#melanie king kin

[jarchivism]

hey.

-melanie.

Hello.

[sparrownnax]

listened to literally 40 episodes of tma over the course of three days im sure this will have no long term effects on my psyche :D

[clwhowrites]

A Trade With The Ghoul King

The place was dark, smelled of dirt, rotting compost, and rotting meat. Main Allan stood in the dank room holding a lantern. He could hear creatures moving in the darkness outside the illuminated aria.

Finally one spoke, it had claimed to be the Ghoul King. “Do you have it?” It asked greedily.

“I do.” Main replied. He took an old piece of jewelry out of his pocket, tarnished and scratched.

“Give it to me!” The Ghoul King demanded, “Give it to me! It is mine!”

“Yours? It belonged to a woman named Julia.”

“Dead! Dead and gone she was. Three days dead, with mold and maggots for flavor. Dead and gone from age, our bellies she filled. No more need for trinkets. Mine now it is!”

The thought of these creatures feasting on the old lady sickened him. He thought of Melanie, imagining her bloated corpse being eaten by these creatures. He told himself that he would not let that happen, that her would save her, even if it cost him his soul.

“Return what is mine!” The Ghouls King yelled. Main could hear movement around him, just outside the light of the lantern.

“I will return it in exchange for someone.”

“Someone? Bodies we have, festering and bloated.”

“I have her body, I need her soul.”

The King was silent, Main could hear deep and guttural ghoulish murmurings around him, in a grotesque language not meant for human ears. “You seek to do an unholy act?” The Ghouls King finally asked.

“My beloved was taken by consumption, she is now a sleeping beauty waiting for me to wake her. I promised to save her, I swore to God I would bring her back even if I have to move heaven and earth!”

“We do not collect souls, we take the bodies of the dead.”

“But you live at the edge of life and death, you know the paths between this world and the next.”

“There is only the path of fools!” There seemed to be some level of concern in the Ghoul Kings voice, not for Main himself. Maybe concern for what such a mad man would do.

“I may be a fool, but I will bring my beloved back, one way or another! Even if it damns me!”

Main heard more of the guttural Ghulish language. “If you insist, me you fallow.” The King told Main

“How can I follow you if I don’t see you?”

“My voice you follow.” The King paused, “this way.” The voice of the Ghoul King was moving to the left of Main.

Main followed the Ghoul King down a passage, the King keeping ahead of the light from the lantern. The passage was carved out of stone with murals on the walls. The murals showed the corpses of great hairy elephantine beasts, maneless Lions, Hippos, and humans. The humans wore pelts and had tools made of stone. Further on the murals documented what looked like a Ghoul war ending the the coronation of a king. Main saw images of Ghouls, grotesque in form with pale skin, pug noses, pointed ears that stuck out, large dark eyes, sharp teeth but with expensive fabrics and jewelry. Each image with some kind of writing underneath. The writing continued, line after line. More depictions of the bodies of people, ancient people, then Celtic, then Roman, and onto modern people. The writing continued, it wasn’t of the Latin alphabet, or Greek, or runic, nor cuneiform or Chinese. It looked scratched into the wall in countless shapes.

“This is your history?” Main asked.

“Long we live, much we forget. Create records on the walls so we do not forget.”

“Really?” Main replied skeptically.

“Two thousand years I have reigned. My predecessor reigned for four thousand years. Fifteen generations my kin have ruled.”

“That would be tens of thousands of years.” Main spoke with disbelief.

“Yes. Fae, and Elf, and Dwarf they called us. Some even thought us gods.”

Main looked at the murals.

“How can you live so long?”

“Old we are, older than man and beast. For us the world was made, a would of death and rot for us to eat.

Main looked at the darkness ahead of him, he couldn’t believe what the Ghoul King said, it went against everything he had learned, everything the church taught him, everything his alchemical studies told him, everything his occult studies told him.

“Stop,” The King told Main.

Main stopped at a fork in the passage. To his left a passage led to a room with an open metal door.

“In there, there is the path to what you seek.”

Main walked slowly to the door. A strong smell of rot and death came from the room. He looked back before entering the room, the Ghoul King kept out of the light. The room was a dead end, the door slammed shut, Main heard the door lock. He turned around, pulled on the door, banged on the door.

“There is only one path to what you seek, the path of fools, the path of death. When three days dead you are, with mold and maggots for flavor, we will eat and what is mine will be mine again!”

