#precious melvin

[fatummortem]

@lilmelvin asked: She's not gonna lie, she's disappointed. Three seconds ago, she was really excited about hearing the door locks and the door open and now she's just pouty and astoundingly disappointed. Staring him down, Melvin crossed her arms.

"I really wanted you to be Deb," she muttered. Now this is just awkward. I mean, who even knows if stranger is good at making bracelets? Accepting Random Asks

ㅤㅤRyouta wasn't expecting anyone to be at Deb's place, so he stood there half inside the door just taking in the smell of the room. She doesn't smell like someone where they're not supposed to. Tucking his keys into his pocket he nudges the door closed.

ㅤㅤHis blue eyes blink in amusement at the young girl, giving her a grin as he walks over to one of Deb's end tables & sets three circus rose flowers down.

ㅤㅤ" If it helps, I can leave & come back. You can expect me then. " There's a hint of teasing amusement in his voice. He does glance back to the door & decides to ask anyway. He should ask Deb about the girl later. " Do you have a key? "

[freyanistics]

This video is still relevant to this day and I implore white and non blacks to watch it

[tender-emotional-music]

I can’t stress enough how much of a waste of time it is to get into arguments with melvins/people in general on the reddit sub, or twitter or something. Obviously we can clown on them and can call it out when they’re homophobic etc, but if they’re not coming in with the intention to have an actual discussion it’s just a waste of time, especially since there are so many trolls and rage-bait accounts. When I get a Melvin post on instagram, I just click “not interested” and move on; if posts come up on my dash I just block the tags/blogs I don’t want to see. The show has been written and will speak for itself. I don’t need to waste time arguing with people online

[lilmelvin]

this game delights her

[clover-simp]

Idk what to say but

The Bby😭

[pekoeboo]

NEW RAVENWOOD LORE!! :D

so basically there's a point in the RP where Khalan gets seriously wounded and almost dies (not surprising lol), and Melvin in the last minute decides to give his blood in order to keep Khalan alive :'0 but obviously, Mel is Monster Man so his blood is Magic™ and it ends up having a lot of strange effects on Khalan over time.

one of the more positive things to come about as a result of this is that Khalan ends up getting!!! the cute little star freckles that Mel also has!!! :'D so he gets to match with his new father figure and that just gets my heart SO good;;

so yeah! I had to try drawing this concept, plus a mini "comic" of sorts where Mel notices the freckles for the first time, because the idea was just too precious to pass up :'0

Melvin Darke belongs to @baskervilleshound. please do not remove caption or repost. also on deviantart

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, April 14, 2024

My posts

Honestly, I spent much of the week coping with storm migraines. You can tell, because I was reblogging a lot from under a cold compress rather than doing anything useful with life. 

Reblogs of interest

The Hot Vintage Lady Polls are rough out there, y’all. Round three started closing yesterday (see what’s still open here), and as of this writing, we have lost Bette Davis, Alla Nazimova, Theda Bara, Myrna Loy, Barbra Streisand, Fay Wray, Lucille Ball, Ginger Rogers, and Olivia de Havilland--and it looks like Catherine Deneuve, Clara Bow, Lana Turner, and Mary Pickford are on their way out. Meanwhile, I learned about a ton of actresses I’d never heard of before, only to shriek when Sharmila Tagore, Nadira, and Waheeda Rehman lost this round. (Edwige, I will never forget you.) 

Let me remind you (and me sometimes, too): Not everyone has the same taste or childhood attachments or cinema experiences as you. And everybody in this bracket loses. Everybody but one. 

(I can tell I’m not cut out for brawling because I’m like, “I will be very sad to see Norma Shearer go, but Hazel Scott seems nice!”)

--

“Actually, Mr. Musk, I am an attorney. Do you know that?” Here’s the highlights of Mark Bankston, the man who brought down Alex Jones, coping with Elon Musk and Elon Musk’s Lawyer, who is not even licensed in Texas, for 100 pages of deposition. 

Hozier Watch 2024: “Too Sweet” has now charted higher in the UK than “Take Me to Church,” and it’s getting real close on the US charts. This is a song that didn’t even make last year’s album. I am endlessly fascinated. 

Happy Leland Melvin Day!

Happy Neil Banging Out the Tunes Day!

“Posting endless DNIs because we can’t (or don’t know we can) make spaces just for the people we do want to interact with” actually makes a lot of sense in this centralized social media hellscape. 

There is a 20k mg weed gummy and nobody needs that. “Forget meeting the Hat Man this is what turns you into the Hat Man. This is worse than that torture drug that makes you experience 600 billion years in a second. This is the secret to honest to god shifting.” 

One of the best uses of the Kate Beaton Poe comic I’ve ever seen

“Americanisms that tell you to check on your American” (they are all correct)

“Tuxedo Mask is the first example of being ‘Kenough’”

Just this once, I will allow this AI rendition of a “traditional Polish family” and their traditional Polish woodchuck. 

I am absolutely not saying there is anything wrong with being into tentacles; I’m just saying that Pyramid Head doesn’t even have them and thus is a pretty tame choice to complain about. 

Little Guy, a game

A cursèd chair called “Oops!”

Sparrow Tarot: Honestly, this is one of my favorite takes on the Hanged Man.

This dog is a biscuit and she is precious

Video

One of the things that’s so great about this Ilia Malinin free-skate program is, he makes it look so effortless that I would have never figured out on my own, without Tumblr’s commentary, that there’s a couple moves in here that no one in the world can do but him. Like, the very first jump and the announcers start screaming. 

A journey from fearing moths to raising them

A dude puts on a dress For the Meme and then discovers that he loves it (and then he styles it as a full outfit and it looks SO GOOD)

Watching this cat ride around on a roomba on a sped-up surveillance camera is self-care.

So is this (although it’s a bit strobe-y)

Bat type: hi doggy

Was the jello for the tuna salad lamb supposed to be lime?

The sacred texts

Holy Shit, Two Cakes

The origin of “Me, an intellectual”

#AllMyLifeIHadToFight

Personal tag of the week

Designer Roberto Cavalli, who passed away this week at age 83. I reblogged several fashion posts--I hadn’t even realized myself that he had designed Beyoncé’s famous yellow dress in Lemonade.

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

"Well, it was lovely to see you, Amina. Be sure to drop by the new house when we're settled in."

Wanda Bellamy embraced the woman she'd come to see as a close friend. Amina Bellamy was a recent arrival to Arkhelios, but she'd been an amazing volunteer for Wanda's political pursuits since arriving. They'd often joked about sharing a last name and people maybe getting the wrong idea about their relationship based on it, which Hunter never found amusing. Bellamy was a common enough name, there was bound to be a new arrival with the name eventually.

"I can't wait to see it. It sounds wonderful. I'm so happy for you and your little family."

"New house? Are you moving again, Wanda? You just bought this house three years ago."

Roman Bellamy stood in his aunt's driveway, looking confused. He was pretty sure the two women were talking about a new house, but Wanda hadn't mentioned any plans to her nephew.

"Roman! What a pleasant surprise," Wanda said, smiling at her favourite nephew. "And yes, we are moving again. Your uncle and I have been building a new home for years now. We've outgrown this one and wanted something more...elegant."

"But, I was going to ask if you could-"

"Roman Bellamy? Malika’s boy? Look at you, you're her spitting image. Such a handsome young man."

