#morgue's writing

[morgueofstories]

Sees this post, gets a writing idea, whips out my computer to type out the idea

I don't know if Athena would tell Penelope what happened because the goddess worries Penelope may do something rash in her anger, but here is how I would imagine what happened after Penelope finds out

Eurylochus hears a scream come from Penelope's tent with the sound of something hitting the ground following soon afterwards. He rushes over to her tent, worried that perhaps a Trojan assassin had managed to get into her tent to kill her like with the previous attempts on her life.

With Polites behind him, Eurylochus entered her tent to find that there was no assassin like he originally thought. Instead, Penelope was standing in front of the table in her tent, gripping it hard enough that several cracks were embedded in the wood. Items she had used to create strategies were on the floor. The only thing still on the table was an owl looking at Penelope with concern, (Athena, Eurylochus' mind told him).

"I'll kill him, I'll kill that bastard!" Penelope shouted, not knowing she had an audience behind her. "How dare he! How dare he touch him!"

Soon after the words left her mouth, Penelope slumped over the table, the anger leaving her body as she soon started to cry. "Why did it have to be him? Why did that have to happen to him of all people. It should have been me instead."

Taking a step forward, Eurylochus' foot knocked against an object which caused noise. Penelope turned to look and froze when she saw Eurylochus and Polites staring at her.

The once composed, calm queen the men only saw an hour ago looked totally defeated. Tears ran down her cheeks and staining her face; her eyes looked haunted, filled with sorrow, grief, and the smallest bit of rage.

"Penelope," Eurylochus said. "What happened? What did Athena tell you?"

Penelope let out a broken sob, trying to wipe away her tears that kept coming, and Eurylochus got closer to put his hand on her shoulder as an act of comfort. Polites closed the tent flaps, to prevent anyone from seeing the state the Queen of Ithaca was in and to stop any eavesdroppers from listening in.

"Odysseus...he...the prince of Troy...forced him into his bedchambers." Penelope managed to say between sobs, not noticing Eurylochus and Polites stiffen up. "Athena doesn't know for how long, maybe since Odysseus was first kidnapped, she only just noticed the bruises today."

Ice cold dread filled Eurylochus as he processed what he just heard. Odysseus, the man who he saw as a brother since childhood, who gave him his blessing to marry Ctimene, one of his closest friends, was taken advantage of by his kidnapper.

Never in a million years did Eurylochus think that such a cruel thing could happen to Odysseus. Rage filled his body like a burning inferno, his mind filled with thoughts on watching Troy burn and that damn Trojan prince who caused this whole mess suffering by his hands.

"We'll get Odysseus back, and we will make that man pay for what he did to him." Eurolychus said, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Polites had the same thoughts and rage as him.

The three mortals were to busy talking amongst themselves after getting their emotions together that they didn't notice the cuckoo bird enter the tent, watching the three put together strategies and come up with ideas on how to end the war sooner.

The only one who noticed was Athena, still in her owl form, who cocked her head up at the cuckoo bird and fluttering her wings, catching the other bird's attention. The two birds stared at each other for a couple seconds before the cuckoo bird whistled and flew out of the tent.

Hera had seen what she wanted. Having only arrived to see how Penelope was holding up after the goddess witnessed the King of Ithaca crying in the Trojans gardens for his wife, pleading for forgiveness, before the guards took him rather harshly toward where she knew the Prince of Troys bedchambers were.

She had wanted to stay out of the war as much as she could, but perhaps she could offer assistance if it meant the broken couple could reunite again.

Sorry if Polites didn't do much in this little idea, while writing he just somehow appeared.

Does Paris ever sleep with Odysseus ever (say with Aphrodite's interference)?

TW: dub-con & power imbalance

Yes, Paris does sleep with Odysseus a few times. Aphrodite did try to interfere once or twice but upon realizing how stubbornly Ody clung onto his true love for Penelope, she saw it as a lost cause.

Unfortunately, even without her help, Paris can still coerce Ody into his bed using Telemachus as leverage & by the sheer fact that as a prince of Troy, Paris can make Ody's life a living hell if he wants to. Compromises have to be made & Ody is nothing if not an opportunist.

And if he cries the first few times, that's between him & the sick gods who got him into this mess in the first place. But everytime, without fail, he prays that Penelope will forgive him; those prayers are between him & Hera alone.

[thatsbelievable]

[sunbl3achedfly]

Do the dead comfort you? Pt.1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: On your night shift at the mortuary you discover a fresh mutilated corpse that isn’t supposed to be there, prompting the FBI’s arrival.

Content: Dead bodies, like lots of dead bodies (you're a mortician), stalking, murder, dark humour, reader is a little gothic and macabre, first time reader and Spencer meet, Spencer thinks she’s weird at first but his curiosity leads to him finding her endearing, reader is not used to socializing and has questionable coping mechanisms

Author's note: I’ve literally had this idea for months and needed to get it out of my system.

3,038 words

part two

masterlist

The hum of the mortuary’s refrigeration units was usually a comfort, but today, it felt unnervingly loud. The body wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and the one in its place looked like something out of a horror film—freshly dead, blood-soaked, and carved like a grotesque work of art.

You leaned back against the counter as the FBI agents filed in, their presence slicing through the eerie silence. The group was sharp, purposeful, and clearly used to handling chaos. Among them, one man immediately stood out.

He was tall, maybe six-foot-one, with tousled brown hair that looked like it had lost a battle with a comb. His dark blazer was slightly too big for his lean frame, and the way he adjusted his satchel strap every few seconds hinted at his slight nervous energy. But it was his eyes that caught your attention—warm and endlessly curious, darting around the room like they were cataloging every detail. He looked like he’d stepped out of a library and into a crime scene.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said, his voice soft but deliberate as he approached you. His eyes lingered for a moment on your dark hair, the chipped edges of your blood-red nail polish, and the subtle skull pendant hanging around your neck. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he formed some unspoken observation.

“I’m the one who found the body,” you said, crossing your arms. His gaze flicked to your black long-sleeve shirt, noticing the faint wrinkles near the cuffs from where you’d been tugging at them earlier.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were just as much a puzzle as the case itself. “You work here?” he asked, though the answer was obvious.

You raised an eyebrow. “No, I just hang out in mortuaries for fun. Great ambiance.”

His lips twitched, the hint of a smile betraying his otherwise serious demeanor. “Right.” He glanced at the body, his tone growing more professional. “You said you found the body when you came in for your night shift?”

“Yes,” you replied. “This drawer was supposed to have a heart attack victim I was preparing for burial. Middle-aged woman, very boring. When I opened it today, this was waiting for me.” You gestured toward the bloodied body on the table, your voice calm despite the grim subject matter.

Spencer’s eyes followed your gesture, narrowing slightly as he examined the victim. “You’re certain this wasn’t here yesterday?”

“Dead certain,” you said without thinking, then winced. “Sorry. That wasn’t—I cope with dark humor. Occupational hazard, I guess.”

Spencer glanced at you, his expression softening. “I understand. It’s… not uncommon in this line of work.”

You studied him for a moment, noticing how his slight awkwardness seemed at odds with his sharp intelligence. He had an air of vulnerability about him, but there was also something strikingly self-assured in the way he analyzed everything around him. You wondered how someone like him—bright-eyed and endearingly earnest—handled the kind of darkness he must face every day.

“Do you recognize him?” Spencer asked, gesturing to the body.

You shook your head. “No. Never seen him before. And no one else has access to this section of the mortuary after hours. I locked everything up before I left last night. Whoever put him here must’ve known what they were doing to sneak it in.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze flicking between the cuts on the victim’s body. “The precision of these wounds… they were made deliberately. Whoever did this wasn’t in a hurry. They wanted us to notice the details.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” you said dryly, folding your arms. “They’ve got everyone’s attention now.”

Spencer glanced at you again, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. “You seem very calm for someone who just found… this.”