Main banged on the door, demanded to be let out but no one replied. The stench burned his eyes, made him sick. Main looked around the room for another way out, he only found stone walls and rotting corpses. His head hurt, he felt dizzy. Main noticed the light dimming, the lantern still had plenty of oil but the flame was dying.

Images by Igor Cokrlic, Anemone123, and ha11ok from Pixabay used in header.

Did you like this? Hated but enjoyed getting angry at it? Than support my work at Ko-Fi or Subscribe Star and check out my other work and art at C.L. Who Writes

[the-magnus-archives-institute]

Hello! We've decided to go ahead and make a TMA kin/fictive sideblog since the tag is mostly dead. We also participate in Popculture Paganism, specifically geared towards our source. Here's a list of everyone you'll see and their tags on the blog!

Jonathan Sims - Statement recorder, avatar of the Eye and the Web.

He/him

"See the sun the shadows cast, from all the times I floated past, see the ocean spinning out, with all the hope and all the doubt"

#the archivist

Michael Shelley/ The Distortion - :) I am perfectly safe and harmless these doors are perfectly normal :)

He/they/it/none

"See how I circle, imaginary mind, imaginary lines, let the maze of my design carry you on. See how I fly away (away, away, away, away)"

#the distortion

Gerry Keay- I'm the distortion's special little guy he picks up like a ferret :] Desolation avatar, "The fire that consumes"

He/him

"The crow offers me a smoke. He says, "It'll take you for a joyride.""

#gerry

Melanie King - founder of the Blind Bitches Club

She/hxr/they

"I have nothing to say to you."

#melanie

NotThem - a NotThem that sometimes takes the shape of others. Currently Pamela

All pronouns

"I am the mockery of a memory"

#notthem

Martin - headmate whose fictionkin of a vast avatar Martin.

He/they/sky

"For our bones in the ocean forever will be"

#martin

Pamela - also referred to as Hive, Corruption avatar Chonny Jash fictive.

He/him

"This life did not choose us. It chose to consume us"

#the hive

Flurry - Vast/Lonely avatar Ghostbur fictive with a connection to the archives

He/her

"Cold and winter air and mountain rain combining"

#the frost

Helen Distortion/Richardson - :)

She/her

"Little miss, this isn't the deal we had!' Oh, did I mess it up? Well, then, that's just too bad!"

#helen

Nikola Orsinov - The ringmaster of the Circus!

It/he/they

"She knows you heard her staging music murder!"

#nikola

Sasha - Archivist Sasha who was killed

She/they

NotSasha - The Sasha that replaced her

She/they

Stratus - TMA Heart fictive, avatar of the Lonely

He/it

Nimbus - TMA Mind fictive, avatar of the Dark

He/it

Noctilucent - TMA Soul fictive, avatar of the Buried

He/xem

Joel - Smallishbeans Life series fictive who kins Tim

He/him

Annus - Unus Annus fictive, associated with the End

He/hxm

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 75: September 2012

There should be more people here.

Actually, there shouldn’t be any people here; this isn’t a place anyone should want to be, or really needs to be. But if they have to be here at all, Gerry thinks, there ought to be more than just six people in the room.

Well. Seven if you count the one in the box.

At least, Gerry assumes there’s a body in the box. Or what’s left of one, anyway. The casket is firmly closed and sealed, has been since they arrived. There wasn’t even a viewing this time around, although given the nature of…what happened, that’s not surprising. Melanie wanted to go for a cremation, for a couple of reasons—at least one of which, Gerry knows, is so he can be buried with both his wives—but Lily is his next of kin and isn’t yet considered unable to handle her own affairs, so the final decision for disposition of the remains lay with her. A normal person with half a heart would at least consider the wishes of his only living child. Lily, however, is neither normal nor in possession of any fraction of a heart.

And so, Roger Henry King is getting a full burial with honors.

There’s a man in a clerical collar with a tiny pair of round spectacles who looks more like he’s dressed up as a priest than that he actually is one standing behind the coffin, leading the service. Lily sits in the place of honor, front and center, wearing the same mourning outfit Gerry remembers from her father’s funeral fifteen years ago, this time with the veil covering her face. The only real difference is the absence of her cane, either the silver-tipped fancy one or the sturdy nickel-plated claw-footed piece of equipment she used to drag herself around the last time Gerry saw her—has it really been five years? Instead, she sits in a large, uncomfortable-looking hospital chair with PROPERTY OF ROSEWOOD FOREST HOSPITAL AND CARE HOME stenciled in flaking white on the back, the arms of which she is gripping very tightly indeed. Sitting behind her, one chair over, is a muscular middle-aged woman in black scrubs with a slightly bored look on her face—at least she had the decency to wear black, even if she didn’t dress up. Gerry gets it; she’s a nurse, and she needs to be able to keep herself clean and sanitary if she has to assist Lily, but still.

