#Harold the Kitchen Ghost

[blackhayete]

Never forget the time I was at work and told the new girl the rules about our Kitchen Ghost and she looked at me and sneered “ghosts aren’t real”

And then Harold The Kitchen Ghost, who is very real, went “bet”

#ghost #kitchen ghosts #he was a cool dude #for a ghost #ask me and I will absolutely tell what happened. #Harold the Kitchen Ghost

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Words: 3760 (chapter 48)

'screw valentine's day, i want what they have'

but anyway, you're welcome ☺ thoughts, comments are always appreciated <3

48. this might've been just a dream, right?

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He says again, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Robert? What are you doing here?" You manage to say, feeling as if your whole body has gone numb. The kitchen almost starts spinning, and you feel your blood begin to boil.

"I invited Rob, he's a part of the family." Your father says, leaving Matt alone, and comes to stand next to Robert in the kitchen. Rob. Fucking Rob. Now it was only you against them both. Exactly the way it always has been.

"Aren't you going to introduce us, y/n?" Robert asks, eyes targeting Matt, his voice as sweet as honey. You're not gonna get the authority in this house, and he knows it all too well.

"Yeah, that's Matthew Murdock. My boss." You smile wickedly, watching everyone's eyes widen. "Murdock as in Nelson and Murdock attorneys office."

Matt tries to read the room, waiting for somebody to snap, but Robert only shakes his hand, obviously swallowing some other words.

"Your boss? Y/n, what-" your mother begins, but a single glare from your dad is enough to shut her up. The atmosphere changes immediately, and Matt feels like an outsider, as if he himself was sitting as a spectator in a courtroom, a mere watcher with no real influence on the Jury's final decision.

"I'm sorry, mind if I have a few words with my daughter?" Your father says, walking out of the kitchen, sparing all the pleasantries. He doesn't need to turn back and wait for you because he knows you'll follow.

"Excuse me." You mutter, walking past Matt. He asks for someone to show a way to the bathroom, so he could listen to you and your father talk without completely blanking out in front of others. It was unfair, cheating, using his powers for not a great cause, but he just couldn't be left out in a new environment. Not when it was you and him against the world.

"What? What boss? Mind explaining something to your father?" Harold closes the doors of his bedroom, not shouting or smashing things. But this calmness was always scarier than anger.

"What's there to explain? I work elsewhere now." You sit on the bed, unfazed.

"How long?"

"Two months or so."

"Why?" Yeah, this was the spitting image of a police interrogation.

"I got tired of kissing asses, especially Benowitz's." You simply shrug, holding strong eye contact.

"You had the world under your feet there and left for what? What does he even pay you?" Apparently one look was enough to crack Matt's character and social status.

"Not nearly enough, but I don't really care about money." A steady heartbeat.

"If you think that leaving Benowitz was a great idea, you're very wrong, kid. He's gonna crush that office of yours like a boot crushes an ant." Harold's voice was still unbelievably calm. Matt sits on the closed toilet seat to listen better. "What went wrong? You liked working there."

"He wanted me to give a false statement to the Jury. I refused."

"That's it?"

"Yes." Your heart skips a beat; but you don't desire explaining every 'silly' thing that lead to your resignation. Not now.

He scoffs and a thunder-like laugh leaves his chest. "Honey, if you think that everyone who works as a lawyer is a saint, then you still don't know shit about the world."

"If you thought I was gonna let a guilty party walk freely among everyone else, then you're..." Insane. Stupid. "Wrong."

"But it's not that, is it?"

Matt stiffens, trying to locate your heartbeat again.

"It's... Love, right?" Harold asks again, noticing your pink cheeks. He could always read you like an open book. "Oh, what have I told you after the last time?" A heavy sigh escapes him.

You break the eye contact with him, looking at your feet. The mattress next to you dips, and your face is pulled into your dad's chest. "I know. But it's different. It won't be like the last time." You whisper, your shoulders rigid and unable to release the tension. 

"I want to believe it. But I have a feeling that this time it will be worse."

"No, I promise."

"You don't have to promise me anything. Promise to yourself." He rubs your shoulder with the free hand, thinking over his next words. "Listen, I know that it never worked out with Robert... Although I really wish it did. But I'm not gonna press you this time."

"Who are you and what did you do to my father?" You pull away to look him in the eyes and he wipes the tears from your face.

"I want what's best for my only daughter."

Matt furrows his eyebrows. So many questions and no answers. He understood that the past is better left behind, but not knowing a lot about you was frustrating. 

*** 

The dinner was nice. Apart from the occasional glares thrown at you and Matt from one of the three. You sat next to Matt, who was seated right across Robert, next to your father, facing you, and your mother by his side. Robert was acting like a real man should - he listened, asked questions, commented something on the game that was shown on TV; to a mere watcher, it would've looked like Robert and Matt got along just perfectly. But the tension was hanging thickly around them, as you suspected it would.

Your father was mostly silent, but when he talked, he only asked questions. Questions you didn't particularly enjoy. When you told him about the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, now crowned as Daredevil, about how the whole gang of Nelson and Murdock put the city's biggest criminal behind the bars and accidentally let it slip that you've been poisoned, your father almost choked on the apple pie. Of course, the lecture about being more cautious was inevitable, even in front of a guest, but when Matt placed his warm hand on your knee for reassurance, you felt grateful to have him here with you. 

"Do you agree with this devil, Matthew?" Your mother asks, pouring herself a glass of water. You notice her hands slightly shaking. Obviously, no mother wants to hear about their child getting hurt; not even when that child is a 30-year-old lawyer.

"As a lawyer - no." Matt's voice is firm, he doesn't stutter like he did when Karen asked his opinion about the vigilante for the first time, although it wasn't nice to lie about himself. "As a citizen, a blind one too, I think he's doing a lot more good than wrong. I mean, he has saved y/n, and our secretary, more than once."

"By disobeying and breaking multiple rules." Robert speaks from behind a cup, sending you 'is this guy serious' look.

"Well, you can't have something good without a bit of bad." Matt responds, and you bite away a grin, giving Robert a glare back. 

"Sounds a lot like church teaching." 

"Well, I am catholic." Matt answers to Robert.

"So as a catholic, you believe in his doings?" Your mother asks again. The question hangs in the air for a while, accompanied by the sound of intense commentating on TV.

"Please, let's not involve religion at this table." You groan slightly. 

"No, I wanna hear his opinion." You look at Robert threateningly, but he avoids your eyes. 

"Yeah, I mean... He's not killing people... From what I've heard. Just... Beats them up and gives them to police."

"So what you're saying..." your father clears his throat, "is that police are not capable of dealing with the criminals... and they need another criminal to help them?"

Ah, the police way of talking. You knew this was coming sooner or later. Maybe bringing Matt here was a mistake.

"I usually don't doubt honest work of police officers but-"

"Fisk had at least half of the precinct paid off. I saw FBI arresting them." You help Matt, suddenly feeling the need to defend him from your family's sharp words. You two against the whole world.

"All the good men then left, I see." Harold clears his throat again, this time more embarrassed than confident, "when I was Chief Officer, anyone who was bribed was kicked out of the force... by me. Personally. I guess a lot has changed, in almost ten years."

"Why did you leave the force?" Matt risks a lot with this question, and suddenly everyone at the table tense. You gulp loudly beside Matt, panic evident in your eyes when they meet your father's tired ones. Your mother focuses on the glass of water in her hand, not making eye contact with anyone. Robert notices your eyebrow slightly twitching when you look at Camilla, something about your face now was different; you looked paler, more tired, as if these were your last moments on Earth. He knew some of it, the story, the real reason, but after the time when he asked for more details and was met with your furious father, he didn't dare to look for more details anymore. What he knew, was half of the truth, and frankly, it was enough for him. It was the same for your mother, yet she learned to be humble and silent about it. 

The question hangs heavily in the air, until your father replies, "Uh, just encountered some personal... Health problems."

He's lying. Too obvious for someone who previously worked in the force. Harold's heartbeat is all over the place, loudly pounding in Matt's ears. As is yours. Something about this was not right, suspicious.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Matt sends a small apologetic smile towards your dad, his hand finding your knee under the table again. You almost flinch, but then quickly cover it up with a cough. Your skin somehow feels both hot and cold at the same time, and Matt feels the sudden tensing of your body. "If you were still a captain, none of that mess with Fisk would've ever happened." 

"Don't be so sure, Matthew." Harold's voice is low, with a note of regret, "from what I've heard now, he's worked hard in the shadows to lure powerful people and built his empire from scratch. A man like this is very dangerous and hard to capture."

"But not impossible." Matt strives to bring positivity back on the table, but this appears to be impossible.

"Matthew, take no offense, but you're too catholic for your own good." Harold answers, and you know that this is his final word in this talk.

The men return from the backyard, and you can only guess what they talked about the whole time they were gone. You pass Matt in the corridor, grazing his hand with your fingers as you go and make way towards the bathroom to wash your face. A minute later, someone slips inside, and you think that it's Matt, but when you lift your head to grab a towel, you see Robert standing in the middle of the bathroom, his arms crossed on his chest. 

***

You help your mother get the guest room ready, exchanging only few words. She likes Matt, admits it herself, but doesn't dare to comment anything else. Mother's intuition was telling her that you didn't bring Matt here to simply make a blind man's lonely holiday better, perhaps you wanted to introduce him as your boyfriend, but didn't dare to do so when Robert was in the house. She also liked Robert, he was almost like a son to her, visiting them ocassionally since highschool, he wasn't a rare sight in this house, but... Maybe it was time to move on. For everyone. Camilla knew that if Robert continues coming here, you'll become a rare sight. In her heart, she wanted what's best for you, her dearest daughter, but she also knew about your tough character and how easily you can break apart when you're hurt.

"Occupied." 

"Well, then you should've locked the door." His voice is nonchalant, you notice that he's already changed his clothes, ditched the long sleeved shirt for an old police academy t-shirt. He looks as if he was trying to flex his biceps in front of you, but the thought of that makes you grin. Matt definitely had a stronger body than this Sheriff wannabe.

"Not my fault that there's an idiot in the house."

"Classic y/n." He scoffs, leaning on the door with his whole back. "So, this guy, a new toy of yours?"

"Do I hear jealousy, Robert?"

He ignores your question, going on a ramble, "see, this is why some people think of you as a whore, going around, playing men and then leaving them when you get bored. Even at the dinner table you two can't keep your hands to youself, huh? Are you two fucking?"

"I fuck whomever I want. And it's no concern of yours." You say, leaning on the sink.

"Have you forgotten about us? How good it felt when we were together?" He says, his back still pressed against the bathroom door, keeping the maximum distance in the small space.

"Maybe it felt good for you, but you've never even bothered to ask if it felt good for me." You bite, watching his eyes widen in shock... Or shame.

"Oh please, if someone had heard us, they would've thought that I was the best man on the planet with the way you were screaming."

"Maybe I was screaming because I disliked it? How can you know when you've always turned away to sleep or left after you were done rutting your dick into me?" You wave your hands in front of you in a dirty gesture, noticing Robert's clenched jaw.

"He's gonna break your heart. Like you did mine. I just hope the pain is even worse for you than it was for me."

"I broke your heart? Please." You scoff, crossing your arms, "when I told you about my problem, you basically vanished."

