#Dumb Ideas with the Writer Anon

[alilbatflies]

I DO TAKE REQUESTS.

Be aware that if you reblog a bunch of my posts before you request your thing, you will be recognised and your request will possibly definitely gain priority in my scattered little brain. That means your chances of successfully reading whatever you requested get higher.

Also, be polite. I'm easily spooked.

[writeranon69]

If you were given complete creative control over a Charlie Brown reboot, what would you change or keep?

Keep everything the same, personalities and otherwise, good and entertaining stories for all ages, Snoopy Skits here and there, all of that

Change ONE thing though

I want an arc where someone in the Peanuts gang realizes that Charlie Brown isn't so bad and they start to be nicer to him and visit him more

tbh, I feel like I could have Marcie (and technically by extension, Peppermint Patty) could fit this role because CHARLIE X MARCIE IS CUTE OKA--

[bbystark]

hi beautiful and wonderful writer, I requested the part 2 of Simon being a bad stalker and I need moreee

It is so gooodddd

♡ badstalker!simon extras ♡

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: just more of what simon would do to make your life easier while he was simultaneously being a lil freak stalker. mdni

a/n: thank you sm for requesting pt 2 and more anon ily!!! i bet you guys thought i up and left again, surprise, i am no longer depressed and am manic and full of inspo. enjoy xoxoxo

simon was constantly around, lurking in shadows. and when he couldn't be near you physically, he was watching you through the cameras, stalking socials, you name it

he didn't really want to admit it to himself, but he felt guilty when he was deployed or was otherwise taken away from you.

that's really where the (strange) acts of service started, he was trying to ease his guilt of not being there to protect you by doubling down with his affections when he could

it started with things you would never know about, trailing you home to make sure you got back safely, watching your house as often as he could to make sure no one broke in, one time cleaning up after your cat broke a glass while you were gone. "bad cat arn't ya" he had mumbled, "gonna giv your mum a heart attack one of these days when I ain't around."

then he was leaving you umbrellas when he had watched you forget one in the morning as you left for work. linking prepaid cards to some of your random bills, smiling to himself as he watched you discover you "magically" had a few extra dollars left over at the end of the month and bought yourself something special.

hated seeing you sad, thought you deserved nothing but pure happiness 24/7. called and complained to corporate about a fellow employee you were having issues with, making up some lie to get them in trouble all to prevent you from dealing with the stress of workplace drama

he can think of dozens upon dozens of times he silently showed his devotion to you. it always left him with a whole feeling, like he was finally doing something right.

he didn't realize it, but being silent and distant stopped being enough for him when he was sitting in his bunk one night, drowning out soap's god-awful snores with your voice drifting through his cheap earbuds.

you were on call with a friend, and simon couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips when you giggled at something dumb your friend had said.

"i'm serious! this has to be my year or something, i'm having the best luck ever and i have no idea why."

he went a little rigid at that, feeling the overwhelming need for you to know it was him making your life so good, not some mysterious force of the universe.

it got worse after that

he'd watch you sleep, adjusting you when your neck was in an uncomfortable position, (bad time to be a heavy sleeper), shooing your cat away from bothering you, re-cover you when you'd seek out the blankets you had kicked off 10 seconds prior.

started hanging out in your house a lot, desperate to be as close as you as possible. military training would kick in as he would silently organize forgotten corners of your house, cleaning spaces you wouldn't have bothered with because you never see them

even replaces the batteries in the smoke alarm when he realizes there were none, knowing you had probably taken them out to make it stop chirping and forgotten to replace them. hides a carbon dioxide alarm too, just in case

he was feeling particularly desperate one day and took a shower, lathering himself in your scented body wash while working his fist up and down his swollen cock, imagining you were with him. you were mortified when you return home to see drops of water still dripping from the walls of your shower.

he flies too close to the sun, getting sloppy. you're suddenly more on edge, casting more glances over your shoulder. he stops making as many visits to your house when you start seeing a therapist.

that doesn't stop him from reaching out in other ways though, leaving notes, calling you, sending texts and random gifts.

this time his advances scare you a little less, and intrigue you more than they should.

he almost wishes he had been more careful. almost. he can't deny the thrill that goes through him at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he isn't deluded, and this could actually work.

he'd just have to wait and see.

besides, he wasn't exactly confident in his ability to leave you alone whether you wanted him to or not. and that is something he could promise.

[megistusdiary]

*clears my throat, takes a drink of water, and opens a scroll*

ahem.

hear ye, hear ye, it tis i, 👑 anon, here to formally request another delectable helping of thine vampire arlecchino works? i do in fact realize that it tis not the tenth month, but why let that deter us? your vampire works are simply magnificent, dear fellow!

i hath been conjuring up an idea in my cranium and it has been floating around inside there for quite some time, you see.

*drops scroll*

anyways, lemme cut to the chase here- the idea is this: werewolf reader x vampire arlecchino where they're both switches and they kinda have to fight for dominance for a bit before arle eventually overpowers the reader 👀 the rest is completely up to you, im down to read anything that you write 🙏

before i end this off i just wanna say rq that i love your works and as a writer i look up to you a lot even though ive been writing for quite some time. ty and have a nice day/evening/night 💕

the way this made me kick my feet and giggle... omg

i am so glad you enjoy vampire!arle, she's one of my favorites!!! i'd be happy to write some more for her

(also, that means so much to me, and i want you to know how honored i feel 🙏 and, welcome 👑 anon ♡♡)

(nsfw utc - tw switch!arle, werewolf!reader)

it has been said countless times, and in many forms of literature (even the ones for humans) that vampires and werewolves do not mix.

obviously, arlecchino can't quite get used to your dog smell. and you can't quite get used to how cold her skin feels.

nevertheless, you've found each other to be quite... agreeable as time has passed. you've come to seek her out, enjoying the time spent with her. she's done the same, thinking about you long after you've left for the evening.

things have progressed rather interestingly in your relationship, though. you seek one another out not only as friends, but as partners. you've found solace in her arms at night, just as she has in yours.

some nights seem to have you needing each other even more than others, full moons, in particular.

tonight, you have her on her back, your body hovering over hers. the effects of the moon have some of your more wolfish characteristics popping out. your eyes look strange, teeth growing into sharp points, nails growing out and poking holes into your bedsheets.

her bright red eyes meet your yellow-hued ones, but before she can speak, you wrap a hand around her throat, effectively cutting her off.

her hand grips yours, a silent warning you ignore with a smug smirk before smashing your lips onto hers. it's messy; teeth and tongue clashing as you fight her for dominance. it leaves you panting, spit trailing onto your skin as your tongue slides over hers.

she rolls you over, now sitting on top of you as she lets your tongue stay in her mouth. she gently nips at your lip, hearing your involuntary whimper. your hand slides off her neck from this position, causing her to gain the advantage as she grips your chin and pulls away.

"just what exactly do you think you're doing?" she asks and you groan at her, trying to pull away.

