#adres ghost

[did-someone-say-aliens]

silly goofy ghost and pals memes

dont come after me if these are inaccurate

[nextplayerup]

freaky guy stimboard for all of you freaky people... I do not see it at all btw

x x x

x x x

x x x

[m3rk1]

^⁠_⁠^ Stamps ───── credit if you repost / using⠀⠀⠀Ghost and pals (2) !

stamps request open!!

[acididk]

them adres fans over there

You know who you are

[marklikely]

the other day i found out that ghost stories was not. originally a flop and in fact was really successful in japan when it first aired so there was literally no reason for the english dub to be Like That.

[temere-canis]

i forgot to post these 2 days ago

[luxx-is-sleepy]

Of course I'm kinsidering Adres

[bits-and-babs]

Your fics are amazing! Would you ever write about König?

𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐃 — 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

synopsis : rumours of an elite soldier have the base reeling. murmurings of 'monster' and 'freak'. what happens when you come face to face with the beast, only to find he's nothing like the whispers cautioned?

pairing : könig x f!reader

warnings : 18+ mdni. war, violence, graphic gory imagery, self-conscious könig baby, little bit of hand kink, basic bitch smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, size kink, tight fit, sugar-sweet teeth rotting smut. this feels so basic… but I was struggling. please note, kilgore is a name previously linked to könig. I have used it as a codename 🙂

könig masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Warfare training preps for the inevitable—those moments you need to fire a weapon and how to camouflage and navigate enemy territory without detection. These inescapable horrors are 'another day in the office' by the time you enter the field, the prickling chill of fear driven out of your system. Whistling RPGs are not dissimilar to the scream of your Drill Sergeant's commands, the cold, hard ground of a dilapidated building no more uncomfortable than the standard-issue barracks mattress you would ease your wearing bones into after training. 

Fear, beaten out of each man and woman that slipped on the uniform, held no commonplace in the military. Weapons, the call to war, brutality and sirens did little to raise the blood pressure. 

Whispers held far more weight and struck unease into the hearts of even the most desensitised of fighters. 

It was inarguable that each military in every country, at any time, had its own 'boogeyman'. Notorious fighters with absurdly large kill counts consisting of three digits that inevitably earned a bounty for their head, funded by the enemy—elite warriors who acquired a legendary reputation that ultimately became horror stories. The Ghost of Kyiv, The American Sniper Chris Kyle. These military cryptids kept their enemies awake at night, baying for blood and begging for the piles of bodies they left behind to stop growing. 

After years in the SAS, you were beginning to think that there was no such thing. Each soldier was prolific, brutally efficient and inarguably the best of the elite forces. It was only upon entering Task Force 141, a genuinely mean feat, that you began to hear the unshunnable, hushed whispers of Kilgore. 

“Did you hear about Berlin?” 

“Kilgore? Yeah, heard he blew away a whole Al-Qatala cell.”

“Twelve of ‘em. The hostages were traumatised.”

These mumblings had persisted for months, consistently updated with crazy tales of whole garrisons blown to smitheries by this massacre-happy hulking mass of pure military precision. You, like the rest of 141, elected to ignore the gossip. This was a battlefield, filled with elite soldiers, not a school playground. 

                            ✰

Austrian mud splatters your camo-clad shins as you sprint through the forest terrain, your heart lurching in your chest as your rain-soaked fingers almost fumble your gun to the sodden ground. It’s freezing cold, the gush of rain edging on a flurry of sleet as lightning cracks above your head. Clothes soaked through, the moisture and icy wind form something of a ‘Pact of Steel’, working together to deep freeze the marrow of your bones. 

As you slip in the mud again, heel skidding across the slick soil, you realise how dire the situation truly is. Separated from 141 during the firefight, you’d navigated north. You continued running for the safe house once discovering your coms had been dispatched by a stray bullet— that certainly would have ripped through your heart and dispatched you instantly if not for the layers of plastic settled over it. 

Thunder rumbles in the clouds above, the boom reminiscent of a distant air strike. Slurried earth gives way beneath your feet as you push on. Exhaustion gnaws at your joints as you scramble for safety, bested only by the adrenaline that buzzed in your ear like a vicious drill sergeant. “Move it! Do you wanna die?! Well fucking move!” 