"I needed some time to think, but I still wanted you. I still do." His voice is desperate and it makes you sick.

"Oh, save it for some other poor soul, you just wanted to get me pregnant but when the doctors said that it's impossible, you threw me away like a dirty rag. That's all you wanted - to have nice little children, and not because you loved me, but because you were so obsessed with my father that you wanted a connection between the two of you!" Your voice gets louder and Robert glances at the door nervously.

"I don't need any children to have a connection with your father. I already have it." He boasts, so sure of his place in this house that if he hated you, he would have the power to banish you from here. But he didn't. Deep in his heart, there we still strong feelings for you.

"Oh, right, I forgot that you are the son he wished to have, and not me, the daughter who's whoring around every man she sees, right?" Your voice is strong, displaying years of suppressed anger and not being loved enough in your own home. "Do you know how hard it was for me to be with you after all that I went through? How your touch made me flinch? And you have the audacity to come here to my parent's house and say that you want me back? Don't you understand the reason I left you the second time?" You desperately grab onto the sink with your palms and take deep breaths.

"You said you were better, how was I supposed to read your goddamn mind?" He shouts, and suddenly you feel like you've travelled back in time, before you were even a lawyer, and were arguing about the same things with Robert.

"I said I was better because I was, the therapy was helping, but I wasn't feeling well with you around. You're just... Too similar to him."

"If you think that I'm similar to that psychopath, you're not better than him yourself."

"You-" you grab a tube of body lotion from the sink and throw it at Robert, hitting him in the chest. "Get out of my sight before I throw something sharper than this fucking lotion!"

"You will fuck this up, whatever you two have going on, it's doomed." He leaves the bathroom, closing the door loudly.

*** 

An hour later you're gently knocking on Matt's door, hoping to disappear from the corridor before Robert or your father see you. Robert was staying in the room next to this, and he could exit any moment. Matt opens quickly, much to your luck, a confused look on his face. Without words, he lets you inside. 

"Wow, that is really dark, I gotta," you walk towards the corner of the room and turn on a lamp. Warm yellow light fills the space, and you notice Matt's slumped shoulders. "What did they even do to you?" You say with a humourless laugh, sitting at the end of the bed. 

"Don't worry, we just chatted. What's up with you?" Matt tries to sound innocent, but he didn't know what to do with the information he overheard. He wanted to hug you, and never let you out of his embrace, but you had to tell everything you told Robert to him yourself.

"You want some?" You say, taking a sip of wine straight from the bottle. He doesn't answer, but sits next to you on the bed. "It's wine."

"Where'd you get that?"

"Stole from my parents. I need it more than they do." You push the bottle into Matt's hands, and watch him drink. "I truly hoped that this could be our escape from the problems and the whole Hell's Kitchen, but... I'm sorry it got ruined. By an obvious somebody." Your voice wavers with anger.

"It's alright. I got to spend more time with you." Matt shrugs, his knee resting against yours. 

"Aren't you just full of positivity?" You smile, honestly, for the first time this evening. "So, how bad are the first impressions?" You drink again, not letting Matt out of your sight. 

"They're good. I think your mom likes me a lot." He smiles, and you fight the urge to put your palm on his cheek. "Robert's not very talkative with me, and your dad... I think he has accepted the fact that Robert's not your boyfriend anymore."

"Ah, you know, Matt, I love your ability to see positive aspects of every shitty situation." You laugh, finally loosening up when the wine kicks in.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday." Matt says, taking a swing from the bottle. The wine is good, not too sweet and just the right amount of sour. "Which day was it?"

"November 13th." You answer, lying on your side with your hand under your head. "I stopped celebrating a long time ago."

Matt drinks some more and puts the bottle away, lying down as well, mirroring you. "Why?"

"Got tired of all the meaningless gifts, and money. I hate when people gift money and say 'go buy whatever you want'. It just completely loses the whole birthday meaning. A gift should be something that screams 'you're on my mind' or 'this made me think of you' and not 'this is shiny and girly, I hope this will pass as a good gift'." You scoff, "One time Robert gifted me a red lipstick because he liked the color."

"Jesus, really?" Matt can't hold the laugh, and you burst out laughing as well, hiding your face in his chest. When the laughter dies, Matt's hand begins gently stroking your hair, "I would gift you the whole world if I could."

"Lying is a sin, Matthew." You smile, kissing his exposed neck. "You should be very careful with these kinds of statements. Or I might twist them around." 

He lets you kiss his neck, his jaw and his chest, but the uneasiness stirring inside of him doesn't allow Matt to fully focus on you the way he'd want to. "I overheard something... You and Robert were talking." 

The words make you stop and you look at him intently, panic setting in, "what exactly?"

Words get stuck in his throat, and Matt's face becomes red, embarassed. He should've just kept his mouth shut, but of course, the devil had to pull his tongue. "Something about pregnancy. I was just passing by and-"

"Oh, that." You close your eyes, bracing yourself. "I was planning to tell you this some time later. I didn't know how far will we go... Because no woman goes around telling that to the first guy in her bed... But I think you already deserve to know." You pause, feeling your own heart beating loudly in your ears, Matt puts his hand on yours for emotional support. He has heard every single word you and Robert said to each other, but he needed to hear it all from you. "I... I can't have children. I can't get pregnant, and... If you had thoughts about family, now it's perfect time for you to run away."

"I won't leave you, y/n." He squeezes your hand, reassuringly, "I... I don't care. Family, no family, I just want to be with you."

"Just please, don't be disappointed later when that honeymoon phase passes." You sigh.

"I won't. I promise." Matt seals his promise with a kiss, one full of love and adoration.

I love you.

***

The night felt like a fever dream for you and Matt. He kissed you the way he has never kissed anyone; his touch was like fire on your skin, exploring your body like he has already done many times before, but this time it was even more intimate. This wasn't just sex anymore; it was a feeling almost divine, as if your spirits were connecting and merging into one. You gripped the sheets, raked Matt's strong back with your nails, surely leaving long red marks, and welcomed his body weight on yours when you both came from the highest of all the highs - it was divine. When Matt continued to tightly hold your interlocked hands next to your head, and panted hot air into your neck, you didn't expect him to say the next words.

This was beyond the description of 'divine' and all the other words that were used to describe a feeling out of this planet. This was something else, something unreal, a thing one so madly in love longs to hear, dreams, expects and waits for... Yet is never ready when these words are said aloud.

If you didn't have to be quiet, you'd surely would have been laughing into his strong, hairy chest, pressing his body into yours a million times until you wouldn't have been able to move a single muscle. But you couldn't. So you showered Matt with kisses, feeling your lips uncomfortably tingling, and swollen, and told him the same three words back.

It was a fever dream, and you both were sick with the worst disease ever - love.

#matt murdock #marvel daredevil #matt murdock x reader #foggy nelson #bound by law #netflix daredevil #lawyers #matts superhearing complicates things for you #daredevil #marvel #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x you #matthew murdock #human disaster matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x reader

[innytoes]

Chaotic Writing Prompts

Did you seriously eat all my Oreos?

Can I pet your dog?

We do not need that many tiny pumpkins.

Want to help egg my ex’ house?

Can I get a kid’s menu and a rum and coke, please?

At least your hair still looks good.

I’m a real adult, just last week I bought a vegetable.

What do you mean, ‘whoops’?

Get in the fucking blanket fort.

Please stop talking about how you want to bang my dad.

If it helps, this isn’t actually my cat.

This was supposed to be a date?

I have such soft hair and nobody is playing with it!

I’m sorry, what were you saying? I saw a dog and I stopped listening.

I want to sit on their lap and feed them grapes.

Go step on a lego.

Sorry your crotch is bleeding.

Be gay, do crime.

Why am I in your phone as ‘himbo number two’?

Oh no, she’s hot.

Go take a nap and maybe you’ll feel better.

He’s such a nerd.

That’s not a cat it’s an opossum.

Are you crying about dogs on the internet again?

For the love of all that is holy, please go to sleep.

I’m sorry my cat keeps stealing your underwear.

It’s my emotional support Furby.

Why are we running?

Sorry isn’t going to bring back the last slice of cheesecake.

Harold, they’re lesbians.

He knows the names of all my plants, I’m in love.

Are you drunk?

I’m just saying it could be a ghost.

Excuse me, I think you mean I just won a staring contest with a turtle.

I’m not annoyed that’s just my face.

You already did the stupid thing, didn’t you?

She’s so pretty it makes me want to punch myself.

Not today, Satan.

Maybe today, Satan.

It’s a good thing you’re cute.

Want to help me steal the neighbour’s cat?

Bad and naughty children get wrapped up in the blanket burrito for their crimes.

Sorry to text so late, can your dog come over?

You tried, buddy.

Fuck you, I’m a delight.

Why do you need 500 worms-on-a-string?

First of all, no. Second of all, no.

How many cups of coffee have you had?

They’re so small, I can’t protect them.

You know that phrase ‘fuck around, find out’? Well, I fucked around and found out.

You’d marry me if I asked, right?

Don’t worry, I think I have a tumblr mutual in this country that could help us.

I like your stupid face.

Sounds illegal, I’m in.

It’s three in the morning why are you in my kitchen?

Don’t be such a drama llama.

I’m sorry, I wasn’t catcalling you, I was catcalling my buddy.

If we get caught, I’m blaming you.

I regret to inform you that the straights are at it again.

Okay... this looks bad.

I killed you in the Sims, I’m a terrible friend.

Please stop talking.

Why are all my friends so pretty?

Pay attention to me, I’m cute and needy.

“Why is he on the counter?” / “He likes to feel tall.”

I like your shoelaces.

#I made my own prompt list for maximum chaos #feel free to use it #writing prompts #fanfic prompts #ask me #julie and the phantoms #send me a pairing and a number yada yada #yes I am posting these right before bed thank you

[wellgoslowly]

since yall liked part one so much- part two!! of my locklyle fake dating/fake kiss fic mwah ha ha

thanks, you guys for all of the love on the first part!! i decided to feed yall with a little lucy yearning for lockwood and the trio just being chaotic in general plus some lore behind why lockwood and lucy are in the situation from the first part in the first place :) also this probably would take place more in tv canon, about a month after the end of the season

EARLIER THAT DAY - 8 HOURS BEFORE

“Lockwood, there is no possible way that we’re going to be able to get this job done. I have no time to even scratch the surface of this sword’s history- it’s too dangerous!” 

George was fuming. It wasn’t even eight in the morning and the three residents of 35 Portland Row were already gathered in the kitchen, letting soft early morning light filter in through the open window. A breeze blew in, causing George to shiver in annoyance before turning around and stomping upstairs, probably in pursuit of a hoodie to combat the chill. 

Lockwood groaned, running a hand through his hair and running after George. Lucy suppressed a laugh, but she knew that George was right. They were immensely underprepared and unequipped to take on this case, and yet Lockwood had immediately told the client that she could count on Lockwood & Co. to take care of her predicament, much to the disdain of Lucy and George. 

The ‘predicament’ that this client had been experiencing? Extremely dangerous clusters of Type Twos.