Roman was cut off by Amina's excited embrace. The woman hugged him fiercely. A little too fiercely for a stranger for Roman's comfort.

"Grandson," Roman corrected her when he was finally released. "Malika was my grandmother. Did you know her?"

Amina shook her head.

"No, but I've seen pictures of her," she answered. "She was friends with Romana Rivales, the famous painter. There was a write-up and photoshoot in the magazines with them when I was growing up. Both of them were so beautiful and talented. The world lost something precious when they passed."

Roman stared uneasily at Amina, trying to analyze her sincerity. Very few people spoke about his mother and grandmother unless they absolutely had to. After Kamalani had been charged posthumously with the murder of Omar Bellamy and the attempted murder of so many people that Melvin stopped after just five charges were laid. Charging a dead woman with a large list of crimes did nothing to get peace or justice to her victims. It was all just paperwork in the end.

"I'm sure my grandmother would have loved the compliment," Roman said at last. "If there was one thing she loved, it was listening to people praise her."

"If you love Romana Rivales' work, Roman has quite a few of her originals at home," Wanda added. "He's got quite a collection started. I'm sure that he would be happy to show them sometime, right Roman?"

Roman scowled at the reminder. Of course he had a hoarde of his mother's paintings. People wouldn't stop shoving them in his face and demanding that he be grateful they did. Most of them were locked up in his office, out of sight until he could offload them on a collector or pawnshop willing to take them. They had increased in value with Romana's mysterious death, but people often found them unnerving when viewing them in person, as if his mother's toxicity were oozing from the paint, presenting her as the monster she had always been. There was a convention for all things demonic in Pleasantview next month, where Roman was determined to either sell the paintings or leave them in the parking lot for someone to find. The paintings inspired by his secret half-sister were the worst to look at. Every time he saw one, his heart seemed to stop beating for a moment, still held captive by the memories of what his mother had done to him even after all these years.

"I would love to see her work in person," Amina replied with an excited smile. "She had such an eye for the supernatural, surely one of her paintings would look wonderful in the Arkhelios Academy of Magic?"

"No!" Roman practically shouted the word at the same time Wanda was nodding excitedly.

"What a great suggestion," Wanda said. "I'll have to take it up with the coven first, though. Romana has a...complicated legacy here."

"Understandable," Amina replied graciously. "It was just a thought. But I'll leave you with your guest, Wanda. The children are probably getting into mischief without me around. You know teenagers."

"Romona was just a pseudonym," Roman added irritably. "Her name was Kamalani. Whatever the artistic good she accomplished in her career could never undo all the unforgivable things she did. She abused me and tried to murder my children. She doesn't deserve to use a pseudonym to attempt to clean her image."

"Of course. How insensitive of me," Amina apologized. "I know of her only through her art, while you saw the side of her no one else in the public got to see. You have my sympathies for your past pain. Still, one of her paintings might add some helpful context to the Academy. It's something to think about anyway. Good night, Wanda. I'll see you at the usual time tomorrow."

The strange woman walked past Roman towards the mall. She likely lived in the new part of town where Wanda had been building new housing.

"Who was that?" Roman asked, hugging his aunt despite how unsettled the entire exchange had made him. "Is she new in the coven?"

Wanda squeezed Roman tightly in return, giving him a motherly accessment as she did. He didn't seen to be injured or too skinny and hadn't gotten any more tattoos that she could see.

"She's a woman who helps me at the office," Wanda replied. "She's helping me battle Fitz Cowden and the garbage he thinks makes good policy. Amina is brilliant, and maybe a little magically gifted, though not enough to want to join the coven. I've asked repeatedly, but she says that it's not her thing. It's still nice to have another Bellamy around, even if we're not related. If we had multiple Bellamys in the coven, we'd sound just like Pleasantview. 'Master Maricourt, Master Maricourt and Master Maricourt'. It's ridiculous."

"Another Bellamy?" Roman repeated. "Are you sure we're not related to her? Bellamy isn't that common of a name."

"I don't see how," Wanda said defensively. "Salem didn't have any family that I know of."

"It's not his name, remember? It's Grandma's. She has a big enough family somewhere. Remember the photo album I showed you a few years ago? She had a sister. A sister that was on a first name basis with Dorhack. What if this is some kind of invasion? What if they're after me or my kids? We need to get a background check on her at the very least."

Wanda rolled her eyes, waving away Roman's worries dismissively.

"Hmm, truthfully, I'd forgotten that Salem took his wife's name. It was always all over our school board meetings, and I guess I just saw more of him in general. Your grandmother never really took a liking to me, especially at the end. If that will make you feel better, then I'll have a background check done," she sighed. "Until it's done, I expect you to treat her without suspicion, Roman. Even if she is one of those Bellamys, you can't assume her motives. Don't be so cold-hearted. You might just grow to like her."

"Not fucking likely," Roman muttered under his breath. He stole another look over his shoulder, only to find the woman watching him from a distance. Something about her just felt wrong in a way he didn't understand.

Amina held Roman's gaze until he was forced into the house by his aunt. He was an interesting young man, and brighter than she had originally given him credit. She could feel Malika’s warm presence encircling her grandson, even long after her death. Whatever remained of the woman's spirit was protecting her grandson. She really had adored him despite her poor choices.

"So, Wanda, why are you moving again? You live in a mansion."

Roman looked skeptically at the strange decor of his aunt's house. All the paintings on the wall were of foreign people from a variety of countries. He could pick out a few from Pleasantview that he recognized from his school. The only few representations of her own family were Theo's baby pictures and the group photo of the remaining Bellamy family taken before Omar's murder.

Being the leader of Arkhelios on the international stage had made Wanda wealthy enough to still fund the traditional Bellamy lifestyle that Roman had given up to pay for Theo and the twins' educations and keep his restaurant above water. He could still remember his teen years of fancy clothes, fancy schools and acting entitled enough to be mistaken for someone of Claudia's rank. Theo had certainly changed all that, and now Roman couldn't even picture how he once had been before his mother had tried repeatedly to ruin his life and kill his son. He did miss the wealth and political scheming, but his life was better now. Different, but better.

Wanda hadn't had to give up a fortune in school tuition or feed and clothe large amounts of children. Her son was well dressed, but Wanda only had the one child to support. Politics paid well, and she'd been gifted generously by people looking to persuade her to vote their way. Wanda could afford to be a Bellamy like her in-laws. Maybe when Abe III was ready to start college, Roman could afford the luxurious life he'd grown up with.

"We're just not liking this house," Wanda replied, leading Roman into the living room. "We need something bigger, something more impressive. A tiny mansion doesn't shout power, but a large estate does. We need something to make outsiders marvel at when they travel here. A strong house for a strong leader."

Roman frowned but remained silent. There was a lot more distance between him and his aunt and uncle lately. With everything that had happened, he had gone from a carefree teenager bugging his magical aunt for favours to a battle scarred father just trying to survive. Wanda had drifted away, especially after she had made him take ownership over the Bellamy estate so that she could pursue politics. When he looked at how far he'd drifted from his aunt, Roman felt bad for only visiting tonight to ask a favour of her. He was a shitty nephew, but being a father always came first. He couldn't just leave his kids to hang out with his incredibly busy aunt who also didn't have the free time to share.

