#philip log

[ghostlysage]

HELLO MY GOOD NATION, IT’S ME. SAGE 🌀

hi everyone! sorry i don’t post as much as i’d like to .. but i’ve come to make an art dump post again! i haven’t been drawing as much as i’d like to with online school but thats okay …. WE WIN ANYWAY

welcome to my five fluctuating interests ^_^ … also redid my human designs for thr pizza tower fuckers <3 FOLLOW ME ON DISCORD @psychotic.alienz !!!!

[sharmoota-job]

trevor! (and ron!)

[frankensteincest]

whatever is wrong with them is so compelling. do they want a third or perhaps a seventh

[smbhax]

Illustration by Jack Gaughan

[robertphilip]

morgan/tyson headcanons? 👀

lowkey they're funny to think about because canon gave us like. next to nothing but I still rotate them every now and then for funsies. also, they have a cut song called "Something Different This Year" that's one of my faves, it's Very Cute.

but okay, let's dive in.

I like to think they're a reverse of Robert & Giselle, with Morgan being the more grumpy, sarcastic one, and Tyson the more happy-go-lucky, outgoing one.

Tyson is really good at math, which is Morgan's weakest subject, so a lot of their early interactions involve him tutoring her, except there's hardly any actual tutoring going on because they're teenagers with crushes on each other, so of course, they awkwardly flirt with each other instead.

While Morgan did have crushes in the past, Tyson's the first guy she actually tried pursuing, and is her first boyfriend.

also, they're both bisexual. important to know.

Tyson was really nervous about their first Valentine's Day because he knew he was Morgan's first boyfriend, and he wanted to make sure he really swept her off her feet, but he's just a Boy !!! He doesn't know how to sweep anyone off their feet !! He ends up awkwardly going to the Philip house when, of course, Edward is there, and tries to ask Robert for advice, but Robert's like "I'm the worst person you could possibly ask, and please don't listen to him, Morgan does not want you to serenade her."

In the end, Tyson plans a picnic at the park, and they watch the clouds, and eat chocolate, and it's wonderful, and Morgan loves it !!

Also, while Morgan might not admit it, she wouldn't have minded if Tyson sang for her because she knows he can sing, and can play guitar, and she loves his voice.

Been thinking more about what teen Morgan might be into, and I randomly settled on volleyball, and when she tries out for the team, Tyson's really excited about it. He plays basketball, and when they can, they go to each other's games and cheer each other on.

Morgan definitely steals his letterman jacket regularly, and Tyson teases her about it because it's so big on her.

Malvina is not. Thrilled about them dating because she's still not the biggest fan of Giselle, but she's trying !!! She really is. And Tyson appreciates the effort. And while she doesn't care that much for Giselle, she does think Morgan's a nice girl.

Giselle, on the other hand, is very happy about it, and doesn't think twice about the fact that he's Malvina's son.

A lot of their early "dates" consisted of them babysitting Sofia at the park (which, Morgan kind of used babysitting as an excuse to go see him, but it worked out because Sofia got to play with worms !!)

There's like, a million different festivals, and gatherings, and town parties in Monroeville, and Tyson always takes Morgan. She isn't a huge fan of socializing, or dancing, but she will allow herself to be dragged around by her boyfriend, because it makes him happy.

Tyson is tall !! (6ft apparently) and Morgan is Not, and usually she loves it, but sometimes he messes with her by holding stuff above up above their heads so she can't reach, and it drives her nuts.

It takes awhile before Morgan feels comfortable telling Tyson about Andalasia, because she was worried about what would happen if they broke up, and she wasn't sure she wanted share family secrets like that. But eventually, she does tell him, and he's just like. "Wow. That explains... a lot. So, you weren't just being sarcastic when you said your mom is made of magic...?"

He gets to visit Andalasia a few times, and thinks it's really cool !!

After they graduate high school, they move into a little apartment in the city (they're lucky they both have rich parents who will happily pay for whatever they want) and go to college, and live happily ever after, etc. etc.

Also, neither of them can cook like. At All. They bicker back and forth about it because "all your mom does is bake, how do you not know anything!!!" "that's all your mom does too !!!!!! why don't you know anything!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" but they learn eventually !!! eventually !!

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Perhaps she was trying to get to Africa – it is possible she had been slaved from the Guinea coast and was trying to get home. If anybody asked her what she intended, they did not record the answer. But she succeeded in making the voyage. The captain of The Hannibal of London, Thomas Philips, explained in his ship's log in November 1693 how she was discovered:

This morning we found out that one of the Royal African Company's soldiers, for their castles in Guiney, was a woman, who had enter'd herself into their service under the name of John Brown, without the least suspicion, and had been three months on board without any mistrust, lying always among the other passengers, and being as handy and ready to go any work as any of them: and I believe she had continu'd undiscover'd till our arrival in Africa, had not she fallen very sick, which occasion'd our surgeon to visit her, and ordered her a glister: which when his mate went to administer, he was surpriz'd to find more sally-ports than he expected, which occasion'd him to make a farther inquiry, which, as well as her confession, manifesting the truth of her sex, he came to acquaint me of it, whereupon, in charity, as well as in respect to her sex, I ordered her a private lodging apart from the men, and gave the taylor some ordinary stuffs to make her woman's cloathes; in recompence for which she prov'd very useful in washing my linen, and doing what else she could, till we deliver'd her with the rest at Cape-Coast castle. She was about twenty years old, and a likely black girl.

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

[valentine1604]

OH MY GOD!!!!

Twisted generosity

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[autoaccessentirewikipedialogic]

WILLIAM ARTHUR PHILIP LOUIS'S COMMUNICATIONS LOGS ON TIMETRAVELINGCRIMINALS.COM

[charliemwrites]

(Re)organized Crime, Part 8!

