small victory to him. Even if the uncomfortable strain in his own slacks was growing more intense by the second.

You struggled to keep your eyes open and directed at the screen while his fingers worked their way inside you, their ridges massaging you from within, pumping and prodding purposefully all around your favorite spots.

By this point, you had already made a complete mess of slick dripping in between your thighs, over your panties - which were haphazardly pushed aside -, his palm and the part of your skirt you were still sitting on.

You wondered how the hell you’d manage to leave the movie theater like that, but the pleasure was more than enough to keep your mortification at bay, at least for now.

The bastard sat completely unfazed by your side, staring straight ahead as he pretended to watch The Evil Something 3 while his hand was shoved up your cunt, pistoning his fingers into you like there was no tomorrow.

Eventually you just gave up on trying to pretend watching the movie, resting your face over his shoulder, letting out a sequence of tiny gasps and pleas of his name that Satoru was sure to drink in pridefully.

A familiar heat began to prickle its way down your body, and tightened down all over your abdomen. With a sense of urgency, you drew your face upwards to look at him, your skin covered with a thin coat of glistening sweat as you realized in dread you wouldn't be able to bite down this.

"S-satoru... I-I'm..." you tried, as your walls fluttered and clenched around his fingers, while the bumpy ridges of his fingertips brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"And you can't keep it down?" he cooed playfully, his voice more sultry than he expected it to come out, as he leaned his face over to meet yours. His eyes gazed at you the way you'd expect him to look upon receiving his favorite candy as a gift.

In this case, your sweet, pretty sounds.

"Moan into my mouth then."

You didn't have time to answer. In a few seconds, you were cumming all over his hand, and your moans got muffled by his tongue, that he unceremoniously shoved into your mouth and intertwined in yours. You were at least spared the small mercy of your high coinciding with an incredibly loud jumpscare moment, that in exchange also robbed other people of screams and curses - just about enough for you two to not draw much attention towards your lewd activities.

Slowing his pace, he finally pulled his hand from the middle of your thighs, and didn't break eye contact as he put his fingers over his tongue to lick away your candied slick. You swore you came a little just from the sight of it.

Limp and spent, you let your full body weight rest on him, and Satoru welcomed you into his warmth with an arm around your shoulders.

"What is going on now?" you inquired out of breath, asking him about the movie.

"As if I would know," he chirped, kissing the top of your head as you proceeded to finish watching a movie none of you had watched the first forty minutes of.

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[ladykailitha]

Spooky season is here and I was just thinking about that tiktok (maybe) of the couple at the haunted house where the guy pushes the girl onto the feet of the ax wielding haunt and then the girl and haunt have a conversation that ends with the girl chasing the asshole with the ax and the haunt happily following her.

But make that Steddie. Steve as the girl. Set between seasons 3 and 4, but in a world where Steve going on a date with a man is surprise not a thing of revulsion (as in people would surprised that he was dating a guy having been a ladies man in high school, but no one would give him shit about it). Because it's my sand box, damn it. I make the rules here!

*

Steve wasn't sure what possessed him to go on this date with Jeremy. He didn't like haunted houses. He had seen too many real horrors in his life be frightened of fake ones. But Robin said he could pretend to be scared and cling to the guy's arm, maybe even get a kiss out of it.

What he wasn't expecting was for it to actually terrify him. He was clutching Jeremy's arm the whole way through, chanting in his head "don't hurt them, it's not real." Over and over again whenever the urge to push the actors away or in one extreme case when they were in the haunted hospital break the doctor's nose.

The actor looked too much like Dr Brennan, and while the patient on the gurney wasn't a girl or even had shaved hair, but Steve's protective instinct went into overdrive. It took every ounce of self-will Steve had to keep clutching Jeremy's arm.

They finally hit a room that didn't look so bad. It had a wood floor and four garish statues, one in each corner. Their fog machine was working in high gear but seemed to collect around one figure in particular.

It held an ax over its head, its mouth open in a silent scream. The robes that gathered around its sandled feet were perfectly rendered in stone. The sleeves of the robe revealed a couple of bat tattoos on the right forearm.

Steve was entranced, he let go of Jeremy's arm for the first time since they started and took a step toward it.

It was then the actor jumped off his pedestal and swung his ax down.

Jeremy did the inexplicable. Maybe even outright despicable thing. He pushed Steve forward into the waiting arms of ax murder. Steve stumbled landing on the actor's feet.

"Whoa!" the actor asked. "Are you okay?" He put the ax down and helped Steve get to his feet.

"Did he really just shove me at you to save his own ass?" Steve asked in shock.

The actor cocked his head to the side. "That's what it looked like to me. I hope that was a friend and not a date..."

Steve winced. "Sadly, the latter."

"Fuck, dude," the actor said. He spotted the ax. "You want to get revenge?" He picked up the ax and handed it to Steve.

Steve laughed. "Hell yeah!"

He ran after Jeremy, very plastic ax in hand, the actor cheering him on.

The next room was holding Jeremy so that he wouldn't be split from Steve and gotten lost. It was full of evil clowns. Something that apparently Jeremy was terrified of, judging by the screaming he had been doing.

The actors spotted Steve coming at their prey with an ax and Eddie cheering him from behind, they immediately clocked what had probably gone down. They let Jeremy pass them and two of the clowns broke off to chase him out of the haunted house, gaining cast members with each passing room (still enough remaining to scare other patrons but obviously gaining a crowd to hound this guy.)

He exited the haunted house screaming obscenities at Steve and the actors. The crowd laughing and pointing. He got into his car and drove off.

The smile slid off Steve's face. "Fuck. There goes my ride home."

The ax murder laughed as all the other actors went back inside. He pulled off his hood to reveal a mess of dark brown curls and grey face paint around his eyes on his lips. "I've gotcha, big boy."

"Eddie Munson, right?" Steve asked when he finally placed the face.

"Aww," Eddie cackled. "You do remember me."

Steve scoffed. "Kinda hard to forget."

Eddie's grin grew big. "Duly noted." He scratched the back of his head. "I am sorry about the shitty date though."

Steve shrugged. "It turned out more fun then I thought it would."

Eddie cocked his head again. "True. It's not every day you get chase away a bad date with plastic ax."

Steve handed it back to him. "Shouldn't you be getting back? Won't the other patrons find it odd when the room is empty of scares?"

Eddie smiled slyly. "Who says I left my post unattended?"

Steve's eyes went wide. "How many more of the statues are actors?"

Eddie leaned forward into his space. "I'll never tell," he said sing-song.

Steve laughed.

"Just let me inform my boss I'm taking you home and clean up this makeup, I'll get you home, Stevie," Eddie said.

"You don't have to do that," Steve mumbled. "I'm sure I could call someone."

Eddie shook his head. "Nah, I've got you."

"Thanks."

Ten minutes later Eddie was back on the pavement standing next to Steve. He was back in his usual shredded black jeans and leather jacket. But he wore a denim vest over top of it.

"I like the vest," Steve murmured. "I like pins and things."

"Patches," Eddie said.

Steve hummed his confusion.

"The other things are patches," Eddie explained.

Steve smiled. "That's cool."

Eddie pulled up to Steve's house without asking for directions.

"Should I ask how you knew that?" Steve asked as he got out of the van.

Eddie just waggled his eyebrows as he got out of the van too.

"You gonna walk me to the door, Eds?" Steve asked with a smirk.

"These woods behind your house are pretty fucking scary, dude," Eddie said with a huff of laughter.

Steve just shook his head and bit his tongue to avoid saying exactly how much.

They got to his door and Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve's lips.

It was sweet and warm. "What was that for?" Steve asked, breathlessly.

"Isn't that what you do at the end of a date?" Eddie asked with a teasing grin. "Walk them to door and give them a kiss good night?"

Steve laughed. "Yeah. Yeah it is. Good night, Eds."

"Good night, Stevie."

Eddie walked to his van. "If you want to go on a date that doesn't end you chasing your date with an ax, you know where to find me."

Steve grinned. "I might just take you up on that. Provided it's not another haunted house."

"Don't worry, baby," Eddie said with grin. "I'm loyal. Just a one haunted house kind of guy."

Steve shook his head and unlocked the door. Before he close it behind him he could hear Eddie celebrating, cheering and hollering.

Robin was never going to believe him when he told her how his date went.

But that's okay. She was right. It was fun.

*

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @itsall-taken @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @vecnuthy

[lilsoftext]

•~* HAUNTED BY YOU *~•

- chris sturniolo x female reader

- summery : halloween night

——————————————————————————

sof had grown close to matt and nick over the past year, becoming part of their tight-knit circle, but when it came to spooky season, it was all new territory. the boys were big on horror movies, creepy stories, and, of course, pranks, especially around halloween. chris, on the other hand, had never been a huge fan of paranormal stuff—it always freaked him out more than he let on. sof found this both endearing and surprising, given how confident and chill he usually was.

they were all sprawled out on the couch and floor in the living room. the lights were off, except for a couple of flickering candles on the coffee table that cast long, eerie shadows across the room. a classic horror movie was playing on the screen, and the suspenseful music filled the space. sof sat next to chris, who had his arm loosely draped around her shoulders, pulling her close as they watched.

“this part’s coming up… you know, the one with the ghost in the mirror,” matt whispered from his spot on the floor, grinning mischievously.

nick, who was seated next to him, snickered. “oh yeah, this part always gets chris.”

sof glanced at chris and noticed the way his shoulders tensed just slightly. “you good?” she asked softly, leaning into him.

chris gave her a quick smile, trying to play it off. “yeah, i’m fine. it’s just a movie.”

but sof could tell he was a little on edge, and that gave her an idea. she caught matt and nick exchanging a look and quickly realized that they were planning something. they had already talked about it earlier in the day when chris wasn’t around—how they could mess with him a little and use his fear of ghosts to their advantage. sof, always up for a little harmless fun, had agreed to be in on it.

as the movie reached its most suspenseful moment, with the music building and the tension thick in the air, sof gently rested her hand on chris’s leg. “you sure you’re not scared?” she teased, her voice soft but playful.

chris glanced at her, his smile widening a little. “i’m not scared,” he insisted, though his eyes were glued to the screen, clearly anticipating something. “just… staying alert.”

sof held back a laugh, knowing what was about to happen.

right as the ghost appeared on screen, matt let out a loud bang by knocking on the wall behind them. at the same time, nick flicked the lights off completely, plunging the room into darkness. chris jumped, his grip on sof tightening as he let out a startled yelp. “what the hell—” he started, his voice higher than usual.

sof bit her lip, trying not to laugh as chris looked around, confused and clearly spooked.

“did you see that?” matt whispered from the floor, his voice low and eerie. “i swear i saw something move in the hallway.”

nick played along perfectly, his eyes wide in fake panic. “dude, don’t joke about that! what if it’s real?”

chris’s eyes darted toward the dark hallway, and for a second, sof could see the uncertainty in his expression. he was usually the calm one, but in this moment, he looked genuinely freaked out.

sof couldn’t help herself—she leaned into him and whispered, “maybe it’s a ghost…”

“sof, don’t,” chris said quickly, his voice tight. “you know i hate that stuff.”

she grinned, resting her head on his shoulder. “i’m just teasing.”

just then, matt jumped up from the floor, letting out a loud, exaggerated scream as he pretended to see something behind the couch. “holy crap, what is that?!” he shouted, pointing toward the hallway.

chris nearly jumped off the couch, his heart racing as he looked over his shoulder, fully expecting to see something. “guys, stop messing with me,” he said, his voice a mix of nervous laughter and actual fear.

sof burst into laughter, unable to keep it together anymore. “okay, okay, we were messing with you!”

matt and nick collapsed into fits of laughter as well, high-fiving each other. “dude, your face was priceless!” nick gasped between laughs.

chris sat back on the couch, shaking his head, though there was a small smile on his face now. “you guys suck,” he muttered, his heart still racing from the scare.

sof, still laughing, leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “you know we’re just messing with you because we love you, right?”

chris looked down at her, his expression softening. “yeah, yeah, i know,” he said, though he still looked a little annoyed. “but i swear, you’re lucky you’re cute, because i was about to bolt out of here.”

sof giggled, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “i’ll make it up to you later,” she whispered, her voice teasing but sincere.

chris sighed, his arm wrapping around her again as he relaxed a little. “you better,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile playing at his lips now.

