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dontevenpmodarlin · 3 months ago

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Ada’s idea of love is tied to power, validation and stability, rather than real genuine connections. And with that I don’t mean that she cannot love normally or anything, but that her idea of love is heavily influenced by rather specific experiences she has had in life before she even meet Thomas

She fixates on powerful men bcus they represent an ideal of power, strength, control or/and protection.

Her constant shifting in personality- as in acting posh to fit in with lee’s and around Prospero- and then more chill when in Montrio may suggest she doesn’t have a strong sense of self (Ik it’s Will’s thing but she kinda gives that vibe)

We know her self esteem is at an all times low with how she speaks of herself when rejected by Prospero. We already knew that her pretending to be all posh and better than others was one of those simple and hardly rare in life methods for her to feel better about herself, to fit in, and try to push the image of who’d she’d like to be seen as onto others.

Whatever grants validation, kinda.

At core, what Ada wants the most is truly just what anyone in life wants, love, understanding, and validation. Whatever has had happened in her life must’ve make her believe that she doesn’t deserve any of it, we saw how when she broke down she called herself stupid and ugly but in that sad way of asking “why?”

None of these things make her stupid or silly.

She’s build her entire identity around being desirable. Accepting that her approach to love isn’t right would destroy her.

Her manifesting was caused by Prospero’s harsh rejection in which ‘I could never love someone like you’ is what shatters her fully.

And when it switches to Tommy flashback, and we see her being betrayed, she asks why, and he answers that it’s because she gave him no choice, putting all the blame onto her. And in the latest flashbacks we see what kind of self centered and egoistical twat he is.

What she screams in her banshee form is “Do you think I’m stupid?” Which are her self doubts and projections.

The interesting thing is that a part of her abilities is ‘Fear itself’ which we see in how she uses it against Prospero and Annabel and later on Monty, where she makes them see their worst fears. The fact that she possesses such an ability is genius. Throwing people in a trance where they spiral paranoid into their worst fears?

And what breaks her out of it? Annabel uses her fear against her to instead force Ada into her self loathing circle, forcing her to leave Annabel alone and out of her fears. She forced Ada into her fears. Because when Ada falls into them they’re like a trance.

“A wounded little girl, throwing a fit, because she didn’t get what she wanted.”

She’s putting the blame on her (I’m not saying she isn’t to blame, but this is said harshly in ways to trivialize Ada’s feelings, reducing her emotions to something meaningless, twisting the blame onto her and making her question her reality. Smart of Annie to say, but very hurtful.)

“And I pity you, Ada.”

Which no one wants to be, that’s opposite of respect.

“No one will take you seriously again.”

Whilst Annabel has a right to these words (we ain’t hating on her, she’s smart, kinda stupid as well in her own beliefs, cruel but smart)

“Unless you cease this hideous display at once.”

Giving her an ultimatum, calling what she truly is (their forms do lowkey reflect on who they r after all) hideous.

What it took to break Ada out from her spectre? What does she fear the most after not being lovable? Stuff that prevent her from being loved ofc. That her feelings are invalid, she’s just throwing a fit, she’s hideous and ugly and no one will ever respect her or take her seriously.

“H-hideous” Moss babe says, looking at her hand.

She has built a fragile illusion around herself that keeps her from falling apart. The stuff that let her feel on the surface that’s she’s beautiful, desirable and worthy of love are dependent on outside forces: such as men🙄 (lmao, bbg let me treat you better on the wlw side-🧑��‍🦰) ((Morella stfu)) and since it’s dependent on other people, which are moving and changing forces, it’s fragile.

Y’all shocked she gets with Montresor when they both depend on people on the outside for self validation. If she and William were to make out aggressively when Monty dies in episode 184, y’all still would be shocked.

Anyway, self doubt starts to creep, and what she always feared- that’s she’s hideous, unworthy of love, unlovable over all- that all men who used her, treated her like nothing, were right. As Thomas said, she gave him no choice.

She breaks down apologizing and crying and telling everyone she didn’t mean it and promising that she’s a real lady, a proper lady- since that is what makes her worthy and lovable in her head.

It’s no wonder that she rejects Morella when she tries to help her. She’s self loathing rn, accepting that someone may care about her just for how he is, and even in this state, is unacceptable to her, because she herself cannot love herself in this state. So others must be simply lying.

She lashes out because she can’t bear to let anyone see her like this, raw and exposed. The shame, the fear, and the realization that maybe she’s been fooling herself all along, it’s too much. So she pushes everyone away before they can confirm what she dreads the most

Beautiful thing here is the rhythm of her words, her hitting herself, and Montresor taking steps down the stairs all fitting into one scene that is delightful to imagine. The visual aspect of her hitting herself and the devil nearing, his steps closing in with every self hating comment she makes, and with her guard being lowered down to hopelessness, is mastery in writing and drawing so props for that besties.

Ada at core has beliefs of being stupid, mean and ugly.

Stupid as in not posh-manipulating-lying smart and fitting in I’d guess. Idk what she sees as smart.

Mean, as in rejecting Morella, or being mean to people to impress others even tho she knows it’s wrong - cut to the ��Pissing all by thy self, handsome?” Scene-

BRAND NEW NEWS, ADA IS NOT STUPID CONFIRMED THREE YEARS AGO.

Be a darling and try to focus on how Ada is self aware, knows why she acted the way she did, but even if she knew that it was wrong of her when she did it, she had no self control then. She needs someone, she needs to matter the most to anyone in any way.

No shock she doesn’t react well to

“Nothing you say will make you good enough.” -Prospero.

She feels silly, she apologizes, she explains how she felt and apologizes fr for being cruel for ‘no reason’ Girl woke up in a life death game and found out her roomie has a crazy goth bestie that is willing to cause drama and public embarrassment to make sure Ada’s roomie is ok. Duh girl felt vulnerable n left out.

So when Monty appears with “I think you’re pretty.” It’s no shock she says “That’s not funny.”

But then he pulls his face card and a serious voice seeing honest asf telling her that he wasn’t trying to be funny.

He, opposite to Morella, finds her when she’s not in anger any more but in hopelessness and in pieces. He feeds her delusions rather than simply offering what Morella wanted to give. Since Ada can’t allow herself to be loved unconditionally (even if that’s what she wishes the most, girlie doesn’t realize she puts conditions in her head herself on when and in what form she’d be allowed to be loved in such way, making it impossible for others to love her in that way) She would rather accept someone loving her like this.

And how does a Montresor ‘love’ her? Surprise of the day is that the things he says to her don’t even necessarily have to be lies in any sort of way. He is a meddling guy, people that are the most dangerous in life, (very much the same way the most dangerous beliefs we can have) are the ones who mix truth with lies in order to shift perception of the reality.

He can appreciate stuff about her, the lacing she gave Prospero and him being fortunate to be above the snakes.

Him telling her that it was beautiful, and that she’s beautiful doesn’t have to be a lie in any way. He doesn’t need to think of her ugly, he just needs to see what she wants to be seen as the most, and no matter if he thinks that she’s hot for nearly killing the prettiest boy in school, he is going to let her know that, because that lets him manipulate her.

Y’all shocked and thinking she’s silly for falling into this, or stupid. Well, good morning to you too, imagine your worst fears being let out under from all the illusions you keep daily, and some hot blond guy comes and tells you say your lowest that hey babe we can totally keep those illusions up, I’ll lie whenever dw abt that you won’t even know, you’ll feel worthy and will be able to avoid all your GREATEST fears (pls remember that everyone now days avoid what they fear the most, and that in mf 1930’s you wouldn’t hold up anyone to a standard of facing their worst fears cuz it’s ‘healthy’ for em) and also feel all the things you want to feel the most.

He offers her a quick escape of her own hell, back into the world that she has built and wants to live in. He is the boulder her self worth is propped on, he knows how this works because he himself most probably has lived through such things when young, and sees it as the way of being. You’re either strong and decide or weak and serve others. He needs a cute squad to survive this game, so he needs a hello kitty pants girl to his cat boi if he wants to be the true alpha daddy.

Episode 113 I cite

“I did something stupid…. I’m stupid~.” - Ada dying.

“My hero! I knew you’d come back for me. You make me so happy… Honey.”

“O-oh sorry I got mixed up. I remember now. You said No. I’m not… good enough… for you.”

This either proves that it doesn’t specifically matter in her head who is it that loves her, but that there’s a figure that does, and she just mixes it up as in thinking that Prospero is taking up the role of being that. Or she thought it was Yeehaw. Or god knows, maybe Twatmas.

Anyway she needs someone to fulfill that role for her to feel stable and to be able to act, the way everyone in life needs some sort of stability, but most of the thing- well I’m optimistic- we find it in ourselves, not in the outer world on which we have oh so little power over, compared to the amount of control we can manage to maintain without ourselves.

What emotion was it that triggered her flashbacks whilst doin’ rodeo on the stag? I’d guess holding on, the way she tried to hold onto Thomas, emotionally or physically- whatever.

Anyway what I wanted to say with all of this, is that Ada is not stupid, silly, or anything. It’s normal to see her actions and facepalm because we feel the sting of ‘oh no darling, this isn’t the way’ cuz we all hate going in circles and we know how annoying it is to realize you’re in one, and seeing other ppl or characters be in such can either throw you into a fit of empathy or annoyance, depending on how you feel about yourself when you notice yourself living in such ways and experiencing such things.

Her behavior may be driven by unresolved childhood trauma or repression.

Her ID aka primal desires crave love, security, and validation. She throws herself at powerful divas cuz they represent control and protection.

Her super ego aka moral conscience shaped by social expectations, tells her that she must be desirable an perfect to be loved “a proper lady” she suppresses any feelings of insecurity by kinda forcing herself to believe in her beauty and worth ig?

Her ego aka the balancing force, struggles to reconcile these forces, so she builds a false self, a persona, to attract love and hide her deepest fears. Which as usually in life just brings her closer to her fears and makes everyone see who she is.

Because unlike Montresor who is good at lying, Ada isn’t. She is closer to finding who she is because of that, whilst he is closer to doom.

By Freud (don’t grill me) he’d call this repetition trauma I think, repetition compulsion.

She keeps pursuing Divas who reject or use her, she’s unconsciously recreating past traumas hoping to “fix” them, perhaps?

She uses denial & defense mechanism. She uses denial to avoid confrontation with her self hatred. Her reaction to rejection is to outwardly act confident to suppress the deep belief that she’s hideous. Aka Reaction formation (“Reaction Formation happens when an individual exhibits behaviors opposite to their actual feelings” - google)

Her outbursts with “STOPP lookin at me Jason! 🥺” are projections, she pushes people away because she believes that they see her the way she secretly sees herself.

Also why she pushed Morella away, right after Annabel told her that she pitied her?. Maybe in her mind that’s what Morella did, pitied her. After all she accuses her of lying.

Ada doesn’t love those all random guys perhaps, but the idea of them and what they provide for her, which Ik ive said like three times alr but protection, power, security and validation. She chases an ideal, not a real connection.

She projects her desire for love onto men mistaking their coldness for strength and indifference for being mysterious.

She needs to reach a point where she will be forced to face herself, and idk when that will happen, maybe soon since she is dissolving into atoms. Anyway Lenada when?

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #ada nevermore #nevermore analysis #Ada I love you dw #Morella stop being fucking ginger #Lenore go rizz Ada up.#Lenada would be fun because they could be truthful to one another to some degree but their issues would still exist and mud what they’d #to have #I woke up #saw Ada hate #acted #this may tots not be 100 precise #pls add ur criticism #Rnf give her a gun #Voldemort gave her a gun.#She kissed Draco and they flew away on an unicorn

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

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Hi hi! I have a req- can you maybe please write a Megumi x reader where they get lost in a haunted house and the reader is too scared to move and Megumi helps her (as a stranger) and then it goes more from that ?

I fell in love with this immediately and needed to write that wonderful request of yours! Thank you so much darling, I'm crossing my fingers you like what I came up with 😭

Getting lost at a haunted house only to be saved by Megumi

Pairing: Megumi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: After your friends dragged you into a tunnel of terror at an amusement park despite your irrational fear of creepy stuff, you find yourself lost in your own panic. Until a sudden blue-eyed boy appears and helps you out...

Warnings: your friends are shitty, Megumi is a sweetheart, reader is obviously scared of creepy stuff lol

„This is probably the worst thing you ever made me do”, Megumi mutters, annoyed by the sheer sight in front of him.

