#cause this was something new for me

[baronessblixen]

O Holy No (10/10)

Today's prompt: elf on the shelf proposal

Summary: It's Christmas morning. (wc: 1,152)

Tagging @today-in-fic

“Mr. Mulder is Santa!” A child screams, and then a chorus breaks out, and someone tugs at Mulder's sleeve while another child jumps up on the couch with him and Scully. What a way to wake up.

“What is going on?” he asks groggily, staring into a young child’s face. Freckles, red hair, and a very familiar nose. She must be a Scully, but he’s forgotten her name.

“Santa came,” the girl says in awe. “I think,” she trails off, taking a deep breath, “I think he brought a bike.” Mulder’s heart swells watching how excited the child is. Maybe one day he and Scully... he doesn't have the time to think of what if's and possibilities, because this girl isn't done interrogating him.

“Are you really Santa?” she asks him, her expression showing the familiar skepticism.

“Maybe,” he says and the girl’s eyes grow wide.

“He’s not Santa,” one of the older kids says. “He’s Aunt Dana’s boyfriend.”

“Auntie Dana is married to Santa Claus!”

“Hey Scully,” Mulder says, while the kids start looking through the gifts, the adults filing into the living room, not even half as excited as their offspring. “Did you hear? We’re married now.”

“Hm?” She’s barely awake, cracking open an eye. How she slept through all this is a mystery to him. She can sleep anywhere, anytime – and through everything. It makes him fall in love with her just a little bit more. After last night, he didn’t think that was possible. The gift she gave him means more to him than he could put into words. And then there was what she said to him. I love you. She said it, the three small words. The jury is still out on how they’ll cope once they’re back in the real world, away from this candy cotton-flavored fairytale they’re living. But he’s hopeful. He’s a believer.

“Let’s get some coffee, hm?” Mulder helps her up and leads a sleepy Scully into the kitchen where they meet Mrs. Scully.

“Good morning, you two.” She and Mulder exchange a smile, Scully goes straight for the coffee. “Do you have any idea who did this?” Mrs. Scully asks and points at the kitchen table where an elf sits with an engagement ring in his hand. She’s looking at him as if waiting for him to admit that he’s the one who put it there, ready to ask Scully for her hand in marriage. For once, he's completely clueless.

“Um,” is all that he gets out. Scully, now with a cup of coffee in her hand, joins him and almost chokes.

“Mulder?” she asks, her voice squeaky.

“No,” he says quickly. “It wasn’t me. I swear.”

“It was me,” Bill says, walking into the kitchen with Matthew in his arms. Both father and son look like they didn’t get much sleep. “I had some help from my own little elf, right, Matty?” The boy grins up at his father.

“You’re already married,” Scully says

“I know, but I-” he trails off when Tara walks into the kitchen. Mulder just watches the two of them, a smile appearing on his face. “There she is,” Bill says, reaching for her hand. Tara comes cheerfully, giggling, and exchanging looks with the rest of them.

“What is happening here? Why is our elf on the shelf holding a ring? Bill?”

“Tara Scully, I want to ask you to marry me – again. We had to get married so quickly last time because I was leaving. This time I want us to have the big wedding you always dreamed about. Our son will be there, and our families. What do you say?”

“Oh, Bill.” She throws herself at her husband and her son who squeals in delight. Mrs. Scully, teary-eyed, joins in. Mulder pushes Scully towards her family and she goes willingly. He just watches the moment, glad he was able to witness it.

“That is the best Christmas gift you could have given me,” Mulder hears Tara whisper, crying openly. He wants to quietly slip away, thinking he should leave them alone now. Someone grabs his arm and to his surprise, it’s not his Scully.

“I’m hoping you’ll be there, too. When Tara and I get married,” Bill says. “As my sister’s date.” Mulder swallows hard and nods.

“I’d love that. Congrats, by the way.” Bill gives him a handshake and a nod. Maybe one day they will manage a hug. Looks like this won’t be the last time he’s present at a family event.

