#I hope she has been a good circus ghost

[kaus-quietis]

Lav's All-smiles Problem-solving Roooooundtable ch108 edition!

Welcome, welcome! To Lav's BSD ch108 discussion! Delivered to you via my funky dove Eliott, acting as my mystic messenger. These are random thoughts I had after reading this brilliant chapter, which, writing-wise, made the best possible use of Fedya's character, expanding it even more without even betraying his backstory. Maybe a backstory isn't needed after all, just look at how much FUN he is right now. I am in BLISS

Putting aside the fact that he is literally carrying the plot at this point, come sit with me, I make you a delicious Chinese black tea with rose petals and casually share my thoughts. Hello there, dearest Kat, yes, "where is Lav when you need her?", I am here, I offer you a hug, and to all my friends here who share the sentiment, I hug you too.

A. Before you say ANYTHING about "oh but? maybe Fedya is telling the half-truth? or a half-lie? what if his ability really is the evil one?", my brothers and sisters in Christ, listen to yourself. This man functions almost on a meta-level of character consciousness: he changed his facial expression and aura so convincingly, his tone, his speech, his posture, even the shade of his eyes, fooling not only Sigma, but the readers as well. We are used to characters changing the shade of their eyes when they change mental states or have certain (new) decisions in mind, we as a community are so used to this, all it took was one panel from the Conjurer doing this trick for so many of us to actually believe him and start, yet again, to spiral down the "what if he is good but his ability is evil? what if he is two entities? what if?" rollercoaster. This is so amusing to me, and in a meta-sense must be amusing to Fedya too. While speculation can bloom again based on this, I wouldn't be putting too much effort into reading into his lines here. I take it as a trick. It worked splendidly, almost like it attacked the fandom's major concerns and theories about his character and weaponized them against everyone. That's a meta-kind of tomfoolery. Trolling, if you will. I LOVE that Asagiri made him bamboozle every reader like this. His character so far goes into the best direction, it cultivates and expands his traits and skills in the best way. But let's pretend Fedya really is telling a half-truth there, which is there being an opposition between him and his ability. I talked about this in my essay (see pinned post), there really seems to be a divergence at the core of his character, but it manifests subtly, not like what we saw in ch108. Then again, not even on that can we arrive at any conclusive statements, because if we remember that, of course, "crime and punishment are close friends", it could well be that he and his ability are partners, and you bet I imagine they would BOTH indulge in peak tomfoolery like this together, if that meant one of them switching in and the other out for a sec. Remember, dear souls: aside from his "higher mission", abstract as it still is lore-wise, Fedya's keyword is "fun" or "entertainment", repeatedly. And oh he himself is even more fun now~

B. if Fedya would have wanted to mortally wound Sigma, he'd have chosen a more suitable place to stab him; it looks like a abdominal, lower quadrant, lateral stab, a deliberate choice, I would say, that technically avoids critical, most vascular organs (kidney and spleen for example) and main veins/arteries. I am no doctor, but from what I gathered, Sigma won't bleed out fast at all, and if untreated might get a deadly infection in a longer time (not counting the possibility of septic shock if we assume the knife penetrated and heavily opened an intestine). Sigma needs a medic asap (our queen Yosano when?), but will likely be conscious and quite able to move around and whatnot. Like I argued in my essay, Fedya most likely does not want to kill Sigma, or anybody for that matter, because keeping everyone alive to fulfill various roles and see how their will tosses them in all kinds of directions is more fun for him, more entertaining, but also more useful. He is a long-term strategist, like Dazai. "Our beloved monsters" ❤

C. Fedya evidently exerts some serious mental torment on Sigma, by making him stand by his choices, his will, just like he always desired. The flip side is that Fedya takes his time, or should I say gifts Sigma his time, in which he teaches him the full lesson of what Sigma wants. The responsibility that comes with acting on your own, the terror of facing the consequences when choosing on your own: right now, to Sigma, this freedom is terror. But Fedya is never a one-dimensional character. It's most probable he calculated and devised strategies for both possibilities (a. Sigma with rekindled determination touches him; b. Sigma backpedals on what he decided and does not touch him). The irony is that both scenarios are an affirmation of Sigma's will, because, while the first decision can be seen like foolish bravery, the second one can also be seen as wise self-preservation, if the circumstances so demand it. BSD is not a black-and-white series, diving head-first into danger is not its definition of bravery or heroism. BSD was always about measured decisions, ones the characters take upon themselves willingly. It may be time Sigma does that too, in his own way, and Fedya wants to see that. Why? Well, my guess is because it's fascinating to watch humans grow, and Fedya lives for the entertainment that comes with it. It is actually more interesting if we remember his line from ch42 (“People can be so simple… They truly believe they are thinking for themselves. (…) They don’t want to think they’re being led by the nose”): the pattern is, Fedya puts others under harsh circumstances, and then, under pressure, lets go of them, waiting for their free decision, the true test and expression of their hearts, so to say (which could make a superb discussion if we make a parallel between Kunikida and Sigma, since essentially what happened to Kunikida is happening now to Sigma, except Kunikida did indeed break down, but thanks to healthy support from his comrades he slowly regained his sense of self, and stronger than ever at that time, however… Sigma is alone, isn't he? but what if he needs to be in order to finally get a hold of his own self?). Anyway, how much of that expression is free, or how much is guided or manipulated, is a debate in itself, since it implies relating the freedom to the individual vs relating the freedom to the external factors and possibilites.

D. I do need to underline, just like Fedya also underlined it: Sigma already made his decision, right there when he still tried to get the gun before getting kicked in the face. Fedya moved on to the next step: testing how strong Sigma's will is when an actual chance to act appears. Sigma already accepted the physical pain, but how will he face the mental anguish? That is more Fedya's territory, a "specialist" of breaking people by simply knowing them thoroughly and choosing the right words. But now we gained new info: even in close combat, apparently, Fedya is not to be underestimated. That was a rather strong kick, anyway. But more importantly, he completely turned the tables in a situation where he would be in a total disadvantage. * chef's kiss * that was very bungou stray dogs of him.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd manga spoilers #bsd fyodor #bsd sigma #stopped working on my PhD to indulge in ritualic chants and expressions of love and devotion towards BSD's greatest character #the man himself #it's always Fedya #my love knows no death #yes I even typed these tags out for Eliott #I hope she has been a good circus ghost #but even is she was a bad or absent circus ghost I forgive her #she is the best and you agree #unless you think I am the best and in that case you're right lol #this was your daily dose of sensible ENTPs faking a massive ego #if you have questions please reply here or send an ask but dont stress the funky dove mystic messenger #we are both vanishing ENTPs like the Queens song Now Im Here Now Im There #i will still not be on my blog till a long time I have a PhD to write #no an ACTUAL PhD not my marriage proposal PhD that is already posted #but that one I will update too after more chapters pile up - maybe in November

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers. 

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves. 

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable. 

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement. 

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance. 

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you. 

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety. 

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

#this is not very edited but i am BEHIND #this was originally gonna have like two more scenes but then it started to annoy me #i am coming to you again to confess: i did not read through this #ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #kinktober #kinktober day 15 #bo writes #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kinktober 2023

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

OOOH!that ghost kid thing with the digital circus performers was amazing!!! I cant resist but ask.but can you make a headcanons of the performers would react if spirit kid Y/n is more absent today and suddenly after a while appear with more blood than usual..static noise around them..and points at the group and is like “I know who killed me now…” and poofs again away?? they found out who but as like a scare they prank the characters by making them think maybe one of them did..

I feel evil so- XD

Hope u have a good day!!

I'm glad you liked the hcs! Spooky season may be over, but I'm definitely not done writing spooky content 👻

.........

Jax

He blinks, and then immediately turns directly to Gangle.

"Oh Gangle, I knew it was you all along. Tsk, tsk." He shakes his head, putting on the cheekiest grin as the ribbon gal cries out that she didn't do anything.

He knows you were just pranking all of them, although he does wonder who really murdered you and how you figured it out.

Given how much you've been disappearing lately, he's sure that it's only a matter of time before your spirit moves on.

Or maybe...you were cursed to forever live inside this game since you had no body to return to.

Then again, he's not sure if any of them do...

All he knows is that during the times he does see you with the group, you seem happier (although the blood and static noises are still prevalent and aren't any less unsettling to see/hear).

Maybe you've already made peace with your existence after solving this huge mystery, content with making dark jokes to cope.

Pomni

At first she's happy..

Then she's utterly terrified once it sinks in that you didn't specify who exactly murdered you.

All you did was point to the group like you were accusing one of them before disappearing for the remainder of the day.

This poor jester can't remember anything for the life of her....so she can't help wondering if she might've been your killer.

You did arrive not long after she did.

After Jax points this out, she's 100% convinced it was her.

Maybe she unknowingly killed you while wearing the headset and this was some sort of eternal punishment.

It's a thought that keeps her up all night (not that she needed sleep to survive, but she was quite exhausted in the morning).

You do end up visiting her to say it was just a little prank. It wasn't anybody in the group and you didn't mean to freak her out this badly.

That brings her a lot of relief.

Although she's not a fan of your morbid humor (not that she'll say anything about it, though).

Gangle

The second you vanish after revealing you knew your killer, everyone looks at each other in confusion

"Th-They didn't say who, though, did they...?" She mutters.

"Right, because they know it was you, Gangs." Jax remarks, causing her to freeze.

She's outright horrified he would even remotely suggest that.

Poor girl's scrambling to justify how she couldn't have possibly killed you when she's been stuck in the game longer than you.

Imagine her awkwardness as Jax openly states that he was in fact kidding around..

He also expresses his doubts she'd even be capable of murder...as he recounts her crying over accidentally stepping on a digital ladybug.

She's not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.

Gangle only fully calms down once you go to her personally and reassure her you were just pranking the group.

Although you'll haunt Jax as payback for trying to throw her under the bus.

Zooble

They just turn to the group and sigh.

"Okay, who did it? Because they've officially given me the f***ing creeps popping in and out like that."

She's strangled Jax on a number of occasions, so they are very much capable of committing violence...

But she has her doubts since you still hang around the group.

Alongside Jax, she quickly sees through your little joke and rolls their eyes when you admit that it was indeed a prank.

She can tolerate your dark humor, knowing you can't help it given your "spooky" theme.

They suspect Caine murdered you since he seemed most alarmed by your arrival. Plus you never spoke to him much.

But no, he actually helped you track down your killer--who abstracted the second they set foot inside the game and got thrown into the cellar.

Zooble never thought she'd see the day where they were actually impressed at Caine's actions.

Kinger

Like Pomni and Gangle...he's probably gonna overthink it and grow distrustful of the others, wondering who did it.

You seemed quite confident and serious in your confession---and scary as hell, too.

He proposes they all discussed it at the dinner table and hold a vote on who to cast out (sorta like a certain video game with a name that sadly slips by him).

Ironically, he refuses to say anything and just....stares uncomfortably at Gangle the entire time.

But before any of the talks could end in fighting or her getting sacrificed to the Gloink Queen...you show up again, looking calmer and less bloody than before.

When you reveal it was just a little prank, Kinger sighs in relief.

"Good heavens, you nearly gave me a second heartattack, [y/n]! Why didn't you just say so?"

"...thought it would be funny."

"........"

"........."

"......AH!! GH-GHOST!!!"

"Aaaand there's "heartattack #2, ladies and gentleman," Jax shakes his head, kicking his feet onto the table with an amused smile.

Ragatha

She's genuinely happy to hear that you knew who your killer was...

Although before she can ask you who, you disappear without warning.

Judging from the way you acted, you were accusing one of them...yet you didn't signal out anybody in particular.

