#not thrilled with the colors but i do like them more than the original

[ace-of-gay]

I currently dont have a masterlist set up for this collection but i hope you enjoy this none the less, this will eventually be posted on ao3 but i dont have an account currently

Not betad or edited

Warnings: age regression, self neglect (not eating, not sleeping, etc.) slight panicked reader but not nearly enough to be a full warning, reader is a half ghoul half human cause this is my interpretation of a fantasy universe <3, cuddles!!!

age regression is a coping that can both voluntary and/or involuntary it is entirely safe and reccomended by therapists if they believe it would be effective for said person but as mentioned for some people it is entirely unpredictable, if this makes you uncomfortable please carry on thank you <3

This was originally written for my best friend so keep in mind this is our dream and thoughts and may not fit well into the ghost universe

Word count: 2,025 words

Nameless ghouls and papa copia taking care of half ghoul reader

Having spent a restless night wasnt uncommon for your or any of the ghouls, especially when seasons and elements were changing, you spent a good few weeks of the tour in your element but the farther and farther you traveled to bring enlightenment to others around the world the more the weather seemed to shift, this most recent nights travel not only took you to a new scene and new spirit of buzzing thrill but a stiffened weight of being completely out of your element, while yes it effects all ghouls it affected you far different.

Being part ghoul meant you weren't as aware of your instincts so feeling them shift always left you in a silent suffocating shock.

With so much bustle amongst the ghouls, papa having a chipper edge to his seemingly endless worries it kept the team heightened and moving, preparing and running through the setlist, this will be the biggest show yet in a city youre entirely new to.

You hid the encroaching feeling well, never once had any of the ghouls questions any difference to your demeanor; having one responsibility after another kept you busy all day nevery staying in one area for long, earbuds in and mask upon your dome, it was same as others methods of preparing just more secluded and in your zone, if there were any changes in anything at all papa, the ghouls and ghoulettes knew that they could calmly inturupt you in your flow.

Listening to every part of the setlist through the literal audio versions of it, everything on the outside seemed normal to everyone but the electric vibrations in your joints and dull ache in your head told you plenty, to the others you were staying silent to save your voice for later so to speak but to you the weight of speaking was way heavier than your desire to ask for help or for rest.

With the show quickly approaching and you having forgotten to eat you downed not one but two energy drinks, spiking youre adrenaline temporarily in hopes itd get you through the show.

All you had to do was get through the night off of artificial energy and true passion for others joy. Just like the full ghouls you spent your time during the show in your human form but unlike them you had a harder time forcing it to stay when you were exhausted.

Papa copia unbeknownst to you had his eye on you, hes the only one who saw you this morning, the deep bags under your eyes and your ghoulish grey having a pale green seemingly sickly color easily masked by your helmet, if all went well youd rest for extra tonight but he didn't see that being the only end to the night.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

You were a fan favorite, when you weren't singing backup vocals you were running around stage with your hagstorm base shredding in duos with swiss, bursts of fire being shot upwards, the only time you stay away from the edge of the stage, the light from the fire glinting against the slightly matte chrome picguard, just enough to catch you right in the eye blurring your vision with a blinding flash.

to the congregation watching below your jolts you send into moving your bass guitar looked like flare but for you it was sheer panic, the blinding flash was just enough to put you on the edge of tipping into a deeply unwanted headspace at the moment.

prancing over to where mountain is perched at his drums you take yourself out of the limelight and hide yourself in the downcast shadows from his drums, with the last three chords being extended for showmanship you give a desperate glance to papa with hope that he'll see your glance, and such he does.

You station yourself once more at your mic, you stum the starting chords and belt out backup vocals for the final song, your throat aches as your human form is slipping, your eyes having small flickers of change and a small stumble thankfully met with a stomp on the down beat.

papa makes his way your direction ending the set list with 'Darkness at the heart of my love', when it gets to the part without vocals he does hand flourishes while you play your bass passing by with his mic down "tieni duro piccolo", walking his way around the stage to stand center and finish up the song.

In a blurr of time everything felt like it was on sparks of muscle memory and you were at the front with all other ghouls taking a well deserved bow with a standing ovation for each and every single one of you.

Papa copia was the first to lead off stage letting the ghouls throw picks and a few drumsticks from mountain and what not, you didn't stay long to see everything but you did notice people throwing things onstage as gifts; off stage setting down your bass in a stand you stumble into papas open arms.

Your forehead lay gently atop his chest still in your helmet your horns sit near his collar bone shaking yohr head, "i cant papa, i cant" not entirely sure yourself what you meant he hummed in understanding and hushed you, gently rubbing your back and swaying side to side, "stai bene piccolo ghoul, you can rest now. Ive got you, matter of factly weve got you"

Finally relaxing enough to let your ghoul form fall free, your tail limp all of you is exhausted and you feel so small but people always said it was weird and not good, they never listened to you when you said it was involuntary or a coping mechanism it was just permanently bad.

"Oh piccolo, shh your thoughts are so very loud my dear, it is okay to be small, the ministry welcomes all with coping, we will care of you"

He holds you closer and tighter humming a tune, and just like that your walls had fallen, there was no more fighting it, big doe ghoulish eyes staring up at him, complete silence from you.

At this point the others had made their way backstage, dew came walking over to take over while papa helped collect all the instruments. "Dew, could you please take them to the bus? We will get everything "

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》in the bus now and changed in comfortable clothes dew led you to the ghoul pile nest, when you refused to sit down he stepped aside watching as you grab your comfort item from your personal bunk and made your way back to the nest laying in the center, followed by him curling himself around you.

The ghouls only ever took their helmets off when in a homely environment so dew having his helmet off was his symbol of saying you are safe.

Once everyone had finished packing up and putting stuff away they had all filed in slowly

Cumulus being the first to stop by you and dew at the nest, holding out a plush ghoul for you that she had picked up from the items thrown on stage, papa copia was next to stop by sitting with you and dew, you hadnt noticed until now that he was asleep holding onto you until mountain joined pulling him off of you so you could lean into papa as he held one of your comfort snacks and a juice, both already having been opened by him, he held you as you snacked.

Once you had finished he got up going to the front to drive the bus.

You were once more pulled into the cuddle pile by dewdrop his eyes open long enough to make sure all of your comfort items were tucked against your chest, between you both, "sleep little one, a tiny ghoul needs plenty of rest" soon joined by the rest you had finally fallen asleep, the ghouls were your element aswell. When finally at the hotel for the evening you were carefully awoken by papa, all the ghouls except dew had gotten up, but even he was awake, but he stayed to keep you warm, "it is time to go in, we are buddy system tonight, four ghouls in a room, each room has two king sized beds so its plentyful room"

You finally let go of dew and stretch, getting up to get ready you realize your overnight bag has already been packed and one of the taller ghouls hoodies layed out next to it, you could hear the ruckus at the front of the bus of all the other ghouls ready to bunk up in the hotel.

You slip on the hoodie which you now know belongs to swiss, his smell encapsulating your mind.

Papa comes up behind you placing a hand on your back "piccolo the ghouls have decided you can pick who youre bunking with, they want to be sure youre okay when tiny, loro ti amano"

You make your way to the front of the bus where you find the ghouls with their charm up. looking to papa followed by you tapping swiss, rain and mountain on the heads, the three stand up, mountain takes your bag and rain scurrys away and back with your mask in hand "are you able to use charm right now or is the mask a better option?" He questions

Taking a moment to test how well the charm feels, you point at the mask. Nodding he gently places it atop your head, he places his hand under your chin causing you to look up so he can buckle it up and tan pats you atop your head, swiss gently pulls the back of the hoodie at the bottom away from your back "curl your tail tiny" tucking it under the hoodie

Once in the room mountain sets down the bags he was carrying and helped take the mask off of your noggin, ruffling your hair causing you to chirp in response, rain and swiss hop on the bed closest to the door leaving the one near the window "copia is ordering food for everyone, hes getting youre favorite for you" mountain chimes, grabbing to tv channel guide and flipping through it.

"Movie?" You mumble causing all three of them to look over, normally youre completely silent when youre small, "you wanna watch a movie?" He questions flicking on the tv and sitting on the bed, he turns on Wall-E for you.

Sometime a few minutes later he feels you shuffle closer on the bed cuddling into his side with your comfort item in hand.

After dinner was delivered and eaten and the movie was over you had tucked yourself on your side of the bed you shared with mountain, rains lamp still on so he could read while swiss was practically cuddled ontop of him, every time you would shift or turn in bed they could hear it, causing them to watch you carefully when youd move or grumble is dissatisfaction.

there was just no way to get comfortable, this wasnt home or the bus, you werent wrapped in your family, you huff out rolling over to look at mountain, to your suprise he was looking right at you quizically.

You quickly curl into his side before he got the chance to say anything, "o parum ghoul, mi amor, papa is right, your thoughts really are so very loud" swiss sighs, pulling himself out of his bed followed by rain who lay on your open side and swiss next to mountain, it may not be a perfect ghoul pile but its better than before, rolling over when rain pulls out his book to read aloud, your head on his chest.

listen to the thrum and Rumble deep in his chest, your eyes fall closed but not before you wrap your tail around swiss' wrist where it resides clutched around mountain, your mind will feel fresh and lively tomorrow filed with the itmost of energy, especially after an evening full of cuddles and littlespace, rain places a gentle kiss atop your head and just like that you are asleep.

#nameless ghouls x reader #nameless ghouls x little reader #cardinal copia x little reader #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia x male reader #nameless ghouls x gn reader #agere reader #swiss x reader #mountain x reader #rain x reader

[kpopfanfictrash]

The Horrible Un-Haunting of Elliot House

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Ghost!AU / Romance / Comedy (?)

Pairing: Seokjin / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Some houses are harder to sell than others but you, Y/N, are determined to find the (supposedly) haunted Elliot House a new owner. That is, until it's very real and very hot exceedingly well-dressed ghost decides to make himself known. If only you didn't find yourself enjoying the knowing.

Rating: PG-13 (kissing but nothing beyond that)

Word Count: 6,214

Author's Note: hope you enjoy this random Halloween "drabble"! This got oddly angsty? I suppose that happens with ghost love LOL

[ Cross-Posted to Wattpad ]

“Through here,” you say, leading the Gundersons through an arched door. “You’ll find the most adorable sunroom.”

The Gundersons both gasp, appropriately awed by the tall walls of windows. Each panel is topped with stained glass, casting colorful patterns across the checkered floor. Technically, the sunroom isn’t part of the original house – it was added in 1975 during a brief period the address was owned by a cult – but you rarely disclose this fact during tours. Most people don’t care which parts of the house are original, so long as they can say they bought a 19th century Tudor.

Not that you blame them. Most people (or at least, sane people) appreciate the romanticism of an old structure without actually wanting to live in one. Modern amenities are the top benefit of progress, after all. The government couldn’t pay you to live without modern heating, plumbing, or refrigeration.

“Margaret, did you see?” Arthur Gunderson, a slightly rotund lawyer, and husband of said Margaret, gestures emphatically. “I’ll be damned if this stained glass isn’t Tiffany! See there, see that stamp in the corner?”

“Good eye, sir!” you chirp, barely glancing up from your clipboard.

Truthfully, you aren’t sure whether the glass is authentic. The cult that installed could hardly be called profitable (they sold the house at a loss after less than ten years, although this likely had more to do with crimes committed on said property than their income, but you digress), so you’d be hard-pressed to believe they could afford real Tiffany.

If this is what convinces the Gundersons to buy though, you’re hardly a realtor to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Ticking a box in the upper right corner – sunroom – you look up. “Right, well. That’s most of the lower level.” Pivoting on your heel, you head towards the corridor. “If you two will follow me upstairs, we can –”

“What’s that?”

Steps slowing, you stare at the plaster wall. A moment passes, then two before you convince yourself to turn around. When you see where Arthur Gunderson points, a relieved breath leaves your lips.

“Oh, that?” Floorboards squeak as you cross the room, sounding almost like laughter. “That’s the cellar. I’d offer you a look but unfortunately, the staircase isn’t quite up to code. You’ll need someone to look at that ASAP if you buy.”

Hovering at the wooden door, you grasp its bronze knob and pull. Tugging the cord for the light, you briefly scan the stairs but spot nothing unusual. Mostly convinced, you dutifully step aside.

“Feel free to look,” you say brightly.

The Gundersons crowd the landing you vacated.

“Careful, honey,” Arthur warns, holding Margaret’s elbow. “These stairs are steep.”

Standing on tiptoe, Margaret peers beyond him into the basement gloom. It could be your imagination, but she almost seems disappointed. A few cobwebs and shadows line the staircase, but nothing more sinister.

Hiding a smile, you check the next box. Cellar. Sometimes, people request to see this house not because they’re interested in buying it, but for the thrill. Entering the haunted Elliot house and surviving will make a great tale to tell their friends over cocktails.

Lowering your clipboard, you glance upward. So far, everything has gone to plan, which is partly the problem. You must’ve shown this house thirty times and always, something has gone wrong by now. Before being assigned its realtor, you believed in the paranormal, but only in a theoretical way. Not because you’d witnessed anything spectral.

Your opinions since then have changed.

Turning sharply, you plaster a smile on your face. “Shall we?”

Stepping back, Margaret pulls wiry frames from her jacket pocket. “I must admit,” she says with an embarrassed laugh. “Based on what our last realtor said, I was expecting far worse from this property.”

Although your smile tightens, you nod. The other realtor had a point – Elliot house could be temperamental, at best. Downright petulant, at worst. You glare again at the ceiling.

“We get that a lot,” you say, ushering them down the hall. Best not to linger. “Whenever a house sits too long on the market, you know – people talk. Lots of rumors!”

“Oh, sure,” Arthur says, passing you with a chuckle. “We’re not superstitious, don’t worry.”

“Oh?” you say lightly, remaining behind. “That’s good to know. Now, if you head down the hall, you’ll reach the foyer. All the crown molding you pass is original. The house’s first owner and builder, Daniel Baker, was something of a craftsman. He –”

Abruptly, you cease talking and stare at the stairwell. Halfway down the steps, where before there was nothing, sits a perfectly ripe orange. Eyes narrowed, you stare at this a long beat before yanking the light cord down and shutting the door.

Glancing upward, you hiss, “Not today, I swear to – well, whatever hellish being you worship.”

The wind sounds almost like laughter, but you don’t stick around long enough to find out if that’s true. Shaking your head, you traipse down the front hall in search of the Gundersons. Luckily, they’re too busy taking pictures of the aforementioned crown molding to have noticed your absence.

“Shall we?” you say, gesturing at the front stairs.

Pocketing their phones, they begin their ascent. You wait at the bottom, giving them space to discuss the house. From personal experience, buyers tend to appreciate when you don’t hover.

Besides, the grand staircase is your favorite feature – equal parts artwork and functionality. From your place at its bottom, you admire the craftsmanship. Starting the climb, your fingertips skim whorls in the wood and for a second, you feel a phantom hand rest over yours.

Scowling darkly, you yank your palm away. Reaching the landing, you clutch at your clipboard tighter and walk forward.

“This way!” you say, practically shoving the Gundersons into the first bedroom.

While they ooh and ah about the bay windows, you tick another box on your spreadsheet. Master bedroom.

The second you’re done, the pen slips from your grasp and hovers in mid-air. It then turns, point-down, to scrawl something in the margin.

‘Master’ bedroom? Kiiind of racist, don’t you think?

Teeth gritted, you snatch your pen back. “I wasn’t the one who created the spreadsheet, okay?” you whisper. “And while, yes, I agree, and other realtors are moving away from that language, I don’t–”

“Pardon?” Arthur Gunderson peers, confused, over his shoulder.

Somewhat manic, you smile. “Oh, nothing,” you say, the words sounding high-pitched, even to you. “I was just reminding myself to show you the main bathroom. Beautiful claw-foot tub.”

“Oh. Sure,” says Arthur, returning to his wife.

Head whipping sideways, you glare at the most likely place Seokjin would be. A chuckle drifts past your ear on the other side, and your scowl deepens.

Once an appropriate amount of time goes by, you usher the Gundersons into the next bedroom. Hovering outside, you calculate how quickly you can convince them to leave. The longer they stay, the worse the so-called haunting will be.

You should have known better than to show them this house, but they were insistent. Or at least, Arthur was. Margaret seems reasonably paranoid, which you deem a positive quality. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius has heard of the haunted Elliot house.

Even the name is confusing, since it doesn’t bear the name of its builder, Daniel Baker, nor its longest resident, Mr. Josiah Whitley. Instead, it’s named for Nathaniel Elliot, the cult leader who murdered a man on its premises in 1978. Obviously, this fact wasn’t known to the public until after the cult sold the house and moved far away.

Eventually, Mr. Elliot was tried and found guilty of murder, but this was much later. Wincing a little, you glance at the ceiling. Seokjin has said many times that ghosts can’t read minds, but you wouldn’t put it past him to lie for a punchline. Even if he can’t read your mind, the faint scent of cedar lets you know he’s nearby.

Quickening your stride, you show the Gundersons the next bedroom. “This is one of my favorites,” you say, pulling hard on its warped door. “The view from that window is stunning. You can see all the way to the brook!”

Taking the bait, Margaret crosses the room. “Oh, look, Arthur!” she exclaims, leaning forward. “There’s a gazebo!”

He follows at a more leisurely pace, frowning when he spots a lone cobweb in the corner. Sighing, you swipe at this as you pass, almost certain the web wasn’t there this morning.

While the two converse, you pull out your clipboard and run down the list again.

Most days at your job are like today – running down lists and waiting for other people to make their own life decisions. Becoming a realtor wasn’t so much a choice as it was thrust upon you. When your mom got sick your senior year of grad school, you returned to take care of her and finished your coursework remotely.

There were only so many jobs with flexible hours, and you ended up getting your realtor’s license to support her on the side. When your mom passed, you stuck around to sort out her paperwork and affairs. Two years later, everything is in order and still, you remain. Stuck in a holding pattern, showing houses and too afraid to try your hand at anything different.

BANG.

