#even the magnet on the fridge is in the same spot lol

[blmpff]

Today on Shared Locations:

Bad Buddy (2022)

Pit Babe (2023)

[bunnydayss]

hiiii ! i absolutely enjoyed your random skz pair hcs :)) can i request for 2min and jeonglix? only if you're taking requests !! thank you <3

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✰ Requested Skz–Pair Headcannons: ✰

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(Please note that I do not actually ship them in real life, this is for pure fun and giggles. — It might also not be realistic lol).

Pairs included: 2Min, Jeonglix

Listen along while you read :)

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[ Re: ] hihi 🙌 I’m so glad you enjoyed the first part AAAAAA—requests are totally open yes, and I hope you enjoy the hcs ❤️❤️ (I’d also like to thank you for being so sweet).

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. . .

:: 🌿 2Min 🌿 :: ( Minho & Seungmin )

• Cat and dog dynamic, but hear me out it sometimes reverses and Minho will be the one acting like a golden retriever to a snarky Seungmin.

• Minho proposes first, no particular reason why other than he was faster to buy the ring and prepare his big moment.

• Married couple vibes, they bicker but it’s usually just pointless fighting. If an argument erupts to a somewhat significant level, Minho becomes level headed and tones down the situation with a distraction while their temper dials down. (“WELL YOU—”, “Hey, okay. Let’s take a break, and circle back. You probably haven’t eaten lunch yet right?”, “no..”, “Okay, I’ll go make something.”).

• Both are hardheaded as hell, not to mention a little petty. So it’ll either work in your favor, when they agree with you on something, or it’s your worst nightmare. (The rest of SKZ has been on the back burner of many heavily fueled arguments from 2Min).

• Teasing Minho whenever Seungmin wants affection if any kind, be it verbal, physical or anything in between. For this reason, Seungmin avoids being direct about what he wants, little does he know Minho reads right through him.

• Minnie likes to sneak a taste at whatever Minho’s cooking when he thinks he isn’t looking. (He is, and he lets it go).

• Minho got Seungmin a tiny flip-able magnet for their fridge that lets him know what he’s in the mood for. (One side says cuddly, the other says prickly). Communicating without communicating, their favorite thing.

. . .

:: 🌸 Jeonglix 🌸 :: ( Jeongin & Felix )

• If they fight it usually ends in both parties in tears, extremely sensitive to conflict. They both go their own ways to calm down but always sleep in the same bed no matter how bad the fight is. They collectively have a mindset of “you’re not going anywhere until we figure this out” and will spend an entire day talking it out if they have to.

• Felix definitely has to snatch I.N.’s devices away, in order to make sure he gets sleep. If that doesn’t work, he nags him over and over under he gives up and slightly (Jeongin would argue he doesn’t at all, but that’s just denial) cuddles Felix back.

• “Things he says when he thinks I’m asleep” trope!! Late at night, when the two are in bed, Jeongin definitely voices some thoughts he wouldn’t dare to if Felix was awake. (Yet somehow in the back of his mind, Jeongin knows Felix is listening to him, but refuses to listen to that thought).

• Felix proposes first, because of course he does—Innie had pondered on making the first move but chickened out, scared of rejection.

• Jeongin thinks Felix fell first, but everyone (including Felix) knows he’s had a soft spot for Felix ever since he met him. Jeongin both fell first and fell harder when he realized his feelings (after Felix confessed).

• Sickeningly sweet affection from Felix both excites and scares Innie, he’s not used to constant skinship, but eventually his walls crumble for Felix and for Felix **only**.

• Felix likes to hoard items from their dates (e.g. tickets from going to the movies) to remember how far they’ve come and how comfortable they’ve grown.

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This was a lot of fun! If you have any requests please ask away (SKZ, TXT and maybe some other groups but it depends on my familiarity with them).

P.S. Even if I’ve already done the pair you want, you can still request! (I can write more 🙌).

Don’t forget to eat and drink water :)

[the-pale-goddess]

Breakfast at Tiffany’s - Ethan Ramsey x MC (Tiffany Addams)

Tiffany surprises Ethan with a fancy breakfast.

It’s all cute until it turns to filth. Then it’s fluff again. Aaaaand back to slutty. A three-course, self-indulgent breakfast, if I may convey.

Rating/Category: Explicit / smut with a side of fluff

Warnings: p*rn with no plot, language

Author’s note: Coming back to my OH2 more or less canon fic business!

Here’s the smutty part of the little band aid I promised for all the harm I’ve done to you with Home With You AU. I just wanted to give you something sweet before we proceed with the emotional rollercoaster in Chapter 3...Well, I did my best, but my filthy mind would never allow me to write some pure and innocent fluff 😅 Hope it’s not too slutty for you lol You’ve been warned!

Please, forgive me the title - I just saw the opportunity and I took it lol

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Ethan opened his eyes with a sinking feeling this Thursday would be out of the new ordinary. His bed was cold and empty. There was no cascade of black hair unwittingly waking him up with a gentle tickle on his skin, no tender caress begging him to stay in the sheets a tad longer.

Another surprise awaited when an overfamiliar appetizing smell hit his nostrils, forcing him to rush out of bed in order to investigate the unexpected scene.

The missing piece of Ethan's morning routine was dancing her way through the kitchen, wreaking sweet havoc with a pile of dirty dishes and different ingredients scattered all over the kitchen island, just to cook a tower of flawlessly fluffy pancakes – now proudly placed on display near the oven. They looked perfect, but not as perfect as Tiffany in the weak morning light; her dark wavy hair falling down on bare shoulders, in contrast to the lacy white lingerie set that flaunted all her curves. She was swinging to the tune she whistled to herself, oblivious of the lurking admirer.

„I don't think I'll ever get used to this view.” Ethan's voice got her spinning around in a flutter to face him. He was leaning against the fridge, an adoring smile playing on his lips as his eyes were roaming over her silhouette. She flushed furiously under the intensity of his gaze, trying to hide the sudden clumsiness of her movements with a sheepish beam.

„Your girlfriend cooking breakfast for you in nothing but her underwear?”

He eyed her intently, biting his bottom lip before he answered with a poker face. „My kitchen in disarray.”

Tiffany shook her head incredulously, as she strained the freshly made raspberry sauce through a sieve. „Trust me, it'll be worth it. And don't worry, I'll clean everything up later, Doctor Terminator.”

„It already is.” He pulled her body close to his, causing her back to collide with his chest. „I can't believe you're still using that nickname.”

„You have to admit it's catchy.”

„Mhm. Do you need any help?” His arm draped over her shoulder, hugging her tight.

„Sure. There's a dozen of pancakes waiting for you. Hope you're ready for a sweet death topped with whipped cream and a home-made raspberry sauce.”

„I didn't plan on falling into a food coma, but you had me at pancakes. Meaning yes, I'm ready.” The powerful combination of Ethan's soft lips and his scratchy chin glued to the sensitive skin on her neck, peppering her with featherlike kisses.

„Someone's clingy today.” She gave him a loud peck on his forearm.

„I'm starving, Tiffany.” A husky whisper rolled in her ear, the words followed by a gentle bite that sent a red-hot shiver down her spine. She chuckled to herself.

„Good! I was genuinely scared that you'd hate the idea because of your love-hate relationship with pancakes. The sauce will need a few minutes to cool down a bit, and then – Oh!” Tiffany stopped dead in her tracks when the hard evidence of Ethan's hunger pangs pressed against her butt. She dropped her jaw in surprise, slightly amused by the realization she didn't get the hint quite right – it was a different kind of appetite. She spun round to face him, the wicked smile suggested she was more than eager to play along.

„On second thought, I suppose we can have a taste of what will be served today.” Never breaking the gaze, she dipped her finger in the whipped cream and offered it to Ethan. He licked it clean, keenly watching Tiffany's face turn crimson red.

„Not bad for a mixture of fat and sugar. Though it's far from what I expected to be on the menu.” Tiffany raised her brows, fake offended, her expression elicited a hearty chuckle from Ethan.

„Well, aren't you a picky eater, Doctor Ramsey? Luckily, I came prepared.” Her finger dived into the bowl with raspberry sauce. „Try some of this.”

„Mmm, delicious.” He gushed, his tongue slithering around her finger. „But yet again...That's not what I crave the most.”

”I wonder what would that be...” She bit her lip seductively as she reached for Ethan's hand. He swallowed loud and moved a bit closer just when she slipped his thumb into her mouth. The provocative movement had his imagination run wild. „Aren't you gonna tell me?”

„Tiffany, I...” Ethan failed to articulate his thought, too absorbed in sinful visions almost melting his brain.

„Tell me what do you crave, Ethan.” She demanded and he suddenly felt even weaker. His thumb got trapped in her mouth again, her other hand massaging his inner thigh through the material of his pants.

„You.” His voice dripped with wild need.

„How do you want me?” Tiffany released the thumb with a heady pop, holding his stare the entire time.

„I want to...”

„Do you want to come in my mouth?” She used his finger to brush her bottom lip, then grazed it with her teeth mere seconds later.

„Fuck...Yes, please.” He muttered, pressing his forehead together with hers.

Smiling magnetically from ear to ear, Tiffany crashed into Ethan, kissing him hungrily with their tongues twisted together. The prelude wouldn't last long, and in a flash she moved down his body – already hot and shivering with primal need. Her lips glided over every inch of his skin, placing open-mouthed kisses along the way. Just when she was low enough, she flipped her hair and dropped on her knees, pulling his pants down with her.

Ethan could swear that the very sight of her mischievous smile dancing around his throbbing cock was enough to make him come. He shuddered in tense anticipation as he watched her tease him with graceful strokes of her tongue wandering around his abdomen.

„Could you...” A tantalizing base-to-tip lick shut him up on the spot and took his breath away. She followed the same path with a soft touch of her lips, quietly humming with relish. His hips bucked involuntarily, overpowered by the tender sensation, begging for more.

The unspoken request was yet to be fulfilled – her slim fingers began stroking him at the base, while her mouth covered the sensitive tip. He groaned in response, his body temperature rising to a dangerously high level. His hand instinctively tugged at her hair, tying any defiant locks in his handy grip.

When Tiffany slid his whole length into her luscious mouth, the divine warmth took away the last bit of control he had, and made him gasping for air. Fighting back the tears was a feeble effort with his huge member hitting her throat, but she rose to the challenge, gagging violently before she adjusted to a safe and steady rhythm.

Ethan marvelled at the view of her watery emerald eyes gazing into his blues as she sucked him like her life depended on it, her precise tongue and skillful hand working him up to a blissful fever. The overwhelming feeling of pleasure had him moan ecstatically, bringing him on the verge of madness. Encouraged by the guttural sounds reserved only for her, she quickened the pace, bobbing her head up and down. His muscles reacted in an instant, tensing even harder, demanding an immediate release. A few moments later, he reached his high and spilled inside her mouth; the obscene groan of his climax ringing in her ears like a favorite song. She took the load with a triumphant smirk, swallowing every drop.

„This is grossly unfair.” He leaned on the nearest countertop awestruck, satiated and out of breath, struggling to keep himself standing.

„What is?” She got up, climbing up his body, and bit down on his shoulder blade.

„The power you have over me.”

Tiffany grinned, pressing her cheek to his broad back as she wrapped her arms around his chest. „But you did like the first course of your breakfast, didn't you?”

„I haven't eaten anything yet.” Ethan turned around, falling into her embrace with a pointed look.

„All right, I'll fill you up with these pancakes now.” Chuckling softly, Tiffany took a step back, seemingly ready to start the day, but Ethan kept her in place by holding her wrist. A gleam of lust reappeared in his eyes as he was slowly regaining his energy.

„Pancakes can wait a little longer. Let me eat you out.”

Before she managed to form a sentence, Ethan's fingers skimmed through her back and unclasped her bra, tossing it to the ground. His greedy hands began exploring her body, tracing her curves, only to slide his fingers behind her panties and pull them off, so they would share the fate of the bra.

„You know that I've never really understood the purpose of art, but looking at this absolute masterpiece right in front of me?” Tiffany raised her brows in surprise, returning his worshipful gaze. „I think I might modify my stance.”

„Wait, is that an actual compliment, or you're quoting some lines from the poetry book you'll soon be releasing?” They both snorted with laughter that quickly died when their lips fused in the hastiest, sloppiest kiss.