"So I'm glad that you stopped by," Wanda exclaimed, waving dramatically at the chaos behind her. "I was thinking of taking more family photos before we moved. I don't think I even have a photo of the twins or Mark now that he's in university. I have a photographer on standby. He does all my political photos and they look amazing."

Roman took one look at the photo studio and felt a pressing need to retreat before his aunt could comb his hair and put a nice tie on him just like his grandmother had done every few months of his childhood.

"Uh, maybe," he stammered. "Theo and the twins are away at school, though for so long, and Abe Jr's just started teething, so he's going to be difficult to get a good shot with."

Wanda smiled deviously.

"Then how about for your thirtieth birthday party?" she replied, enjoying the confused look on Roman's face. "I am the leader of Arkhelios, people are going to tell me about my darling nephew's birthday plans, especially when you want to use my house to host it."

Roman flushed with embarrassment. Of course his aunt had found out about the party before he could even ask. Arkhelios was not the place to try to keep a secret, no matter how hard everyone tried.

"Well, yeah, that might work. But if you're moving, how are you going to host the party here?"

He could already see moving boxes piled in the corner by the stairs. There was no way that Roman trusted any of his children to be left alone in this expensive looking house either. Abe Jr would chew everything in sight and the girls would probably knock something expensive over while running. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

"Well, we hold it at your place," Wanda stated, as if this was the only option. "It's a big lot and the kids are already familiar with it. I can organize it all, all you have to do is open your house to your guests."

"I don't have the space," Roman replied. "The last Winterfest ball we held there was a long time ago. There's the baby toys, Theo's magic textbooks, the dogs...it's just too much."

"Ask your mother in law then. She has the Helios mansion to entertain in."

Roman laughed at the thought of Elaine willingly holding a party in her house. After several tries to hold a party where no one died, got pregnant, gave birth, or released zombies, she had given up on parties entirely. The next party that would be held in her house would be her funeral and that was final.

"Okay, fine. I'll provide the house, unless I can find somewhere better to host it," Roman conceded. "If you could plan it half as well as your Winterfest parties, that would be amazing. I'll give you a budget once Adrian's accountant gets back to us."

"Don't bother," Wanda replied, waving her hand dismissively once more. "Consider it my gift to the three of you young men. You only have one thirtieth birthday, and all of you work so hard to help make Arkhelios a better place. Though I might need to take a few pictures for my updated campaign at the party. You know, to show that I'm one of the young people who connects with the issues they care about."

"Of course. I do appreciate this, Aunt Wanda. It's been a tough few years and I think we all need this excuse to just relax and let go of some of the stress in our lives."

[wickedsrest-rp]

Ghost Tours (3D) || Group Thread

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Inge, Nora, Jonas, Archie, and Helene SUMMARY: A fun ghost tour turns ghastly when the guide is revealed to be more than anyone expects. As the tour group is decimated in service of a mysterious entity, survivors are left wondering what they have just seen, and what is to come.

Dirty gray buildings lined what used to be a scenic little cobblestone road. The old maple tree that used to sit proudly at the end of the road was long gone and replaced by cold concrete. It was a shame, Helene decided, that a living relic of the past that could have survived turned into a park bench littered with obnoxiously colored bags. It was a small kindness that her feet made no sound or that she couldn’t really feel the ground at all. She had always loved the sound of the leaves crunching under her boots. There may have been a stray vibrant red leaf still left on the tree this late in the season, but most of them would have turned a shade of rust and fallen to the ground. 

She rounded the corner anyway though the path remained largely unfamiliar to Helene. It had been a month now, she believed, and she was so close to having delivered her end of the bargain. She didn’t like to remember Wicked’s Rest this way, as it was now. This wasn’t her home and the wear on the buildings as they approached the part of town called Worm Row indicated that it hadn’t been for quite some time. The path she followed was the only she knew of the abnormality. Someone on one of the tours commented that the drive they were walking down now was private land, but it was long abandoned. The one shed she could make out at the end of shades of slate never showed even a flicker of light or life. 

The group chattered absently behind her as they finally reached a small shack of a house labeled ‘historic’ by the town. This was admittedly Helene’s favorite story of the tour, one she got to tell with a wicked glint in her eyes because the Farfoots had gotten what was coming to them. “This was once the home of an author named Madison Farfoot. He was a boisterous man,” she narrated with a smirk playing at her translucent lips, “They call it the roarin’ 20s now and even by his own account, he was a loud man.”  

Too loud, she remembered. His main home where he threw all his lavish parties had been taken by the flat some time long after his death, but his death had been here in this shack. Something about that delighted Helene. “His book The Rest Way Home went on to become a bestseller, though that was posthumously, but their land had a rich history.” 

The land had been her family’s once, after all, but betrayal had much more dire consequences in a place like Wicked’s Rest. Helene didn’t worry much about that herself. She’d been long dead, long trapped under the black darkness of the abnormality. After tonight, she could feel something besides the earth and rocks one last time before going to live out the rest of her numbered days far away from the town that was as wretched as its name suggested. 

Perhaps she was a little wretched, too, leading her last group of patrons closer and closer to the abnormality. They would be taken under it too. Helene had to think they’d understand once they’d lived it. Perhaps died it was more apt. 

“The business deal that led to the Farfoot family acquiring the land that once went all the way out toward the mineral abnormality had been questionable to begin with. Handshake deals often are,” Helene recited, “But it was ultimately a squabble over inheritance that led to the end of the family line. Both brothers had very different ideas of what to do with the land. Madison wanted to build a hotel and shopping center, his brother Melvin wanted to farm tobacco believing it would be far more profitable.” 

Their precious land belonged to the flat now too. 

“The small house here was a den of sorts where Madison did much of his writing. Many today say they can still hear the sound of his typewriter in the darkest hours of the night.” She wondered if any knew or lived the strange anecdotes she would share over the rest of their tour. The small little evidence of phenomena that marred the path to the flat. “Keep close,” she advised with a falsely cautionary smile that gave some air of caring what happened to the living who uglied her town with metal and gray walls, “The hour is approaching twenty two hundred.” She turned back to the crowd, looking up at them from above her brow bone in a way she knew could chill. Scaring them wasn’t actually part of her bargain, that was more for entertainment value. “The hungriest hour of the night.”

—

Wasn’t there something ironic about it, going on a ghost tour when you were undead yourself? Sometimes she almost felt like a ghost herself, or at least those past versions of who she was. Ingeborg de Jong had been a young girl, raised in a country reeling from past war, the middle of five children of whom only four would live to adulthood. That had been a different girl, a different woman, a different wife — and though Inge might pretend she was gone and someone different, she remained. 

Like a ghost in the lives of her siblings, of her ex-husband, of her former friends. Not dead, not really, but not there either. 

Ingeborg Endeman was hardly a ghost. She was delightfully undead, but as present as any alive being was — and though she might flit from one plane to the other, and though she might haunt like some ghosts did, she thought herself more whole. Still! She felt a pull towards those fellow creatures that existed between the blurred line of alive and dead, and that was maybe why she was here. Enthralled by their tour guide, more keen to listen to her stories than to focus on her surroundings too much.

Worm Row, was, as neighborhoods went, a bad luck charm after all. The indent on her arm, where a piece of flesh was and would forever be missing after her altercation with that zombie. The presence of a Cortez hunter. The sheer threat that hung in the air. That last one didn’t scare her the way it would have scared her former, mortal self, though.