I was going to wait a little longer to post this (I say, looking guiltily at the queue) but I felt bad leaving it on a cliff hanger!

Content: Attempted Breaking and Entering, Fear for Safety, Hurt/Comfort

Four months ago, Simon drove you home for the first time.

It was a bad week all around. On Monday, Soap broke his arm. Gaz left with Farah and Alex on Tuesday for a business trip on the other side of the country. Wednesday brought about two dozen emails from Philip Graves’ wretched assistant, ugly pastel green borders framing each one. By Thursday, you almost weren’t surprised by the call about a lost shipment.

You were surprised when Price raised his voice at you, though.

“The fuck do you mean it’s missing?” he snarled.

You stood across from him with your tablet in hand, grossly unorganized logs open onscreen.

“I don’t think there are other ways I could mean it,” you answered lightly. “The crates left port and didn’t show up at the next one.”

You were scribbling on the screen, compiling the log into something more comprehensive. Purposefully not making eye contact because you could feel the angry heat radiating off him. It was making your hands tremble, but you’d be damned if you let it show.

“Well then where the fuck are they?” he demanded.

“If I knew that, sir, they wouldn’t be missing.”

“Are you taking the fucking piss?”

At that, you let out a heavy breath and looked up, expression flat. Price’s expression was dark, mouth tight. One hand gripped the arm of his office chair while the index finger of the other tap, tap, tapped his desk. You stared him down for a moment, reminding yourself to breathe with each uneven beat of your heart. Waited through a count of 20 before he huffed.

“Just find the damn thing,” he growled.

“Shall I use my crystal ball?”

You nearly jumped a mile when he barked your name in reprimand. And that was about the time you had enough.

“John.”

He froze. Across the room, so did Simon and Soap. You were so shocked by your own outburst that you came up a bit short as well. Didn’t even have a chance to gather more words when Price’s shoulders dropped. The anger melted away, replaced with apology and self-deprecation.

“Christ, luv, I’m sorry. Where have my manners gone?”

He ran a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nose where you were sure a headache was brewing.

“Thank you for the apology. I know this is important,” you soothed, softening your voice. “Give me 30 minutes and I’ll have a list of people you should yell at.”

He grimaced, “Take 45 for the trouble, darling.”

You used the extra fifteen minutes to brew him a fresh cup of tea and served it with a couple pain meds. When you’d delivered the analysis, he told you to head home early, that it would be a late night regardless and there was no need for you to do more than you already had. (It hadn’t helped the way that he’d ducked his head, still sheepish. You’d squeezed his wrist as you’d dropped off a list of damned names.)

With your usual drivers gone, Soap’s arm broken, and Price out to rip several people a new one, Simon drove you home.

He scowled in the vestibule while you fumbled for your keys. Then glared at the entryway as you trudged to the elevator. He grumbled as he accepted the invitation into your apartment, only to sneer (yes, you knew he was sneering even with the mask) at the doorknob and deadbolt.

“This place is a bloody deathtrap,” he finally declared, crossing his arms.

“It’s not that bad,” you replied, shaking your head.

“One solid kick and this door is coming down.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Then don’t kick it.”

“I’m sure a robber will be polite enough to knock,” he scoffed.

“The crime rate is good in this area,” you argued. Not great, but decent enough…

“Bloody hell. Did you even – are your fucking windows unlocked?”

You blinked. “We’re on the third floor, Simon.”

“I don’t give a rats arse—”

“And stop swearing at me.”

“—that you’re on the third floor. Lock your windows.”

You rolled your eyes but faltered when he narrowed his eyes, looming in the doorway like a fussy boogeyman. A clear indication that he did not plan to leave until you complied.

“You can’t be serious!” You were not whining.

“As the fu— as the damn plague.”

You snorted. “I think ‘damn’ is still swearing.”

He didn’t deign to respond to that, just arched his eyebrows. You mirror him right back, preparing to make a snippy comment about wasting company time.

“I’m sure Price would agree,” he said as you opened your mouth. You shut it with a snap.

Smug bastard.

You groaned but made a show of padding to all the windows and clicking the latches shut. Even when into the bedroom to secure those too. When you were done, he grunted in satisfaction and turned for the door.

“Lock this too.”

“I will, I will, I’m not dumb.”

You scrunched your nose at the skeptical grunt you received that time.

Before leaving, he pointed at you again, eyes narrowed. “Lock. Them. All.”

“They are!”

“From now on.”

“Yes, Simon.”

If you survive this episode of Dateline you’ve found yourself in, you owe him a scone and those nice cigarettes he pretends he doesn’t smoke.

“Open th’ fuckin’ door, Bunny!”

Your fingers twitch around the hilt of the knife. It’s not a big one, but it is serrated. That’s not going in or out without some serious damage. If not the fatal kind, at least the messy kind. Brandon’s not doing anything to you without leaving a crime scene investigator’s wet dream behind.

“Bunnyyyyyyyy!”

The banging starts again, nearly as fast as your heart. You could swear it gets louder every time. Maybe it’s just getting closer, layers of wood chipping away, closing the already too-small distance between you.

You glance desperately at your phone, but the screen remains damningly dark. Price promised he’d be here soon, but it feels like hours since you hung up to preserve what little battery life you had left. Your stomach churns as the pounding turns to thicker, harder thumps. Throwing his body into the door again, trying to force entry. Simon’s mutterings about kicking the door echo in your head.

You should have listened.

“Bun—fuck!”