„I'll let you win this one, you deserve it.”

„Oh, what a lucky day!” She chirped in sarcastic tone. Ethan shook his head and lunged for her neck, sucking at her skin.

When his lips abruptly broke away from her, she yelped in protest, but little did she know what Ethan had in store for her. The burning desire in his eyes instantly set her body ablaze. He turned her around, brushing her messy hair away from her back, and began kissing her along the spine, inch by inch, moving excruciatingly slow. His beard rough against her silky flesh, scratching her pleasantly. She closed her eyes, relishing the delight of Ethan's touch. Suddenly, a piercing smack flew across her butt.

She jumped, flabbergasted, as her blood boiled with excitement. „Ethan Jonah Ramsey!”

„You liked that, didn't you?” He let out a supremely confident laugh and spanked her again.

„I plead the Fifth.” She giggled, biting her lip. His hands squeezed her bum and lifted her up. A moment later she lay flat on the kitchen island, legs spread wide and waiting.

Ethan wasted no time – his lips continued the journey across Tiffany's aching body, nuzzling her hips, kissing her thighs, licking her belly, sucking on her breasts. They were everywhere, except where she needed him most. He noticed how hopelessly she tried to catch his attention with the suggestive movement of her hips, but he decided to torture her for his own enjoyment, savoring the exquisite scent and taste of this very special meal.

Her impatience eventually rubbed off on him. At last, he nestled comfortably between her legs, and sunk his tongue directly into her soaked folds. She didn't even make an effort to tone her moans down and Ethan was quite grateful for that. His tongue worked its magic, lashing at her clit, knowing exactly where to suck to bring her over the edge. Her hips rolled to the rhythm of Ethan's licking, begging for more friction. He immediately read the sign, inviting his fingers to join the fun. He rubbed her expertly, all the while licking her swollen clit. She was so close, already sweaty and shivering, with hands on both sides of the countertop, her knuckles white from all the force she had to use to keep herself from falling down.

When Ethan kept his pace up, she knew he was going for the last bite. In the blink of an eye, she arched her back, coming hard as the outpouring of bliss washed over her. She fought for her breath, lying still with her eyes closed and mouth open.

„Don't get too comfortable there, Rookie, I'm not done with you.” She could feel him smirking against her skin when his lips moved down her trembling leg.

„Is it because last night I fell asleep during your precious documentary and we missed our daily dose of inappropriate snuggles?” Tiffany cracked up and Ethan soon followed.

„Yes and no.” He leaned his chin on her knee, meeting her gaze. „I know how much you hate both cooking and waking up early. This is the least I could do to make this morning more tolerable for you.”

„Keep spoiling me like that and I will literally melt.” A beam of unfiltered happiness spread over her face, her eyes filled with utmost adoration. „Besides, just to clarify: I hate cooking, but I enjoy doing it for you.”

An intimate silence washed over them as they stared at each other, basking in the glorious feeling of these small gestures of affection. Ethan shook his head in wonder, his mind racing. He wanted to tell her. He was certain she knew that already, probably even long before he had realized the nature of his feelings...And yet, his words failed him, offering a blank space instead of a proper way to name the drums echoing in his heart at the very thought of Tiffany. He quickly gathered himself, stood straight and cleared his throat.

„Enough chit-chat, we're on a very tight schedule. Stand up.” With a little help from Ethan, Tiffany jumped off the countertop and hooked her arms around his neck.

„Oh, I'll show you tight, sir.” She avowed with a devilish grin.

„God, you're impossible.” Ethan heaved a long sigh in response, right before their lips melted into a deep, fervent kiss.

Cutting to the chase, Tiffany turned her back to Ethan, colliding with his body. Without any hesitation, he entered her with a hefty push, filling her up in a way she'd never experienced before. She was perfectly accustomed to his size, but the standing position was brand new to them. She didn't expect that a slightly different angle could leave an all-consuming, almost agonizing feeling of fullness before he even began pounding her. A series of vehement whimpers escaped her mouth without her permission. Her chest heaved as she struggled to control her breathing. If it wasn't for his firm grip, her legs would surely give up.

Ethan immediately noticed the unconcealable shift in her demeanor. He cupped her cheek, slowly pulling out of her.

„Baby, is everything all right?” He whispered, his voice full of concern. „Do you want me to stop?”

She instinctively grabbed his hand and locked her body on him in a desperate cry, every word a torture. „I want you inside.”

He nodded, relieved, pulling her as close as it was humanly possible. Her head lolled back, resting comfortably on Ethan so they could still glance at one another. They exchanged a blithe smile, reflecting the dizzying sensation of each other's presence. His lips brushed her forehead in a sweet kiss just as he began moving inside of her.

He started off slow, pulling in and out as gently as he could, keeping her steady in his protective arms. Her previous remark proved to be right – she was insanely tight and dripping wet, her scent and unrestrained moans only adding to his arousal. He knew he wouldn't last long.

„Harder, please.” She whimpered, tightening her clutch on his arms. He willingly complied, deepening his thrusts, setting a merciless pace. The sound of slapping flesh punctuated by their heavy breathing and pleasure vocalized in the most indecent way.

Everything was Ethan – he invaded all her senses, emptying her mind, leaving nothing but his name. Tiffany could feel the thunder in his heart pounding on her back; his hands were mindlessly roaming over her curves as she remained trapped in his strong embrace. His fingers snuck to her clit, rubbing her with expert precision while his cock kept on ravishing her. She was mere seconds away from another orgasm, unable to communicate in any form other than shameless moaning.

Ethan was right behind her, chasing the finish line. His deafening groans got more desperate, thrusts slower and rigid, his fingers pleasuring her frantically, until they both cried out in unison – their bodies twisted in overwhelming ecstasy.

Tiffany toppled over the countertop, breathless – her blazing flesh took comfort in the cold of the marble, with fingers skimming blindly across its surface in a desperate attempt at keeping herself steady. She had no time to recover, as Ethan's body clutched at her tight, his burning skin clamping around hers. His ragged breath hovered over her ear, just as his hand dived into the damp mess of her hair, pulling her locks aside to gently suck on her neck.

„Oh, God...We should...” She panted with her eyes closed, tilting her head to give him more access.

„Mhm.” He hummed with approval, tracing scratchy kisses across her shoulder. „I know.”

Instead of acting on the incoherent thought, he turned her around, crashing into her lips without any warning. They kissed slowly for a long minute before Tiffany retreated, gazing into the endless ocean of his eyes. A cheeky smirk flew across her face.

„You called me baby.”

Ethan stared at her perplexed, his brows frowned. „No, erm...I didn't?”

„You totally just did.” Tiffany's laughter filled the room, the sound shook him to the core, along with the realization the pet name might have accidentally slipped through.

„No, you probably misheard that.” He stuttered an evasive reply, that earned a well-deserved scoff.

„Don't try to deny that you called me baby for the first time, and it happened – let me stress that – during sex.”

„Stop it. Let's not make a big deal out of this. We still need to get to work.” Ethan countered, hoping that the final argument was meaningful enough to end the cross-examination.

„That's a very convenient excuse, Mr I'll Casually Avoid Any Uncomfortable Topic. You're right, though. We should hurry up with the proper breakfast. But let's take a quick shower first.”

„Together?” He cocked his brows, sceptical about the idea.

„Yeah, why not?” Her index finger twirled around his nipple.

„We're already running out of time, we can't afford the further delay.”

„I thought you like a challenge, baby.” She pressed a wet kiss on his chest and broke the embrace. Ethan watched her walk off towards the bathroom with a tantalizing sway of her hips. He took a sharp breath, his eyes followed her every move, scanning her naked form up and down. When she reached the bathroom door, she shot him a sultry wink and disappeared behind the door. He shook his head, transfixed and defeated, muttering to himself.

„We're going to be late then.”

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Sorry if there are any typos or mistakes, this B is too tired to double-check lol

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Taglist: I’ll post it separately in a reblog because [tumblr] is being a brat

[gophergal]

HEY GOTTA 'NOTHER CHAPTER FOR YA. Thank you to @bucketofcowboys for betaing for me! Without his help, I would be pulling weird shakespeare lines outta my ass. He makes my shit sound smooth lol

I'm Not Lonely - Chapter Three

Word count:4 000+| Rating: M |  Michael Myers x OC | M/F

WARNING: Gore, Animal Death

Jean must have fallen asleep at some point while reading to Michael, the book slipping from her hands into her lap. She jolted awake at the sudden weight on her legs, her heart pounding momentarily until her eyes fell on Michael's form, watching as his head tilted inquiringly to the side. He appeared as though he still sat where he had been the night before, still watching her as she slept.

It was strange, obviously, but she couldn't help the warm feeling that spread through her from the human companionship. She was tempted to physically shake the feeling away from her limbs and mind, but restraining herself. The knowledge of why she felt so comforted by him, a man she knew by first name alone and nothing else, filled her with a mixture of shame and annoyance, though she pushed that all to the back of her mind to simmer.

With a yawn, Jean stretched, feeling her back click into place after her poor sleeping position. She stood on stiff legs, feeling the sleep flee from her system as the blood circulated throughout her body. In the kitchen, after a quick bite of breakfast, Jean looked at Michael from the other side of the table, sipping on her coffee as she considered what she had planned for the day.

She'd need to get groceries- the fridge was becoming a bit empty now that she was cooking for two so frequently. That brought another thought to mind, that she really didn't know what Michael liked to eat. Part of her wanted to say, “Fuck it, I'm the one cooking and paying the bills, so what he likes doesn't really matter,” but at the same time she didn't feel like being so harsh.

After cleaning the dishes she and Michael had left in the sink, getting dressed in errand appropriate apparel, and yelling to Michael so he'd know she left, she got in her car and drove toward Haddonfield. The grocery store was relatively quiet today. There were times that it could be a true mad house; hoards of middle aged women being impatient with the young employees of the store while their husbands stood around bored, watching their wild hellions wreck havoc.

Jean shuddered at the image, glad to be in at a slow time as the young cashier greeted her with a smile. The normalcy of this shopping trip was sobering as she placed items into the cart, her mind working slowly to remind her of what was wrong with her current life situation. Unfortunately for that rational part of her mind, she simply continued to mark things off her grocery list. She reached for a pack of Dr Pepper cans, only to bump into an arm. She drew back quickly, pulled out of her muffled thoughts, and looked at the person she bumped into.

“Oh! I'm very sorry, m'am,” the tall woman- no, she was rather young, now that Jean got a look at her, she was simply taller than Jean, who was admittedly quite short. Her fluffy blonde locks swallowed her head as a single mass, the part framing her sharp features. She must be a high school student, Jean thought.

“It's fine, please go ahead. And 'Jean' is fine. I'm not married,” she chuckled, picking a bit at her shirt sleeve.

“Nice to mean you, Jean. I'm Laurie. I... don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new in town, by chance?” The girl asked.

“No, not really. I've lived in the area for my whole life, but I live a bit out of town. Laurie, you seem familiar though.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, I can't place where I've seen you though- Wait, were you one of the people attacked on Halloween night?” Jean asked with a gasp, then immediately wished she hadn't. Laurie looked away quickly, and seemed to struggle for words momentarily and appearing on the verge of tears. “I- I'm really sorry, Laurie. That must have been horrific. Did they ever.... catch the guy?”

“No. He's still on the loose. Sheriff Brackett said he'd do everything he could, but Annie- his daughter- my friend, she-” Laurie cut herself off, not needing to say more for Jean to connect the dots, her shoulder's trembling slightly with the effort to remain composed in this public environment.

“You're a very strong young woman, Laurie. Especially to still be out and about so soon after all of that. I'm sure he'll be caught, too. That type of bastard isn't usually free for long.”

“Thank you. It's been very hard, on everyone.”

“I can imagine.

“Y'know, it may be a weird thing to offer, but if you ever need some help, or someone to talk to, here's my number. I can't say I can truly understand your specific situation, but I've had my fair share of loss, too,” she said, producing a small piece of paper and a pen, scribbling down her home phone number, then handed it to Laurie.

Laurie accepted the paper, dabbing at her eyes slightly with her sweater sleeve, “Thank you, Jean. I might have to take you up on that some time.”

