#reoccuring ghosts

[ewwww-what]

What a cool dude, I hope he isn’t haunted by memories of his dead friend lol

[trans-yllz]

I don't have any money cuz I had to pay my housemates rent and he hasn't paid all of it back yet so I texted him this morning like hey are you able to pay me back 180 so I can take pollux to the vet but he could only give me 100 so now she just gets to suffer I guess

[mrwooglewogle]

[fowlblue]

I have had So Many Thoughts about Black Butler it is not even funny

[johannepetereric]

”Family as rivals” is interesting.

Casper the Friendly Ghost was my childhood, ok? Many shows and movies, I saw. Including the old cartoons and movies.

So, Casper has a ghost cousin. The kid was a typical ghost: scaring people, pulling pranks, doing mischief and mayhem, being an asshole, etc.

Casper tries to stop him and teach him to be polite and friendly, even saves him from fuck-ups.

But the cousin (I Google says his name is “Spooky”) never catches on to Power of Friendship. Avoids it as if it’s the cooties.

I don’t recall meeting Spooky outside of then. I wonder what happened.

[ghostpepperworld]

When a piece of media features gore that is goopy and wet and inhuman and vile and inescapable and otherworldly and unending and the The Point™ and

:D

[criscura]

Mm.... I'm used to having dreams where I'm the audience and sometimes stuff will talk directly to me, I'm used to having dreams where people walk into my room and then it feels like they're still there when i wake up, I'm used to telling myself something is a dream and i have to just redo the bad thing that happened until it's not bad anymore. Tonight, though, i think it was the first time I realized it was a dream, told myself it was a dream, actively tried to fix it in the dream the way I always have and thought I was doing it, only to realize that I hadn't and I was trapped there.

It was short, and I was just having trouble breathing through my blanket because it fell on my face but... At first I imagined someone snuck into our room, then a hand clamped over my mouth and started pushing my head into the bed until I pulled it off, and then I started taking off a mask that I was mysteriously wearing over and over again because it kept on phasing back onto my face. I knew I was dreaming then, but instead of making myself wake up from the nightmare like I always have, I just sat up in my bed in the dream knowing that something was making it hard for me to breathe in the real world, but I was stuck there for and couldn't see what it was to get rid of it. It was only a few moments, but there was a DEFINITE spike of panic when the full realization of what was going on set in.

Not great. Not ideal >< It was super mundane--my nose got really stuffy out of nowhere and my mouth was totally covered by my blankets, so I WAS having trouble breathing--but I don't remember the last time I was fully conscious in my dreams as myself, IN myself, and incapable of waking up the exact second I wanted to. I've had nightmares and anxiety dreams as far back as I can remember, and it's a skill I taught myself when I was really little..... I don't know why I got stuck this time •____•

[queer-hercules]

Am I taken?

Am I single?

Who knows?

My gf (?) hasn’t talked to me in weeks

The daily check ins & calls lasted a few months and we’re back to “is she even alive?” late night thoughts.

[waylouder]

vent!!

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | masterlist

sow

tw: drugging, non/dub-con, somno, implied breeding

He comes to you in dreams with heady breath that bleeds through black cloth to brush against your face like a lover's kiss.

But he is no lover, nor man.

Only monster—you call him Ghost.

Ghost arrives when you're in the slick, airy stage between slumber and consciousness, where everything shines too bright and yet is shrouded in a numbra so thick you swear it will choke you. Nothing but tendrils to morph and dance in your vision as you look up at the wide mass before you.

Each time he visits, he wears a mask. Black, with a chalky skull outline along his nose and where his mouth should be—only his eyes are visible. Pools of water darker than the lowest depths of the ocean, ready to drown you. Ready to feel the way your pulse quickens when held beneath the waves that have consumed him long ago.

He never speaks. Not to you—only to himself in deep growls that your fuzzy brain can scarcely make sense of. When he first came to you all those months ago, he stood at the edge of your bed—foreboding, looming taller than any beast you've ever seen or have yet to see since. You were only able to keep your brain awake long enough to make out the way his jaw dances beneath his mask to murmur the word perfect.

You think nothing of it until you start to wake up sore. It's more than odd bruises along your hips that sting when you poke them—it's the pounding in your head when you rouse, and the swelling of your cunt. Your lip is torn; split down the center. A curious tongue pokes at the blood that oozes from the crack, and it tastes suspiciously like love.

The next time he appears, he is on top of you. Hips pinning yours to the bed, hands on either side of your head, your body jostles. Every shockwave ripples through your body, shaking the fatty tissue along your thighs and stomach—you feel each thrust in your throat.

You groan, and he shushes you.