You can hear their boots in the mud, the advancing Al-Qatala mercenaries chasing after you and shooting blindly at your heels, competing with the distance and dense foliage. You’re like an injured fox, feverish bloodhounds nipping at the end of your tail— what could they do with an SAS hostage? How much leverage would it buy? 

Bullets whistle by your feet, the proximity of some enough to set your hair on end. They’re closing in, jowls dripping with slobber as they attempt to close their teeth around you. Just a little mor—

Crack. 

Chaos erupts behind you, the thump of a body and a flurry of shouts. Panicked voices overlay each other in different languages, Urzik and Persian. You scramble for cover behind a treetrunk, the bark cutting at your palms as you brace for incoming fire. 

"Kilgore!" Someone shouts, and your blood runs cold, eyes wide as they dart around the foliage for the legendary soldier. The whizzing of high-powered bullets persists, dropping Al-Qatala mercenaries into the mud beneath them. You hear the yelled orders, Urzik fighters urged to retreat.

You're unsure if one fails to hear the directive over the din of warfare, but you hear the advancing feet of the mercenary advancing on your position—the squelch of the mud beneath the rubber sole of his combat boots. You scramble with your weapon, checking the gun's safety and readying for a one-shot shoot-out. 

When a bullet shreds through a victim's head, the sound is reminiscent of a watermelon being cracked open. It's a sickening crunch. A wet spray of warm blood cuts through the downpour of rain, splattering across your face. Some of it is solid, brain matter and shards of cranium. 

It's not silent by any means. The rain continues to beat against the floor, pattering in the puddles that had formed in sole-shaped prints in the soaked earth. Cracks of thunder sound in the distance, and the droplets drum against the leaves in the forest's canopy. However, the sounds of the firefight cease. 

"You can come out," a voice calls to you. Accented; Germanic. You hesitate for a moment, once again strengthening your grip on the gun you'd clung to. Your lungs strain with the sudden intake of breath, ribs crushed beneath your tac-vest. "Ghost sent me." 

Easing your head out from behind the tree trunk, you marvel, somewhat horrified, at the gigantic, hulking build of the man who stood in the clearing. Fallen enemy combatants surround him, a blanket of corpses draped across the turbid forest floor. A black veil covers his face, and his equipment litters his tac-vest. 

You'd be lying if you said you were unperturbed by the sight. Instead, fear lurches in the pit of your stomach, and you freeze in place. It's only when your eyes catch the crystal white slicing through crimson on the patch sewn into his shoulder that the airy voice, which certainly doesn't match his enormous frame, brings you a sense of safety. 

"The safe house is ahead. We could get you warm–– clean you up?"

                            ✰

Staring into the bubbling pan of water settled over the small fire, you relish in the warmth that creeps across your chilled body. Still, you're soaked, the damp clinging to the threads of your clothes. The scent of iron still assaults your nose, the water that you pick off the fire cautiously heated enough to scrub the blood from your face. 

Kilgore, who informed you upon entering the safehouse preferred to be called by his name König, had seated himself in the corner of the large, relatively empty room. He looked ridiculous like this, attempting to compact his body into the crevice. You don't doubt it's an attempt to ease the nervous energy bleeding through your pores, your hands trembling as you attempt to dip the rag he had gifted you into the hot water. 

"Did..." You swallow thickly, glancing up at the Austrian, "Did you tell the Lieutenant where we are?" 

"Mhm-hm," he nods slowly, his jade eyes watching you from beneath the face veil. They're sharp and bright, contrasting so strongly against his uniform's muted and inky shades. "He's planning evac." 

You scrub the gore from your face, wincing as you feel the shards of bone scrape across your face. König's eyes bore into you from the other side of the room, watching you struggle to remove what was left of the grime the rain had failed to wash away. 

"I've-... Heard a lot about you," you speak to him, attempting to cross the vast space he had consciously put between you. His green eyes gaze at you, unblinking as he watches your expression. König is trying to read you, trying to comprehend how you feel. He's cautious, trying not to push you outside of your comfort zone. 

"About Berlin?" He asks, and his voice is so soft that it reminds you of a child attempting to speak after being reprimanded by their parents–– wary of a second bout of raised voices. 

"Yes," you mumble, dipping the crimson rag into the water before laying it across your skin again, "About Berlin." 

König hums softly, casting his eyes to the aged, wooden floorboards. The woodlice have chewed through them, moss growing in some parts. You can see he appears uncomfortable, his knuckles white from the fists that form in his lap. 

