#not ghost believers but ghosts themselves as a concept

[pinkfey]

ghost thoughts for no reason >:3

#okay here's my big beef with ghosts #not ghost believers but ghosts themselves as a concept #if ghosts were to exist they would not operate within the ideology of manmade christianity #things like the existence of heaven and hell as places you go and goats and rosary and shit. none of that is biblical but it is christian #and ghosts though universally believed in in all religions are thought of and posited and observed through a christian lens #if they were to exist it would be outside of the confines of that. but so much ‘evidence’ relies on christianity being an established truth #which is just. no !! christianity is manmade !! and christianity is not biblical !! #no if ghosts were to exist they would have their own rules and would honestly need to be scientifically studied as Beings #beings that operate outside of christianity and what christians find scary #like why is believing in ghosts conflated with believing in demons and the devil?? which is an inherently christian belief?? #idk i will never believe in ghosts BUT i will also never take the ghost conversation seriously so long as it revolves around christianity #the only way i could ever believe in ghosts is if it's posited in a manner devoid of christianity #and posited in a way that seeks to establish them as a natural part of our world not a supernatural one #scientifically i guess !! #ghosts are so inherently religious as a concept and that makes it trivial to me bc they aren't being looked at in earnestly logical ways #as a potential part of the natural world and not a gotcha #anyways idek :] #anyways.txt

[kaidatheghostdragon]

I want to merge the trope that ghost blobs re basically party snacks with the trope that ghost blobs are special blorbos that other ghosts instinctively protect.

So i propose: symbiotic ghost blobs. When they're strong, they wander around and explore. When they're weak, their ecto changes so they're tasty to other ghosts. The other ghosts then eat them whole, and the blob settles around the ghost's core, semicorporeal, helping to filter ecto in return for taking a small portion of the ghost's strength, as well as benefitting from the stronger ghost's protection. In a few days to weeks, when they are strong enough, they phase right out and reform, off to go exploring again.

The ghost gets a boost in vitality from the blob, as the extra filter makes up for the tiny energy loss. Most ghosts can take on half a dozen blobs at a time, while more powerful ghosts like Danny could easily take dozens, cause thats how many blobs it would take to filter through the large quantities of ecto that they burn through.

Human liminals benefit from one or two blobs. Maybe its borderline required, as humans might not have the faculties to filter their own ecto, and subside entirely on the ambient ecto, which is maintained by the strongest ghost in the area (whoever owns the haunt).

Basically, eating blobs every few days to top off the ones that left is basically equivalent to taking probiotics to help digestion.

So we have Amity Park, maintained by Danny and his small army of blobs that he's constantly rotating though, and Gotham, maintained by Lady Gotham who is overloaded on too many curses to properly filter the city, no matter how many blobs she collects.

Jason is a sick halfa because corrupted ecto, yadda yadda. Only its not "dumped in the lazarus pits and never got filtered," but "gotham is literally so toxic that all of his power goes to filtering and it still doesnt make a dent, so he presents as powerless and possibly hangry." He may or may not know that he's passively absorbing blobs to help filter, or maybe Lady Gotham hoards them all so he has no concept of symbiotic blob relationships.

Or even better, blob ghosts are what the LoA call pit demons. They think the amorphous red-eyed blobs are aggressive because their constantly throwing themselves at the liminal assassins' faces to try to help filter the atrotious ecto. The pits are extremely corrupt because the LoA keeps chasing away and or destroying the blobs.

For extra angst, Jason and batfam are aware of the pit demons and have no reason to believe that the LoA's interpretation is incorrect.

So everyone is suitably horrified when a visiting Phantom brings a legion of blobs (a typical "I come in peace" gift for Lady Gotham), casually snacking on a few of them. Even more so when he offers a few to the batfam, like one would a piece of candy.

#dpxdc #dp x dc

[ghcstao3]

Retirement is supposed to be peaceful—at least, that's what Price had told Ghost. He'd said that, while the quiet is unnerving at first, you settle into it relatively easily until it's something in which you find solace. You learn to relax your shoulders if only a little bit, and you rediscover small joys you had completely forgotten about when your entire life was routine, routine, routine.

And now Ghost is starting to believe that the old bastard had been lying to him if only to talk him down from a ledge.

Because retirement is anything but peaceful. Sure, it's nice to be able to cook his own meals and have more downtime for his reading, and sure, it's nice to not have to be so hyper-vigilant in his own space for once—but God knows he knows nothing of the experience of silence when his neighbour is so goddamn loud.

Maybe it's Ghost's fault for choosing to live in a flat—he could find himself a home in the countryside without issue, he's sure of it, if only it didn't require so much effort and paperwork—but at the same time, he feels totally blameless. Because he is.

His neighbour, however, is not.

Now, Ghost has never encountered this person before. Never ended up stepping out as the same time as them, never bothered to introduce himself when he moved in. All he knows is that the person directly across the hall from him has no concept of respecting one's neighbours in terms of volume.

Be it making a racket in the wee hours when, presumably, making breakfast, or be it playing music or movies far too loud, or hell, be it talking to themselves about something Ghost needn't know the gist of, whoever it is knows no quiet. And it's getting on Ghost's last nerve.

He doesn't feel it quite warrants a formal noise complaint, but he does think it needs an intervention. If Ghost had to be forced out of the military due to injury, he's very well going to make the most out of his retirement.

Which involves silence.

Ghost waits until he knows his neighbour is home, if evidenced by the loud clashing of pots and pans in their kitchen, to go over and knock to finally, hopefully talk something out, but he too soon discovers that the plan is entirely useless.

Because as Ghost knocks and knocks, it's as if his neighbour doesn't hear him. Even in the lulls of little to no noise, there's absolutely no response. It's unbelievable.

He knows confrontation isn't everybody's thing—it's barely his own—but Christ. At least he'd answer the door.

Ghost leaves a note instead. Slips it beneath the door and retires to his own flat, hoping that his neighbour could at least bother to read.

And they must. Because Ghost realizes, over the course of the next few days, he can finally hear his own thoughts again.

A week goes by, and it's blissfully quiet. Maybe Price hadn't been such a liar after all.

Two weeks go by, and... Ghost realizes that no, Price is still a liar. The complete silence isn't peaceful at all, not when he'd grown so accustomed to noise.

Maybe Ghost had overreacted.

He's on his feet and across the hall before he has time to think about it, fist hovering over the door, unsure if he should knock. It didn't work last time, but he feels an apology should be spoken, not written, so certainly it's worth—

The lock on the other side clicks, and suddenly Ghost has no choice. The door swings open to finally reveal his mystery neighbour, and... oh.

Oh.

"Well, hello. Can I help you wi' somethin'?"

Ghost tries not to wince at the man's volume, though he doesn't think he's all that successful. Years of wearing a mask had not done well for him and keeping his expressions schooled.

But loudness aside... the lilt of his neighbour's Scottish accent is otherwise... pleasant. Rough in a way Ghost finds far too enticing, and brimming with life in a way his own deadpan never has been.

He tries not to linger on that thought.

"I'm..." Ghost wets his lips, feeling strangely nervous. "I wanted to apologize for my note. It wasn't very... it was rude. So I'm... sorry."

Since when is talking to new people nerve-wracking for him? Ghost must be going soft.

The man tilts his head. There's a slight furrow in his brow, and Ghost assumes it's because he's recalling the note to put a face to its scribbled words.

Ghost assumes wrong.

"Sorry, could you... repeat that for me?"

Ghost frowns. That was... not at all what he was expecting. So much for apologizing for his own note when his neighbour is going to be a prick anyway.

He opens his mouth to bite back a response, but not before his neighbour's eyes are widening and he's frantically gesturing in surrender.

"I don't mean to... I'm only asking because I'm deaf," the man hurriedly explains. "I don't... I've never been good at readin' lips."

And, well. If that doesn't answer every one of Ghost's questions.

His first thought is that he'd been stupid for not thinking of the possibility. His second is thank God for Roach.

Tentatively, Ghost raises his hands, a little out of practice but familiar nonetheless with sign language. Now he just feels even more like an arse.

"Want to apologize," Ghost repeats. "For the note."

A grin slowly appears on his neighbour's face at the use of sign, responding with enthusiasm despite the rocky start and the reason for Ghost's being there.

"My fault," the man says, shaking his head. "Never realize how loud I'm being."

"Still sorry." Ghost offers out one of his hands, finger-spelling with the other, "Simon."

"John," the man replies aloud, his smile warm as he shakes Ghost's hand. There's an awkward moment after their hands fall back to their sides, and for a second Ghost considers just turning and leaving, but thankfully John saves him from that.

"Well, I have to get to the shops," John says, and right, he'd just been leaving, "but I'll see you around?"

Ghost nods, and that seems to be enough for John to brush past, closing his door behind him.

That was certainly... something. At the very least, a better outcome than Ghost had been anticipating.

He should call Price. Tell the man that his idea of retirement is entirely twisted—because clearly he doesn't have a neighbour like John, who Ghost fears just might find a way to worm himself into Ghost's post-military life one way or another.

Maybe he shouldn't have left that note after all.

#plot point not included: soap is also a veteran and completely losing his hearing is what did him in #anyways not sure what this is or where it came from but. Here #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing

[radioactivesweet]

Ok hear me out, what about moon god s/o x Poseidon, its been itching my mind cause of the sea x moon troupe.

What i imagine is, s/o being a powerful god like nyx but rarely appears so only a few gods know or saw them so Poseidon became curious about this mysterious (beautiful) god. Feel free to add more about this!! im just really craving for someone to write this 🥹

Uhhh I like this concept a lot!! I tried to keep the reader's gender kinda neutral, I hope it's fine^^ btw I really enjoyed writing this!

word count: 1.2k

Poseidon often found himself staring at the moon. He couldn't really explain why he would do that - not that anybody would dare asking the God of the Sea what he was doing. Unbothered, Poseidon would stand silenty on the ivory balcony, looking up to that apparently endless sky. Even for someone like him that domain appeared far and full of mystery.

It was a dark night, its only beam being the peaceful and perlescent light emanated by the sleeping moon. He was once told that a god inhabited the moon, far from all other living beings. It wasn't known the reason why the deity ended up there, observing humankind from the satellite. Some believed they refused to get involved with human affairs and chose to live as a hermit instead; others claimed the god was exiled and was cursed to live on their own, bound to live in loneliness; some believed that god to have died long ago, the moonlight being their only inheritance, the memento of a god who existed no more, the reminder of a otherwise forgotten past.

Poseidon, everytime he would look at the moon, would wonder the real story behind it. None of the moon goddesses he knew could give him a response, despite asking themselves the same question - with whom were they sharing their moon? A god, a ghost or nothing at all?

Not knowing made the God of the Sea restless. He wasn't supposed to be this ignorant - it was his duty and right to know the truth. Yet, all he knew didn't make sense to him at all. He couldn't find a reason why a god would choose to abandon their place a seek shelter on the moon; if a deity was trapped on the moon, he would have surely heard of it somehow. It wouldn't have been just a rumour; lastly, gods weren't meant to die, it wasn't their nature. They didn't have an expire date nor any time limits, so it was impossible to begin with. If there really were someone looking down on him from the moon, Poseidon would discover it.

Poseidon spent that whole night reading books and looking for information regarding the legends surrounding that mysterious and mystical figure. There weren't many references and he couldn't even find the name of that god, yet there were reported some events which most likely involved them. A beautiful deity whose melancholic face was reflected on the moon on certain nights, someone wearing a silvery armor while riding a shining chariot across the sky. Also, a powerful god who could conceal the sun and the earth. A god capable of moving the stars and making humans into constellations. A god who could flex the tides to their own amusement - which meant disturbing the God of the Sea too - the moon phases and the sea had always been strictly connected to one another, but the thought of someone directly interefering had never crossed his mind. An ancient deity whose name had been long forgotten and all traces canceled, no statues nor temples left, their believers long dead and turned to ashes.

Poseidon was intrigued to say the least. He couldn't recall even if tried the last time he had felt so interested in someone - maybe last time was when he recognised Hades as his brother thousands of years before? He didn't remember anymore, and it didn't really matter to him neither.

Rumours spreaded fast across the Heavens. It was a matter of days before everybody knew what the lonesome Poseidon was looking for, yet nobody dared approaching him nor suggesting him the information that could have helped him reach his objective. Yet, everybody was curious as to why he was interested in that legend in the first place. Poseidon was used to those lower deities' gossips, so he didn't pay them much care, they were nothing more than a bother and wasn't expecting them to act some other way. He was more interested in what certain gods had to say.

Zeus, despite his prestige, knew no more than him but reccomended talking with the goddess Nyx, whom he was afraid of, much more ancient than he was. Hades and Hermes agreed with Zeus and added some rumours that had been circulating for ages in the Underworld regarding a moon deity who lead the souls of the dead to Hades' domain. Beelzebub clearly remembered studying moon's phenoma and seeing that legendary face. They didn't ask him the reason why he was looking for the god. He wouldn't have answered anyway. Without a single word, he left, approaching his next destination, the goddess all gods feared: Nyx.

He respected the goddess, recognising her value and strenght, but didn't understand the reason why even the almighty Zeus feared - he could only suppose it must have been because of one of his many affairs that didn't end the way Zeus imagined. Poseidon didn't have anything to do with that though, therefore had no reason to fear her.

Nyx knew it all, the story of the human who ascended to the skies and then flew even higher above. That god's name was (Y/n), the vagabond of the stars, the hermit who found a home in the dim light of the moon. Poseidon was satisfied by the answers he had finally found - and a way to reach the moon itself. He was close to his goal.

He had finally landed on the moon. Poseidon had never been there before. It was the first time he got to see the sea he ruled from that perspective. It was a foreign feeling to him. He could almost understand the reason why humans tried so hard to leave Earth and reach the space - it was undescribable. He couldn't even blame (Y/n) for hiding in that timeless place. Poseidon felt as he could touch the stars if he only wanted to. And he was just about to do it, if only a sudden voice hadn't interrupted him.

"I've heard someone was looking for me. I don't receive many guests, so I suppose you must be that person." it was quite, almost a whisper. It didn't surprise Poseidon. (T/n) mustn't have had someone to talk to in a long time.

"You are Poseidon, aren't you? You often stare at the moon, I noticed it." a voice comparable to the music of the spheres, the musica universalis, the harmony between the celestial bodies.

(Y/n) seemed to have no material consistence, one with the stars and the deep blue sky surround them, floating on the ground, detached from the earthly beings. Poseidon almost felt unworthy of being before someone surrounded by such a, otherwordly aura, belonging to a different dimension. On the other hand, he was attracted by that holy creature.

"You are welcome here, God of the Seas." almost as if they had read his mind, (Y/n) reassured him "We all belong to the moon, all beings are made of the same stardust. There are no differences between us."

For once, Poseidon, enchanted and bewitched, couldn't reply. He was part of that symphony too - he could feel it resonating deep into his bones.

The everlasting sea below him, the everlasting stars above him. Poseidon felt whole for the first time in his equally everlasting life.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror #record of ragnarok x reader #snv #ror x reader #snv x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no walkure #poseidon #poseidon x reader #record of ragnarok poseidon #shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon #snv poseidon #poseidon record of ragnarok #poseidon ror

[mozzaremi]

finally working on the ghost hunter au that i started a few months ago (?), but i did a complete rehaul on the concept

INFODUMP:

(okok, english isn't my first language and i'll probably edit out grammar mistakes when i'll find them, so please bare with me lol)

Initially, Aubrey and Kel meet as internet pen-pals, both share an interest in horror and all things creepy (tho aubrey prefers the creepy but cute stuff). While Aubrey is more of a casual fan, Kel is a full on enjoyer of anything and everything that's spooky: horror movies, creepy stories, and especially the ghost stuff.

