#like so are ghosts not the soul of a person?

[dcxdpdabbles]

Always the bridesmaid never the bride

I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:

Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.

Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.

His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.

Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.

It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.

Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.

Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!

And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!

And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.

It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.

Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?

Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.

Perry had given Danny a raise for it.

Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."

Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.

Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.

Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."

Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.

He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.

Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.

That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.

But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.

It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.

He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.

Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"

He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"

"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."

"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"

Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"

"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.

He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.

Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.

They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.

Rude.

Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?

This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.

"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.

Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."

"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"

Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.

"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.

"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."

There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."

"Stay?"

"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."

Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."

He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.

Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx

XOXO

Bruce Wayne

What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?

[muzsmocsing]

Lan Wangji will suffer the worst case of the knee deep in the passenger seat Casual™ to ever plague a queer man. I just know it. He will be at his wedding ceremony with his dumbfuck necromancer beloved and the mf will still giggle about like they're just best budz in on some crazy tax evasion scheme.

[wetpussyju1ce]

retired!John Price and the ghost girl living in his sea side cottage. 

he didn't even know the house was haunted when he bought the place. it's not like the owner of the cottage would've told him. and in this time and age, not a lot of people really believed in ghosts, heck he didn't believe in them either. 

well, maybe that's a bit of a lie. he doesn't believe in actual ghosts appearing and knocking shit over just to mess with the living. but he's been long enough in the military to know that every man and woman have their own ghosts they carry around. heck, even some bases are worse than others, sometimes when the wind blows hard and runs in the corridors, it sounds like souls out of hell, coming back to haunt the ones still alive, telling them their time was counted for. 

But this type of ghost, the type that's absolutely shit at being a ghost, John thought it was a house squatter, a homeless person using the cottage because it was empty for a very long time, that's what the owner told him. When he first saw her, she dashed past the door, fast enough that he couldn't exactly see who it was but slow enough that he could tell it was a person. 

then she'd follow him around, she wouldn't make any noise of course, but he could sense her presence and see her in the corner of his eye. He thought maybe it was his old age getting to him. because no matter how hard he looked there was no evidence of human presence, other than himself, of course. he catches himself staring long and hard at his cigar, getting suspicious of his own tobacco, if he'd somehow mixed some cannabis in it and forgot. But no, she was there, and very real. 

The longer he stayed in the house, cleaning, dusting, moving things and unpacking, the more he could see of her, just glimpses here and there. And for a reason completely unknown to him, he wasn't scared. why would he? if she wanted to hurt him she would've done it by now? plus, she doesn't look as scary as someone would think. John knows that she's barefoot, wears a light pink dress and her flesh looks of normal, if faint, human colour. It doesn't look rotted or grey. 

John hasn't told anyone about his little ghost roommate, and probably won't because they'll definitely drag him to a retirement home if he does. So he keeps his mouth shut and tries to catch this little ghost, or at least get a look at her face, speak to her, ask her what is she doing in his house. 

That day came sooner than he thought, where she was creeping behind him, it was comical how John immediately knew what she was doing, saw her in the reflection of his glass of water. then walked out of the kitchen, slowly at first, when he turned the corner he booked it for the other kitchen door, getting in and there he saw her, slowly creeping to the door he just exited out of. He wanted to laugh at how bad she was at being stealthy but held it in, then he creeped behind her, then pounced, wrapping his arms around her. 

She shouted and he gasped, hearing her voice for the first time, she was cold, and soft. when it finally registered in her head that the human man was touching her, she froze, and when she did, John couldn't feel anything anymore. She was still there, looking down at his arms that were now floating inside her. John moved his hands around, eyes wide and she shuddered, stepping away with her shoulders hunched. 

John felt bad for scaring her like that so he cleared his throat, “Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,”

She didn't move for a minute, her back to him, and then slowly looked over her shoulder, blinking her wet eyes at him. She was scared and his heart twisted in his chest at the youth etched in her skin, at her hunched shoulders and trembling lower lip. 

“I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to scare you,” John quickly apologised again, this time trying to whisper, his hands in the air, trying his best not to scare her away. 

Her body slowly turned around, levitating and floating, then he could finally see all of her, including the marks wrapped around her neck in the shape of fingertips as she stared at him, shaking. John never thought he was capable of scaring a ghost, if anything he should be the one terrified out of his wits. This wasn't normal.

“I'm John, John Price,” John introduced himself, “I bought the house a month ago, as a retirement present for myself…” Price explained as if she would care why he bought the house. 

“You can see me?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper and Price nodded, eyes wide. 

“And you can touch me?” She asked again, fingers grabbing hold of her dress, pulling at the fabric and toying with it.

John nodded again and she looked down, confusion written all across her face. 