"it's a full moon! obviously, you know how this-"

she cuts you off by gripping your throat with inhuman speed, squeezing just enough to silence you. "i know what? that you're just a dumb, overgrown puppy who needs to be put back in her place? is that it?" her voice is low and dangerous, thumb sliding over your throat.

she glances at your panties, seeing you've soaked right through them and she glares up at you. "what a slut." she chastises you, tugging the fabric down anyways. she admires the slick connecting them to you before she tosses them away.

you gain back control once more, flipping her over and kissing her, your hand sliding down into her own panties, fingers rubbing over her pussy. she grunts, head falling back into the pillows as your fingers slide into her.

she allows you to play your little game just long enough to bring her to the brink of orgasm. then, you find yourself on your back once more, this time with your ass perked up. she spanks you hard, reprimanding you for bratty behavior.

her fingers find your cunt, harshly slapping your clit before sliding two fingers into you, feeling you tighten up so easily around them.

she mumbles into your ear, all sorts of filthy words as she fucks you on her fingers, pussy fluttering around her. the palm of her hand grinds into your clit, and she guides you to your orgasm only to bite into your shoulder.

you practically scream for her, blood dripping down your skin as she sinks her teeth deeper into you. she grunts, licking over the wounds as you come down from your high. "i detest the taste of most wolves, though it evades me how you, of all of them, could taste so... delectable."

she looks down at you as you pant, head lolling to the side as she peels her own panties off. she tugs you to look at her, slowly inching up your body to position her pussy over your mouth. "go on, mutt."

[raccoonspooky]

How different slashers would react to the Babygirlification of themselves on tumblr dot com.

(Slashers included: Patrick Bateman, All 3 Sinclair brothers, Brahms Heelshire, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Freddy Krueger.)

Nsfw! Extremely stupid dumb! This is x reader format!

Patrick Bateman:

He saw an edit of himself in cat ears and he proceeds to PUNCH his windows 98 behemoth of a computer. It hurts his knuckles and it's YOUR fault. You've made an enemy on this day. He proceeds to stalk your account and googles repeatedly on dialup internet, ur blog name and "location". Patrick also attempts logging into your tumblr but he’s maxed out the password guesses. He wants to go to a lan cafe in hopes of using every computer to try and log into your tumblr. Somebody tell him that’s not really a thing anymore. 

Bo Sinclair:

Loves it. Loves every single post talking about how hot he is, he's absolutely jerking off to the posts. Then he sees (1) post about how he's peggable and then he sees another post calling him babygirl and then he's lost his boner and is seethingly, barkingly upset. Like what's WRONG with yall! Who raised you!!

Vincent Sinclair:

He's flattered by the fan art, shy to look at anything that shows his face. Vincent doesn't get the babygirl thing at all. Is he supposed to be offended by it? You're not bullying him, are you? He reads some post about you wanting to suck his soul out of his dick and wanting his body to compact like a capri sun and his hands are genuinely shaking as he closes the website. That's enough internet for the rest of his life.

Lester Sinclair:

Squinty eyed, mouth sorta hanging open, Lester reads some post about how he's "skrunkly" and he definitely gives good head. He kinda rubs his mouth and sniffs, trying to decipher all of this internet lingo. Lester understands about 30% of it but he gets the general idea that you think he's super cute and that just makes him feel like he's walking on sunshine. Talk about an ego boost! Not only would you WANT him to eat you out, but you're writing dirty things on the internet about it? Lester feels like he's a million feet tall and he's been spraypainted gold.

Brahms Heelshire:

Loves!! it!! Post anything about him and that's like a marriage proposal smh. He's a little embarrassed about the sheer amount of thirst, but he's been up for like 48 hours red eyed just reading content and looking at fanart of himself. He sees some post about you wanting to give him a hug or hold his hand or something and he's just feeling REAL lonely. He wants that SO bad. Call him babygirl all you want, if that's your pet name for him, then it's his favorite thing that he's ever heard. You want him, don’t you? You’re not just SAYING he’s babygirl right? You mean it right? Right?

Billy Loomis:

Your inbox is exploding with awful, mean messages. The anon is calling you a slut and a whore and blah blah blah, he's sending long-winded paragraphs about how you should watch what you say online and he's gonna kill you. Why's Billy doing this? Oh because you wrote a fic about eating his ass and how he’d cum in less than a minute untouched and whining. You called him a poor little meow meow and reblogged some vid of a ghost face cosplayer in all pink dancing to an annoying pop song. Billy’s a very eloquent writer when it comes to his lengthy descriptions of how he’s gonna cut you to pieces.

Stu Macher:

Every single post about a generic ghostface, Stu just decides to think that's about him. There's fanart of ghost faces in cat ears, in skirts, in hot pink slutty outfits and he thinks every single one is great. He's obsessed with the fanfare! Stu’s obsessively searching his name, reading all the thirst out loud to anyone who will listen. He read your post about how his dick must be massive and he's tried to DM you a dick pic but tumblr auto-flagged it and now his account is pixelated and marked as nsfw. He also responds to every single ghost face thirst post with a bunch of emojis and it's kinda spammy. U accidentally block him.

Billy Lenz: 

To Billy, the word babygirl is stupid, thinks that all the piggy whores must be incredibly stupid and slutlike to call HIM babygirl. But! He’s very entertained by the fanart, Billy likes all the art that makes him look like a weird little creature. He responds to things here and there, but it's mostly keysmashes and corrupted text. No matter how soft or well-intentioned your posts are, you proceed to get spammy comments from a blank account, things like D̷̫̪͓͚͌̿̔ư̷̬͈̻̠̫͂̈́̒ṁ̴̧̛̭̩̼̌b̴̢̝̘̜̒̈́̏ ̴͎̻̩̓͝w̴̨̮͎̘̘̋̿̎͛̋h̶̪͎̳̗̉̈́̕͜͝o̵̝͔͛̄̏͐̚r̶̢̥̦̺͆̌e̵͔̩̫͂!̶̳̺̖͈̽͒̓̾́  and P̶̡͉͕̳̞͆̎̇̕ḯ̸̡͓̮̬̈̋̍g̴͉̅̎g̶̱̥̀̕y̵̡̝͇͘ ̶̛̖̔̀͂̂s̸̨̈́͂̕l̸̘̈́̈͘͝ǘ̶͚͓͎͆͋̒t̷̥̺͑̾͗!̶̜̹̗̌́ . The text is so corrupted you can’t even tell that he’s insulting you? Thankfully the comments and messages cease in a week or so because Billy drooled so much onto his laptop that the entire thing shorted out.

Bubba Sawyer: 

He’s giggling squealing grunting. Dude sees edits of his face where he’s got pink blush and flowers on his head, he thinks that he looks very pretty!! He’d very much like any of those silly costumes that he’s been drawn wearing. Dress him up, do his makeup! He’ll love it! You made some post about how you think he’s so big and handsome and he’d be so nice to cuddle and his hands are so big compared to yours, Bubba read it over and over and over. Somehow, he accidentally posted a very blurry photo to his blog with a keysmash username and tumblr removed his blog because of gore. This is very distressing for him lol.

Thomas Hewitt: 

After reading approximately (1) post about wanting his juicy fat man tits in your mouth, Thomas is suddenly very aware of the way his body is shaped. He’s been called a big, hulking freak for so long that he never thought at someone would be attracted to the way he looks. Slowly and using his finger to trace the words, he reads a LONG-WINDED thirst post about himself. There's several comments agreeing. Each comment is dirtier than the last. These are words he's never really comprehended before and this is honestly a little overwhelming. Then he reads a post about how you think he’s PRETTY and he’s very babygirl. This out of everything makes his face get hot and he’s done with the internet for now. He’s got a lot to think about.