Kel would always share to Aubrey about his fantasies of being a professional ghost hunter and maybe having a tv show all about his and Aubrey's adventures in the paranormal world.

Aubrey and Kel both live in the big city, tho Aubrey often visits Faraway as that's where her mother resides. She would often meet up a friend of her's named Basil: a shy guy who's really interested photography and everything related to plants. While hanging out with the flower boy, Aubrey would frequently do Basil's hair and makeup, later on he picks up some neat beauty tips from her that allowed him to explore his style. The visits to Faraway wouldn't last long, only being there for the weekends and holidays before she'd have to go back to her dad in the city.

Eventually Kel and Aubrey make a blog for Ghost hunting. Their content on there is amateur at best, but they gain a loyal following of other ghost enthusiasts, and non enthusiast, mostly just people who really enjoy kel and aubrey's friendship dynamic and their banter.

In their endevours, they would earn a loyal hater, who goes by "The Maverick" who would nickpick any and all instances of paranormal activity. Although sounding pompous and theatrical, he always finds reasonable proof to debunk all their findings.

Skip a few years, Back in faraway basil has to deal with the grief of his grandmother's passing, he would often stay at the graveyard just to mourn. The graveyard in faraway was infamous for having an unknown being living there, no one knowing if it's human and harmless or something paranormal and dangerous. No one has ever been able to get photo evidence of the entity, so they are more often percieved as an urban legend.

One foggy evening, Basil was back at the graveyard, doing his usual mourning session, when something sat besides him on a bench. Eyes full of tears, he didn't dare to face the person, so he continued with what he was doing. Eventually the person(?) starts asking questions to get Basil to vent to him and maybe calm him down and it works. Felling a little bit better Basil faces the person to see a guy his age in a very strange outfit. Once he got a better look at him, he jumped off the bench realising it's the fabled ghost boy of the graveyard. He runs away, but notes the fact that guy he talked to was very nice...

After that, he starts believing in a life after death, and his grief lessens knowing that possibly his grandmother is in a better place

Basil finds out about Aubrey and Kel making a ghost blog, there the two would film themselves searching through abandoned areas to find ghosts... or something, anything really. While they never found anything scary, they had a very good duo dynamic and Basil became somewhat of a fan of theirs. Basil noticed the poor video quality due to it being recorded on a crappy phone (android lol) and it inspired him to purchase a video camera.

When Aubrey visits Faraway again, he offers his cameraman services to her and she agrees. She introduces Basil to Kel and they all hit it off.

One day, when Aubrey and Kel are feeling hopeless of their Ghost Hunting adventure, Basil tells them the time he met a ghost in the graveyard back in faraway. They both take his word for it.

They get Hero to drive them to faraway, Hero who is a Uni dropout, he really doesn't have anything better to do besides taking up odd jobs to pay rent. He has saved a lot of money throughout the years of being uni-free and working at basically every retail job in the city, so the though of having a road-trip didn't bother him.

Once they are at the town of faraway, Hero hands them a packed lunch, and the gang is off to find a ghost! Being in the graveyard, things felt fruitless, not a lot of things were happening besides the fog that started to form. Kel got tired and started reaching for his bag to get the sandwich that Hero packed him. But there was a problem... there were no sandwiches to be found in his bag... Suddently his eyes meet the figure of the faraway ghost boy who was snacking on a BLT...

Kel alerts his friends to come grab some footage of the ghoul right in front of him, but an issue arose... the video camera wasn't working and couldn't get Sunny in the shot without the device glitching out.

The ghoulish boy named Sunny sees how restless, but persistent the ghost hunter crew was, he found their antics humorous at best, but once the big brother Hero comes to check up on them is when Sunny is on full guard

He summons chains from under the ground, binding the 4 visitors in place. Aproching them again he threatens to suck all the life out of them. They start pleading for their life and a idea accured...

Sunny gave them an offer to help him find his long lost sister...He is unsure if she's still alive or not, but he still feels the presence on her in the living world through the Something chained to his foot. In return he would spare their life and let them film him for their ghost blog. The gang agrees to his offer and just so they don't double cross sunny, he lays a curse on them that if they leave him behind on purpose, they would have their souls taken away from their bodies, turning them into lifeless husks.

AND SO THAT'S HOW THEIR ADVENTURE STARTS! they have this sorta mystery gang adventure going on, traveling across the US to find Mari while also having wacky high-jinxs and sunny allerting the others of ghostly presences in the area for Aubrey, Kel and Basil's ghost hunting blog content, just so they would get enough blog donations to keep traveling!

#omori #omori au #my art #omori sunny #sunny omori #omori aubrey #aubrey omori #kel omori #omori kel #hero omori #omori hero #basil omori #omori basil #camerashy cryptid of faraway au

[novelizt]

PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ childhood friends (to estranged friends) to lovers. angst w/ a happy ending.

WC ➺ 12.2k

SYNOPSIS ➺ to uncover the mystery of iris griffith's murder, it's time to face the music, cross the fence, and talk to a friend you never expected to become a stranger to.

WARNINGS ➺ mentions of the lockwood family tragedies, strained family dynamics, discussions and descriptions of murder

DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! reader. lockwood & co. are aged up to about 18-years-old, I try to shoe-horn forensic science into psychical investigations (I am not a professional so... it's unrealistic, sorry.), and Lockwood calls reader cherry/cherry cheeks

NOTE ➺ I can't remember if Portland Row has wrought-iron fences. In case it doesn't, it does now — this is fan fiction. Also, this is the first time I've finished a story this lengthy and I feel really proud of myself. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Lockwood had laid eyes on you, you were a set of peering eyes over a wrought-iron fence. He could barely see over it, but he could remember how round and shiny your eyes were. All doll-like and unrealistic. Honestly, it scared him. You couldn't blame little Lockwood for scuttling back to his sister.

That same day, your parents had brought you over and formally introduced themselves. Between your parents's statuesque figures, stood you.

Contrary to your encyclopaedic eyes, your mannerisms were timid. You looked miniscule in your Sunday dress. You looked like a breeze could knock you over. Anthony couldn't help but feel bad for running from you earlier.

Following introductions, a terse dinner ensued. Your parents were doctors, the kind who would scamper about in hospitals in scrubs and white coats — people who believed in science. His were researchers who dabbled in spiritual devices of different cultures — people who preferred to find the emotional aspect in the supernatural. Suffice it to say, the conversation was very one-sided.

Even then, Anthony was determined to be your friend. He thought having pretentious parents, like yours, would spoil the fun in things like spinning tops or fencing or enjoying pie with ice cream after supper. (Your parents had insisted the sugar would make it difficult for you to sleep.)

Anthony had made up his mind before you even uttered a word to him.

The instant the adults had dismissed you to the living room with Anthony and Jessica, he had snuck you a pie with extra ice cream on top. He and Jessica had their backs to the door so in the unlikely event that your parents came in, they wouldn't see you breaking their rules.

You weren't much younger than Anthony back then, but with cherry smeared across your cheek and ice cream clinging to your lip, he thought you were as cute as a button. He wasn't aware that he had been smiling at you so widely.

He missed the knowing glint in Jessica's eyes.

Across the peaceful months you'd spent as friends, Anthony and Jessica would tell you about their parents' most recent findings and you'd tell them the most bizarre concepts you learned at the academy.

At night, Anthony would sit by the window in his attic room, flagging out written messages on a sketch pad. Across the way, you would poke your head out to read it.

lots of apples are falling these days. want some?

my parents won't let me

that's because an apple a day keeps the doctors away. i think they're scared

no way... papa says he cuts people open. how could he be scared of apples?

ew... and I dunno, cherry. do you want apples or not?

stop calling me that

apples?

sure...

come down

ARE YOU MENTAL??

He was, indeed, crazy. He had tiptoed all the way downstairs and grabbed his mother and father's favorite jackets on the way out.

In the bite of night and the glow of ghost-lamps, he looked up at your house to see your head poking out of of a different window, a crazed expression on your face. 'What are you doing?' you mouthed.

"Hurry!" He yelled back. He chuckled when you'd flinched and checked behind you. He held up the jackets and took a breath, watching in amazement as fog formed from it.

All while you tapped the window sill in thought. You took one more contemplative glance behind you, then shut the window.

You were vaulting over the fence in no time. He caught you, cushioning your fall with the jackets he'd taken and greeted you with an incandescent smile. Even in greenlight, your little heart skipped a beat.

"Here. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold. We'd both be in trouble if you did."

He threw his mother's coat over your head. It was so big, it enveloped you like a gown. You tried to slip your arms through the sleeves but you only got halfway before you wiggled the limp fabric in his face. He swatted you away but folded them up enough so your palms could come through.

His father's jacket was huge on him, too, but he had the kind of air that made him look natural in it.

In his efforts to help you, his own hands had turned red from the cold. You seized them and stuffed them in your pockets, since your—his mother's—jacket had the lined pockets.

After huddling for warmth, you two grew warm enough to walk further into the backyard and pick up handfuls of apples. You found that you could only fit three apples in each pocket, so you held more by tucking your shirt into your pants and shooting them into your shirt. Anthony had done the same. You didn't realize how ridiculous your actions were until you saw how puffed his figure looked with that many apples stuffed down his shirt.

You snorted so loud it hurt, slapping your hand over your mouth to kill any more laughs that could alert the sleeping adults.

He turned his head to you, like an owl. It made more apples fall from your shirt as your shoulders shook. He shushed you, frantically glancing at the house. "What's wrong with you?"

You shook your head, riding the wave of maturity before it crashed. Little laughs and apples spilled from you. "You look like a pufferfish!"

He looked down and examined himself then, indignantly, he pointed at you. "You're literally spewing apples, you're just as bad!"

Restraint crumbled. Your hand came away and your laughs filled the silent night air. Anthony's laughs began to dance with yours until the pair of you were reduced to shaking stumps surrounded by fallen apples.

"Don't look at me! You're making me laugh!"

"Your face is funnier!"

"Stop it!"

"Cherry— You're only making me laugh more!"

It was no surprise that his parents had woken up and scolded you two accordingly. While they tutted at you, you two sat under the same blanket. Elbowing each other when they began to question who'd initated it.

You weren't a snitch. You did not tell, and they never found out who caused the trouble.

Jessica later rewarded you both with a cookie under their noses. You cracked your cookie in half to share with her. Anthony did the same to his, giving his other half to you.

—

Those memories were a far cry from the present. On some days, they felt like dreams. Now, all you are to him is a pair of peering eyes over wrought-iron fences.

Lockwood would catch glimpses of you on the way back from a case. He would nod, you would nod. Then both of you would continue on with your lives like the era of cherry pies and fallen apples had never happened.

Some days, he would turn the newspapers, checking to see if student doctor you had earned any new accolades in your scholastic journey to saving lives, but he never had it in him to say hello to you.

That morning's issue had you on the front page. You with your resplendent eyes and smile finally sporting a white coat at the ripe of eighteen, the first one of your age to earn 'Doctor' as a suffix to your name. Apparently, you'd applied your studies on forensic science to aid psychical investigations involving mummified body parts.

Seems you were doing well.

He placed the paper face down on the thinking cloth, ignoring Lucy's questioning gaze as he took a sip of tea.

"What's happened now?" Lucy asked, stretching her neck to see what made him so upset. She settled back into her seat after she set her eyes on the crossword puzzle, unable to glimpse the front page. "Kipps's crew?" she guessed.

"No, he would have his brow furrowed like this–" George turned to show his brows knitted together so hard they looked like they were drawn on with marker. "–if it was Kipps. It's got to be something else."

"Oh, right," Lucy said with bite, smacking her head like that made sense. "How could I forget?"

George shrugged, grinning like he had a secret on the tip of his tongue. "I don't know, Luce. Maybe it's the letters you've been receiving from one; Norrie White."

Lucy's chair scraped as she stood, gaping at George with anger tightening her mouth. "You went through my mail!"

"She wrote her name in marker. Red. Marker. I would have to be blind to miss it."

Lockwood kicked back and watched the drama ensue, a smile easing itself back on his face. Lucy and George's petty squabble was always a shot of espresso on a rather depressing morning. They made an excellent stopper to all his wonderings about the past.

"That was none of your business!" Lucy shrieked. In her fury, her hands itched to do something... to throw something.

Lockwood realized too late. He vaulted forward to pry the newspaper from her fingers, but Lucy's rage made her a savage. She chucked the newspaper at George with the velocity of a racing car.

The headlines collided with George's face with a resounding thud.

His glasses fell and landed with a unceremonious noise. Thankfully, unscathed from the impact.

The same could not be said for his nose.

George's face pulsed like he had been stung by the world's largest be. He splayed his hand over his nose to check for bleeding and groaned.

"That hurt..."

"Of course it did. I intended it to," Lucy huffed. She scooped up George's glasses and the paper. "That ought to teach you about looking at my correspondence."

"Didn't have to thump me that hard though," George grumbled, snatching his glasses back.

He looked like a dartboard bullseye wearing glasses. Lockwood couldn't focus on it though. His eyes were honed in on the newspaper Lucy was currently unraveling.

He bit his cheek and decided to finish his tea in one gulp. "Well," Lockwood started, fixing his collar as he stood. "I'd better see what we're taking on tonight. I'll be—"

"Hey, this is that girl next door." Lucy pushed her face closer to the paper to reassure herself that she wasn't seeing wrong. She'd seen that blouse and trouser combo on you a few days ago. "Yeah! That's her!"

George showed a rare kind of expression. A raised brow aimed at Lockwood. "She's a doctor now. How could that be upsetting?"

"Don't tell me you have a rivalry with her because she poked you in the bum when you were little," Lucy joked.

Lockwood's face flushed. He looked at the kitchen door, contemplating escape, then back to his friends. He leaned on the doorframe, attempting to look lax but coming off as stiff as a board. "Who said I was upset?"

"You were quiet over tea," George said.

"What of it?" Lockwood pushed.

George gave him an are you kidding me kind of look. "You never shut up when you can help it."

"And you did this." Lucy copied his pondering face, and Lockwood grimaced—reminding himself to school his expressions better.

"Please. For all things good, never do that again, and I am not upset at her—"

"Defensive now? You so are," George chuckled.

Lockwood's jaw ticked. "I am not—"

Saved by the bell. All three heads turned to the door with interest. It was still early in the day, so a new client was unexpected.

"I'll get it," Lockwood said. He left a prattling Lucy and George in the winds of his coat.

The doorbell rang again before he got to it. "Keep your shirt on—"

George and Lucy idled at the foot of the stairs as the door swung open. George let out a gasp, Lucy elbowed him to keep quiet.

Speak of the devil and he will appear. Though, you were more seraphic in that white dress, innocently festooned with embroidered cherries. Your smile was as disarming as ever. It was even brighter than the light haloing your hair.

"Hello."

Lucy tripped over air at the sweetness of your voice, now understanding how the word 'mellifluous' came to be.

Lockwood was indifferent.

Just staring at the back of his head, Lucy knew he was sporting an expression reserved just for Kipps and his crew. It made her want to kick his shin and tell him to get himself together.

"Hi," Lockwood finally greeted, tone bleak. "What are you doing here?"

"Lockwood," George finally intervened. Seems he was taken by how you carried yourself, too.

Both your and Lockwood's heads turned to him.

"Oh, you must be George Karim." Your smile widened, outshining the light above the door. "And Lucy Carlyle. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Lucy and George rarely agreed on things, but they spoke like they were on the same wavelength then. "Pleasure is ours."

A little laugh escaped you, just as graceful as the swish of your skirt. You introduced yourself, discounting your new title. "My parents asked me to invite friends to my celebratory dinner tonight but I don't have people I'd really consider friends." Your honeyed eyes drifted back to Lockwood, trying not to wilt under his blasé gaze. "I was thinking you three could drop by. No need to bring anything but yourselves. We have pie and ice cream for dessert."