“Are you a ghost too?” She asked, hopeful and Price’s small smile fell, did she just ask him if he was a flipping ghost? 

“Am I dead?” He repeated and she nodded once with a grimace.

“Well, I hope not,” He awkwardly laughed, running his fingers through his beard, thinking hard if he could've lost his life in the battlefield, a bullet to the head or something. 

“Are you sure?” She asked and he frowned, was he sure? 

“What's something ghosts can't do and living people can?” John asked and she tilted her head to the side, thinking. 

“Well, I can't leave the house…” She shrugged and he nodded, that's it, all he has to do is leave the house and he'll be sure he's actually not dead.

John walked to the door, turning the key and looked over his shoulder, “I'm doing it!” Then he put one foot outside, then another, and nothing happened, “See! I'm not a ghost,”

She frowned in confusion, “If you're not a ghost, then why can you see and touch me?”

John walked back in the house and locked the door behind him, “I don't know, you're the first ghost I've ever talked to, I'll tell you that,”

“Really?” 

“Yes,” John smiled a little, “Are there others in here or is it just you?”

“Just me,”

“Alright, will you give me a hard time?”

“No!”

“Good, then why don't you make yourself useful and help me pick a new wallpaper for the hallways,”

[impossiblesublimelight]

Ever since season 2 concluded back in December, I’ve been rethinking Brandon Roger’s slip of the tongue about how Blitzø “ran” I.M.P. instead of “runs”. A lot of us were convinced that Mastermind was going to have Blitzø’s business being destroyed along with the building it was being run in. But then Sinsmas aired, and I.M.P. is still going strong.

But then that begs the question, was that earlier statement by Brandon just a slip of the tongue? Or were we given a hint to a future conflict/conclusion that takes place in a later season?

Personally, I think there’s still a chance that Blitzø is going to lose I.M.P. And my obsession with finding lore/future hints in Vivzie’s official merchandise turned a simple passing thought into a freakin full blown obsession that just won’t leave me alone. So of course I’m going to share the insanity.

This Halloween T-shirt’s art is what started it all.

Blitzø is dressed up as an angel, something that anyone from hell would consider as terrifying or monstrous. Perfectly in theme with Halloween while also being ironically hilarious to the audience.

But what if it’s more than that? What if it’s a possible hint about how Helluva Boss will end? What if Blitzø doesn’t lose I.M.P. or willingly retire and pass it on?

Helluva Boss could just as easily end with Blitzø’s death. But that doesn’t mean it’s actually “THE END” the end for Blitzø’s or even Helluva Boss’ story. Because Blitzø could be reincarnated as an angel, just like he’s dressed up as in the Halloween art.

After all, Vivzie is also famous for another show based in hell that focuses on redeeming those condemned to live in hell. And one of those sinners was even redeemed and made it into heaven after sacrificing himself for his loved ones.

This sounds exactly like something Blitzø would do. In fact, he’s already tried to sacrifice himself for his family once already, and I highly doubt he won’t do it again. Especially with Stolas in the picture being as apathetic of his own life as he is.

Now, we know little to nothing about how death affects hellborns, or if they even have souls that can die like a human’s from earth. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be a possibility! After all, ghosts might not exist in the Helluva Boss universe. But reincarnation hasn’t been taken off the table yet! And it would really add an interesting twist in the lore of the Helluva/Hazbin universe. Which would then be the perfect excuse to bring some Helluva Boss characters over into Hazbin Hotel.

Oh, and then there’s the full moon/heaven imagery to consider.

Heaven is the freaking moon in Helluva Boss! And Stolas has already visualized Blitzø as being unreachable in the glow of said moon…

So, maybe there is merit to the idea that Blitzø can be reincarnated into heaven. Thoughts?

[cardansriddle]

Deception - Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary:

It wasn’t a calculated move, not at first. But now that the pieces had been set on the board, she realized the only way to survive was to play. She would have to play his game—dangerous, consuming, and risky as it was. She knew there was no other way of getting out of his clutches. Whatever his decision, she would be his prisoner for as long as he pleased.

But perhaps...she could manipulate him.

Warnings: manipulation, reader is Tom's prisoner. not proofread as always.

A/N: I loved writing this so much, I'm already thinking maybe I should continue this.

༻♛༺

The dim light of the chamber flickered as the iron door groaned shut behind her, casting her into a suffocating silence. The cold seeped into her bones as she stood, hands bound by enchanted chains that glimmered faintly in the shadows. Her captors dropped their hold on her arms and she heard the echo of their footsteps as they left the room.

And then she was alone with him.