Freddy Krueger: 

One of your posts was making fun of him for being a dirty old man. You really should’ve kept your mouth shut about that. He’s seen enough on your blog to really put together a grand ol plan on how to really fuck with you in your dreams. The more he stalks your blog, the weirder the posts get. He saw an edit of his glove where instead of blades, it was tipped with long sparkly acrylic nails. You’ve edited his hat to be a pink cowboy hat, you’ve given him hair once? You call him babygirl in every single post and he’s just titteringly excited to see if you’ll SCREAM babygirl when you see him. 

[dipperscavern]

hey!!! i’m mean jon anon (https://www.tumblr.com/dipperscavern/756299449931825152/post-resurrection-jon-snow-fucks-mean-mean-in-a) reporting with new thoughts!!!!

jon snow is an ass man, he just is. i don’t make the rules (… or do i?) if anyone asks him what is his favorite part about you, he will probably say your smile or your eyes or your passionate and strong personality…. even when he drunkenly slurs to you how much he loves that bum…

and it is kinda cute!!! when he stands behind you, his hand on your hip is dangerously close to your ass cheek, but not on it!!! he does absolutely not touch your ass in public, like bitch please he is a gentleman. a quick peck on the lips and a little pat on the ass.

but it’s his own punishment, he is polite and well spoken, he loves you and worships the ground you walk on…. if someone looks at you too much, touches you, flirts with you. he can’t be mean in public, he can’t bark them away from you. he is the king in the north goddamnit, if he wanted, he could have a messy fluid-disgusting make out session with you while grabbing and squeezing your ass and no one would dare to object, but his own morals and ideas of what is proper are digging his own grave.

so he just stares, and clench his fist. a little frown on his face, he is clearly discontent. and will complain later (possessive jon will be extended later….)

SO… he fucks you from behind, one side of your face on the mattress hips in the air. drunk in the view of your ass cheeks bouncing against his hips. clap clap clap fills the room with your whines and he really can’t help himself when his hands grab your cheeks, opening up for him to have the whole view.

pretty pussy drooling on him, little puckered hole winking. so inviting. he pushed his body on you, until his back is on your back, fully weight on you. your mind blurry by his big body and warm against you. his lips leaving kisses on your shoulder, with his left hand still on your globe and the other cupping your jaw, with his thumb making his way into your mouth without much a problem. he lets out a groan when you start sucking, so eager and dirty. with his finger alllllllll wet, he goes back to his initial position (of course, after leaving a quick kiss on your temple). spanks your ass with his left hand, making sure you are still open for him. enjoying your little jump. his right hand with his wet thumb, pressing so gentle against your tight hole.

you let out a gasp, clenching the sheets between your fists. jon you call out, on surprise. a humming noise is your response, his way of telling you he is listening, for you to go on. his thrusts are deep and slow now, making sure it’s not too much for his sweet girl. please you continue. you don’t even know what you are pleading for. faster? stop? more? jon still has his thumb in your hole, still thrusting. he knows what you want. but he’s going to make you say it (so mean :( ) please what, darling? and his thumb slowly entering makes you gasp louder for please, please i need it please- so bad- but he is not letting go so easy oh love, what do you need? want it faster or need this pretty hole fucked by my cock too? oh gods he is dirty mouthed when he gets like this, this side so brutally needy and rough to own all of you (like he doesn’t already own your soul). but even in your ditzy mind state you want to make the beast in him growl. in your whiny fucked-dumb voice you finally said any- please- fuck any of them- i’m yours. by the end of that night, you confirm your theory. jon snow is a gentleman but he fucks you like a mean man. dirty and disgusting. stuffs all of your holes and makes you say over and over again anything he wants.

ps.: i didn’t find anything in your blog that said something against anal, so if you aren’t into it i’m sorry 😭😭😭 ignore that part…

Hey so i actually need you to become a writer right now haha no biggie lol i’m only going a little insane

i’m not even an anal gal like that but… i’d do it. THE ACCURACY IN WHICH U POTRAY HIM HAS ME SHOOK. JON SNOW IS AN ASS MAN. the kiss on your temple his back draped over yours him humming letting u know he’s listening…. i’m so sorry i don’t have much to add you’ve rendered me speechless i’m just leaving this here haha (i need to be cas-evaced by helicopter)

[pupyuj]

I saw someone ask how yunjin initiates sex to another writer and I was like 👀 let me ask Ena this with yuj and any other idol or artists she wants to talk about because by those pics you posted your taste in women is *chef's kiss *

- 🧇

using this ask as a lil warm-up hehe everybody say thank you to 🧇 anon for kickstarting my brain once again!!! AND UR SO RIGHT ANON ISN’T MALOI SO PRETTY HEHEHE—

see, unless yujin is desperate, upset, or anything of the sorts i’m a sucker for the idea of her being quite shy when initiating?? 😭 she’d stare at you with those big puppy eyes, hoping that you’ll understand what she wants right away but then you’d end up thinking that she was just being cute and just give her a cute little kiss on the nose before walking off to do something djfbfkskc and oh my god yujin hates it when she needs you and you’re distracted 😪 would come up behind you, pressed up against you, and she’d start kissing your shoulder… again, you’re thinking that she’s being cute so you’re just smiling dumbly while she’s doing her thing 😭😭 then she’s kissing up your neck… behind your ear… inhaling your scent and it wasn’t until her hands tug down at the waistband of your shorts that you finally understand what she has been asking for this entire time!! 🤭

you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease the one who mostly does the teasing in the relationship… so you’d play dumb! looking at her all confused but with a cheeky smile that you couldn’t hide bcs yujin was just too cute pouting and whining at you 🥺💞💞 “c’mon, (y/n)…” ughdhhdcbjs so adorable ☺️💕 now you can’t exactly resist those big eyes for too long so you’d give yujin what she wants… slowly 😵‍💫😵‍💫

and i am a yujin-grabs-her-gf’s-ass-while-kissing truther so ya’ll are gonna have to deal w my thoughts about that! she’s already such a perv daily 😭 grabbing your ass while you’re kissing her really just gives her a burst of energy and ofc your soft moans while she squeezes adds to it too 😣‼️ once her hands have started roaming under your shirt, she completely has you wrapped around her finger bcs her hands??? magic. 😵‍💫

ehehe and i wanna say that yujin doesn’t rlly care where she fucks you when she’s the one initiating so in this instance… have fun getting bent over the kitchen island! 😍🥰🥰

[askthestans]

Are any of you older than each other like by 7 minutes or something

Stanley: Oh boy, here we go. Anon, I'll give ya one piece of advice when it comes to dealin' with my brother Ford: do not - and I repeat - do NOT remind 'im of anything he's either good at or proud of. Your ears will thank me.

Stanford: I'll translate that for you. He means to say, "I'm the younger twin, and I'm incredibly insecure about it.". There.

Stanley: Pfft, like a few minutes means anything!