“Don't hesitate, I'd be happy to lend an ear,” Jean replied with a small, warm smile.

The women purchased their groceries and parted way. Talking to Laurie had caused the trip to take longer than intended and now the sun was creeping lower, the brightness slightly too intense to be comfortable. Jean got into her car, the paper bags of food on the passenger side, and she left. The intense, golden light highlighted the trees which were now barren of their leaves. That and the chilly air harbingers of the coming winter. Jean worried her mind with the thought that she would have to fix some of the roofing of her home before the wet snow came down and buried the world.

There would be time to do that, for now she had other things to think about, such as her new housemate. Despite, his impromptu move in almost two weeks prior, she still knew nothing about him aside from his name. She hadn't even seen his face before, she realized, causing a slight hum of anxiety to spread through her body. Something in her kept screaming at her to do something about it, but as she drove toward her home, that voice grew quiet.

There were no lights on when she arrived, and no sign of Michael as she put away the groceries. Aside from a couple empty food wrappers in the sink, which greatly irritated her, it was the same as before he first visited her. Perhaps he'd left for the night. She didn't know where he went when wasn't at her home, but frankly she wasn't his keeper and had no responsibility to keep track of him. He was a grown man, after all. She placed the case of soda on the counter and, with a yawn, piloted her weary body toward the stairs.

She instinctively skipped the creaky step, nearly losing her balance to fatigue. At the top of the stairs, she noticed that her bedroom door was slightly ajar, a sliver of moonlight beaming through the crack, a strange occurrence as her habit was to close the door at all times. She drew closer, cautious and uneasy now, and gently pushed open the door, supporting it with her body and praying that the squeaky hinge would remain silent.

The door now open, she could see a lump under the covers on her bed, poking out from the top a curly, dark mass. She let out a small gasp of breath when she noticed the white, fleshy sheet on her nightstand. Michael's mask. This was Michael who'd stolen her bed. Even at rest, there was a tension to him, eyebrows contorted and face twisted into a slight grimace. Yet, she noticed her hand drawing closer to his hair as if it were magnetic. She pulled her traitorous appendage back, foiling it's mission to tenderly push back a brown lock from his forehead.

A slight glint of reflected light caught her attention, her eye sweeping over the sleeping form to see the metal blade of a kitchen knife in his hand. He had a white-knuckle grip on it that did not waver with the haze of sleep. It chilled her. She began backing away, unwilling to take back her bed that night and unsure if she would even be able to sleep. Still, as she stepped gingerly out of the room, the couch called to her downstairs.

The next few days were uneventful. She worked, she came home, sometimes she had to take the couch. Michael didn't seem to leave at all, yet he seemed out of place in the house, having nothing change around him. Tonight would be her last night of work for the week and she was excited to have some time to rest on her day off. She sat across from Michael at the kitchen table, taking occasional glances at his masked face, imagining the man beneath. He sat like a wax figure, unmoving and unphased.

“I have to work again tonight, I can't really tell you what to do, but I'd appreciate you locking the door if you go somewhere,” she told him. While she awaited his lack of response she wondered what he even did while she was away, though she ultimately decided that ignorance was preferable to knowing something she'd regret. Besides, she had things to do before she left for work that evening. The sun was low in the sky as she put on her dusty pink uniform dress and black flats.

Michael watched her leave the house from his spot in the kitchen, waiting for the security of an empty house. Once the coast was clear he ripped the mask from his face, the latex of it clinging to his greasy brown locks in his haste to eat. He grimaced at the tugging sensation, placing his second face on the table next to him. As food was shoveled into his mouth messily like a child, he decided on what he'd do that day. It seemed a good day to snoop through his host's home because, surprisingly, he hadn't already. If he thought about how different this was from any other time he'd stalked prey for too long, it would only confuse him. At the same time, he was reminded constantly by the Shape that it would all end soon, soon enough the pleasure of killing the woman would outweigh the benefit of keeping her alive.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, putting the plate into the sink rather carelessly with a clink. The house was rather uncluttered, with few items in the cupboards and cabinets. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as he could tell. Still, bland as it was, it was far more welcoming than the white walls and antiseptic smells of Smith's Grove. Of that place, those were all he could remember clearly, everything else was shrouded in a drugged haze, a curtain of accusation and rough hands holding him down when the doctor ordered. A few small moments of kindness from nurses and orderlies peeked through the curtains here and there, but even those paled in comparison to how Jean was. The Shape scoffed at the idea, reminding him that if she knew the evil that everyone else had, she too would end up as another barrier between him and freedom, and such barriers were meant to be torn down.

The stairs creaked as he climbed, and the photos on the wall watched him closely. Upon closer look he saw a woman, looking much like slightly older Jean, alongside a little girl and an old man. He pulled it off the wall for a closer look. Smiling faces, a happy family, though shaped differently than his own had been. The girl looked to be the same age he'd been on that night so many years ago. He tossed the frame onto the carpeted floor after the top step, not caring for what that last thought brought to mind.

On the upper floor, more pictures were on the walls and now he noticed how few actually showed the older woman. They formed a sort of jumbled timeline, the little girl growing taller until he recognized her as Jean at various ages. A few had only her, no sign of the old man or the woman, and he took one from the wall. She was dressed nicely, her back to the glowing sunrise, making her messy blonde hair appear as a fiery golden halo. He decided that he liked it and held onto it as he kept wandering though his host's home.

The Shape became restless at some point, it's voice growing more frantic and incomprehensible with the passing minutes. Michael was tired though, the thrill of the hunt would be dampened by his lack of sleep. The Shape grew louder, demanding blood, gracing his mind with sudden images of what he could do to satisfy it. He ground his teeth, fist clenching and un-clenching as he tried to shake the thoughts from his mind. He needed rest. The Shape could wait, surely. There would be more prey, more chances. The hardest night was over, and he was unlikely to be caught while he stayed with Jean. Frustrated, he relented, giving in to the grating presence of the Shape. He stomped downstairs, muscles growing tense with each heavy breath.

The diner was relatively quiet that night, only two men were at a booth in the front. A not-quite-elderly duo of middle-aged men with greying dark hair, one taller and mustached, the other weaselly in appearance. Jean hurried to the booth to take their order, “Hey, what can I get you two gentlemen tonight?”

“I'll take a tenderloin sandwich, slice o' apple pie, a black coffee,” said the mustached man.

“Cheesecake, black coffee,” the weaselly man said. With that, Jean nodded and smiled, leaving to take the order to Gus, tuning in to their conversation as she walked away.

“Eh, you know about that one bastard that's been on the loose since Halloween?” Asked the weaselly man.

“Yeah, of course I do. I watch the news. What about it?”

“I've heard that he's twenty bodies in now.”

“The police say that?”

“No, they wouldn't and you know it. I've heard it from a few buddies.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Haddonfield's never had so many suspicious deaths, bud. It's gotta be a bit more than a coinkydink that they'd ramp up after this guy starts killin'.” Jean brought the men their orders and they quieted down on the morbid talk for a bit. The weaselly man rubbed hands together excitedly as Jean set down his cheesecake. The tall man shook his head light heartedly.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” the tall man said. Jean smiled, holding back the urge to roll her eyes at the unwanted pet name. She left to wipe down the other booth tables in the room.

“Anyway, I heard that the cops are broadening their search to the surrounding area,” said the weasel, “been some sightings of a masked man wearing a blue jumpsuit around some houses on the outskirts of town.” Jean found that the description was unsettlingly familiar.

“C'mon, that could just be some kid in a dime store mask and his dad's coveralls.”

“After halloween?”

“Yeah, y'know how kids are. Not sayin' its good, those kids might get themselves killed.”

“Isn't that what happened to that one highschool football player? Tramer, I think his name was.”

“Yeah, just like that. Police thought he was Michael Myers and he got run over. Well, on accident , of course,” The tall man said, putting air quotes around “accident” and then took a bite of his tenderloin sandwich.

“And what a damn shame it is. Poor kid had so much potential. Might as well add him to the body count.”

Jean stopped wiping the table she was standing at. She felt the blood rush from her face, her heart dropped into her stomach, and bile rose in her throat. It all was too much. Her head spun, making the connections, remaking the connections, denying the truth. Her knees felt weak.

“Woah, miss, you good? If all this murder talk is getting to you, we can stop. You look like you're about to pass out,” the mustached man asked her, voice laced with concern.

“I-” she started, swallowing hard, “I'm okay, I think my blood sugar's just low. I'll be back,” she finished, leaving quickly to go back to the kitchen where Jo and Gus chatted. Jean pushed past, throwing open the back door and pressing her back to the brick wall of the diner outside. She breathed hard, shaking hands gripping her skirt as her legs threatened to give beneath her.

Jo burst out a moment later, worried. She put her hands on Jean's shoulders, words coming out of her mouth, but not reaching Jean's ears. She shook Jo's hands off, reclaiming her composure. “I'm fine, Jo, I guess all that talk about the killer on the loose got to me,” she said. It wasn't quite a lie.

“Are you sure you'll be alright? You live alone and now I'm worried about you,” Jo asked.

“It's fine. I'm fine. I promise.”

“Okay, I'll drop it, but if you ever need anything, you know where I am.”

“I do,” Jean nodded. She wouldn't drag Jo into this. This was her own problem, and Jo might very well get hurt. She considered asking Gus to help her, he was a large guy, someone she could trust, and she was sure he would do anything to help if she asked. Then she reconsidered. She'd never be able to forgive herself if she got him hurt. No, she'd have to take care of this herself, somehow.

There was a creeping feeling on her back as the eerie twilight faded into blackness as she drove. There were no stars in the sky, yet the full moon cast it's silvery glow on the earth below, bathing the landscape in a strange dream-like contrast. It was slightly hypnotic, feeding her unease. Once she arrived at her home, she turned the knob on the front door, now aware of the lights left on in the house. She pushed open the door, breaching the barrier between her feeling of environmental disorientation and her nauseating awareness of the room before her.

A sharp scent of salt and copper was in the air, horrifically mixing with the familiar smells of the house, corrupting them in the dim light from upstairs. Before she could bring herself to flip the light switch, she surveyed the dark room, eyes falling on a dark, crumpled form at the bottom of the staircase. Pooling below it, a reflective, dark liquid that appeared black in the shadow of the heap.

She flipped the switch, eyes screwed shut. She finally found the courage to open her eyes, and regretted it. Tears pricked her eyes, a mixture of shock and disgust, as she looked at the crumpled canine body at the bottom of the stairs. The dog, once a charming golden brown, was now stained with the rust colored blood that had kept it alive. Gruesomely, its abdomen was torn open, broken ribs visible alongside the snaking internal organs.

A sound ripped itself from Jean's lips and she looked around the room. The first aid kit was strewn about on the coffee table, the couch soaked in red. Dried blood was tracked everywhere, shoe prints from the back door to the living room, dried droplets leading up the stairs, a smeared hand print on the wall. At the top of the stairs, her bedroom door was ajar. A horrible, sickening curiosity gripped her, guiding her around the discarded carcass and up the stairs.

Her heart pounded as she froze in front of the door, mind blank, her survival instincts screaming at her to run. Run far away. You are prey. You will die and then you will feed this horrible predator. She swallowed down these instincts somehow, and pushed open the door. Blood had been dripped from the threshold to her bed. Then she saw him. On her bed. Her clean, comfortable bed with the soft, white sheets. His filthy, blood-stained jumpsuit was touching her once clean, comfortable sheets. Her knees no longer quivered below her. Her prey-like instincts cowered away as something snapped within. She was fucking pissed.

“Michael, what the fuck are you doing in my goddamn bed?! My home?! My FUCKING SHEETS, you bastard!” She shook, no longer in fear- no, that ship had passed along with her pure white sheets- her hands shook with the desire to express her feelings violently.

Michael jumped up almost comically as though he'd been stabbed with a straight pin. He nearly fell, then fumbled for the white latex he treated as his face, then pulled it on. The knife he slept with had clattered to the floor in his struggle, and had been kicked under the bed. He whipped himself around to look at Jean, then stalked to her. Jean held her ground. He was a mere two steps from her, the difference in height and mass between them highlighted by the closeness.