"I didn't mean to scare anyone," König admits in a whisper, catching you off guard. His shoulders sag slightly, and you see him pick at loose threads in the knees of his camo trousers. 

"N-No... I meant to say how courageous it was," you point out, watching his fidgeting hands still suddenly, "You risked your life for those hostages... saved them singlehandedly. No one else would have done that." 

Hesitant silence settles between you both, König considering your words carefully as he stares at his lap. You can't see his face, the veil concealing all but his eyes, though you're almost sure he's stunned by your comment. It takes him a moment to discern his next step, but he finally lifts his body from the wooden chair he'd pulled into the corner. It creaks with the shift in weight distribution, floorboards straining as he walks across the space towards you. 

"You also saved me," you point out, watching him kneel before you, "Faced a whole cell..."

König steals your words from your mouth when his huge hand settles around the bloodied rag in your palm. He doesn't speak at; first, silence hanging between you once again as he dips the cloth into the water. Then, he soaks it until it drips, droplets pinging off the surface, and wrings it out. His dorsal muscles ripple beneath the backs of his palm, veins a ballpoint colour and standing out against his pale skin. 

"Ghost asked me to," he mumbles, carefully holding the damp fabric and slowly reaching for your face. He gives you time to pull away–– you don't. 

"You could have ignored him," you whisper, suddenly breathless with this proximity. He still towers over you, even balanced on his knees, head and shoulders slumped over you. You can see the ocean green of his eyes clearly, the halo of brown flecks that cover the circumference of his pupil. His eyelashes flutter when he blinks, so pretty and oddly feminine. 

The pressure of the cloth against your skull is so delicate. König appears to be afraid of hurting you, gently brushing away the flecks of blood in your hairline. He shakes his head gently, considering your kind words. "What kind of man would I be, Leibchen?" his voice is airy, tone flimsy.

Those stunning eyes take a moment to gaze into yours, searching for your answer. Instead, all you manage is a weak shrug. 

"Were... Are they afraid of you?" You whisper to him, struggling to find the words to broach a topic that appears to affect König so profoundly. It's his turn to answer wordlessly, offering an equally frail nod. 

König takes your chin ever so gently in his hand, his palm almost eclipsing the lower half of your face, and turns your head in search of further blood-spatter. He sweeps the makeshift face-cloth over your skin, focusing on removing the grime altogether. 

You'd heard the cruel rumours, the whispers of 'monster' and 'freak'. This König you'd met couldn't possibly be the same they uttered about maliciously. He held a child-like kindness, the brutality of the job seemingly doing little to chip away at his humanity. The same couldn't be said about the others. 

"König," you whisper his name softly, watching as he continues to focus on clearing up your skin. His soothing touch smoothes across your temple now, removing some mud speckles. "Don't listen to them."

You can see his eyes soften, once again turning to yours as you reach to fiddle with the edge of his veil. Upon tracing the border between the pads of your thumb and forefinger, you find that it's t-shirt material, the zigzag seam stitching rough against your touch like barbed wire. "They haven't seen you like I have." 

Those eyes gleam with amusement, little crows-feet creases forming in the corners. He's smiling, and your heart stutters against your chest. 

"That right, Leibchen? I've had a mask on this whole time."

The gentle teasing lilt to his tone makes you lightheaded, urging you forward with your frankly ridiculous plan. You begin to lift the edge of his veil upwards. You take it slowly, his pupils dancing across the bare skin of your face as you reveal the point of his chin. His skin is equally as pale there, barely exposed to sunlight.

König doesn't stop you as you continue to lift the fabric from his face, exposing the curve of his lower lip. The skin there is soft and plush, little creases in the flesh making your heart thud awkwardly against your ribs. Finally, you stop at his cupid's bow, so soft and subtle it's barely there at all. 

You can feel his gaze warming your skin as you trace his lips with your eyes. Hesitation holds you still, uncertain about the final step of this stupid plan. König, as ever, doesn't push you. Doesn't even breathe. When you lean forward, the tip of your nose brushing his own that still lay beneath the cloth, you hear a sharp yet gentle inhalation. It triggers goosebumps across your forearms, butterflies battering the pit of your stomach. 

Soft. His lips are so soft when you mould your own to their shape. König's veil tickles the skin of your face when you kiss him, and you feel his gigantic hands settle on either side of your neck as he begins to return your affections. They swallow you, and your pulse leaps against his palm. 