All of the sudden, Dipper and Mabel walk into the room, looking quite bored. They see Ford and Stan having an argument and they both get sly smirks.

Mabel: Grunkle fight?

Dipper: Grunkle fight.

Stanley: Kids, that's not gonna work. I'm not gettin' into a fight with Sixer here just for your entertainment. Besides, I'm right: a few minutes doesn't matter. And even if it did, me and Ford are past fighting over petty crap now, because we're mature adults.

Dipper and Mabel give each other a skeptical look.

Stanford: Stan's right, kids. We might have fought in the past, but no longer. Our bond's been strengthened over a year of traveling together on the Stan-O-War II, and nothing - absolutely nothing - can make Stan and I turn against each other.

Soos walks in the room.

Soos: Do my eyes deceive me? Is another Grunkle fight upon us, and will it serve as good canon material to inspire more of my Stanfiction? Not gonna lie, the canon material's been kinda lacking these days. It's almost like the writers have forgotten about us!

Stanley: No! No Grunkle fights! And I thought I told ya to quit writin' Stanfiction or whatever about me or my brother! Stanford: Nonsense. He puts his hand on Soos' shoulder. Soos, I encourage you to follow your dreams. Write all the Stanfiction your heart desires. Stanley: You're only sayin' that 'cause Soos always makes you the hero!

Soos: It's okay, Stan. Ford may be the hero of my Stanfiction... His voice turns into a whisper and he tenderly pets Stan's hand. But you're the hero of my heart.

Stanley: He rips his hand out of Soos'. Yeesh, I take it back! Write about Ford all ya want! Just keep me out of it. He sighs. Anyways, the point is, is me and Ford are not gonna fight. We never fight anymore!

Soos, Dipper, and Mabel look at each other. It's a mix of a knowing skepticism, a smirk, and a glance that almost seems as if an agreement made in secret is being referenced. For some reason, Soos just smiles, then runs off to the kitchen, where the sound of popping popcorn can be heard down the hall for no reason in particular.

Dipper: Oh, right, right. Of course. We all know you guys are over that fighting stuff. I mean, you're the oldest ones here! Surely neither of you would ever get into a fight so petty that you turn the whole Shack into a warzone over something as dumb as whether or not who was born first matters. He glances over at his sister. Right, Mabel? They're responsible, mature adults, our Grunkles?

Mabel: Totally! Definitely! The most responsible adults the world has ever seen! Although... that argument you and me had the other day... nah! Never mind. I shouldn't bring it up.

Dipper: Oh, the one over... Dipper pauses, as if he's just making something up. Right, the one about whether Ford or Stan is the more fun Grunkle. Yep. A real snoozefest, that argument was. It was obvious what the answer is, anyways.

Stan and Ford glance at each other, suspicious, as if testing the waters to see if the other will start arguing about it.

Stanford: We're both equally fun, kids. And that's all I'll say about it.

Stanley: Exactly! Equally fun. His grin widens. Even if Ford's summer fun ideas involve more dangerous explosions and injuries and strange chemical smells than a World War I trench.

Stanford: Yes... His smile fades a bit and shoots Stan a major case of stink-eye. And even if Stan's summer fun ideas are as entertaining as a nursing home activity schedule, yet still somehow end up with us in jail 50% of the time.

Stanley: He pauses, his grin fading as well. Well, we can't all be interdimensional criminals like Ford here! I'm just tryin' to take after my older by only seven pointless minutes brother. Imagine havin' a whole Multiverse hate ya, and not just Earth!

Stanford: Well, for your information, what you call 'explosions and injuries and strange chemical smells' is something you wouldn't grasp in a million years: science. Some of us need to actually contribute to society, you know.

Stanley: Yeah? And some of us need to look up the definition of 'rational' and 'safe' in the dictionary, because apparently you can't tell the difference between a biohazard symbol and a welcome sign! ~

Three hours later, Soos, Mabel, Dipper, and now Wendy are on the front lawn of the Shack, sitting in comfy lawn chairs and inhaling popcorn and Pitt Soda like their lives depend on it. Mabel's knitting another 'Stanwich' sweater, Dipper's got his arms behind his head and is smirking, Wendy is recording, and Soos is writing Stanfiction on a laptop.

Stan and Ford are on the lawn in front of them, wrestling.

Stanford: I'm the more mature adult here!

Stanley: More mature? The only thing more 'mature' about you is seven stupid minutes and your ridiculous fashion sense! AKA, none!

Stanford: Trench coats and turtlenecks are stylish and classy, two words you don't know the definition of! At least I don't spend half the day in boxers!

Stanley: Yeah, that's 'cause I don't need to wear tight pants all day to hide a giant stick up my ass, unlike some people!

Soos: Tapping away at his Stanfiction. The Muses... they sing to me!

Wendy: Um... how long do these Grunkle fights usually last, anyways?

Dipper: Shrugs. Eh, anywhere from two hours to three days, on average.

Mabel brings out a scrapbook, showing a Grunkle fight prior. The pictures seem to indicate a squabble that involved the furniture turned over into cover to hide behind, a Stan and Ford with eyes more sleepless than usual and stubble that looked like it hadn't been shaved in days, a fist fight with oven mitts, and nearly the whole town watching at one point as Stan chased Ford down a street, both in Disney princess dresses, with a spoon and a goat in Stan's hands and Ford flipping a double middle finger behind him at Stan. Mabel: The world record is one week! Too bad you weren't there for Grunklegeddon, Wendy.

Wendy: Her eye twitches upon seeing the photos of Grunklegeddon. And what are the chances this one will turn into something just as bad or worse?

Dipper: Depends. Usually, we know it's gonna be at least four days if Ford brings up the meatloaf argument.

Wendy: Meatloaf?

Just then, Ford and Stan still wrestling on the lawn, Ford brings up said meatloaf argument. Something about their time on the Stan-O-War II, Ford making his favorite meatloaf recipe every Friday night, and a pack of mermaids always following soon after, asking if they had any more 'meat tasties' that the 'old man clone that smelled like cigars and regret' dumped overboard every Friday night right around dinnertime.

Stanford: You could have just told me you didn't like it!

Stanley: Newsflash, Poindexter, no one would like a meatloaf made of eel and gorgon meat!

Stanford: Come on, I spent thirty years in the Multiverse and ate way worse than that, and you couldn't handle a little eel and gorgon!? So what if it had some snake heads in it!? Besides, scientifically, gorgon and eel is much healthier for you than beef, and you did lose some weight, remember?

Stanley: Because I kept dumpin' that freaky slop in the ocean!

Soos, Dipper, and Mabel look at each other, excited. Wendy just looks concerned for a moment as Stan and Ford keep fighting, then shrugs and smiles, leaning back and watching the festivities commence.