Hope was alight in your eyes. The insider statement flew over George and Lucy's heads, and apparently, Lockwood's too. Your expression dampened as it struck you.

"That sounds nice," George said pleasantly.

Lucy nodded in agreement. "And it's not every day we get invited to a free meal."

"With pie." George was already dreaming about it.

Lockwood let out a breath. "Sorry. We have a case tonight."

"No, that's for Friday night," George interrupted. "Isn't that right, Lucy?"

"That's right," Lucy doubled down.

Both of Lockwood & Co.'s best simply blinked and grinned at Lockwood's taut form.

"Great," you quipped. Your eyes lingered on Lockwood but moved to George and Lucy when he showed no interest in being civil. "I'll see you tonight, then. Have a nice day!"

"You too!"

Lockwood gave you a sufficient nod and lipped smile as he closed the door. The moment you were out of sight, the room turned sepia.

Silence for a moment, then George.

"There is definitely something going on here."

—

Despite Lucy and George's joint efforts to pry answers from him, Lockwood did not bend. When the light began to die outside, they retired to their own rooms to prepare. Finally leaving him in silence.

Lockwood chose to wear his usual get-up. The only difference was his waistcoat. It sported a thin, stylish red stripe down it's right side; George had worn an unstained shirt for once, so he did put a bit more effort into his looks that evening; and Lucy wore her best skirt and sweater to put her best foot forward.

"Now," Lockwood said as they all spiraled down the steps. "You have to remember a few things about our neighbors."

"And that would be?" George rolled his eyes.

"They're doctors," Lockwood answered like it was a sin.

"All of them?" Lucy asked with interest.

"Yes, the entire family," Lockwood confirmed. "You have to remember that when they start getting weird about our work."

"Why?" Lucy flicked a crumb left on George's shoulder once they reached the last step. "We get help from hospitals when we need to examine post-mortem documents. It's not like our professions are worlds apart."

"You mean I get help," George corrected firmly. "Not like either of you do the grisly work when it comes to research."

"Well, you're the best at it," Lucy said placatingly.

"'Course I am," George nipped.

Lockwood shushed them. "Regardless of what they say, do not loose your cool. They think getting you worked up means they win.

"They can't be that bad. Your girl was nice enough," Lucy said.

Lockwood's brows furrowed then unfurrowed. "She's not my girl," he said, opening the door with zeal.

"Sure," Lucy grinned as she slipped past.

—

34 Portland Row looked the same as 35 from the outside. The interior decor made it clear that the home was made up of doctors. Successful ones, by the looks of it.

You greeted them at the door with the same radiatant smile from the papers. Your dress was marvelous but Lucy and George could not help but look over your shoulder, into the opulence of 34 Portland Row.

Like always, Lockwood greeted you with a nod and addressed you by name. It wasn't much but you accepted it with cheeks strained from practicing your smile.

As you lead them to the dining room, their eyes wandered at their own volition. Lockwood couldn't help but do the same.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was as decadent as ever; the doorknobs had been changed to be made of glass and silver; the bookshelves were packed with newer books—likely yours; the wall next to the stairs still held your height measurements from years ago. He caught your eye as he did so, trying not to flinch at the waves of melancholy that crashed over him. He chose to look at the back of your head as the light of the dining room enveloped them.

Like every room in this house, a chandelier sat in the middle. Everything was gleaming. Not a speck was out of place, except maybe him. Perfect, just like the family that lived here.

The table was already set with steaming meals of steak, veggies, and mashed potatoes. There was a pitcher of juice in the middle but Lockwood noticed that he, Lucy, and George's glasses were already filled with water. Your mother had just finished filling the last one when she offered her most deceitful smile.

"Anthony Lockwood and friends..." your mother greeted. Her tone was eloquent but the drawl in it sent an unwelcomed pang of anxiety through Lockwood, he tensed then forced himself to relax. "Haven't seen you around lately, Tony."

"Running a business does eat time, unfortunately." He spared her a terse smile and sat at the chair you directed him to — just across from you. Lucy sat beside you, and George had the misfortune of sitting next to your father. Lockwood cleared his throat to break the silence. "You haven't aged a day, Mrs.—"

"Doctor, actually. We've had this conversation before," she chortled with a furled smile you would only expect from the devil's mistresses.

Lucy and George found sudden interest in their food. Your shoulders sunk, but like times before, you didn't say anything. Lockwood tried not to look surprised.

"Right... Doctor. My apologies." He straightened himself in his seat. "You two look swell. How has the winter been treating you?"

"Oh, it's absolutely tiring," your father said. He had the kind of tone that suggested that he was always pouting. At least he wasn't spitting venom while he was talking about himself. "Patients coming in but rarely being able to make it out. Terrible thing, really."

"Sorrows to those who have passed because of the upstart," your mother chipped in. "Our little darling saved some lives in lieu of her recent graduation, and she's only been a doctor for a few days!"

Your mother smiled at you. You refused to look up from your dinner. "All I did was administer CPR. The hospital was understaffed that day. I work in a different department, mama."

Her smile faded before her eyes snapped to Lockwood, her grin sharpening.

"Can you imagine that? Not even a day as a doctor and she's already on the papers. Real talent gets recognized straight away, everyone knows."

Your father did not finish chewing his steak before he joined in. "Kids these days run around wasting their time on things other than their academics. What do they expect to do after their talents fade, huh? Our girl has no worries in that department."

George pushed his plate away after a blob of spit landed on his potatoes. He thought it was best to put down his utensils as well. His grip was turning his knuckles white. Lucy had resorted to pushing her asparagus to calm the anger beginning to stoke in her mind. They were beginning to see why Lockwood did not want to come. The aforementioned remained with a practiced smile on his face.

Your eyes conveyed your apologies yet Lockwood refused to look at you. You were as meek as the girl Lockwood first saw over the fence. Your voice was weaker when you used it in this house. "Mama, papa. Those kids risk their lives to make living easier for everyone. Bravery like that can't be learned from textbooks."

"No, but keeping your nose out of that business altogether will keep you alive." Your mother's expression changed, a beguiling woman turning into medusa before their very eyes.

You sunk under the weight of her stare. You might as well have turned to stone.

"Knowledge keeps you alive," your father added. "Perusing supernatural business will only end with dead kids or orphans who have to resort to psychical work to get by. Some of them work up the nerve to call it a real profession."

A resounding ring resounded from Lockwood's side of the table. He had dropped his knife. His smile had gone. His lips twitched, like he wasn't sure what to do or say. Ultimately saying nothing.

Your eyes glossed over, anger and sadness swirling together in your belly. You were ready to let loose, to set your parents straight. Yet, one look at your father's face was enough to have you curling in on yourself.

The temperature dropped like the conversation had. No one said a thing when smoke began to choke the room.

"Well," your mother cheered. "Seems like the pie is ruined. I'm afraid we'll have to end supper here."

—

Lucy rushed the door open, just itching to unload the tangle of colorful words she'd thought up in that stuffy house of yours.

"They were horrendous," George said, throwing his flannel aside. "I thought that junior doctor was nice but now I know she's Medusa's spawn."

"She is. And have you seen her dad?" Lucy doubled down. She considered going downstairs to release her pent-up emotions but thought better of it. "Terrible, the lot of them."

Lockwood had thought the same cruel thoughts but hearing it from them made him defensive. You weren't bad. You were just a bystander. Your lack of responses hurt as bad as your parents's passive-aggressive jabs, but you weren't even close to being half the evil your parents were. He felt his stomach churning as they began to drag your name through the dirt.

"We are never going back there," George declared. "You were right, Lockwood."

"I need 24 hours of sleep to recover from it. I've never felt so murderous before." That was Lucy's way of saying goodnight. She started for the steps right after.

"I think we should go back. So you can finish the job," George said, following Lucy up the stairs.

Lockwood stumbled ahead, throwing his coat on the newel and collapsing at the foot of the steps. From where he lazed, he continued to hear Lucy and George bicker.

"Maybe you could call up that Norrie White to help you get away with murder," George said encouragingly.

"Don't even start on that, George," Lucy warned.

Her door closed.

"Fine," George said despondenty. "It was just a suggestion, geez."

His door closed, too.

Lockwood let out a breath. It felt like his soul had left his body for a moment of reprieve. He didn't have even five minutes of silence before he heard urgent taps reverberating through his ears. He sat up, alarmed, trying to assess where the noise could have come from.

After a quick sweep, he swung the kitchen door open and discovered you on the other side of the garden door, knuckles raping against the glass with a pained look on your face.

He contemplated leaving you out in the cold but decided that he wasn't that kind of person. He opened the door and wasn't all that surprised that your habit of forgetting a jacket stayed true. You were shivering.

"Anthony—"

"Give me a moment," he interrupted. He turned, walked back to the steps to retrieve his coat, then returned to drape it over your shoulders. "Come in. Sit. You never remember to bring a coat at night, stubborn girl."

You smile despite the frost on your face. Your face turns pink as the warmth of 35 Portland Row thaws you. He sits you on his usual seat and takes George's cushioned seat instead.

"Old habits die hard," you chuckle, holding his coat tighter. If you bent your head enough, you would get a whiff of him on it. You could have tried to do it inconspicuously but he was sitting right there, he would know. "I'm sorry... for everything. I thought they wouldn't– I really should have known they would say things like that. I apologize for them. I really do feel bad. If Mr. Karim and Ms. Carlyle are still up, I'd like to tell them as well."

"They've retired for the night," he reports. He redacts the part that they were discussing the demise of your family. "but thank you for coming to say that."

"And I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you add.

Lockwood doesn't say anything to that. In his mind, you would have stopped them if you were really sorry. "Why did you come here? And please don't say you're inviting us to another dinner."

"Goodness, no." You snort. "I... have a case. I don't know who else to surrender the evidence to."

His brows jump. "You're asking for psychical service? From me? Us, I mean."

You nod. "I hear that Ms. Carlyle is particularly gifted. What I think we're facing is something special. Something no regular agent can feel out."

"Why hasn't Fittes or Rotwell been put up to this if it's that important?"

"Because it's a personal study of mine." You drop a manila folder on the thinking cloth. Lockwood didn't even notice you were holding it earlier. "It's a closed case. An unsolved one. The autopsy is gruesome and justice was never brought to the victim. I searched her property myself and found the source. I tried to communicate with her but I can't do it."

"And you think Lucy is the Listener for the job?"

"Yes. I don't just want to get rid of a ghost, Anthony, I want to lay her to rest. To give her peace."

He leans back in his chair, drinking in the information while he raked a hand through his hair. "You investigated the area of the haunting alone?"

"In daylight," you said in your defense. "My sense of touch is useful enough for me to know if something is a source. Problem is, I can't get any psychical resonance to find out who had killed her."

"Amazing..." he breathed. He didn't know you had that level of sensitivity. Still, he had to think of this as an official case. He righted his posture immediately. "I'll ask George and Lucy in the morning. Can you come by at nine?"

"Yeah. My parents are at work before then. No worries about them."

"Good."

You nod, not knowing what else to do. "Good."

You stared at each other. Possibly taking in how much time had changed you; The scars he'd earned through the years, the callouses on your hands from studying, blemishes, changed mannerisms—and then the unspoken reminder that you had drifted apart after the Lockwood family turned from four to one. You were completely different people to the children who used to laugh through these halls.

"I better get going," you said. You couldn't handle Lockwood and his expressive eyes. You don't know if he was doing it consciously, but it was like you could see his sadness bleeding into the world just by glancing at them.

He nodded like a puppet on a string, pulling himself up and leading you to the garden door once more.

"Goodnight," you said, mustering a friendly smile that was, thankfully, returned.

"Night... Cherry," he replied.

You smiled for a moment more before you snuck back home. Neither of you remembered that you had his coat until morning.

—

You were knocking at 35 Portland Row at 8:55. You stood stiffly, not knowing how to conduct yourself after last night's catastrophe. Lockwood's coat was folded over your arm when George answered the door.

Opposite of the day before, his face was flat. If you turned around and left, you'd be doing him a favor. Unfortunately for him, you were there with intention.

"I need the help of Lockwood & Co."

George opened his mouth, probably thinking of some creative way to say 'shove off'. Lockwood's voice from the kitchen bellowed over his train of thought. "It that her? Let her in, Georgie."

George was mumbling something but he stepped aside and didn't stab you with a nearby rapier. You believed that meant there was a chance to redeem yourself.

You were lead to the receiving room where you were shortly joined by Lockwood and an either groggy or bloodthirsty Lucy. George had retired to the kitchen to bring in biscuits. You hadn't earned the respect to have cake in the vicinity.

Lockwood lead the conversation, eyes trained on you. It made you conscious enough to shuffle and pick at the frayed seams of his coat.

"You only gave us a few details about this case. Evidently it was murder but it was closed and unsolved for two decades."

"I have the rest here," you said, revealing another manila folder. This one was thicker, packed with all you knew about it. It was the real deal. As you passed it across the table, the three of them ogled at the vivid red 'confidential' stamp slanted across the front. "Her name was Iris Griffiths. She was a forensic scientist who cracked several unsolved cases in her time. She had sensitive hearing, from what her colleagues said. She wasn't working on any new cases before her housemate reported her dead on a random night."

"Was it during winter? She could have been ghost-touched." Lucy suggested with a clipped tone. She just wanted to close the case and never see you again.

You shook your head, reaching across and guiding Lockwood's hand to another page in the folder. "Her autopsy shows several lacerations and bruises but no remnants of ghost touch. Her body was already decomposing when she was found."

"And her flatmate? They could be a suspect." George pitched.

You shook your head again. "Celia Rodney was out of town with her fiancé. Several colleagues were interviewed and confirmed it."

Lockwood looked up. "Then we have to assume that it's someone from Griffith's personal life. Did she have a lover?"

"This is like the Annie Ward case all over again," Lucy groaned.

You continued nonetheless. "She did have a lover, actually. Howard Gasley was her co-worker and boyfriend. They had a good relationship, according to the interviews, so I don't suspect any foul play between them."

George leaned against the right side of his chair. There was a creak from the old thing but he ignored it. "What if their relationship was rocky behind the scenes?"

You looked down at the evidence file and sighed. "I guess we will find out when Ms. Carlyle's able to speak with her. All our suspects have solid alibis. To obtain justice for Iris Griffith, we'll have to be her witnesses."

George turns stiff. "We? Lockwood."

Lucy does the same. "You're asking me to communicate with a ghost?"

Lockwood tries to settle them down with a relaxed smile. "It's high time I stop scolding you for being good at what you do, Luce. Our client is explicitly asking you to exploit your talent and find us a killer. The client is always right. Isn't that right, George?"

George grumbles a reply you don't hear, and Lucy nods limply, like she can't comprehend the fact that Lockwood was being so lax about this. What happened to the dangers of communicating with ghosts?

Regardless, they realize that arguing with him was going to be a losing battle. He has that look in his eye—one akin to an adrenaline junkie who's about about to jump from a cliff, and his eyes are set on you.

Lucy and George watched as you returned his coat before they shot each other looks.

What happened to hating you and your white-coat family? Lockwood marched to the beat of his own drum, apparently.

They had their kits ready before dark and met you on the street you'd told them about. Lockwood saw your peering eyes over the run-down house's picket fence and quickened his pace.

"Lovely place," Lucy drawled, eyeing the chipping paint with faint curiosity. Two decades could do so much to a nice house.

"Very lively," George seconded with bite, side-stepping the corpse of a rat.

"I have the source inside, under a chain net," you inform them. You push open the door, wincing as the hinges break and send the wood slamming to the floor. "I hope the house holds long enough to finish this investigation."

"Finally," cheered Lucy. "something we can agree on."