You jolt as something slams into the door, nearly taking it (and the entry table you braced against it) down. There’s scuffling and scraping, muffled shouting, rapid footsteps— then silence. You hold your breath, every muscle in your body wound tight enough to snap.

“It’s alright now.”

You lurch from your protective crouch in the hallway, shove clumsily at the table. The mangled front door swings in crooked on one hinge, cracked and splintered from top to bottom.

And John is there on the other side.

You’re not sure if he reaches for you or if you throw yourself into his arms. All that matters is that he’s clutching you tight to his broad chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. Safe, protected. Your head spins as you lean into him, knowing that he’ll support you. His heart is beating hard against your cheek.

“John,” you breathe, now that fear isn’t squeezing your lungs in a vice.

“I’m here, luv,” he murmurs into your hair.

You’re shaking. Adrenaline seeps from your bones, takes all their heat and steel with it. You’re left cold and feeble in the aftermath, fingertips numb as they curl tight into his shirt. You don’t know where the knife is; you don’t care. You don’t need it now.

“H-He… He…” you start.

John shushes you, squeezes a bit tighter in reassurance. He knows; you don’t need to tell him, don’t have to remind yourself of what could have happened.

“Where…?” you try instead, but words are so hard. All the trembling must have knocked your voice loose, lost somewhere in the pit of your stomach.

“Soap and Gaz are taking care of it,” John says.

The last of the tension drains away. Your boys will scare Brandon off, maybe enough that he won’t ever bother you again. (The thought alone makes your eyes burn.) John is here now, and – when you peek out from around his bicep – so is Simon.

“You were right,” you mumble, “a-about the door.”

Simon winces. “I’m sorry that I was.”

Somehow, that’s what finally bursts the bubble of your restraint. You sob. It’s loud and sniffly and ugly. In the back of your mind, the part that can never just let you rest, you’re mortified to be doing this in front of your coworker. And on your boss’s nice shirt too. You have an image to maintain—

Except John’s broad hand is rubbing soothing circles into your lower back. He’s gathering you even closer, letting you shelter in his warmth and strength. Easing you through hiccups with quiet murmurs, telling you he’s proud and that you did so well to call him.

Through tears, you see Simon reach out. Scarred knuckles run gently down your wet cheek.

“We take care of our own, little miss.”

You warble out a broken little “Simoooon” that seems to break the solemn atmosphere, John sighing against your temple and Simon’s shoulders slumping in what might be fondness.

It’s not long before Soap and Gaz return, looking no worse for wear, thankfully. (Not that you think they can’t handle themselves – but Brandon was drunk and who knows if he had a weapon or not. Accidents happen.)

“Aw, lass,” Soap coos when he sees you. Calmer now, but still sniffling and wiping at stray tears. “He’s gone now. Won’ be botherin’ you again.”

You blink at the fresh blood on his knuckles and don’t ask. You believe him.

“Thank you.”

“Nothin’ to thank us for, doll. Should have taken care of ‘im earlier,” Gaz replies.

“Earlier?” John asks. He’s trying for your sake, you can tell, but you know him too well to miss the sharp note in his voice.

“Hadn’t had a chance to debrief, sir,” Gaz explains regretfully.

You untuck your face from John’s chest to be better heard, clearing your throat. “Still, for all four of you to come here…”

“What else would we do, sit with our thumbs up our bums?” Soap teases.

“That’ll do,” Simon snips, but you giggle anyway.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to leave your apartment – it takes a bit more to convince you to go to John’s. Unfortunately, you’re outnumbered, and while that normally wouldn’t be a problem, you’re not in a headspace to be stubborn, argumentative, or superficially brave.

All the boys have bachelor pads ill-suited to guests, especially on short notice. Maybe on some other night, under different circumstances, you would have insisted on a hotel.

But the idea of being alone in an unfamiliar place makes your skin crawl. You don’t want to be alone. You want to be near John.

“We take care of our own,” Simon said – so you let them.

Gaz, Soap, and Simon help to pack you an overnight bag, scattering to different corners of your apartment to collect items. In the meantime, you keep clinging to John because he keeps letting you. Exhaustion creeps at the edges of your mind, doubling gravity on your slumping shoulders.

“Did I interrupt something important?” you ask finally, voice hoarse.

“No, luv. Just a card game with some old friends. Soap was losing anyway.”

You sigh, relieved. At least you don’t have the loss of some important business deal weighing on your conscience.

“Poker again?”

“Kid can’t keep a straight face for the life of him.”

You hide your smile against his shoulder and appreciate the chuckle you feel more than hear in his chest.

Simon takes the lead out of the building while Gaz and Soap bring up the rear. You’re a bit self-conscious of any neighbors seeing you in this state, but thankfully none make an appearance. It’s too late in the evening for anyone to be coming in or leaving, and if there were any witnesses to Brandon’s bullshit, you never saw (or heard) them.

(“The hell is their problem, actin’ like they didnae hear that bawbag?” Soap grumbles. “Bystander effect,” you answer, shrugging. He grimaces in understanding, but still looks pissed.)

The car is warm when John bundles you into the back seat. Soap takes the wheel, Simon the passenger side. Gaz sits on your other side and leans his knee gently into yours.

“It’s over now, doll, you can rest. We won’t let anythin’ happen t’you,” he promises.

You smile wearily, lean in to drop a grateful kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you four,” you sigh as you snuggle into John’s side again.

“Don’t need to,” Simon answers gruffly, “we’re not goin’ anywhere.”

John hums in agreement, low and pleasant by your ear.

“You always take such good care of us,” he murmurs. Quiet, just for the two of you. “Let us return the favor for once, won’t you, darling?”

