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This... This is 100% me!

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Mountain... It was Mountain and Omega was the doctor.

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How is this even a question? We all know that it's Secondo. That man defined being a whore. Terzo tried to be like his big brother but failed because he was too in love with Omega to be one. Copia only plays one on stage. Primo was too busy in his garden. And Perpetua... I'm not even sure he knows what that means.

Being a whore (affectionate) is more of a mindset than a lifestyle, so instead of another battle of the whores:

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I freaking love this so much!

I needed this story like I need air.

Late to the party for @forlorn-crows Mushy May 2025, but better late than never, I guess.

Many thanks to @ghuleh-recs for the divider 🖤

Cuteness Aggression

Rating: explicit

Word count: 1700ish

Ship: Phantom/Dewdrop

Ridiculous use of smut terms: yes

Phantom tries his hand at writing some smut, featuring his obsession with his mate, Dew. It starts off pretty well, but once his ADHD brain takes over, his story becomes more and more hilariously unhinged.

(*cough, unholy meat sabre *cough, *cough, jizz-fest of epic proportions *cough, breed me like a filthy fucking donut *cough)

Read the full chapter below the cut, or on my Ao3

Phantom Tells A Story

I know he’s on his way back. My stomach does that flip thing that I worked out happens when he thinks of me. When his focus shifts. When he knows I’ll be here, waiting for him. It’s heat. Burning in my gut and spreading out, heading straight to my heart. 

He’s pissed off, though. His anger sears, but it’s not aimed at me. I can feel it through our bond. Like the pressure that builds before a storm breaks. He’s quietly seething, so close to losing it, and he’ll take it out on me. 

I can’t fucking wait. 

I’m in the kitchen, pretending to do stuff. Pottering. I can’t concentrate on anything except the thread that binds us together.  

He’s close now. I can hear his footsteps. Doors opening and closing. Can sense his tangled thoughts churning. I don’t need to know what’s happened. Not yet. We can deal with that after. 

The lair door slams and I spin around to face him, trembling hands resting on the counter behind me. My breath catches when he appears in the doorway, barely contained.  

He. Is. Fucking. Breath-taking. 

Azure blue eyes lock onto mine and my heart stutters. The way he looks at me? Oh fuck. Hungry. Wild. Like he doesn’t know whether he should kiss me or pin me up against the wall by my throat and devour me. 

I hope it’s the latter. 

I don’t move. I can’t. His stare won’t let me. 

The air between us is electrified. I swallow, heart pounding in my chest. 

“You’re late, Dew,” I say. 

It doesn’t sound like my voice. It’s too low. Too breathy. Too needy. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and already I’m slick. Semi-hard. Wanting. 

He doesn’t answer me yet. Just moves towards me. Slow. Stealthy. Deliberate. Coiled like a predator ready to strike. He’s unbuttoning his shirt as he walks. Smooth skin warm beneath it. His eyes burn and a growl vibrates from his chest. 

I drink him in. The way the fabric hugs the wiry muscles of his shoulders. How his pale hair haloes his face. How those intense eyes size me up. How his aura churns with barely restrained energy. 

He’s a force of nature. 

I stop breathing when he reaches me. When he pauses an inch from me, resting his hands on the counter and forcing me to lean back. When he looms, and drags his nose up the side of my throat. All feral ghoul. All Dew. 

I moan, and he chuckles. Husky and dark. He reaches between us, gripping me roughly through the denim of my jeans. I buck into the touch, groaning his name. 

“Whore,” he breathes against the skin of my throat, fangs scraping. My dick twitches, filling right out. “You’re so wet for me. I scented your slick from out in the lair.” He puts his other hand around my throat, gripping under my jaw and forcing my head back so I have no choice but to look him in the eyes now. I swallow against his hand, and he grinds his hips into me. His erection monster cock makes me squirm against him. “Get on your knees and suck my fat dick, bitch.” 

His voice rakes like crushed glass, and my knees almost give out. I’m so fucking ready for him to wreck me. 

He pushes me back and he kisses me. Raw. Filthy. Bloody. 

He tastes like wrath and smoke and coffee. Like my undoing. His tongue slides into my mouth, claiming. Dominating. I whimper into him because I’m already gone, and he’s barely even started. 

His hand tightens on my throat, and I see stars. 