Melanie sits in the front row directly opposite Lily, dressed up for the first time in a while, the only splash of color the teal streak in her hair and the gigantic glittery bright pink butterfly clipped to it. Beside her sits Martin, it’s a miracle he was able to get the time off work for this, wearing the only black outfit he owns—a calf-length dress with half-sleeves and a high collar that fits him like it was made for him, which, well, it was. It looks good on him, but Gerry knows he’s internally panicking over what Lily might say. She’s not exactly the most accepting person in the world and she’s never been particularly thrilled about Martin’s “inclinations”, as she always puts it, and that’s just her knowing that he’s gay; seeing her only son in a skirt, especially a tailored one, is likely to send her into the stratosphere. Gerry’s just thankful what’s left of his mum isn’t able to get here.

Gerry’s suit doesn’t fit him quite so well, but then, it’s one he found in the back of one of the closets at the bookshop; from the fact that it’s forty years out of style, he guesses that it once belonged to his father. With his hair back in a neat braid and a touch of makeup pilfered from Melanie, he looks different enough that he won’t attract undue attention, even four years after his face got plastered across the papers. In the seat next to Gerry is the only really surprising one there. Evan only ever met Roger once, as far as Gerry knows. Still, the fact that he’s here means a lot. It either means that he cared about Roger, or that he’s there to support Melanie. Either one is fine with Gerry.

There isn’t another soul in the room.

It’s obvious the man leading it has never met Roger, and when he talks about how much Roger brightened the halls of Rosewood Forest before quickly correcting himself to Ivy Meadows, Gerry realizes he’s the chaplain for the nursing home where Lily lives. He’s probably used to running funerals, comforting the bereaved, all of that, but it does mean he never met Roger. And it means he’s doing this service completely on Lily’s memories, or Melanie’s, or possibly just making it up as he goes along. The latter seems more probable, since he’s droning on about things like great worker and brilliant mind and man of God. Gerry doesn’t know what religious beliefs Roger might have held, if any, but even his and Lily’s wedding hadn’t been in a real church, and he’s never known any of them to attend one. Maybe Lily’s found religion since moving into a home, which, honestly, good for her, Gerry hopes it might make her a bit nicer, but as far as he knows Roger never did. As for his being brilliant, or a great worker…maybe it’s just the poetic license of not speaking ill of the dead, but truthfully, even before he lost his job, Roger was never what anyone would call a genius. He’d had his A-levels but not a university degree, and while he’d been a diligent and steady worker, he hadn’t exactly been impressive. Sort of mediocre, really.

The important things about Roger are the things the chaplain doesn’t even know to discuss. Like how Roger taught himself to bake so Melanie—and later Martin—would get homemade cakes on their birthdays, and braved a phone call to his mother-in-law—his first mother-in-law, Adeline Yuen, to get her to walk him through making a traditional New Year’s Eve dish. Or how he took a spinning class one summer in the hopes of being able to give Martin some homespun yarn for his project and been genuinely upset when all his efforts failed. Or how he never, not once, no matter what else was going on, missed one of Melanie’s boxing matches or one of Martin’s concerts. Or how, even when his brain failed him completely, even when he couldn’t consistently remember his own name on a daily basis, he always remembered his “little moth”.

Their absence from the eulogy makes it fall a little flat.

At last, the chaplain comes to a merciful halt. He prays, gives a blessing, and dismisses the gathering. A pair of men Gerry assumes to be employees of the funeral home come in, lift the coffin onto a weird sort of cart-like contraption, and wheel it out of the room. As the rest of them get to their feet to follow, he notices Lily beckon to the nurse and say something. She listens, then nods, then crosses over to where Martin stands.

In a low, genteel murmur, she says, “Miss Liliana asked me to tell you that she is feeling unwell and needs to get back to her room. This is all a bit much for her. She will visit once he has been interred.”

Martin’s voice betrays none of the emotions he must be feeling as he murmurs back, “Of course.”

They wait for Lily and her nurse to leave before they follow. The funeral home has a memorial park attached, meaning there are no headstones rising from the grass—only flat plaques set into the ground, some of which are studded with flowers or flags—but somehow Gerry isn’t surprised to be directed along a paved path to a large stone mausoleum. Assuming Lily ever actually does come to see Roger, she wouldn’t be able to get her chair over the grass. At least with it being a stone vault, there won’t be the whole thing with throwing dirt into the grave, which Gerry is grateful for. Roger, of all people, doesn’t deserve to be covered in dirt.