She knows that she couldn't have possibly done it.

So she spends most of the day trying to calm down Pomni and the others (but mostly Pomni) who think they might've somehow accidentally killed you.

It begins to stress her out a little, so she searches for you, and you prank her with something silly.

After making her laugh, you use that opportunity to explain that you were joking with the group earlier, reassuring her that it wasn't any of them and the killer had already abstracted.

Her face falls flat as she realizes you just wanted to see how they would all react.

"[Y/n], that's just...mean." She frowns. "Pomni was freaking out all day, you know."

"Tell her I didn't mean any harm...I guess..nobody here understands my humor."

"I mean I do, but dark humor is more Zooble's and Jax's shticks."

"....true. My bad, Rags."

".....it's okay, dear." She sighs, unable to stay mad at you forever. "I'm just glad you didn't drive yourself insane trying to find them."

#clanask #anonymous #the amazing digital circus x reader #tadc x reader #tadc jax #tadc pomni #tadc caine #tadc gangle #tadc kinger #tadc ragatha #tadc zooble #ghost reader #child reader #headcanons

[ilovescaredysquirrel2]

What I'm excited for coming soon (TADC episode 2, SpongeBob, and Wallace & Gromit and more)

Okay, I'm going to start with The Amazing Digital Circus episode 2 since it's all my friends and I are thinking about. Just when I didn't think it was going to be better than the first one, I really trust Glitch and Gooseworx with this! I saw the trailer and I'm way more excited, in fact, maybe a little too much. I just know it's going to be fun and hilarious! Although I'm worried that Pomni might get abstracted, I don't want her to abstract. She's one of my favorites but I don't want anyone to abstract really. I'm too attached to these characters! Also, I saw those moments with Ragatha and Princess Loolilalu meeting each other and I love to see girls supporting girls in anything. I find it very healing to my inner child, and also I just like the girl power, it's so refreshing to see! Also, I heard that this will focus more on Jax, who's kind of a jerk sometimes and maybe they'll give him a softer side here, or something to make people feel bad for him, and I like that idea to show that not everyone is all bad or all good. Also, Jax has been stuck in the digital world since he was a teen so you can't help but to feel bad for him. Another thing, that candy elephant thing looks cool and I really hope Gumigoo is voiced by Tustin Macafee. If he's not, it's fine, but I can't think of anyone better for the voice role than Tustin!

As for the new SpongeBob movie, it's gonna be released in theaters and the OG team is going to come back (except for the creator, who sadly passed away a while ago). I heard something that one of the directors said that there will be nudity in the new SpongeBob movie, but I hope he was joking.

Also, I love that they're making fun of AI with this new Wallace & Gromit movie. As an artist, I think people overdo it with AI and that I think we should stop using it for art purposes unless it's only to mess around with and not actually use. I hope they make fun of Disney too. Imagine making fun of both AI and Disney, in an Aardman movie! That'd be awesome! Also, I heard Nick Park wasn't going to work on it at first but he decided to come back (I think he changed his mind after the new Chicken Run 2) and I really hope Wallace & Gromit makes more money than Chicken Run 2.

Also, I'm not much of a Disney fan so I don't care much about the Inside Out sequel or Moana sequel. I think they're really unnecessary, however, I have more hope for the Inside Out sequel than the Moana one, even though I do like Moana better. I feel like Disney should just stick to Kiff and that Molly Magee show or whatever its called, because those are the only two good things that Disney still has left. (Obviously, I'm religious and don't watch shows with ghosts, so I'm just more interested in Kiff but both shows are better than Disney's movies rn).

Finally, the last Bluey episode... I haven't watched it yet and I hear it's really emotional. I don't think I'm prepared for that so I'll stick to watching my favorites, like the beach one. I just hope they don't end Bluey yet, it's the only good kid shows that's still running. Plus, it's from Australia and they deserve to make a lot of money off this show, even though greedy Disney is involved in airing it in my country. I support the foreign shows all the way!

Tell me your thoughts! PLEASE CHAT WITH ME IN THE COMMENTS, ESPECIALLY YOU TADC FANS! DON'T HIDE!

#tadc pomni #the amazing digital circus #tadc episode 2 #tadc #spongebob #bluey #wallace & gromit #my thoughts

[13thdoodle]

bunch of Phantasy AU doodles n wip from earlier this year

Basically I just found out this year that ball-jointed dolls actually have strings in them and not just... magically attached by the ball joints themselves? And 31 in this AU is a ball jointed doll that were made out of Danny's energy so here we are :3c

I've been watching a lot of doll customization since earlier this year and found out from dollightful's video that no they are all connected by elastic strings inside so that's where the idea came from

...i was looking on google to find a good example to put here and clearly I'm not exactly paying attention to how the main body strings are actually.. pinned to?

the video I've been watching the most is dollightful n moonlight jewel and they have their bjd usually only to the bottom of the doll head instead of all the way to the top on the skull pin like the diagram above

Which is why 31 has his strings all connected to the 'heart' in the middle instead of the head kasjdnkasjnd

But yeah uhhh specifics aside...

----

Those ball jointed dolls made me think of 31, and then thinking about the clones in Phantasy AU and like.. the logistic of it

for 31, the idea is that during the circus gothica arc for this AU, Danny actually got kidnapped all the whole way into another universe/plane in which he met Valeska (Enn's oc) who unalive what his face the circus leader n break Danny's hypnosis

and now that Danny is essentially stuck in a whole other plane/realm/or sth he just following Valeska hoping she'll help him find his way back.

In one such trip, Danny got kidnapped (again) by another group/cult who wanted to use his power/energy as a gate keeper to the ghost zone to make their own gate keeper so they can open portals to ghost zones and maybe other realms too

31 is part of the experiments. He's a doll made with part of Danny's energy as his core.

And then it's.. uhh.. sth sth Valeska finally found out where they kept Danny and devour everyone there safe from Danny n 31 who helped him escape so now the three of them travel together~

The last pict is me thinking about clones and kingdom hearts :tm: so dramatic about Danny being the soul separated from the main body and 31 a clone made from part of the soul too and all that Not sure where I'm going with that but it do sound cool

And there's also Danielle but I'm not exactly sure.. how she would fit in? but it would be interesting if she was made from Danny's body somehow

so 31 made from part of teh soul and Dani from part of the body sounds poetic somehow

#13thdoodle #dp phantasy au #dp fantasy au #dp 31 #if u noticed that I've been putting some read more lately #it's bc one of the school project is to document all your progresses in a doc including all ur research and fails and what not #and basically i'm trying to make it into a habit by doing it here too #like.. no harm done i think in putting up what inspired me and where ideas came from #n what rambling about things #yall follow me here so i assume ur interested a lil bit about me rambling my ideas n such #i put them under readmore specifically bc I know how long I can go on #and like the main thing about documentation is to be transparent about it #u learn from ur failures n ur successes n this is one way to track them #if u fcked up figure out where how and why and what u can learn from it n then improve from said fail so yea anyway #but yea i been trying to keep things short n clean so it look nice before #but i got a p good grade for documenting everything last tri so now I'm well actually I DO have a lot to say about things #so heree i am #am i gonna be more active tho that would be a whole different topic all together bc ha ha capstone qwq

[lucifersresources]

taylor swift // reputation rp meme.

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!  

...ready for it?

knew he was a killer.

he's a ghost.

i see nothing better.

touch me and you'll never be alone.

no one has to know.

in my dreams, you should see the things we do.

i know i'm gonna be with you.

are you ready for it?

every love in comparison is a failure.

i'm so very tame now.

let the games begin.

end game.

i wanna be your end game.

you and me, we got big reputations.

i got some big enemies.

you like the bad ones.

i don't wanna miss you.

i don't wanna hurt you.

they told you i'm crazy.

i swear i don't love the drama, it loves me.

i can't let you go.

your hand prints on my soul.

you've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks.

i did something bad.

i never trust a narcissist, but they love me.

this is how the world works.

all he thinks about is me.

i can feel the flames on my skin.

i owe him nothing.

he had it coming.

they say i did something bad.

they say i did something bad, then why's it feel so good?

i let them think they saved me.

they never see it coming.

you gotta leave before you get left.

they're burning all the witches, even if you aren't one.

don't blame me.

love made me crazy.

my drug is my baby.

i've been breaking hearts a long time.

something happened.

i just need you.

for you i would cross the line.

for you i would lose my mind.

she's gone too far this time.

i'm just gonna call you mine.

i'm insane, but i'm your baby.

i once was poison ivy, but now i'm your daisy.

for you i would fall from grace.

i'd beg you on my knees to stay.

i get to high every time you're loving me.

delicate.

this ain't for the best.

my reputation's never been worse.

you must like me for me.

we can't make any promises now can we?

just think of the fun things we could do.

is it cool that i said all that?

is it chill that you're in my head?

i know that it's delicate.

is it too soon to do this yet?

do the girls back home touch you like i do?

stay here, honey, i don't wanna share.

are you ever dreaming of me?

i pretend you're mine.

look what you made me do.

i don't like your little games.

i don't like your perfect crime.

i got smarter, i got harder in the nick of time.

i rose up from the dead.

i rose up from the dead, i do it all the time.

look what you made me do.

all i think about is karma.

maybe i got mine, but you'll all get yours.

i don't trust nobody.

i'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams.

so it goes.

you make everyone disappear.

gold cage, hostage to my feelings.

i'm yours to keep.

i'm yours to lose.

i do bad things with you.

you make me jealous.

i got your heart skipping.

you did a number on me.

gorgeous.

you've ruined my life by not being mine.

you're so gorgeous.

i'm so furious at you for making me feel this way.

i feel like i might sink and drown and die.

there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have.

getaway car.

nothing good starts in a getaway car.

it was the best of times, the worst of crimes.

i wanted to leave him.

i needed a reason.

x marks the spot where we fell apart.

i was lying to myself.

we never had a shotgun shot in the dark.

don't pretend it's such a mystery.

think about the place where you first met me.

there were sirens in the beat of your heart.

should've known i'd be the first to leave.

but with three of us, honey, it's a sideshow.

a circus ain't a love story.

now we're both sorry.

us traitors never win.

that was the last time you ever saw me.

king of my heart.

i'm perfectly fine.

i'm better off alone.

we rule the kingdom inside my room.

all at once, you are the one i have been waiting for.

you are all i want.

i'll never let you go.

your love is a secret i'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep.

the taste of your lips is my idea of luxury.

is this the end of all the endings?

my broken bones are mending.

all at once, this is enough.

this is enough.

dancing with our hands tied.

i loved you in secret.

we love without reason.

how were you to know.

my love had been frozen.

my love had been frozen deep blue, but you painted me golden.

you painted me golden.

i could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets.

there was nothing in the world that could stop it.

i had a bad feeling.

you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis.

there was no one in the world who could take it.

i loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us.

can we dance through an avalanche?

i'm a mess.

i'm the mess that you wanted.

it's gravity keeping you with me.

dress.

they got no idea about me and you.

there is an indentation in the shape of you.

made your mark on me.

my hands are shaking from holding back from you.

say my name and everything just stops.

i don't want you like a best friend.

only bought this dress so you could take it off.

carve your name into my bedpost.

if i get burned, at least we were electrified.

everyone thinks that they know us.

they know nothing.

even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me.

now i wake up by your side.

my one and only, my lifeline.

this is why we can't have nice things.

there are no rules.

feeling so gatsby for that whole year.

why'd you have to rain on my parade?

this is why we can't have nice things.

did you think i wouldn't hear all the things you said about me?

you stabbed me in the back.

friends don't try to trick you.

if only you weren't so shady.

here's a toast to my real friends.

forgiveness is a nice thing to do.

i can't even say it with a straight face.

call it what you want.

my castle crumbled overnight.

they took the crown.

they took the crown, but it's alright.

nobody's heard from me in months.

nobody's heard from me in months, i'm doing better than i ever was.

i'm doing better than i ever was.

call it what you want.

my baby loves me like i'm brand new.

all my flowers grew back as thorns.

he built a fire just to keep me warm.

they fade to nothing when i look at him.

i make the same mistakes every time.

at least i did one thing right.

i did one thing right.

starry eyes sparking up my darkest night.

he really knows me.

you don't need to save me.

would you run away with me?

you don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?

new year's day.

don't read the last page.

i stay when you're lost.

i'm scared.

you're turning away.

i want your midnights.

i'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year's day.

you squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi.

i can tell that it's gonna be a long road.

i'll be there if you're the toast of the town.

i'll be there if you're the toast of the town, or if you strike out and you're crawling home.

hold on to the memories.

hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you.

please don't ever become a stranger.

don't ever become a stranger whose laugh i could recognise anywhere.

you and me forevermore.

i will hold on to you.