“You've got three goddamn choices. First, you could kill me. Go ahead, I fucking dare you. Second, you could leave. Go somewhere, leave me the fuck alone. Or, you could stay here, follow my rules, have a steady supply of food and somewhere to sleep. Make your choice, Michael,” she growled, glaring into shadowed eyeholes of his mask.She bared her teeth, seething as he put a massive hand, covered in dried dog blood, around her neck. He did not squeeze, simply held it there firmly as he waited for the Shape's instruction.

The instruction to snap her neck did not come. The Shape remained silent. He had expected fear. That was common- expected even- in his prey. They would run, or try to fight back. Some tried to submit, begging him not to snuff out their lives. Anger though, that was reserved for the exceptionally stupid. Yet something was beginning to make itself clear, Jean was not stupid, exceptionally or otherwise. Rage continued to flare in her slate grey eyes as Michael released her neck, an alluring red stain coiled around it. He marveled at the mark as she turned away, stomping down the stairs away from him.

Watch that one, the Shape demanded. Michael agreed to the Shape's demand. He would definitely watch her. She had his attention now.

[youngbugandtonystank]

I LOVED your meta-analysis of Tony in endgame! Can you do the homecoming edition with tony's facial expressions and feelings? thank you! x

Hi!

Of course, I’m sorry I took so long.

Well, Homecoming is my favorite irondad movie. Yes, it’s an irondad movie for me. We get to see the paternal side of Tony. It’s not a surprise for me or anyone that Tony can get paternal, you can tell he loves kids and gets along better with them than with most adults. He’s a natural on this.

Let’s start with the fact that Tony had a long emotional journey in Civil War, from getting nostalgic with clearing traumatic memories of his parents with technology, Charlie Spencer, his guilt over Ultron, the Accords, fighting with the Avengers to finding out the truth about said parents and getting betrayed in the process.

All of this.

And the first thing he decided to do after all of this?

Make sure Peter gets home.

Now, the most important thing you should notice about Tony in here is his posture. Look how relaxed and happy he looks, look at the way he’s sitting. After recently getting betrayed by a close friend, this is how he behaves around Peter. This is enough for me to believe that he blindly trusts Peter and that scares him. Since the moment he met him this is the thing that impressed me the most about their relationship. How easy things come for Tony when it comes to Peter. Trust is the main one.

Of course, it’s not all unicorns because this is Tony Stark. He probably noticed how quickly he was to trust Peter and how he behaves around him so he uses his typical mechanisms of defense to fight this.

One of my friends pointed out for me that on many occasions Tony tries to avoid eye contact with Peter.

Typical mechanism. Avoid eye contact, put on his glasses, mask on.

And that is not the only effort he made to put a distance between him and Peter, he uses the ‘’hands-off’’ mentor attitude and puts Happy like a wall between them. Look at his hand gestures, he’s trying to make this something casual. It’s his way of putting up a wall.

Also, this is not how we open the door for someone else, ok?

There were other ways to open the door for the kid.

And as soon as Peter is out of the car:

After a while of not getting in contact with the kid, Peter; the danger magnet he is, gets himself in trouble and we discover that Tony receives alerts every time the suit's emergency parachute is activated or when it exceeds a certain altitude. We also discover Tony has a tracker on Peter’s suit and it’s not afraid to admit he put everything necessary in the suit. 

At first, he doesn’t appear to be shaken up by the fact that Peter almost died a few minutes ago but this is because he’s trying to remain calm. In the Homecoming Novelization, they give us the reason why Tony is in that place:

“So where are you?” I asked, looking around suspiciously. I half expected to see a drone in the sky spying on me.“India,” came the response. “I thought I’d hit up a Hindu temple. Center myself. That sort of thing.” Wow, I thought. I guess when you have Stark money, you can do stuff like that. “Thank God this place has Wi-Fi or you would have drowned.”

He’s trying to center himself. After saying ‘’Please, forget about the flying vulture guy’’ and trying to make Peter understand he needs to stay on the ground for his own safety and Peter failing to understand this, this is his dad reaction:

The angry-anxiety outburst. This man was having an anxiety attack throughout this scene. After not succeeding in getting a guarantee that Peter is going to be out of harm's way, he goes into fight-or-flight mode and releases this little explosion. When you’re on your way to an anxiety episode that is very close to turning into a panic attack your body starts interpreting your anxiousness as a signal that you’ll need to stand your ground or escape from what you believe is a danger. What it’s most interesting to me in this is his reaction after the outburst. He’s not only confused as to why is he so angry or so fatherly invested in this kid, but he’s also experiencing his mind going “blank” as the fear and worry take over.

Almost like he’s asking himself ‘’Why am I acting like this?’’ ‘’What the hell was that?’’

And then saying: ‘’Sorry, teenager’’. Dad af.

And then we fully get to see what he’s trying to stay calm from. THIS. Anxiety can trigger this reaction. I believe what Tony is experiencing here is some sort of mechanism of physiological tremor caused by anxiety. This is how awesome RDJ’s performance is. He understands his character so much he can make these little decisions and add more depth into the character.

After this, he tells Peter it’s not too early to start thinking about college, since he went when he was 15 so for Tony, it’s never too early and he knows Peter is a genius kid. He understands Peter and he even acknowledged this when he said this: ‘’Listen, I know school sucks. I know you want to save the world. But... you're not ready yet.’’ 

Then he calls Peter to tell him the FBI was about to ambush Toomes and his people but he also took the opportunity to congratulate Peter for his job on Washington. I love the sheepishly way he’s doing it, like this is new territory for him. 

But Peter at the moment is not appreciating the compliments because he has other things in mind. This is the moment you realize both of them are on different grounds. What many people don’t realize is that Peter is not only seeking approval, he’s trying to find a way to ensure his stay in Tony’s life. Notice how he asks Happy what’s going to happen to him when he realizes Tony sold the tower (He can feel Tony slipping further away from him) or when he tells Ned that he’s never going to come back to school since Tony is moving the Avengers upstate and blindly believes that If he brings Toomes to justice Tony is going to offer a place for him (He takes drastic measures). 

Meanwhile Tony is trying hard to be there for him but still at arm's length. He gets a little offended when Peter doesn’t appreciate that effort and brush that off like it’s nothing. You know the thing that actually warms my heart? When he remembers the little stuff about Peter’s life. While Peter is trying to win his place in Tony’s life, Tony already has Peter in his heart, whether he knows about this or not.

Remember those conversations you have with your parents over the phone and they hear some weird background noise and they demand to know what’s going on? This is Tony in here. Also, the fact that he knew that Peter quit band six weeks ago. lol dad much?

Then the famous ferry confrontation. This is exactly the moment Tony lets Peter know in a very direct way he cares and a lot. Since the moment Peter accuses him of not caring, he doesn’t take his eyes off of Peter. 

He’s using anger as a way to let out the stress and worry he has over this kid. The little sniff, the way he continuously walks toward him, etc. He’s tired of being worried and explains to Peter that he’s the only one keeping faith in him because of how young he is and the more he explains, the more scared he gets. 

When things get to the point where he can’t stand it, ‘’it’s not working out’’ / = ‘’It’s not working out for me’’, he demands the suit back and dramatically says that this is something permanent. That this is a ‘’forever’’ decision. He believes that if he takes away the suit Peter is going to stop risking his life. And this decision probably hurts him more than it hurts Peter judging by the way he can’t even look at the kid when he asks for it. 

He heartbrokenly explains to Peter that if he dies then he feels that is going to be on him. He feels responsible for Peter and it’s heartbreaking because this is coming from him. This is not some misplaced way to fix things or a way to repair some old wounds. This is not his responsibility, he can easily go to this kid’s aunt and tell her what’s going on so she can deal with it but instead, he realizes he got emotionally attached to this kid and therefore no matter if he’s in the suit or not, Tony is going to feel responsible. Because he cares. Because he has a soft spot for him. Because he already has a place in his heart.

The way he grips his arm, another way to tell he’s on the verge of anxiety, again. And then he admits what’s been on his mind since meeting Peter: He wants him to be better than him. He already chose him. He wants him to be his better version. He recognizes Peter and him are similar in ways that scare him but he wants the flaws he sees in himself to disappear on Peter. He doesn’t want Peter to be like him. And he demonstrates this in the self-deprecating way he expresses it: 

Then Peter goes and still risks his life with or without the suit and Tony gets Happy to drive Peter to Avengers upstate. The first thing Tony does? Apologize to Peter for taking the suit and at the same time, he lets him know he did something wrong therefore he had it coming. Something he probably never got directly from his father; an apology and proof that he actually cared. 

He makes sure Peter knows he’s proud by fist-bumping his shoulder lol, side-hugging him and telling him he wants him on the team by showing him his new suit. 

Can we talk about this for a moment? Is this Tony’s version of putting the kid’s accomplishments on the fridge? He was going to show this to a lot of reporters and people when Peter ‘’announced’’ he was going to be an official member of the Avengers. Can we also acknowledge the fact that Tony keeps track of Peter so much that he knows bloggers write about spider-man and this time he’s bringing the big guns by picking up 50 real reporters to the case? D-A-D.

Then he gets rejected lol. Something he probably expected it. There’s no denying he felt rejected but not because Peter doesn’t want to be part of the Avengers, the part he feels rejected from is the ‘’mentoring’’ part. He did mention that with a little mentoring, Peter could be a real asset. He wants to be that mentor and now he’s ready to be more close to him.

He even takes the mask off.

But he still can’t keep eye contact with him, something he still does in Infinity War. Apparently, Peter’s big puppy eyes are lethal weapons for him. He can’t stand the admiration and gratitude coming from this kid’s gaze. He’s not used to this.

This is what I love the most about Homecoming. Proud!dad Tony. AT the end of the day, he’s proud that Peter chose to do the right thing and stay on the ground. He knows Peter is going to be the best out of all of them and this is the most gratifying accomplishment for him. 

Thank you for asking! I was going to make one from Peter’s POV, if you want it, please tell me! 

[shawnies-girl]

hey that ck kitchen pic has got me wanting a “making breakfast and Shawn walks in” imagine so badly as cheesy as that is. idk if you do smut but that’d be a-ok with me (just pls don’t leave the food cooking on the stove lol) thank you thank you for being a blessing

Request combined with this: Plzzz write something about Shawn’s pictures for CalvinKlein cause DAMN could be abt ANYTHING just plz do it- @kurreapormaranet

Lazy Sunday

pairing: Shawn x reader

⇢ genre: smut that’s it lol it’s graphic so beware

⇢ summary: The morning after leads to something more in the early hours of the morning for Shawn and his girlfriend.

The sun cast a warm glow through the window in your bead room. Slowly opening your eyes to the haze you become aware of your surroundings. A montage of the happenings of last night replay over in your head. With a shiver You look down to see the covers are off and so are your underclothes, in-fact the clothing is in piles across the floor leading to the bead. To the side of you are tuffs of brown hair that belong to your boyfriend Shawn. Shifting in the bead closing your eyes again you bask in the feeling. No commitments for the next three days for either of you. Total bliss for 73 hours. You cant remember the last time you had that much time to yourselves. A shiver runs down your spine when Shawn shifts pulling you way from your thoughts.

The glow in the room gets brighter the longer you stay still and slip into sleep again. His arm moves across your body pulling you close. The warmth of his skin providing a feeling of security. Sadly you were unable to fall back asleep due to the soft gurgling in your stomach. Reluctantly you carefully free your tangled limbs. Your toes curl as they touch the cold ground. You turn to make sure Shawn is still sleeping and make your way to the kitchen. The moment you arrive in your kitchen your greeted with sunshine poring in the window. Opening the fridge you get out the ingredients to make some eggs. Setting the stuff on the counter you move to get the pan. A few minutes go buy and the stove is finally hot. You crack the eggs into the pan and discard the shells.

In the bedroom Shawn slowly stirs awake. The light in the room causing him to squint his eyes. Looking to your side of the bed he sees your gone. A brief look of confusion crosses his features as he sees your not next to him. He sits up in the bead still trying to wake up. As he looks around the room he’s reminded of last night. Your clothes from yesterday lay strobe across the floor in various piles along with his. All of this due to the busy evening you had together after he arrived home from the airport. Memories of limbs and lips clashing together form in his head making a warmth spread through his body. He finds himself so consumed in the memory that he doesn’t realize he’s gone hard in his boxers until he here’s clanking outside of the door. A heavy sigh fills the air as he moves to go to the bathroom.