You gave a small shrug, brushing a strand of black hair out of your face. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen something gruesome. Probably won’t be the last.” You hesitated, then added with a wry smile, “Though I’ll admit, finding a surprise corpse is a new one, even for me.”

Spencer studied you for another moment, his head tilting slightly as if he were piecing together something about you. “You said you locked everything last night. Did you notice anything unusual before you left?”

You thought for a moment, absently tapping your nails against the counter. “Nothing out of the ordinary. But then again, ordinary isn’t exactly a guarantee in this job.” You paused, your eyes flicking back to the body. “If someone’s messing with me, they’ve got a pretty sick sense of humor. And that’s saying something, coming from me.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the body. “This wasn’t a joke. Whoever did this wanted to send a message.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you found yourself wondering just how deep this case would go. You had always been fascinated by death, but now, for the first time, it felt like death was staring back at you.

After the FBI had concluded their search and cameras were packed away and evidence collected, the usual silence you were used to began seeping back into the cold, sterile atmosphere of the mortuary. The body had been carefully documented and removed, leaving behind the faint antiseptic smell of bleach and cold steel. You stood by the counter, gathering your tools and preparing to get back to work once the team left.

You could feel the day's weight pressing down on you, but you refused to let it show and tried your best to keep your movements steady. You snapped on a fresh pair of gloves and reached for your notebook beside your workstation. The slight tremor in your hands betrayed your calm exterior.

Across the room, Spencer watched you. He stood near the doorway with his satchel slung over one shoulder, fidgeting with the strap as he lingered. He didn’t know why he hesitated to leave—there was something about you that held his attention. Maybe it was the way you handled the situation earlier, calm and composed despite the horrifying scene. In a way it may have seemed suspicious to someone else. Or maybe it was the way your dark humor revealed cracks in your otherwise detached demeanor. Whatever it was, he found himself walking toward you before he could think better of it.

You didn’t notice him at first, focused on arranging your tools in neat rows. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat softly that you looked up, startled.

“Oh,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Still here?”

Spencer hesitated, not knowing how to handle your straightforward behaviour, his hands awkwardly stuffed into his pockets. “Yeah, um… I just wanted to check in with how you’re coping... After everything earlier?”

Your first instinct usually would have been to shrug the concern off, but the question had caught you off guard. You blinked at him for a second, unsure how to answer. “I—” You paused, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “Oh I’m great,” you replied, your voice laced with sarcasm. “Finding a bloodied corpse someone snuck into my mortuary? Best day I’ve had in weeks, really.”

You winced at your own words, immediately looking down after saying them. “Sorry. That was—I shouldn’t have said that.” You fumbled for an excuse, your voice tight. “I just… I don’t talk to people much. I guess I don’t know how to… be normal in situations like this.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his voice gentle. “It’s okay. People cope in different ways. And after today, sarcasm seems pretty appropriate.”

You studied him for a moment, your eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “You’re weirdly nice for someone who spends his days chasing psychopaths.”

The comment seemed to amuse him, though he didn’t quite smile but instead pursed his lips slightly. “And you’re surprisingly calm for someone whose workspace just turned into a crime scene,” he countered lightly.

You almost laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Guess we’re both a little weird.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the hum of the refrigeration units filling the space between you. Then Spencer reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card.

“If you find anything else,” he said, his voice deliberate but kind, “or if you think of something that might help the case, call us. Here’s my number, just in case.” He held the card out to you, his fingers brushing yours as you took it.

You stared at the card for a moment, surprised by the gesture. It was small, routine, even, but it felt like more than that. You looked up at him, your usual stoicism softening into something almost vulnerable. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice warmer than before.

Spencer smiled, the kind of smile that was barely there but sincere. “Take care,” he said, adjusting his satchel as he turned to leave.

As he walked off, you couldn’t help the slight giddiness bubbling up inside you. It was a new sensation, as you tended to dislike most people, however, there was something about this handsome stranger that had you way more interested than you would've liked to admit.

It had been approximately 2 weeks since your ‘corpse surprise’, and work at the mortuary carried on as usual. There had been no leads or updates from the FBI regarding the mysterious body. No one had come forward to claim it, and any investigative efforts seemed to have hit a dead end. The unsettling memory lingered in the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to focus on work. The thought of someone managing to sneak a corpse into the mortuary without being caught still made your skin crawl.

You had just finished up with the cremation retort, the faint heat from the machine still lingering in the room, and had begun sweeping and cleaning up the crematory floor. The rhythmic swish of the broom against the tiles filled the quiet, accompanied only by the faint hum of the ventilation system.

As you moved toward the far corner, you noticed something out of place—a faint scuff mark on the otherwise spotless floor near the entrance. You frowned, leaning closer. It looked fresh, like someone had dragged something heavy through the room. A casket, maybe? No, you’d been the only one in here all morning, and the retort was prepped before your shift.

Brushing it off as nothing, you returned to sweeping, but a prickling sensation ran up the back of your neck. The kind of feeling you got when someone was watching you. You stopped mid-sweep and glanced over your shoulder, scanning the empty room. Nothing but sterile counters and a row of sealed urns waiting for pickup.

The ventilation hum seemed louder now, almost deafening in the otherwise silent space. Shaking your head, you muttered, “Get a grip,” and went back to cleaning.

Then came the noise.

A faint shuffle, just beyond the doorway that led to the preparation room. Your hand tightened on the broom handle, your heart thudding against your ribs. It wasn’t uncommon for sounds to echo strangely in the building—pipes groaning or metal trays shifting on counters—but this sounded different. Like a footstep.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing back to you. No response.

Setting the broom aside, you stepped cautiously toward the preparation room, your shoes squeaking faintly against the tiles. As you approached, the air seemed colder, though you couldn’t tell if it was the room or just your nerves.

The door to the preparation room was slightly ajar, just enough for a sliver of shadow to spill into the hallway. You could’ve sworn you’d closed it earlier. Pushing the door open slowly, you peered inside. Everything seemed normal—the stainless steel countertops, the neatly arranged tools, the faint smell of disinfectant in the air.

And yet, the feeling of being watched persisted.

You turned to leave, but your eyes caught on something—a small object sitting on one of the prep tables. It hadn’t been there before. Approaching cautiously, you realized it was a photograph.

A photo of you.

It was grainy, taken from a distance, but unmistakable. You were outside the mortuary, standing by your car, looking down at your phone. Your throat tightened as you stared at it, your pulse roaring in your ears.

A faint creak sounded behind you, and you spun around, your breath catching. The door you’d left ajar was now fully closed.

Your hands trembled as you stared at the now-closed door. Despite every instinct in you screaming to leave, to run, you couldn't move. It was as if your entire body had been drenched in ice water and no longer wanted to respond.

When you had finally regained control of your movements you reached for your phone and fumbled through your bag without thinking. Your fingers brushed against the business card Spencer Reid had given you after your first meeting, his handwriting neat and precise on the back: Call if anything comes up.

You hesitated. Would he think you were overreacting? Maybe. But the photograph on the prep table stared back at you, a tangible reminder that this wasn’t just paranoia. You tapped the number on your phone and pressed it to your ear, your breath shallow as it rang.

After what felt like years, you finally heard Spencer's familiar voice on the other end, calm and professional, "Dr. Reid."

“Hi, uh, it’s… it’s me,” you said, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the prep table for support but still refusing to take your eyes off of the door. “From the mortuary? The weird body situation a couple weeks ago?”

“I remember,” Spencer replied, his tone softening. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not exactly,” you replied, but your voice cracked slightly on the last word, betraying your attempt to keep your composure. “I mean, nothing urgent, I don't think. I just… thought I should mention something odd that happened. Probably nothing.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “You don’t sound fine,” Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “What’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table to ground yourself. “It’s just… someone left a photo of me in the preparation room. Like, an actual printed photograph. I’m not sure how it got there.”