You want to resist. You should. You drop your head to his shoulder and sigh, “Okay.”

Between the gentle motion of the car and the pattering of a fresh rainstorm, you don’t stay awake for long. You nod off within four blocks of your apartment, peacefully unaware of the dazed and bloody body in the trunk.

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[newsfromstolenland]

In one private chat group conversation, a Mountie was accused of saying a new female employee "was overweight and insinuating that the shape of her vagina was visible through her clothing."

In another, a second RCMP officer allegedly bragged about "Tasering unarmed Black people" and called a sexual assault investigation "stupid" — drawing comments from other members of the online group who "made fun of the victim" and said, "she's a dumb Mexican c--t."

An investigator with the RCMP's professional standards unit detailed those allegations and many more in a search warrant sworn to obtain evidence now being used to call for the firing of three Coquitlam Mounties for violating the force's code of conduct.

The CBC has obtained a copy of the search warrant — which recounts behaviour which led the officer who sparked the investigation to complain to RCMP brass about what he saw as "atrocious" and "racist and horrible" activity in a private group operating on the Signal messaging app.

Full article

Tagging: @allthecanadianpolitics

More from this article below the cut, because I think it's important to understand just how much fucked up shit they were saying:

(tw misogyny, domestic violence, racial profiling, anti-Indigenous racism, racism)

The documents reveal that investigators also reviewed 600,000 messages posted to the RCMP's internal mobile data chat logs — finding evidence of "frequently offensive" usage by the three officers facing termination of "homophobic and racist slurs."

"The reviewers had identified a variety of comments that were 'chauvinist in nature, with a strong air of superiority, and include flippant or insulting remarks about clients (including objectifying women), supervisors, colleagues, policy and the RCMP as a whole,'" the warrant says.

Code of conduct hearings against Const. Philip Dick, Const. Ian Solven and Const. Mersad Mesbah had been slated to begin in Surrey this week but have been adjourned until March of next year. All three officers have been suspended since June 2021.

Although Dick, Solven and Mesbah appear to be the only Mounties currently facing code-of-conduct hearings, the court documents say seven other officers were also part of the private chat group — including two supervisors.

Among the details contained in the search warrant are allegations one of the officers facing discipline joked about a domestic violence victim, calling the victim "a dumb f--king bitch, should've worn a mouth guard."

The whistleblower — Const. Sam Sodhi — claimed that outside of the private chat group, members of the group also "belittled Indigenous people, talking about how they were 'stupid' or 'drunk' and saying they have 'unfortunate bodies' and all have fetal alcohol syndrome."

"They would say, 'We're not going to the reserve,'" the search warrant claims Sodhi told investigators.

"We're not going there because we're not going to help those people."

According to the court documents, Sodhi was posted to Coquitlam in 2019.

"As part of that process, he wrote a letter about wanting to work in an urban centre and help at-risk youth that didn't have role models," the warrant claims.

But Sodhi claimed that on his second day at work, Dick — his trainer — asked him: "Are you a cool brown guy, or are you a Surrey brown guy? Because in that letter, you're whiny, like, 'Ooh, I want to help brown people.'"

Sodhi claimed there were two chat groups for members of the Coquitlam detachment assigned to Port Coquitlam — one for all members of the watch and a second private group that began on WhatsApp but then moved to Signal. He said he was told once he was "worthy" of the private chat group, "we'll add you to it."

The officer claimed he was admitted to the private chat group in March 2021 but left after a few days because of the "constant negativity." He said he was then accused of "not being a team member" and encouraged to return.

According to the search warrant, Sodhi complained to his superiors in May 2021, and a chief superintendent mandated an investigation into five Mounties — including a corporal who was accused of failing to take measures to prevent misconduct.

The probe initially focused on text communications between the RCMP's own laptops — known as Mobile Data Terminals. Investigators reviewed messages between the five men from January 2019 until May 2021.

"When members of the [Signal] chat group realized there was an investigation, they opined that the investigation was probably about 'MDT chats' ... since the private chat group was kept 'amongst the trusted' and 'there's no way this got out,'" the warrant says.

Examples cited from the RCMP computers include statements like, "Why do brown guys have unusually high pitched voices." "As an idiot woman would say ... 'toxic,'" and, "I just racially profile pulled over a car."

A review of the chat logs also allegedly found the three officers facing termination "appeared to use 'goldfish' as a slur for Asian people."

"For example, they talked about how 'goldfish' have 'bulging eyes' that 'can't see anything,' how a Korean church in the detachment was a 'goldfish church' and how 'goldfish' were bad drivers (a common Asian stereotype)," the warrant says.

[blingblong55]

The shadow's obsession- Philip Graves NSFW

Based on a request:

Erm...sweats nervously Obsessive stalker! Graves x reader... 🧍🏻‍♀️ "As soon as he saw you he knew that he needed to know everything about you. Every dirty little secret, every private thought and every small detail about you. But of course, talking to you wouldn't do the trick entirely, he needed something more. He's read every file that's ever been written about you. He has your birth certificate, your license, your every text and call you've ever made, every post made on social media, everything. Hes hacked every device so he can watch what you search during the day and what you're doing. He knows things about you that even you don't know about." Drops this and runs away🏃🏻‍♀️ (I moved on from Makarov now it's time for graves 💯💯 I love ur writing sm!! Er i usually request anon cause I request too much..😞😞 YK the popsicle Makarov fic? Requested that anon to.. and also the one where Makarov apologized with money...but now I moved on to graves no more Makarov new year new character 🙏🙏)

---- F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, obsessive!Graves, neighbour!Graves, stalker!Graves ----

A/N: Not much smut to be honest, so please don't expect to be fucked in this one....so...yeah.....