Her eyes moved across the people on the tour with her, a smile spared to the girl who could cast illusions. Was she here for inspiration as well? Inge moved nearer to her, eyes glued to Helene again. “Do you intent to cause some havoc tonight?” It was asked with a level of excitement, because it would be glorious, if the tiny thing was to explode in some kind of ghostly phenomenon and scare all those present.

She listened to the story, too, amused by the way Helene spoke of the late hour, glancing at the small house, “And how did their family line come to an end, exactly?” That was the story Inge was more intrigued by — she was well aware that the night was the time where the monsters came out. It was when she was at her strongest, when she could appear and disappear at will and haunt any person’s dreams and transform herself into something monstrous, stronger and more terrifying than her boring, mortal-seeming form. No, she wanted to hear about a story of what she hoped was fratricide, eyes gleaming as she hungered for a dramatic tale. 

—

Were he a being capable of critical thought, maybe Archie would be able to stop and wonder why he hung onto every word of Helene's. Maybe he would be able to notice that in any other circumstances, this would bore him to death. But Archie was never the smart one, never a man of details, and Leon made no appearances here to guide his brother down a realistic (more like deeply pessimistic) path. 

However, as much as Archie was stuck in Helene's stories, he retained almost none of the information, flying in one ear and out the other at twice the speed. And yet, he didn't wander off like he would if his will was his own. What truly caught his attention, was Inge's morbidity. Despite having met death, the concept of it feels so far removed from him. It was easy to remove himself from it, after all, he spent every moment he could pretending to be something he wasn't: a beating heart. "Ooo!" He exclaimed, almost cutting off Inge's words. "Yeah, how did they die? Was it like one of those old-timey shoot outs? Did they have guns back then?"

Helene's smile sent a shiver down his spine. Archie isn't sure if he'd felt such a sensation since coming back wrong. He laughed, nervous but with enough energy to attempt to mask it. "When are we gonna see some spooky shit?" He asked, not aware of what he was really asking for. "You know, you should definitely sell booze here. Drunk people are way easier to scare." He chuckled, then he turned to Inge, leaning in close to whisper. "You don't have anything for us on you, do ya?"

—

Jonas had dealt with many ghosts in his time, but having one lead a tour was definitely a first. Normal ghosts did not possess enough power to be projecting themselves in front of a small crowd while talking, what was even more strange was the fact that he wasn’t the only one who could hear her. Or at least that was what he was gathering from the reactions of his tour group members. It was hard to keep track of that many lips, it didn’t help that he was in the back of the group. He fiddled with his cardigan as he tried his best to keep up with the conversations. He should have gotten Lil to come along. 

Still his focus was the ghost more than those walking with him. Jonas had come with the intent to help her move on, but he hadn’t wanted to interrupt the tour and make a show in front of everyone as he suddenly made their tour guide disappear. He also thought that perhaps if the ghost got to show off she would be more amicable to his desire to help her move on. Though her level of power was a bit worrying. Normally only poltergeists were so strong. 

Jonas wasn’t affected by ghost stories the same where others were. He had been talking to ghosts since he could form words so no fear was held for them only pity. “I hope Madison is not still there trying to type.” He mumbled out. Blue huffed a little at her boy, he couldn’t understand the conversations happening but she could and she was thinking these people were strange and that Jonas was focusing on the wrong thing. 

—

There had been a rumbling in the graveyard about ghosts who didn’t know their places. Ghosts who could be seen by the mundane and not just the exceptional. Ghosts who would bring in a new age, destroy the living and put ghosts at their rightful place. At the top. The ghosts in this town were ambitious, Nora would give them that. Nora followed along the party, in the outskirts, hands shoved in her pocket where another ghost was nestled safely. Tied down by a hair tie and paper clip to stop him from making a scene. The group consisted of one woman she did know and then other people she didn’t know. But the woman she did know was a question, because Nora was curious to see if this fellow fear eater was here to help cause panic in any way necessary, going to help the living, or just in the right place at the right time. 

“Someone should tell Madison no one wants to hear his typewriter at night.” Nora mumbled, shifting her gaze to look over their tour location. A man was joking with the professor about getting drunk to be easier to scare. For a brief second Nora allowed one of her illusionary monsters to flicker in his sight. In honor of it being a ghost tour, she recreated the man himself, dead and ghostly, approaching the man, arms outstretched before it disappeared into nothingness. Maybe that would be a good indication if he was drunk or not.

Another man seemed interested in the story and was talking about Madison’s typing as well. He didn’t want Maddison to type more. Nora, having never read any of Madison’s work, assumed it was because his stories were the worst ever read and that was how he obtained his posthumous fame.  But Helene was talking about the hungriest hour and Nora’s stomach let out a large grumble that reminded her it’d been awhile since her last meal. Her pocket ham had run dried and now she was scraping by on scraps she could find around town. “Yeah, I am hungry.” Nora agreed. “Are you going to feed us?” 

—

Much like the town, the people seemed to have taken a turn for the more agitating as well. Helene wondered if that was just the natural progression of time. She wasn’t sure she remembered what that was like, but she was certain her former acquaintances had the decency to retain their manners during a tour. Really, who raised these people? They knew nothing of manners or tact. It was easier that way. She supposed she might feel a thread of guilt if she were to find any of the tour-goers likable. They were a means to an end. 

“There is a bar up the road we can stop at if you insist upon refreshments,” Helene relented with a roll of her eyes. The form she had been granted had been given its own allure of sorts, they wouldn’t go too far, but she still couldn’t risk them getting bored of her tour and running off all the same. She couldn’t bear another night trapped in this hellscape of a town she once called home. “I was not under the impression that food and beverage was customary on ghost tours,” she spoke with an air of indignance, “I am certain you will find the offerings at the 9/13 to be more than suitable.” 

Not that Helene had tried anything there herself. Even if she was visible to the people of the town, her hands still passed through objects and the drinks they sold would do nothing to cure the sense of yearning she’d lived and died with all these years. The woman’s question made her perk up a bit. At least someone was interested in the spirit of the tour… though the fellow who wanted a drink wasn’t too far off. The scares would be there soon enough and surely there would be regret in having asked for them in the first place.

“Perceptive woman,” Helene turned to Inge with a pleased grin, “Most can’t resist a tale of family betrayals. The whole thing was rather bloody… yes, they had guns at the time, but their fight was far more gruesome.” She turned to the group with a wicked chortle. “Madison was something of a collector and fought his brother with an ax… curious choice of weapon, really though Melvin did have his hunting knives on him. Clearly… Madison was better equipped. The reports at the time said Melvin died with 22 ax marks decorating his corpse.” It sounded like Madison got out scot-free and she shook her head with a bit of delight. “Madison did take some stab wounds from his brother, though nothing quite so deep or fatal. It was infection of the wounds that led to his ‘untimely’ death.” 

The only thing untimely about it was it hadn’t happened decades sooner, but Helene tried to tell the tale absent of her own tie to it. “The house is locked this time of day,” she looked at Jonas with a daring glance, “It is open during the day. I suppose you could listen for him then if you’d like.” 

—

Archie and Nora prattled on about drink and food as if either of them really needed it to sustain themself. Inge found it amusing, eyes flicking between the two familiar faces and wondering how many of the others here were like them — supernatural. With Nora’s skills, they could create their own ghost story here, after all. She leaned towards Archie, shaking her head, “I don’t, no. Carrying a flask around is a little bit gauche.” He had a point, though: inebriated people were easier to scare. Their dreams were more chaotic, too. 