Spencer’s end of the line went silent for a beat, then: “A photograph of you? Where was it taken?”

“Outside the mortuary. By my car, I think. It’s grainy, but it’s definitely me.” You tried to laugh, but it came out weak. “I know it’s probably just someone messing around. But um..." You paused for a moment, wondering whether you should tell him about the odd noises from before and risk sounding paranoid.

“The photo wasn’t the only thing. I thought I heard footsteps earlier, and there was a mark on the floor like something was dragged through the crematory. I… I don’t know, I was sure it was clean this morning when I came in for work, but maybe I’m just spooking myself.”

“You’re not spooking yourself,” Spencer interrupted, his tone more insistent now. “This is serious. Are you still in the mortuary?”

“Yes,” you admitted, glancing toward the door as if expecting it to move again.

“Okay, listen to me,” Spencer said, his voice steadying you. “I need you to leave the building. Lock it up if you can, but get somewhere safe. I’ll notify the team and come to check things out.”

Your chest tightened, a mix of relief and apprehension at his words. “You really think it’s that serious?”

“I don’t take chances with things like this,” Spencer replied. “Neither should you.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and pushed yourself off the table. “Okay... Okay, I’ll leave now.”

As you ended the call and pocketed your phone, your eyes darted around the room one last time. The photograph still lay on the table, a grim reminder that whoever had taken it might still be nearby.

You moved quickly now, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Grabbing your bag and coat, you threw them over your shoulder and cast one last glance around the dim room. The photograph still lay on the prep table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pick it up. Your fingers trembled too much anyway. You just needed to get out.

Sliding your phone into your pocket, you tightened your grip on your keys and made your way to the door. Your footsteps echoed in the stillness, each sound magnified in the empty mortuary. Every shadow in the room seemed alive, every creak of the floorboards sending a shiver down your spine.

“Just get out, just get out,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely above a whisper.

You reached the door, exhaling shakily as you reached for the lock. But just as your hand brushed the handle, a cold, sharp sensation pressed against your throat, freezing you in place.

“Don’t move,” a low, raspy voice growled behind you, the words sending a bolt of terror down your spine.

Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you registered the unmistakable feel of a blade pressing against your skin. You didn’t dare turn your head, every muscle in your body locked in place once more.

“You scream, and you’re dead,” the voice continued, so close you could feel the warmth of their breath against your ear.

Your keys slipped from your hand, clattering loudly to the floor. The sound echoed in the silence, a cruel reminder of just how alone you were.

“Good,” the voice murmured, the knife pressing ever so slightly harder against your neck. “Now be a good girl and do exactly as I say.”

Your pulse roared in your ears as panic clawed its way up your throat. You had no choice but to comply.

And that was when the lights in the mortuary flickered and went out, plunging you both into darkness.

[cockroachesunite]

(He’s not even exaggerating)

[dailyhtfboards]

Day 52

Today’s Board is:

Bugs when you lift up a rock, once again

(From TV episode 13C Autopsy Turvy Double Whammy Part 2)

[ghoulnextdoor]

I am certain that by now, you all know of my vast and undying love for Rue Morgue Magazine. I mean, not only is it the only periodical I have ever consistently subscribed to, but it is also the only one that I read every issue literally from cover to cover.

I honestly thought my life could not get any better than when they interviewed me for their Nov/Dec 2022 issue about my book The Art of Darkness. I was over the moon! But guess what....

It DOES get better than that because, in their current March/April issue, you will find an article that I have written! 2009 Sarah would be shrieking madly, and I won't lie, 2025 Sarah is freaking out too!

As a lifelong horror fan and an obsessive enthusiast who has been writing about fragrance for going on twenty years now, it was really a dream come true to be invited to contribute something on horror perfumes, and I had an absolute blast thinking about it and writing it. I hope you will check it out! Read my article Fear in a Bottle in Rue Morgue Issue no. 223!

[morgu3mvp]

Ever wondered what the monsters that my magical girls kill look like?

Bam. Thats one species of em. (They all reflect the sins too, since they are what caused [REDACTED]s fragments to corrupt)

My handwriting is a bit messy and weird, so if you need any help with a word comment and i'll tell you what it says!!

[morgueofstories]

Summary:

Enslaved since the destruction of his planet, Sunday has been forced to sing due to the Harmony's power Halovians possess. Knowing that he'll die if he continues to live like this, he prays for someone to save him from the only life he has known. His prayers come in the form of a Nameless from the Astral Express, but that is only the beginning of Sunday's story towards freedom.

[feyhunter78]

Chapter One - A dance between mortality and desire, between that which you already know and the seductive lure of the unknown in the shadows of the morgue. Miguel, your new coworker, has this irresistible pull and seems to have set his sights on you. You try to stay professional, stay strong, but sooner or later you know you’re bound to fall. A fic in which vampire Miguel has found his lost love (you) once more, and he won’t let anyone, or anything stop him from reclaiming you.

Ch 2

There’s something strange about your coworker, Miguel. Maybe it’s how comfortable he seems to be with the late hours, or how he never seems to eat? At least not where you can see him eating, not that you’ve been watching him, waiting to see if he eats, and yes, the morgue is not really the place to eat, it’s entirely unsanitary, but in the break room? That’s fair game.

All he seems to do is work, drink those weird power shakes he’s so possessive over, and work out? He’s got to work out, there’s no other explanation for why he’s so built.

“Y/N, you need any help with that cadaver?” Miguel asks, a brilliant smile aimed your way, he’s dazzling, teeth straight as a military cemetery, white enough to blind you and his lips...they’re perfect, like unfairly perfect.

He’s handsome, and he knows it. A ladies man, the city mortician office’s Don Juan. You still can’t get over how you caught him and Cheryl from accounting, necking behind the building. Well, almost caught him, you heard the sounds they were making and all but sprinted to your car, face burning. And if your subconscious replaced Cheryl with you while you slept that night, then that was nobody’s business.

“No, no, I’m almost done, just wrapping up my notes.” You tell him, waving your voice recorder in the air, the standard one that the city gives every mortician. The one that annoying ass Dave always breaks, which means every project you work on with him takes twice as long because you have to wait for him to type up and submit his notes manually.

“We’ve got it, Manuel, no worries.” Dave says, the deliberate mispronunciation of Miguel’s name makes you cringe, but Miguel doesn’t even flinch, merely nods and heads back into the hall.

“You know his name is Miguel, right?” You know Dave knows, but you remind him anyways.

“Miguel, Manuel, same difference,” Dave says, brushing you off. “He thinks he’s so great just because all the normies fawn all over him.”

Normies aka everyone not tasked with cutting open dead bodies for a living.

“He’s nice, and he does good work,” You say briskly, finishing up your notes and zipping the body bag back up. “Put this one back in the freezer, yeah?”

“Why are you defending him, you got a crush or something?” Dave asks, leaning onto the slab, wriggling his eyebrows.

“No, I just don’t want to be called as a witness when you get hit with a discrimination lawsuit.” You drawl, clicking off your recorder and slipping it in your lab pocket.

Dave holds up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, hey, hey, I’m not being racist or anything, I’m just hazing the new guy.”

“Since when do we haze?” You snort, locking the freezer once Dave slides the body back in.

“Since we started hiring pretty boys.”

“Oh, so you think he’s pretty. You sure you don’t have a crush on him?”

Dave makes a fake gagging sound. “Excuse you, I am loyal to my wife.”

“That poor woman.”

“Hey fuck you, y/n,” Dave sputters.

You laugh and pat his shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m sure you and your wife are very happy together.”

“We are, thank you. It’s actually our anniversary next week, fifteen years.”

You’re taken aback. You knew Dave was married, but you didn’t think he’d be married for that long. “Wow, that’s amazing, seriously, congratulations.”

