#ghouljams

[bosombuddiesandsailormouth]

Duality of COD fans:

@charliemwrites @ghouljams @luminousbeings-crudematter @ceilidho

[notspiders]

This is fine.

~~~~

Inspired by @ghouljams 's #sandwich au / #mafia au.

Reference used:

[tradgedyinwaves]

When two of your favorite blogs reblog something of yours, and it absolutely blows up

@devil-in-hiding @ghouljams

[writingfromasgard]

Can't get fae!König out of my head. He's found a little nook and refuses to leave. I blame Ghouljams entirely. Their fae!König is amazing and wonderful.

I dug around and found somethings/fae I think would be good matches for König for my personal tastes.

Waldschrate [Austrian Forests] - Shaggy humanoids that can have tree-like limbs. They're protectors of the forest and punish those who harm them.

I like this one because I'm picturing him protecting the tree that he was born from and watching its seedling grow makes him happy. The day someone wonders into his area, its the first time he's seen a human. He's cautious.. then grows angry when they're chopping down his sisters and brothers. It takes a few tries to muster up enough power to scare them off. Then you come by after he's lost so many, he's angry already until you stoop down where one of his fallen siblings are. Your little basket is full of saplings you grew and you start planting them beside every fallen tree. He watches from the shadows as you kiss each plant, like it'll make them grow that much faster. He approaches you when you return a third time, wanting to thank you. You're scared by his appearance - you scramble away from him until he crouches down, pointing to the sapling you've just planted. He thanks you by offering to give you more seeds to grow more saplings. Recognition strikes your eyes and you take them, smiling now. How could he ever forget such a sweet smile?

Nix/Nixe [Germanic] - Beautiful water spirits that inhabit lakes, rivers, or streams. Some can give blessings while others chose to enchant travellers so they drown.

I picture him being in a lake with murky water. There's plenty of lillies, pond weed, and bulrush to hide in. He likes watching who does what to the lake. Fishers, kids, boaters -- he doesn't like that they're crowding his lake but the ones that take care of the lake are less annoying than the ones who throw shit in it. You spend your time cleaning up the bottles, nets, fish lines, even feeding the fish. You're his favorite person to watch! Cleaning up his lake when he can't.. then you get struck by a boat that isn't paying attention, the driver too drunk. He has to save you. You're too valuable. Who else spends their days cleaning up a crowded lake? He dives for your unconscious body, pulling you into his cavern. He bundles plants to make a pillow for your head to rest on. He's looking at your headwound when you come to, your eyes cracking open. You mumble incoherently, something about angels. He continues cleaning your wound, letting you babble. It's a shallow cut. You were lucky it wasn't more serious.. those boaters? Not so much.

[kit-williams]

Tanz Mit Mir

Music fic inspired by Eisbrecher's Tanz Mit Mir (Lyrics are translated to English originally sung in German)

Based off of @ghouljams Regancy AU

Lose all your virtues Lose them deliberately

He pulled her out onto the dance floor as she had been haunting his vision this whole night.

Also forget your conscience Because you don't need to know anything

She didn't need to know that murder was already on his mind as he spun her around to the music. Watching how the fake smiles she was flashing before hardly compared to the genuine ones she was giving him.

Step by step One, two, three, four

He led her in the dance as it felt like just the two of them as he guided her feet away from his own. She just needed a firm hand and well what firmer of a hand is there than a kings?

Dance with me Don't look back

He would spin her just at the moment her Fiancé would look back or if she looked around to look for him he would move her in such a fluid way hearing the gentle laugh that would erupt from her throat.

Step by step One, two, three, four Come with me Let's get carried away!

The way her head tilted back as she let out a laugh and the way she practically skipped in some of the moves. All these little movements that only a dance partner would notice... and only a fool would ignore.

I hold you tight in my hand Pull you up close to me

His hand holding hers holds on a little bit tighter and his hand about her waist pulls her closer just a bit more as he watches her have so much fun.

Dance with me Dance, dance with me Dance with me Dance, dance with me

It was like they were the only ones in the room as he danced around with her as what other woman had captured him with just a look. Did he believe love at first sight?

I hold you tighter in my arms, So I can lead you better

With how he was holding her so tightly... he was willing to believe it. He once more maneuvered her with such grace that it looked like she could dance so effortlessly as he led the dance.

Dance with me Dance, dance with me Dance with me Dance, dance with me

They made their first circuit around the dance floor of the ballroom. It was her turn to flash her friends smiles as she started to dance past.