König smiles, and the kiss turns toothy and a little lopsided. You can't help but giggle nervously, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as he presses gentle pecks to the edge of your mouth. Despite his massive, intimidating frame, each action is deliberate and soft. 

"... Are your clothes still wet, Schatz?" He's breathless despite his seemingly put-together appearance, his nose bumping yours as he interrupts your answer for another fragile kiss. "We could get you out of them." 

                            ✰

Your standard-issue military t-shirt slips and falls from the cot's mattress as König gently pulls your hips towards the edge. His fingerprints have already bruised into your thighs despite his attempts to be gentle. When he'd begun to panic, you told him not to worry–– he'd already bruised up your neck with his teeth and lips; what was a couple more?

Butterflying your legs out for him, König groans softly as you expose your glistening cunt for him. You're shy, covering your face with your hands as his fingers massage the soft, malleable flesh of the inside of your thighs. 

"Schatz," he whispers, and you peer through the gaps of your fingers. König gazes down between your legs, green eyes gleaming as he positions his cock between your folds. "So beautiful." 

It's ridiculous, you think, staring down between your legs. König is huge in every sense, the shaft of his cock thick and veiny and drowning out the seam of your sex as König shifts his hips forward to swipe the length of him across your weeping cunt. You can't help your mind running away with itself–– surely he needed a weapons license to carry that thing-?

A weak chuckle sounds above you, and you crane your neck to catch his eye. "I will take it slow, Schatz, I promise you."

You believe him. He had been so delicate with you this whole time, laying you down gently on the bed, careful when removing your gear and your clothes not to let the material snag on your nose or chin. 

König's hand disappears beneath the face veil, spitting into his palm before he smoothes it over the head of his cock. He groans, eyelids fluttering beneath the mask as he drags his hand over the length. It's a pretty sight, you think, such a colossal man shuddering in bliss. When he sweeps his cock through your folds again, he carefully taps the tip of his dick against your clit to illicit a whimper. 

"Mhmm, gentle. I promise you," he repeats, inching the tip of his cock down until it settles at your entrance. The soles of your feet find purchase on König's hips, and he massages your calves gently as he begins to inch into you at your nod of approval. 

Oh, Christ. 

König stretches you the moment he sinks inside. There's a delicious burn, one that has you lifting your hips with a whimper as you equally try to escape and dive into it. He's wheezing, eyes glued to where your bodies meet as he watches you flutter around his size. 

"Ha-So tight, Schatz," he groans loudly, stopping when you firmly grip the bedsheets. He notes your expression of slight pain, the tears welling in your eyes as your body attempts to accommodate the intrusion. König seemingly can't help the flurry of apologies that fall from his mouth as he leans over you, settling his thumb against your clit in an attempt to ease you open. "Here. I want you to feel good, Engel." 

The tremors in your thighs rattle against his hips as he circles your clit slowly. It's blissful, the sticky, warm arousal that blooms through your abdomen as he teases at the sensitive nerves. You arch your back against the mattress, moaning out his name breathlessly as he continues to inch his cock further into you. You barely notice when he finally settles the rest of him inside, wailing softly when it twitches and knocks something earthshattering inside you. 

"O-Oh fuck––" you choke on your curse when König shifts his hips forward, jutting into your cervix and winding you suddenly. You probably look ridiculous, eyes rolling back into your skull as you claw at the vast expanse of his chest. You drag pink lines down the pale skin, drawing blood to the surface, but it does little to phase König this far along.  

"Good, Liebling?" He murmurs, continuing to assault your clit. You can barely form a coherent sentence in response, drooling around a string of 'yes, yes, yes'. It's all he needs to find comfort in advancing, easing the length of him out of your weeping cunt before driving it back in at an achingly slow pace. 

You want to slam your fist against his pectorals and insist he go faster, but you're not sure you're ready for it when he slides into you balls deep. It's as though he's settling among your lungs, filling you so good that you're seeing static in your line of vision. 

The sound of a desperate groan from above barely brings you back down to earth, noting how he's staring at your face. His pupils are blown wide, almost devouring the green of his irises. It takes you a moment to realise you're drooling, his slow and steady pace already pushing you to a mindless edge. 