She slowly rose her eyes from the ground and met his piercing gaze with defiance. Tom Riddle sat at the head of a grand, dark table, his fingers steepled, eyes glittering like a predator sizing up its prey. The flickering torchlight cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp planes and hollows that made him both devilishly beautiful and utterly menacing. His dark hair, sleek and perfectly in place, framed a face that seemed carved from marble—pale, flawless, and unnervingly symmetrical.

"Do you know why you're here?" His voice was calm, dangerously so, each syllable wrapping around her like a devil's snare.

Her lips curled in disgust. "If you're looking for someone to cower and beg, you’ve picked the wrong witch."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, sharp and fleeting. "Brave." he murmured, rising from his chair with an almost lazy grace. He wore black robes tailored to perfection, the fabric smooth and unyielding, fitting his tall, lean frame as if it were a second skin. "But bravery without power is a liability."

He moved towards her, each step deliberate, calculated. She fought the urge to step back as he stopped just inches away, his presence overwhelming. There was an aura about him that made the air feel heavier, the room colder. 

"I’ll make this simple," he continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "Hufflepuff's Cup. Where is it?"

She swallowed a knot in her throat before she answered. "You will not get anything from me, Riddle." She spat.

"Hm." He hummed, his smile chilling and devoid of warmth. "Do you truly believe that?" Before she could respond, he lifted a hand, and the chains tightened around her wrists, forcing her to her knees. Pain shot through her, but she refused to cry out, glaring up at him instead.

She felt utterly vulnerable on the ground beneath him, forced to look up to him. He seemed to be enjoying himself as he let his gaze rove over her like this, on her knees, at his mercy. His eyes glimmered at the sight and there was something almost serpentine about them, as if they could see straight through to the darkest corners of a person’s soul.

"You think you can defy me," he said, crouching down to her level. His face was unnervingly close now, his breath ghosting over her skin. "But defiance only entertains me for so long."

She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to flinch as his fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face upward. "Why do you resist?" he asked almost curiously. "You know lack of cooperation will only lead to pain. You also know...I get what I want. I always win."

"You don’t win anything," she snapped, her voice trembling despite her efforts. "You take. You destroy. You leave nothing behind but fear and ruin." She knew the reply she gave was pathetic, yet she was at death's door and there was only so much wit she could muster. "I know you’ll never be satisfied. Not with Hufflepuff's Cup, not with power, not with anything."

Something flickered in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or something darker. He dropped his hand. "Perhaps Crucio will loosen your tongue about the Cup's whereabouts then."

A shot of fear travelled through her body, but she knew the slightest display of it would only encourage him more. So she tilted her chin upward defiantly, her heartbeat thunderous in her ears. “You think pain will break me?” she replied, her voice lower now, steadier. “You don’t understand, do you? That’s the difference between us. I can endure. You’re the one who can’t.” Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, knowing that her words would send her straight to her doom. "And no matter how many people you bend to your will, how much power you amass, you’ll never escape it,” she continued. "You’ll always be that boy trying to prove you’re more than the emptiness inside.”

His calm composure shattered and she swallowed in fear as she watched anger overtake him, eyes flashing deep crimson. "You presume to know me?” he said, his voice a venomous whisper. His hand circled her throat, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze. “You presume to know what drives me, what fuels me?”

Her eyes bore into his, unwavering despite the storm brewing in his gaze. “Your anger will be your downfall."

A low, bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Anger?” he echoed, tilting his head, his expression hardening into something sharp and cruel. “You think anger is what fuels me? That’s such a simplistic view of me, darling.”

“It’s the anger that you bury beneath your arrogance. The rage at the world that dared to dismiss you. The fury at the people who never saw you for what you thought you deserved to be.”

Something in his expression shifted—a flicker of something raw, dangerous, and entirely unguarded. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over her skin as he spoke, his tone soft but laced with venom. “Careful, little witch. You’re wandering into dangerous territory.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” she challenged, her heart pounding as he stepped even closer, the heat of his body now pressing into hers. “Kill me? Torture me? That won’t change the truth, will it?”

“You’re either very brave,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapped around steel, “or very foolish to speak to me this way.”

“I’m neither,” she countered, her voice soft but firm. “I just see you for what you are.” Her heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to let him see her falter. “A man who thinks power will fill the emptiness inside him,” she said, her words striking with quiet precision. “But it won’t. It never will.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, his grip tightening on her throat as though grounding himself. 

He leaned in, so close now that she could feel the heat radiating from him, his lips barely a breath away from hers. “I should break you,” he murmured, his voice dark and low. “I should destroy you for your insolence.”

“Then why haven’t you?” she whispered with a trembling voice.