#taylor swift sentence starters #taylor swift lyric meme #taylor swift rp meme #music sentence starters #music rp meme #rp meme #rp memes #lyric sentence starters #lyric rp meme #lyrics rp meme #roleplay starters #roleplay memes #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #sentence starters #reputation rp meme

[oh-no-the-hyperfixations]

hi y’all you remember those tma flight rising fandragons i posted a few months ago? Well theres more- and i need your help to pick out the final fandragon for the original series ^^

Mild spoilers ahead

Nikola- i skried out them Ages ago and i had been searching for their specific color way for Months and months. I’m Very pleased with their genes and outfit. I thought jester gave a wonderful circus tent look, seeing them without their outfit is also quite neat because the Poison gene makes them look like they are smiling a big empty grin. I gave them soap as their final gene because it reminded me of the hard plastic they’re made of And it made them look like they have a clown nose

Jude perry- I wanted her to reference a moth to a flame and burning from the inside out. I tried some different colors and genes but eventually settled on this (i think she matches my agnes really well)

Andre ramos (homophobic vase guy)- i wanted him to look like shattered pottery as if he tried to smash that vase to get his husband back. Just because i thought it’d be fun visually<3 he’s such a fun character i just needed to have one of my own

Breekon and hope- i really wish there were burlier twin headed dragons but i’ll just have to cope with what aberrations give me</3 i gave him the primary gene wasp to look like a mannequin and patchwork to match nikola and the dark circus theme. Waiting for this color way took Ages too

Jordan Kennedy (exterminator ant guy)- he’s been one of my favorite reoccurring characters in the series i really really hope he shows up in protocol. It took like- 6 separate dragons and 2 months of breeding to get his specific colors with the plague eye type.

Georgie Barker- i thought she deserved some mice and her cat the admiral sitting on her shoulder i’m so happy with her colors and her outfit she Looks like a silly little ghost hunting podcaster. I gave her ghost as a tertiary gene to reference her affiliations with the end

Adelard dekker- i’m still working on his outfit (i just cant find anything i think looks good both with his colors and salvaging his “coated in concrete” look but i figured i’d show him off anyways cause he’s Severely under appreciated.

Now heres where i need your help- what should be the final character in my original series to fill in this missing spot? I wont be doing anything from protocol yet because i want to see more of the series play out before i make them fandragons (i might make an exception for mr bozo tho- bro has a cannon design which should be pretty easy to make)

#tma #the magnus archives #flight rising #fandragons #nikola orsinov #jude perry #tma andre ramos #homophobic vase guy #breekon and hope #jordan kennedy #georgie barker #adelard dekker

[peanut-tyrug]

DS Fanfic: Tying Burnt Ends

The Survivors have finally returned to Earth. Everyone is making new lives for themselves. A fresh, new start for all. Among the glee of it all however, lies a firestarter's past once lost…

—

This is for the Wicker/Willow hc I brought up the other day. I’m not certain if I’ll fully commit to it, but I thought this would be an interesting idea to put out there.

—

TRIGGER WARNING - This fic contains slight gore/blood, graphic depictions of death, a witch hunt, voices/whispers, ghosts, visions of the past, swearing, and caps. If you aren’t comfortable with these things, please don’t read this.

The Survivors stand together, staring in near disbelief at what has appeared in front of them.

A portal.

A portal that actually led back home.

No one could believe what they were looking at. Not even the children.

“Wow…” Says Wilson. “That's it. Right there…”

“Our ticket home...” Says Willow.

“…I cannot believe what I'm looking at...” Says Maxwell.

“I can't either, Maxy. Heheh.” Says Charlie, now having been freed from Their hold.

“No one can believe it, sis.” Says Winona, looking over to Charlie.

“What're we waiting for!?” Says Webber. “Let's go home!”

From behind the crowd, Wendy looks over to Abigail with dread in her eyes.

She doesn't want to leave her. Abigail doesn't want to leave Wendy.

But they know they have to.

They have to move on.

“I’ll miss you, Abby.” Says Wendy. “You'll watch over me, right?”

Abigail makes a little noise, indicating a yes. Wendy smiles a little. “…As long as I know you'll be there.” She says.

“You ready, WX?” Winona asks WX.

“AS LONG AS I AM AWAY FROM EVERYONE ELSE HERE BUT YOU.” Says WX.

“…Good enough.” Says Winona. “What about you, Woodie? And Lucy?”

“Of course I’m ready!” Says Woodie with a chuckle.

“Oh, I hope our cabin is alright.” Says Lucy.

“I bet it is, Luce.” Says Woodie reassuringly.

“Friends!” Says Wolfgang. “Is time to return to home, yes?”

“My dear and faithful ströngman asks the grand questiön!” Says Wigfrid. “And I shall be given an answer tö extinguish my yearning!”

Wes nods firmly in agreement with Wigfrid.

“I believe our time to return home is now.” Says Wickerbottom. “We've stalled long enough.” She then turns to Willow and places a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready, dear?” She asks Willow in a whisper.

Willow smiles. “Yeah.” She whispers back.

“Alright!” Says Wilson. “Everyone... go slow. One at a time. Try to contain yourselves, is that clear?”

The group agrees in unison.

Wilson nods, a smirk lays on his face. He turns to face the portal.

“Let's go home.” Says Wilson.

—

It's been a few years since the Survivors have returned home. Everyone’s new lives are coming along well.

Wilson is actually trying improve in his field, along with study new ones. Maxwell and Charlie got married and have joined the traveling circus Wes, Wigfrid, and Wolfgang had made. Wendy has reunited with her family and seems a lot happier. Webber reunited with his family, who were absolutely thrilled to see him, no matter how he looked. Woodie and Lucy have returned to their cabin, but are trying to get out more. Winona and WX live together now. Winona got a new mechanic job. WX doesn't do much, but Winona is trying to get them to work a bit more.

As for Willow and Wickerbottom?

“Oh, isn’t it lovely, dear?” Wickerbottom asks Willow.

“…It’s huge.” Says Willow.

The two stand in front of a library. One that Wickerbottom had finally been able to purchase and own. Wickerbottom was ecstatic to be a librarian again.

As for Willow…

—

“How are the visitors? Are they treating you well?” Wickerbottom asks Willow as she sorts some books on the shelves.

Willow is sitting behind a small counter. She has a small name tag clipped to her sweater vest. “Yep! They’ve all be great so far.” She says. “How’re you doing up there? You need any help?”

“No, I’m alright, dear.” She says.

“Good.” Says Willow. “Just try not to throw your back out.” She chuckles.

“Willow!” Wickerbottom exclaims, although she doesn’t sound necessarily angry. Not entirely.

“You know I’m just playing with you!” Says Willow, a little teasingly.

Wickerbottom smiles. “I know, dear.” She says. “I’m just messing with you back.”

“Hey!” Says Willow, giggling a bit.

Wickerbottom chuckles a bit.

The two were practically like family.

—

Willow and Wickerbottom are beginning to close the library for the night. As they clean and work, knocking can be heard from the front of the building.

“I’ll get it!” Says Willow. She hurries to the front door opens it. It’s Wilson.

“Hey, Wilson!” Says Willow. “How’ve you been?”

Wilson enters the library. He looks over to Willow. “I’ve been good.” He says. “What about you? You haven’t tried to bring upon a book burning, have you?” He says teasingly.

“I’ve been great— Hey!” She exclaims, putting her fists to her hips.

“She hasn’t, not at all.” Says an approaching Wickerbottom. “She’s been fulfilling her apology tenfold.”

Willow smiles. She had decided to help Wickerbottom out when she got a new library as an apology for burning down her old one. Both have seen past the past.

“That’s splendid!” Says Wilson. “I’m glad you’re learning, Willow.”

“Hehe, I am too.” She says, a smile on her face. “How was that show, by the way? We got a letter from the performer trio about it. Sorry we couldn’t see it, we were busy.”

“Oh! The one Charlie and Maxwell joined?” Wilson asks. “They were wonderful! And that’s fine, they’re very understanding.”

“Anyway, Wilson, what do you need?” Asks Wickerbottom.

“Oh, just a book on botany.” Says Wilson. “After our time away from here, it seems to have grown on me.” He smirks.

“Oh, come on, Wilson!” Says Willow teasingly.

“You know I have to!” Says Wilson. “Anyway, do you mind helping me find the book I need?” He asks, turned to Wickerbottom.

“I don’t mind, Wilson.” Says Wickerbottom. “And Willow, while I help Wilson, do you mind cleaning up the library some more?”

“Oh, I don’t.” Says Willow.

“Splendid.” Says Wickerbottom. “Follow me, Wilson.”

Wilson nods. He and Wickerbottom walk toward a nearby bookshelf while Willow goes to grab her broom.

—

Willow quietly cleans to herself as Wickerbottom and Wilson talk nearby.

“Thanks for the help, Wicker!” Says Wilson.

“No problem, dear.” Says Wickerbottom. “I’m glad to have been of assistance.”

Wilson looks down at his wrist watch. “I believe it’s best I be on my way, now.” Says Wilson. “It’s getting late.”

Wickerbottom nods. “Get home safely, dear.” She says.

“You and Willow, too.” Says Wilson as approaches the front door.

“Get back to Ohio without a scratch, you hear?” Says Willow, looking up to the scientist.

“I will!” Says Wilson as he exits. “Have a great night!”

“You too!” Says Willow.

The man exits the library, leaving it quiet.

Wickerbottom goes over to Willow. “Are you about done cleaning, dear?” She asks.

“I’ve gone through every nook and cranny I think.” Says Willow, looking around the premises, smiling.

“Good work, dear.” Says Wickerbottom. “I believe it’s time for us to get home. I’ll put that broom up for you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Willow says, smiling.

“No problem, Willow.” Says Wickerbottom.

Willow hands Wickerbottom the broom. The librarian heads toward the tool closet in the library while Willow waits for her return.

—

Willow and Wickerbottom walk down the sidewalk back to Wickerbottom’s home. A full moon lays above the New York streets lit up by street lights.

Willow reminisces about how life had been. How all the others had been. She was happy, not just for herself, but for everyone. A large smile sits on her face.

Wickerbottom looks over to woman, smiling.

Willow looks over to Wickerbottom, still smiling. “You ever think about how far we’ve come?” Willow asks.

“I have.” Says Wickerbottom. “It’s a wonderful feeling.”

“Yeah.” Says Willow, now turned away from Wickerbottom. “We all met each other, survived in what’s practically Hell… and made it out alright. We’re all one piece. Our loose ends have been tied.”