Literally. Not a metaphor. Actual stars. Twinkly things. He could end me like this and I’d thank him. I’d die with his name on my lips and a hard-on in my pants. 

But no. He wants me alive. Wants me ruined. 

I want that too. So fucking badly. 

He spins us around, tearing me away from him and shoving me down onto my knees. I look up at him and grin, hands already unfastening his pants. They’re the annoying ones with the stiff button, so it’s taking too long. 

His unholy meat sabre springs free like a throbbing, pierced, fleshy jack-in-the-box. I sit back on my heels, licking my lips and preparing myself to worship at the altar of Dew.  

I can’t tear my eyes away from him. He palms himself and strokes. A bead of pre hangs from his slit and I lean in and lick it with the flat of my tongue. It tastes salty. Like a saltine. Or something else that’s salty. 

He flinches, and then everything goes fuzzy and my mouth and my throat are full of Dew's magnificent cock.  

All I can think about is how fucking good it feels. My jaw aches already and he hasn’t even started fucking my face the way I know he wants to yet. 

He grips my hair and pulls, the sting of it making me groan, and he pushes himself deeper. I gag, but he doesn’t stop. He knows I can take it. Knows that I’ll worship his fuck stick like the little throat slut I am and I’ll beg him for more when he’s done. 

He growls. Not the grumpy one that makes me roll my eyes. Well, I am rolling my eyes, but anyway... It’s that low, animal growl that makes me so horny for him.  

“Look at you,” he growls. He uses Infernal because he knows that only makes me more wrecked. “You love this. Choking on my cock like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.” 

I think it is. 

My eyes water. My nose is snotty. I’m kneeling on the crease in my jeans and it’s digging into my bone in a really annoying way. But that doesn’t matter, I tell my stupid squirrel brain. Because I’m stuffed full of Dew's weapon of ass destruction, and I’m seriously loving my life choices right now. 

He pulls me away, his glistening member bouncing from my lips with a deliciously obscene pop, and he takes my favourite plaything away. I whine and chase it with my mouth, but he doesn’t let me catch it. I’m dragged to my feet by my hair. Shoved over the counter with my face pressed to the black marble. 

I yelp, and somehow my jeans are gone. No idea how it happened. Maybe he ripped them off me? They’re not my favourite pair, so that’s okay. I have lots of jeans. 

“You’re such a fucking mess,” Dew snarls next to my ear. I feel the blunt head of his cock press against my dripping hole. “You want this?” 

“Fuck, yes,” I pant, pushing myself back against him, desperate for him to breed me like a filthy fucking donut. “Wreck me, daddy.” 

I don’t hear his reply, because he slams right into me, filling me in one smooth thrust, making me see stars again. The literal ones. Twinkly ones.  

He’s stuffed me so full I wonder how he’s never split me in two. Because, you know, his cock is kinda...mahoosive. 

My brain is melting by now. No thoughts, only Dew's dick rearranging my insides like a horny interior decorator. 

I’m losing it. I feel like I’m going to come, untouched. Again. Like, how the fuck does he do this? And why isn’t there some kind of law against it? I mean, some of the stuff we do probably is kind of illegal. In some parts of the world, at least... 

Shit. 

I might actually be levitating. Is this what it feels like to have some kind of out-of-body experience? Am I in subspace already? Because this is fucking god-tier dickering. Like flickering, except messier. And noisier. And just better. 

So then I’m like, my eyes are rolling back and my toes are curling. I’m growling. Or crying. Or maybe I’m just babbling nonsensical rubbish because any second now, I’m going to splatter the kitchen island with my slimy little soldiers. Any second. 

What happened next? Ohhhh! 

Dew's going to break me, and I want him to. I’d beg him if I could, but he’s smooshing my face against the counter now.  

I want him to ruin me until I forget my own name. I want... 

What did I want? I lost my train of thought. 

Oh, right? He was fucking me. Over the counter. It was super hot. He bit me. Probably growled something filthy. Called me a slut in seven ancient languages. I came. He came. It was a jizz-fest of epic proportions. 

It was soul ascending. 

I think I cried a little. After. But in a sexy, submissive temptress kind of way. Is that a thing? Can a ghoul be a temptress? 

I dunno. 

THE END

*** 

“Dew! What are you doing?” 

I walk into the living room to see my mate sitting on the sofa, cross-legged and shirtless, a black notebook open across his lap, brow creased in concentration as he reads the pages. 