His grip faltered for the briefest moment, and in that hesitation, she saw the war raging within him. “Because,” he said finally, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite name, “you’re not as insignificant as you should be. And that infuriates me.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching as his words hung heavy in the air. The hand gripping her throat softened slightly, his thumb brushing against her jaw in a touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

“And what infuriates me even more,” he said lowly, his voice barely above a whisper, “is that I can’t decide whether I want to break you… or keep you.”

For a moment, his expression was unreadable, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her knees feel weak. Then, without warning, he closed the distance, his lips ghosting over hers but not quite touching, as if testing his resolve.

The tension was suffocating, electric, and for a fleeting second, she wasn’t sure if she’d just won the battle—or if she’d lost something far greater.

She wasn't stupid. She knew either of those paths would be her downfall. He was the enemy, and she despised everything he stood for. Whether he decided to torture her until her body gave out, or keep her for himself as his personal pet, she knew she would suffer. There was no other solution when it came to Tom Riddle.

Starting this game between them, it was not something she intended to use to get out of the situation alive. It wasn’t a calculated move, not at first. But now that the pieces had been set on the board, she realized the only way to survive was to play. She would have to play his game—dangerous, consuming, and risky as it was. She knew there was no other way of getting out of his clutches. Whatever his decision, she would be his prisoner for as long as he pleased.

But perhaps...she could manipulate him.

Her mind raced as his piercing eyes held hers. She could feel the weight of his presence, suffocating yet alluring, and for a moment, her stomach churned with disgust—not at him, but at herself for even considering the possibility that lingered at the edges of her mind.

She had seen the way he looked at her—not with indifference, not with contempt, but with something else. Something dangerous. Something she could use.

If he wanted to keep her, she would play the game long enough to let him lower his guard, just enough. And then, when he believed that he had bent her to his will, that she would stay by his side, that would be the moment she would escape.

She carefully schooled her features into something unreadable. He had an uncanny ability to sense weakness, to sniff out the faintest whiff of fear or rebellion. She couldn’t afford that. Not now.

Tom tilted his head, studying her as though she were a particularly fascinating puzzle he had yet to solve. His fingers grazed her jaw, almost gentle now, as if testing her reaction. “You’re thinking something,” he deduced, “Something clever, no doubt. Shall I guess what it is?”

Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to smile faintly, a calculated tilt of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re welcome to try."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but the corner of his mouth curved upward, amused. “You’re playing a game you can’t possibly win,” he said, his voice like a warning. “But I admit, I’m curious to see how far you’ll go before you break.” He knew this had become a game now. “You intrigue me,” he admitted. “That could be your greatest weapon… or your greatest weakness.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her mind screaming at her to look away, to retreat, but she didn’t. Instead, she leaned in slightly, letting her lips brush over his lightly as she spoke. "And you want me," she stated. "That could be your weakness."

His dark eyes flashed with anger—or was it desire, or perhaps both, she could not tell. But she didn’t give him the chance to respond. Her hands moved to his collar, and she kissed him— hard and unyielding.

He didn’t pull away.

For a split second, the world seemed to stop, the only sound the sharp intake of breath as his control snapped. His hands gripped her waist with bruising force, dragging her closer as he kissed her back with an intensity that stole the air from her lungs. It was rough and chaotic.

She could feel the fire in his touch, the hunger that he barely kept restrained, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. Good. She would use that. She would make him crave her, make him lose himself in the illusion she was about to create.

She would make him want her—not just physically, but completely, utterly. She would weave herself into the dark corners of his mind, make him believe she wanted him too. She would let him think she was falling under his spell, that his power over her was absolute.

Her lips parted against his as she kissed him again, softer this time, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. She felt his sharp inhale, the way his body tensed under her touch, and she knew she was winning this round. He was too used to control, to fear and submission. She would give him none of that. Instead, she would give him passion laced with poison.

As his hands roamed over her, pulling her impossibly closer, her mind remained cold, calculating. She would make him trust her, make him believe she was his. And when he least expected it, when his guard was down and his obsession consumed him, she would slip away.

For now, though, she kissed him back as though she truly wanted him, as though the heat between them burned away any semblance of resistance.

She let him believe this was real.

༻♛༺

(lmk if you want part 2 for this!)

[simp4konig]

Goodbye, tumblr.

Hey, everyone!

It's been a while since I've updated — and, I'll have you know, that this will be the last time that I'll be updating.

From 20th August 2023 to 9th November 2024 I've been posting fanfictions: first, with König; then, once with Ghost; finally, with Nikto. As of right now, I have 770 followers. At some point, I even had over 850.

