#estuary yaps

[estuaryghoul]

Winter Ghoul Thoughts

Rain starts to slow down in the winter. As a water ghoul, the colder he gets the more sleepy and cozy he gets. In Hell, the water ghouls hibernate through the coldest seasons, and while the surface winter isn't nearly as bitter, it still triggers the same response.

Cozy sleepy Rain likes to be in the commons area, hogging the whole couch with his army of blankets, pillows, plushes, hot drinks, etc. He sleepy meps at everyone passing for a kiss or a pat, maybe even a cuddle. Lazy biiiig stretches that show off just a little bit of tummy to make Some people (cough, Swiss and Aurora) do a double take.

Despite all this, he's still the temperature of a corpse, which is mildly disturbing, especially to Copia. He warms up with cuddles from the others though. Ghoul pile!!

[admiringlove]

rotten touch. number four of @angstober this year! enjoy <3 event masterlist can be found here.

karmic debt had scared the conqueror of demons into being a secluded man.

his fellow yaksha had long since fallen; succumbed to madness or death, they had left him alone to bear the weight of their shared burden. the debt pressed heavily on his mind, pushing him further from the world. he kept to himself, avoiding mortal affairs whenever possible. on the rare occasions he was forced to intervene, he was distant, cold, urging people to speak quickly, for their own sake. he would help, do what was needed, and disappear as swiftly as he had arrived. that was how it had always been.

but then, you came into his life—radiant and unassuming, with your closed-eyed smiles and a voice full of stories that never seemed to end. tales of morax, of the other adepti, of a world that xiao had all but abandoned. he hadn’t wanted to listen, and yet something in your presence tugged at him, something gentle yet persistent. against his better judgment, he found himself lingering, intrigued. he felt drawn to your warmth, your unwavering enthusiasm for life, as if it held the promise of something he had long forgotten. something he hadn’t dared to indulge in for centuries.

and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, xiao found himself tempted to stay a little longer, to listen just a little more.

you had been surrounded by monsters when he first saw you, kneeling at the statue of morax in qiongji estuary, but calling his name instead. your voice had been steady, filled with a kind of faith that surprised him. you knew who he was, you’d said, as if it was the most natural thing. you’d heard stories from your grandmother, stories of a lone yaksha who appeared whenever his name was uttered by those in need. and you wanted to see if it was true.

and so, here he was, appearing as you’d called, defeating those mitachurls one by one, each strike of his spear swift and precise. when the last one fell, he stood there, catching his breath ever so slightly, casting his spear aside in silence. he hadn't expected anything more from you—just another mortal in need. but you had smiled at him, a smile so calm it almost unnerved him. instead of thanks, you'd offered him almond tofu with a laugh, as if the battle had never happened. and then you’d started talking, right away, without hesitation.

you had talked, and talked, and kept on talking, telling him things that made no sense, stories of your childhood, of legends passed down, of things he barely listened to. later, he would call it yapping, a playful word he used to tease you, a way to remember just how talkative you were, how easily words flowed from you. but in that moment, all he could do was stand there, quietly watching, trying to understand why he didn’t just leave like he always had.

"you know," you'd said once, watching him eat with that familiar knowing smile, the one that always seemed to see right through him, "you really should talk more. or mingle. you'd see how nice the world really is. it might do you some good."

he barely looked up from the almond tofu you'd ordered for him, scoffing quietly between bites. "i watch the sun set every evening from wangshu inn’s balcony. i think i’m aware of how nice the world is."

you’d laughed then, that light, carefree sound that somehow always made his chest tighten, and said something about how adepti were as strange as they were magnificent, both awe-inspiring and out of reach. it was so simple for you to say things like that, as if his world wasn’t weighed down by centuries of bloodshed and darkness.

but to him, you weren’t just a passing experience or another mortal he’d saved. you were more. you had become everything. you painted his once colorless existence with your brightness, your endless energy and warmth. you tainted all that was his, and yet he found himself unable to resent it. instead, he cherished it. you made the world around him vibrant in ways he hadn’t thought possible anymore.

you hadn’t realized how much of a monster he truly was. how deeply he carried the burden of grief, the looming presence of death that trailed behind him like a shadow. you didn’t know, and he was grateful for that. he was thankful you never had to see the weight of karma he bore, how it could have destroyed you just by being near him. but you didn’t care. you stayed, content just to exist beside him, as if his presence alone was enough for you. and in his quiet way, he was glad.