"Soon," he hisses. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, darkness consuming your vision, but not your hearing. "It'll take soon."

Countless nights pass like this. He comes to you, body joining with yours, murmuring things that aren't meant for human ears—that aren't meant for anyone corporeal. Each time you attempt to speak, you find your vocal cords painfully paralyzed. They die in your throat. Shrivel into useless tissue. All your questions bleed through your tongue to fester, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth when you wake.

He's not real—your little Ghost. Only the most concerning reoccurring dream you've ever been plagued with.

You tell your friends about this dream. About this strange man who haunts your psyche when you can't quite get your bearings. You speak of his mask, and how he pins you with his gaze alone; how real his hands feel on you. Embarrassment forces you to omit the sensation of his cock and how it pummels you, but share the odd wounds you wake up with. Bitten lips, raw skin.

Their gazes shame you, and you do not speak of it again.

Some childish part of you had hoped that these dreams would cease the moment you spoke them out loud, but Ghost is persistent. He comes again, and again, and again. Hot breath wheezing. Tight throat growling. Firm hands squeezing.

Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon.

There is one night when your dream verges on the edge of reality, finally granting you the opportunity to talk to him.

Your Ghost.

Body rocking, legs bent and hips widened, your chest heaves as you force your eyes open as your question expels from your throat:

"Real?"

Ghost freezes. He stares down at you with the same, dark eyes he always does, and you try your best to keep your gaze locked on him. A shaky hand rises off of the bed, fingertips kissing his clothed cheek as you groan.

"Are you... real...?"

Ghost shrugs your hand off of him. "Sleep."

Unable to keep your eyes open any longer, you follow his order. Eyes fluttering shut, breath sighing from your nose, you allow slumber to capture you in her fickle grasp.

Though, you swear you feel clothed lips on yours and dull teeth piercing into your mouth before she can fully pull you under.

When Simon is finished with you, he stands at the edge of your bed like he usually does. Everything is tight. The knots that dot his back, the tension at the base of his skull—but everything feels quiet when he looks at you. There, in bed, ruined by him. Sleeping soundly, unaware of the apparition who's been taking you as his own for all these months.

Before he leaves, Simon pats the pocket of his jumper, and reminds himself to add more Benadryl powder to your sleepy-time tea mix before he leaves.

He can't have you asking questions like that again—not when he's too busy trying to make you his.

[huginsmemory]

Ford's Dreams; Attraction and Asexuality

In Bill's quips in TBOB on what the characters dream about, the quip he had on Ford caught my eye: "Sixer dreams about a pop quiz that asks him "what are you attracted to?" He usually writes "I'm attracted to logic and preparation." Not sure what to call that! Plansexual?". Immediately upon reading it, it made me question the implicit meanings of that small blurb, on Ford's sexuality (as someone whose aroace) and on the potential reason why such a dream was reoccurring, which I've explored below:

Extra addition added (Jan 6 2025)!

The first of two pages in TBOB on Bill's quips on characters dreams; this page includes Ford's, Dippers, Mabel's and Wendy's dream comments.

First of all, there are two types of quips Bill makes about the characters dreams. First, and the main type of comment, are negatively connotated, generally close to or even are nightmares. Dipper, about over hearing his parents fight about divorce, Mabel who has nightmares about waddles dying, Wendy who dreams about her Mom, who died, Stan's about Ford getting stuck in his science fair experiment, and Pacifica about the lumberjack ghost and blood that doesn't wash off her hands. Most of these are things that play off subconscious or conscious fears or grief (or memories in relation to fear or grief). The second type of quip, are goofs; such as Robbie's real hair colour, or Blubs and Durland only dreaming about each other (both on the other page, not depicted). So where does Ford's comment for in? At first glance, Ford's dream quip somewhat comes out as a goof (especially considering the horrible things he's gone through and seen). But for a central, serious character, and considering the context of the book, I really don't think this is a goof, but more of the first type of quip, on darker/nightmare sort of dreams.

But if it's is a nightmare, then why would a pop quiz about what he's attracted to be nightmare material?

First of all, regarding the set up of the dream, a quiz explicitly implies that you are being judged on your answer. There is a rubric for right or wrong answers, and someone, in a higher position of power, often in an academic institution, judges you by this. Ford is a character that's been clearly driven for the good first half of his life by excellency in academic achievement, and this implies that it's very important to him to get the quiz correct, to have the right answer, and that he fears being wrong.