First of all, thank you for these last seventeen months. Initially, I was a lurker here on tumblr. Aside from a single short, obscure fanfiction with König, I didn't post much else — that is, until @puff0o0 inspired me with her self-aware König au.

My self-aware König fanfiction exploded, and it remains my most popular post to this day. My other successes have been "König mistakenly shooting you on the battlefield" and "Intimate König headcanons". Another of my all-time most popular posts was "Zombie Apocalypse AU with Ghost" — that one made a lot of you cry. I am not sorry. Thank you for sharing your emotions with me, because seeing your comments made me smile, and satisfied that my work was poignant enough to invoke so many tears in many of you.

Finally, for Nikto, my "General headcanons", "Flirtatious Reader x ...Dense? Nikto", "Obsessed! Nikto", "Fem! Reader Asking Nikto To Clasp Her Bra", and "Reader fussing over Nikto's injury" all were popular, and these posts in particular received a lot of feedback, comments, reblogs, and asks afterwards, which I am thankful for.

My decision to quit tumblr isn't impulsive — I've been considering this ever since the AI craze was trending and the several times that COD drama was prevalent. Other reasons include the fact that I am bombarded with goddamn porn and NSFW content as soon as I open the app, wasting time scrolling absentmindedly when I could be more productive and accomplish something more, loss of interest in COD, loss of interest in posting publicly, a phobia of having my work copied and/or stolen, as well as my envy of other creators, which can write two paragraphs and receive thousands of notes, while I can pour my heart and soul into my stories, and receive a few hundred — the last point in particular was the most discouraging.

While all of these are factors contributing to my choice to leave, there's one that's far simpler than any of them: I just don't feel like it anymore.

Truth be told, writing has been and always will be a hobby. This blog was initially a hobby which I indulged in, yet it overtime became a chore. Nowadays, posting has been less for pleasure and more to satisfy you guys, because I hate to deprive you of content when you follow me and have been loyal for so long.

That's not to say that I'm quitting writing! Not at all. I'll still be writing! Writing stories is still my passion, as is reading. I just won't be posting publicly anymore.

Thank you all for supporting me during my teen years. 16 was — contrary to what pop culture would lead you to believe — not sweet. I'll be 18 soon, and the interactions that I've had with you all have shaped my view of people, and I have received so many kind comments, personal messages, asks, and reblogs. And no, I am not 18. I was 15 when I made this blog. Writing has been my passion since I was 12, or so? Since I have nothing to lose, I might as well be honest with everyone now.

Now, the thank yous to my mutuals:

@puff0o0 — was life a celebrity to me when I first started writing. 😱 When you followed me back, I was so so happy! You were my best friend, and even if we've drifted apart, I still wish you all the best. 🫂💞🩷💗❤️💖✨

@m-carriaga2021 — my first ever follower! 🥳🎉🎊

@best-soup — someone who was kind when I first started out, which meant a lot to me. ❤️💗🩷

@lvl3r-002 — my own No.1 fan?!! What an honour!!! 🥹🥹🥹 Thanks for your unconditional support and encouragement, Azzy. ❤️❤️❤️

@muffinscoffee, @allaboutirem0, @simpforkonig, @dustycrusty09, @thestirringpot, @god-o-bees — left comments which made me smile. ☺️💞💞💞

@nevadancitizen — wrote a self-aware au fanfiction inspired by me?!! 😭💘💘 Your reblogs were wonderful, too. The notes, comments, and even analysis that you added in the tags were really meaningful, and such feedback was so, so kind. 🥹💖✨

@aethelwyneleigh27 — also like a celebrity to me. I was SHOOK when I found out that you were following me?!! 😭😭😭💞💖 Will forever remember our boop wars. 🤭🩷😽😻🐾

@dobbie-doo — randomly started messaging me out of the blue on tumblr, and over-time, we became good friends. Thank you. 🤍❤️💙

@tomurderornottomurder — I couldn't stop thinking about your reblog of my Zombie Apocalypse AU with Ghost for a week straight. I'd open tumblr just to reread the tags. 🥹💗💞🩷

@zoloftwithdrawalnausea — an amazing artist. How I received the privilege of being mutuals with such a talented individual as yourself boggles the mind, honestly. 🤯💥 Wishing you all the best with all your studies, and maybe you'll one day meet your 100 Niktos goal! 🥰❤️💕💞🩷✍️

@willthegrouch — another exceptional artist. I have no fucking clue how I managed to become mutuals with someone who's painting digital masterpieces. 🤯💥 Good luck in your future, and all the best in your art. 🩷🙏

@dom-lly — Again?!! Another brilliant artist?!! 😭😭😭 When I got followed back I right about DIED. 🪦 Your art for Jujutsu Kaisen is SO fucking GOOD (and that isn't selling it enough). I have never watched JJK but seeing your art occasionally pop up was wonderful. Your work is awesome. 👏👏👏💖