In truth, I want to lie to you Tough times last too long

Once more he could spy her Fiancé as his eyes flicked over to the man who was completely unworried about his Fiancée dancing with the visiting royal. His tongue clicked in his mouth as he was only saddened by the thought of what tears she might shed for him...

A brief happiness should satisfy us Spin to the beat of sweet sounds

But it wouldn't last too long. For now he was eager to make her his! To fill her with the promise of what will come. What joys they would feel.

Beat by beat One, two, three

She felt like the luckiest woman in the room with the way he looked down at her and how he guided her with such skill. How his hand moved her waist with such skill. She swears that at times she feels like her feet leave the ground but she focuses on trying her best to not make the king do all the work.

Your heart wants more Don't look back

Once more he looks down at her and this time she doesn't bother to look for her fiancé as her eyes seem to sparkle with the desire to keep going as long as he was willing to give her. And he was willing to give her everything.

Step by step One, two, three, four

The sounds of fabric swishing and swaying were drowned by the music and for the king... the sound of his beating heart drowned it all and only her laughter could pierce the rhythmic beating of his heart.

Come with me I sweep you along with me

He had a larger than life presence and of course she was swept up in all of it. How she acted its... to him it was like she was trying to get his attention and well she had all if it. He couldn't stop looking at her no matter how hard he tried.

I have you tight in my hand Pull you up close to me

Of course... he was less likely to let go. He pulled her ever so closer making the dancing a little more intimate but he was certain that her Fiancé wasn't looking far too busy with trying to get his business ventures off the ground.

Dance with me Dance, dance with me Dance with me Dance, dance with me

The second circuit made around the dance floor. His eyes flicked over to the man and of course he wasn't paying attention to the pretty lady that König was dancing with. Oh if she was his he wouldn't let some strange man sweep her off her feet like this.

I hold you tighter in my arms, So I can lead you better

She did not fuss at all when he had pulled her closer once more hiding it as how he led her in the dance. To help her avoid stepping on her toes. Such a silly fragile man her fiancé must be if he was unwilling to dance with such a divine creature. Anger rests in his belly as he remembers not being introduced to her for so long. Oh he could not wait to always hold her close...

Dance with me Dance, dance with me Dance with me Dance, dance, dance with me Dance with me Dance with me Dance, dance, dance with me

She laughed once more, softly and tried her best to stifle it, it was akin to a secret between the two of them. A lovely little noise he would treasure and make sure to get her to make again... and again... and again.

I adorn you for the dance Braid flowers in your hair

When she was his he would make sure she would be the prettiest thing in the room. Whenever the balls would happen she would be in his arms in the finest fabrics. She exuded such warmth that he was sure if he braided flowers into her hair they would bloom.

Crimson red on pale cheeks suits you wonderfully

The blush on her cheeks as she kept trying to have polite small smiles... but the way she just grinned up at him as he once more elicited a laugh from her painted lips.

I have you tight in my hand Pull you up close to me

He pulled her close enough that her belly would brush his occasionally. He knew he would be getting more but König was a greedy man. Always had been since he was a prince. He wanted a taste of what was to come but he wouldn't embarrass her by stealing a kiss just yet.

Dance with me Dance, dance with me Dance with me Dance, dance with me

They were on their third circuit of the ballroom floor and they were both enamored with each other. He was willing to even toy with the idea of just dancing right out of the room with her... steal her away and say the nights festivities got the better of him. He was certain that she wouldn't mind it as he could tell she was eating up all of his rapt attention. Oh when she was his... he would make sure she would never be left wanting for attention like this.

I hold you tighter in my arms, So I can lead you better

He smiled as he didn't have to pull her when she would normally stumble she was learning! And he could see the recognition in her eyes as she realized she was getting the hang of it.

Dance with me Dance, dance with me Dance with me Dance, dance, dance with me

He could spy her Fiancé now getting upset with how intimately he was holding her now. How tightly his hand was on her waist. How lost in his eyes she was... how the man was a fool and König would make sure that he would pay for not treasuring what was in front of him.

[maelstrom007]

I wanna write a Most Dangerous Game ‘au’ for @ghouljams King Killer challenge, but I can’t decide if König should be the one that’s hunted and ends up loosing, or if König should be the one that has the crazy estate and is the hunter but reader outsmarts him and he dies that way.

Thoughts?

