#I guess I could check them against the video I used to make a few gifs I couldn't find

[brennacedria]

Duel of the Fates, but gifs

[desertduality]

gigs phasmo but the ghost is just confused mumbo jumbo

physically unable to write a snippet so here's a whole oneshot AKJSDKJ I hope you like it!! Personally I had a ton of fun lmao

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The house was nice, as far as haunted locations went. The flowers out front were dead, sure, but that was probably on account of their caretaker being dead as well.

The neighbors had been the ones to call this address in, claiming that although the owner of the property had died quite some months ago, lights frequently turned on and off in the house. The police had been by several times to check for intruders, and had come up empty every time. Finally, some desperate neighbor had given in and called paranormal investigators.

So there they were, Impulse pulling up on the curb just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Prime ghost hunting time, for some reason; Scar hadn’t really paid attention to the science and research when he’d signed up for the job. Besides, the other three had all that handled quite nicely. Scar was just along for the ride. 

“Scar, you know what you’re doing?” Impulse asked, grabbing a flashlight off the wall and clipping his walkie onto his belt. 

“Sir, yes sir!” Scar quipped, scanning the gear for his usual fare. “One paraba-dolical microphone coming up.”

“Grab a thermometer, too,” Impulse suggested, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the van. “Let’s try to keep this one clean! The company is running low on cursed items with resurrection abilities.”

“I know for a fact we’ve made the biggest dent in that,” Skizz’s voice crackled out of the walkie, changing to a slight echo as he presumably walked in the house.

“Why do you sound proud of that?” Grian asked, speaking into the radio as he grabbed a salt canister. Scar snickered, reaching over him to grab the thermometer. 

“We’ve got a record going, man! No one can stop us!”

“You have to admire his positivity,” Scar said brightly, clicking his flashlight to make sure it worked. 

“Yeah, I guess he’s got that going for him,” Grian replied, giving a short wave as he left the van. “See you on the inside, Scar.”

Scar gave a jaunty wave, doing one last check on his equipment before starting after him. A voice cut him off before he could leave. 

“Did anyone check the name?” Impulse asked, and Scar turned around to squint at the corkboard, eyes catching on the top. 

Huh. Interesting. 

Scar clicked the talk button on his walkie. “Looks like… Mumbo Jumbo?”

There was a long pause, and Scar almost thought they had missed it somehow. Then the response came.

“Scar,” Grian said, sounding tiredly amused. “If you can’t pronounce it, don’t just make something up.”

“No, It— It literally says Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar replied, glancing up to double check. “Don’t make me waste a photo to prove it. I will, you know I will.”

“Don’t, Scar,” Impulse jumped in, so quickly that the start of his sentence cut out. “We believe you.”

“Get in here before I come and drag you, Face,” Skizz chimed in, and Scar rolled his eyes with a chuckle, stepping out of the van. 

The house was warmer than the air outside, so Scar took that as a sign that someone had gotten to the fuse box. He wandered around with the paradabolic microphone for a few minutes, watching closely for big leaps in the readings. Eventually, Impulse called out from upstairs, claiming that he’d found the room. Scar hurried towards him, making it there just in time to watch him set up the video camera, fiddling with the tripod and muttering complaints about its stability. 

The room was a bedroom, a large bed against one wall and a shelf full of dead plants on the other. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust, but that was pretty usual. Obviously no one had been keeping up with the cleaning.   

“Anyone done spirit box?” Grian asked, and Scar jumped and whirled around, finding him in the doorway. Grian giggled, and Scar huffed. 

“Not yet,” Impulse said, finally getting the tripod to settle. He looked over at them. “Want us to leave?”

“Not really,” Grian grumbled, starting to power up the spirit box. “But yes.”

Scar walked out of the door and Impulse followed him, closing it and leaving Grian in the room alone. Immediately, they heard the telltale singing introduction of Grian beginning to ask questions. The rest of the house was quiet. So far, everything had been entirely unremarkable.

“I’m going to go grab D.O.T.S and a book,” Impulse spoke suddenly, starting to walk away. “Maybe you could start grabbing some stuff for a polty pile?”

“Sure, will do,” Scar said, and started picking up objects from the table in the hallway. A lot of picture frames and spare wires, for whatever reason.

Grian opened the door to the room just as Scar arrived with his arms full, and Scar tilted his head at the odd look on the other’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was wearing a faint frown. 

“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, curious. Normally, Grian came out of a spirit box session with wide eyes and immediately ran to the van. This was out of character.

“I think…” Grian started, contemplative frown getting more pronounced. “I think the ghost apologized to me.”

“...huh?”

“I asked where it was,” Grian said, spirit box slack in his hand. “And then it said something, and then I screamed, and then it— I could have sworn it said sorry. Like, for scaring me.”

“Oh,” Scar said, tilting his head. “Has that happened before?”

Grian shook his head slowly, staring at the spirit box for a minute before exhaling forcefully. “Let’s just keep going,” he said, shoving the device in his pocket. “We still have a job to do.” Then, into his walkie: “We’ve got spirit box, guys. One thing down.”

They kept doing their jobs like they normally would, but none of them could quite shake the sense of something being different.

Usually, the haunted locations they visited had a foreboding sort of feeling to them. They get in and out of those places as soon as possible, the feeling of imminent danger settling on their shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was none of that, here. It was obviously haunted, but it still just felt like... a house. It didn’t feel malicious at all. 

Impulse put a book down, and writing appeared a few minutes later. Just a single sentence, asking if they would water the plants on their way out.

They laid down D.O.T.S and stayed out in the van for a while, eventually seeing a tall, hazy figure pass quickly through. 

They caught ghost orbs on the video surveillance.

Impulse took the Ultraviolet flashlight and found fingerprints on the side of the video camera, like the ghost had been curious about it. 

The salt Grian had placed on the ground was smeared and scattered, almost as if the ghost had slipped on it instead of stepped in it. 

“If we discovered some new type of ghost,” Grian said eventually, muffled through his own hands covering his face, after hours of pouring over the conflicting evidence. “I am going to be upset.”

“None of this makes sense!” Impulse complained, flipping through the research journal that Scar had never touched. He was scowling at the pages like they’d personally offended him. “It won’t even hunt!”

“He seems kinda friendly,” Scar said, staring at the steady line of the EMF reader on the screen. “The poor guy just wants his plants watered. I don’t even have the heart to tell him that it probably wouldn’t help. Those things are dead dead.”

Impulse’s head thunked down on the table in front of him. “We’re so fired.”

In the silence following that statement, Skizz burst into the van, holding an object aloft in celebration.

“I found it!” Skizz yelled triumphantly, the wrinkly figure of the monkey paw clutched in his hand. “It fell behind some boxes. I told you it was here.”

“Oooh,” Scar said, rushing over in excitement. “What should we wish for?”

“A quick death?” Grian said flatly.

Scar waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had too many of those. It gets kind of boring, believe it or not.”

“Let’s just wish to see it,” Impulse said, heaving himself up from his hunched position by the monitor. “We’ve done everything else we could do, let’s just do it.”

“Sure, why not,” Grian said, shrugging. “Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, then.”

“That’s the spirit!” Skizz laughed, and together the four of them marched back into the house.

The room was exactly as they’d left it, and Impulse took a moment to turn off the D.O.T.S. Then they stood in a loose circle, tense and determined. Whatever was happening here, it would be over soon. One way or the other. Maybe the company wouldn’t even bother to bring them back, this time. 

Skizz held the monkey paw aloft, dim light casting dramatic shadows on his face. “I wish to see the ghost!”

A finger on the monkey paw cracked and groaned as it bent down, and a chill swept across the room, quick and encompassing. Their flashlights flickered, and then died, leaving them in complete darkness. For a long moment, the only sound was their chorus of quick and shaky breathing.

When the lights turned back on, Scar was face to face with a ghost. A ghost that looked equally as startled as he was. 

Scar yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the open book on the ground and hurtling towards the bed. The ghost — a tall man with dark hair and an absolutely wonderful mustache — lunged forward and reached out as if to catch him, eyes wide and panicked. To be fair to the dead man, it absolutely would have worked if his hands were still a tangible thing; As it were, his attempt at grabbing Scar to keep him upright was rather rudely foiled by his outstretched hand passing right through Scar’s flailing arm.

Scar hit the bed with a grunt as various cries of alarm sounded out around him, light bouncing around the room haphazardly as the sound of clattering reached his ears; someone had dropped their flashlight, apparently. Scar laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, dazed. 

“Oh gosh! I’m so— I didn’t mean to pop in like that, I—”

Scar looked up just in time to watch a crucifix fly through the air and pass harmlessly through the ghost’s head, hitting the wall with a thud and falling gracelessly to the floor. The ghost yelped and ducked — much too late, not that it mattered, anyway — and Scar’s gaze next landed on Grian, still standing there with his arm extended in a throwing motion, hand empty and eyes wide.

“What was that gonna do, G?!” Skizz asked hysterically, fumbling for his camera, accidentally snapping a picture of his own face and swearing when the light blinded him. 

Impulse had knocked over the tripod in all of the chaos, and was now frantically attempting to set it back upright. The ghost — Mumbo Jumbo — turned his anxious eyes on Scar, who for once was struck speechless, jaw slack. 

“Are you alright, mate?” Mumbo Jumbo asked, hands fidgeting together. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but— Well, you summoned me. There’s only so much to be done for that.”

With everyone else still scrambling about the room, Scar allowed himself a few seconds to process things. Most ghosts they’d come across — all of them, actually — had been nothing less than murderous and bloodthirsty. The cordial ghost of a perfectly normal man was not something they had been trained for, but that didn’t exactly mean that it was impossible. Sure, maybe it had come way, way out of left field, but Scar prided himself on rolling with the punches. He pushed himself up from the bed with a sheepish, charming smile. 

“It’s all good,” Scar said, bright and friendly. “For sure our fault, we summoned you and got surprised when you showed up. Kind of rude of us, I think. Your mattress is super comfortable, by the way.”

Mumbo Jumbo blinked, as if surprised by the onslaught of words, a confused little furrow appearing between his brows. “Thank you?” he said, glancing behind him at the bed. “It was…expensive.”

“I mean, hey! We spend a lot of our lifetime in a bed, right? Might as well shell out some cash for quality.”

“What are we doing?” Grian asked quickly, almost like he was talking to himself, hands pressed to his head in utter bafflement. “This is insane, what is happening.”

“Grian! Don’t be rude,” Scar admonished playfully, then turned back to grin at the ghost. “Mumbo Jumbo, right?”

The man nodded faintly. “Just…Mumbo is fine.”

“Sweet! I’m Scar,” Scar said, and then started pointing to his friends, all standing stock still in various stages of shock and confusion. “The rude one who throws stuff is Grian, that’s Impulse by the window, and over there is Skizz!”

“Nice to meet you?” Mumbo said, glancing around nervously. “I would offer to shake your hand, but…”

“God, this is weird,” Skizz blurted, eyes still wide but starting to relax his stance. “You do know you’re dead, right? We never actually get to ask any of the ghosts we meet.”

“Oh, I— Yeah, I’m well aware,” Mumbo said, laughing a little. “You’ve met other ghosts, then?”

“We’re ghost hunters,” Impulse said, and now that the shock was fading, Scar could see a spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I mean— We’ve never met any like you.”

“Mostly they want to kill us,” Grian said, stepping up next to Scar. “Are you sure you don’t want to kill us?”

“I don’t think I know how, much less want to,” Mumbo said, glancing out the window. “Did someone call you to find me? I’ve been trying not to scare anyone, but I suppose the lights might’ve done me in.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much what tipped them off,” Scar said apologetically. “A few too many weird things happen and boom, here we are.”

“What happens now?” Mumbo asked, chuckling nervously. “I mean, you found me. Job done, yeah?”

“Usually we figure out what type of ghost it is and the company sends out a specialized team to evict it,” Impulse answered, brow pinched in thought. “But normally that’s for safety reasons. You don’t seem like a threat. No offense.”