Melanie checks briefly at the threshold, but with Martin’s supportive hand at her back, she braves her way in for the rest of them to follow. There is a stone sarcophagus open off to one side; the priest stands next to it, the casket before it on the wheeled contraption. Gerry can’t see the two workers who must have brought it in, but after the chaplain says a few words of the ashes to ashes, dust to dust variety, they emerge out of the shadows, lift the casket, and drop it unceremoniously into the sarcophagus, like they’re delivering a package instead of interring a body. Melanie flinches and takes a half-step back to press against Martin and Gerry. Both of them, without saying a word, wrap an arm around her shoulders. She takes a handful of Gerry’s suit jacket on one side and a handful of Martin’s skirt in the other, but stays silent and stone-faced as the workers lift the gigantic slab for the top and, with surprisingly minimal effort for as heavy as it must be, slide it into place. With a final blessing, the chaplain dismisses them, and they re-emerge into what little sunlight there is today.

Melanie takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and turns to Evan. “There’s a café a few blocks away,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s been gargling glass. “If you like to join us.”

Evan nods, but doesn’t say anything. Gerry’s never been up here, not this part of Devon, so he just trusts Melanie and Martin to know where they’re going and follows them to a quaint little place, very white and clean and tidy, with both indoor and outdoor seating. It’s not exactly crowded, but all the same, Gerry isn’t surprised when they elect to sit outside. A waitress comes to take their orders, but after she leaves, they all sit in silence for a while, broken only by the chirping of late-summer birds and the light breeze rustling the leaves of the big, showy rosebushes planted around the edges of the patio.

Finally, Melanie speaks again. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t…have to.”

“Of course I did,” Evan says gently, because all of them know damn well she’s not talking to Martin or Gerry. “What else are friends for?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got…work or, or class or something, right?”

“Right. And I told them I was going up to Devon for my mate’s dad’s funeral and wouldn’t be in today.”

“And they didn’t give you grief?”

Evan shrugs, obviously unconcerned. “Couple of them did. All I had to say to the lab supervisor was Ivy Meadows and suddenly I had the whole week if I wanted it, and I just told my thesis advisor where he could shove it. There are more important things than a master’s degree, and there will be other jobs.” He hesitates, then adds, “I…kind of expected there to be more people, if I’m honest. I, I thought your dad was pretty well liked.”

“He’s been out of a job seven years now,” Melanie says. “And…it’s not like anyone from Ivy Meadows who knew him was left to come. Maybe Hannah, I think she’s…but we lost touch after she quit, and that was before…you know.”

Evan winces, but nods. Martin sighs heavily. “She might’ve been able to come, if this had been in London, but…well, Mum insisted.”

A delivery van trundles by, and for a second, Gerry wonders if it slows down to look at them, but it moves on quickly enough, so probably not. He refocuses on the conversation as Evan says, hesitantly, “Well, it makes sense she’d want to visit, right?”

Martin shrugs. “Maybe, but I doubt she will, honestly. It’s mostly because Melanie and I live in London, and because that’s where the Yuen family plot is.”

Evan blinks. “The who?”

“It was Mama’s maiden name.” Melanie stares at the tablecloth like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Before she married Dad. Amy Yuen Xinyi. What of her family didn’t make it back to Fatshan to die is buried in Kensal Green. But Lily’s not really one for tradition and this is closest to where she is, so it’s probably where she’ll end up buried when her time comes. And she doesn’t like us.”

“She likes you,” Martin mutters.

“Bullshit. She thinks I get you in trouble.”

“Neens, seriously, Mum doesn’t think I need any help to get in trouble. As far as she’s concerned, ‘bad kid’ is my default state and always has been. I can’t tell you how many lectures I got before they got married about why I wasn’t more like you and Gerry.” Martin winces and glances at Evan. “Sorry, you don’t…”

Evan just raises an eyebrow. “Martin, I’ve known you since we were sixteen. Do you really think I didn’t know by now that Melanie is the only person at this table who wasn’t a complete disappointment to her parents? If it weren’t for the fact that mine don’t socialize, and that I don’t talk to them, I’d have suggested they come up here and meet her.”

Martin gives a surprised-sounding laugh. “That would probably be a disaster waiting to happen.”