"why do you seclude yourself?" you had asked him softly one evening, sitting on the balcony of wangshu inn. the sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink, but your eyes were fixed on him. you sat with your back against a large potted plant, legs stretched out on the wooden floor, your gaze gentle but unwavering. he shifted where he sat, clearly uncomfortable under your scrutiny, before clearing his throat.

"everything i touch... rots," he said, his voice low, as if the words themselves were too heavy to say.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you tilted your head, brow furrowing in confusion, but still, there was kindness in your voice. "i think you’re wonderful."

he looked at you then, a brief glance, his expression unreadable. "that’s because you’re one of the only things that hasn’t rotted. or died."

there was a pause, the weight of his words settling like a dark cloud between you. before you could respond, he stood up, turning away abruptly. he didn’t want to explain further. he knew you too well—you would pry and prod until the walls he’d built so carefully over centuries crumbled around him, and all his hidden scars and buried grief spilled out like shattered glass. you were good at that, at unraveling him without even trying.

he never liked talking, especially not about himself. he kept to the shadows, spoke only when necessary, exactly as you’d always pointed out. but with you, it was different. it felt easy. and that frightened him more than anything else.

and you chased after him like he was your wildest dream, determined and unwavering, as if he was something worth catching. your presence clung to him, a persistent shadow in his mind, trailing him wherever he went. the memories of you were relentless, following him like an irritating seelie, refusing to be shaken off. there were moments, in the thick of battle or when danger pressed close, when he’d see your face flash before his eyes—and that terrified him. because now, he had something to lose. he had something he cared about.

and that, in itself, was a weakness. but perhaps, a greater strength.

still, the nightmares came, wrapping around him like chains, pulling him into the past. memories of his fallen comrades, consumed by their karmic debt, haunted him. the weight of it all pressed against his chest, a suffocating reminder of his inevitable fate. would it catch up to him too, one day? would he fall just like the rest of them? the thought twisted inside him, more painful than anything he had endured in the past half-century.

for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he was afraid. afraid of death—the very thing he had accepted long ago as his inevitable fate. it was always there, lurking like a familiar shadow, patiently waiting to claim him. he’d lived for so long without fear, resigned to the thought that when it came, he would welcome it like an old friend. but now, that resignation was gone, replaced by a gnawing anxiety that gripped him tighter each day.

because now, he worried. he worried about what would happen to you if he suddenly disappeared, if one day he simply didn’t return. who would you crack jokes with? who would you buy almond tofu for, or carefully prepare bowls of soup when the weather grew cold? who would you call out to, just to chat, even when you knew he wouldn’t say much in return? the thought of you standing there, waiting for a response that would never come, terrified him in a way nothing else ever had.

"xiao," you said his name with such softness, so much tenderness, that it made his skin crawl in ways he didn’t understand. it was unsettling, how easily your voice could unravel him, how it could make the walls he had built around himself feel so fragile. he didn’t know what this feeling was, this ache that blossomed whenever you were near, but he knew one thing with certainty: he had to push you away. slowly, carefully, before it was too late.

it would be for the best. he couldn’t afford to let you stay close, not when his existence was tainted by karmic debt and mistakes that clung to him like a curse. staying near him would only bring you pain, and he knew—he knew—he couldn’t watch that happen. he’d rather do it to himself, rip you away before the world did it for him. better to sever the bond now, before it destroyed you both.

"xiao, are you listening?" you had asked, your voice a gentle lilt that pierced through the fog of his thoughts. your hand waved playfully in front of his face as you stood beside him on the balcony, a place that had slowly become yours too. it was a small slice of the world shared, where laughter intertwined with silence and secrets lingered in the cool night air. but with every moment you spent together, he felt a deepening ache—a nagging reminder that everything that was his was now entwined with your fleeting existence. he hated that, the way you had woven yourself into the fabric of his life, and the thought of it made his heart feel heavy.

a mortal’s life was but a flicker in the vast expanse of time, while his stretched endlessly, a burden he didn’t want to bear. he knew, deep down, that staying by your side would only lead to heartbreak and ruin. the longer you remained together, the more he feared he would hurt you in ways he couldn’t predict.

it felt like he was grasping at shadows, coming up with excuses to push you away, which he probably was. but in his mind, it was the only way to keep you safe. and safe meant far from him.

with a soft hum, he blinked, finally turning to face you. you tilted your head, watching him with an all-knowing expression that unnerved him deeply. in the time you’d spent together, you had learned to read the subtle shifts in his demeanor, peeling back layers he thought he had locked away. that, too, irked him.