“Oh, none taken.”

“Can I ask how you died?” Skizz asked, eyes alight with curiosity. 

“Skizz,” Grian hissed. “You can’t just ask people how they died!”

“I was just wondering!”

“No, it’s— it’s fine,” Mumbo stuttered, and Scar had a feeling that if ghosts could blush, he would be doing it. “I… fell down the stairs.”

Scar nodded solemnly. “Could have happened to anyone.”

“So what are we actually going to do about this?” Grian asked, vaguely gesturing at the room. “It feels like it would be wrong to kick this guy out of his own house. He’s not really causing trouble.”

“Yeah, I— I do like my house,” Mumbo interjected, awkward smile on his face. “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright.”

“Someone’s bound to move in eventually, you know,” Skizz said, pitying frown on his face. “There’s already a for sale sign in the yard. The new owners might not be super ghost-friendly.”

Mumbo’s shoulders slumped, a dejected look on his face as he frowned at the floor. Scar felt a pang of sympathy grow in his chest, and he glanced out the window at the rows of houses down the street. 

It really was quite a nice neighborhood. 

“...You know,” Scar started, gaze drifting over to Grian, a slow smile forming on his face. “Our lease is almost up.”

Grian looked over at him, eyes already resigned, and sighed. 

Scar laughed, grinning, and Mumbo slowly smiled back.

[0-n-1-x]

WBC!Carl Gallagher x Rich/Northside!reader

link to my masterlist <33

Your private school requires you to do community service, and you’re assigned to help out at a youth center in the Southside. It’s far from your usual environment, and you feel a bit out of place, but you’re determined to make the best of it. You could've gone to the pet center, like the other girls your age, but you desperately needed to get out of suburbia. Carl, who occasionally visits the center for free meals or to hang out, notices you the moment you walk in. You’re clearly not from around here, and he’s instantly curious about why someone like you would be spending time in his hood. At first, Carl’s interactions with you are laced with sarcasm and teasing. He pokes fun at your clean-cut appearance and the way you seem so out of your element, but there’s no real malice behind his words— mostly curiosity. I mean remember this is still Carl, just in the body of a wanna-be gangster

You actually responded to his quips just as quickly as he spoke them, but you also spoke with interest, most of it in your appearance

I'd believe that you aren't full a nepo baby, I like to headcanon that you'd be half or part southside, having spent time there young and maybe one of your parents married rich and such

But you do know how to make your words somewhat powerful, and that intrigues Carl, in a different way than trying to scam the other kids

You’re organizing supplies in the back room of the community center, stacking boxes of canned goods for the food drive. It’s your second day volunteering here, and you’re still getting used to the place. The door creaks open, and you glance up to see the same boy from yesterday leaning against the frame, watching you with an amused smirk. “You lost or something? This isn’t exactly the country club.” he says. Crossing his arms, he saunters into the room, eyes glinting with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you straighten up, brushing the dust off your hands before replying

“I could say the same thing. You don’t look like you’re here to volunteer.”

“Nah, just checking out the new blood. It’s not every day we get someone like you around here. You sure you can handle it? This place can get a little rough.”

“I’m tougher than I look. Besides, I’m not here to play it safe.”

“Is that right? Most people like you wouldn’t last a day down here. You must really be slumming it to end up in this part of town.”

“Real, huh? Well, you definitely found it. But be careful—get too close, and this place might suck you in.”

“Maybe I’m counting on it. I like a challenge, I guess I’ll just have to see for myself.”

He grins, finally extending a hand "Gallagher, Carl Gallagher" You reach for his hand, “Nice to meet you, Carl. Now, are you gonna help me with these boxes, or just stand there and look all pretty?”

After a few days of volunteering, (its mostly you guys talking) he invites you out with him on a 'tour'. You visit The Alibi, his corner, and he ends the trip by taking you to his house

The Gallagher house, if you could call it that, was way different than yours. Not just in size, but in functionality, you hear 3 different people screaming talking and a baby crying with loud video games noises in the background. Luckily, when Carl takes you to the basement which of course resembles what you identify as a 'mancave' there's no one there and its mostly silent

"So.. nice family uh- ya got there?" you joke, slightly uncomfortable in the bean bag he sits you on, the pleats of your plaid skirt ruffling up and you don't miss the way his eye flicker down and the way his cheeks blush peach "Um, y-yeah, it's not always like that but it usually is"

For Carl: it's weird that he's drawn to you, southside kids are literally raised to the 'eat the rich' mindset. Especially Gallaghers, but he couldn't help but want to spill everything he knows and even what he doesn't to you. So he does, he tells you about juvie, about the dysfunctionality of Gallaghers and their shit, fuck he even tells you about Monica

You guys talk for what comes across as hours. Part of him is scared that he opened up to quickly, but surprisingly you listen, without judgement. You even mention how you find some of his life similar to yours. The feelings of being ignored, or in your case paid to go away (which Carl finds not too bad).

As you speak, he moves from his beanbag chair to yours, inching and inching closer together you eventually are a breaths away from one another. You halt your speech, all your well thought out analogies fading away as you both look between the other's eyes and lips.

Carl speaks, "is it crazy.. that I find it really hot when you talk about being rich?" you pause, a sly smile reaching upon your face as you answer "no.. is it crazy that i find it really hot when you talk about being poor?"

More silence fills the room, then Carl brings his eyes straight down to your lips. "No" he whispers, as light as humanly possible

And that's when it happens. you lean in, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the rough-and-tumble image he usually projects. You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. The kiss starting out rushed, messy, and all over the place. But it's not lustful, more childish if anything and you both have no idea what you're doing.

His hand hesitantly moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. You respond in kind, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him even closer

When you finally pull back after what feels like forever, you’re both breathless, panting as your bodies gasp for air. Carl’s thumb gently returns and strokes your cheek, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. But all he finds is a soft smile and the lingering warmth of the kiss you just shared.

“Damn,” he mutters, a crooked grin spreading across his face as he leans back slightly, still keeping you close. “You’ve got me all messed up, you know that?" you respond

Then it hits you, that was your first kiss

and it was with Carl fucking Gallagher

[myinnerartist]

*Kicks Down Door*

it's me, ya boi, Load.

And I have some things to say.

But i want to mention @-thevyladsafespace for their post;

^^^ this one ^^^

Where they asked what the inspiration(s) was for the boys' outfits. Having a few guesses of their outfits being inspired by chinese/japanese fashion or dnd/generic fantasy style of fashion.

And, in my opinion, yes!

But... also no.

Lemme explain, But first;

I want to talk about their Daemos outfits. And my thoughts/opinions on the...

Starting with their Daemos Outfits;

And starting with

Noi;

who i actually i think his outfit fits Japanese Inspiration the most!

(Before i explain, i want to say i am not from japan or have visited, nor am i an expert, but i have watched MANY videos about japanese culture from LetsaskShogo on youtube! I highly recommend checking him out. He goes into everything about japan, its history, its culture, its fashion, Noh thearte, tea ceremonies, everything!) (Japanese culture is a special interest of mine, ahah)

His left side of his shirt is over his right side, which japanese traditional kimono style of clothing MUST have! (Wearing the left over right is a MUST in their culture, for only the dead or non-living wear the RIGHT side over the LEFT. It therefore symbolizes death.)

The closest reference for his shirt i can find rn is this one; (which if i remember right are called dogi!)

Additionally,

Useing this image as reference;

His pants are very similar to a style/type of Hakama pants (unfortunately, i have forgotten the name of them. I think a name for them was Karusan, but i may be wrong!!)

Image reference of the pants im talking about;

(They were worn by 'samurai' or otherwise japanese soldiers as a better alternative to hakama due to the pants better ease of movement and more suitability armor.)

Other than that though, he doesn't wear anything else that is SIMILAR to traditional japanese fashion.

Onto my opinions and thoughts about his design;

I love Noi's design the most. He is the most well designed out of the boys'. If i were to change his design, i would keep most of it.

He's an 8/10 for me.

Deducted points because WHY? WHY WITH HIS ARM. Omg. no... No. No!! his design literally would've been perfectly okay IF HIS ARM. WASNT-

give him his sleeve back pls... why was it taken away? What crimes did it commit?? Was color contrast against the armor wanted so badly ThEy TOOK AWAY HIS SLEEVE?? That's worse!! That's worse than just leaving his sleeve alone 😭😭😭

In fact, it would look BETTER if the sleeve was kept unyoinked!!

I apologize for how harsh i may sound. But i can't. I just can't.

Moving onto

Pierce;

My second favorite character~

I believe he is the second closest to having most Japanese inspiration.

With his utterly blue coat, that is the main point of interest in his design... that does look a lot like a kimono.

But i sure hope it isn't because the way he's wearing it makes me want to go

"DISHONER ON YOU!! DISHONOR ON YOUR COW!!"

- (mulan/mushu reference)

And that what he SHOULD be wearing would be similar to a Haori-jacket

Which what it looks like;

(The Haori is a traditional japanese hip or thigh length jacket that is typically worn over a kimono.)

His coat is, however, a Kimono's length. (Maybe even a little longer, actually, kimonos typically only reach the ankles. But the way he wears whatever he wears, could make it look longer than it should be or is.)

Additionally his sleeves and;

The absolute abomination his outfits back is. What the genuine *🐬 noise* happened.

The way his the back of the outfit is, it means that if he wears the unworn sleeve, the back will be SO DROOPED!! It would not be funny or sexy 😔

Here is a reference for how a kimono (though with longer/larger sleeves) with one sleeve not being worn would look;

(i am so sorry, but idk who the artist is and can not find them. Googling bee-com led to (i think) a bitcoin website, and katahada nugi was just for information for samurai armor.) (If anyone knows it would be very appreciated!)

*sigh*

Moving onto my thoughts and opinions on Pierce's design;

Pierce's deisgn is... rather simple. Other than the pattern on his pants.

... tbh i dont really know what else to say. It's simple, basic, the coat, arm-brace, and patten on his pants are the only points of interest in his design. (Other than his tattoo but we'll talk about it later.)

I'd rate him 3/10.

There's... Something. Theres a something... But it's not executed well (or at all) in his design. His (disaster of a coat that deducted points) coat and that something, is his saving grace of a few points.

.

.

.

And i WANT TO CONTINUE THIS in the same post and I PROMISE YOU, i am going somewhere i do i do i just,

In order to continue i NEED the photo space, what do i mean? i mean THERES A PHOTO LIMIT OF 10 ON POSTS!!! TUMBLR WHY 10??? 10??? 10 PHOTOS ONLY???

***insert image of a depressed man bent over in a blue school chair meme***

.

.

.

But i hope you stay tuned and to see you in part 2!! (And most likely part 3... oh boy. Im so sorry)

Again, i promise im going somewhere with this i just need time to cook and get the foundations down first. AND THE PHOTO SPAc-

[lovebombs4life]

best friend - c.t.h

a/n: started as a blurb then turned into a one shot. oops!

prompt: “is that my shirt?”

cw: SMUT! sub!calum, dom!reader, oral (m), calum is an all around slut for reader

———

i woke up from the sun peaking through the dark curtains in the room. i had stayed over at calum’s again, along with all the other boys. of course since im calum’s favorite though, i got to sleep in his bed. him and the other boys always took the guest room.

one time during the winter we had all stayed over, and i think i about pissed my pants when i saw all the boys cuddling together in the bed to stay warm.

i sat up from the bed, yawning before rubbing my eyes. i swung my legs over the bed, standing on the cold wood floor. i made my way over to calums closet, grabbing out my favorite sweatshirt of his. i slipped off my t shirt, throwing it on the floor, and pulled the green hoodie over my head.

the sweater was so large it hung down toward my mid thigh, covering the spandex shorts that i was wearing. i walked to the door, swinging it open, and making my way downstairs where i could hear the rest of the boys playing video games.

i passed by them, walking into the kitchen. calum and ashton had done a double take when they saw me, eyes widening as they looked at each other.

i ignored their behavior and grabbed myself a glass of apple juice. i walked back to the living room and sat myself next to calum, setting my glass on the coffee table. he shifted as i sat down next to him.