[entropicbias]

Last couple asks has me wondering what kind of johndave rep DO you like to read/see? Any examples you can think of in fanworks? And just your own interpretation. Thank you

i have got to reiterate that this is just a me thing. i'm not saying this to police anyone on their writing! i'm just really specific about the way i see these two get portrayed.

this is gonna suck and i'm gonna ramble about it for a while cause i'm mentally challenged. i have a hard time explaining my own thoughts with accuracy. sorry i can't keep this short and sweet. i am the type of person to just know when something is done right. i can't tell you why, but i'll try for you, anon. if you don't want to read all this here, i summarized it.

even more simplified

this is so crude. canon dave is really hard to nail for writers for some reason let alone the specific way i see him. i like a more chillaxed dave. some of the things that really throw me off with dave writing is missing the mark on how annoying he is and dumbing his character down to either angst, obama and apple juice jokes, or him being gay. i think john also encounters this issue. not enough research goes into their interests so writers can only represent them with the bare minimum. nicholas cage, con air, and 'dave i'm not a homosexual'. john and dave are assholes. they tease each other and aren't shy of doing that to other people. not that they're bad people! they care about each other and their friends a lot! but they're not afraid of being really honest about their thoughts or overexaggerating something that doesn't really bother them to poke fun at someone. they can make mendacious remarks to be polite, it just doesn't occur to them as often as just blatantly stating their thoughts on something or someone. i also like seeing them have more naturalistic dialogue. for some reason, when i think of that i think of zach from oneyplays or his character charlie from smiling friends. which is dumb even if it gives you an idea. i feel like a lot of this kind of banter is missing from these fanfics i read. at least, in the way i want it to go. think powerup comics.

gay part upcoming. i think the john and dave's relationship is best portrayed as a childhood crush that is unspoken of. a term i recently learned was "demiromantic", and i think that very perfectly describes how i think john's homosexuality would work. i mean, he doesn't really have a problem admiring dudes, which in itself could be called gay but that's not why i think he would be attracted to dave. i think it's kind of hilarious when people attribute john's homosexuality to him being "romantically interested in cage". john's idols are more like heroic figures to him. i don't like it when that is used as evidence that he's gay unless someone is making fun of him. this is the part where i talk about how john insists on the fact that he's straight. i'm not doubting that at all i think john still likes women and it's easier for him to do so. but he can also develop feelings for someone like dave. hence why i think he's demiromantic in that regard. this is exactly what my sexuality is like, so maybe i am projecting. i like to imagine i'm not projecting incorrectly, though. i think he'd only be able to develop feelings for dave in a setting where he is really a prominent figure in his life. earlier acts of homestuck were like this, but unfortunately the johndave relationship wouldn't work out on john's end with the way homestuck went. their friendship was kind of forgotten after a while, which sucks. in an ideal world, they would have remained in contact and then gotten close again in earth c. but dave was written to be with karkat and jade, which either nulls his feelings for john or opens up a whole new avenue of internalizing it. which is dumb and convoluted and i don't care about postcanon.

dave on the other hand would think about his feelings towards john a little more. i like to think that homestuck dave definitely had feelings towards john. i like to imagine they both developed a crush on each other around the same time, but unlike john who doesn't give it the time of day or even considers it as a crush, dave would. and he'd know that but he wouldn't want to act on it because of a plethora of reasons. probably to retain their friendship and his self image. i guess that could give them some 'angst'.

but you know what? i don't even care for romance all that much! they're bros before they're anything else! and that's all that matters to me! just nailing their friendship in itself is gold. john and dave mean a lot to each other in a platonic sense. even if they pursue other romantic avenues or don't, i don't care! i just like people putting them in a similar setting and showcasing their awesome bromance!

fig. 3, i also like davejade. thinking of iterations of him and john in fanworks that i like is really hard cause i don't read much in that department. what comes to mind is mr. tambourine man and some of deacon_blues's comics. kgtac has a really good dave and karkat too. cole is a spectacular writer. but i've finished neither of those comics so i'm just basing it off the very little i've read. also, none of these examples are particularly johndave related. i just wanted to note down examples of john egbert and dave strider writing i enjoyed. i read like, one comic faygos made but that was also pretty good. pinballhazard is also a phenomenal writer and artist. especially for john! you guys should check all these guys out. anyways, thanks for reading all that!

[sadseungmin]

ahh it’s nice to find a skz writer who is into darker content and dead dove. those kind of fics are the ones i enjoy most. could you maybe do something with minho and darker role play? any type of play you want!

♡ dark sexual roleplay with psychotic lee minho ♡

psychotic lee minho x reader | gender neutral | dead dove | nsfw (MDNI)

p.s. i hope this is to your liking, anon! if you're not too shy, tell me in my dms, ok?

『 ↳♡･ﾟ psychotic!minho likes...doctor & patient roleplay ೃ⁀➷

Minho would turn his bedroom into a makeshift medical room, complete with an examination table, surgical tools, and various medical supplies. The cold, clinical atmosphere would be designed to unnerve you, to make you feel vulnerable and exposed.

You will be naked, lying on the examination table, which is really just his king-sized bed covered with freshly laundered white sheets. Minho, dressed in a lab coat, would play the role of the doctor with unsettling enthusiasm.

"There's no need to be scared, kitten. You're my favorite patient, after all. I just need to conduct some...special examinations."

Minho's touch will be clinical and intimate, his hands tracing over your body slowly with practiced precision. He will explain each step of the examination in a detached, professional tone, but the dark intensity in his eyes will be easily noticed by you.

His hands slowly slip between your thighs, hooded eyes locked with yours...

"Be a good kitten and open your legs wide for me. Hook your arms under your knees and pull your legs as far back as possible. I need to do a thorough physical check."

The idea of medical control is exciting to him. He will use various medical instruments to heighten your anxiety, the cold metal against your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Minho's favorite instrument to use is the speculum.

He takes the bivalve and slowly drags the cold instrument down your inner thighs.

"Do you know what this is for, dumb kitty? This is to measure how wide that pretty hole of yours can stretch. I wonder how far I can stretch it before it starts to tear and bleed?"

He will test your reactions, his touch alternating between gentle and invasive. His questions will be probing, his tone demanding honesty.

He inserts the very tip of the instrument into your entrance and watches in fascination as your hole uselessly clenches around it.

"How many fingers do you use to fuck yourself open when I'm not around, hm? You're too much of a whore to use just two. Do you use three? Or, maybe you use four? There's no need to lie to me, kitten. Patient-doctor confidentiality, remember? Besides..."

Minho slowly pushes the cold instrument further into you, and you whimper as the cool metal burrows deeper into your sensitive walls. You will want to close your thighs, but you know better than to disobey.

"I'm going to find out the truth regardless. I'm a doctor; it's my job to know everything about my favorite patient."

Psychological domination appeals to his psychotic side. Throughout the examination, Minho will assert his dominance, reminding you of your helplessness.

He begins to slowly open your entrance with the instrument, and watches intently as the cold metal pushes your walls farther and father apart. The feeling is unfamiliar; it burns but it accompanies the heat building in your lower abdomen. You whimper pathetically as you are stretched wider and wider, to the point where a part of you fears you might actually tear. There are hot tears beading in the corner of your eyes, and you're trembling and breathing erratically, yet your legs stay wide open for doctor Minho.

"I don't care if it hurts. You need this, kitty. You trust me, right? I'm only doing this for your own good."

The mixture of care and control in his voice will be disorienting, leaving you unsure of his true intentions.

Minho pulls the instrument out of you carefully, leaving you gaping; it's humiliating and the look in his eyes is unsettling. Minho leans forward, and spits. You watch as a big glob of saliva pushes through his pursed lips and falls directly into your open hole. The heat of the liquid coats your walls as it slowly slips deeper into you. You release something between a strangled gasp and a moan, toes curling as any sense of shame dissolves into pure arousal.