Lockwood was contemplating over how to behave himself. One second, he was keeping pace with you, then walking ahead the next, then falling behind you. He cycled between all three, ignoring George's rolling eyes and Lucy's sighs until all four of you reach the second-floor's lavatory. Luckily, no one had fallen through the floor.

"Do tell me we're not dealing with supernatural turd," George begged.

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "I'll be the one doing the Listening so you can take your complaints outside, George."

"This might be worse," you answer them when you pull off the chain net from an odd looking thing. It looked like a starfish wrapped in ripped and yellowed tissue paper. Lucy gagged when she took a second look.

"Mummified hand," Lockwood said aloud, trying to keep a placid smile on his face. "I always tell you to never mess with mummified body parts but we'll have to make an exception."

"Mummified parts bridge the forensic and psychical field, unfortunately." You cover the source back up as a mercy to Lucy. "They couldn't find her hand before they autopsied her body. Found this under a plank in her bedroom."

"Handy," George said dryly.

Lucy glared at him. "Not the time."

"I'm not sorry," he replied.

"You could have mentioned this sooner," Lockwood interjected, turning his head to you.

You gave a smile in response. "I think it's just another piece of evidence that proves someone had been very angry with her."

"Did the academy teach you to smile so morbidly?" George questioned.

"No, that's just her face." Lockwood said gravely.

George spared you a look that resembled concern. "Pity."

You dropped your smile and walked passed a chuckling Lockwood.

—

Lucy couldn't hear a thing while there was light out. Even with the chain net off, all she could hear was George's heavy breathing.

Lockwood had everyone sat in the disparaging kitchen to have tea and some biscuits before night fell. All the courtresy of Lockwood & Co., of course. Papers spread across the table, rehashing the details in hopes that it would help Lucy discern which questions to prioritize once she made contact with Griffith.

George squinted his eyes at the court transcripts. "There's an awful lot of witnesses."

"It was a big case. Griffith did wonders to connect the world of science and the psychic." You dipped a biscuit into your overly sweetened tea; it was not so coincidentally your favorite brand, and took a bite. "She inspired me to study. It's been a dream of mine to solve her case."

George nodded with the most plastic smile on his face. "Wonderful. We're fulfilling childhood wishes while Lucy experiences rediscovered trauma."

You sighed and sunk into the rotting seat. There was no salvaging an acquaintanceship with George at this rate. You lulled your head to look at Lockwood. He spared you a smile but looked away just as quick.

"Don't interrupt me, that's all I ask," Lucy said as the clock struck six.

Papers were put away, circles were drawn, several more candles were lit, and Lucy hunkered down in the lavatory. The door was closed to give her room to work, leaving you to stand between Lockwood and George. You hobbled from heel to heel as you eyed their rapiers and their weary wandering.

The silence reminded you too much of home. Words poured out of you to chase away your parents's images in your mind. "How strong are Ms. Carlyle's talents? I've only heard heresay about her abilities."

"None of your business—"

"She's the best Listener in the field," Lockwood answered. Even in the dim light, you could see his smile pull higher. It made your heart do funny things while your stomach dropped. "I ought to think she'd be on parr with Marissa Fittes, given enough time. Maybe even better."

George nodded in agreement, turning his head as the ghost-lamps outside flickered to life. The green hue bled into the room, dimming the atmosphere even more.

You leaned against the wall as a chill crept out from under the lavatory door. "I have no doubt that we'll be able to get our answer then."

"Oh! Ow!" George exclaimed.

You didn't have a rapier or any form of weapon but you turned to him like you could help, just to find he was simply hugging himself.

"Got really cold all of a sudden. Felt like something passed through me," he said. He looked down at his thermometer. "Temp's dropped significantly. This visitor is a force."

"That's why she got the best of the best to do it," Lockwood boasted, winking your way and changing his stance as a spectral glow began to flicker under the door.

"Do we have a guess on what we could be facing?" you asked, backing away.

Lockwood didn't miss the tremoring in your hands. "No, but where where is a lack of knowledge, there is faith. We'll make it out this alive."

"Oh," you laughed unhumorously. "how reassuring."

"He's good at that," George added flatly.

Lockwood held out an arm, guiding you to stand between him and George. Their backs turned to you, their rapiers raised and at the ready.

"Here," Lockwood didn't look away from the dark as he unclasped a salt-bomb and a flask of lavender water. He held them out and you took them with shaking hands.

Malaise stalked in on you three, making the hairs on your arm stand. You gripped the salt-bomb and lavender water for dear life. Pressure squeezed down on your chest and your heart raced for a danger unseen.

"This much activity before ten? Griffith must have had qualms about dying." George said.

Lockwood chuckled, nodding along. "Wonder how nobody reported this much activity if the source was hidden all this time."

"Nobody wanted to visit this place when the killer was still at large," you answered, struggling to keep your tone even. "Some kids started some rumors during the court proceedings. They said someone just wanted the house badly enough to kill for it."

"That would be unfortunate," George said. "Imagine all that commotion over a killer who simply wanted real estate."

You tried to stiffle a laugh but failed. "It does sound ridiculous."

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, catching your faulty smile before a scream shook the Earth.

"Lucy?"

"Lucy!"

"Ms. Carlyle?"

She came bursting out of the lavatory, two fingers pinching the mummified hand, and looking quite disgruntled before she stood in the boy's protective circle.

"We might need Little Miss Doctor to stand in the iron circle," Lucy said, fumbling for her rapier and holding the source a ways from her body. Frost was gripping at her gloves.

The plan was scraped with one glance to the circle. It had been thrashed by Griffith from the time Lucy came tumbling out of the lavatory.

"Type two," all three of them agreed.

"What happened?" asked George. His eyes darted down the hallway with more apprehension than before.

"She got angrier and angrier the more names I mentioned," she answered. "I felt like she was about to drown me."

You took the mummified hand from her grasp. The sigh she let out was laughable. "Did she say who killed her?"

Lucy shook her head as she readied herself. Miasma was building. Fear gripped you like nothing you'd experienced before. When you touched the hand, that feeling multiplied. You heard murmurs but nothing substantial.

Shell...

Kill me...

Secret...

You couldn't stitch those words together to come to any conclusion. You were crossing your fingers that Lucy could. The possibilities kept you up at night. If you weren't thinking about your estranged friendship with Lockwood, you were thinking of getting justice for this woman you didn't even know. The cold pinching your skin from the source was a reminder that it wasn't over.

Like a light in the dark, Lucy looked at you and said, "She kept nodding her head whenever I asked if some person killed her; She said yes to Rodney. She said yes to Gasley—"

"So even she doesn't know who killed her?" George laughed emptily. "Brilliant."

"We might have to investigate more on our own to find more details." Lockwood nudged your side. You thought it was to shield you from the cold but that would be too presumptuous. He had bumped into you to swipe away the apparition of Iris Griffith.

She came and went like a zap of electricity. Frantic and unpredictable. Every time you caught sight of her mauled face, your heart picked up. How these three hadn't double over from heart failure was a mystery. Your knees gave up when she'd appeared beside you.

Your eyes watched her in slow motion. The rippling gashes in her plasma, her sneering face, her slashed dress... She was a hairsbreadth away from you before your instincts kicked in.

Your blood fell to your feet but your hand reached into your pocket in a panic, saving yourself as you pulled out a silver button. You threw it at her face and, fortunately, it was enough to disperse her ghost.

Lockwood let out a loud breath of relief but jumped back into the rhythm when her apparition reappeared. "Was that my mother's button? Nevermind. Time to make our exit! Luce, where's the chain net?"

She clicked her tongue. "Dropped it. Her manifestation appeared right in front of me."

"Go get it then!" George rushed, swiping at the air and setting off the first salt-bomb of the night.

"I would if I could," Lucy replied with a bite in her tone. She grimaced at the hand in your vice. "It's in the toilet."

"Pick it up! You've held worse." George backed into Lucy. They switched places.

"It's best if you don't," you advised. "This place has been deserted for years. Who knows what kind of bacteria's been growing in the bowl."

"Oh, you have to know everything, don't you?" George hissed.

Lucy didn't snap at you this time. "Listen to the doctor, George! Did we bring any more chain nets?"

Lockwood reached for your shirt, tugging you towards him as Griffith bit the air where your head would have been. He held you between his arms as blood rushed to your ears and cheeks. Lockwood's breath tickled your ear. The warmth of your face was a juxtaposition to the cold encasing your hands. "My bag! It's a bit away. We'll have to split up."

"Try not to die," George said with false sweetness. He and Lucy ran the opposite way you and Lockwood had.

Griffith chased them. The farther she got, the more you remembered how to breath.

"Calm down, cherry cheeks, ghosts can feed off of your fear," he tried to pacify you. The rasp of his voice evened your heart rate enough for you to get your brain turning again.

"Right. You're right..." You looked ahead, through the darkness and could barely make out the lumps on the ground. "Chain, we have to get the chain net."

"I've got you," he assured.

Even if your pivotal functions had returned to normal, your legs hadn't gotten the memo. Getting up made your knees buckle and legs feel like cooked pasta. As if the cold eating your fingers weren't bad enough.

Lockwood caught you around the waist, holding your weight while he held his rapier at the ready. "Hold on to the source and remember the salt-bomb."

You nodded firmly, clutching both to your chest as you two made a joint effort to get to the bags.

You were almost there, just passed the iron circle that Griffith had broken through, when she appeared above you like an unwanted mistletoe.

You screamed, Lockwood said something to console you, you threw the salt-bomb without taking off the clip, and Lockwood quickly sliced off the top to set it off. Salt sprayed over you two. His body folded over yours as it showered down.

Griffith's yells faded for a moment, a moment long enough for you to slide forward and grab the chain net that clung onto the side pocket of Lockwood's kit. Your hand wrapped around it, Iris's spectral glow kissed your skin, you felt the chill of it — she was colder than her source.

Suddenly, Lockwood had tugged you back towards him. His pull was strong enough to knock you onto your side. It would bruise but at least you weren't ghost-touched.

You wrapped the mummified hand in the net and sighed as the glow faded away and the screaming ceased. The frostbite on your fingers were worth the pain. You were alive.

Silence and heavy breathing ensued.

You rolled the rest of the way on your back, heaving for breath you won't get back. Not while Lockwood remained hovering over you.

The candles had been blown out in the earlier attack. The only light came from the ghost-lamps that sifted through the broken windows. Everything was in that ugly shade of bottle green... but that didn't make him any less magnificent.

Sweat collected on his brow, his mouth was agape—chasing for breath, and his lips were curled in that kind of smirk you could only dream about. Holding your breath did little for your racing heart.

"You okay, cherry cheeks?" His lips moved like their one purpose was to enrapture you.

You nodded dumbly, unable to find your words.

—

Portland Row was cloaked by the night when you four made your escape.

The three of them headed for the 35th while you bound up the steps to your parents' place. George and Lucy gained enough respect for you to wish you a good night before heading in, successfully tuckered out. Lockwood remained, staring at you with his hands in his trouser pockets.

He raised his brows at you then motioned to your front door. "Head on in. It would weigh on my conscience if I don't see you home safe. Your parents would have my head."

"You..." you paused at the fog before you. It was colder out than you thought. "You called me cherry cheeks earlier."

His stance turned tense. He rocked on his heels before he mustered a smile. "Old habits die hard... Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"It's okay," you reassured, returning the smile. "I missed it."

"You don't mind then?"

You shook your head. "Never did."

His smile broadened, teasing a glimpse of his pearly whites before he looked at his shoes to hide it. "See you tomorrow then, cherry."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him. These days, both of you were tall enough to see each other clearly over the wrought-iron fencing. You missed the days you had to tiptoe to show him a smile.

You had no problems shooting him a smile from over the fence. You had no problems coming home to your perfectionist parents. You had no problems imagining your world without Lockwood in it... but you missed him.

Now that the events kept replaying in your head, all you could think while you looked at him was I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry.

Lockwood had the talent of knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't bring yourself to. He forgot how when you had grown apart. Now, in the quiet of the night and the privacy of the stars, it came back to him like the memories he tamped down by closing his window.

"What's wrong?" He asked, setting his hands on the freezing iron fence.

You feel the knot in your throat and the tears in your eyes. It hurts to hold back. Your lungs are lined with spikes as you take a breath. It feels like you're cracking your ribs open as you cave and admit to him, "I don't want to go home to them."

It may have been a trick of the light, but you swear there were tears in his eyes, too. His smile had changed. It was the same one you were accustomed to—the one he used to welcome you into his parents's house all those years ago. Like no time had passed at all, he beckons you. "Come on in then. 35 Portland Row is always open for you. It's your home, too."

—

One night's sleep on 35 Portland Row's most uncomfortable couch was worlds better than the comfy bed in your own cold home. You stretch like a cat to work out all the kinks in your joints, smiling at the air for no reason other than the happiness that filled you the moment you realized you were at the Lockwoods'. Your frosted hands had been wrapped up over a very sleepy catch-up the night before.

Ambient music was playing in your head as you took in your surroundings. The browned books and the disarray of trinkets left all around you were more home than anything you were used to.

It felt like you were wading through the most pleasant dream.

It all screeched to a halt the moment you swung your foot down and stepped on something squishy and loud—it groaned like a beast.

Terror clawed out of your throat in the form of a scream. Juttery legs hopped onto the back of the couch to gain height, and weary eyes looked down at the monster under the bed— er, sofa.

The lump inflated, made of patchwork quilt... until that fell away to reveal a very disheveled and very grumpy Anthony Lockwood.

"Ow," he simply said.

Your soul returned to your body. You offered a little laugh as you eased back down on the couch. "Sorry, Anthony."

"Don't worry yourself," he assured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I was the one who snuck down here."

You were a kid when you admitted to being afraid of being alone. It was thoughtful of him to come down here to keep you company when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs.

With a fluttering belly and a sheepish smile, you reached out and patted his sleepy head. "You've always been good to me. I should be more grateful."

He opened one eye to look at you while he rubbed the sleep out of the other. A corner of his lip tipped up into a lazy smile. "You can start with a 'thank you', darling."

"Thank you," you said all too quickly. The deeper octave and the rasp in his voice had finally hit home. It made your cheeks warm.

Judging by the growing smile on his face, he had accomplished what he was intending to.

Your shoulders jumped. A knock broke through the calmness of the air. You turned and saw George in an apron and kitchen mitts. "Are you two going to give each other goo-goo eyes all morning or are you joining us for breakfast?"

—

The investigation resumed as soon as the breakfast plates had been cleaned.

You split into two groups. George and Lucy were off to the archives to work out all of Griffith's social connections, and you and Lockwood were off to the hospital to look for documents that contained the same M.O. or similar timeline to Griffith's case.

"I thought police were the only ones allowed to hold information like this," Lockwood admitted as you two shuffled through files upon files in the hospital archives.

"Most of it, they do. I just hope there's something here relevant to our case," you reply. "If we have to hand this off to detectives, DEPRAC will get involved. They'll just close the case and leave it be."

He nudges up to you after a good three hours of finding absolutely nothing. "Let's look at the last few cases she solved. Could have a clue."

"All of those are solved though," you respond. You were biting your nails at this point. You had to find something before questioning Griffith's ghost again—for Lucy's sanity and for the group's safety.

Lockwood took you by the shoulders just as you began to imagine the worst. "Cherry," he said to snap your attention to him. "If we can't find anything, I don't want you joining us on this one."

"What?" You back away from him in your incredulity. "I helped last night, didn't I? This is my investigation as much as it is yours, Anthony."

"This visitor is a type two, cher. It's not as simple as solving a case. This means lives are in the balance—"

"I'm aware." You put your foot down. You slapped his hands away and shimmy a thick stack from under the desk. "I'm aware of the risks and I consent to them." You pick up the one at the top of the stack and shove it into his chest. He had always liked the curiosity in your eyes, so he was taken aback by the void in them as you looked at him. "I have enough people treating me like I belong at home or behind the safety of iron fences—I do not need you to coddle me like that. My parents do it enough."