As Willow finishes her sentence, she looks over to Wickerbottom. She doesn’t look happy, she’s frowning. She looks as if she’s deep in thought. Willow frowns.

“Hey, you alright?” Willow asks.

“…Oh, just…” Wickerbottom pauses. “Thinking.”

“Thinking what?” Willow asks.

“…About the past.” Wickerbottom answers.

“…Did something happen…?” Willow asks.

“…I’d rather not talk about it, dear.” Says Wickerbottom. “I apologize.”

“No, no, you’re alright.” Says Willow. “I understand.”

The two walk back home. The air begins to feel oddly thick…

—

Willow and Wickerbottom have arrived back home. They’re preparing to get to bed.

“Are you ready for bed, Willow?” Wickerbottom asks.

“Yeah.” Says Willow. “Sleep well.” She says.

“You too, dear.” Says Wickerbottom.

The two head to their bedrooms for the night…

Willow enters her room and enters her world of thought for a moment. She can’t shake off that something is up with Wickerbottom. She tries not to press on it much. Wickerbottom did say she didn’t want to talk about it. Why bother her with something she may not be comfortable with speaking about?

Willow approaches her bed. Bernie is exactly where she left him, sitting up against her pillow. She smiles, content with that Bernie is safe and sound. Willow climbs into her bed and slowly drifts off to sleep…

—

It’s silent. Barely any sound can be heard amongst the near deafening silence. Amongst this peace however…

Willow tosses and turns in her bed, brows furrows and eyes sealed shut…

~~~

Fire. Fire everywhere.

Willow would enjoy it, if torches and lanterns weren’t practically being thrown at her.

People are screaming, yelling. Pointing crosses. Shouting Bible verses.

All at her.

…But why…?

“What do you people want from me!?” Willow asks, unable to flee from the attempts to hurt her.

“Die, witch!” A voice would shout.

“Burn in the deepest pits of Hell from whence ye came!” Shouts the voice of a pastor. He holds out a cross in Willow’s direction.

Willow can’t help but be utterly confused. Was this about her being a pyromaniac? …Why even try to fight a pyromaniac with what they loved most…?

As Willow attempts to flee, the voices quickly become louder and louder, echoing around the dark space she was in. The fire begins to encompass the small spot Willow was standing in…

~~~

Willow jolts awake with a gasp. She places a hand to her chest.

“…What… the hell?” Willow asks herself, her breathing beginning to calm. “…What was that?”

Willow begins to recollect herself. She glosses over the dream she had…

Sure, she’s had worse nightmares, but they normally were related to her time in the orphanage. Or Shadow Creatures…

Never had she ever had a dream like that…

Willow’s gears begin to turn. Why in the world was she being called a witch? Who were those voices? Barely anyone knew her before she had come to the Constant, so why would these random people know her?

Willow looks to her side. Bernie lays there, still and stiff as a board. She picks him up. “Hey. I had some weird dream where these creeps were throwing stuff at me and calling me a witch.” She says. “Why do you think I had that dream, Bernie?” She asks the stuffed toy.

The toy doesn’t respond.

Willow’s expression droops. “…Oh, yeah.” She says. “You aren’t alive.”

Willow plops onto her back and lays there. She shuts her eyes and exhales, disappointed.

…Suddenly, Willow feels something twitching in her hand. She looks to her right hand, the one Bernie was sitting in.

Bernie’s twitching in her hand.

Willow brings the toy up to her face with both hands. She doesn’t throw the doll away. She just watches it intently with wide eyes and a firm gaze.

After a bit, the twitching stops. The bear goes limp. Until it slowly lifts it’s head and looks up Willow.

Willow’s expression softens. “…Hey, Bernie.” She says. She puts the doll down, allowing it to stand.

What was odd however, Willow wasn’t in the Constant anymore…

Bernie didn’t have the ability to walk before the Constant.

Realization quickly hits Willow. “Wait… You never did this before I got placed in that hellhole…” She says.

Bernie stares at Willow.

“…Welp, guess you’re alive now.” Says Willow. “Do you get why I had that dream?”

Willow watches as Bernie jumps off the side of the bed and lands on the floor feet first. He walks over to Willow’s door and points at it. He stares back at Willow.

“…But, I need sleep.” Says Willow.

Bernie doesn’t move.

“…Oh, fine.” Says Willow. “If it’ll help me with that goofy dream. And whatever else was going on in it.” She gets out of bed and goes to her door. She quietly opens it.

Bernie steps out of the bedroom into a dark hallway. Bernie leads the way while Willow quietly follows behind. Bernie stops at the house’s front door. He points at the door and turns his head to face Willow.

Willow’s brows furrow. “Are you kidding me!?” She asks in a harsh whisper.

Once more, the doll doesn’t move.

Willow puts a hand to her face. It slides down her face until limping back down. “…Sure.” She says.

Willow quietly unlocks and opens the front door. Bernie exits first. Then Willow exits. She closes the door behind her. Willow then bends down to the welcome mat in front of the door. She lifts it, revealing a key. She locks the door from the outside and places the key back where she found it. Her and Bernie head off.

—

It’s been awhile since Willow and Bernie had left their home. Willow’s legs and feet are tired. Bernie’s trucking along just fine.

They walk through a desolate and empty spot of town. The landscape is mostly barren. Trees are sprinkled about. An eerie atmosphere surrounds the area.

“…Bernie?” Willow asks. “Where are we going?”

Bernie doesn’t respond. He keeps walking. Willow continues to follow, ignoring her skepticism.

Eventually, more trees begin to fill the area.

Amongst the sounds of the night… whispers. Faint whispers among the trees.

Willow is shaken up… she almost feels as if she never woke up from that dream…

“…Bernie…?” Willow asks, fear in her voice. “…Where are we? Where’d you take me? Why am I hearing whispers?”

Bernie doesn’t respond. He keeps walking.

Willow can’t take it anymore.

Willow grabs Bernie from behind. She holds him in her hands. The whispers can still be heard. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU TAKING ME!?” Willow asks, anger seeping through her vocal chords.

Bernie’s head then turns to face forward. He points. Willow looks up.

Her eyes go wide.

In front of her is large clearing… within the clearing though are crosses made from sticks. Little pieces of fabric sit on them. It also appears they’ve been written on.

“…What… the hell…?” Willow asks herself.

Willow looks down at Bernie. He’s still pointing forward. Not moving at all. Willow looks back up.

Bernie appears to be pointing toward two particular crosses that sit side by side.

Willow’s brows furrow. She slowly begins to walk toward the crosses.

As she approaches, the whispers become more and more apparent, more loud.

'Her…'

'The other…'

'Their precious little doll…'

Willow eventually approaches the two crosses. She looks at the words written into their fabric.

Willow’s eyes widen in shock.

'Winslow Wickerbottom' and 'Waylon Wickerbottom'.

“…WHAAAAAT!?” Willow exclaims. “Are these her parents or something!? Why are they buried in a creepy ass clearing!?”

Bernie then suddenly goes limp. Willow looks down to Bernie, then looks to the ground.

A little doll, a beaten and messed up, sits there.

…The doll has an appearance similar to Willow’s…

Willow holds Bernie with her arm and bends down and picks up the odd forlorn doll. She stares at it.

It stares back.

Willow blinks.

The lighting then suddenly changes. The doll is no longer in Willow’s hands.

“Huh?” Willow looks up.

The clearing is no longer as barren. Around the area are multiple shacks and huts. Homes and small shops. People in witch-like garments walk around amongst the cluttered village. The village is lit up by wooden poles with small lights with fireflies inside dangling from them.

“…What…?” Willow questions.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” A feminine voice says from nearby.

Willow shoots her head over to the direction of the voice.

A man and woman walk together. The woman is holding something in her hands. Willow walks over to the couple to get a closer look.

The doll looked exactly like the one Willow had found. Although, it didn’t look nearly as beaten up. It practically looked brand new.

Probably because it was.

“She is, Winslow.” Says the man.

Willow’s mouth goes agape.

…Did she hear the man correctly…?

…Winslow…

…Winslow Wickerbottom…

“I think she’ll grow up to be a great witch someday.” Says the man.

“Oh, Waylon,” Says Winslow. “How I cannot wait for such a day to come!”

Waylon chuckles. “I can’t wait either, Winslow.” He says.

The couple then begins to walk further down the gravelly road toward a shack in the distance. Willow holds onto Bernie with her hands and follows the two and enters the shack behind them. She looks around.

The shack is lit by lanterns similar to the ones outside. Various shelves and tables full of flasks, bottles, and books lay about.

The couple walks into a decently sized room secluded by a curtain. Willow follows them and steps into the room. The couple doesn’t notice her. Willow begins to believe that they can’t see or hear her.

The same lanterns on the walls and a few shelves. In the middle of the room is a small baby bed framed by a decorated rocker. A window mostly covered by curtains near lays on the wall near the rocker.

Willow stares at the rocker, confused.

“…What are the hell are they gonna do with that doll?” Willow asks herself.

The couple walks over to the rocker. Winslow sets the doll inside it, tucking it in the blanket. Willow notices a little teddy bear sitting laying next to the doll.

Bernie.

So that’s how she got him.

“Hehe.” She giggles. She holds Bernie up to peak inside the rocker. “Look, Bernie! It’s you!”

Waylon then walks over to one of the shelves in the room and grabs an unknown book from it. He walks back over to Winslow. Willow moves away from the couple and stands to the side. Waylon opens the book in his hands and eventually finds the page he’s looking for. He looks over to Winslow. “Are you ready, my dear?” He asks.

“Yes, I am.” Says Winslow.

Waylon nods and looks at the page sternly. Both he and Winslow close their eyes…

“…By the Mother’s beautiful light…” Waylon begins.

The room begins to shake a bit. Willow moves back against the wall.

“…We speak to thee on this silent night…” Says Winslow.

“…Give unto our babe, the light which ye give…” Says Waylon.

“…Give unto our babe, the gift to live…” Says Winslow.

The doll then becomes surrounded in a bright purple glow.

“…Bless this babe, oh, dear Mother of Nature…” Says Waylon.

“…Bless this babe, oh, dear Mother of Nature…” Says Winslow.

The room shakes even more. The light coming off the doll is practically lighting up the entire room. Willow squints and covers her head with her arms, worried that the roof could fall on her.

“Oh, Mother of Nature…” The couple says in unison. “Bless this babe! Bless this babe! Bless this babe!”

A large gust of wind then blows. The couple and Willow gets knocked back a bit. The light coming off the doll then dissipates.

…Then, the sound of crying.

Coming from the rocker.

The couple recollects and slowly walks up to the rocker. They look inside. Willow opens her eyes and slowly follows suit.

Willow’s eyes go wide.

“…Just as I thought.” Says Winslow. She tears up a bit. “…She’s beautiful.”

Willow stares at the crying baby.

It… or she, had dark, black hair. Long bangs that covered up her forehead. And the face…

It looked exactly like Willow’s…

Because it was Willow’s.

Hell, even her voice sounded like Willow’s. Although pitched up, that of a baby’s. Even through the cries, the resemblance can be heard.

Willow couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Her mouth was agape, her eyes wide. She felt as if she’d faint on the spot.

…She was born from a doll…?

…Why…?

Then, amongst the excitement and confusion…

CRASH!!

Waylon drops to the floor. Blood gushes from his head.

Winslow looks down to the dead man. “Waylon!?” She shouts.

Willow looks down to the dead man and panicking woman, then to the window, eyes wide and mouth agape.

A part of it was broken.

Someone had shot a bullet through the window.