Now on the subject matter of what the quiz entails; the subject of romance and attraction. Regarding canon, romance isn't one we get particularly clear images on with Ford, compared to Stan who flirts and literally goes out on a date during the series. We only really ever get two direct human interactions that could be implied to be considered romantic in nature (sorry fiddauthor's, there isn't anything from Ford's side of things that imply any extra feelings beyond cherished friend; Fiddleford in the other hand...). These are when he speaks to a girl at a dance and gets juice thrown on him, and in Journal 3 on the page that decodes on the page about himself to "LITTLE CATHY WHAT A DREAM HELD HER HAND AND MADE HER SCREAM". (There is also technically the one throw away line about Ford dating a siren in one of the Lost Legends comics, which would be the only time we know of Ford actually being in a romantic relationship; but that's something that never gets elaborated on, and when Dipper says that he's literally reading from the Bill page from Journal 3, so I'm unsure on the weight of such a statement). Compulsory heteronormativity aside as demanded by censors, both the implied attempts don't go well, and in the second one it directly implies Ford's six fingers are directly part of the reason why he's undesirable. Ford clearly deeply struggles with belonging around his 'weirdness'; case in point with the whole page about it in Journal 3. In this case, his bad luck in romance as a teen, possibly as a result of his 'wierdness', continues to alienate him from other people. As a result, a quiz focusing on romance may further remind Ford about his 'wrongness' as he doesn't have the socially expected romantic relationship.

Stanford's author pages in journal 3. The cipher on the right page decodes to what is described in the paragraph above. Note his emphasis on feeling alienated.

However, what's perhaps more telling about it is that the quiz asks what are you attracted too?, which is more sexual than really romantic in nature. And it's telling because what Ford puts down is logic and preparation. These aren't physical attributes as one may assume to answer these questions; neither is it gendered, or even really based on a person, but rather left open as the concepts (ie, he doesn't say someone who is logical and well-prepared). This Bill even jokes about, with 'plan-sexual'. And Ford's answer is not a typical 'male' answer (in the toxic sense, but also, just generally, since people experience sexual attraction) which Bill also notes with the joke. This 'incorrect' answer could be construed as another thing that's wrong with him, especially back in the day; emphasizing again Ford's wrong-ness and alienation.

Not to mention, beyond those two instances described above (interestingly, these occur previous to Ford's falling out with Stan, in which after he highly prioritizes academic achievement) Ford shows no interest in romantic relationships. This disinterest in pursuing romance is contrary to a lot of people who are still workaholics who have significant others/hook-up on the weekend in their meager time off. Ford's general disinterest in romance is also something that others him, with how our society puts so much emphasis on romantic and sexual relationships. And this is something that IMMEDIATELY caught my eye as someone whose within the general ballpark of aroace; there is a huge amount of alienation from society when you are disinterested in sexual/romantic relationships. Especially when toxic masculinity expects you to constantly be horny. So having someone ask you that question of what you are attracted too is awkward, and depending on the audience, socially difficult question to field. And often an answer to that comes out sounding exactly like Ford's, based on personality rather than physical attributes, if you don't decide to come out (not that Ford would know queer jargon anyways). So this question, posed in a quiz, with Ford being quite Ace-coded, would bring up these feelings of alienation, along with those about failure on not having the right 'answer' regarding attractiveness and the failure of not having a girlfriend.

The infamous Billford page in TBOB, of 'one thing led to another'. Also note Ford saying that Bill's "really got it all figured out".

Now, beyond that, we're also reading this in the context of TBOB. Even before the new info in TBOB, Ford openly worshipped Bill; and in TBOB it becomes clear that they certainly had something going on between them (cough, one thing lead to another, cough). This suggests that Ford found Bill attractive in some form of attraction, whether romantic, sexual or queer-platonic-ish. This especially so, considering the answer Ford puts down; logic and preparation. Bill, who corrected and furthered Ford's knowledge, who came to him as a being of pure knowledge (logic), and who helped him plan the portal, who ironically also had other plans of world domination beyond that (preparation). Bill fits the description, even if he's not human, but Ford's not bothered by that, Ford's a freak himself and it's clear in finding that acceptance he's ecstatic (freak4freak). And that attraction, that care Ford had/has for Bill? Now that's something that's horrifying, something that's filled with guilt, terror, and also embarrassment and fear of how others will react; case in point with Ford literally ripping those journal pages out so the others don't know about the extent of his and Bill's relationship, and in TBOB he acknowledges that. And that's not to mention the potential additives of negative emotions from failing to have attraction for the right person, from failing to meet toxic masculinity standards, and the emphasis of being a freak that made him fall for Bill. Now that's emotionally negatively charged for a fucking nightmare.