Philip sits in the dimly lit flat, one he owned only to be close to you. In his home, there is a room that is filled with screens and various feeds from the hacked devices you owned. How could he not do this? You are such a beautiful thing, of course, he had to keep his eyes on him. You're an obsession. An obsession that consumed him, every moment of his existence revolves around you. From the first time he laid eyes on you, he knew you were the one. But, this isn't love in the traditional sense; it's a dark and twisted obsession that gnaws at his soul. 

He had developed deep into your life, souring every corner of the internet for information about you. Birth certificates, licenses, social media posts– nothing escaped his grasp. He knows you better than anyone, even more than you know yourself, or so he believes. 

Every text, every call, every search query you ever made was meticulously logged and analyzed by him. He watched you from the lens of your own devices, a silent observer in your little world. He knows your routines, fears, and desires and he relishes in the power this gives him over you. 

To you, he was just your overly friendly neighbour. He was the man you called when help was needed inside your flat. 

His obsession only grew stronger with each passing day, fueled by the way you spoke, and the way your eyes glimmer as you looked at him. It wasn't that you were just being kind, right?

But he wanted you to know him. To know that he is more than just a neighbour, he can be more. He is more. 

He was happy this way though, he knew it all. He knows you're single, he knows your body like no other. Hell, he knows your scent, the way your legs shake when you reach your climax and how you try and suppress the moans. He dreams of the day he would finally have you all to himself when you'd see how much he loves you. 

But until the day you know how he feels for you, he'll just remain in his bubble. He'll lay in bed, take in the scent of your panties, the same ones he stole, and look at the videos he has of your showering, touching yourself and moaning. For you're his everything, his reason for living in a world consumed by darkness. 

As days turned to weeks and the weeks into months, his obsession with you only intensified. He found himself unable to tear his gaze from you, his every waking thought consumed by your presence. He began to lose himself in fantasies of what it would be like to finally sleep by your side, to hold you in his arms and whisper his darkest desires into your ear. 

But even as he dreamed of a future where he had you, he knew his fantasies were just delusions of his own making. He is addicted to the thrill of watching you, to the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins every time you appeared on one of his screens. You're a drug. 

The same drug that has his fist around his throbbing cock. Moans escape the same ones that call for you. Pre-cum leaks down his shaft. Your panties by his nose. What an addicting scent you have. In his screen, he has you, fingering and playing with that sweet pussy. Your moans and whimpers are all for him to enjoy. As you play with one of your nipples, he finds himself wishing to be the one to worship those precious tits of yours.

He only allows himself to cum when you do. That's the one rule and it's all so he can be prepared for when he has you right in front of him.

Times go on, men you've met disappear, and one by one they mysteriously leave town. 

5 in the morning and there you went, regular morning walk, same streets, same speed and always listening to the same playlist. Those thighs of yours, only made his hands want to explore every inch of them. Leave his marks on them for all to see. 

His train of thought gets interrupted when he sees a man approach you. Graves, being the man he is, always kept his distance from you as you jogged, never trying to engage with you but rather just watching to understand you. This time, he can't just let this man be close to you. Who is he? He certainly isn't someone you know, Graves would've known if you were talking to this man. 

Your soft voice fills his ears as you smile and talk with this stranger. Your smile is as beautiful as day but why must you insist on smiling to this man? Philip is right there, why can't he have all your smiles? Love him. Love him. Love him. LOVE him. Love HIM. LOVE HIM. LOVE HIM Y/N!

"Love me," he whispers as he approaches you. "Oh, hi," you softly say as you recognise your neighbour. "Hey, who is this?" A little too forward, no? He thinks. "This is," you turn to the man. "Robert," he answers with a kind smile. "Ah, I see, well, I'm Philip," he says as he stands closer to you. 

An awkward conversation later and Philip finally has you where he wanted. Sitting on a bench as you two talk, something he rarely got to do. "And my mum was a teacher, that's where the nickname came from," you mention casually. Of course, he knew this, he knows it all, remember? "And for a pretty lady like you, it suits you," he compliments and with barely any notice from you, he scoots closer. 

If only you knew he has all he needed to know in files. A man like him is organised. He just wants to know if you'd ever lie. Do you? 

An hour passed, shared laughter, more than small talk and he knew it well. You were a person who told the truth. Oh, what a darling of a girl you are. 

With smooth talk, he tells you to join him for dinner. Not an ask, he knows you like men who know what they want. It's the same thing he heard you tell your friends over the phone. 

Once he makes it back to his place, after dropping you at your flat, he sits in his room, watches and listens as you tell your friends about him. A smile creeps into his lips. "That's right, darlin' tell 'em, let 'em know about the man who will own that every needy heart," he says to himself. 

With time, the more you spend with him, the more he finds himself pleased with the idea of how you feel inside. He wishes to know what exactly excites you about him. Sure he knows you blush when he drops you off at your place and kisses your cheek, but does his accent excite you? Does the idea of him being such a gentleman bring butterflies to you? Do you like how he knows your favourite treats? 

Why is he so perfect? You ask yourself. How come he knows that you love to watch rom-coms? How does he know you cry over romance scenes? Why does he kiss you in the rain? Why does he know you smile so much because you always wanted that? Why does dancing in the rain make you excited? Are you falling in love? 

Oh....you are in love, aren't you? Is this why you asked him to have a casual date? It's why he's now holding you in his arms as you two watch 'How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days' right? 

Do you love him?

Do you love me? He thinks when you look up at him. Your heart racing as he smiles. His hands cup your so sweet face, "Yes, darlin'?" How does he know you this well? You lean in and kiss him. What a sweet thing. 