@unhingedpolycule — amazing artist and witty writer. Love Love LOVEEE all of your content about Krueger x Nikto. Not only is your art stupendous, but your writing and ideas are clever, too. It was an honour to be your mutual. 🩷🩷🩷

@goarristars — you produce stunning artworks and I consider your rendition of Nikto's face as canon, full-stop. No one can tell me otherwise. 🗣️‼️ Your work is awesome, and I hope that you continue to pursue art, as you're really talented. 🎨❤️💛💚

Quiet lurkers include @marigoldpollen, @eevee-of-eternity, @miss-multi45, @bellaluvsmakarov, and @shroompette — I noticed you, and thank you for being here! ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you to @revnatheshadow for your support and kind words, @kawaiiexpertcowboy for sending me a message and telling me how much you liked the Ghost faction, and @honeyandbiscuitandtea-cafe for your spam — unexpected, but extremely nice to see after having been absent for so long! ❤️❤️❤️

@itsagrimm — we've drifted apart, but it's for the best, since I was never sincere about my age to anyone, and not to you, either. Still, I will never forget our exchanges about Nikto and Metro that made us good friends for a while. Without meaning to, you taught me a lot about life, opened my eyes and made me less close-minded, offered me a ton of information I hadn't previously known, been strong support for me when things were rough with my parents, and have been kind, witty, clever, patient, interesting, and inspiring. Sure, you could say that you're ordinary and not extraordinary enough to be an inspiration, but you are to me. I'm actually studying Law now in college, and it's super interesting! I'm predicted to have an A*, and it's achievable! My dream is to study Russian alongside Spanish at university, and get a Modern Languages Degree. Thank you for everything — I wish you all the best.

And thank you to all of my followers — those that have been following me from the start, are still following me, were followers but unfollowed, and the recent ones.

Thank you everyone. For everything.

And goodbye.

[broidobe]

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔨𝔲𝔯𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔟𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested!

⁎⁺˳✧༚80s-90s rock masterlist

kurt loves late-night, deep conversations, talking about everything from music to existential questions.

he would be drawn to someone who could match his intellectual curiosity, challenging him while also making him feel understood and supported.

do you think we’ve lived other lives before? like... maybe we were a couple of lost ghosts?

kurt would enjoy quiet, low-key dates, like going to record stores, exploring small art galleries, or just hanging out in a cozy café.

he’s not big on big parties or flashy outings, preferring intimate moments that allow him to connect deeply with someone.

kurt would appreciate someone who’s comfortable in their own skin and doesn’t try to be perfect.

he’d find comfort in someone who, like him, is a bit of a misfit and embraces their flaws and quirks.

music would be the core of kurt’s relationships.

he might write songs or share obscure records with you, using music as a form of communication.

he could be shy about expressing his feelings directly, but would pour his heart into his lyrics.

wrote something today... it reminded me of you. wanna hear it?

he randomly picks up a guitar and starts making up silly songs about everyday things, like your messy hair or how you always steal his socks.

why do you steal his socks though..?

like do you have a crown of his socks?

while he’d be protective and caring, kurt might also pull away at times when the pressure gets too overwhelming.

he'd need space to process his emotions, but he’d always come back with a new understanding of how much you mean to him.

i’m not always easy to be around... i get it if you need space, too.

in relationships, he’s so tender,

especially when you are feeling vulnerable.

he would be someone who would deeply understand emotional pain and would offer comfort, even if it’s just in small, quiet ways.

come here. i need you closer than close.

his ideal partner would need to accept and support his struggles, but not try to fix him.

he would appreciate someone who understands the dark, difficult parts of him and still

chooses to love him anyway.

and you are that person.

he’s never felt safer with a single soul other than yours.

you make me feel like it’s okay to just... exist. and that’s rare for me.

he grabs a hairbrush or random object and pretends to interview you like a journalist.

so, what’s it like dating the most misunderstood genius of our time?

always makes sure you’re at the shows.

he’ll tug you onto the couch and playfully say,

you can’t leave until i get my good luck kiss,

before going on stage.

if he’s feeling nervous, he leans into you and mumbles,

you’ll still love me even if i screw up, right?

mid-song, he makes eye contact with you in the audience and grins or winks, just for you.

[coraniaid]

Actually, on reflection, I think I'm persuaded that the "poor Willow is a magical junkie now and it's not her fault :(" subplot in Season 6 is, contrary to what I've said before, actually the worst multi-episode subplot on Buffy.