“is that my sweater?” he asked, looking at me. “mhm.” i hummed as i nodded my head. he shifted around again. i turned to look at him, wondering why he kept moving.

“you alright?” i asked. he nodded, trying to play it cool. “i can go change if you don’t want me wearing it.” i told him. he shook his head.

“no, no, no! it’s totally alright! i just didn’t expect it i guess?” he said as more of a question. i hummed in response, turning my head to watch the boys play their game.

i leaned my head against calum like i usually do, but of course he started shifting his legs again. i ignored it, but still worried i was making him uncomfortable.

a few minutes pass before calum gets up, saying he’ll be right back, and runs upstairs. “what’s with him?” i asked. they all shrugged, not too focused on anything other than their game. i got up to check on calum, heading to his room.

i was about to knock on the door, but then i had heard groaning. i was worried. was he hurt? the noises continued. i should’ve done something, anything other than just standing there, but i couldn’t. that’s when i had heard it.

“fuck, y/n,” he moaned. my face flushed and my eyes widened. oh my god. was he jerking off to me? is that why he kept shifting around?

i pushed the door open quietly and peeked in. sure enough, there calum was, laying back on his bed, with a hand down his pants. i squeezed my legs at the sight. it was something that felt wrong, but so wonderful.

i mean for fucks sake, calum and i have been best friends since we were three, wouldn’t that be weird to think of your best friend that way?

i opened the door wider and slipped myself into the room, and quietly closed the door. calum still hadn’t heard me, and kept doing what he was doing. i smirked at the sight before speaking.

“that feel good, cal? like thinking of me like that?” he shot up and grabbed something to cover up. that’s when i realized he had used my shirt, and had been smelling it.

“don’t get all shy now baby. i know you were using my shirt, thinking of how much you wanted me.” i teased, crawling onto the bed. i grabbed his hand that was holding my shirt, covering himself.

“this alright?” i asked. he nodded quickly. i moved his hand away, seeing his dick hard, red, and throbbing for attention. “all from me just wearing your sweater?” i stroked him slowly. he jerked his hips forward, throwing his head back.

“please, need you to do something, y/n/n.” he gasped. i smirked at his submission, still moving my hand slowly. “such a dirty boy. thinking of your best friend like this.” i spoke before taking him in my mouth.

he cursed at the sudden feeling, his hands flying to my head. he tangled his hands in my hair, groaning as i shoved his cock down my throat. “you love my throat? how it feels on your cock?” i said as i pulled off of him. he nodded his head, pulling me towards his face.

his lips collided with mine, hungrily kissing me. i pulled on his curls, causing him to moan into my mouth. “wanna be inside you, y/n, need you to be around my cock.” he panted. i leaned back from him, pulling my shorts off my legs.

his hands gripped my thighs, rubbing them up and down. they trailed to my lace panties, quickly tearing them off. “hey! those were expensive!” i pouted. he was kissing at my neck, leaving marks on me before speaking.

“i’ll buy you more. just need you on my cock.” he said, grasping my hips, lining himself up at my entrance. i smirked as i sunk down on him, releasing a moan. “oh fuck, cal, feel so good, so deep in me.” i praised him.

he whimpered at the feeling, still holding my hips as he helped me bounce up and down. “that feel good huh?” i asked him. he moaned, looking up at me.

“so good, ah, fuck! feels so good ma’am.” he spoke. my eyes widened at his words. i slowed down and watch his eyes widen too. i smirked at him, speeding up again.

“didn’t know you were like that cal, would’ve fucked you sooner if i knew.” i teased him. he groaned, and i felt him rut his hips up towards me, hitting deeper than he already was.

“fuck, oh god, calum, gonna cum!” i moaned, clenching myself around him. i continued bouncing on him, feeling him twitch inside me.

“wanna cum inside you, can i please cum inside you.” he begged. i nodded riding out my high. i felt hot spurts of his cum hit my insides, running back out onto his dick. i bounced a few more times before i got off him and laid down on the bed next to him.

we laid there together, our breathing the only sounds to be heard. i turned my head to look at him. “guess i gotta wear your clothes more often, huh?” i asked. he blushed, nodding his head. i ran my fingers through his hair before kissing him softly.

“i hope you guys used a condom!”

[orangflowalober]

Enha reaction to their only competition being your young, hot professor

Pairing: Enhypen x Reader

Genre: crack, established relationship

Summary: the boys having the realization that the professor you said not to worry about is actually something to worry about

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: mentions of food (coffee), cigarettes, killing idk let me know if I missed something

A/n: based on personal experience! also I used those videos from the fan signs as reference for how jealous the boys would be! so pls cut me some slack I did my best not to make them too out of character!

~

Heesung

Heesung was slowly approaching you, watching you with gentle eyes as you stood in front of your collage with your friends.

But then.

He heard something oddly specific.

“So how are we feeling after today y/n?” the friend he didn’t recognise asked, lifting a cigarette to her lips as the rest of them giggled.

Heesung stopped at a fair distance and listened to the conversation.

Then his eyes widened as your hands flew to your hair and you started tugging and playing with it.

You only did that when he did something that made you feel flustered… So what was it that warranted it this time?

“Why, I had a blast!” you laughed.

“Of course you did,” the one he recognised as Nami retorted with a smile.

“Especially when he was checking over your work right?” a third one laughed quietly.

He realised they were all throwing playful jabs at you, and you were reciprocating the attitude.

However, Heesung felt terribly out of loop.

“Here he comes,” Mia knocked her elbow against your ribs.

Heesungs eyes flew to the door of the college as he watched a man leave.

“Goodbye” the five of you chorused and the new person gave them an oddly bright tight lipped smile.

As soon as you deemed him out of earshot, you giggled so girlishly that Heesung’s heart-strings tugged and unable to contained himself he yelled, feeling outraged;

“Y/n?!”

You turned to face your boyfriend with a sheepish look on your face, while your friends only burst out into laughter.

“He he” you laughed awkwardly, “hii babe…”

~

Park Jay Jongseong

Jay had finally got his hands on you after a long and exhausting exam week and talking you out had been something he’d been looking forward to for far too long.

You were chatting his ear off about something and he was taking the time to commit the sight to memory, having been deprived of his wonderful girlfriend for two weeks now.

And then.

Someone ruined his fun.

He didn’t know who the man was. He only knew that you suddenly straightened and walked towards him and immediately started a conversation.

Now Jay wasn’t a jealous person by any means, but there was something in the way you were gazing at the man while he was speaking and the way he was looking at you while raving about something.

Then you finally parted with a bright smile and a nod of your head.

You squealed before you could stop yourself and Jay was immediately on guard.

“Who was that?” he tried to keep the bitterness from his voice but he knew he failed the moment you looked up at him.

“Oh!” you gasped, “I think I’ve told you about him-” 

He was just about ready to commit murder before your next words left your mouth.

“That’s my Creative Writing professor.” you told him with a brilliant smile. “You know? The one I went to visit last week for help with my essays?”

Well now he just felt stupid.

“Oh” he said with a blank look in his eye. “I guess I should have taken your word for it when you said he’s young.” and after a few seconds of deliberation he added quietly; “And attractive.”

~

Sim Jake Jaeyun

Jake took great pride in being your boyfriend.

I mean.

You look into the mirror every morning don’t you?

You know what he means.

And knowing how positively beautiful you were, you honestly shouldn’t be surprised at how jealous he was.

He was happily skipping on the way to pick you up after your classes, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him.

You were standing there, looking cute as shit, with a man that wasn’t him next to you, locked into a serious conversation.

He froze seeing you looking so shy, with that adorable nod you did when you were too flustered to speak and he almost strangled the man next to you for the bright smile he gave you when he briefly heard the man say alright? And you responded with a dutiful, yet lovely, yes.

Before he could do anything about the situation, however, the man walked away without looking back and Jake hurried to you.

Your cheeks flushed red at the sight of your boyfriend.

“Jake!” you exclaimed, happy to see him, “Did you wait long?” you asked him, but before he had the opportunity to respond, you just kept talking.

“I hope you didn’t” you grinned sheepishly, “I just had to ask my professor something about the exam we’re having soon.”

Well, now Jake just felt silly.

~

Park Sunghoon

You knew better than to talk to Sunghoon about anyone you found remotely attractive.

Boy or girl.

Boy was just too damn jealous and possessive.

So just what made you think that being seen by your incredibly possessive boyfriend with your young and rather attractive professor was a good idea?

The answer is nothing.

Because you didn’t expect this would happen.

You were sitting with your boyfriend at a cafe when he had to leave for a few minutes to go to the bathroom and that was exactly when your professor showed up. 

Sunghoon had so much fun on your dates and he knew you did too.

So when he was coming out of the bathroom to the sight of you standing next to your chair with a different man, bro was seeing red for a hot second before making his way towards you.

He stuttered in his walk when he realised you were speaking to the man in rapid English.

Well now he had no way of knowing what you were talking about. 

Just when he came next to you, the man turned around and left, a cup of coffee in his hand. 

“Jagiya…” Sunghoon began, an arm wrapping around your waist as you two sat down, “Who was that?” he asked somewhat calmly, a particular edge to his voice.

Your eyes shone with entertainment, realising why he was like this and he groaned.

“That,” you wildly grinned, “was my professor.”

Sunghoon looked you dead in the eye as he spoke his next words.

“Never look his way again jagiya. I’m dead serious.”

You laughed so hard, tears sprang to your eyes, while your boyfriend only looked at you with stars in his eyes.

~

Kim Seonwoo

“Oh?” Seonwoo peered over your shoulder at your phone, “You’re sending an e-mail?”

You looked at him with a faint smile, eyes softening at the sight of your dearest boyfriend.

“Yeah” you hummed, leaning on his shoulder, allowing him a better look at your phone. “I have to ask my professor if I can come to consultations because of the exam we’re having soon.”

Seonwoo nodded gravely, knowing what a tough time you were having with exams. 

“Which professor is this?” he asked, having been acquainted with all of them through your stories about classes and tutorials.

You only offered him a sly grin as you finally sent the e-mail.

“Try and guess.” you giggled, putting your phone away. A rare feat for you.

Seonwoo groaned in annoyance.

“Come on Y/n!” he whined cutely, grabbing your hand and shaking it, “How am I supposed to know that?!”

You only laughed, taking a hold of his hand and interlocking your fingers with his.

“You remember the one I mentioned a while ago?” you giggled quietly, watching his eyes widen, “The one that’s new to the faculty? That one.”

“But whyyyyy” now he wholeheartedly whined, “you have me why do you need to see him!!”

The only thing you could do was burst into laughter at the way your boyfriend was pretending to be jealous.

“You’re not doing a very good job at pretending to be jealous.” you smiled at your adorable boyfriend.

“Because I’m not” he huffed, “I already know you’re mine. I have nothing to worry about.”

You only blushed at his confident words.

~

Yang Jungwon

“Wonnie!”

Jungwon would have been so happy to see you looking so excited to see him if his gaze wasn’t stuck to the man you were just squealing about with one of your friends.

Now, Jungwon took great pride in the fact that he wasn’t a complete jealous freak like some of his hyungs.

But.

There was something about your giddy, toothy smile that made him panic as his gaze was trained on the retreating figure of the man.

Not to mention he sometimes got insecure thinking you might want to be with someone your own age (or older).

“What’re you looking at?” you tugged on his jacket, a worried expression taking over your face. “What’s wrong Won?”

“Who was that?” he asked before he could stop himself.

He regretted it as soon as you made a confused noise.

“Who was who?”

“That… that person who you were just losing your mind over with Jamie,” he huffed, resigning himself to this fate.

You looked confused for another few moments before realisation dawned on your face and you giggled, tucking your face against his shoulder while hugging his arm.

