#blame it on her lack of sugar for the day.

[karinab00bs]

Can i request Karina x Male Reader office sex?

Cubicle Rival

Karina x male reader

tags: nipple play, fingering

Nearly everyone in the building had left for the day by ten minutes after fifteen; the janitor had even switched off the lights on purpose to prevent anyone from working overtime. Karina and you remained in the same room where they'd been working; the woman had taken off her blazer and was draping it over the back of her chair, while the man had rolled up his long sleeves to his elbows. As long as their report received approval and they could return home, their looks held little concern.

"Mr. Ethan hasn't replied?" Karina asked you since you had been refreshing your email. Waiting for the first message in their inbox determined whether they could go home early or stay in the office longer.

"Not just yet.” Perhaps sloppily or exhausted, you respond, "It's still being checked."

Karina says, her tone unpleasant to hear: "It's half past eleven; is it crazy that Mr. Ethan still wants to check the report?"

"Why are you anyway blaming Mr. Ethan? You know he is a perfectionist. He promised to wait until today; hence, he will wait until twelve. You are the one who is wrong; why would you hand over such a critical report to an intern who is already on his way home at five? It's not going to be right," you ramble, drawing visible eyebrows furrowing on Karina.

"Why are you blaming me? Blame Ms. Je for putting the director's daughter in our division. What do you think I can do if she's nagging me to do a report? Tell her you can't do your job like that?" Karina started pounding on the table; maybe both of them were already tired, so they were more sensitive and easily ignited.

"You could try pointing the finger at other people. You brought Mr. Ethan and now Ms. Je; pointing fingers at others won't make them do anything or prevent such incidents in the future. Do you also intend to hold the intern responsible, given his obvious ignorance in preparing the report? Indeed, it is your responsibility to consider this matter. How can a child, lacking any knowledge, solve such a significant problem? You, equally irritated, began pointing at Karina as if assigning blame.

"Now you're blaming me?"

You didn't have time to reply to Karina's words because a call came into your cell phone from Mr. Ethan.

"Yes, sir? Yes, thank you very much, sir. I'll send it later. I will finish it in 15 minutes. Thank you very much, sir." You disconnected the phone and looked at Karina. The man sighed softly before saying to karina, "The report is okay; I just need to check for typos. I'll finish it first. Can you get me a coffee?"

Karina was silent for a second before responding, "Fine." 

Upon seeing Karina exit the office, you instinctively shut your eyes.

Although Karina was really terrified to visit the pantry by herself since all the lights had been turned off, she couldn't resist your demand so that everything would be finished rapidly and she could head home. Under low lighting, she began preparing two cups of coffee in paper cups, using a combination of saset coffee and sugar, to ensure you wouldn't have any complaints about the taste. She carried the black coffee paper cups with both hands, but her foot stumbled on something, and one cup of coffee spilled on her chest. "Ah." Karina turned to show a faint smile. Indeed, it appears that she has paid the price for all her mistakes over the past year. Why is this so unlucky?

She took off her shirt, which was full of spilled coffee, and then she walked back towards her office.

She gently opened the door, and she found you closing your eyes and leaning on your chair. Okay, the initial plan was for Karina to stealthily walk to her cubicle, retrieve her blazer, and put it on before you woke up. Karina then crept over, set the coffee she had produced next to your laptop, and hurried to her cubicle.

You blinked up at the scent of coffee, but your attention quickly went from the paper cup on her desk to the figure of Karina, who was unclasping her bra. Fuck.

"What on earth are you doing?" you inquired, your voice quivering with disbelief. 

"My shirt is all sticky from spilling coffee," Karina answered, her bare back now showing.

"Are you not afraid of me doing anything to you?" You asked while getting up from the chair to get a box of tissues. The man was now sitting on Karina's chair, and you could clearly see the girl's large, saggy breasts. While the woman sat at her desk.

"You and I fight every day; I doubt you have any desire to do anything to me, even though I'm naked in front of you right now," Karina replied confidently.

"Do you think if I were naked in front of you, you'd be horny?" Your question made Karina snort in annoyance.

"No, it's crazy to lust after you," Karina said, folding her arms across her chest, making her breasts pop out even more as if challenging you.

"I have submitted the report, and Mr. Ethan accepted it. You raised one eyebrow and said, "All that remains is your business with me."

"What business is it? I have nothing to do with you. Better turn back; my body is all sticky and a little blistering thanks to the hot water dispenser," Karina said, looking down at her coffee-sticky chest.

"You're sure you won't lust after me, right?" you asked again.

"No."

"I'll just clean it so it's not sticky and then go home," you said. "Shut up." You looked down and swept your tongue over every inch of Karina's breasts to clean the coffee off her skin, occasionally giving the man a light sip.

"What the hell are you doing?" Karina tried to keep your head from coming closer to her body, but then she froze as the tip of your tongue rubbed against her nipple. Damn. It was so good.

"They say it's better to use saliva or running water when it's hot." You soaked Karina's upper body, including her skirt, with the remaining water from the glass she used to drink.

"Fuck, what are you doing? I swear.. I'm wet.."

"Wet, huh?" You lowered your head and took one of Karina's nipples into your mouth, sucking gently, while your other hand wiped Karina's body with a tissue.

Karina bit her lip, both hands clutching the edge of the table she was sitting on. "You won't lust, right? There's no way you'll lust after me; after all, I'm just cleaning you."

"Hurry up and clean it.. I'm going back." Karina's words made you smile.

You took a tissue and, using both hands, rubbed Karina's nipples with it. While closing her eyes, the girl looked up. She hadn't felt a touch on her body in a long time, so a touch like this sent her into a trance. Indeed, your skill level is beyond reproach. Just observe how the tissue continues to twist both Karina's nipples, creating a more pleasurable sensation. You idly pinched Karina's nipples so hard that she couldn't help but moan.

"Don't be horny; I'm just cleaning it," you said half-mockingly.

"I'm not fucking horny." Karina's answer made you laugh. You pulled down Karina's panties and let them fall to the floor.

"It's just wet," you teased with a finger that had rubbed Karina's pussy. "I'm just cleaning it; you don't want to feel uncomfortable."

"What the hell are you doing- ahhh ..." Your tongue entered to explore Karina's pleasure hole with your finger stroking the small object on it, creating a stifled moan from Karina's lips, which made you smile because, after all, Karina's sigh had made you win. You deliberately inserted two of your fingers, then scratched Karina's pussywall rather roughly, causing her affection to shift to her clitoris. "A-ahhh.. ahhh.."

"Why mm? Is it good? You said you wouldn't lust after me, but you're so wet, Rina." Karina stared resentfully at your face as she bit her lower lip, deliberately holding back a moan so as not to feed your ego. "Why do you want to end it?" you asked, bending your two fingers precisely at Karina's weakest point, and soon her pleasure juices melted away.

"Damn you.." said Karina in the end, while catching her breath.

"1-0, there is no need to deny that you are also horny for me," you said with a chuckle, and you lowered your head to lick Karina's pussy, which had just reached its release.

"Watch out; I'll get you back."

"I can't wait," you replied as she helped put the blazer on Karina's body.

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Words: 1699

Chapter 3

The sun had almost set by the time you found yourself in Westview, the paper with Agatha's adress tucked into your pants' pocket.

You walked the empty road, feeling eyes on you behind pulled curtains. The neighbours were uneasy, having chosen to lock themselves into their houses; but you could not blame them.

If what Agatha said was true and had managed to gather a coven, those poor people must have seen a few odd figures heading the same way as you.

Witches could not help it. They always had this aura, making them easier to stand out. Sometimes, their energy was enough to make someone have this uneasy feeling deep within their guts; though being as ignorant to the supernatural, they could never truly understand why.

At last, you reached the house that seemed to belong to Agatha.

The first thing you noticed was the lack of a door, but you speculated that some unfriendly visitor had found Agatha earlier that day. It would explain this sudden and urgent need to go down the Road in such short notice.

Stepping inside, you could hear voices in the background; indicating that you might be the last one to arrive. Your eyes barely glanced at the rather odd decoration of the house. None of it was screaming Agatha; you knew cause you had lived with her even for a short amount of times.

"Wait," you heard the voice of the teenage boy calling, putting a pause at the overlapping voices of the other witches. "We are one witch short," he pointed out, clearly talking about you.

You decided to make yourself present by letting your steps sound a little harder against the wooden floor, earning different pair of eyes on your form.

"No, you are not," you corrected him, one hand in your pocket.

You quickly scanned the room, sensing the different magical signatures while quickly studying them as well.

They were very different from one another, from their ages to their outfits and, of course, their magic affinity.

Yet again, it was often needed for a coven to be diverse. Though you could not help but wonder if such intense diversity would actually work, the tension between the witches and Agatha was thick enough to almost be visible.

"Sugar," Agatha greeted with a small smirk, not caring that she used your nickname in public.

She never hesitated to do it before, even though you had tried to argue a lot of times. You preferred privacy, and such nicknames, in your opinion, should exist behind close rooms and during intimate moments between two people.

Of course, Agatha never truly took into consideration your opinion and continued. There was something powerful, possessive even when she was the only one to call you such a name. Not to mention, it showed others that in a way, you were hers; some sort of invisible claim that warned others not to test their luck.

Agatha had not changed ever since, at least with that part. Despite the years you two had spent away, despite the rather unknown nature of your relationship; she still kept claiming you, often impressing even herself with ways she could find.

She studied you for a moment as your eyes connected and took notice of your outfit. While other witches chose dresses, skirts, or hippie pants; you went to the other side of the spectrum.

You had chosen a white professional shirt whose shade was bright enough to draw attention from afar. However, that was the only white thing on you.

Your buttoned up vest had white lines, but the base was black, a matching shade with your well tailored pants. Even your tie was at the colour of black, giving you a more unisex and professional look.

Needles to say you had impressed her, since for centuries you were a big fan of simple white clothing. You barely chose any other colour to wear, always having a strong connection to the bright shade.

Yet here you were now, the dark on you, almost fully covering you; the darkness of your solitude and hurt past casting a shadow to your once brighter and naive self.

It tempted Agatha, curious for a moment to test your reaction by having her hand drag across your body; testing if you would stop her when she would try unbutton your vest and take off your tie...oh, and what she could do to you with that tie.

The intense staring and sudden silence had drawn curious looks on you, some wondering what your connection to the dark Witch that had gathered them all.

The moment was interrupted by Lilia, who had been watching between the two of you until her mind and gaze trailed off.

"Two of swords!" She gasped, earning everyone's attention on her.

She did not say anything else, as if she was not conscious she had said anything or not. That alone quickly made you realize which role she played in this coven, a divination witch that was always needed in almost every mission; especially one as dangerous as the one you all had chosen to participate in.

Before any more questions or comments could be thrown, Agatha clapped her hands once.

"Well, gang's all here. Let's hit The Road." She said, trying to change the topic.

However, Jen was not done yet. "Wait," she exclaimed, and Agatha immediately knew this was not going to be good. "Where's our Green Witch?"

"Oh, do we really need one of those?"

"Of course we do." Jen argued and then looked at you. "Unless you are a Green Witch, though you definitely don't look like one," She continued, her tone judging you as did their eyes; going up and down your form.

"I am not," you corrected her, unfazed by her gaze.

You had this passive expression on your face, a cold mask that nothing could truly penetrate. Your aura was calm but hid danger behind it, like a dark peaceful sea whose waters were far deeper than they looked; dangerous creatures lurking within, waiting.

Your answer only fueled the argument between Jen and Agatha, one insisting on the importance of a Green Witch and the other arguing there was no need.

Eventually, Teen joined by referring to one member they had not invited from the list; a black heart.

This made you arch an eyebrow and look at Agatha, who at that moment did the mistake of looking at you as well.

Once again, you quickly saw right through her facade and saw both the fear and annoyance she tried so hard to hide. Whoever this black heart meant to represent was a deep scar from Agatha's past; one she did not wish to bring up.

In the end, Agatha left; excusing herself she was going to bring back the last member so they could all start the ritual and open the door to the Road.

The moment she left, the main attention fell on you; each individual in the room had different thoughts, but you were part of all of them.

In the end, it was the boy who chose to speak up. "Wait, I am confused." he even lifted his hand, like a student asking permission from the teacher to voice his question. "Jen is Potions, Lilia is Divination, Alice is Protection... what are you?"

Jen nodded her head. "The boy is right. What are you?"

That judging look once again.

It made you wonder if she looked at others the same or she felt both offended but also threatened by your presence.

It would not be the first time a witch had reacted negatively against you, especially once they realised your affiliation. Your type was not often welcomed, the duality of your nature often a wildcard that no one wished to possess.

"Backup," you explained, choosing to remain vague with your answer.

There was no need to go into detail, at least not now. You barely knew one another, and it was evident there was no trust between any of you. A common goal brought you forward, but it was not kindness or the need to find a coven.