Ms. Matilda Motland had inherited an extremely haunted manor belonging to her grandfather, the notorious serial killer Harold Motland. He was known for luring transients, specifically agents traveling to London in search of mainstream agency work, to his estate. There he would either kill them with an old family sword or, when there were enough dead bodies and Visitors that dwelled within the Motland Manor, he would retire the sword and force these young agents to die of ghost touch in an attempt to avert any suspicious looks that might come his way.

His killing spree lasted for almost 40 years and had resulted in twenty three victims killed on the premises, so when the trio of Lockwood & Co. had gone to the manor the previous night to contain the Sources of the twenty three victims, it had proven to be a tense and nearly fatal night.

And it made things so, so much worse that Harold Motland’s Source, the notorious sword he had used to start his killings, the thing that they were truly meant to contain, had been stolen by relic men from right under their noses as they dealt with the ghosts of all of the victims. 

And now Anthony Lockwood, the madman he was, had just told his best friends that he had set up something with Flo for that night which entailed a heist at another auction. Because the last one went so well.

There was yelling coming from upstairs, but Lucy wasn’t really paying attention- she had picked up a pencil and was busy sketching the three residents of 35 Portland Row on the thinking cloth. This is something she did somewhat regularly- it was somewhat cathartic for her, combining her favorite people with her favorite hobby. 

“Do I have to remind you what happened during your last auction heist?” George yelled from upstairs. “George is right!” Lucy yelled, trying to make sure that the boys could hear her. Immediately, she heard George shout “Thank you, Lucy!” at the same time that Lockwood groaned. She chuckled.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, announcing George and Lockwood’s return to the kitchen, Lucy finished up her sketch and strategically laid her elbow on the table, leaning so her body would cover it.

She normally did this- drawing the three of them in random places on the thinking cloth that wouldn’t be seen until she had left or until objects were moved while she wasn’t in the room. This way she could ensure that the boys knew she liked to draw the three of them, rather than doing it for instant praise.

She could always tell if the boys saw the drawings while she was out or not in the room- she would come downstairs to get some tea and George and Lockwood would look up from whatever they were doing to offer her appreciative smiles. 

Lucy Carlyle wasn’t great with words, so she made sure that her actions could show these two idiotic boys she had grown to love that they were her family, and she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“You just had to side with him, didn’t you Luce?” Lockwood asked as he walked back into the kitchen, immediately walking to the counter to put the kettle on. George trailed behind him with a prideful grin on his face, obviously warmer than before due to the help of his oversized hoodie and his slippers. 

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to personally spite you, Lockwood. George is right. We don’t have the time or the resources to pull this off successfully. We were confident that nothing was going to go wrong last time, and it ended up being a shitshow. I say that we let DEPRAC take over this time. I don’t want any of us to end up in the Thames again.” 

George made a noise of agreement from where he sat across the table from Lucy, nodding at Lucy’s suggestion. “Yes, please Lockwood. We can give this to Barnes- you know he’d give us at least a little financial compensation for the lead on the auction.”

Lucy was about to say something in agreement, but her train of thought was interrupted as she felt a nudge on her shoulder. She turned to see Lockwood with a plate of toast, prepared just the way she liked: butter, with a little bit of jelly. She smiled and moved to accept the plate, forgetting the drawing she had been hiding until Lockwood leaned down to inspect it. 

She had never seen him look at one of her drawings while she was in the room, and she didn’t know how to feel. She awaited his feedback with a little bit of anxiety, her eyes seeking out George for some sort of help. He just rolled his eyes and muttered about how Lockwood never prepared him toast, which was a total lie. 

Lucy turned her eyes back to Lockwood’s head, which was now precariously close to her own. Finally, finally, he smiled. It wasn’t one of the cocky grins while out on a job or fighting with Kipps- it was pure appreciation and utter adoration. “Good job, Luce. I think this is my favorite one.” He whispered, and Lucy could feel her face heat up as Lockwood turned away from the table, now on a mission to make George a piece of toast since he so kindly asked for it. 

“Look, everything will be fine. I promise.” He said after a couple of minutes, setting down mugs full of tea in front of Lucy and George, then turning back around to retrieve one for himself. “Flo and I have planned out everything- she’s going to come over to go over the plan.” Lucy was about to speak up, but Lockwood held out a hand to stop her. “Barnes already knows. He’ll be a couple of blocks away in case something goes awry or we need assistance.” 

Lockwood grinned at his friends over the brim of his mug as he took a sip. “Really. We’re going to be fine.” There was banging on the door, and Lockwood jumped up, a grin on his face. “That will be Flo. I’ll go get the door.” Lucy could’ve sworn he seemed almost excited at the idea of possibly dying at the hands of the Winkmans or whoever else might decide that they didn’t like the look of him at this terrifying auction. 

Before leaving the kitchen, he turned back to his friends and chuckled. “It’s Lockwood & Co. What could possibly go wrong?” And then he was gone. 

Lucy and George groaned in unison, the former muttering “famous last words” under her breath. 

#renew lockwood and co #lockwood and co #anthony bloody lockwood #anthony lockwood #lockwood x lucy #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #george karim #locklyle brainrot is real #locklyle #i am a firm believer that locklyle would kiss first discuss feelings later #flo bones #anthony lockwood is an idiot #but i love him so its ok #just reckless enough #fanfic #fanfiction #lockwood and co fanfiction #locklyle fanfiction

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Spectral Perception Masterlist

Short series Masterlist and other goodies I created instead of actually writing part three. I created all of the images included in this post (minus those in the aesthetic collage above) using the Midjourney AI on Discord. If someone steals them, I will cry for a solid hour and then hunt you down with every intention of playing croquet with your severed head. Thanks for reading!

|| Here lies my full Masterlist || Enjoy!

Chapter One: Spectral Perception

You asked for a decent college semester. You got the annoying ghost of an original vampire instead. Could things get any worse?

Chapter Two: Harold of Death

They got worse. A lot worse. Turns out, you may have much bigger problems on your hands than a ghost who eats all your nachos.

Chapter Three: The Night Tourist

They really weren't kidding when they said be careful what you wish for. You had wished for safety and you certainly got it. But man, at what cost?

Musical Vibe: still feel. - by half-alive

Art Gallery:

1. "You scowled, glaring down at the tiles of your kitchen floor. They sparkled and shown. Clean. Immaculate. Kol had done a good job; no one would have ever guessed that a man had bled out on those tiles just last afternoon. You shook your head and decided that those tiles were too damn clean...."

2. "You're an excellent liar, Kol," You said, chuckling as you wiped at the tears that hadn’t stopped streaming down your face since you’d found your father dead. You couldn’t stop them, the tears just kept on coming. "For the life of me, I just can't tell what's real with you."

3. "You could feel the chasm separating the two worlds - an ocean of endless blackness that both isolated and connected not only the world of the living and the Other Side, but every strange and unseen shore of infinite realms yet to be explored. You could sense them out there; the multiverse and all its power and this void that flowed between them. You were one with it..."

4. "The world around you was the same in some aspects. You were standing on your street, in front of your house but that was where the similarities stopped. The sky above was bleak and eerie, the moon hung full and looming in the sky but there were no stars. Everything was blanketed in a thick greenish fog that obscured your vision. You felt isolated and alone in the mist, yet you could feel the eyes of a multitude of ghosts trained on you and it made your skin crawl."

5. (+ 3 Alternates) "You caught sight of the glowing eyes first. They pierced the mist, followed by the massive black bodies that housed them. Horses as black as the night drew behind them an ominous black coach, driven by a driver you knew could only have been stark raving mad. The whip in his hand cracked, driving the horses to scream as they rounded the bend at breakneck speed."

6. “Jump?” He cried, eyes wide as saucers. “In New Orleans? Are you insane?”

“Little bit!”

“The ancestors will catch you!” 

Naturally, you ignored his warning and crossed anyway. The shadows of the French Quarter enveloped you, but the streets were mostly empty now. You kept running, heart racing, legs pumping...

7. (+ Alternate) "A hand caught your wrist and you didn't think. You just screamed... The sound was horrific - an unbearably shrill and positively ear-splitting screech, utterly deafening to all those who could hear it.

“What. Did. You. DO?!”

All four of your assailants once again dropped. Their ears bled. Their noses bled. They coughed up crimson and their eyes cried scarlet tears, but you weren’t done. No. No, they deserved this. They were murderers.

So you kept screaming… and screaming… and screaming.

Two of the vampires stopped moving. Blood dribbled from their mouths and they didn't cough or twitch. You shut your mouth and whipped around to face the remaining two. 

“Where is he?!” You demanded. “Where is he? What did you do? Tell me!”

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson fanfiction #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the originals fan fiction #tvdu #tvd fanfic #vampire diaries fan fiction #fan fiction #fanfic #the vampire diaries #my name is cas and i write stuff #angst and fluff #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol x reader #elijah x reader #kol mikaelson fan fiction #klaus x reader #fluff #fluffy fluff #cuddles #reader insert #banshee reader #funny oc #slightly ooc #but only every now and then #but part one was ooc the whole time so I think yall can forgive me #kol mikaelson x reader

[theburninggalaxy]

hey bitch heard you wanted statements. i was a weird and fucked up child with a weird and fucked up life. i will say tho that these arent like full stories, some of them are longer some of them are shorter. just a general tw for mentions of DV, child neglect, bullying, bugs (infestation), puke, clowns, drowning

- so ive lived in a shit ton of differant houses. most of them falling apart or milatary housing. we get lots of bugs in our house. im deathly terrified of bugs. hate them. they bring diesese and rot and illness. now one day in 8th grade i have to go take out the trash, and throw some cardboard boxes in the garage. so i open the garage, and there are just these black dots flying everywhere. so i throw the cardboard and run. a week later i find fruit flies in the freezer. dead fruit flies. soon we find them in our food. in our vents. no where was safe. they were in my dreams. one night i was puking and sick, i found a dead fly in the vomit. that infestation was the only time there were bugs in our house that werent dead. i still have nightmares.

- i qas never a good swimmer. but my grandmother loved taking me to the pool and my uncle had one. so i went swimming alot. ive nearly drowned nine times. im pretty sure the vast and buried want me dead and gone.

- in sixth grade i wouldnt be able to sleep because i would see a 9 foot tall woman in a gown looming over the foot of my bed

- in elementry school up until 4th grade i would bike to school every day. most of the time it was pitch black in the morning, even though i would leave at 7. multiple times people would try to get me into an alleyway woth them or id see extremely tall people watching me behind electrical poles. i didnt think anything of it at the tome, or when i saw person in my closet.

- i would pick at my skin alot as a kid and i got multiple infections that way. i named them. i have a scar on my arm from harold.

- i would play with spiders and theyre corpses, i would put live spiders in my hair amd carry them around there as a kid.

- my mom thinks imike a chamgeling or something

- my mother used to tell me she thinks im gonna be a serial killer one day

- i woke up one day to find my bedroom door open at 4 am. ny dog was staring into the kitchen from my bed (you can see into the kitchen from my room). i heard drawers ope ing and shutting. i only got a glimpse of what was causing those noises but it was way too tall and had way too many arms to be human. i didnt sleep for the rest of the night

- my mother conviced me im always one step away from fucking losing it. she thought i was schizophrenic, and has tried (and failed) to gaslight me on multiple occasions

- ive seen myltiple ghosts, and nearly died like alot of times

- i would run through the woods pretending a giant monster was chasing me and trying to eat me. a few times ive heard sticks break and leaves crunch behind me while doing that

- you (probably) saw me explain all the stranger and slaughter stuff to you by now

looking back im probably marked by more than seven entities (idk how many this is just the tip of the ice berg) but yeah i was a fucked up kid

That's a lot of events, and especially for the abuse I'm sorry and that shouldn't have happened. Out of curiosity, what entity are you aligned with? /nf

#tw abuse #tw child neglect #tma #tma statements #statement received

[skippyv20]

Slippery fast slide-crash landing coming up!