As you finish the eggs and put them aside you here the opening and closing of a door. You smile knowing that Shawn is finally awake and you make some coffee for him to have when he comes out.

The machine beeps as it finishes the last few drops of the brown liquid. Bustling around the kitchen you get a mug and gather the cream and sugar. Slowly you add them to the coffee one by one.

Turning around you bump into something hard. You pause for a moment taking him in. Your eyes raking up and down his body your attention is grabbed by white fabric stretched across his hips covering his manhood.

“Like what you see?” He smirks.

Taking a look up you see Shawn’s face. His brown orbs peer into yours causing you to step back. Shawn does the same and leans against the counter. As his muscles flex with his movements the glow from the morning sun seems to get brighter. His hand rises and he moves his finger to gesture for you to come closer.

“C’mere” He says with a rasp in his voice from sleep.

You find your self migrating towards him like your magnets coming together. When you reach him you raise your arms and rub your hands on his chest. Feeling the warm flesh under your hand you move closer pressing your chest to his.

“What about the coffee I made and the eggs?” You said turning your head to look at the food on the table

“Fuck breakfast your the only thing I want right now.”

His hands slipped around your waist lifting you onto the counter. You look into his eyes as he leans in connecting his lips with yours. You gasp when you feel him bite your lip letting him deepen the kiss. He groans in response when you pull on his strands of hair. Moving his hands to your thighs he lifts you again braking the kiss. You tighten your legs around his waist.

Waisting no time he pushes the door open with his foot a makes his way to your bead. He sits down with you in his lap facing him. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck and the brush of his lips. His hands coming to rest on your ass as you grind into him. You hands move to the nape of his neck softly tugging on the strands of hair as he sucks a bruise on to your neck. Shawn parts from your neck and leans you back enough to remove his shirt that you slept in. Once the fabric is gone the cool air in the room hardens you nipples sending goosebumps down your back. “God, look at you, such perfect tits.” He says admiring you as you sit on his lap like it’s a throne. You keen into his touch as he brushes his thumb across one grazing your nipple. You continue to grind your hips into his to create friction. Your actions elect a soft groan from Shawn. Feeling his manhood get hard you slide back further down his legs into the floor. You set your hands on his thighs spreading his legs enough for you to fit in between. In front of you his manhood his hidden under the white fabric of his Calvin Klein boxers. You look into his eyes as you slip your fingers inside the boxers. Using both hands you pull them down to free his cock. As the elastic band passes it hits his stomach and stays laying on him. You reach for it and lightly squeeze eliciting a groan from Shawn. The noise gives you a boost in confidence and you take him into your mouth. Sweeping your tongue around the head and over the slit. Shawn can’t hold the sounds back. One hand behind his back he holds himself up and the other hand comes to rest on your head. Bobbing your head up and down his length you pump with your right hand. Your left hand rests on his thigh. Releasing him from your mouth you lick a stripe up from the base to the shaft and kiss the head and suck it back in your mouth. The warmth and wetness has Shawn squirming and grunting in place. Moving your left hand it stops on his balls and gives a gentle squeeze. A deep moan raises from his chest as you continue to blow him. Not much time passes until his moans get really loud. His hand in your hair begins to push you down on to him as he gets closer to releasing. Looking up at him and blinking through your lashes his eyes catch yours. With a couple more pumps and a deep moan around his manhood Shawn finds himself releasing into your mouth. “Oh…fuck.” You swallow around his cock and lift your head up looking into his eyes. Shawn swears he could get hard looking at you face after you just sucked him off. “Look at you princess.” He said lifting your chin. You got up off your knees and stood in front of him. “Turn for me baby.” He said as he leaned back in his spot. You but your lip as you twirled for him. His hands found themselves not your his as you faced him again. Pulling you in his lips captured yours in n a kiss. You hands placed on either side of his face. Your right leg lists on to the bed and your left on on the other side. Shawn bit onto your bottom lip and then moved to your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin there. Wanting to speed things up Shawn’s hands tug on your shirt. Getting the hint you leaned back and lifted the shirt up off of your frame. Tossing the shirt across the room you turned back to Shawn who was leaned back on his elbows watching you perched on his lap. His dick still sitting hard against his abdomen in between your thighs. You leaned forward planting a light kiss on his lips before you return to an upright position. Taking him in your hand you pump him a few times and rub him against you to make him slick.

Finally you line him up and sink down on to his lap. Something between a moan and a grunt leaves him as he bottoms out. Placing your hands on his chest you get some leverage to lift yourself up and you slam back down. This causes you to moan out loud. Shawn looks at you with pure adoration as you bounce up and down on his cock in a steady pace. “Oh, you feel so good Shawn.” You mumble. “Ugh, fuck so do you baby.” He covers his face as you pick up speed. Your pace falters however and to keep the pleasure going Shawn picks up the slack. Holding onto your hips he slams up into you. The change in pace causing you to wimpier and moan in response. “Oh my gosh.” You moan out. “Huh, you like that tell me how much you want to cum, hmm?” He reached for your bundled nerves between your legs and rubes circles into it. “How much do you want to come all over my cock.” He asks you as he continues to rub in circles. “Uhh, so bad. I wanna cum so bad.” You whine into his neck. You squeeze your walls as you find yourself nearing an orgasm. Shawn grunts as his thrusts get sloppy. His finger relentlessly rubbing into you. “Fuck, I’m cumming.” You practically scream as his pace on your clit doesn’t slow. “Cum for me baby.” He says in your ear and almost instantly your body shudders as your orgasm hits you. Shawn gaveling not cum yet continues to thrust into you. “Please…it’s too much.” you say leaning to the side lifting your leg. Shawn is quick to move it back and reassure you he’s close. “I’m almost there princes hang on.” You moan in response. A second orgasm close because of the overstimulation. Your tighten your core and Shawn moans at the feeling. His abdomen tense as he’s about to release. “Please cum inside me.” You say looking him in the eyes. A grunt leaves his mouth before he thrusts back into you and releases his load in thick ropes. The feeling sending you over the edge and another shudder runs through your body. Not even bothering to get up you collapse on top of Shawn. He looked down at you and admires how beautiful his princes looked all fucked out. It’s like you have this glow and he can’t get enough of it.

After a few minutes you decide to move. “ I think it’s time to get some food.” You said standing a putting on your underwear. Shawn gets up fixing his Calvin Klein boxers before he lifts you up and plops you back into the midsize of the mattress. Curious you let him continue. He leaned down on the some of the bed and slides you closer to him and hooks his finger inside your underwear.

“I told you, fuck breakfast. The only meal I need is right here.”

[abundantchewtoys]

Homestuck^2 re: p33-53

Well, there's bound to be a perspective switch now.

Though Dirk remains the lemony narrator, so he'll be around in a way, not relegating himself to intermissions.

Crack theory: John's a ghost now. :P Nah, there are no dreambubbles anymore.

---

Page 33

Oh HELL freaking yes.

Hah, Candy Earth C - supposedly irrelevant, pffffff.

Them lies.

I mean, sure, the specifics of the timeline aren't relevant, but the people in it will still end up doing relevant things!

So, this is John's house, smack-dap in the middle of salamander village. Candy Jake is tending to the garden - I'm spotting at least one pumpkin patch there. :P

So this means...

This means we'll end up having art for Tavros C/E, Harry Anderson and Vriska ML! Oh hell freaking yes. I'm pretty sure Tavros C is almost a deadringer for John. He had a different frame for glasses, if I recall, and his hair I imagine doesn't stick up, but further than that...

For all we know, they could actually end up being players in Dirk's session, too! :D Through space/time shenanigans.

So yeah, Jake is middle-aged, but... That might mean like 3 more years have passed since the end of the Candy path, right? 42 sounds like a middler age than 39, after all.

Cooool, though. I mean, I love that we're catching up to these people again. The content warnings (groan, Dirk, really? He's continuing to post this on AO3, isn't he?) do indicate that Jake's reminiscencs will take us into some darker venues.

Here's to hoping Dirk isn't going to cut away too quickly from this timeline. ... Wait a minute.

How can Dirk be the narrator of this timeline if it's out of his sphere of influence? That means it's back to Calliope or a speakerless narration! Actually, that's great.

The arrows have changed as well, hahah. Yup, this sure isn't the alpha timeline anymore. :P So much irrelevance to the plot, much wow.

---

Page 34

Oooh, right, his fair moustache! Can't wait to see how it looks in sprite mode, hahah. Say... Come to think of it, if Dirk's any indication, none of the players have earned the right yet to appear in guardian form!

Emerald garden gloves...

Hah, okay, so he's actually not wearing a shirt yet. Cause it's too hot in John's house. Ironic that the Heir hasn't kept his own house aired and cooled.

So, it might actually take place around the time that John went to Roxy? Although, Jake set the two of them up, he should know where John is at the moment. Cool to see that Jake's actually found a new form of independence in his riper age. That he actually manages household tasks quite well, without shooting at the squirrel family or something.

I wonder in what way the timelines will get entwined. Dreams? Ultimate self memories? Machinery like used to transport Joey to Alternia?

It would be weird to have two fully separate stories in one narrative, after all.

---

Page 35

Cool, look at that body hair. Much macho, señor English. :P I can see why the populace of Earth is enamored by him.

Welp. Alcoholism continues being a thing, now even for human Prospit dreamers.

---

Page 37

So yeah, Dad's fridge is still there. Those B1 appliances have sure gone through a lot. Pfff, even the old kitchen magnet's still there, maybe even with the same years-old picture stuffed behind it.

In for a dream memory of Jake on Hellmurder Island? I am!

This looks like B2 Earth's sun, after all.

Good thing Jake never went to 'Nam, or the current ongoing war would've meant this vision of a rainforest would've gone in a very different direction.

But the dream is definitely going to end up going sideways. I mean, no more dreambubbles doesn't mean he can't have vision. Or a Brain Ghost visit, in his case there's a real chance a memory turns into something more substantial.

---

Page 38

That sure is an unsettling dream. Unknown part of the jungle, illogical pine trees, and an inescapable monster.

Reminds me of WV's nightmare. Especially the song about it on the Wanderers album.

"A lithe creature of darkness and fury, with more legs than anything mammalian has a right to." Sounds like a Hiveswap monster right there. Can't think of any of the lusii it would apply to, of the top of my head.

---

Page 39

Welp. Dirk has found him. Well, in his dreams, but Dirk can command Brain Ghosts. And he was saying something about commanding a brain ghost, wasn't he? Okay, welp, I can't find the relevant quote. Page 30 comes closest, saying he used to not be able to contemplate all his spliters.

---

Page 41

Lol wuuuuuuuuut.

Brain Ghost Dirk?!? And he/Jake remembers meeting Aranea?!? Okay, let's park the potential paradoxes here. For one, post-retcon Dirk could have met AN Aranea later on, a different version of her, in a dreambubble dream. But yeah. Still weird.

Also weird: this brain ghost is connected to his Game Over timeline self! And he claims to be a separate Dirk?? Or... Well, actually. He claims a single Dirk has been claiming the narrative, which is true, leaving little space for other Dirks, which is also true. He could (and should?!?) still be part of the other Dirk, right? Unless... Unless the ascended self of a Prince of Heart doesn't mean he can just control his other splinters! (Outside of controlling the narrative, I mean.)

Then again... The Candy path has been said to be explicitly outside the reach of Dirk, so what is this?

God, if the only "good" version of Dirk is a ghost. And hey, this is a way in how there can still be new ghosts even without dreambubbles. Too bad only Jake can spawn them.

Pfff, the idea though. The idea that the only way this Dirk has good qualities is because it's what Jake wants to remember about him.

---

Page 42

He's gonna be scared awake from the fall, right? Still a little douchebag in any iteration.

---

Page 43

Yup. ... So, Brain Ghost Dirk has taken it up for himself to be Jake's guardian? Making sure no one catches him boozesnoozing? Even ensuring Jake maintains a healthy mistrust about Dirk's intentions?

Hmmm... I wonder if he'll start seeing Brain Ghost Dirk again while awake, now.

---

Page 44

Is there still some dirt from his dream on his arm? A message from BG Dirk?