It was selfish, and you knew that too well. Even your reasons for joining could be considered selfish.

After all, no one else chose to walk the Road unless they had a deep selfish goal in mind. Ironically, this one was what was tested the most during the trials that awaited down the Wicked Path.

You turned to the boy, realizing he was still confused by your presence. Sure, your name was on the list, but you did not seem to be part of the main four needed; according to both the Ballad and Agatha.

"To walk down the Road, you need four basic witch paths to help you and also unlock the door. Anything else is extra help, " you explained, your tone slightly softer

You could not help it. Just by seeing into his dark, innocent eyes, your defences dropped. He was a young boy, too young to choose such a path, and it made you wonder what he truly needed to take such a decision.

Jen opened her mouth to argue when Agatha walked into the room, dragging with her an older woman.

You could immediately tell she was a human woman, no drop of magic within her, and something told you the others realised that too.

Looking at Agatha, you saw her silently asking you to remain quiet on the topic, and you obeyed. Though deep down, you could not help but wonder how this would truly work.

A green witch would be needed for the trial, and only after it was passed, she would no longer be of need.

You did wonder how this would work out, but your trail of thoughts was interrupted by the faint sound of a wold howling. Your head immediately snapped to the side, eyes distantly gazing out the window as the darkness of the night covered the sky.

Agatha must have realised it, too, for she clapped her hands yet again. "No time to waste, vamos!" She said and started to walk towards the stairs leading to her basement, leaving you all no choice but to follow.

Chapter 4

[thischarmingmandalorian]

Like A Man Without Skin

Ghost!Agent Whiskey x Reader

Summary: Your new apartment is haunted by the ghost of the sexiest man you've ever seen. My entry for @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes Monster Smash!

Pairing: Ghost!Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit!

Warnings: Just… so much dirty talk. Pet names (Sugar, baby, sweet girl, good girl), groping, fingering, oral (f receiving but super briefly), pussy pronouns, is it vouyerism if you're watching each other?, obviously monster fucking, reader very briefly pulls her own hair? Not very heavily edited, I tried my best but if I read it one more time I'm gonna get embarrassed. Also very much a believer I ghosts (ask me about my own haunted apartments!) but I don't know how that shit works suspend your disbelief, babes!

Word Count: 3.1k

The first night, you blamed the house settling.

You had just moved to a new apartment and always had a hard time sleeping in a new place. You weren't used to the shadows that danced across your walls, that just repainted "landlord special" smell, or whatever that sound was.

That incessant crack that echoed through your living room, right outside your bedroom door, for hours. Literally fucking hours. You wanted to believe it was the floorboards creaking. This apartment was old, part of a three-story row house in a big city, and if the sleaziness of your landlord was anything to go by, it definitely wasn't up to code. You'd actually be more worried if it was silent in your apartment.

But still, the crack that… cracked… just outside your bedroom door was unnerving to say the least. It didn't sound like any "settling house" noise you were used to, but any alternative scared you too much.

That night you slept with the light on and a desk chair propped against your doorknob.

You got used to the crack in the living room after a few nights. You'd resigned yourself to the fact that it wasn't the house settling, but what it was eluded you. It never stopped, but it became a normal part of your nightly routine. Every night around 10 pm, when you'd leave your hall bathroom and shut the bedroom door behind you, it would begin.

Crack

And then a pause. You'd count to 30, and

Crack

This went on until you fell asleep. You soon started to count the noises behind your door until you dozed off - your record was 20 cracks.

On day five you got curious. Why was the noise only at night? Why was it always in the same spot? Most importantly, what the hell was making that noise?

You weren't someone who found the idea of ghosts ridiculous. In fact, the thought of being haunted seemed like a fun story to tell your friends over drinks on your usual Friday night bar crawl. If it was a ghost making that noise in the living room, that would be fine. You just didn't love not knowing.

That fifth night you performed your nightly routine like normal. Skincare, brushed teeth, pajamas. You shut the bathroom light off and walked down the hall to your bedroom. Only tonight, you left your bedroom door open. It was 9:55, so you sat upright on your bed and waited for the crack.

10 pm came and went. 10:30, 11. The crack never came. Dejected and confused, you finally shut the lights off and laid down to sleep.

You fell into a restless slumber, tossing and turning. The lack of… crack… bothered you. Why did it stop? What the hell was it?!

In your fitful sleep, you were acutely aware of the fact that your hair had found its way in front of your face, tickling your nose. You woke very briefly to push it away, but stopped any movement the second you were conscious.

Because you felt the slightest touch sweeping your hair from your face. Which was troubling because you were, of course, alone.

You shot up in bed, slamming the light switch and illuminating the room in a soft glow. You were still alone. But then… who, or what, had touched you?

"What the fuck is happening?" you mused out loud, expecting to be met with silence. Except a new sound emerged from the empty room -

Shhhhh.

"Don't tell me to 'shhh!' You 'shhh!'"

You felt crazy shouting at no one. Even crazier when you heard the noise again.

Shhhhh.

You realized this wasn't just a sound; it was… a voice. So it was a ghost!

Internally high-fiving yourself for solving this mystery, you remembered it was the middle of the night, and you had work in the morning.

"We're not done here," you said to your invisible guest, "we'll talk about this tomorrow."

Somehow you willed yourself to shut the light back off and lay back down. Still uncomfortable with the silence, you set your phone on the nightstand and let it cycle through a playlist of ambient noise. You're back to dozing off when you hear it again.

Shhhhh.

This time the sound is joined by the feeling of someone stroking your hair. A gentle, feather-light touch against your head, sometimes letting a finger trail down your cheek. You didn't want to admit it was soothing, and you already felt crazy. Thinking your apartment was haunted was one thing, but talking to the ghost seemed like a bad way to handle it. But you were oddly comforted by the presence you felt.

"You can stay until I fall asleep, then you gotta go for tonight," you whisper. The phantom hand stills on the side of your face as you speak, resuming it's soothing strokes through your hair once you finish addressing it.

The touch continues until you fall asleep, and so does the new noise.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.

Right before you fell into a deep sleep, you swear the noise changed a little bit.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.

"Sugar."

The next morning you want to chalk up the weirdness of the night before to a dream, but you know that's not the case. You wake up well-rested and ready to start the day, and notice your bedroom door had somehow shut during the night.

"Thanks for shutting the door," you speak into the empty bedroom, opening your closet to pick out an outfit for the day. You weren't expecting a response to your gratitude, but you smile when a familiar crack sounded from the living room.

You rush to open the bedroom door, knowing the living room will be empty, but knowing your ghost was there. "Hey, crack once for yes, twice for no, ok?" You feel ridiculous until one crack echoes through the room.

While you get ready for work, you play 20 questions.

"Are you a ghost?"

Crack.

"Are you… a woman?"

Crack. Crack.

Interesting… a dude ghost.

"Did you leave after I fell asleep like I asked?"

One incredibly quick crack. You appreciate him respecting you.

By now you're ready to change into your work clothes, so you decide to up the ante. "Do you watch when I get dressed?"

The two cracks couldn't have come quicker. You grin, loving that you have a gentlemanly ghost. But you want to have some fun. It's been a while since you've met a nice, living guy, and having a ghost seems like the perfect opportunity for some built-in male attention.

"Do you… want to watch me get dressed?"

Your smirk falls when no noise is made in response. You kick yourself for scaring him away. You start to stumble over an apology when you hear the same noise from last night.

"Sugar…"

"You talk?! What the hell, dude? I've been having you crack that… whatever it is, when you could've been talking to me this whole time?"

"Sorry, Sugar."

You soften. "Why wouldn't you talk to me before?"

"Too weak."

An interesting response. "What gives you energy?"

"Your attention."

Well. That felt nice to hear. "Lucky for you, dude, I have no one else to talk to around here. If it's attention you need, attention is what you'll get! Now, back to the task at hand… do you want to watch me get dressed?"

This time, a noise you haven't heard yet. A whimper.

"Please, Sugar."

You smirk, moving to stand in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom. Slowly, you bunch your oversized t shirt up over your ass, draw it above your hips, and fist the material up under your breasts, pausing to admire your own figure in the mirror. You turn to the side, watching as your reflection shakes its ass gently.

It's weird flirting with someone you can't see and barely hear. You're feeling both emboldened and shy, sexy and self-conscious. "How's this?"

"Teasin' me?"

You grin. "You said you need my attention to get strong! The longer this takes, the more attention I'm giving you! I'll ask again: this good?"

Crack. Yes.

"What the hell is that noise, anyway?" you ask, mercifully removing your shirt entirely, standing in front of your mirror in nothing but your underwear.

"Uh… a…" another whimper interrupted your ghost's train of thought. "Whip."

"A whip?!"

Crack. Yes.

"Why does a ghost have a whip?" you ask idly, thumbing the hemline of your underwear before sliding them down your legs with a shimmy.

"Long story. How long d'ya have, Sugar?"

You grab for your phone on the nightstand, realizing that if you tease this ghost anymore you'll be late for work. "No time! Last looks, dude! Gotta get dressed!" You pose for a second with your hands on your knees, bent at the waist with your ass wiggling before pulling on your work clothes.

"Really, Sugar? You're gonna leave?"

"I gotta work if I want to be able to afford this place! You don't want me to have to move out so soon, do you? There's so much more attention I want to give you," you pout into the mirror, bottom half clothed, briefly pausing to give your ghost one last look of your bare chest.

"Before you leave, Sugar, let me touch you."

You let your hands fall to your sides, remembering the featherlight touches against your cheek the night before, shivering at the thought of feeling it again. "Go ahead," you whisper into the empty room.

The touch is similar to the one last night, only now it seems stronger. This ghost wasn't kidding about attention making him stronger. Even though you couldn't see him, you can feel his presence behind you. You can feel fingers skating up your arms, stopping at the elbows and trailing back down. The touch disappears only to return on your hips, sliding from the small of your back to wrap around your front. You lift your arms slightly to accommodate him as his hands trail further up your torso, stopping just below the swell of your chest. You feel the ghost hesitate. Normally, if this were happening with someone you could see, you'd lace your fingers through his and coax his hand up to where you need to feel him, but this was all so new still. The ghost can touch you, but can you touch him? Would it look stupid to grope around for his hand? You decide your voice is your greatest asset at this moment.

"I said go ahead."

A groan erupted from behind you, right against your ear, making you shudder. You could almost feel breath against your neck, could almost feel the weight of a head against your shoulder as the ghostly hands dragged themselves up to grope at your chest. Your head falls back and you let out a sigh, your eyes falling closed. The hands tweak at your nipples before soothing the sting with a swipe of a thumb.

You're brought out of your trance when your phone rings. You feel the phantom hands retreat from your chest, a sigh heaving from behind you. Reaching to the bed to grab your phone, you see it's your boss calling. "I've gotta take this, I'm so sorry - hello? Yeah I'm just about to - oh? That sucks, what's the - yeah, no I can do that. OK, see ya!" You hang up and throw your phone back on the bed. The clothes you had yet to put on stay neglected, and what you have put on gets shucked off your body with haste. "You still here?" you call into the seemingly empty room.

Crack.

"Dude, now that I know you can talk, I'm not accepting whip cracks for an answer."

"Still here, Sugar. What was that about?"

"Good news! A pipe burst at my office - I get to 'work from home' today," you explain, making air quotes around "work from home." You know you're not getting shit done today. "So get back over here, we're not done."

You're still standing in front of your full length mirror, admiring your naked form when something starts to… happen… behind you. At first it's a thin mist, then it slowly turns into a more solid, human form. You stare in the reflection dumbfounded as your ghost materializes - he's still somewhat transparent, very obviously not human or living, but shit.

He's hot.

He's dressed in a cowboy hat and two-piece suit. And he wasn't kidding about the whip. It was curled neatly with the handle stuck in his back pocket.

"Oh my god. My house is haunted by the sexiest man alive," you muse, forgetting for a second that he can hear you. The ghost meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection, lips curling into a smirk as he tips his hat.

"Well I'm not alive, but that's mighty kind of you to say, Sugar," the ghost replies, moving closer to you again, "can I finish what I started, now that you don't have to leave? Please? It'd make me a very happy man."

You nod, watching in the mirror as the ghost reaches for you again. He skips the pretense this time, hands going straight to your chest, resuming his kneading and pinching.

"Wha- shit - what's your name? Seems backwards to let you touch me like this when I don't know anything about you," you tease.

"Whiskey. Agent Whiskey, Sugar."

You giggle. "Agent Whiskey isn't a name. What's your real name, and what are you an agent of?"

"Jack Daniels. And I'm stuck haunting this apartment, we have time to learn everything about each other. Stop distractin' me," the ghost punctuates his request with a nibble to your earlobe.

His hands, his mouth, while mostly solid, feel tingly, cold in a way that's akin to walking through fog. His breath is warm as it huffs against your neck, a delicious push and pull of sensation. He kisses down your neck and lands a bite to your shoulder, growling quietly as you moan in front of him.