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim here…can you hear that loud whooosh? Here is come! Swoosh…that was the Harkles as they flew past us on the steep slide down into infamy! We knew it would be bad if they opened Pandora’s Box but hoped there was excellent guidance from the publisher and expensive ghost writer…guess not! Were the editors given the go-ahead from the Firm-knowing this food fight, tit-for tat contest, would NOT be a winner for the whiners?

I wonder if 60 minutes is going to like this unexpected, early reveal before their mighty Anderson Cooper’s big tell all interview this Sunday the 8th-the same day as the book was hitting the stands? OOP$$$

What is a total shame is how Harold never understood how close he was by birth, to the top. He was in position to be the trusted confident and brother of a future ruler, being in the global $potlight for the rest of his life. With a modicum of effort on behalf of the realm, he had it made and the world “really really liked him” to boot. As the beloved uncle he even had a second shot at helping the family rule. I would suffice to say, his mother dreamed that would happen for her boys.

Until he met and was taken over by the rotten grifter/con-artist aka his booty call and her mother-another known snake in the grass-he was seemingly fine with his royal family and affiliations. Then…POOF! Prince William was absolutely right to tell this gate-crashing fake she was causing real harm. He was correct stating that “Meg is difficult, she’s rude, she’s abrasive. She’s been rude to the staff.” RMM IS ALL THAT AND MORE! Absolutely correct to call her out to Harold. Where was her great humanitarian persona to immediately apologize and improve her behavior? Nooowhere in sight.

My family was terrified when my sister and I had the rare, big blow up. I was the only one to stand up to her as she was really good a making the family duck & run, caving to her demands. As her older sister of barely 2 years, we didn’t even understand how close we were, so of course I called her on her games and lies. Batta bing–batta boom…but we always could quickly recover and be our old selves again. That is how siblings really are with heated arguments that blow over. After their confrontation in Harold’s kitchen, PW asked to keep it between them, which was smart. But JH referred to it as an attack he would share with his wife, spelling out he was not trustworthy to even his only brother! I suspect PW would have walked through fire to help him out back then…like I did with my sister. Finally, we siblings realize we are being used with every rescue and must cut ties but it is hard missing someone who was once so close.

Over and out for now from a dreary Cape.

Thank you!  Great post…❤️

[thevillagequeer]

To Loved as Much as You Love is a Gift Part 2

tw: allusions to an eating disorder, restriction, body dysmorphia, depressed character, mentions of substance use

It was Viktor, turns out.  Well, and their sort-of boyfriend whoever...Leo? Harvey? Harold, yeah.  He had some vendetta against them and wanted to use Viktor to get...revenge? Maybe? 

Viktor nearly blew up the moon, Klaus was able to get Ben corporal a couple times...Five was still wearing the Umbrella uniform for some reason...the Academy was gone.  Well, the building was.  And Pogo. And Mom.  Diego was still pretty torn up about that. 

The records on Dave were murky. Klaus had scoured any possible source he could find.  The VA--

Yes, yes, my uncle and I do look remarkably similar.  Share those dashing good looks!Heh.  Why are you here again? This bar is for vets only.  

I'm looking for records on  Sargent Katz.  David Katz.  He was-- a friend of my uncle's.  

the library-- 

It's good you left when you did, Klaus. The Handler….she's tricky.  To be honest, I'm surprised she gave you any warning at all. Must have been sure we all had to be there for the apocalypse to happen....yup.  Same as the last--just the missing persons report.  Maybe she did get him after all…

Five gave Klaus a hug without being asked for the first time when he sank to the dingy public library carpet and folded up, knees to chest, hands clasped to wrists at his shins, like it was his first night in the mausoleum all over again.  

He kept searching with him, though.  It was grueling work, tedious, too. Going through microfilm, newspapers of tiny, nonexistent towns, talking to veterans who wanted nothing to do with a teary eyed man who was perpetually high and who's makeup was perpetually smudged.  After he searched the Dead for Dave--tried his fucking damndest to find him, and ended up with the ghosts of those who'd died on enemy lines back in '68 swarming him for penance that he couldn't give.  So...he'd stopped.  It was a good day if he showered.  Or ate.  Hell, at least booze had calories, but even that felt too heavy. Wow, something has finally turned The Seance from the bottle! Maybe the world really did end...the day Klaus Hargreeves stops drinking...

It was like Klaus a kid again (who was he kidding, this had never left him. Not by his sixteenth birthday or his twenty fifth or at AA or in Saigon), when he knew he could never be the fastest or the strongest, the biggest, or the tallest--so he strived for the only thing he could.  A scrawny kid could fit in vents and be lifted easy enough.  And the smaller he was, the less space he took up.  The less Diego would have to pity, the less Luther would have to yell at.  It had made Grace upset, because she was programmed to be motherly, and it made Reginald upset because it meant he didn't hold up on missions.  Mom's earnest prodding had made him feel a bit guilty, but Klaus would do anything to piss off his father.

Klaus got home to his shitty little apartment Allison paid for and grabbed his stash and grinder before collapsing onto the sagging couch Diego and Luther had dragged in from a Goodwill.  The rest of the place was barely touched.  There was a TV, an unmade bed, blankets and sheets in a loose nest from where Klaus had last tried to sleep (he didn't sleep, but was he really awake either?), and a depressing kitchen consisting of two rectangles of countertop, a leaky sink, yellowing refrigerator, a stove that was four burners to fit one saucepan together, and a jar of peanut butter Klaus used with chocolate chips tossed in with a spoon as lunch.  It wasn't like he had anything to decorate, it had all gotten lost in the...Viktor mess, and he hadn't been living anywhere long enough after he'd left the Academy to accumulate shit he didn't need elsewhere.  

Klaus filled his pipe and lit up, his hands were too shaky and he was too tired to roll anything, watching his reflection in the blank screen of the TV, gripping Dave's dog tags from the chain around his neck, pressing the stamped letters into his palm, like maybe, maybe, if he held it tight enough, for long enough, his name would stay there forever and he wouldn't be alone.  

2/?

Part 1

written in collaboration with @ebloom99

#the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #dave katz

[usstatesguide]

#IFTTT #Blogger

[coy-scouts]

thursday was my birthday. went to 555 and talked and walked around with e. around an hour after class. met with b at small cheval for some bougie burgers, which were absolutely delicious. couldn’t go too hard since b had work the next day and i had to attend prof. k’s class.

i’ve spent almost every weekend with b that it feels like muscle memory now. i slept over at his on the 16th, friday, after picking up some sashimi from joong boo. morning of the 17th, we got brunch at tweet, near his apartment. it’s a pretty ok brunch spot that turns into a gay bar at night. then we headed to get out monkeypox vaccines at lakeview. while we were parked outside the clinic this pedestrian appeared to spray something on the passenger’s door, which bothered me all day, although we didn’t see any residue on the car. we had time to kill before his abc event downtown so we grabbed mojito lattes at philz in lincoln park. the vibes at lincoln park were really bad--just rich white people. he seemed really bummed out, which made me feel bad, as usual, thinking that it was either my fault that he wasn’t happy and/or it was my immediate responsibility to make everything better for him.

we drove downtown for his abc event. i went to the harold washington library, which is the main branch of the chicago public library. it was huge and had a really creepy, liminal space vibe, which i loved but also made me very uncomfortable. i’ll definitely make another visit sometime. we regrouped after his event, and he still seemed really sad. we decided to drive to unique. i ordered bao from this odd super ghost kitchen to-go spot nearby, so we picked those up. he said he wasn’t hungry, but knowing him, i ordered food for two, which we split. 

we went back to his and got high, as usual. we played guitar and sang; he made gyoza, and i cooked the sashimi from last night (it felt right to). the next day, he really wanted to make chicken korma, so we picked up ingredients from shan. i cooked the korma for him and i think i did a really good job. after lunch he started to feel a little sluggish from the vaccine. we both took a nap. i was so feverish when we woke up, but he was feeling better. he had a hang with a.v. and k.j. that night so he drove me home en route. i felt so sick when i got home and decided to order a pizza from jet’s (which took over an hour to get to me!). a.v. and k.j. came from a trip to michigan and brought b home some gummies. on his way back from theirs, he dropped by mine and split them with me.

i was feeling really sick that night. i emailed prof. k preemptively in case i couldn’t make it to class the next day. still felt horrible in the morning, only made worse by my stomach (i guessed it was all the cheese of the pizza)--i emailed prof b. to say i couldn’t make it to class that day either, which was unfortunate since i was up for workshop that week. i ended up being able to zoom into my workshop meeting, so that was ok.

tuesday, sick too--don’t remember much, but i was running out of food so i got myself together and did groceries at tony’s before it closed.

wednesday, made it to prof. k’s class. picked up an inhaler at the pharmacy. prosem is my favorite class, but the vibes were so off that night. j.s. had tested positive the week before and wasn’t in class--neither did m.v. who was traveling, and both of them are big talkers in class. so it was pretty awkward. got dinner with most of the folks afterwards at this deeply meh bar near the school. i swear we have to find better places to get dinner. stayed up late to half-ass half an output for 555.

thursday, went to 555 barely prepared, but prof m.b. is so low-stakes so he said i could turn in my stuff at another time. hung out with e. again after class, just standing outside the building. i don’t really know how to communicate with him (although i’ve said this explicitly) that i’d love to hang out with him after class if he doesn’t have anything that night, since he and i have been talking at least half an hour after class every thursday and walking around. i accompanied him to target since he needed to buy paper towels, and went home. had one of b’s new gummies on the train. floated through that night. p.m. started chatting me up at one point and we started calling on facetime, which, as you might imagine, culminated in jacking off. i’m still not very used to virtual messing around on facetime but p.m. is very silly and gracious about it.

i’m pretty sure i have a little crush on e.: i keep learning so many things about him. but at the same time, he remains such an intriguing enigma. i can’t tell if he likes me, or if i’m being annoying and clingy (to be fair, i am like that to the cohort in general). still can’t tell if he’s queer or not and i wouldn’t be surprised if he was either since he’s given like, so little to work with. it’s like, you kind of expect someone to say something so virulently straight or so obviously gay and he’s done neither. i feel like he and i are both skirting around something. i haven’t mentioned b to him (why?). 

friday, went to campus for prof. b’s class and stuck around to work on 555 stuff, which i didn’t finish. went home and finished work at home. kept trying to get into a text conversation with e., in case he’d be down to hang out the next day.

today, well. today still feels like it’s hinging on that awkward interaction with b. and the fact that i’m not spending tonight at his place. besides that--after feeling like i was constantly pestering e. about hanging out (he replies sparsely--i guess he’s a lot like j.m. when it comes to communication--reminds me a lot of n.s.p. too, which has been eerie) he says he’s free tomorrow afternoon but doesn’t really know where to go or what to do. i’m too drained to think about that right now (i know he’s awake, i could probably just text him), but maybe that will sort itself out tomorrow.

i miss b and i wish we could spend this rainy night together.