Like. Fuck. What are you attracted too? The being that I thought was a god of pure knowledge and thought that strung me along like a fish on line with bait of knowledge and companionship, and I ate that bait, hook, line, and sinker, so deep within my belly I fell in love with him; the being that betrayed me, that wants to destroy my world and used me to do it. The being I shouldn't even love in the first place, because you're supposed to love what's normal, but I've never been able to do that as a freak show. The being I've spent half my life hunting down to kill. And now here I am, with this fucking mess of my own making, after threats and torture and the world ending, and some small fucking part of me still loves him.

So, yeah. I don't think that's just a comedy line. I think that's a line that potentially has way more about Ford's feelings of alienation, of his failure to be attracted to the right person, of guilt and fear around his relationship with Bill, and especially so of others perceiving it.

EDIT (05/01/2025): Also for your consideration, as mentioned in the tags by @vespertin-y and @5p4ced-0ut, these DIRECT QUOTES BY FORD IN TBOB. ABOUT WHY ONE WOULD MAKE A DEAL WITH BILL.

All the scenarios listed by Ford apply to himself;

You're at a desperate low? Failing to find, or prove the universal weirdness theorum; but really, truly beneath that, being basically completely alone for all the years since college, and being desperately lonely and seeking affection and acceptance.

Lost something dear to you? A bit more abstract, but Ford's alone, and he's alone because he chose to lose Stan, to seek acceptance through academic achievement. And it's his loneliness that truly drives him to Bill; not academic achievement, even if that's part of the reason. He's trying to fill that void of love and acceptance thats been there since Stan left. That's something that's dear to him that he's lost. Although it could also just be a nod to Bill's magic, in that he can use it to fulfill things.

Throes of all-consuming monomaniacal ambition? Do I need to say anything about this? Ford caused the apocalypse (partly) out of his ambition.

Now of course these all lead up to the very last one: or perhaps you're just attracted to things that hurt you? This heavily implies Ford's felt, as I outlined above, some sort of attraction to Bill.

It's also a strong thing to say about their relationship. What's interesting about this one, is that at the beginning, their relationship wasn't a painful relationship for Ford; codependent as fuck, sure, but no one was actively hurting the other. It wasn't until they began to become jealous and petty with each other when Fiddleford began working that there is resentment and emotional pain, and then there's the big reveal, and all there is of their relationship for Ford is emotional pain and betrayal. In that manner, he wasn't originally attracted to Bill because of masochism in the literal sense; but rather due to rather an attraction built on genuine connection and companionship that ultimately ended horribly.

So basically, the 'attracted to someone that hurts you', is another line that falls under the heavy implication that Ford felt some sort of attraction to Bill; and that Ford struggles with shame and guilt around his attraction to Bill, especially as the comment is actually a lie (a common abuse victim lie) that minimizes their relationship, especially from Bill's side.

But he still says the sentence. So why is he lying/believing he's telling the truth? That comes down to what he's trying to diminish, and the guilt he has around attraction. The sentence, written of course post series when Ford is deeply jaded about Bill and his relationship, is written in a deeply bitter way. And it's a very self-directedly bitter way! Of course the being I fall in love with ends up betraying and hurting me; I never can do anything correctly. By saying that 'he's attracted to pain', he implicitly within the statement blames himself for the abuse, construing it as some way inevitable that this would occur due to his 'wrong' nature, especially around attraction as evident above. This self-blame and 'inevitability' is actually common to those who have low self-esteem and are victims of abuse, which Ford is. Ford already is shown to feel guilt and shame around his attraction to Bill for various reasons, such as the failure to be attracted to the right being, and doubly so with it ending up being an abusive relationship. This self-blame of 'i'm attracted to pain' denies that Ford was seeking genuine connection, and found it in Bill; it construes Bill as always having hurt Ford. Which is untrue! But this does function as a way to suppresses Ford's possible remaining positive emotions he has around Bill (by demonizing him as something horrible, understandable as he's been trying to kill him for 30 years) and also provides Ford an illusion of power over the situation; of course I had and remained in a relationship with Bill because I enjoy pain. It's easier to say (and delude yourself you like it, and you abuser may even encourage that, to avoid the pain) then admit you don't know how to escape, or fear escaping. And I think Ford did just that.

(Also, side note: What's also a kicker is that we are creatures of habit. So relationship dynamics we grow up in, are often ones we tend re-create later in life, because those are dynamics we are comfortable in, even if they are terrible dynamics. But that doesn't mean that it will always, nor have to be recreated. In some way, Ford did this; he recreated a dynamic from his father, in always looking up to Bill, and requiring praise from him to support his self esteem.)

Also, contextually, this negative recount of Bill makes sense as it's functioning as a warning for the reader within the page; informing the reader that no matter what, Bill will hurt you if you make a deal. This embarrassment and shame about Bill is contrary to some readings, in which Ford confesses to having cared about Bill; but this page is early in TBOB! It's before the pages all the rest of the family put in; it's possible this page was added 'before' the rest of the family read TBOB and Ford comes to acceptance with his feelings around Bill.