When Gojo-sensei told them about a day off, he certainly didn’t see himself going to an amusement park with Itadori and Kugisaki. He should have stayed back, he could have read the new book he just bought, enjoying the silence of empty Jujutsu High while the others were out doing whatever they want. But instead, he finds himself surrounded by crying children with their hands covered in sweets, people bumping into him with every step he takes.

What on earth is he doing here?

“You’re such a pain in the ass, Fushiguro. How about going out and having some fun instead of making it your mission to look as if somebody killed your puppy? Geez.”

“Look, a haunted house!”, Yuji cries out, his eyes glossy from sheer excitement.

“Oh, I wanna go in!”

“I don’t wanna go in”, you protest while your friends literally drag you after themselves.

To be honest, the thought of going into a haunted house alone makes you want to leave immediately. If there’s one thing you hate, it’s creepy stuff. No matter if it’s as innocent as Halloween or things like horror films based on a true story. There is nothing worse than getting jump scared, feeling as if your heart will stop beating any minute, cold sweat running down your neck. No, there is absolutely no way in hell you will step one foot into this cursed place, you’ll just wait here and get some ice cream, you’ll-

“I really don’t wanna do this”, you whine into pitch-black darkness, heavy creepy music making you feel sick in an instant.

Your heartbeat hammers against your already aching chest, palm getting so sweaty that you are unable to hold onto the hand of your friend any longer.

“Hey, where are you? I-I think I lost you guys!”

No response, no sign of life. Just you, the darkness around you and your own blood rushing through your ears.

Fuck, you can’t do this alone. Where is the emergency exit when you need it? Is there somebody else around you?

“H-hello?”

No response, no sign of life.

Panic starts to rise in your chest, disturbing screams, violent laughter and creepy music drowning your head in nothing but thick fear. You need to get out of here as fast as possible.

Your wobbly feet carry you down the dark hallway. But instead of being able to simply sprint through the tunnel of horror, you are greeted by a never-ending hallway that is that is filled with macabre clowns decorating each and every centimetre around you. There aren’t many things that scare you more than strange dolls that look like Annabell herself, but clowns…You hated them since you were a child, no matter how friendly they looked.

And these ones definitely don’t.

“Are you lost, little one?”

That voice is close, too close for your liking. You rest your eyes for a second, pretend that this deep voice that shook you to your core isn’t really there. No, this must be part of the music, a stupid joke-

“I am still here.”

Something touches your arm. Out of instinct, you widen your glossy eyes, staring straight into the maniac grin of a clown.

A real clown.

Not just a doll.

Your body react on its own, a violent shriek escaping your lips.

Run.

As fast as you can, past the clown decorating the wall, straight into nothing but darkness while this little voice inside your head can’t stop laughing about your pathetic self. How old are you? 10?

It doesn’t matter. Your frightened eyes are darted fowards, adrenaline pumping through your veins while all you can think about is stepping through that door, getting out of this living nightmare as soon as possible. You just need to push yourself a little harder, get through this dark hallway right in front of you and it will be over, you are almost there-

You see stars. Before you are even process what happens, you bump into something hard and fall straight onto the floor with your head spinning in confusion. Was is a wall, a door? No, the dim light shows you the outline of a person. Your guts turn in an instant, the horrifying face of that clown you saw seconds ago still haunting your mind. Please, not another one of these actors.

It stretches out his hand, ready to grab you.

“NO!”, you scream on top of your lungs, crawling backwards in a desperate attempt to escape those fingertips.

Megumi can’t help but stare at your puny figure in sheer disbelief. Why the hell are you so scared? And why are you here on your own? Your thick and heavy breaths hang in the air between you both, distracting him from his mission to find a way out of here after Itadori and Kugisaki ran away like some 4-year old kids.

“Calm down, I’m just trying to find my way out of here”, he calmly announces.

You blink against the darkness around you, too stunned to say a single word. That is definitely a boy with a voice that could calm down entire oceans, making your heartbeat tame down in an instant.

“Let me help you up, okay? Give me your hand.”

There it is, his big hand stretched out in front of you. Like in trance you take it, palms still covered in cold sweat when he lifts you off the ground with ease. In the dim light you aren’t able to see anything but the outline of his features, his tall and actually quite muscular frame.

“We’ll get out of here together, just don’t let go of my-“

In the matter of seconds, your whole body clings onto his arm for what feels like dear life, nails digging into his firm biceps without mercy. He can’t leave you alone here like your friends did, there is absolutely no way in hell you’ll let go of this boy.

Much to Megumi’s fortune, the room is so dark that you can’t tell the deep blush creeping up his face. You’re a girl with a voice sounding so angelic that it caught him off guard, with your breast pressed against his arm-

Oh god.

“Let’s go”, he mumbles.

He forces himself to stare in front of him, to not risk a look at you while tumbling down the dark hallway with you by his side. But the second he opens the next door filled with red lights, his gaze wanders to his left side, gets greeted by your doe eyes immediately.

Time stands still, Megumi’s heart pounding as hard as yours when all he does is staring at your way too gorgeous but frightened features. You have to be around his age, even though it’s hard to tell in that strange light. But oh your face definitely matches your angelic voice.

“Thank you for not leaving me alone”, you mumble against his arm, eyes directed towards the next door ahead of you.

“There’s no need to thank me. How did you end up in here anyway if you are this scared?”

“My friends forced me and left me after the first door on my own.”

Megumi huffs in response. Well, that definitely sounds way too familiar. When he sees these two idiots again…

“But aren’t they aware of the fact that you’re scared?”

“Everyone is. But I guess they just thought it would be funny…”

“It’s not”, Megumi replies in an instant.

“You don’t deserve this. It might not make sense to them, but you are stressed. And no friend should want to see you like this for their own amusement.”

You swallow hard, still holding onto his arm tightly. Of course you know that he’s right, that your “friends” aren’t suppose to treat you this way. But you’d never say it out loud, would never confront them.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

His voice catches your attention just before you start to panic over another set of creepy dolls laughing in the corner, his arm moving you closer to him.

“Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

When you gaze up at him again, his world stops spinning for a minute. You really seem to trust him, your hands still intertwined with his arm, your body firmly pressed against his side. You look so lovely, seem like such a nice person. It becomes more and more personal to get you out of here.

“I’m sure we are close to the exit. Focus on me, okay?”

“My name is (y/n)”, you suddenly blurt out.

“I’m Megumi Fushiguro. Nice to meet you (y/n).”

Out of his mouth, your name sounds so relaxing, so melodic. His calm voice really suits the ocean of his dark blue eyes that never break contact with yours even though he walks down the hallway with you by his side.

“I think this is the last door.”

With a swift motion, he opens it. Slowly but surely his features get light up by lantern light, the cries and screams from the amusement park ringing in your ears again. You take a look around you.

He really did it.

You made your way out of the tunnel of horror.

“Thank you so much for helping me out”, you mutter, pulling him into a tight hug before you are able to stop yourself.

What would have happened if he didn’t find you, if he didn’t keep a cool head and lead you through the right doors? You rest your head against his broad chest, heartbeat calming down completely. How lucky you are to have met him.

“Oh – uh…No problem at all”, he mutters.

Megumi has to tell himself over and over to keep a straight face, to not allow himself to turn redder than the devil himself. But you hold onto him so tightly, so thankful for nothing but the fact that he guided you out of a haunted house.

“Who’s that girl, Fushiguro?”

You let go of him immediately, eyes darting towards a girl with short brown hair coming your way while dragging a pink-haired boy behind her like a bag of trash.

“After you left me alone in there, I met (y/n) and she helped me finding a way out.”

“Nice to meet you (y/n)!”, the other boy greets you instantly, a kind grin plastered on your face.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have helped him, Fushiguro fits just right in a tunnel of horror”, the girl comments dryly.

“There you are! We thought the clowns already ate you up!”

Oh no, not now, not in front of him and his friends. You want to sprint away, to hide yourself from your “friends”. But instead, all you can do is stare blankly why both of them approach you with a toxic smile.

“Is this what you consider funny? Dragging (y/n) in there and leaving her alone even though you know she’s scared?”

Megumi’s body tenses up immediately as he positions himself between you and the other girls. They really have some nerves, approaching you like this after what they did. There is no way he’ll let them get away with that.

“Huh? Who the hell are you and why would you care?”

“Because I was scared as well and (y/n) helped me to find a way out.”

He glimpses at you for the split of a second. It’s more than crystal clear that he’s lying. You need to stand up for him, defend him, tell them the truth.

“Oh, you’re braver than I thought (y/n)”, one of them mutters.

“Yeah…Well…We see each other tomorrow, okay? Bye?”

And with that, they disappear into the evening, their awkward walk leaving you speechless for a second.

“Promise me you’ll never let them treat you like this again”, he finally speaks up again.

“I…I promise….”

“Can you just give her your number so that we’re able to grab something to eat? I’m starving”, the girl next to him complains.

“Yeah, I’m super hungry as well!”

“Can’t you just shut up for a minute?”, Megumi hisses under his breath.

“But…would you mind giving me your number?”

-Bonus-

"Megumi-chan!"

His steps quicken in an instant, carrying down the hallway of Jujutsu High at high tempo. If there's one thing he's not in the mood for right now, it's definetely Gojo-sensei. Itadori and Kugisaki probably told him ever little thing about you.

"There's no running for me. Tell me, who's the girl you've been with today?"

He can't help but roll his eyes, the wide grin on his teacher's face simply driving him insane.

"I just met her today", he mumbles in response.

"Don't forget to use protection, I don't wanna be a grand-"

"CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP"

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ggblasts · 28 days ago

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Spotted: Everyone's favorite Nashville transplant, Annabelle Harper, cheek-to-cheek with Charleston’s own Vogue darling Sloane Whitmore at a dimly lit downtown gathering that looked one part fashion week afterparty, one part girls-only secret society. Glittering gowns? Check. Lashes for days? Check. That look of whispered alliance and maybe a little shared mischief? Double check. Is this just a Southern-style girls’ night out—or are we witnessing the birth of a new fashion-meets-country power play?

Annabelle, fresh off her national tour and back in the city for less than a week, has been keeping a low profile—at least where her mysteriously jobless beau Jasper Novak is concerned. The two have barely been seen together, and word around the UES is that Jasper’s been doing a whole lot of “creative thinking” (read: loitering in sweats) while Annabelle foots the bill and smiles for the camera. Not exactly the power couple vibes she’s been known for.

Meanwhile, Sloane is climbing the Condé ranks faster than an elevator at One Vanderbilt, and whispers are swirling that her latest editorial pitch involves a "New Southern Vanguard"—think charm, grit, and a whole lot of hair spray. Who better to headline that glossy vision than a Grammy-nominated blonde with a heartland following and a closet full of rhinestones? This selfie might be more than just cute—it could be a quiet contract in the making.

But don’t let the girlish giggles fool you. Sources close to the scene said the two were very close all night—whispers, laughs, the kind of eye contact that says, “I know something you don’t.” Is Sloane offering Annabelle a seat at Vogue’s velvet-lined table? Or is Annabelle trading in heartache for haute couture?

And as for Jasper? Word is he's been “focusing on himself,” which in UES code translates to: mooching off his girlfriend and pretending to read Murakami in SoHo cafés. If Annabelle’s finally waking up to the imbalance, she’s got the perfect new confidante to lean on—and maybe to climb with.

Either way, the girls are glowing, the boys are slacking, and the power is shifting. Southern belles don’t always play nice… but they always play smart.

You know you love me.

XOXO, Gossip Girl

@notannabelleharper @sloanewhitmore

#ggblast #annabelle h #sloane w

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maraschinomerry · 2 months ago

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Sleepless Nights pt3

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: After another traumatic night, things are finally looking up as you put the Annabel Ward case behind you and take on a job for Sir John Fairfax, but all is not as it seems

Content: canon-adjacent, canon-typical fear and violence, blood and death tw (as in canon), hurt/comfort

A/N: I can't believe I've made it here! This is my longest fic by far, I've tried to keep it reasonable while still exploring the plot and adding in those little George moments ready for part 4, which will be post-canon and much more fluffy ship type stuff. Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and supporting, it means a lot 🫶 Pt1 Pt2

Word count: 9.2k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 @cryingpages @inyourwallsbbg

This time you didn't even try to go back to bed. If you'd found it difficult to sleep after Annabel, you knew you wouldn't stand a chance after being attacked and tied up in your own home. You shakily made yourself a cup of tea and slumped down onto the Thinking Cloth, watching as a remarkably excitable George scurried round setting up apparatus. You were amazed at how well he was coping, but maybe he was just keeping himself distracted. By the time morning was breaking, flooding the kitchen with a soft yellowish light, he'd built some sort of giant magnifier which took up most of the space between the table and sink. It was an intricate system of lenses and filters, all hooked up to a TV and with the ring at the heart of it.