He smiles and pulls out his phone, showing you dozens upon dozens of smiling photos of him and his family. “Thank you, thank you, I’m a lucky man. Wait, don’t you have a boyfriend? How long have you two been together?”

Oh yeah, your boyfriend… “Oh, umm, like almost a year.”

“Hey, that’s not too bad,” Dave smiles.

You cringe internally. Almost a year of feeling like maybe your boyfriend doesn’t actually like you, compounded by your fear of being alone, driving you to do whatever it took to keep him. “Yeah, yeah, he’s great.”

A loud crash, the sound of metal crashing to the floor, and a low swear draws your attention.

You and Dave rush out into the hallway to see Miguel trying to lift a massive filing cabinet up from the floor. It’s dented on one side, almost the size of a…fist?

“Miguel, shit man, what happened?” Dave asks, hurrying over to his side and helping him lift the cabinet back to its rightful place against the wall.

Miguel’s eyebrows are furrowed, his hair disheveled, the sleeves of his lab coat rolled up exposing his forearms, his large hands flexing and unflexing. “I—I don’t know, I was walking down the hall, and it just fell, nearly broke my foot.”

“I’m glad you’re not hurt.” You tell him, searching the bottom of the cabinet for any loose parts or crooked corners that might’ve contributed to the crash.

He smiles at you, that Don Juan, panty melting smile, his warm brown eyes focused solely on you, as if you’re the only person in the world, the only one worth paying any attention to. “I’m just glad it was me and not you—or Dave, I wouldn’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“Aw, Manuel, you care about us,” Dave teases, going right back to his hazing.

“We’re a team,” Miguel says simply, rolling his shoulders back.

For a moment you wonder what his back muscles look like underneath his coat, his shirts always seem so tight. Do they ripple under the fabric, is it stretched taut, his back droolworthy and broad?

“A team that’s finally heading home, isn’t that right, y/n?” Dave’s arm landing across your shoulders brings you back to reality.

“Yeah, yeah, closing time,” you say, hoping you weren’t blatantly staring at Miguel’s back.

“You two go ahead, I have some things I need to finish up.” Miguel says, waving you both off as he heads back to his office.

You drive home in the dark, warm streetlights lining the street, soft music playing from the stereo. Miguel never left with everyone else, he always stayed late, and was always there early, like before the sun got up early. You did not envy his sleep schedule.

Digging through your purse, you fish out your keys and unlock your apartment door, flicking on the lights and sighing happily. There’s nothing like finally getting home after a long day and just getting to relax. Nudging off your shoes, you go to heat up some leftovers, letting the mindless reality TV shows keep you semi-entertained until you feel sleep tugging at your limbs.

You go through the motions, shower, skincare, pajamas, make sure all the doors are locked, turn down the air conditioning, and turn off the lights. Settling into your bed, you toss and turn, that fist shaped dent in the filing cabinet still bothering you. Did you need to call maintenance, or file a complaint with the city to let them know? It’s not like they’d give your department a new cabinet just because it was a little damaged, but still, at least you can say you tried.

Finally, you begin to drift off to sleep, breathing evening out, your heart rate slowing, the stress of the day melting away. Your dreams come quickly, cotton candy sweet and nonsensical, until a familiar figure appears.

Miguel’s hand caresses your cheek, his voice low, murmuring something in a language you don’t understand. He pulls you closer, and you can feel the press of his skin against yours, the toned muscles beneath your touch.

“Mi tesoro, tócame.” Miguel whispers, taking your hand in his and sliding it down, down, down his chest, stopping at his waistband, the fabric soft, his skin burning. Trsl: My treasure, touch me.

You take hold of the waistband, fingers slipping beneath it, as Miguel dips his head down trailing his nose up your neck, inhaling deeply before groaning, his free hand a vice grip on your hip.

“Touch me.” He breathes, his lips against your ear, his hand guiding your lower, more smooth flesh meeting your fingertips.

You want to, you want to explore Miguel, to find out if the rumors are true, but a shrill ringing draws your attention away.

“Te quiero y/n, no dejes que otros me roben tu atención.” Miguel pleads, his voice low and desperate, the hand on your hip pulling you flush against him. Trsl: I want you, y/n, don’t let others steal your attention away from me.

But the ringing won’t stop, and soon you’re jolting awake, alarm clock blaring, the sun streaming in through your blinds.

You throw off your covers, cringing at the sticky wetness between your legs. Really y/n? That’s what gets you going?

After eating breakfast and getting ready for the day, you check your phone, a few texts from your friends, some work emails, and a voicemail from Todd.

Hey babe, so I’m out at this bar right, and the drinks are fucking great, but I was talking to these girls about our issues, you know your whole not really enjoying sex thing? And they gave me some great advice, I want to try it out next time, so tomorrow night I’ll be at your place, get that couch ready, we’re going to tear it up.

He talked to other girls about your relationship? About your intimacy issues? What the fuck? You start to type out an angry text message but delete it halfway through. He’s trying at least, and you did ask him to try.

Maybe you should just hear him out on this, maybe those girls gave him actual advice like: “stop violently rubbing her labia thinking it’s her clit or listen when she tells you where her clit actually is, or maybe don’t be a dick and just give up once you’ve finished, your girlfriend deserves to get off too.”

You type out a neutral response and send it, before tossing your phone in your bag and setting out for work.

This fic was inspired by @sassyposssumm's kinktober request which was such an interesting prompt that I knew it needed to be expanded on! Also since this is a vampire fic there will be some instances of slight dubcon, I'll put warning in the beginning for those chapters with *slight* details in case anyone is uncomfy and wants to skip.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[bowl-of-fruit-loops]

I see your “satoru couldn’t bear to see suguru’s body destroyed” and I raise you “shoko couldn’t bear to do it”

[thatsbelievable]

[paradisiacvl]

✩ ABC’S

NSFW alphabet with JEFFREY MASON.

NOTE: this is my first hc list so i apologize if it's messy!

—‘A’ IS FOR AFTERCARE (What they’re like after sex)

Will make sure you're okay, clean you up, barrage you with kisses all over, and run you a bath/shower if you want one.

—‘B’ IS FOR BODY PART (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands and arms

He likes how strong they are and what he can do with them

He likes your entire body; waist, boobs, hips, ass, hands, mf feet even

He just thinks you're perfect

Head to toe...literally

—‘C’ IS FOR CUM (Anything to do with cum basically…)

Cums absolute buckets like??

Literally so much

Loves to cum in and on you

Loves smearing and rubbing in all of the cum he leaves on your body

He's so messy

Dirty, dirty boy

—‘D’ IS FOR DIRTY SECRET (Pretty self-explanatory; a dirty secret of theirs)

He really wants you to give him a foot or heel job, he doesn't know how to bring it up tho

—‘E’ IS FOR EXPERIENCE (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Very inexperienced

You're his first but he has a good understanding of what to do

Learned from research, watching p0rn, etc.

He watched those instructional, "how to" p0rn vids lmao

He's an eager learner, just wants to make you feel good

—‘F’ IS FOR FAV POSITION (This goes without saying, can probably include visuals)

Mating press

Cowgirl– whether he's in control or not

Legs in the air

—‘G’ IS FOR GOOFY (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He's more serious but he's more relaxed with it yk? just to make it more comfortable for the both of you

Serious if he's jealousy fucking you though or smth

"God, look at this mess you're making on me, doll. Spencer couldn't do that, could he?"

—‘H’ IS FOR HAIR (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Keeps himself trimmed up, has a nice lil happy trail

Not like you can really see it tho

Carpet does not match the drapes

White pubes ofc

—‘I’ IS FOR INTIMACY (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He can be very intimate, even when he's being rough.

—‘J’ IS FOR JACK OFF (Masturbation headcanon)

Masturbates a lot

To you ofc, whether he's thinking of you or using pictures of you

The amount of times he's jizzed on his phone screen is concerning

—‘K’ IS FOR KINK (One or more of their kinks)

Voyeurism; more specifically, watching you– touch yourself, bathe, or undress. It drives him crazy.