“So,” Mulder says later, with Scully tugged into his side on the couch, the Christmas celebrations going on around them. “Your brother invited me to his wedding.”

“He did.”

“It was a cute proposal.” He’s not going to ask her any time soon. Or maybe ever. He knows he wants to spend the rest of his life next to her. They don’t need the party or the paper. “Hey, maybe at the wedding we can investigate the case of the stolen purple dildo.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Scully chuckle.

“You’re not going to give up on it, are you?” she asks him, her head against his shoulder.

“Have you ever known me to give up?” he jokes, but when she turns to him, she’s serious.

“No,” she says. “I haven’t. It’s one of the many reasons why I love you.”

“What are the others?” He’s grinning. He can’t stop. If he could, he’d preserve this moment in time. As if reading his mind, Mrs. Scully and her new digital camera find them. She’s smiling when she asks him to sit still so she can take a picture. Mulder puts his arm around Scully and grins. This is the first of many. Maybe he’ll frame it and put it up, too. Just like his picture of Samantha.

A part of him will always peek into the past, remembering his little sister. But he can commemorate this too. His and Scully’s love; a slice of happiness. He doesn’t know what’s to come, but he’s ready for it. Scully smiles at him, kisses his cheek, and giggles, mumbling something about him being scratchy. And Mulder laughs, too, the happiness just bubbling up inside of him.

Tomorrow they’ll face the world again. Mulder knows he’ll have to talk to Diana. Make her see and understand that all he’s interested in is her friendship. If she won’t listen, he’ll let her go. While spending the day with Scully and her family, Mulder gets an email with a possible new case. He shows it to Scully and he sees the interest flicker in her eyes. But that’s for later. He shuts off his phone and Scully raises an eyebrow.

“The only person I’d want to hear from today is currently giving me an adorable look.” She kisses him, laughing against his lips.

This is, without a doubt, his favorite Christmas ever.

[tubbytarchia]

I don't know what this is all I know is that LimL Joel makes me really emotional

[eyeofthenewt1]

chronic pain

[felsicveins]

His heart belongs to another

And no other heart will do

[fudgelling-away]

[dailycupofcreativitea]

Parallels 👀

(I've noticed that when Piccolo is injured, Gohan sets his gaze on the enemy...but when Gohan is injured, Piccolo sets his gaze on Gohan 🥺)

[feluka]

"don't pretend you actually care about this you only heard about this cOnFlicT on october" have some respect do you have any idea how long we've been blocking this oxford comma guy

[kenobion]

Andrew Garfield at RSIFF 2023

[citricacidprince]

Since y’all wanted me to drawing Psychonauts again soooo bad, here’s a redraw of my first EVER doodle of my baby son boy Raz :)

[see-arcane]

After this entry, you know what’s now making me pull my hair out? Other than last year’s frustration over the refusal of any hints from Van Helsing or allowing any sort of aid from anyone but him and Jack? It’s the idea that none of them have pointed out the element of time when Lucy loses blood.

Why always at night, doctors? Why does post-sundown sleep = blood loss? We know Van Helsing has guessed why, but Jack—who has already connected dots with Renfield’s mood swings and their odd hours—hasn’t bothered to truly poke at the situation. How much of a difference might be made if they just suggested a temporary change of sleep schedule (ala Jonathan’s unbitten nocturnal months)?

It wouldn’t be a fix, but it’d be better than just having everyone lose sleep or forcing Lucy to run out the clock every night waiting to doze into a Mystery Hemorrhage.

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

His insurance premiums must be outrageous.

And pencils and inks!

[damsxlsinferno]

school LIs <3

[petricorah]

obsessed with the new hairstyle [id in alt]

[sirbird]

Got reminded of one of my favorite games so why not make a small crossover :>

[prettyflyshyguy]

I don't remember Pliskin saying that in Metal Gear Solid 2.