#a.v. #k.j. #b. #j.s. #m.v. #e. #p.m. #j.m.

[100yearoldcomics]

June 25, 1922 The Katzenjammer Kids by Harold Knerr

TOP PANEL [ID: Mama Katzenjammer sits on a wooden chair, huffily knitting. A manacle is clamped to her left wrist which is chained up to der Captain's right ankle. Der Captain sits in a chair beside her, looking mournfully out the window at a clipper ship on the sea. The Kids sit to his right, Rosie in between them, also gazing at the ship. /end] Mama: You don't go to Africa mit dem piraters! Not if I know it!

MAIN COMIC [ID: Der Captain talks on a telephone at a small table in a room with an oversized chest in it. The Kids eavesdrop from an open doorway behind him, Rosie stood beneath them. /end] Captain: Say, Chon! Der old lady iss vatching me und I can't get ouid! I hide in der trunk vot iss going avay und ven it iss on der porch, you come und svipe it!

[ID: Der Captain happily opens the chest up and steps into it. /end] Captain: I betcha dey don't make gazabos vot iss foxier as I'm!

[ID: Fritz goes up to the closed chest and locks it with a key. Hans drags another identical chest into the room. /end] Fritz: Oh, brudder, dear! Didn't Mamma say somet'ing about tooking a trunk ouid on der porch? Hans: Chass! Somet'ing like dot! She said you should took a trunk on der porch!

[ID: Fritz bores a hole in the lid of the chest with a hand auger and pours black pepper into it with a funnel. Hans opens the empty chest and places Rosie into it, along with some bricks for weight. /end] Fritz: Ven dere iss lots uf pep in pepper, it keeps der moths out uf der trunk! Hans: I vunder if Der Captain vould gif me a pony on my boithday if I am a good boy?

[ID: Fritz looks out the window at the pirates carrying off the false chest with Rosie inside. Hans pushes der Captain's chest up next to Mama, who's fast asleep on a fainting couch. /end] Mama: Z-z-z-zwe-e-e-z-z-z! Fritz: Oh, look! Der pirates iss sviping der trunk! Captain: KECHOO! Hans: Ooh, Mamma, look vot I got! Ghosts in der trunk!

[ID: Mama wakes up, confused at the sneezing chest. Hans unlocks it with the key. /end] Mama: Vot iss? Captain: KA-CHOWF! Hans: Der trunk iss haunted mit a ghost! Fritz: He got a cold mit sneezes! Mayb he should take some ghost pills!

[ID: Fritz opens the lid, revealing the hidden Captain. Mama glares at him, her hands on her hips. /end] Mama: So! Dot iss der ghost! Und maybe you ain'd trying to sneak der house ouid! Captain: Could you listen chust vunce? Fritz: Give him a chance to spill der story, Mamma! Hans: Begin mit "Vunce upon a time," Captain!

[ID: Mama jumps onto the chest lid and slams it shut. The Kids look on gleefully. /end] Mama: Maybe ven you tell der story inside der trunk, it listens better! Fritz: Dot ain't a bad idea at all, Mamma! Hans: Should ve put some bees in mit him for company?

[ID: At the docks, Long John directs his shipmates to set the chest down. /end] Long John Silver: Avast, heavin', lads! Open her up and let the old boy out! Then all hands on deck for Africa! Sailor #1: Aye, aye, sir! Sailor #2: You're on, sir! Sailor #3: Betcher life, sir!

[ID: The shipmates open the chest and all are shocked as Rosie the bulldog pops out, glaring at John. /end] Long John: Jumpin' gee-whillikins! Somebody's been spoofin' us! Sailor #1: The job's... Sailor #2: ...hashed... Sailor #3: ...again!

[ID: Rosie steals Long John's peg leg and runs off with it in her mouth. He sits on the ground, shaking his fists in anger as the shipmates scurry onboard the awaiting ship. /end] Long John: Come back with me peg or I'll cut the gizzard out of ye! Sailor #1: Curses... Sailor #2: ...on... Sailor #3: ...the luck!

[ID: Rosie runs happily into the kitchen, where Mama sits with the Kids, munching on a pie. /end] Fritz: Ooh, look! Rosie got kindling vood! Captain: Say! Haf a heart! Mama: Ain'd dot smart? Maybe she vants a fire to cook her meat mit! Fritz: I vunder if she got a chance mit Chon's odder leg?

#newspaper comics #vintage #history #1922 #the katzenjammer kids #harold knerr #transcript available #1920s #trickery

[80s-movies-interiors]

Ghostbusters (1984)

#ghostbusters #Sigourney Weaver #movie interior #80s movies #80s movie interior #interior #interior design #80s interiors #bill murray #dan aykroyd #harold ramis #ivan reitman #1984 #i ain't afraid of no ghost #kitchen #retro kitchen #manhattan #New York City #1980s

[sylphidine]

[ROTG] It’s Not A Costume

Finally finished this. Based on the @rotg-halloween prompt “It’s NOT a costume”.

Set in my Rise of the Guardians fiction A CITIZEN OF THE UNIVERSE AND A GENTLEMAN TO BOOT.  May be considered a postscript chapter or an outtake.

Characters: Emily James Bennett [Jamie and Sophie’s mom], Pitch Black, Professor Harold Hazelton

Synopsis: Two friends share a ghost story on a Halloween night.

A warning about mild body horror towards the end, otherwise pretty much gen.

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

“So why aren’t you out spooking children?  Isn’t Halloween your holiday, after all?” Emily Bennett raised her voice so that it would carry into the kitchen from the living room. “Not that I’m not happy to have you drop in.” 

Pitch came back bearing two cups of tea.  He handed one to her and set his own on the end table with a coaster under it, of course.  “Always thinking like a human, I see. “ He then sank luxuriously into the plush tweed-upholstered recliner and gave her a grin that showed fewer teeth than usual.  “I am *FEAR* itself, Emily James.  I’m not limited to a time of year or a circumscribed set of events.  Besides which, the current aura of Halloween is far more slanted towards fun than fear.  More up Jack Frost’s alley than mine.”

Emily conceded the point.  “Thank you as always for the tea, Mister Fear Itself.  I suppose I should be grateful you learned to make tea ‘properly’, oh, millennia ago, since poor humans like me will never catch up to your immortal tea-making skills.”

She was startled when Pitch said.  “No, actually, I’ve only been a tea drinker since the 1950s.” “What?”

“Harold taught me to make tea after World War II, when rationing was lifted in England.”

“But World War II ended in 1945!” she protested in confusion.

“Ah, but goods and foodstuffs didn’t magically start reappearing on people’s tables just because of a ceasefire, my dear lady.  Rationing went on for a good long while.”

“Hmmmmmm.”

They both sipped their tea in companionable silence.  Emily wrapped her hands around her cup after it was empty, while Pitch put his own cup neatly back on the coaster when he’d finished.

“You want me to tell you more about Harold,” he said.  It was not a question.

“Well, yes.  I’m always curious about your believers, and you bring him up fairly often.”

Those gold-and-silver eyes of Pitch’s actually twinkled at her in the lamplight.  Such a change from last winter.  He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Why not?  Halloween is an appropriate time for ghost stories, is it not?”

Ghost story?

Oh. 

Oh.

Emily had to firmly suppress her urge to give Pitch a hug at the thought of just how many of Pitch’s believers were no longer among the living.

She leaned forward herself and said, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

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

1937

“I like your dressing gown,” said the solemn little boy in the bed.

Pitch groaned silently to himself.  He thought he’d been cautious enough, following the Sandman’s streams to this room and hoping to steal sand from a deep sleeper.  On the other hand, a child that could see him was a bonus in these lean times.

Too nonplussed to launch the truly hideous nightmare he’d been planning to twist Sanderson’s saccharine dream into, Pitch decided politeness was the best course of action. “Thank you,” he replied. “I made it myself.”

“Oh, you’re a tailor? That’s a new one.” The little boy scrambled up from under the covers and sat up.  He scratched his head. “Usually they drive lorries, or put things on the shelves at Woolies.”

“I beg your pardon? ‘They?’”

“You know. Mum’s boyfriends. She has an awful lot of them.”

“She does, does she?”

“Uh-huh.”  Deep brown eyes regarded Pitch with great seriousness… far too serious for a child of, what? Six, maybe seven years old.  The boy had dark rings under his eyes and a long nose that was likely to become as beaky as Pitch’s own as he got older.  “You are here because of Mum, right?  Because she said the Boogeyman would get me if I wasn’t nice to her boyfriends.”

“Oh, did she now?” Pitch found himself clenching his hands into fists.  “And do those boyfriends often wander through your room in their dressing gowns?” 

“Sometimes. Most times they just stay out in the hall and laugh.”

“Hmmmm.”

Pitch could feel the fear of the boy shifting from the fear of “the Boogeyman” that the child’s mother had warned of, into the fear that he may have said too much to this stranger and that he’d be beaten in consequence.

Pitch did not like that fear-change, even if he felt it far too often in those children who truly, deeply believed in him. The ones who’d been terrorized through no effort of his.

He was NOT evil.  He fed on fear, not pain.  He would never stop feeling weary - oh, so weary -  of being used as an excuse for adults to behave badly towards children.

It took Pitch a few more minutes to realize that he had not actually answered the boy’s question, so he remedied that quickly. “I wasn’t planning to visit your mother, young…?”

“Harold.  Harold Hazelton.”

“... young Harold.  My name is Pitch Black, and I am very pleased to meet you.”

He let that information sink in, and continued, “But I may just have to make a point of reminding your mother that the Boogeyman has no interest in ‘getting’ you.”

“Oh?” The boy nervously twisted one hand inside the other. “Why?”

“Why? Well, because the Boogeyman only punishes naughty people, and you’ve been quite an exemplary gentleman in conversing with me.”

The shadows at Pitch’s feet had been roiling and thickening this whole time, but Harold seemed to just have noticed them. His eyes seemed to grow even larger as he put two and two together. “Is that because… because YOU’RE the Boogeyman?  And that’s not fancy dress?”

Pitch bowed from the waist. “Spot on. Yes to the first, I am indeed the Boogeyman,” hiding his shudder at his least favourite appellation,  “and no to the second, this is NOT a costume.  And now I think that someone who’s been slandering me might need an extra nightmare or two.” He hastened to reassure the boy, “Not you, Harold.  I’ll say good night now.”  

His shadows moved away from the bed where Harold now crouched, all agog.  They flowed under the door to the hallway and into the room where the boy’s mother and her newest swain were snoring.

__________________________

1959

“So, Harold. Or should I call you Doctor Hazelton?” Pitch had materialized in the darkest corner of the dingy little office.  

“It’s Professor, actually.  I need a few more letters after my name before I can call myself Doctor.”  The tall young man turned from the bookcase, where he was lovingly shelving his reference books in preparation for his first lecture next week, and held out his thin hand to Pitch.  The spirit took a moment before extending his own for a handshake, and Harold raised an eyebrow at the expression on Pitch’s face.   “What? Is it the moustache? I need to find some way of not looking like one of the undergraduates.”

“No!  The moustache makes you look quite distinguished.  But what in the world are you wearing?  Why do you feel the need for this ridiculous… costume?”