From here on, not only does he obsess over you, but he worships you. You're the newfound religion. You're the sun and he the planets. 

There is something so dark and twisted, something so macabre that it almost makes his love holy. 

You are what the shadows love. 

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[ghostlysage]

welcome back to underrated vr games (ft. under presents and tsor)

the vr has a lot of really well known games such as beat saber and vr chat, but have you ever heard of the under presents and/or the secret of retropolis?

im going to assume you havent, but you should definitely check them out! both games have a lot of charm in their story-telling and graphics. one has a much more simplistic design (which they pull off very well) and the other has a very complex design within characters and environments. both have phenomenal characters and voice acting!

let’s just say I’m back in the hyperfixation zone with these two!

this is the only drawing I have for the secret of retropolis so far, but considering peanut button are releasing an early demo to the second game in the next couple of weeks, more is to come :0)

these first two are of canon characters (the mc, henry, and rumph)

this second-half of the cluster is based on an idea I had for a sequel to TUP. this would be called “The Under Presents: Lost Remnant”. it would follow you, the protagonist, traversing unknown lands 200 years after the first game. there’s new life, evolution changes, and new scenery.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Witte Solstice - Chapter 19

Cover art by @leespinoodle.

Fic written by me (enchantedchocolatebars) and @leespinoodle.

Summary: It's winter in the Boiling Isles, and Caleb prepares to celebrate the solstice with his wife, his friends… and hopefully, with Beardo Philip! Philip swears he'll never partake in the satanic holidays of those demonic witches. But when Caleb invites him over for the solstice… maybe he’ll find himself making an exception.

Ao3 version

Caleb brushed a log clear of snow and sat down, taking a short moment of rest during his hunt.

He hadn't managed to catch anything yet, as his mind had been elsewhere and not focused on the task at hand.

His argument with Philip had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Caleb understood that the Boiling Isles could be off-putting and dangerous, but this was where he belonged. This was where he could be himself without the threat of a whipping or branding for stepping out of line.

How could Philip not understand that?

How could he see this as a hell when it was clearly a heaven on the mortal plane?

None of that was even to mention Philip's comments about Evelyn. He spoke so coldly of her, as if it were a sin to have simply been born in this realm. It was cruel, really.

And the worst part was that Philip was shaming her for practicing witchcraft while he did so himself!

Caleb had seen the glyphs drawn upon Philip's notebook.

For someone so focused on sin, Philip seemed to have forgotten that hypocrisy was one.

Caleb was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a rustling nearby.

He silently notched an arrow and slowly crept through the brush until he could see the culprit.

Standing a small distance away and rooting around in the dirt was a large gobble-boar, a feathered pig-like creature native to the Boiling Isles.

Caleb drew back on his bow and took aim just behind the hog's ear.

He held his breath as he let the arrow go.

The gobble-boar collapsed to the ground, dead in an instant.

Its body would provide enough meat to feed their guests for weeks.

[phantomvegetable]

The Wraith x Reader

heaven found us tw’s: none rly. maybe a little bit of dissociation on philip’s end ? he’s just baby idk 🥹

Philip was wandering again.

Outside of trials, he seldom kept still; like a phantom he would float amidst the fog, having no clear direction nor goal to accomplish as the steamy white clouds strung him passively along.

Philip didn’t mind, though—quite literally. Almost as if he was in a haze, he would allow the fog to carry him, like a fish down a stream. Each time, Philip ended up somewhere different; sometimes a familiar scene, sometimes a completely new setting. And, sometimes, if he was lucky—the fog would deliver him something, too.

The cat in front of him stares through Philip with piercing golden eyes, her charcoal fur glinting in the moonlight. She tilts her head ever so slightly, and Philip copies the motion. As if pleased, she mrrrows politely and rises to her paws, padding over to him inquisitively with her tail held high in the air. With his free hand, he stretches out to pet her, which she happily accepts. She erupts into purrs beneath his touch, and Philip is reminded of the goodness that even the entity cannot erase.

Upon running his fingers behind her ear and down her neck, Philip finds a makeshift string collar that he failed to notice before. He traces the material down to the bell that dangles over her throat, the ornament jingling faintly as it is fondled. The cat meets his ivory eyes sweetly as if to answer his wordless question, so you belong to someone? She meows again, rubbing against his legs before sauntering off in the direction she previously came from. Philip stands straight to watch her leave, curiously finding himself being compelled to follow—so he does.

Unwavering gaze fixated on her, Philip trails behind the unnamed cat as she tinkers forward, being careful not to frighten her by the ringing of his own bell. As the fog swallows her small form for only a moment, the atmosphere shifting and exploding into chilly air, Philip finds himself in front of a roughed-up cabin decorated with various plants (native only to the fog) and odd trinkets alike; the paint stretching up and down the wood fresh, yet somehow chipping.

Most interesting of all, the cat Philip had followed was heading towards the only other person sitting in front of the cabin—someone Philip did not recognize.

You sat on a log with a paintbrush clutched delicately between your fingers, a rickety easel holding up an unshapely piece of material that had strokes of oranges and blacks strewn about the canvas. Your clothes weren’t torn or in tatters like other survivors—though they were a bit dull, and covered in paint—and your expression was one of serenity and focus; a stark contrast to the usual haunted, drained look the others usually wore. And, as you are approached by the cat that seems very familiar with your person, you dazzle her with a smile that makes Philip long for something he can’t quite place.

The sound of Philip’s bell startles even himself as he moves to get a closer look, causing your head to lift sharply until you’re pinning him to the spot with beautiful, alarmed eyes that quickly soften into something akin to understanding.