[wordstome]

Voraciously consuming cowboy!König because I missed how you write this nasty (affectionate) man. The little surprises you leave in your tags too is 👍

König's gotten softer since you started dating. Not in the way he acts or treats you, no he's always treated you with shocking gentleness ever since he met you, but the rest of him. The hard planes of muscle that you were pulled against when you first met him have developed a healthy layer of softness. He's sturdier, thicker around the middle, and you can't stop staring.

He's well fed, you think over breakfast. You sip your coffee watching König eat his plate, a big mam with a big appetite. He hardly seems to notice that his plate is full of all the eggs, bacon, and toast you could fit in the pan. He only flips through the morning paper and eyes you over the top edge of it when you've been staring too long. One of his brows raises, silently asking you what's on your mind. You shake your head, unable to find the right words for the feeling he gives you.

You think you're... satisfied, maybe. Something primitive in you purrs at seeing him well fed, well taken care of. You think he looks stronger in a way. It certainly fits his height well, making König into a mountain of a man. You can't help imagining him with a gaggle of kids hanging off his arms and over his shoulders when you watch him around the farm. He picks up Honey's massive foal when it chases after him, moves it out of the way so he can load the stall with fresh hay; he drives a new fence post into the ground with one powerful swing of the hammer.

You might make a little extra food when he swings by for dinner later. Just because you had an extra loaf of bread and your garden has been exceptionally fruitful lately. It just sort of slips out when he sits down with a full plate; he's barely got his fork to his mouth.

"Have you ever thought about kids?" You ask, watching him a little dreamy eyed when he chokes on his bite. König thumps a big hand against his chest and downs half his glass of water. He settles the glass down on the table and gives you a hard look, like he's trying to figure what you're asking, you smile at him innocently.

König is quiet for a long time, arms crossed as he leans back in his chair to regard you. You're almost worried that you said something wrong, asked the wrong question, but then he sighs and drags his hand over his mouth to look around the kitchen. His eyes are hot and hard when they meet yours again.

"I think about our children all the time," he tells you, purposefully, like there's no room for argument. 'Our children' not just a simple yes.

"Our children," you parrot. König sits forward to start eating again.

"At least three of them," he nods, "better chances for a boy and a girl." You open your mouth to say something, but all you can think about is, well, your future children. At least three of them staring up at you with König's icy blues.

"You don't want to know why I'm asking?" You try to tamp down the flutter in your heart. König hums, and glances at you, his eyes dragging over the parts of you that he can see.

"You've been feeding me more, staring more, I assume you're nesting," again he says it like a fact, "thinking about them too, ja?" You forget sometimes how closely watched you are, and how much you like that about König. "We can start trying after dinner."

You try not to squirm too excitedly in your seat.

[cj-theyoungling]

Gang. Some of my favorite writers for cod have reposted my story! I’m literally fangirling rn

[choconuthany]

I see Simon as a cat, y'know? The one that doesn't like being carried but is hellbent on bumping their stupid little heads on your legs.

He wants to be close to you, but on his own rather unconventional approach. Random bumps at the forehead with yours, head rubbing on your shoulder, maybe on the off chance, a kiss on the forehead when you're dead asleep.

Ghost distribution system my beloved, my scrungly stray cat.

[ghouljamsdraws]

DEATH IS TEMPORARY, I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER 💚⚡️

[hoodiedidnotdie]

I over bit, i over bit, i over bit— I BIT MORE THAN I CAN CHEW 😭😭

I've been stuck chipping away at the SAME GODDAMN FANART for S I X weeks and 3 days counting bc my dumbass took on TWO themes ive never even toUCHed and only ever made googly heart eyes at on my Pinterest boards; I've been through the equivalent of all mid-life & life crisises of a cat's nine lives someone get me out of here

[mausinly]

Soap MacTavish x fem!curvy!militarynurse!reader who’s secretly insecure about her body and thinks that Soap is only interested in her to get in her pants or it’s a prank but he comforts her and proves that she’s wrong and how much he genuinely loves her and that he’s been obsessed with her since she was moved to 141’s base?

Never Far From You

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Sorry this isn't exactly what you asked for, nonnie, but just know I am already attached to this reader and I will be slowburning this prompt. This story is getting unpacked layer by layer. I know you specified Nurses body type but it's never mentioned in this part. I couldn't find a way to casually fit it in with the idea I had but I will make it the forefront of another piece, don't you worry :]

This is also my submission for @glitterypirateduck and their Soap It Up challenge.

Prompt 2: "Do I make you nervous?"

Prompt 14: "I've been looking for you."

You haven't had to look around corners to check if the coast was clear since high school. It makes you feel childish. Makes you feel like a helpless teenager trying to avoid the prettier girls that whisper and leer when you walk past. You're too old to feel like that.