She raised her voice, “It’s fine. We can grab a bite after,” Inge said, glancing at the tiny bugbear with a look of amusement. If she was hungry, she could use her illusions to scare the living daylights out of everyone around them. She’d like to see it. For now, though, she wanted this Helene to answer her questions and explain why this place was allegedly haunted.

And on she went, lifting the veil and speaking of a family betrayal. Gruesome murder, a tale you might hear on a podcast hosted by men with grating voices who threw in a sponsor for beard oil in between speaking about gore-y actions. “Twenty two ax marks …” Inge found it easy enough to imagine what it must have looked like, but had to admit she was on Melvin’s side, here. Anyone who brandished an ax as a weapon was something she considered an annoying individual, if not possible hunter. The memory of Sanne’s beheading was far in her head, nagging. “So a slow but painful death? I suppose that’s what you get for instigating a fight like that, hm?” She looked at the house, then back at Helene. “Can’t you open it to us? Or is it … locked for our own ‘safety’?” She used air quotes around that lsat word.

—

"Maybe our good mate Madison is having a grand ol' time typin' away!" Archie suggested humorously to the faces he didn't recognise. "Who are we to get in the man's way–" The jovial zombie halted all of a sudden. What was once fluid movements and loose shoulders were quickly seized into a tense bundle of muscles. Leon's face appeared, but it wasn't his presence that stitched discomfort into his features. It was the un-Leon-ness of it all. 

The ghost reached for him, wordlessly, arms outstretched. "What're you–" Archie mumbled as the ghost drew closer. Perhaps someone else would scream, maybe they'd take off running and wouldn't stop till their lungs were empty and stinging. Archie only moved his head back when those ghostly hands got too close. There was no horror on his face, only confusion when he blinked and Leon's face was gone. Archie looked over his shoulder, no awareness for how strange his movements might look to those who don't see what he saw. He cleared his throat, and the jovial zombie was back. 

"I ain't been on a ghost tour before, ain't got the faintest clue what's customary." He dragged out the last word almost mockingly, a far too sophisticated choice of vocabulary for a man who didn't so much as pass secondary school. "Wait, twenty-two? Seriously? Damn. Savage. They really didn't like each other, huh…" 

Features softened by laughter morph into confusion as he leaned closer to Inge again. "Did you just say gooch?" Confusion kept his brows furrowed, but Archie began to laugh again. "I feel like you're too much of a lady to say gooch at a ghost tour." He laughed again, the notion of Inge being an upstanding woman in society was plenty amusing. 

"C'mon, Helene! You can't tell us it's spooky in there and then refuse to let us in! What, you forget your keys? 'Cause listen, I can get the door open. If none of you tell on me for a bit of light breaking and entering." 

—-

Jonas was not one who was very big on going to bars.  Normally when he drank it was over heart break and those nights always ended with him at home bent over a bucket. He was a little glad the woman in the front suggested skipping it. He didn't want ot show that side to some strangers, it would be a horrible first impression. Not that he was really here to get on their good sides, he tried to remind himself that he was here for the ghost and what she needed. Though that didn't stop him from going through his many pouches and pulling out a packet of skittles along with a packet of peanuts and offering them to the younger woman in the group. “If you are hungry you are more than welcomed to have these.”

“If it is closed we should leave it till morning.” Jonas was used to a little breaking and entering but that was usually done when a client forgot to give him their keys and normally it as Lil who did the deed. Though he did make a note to come back and help Madison move on. Even if he did something as horrible as killing his sibling he was a danger to people if left alone especially if he carried anger still towards his brother.

It wasn't the first time he heard of siblings doing horrible things to one another, but it was always a little hard for him to understand why. Perhaps it was his closeness to his own siblings that made the thought of someone else killing theirs something he just couldn't wrap his mind around. Sure, sometimes siblings had disagreements but it was never something to get violent over.

—

The scare got a little frightened reaction, but it wasn’t as deep and wonderful as Nora had wanted. However, she was rewarded with a bag of peanuts. Which was a very bad reward, but Nora was a homeless young adult who, now that Emilio’s house was sludged, didn’t have access to a steady kitchen. Nora gobbled down the bag in one giant swallow, shoving the plastic bag into one of her many pockets. She’d tuned out of most of the conversation until the topic of breaking and entering entered the discussion. 

“We don’t even have to mess with the locks.” Nora was good at locks, but locks weren’t the only way of getting into buildings. Nora looked down at the ground around them until she found a suitably big garden rock. “Oh no,” Nora dead panned, making direct eye contact with the ghost who told them they were not allowed to enter the house at this time of day. “My hand slipped.” The rock soared out of her hand and shattered the glass to the nearest window. “Looks like we’ll have to go in and clean up.”

—

The moment was approaching. As Helene watched the group banter and make suggestions about entering the house, a mixture of frustration and amusement danced behind her old eyes. She hadn't anticipated this level of eagerness to break in. Something like jealousy flashed through her. Oh, to be able to revel in such chaos like these simpletons. She was long past the point of such earthly emotional pleasures, but her time would come soon. "Breaking and entering was never part of the tour package," she chided, a wry smile on her face. "I'm afraid you'll have to content yourselves with the stories for now. The locks are for your safety as much as for the preservation of this... historical site."

And then came the rock. Helene felt the hour in her insubstantial bones, and she was determined to make this work. So what if they didn’t follow the script. She would flip it in her favor. “You’re right, child. Go in, go clean. In fact, why don’t we all get a long look at the history hidden away inside? You might even become part of it, part of this town forever.” A sudden cold gust of wind swept through the area, rustling the leaves, but sending not a shiver down Helene’s spine. Her form flickered momentarily, transparent figure wavering in the breeze. Now. It had to be now. 

A subtle shift in the air signaled the impending change. Could they feel it? Even mortals such as themselves had to be attuned to such great power on some level. It started as a faint shimmer, barely perceptible, then the earth rumbled, a fierce blue glow beaming from the cracks. And out poured the abnormality. It coated the ground, obsidian-like rock and blue crystals circling the group and the old house. The young man happened to be in the epicenter. The abnormality crept, enveloping and hardening around him in seconds, his screaming turning muffled and distant as he was sealed to the ground, to the town. 

And Helene, for the first time in so many years, felt a surge of power run through her body, her real body. She floated from the ground, no longer caring to keep up the harmless charade, and the black and blue substance hardened in a lattice pattern around the remaining souls-to-be-trapped. 

—

Inge was not immune to being swept up in the excitement and she found the prospect of breaking into an ancient house increasingly exciting. Of course, their host was against it and she huffed, “The stories would be embellished if we could actually properly go on site though, wouldn’t you say?” She wasn’t even sure if her words carried much weight, as they were with plenty and there was enough being said.

Besides, she was quick to forget her words, quiet admiration for Nora spreading through her. She was an aspirational young thing, that one. Much more skilled and clever than Inge had been at that age, decisive in a way that made actual moves. The window shattered and it seemed something else shattered with it. The notion that all this was just a ghost tour — as if there was such a thing in a town like this, where two undead were part of the clientele and a bugbear was causing a havoc. There was something strange about Helene’s words, something strange about the air and she wondered, for a moment, if she should be thrilled or wary.