Over a perfectly ordinary brown pinstripe three-piece suit, Harold wore his sleeveless academic gown from university.  He retorted defiantly, “It’s not a costume. It’s a tool to help me inspire terror in the little buggers.  I got the idea for the look from you, and imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so they say.”

Pitch steepled his fingers together. “Hmmmmm. Perhaps you have the right of it.  But you’re not in Bristol anymore…”

“You mean, what’s left of Bristol,” Harold said, a trifle caustically. “They’re still rebuilding most of the old neighbourhood.”  

Pitch had revelled in the nightmares spawned by the Luftwaffe, but had tried to shield Harold from most of the worst of the psychic damage by giving him prescient and lucid dreams.  He continued despite the interruption, ”You’re not in Bristol anymore, and you might not want to wear that when you’re travelling up to The Bronx. Different things to fear.”

“Noted.  Do you have time for a cup of tea?  I brought over my Hobbs kettle.”

“Of course.”

_____________________

1980

Forty students had their gazes trained on the lanky, loose-limbed professor with the beaky nose, drooping moustache, and deep-set eyes who paced before them without a single glance their way.

“Welcome to Ancient History. You will find this course different than many you have taken before.  Your success depends entirely on you and the quality of your note taking.  I do not take a roll call; I do not teach from note cards; I do not host question-and-answer sessions in class. The lectures I give are from memory alone, refined over decades. My office hours are from 4pm to 6pm to discuss classwork.  If you absolutely cannot learn under a professor who does not make eye contact and who does not engage in unnecessary sidetracking, the drop-add period is still open and there will be no hard feelings should we run into one another elsewhere on campus.”

Harold paused for a few minutes, and then resumed pacing as he laid out the concept of protohistory and written history. Fingers laced behind his back, head down and eyes on his shoes, taking the precise number of steps from one corner of the classroom to the other and back again, his black academic robe flowing behind him with each step, he was a figure that should have prompted ridicule but instead inspired fright and awe.

From his own unseen vantage point, Pitch grinned in delight at the fearful expressions of the freshmen who were experiencing the dreaded Professor Hazelton for the first time and had their own heads bent to feverishly copy down every word Harold said.

The fright and awe of the sophomore, junior, and senior class students was not noticeably lessened in the other courses Harold taught - Medieval History, Stuart England, and World War I - but it was leavened with respect, since most of them had passed through Professor Hazelton’s classes before and knew what to expect. 

Pitch envied that respect, wanting it for his own efforts, but resigned himself to feeding on the students’ fear.

Although there were always a few students each year who were very slightly less afraid of Professor Hazelton, if Professor Hazelton thought them worthy to offer them tea during office hours. Harold was no less stern during those meetings, but the students were less likely to stammer in terror with a cup of tea in their hands.

And Harold did make an excellent cup of tea, so Pitch was willing to let a few morsels of fear escape from him every once in a while.

______________________________

1989

Two figures stood together in the gallery, looking down on the autopsy theatre, where the body of a gaunt middle-aged man lay.  The lecturer gave her students, also standing in the gallery, a warning of what to expect once she started opening… the bursting of polyps, the darkness and thickness of clotted internal fluids, and above all, the smell of what cancer had done. 

The expression on the face of the corpse was one of extreme agony. Unseen by those below and beside them, the shade of Harold Hazelton turned to Pitch Black and said, “That would make a marvelous fright mask, wouldn’t it?”

The dark spirit chuckled at his believer’s gallows humour and replied, “Sadly, that is NOT a costume.  But I may just have to ‘borrow’ it for inspiration in crafting nightmares.”

“Glad to be of service, Pitch, even if I had to die to do it.”

They solemnly shook hands, spirit to spirit.  Then Harold faded out.

_________________________

Emily was silent for a long time after Pitch completed his tale.  She didn’t doubt that she was supposed to feel disturbed by how gruesome Harold’s death had apparently been, but she also had to think that there was something comforting about Pitch interacting with his believers all through their lives.

Like a Guardian.

Of course, she would NEVER say that to him. Never.  Not to Mister Fear himself.

Instead, she smiled brightly, exclaiming. “Bravo!  But now it’s my turn to tell a ghost story!”

And she recounted all the times that her father had such a magnetic presence that he interfered with electronics, making radios and televisions devolve into static when he crossed a room, and she postulated he was still doing it in the afterlife.

Pitch raised a hairless eyebrow at Emily, but admitted it was quite possible.

#rotghalloween2021 #rise of the guardians #emily james bennett #pitch black #sylph writes #rotg fanfiction #fic: citizen

[dominustempori]

Coming 'atcha: notes, quotes & anecdotes from Harold Ramis on making "Ghostbusters."

Did I mention I own the book that has the final shooting script from October 1983? No? Granted, a reprint is coming out along with the Ultimate Ghostbusters Collection in a couple weeks...but I thought this would be fun. I think some stuff he talks about in side notes gets a mention in his movie commentary, but a lot of this I'd either forgotten or never knew.

First up, Harold talking about scenes or ideas that just didn't make it in to the movie, either dismissed altogether or filmed then edited out.

[All quotes from "Making Ghostbusters", edited by Don Shay, c. 1985. Spoiler and potential trigger warnings apply]

Harold talking about:

Introducing the Ghostbusters:

"In our first draft, the Ghostbusters were tossed out of a small New England college and THEN go to New York. But we realized that there was something very vital about being in the city, so we began thinking maybe we should start the film there. That's when we came up with the idea of using the New York Public Library for our opening sequence. Prior to that, it had been set in a nice, converted farmhouse where this family has been bothered by incessant knocking that they're unable to trace."

Dana's kitchen haunting:

"In our previous draft, there was another effect besides the self-cooking eggs. Also on the counter was a loaf of bread in a plastic bag. We wanted to have the bag puff out and steam up to the point where it started to peel away. Then, one by one, the pieces of bread were going to heat up, turn brown and fall over as toast. But Ivan thought the eggs really sold the scene, and he didn't want to go to the time and expense of having a loaf of bread toasting itself."

Ecto-1:

"Dan's script was set in the near future and there was much more fantasy in it. In that script, the Ectomobile was able to dematerialize. When we anchored the script more in reality and set the time in the present, that concept had to go. Besides, it's funnier to see them in an old ambulance that barely runs."

[Side note: Dude! The Ecto-1 was gonna be like a TARDIS! WHAT?!]

A deleted scene where Bill and Dan appear as two bums in Central Park:

"The bums were like Shakespearean fools or gravediggers - a couple of guys who are just there to introduce another level of mundane comment. Bill and Dan were put in makeup and wardrobe, and they played the bums as spinoffs of characters they had done on 'Saturday Night Live.' It was very funny, but it was just too obvious that it was them."

The deleted "Fort Detmerring" scene:

"The plot was moving much fast at this point to introduce anything even slightly extraneous. The idea behind the scene was to give Dan a love interest - a woman who's been dead for a hundred years. But the scene was too long and it was in the wrong place in the film. We all loved the notion of Stantz having sex with a ghost, though, and we didn't want to let go of that, so Ivan came up with the idea of treating it as a dream and inserting it into the very end of the montage."

Winston was supposed to be the one who conjured up Stay-Puft:

"We had to talk Danny into it. It goes back to his generosity - he saw it as Winston's big moment. But Ivan and I both felt very strongly that it should be Dan's line (I couldn't help it!) The Stay-Puft marshmallow man was, after all, Dan's creation in reality. So why shouldn't he create it in the film? He resisted for a long time, but finally accepted the notion."

#harold ramis #ghostbusters #final script draft #making ghostbusters #deleted scenes #i could've easily seen some of this happening

[dumdumsun]

Of Starlight

A/N: Enjoy ❤️

Warnings: mentions of blood

Word Count: 1847

—————————————

Chapter 14: Starlight

God, not this again.

The front door to the Academy was thrown open by (Y/N), allowing Allison and Diego to carry Five inside, the latter holding his feet and leading them backwards into the parlor as the former held him under his shoulders. (Y/N) followed close behind after shutting the door, her ragged breaths almost impossible to regulate.

Please, not this again.

“We should have taken him to the hospital.” Allison whispered.

“A kid with a shrapnel wound might raise some questions.” Five slurred in his half conscious state.

“Yeah, well, so does the murder shrine in Harold Jenkins’s attic.” They shuffled into the parlor, where Five was laid across one of the couches. (Y/N) immediately knelt beside him as Allison took off her jacket and bent down next to her. “He’s still losing a lot of blood. What do we do?”

“We gotta get the shrapnel out.” Diego answered. He suddenly caught sight of something. As his face dropped, he was quick to leave the room. Allison watched him go with a frown.

“Diego, where are you going?” Calling out to him was useless, he’d already disappeared. Her eyes trailed down to her sister, who was shaking from head to toe as she watched Five’s chest rise and fall. She was frantic and jumpy and she would be of no use to them like this. Placing a hand on her shoulder, and apologizing for making her jump, she whispered, “(Y/N), I need you to do something for me. We need to get the shrapnel out, so I need you to find something to help us with that. Okay? Can you do that, (Y/N)?”

“I-I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him, Allison.” The girl sniveled.

“It won’t be for long. Just… Just go upstairs and find something, okay? Come back as soon as you do.” Allison watched her sister stumble to her feet and bolt up the stairs. In truth, she just needed the girl out of the way until Diego got back to help. If she had actually managed to find something useful, well then, that would just be a bonus.

Please, please, please, not this again. I can’t do this, I can’t fucking do this again.

(Y/N) was aimlessly running down the hall where the bedrooms were, in search of something, anything, that could help. She had been so blinded by her panic and tears that she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Tweezers? Would tweezers work? Would tweezers fucking work?! She burst into her bedroom and flung to her vanity, knowing she had left tweezers there when she moved out. She searched the vanity and the first, second, then third drawer of her dresser before pulling out exactly what she was looking for. It’s dirty. It’s been here for years, she thought. She was in the bathroom within seconds, cleaning the tweezers the best she could before flying downstairs. When she entered the parlor, though, no one was there. There was a dent in the couch left by Five and Allison’s jacket was still hanging on the arm, but that was it. No other sign.

“Guys?!” She called out. Receiving no response, (Y/N) left the parlor and began searching. She checked the infirmary, the basement, even the kitchen. “What the fuck…” She muttered before making her way back upstairs. Her first thought was to check Five’s bedroom. Peeking in, she saw… Grace. She was back and taking care of Five, as if nothing had ever happened to her. “When did you guys get in here? I was literally just up here.” She asked as she stepped inside. Allison and Diego turned to her and began to answer, but she drew their voices out as her senses settled on one person. Grace had just begun patching him up when she came into the room, the boy now asleep. He looked so calm, so peaceful, so unbothered by everything that had been plaguing him since he got back to 2019. She could get used to seeing him like this everyday, minus the shrapnel wound.

“Five…” She quietly wept as she joined his side. Sitting on her knees, she rested her cheek on his sheets and watched him evenly breathe. Her (e/c) eyes were thoughtful, pensive.

“(Y/N), I think we should give Mom some space to work.” Diego whispered. The girl didn’t even react. Allison sighed and placed a hand on her back.