You don't know if you should be grateful you're not hiding from bullies or be more fearful of the person that's really chasing you.

You don't think you've ever been chased like this before. The girls in the halls never sought you out, and the boys that did only followed to continue jabbing at you as you tried to walk away.

No, this is much different. Too different. You don't know what to do with yourself.

Another nurse told you earlier that someone was looking for you. She gave a knowing smirk, telling you who with a teasing, sing-songy voice.

"Soap MacTavish." She grinned, leaning over the front desk, resting her chin on her hand.

You don't know why everyone thinks you like him. No. No, actually, you know exactly why. He won't leave you alone.

You left one of your patients room—a poor sap going by "Wick" that caught the nasty end of a bayonet—down a few halls to the nearest storage room. You stop before turning the corner, a suspicious feeling bubbling in your gut.

You peek over the corner, met with the rest of the long, bland hallway. He's not here. You don't like the feeling that replaces the suspicion. It's a sinking sensation.

This whole ordeal is eating at you. You know he's around somewhere. Unless he gave up after a while. Took him long enough, in your opinion. Part of you wants to run into him, though, just to get it over with and tell him to fuck off so you don't have to worry about it.

You straighten up again, pulling away from the corner and letting out a heavy sigh.

"So, who're we hiding from?" A horrifyingly familiar Scottish accent said from behind you, low and husky and almost a whisper.

You yelp and whip around to look at him, jumping back a little. Your feet scream to run, but you realize how ridiculous that is. You're an adult, you don't need to run, you're not in real danger.

The way he looks at you is dangerous, though. His eyes are lidded, relaxed as they take you in like he could do it all day. Those striking blues drag up and down your body, landing back at your eyes with such intensity that it makes you want to shy away.

He's so casual it infuriates you. He's just leaning against the wall beside you, arms crossed as he waits for your reply.

"I'm not hiding." You brush him off, tearing your eyes away from him and turning to walk away.

You pause, though, when he lets out a little huff of a laugh, almost a scoff. "Sure." He replied, not sounding all too convinced.

You look over your shoulder to glare at him but he only flashes you one of his little grins, eyes lit up with amusement and brows raised.

A real scoff leaves your own lips and you turn away again and continue down the hall. You suppress the urge to groan aloud when you hear heavy footfalls behind you as the Scot gives chase.

"I've been looking for you." He said, walking only a step behind you.

"That so?" You hum, trying to sound uninterested. Your tone doesn't sway him, it never does.

"Mhm, just asked the lass at the front where they keep the bonnie nurses and figured I'd find you around." He replied easily, and you don't have to look at him to know he's got that smirk on his face.

You hum again, not sure how else to respond. He follows you like a lost dog through the hallways until you reached the storage room. You open the door just enough to slip inside and much to your distain, Soap follows in suit, making a show of opening the door wide and waltzing in like he owns the place.

The storage room is fairly large, filled with rows of files and medications and equipment all broken off into different sections. You wind through the isles and try not to think too hard about Soap's heavy footfalls behind you. It makes you uneasy, fluttery in a way you don't want to think about. You feel like you're being hunted, like a little bunny that pops it's head up at the smallest branch snapping, unaware of the beast lurking just behind the foliage.

You stop walking and quickly turn to him, making him halt in front of you so easily that you think he was expecting it. You don't like that. You're not predictable, damn it!

"Do you need something?" You ask with exasperation, pumping up the attitude and irritation in hopes it scares him off.

You think it works for a second when his smile falters a bit and he has the decency to look a bit surprised by your outburst, but that hope immediately dies when he ducks his head down with a small chuckle that makes your stomach flip. He pulls one of his hands from his pocket and leans his arm on the shelf beside you.

He leans forward just a bit, those overwhelming blues flickering back up to you. "Does there need to be a reason?" He flashes you a lopsided, boyish smile and you feel like the ground is giving away under you.

"You always have a reason." You shoot back, cringing at the way your voice falters.

He notices, eyes looking back and forth between yours as his brows raise a little. "That I do." He replies, voice softer than before.

Soap takes a step closer, back straightening a bit in a way that makes you feel small in comparison. You straighten your back as well, taking a breath that comes in shakier than you wanted. Your attempt at coolness and defiance shatters when his other hand slips from his front pocket and slowly lifts towards you.