“Are you sure we should have that out again?” you asked anxiously.

George peered at you from above his viewfinder, a touch of sympathy in his gaze. “It's behind silver-glass so we can safely examine it.” He ducked back down and adjusted a small switch with a glass lens on the end.

“Yeah, but it's daylight,” Lucy pointed out. Like that had gone so well for her, or you for that matter.

“Yes, well, to state the obvious, I'm a bit more risk-averse than you, aren't I?” George looked at you again. The message was clear: he wasn't allowing a repeat of the incident in the study. You couldn't see from behind the viewfinder the way he smiled a little as your shoulders relaxed. Finally, after a few more adjustments, he found what he was looking for: hallmarks. With a flicker, the TV sprung to life to show the image within the glass case. Lucy and Lockwood were nearest the screen, and you leant over the table to get a better view. Four small marks were stamped onto the inside of the silver, just to the left of the gemstones. A heart. H. 22. 115.

“Maybe H for Hugo?” Lucy asked.

George stepped back, picking up something from the counter. “Who was the other big H in Annabel's life?” He handed you the item, a paperback copy of Hamlet. He seemed very pleased with himself. “Act two, scene two.”

You flicked through, the worn yellowed pages rough under your touch. There it was, line 115. You read aloud. “Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.” Your gaze flickered to George in confusion, and found that he had sat down opposite and was watching you intently with an unrecognisable expression. That smugness of knowing he'd figured it all out was tinted with something else, and you couldn't place what it was.

“This is it!” Lucy gently tugged the book from your grip. The moment was broken; you dropped your gaze to your empty hands and George turned proudly to Lockwood, who seemed to be as in the dark as you about whatever the other two had clearly realised. Mercifully, Lucy continued, “The hallmark’s a love letter. That's why Annabel wanted me to take the ring, it proves she and Hugo were together.”

“So that's it?” you frowned. It couldn't be that easy, surely.

“It isn't evidence he murdered her,” Lockwood pointed out as he stood and put the ring back in its locket. This time, he was keeping hold of the key when he put it in the safe. Thank goodness for that.

Things were finally starting to feel more hopeful. Lockwood had announced that in order to pay off the Sheen Road debt and avoid the mandatory oversight that DEPRAC had assigned, you were “going to see a man about a ghost”. Excited to get back on track and solve something that didn't involve getting attacked in your own home, you'd showered and put on a fresh pair of jeans, your best top and a suede jacket (following Lockwood's instructions to look at least somewhat presentable, which you suspected had been mostly aimed at the resident researcher), and by midmorning you found yourself staring up at the imposing brickwork of the Fairfax Iron tower. It was a beautiful day, barely a breeze ruffling the deep green trees on the approach despite the splodges of cotton candy clouds across the sky. You wondered who on earth could be working in a place like this that would want to hire a tiny little agency like yours. Surely they had some sort of working relationship with Fittes or Rotwell at the very least. The four of you strode through the halls, following Lockwood's lead as he guided you all into a lift and pressed the button for the 20th floor. Right to the top.

“So your big, radical plan is a job at Fairfax Iron for work we can't legally do?” George scoffed. Thankfully, he'd managed to follow the instructions for the day, leaning against the metal wall in a plain grey T-shirt (and a more fitted one at that) and a deep mustard-orange corduroy jacket. You didn't think you'd ever seen him wear that before. This was more serious than you thought.

“George, this… negativity, it's why I don't tell you things in advance,” Lockwood shot back. You giggled, which earned you a friendly glare from the curly-haired boy.

The doors slid open, only a few floors up, to reveal a crowd of people in suits waiting to enter. George pushed away from his place by the buttons to join your line at the back. Lucy was already in the corner, with Lockwood beside her and you on his right, so you shuffled into the other corner to allow him to slot into the gap. His arm pressed against yours, and he grimaced apologetically. The businesspeople crammed their way in, pressing you further into the wall and filling the lift with the smell of hair gel, botanical perfume, and… spiced tea? No, that was coming from beside you, lingering from this morning's breakfast brew. You breathed it in as slowly as you could, willing the lift to move faster. You weren't especially fond of cramped spaces at the best of times, but after the nightmare of the past two nights you were definitely grateful for the familiarity of the scent. A finger from the hand beside you tapped lightly at yours, and you glanced up to see furrowed brows behind glasses. At your movement, he raised one brow in a silent question, and you nodded despite your uneven breaths. He touched his finger to yours once more, before turning back to the other boy and making some remark about the day Sir John Fairfax had visited his school.

“Yes, that is exactly the sort of thing I don't want you saying,” Lockwood replied pointedly, and even if you couldn't see down the line you could feel the whole group smile.

The lift finally emptied and took you to the 20th floor, where the doors opened to reveal an open-plan office suite with expansive glass windows. You couldn't help but wander over and take in the view of the Thames and the city beyond. The room was tastefully decorated, glass shelves holding framed photos and awards and plinths showcasing sculptures that you just knew were worth more than your annual salary. In the centre of the main area stood two sleek black armchairs with marble sidetables, and a matching sofa with glass lamps either side. A few slices of chocolate cake in a cloche sat on the low coffee table in the middle. As you all explored, a voice appeared from nowhere, and you whirled defensively, hand on your rapier, only to be met by Sir John Fairfax himself. You tried to act like you hadn't just been ready to run the man through as Lockwood introduced you all. He was nothing like you expected: calmly spoken, with an understanding nature and a decent sense of humour. Sure, he still had that air of acting like he was better than you, but in this case he knew he was. He'd heard of your reputation, and yet he was still willing to negotiate. At some point, a young woman with close-cropped curly hair had come in with a tray of glasses and a carafe of water. You smiled gratefully, and she returned the gesture but it didn't quite meet her eyes. She was probably used to dealing with eager young agents, chancers like yourselves.

“I won't pay you a penny more than the fine you owe DEPRAC,” Fairfax stated bluntly. Wow, news travelled fast. You almost wondered how he'd found out, before remembering he had half the department in his back pocket. All it would have taken was a quick mention of your agency to the right person for all the details to spill out. Not that it mattered how he knew, you supposed: if he had heard of your reputation and was still willing to pay, then you could hardly turn him down. Lockwood had realised the same, and within moments the deal was struck.

You bounded down the stairs of Fairfax Tower, feeling the most awake you had all week.

“Sixty grand! He's paying us sixty grand!” Lucy said excitedly, echoing your own thoughts, and she must have been able to sense it as she gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

Lockwood was more focused. “Lucy, get us packed and prepped. George, y/n, find out everything you can about Combe Carey Hall, alright?” He was headed for Satchells to see if there was anything of use that wouldn't break Fairfax's ‘no flares or explosives’ rule. The four of you parted ways, George hailing a cab to the Archives. Every second counted. You were supposed to head out to the house the following day, so there would be no second chances to follow up on any leads later.

The Archives were bustling, full of agents, experts and general public alike. You found a tiny table in a corner with two chairs crammed into the impossibly small space between the walls. You faltered, mentally weighing up whether it was worth risking your access to the building to find a better workspace, when George dropped his jacket onto one of the seats and wriggled in. You slid onto the chair next to him, your knee knocking against his. If it bothered him, he didn't say.

“At least neither of us have to read anything upside down this time,” he joked, and you felt a little less awkward.

Together you made a plan, mapping out the areas you'd need to check for information, and over the next couple of hours you took it in turns to venture off and gather every photocopy or printout you could. The surface of the table became completely lost beneath the mass of papers as you sifted through, circling relevant sections or jotting it down in your notebook. The more you read, the more worried you became. Combe Carey Hall wasn't just some rich guy's country estate, but a minefield of hauntings with more potential sources than you could count. Curfew was drawing near by the time you'd got it all straightened out, and the two of you stepped out into the pale dusk with arms full of information. You shivered involuntarily as the cool air hit you, creeping under the edges of your jacket and through your top.

George turned at the movement. “Are you okay? Do you want to get a cab home?”

“I'm fine, just need to do up my jacket. I didn't realise how cold it had gone.”

“Here,” he gestured to your papers, “let me hold those while you get sorted.”

You passed them to him and connected your zip, burrowing into the warmth of the collar that came together around your neck. When you held out your hand to take your notes back, you realised George had already merged them into his pile and was poised to begin the walk back to Portland Row. You gave him a grateful smile before burying your hands in your pockets.

Back in the kitchen, you laid everything out across the table. If you thought it would seem any more organised on a larger surface than the one at the Archives, you were mistaken. Even now, it almost covered the Thinking Cloth. Lucy had come up from the basement at the sound of the front door closing and now she was flicking through the sheets with you, the three of you sipping from bottled beer while you worked. The gathering darkness beyond the window only heightened your anxiety as you tallied just how many deaths could be attributed to the hall.

The soft creak of the kitchen door made you jump, but it was just Lockwood with a large black Satchells bag clutched to his chest. He eyed the pile of papers in amazement.

“Wow. This all on Combe Carey Hall?”

George leant across the table. He'd discarded his jacket on the back of the chair so his bare elbow was crumpling the pages in front of you.

“Everything Fairfax forgot to mention. It's not just a country house.” His voice grew tinged with that usual snarky exasperation. “It used to be a satanic priory of medieval devil worshippers.” You balked at just the thought of them.

“Oh good, evil monks,” Lockwood replied, head in the fridge and not an ounce of the concern you felt in his tone. “Anyone fancy another beer?” He took his own bottle from the fridge, closing it when none of you took him up on the offer and casually tossing the opener back onto the magnetic holder. The range of emotions in the room was so conflicting you couldn't decide how to feel - on the one hand, Lockwood's calm attitude was rubbing off, filling you with his signature brand of unearned confidence, on the other hand you were inclined to follow George's level of worry given he'd actually seen the information he was now spouting about the partygoers who had died there.

“Those deaths weren't blamed on the monks.” You tuned back in to what the boy beside you was saying as he rifled through the papers. “No, they were blamed on a Screaming Staircase or a Red Room, whatever they are.” You'd seen those phrases in the research; just mutterings passed down from addled sources, hardly anybody who'd seen them for themselves had survived long enough to give a more detailed account. That didn't bode well for your successes, nor did the deaths of the Fittes team Lucy had been reading about whose photo lay amongst the pile. It was pointless arguing with Lockwood, of course. This was your best chance at keeping the agency alive, and you could tell there was nothing he wouldn’t do, no lengths to which he wouldn't go, to do so. All you could do was double check the kit bags Lucy had filled and try to get some sleep.

When you set off for the station the next morning, you desperately prayed that the rocking of the train would lull you to a restful nap. You'd been plagued by nightmares, your imagination vividly filling in the many blanks in your research. In one, a rotting wooden staircase loomed at you, the shards of broken steps like teeth in a snarl around the gaping hole in the middle, screams echoing from within of the unfortunate victims who had plunged into the darkness below. You lost count of the number of scenarios you'd pictured for the Red Room - the question of how a room could kill people had proved as intriguing as it was baffling. Mercifully, the train had exactly the kind of atmosphere you hoped for: gently warmed by the sun, but with the window open to let in a low breeze and the comforting scent of the steam. You settled onto the compartment bench opposite Lucy, leaning your head against the wall as the boys took their places with George next to you. The sun was at an angle, not painfully direct, but it still provided a golden glow behind your eyelids as you listened to the rest of the team chatting about the case.

A little over an hour later and all too soon for your liking, you felt the train slow at the same time as a hand carefully tapped your shoulder. You weren't asleep, just resting, but you blinked wearily as you adjusted to the daylight once more.

“We're here,” George told you softly as he handed you your kit bag from the overhead rack. You paused on the station footbridge, taking in the vast expanse of trees and tilled fields below the clear blue sky. It wasn't just the train that had been cosy, the whole countryside had been bathed in sunlight all morning and now had a pleasant warmth which left you all carrying your jackets. Even Lockwood was down to his shirt sleeves, and you questioned whether this was the first time you'd ever seen him outdoors without his coat on. Despite the uncertainty you were all approaching, the group was in good spirits. George mentioned his gran, revealing that he'd never really left London before, and Lucy teased Lockwood when he began gushing about Fairfax.

“He's succeeded in everything he's tried,” the boy continued, unfazed. “Publishing, show business. He didn't even start smelting until he was in his thirties, now look at him.” You rolled your eyes, and suspected the others were doing the same.