“we’ll watch something less scary next time,” sof promised, still grinning as she nestled into his side.

matt and nick eventually calmed down, still chuckling to themselves as they started another, less intense movie. the rest of the night was more relaxed, with sof and chris cuddled up on the couch, his earlier nerves fading away.

as the credits rolled on the final movie of the night, the boys started gathering up blankets and snacks to head to their rooms. chris leaned over to sof, his voice low. “i’m still mad at you, you know.”

sof raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “really? still?”

“a little,” chris admitted, though he was clearly teasing now.

sof leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “then maybe i’ll have to find a way to make it up to you tonight.”

chris’s eyes flickered with amusement and something else as he glanced down at her. “yeah, maybe you should.”

with a smile, sof kissed him softly on the lips, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. halloween might have been about spooky scares, but the night had ended on a much sweeter, more intimate note—one that left chris feeling more than happy to forgive her for the prank.

——————————————————————————

i hope you enjoyed it. if you have any requests, leave them down below.

lilsoftext <3

[try-set-me-on-fire]

I was tagged by @iinryer and @eddiebabygirldiaz for fuck it Friday yesterday, and Saturday can be Friday if you want I think, and Kaitlin shared Eddie seeing ghosts so sticking with the theme: here’s the start of witch Eddie! Which is actually the third part of werewolf buck and Bobby and the devil… it’s Halloween season babyyyy

Since I’m a day late in place of tags I’m just going to ask you, dear reader, to share your spooky season wips or favorite fics or headcannons or etc etc if you want! I’d love to hear about them!

The thing about it all is that Eddie’s never been particularly good at being a witch. There are fundamental skill sets you need to deal with magic, and he’s always been lacking in all of them. When he was seven — sometimes too young for the magic to show up, but definitely an Age — his favorite game to play pretend was baseball. He’d stand in the backyard and throw empty pitches from imaginary gloves, run around bases that didn’t exist. It had made Ramon laugh — hot pride in Eddie’s stomach, twisting around with its rarity — and call out “I can take you to the ballpark, Edmundo, there’s no need to Imagine this.” Abuela had shushed him, though there was something a little worried about her eyes.

“Practical,” she’d called him. “A practical boy.” But years later when she’d coo-ed and awed over Adriana and Sophia and their intricate games of princesses and monsters and astronauts and deep sea diving, he’d come to understand what she probably meant — kindly, his grandmother loved him — was that he just wasn’t particularly imaginative, the word damningly and correctly uncapitalized.

Faith, he tried so hard to be good at. He knew all his prayers, said them when he woke up and before he went to bed and at dinner and all through church every Sunday. Some of his other friends, his cousins, the other little boys who fidgeted in the pews and looked longingly at the stained glass like they might be able to see the sky outside, they always complained about being dragged to church. Eddie never minded, though. He liked when they all got to sing, he liked that everyone he knew was there, he liked that he knew all the words. A part of something. He liked to be a part of something. But then his abuelo had died, and abuela was going to move out to California to live near her daughter there, and he’d really thought about God for the first time. “He’s a mean man,” he’d cried to mother, “He’s too mean, why did He do this? Why does He take things away? It’s not right. If I was God-” and he’d been smacked before he could finish the blasphemy, but there it was.

Abuela had come to him later, banished to his room. “Faith is a practice, mijito.” Her eyes were so sad, now. “If you cannot believe the big things, how will you Believe the small ones?” She’d sighed, and kissed his forehead. “Even when it’s difficult, even when it’s trouble. Promise me you’ll try.”

“I promise,” he’d said, curled up against her, meaning it with all his heart, but the next day she’d got on a plane and that Sunday he’d stared at the stained glass, wiggled in his pew.

Wanting. What do you want Edmundo. What do you want, Eddie. Seventeen years old and abuela had lived in California for more of his life than she’d lived in Texas, and he’s been the Man of the House since not long after, and he gets up at five to got to practice before school and he drives his sisters to ballet and gymnastics afterwards, and he works at the grocery store over on Third Street in the evenings and on weekends whenever he’s not at baseball practice again. He doesn’t know when he’s supposed to find time for wanting, for Wanting. He’s pretty good at baseball, but not good enough, he’s never going to make it anywhere. He doesn’t mind the store, but making $5.25 an hour to mop floors and let blonde women with expired coupons yell at him for the rest of his life fills him with just slightly more dread than when Ramon takes him around the oil company offices, talks to him about business school. What do you dream, Eddie? Nothing in particular. What do you want, Eddie? Something other than this.

He meets Shannon in class or by a lake, he's not sure which he should count. The lake is the first time they talked, the first time he saw her freckled shoulders and heard her hoarse laugh and thought he wanted to get to know her better. He wants to kiss her. He kissed Marnie Phillips at homecoming last year, and it was fine, kind of wet. Shannon’s lips are always dry even though she has a graveyard of chapsticks at the bottom of her backpack. She smiled at him when he brought her a new tube from the grocery store, cherry flavored. When he tells Ramon he’s going to ask her out when they see each other in 3rd period English, Ramon looks over his glasses at Eddie, eyes stern.

“Be careful, Eddie. Young love can be intense. You have to keep yourself under control. You cannot Want this girl to like you.”

“Am I supposed to want things or not?” Eddie had snapped — cheeks red at the word love when really all he was thinking about was maybe making out at the movies — because of course he wouldn’t, using magic to make someone do something they don’t want to do is horrible, and he thought he was doing pretty okay winning Shannon over the old fashioned way. He was grounded for his trouble, but Shannon had laughed when he told her about it, and agreed to go out with him once his punishment had lifted.

Shannon wanted easily. She was on the school newspaper, she wanted to study journalism, she took the bus to Austin one weekend to talk to the professors at UT, see what their school paper was like. She had an after school job at the movie theater, and saved most of every paycheck and talked about how she’d decorate her apartment when she moved for school. She wanted to tell stories that were important, she wanted to change the world. Eddie only wanted as much time with her as he could get before she left to live a bigger life than he could ever picture, but then there were two little lines on a white stick, and the two- the three of them forever, and all he wanted was to get away.

And even if he’d had a better Imagination, even if he had stronger Belief, even if he knew how to Want without ruining everything, the last thing — Intention — would always trip him up anyway. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Abuela had done it so easily, Believing so strongly that what she Wanted was true that the whole world twisted itself around until it became so. But Eddie always thought that the last step — Intending the change to happen — was more or less admitting the thing you Believed wasn’t true, and his magic would always fall apart at the finish line. He got a little better at it in the army, because working with his hands made a little more sense to him. Packing gauze was a physical action he was taking to tend to a wound, something he was actually doing to help all the Wanting and Belief along. People under his care healed a little faster maybe, got less infections maybe. He was never entirely sure what was him, what was magic, what was luck. He was untalented (unTalented). Whatever. He could do his best anyway. He’d decided to stop thinking about it so much.

And hadn’t the universe had a big old laugh about that one?

Now, Eddie stands in his kitchen, and what he wants — damn the capital letter — is for Buck to pick up the fucking phone.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Halloween/fall prompts

This was originally meant to be a general fall prompt list however a lot of these lean into the halloween stuff a lot- that being said! i hope you all have fun with these!

Rules: 3 prompts per request and 1 character per request, please check which fandoms I currently write for (you can find the list in my pinned!), have fun!

Arts and crafts- do they make decorations to put around? Do they make DIYs to pass the time and celebrate?

Boo- Do they try to scare you during the season?

Costumes- Do they wear a costume? Do they buy it or make it by hand? Do you guys match?

Decoration- do they like decorating with you? Do they have you do all the work or do they help, or do it all themselves? How far do they lean into it?

Excitement- how eager are they to spend halloween with you? How early do they start celebrating?

Fair- are there any themed fairs in town? Do they try to drag you along to check it out or would they rather stay at home?

Give out- are you in charge or handing out candy or do they take over?

Haunted house- you go to a haunted house together! How scared are they? Do they pretend to be brave or do they scream? Or are they unphased?

Jack-o-lantern- you both try your hand at carving pumpkins... how successful will you be?

Monsters- do they have a favorite monster? Does that come into play when you guys choose your costumes or decorations?

November- Spooky season is over! Are they still riding the high or do they move on as soon as its midnight?

Onomatopoeia- Do they like fall leaves? How excited are they to crush dried leaves for that crunch?

Pumpkin patch- you go out to the pumpkin patch to pick pumpkins together! How fun!

Scary movie- Movie nights are a must! What movies do you watch together? Do you watch them throughout the month or do long binges as it draws closer to the 31st?

Snacks- What are their favorite seasonal snacks? Do they like making them with you? What happens if you surprise them with said snack?

Trick or treat- Are they more likely to give you candy or tricks during the halloween season?

Weather- are they a fan of the fall weather? Or do they prefer another season?

Wrapped up- Would they share a scarf with you? Or do they not care about catching a cold?

Warmth- Your hands are cold! Would they let you put your hands into their pockets to warm yourself up?

[seongminiz]

hotdemonsummoner . com - kang minhee

minors dni ; demon dom!minhee x human sub!reader ; 2.4k words

warnings : fem reader , dubcon , not rlly proof read (thats my trademark atp) , reader is an idiot and a monsterfucker (just like me fr)(very mild monsterfucking btw bc he literally looks human with horns like ..) , crack-ish in the first half but i swear it gets smutty quick , minhee is kinda mean , spit (minhees spit works as an aphrodisiac ehegegheh), its just messy overall , unprotected sex , breeding but its not rlly breeding but ,, whatever , possessive minhee [pretends to be surprised] , manhandling , size kink , strength kink (reader is referred to fragile/small but its just in proportion to a literal demon n has nothing to do with how she looks !), oral (f receiving) , biting , marking , dumbification ? , praise , dacryphilia , minhee calls reader 'little human' (giggling kicking my feet) . hopefully i didnt forget anything

tagging my lovely @ajaxsbeloved hope u like this 🫶🏻

the warning list is ,,, long . it might be a little cringe but i literally give zero fucks‼️⁉️ but i do feel like the smut part kinda sucks but also it might be that im just sad while posting this n its affecting how i view my work idk ANYWAYS wrote this while i had a cold n then a mosquito bit me on the eye so any and all mistakes r bc of that real no clickbait . had so much fun writing this uhhh happy spooky season idk i want demon!minhee in a way that is concerning to feminism lesbianism and my gender identity amen

demon!minhee whom you not so accidentally summoned in your room one uneventful night.

you're bored to death. your favorite show hasn't had a new episode in weeks, all your friends are busy - studying for exams, working, on dates while you're sitting in your lonely bedroom, staring at the ceiling as if it'll solve all your problems in life.

you start considering it might be able to do that when, out of nowhere, you're reminded of the stupid website you visited a few days ago with your friend when she was sleeping over at your place. something about the occult, hot demons and summoning rituals. you grab your phone, opening an incognito tab and typing the link you somehow remember by heart (hotdemonsummoner.com? seriously?)

if this was a horror movie you'd probably be dead in the first ten minutes. you grab a pen, paper and a candle - the tutorial talked about multiple small ones, but you'll have to make do with the cinnamon scented ikea christmas candle that has been sitting on your desk for at the very least three years. and once you're done, you wait for the magic to happen.

five minutes later, there's no sign of any hot demon summoned instantly in your room. you're pretty sure- no, you're certain the problem was the candle. either that, or the site is complete bullshit, but you refuse to believe that. there's no other explanation, screw ikea and their stupid christmas candles.

you sigh, placing everything back where it belongs and letting yourself fall on the bed, picking up your phone just to be met once again by no notification, no nothing, just that stupid 'SUMMON A HOT DEMON INSTANTLY!' title in neon pink with a little devil gif floating right beside it, mockingly staring back at you.

that's when you see something from the corner of your eye, a shadow sliding across the wall. it's probably just the light outside hitting a tree weirdly and casting a creepy shadow, no big deal. but there's no trees outside your window, you're a broke college student who lives in a sad gray apartment complex in an equally sad and gray city.

you gather enough courage to look up from the screen of your phone, your eyes slowly adjusting from its blinding brightness to the darkness of your surroundings. at first you don't see anything, half tempted to turn your phone flashlight on. and then you make eye contact.

he looks just as confused as you are when he quite literally spawns in front of your bed. the normal human reaction would have probably been to scream, instead you just gasp in surprise, followed by a small 'oh.' as you look at him with wide eyes. he takes slow, calculated steps towards you and you have half a mind to hastily turn off your phone, hiding it under a pillow.