He's tentative, eyes holding yours and god, you can't look away. His hand lands on the side of your neck, fingers tenderly ghosting over your skin to see if you flinch away. You don't. You want to. You want to slap his hand away. You want to claw and sink your teeth into him so he'll scurry away with his tail between his legs.

But that won't happen. He'll just drag his way to your exam room and whine until you wrap him up, ask you to kiss it better. You almost want to.

The pads of his fingers drag up your neck and across your cheek. His palm is warm against your jaw and you're frustratingly pliant when he tilts your head. His eyes fall and you swallow when his thumb slowly traces your bottom lip.

"Do I make you nervous, hen?" His voice drops about an octave, low and just above a whisper. His eyes flit up to yours and you're halfway through your brain rebooting when you realize he's waiting for a response.

He isn't, really. He just wants to watch you try.

"No." You manage, a small murmur that in no way can be convincing.

He lets out a soft hum, head slowly tilting as he observes you. You feel like he's picking you apart, piece by piece. Pulling back your hardened shell to watch your innermost workings as they turn and click.

His thumb presses down on your bottom lip, tugging it down a little and he can feel the muted gasp you take. He leans heavier on the shelf beside the both of you and his hand drops away from you. A long, almost pained groan rips from his throat and he pulls back to run his fingers through his mohawk and tug at the strands. He drags his hand over his face and peeks at you through his fingers.

His eyes are narrow and hungry before he tears his eyes away again, waving you off. "Bah. Go get what you were looking for, I'll be finding you later."

You try not to sigh too audibly as you take a few steps back, your body visibly untensing as you put a bit of distance between you two. "Right, see ya." You say, a little clipped before turning on your heel and walking away.

Soaps eyes follow you until you turn a corner and step out of his line of sight, the back of his head falling back against one of the shelves with a thump. Run, little bunny. You're lucky he likes a chase.

[mi-i-zori]

Run, Boy, Run (Unfinished)

CoD - König

SYNOPSIS : Despite the gruesome news flashing on his television screen, König goes on a walk in the middle of the night. Surely, nothing could go wrong.

WARNINGS : König’s past (bullying), anxiety. This isn’t a good mental health night for the guy, so maybe don’t read if it’s the same for you.

Author’s Note : I wanted to write this for @ghouljams ‘ King Killer Challenge, but got stuck in a writing stump not long after, and I’ve been having a hard time getting out of it. I don’t think I’ll ever finish this, but I guess it’d be sad to simply leave it in a dusty corner of my WIPs. Hope you like it !

I do not allow anyone to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my works, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

In König’s mind, winter nights possess a charm he has never been able to describe.

When the world slows down, lit up only by artificial lights of which the colours fail to compare to the natural glow of the moon, his heart finds a rhythm even his subconscious tends to forget. The wind seems to freeze every single thing it touches, and it’s as if time itself had decided to slow down, mesmerised by the very idea of resting. König has always struggled to do the same. Instead, he fights constantly against a choir of ghostly laughs, so similar to the cold lingering outside his window. As a whole, it is all somber and strange ; not unlike the ice that keeps devouring the foundations of his being.

It’s familiar, almost. Frighteningly so.

Yet he finds himself unable to find even an ounce of comfort on such a stage of déjà-vu. The spectres’ wails, lost in the invisible abyss hidden behind his own carcass, refuse to cease. The dark circles lining his face keep getting deeper as his eyes fall onto the semi-darkness of his apartment ; the cacophony of his thoughts is so dense it has become impossible to decipher.

He barely has the courage to turn on the lamp standing next to his couch, the light defining his tired profile so bright despite the thick lampshade muffling its glow. A small table holds a box of pills in front his silent judgment, akin to a frightened servant bowing in front of their beloved king.

A bitter taste coats König’s tongue, and he can’t seem to pinpoint its source - the infusion he drank a few moments ago, or the nauseating sight standing in front of him.

His gaze is heavy as he focuses on the sleeping pills. The very idea of ingesting one of them in order to spend a peaceful night is tempting ; he already did it multiples times before, although the nature of the pills he once used to take was much different. He would do anything to tame his nightmares ; but his time in the army changed him. He can no longer stand the feeling of vulnerability gnawing at his insides whenever he wakes up after following his doctor’s orders. The need to keep a hand in every single aspect of his existence only gets stronger each time, ruining the few hours of rest he accumulated while unconscious. What was meant to appease his mind only made things worse, and he can’t afford to succumb to the loss of control looming over his horizon.

The memory of his trembling reflection in the mirror, of the stranger sharing his face looking back at him with eyes painted red with fear, anger and exhaustion, launches a trembling assault down his spine - a series of painful shivers he only suffers from when lost on the battlefield of his thoughts. The little pills are crushed under the iron of his grasp, only finding their salvation at the bottom of the trash can.

