#ghost girl speaks

[chicowitch]

Immanuel Lutheran Church in Blair, Nebraska, circa 2003

i’m the girl in the yellow dress. how times have changed…

[yooo-lets-go]

what sort of music does simon listen to- and what are the others’ opinions on it when they inevitably discover it?

They probably wouldn’t share a playlist

Plus Roach:

[frogchiro]

Ghost ripping hacker girl away from her computer and fucking her brains out so hard she can’t get back to her desk….he won’t show it but he’s clingy and wants you in bed all day🥺

Ghost can deny all he wants but deep down he's incredibly clingy to people he cares about/loves and you just so happen to be on top of the list♡

He hates it when you have a few days off or there just isn't too much work that requires leaving your shared room and you still insist that you have to go over some data you hacked recently and you left the comfy bed or nest, how you like to call it; it's one big space with blankets, pillows and all that. Simon at first scoffed at it, saying that it's way too excessive but you insisted on it, convincing him that he needs some luxury and comfiness too and after a night full of love making in the new fluffy bedcovers and he was sold♡

Now he behaves like a lazy male lion, growling and calling you from his place in the bed, all naked and spread, calling in that rough, gravely voice of his, Manchester accent thick especially now during relax day.

Si woke up so horny and pent up for some reason, even after bruising your soft full hips and breeding you good last night and when he reached out to your side of the bed it was empty! He shot up quickly worried that you left him but...there you were, looking at him with a worried look on your pretty face and asking what's wrong; sweet little girl. His sweet girl, always so worried about him.

He called out to you, asking what you're doing but you sheepishly explained that you only wanted to go through that data and that you'll be soon there in bed with him but that didn't satisfy Simon at all :(( He wanted-no, needed you now. He was laying on his back in bed, cock hard and leaking precious cum on his belly while it should be stuffed deep in your womb, breeding you good with his baby :((

Instead there you were, clicking away on your keyboard, way too far away from the warm and comfy bed, and more important, too far away from your needy partner who needed to fill you with his sperm. So Simon took the matter into his own hands, getting up with a low gravely growl at the feeling of his cock hanging hard and leaky, full balls hanging low and making his way towards you with heavy footsteps and before you could react, suddenly Si yanked you up roughly and basically ripped your thin shorts apart before dragging you back into the bed/nest where he roughly thrusted his whole hefty cock inside in one motion, your loud scream only making Simon moan and bellow too at the feeling of your soft and hot wall squeezing down on his dick, his sensitive tip hitting your cervix.

You know that you definitely won't get any work done today or the day after but thinking again, Simon fucking you so good with you on all fours and hin behind you, thrusting into your sore pussy like a starved beast in heat is surely so much better♡

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[ghostdrinkssoup]

will and hannibal both being so chronically alone and friendless their whole lives that it results in them thinking their friendship is totally normal and not homoerotic or deeply romantic at all will never not be funny to me

[iphigeniacomplex]

they fucked up and gave me aux now im playing ghost quartet 2016 live at the mckittrick. from the beginning and no skips. and also no one is allowed to talk or ask any questions or not pay attention in any way. now everyone shut the FUCK up gelsey bell is about to wail. again

[konigsblog]

༉‧₊˚. COCKWARMING SIMON RILEY ｡*ﾟ+⭒·｡

simon who will have you cockwarm his thick cock with your mouth whilst he works away on reports. knowing simon; he's a huge tease, those gags give him superiority over you, a sense of power. chuckling lowly when he bucks and thrusts into your warm mouth, hitting the back of your throat painfully.

“keep tha' mouth open f'me, doll.. bein' such a good girl, yeah? 'course.. 'course, you're fuckin' addicted to this dick, ain't you? mm, yeah, i know babh, keeo droolin' all over me, nearly finished and i'll let you suck my thick dick however you like..”

his questions were more rhetorical as your sounds were muffled and quiet, tears streaming down your cheeks and staining them, becoming a drooly mess beneath him on your knees. it felt like hours before he let you suck him off, the weight of his girth in your wet mouth ached your jaw, finally able to give him a messy and sloppy blowjob with your eyelids heavy and fucked-out. choking on him thick and milky cum when he spurted deep inside, running down your throat and staining your tongue before he barked an order.

“swallow.”