He watched your back as you look through the second file in the stack. "You know I don't mean to coddle you..."

"You're doing it right now." Your tone carries a point. "You're telling me to sit this one out because it's too dangerous."

"It's risk assessment—"

"You're underestimating me—"

He slams his hand down on the paper you're idly reading. Bringing your attention to him. "I do this because I don't want to lose you."

Your anger falls away.

The reminder of how how much he'd lost occurs to you. It makes your arms grow limp and your heart to shrink. You can only stare at him with those same eyes he can't unsee even when his are closed. He hates the way he's made sadness swim in them. "Anthony..."

He said your name with the same caution. "You want to know why I became distant?"

"People grow apart when they grow up, Anthony. It's not your fault—"

He knelt beside you, laying his heart out right then and there. "I couldn't stand watching you with your perfect family. They always said any field tampering with the supernatural was a death sentence. I hated how they were right. I hated how they made you so small. I couldn't watch you like that. I hated that you turned into a doctor, just like them. I hated how they were so bad and so cruel, but they were always right."

You were quelled into silence. Biting your lip to keep the tears in. He held your hands delicately, careful of your injury. His touch was light but you knew you would feel it for hours. You held his hands with as much strength as you could muster, even as your skin burned and screeched for reprieve, you did not let go. "They are wrong about you..." you whisper to him.

He went on, plastering on a smile you knew was fake. It sheared your heart to know that. "I knew they were right when they said you would do great things... But they said so many other things that hurt. I couldn't stand being around. It just made me remember that no one was around to defend me anymore. I'm sorry that I had to leave you out, too. Seeing you reminded me of everything they said and I... I couldn't shake it."

Your eyes hurt so much. You gave up somewhere along the way and let the tears fall. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to fight them. I wanted to say so many things but they've always been so- so..."

"Scary?" he supplied with a pathetic laugh. "I know. Don't blame yourself."

You bobbed your head, sniffing as tears went. "You don't have to apologize for all that, Anthony. I'm so sorry, I didn't stand by you when you needed me. But I am going to see this case through to the end, I've dedicated my life to it."

Even when you were hiccuping and heaving for air, you wiped away the tear that tracked down his cheek. His heart surrendered to you then.

"Okay... And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ignored you like I did," he said again, just because he felt like you needed to hear it.

"No. I'm sorry," you reply. Vehemently wiping his eyes. "Anthony, come on. Don't cry. I'm not worth crying for."

"Oh, don't say that," he said lightly. "You're worth everything, cher."

Both of you manage a smile but neither of you are well enough to hold it. You laugh at each other's attempts.

You came clean to him too: How your parents had made you the sun of their solar system; How they poured their knowledge into you like you were a cup meant to hold their images in vivid color; How they moulded you into being the projection of a golden girl—their magnum opus. You carried the weight of their world. Most days, they acted more like teachers than parents. It got worse the older you got. Trophies and medals took the places of photographs until all you became was your achievements.

"They were so hard on you..." he said slowly. It was just sinking I just how trapped you were. You were cornered in a place that was supposed to covet you.

"Still, I should have defended you. I hate that I didn't," you said, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. It was the most ungraceful thing he'd seen you do but it brought him back to the cherry pie incident, and he found that he couldn't even think of you in a bad light.

"It's water under the bridge. I hate your parents, but there is one thing we can agree on," Lockwood said, cracking a semblance of a smile.

You cocked your brow at him. Teary eyes and all, he still found you as cute as a button.

"I would make you the sun of my solar system, too. They got that right."

With a snort, you said, "You're good at buttering people up, you know that?" You shoved his shoulder to shut him up but he caught the red on your ears and the smile you hid with a tilt of your head.

—

When you rendezvoused with George and Lucy, it was around 5:40 in the afternoon. The sun was dipping and the ghoulish were about to walk the earth. If George or Lucy noticed the redness in your eyes, they said nothing of it. You hurried along inside the stranded house and relayed newfound information.

"The last case Griffith reviewed involved a woman named Shelly Carson. She immigrated from America and died at 17 while she was interning for Hayes Inc." You flipped the file open on the kitchen table over tea. "They profiled the case to be a suicide but I don't think Griffith agreed." Your finger pointed to the lower left corner where Griffith would put her stamp of approval. The line was void of it. "She wrote 'Garrote not rope??' on the unofficial report. Carson's case could have been a murder."

The information set off a spark in George. He was rubbing invisible dirt from his glasses and finished doing so as you concluded your assessment. "We found a Shelly Carson in our search too," he said. Everyone lent their ears. "She was friends with Griffith in childhood. Alongside Rodney and Gasley. The four of them were close friends from well-off families."

"Ah, they're rich. Explains a lot," Lucy snorted. George ignored her quip.

"Turns out Rodney and Carson were both interested in Gasley. Rodney moved on with some bloke named Jerome Holt, but she suspected him of having an affair with Carson. Holt proposed to prove her wrong."

Lockwood tilted his head. "Sounds like gossip, Georgie."

George brandished an old leather diary. "We tracked down Howard Gasley. He gave us this."

Lockwood lit up. Sitting up with renewed energy. "How did you manage that?"

Lucy grinned. "The death of his girlfriend weighed on his conscience. All I had to do was tell him that her ghost can't be put to rest. Spilled like a waterfall after that."

"So, he did kill her?" You asked.

"Well, that's the difficult bit... The rest of the pages were ripped out and he didn't explicitly say he did. Maybe he did do it, he likes ripping things." George revealed, pointing the diary at the mummified hand in the net. "I think he's involved, one way or another."

Lockwood looked at it, then looked at Lucy. "What do you think, Luce?"

She looked at all three of you with a gleam in her eye. "I think we're about to find our killer."

—

The set-up was same as last night, except the iron circle had been extra fortified to fit all four of you in case things get out of hand. Lockwood stuffed lavenders into your pockets as Lucy lit the the candles.

"If you die tonight, I will not forgive you," Lockwood said as he put a salt-bomb in your hand.

"Same goes for you," you retort with a smile.

He returns your grin, tapping your sides and making your heart flutter before he sets off to help George with inventory.

You cross the chains to help Lucy in the lucky room chosen to host the seance in. With all the furniture pushed to the walls, the sitting room was the epitome of morbid. The carpet was patterned in a way that made it perfect for summoning and the cobwebs embellishing the place contributed to the unsettling ambiance. Lucy herself was lighting candles around the source. You took a pack of matches and helped light the rest of them.

"How are you feeling?" you asked as you lit the last candle and killed the match.

"Confident," she replied. She even spared you a smile. "And you?"

"Scared. Excited, mostly."

She bobs her head. She had a far-away look in her eye before she asked, "Your room is an attic room, correct?"

The nature of the question surprised you. "Yes. Why?"

A smile teased her lips. "I knew it." She looked at you like she saw right through you. "Lockwood was loitering near the window this morning. Just thought it was odd."

You hear him in your mind then — cherry cheeks. Warmth crawled up your neck as Lockwood and George entered the room.

"What are you two blabbering about?" George questioned, off-put by Lucy's smile and your flushed face.

"Nothing," you said together, one more pitched than the other.

George didn't look convinced.

Lockwood spoke up. " You ladies ready? Let's catch ourselves a killer."

The door was left open with an heavy stopper, giving you ample room to run to the iron circle in case things took a turn for the worst. Though, you doubted it would. The other three shared the sentiment. Some kind of energy buzzed between you four and livened the room, something that wasn't there the night before.

Lucy looked between you and Lockwood with a knowing expression you only ever saw from Jessica Lockwood. It was gone as quick as it came but the brief blast from the past made you dizzy. The resemblance must have been what made Lockwood so comfortable with her.

Lockwood had crossed the room and stood by you. Close enough to catch you if you stumbled forward in your daze.

He glanced at his wrist to check the time. "7:30's a good time. Ready, Lucy?"

"Ready," she confirmed. With a tug, the iron net came off of Griffith's mummified hand.

George and Lockwood reconsidered their stances with their rapiers as warmth was immediately sapped from the room. It was akin to jumping into a lake without testing the waters. Blood rushed to your ears. The whispering began again.

"We're here to help you," Lucy said calmly.

Wind began to pick up despite the windows being closed. Lucy persevered. "Iris Griffith, I know that you're experiencing a great injustice. Let me help you. Talk to me."

Lucy closed her eyes. You trust that she was establishing a connection with Griffith. The chill subsided by a fraction, her eyes were moving rapidly like you do when you're in the middle of a dream.

"There's a spectral glow behind you, George." Lockwood caught that faster than you. He was glaring down at the opposite corner of the room.

George's face remained impassive. "You'll tell me if she gets too close."

"Shush!" Lucy threw a hand up in the air. "Shell... Shelly? Yes, what about Shelly Carson? She died before you. You saw her case. They got the autopsy wrong, didn't they?"

A faraway scream interrupted the silence. You fumbled forward. Lockwood caught your arm. "Careful there, cherry cheeks." You lived up to your nickname.

"They all kept... Secret...?" Lucy murmured. "They all killed you to keep a secret?"

If this were a cartoon, you imagine everyone to have exclamation marks above their heads. Finally, some of the mystery began to come into focus. Who are 'they' and what secret were they so desperate to keep?

"Secret... Shelly Carson?" Lucy's expression lightened and the room grew slightly warmer. "Yes! Their secret is Shelly Carson. No? Oh, then what— They killed her to keep the secret... then paid people to say they were innocent."

"Rich people," George tutted.

The anticipation was killing you. All those nights of research, pouring over case files and autopsies were boiling down to this. You gripped Lockwood's sleeve to ground yourself. He glanced at your hand, worried you were seeing something he wasn't, but felt a smile twitching on his lips when he noticed the elation on yours.

Lucy'a voice pierced the air. "They killed her to keep what secret?"

The silence, the anticipation, and the chill in the room melded.

"Rodney pregnant? With Gasley's—" Lucy shut herself up. It was like a bad episode of a telenovela, but this was real, and someone had died because of it. "And when you were about to uncover the truth about Shelly... Rodney and Gasley they got you, too? I'm sorry to hear that. Gasley must have regrets. He had left a diary and... your, ah, hand so we could uncover your story."

It wasn't the most peaceful way to end a talk with a ghost. As soon as Lucy finished the conversation, the apparition of Iris Griffith had appeared once more. Contrary to your hypothesis, finding out the motive and her killers did not put her to rest at all.

She wailed louder than the previous night and zipped about even faster than before. Nothing Lockwood & Co. couldn't handle though. You showered the room with lavender and salt as Lockwood & Co. danced with a ghost.

—

You all appreciated a bit of silence after getting your ears blown off by a visitor. The world clearly didn't like you enough to grant the request, judging by the hunched and fuming figures of your parents blocking the door to 35 Portland Row. They sported crossed arms and crossed expressions. Your mother, specifically, was blowing steam from her ears.

Seeing your sweaty and worn form only confirmed their suspicions: You'd been running around with ghost hunters.

"You ungrateful brat..." your mother muttered.

Lucy stepped forward, blocking her way to you. She was hardened by her own experiences and least expected the horrid woman to turn on her own daughter for simply doing something outside of white-tiled establishments. You were grateful for it.

That only stirred the pot for your parents.

"We sheltered you, spoiled you, and educated you to be the lady you are today. You are our legacy." Your father harumphs forward. "We made you what you are and you would throw that all away by risking your stupid little life for some miniscule ghost adventure!"

George is the next to block their way. He wasn't that protective type, but he did look the part when he wanted to. "It was her childhood dream. Let her live." Leave it to George to be forward.

Your mother stamped her feet. The display was so awfully childish you had to look away. "You are children who don't know a single thing about building a foundation for a good life! You are going to run my daughter to ruin!"

Because of her display, Lockwood & Co. weren't so intimidated by her anymore.

Lockwood had stepped ahead, completing the wall that prevented your iron-fisted parents from getting to you ever again. "We're the best psychical agents in London. We expect a little more respect, doctor."

You could hear the smile in his voice. You couldn't help but smile, too.

With a last burst of anger, your father yelled to you. "You either come home or you find your own way. I'd rather live without a daughter than live with a disappointing one."

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but you had given your whole life to live up to the version of you they were dreaming of. Even if you had achieved all that, all it took was having a moment of autonomy for them to turn against you and disregard your sacrifices.

Lockwood had turned to you with a face so full of hope, it brought you back to the other night at the horrid dinner party and the night you snuck out to pick apples. After all that's happened, you found it in yourself to steel your resolve and face your father with bravery that felt unnatural but oh-so addicting.

"I'm going home," you told them.

You walked passed a stunned George and a speechless Lucy. Lockwood was far bluer than the two, but you shot him a smile that put all his worries to rest.

When you were kids, he was the one to take you by the hand and drag you off on a new adventure. This time, it was you so took his hand and pulled him passed your parents's skyscraping figures and into the comforts of 35 Portland Row.

Home, at last.

The first thing you saw as you pulled Lockwood through the threshold was his smile, radiant as ever. He didn't give you much time to admire it. He swooped down and stole your first kiss before you could even blink.

You could hear Lucy and George laugh over your parents plights. You were tired, sweaty, and covered in salt but all you could think of was; you should have done this sooner.

The next morning, you submitted the evidence and psychical report to the relevant authorities, convicting Celia Rodney and Howard Gasley for their crimes. Griffith's source was relinquished from your possession and burned at the Fittes Furnaces, marking the end of Griffith's case. It was the best thing you could do to bring her peace.

Shortly after, Lockwood and Co. welcomed you as the company's official forensic consultant, and in 35 Portland Row, you were finally comfortable in your own skin.

You and Lockwood now stand on the same side of the fence. There is no need shyly avoid your peering eyes when he could have the satisfaction of seeing them flutter close as he kisses you.

Thought, it is nice to remember that all this started with those peering eyes over wrought-iron fences. You and Lockwood reminisce those days over a cherry pie with extra ice cream or an afternoon picking apples from the backyard.

Every now and again, Lockwood would toss an apple over to your parents's side of the fence to scare them.

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

LOVELOCKED (PEOWIF BONUS CHAPTER)

NOTE ➺ Thank you to everyone who made it through to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. It's the first time I completed a project this big so I hope it brings you some joy. To everyone mourning the seasons we'll never get, I'm with you. To my fellow writers, I'd appreciate a tip or two to improve my stories. To everyone in general, may you continue finding fics that comfort you 💙

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄ #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood angst

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

shower, m | myg | nyangnyang au

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: It took a certain kind of person to fall in love with the same person every day. Easy, though, when your husband was Min Yoongi.

warnings: husband!Yoongi x wife!reader; shower smut (fem reader, getting each other off - handjob / fingering); domestic fluff and a hangry fluff that interrupts (nyangnyang!au)

--

You weren’t sure what it was like to love someone else.

But you knew what it was like to love Min Yoongi.

It must be different for other relationships. For one, you always showered together when you could. It was the norm rather than a special moment. Sometimes you had deep conversations about a random concept on his mind or yours. Sometimes you would end up uncontrollably laughing about the way he said something and spent the next ten minutes trying not to snort while Yoongi shook his head at you, it wasn’t that funny. Maybe it wasn’t, but it was funny to you and that was what mattered. Sometimes you didn’t say anything and he didn’t say anything. Both of you immersed in your own hygienic tasks, except when you washed his back. You were flexible enough to wash your own, but there was a time when he wasn’t able to, so now it was a habit for you to soap up his broad shoulders.

You knew what it was like to love Min Yoongi.

It was like falling in love every day.

“Stop slouching.”

“I’m not slouching.”