The sudden noise from above plunges the room into silence. Both Arthur and Margaret swivel, wide eyes landing on you.

Margaret’s glasses chain trembles. “What was tha–”

“My assistant,” you blurt, backing towards the door. “He mentioned he would stop by to drop off some keys. That must be him – I’ll go and check!”

“But…” Arthur stares. “The noise came from above.”

“Be right back!” you call, stepping into the hall.

As fast as possible without raising suspicion, you rush down the hall. “Seokjin,” you hiss, hand skimming the banister as you descend. “Stop that right now!”

No one responds – not that you thought he would. Crossing the foyer, you reach the cellar door and yank it open. Flicking the overhead light, you see the orange has disappeared. Rolling your eyes, you shut the door.

“This isn’t funny,” you huff out loud to no one.

Far above you, a low groan shakes the house. Honestly, it sounds more sexual than scary, but you suppose that only makes it more sinister. Reaching the foyer, you slow your pace and set down your clipboard. Suppressing a sigh, you glance at the clock. This has happened enough times that you can predict things to the minute.

Crossing your arms, you tap your foot and count down in your head.

One – increased groaning. Sometimes from the cellar, often the attic and, during one memorable visit, from behind a locked bathroom door.

Two – shuffling feet while the Gundersons (insert buyer’s name here) debate whether to run or wait it out. They hastily whisper, wondering if it’s their minds playing tricks.

Third – laughter. Seokjin will say it sounds lilting but to you, his laughter is more akin to a car’s windshield wipers. Today, said laughter drifts from the main bedroom, immediately followed by the Gundersons’ screaming.

Directly above you, Margaret’s heels pound wooden floors. Wincing, you make a mental reminder to buff the scuffs from the wood.

“ARTHUR!” she calls, her voice pitching upward.

“Right behind you!” he bellows.

When the lights in the foyer flicker, you lean against the grand railing. In your experience, there’s nothing you can do now to save the showing. As soon as Seokjin reveals himself, it’s only a matter of time.

“Whoooo dareeessss to disturrrrrb meeeee!” he wails, and you try not to laugh. “This is MYYYY homeeee and you are nooooot welcomeeeee! OoOOOOooooOOo!”

Arthur is first down the stairs. Reluctantly, you step forward – as their realtor, you’ll try to calm them down and get them out. All part of the plan. What’s not part of the plan is Arthur’s blind panic, elbowing you – hard – in the stomach as he runs past.

Concaving, you stumble, your foot catching on a loose floorboard as you fall backwards. Suddenly, a pink cushion slides between you and the floor. You land in the middle of it, shocked but unharmed.

Arthur yanks open the front door. “You!” he blurts, whipping around to point. Blinking, you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder. “Yes, you,” he scoffs, spittle flying as Margaret runs past. “I don’t know if this is your idea of a sick joke or what, but your manager will be hearing from me!”

Before you can formulate a response, Arthur is out the front door. You hear the sound of their car starting, exhaust billowing behind them as they speed down the street.

Propping yourself on one elbow, you release a sigh. The house has fallen silent, almost sheepish in its total lack of sound. Head lolling back, you glare at the ceiling.

“You are so annoying,” you groan, well-aware you sound crazy. “I honestly don’t know what you’re looking for, Seokjin. The Gundersons were fine.”

The front door slams.

An outline of a person materializes between you and the living room, seeming composed of dust motes and sunshine. Turning your glare in their direction, you tap your fingers against the oak floor.

Seokjin solidifies fully, rakishly leaning against the paneled wall. He’s dressed in the same navy three-piece suit he wore when he died, albeit with his hair styled in this century’s fashion. Seokjin once said ghosts are able to change their appearance, but most choose not to. There’s little point to it, and it wastes precious energy.

Sadly, he shakes his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Seokjin says, his deep timbre resonating through floorboards beneath you.

“Show off,” you mutter.

Lips twitching, he crooks a finger. The foyer light ceases to flicker, and Seokjin straightens. Dusting invisible dust from his shoulders, he walks forward.

“The Gundersons were tiresome,” he says. “I would’ve been bored of them in months, started haunting again, and this house would’ve gone right back on the market. Really, I saved you trouble in the long run. You can thank me later.”

“Oh, no,” you deadpan. “Two commissions on the same property. What a horrible fate.”

“Exactly. You’re welcome.”

Fighting an eye roll, you push yourself upward with cushion in hand. At least Seokjin was kind enough to break your fall, even if he caused the circumstances which led to it in the first place.

Brushing the dirt from the cushion, you shake your head. “You do know that eventually, someone will buy this house and you’ll have to make peace with that fact. Right?”

When Seokjin doesn’t immediately respond, you look up. His dark gaze lingers a second longer than necessary, briskly looking away when he catches you watching.

“I know,” Seokjin says, turning around. “Might I point out though, that I don’t have to make peace with anything. Ghost,” he adds, pointing at himself. “Not making peace with things is our bread and butter.”

“People have owned this house before, though.”

“Boring people,” Seokjin mutters.

“That didn’t seem to bother you back then!”

Seokjin enters the living room. “Ugh,” he groans, dropping onto a chaise. Dust motes spiral around him, as though he were solid. “If I must be trapped on the material plane, Y/N, the least the material plane could do is provide some entertainment. And the lovemaking of two seventy-year-olds doesn’t count,” he adds, fixing you with a glare.

Stifling laughter, you follow him into the parlor. Fluffing the cushion, you replace it on its chair and survey the room. Seokjin lounges dramatically and it could be your imagination, but he almost looks solid. More so than the first time you met, anyways.

He nearly scared the shit out of you, back then. Everyone at the firm warned you this house was haunted but were purposefully vague on the supernatural. The warnings they gave you were borderline mundane.

Oh, yeah, that house has been on the market forever. People say that it’s haunted, but I’d honestly be more worried about rats. Or asbestos – popcorn ceilings didn’t age well for a reason. And I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard a convict once lived in the basement for three months before the cops caught him. Watch out for that!

You entered this house with more than your usual trepidation, pepper spray in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Apparently, the wiring wasn’t all up to code – something you’ve since rectified with the city.

The sound of the door creak could’ve been written by the Brothers Grimm themselves, textbook gothic. Your flashlight swept over dusty floors, faint footprints remaining to remind you of its past. Spine steeled, you forced yourself to continue.

Finding a light switch, you flicked upward, and the chandelier came to life. The lighting was dim, barely enough to see by on a rainy day. Keeping your flashlight, you wandered into the parlor and came to a sudden stop. Forest green wallpaper lined the walls, remarkably intact for its age. Stunned, you turned in a slow circle.

Moody maximalism was one of your favorite design styles, and this room was made for it. With a slightly better attitude, you resumed your walk-through, discovering a hidden cupboard in the kitchen and a dumbwaiter to nowhere. The second-floor entry point had been boarded up, but that could be rectified.

Some of the woodwork of the house was scuffed, and a few corners held fallen leaves, but overall, it was in great condition. None of the realtors had prepared you for that – you arrived expecting a war zone and were pleasantly surprised.

On the second floor, you found a library – or what had once been the library, given the shelving was empty – that made you audibly gasp. Blue-black custom shelves extended along three of the walls. Closer to the door, a bright square of color remained from where a painting had hung.

Curious, your fingers traced the edges. “This place is unreal,” you murmured to yourself.

“I know, right?” said a voice directly in your ear.

Like any sane person, you screamed and jumped skyward. Your flashlight fell, its beam rolling over and over until it hit a baseboard. You didn’t stick around to find out, turning fast on your heel and bolting into the hall.

Thundering down the front stairs – wincing as the wood groaned – you nearly reached the foyer when Seokjin appeared.

“Boo,” he said calmly, between you and the door.

Coming to a shuddering halt, your hand gripped the railing. The ghost was impeccably dressed, if slightly invisible, and raised a dark brow in response to your flight.

Gaze darting sideways, you sought a second exit but all you could recall was the cellar and that wasn’t an option. Years of training from watching scary movies kicked in at that point, and you slowly straightened. Running away would do nothing – a ghost could follow you anywhere – so, maybe reasoning with him would be the best option.

“What do you want?” you asked, masking your fear to plant both hands on your hips. “Who are you?”

Surprise flared in his – admittedly attractive – gaze. Some of the shock had worn off by then, and you could admit to yourself (if to no one else) that the ghost before you was hot. Even thinking this felt ridiculous, and you wondered if your already-fragile grasp on reality was slipping.

Taking a single step forward, the ghost cocked his head. When you stumbled back, his lip quirked, and he appeared by your side.

“Who am I?” he mused, walking in a slow circle. “Awfully strange to ask me that, when I’m the person that died here, and you’ve never stepped foot in this house until now. I would know.”

Started, you turned your head.

This was a mistake since it allowed you to see every ridge of his features. The rounded tip of his nose, his enviably full lips, and a curve to his jawline which could likely cut glass.

Forcing your gaze upward, you found him focused on you. “You… died here?” you asked before you could think better.

His lips thinned. “You know, it’s very rude to ask a ghost how they died. It’s personal.”

“Oh,” you said. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask,” the ghost replied with a sigh.

Your eyes narrowed, hearing barely hidden laughter in his tone. This ghost was making fun of you. The audacity!

Incensed by this, you lifted your chin. “Wouldn’t asking you whether it’s polite to ask about death be asking you about death, though?”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged, slipping both hands in his pockets. “There really isn’t a good way for you to bring up that conversation.”

A laugh escaped, despite yourself.

His gaze flickered, as though oddly pleased. Quickly, the ghost scanned you from your shoes to your face, where he lingered.

“I’m curious,” he mused, resuming his walk in a circle.

Despite your discomfort, you forced yourself to stay still. Even though you could feel each place his gaze lingered – your shoulders, your collarbone, tacing the slope of your cheekbones.

“What are you curious about?” you asked, pushing the words past your lips.

He stopped between you and the door again. Slipping both hands from his pockets, he crossed his arms over his chest. The way his biceps strained against his suit was intriguing, implying there was something to strain against. Dimly, you wondered what a ghost’s gym routine looked like.

Your lips twitched at the thought, and the ghost scowled.

“Stop that,” he commanded. “You should be terrified. I was curious about why you haven’t run yet. Anyone else would’ve by now.”

“Would they?”

“Based on my experience, yes.” He tilted his head. “This is the first time I’ve introduced myself to someone and they stayed. Well,” he amended through teeth. “Stayed without crucifixes, holy water, and a priest.”

“Does that really work?” you wondered, genuinely curious.

“Does what work – exorcism?”

You nodded.

“Clearly not.” He waved a hand down his body. “At least, not in my case. When I first died, I wanted to move on. I was even excited when the first priest arrived, but he did nothing, and neither did the next one… eventually, I stopped hoping. Started haunting, instead.”

“Well, sure,” you said, dazed.

His lips twitched. “My name is Seokjin, by the way. Not that you asked.”

“That was literally one of the first things I asked!”

Ignoring this, Seokjin stuck out his hand. “And you are?”

“Y/N,” you said, ignoring the impossibility of what you were about to attempt while extending your palm. “Nice to meet you.”

Your hands met in the middle and, instead of passing through, you felt your palms brush. For a moment, you touched calluses and warm skin, smelling the faint scent of cloves.

Seokjin went utterly still.

Chin jerking down, he stared at your joined hands. “That’s… never happened before.”

Retracting swiftly, you said the first thought that came to mind. “What? Never touched a woman?”

Scowling, he retracted his hand as well. “I was thirty when I died, Y/N. Not thirteen.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, then paused. “You… haven’t been able to touch anyone since you died?”

“Things, yes. People, no.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “A psychic visited me once. The owners at that time brought her, wanting to see if she could get rid of me.” Seokjin snorted. “She got them to pay her, then said, ‘No.’ Hilarious. And interesting,” he added. “She told me she’d met other ghosts, ones that could interact. Never seemed to work for me, though.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. For it being your first encounter with the supernatural, nothing about this had gone as imagined. You weren’t sure how to converse with a ghost who, for all intents and purposes, seemed fairly normal.

Except for the whole ‘being dead’ part.

“Well.” You shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

His expression remained inscrutable, but for the faintest of seconds, you thought Seokjin looked intrigued. After a moment, he moved closer and leaned in. You caught the faintest whiff of orange, cloves, and cedar on what could have been his breath.

“I suppose there is,” he murmured, and then disappeared.

Since then, Seokjin has appeared each time you returned. The second time, you were halfway convinced your first visit was a hallucination. A theory Seokjin seemed content to feed into, refusing to show himself until you were about to leave. Then, he jumped through the hall closet to yell, “MUTINY!” and cement his presence in your mind.

Seokjin doesn’t dress the same every time. A few weeks into your friendship (if one can call it that), he informed you he could change his appearance but hadn’t done it much. It took energy to appear on the mortal pane, more so if his appearance was altered.

Still, you’ve learned Seokjin will do pretty much anything to commit to a bit. His brand of haunting tends to border on comical. Putting his arms on backwards, headless juggling, vomiting wine – really anything is fair game if not truly grotesque. By now, you’ve seen his whole gambit, which is how you can say today’s performance was lackluster.

Sprawled on the chaise, one foot dangling, Seokjin looks every bit of the tragic lothario. Again, you can’t help but wonder whether he’s gained permanence since the last time you saw him. You could almost swear the chaise sinks under the weight of his frame.

“What is it?” he demands, lazily pushing himself upward.

Something in your chest flutters, although you ignore it. Arms crossed, you fix him with a look of disdain. It’s sinful for Seokjin to look as good as he does – and the worst part is, you know it’s not an illusion.

After you met the third time, you Googled his name along with the house and found multiple hits. Seokjin Kim was killed on October 31st, 1978, by Nathanial Elliot, the leader of the Sunny Days cult. Both Seokjin’s parents joined two years prior, and he’d tried unsuccessfully to convince them to leave by mail and phone.

Eventually, he visited in person and convinced them to go – unfortunately, Nathanial caught wind of the situation and killed Seokjin before this could happen. You saw photos of Seokjin from then and can confirm he was always devastatingly handsome. Often, you’ve wondered if he left someone behind – a wife or a girlfriend – but can’t bring yourself to ask. You aren’t sure which answer would hurt more.

Regardless, you know Seokjin was missed. His parents were the ones who took down the Sunny Days cult, putting their leader behind bars for killing their son. Seokjin admitted once that they tried to tear this house down. They didn’t know he was tied to the grounds, and he didn’t want to tell them. It would’ve been harder for them to move on, he explained, and your heart broke a little.

Not long after that, you accidentally let it slip that Seokjin had a scent. It made him howl with laughter, nearly falling down the front stairs – not that this would’ve hurt him. From then on, Seokjin showed off his growing ability to move solid objects by leaving oranges for you in the house whenever you came. Only another of his practical jokes but lately, it’s made your skin hot to think of.

You realized you felt more than you should for him last month when he saved you from falling. Determined to clear out the cellar, your entire foot went through the first step and Seokjin pulled you to safety.

“Careful,” he murmured, one arm wrapped around your waist. Gently, he eased you backwards and onto the landing. “The top step is rotted through. You’ll need to call in someone to fix that.”

Unable to speak, you nodded and quickly disentangled. Each place he had touched, your skin tingled, and not at all unpleasantly. Since that day, your feelings have only worsened. Sometimes, you wonder if he knows.

Sometimes you wonder whether he feels the same, no matter how hopeless it is.

Heaving a great sigh, Seokjin stands from the couch. Lifting both arms, he stretches this way and that like an overgrown cat. The end of his shirt comes untucked, displaying a flat strip of skin you refuse to acknowledge.

Forcing your gaze to his face, you lift a single brow. Weeks after meeting, you considered Seokjin your friend, or at least an acquaintance. Now, you can’t call this friendship, but not because things between you have worsened. It’s because the more time you spend together, the more you find yourself wishing for something impossible. Something more.

“You know what,” you tell him. “There’s no need to scare off every potential buyer.”

Seokjin pauses, then lowers his arms. “There’s a need when they’re terrible. I’m the one forced to live with them for eternity, not you.”

“It’s not an eternity, though,” you tried to joke. “Eventually, they’ll die – or, so one would presume.”

Seokjin’s face hardens. Before you can take another breath, he’s standing before you. “Much better,” he says, his voice like steel. “I love being reminded that, while the world continues to age around me, I never will. I’ll simply stay on this godforsaken plot of land until the earth is destroyed by its own inhabitants. How long do you think that’ll take, Y/N? One decade? Two?”

Eyes wide, you stare at him in shock.

Seokjin has never spoken to you like this before. Usually, he’s far more cavalier about his reality, easily accepting the fact that he’s a ghost. Never once has he ranted about the world passing by. In fact, Seokjin frequently throws in your face that you’ll soon have more wrinkles than him.

For the first time, you wonder if all that is a front. If perhaps, deep down, all his lackadaisicalness is merely a cover for a deeper kind of fear.

Slowly, you move closer. “I didn’t mean to be dismissive,” you murmur. “Of course, I don’t want you to be forced to live with people you hate. I just meant…”

You trail off, uncertain and Seokjin’s face softens. He moves even closer, his scent comforting you in a way you can’t explain. In a way it shouldn’t be.

“I’ll never get used to this,” you sigh.

You aren’t sure why you’re speaking so softly. Possibly due to his proximity and possibly due to the look in his eyes, studying you as though you’re the impossibility, and not him. Dust motes trail through the air when Seokjin lifts a hand.

With bated breath, you watch as he reaches towards you. At the last second, he shifts and lightly brushes your jaw.

Sharply, you inhale because you feel it. You feel him.

“Seokjin,” you whisper. “What are you…”

Gently shushing, he leans in, and you feel his breath, feather-light, across your skin. Utterly shocked, you go still. It’s his breath that you feel. Breath that shouldn’t exist, according to logic.

Slowly, his gaze drops and stays on your lips. If Seokjin can’t read minds, he must hear your heart racing. The sound of it is all-consuming, drowning out rational thought.

“You want to know what I’m waiting for?” he murmurs, his gaze lifting. “I’m waiting for someone to look at this… house the way you do.”