“That’s my professor” you smiled brightly at him, “Jamie likes him a lot,” you giggled thinking about how much your friend likes to fan-girl about the older British man, “I am unfortunately, despite having such a wonderful, beautiful, smart and gorgeous boyfriend,” you listed praise after praise watching the blush on his face grow more and more vibrant, “not immune.”

You pressed a kiss to his piping hot cheek, not helping his current predicament and he whined cutely.

“But don’t worry,” you interlocked your hands and smiled even brighter at him, “I won’t look at him anymore~ Anything for my cute boyfriend~”

~

Nishimura Riki Ni-ki

Riki stared at the paper you were clutching and he couldn’t help but zero-in on the writing on it that clearly wasn’t yours.

He had an inkling it was another male specimen but wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

“What’s that?” he nodded at the paper, deciding to go for the safest option.

“Hmm?” you turned to face him. “Oh, you mean this?” you waved the paper in your hand.

He nodded, ready for everything and nothing at the same time.

“It’s some feedback from my professor” you explained to him, bringing the paper closer to him so he could read it. “It’s for a project I'm doing right now. It’s 60% of my grade.”

“Oh,” his eyebrow scrunched, “what subject is this?”

You grinned manically and Riki’s heart jumped seeing the unhinged look on your pretty face.

“The one we have with our newest addition to the faculty” your smile was sharp and he knew you knew what he was about to say next.

“That new hot professor or something?”

You burst into laughter. 

The words that left his mouth weren’t yours. You’d never say that about any of your professors. The words were uttered by your friend Mai when the three of you had gone out at the beginning of the semester. 

But it seems that her reaction must have left an impression on your impossibly tall boyfriend and your laugh, slowed into a quiet, cute giggle as you raised your hand and hooked it around Riki’s neck in a half hug.

“I don’t even find him that attractive sugar sticks” you grinned and your cutie of a boyfriend only huffed letting you tug him against yourself in a cuddle, feeling your much shorter hands pull him into a warm embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My dearest girls: @ch3rryc0smos & @janaicetea

if anyone wants to be a part of the taglist send an ask <3

[sealofarchives]

Oneshot scenario: Leo x GN!Reader - Late Hour Conversations

Prompt: A surprise visit from Leo when the reader couldn't make it to the lair due to pms (tone can be viewed as platonic or romantic)

Warnings: mostly towards the topic of pms (nothing too graphic though) and a slight mention of throwing up (again not too graphic)

Close to 2 am...

You just woke up from an accidental nap in attempt to get rid of the monthly menstrual headaches. Your phone was a few inches away as you winced grabbing it.

Sorry Leo, I can't make it to the lair today.

I couldn't sleep because of pms and I still have a terrible headache because of it...

The electronic screen laid out the messages you sent a few hours ago. You looked for some other video to watch while adjusting your head back onto the pillow.

The sound of a light blue portal appearing close to your bedside immediately caught your attention. As you tried to sit up while the red slider turtle almost dropped a plastic bag, slightly startled that you were still awake at this hour.

Leo cleared his throat but, still held on the bag filled with menstrual products, attempting to hide the worried look on his face.

"The store ran out on what you usually use so... Think you can manage a few days with these?"

"Its fine thanks but, you're not using this time to skip out on the night patrols?"

"Its been kind of a slow week so not much was happening. Until we all saw your message."

"When you mentioned the headache part, we didn't want to risk making it worse. Since we can get a bit rowdy and I dunno, just one turtle checking up on you seemed like the best idea."

"I'm guessing you guys were panicking when it happened to April."

Leo rolled his eyes as he made himself comfortable sitting in a nearby chair.

"I wouldn't call it panicking if we ended up getting pale faces with how Splinter explained it. At least April can make it sound like something out of a scary movie."

The turtle took notice towards a cup by your desk before looking back at you.

"I'd hate to bug you about staying hydrated at this hour but, if the headache's back, I could go grab a refill for you."

A sly smile showed up on your face as you briefly paused the video.

"When you say it like that, you're almost starting to sound like Raph."

Leo got up from the chair as he stuck out his tongue at you, taking the empty drink.

"You and Donnie always forget to eat breakfast right before Raph or Mikey wake up. Just be lucky I haven't told them about it."

The turtle returned back with the glass of water just as you readjusted yourself sitting by the edge of your bed. You briefly muttered a thanks with a remark.

"If you did, you'd be whining about missing a few hours for your well needed beauty sleep."

Leo sat beside you but, ignored the comment. Feeling his face heat up as you sipped your drink.

"You still kind of scared us when you were close to throwing up in the turtle tank. Just taking a shortcut away from reaching your favorite fast food place."

You muttered a geez under your breath, realizing it was a month ago when that happened.

"Don't remind me, I would have to be Donnie's helper for a few weeks if I ended up making a mess on his prized vehicle."

Leo lightly chuckled relaxing his shoulders as he began to stretch.

"I'm pretty sure Donnie will ease up on the workload. The fact you can keep up with his neverending tangents helps a lot. But, in case he gets a little too over his head, just get a spare beach ball-"

You lightly pinched Leo's cheek before going back to finish your drink.

"Yeah no, I can hold my ground against Donnie if he's gonna be stubborn about taking breaks."

"When he claimed, he can surpass my messed up sleep schedule by noon. Around 9 am, when I placed a pillow close to his keyboard. He was already snoring on top of it."

Leo rubbed his cheek while crossing one of his legs on to the edge of the bed.

"I guess any beach ball pranks are out of the question because..."

"I can already imagine you rushing to defend Donnie from those 'dreaded colorful spheres.'"

A light hum and smirk surfaced your face as you pretended to ignore Leo.

"If you keep bringing up it, I'll mostly spare Mikey and Raph and just aim for your face instead."

"Hey, I was kidding about that?! I wouldn't go that far to scare Donnie!"

The red slider turtle pouted as you laughed but, not loud enough to draw attention to your room.

"I know, just wanted to see if you're still keeping up to being the face man of the group~."

"Uh duh, its still part of my image. I don't need to be reminded-"

"Unless you want to keep pestering me about it~."

You playfully pushed Leo away but, grinned back at him.

"I guess I owe you a pizza since my headache hasn't come back to bite me."

"So, thanks Leo..."

Leo almost froze from the hug but, nuzzled near your shoulder because of your high body temperature.

"Are you gonna hate me if I really want pineapple toppings?"

You poked his face with your empty cup as Leo hid his head from your annoyed smile.

"I'll glare at you if you don't give me something in return..."

Leo gave a quick thumbs up before hurrying out of the door to refill your drink.

After a couple of days, both of you reached a compromise on an empty rooftop building, trading the pizza box for your favorite food. You still silently judged Leo's choice of pizza toppings.

However, he was more content that he got to see a genuine smile from you.

Bonus drawing:

I couldn’t draw the body without making it too wonky so here’s a quick sketch of a POV where you don’t notice Leo acting almost soft around you > /// <

[ashbeanss]

I’d never heard of precious jewel armor before reading your post talking about c!wilbur songs and now I’m listening to these songs and doing a thousand yard stare into the distance coping with all these emotions, GREAT artist thank you for the inadvertent recommendation!

ofc man! there are a few other dsmp musicians that i always think about: (this will be long check under the cut)

amanda fagan made some of the very first songs for a few characters, most notably her ‘take you down’ for quackity, ‘bittersweet’ for jack manifold, and ‘promises you couldn’t keep’ for niki. i will be very blunt, i do not like how she writes wilbur, and i would not recommend her wilbur songs, but ‘take you down’ is still the best written quackity song out there, and ‘bittersweet’ is incredible. do check out her work.

kanaya is a name most people have heard before but i need you all to listen to a song that is not marionettes or violence because guys. guys my god. yeah ‘i’ll let it burn’ is alright whatever have you heard ‘november 16th’? have you heard ‘us against the world’? please. i love her work. she did a collab with precious jewel amor where she wrote tommy’s song and precious wrote tubbo’s, they’re both great. ‘little hero’ is gorgeous. if i don’t think about ‘no reprise’ it can’t hurt me.

kroh made the ranboo song of all time and i will forever be greatful for that. go listen to ‘typical me’, amazing song, ‘hush’ is cool too. oh yeah kroh also made ‘mr bones’. i guess. but who gives a shit about ‘mr bones’ when ‘typical me’ is so good, you have to believe me. ‘home’ is also really good and way more underrated than ‘typical me’ so you should listen to it as well, more even.

candlebard only made two dream smp songs. and one of them is a dream song. that i haven’t listened to. but i would be fucking wrong if i didn’t tell you about ‘disappear’. oh my god ‘disappear’. i could write essays on this song. i love it so much. it is the c!wilbur song of all time, nothing will ever get him like ‘disappear’. it has everything, seasonal metaphors, an empathetic perspective on wilbur’s fall into destruction, incredible music. that’s all you need to make me happy really. this song has less than 200k views and that’s a crime. go listen to it please.

cjack, like candlebard, only made two dream smp songs, and i have only listened to one of them, but i physically couldn’t not bring up ‘phantom feelings’. it’s so important to me. no ghostbur song is like ‘phantom feelings’ i’m telling you. go listen to it, every other ghostbur song will be ruined for you forever. you will never be able to appreciate ‘blue’ by derivakat again because you will know there is better. and you have heard it.

hatorbee is a musician i’ve literally never seen anybody talk about but i needed to bring them up because they’ve made? so many songs? and to be very frank with you, are they all great? no. like musically some of these songs are not the best, but fuck damnit they should write poetry. also they get these characters more than some songs that sound amazing so. you win some you lose some. ‘one more dance’ was a core part of my dsmp phase and also the only skephalo song i’ve ever heard and the only reason i gave a shit about them. the timing is weird, the vocal performance isn’t perfect and is mixed strangely, but you can feel the passion oozing out of it. they also made the only karlnapity song with precious jewel amor and winks, and it’s kind of incredible? i might cry? also lies in the letters is very good wilbur characterisation. i’m giving it a strong stamp of approval.

bonus: ‘the mad king wilbur’ was deleted in it’s original video form recently but the topic reupload and an animatic still exist. watch one of them, the song is incredible and gorgeous. also not fansongs but cyborg blood’s crimeboys animatics make me very emotional and you should watch them specifically their ‘by your hand’ wilbur animatic.

thanks for reading my essay. have a good day. listen to los campesinos!

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 5: The Net.

Ch. 4 < Series masterlist > Ch. 6

Warnings: vague description of non-con recording, non-con drug use, cursing, minor character death.

Summary: Canary experiences fear, hope, and despair at the hands of her captors.

Do not read if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 1900~

It was growing colder by the minute, Canary could feel it on her back, which was still pressed against the wall, and on her naked feet. She tried rubbing her feet to keep them from going numb, but a sharp pain from her soles stopped her. She curved her right foot towards herself and took a peek to find the source of the pain, finding three red, circular shaped wounds - cigarette burns. They had probably done them while she was asleep to make sure she would have a hard time running away. 

Her eyes shifted her eyes back to Blondie, who had just stood from his chair and was now searching into a box. Canary ran her lips over her tongue, she had to find out what their intentions were with her. She wondered if she had been investigated by them, or if they had just picked her out by chance. Also, if they had someone else above them giving them instructions.

“...Why me?” She pried, her voice pitch a little higher than usual. She already assumed that they didn’t know she was a trained soldier, so showing them defiance wouldn’t help much, especially knowing that she could be replaced if they found her difficult to handle. Perhaps if she sounded scared enough, she wouldn’t be seen as much as a threat.

Blondie didn’t answer at first, only sent her a side-eye glare before checking the contents of the box again until he pulled out a laptop. He sat back down on his chair and placed the laptop on a small table. The laptop lit up and he typed something, perhaps the password. 

“...Because you’re pretty enough.” His voice was calm, unbothered, as if he was talking about the weather. There was no hint of the aggressive tone used a few minutes before. She guessed that her little strategy worked on him, making him think she wouldn’t be a fighter. What a fool. 

From where Canary was seated, she couldn’t see the screen, but only how the light illuminated Blondie’s face. Finally, he opened a video file. A series of whimpers resonated through the speakers. Then, a woman’s voice pleading to be set free. Little by little, Canary realized what kind of video he was watching, and her skin erupted in goosebumps. 