[oimitocat]

IF I TOUCH YA… | OS

༘۠ anton x m!reader

༘۠ nonidol! au + swimmer!anton + swimmer!reader + rivals with benefits + angst + nsfw + shower sex + technically public sex

༘۠ a/n: i’m still new to riize, please spare me. i’m sorry if this suck, i’m literally trying to get back into my writing mojo. [i’m trying because shotaro and sungchan redebuted ;( ] angst cus i LOVE angst ;)

“DAMNIT!” you growl, slamming your fist against the shower door.

anton, anton, anton.

that’s the only thing— the only name bouncing around your head. the (beautiful) idiot beat you by a—

“SECOND. A FUCKING SECOND!” you fume, the hot water running down your back doesn’t help, the steam giving you comedic energy with your emotions.

it’s a reoccurring situation, you beat him one day, he beats you another day. yet this whole week he’s been beating you by mere seconds.

“n/n…” his soft voice comes out from outside the shower stall.

“what.” you grunt, angrily scrubbing the shampoo in your hair.

you know he’s standing outside, fidgeting. what you don’t know is how fast his heart is racing, how anxious he is at the sound of you being so angry. he knows you’re competitive, he is too, yet he had always hoped it wouldn’t affect the friendship or companionship he was trying to have with you.

“the hell do you want, lee?”

he takes a deep breath, glancing back at the shower room door. almost everyone had left, except the coach which said he’ll go to his office and watch his anime.

“are you going to sulk like a sore loser or go home de-stressed?”

he jolts when your door flies open with a slam. you’re glaring at him but his eyes fly down, below your hips. he’s not hiding anything, why would he? he came inside the shower room with purpose, no towel on with purpose.

“so that wasn’t a one time thing?” you question, raising a brow.

he hesitates, looking around and playing innocent. “did you want it to?”

he gasps when you yank him by the wrist. he’s genuinely surprised at how fast you accepted the invitation, he thought you’d put up more of a fight but no, clearly you wanted your vengeance. he almost pushes you away, but your lips on his is just a beautiful feeling. this is the only time you actually give him something other than a glare or competitive comments. he’s all bark no bite, this is exactly how you two tangoed the first time, except that time you only took a blowjob from him.

left his throat sore and his tongue felt heavy during the entirety of the next day, the ghost of your dick in his mouth there.

he’s not a virgin, by no means, but he’s never done something this crazy. fucking in the shower room? what if someone forgot their shampoo or something and tries to come in? what if their coach decided to do his job and actually check up on you two for once?

you grip his hips, pushing him against the stall wall, the water still running. your lips are over his neck, nipping and kissing. he gets lost in that sensation, his hands coming up to mess with your wet hair.

your body is hot, the water burning your skin. he’s not a hot shower person, so apart from him already feeling sweaty in your hands, the steam isn’t helping with his libido. he tugs at your hair when you trail down his chest and stomach. his hips twitch forward as you go lower. he’s so hard it’s embarrassing.

“don’t look at me as if i’d help you with it.”

and you embarrass him. of course you do.

“you clean?” you ask as you come back up and eye his plush, wet lips.

his eyes are naturally doe, you almost find it cute. (who are you kidding, it absolutely is. you wanna to destroy him, corrupt him so bad).

“yeah,” his voice is always soft, yet you fell in love with how hoarse and raspy you can make it sound.

“fine, let me show you how much you piss me off,” you growl, placing your hands behind his thighs and swooping him up in one swift movement.

you grunt, forgetting how tall and built this boy is. he cling to you out of fear, his heart racing. this is new to him and doing it with you just brings out a rush he never new he’d experience. yet, despite the arousal and sexual hunger, he eyes you with a hint of perplexion. are you joking? you don’t actually get pissed off at him, right? but of what? him beating you lately or his existence in general?

he can’t ponder about it for more than a mere second before your fingers spread his cheeks apart. he hooks his ankles behind you, securing himself in your hold as you push in. you make a small, almost silent noise when your tip pushes the moist gland.

“h-hold on, grab me right,” he gasps as his arms wrap around your neck again.

“this isn’t easy, idiot,” you huff, “you’re not exactly small or light.”

he closes his eyes when some water drips from the top of his head. yet, when he feels you thrust he snaps them open and gasps.