…But who?

“There!” A voice from outside shouts. “The domain! The domain of the Unholy!”

“The witches!” Shouts another voice. “They’re here!”

Realization hits Winslow and Willow hard.

Witch hunters.

“…Oh, no…” Says Winslow. She gets up to grab the baby.

As she gets back on her feet however…

BANG!!

Winslow falls. Dead on the floor. Willow looks down at the body in shock.

From outside, what sounds like a crowd rushing toward the village can be heard. Willow attempts to grab the baby, but her hands phase through her. The sounds from outside quickly approach. Shadows can be seen out the broken window. Willow moves back as someone lights a match and sets the shack ablaze. A few men then break through the window and begin to break down the house. Willow stays in the corner, looking upon the scene before her.

One of the men in the room looks down at the baby in the rocker. “That’s a baby!” He says.

“Leave it there.” Says another man. “Let it slowly experience the punishment of witchcraft.”

The other man sternly furrows his brows and nods, obeying the other man. The men in the room trash it and leave.

Willow sneers.

She was left here to die.

Or so, she was supposed to…

Willow begins to ponder over how she survived. Maybe it had something to do with Willow not being able to get injured by fire?

Willow then snaps out herself out of her world of thought. She then hurries out of the destroyed shack and returns to the village. She gasps. Her eyes go wide.

Carnage and discord everywhere. Shacks being burned down. Various villagers being brutally killed left and right. Gunshots, screams. Everything happening everywhere.

And Willow has barely anywhere to run.

Willow’s brows furrow. She bolts through the fire, carrying, Bernie in one hand, trying to find a way out. The destruction seems endless. “Help!! HELP!!” She shouts, panting a bit. “GET ME OUT OF THIS NIGHTMARE!!”

Amongst the chaos however, someone quickly passes by Willow. Willow turns.

The woman looks back. Willow can see her face. It feels as if time has stopped.

Her eyes go wide.

It’s Wickerbottom… yet younger.

Her hair is partially orange. Various areas of the hair are streaked in gray. It also looked a bit longer. It was more puffy and put up in a ponytail.

…How long ago was this…?

Wickerbottom then turns back around. She runs off into the forest nearby, trying not to be seen.

Then, as Willow watches the young Wickerbottom run off, the fires quickly dissipate. The sounds go away. The land is covered in debris and dead bodies.

The only sound left being the sound of a crying baby.

Willow looks in the distance. She squints and walks toward the source of the sound.

She sees a baby crying on the ground. The dead bodies of her parents beside her.

It’s baby Willow.

Willow looks down at the child. She frowns.

Then, footsteps are heard. Willow steps back a bit.

Two very familiar woman come into view… Willow sneers at the sight of them.

…Those disgusting women from the orphanage. The ones that Willow hated to the bottom of her very core.

The taller woman looks down at the child and picks the baby up. “Sister, look!” She says. “A child.”

“Someone must’ve abandoned her here.” Says the shorter woman in a more raspier tone. “Understandable. She looks like a rat.”

“You’re correct, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be saved.” Says the taller woman.

“Maybe if we bring her into God’s light, she’ll look nicer.” Says the shorter woman.

“Not just that.” Says the taller woman. “She’ll be one of God’s children. A blessing worth entering Heaven.”

“Maybe.” Says the shorter woman. “She looks like a pain to raise though.”

“…Yes, but we do need the money.” Says the taller woman.

“Agreed, we do.” Says the shorter woman. “Lets just bring her back to the orphanage.”

“Mm-hm.” The taller woman nods.

The two woman head out from the ground and into the forest ahead.

Willow stares…

The she blinks. Once she opens her eyes, she suddenly finds herself back in front of the crosses, not holding the doll she found. Bernie sits in her grip.

She stares into the distance.

She’s absolutely speechless…

Everything that happened… it was so much…

Her being born from a doll. Her belonging to a family of witches. Her home and family being torn apart and killed.

But the most overwhelming thing…

She was a Wickerbottom.

“Willow!” A voice calls from behind.

Willow is smacked out of her world of thought. She looks back.

It’s Wickerbottom.

“What are you doing out here!?” Wickerbottom asks. “Why aren’t you asleep back home!?”

Willow doesn’t answer. Tears well up in her eyes.

Then, she snaps.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME I WAS YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER!?” She exclaims. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME ABOUT MY FAMILY!?”

Wickerbottom’s eyes go wide in confusion. “…What?” She asks.

“My family… they died in a witch hunt! You LIVED here! YOU were related to them, and YOU DIDN’T TELL ME!? WHAT IS YOUR DEAL!?”

“…Willow, I don’t understand—“ Wickerbottom begins.

Willow cuts the librarian off. “YES, YOU DO!” She exclaims. “YOU ARE LYING TO ME!”

“No, I’m not!” Says Wickerbottom.

“You didn’t want to tell me because it would 'overwhelm me' didn’t you!?” Says Willow. “Because, apparently, I can’t handle the truth, right!?”

“Willow, no! That isn’t—“ Wickerbottom gets cut off again.

“THEN WHY!?” Willow exclaims.

“Because I didn’t want you getting involved with family matters!” Wickerbottom exclaims. “This is a personal matter between me and my family!”

“But I AM your family!” Willow exclaims, pointing her hands toward her chest.

“No, we aren’t!” Says Wickerbottom.

“Yes we are!” Willow retorts. “I saw it! I saw the past!”

“How?” Wickerbottom asks sternly.

“…Some… weird doll!” Says Willow.

“She is not wrong, mother.” Says a voice.

The duo look back.

Near the crosses, the spirits of Winslow and Waylon Wickerbottom hover. They stare upon their living family.

Wickerbottom and Willow slowly walk up to the couple.

“…Oh, Waylon…” Says Wickerbottom. “…My boy…”

“You’re Wickerbottom’s kid?” Willow asks Waylon.

“Yes.” Says Waylon nodding. He looks over to Wickerbottom. “I see you want an explanation for what she saw.” He says, then turns to Willow. “You do too.”

“Yeah.” Says Willow.

“Yes, dear.” Says Wickerbottom.

Waylon nods. “Willow, your mother…” He hesitates. He looks over to Winslow; who puts a hand to his shoulder, smiles, and nods, indicating that she doesn’t mind him sharing this particular fact about her. “…Your mother is infertile. She can’t have kids.”

“Because I wasn’t able to give birth to a child, we thought we’d see a doll maker to assist us.” Says Winslow.

Willow’s brows furrow. She tilts her head. “What’s a doll maker?”

“A doll maker makes dolls that a wedded couple can make if the wife is infertile. Or if it was a same sex couple that wanted a baby.” Says Wickerbottom. “Those specific kinds of dolls contain what makes up both the mother and father’s genes. Meaning that although you weren’t born by normal means, you still have the genetic makeup of your parents.”

Willow nods, understanding what Wickerbottom said. Wilson had talked about genetics so much during her survival days that it practically got burned into Willow’s brain. Wickerbottom also helped with cementing that knowledge in more.

Waylon nods. “The night that you had been given life, as you saw…”

“We were killed. And our home was taken down. Along with many villagers.” Says Winslow.

“But what about Wickerbottom?” Willow asks.

“She had run off.” Says Winslow. “She was able to get away safely.”

“And start a new life as a librarian.” Says Wickerbottom. “I’ve kept this secret with me for 20 years. Since I was in my 40s.”

“What about me?” Asks Willow. “How’d I live?”

“Oh, that’s because of the doll.” Says Winslow, smiling a bit. “They’re fire resistant.”

Willow smirks. “I kinda suspected that actually.” She smiles. “Sick.” She says to herself. She then looks to Wickerbottom. “But how come you didn’t know I was granddaughter? I thought you’d know?”

Wickerbottom’s expression droops a bit. “I was on my way to see you…” Says Wickerbottom. “…But then the attack happened… I never got to meet you… I had no idea that my granddaughter had been by my side all this time I had known her.”

Willow smiles. “As long as I know you weren’t trying to lie to me.”

Wickerbottom looks to Willow sternly. “If I had known you were my granddaughter, I would’ve shared this with you.” She says. “I never intended to lie to you.”

Willow smiles. “You’d never do that, would you?” She asks.

“I’d never hide my roots from my family.” Says Wickerbottom, smiling.

Willow’s smile grows. She almost feels tears forming in her eyes.

“Anyway, would you like to stay?” Asks Waylon. “I’ve been wanting to see how my family has been doing.”

“I have as well.” Says Winslow.

“That’s why I came here.” Says Wickerbottom. “To say hello. Talk with you both.”

“What about you, Willow?” Winslow asks, looking over to Willow.

Willow smiles brightly. “Sure!” She says. “I’d love to get to talk to my actual parents! Anyway, what’s up with Bernie?” She looks down to the bear in her grip. “Is he magic? Why was he moving on his own earlier, if you know? He normally doesn’t do that.”

“Oh, we casted a spell on it.” Says Waylon. “One that allowed him to protect you. A little gift from us to you.”

“And I had possessed him.” Says Winslow. “I wanted to help you discover you’re past. You’re family.”

Willow smiles. “Cool!” She exclaims.

—

The sun has begun to rise. Willow and Wickerbottom head back home from the clearing after having said their farewells to their family. They plan to see them next year, exactly a year after having discovered they are family.

“It’s crazy to me that I had known you for ages, but never knew you were my grandma.” Says Willow, looking over to Wickerbottom.

Wickerbottom chuckles a bit. “Same here, dear.” She says. “I never expected a future such a this to be true.”

“Neither did I.” Says Willow. “It’s cool though. The fact that I’ve got witch blood in my viens.” Willow says as she punches the air in front of her a bit.

“It is, dear.” Says Wickerbottom, smiling softly.

The two walk back home, talking about their family, their relations.

And how everyone’s loose ends have finally been tied.

- END -

#don’t starve #fanfic #my writing #dst wilson #dst willow #dst maxwell #dst charlie #dst winona #dst webber #dst wendy #dst abigail #dst wx78 #dst woodie #dst lucy #dst wolfgang #dst wigfrid #dst wes #dst wickerbottom #dst bernie #tw slight gore #tw blo0d #tw graphic #tw death #tw voices #tw ghosts #tw caps #tw swearing

[he11swinter]

What are your headcanons of if the ghosts lived/no bad thing happened to them? Example, I for one always rp/headcanon Ryan's relationship with his mum was sweet and easy but she was murdered by a John in front of him which caused him to slowly become to murderous driven creep we love today. If we were to say she didn't die but instead left her lifestyle than Ryan could maybe be a doctor cause I like to think he's a smarty pants deep down

That’s a great question. I’ve thought about it for a long time, but have to admit I’m quite stumped. It’s hard, because several of the ghosts died by bad habits that were incredibly hard to shake—so either they learned a very important lesson before such things killed them, or I’d be straying into very alternate versions. What a lot of them did need was better luck, or better attitudes.

Billy: I feel like Billy would have had to have grown up and gotten a normal job. Being out in the world would be when Billy finally got his lesson of sorts—finding out that the world doesn’t just go his way when he complains enough. I think he’d be kind of a loser for many years—not one that people pick on, but the kind who has a lot of ex-girlfriends he accused of “being the problem.” The truth is that he loves a sense of control. Nonetheless, maybe he’d eventually settle down and share stories about how bad of a kid he was.

Jimmy: It’d be a hard thing for Jimmy to give up gambling. It would be easiest to say he simply had better luck and never met Larry, or else successfully ran away and started a new life somewhere else (but never had an interest in marriage or anything—he liked living on the edge).

Oh yeah, and if he learned to say no to people that would help A LOT.