A new weight falls upon his chest at the thought, tearing a sign from his lips. He raises a hand to the back of his neck, hoping to find a little bit of clean air among the pollution of his mind and lungs. His memories bounce around the walls of his skull, set free by an endless asthaenia. Akin to a crowd of gladiators thrown in their favourite arena, they lunge towards him, ready to bring him down in order to save their own lives. Usually, he would face them with ice in his eyes and steel in his veins - but not now.

The midnight news ramble once more about a peculiar and terrifying series of accidents haunting the streets of the neighbourhood. But König doesn’t care about the wide fatal wounds found on the victims of what only seems to be a monster, nor about the wild thoughts of Pale Crawlers a bunch of idiots like to spread on the internet. To him, this only sounds like a bunch of gang fights, or robberies that turned badly, hidden behind a crude story for children. So, without even thinking about it twice, he throws a simple leather jacket on his shoulders, in the pockets of which he stores his keys and phone. As if anyone would be suicidal enough to even try to corner someone of his stature.

They did, though, a fearful voice in his head rumbles, multiple times. The memory of his school years is littered with mockeries and hits ; bruises and broken bones ; whispers and side glances. Though reaching his current height also came with a small share of admiration, it didn’t stop the usual bullies - it even encouraged them instead, prompting them to rally more people to their « monster hunt ».

The front door of the building quickly makes way for the usual chill coating the city’s winter nights, pushing the hurtful visions aside. The soldier shivers behind his black surgical mask, mumbling about how he will never get used to his civilian clothes. The small rectangle of polypropylene leaves him feeling naked against a world of which he only wishes to avoid the gaze ; but he still decides to make his way down the barely lit street, silent under the glow of the moon.

If his own mind keeps threatening to break the ice on which he tries to find shelter, perhaps a cold winter night could help him strengthen it.

He doesn’t really have a destination in mind. Instead, he lets his legs carry him slowly while he focuses on his surroundings. If he happens to cross paths with a few cars, the majority of the streets is still empty. His heartbeat echoes in their silence, and he can’t help but notice how different they sound from the usual noise crowding the corridors of a military base. He starts counting the lights paving his way, but quickly decides to stop as the shadows they create play with his tired eyes, each one following an unexpected dance on the sides of his vision. He fights himself to ignore them, and it’s only when his jaw starts aching that he realises how tense he is, his demons immediately laughing at his pitiful state.

You’re such a big guy, they cackle, an erratic choir in the back of his head, yet you’re afraid of a few shadows ?

- Pathetic, he mumbles, and hisses once noticing how easily their voices mix with his.

The war machine he has become is not made for living in such a normal, peaceful environment. If there once was a time when he saw silence as a form of salvation, he now only sees it as the calm before the storm, a veil hiding an inevitable danger. The gruesome news reports spewed by his TV monitor suddenly make an appearance in his mind, as if trying to mock him further. He forces himself to burn them over and over, ignoring the way the shadows seem to erratically creep closer to his own.

Through the barred up display window of a nearby store, a clock strikes two in the morning. König stops for a moment to read it, blinded by the eclectic signals of a neon sign. The light assaults his eyes like a wildfire raging in a forest during summer, and he only looks away once it drags a tear along his cheek. It burns only for a second before dying on the synthetic fabric covering his face - but the frost comes back quickly, and a part of him regrets not thinking about wearing a scarf.

He tends to forget more and more about such things, he realises. As if he didn’t have the strength to care for himself anymore.

He stays here for a moment, blinking the light away in the middle of the sidewalk, before finally resuming his walk.

[wordstome]

*sticks a sign that says “ask me about the au I have in my head for daydreaming purposes of falling in love with your dance partner König” on the wall*

whoever is the anon who sent @kneelingshadowsalome that ask about König falling for a dancer, this is your fault!

You guys are paired up for an advanced choreography because you’re easily the best dancer and König is strong enough to do a lot of complicated moves that involve carrying you. You’re both fully capable of being professional, but there’s a LOT of touching. But that’s fine, right? You’re only flushing hot because the choreography is strenuous. You’re only imagining things when it feels like his hands linger on you a second longer than is needed. You’re definitely projecting when you look into his eyes and see burning hot desire.

You’re both perfectionists, so it’s only natural that the two of you meet outside of rehearsal to practice. Nothing to do with the fact that when you close your eyes, all you can see is him staring into your soul above the mask he always wears.