"Oh-" you moan, digging your nails into his abs. They ripple beneath your touch with each deliberate thrust, and König hisses at the sharp sting and the crescent moon indents they leave behind. "F-Fuck, König- Too much-!"

"It's too much?" He wheezes, eyes searching your face. You desperately shake your head, terrified he'll pull away from you despite the inching arousal building at the base of your spine. Wrapping your legs around his hips, your heels press into the small of his back and hook him in place despite your protests. 

It sparks something feral in the hulking man, his hips surging forwards and jolting you up the mattress. Your breath escapes you in a squeak, arousal soaring and buzzing thickly in your abdomen as König mumbles in German, his soft voice coming out all gritty under the strain of his exertions and bliss. 

"Mhmmm- fuck-" you babble, eyes rolling again as you lift your hips to meet his. He sinks impossibly deeper, and your breath stutters as you feel the telltale tug of your orgasm. "Oh God- König, I'm-"

"Tell me," König whispers, rutting up inside you. He doesn't bother to inch out of you now, repeatedly battering so deep inside you that you struggle to inhale as your orgasm approaches fast. 

"Hngngg- hah-ah- I'mgonna- c-cum-" you choke with each sudden thrust, his thumb quickening its pace against your arcing clit. Perhaps he shifts his hips slightly or reaches even deeper than before, but he brushes against something utterly debilitating, and you cum with a loud shriek of his name. 

It bursts through you with blistering heat, your fingernails sinking deep into the curves of his bicep as you brace against the waves of bliss that crash over you. König keeps fucking into you, your walls squeezing tight around him as his thumb persists in its assault on your throbbing clit. Tears stream down your face, and König can't hold on much longer as you strangle his cock. 

"Hah-Shit-" he slurs, his voice barely reaching your ears as he buries himself as deep as you can take him. He cums with a haggard moan, body trembling as his cock spurts inside of you. There's so much of it, too, leaking out of you before he even manages to move. 

Both of you take a moment, both stunned by the overwhelming ecstasy. König doesn't bother withdrawing from your heat as he slumps beside you, turning you on your side to face him. He offers no words, burying his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tightly. 

Your chest heaves as you suck in oxygen, skin prickling with heat as König encases you in his massive arms. You don't need the sheets, his body-heat burning hot beside you as you press your skin to his.

No words need to be said, you think. König had offered his feelings in the form of his reverent touches and delivered his thanks for your kindness in the delicate kisses he'd pressed to your lips as he carried you into the bedroom. 

As you lay in the dark, settled into König's side, you trace your fingers over the curved scars, the bulletholes that have healed over against his ribs. They rise and fall beneath your touch, lungs expanding and deflating with each breath. It's a sobering moment, the thrumming of his pulse against your palm reminding you of his humanity despite the whispers at the base that had insisted upon his bestiality. 

You realise those who speak cruelly of him and ruin his self-worth don't understand their impact. To them, he's a cryptid–– his very existence called into question. They hadn't seen him with their own eyes, only heard the mind-boggling tales of his startlingly impressive missions and monstrous size. 

They hadn't felt his heart, the way it fluttered against your touch when you'd offered compliments. Hadn't experienced the soft plush of his lips pressing into your own in heartbreakingly sweet kisses. He was no monster. 

And when Lieutenant Riley came for you the following day, choosing to ignore the marks left on your skin and the way you hesitated before climbing into the helicopter to offer the Austrian a gentle wave and a promise that you would return, you began the mission to rewrite his story. To change hearts and minds.  

It didn't take long at all.

"Did you hear about Kilgore?"

"I did! He saved a member of 141. Incredibly brave–– I heard the situation was dire."

"She spoke very highly of him. Said we could count on him."

"I certainly wouldn't mind fighting alongside someone so dependable and courageous." 

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[hihhasotherfixations]

Imagine after that first flight with baby dragon, whenever Price or the 141 toss dragonling in the air a lil to get them to laugh, there's little wing flaps of them tryna copy their dad. Also little tail wags and wing flaps when they're happy

PLS YES

Link to original post

Little drabble below the cut 👇

“There’s the little tyke!” Soap cheered as you came walking in while holding Price’s hand, your hair ruffled. Upon seeing the Scot, you squealed a giggle and let go of your dad’s hand, wobbling a run over to him as he crouched down with a little laugh, his arms out for you.

The moment you were close, he scooped you up and held you high.