“Please, no, let me go, please… I-I won’t tell anyone, I’ll-” the woman in the video cried in pain as a loud slap made contact with her face. Then, her face grew muffled, as if her face had been shoved into a pillow or a mattress. The muted pleas turned into screams that echoed in the small basement. 

Canary only stared at Blondie as she felt her bile rising in her throat. She could only imagine what they were doing to the woman in the video, and the worst part was that her imagination filled in the blanks in the most unhelpful ways. She had seen videos of soldiers being tortured for intel, both in desensitization training and as part of pre-mission debriefs before a rescue. She had been coached on what to expect if she was ever captured, and even given techniques to handle the psychological and physical torture. The woman in the video was not. 

“I bet you’ll look even prettier on video,” Blondie smirked at her, there was a glint in his eyes that gave away his excitement. His stare was different now, predatory. Canary swallowed down the acid and frowned at him, her mind frantically working up a plan.

If she wanted to see Simon and Johnny, and the rest of her team, her newfound family again, she would have to find a way to escape. 

~~~~~~

After the third video played in a row, Canary was shivering. She wanted to think it was exclusively from the cold seeping through her bones, but she couldn’t rule out the possibility that it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

“Aw, are you getting excited?” Blondie cooed in a sickly sweet voice, “Don’t worry, me too.” He stood up and palmed his crotch, a dark chuckle seeping through his teeth as he saw her frown deepen. “What a defiant little kitty, I’ll have to tie you up.”

Before Canary had a chance to retort, a loud bang of a door resonated from upstairs, along with feet stomping above them. The door to the basement flew open and Baldie appeared with a frantic look on his face. 

“We are in fucking deep shit!” he yelled at Blondie, who looked downright pissed at him. 

“What the fuck do you-” He retorted, but Baldie ran down the basement stairs and stood in front of him, with the younger one from before hot behind his heels. 

“We went to get the fucking dart, and it was crowded with cops!” Baldie’s eyes were wide open, and his forehead was shining with sweat. 

“There were some soldiers there too!” the driver continued just as frantic, “A fucking unit of a dude with a fucking balaclava, like a fucking grim reaper starin’ right at us!” This perked Canary up, a small glimmer of hope warming up in her chest - they were definitely talking about Ghost. “They were definitely looking for something, right where we caught her!”

Blondie took a few seconds to process their words, and slowly turned to Canary, who felt a prickling sensation in her skin at the rage blooming in his eyes. “Why would the military look for you?”

Canary bit the inside of her lip, “...I have some friends in the military…” It was a half-truth, but she hoped they would buy it. If they knew that she was a soldier herself, she feared they would execute her right then and there to avoid more trouble. If they killed her and maintained a low profile for a while, they could easily get away. 

As long as she was alive, there was a chance she could escape from them, or that her team would find her. And knowing that the 141 Task Force was in on the search as well only increased her chances of survival. They would never leave her behind.

Blondie flared his nostrils and his hands clenched into fists as he turned around to face Baldie and the driver, “Take her back to the van, I know another place where to take her,” he commanded, pointing at Canary as she mentally prepared herself to give them a difficult time. “Once we get to that place, you,” he snarled, pointing at the driver, “will get rid of the van and find another vehicle for us.” 

Both men nodded and started approaching her. Canary uncurled herself to have more freedom of movement with her legs. The men noticed it, and quickly threw themselves at her. She screamed and threw a strong kick that connected to the younger’s side, but Baldie managed to grab onto her legs and pin them down. She wiggled up, trying to tug her hands free as she attempted to headbutt him. The other launched himself to her torso, ignoring the pain on his ribs as he put her neck in a chokehold and crossed one of his legs over her stomach. Her throat burned under the pressure, and the weight made it harder to breathe, but the man was inexperienced, and she managed to get the soft flesh of his forearm with a hard bite. He screamed a curse, and started tugging on her hair, trying to get her to release him, but she just locked her jaw in place, while still trying to free her legs from underneath Baldie. 

An all-to-familiar metallic click called her attention, and Canary looked up to see Blondie pointing a gun straight at her face. She stilled, feeling her heartbeat loud in her ears as she slowly slacked her jaw, releasing the man’s arm. . 

“Behave, bitch,” Blondie growled, before stabbing her in the neck with a loaded dart in the neck. She shouted in a mix of pain and frustration, feeling completely useless as she was so easily overpowered. The room began spinning around her again, and she lost sensation in her arms and legs. The same feeling of terror invaded her as when she first got drugged back in the trail, her last conscious thought was a memory.

~~~~~~

Canary tried hard not to pout at Johnny and Simon, who had come to see her once again before leaving for their mission. She was going to miss them greatly, as it was not often that they were separated. Simon noticed though - he always did - and leaned over her hospital bed. His balaclava was raised up to his nose to have easy access to her pouty lips with his own. 

“Be a good girl and wait for us.”

~~~~~~

A catchy Latin Pop song was blasting on the radio, and Melanie’s fingers tapped along the rhythm on the wheel. She had absolutely no idea of what the words were, but the tune was contagious enough for her taste. As she drove past the campus, her tapping faltered. 

She thought of the missing woman, who she only knew by her codename ‘Canary’, and her big soldier friends. Detective Hartford, who had been a mentor of hers in the police academy, had at one point mentioned that the bond of the 141 Task Force was a particularly tight one. They often faced dangerous situations of the kind she couldn’t even imagine, and so they were especially unnerved about this entire ordeal. 

She didn’t consider herself an overly empathetic person, but watching Hartford pull so many hours to help them made her want to do her most as well. Hence she found herself driving home, with the intention of having a light dinner, stocking herself with midnight snacks, and having a shower before going back to the crime lab. If she pulled an all-nighter, she believed she would be able to get a time advantage that the team desperately needed. 

As she stopped at an intersection, she saw a gray van drive past her. Alarm bells rang in her head as she recalled an eerily similar van speed past the search area that same afternoon, and she didn’t hesitate to change her usual route to follow it. As soon as she was at a distance she considered safe enough, she took her phone and dialed the dispatcher. 

“This is Officer Kirk, plaque number-” She identified herself to the operator and gave her location, before licking her lips and willing her breathing to remain steady, “I’m following a dark gray van that matches the description of a suspicious vehicle spotted today at the forest trail.” She dictated the license plate to the operator and waited for any confirmation that her instinct hadn’t lied to her.

~~~~~~

“...Alan,” Luke called out to the man sitting on the passenger seat, who grunted back at him, “a car is following us.”

Alan stopped rubbing his temple and shot him a look, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” the driver gulped, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, “the woman’s talking on the phone.” 

This caught Alan’s attention, and he looked at the side view mirror on his side of the van, cursing under his breath when he saw it was true. He turned around on his seat, locking eyes with Charlie, who had been listening intently. “Use the rifle.” 

Charlie nodded and grabbed the weapon, leaving his spot next to the unconscious woman and crawling to the back door of the van. He peered through the small window, before slowly unlatching the safe and taking aim. 

The young officer didn't notice the scope of the rifle until the bullet had already been fired, and her chest exploded in burning pain. It didn't last long, however. And by the time her car lost control and ran into the first line of trees, she didn't feel any of it.

A/N: I hope you haven't grown too attached to Melanie :/

Taglist: @died-in-a-field-of-flowers @rafaelacallinybbay @namenotimportant1373 @ragingbookdragon @zinfairy @scrumplump @speckel @omgitstatertot @fullmoon-94 @kalamataolivesssss @embers-of-alluring @warenai @frazie99 @kee-0-kee @littlezarp @scaredknight @tapioca-marzipan @kendahl757 @sweetybuzz25

To be added to the taglist, comment on the series masterlist you can find at the top of this post!

[deanwax]

Writer Interview

Cheers for the tags, @autism-purgatory and @the-golden-comet <3

no-presh tag to @dyrewrites and @winterandwords, lets gooo

About Me

When did you first start writing?

I would've cut my teeth in the Neopets roleplay forums around age 11-12, likely didn't start writing standalone fics until age 18-19.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Not really, but also: I'll read literally anything if it's presented as a graphic novel. It's been a useful way to discover new things, and historical graphic novels have been a gateway drug to documentaries and video essays.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

I don't really concern myself with emulation these days, but way back I tried to style a novel heavily on the works of Poppy Z Brite. I was too green to understand how to give a gothic horror a point, and "Wailing" fizzled out with not much more than wallowing in edgy misery. I've still never been able to salvage the plot or characters to this day.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

In order of frequency: lying on my stomach in bed with a heat pack, at my computer desk, hunched up in the corner of a train, being weirdly intense in the bar of a local theatre. So yeah, I do a lot of writing on my phone.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

I'm actually in the middle of reckoning with my own limitations caused by a chronic pain condition, so I'm more in the camp of "let the muse come to you". I try to check in often, I'd only to smash out a few more notes or paste in some research.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

No, except Sucks Down Under which is literally set in early 2000s Australiana. For the most part I'm making stuff up freestyle.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

I didn't think there'd be so much symbolic cannibalism when I started out, but here we are.

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Man. Adam "Flicker" Prescott from Wailing was the OG, man. He was supremely socially awkward and couldn't stick up for himself against his trans friend who was too angry about gender to see how cruel they were being. He could see ghosts. Eventually he got separated from his body entirely and became a spirit trapped in the mind of the vampire who killed him. He deserved better.

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

Flicker could live in the back of my mind if he wanted. I guess he does.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Setting aside outright villains, I actually would start to avoid Alistair from Impressions of Aire for long stretches of time if I knew him IRL. He's way too socially outgoing, man. That's not my speed. Small doses only.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

The speed at which I can come up with these dudes is too fast to clearly separate the process onto steps. It helps to have a prompt to get the bones down, like a genre or an event that will happen in the story. Then: nyeeeooowwww.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

Autism.

What’s your reason for writing?

Also autism. Yes, yes, the joy of creation. But also: I am putting the characters through The Situations with wildly different parameters.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Babe, I write original fiction. Any kind of comment at all is a joyous rarity.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

A trickster.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Grounding the actions of the story in some kind of reason, or at least a process that can be observed if not clearly understood.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Knack for words.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

I have loved everything I have ever written.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Yes, so I could read it later.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

Any story where I've tried to inject content that would make it popular has hit wall until I've allowed myself to rework it to be as weird as I truly want it to be.

[markkiforsure]

Coming Home (Part 3) Poly!BillyxReaderxStu

(Sorry I haven't posted part 3. I've got classes and junk and I recently found some video games to be obsessed with so, my bad! Anyway, here's part 3! Also, thanks for all the likes! Hope you enjoy.)

The car screeched to a halt in front of a familiar home just outside of Woodsboro. It wasn't like the other sparkling gold and white modern houses that littered the wealthy streets of the town. It was built up ward instead of outward like the rest of the houses, the worn-down bricks that stacked together to make the outside of the house dug into the rocky hillside just behind it, creating a rather odd-looking backward slant to the towering 4 story house. The widows were few and far between on the front side of the house, with black curtains cutting off an outsider's view into the house.

Billy stared up at the topmost window. Unlike the rest, the heavy black curtains had been pulled back, possibly even ripped off the wall due to the fact that not even a sliver of the pulled back black curtain could be seen. It had been opened wide to let in the cool autumn air and Billy's heart clenched as he remembered who had first made him fall in love with the autumn season in the first place.

Stu gave Billy a concerned look, something softer than what he would usually give others, not even Tatum would have been given the type of look Stu gave Billy as they stepped out of the car and slammed the doors shut. It was almost nostalgic coming back to house that was once more their home than their actual homes. Stu gulped as he remembered the last time that he had been here, but Billy was still just staring up at that window, a glazed look in his eyes.

"I hate this. I fucking hate it." Stu says as he takes a step back into the car, his heart racing. Billy finally turned to look back at Stu with a sad look before looking down at the ground.