There it was: the earth seemed to be shattering next, pouring out that goo she’d been avoiding, the crystals she’d up until now managed to not touch. Hasty boots jumped back, tip-tapping until she found a clear spot — but her eyes soon fell on Archie, who had not been so lucky. “No —” Inge was surprised by the exclamation that fell from her lips, her proximity to Archie rather shallow, but still. He was good company and undead like her, and she very much disliked hearing his screams, nay, his cries. 

Helene was rising and she supposed it was time to be wary, or even better, time to run. Inge had never been much of a hero and preferred to run from the fights she got into, and that was what she intended to do now. But a strange woman was stumbling, grabbing her arm for balance and she was stuck, unable to reach her darling astral. “Let go of me you –” She busied herself with prying off the terrified hand on her coat, eyes flicking to Nora and the others around her. Despite her wariness, Inge wanted to know what was bound to happen next — call it her incessant need for inspiration, and stared daggers at Helene, “What is this?”

—

Jonas felt his breath hitch in his throat as the rock flew through the window. He frowned, turning to say something to the girl next to him when the ground began to shake as Blue wrapped herself around him. The dog began to growl as the ghostly figure ascended to the sky. Others in the party were panicking and the young man who started the conversation about breaking and entering ended up engulfed by the abnormality. Jonas’ hand went to his mouth and he gasped at the sight. He had avoided the goo rather successfully until now, his only run in was when he went with Lil to see if he could talk to other ghosts about what was happening, that was how he learned of this tour in the first place. 

His hands gripped Blue’s fur as he tried to refocus on the now. It wasn’t his first time in a dangerous situation made by a ghost, it wasn’t his first time seeing someone die either which wasn’t a very pleasant thought. He looked up at Helene, if she was a poltergeist, as everything was now suggesting, then there was little Jonas could do. It would be better to focus on getting the other members out of whatever trap Helene had just forced them in. “She may not answer you. It would be best to get away for now.” 

—

Pride swelled through Nora at the sound of the shattering glass. Pride that was quickly diminished as their ghost tour guide went wild with it. Nora didn’t understand, it was just a house, and Helene was a ghost, she didn’t need a house anymore. But rock was surrounding them, eating one of their numbers and capturing them. “No.” Nora reached into her deep pockets, pulling out a knife. She was tired of the geological abnormalities in this fucking town. Rocks weren’t supposed to take people away. “Give him back.” Her monotone was shifting into something emotional, something angry. 

Knives didn’t work on most ghosts. Most ghosts couldn’t summon hordes of obsidian rocks to eat people. The others, unrecognizable faces, in the tour group were panicking. Sheep to the slaughter, doing nothing except cry and scream. Not a single one of them capable of fighting for their lives, except Inge, Nora knew. Call it the influence Cass was having on her, but Nora wasn’t going to let these people die because she broke a window. “GIVE. HIM. BACK.” Or he would always be the nameless man she’d gotten killed. Another death on her shoulder. A new sin.

Nora propelled herself on the shoulders of strangers, using them as a ladder to scale the slick rock wall. Emerging from the top Nora threw her body at the ghost, knife aimed to strike down through her neck. The knife slid through the ghost like air, quickly followed by Nora, tumbling onto the grass, winded from a rough landing. “Fuck.” It would have been so sick if that had landed. 

—

A couple from the group were spirited, Helene would give them that. On another day, she might have enjoyed toying with them a bit, but this was her time, and the minutes spent dealing with these pests were the most valuable ones in her long, long afterlife. She would not let them take it from her. She brushed at her shoulder as if wiping off dirt, but of course, the child who leaped at her had just fallen right through. Helene took pleasure in the rough landing. “He’s gone now. There is no giving him back. He’s not just trapped, like the others. His life has been extinguished.” Helene looked at the older of the two of them. There was an inner strength to this one. Yet she was breaking, and that made pride swell within her ghostly chest. “It’s a ghost tour, dearie. You signed up for it. Didn’t you read the fine print on those waivers? We are not responsible for any harm that may come to you from the ghosts.” She cackled, like the old bat she was. That was enough of that.

The crystals poured up from the earth, mazelike and jagged, growing tall and dividing up the group. They were fish in a barrel now. The two troublemakers split from the cautious little boy and his dog, who were both split from the unruly, confused crowd she intended to lap up. “I will deal with you later,” she said, turning to the two who knew too much. Not that they seemed especially brilliant, but they weren’t terrified and suppliant like most. She found herself smiling at them, wicked and full of more life than any ghost should possess. How long had it been since she’d really felt such glee? If her turning away from them incensed them even more, well, she didn’t mind. They needed to learn their place – which was as nothing more than fodder for the Great One. But first, they needed to see how small and insignificant they really were. With a flick of her wrist, a small window formed within the tall crystal – just enough for the two to peer through and see what was about to become of the others on the tour.

She floated higher. She wouldn’t let that child take another leap at her during such a momentous occasion, and she wished to soar as high as she felt. Helene watched, the smile never leaving her face, as the crystals encircled and closed in on the clamoring crowd. An old woman, a father with his sons, a large family donning tourist shirts, a man who just looked like a lost tagalong. One by one, the goo spiraled around them, climbing up their legs. As the ooze hardened over their faces, their screaming was quick to die. Helene could feel the energy, the life, being siphoned away from them. A meaningful but meager portion was diverted to her, but the rest would be for the Great One. “Quiet at last,” she said, looking back at the two that remained. She didn’t bother checking on that little boy and his dog. They were no threat to her, and she’d had her fill. 

But these two, she would relish giving over. “You two are plucky, aren’t you? Did you enjoy seeing all of those people die? It’s the crown jewel of the tour.” 

—

There was a genuine look of horror on her face as she tried to process what had just occurred. Inge hadn’t thought the goo a problem for herself and her ilk, had assumed that the undead could not die again and properly by the ooze. She had assumed they’d get trapped, but that the lack of oxygen, water and food would not bother them — but Helene said his life was extinguished. (Maybe she didn’t know, what Archie was, maybe she didn’t know, about undead: but she was a ghost, and she seemed to know everything and Inge figured assuming the worst was wisest in a high stakes situation.) 

Nora was angry, was jumping into action whereas Inge remained grounded and silent. It felt like a betrayal to all she knew, that Archie might be gone, truly and fully. She should go, but something tugged at her — and when she and the other were trapped by crystals she felt something dissatisfying: responsibility. She couldn’t leave Nora behind with this woman. Even if it would be so easy to disappear and reappear in the safety of her own home. 

So she didn’t jump to the astral, not when the goo started forming around the rest of the tour’s crowd. Humans, all so very human and mortal in their existence — so very different from herself and Nora. Fear-eaters. Was the other getting her fill? Inge tried to search within herself and she wasn’t sure what she felt. It wasn’t horror. It wasn’t her usual intrigue, either. It was a kind of anger. She didn’t like it when the tables were turned on her, she didn’t like it when she was made watcher in stead of instigator. She did not enjoy their screams, because she wasn’t causing it — and though it didn’t quite break her heart, it didn’t sit well with her either. Especially in the case of the children. 