The delivery van rolls by again, or maybe it’s another one for the same company. Gerry watches it less because he’s concerned about it and more for somewhere to look as Melanie sighs. “Mama died when I was seven. I’m sure she’d have been plenty disappointed in me given time.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Gerry’s head snaps back around to frown at her. “You’re a goddamn delight and any mother would be proud of a daughter like you.”

“Any mother should be proud of a son like you or Martin or Evan, too, and we all know how that worked out,” Melanie points out. “It’s immaterial. I’ll never know.”

Martin and Evan both blush. Gerry shakes his head at Melanie. “The difference is that our mothers never loved us in the first place, only what we represented for them, and that ended pretty quickly when they decided we weren’t going to be what they wanted. From what I’ve seen, yours liked you for being you.”

“You never met her.”

“No, but I’ve seen that picture of her taking you skating for your birthday,” Gerry reminds her. “You know, the woman who’s smiling and laughing with you, for you, knowing she’s so sick that in less than a week she’s going to have to go into a hospital and that she’s likely not coming out? That woman? That’s not someone who would ever have been disappointed in you.”

Gerry still, despite having known Melanie for sixteen years and loved her for fifteen of them, doesn’t speak Cantonese, but he recognizes every single one of the words that flow from her glossy lips as an obscenity. He also sees the suspicious brightness in her eyes and the slump of her shoulders and knows it’s only halfheartedly directed at him. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles and murmurs softly, “Je t’aime, ma petite soeur.”[1]

Melanie’s French is about on par with Gerry’s Cantonese, but from the tiny smile she gives him, he knows she understands that much, at least. Evan smiles, too, then it morphs into a puzzled frown and he stands up. “Hang on. Those guys must be lost…I swear that van’s been by four times already, and now it’s slowing down.”

He starts towards the street, but the delivery van accelerates, quite naturally, as if the driver was just waiting for something to get out of the road and is continuing its journey. Martin frowns in its direction. “You’d think whoever runs the company would give them better directions to deliver.”

Gerry shrugs. “This is outside their normal route.”

“How do you know?”

“Mum used to use Breekon and Hope for deliveries all the time. They’ve got a pretty broad delivery range and branch offices in a couple different places, but Devon isn’t one of them, as far as I know.”

Martin shivers slightly. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

Gerry pats his arm as reassuringly as he can. “I promise, Martin, she just used them for delivering the…normal stuff. Not that she had a lot of that, but still.”

“Yeah, okay.” Martin sighs.

The waitress finally comes back with four cups of tea and the sandwiches they ordered. As she sets them down and gives them all a brilliant smile, she asks, “And what brings you four up here? I don’t think I’ve seen any of you before.”

Gerry frowns, because it looks like she’s flirting with either Martin or Melanie and he’s not about that—Martin won’t be interested, he’s gay, and Melanie is probably not in the mood—but Melanie doesn’t seem to notice. “We came up to bury my dad.”

That fast, the waitress’s smile vanishes, and she looks slightly horrified. “Oh. Oh, I’m—I’m so sorry to hear that.” She gathers her tray to her and scurries off awkwardly.

Evan snorts. “You seem to have broken her.”

“Eh.” Melanie shrugs. “She asked. I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.” She picks up her tea and adds sugar to it.

Martin holds up his own. “To Roger.”

“To Roger,” the other three echo, clinking their cups against his, and they start telling Evan stories about Roger he hasn’t heard before. Melanie doesn’t exactly relax, and she certainly doesn’t look cheerful, but at least she looks less lost by the time they finish their meals and Evan solves the squabble between Martin and Gerry over which one of them will cover Melanie’s part by taking the check and paying the whole thing. He offers them a ride back to London, too, but they already have their tickets, so in the end he just gives them a lift to the train station and leaves them with a promise to see them the next time they’ll all be at the pub.

The trains don’t have compartments or three-across seating anymore, haven’t for years, but Melanie is skinny enough that doesn’t usually stop her from squeezing in between them if she needs it. Sure enough, when they find their seats, she sits on the hard plastic gap between them and curls against Martin’s side. Martin doesn’t let her do that for long, though. Instead, he just sweeps her onto his lap and holds her like a little kid.

“I’m not a baby,” she mutters, but makes no effort to get away from him.

“You just buried your dad,” Martin says in a gentle but firm voice. “You don’t have to be a baby to want to be held after that.”

Melanie sighs and flops her head against his chest. “I love you,” she says softly, reaching out a hand for Gerry. “Both of you.”