Knife play

Wants to carve his name on your lower back, give you a cute lil tramp stamp

Also wants you to suck on the handle of his knife

Scent kink

Panty fetish

Light bondage

Slight daddy kink

Spit kink

A lowkey foot fetish

Has a finger sucking fetish, he loves it when you lick and suck on his fingers. He'll do it to you too sometimes

Somnophilia (sex while you're sleeping)

Hair pulling. Loves it when you do it to him especially

Choking (giving and receiving, gives way more tho)

Impact play (spanking you)

Overstim (giving and receiving)

Orgasm control (giving and receiving)

Ear licking/sucking (giving and receiving)

Dacryphilia (likes seeing you cry from pleasure)

Wanted to learn Shibari but doesn't have the patience for the more intricate ones, but he knows one..

He uses it to "punish" you

—‘L’ IS FOR LOCATION (Favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere tbh

bed, floor, couch, counter, table, against a wall, in a doorway...

He does not care

—‘M’ IS FOR MOTIVATION (What turns them on, gets them going)

Sometimes he can just look at you and he gets a hard on

You being bratty, whiny, or teasing

Wearing anything revealing, but that's a given

You in dresses or skirts. I can imagine him just sticking his head underneath and eating you out like a starved man

—‘N’ IS FOR NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Age play

Coprophilia (feces)

Basically just really disgusting stuff

—‘O’ IS FOR ORAL (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Loves giving and receiving head but likes giving more

He loves to pleasure you, he likes to see how good he can make you feel with just his mouth alone

He likes leaving you fully satisfied

He leaves sloppy kisses all over and tongue fucks you when he goes down on you

Tells you how pretty your pussy is and how good you taste

But...he also loves the way you look with his cock stuffed in your mouth

How you kiss it or slide your mouth along the base, and how you look up at him all while doing it.

—‘P’ IS FOR PACE (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually fast and rough but switches it up to slow and rough

Will switch up paces during to tease you

If you ask to go faster, harder, etc. he obliges but not after a little teasing

He can be slow and sensual when he wants to, it's not often though

—‘Q’ IS FOR QUICKY (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Doesn't do them often as he likes to take his time and do it right

On the occasion he just cant wait, he'll pull you away somewhere private and fuck you stupid

And like I said in my last bullet in motivation; he most definitely will stick his head up your skirt or dress and eat you out

—‘R’ IS FOR RISK (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

100%

—‘S’ IS FOR STAMINA (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can last pretty long, 3-4 rounds.

Expect him to get even more vocal the more rounds you do, you just feel so good to him

—‘T’ IS FOR TOY (Do they own toys? Do they use them; on a partner or themselves?)

Both! Loves to use them on you and for you to use them on him

—‘U’ IS FOR UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)

So unfair, loves to tease

Just likes to see you whine for him, then he'll give you what you both want

—‘V’ IS FOR VOLUME (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Very vocal, moans, groans, whimpers, and whines and doesn't care who hears

He'll want you to be vocal too, don't hold back

It spurs him on, encourages him

Boost his confidence hearing how good he's fucking you

Wants everybody to hear how good you're making him feel and how good he's making you feel

Will absolutely be calling you pretty while he's fucking into you

Talking you through your orgasms too

Tells you how good you feel, how good you are, how pretty you are, etc.

He gets so cocky after smh

—‘W’ IS FOR WILD CARD (Random headcannon(s) for the character of your choice)

He's a switch but v top leaning

He will bottom on occasion but he tops more

He really likes when you do take control, he loves the veiw

Absolutely hypnotized by his gorgeous girl topping him

Despite other ppl hc him to like degrading you, I think it would be the opposite ☝️

He doesn't like saying mean things to his love, he knows what that feels like

He likes praise, giving and receiving

Maybe I'm biased bc I'm a praise girl

He'll only degrade you if it's something you really like or if it's twisted with some kind of praise

"So pretty...such a pretty lil' slut f'me."

Loves kissing during it, likes feeling your moans and whines in his mouth

Pleasure dom?? yes!

He's a stalker and when he's watching you, he's rubbing his cock to his pretty little thing changing, showering, masturbating, sleeping, etc.

You just look so pretty doing absolutely anything, he can't get enough of you

And you have a very conveniently placed tree in front of one of your bedroom windows

He's hid in your closet while you were home jerking it too

He's such a fuckin creep <3

—‘X’ IS FOR X-RAY (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's packing idc

7.5-8 inches, has some girth

Slightly curves up and to the left, flushed pink tip

Nice, round, heavy balls

—‘Y’ IS FOR YEARN (How high is their sex drive?)

Very high, his mind is always in the gutter

Constantly wants to fuck you

You gotta pry him off you sometimes, he's so feral

—‘Z’ IS FOR ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

After the aftercare, he's knocked tf out.

But sometimes he'll just watch you as you're sleeping, caress your face and hair, and admire your beauty. He wonders how you could like someone like him :(

[mistythedritten]

Fic Monday

FarfaDream has returned and as @morgueofstories asked for all those months ago (March 20ish, 2024), there is a ----! (no spoilers, but it's a good thing promise)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48531640/chapters/161818300

It's not inserting, so someone please remind me later to fix it

[littolbrother]

bonus:

[creativecuteness]

Our Letters to You Chapter 1: All I Want for Christmas is to be Understood by You

Summary:

During a three-day Christmas party at S.P.I.E yields some interesting results when Tody, Liu, and Jeffrey write letters to their deceased loved ones. Liu writes to his parents recapping the past eight years of his life after the massacre along with some heartbreaking conclusions he's come to realize.

Jeffrey writes about being free from Pinehearst Hospital along with his relationship with his new teammates and recent obsession

And Toby writes to his sister Millie about his relationship with his adopted family and the insanity that they ensue.

And on the way to the party to see their son and family, Slendy and Sally take a small pitstop to see someone they haven't seen in four years

These four tales each showcase the lives and aftermath of their respective tragedies and how they cope with the knowledge they've attended. But at the end of the day, they're still themselves. (Spoilers for the Morgue Files.)

Auther Notes: Happy super late Christmas and soon to be 2025, I had an amazing year writing fanfic's for you all even though I wasn't able to get everything I wanted done I still think I did better this year than last year and can't wait to keep the ball rolling next year. But you know I couldn't not do something for the end of the year I needed to go out with a bang, so I decided to write another Emily Jones Paranormal Investigator X Morgue Files crossover fic because I love this series, the characters and needed an excuse to flesh out my AU's portrayal of the characters. Seriously we need more fic's in this fandom especially fic's featuring Liu he is without a doubt the most interesting character in the series so far and I can't wait to see where he goes in canon.

Like last time this story contains a lot of head canons for Liu and Sully's portrayal along with my redesign of the character. I wanted to go deeper into his thoughts and feelings on how he may feel eight years after Jeff killed their parents. This does contain spoilers for David's audio drama and again a lot of this is just my head canons and ideas on how these characters can go from here, I know David's plans for the series will differ from mine. But I might keep my versions and head canons exclusive to Emily's universe since the tones we use for our respective universes are so different. Anyway, enjoy the story.

December 24th, 2024

Dear Mom and Dad,

Hey, I know it’s been a long time since I wrote you a letter. When was the last time I sent you one? I think it was maybe Christmas time of 2018. I was around maybe; oh, I want to say 17 or 18. I know it’s been forever but so much has happened in these last eight years that writing to you became an afterthought to me. However, you’re always in my thoughts even if those thoughts aren’t always the most pleasant. I guess I should start at the beginning.