Minho reaches into the pocket of his lap coat, pulling out a blue pair of latex gloves. He pulls them on, looking at you with a darkened stare, tone still detached and professional.

"I know you're already fucked out from having your walls opened, but this is far from over. With a hole that wide, further examination is necessary. The next step is double fisting. Are you ready, kitten?"

[7ndipity]

Dating a fellow Idol headcanons

Namjoon x Idol Reader

Warnings: mentions of angst, not proofread

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon for sending this request! I tried to focus on the collab aspect like you wanted, tho now I'm just over here with a non existent song stuck in my head, lol.

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

(I actually think someone also in the music industry would be a really good match for him)

Despite being know as the accidental spoiler king for letting little things slip, Joon was super careful when it came to your relationship.

He was very hesitant about going public. Like, that shit kept him up at night, thinkingabout all the things that could go wrong.

He's very protective (admittedly, sometimes a little too much so) and really values your privacy together, so the idea of popping that bubble was kinda terrifying.

But even more frightening was the thought of someone else popping it for you, which had almost happened several times when y'all were spotted together on dates and at events.

You ran in the same friend circles though, so it was easy to deflect rumors, but after so many close calls, you both decided it would be best(or at least better)to be open and honest about it.

Luckily, your fans were mainly happy for the two of you.

You were that insta-goals artsy couple, most of your photos together consisting of aesthetic museum and cafe dates.

Juxtaposed by random, goofy ass clips, like him drunkenly laughing on your couch at like 3am about some dumb joke you'd told him.

One of your favorite 'dates' though were the nights y'all would spend in studio working on music together. It was natural progression that you decided to do collab together.

You had been credited as co-writers on several songs(that was actually how you met fyi), but you'd never actually sang or performed on the same track before.

The song you chose was about missed opportunities and the importance and going after what you really want, rather than hoping for any second chances.

After the collab was announced, there were a few people who accused you of using his popularity for your benefit, but most of that was drowned out by an overwhelming wave of excitement and support from the fans.

The video shoot was a strange mix of fun and awkward. The creative team had decided to film it in a nostalgic, home movie style, with glimpses of the two of you, intercut with different shots from around the city. So it was kinda like going a date, but with a script and a film crew in tow.

It was definitely worth it tho, it was really sweet, both you and the fans loved it.

[phntmeii]

Hello, dear writer! Can I have a headcanon of RZ!Michael Myers or OG!Michael Myers or maybe both? (If you want, of course) with their S/O being Russian or British? I just absolutely love Russian and British accents! I also would love to see Michael’s reaction to being called “Big bear” by his S/O in like their accent. Like mwah! Chef kiss! Anyways thank you and have a wonderful day!

RZ!Michael Myers x Russian!SO

[SFW + No Gendered Terms]

A/N: Thank you for the request anon!! Have sm love for RZ!Michael in my heart even if he is a little difficult to write for. I’ll make a general dating headcanon list for him soon though :)

Reaction to Russian!SO

❄️ Michael wasn’t one to give much of a reaction to anything at all. He was a blank shell for outward emotion made worse with the fact that he wore a mask all the time.

❄️ When he broke in casually moved in, he didn’t say much in response to the accent but he knew it wasn’t familiar to him.

❄️ Sometimes he sits and stares at his SO for a while when they speak, trying to catch some of the more difficult words that were covered by the accent.

❄️ If he doesn’t understand them, he’ll just wait until they repeat themselves in a clearer manner.

❄️ Something he wasn’t accustomed to was how formal and sometimes strict his SO was. And often times it was over something he thought silly.

❄️ “Michael. I’ve told you a hundred times already about wearing shoes indoors. You have blood all over them and you wish to dirty my floors? No. Off.”

❄️ At first, his reaction was an obvious no by how he just continued walking inside until his SO stood in front of him, unamused. He could easily crush them here and now. He didn’t need them. But, just taking off his shoes was an easier and less lonely idea.

❄️ Another unfamiliar custom to get used to was the whole “gift-giving” thing. It was an offense to not bring a small gift when visiting, he was told. Michael thought this was dumb too but he didn’t want his SO to be upset and have to deal with it.

❄️ He casually picks up items from victims that seemed like his SO’s type of thing. Necklaces, shoes, chocolates, etc. Although he presents them with no emotion, he did feel a little happy to go out of his way to pick something up for his SO.

❄️ Even despite what he thought were strict and inconvenient rules, his SO was sweet to him and it meant the world.

❄️ He liked secretly watching as they cooked in the kitchen. In the mornings, they made syrniki as they sang in Russian quietly to themselves. Michael didn’t know this kind of comfort but it was a pleasant thing.

Being Called “Big Bear”

🐻 This came about from the whole “not wearing shoes indoor” rule that was strictly enforced.

🐻 Michael came home to find his SO holding a pair of slippers that were fuzzy with a teddy bear design on it. It was cute and the only ones in his size they could find.

🐻 He liked them. Michael enjoys things that can harp back to the few nice things he could remember about childhood like cartoon bears on TV. He wore them just as he was meant to. Slowly, his SO just started associating him with those.

🐻 And that’s where he heard the name. He sat on the couch, eating a meal his SO prepared. His mask was off but his hair covered most of his face still.

🐻 His SO passed by to make sure he was eating. They always offered seconds, thirds—whatever it took to make sure he was full. Michael looked toward them, tilting his head as to why they were staring at him eat.

🐻 “Making sure my big bear eats his fill. There’s plenty more.”

🐻 For some reason, something clicked in his head when they said that. When his SO started to step away, his hand reached out, tightly grasping their forearm. He stared at them and tugged their arm to come closer.

🐻 He stared until his SO could figure out what it was that he wanted. He liked that name. “My big bear?” Hearing it again, he set his plate aside and grabbed his SO, dragging them into his lap.

🐻 He kept his arms around them, pressing his face into their shoulder and letting out a sigh. He liked that. He was more than happy to be your big bear.

🐻 Anytime it was said while cuddling, in bed, in the mornings as a greeting—whenever, Michael would hold on tighter as a silent appreciation of the name. It was fitting and made him feel loved.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

[iridescentdove]

Helloo, I was thinking about a scenario with Nikolai and a twin sister reader who’s similar to Lynette if it’s possible. Tyy 💕

Nikolai Gogol x Lynette! Reader

Hello anon! I'm back ... again. I'm an on and off person in this app at this point lmfao. By the way, requests are closed for now everyone! But you can still ask me questions and other stuff. Let's start.

Lyney is a more reserved girl. She rarely talks to others out of her own accord, letting Lyney (in this case Nikolai) do the talking for her, and dissuades essentially any attempt to speak with her by saying bizarre responses. Whenever she needs to talk, she speaks briefly and frankly.

NIKOLAI GOGOL:

Both of you are literally the polar opposites, it's kinda funny. Nikolai is that one fun dude at parties and you're just the one sitting in the corner watching him like 🗿

Nikolai: dumb bitch

You: dumb bitch's caretaker and sister unfortunately but whatever

Honestly he's not annoying, he's actually just cheerful around you and loves to hang around you. He's one of those rare actual good big brothers! <3

Often you're very reserved and prefer to keep to yourself, so he does most of the talking.