No, you weren’t one of the survivors—you couldn’t have been with the way you were looking at him. So, then… who were you?

“Look, Heavenly,” You say to your furry companion, just loud enough for him to hear, “it seems we’ve attracted another stray.”

Another stray? Philip was not a wraith of many words, but that did not mean he didn’t understand them.

Somehow, though, the way you said it was less offensive and more alluring.

You giggle—charming and angelic—and set your paintbrush down, shifting to fully face Philip. You cock your head, still smiling, and gesture to your current work in progress.

“What do you think?” You ask him earnestly, welcomingly. Philip feels himself tingle and burn with what feels like embarrassment at being put on the spot by someone so unlike him, simultaneously feeling angry at himself for not being more wraith-like. The wailing bell he held was meant for damaging and destroying, not to look like something he clung to for comfort, as he was doing now.

Still, Philip obliges you; inching forward to get a better perspective of your artwork, quickly finding himself at a loss for what to think.

Before Philip’s eyes was a painting of himself, depicted as much more docile than most others probably found him. He was standing tall amongst the throng of needle-like trees, signature wailing bell hanging by his side. The sky was a deep orange, dipping between branches and coming to rest on his shoulders in a gentle glow. Oddly enough, he was missing a face entirely; the shape of his head was there, but no eyes were to be found.

Philip tilts his head as if searching for his face, not realizing he had drawn even closer until he was hovering by your side. You watch him patiently, stroking Heavenly as you wait for a response.

“…Is… that supposed to be me?” Philip finally asks, voice gentle and hollow-sounding, pointing a finger to the painting. He sees you nod and lowers his hand, confusion settling in.

“You’ve been here before,” You explain slowly, earning Philip’s surprised gaze that you don’t meet. “I’ve seen you many times, but this is the first time you’ve come this close. It’s okay if you don’t remember.”

That’s the thing—he doesn’t remember. Why would he come here? He didn’t even know where here was. And, yet…

“…I followed your cat,” Philip says after a moment, and finally the two of you make eye contact. You look in astonishment up at him before looking down at Heavenly, then back up at him again. Then, you let out a bark of laughter.

“Heavenly got you to come here?” You chortle. “She barely listens to me when I ask her to come inside.”

Philip looks down at Heavenly, who simply blinks back up at him. He blinks back.

“…Why did you paint me?” He questions, sounding and feeling suspicious. You merely shrug.

“Ever since you first visited me, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. And when you kept coming back, I just…” You motion randomly with your hands. “Needed an outlet. You were a mystery to me.”

Philip cocks his head. “You’re really not from the trials, are you?” You give him a quizzical look.

“Trial? What trial?”

“…Nothing,” He murmurs, reaching out to pet Heavenly, who bumps her head against his hand. His lips twitch in a half-formed smile.

“Will you stay this time?” You ask, stilling Philip.

“…Probably not,” He answers, drawing away. You frown, then sigh, casting your gaze downwards. Philip feels himself being pulled back by an invisible force; the fog calling him to ‘come, come back home.’ He puts space between he and you, standing at the edge of the ivory mist that laps at his clothes in wispy tendrils. You look up at him one last time, giving Philip a sad smile.

“I guess I’ll see you again,” You say, solemn.

“…You will,” He promises, not knowing why, but knowing that he most certainly would be back. You seem to brighten at that.

“Bye, Philip,” You call as he’s sucked into the fog, into confusion, and into darkness.

[wackulart]

Reader goes into the tide pools and meets Belos like with Lilith and Luz in that one episode

giving me an excuse to rewatch Elsewhere Elsewhen AND write 1600s Philip? IM ON IT.

Part 2

Philip Wittebane x Reader

----------------------------

You didn't think the time pools would actually work.

The topic of them came up during a conversation you were having with a store owner and reminded you of the days you used to pretend to find them. You had some makeshift toy that didn't really work, you would crawl into one side of a hollow log and exit out the other side acting like you were in the future.

It was fun as a kid so you thought to go back to that place and revisit those memories. You didn't expect to fall into the sand and end up centuries into the past. Your immediate reaction was to hop right back in and back away. As you scrambled out of the time pool you took a second to breathe.

Once the initial anxiety had died down a bit, a thought crossed your mind.. why not?

How many witches could really say they had been in a time pool? Most demons you knew didn't even believe in them and that included you until now. You had considered the risks, but the tide wouldn't be coming quite some time.

...Fuck it.

You stood up and peeked your head back in. The beach hadn't seemed to different too the one you were currently on, yet you had spotted a group of witches celebrating something. With what you remembered from your days at school you recognized the outfits as those from the Deadwardian era.

Then you realized you'd probably stick out a bit with your modern clothing, not to mention the bloody fly effect.

After you pulled yourself through the portal, you moved to the trees to grab a few large leaves and makeshift yourself a hat. Once you adjusted your clothes to look a little more aged and you were satisfied, you headed into the town.

It was so surreal to see things that you had only read in history books. What was even stranger was how calm and kind things were in this era. You were pretty sure that these were considered the savage ages, wasn't wild magic dangerously rampant?

Before you could dwell too much on the thought, the sound of a door slamming made you turn swiftly in the direction. You looked to see a man kick at the door before stumbling back and yelling at the person inside. He adjusted his jacket and began stomping off, too angry to notice that he had dropped something.

You rushed over to pick it up and tap his shoulder. The man audibly groaned before turning to you and as you held out the pen that he had nearly lost, your eyes widened.

"You're human." You spoke before you could stop yourself.