'what the fuck?' you say under your breath, studying his figure. if this isn't some extremely technologically advanced burglary and you're not having an expired candle fumes induced hallucination, then this is the demon you tried to summon. and he's actually hot, which means the website was not a scam and the candle is the problem. he seems to read your exclamation and general confusion as a question on why he's there. 'you summoned me.' he explains, taking yet another step towards you.

'no! wait! don't get close!' you order, your self defense weapon of choice being the pen you used to summon him. 'listen,' you start, raising your hands defensively 'i did not think the random summon a hot demon instantly tutorial i found on a sketchy website would actually... well, summon a hot demon instantly.' the creature - minhee, you don't know how you got his name, if he telepathically shared with you or what - raises an eyebrow, amusement clear on his face. 'so you think i'm hot?'

'no! i mean yes! but like not in a i want to fuck you way! just in a... you're an objectively beautiful man- demon, sorry, way...?' you can feel your body temperature rising, getting restless under his unwavering stare. and minhee can feel it too, he can hear the way your heartbeat hasn't calmed down for a second and he can see how your thighs have been clenched together ever since he appeared. his eyes linger for a few more seconds on them, observing the way your shorts ride up everytime you anxiously squirm under his gaze.

'so, little human, why would you want to summon a hot demon instantly? is there anything in particular you need from me?' the nickname has your stomach doing backflips, you swallow thickly before speaking 'will you steal my soul if i say yes? take it as a payment for whatever favor i may ask?' the demon laughs, leaning down so his face is just a breath away from yours. 'not really. i could make an exception for a pretty girl like you,' his eyes flicker to your lips for a split second, so fast you don't even notice it.

thing is, minhee usually does feed off of human souls, but there's something about you that's telling him to not do it just yet, wait it out and see how it goes. maybe he could feed off of something else, something he doesn't get to do that often nowadays. surprising, but the monsterfucker demographic - even the milder ones who would only ever go as far as fucking his semi-human form - is basically an endangered species nowadays.

before you can answer with what favor you actually need (not that you'd actually know what to ask.. what, were you going to offer him to play UNO or something?) minhee's hands are on top of your thighs, spreading them slightly as he presses his lips to yours. you shiver at the cold sensation of his skin, way too cold for a human, and minhee can hear your heartbeat quickening, as you weakly grab his wrists in a failed attempt to get him off of you - or at the very least slow down the process of whatever is going on.

minhee finds your fighting amusing, he knows no human could ever overpower him physically, let alone a little fragile thing like you, but he still indulges in giving you the small hope you could break free from his hold, just to take it away immediately after. one of his hands leaves your thigh to grab both of your wrists, pinning them over your head, the other one staying on your thigh, pushing it to spread even more as his thumb runs along the hem of your shorts.

his mouth is on you once again, and this time minhee forces his tongue past your lips - the tip of it is slightly pointed, not enough to actually hurt you in any way but enough to make you wonder what exactly it could do. you panic for a second, just for everything to slow down, your body relaxing under minhee as the arousal between your legs grows tenfold, you can feel your panties sticking to you and minhee doesn't give you an answer once you look up at him in confusion, your eyes welling up with tears. you can barely come up with a coherent sentence, 'wha- what did you do?' you manage to stutter out, every word getting harder to say as your mind slips, you don't even know where.

minhee's hand leaves your thigh, going to gently wipe the tears that started running down your cheeks. 'mh, that's interesting,' he says, more to himself than to you, fingers sliding down your face to lightly brush against your lips. 'i've used this on other humans before, but their reaction was never this strong.' you don't have time to ask what exactly 'this' is - you don't even know if you have the brain power to do it, really - as minhee forces your mouth open and spits in it. you gasp at his action, but still end up swallowing, your body shuddering with another wave of what could only be described as raw pleasure.

you don't know how he's doing that, but you feel pathetic, getting this horny over someone who hasn't even touched you yet shouldn't be normal. but, honestly, what exactly is normal about a demon appearing in your room and trying to fuck you?

your shorts have been discarded somewhere in your room, and your panties are quick to encounter the same fate - not before getting ripped off of you, to which you whine in disappointment, but minhee cuts you off saying something about you 'not needing them when you're with him' you don't really pay any mind to.

he takes his time with you, biting your thighs to the point you're sure you're bleeding, and then running his tongue along the small cuts he caused, letting whatever the obscure substance mixed with his spit is enter your bloodstream in a matter of seconds, reducing you to even more of an incoherent mess.

when minhee finally gets to eating you out, it all escalates far too quickly for your slowed down brain. for a second he's sucking on your clit, and then he's fucking you with his tongue, reaching spots a human could never dream to reach with their mouth alone. the stimulation is too much, your hands search for any kind of support, something you can grab onto, your fingers running through his hair and pulling slightly before minhee grabs your wrists, moving your hands to hold onto his horns instead and letting out a groan when you do so.

he works on you until you're on the brink of consciousness, until you've lost count of how many times you already came - around three, probably, but they feel like ten times that when each orgasm is more intense than the other and your perception of reality is fading with it. minhee notices it, ignoring your pleas about it being 'too much' and how u 'cant take more' and slipping two of his pretty slender fingers in your sopping cunt. you sob, shaking your head as you uselessly try to squirm away from his touch, subsiding to the unbearable pleasure just a few seconds later.

'already tired, little human? how are you going to take my cock if you can't last a few rounds with my tongue and fingers? maybe you don't want it that bad, then,' he's just fucking with you, deep down you know it, but the thought of minhee just leaving you like this after everything he's done is enough for you to desperately shake your head as you grab his free hand - a far too intimate gesture for this whole 'fucking a random demon you just summoned out of boredom' situation you've found yourself in - pulling him into yet another kiss that leaves the both of you breathless. you never knew it would happen in your lifetime, but you managed to make a demon, a being who doesn't need to breathe, breathless.

'is that convincing enough?' you whisper in a split second of lucidity, your mind and body already subsiding to the effects of his spit you might as well have grown addicted to, half tempted to kiss him again and only interrupted by minhee slowly slipping his fingers out of you. your complaints about it are short lived, so focused on the emptiness between your legs you don't realize minhee has pulled out his cock until his tip is pressing past your entrance.

the stretch is almost unbearable, despite all the time minhee spent overstimulating you he's still too big, and you tell him exactly that in an attempt to slow him down. it only feeds minhee's ego more, though, he chuckles as he pins your hips to the bed, telling you to 'stay fucking still and just take it,' forcing his whole size inside of u until he bottoms out. you've never felt this full, struggling to even breathe as the feeling of minhee inside of you overcomes all your senses.

minhee gives you no time to adjust to the way his cock is stretching you out, immediately thrusting into you and reaching even deeper. all your pleas for him to go slower fall to deaf years, quickly being replaced by the moans you're struggling to quiet down. it's not long before you're getting close again, still sensitive from all your previous orgasms.

'need to cum' you whine, your hips buck up to meet minhee's, feeling his tip hit spots you never knew existed. he chuckles, slowing his thrusts until a fresh wave of tears is filling your eyes at the idea of being denied of your release. 'you need to?' his tone is mocking, but you're so fucked out you can't notice it, quickly nodding 'yeah, need to cum all over your cock.' that's all it takes for minhee to pick up his pace again, aim even deeper than before and have you quickly approaching your high as you incoherently moan his name.

you feel like your soul has been ripped out of your body, gone through each and every layer of hell, and then put back where it belongs. your legs shake as minhee keeps mercilessly fucking you, mumbling something about how he's going to 'fill you up and keep you forever' that, even in your fucked out state, slightly alarms you, your hands pushing at his shoulders to no avail just to be once again pinned above your head.

minhee knows it's physically impossible for a demon to breed a human, and yet, the idea of somehow making you his through it sounds so appealing, as you sob in overstimulation and keep begging him to pull out. he might be aware of there being no consequences if he cums inside, but what would a human like you know? the way you squirm under him, trying to convince him to pull out is almost endearing.

'you're so well behaved, little human, it would be a shame to let all the results of your hard work go to waste, right?' you keep shaking your head, a high pitched moan leaving you as minhee finally cums deep inside of you, tightly pressed against your cervix to make sure you're marked by him, completely ruined for anyone else who'll ever try to fuck you.

minhee doesn't know why he did that, despite having no plans to keep you he still found himself desiring, needing to claim you as his little human. as he stills inside you, minhee thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might bring you 'back home' with him.

[suvidrache]

Ghostly Sights

age in bio when interacting. minors do not interact.

Word Count: 644 | Read it on AO3 | Tag List | Masterlist

Zack had never been trick or treating; he didn’t know what it was like to celebrate Halloween like you did. You were more than happy to show him around and show him what it was like to celebrate the holiday. He was a SOLDIER in Shinra; he wasn’t afraid of anything. At least he liked to pretend he was your brave and strong boyfriend. He could protect you from anything. There wasn’t anything too scary about the holiday, right? He began to become nervous the closer it got to Halloween. He tried to pretend he wasn’t afraid. It was your idea to take him to see a haunted house. He wasn’t against it, because it is what you wanted it to be. He was totally against it, but he wasn’t going to object to you. Now that it was drawing closer to the day, he began to be more vocal about going somewhere else for the holiday, like maybe the beach! Yeah, the beach is a great place to go. You weren’t going to back down from your haunted house idea. You wanted him to experience Halloween, and it’s not like the house was actually haunted. So things would be just fine. You tried to reassure him, and he was still hesitant, but when the day came, he went with you. He didn’t let go of your hand as you both walked through the door and up the stairs into the haunted house. It was decorated for the spooky season, and Zack stayed as close to you as he possibly could. You led the way, and he stayed behind you.

“Hey Zack, do you think you could relax your grip on my hand?” You asked as you looked around at the surrounding area.

“Yeah, sorry.” He said as he loosened his grip, but only slightly. He still maintained his firm grip. He didn’t know what to expect, and he didn’t want to lose you. He was terrified, but so far the only things were a couple of ghosts, tombstones, zombies, and spider webs—the typical “scary” things on Halloween. They were just decorations, and Zack was on edge. You passed by a doorway just fine, and Zack followed behind you when a creature jumped out at him. He screamed and hit the floor. He had let go of your hand in his frantic state. He shielded his body with his arms and prepared to attack whatever was going to attack him. You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as you looked at Zack. You walked over to him and offered up your hand.

“Babe, it’s okay; it’s just a decoration.” You said as you pointed up to the creature that was slow to return to its home. Zack took your hand and stood up.

“I hate this place.” He said as he brushed himself off. He looked at you, and suddenly the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor could be heard. You both turned to see the chair moving, but no one visible was dragging it across the hardwood floor. Zack picked you up and he bolted for the door. He wasn’t going to spend another minute in that building, and he wasn’t going to leave you behind either. He would never hear the end of it if he had left you behind. It was safer to take him with you whether you wanted to leave or not.

“Babe, it was probably just a string attached to the chair!”

“I don’t care. I don’t like the place. I’ll make it up to you.” He said as he set you down and pulled you in for a hug.

You wrapped your arms around him and rested your head on him. You could hear his heart hammering in his chest. You wouldn’t be taking him back to any scary places again.

© SUVIDRACHE — do not copy, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work. reblogs are appreciated!