“Come on, sis, you need some air-”

“What I need is to stay right here. I’m not going anywhere.” (Y/N) turned her head to Allison. The woman gave her a stern look.

“(Y/N), come on. I know you’re scared for him, but I think it’d be best-”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She snapped, quiet yet venomous. Her eyes were cold and one even twitched as she set her jaw. Grace even hesitated. Raising her brows, Allison nodded and backed away.

“Alright, then…”

And with that, Allison and Diego slowly left the bedroom, standing just outside. Turning back to Five, (Y/N)’s entire demeanor changed. Her gaze softened and so did her jaw. Her hand gently ran down his left arm until she reached his hand, gingerly lacing her fingers with his. “Mom, will he be okay?” She murmured. Grace gave her a smile as she tore off some gauze.

“He just needs rest. I bet you could help with that. Make sure he gets a good night’s sleep?”

“Of course…”

“I know you can. You’ve always cared an awful lot for him, dear.”

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

“Dad, why are we in here?” (Y/N) asked as she stepped further into the empty, dark room. The only response she got was the door swinging closed and the click of the lock. She rushed forward and banged on the door. “Dad! Dad, let me out!”

“You will not leave this room until you have successfully contacted Number Five through your clone.” Reginald’s voice sounded behind the heavy door.

“M-My clone? I-I didn’t-”

“Child, do not think that I did not see you summon that clone.”

“But I need the clone here to know anything!”

“You are growing to be one of my greatest disappointments, Number Eight. You have not reached your full potential. You do not want to. If you fail to contact Number Five, then at the very least this will be your chance to improve.”

“W-Wait. Wait, Dad!”

“Your dinner will be brought to you.”

His footsteps echoed down the hallway. She vaguely remembered a room like this when she was a small child, but this one was much different. This one had no light, no window. She was in complete and utter darkness. Letting out a sob, she smashed her fists against the door repeatedly. Even as blood leaked down her fingers, she didn’t stop. “Let me out! Let me out of here!” She sobbed, sinking down to her knees.

Three days. That’s how long she had been in that room. No light, no conversation, and no progress. For three days. The only joy she could recall was Grace bringing in cookies for a snack, but even then, they weren’t allowed to speak to one another. The fourth day had been the day she heard a voice.

“Delores.”

Her head shot up from where it was resting on her knees. Delores. Who the hell was Delores? Surely, she was beginning to lose her mind.

“Starlight…”

She was definitely losing her mind. By the fifth day, she was willing to accept that she’d be stuck in this godforsaken room for as long as she lived. She wouldn’t put it past her father to keep her in there until she died. (Y/N) had no idea what time of day it was, but she was so exhausted. Laying on her back and closing her eyes, she tried to drift off and avoid her solitude. Once her breathing fell into a slow pattern, her chest felt as if it was being pushed down forcefully. Images flashed through her mind so fast she couldn’t keep up or make out any faces. The visions settled on one. A boy had been pulling what she assumed was a cart or a wagon by a handle. Her gaze moved down to her legs that were crossed politely in front of her, hands clasped in her lap. The stranger before her was dressed in warm clothing, but she hadn’t felt any chill on her skin. The stranger stopped walking and took a deep breath before looking over his shoulder at her. She squinted to get a better look at him. Her love furrowed his brows in confusion. “What?”

“Five?” She whispered. He jumped, startled, and dropped the handle of the wagon she sat in. Suddenly, it felt as if every breath she ever took was being sent back into her lungs. Gasping, (Y/N) sat up. Her hands quickly slapped onto the concrete floor of the pitch black room she had been inhabiting for almost a week. As she caught her breath, the door beside her groaned. Light poured into the room as Reginald swung the door open.

“Anything to report, Number Eight?”

“Dad!” (Y/N) stood to her feet and ran towards her father, the man immediately backing up a few steps. “Five, he- he was- He looked right at me!”

“I will not tolerate any deception.”

“No! I swear, Dad! He was alone. I don’t know where, but he… h-he’s still alive!”

Her father didn’t have an immediate reaction to her words, only studying her swaying posture, her wide eyes, her twitching hands. Clicking his tongue, he turned away. “Very well. Grace, get this child to her room.”

“Yes, sir.” Grace grinned and gently held (Y/N)’s hand, briskly walking her to the first level of the house.

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

The two now alone, (Y/N) was laying beside Five in his bed. Her eyes watched his every movement, not that there was much to observe. His chest rose and fell at a steady pace, that was enough for her. Her head was resting on his shoulder and her fingers traced the collar of the pajamas he now wore. “Why do you scare me like this?” She muttered to no one. Five, perhaps, if he would’ve been listening. “All I want is for you to be safe… to be here. You’re making that so hard when you’re running around, getting shot and not telling anyone. We care about you, I care about your stubborn ass…” She gently kissed his shoulder. “I love you… so much. You better be ready for that when you wake up, bub.” Reaching up, she let her fingers ghost over his dark brows, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips, until her hand cupped his cheek. She knew then that she made the right call not to read his note. She had a pretty good idea of what he wanted her to know. And she’d be glad to assure him the feelings are well reciprocated.

Her heart was his, and rightfully so. Forever and always.

—————————————

Taglist: @nate-isnt-great @43sparrows @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @narikyuwu @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @call-me-starstorm @rev-enviadhell @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua x reader #tua five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #five x reader #of starlight

[peepeepotter]

New Girl Hogwarts AU Chapter 5: Merry Christmas, Georgie.

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader; Harry Potter x Ginny Weasley

Warnings: Cursing? I think?

Word Count: 3.2 K

Series Masterlist

“It was just so weird.” Y/N shuddered, using her rolling pin on a sheet of cookies in the Hogwarts kitchens.

“I mean, yeah, that sounds uncomfortable as fuck. What are you guys, teenagers?” Fred asked her, his head in his hand, watching her closely. He had told George before, Y/N is totally George’s type. Fred couldn’t help but think that it was a surprise it took this long for them to have an uncomfortable sexually tense encounter. “What did Terry say?”

“What do you mean? Terry didn’t see. I don’t want Terry to know. I’m trying to date casually right now.” Y/N said, suddenly remembering the reason she moved into the loft.

“Casually? With TERRY? Have you met that guy? He looks like he cries during sex.” This made Y/N laugh loudly.

“It’s so weird to talk about this with you. You’re his twin, maybe I shouldn’t be talking to his dead brother about this.”

“Hey, I’m basically alive. I’m just a ghost. And stuck in this stupid castle.” Fred pouted, reaching to grab cookie dough and put it in his mouth. “Although I really can’t taste much. But from what I remember, this tastes a lot like some cookies mum used to make.” Fred smiled.

“Fred, I love you, but please don’t talk about your mom when I just told you about a sexual encounter with your brother.”

“Sexually tense encounter at best, don’t get ahead of yourself, love. Anyway, how could you be attracted to him? I’m so much better looking than him.” Fred scoffed, fake-offended. In actuality, Fred was quite happy that George was moving on from Angelina. Fred was especially happy George was moving on with one of Fred’s most consistent friends at Hogwarts. Plus she baked like Molly.

“Fred, I hate to break it to you, but you died when you were a teenager, so you still look like one. As an adult, I’m not attracted to teenagers.”

“I’ll have you know I was twenty when I died. No longer a teenager, thank you very much.” Fred grinned. “Besides, mentally I’m like four years older than you.”

“You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes, but maintained a smile on her face. Y/N always liked hanging out with Fred, he was actually her first friend at the school. He found her crying one day after the breakup with McLaggen and did everything in his power to make her feel better about it. Ever since then, Y/N spent the majority of her free time between classes with Fred. She supposed it didn’t help that he looked an awful lot like the guy she liked. No, shut up, I don’t like him. Don’t listen to her thoughts, I’m the narrator. I’m always right, just wait.

“Y/N, do you even like Terry?”

“Well, he’s nice. And I could see myself liking him.”

“So you don’t.”

“Not yet.”

“Y/N.” Fred had his head resting in his hand against the counter, giving Y/N a look of pure disappointment. He knew Y/N and George would wind up together the minute he met her. He’s the one that showed her the ad on the wizarding web for a new place to live. Although, Y/N wasn’t happy that he didn’t tell her that she would find a man identical to him when she went to the interview with the boys. Fred just shrugged, he knew George well enough to know that they’d let her move in. He also knew George well enough to know that George would find Y/N just as adorable as Fred did.

“I just, maybe I need to rebound, okay? I don’t want to end up with someone like Terry, but I don’t want to end up hurting someone I really like in case I’m not ready to date yet.” To Fred, this sounded like code for ‘I don’t want to fuck up with your brother.’

“So you’re using Terry.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Y/N!” Fred chuckled, knowing he was right.

“I mean, so what? We’ve only been on a few dates, what’s the worst that could happen?” Little did Y/N know, she’d just jinxed herself.

-

“I’m sorry, what?” George asked, throwing his head back on the couch.

“We’re going to a party. Together, all of us.” Draco asserted. “None of you have a choice, I need people to know I have friends.” At this, Harry and George started snickering. Draco might not have been as bad as he was when they were at Hogwarts, and it certainly helped that he switched sides at the battle of Hogwarts, but people still didn’t like him.

“You mean you need—” George started.

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Draco quickly interrupted.

“What are we doing?” Y/N asked upon leaving her bedroom. “I was on the phone with my mom, what’s going on?”

“You mean mum, you stupid American.” George said unwavering, taking a sip from his beer.

“Okay, ha-ha, it was funny at first, now it’s just sad.” Y/N scrunched her nose. “Also do you ever drink water? I don’t think I’ve seen you drink anything other than beer for the past few months.”

“No comment.”

“We’re going to a Christmas party on Christmas eve.” Draco answered. He was tired of the two bickering all the time, and wouldn’t entertain it anymore.

“Oh fun! Can we also go look at Christmas lights? There’s this no-maj neighborhood not far—”

“A what neighborhood?” George asked, teasing Y/N.

“Muggle. I hate it here.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it’s called Candy Cane Lane and it’s supposed to be super cute.” Y/N’s face lit up, her hands clapping lightly out of excitement. George felt that stupid feeling in his stomach again.

“No.” Draco said.

“Sure.” George shrugged. Draco turned and glared at him. “If we have time. I have to get to the Burrow that night. I’ve missed Christmas with my family for the past three years because of these idiots.” He gestured towards Neville and Harry chatting in the kitchen.

“You’re supposed to party on Christmas eve!” Harry interjected.

“Yeah, party, not get black out drunk and go to the hospital annually.” George muttered, causing Y/N to giggle quietly. She took a seat on the couch near him. To her it seems that they had gone back to normal after their interaction on Thanksgiving.

“We’ll go if we have time.” George whispered to her again. She nodded with a small smile on her face.

“So Y/N,” Harry started, walking towards the couch from the kitchen. 

“Harold.”

“It’s actually—”

“Just Harry, I know, it was a joke.”

“What are you getting your boyfriend for Christmas?”

“Oh god, I have to get him something? We're barely dating. What do you get someone you’re not that close to?”

“You don’t?” George offered.

“A plant?” Neville shouted from the kitchen.

“Hand soap. I have the feeling that man doesn’t have any in his bathroom.” Draco straight-faced. Y/N snorted.

“Let’s go to the shops and find something.” Harry smiled.