---

Page 45

Ooooooooooh. Yes!! Seems like there's too much narrative for even an ascended Dirk to hog.

I mean, we have to keep in mind that the Prince of Heart's influence doesn't reach into this timeline. So that means, this is a part of Dirk that Jake has breathed life into, but which while vaguely connected to the ascended self, since he knew about Dirk's powers, can't be controlled by him???

---

Page 47

Oooooh, this is a REALLY good way to have Jake talk himself through his issues! Some really good observations from Jake here, things he might not have admitted to himself otherwise!

He's feeling useless, knows Jane is bad news, still hopes to make amends. Meanwhile BG Dirk isn't trying to get him to join the plot outside of the Black Hole.

Jake just wants to make a difference! (Also the observation from BG Dirk about Jake feeling mopey and useless for years also applies to John soooo much.) He's going to go all Lara Croft again? Sweaty, hunky, middle-aged genderbender Lara Croft, hahahah. This would be very cool - even if he's so very likely to get caught. Jane's not stupid.

---

Page 48

So this is Her Janeyness's battleship. Sporks. Sporks!! She crossed )(IC's ship with sporks. Pfffffff.

And he's actually doing this? Already?? Welp. Jane's going to throw him in the slammer again. We're going to have a callback to when the tiara took her over. I wonder if we'll even see some Authority Regulators (Prospitian or Dersite) guarding the prison cells.

Jane's outfit's going to be a cross between a business suit, her Crockertier outfit and Condy's jumpsuit. Though I wonder if she's already that far gone that she's wearing regalia.

---

Page 49

Pffffff, wut? He's actually going through the frontdoor? Jane's even coming to run up to him??

What is this, a daydream? If not, there's no way we'll not see Jane be obnoxiously unknowingly condescending in her conversation.

So, it is in fact a Crockertier two-piece suit, it seems.

---

Page 50

Pffff, wut? Tavros was out with her kismesis, wasn't he? There's the potential here for Tavros simply getting pulled around by Vriska ML, and Jane seeing it as a kidnapping. Also, direct attack? I assumed she found the death of her Dad enough direct already. :P

Pffff, okay. So this can't be more than a few days after the end of the Candy path, after all. So they're all still 39 years old.

---

Page 51

At first I though BG Dirk would start spying on Jane's desk, but nah, he's horseshitting around. So Jake's infiltration isn't even going to be all that hard, he's just going to stand there and get information fed to him.

Jane's descent into tyranny saddens me still.

---

Page 52-53

Man, Jake's intrusive thoughts are next level. Jane is still as coldly detached as ever.

[simonlovelazy]

Saeran/Reader Halloween Fic

This is my very late contribution to the Halloween craze!!!

(Hey, it’s still Halloween here, ok?)

Title: The One Without a Costume

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Saeran/ Reader, Saeran/You

Tags: Teen and up audiences, mostly crack, attempt at writing something hot lol

Word count: 2452

Summary: You have a theory about people going to costume parties without costumes, but maybe Saeran will manage to change your mind?

takes place somewhere in the secret endings or whenever you want it to

   AO3 link

  The One Without a Costume

You would need way more fingers to count how many times you've heard the good old "don't judge a book by its cover" speech. But there is at least one situation when the rule does not apply. If you're at a costume party, a Halloween costume party to make the sin of dullness even more pronounced, and see a guy sporting his casual clothes, you know exactly what kind of story he is.

        You wait for Halloween the way kids wait for their Christmas gifts, and you’d happily buy yourself an Advent calendar counting down the days of October instead of December, but you don’t think anyone has ever come up with an idea to produce one. You always think what you’re going to dress up as in advance; it takes days to gather the supplies and fabrics, and then even more days (and nights) to sew and glue things together. While the process in itself is a joy, the costume party is the crowning moment, and this you enjoy the most.

          Some people can’t spend so much time or money on their costumes, or they simply don’t care as much as you, and it’s perfectly fine. A bandage mummy and a sheet ghost are not a repelling view – you enjoy the last-moment costumes and giggle at these conveying a pun.

        But the ones without a costume? They don’t attend these parties to have some fun, no, they’re here to announce how much they despise dressing-up, you, and the notion of having fun altogether. Excuse me, sir, but is this too much fun for you? Should we turn the music down? Or maybe, take our stupid costumes and get out?

        You shift from foot to foot. Who would have thought your mouth would turn into the Sahara after a song or two of dancing (and violent singing along)? And this guy! He isn't even pouring himself the damn punch!

        That's it. You readjust your protruding fang, grab a hold of your cloak, and march in the direction of the notorious punch-stirrer with a sense of dignity, head held up high.

        The tactic is to intimidate him with your sheer presence, so without a word, you stand next to him and wait. You have to give him that – even if nothing says “to hell with Halloween” more than a basic black and white raglan t-shirt, the atmosphere around him is saturated with gloom. You’re almost grateful he’s ignoring you and hasn't even looked up from the damn bowl. If his stiff posture and silent determination in stirring can be any determiners, his glare must kill on the spot.

        And so he looks up. "What?"

        You gasp.

        You were right about intensity of his stare. But boy, are his eyes a spooky surprise! One gold and one mint eye narrow at you. The only thing today you expected less than this was the guy who suddenly detached his hand and threw it across the room, scoring well-deserved three points and a little round of applause when it slapped the host across his beautiful face.

        Oh, and also:

        "You look just like this dude running around in a dress! The one with wings and a halo."

        He closes his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

        "Take what you need and go away."

        You do a once- over at the table. Melting ghost-cupcakes, cookies with yellow pumpkins made of watery icing, and... you actually don't know what cups of dirt are supposed to resemble, or if they're edible at all. Really makes you wonder how much Zen splurged on catering this year.

        "Yeah, but no, just wanted something to drink. Are you done with this?" you ask, pointing at the punch. He hasn't let go of the ladle for a single moment.

        "No," he answers with a scowl. "Still haven't found it."

        "Found what?"

        "My other lens."

        Suddenly you're not thirsty anymore. How do you lose a contact lens in a bowl of punch is a mystery you don't venture to solve.

        "Are you going to put it back in your eye when you find it?"

        He actually dumps the ladle and throws you the most incredulous look you've ever been gifted. He has quite a repertoire of glares, you must say.

        "No."

        "Then, why not forget about it and enjoy the party? But first, maybe flush the whole thing down the toilet, 'cause if someone chokes himself to death, I'll be the first one to point at you to the cops."

        "At least if someone chokes, we’ll have one convincing ghost in here," he says half-smiling, which suits him in a devilish kind of way. And he’s kinda right – the ghost girls in short skirts may be cute, but they have small chances to scare anyone present.

        You're about to make a brilliant remark when he grabs the massive vessel and walks off.

        "Come on, you'll open the door for me," he throws without turning his head, and you find yourself scurrying behind him before you have the time to question it.

The trip isn't long which isn't surprising considering the size of the apartment. The problem is that there are more people squeezed on one square metre than it should be physically possible, and still more and more guests pours in and, naturally, at least half of the gathering is partying in the line to the bathroom. There's Aladdin and his Carpet (she's not having a good time, you can tell), a promiscuous cat, three colourful feathery beings, and yes, you have found Wally, and guessing by the colour of his face, he really needs to go in asap.

        "Kitchen?"

        "Kitchen."

When the punch is finally gone in the kitchen sink, or more precisely, spluttered all over the mountains of the dirty dishes (still no signs of the lens to be seen), you start shifting uncomfortably. It must be a Halloween miracle (or rather a trick of fate) because there’s no one in the kitchen save for you and the guy without a costume.

        Only the muted echoes of music reach in here, so when you clear your throat, the sound is deafening. “I think I should go now.”

        “Why so fast? Is anyone waiting for you?” he asks. He's leaning on the counter, the tap behind his back letting out droplets like a metronome. One silence, two silences, three silences...

        In the pale light of the full moon, seeping through the window on the side, the shadows on his face become more pronounced and sinister. Even though he's not wearing a terrifying disguise, or any disguise at all, he gets a shiver out of you.

        “I came here with a friend.”

        “But?” he initiates, raising an eyebrow. Maybe he noticed how you were dancing alone on the makeshift dance floor.

        “But the last time I saw her, she was getting handsy with a werewolf in the parking lot.”

        He hums thoughtfully. “She shouldn't have left you alone.”

        It may be an attempt at consolation, but the way he says it earns another shiver from you. Was his voice low like this earlier?

        You step back to lean on the fridge and fold your arms, trying to mirror his casualness.“What are you doing here, anyway? You don't strike me as a costume-party animal.”

        “Wasn't really my choice. I had to come because I'm in the same organisation as our Zen.”

        The only organisation that comes to your mind is the RFA, but again, he doesn't look like a guy doing charity work. Not that you have time to mull it over with him lazily leaving his spot and coming in your direction.

        Suddenly you understand the infamous toil of breathing in a corset.

        “And you? A musical actor, perhaps?” he asks, jumping on a counter next to the fridge. You don't like how his new spot allows him to look down at you.

        For a terrible second you think the hand he's reaching out will be placed somewhere on you, and you freeze in both panic and anticipation. You only allow yourself to breath out when it lands above your head and starts playing with magnets.

        It’s hard to tell if he's playing with you or being clueless.

        What was the question again?

        “Haha, no. The werewolves-favouring girl is. I'm just the unnecessary plus one.”

        He takes his hand away from the fridge, visibly pleased with the rearranged magnetic letters. You twist your neck to see better, and surely enough, they spell some nasty words. How old is he?

        A warm breath tingles your exposed skin where the high collar has slid down a little, the stranger still hovering above your head. You will yourself to face him again, but then, oh Lord, his playful smirk can't mean anything good.

        This time his hand aims for you, you can tell by how his funny eyes never leave your face. He's not hurrying anywhere, and you can't stand the anticipation; it's hard to stand still as he closes the distance between you even more, ever so slowly.

        Against your better judgement, you pucker up your lips, but his hand doesn't cup your face like you hoped it would. Instead, he gets the hold of your chin with his thumb, and the next thing you know, the soft pad of his index finger traces the outline of your lips. He brushes your cupid's bow with a feathery-like delicacy, grazes your bottom lip, and pushes it slightly down. You open your mouth just a little, paying no heed to the gasp escaping it in the process, and only then you realise that the poking out fang has been painfully biting on your lip the whole time.

        “I wouldn't say–”

        “Saeran!” Someone turns all the lights on. “Stop hiding out like that, my costume is incomplete without you!”

        You jump away from said Saeran, adjust the collar of your cloak in the name of decency, and wholeheartedly hope that your pale make-up manages to cover the blush underneath.

        Saeran's clone creeps in the threshold, clutching a hem of his white gown with an unexpected skill and grace.

        “Oh! Am I interrupting something?” he asks innocently, but comes a couple steps closer to the two of you.

        “Yes, yes, you are!” Saeran growls, straightening. You can't help but share his annoyance. What it was exactly and where it was going – you don't know – and now, you may never get the chance to find out.

        “Sorry~” Saeran's clone wears a mischievous grin which doesn't quite match the halo on his head. “At least put on these,” he says, throwing something in your general direction. Only when Saeran catches it, you can take a better look. It's a head-band with devil's horns attached to it.

        So he has a costume, after all. Not the most elaborate, but still better than nothing. He doesn’t look too keen to wear it, though.

        "No horns, no party!” the one in a dress yells enthusiastically.

        "I’ll choose ‘no party,’ then."

        "Not an option! Sorry, I’m not the one making the rules. So, suit up and come – let's get this party started with some conga line, whaddya say?” he's about to leave when he turns around once more, “The vampire princess is also invited~”

        And with the last wiggle of his eyebrows, the dress-clad guy is gone.

        You snatch the horns from Saeran's hands – it's the cheap-plastic kind of deal you can get at any festival. And surely enough, you find the switch. The glowing red horns land on his head, sticking out almost seamlessly from his dishevelled red locks.

        “And now you too?” He tries to throw it off, but you stop him.

        “Oh, c’mon! Make my millennium.” You step back a little to give him an assessing look. “Suits you.”

        Saeran shakes his head in a feigned disbelief, “There’s a special spot in hell for sinners like you.”

        “I’d love to find out what you’d do to me if I got there, but I’m afraid I’m immortal.” You say in, what you hope is, a seductive whisper.