“fuck, you’re so warm,” you grunt, pulling him down by the hips to slam into him.

it’s taking everything in you to hoist him up and move him. a hardcore arm workout, but one you know you’ll enjoy. you place a soft kiss, contrasting your brutal movements, onto his wet skin, making him moan— his neck is sensitive to kisses. especially with how wet and hot yours are.

from the rush in the moment, you build the pace and stamina to fuck him into the wall. his arms tighten around you, his airy moans echoing softly. he’s trying to be silent just in case, or at least you think. is he always this soft voiced? you grin— could you make him get loud?

you pull out entirely before slamming back inside. his breath hitches and his eyes snap open again.

“ah- oh fuck-!” he squeaks as you slam him down onto you.

his dick flops uselessly between the two of you. your fingers dig into the softness of his flesh in his ass, nails digging into him. you’ll leave marks, he knows it. yet, that’s what he’s hoping for, because where you’ll look at him nasty for doing the drills perfectly or getting praised for his renewed charts , he’ll know those marks happened when you looked at him with something other than hate.

you aim like you’re on a mission, which you are. the wet sound of skin against skin bounces around the shower walls. the running water isn’t loud enough anymore— you’re grunting as you chase your high and anton is letting out high pitched whines.

he presses his cheek against the side of your face. you feel so good, he can feel you splitting him open. he can feel the warmth of your dick inside his equally warm walls.

“y-y/n, you feel so good,” he pants out. “guess you’re good at something.”

fuck. that literally pissed you off. like, maybe not exactly in a way where his words irked you, but in the sense that it drove you to keep proving him right since he clearly wants to be right.

he grunts and moans when you get brutal. you’re growling and digging your nails into his skin.

“ah, ah,” his thighs twitch around your waist, a clear sign he’s getting close and sensitive.

you let out heavy breaths, a gruttal moan leaves your throat as you feel your climax building.

“imagine coach comes in here and sees his best swimmer getting fucked like a slut,” you cackle between your grunts. you feels his hole clench around you and you can’t help but feel amused at that. “you wanna get caught being a slut? what would the school think?” his breathing turns more erratic, “what would your daddy think?”

“fuck- y/n stop,” he tries but you just feel so good slamming into him that he just sounds stupid.

“the district stars fucking in the shower rooms, what a header,” you grin as you push your hips flush into his reddened ass cheeks, spilling deep into him.

he shudders, your warm seed sending him over the edge. he can’t even bask in the post-orgasm for a second because you pull out and set him back on his feet. you feel the pull in your shoulder blades, this is going to be embedded in your muscles for a while. yet you don’t find yourself showing any shred of care for him when you notice how wobbly his legs are.

“just watch, i’ll make sure you become a good fuck more than a good swimmer, lee.” you grunt, stepping out of the shower stall while glaring at him.

his heart aches, but he just throws you a lazy, lustful smile. because he knows that as long as he beats you, you’ll take out your anger on him.

and that would mean he’ll mean something to you. one way or another.

[venomous-qwille]

Elias // Ghost in the Machine

Just realised I never posted this bad boy here! Here is how I imagine Elias Aaberg, one of the reoccurring human characters from GITM.

[cinni-k]

Sorry I have to be actively abnormal about this poll or I'll die. Vote for Dad Puckett and Do Not vote for Vergilius or I'll kill you

Reasons to vote for Dad Puckett:

He's got that pathetic boy hotness

I got my bisexual friend's opinion on the matter and he's been rated hot. Even if you are a Limbus fan there's no way you can't understand the pathetic man swagger. I've seen Gregor.

2. Bearer of whimsy

I could make a whole compilation his silliness if I wanted to but I wanna finish this post today instead of getting distracted rereading all of Paranatural. While this whimsy makes Dad Puckett generally more enjoyable, in terms of fuckability as this is the DILF poll, Dad Puckett gets 700 points whereas Vergilius is such a mean, pathetic wet rat that I think is genuinely unfuckable. I think he's too pathetic to have a good time. Have you seen the bad bitch Peter scored? He's obviously winning.

3. Cooler Dad

Yeah I know Vergilius has a sad boy backstory or whatever but he never went back to that orphanage after that incident even though it wasn't his fault. Peter's wife is implied to have died in a fire, which is horrific, and you know what he didn't do? Abandon his kids. Dad Puckett was there when his son started seeing ghosts and shit and offered support even though he couldn't tell what was going on. Vergilius needed one of those orphans to come and grab him when they kept getting kidnapped and experimented on. Dad Puckett would never.

4. Sex: Dad

Need I say more

Propaganda below the cut!

Peter Puckett

I haven't finished paranatural as of submitting him, but he seems great. His life's dream is to own a convenience store. He loses 2 games of monopoly in 5 minutes by trying to buid a tower worthy of his power. He plays swords with his kids. When one of his kids wants to visit they're old town he plans the trip in like a day no questions asked. He's a cringefail man with a heart of gold.

hot single widower dad in your area. doesn't know that his son is a weird psychic, but knows he would still love his son if he was a weird psychic. once squeezed pizza grease into his daughter's cup of soda.