He doesn't let you see Fyodor, or even breathe in his direction. We all know why. And i'm pretty sure even Nikolai is sane enough to know he won't let anything happen to you. You're his precious little dove, aren't you?

People find you two a fun duo ngl

Like, you're also his assistant when he does magic and you both are unintentionally goofy as hell.

It's not even a coincidence at this point, I can totally see this guy being Lyney. Imagine he's just being down bad for Fyodor and you have to drag him away like "not again bitch"

He fr needs to chill. Like we know you want to kill him but tf that light skin stare for 🤨

I'd like to think that both of you take the time out of your day to have some fun together. Given BSD is just death, death and more death.

I totally headcanon Nikolai to love amusement parks.

He cannot stop trolling. The moment you're not looking he's out here making children CRY

You have to drag him away to stop him from getting kicked out or something.

Nikolai isn't overprotective, but he's not chill either. I'd like to believe that he trusts you, but at some point if someone even so much as looked at you weird–

They'll be in the seventh circle of hell pretty quick.

He honestly loves how chill and seemingly reserved you are, the fact you're so patient with him, he appreciates a lot.

But will be very dramatic when it comes to showing love to you. Come on now, he's a clown. what did u expect

"My dear sister says she is on her period. I am too. It's uterUS." "That doesn't mean you can wear my PADS"

... 😐

Okay nevermind, sometimes he does get overbearing. But you guys are the perfect siblings anyway.

Sorry if I couldn't do a scenario, I had no idea what to do. Writers' block still has me.

[mohgreal]

IMO the biggest sign of the shittiness of Miquella's writing is the fact that his actions between the Caelid War and Mohg's death are so inconsistent and unexplained that half of the "lore fandom" still believes he's a selfish power-hungry godhood seeker even though he explicitly has to abandon his fears and doubts to go on that path, his own mind describes godhood as eternal torment, Ymir and Trina both describe him as making a terrible sacrifice out of guilt, and he sounds absolutely terrified of his inevitable godhood in the final cutscene where he's kneeling in resignation (literally stuttering and baby-talking in Japanese and sounding like he's going to cry in the English voice acting). There are three entire characters who exist for the near sole purpose of saying "Miquella really doesn't want to do this but is resigned to having to to atone for his mother, making a noble but misguided sacrifice" and it still didn't drown out the obvious questions like "wait so what was the vow?", "what was the timeline and reasoning for Mohg's kidnapping, and was that his or Mohg's idea?", and "why didn't he tell his sister and her army anything and leave them to rot in a dead tree and blow themselves up?". One of the most popular interpretations is that he really really just wanted Radahn's bussy (probably because "Radahn is my consort" is literally all he says when he's actually on-screen).

Honestly people praising Miquella's writing in the DLC (especially anything having to do with Mohg and Radahn) feels like gaslighting. This is easily noticeable when you notice that the people praising its "brilliance" have completely contradictory ideas of what actually happened or what the story was trying to say. I've heard everything from "Miquella is tragically noble but misguided" to "Miquella is mentally handicapped" to "Miquella is a victim of fate who is cursed to fail no matter what he does" to "Miquella was an evil scheming mastermind whose nobility was a carefully crafted facade" to "Miquella is a dumb, impulsive, spoiled little brat and cautionary tale against nepo babies", and all of these are supposed to be Genius Writing[TM] despite all these directions being so underbaked that people can think his story is literally the opposite of any of the above…

it also killed the fan interpretation. i used to really really like the idea of it being a misunderstanding where mohg kidnaps miquella for his own dynasty and malenia attacks caelid thinking he stole miquella and you cant even argue that i just "wanted my own au to be canon" no. i just wanted it to make sense 🙏

also the "character existing for the sole purpose of X" in the case with the DLC being just to say something about miquella is so fucking dumb. i get fromsoftware never had very in depth characters but its getting far too obvious to the point its comical;

SOTE also does screw up the entire timeline because the writers didn't know their own lore as proven by me many times on this trashy account whoops

also I agree on the "glazing miquellas writing" part because if you can take so many directions with a character that contradict each other, thats not even interpretion anymore that's straight up having your fans make the character for you 😭

getting a monthly anon rant is always a good thing. sorry if this post is as underbaked as sote's writing its the middle of the night cause my insomnia is always awake

[bisexual-horror-fan]

I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

—

“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September. 

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse? 

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.” 

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?” 

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to. 

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious. 

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that. 

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.” 

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?” 

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.” 

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.” 

He was such an insufferable asshole. 

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.” 

He lets you go. 

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?” 

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.” 

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?” 

He knew just how to really fucking bother you. 

You know how to bother him, too. 

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.” 

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?” 

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.” 

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?” 

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?” 

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!” 

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!” 

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other. 

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.” 

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?” 

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

 “Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.” 

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.” 

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.” 

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering. 

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.” 

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.”  Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-” 

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.” 

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?” 

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy. 

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.” 

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree. 

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that. 

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does. 

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal. 

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.” 

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing. 

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would. 

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that. 

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain. 

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.” 

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.” 

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks. 

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it. 

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away. 

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified. 

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex. 

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.” 

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.” 

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups. 

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better. 

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.” 

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted. 

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do. 

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable. 

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again. 

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure. 

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared. 

There is a moment that you keep coming back to. 

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it. 

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-“ Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.” 

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly. 

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength. 

You move. 

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!” 

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage. 

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.” 

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red. 

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care. 

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least. 

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him. 

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run. 

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who. 

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight. 

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet. 

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand. 

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you. 

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

[thevindicativevordan]

Hi, hope you are doing well. I am the anon who asked this question about the Maker (post/730144525324009472/im-conflicted-about-the-maker-as-a-character-on) and I wanted to know what are your thoughts on the Marvel Universe as remade by the Maker? I understand that most of it is a comentary/analogy to real life events, with technocompanies rulling the USA, the USA doing experiments in the Pacific with radiation, basically everything Midas stand for, etc. But, looking from the Maker point of view, how do you think it fits with what he wants? And what do you think he wants, in the end?

Perfect time to ask me this because after I got temp banned from the CBR Forums recently, I decided to read all of Ultimate Fantastic Four. I need to amend my earlier post regarding the Maker - he does actually feel like a believable evolution on the flaws that were always present in 1610 Reed:

Even before he became a homicidal maniac, 1610 Reed Richards was a dick. There was a mean streak and petulancy that I had forgotten about. A willingness to walk riiiiiiiight up to the moral divide that was present from the very beginning. Millar, Bendis, and Ellis all established Maker as having a darker side. Using torture against Doom was on the table, he flat out rejected the possibility that he had made a mistake, he did messed up science experiments for fun. The pieces were all there! Alas the execution sucked. I still stand by what I posted here regarding the Ultimate Doom trilogy:

Bendis' depiction of his "fall" was awful and incoherent. Under Bendis, Reed instantly becomes the type of guy willing to commit cold blooded murder against both his family and other heroes for no real reason. If Reed is pissed about the military controlling everything, why is he trying to kill Peter Parker? Shouldn't he be trying to kill Nick Fury and destroy SHIELD? That at least would make sense, Ultimate Nick Fury is a fucking awful person. Instead he murders his entire family instead of just his asshole dad because... I don't know, he's just evil now. A writer can't write someone smarter than them, and Bendis is just not the guy for tackling the world's smartest heroic mind descending into villainy. Reed's plan is dumb and paper thin.