        From this angle, the red lights glimmer in his eyes like a warning.

        “We'll have to make do with the time we have tonight,” he says.

        It must have been flirting done right because he grabs you by your waist, bringing you closer to him.

        “Wanna get out of here, princess?” he murmurs to your ear, the timbre of his husky voice shattering your facade of composure.

        You only manage to hum in response, but it’s enough, and soon you find yourself lead out the kitchen and through the crowd of sweaty bodies, his hand never letting go of yours. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you’re looking around afraid that Saeran’s brother will appear in front of you to ruin the fun.

        It’s been a while since you’ve done something spontaneous, and somehow Saeran seems to be a perfect person to be irresponsible with. God, you needed this. You run and giggle at how stupid it is that you’re dressed up as a vampire and yet feel so alive.

        When you finally reach the door, you still keep an eye on the surroundings, making sure you’re out of radar range while Saeran is skimming trough the overflowing hallstand. You came here wearing only your cloak, but something tells you, you won’t be cold tonight. He finally pulls out his leather jacket from underneath the tons of other clothes, but he’s not done there until he fishes out car keys from some other jacket’s pocket.

        “It’s not yours, is it?” you ask, but he only smiles in a truly devilish way and goes out.

        Yes, definitely, he’s not the bore you took him for. The party hasn’t even started yet.

        You only catch him up at the end of the staircase leading out of this weird underground apartment. He pushes the door open, ready to go into the night, knowing that you’ll follow, but you tag at his arm stalling him in place.

        “No, wait!”

        He turns to you with an adorably puzzled look, and you do the only logical thing. His jacket isn’t zipped up, it barely hangs on him, and it’s almost too easy to stand up on your toes and aim where every vampire would. The contact ends in a blink, but leaves you gasping for breath.

        Your dark lipstick leaves a mark on his pale neck. He looks pleased, but still very much puzzled, and the recognition lights up in his eyes only when you jingle the keys in his face.

        “I’m driving.”

~~

On that day, Yoosung promised himself that under no circumstances will he ever take care of party snacks again.

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Gormless Ch. 4 - Dab on them Pineapples

A well-meaning friend gave me a book series that is hilariously bad. The first book was Souless and my riffs were entitled brainless. This second book is entitled Changless and these riff are then gormless.

I mean to say I have entitled them gormless! Not that my riffs are dumb, and the effort I spend on them stupid since I’m the only one who enjoys them. HAHA!

The story is SUPPOSED TO be about how a badass lady wearing a rad-looking carriage dress hits baddies with her umbrella and bangs her hot werewolf husband.  In reality it’s mostly poor attempts at being witty, flirty, and superior.

For the last book check out the brainless tag.

If you want the TL;DR version but want to read these new riffs anyway?

This story is set in supernatural Victorian steampunk England.  Alexia is our NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS protag.  She is a soulless, which means she’s able to negate the abilities of vampires and werewolves by touching them. She’s recently married a big oaf, named Lord Connel Maccon.  He’s the manchild in charge of the supernatural police with a zillion dollars and he’s totes super hot too ok.  Their relationship is mostly arguments about how Maccon can’t tell her fucking anything.  Alexia has also recently become head of ~Soulless affairs~ in Queen Victoria’s government.  She has a dumb friend named Ivy, a gay vampire friend named Akeldama, a family who’s evil because they do the same shit as her but while being blonde, and most importantly Alexia is better than everyone cause…cause.

Last time on Gormless:

There’s some mysterious force that’s turning the Vampires and werewolves into humans. Alexia is in charge of figuring out that deal, and she is doing a bad job at it.  Her husband is in charge of the Supernatrual Police (BUR) so he’s going to Scotland about it.

There’s a dude named Channing who wants to punch and have sex with Alexia, and Ivy is getting married to some rich slub, even though she’s in wub with Maccon’s servant Tunstell.

Alexia’s hubby told her to go to a hat store for mysterious plot reasons, she brings her dopey friend Ivy.  The hat store is run by a hot lesbian and as they’re chatting BOOM an explosion! GOLLY WHAT’S NEXT!?

Chapter 4 - Dab on them Pineapples

This chapter starts off totally under described.  Basically the explosion shook the hats on their nice dangling hooks, and turned out the lights.  They don’t even describe it as unbalancing Alexia.  So the whole next bit makes so little sense.  She first reacts by feeling around for Ivy.  She finds Ivy has fainted…cause okay? Ivy is whispering about Tunstell though so she’s like, “YEAH MY FRIEND UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR AFTER AN EXPLOSION IS FINE! BYE LOSER!”

She immediately starts scurrying around for that secret passage she thought she saw earlier. Finds it, goes in, and down an elevator. I just…I was so flummoxed that this was her first response?  All it would take for this to make more sense is to write, “It sounded as if the explosion happened below them, and Alexia would bet you 100 pounds that this secret passage would lead her straight to it. And what if someone was hurt down there?”

It seemed so bizarre for her to go, “EXPLOSION? I’M GOING TO MAKE A BEELINE FOR THE SECRET PASSAGE! MY FRIEND OUT COLD? WHATEVER!”

When she gets down there she finds a messy workshop, where a small explosion clearly took place.  She finds LeFoux yelling at a child and there’s a ghost lady just chilling there.  The gist of the conversation is that the child threw a rag soaked in ETHER into a huge furnace which caused the explosion.  The boy is just like, “lol it went bang.”  And Alexia thinks that’s hilarious and reintroduces herself. LeFoux has to remark that WOW ISN’T LADY MACCON SMART FOR FINDING OUT THE SECRET PASSAGEWAY? GOSH I KNOW I CONFIRMED IT TO HER MINUTES AGO! BUT SHE’S SO SMART!  The ghost is LeFoux’s aunt Beatrice, and the boy is introduced as LeFoux’s son Quesnel even though the two do not look related.

I also find it odd that LeFoux, the owner of this establishment, with a shop full of customers, just slips into the passage and doesn’t give a token, “DO NOT PANIC CUSTOMERS I’M GOING TO FIGURE OUT THE ISSUE, PLEASE STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

Alexia praises the child for the explosion.  I can’t help but feel a bit exasperated by the book’s tone for this.  This child could have not only killed himself on a flight of fancy but perhaps a block worth of buildings full of humans in a crowded city, and the story treats it like he stole a pudding out of the fridge he wasn’t supposed to have.  But I mean, my job is to worry for the well-being of children and I have a habit of overthinking this shit so take that paragraph with as much or as little care as you see fit.

LeFoux punishes Quesnel and tells her aunt to take him away so she can have sexual tension with Alexia.  Alexia, you do not deserve the sexual attention of anybody except your dipshit husband. Leave the MacDougalls and LeFouxs for the more-deserving slutty, bisexual hate-readers okay.

Faps you realize you will never be able to have sex with a fictional character right?

Faps why would you want to bang a fictional character in a story you don’t even like?

I HAVE TO FIND SOMETHING TO ENJOY HERE OKAY!?

During some mild flirtation where Alexia first realizes women are hot, LeFoux explains that Maccon commissioned a gift that is ready for her.

It’s a huge ugly umbrella that takes a page to describe just its physical appearance, which was hard to follow.  My favorite detail is,

“The handle looked like something that might top an ancient Egyptian column, carved with lotus flowers---or a very enthusiastic pineapple.”

I don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean but with that line I have decided that the handle of her umbrella looks like this:

(Picture of a pineapple dabbing, while wearing bright red shoes.)

And you cannot convince me otherwise.

We spend a few more pages explaining what her James Bond styled umbrella can do. Which includes:

Shoots poison darts.

Can switch between a silver and wooden tip depending on if you’re stabbing vampires or werewolves.

Can emit a magnetic field which can disrupt steam engines temporarily.

Can spray different kinds of toxic mists which can kill humans, and severely injure werewolves and vampires.  

Okay sure, she gets a proper weapon with a lot of weird uses. Sure good!

So now it’s time for me to complain about some writing choices!

Much to my annoyance, every time LeFoux smiles at all (which is a fucking lot) instead of using multiple verbs and descriptors such as, “She smiles, grins, smirks, beams, looks amused/smug/delighted/etc.” She says LeFoux ~dimples~ 100% of the time. And I’m like nobody verbs dimples that way you fucking weirdo who writes like they’re 12.

There’s also this really clumsy pointless exchange where it’s revealed that LeFoux has made special equipment for Prof. Lyall, and she remarks that he’s a curious man. Alexia says he’s not a man at all (cause he’s a werewolf) and LeFoux remarks, “I, too, am not a man. I simply enjoy dressing like one.”

….This is like super clumsy and not how humans talk at all. And there’s no reason why you need to bring that up AGAIN at all? We can tell she enjoys masculine dress because…she’s described as dressing masculine. Like….why? 

Like I know this isn’t meant to be a complex novel, but like I feel condescended to how often unimportant shit needs to be brought up again and again. UGH!

So they head back upstairs, Tunstell shows up so he and Ivy can stare longingly at each other, and OH YEAH tell Alexia Lyall wants to speak with her.

You gotta do more for me to ship Tunstell/Ivy then like show them cozy with one another and shouting in my ear about how they pine for one another.  Like maybe some dialog besides, “How are you?” “Oh I’m fine”?

So Alexia goes to see Lyall. She struts in swinging her new umbrella like HEY! HEY! ASK ABOUT MY NEW TOY!  Lyall does not.  Lyall has his issues don’t get me wrong.  But I find it so refreshing that he refuses to feed Maccon and Alexia’s shitty little egos.

Lyall says the humanization phenomenon has been ~spotted~ again and it’s moving toward Scotland, a bit ahead of Maccon, who is also heading that way.  Maccon doesn’t know he’ll be meeting the mysterious soul-sucking power soon, which could be a problem since he’s only useful in the sense that he has powers.

Alexia takes note of this, and decides she wants to have Lord Akeldama and LeFoux meet cause that would be cool I guess.  That’s where we leave off.  I’m not sure if the two are going to get along immediately upon meeting or hate each other’s guts. I hope they hate the other’s guts cause I think that would be more entertaining.

Say something nice Faps:

These chapters don’t always end and start on similar notes. So it doesn’t feel repetitive.

Lyall, while not totally free from this writing’s bullshit, helps ground this material by being a voice of sanity. A lot of authors can get caught up in HOW FUCKING COOL THEIR PERFECT FUN CHARACTERS ARE and it’s just kinda refreshing that this author has enough self-awareness to realize how exhausting and irritating their antics/personalities can sometimes be. Or in the very least enough awareness of writing to know when to slow it done and take a breather.

 LeFoux is hot.

Since I have identified her new murder parasol as having a dabbing pineapple handle, all mentions of it conjure hilarious mental images for me.  She was described as cradling it like a baby, and swinging it wildly in order for it to fail to catch Lyall’s attention.

 I also kinda like how despite getting a badass weapon crafted for her, it’s hideous.  Like perhaps it’s for the humor sake, but I appreciate we’re not just going to steamroll how cool and great Alexia is. Even though she got this super rad weapon with all these functions without having to earn it. The item does have the downside of being tacky and heavy. You know?

[katsitting]

Broken Teacup

Rating: T

Ships: Tomione

Tags: Alternate Universe - Adopted Siblings, Alternate Universe - No Magic, and Creepy Tom Riddle.

AN: I woke up the other night with this idea, and I hate myself for it. 

This is the unanticipated continuation of Bedtime Stories, a little one-shot I wrote sometime earlier this year. I don’t understand why I am like this. I may be expanding this verse as well, but that won’t be some time. I have to stop lol.

AO3 Link

A breath caught in her lungs, the weight of it burning from her diaphragm up to her esophagus. It was like smoke, the wisp of its tendrils curling in her throat like it was alive. And maybe, it was. Perhaps, in the time that she’d sucked in her breaths, closed her eyes to calm the rapid beating of her heart, something had crawled into her neck.

“Sister? Is something the matter?”

The way he said that title was like winter’s cold breath on her face, light and all-encompassing. Unsettling and refreshing at the same time.  

A fifteen-year-old Hermione tried not to shudder, eyes opening to cast, what she hoped, was an even look at her brother.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, where her father typically sat in the mornings. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do it, for him to claim that spot when her parents were away at work. Sometimes, it made her brain itch to see him there, but in other moments, with her eyes still crusted with sleep, she didn’t find anything amiss about it at all.