Vergilius

ok he's scary but he is so dad-coded. kind of sharp-tongued and emotionally distant but he has a soft spot for the bus driver. basically his daughter atp. in chapter one of "leviathan" he goes to visit an orphanage on christmas in a santa hat. he keeps a photo of the orphanage kids in his pocket even after the orphanage was destroyed..

he counts as a dilf because he volunteered at an orphanage <3 looks miserable but kids love him he looks like shit and i’m madly in love with him he looks like he stood in the rain for 4 hours straight he’s my wife my girlfriend my babygirl skrunkly mipy blorbo (he’s killed hundreds of people)

[harridansibyl]

Personal associations/interpretations of the dark/mystical houses (4th, 6th, 8th, 12th)

4th house

twisted tree roots, cultural practices, heirlooms, photo albums, inherited features, traditions, the mother, past lives, generational trauma, picture books, garden beds, childhood homes, ancestor altars, hand written recipe books, hearth, squeaky wooden floorboards, genealogy archives, caves, oak trees, baby wrap carriers, emotional security, cultural heritage, building foundations, photo albums, genetics, laundry lines, swing sets, property, mines, crops, sanctuaries, the chest and heart, home steads, fields, farms, root cellars, harvests, pots on stoves, brooms, backyards, agriculture, vines on trellises, handmade blankets, grandparents house, laundry baskets, attachment styles, singing lullabies, history, deep emotions, instincts, the unconscious, summer, waxing moon, vase of flowers, bath time, picking berries, celebrating holidays, chicken coops, older sisters, family gatherings, stone paths, forest walks, ancient structures/buildings, ancestral languages, cupboards, staying in

6th house

vitamins and supplements, morning routines, pharmacies, tasks and lists, doctors offices, health food stores, stomach medicine, hygiene practices, journals and planners, schedules, herbal teas, personal rituals, emergency kits, dog walks, lymphatic drainage, caregiving, donating blood, examinations and checkups, meditation, colour coordination, sticky notes, gastrointestinal problems, folded laundry, labels on everything, retirement homes, hand washing, braided hair, herb gardens, filing cabinets, face masks, kombucha, detailed diagrams, volunteer work, medicine cabinets, cleaning supplies, shelves, acts of service, skin care, organic linen, gauze and stitches, stress-induced illnesses, essential oil/herb baths, house plants, instructions, repetition, holistic medicine, giving advice, yoga studios, "gut feeling," bone broth

8th house

altars, divination, near death experiences, candle wax, feeling crushed by a heavy weight, grave dirt, red/dim lighting, funerals, double income, control, the underworld, cheques, insurance, heirlooms, ghost sightings, power imbalances, crime documentaries, ouroboros, bank accounts, grief and loss, shadow work, the womb, manipulation, scrying mirrors, Russian nesting dolls, keys, mortuaries, tests from the universe, pendulums, crime scene tape, the phoenix, projections, credit scores, animal bones on a forest floor, blood stained sheets, metaphysical shops, spiritual attacks, deep emotions, snakes, dead flowers, late autumn, wedding veils, envelopes, full moon, muddy boots, shadows at the corners of your vision, scarab beetles, inner processing, experiencing crisis, inherited possessions, natural disasters, sexual trauma, psychological studies, ancestral connections, cracked dolls, veil between realms, mental illnesses, deep connections, intimacy, reincarnation, torture devices, keys, whirlpools, the sound of sirens, unconscious fears, intense first impressions, pushing limits, feeling bound, scratches on walls, ten of swords

12th house

abandoned places, liminal spaces, long winters, shadowy figures, reoccurring dreams, repeated patterns, fog-filled forests, self analysation, inner worlds, cave systems, unfinished basements, hallucinations, solitary confinement, empty parking garages, spiral staircases, substance abuse, trapped in purgatory, hidden beneath the surface, maladaptive daydreaming, hospital hallways, confines of society, waning moon, moths, wandering aimlessly, disconnection from the world, psych wards, healing others, tired eyes or dark circles, chronic mental illness, suppression, addictions, hiding places, overnight shifts, unexplainable experiences, past life karma, exhaustion, cobwebs, others projections, catacombs, bird cages, premonitions in dreams, prescription bottles, self destructive patterns, late night walks, misty lakes, the feeling of walking out of the movie theater at night, identity crises, blurred faces, empty public transport, astral projection, comas, diary entries, dissociative episodes, shape shifting, generational trauma, observing people, mirrors, padded rooms, the afterlife, chain link fences, paradoxes, feeling misunderstood, repression or memory loss, hikikomori, the freeze response, disappearance, waiting rooms

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"You hate me right now, don't you?" The villain's breath tickled the hero's neck cruelly and with their hand on the hero's waist, the hero was quite aware that any sudden movements would stir up the entire railway carriage.