"i think we should go see lantern rite together this year," you said, leaning casually against the railing of the balcony, the soft glow of the lanterns in the distance reflecting in your eyes. he felt his heart skip; a flurry of emotions swirling inside him. this was it, he thought, his moment to counter your enthusiasm, to disappoint you.

this was how he would push you away.

"i cannot," he replied, his voice strained as he cast his gaze down to the rushing waters below, the sound echoing his turmoil. "in fact, i don’t think you should see me anymore."

you blinked slowly, a flicker of confusion passing over your face as you tilted your head, that endearing gesture that sent a fresh wave of warmth through him. he continued, forcing the words through the tightness in his throat, "it is not right for me to stay by your side all the time. you have become a weakness."

the mantra repeated in his mind: this was for the greater good. you would be safe, removed from his chaos, ensconced in the comfort of your home. away from him, you would remain alive and untouched, without the looming shadow of his past creeping into your light. you wouldn’t have to face the horrors that stalked him, the remnants of bloodshed that stained his hands and soul.

it would be better this way, he reassured himself again and again, each time feeling the sharp sting of betrayal against his heart. to summon the courage to break your heart felt like a curse. but he knew he had to do it—for you, for your future, for the fleeting moments of joy that would continue without him. the thought twisted like a knife in his gut, yet he clung to it, desperately trying to convince himself that it was the right choice.

he watched as your lip twitched, the slight quiver betraying the storm behind your eyes. they narrowed in confusion before widening in a painful clarity. he could feel your throat tighten, mirroring his own, and the ache in his chest spread like the roots of a poisoned tree, twisting deeper with every second. it was unbearable, watching the hurt bloom on your face, raw and unfiltered. "why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice soft but strained, barely holding itself together. "i thought everything was fine. between us, i mean."

"nothing can ever be fine," he said, his gaze pulling away from yours, as though the weight of it was too much to bear. he couldn’t look at you—couldn’t let those wide, vulnerable eyes unravel him. if he held your gaze for even a moment longer, he knew he’d falter. and he couldn’t afford that. he had to do this, to sever this fragile bond before the world shattered you in ways he couldn’t prevent. "nothing is fine if i am in it," he added, his voice hollow, "this is for your own good. leave, and be safe by yourself."

"what are you saying?" your voice trembled, disbelief washing over your features. "i’m perfectly fine, and i’m capable of taking care of myself—"

"you don’t even have a vision," he cut you off, sharper than he intended, each word slicing the air between you. the look in your eyes made his chest tighten further. "i don’t trust you with a normal hilichurl, let alone the dangers that surround me. you can’t protect yourself if you stay near me. so please, try and understand. it’s better for your safety... for your future, if you simply stay away. stay away, and you’ll be fine. you’ll be okay."

"are you doing this for my safety, or for your own peace of mind?" you asked, your voice shaky, fragile as the first hint of winter frost. the tears welling in your eyes reflected the lanterns glowing faintly in the distance, and he felt his heart twist violently. more than anything, he wanted to reach out, to cradle your face in his hands and wipe away the pain he'd caused. to hold you close, to whisper lies of comfort, to pretend that this wasn’t happening. the wind gently tousled your hair, carrying with it a soft scent of jasmine, a cruel reminder of how close you still were. but instead of pulling you into his arms, he stood there, motionless, breaking what you both held sacred with words that tasted like ash.