"I know. Me too but... but it's better to do this here than to do it at school where they'll get humiliated just for even talking to us." Billy replied defeatedly. Stu whimpered quietly and Billy took a deep breath before patting Stu on the pack encouragingly and walking up to the front door, Stu following close behind.

Despite the rest of house, the door was stark white with gold accents that looked disgusting against the old brick of the house. Billy grumbled to himself as he rung the doorbell.

"When this is all over, we're getting them a new fucking door." Stu scoffs, some of his confidence returning.

"That's a given. We should probably also get someone to replace the windows too. You know they've got a style."

Billy smiled at that before his face fell back to its usual neutrality as the door opened. The woman that stood before them looked much more wrinkled than they remembered, her body and face not having aged well. However, she still wore the same blinding white suit and chunky gold necklace that made her look like an oddly dressed hooker.

The woman's eyes widened as she took in the two boys at her door, her face shifting into a smile.

"Well, hello there boys. Have you come to see Y/n?"

Billy winced and Stu grimaced as the woman's voice had become much hoarser since the last time they had spoken to her and from the smell coming off of her breath it became very clear why, she had started smoking again, guess the last few years had really done a number on her.

Billy flashed her his usual charming smile.

"Yeah, we heard they were back and wanted to check in on them."

The woman smiled brightly as she let them inside.

"Of course! Come in. Come in. She/He has just started to unpack so I'm sure she'll/he'll need plenty of help getting stuff all set up in his/her old room."

Billy bit his lip to hold himself back from correcting her but Stu quickly jumped in, swinging his arm around Billy's shoulder loosely.

"Yup, we'll be sure to help them out as much as possible while we're here."

Stu interjected with a bright smile as he dragged the barely held together bomb of rage that was Billy up the stairs to the top floor of the house.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs Billy had calmed down, though he still grumbled about starting to call people by their opposite gender to see how they'd feel about it. However, his complaints quickly died out as the two came face to face with an all too familiar door.

Stu's earlier feeling began to resurface as he whimpered at the memory of how he had shut that door 2 years ago and hadn't seen it since. Billy couldn't even look at the door as he remembered how he had left that room the last time he was here.

The two exchange a look as they unconsciously reached for each other's hands and intertwined their fingers before Stu raised his hand to knock on the door.

[parthenosvenus]

In the midst of a few Vecna-related events that had Steve, Eddie and the others involved in more life-threatening experiences than forecasted, Steve managed to get Eddie a Christmas present.

Eddie hadn’t even registered the holiday nearing while he was scheming and fighting for his life, but Steve Harrington is always a surprise. Steve Harrington will beat the shit out of demobats and other hellish creatures, and act as bait and get beaten up into a pulp as well to protect everyone, and he’ll show up at your doorstep before his work shift two days later like nothing happened.

As it occurred, Steve’s face was still bruised and a bit swollen and his lips cut, but they still curled into a timid smile when he handed Eddie the atrociously wrapped gift.

“It’s Christmas Day?!” Eddie gasped, hesitantly accepting it. It was a bit heavy, definitely porcelain.

“Not yet. In two days,” Steve started explaining, a hand on his hip and one scratching the back of his neck and making his Family Video shirt lift. “It’s a dumb cheap thing that was on clearance sale. And I got it at the mall before things got crazy - wasn’t even thinking about Christmas - but shit might be hitting the fan again, you know. So…” For a moment, Eddie forgot the matter at hand to admire the revealed skin, and it took a bit for him to unwrap the brand new Garfield mug. “You said yours got broken with the earthquake.”

He felt like a bee had just stung his heart. “I have nothing for you though.” Eddie said sincerely, blinking at his personal Santa.

“Tragic.” Steve shrugged, moving closer to his boyfriend until their arms were pressed together. He then took the mug from Eddie’s hands to “check if it got chipped”.

Such a mundane and trivial moment, the way Steve’s eyes grew big and focused to observe the object while his scars weren’t even fully healed, almost made Eddie cry.

To cope with those feelings he cupped Steve’s hands around the mug and resorted to his favorite way to play it down. “I guess the knight will have to repay the princess in other ways…” He teased with a smile and some dramatic flapping of eyelashes, rubbing the skin under his thumbs.

He saw Steve’s expression change into something more hot-blooded and the next moment the present was on the counter and Steve had promptly jumped onto Eddie’s lips, surprising him. As flustered as a middle schooler, Eddie felt heat rising to his cheeks and his fingers itched to hold onto something. He chose the striped polo shirt.

He had just started to unwind when, for some reason, he decided to pull apart for a second and ask, “Weren’t you headed to work?”

Steve took his time to peek at the clock behind them and eventually groaned against Eddie’s mouth. “Fuck,” he whined, briefly pressing their foreheads together. “Robin’s gonna kill me,” he whined some more and eventually let go of Eddie’s waist, not without giving it a playful squeeze. “Gotta go.” He bit his lip and put distance between them before it could get out of hand. “Come visit me at work at some point and we’ll be even!” He picked his jacket and walked out.

—

Left alone and ruffled, Eddie came up with something, determined to not let the kindness be unanswered.

First he went to Robin, who didn’t miss the chance to laugh at him a little before her approval, then to his reluctant D&D club which was basically dragged into it with the use of threats.

He wrote lyrics and got everyone to practice with him.

—

That’s the story of how he got to his current situation: waiting outside Family Video with acoustic guitar in his hands, while Robin makes sure the store is empty and Steve distracted.

Eddie recognizes the signal when she rubs her nose three times. He is immediately pushed inside.

Steve is standing between the shelves holding a pile of movies when they finally lock eyes and Eddie halts, asking himself ‘what the hell am I doing?’

But he then registers Robin excitedly gesturing like an orchestra director behind his boyfriend and it’s enough to restore Eddie’s confidence. Under Director Buckley’s control, the kids start behind him with a bad chorus of “ooooh” that forces him to carry on with his Christmas serenade.

Just a year ago, shivers would have run down his spine at the thought of doing something so cheesy and attention-seeking.

It starts with ‘You’re the best, my Steve, like snow on Christmas Eve..’

‘When you came to say hi today, I didn’t want you to go away…’

The song is the opposite of what he likes in this world, all jingle bells and festive.

‘Don’t worry about the weather, as long as we’re together…’

It ends with ‘I ask you, sweetheart. This Christmas, let’s never be apart..’ along with the whistling and cheers of their friends.

Steve is still there, torturing his lips. It’s Robin who takes the pile of movies from his hands and nudges him with a friendly knee to his ass. He walks up to Eddie with one hand in his pocket and the other already reaching out to take the serenader’s wrist.

Eddie’s being led behind some shelves when Steve turns to Robin and asks her to keep an eye on things for five minutes. Still embarrassed, Eddie pretends to look at the movies released in 1983.

“You’re always full of surprises,” Steve says, taking Eddie’s fingers off the displayed copy of A Christmas Story and demanding his whole attention. While his attitude and tone are provocative, his eyes are big and sweet and his cheeks red. It makes the metalhead’s heart race because he’s just flustered Steve Harrington with the lamest act ever.

It makes Eddie confident enough to add some more. “I told you I had to give my princess something in return,” he says, playing with Steve’s name tag on his vest.

Just like earlier, Steve’s eyes light up when he hears the words and he’s soon close to Eddie’s lips. Something in the store falls and reminds them that there might be people around.

“We shouldn't…” Eddie whispers, even though he’s near enough to taste the employee’s lip balm.

Steve seems to remember something then, and searches his back pockets, eventually pulling out a small stem of mistletoe. “I had this ready for later, but…” He lifts it above their heads and smiles.

Eddie doesn’t need him to insist. He clasps the sleeve of the vest and tugs him into a kiss so eagerly they almost knock everything on the shelf. Steve forgets of the mistletoe he was holding and throws it somewhere in favor of stroking Eddie’s hair.

If this is the premise of Eddie’s Christmas, he’ll be more than happy to celebrate.

[corbenic]

For @pinkstarsdress

This is the fourth part of the follow-up to the Princess Imperial deleted scene “Garden Proposal.” A full list of shared outtakes can be found here.

Note: this outtake mentions that one of Evie's relatives recently received a terminal cancer diagnosis. It’s a topic I’m sensitive about after a close friend of mine died of stomach cancer, and I’ve been careful to write a story that doesn’t prick my cancer triggers—but please read with caution if cancer is a difficult subject for you

GARDEN PROPOSAL: AFTERMATH (PART FOUR)

Word Count: 3,000

Summary: Evie O'Brien and her boyfriend-slash-maybe-fiancé, The Prince Imperial, get chewed out for every stupid thing they've done over the past few days (spoiler: it's a lot). Evie is recognized in the airport.

Written: autumn 2022

Context: an early chapter three draft of my novel The Bonaparte Bride before I decided to publish it as Princess Imperial the website

Deviations from canon: the timeline (Julien proposes in October 2023 rather than March 2023), character ages and birth order, the size and composition of Julien's staff, Fiona is getting married

“Evie!” The photographers shout over each other. “Prince Julien!”

I tighten my grip on Julien’s hand. Spots swim over my vision.

Vincent curses under his breath.

The clicking of cameras and flashes of white are nonstop. Next to me, Julien steps forward, tugging my hand to usher me along.

Right. The walk from the building to our waiting car isn’t long. Besides, we can’t go back inside and find another exit. There are probably paparazzi waiting for us outside every door. The only way out is through the deluge of light.

“Feeling better, Evie?” one of the photographers to my right calls out.

I don’t turn to look. If I acknowledge them, I’ll look directly at their camera, and the photo will sell for more money. These folks have families to feed and bills to pay, so I can’t fault them for trying to maximize the value of their shots. However, if I look their way, I’ll gain a reputation of being willing to play to the cameras. I made that mistake once, a year ago. I’m not doing it again.

“How was the show?” another one asks.

“More importantly,” a loud voice says, “how was the intermission?”

Sniggers rise up around us. I resist the urge to check if my dress has hiked up. Reacting now will only encourage rumors—and I really don’t need gossip about a quick shag at the theater attached to my name. Besides, it’s not as though I could see anything. My world has narrowed to rainbowy blurs, the warmth of Julien’s hand in mine, the bite of frosty air on my skin, a light breeze brushing snowflakes against my face, the endless bursts of light.

I keep walking. Vincent will make sure our path is clear. Just get to the car, and it’ll be over.

“Hey, Evie,” a man standing to my left hollers. I recognize his voice. He’s one of my regular paps. Monday morning, he’ll be waiting outside either my apartment or the Drouot office, camera in hand. “My mama always said not to put out before a proposal. You should keep that in mind.”

The pack of photographers dissolves into laughter. I focus on breathing through my nose. Inhale while counting to three. Exhale while counting to three. Repeat.

I can’t react. I won’t. If I do, the photos are worth more. If I do, they’ll never leave me alone.

“Better lock her down if she’s that good, Highness.”

Their laughter is like the bark of a hyena.

“Almost there,” Vincent says, right as my vision begins to clear. I barely hear him over the jeers and the chorus of Evie, Evie, Evie.

Across the street, people have stopped to gawk. There are about a dozen of them. Every single one has their phone aimed in our direction. It’s impossible to tell if they’re taking photos or videos, just that they haven’t turned on the flash.

I can see our car. It’s a black Peugeot SUV, nothing flashy. You would never guess it’s bulletproof if you walked by it on the street. An imperial guard opens the backseat door for us. I think this one is Philippe, who was top of his military academy class. He graduated in the summer. Vincent handpicked him for Julien’s team. Based on the ghostly shade of his face, I think the new guy might be reconsidering the honor of serving The Prince Imperial.

I clamber into the car, quickly followed by Julien. The door closes. We buckle up. Vincent barks instructions to the other guard before getting into the driver’s seat. The new guy settles into the passenger seat.

As we pull away, the new guard asks, “Is it always like this?”

“No,” Julien says at the same time as I say, “Yes.”