--

“Why? Why did I split up and go with you?” Y/N sighed, standing behind George who was distracted by some small robotic trinket. Y/N, a muggle-born, had seen them all the time as a teenager. George clearly had not.

“Because I’m the comic relief of the group. Also, I’m the hot one.” George smirked at her. She rolled her eyes, a small smile on her face she was hoping he wouldn’t see. He did.

“Whatever, help me pick something for this stupid man.”

“So you admit it?”

“What?”

“He’s stupid?”

“I mean, yeah, but I have a muggle doctorate and I’ve studied magical creatures forever. I’d say objectively most people are stupid to me.”

“Even me?”

“Especially you.” He pushed her arm lightly, she pushed back laughing.

“Just get him one of these. They’re cute. He’s simple.” George shrugged, handing the small robot that said “Merry Christmas,” over and over to her. She shrugged, figuring he’s right.

“What about you? What do you want for Christmas?” Y/N asked. She asked to be nice, but she had already gotten him a bunch of Friends merchandise. George had proved to be a real sucker for most muggle things.

“Don’t get me anything. Seriously.” He turned towards her quickly. He had a stern look on his face.

“Why?”

“Because I’m horrible at gift giving, and I always feel in-debted when someone gives me something really good.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke this time, walking towards more muggle items. She raised her eyebrows, noting that she might have to return his Christmas gift. Actually, no. He’s getting a gift. Idiot.

--

“Here, merry Christmas.” Y/N said to Terry. They sat at the foot of her bed the day before Christmas Eve, giving each other their gifts.

“You open yours first.” He smiled at her, handing her the envelope. She opened it with a shrug. Her heart dropped. In front of her were two passes to a portkey that would take them to New York City. At the bottom of the card that contained the tickets, Terry had written a sweet note, signed with love. Love? Oh Merlin.

“I-I—” She stuttered, not knowing what to say. “Thanks, Terry.” She suddenly felt very bad for her cheap muggle gift. When he opened it, though, he wasn’t disappointed, just amused by the toy.

“Thank you so much.” He grinned at her. “I love you so much.” Her heart dropped further, and she had to keep herself from cringing.

“T-thanks.”

--

“Oh no. You said THANKS? To a confession of love?” George asked, all of the guys holding back laughs as she sat on the couch with her head in her hands.

“What was I supposed to do? Lie?” Her words were muffled by her hands.

“Well, no, but thanks?” Harry chortled out. Draco was bent over, almost on the ground from laughter. Neville was flushed red from secondhand embarrassment.

“What do I do? Break up with him? I’m not ready for any of this.” Y/N felt nauseous.

“I mean, weren’t you just kind of using him anyway?” George lectured.

“Why do you guys keep saying that?”

“You guys?”

“You fucking Weasley’s, your brother said that too.” She rolled her eyes, storming into her room. She hated living with men. They were never helpful but always thought they were.

--

The next day, George opened her bedroom door without knocking. She glared at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine, I overreacted. I’m just annoyed at the situation.”

“Well, we’re leaving soon, so get ready.” He offered, ducking back out of her room. Y/N put on black tights and a little black dress. She grabbed a red coat after putting on fake eyelashes. She grabbed her purse, and opened her door while slipping on her heels. Stumbling into the hall, she once again was faced with several men staring at her.

“Why do you guys do this every time I wear a dress?”

“You’re pretty.” Neville smiled, making Y/N almost tear up. They always did this, stare at her, but they almost never complimented her.

“Yeah, plus we only ever see you in sweatpants. So maybe we would stare less if you dressed less like a goblin every day.” Draco said, ruining the moment and heading towards the door.

“I don’t think you look like a goblin.” George whispered to her as they walked out of the loft. She smiled softly up at him.

Upon arriving at the party, Draco flocked towards his work wife. Harry headed towards Ginny, ready to give her the gift he got her. He was only slightly disappointed to find that she had brought a date to the party. 

“Here, Ginny.” He gave her the small box when her new boyfriend (boy toy, hopefully) walked away to get her a drink.

“Harry, you didn’t have to get me anything.” She said guiltily, not having gotten him anything. She opened it slowly as he shrugged in response. It was a small bottle. “What is it?” Her eyebrows scrunched. Harry laughed.

“It’s perfume. I’m not telling you that you stink, before you say that.” Ginny smiled, glad to know Harry knew her so well. “It’s a bunch of scents that remind me of you.” He shrugged, not wanting to admit that he had Draco make amortentia to see what she smelled like.

“Oh Merlin, if I smell like this I’m so sorry.” She coughed upon smelling it, making Harry laugh.

“Yeah, it’s a little all over the place. But it’s the thought, I guess?” She grinned at him, nodding.

Meanwhile George and Neville followed Y/N over to Terry. After a short, awkward conversation, Y/N excused herself to the bathroom. Neville walked away to find Luna. George stayed with Terry.

“So, quite a present you got her.” George said awkwardly, drinking from a plastic cup.

“Oh yeah, I think she really liked it.”

“Eh.”

“What? Did she tell you she didn’t like it?”

“I think it was just a lot really soon, buddy.”

“Oh no, do you think I should’ve toned it down?”

“Probably, Terry. You spent a small fortune and told her you loved her after like three weeks.”

“Oh no, what are you saying? Did she say she doesn’t love me? I was so stressed after she didn’t say it back, but I just assumed she was nervous.”

“I— you know I don’t actually think it’s my place to tell you that, Terry.”

Simultaneously, Y/N and Ginny convened in the bathroom.

“Did you like the present Harry got you?”

“It doesn’t smell very good, but it was really sweet.”

“Well, yeah, it’s Harry. He’s been in love with you for like, ever.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I mean, has he, though?”

“You absolute idiot.”

“Whatever, did you like what Terry got you?”

“I didn’t tell you, yet? He got me plane tickets to the states for him and I and told me he loved me. When I’m out here thinking about my roommate.”

“Oh Merlin, so a bad perfume is definitely the way to go.” Y/N nodded in agreement. “Why are men so difficult?” Ginny added.

“It’s like they’re so simple that it’s difficult.” Y/N hummed. “We should go back out there.” They fixed their appearances in the mirror slightly before returning to the party. Y/N found George and Terry out on the balcony.

“You really don’t love me?” Terry said, turning around to face her with tears in his eyes.

“What? Where did this come from?” Before anyone could answer, she turned to George who immediately cringed. “What did you do?”

“I just- sometimes I speak without thinking?”

“Terry, don’t listen to this idiot.” George put his hands up in defense and went to leave back to the party, but found the door locked. He went for his wand and realized he had forgotten it at the loft.

“Oh no.” George whispered

“You don’t like me, do you? Did I do too much too soon? Be honest, stop doing that thing where you make me feel better.” Terry looked like a puppy, making the whole situation a lot worse.

“Somebody please help!” George pleaded, banging against the glass.

“I-Terry. Yes, okay? You scared me. It was a lot really soon. I just got out of a relationship, and I really wanted to take it slow.” Y/N confessed.

“I’m stuck out here! This is so awkward, please help!” George kept banging on the door.

“I— what if I can’t do that?” Terry asked.

“LET ME OUT!!!” George shouted.

“You can’t take it slow?” Y/N scrunched her brow.

“Oh Merlin.” George sat on the ground against the door.

“Isn’t it obvious? If I already love you and you can’t say it back, maybe we shouldn’t be together.” Although Terry’s words kind of hurt, Y/N felt somewhat relieved. “I’ll see you at work, alright?” Terry approached the door and unlocked it wordlessly with his wand.

“Thanks Terry.” George went to follow behind Terry as he left, but stopped, looking back at Y/N. He sighed, realizing he needed to clean up the mess he had made. He walked back over to her, leaning against the balcony next to her.

“You know, I think maybe this was my fault.” He admitted, looking through the glass doors at the party.

“You think, George?” She snapped.

“Well, didn’t you want to break up with him anyway?”

“Yeah, I did, but I wanted to do it on my own terms.” She puffed a breath of air out of her lips.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to completely ruin your relationship. I was trying to help him tone it down.”

“Well, thanks I guess.” She pushed off of the balcony, heading back into the party to find Neville and Luna.

“Well, fuck.” George sighed. 

--

The group, Ginny included, left the party at three in the morning. Walking through town, George attempted to rush his sister and Harry.

“We’ve got to get to the burrow like, three hours ago.” 

“Who cares? Mum and dad are asleep. They won’t know we were late.”

“Because I still have to wrap all my gifts, Gin.” George sighed. Y/N was behind the group, attempting to peel her shoes off despite the snow. Harry and Ginny started talking, and George looked around for his best friend. Finding Y/N at the back of the group, he slowed his pace until he was walking with her. He looked at her shoeless feet, walking in only stockings in the deep snow. He sighed.

“Stop.” Y/N looked up at him, his voice startling her. “All of you, stop. We’ve gotta go somewhere.”

“I thought you needed to get home to wrap your gifts.”

“We’ll just be late. It’s fine.” George shrugged, he faced Y/N suddenly. “Jump on my back, alright?” He leaned down in front of her, offering a piggy-back ride. Y/N smiled a little and climbed up on his back. The group walked to Candy Cane Lane. Upon arriving, the magic-users were disappointed. The lights were all off.

“HEY!” George started shouting.

“Oh my god, George it’s not that important, it’s okay.” Y/N whispered into his ear. Goosebumps raised on his neck upon feeling her breath so close to him.

“It is important! It’s Christmas! COME ON! YOU ALL PUT SO MUCH EFFORT INTO THESE STUPID LIGHTS! TURN THEM ON!” He shouted. Ginny grinned.

“YEAH! TURN THEM ON!” Ginny shouted

“TURN THEM ON!!” Harry grinned.

“WAKE UP!!!” George added.

“TURN THEM ON!!” Neville shouted, although much more softly than the rest.

Suddenly, one at a time, each house’s lights turned on. Draco’s wand was lifted, turning on each house's Christmas lights.

“You all are so dumb. We are fortunate enough to have magic, there was a whole war. Remember?” Draco rolled his eyes.

Y/N grinned, feeling her heart swell upon seeing the bright Christmas lights. “Thanks, Georgie.” She whispered, nestling her cheek against his neck. This time his heart swelled.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” He said, squeezing her thighs as he held her up off the ground.

“Merry Christmas, Georgie.” Y/N pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

Taglist: @yllwtaxi @ememseay @droppingthegloves @wassup-peoples @dejayoon @astoriaplease @postsbyjenipeo @edmunds-torch @ummmlana @kennreid @charming-fan-girl @expelliarmusmyass @boxofbadaddiction @pillowjj @losers-club6 @concepcion @gaysludge @melizabethhack @n-dg-wm @when-thedarkness-comes @sarcasticallywitty15 @kinkycalamari @draco-and-tom @rangotangomango 

Permanent taglist: @amourtentiaa​

A/N: if anyone wants to be added please just comment or message me and ask! I’m also working on submissions and asks if anyone wants a one shot or something <3 -mj

#new girl #Neville Longbottom #neville x luna #neville longbottom x reader #neville x y/n #neville longbottom smut #Fred and George #george weasley #george x reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley smut #george weasley x you #fred weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x y/n #Harry Potter #harry potter au #Harry Potter x Ginny Weasley #harry potter x y/n #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #draco x y/n #dramione #draco x astoria