“A lot of people have liked the house, Seokjin. People who –”

“I don’t want you to sell this house."

Startled, you stop. “Why not?”

His expression twists, revealing his vulnerability. “I think you know.”

Roughly, you exhale.

Yes. You do know. It’s the same reason you’ve half-assed the last six showings at this address. It’s why you keep people from looking, and when they insist, barely attempt to stifle Seokjin’s shenanigans. You could have come earlier today and requested Seokjin to be on good behavior. He would have done it. For you, he would have.

Which is exactly why you didn’t ask.

“I… want to hear you say it,” you say, so low, you’re surprised that he hears.

Achingly slow, Seokjin’s hand slips from your jaw to your neck. When he pulls you closer, you can feel the weight of his hand, the solid pressure that comes from his fingers on your skin.

Your eyes flutter shut.

“I don’t want you to go,” Seokjin murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “If someone else buys this house, you’d stop showing it. You wouldn’t come here again, and I can’t leave these grounds. If someone else buys this place” – his breath hitches – “I won’t see you again. I can stomach eternity, Y/N, but not without you.”

“Seokjin.” His name leaves your lips as a whisper, or prayer.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever…” Eyes opening, you look up. “I don’t want to say it out loud.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Your voice breaks. “That might make it real. What I want can’t be real, so if I say it out loud, it might vanish and right now, it exists in this tentative space. We exist in this space.”

Lightly, his thumb strokes your throat, and you feel your knees buckle. Every callous, every touch feels so horribly real, it’s making it difficult to remember why this can’t be.

“I’ve stopped wondering what’s real and what’s not,” Seokjin murmurs, his gaze tracing your mouth. “Most people say I shouldn’t exist and yet, here I am. They say I shouldn’t be here, able to touch you like this and yet, I am. They say I shouldn’t–”

Rising on tiptoe, you cut him off with your kiss. Seokjin shudders, his lips parted and warm in the shock of the moment.

 “Fuck,” he groans, breaking away to stare at you in wonder.

Before you can respond, he returns, his kiss wild and fierce. Your own desire surges, touching him hesitantly at first, and then with full abandon. Hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, your fingers curl in his hair to anchor him to you.

Cupping your face, Seokjin pulls your body to his. His touch is reverent, deifying while his hands travel lower to land on your waist. His body curves above yours, catching your gasps with the tip of his tongue. Seokjin feels solid beneath you – solid, and warm, and painfully real.

His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing heat down your throat and across your bared collar. Shivers of pleasure shoot through you as he walks you backwards, pressing your spine to the wall. Briefly – wondrously – you laugh, the sound caught again by his kiss.

Within minutes, you’re panting, heart beating wildly as you grip his hair tighter. Seokjin’s leg presses forward, pushing your thighs apart and you nearly dissolve. He moves harder, faster, as though scared that you’ll vanish. This is the opposite of disappearing, though.

This is together, beneath, and on top as –

“Shit,” Seokjin growls, the sound torn from his throat.

Dazed, you look sideways and realize his hand has gone through the wall.

Seokjin stares at his wrist, his chest rising and falling. Everything you can feel is solid, but his hand sinks through the wall about an inch deep. It’s hard to concentrate with him above you, looking like that. Seokjin’s hair remains mussed by your hands, proving you touched him – however briefly.

Lips thinning, Seokjin pulls his hand out. Purposefully, he lays his palm flat on the wall but it’s clear to you both that he’s concentrating. Some of his pressure dissipates.

“I – fuck,” he exhales, dropping his chin.

Gently, you soothe a strand of hair behind his ear. This is the first time you’ve seen Seokjin anything less than immaculate and goddamn, if it doesn’t look good on him. That’s making it difficult to focus on the matter at hand.

The matter at hand. Ha.

Thinking this, a snort escapes your lips before you can stop it. Stunned, Seokjin glances up with wide eyes.

“Did you just… snort?” he asks, incredulous.

You shake your head, and then nod, sheepish. “Um, yes. I did. It’s just…” Now that you’ve started, you can’t help but continue. “I can’t believe the hottest make-out session of my life ended with your fucking hand through a wall.”

Seokjin stares for a long moment before – impossibly – his chest starts to shake. Before long, you’re both laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. Once your laughter has faded though, comfortable silence remains.

Pulling you into his chest, Seokjin’s hand strokes your neck. “I don’t know what this means,” he admits with a sigh.

“Me, either.”

“I do know I want to do that again.”

“Same,” you say, pulling back.

“But…” Seokjin hesitates. “Y/N. You know I’m not… real, right?”

Your heart sinks to your shoes. “You’re real to me.”

“I know.” He speaks softly. “But I –”

Lifting a hand, you press a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” you warn. “Please. I don’t want to think about the future right now. I know I don’t have eternity, but I don’t want what I have without you.”

Something in his gaze breaks but Seokjin merely nods, letting silence fall again. You fear that he’ll vanish, leaving you alone but he merely exhales. The breath brushes your skin.

“Alright,” Seokjin murmurs, winding his hand with yours. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

The ghost of a smile crosses your lips. “What if… we talk about me buying this house?”

© kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission. Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and Happy Halloween!

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfiction #bts fanfiction #seokjin au #jin au #bts au #bts halloween

[thecameronchronicles]

Bet

TW: semi-public sexual actions. Smut. Language. Degrading language. 

SUMMARY: A Series of dares result in secrets being brought to the surface. 

WORD COUNT: 2100

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

"If you want to wuss out, that's up to you, but I'm going for bragging rights..." JJ continued to lead the parade of pogues making their way to the direction of the Crain House.  Only now, John B and Pope were stragglers while you were left with a decision to remain with the wise or continue forward with the reckless. 

"Better a wuss that's alive..." Pope spoke in a loud whisper as JJ simply responded with a middle finger catching the motion sensor and forcing all of the lights throughout the backyard to illuminate the entire scene. 

"You aren't really going are you?" John B asked as he caught your wrist. 

"Already made it this far..." The amount of overgrowth and shadow allowed you to slip undetected behind JJ's charge as he found focus to the window at the side of the house. 

"What now, Mcguver?" You teased as he pulled out his pocket knife. 

"Patience is a virtue..." You rolled your eyes and feigned a yawn before he managed to pry the window open. 

"Ladies first?" 

"I'll gladly follow behind this time."

He began to move forwards before turning back at the last second. But upon doing so, you had already advanced, which brought your lips a mere inch away from his. 

"You just wanna stare at my ass, don't you?" You pushed him forward, unintentionally knocking him ass first into the basement of the house as he grunted. 

"Always thought if you'd bruise my ass it would be from slapping it-"

"Serves you right..." You responded before dropping down in a feline stance and rising effortlessly. 

"Need help?" 

"I'm scared of your help." You pushed him forward and through the clutter of antiquated toys and furniture lining the bottom room of the house. Your eyes collecting at the more feminine of objects as he came to a baseball bat. 

"This could do some damage..." 

"I don't think any of this needs any help..." You explained while sliding your finger over the top of a shelf as dust collected at the pad of your middle digit. 

"Think anything is worth anything?" He questioned as he picked up decor colored a rusted gold. 

"Is that really all you think about?" To this question, his eyes sank to your physique. He began immediately at your chest and down to your legs, mostly exposed for the aesthetic of another pogue's summer in the Outer Banks. 

"Not all..." 

"You're a pig-" A sudden creaking of a top step led your eyes to widen before you were pulled away in the nick of time. 

"Hello?" An elderly woman's voice echoed in the small space around you as his hand wrapped over your mouth. Your body was pulled to a small cavern as he covered you with the protection of his own body. Until this moment, you hadn't made more than an obvious note of his physique. 

He was always admirable from a distance. The way he shredded waves and his muscles tensed to even the most innocent of motions would catch your eye. And yet, you wrote him off to not cross the line of pogues remaining platonic. But the mix of his body pressing into yours and the thrill of being caught made you nearly soaked at the thought alone. 

"She's going back up..." He likes towards you, reading this darker lust behind your eyes. A focus you never had focused on him. And you were shameless as your eyes fell to his lips. 

"Hey, you 'kay?' 

You nodded. "Why did you follow me? You're supposed to be smarter than me…"

"Because we already broke at least two laws...what's another? Plus, it's not that hard to be smarter…" He chuckled for a moment before pulling your hair over your shoulder, playing with the strand before meeting your eyes again. 

"Really though...why?"

"Because Pope and John B play it safe...and it's the last summer before college and I...I want to live...I want to feel alive..." His eyes fell to your lips, watching them part for him. 

"How alive?" 

"Are you offering something, JJ?"

He cocked his head before feigning a pensive silence. 

"Eh, I don't know...not sure if you could handle it, princess."

"I'm not a princess."

He pushed harder into you. 

"Sweetheart then?" His thumb brushed your nipples from over your cropped top. 

"This make you feel alive? Or just wet?" Your lips parted to speak before he reached under the crop, lifting it high enough to reveal your nipple. His eyes stayed on you as you allowed yourself to succumb to how he made you feel. His tongue rolling over your nipple as he exposed both breasts to him, a hand keeping the other one warm as he massaged it into a pinch. 

"What about the rule? We can't break it, JJ…"

"That rule was made before you made that face…those little noise…I'll gladly take the punishment…"

"Quiet..." 

"Ah...." You gasped as he kissed you to ensure you didn't make a noise. But this only led you to grind into him, finding a ready cock pained beneath his shorts. 

"I bet I can make you come for me..."

"I bet you can't make me." You responded as his hand slipped into your shorts. The immediate chill of his rings contrasting the heat of his touch itself. 

"Fuck-"

"Yeah? Oh shit..." He smirked. "This all for me?"

You nodded as he continued manipulating your nipple, but also with the added pleasure of his finger across your clit. 

"When's the last time you came...you're acting like you've never come..." You ignored him as he applied his palm to your clit. A finger threatening your point of entry. 

"Maybe..." But his finger slipped past it and moved further back. 

"I could use this one instead?" 

"Oh...JJ..." You whimpered. 

"Nah...I wanna feel it when you come..." His eyes looked to the steps. 

"I bet you can't stay quiet with two fingers..." You grunted to the pressure as he pumped slowly. 

"Fuck, that sounds so good..." 

You bit your lips closed. 

"You look good...oh shit...you want this, princess?"

"I'm not-"

"Then why are you so sweet?" He asked while brushing your bottom lip with his thumb. But in doing so, you winced at the loss to your breast. 

"You want more?"

"Please don't stop..." 

"You like when I do this?" He asked while kissing your breast, tongue over your nipple as you pulled his hand harder against you. 

"I wanna come...JJ..." You whimpered. 

"I'm not stopping you...But I bet you can't wait..." You nearly sobbed as he withdrew. He took a single step back as he observed you completely breathless for him. 

"You should always be like this..." 

"If you won't finish-" you threatened your hand to yourself as he held it in his grasp. 

"You don't get to touch yourself..." He unbuckled his belt and set your hand into his shorts. 

"You're so hard-"

"I always am around you, you fucking torture me..."

"It would be nice of me to help then, wouldn't it?" He nodded as you began to pump him. 

"Fuck..." He moaned as you reached up and isiess his neck, his palms testing on the wall beside you. 

"Bet you'll come for me..."

"Oh shit...I want to...oh fuck, I want to..."

"I want you to...JJ...I want to feel you come in my hand..."

"Shit...slow down...slow-" he winced as you only obliged when he began to cry from his tip. You brushed your thumb across his head before taking it between your lips. 

"I bet you won't get on your knees for me..."

Your brow cocked. 

"Easy..." You shrugged as you lowered to him. 

"Of fuck..." You took him against your tonsils, the lack of a gag reflex making him flex. 

"You're fucking with me..." But you only looked at him from beneath damp lashes and took him deeper. Faster. 

"Oh my God..." He forced you to take him completely. 

"Careful..."

"Stand the fuck up..." But you shook your head again, taking him faster. He looked down to you, wincing in pain before taking you against the wall, hand over your mouth. 

"You make one fucking noise and everyone from the axe murder of this house to our friends outside are gonna know how much of a fucking slut you are for me...and I don't think twice about it..."

"Fuck me." You whimpered into his hand as he paused. 

"Put it in...you know where it belongs...right..." He groaned as he hiked your leg to his hip, your shorts dripping to your ankle as you were taken against the wall even sharper. 

"Yes...yes..." He wrapped his hand harder around your mouth as he devoured your breast. 

"JJ..." 

"She's gone..." He pulled you across the basement and onto a table, sweeping it clean with an arm, and bending you over it. 

"Fuck...You gonna come for me? Bet you will..."

"Bet you'll come first..." You retorted as he scoffed. 

"Oh shit, I just might..." He folded himself over you, turning you to kiss him before leading that second hand to your clit. 

"Let it go...stop fighting me...I can feel you..." You clenched around him. 

"Yes...yes...keep doing that..."

"This?" You teased as he tore your shirt off your shoulder and but into the exposed skin. 

"Yes...baby, just like that...oh shit..."

"You wanna come?" 

"Oh I'm gonna...just not yet..." You whimpered. "I'm not done..." He pulled you up to his chest. 

"I want you to keep whimpering for me..." He flicked your nipple as you offered those moans to him and he quickened his thrusts. 

"JJ...oh My God..."

"Yeah? Someone gonna come? Hmmm? You not so ahead of me as you thought?" 

"Ah...JJ...oh...ohhhh..."

"Yes baby...all over me...come all-" He scoffed as you shook, promoting his own release as he battered you into the edge of the table. 

"Keep coming...I want you to keep fucking coming... pussy so good..." He gripped your hair. 

"It's all yours..." To this, he grunted, forcing you to drip for him until he pulled you to face him. He took you this way, wincing at the overstimulation. Whimpering for you. 

"I want more..." He groaned. 

"I bet you can't handle it..." 

"I bet you're gonna come again..."

"I could..." You teased, moaning for him as he lost control of himself within you once again. Only now, moaning and pleasing into your skin. 

"I'm gonna fucking ruin this pussy for anyone else..."

"You already have...Oh, JJ...it's yours..." 

"Yeah?" He pulled himself away from you, stroking himself through your folds. 

"You're so mean..."

"It feels so good...look at me..." His expression made you moan. 

"JJ please..."

"I need to make you come again..." He was on his knees, tugging on himself as he was pulling you to the edge of the table. 

"I wanna feel you come on my face...think you can? I bet you can. I bet you can, hard for me, right?" 

"Oh...." But once again the drop step squeaked. 

"Quiet." 

"I can't...it's too..." Two fingers made this worse as you swore you left reality. Your orgasm crashing from heaven itself as your body collapsed towards him and he nodded into you. 

"Keep coming..." He grinned into your thigh, his breathing pattern labored by his own second release before you pulled him against you. 

"If I have to be quiet, so do you..." 

"I bet you can't." You teased as he clenched his jaw as you kissed his neck again, finding a sweet spot that sent him to submit into you. Your body riding against his as you are etching your desperate nails into his shoulders. Your hand was as sore as your thighs and yet nothing stopped you from wanting to feel him come undone once again. But he wore the same convictions as you bucked into him and found initial release in unison. 

"What the fuck happened to you guys in there?" John B asked when you finally made it out, narrowly escaping the owner. Hair a mess and marks of red and beginning bruising worn over you both.

"We have to go!" Pope spoke desperately as you rushed to The Twinkie. Rather quickly, Pope and John B would reprimand you both before facing into their own conversation. All while you and JJ focused on each other. 

"I bet you are still thinking about it..." He mouthed to you. 

"I bet you want more..."

"I bet you'll let me.."

"I bet you wouldn't do anything now..." You spoke into his ear as he slipped his hand over your thigh. 

"I bet you'll be mine before I make you come again."

"You've already lost that..." He hesitated his touch. "I already am..."

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel@phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916 @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

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#outerbanks jj #jjmaybank #jjsmut #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #obx fic #outer bank #outerbanks #obx #outer banks #outer banks smut #obx smut #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction

[hoes-love-lani]

Not What It Looks Like Pt. 1

Request: Omg Lani, I’m so fucking high rn and I gots an idea. What about a ghostface Amber fic where she breaks into r’s house as ghostface. I kinda want it to be like in scream 1996 with Tatum where r goes: “don’t kill me Mr ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel.” But like ghostface/amber spares them for s*x in return. And then r finds out it’s Amber bc of the way ghostface is fucking them. ITS A LOT, I KNOW BUT I FEEL LIKE IM COOKING UP SOMETHING HERE- (anyway, I love your work ;3, keep doing yo shi bsf)

Pairing: Ghostface!Amber x fem!reader

Summary: Ghostface breaks into r’s apartment, fearing for her life, r would do anything to survive.

Warning: Ghostface, breaking in, red text color is ghostface talking, set in scream 5 but with certain characters added from scream 6🤓

A/n: okay Walter white, I see you cooking up something other than that weed :3 I love this request tho, istg I gotta get high more often to create ideas this good LMAO! No but seriously, this sounds amazing and thank you for asking me to write this! (Plus, I find it funny that you censored sex)

You were at your friend Tara’s dorm with the rest of your friend group, playing uno and getting drunk. You were sat down between Tara and your girlfriend Amber. She rested her hand on your thigh as she watched the game, sipping on her beer. 

“Uno!” You raised your hands in the air as a sign in victory, the rest of the group groaning and slamming their cards down onto the wooden dining table.

As you cheered and gloated in front of everyone’s face, the news on the TV started blaring, the siren blaring in your ears.

“Breaking News: Blackmore University film student by the name of Jason Carvey was found brutally stabbed in his dorm. The mutilated body of his roommate, Gary Bruckner, has been found crammed inside the fridge. A bloody Ghostface mask was found on the scene, police ran a DNA test and concluded that the mask belonged to Billy Loomis,”

“The infamous Ghostface of Woodsboro,” You and the group finished the sentence in unison. After the Woodsboro attack, the group moved to New York to live a “normal life”

But it looks like the plans gone to shit.

Amber reached over for the remote and shut the TV off. When you looked at her, her expression was stone cold, her jaw clenched as she stared at the blank screen. You originally thought it was from shock, but there was something in the way her lips pursed too hard that made it seem odd.