You punched his lower back with the sudsy bath sponge.

Yoongi stopped slouching.

You placed one hand on his shoulder and scrubbed away at your husband. The funniest thing about you and Yoongi was that you were basically the same person. In mannerisms, preferences, even outlook on people. Different talents, of course; you didn’t know jack shit about music just like Yoongi wouldn’t know how to formulate a sentence with intricate syntax to display an emotion without directly stating it. But there was something about you and him that made you feel so sure in this world of unsure. A shared, unshakable calmness that could not be disturbed by anyone on the outside.

You tapped his shoulder, indicating him to turn around.

He did, wiping the last of the cleanser off his face. Black locks swept forward and plastered to his cheeks in messy waves.

Your eyes found his.

The world a storm, and in those dark brown orbs was the calm.

You wondered if anyone else felt this.

The hot water thundered down in rivets across his fair skin, washing away the puffs of white, and Yoongi smiled at you. You smiled back, but a different kind of smile, leaning forward and circling your arms around his neck as if slow dancing. Chest to chest, faces close, almost sensual, except that you were rinsing out the bath sponge behind his head.

Your husband cocked an eyebrow.

It sounded like summer rain.

The air hot and heavy.

It took a certain kind of person to fall in love with the same person every day. The kind of person that understood themselves well and yet was always trying to find a new evolution of self. Simple but complex. Alive in dichotomy. Someone who believed the impossible was possible, ah, of course it was, because he was right in front of you. You leaned in, wet hair and skin, breath to breath. So many thoughts in this silence that later he would have to piece them together in songwriting. For now, you exhaled, slow and steady, over his lips already parting to receive.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were seducing me,” he murmured.

The corner of your lips quirked upward. “You don’t know better. You’re already within my grasp.”

There was the ghost of a laugh in his calm tone.

“Oh, no.”

You closed your eyes and you could feel his thoughts, feel them in the water and his skin under your arms, in the air between you and him. Anticipation, patience, waiting for the moment. The water that went with the flow that was your fire. He spoke to you even when he didn’t. In his songs, in his eyes, in his body, and you closed the distance, lips to lips, insistent comfort, fanning your fingers in his hair and on his back, still clutching the bath sponge, and he pressed back against you.

Breathing life into your throat.

You used to think, I can’t show when I’m weak otherwise someone will take it and use it against me, and you knew Yoongi used to think that too. I must always be strong. You both liked to say you got married for any other reason other than I love you, because I love you was too loaded of a phrase to a pair of people that didn’t really understand what it meant – until they meant each other and realized I love you meant you taught me I’ll be okay with or without you, so I’ll be with you when forever ends.

You pushed him into the wall, turning so the water was half on you and half on him. You felt Yoongi smile, and you caught his lower lip with your teeth, lightly growling in warning.

“Cold?”

“A little bit,” you mumbled, letting go and adjusting your arms, reaching over to hang the bath sponge on its hook.

“You wanna warn me next time?” he chuckled, half of his hair cascading over his face. Open-mouthed smirk and sparkling dark eyes teasing you. His fingertips ghosted your waist. “I’ll always give you anything you want.”

You returned his playful smile with added deviousness.

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”

What Yoongi and you both understood way before this strange feeling called love…

Was, of course, sex.

He raised his eyebrows. You opened your mouth, slathering your palm with saliva right in front of his eyes. Tongue between fingers, a second that felt like hours, too fast and too slow at the same time, and then your hand shot down, wrapping around his half-hard cock, pinning Yoongi to the wall with your dangerous smile and devious gaze.

He gasped against your lips.

Low moan drawn out. Your hand sliding up and down, feeling him pulse under your touch. Water running down your back, steam and warm air and stolen breath and his name an additional caress, ah, Yoongi, lips to lips once more, fervent and intense. No way to describe the feeling except perfection. Trapped in lip-lock and droplets sliding between hot bodies, hand around hardness, and you felt something else, swift and sly, a deft movement snaking between your legs.

The side of your mouth retreated.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” you muttered.

“Don’t think then, my love,” was the response.

You almost moved away, but Yoongi’s free hand was suddenly cradled around your wet hair, and then it was shortened breath, fingers sliding into your slick heat, and now you were following the same rhythm. Deep, rough, fast, a contest as much as it was pleasurable, sharing tongue and breath and matching smirks, fuck, this guy really doesn’t back down, huh, but it was a fond thought, one you approved of because you didn’t know when to back down either, spreading your legs more and feeling him moan into your mouth as he thrust deeper, your pussy closing in around his fingers, squeezing tight. You had a competitive nature.

Yoongi knew that.

Thus, you were now testing to see who would cum first.

“You can’t outlast me,” you purred.

“That’s not the loss you think it is,” he hummed, one hand still in your hair and the other knuckles deep, shuddering into your touch. Fuck, he was doing that thing with his eyes again, lowering his lashes and with that glint of mischief behind wet black strands, sliding slightly on the tile to be below you. Letting you see the edge of his lower lip between his teeth along with his intense stare.

You…

Yoongi cocked his eyebrow at you again.

A muscle in your jaw twitched, involuntarily tightening at your husband’s annoying power bottom display that was doing too many things to your nether regions, including the sudden throbbing heartbeat pulsing around his thrusting fingers.

The lip bite turned into a flat-out smug smirk.

You adjusted the pace to the exact speed and pressure that would get him off, not too tight but locking your fingers to provide the consistent power, watching his eyes cloud and lashes flutter, rough groan sliding out of his lips, uncontrollable flinch rippling across his chest muscles.

“F-Fuck…”

Those dark brown orbs closing and he moaned in your face. Hips shivering, shoulders locking, his hand falling from your head and hitting the shower wall, tense fingers splayed on the tiles, and then you felt and saw the orgasm wash over his features, immediately pausing your hand.

Jerking pulse in the palm of your tight grip.

You couldn’t feel the cum due to the showering water, but you knew he had hit that high from the shuddering of his chest and his hard cock twitching, almost forgetting his fingers were in you.

Until he started moving them again.

Fast, hard, too easily from the flowing slickness seeping down your legs.

You bit back a cry and tipped your head back, shutting your eyes, burning waves flaring from your core and getting hotter, and Yoongi knew the pace, the angle, the depth, all so well, sliding another in to complete the feeling of escapable fullness. Your forearm was shaking, anchoring your free hand on the wall beside Yoongi’s head, other hand still around his cock, ghosting your caress over him, still hard so he must be looking at you. Taking in all the details of your closed eyes, wet hair stuck you’re your shoulders, rivers of water down the curves of your chest, hard nipples dripping, so close, slick and hot and his.

Yoongi whispered your name.

Smoky and sexy and wonderful.

The side of your lips quirked upwards, mirroring his familiar expression.

It all cascaded down, down, there, and you sighed out, electric bliss all over your nerves and skin, inner walls clenching around his fingers and your heard Yoongi sigh too, content and in lust, feeling your pussy squeeze and shiver around his three fingers buried all the way inside.

You closed your thighs around his hand, pressing softness around him.

“What a nice feeling,” he murmured and he wasn’t talking about his own orgasm.

“You gotta take your hand out sometime.”

“Not any time soon. It’s nice and warm in here.”

Then, both of you heard it.

“Nyaaaaow.”

You felt your eyebrow twitch.

Opened your eyes and looked back to see your husband looking at you with a narrowed gaze and an upturned mouth.

“Did you feed Nyangnyang?” you asked.

“I thought you fed her?” was the emotionless response.

“Nyaow.”

“I thought you did.”

Somecat was headbutting the bathroom door.

“Fuck. I must have forgotten to fill her bowl after washing it. I wanted to get in the shower,” Yoongi grumbled under his breath.

“Nyan.”

“Yes, Nyangnyang, I hear you,” you called back to the white fluffball behind the door with your husband’s three fingers still stuffed in your pussy as he lifted his shoulders off the shower tile. “We’ll feed you as soon as we finish up.”

“Nyan.”

“Bossy.”

“Like her dad.”

Yoongi blinked slowly, unimpressed, at your quip.

You didn’t need him to say it to know that he meant, of course, definitely, just like me. Right? Yup. After all, your husband always said that the wife was always right when she wanted to be. Heh.

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi smut

[fortunelowtier]

I still 100% unironically wholeheartedly believe that this scuffed ass reality tv show from 2007 where CBS stranded 40 children in the middle of the NM desert a la Lord of the Flies is one of the most genuinely fascinating pieces of TV I've ever watched just because of how ABSURD it is on every level

-Their society is a bizarre Communism/Democracy hybrid whose entire economy is based on the barter system

-There is a set class system everyone is sorted into against their will who each get paid more or less money depending on how high or low they are on the ladder, and at the end of each episode they must compete in competitions to decide who gets to be at the top, with the "strongest" being able to get the esteemed title of "upper class"

-Every time they would complete a challenge, at the very end they were given a choice of 2 things that could be added to the town, to which the leaders of the teams would vote on which to get (For example, in one episode they had to choose between fresh produce or 50 pizzas). One of these things was letters from the children's parents, implying that the adults on site were receiving the mail from these kid's parents and deliberately withholding it from them

-In one episode the district leaders of each of the 4 teams (the classes) go out and find a chest full of buffalo nickels (the town's currency), they bring the chest to the town and naturally, this creates unprecedented inflation near instantly, as there's now a mass amount of currency that suddenly appeared in the economy

-Their entire society existed in relative stability until the moment religion was introduced in the form of various religious texts (Bibles, the Quran, etc), after which the town immediately started to go to shit. The Jewish kids and Christian kids were at each other's throats about which religion was """better""" (because they're children who had religion forced upon them at a young age before they were able to think for themselves but that's an entire can of worms I won't open), while the 1 (one) Hindu kid was trying to keep the peace

-At one point the kids start to crave meat, as their food up to that point was mostly canned goods and various produce, so one of the """eldest""" members of the group, (I say """eldest""" because he was still only like 14 or 15) who had worked as a butchers apprentice, took one of their chickens and lead the kids into the desert to where he then taught them how to decapitate, pluck, drain, and cook a chicken.

-One of the kids later did a Reddit AMA about his experience on the show, where he then disclosed various things that happened outside of the camera such as, but not limited to: Oil burns, a kid drinking bleach, scorpions, venomous snakes, an outbreak of herpes, the lack of showers, the lack of multiple toilets (up until I believe a few weeks in they only had one outhouse), etc etc etc

-The parents of these kids allegedly had to sign a 22 page waiver that was basically CBS going "If ur kids get hurt you can't sue us", specifically noting "acts of god" in the contract of things that they weren't to be held accountable for

-At the end of every week, the 4 leaders got together to choose which person would receive that week's "gold star", a star made out of 20,000 USD of solid gold (around 30k after adjusting for inflation), an unfathomable amount of money to give to kids who likely had no concept as to how much money 20 grand was

-The town used for Bonanza City is actually a ghost town/film set located just 20 miles from Santa Fe used as a filming location for movies like A Million Ways to Die In the West (2014) and The Legend of the Lone Ranger (1981). The reason I bring this up is because it's the same film set in which 14 years later, Alec Baldwin would accidentally discharge a firearm on the set of Rust, resulting in the death of cinematographer Halyna Hutchins

To anyone asking where to watch this, I genuinely don't know. All of the 13 episodes used to be available on YouTube by someone who re-uploaded them in 2010, but the channel was terminated last year. I've heard that there are a few Google Drive folders floating around that have the raw MP4 files and you could watch them that way but you'd probably have to go digging for it

#tv #television #reality tv #long post

[wolven91]

The Predator Café - Chapter 1

Pip scratched at his face as he watched and listened to the draconian professor, far below, as she explained in broad terms how Plasma Drives worked on a concept level before moving onto how they work practically.

The young college student glanced to his left and then to his right, rows of empty seats filled the balcony overlooking the professor's classroom. The sense of isolation once again curled around his chest. Below him, he knew there would be a full room of students, undeniable in their presence, yet completely separate from him. He didn't try to hide his sigh, there was no real danger of anyone noticing him up here. He had never wanted attention, it was against who and what he was, but this was beyond what he expected.

With the wailing of the bell, the class below erupted in a cacophony of noise as a stampede of relative titans packed their equipment and rushed from the room below.

The chintian followed suit, lazily putting away his tablet and reference texts. The lights of the room clicked off as the professor, obviously believing no-one was left in the room, closed and locked their gigantic door.

Pip sighed through his nose, walking along the balcony in the dark and left by the exit on his level.

He clicked the button for the lift and the doors opened immediately. No-one else had used it in the two hours of his lesson. As it trundled down to the ground level, so he could use the faster passages to get around, he leaned his head back against the wall.

When he had come to this college on the edge of canid space, it was meant to be an opportunity to attend a brand new, up and coming college with a wide range of options and facilities for him. It was advertised as both ‘Herbivore & Carnivore’ mixed as well as “all sizes welcome”. What he wasn't aware of was that whilst yes, this was all true, the number of herbivores at his size were in the single figures.

The lift doors opened with a chirpy 'ding', Pip pushed off the back wall and trudged towards the flat escalator. This would trundle him along at a faster pace so he could reach his dorms in only tens of minutes rather than half a day's walk.

He wasn't alone completely, he had made friends with another his size called Geegee, but the guy was a flake. He frustrated Pip in most instances as he had a tendency to either not commit or back out from most events at the last minute. The only others were the insect lot and they had preferred to keep to themselves, acting actively hostile to anyone else who tried to engage them.

He looked out the glass wall to his left as he was sped along the inside of the hollow wall of the college. Beyond the glass was a sea of legs of uncountable types. Some clothed, others furred or feathered. Some digitigrade, some not, but all of them; towering behemoths to the diminutive Pip.

At barely a foot tall, and one of only a handful at this height attending the college, his life had turned into one of a ghost, easily avoiding those bigger than him by using the systems in place, but it left him increasingly isolated. Sure, he could wander the halls amongst them, but that was a recipe for disaster. He'd either get stepped on, kicked or just outright shoved the second there were too many people for folk to see him coming. He refused to wear the stupid backpack with the flag, he had more dignity than that.

As he got back to his dorm, he enjoyed the one upside to not having that many able to use these rooms. He and the handful of others had the pick of the best rooms. Opening the door, he dropped his bag onto the floor and rolled his neck until he could hear and feel it 'pop'. Shutting the door behind him he rubbed his eyes as he walked into the bedroom and sat heavily on the bed. Looking across at the mirror on the wall opposite he gave himself a once over.

His caramel brown fur was looking a bit shabby, knots and clumps had started to accumulate due to his apathy. He couldn't bring himself to care when not even the professors even noticed he existed since he sat in the rafters for most of the classes as that's where they had placed the shorter students for safety. He strode over to the mirror to brush his fingers across his face and along his whiskers, making a point to try and straighten them at least. His ears twitched and swivelled towards a noise in the corridor.

As he was preening himself, his door burst open to reveal Geegee panting and wide eyed.

“Ignoring that I thought that was locked, you really need to knock Gee. I could have been doing anything in here...” Pip said, turning back to the mirror.

Geegee was a saurian, a Geckin to be exact. His blue scales were accented by the orange rings that dotted his hide.

“They got a Human!” he said, still out of breath.

Pip glanced back at him, ‘Humans’ were rare, rare enough that even in the Galactic Community space you’d be unlikely to see one. Out here, outside of the Community protections and on this planet? ‘Rare’ wasn’t a strong enough word to get the concept across. Pip had obviously expressed interest in seeing one at some point in the past, but he hadn't quite connected the dots yet about what GeeGee was speaking about. He remained silent whilst quirking an eyebrow at Geegee to continue.

The lizard closed the door behind him and dropped his voice to a whisper, despite them being the only two living things in this part of the building.

“At the Pred Café; they hired a real Human!”