God, crushing on your dance partner is so pathetic. You’re coworkers, and that’s it. You don’t even know if he has a partner already. What woman wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to make this graceful giant hers? You try, you really do, to push all your most lurid fantasies into some dark corner of your mind so you can just get through this practice session and run home to take care of business. But all of your resolve crumbles when you’re in his arms.

He ends up fucking you against a mirror.

psst. This is the choreography I always imagine doing with him. It’s not the one I had in mind when I wrote this post because there’s no strength component to it, but 🥵🥵🥵

and if you want a REALLY spicy version? …dm me.

[xxundeadfanboixx]

Thinking of Aphrodite!Johnny x Hephaestus!Míchéal (slightly inspired by @ghouljams Aphrodite!Reader x Hephaestus!Nikto work. Go check it out, I absolutely adore the series. It's so cute.)

Thinking of Aphrodite!Johnny who swoons over his husband, and wants to flaunt him around. But Hephaestus!Míchéal rarely ever leaves his forge, too wrapped up in work and the bustle of having to fill out what seems to be a never ending list of orders. Working long before the sun rises and far past when the sun sets.

Aphrodite!Johnny who is known to have had flings in the past, never taking on just one lover, giving himself to whoever he deemed worthy of himself. Aphrodite!Johnny who worries that this past of his has ruined his relationship with his husband before one could even begin to be built. Worries that turn his stomach over and ills him. Stressing the god out the longer Hephaestus!Míchéal seems to refuse to return his affections, and resulting in him sulking about and snapping at the other gods and goddesses. Showing the disgusting aching side of passion and love.

Hephaestus!Míchéal who is unaware of the havoc he has unreleased on Mount Olympus, too busy trying to make a wedding gift that would be worthy of being worn on Johnny's arm. But everything, no matter how well made or how much he polishes a stone to make it a star plucked from the sky, pales in comparison of Johnny's beauty. So he stays there, sweating away in his forge, working day after day and using the little free time he does have to work himself even more in a cycle of insanity self induced as he tries to capture the beauty of a god in metal worked on by rough, tarnished hands.

[mariamakeslemons]

I'm playing in @ghouljams sandbox, with a tiny, hurt child. She's a combination "normal" person and unable to see her own hurt.

I don't own Witch, that's Ghoul's OC/Reader insert. I do own Racheal/Lilac.

Racheal shakes as she hesitates to knock on the door. Granny told her that the witch living here may be her only hope of actually understanding the magic she has. But the witch here also has ancestral magic instead of having to rely solely on the magic her own body creates. Which Racheal has to do. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, the girl knocks on the door and flinches at the sound she’s made, clinging to her barely made grimoire tightly.

The door opens and the prettiest woman blinks down at her, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you lost, sweetie?” she asks Racheal. Squeaking, the girl shakes her head and hands the woman her Granny’s letter. The woman blinks before accepting the letter, frowning at the writing before turning back to Racheal with a smile.

“You might as well come in, okay?” the woman offers with a smile. Racheal nods and scurries in, glancing over her shoulder nervously. The woman hums and moves through her house with ease, leaving Racheal to scurry after her.

“So, how old are you, sweetheart?” the woman asks, as she opens the letter.

“…E-eleven, ma’am,” Racheal answers, flinching at the woman suddenly stopping in the hall. Slowly, the woman turns to look at Racheal, her hand moving to toy with the hagstone necklace she has.

“…Eleven,” she repeats, and Racheal can’t do anything but nod. Granny always said she was too stupid to start learning when everyone else started, because she couldn’t even tell what the difference between using lavender or using sage would do to certain spells as a five year old. The woman closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before a smile crosses her face.

“Well, let me finish reading this and we’ll start outlining what to do to help you,” the woman offers with a nice smile. Racheal perks up at that, eager to learn what she can and hopefully please at least one of her teachers.

“Y-yeah! That s-sounds like a plan!” Racheal agrees, flinching at her stutter. Granny told her proper witches don’t do that, but she can’t really help it. It just comes out. But, she thinks while looking up at the woman who only smiles at her excitement, maybe it’s just a coven thing.

“Okay,” the woman says after Racheal dropped off her meager belongings in the spare room she had pointed out (Racheal wasn’t really allowed too much, she was too stupid to own things according to Granny), “Let’s lay out some rules. One, I’m to be called Witch, okay? That is what the majority of people know me as, and it’s easier to remember than knowing my actual name.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Racheal agrees easily enough. That’s easy to remember. Miss Witch smiles at her, her eyes softening nicely.