“It’s probably not even Ghostface this time, just some random looking for a thrill.” Mindy said as she got up to grab another beer.

“I’m sorry, Catherine Obvious, but have you been here for the past year?” Chad waved his hand in front of Mindy’s face when she sat down. “It’s obviously him… they followed us.” He leaned back his chair, drumming his fingers on his arm.

The room was silent for a moment, everyone taking in the information that no one wanted to hear.

“We need to go.” Sam stared down in the middle of the table, her eyes burning holes into the colorful Uno cards. 

“Psh, Sam, it’ll be fine. Don’t be dramatic.” Amber smirked as she wrapped her arm around your shoulder, her attitude completely different than what it was 10 seconds ago.

Sam threw a death-glance at Amber, about to cuss her out before Anika spoke up, 

“Yeah, I think we’ll be fine. If anything, we have cute boy across the street to help us.” Anika smirked as Sam’s face grew a bright red, muttering something under her breath before beelining to her room.

“Well. I say we call it a night.” Chad said as he stretched his arms over his head.

Everyone agreed and collected their belongings while Mindy was (rightfully) the one to help clean up everything.

————————————————————————

Amber had her arm wrapped around your waist as she walked you back to your dorm. When you arrived, Amber softly kissed your cheek as her other hand traveled up your shoulder, her fingers digging into your skin.

“Be safe, y/n. I can’t handle another one of Sam’s hour-long speeches about sticking together.”

You softly chuckled as she swept a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll try. But if anything happens, I’ll call you. Goodnight, Amber.” You softly squeezed her arm before letting go, entering your dorm as you blew her a kiss.

You locked the door behind you, placing your phone and keys on the entryway table. You stretched your arms above your head, your muscles tense from the game and a pounding headache from the news and the amount of alcohol in your system. 

You walked into your bedroom, taking off your shoes before grabbing a pair of pajamas and heading to the bathroom, your steps slow and relaxed.

The hot water of the shower rained down on you, your muscles relaxing from the aroma of the lavender bodywash that Amber bought for you. The soap suds ran down your curves, collecting at the foot of the shower before being washed away.

When you finished and wrapped yourself in a towel, you walked to the sink to brush your teeth. The spearmint toothpaste lingered in your mouth before being replaced with the strong taste of the cool mint mouthwash you spat out into the sink.

You put in a black bra and a pair of black panties before grabbing your pajamas. The blue cotton antic stuck to your damp body as you pulled the shirt over your head and stepped into the matching pants.

You threw your dirty clothes into the weaven laundry hamper, the bin rocking against the wall for a split second. 

You sat down in front of your vanity, grabbing your brush and running it through the knots in your hair. The brush caught on one particularly big knot in your hair. As you struggled to brush it out, the landline that was sitting on your bedside table started ringing.

“Unknown Number”

The words flashed on the tiny screen as the ringing filled the room.

 Once you brushed out the tangle, you reached over to press the “accept” button on the landline.

“Hello? Y/n speaking. ” You called out as you ran a hand through your hair.

“Hello? Is Maria there?” The voice on the other line was adenoidal and croaky.

Maria was your roommate who was currently out of town, visiting her parents.

“No, she’s not available. Might I ask who this is?”

“I’m Joey. I’m in her trig class” The caller cleared their throat.

“Oh yeah? Joey from trigonometry. How come I’ve never heard of you, Joey from trigonometry?” You smirked as you teased the poor person on the other line.

“You sound exactly like how she describes you.”

“She talks about me?

“I don’t think I can really talk about that.”

“What does she say about me?”

“She says that you’re creative. You love reading and TV and movies.”

“Lots of people love movies.”

“Yeah, but she says you love scary movies and that you guys have that in common.”

“She told me the other day, she wonders…” The voice trailed off for a moment before continuing.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Your ear perked up as you faced the landline, the bright green color of the screen stared at you, blinking the numbers over and over again.

“Well, I really liked “X”. It’s great representation of the psycho-biddy genre.”

“Sounds kinda boring to me. Have you ever seen Stab?”

“Once, i think. At a sleepover when I was, like, 12.”

“You lived in Woodsboro when you were a kid and you don’t know Stab?”

Now that, caught your attention. No one exceopt for the rest of the group knew you were from Woodsboro. You picked up the phone, pulling it to your ear as you made your way back into the living room to grab your cell.

“How’d you know I lived in Woodsboro?”

The voice on the other line was replaced by heavy breathing and the sound of rummaging.

“This isn’t fucking funny, Amber.”

“I told you, this isn’t Amber. But you’re looking particularly fetching tonight. Those blue pajamas really fit you.”

“What do you want?” You grabbed your phone and pulled up the dial button, as you pressed in the 9 and 1, the voice boomed again.

“Stop right there, y/n. You call the cops, you die. You hang up the phone, you die. It’s not hard getting into your dorm. Especially when you leave your window unlocked.”

That’s when you felt the slight breeze behind you. As you turned around, you saw that the living room window was wide open, the wind flowing with the curtains.

You bolted to the window, slamming it shut and locking it. You ran into your room, locking the door behind you.

The voice came on the landline again, “Come on, y/n… Don’t be shy, come and find me…”

You searched every nook and cranny in your room, carefully making sure there was no sign of Ghostface here.

When you searched under your bed, you found a bloody Ghostface mask, more blood stuck to your hands the longer you held it… it was easy to recognize this one too…

Mickey Alteri

The 2nd Ghostface

“What the fu-,” was all you could manage to get out before you heard the doors of your closet adjacent to the bed, crashing open. A black-robed figure sprinting at you was the last thing you saw before being tackled to the ground by Ghostface. A knife was pressed against your throat from the person above you, the voice changer crackled with every heavy breath.

“Surprise, y/n.”

#amber freeman x reader #amber freeman #tara carpenter x reader #mikey madison #scream 5 #scream franchise #scream movies #Spotify

[accidentalshifter]

I cannot switch my ask to my shifting blog so anon it is!

Hi! I'm Lai Lai! It's so nice to see another adult shifter! I'm in my 20's and i only see a few other adult shifters on here!

You've been shifting for a while right? Any favorite memory you wanna share? If not, that's completely fine!

I love hearing about shifters experiences and hearing them talk about their time in their dr's!

Hello there, Lai Lai~

Wow! I love your name. It's really very cute & sparkly in my brain. Lol, I'm glad I'm not the only old person in the Shifting Community. A lot of the friends I have who're close to my age have lost their whimsy. I refuse to. And so do my daydreams. I've been traveling in my sleep (and awake) since before the craze on Tiktok and only just discovered that other people were having the same experiences as me! It shocked me. But it also gave me sooo much comfort knowing that I wasn't alone... Even if I'm older than the generation who is exploring it now.

Some favorite memories from my desired realities include:

🌈 Solving a puzzle cipher out in the middle of a bamboo rainforest based on Chinese constellation mythology and discovering a jade sword afterwards. Then running into an old sage who called himself "Wang Bo" that invited me to train with said sword in order to defeat a powerful demon that lives in the rainforest. I am still training with the sword in this DR and Wang Bo is an amazingly cool teacher even if I'm a bad student lol and he doesn't get my internet jokes.

🌈 Just sitting and watching the rain in my Autumn-themed DR while keeping the hearth fire lit and drinking hot steaming tea. Listening to the wind as it blows through the golden leaves of a shivering aspen tree. The kind with eyes all up their whiter than white bark.

🌈 Time traveling in my Winter-themed DR & going to pre-historic times when mammoths had just died out to see/heal a past life that has its roots in issues that I experience in this life now. After confronting my past self, learning how the things I consider "weird" about me are actually my strengths, and hugging it out, I was able to move on emotionally, and have been in a much better place since then. I use shifting as a therapeutic tool as much as I do it for the thrill of exploring the whole multiverse.

🌈 Watching Klaus Mikaelson (from TVD/The Originals) read a book for a half an hour while being stuck as an invisible ghost in the New Orleans Mikaelson chateau. This one wasn't as fun and exciting as it was just plain memorable in general. While my other seasonally-based DRs are more in my control, anything to do with the Mikaelsons have been...unscriptable, unpredictable, and very vivid. Sometimes I feel like someone from that universe is summoning me there rather than me consciously deciding to be there.

🌈 Drinking at an ocean-themed neon nightclub in a futuristic world made completely out of plastic and enjoying all the weird colorful cocktails at the bar. The place was called Club O. It looked like a giant blue glass tower shaped like a 〰️ that speared a pirate's ship being consumed by a coral pink octopus 🐙 kraken. The tentacles the kraken had moved on their own and the suckers were made of LED lights that lit up the entire establishment. The tentacles also held huge glass bubbles 🫧 that were different parts of Club O that you could access with a keycard...given that you had the permissions to. Those were more private parts of the club while the main stage was housed in the pirate ship. If any of you shifters ever get to go there, I recommend you try the Monterran Sunset and the Neptune's Swill. Both drinks are a favorite of mine. ❤️

A lot of my DRs are seasonally-based and run on very light/no scripting. I really crave the fun and adventure of not knowing what my DR will throw at me at any given moment. So, every shift feels like anything could happen! Right now I've been putting a lot of focus on my TVD/Originals DR because the Mikaelsons have been yanking on my brain really hard and at this point I'm like:

I'll be probably talking about that DR first before I open up about my more personal, seasonal DRs. Thank you for sending me this ask, Lai Lai!

#accidental asks #shifting diary #shifting realities #reality shifting #shifting #shifting community #desired reality #reality shift #shiftblr #shifting stories

[tgmsunmontue]

Team Player 3/7

Hangster. Jake's cousin plays for the Sydney Roosters and gifts him with merchandise regularly. Bradley has an unexpected realization.

PART ONE PART TWO

THREE

                “Where am I going to take him?”

                “You really need to calm down.”

                “Nat, I asked him out and he said yes.”

                “Mmm. A complete surprise. Shocking. Truly.”

                “What?”

                “I’m sorry, he’s sort of the type that thinks poking fun of someone is a way of letting them know he likes them… most boys outgrow it before they leave high school.”

                “What?”

                “He likes you. Has liked you for years. Just… you never seemed to like him back. And now… you do.”

                “I want to fuck him, I think liking him back might be stretching it a little.”

                “You want to do more than just fuck him. You’re lying to yourself and it isn’t making you look good. You only wanted to fuck him when you saw him plastered with your call sign. You want him to be yours. Like, locked down and married type shit.”

                “What?”

                “I know, I know. You’re going on your first date, but just let me call dibs on being your best man when you get married.”

                “What?”

                “Are you broken? You seem broken. You’re saying what a lot.”

                “I’m not broken. You’re talking about me and Hangman getting married.”

                “Just calling it like I see it. Feel free to try and prove me wrong, although I think you’ll be happier if you just go with my prediction.”

                “Can we focus please! Where should I take him?”

                “Dinner? Movies?”

                “Wow, really original…”

                “I can leave.”

                “No! Sorry. I’m just…”

                “Nervous. I get it. You like him.”

                “I do. Fuck. What’s wrong with me?”

                “Well, did you want a list or a pie chart?”

                “Nat!”

                “Sorry. You’re allowed to like him. Apart from his justifiable large ego, he’s actually a decent guy.”

                “Okay, yeah. I know. Okay. I think I might take him to Belmont.”

                “I thought you said before that you didn’t want anything competitive?”

                “We can just do the rides.”

                “You both fly fighter jets for a living and you’re going to go thrill seeking at Belmont? Huh. That’s actually not a bad idea.”

                “Yeah? You think he’ll like it?”

                “Seriously, you could suggest watching infomercials and getting pizza delivered and he’d do it, and like it…”

                Bradley pulls a face, because he fucking doubts it, but he feels like Belmont Park will be okay. Fun. He lets Natasha leave, insists he doesn’t need her help anymore. He’s decided, even if he’s a little jittery thinking about the fact that he didn’t leave himself more time between asking Hangman out and them deciding the next day was a good day and time. He showers and dresses, pulling on his darkest jeans and oh fuck… maybe he should have kept Natasha here after all. He picks up his phone, opens it up to send her a message and there it is. A message telling him what to wear and he laughs. God she knows him so well. Not a Hawaiian shirt, he can manage that.

                He blasts his rev me up playlist on the way to pick up Hangman, hoping it might fill him with some confidence, and it all slips away anyway as Hangman walks down the steps toward him. He looks relaxed, also wearing jeans though his are lighter colored, and he’s wearing a hoodie, something he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hangman wear.

                “Am I dressed okay? You’re wearing a proper shirt…”

                “Uh, you’re fine. Thought we could go to Belmont.”

                “Oh cool, I haven’t been to Belmont in years.”

                “Yeah, I thought we could do some rides, eat overpriced food, maybe do some games. I didn’t want to pick anything solely competitive…”

                “Afraid of losing to me?”

                Bradley rolls his eyes, but Natasha’s words from earlier and running through his head, that this is Hangman’s way of flirting.

                “Already got a date with you, pretty sure that’s all the winning I need.”

                Jake blushes. Fucking blushes and Bradley looks away and grins, realizing he can throw Jake off with sincerity. He can do that, especially because Jake is even more gorgeous when he looks a little flustered. He reverses back onto the road and heads out, wonders if it’s going to be awkward but Hangman is filling the silence, asking questions about what he’d done with his day off today and talking about what he’s done. The twenty-minute drive goes by quickly, easily, and it makes him feel better about the date ahead. He parks the car and gets out, locking it and then looks up, Hangman has his back to him, is staring up at something, he can’t look because his eyes are fixed on the back of Jake’s back, the word Roosters stretched between his shoulder blades.

                He is so fucked.

PART FOUR

#hangster #sereshaw #rooster x hangman #top gun maverick #Team Player

[epitomereally]

Renegade Winter Exchange 2022, part 2/2: You Open Always (Petal by Petal) by birdsofshore

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

Thoughts, details, and description behind the cut. The other book I bound for the exchange is here.

For the first book I bound @queercore-curriculum, I wanted to make a book that fit well on their shelf. For this one, I instead went full maximalism & made something totally different than what they make themselves—that’s part of the thrill of an exchange, I think (though it was a risk & I hope you like it!!!)

You Open Always (Petal by Petal) features an extremely hot sex worker Draco, an extremely thirsty Harry, the hottest sex you’ll ever read probably, one of my favorite depictions of a sly Kreacher, and a Grimmauld Place that really, really wants Harry and Draco to get together. It’s one of my favorite fics of all time & I’m so happy to have a copy on my bookshelf too now. In the design, I wanted to mimic Grimmauld Place throwing courting & marriage, etc items at Harry & Draco, so every chapter header has a different illustration of something I could imagine Grimmauld giving them: two birds, figs, strawberries, grapes, etc & led to me asking my partner things like: do you think of pomegranates as a sexual fruit? (The answer is yes). 

For the bind, I made a flat-back oxford hollow. Also inspired by @queercore-curriculum I hand-dyed linen & painted a pair of thrushes on the front and back cover, as well as painting the title on the spine (note: this is the single thing I am most proud of for this bind—I was so nervous the entire time painting). The headband is a front-bead double-color headband with peach and chartreuse. Hope you like both binds, @queercore-curriculum; it was so fun making them for you! Birds, if you’d ever like an author copy of this bind, let me know & I am happy to make and send one to you :) thank you for sharing this lovely fic with our fandom!

Title font: Sabbath Black

Body text: Monarcha

Ornaments: Penmanship Birds

Half-title & chapter numbers: Foglihten

Interior illustration: Heritage Type Co free illustrations

Some notes on process: I always make a ‘test book’ that I keep before sending out a copy to someone else—this is to make sure everything works well & looks good together (which you can see in the photos). The original dye of the linen for the bookcloth turned out a much hotter pink than I intended, so the copy I sent went back in the dying bucket for a more raspberry finish. I also changed endpapers between the test copy & the sent copy. I originally wanted a solid color endpaper because the rest of the book was so maximalist, but didn’t love any of the colors at my local paper store. I do really like the marbled endpaper I chose instead, but it was too thin for a good endpaper & I didn’t want to faff about with creating made endpapers, so I found a solid color I liked at a different art store :)

#my fanbinding #renegade bindery #2022 renegade exchange #birdsofshore #you open always (petal by petal) #maximalist matchmaking grimmauld meet maximalist matchmaking binding #posts i actually wrote

[respectthepetty]

Saw your "Anti Reset" post, nice to see another Taiwanese BL enthusiast here. I mean, I love my Thai BLs (I don't think anything will top "Not Me" & "KinnPorsche" for me) but when Taiwanese BLs do it right, BOY OH BOY do they do it RIGHT! I def love mafia/action BLs, and "HIStory3 Trapped" was my first venture into that. I was kind of in a BL slump in 2023, and the only BL that I thoroughly enjoyed was "Kiseki: Dear to Me." I'm LOVING "Anti Reset" so far, though!

Anon,

I LOVE Taiwanese BLs.

In fact, this post is link happy since I'm constantly writing about my love for Taiwanese BLs because I love them so much!

10 Reasons I Love Taiwanese BLs

Top 5 Taiwanese BLs

An appreciation post for Taiwanese BLs

Taiwanese BLs & Blinding Light of Love

Why I Love Taiwanese BLs

Fave and Least Fave HIStory Series

But my absolute favorite BL (not just Taiwanese, but ALL TIME FAVORITE OF ALL BLS) is HIStory 4: Close to You.

I love all of HIStory 4

I love Li Cheng and Mu Ren's relationship

Kiseki: Dear to Me was *this* close to taking over as number one in my heart, which is why it won my top Colors Award this year, and Oh No! Here Comes Trouble came in fighting without it even being labeled as a BL. Taiwan is competing against itself in my heart!

Although Thailand's Dead Friend Forever might surpass HIStory 4: Close to You, which is very dependent on the last few episodes, I consistently enjoy Taiwanese BLs more than any other country's offerings. Even the HIStory-that-shall-not-be-named was a great experience until the second it wasn't, but now we get the apology tour in every other Taiwanese BL.