Tag List: @eli-chris, @imagineherbrightskies, @phantomheiko

[natandwandaseries]

Spooky Season Watches and Recs

My current and past spooky season watches with really short reviews in no particular order. All shows are on Netfilx

-Discovery of Witches: Current watch, timeline is a little unrealistic, but then again so are witches. Good show that completed so no cliffhanger ending. Currently on season 2

-The Magicians: Harry Potter for adults with swearing and drugs Have rewatched some episodes. Good show, second season is where it hits its stride when secondary characters get a lot more screen time. Good for a long binge.

-Lucifer: One of my favorite shows... until the last season that was so bad that it ruins the rest of the show. Just pretend the last season doesn't exist if you watch it

-Sabrina: New take on a classic, once again last season was a let down though so, a mindless binge. The musical episodes are horrible and no TV show should do them. It was okay.

-The Mayfair Witches: Recently watched, hard to get into at first and the story progression isn't great, but I love Alexandra Dadario. Season 2 is currently filming.

-The Vampire Diaries Trilogy shows: The Originals is the best of the three, I said what I said. *Only Legacies is on Netflix, Vampire Diaries is HBO, Prime for the Originals

-Fate: A Winx Saga: It would have been good if it had nothing to do with the original Winx

-Wednesday: I kind of feel like everyone has seen this one at this point

-The Good Witch: It is a hallmark TV show, low stakes, low on the witchiness (In my opinion). A relaxing watch but more for the background than something to keep you glued to your screen

[narrativematters]

Doctor Who Needs to Call a Midwife

Note: discusses the episodes "Space Babies" and "The Devil's Chord" in some detail.

Well, that most recent episode of Doctor Who wasn't very good, so let's talk about these Doctor Who thoughts on Tumblr, where they belong.

There's no easy way to put it: the most recent episode was bad. It was just terrible. That's not new for Doctor Who, a show which is almost always unkempt in either charming or disappointing ways. But it was bad in a certain kind of way that doesn't bode well for the show for a couple of reasons.

One thing that will likely continue to be an issue (and was also a problem with "The Star Beast") is that Davies seems fairly behind on 2020s queer media, which is sad, since his first run was arguably a pioneer of "incidental" queerness in TV. "The spooky undefinable menace is, uhhhh... non-binary" feels years behind the curve.

(His first run was mocked at the time for how often, say, an alien would mention her wife, and though it's true Davies rarely chooses subtlety, it's still hard to envision most people rolling their eyes so much today. He was blunt AND a step ahead! Now he's just as blunt, but it feels regressive.)

The issues with representation are also related to issues with story: both are exacerbated by his love of camp (especially as British camp has somewhat different contexts) and his writing too many episodes in a row. The latter was also part of what went wrong with Chibnall's run. What is it with British showrunners resisting co-writers?*

*This is a largely rhetorical question: TV production in the U.K. differs from American practices, &c. But it is, perhaps, simply not possible to write Doctor Who in the same way one might write a season-long procedural.

How bad is it? The most recent episode had the villain break the fourth wall in the opening and closed with the Doctor winking at the camera (this is SEPARATE from him commenting on diegetic music earlier), which kicked off a pointless, expensive, and very bad song-and-dance sequence that felt more like vamping than anything they planned.

To paraphrase Lucy Dacus, "That's only something you would put in a script / when you've been the sole credited writer for too long."

So far, the series seems absolutely drunk on Disney money: "Space Babies" contains an elaborate (from a technical perspective) opening sequence involving CGI dinosaurs and heavy make-up. That money would be better allocated towards a co-writer.

Tight writing has never been Doctor Who's selling point (at least in its modern incarnation). In fact, part of what can be interesting about the show is how it embraces hand-waving (the sonic screwdriver) and the cheap tricks that underlie even Serious, Literary writing. But it's also chronically overindulgent no matter who's been overseeing it, and it turns what can be a charming, goofy show into twee, look-at-me bullshit. The "Space Babies" episode wasn't bad (although probably not the best follow-up to the premiere), but the Doctor's repeated tic of correcting himself ("the babies—space babies!—") is what this overindulgence looks like in miniature; the events of "The Devil's Chord" are what it looks like at scale.

Doctor Who has never pretended to have Star Trek's (somewhat overstated) scientific edge, but The Doctor has been a consistently rational figure in a world which, though it appears to be nonsensical, is ultimately understandable given enough perspective. The Toymaker was fine as a one-off, but now the Doctor is talking about a "pantheon" and "gods" who don't follow rules or logic, and this should be cause for concern. Doctor Who, a show which frequently fluxes (in good ways and bad) between absurd and serious, is already prone to "eh, whatever, this happens next" storytelling. For Davies to introduce figures with powers "beyond time and space" or "outside the universe" or whatever just makes the show more vulnerable to messiness. Even if everything they've thrown into the season so far comes together, and even if there's some sort of "lore" reason for this wackiness in the season finale, it doesn't make watching the individual episodes themselves any better. They still have to work as episodes.

Davies writing seven out of the nine (intrusive thought: "Jeri Ryan Murphy") episodes this season, depending on how you count them, while also juggling the bits of serialization leading to the finale and consulting on spin-offs, &c. is probably just too much for someone to do.

The "return of Doctor Who" is hardly as triumphant as the specials, with muddled and meandering storytelling. Chase sequences abruptly lull for other plot points to happen, then resume, as if the monster were patiently waiting off-screen. Episodes are filled with BIG ENERGY and afterwards you realize they were just about the characters being in a building, going outside, and then going back into a building, and doing nothing of consequence except talking wildly about all the things that were supposedly happening. Despite the reduced episode count, there's an excess that isn't backed up by substance. If more people aren't going to write for it, then the show could use an Adipose pill or two.

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector's Edition: S9, The Season of Secret Dad (Long Fics)

There will never be enough content to make up for the robbery of canon post S8-- parenthood and readjustment and healing for Mulder and Scully with their son, whether that has a Conspiracy attached to it or not. These fics try to bridge that gap (and shoutout to @welsharcher's coining of the phrase "Season of Secret Dad".)

These might be repeats from other lists; but I wanted to be thorough~.

**Note**: Will ghost edit later~.

Loose chronological order below~

Fics Where Mulder Stays

MissAnnThropic's Not the Same

""Awww..." Lela made the tight sound of womanly adoration, "you have a baby? Do you have a picture of him?"

Mulder flashed her a bright smile a moment, his expression saying as clear as anything 'of course I do, I'm a new father, aren't I?' and he reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet....

Tom leaned over to look and Miranda leaned over him to see the picture too.

It was a picture of a very small baby on his back, a stuffed green alien toy in his hand's limp grip as it rested against his belly. Tom smiled at that, despite his earlier attitude toward Fox Mulder and the whole little green men business.""

Colton is floored by how much Fox Mulder has matured.

Tess's (Ao3) The New Truth, A Project 09x00

""Startled, Scully's eyes popped open. She had been enjoying the quiet coziness of the day; tucked into the apartment with the two people she loved most in the world while rain tapped in a steady beat against the windows. She felt Mulder's steady gaze, even as she steadfastly refused to meet it and she knew that the time of living in a world of 'let's pretend' had just come to a crashing end.

"These last few weeks of being a normal little family have been wonderful," Mulder said softly. "But, Scully..." he scooted across the cushions and leaned into her side. "We're not normal people.""

Mulder and Scully have a tough conversation weighing all their options. He's not leaving; but Scully will have to return to the FBI parttime to keep its resources at their fingertips.

Lapsed_Scholar's Season 9 Rewrites and Musings

MASTERFUL fill-in series: Mulder is a stay-at-home dad during the entire events of S9. Love this to death. Below are the reworked episodes:

A Devil's Office

""Monica nodded, and they sat in contemplative silence for a few moments, before Mulder broke it.

“You know, he looks like my sister.”

She looked up—he was looking down at William again. She couldn’t see his expression, but his voice was soft and tender, full of wonder and tinged with nostalgia. Fox Mulder the man was turning out to be a very different entity from Spooky Mulder the legend.

“His eyes are hers—Dana’s, I mean—but... Maybe my mother would have told you that he looks like me, I don’t know; I never saw myself as a baby. But I remember how my sister looked. It was thirty-five years ago, but I still remember looking down at her in amazement when my parents brought her home....”

Mulder looked back down at William, ran his finger along his son’s cheek.""

Mulder is settling into stay-at-home parenthood, overcoming his feelings of uselessness with a very contented baby... and finally giving in to a consultation request from John Doggett.

Dispatches

""Hey, Scully. You’re interrupting a monumental construction project. It’s the tallest tower of blocks yet built by man.”

“Mmhm. And what is William doing while you’re assembling this feat of modern engineering?”

“I’ll have you know this is a joint project. William is...in charge of grabbing the construction material and sticking it in his mouth.""

A dialogue only piece (but it's one of my absolute favorites) featuring a VERY ticked off Scully fuming over a pain-in-her-side bug doctor and a VERY amused Mulder having a blast sympathizing and egging her on.

Semper Fi

""Speaking of... A familiar form flops itself into the chair next to his. He honestly should have expected this.

“Fancy meeting you here, sir.” Fox Mulder has a peculiar way of delivering inane pleasantries. His expression and tone are bland enough to pass scrutiny, but something in his bearing always implies that a lively mind is humming away under the surface.""

Scully rants to Mulder about Kersh purposefully interfering in Reyes and Skinner's attempts to bring Doggett home. He's on the case.

Denial

""She calls home because she needs a break from the existential, or maybe because she needs another opinion on it. She sits in the hospital cafeteria and leans her head against a window.

She asks Mulder for stories of William, and because they are who they are, he innately understands why she’s asking and indulges her thoroughly."" 

Mulder understands that Scully is denying her gut; and convinces her to look deeper into Doggett's claims that Reyes isn't dead.

Extreme Probabilities

""The two of them might have made an impressive pair of dashing FBI agents for that Bureau recruiting pamphlet, except they both looked bedraggled. John clearly hadn’t slept in awhile. He had dark circles under red eyes and the look of exhausted intensity that comes from staring at evidence for too long. His suit was wrinkled and rumpled, and there was a coffee stain on his shirt. Mulder had clearly been asleep not too long ago. His hair was sleep-mussed, and he was wearing what he usually wore to bed (an undershirt and lounge pants) coupled with running shoes and a holster. His serious and tense expression made for a marked contrast with the ridiculous outfit.

Reality usually is quite different from the pamphlet.""

Mulder doesn't believe in numerology; but he does gets pulled into this crack case about God and Burt Reynolds anyway.

A Quiet Friday Evening

""The phone rings. Scully frowns.

“That must be the sheriff. Here, Mulder, hold this open and keep the abdominal wall spread.” She hands him the salad tongs before he can ask if maybe he can answer the phone instead. He stares after her in speechless misery.

He is going to buy new kitchen utensils. They are throwing all of these away, and absolutely nothing Scully can say about boiling water or exceedingly high temperatures or using the autoclave at work will convince him otherwise.""

Mulder gets roped into a cat autopsy. Yes, it's gold.

Valor (Discretion)

""You’ve had a lot going on lately, Mulder,” Frohike gestured toward the baby. He also meant to include, of course, the whole abduction-death-and-resurrection ordeal. Most of the people who loved Mulder didn’t want to reference it directly, so, despite how centrally traumatic it was, it predominately remained in alluded subtext. “We didn’t think our problems should add to yours.”

Mulder stared for a moment. He had the audacity to look hurt. “I thought we were friends. If you have problems this serious—especially ones I can help you solve—I want to know about them. After all you’ve done for me—all you’ve done for Scully—how could you not tell me when you needed help?""

A biohazard, TLG running around like chickens, Morris Fletcher... and Mulder insisting his friends call the authorities and act rationally.

Catastrophe

""He didn’t have to wait for long. About five minutes after he had arrived, the doors to the elevator slid open, and Mulder emerged, maneuvering a stroller carefully over the gap between elevator and floor. His eyebrows raised fractionally with surprise when he saw John, but he otherwise kept his composure. John studied him. He was looking better these days, although he still had a slightly uneasy air about him, a man who wasn’t fully confident of his place in the world, not entirely grounded. But he was clearly trying, and he looked more at home in his own skin than John had ever seen him. At this moment, in fact, he appeared steadier than John felt.