When we first moved to Forest Lawn, my closet was nailed up for some odd reason. I removed them shortly after dinner and found a man hiding in there. I should have told you about him the moment I found him, but he seemed so friendly at the time, and honestly, I needed a friend. But he wasn’t a friend; he was a monster. he filled my mind with lies about how you and Dad didn’t love or value me, how Jeff was the special child and while he wasn’t wrong about Jeff being special, he was wrong about the type of special; and about everything else. After Jeff killed you both, Mr. Widemouth (That’s the monster’s name) took me in for a few weeks, but I knew deep inside something was wrong, Sully felt it too and tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen thinking that voice in my head was me being paranoid. However, it wasn’t long before I realized Widemouth didn’t actually have my best interests in mind. One night I couldn’t stop crying because I missed you both so much. The sadness was so overwhelming I just blacked out I guess my brain knew I needed time to process everything, so I dissociated. It always happens whenever I feel emotionally overwhelmed, I hope I’m wording this right and in a way you understand. I struggle to describe my condition to others but know I have been undergoing therapy for the past two months and it’s caused me to understand parts of myself I didn’t know existed.

Anyway, where was I? Right, the night I left, Sully god bless him. My alter actually saved me, once I dissociated Sully fronted, grabbed my things, some food and got me the hell out of there while Widemouth was sleeping. If he noticed we were gone he didn’t come looking for us, we went back to our house to grab the last of the stuff I left behind along with you and Dad’s clothes. Sully knew I would need Dad’s for when I outgrow my current ones, but also remembered how much I liked yours Mom. Unfortunately, during his rush, he forgot Sully. (Um, my stuffed rabbit not my alter, the other Sully is literally living rent free in my brain. But don’t worry, I recently got my stuffed toy back and they even patched him up for me.)

I remember fronting not long after; I felt so disoriented and confused I think I even had blood on my hands, but for the life of me, I can’t remember where it came from. I was found by a group of people not long after; among them was a girl around Jeff’s age named Jane. Turns out we’re in the same boat: Jeff killed her parents too, along with at least ten other people; God, it makes me sick at how he did this so easily. I’m going to make this next bit quick because I have a lot more to say.

So, Jane, along with twenty-one other people, was taken into the government because they started displaying supernatural abilities. I was brought in because I was related to Jeff, and they wanted to know more about my experience, among other things. After telling my story, they put me in witness protection. I expected it to be scary. I thought they would experiment on me like they do in the movies. But the people who took care of us were so nice, I got a much better education and got my G.E.D at seventeen. So much has changed in these past eight years but it wasn’t all good.

There’s so much more I could tell you. How I was unofficially a part of an anti-murderer task force that doubles as a government branch that’s studying this supernatural hivemind that Widemouth and Jeff are a part of. (In fact, most of the task force is, but they resisted the effects that makes people go insane.)

How Jane is the sweetest girl I’ve ever met and taught me how to draw and has a wonderful fiancée named Chelsea Clockford. Whose cousin, Emily and her friends have met, I hope I can meet her too one day.

But none of that compares to what I really want to talk about: myself and the feelings that have stuck with me for six years now. And yes, I do care if you decide to stop here; for once in your entire lives, will you please listen to me? Like really listen to me? You have dismissed and ignored both mine and Jeff’s mental health for pretty much our entire lives. Jeff became a freaking serial killer thanks to you ignoring the red flags, and I and Sully easily could have fallen down the same path with Widemouth taking care of us. Thank God we left.

I doubt you even know what I’m talking about whenever I refer to Sully or say the terms system and alter. Well, here’s the truth that’s been in front of you since I was a kid. A truth you weren’t too blind to see because you were never meant to see it in the first place. Even I myself didn’t know I had it until recently.

Okay, here it is. I have dissociative identity disorder, or DID for short. I know you won’t know what that means, but in simple terms I have a split personality whose name is Sully. remember how you used to punish me for acting or lashing out or saying things in a voice that didn’t match my normal one? And how I wouldn’t know what you were talking about when you’d confront me about it? Well, this is why, the me you were speaking to wasn’t me, it was Sully, or another alter in my system who was fronting at the time; apparently, I have five members in my system according to Jeff and Amy, but I have yet to communicate with them the same way I do with Sully. (Apparently this isn’t uncommon though, so I’m not worried about never meeting them, I’m sure we’ll speak once the time is right. They don’t front as often as me and Sully anyway.)

I know you have a lot of questions as to how this happened, and I’m still figuring that out myself. What I do know is repeated childhood trauma caused my brain to not develop properly, which in turn caused my personality to be unintegrated, which resulted in Sully and the others being born. Actually, I’m unsure if born is the right term, but I’m sure you get the idea. It was hard to come to terms with it at first, but after talking to my therapist about it and realizing I have a ton of gaps in my memory from both my childhood and the last eight years, I was forced to accept the truth and have been undergoing treatment for it. And in case you’re wondering, no, the government isn’t looking for me. Once I got under S.P.I.E’s protection, I made sure to call our mission captain and got them up to speed. Considering I wasn’t a full-time member, they officially discharged me from the group and wished me luck on my recovery and reintegration into society.

And while my recovery from my past trauma is going pretty smoothly so far (I know it’ll get tougher once we get into the real traumatizing stuff, but I am determined to face it head on.), There is one thing I need to tell you, and I don’t care how much it hurts to hear this.

Mr. Widemouth lied about you not loving me; however, there is not a single doubt in my mind that you loved me and Jeff tremendously. You did everything for us, and yet I can’t love you the way I used to. Mom, Dad, I hate speaking ill will of the dead, especially to you, but you failed us. None of this probably wouldn’t have happened if you had just listened to us, but you didn’t; you ignored the red flags, allowed Jeff to get away with way too much, and didn’t even realize we were special need kids. You just chucked up everything wrong with us as acting out or begging for attention when we weren’t. We were hurting and…and you ignored it, and I can’t forgive that.

I’ve been thinking about you a lot these past few years, and I’ve been struggling with the fact that you weren’t good parents. in fact I can’t even tell if you were even good people. I always dwell on what could’ve been if Jeff didn’t snap and killed you both, but even if he didn’t snap, I feel both of us wouldn’t have much of a relationship with you. For a reason I’ve come to realize; you don’t accept us. For the record I don’t forgive nor accept Jeff for who he has become but I also don’t want to give up on him either; I want to believe there’s still hope for him even if that chance is slim.

But that’s besides the point; yes, you supported Jeff when he dyed his hair (in fact, I decided to dye my hair too; I’m ginger now). Heaven forbid Sully would actually kill me if I did something unnatural like purple or green, and I wasn’t going to dye it black or bleach it for obvious reasons. I almost forgot I wear glasses now too.) Or when he started listening to heavy metal, which is an awesome genre, by the way I really don’t understand why you even need to support him for listening to it. But that’s just it, you supported him not accepted him and the same goes for me. So, what if I was a big fan of baseball at the time, the way you reacted to me wanting to get into art seemed like I just came out of the closet to you. What’s wrong Dad, Art not manly enough for you? Can’t your son have interests outside of sports or cars or other things that guys are normally into. Sorry if I don’t fit into your idea of masculinity and now have trouble processing my own emotions and dissociate whenever I’m overstimulated. Which brings me to my next topic.

What would you have done if I or Jeff came out as queer? And before you have a heart attack over that sentence, no, Jeff is one hundred percent straight, like an aggressive amount. But what about me? What if I came out to you about liking certain things that aren’t considered “normal” for a guy to be into? What if I were gay, or trans, heck, what if I were nonbinary? Would you still love me? Would you accept me? And I don’t just mean support, I mean still loving me for who I am and not treating me any differently because of it. And what about my alters, would you accept and treat them with the love and respect they deserve, or would you see them as accessories to me?

These are the thoughts that keep me up at night. In fact, it’s a cycle that never seems to stop; it hurts me to come to these conclusions, and I wish you were here to reassure me it’s all in my head and you will always love and accept me, no questions asked. But somehow, even if you were here, I feel that reassurance would still be just empty words. Because in your world I would never become those things, I’ll always be your precious baby boy, but I’m not.