Coldly murdering his mother and sister Enid - his sister whom he went through all the effort to save from Psycho-Man in one of the final UFF arcs! - reads even more egregiously out of character. Why did he kill those two and not just his asshole dad? No clue, Bendis never bothered to give us an explanation. Trying to kill all of SHIELD after the UFF fall apart makes perfect sense to me after reading Ultimate Power for the first time. 1610 Nick Fury is evil. Fury is a monster whom even Dick Cheney would have to kneel in awe before. Asshole deserves to die and SHIELD should be destroyed. Sending suicide bombers to murder Spider-Man and his other heroic peers on the other hand?

No Bendis, you need to actually explain WTF Maker was thinking there because that makes no sense AND it doesn't line up with his previous characterization! Maker didn't want to kill the zombie F4 despite them 1. Being undead and 2. Planning to infect and eat everyone on his Earth. He wasn't willing to kill Doom even after Ultimatum. Then suddenly off-screen he becomes the kind of guy who murders his sister who only ever looked up to and worshiped him, and his mother who tried to support him and showed him nothing but love? Terrible writing, and it makes me so mad because everything else is brilliant setup unintentional though it was.

Pages like this one floored me. You read this knowing they were not setting up Maker yet somehow it perfectly does just that. The other Baxter Building kids breaking off to form their own perfect society in a secret city tucked away from private eyes? Being sick of how they were forced to serve the military? Commitment to the idea to the point they're willing to kill the F4 and any military personnel sent after them? In-universe this, and other events like Psycho-Man's utopia, likely served as the foundation for where Maker came up with the idea of the City. Everything fits! It's a natural result of Maker having an enormous ego, having seen others make their own attempts at building utopias, tossing morality aside, and going "they failed but I'll succeed. I don't make mistakes like they do."

Begs the question OP asked: why did he make Earth 6160 into the way it is? Fantastic question especially considering that both as a hero, and during his initial fall to villainy, Maker hated the "corruption" of science into a force that only served the elite.

Yet the world of 6160 is exactly what he claimed to hate! America collapsed into a realm ruled by technocrats who abused science to enrich themselves. Freaking Midas is in the White House using cosmic energy as a power source for his war suit and the electric grid. What gives? Is it just Maker being a hypocrite? Maker offers two justifications in Ultimate Invasion. First, that he ran civilization models in the City and humanity cannot accept perfect peace. If you've ever watched the Matrix you know how that argument goes. We aren't built to live in paradise. Our human natures are too fallible, when offered the option we reject it. Given Maker's god complex it does suit him that he invokes the Biblical explanation for why evil exists - human nature demands it.

However, there's a second justification. Maker treats Earth 6160 as his playground, his laboratory. He's the Emperor of the World, and with that comes those who would covet his throne. Keeping the world full of conflicts and evils keeps people divided. They're so busy fighting each other that they can't unite against him. Hitler, Genghis Khan, Bismarck, Stalin, Mao, history is full of dictators who employed similar logic to maintain power. Yes it makes him a hypocrite but Maker is beyond caring about the "small minded" dreams he had back before he jumped off the slippery slope.

Regarding what he wants power for, there are two likely motives to parallel his two justifications. I believe he is trying to create the "Ultimate Earth", an Earth that lives up to what he wanted 1610 to be. Time travelling to the future indicates that he is at the very least invested in this Earth's well-being. He saved it from Galactus, he kept the Council from spiraling out of control as they now threaten to do in his absence. He supported scientific and technological advancements that did improve life for everyone. Howard mentions curing cancer. Maker's Ultimate Earth appears to be a technologically advanced society where the peoples lives are improved at the cost of their freedom. In a single word: Latveria. Fitting for a Reed who has gone the way of Doom.

Unsurprisingly Maker's other motive is much more selfish and narcissistic: he wants to screw with Earth 6160 Reed.

Mentioned this before somewhat in my previous post:

My theory is that it's because Maker is trying to take a Reed who is similar to 616 Reed and transform the guy into a monster like him. It's his middle finger to 616 Reed. Maker wants to prove that 616 Reed isn't better than him, if Mr. Fantastic had lost his family and been put through hell like Maker had, he would break too. That 6160 Reed is, so far, not a monster like Maker pisses Maker off. It's not logical to keep 6160 Reed around, and doing so leads to Maker's fall.

Additionally there's some clear self-hatred going on.

Note the callback to UFF with the "I don't make mistakes" line. People talk about Sue rejecting the marriage offer as being the big divergence point between the 616 and 1610 Reeds. I think it goes back even further. 616 Reed was the one who messed up his friends lives. 1610 Reed however was blameless. 1610 Doom, not Reed, was the one who caused the accident that gave the Four their powers. In Ultimate Power it was Doom's meddling which was revealed to have killed millions of people despite Maker initially being blamed. Maker never had to feel the guilt that Mr. Fantastic has to live with. Always when it seemed like he had screwed up, a reveal came to absolve him of any responsibility. Arguably his two greatest pre-Maker screw-ups were teleporting to the zombie Earth and creating the Cosmic Cube and guess what? Both of those were because of external agents in the forms of zombie Reed and Thanos meddling with his head.

So having done nothing wrong his whole life, never having screwed up with nobody to blame but himself, when Sue dumped him and his whole life fell apart because he put saving the world over his personal desires in Ultimatum? Knowing, thanks to zombie Reed, that there were Reeds out there who got married and had families and kept the Four together despite making mistakes? My headcanon is that's what broke him. Also that's why he made Doom's life hell. 6160 Reed was supposed to live the life 616 Reed got, the kind of life Maker wanted. Instead he lost everything. Why? Because from Maker's point of view, Doom doesn't deserve that kind of happiness. Why should Maker, a Reed who never made mistakes, be the one Reed denied that joy while all the Reeds who are responsible for transforming their friends get to have that?

So Maker took 6160 Reed and gave him the life he thinks Mr. Fantastic should've gotten. 6160 Reed made the mistake of not double checking his notes and lost everything. He ended up with the burnt face and Doom moniker because from Maker's point of view, that is what should have happened to 616 Reed. Maker should be the beloved hero with the fantastic family as befitting a Reed who never made mistakes, not the unworthy Reeds who are fallible. In Maker's mind, 616 Reed should be the one whose Sue rejected him and became a villain. His words in Ultimate Invasion about having thought about what he and 616 Reed would be like if they swapped lives support this.

There's a beautiful symmetry going on here between Maker and Doom. Dooms usually blame Reeds for ruining their lives by sabotaging Doom's experiments. Here is a Doom for whom that belief is valid, and his obsession with Maker completely justified. Except it's himself that he's obsessed with, just as Maker is clearly obsessed with Mr. Fantastic. A grand ouroboros of Reeds chasing after one another. Fitting, for Reeds have always been their own worse enemies.