The woman from Fairfax's office was waiting outside the main station building as you emerged. Despite the weather she was wearing a thick wool coat, with a sprig of lavender pinned to one side. She smiled curtly as you approached.

“I'm Ellie, Mr Fairfax's assistant. This way, please.” She gestured to a smart red convertible with the roof pulled back to reveal the cream interior. As she opened the boot, you all began piling your bags in, and she took one of George's to help. Hoisting it over the lip, she let out a deep wince. You frowned. An odd sensation nagged at the back of your mind, too distant to make out clearly, just a sense of familiarity.

“Old war wound,” she explained.

“You were an agent?” Lucy asked incredulously. Oh, maybe that was it. You all listened with respect as she explained how many of her colleagues were former agents.

“Hop in,” she said at last as she climbed into the driver's seat.

“Must we ride in this old wreck?” George grinned. Lockwood held out his hand to help Lucy climb into the backseat, and you looked down in surprise to see George offering you his. You settled into the middle, and for the third time in two days found George very close as he sank into the third seat, his thigh grazing yours. You expected him to apologise or pull away, but found yourself pleasantly surprised when he didn't. For someone who liked his personal space, he seemed to be making a habit of this. You ignored the butterflies in your stomach and tried not to read too much into it. As you sped off into the rich green countryside, you leant forward.

“So where did you train Ellie? I think we might have met before.”

“I doubt it, sorry. It was a tiny little place on the coast which ceased operations the year after I left. With all due respect, I'd be incredibly surprised if you were old enough to have been there.”

You sat back again, defeated, but that nagging feeling didn't fully subside until you arrived on the winding driveway of Combe Carey Hall. Then it was replaced by awe.

However large you'd imagined this place to be, it was dwarfed by the immensity of the real thing. The gravel drive was wide enough for a whole fleet of vehicles, with rolling green grass to the left and thick trees rising on the right. The hall itself loomed large across the skyline, a domineering feat of architecture built from large sandy-coloured stones weathered and aged to a grey tint round the edges. Ellie looked tiny compared to the huge arched entrance as she led you all through to the front hall. Lockwood followed closely and eagerly, with Lucy on his heels, but she faltered with her hand on the door.

“What are you doing?” George asked from behind her. “Never hesitate on the threshold of a haunted house, that's rule number one.”

“Yeah, I don't know, I just… thought I could hear something.”

Lucy's words sent a chill through you that you couldn't chalk up to the late afternoon air, and in spite of your better judgement you also lingered in the doorway. There was a sound, she was right; a very far-off wailing, somewhere deep within the house, which for a brief moment reminded you of the sounds Annabel had made in the attic just a few nights ago. You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“Not you too,” George sighed as he walked away, but when you made no move to leave the doorway he stepped back towards you. “Hey, are you okay?”

You quickly stepped away from the door frame. “I'm fine, just a bit tired.”

“Me too,” he admitted, “so let's get this over with.”

Sir John Fairfax stood imposingly at the top of a small flight of stairs, surrounded by monogrammed wrought iron gates which led into the main body of the house.

“Welcome to Combe Carey Hall. You're late.” You frowned a little at his remark and tone. There was still plenty of time until curfew, and it was his own assistant, now standing beside him, who had driven you out here. Still, no point causing a fuss, you were here to do a job and that was all there was to it. At his instruction, you all left your bags in the hallway and followed him into what he explained was the gallery, built on the ruins of the old monastery after the mass suicide of the monks.

“You had to make your own fun in those days,” he quipped. Lockwood smiled politely; you fought to hide your scowl. George was still buried in his map, attempting to marry the information he'd gathered with the actual layout of the house. None of it seemed to make sense. You peered over his shoulder, equally familiar with the floor plan you'd both found in the Archives, and saw immediately why he was so puzzled. Even from what little you'd seen of the building, the walls didn't seem to be in quite the right places.

“Mr Lockwood broke the deal,” Ellie's voice sounded sharply as she returned from the entrance hall with something held aloft. “He brought a bomb flare.”

Four pairs of eyes turned to the boy in the black coat.

“Well then, you've broken the rules of the deal too by searching our bags.” Lockwood remained surprisingly unaffected, even staving off a slight smirk when Fairfax agreed to call it quits. That was odd. At last the older pair began to make their way towards the door and the dying light of the evening beyond. You quickly congregated by your boss.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” you hissed, quietly enough for only your group to hear.

“Apart from anything else, we've got way better flares,” George muttered. You gave a soft laugh, and out of the corner of your eye saw him smirk.

Fairfax interrupted, pointing to the set of white marble stairs to your left. “Through there, you'll find the Screaming Staircase. It'll take you round to the Red Room, which is the most likely site of the primary source. We'll be back in the morning.” And with that, the four of you were left in the stifling quiet of the old house.

You quickly got to work. Lucy stood in the centre of the gallery, tuning in to the echoes of the past. George wandered around the outskirts, taking temperature readings as he continued struggling to align the floor plan with reality. You allowed your fingers to gloss over the cobweb-covered wine glasses and masquerade masks on the tables, trying to feel for any insight they might offer. And Lockwood… What was Lockwood doing? He'd gone back out into the entrance hall, where there was a strange clicking sound. The three of you had been talking lowly amongst yourselves, all convinced you weren't well equipped enough to handle whatever was going on here, but when you called for the other boy to discuss the situation he returned with a length of string tied to a brown paper cylinder. He grinned.

“It was obvious, Fairfax being who he is, he was gonna search our bags. And me being me, I was gonna smuggle flares in.” He gleefully unwrapped his contraband, smuggled in the day before, to reveal an identical bomb flare to the one that had been confiscated. You admired his cunning almost as much as you feared it.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Lucy asked.

“What, and deny us all this beautiful moment? Come on, Luce, I'm not a monster,” Lockwood grinned again. The smile was infectious, spurring you all on to finally venture further into the building.

The only sound as you climbed the Screaming Staircase was the echoes of 4 pairs of feet. You weren't sure whether you were relieved or concerned.

“Can you hear anything?” you whispered to Lucy. If anyone could, it would be her.

“If this is a screaming staircase, it's being very quiet,” she muttered back.

“Maybe it's taken the night off,” George joked.

You let out a snort. “If ghosts could take the night off, we wouldn't be in this mess.”

You always found big empty places like this unsettling, but in the murky yellow torchlight it was positively creepy. At least Fairfax's directions seemed to be right, as the stairs led to a landing with a large room to one side. You were at the back of the line, kept from entering by George stopping with his hand on the doorframe.

“Now who's lingering?”

He didn't seem to hear you. “There's bad energy in these walls.” You believed him; you could feel it. Although perhaps that was just your reservations about this whole case. No, you'd been nervous about cases before, but they'd never left you with a dread so physical you could feel it crawling up your spine. What made matters worse was that you'd been sent to an ordinary bare room. No furniture, nowhere to hide sources. No red. Everything before you told you this was the wrong room, and yet the temperature was plummeting and Lockwood and Lucy were already setting up a chain circle. You took an iron doorstop over to George, who was sprinkling filings across the threshold. There didn't appear to be any other way out.

“George,” Lockwood began, “didn't you say you suspected there were hidden rooms?”

Of course. All the walls were panelled with fabric or wood, and there was that huge fireplace. Surely one of them would lead somewhere. You moved immediately, pressing against the wood panels and clutching at the gaps between them. Nothing. Your fingertips slid across the moldings, desperate to find a hidden button. You had to be close, there was a faint whispering coming from beyond the walls.

“Shh, stop tapping,” you heard Lucy say over the hushed sounds and the bleeping of the thermometer. You weren't tapping as such, so you carried on. Must be Lockwood.

The bleeping increased.

“Get back to the circle now!” You heard the panic in George's voice more than you heard his words. The room was freezing cold, the air acrid and coppery. If you could just find this secret panel, maybe you'd find the source and put this whole thing to rest before it even began. Behind you came the sound of footsteps, rapiers being drawn, and dripping.

Hold on, dripping?

George yelled your name, his voice even more fraught, and Lockwood yelled his as you heard the footsteps grow closer along with the dripping. George's arm wrapped around you, shielding you as he dragged you back to the iron circle. He looked at you, eyes wide. You looked back at the wall, at the droplets of red that spattered the carpet between you and it. A thick red bloodstain was growing across the ceiling.

“Where the hell is all that blood coming from?” Your voice shook.

“It's not blood, it can't be, it's plasm.” That was George, right in front of you. The realisation that he'd just saved your life made your heart race in more ways than one.

The stain continued to spread. The blood - no, plasm - continued to drip.

A spot landed in the circle.

You all shrunk back. Lucy levelled her rapier at the spots of red on the carpet like it was something she could fight. George instinctively put himself between you and it, arm extended to keep you back, and you clutched at his arm for comfort as you peered over his shoulder. It was only landing in the middle for now, but if it had broken the boundaries of the circle that meant that nowhere was safe.

“Let's get out of here,” Lockwood prompted, voice low and dark. “Leave the kit, head for the door.”

You all turned in time to watch the door slam shut.

Shit.

You darted to the door, one hand fruitlessly twisting the doorknob and the other scrabbling at the seam so frantically that you broke a nail.

“I thought you said you secured it?” Lucy's voice was rising almost as quickly as your heart rate.

“We did!” George snapped. What on earth were you dealing with that could create this much plasm and move a whole lump of iron? Whatever it was, you didn't stand a chance against it. Your breath rattled in your chest as you tried to suck in what little oxygen seemed to be left in the room and the beam of your torch trembled.

“We need to calm down, it'll feed off our panic.” You weren't sure if Lockwood was aiming that at you or everybody, but it didn't help. “Luce, we need another exit. Go back to that place you found, see if there's something. Y/n, check the rest of that wall. George, we need to draw it out and distract it.”

“We'll be right behind you,” George assured him before turning his attention to your shaking form. “Y/n, hey, hey, look at me, breathe.” He holstered his torch, miming his own breathing rate for you to copy. “We've got this, okay? I'll watch your back, we just need to get over there and start looking. You ready?”

You swallowed thickly but nodded, and the two of you rushed to the far wall. Lockwood was banging his rapier against it, taunting whatever Visitor was in the room, while Lucy worked on the panel in the wall.

“I've definitely got something!” she cried. George gave you a reassuring look before turning to join the other boy, and you began to help Lucy feel across the fabric. The dripping grew faster, and you made the mistake of glancing back. Your heart turned to lead. Nothing was left of the original ceiling; all the ornate cornices had been consumed by the thick red plasm, which was now pouring down the walls.

“Oh shit.” George's voice was high and jittery. This was the second time within the week you'd heard him say that phrase - when fighting Annabel's ghost he'd sounded a little scared, this time he was full-blown terrified. You clawed harder at the fabric.

“Please tell me that's a door.” Even Lockwood sounded shaken. The plasm crept closer, the carpet outside the chain circle engulfed in three corners and the walls almost at head height. It was only your rapiers and the glow of your torches that kept your corner clear, but that wouldn't hold them off much longer.

“I'd like to start running now!” George urged. Lucy finally found something, tearing back the fabric with a fierce grunt. There was a hidden door after all, one that was practically welded shut with age and disuse. She rammed her shoulder against it a few times, feeling it budge slightly, and in sheer desperation you moved close and delivered a firm kick to the edge. It flew open and your momentum sent you tumbling to the floor on the other side. The other three followed hastily, Lockwood slamming the door shut behind himself as the room was consumed.

The corridor you found yourselves in was small and silent compared to the previous room, the only sounds the ragged gasps of you and your teammates. You'd definitely bruised your hip on landing or sprained something in your thigh with the kick, but it was probably for the best that you were down there, sitting breathlessly against the wall. You weren't sure your legs would support you right now if you were standing.

George spoke first, quickly and anxiously. “A Poltergeist could have shut the door, but only Changers can manifest as something as weird as blood. But never on that scale! Are we talking a new kind of Type Two?”

“That was just a regular Changer,” Lockwood shook his head as he leaned against the wall above you. “No ghost can move that much heavy iron.” The implication of his words hung heavy in the stale air. It was no ghost at all; someone had deliberately trapped you in there. Left you to die. You forced yourself to remember how to breathe. Picturing George coaching you through it again helped a little.

“Fairfax?” Lucy questioned as she sheathed her rapier. “No, he wouldn't dare be back there to do that.”