This is something I have written scraped and rewrote at least fifty times already at the time of writing this I am twenty fluffing three years old. I shouldn’t be so terrified to come out to you like this. But I am, I’m scared of being misunderstood, misdiagnosed, and whatever terms you’d throw my way to justify what I am. But I’m not any of those things, yes, I am confused but not the type of confusion you’d associate with this kind of thing.

Mom, Dad, I... I

He couldn’t finish the sentence; his hand shook as he shut his eyes. Willing his hand to move, to write the one thing he’s been wanting to say for years but never knew how to put into words.

“Liu, are you okay.” Sully’s voice rang out.

“I—I can’t do it Sully, no-no matter how hard I try I-I just can’t tell them. Please, can-can you do it for me?”

“No Liu, it must be you. They’ll know it’s me from the way I write; I can’t keep pretending to be you whenever you get overwhelmed. I didn’t mind it the first few times, but it’s time to learn to handle your anxiety and problems yourself.”

“R-Right, I can do this. I-“ He swallowed thickly, “I can-

“Liu, are you alright, buddy? You seem a little pale.”

The youngest Mason sibling opened his eyes and looked around for the source of the voice. In front of him was none other than Emily Jones, Paranormal Investigator Extraordinaire, herself.

“Oh, um, hey, Emily.” He greeted meekly,

Emily flashed him a sympathetic smile; she could tell something was bothering him. “Whatchu doing here on your own anyway, bud?” She asked, taking a seat beside him, “Is this about Jeffrey again? In case you’re worried about running into him, he stepped outside when Dakota started making out with Ventus.”

Liu’s face turned light red at that mental image. He didn’t hold any romantic feelings towards his best friend, but that didn’t change the fact it was odd to think about considering Dakota was asexual, a very sex-repulsed one at that.

“Um, that’s nice.” He said, avoiding eye contact, as he heard Sully laughing his butt off.

“I bet that’s your dear brother’s doing; I could have sworn I saw Jeff near the eggnog with a bottle of liquor.”

Liu’s eyes opened in alarm, while he was positive there were no children at this party. He didn’t want to run the risk of Macy getting intoxicated.

“Emily, I think--

“Jeffrey spiked the eggnog? Oh heck to the yeah he did!” She smirked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye,

Now he was really worried, “Why would you let him do that?!” He exclaimed,

“Because I wanted to liven this party up. What’s a Christmas party without a little drunken shenanigans? Loosen up, bud: grab a drink, mingle with the girls or guys if that’s your thing, and have fun. what’s stopping you?”

While he had full intentions to enjoy the festivities with his new friends, Liu knew he couldn’t prolong the letter any more than he already had.

“Well, for starters, this is stopping me.” He informed Emily, handing Emily the letter, who read it thoroughly; the angel’s face fell as she read the last line. “Oh, I see.” She frowned, knowing exactly what Liu was trying to say.

“I’m struggling to tell them the truth.” He said, pulling his knees to his chest. “You guys have done so much to help me understand myself and figure out my identity. But what if Mom and Dad don’t accept me? I know it doesn’t matter much anymore considering they’re gone now. But still, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Emily nodded along; she understood how he felt. “Yeah, it hits different when parents either don’t understand, think it’s a phase you’ll grow out of, or do understand and disown you because of it. But Liu, you don’t have to worry about that because you have us, and we don’t judge people’s sexualities or gender orientations. You’re safe with us, and even if your parents don’t accept you for who you are, we do.” She reassured with a fiery determination,

It was that reassurance that brought Liu to tears; for the first time in eight years, he finally found the place where he belonged.

Emily patted the older boy’s shoulder. “Hey, hey buddy, there, there. No need to cry we’re all here for you buddy.” She smiled but it quickly turned serious as she grabbed his face to wipe away his tears, “But if this is too overwhelming to the point of dissociation, it might be in your best interest to just not write it. Your mental health needs to come first, if this is going to cause you stress then maybe it’s better to keep it to yourself. They don’t need to know, it sadly doesn’t even matter.”

Liu looked down, pressing his lips into a thin line, and sighed. “They have the right to know; I just can’t shake the feeling that I need to tell them. Even…Even if it may cause me some emotional distress for a bit, I’ll get over it. Besides, if they want to be disappointed in both me and Jeff, then so be it...the feeling is mutual.” He added quietly, and Emily couldn’t help but feel remorseful.

“Yeah,” she scoffed in a half chuckle, “Your parents were pretty awful, not the same level of awful as Toby and Millie’s folks, but I still hate them.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Liu smiled sheepishly; he and Jeffrey hadn’t told Emily much about their folks. But that didn’t stop her from having some very strong opinions on them, not that they blame her. Even Sully has gone so far as to disown them, which at the time hurt to hear. But now he doesn’t blame his alter one bit.

His focus returned to the Cursed Heartless Angel when he heard her chuckle, “You know if you decide to change your pronouns, I bet if your father was still alive, he’d pull the ‘My son’s pronouns are she/her or they/them.” schtick.” Liu cackled at Emily imitating his father; how could he pass up the chance to do the same?

“Liu, sweetie, you’re just confused, we’ll get through this you’ll always be my precious little boy.” He mimicked in a high-pitched voice before breaking into laughter,

“Whoa, is that meant to be your mom?” Emily asked, amazed, but it quickly turned to concern, “Wait, Liu, are you still with me, buddy?”

Liu nodded, wheezing a bit from laughing so hard, but he was still in the driver’s seat, “Yeah, that was me. Sorry I shouldn’t have done that without warning,” His face fell,” Actually, I probably shouldn't have done that at all.” He frowned,

“Nah man, you’re cool.” She smirked, hands behind her head, “Is that something you and Jeff used to do?”

Liu shook his head. “No, it was something Mr. Widemouth made me do, he made me dress up in my mom’s clothing and would ask me to impersonate her. It became a minor habit that took months to shake off. In fact, I think it caused another alter to manifest. Amy believes I have an introject but we’re not quite sure yet.”

Emily nodded; she remembered the term from her sister’s presentation that was held shortly after Liu’s diagnosis. The feisty angel could tell those memories haunted him, so it was time to change the subject. “Hey, you want to do some last-minute Christmas shopping?”

“Wait now, at this hour?” He asked,

Emily shrugged, “Sure, why not? Surely you have a few things you’ve had your eye on that you haven’t brought, or someone might’ve forgotten to get ya. Come on, Louie, a little window shopping never hurt a man; who knows, we might get something even Sully will enjoy.”

“I will hold you to that.” Sully spoke, fronting momentarily before letting Liu switch back. The two laughed; despite being a huge grump, Sully was alright in their books. The two got their coats on and left S.P.I.E Headquarters. The snow fell lightly on their heads, but they didn’t mind considering it created a calming atmosphere that lasted all the way to the nearest shopping center. There Liu was able to find some clothes he forgot he had his eye on, along with some makeup and jewelry that he knew Mimi and Mabel would love, and some black lipstick and eyeshadow that would fit perfectly with this outfit idea he, Dakota, and Rory have been dying to try out. Overall, even if his parents never saw this side of him, Liu realized he didn’t care. He didn’t want to fit into the box of what was considered normal for a male; he felt free indulging in his hobbies and found a place to belong with a renowned purpose. He smiled giddily, super excited to see what the future would hold for him and his alters, and with that he allowed his letter to become forgotten for the time being as he and Emily spent a good few hours grabbing last-minute Christmas gifts.