I will love any BL Taiwan throws at me, so I was thrilled VBL/Vidol gave me four in the span of half a year, which includes our current favorite, Anti Reset!

And I'm looking forward to the slate of upcoming Taiwanese BLs that appear to have some big names behind them, like Unknown WHICH STARTS TOMORROW, is based off the book from Priest who also wrote Guardian and Word of Honor, and will feature We Best Love's Sam Lin!

And I'm also excited to see my HIStory 4: Close to You favorite Charles Tu back in this year's First Note of Love with the side from My Tooth, Your Love. It's about singing, yet I don't give an eff because that's how much I love Taiwanese BLs that even singing will not deter me!

I will always support the girls, the gays, and the goths no matter the country of origin, but no other country is giving me this energy.

And I fucking love it!

TAIWAN SUPREMACY!

#Taiwanese BLs #they are my favorites #no competition #they are a buffet for my soul #I love them a lotta

[hrokkall]

As autumn colors fall...

Week III: Crossover [x]

(Concepts + bonus sketches under the cut)

I had a LOT in my brain on this one but I’ve been busy pretty much all week. I highly doubt I’m the first to have this idea but hey, here’s my take on it at least.

Leshy takes the role of the Beast. He’s a lot more “neutral” than the Beast we see in OGTW canon, but is motivated by self-preservation all the same. Not so much in terms of living forever, I don’t think he can really “die” in this AU because he sort of embodies the Unknown as much as it embodies him (he’d still be there, but would be without a physical form... not really ideal). But he definitely wants things to stay the way they are, which was going just fine until Luke Carder decided to waltz in and “help”.

On the topic of Luke, he’s pretty much the same as in canon. Maybe he originally had a Halloween costume like the brothers do in the show, but chances are it was either some last-minute “pun” costume or something equally simple and Horribly impractical to run around the woods in (i.e. a sheet ghost), so he loses it pretty early on, leading him to stick out like a sore thumb in the otherwise lost-in-an-antique-shop feel the Unknown seems to have. I’m not sure how he got there—didn’t think that far ahead—but we’ll go with he was lured there (for whatever reason) under the pretense that he’d finally get closure regarding his sister’s death. (He’s not going to, of course—at least not literally, the Unknown isn’t really an afterlife, more of just a “crossing over”—but let him keep thinking that).

That’s all well and good for Leshy; depressing, sure, but he can just subtly shift the trees to redirect Luke’s ass home before he starts inadvertently causing trouble by prodding around (though he can keep him around for a little bit, at least. Just to see what he does, not to trap him forever; he doesn’t exactly have a lot of company in the Unknown that aren’t immediately deterred by his presence). That is, until he stumbles across a group of animals pleading for help only an outsider can give and Leshy’s plan immediately begins to crumble.

The other Scrybes pretty much serve the same role as they do in Act 1 as talking cards, or otherwise fill the same niche as Beatrice in OGTW proper. They weren’t originally animals, but they weren’t human either like Beatrice was. Instead, they were cursed by Leshy (who wasn’t too keen on continuing to share his forest with a gaggle of other supernaturally-inclined assholes) and his Woodsmen to take on their current forms. I can’t see them having been traveling together all this time, so they all individually come to Luke desperate for help and are thrilled (/s) to see the other two have done the same. But hey, they’re pretty desperate for a way out and the previous human who came through actively made things worse for them, so it’s pretty much a last-ditch effort at this point. Cue hijinks.

The previous outsider to pass through was, of course, Kaycee, who arrived in the Unknown via near death experience like OGTW canon seems to imply. Being in the Unknown for long periods of time (assuming you’re not just born there) isn’t kind to the human body; if they don’t immediately start sprouting branches, one can expect lowered body temperature, a slowed pulse, gradually not needing to blink or sleep or eat... just generally weird shit that can’t be healthy. Kaycee’s been through all of that and then some; it’s a stretch to say she’s still alive, really. She’s not really the Woodsman; she opted to befriend the beast instead and now they’re pretty much inseparable (both because they’re genuinely buddies and because it’s mutually beneficial: Leshy ensures she’s not completely consumed by the Unknown, and Kaycee ensures Leshy gets to keep his form by bringing him animals and whatnot. Win for both parties). I’d imagine she’s also the only one who refers to him as just “Leshy” and not some sort of intimidating alias (Stoat, Stinkbug, and Wolf excluded, all of which only use his name when they’re being petty).

The lantern is more of just a thematic convenience here, it’s not actually tied to Leshy’s being. Instead, he has his camera: taking pictures of creatures (or people) with it traps their own life force within the film and therefore allows him to persist for longer. The pictures themselves don’t really do anything special, nor does getting rid of them, but Kaycee probably has a room where she develops pictures anyway, if for no other reason than Luke stumbling into a room lined wall to wall with antique photographs and asking his animal companions to find themselves would be both nerve-racking and a little humorous.

Kaycee is the only other person allowed to use the camera; a little bit of a weak point for Beast!Leshy. Sure, she’s strong too (she lives in the woods mostly on her own, carries an axe, and just generally has had a ton of time to train herself up) but not nearly as much as someone who can quite literally command the trees to kill you. Probably Luke’s best chance to defeat Leshy would be to go through Kaycee, assuming he goes that route (probably not... I don’t know how this AU would “end” though).

Again, Stoat, Stinkbug, and Wolf weren’t human + are similarly unkillable so they’re a little bit of a special case. Getting their visages captured just weakened them, allowing someone else to finish the job and solidify their respective “curses”. To return them to normal... it’s also kind of a Beatrice situation, giving Luke plenty of room to run around the forest in a wild goose chase. Stunted Wolf needs his other eye back, Stinkbug needs her wings plucked, and Stoat... I don’t know what Luke needs to do with those wire cutters, but he’ll figure it out (snip its whiskers, maybe?) He waits to get all three back before returning them to normal, both out of equity (much to their disdain and/or relief) and because... honestly, I don’t think he trusts them 100%. They may be tiny, but these guys clearly still have some sort of ulterior motive, even Luke isn’t blind to that.

Anyway that’s all I’ve got. I guarantee I missed something though. Feel free to send an ask if there’s any glaring issues/places that just need elaboration (or I might add on later unprompted anyway if I have the time). Thanks for reading my massive text walls; here’s a Stoat with my favorite Beatrice line.

#Inscryption #Inscryption Spoilers #Inscryptober #Over the Garden Wall #cw death #cw animal injury #JUST BARELY FINISHED THIS BEFORE THE WEEK'S END I said I was going to do all four weeks I'm holding true to that #Side note I think the camera squirrel is the worst squirrel I've drawn on this blog so far. I love it #OGTW au #Hrokkall art

[ophelia-writes-stuff]

♥ power of my love . part 2 ♥

. pairing : yandere!austin!elvis x fem!reader

. summary / request : you're a pretty small and local fashion designer, so you are both thrilled and nervous when you get a call from a long-time friend of yours, steve, who tells you that he's got a job for you in vegas for no other than elvis presley. when the two of you meet, sparks fly, but you can't help but notice a more sinister underlining to your friendly relationship as time goes on.

. notes / warning : mild swearing, allusions to sexual content (sort of), slight yandere themes but not heavy whatsoever, jealousy, nothing else i don't think.

. word count : 3.8k

(♥) . . . request something . masterlist . taglist . navigation

(♥) . . . previous part / next part

(♥) . . . series masterlist (for all parts and warnings)

tags: @venus-haze, @luckyevansstan, @rxsesss, @ggxsan (if you'd like your name to be removed/added, pls just ask me!)

As it turns out, designing clothing for the one and only Elvis was no easy feat.

One would reasonably expect it to be simple in some which way— after all, the man seemed to always know what he wanted and would always strive to get it— but sitting in a deafeningly quiet room with the musician after you had just asked him if he had any ideas for an outfit defied all of your expectations.

You’d originally imagined the conversation would be smooth like it was, similarly to when you’d first met him, meaning Elvis would come in and tell you any ideas he had or looks he wanted to go for and would possibly ask you for some advice, but none was such the case. An uncomfortable feeling permeated throughout the air as the silence drew on, and after a couple more moments of almost unbearable tension, you simply couldn’t take it anymore.

"As I'm sure you must know, Mr. Presley, costumes and style can be a great way to express yourself in your show, and even in your real life sometimes," you'd often go on tangents like these with clients, hoping to inspire them in some way. "I found myself in my work, in my style, and I'm certain that you can do the same and find yourself again. It may not seem like much, but picking the right costume is very important. Now, do you have any possible ideas? A look you're aiming for?"

Elvis's eyes flitted to you as he shifted slightly, eyes focused intensely on nothing in particular.

It didn't take you long for you to realize why Steve had spoken of you being needed to help get Elvis back on his feet-- it was like, between one movie or another that he'd merely been thrown into, he'd truly forgotten who he was.

"Well, I think..." Elvis sighed and ran a hand through his coifed hair. "Colonel's been wantin' me to dress up in a Christmas sweater, but I sure as hell ain't doin' that..." He bit his lip in contemplation. "Steve's been thinkin' that something revealing might be good, or something dark blue to contrast with all o' the Christmas colors..."

“Is that what you want, Elvis?” Elvis paused briefly, supposedly stunned by the question. Considering the fact that you had said it in a somewhat odd manner, you said:

"Let me rephrase that, actually-- what do you want? Not Steve, not Colonel, not anyone. What do you want to wear on that stage? What do you want to perform in? This choice is up to you, and it should only be yours. Don't let anyone else sway your opinions."

Elvis took a deep breath as he racked his mind and he tried to figure out what he wanted, what he desired. One would imagine it’d be plain and simple, but after a life of being burdened with the needs of others, one would easily forget their own, no matter how stubborn one could be.

“I want something...” Elvis's eyes snapped closed as he pondered your question. What did he want?

“I want something... edgy.” You didn’t miss the smile that lit up on Elvis’s face when he came up with the word. “Something raw, something...” his voice trailed off and he narrowed his eyes as he flit through his unorganized thoughts. "I want it to be dangerous, intimidating..." A boyish sort of grin adorned his features. "I want it to be me," he finished.

You merely nodded, quickly jotting down some things in your notebook before staring back at Elvis.

"Leather, that's what you need," you decided, leaning over to reach for the black material among the others that were spread out on the table. "Good old-fashioned leather. It's risky, intimidating, hard, but most importantly, it's you."

Elvis felt the leather material in his hand, brought it up near his eyes to examine it closer, and narrowed them, before bringing it further away and rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger contemplatively.

Realizing your possible mistake, your cheeks heated up ever so slightly. "But, of course, if you're not a fan--" you were quickly cut off by a loud "--No!" followed by a quick apology. "It's- it's perfect. It's exactly what I need," Elvis explained, "I just didn't realize that you'd figure it out all so soon."

You took this as a compliment and offered Elvis a meek smile. "Well, it's what I do, so I'd sure hope I’d be okay at it after almost a decade of doing it."

At this, Elvis stared at you with an undecipherable expression written all over his face and opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed as if the specific words had died on his tongue the second he cracked his jaw open. He slowly shut it closed and allowed the silence that once was to return, though you certainly weren’t going to allow it to remain as long as it did before.

Worried that you'd overstepped boundaries by using a bit too much sarcasm, you changed the subject. “Now that we’ve got the materials down, I do believe we’ll need to think of a specific design,” you said, grabbing your notebook as you sat down in your seat. “Do you have anything in mind? Just general concepts can go a long way.”

Elvis stared at you briefly with a certain intensity that almost brought butterflies to your stomach, but the expression was quickly forgotten as Elvis spoke.

“I’d like it to be unforgivable,” he said, his eyes wandering around the room in thought. “Unforgettable. Something iconic, like a leather jacket.” To this, you nodded, and said, "Is that it? Of course, a leather jacket is iconic, but it's an icon that many men have tried on."

"Well, what were you thinkin', then?"

You smiled, "A full leather suit." You showed him your notebook and pointed to the sketch. "There can't be anything more unforgivable than that."

To this, Elvis grinned and bit his lip with a certain satisfaction, and nodded.

“But just to make sure, that’ll be one hot suit, especially if you’re going to be doing some dancing numbers in it. You sure you’ll be okay with that, Mr. Presley?”

In response, Elvis's grin only grew wider, and in a deep, velvety voice, he said, “Perfect.”

Spending time with Elvis proved to be even more enjoyable than you’d initially anticipated.

Although your work together led to some long silences, it never hindered either of your abilities to keep up a lengthy conversation. You could imagine yourself talking with the musician for hours without ceasing if his or your own work didn’t beckon the two of you away from each other. Ah, yes. It was truly ironic how the very thing that brought the two of you together was the exact thing that also drew you apart. But, alas, Elvis’s workload never faltered, and the same could be said about yours.

As you worked on a couple of pieces of clothing some of the dancers were going to wear, your mind inevitably wandered to Elvis’s wife, Priscilla. Though you’d never met her, you couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Elvis had a couple of times spoken to you of how he craved to spend more time with her— and yet, it seemed as though the forces that be did not wish to see the two of them together. He spoke of his guilt, explaining how his work seemed to have completely taken over his life, and you couldn’t blame him.

It was never quite easy, being famous. People always relied on you, depended on your presence. Days off were not standard for people like Elvis, this much, you knew.

And while, yes, the days you spoke ever so much may have blurred the lines between your professional relationship with Elvis and your personal, you convinced yourself that it was for the best. If Elvis viewed you as some sort of confidant, you had no issues obliging to the role, though you wouldn’t bend down to his wishes of addressing him by his first name.

Not yet, that is.

And so, when Elvis knocked on your office door and entered in, tired and battered, you made no protest when he sat down on one of the chairs beside you.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” he asked in a raspy tone, that of a man that you assumed must have only recently just sung his heart out.

“Just some outfits for some of the dancers,” you replied, continuing your sewing work though offering a glance towards Elvis.

“D’you mind if I have a look?” You moved as to allow Elvis to view the piece you were working on, who walked up beside you and stared at it and then at you, in admiration.

“You’re real good at this, y’know,” he complimented. “Steve wasn’t kiddin’ when you said that you were the best in the industry. You got some real talent.”

At the high praise, your cheeks burned a bright pink, and you tried to hide it as he stared at the piece of clothing. “Thank you,” is all you replied, not trusting yourself to say more.

“No need to thank me. I’m just tellin’ the truth.” No longer could you hide your blush as you smiled abashedly and let out a small chuckle.

And then, suddenly, you paused, eyes wide as you glanced at the clock behind you.

“Shit—” you mumbled, momentarily forgetting you were at work. “I mean— sorry, Mr. Presley, but I have to get going.”

“Now what’s got a lady like you in such a hurry?” He asked, staring at you curiously as you raced to grab your things.

“Steve told me to meet him at twelve.” Elvis’s aura seemed to have changed slightly at the comment, but you didn’t pay attention as you absentmindedly searched for your purse in a frenzied panic.

“Pickin’ you up for lunch?” You didn't even notice the slight malice that laced his words, as, by the time he’d spoken them, you’d just found what you were looking for, so you assumed the question was simply an inquiry.

“No. Don’t know what it’s for, but it’s probably got something to do with work or something else important like that.” You didn’t bother mentioning how you would have truly appreciated it if that were the reason, as you didn’t see the situation fit for such a confession to your still relatively new client.

Besides, as close as he occasionally got with you, you still expected yourself to remain professional at all times with him. Though he was a friend, he was still someone you worked for, and that meant you had to keep a somewhat fortified barrier between your life and his.

At your reassurance, Elvis’s demeanor duly shifted, and he shot you a charming smile. “Well then, Y/n, suppose I’ll see you around.” He offered you a wave and was out the door in the blink of an eye, seemingly more pleased with himself than moments ago, but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out as to why.

Alas, you couldn’t dwell on the matter for much longer as you rushed out your door and towards where Steve had told you to meet him.

Elvis was never a very jealous man.

Or, at the very least, not often, and especially not when it came to romance and love. He knew that women practically worshipped him--he wasn’t blind to the way that they looked at him, what they thought of him.

And, besides, he was married to the most wonderful wife anyone could ever have, so it was almost surprising to him when he felt such a sour emotion at the simple prospect of you and Steve being together. After all, he had his own wife at home.

So why, he would ask himself, did he feel jealousy, especially in such an intense way? And why did he still feel it? You made it seem pretty clear that you and Steve clearly didn’t have anything going on, so why did he still feel such vigorous anger?

Elvis sat in your office, pondering these very questions. Of course, he knew what the Colonel would do if he found him off-task, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to do anything about it. Either way, it wasn’t like the Colonel knew of his true plans. He was sure his anger due to his lounging in your office would be nothing compared to his anger should he discover Elvis’s deceitfulness when it came to his true intentions of how the Christmas Special would play out.

Regardless, after he’d decided that he’d spent enough time flitting through his thoughts, Elvis decided that it was time to return to the studio to see what the others would need from him. He was certain they were searching for him now.

"Steve, I'm really sorry I'm late." You apologized as soon as you walked in the door. "I must have lost track of time."

In response, all Steve gave you was a brisk nod, and seemed to invite you to sit down. "It's fine, it happens," he then said, taking a seat in front of you. "Plus, I only called you here so we could talk about your job so far." He smiled. "How is it?"

You were surprised that all Steve wanted to do was chit-chat, but you were relieved, too, as you realized your lateness was not as unprofessional as you had initially thought it to be.

“It’s pretty great, actually. It’s definitely been fun— plus, I enjoy seeing this part of the country. As you can tell, I’m not around these types of areas very often.” You smiled all but embarrassedly and let out a small chuckle. The man in front of you's gaze was distant as you slowly allowed your giggles to dissipate.

“D’you you like traveling?” Steve then asked, to which you nodded. 

“You know, Y/n, I was thinking,” Steve adjusted his posture ever so slightly as he spoke. “You don’t get all that many clients back in your town, do you?” 

Your brows furrowed as you shrugged somewhat hesitantly. “Not specifically, no. I get a decent amount, considering the size of my town, but relatively, no.” You replied. 

“Have you ever wanted to travel a bit more? See more of the country?” 