There was no point to this. Her nightmares, those had a point and purpose. What she and Siobhan had done to Rhett, that had been for good reason — but this? This was plainly and simply stupid. Never mind what Helene’s motivations might be. Inge found she didn’t much care about the woman’s story: why she was dead to start with, how she managed all this. She cared most about her own back and also, surprisingly, about that of Nora. She was stoic and silent, slow to turn around and glower at the ghost. “It was a sight,” she said, her jaws clenched but her tone mostly controlled. “Seemed rather pointless to me.” Why kill so many? Death had never enticed her. She liked her nightmares and her art; she liked being alive, and those things were part of being alive. Decay and decease were ugly things, best avoided unless it was portrayed in dreams or paintings. She didn’t look at Archie. She couldn’t look at what had once been Archie. “Well. Then. Now that we’ve had the crown jewel, I reckon you’re finished?” Nothing to be done about those kids, those tourists, the little lady any more. Inge figured the next best thing was to run — but not alone. She looked at Nora, inquiring. 

—

Knife didn’t work. Knife didn’t work. Knife didn’t work. The words ran through Nora’s head over and over again. A constant and unhelpful barrage. What was the point of all this training? The late nights of work if the knife didn’t work? Knife didn’t work. Stop it. Stop. It. Nora’s fingernails dug into the palm of hands, gripping hard enough to feel the skin break away and small pricks of blood pool under her grimey nails. She would just have to accept that knife didn’t work. Sometimes you can't help everyone. Sometimes you need to stop obsessing and think. Think. But how could she think? People were dying, people who hadn’t done anything. Nora’s breath was hitched in her chest, memories flashing over her, the hunter’s head rolling on the ground, her knife in Debbie’s chest, now this. Knife needed to work. 

Inge was next to Nora, as Nora stood up and brushed her clothes off. A useless activity, considering they were already coated in a thick layer of dirt since before the tour. Truly, what were a few more falls in the dirt at this point? “You need a new crown jewel.” Nora snapped back at Helene. Her fingers reached into her jacket, shaking uncontrollably as she fumbled around inside. “Not now, but soon.” Nora mumbled, a response for Inge. Inge was right, they needed to run. Her fingers landed on a warm metal object. She would need to work on her shock reaction, her fingers couldn’t keep trembling like this when there were things to be done. Nora pulled the lighter out of her pocket. One flick. Two flick. Three. It finally lit. “You’re also going to need a new home.” Nora announced to helene before tossing the lit lighter into the home of the ghost tour. “Now I’m ready to run.” Hands still trembling, she took Inge’s in her own. Boots met ground as a burst of speed pushed through her. 

In the movies, the house would have exploded behind them. There would have been a fortunate oil spill or gasoline bottle nearby and the house would have been eaten alive by the licking flame. Helene’s body would have been burned inside, sending her to whatever hell she deserved to live in. This wasn’t a movie, and Nora didn’t look back to see if the fire took. Nora hoped it would catch on something, but she was aware that the likelihood was it wouldn’t take and die, just like everyone they’d been touring with. Nora would be back with gasoline. 

—

“No!” As she watched the lighter fall, she called out of reflex, more out of surprise than fear. She had lived a long life, an even longer afterlife, and the work was done. Setting the house alight was smart – smarter than trying to charge through a ghost with a knife. Helene watched, fire reflected in her otherwise empty eyes, as the home of her body caught flame. Old floorboards creaked and a beam snapped, causing a section of the roof to cave in as huge plumes of black smoke billowed out. She wasn’t sure what would become of her, though she was ready for anything. She had new power, but she was not alive, and that old lump of bones buried beneath the home was what tethered her to this place. It was possible the lives she had just snuffed out broke her free of that connection, but at the end of the day, she suspected, a ghost was a ghost, and this would be her true end at last.

Helene could feel her toes grow numb, then searing, sensing something for the first time in a great many years (and how awful, yet rapturous, for that something to be pain). She knew now that this was it for her. But she would grant these troublesome lives no satisfaction. They turned to run, and Helene’s voice, though laced with a kind of self-righteous desperation, surrounded them no matter how far they and fast they darted away. “What’s done is done,” she howled, turning into the wind itself, “you have no idea how momentous tonight is, how lucky you are to be witness to such a great power resurfacing. I may be gone, but so are any chances you might have had of getting answers from me. Unprepared as you are, soon you will know.” As the flames ate away at the house, it crumbled and crumbled, and pain spread across Helene’s ghostly body just as it lapped up her remains. She yowled as her ability to speak was stolen from her.

In place of her voice was a low and ominous rumble that made the air tremble with static and vibration – building gradually and swelling into a terrible thunderclap, that seemed in equal parts to come from above and below. Now? Already? Even Helene was shaken, though she didn’t have bones for the sound to pour into and rattle and, soon, she didn’t have any substance at all, even metaphysical. But the sky quaked once more, and the last thing Helene felt, had thought, had known, as she became nothing but ash, was the knowledge that she had served her Great One.

[thereaderinsertlady]

Masterlist of Writing K-P

Kaptain Skurvy:

Kaptain Skurvy x Reader - Headcanons

King Boo:

King Boo x Female!Reader - Not Even a 'Hello?' (Smut!)

King Boo x Male!Reader - Not a Wise Idea (Semi-Smut)

King Boo x Reader - The Late-Night Train Home

King Boo x Reader - Finally Home

King Boo x Reader - Scary? No Way!

King Boo x Reader - Headcanons

King Dedede:

King Dedede x Gardner!Reader (Smut!)

King Dedede x Female Eldrich!Reader - Suspicious, Suspicious!

King Dedede x Shy Admirer!Reader - Just Pretend?  

King Dedede x Reader - Pegging?

Yandere!King Dedede x Reader - Meeting You

King Dedede x Reader - Valentine's Day Headcanons

King Dedede x Human!Reader - Headcanons

King Dedede x Reader - Wedding Headcanons

King Dice:

King Dice x Reader - A Small 'Treat' (Smut!)

King K. Rool:

King K. Rool x Reader - Dirty Mouth (Smut)

King K. Rool x Human!Reader - Progress

King K. Rool x Mermaid!Reader - And Sometimes, The First Meeting Is The Worst Meeting

Yandere!King K. Rool x Naga!Reader - 'Napping

King K. Rool x Reader - Valentine's Day Headcanons

King K. Rool x Human!Reader - Romantic and NSFW Headcanons

King K. Rool x Reader - Overprotective Headcanons

King K. Rool x Reader - Worry Headcanons

King K. Rool x Reader - Wedding Headcanons

Knife Guy:

Knife Guy x Reader - Headcanons

Krobus:

Krobus x Reader - Rain Away (Smut)

Krobus x Fairy Farmer!Reader - Headcanons

Krobus x Reader - Dancing Headcanons

Krobus x Reader - Headcanons

Krobus & Reader - Platonic Headcanons

Krusha:

Krusha x Reader - Romanic Headcanons

Luigi:

Luigi & Daughter!Reader- A Bonding Moment  

Mario:

Mario x Reader - Memories

Mario x Reader - To Marry a Hero

Mario x Reader - The Not-So Good Idea

Marx:

Marx x Reader - Sure

Marx x Reader - Headcanons:

Melvin Sneedly:

Melvin Sneedly &/x Reader - Headcanons

Melvinborg x Afab but ftm!Reader - Alternative Gift

Melvinborg x Scientist!Reader - Encoder

Melvinborg x Scientist!Reader - Actuator

Melvinborg x Scientist!Reader - Cartesian Coordinate (smut)

Melvinborg x Scientist!Reader - Bug

Melvinborg x Afab but ftm!Reader - Boredom Mitigator (Smut!)