"Ain't we a sight to see, Sugar? Keep your eyes forward."

Your eyes blink back open as you meet Jack's eyes in the mirror. You watch as his hands skate down your torso, hesitating close to where you want his touch the most. "Can you… will I be able to see you…?" You're not sure how being a ghost wearing clothes works, and you don't know how to ask; you hope he gets the hint.

"The suit stays on; sorry, baby. Gonna have to use your imagination. But, if it's any consolation, I used to look real nice under all this."

"I believe you. Now quit stalling and touch me," you make an experimental grab for his ghostly hand, delighted to be able to curl your fingers around his wrist and tugging it down, down to where he dips into your folds, fingers gathering the slick from your entrance and dragging it up against your clit.

"Let's move to the bed, Sugar. Need to see her."

You waste no time pulling Jack by the wrist to your bed. You prop yourself up against your pillow, legs spread wide and face flush with arousal and anticipation. You watch Jack as he stands at the foot of your bed, gazing intently at your body laid out for him.

"Jesus, Sugar. She's drippin' - it all for me?"

You give Jack a curt nod, beckoning him closer with your outstretched hand. "Come here and touch me, please." You see Jack's face change; where there was once a pained look of arousal, there's now a feral darkness that excites you.

"Since you asked so nicely, baby."

Jack puts his knees onto the edge of your bed and you feel the faintest dip on the mattress. Your breath hitches as you watch him crawl on hands and knees to situate himself between your legs. One hand holds tight to your hip while the other dips once again into your wetness, pulling away and chuckling when you try to buck up into his touch.

"Gotta be patient, beautiful. Your attention made me stronger, but I'll never be back at a hundred percent. 'm tryin'a hold you down, play along."

You agree to Jack's game and push your hips down into the mattress, curling your hand around his at your side. "I'll be good, I promise."

Jack smirks and bends his head down to whisper praise close to your ear, "that's my good fucking girl."

Jack punctuates his words with two ghostly fingers plunging into you. You moan loudly while your free hand grapples for purchase, twisting into your hair and gently pulling. "How long…"

"More than long enough, Sugar."

You swat at Jack's arm; he grins and moves his hand from your hip to slowly circle your clit. "That's not - oh fuck - what I meant. How long have you - uh huh, just like that - been stuck here?"

"Tryin'a focus, woman. Ask me in five minutes."

"Won't have to wait that long, Jack. Not gonna last."

Jack's thumb on your clit speeds up. He adds a third finger to the two working you open, the stretch delicious. Cold and warm, solid and ethereal. You could get used to this.

Suddenly Jack shifts and takes his thumb off your clit. You begin to protest, but find yourself gazing down at him, his face now level with your dripping pussy.

"Just wanna see if I still got it, Sugar."

You feel a sudden emptiness as Jack pulls his fingers free from you and you're about to protest, but before any words can leave your mouth he licks a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, pointing his tongue at the last second and flicking it against you once, twice…

"Fuck, I'm… shit. Jack, I'm…" Your orgasm hits so hard that what you are is incoherent. So fucked out you can't think straight. If someone asked you your name at this very moment, you wouldn't remember.

"Oh, I know you're comin', sweet girl, ain't gotta tell me. I've got a front row seat to the show. Let go, Sugar. I've got ya."

You ride the wave of pleasure for what feels like forever, hips rolling and panting, soft moans escaping from deep in your throat as you come down. When your eyes open, you find Jack staring intently at your pussy, watching it leak and pulse around nothing.

"So fucking gorgeous, Sugar. Could get used to this."

You instinctually grab at Jack's hair, gently tugging to get him to your eye level. You feel his touch against your face, gentle and cool. "You better get used to it," you smirk, "you're kinda stuck here. Don't know how hauntings work, but trust that I'm not gonna try and get rid of you. Like, ever. Not after that."

[btscontentenjoyer]

BTS Summer Fic Recs

Here are some summer fanfic recommendations if you need something to read on the beach, by the pool, or just in your room while you're trying to escape the heat! If you enjoy any of these stories, please don't forget to let the author know by reblogging and leaving feedback. Most of these stories contain smut or other mature themes so MINORS DNI!

kim namjoon

solace by @m-yg93 (13.5k) fluff/smut

[roommates to lovers]

summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

kim seokjin

all you’re giving me is friction by @hot-soop (28.3k) angst/smut/fluff

[surfer!seokjin x lifeguard!f.reader, lovers to enemies (lite) to lovers]

summary: You’ve graduated! Congratulations - you’ve got one thing checked off your parents ten year plan! Now all that’s left to do is start your dreary office job, drag yourself up the ladder to CEO, marry your (as yet unknown) dream guy, and carve out some time to pop out a few kids before your ovaries shrivel up… Except all of that sounds horrendous, and you’d much rather spend the next three months at Hoseok’s beach house with your closest friends - relaxing, partying, and sleeping late while you still can. And it would be your last perfect summer break, if it weren’t for the most irritating man on the planet (and his chickens) living next door.

min yoongi

the landlord by @ppersonna (4.3k) smut/light crack/pwp

[landlord!yoongi]

summary: your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave.  good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

watermelon sugar by @yoonjinkooked (23k) smut/romcom

[strangers to lovers, vacation au]

summary: Travelling alone to your dream destination had sounded like a good idea at the time. And you don’t regret doing it, of course not - you’re in Greece! The food! The sun! The smell of the sea! The white walls and blue chairs, the hills, the warm days and colder nights. A little company wouldn’t hurt, though. That’s how you end up talking to Min Yoongi, your next door neighbour with whom you practically share a balcony. He’s quiet, he barely leaves his room but when you reach out, he doesn’t push you away. That’s how your Greek adventure begins.

jung hoseok

strawberry sundae by @youtifulhobi (6k) fluff

[lifeguard!hoseok x olympian swimmer!reader, meet cute]

summary: A few years after you begin dating Jung Hoseok, the two of you reminisce about how you met when he was a lifeguard and saved you from drowning, when in reality you had just fell off your strawberry floatie and he just wanted to talk to you.

a taste of paradise by @theharrowing (8k) light angst/smut

[strangers to lovers, chance encounters]

summary: A handsome stranger helps take your mind off of all of the drama that awaits you back home. It is bittersweet, isn’t it, how a chance encounter that makes you feel so good can also just leave you craving more.

park jimin

i need you tonight by @minisugakoobies (1.5k) smut/slight angst?

[pool boy!jimin]

summary: You’re tired of watching your evil stepmom waste your father’s money. So you steal one of her toys.

you dtf? by @sailoryooons (10.2k) smut/pwp

[strangers to one-night stand]

summary:  You’ve never had a one night stand. Jimin has had countless. You’re trying to experience new things. Jimin loves doing the same old shit. So when you meet the man going around the club inviting people to touch his ripped abs, you think perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to try new things. It’s Labor Day weekend at the shore - what can go wrong?

into the wilderness by @gukyi (27k) angst/fluff/comedy

[friends to lovers, camp counsellor au, unrequited love]

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

kim taehyung

summer feelings by @jjkeverlast (558) fluff/crack

[childhood best friends to lovers]

summary: taehyung catches you off guard during your first trip to the beach.

himbo hours by @gimmethatagustd (7k) pwp/smut/humor

[himbo!taehyung x reader, strangers to lovers]

summary: Trouble always seems to follow Taehyung. An innocent night of finding new friends to share his alcohol, drugs, and boxy smiles quickly turns into a mess when he accidentally punches you, a poor, unsuspecting clubgoer, right in the face. Whoops!

trip by @daechwitatamic (22k) fluff

[friends to lovers, camping au]

summary: Your gigantic crush on Kim Taehyung is so bad that you drop whatever you’re holding every time he speaks to you. Your dirty liar of a best friend SWORE to you he wouldn’t be on this camping trip, but he is. Luckily, the trip gives Taehyung the chance to see you in a new light, admittedly with some help from his best friend (and definitely hired spy) Park Jimin.

jeon jungkook

in which sour and salt could be so sweet when jungkook’s existence reminds you that there is still good in the world. by @onlyswan (3.1k) fluff/a pinch of angst/suggestive

[established relationship]

baecation by @1kook (5.9k) smut

[richboy!jungkook, vacation au]

summary: “Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.

heartless by @here2bbtstrash (7.4k) pwp/smut

[exes hooking up]

summary: after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

no longer strangers by @soft4gguk (9.4k) fluff/smut

[jungkook x inexperienced!reader, strangers to lovers, summer love au]

at the end of the day by @starshapedkookie (13.3k) fluff/smut/a little angst

[ex-baseball player!jungkook, high school friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends for 8 years, going through absolute hell and back together. After senior year of high school, you and Jungkook began a tradition of taking annual vacations together during the summer months. This summer is no different, with you and Jungkook celebrating graduating college just a couple months prior. You're set to move to NYC after the summer, with you and Jungkook soaking in the sun and as many moments as you can together. You'd think nothing could ever tear your friendship apart with him, but when you've sat on the beach for too many days in a row watching him surf, you can't help but wonder - when did your best friend get so hot?

lemon sherbet by @extravaguk (15k) fluff/smut/angst

[tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook x popular!reader, ex high school classmates, kinda frenemies to lovers, summer au]

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

concrete king by @bratkook (16.7k) fluff/smut

[skaterboy!jungkook x reader, himbo energy]

summary: when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor there’s no way you could ever say no to him

ex on the beach by @beahae (mini-series, 18.2k) fluff/light angst/smut

[exes to lovers]

summary: You and Jungkook broke up. But it would be very silly of you to let the fancy beach vacation you both won go to waste, right?

stars behind waves by @taegularities (22.7k) angst/fluff/smut

[estranged childhood best friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: With a decade’s distance between Jungkook and you, your paths cross on the same island you deemed your second home years ago. And you realise once again – the ocean can never compare to the twinkle in his starry eyes.

paddle with me by @yoongsgguktae (two-shot, 30k) angst/smut

[enemies to lovers, camp counsellor au]

summary: when your camp leader forces you and jeongguk as partners in a team building activity. with frustrations and anger flaring during your journey down the river, how will all this pent-up emotion get released?

Thank you so much for taking the time to check out my list! I read some of these stories while on vacation this year, and some have stayed with me for a while since I read them last summer. If anyone has more summery recommendations, I'd love to hear them, so don't be afraid to put them in the comments or send me an ask <3

[ravengards-rogue]

beta molly and the way she weeps when you pop your knot in her. withering gasps and sobs, pretty green eyes tinged red with a blush down her soft freckled chest….

✧ tags : omegaverse, alpha!reader, gn!reader, reader has a penis and knot, reader is in rut, betas have faint scents, lotsa pet names, knotting, 18+

✧ wc : 1.2k

✧ a/n : hnngjgjfsdhkjsdjnflksjdfkdlfsdkksdflkfsgvsjkdfdl. its fine

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

"You're alright, sugar. Just breathe."

Molly gasps as your cock swells inside of her. Her voice is soft, prickly against your ear and warm as she whimpers. The soft curves of her body melt against your as you're slotted together, the red-head snug and comfortable in your lap.

You feel her face press against your neck, nose nudging against your scent gland and you groan. You know it's not easy for her, no matter how much you stretch and prep her, to take you. She always insists on it.

You think it's something to do with the fact it's the one thing she doesn't have.

It's what Molly is always most insecure about. Not being an omega, that is. You can't blame her, not after Dutch all but tossed her aside. Makes her antsy. She's skilled at catching even the faintest hint of an omega on you. Weeps herself into a fit whenever it gets too strong and demands you stay next to her for a few days to wash it out of your scent.

You can feel it whenever you reach your ruts, her own desperation to prove her worth—prove that she can be good and take it.

She's a pretty sight when she insists to take your knot. Always. There's many times you nearly gave it to her. Green eyes and hands fisted in the front of your shirt and all determination and longing, as if she's not the most delicate little woman in the world. For the longest time, you let her down gently with a firm, but kind 'no'. You'd spent your ruts with her, fuck her to your hearts content, but knotting was always off-limits.

And then just a few days ago, you helped Karen get somewhere safe to ride out her heat. You may be a lot of things, but you're not so much of a scumbag to leave her to own devices. A scented coat across her back and a horse ride to nearby inn later. Didn't lay on her, of course - but you did wait it out with her for a while. You came back and reeked of nothing but sugary liqueur, nothing like the soft, light scent of strawberries and clove you usually do.

Molly's been less than happy with you about it. Not helped by your rut coming in only days later, jump started by a woman who ain't her. After some crying, she'd demanded of you again but with more more fervor than normal.

And you're not stronger than the woman you so adore weeping in your arms about it, so you promise it to her. But only after making her cum enough times to make her stupid with it.

Even after though, the fit is tight. You've stretched her open, made her cum so many times she was near limp in your lap - but she still insisted. And she is still so so tight.