Lockwood shrugged. “Well maybe Ellie still has some Talent. Maybe we're being tested.” The possibility that this was all some sort of endurance test seemed somehow more horrifying than the other options. There was no time to think further on it though, as the conversation was interrupted by a beep from George's thermometer. The temperature was dropping again. Perhaps Lockwood was right after all. That hadn't been the only haunting, and there was a lot more of the house to explore. As if on cue, there came a thump and a distant screech from the far end of the corridor. Lucy and Lockwood raised their torches and moved slowly towards the sound. George held out a hand to help you to your feet. You stumbled a little as you rose, your hand quivering in his.

“You're shaking,” he stated bluntly yet with concern. “Did the plasm touch you anywhere?” He began frantically checking you over, hands gliding across your shoulders and down your arms.

“No, I'm fine, I just…” the words died in your throat, so instead you gestured at the door and the corridor being lit by the eerie yellow glow ahead. He'd been there the whole time, he was as acutely aware as you were of what you were going through. The worst part was knowing that you had to keep going, there was no going back the way you came, you just had to accept your fate at the hands of whatever lay ahead. You were already exhausted before you even started, and now the adrenaline was rapidly seeping every last drop of energy from your body. You had to get this over with before you became a liability.

“I know,” George sighed, eyes on the closed door before they returned to meet yours. “But you're not alone, right? I've got you, I'm not going anywhere.” He quickly continued, stumbling over his words a little as his cheeks flushed, “And the same for Lockwood and Lucy of course, we're a team and we're going to get through this together. If you need any one of us, we're right here.”

“Thanks, George,” you said softly, a similar blush creeping across your own cheeks. “I'm glad you're here. I mean, obviously I'd prefer knowing you weren't stuck in this nightmare house, and I'd rather not be here either but…”

George's hand brushed against where it had come to rest on your bicep, like he'd almost forgotten it was there. “I'm glad I'm here in this hell with you, too.” He smiled, not confident in any way, but enough that you finally felt steady enough on your feet to follow him after the other two. They'd cleared the path ahead of cobwebs, which hung thickly down the walls and across the ceiling. Your skin crawled. Wherever there were spiders, there were ghosts. Suddenly everyone stopped. The spiders were right. A wispy grey figure stood out against the darkness of the corridor, illuminated by the pale blue moonlight of the window opposite. But it didn't lunge for you, didn't scream; it simply stood there, watching. It felt peaceful. Friendly. Almost familiar. It looked familiar too. Kind of like… Your heart skipped a beat, and you reached back to confirm to yourself that the boy you thought you were looking at was still there. Your hand met his, fingers tangling against the warmth of his skin as you grasped at the reality of it, and he squeezed back reassuringly.

“Sam Pandy,” he realised aloud. You would have almost sworn the ghost of the Fittes boy had heard his name, as he finally moved, turning and taking a few rigid steps down the corridor before disappearing. “Probably wanted to warn us not to go down there.” Lockwood flicked his torch back on and followed. “And now we're going down there,” George finished with a resigned sigh.

At the end of the corridor was another staircase, nothing quite so grand as the one you'd come up before. Hopefully this led to a servants' quarters with an easy exit, or a kitchen with a window you could climb through. Faint noises played at the corners of your perception. Lucy could hear them too.

“This couldn't be the actual Screaming Staircase, could it?” She pointed her torch down, though it curved round too far to see the bottom.

“Maybe,” George mused, back to his usual inquisitive self. Seeing him so glib again was surprisingly calming. “Fairfax certainly loves a surprise. No wonder he did so well in show business.”

You frowned. Something about that had touched a nerve, the same way Ellie had earlier. It couldn't be a coincidence that this was the second case in succession that had connections to the theatre. Could it? As George and Lucy made their way hesitantly into the dark, you glanced at Lockwood. The boy was deep in thought, struck with the same fragments of an idea.

“Lockwood, you don't think…”

His eyes met yours, deep and puzzled. “I do. Come on.” You both hurried down the wooden steps. The whispers grew clearer, words forming in a deep, repetitive chant. “George, Lucy, hold on. I think I might have figured out-”

Lucy interrupted. “This is it, this is the staircase.”

“Go.” Lockwood ushered you ahead of him. “Get off it now!” You all hurried down, the stairs changing from wood to stone beneath your feet, the handrail coming to a sudden stop as the wall changed to stone on one side and disappeared on the other. You slowed as you reached the room at the bottom, scanning it with your torch in disbelief. It wasn't a servants’ quarters, or a kitchen, or any kind of way out. It was a desolate underground chapel, containing nothing but a stone well, the ruins of a set of arches, and a thick layer of dust, barely illuminated by the night from a window high above.

“We're trapped,” you breathed. It took every part of you not to burst into tears, and you briefly considered risking the stairs again to find another route, but the chanting was even louder and so clear you could make out every word. Mors gloria. Salvete satanas. Mors gloria. Salvete satanas.

“What are we gonna do?” George asked worriedly, even knowing full well that none of you had an answer. All four torch beams settled over the opening of the well.

“The monks,” Lucy said quietly. “This is where they died.” She tensed, a clear sign that she'd sensed an imminent threat, and swung her torch to the wall by the stairs. You followed her gaze. The yellow beam mixed with the moonlight to turn the stone a poisonous green, across which moved hooded shadows with clasped hands, filing down the stairs in a rhythmic procession. As the first one reached the bottom, it peeled away from the wall, a cloud of thick, dark grey manifesting into a figure. Over the now booming chants, you heard Lucy gasp and draw her rapier.

“George, y/n, find the source. Luce, help me ward them off. We need to buy some time.” Lockwood drew his blade too, swiping it in a looping motion at the three spirits which had now descended, more forming behind them.

“What do you mean, find the source?” George protested. “There's literally nothing here!”

You didn't have time to argue. If there was even the slightest chance you could find something to get you and your friends out of here, you had to take it. You ducked behind the ruins of a collapsed arch, digging through the rubble. Nothing but a few more spiders.

George approached the other pillar. There was a mass of something behind it. He let out a breath.

“It's the Fittes kid.” That was it. You were doomed. You glanced up. Lucy hadn't moved, her rapier still raised but wavering.

“New plan!” you yelled. “George, help Lockwood, we've got this.” George, despite his terror, surged forward. “Right, Lucy, help me move this stone.” The girl's rapier clattered to the floor, and you waited for her to join you. Nothing. You glanced up again to find her facing the well and walking disjointedly towards it. “Lucy!”

You dashed over, just managing to come between her as she reached the top step. Maybe she'd spotted something. You looked up to her face, hoping to follow her gaze, and found her eyes frosted silver and unseeing. She moved past you without hesitation, stepping onto the edge of the well. You grabbed her arm, her waist, anything to try and pull her back, but she leaned forward and it was only your weight holding her down that kept the pair of you from plunging into the abyss.

“George, help!” you screamed. “Lockwood! She's ghost-locked!” Instantly the boys dropped their rapiers. Lucy pitched further forward, leaving you hanging over the edge and staring at the pile of bones below. Her feet twitched. You screamed again.

“Lucy, no!” Lockwood yelled, gripping the back of her jacket and pulling her upright with a squeaking gasp. George wrapped an arm around your stomach and the other round Lucy's shoulder, and you landed in his lap as the four of you collapsed against the edge of the well. You held on tightly, George’s chest rising and falling rapidly as you bunched his T-shirt in your fist. He didn't let go of your waist. You'd have found it endearing were it not for the circumstances.

“I found the source.” Lucy's voice was loud and rough. Your hope of salvation was so close, and yet not close enough. “It's in the well, their bodies.” The monks had filled the room now, a dozen or more columns of black smoke so close you could almost make out the outlines of faces within the hoods.

Lockwood reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver canister. “Make a wish,” he said, trying to bring one final moment of levity in this dire situation. A hundred thoughts flashed across your mind in those seconds - every regret, everything you wished you'd done, everything you wished you hadn't, everything you should have said… Your thoughts turned to George, to the feelings you'd finally started to realise but were yet to name, and now you weren't sure if you'd make it out of this long enough to even figure them out properly, let alone act on them. You turned, face inches from his, and found him already looking at you.

“Y/n, I-” his voice trembled. A bright flash made you squint as Lockwood pulled the pin from the bomb flare and tossed it over his shoulder. Everyone ducked, wrapping their hands over their heads. George only raised his free arm, the one still on your side pulling you close until you were tucked under his chin, and you threw one of your arms up to meet his above his head as your other folded over your face. The flare hit the bottom of the well, filling the room with a bright orange flash and the sound of falling masonry. You felt yourself falling, and the world went black.

You awoke to darkness, ringing ears, and lungs so full of brick dust that you felt like you were going to cough out your insides. For a moment you forgot where you were and why every inch of your body was crying out, and then the memories came flooding back and you struggled into a sitting position. The chapel was destroyed, debris from the well scattered across the floor and lit only by a single working torch. Among the wreckage, you spotted three bodies. The closest had a black coat and dark curly hair.

“George!”

You scrambled towards him, ignoring the protests from your aching bones, and knelt beside him. He was on his back, eyes closed behind dust-covered glasses, with one hand resting on his stomach. You tentatively shook his shoulders.

“George?” When he didn't respond, you patted his cheek. Nothing.

“George!” You slapped his cheek, a little harder than you intended, but it did the job. He slowly raised his head, and you let out a sigh of relief as you helped him up by the edges of his coat. “Are you okay?”

He frowned. “My cheek hurts.”

The noise you let out was halfway between a laugh and a sob. He was okay. You'd both survived. Without thinking, you pulled him into a hug, burying your face in his shoulder to hide the tears that had sprung. He hugged you back, tighter than you expected. Behind you, one of the other bodies stirred, and you quickly sprung apart. Lucy was rising onto her elbow on one of the steps by the well, coughing as much as you had been. She gave a small smile when she saw you and George.

“Lucy,” the final body murmured, slumped against the remains of a pillar. The girl scrambled towards him like you had towards George, delicately taking one of Lockwood's hands in hers.

“Oi, where's his slap?” George whined, earning an elbow in his side from you.

“It's fine,” you muttered jokingly, “you can thank me later.”

“I deserve one,” Lockwood continued, unaware of your comment, “I've been an idiot.” With some difficulty, he took a folded photograph from his pocket. You all crowded round to look. It was the picture of Annabel outside the theatre that he'd found in the article about Hugo Blake. Had he been carrying that this whole time? The only difference was this time, Hugo Blake wasn't the focus. Lockwood pointed to a head in the background, peering over another woman's shoulder. The man was younger, of course, but his features were unmistakable. Fairfax. Your stomach turned. That inkling of a theory you'd had was right. Fairfax killed Annabel, and as Lockwood was now explaining, the ring was proof. The rest of your theory hit you harder than the bomb flare had done.

“That's where I recognised Ellie, or the sound of her voice at least. It was her trying to steal the ring.” You recoiled at the memory. A comforting hand rested lightly on the back of your shoulder, and you turned to George with a silent thanks.

“The proof,” Lockwood nodded. “I think they brought us here for the house to kill us.” It almost did, you thought wryly, and it still might. The only way out of this mess was to go back to the Red Room, and you didn't fancy your chances. Suddenly, Lucy spotted a patch of light trickling through one of the walls. It was just to the side of the well above a narrow ledge, the brickwork damaged by the explosion. Together you helped Lockwood up onto the ledge, where he loosened the stones with the tip of his rapier until they collapsed, leaving a hole you could all clamber through.

You spilled out onto the cold stone floor. Glancing around, you realised you were back where you started, at the foot of the marble staircase. At least that meant a quick getaway. The team moved as one, darting towards the entrance, then skidding to a halt at the sight of Ellie with rapier in hand. A heavy blast shattered a set of glasses on a table to your right. A gunshot. Everyone gasped. Lucy threw herself behind the table nearest to her, while George grabbed your wrist and hauled you under the one next to him. Lockwood was left standing, staring at Fairfax in an odd pair of metal goggles and brandishing a double-barrelled shotgun. It didn't take long for him to admit to killing Annabel, not with how subtly persuasive of a speaker Lockwood was, but you still clapped your hand over your mouth in shock when he did. It seemed you weren't the only surprised party, as Ellie began to lower her rapier, gaze flickering between her boss and yours. He wasn't getting the ring back, though, not tonight. It was still locked in the safe at Portland Row, only Lockwood knew where he'd stashed the key and he was never going to surrender that information.

“That's a bluff,” Fairfax scoffed.

“You'd better shoot me then.” Lockwood drew his rapier.