"i..." his voice faltered, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like an invisible force. "i’m doing this because you’ve become a weakness. and i can’t... i can’t see you becoming my strength."

your lips part, and a single tear glides down your cheek, tracing a delicate path of sorrow that he cannot bear to witness. silence envelops the space between the two of you, heavy and suffocating. you don’t say a single word; instead, your lips press into a straight line, an unsaid disappointment that hangs in the air. you gaze at him for a few fleeting moments, as if hoping he might find the strength to apologize, to reach out, to do anything that might undo this unbearable weight hanging over you both.

but he remains still, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun dips below the edge of the world, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. the beauty of the sunset contrasts sharply with the growing ache in his chest as he listens to the sound of your footsteps retreating down the stairs, each thud echoing the fractures forming within his heart.

did yakshas even have hearts? he muses, a bitter thought cutting through the remnants of his resolve. he could conquer legions of demons, wade through oceans of blood, yet he stands powerless against the choice he’s made, knowing he must let you walk away. it is a paradox he cannot escape: to have you near would invite chaos, hubris, and ultimately, ruin—his own and yours.

and so, xiao, the conqueror of demons, watches as you slip away into the gathering dusk, a light fading into shadow. he knows, with a heavy heart, that if he had allowed you to remain by his side, nothing would have been lost, and everything might have been different. yet duty looms larger than any fleeting moment of joy or connection, a relentless tide that pulls him under. he clings to it as a lifeline, forsaking the warmth of your presence for the cold embrace of his responsibilities, believing that sacrifice is the only path to salvation.

and he continues to rot everything he touches. because he believes he has to.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[perkingthepansies]

There, Their, They're

There, Their, They’re

Our green and usually pleasant land contains an intricate patchwork of regional accents and dialects with a constantly shifting lexicon of words and idioms, syntax and sounds. Despite the endless yapping of mass media and the flood of Estuary English, you need only cross the street to hear a different voice. Vive la difference as they say in Belgium. I’m all for it. But what I’m not all for is…

[estuaryghoul]

Ghoul Summoning Lore

The ghouls come from Hell, obviously. Copia was never really sure of the process, at least before he starting leading the band. He was only a Cardinal, he didn't ask questions (lie, he always asked questions lmao). Turns out the process was rather horrifying, especially once he realized Terzo had been right about how /human the ghouls are. Imperator always said they were animals, less even. Terzo's infatuation with them disgusted her. But she was wrong.

They took them as children, Copia learned. He was still unsure of of who They were, but that didn't matter. They were brought to a place in Hell known as The Factory, manmade, at least hypothetically. Here they are trained. Forced to walk upright, be obedient, silent. Master their elemental instrument, but supress the element. They are kept tightly bound (magically), their minds a total fog. The Factory feels like a dream, but also an unending cycle that lasts aeons.

There are two kinds of ghoul, ministry and band. Three if you counted Phil, enigmatic bastard. The ministry are moulded to become Sister's vision, practically inanimate objects. They cannot speak, cannot think, can only obey orders. They help with menial tasks around the church. There are not many, but it's hard to tell. They all look and act the same. Blank. Their eyes have no light, it never used to bother Copia, but once he began leading the band, seeing how lively they truly could be, it was like being surrounded by moving corpses. Probably the creepiest part about them, besides their silent appearances behind you, was their... room. It wasn't a bedroom, more of an old storage room or armory or /something. It was a windowless hall where they were kept when not at use. They would stand in silent, orderly lines. Like a room of mannequins. Looming eerily in the darkness, the only movement the tracking of their dull eyes as Copia passed through. He knew they only watched out or obedience, waiting for orders, but it was creepy as fuck. He avoided that hall.

The band ghouls however, while he was lead to believe they were the same, were very different. Sister said they were like animatronics on stage, just objects pretending to be human, but even she knew that was a lie. They had /personality. They didn't stand silently and unmoving while waiting for band practice to begin, instead silently looking at one enough, tending to their instruments, even messing with each other. Some of them would even playfully ignore Copia's instructions, averting their eyes and flicking their tails slyly. Honestly it was kind of like hearding cats when they got bored, though a visit from Sister or one of her Board was quick to straighten them out. Still however, they could not talk. Hisses, small vocalizations, growls, yes, but words? Nothing. Only the backup singers could "speak", whispery voices that sounded like an eery mimicking of human speech without Copia's voice over it. But still, unless they were singing, they could not speak.

Music has life, soul. It is an expression of one's self, a way to connect unique to itself. Perhaps that effects the ones playing it, writing it. Perhaps the soul must be freed more than the opressor would like, for the tool to be used. Phil didn't like to speak clearly, preferring to answer questions with questions, long-winding riddles, opaque references. It was a puzzle to speak to him, which Copia secretly enjoyed. He didn't treat him like he was stupid, wouldn't hold his hand to lead him to an answer. If you wanted to understand, truly, you must think for yourself. Phil would provide pieces, you must put them together yourself.