Royce: I think he just wanted to do what he wanted: skip the college that everyone was pressuring him into and race around in cars. He’d leave town like he wanted, and no one would hear from him for a long time. Word would eventually get back that he became famous—and if not for cars, acting or something—and the town would become famous for being where he came from.

Dana: I think she would have ended all her awful relationships and found a nice guy to be with (because I think she really values having a person.) Maybe she stayed a model or became something else, but she definitely had to work on her self-esteem.

Isabella: She’d have been most happy if everyone just left her alone to live her life. Simple asks, really.

Margaret and Harold: When Harold found his mother there’d be relief, because let’s say she lived. But he’d still be angry enough to kill the people in the circus, which would not only be revenge, but would have given them a path out of the place.

George: About the same as Isabella, really. He’d have been happy to be left alone to raise his family, but since he wasn’t getting that where they were, they ended up packing up and moving to a better home and community.

Ryan: He’s is my favourite ghost, but I’ve always had a hard time coming up with who he was underneath all the torment. In my mind Ryan absolutely loathed his mother and hated himself because he grew up just as pathetic and nasty. We all know the asylum would never have helped him, but if he found just a spark of hope and escaped when it burned, maybe he’d be inspired to search for himself. (I do think he’s a very clever guy though, and a good leader when he wants to be.)

Horace: Being antisocial is just a part of him, so if left alone to work on cars, maybe he’d be happiest then.

#head is a little empty so I don’t know what I’m doing haha

[squirrelno2]

I did threaten to do some jatp oc posting sooooo

(I'm thinking about a series of small pieces about Willie meeting various HGC ghosts - let me know if you're into this?)

Willie met Genevieve when he decided to experiment with trampolines. He was disappointed to find that he couldn't jump on them, not without a lot more effort than was worthwhile, but when he emerged from underneath the trampoline he saw a woman sitting at the top of the silks hanging on the other end of the circus's rehearsal space like she did it all the time. He paused, hoping he was about to see a show.

Then she turned her head and saw him, and he realised that she was probably dealing with the same issue he'd found with the trampoline.

"Let me guess," Willie called. "You're falling through."

She scowled, slipping into the silks and falling a few feet before she caught herself.

"Go away," she said.

"Have you been dead long?" Willie couldn't help but ask. It was a familiar kind of stubbornness on her face. Lots of new ghosts looked like that when they tried to cling to life.

"I'm not dead!" she snapped, struggling to climb back up.

"Are you like a superhero, then? There's only so many options."

She appeared on the floor, face bright pink with fury. With an angry swipe of her wrist across her eyes, she turned towards Willie.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Maybe. But who's gonna stop me?" He raised his arms gleefully. He wasn't about to touch the whole "I'm not dead" thing, but maybe he could ease her into understanding that death wasn't the end of the world.

"What if you mess with something here? People can get hurt on this equipment!"

Willie looked up at the silks, then at the ghost in front of him.

"I'm always careful," he said. "No bouncing or climbing when lifers are here. I know that."

"Lifers," she repeated. She looked steadier now, though her eyes were still bright and watery. "What are you, the circus ghost?"

Willie resisted the urge to say that was probably her.

"Just visiting," he said. "But I know a place where the silks won't let you down."

The woman rubbed the back of her neck.

"Really," she said flatly.

"Yeah, this guy Caleb has a fancy nightclub - old style, where they put on shows and do jazz dance. I never used to know anything about shows before him, but it's pretty cool."

She looked him up and down, frowning.

"You're just a kid," she said. Willie stood a little taller. "How long have you been -"

She didn't finish the sentence.

"Dead? Yeah, it's been a couple decades. You're really new to this, huh?"

She reached up, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and retying it.

"I guess telling you I'm not dead was a giveaway," she said when she'd finished.

"Hey, we all have moments like that," Willie said. "But it's easier to get used to it all when you're not alone. Wanna come check it out?"

She turned, looking behind her at the silks she couldn't use. She rubbed her neck again.

"I guess it couldn't hurt."

Willie grinned and spun, flinging his arms wide.

"Just wait," he said. "Caleb knows everything there is to know about the afterlife. You'll be back up there in no time."

She laughed softly.

"What's your name?" she asked. "Are you... Alone?"

"I'm Willie," he said. He knew the look on her face pretty well, and decided to head her off at the pass. "And it's not like it would be a good thing if a ghost like me had any family around, you know? That's the thing about all this, you kinda have to make a new one. And not look at us teenagers like we're kids."

"Right," she said. "Decades."

Willie nodded, glad she understood. He wanted to make sure all the ghosts at the club felt like family, but that didn't mean he was looking for some kind of parent.

"I'm Genevieve," she said. "Thanks for this."

"Hey," Willie said. "We gotta stick together."

Genevieve smiled.

"I guess death is like performing that way," she said. "Just... Tell me the need for unions isn't so pressing."

"Don't worry," Willie laughed. "You'll be fine."

#julie and the phantoms #willie jatp #fun fact: genevieve broke her neck on the silks when she died. so uh. all that neck rubbing... yeah #snippets and sneak peeks #fanfic #technically not exclusive to phantom singular but #the irony is delicious if youve read it so #phantom singular #anyway this is fun bc i get to poke around these ocs i havent touched since phantom singular and continue my 'let willie be loved' agenda

[thebestoftragedy]

Tagged by @entertheaardvark, and I tag @thenightmancometh and uhhhh whoever else wants to do this. @jehannewick @joeypotter1998 @lozlemon

Last book I bought: being very technical, it was an ebook of the dumb textbook (Drugs, society, and human behavior) for my substance abuse class. The last book-book I bought to read on purpose I’m not super sure but I think it might be That Scoundrel Emile Dubois which is a gothic romance parody I plan on enjoying on a forthcoming dark and stormy night.

Borrowed: Dead Silence by S. A. Barnes which is a fun looking sci fi horror. @thenightmancometh I will report if there are lesbians

Was gifted: My mother tends to offload her book of the month club books on me, so I have but have not yet read Sistersong, Circus of Wonders, and The Inheritance of Orquidea Divina which I will probably get to… someday.

Gave/lent to someone: I gifted a teen at my fieldwork job a copy of Sabriel a couple months ago, and I hope she enjoys it. She’s a big Leigh Bardugo fan and generally cool kid.

Started: Monstress by Marjorie M. Liu which is a comic. So far I’m not super impressed and it’s got that “good women are beautiful, nonthreateningly gender-conforming, and graceful but evil women are fat, ugly, sadistic dykes with skin conditions” thing going on which is not really my bag. It’s like Berserk for girls who are into Jessica Valenti! They can put that quote on the back cover.

Finished: this is really challenging the limits of my desire to look cool on the internet because it was Once Upon A Moonlit Night by Elizabeth Hoyt, the 10.5th (it’s a novella) entry in a series of romantic suspense novels set in the 1720s-30s. Before that the last full-length book I finished was Lost Among The Living by Simone St. James, an author I do recommend if you are into lady-centric historical mysteries, ghosts, and mild (heterosexual) romantic plots.

Gave five stars: Strangers Drowning by Larissa MacFarquhar which was recommended to me by @iirulancorrino and @invertprivileges and which was engaging and genuinely thought-provoking in a way that nonfiction rarely is. I had also given five stars to The Turnaway Study since then, but I ended up putting it down to 4 after some thinking about things I wish had been explored in more detail. That’s me being nit-picky though, and honestly I might give it back that last star. It’s a pretty good summary of the results of a hugely important study, one which I’m sure will continue to be cited for a long time.

Gave two stars: How High We Go In The Dark by Sequoia Nagamatsu, which is a buzzy current bestseller and which was just a mess of a reading experience. Really childish, derivative knockoff of David Mitchell and Emily St. John Mandel but like, much worse and more solipsistic. Has nothing interesting to say about anything, is casually misogynistic in construction and theme, poorly-written. It’s like if a dude got high and read Mental Floss articles and then wrote spec fic about whichever four caught his stoned attention most.

Didn’t finish: I started Bloody Jack several days ago because someone on here (I forgot who) enjoyed the series as a teen, and I’m always looking for good-quality, female-focused lit to add to my classroom library/recommend to kids. Sadly I just did not vibe with the prose which is clearly meant to emulate old-timey pirate fiction but mostly left me exhausted.

#book meme

[im-not-a-monster]

I've been watching a Quarry playthru and the game is. interesting. but more importantly the comments on the video are all making it out like this story is clear cut and it's kinda making me crazy

like. why would you assume that Travis is telling the truth? what do we know about him. he's a dirty cop who uses his position to cover up his family's multiple murders. he lies to the other characters constantly even tho it's literally to his own detriment. from the slur he uses against the sideshow folks I can only assume he's also a huge racist.

so why would I believe that Silas was actually, genuinely being mistreated by his mother.

like. he's a werewolf. he's in a cage because he's a werewolf. there's no mention of if it was a full moon the night Caleb and Kaylee decided to spring him, and I can only guess if as the progenitor of the werewolves he was capable of transforming at will maybe? i mean he is the dog boy, so who knows. but he bites Caleb during the attack, so before his mother's ghost could be hypothetically cursing them all. so he was already a werewolf.

like "Kaylee was the nicest kindest soul" who told her brother to set fire to an enormously fast burning substance next to a bunch of gas powered circus cars ????? we see multiple explosions in the flashback. she and Caleb could certainly have believed they had good intentions, but also... their family seems to have a ton of power in town? why not call the authorities if you really believe the kid is being mistreated? like, circus freaks are Performers, if he was really acting feral I can only assume he was acting or it was the full moon that night and he was feeling effects.

like I'm sure this is just the writing team not thinking about it, but this game is set during modern times, they all have cell phones. traveling sideshow still exist! they're registered with labor bureaus and stuff even. the ones I've read about are run by the freaks even.

I just... don't buy it. it sounds too much like covering up, which is what Travis has been doing the whole game.

and then there's Silas -- Travis says there are sightings of him but DOESNT say there are attacks, because presumably they went to check out these sightings hoping to find him. if there were werewolves there wouldn't he have mentioned it? so Silas has been on the run from a bunch of people who want to murder him for 6 years, and they're upset that he wants revenge on them for murdering his mother and everyone he probably ever knew?

like. at best. Kaylee and Caleb genuinely thought they were doing the right thing. but they also decided they were going to be the Big Heroes and in the process everyone in the sideshow died. which is uh. murder right? when you arson a place and every dies? like the death was accidental but they set the fire on purpose.

that's not even touching the fact that Caleb and Kaylee are just??? out in the woods doing whatever as werewolves the whole night??? Chris is locked up but Laura kills Kaylee at the camp-- how the hell did she get there? and the hikers they killed before that? they clearly were not being very careful. at least Chris's "lock myself in the basement" plan seemed to be moderately working before Laura and max unfortunately screwed it up

idk I'm all over the place I just don't buy that Eliza was Evil so the Hacketts didn't deserve any of it. it sounds like more justification from Travis, like that'll excuse all the people who died because of them doing whatever they wanted.