“Agent Doggett,” greeted Mulder, quietly, once he had reached the apartment door. John glanced down into the stroller; William was peacefully asleep, his head turned to the side and his mouth moving occasionally in the phantom nursing of sleeping infants."" 

Doggett asks Mulder to write a profile on his son's killer, while Scully is there to support her partner after he gets sucked into the brutal randomness of the crime. The rest of the fic winds up to her disappearance while on a case Mulder asked her not work on: postpartum depression, Mulder's feelings of displacement in her life, and unfinished conversations between them. (Unfinished fic.)

Jenna Tooms/misslucyjane’s (Ao3, mulderscreek)

An Acceptable Level of Happiness (Site)

""Sunday afternoon I spread an old sheet on the kitchen floor and tie a dishtowel around Mulder's neck. He sits stiffly in the kitchen chair, his eyes on Malcolm. "Warn me," he says, his hands clenching.

"I know." I run my fingers through his hair, combing it out. I never start cutting right away. First I rub his temples and massage his scalp with my fingertips, trying to soothe him until his eyes close. I rub the base of his neck and his shoulders too, trying to reassure him that nothing's going to hurt him here. He often says he'd know my hands anywhere.

"I'm picking up the scissors now," I say when he's relaxed. He acknowledges this with a grunt, his head tilted forward....

I keep one hand in his hair as I trim it, scraping my nails lightly against his scalp. There is one scar on his head and every time my fingertips pass over it my hands tremble. They cut him open everywhere.""

Mulder and Scully are struggling with their separate PTSDs but willing to stick it out, thick or thin. She processes most of her emotions and draws closer to her partner at the Scully family Christmas; and he gets to meet Charlie and feel like a human again.

ML/ML_is_me’s (Ao3, Gossamer, DW, Invidiosa)  

Project:TruthSeekers Alt Season Nine: Home Fires, Part One (Goss)

Project:TruthSeekers Alt Season Nine: Home Fires, Part Two (Goss)

""Mulder had the door open before she got there, holding a squalling William in his arms. He raised his eyebrows at her slightly.

"Sorry," Scully said. "You got my message, didn't you?" She set the groceries down on the kitchen table, pushing aside an array of toys and teething rings to do so. She could see what kind of day her men had.

"Yeah," Mulder said. "I was here, I just couldn't get Limpet Boy to let go so I could answer the phone.""

Mulder is a stay-at-home dad battling the Conspiracy. Scully and their new partner get a call and drop-in from Phoebe, who is relatives with a higher-up in the Syndicate.

155 Words - Thankful

""Not long ago, he discovered that all he cared about had been pared down to a few essentials, and it wasn't hard to leave the rest behind.

Perhaps dying and returning is responsible for such clarity; but he hasn't analyzed it.""

Mulder marvels that Scully tracked him down with a baby in tow.

maybeamandaxffics/maybe_amanda/MaybeAmanda's (LJ)

Chataqalan - 1

Chataqalan - 2 (Goss)

Chataqalan - 3

""Who was that?" Mulder asked.

"Monica."

"Reyes? What's she doing there?"

"No one is quite sure," Scully said, settling herself on the bunk. "Least of all her."

There was a brief pause. "Excuse me?

"She asked if you could call John about her boots."

Another pause, this one a little longer. "I'm supposed to make a booty-call to John Doggett?""

Scully and Reyes team up on an investigation in Mexico: while Scully catches Mulder up on suspicious connections to Russians and Tunguska, Monica meets a possible love interest and starts to notice weird, suspicious activities from some of the other workers.

Under Construction (Goss)

""Then I got the arms. The *pick-me-up* arms. The *you're-my-dad- and-the-toes-of-my-tiny-little-Reeboks-belong-in-your-abs-pick-me-up* arms. I shouldn't hesitate - I shouldn't have to hesitate - but I always do. Anytime Scully noticed, she tried hard to look like she was trying hard not to look pained, but I saw it, anyway. It wasn't that I didn't want to hold William - hold my son. It was just that, every time I reached for him, for an instant I was sure my arms were going to pass right through him and I'd find myself passed out on the cold cement floor of my cell again, clutching my chest and aching for all I'd lost. If the price I had to pay to keep this dream up and running was never really holding it, I was prepared to accept that.

But William wasn't. "Up!" he insisted, so I accommodated.

He was solid. Real. I'm his dad. His toes do belong in my abs.

I kissed his forehead. Why isn't everything this simple?""

Mulder is returned with muddled memories of S8/S9 events, a truckload of PTSD, and a boatload of feeling that he's in everyone's way. Will already loves him; but Maggie hates his guts, and Scully isn't ready yet to smooth over that problem. And, Mulder finds out, everyone had been matchmaking her with Ellen's brother-in-law.

jeri's (MC) Ahonis (MC)

""Oh sure, Mulder could come by the office anytime and visit. Doggett often asked Scully to bring Mulder and William along on lunch breaks, or just have them drop in for a change of pace. But both Scully and Mulder felt it was best if he and the baby stayed clear of the FBI; Kersh may have left the Bureau, but he was still out there, reporting to someone. There was no guarantee that the new Deputy Director wasn't just as dirty as Kersh was.""

Doggett and Reyes work on bustin' a case that has connections to Marita Covarrubias. Mulder is only mentioned by Scully as a stay-at-home dad here and there.

@aloysiavirgata's (Ao3, WBM, Gossamer, LJ, Alt. LJ)

By Falling In and In

LiveJournal 2

LiveJournal 3

LiveJournal 4

LiveJournal 5

""Mulder sprawls across the black leather sofa in what is shortly to be his new home office. "It's so good to see you," he tells it. "We'll never be parted again."

"A boy and his couch. It's like a Norman Rockwell painting," Scully says, setting down a cardboard box on the desk. She picks up a container of fish food and taps a few flakes into the aquarium which is, for now, resting on the desk.

"She's just jealous," Mulder murmurs to the armrest. "She doesn't understand our love.""

These fics focus on Mulder and Scully parenting their magically-abled child in the leadup to an, unfortunately, successful Colonization (though the latter isn't the series' focus.) For my personal reading I skip part one and enjoy the rest of it (because Mulder running off to Mexico still makes me mad); but that's how I read everything, so it's nothing against this series.

A Heart of Star

""Mulder secures the baby into his bouncer seat on the dining room table, passing him a rubber duck to gnaw on. He then spreads his files out across the table, an assortment of highlighters next to him in a cup. He taps his chin with a pencil.

“Your mother says this is the result of clever editing, but I think we have pretty clear evidence of a ghostly apparition. There’s no sign of the film being altered. I mean, look at this. Mama is out of her mind.” Mulder holds a series of stills up for William to peruse.

“Ma,” yells William, reaching for the paper. “Mamamamamama!”

Mulder scowls. “I can’t believe you’re taking her side.""

Mulder's bonding moments with his growin' boy.

Elysium

""This is so cool,” William breathes, gripping the steering wheel.

Scully smiles, promising herself she will be calm even as she half-wishes he were still in a car seat.

“You wanna say the rosary first?” Mulder pipes up from the back seat. “To Our Blessed Lady of Brake Pads?”

“Daaaaaad,” William says. “I am a licensed driver now. I am a master of my craft.""

Scully's bonding moments with her miracle (and Mulder.)

mimicsmusings/mimic117's (Lost and Found)

Chip Off The Old Block 03 - Veracity

Chip Off The Old Block 04

""Hey, Charlie. Taste this."

Charles Scully cast a dubious eye on the bubbling mass of ham, beans and spices in the pot on the stove. He reared his head back, away from the spoon being poked toward his face.

"It smells fine, Mulder. Why don't you taste it yourself?"

The spoon followed his retreat at mouth level.

"I never taste while I'm cooking. How do you think I keep my girlish figure?""

Turns out, Will's magic baby powers are all in the family-- and not Mulder's. Charlie is telekinetic, too; and Maggie knew about it the whole time. (Bill is also here, and annoyed.)

Malibusunset's Terra Firma

""William plopped down onto the kitchen tiles in a seated position and stared after Mulder with a frown on his face.  Then he picked up his bottle in one hand, crawled a few feet awkwardly, then sat back down, tilted his head back, and plugged the bottle back in. He sucked voraciously and stared up at Mulder as if to say, "I can't do both, so I'm just gonna hang out here and eat instead."

"Right," said Mulder, bending down to a kneeling position. "How about you concentrate on transporting yourself and the bottle can catch a ride on the tray." William trustingly relinquished the bottle and Mulder placed it on the tray next to the orange juice and continued on. William followed eagerly on all fours. When he got to the stairs that led to the second floor, Mulder stopped and extended his arm down to his son.

"Will, UP," he said, offering his left arm while balancing the tray with his right. William pulled himself up on Mulder's leg, clutching handfuls of his pajama pants. Mulder lifted him like a sack of potatoes and hauled the baby and the tray up the stairs. Cooking breakfast with a baby wasn't for wimps.""

Mulder and Scully patch their lives together as new parents, buying a home, getting engaged, and expecting a second baby. The nuances of parenthood for a driven workaholic Scully and a stay-at-home writer-and-once-out-of-town consultant Mulder weave up and down; and is an entertaining read. (The way I read: Parts 1, 2, the first third of 3-- skipping the plotline-- then Parts 4... onward?) Notable moment: I particularly remember Mulder unable to speak after Scully's pregnancy announcement-- in Part 3-- because I was struck with how strikingly Mulder that is.

dlynn's Scully, NORAD called

""Mulder grabbed one of the pillows beneath his head and swatted Scully. When he reached to get his pillow back, Scully plopped the feathered cushion underneath her arms and glanced between her two men: Mulder, all rumpled and lanky, lying across the faded quilt -- his shirt untucked and sloppy, his jeans stained where Will's hands had wiped worm guts on his father's pants. Mulder's bare feet slid against each other as he rubbed the mosquito bites he'd accumulated last night fishing off the pier with their son. Will, the spitting image of his father, from the way he said, 'Oh, Mom' in the same plaintive voice that Mulder whined 'Sculleee' to the way he spit sunflower seeds with all the finesse of a pro, lay curled on his side, butted up against Mulder's chest. His wet hair stuck up like he'd been hacked with a wild weedwacker. Definitely, a Scully- Mulder.""

A Mulder family moment of bee stings and bedtime stories is interrupted by a call for him to hit the road for necessary Colonization-prevention work. Will knows he'll always be back.

thextruth's Our Next Path

""If someone had told Fox William Mulder that he would marry Dana Katherine Scully and that he would have two children with her. He wouldn’t have believed it, he never saw himself as a normal man, much less as a family man, but that's something that he wouldn’t change for anything in the world, his family is all his happiness, and see Scully give a kiss to that little one who is half her and half him, is always surreal, after all, he is a simple man who loves those little daily moments that fill his whole life."" 

This long fic is a series of family fluff-- the type with nothing but cozy family drama, a couple kids, and a twinkling happily-ever-after.

Mulder Left but Scully Joined Him

 touchstonea’s

Amor Fati: Destinata (The Fated Love), Act One: Desiderium (The Longing)

Amor Fati: Destinata (The Fated Love), Act Two: Et Perierat et Inventus Est (The Lost and the Found)

Amor Fati: The Fated Love, Act Three: Tres Discendens (The Leaving of the Three)

""From the other side of the connecting door, a complicated sequence of long and short knocks.  T…R…U…S…T…N…O…1…pause.  Mulder.  Or…

Taking a deep breath, Scully raised her fist again, and her knuckles tapped out her own sequence.   O…B…F…U…S…C…A…T…E…pause.  She turned the lock on the door and stepped back.

Holding her gun at the ready, she listened to the muffled sounds as the door on the far side opening slightly… then a little more.  It creaked.  She held her position, not sparing a glance at Will behind her on the bed.

Another breathless moment, and she was watching her knob turn, ever so slowly."" 