“We know,” Gerry assures her. He takes her hand and puts his free one on Martin’s shoulder, closing the circle, so that both of them know he’s there and that he cares about them. “We love you, too.”

[1] "I love you, little sister."

[hero-who-was-happy]

the complete kin list (as of now)

woe

High kins/identities

Azem - ffxiv

Midnight Scavea Garlond Mason - ffxiv

Wyatt (midnight) Mason XII - blaseball

Percy Jackson - pjo and HOO

melanie King - TMA

Gunpowder tim - mechanisms

Zack Fair - ff7 and crisis core

Fox Mulder - X files

Dr Lanie Doyle - resident evil

Anthony "Bug" Birkin - resident evil

Jill valentine - resiedent evil

gawain - Arthurian legends

2D - gorillaz

ROBO-KY - guilty gear

Second highest kins

Bell- Call of duty black ops: coldwar

Genesis Rhasphodos - ff7 and crisis core

Kain Highwind- FF4

Vash - trigun

Meryl - trigun

feferi - homestuck

Milva - witcher

Zero - ffxiv

Otacon - metal gear

Venom snake - metal gear

Oliver de rolo - critical role vox machina

Gawain - HNOC

Yasha - critical role mighty nein

Iorveth - witcher

Lambert - witcher

Dean - spn

Happy Chaos - guilty gear

Prompto- FF15

just kins

Pike - critical role vox machina

Vi - the arcane

the hunt - TMA

dorian storm - critical role bells hells

Will - critical role bells hells

william birkin - resident evil

Achilles - the Iliad

tallstar - warrior cats

ted - bill and ted's excellent adventure

signless - homestuck

Mikitaka - jjba part 4

Bryce(?) - Max headroom

Han solo - Star Wars

Izutsumi- dungeon Meshi

Haru - Persona 5

heather Mason - Silent hill

heather - blair witch project

[k0k0bugz]

Introducing myself! :)

wooo I finally got tumblr! Wasn’t sure what to post first, so I figured I’d just introduce myself!

I’m Koko! I’m asexual. My pronouns are she/her, although they/them also works fine for me.

My main interests are Bungou stray dogs, The Magnus archives, Toilet-bound Hanako-kun, Doctor who, and Vanitas no carte. (I’m also a huge musical nerd + theater kid)

My highes kins 👇👇

Martin Blackwood (TMA)

Kel (OMORI)

Christine Canigula (Be more chill)

Osamu Dazai (Bungou stray dogs)

Basil (OMORI)

im an INFP <3

One of my main passions is writing. I’m currently working on two original writing projects, one lore-oriented BSD fic, and many different BSD crack-fics.

My favorite (music) artists 👇👇

(very inconsistent and random)

Arctic monkeys

Glass animals

Boygenuis

Jukebox the ghost

Tally hall

Paramore

*sigh* … Taylor Swift (mostly evermore/folklore)

I’m an amateur cosplayer!

Currently working on a Melanie King cosplay.

I draw occasionally, although I definitely lack a lot of experience. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please don’t hound me with aggressive critiques.

Welp!! That’s it for now.

Buh-bye !

[castlevanianocturne]

Shiho 🤝 Tanya (kind of) 🤝 Ram 🤝 Jay 🤝 Melanie King 🤝 Clara Patho

Weird kins

[kincalling]

hello Melanie King kin here, looking for really anyone from the Magnus Archives to talk to. dont really mind who, interact with this post and ill reach out to you? thanks.

🎧

[meltingthestars]

❤🍁🖤🍁❤🍁🖤🍁❤🍁🖤🍁❤

Stimboard for Melanie King from Magnus archives.

[the-magnus-kinstitute]

do you think you could do an aesthetic for melanie who married her georgie? thank you in advance - @kinnietime-official​

here you are melanie!! i hope you like it ^u^

~mod martin

[zlinkiez]

Melanie Kinnies Rise Up ;0)

[web-of-eyes]

A Melanie King moodboard

-Mod Weaver

[hyperfixationspam]

because i like to project on melanie ive decided she uses she/her and feminine terms unless she doesnt like you. georgies like "look at my beautiful gf. gorgeous lady. prettiest woman in the world. i love u maam" and shes like 😊 but elias calls her "miss king" and she fucking throttles him. jon uses she/they bc hes on thin fucking ice

[athetos]

tumblr how are we feeling listening to new mcr song

[judesstfrancis]

OOH second the corruption. You’re also the slaughter because you remind me of melanie king. Big “i’m angry but i’ll take it out on myself” energy

the way u clocked me with this I'm