“My wee flier!” He said before grinning at Price. The man looked a little tired, the carrier partially unstrapped and still hanging on his chest. “How’d they do?”

“Like a dream. Loved every second.” The dragon spoke proudly, walking forward as well.

Your little tail was waggling like crazy as you now sat on Soap’s hip.

“You’d expect they get tired from it.” Ghost remarked from the corner of the room, raising an eyebrow beneath his mask, seeing the absolute explosion of energy you still had.

“Ghof!” You yelled out the moment you heard him, making Soap grin as he turned and held you out for the centaur standing a little ways away.

Your little hands stretched out towards him, Ghost sighed before walking over, his hooves clacking against the wooden floor as he turned, allowing Soap to deposit you on his back.

“I want to be paid by the hour.” Ghost dryly spoke to Price, making the man chuckle as he watched you squirm and sit up on the centaur, your tiny fists tightly clenching his black coat.

“I’ll buy you a bourbon next time we go out.” He said before he finally started to unstrap the carrier from his chest.

Sighing in relief to have the tight straps loosened, he tried to lift it over his head, only for it to get stuck on his left wing.

With Soap on guard duty to make sure you didn’t fall off of Ghost’s back, he was left to just drop his hands in defeat. He’d get it off later.

“Need help, cap?”

“Garrick.” Price sighed in relief as the voice sounded behind him and hummed. “I think it twisted.”

“Yeah, it did.” The siren said, starting to untangle the straps. “First flight went well then?”

As a response, Price just pointed at you, your tail wagging like crazy, constantly whapping Ghost’s flank - who looked less than amused, though in a caring way.

Smiling, the younger man then helped lift the carrier off his captain.

“Come on, Ghost, let’s take a ride! The kid would love it.”

“And have your furry ass sit on me? No way.” Ghost scoffed, his torso turned to adres the other man.

“Don’t be rude now.” Soap pouted, lightly fist bumping the centaur’s hip to drive his point home. Yet in response, Ghost just lifted his back leg and whacked a hoof into his shin, making Soap groan and instantly crumple, cradling his leg while you cackled out a giggle, your wings beating a few times. “Ghost, what the s-“

“I hope you both aren’t teaching my kid violence or swear words.”

Both soldiers tensed a bit as Price’s voice boomed.

“No. I wasn’t gonna swear.” Soap quickly said while on the floor, seeing his captain cross his arms across the room.

Walking up, Gaz just whacked Soap upside the head, getting a playful swipe at his legs in return which he easily dodged before reaching Ghost.

“You two should never be allowed alone with children.” He said while lifting you off of Ghost’s back.

Immediately, you were entranced by the way the light reflected off of the iridescent scales on his cheeks. Like a true, hoarding dragon.

Ghost crossed his arms and Gaz just chuckled as he stole you away, walking over to sit on the couch in the common room, with you in his lap. “You just went on a flight with daddy, huh?” He asked.

In response you just happily babbled, reaching up to touch and tug at his cheeks.

“Whoah-“ Gaz pulled you back a bit, smiling as he then instead tilted his head to lessen the reflections. “You wanna fly?”

“Ah!” You immediately shouted, your attention span as short as your legs.

Happy, Gaz lifted you off his lap, bouncing you up and down between his legs for a second before heaving you up and throwing you into the air, a game you’d played a hundred and one times with the team.

Yet as Price stood to the side, a warm smile on his face, he watched you spread your wings and flap them.

Standing up a bit straighter, his surprise turned to glee as he watched the little limbs beat in the air, doing nothing to keep you afloat as you fell back down into Gaz’s arms with a shattering laugh.

Yet when Gaz threw you up again, you did it once more.

You’d learned from your dad.

He saw it in the way your right wing moved down a fraction earlier than your left. It was his flying technique.

With Ghost and Soap squabbeling in the background and the sight and sound of your laughter, today was going to be a hard day to ever be topped.

[did-someone-say-aliens]

CRISPY THE FIRST

I’M FINDING OUT

WHAT BEIN ROYALS ALL ABOUT

(CRISPY THE FIRST)

he’s got the shoes

he’s got the dress

that makes him a princess i guess

[justhereforsomethingnice]

Okay, hear me out. The ocean is haunted. So Danny is traveling for whatever reason. Flying over the ocean, wether it be he has to run, he’s on vacation, he’s doing a clockwork mission whatever. He’s just casually flying over the ocean and there’s just, a whale. Whales are smart little flippers. You cannot tell me there are no whale ghosts from the whaling period. Or a sad sailor, thrown overboard slaves when they were being transported and died, sunken war ships, the fricking titanic!!!