Pip blinked in surprise, that was actually; news. He and Geegee had only been speaking about going to the Predator Café not two weeks ago. A strange concept, no doubt, but one that had secretly sent a thrill straight up Pip's spine, it was a Café like any other, but all of its staff were specifically predators that would deliberately interact with their customers, mostly herbivores or preys. All in a controlled and safe environment.

They even catered for those of Geegee and Pip's short stature.

Pip had said he wasn't opposed to the idea of going to the Café, it was just a place to go for food or a drink, 'it was only weird if you made it weird'. But in an offhand comment, Pip had mentioned that he would be far more interested if they had the more exotic predators available, such as; a Human.

The humans were a relatively new addition to the wider galaxy, but had taken it by storm. Their only struggle was there weren't enough humans to answer everyone's curiosity and requests for ambassadors. For one to turn up on this side of The Spiral that was the galaxy, was not just unique, but once in a lifetime level of rare. Apparently their own homeworld was ‘lost’, what had actually happened was one of secrecy and speculation, but the one fact that was certain was that they didn’t have a home to go back to.

They were apparently quite small for the larger entities, one of the ‘smallest’ species out there reportedly, although their species height ranged from the huge to the surprisingly small. It seemed what was a fundamental fact about humans was that what was true for one would be false to another. They were unmistakably predators based on what Pip had read; the greatest evidence being; the two eyes they had, were placed in a perfect front-facing set.

Most carnivores had eyes that were rotated forward so they could track prey back in their feral days, but these humans had almost flat faces which gave them incredibly strong vision with overlapping cones of sight. They could see far away and close up in great detail, movement caused their eyes to focus on the movement without even thinking and even if you remain perfectly still, their pattern recognition was through the roof so they could pick up your silhouette with ease. Not even staying still could protect prey from these creatures. Thankfully they had assured that they had no interest in hurting sentients. This didn't stop the rumours spread about how a large number of them joined The Galactic Community’s military overnight, not to mention those rejected from that went straight out towards sluggat territories. The sluggats species numbered in the thousands and were constantly at war. The map didn’t even distinguish the different clans, empires and groups anymore. 

After noncommittally commenting that it was; indeed interesting to Geegee, Pip eventually found himself wide awake in the dead of night on his bed. Pulling out his phone he began to idly browse the net. He knew what he wanted to look at, but there was part of him that felt he still shouldn't be looking at a predator in the way he was wanting to.

It was taboo. Preys and Preds stayed either side of a social line. A line that wasn't discussed or acknowledged, but nonetheless existed. But this taboo made it exciting, it was dangerous; it thrilled him. This was the strongest emotion he had felt in months living on this damned campus and that alone was far more valuable than the opinion of this theoretical judge that was with him at all times.

Navigating to the information page he scrolled through the details of how it all worked.

You dropped in or could book ahead, would be seated as and when a free table appeared. On each table there was a menu tablet. When a patron first sat down it would display all the current servers, predators, available to serve them. That predator would then come along and interact with the patrons. Idle chat, taking their food or drink orders, flash a bit of tooth and then go get their order.

Simple.

There were plenty of options, including those of Pip's height; a few skinks took up those options. Stereotypically vicious with very sharp wits. Pip expected they'd just all but insult him if he chose them.

On the larger side, a canid, a few taurians, even a ssypno. Predators one and all, but he saw them every day. They weren’t exciting, they were obstacles. 

Sighing, Pip scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, various faces of common species whipped past until he hit the bottom of the page. His breath hitched for a moment and a tingle in his leg crawled its way up the side. In a category of their own, a human glared back at him.

“Nah-tah-sha” he whispered, trying the odd name out. She wasn't actually glaring, but the slight downwards tilt of her head and the smirk plastered across her mouth gave her a different look to everyone else. And the eyes... Her eyes were deep green with an abyss of black in the centre. Pip had no idea if humans could hypnotise their prey like a ssypno could, but he wouldn't be shocked if they could after he became so lost in this simple profile picture.

He fell asleep with the phone still in his hand, the soft glow still on her profile.

The next day, the last day of the working week, Pip had casually suggested to Geegee about having lunch together.

It was hit or miss if he'd show up, but as a pleasant surprise, the Geckin appeared through the doors and took a seat across from Pip overlooking the larger student body over the balcony below.

“Well, what-do-you-know, he appears!” Pip said cheerfully, casually ribbing the twitchy lizard.

“Hah, yeah, I wanted to talk to you about something...” He began, skipping any kind of preamble.

“Oh? Sure, what do you need?” Pip said, glad that Geegee was rather transparent in what he was going to talk about.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner? Tonight?”

“Well sure, that'll be nice. We haven't done anything like that together yet, anywhere in mind?” Pip continued as casually as he could. He knew already that Natasha was apparently due to work the night shift tonight according to the Café's site.

“I hadn't really thought about it, but we could always try the Pred place, if-if you wanted to, we can go elsewhere if not..”

Mm, probably thought about it all night. Pip couldn't judge, he was in the same boat.

“Yeah, it'll be a laugh. Do we need to book or something?”

“No, it's open for the nocturnals, but if we go late for us, early for them, it should be really quiet.”

“Alright, I'll meet you out front tonight. I'll put on my favourite shirt.” Pip said happily, he'd make an effort for once. Even if it's just to stare at the Preds, it'll be nice to actually do something with someone. He hated the idea of just being sat in his room for another lonely weekend.

That evening Geegee and Pip made their way into the city-proper. There were more folk their size and it was an effort to wind their way through the crowds until they came to the street where the Café sat.

The smaller entrance was a safe distance to the side of the larger entrance. A short flight of stairs brought them roughly to the same height as other patrons, or at least their navels and deposited them into a waiting room. It was decorated in reds and whites with chrome finishes everywhere.

“This is just like a zoo, right?” Geegee asked for the third time. It seemed he was still panicking about being here. To be fair, Pip felt the same, but tried to hold his nerve. If Geegee ran for it now, he'd likely do the same.

“Sure, like a big old petting zoo, we're just getting something to eat then going home. Simple as!”

“Y-yeah, simple as...” he repeated unenthusiastically.

“Good Evening and welcome to; The Predator Café! Come on in for a bite and take a seat at Booth 'G' please!” a happy sounding voice announced from a speaker near the door. Pushing the door open and holding open for Geegee, Pip looked around the building as he moved towards the indicated booth.

The Café was bright and welcoming. The aesthetic of the waiting room continued with the rest of the building. The booths were ribbed red leather of various sizes, although grouped together by size. The tables were polished white with chrome finishing around the edges.

The Café was nearly deserted, Pip could see some patrons in the further reaches at the back, but that was the larger entity area. The Café to him was a gigantic warehouse decked out like a bright and clean diner.

Settling into the booth, Pip took a moment to enjoy a calming deep breath. Here in the booth unless someone they knew actively looked into their booth, nobody would recognise them. Geegee looked pale and kept glancing around himself.

“It's okay Gee, see? We're good. It's all just a show.”

“I know!” He snapped, before looking sheepish; “Sorry, I didn't think I'd be this nervous.”

“It's alright, I know you prefer the edges of a room rather than the centre, this is outside of your comfort zone, but imagine the story you have to tell now!” Pip exclaimed, trying to big the little Geckin up.

Geegee slid the tablet over to Pip.

Picking it up, it was just as their website said. He knew exactly where who he wanted was on their list. Scrolling all the way to the bottom, her bright blonde hair cascaded around her round face and green eyes. Once more, tingles raced up his spine; the tilt down in her head; a silent threat.

With a shaking thumb, he selected her and the tablet ceased to respond as his choice was locked in.

Time passed and Pip attempted to engage Geegee in conversation. Geegee was studying in depth AI programming. He spent most of his time existing online or attempting to create his own 'perfect' AI. He seemed to believe that he was what was missing from the galaxy and his ideas would revolutionise the AI world.

He was going into his fourth minute of none-stop technical jargon, when the cutlery on the table rattled.

“But without-...” He glanced up at Pip who was across the table from Geegee.

The lizard looked at something behind Pip and continued to tilt his head to look up. The cutlery rattled again.

And up.

Rattle.

And up.

Rattle.

Pip tried to swallow, only to find his mouth devoid of moisture. A shadow engulfed the two of them and booth included. Pip looked to his side and saw the white apron of a behemoth's uniform. Pip craned his own head back as his eyes drank in the creature blocking out the overhead lights. Her uniform was a clean red cotton material with white piping following the stitching and a white apron on her front. The skirt stopped halfway up her thighs, going up it tapered in at her waist. Her shoulders were displayed with large white frills that followed from front to back, but no sleeves covered her arms.

“Well now! Ain't you two just the cutest lil' things I ain't ever seen! I could just pick ya' up and squeeze ya'!” A warm, bubbly voice boomed from above.

Pip hadn't looked her in the face yet, he hadn't built up the confidence yet. Before Pip could register a thought let alone a response, Geegee bolted.

“W-wait! Don't you dare-” Pip exclaimed, but Geegee was long gone, all that remained was a slowly closing door of The Café's entrance.

Pip turned back slowly to the giant Human and her giant green eyes that now were giving him; her complete and undivided attention.

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #chintian #haso #hfy #humans are space orcs #chipmunk #size difference #sizeplay #sizetumblr

[batw1nggg]

hi!! odd request could you explain why komahina isnt toxic

IVE BEEN MEANING TO MAKE A POST ABOUT THIS ANON !!!! u read my mind ….. so the reason why i dont consider komahina to be true and real toxic yaoi is because theyre intended to be mutually healing for each other.

their main, striking similarity is their upholding of danganronpa’s harmful societal values on talent. a theme throughout their interactions is komaeda explicitly stating a subconscious belief hajime has and then hajime denying that there’s any similarities in their belief system — everything komaeda says about the inferiority of the talentless is something hajime has always believed, just in a less self aware way. they both end up essentially killing themselves (komaeda in a more literal manner, hajime with the kamukura project) to become something bigger, something worth being called the ultimate hope, because they believe their talent status gives their life no meaning and they feel they have to “make up” for it. theyve always been similar; one sees the other in the things he hates about himself.

this is why, when they fall in love, it’s so groundbreaking for their respective arcs. in realizing the similarities in their belief system, hajime becomes more self aware about how stupid his insecurities are. hajime is able to break komaedas worldview by being talentless and inspiring hope/being an equal to his talented peers from 77b, and this makes komaeda realize that, because they are so similar, HE can do that too (side note makoto does this first when he kills junko, but komaeda knows hajime personally/saw hajimes development play out firsthand so its more effective). they feed into each other’s development and are able to grow from it.

they’re not really framed with much toxicity, and you can especially see this with allllll the visual parallels theyre given by the end of the anime. the juxtaposition of hajime grabbing komaedas junko arm to help him out of the pod and hajime grabbing komaedas prosthetic arm to help him onto the boat (paired with the line “let’s set off, in the name of hope”) symbolizes how interconnected hajime is to komaeda’s arc — his journey from old arm to new arm, from despair to hope to future. (and then theres the scene where hajime ditches ghost chiaki for komaeda too. and u see them eating with each other in the credits.) if they were intended to be toxic, they wouldnt have ended on that note.

and THENNNN theres also the fact that hajime’s really the only person capable of loving komaeda, in the beginning. hajime cant get struck down by komaedas luck, because hajimes the only one with ult luck powerful enough to counter komaedas. their lucks cancelling each other out is a concept stressed by the anime with the kamukoma gun scene. he’s also the only person with the guts to put in the effort to UNDERSTAND komaeda, a concept stressed in komaedas FTEs. hes the first person that physically can, and the first person thats made the effort. this is groundbreaking for komaeda.

theyre not toxic, they just go through a little angst period that ends up being resolved in the end. hajimes confusion towards komaeda and komaedas confusion towards hajime was necessary, they HAD to figure each other out because in doing that they learn something about THEMSELVES. that process comes with some angsting that is often mistaken for toxicity. of course they cant start dating mid killing game, THAT would have be pretty toxic, because a killing game is not a breeding ground for romance. this is why komahina never canonically starts dating - the time frame doesnt cover enough time for that. but they get two love confessions and the whole first fte is explicitly romantic.

#komahina #long post #i hope i collected my thoughts coherently. if i missed anything feel free 2 add on komahina nation

[auspicioustidings]

Make your own way home

Word Count: 850

SPOILERS for MWIII BELOW THE CUT!

Summary: Short little drabble of what happens a few weeks after that ending cut scene.

CW: Dubcon/non-con by virtue of spirit possession.

If there was ever an example of wrong place, wrong time, you think you were it. The trip alone to the Highlands was supposed to be a journey of self-discovery. It was supposed to calm your mind, let you meditate in nature and find some peace. Not be in your head so much.

And now here you were, in your head. Stuck in your head. 

You hadn’t ever really given much thought to whether you believed in ghosts or not. You thought of them as something from horror films, always creeping in the dark and spooking young couples in their new house. You had never considered that they could be out in the hills during the daylight, waiting for a warm body to commandeer. 

And he had commandeered you without too much of a fight. For a few hours you had wrestled him for control, but his will was overpowering. It didn’t help that whoever had rudely put themselves in the driver's seat was an arse.

Let me out

“Cannae dae that, got places to be.” 

It’s my body!

“Our body hen.”

No, absolutely not, this is not a communist body, this is single ownership

“In that case, it’s my body” he laughed, seemingly finding your screaming in your (his?) head amusing.

It is NOT

“Let me see if I have a pretty wee body tae match my pretty wee voice.”

You could only watch as he took your body to the lakeside and peered into the glassy surface. It was bizarre, watching your own face light up in a grin that looked nothing like yours. He seemed pleased with what he was looking at, and you thought if you were in control you might have blushed. In fact, you knew that to be the case seeing a dusting of colour appear. Interesting, your body at least still reacted to your emotions. 

“Fuck me, look at this,” he all but purred, a hand coming to squeeze at your chest.

Oh, oh it wasn’t just your emotions that your body still reacted to. You felt the touch as if it was someone else’s hand on you and you certainly felt the sick little bolt of pleasure from it. The little bit of excitement of how horribly wrong this was. 

“Dinnae tempt me hen, told ye we have places to be. Once we get there we can play together as long as ye want.”

You could not think of a single thing to say to that and you almost felt a sense of motion sickness when your body started moving again, trekking through the mountains at a pace you would never go at. You tried everything. You pictured a battering ram to try and smash through to get control and he responded by putting thoughts in your shared headspace of the ramming turning lewd. You sang obnoxiously and he only joined in using your voice, delighted with how it sounded. You gave him the silent treatment and got so painfully bored of it that within 30 minutes you were back to just wailing in your head. 

“Ye know, they dinnae usually stay.”

What do you mean?

“When we take a body, the previous tenant disnae usually stick around.”

Am I going to die?

“Naw if ye dinnae want that. Even if ye did, might keep ye around. If ye behave might even let ye have control for a wee bit, would ye like that?”

If being possessed was not terrifying enough, the concept that the thing possessing you one, had plenty of experience and two, had never had anyone survive was making you feel sick. You felt that feeling in your body and he felt it too if his confused little grunt was anything to go by.

“Come on hen, be nice,” he said, not stopping but shoving a hand unceremoniously into your pants to rub gently. “Just relax.”

It was an insane feeling, you touching yourself but it actually being someone else controlling the movements. He wasn’t going fast, the languid pace seemingly aiming to soothe more than anything. It was wild that it sort of worked, that sick feeling fading out to a hazy rolling pleasure that was only just a gentle simmer.

At some point you felt your thoughts drift off to a strange sleep even though your body was still awake and moving. When you felt consciousness leak back in, you could see yourself approaching a house. 

“Look who's finally awake! Good timing princess” he said. You could hear the exhaustion in your voice, you wondered if he had let himself and the body sleep at all. Maybe if the body slept, you could wrestle back control.