You can feel the muscles in your abdomen strain as Molly's pussy pulses around you. You take a shallow heaving breath, hands on her hips as the base of your cock starts to swell.

Molly's insides are softy and sticky, silken against your length. You're too big for her. Her body isn't made for it. She can hardly take you as is on days you're not like this.

But you try to keep your composure anyways. Ignore the baser part of your instincts aching for her inconceivably. Aching to pop your knot and keep her full, make her head useless for anything but thinking of you.

"All ye damn alphas are so," She shudders, burying her face against your shoulder. Her words are clipped by a moan, subdued and wanting "Uselessly big,"

You laugh against her. "I'm sorry, baby. Real sorry,"

She knows you're not, probably just as much as you know her vitriol lacks teeth. It's hard to take her seriously when you pull away and look at her. Her expression perfectly debauched, wide green eyes red at the rings - weepy from stimulation and rogue-red lips smeared from stolen, needy kisses.

When you feel Molly sink all the way down to the base of your cock, knot tight - you gasp against her neck. Fangs prick with urgency, to mark her and claim her. Sink yourself so deep into her wet, willing cunt she couldn't run if you tried. You have to remind yourself to keep your instinct at bay.

"Don't hold back from me," She huffs, somehow sensing that you are. You stare at her love struck, eyes starting to glaze over and take in just how pretty she is. How pretty she will be even sooner with your knot stuck in her. "Don't you dare."

"You're playing a very dangerous game, sugar."

"I don't want to beg any more for what I want. You always say you wouldn't make me do that, not like Dutch," Her voice is attempting to be demanding, but falls flat on it. It only ends up sounding desperate and needy and so perfect for you to sink your teeth into. "Give it to me. I want it."

"You're so spoiled," You remind her with a breathless laugh. "A good girl like you doesn't know how to be anything else does she?"

She shakes her head and tucks wraps her arm around your shoulder. You grunt, almost pained as you feel her intentionally squeeze.

"Alright, alright—you made your point. It's gonna hurt."

"I want it, damn it."

"Okay," You close your eyes and hold her hips "Okay, sweet girl. Be easy, please?"

She nods, satisfied - most obedient she's been all evening and it makes you want her even more. You like when she acts that way, like a spoiled princess. You don't know what part of you that is. If it's the Alpha in you, all wrapped in biology and blood or just you. The you that desires her for all she is so hungrily it makes your chest ache.

"Fuck, baby." You shake and you grip her tight. You want her so bone-deep you can feel it in the back of your skull, in your gums. Your fangs protrude against your lower lip. Buzzing, all the muscles in your body go taut like a bowstring. You can feel yourself swell and twitch, just as you can feel Molly respond to it every time. "Feel what you do to me? That's,"

You pant, trying to keep your sense. "It's all yours baby."

Molly crumples against your lap like those are the words she's wanted to hear most, more than anything in the goddamn world. She whines helplessly for the first time. You push your knot into her in one hard thrust. Willing and eager, and that's what gets you. Strokes your ego enough to make the base of your cock swell and swell and swell, and you push until you can't be anywhere but inside. You can feel the way the air gets punched out of her lungs right after, a shaking shuddering breath making her whole face turn pink.

The strain of it is too much, but she takes it like she has everything in the world to prove. Big, water-rimmed eyes and shaky little moans but still insistent.

She whimpers soft and girlish as you ease your knot into her and make her take to you. She accommodates you so well, pussy so perfect like it was made just for you.

All yours, like everything else about her should be in a perfect world.

Your body works against your mind as you cum inside her, thick ropes shooting up with no where to move from. Your cock stays still like that, twitching and hard as you let out a deep and long breath trying to regain some composure.

"Gotta stay like this for a while sugar," You hum, uncharacteristically checked out.

She giggles contentedly, pleased - happy sighing as she remains draped around you, soaking in the attention. "I already know that, you know."

You nod, adrenaline making the blood rush to your ears as you hum. You let your big hands hold the back of her head, drowning her in your affections as you kiss her freckled shoulder. "Just makin' sure."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[moldygreenblue]

Tea Time With Anwhistle

(Day two prompt for Woevember, created by @asouefanworkevent)

[Author Note: This fanfic is set in Netflix ASOUE's continuity, Pre-Opera Night and Schism. Nothing here is book-compliant.]

Esmé finds it wrong to fidget around, having been told growing up that it’s rude and improper. Yet she finds herself wanting to fidgeting around in her seat, and for good reasons. Never would Esmé think that she of all people would find herself serving tea to an organization superior.

“I do thank you, Miss Squalor, for having the time to have this Very Fervent Discussion with me,” says the older man before her, picking up his tea cup. “I wouldn’t normally do such a thing on short notice. It’s rude to inform someone of an impromptu visit to their home.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Mr. Anwhistle,” answers Esmé. She tries hard to not fidget still. “In my personal experience, a four-hour warning is hardly what I consider to be short notice.”

And said organization superior is none other than Gregor Anwhistle himself. One of the original seven Volunteers. A co-founder whose importance has Esmé willingly behaving like a wallflower in his presence, for she is unsure how to interact with the man, to impress him.

Impressing Gregor Anwhistle is a very difficult task. Not even Beatrice —someone from his own family— has trouble impressing him. The best compliment he gave Beatrice was a simple head nod! No words of praise! If nepotism couldn’t help Beatrice, Esmé doesn’t know what will.

Mr. Anwhistle stares at her silently, and takes a small slip of his White Pomegranate Tea. He then sets the cup down gently. “What do you consider short notice then?”

“…I suppose it’s the same as one considers a person to being late,” says Esmé.

“Would you say I arrived late?” asks Mr. Anwhistle.

“Arriving five minutes after two is understandable, not late,” replies Esmé. “I would have considered you late after twenty minutes.”

And the fact Gregor wanted to have a Very Fervent Discussion over tea makes Esmé want to fidget even more in her seat. Esmé enjoys a good tea with a light snack of tea sandwiches; she can prepare a delicious salmon-cucumber sandwich and cream-cheese and jelly. However, today she only made cream-cheese and jelly. And for a good reason.

“Not fifteen minutes?”

“Arriving a quarter after would make me worry,” continues Esmé, “but the City’s construction of several roads would have me to believe you had the unfortunate luck to be stuck in traffic. However, had you not arrived within twenty-five minutes, I would think you were a no-show.”

“And such good tea would be wasted,” says Mr. Anwhistle, picking up one of cream-cheese and jelly sandwich. He takes a small bite out of the crustless sandwich, and blinks a few times. “As well as finger sandwiches. Interesting. You prepared a rather sweet tasting sandwich, as well as a fruit-based tea.”

Esmé takes a sharp breath in. Oh, to think it would come to this. The elephant in the room.

“I could whip up a quick salmon-cucumber sandwich if you like,” offers Esmé. She quickly stands up; really, Esmé is taking this as an excuse to find a way to ease her nerves.

“No need,” says Mr. Anwhistle, putting up his sandwich free hand in the air. “And there’s no need to think about making a new pot of tea, if you were going to offer that next. In fact, there’s no need to apologize for what you prepared for us this afternoon, Miss Esmé.”

Miss Esmé? That’s certainly a new thing to be called. Esmé slowly sits back down. She watches Mr. Anwhistle finish eating his tea sandwich.

“I can’t blame you for any of your decisions,” continues Mr. Anwhistle, picking up the napkin to his side, wiping the corner of his mouth clean. “It’s rather difficult to serve tea without a sugar bowl, after all.”

There! Right there! The elephant in the room!

“Difficult, but manageable,” answers Esmé. “For the past few months, I have been able to do without one. And I learn that not many people are bother by a lack of sugar bowl.”

Esmé hasn’t hosted properly with her tea set in months. Not since the Night at her home. An argument broke out between Bertrand and Georgina, which lead to a brawl between Olaf and Jacques. The fear of violence going out of control forced Gustav and Jacqulyn trying to pull part the two men, which ultimately had Jacqulyn pulling Bertrand to the side.

And said pulling to the side had Beatrice bumping into a nearby table.

The nearby table that had Esmé’s tea set.

The sugar bowl was the sole casualty of the fight.

Esmé wouldn’t have thrown everyone out that night in a fit of crying rage if the set with the now broken sugar bowl wasn’t a gift from her late aunt. The one family she had left before becoming an orphan. Before getting sent to Prufrock Prep. Before meeting everyone.

“Truth to be told,” continues Esmé, “if I could, I would replace my broken sugar bowl. But the set belonged to—well, the set is no longer made.”

Mr. Anwhistle closes his eyes and scoffs. When he reopens them, Mr. Anwhistle moves his sight to the floor, where a small wooden box lays at his feet. He had brought with him, and Esmé wisely didn’t ask questions. One must never question Mr. Anwhistle, even if volatile actions and motives are one to be worry about.

“Well, Miss Esmé,” says Mr. Anwhistle, “I think you’ll be greatly surprise to be proven wrong.”

Mr. Anwhistle picks up the box, and sets it onto his lap. He unlocks the wooden box, and undoes the latch. Flipping open the lid, Esmé from her opposite seat sees what’s inside.

Inside is a sugar bowl. With a mostly blue porcelain body and lid, the handle of the bowl is white with gold accents. In the center of the blue porcelain body and lid, is the painted (or so Esmé assumes) image of a potted plant —green leaves and two pink flowers— surrounded by a white background. It’s not chip in any way or form.

It’s exactly identical to the sugar bowl broken months ago.

“My niece told me about what happened at the party,” continues Mr. Anwhistle. “While feeling terrible about her unexpected role in events, she like the others, aren’t taking responsibility.”

“There’s no need to replace the sugar bowl on their behalf, Mr. Anwhistle,” says Esmé. “Even though I accepted their apologies —especially Beatrice’s— for indirectly breaking my sugar bowl, I don’t think their actions warrants for a replacement…” Esmé keeps her eye on the delicate item. “Such a beautiful, identical replacement I thought would be impossible to find.”

“And a beautiful, identical replacement that has never been use before. Fitting for a young, rich beautiful woman like yourself,” says Mr. Anwhistle. He carefully picks up the sugar bowl from the box, and cautiously places it onto the table, with the rest of the tea set.

The sight is perfect now. A proper tea set with everything in its place, as it should be.

“The sugar bowl,” continues Mr. Anwhistle, his hand hovering over the lid, “is the reason for our Very Fervent Discussion. I believe out of all the candidates I visited and considered, you Miss Esmé, are the ideal volunteer for this assignment. It’s a dangerous assignment, and you are free to turn it down once I explain the assignment in full detail. I do not blame you for wanting to be safe, and this will not let cloud my judgement for future assignments.”

Mr. Anwhistle places his hand on the lid.

Esmé finds herself holding in her breathe in anticipation.

Mr. Anwhistle lifts it up.

Inside the sugar bowl is sugar cubes.

Esmé lets her breathe out. She isn’t sure why she chooses to think otherwise. Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of her. She reaches over the table, and grabs one of the sugar cubes, holding it in her index finger and thumb. “What’s so dangerous about sugar in a sugar bowl?”

“That Miss Squalor,” says Mr. Anwhistle, a smile forming on his face, “is the right question.”

[n1hility-k71]

I'm not ashamed to ask but what do you mean the screenshots are cropped? Mel has been accused of more than she addressed when the video was made about her and only responded to things with "That stuff was old" or "I was being immature, I'm not used to having responsibility" or even just "Guys it's out of context".

She made it clear that she didn't read or watch anything brought up about her, only piggybacking off of what her friends had told her about certain things.

I understand that people make mistakes, but she's still pushing blame that she was ever wrong in these situations. Also it isn't drama, it's her addressing that she was wrong, and needs to step down from the public to better herself. Which yes she did do by stepping down from YouTube, but she still continues her behaviors on VRChat or in personal group chats made by herself/others.

Speaking of her evidence in her video, the only "shit talking" that she claims Voided did was her being upset that Mel was mistreating her. Voided has shown so many screenshots and video evidence of Mel blantly using her, and being inappropriate with/surrounding her younger audience.

Also she said that Mel isn't blocked, so another thing of Mel turning the truth on others.

I'm not saying all this in a way where it's "Grrrr, Mel this, Mel that!" But Mel still mistreats people to this day. Which is more clear and clear with what all her past friends have not only said but showed as well.

I know you're close with Mel now, but do consider that since you're her friend, having her best interest isn't sugar coating her wrongdoings.

Apologies if the answers to your various statements are out of order, I just responded with the points that would come to mind first</3

I absolutely agree that having their best interest in mind isn't sugar coating their wrongdoings, I along with the rest of our group have all had conversations about this. While yes, some of the things they have done are bad, they've openly admitted several times both within their own server as well as personal VC's about things they'd like to improve upon. The screenshots I have mainly seen of the situation from various Tumblr profiles just seem to me more that they're angry over the little things rather than.. the bigger picture? An example would be the fact that Voided AND Keith both have insulted Mel for shipping their character Razzberry with an unnamed friends OC; calling it a "rip-off" or an "Iris replacement". The few others I've seen of the supposed 'callout' just involved a lot of extremely out of context screenshots and/or videos with incorrectly used terms. (an example being the SA claim.)