“O-oh, no. Not at all, I was just coming in to grab something from the kitchen.”

Tom looked at her, eyes appraising. It was like a physical touch, that look. Almost as though the weight of his eyes were fingers and hands, the touch of them enough to strip her bare, to unmake her with just a passing glance.

He was too beautiful, too wrong. He had no business sitting there, in her father’s chair, a steaming cup on his left with a book splayed open in front of him. He shouldn’t have been there this morning, shouldn’t look that good with his dark eyes, wavy hair, and flawless skin.

Swallowing, Hermione passed the threshold where the living room became their kitchen, tearing her gaze away from Tom’s heavy stare and fixing it instead on the fridge scant inches from the table.

Silence enveloped her as she moved, her steps on the tiled floor enough to make her heart stutter in her chest, her hackles raise, because Tom was still looking at her. He always did, as if he couldn’t do anything but look at her. His eyes drawn to her like magnets, keyed only to her specific presence.

Hermione hated when he did that, always had. It always made her breath hitch, her skin crawl with something she didn’t want to give a name to. Like she didn’t fit in her skin, her mind bound to flesh and bone and muscle that crushed her into their tiny confines.

Hermione tried not to think of it as she reached the cupboard, rummaging for her favorite cup.

The weight of Tom’s stare never left her back, even as a flush spread from her neck and up to her cheeks, visible even when she tried to fight the heat twisting over her cheeks.

It was unbearable, those eyes. The silence, no better, when now her breaths were the only thing breaking the quiet that had settled into her bones, slipping in between the gaps of her ribcage.

“Sister.”

Hermione froze, the sound of his voice, smooth as silk, enough to make even her breaths still. Her hands shook, mid-air, poised by the cup she was about to reach for on the topmost shelf.

“It’s too high up. Would you like some help?”

Hermione bit her tongue hard enough to bleed, adrenaline and something else rushing up and down her spine at the thought of him assisting her at all. That meant that he would have to get close to her, that he would have to touch her, somehow, when he passed the cup over to her hands.

She didn’t want that, even if a voice, too sultry and soft to be hers, said the opposite, murmuring that she’d very much want his help.

“That’s not necessary! It’s quite alright, Tom,” she said, unable to bear to say the word ‘brother.’ Because this feeling in the pit of her stomach, twisting and writhing like something alive, was not something she should feel for her brother. It wasn’t right, it was--

“Nonsense, sister. We both know you can’t reach that shelf.”

At the sound of his chair screeching, the legs of it scratching on the floor, Hermione jumped. She couldn’t help herself, not when the room fell into heavy silence once again.

Tom’s footsteps silent, always so silent even when he was taller now, older. One would think that after years of living with him, she’d be attuned to his very presence.

But she wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Tom was like a ghost, a preternatural creature that was unreal, even while standing in the very same room.

A shadow fell over her on the shelf, then, and Hermione swallowed hard. His body pressed along her back, his hand emerging from around the wild curls hanging loosely on her head to reach for the cup her fingers were too short to even graze.

He enveloped the cup in his hand, large and white and spidery, and plucked it from the shelf. Hermione’s throat went dry when he lowered it, pressing it against her fingers. If he noticed them trembling, he didn’t comment on it, his other hand emerging from the other side of her hand to coax her fingers into taking it.

His touch was like lightning on her skin, and Hermione shuddered, trembling even as her mind screamed for her to move, to snatch the cup away from his hand and cut the contact. 

“There you are,” Tom murmured, lips so close to her ear that the warmth of his breath curled over the shell. Hermione could scarcely breathe.

And then, just as his presence had come, he was gone.

The heat of his hands, the weight of his lips on her ear, vanished. Cold air replaced his touch, and Hermione let out the breath lodged in her esophagus, hoping that it didn’t sound as loud as it did through the rush of blood in her ears.

It’s over. It’s over.

Hermione squeezed the cup in her hand, tight enough that her knuckles were white, that they ached, and then, with her mind urging her to calm, she said:

“Thank you.”

It was a weak sound, more a hiss, but Hermione knew Tom had heard it.

He heard everything.

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

50 Ways to Stress_ Part 2

This takes place after Book 2: The Lion and His Lamb though you don’t necessarily have to read that story to understand this on. Though there are references to things that have happened previously in this series.

Summary: One of Shuri experiments goes horribly wrong and chaos ensues. And Prince N’Jadaka is right in the center of it….

As usual you can see all the parts listed for this series, along with other fanfics in my Black Panther Masterlist.  

Disclaimer:  Nothing really, Erik will be Erik so use of the N-word. And I wouldn’t read this at work, as I find it funny and you probably don’t want to burst into laughter and have everyone looking at you like you done lost it. lol

Already established Erik/Reader with T’Challa/Nakia

Part 2

How you’d managed to get all the little Erik’s into the ship was beyond you and you still were nervous that one got might have gotten left behind somewhere but you were sure you’d be alerted to if he was. The noise was near deafening as the Eriks clowned around.

The two Dora Milaje that were accompanying you back all but bugged you on when you were going to alert the King. In all honestly, you were stalling calling T’Challa trying to get yourself together and figure out what to tell him.

“My King, there is a gaggle of five year versions of your cousin. How many? About 50 but I haven’t done a proper count yet.” You wanted to laugh and groan at the same time.

However you couldn’t stall any longer. You managed to step into a semi-quiet spot that wasn’t overrunned by your husbands. You knew that T’Challa was currently in a council meeting. You hesitated to disturb him but you knew that having Erik stream into the Palace now without warning was worse. This was an emergency!

You turned on your kimoyo beads ringing to T’Challa. You were still mildly surprised he picked up. You weren’t sure if he’d have them on or not.  

“Princess Y/N…..”  he greeted.

You dipped your head once in greeting, “My King, we will arriving at the Golden City in five minutes. We need you to meet us on the deck, both you and the Queen. And perhaps Queen Mother as well.”

T’Challa tilted his head at your vague comment. He wasn’t even aware that you weren’t in the city.

You added, “It’s a emergency.”

“Is that cuz?” One of the Erik’s busted out.

T’Challa frowned, “What was that?’ He paused a moment. Why did the voice sound weird yet familiar?

“The emergency. I wouldn’t be calling if it was anything less than….”  Your voice had taken a desperate tint to it.  There was no way, no how you could or would explain this over the kimoyo beads. Plus you were sure the Elders were listening and you did not want to have to break the news to everyone like this.

The King must have sensed your desperation and nodded, “Very well. We will be there.”

The door to the launch pad opened and T’Challa and Nakia had to do a double take. It wasn’t the fact that Erik had exited the ship so much as he poured out of the ship one after another after another after…..

“What the…..”, his wife murmured.

He noticed you towards the back trying to keep up with all the Erik’s, your eyes darting around trying to monitor them all. How many were there? T’Challa swept his eyes across the crowd.

“What is wrong? You mentioned an emerg..ency?” Queen Mother stepped out into the air with two Dora Miljae behind her and stopped suddenly blinking at the sight.

“Hey Auntie!!” All the Erik’s chorused with a smirk in a high pitched nasally voice. 

T’Challa had to look down at Erik. He was still gaping at his 5 year old cousin.

He gazed down at his cousin so long, that Erik finally snapped, “Yo, I’d shut your mouth if I were you. Don’t make me come up there!”

T’Challa mouth locked shut like a magnet. Finally, he managed to look up at you.  

“What happened?” Ramonda asked.

“Your poor excuse for a sister!” came a cry from the crowd. The others flared up in agreement.

“That’s not fair and you know it”, you admonish.

“Really...it’s a magnet, baby girl. How the heck does a magnet do this to a brotha?” came a question.

You glanced at T’Challa to see his right eye twitching.

“My King from my understanding…..” you started hoping to explain the situation.

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Y/N.” T’Challa voice was light but there was no mistaking the edge to it.

“My King?” You questioned.

“I’m hungry!!”

You turned in the general direction of the voice, “You just ate! They are practically going to have to restock the lab kitchen! You cannot possibly be hungry!”

“Well I am!” came another Erik as one by one they started rubbing their stomachs.

The other Erik’s began to nod and agree.

“Let’s raid the fridge boys!” came a rousing cry.

“Wait a minute!” You cried but it was to no avail as it became an stampede and they all rushed into the palace. They darted around T’Challa Nakia, Queen Mother and the Dora Miljae’s.

Finally the four of you were left and silence stretched a long while. T’Challa had his eyes tightly closed. “I’m going to kill that girl.” he finally said.

“It was an accident. Shuri will figure it out.” You tried to reason.

“She blatantly disobeyed my orders when I told her this experiment was off limits!” T’Challa growled spinning around and marching back inside.  

“I’m sorry?” You looked between his mother and wife. Ramonda gave a sigh before shaking her head once.

“It’s one of the only experiments that Shuri was banned from doing.It’s complicated but it’s too dangerous as it messes with physics. Add that to the human body and…..well I’m not surprised this happened.” Nakia finished gesturing to the door where your husbands had run into.

 That reminded you of the stampede...... 

“Oh shoot! Explain it to me later! I gotta go make sure N’Jadaka doesn’t tear anything up!” You cried before rushing into the Palace. 

As you got closer an exploding sound rang making you speed up.

You glided to a stop where the Dora Milajae crowding around the door seemed to be in a confusion as they took in the sight.

“Excuse me!” You called out and they let you through.

“You blew up the kitchen!” You cried looking around the expanse kitchen. Food was on the wall and ceiling. Utilities everywhere as well as drawer sitting on the floor. 

“It’s his fault!” Came a chorus each Erik pointing at another.

“I told you if you wanted something to wait on me.” You sighed.

“You were taking too long!” an Erik snapped.

“I know how to use a microwave!” another said followed by another who said, “I thought you were just talking about the lab kitchen.”

You breathed, “No….I meant any kitchen…..” you waved your hand, “....Never mind, next time when you want something let me know.”

“I’m a grown man!”

You side-eyed the Erik that said that who only twitched once.

“I wanna try that again?” You asked your mouth twitching once.

Erik growled.

“Alright, clearly there is going to have to be some ground rules until Shuri manages to fix this.” You stated.

“Princess….what is going on? Is there danger?” One Dora asked eyeing an Erik that walked up and kicked her spear.

You gave a long sigh, “No, not really. It’s complicated. I’m sure the King will give an announcement or something. Long of the short is, Princess Shuri did something and a magnet and now this….” You gestured helplessly before walking into the kitchen to feed your husbands.

Again.

You were assigned a huge room to help watch your husbands in. There were two Dora’s inside the room and there were extra Dora’s posted outside as well. You were in the bathroom having finished watching your hands before you ranged Shuri.

“Hey, my beautiful cousin in law more like a big sister! How you doing?” came the overly cheery voice.

“Shuri…..you didn’t really lie to me but you kinda did.” You stated calmly.

“Y/N….”

“You knew there was a reason why T’Challa would want to kill you because he forbad you do this experiment and now look at my huband...ssss.” You hissed.

“I’m sorry, Y/N! The original purpose was to be able to duplicate my brother.”

“What?”

Shuri took on that excited tone, “If it works I would upgrade his suit and if he was fighting more than one foe then it would be able to duplicate him and he’d be able to take all the bad guys at once. Or when we need to chase several people at the same time, it would be used for that. However it is still unstable and I can’t control how many duplicates it will make or apparently what size he will be....” her voice trailed off here.

You breathed once. Somewhere in you it sounded like a cool idea but you weren’t interested in what-ifs, you were intereted in what-is and what is….is that you had a plethora of five year olds N’Jadaka’s running around. Day one was drawing to a close and already you were tired.

“Shuri…..you used the fact that I’m slow on the uptake when it comes to technology of your level to cover your behind.” you stated.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Look, I’ll ream you some other time. Right now, I need you to fix this. Understand, T’Challa and N’Jadaka will be the least of your worries if you make me put up with this any longer than I have to.”

You swore you heard Shuri gulp, “Understood, big Sister.”

“Hmm.”

Shuri gave a hug grin hoping that it will make you grin.

You only rolled your eyes, “Get back to work, genius.”

“Aye-aye, captain!”