This epic diverges from canon after William was rescued from his kidnapping. Part 1 focuses on Scully's long, conflicted back-and-forth plans with TLG, Skinner, Doggett, and Reyes before she hits the road to reunite with Mulder. Part 2 is her journey and reunion: Mulder's fierce love and devotion, Will's uncanny abilities saving their hides, and reconnection while constantly being tagged and tailed by the Conspiracy. Part 3 kicks it up a notch: Scully insists they address Mulder's abduction PTSD and rescue other Super Soldier victims, barely escaping the Alien Bounty Hunter, and stumbling into Gibson's coalition in the woods with an alien faction. (This author writes spectacular and well-thought out logical connections that weave the misshapen mytharc back together.)

Revely's Unfinished Universe (Goss)

""They have a private evening ritual - nose to nose on the bed they practice telepathic communication.

Scully disappears into the motel bathroom for their soft-shelled display of male bonding, shutting the door behind her with aggravating finality - boys' side, girl's side. Mulder immediately stops casting out brain waves and begins to wonder what she's doing in there. She's awfully quiet. The baby just dozes and tries to nurse Mulder's nose until he manages to work one of his fists into his mouth.""

Does this count? Mulder is returned after Will is born; and Scully drives her son out to him. The three reconnect in gentle fits-and-starts on the long journey back. (LOVE this-- one of the first fics I'd ever read; and still a favorite.)

Gillian Leigh's (MC) Visitor in the Desert (MC)

""You have no other proof?" he asked, seemingly disappointed.

"No," she said, quietly.

"I'm supposed to take the word of a total stranger as the Gospel Truth?" he asked, almost mockingly. "I'm sorry, Rhiannon. But in my line of work, I've learned not to trust people." Rhiannon's eyes filled with tears again, and she looked down at her hands before speaking again.

"If you don't stop Scully from giving William up from adoption, I am an example of what will become of every human being on this planet," she said, calmly. "I may look like a human being on the exterior, but I am thirty- three and one-third percent alien.""

Mulder gets a vision while hiding out in the desert-- a girl from the future warns him against Scully adopting out William. He rushes back, reclaims his family, and drags them all (and friends) to an underground bunker civilization preparing for Colonization-- where he finds not only Scully's brothers, but also Samantha. The girl in his vision keeps appearing to him, and is eventually revealed to his daughter.

Honorable Mentions

@we-mad-guys’s forgetting the future

Skinner, TLG, and the Scullys take turns caring for Will when his parents are forced to work out of town secretly on anti-Colonization measures. (Love this fic; but I already included it in my Dad!Mulder sports fics.)

WordsSpillFromMyOpenVeins_89’s Weekend At Martha’s Vineyard

A vacation at the Vineyard for Mulder, Scully, their son, and his dog (which leads up to a proposal.)

Beduini/beduini's Hurricane Season

Not a favorite, but it fits the bill. Featuring unresolved tensions and PTSD crackling between new parents Mulder and Scully and among the Scully family at large, this fic explodes with mess and tensions every chapter or so, forcing everyone to get along in the midst of a sudden hurricane.

AND~ my previous Dad!Mulder fic lists here--

S9 Mulder Stays or Returns While the Mytharc Barrels On  

Fics That Fit My Niche “Dad!Mulder” Likes 

MORE Fics That Fit My Niche “Dad!Mulder” Likes

Dad!Mulder, His “Mini Me"s, and Sports 

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[thevulcanbobdylan]

a funeral for the year

I think there's a reason why the major fall/winter holidays in the US work so well.

Because - say what you will - they do work well. There's something so compelling about the Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year cycle that it has become a huge part of our culture. Autumnal vibes, spooky season, coziness, pumpkin spice - lights, music, gifts, decorations - food, tradition, family... It's an opportunity to engage with something so ancient that it's nearly forgotten: cyclical time. The existence of this one big Holiday Season, this extended festival, lets us tap into the rhythms of nature while sort of blithely pretending that's not what we're doing. There's something inside us that desires those rhythms.

I've long held this theory that the modern holidays that gain the most traction are the ones that can serve as a proxy for some more ancient, more deeply human ritual. Christmas is obviously an opportunity for humans to engage in winter-solstice-related revelry. I think the 4th of July in the US is a big deal because it secretly gives us an opportunity to celebrate Midsummer. Humans want these things, deep down.

Of course, as with anything in modern US culture, we can find things to criticize. First of all, everything I'm about to say is heavily biased toward the Northern Hemisphere. Also: I'm not saying that raw, blatant capitalism/consumerism isn't driving the visibility of these holidays. Thanksgiving, in particular, has troubling roots, and is frequently observed in problematic ways. But I think it's okay to desire a reclamation of the holiday in the spirit of gratitude, rather than to kill it outright. Here's why:

The Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year cycle is a ritual. Specifically, it's a funeral for the year. Funerals are important because they give us the opportunity to process what was, to accept its death, to find gratitude, to seek learning, and to move forward. Modern humans don't do enough of this. We're so far removed from the concept of death that even middle-aged millennials seem to find it squicky and cringe. But death is all around us - big Death, the death of the body, yes, but also little deaths, dying to the past so that the future can unfold. There is so much wisdom in observing and marking and acknowledging the little deaths that weave through our lives, but we have little access to the concept. This fact contributes to our alienation from actual Death, and that alienation prevents us from developing qualities like maturity, compassion, and wisdom. Modern Americans are perpetually adolescent, perpetually cringing away from facing their mortality, and from the wisdom and perspective that comes with doing so.

For this affliction, I prescribe: more Holiday Season.

On Halloween we acknowledge the fact that the year is dying. Through play and pantomime, we engage with the concept and the fact of death. We let it in. We face it. We upend it, laugh at it, allow ourselves to touch and see it. We accept it - even welcome it.

On Thanksgiving we look backward. Having accepted the death of the year, we take stock, acknowledge all that it was, and give thanks for what it brought us. We gather with treasured people and engage in rituals of food and tradition. Whether our year was delightful or difficult, we can use this ritual to find lessons in its challenges, to remember its brightest moments - to process - to simply allow it to have been.

On Christmas we reach the actual moment of the year's death. On the winter solstice, we experience the darkest point of the year, and in that instant of deepest darkness, we celebrate light and warmth and joy. We gather together around fires, around stovetops, around beautiful glittering lights, and we sing, and we give gifts, and tell our children stories about magic to see the light that shines from their eyes. In the darkest moment of winter, we look for the light that never goes out. Because there's light in darkness, and there's life in death, and the cycle of time is one of renewal. Even when we don't acknowledge it, this is what we're celebrating.

On New Year's we mark our emergence from the hollow of death, and a renewed ascent into light and life. After accepting death, celebrating what was, and finding the spark of light that exists in the darkness, we take our first steps forward into something new.

It's such a beautiful process. We walk through it over the space of months, giving proper time to each phase, processing the feelings that come with saying this goodbye that is also a hello. It's a blueprint for how to process other deaths. We allow ourselves to move through - to be moved through - a cycle of time that is bigger and more ancient than we can imagine, and all of us are in it together. Death unifies us. We can celebrate and practice that fact each year, with a beautiful funeral for another cycle of time that we shared.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Beware the Bear (Indruck)

The winner of the "spooky places" prompt poll was 24 Hour Arcade

Credit to Bellafarallones for initially playing in the "only nice when a werebear" super villain space on discord.

The Halloween season is the only time Kepopolis becomes less grim. The winter holidays offer too much contrast, too much of a reminder that the world could be warm, bright, and peaceful if only somebody gave a damn. The rest of the time there’s nothing to offset the gloom, no way to ignore the tombstones of utopia clouding the skyline. Not without feeling like an ostrich whose head is in the sand while a lion runs off with its body. 

Come the end of July, the city reaches an agreement to spend three months coated in orange and purple lights and fake cobwebs, to pretend everything is a horror movie backdrop that will roll away when November comes. 

Mothman’s Arcade is no exception, though Indrid prides himself–as owner–on going above and beyond when it comes to Halloween cheer. He’s rather pleased with this year’s purchase of new, blacklight responsive skeleton banners, which flap cheerfully on the walls as he clocks out, Kirby waving to him as he comes in for his midnight to eight a.m shift. 

It’s eight blocks home, blocks he could do blindfolded, and there are even two streetlights between here and there. Maybe that’s why he lets his mind wander far enough that it’s like being yanked by the throat when someone speaks to him. 

No, wait, someone’s hand is literally on his throat. 

“Okay pal, we don’t want any trouble.” The taller of the two muggers pushes him into an alleyway, behind a dumpster where he has no chance of being seen, “wallet and anything else you’ve got.”

Indrid passes over his wallet, knowing full well there’s nothing in it to steal. The second robber opens it and frowns, “you got anything else? Maybe some cash you’re taking to the bank after emptying those machines?”

He tries not to think too hard about the fact he’s been stalked from work, nor about the fact he does have an envelope of cash he’d been planning to deposit in the morning. 

“Hey, shithead, you heard me, you got any cash?”

“No. I do not have any.” He lies. 

His back bangs into the dumpster as four hands shove and tug at his clothes, coming away with the envelope. His heart sinks; there goes payroll and his nose. 

“You lying piece of-”

Both men leave the ground at the same time, their feet kicking in the air as huge, furry paws grip their scruffs. 

“Now fellas, I’m gonna give you two options: you either give this man back his money and walk away, or I take his money back and toss you in that dumpster.”

The envelope smacks Indrid in the face, sneakers pattering away before he gets it back into his pocket. 

Were-creatures aren’t unheard of in Kepler, and there was a very nice were-cougar who used to come to the arcade after work to place Pac-Man. But he’s never been this close to a werebear, and even on all fours the monster’s snout is level with his face. 

“You okay, slim?” One blue eye and one brown one look him up and down, “they didn’t hurt you too bad?”

“My back is bruised” The adrenaline is dying and his fingers are starting to shake, “I, I’m more shaken up than anything else. And honestly feel very foolish. I know better, I just, I live here, I know here and, and do I look like the kind who has money on him??”

“Nah. But in a cool punk way, not in a bum way.” The werebear pads beside him back onto the sidewalk, “you want me to walk you home? Just in case those chuckleheads get any ideas?”

“Yes, please. It’s not far.” Indrid turns towards Oak Avenue, follows it until Pine, the werebear staying a polite distance to his right, occasionally stopping to throw litter into the nearest trash can.

When they reach Eastwood Apartments, Indrid hesitates. 

“They ain’t followin’ us, if that’s what you’re scared of. Can’t smell ‘em. Just you and” he sniffs the air, “couple of raccoons. Aww, there they are.” He smiles as the masked faces look up from the rain gutter at him. 

He’s so cute. And huge. And Indrid’s apartment is cold this time of year.

“Would you like to come up with me? I haven’t had dinner and it seems only polite given you helped me.”

“If it ain’t too much trouble, sure.”

There’s a slight amount of trouble navigating a werebear up the narrow stairs, but they manage, and his guest sniffs out the water glasses while Indrid opens the fridge. 

“I warn you, I have only the fanciest foods. Behold” he presents the boxes of pizza rolls with a flourish. 

The werebear laughs, “Hell yeah you do.”

Indrid heats the rolls as claws gently click across the fake tile, his furry protector studying the art and posters on the walls and frowning at the shaky kitchen table leg. Since the chairs are not werebear sized, Indrid perches on the arm of the couch as the werebear happily sits and leans against the wall. 

“May I know the name of my guest?” Indrid swings his legs.

“Duck. It’s a nickname.” The werebear drops half the plate of rolls into his mouth, “So, uh, Indrid, what’s it like workin’ at an arcade?”

“How did–oh, yes, my nametag–well, it has its benefits and it’s annoyances like any job. But the hours suit me and I own the place free and clear. Plus being in charge means I pick what goes in the vending machines.”

“You get free play too?”

“Yes. Also the discretion to give tokens to who I please and select the least grim plushes for the prize counter.”

“Who gets free tokens?” Duck finishes his plate.

“Anyone who saves my life, for starters.” Indrid winks at him, gets an ear wiggle in reply. 

“Wouldn't turn down a few, especially if you got old school games. Or Tony Hawk ones. Seriously though, how do you decide who to give ‘em too?”

Indrid explains and finds four more follow up questions waiting for him. Duck makes conversation like a man who hasn’t heard a human voice in ten years. Indrid doesn’t mind one bit. 