You quirked an eyebrow. “What are you saying, Steve?”

“Well, like you said, you like it here, right? Like seeing new parts of the country?" He leaned back in his chair. "I’m proposing you come work with me and my crew.” You opened your mouth to reply, but Steve beat you to it.  

"You could travel with me and my crew and work on costumes for shows and sets we help produce and direct. Of course, you'll be able to go home for holidays and those sorts of things, but you'll mostly be traveling around the country."

"Oh, Steve, that sounds like a great idea, but..." You tried to protest at first but soon found your arguments fell short in every instance. To add to that, your eyes caught each of Steve's muffled expressions of disappointment or hurt when you brought up yet another reason to decline, and so, you caved. You gave Steve your word that you'd think about it and consider making the arrangements to make it happen, such as discussing it with your parents, and the two of you knew that this practically meant you had already arranged the plans. You'd never hint towards your answer being a no to a yes unless it was certainly one of the two.

"Great!" He gave you a satisfied smile, and you couldn't help but feel your own lips upturn at his infectious expression. "You know, if you choose to say yes, I know you'll love it, Y/n. It's nice-- being able to work with so many icons in so many different places."

"Sure sounds like it."

Steve nodded, "Plus, I wouldn't mind having you around a bit more," His smile shifted from satisfied to coy. "I feel like I don't get to see you as much as I'd like to."

It didn't take a genius to notice the shift of the atmosphere in the room, and you felt a funny feeling in your stomach at the comment. Of course, you weren't one to get in over your head, but looking at the way he was staring at you, you'd be a fool to say the gaze wasn't the least bit tender.

"Yeah," Your own stare fixed onto the floor all but abashedly. "I could say the same."

The rest of your day went by relatively quickly, your mind buzzing with thoughts of Steve and your future. It excited you, truly, to think that, after all of these years of having shown no more than a little interest in you romantically, he seemed to suddenly have had a change of heart.

You hummed along to one of the Elvis songs playing in the background as you worked on organizing some of your materials. Everything was scattered into different nicks and crannies, and though you were able to find it all, it still appeared as if something had exploded in your office. 

And, although you didn’t want to admit it, you wanted to look at least a bit organized to anyone who dared to enter your den. 

You all but jumped when you heard someone enter ever so suddenly, and turned around to face no other than Elvis. Your brows furrowed. It was funny, almost-- you hadn't even noticed the music come to a halt.

"Hey," he greeted, offering you a charming smile as he walked up to you. "I was told to come in here--well, 'bout now?"

Your eyes wandered to the clock as you slowly nodded, and returned his smile. "Of course, just stand right there and I'll get everything I need."

Measuring someone, as you'd come to learn, was a very intimate act in many ways. Stripping until you were near-naked for someone else who you most likely barely knew proved this with ease, and it was always so quiet-- so slow. Every mannerism seemed so tender when one would think about it.

You felt an intense gaze practically tear through your soul as you took your measuring tape and took the measurements for Elvis's waist, hips, height, etc. You made an effort to not look back up at him, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head with such a ferocious aura, it intimidated you.

You could have sworn that every time your hands brushed against Elvis's bare skin, somehow, he seemed to linger in that position-- to pause and allow the moment to resonate with the both of you. You weren't sure how exactly it happened, but there was certainly no denying that it did.

Once you had finished up, you offered Elvis a simple nod and said, "I'm done," before turning around to allow Elvis to put his clothes back on.

"Y/n?" You all but froze at the sound of Elvis's deep voice, though didn't dare turn around to face him. He let out a chuckle before opening his mouth once more. "Y'know you can look at me, right?"

You mistakenly took this as a sign that he, somehow, had already gotten dressed, but you were most certainly mistaken. You shifted awkwardly in your place as you stared at his almost naked figure. "Yes, Mr. Presley." You mustered on a shy smile, not feeling very comfortable in any which way.

"Good," he then said, a satisfied smile planted on his features. You didn't know what to say in return, just let the silence permeate throughout the room.

Elvis's gaze then morphed into an intense, intimate one. You didn't even notice as he took slow, calculated steps toward you.

"What I wanted to tell you, Y/n, was that you've been doin' a real amazing job here," he complimented, his expression not faltering in the least.

You offered him a tight-lipped smile in return, still feeling somewhat nervous as to what exactly was happening. "Thank you."

"Never seen no one like you," he grinned, his pearly teeth glinting dimly. "Not one."

Unsure of how to answer this, you merely nodded.

It was at that moment that you noticed the lack of distance between you and the man before you when his hand cautiously made its way up to cup your cheek. You were surprised at the contact. It unnerved you, almost, to think that he could traverse such a long distance and go unnoticed by someone staring directly at him. "Never realized how pretty your eyes were," he muttered. You stood, frozen in your spot, as he spoke. "Never seen you this up close before. Didn't realize what I was missin'..."

He leaned it, and you just stood paralyzed, stunned by the surprising turn of the situation. And yet, just as you were sure Elvis's lips were about to have a taste of your own, a knock on the door paused the moment. You let out a gasp as Elvis pulled away from you in milliseconds, eyes wide as he stared at the door.

"Son of a bitch," he grumbled, as he angrily threw on his clothes and opened the door. You didn't hear very much as he stormed out of the room and slammed the door, only catching some tidbits but allowing yourself to take a moment to process the situation.

You were stunned, to say the least.

You and Elvis were friends, of course, but you never expected the situation to escalate on such a high level. You'd never expected him to possibly consider you in a romantic way. After all, you were merely his costume designer. And, as an additional reason, he had a wife and a newborn child for crying out loud.

You decided to head over to the bathroom to take a minute. You let out a sigh as you washed some water over yourself and stare at your reflection in the mirror.

You knew you'd be flat-out lying to yourself if you said you weren't attracted to Elvis, but every girl was. There was no denying that there was certainly some charm to his infectious grin and that his dancing certainly did arouse some erotic feelings within you, but that didn't mean that you wanted to kiss him-- though you were sure he had much more in mind than just kissing.

And, besides, you weren't that kind of girl. You wanted a real man and a steady relationship, not some one-night fling with your new and temporary boss who you'd only just met recently. Of course, he was a perfectly kind and considerate man, but you could tell that he did have some trouble harnessing his emotions.

And so, your eyes wandered to the floor as you left the bathroom and you decided to make sure the event did not become a topic of discussion for you or Elvis, whatsoever. You just hoped that he'd never bring it up. You'd continue work as normal as if nothing ever happened, and you wouldn't have to worry about it once you left to work with Steve.

How wrong you were about your future, you'd later learn.

#lia-writes #lia-fics #austin!elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis biopic #yandere elvis presley #yandere elvis x reader #yandere elvis presley x reader #yandere #yanderecore #elvis film #elvis 2022 #baz luhrmann elvis #yandere elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis the king #elvis x reader #elvis presley #elvis movie #elvis movie 2022 #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis x you #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfictions #elvis fanfic

[twistedminutia]

Twst Talk: How Natural is Unnatural Hair?

Like a lot of anime and cartoons, many of the characters in Twisted Wonderland have fantastical hair (and eye) colors that seem to be natural to them, despite being completely unnatural hair colors here. Which made me wonder: how common is it to have strange hair colors in the world of Twisted Wonderland?

Some basic guidelines before we start: first, I will be doing two groups of comparison, one human and one nonhuman. We don’t have merfolk or beastmen or Fae in our world, so there’s no telling what kind of hair color is natural for them, and it didn’t seem fair to include them with other humans without a baseline looking at just humans. For the purposes of this writing, Sebek will be classified as a Fae (I’m sure he’d be thrilled).

Second, hair dye and presumably even magical methods of changing hair color exist in Twisted Wonderland. I am going to assume that everyone’s hair color is their natural hair color unless there is canon material (in or out of game) that states otherwise or I have a good reason to suspect their hair color is not natural.

Third, in the interest of getting as big of a sample size as possible, I’m going to be including all named characters with sprites that have been introduced so far, including in the JP server, so there will be spoilers for JP server events and chapter 7. Theoretically, I guess I could include the background characters as well, but I am not interested in trying to categorize all of them. If someone else wants to do that and add to my results, feel free.

Fourth, there are going to be some exclusions. First on the list: Idia and Ortho. Their hair color is explicitly stated to be part of a curse, which means that it’s magically caused. Since this list is supposed to be about what hair colors occur naturally in Twisted Wonderland, they’re out. Second: Marja (Epel’s grandmother) and professor Trein. Both of them have had their hair turn white and gray, respectively, with age. Since we don’t know what their original hair color was, I’m making the executive decision not to include them in the count. I’ll also exclude the Faerie Queen and assorted elemental fairies and Eliza, since their hair seems to be more like element or vapor based than actual hair. Everybody else is fair game. Let’s get into it!

The Humans

We’ll be listing all humans with unnatural hair colors first, along with their hair color, then the natural ones, then the conclusion and percentages.

Unnatural hair colors: Deuce (blue), Trey (green), Riddle (yes, red is technically a natural hair color, but what we refer to as red is usually more of an orange color, like Cater or Ace’s hair; I’m going to consider Riddle’s blood red hair as unnatural), Kalim (yes, white is also technically natural, but it’s pretty rare for someone his age and there’s no indication that his hair color is unusual that I’ve seen so I’ll count it), Epel (lavender), Mama Spade (seemingly mixed blue and blonde), Rollo (white/gray). Total: 7

Natural hair colors: Cater (ginger), Ace (ginger), Jamil (brown), Rook (blond), Vil (OKAY YES HE HAS PURPLE IN HIS HAIR but we never see any other character who has ombré hair like that, even in other two-color characters, so I’m going to make an executive decision and list him as blond), Silver (yes, silver hair is not natural, but we learn in Ch 7 that his silver hair is caused by magic and his natural hair color is blond, so he will be listed as a blond here), Coach Vargas (black), Crewel (black; he canonically dyes the white part of his hair), Sam (black), Najma (brown), Neige (black). Total: 11

So that makes 18 total human characters with 7 having unnatural hair colors and 10 having natural ones. It’s unfortunate that the characters I had to exclude were all human, since this is kind of a small sample size. But, with 7/18 characters having unnatural hair colors, the total percentage of weird hair is about 39%. So, a bit below half. Unnatural colors would seem to be less common than natural colors, then, at least in humans, but not really rare. Let’s see how that stacks up with the nonhumans!

The Nonhumans

Unnatural hair colors: Jack (I debated on him being considered natural or unnatural, since he’s a wolf-boy and white hair is technically a natural color for a wolf, but to keep things consistent, we’ll go with hair colors that are unnatural for humans, so we’ll count his white hair as unnatural), Jade (turquoise), Floyd (turquoise), Azul (white), Sebek (green), Baul (green), Snick (this one’s on the edge, but it looks more red to me, so I’m giving it to the unnaturals), Dominic (silver), Grum (magenta), Shelpie (green), Timmy (blue), Toby (purple? I think?), Chenya (purple), Cheka (red/yellow), Kifaji (blue), Gidel (kinda reddish-purple, I think?) Total: 16

Naturals: Leona (brown), Ruggie (blond), Lilia (black; according to an interview with Yana, he dyes the pink part of his hair), Malleus (black), Crowley (black), Malenoa (Malleus’ mother, black), Hop (blond), Fellow (orange) Total: 8

Wow, pretty much a complete reversal! That’s a total of 24 nonhuman characters with 16 having unnatural hair and 8 having natural hair. Literally over twice as many have unnatural hair! Even if we remove the seven dwarves, who you could argue are slightly skewing the total, we still have 9 people with unnatural hair and 6 with natural. That makes 68% of the characters here with unnatural hair! As for specific species proportions, Fae have 8/13 or 61% unnatural hair, beastmen have 5/7 or 71% unnatural hair, and merfolk have 3/3 or 100% with unnatural hair (and this makes me realize we literally haven’t met any merfolk outside the main cast. Huh. Makes sense, I guess, if they all live underwater and have to attend a boot camp to learn to live on land.)

Interesting comments: this means that nonhumans as a group outnumber the humans, though only by 6, and no single group of nonhumans outnumbers humans. Fae have the most characters shown in game as nonhumans (not even counting the faeries from the gala and camping events!) thought the seven dwarves skew this a bit. There are more recurring characters who are human, though- of the humans, 14 of the 18 characters are part of the main cast whereas only 10 of the 24 nonhuman characters are recurring. The dwarves might be skewing this again, though.

Final Totals

If we combine all characters, human and nonhuman, that makes 42 total characters. Of those 42, 24 have unnatural hair colors and 19 have natural, meaning that, overall, 57% of characters have unnatural hair. That makes a majority! Unnatural hair colors are actually more common is Twisted Wonderland, just based on the sample size we have.

Couple other fun stats: for exclusively the main cast, 10 out of the 24 (42%) characters have unnatural hair, so side characters bulk out a lot of the unnatural hair havers. Speaking of side characters, their total is 13 out of 18 (72%) characters with unnatural hair. The seven dwarves seem to be the biggest skew in terms of unnatural hair, so if we remove them from the original total, we have 18 out of 35 (51%) of characters with unnatural hair, which may be a slightly more representative sample.

Conclusion

Based exclusively on this data, we can say that having unnaturally colored hair is actually more common in Twisted Wonderland than having naturally colored hair. Humans have the lowest likelihood of having unnatural hair, and merfolk have the highest.

Of course, this is an extremely small sample size, so this data may not be generalizable to the entire population of Twisted Wonderland. The sample also has a lot of mages in it, so we also don’t know if having magic may affect your hair color or something. Regardless, this was an interesting attempt to study hair color in Twisted Wonderland.

As always, I appreciate comments. Let me know if the math is wrong or if I’ve missed any characters. Or if you would classify anyone differently! I know Vil’s positioning might be controversial… and let me know if you want to see anything else analyzed too. Thank you, and good night.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #twisted wonderland writing #twst writing #twst thoughts #twst talk

[starmaiden777]

.....im tired

Link to the article

Makes me think that there are so many better ways to spread your message then shocking people in a public space and causing a panic... and getting yourself arrested. Of course sometimes there isnt a choice... but this isnt one of those cases.

This group needs to stop. There are so many more better ways to promote your cause.... that being said it's white activism at it's finest. But it only proves to infuriate me more rather than support these people.

This kind of activism only inspires copycats, and people looking for a thrill, or people who actually wish to cause actual harm to things within the public eye, specifically things that are well loved or spoken or documented of.

And even if these pieces are replicas put out to protect the originals... this is such a waste of passion that could be redirected in other ways. The museums have already gone to lengths to keep their collections safe... they don't need protesters using them as their focal point. I said it once and i will say it again. Im so tired of people using the shock factor to get their way.

Especially with the digital age and promoting your voice on platforms bigger than yourself. It has been proven that having a positive impact will far outpace a negative impact with charities and organizations. But no. Once again, important topics and environmental emergencies are just written down to shock and awe.

I'll say this now, of course I care about the cause. I have little care for the organizations who keep doing this however. Yeah sure they hit where the money seems to be going... but are you really going to put it down to oil and oil paints? Really? How ingenious. Note the heavy sarcasm there.

I can't help but feel that this is just the excuse private collectors look for with art. They will argue that these pieces arent as safe as they could be in private collections. Which is bullshit because while a fair amount of people do tend to take care of private collections, they will just as often face neglect and destruction.

That's aside from the fact that they would be ON PRIVATE display. Unavailable to the public. Museums are for the purpose of public enjoyment and education. Not to mention inspiration. And before you say, well I could just look the painting up on the internet, yeah you could, but have you actually gone to a museum and compared a digital photo to a physical work of art?

You don't get the detail. You don't get the understanding of just what strokes were put to canvas or wood. There is something different of the clarity, and the vibrance, and rhe depth of color that you just can't quite capture on film without some form of enhancement.

You won't quite understand the time and effort and life that was put into the mastery behind these pieces of art.

So many masters pieces have been lost throughout the annals of time, likely never to be seen again.

We are VERY fortunate to have funders support their local or favorite museums. Fortunate to have passionate people who dedicate their life's work to preserving the quality of the art and restoring it if needs be.

These are masters pieces that are rich in history and time. And now it's not enough for regular museum security to do their jobs and protect and keep the reputations of these museums. Idk if theyre getting bought off or just... whatever... Personally I would rather keep a more optimistic view of people, especially when it is likely they have this job to put food on their table and keep themselves warm. But it happens. And now security will tighten, which means regulations will tighten, which means more restrictions from a public museum, which means a restriction on entertainment and education, which when you think about it, we all know who will get hit first from that.

So yeah. I support the idea of shutting down big polluting oil rigs. And i would gladly support these orgs if they weren't already shady as hell. But like said before. White privelaged stupid activism. There are so many better ways to promote yourself. Especially in the digital age.

Im just glad that they werent permanently damaged, because there has been so much history of intentional damage and theft in the art community. And then people come in boasting how they are experts in their field and ruin a piece further. Sorry... i was one of the people who actually cared about my art history class in high school.

Feel free to add anything below. And correct me if I am wrong. But if you do, please, be kind to other people. I don't want wars waging in my comments. I doubt this will circulate much but... here's to wishful thinking.

#lost artwork #art #art history #museums #protests #oil paintings #art rant #im genuinely curious now that im thinking of it #just how many presumed missing or lost pieces are actually in private hands #are they going tehehehehaha they dont know that i have this. i feel so cool for owning this #so many people dont take advantage of art museums #or history museums #it makes me sad that they are taken for granted

[chibivesicle]

Trigun Stampede - Episode 9 Millions Knives - ‘Cause Knives needs awkward backstory as well

This week’s episode decides to compress things even further by making part of the flashback a shared one for both Vash and Knives.  Stampede is leaning in hard to the hyper intelligent virtuoso trope for Knives with him playing a large piano that has inverted key colors.

His hairstyle and clothing indicate that this is the continuation of the flashback that Vash started in episode eight but we are getting it from his point of view. As he plays he thinks back to his childhood where Vash joins him at the piano.  Vash seems to be really enjoying it, but young Nai is not thrilled.