On the topic of Voided not having Mel blocked, I'd like to ask if you've seen proof of "Mel turning the truth on others"? I've seen absolutely NO evidence that Voided hasn't blocked Mel, and considering her tendency to lie and manipulate situations into her favor I quite frankly wouldn't doubt if she were lying to you. The shit talking provided in Mel's video just.. is.. shit talking?

"Don't let Mel taint them, she's evil"

"Careful with her y'all! She's nice now but she's always talking shit about every action and breath you take with me fr!!"

And how exactly would this just be Voided "being upset that Mel mistreated her"? The only 'mistreating' within that situation from Mel was them.. hanging out with Khai and another friend for a day or two. Voided quite literally was just getting pissy because Mel wouldn't respond within 0.2 milliseconds when she messaged them. Mel has stated SEVERAL times to the people they've befriended that they DON'T know how to properly comfort people. While I can understand where Voided's frustration came from with the lack of a response on Mel's part, you CANNOT be angry with Mel for not responding too much when they literally STATED that they don't know how to comfort people.

With the claim that Mel still mistreats people to this day, I can absolutely tell you that they don't mistreat people? The supposed shit talking that I'm assuming you've heard about from Khai & Voided are just our group discussing "hey, have you noticed that ___ has been a bit harsher/meaner lately?", others agreeing, and wondering how to go about it or bring it up to them. The shit talking began after said 'friends' would openly say extremely mean things to the point that others have been driven to TEARS from it. (Khai, I'm looking at you. While Voided didn't do this, they STILL shit talked SEVERAL people behind their backs.)

The behaviors you're asking about with VRChat are just entirely false, given that the claim from Khai that "Mel flirts with men in VR" is just.. blatantly untrue?? Mel is aroace, falling under the category that feels NO ROMANTIC/SEXUAL ATTRACTION to other people. The only "flirting" that could have happened in VR are all JOKES.

And lastly with the whole thing of Mel saying "those are out of context," or "Those are old," still stands?? People are actively bringing past issues up from when Mel was significantly younger, and claiming that they still have the same mindset when they clearly don't??? The out of context screenshots claim also still stands, because the screenshots.. ARE out of context? Hell, in Luvu's video the screenshotted "evidence" is OUT OF ORDER.

Mel stating that they aren't used to being the older person is a genuine explanation, given they've been surrounded by adults for the most part of their time both online and offline, which was WHY their behavior is so normalized to them. They've realized that they can't keep making these jokes, and are actively only making them with our current friends group; which is filled with ADULTS. They were not saying that as an excuse, but rather an explanation for WHY they did it so often. While it doesn't make it any more excusable, it gives you a better understanding of the situation. In their video they take accountability for their behavior involving shit talking AND making those jokes.

Apologies if this reply is long, but I hate seein' my friends be put under fire for stupid petty shit</3

[rustbeltjessie]

[Santa Muerte, I ask you to remember]

Santa Muerte, I ask you to remember the wreckage of the streets. How did I escape it? How did I escape being swept from the gutters, one more marigold, one more skull crushed to confetti, one more guttering candle amongst the rest? All we had was those four rooms, up a flight

of stairs I stumbled on. Too steep, and so often too high to climb. These rooms, when I write myself back to them, refract the light. The way the blue, green, brown glass of emptied bottles of gin, whiskey, wine caught—then shattered—the late afternoon sun in that apartment, every apartment. The way

a crystal hung from a chandelier would, in a once-grand hotel turned flophouse. Dust-coated rainbows breaking across the flaking paint. The light of these remembered rooms, though, is more like the reverse—a chandelier in what was once a flophouse, now remade into a grand hotel. Nostalgia is gentrification.

I inhabit these memories and change them, the same way we changed the landscape of the neighborhoods we lived in. Without meaning to. Just by being there. Now I remember those rooms, those streets, and the people who inhabited them as exquisite, dazzling. Harder to recall the dirt, the lack

of money, the mattress on the floor stained purple with wine and vomit, the candles guttering ’til dawn, ’til wax covered the floor boards. Those rooms were squalid, and I wrecked myself in the pursuit of beauty. Before that, I lived in a different house, wretched in its own way. Crowded as it was with cats and stray

kids, sad queers and young junkies with their black-hole stares. I slept on a mattress there, alone in the hot, stuffy back room; I’d wake early and stare out into the small concrete yard, the black walnut tree dropping green fruit, staining everything brown. The pigeons with their oil-slick heads and beady black eyes; the shimmering

iridescence of the flies, those seraphs of death. When my partner in crime woke, we’d walk to the bodega for 32 oz. cups of cola, which we’d then dump half of. The rest, refilled with cheap Canadian whisky, so caustic and rotgut it stripped the wax coating from the paper. The stove in that house had a gas leak.

Even through the miasma of wax and syrupy whisky I could smell it; the sharp, eggy rot, but no one else seemed to notice, or they were too high, too low to care. It was the next place which was haunted. No gas leak there—our gas shut off a few months after we’d moved in and I too broke

and careless to get it turned back on—but those four rooms were crowded with the dead, restlessly clattering through the kitchen, perching on the edges of our mattress-beds, whispering their forlorn secrets. In those rooms, it was always the Day of the Dead. In spring, when the callery pear bloomed, their scent of tainted semen heavy on the air. In summer,

when the black walnuts cracked open on the streets, leaking, brown and green, their boozy-bitter juglone. And yes, in autumn, when the cold and haunted rooms smelled of dust, votive-wax, and the clingy, vegetal scent of just-carved pumpkins—and when all the neighborhood bakeries were making pan de muerto, the air above the autumn streets was heavy

with sugar, yeast, and orange zest. We were haunted, not only by the restless dead. Haunted by poverty, addiction, our own recklessness. The twisted shapes our longing for beauty hammered us into. We’re all doomed. My partner, my crime, scrawled that on a piece of paper which she hung, facing street-ward, in her bedroom window. And the landlord, who said she agreed,

kept trying to evict us. And the men who sang drunkenly below our window scrawled graffiti on the bricks above the alley. Gringos out. I did not blame them. I was an interloper, my ghost-white self settling there after running from—what was I running from?—the other streets, other rooms which had already finished with me. I was trespassing. Still, I learned to pray in their languages. Lit

novena candles, asked for benedictions from Santa María, Madre de Dios, and you, Gloria sea la Santa Muerte, la bendita muerte. My altar laden with ofrendas—cempazúchitl, cakes and sweetbreads, coffee and whiskey, the favorite food and drinks of our restless dead. We drank. A shot left on the altar, for the ghosts, a shot for us. Another. Offerings for them, for us

because we were dead now, or so the suburban boys said. We drank, whiskey in our coffee, beer from the bodega, spiced rum or gin the northwoods boys brought us as offerings. We drank because we woke twisted, shaking, still running from nine-day benders, we drank. To beauty, to death. How did I escape? Santa Muerte, I left those streets, those rooms, half a life ago. Tonight

they return, slow then sudden; sneak up like the creeper weed the ambulance driver gave us, nothing and nothing then I’m too high to move. I watch them flicker and refract, these shades of the past, these scenes altered by the trespass of memory. The altar of memory. And then the ghosts arrive. They fall

like the robes of a skeletal saint, like confetti from a Day of the Dead parade float; float like squid, like semen, like flower petals. Black walnut, callery pear; they smell of spice, tobacco, a gas leak, the early dark. They descend as flies, pigeons; come on as scrawls of graffiti, as thunder snow, the blued flash of light, the roar, then white. White. They fall and fall and cover it all, the squalid rooms, the wreckage of the streets, my whole wasted life, until everything

is just layers and layers of ghosts.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from Paterson Literary Review #52 (2024)

[chaifootsteps]

(long ask, sorry!) the new media HH/HB thread on TV Tropes is doing the 'Viv gets scorn no matter what because she's a queer woman who makes things' routine atm (they're blaming TADC fans for toxicity and discussing the 'write like HB' trend, for context)

I've definitely seen creators (anyone, really) get far more hate online when they're female for stupid reasons, but it's frustrating to see them do the 'Viv can't win no matter what she does' thing because I can't really think of an instance where she hasn't responded to criticism she doesn't like, or has actually tried behaving like a professional for a minute - even some of her fans on subreddits have said she needs to step away from Twitter for her reputation's sake or hire someone for PR.

The reason she 'can't win' is not because she's a woman - she's not Rebecca Sugar and she's not Tracy Butler who know how to behave professionally (and before Viv started mudslinging at Lackadaisy, neither Tracy nor the LD crew had any drama attached to them despite Tracy being a woman herself... curious)

Viv's a creator who acts as though she doesn't have the confidence to let her work stand on its own merits and can't bring herself to ignore criticism (given she seems to disagree with practically all of it; the only thing I've seen Spindlehorse try to improve is not using red as a bg color so much and cutting down on the constant sound effects), & as a result she has cultivated a fandom who feel rewarded when they make tweets either defending her or explaining the show on her behalf because she keeps liking those tweets, which only makes it happen more. the lack of distance she keeps from her fans and the way she actively rewards the ones who put down criticism of her makes them act like she's their friend instead of someone whose show they like and someone who is actively using them as both a shield & sword. This is why the fandom has a bad rep, it's not just that the Hellaverse shows suck - it's that their creator will paint all criticisms as bad faith and only makes the effort to address fans not when they harass, bully or threaten people, but when they do something that affects her personally (like celebrate a ship on the same day as her birthday). and I understand social media feels like overwhelming toxic noise: but that's why creators need to learn to step back and not engage so much. enabling toxic fans aside, this level of enmeshment strikes me as bad for anyone looking to hone their craft and create something meaningful

as much as I want to offer some pushback in that thread I feel the plagiarism accusations will be immediately downplayed or ignored and any mention of bad pay or treatment in the workplace will be met with accusations of 'debunked!!' or 'some of the reviews were fake therefore all of them are, even the ones that line up with consistent accounts of bullying or misgendering or a pattern of no deadlines being given!!' asking 'I don't understand what she's done to attract this level of vitriol' kind of suggests they haven't looked that hard or listened to anyone who would want to tell them

but if I was to put it to them, I think I would say - Viv will 'win' when she behaves like a professional, credits people properly, doesn't just drop people when they're no longer useful, stops burning bridges with other people working in the indie animation space, stops vaguing and painting all criticisms as bad faith and understands that even behaving professionally will not make people stop criticizing her show, because every artist in the world has to deal with the fact that people will want to discuss and critique their work. and though I doubt the writing on her shows would ever improve, I'm sure people would at least respect her trying to act more like the professional showrunner she's supposed to be. no one can 100% control their own narrative with her level of Internet fame, but the best way not to make it actively worse is to stop trying to imo

Agreed, and also I feel like it's been years since TvTropes was right about anything. Although even the Viv pages on TvTropes have been very slowly getting more and more critical.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Blowing Bubbles

Title: Blowing Bubbles | AO3 | Rating: T | Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Your stay-cation isn't exactly going as planned...

Warnings: Kissing. Mildly spicy thoughts/behaviors.

A/N: This is the second fic I've written for Hawk and Frankie. Here is the first. If people show interest and the muse sticks with me, I might continue writing little drabbles for them. :o)

“Hawk, what are you doing?”

Frankie’s sudden appearance just inside the living room threshold prompts you to glance up so fast that your neck crackles and pops like dried wood. You let out a hissed curse – not only at the pain, but also because you know you’ve just been caught.  

The oversized mug at your elbow is steaming with your third (maybe fourth?) serving and the table in front of you is covered corner-to-corner with tools and supplies of various kinds. There’s really no hiding what you’re getting up to – especially not when it’s zero-two-hundred, and you’re so damn jittery from too much dark roast and exhaustion that you’re practically tap dancing in your seat. You really should’ve eaten the toast you made for yourself, but you just got so wrapped up in it…

“Por favor, cariño,” he rasps. “Come to bed.”

“Five more minutes,” you counter, refocusing on the remaining bits and pieces spread out in front of you. “I’ve almost got it this time.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I know, but--”

“And the day before.”

Your absentminded grunt. His put-out sigh. The refrigerator hums lightly and the floorboards creak with every other step he takes toward the kitchen. Bare feet patter along the tile, and then, he’s standing over you – the broad, muscular form of him distorted by the headlamp magnifier you’re wearing. A blurry cutout of sinew, Frankie is lit up by a tiny row of LEDs, and his eyes morph, all comically large, before his visage starts to become clearer.

“You look like a mad scientist,” he remarks, deft fingers working to remove your headgear and scoot your mug of black-one-sugar aside. “Even your hair is wild.”