Melvinborg x Reader - Familiar? (Smut!)

Melvinborg x Masculine!Reader - Day Off

Melvinborg x Reader - Cooties

Meta Knight:

Meta Knight x Reader - Silly? Nonsense!

Meta Knight x Reader - Soothing

Mettaton:

Mettaton x Reader - Headcanons

UF!Mettaton and Regular Mettaton x Reader - Headcanons

Mugman:

Mugman x Reader - Headcanons

Mustache Girl (A Hat in Time):

Mustache Girl & Reader - A Night out With MU

NME Salesman (Kirby):

NME Salesman x Reader - The... Start of a Plan

NME Salesman x Reader - Headcanons

Praví (Endoparasitic):

Praví x Reader - Precious Cargo

Professor Ratigan:

Professor Ratigan x Reader - Don't Know Where, Don't Know When (Smut)

Professor Ratigan x Reader - Romantic and NSFW Headcanons

Professor Ratigan x Crime Boss!Reader - Romantic and NSFW Headcanons

(Masterlist A-J)

(Masterlist Q-Z)

[deanismysavior]

I just took a trip to Stranger Things Twitter and I need to rant this to somebody because it's honestly making my head spin lol. There's this one person getting mad at Bylers for looking into the inspiration movies and I'm pretty sure they're getting mad because it's proving Byler endgame, and they're saying shit like "relationships aren't the center of the show" and appear to be vying for the narrow-minded "it's not that deep" mentality, but also their name on there is currently "m*leven's rotting flowers" (without the censor), so like... I honestly can't tell what you are LMFAO. Remind me never to go deep into Stranger Things Twitter again.

I love that it's "relationships aren't the center of the show" when it's about Byler, but it's crickets when people are talking about Mother Theresa or Jopper....

I love that it's "not that deep" when we're talking about queercoding, yet y'all have 89 theories on how Eddie is coming back...

Like do y'all hear yourselves? Why can you theorize or ship your ships and we can't, but anyway...

MELVINS ROTTING FLOWERS omfg that's precious and iconic I love it.

[bananbug]

ok we’re almost done sorry i like talking about them and i am soo proud of them anyways here is the one you probably know:) so this is dick and he was the first robin but NOW he is nightwing and he did lead the teen titans and then the titans me thinks.and i love his discowing outfit. sorry. i love him and he is precious+ bonus christmas picture!!!!🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

the last pic of him looks like melvin 😭😭

”erm actually 🤓🤓🤓”

[sizzy-ling]

okay, so, listen I started rewatching Sabrina because I had to stop hyperfixating on Wednesday.....it didn't really work, like at all, BUT!

Wednesday = Sabrina (duh )

Bianca = Prudence ( duh #2)

Xavier = Harvey (tortured artsy boy reporting for duty)

Tyler = Nick (more so after the reaveal he was the hyde which led to him breaking Wednesday's trust!!)

Enid = Theo (because they're both precious, they are the best characters in their respective show and they're gay)

Eugine = Melvin (like it doesn't make much sense.. but it makes sense!)

[dementedspeedster]

"No peeking!" It takes a moment to put this in the right spot. "Okay, now!" There's a comically large Valentine's Day card propped up on a chair made from folded poster board. She went to town coloring on it. Little bits of the city here and there with her favorite sweets, and of course, green and pink little stick-ish figures holding hands. With a teddy bear not far from them. Inside read, 'Happy Valentines! You're still more good than you think. I'll be here to help you remember. Thanks for everything. Love, Melvin." Pulling a little box out of her backpack she offered it out.

"I've never made brownies before, but I think they came out okay! I had grown-up help, don't worry."

Valentines Asks! || @lilmelvin

"Alright, alright." Thad laughs though the temptation to peek is there from the moment Melvin tells him to cover his eyes. So sitting down on his recliner, leaning forward in anticipation with his eyes covered, Thad waits with excitement to see just what Melvin had up her sleeve. He would have been more than happy with well wishes from the young hero, but this was Melvin. She always had some creative and grand ideas. Once it was time for him to look he slowly uncovers his eyes and he can't help the wide grin spreads across his face at seeing the giant Valentine's Day card.

The drawings too were especially precious as Thad spotted a green and pink pair who looked like himself and Melvin. He could feel his heart swell with emotion in his chest. He couldn't help but let out a sigh full of emotion. He was certain in this moment that he was a very lucky guy to have people in his life who cared about him.

"I love it, Melvin. I love it all." He says pulling Melvin and her brownies in the biggest and tightest bear hug he could muster.

As he lets go of her he smiles, "I'm sure they taste great. How about we try some now, huh?" He suggests as he walks toward his kitchen to get a couple of glasses of milk to go with their brownies.

[beardedmrbean]

A student has been jailed for a minimum of 21 years for the murder of a fellow undergraduate in a drugs dispute.

Melvin Lebaga-Idubor, 20, stabbed 19-year-old Kwabena Osei-Poku - known as Alfred - near the University of Northampton in April.

Lebaga-Idubor was given a life sentence having been convicted during a trial at Northampton Crown Court last year.

The victim's mother, Joyce Osei-Poku, described her son as "my baby, my precious…my best friend".

During the trial, the court heard there had been a dispute about drugs before the murder and Mr Osei-Poku, from Peterborough, had been robbed of a large quantity of cannabis.

On the night of 23 April, the student was found with serious stab wounds in New South Bridge Road near the university's Waterside Campus. He died at the scene.

Police said that night, Lebaga-Idubor had arranged to meet Mr Osei-Poku under the pretence of wanting to buy cannabis from him.

But, his real intention was to steal the victim's drugs and warn him off dealing on Lebaga-Idubor's patch, the force said.

The court was told Lebaga-Idubor stabbed Mr Osei-Poku "not once but twice", with the fatal injury being a "stab wound to the neck".

Lebaga-Idubor, from Abbey Road in Barking, east London, was convicted of murder and having a bladed article in a public place.

He was also sentenced to three years - to run concurrently - for carrying a weapon in public.

In a victim impact statement, Ms Osei-Poku said: "Alfred was such a loving soul. My first true love."

She said that, when he died, "my heart was ripped from inside of me".

His brother Aaron described Mr Osei-Poku as a "cool and amazing person".

"Alfred was the definition of a perfect older brother. He would do anything to keep us safe. I would cling to him like he was my parent. Alfred was the person who brought us all together," he said.

"He was a third parent and will never be replaced. I'm not sure we will ever get over the loss of Alfred."

During sentencing, judge David Herbert KC told Lebaga-Idubor: "You were aggressive and snatched the bag of drugs.

"I am not sure you intended to kill him; however, you intended really serious injury at least."

The judge said this was "sadly another case… highlighting the dangers of young people who are prepared to carry a knife in public… anyone who does so stands only a short step from murder".

[inventedbymelvin]

14. Favourite moment from the franchise overall, big or small?

Tra-La-Listicle:A Prompt List for Fans of Captain Underpants

( I would have to say even being Melvin biased, one of my favorite things is from the butt-erflies episode where Harold puts his arm around Melvin to comfort him after seeing Melvinborg be embarrassing right in front of them. It's such a small gesture of friendship that I think is very precious. )