It’s a black notebook with gold skulls. 

THE notebook. 

“Hmmm...”  

He doesn’t look up. He’s silent. Focused. Too focused. Like he’s trying to figure something out. Or committing it to memory. Or planning to use it against me in some incredibly hot, deeply humiliating way. His eyes scan the words and I know which part he’s up to, because he mutters, ‘jizz-fest of epic proportions’ under his breath. 

I die on the spot. 

“FUCKING PUT THAT DOWN!” I squeak, lunging for it. 

Dew easily evades me and pulls it out of my way. 

“Interesting literary voice you’ve got there, Bat-boy.” 

I narrow my eyes, cheeks burning with shame. 

“I...” Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to see that. Not at all. “I was just...” 

His eyes meet mine, and he smirks, but he looks back down at the page. At the scrawl and the crossings out. His jaw twitches and just for a second, I think he’s going to laugh. Say something mocking. But then he goes weirdly still.  

“What?” I ask, suspicious. “Don’t get weird.” 

The vibe has changed. My stomach flips. 

He reads a line out loud. 

“I want him to ruin me until I forget my own name.” 

I stop breathing. 

He looks at me then. Really looks. There’s no smug tease in it. Not anymore. Just a quiet intensity that makes my knees go weak and my blood rush south. 

I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat. 

He closes the notebook, firmly and deliberately, placing it on the coffee table in front of him, holding my gaze the whole time. His eyes flare with heat. 

“Get over here.” 

Oh fuck. He’s going to do it. He’s going to ruin me for real. 

I’m so fucking here for it. 

_____

Thanks so much for reading! Reblogs would be very much appreciated, please and thank you 🖤

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I FUCKING LOVE THIS!

I needed this in my life.

Late to the party for @forlorn-crows Mushy May 2025, but better late than never, I guess.

Many thanks to @ghuleh-recs for the divider 🖤

Cute Aggression

Ship: Phantom/Dew

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1700-ish

Unhinged comedy smut and ridiculously creative anatomical names: 100%

Phantom decides to try his hand at writing some smut. It starts off sincerely, but spirals into cutely aggressive ridiculousness as his ADHD brain and Dew obsession takes over...

(*cough *cough: unholy meat sabre, *cough *cough weapon of ass destruction *cough)

Full chapter under the cut

Phantom Tells A Story

I know he’s on his way back. My stomach does that flip thing that I worked out happens when he thinks of me. When his focus shifts. When he knows I’ll be here, waiting for him. It’s heat. Burning in my gut and spreading out, heading straight to my heart. 

He’s pissed off, though. His anger sears, but it’s not aimed at me. I can feel it through our bond. Like the pressure that builds before a storm breaks. He’s quietly seething, so close to losing it, and he’ll take it out on me. 

I can’t fucking wait. 

I’m in the kitchen, pretending to do stuff. Pottering. I can’t concentrate on anything except the thread that binds us together.  

He’s close now. I can hear his footsteps. Doors opening and closing. Can sense his tangled thoughts churning. I don’t need to know what’s happened. Not yet. We can deal with that after. 

The lair door slams and I spin around to face him, trembling hands resting on the counter behind me. My breath catches when he appears in the doorway, barely contained.  

He. Is. Fucking. Breath-taking. 

Azure blue eyes lock onto mine and my heart stutters. The way he looks at me? Oh fuck. Hungry. Wild. Like he doesn’t know whether he should kiss me or pin me up against the wall by my throat and devour me. 

I hope it’s the latter. 

I don’t move. I can’t. His stare won’t let me. 

The air between us is electrified. I swallow, heart pounding in my chest. 

“You’re late, Dew,” I say. 

It doesn’t sound like my voice. It’s too low. Too breathy. Too needy. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and already I’m slick. Semi-hard. Wanting. 

He doesn’t answer me yet. Just moves towards me. Slow. Stealthy. Deliberate. Coiled like a predator ready to strike. He’s unbuttoning his shirt as he walks. Smooth skin warm beneath it. His eyes burn and a growl vibrates from his chest. 

I drink him in. The way the fabric hugs the wiry muscles of his shoulders. How his pale hair haloes his face. How those intense eyes size me up. How his aura churns with barely restrained energy. 

He’s a force of nature. 

I stop breathing when he reaches me. When he pauses an inch from me, resting his hands on the counter and forcing me to lean back. When he looms, and drags his nose up the side of my throat. All feral ghoul. All Dew. 