“Lockwood, don't!” Lucy's voice came frantically from the other table. You were all peeking out, watching helplessly as events unfolded. You threw George a panicked look, but he was at a loss. Fairfax slowly raised the shotgun, staring down the barrel, and Lockwood took a step backwards with a tiny gasp.

“There it is. You look scared, just like she did.”

“Don't shoot him.” Lucy leapt to her feet, and it took all your willpower not to dive across and drag her back down. She pulled the locket from around her neck, and all your fears crashed into your chest so hard you could barely breathe.

“Lucy, what have you done?” George spoke incredulously from beside you. “She stole it again, Lockwood!”

Whatever she was doing, it was working. Fairfax was lowering the gun, watching her in confusion. In the silence, you heard the soft click of the locket opening.

“It's Annabel's source. She's been wanting to see you for a very long time, Mr Fairfax.”

Everything happened in slow motion. Lucy tossed the ring upwards, and it was followed by cool golden-white wisps as it sailed through the air. There was a metallic clatter by Lockwood's feet, but the wisps stayed suspended, forming into the girl you'd seen in the attic. For a moment, she hovered, watching Lucy. Then she turned slowly to Fairfax, who raised his goggles in time to see her let out a horrific shriek and dive towards him. You thought she was just going to ghost-touch him, but it was so much worse. Instead she dove down his throat, filling him with an otherworldly glow from the inside as he clutched at his neck. Visions of a possessed Lucy reminded you that the poor girl must have looked the same way when she died. When he killed her, you corrected yourself. After what felt like an age, the man’s spent body fell to the floor. Annabel rose back into the air. There was no malice in her any more, you could finally see her for the young woman she had once been, and the look she gave Lucy seemed almost grateful. Without taking his eyes off the form above, Lockwood crouched to collect the ring and pressed it back into the locket in Lucy's hand, and the golden light that filled the room faded once again.

“We're working with maniacs,” George murmured to you.

The rest of the night (well, the morning, as it was already the early hours) felt like an anticlimax after everything you'd been through. DEPRAC arrived and not only did they arrest Ellie, but the four of you were bundled away while Inspector Barnes went to speak to the deputy commissioner. How had they found you, you wondered. Quill Kipps, the bellend from Fittes, had arrived and was positively preening at the sight of your team in disgrace.

“They're saying you killed Sir John Fairfax,” he tutted, leaning against the back of the bright yellow van you were being shoved into.

“You're next if you're not careful, Kipps,” you snarled, writhing out of the grip of the officer restraining you and lunging towards him. How dare he act so high and mighty when the man he spoke of had almost killed you several times over? The officer grabbed you again and threw you into the van, slamming the door behind you. You watched through the window as wooden boxes were brought from the house, each stamped with some sort of lyre symbol. Eventually, Barnes stepped into the van, and handed Lockwood a sheaf of papers. Non-disclosure agreements, he said, that you had to sign to be protected. But from what? Reluctantly, the boy handed them out, and you all leaned against whatever surface was available to scrawl your names. At last, the van started its engine and peeled away into the soft light of daybreak.

Back at Portland Row, you all kicked off your shoes and took a moment to stand in the hallway and gather yourselves. You had no kit bags to unpack, no sources to put away, it had all been confiscated by DEPRAC. You simply checked over your physical injuries, pretended to sate the mental ones, and reminded yourself that you were alive and with your friends.

“You all did well tonight, thank you,” Lockwood said as proudly as he could for someone so battered. “Let's get some rest and start fresh tomorrow.”

“You mean today, it is gone half six after all,” George pointed out.

“I mean tomorrow, I'm sure we can get away with one day off. It's not like we've got clients battering down the doors for our services right now.”

“Good point. I wouldn't say no to a lie in.”

With that, you all traipsed up the stairs and into your respective rooms. You flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. There was no point even trying to put your pyjamas on and get ready for bed, you knew. Sleep was the last thing on your mind.

#george karim x reader #george karim #gn!reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood & co

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nevermorgue · 9 months ago

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So imagine this. Will finds himself thinking a lot about what Lenore said to him while she held him at gunpoint. How Montresor probably hates him or that he hasn’t done a single nice thing for him.

He nervously approaches the misfits, desperate for an answer. Or maybe he just wants to hear someone say otherwise that isn’t himself. Nobody really pities him, but Eulalie suggests that Will simply use his spectre to figure out how his friends see him once and for all. Berenice tries to say that it’s kinda a shitty idea unless he wants to get killed, but Will immediately rushes off to start planning. It’s a great idea, he thinks. Then maybe he can finally get some sleep. He knows he won't be able to fool Annabel, but what choice does he have? Prospero is not a blabbermouth, Ada wouldn't say anything unbiased about him, and Montresor wouldn't dare say a thing no matter who he turned into. Annabel is the most likely to at least give up something. As long as he can trick her for a moment- just a single minute...maybe he can figure this out. And so he turns into Prospero. He adjusts the gloves and checks himself over for any wrinkles. He straightens his posture, he even takes extra care in making sure that stupid little hair curl is just right.

And so he heads out, grabbing the first book he spots on one of the many shelves, every step he takes one of faux elegance that he could only dream of ever having. He isn’t worried about accidentally running into the real Prospero; everything seemed to fall into place today. Will was kind enough to let Monty and Ada have his room for a little while, leaving Prospero some free time by himself as long as they’re gone. As long as he stays in there, Will should be safe to walk around with his face.

He eventually stumbles upon Annabel in a common room, alone. It’s late, and all of her underlings are off wasting time. But not her second hand, no. He is different- he is a like minded strategist. Perhaps not as ruthless as she, but intelligent all the same.

Will casually joins her, inwardly panicking as he tries to recall how Prospero takes his tea. Would Annabel notice if "Prospero" drank it differently today? Would she notice if his feet were pointed in a different angle than usual? And of course, would she notice that there are certain words he struggles to say in that accent? Of course she does. Will is not an idiot, even if many would disagree. She most certainly took notice, he thinks. But they sit there for quite a while in a silence that is not very comfortable for him- certainly not even a second thought for her. And luckily for him, it is she that starts the conversation on the path he was hoping it would take. Him.

It’s hard for him to keep track of everything she says. She mentions how they should probably not leave him alone with Montresor as often as they should. Something about him being ‘susceptible to any eye contact, friendly or not’. His chest feels heavy, but he simply starts with nodding along. Will knows that if he lets Annabel do all the talking, it will look suspicious. But what does he even say?

“…yes, that is probably for the best,” he starts slow. Cautious. He watches her expression- or rather, what he can see over the rim of her teacup.

“Things will be much simpler if we do not let Montresor run rampant.”

His mind feels fuzzy, warm like the tea he was drinking. Was that accurate enough to fool such a cunning woman? Did she expect more input? Should he have narrowed his eyes the way Prospero does- the way that sends chills down his spine every time?

Annabel continues on. It seems that she doesn’t want his input today. Will knows deep down what that means, but he chooses to ignore it for the sake of playing a little longer. Feeling like he has fooled her feels good.

She speaks about his vulnerability. She mentions that as long as Montresor has him ‘under his filthy belt’, he will never truly reach his full potential. Will feels his eyes burn every time she implies that he is being used or treated as less than human.

It all comes to a close far faster than he would like. When she stands to leave, she gives him a smile that one could only describe as suffocating. Such a gentle up curve of lips, so sharp and ready to pierce his very being until the wax melts down his false limbs.

“I do hope this provided you with the insight you seek, William.”

She left. He sat there for a long while after that, flexing fingers under gloves that felt suffocating around hands that weren’t his. They both knew from the start that he could never trick Annabel Lee- but why play along? Why did she continue to entertain it?

Surely not for his sake, right? Perhaps she thinks the only way to get through to him about himself is to speak to him as if Will was elsewhere. An afterthought, a topic of conversation and nothing more.

He wonders if it worked. He ponders the thought as he melts back into pitiful, plain form he is stuck as every day. And when he feels the uncomfortable pang in his chest shift just a little, he cannot help but smile.

It seems that being the topic instead of the person spoken to is the only way to get through to a spineless fool.

#nevermore webcomic #nevermore webtoon #will nevermore #nevermore will #montresor nevermore #nevermore montresor #nevermore annabel lee whitlock #annabel lee whitlock nevermore #annabel lee whitlock #nevermore annabel lee #annabel lee nevermore #nevermore eulalie #eulalie nevermore #nevermore berenice #berenice nevermore #nevermore prospero #prospero nevermore

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pupsmailbox · 1 year ago

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DOLL︰PUPPET ID PACK

NAMES︰ abbie. adorablesse. adorablette. aerlyn. agatha. alexis. almond. alora. andy. angaline. angie. annabelle. anne. annie. antoinette. apricot. ash. aspen. aui. ava. babette. babydoll. barbie. beau. bella. bellamy. belle. bells. bibi. blu. blue. bluesse. bluette. blushe. blushesse. blushette. bonnie. boo. bram. button. buttons. cadel. carmilla. carrie. catherine. charlie. charlott. charlotte. charolotte. chus. colere. commedia. concealesse. cypress. dahlia. dawn. dearesse. dearie. deimora. desdemona. doey. doll. dollace. dollaintye. dollawie. dollerie. dollesse. dollette. dolleyed. dollface. dolli. dollia. dolliae. dolliana. dollie. dollina. dolline. dollita. dolllet. dollni. dollsine. dolly. dollyne. dolseki. dottie. dwollie. dwolline. eeria. elissar. eliza. elodie. emily. emmie. evelyn. everly. eveyln. faith. felicity. figurina. frill. frillace. frillae. frilleine. frillesse. frillette. frillita. frilly. ginevra. gladys. grace. gracelyn. gregory. gwenivive. haunt. hauntique. hushed. hushie. iraia. iresse. islanne. jane. jinx. joujou. julie. juniper. kiva. lace. lacesse. lacette. lacey. lacie. laciene. laciette. lain. laintess. lakka. lala. lalki. lanie. lelita. lillith. lilly. lilo. lily. littlita. lolttie. lorelei. lovelace. lovey. lovie. luci. lyalka. lydia. lyra. lys. madison. mahina. mandy. margaux. mari. maria. marianette. marianne. maribel. marie. marin. marinletta. marinlita. marion. marioneta. marionette. marionne. marisol. marotte. marrionette. mary. marybelle. maryjane. maskie. max. melodie. melody. mika. millie. minuette. misky. misty. molly. moonie. morgaña. muriel. muñeca. mwahs. nabelle. nappi. nellie. nemesis. nene. neni. nimbus. nina. nola. nuri. olive. oliver. olivia. patch. pinkesse. pinkette. pinkie. pinky. pinocchio. pippin. pochi. poe. poppet. poppy. porce. porcelae. porcelain. porcelainette. porcelainne. porcelette. porcelina. porceline. porcelline. pupella. pupetta. puppetesse. puppetina. puppetlita. puppetta. puppette. puzzle. quietesse. quinn. ragdoll. ranoia. ravanche. raven. rebel. ribbon. ribbonne. riley. rion. robert. rose. rosetta. rosette. rubella. ruby. salem. sasha. satin. savi. scarlet. scarlett. sebastian. secrette. sew. sewine. sewline. shatter. shine. shush. smiley. smilie. softesse. softette. softie. soriv. spirit. sprout. statuette. stichina. stitches. suni. surri. sweeheart. sweetie. sweetine. teerlita. tempest. thalia. thorn. thredette. tibo. toyelle. toyine. ulysses. vanessa. vee. vera. veralice. vintage. viola. violet. vivian. vivienne. william. willow. winston. wisp. wispera. wrathes. zizi.