They preferred to avoid fights in public. Especially when the space was this limited, especially when the villain could obliterate every single person in here within seconds. The hero counted at least five children within this horribly crowded mess and suddenly, the hair on the exhausted hero's neck stood up. Their eyes widened.

God, the villain was cruel.

The hero didn't even dare to breathe. Pearls of sweat rolled down their neck.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the hero whispered. They leaned against the villain and lowered their voice. Concentrate. Don't provoke. "But I'll admit, I'm honored to be visited by you during the day. On such short notice, too."

The villain had made it a habit to appear and disappear whenever they pleased. But in the middle of the day was rather daring for them. Other people never seemed to notice them or the villain was able to manipulate other people's minds to delete themselves from their memories. The hero didn't know. There was a lot the hero didn't know about the villain. A lot of unanswered questioned that begged to be answered.

"Surely you're aware by now that flattery doesn't really work on me," the villain said. Their hand moved up the hero's side, their fingers running along the hero's arm until they found their hand. Fingers intertwined. "I am not searching for any kind of validation, not even from you. So. Answer me, please."

The hero looked up at them - the villain was unfortunately a little taller now - and their grip tightened around the metallic pole they were holding onto. The movements of the subway made them sway and there were people everywhere around them, so bumping into the villain involuntarily was unavoidable.

"I'm actually...pretty tired" the hero whispered. Kind of a lie. Kind of the truth. Right now, the hero's entire nervous system was working at full blast. But in general, the hero was very tired. "I don't have enough energy in me to be mad at you. If that makes sense."

"Oh, poor hero," the villain mumbled mockingly. They pressed a soft kiss to the hero's forehead. "Embarrassing you in public isn't fun when you don't care."

It had been cartoonishly embarrassing, but the hero didn't dare to admit that.

"I..."

"I feel almost disrespected," the villain said. They shrugged and looked around the railway carriage. "And kind of bored if I am being totally honest."

The hero could deal with a disappointed villain, even with an angry one. But a bored villain?

The subway came to a screeching halt and the hero felt like throwing up when they looked at the playful smirk on the villain's face. Just thinking about the windows and the floor being painted with blood made them feel uneasy. Everyone's life in here depended on the hero's actions. On their words.

"Uhm...let's take this outside, alright?" the hero asked. Minimise casualties. Protect civilians at all costs.

"Nah, not my stop. And if I'm not being mistaken, this isn't your stop either."

The hero took in a deep breath, tried to steady their voice. When it came to the villain, they had made a lot of mistakes in the past. The hero avoided thinking about that. About the past, about their childhood. They had been friends once, they had planned a future together.

Now, that future they had dreamed of was different. They still had each other, somehow. But it wasn't the same. It wasn't what the hero had wanted.

Now, they were like the other's taunting shadow. Or at least, that was exactly what the villain was to them. A reoccurring reminder of all the hero's failures. Their own personal demonic ghost of a dream they had woken up from too soon.

The villain was cruel and punished them for what the hero had done to them. Or what they believed the hero had done to them.

Either way, the hatred and the pain had grown ugly over the years and the hero found themselves longing for those simpler days all those years ago. Letting go of everything was easier said than done.

Letting go of the ugly parts? The parts where they'd been cursed, the parts where they had been wronged? That was easy.

Letting go of the sweet parts? Summers spent outside, drawing the house they wanted to live in together, the pets they wanted to have, showing weird rocks to each other, going swimming in the lake together, eating until they were passing out, falling asleep on the couch together. The innocent days of childhood?

That was completely different.

"I don't hate you," the hero said. "I'm not mad at you for tying me up and dropping me off at the police station, I don't want to kill you, I don't want to provoke you, I...actually..."

They looked up at the villain and frowned slightly. The villain's features were sharper now and little was left of their round face and their big eyes. Weirdly, the villain was the only person who seemed to change the world around them more than the world was changing them.

Somehow, everything mirrored the villain instead of the villain mirroring the world.

The hero sighed and rose to their tip-toes.

And then, they kissed the villain softly.

The villain disappeared immediately, vanishing as quickly as they had shown up and the hero was alone once again.

However, the feeling of the villain's lips against theirs still lingered, compressed their soul. It hadn't been more than a few milliseconds, but it was all the hero could think about all week.