You watched as your hand came to knock at the door. Watched it open to reveal a huge man in a skull balaclava. Watched and very much felt when your body launched at him, pushing the mask up to get your lips on his. He reacted as if he knew you, holding your body tight and laughing into your lips.

“Knew you’d make your own way home.”

“Always do LT.”

#fanfic #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader #soap x ghost #mw3 spoilers #mwiii spoilers #I see that Activision has made a decision but as it is a stupid ass decision I have elected to ignore it #and I would love to go on about the potential for this lore to actually have been going on for generations but I shan't #mhairiwrites

[bellatheinkdemon]

Remember that one angsty "comic" I made for Dark Choco and Berserk Dark Cacao?

Well whether you do or you don't, I may have another concept similar to that.

So basically the plot is that Dark Cacao turns into his Berserk form WAY early in the story than in Canon. (Like before the main story even begins, but after Dark Choco is banished). This (rightly so) freaks everyone in the Dark Cacao Kingdom. No-one can figure how he turned into this form or how to turn him back into normal. And since Dark Cacao is just in a blind rage, destroying anything he sees, any Cookie that hasn't been crumbled by the Berserk king has fled the Kingdom, basically making the Dark Cacao Kingdom a ghost town, minus for a couple of animals and the Licorice Sea.

Speaking of the Licorice Sea, cue act 2!

Since the Dark Cacao Kingdom is no longer inhabited by Cookies (minus you know who), some of the Licorice Oozelings have been playing around, transforming themself into mini version of Cookies. Though the mainly been taking the form of Dark Choco, cause wouldn't you believe it, Dark Choco's portrait is still intact!

(What I'm referring to):

Some of the Licorice Oozelings noticed a pattern in the castle. Non of Dark Choco's stuff has been destroyed by Berserk Dark Cacao. And sometimes while the Licorice Oozelings are sneaking by Dark Cacao, they noticed him just staring at any picture that has Dark Choco in if. So the Licorice Oozelings come to the conclusion that Dark Cacao misses his son. (And since these little guys actually care about Cookies unlike their brethren) They decided to somewhat fuse together in order to take the form of Dark Choco.

"Wait a minute, couldn't the Licorice Oozelings already do that without them fusing? Why do they need to fuse now?" To make themselves the size of a regular Cookie to make their "disguise" believable. And they can un-fuse anytime.

So the Licorice Oozelings, now transformed as Dark Choco, approached Dark Cacao. Dark Cacao notices them, and he actually believes that's his son. He hugs "Dark Choco" and just starts sobbing and is saying words like "I'm sorry" and such in his distorted voice. "Dark Choco" comforts their "father" (Despite the Licorice Oozelings not knowing what Dark Cacao or the actual Dark Choco did.)

And that's all from me for now. Did any of that make sense? Probably not since I suck ass with explaining things. But hey, I have more shitty angsty comic material now.

#yamada rambles #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #dark cacao cookie #berserk dark cacao #dark choco cookie #Licorice sea #great now i need to think about a name for this au

[caw4brandon]

WWDITS: Demystifying The Supernatural

It would be a crime to say < What We Do In The Shadows > is just a mockumentary about Vampires. In [Documentaries Part 1] I touched on how WWDITS both references and makes fun of the library of Vampire shows and movies. The lore about them and the secret society of the other monsters that lurks in the night.

Today, I want to cover how < What We Do In The Shadows: The Series > demystifies the idea of the world of the supernatural. But before that, let's talk vampires.

- Hope and Compassion is Gone -

When you Sold Out your Dream to the World

A crew of documentary cameramen has been granted access to a highly secretive society. They wore crucifixes and were guaranteed protection by the subjects.

In an undisclosed location in Staten Island. We follow Guillermo de la Cruz. Familiar of the vampire; Nandor The Relentless with married couple; Laszlo Cravensworth and Nadja of Antipaxos as well as Colin Robinson.

The crew documents the lives and hijinks of the Vampires. Watching as situations unfold. Revealing the many secrets of this once secretive and dark society of the supernatural.

The series is based on the world of the film. With cameos of vampires from other popular shows as well as the original trio in the movie. Viago, Deacon and Vladislav.

- This is My Hunting Ground -

Aside from showing the established world of the film. WWDITS introduces us to an ever expanding world of the universe in a natural way. The show introduces us to the Witches, Trolls, Werewolves, Zombies, Ghosts and more. Honoring their lore and tying their interactions loosely as a part of this dark community.

Such as Laszlo's cursed hat being tied to a witch, Colin dealing with an online troll being a real troll and the werewolves being in a relationship with a human who also has a vampire lover. Twilight style~ Each tie in is not just a fun cameo, but it also brings the other dark beings to life in this ever expanding world of creatures.

The world also introduces a new concept. The Energy Vampire via Colin Robinson. Without going into spoilers, Colin's breed looks human and shares a fraction of the strength found in vampires but bares no weakness as of yet. Energy Vampires feed by boring and enraging its victims. Thus, sapping the energy of the person.

What the show does brilliantly is showing the believability of this new breed. Colin feels like an actual person who existed and can actually be a threat if he wants too. His ability to selfishly make vampires and humans bored or enraged makes him a frighteningly real creature that humans have actually met in real life.

- My Tummy Feels Weird -

From a narrative perspective, WWDITS provides several different arcs for the characters respectively. One highlight that I'd like to mention is Guillermo's development as a familiar and as a person.

Over the first season, he went through this one-sided admiration and blind servitude towards his master to charting out a big twist of his real identity. The show displays the unglamorous side of his duty as a servant and the unfairness of the power dynamic.

For every familiar, their servanthood is paid with the promise of immortality and Guillermo is no different. At a young age, Guillermo dreamed of being a vampire but he is often mistreated or is ignored when he pressed the request to Nandor.

The show also displays a deeply rooted sadness through the vampires. For being creatures of immortality. All they ever do is distract themselves with killing, sex and fun. When left alone to their own devices, the vampires are hopelessly directionless.

The show also touches on the topic of how the old ways just don't fit in with everyone anymore. Such is with Nandor's problem solving skills via killing and total conquest or how the vampires as a whole have gotten soft with how they hunt.

On a progressive note, the show never openly declares the characters as queer or any of the sort. Despite being married. Laszlo and Nadja are open to being involved with other people or other vampires sexually.

The show displays the act of debauchery and cheating at its finest with shameless pride but also strengthens the idea of loyalty and love.

Nandor for example, used to own 37 wives and husbands but is actively looking for a true partner who cares for him. As the season progresses, we see that he actually cares about Guillermo as master and as a friend. Nandor's action could suggest that he wishes to not fulfill Guillermo's promise to save him from the torment of the curse.

What the show does well is, it breaks the mystique of the vampires as a bunch of incompetent idiots with no drive. Thus, becoming sloppy, outdated and all too roundabout about things that is both infuriating but charmingly hilarious.

- They have No Use for Your Song -

I gotta say though, for a show that mocks the existence of these creatures. WWDITS is a fun trip through and through. It adds to the development of this community but makes the darkness a lot more silly with how its subjects are down to their last braincell.

None of the vampires are good at keeping this world a secret and in fact, the idea that they would allow a documentary crew to follow them is a fallacy itself. Still, there's a certain charm to how they interact with each other and to the "crew".

It felt like seeing a dysfunctional and fun band of mates just taking the piss out of each other but is also being the most loyal helpers in times of crisis.

There is something for anyone who is interested in this show of the macabre in a critical but fun way and with 5 seasons strong. They don't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. But be warned;

They're Dead and Out of This World~

#wwdits #what we do in the shadows #documentary #mockumentary #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #laszlo cravensworth #nadja of antipaxos #colin robinson #vampires #energy vampires #macabre #creepy #monsters #viago #deacon #Vladislav #vladislav the poker

[halfagone]

Just noticed Clockwork and Nocturne’s matching scars

The brain cogs are TURNING

Oh YES! I am so glad more people have taken notice of that detail because there used to be a very big headcanon about that, back in the day within DP spaces. I likely wouldn't be able to find the original post now, as the blogger has sadly deleted their account, but some of the other DP Tumblr OGs might remember this one:

Essentially, there had been a popular headcanon that connected these scars with the Observants. After all, if you looked at the Observants' High Council Tribunal Headquarters (I believe you can it in the episode "Torrents of Terror" but I would have to confirm elsewhere), you can see there is a lot of imagery with eyes. Where did they get these eyes?

TW FOR EYE INJURY/TRAUMA

Things spitballed until the phandom realized that perhaps the Observants had been taking the eyes of very powerful ghosts in order to control them. The known characters that have a scar over one eye like this include Clockwork and Nocturn, like you said, but Pariah Dark is another, albeit his scar is on the opposite eye. (Check Read More for these images.)

I don't know if this was popular as well, but you could even make an argument that the Observants themselves had been created from the eyes taken from these ghosts, which might have given them the adequate authority to join the High Council.

I had a headcanon of my own, though, which included the Ancient Danny concept. Basically, I had this story idea where there was a ceremonial blade that was used to declare Ancients. It was one of the few lone weapons to exist that could scar a ghost's form so permanently that it would leave behind a scar over their eye.

First, one would have to be chosen to be (essentially) mutilated, and then later survive the injury. In my head, I had it where Undergrowth had overheard Danny was a candidate, and that's why he attacked Amity Park. Not only because he was jealous but also because he wanted to test Danny's worth (back in the day, phandom lore believed that Undergrowth attacked Amity Park to test Danny's rights for the Kingship). Undergrowth does not have a similar scar, after all.

There was no major ceremony. It was just one of the Ancients (an OC made specifically for the part) who would attack a candidate with no warning to see if they were truly worthy. Once it was confirmed, they would be scarred and if they survived they would be considered an Ancient.

I am almost absolutely certain that the creators of the show had plans with this detail. They can be pretty bad at continuity but there is no way all of it was coincidence. I've heard a myriad of things about the original plans for the series and how they wanted it to actually end, but since I don't have the receipts and sources to back it up, I'll just leave it as personal conjecture.

The phandom is ripe with incredible headcanons and ghostly lore and even if your beautiful brain is churning with different ideas, I have no doubt you could write a fic for it.

Sorry, this got sorta long but I am just buzzing to share the beloved headcanons and fan lore. 🥰 I feel like I need a conspiracy board, teheheheh~

#halfagone replies #danny phantom #danny phantom headcanons #danny phantom fan lore #tw: eye injury #tw: eye trauma #ancient danny phantom #long post

[chrismien]

Let's explore the negative association of milk in Tamriel's Nordic culture.

So, basically, from the dialogue and other sources, we know that drinking milk within Nord cultures is associated with a number of negative perceptions, such as:

Milk is for children.

Milk is associated with weakness.

Milk is not a manly beverage.

This is evidenced by the lines from numerous NPCs in Skyrim.

If you have a disposition of -1 or lower with an NPC, they may say to you: "What do you want, milk drinker?"

There is also the Taunting Adventurer NPC in Skyrim, who is a randomly encountered warrior in the wilderness or in an inn. He says: "What's a milk drinker like you doing out here? Go home to your mother."

But it is worth noting that some Nords such as Rigurt the Brash from ESO oppose the concept behind the insult saying: "Milk-drinker. Why did that become such a terrible Nord insult, I wonder. Milk is good for you! I love the stuff! Not as much as I love mead, but it's a close second. Maybe third."

With that, it is reasonable to assume that some Nords avoid drinking milk to prevent being perceived as a cry-baby or a weakling by other Nords, and potentially even by themselves.

As we know, even in real life, milk is important for bone growth. When we delve into medical aspects, calcium is an essential extracellular cation required for muscles to surpass the action potential threshold, enabling contractions and therefore movement.

Skyrim, the homeland of the Nords, also experiences limited sunlight in certain regions. UV radiation from the sun is essential for the activation of Vitamin D from cholecalciferol to calcitriol. This fat-soluble vitamin is crucial for maintaining bone strength and a healthy immune system.

Basically, calcium is important for nerve conduction, blood clotting, muscle contractions, immune functions, and healthy bones.

But how would a race centered around strength and possessing a strong warrior culture maintain their constitution?

Skyrim is abundant with cheese, which is directly made from milk and is also rich in calcium. Digesting cheese breaks it down into its components, facilitating the absorption of calcium into the body.

There is also a thriving fishing culture in Riften and Windhelm. Access to the Sea of Ghosts allows access to marine resources like fish and shellfish which could act as substitutes for calcium sources.

I understand that it's a fantasy world, but creating a believable fantasy world can indeed enhance the enjoyment of the experience. By grounding elements of the world in reality, it becomes more relatable and allows us to better connect with the characters and settings.

We can now conclude that Nords are able to maintain their warrior culture despite the cultural bias against milk, which is essential for numerous bodily functions.

#Tamrielic Tales #Gaming #the elder scrolls #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #tesv #skyrim #elder scrolls online #tes online #nords #lore #milk drinker #deep dive

[crownmemes]

Supernatural & Paranormal Sentences, Vol. 3

(Sentences from various sources for muses exploring the unexplained. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"These sightings only occur on nights when there's a full moon, which tells me something."

"It happened just the way you said it would. How did you know?"

"What's the matter? Don't you believe in miracles?"

"The truth is out there. Maybe you should find it for yourself."

"You can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality."

"The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings."

"The crimes we are investigating are paranormal, I can say that with absolute conviction."

"There are things you just don't know."

"Why can't you just go for the simple answer?"

"What would you do if you were a werewolf?"

"Lost time is a common symptom of close proximity to anti-gravity propulsion systems."

"We are all capable of believing things which we know to be untrue."

"You never believed in any of this stuff. This paranormal or whatever you call it. So, what changed your mind?"

"If you're waiting for my usual theory as to that is going on, I don't have one."

"Nothing happens in contradiction to nature, only in contradiction to what we know of it."

"I'm delusional? Did you just hear yourself?"

"You just jump at whatever explanation is the wildest and most far-fetched, don't you?"

"I don't buy your hollow threats."

"I have seen my share of the hideous, of the disgusting, and the repellent, but you are the most perfect expression I will ever see of all that is vile and hateful in life."

"What are you saying you believe now?"

"I believe that you will find all of your answers. You will find the answers to the biggest mysteries, and I will be there when you do."

"This isn't my life anymore. I'm done chasing monsters in the dark."

"Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else."

"There has to be a scientific explanation for this."

"Don't go looking for something you don't want to find."

"Have you considered that something else might be going on here?"

"The way I look at it, calling something paranormal is just a way of avoiding a real explanation."

"Are you monitoring my life? Bugging my phones?"

"Human logic doesn't apply to me."

"You have to believe me. Nobody else on this whole damn planet does or ever will."

"What are you even after out there? Do you ever even think about that?"

"If you look too hard, you can go mad, but if you continue to look, you become liberated."

"Just because there's magic in one place doesn't mean there's magic in every place."

"It's easier to believe in monsters out there in the world than to accept that the real monsters dwell within us."

"It's hard to believe in something when you can't understand it."

"The guy that we're after knows what it's like to have died and be dragged back."

"No, it doesn't matter that aliens from out of space have no genitalia - they still have groins, and they shouldn't be kicked there!"

"I'm not suggesting anything. I think the facts speak for themselves."

"Ghosts are benevolent entities. Mostly."

"What does that tell you? That I'm crazy, or that I'm right?"

"Next thing I know, you're going to tell me I'm the crazy one."

"What is this? Another one of your whacko conspiracy theories?"

"If there were secret experiments going on here, I wouldn't tell you."

"You have no idea about true evil."

"The conspiracy is not to hide the existence of extraterrestrials; it's to make people believe in it so completely that they question nothing."

"Without proof, we're nothing more than conspiracy mongers."

#rp meme #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #sentence starters #supernatural; #assorted;