“I think the term you’re looking for is sex hair,” you quip back, unable to hide the smirk crawling its way up the left side of your face. “And I lay the blame at your feet for that.”

A flicker of pride, and then, a furrowed brow. Frankie crosses his arms over his chest and props his cute ass up against the table, but it’s not until his expression morphs into what you’ve dubbed his “frowny, grumpy face” that you know he’s no longer thinking happy thoughts. A man of careful consideration, he weighs his words, practically rolling them around in his mind and mouth before finally speaking.

“We had plans,” he says, succinct, but not unkind.

You rub the back of your neck and stare at your lap, “And I’m ruining them.”

“No, baby, not that – never that. It’s just…A whole week together. Just you and me. That’s what we agreed to. Remember?”

You fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt and nod, your mind recalling the hours-long conversations the two of you had, going over the pros and cons, weighing up the mutual fears and excitement. The serious lack of alone time and the desperate, mutual need for a break – that’s what ultimately clinched it. You and Frankie would have your own, private staycation, while at the same time, a very excited Isabella would be with her grandparents for a getaway at an out-of-town water park/resort.

You and Frankie never have the house to yourselves, and the two of you had plans to celebrate via unabashed orgasms, eating pizza naked in front of the TV, and taking prolonged showers together. No chores. No projects. No plans to go out or catch up with friends or even grocery shop…    

But instead of a distraction-free, sexed-up weekend, full of takeout food and Netflix shows without singing cartoons, you’ve been tinkering with Isabella’s damn bubble blaster. You’ve allowed an easily replaceable, three-dollar toy to take up entirely too much of the infrequent, precious alone time you get with the man you otherwise can’t ever seem to get enough of.

You repair helicopters, for crying out loud. And you’re good at your job. In fact, you’re so good at it, the exorbitant salary you pull isn’t just for your mechanical skills – people also hire you on a contractual basis just for your opinions. Shit, you could buy Isabella a plethora of brand-new bubble blasters. Hell, you could upgrade to one of those fancy machines they use at clubs and in movies, but there’s something about fixing this particular butterfly-themed bubble blaster that you simply can’t let go of…

“The replacement parts you’re putting in this thing are more expensive than the toy itself,” he says, voice gruff with sleep and perhaps a hint of agitation. “And with how she plays with her toys… You know it’s not gonna last long.”

Frankie’s remarks prompt you to glance at the table’s surface again. Every inch is covered with a mess of trial-and-error, and the presence of all that’s accumulated – like the multimeter, soldering iron, repair kit, and empty supply packages – simply makes you shrug.

A deep inhale. A long exhale. Frankie closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose – the picture of an exasperated partner who really wanted to get laid without fear of interruption and maybe – just maybe – eat first and sleep in late for a change. You feel terrible for getting caught up, for allowing your obsessive, one-track mind to take over, and you would apologize for it if not for him speaking first.

“I love the way you love her,” Frankie says, tone now warmer, more understanding. “I may not get why you’re doing this, but… I love you. And I love you more for loving her.”

You find it difficult to keep the tears at bay – especially when he looks at you, all soft, soulful eyes full of adoration and even deeper admiration. Frankie has always had the uncanny ability to see you, to get you right down to the marrow, and it would terrify the hell out if you weren’t so in love with him.

“It’s her favorite,” you say, hoping that somehow explains the reasoning behind the sudden madness that’s gripped you. “And I just… I should be able to fix this for her.”

He scratches at the hairs along the column of his throat, “I know, cariño. I know.”

A long pause, and then, you press your luck. “Does that mean I can have five more minutes?” you wonder, sticking out your lower lip and batting your eyelashes for good measure.

The sound that escapes his throat is a combination of a bemused groan and a warning growl. You know you haven’t exactly won, but you haven’t lost, either. Frankie is a man of compromise who always has a caveat, and you know it’s coming when he leans forward, cups your face in his hands, and stares at you in such a way that you’re powerless not to meet his gaze.

“Last chance,” he says sternly. “Then, it goes in the trash. That’s an order.”

You lick your lips and nod slightly, “Yes, sir.”

Frankie’s pupils expand, and his smile wide enough to reveal his dimple, then, he’s kissing you – a relentless, frantic demand of your mouth that’s all possessive and purposeful. Then, he’s slow as syrup when he pulls away, the epitome of stark contrast when he drops a chaste peck to the middle of your forehead and calmly sets a timer on his wristwatch. He doesn’t hover – he simply hands you the headlamp magnifier, wishes you luck, and leaves you to it.

With your heart racing and the clock ticking, you set about reassembling, working off your own drawings of internal components and how the toy had been put together before you started tinkering with it. You slide the battery into place and close the compartment. With a flick of your thumb, the power button slides from off to on, and the colorful lights built into the handle come to life.

The bottle of bubble refill twists neatly into place. You slowly press down on the trigger, and the enclosed blower fan comes to life with a high-pitched, mechanical whir.

“Alright, come on,” you murmur, watching as the soap dribbles pathetically down your wrist and along your forearm. “Come on, baby, come on…”

A strange gurgle. A death-rattle-type wheeze. Then, one, big bubble gives way to dozens more, and you don’t realize you’re on your feet or that you’ve even left the kitchen. Suddenly, you’re jumping on the bed, practically screaming your victory at the top of your lungs, jostling the hell out of Frankie and covering him, the blanket, sheets, and pillows with glittery bubbles.

When you eventually stop your crowing, you’re panting, and your mouth tastes like soap. Frankie’s laughter has slowed, and he’s trying (and failing) to brush the glitter out of his hair and mustache. There’s no denying you’re still giddy and wound up as all hell, but still, you’re careful when you step down from the bed and even more mindful of where you place your prized work, opting for the top dresser drawer and nestling it safely in a pile of socks.

“I did it,” you exhale, mind settling in its relief. “I actually did it.”

“M'proud of you,” Frankie grins sleepily.

You sigh and happily crawl into strong arms covered in soapy sparkles. You let yourself bask in for a moment, permit yourself to soak up Frankie’s sincere compliments, revel in your achievement, and think of how happy Isabella will be. It feels good – good in a way that’s entirely unexpected because the motivation was different.

“I do love her,” you whisper, the words tumbling out like a confession against the soft cotton t-shirt covering his chest.

A beat of silence. Then, you feel warm fingertips beneath your chin, coaxing your eyes up until his gaze meets yours. Frankie cups your cheek and his smile – the one reserved just for you – fills you with such warmth, such comfort, that you can’t help but smile at him in return. His kiss is brief, but tender, and then, he rests his cheek against the crown of your head and holds you just a little bit tighter.

You nuzzle his chest and sigh, “You think she knows?”

He chuckles and nods slightly, “Yeah, cariño. She knows.”

[cevansbrat0007]

As the GP kiddos get older, what are their favorite things to do with Daddy Andy? Or their favorite things to do with Momma? Just like one on one bonding things.

Great question!

Bianca "BiBi" Barber - She's a big soccer fan, just like her Mama and they often can be found practicing in the backyard together. BiBi is very good and currently plays for a club team that travels around the region. On the field, Andy and Reader's normally sweet daughter is a force to be reckoned with. She may be small, but she's scrappy. And she's got one hell of a mouth on her - all things she learned from Mama Barber. That kid can talk some serious trash when she's in the mood. While it makes her mother proud, Andy is constantly stunned by just how viscous teenage girls can be...including his Bianca Boo!

BiBi's favorite thing to do with Andy is take her father shopping. She's always trying to update his wardrobe. Now, she knows that her Dad lacks the necessary patience required to survive at the mall, but for her...he really tries. And when they're through, she likes to treat him to frozen yogurt. Well, she tries...only for Andy to slip the money back into her bag.

The last time she took him out for frozen yogurt, a grown man tried to hit on her while Andy was off using the bathroom. Sixteen-year-old BiBi dealt with the creeper just fine, but her father damn near had a heart attack. The older she gets, the more she understands just what her Mama means whenever she calls Andrew dramatic.

___

Katrina "KitCat" Barber - She and her Mama can often be found curled up in Reader's special reading nook. KitCat has her own space set up just for her, and when they can those two get lost in the magic of books for hours. So much so that it's not uncommon for Andy to come looking for them, something they all playfully refer to as a Barber Family Wellness Check.

This kid also has a budding passion for golf, of all things. Andy has been giving her lessons since she's been old enough to swing a club. And over time it's definitely morphed in a father/daughter bonding type experience. She's fairly talented, better than quite a few of the boys - which they hate.

I'll have to tell you all about the time one of those asshole boys tried to look up her skirt. He thought it was real fucking funny until KitCat's nine-iron almost collided with his thick skull. And then when Andy heard what happened...yeah, that shit wasn't pretty. Especially after the asshole kid's uncle tried to place the blame on Katrina. Something about her flirting in order to give herself an advantage.

She honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her Daddy so mad. But they eventually finished the game before going out for double bacon cheeseburgers with extra bacon and cheese fries.

___

Aurora "RoRo" Barber - She and Andy have this thing where they sometimes wake up early on Saturdays and head down to his office. But first, they always stop by this little diner for a quick breakfast of cinnamon apple french toast and a mug of hot chocolate. And since they both know that Mama Barber would have a lot to say about their excessive sugar consumption, they tend to leave that part out.

And as the artist of the family, she's constantly traveling with her purple sketchbook. RoRo is also naturally curious and as well as easily distracted. Which sometimes gives Andy palpitations because she's constantly wandering off in order to get a better look at something that she wants to draw. He loses her sometimes...which typically results in panic.

RoRo also loves helping her mother in the garden. She thinks it's hilarious that her mother adores plants, but is somehow also terrified of bugs. And, although it's not her strong suit, she's not adverse to helping her Mama in the kitchen. It doesn't come naturally to her, but the other day she made a blueberry lemon cheesecake from scratch which turned out to be pretty darn tasty!

___

A.J. "Junior" Barber - He loves cooking with his Mama. They have a great time in the kitchen - and he's actually getting rather good. Baking is more his thing, but the kid has a lot of potential. Unlike his father who was born with the ability to burn water. He also enjoys horror movies, and those viewing parties usually consist of him, Mama Barber, and BiBi.

Now, when it comes to spending time with Andy, Junior loves himself some football. They have a great time going to games together when they can. I'll have to tell you guys about the first NFL game they went to when he was a little kid. It was a hoot! And when they're not trying to watch the game, you can find him tinkering in the backyard with his father breaking fixing things in the shed. They're both a couple of handsome, well-meaning menaces.

___

Finally, no matter how old they get, no Barber ever says no to family movie night. That's a must in their household. Fingers crossed that that never changes. Hope that answers your questions!

[chameleonspell]

HTDC commentary - 9: sanctuary & 10: outside

[Looking back at HTDC after nearly ten years: comments on lore, character notes, influences, art, whatever. May contain spoilers for later chapters.]

chapter text: 9: sanctuary & 10: outside

So, evidently Iriel had an opportunity to go collect mushrooms for Ajira and be a good little Apprentice, but he's doing drugs with Tsiya, instead. What do we learn about Tsiya?

Tsiya was an asshole

Immediately, Iriel's already prejudicing the reader against her, with his opinion. Admittedly, Tsiya is kind of the worst. She's been an addict far longer than Iriel, and no longer has any illusions about the sort of person it makes you. She's lost everything and everyone she ever cared about, and she certainly has no energy or inclination to be nice to Iriel. Honestly, though, why should she?It's easy to side with Ire because we know what he's been through, and Tsiya is a blank slate with no visible redeeming qualities. But just... take a moment to observe the actual power dynamics, here. 

From Tsiya's perspective, a strange elven man forced his way into her house. He could easily overpower her magically - or even physically! Iriel has more than a foot and a half on her in height, and she's even more weak and emaciated than he is. She can't leave, or she'll be arrested, but he can move freely, and could report her to the guards whenever he chose. She's in skooma withdrawal, and probably starving. Iriel doesn't realise it, because he can't fathom not being the victim in any given situation, but Tsiya is completely in his power, and for her part, she is fully aware of this. No wonder she can't stand to be polite, no wonder the most she can manage is occasional forays into transparently sycophantic wheedling.

a common-or-garden asshole, to borrow Reu’s favourite term.

HTDC is presented in an all-new, modern and colloquial translation from the Tamrielic! Which is to say, that when I include different types of slang, it's because I am attempting to represent different regional dialects and vernacular colloquialisms. Iriel saying "fuck" a lot is actually an Altmeri speech feature, a translation of an uncouth term from his Lillandril docks background. Honest.

OK, OK, so I just vary up the types of voices and swearing habits because it's fun, but I do try to keep it vaguely culturally consistent. So, when I wanted to call Tsiya an asshole, I had Iriel blame Reu, because he's an Imperial street rat, and he talks like that. I was having Ire be more British-influenced, language-wise, but "arsehole" just didn't feel scathing enough.