I moan, and he chuckles. Husky and dark. He reaches between us, gripping me roughly through the denim of my jeans. I buck into the touch, groaning his name. 

“Whore,” he breathes against the skin of my throat, fangs scraping. My dick twitches, filling right out. “You’re so wet for me. I scented your slick from the second I stepped into the lair.” He puts his other hand around my throat, gripping under my jaw and forcing my head back so I have no choice but to look him in the eyes now. I swallow against his hand, and he grinds his hips into me. His erection monster cock makes me squirm against him. “Get on your knees and suck my fat dick, bitch.” 

His voice rakes like crushed glass, and my knees almost give out. I’m so fucking ready for him to wreck me. 

He pushes me back and he kisses me. Raw. Filthy. Bloody. 

He tastes like wrath and smoke and coffee. Like my undoing. His tongue slides into my mouth, claiming. Dominating. I whimper into him because I’m already gone, and he’s barely even started. 

His hand tightens on my throat, and I see stars. 

Literally. Not a metaphor. Actual stars. Twinkly things. He could end me like this and I’d thank him. I’d die with his name on my lips and a hard-on in my pants. 

But no. He wants me alive. Wants me ruined. 

I want that too. So fucking badly. 

He spins us around, tearing me away from him and shoving me down onto my knees. I look up at him and grin, hands already unfastening his pants. They’re the annoying ones with the stiff button, so it’s taking too long. 

His unholy meat sabre springs free like a throbbing, pierced, fleshy jack-in-the-box. I sit back on my heels, licking my lips and preparing myself to worship at the altar of Dew.  

I can’t tear my eyes away from him. He palms himself and strokes. A bead of pre hangs from his slit and I lean in and lick it with the flat of my tongue. It tastes salty. Like a saltine. Or something else that’s salty. 

He flinches, and then everything goes fuzzy and my mouth and my throat are full of Dew's magnificent cock.  

All I can think about is how fucking good it feels. My jaw aches already and he hasn’t even started fucking my face the way I know he wants to yet. 

He grips my hair and pulls, the sting of it making me groan, and he pushes himself deeper. I gag, but he doesn’t stop. He knows I can take it. Knows that I’ll worship his fuck stick like the little throat slut I am and I’ll beg him for more when he’s done. 

He growls. Not the grumpy one that makes me roll my eyes. Well, I am rolling my eyes, but anyway... It’s that low, animal growl that makes me so horny for him.  

“Look at you,” he growls. He uses Infernal because he knows that only makes me more wrecked. “You love this. Choking on my cock like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.” 

I think it is. 

My eyes water. My nose is snotty. I’m kneeling on the crease in my jeans and it’s digging into my bone in a really annoying way. But that doesn’t matter, I tell my stupid squirrel brain. Because I’m stuffed full of Dew's weapon of ass destruction, and I’m seriously loving my life choices right now. 

He pulls me away, his glistening member bouncing from my lips with a deliciously obscene pop, and he takes my favourite plaything away. I whine and chase it with my mouth, but he doesn’t let me catch it. I’m dragged to my feet by my hair. Shoved over the counter with my face pressed to the black marble. 

I yelp, and somehow my jeans are gone. No idea how it happened. Maybe he ripped them off me? They’re not my favourite pair, so that’s okay. I have lots of jeans. 

“You’re such a fucking mess,” Dew snarls next to my ear. I feel the blunt head of his cock press against my dripping hole. “You want this?” 

“Fuck, yes,” I pant, pushing myself back against him, desperate for him to breed me like a filthy fucking donut. “Wreck me, daddy.” 

I don’t hear his reply, because he slams right into me, filling me in one smooth thrust, making me see stars again. The literal ones. Twinkly ones.  

He’s stuffed me so full I wonder how he’s never split me in two. Because, you know, his cock is kinda...mahoosive. 

My brain is melting by now. No thoughts, only Dew's dick rearranging my insides like a horny interior decorator. 

I’m losing it. I feel like I’m going to come, untouched. Again. Like, how the fuck does he do this? And why isn’t there some kind of law against it? I mean, some of the stuff we do probably is kind of illegal. In some parts of the world, at least... 

Shit. 

I might actually be levitating. Is this what it feels like to have some kind of out-of-body experience? Am I in subspace already? Because this is fucking god-tier dickering. Like flickering, except messier. And noisier. And just better. 