“I’ve been getting a lot of questions about the rumors that Prince Julien is going to marry Evie O’Brien. They’ve been together long enough that I’m sure they’re thinking about it. I hope he doesn’t marry her, though. She’s a snake who throws a tantrum when things don’t go her way.

Just look at the twins’ birthday party for proof! Evie was photographed leaving in a rush. A few hours later, an unnamed source with palace ties (probably Julien’s go-to, Hugo Masséna) said she was sick. This is an obvious lie.

Look at the photos of Julien’s ex-girlfriend, Véronique Mortier, about to burst into tears while chatting with her. Empress Christine was pictured glaring at Evie, too. No doubt the American tried controlling the party like she controls the prince. When it didn’t work, she ran away. It was the only way she could steal the spotlight.

But there had to be a reason why she left, something sympathetic that wouldn’t raise eyebrows. She decided to fake being sick. As always, she did a half-assed job. Last night, she and Julien were spotted at the Opéra Garnier—less than 24 hours after she fled the party. Nobody gets over an illness, even something as small as a stomach bug, that quickly.

Evie is desperate to marry the prince. She’s leaking engagement stories to the press in the hopes they’ll stick. I expect the Emperor will intervene before there’s a ring. There’s no way he’ll let a social-climbing diva marry his heir.”

—“Is Prince Julien Engaged to Evie O’Brien?” on Crowns and Gowns, October 22

TUILERIES PALACE

PARIS, ÎLE DE FRANCE, FRANCE

OCTOBER 22

“Why on earth did you go out last night?” Stéphanie Trang glowers at us. Her black hair is pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head. Her outfit is similarly no-nonsense: white silk blouse, black slacks, pearl earrings. The lapis lazuli pendant around her neck is the only hint of color. Her arms are folded across her chest.

She’s seated at the end of a large oak table. It’s covered in papers. I spy newspaper clippings, a couple magazine spreads, and an awful lot of blog posts.

Hugo sits between Julien and his PR specialist, doubling as a buffer between them. I’m seated next to Julien. This is the first time I’ve met Marcel, the head of palace PR. He sits to my right. Empress Christine sits to his right, followed by Emperor Louis-Napoleon, and then the Emperor’s private secretary, Brigitte.

This is a group designed to tell Julien and me all the ways we’ve fucked up over the past three days. We’re an hour in, and have just now finished hashing out the problems with me leaving the birthday party early.

“Evie being sick was the perfect cover story, and you ruined it,” Stéphanie continues. “Now everyone is wondering what actually happened.”

I sip my tea. Françoise was in the kitchen when I woke up, and insisted I try the lemon and ginger blend. It’s disgusting. Too much ginger. However, it’s a good opportunity to practice keeping my composure. If I can get through this meeting without revealing I hate it, I can do the same at a public event, like a banquet.

“This cannot happen again. If you two are serious about getting married—and I know you are—you have to stick to the narrative we spin, regardless of how inconvenient it is.”

Next to me, Julien doodles beetles. Half the page is already filled with them. There are a few notes, too, mostly small things like Refrain from asking about family members in public and Make sure Evie’s lipstick is blotted down before kissing her.

“Would planting a story about Madame O’Brien’s cancer help?” The Empress asks. Today, her white-blond hair hangs loose. It is perfectly straight. She’s paired emerald earrings with her blush pink caftan.

I immediately say, “No.”

Stéphanie considers for a long moment. “It’s not a bad idea. The story humanizes Evie, makes it much harder to criticize the marriage, and provides a lead-in for charity work.”

Julien writes Research cancer charities on his notepad, then adds Chat with scientists about recent breakthroughs and cures? Discuss with Stéphanie and Hugo.

Marcel taps his pen against the edge of the table. His thinning gray hair is swept into a combover. He’s dressed like every man who works for the imperial family: blue suit, pressed shirt, necktie, wristwatch. The one exception is his lapel pin. It’s a tiny golden eagle. Supposedly it was a gift from one of the Prime Ministers he worked for. Marcel spent twenty years steering Prime Ministers through PR crises before joining the imperial staff. He’s served the Emperor for fifteen years. He’s the second most feared person in the palace, after Countess Mimerel.

“I like it,” he says. “It makes the romance more compelling. Also, we can preemptively cover any gaffes by saying Evie is taking the job sooner than planned.”

Julien jots down Recycle my recent “settling into the job” PR push for Evie.

“No,” I repeat, louder. “My mother is a private citizen. I am not going to sell her to the press vultures to make myself look good.”

Marcel takes a swig of coffee before saying, “We are trying to convince the world to accept a middle-class American as crown princess. If we had two more years, sure, we could leave the family out of it. Without that time, cancer is our best angle.”

“We’ll be fine without bringing Shannon’s health into this,” Julien says. “Everyone hates an imperial girlfriend and loves an imperial bride. We’ll organically build goodwill by doing the job.”

The Emperor scrubs a hand over his face. “Evie’s popularity is not the problem. We’re worried about our overall stability. Algeria will vote whether or not to remove us as head of state in their next election. The Senegambian president asked the Prime Minister about the possibility of reparations for colonial occupation at the Outre-mer Heads of Government Meeting last week.”

“Senegambia wants reparations?” Julien echoes, scrawling the exact same thing on his paper. “You could have mentioned that earlier.”

“You were in Tahiti.”

“I’ve been back for five days.”

“Senegambia,” Marcel says, “is a symptom of a larger problem. The monarchy is seen as out of touch and insensitive to human suffering. Madame O’Brien’s condition deflects these accusations.”

Stéphanie adds, “Not even the most jaded republican can criticize the Prince Imperial for marrying his beloved before her mother’s inevitable death.”

The Empress nods emphatically. “We need this wedding to renew faith in the monarchy. What could be more beautiful than two people pledging their love in the face of immense personal loss?”

“Isn’t love enough?” I say.

All eyes turn to me.

“I wanted to marry Julien in another year or two, because I love him and I was ready. Not because my mom is dying. There has to be another angle.” My voice quavers, but I don’t stop talking. “I’m the one marrying into this family. I’m the one giving up my career and my homeland. Use that. Not her.”

Julien sets down his pen. “We could emphasize that Evie will be eligible to apply for citizenship in July.”

Stéphanie tilts her head to one side while writing something in her notebook. “You raise a good point. The public will appreciate Evie earning citizenship on her own merits rather than because of your marriage.”

Julien looks to me. I nod, so he keeps going. “Look at the Princess of Wales and Duke of Albany. Their wedding didn’t have a tragic undertone, and the public can’t get enough of them.”

“England will never get rid of its kings,” Marcel says. “They don’t have a system of government without them. Do not forget that France has overthrown three kings and one emperor, or that the 1967 coup d’état almost succeeded.”

I sip my terrible tea. Marcel and the Emperor may remember the 1967 coup. I only know about it thanks to history classes. The Prime Minister tried to resurrect the French Republic and install himself as President. He held the title for approximately six hours before being fatally shot by a gendarme.

That gendarme, incidentally, went on to have an illustrious military career. He’s now one of the Marshals of France. I met him at the twins’ birthday party.

“That was over fifty years ago. Things are different now,” Julien says. “And I still don’t see how using Shannon for our own gain will stabilize the institution.”

“All is fair in love and war. This is both.” The Empress looks to Stéphanie. “I want an outline of what we’re leaking and to whom on my desk by the end of the week.”

“Consider it done, Your Majesty.”

“Hugo.”

Hugo glances up. He’s filled an entire page with his small, cramped handwriting.

“Figure out possible dates for the announcement, the engagement party, and the wedding.”

Hugo pulls out his work phone and starts scrolling through something. “Brigitte, can you send me—”

“On it.” The Emperor’s private secretary is a tiny woman, not even five feet tall. She’s worked for the Emperor for six years. I’ve admired her style from afar for as long as I’ve known Julien. Today, she wears a navy blue wrap dress and multiple gold necklaces.

“No.” I set my teacup down so hard that it cracks. “We are not selling out my mother. And it’s too soon to choose a wedding day. We’re not even engaged yet.”

Marcel asks, “What are you talking about? You and the prince have come to an agreement on the matter. Of course you’re engaged.”

“Not officially engaged,” Julien clarifies. “Haven’t done the Hollywood proposal yet.”

Hugo grimaces. “Don’t be a basic white American girl, Evie.”

Julien says, “We can figure out dates, though. We have, what, nine months at most to get this done?”

“More like seven,” Stéphanie says.

I sigh. I will have to pick the wedding day fight later. “My mother is off-limits. No leaking or planting or briefing or anything without her permission.”

“I could call,” Hugo offers.

The words are barely out of his mouth when I spit, “No. I’ll talk to her about it when I’m in Chicago. If she’s fine with it, I will let you know. But there will be no movement on this until after Christmas.” I look Stéphanie in the eyes. “Understood?”

She nods, once, jerkily.

And with that, everyone decides the meeting is over.

I drink the last of my tea while Julien and Hugo tuck away their pens and notepads.

“I think that went well,” Julien says after his parents, their entourage, and Stéphanie have left the room, leaving us with Hugo.

“Except for the part where I thought you were going to rip my balls off,” Hugo adds. “Where did that come from?”

“My family stays out of this.”

“I know that. Allow me to rephrase the question. Who replaced Evie with a clone of Empress Christine, and why?”

Julien snorts. “Please. Evie is nothing like my mother.”

“You say that because you trust they’ll never flay the skin from your bones.”

I exchange a look with Julien. His mouth quirks. Guess he’s into the idea of me with a whip.

“Get your brains out of the gutter. You are not allowed any kinky thoughts until after the hubbub from last night has worn down.”

“We didn’t—” I start to say.

“I know that. Who has sushi before sex? Especially a quickie? At the Opéra Garnier, of all places?”

I consider pointing out the long history of ballerinas becoming mistresses of powerful men. Our kiss is probably one of the least steamy things to have happened in that hallway. Instead, I mutter, “Now I want to.”

Julien chokes on a laugh.

Hugo looks up at the ceiling, pointedly ignoring us, and says, “I am not paid nearly enough for this.”

“I hear your end of year review is coming up,” I say. “You should take it up with your boss.”

“You know what, Evie? That’s a great idea. I think I will.”

NAPOLEON IV AIRPORT

PARIS, ÎLE DE FRANCE, FRANCE

OCTOBER 23

I arrive at the airport early the next morning. Fiona flew to Greece last night. So did Jo and Alexandrine. Fiona keeps texting me as the others arrive. Sounds like I’m the only one left.

Between texts, I am rereading The Odyssey. Er, trying to. Five seats away, a gaggle of college-aged young women chat loudly amongst themselves.

“Oh my God, isn’t that Evie O’Brien? Prince Julien’s girlfriend?”

“What’s she doing here?”

“That can’t be her. She’s not pretty enough.”

I glance up. One of them is taking pictures of me. I’ll probably be going viral on Quickpic within the hour.

Around us, other people have noticed the college kids and are looking curiously in my direction. They’re probably trying to figure out why I’m famous enough to be photographed at the airport terminal.

“I hear she’s secretly engaged to the prince.”

“Ask her. I dare you.”

“You do it!”

They argue back and forth about this for an entire minute. I keep reading, stopping only to text Julien a question.

Lunete: Does the Greek text of the Odyssey really say ‘wine dark sea,’ or is that a King James Bible situation where one translator took some creative license but it’s such a good line that everyone else keeps using it?

Twenty years ago, Julien’s parents’ phones were hacked by a reporter. Transcripts of their voice mails were published in multiple tabloids. As a security measure, the imperial family and their friends aren’t allowed to use real names for their contacts anymore. Instead, we all create codenames for each other.

I happen to know that Julien is “Gauvain” in my phone, “Montaigne” in his own, “Pomme de Terre” in Hugo’s, “Gris” in Jo’s, and “Saxophone” in Alexandrine’s.

Gauvain: The ancient Greeks didn’t have a word for blue, so Homer really did describe it that way.

Gauvain: Did Fiona decide to go to Ithaca after all?

Before I can respond, one of the college kids approaches me. She’s short, with long dark hair. Her bangs are curled just enough to keep them out of her eyes.