I-I’m sorry it took me this long to write to you again. To be honest, I’ve spent these last few years scared and confused about myself. My identity has been fractured for so long that I didn’t know who I was anymore, but thanks to my new friends, I’ve been taking steps to properly express myself and gain the confidence to do things only a few people knew about me. What I’m trying to say is, Mom, Dad, I think I’m genderfluid, and before you say anything, I haven’t changed my pronouns or my name. I—I like my given name, but that could change in the future. I’m still trying to figure everything out, but I don’t feel completely male, nor do I feel completely female either. I might start out with they/he pronouns for a bit and see where I go from there; I might stick with it; I might not. But that’s not the only bombshell I’m about to drop on you.

For starters, I love cross-dressing; it started because of Mr. Widemouth; when Jeff said I liked wearing your clothes, he wasn’t lying Mom. When no one was around, I’d wear your blouse and jeans, granted they were too big for me at the time, but I felt safe. Even after I escaped, I kept doing it. I started secretly buying women’s clothes and would wear them in my room just to lounge around in or mix and match to take selfies in. Once I got into art, I began drawing clothing ideas and for a while I wanted to become a fashion designer. I just developed such a love and understanding for it. The way certain fabric felt on my skin and how it made me feel but that was until I met Dakota. Gosh where do I even begin with her? Wait no, I’ll save that for next time, it’s late and I’m slowly running out of space. Just know she’s one of my best friends and I owe her a lot. Anyway, I’ve had the pleasure of being in a few music videos with the group and I have never felt so sure about myself in my entire life. The moment I laid eyes on that long black pleaded skirt and that hip hop croup top I knew I found my calling.

Mom, Dad, I want to become a dancer. I’ve become extremely passionate about it and I’m thinking of doing it full-time. The others welcomed me and Macy into their performance group with open arms. (She’s not an alter she’s, my angel. That’s another long story.) You should’ve seen me out there moving to the music, I felt like I was in a trance; Dakota is an amazing performer. And once I finish therapy, I’m going to start applying to performance art schools.

 I may still do fashion design. Emily, Mimi, and Mabel are thinking of doing a clothing collection of some kind, and I want to help them. But for now, dance is my calling, and I can’t wait to do more. Dakota and her friends are amazing, I owe them everything.

I still miss you, and I desperately wish you were here to see how much I’ve grown and changed as a person. I know Jeff and I didn’t grow into the people you wanted us to become; I won’t make excuses for Jeff. What he did was horrendous, and it's scary how content he is in the path he’s chosen. As for me, I’m truly happy with the person I’ve become. Yes, I’m not the straight-as-an-arrow boy you wanted me to be, and I ended up doing things Sully and I aren’t proud of. But I won’t let my past mistakes affect who I am now. I am safe, I am loved, and I’m accepted which is something I didn’t know I needed until I started discovering these things about myself.

I know I haven’t talked about you in the greatest light, but I want you to know I’m not disowning you or hating you to the point of blaming you for everything. Sully, on the other hand, has; he doesn’t consider you or Jeff his family anymore, and I don’t blame him. But you’re still family to me even if I don’t see you the way I used to. Jeff made his choice, and I’ve made mine.

I’m sorry you had to find out about this in the afterlife, but I needed to get this off my chest, and you deserved to know; I understand if this is a tough pill to swallow; I dumped a lot onto you at once, but that’s the price we’re forced to pay with the distance and all.

I’m also sorry I can’t end this letter with an I love and miss you, because no matter how many times I say it, it just doesn’t feel right, so instead I’ll say this.

Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad, I hope wherever you are you’re not too sad and disappointed in us, when the day comes, and Jeff and I pass away and reunite with you. Let’s reincarnate together and start a new life. No more supernatural’s, no more insane murderers, and no more DID (Sorry Sully.) Just us, living a normal life without any strings attached.

I hope the next life is just as fulfilling as this one, if not more so. I’ll write to you again sometime; that’s a promise.

From your son, who might not fully be your son, Liu Mason.

P.S. Don’t worry about Sully being genderfluid, like I might be. He’s cisgender and thinks I look ridiculous whenever I cross-dress; he always changes clothes whenever he fronts. He insists I carry spare clothes whenever I do this in public, which I’ve been doing more and more lately. He’s difficult to deal with, but I’ve grown to love him; he’s a part of me, and I don’t know what I’d do without my primary protector. So, if you’re disappointed in me, don’t take it out on him or Widemouth. They have nothing to do with me coming out; this is a part of myself I would have discovered regardless of their interference. Just promise me you’re not too disappointed, okay? Because if you are, then I suppose I never was meant to be your son, was I?

Liu sighed as he leaned back in his chair; the letter was done, and Emily told him they’d deliver it in the morning, but a part of him couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. He shook his head and pushed the intrusive thoughts back. It was too late to take it back now, as he sealed up the envelope and left it on his desk so he wouldn’t forget it; he’ll have plenty of time to worry about that tomorrow. Right now, he really needed to get some sleep.

Staring up at the darkened ceiling with only a portion of his room lit up by the tiny glow of his bedside lamp Liu sighed once more “Take care.” Was all he said as rolled over and turned out the light, tomorrow was another day.

End Notes:

Okay, guess we have a lot to go over so let's get into it. Liu's redesign: This ones is on me, throughout my time listening to the story, I kept imagining Liu as ginger I also thought he needed glasses as well. While I was right about the glasses part, it was the wrong iteration of the character. I was thinking of the 2008 Liu who did have glasses not his current portrayal both in the creepypasta and the Morgue Files. Once I stumbled upon his actual character render on David's DeviantArt I nearly scraped the design all together. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. The canon explanation for Liu's change was he wanted to become unrecognizable to those who may be looking for him especially Jeff hence why he dyed his hair. All other stuff mentioned at the beginning were stuff Liu went through that I wanted to expand upon. Dude feels so gender queer coded to me and while I'm not sure if I want to stick with the genderfluid headcanon for him I might still go ahead with some form of gender queerness for him in the future; I mean there's no way he wore his mom's clothes and not have something awaken in him. Though I'm aware if I'm looking too deep into this.

For the record I don't think Jeff and Liu's parents were that bad, they did what they could even if it was never enough. But, I don't consider them good parents either. The way they dismissed their needs and red flags as just begging for attention when they were cries for help. Not to mention they should have taken them both to therapy or a phycologist a long long time ago for multiple reasons that I'm sure most already know if they're privy to the lore. Also there's no way the confecting parenting skills with Judy being more overbearing and overprotective while Louis was more dismissive and didn't seem to understand how important mental health

(Most likely due to growing up in a household or generation that promoted toxic masculinity which explains a lot once you think about it.) Didn't mess up their emotional development with Liu seeming to be most affected considering Jeff was already showcasing psychopathic tendencies since childhood. But who knows we're still missing a lot of context in their lives and I can't wait to see it expanded in the future.

Give me a few days to write out Toby and Jeff's chapters I'm still deciding who to do first. I'm also drawing Liu's redesign which should be out on my Tumblr and maybe my YouTube Channel in a few days with that said happy new year everybody.

[feyhunter78]

Morgue Nocturne Masterlist

A fic in which vampire Miguel has found his lost love (you) once more, and he won’t let anyone, or anything stop him from reclaiming you.

Chapter 1: A Normal Day at Work Chapter 2: Outside Your Window🔥(sorta) Chapter 3: Wine and Donuts🔥 Chapter 4: Daydreams, Nightmares🔥 Chapter 5: Social Media Chapter 6: Gabe and Mina Chapter 7: The Restaurant Chapter 8: Miguel's Car Chapter 9: Fast Food Parking Lot Chapter 10: More Todd Time TW: Todd🔥 Chapter 11: Y/N's Office Chapter 12: Mama Rosa's Chapter 13: The Family Bathroom🔥 Chapter 14: Driving Back to Your Apartment🔥(sorta) Chapter 15: Your Apartment🔥(sorta) Chapter 16: Barstools Chapter 17: The Morgue and its Parking Lot Chapter 18: Into the Woods Chapter 19: Out of the Woods Chapter 20: The Joining🔥