#and i know silas kills everyone if you let him live but hell whats he supposed to do

[sljuke]

Marvel Weekly #1

Hello peeps, this is SLJuke here with the first edition of MARVEL WEEKLY. This will be coming to you every week and sometimes there might be delays but this will always happen and if any “BREAKING NEWS” happens, y’all will be hearing it that day so it depends so there might be only 1 thing per week or there might be 5 or more. Also THERE MIGHT BE SPOILER WARNINGS SO TURN AWAY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE THEM. Anyways let’s start the news! Just last night, Kang actor Johnathan Majors got arrested and is charged with strangulation, assault, and harassment. If he did do that, then Marvel Studios is going to have to delay a bunch of projects and push projects forward and have to rewrite stories so they can find themselves a new actor to play Kang The Conqueror, let’s hope that he didn’t because he was one of the only good things about Ant-Man and The Wasp Quantamania (my opinion). On other news an insider named KC Walsh said that Secret Invasion which was supposed to come out in February and then got pushed back to May is getting pushed back to June and won’t move anymore. Samuel L. Jackson got spotted in a Scottish Town called Livingston filming a ‘Top-Secret’ Project and it’s rumored to be either the Marvels, which is coming out in November or Secret Invasion, my take is it's Secret Invasion. This next report comes from the Cosmic Circus and they’ve learned from their sources that Secret Invasion gives of spy thriller vibes that are reminiscent of Captain America The Winter Soldier and that there is a portion of the show that is appearing to take place in Russia at an abandoned power plant that is potentially Chernobyl but it isn’t confirmed whether or not Marvel Studios will tell us whether it is or not but it is confirmed that it is a hideout for Rebel Skrulls and that they’re using the underground levels of the plant to build a device that is shown in the D23 trailer and the theory for the device is to make Super Skrulls(I’m paraphrasing some of this stuff so go along with it lol). Ultron is supposed to return in Armor Wars and be played by James Spader again. Rumors say that Marvel may be turning to their old ways with darker tones in Captain America: New World Order and Thunderbolts. The tone for Daredevil Born Again is heard to go darker than what is shown in the MCU. Insider MyTimeToShineHello has been talking about multiple TV-MA and Rated R MCU projects. The scooper named thevscooper showed us some upcoming suits for Daredevil Born Again and the first one is an upgraded version of the Netflix one, the second one is a fully red one, and the last but not least one is a fully dark one and the DD Logo that Daredevil has in the comics might appear in some of the suits. In the last megadump of information from The Marvel Studios Spoilers Subreddit before it got taken down with a ton of leaks with Secret Wars getting split into two parts, Phase 7 is a phase that takes place in Battleworld, a Wakanda Series done in animation, a Mephisto Halloween Special Presentation shooting alongside Agatha Coven of Chaos, The Sentry who’s supposedly the main villain of Thunderbolts is getting a Special Presentation shooting alongside Thunderbolts and take the first two with a grain of salt but the rest have been corroborated by sources that have been very reliable and some I’ve already talked about. The other projects that were there are More I Am Groot Shorts in 2024, Man-Thing Halloween Special 2024, Silver Surfer Holiday Special 2024, Vision Quest Tv Show 2025, Young Avengers, Midnight Angels TV Series, Ghost Rider Halloween Special 2025, Nova Holiday Special 2025, Spider-Man 4 (Tom Holland’s version of the webslinger), Strange Academy TV Series Late 2025/Early 2026, Doctor Strange 3 2026, Ms. Marvel Season 2 2026(This show was amazing and I would wonder what would be in Season 2), Moon Knight Season 2 2026(I loved this show and I really hope we get this), Midnight Suns 2026, She-Hulk Season 2 2026 (I hope this is not a thing and if it is I will scream), Untitled Halloween Special (Don’t know what it is), World War Hulk 2026 (What we’ve been waiting for, bezerker Hulk to be back), Untitled Holiday Special 2026 (Don’t know what this is either), What If…? Season 3 2027(Idk if this would happen but there’s so many stories, maybe we might get an episode where it’s what if the MCU was comic accurate and didn’t underpower or overpower people), Eternals 2(Same thing as She-Hulk Season 2), Illuminati Show 2027, and finally 2nd part of Avengers Secret Wars (If it’s a thing, I think this would probably be bigger than Avatar and if not true, Avengers Secret Wars will still be bigger than Avatar). There was a few projects that got trademarks like Captain America Red, White, and Black, Celestials: End of Time, Nomad, The Black Knight: Origins, and Avengers Eternity Wars. These projects that got trademarked were also in the leaks for the trademarks for The Multiverse Saga, The Eternity Saga, The Timeless Saga, Avengers: The Kang Dynasty, Avengers: Secret Wars, Thunderbolts, and Captain America New World Order. Midnight Sons was trademarked on there and this stuff is amazing to hear with all of these projects. I’m sorry if this is so long lol but I want to tell you one more thing, it’s called the Geekly Weekly, it’s another thing like this that I’m going to start the week after Christmas because that is the week after Aquaman 2 comes out but that weekly will be just like this but it will be movies, tv shows, games, etc. with DC, Star Wars, TMNT, Power Rangers, etc. Please dm me if you have anything that you want me to talk about but if you don’t thank you for reading this long thing which will take a while, I’m SLJuke and this is Marvel Weekly, Love y’all,

 Sources: Den of Nerds, MyTimeToShineHello, thevscooper, and Cosmic Circus.

#marvel weekly

[bluejayblueskies]

oh if you did a little something for jonmartin and "hiding their face in the other’s neck" i would be so 🥺💕

touches prompt list

a little post-circus kidnapping hurt/comfort! cw for wounds/injury, mild blood, mentions of non-consensual touching, and mentions of kidnapping

.

There is a stranger’s elbow digging into Jon’s side.

He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his side while surreptitiously giving the stranger a glare that he hopes adequately conveys his dislike of the current situation. The tube is packed, as it always is at this time of day, and there are… so many strange hands. An elbow, at least, is better than the hand that had pressed to his back as the individual it belonged to had instinctively tried to maintain their balance.

After all, Nikola didn’t touch him with her elbows.

Jon doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. He wants to lie down in a soft bed and get his first good night’s sleep in a month and finally have the space to process. Alone.

Instead, Martin stands next to him on the train. His hand rests just beneath Jon’s where it grips one of the metal poles, and Martin takes care not to brush against him despite how crowded the car is. Jon considered telling Martin, when they first got on the tube, that it was okay—that his touch would be… well, it wouldn’t be bad. But he’d stayed silent, allowing Martin to cultivate a careful space between them. They’ve been silent for the past twenty minutes as they’ve passed by station after station on their way to Martin’s flat in Brixton.

“I have a flat,” Jon had said uncomprehendingly when Martin had suggested (or rather, gently begged) that Jon come back to his flat with him. “It’s, um. It’s nice. Spacious. S-sturdy locks.”

“You… you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Martin had said, sounding and looking very much like he wished Jon would anyway.

“I’m fine.” Jon was not fine. But he could be fine until he got back to his flat. It was always good to have a short-term goal.

Martin gave him a look that clearly said that he thought Jon was full of shit. Jon was, but it was still unnecessary. He was just trying to keep it together. What did Martin want—him sobbing and crumpling to the floor right here in the Archives? No, that wouldn’t do at all.

“You were kidnapped. Twice now. I really don’t want it to happen a third time. Besides, I…” Martin trailed off and fluttered his hands at his sides. “I—I should take a look at your hand. And your, um. Wrists.”

Jon looked down at his arms. They were, indeed, quite red and raw and scabbed over and likely to scar. Nikola had been irritated when she’d seen that he’d been tied up so tightly, but she’d decided there was nothing to be done about it. She would just ‘make do with what she had.’ And, well. She had never stopped Breekon and Hope when they’d cinched the ropes just a little bit tighter each time.

“I have first aid supplies in my flat,” Jon lied. He was fairly certain that he had a backpack of What the Ghost merchandise and a single mattress to his name at the moment. “I can take care of it.”

“So can I.” Martin took a deep breath. “I just… I don’t want to see you hurt, Jon.” His cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, and he looked over Jon’s shoulder at the wall behind him. “J-just for tonight, at least? I want…” Martin swallowed. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

And then Martin had turned those lovely blue eyes to his, and, well. Here they are.

Jon adds 24 hours onto his mental countdown of the time he has left until he’s allowed to break down and tells himself that he can manage. It’s… important to have long-term goals as well. He splits this one into steps.

Step one: get to Martin’s flat without crying. He achieves this easily enough. He finally escapes the cloying presence of strangers as Martin’s door shuts behind them, and then it’s blissfully quiet. Martin flips on a light, illuminating the space in pale yellow. It’s a little bit messy but otherwise spartan. The walls are painted a dull eggshell white, the floor made of cheap lino. Martin sits Jon down on the couch and disappears into the bathroom. Jon stares at the wall and focuses on breathing evenly and thinking about anything other than how smooth his skin feels when he slowly rubs his fingers together.

Step two: let Martin bandage his wounds without crying. This is… more challenging, if only because it hurts. Martin apologizes profusely as he wets a cotton ball with isopropyl alcohol and gently cleans the inflamed areas. Jon sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, focusing on anything other than the stinging, burning sensation in his wrists and hands. Funny—he’d thought that at this point, he would be used to the pain, but he’s not. All he knows now is what to expect.

Martin carefully wraps his hand and wrists in bandages. For a moment after he’s done, he delicately holds Jon’s hands in his like they’re porcelain. His hands are warm and soft, and Jon imagines how lovely they would feel against his cheeks. He thinks briefly that Martin is going to raise his unbandaged hand to his lips and lay a kiss across the back of it, but Martin doesn’t. Instead, he sets Jon’s hands back in his lap and stands, mumbling that he’s going to go make some tea.

Jon scrubs his uninjured hand across his eyes, just once.

Step three: sit on the couch with Martin and drink tea without crying. Martin presses a mug of steaming chamomile into his good hand and lays a plate of biscuits between them. “Th-they’re your favorite,” Martin says with a small, nervous laugh, like Jon’s not already staring at the plate with something choked sitting in the back of his throat. “I—I figured you probably haven’t really eaten today, and… I don’t really know what you’ve eaten lately. So, um. Yeah.”

Jon thinks of the things that Nikola had called food, then chooses not to think of them at all. He tucks the memory into a box next to cold hands and exposed skin and burning ropes and slams the lid before it can all come spilling back out again. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. He gingerly takes a biscuit in his stiff, aching hand that hasn’t had the time to heal properly and probably won’t get the chance to do so in the future and pops it into his mouth whole so he doesn’t get crumbs on Martin’s couch.

Step four: eat a biscuit that tastes like the best biscuit you’ve ever had and is the first palatable food you’ve had in weeks without crying.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks and comes back to himself. He’s staring blankly at Martin’s face, at eyebrows folded in concern and mouth curled into a small frown. Martin’s freckles are smudged into smears of tan, and the lines of his jaw waver like a mirage in front of Jon’s eyes. That’s odd, Jon thinks. Then, he feels something wet hit the top of his cheek.

Oh, no.

Quickly, Jon reaches up and scrubs the tears away from his eyes. As soon as he lowers his hand, more spring up in their place. He curses and sets his mug of tea down heavily on the table, taking one more look at Martin—whose eyes are now wide with worry—before turning away and attempting to pull himself together.

Step five: stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying.

(Stop crying, his grandmother says as he stands in the living room, hands and knees dirty and hair a mess. He’s managing to say words between his sobs, words like book and stole and spider. She’s frowning at him, but her voice is still patient and calm when she says, You’re not making any sense, Jonathan. Stop crying, please, and speak clearly. You had a nightmare?)

“Jon, what’s—” Martin catches himself, which Jon is thankful for. He thinks that if Martin had finished that question—asked him what’s wrong—Jon wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from saying, what isn’t? “What can I do to help?” he says instead, a hand hovering carefully in the air between them like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch Jon or not.

“Don’t look,” Jon manages to say. He immediately feels ridiculous and follows with a quick: “S-sorry, it’s—I don’t k-know how to—I’m not—I’m n-not good at—”

“I’m not looking,” Martin says softly.