Say what you like about the other two contenders for that honor: the non-mystery of "is Giles really the First Evil and why hasn't anyone thought to check yet?" or the banality of "shall we engage seriously with the fact Spike has a soul now and how that might change him as a person, or shall we just say that a mean ghost hypnotized him?". But neither of those plots involve a woman telling her significant other (and I am really not paraphrasing much at all here) "I don't like that you used magic to violate my mind and rob me of my ability to consent to our relationship, because it's not good for you".

Moreover:

While the two Season 7 subplots are both pretty bad and boring to watch and are certainly part of why I don't enjoy that season, I don't think removing or somehow rewriting either of them would automatically make the season much better. By contrast, the Willow subplot of Season 6 is the worst thing about that season -- one which I think otherwise had a lot of potential and is arguably the most ambitious season the show ever did -- and fixing it would improve the season as a whole a lot.

The Willow subplot also takes up a lot more of the show overall than the two Season 7 subplots do. Giles as the First is a complete waste of everyone's time, but it's also fully resolved in less than half a dozen episodes (we first get the fake out that Giles might be dead in Never Leave Me, the ninth episode of the season, and we see that he isn't in The Killer In Me, the thirteenth episode). The Spike hypnotic trigger lasts a lot longer, but it still over within about half a season. But the Willow subplot dominates most of Season 6 and also continues to have ramifications for WIllow's character development (or lack thereof) for the rest of the show.

It's easy, I think, to understand why the writers resorted to the two Season 7 plots. They needed some excuse for Buffy's friends to not trust Spike, but for various reasons are committed to the idea that having a soul means Spike himself is now inherently Good and Blameless and so the reasons not to trust him can't be related to anything he's ever chosen to do himself, it has to be something done to him against his will. And the writers obviously stopped caring about Giles as a character with any sort of inner life the very minute ASH asked to be partially written out of the show so he could move back to England. I honestly don't believe the writers were capable of writing good subplots for either Giles or Spike by this point, even if they'd tried. But the Willow subplot comes out of nowhere and completely derails what was going to be a really interesting story line about Willow that the show had been patiently building towards since at least Season 3 and arguably even longer.

More broadly, both the Season 7 plots are bad in part because they are attempts to make the First -- previously a forgettable monster of the week whose primary powers included 'making people who have done bad things feel suitably bad' and 'not being able to touch anything'; a plot device which Buffy herself already rightly dismissed as all talk all the way back in Season 3 ("I get it. You're evil. Do we have to chat about it all day?"). Of course they're not successful attempts: there's no way to make the First as menacing and important as the writers wish it was. Being annoyed at the way they fail almost seems like missing the point.

Most importantly, I can more cheerfully ignore the two Season 7 subplots because I don't really care about either Spike or Giles at this point of the show's run. But I like Willow, so it bothers me more that she's subjected to all this dreadfully bad writing and that her character never really quite recovers from it.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Dragon Age Veilguard seemed innocuous at first but once I recruited everyone the writing dropped off a cliff and now I can safely say it is the worst written game of anything I've played in the past 10 years. This includes Assasins Creed Odyssey, it includes Mass Effect Andromeda, and it includes Metaphor Refantazio (unpopular opinion but I think that game's writing is a distilled bad Persona formula with no soul).

Like, you do the big battle for the Grey Wardens and any nuance and intellect that was in the writing fucking evaporates. Allegedly loads of people died but you didn't see it, just like you don't see anything happen. Suddenly all the characters are like "Well, that was terrible! It happened because we all have problems! Hey, Player, solve our problems!". The game acts as if the person playing it is Four Years Old and this is the first story they've ever read. I've seen shows on cbeebies with more depth and respect for the viewer.

The game is also constantly telling you what your choices mean instead of giving them meaningful consequences. It's faking being a Bioware game.

Envision: Two dialogue options. If you hover over one, a popup says "This will upset Neve". If you upset Neve, then instead of Neve being upset, she will act exactly as she was doing before and the game will say "Neve is upset because you picked this option". And then nothing of consequence will happen. It's the new "Character will remember this".

I'm brute forcing my way through this game because I need to find out if Varric is actually a ghost, or if the characters only act as if he's dead because the game's development was so troubled and he was supposed to be but they changed their mind last minute.

[towertea]

(this is what i put in the comments, but I'm condensing it into a rb as well so my moots get it as well)

I used to have a subscription to Scientific American (now i get it through my school) and every issue there's a beautiful science poem in it! Even though that's a popular magazine and not a journal, I wouldn't be shocked if such things existed in other contexts.