[cabeswaterdrowned]

I can understand someone not liking Gansey that much but I Can Not imagine calling him boring. Sir that’s President Freak of Clowntown right there…

[mpsansy]

I’d like to see Ford and Elizabeth interact. I think they’d bond over their respective relationships with Stretch, as well as the fact that they’ve both had to deal with toxic abusive partners.

She'd likely be more fascinated with his discoveries of Gravity Falls, among many more places.

And that woman could listen to Ford for hours simply because this lady wants to go out and explore all these different (most likely) dangerous places. Not alone, obviously. She would drag Ford and Stretch to take a good look around. As a team!

[that-ghost-girl-6]

I love you autistics with high empathy. I love you autistics with average empathy. I love you autistics with low empathy. I love you autistics with no empathy.

Empathy and sympathy are emotional functions that don’t determine your morality or character. Compassion and kindness are skills that can be improved upon and constantly used no matter what your empathy status is.

Being a good person isn’t about feeling “right,” it’s about doing right.

[chicowitch]

i’m lonely, but maybe that’s my fault. do i not reach out enough? or am i simply not worth reaching out for?

[wreckrinho]

TW BLOOD

Idk how to draw blood but---

I COULDN'T CARE LESS

I don't recommend you to see the context... lovefactory au stuff. The bro just died and OUTOFCHARACTER---/J

Edit: I can only imagine that the whole time he would be swearing-- (in Portuguese because swear words in Portuguese are fire 🔥🔥)

"Toma no cu what a fucking bad smell....."

"caralho...porra..." *that one scene where he falls down the stairs* "AAAAHHH CACCCCCEEETTEEE!!!! AAAIIII POORRRAAA BOSTA! CACETE!!!! FILHO DA PUTA---"

*see carmilla* "mas que filha da puta....??????? Que desgraçA VAGABUNDA IT WAS HEERRRRR--???????"/j (This ending is a joke but he would swear Carmilla to death, if he could, he would swear more at carmilla than at cupid for that LMAO)

[frogchiro]

thinking about how ghost is just all man with his musky scent and him always hugging you or having an arm around your shoulders after working out so you smell like him 🤭

him filling up your shampoo and conditioner and body wash bottles with ones he uses so even when he’s not there you always smell like him

THE PIC???💀😭😭

Also yes jesus christ this is the best someone described Ghost!!! He's literally all man :(( he's nearing his 40's but he's still so big and strong and well build, very hairy too and his smell oh my god :(( he has a very heavy but pleasant smell, woodsy with a hint of cigarette, his sweat and natural musk make for a very heady mixture that makes your head spin and thighs squeeze when Si's near :((

Ghost is a man of logic and stern, cold and calculated thinking, that's how he became a lieutenant and how he survived on the battlefield for so long but when he's with you? Instincts overtake him; his need to be close with you, to protect you and provide for you everything you'd ever need: food, warmth, pleasure, sex, comfort...everything. Obviously he logically knows that you're safe here on base and basic needs are ofc provided but still it gets him going that he can be the one to do it :((

But the one primal thing Simon enjoys the most (besides stuffing you full of cum in hopes of succesfully breeding you) is have you smell like him or at least for you to be familiar with his natural musky scent.

I'm gonna go with the bed/nest idea from my last clingy Ghost post, but he will purposefully sleep naked without taking a shower so the bedsheets can smell of him and ultimately you too since you always sleep curled up against him :((

It's almost like a need for you to smell like him, it's like marking territory of a dangerous predator who won't hesitate to tear your fucking throat out if you intrude. So whenever you two take showers together (which is very often), he likes to use his body shower gel to have you smell even if for a bit like him and you never wuestion it anyway, just follow him like the good girl you are and when he's out on a mission and can't be there to shower with you? Then he will pour his shower products into yours so your smells can mingle like you're together :((

[papapaper]

I've been on a Hamilton brainrot and I honestly think I'm being haunted by the ghost of Hamilton himself because I've suddenly got the urge to practice cursive writing, write a bunch of essays and letters in a flowery language.

[ghostdrinkssoup]

during the last four days my aunt has somehow gotten me into telenovelas and can we be honest. hannibal is built like a telenovela (unhinged, violent, dramatic, the weirdest shit you’ve ever seen, etc)

[layzeal]

something about the way wwx, against all odds and against his own plans, just kept living and surviving through events that he was certain would kill him, so by the time sunshot ends and his heart is still beating he just becomes... mellow