Honestly, could he have been even more grumpy when he was a kid?  I get that they are different individuals and have different temperaments but this version from Studio Orange makes the contrast even greater than in the manga. They do play together, but since we don’t get to see Nai’s expression with the camera angle from behind can we tell if he actually is enjoying it as much as Vash?  In all of their interactions, it seems like Nai simply tolerates Vash’s existence - like he’d be fine without a twin brother.

The flashback in a flashback returns to the first one and a much younger version of Conrad enters telling Knives that he got something for him.

This is a completely new version of Conrad as his original design was always older and bald in the manga.  An alarm sounds and they end up moving to the large bay with rows and rows and rows of plants.  Knives is visibly angry as he asks what is going on.  Conrad calmly replies that they’ve hit their production limit.

As was the case in Trigun Maximum, they force the plants through their ‘last run’ where they overdrive them to death.  However, unlike the manga, there has been no discussion on the physiological changes that indicate plant aging with their hair turning black yet.  Knives is not happy and a weird black ash floats through the air as Conrad apologizes to Knives on the behalf of all humanity.

And it is perfect timing as the plant whisperer, Vash has appeared.  Knives takes this as his opportunity to prove to Vash that he’s right in regard to everything (I guess based on his immediate need to boss Vash around).

More humans show up and try to get Knives to leave which is just a weird set up.  They said he wasn’t supposed to be there, Vash somehow just strolled into their crashed ship.  You aren’t doing a good job of controlling access copy paste humans who see plants as tools.  Conrad just awkwardly stands there telling them to not take Knives away.

What is this entire situation?  I’m not confused but it seems so forced.  So forced because we need to create tension between passive Vash and aggressive Knives.

With the literal interpretation of his name, he creates claws to kill a bunch of the copy paste men while Conrad and Vash watch.  Vash asks Nai to stop and he replies no one has called him that in a long time.  Is five years really that long of a time though?

Why is Vash standing there?  Murder happened and he’s politely asking Nai to stop.  This allows for the underwhelming reveal that Nai has rebranded himself as Millions Knives.  He is the self appointed leader and only independently associated plant.  Wow, that’s some interesting thought there Knives but how do we know if you are honestly the envoy for all the plants or you are simply stating this without support.

We have heard no input from the plants at this point and lacking that information, I’m going to state that this younger version of Knives decided he’s the plants autocratic leader acting on ‘behalf’ of them.

Vash innocently asks why Knives had to kill people and finally gets more emotional when he reminds Knives that Rem sacrificed herself to save them.

Knives then reveals that Rem messed up his original plans - he’d intended to destroy all of the ships with humans and only save the ships that had plants . . . however, I’m sure he told himself the sacrifices of the plants on the human ships was a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of plantdom.

So Knives solution is to create a paradise for Vash and himself and the rest of the plants stuck in their containers?

Vash sort of argues back with a fact that Rem told them that plants can’t live outside of the plants and without a place to move their energy to without self-destructing.  Knives counters that Vash bought into ‘that’ so he thinks otherwise as a free ranging independent plant.  We don’t know enough about these plants in Stampede to know if that is a lie that Rem told them or the truth.  In the manga it is a fact that the regular plants can’t survive without being connected to something as shown through the awkward interaction with the plants that fell out of Knives’ ark and needed human assistance to ‘plug’ back into the grid to prevent them from dying outright.

Either way, Vash continues to passively stand there as Knives explains his agenda to free their brethren and use his power as a free plant.  Before proceeding to kill a bunch more copy paste guys with his very Wolverine inspired claws.  He wants nothing more for Vash to be his partner in human murder and plant liberation, but Knives really needs to work on his power of persuasion.  Seriously dude, you can’t just tell someone what to do when they are your equal.

He takes a small gun from one of the men he killed and prefaces it in a rather religious tone stating that it is the weapon of a Sinner and it is evil.  Certainly, loaded Christian-ish language but again simple external dressing as far as wel can tell at the moment in this version of Trigun.

We can all see where this is going . . . since Vash won’t kill humans up close and personal like Knives, he’s going to give the gun to him because even someone as weak and docile as Vash can fire a gun.  And to add to it, he has to insult Vash calling him a human-lover.  And with our perfect timing, Luida shows up to tell Vash that she’s here to take him home.

Confirmed, in this version she is not a middle-aged leader of the humans who haven’t fallen and could put all of the men on the surface in their place.  She’s Rem 2.0!  There is no need for strong female characters here.  Knives immediately decides that what Vash needs to do is to kill her.  He looks down at the firearm in horror.

We know that Vash can’t shoot her.  Knives you need to work harder at winning the hearts of others.  He takes the gun for Vash, gaslights him to the core stating he has to do everything for his brother and approaches Luida to kill her.  Vash finally snaps and tackles him.  We finally get some honest Vash emotions and guilt.  He confesses that he always stood behind Rem and she was the one who always protected him, but he lost her in the end.  He decides that Nai isn’t going to take anyone else away from him, but gets tossed off to the side either way.

Knives then calls Luida as witch before declaring his question of how many times you will steal him from me?  Wow - got a weird mother complex much Knives?

Any woman who cares for Vash is the same person and you have to fight her influence? Does this imply there were more ladies besides Rem and Luida?  What is going on with this characterization of Knives? 

Anyhoo, as Knives tries to choke Luida, Vash becomes upset yelling for him to start before he activates his angel arm power - which is a black hole?

And soon as this happened, everyone knew what would happen next.  Knives is gonna have to cut off that left arm. . . .

Knives calls him a fool, Conrad hesitantly asks if it is a gate and it starts to suck in everything around it.  As totally expected, Knives quickly cuts off the arm which gets sucked into the black hole before it eats itself eliminating the danger.

Luida tries to help him as Knives approaches not wanting to have him touched by her.  But shockingly, it is Vash who pulls the gun on Knives. And we get our first serious look from Vash!

 Knives has no choice but to back off and he leaves with Conrad declaring that in a century or so, he’ll create his world for the plants.  Luida screams over his passed out body as the flashback fades to the present where Vash is looking at his prosthetic arm.  Brad comes in and gives him grief about always having to repair the arm.

Of course Vash can’t help but note that Brad has never changed all these years, well other than his obvious aging.  Luida welcomes him back home as he asks about his friends who are all ‘thrilled’ to see him.  Though Wolfwood tries to pretend like they aren’t friends. While chewing on a cigarette.

Vash is relieved and excited as it reveals that of course the ship was hiding in the sandstorm as Zazie’s insects zero in on their location! Confirmed - no puppet master arc with rampant civilian deaths to be replaced by puppets that fall apart in Vash’s arms. 

I’m also disappointed that this avoids the division between those on the uncrashed ship and those on the surface.  The anime and manga tackled it differently but both highlighted the fact that those on the surface were seen as brutish, unrefined, less civilized than those on the ship - by those on the ship.  This entire power dynamic/bias is gone for the moment.

Meryl asks if plants are powering the ship and Luida takes her and Roberto to the large internal garden.  The visual looks very nice and they are excited to see such greenery. But the part that then kills me is the fact that Meryl - doesn’t know what plants are - as in the photosynthetic kind!!!

Why does a straight A student who graduated university not know about plants?  Many other aspects of technology and human knowledge are known by people on the planet but humanity has collectively forgotten about - plants?

Whaaaatttt??? Okay, this is the point where my day job really makes me wonder what on earth Studio Orange’s writers were (or weren’t) thinking.  In the original manga, there are plants on the planet that have been cultivated by very hard working humans.  It is difficult, but the entire Little Arcadia arc was about how a part of a geoplant = part of a plant that helped to terraform, had ‘leaked’ out into the environment and was being carefully cultivated for farming and a green space.  Therefore, this entire aspect of things is no longer a part of the science.  This causes a huge problem in the sci fi aspect of Stampede.  We know that plants help to capture potable water.  They produce electricity.  They create nutrients for agriculture. 

A common item found in all versions of Trigun is alcohol.  You need grains to brew beer, distill spirits and the like.  Stampede is telling us that all of that booze we saw in the beginning is produced by something other than grains?  On a large enough scale that you can bottle it, and consume it?  I could see that the production of it would have been difficult in the original series, but we have pancakes, pizza, donuts, coffee, tea and all of these common food items implying that there is some version of the agricultural industrial complex in the Trigun world but in Stampede - we don’t have agriculture?  This is about as bad as the ship that crashed, didn’t have a plant, had windmills and NO solar panels to use on less windy days!  The science in this sci fi series is killing me.  As soon as you think about it for more than five seconds your brain goes -ack- at this poor writing.  I know the mechanics of many things in Trigun Maximum are hand wavy at best but at least it kept it consistent.

Luida is there to tell Roberto that they are using plants to power the garden but by having regular plants there, they are able to lessen the burden on the plants - not sure how that works since if anyone has ever worked with plants in a growth chamber or greenhouse the amount of energy that goes into it is massive.

You need your swamp coolers, shade cloth, LED or high powered lights, temperature controller, pest control and what about the pollinators for those plants?  Are they all self-compatible? I’m falling down my own rabbit hole of my own making over this aspect of the episode.  Where is the greenhouse staff?  Who is taking care of them?

Okay, I’m taking a step back from my legitimate day job concerns with this and moving onto the scene I predicted from either my episode one or two review.  The famous ‘sempai noticed me!’

Roberto tries to smoke and Luida tells him not to which results in his request of Meryl.

That’s right, he’s no longer calling her newbie, she’s now Meryl, but she still needs to do something for him as the junior colleague.  She first replies before realizing it, excitedly runs up to him and asks if he indeed called her by her name.  Entire plot trope status - achieved.

The entire interaction plays out where he denies it, she presses him and Luida just smiles like “Oh what a genuine interaction.”

While they are in the garden dome, we see Wolfwood sulking in a corner asking Vash what he’s going to do about Knives.  Noting that he likely, can’t just make up with him.  Vash insists he’ll save anyone and Wolfwood parries back that he can’t do that and he will have to make a choice. 

Vash is more intent to not kill - adding he’ll never do it again.  This implies that there was an incident where he did end up killing.  Our non-July-July incident of the past 150 years?  What else happened - since so far we don’t have anything to go on for Vash’s own past mistakes. Interestingly, since Brad is now older and wiser, he’s able to shut Wolfwood down immediately, but not after trying to connect with him stating that he was similar in his own youth.  Wolfwood tries to argue that the old man is wrong, but Brad simply states that Vash is tough if Wolfwood would simply watch him over time.

Luida meekly stumbles into the room to inform them that Worms busted in and kidnapped Meryl and Roberto.  Her emotions are so off in this entire scene, I get that she’s older but she didn’t run to them or use a phone to call them. Instead, she leads them back to the dome and Wolfwood is able to state that Zazie the Beast is the one who took them.

They way up in another generic looking room as Zazie welcomes them to July, which is the crashed plant carrying ship.  Meryl asks if they’d met before and Zazie replies not in the current form.

Roberto asks if Zazie is there on behalf of Knives but instead states they are trying to determine which side to work with.

Roberto then shoots Zazie, who disperses into individual worms before reforming their body on the other side explaining it is a conduit.  Therefore, unlike the original where Zazie used a worm to control an individual human body, which could be shot and killed and then move their consciousness to another human body, it seems that Zazie is just a worm-llusion of sorts.   This entire interaction is Zazie the Beast as our new info dump character.  It this version it is Zazie who tells Roberto and Meryl how humans destroyed the Earth and therefore left it in search of new places to live.  The worms are not happy since they see this as their own planet.  Meryl doubts Zazie but I’m now concerned about her basic education . . . previous versions of Trigun had much more well educated people despite all of the challenges that they had to overcome.

While Zazie info dumps, Vash and Wolfwood are making their way to July via blue ostrich.  Hopefully, the assistance from ship three made it easy for them to reach that point?

Meryl asks what the collected red plants are for, Conrad says they don’t need to know while Zazie asks who the planet is for?  And ends.

The map showed them in the ship located over the sand ocean so they are getting closer to July.  We can assume that they are back on more normal land, and heading to July.

This does sort of guarantee that all road lead to July, which Vash may blow up with - his still remaining right arm?

Basic thoughts on this episode.

1.) Everything continues to be completely generic and predictable.  I know, I can’t be satisfied with this series.  We can follow the plot beats, predict what will happen and then watch it limply be delivered.  This series is failing to pull at my heartstrings.  There is no weight to actions, there is no payoff.  Everything is expose. 2.) Characters and their situations

Vash - was completely passive in the flashback until he unlocked his gate potential in his angel arm which was a black hole that sucked stuff in and had to be cut off by Knives.  No angelic body horror aspects, black hole only.  He pulled the gun on Knives, who simply gave up.  I missed the whole Vash shooting Knives and then running off screaming like a madman in the ‘98 anime or how Knives cut off his arm and then left him to die in the desert tied to a rock bit.  We do learn that he apparently has killed in the past though - which is in line with the manga - but that was the July incident.

Knives - is the self-proclaimed autocratic leader of the plants with a 150 year plan for plant domination of the planet.  All women are evil and can seduce - or - mother Vash which is dangerous and they are all the same and must be stopped to save Vash.  That is so many tropes rolled into one that I don’t even want to parse them all out.  Knives - chill dude.  Unless we get more background for his anger in Stampede, he rings hollow in his motivations.

Luida and Brad - look pretty good for adults 150 years ago.  I’m going to read between the lines that the crew of ship three have been rotating on and off over the years with a skeleton crew and they are one of those shifts.  It is just my opinion on the internet; I preferred their manga characters 1000x more than these old & wise individuals.  This also feeds into the previous observations from others that what Stampede lacks are the general population.  Guess the animation budget wasn’t meant for frontier towns of people going about their day to day lives.

Meryl and Roberto - had their predicted noticed by sempai moment.

Wolfwood - has entered the friend zone by him denying it.  Yep, he’s now friends with Vash despite them still having zero chemistry as characters. Zazie - continues to be crazy and isn’t the same as before which disappointed me more.  The idea that a human body was a disposable host for the worm collective mind was clever and darker than being a collective of worms that appears human to interact with humans and plants.

Conrad - was stripped of his sexy balding man past and instead given hipster hair.  He was already going bald when Rem talked to him about the twins.

3.) It was forced and awkward the entire episode.  This entire series of events felt so stiff and unnatural.  People stood around while very traumatic events happened like it was a normal day.  The copy paste men ran in to be killed by Knives Wolverine X-men style.  Conrad stood around.  Vash stood around.  Luida stood around.  Where was the sense of motion and of overpowering emotions.  Everything fell flat. 4.) Vash’s gate was activated by strong emotions.  And then cut off by Knives.  No putative angel arm in sight.  This also has me wondering if we will even get the Tessla backstory or not.  Episode eight had Luida trying to look up classified information about past independent plants but she couldn’t get it - yet knew that they existed . . . will there even be a flashback where Knives and Vash learn about Tessla or is that also gone? We really need a Tessla backstory for the Vash-Knives conflict and personal motivation. Vash is willing to forgive all humans in their wrongs while Knives uses their wrongs as his driving motivating factor in trying to destroy them and create his utopia for plants under his dictatorship.

5.) There are no Gung-ho Guns.  Period.  The concept is gone.  This is not a western remember?  This is sci fi.  The lack of a general population of civilians also makes for the stakes to seem rather low - how many humans are actually living in the seven cities?  How many are there to protect anyways?  Why is their education system to bad?  What do they eat without agriculture?  There has been no explanation for any of this.  Do the plants produce alcohol for bottling?  Instant meal blocks?  Cotton for clothing that the normal people are wearing?  They can manufacture weapons for sure.

I will be controversial and state what this episode has me thinking about.  Studio Orange has failed at world building.  Too many basic concepts don’t make sense to superficially serve what are poorly written plot points in an episode. Yet when strung together don’t make any logical sense.  You could argue the other versions of Trigun didn’t lean hard into the science aspect of things but everything made sense.  People had animals for transport, the Thomases.  They were able to farm if they worked hard.  Not all towns required a plant to operate, they’d become more off the grid with other means.  It was the fact that any larger place required plants.  There was a functioning economic system of trade and currency to facilitate the production of goods and items.  These things weren’t impossible in the anime and manga, but in Stampede they are impossible.  Life was hard on the planet but the quality of living was indeed higher and those who kept themselves isolated on the uncrashed ship also had attitude to match.

I know it is an anime based on a manga, so we could say I’m being overly critical of these elements.  But compared to the original anime and Trigun Maximum there was enough stuff in between that life wasn’t as bleak as in Stampede.  The day to day logic held up and the world building was consistent with rules that applied to many of the basics.  I can be totally fine with a bonkers set up - as long as you do a good job building that world and keeping your rules consistent throughout. 

Lastly, Stampede has failed all of its female characters to date.  At this point, we still have no idea what Rem taught Vash that he is hellbent on upholding her impossible ideals.  Rem saved them.  That’s it.  Meryl is too young and inexperienced like her past version.  Milly is absent.  Luida has been destroyed from her previous leader position to Rem 2.0.  Elendira hasn’t even done anything yet.  Rosa was the only mother who didn’t get killed by Knives. What’s worse is that we still have a predicted three more episodes to go with this version of Trigun with its paradoxical pacing!  July go boom and then time skip? Three episodes left for that to happen . . . 

I can already feel the siren song to go back to the source material for a better meta or even more so - slide on over to more Kekkai Sensen/Blood Blockade Battlefront which is much more my vibe.  I’m itching to write up my spin on how Trigun influenced B3, a series with a sitcom style format.  I need to write  a meta about Meryl and Milly as Leonardo Watch and Klaus V Reinheirz.

#Trigun #trigun stampede #trigun anime #trigun maximum #trigun stampede meta #trigun stampede episode review #Vash the Stampede #millions knives #meryl stryfe #roberto deniro #luida leitner #brad #luida #zazie the beast #nicholas d. wolfwood #william conrad

[heartbrkr]

2:46AM ☆ fluff

MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN!

You’re currently forcing your eyes to keep themselves open, convincing yourself you have all the time tomorrow to catch up on sleep. Though, you couldn’t help it, the rumbling of Haechan’s chest as he spoke and the clicking of his mouse and keyboard was lulling you to slumber.