Eventually, his body reminds him he needs at least a little sleep, and he yawns. 

“Oughta let you get to bed.”

“I suppose…” Indrid bites his lip, “but I really am enjoying spending time with you. If you have somewhere to be I completely understand but, ah-”

The werebear stands, snuffling the top of Indrid’s head, “Okay slim, I’ll keep you company until you fall asleep.”

Duck covers his paws with his eyes while Indrid changes into his pajama pants and a sweater, then lays down next to the mattress. He’s big enough that his head is level with Indrid’s as they lay in the dark. 

Indrid falls asleep on his stomach, but when he wakes up during the night, he finds he’s draped an arm over a snoozing Duck. 

When he wakes up again, it’s to cursing and the sound of someone rifling through his rickety dresser. 

“Nooo” he whines playfully, “don’t go. You’re so warm and fuzzy, you should stay here.”

“Yeah, well, warm and fuzzy time is over.” A gruffer version of last night's drawl is accompanied by a shutting drawer, “I’m taking these swears and one of these tank tops.”

“Oh, of course.” Indrid sits up, putting on his glasses, ���It hadn’t even occurred to me that you’d need clothes if you changed back while here.”

“Bettin a lot of things don’t occur to you.” Duck pulls on the shirt. It stretches across his belly and dark hair peeks through the collar. This softens the insult severely. 

“Well, you’re welcome to them. I have a sweatshirt that might fit too, you can drop it back off at the arcade when you have a chance.”

“Got better things to do than return some kids' laundry.” 

“In that case, no sweatshirt, as I happen to like it.” Indrid stands, crossing his arms, “if you are being defensive because you are afraid I will tell people you are a werebear, you do not need to be. I know people do not always treat the unfamiliar well. Your secret is safe with me.” He tries to meet Duck’s eyes, but the shorter man keeps looking away from him. His face is round, handsome but hardened, and all Indrid wants to do is run his fingers over it. 

“That ain’t what I’m afraid of. Honestly, ain’t afraid of anything you’d do, skinny. I could break you in half. All the same, this never happened, y’hear?”

“Perfectly.” Indrid sits back down, “Is there any chance I will see you again? Perhaps in a less, ah, grumpy mood?”

Duck opens the door, pauses, then says, “doubt it” before stepping through and slamming it shut. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

There was a time where waking up next to a cute guy would have made Duck’s day. There was a time where a lot of things would have made his day; seeing a cool plant, talking with Juno, leading a tour group. 

That was before. This is after. Now if only he could remember that four all the days of the month. 

His lunch is a protein smoothie and a sleeve of Thin Mints, which he bought two full moons ago, making one Brownie’s day.

He looks at the cookie in his hand. He bets Indrid would love cookies for lunch. 

No. That Duck doesn’t come out again. Not until next month, anyway. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay sips his from his travel cup, emblazoned with the logo of Amnesty Lodge, as he and Indrid stand in line for the ATM in the evening light. 

“You want to go see the new Scream movie with me? Brian bailed.”

Indrid isn’t surprised, given that his friend’s boyfriend seems like he’d prefer anything to spending time with Barclay. 

“I’d love to.”  

He moves one spot forward in line, then hears Barclay groan, “guess we’re getting our cash somewhere else.”

Indrid turns to see a supervillain striding towards the line. It’s the Bear, in his beaten duster coat and black mask, boots tromping on the concrete. 

“Everybody moves aside, nobody gets hurt.” He doesn’t even have to flash the gun on his hip; Indrid and the others all move away from the ATM, giving him unimpeded access. 

He’s heard the Bear is a very physical villain. He’s still not expecting him to just walk up and punch the ATM to get at the cash. 

There’s an ease and confidence to his strength, and when he hauls his bag over his shoulder it’s like he’s daring the world to take him on, just so he can give it a black eye to keep it humble. 

Indrid’s wondering what else he could do with those arms when Barclay nudges him and says, “C’mon, let's go grab dinner. I found this new sandwich place you’re gonna love.”

As they walk towards one of the less battered sections of Old Town, Indrid does wish he could have gotten a better look at the villain. 

He regrets this wish a week and a half later when, around two in the morning, a bank alarm sounds two blocks from the arcade.  A few seconds later a masked figure comes into the view through the window and ducks inside the arcade.

The Bear scans the consoles and Indrid pretends to be very busy with his inventory of tickets and tokens. Heavy footsteps that stop at the counter tell him this has not worked. 

“You the only one here?”

“Yes.” Indrid turns, keeps his eyes on the villain’s chest or lower. Which is a bit tricky since he’s actually taller than the pistol-packing example of Kepler’s finest cottage industry. 

“You gonna say anything if they come in?”

“No, as I am much less durable than an ATM. If it is of use to you, that room there” he points to his right, “is mainly full of machines that do not work. No one would ever go in.”

The Bear gives a grunt of assent and disappears through the glow in the dark curtains. Indrid returns to his checklist, only to put it down two minutes later as three cops shove the doors open and make a beeline for him. 

“Hey kid, you alone in here?”

Like any seasoned bystander of Kepler, Indrid lies. 

“Yes. It’s a very slow time of night for us.”

“We’re gonna have a look around all the same.”

He smiles, “Of course, officers. Oh, ah, but do be careful” he points to the glowing curtain, “my repair room has a leak in the roof and there is a terrible mix of water and loose wires in there.”

The cops do a short circuit of the main room, poking their heads into the storeroom, break room, and Indrid’s office before saying, “All clear. Night, kid.”

As the bell dings at their exit, Indrid mutters, “why does everyone keep calling me that? I am thirty-three.”

He’s still musing aloud as he kneels and starts unboxing plushes for the prize shelf. Just as he decides the Bear must have snuck out the back door, weather beaten boots step from the curtain. 

“Nice hiding spot you got back there.”

“Thank you.” Indrid looks up, which means he’s staring at the Bear’s crotch. A roaring, golden grizzly sits as his belt-buckle above a tantalizing bulge in his pants.

“Appreciating the view?”

“I, ah, I” he blushes, figures there’s no harm in a flattering truth, “yes.”

A hand roughly ruffles his hair, “Consider it a thank-you.” The hand moves through his hair again, slower this time, almost gentle, “and you oughta fix up that two-player Pac Man. It’s a crowd pleaser.”

“I will keep that in mind.” He starts to look up farther, to catch a glimpse of that handsome face in the colorful lights of the machines, but the Bear lets go as he tilts his head, turning his back and sauntering out of the store. 

Indrid hopes he’ll see him again, just for the masturbation fodder, but he doesn’t. There’s no sign of him around for weeks, and so Indrid figures he left for a new neighborhood. That or something scared him away. It’s that exact thought he’s mulling over when a knock comes to his door and he opens it to find a different kind of bear altogether.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Duck spent two weeks and change avoiding any place he might see Indrid motherfucking Cold, in spite of the fact his werebear senses, dulled as they are when he’s a human, kept picking up his scent around town. 

So what does he do the minute he transforms? He turns his useless-ass paws towards that skinny weirdo’s door. The moon wasn’t even all the way up yet. 

By the time he’s there, he’s feeling much better; there’s no harm in having a friend he sees once a month. Or maybe even more than a friend, if Indrid is into the idea. 

The human is surprised when finds Duck on his doorstep, but the resulting smile is worth every second of arguing with himself about this. 

“Thought I, uh, I’d check to see if you needed a walk to work? Or if you turned out to be at work, was gonna offer to walk you back.”

“I start at midnight this week.”

“Yeesh, don’t know how you do it.”

“I have always been a night owl of sorts. I used to stay up drawing until I passed out in my crayons.”

Duck follows Indrid inside, chuckling, “You’re like a little moth.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Y’know, all nocturnal and interesting to look at. And you got those tattoos” He tips his snout at the Luna moth on one shoulder and the Emperor Moth on his arm.

Indrid cocks his head, “Duck, have you been trying to come up with a nickname for me?”

“Maybe, uh, I mean, uh, fuck, I…yeah.” He scratches his ear sheepishly. 

“I’m flattered you’d spend so much time thinking of me.” Another smile, a touch more guarded.

Duck drops to all fours so he can meet Indrid’s eyes, “Hey I, uh, I wanted to apologize for last time. I know I was a dick the next morning, and I shouldn’t have been. In fact, that was me trying my damndest not to be, in some ways. When I get all fuzzy I get, well, fuzzy in here too” he taps his chest, “when I ain’t always the nicest the rest of the time. If that means you’d rather I scram, I can. I gotta patrol some tonight anyway.”

Indrid pets his cheek, dooming him to months of trying to recreate the touch with his own fingers, “Thank you for apologizing. And explaining. I’d very much like company on my way to work, and you’re welcome to play and, ah, shoot the breeze, as they say, once we’re there.”

“Sounds great” Duck nuzzles his forehead, “I’m gonna go patrol; when I’m like this, it’s easy to be a hero for folks, and I like to help when I can. See you at midnight, slim.”

“See you then” Indrid purrs. 

—-------------------------

Indrid takes his spot in the tour bus; the Monongahela is beautiful this time of year, and he promised himself that he’d finally get around to taking the tour up the Greenbank summit to see the view. 

As the bus putters forward, he pulls a postcard from his coat pocket. It was waiting for him this afternoon. 

There’s been one in his mail every three days for the last two weeks. 

This one is of the Kepler waterfront. On the back, in slightly sloppy writing, is this:

Hi little moth, 

You ever been on the ferris wheel here? I went as a kid. It’s how I learned I was scared of heights. Wouldn’t stand on anything taller than the front step for months. 

We should go some full moon. I know a real cool spot to see river otters. 

-Duck

The messages have all been written in the same pen. His address has not, and the writing looks like someone’s hand was being forced across the paper. All he can figure is that the reason Duck left early to “run an errand” was so he could write all these before his cranky self returned. 

Untangling his feelings about that is barely started by the time he reaches the summit. He wanders out with the rest of the group, reads the few signs and takes in the view. There’s a firewatch tower near a small, seasonal gift shop, and he looks up to see a man in a ranger uniform watching the visitors, stony-faced all the while. 

Then he sees Indrid and pulls his hat down over his eyes before crossing to another rail. 

That does explain why so many of the postcards are from the national forest.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

In Duck’s defense, he thought Roswell crashing the governor’s civic celebration banquet would keep the cops occupied the whole night. That’s the only reason he’s now running for the one place in this neighborhood he knows he can hide. 

Indrid is behind the counter like last time, looking exasperated rather than afraid when he sees who it is. 

“Same room as last time?” 

“Damn right.” Duck slips into hiding, listens as Indrid does the same song and dance with the cops as before. 

Huh. The two-player Pac Man has definitely been tinkered with since the last time he was here. 

This time, when he steps through the curtain Indrid is waiting for him. 

“You know, I have a perfectly functional back door. You do not need to make me lie for you. You could just run out that door and into the alley or up a fire escape like a sensible villain.”

Duck is not in the mood to be lectured. Not by someone who could never understand what it’s like. 

He grabs Indrid’s shirt and shoves him against the wall, pressing close as he growls, “Let’s get on thing real clear: I can make you do any goddamn thing I want.”

Indrid’s squeak of alarm is not as alarmed as Duck needs it to be right now. 

“Heh, I get it. You’re one of those villain chasers.”

“Nono. If anyone is it’s my friend, I am certain he reads fan-fiction about villains abducting civilians and I will stop speaking now, apologies I babble when, when-”

“Nervous?”

“That’s not quite the word I’d use.” Indrid leans closer, peering at his face, and asks the worst possible question. 

“Do I know you?

“N-no, uh, fuck, you, you don’t not, fuck”

He should punch him and run. Yeah. That’ll work. 

Duck balls his fists and yanks Indrid into a kiss. The other man stiffens, then melts with a moan and cups Duck’s face, kissing him back like he knows him. Duck could break the kiss any second he wanted to, he could, if Indrid would just stop touching him, stop making pleased little sounds and hooking one ankle around Duck’s calf. 

Indrid pulls away, humming happily, and smiles, “You should consider solving more of your problems that way. You are very good at it.”