POINT!! There have been so many traumatic deaths on sea the ocean HAS to be haunted! Just either Danny totally vibing with them or writing up Jazz’s adres to give those poor souls some much needed therapy.

I have not seen this yet, but if it has been done, please tell me. Now that I thought about it I want to read it.

[deadly-espresso]

(Arae, Adres, Ergo Sum)

ITS THE SPIRIT WORLD GOOBERS FROM GHOST AND PALS! 💥 and they are all dating each other

I've just been itching to draw them hehe

(edit: there were some holes in the coloring for Ergo Sum's fingers so I went back and fixed that)

[djbunnie]

Slight reboot for the trio

I'm going to have to give Sam a reboot in her personality and new role. She avoids being pushy about her vegan lifestyle. I don't want Sam to be associated with extremist protesters like the 'Stop Oil' protesters. (they are annoying as hell.) I don't want her to be seen as a 'Pick me' girl. She is respectful and doesn't act superior just because her female peers like pink and traditionally feminine things.

Sam should quit ghost hunting and pursue her own interests. like being a writer/webcomic artist requires extensive research, hours of drawing, etc. Sam has decided to take on this new role and continue to support Danny as his personal nurse and therapist. I believe that she could also assist him in his personal life. Sam could provide cover for Danny when questioned about his whereabouts, and she could also help him with his homework. Sam's notes are clear and easy to understand, which could help Danny cheat on tests. For example, he would hide the notes in his school desk with storage and use his intangibility or invisibility powers to see through his desk and copy the answers. Additionally, when Danny is extremely busy, Sam would complete his homework, but only enough to earn him a C. (If I remember correctly, Danny is not the best student. In order to not raise any suspicions, Sam will only do enough to get him a C grade.) During group projects, Sam would complete Danny's portion and pretend to be him through phone and/or email.

Sam would be concerned about Danny's health, so she prepares his meals, ensuring he gets all the necessary nutrients.

Also she needs a new outfit too. I still want her to be goth but more stylish. (like hairstyles # 1 and 3 and Outfits # 1,2,and 4.)

Tucker's personality would remain the same, and he would continue to hunt ghosts with Danny and is in charge of creating and upgrading ghost-hunting gadgets. He would also collect data on ghost weaknesses, power sets, and other related information.

Danny would stay the same, maybe a little more muscular, but not overly buff. just like Spiderman physique. It wouldn't make sense if Danny stayed scrawny throughout the show, he would have become more fighting fit and In his civilian form, he would still be seen as a scrawny loser to everyone. This way, he wouldn't be out of place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (A/N: the art does not belong to me!!! that art belongs to @amethystocean-adr)

[sp00kymulderr]

💭 ''stay tonight.'' with Dieter Bravo please!! <3

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader

No major warnings, just soft and only a little sad.

725 words, completely unedited so apologies for errors

Dusk has settled with a reassuring stillness; orange light fading against the edge of the world and pitching a blanket of beginning darkness over everything.

It has always been comforting to Dieter. The night, those peaceful hours between dusk and dawn where he doesn't have to be seen and known by anyone but who he has chosen. Day time is exhausting; constant and full of demands, orders - be there, don't do that. It's tiring.

Often when he can Dieter will skip the days all together. Sleep through them and slip straight in to the comfort of the evening. When he can, of course he's rarely allowed.

Today had been one of those days. At the studio for 10, bright lights shining straight in to his tired eyes, recording ADR for the hokey rom-com he'd been signed up on with barely any say; "It's a good look" said the publicist, "It'll draw attention away from...everything else" said the agent.

Recording the lines was easy. That kind of work was too easy. He missed films that had real meat, real grit. He missed roles that felt like more than a cash grab. He missed Hunger Strike and the plays off Broadway. Dieter wasn't made for the world of Hollywood like these new actors were.

He sighs and rubs at his face, brushing off the mask he'd put on for the day as the sun leaves the sky finally. Time to be him now; not the Dieter Bravo for the public but the Dieter beneath the costumes and hair and makeup.

Extraordinary fuck up but with no need to be ashamed of it.