Phil himself was an outlier. If one didn't know, they would assume he was a member of the human staff. The only thing that gave it away was the ghoul mask he wore, just like the others. Copia had never seen his face, but he had heard the long pointed mask was based off of it, though that was legend that Phil pointedly would neither confirm nor deny. He was Imperator's right hand man, the band manager, a connection between human and demon. He was the first to be summoned, before The Factory, before the band. A crossroads demon, the story went, who Imperator managed to trap. Bound to an eternity of service to the church. He was the only ghoul allowed to speak, but that did little for him. Everything he said, heard, did, saw, was subject to be reported back to Imperator. She owned him, he was her spy. Nobody trusted him, not even her. Copia thought this was bullshit however, Imperator had left him with the ghoul while she worked far too many times as a child, and he had grown attached to the curt bastard. He has taught him chess when he was six, by ruthlessly beating him over and over until he learned to strategize. Always encouraged him to read, expand his mind, ask questions. Even when talking to that long-ago child, Phil was not clear. He didn't dumb down his sentences, didn't make his puzzles any easier to understand. It was rewarding to have a conversation with him, Copia felt. When the pieces finally clicked, it felt like winning a game. He was the only one who felt this way. Sister was eternally frustrated with the lack of clarity from her so-called spy. His forced nature as an earpiece was dangerous, no doubt. Many things made it back to her that others would've preferred to die in secret, but when things mattered, when Copia asked questions he shouldn't... Somehow the answers were cleverly twisted when reporting to hide his secrets. Phil pretended not to care about anything or anyone, but Copia was almost certain he at least has a soft spot for him and the band. Yeah, maybe he had a hand in ruthlessly killing them off when Imperator's whims changed, but just maybe...

[estuaryghoul]

Before the transition, Dew had gills and fins, but not the thicker finned tail of a water ghoul. He was a multighoul with a dormant element, much like Delta had been, but hopefully less of a failure. He had long and thin dark horns, similar to a gazelle.

Post transition, his fins and gills are gone. Long white scars jagged across his skin, thin between his fingers where the webbing used to be. Most visible though on his neck, gills forever sealed, the excess cut away. His horns too are different, now short and white. Only the bone left.

It's so hard to breathe, like his chest is compressed. It's also far colder than he remembers. The cold didn't used to bother him, but now his joints ache and he barely feels tethered to his body beyond the pain. Aether and his quintosis help ground him, the familiar scent and the comforting Presence of the larger ghoul. Of course that's after he allows him anywhere near his disfigured corpse body.

[estuaryghoul]

Ghoul Temperature Thoughts

Water ghouls are the coldest. They also tend to be mildly damp. They have a much lower body temperature than humans and can withstand extremely low temperatures. As they get colder they become mildly slower to preserve energy, but it doesn't bother them. In the waters of Hell it get Very Dark, Very Cold, and Very High Pressured.

Air are the next coldest. They feel midly cool, and have a high tolerance for cold temperatures but not to the extent of the water. They can also be rather fluffy or feathery so they feel cool and breezy.

Earth ghouls are in the middle, being very humanistic in their tolerance. They, much like the plants they embody, are quite picky. While they aren't necessarily /harmed by high or low temperatures, they get uncomfortable quickly and will bitch about it. (Miserable Mountain in the summer and winter. The ministry is freezing, performing with all the pyrotechnics is boiling. It's why he's so sweaty lol)

Quints are warm. Like a warm fuzzy hug. They have a higher tolerance for heat, but can still be burned. Like Big Soft Kitty. Great for cuddles.

Fire ghouls are obviously incredibly immune to heat. Their body temperature is naturally high, and when they get emotionally excited (negative or positive) it raises even more. However they're incredibly sensitive to cold temperatures, and (like Dew) get cranky and arthritis-y in the cold.

Obvs multis kinda depend :P

[estuaryghoul]

ghoul density headcanon¡!