Jon cuts off, takes a breath, and turns his head back toward Martin. True to his word, Martin has his eyes closed, though his hand remains in the air between them. Jon presses his good hand to his mouth for a moment to hide how the sight rips a new, more ragged sob out of him. Then, tentatively, he reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand.

Martin inhales sharply. Jon almost lets go, but Martin curls his fingers around Jon’s hand and squeezes. He holds Jon’s hand tightly yet so achingly softly, and Jon could weep. (Or rather, is weeping.)

“Can I hug you?” Martin says abruptly, like he’d been fighting an internal battle about whether or not to say it and had just lost. His cheeks darken, but he doesn’t say anything else or take it back. His jaw shifts as he pinches his lips together and worries them back and forth.

Jon is… not the kind of person who initiates or seeks out hugs. He always makes them too stiff, or he holds on just a bit too long and makes them awkward, or he doesn’t know what to do with his hands and ends up just dangling them uselessly in the air. He’s also never really seen the point of them if he’s being honest. As a form of greeting, surely handshakes or waves or head nods get the point across just fine. Right now, though, there is truly nothing in the world that Jon thinks would make him feel safer than having Martin’s arms around him.

Jon nods, then remembers that Martin can’t see him and whispers, in as composed a voice as he can muster: “Please.”

Step six: hug Martin Blackwood without falling apart completely.

Martin’s arms are soft and warm around him. His chest is flush with Jon’s, and he’s holding him so close that Jon is practically on Martin’s lap. All Jon can think is that it’s been so long since he’s been held by something not made of sawdust or plastic. He grips the back of Martin’s jumper with lotion-soft hands and cries tears that have been collecting for a month into the fabric as he buries his face in Martin’s neck. Martin’s hands rub large circles across Jon’s back, and he’s whispering gentle words into Jon’s ear. Things about safe and okay and time and here.

By the time Jon feels thoroughly wrung dry, his cheeks are sticky and his head is throbbing and he’s desperately in need of a glass of water. He takes a few deep breaths, then carefully extracts himself from Martin’s arms. Martin lets him go easily, though his hands remain resting lightly on Jon’s elbows as if he can’t bear to let him go completely.

Jon thinks he knows the feeling.

Martin’s eyes are still closed, and Jon is hit with such a swell of affection he can hardly breathe around it. “Y-you can open your eyes,” he says, a bit sheepishly. Martin does, and if he’s affected by the state of Jon’s face, he doesn’t show any indication of it. “Sorry,” Jon mumbles, twisting his ring—now on his left middle finger instead of his right—around and around mindlessly. “I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Jon.” Martin squeezes Jon’s elbows gently. “I understand. Any time you need me to look away, I will. Okay? I just…” He takes a breath. “I’ll always be here. F-for you when you need me.”

If Jon weren’t thoroughly out of tears, that would make his eyes water. Instead, he nods and offers a small, weak smile. “I know. Thank you, Martin. It… just. Thank you.”

Step seven: fall asleep safe against Martin’s side in the bed that he insists is big enough for two, face pressed into Martin’s neck once again and hands curled loosely in Martin’s sleep shirt.

He’s so drained by the time they’re there, so wrung-out and empty and relaxed, that he manages to do so almost immediately. He thinks he hears Martin murmur, “Sleep well, love,” as he drifts off. But it disappears into the fuzzy border between sleep and wakefulness, slipping from Jon’s mind entirely as he fades to black.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #willoftitanium #my fic #my writing

[salami2]

a/n: … it’s time. it’s the moment we’ve ALL been waiting for. First chapter of my Camilo fic.

warning(s): mentions of death, bullying, etc.

word count of 1.6k

Chapter 1

tagging: @your-girl-mj @fandomtrash264 @romanticfictionlover (sorry I can’t tag anymore cause tumblr)

Encanto. Just the name itself left shivers down your spine.

This town- this community, was surrounded by enormous mountains that spanned to the blue sky. With a growing amount of people since generations ago.

You took a deep breath of the fresh air out the window of your carriage. Your sister scoffed at the sight.

“It’s just another stupid town. Full of stupid people. And even more stupid shows. This is gonna be a pain in my ass.”

Her arrogant mood didn’t stop you from enjoying the sights, though. Picturing life in this beautiful place. Instead of being on the road every 1-2 months. It would be a significant change in everyone's mood.

“Hmm.. this place seems nice.” You said, slightly smiling to yourself.

She frowned and got up from her seat, making her way to where your father was. Guiding the horses to the secluded spot in town to set up for show.

Then reality struck you, as you came to terms with what really was gonna happen.

Sighing, you took one last look outside before changing into your performance dress. Maybe it was in your mind, but something about this town made you hopeful. Hopeful for a new change you’ve never had before.

— 𓆩 ☆ 𓆪 —

Inside the house Madrigal, everyone was getting ready for the show that was going to happen tonight. Freshening up, eating something beforehand, and getting excited over the festivities.

Nobody had ever seen a circus performance before. So this was very exciting for the entire town.

“Vamos! Vamos!” Abuela exclaimed from the upstairs floor, making everybody rush even more.

“We haven’t got much time till the first act. If Pepa would stop raining then maybe we’d get done faster.”

She said, pointing out the very obvious rainfall.

The sun was setting over the mountains. Loud chatter amongst the townsfolk as the sound of faint music could be heard from inside the massive red and blue tent. An awe inspiring sight to those who don’t see it very often.

The Madrigals got a front row seat to all of it.

“Hey Dolores, you gonna be ok?” Camilo asked, looking over at his distressed sister. She nodded and kept her hands over her ears with an awkward smile.

From what Camilo had heard about this mysterious family, they apparently came all the way from Mexico to perform around the globe.

A single father and two, allegedly, beautiful daughters.

Well, Camilo isn’t gonna pass up the chance to watch beautiful women. Or men. Either or is good for him.

The lights up top dimmed out. Confused whispers made their way around the area. Nobody could see a thing, as the first act was about to come on.

But what? What could this first act be? A faint light showed them the way.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

It was just like before… nothing new.

And then, white lights streamed towards you, as the slow music played in the back.

Wow.. what a sight.

Camilo’s eyes opened wide, along with his mouth. He thought about who this angel was on stage.

Magically, he felt his soul be lifted out of his body. Dancing alongside you on stage. You opened your mouth, to invite him to a ghost's kiss.

Godsamnit, why was he acting like this? This- this wants normal!

His heart started beating a mile a minute.

It felt like butterflies were forming in his stomach.

This was new. Never once has this prankster felt this way for… anyone! It’s all too much for him to rake his brain around.

Dolores took a sneak peek at her brother. Confused by his love sickened look.

“Bro, are you doing ok? You’re making weird faces.” She whispered. It seemed like Camilo snapped out of whatever trance he was in.

“Huh? O-oh yeah, yeah. I’m ok.” He awkwardly replied.

Odd. He didn’t look back at Dolores. He just kept looking straight ahead at the show. Hmm… odd. Dolores could be speculating things, but she let it be and continued to enjoy the performance.

This wasn’t like him- even his sister was catching on!

But… he couldn’t stop the red from his cheeks. Or the way you dazzled in front of him.

He will admit, though. It’s just him being physically attracted to you. Albeit he would like to get to know you better. Love at first sight doesn’t happen, so he started to think of how you could talk with each other.

Your number ended with a roar of clapping and cheers. Shakily taking a breath you sneaked backstage.

Oh, how much he wanted to run up on that stage and catch you before you leave.

Unfortunately for Camilo, the next act was not yours. Instead, it was a girl that looked exactly like you, shining her pearly white teeth and laughing from the applause.

This must be the twin sister he’s been hearing about!

She was very beautiful, too. But it was something about her demeanour compared to yours that was different.

More snarky… more like Isabella.

He pouted and watched through the entire thing. Enjoying the laughs, the awes, and the amazing feats put on for Encanto.

— 𓆩 ☆ 𓆪 —

Crickets chirped in the hidden grass of the night. Hundreds of people left the tent, still in awe of the circus.

Some decided to stay and commend you on your singing. A lot bombarded your sister with flowers and showers of compliments. But, you weren’t spiteful. This is the regular.

Camilo stood from afar. Watching you and building up enough courage to talk to you.

“Hey, Isabella?” He caught his cousin's attention.

“Could you make some flowers for me. Please?”

The young lady was a bit confused. She made a bouquet of white carnations. Wrapping it up in a quaint little bow.

He took a deep breath before making his way over to you. Just before you were about to stow away inside the carriage.

“Hey!” A voice behind you called. Confused, you turned your head around to see. Only to have a face full of flowers instead. Immediately you spit out the flowers that went into your mouth. Camilo backed away.

“Ah, sorry sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you there.” He apologised. Trying to act as casual as he can.

You awkwardly coughed. “It’s fine. Uh.. are these for me?” You pointed towards the massive looking bouquet.

“Yeah. It’s a welcome present from my family. You may have heard of us; the Madrigals.” He slyly said.

You gasped lightly. Heart soaring a mile a minute. Shit, shit, shit- you have to make a good impression! Your poor father can’t be put on the road again after one night. And to be fair, neither can you,

Grabbing the carnations, his finger grazed over yours. A slight tang came in his heart.

“Thank you so much. But, you do realise I’m not Maria, right?”

Camilo became confused. Maria? Who was Maria?

“Who’s Maria?” He asked.

“My sister. She’s the one with the actual talent. Most of the eligible boys go after her, so it’s surprising you came to me…”

To be perfectly frank, Camilo was stunned. You- you didn’t get any praise or attention!? It couldn’t be just him in awe of your singing skills.

“That’s so stupid! Your 10x more talented than your sister. And, in no offence to your sister, more-“

He cut himself off and blushed. Shutting his mouth before he said more.

The intense heat coming to your face was very laughable. Not able to comprehend this kinda compliment from anyone but your father. You didn’t know what to say. Only pursing your lips shut.

“… uh… thank you. I- uh, I’ll be heading back in.. now. T-thank your grandmother for me about the lovely flowers,” you said, inching back into the carriage, “have a lovely night!”

With that you shut the door. Trying to regain your breath from the entire experience. Your sister was at the dressing table, fixing her makeup. She raised an eyebrow at your flushed face.

“What’s up with you?” She questioned, in her usual snarky tone. You shook it off and placed the carnations into an empty vase. Her eyes widened at the sight.

“Hold on, did someone get you flowers?” She gasped. Jealous it wasn’t hers, as usual.

“Y-yes. A boy; a member of the Madrigals.” You softly smiled, caressing the soft petals.

She scoffed. “Poor thing. He must be blind! That’s the only explanation of this… this!”

“I don’t understand. Your the one that got moms face.” She commented, walking off to change. You looked up at her.

“Maria, don’t talk about mom that way…” you expressed. She snickered.

“So what, she’s dead. Your looks made her grieve so much she went ahead and died!” She cackled, disregarding your voice cracking as the sniffles came in.

You despised your doppelgänger.

— 𓆩 ☆ 𓆪 —

The Madrigal home was bustling. Everyone had gone off to bed, with Camilo still curious about the (L/N) family. He waltzed up to his grandmother who was ready to retire for the night.

“Abuela, can I ask you something? How long will that circus family stay with us?” He asked.

“Well, they said for a month or 2. But, tomorrow night I’ve asked them to come for dinner. To convince them to stay in Encanto, Camilo.”

His eyes lit up. If his grandmothers plan works, he’d have more time with S/O.

This is it- he couldn’t wait for tomorrow!

@salami2

#encanto #camilo madrigal #camilo madrigal x reader #x reader #dolores madrigal #isabela madrigal

[damonalbarn]

Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

#questions #damon albarn #justine frischmann #blur #elastica