“Of course the annoying High Elf did not. If he had found it, he would never have returned.” Ire didn’t even try to contradict her. I’m an asshole, too, these days.

Iriel is not kind to Tsiya. Sure, he could have done worse things to her, but let's be real: he only didn't, because he didn't want to. He's only interested in her moon sugar, and he would have stolen that, if he thought it was worth it. For now, she's more use to him as a connection.

“Iriel’s share. Now he goes away.”

With Tsiya's grammar, I had her use third person for everything, because I felt it emphasised her total lack of connection or direct contact with anyone. She no longer has relationships, even grammatical ones.

She grinned, unpleasantly.

Tsiya is not a nice person. She "doesn't deserve" kindness. But if she doesn't, neither does Iriel.

Ire sat on the stone bridge, and watched the stars reflected in the moving water. Sometimes he felt that such beautiful reminders of his own cosmic insignificance were the only thing that calmed him

Ire's little existential rebellion against Altmeri culture, which doesn't much encourage thoughts of personal insignificance. You're a scion of the divine, act like it! That said, Altmer do really like the stars, the stars being doors to Aetherius, left by cosmic beings lucky enough to escape Mundus in time. So maybe Iriel's not being that unorthodox. Certainly, his pa would have taught him respect for the Stars.

“Heeeeeeey n'waaaah” A mocking, drunken sing-song voice rang out, and others joined it.

I'm trying to think of something clever or witty to say about these men who police public places in groups, scanning for victims, looking for those they can mark as acceptable targets for violence. But I just get too choked with homicidal rage. I don't understand them, and I don't want to.

He’d long ago given up trying to figure out what he was doing to make it visible.

And it's always the victim who ends up asking themselves what they did wrong, to make themselves a target. As if there was ever a way out of the trap, save total annihilation of self.

But... how is it that the bullies at school can always pick out the queer kids, even before those kids know themselves that they're queer? What's the blood in the water they sense - someone's buried sense that they don't fit, somehow? Or is it only the ones who fail at their gender roles who get the target on their backs, do some people manage to go under the bullies' radar?

Iriel feels he has no control over the ways he broadcasts his failures of masculinity to others. He is bitter about the fact that certain physical traits seem to provide others with free camouflage for similar failures. Specifically, he has a rant about how his ex Hiranel could spend all day in the forest picking flowers and petting small animals, being a sweet, quiet, utterly passive healer who wouldn't say boo to a goose, and yet never have his sexuality questioned or his masculinity doubted, because he was tall, broad, strong-jawed and generally looked the part.

Back in Summerset, Ire at least understood the rules of the game, the acceptable contours of Altmeri manhood that he was expected to emulate, centred on magery and nobility, rather than physical force. He used to be better at it! Until he got found out. In Cyrodiil, he thought he could have a new start, and maintain a proper academic, masculine scholarly image. But just when he thought he was succeeding, he found Imperials viewed him as feminine purely due to being elven. Not that they seemed to mind. Ire's youth, inexperience and brief time in Cyrodiil meant he didn't fully grasp the ways his elven gender was fetishised there, by some Imperials. Still, he found certain remarks and attitudes... uncomfortable.

And now he's in Morrowind, where even the most macho of Altmer would be seen as woefully effeminate by the local daggerlads, these ash-covered, ebony-veined, Daedra-licking Dark Elves.

He got the Sanctuary spell on the third try.

I wanted to have chapters named for, and dedicated to, different Illusion spells. I got quite a lot of them, eventually, even if I had to adapt a couple of the names. Here, we have Sanctuary, which makes the caster harder to hit. Question: do we assume that this is due to an applied visual distortion effect? Or could it be affecting the subject's actual tangibility? It's probably the former, but how Illusion spells might affect the sense of touch is going to be significant, later. Perceived qualities vs. physical qualities. How do they affect one another? How do we control them?

If he can't control how others perceive him (and has missed the chance to control whether they perceive him), then Ire can at least control whether they can touch him.

I have a lot more to say about visibility, identity and gender, but I want to come back to it in a later chapter. So for now I'll just say that this spell might someday have been the culmination of Iriel's research into illusion magic:

In the meantime, he'll just have to live in terror, like the rest of us.

At this point I don’t care if it’s a gay bar, a skooma den, or a gay skooma den.

I think this is the first time Iriel uses the g-word? And some people had opinions about that. Specifically, some readers can tolerate all kinds of technically-anachronistic terminology in a fantasy story, but as soon as you use a "modern" term for a queer identity, their immersion turns to ash in their mouths.

And they are entitled to their opinion, and I totally agree that it's silly to have characters talk about themselves in 21st century tumblr micro-labels, when they're supposed to be medieval goatherds or something, but ALSO... (and I have a way longer version of this rant in the replies to this comment)

Writing Fantasy is Translation.

We always have to assume that the language of a fantastical world is not actually English (or any Earth language). Because Earth languages have our cultures and histories baked into the words.

In translating a foreign word, you have to choose from a range of words in your language, all of them imperfect, all of them bringing new associations, some of them wrong, some anachronistic, all of them adding something and taking something away from the original text.

I don't think there is anything wrong with choosing a modern, colloquial term for a fantasy character's identity, if it's the closest, simplest word for the task, if it fits their linguistic register, and occupies roughly the same place in their brain.

For some reason (I know the reason) fantasy writers are happy to use all sorts of anachronistic modern language, in low fantasy, except when it comes to queer identities. Suddenly, then, it feels weird, so characters start spouting all these awkward, euphemistic phrases, or not talking about it at all. And I was just... really sick of that!

It was a conscious choice to Let Iriel Say Gay, to let him have a way to describe himself, and not fall into that boring trap of being a queer character who just never refers to their sexuality ever, because the writers are too scared of using Terminology (*cough*everydragonagecharacterever*cough*).

a brunette Nord woman leaning on a barrel

IT'S TILDE!!! OMG HI TILDE!!! I had no idea, at this point, how central she would end up being. I hadn't got her voice, yet, in the first version of this chapter, and I had to come back and fix it later, to make sure she sounded like herself, and said proper Tilde things like "dickmaggots".

Tilde is mine now, my OC, go away, Bethesda. You didn't write her, she's just a generic Nord NPC with no personality, who exists to have a code book you can steal, for a quest. So that's all I had to work with, really: Nord, Thieves Guild, knows secret codes.

“Extra-High Elf doin’ OK?”

It took me far longer than necessary to realise the obvious joke I had walked myself into, with my very serious Altmer character with his very serious drug addiction subplot.

He cast surreptitious glances at the other inhabitants of the bar’s lower room.

I did a bunch of brief characterisation of the other Balmora guildmembers, because I thought I might do more with them, but in the end, it was the Sadrith Mora guild where Iriel ended up getting force-found-family'd. Apart from Sottilde and Habasi, we barely see most of these people again, before I eventually... um, y'know. Murdered them all off-screen for drama.

He had, oddly, enjoyed his evening in the South Wall. He had sat by himself, watching other people’s lives go by.

“Thank you,” he said. “Really. Thank you for taking care of me, but I can’t join. I’m sorry.”

Iriel isn't ready to trust another bunch of thieves just yet, so he's ignoring his instincts, for now. But of course he feels more comfortable with a group who are inherently outsiders to society, of course that feels safer and more accepting of difference. Ire knows he's on the verge of finding his people, but that's still scary, because PEOPLE.

next: 11: books & 12: silence previous: 7: choice & 8: simple

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Original Characters Masterlist

Atlas and Rosalyn:

Siren Song Precious Time "I prayed to god for the purpose in believing in god." "...But a sin." "Whether I'm attracting flies or not." "Wanna know a secret?" "Happy birthday, my love." "It's almost midnight." - Rosalyn and Narrator "That kind of day." - Linney and Narrator Assigning Blame - Linney and Narrator

Icarus:

In the Last Strains of Sunlight - Remus, Maria and Emmeline "I pick hell." - Remus and Allie "The final straw!" - Remus and Maria "I don't think I care." - Remus and Maria A Threadbare, Baby Blue Bear - Remus and Jan "Charlie..." - Maria and Charles Crocodile Expression - Maria and Charles Glitter-Free - Remus, Maria and Charles "Happy birthday, Remus..." - Remus and Karma "God forbid your mother has friends." - Remus, Karma, Allie and Maria Muffins are a fair price - Remus, Allie and Jan Halloween - Remus and Allie "Dyslexia strikes again." - Remus, Karma and Allie "Cats and dogs." - Remus, Karma, Allie and Nyx

Elton and Orion:

"Let me guess..." Silver Pepper of the Stars Sweet as Sugar "How to make a guy feel special." Kiss the Girl Eliza Puzzle Rings "This year..." Wedding Crasher AU pt. 1 Wedding Crasher AU pt. 2 "Are you blushing?"

Arachne:

"Affection for Mr Loyal..." - Odessa Miss Charlotte De Baviere - Lottie "Technically a genius." - Odessa, Loyal and Marriot Dr Odessa Halliway - Loyal and Dinah Ethics - Odessa, Loyal and Marriot "You're brilliant!" - Odessa and Loyal "You get it." - Odessa and Loyal "Friend or therapist?" - Odessa and Arthur "I get it." - Odessa and Loyal Scars and Stories - Loyal and Lottie All Good Things Arrive Haphazardly - Odessa and Loyal "My circus, my monkeys." - Odessa, Loyal and Marriot "Not that girl." - Odessa and Loyal

Fairly:

For Finch - Ambrose and Finch "Running through the airport love?" - Ambrose and Finch His Touch can Ruin or Rebuild my Life as he Sees Fit. - Ambrose and Finch Built to Preform - Luka and Doe Him or Her - Harlow Supposed True Love - Luka and Doe Amateur - Luka, Doe and Harlow (au) Doe Eyes - Luka and Doe "A very pretty Soprano!" - Luka and Doe Harlow! - Harlow and Luka "Hai..." - Harlow and Herring He is divine - Finch and Luka "I want it to be perfect." - Ambrose and Desta "Running through the airport love?" - Maya and Finch Status Quo - Ambrose and Finch "Time to go home." - Ambrose and Finch "They'll kill you." - Ambrose and Lennon Wonders of the World - Luka (and Doe) Doe Divine - Doe (Au) "If Freud wouldn't have a field day with that." - Ambrose and Finch Third Party Revenge - Ambrose, Desta and Meredith All the Wonders of the World - Luka "She doesn't deserve any of that." - Ambrose and Finch (and Doe) "Made for each other." - Ambrose, Finch, Luka and Doe "Doe." - Luka and Doe "Do I know you from somewhere?" - Doe and Desta "What is he punishing himself for?" - Desta and Meredith (and Ambrose) "Nothing special." - Ambrose and Finch Snow - Luka and Doe

Dawson and Jude:

"Looking for myself..." "I'm Dawson."//"My name is Jude." "How I missed you." "Like he hopped out of a storybook." - Jude and Lennon Jude's Homicidal Skillset (Or lack thereof) - Jude and Lennon "Someone they like." "Extra-curriculars." - Jude, Dawson, Eva and Arden

Salem:

Facade of Blame

[tetsunabouquet]

Heir To The Lands Chapter 43

Honesty and Secrets Masterpost

Thais sat in the kitchen, thankful for having some time alone with Tomas. She had barely had the time to just drift on cloud 9 after their first date until this mess had occurred. He stared at her with an unrestrained moony grin, his hazelgreen eyes looking at her like nothing else existed in the world but her. "Has someone ever told you that you've got the cutest pyjamas ever?" He couldn't help but lightly tease as his gaze lowered towards her nightgown with sweet looking baby foxes printed all over it. Thais giggled and gave him a warm smile. "You have." Tomas winked, "I'm glad to be an honest boy. There's nothing more wonderful then the smile of a charming lady." "Surprisingly, I find your flattery to be the sugar of my tea." Thais said it before she could think about her choice of words, but she forgave herself for sounding a little cheesy. The butterflies and early stages of love got her feeling as if she had drank too much alcohol. Everywhere in her body she felt tingly. "You know, I wanted to say this for a while now, but you really are an amazing friend too." Tomas said, gesturing at their surroundings. Thais sighed softly, "Says the glue of the Three Musketeers." "I suppose we're both weak in the face of our friends, but it's not a bad thing. It just shows we have compatible values." Tomas pointed out sweetly. "You're right." They both looked up as they heard footsteps. Kit walked into the kitchen, his hands in the air. "I'm just grabbing a snack. You two can go back to the smooching in a sec." "We're not smooching." Thais retorted, feeling her face get a little red. Kit chuckled and grabbed himself a small package of crackers to munch on before he left, leaving Thais and Toman to fall back into eachother's eyes.