PRONOUNS︰ adorable/adorable. ae/aer. an/antique. anger/anger. antique/antique. app/apparition. bae/bell. ball/joint. balljoint/balljoint. balljoint/balljointed. bell/bell. berserk/berserk. bisque/bisque. bjd/bjd. bla/black. bliding/bliding. blue/blue. blush/blush. boo/boo. bow/bow. button/button. che/che. cheer/cheer. chey/chem. cloth/cloth. conceal/concealed. contain/contained. control/control. coquette/coquette. cracked/cracked. crae/crack. cre/creepy. cu/curse. cu/cute. cute/cute. da/dark. dea/dead. dea/dearie. dea/death. dead/dead. dear/dear. delica/delicate. delicate/delicate. despair/despair. do/doll. doll/doll. doll/dolly. dolljoint/dolljoint. dolly/dolly. dress/dress. dress/dressup. dress/up. d♡ll/d♡ll. eer/eeerie. elegant/elegant. en/energy. fab/ric. fabric/fabric. fair/fair. fi/figure. fig/figure. fragile/fragile. friendly/friendly. frill/fill. frill/frill. fury/fury. gho/ghost. glass/glass. glaze/glaze. glo/gloomy. gru/grudge. ha/haunt. happy/happy. haun/haunt. haunt/haunt. hwe/hwm. hx/hxm. hy/hym. h♡/h♡m. ix/ix. joi/joint. joint/joint. joy/joy. keep/quiet. ki/kill. kyu/kyu. la/lace. lace/lace. lo/love. lo/loved. lolita/lolita. love/lovely. lovely/lovelie. mad/mad. mae/mae. mar/marionette. marionette/marionette. mi/mier. mim/mimic. ny/nym. ol/old. pale/pale. patch/patch. patchwork/patchwork. petite/petite. phan/phantom. pink/pink. play/play. play/plaything. play/playtime. play/thing. play/time. plush/plush. plush/plushie. por/porcelain. porce/porcelain. porcel/porcelain. porcela/porcelain. porcelain/porcelain. pose/pose. pretty/pretty. pup/puppet. puppet/puppet. puppeteer/puppeteer. reven/revenge. rib/ribbon. ribbon/ribbon. rod/rod. ruffle/ruffle. scary/scary. secret/secret. seem/seem. sew/sew. sew/sewn. shadow/shadow. shey/shem. shi/shift. shush/hush. shwe/shwer. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sh♡/h♡r. silk/silk. slee/sleep. smile/smile. sock/sock. soft/soft. sou/soul. spi/spider. spi/spirit. spo/spook. spook/spook. sta/stalk. sta/stare. stitch/stitch. stri/string. string/string. sweet/heart. sweet/sweet. sweet/sweetdoll. sweetie/sweetie. ta/tap. tae/teer. tea/teatime. tea/time. thread/thread. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. th♡y/th♡m. ti/ny. to/toy. tomb/tomb. toy/toy. trick/trick. unca/uncanny. vin/vintage. vintage/vintage. wan/wander. withheld/withhold. wood/wood. wrath/wrath. yarn/yarn. 🎀. 👗. 🧦. 🧵. 🧸.

#pupsmail︰id packs #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #dollkin #puppetkin #toykin #dollcore

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avatarofthearchives · 5 months ago

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Some Magnus Archive Characters I Wish Met Because There Are So Many Good Dynamics To Think About

A: Emma Harvey and Martin Blackwood. Two people who are extremely manipulative, yet one manipulates to hurt the people they "care" about while the other manipulates to help the people they care about.

B: That one statement giver that just walked out of The Spiral and that one statement giver who survived the coffin by freezing it's key in a block of ice. Honestly, I just want to hear them compare notes on their Supernatural experience.

C: Mikaele Salesa and Tim Stoker. There's actually a lot of things about this dynamic that I think could be interesting but my main thought was "Guy who dedicated his entire life to the fears interacts with guy who wants nothing more to get away from them." Also, Mikaele does have that camera....

D: Agnes Montague and Simon Fairchild. Or otherwise known as: Women who is deeply weighed down by their destiny VS guy who thinks his destiny is a playground.

E: Annabelle Cane and Distortion Michael. Annabelle has a plan for every possibility. Michael exists outside what is possible.

F: One of the vampires mentioned in the series and Gerard Keay. I just think it would be really funny if Gerard thought he had met a fellow goth while the vampire thought it met another one of it's kind. I would not want this interaction to be serious.

G: Jonathan Sims and Adelard Dekker. They're both paranoid, but how efficient they are despite that varies widely. Also, I would love to see Adelard learn that Jon destroyed the table he carefully bounded the creature to lmao.

H: Rosie Zampano and Not! Sasha. Rosie is mentioned to be nosey, I wonder if any of her observations ever made her think that something about Sasha just seemed...off.

I: Jared Hopworth and Jude Perry. Mostly because I can't decide if they'd end up killing each other or end up being really aggressive besties and/or frenemies.

J: Oliver Banks and Michael Crew. Two guys who stumbled into their fates before embracing it fully through morally questionable means.

#magnus archives #tma #the magnus archives

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sealestialangel · 6 months ago

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　 𓏲　muu kusunoki npts　｡　　🎶 　　₊ ˚⊹

　　　　　 req｡ by anon + fem╱neu ᵔᵔ　₊

⠀⠀❛ 💝｡ ⠀names

muu，mumu，mimi，rose，rosa，flower，bouquet，pollen，bee╱bea，queen，queenie，quinn╱quinni，princess，princesa，tia，tiara，crown，crybaby，boxcutter，grace，anaïs，calliope，annabelle╱annabella，anya，channah╱hannah，sarina，ameera，zaria，reine╱reina，raya，rayne╱rayna，angelina，puah，rue，dolores╱delores，mar，mary，maureen ｡

⠀⠀❛ 👑｡ ⠀pronouns

sh🎵╱h🎵r，muse╱muses，muse╱music，musi╱music，music╱musics，so╱song，song╱songs，si╱sings，sing╱sings，no╱note，note╱notes，cry╱crys，whi╱whine，whine╱whines，sob╱sobs，scare╱scared，scared╱scareds，sweet╱sweets，pre╱pretty，pretty╱prettys，snob╱snobs，drama╱dramas，drama╱queen，queen╱bee，queen╱queens，prin╱princess，bee╱bees，bug╱bugs，rose╱roses，rosa╱rosas，pi╱pink，pink╱pinks，yel╱yellow，yellow╱yellows，green╱greens，box╱cutter，box╱boxcutter，boxcutter╱boxcutters，inn╱innocent，innocent╱innocents，innocent╱innocence，guilt╱guilts，guilt╱guilty，tick╱tock，hour╱hours，hour╱glass，hour╱hourglass，hourglass╱hourglasses，sand╱sands⦂⠀4╱4s，👑╱👑s，👸╱👸s，🛍️╱🛍️s，👛╱👛s，💄╱💄s，👠╱👠s，💎╱💎s，��╱💵s，💴╱💴s，💳╱💳s，💰╱💰s，🪙╱🪙s，🐝╱🐝s，🐛╱🐛s，🪲╱🪲s，🌹╱🌹s，🌸╱🌸s，🪷╱🪷s，💐╱💐s，🩷╱🩷s，💛╱💛s，💚╱💚s，💝╱💝s，💖╱💖s，💘╱💘s，💗╱💗s，💞╱💞s，💓╱💓s，💔╱💔s，❤️‍🩹╱❤️‍🩹s，❤️‍🔥╱❤️‍🔥s，🎶╱🎶s，🎵╱🎵s，⏳╱⏳s，⌛╱⌛s，🎭╱🎭s ｡

⠀⠀❛ 🌺｡ ⠀titles

your╱prns highness，your╱prns grace，the queen bee，the spoiled princess，the ruler，the leader，the commnder，the noun at the top of of the hierarchy，prn who controls the rest，the dethroned queen，prn who fell from grace，prn who had the tables turned on prn，a╱the milgram prisoner，prn who is held prisoner，prisoner number 4，the guilty killer，the innocent killer，the justified killer，the unjustified killer，prn who says it’s not prns fault，prn who sings prns sins ｡

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its-to-the-death · 2 months ago

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Fourth Wall Fight Round 1

Welcome! I'm very excited to get the ball rolling on this new tournament after what feels like forever. So here is the bracket:

The matchups were randomized so if you don't like them, blame the computer not me. The pictures are also a little small since this is only the first round and we have many contestants, so there will be a list of the matchups below the cut (and they'll link to the polls once they start!)

Polls will go up on Monday, April 21 and last a week. Propaganda is always welcome and I will reblog it too.

Be nice and have fun!

Kuzco (The Emperor's New Groove) vs Fleabag (Fleabag)

The Man in Red (Ghost Trick) vs Steve (Blue's Clues)

She-Hulk (Marvel) vs The Emcee (Cabaret)

Zazu (The Lion King) vs Madeline Hatter (Ever After High)

Bugs Bunny (Looney Tunes) vs Tozu (Project: Eden's Garden)

Shimura Otae (Gintama) vs Dora (Dora the Explorer)

Yzma and Kronk (The Emperor's New Groove) vs Katrielle Layton (Layton Mystery Detective Agency)

Magolor (Kirby) vs Fifteenth Doctor (Doctor Who)

Wilford Warfstache (Markiplier Cinematic Universe) vs Tony (Earthbound)

Alec (Mother 3) vs Kayne (Malevolent)

Clarissa (Clarissa Explains It All) vs Tatiana (Misericorde)

Chronos (Hades 2) vs Ravio (The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds)

Hedley LaMarr (Blazing Saddles) vs Monika (Doki Doki Literature Club)

Sticks the Badger (Sonic Boom) vs 000 (Path to Nowhere)

John Johnson (Check, Please!) vs Mung Daal (Chowder)

Gwenpool (Marvel) vs First Doctor (Doctor Who)

Mr. Resetti (Animal Crossing) vs Flowey (Undertale)

WordGirl/Becky Botsford (WordGirl) vs Abed Nadir (Community)

Black Sapphire Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom) vs Lord Hater (Wander Over Yonder)

Bestovius (Super Paper Mario) vs Niko (Oneshot)

Goombella (Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door) vs Mother (Shoot From the Hip - The Leftenmost Window)

Cartoon Lizzie (Lizzie McGuire) vs The Princess (Slay the Princess)

Beckett Mariner (Star Trek: Lower Decks - Warp Your Own Way) vs The Beyonder (Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur)

The World Machine/The Entity (Oneshot) vs Malcolm Wilkerson (Malcolm in the Middle)

The Narrator (The Stanley Parable) vs Robert (Triangle and Robert)

Bernkastel (Umineko When They Cry) vs Kirby (Kirby)

Genie (Aladdin) vs Kim Dokja (Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint)

Pinkie Pie (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic) vs Kometani Chushaku (Komi Can't Communicate)

Deadpool/Wade Wilson (Marvel) vs Princess H (Smashtasm)

Annabelle Cane (The Magnus Archives) vs Pixie (Pixie and Brutus)

Ferris Bueller (Ferris Bueller's Day Off) vs Guybrush Threepwood (The Secret of Monkey Island)

George Beard (Captain Underpants) vs Jack Bauer Dickrats/Father (The Trail to Oregon! - Starkid)

#fourth wall fight #fourth wall fight round 1 #brackets

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torturedfolkloredepartment · 1 month ago

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H a

They taking Annabelle (yes the cursed doll) on a tour she currently in the french corder

Yeah hi….WHY TF WE DOING THAT? WHY?

She was in the warrens locked basement for a reason?!?!?!

WHY ARE YALL TAKING HER AROUND AND SHIT, IF SHE HAUNTS SOMEONE JUST KNOW THATS THE REPERCUSSIONS

There have been multiple stories, a MOVIE on here yet yall wanna fuck around and find out

Have fun with that ig.

And please don’t come at me with “oh that aint real “ “she isn’t actually haunted “ you can believe what you wanna believe i aint gonna stop ya .

#elwoods words #the conjuring #annabelle

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imfierylilac · 25 days ago

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Obsession

Duke x reader

Alright, kiddos, here's a new fanfic from me :)

As they say—rare, but right on target ;)

A little note before reading: I have a pretty dense, plump build myself, which I used to be very self-conscious about, because stupid beauty standards want even the tiniest girl to be skinny as a stick. But now I say to hell with those standards—I fully embrace my body. I love the way I look, and I absolutely adore girls with similar figures (who am I kidding, I love all girls no matter their shape. Girls are goddesses).

Anyway, I’m absolutely convinced Duke loves curvy figures and wide hips too (I know, I’m one of Duke’s three little eyelashes). So, enjoy the story, folks!

Warnings: not much really—kissing, obsession with hips, and a slight hint of lewdness at the end. Also english is not my native language, so there may be spelling and semantic errors, but do not judge strictly

Despite his quick wit and self-confidence, Duke rarely thought about the consequences, which often got him into tricky situations. And although he usually managed to get out of them and didn’t particularly strive to admit his guilt, this time everything was different. He knew for sure that this situation was bound to happen someday, and his guilt in it was undeniable.

You met during the maze trial. Duke had already come to terms with the fact that his newly-made friend Lenore would die at the hands of a terrible monster, saving Morella, but then you appeared. You, who selflessly, though rather recklessly, rushed at the monster, giving Lenore time to escape. Of course, you and she wouldn’t have managed if Morella’s specter hadn’t manifested and the “great” Annabel Lee and her gang hadn’t arrived, but the very fact that you rushed to help a stranger evoked admiration and, frankly, bewilderment.