Duck’s heart sings with affection. So he snarls, shoves Indrid into a pinball machine, and runs out the door. 

—----------------------------------------------- 

It’s not Duck’s fault.

It’s not his fault that Indrid looked so sad in the early morning light, not his fault Indrid chose to wake up extra early so he could bid the werebear goodbye (because Duck had decided to spare him dealing with his grumpy human self come dawn).

It’s not his fault. Just like the dock fire wasn’t his fault. Just like it wasn’t his fault when he saw what the city was doing to Agent X and couldn’t convince them to stop. Just like it wasn’t his fault that they goaded Athena into leveling two city blocks. Just like it wasn’t his fault that when Kepler Chemical blew it’s goddamn top, he was the only member of his team to survive. 

Indrid Cold is just some guy. Duck will not be responsible for him. 

“Ahem.”

Indrid Cold is just some guy who is now standing in the door of the firewatch tower. 

“We need to talk. And please do not try to lie, that is torture beyond anything you can do as a villain.”

“I uh, I-”

“Duck.”  Indrid says more firmly. 

“What? You want a fuckin medal for putting who I am together?”

“No. I want…I wanted to talk with you as human you. Because I am not sure how much of when you are a bear you remember, but last night you begged me to be your boyfriend.”

“And you said no.” It comes out pathetic and defeated.

“Correct. Because I do not want a boyfriend who is kind to me one night a month. Who only wants to see me one night a month.”

“I do.” He bites his tongue, which does nothing.

“You do not act like it. You barely act like human-you sees me as a person, even when he’s not in his villain outfit.”

Duck takes a step closer, “Indrid, a whoooole lotta folks have tried to talk me out of the villain thing, and they offered way more than some skinny freak who’d let me fuck him now and then.”

Indrid’s face remains placid, “I’m not trying to talk you out of anything, or into being a hero again–yes I said ‘again’, anyone with any sense can work out who you used to be even if you or the city won’t confirm it–I am telling you that I am not going to be wooed one night and ignored for thirty, even if the one night makes me so very deeply happy. I think whoever you are when you are a werebear is still in there, and I want that person.”

“I ain’t sure I can give him to you. It’s…it’s complicated, little moth. I got my reasons for things and while they ain’t all noble they ain’t because I get my kicks being an asshole.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, feeling two-feet tall, “but I hear what you’re sayin. You don’t want me around, you say the word and I’m gone. Give you my goddamn word.”

“And what if?” Indrid closes the space between them, “I said I wanted you to try going out to dinner with me like this? Just once, after I get off work, as casual as you like.”

Duck meets his eyes, “I’d say The Bear ain’t one to run from a challenge.”

Indrid kisses him once, “Tomorrow at eight?”

“I’ll be there.”

Indrid turns for the door, then looks over his shoulder as he says, with a wink, “and if you come early, I might even give you some free play tokens for the pac man game I just fixed.”

“You got a deal, slim.”

[clearwillow]

Happy Spooky Season Love! I'm here to ask you all about the ask game. ☺️

Let's see, let's ask 💔,⛔️, 👐, & 🧠(do our fav heroin Kagome for this one).

Oh you picked some fun ones!

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

Actually yeah. Parts of Strange, Pretend You're Mine, and The Highest Bidder were heavy-hitters when I went back and reread them. The first two not so much during editing, but I put some space between writing and editing the third and oof lol

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Yep, there's been a couple. One was one that I thought would be a oneshot and then too much plot happened, I got frustrated, and ended up tabling it. I'll probably come back to it when I've got the time to properly write it, cause trying to jump between the past and present like I was really didn't do it justice. There's another one, a darker one, that I'm never going to revisit. I considered it, but the ending wouldn't be satisfactory for what horrible things happen in it.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

For Kagome... I figured there was some way that she'd leave a sign of how her life in the past was going for her family to find. Like a time capsule of sorts. There was a lot of trial and error getting something that would be sustained for that length of time, and she'd periodically go back to the location to see if it had disappeared. There was part of her that was skeptical if it'd work, but the day she did see the hole empty, she sobbed in relief.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Gonna drop it under a cut cause of the length, but I shared this as a Sunday Sampler on Patreon last month. Part of the Making Waves universe.

Inuyasha stared at the pink-purple stone that lay in the palm of his hand. The imitation puka shell fragments that surrounded it on either side on the cord were stark white. They were most likely the product of some corporation for seasonal aesthetic jewelry meant for tourists, but the polished stone… it was very much the real deal. The merman never thought that he’d lay his eyes on one of the Sacred Jewels of the seven seas.

He certainly never expected that his childhood friend-turned-wife would own one.

After their honeymoon, on the next available day that his family would come to the shore, the pair brought the necklace to Touga for inspection. Kagome had barely removed the necklace from its drawstring bag before the shriek from Inukimi nearly made her drop it.

“How did you get that?!” the older woman gasped.

Kagome looked confused. “I…I got it from the boardwalk…” she said slowly. “It was one of the prizes at a game booth…”

Inukimi looked like she was a step away from hyperventilating. “Sacred…Sea…b-board…walk…g-game…pr-pr –”

Touga reached up and began to rub his wife’s back, telling her to take small breaths before she caused a scene. Izayoi looked just as confused as Kagome, and both were looking to Sesshomaru for some kind of explanation. Inuyasha wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was hoping for one too. All he knew of were old tales that weren’t enough to go on.

“My mother,” he sighed, “is having a moment because – upon first look at your necklace – it resembles one of the Sacred Jewels of the seven seas. That particular stone is highly sought after and extremely rare in this day and age.”

“You know you could have been more helpful,” Inuyasha frowned. He’d already told Kagome that much.

“Perhaps you should be more specific, little brother.”

“We want to know if it’s real –”

“Do I look like a magi –”

Touga cleared his throat, ending the argument before it could get started. “What our daughter-in-law has in her possession is in fact one of the Sacred Jewels,” he spoke calmly. “It doesn’t matter how she came to be its owner. What does matter is that she has one of the most precious gifts the sea has to offer.”

Inuyasha crossed his arms, looking put out by that statement. “I’m her husband!”

“You’re second most precious,” Sesshomaru snickered.

“You’re my number one,” Kagome told Inuyasha. He perked up after that.

“Alright, the most precious gift the sea has to offer…that doesn’t have a pulse.” Touga rubbed his forehead, looking pained that he had to amend his comments in the first place. When he looked up at Kagome again, he nodded to the necklace in her hands. “That stone holds a very unique ability. If you wear it in the ocean, you will be granted the gift of the merfolk.”

[aokuro-san]

Hello everyone… This is an experiment.

Note 1: After my talk with @iwanttofuckereh69 (which I tagged because you expressly asked me to) and some more talks about it with other users, the truth is that I wanted to share my work here. So these days I've been trying to translate some of my horror stories to share, of course, during the spooky season, haha.

I hope you like them (and if not, then we'll pretend none of this ever happened).

Note 2: "Belmont and the Scarecrow" was the story that got me out of the hole of inability to write that high school left me with. At that time it was 2019 and I couldn't find a job (in fact, I still can't find one to this day), so I tried to go back to what I think I'm good at and I enjoy.

I participated in two contests, and this was the only one of the two that published me in an online Mexican magazine dedicated to folk horror. It is not a story that requires much to understand, it is short, and it is perfect to start, since it was also my new start in the profession.

Note 3: Although I also warn you that I am not a NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER and I have translated it as best I could and with the tools that the Internet provides me. So if you see any errors, don't hesitate to tell me and I will change it^^

@kiramoran @obsidieneyes

(I'm also tagging you because well, you seemed interested too… If not, sorry for the inconvenience, ignore it!)

Anyway… Let's start with the experiment.

"Where is that thing?"

"Has anyone seen him there?"

"No! Stop yelling, you'll scare him"

"Come out, you mangy rat, come out!"

The adults were so focused on looking for the scarecrow that they did not notice the gutted dog on the side of the cornfield. It was Pierre, Mr. Fantin's German shepherd, and still alive, he looked with his crossed eyes in the light of Belmont's lantern.

The animal's intestines rested on the semi-disturbed earth, and a path of blood -very typical of a Perrault fairy tale- was lost inside the terrain.

Not so far away, the boy heard the corallines singing. They were waiting for the men by the bonfire: kneeling, naked and with their hair combed crazy. Five minutes had passed since three in the morning and the nerves were beginning to surface not only in them, but in all the inhabitants of Troumbé. And Belmont, who was only a boy of ten years, he felt that tension on his skin like sewing needles.

Driven by curiosity, but above all by responsibility, the boy went deeper into the cornfield.

It was the height of summer and sweat and mosquitoes attacked his face in equal measure. He was dressed entirely in corduroy and had a hard time moving among the tall, dry and spindly stalks of corn; slapping left and right, guided by the drops of blood that illuminated the ground.

The scarecrow had fled at two in the morning, an hour before the party. And, like Pierre before he died, he had belonged to M. Fantin for six long months. In fact, Belmont and the other kids of Troumbé had seen him countless times in that same corn field. And always, always, he had a big smile sewn into his sack mask.

The moment Belmont and his father heard that he had escaped, the boy was surprised (before reaching the cornfield, they had traveled through a large part of the forest, the town, and the lake). But not as much as when he found, after walking what seemed like an eternity, the creature crouched among the stalks, sobbing in the most silent way that could exist and illuminated by his flashlight.

Noticing the light, the scarecrow moved slowly and agonizingly and raised its old cloth-hooded head. Part of his jacket had torn and a big, splendid blue eye was staring at him. And around his eye, Belmont noticed that he had clusters of milky flesh, covered with freckles, eyebrows and eyelashes. His smile had disappeared and only a tear remained descending to the ground of the cornfield.

"Please, help me," the scarecrow then said, as soft as a whisper. "Please help.".

The boy cringed, in disbelief, watching the being kneel with its hands covered in blood.

"Help me," he repeated.

Suddenly, the adults' voices felt closer, which made them both shiver.

"Please," he repeated again, again on the verge of tears.

The boy shook his head, looking for where to look (not to the enormous eye of that scarecrow).

"No I can not", finally he answered.

"Please help."

"HEY, IT'S HERE!".

And then the rest of the flashlights illuminated them. The scarecrow tried to flee shouting a plaintive "HELP!", but the adults pounced on him like wild beasts on his prey. They almost crushed poor little Belmont who, in an attempt not to die under the command of a big farmer, fell on his back and hit his butt on the ground and blood.

The adults lifted the being into the air, grabbing its arms, legs and head, without any gentleness. In the struggle, the sack mask tore a little more, revealing slippery strands of hair, the color of straw. And between unbearable screams and useless strength, the inhabitants of Troumbé began to walk towards the bonfire.

Belmont, who had heard his father calling him, got up and walked after them, watching the flames of the campfire—finally alive and hungry—waiting for them. The corallines also rose, increasing the power of their spectral song. Between the small gaps left by the adults, Belmont was able to see their naked bodies painted with pig's blood. And to the rest of the children of Troumbé, praying to the goodness of the spider goddess.

"No, please no!", he cried the scarecrow, already too close to the bonfire. Belmont smelled his fear almost as much as fire. However, the adults did not think twice before throwing it into the sun.

"This year there will be a harvest!", the murderers cried, amidst the lustful screeches of the corallines. "This year there will be a harvest! This year there will be a harvest!".

The victim, writhing in the embers, tried again to escape his death. But a man, dressed in leather and with javelin in hand, stuck his spear into the scarecrow's neck, forcing him to stay. And then he smiled, just as his Troumbé companions did.

The black smoke was beginning to cover everything and the joy could not be more welcome. The men began to sing (it was, of course, the hymn of the spider goddess), and the corallines began to float, convulsing with pleasant faces.

"Come, son," said Belmont's father to Belmont. The boy took his hand, hypnotized by the black flames that covered the charred scarecrow.

"Are we sure we're doing the right thing?" he asked the fire, but it was his father who answered.

"Shut up and keep singing," he ordered her in a stern voice. Belmont could feel his gaze—the angry gaze of someone whose faith you question—on her cheek. And, like every child who loved and feared his father like he did, he continued singing.