“Excuse me,” she says. “Are you… You look like her so I’m just wondering if you might be—”

“Evie O’Brien?” I ask.

She nods.

“I hear that a lot.”

Recognition flares in her eyes. “Can we take a selfie?”

“No.”

She fumbles in her purse for a pen. “Could you sign—”

“Also no.”

[mrrightandmrbubble]

I hope you’re doing well XO

Hi, hello, I still exist though my blog upkeep would say otherwise. It's been a minute. That's really sweet that you 1) thought of me and 2) wanted to check in. I start to type up something about last year but keep abandoning it because how do you casually introduce that to people's timelines?

So, yeah, ripping off the Band-Aid (putting behind a read-more in case of triggers):

Someone tried to kill me. Well, not just someone, a now-former housemate who I thought was a friend. I still don't understand what lead to it and I don't know if I ever will, because they swing between "nothing happened" and "but if something did, it's her fault" (the O.J. defense). They were removed kicking and screaming from the house by police, and a provisional APVO was served that night with the provision that they must not come within 50 metres of any place where I live or work. It's already had a few court mentions, which I didn't have to attend, but an actual hearing has been adjourned to my birthday this year (happy fucking birthday to me) upon which I expect i'll be called to give my evidence. Charges include: Armed with intent to commit serious indictable offense, destroy/damage property, intimidation, common assault, and intentional choking. They're pleading not guilty on the grounds of mental health, but pull the other one. They had awareness and intent, and the ability to understand the events and make different choices in real-time - such as putting down the knife and saying to the other housemate who was trying to keep me safe, "The only reason i'm not killing her is because you're here".

They tracked down CC (after i'd shared that shit heap of a situation with them) to try and dig for dirt to use against me. They sent the other housemate messages and accusations through her via text for a few months, until the other housemate moved out and blocked them on everything. Some continued willful actions.

Once the property recovery order was finally sorted, they sent a family member and their partner to collect their belongings, and it became obvious rather quickly that they have not been honest with anyone about what they did. The fact that they refused my initial proposal of having a mutual friend do the collection supports that. Not that them acknowledging it would provide any kind of validation or resolution - they've bent over backwards to avoid taking responsibility for themselves since i've known them. But it's that which worries me re: how the hearings could go. I have to prepare myself for the likelihood that they won't face any natural consequences for their actions. The mentions so far have been more concerned with their wellbeing than mine. I haven't been contacted by anyone in months. If it eventuates that they get to go on their merry way, i'm not sure yet how I would respond.

At least the Department of Justice has been amazing, approving an Immediate Needs Support Package to fund a complete security overhaul for the premises. My GP also referred me to a psychologist while the local Domestic Violence Court Advocacy Service applied to VOCAL (Victims of Crime Assistance League) on my behalf, though nothing's come of that yet. [EDIT: I just called to follow up and they seem to have lost me in the system, which is awesome but they can't all be winners.]

I wasn't seriously injured, thankfully, besides a chunk of my hair being pulled out (and subsequent blood) and cuts and bruises around my body.

As for my mental health, i'm...okay, I guess. That I knew I needed to quickly access support to mitigate development of PTSD probably saved me from being much worse. I had panic attacks and would replay the event like a video over and over for the first few months after it happened. I have occasional moments when I have trouble dealing with it and get real hard on myself, wishing they'd finished me off. But those moments, thankfully, do pass. Maintaining connection with friends and family, as a means of navigating the trauma recovery, hasn't been easy in recent months (will cover it in another post) but in fighting against my old instinct of avoiding asking for help, it serves as a reminder that there are places and people I can still trust and feel safe around. I've basically treated myself like a client and thought, "Ignore the lies your brain is trying to feed you - what would your best self do right now?"

I survived. I'm continuing to survive. That's the big takeaway.

[togetherasone]

Hello!

I thought, since you've mentioned that you're kinda new to the Ghost fandom, that I could send you an ask and hopefully make you feel more welcome here! 😊

Feel free to answer or ignore these questions as you wish.

How did you get into Ghost?

Favorite song and album?

Favorite papa and ghoul?

Hi, Jay! Oh, goodness, thank you so much for the ask! Don't worry, these questions are so sweet! Let's do this :)

Just... Be ready... I got carried away... Sorry...

How did you get into Ghost?

Well, I got into Ghost on a completely random Saturday night back in May, hah... Sometimes I have these bursts of unconditional love for music that make me listen to music for hours on end, and on this random Saturday I had one of them! I was off to bed, but, instead of actually sleeping, I stayed awake listening to music, and, at some point, my playlist was over and recommended songs started playing. And, well, it was a mix of known and unknown songs, as Spotify always does.

Mary On A Cross started playing, and I vividly remember opening my eyes in amazement when the final harmonies came in (I got goosebumps for real!) and unlocking my phone to check the name of the song. I replayed it. And replayed it. And replayed it! Then, I went to YouTube and discovered a live version of the song. Watched it. Didn't understand what was going on. Masked band members, face-painted singer... Felt strangely attracted to Papa... And the video was amazing. The harmonies! Then, I messaged a friend of mine who always sends me songs to listen and said "Hey! I have a song for you! It's so damn good!" and sent him the link to the song.

Before he listened to it, he said "I'll listen to it, but be aware that I'm prejudiced against this band" and I asked him why. He told me he had seen Ghost live when they opened for Iron Maiden back in 2013 (I guess?) and stated that "the concert had a fucking strange energy, I just wanted it to be over". I asked him why again, and he said that it all looked like a "fucking Satanic ritual" and sent me the link to the Year Zero music video. He said, "Listen to this and tell me what you think of it".

Well, I listened to it and I'm not gonna lie that I felt a bit unsure of what to think of it. It was... Odd, you know? But I... Liked it, hah... I had never listened to something like Year Zero... And was mesmerized by it. I didn't tell him that I liked the song, though... Just agreed with him that it was a fucking weird band. By the way, he listened to Mary On A Cross and said "Ohhhh, everyone is using this song on TikTok, so this is the song! Well, this one is good, better than the ones they sang when opening for Iron Maiden...". I simply said, "Oh, okay? I don't have TikTok, so whatever... I'm just glad you liked the song!"

On the next morning, I went to their profile on Spotify and played a few of their songs. That was when I fell down the rabbit hole :) However, it took a while for me understand Ghost, you know? I think it was only in July that I decided to search the band on Google, and find out that there was an intricate lore behind it, and, bang, here I am now...

Sorry for the long story... Just pretend we're having a sleepover and I've just spent half an hour telling you all of this while we eat our favorite snacks!

Favorite song and album?

Hmmmm, right now, in this very moment in time and space, Kaisarion and From The Pinnacle To The Pit are my favorite songs. And... Ceremony And Devotion is my favorite album! I already said too much, so I'm just gonna leave the answers here without explaining why, eheh...

Favorite Papa and Ghoul?

Probably Terzo... He mesmerizes me. The 2016 Hellfest concert has me in a chokehold for real... I saw a meme that said everyone new in the Ghost fandom would eventually fall for Terzo, it’s like a canon event. Well, for me it was so true! Anyway, I have a soft spot for Secondo...

And, uh, I don't know enough about the Ghouls (I ended up not going too far when reading about them, because I don't want to find out any of their identities) but my favorite ones are Dewdrop and Aeon (I guess?), but simply because they play the guitar and I do, too. I'd say Mountain too, since I have a soft spot for drummers...

Oof! This was such a ride! I hope I haven't bored you! If you feel comfortable, I'd love to know your answers to these sweet questions, feel free to reblog this post or message me whenever :)

I hope you're doing okay! Lots of love!

[misc-obeyme]

🪿 returning very shortly after reading your most recent posts Just wanted to wish you the best! I'm quite new to obey me but i've really enjoyed your headcanons, drabbles, and ocs. Ciaran in particular really connected. I always end up making an side character oc rather than self-insert and it just spins further and further away from canon from there. I used to feel guilty cause it limited my interaction/contribution to the community, i still do often, but it never seemed right to fight against the urge. So, uh, if I could slip in a request (if it helps you find fun in your funk): Of the brothers, who is the worst at minding their space when in their demon forms? i.e. How often has Luicifer, in all his winged glory, turned too abruptly and knocked Ciaran over, if ever? Who has adapted too well to their human forms and forgot that things like horns and tails and wings take up physical space? And of your demon OC's, who would (theoretically) take up more than their fair share in a (hypothetical) subway car?

Hang on, hang on, 🪿?? Was I supposed to add that emoji to my list, but forgot?? Wow I hope not, if so I'm very sorry!! I try to add them right away so I don't forget because I'm very forgetful. Please let me know if I was supposed to add that to the anon list!

Oh, thank you so much! It still surprises me that people like Ciaran. I don't know why, but I guess I've just had more of a response to them than I ever expected to!

I hope you never fight against that urge because I do the same thing. I don't really like to put myself into self insert situations. I like to imagine the story through the eyes of someone who is not me. It's more fun for me that way. But I also understand the guilt - I always feel guilty about posting OC content, but I make myself do it anyway. I'm trying to be more confident and remember that I do this for fun!

Uh, I'm gonna put the rest of my response under a read more because it got LONG and I don't want people to have to scroll that much!

Okay, I love this idea of the demons being too used to their demon forms. I hadn't thought about it previously, but now I'm convinced that Lucifer has knocked Ciaran over with his wings lol. Just another thing to add to Ciaran's "Things That Annoy Me About Lucifer" list. It's probably got quite a few items on it already, but you can be sure they'd be adding "careless with wings" after such an incident.

That being said, I also think Levi might have this issue. His tail certainly seems to be the longest and the most likely to trip somebody. And when he's freaking out about something or really focused on one of his interests, I think he'd forget that he was in demon form entirely.

I could also see it being an issue for Mammon, who seems to rarely get into demon form at all. I think he's very proud of his wings, but I do think he probably forgets about them when he's in demon form. Just because they aren't there most of the time.

I'm imagining them at the castle at some fancy party, since they often go to parties in their demon forms.

Ciaran is likely checking out the food tables because they know that everything there was made by Barbatos and they are not going to pass up such deliciousness. Levi's in a nearby corner, huddled up on a chair playing some video game, tail completely forgotten and splayed out across the floor.

Ciaran is making their way down the table with a plate half full of food when they let out a yell as they trip over Levi's tail. They're on their way down, about to face plant into the floor, when -

Mammon dives from across the room to catch them!

Ciaran is flustered, but okay and the plate of food was saved!

Mammon is preening because he did such a good job. Then he turns abruptly to give Levi a piece of his mind for being so negligent about his tail. And whacks Ciaran in the face with one of his wings.

Ciaran manages to keep hold of their plate, but they are not pleased.

At this point, I suspect a three way argument would break out because Ciaran can have a short temper lol. Cue someone like Barbatos or Diavolo having to come over to calm everybody down.

Ah, honestly writing about Ciaran is really nice. I don't feel the same kind of pressure about it, so I really appreciate you asking me about this!

I feel the same way about a lot of the demon OCs because most of them are minor characters in Arrie's story.

So to answer your question about who would take up too much space in a subway car, it'd have to be Chymion. Arrie is a big demon, but his demon form is something he has a lot of control over. He's picky about it lol. Chymion (for those who haven't seen about him on the masterpost, he's one of Arrie's band mates) takes up a lot of space even when he isn't in demon form. I wanted to create a character that was unmistakably demonic, even in their "human" form, and thus Chymion came into existence. He's big and tall, but if he's in demon form it's all wings, tail, claws, and extra limbs.

Lael (another band member) is the only other one that I think might have an issue and that's because he has a big ole fluffy tail that'd probably take up an entire seat just by itself.

All the rest of my demon OCs have better control over their demon parts and would be able to contain themselves. In their "human" forms, most of them are also average sized. Arrie is a big guy, but he'd be okay. Chymion would still take up too much space. But the rest wouldn't have an issue lol.

Anyway, thank you very much for this ask. It definitely helped inspire me and it was fun to think about these questions!