After the maze, when you became friends, Duke finally asked you why you decided to help them back then, and your answer didn’t surprise him much: “It was just the right thing to do, you know? I know that we were supposed to be competing with each other, but I just couldn’t watch someone be killed before my eyes. That would’ve been wrong.”

Because that was exactly who you were. On one hand, kind-hearted, friendly, and always ready to help, and on the other, combative, brave, and protective of everyone and everything, like the just goddess Themis. You were a “walking contradiction,” as Duke called you behind your back. With enemies, especially those who hurt your friends, you were ruthless. You weren’t shy about shutting up Ada’s rudeness, being rude to Annabel Lee yourself, and even punched Montresor in the jaw when he picked on your group too much. And though you were a fury with enemies, you were incredibly gentle with friends. You could be called the “mom” of the team. You supported Morella with care, talked with interest about creepy oddities with Eulalie, found common ground with Berenice, got Pluto—who wasn’t easy to approach—to open up. You even managed to fully win Lenore’s trust, and Duke sometimes jokingly expressed jealousy, saying you stole his best friend. And Duke himself?

Even though you were very different, you found a way to connect with him too. You didn’t particularly like breaking the rules, but support was one of your main qualities, so you always participated in all his adventures. Which, perhaps, eventually played a cruel joke on both of you, but more on that later.

Duke wasn’t the type of person who often doubted himself. He knew what he wanted and achieved it, even if not always in the most moral or safe ways. And he was certainly not familiar with doubts about his feelings. If Duke felt something for someone, he understood why and how to deal with that feeling. But when it came to you, everything became more complicated.

It all started with little things. Duke already thought you were cute, at least in terms of character. You were sweet, kind, supportive, and pleasant to talk to. And only when these qualities took root in his mind did Duke start to notice some other things about you.

Your hips. Oh, your hips. They were incredibly full, springy, and he was sure—very soft to the touch. You yourself were very soft. Short, plump, with soft hands and chubby cheeks. Everything about you was airy and soft, you were like a little cloud he wanted to touch. But your hips were a story of their own.

You didn’t have a particularly wide pelvis, but it flowed into delightful, plump hips. And, Holy Mother of God, have mercy on his eyes, Duke simply couldn’t help but notice them.

They jiggled and bounced when you ran or jumped. They swayed slightly when you walked. They, damn it, spread out when you sat down. These hips were incredibly mobile and looked so incredibly, hypnotically appetizing. Like the best Pâté en gelée he’d ever eaten in his life. Only, unlike the dish, he couldn’t sink his teeth into your hips and savor them as a delicacy. Though he’d have liked to.

Duke noticed these changes in himself, noticed the way his gaze lingered too long and too intently on your body, wandering or, worse, stopping at those sinful hips. But aside from his talent as a magician, Duke was also a good actor. It was easy for him to play his old self, who wasn’t obsessed with the lower part of your body.

But if he could restrain his eyes, it didn’t mean he could restrain his hands.

His skilled, nimble hands, which could perform magic at his will, for the first time in his life didn’t obey him.

At first, it was acceptable. Friendly hugs around the shoulders, ruffling your hair, a frequent desire to hold your hand. Then his hands became bolder, moving to your waist and settling there. And on your not-so-pronounced waist curve, his hands felt incredibly comfortable, as if that spot had always been waiting for them.

But the real problems began when his hands finally reached your hips. It wasn’t intentional, at least not entirely, but it happened.

He allowed himself such liberty only once, when you were dancing in an empty classroom, where there was no one but the two of you. Not that Duke cared about other people’s attention, but he usually preferred to keep especially intimate moments away from prying eyes.

Then his hand smoothly slid from your waist to the curve of your hip, and Duke’s breath caught for a second, even if subconsciously he was aiming for exactly that.

When his hand touched your skin, even though it was covered by the fabric of your skirt, he realized—this was paradise, Eden, Elysium and all the bliss promised after death.

Your hips felt exactly as Duke had imagined them. Firm, soft, warm, and incredibly pleasant to the touch. His fingers itched to squeeze those sinful hips, but using all his willpower, he restrained himself. And with even greater, almost cosmic effort, he forced himself to lift his hands and return them to your waist.

And Duke even worried that you’d notice something, because there was plenty to notice. The touches, the intense gaze, the fact that he had just so shamelessly, even for himself, fondled your hips. But another of your charming and incredibly useful qualities for Duke was your ability not to notice what was happening right in front of you. You could notice how Pluto blushed every time in front of Eulalie or point out the strange attraction between Lenore and Annabel, but you didn’t notice how Duke stared at you and your alluring hips, even when it became obvious.

After that incident, which nearly compromised Duke and his obsessive fixation, he became more careful. He watched his eyes and hands, tried not to get too close, so as not to do something stupid again.

But he couldn’t foresee what would happen in the future.

Actually, it was his idea. To sneak out after curfew and explore the Academy. Though, if Duke were more honest with himself, he’d admit that it was just a pretext to spend time with you. They’d already explored the Academy far and wide; it wasn’t about that, but about stealing a couple of hours with you alone. After all, Duke loved attention, and if it was from you, and even personal? That was doubly pleasant.

But who could have guessed that you’d get so scared of the approaching wisps that you’d drag the two of you into a narrow closet for mops.

In any other situation, Duke would never have agreed to this, simply because he didn’t care about breaking the rules or detentions. But something else attracted him.

A narrow space. The two of you. Your hips. So close that an accidental touch wouldn’t seem strange.

Oh, Duke was an venturer, but as he now realized, also a damn pervert. Because he went along with it. For your magnificent hips.

And now the two of you are pressed against each other in a cramped closet, which actually isn’t very comfortable. His long legs had nowhere to go, and because of the tight space, he had to press you against the wall. Although, the latter, in Duke’s opinion, was very good indeed.

One of the wisps passed right in front of the door, and you grabbed Duke’s shirt, pulling him closer.

“Whoa,” Duke exhaled and grinned cheekily, “Ma chou, did you really decide to get close at a moment like this?”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance and looked up at Duke, frowning.

“I’m just trying to make us less noticeable. And speak quieter, they might hear us.”

“So what, ma chou? Afraid of a couple of detentions?” Duke teased you.

You frowned even more at his teasing, clearly not appreciating the humor.

“You know I don’t like getting into trouble.”

Duke smirked at your words and shook his head.

“Oh, of course. Mademoiselle ‘Justice’, ready to rush in to save someone even into a burning house, but afraid of a couple of detentions.”

You shushed him when another wisp passed by the closet and pressed closer to Duke, making him exhale a bit more raggedly. In that position, his hands were braced against the wall on either side of your tempting hips, and his fingers trembled with the desire to squeeze them. But you, sweet darling, noticed nothing.

“Stop mocking! And why did you follow me, if you’re so fearless yourself?”

The question made Duke lift his ruby eyes from your hips and find your face in the darkness. He was going to answer, but hesitated. He really had no reason to go with you, except for wanting to be in close proximity to your wonderful hips. And of course, he couldn’t tell you that.

“What could I do?” Duke said instead. “You, ma chou, just grabbed me and dragged me along, and you’ve got quite the grip. I just… got confused.”

“You? Confused?” you narrowed your eyes, peering at his face in the dark. “Are you sure you’re my Duke?”

My Duke.

Duke almost purred at those words from your lips. So simple and unpretentious, but for him it sounded like a symphony, and lingered on his tongue like honey.

“Duke? Why did you go quiet?”

Your voice brought him out of his thoughts and he looked at you again with a dreamy smile on his face, which you couldn’t see in the dark.

“Nothing special, ma chou. Just mentally counting how much longer we’ll have to sit here.”

Veronica fell silent and quietly wilted at his words, but when Duke heard her voice again, he nearly choked on air.

“Am I so disgusting to you that you can't stand being with me for even a couple of minutes?”

Duke stared at you in bewilderment, and his hand almost instinctively reached for your face. He gently touched your cheek, peering at your face to find your shining eyes.

“Ma chou, what are you talking about? Where did you get these silly ideas?”

You frowned, but didn’t look away. You just looked at Duke with sad eyes, like a beaten puppy.

“I know I did something wrong. You suddenly became so withdrawn, distant, you don’t even look at me anymore. I must have offended you somehow, right? Or I just became repulsive to you.”

Duke exhaled in shock, his face stretching. Imagine, he’d been trying not to interact with you so he wouldn’t do something stupid, because he was crazy about you, and you thought you were repulsive to him.

“Oh, ma chou.”

Duke gently put his hands on your waist and pulled you closer, closing the small distance between you and hugging you.

“You’ve never been repulsive to me, ma chou. You couldn’t be, when you’re such a beautiful angel.”

He pressed you to him, resting his chin on the top of your head and exhaled in relief when you hugged him back, laying your head on his shoulder. You stood like that for a few seconds, or maybe several dozen minutes, but either way, it felt like bliss for Duke. Then you lifted your head and asked him, puzzled:

“But if I’m not repulsive to you, why are you avoiding me? Why did you suddenly change your attitude towards me?”

Duke saw how you looked into his face, trying to find the answer, and he couldn’t, and honestly, didn’t want to dodge the answer.

“I think it’s time to be honest, right?” he smiled, running his fingers along your waist. “I like you, ma chou. You’re kind like an angel and fierce like a valkyrie. In this damn Academy, when you don’t know what tomorrow will bring, you’re like home, like warmth, like someone you want to come back to and move forward for. You’re everything, ma chou.”

Even in the dark, Duke could see the shock on your face. How your mouth opened in surprise, your eyebrows rose, and Duke couldn’t see, but was sure—your cheeks flushed. You stood like that for a few seconds before finally snapping out of it.

“I—I too, I mean, I like you too! And you’re very, also very…”

Duke smiled and laughed quietly, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“So that’s how it is, and I was worried you didn’t even notice me, ma chou.”

You snorted, leaning toward Duke.

“Oh, believe me, it’s impossible not to notice you.”

Duke grinned and gently pressed you against the wall. His hands, resting on your waist, began to tremble with anticipation.

“Well, now that we’ve figured out our feelings, I think we should be completely honest with each other,” Duke leaned in and his breath touched your ear, making you catch your breath. “Ma chou, do you even realize how attractive you are? With that soft, plump body and those lush, seductive hips?”

His hands finally slid from your waist to those magical hips. And the touch was no longer fleeting or light. No, it was passionate, confident, greedy. Duke’s fingers trembled as they squeezed your hips, making you gasp softly.

“They… you like them?” you asked in surprise, your fingers clutching his shirt, pulling Duke close and not letting him go, as if he wanted to.

Duke grinned, running his hands over your hips and leaning in, bringing his face closer to yours.

“I’m literally obsessed, ma chou.”

And after that, his lips covered yours.

Kissing Duke was dizzyingly pleasant, though the closet wasn’t the most comfortable place for kisses. Your hands found his neck, hugging him and pulling him toward you, and his hands didn’t leave your hips, as if subconsciously afraid that if he let go, he’d never feel their weight in his hands again.

“Ma douce tentation, you have no idea how beautiful you are in my eyes,” Duke breathed against your lips between kisses.

You didn’t understand a word of French, but when Duke said it like that, with such breathiness and huskiness, there was no doubt that whatever he was saying, it was good.

“You said something about obsession?” you breathed out when you broke away from the kiss to catch your breath. Your voice took on a bold note, despite your usual shyness. “Maybe you’ll show me?”

Duke grinned.

“Oh, with pleasure, ma chou.”

Though, it’s better to demonstrate this obsession behind closed doors.

They’d only realize that a couple of weeks later, when poor Pluto would be yelling at them through the door of their shared room after finding Duke's head between your hips in the most indecent way. And though explaining everything would be harder, you’d both agree it was worth it.

***

Oh, glad you made it to the end! I hope you liked it. And don’t be surprised if the final part feels a bit off—I wrote it at four in the morning, practically falling asleep on my keyboard, but I was too eager to finish to stop :)

By the way, here’s a translation of the words Duke used to address the reader:

"Ma chou" – according to the translator (though I can’t guarantee it’s 100% accurate), this means “cutie,” but it also translates as “cabbage.” I thought that was funny, like the reader is just as plump as a little cabbage.

"Ma douce tentation" – translates as “My sweet temptation.” It fits perfectly in this context.

#nevermore #nevermore x reader #nevermore fanfic #nevermore duke #duke laurent #nevermore duke x reader #nevermore pluto #lenore nevermore #and yes at the end Duke did end up eating that cookie #hehe

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