He paused before sighing and taking his pen from you harshly. "Here to poke fun? I'll have you know that I have no intention in wasting my time-"

You waved your hands panickedly. "No, I've just never met a human before." You couldn't help but have a genuine fascination in meeting someone from a completely different world.

There was a look of confusion, maybe conflict before it fell and he turned away. He wasn't sure what you were looking for from him but he wasn't going to fall for those sparkling eyes. There was clearly ill intent behind them, even if he couldn't see it just yet.

The man forced a smile and turned to leave, not expecting you to follow him. He looked over to you as you shoved your hands towards him and told him your name.

The human stopped, staring at you hard. He could see a determination in your eyes that told him he wasn't getting out of this easy.

He sighed before taking your hand and shaking it. "My name is Philip Wittebane."

You two had begun walking together, you were mostly taking in the sights while pointing at things you found interesting. He had tried several times to sneak off from you but you had stayed resilient.

Philip had decided to not waste his opportunity by asking you questions and you had plenty for him as well.

He wouldn't admit that he was sort of enjoying the company, it was simply a by product from traveling alone for as long as he had been.

That was it.

Philip had sat on a bench with you joining in the seat right beside him. You leaned into him and peeked at his journal, then you noticed that he was drawing the bird a few feet in front of the two of you.

You looked back and forth between it and then pointed excitedly at his sketch. "Hey, that's really good!"

He shot up and his voice stuttered. "Oh, uhm- Thank you."

It was a challenge trying not to react at how close you had gotten, he tried to force his focus onto his journal.

You seemed to be rather comfortable around him, the whole walk you spoke so passionately about everything you told him. He was trying to understand why you were so excited around him even when his answers had been cold and short.

Then he heard you gasp lightly and looked up to see what the issue was. He followed your eyes to a sketch he had done while you two had been walking. It wasn't anything impressive by his standards, a simple silhouette drawing of you and him.

"Is that me?" You questioned.

He nodded and felt his face grow red at the genuine smile on your face.

What is this?

What were you doing to him?

This curse that you had plagued him with forced words out of his mouth. "Do you.. like it?"

He didn't understand why he cared, in fact he shouldn't care what a witch had to say about his work. He didn't care.

He didn't have to force down a smile when you nodded and asked to see more drawings, he didn't purposefully scoot closer to you while you two looked through his book and he definitely did not sneak peeks at that adorable look on your face as you awed over his things.

Then came nightfall and you explained that you had to go and that you weren't sure that you could come back.

Philip nodded and held out his hand, he ignored the twist in his stomach and realized that it was for the best. Lest he fall to the temptation that had twisted his brother.

Instead of taking it, you pulled him in for a hug since you probably wouldn't see him again. The chance that you could find another time pool was incredibly rare and not to mention that this was four hundred years in the past.

You felt him slowly put his arms around you until you pulled away.

"Goodbye, Philip." You called out as you began to run towards the beach before the tide came in.

He waved to you, memorizing the sound of your voice and the look in your eyes. Perhaps he could not have you, as you were a demon and he would never see you again, but he could have your memory.

You made it to the time pools and took a couple tries before you had found your time and hopped back into it. As you got out to the other side and landed on top of the sand, you felt the tide hit your ankles. That was it then. You wondered if you could find something about Philip in the library somewhere.

Just to check if things had fared well for him.

The next week had been much calmer for you compared to the adventure you had gone on, but you still smiled at the fact that not only had you met a human but you befriended him.

No one would believe it.

As you carried your goods to the Emperor's castle and helped unloaded packages with a few other workers, you felt eyes on you. You looked behind you to see the Emperor himself, the fact that he had been there at all had surprised you.

It had even surprised you enough to miss the recognition in his eyes as he whispered your name under his breath.

[notokra]

InterCommunication’91 “The Museum Inside The Telephone Network”

Tokyo's 1991 museum show only accessible by telephone, fax and modem, with works by Laurie Anderson, J.G. Ballard, John Cage, Merce Cunningham, Félix Guattari, Derek Jarman, Ryuichi Sakamoto, & many more https://monoskop.org/log/?p=19463

--

The exhibition organised by the Project InterCommunication Center (ICC), founded by the Japanese telecom NTT, was a pioneering project investigating the implications of networked communication for the museum institution. The exhibition was only accessible to home users by means of the telephone, fax, and in a limited sense computer networking. It was meant as a model for a new kind of an “invisible” museum. Later it was followed up by another ICC exhibition The Museum Inside the Network (1995). The ICC opened its exhibition space in 1997.

The works and messages from almost 100 artists, writers, and cultural figures were available through five channels. The works in “Voice & sound channel” such as talks and readings on the theme of communication could be listened to by telephone. The “Interactive channel” offered participants to create musical tunes by pushing buttons on a telephone. Works of art, novels, comics and essays could be received at home through “Fax channel”. The “Live channel” offered artists’ live performances and telephone dialogues between invited intellectuals to be heard by telephone. Additionally, computer graphics works could be accessed by modem and downloaded to one’s personal computer screen for viewing.

Contributors include Laurie Anderson, J.G. Ballard, Christian Boltanski, Pierre Boulez, William S. Burroughs, Merce Cunningham, Daniel Buren, John Cage, Jacques Derrida, Allen Ginsberg, Philip Glass, Félix Guattari, Pontus Hultén, Derek Jarman, Jeff Koons, Daniel Libeskind, Jackson Mac Low, Judith Malina, Renzo Piano, Steve Reich, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Akira Sakata, Paul Virilio, Robert Wilson, Tadanori Yokoo, John Zorn, a.o.

Edited by Urban Design Research Introduction by Akira Asada, Yutaka Hikosaka, and Toshiharu Itou Publisher NTT, Tokyo, 1991 259 pages