“Now, I need to know your fae name,” she instructs, “Because that’s what I’ll refer to you in public with.”

“It’s S-Stupid,” Racheal answers. Miss Witch sighs and smiles, almost looking amused.

“I’m sure it’s not, sweetie,” she says, “You don’t have to be shy.”

“Oh, uh,” Racheal starts, realizing that Miss Witch didn’t understand, “N-no. I m-mean, my n-name. It’s Stupid.” Miss Witch freezes, her smile in place, but something brewing under her pretty eyes. Slowly, her face changes to something thunderous and Racheal shrinks on herself, waiting for the strike that’s sure to come. She’d deserve it, after all. She upset Miss Witch.

“No,” the woman says, startling Racheal, “I’m not calling you that. We’ll think of something else.” Racheal blinks at her, confused by her reaction as Miss Witch hems and haws over a thought.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asks suddenly. Racheal jumps, blinking at her in shock.

“…I can h-have one of th-those?” Racheal replies, stunned. She’d heard about that sort of thing, favorite things. Granny told her that only smart people could have them, that she’s too stupid to have any kind of preference. Miss Witch hums and nods, although something in her face tells Racheal that she’s angry. But, she wants to know what color is her favorite. And she really likes purples, especially light purples like…

“Lilac,” Racheal decides.

“Then, that’s what I’ll call you,” Miss Witch tells her. Racheal, Lilac, smiles and nods eagerly, only to jump at a knocking noise from what looks like Miss Witch’s backyard. The woman huffs, almost fondly, before patting Lilac’s head.

“Stay here, okay, sweetie? I need to speak with someone,” she tells Lilac with a smile. Lilac nods eagerly and stays right there, although she wonders if Miss Witch would be upset if she sat on the floor. She’s really tired from having to stay up to catch the train, then the plane, then the bus, then the other train. Maybe she can sit for a minute, then stand back up.

“I’m going to kill a fellow witch,” you chirp to Price, holding back every piece of rage you feel. He raises a brow at your declaration, surprised that you decided to greet him with that.

“Is it the little one in your house?” he asks, curious.

“No, she’s the reason why I’m ready to commit murder,” you tell him. The poor girl is too thin and small, obviously malnourished. Then there’s the stutter and that name. Oh, that name. And to top everything off, the witch who sent her wrote the letter like complaining about a stray animal that needs to be put down, not a child that needs to be guided.

“Deep breaths, love,” Price soothes, reaching across the bricks to grasp your hand within his. You comply, taking a deep breath before slowly letting it out.

“She’s eleven and, according to the letter, she barely knows what the herbs do, let alone any spells,” you tell him. Price freezes at that, obviously understanding what you’re implying. After all, witchcraft is a craft, one that must be started young to be able to use the magic safely and confidently. Most witches start by reading to their children from their own grimoire, teaching what a symbol or plant means and is used for.

“…A child,” Price sighs, smoke pouring out of his mouth like a waterfall.

“An abused child,” you correct, watching as he breathes out of his nose, hard. Smoke bursts out of his nostrils like a bull or a dragon, an anger burning in his eyes and you find yourself at ease.

The relationship between children and fae is always tricky. A child could be coveted or prey, depending on the fae in question. However, with Price’s reaction, you can tell he would rather burn down the world than harm a child. Perhaps it has to do with how children are easy prey, something that Price has told you was boring. Perhaps it has to do with what little you’ve found out about Ghost, the fae following L- no, she needs a different name… Pink? Sunny? Ugh, well, the fae that follows the Shop Keeper’s friend around.

“I’ll tell my boys to behave around her,” Price said, pulling you from your musing. He smiles, “That’ll spread the word that she’s under my protection.”

“You don’t even know her,” you argue without any heat. Price chuckles, leaning against the wall with that sly grin of his.

“You like her, pretty witch,” he purrs, sending a shiver down your spine, “That’s more than enough for me.” You huff, but the smile that fights its way on your face probably tells him how amused you are by his declaration.

“I should finish getting her settled in,” you tell him, brushing your hand against his own. Price catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’ll see you around then,” he promises, giving your hand a soft squeeze before pulling away. You turn back to your home and go inside, only to stop and sigh. Lilac is curled up on the floor, asleep, with her grimoire clutched in her arms. The dark circles under her eyes tell you how little sleep the girl gets and you feel another wave of anger threaten to drown you. How could anyone do this to a child, let alone one who so obviously wants to please? When you get the chance, you’re going to burn down the witch’s house and adopt the girl. Or, maybe help her find a family if you can’t.