I think it's also a little bit related to the lyrics in The Telescope, where Rose sees the stars much more poetically than the Astronomer does, and he remarks that he loves the way she sees the world. That's how I always interpreted The Telescope. He describes every star more literally (even if Mr. Malloy stretched a few truths to be more narratively pleasing). Rose follows each up telling him what she sees so poetically and emotionally, and he goes, "That's good, that's good" with a tone that makes me feel like he's observing her response to recreate it later. (Especially when he says "That's good, that's... real good!" That always sends chills down my spine.) She's not telling him some factual truth about the universe that he could already figure out; she's showing him the poetry in the stars that he doesn't have the capacity to see.

We see that he doesn't have the ability to see this in his song The Astronomer, where he remarks of Shah Zaman's ghost seeing, "But I'm afraid I just haven't got the time;" the Astronomer is too concretely attached to one reality to see the poetry in the world. He finds it when other people show it to him, like in the call to prayer. He wishes he could sing like that. When he takes the way Rose sees the world artistically, he's metaphorically copying the way she sings – the way her SOUL sings. Rose's fury doesn't necessarily come from her literally writing a poem and him literally copying it. He's stealing the way she sees the world for his own purposes.

(additions not in the comments.... thought of them later.)

This might be a stretch, but I think it might also be shown in the way the Astronomer is the Driver. The Driver can't stop. He's riding in a train much too fast and heavy to avoid hitting the Victim, and he can't just swerve – he's bound to follow the tracks. He's following this beaten path, the conventional way trains work. There's not really too much of a deep point for this note, but I think it also relates to the really factual way the Astronomer looks at the world.

And that's not at all to say you can't find wonder in something if you interpret it much more factually!! As a certified STEM person, I find a lot of wonder in the way the universe works: the fibonacci sequence repeating in nature, the web of the cosmos.

Like, look at this shit!! This is so cool!

This is a computer simulation of the distribution of light in the universe. Isn't it beautiful???

Both Rose and the Astronomer find beauty and wonder in the universe. But when Rose sees it, she describes it like poetry. The Astronomer can only study the universe; Rose properly expresses the wonder he feels, and so he studies her, and he replicates her poetry-like interpretation of the universe.

ok because i've seen it several times and i don't understand where it comes from, why do people think the astronomer stole rose's poetry as opposed to her astronomical research? like to me the lines "but the man stole her work/he was the editor of a prestigious astronomy journal/he wrote down all she saw/and published it in his name" are pretty clearly about astronomical research so like. am i just missing something? is it something dave malloy said that i don't know about? somebody please explain

[dannyphannypack]

guys being so serious do you think if you were depressed so your pseudo-godfather ripped out your ghost half and then that ghost half turned evil and brutally murdered you, who has now become a full human, do you think … do you think the human half could become its own separate ghost born from a traumatic death. a ghostception. i’m being serious

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Ghouls night out

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[bet-on-me-13]

It's a Deal.

So! Steph is in a bit of a Bind. Literally.

Her Father had just discovered that she was the Vigilante who kept ruining his Plans, and decided to Deal with her. So he tied her up at a Bomb Site for one of his Plans and left her to die there.

No matter how much she struggled, she couldn't escape the Ropes, and time was running out. If only she had managed to get that last message out to Batman in time, maybe he would have come to rescue her.

The Timer had nearly reached Zero, when all of a sudden Time Stopped. The Ropes around her fell away, and a guy walked up to her as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Hey, you seem to be in a bit of a bind."

"Not so much anymore, was that you?"

"Yeah, bit of a Free Sample. See, I'm in a bit of a bind as well. I made a Deal with these floating Eyeballs, and long story short in order to keep my town safe I need to take the Soul of an Innocent person."

"And is that where I come in?"

"Yup, Basically I save your life, help you out with whatever you want, and you give me the rights to your Soul."

"What if I just walk away while time is stopped?"

"The building is Locked down tight, and I can't actually hold Time stopped for too long either way, it's sort of a new power to me. Without my help you wouldn't get out in time."

"So it's sell my soul or die?"

"Trust me,I don't like it either, but it's what I have to do."

"You know what, sure. You help me escape, help me take down The Cluemaster, and I'll give you my Soul."

"Then it's a Deal."

"I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

[cringefail-clown]

thinking about them again (turnabout au post-scratch jakehal)

[copia]

THIRTY-ONE DAYS OF GHOST ⛧ DAY TWO

the song that made you a fan — Spillways

“This is an elegy for the darkness that most people have inside. When you have a dam, spillways are the run-offs so the dam won’t overflow. That darkness inside us needs to find its way out,” — Tobias Forge

Job 10:1 "I loathe my own life; I will give full vent to my complaint; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul."

[vaguely-concerned]

walking through lucanis' mind prison. the tam lin of it all