A ping sounds from somewhere in the bundled sheets on his bed and Dieter turns away from the window, eager to find his phone only because he knows it'll be you. His skin tingles with the knowing.

You let yourself in, like always. Dieter is grumbling and kneeling on the floor peering under the bed when you get to his room. He mutters something like 'don't need the fucking thing' as you sit on the floor beside him and rub a reassuring hand up his back.

"Lost your phone again?" You ask, squeezing his shoulder gently.

He turns to look at you, blinks twice, and then smiles bright. Like he's only just registered it's you. You grin back at him.

"I had it, earlier when I was... It's here somewhere" He mutters with soft annoyance. His knees click when he stands up to peer at the bed again. You hum and rest your head against his left leg, and run your hand from the back of his knee and up his thigh. His pyjama pants are soft against your skin. It sort of feels like being home.

"We'll find it" you assure, and he looks down to you with that same sweet smile. You tug lightly on his pants "You need it tonight?"

Prompted, Dieter sits back down on the floor next to you.

"No. Not tonight, right? You're staying tonight?" He asks.

He's beautiful like this - the twilight night makes him glow. Or maybe it's you. His eyes are brighter than they were last time you saw him, when he was running lines for an audition he had no real interest in.

You really should go home tonight. You end up late to work when you stay here. You always let him make you pop tarts and bad coffee in the mornings, and then he distracts you in the shower.

"Stay tonight" Dieter whispers, leaning against you and ghosting the words against your forehead before he presses the sweetest kiss there.

He's relaxed in the here and now; the safety of his home, no audience, no spectators but those he chooses. The safety of you, who knows him for who he is and doesn't ask him to be someone else, to try something else.

"Ok" You smile, and kiss him then. His lips are pillowy and gentle. If you're being really honest with yourself they're better than anyone else's. You should tell him sometime, you think.

"Just to help find my phone in the morning?" He asks quietly. It's a joke, but something in the tone reminds you that Dieter doesn't know why anyone would want to stay. It breaks your heart a little.

You should tell him, sometime

"Yeah, just that"

[theangelblood]

Supernatural, The Winchesters and Dead Boy Detectives cast and crew crossovers (pt.1)

Andi Armaganian - directed 1 episode of TW and 2 episodes of DBD

Richard Speight Jr. - Loki, Gabriel, The Trixter in SPN and Loki in TW, directed 11 episodes of SPN and 1 episode of TW

Amanda Tapping - Naomi in SPN, directed 1 episode of DBD

Glen Winter - directed 1 episode of DBD and 1 episode of TW, executive producer on TW

Steve Yockey - co executive producer, producer, co producer, executive story editor and writer on SPN, executive producer, writer, creator of DBD

Jeremy Carver - executive producer, co producer of SPN, executive producer of DBD

Ruth Connell - Rowena MacLeod in SPN and TW, Night Nurse in DBD

Burnley Duffield - Brad in DBD, Billy Whitfield and Ryan McAnn in SPN

Shafin Karim - Local Doctor in DBD, Jamie Hamed in SPN

Kailey Spear - Jen, Beth, Chastity Group Member, Undead Woman the First in DBD

Sharon Taylor - Ardat, Crossroads Demon in SPN, Officer Parris in DBD

Christine Chatelain - Jenny, Dr. Ellen Piccolo in SPN, Stacey Devlin in DBD

Gerry Rousseau - Bill Gibson, Billy Beard in SPN, Old Settler Ghost in DBD

Amanda Gray - Dead Witch, Kansas Deputy in SPN, Shushing Mom in DBD

Brad Loree - Officer in SPN, Salesperson in DBD

James Dreichel - Bobby 2 in SPN, assistant hairstylist on DBD

Jay Julier - 3rd assistant director, additional 2nd director - SPN, 2nd assistant director - DBD

Christopher Donaldson - storyboard artist on TW and DBD

Nadine Schaefer - production assistant: set - SPN, graphic designer - DBD

Greg Crawford - adr mixer - TW and DBD

Seth Brower - encore VFX - TW, compositor encore VFX - DBD

Diego Galtieri - digital composer - TW and DBD

Swear I'm gonna finish this list one day😅

[german-ghosts]

Work on the first season of Ghosts continues! Sebastian just shared a few glimpses of his ADR session on his Instagram with us, including one line of dialogue that reads, "(I) help where I can."