So then I’m like, my eyes are rolling back and my toes are curling. I’m growling. Or crying. Or maybe I’m just babbling nonsensical rubbish because any second now, I’m going to splatter the kitchen island with my slimy little soldiers. Any second. 

What happened next? Ohhhh! 

Dew's going to break me, and I want him to. I’d beg him if I could, but he’s smooshing my face against the counter now.  

I want him to ruin me until I forget my own name. I want... 

What did I want? I lost my train of thought. 

Oh, right? He was fucking me. Over the counter. It was super hot. He bit me. Probably growled something filthy. Called me a slut in seven ancient languages. I came. He came. It was a jizz-fest of epic proportions. 

It was soul ascending. 

I think I cried a little. After. But in a sexy, submissive temptress kind of way. Is that a thing? Can a ghoul be a temptress? 

I dunno. 

THE END

*** 

“Dew! What are you doing?” 

I walk into the living room to see my mate sitting on the sofa, cross-legged and shirtless, a black notebook open across his lap, brow creased in concentration as he reads the pages. 

It’s a black notebook with gold skulls. 

THE notebook. 

“Hmmm...”  

He doesn’t look up. He’s silent. Focused. Too focused. Like he’s trying to figure something out. Or committing it to memory. Or planning to use it against me in some incredibly hot, deeply humiliating way. His eyes scan the words and I know which part he’s up to, because he mutters, ‘jizz-fest of epic proportions’ under his breath. 

I die on the spot. 

“FUCKING PUT THAT DOWN!” I squeak, lunging for it. 

Dew easily evades me and pulls it out of my way. 

“Interesting literary voice you’ve got there, Bat-boy.” 

I narrow my eyes, cheeks burning with shame. 

“I...” Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to see that. Not at all. “I was just...” 

His eyes meet mine, and he smirks, but he looks back down at the page. At the scrawl and the crossings out. His jaw twitches and just for a second, I think he’s going to laugh. Say something mocking. But then he goes weirdly still.  

“What?” I ask, suspicious. “Don’t get weird.” 

The vibe has changed. My stomach flips. 

He reads a line out loud. 

“I want him to ruin me until I forget my own name.” 

I stop breathing. 

He looks at me then. Really looks. There’s no smug tease in it. Not anymore. Just a quiet intensity that makes my knees go weak and my blood rush south. 

I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat. 

He closes the notebook, firmly and deliberately, placing it on the coffee table in front of him, holding my gaze the whole time. His eyes flare with heat. 

“Get over here.” 

Oh fuck. He’s going to do it. He’s going to ruin me for real. 

I’m so fucking here for it. 

_____

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my Ao3 to see if anything else takes your fancy 🖤

This chapter on Ao3

My Mushy May 2024/2025 fic on Ao3

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A girl can only hope he comes back. I've seen posts and comments about the sound not being the same without Swiss and his vocals. And yes TF is absolutely enough of a little shit to do such as this just.

I just miss him so much!

So we all know Swiss left mid tour more than likely because of all the backlash due to the allegations thst happened back in October. People were reportedly sending death threats to Jutty and even Tobias and his family so we think this is why he stepped back. Whether it was for his own mental health, the record sitting him on the bench, or Tobias telling him to back out for a while, he’s been gone for a hot minute now.

Yet…they continue to set up his stage? I get they maybe don’t wanna mess with the stage setup, but…I’ve been part of relatively complex show productions due to my time in theater and band, yet we had been able to remove quite major pieces of the show (the entire stage for band and once an entire fucking scene in theater) due to people leaving/not being there for the moment. So why would they continue to set up his stage? It’s not like they need it for structural integrity, it’s separate from Mountain’s tower, Cirrus’ stage, and Aurora&Tempest (idk it’s the name I’m seeing the most for the new girl) are literally on the opposite side of the stage

Anyway, I noticed something in the photo of the entire Ghost crew yesterday

Notice it yet?

No?

Look between Richie and the other crew members. Why is there a hole

That’s not a small gap either, it’s literally the size of a person

Why would they have a hole behind TF close to the other ghouls

Along with the fact that it feels like a deliberate hole because why would they have a gap? There’s never been one in any of the other photos

We all know TF csn be a cryptic little shit with his hints and subtle messages so I wouldn’t put it past him to do this

Could it be…Swiss is supposed to be there?