Due to having to deal with the immense pressure of hellwater, Water ghouls are actually the heaviest (though they may not look it LOL). little pretty, slender Rain is like a 10 ton statue, almost immovable when he wants to be

the earth ghouls are also built like brick house. while they can be kinda,,, crumbly,,, they are INCREDIBLY strong and very unphased by physical damage as they recover quickly (usually)

quints are kinda weird, they aren't fully solid so it's hard to determine, but they seem fairly humanlike probably? depending on their energy they can almost seem weightless, or similarly immovable (looking at you phant, mom said it's my turn on the xbox!!!!)

fire and air are both fairly light, air have hollow bones like birds so they can float/glide with their element. fire on the other hand are just hot air so to speak ;P

multis can kinda depend on their combined elements, aurora (quint+air) is light and floaty, swiss (earth+fire) is pretty average in human terms. dew had the density burned out of him during his transformation and it only helps to add to the disconnection to his body,, derealization hours : (

[estuaryghoul]

while we're on headcanons¡!

ghoul gender is much different than humans. all ghouls have both sets of reproductive anatomy and basically go through two puberties. when they reach their first sexual maturity, they become able to carry pups and go into heat. this is approximately when humans would consider teenager-dom to early adulthood. then in their 20s they mature fully and are able to impregnate others. in their first maturity they're basically fully bottoms, but once they hit full they usually figure out whether they primarily top, bottom, or switch.

of course the ministry ghouls are all sterilized bc satanus knows seestor doesn't want to deal with any more of those demons than she has to *insert disgusted seestor face*

[estuaryghoul]

Papa Headcanons

my versions of the crusties :}

Nihil: The "first" (beyond his father, his father's father, his father's father's father-). During his reign as Papa he was a total playboy and reveled in the attention of his fangirls. This is how he ended up with so many sons, much to his fiance's (Imperator) disappointment and rage. After letting her down for the final time (Terzo's uh... creation) he kinda fell off because he was too busy trying to win her back to take his duties seriously.

Primo: Nihil's younger brother. Took his job /very seriously. Incredibly pious individual, liked to do things by the book. His devotion and role as a leader of darkness was done By The Books, and he often chastised his nephew, Secondo, for not taking his future role seriously. Is the only Papa to actually properly retire and pass the position to his replacement properly. Scares the shit out of Siblings in the ministry by silently and sternly appearing behind them and giving them long disapproving stares until they fix their behaviours.

Secondo: The eldest son of Nihil and the first time he pissed Imperator off. As a youth he wasn't all that excited about "responsibility" and "duty" as he much preferred snogging girls and being a Bad Boy™. As he entered his secondary education he settled down somewhat and began to take his studies more seriously, but he was more into learning Italian for the bit, not for preaching or... whatever. Got retired for being too into the fans (literally) and not toppling enough churches, spreading the gospel, etc. Looks big and scary and is loud, but secretly pretty friendly. Keeps butterscotches on his person and gives the younguns firecrackers with a wink and a shhh.

Terzo: Pretty boy extraordinaire. Not exactly AGAINST his studies but kinda flighty. Imperator liked to call him a bad influence, but she may have been a tad biased. He always figured Secondo would take the duties and it wouldn't fall to him, but when it did hoo boy did it go to his head. He adored being adored, needed being needed. It was almost like his praises and prayers were to himself and not the dark lord. Of course this may have been dramaticised by Imperator. He was too smart, too nosy, too egocentric, and /way too friendly with his ghouls.

Copia: He didn't think he would actually become Papa, he was merely a dutiful Cardinal. His mother would have it no other way. The Emeritus brothers were bad influences, and he would really do much better (though he never believed this at all). His awkward demeanor made many people underestimate him, which he hated, but was too nice to get upset about. He loved being Papa, and was terrified of what would happen when it ended. A preoccupation with death so to speak. Not so irrational when your mother makes you do a photoshoot with you half-brother's disembodied head.

[estuaryghoul]

¡Hello sillies!

You can call me Estuary, my pronouns are he/him. I've been a Ghost fan since mid-2023 ish? But sksksksksk they are my main special interest :}

I tag my posts "Estuary yaps" or "Estuary arts" depending on if it's my lore or art :} any of my random rambling, shitposting, or watever is un-estuary-tagged lmao.

This blog is entirely for my Ghost related shiza, and if you connect it with any other blog or social media shhhhhhhh keep it to yourself 😌

I have written ungodly amounts of lore and have been told to publish on Ao3, have not done this. I fear. Maybe it will happen someday and you too can cry at the angst and hmmgnmgmm at the ghorn

I also do cosplay and mainly art! so :} ¡¡welcome!!