“Babe… what are you doing?” Your boyfriend asks, with his microphone muted, when he sees your furrowed eyebrows and pouty lips after his match. You’re resting on his lap with your head against his chest, your front facing his monitor that illuminates you both with shifting colors. Normally, he’d be more cautious when asking, but you look so warm and sleepy to the point you look like a frustrated puppy.

“Clearly, ‘m trying to stay awake. This is the first time we’ve seen each other this week and I’m not going to miss this opportunity, no matter what it takes.” You looked up at him the best you could, too drained to fully twist your body to face him. You thought you sounded determined but what had entered Haechan’s ears were merely slurred syllables. You don’t notice him stifling a laugh through your ajar eyes.

He sighs dramatically, “gosh, am I that boring to you?” When he doesn’t get a response in any form, he glances at you again.

You had shifted back to your original position as soon as you finished your little speech, but he still tries to let his thumbs run across your cheeks. “You know, I would’ve stopped playing if you asked me to,” he tells you in a much softer tone.

You fight back the urge to nod off right then and there at his careful touch, but you manage to reply. “Yeah, well, I don’t wanna impose. This is your only downtime, you can do anything you like. I could watch you do absolutely nothing for hours and I’d still be thrilled.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind, we can transfer now.”

You sloppily and enthusiastically nod, maybe a bit overenthusiastically for your head is heavy with sleep that it lolls around, “mhm, go ahead. I’m so sure, more sure than I’ve ever been in my life!” 

He hums, wondering if you’re conscious that you’re saying more than enough. He loves how you’re comfortable enough to sleep on him, comfortable enough to let him hear your drowsy incoherence. “I’ll wake you up once I finish this last one, okay?”

You protest, almost jumping out of his lap and waking yourself up, “no, no. I’ll stay up until you’re tired. I want to hear you yell at your supposed incompetent teammates. ‘S kinda hot, y’know, when you’re all worked up.”

Haechan throws his head back to the chair’s headrest and laughs so heartily that your own heart manages to swell at the sound; he ponders if you’ll remember your remark when you’ve gotten enough rest. You intertwine your own hands with his and give them a gentle squeeze. He lets go and instantly, he hears a defeated whine come from you.

You mumble a little I’m exaggerating and give him a kiss on his cheek to the best of your abilities. He gives you an amused smirk and you turn your back on him with crossed arms, rolling your eyes, “it’s for good luck, obviously. I’m your lucky charm.”

You said you’d stay awake, but the next time the VICTORY! screen appears, he immediately looks at you to find you asleep with a gentle smile gracing your face. And Haechan silently admits to himself you were right, he’s lucky to have you.

#clearly.. haechan is my muse #haechan x reader #lee haechan x reader #haechan imagines #haechan x gn reader #haechan x gender neutral!reader #haechan timestamps #haechan fluff #donghyuck x reader #lee donghyuck x reader #donghyuck imagines #donghyuck fluff #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct timestamps

[deada55]

The Clicking of the Chain (The Silence of the Lambs Parody) (#1 of 2)

for kloktober day 11: horror movie crossover

It's a parody, not a crossover, and I used a lot of the original script for this sequence to make sure it 'accomplishes' similar things for the main plot. I've always wanted to do this sort of thing... I like doing kloktober pieces that are for me more than the audience, but I hope you enjoy this retelling of one of the most quoted scenes in The Silence of the Lambs featuring Charles Offdensen and Magnus Hammersmith.

tws: body fluids, sexual harassment

At the bottom of the stairs was a left turn into a dingy cream-colored space kin to a car rental window at a crusty regional airport. A bulletin board held seven year-old thank you cards and a sign-in sheet for personal visitors. From a slim staff door came a short man in his sixties in an Orioles ball cap and white coveralls and an extended hand.

“Hi, I’m Mashed Potato Johnson. He told you, don’t get near the bars?” Damien Cornickleson’s footsteps were still volleying down the stairwell.

“Charles Offdensen.” He took the handshake with a bit of a dip. ”Yes, he did.”

“Okay. Past the others, he’s in the last cell. Stay to the middle, now. I put out a chair for you.” He pointed through the door to the gray wall of the corridor, where there was a security camera mounted to the wall. “I’m watching. You’ll do fine.”

His even steps echoed down the dim corridor, lined on one side with cameras and the other with iron bars holding back men of all sorts of shapes and sizes and muttering. Right before he’d reached the end of the hall, a green, black, and white blur threw itself against the bars, bearing wet, darkly streaked, yellow teeth. The white cast on his face rubbed off on the iron, and his crudely-colored green mane of matted frizz was trapped in his grip on the lock. 

“Cocaine!”

Charles flinched hard enough to set his glasses off-kilter, but he only stalled on a single step before he was standing squarely in front of Magnus Hammersmith behind bars.

His cell was kept more lit, and had the addition of nylon netting on the exterior side of the bars. The inside of Magnus’ cell was covered in swaths of butcher paper decorated with black and white modern art patterns of various scales, with or without interlocking phantograms of all manners of polygons. 

Charles cleared his throat and lowered the briefcase in his hands. “Mr. Hammersmith, my name is Charles Offdensen. May I speak with you?”

Magnus looked up from his magazine, eyes shining behind the tight waves of his hair. His ankles stretched at least a foot past the hem of his hospital pajamas and his skin, historically photographed to be a warm medium tone, was bleached and dusty from the windowless basement floor. Despite the menacing angles of his face, his voice was indignant, not commanding.

“And good morning to you, too,” he sneered, then went back to his reading.

Charles took another step forward.

“Magnus, we’re having a hard time with a case, and we believe you might have some guiding information. Do you mind answering a short questionnaire?”

“ ‘We’ being the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico… But what’s a suit like you doing there? Huh? Fraud investigation wasn’t the thrill you expected?” He chuckled at his own joke and tossed the magazine on the floor with a resonant slap. “You’re one of Roy Cornickleson’s, I expect.”

“I am, yes.”

“Show me.”

Charles whipped his wallet out of his pocket and opened it to his IDs, holding them out in front of them.

“Closer, Charles. I have two eyes, but only one of them works.”

Charles clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t make a face and inched closer each time, but didn’t dare lean.

“Expires in a week. You’re not real FBI yet, are you?”

“I’m still in training at the Academy.” Charles pushed his glasses back up to his nose and squared his feet.

“Old Roy’s showing me off to a trainee? Well-”

“We’re talking about investigation, Magnus. You can decide for yourself if I’m qualified.”

“Smart, Officer Offdensen. Sit down.”

The rusted hinges of the chair bent when he sat down. If he were any heavier, he’d have been tipped into the floor. Magnus mirrored him and sat back down on his cot.

“Now, what did Rockzo say to you? Don’t look stupid– Dr. Rockzo, the Rock n’ Roll Clown in the next cell. He lunged at you. What did he say?”

“He said, uh, ‘cocaine’.”

“Of course he did. He does cocaine. Or did. Whatever. But you… you don’t have that kind of money, do you? You brought your best briefcase to see me today, didn’t you?”

Charles pulled at his tie before he remembered to stop himself. “Sure.”

“It’s better than your shoes, but not great. Not the cocaine type.”

“Not now, no.” Just like that, Magnus was out of things to say, and started to bounce his leg. The movement of his subway-sized foot was comical… if he had a pair of spoons in his hand, they’d click together nicely. The nervous bouncing on such a long, flimsy frame made him look like a dancing toy.

“Did you do those drawings?”

“Yes. Do you care much for contemporary art?”

“I’m not familiar… they allow you to keep a compass?” One of the works was a system of interlocking circles, some of them chained together in links, and others that looked like they were out of a spirograph.

“No. The scratching of the pen is what I have instead of a tune. Can’t let me get a hold on wood or string, can they?”

Charles looked down as if bowing his head in church before taking out a questionnaire from his briefcase. He held his chest higher.

“Magnus, if you’d please…”

“I’ve had my fair share of shrinks and investigators, Offdensen. You’ve been courteous, you’ve established trust and complimented my art, but this segue into your little survey is a bunch of bullshit. It’s boring, it’s stupid, and that’s not going to cut it.”

“I’m asking you to look at it. Either you will or you won’t.”

Magnus snorted and stretched his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed. “Roy Cornickleson must be strapped for time hunting down the ‘Metal Masked Assassin’ if he needs help from the likes of amateurs like you. Did he send you here to ask me about him?”

“No, I-”

“How many people has he used up so far, that Assassin?”

“Five, so far.”

“Flayed?”

“Partially, but that’s an active case, and I’m not involved, s–”

“Do you know why he’s called the Metal Masked Assassin? The newspapers don’t say.”

“I’ll tell you if you look over this form.” Charles passed it into a metal hatch which opened on Magnus’ side when the door to the outside was closed. Once Magnus picked it up, Charles began…

“It, uh, started as a joke, about wearing their faces, like that one movie…”

“And you can’t remember the title.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Right.” Magnus set the questionnaire on the cot beside him. “Show me what you have to offer. Why do you think he takes their skins, Officer Offdensen?”

“Uh, well, most serial killers take a trophy, sometimes for excitement or-”

“I didn’t.”

“You ate them.”

“So it would seem.” He smirked and picked the forms back up, only to begin tearing them in a frenzy that exploded out of nowhere but the air around them. As he struggled, his grunts and the struggling, shearing sounds of ripping copy paper volleyed in the stony ward.

“You think you’re so clever, so ambitious, don’t you Chuck? You’re a fraud dressed like a bourgeois bagman. Good nutrition has given you well-fleshed features, but you’re not more than one generation from salty white trash, are you? That New England accent you prune so delicately to hide all the junkiness of Maine fishmarkets– What was your father, huh? Did you have one, or did he roll from his bed into the sea like every other frozen drunk on his lobster boat? I bet the other boys without fathers found you just fine in locker rooms, with wound, wet towels and cracked lips, while all you could think about was a less physical path of being, of being at all… and power. Powerful as the F.B.I…”

“You see a lot, but are you strong enough to look at yourself? Write it on the piece of paper.”

“And you’d love it, wouldn’t you?”

“If you weren’t a coward.”

“You think you’re tough one, aren’t you?”

“... I decline to comment.”

“Oh, but you’d hate if I thought you were anything but superior! It’d break you to little fucking pieces. Don’t worry, Charles. If you hold your head high enough, everyone will assume you’re tall someday soon.”

“And the questions?”

Magnus turned his back. Charles leaned forward in his seat and slammed the door of the meal hatch open and shut again. Magnus was up and snarling at the bars in a flash. 

“A census taker once tried to test me, Charles. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti. I hope a degree from Harvard will help you piece together that fucking around making noise in a ward of prisioners and psychos won’t give you a bigger dick! Go back to school. The boys miss you!”

He retreated from the bars to stand in front of one of his works, and Charles took his invitation to leave.

“Ooh, hoo, hoo, hoo!… Dr. Rockzo don’t feel so good. Ohh, it hurts, it’s all infected, shit all over this mess, ooh-hoo! K-k-k-lookit-”

When Charles paused at the cry, he took half a load of semen into his face from Rockzo’s hand. While he howled, Magnus bellowed, “You stupid fucking clown!” Charles fumbled in his pockets for a frayed pink tissue and tried not to let the clown’s cum anywhere closer to his eyes and mouth. Just when he’d passed Dr. Rockzo’s cell and saw the light streaming in from the room he was in before, away from the din rising up in the corridor, he heard Magnus shouting above them all.

“Officer Offdensen!”

With burning eyes and sharp features as contorted and pinched as the acid-trip Devil that leads partygoers to slit their wrists or jump out of bedroom windows, Magnus stood again at the bars of his cell. Charles hurried himself back over, although he couldn’t see further than his armspan while he carefully wiped the body fluids off the lens of his glasses. 

The veins in Magnus’ neck were thick as snakes. “Look, I didn’t want that for you. Excretions are disgusting to me, and bad manners-”

“Then do the survey for me.”

“No, but I’ll do you one better. Advancement. Go to Split City, check on an old bandmate of mine, Ravenwood. Just like you think it’s spelled. Now leave. I don’t think Dr. Rockzo could manage again so soon, even if he is crazy. Don’t wait around to see– Go!”

#my writing #metalocalypse fanfic #magnus hammersmith #charles offdensen #dr rockso #kloktober2023

[auxiliarydetective]

Sanji/Cora/Zoro Fic Snippets, Part 2

More of the prompts that @starcrossedjedis sent me!

These are both a bit more on the shorter side, hope you don't mind! Also, I originally promised myself I was gonna do fluff only, but a little bit of hurt/comfort snuck into the second one ^^"

Enjoy!

💛 Reunion Kiss/Relief

Cora was leaning over the railing, waiting for Usopp to come back up with Sanji. Whatever had happened to Sanji over the last two years, it was concerning, to say the least.

“That idiot,” Zoro grumbled, coming up behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

That was… new. Well, one of those things.

Cora chuckled. “You’re always so nice to him… Glad to know at least that hasn’t changed.”

Zoro spun her around in his arms, then placed a rough hand beneath her chin and kissed her on the lips. The kiss was oddly gentle, yet desperate at the same time, and all the while just as rough as Zoro’s kisses always were. It was the comfort that Cora had been yearning for for the last two years, mixed with the thrill of something new. When Zoro finally pulled away from her, she immediately missed the taste of his lips.

“Eager, are we?” she breathed.

“Can you blame me?” Zoro chuckled. “It’s been too fucking long.”

“It has.”

As if she were just a doll, Zoro easily scooped her up into his arms, letting her wrap her legs around his waist.

“There we go. Did you get smaller?”

“No, you idiot,” Cora laughed. “You got taller!”

“Did I?”

“Yeah! I’m wearing taller heels than usual and you’re still bigger than I remembered.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“You’ll get tired of looking up, so I get to carry you around more.”

Once again, Cora laughed, clinging on to Zoro so she wouldn’t lose her balance and fall. Not that he would ever let that happen. She let herself lean against him, running her fingers through his hair, trying to familiarize herself with every single detail about him again as quickly as possible. New freckles, new scars, the same shapes and colors she knew so well. The same but different. And she couldn’t wait to get to know him all over again.

True Love’s Kiss/Magic Kiss/Healed

Cora stood in front of her closet, going through her clothes. She was looking for some old clothes to improve on, an embroidery project for those long days at sea, for those nights spent out on night watch, whether voluntary or not. Clad in only her underwear, she flicked through the various clothes hangers, looking at one garment, trying on another… Finally, she picked out an old skirt, plain black and uneventful. One of the few items she had actually bought and not sewn herself. Perhaps… Swiftly, she put it on, spinning around once or twice, then walking over to her vanity table to grab a piece of chalk. Carefully, she started sketching patterns and lines onto the fabric.

That was until she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze got caught on those characteristic lines on her back, senseless and discolored, as if someone had dropped their sewing kit and the needles had gone everywhere. Some were bigger, some were smaller. Some still hurt sometimes.

Suddenly, she heard someone call her name, and there were steps in the room. In a hectic motion, she yanked one of her jackets out of the closet and swung it over her shoulders, covering her back. Then, she noticed who it was: Zoro and Sanji, probably there to have her settle an argument or a bet. Or both. Or being clingy. Maybe all three.

“God,” Cora gasped, “don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry, princess,” Sanji apologized.

“The door was open,” Zoro just shrugged.

“Was it?” Cora sighed, sounding both annoyed and tired.

“Aren’t you supposed to cover your tits when people come in?” Zoro asked, causing Sanji to give him an annoyed stare.

“And since when do I care about covering my chest, huh?” Cora replied. “I’ve got some very pretty bras, why not show them off? Such a shame to be hiding them under shirts all the time.”

“But you’re still hiding your back?”

“… Touché.”

Typical Zoro. He always knew how to hit a nerve, but he had no idea how to do it gently. “Gentle” was more Sanji’s style. True to this, the blonde cook came up to hug Cora within seconds, gently running his fingers through her hair.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he whispered.

“Wounds on the back are a swordsman’s greatest shame,” Cora just mumbled.

“Don’t use my words against me, you got it?” Zoro growled, pulling the jacket off of Cora’s back. “You’re not a swordsman, you’ve told me that over and over. And that rule only applies in a situation where you’re in control. Where it’s fair. You didn’t even have a chance to fight.”

“Look, Cora,” Sanji mumbled, cupping her face with his hands as Zoro ran his fingers along the scars across her back. “How you got those scars doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. They healed. And we’re not going back there anymore. Never ever, you hear me? They’re never gonna find us, and if they do, we’ll be far away before they can even try to catch us. Alright?”

Cora nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“That’s my girl,” Sanji smiled, giving her a gentle kiss.

“If any of those guys even try to get close to you, I’ll chop off their heads,” Zoro declared.

“I just wish I could’ve gotten out of there sooner,” Cora mumbled.

“You did what you could, and what’s done is done. Let them be assholes all they want, everyone’s gotta die one day.”

Cora hummed quietly, then a smile spread on her face. “Why did you come here anyway? Did you need anything?”

“That waiter claimed he was a better kisser than me,” Zoro grumbled.

“Really?”

“Because I am,” Sanji beamed. “Right, Cora? – It’s about the technique, not just shoving your tongue down someone’s throat.”

“You never seem to mind it when I do it to you,” Zoro chuckled. “And neither does Cora, by the way. Right, babygirl?”

“I, uh… I dunno,” Cora stammered. But then she smirked. “I’d need a direct comparison to know for sure.”

Immediately, there was a mischievous grin on both Zoro and Sanji’s faces.

“As you wish, madam,” Sanji purred.

Just then, Zoro picked Cora up from behind, causing her to let out a surprised shriek. Within few steps, he placed her down on her mattress. Both of the men crawled over her and started covering her in kisses, all the while trying to push each other away, throwing Cora into a giggling fit.

#one piece #one piece live action #one piece oc #opla oc #fyeahonepieceocs #oc: akaito coraline #otp: you wouldn't fight a katana with a rapier #ot3: the prince. the princess. the knight. #fanfiction #ask