Could this be hinting at him returning in the US leg since things have calmed down?!

I hope I’m right and he does come back :)

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

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Submissive men on their knees. Submissive ghouls being to please. Submissive Papas whimpering. That is all. Thank you for cumming. Please cum again.

(do not read the tags 😈)

Thanks a lot @sisterprocrastinator!

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I'm going to bite his hip!

i come to you all with omega footage i found while watching random rituals in search of omega footage

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He's finally coming full circle. He's played venues all over the world, sold out shows, made his movie, and came back home to play for them all.

can we talk about this shot? can we? because it's absolutely making me go insane

look at the body language. this is not perpetua standing on stage. this is tobias — shy, fidgety, slighly awkward tobias — standing on stage in his hometown and breaking character for just a few moments because he loves this place so much and he can't not show it

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My favorite Papa. My favorite ghoul uniforms.

Ugh the things I would do...

Daily Dose of Daddy Secondo

🖤🖤🖤

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HOW?!

How am I supposed to work with this image in my head? The thoughts running through my head now have nothing to do with work...

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Exist... 😭😭

I miss when Swiss would __________

(Fill in the blank)

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Come and get your love - Redbone

Sabotage - Thousand Below

As above, so below - Jutty Ranx (Love you JT!)

Abandon Us - Bury Tomorrow

F E R A L - Bad Omens

Son of Nyx - Hozier

Ice ice baby - Vanilla Ice

Ghuleh/Zombie Queen - Ghost (Favorite song by my favorite Papa)

Is it really you - Sleep Token

Tonight we dance - Ice Nine Kills

I stopped working to do this... I don't know 10 people off the top of my head so you get one.

@sisterprocrastinator

Music Tag Game

Rules: put your on repeat playlist on shuffle and share the first 10 songs, then tag 10 ppl.

Thank you @krukel for the tag and sorry for the delay!

I don't really have an on repeat playlist at the moment so this is from my entire spotify likes (985 songs)

What I Want - Gregor McMurray

Hurt - Johnny Cash

Within You - David Bowie

I Left The Wolves Behind That Night - The Tiger & Me

Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter

Budapest - George Ezra

Mad World - Gary Jules, Michael Andrews

Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard

Labyrinth - Miracle Musical, Shane MauX, KAYE

Cleopatra - The Lumineers

No pressure tags! @serenitybun, @seestorimperator, @multimusemenagerie, @nirtonic, and anyone else that wants to do it!

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Late night rant with Switch...

Why is it when you find this absolute dream of a position in bed while doom scrolling, I mean the pillow is perfect, nothing hurts, no awkward arm placement cause you don't know what else to do with it...

Then your damn bladder does what bladders do. You know you better just get your ass and go answer nature's call, so you do the only thing any half reasonable adult can do... You go pee.

After you do you are unjustly rewarded with never finding the same position again in your life. You can toss and turn. You can flip, rearrange 100 times, even take out your frustrations on them with a few punches up the pillows that had mere moments ago cradled your weary head and body.

You obviously know you'll never be that comfortable again for the rest of your miserable existence... It has all been in vain so you resign to just your fate.

Nobody? Just me? I'm not being overly dramatic, you are.

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In the last several weeks we've been blessed with new music.

Ghost - Skeletá (April 25, 2025)

Sleep Token - Even in Arcadia (May 9, 2025)

Cos Sylvan - Everybody's Dog (May 9, 2025)

Eureka Machines (Chris Catalyst) - Everything (April 11,2025)

I've not listened all of it, yet. But, I'm happy we're all getting new music! We should really do our best to support them all, especially when our ghouls (both current and past) put out new music of their own.

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I think you're onto something! You can just channel your first 15 minutes (or whatever) into writing the most unhinged thing and NOBODY will ever know!

LONG LIVE THE CURSED JOURNAL!

I've got the perfect one sitting unused in a drawer!

i saw something that said instead of going on your phone first thing in the morning it’s better to journal a little so i’ve been doin that this week but im like wtf to i even write about that isn’t like actively boring for me and what if i used my journal for evil and wrote terrible fanfic in it that nobody will ever see

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There is no kind of hot to it. If there was a man that had a chance of making me get on my knees, with a smile, it would have been this man.

Can you tell what my favorite era of Ghost was?

I mean...come on..

You gotta admit he's kinda hot 👀