Kit tried to not think of Livvy dissapearing this morning. She had mentioned that she was going to check up on the Cohort as they shouldn't forget the threat they posed either. She had seemed a bit weird, but Kit blamed it on not being able to interact with everyone else. He bet she was feeling loney, isolated from the living like she was. Trying to distract himself, he wondered what the pink goblin was up to, as no one had spotted Gwenneth in a while. After a bit of searching, he found her in a corner of the backyard as she seemed to water the plants, however the water had a strangely sweet smell. "Gwenneth, what are you giving to the plants?" "Just a bit of water added with rosemary and ninnin." The first sounded pretty okay, but Kit knew from his Shadow Market days that ninnin was a faerie spice. "Why are you doing that if I may ask?" "Of course you may ask my King! I planted some yaya seeds, but with this earth's soil lacking a few of the nutritions that they need I am hereby making sure that they get what they need." Kit blinked. Wait a minute… "Yaya? You mean like those apples you fed Jaime when he was the Seelie Queen's captive?" Gwenneth nodded with a chipper smile. Kit rubbed his temples. "You can't just go plant faerie trees in the mundane world! What if they notice?!" "But my King, once I am a movie star and have become an ambassador for our world to the mundanes, I will say it was a gift for my first investor," Gwenneth replied and Kit simply decided to retreat back inside his house, debating how he should tell his foster parents that they were going to have a world exclusive in being the first to have faerie trees grow in their backyard. Just as he tried to think of a way to tell them, he felt someone bump into him from behind. He looked up and saw Dru, her face a little pale as she quickly went to sort the grocery bags into the kitchen, not even bothering to say hi. Kit sighed as he wondered what was worse, the Blackthorn sisters acting off or the Gwenneth situation as if things hadn't been bad enough already. Kit only knew one thing, that his life was utterly chaos and he bit down on the cracker feeling tired.

[my-gf-is-kazuichi-soda]

my headcanons about Tenko's "Master"

I get almost all positive vibes about him, though I think he has some weird methods (and can be a bit extreme in distrusting boys), I trust him and think he's a good caretaker.

If you think I'm missing any bits of cultural context to Tenko's backstory, feel free to let me know!

like Tenko, he is neurodivergent and has a strong sense of justice that makes him get very angry at bad people.

he's considered a bit of an oddball himself at the temple, but he's been there for a long time and they respect him there (how else would he get away with some of his less-conventional methods and have everyone else go along with it?)

I don't think the text specified that he was old but in my head he's an old man and this is why Tenko respected him the most even before she got to know him. He is like a grandfather to her.

he recognized right away that Tenko was like him, and that she was being neglected by her parents. he could see that she was angry and that her "tantrums" (meltdowns) were often brought by perceived injustices and a lack of her needs being met, but she often lacked the language/know-how to say what was making her upset. it didn't help that she was genuinely a good child who learned the wrong lessons from her parents ("stop bothering us/ you're too whiny"), so this would make her bottle up until she ended up exploding

she also had (and still has) some self-esteem issues because of her meltdowns, also because of her misunderstanding social situations. :(

Tenko's speech to Himiko about the importance of expressing her emotions and crying when she needed to was also what Master told her. though she was often naturally expressive with her emotions, Master helped her accept her big emotions.

through Neo-Aikido, he has helped her to be able to express and address her needs and her emotions, and gave her anger a direction.

he knew from his own experiences how impossible it was to just "stop being mad," especially when there were injustices in the world, so - for better or worse- he was sort of a vigilante who seeked out bad people and stopped them himself. he did this before meeting Tenko, but now he brought her along to his missions

the "heroes of justice" missions helped Tenko build up her social skills, talking to people, and was building her self-esteem too

Master has his issues with young men, as that is the demographic making up a majority of the bad guys that he fights as a vigilante, which is why he teaches Aikido to help women learn self-defense, and why he warned Tenko about boys.

I think it was good intentions even if it was extreme. he was really worried about her being manipulated by an abusive partner, as he had seen happen many times before. but I think he can learn to trust her judgement in matters of dating, as she's now older and can take care of herself and she is very stubborn in the face of bad guys (what happened with Angie showed me that she would be able to handle/escape a situation with a manipulator. She was able to fake being on Angie's side to keep an eye on Himiko, all the while knowing not to get suckered into the cult-stuff. I'm still admiring her for that.)

I also don't blame Master entirely for Tenko's misandry, as Tenko herself can get carried away with her own anger, and she often talked to girls who were speaking badly of boys due to bad breakups or getting groped on trains. She was also very sheltered, so her opinions of boys were skewed by few and negative experiences.

Tenko eating too much sugar could lead to having angry meltdowns, this was a physical thing with her body processing sugar wrong (I have this too!). this was why Master limited how much sugar she should eat in a day, and why she shouldn't get too excited for Christmas or Valentine's Day (two holidays often involving a lot of sweets). In her early years at the temple, she used to get disappointed if they gave her less candy and sweets on those holidays than she would have been given at her parents' house, which is what he meant by "don't get too excited."

Neo-Aikido in general. I love that Master heard her calling him Master and thought it was cute, so he made it a "rule." I love that they formed their own Aikido together. I love that he recognized Tenko, who struggled with the structure of a normal life, might also have a hard time fitting into the structure of this temple, so he gave her a way to be a part of the rule-making, giving way to her trusting them and letting her be her weird little self.

[sunnyie-eve]

2 | Who is this

Series: Heinous

Paring: Billy Loomis x OFC ! Stu Macher x OFC ! Mickey Altieri x OFC

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mention of death. attacked

| MASTERLIST |

After school, Allison's mom left a note saying she was going out of town with a few friends for the weekend. Wow, thanks mom. Perfect timing, huh. Allison throws the note away before the phone goes off, "Hello?" 

"Hey, do you wanna stay over at Tatum's with me till Sunday?" Sidney asks as Allison walks around her house.

"I don't know. My mom is out of town but I just feel like staying home alone. If I decide to change my mind, I'll call." She tells her.

"Okay, and I completely understand. Be safe." Sidney ends the call.

Once Allison puts the phone up, she walks around locking the doors and windows just to be safe. As she takes a seat on the couch, she turns on the TV and the news is playing. "The bodies of 17-year old Casey Becker and her 18-year old boyfriend, Steve Orth, were discovered late last night by the girl's parents..." 

She changes the channel, "The Woodsboro double murder case. Authorities are baffled by the lack of clues and the savage..." Allison changed the channel again.

"The town's in shock, and no one can quite believe what has happened here, although this is not the first time this small community... of Woodsboro has endured had such tragedy. Only a year ago Maureen Prescott, wife and mother, was found raped and murdered not far from this peaceful town square. Alongside Brian Elsher, husband and father found tied up and murdered."

Allison just turns off the TV because she knew if she changed the channel one more time it would just be the news still. Allison gets up and leaves the room to walk around before plopping down on another couch opening her book to read. As she reads the phone rings again so she bookmarks her spot.

"Hello?" 

"Allie." Billy's voice comes through.

"Billy. Umm, what are you calling for?" She asks him not in the mood to talk to anyone.

"Checking up on you. After lunch, you ended up ditching the last classes." He tells her.

"Yeah, I just spent the rest day in the bathroom. Can you blame me? Stu and Randy would keep apologizing to me for making me walk off." She explains to him.

"You want me to come over and keep you company? We can watch Heathers... your favorite movie. Come on, Christian Slater as JD... I know how much you find him attractive as that character." He makes her laugh a bit.

"As nice as that sounds... I'm gonna pass. I just wanna be alone tonight. I hope you understand." She apologizes to him.

"It's alright. See you tomorrow." He ends the call.

At some point she falls asleep reading because she was awakened by the phone ringing once again, "Hello?" She answers it.

"Hey, I'm on my way to pick up Sidney then we're gonna go to the video store then gonna come get you. I know you told her you wanted to be alone but I won't allow it. Sorry, no talking back. Bye." Tatum ends the call so Allison gets up to get things together to take to her house.

As she gets up to go to her room the phone rings again. Huffing she goes back to pick it up,  "Oh my god, Tatum, I'm literally about to pack a ba-,"

She was cut off by the other side, "Hello, Allison." A man's voice comes through.

"Um... Hi, who is that?" She asks them.

"You tell me." He tells me.

"Umm... Well, I have no idea." She laughs.

"Scary night, isn't it? With the murders and all it's like right out of a horror movie or something." He says, making her chuckle more.

"Very much, but you just kinda gave yourself away Randy. Are you calling me from work again? Tatum and Sidney are gonna go by, so can you give the movies to them please." She asks, turning on the lamp.

"Do you like scary movies, sugar?" He asks.

"You know I do and you know my top ten too. Also, I like that thing you're doing with your voice, it's sexy." She laughs, walking around the room, fully believing it was Randy on the phone messing with her.

"What's your favorite scary movie?"

"Come on, you know that." She rolls her eyes.

"Well, remind, baby." She makes a face at that.

"Randy, when did you get so bold?" She asks, "Fine, I'll play along. It's Return of the Living Dead."

"Why is it that?" He asks.

"Because it just is and unnecessary fun at times. But the Texas Chainsaw Massacre is in close second.. Then the third one and Next Generation have me in a choke hold, something about Viggo Mortensen and Matthew McConaughey those two... just are hot to me in those movies." She explains to him.

"Are you alone in the house?"

"No, Billy and Stu are over... Yeah, they're cheating on their girlfriends with me." She jokes, "Yes, I'm alone, and come on Randy that's so unoriginal. I'm actually disappointed in you." She looks out the windows bored.

"Maybe that's because I'm not Randy, sugar." He says, making her freeze and move away from the window.

"So, who are you?" 

"The question isn't who am I? The question is where am I?" He tells her.

"So, where are you, mysterious sexy dude?" She asks in a joking tone.

"Your front porch." He says making her stomach twist.

"Well, my question now is why would you be calling from my front porch?" She asks, walking in that direction.

"That's the original part."

"Oh, yeah? How come I don't see you then?" She looks out the window and see nobody then opens the door which, deep down she knew was fucking stupid as she walked out some. "Hello? So where are you?" She asks, looking around.

"Right here." He says so she laughs looking around.

"Yeah, well I still don't see you." She looks around while walking a bit and still sees nobody. "Can you see me right now?" She asks and he says yes. "Okay, so what am I doing? Huh? What am I doing!" She looks around and with her left hand she grabs her left boob. "Nice try, dude. Now call someone else to freak them out." She tells him, heading back inside.

"I wanna keep talking to you though." He tells her as she locks the door back.

"Well, I'm done talking to your fucking creepy-ass."

"I don't really wanna kill you just like your father so I wouldn't hang up if I was you." He says making her stop smiling. "I don't plan on killing you, Allison. Unlike him, I did plan on that. I wanna keep you alive till the very end." He tells her. "You know what that means being a horror movie fan. You're gonna be the final girl whether you like it or not." He says making her end the call.

Immediately the closet door opens and a masked man holding a knife comes at her. She screams as he knocks her to the floor so she kicks him, taking him down too. He gets on top of her as she struggles with him. He grabs a fistful of her hair and bangs her head on the floor making her groan in pain. He just watches her, waving his knife around so when she kicks him he cuts her neck a little. As he flies back, Allison gets up trying to unlock the door, but couldn't so she runs upstairs like a dumbass. 

In her room she calls 911 as it stops ringing she screams, as Billy pops up at her window. At the same time she accidentally ripped the cord out of the wall when she jumped. She realizes she never locked the windows upstairs and that's probably how the guy got in because the window was closed earlier.

"What the fuck Billy!" She yells at him on the verge of tears.

"The door's locked. I heard screaming as I was walking over here. You alright?" He climbs in all the way holding her as she freaks out.

"The killers in the house. He's in the house. He has a knife." She cries into him.

"He's gone. It's all right." He says in a low voice before something falls out of his pocket making her step back to look at the phone on the floor.

She steps back not knowing if she can trust him or not because she was just talking to the killer, and he randomly showed up when she didn't hear the killer anymore.

"Allie, what?" He asks as she slowly backs away then rushes to leave. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, wait, Allison, wait! Wait, Wait, Wait, Wait! What's going on?" He runs after her. "Allison, come back! Allison!" 

She ran downstairs opening the front door letting out a terrible scream seeing the mask making Dewey scream too. "Sorry! I found this. Come on!" He tells her then calls the others inside and they get Billy.

Allison sits in the ambulance getting looked at while they cuff Billy and take him away. "Are you gonna be able to come down to the station and answer a few questions, Al?"

"Oh, shit! Allison!" She hears Tatum and Sidney, "God, Al, I'm so sorry I was late." Tatum comes up.

"Are you alright?" Sidney asks.

"Tatum, Sidney. You can't be here. This is an official crime scene." Dewey tells them so Allison says it's fine.

"Her mom is out of town, alright. She's staying with us tonight. And mom knows." Tatum tells him.

"Let's get you out of here." Burke tells Allison so the girls walk her to Dewey's vehicle.

"We'll meet you at the station." Sidney tells Allison as Dewey gets in and they drive off.

All that could go through Allison's mind was, was it really Billy because everything that just happened made him look really guilty.