kitchen dares

Kissing, Interrupted.

Originally posted by perfectfeelings

Peter Parker x Reader

Request: Yes

Summary: Peter and the reader are getting pretty steamy and someone decides it’s the perfect time to interrupt. Talk about cockblock, amiright?

Warnings: language, kissing, fluff, Star Wars, makeout sesh (holla). (Let me know if I missed any).

Word Count: 1,479

A/N: For the amazing @literallyrozie812, thanks for the request! I hope this fic gives you guys all the Peter feels. Also, I apologize if it sucks ass lol. I’m not experienced in this part of writing, so bear with me as I slowly dig my way into it! Let’s hope I did at least a 4/10. Thanks for all the never ending support, guys! As always, feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated.


Being raised as a Stark definitely has its perks, but let’s not forget about the downsides.

For instance, not being able to try out the Iron Man suit because of one accidental mistake of you blowing one up. 

Hey, it happens… right?

Or not being able to join the team on missions because it’s “too intense” or “not safe.”

Like, hello? I’m an Avenger? I deserve to participate, Dad.

And don’t even get started on boys.

Oh, lord. If he knew about Peter and you, well, let’s just say Tony’s suit isn’t the only thing that would be blown up.

Keep reading

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

- Langston Hughes (born: 1 February 1902)

Public Service Announcement

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast (2017)

Pairing: Gaston x Reader

As requested by anonymous: Gaston x reader smut.

Warning: smut (obviously), public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, insecurity

A/N: I’m sure this is a new level of sin. Like, never did I imagine I’d be writing smut about a Disney character…

+++

Being a relationship with Gaston had its ups and downs. Ups: he showered you with gifts, compliments, and love. Downs: other women would always talk down on you for not being good enough for him.

“She’s too plain and simple.”

“She probably doesn’t even satisfy him in bed.”

“I don’t understand how he can be with someone like her. It’s probably out of pity.”

It really came down on you enough to change how you were around Gaston. He noticed immediately your endless excuses to not see him. He noticed your kisses were no longer passionate. He’d always see you turn and walk away from him once you spotted him. He wanted to know what was going on.

“Y/N, love, may I please come in?” He heard nothing coming from the other side. He knocked on your door again, “Y/N, I know you’re home. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

On the other side, you couldn’t help the tears that freely flowed from your eyes. You opened your door a little and peeked out the door, “What do you want, Gaston?” Your voice cracked and Gaston’s heart broke.

He pushed the door open and strode in, you stumbled back. He stepped closer to you and heald your face in his hands, “What’s wrong, my love? Who hurt you?”

“I think we should break this off.” You mumbled avoiding his eyes.

Gaston looked at you confused, “Why? Do you not love me?”

“I do, bu-”

“Did someone say something to you?”

You gulped and nodded, “Not someone. Some people. Not directly, but they say things loud enough for me to hear.”

Gaston pulled you to your kitchen table and pulled out a chair. You sat down and he sat in front of you, holding your hands, “What have people said? Who? Tell me their names and I’ll deal with them.”

“Please, Gaston. I don’t want to start any trouble.”

“Y/N, trouble started immediately when people began to speak ill of you. So tell me, what did those people say?”

You sighed, “They say I’m not good enough for you. That I’m not beautiful enough. That I’m plain. That I don’t satisfy your needs.”

“Lies. All lies!” Gaston and stood up and began to pace arund your kitchen, “They dare speak of you as if they know you? As if they know us?”

“Gaston-”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about. The villagers, they talk because they’re jealous. They are all well aware of your beauty, your worth. They’re all jealous because they can’t have me or you.” Gaston sat back down looking into your eyes, “Y/N, I love you wholeheartedly. Your beauty sweeps me off my feet. Your laugh sends butterflies in my stomach. And when we lay together, I feel like I’m in Heaven. You exceed my satisfactions.” Gaston immediately stood up and pulled you to your feet, “Come.” He pulled you out your door and shut it.

“Where are we going?” You asked briskly walking to keep up with Gaston’s stride.

“The tavern. I’m going to show everyone that you’re enough and more for me.”

You two made it to the tavern. The door slammed loud and hard and everyone stopped their drinking and laughing. There wasn’t much people as usual. Probably 20-25 people. That amount would do.

Gaston walked with you to his side, “Carry on.” He said and everyone did. Gaston strode to his claimed chair and sat down. He pulled you down so you were straddling him. He brought your lips to his. He roughly kissed you. His hands travelled from your neck to your hips to your behind. He gave your ass a squeeze and you moaned into his lips. He pulled away, “I believe you once told me that you liked the idea of people watching as we made love.”

Your eyes widened, “Gaston, I-”

“Do you trust me?” You nodded, “Just focus on me. Okay, love?”

“O-Okay.” You keaned forward and continued to kiss him. You began to geind and rock over Gaston’s clothed erection. Gaston pulled away and began to kiss and nibble your neck. His eyes open as he looked around to see people watching you two. He smirked. He lifted your dress skirt revealing your clothed ass. He kneaded the flesh then gave a rough slap causing you to moan.

Gaston then stood and carried you by your thighs. He set you on the table, “Lay back, love.” You did so and Gaston sunk to his knees. He hitched your dress skirt up again. Your legs dangled off the edge of the table. He pulled down your underwear and spread your legs. Gaston looked to see that everyone was watching him. He dove forward capturing your pussy lips with his.

Your back arched as you felt his tongue lick you up and down, “Oh, Gaston.”

Gaston smirked to himself, “That’s it, ket everyone hear who loves you. Who adores you.”

Gaston slowly inserted two fingers into your wet core. You shut your eyes and your nails dug into the wooden table, “Mmmm yes, Gaston!”

Gaston pumped his fingers into your quick as his other hand made quick circles around your hardened nub. Gaston looked to his right to see the Bimbettes staring in horror. Serves them right. They probably contributed to you getting hurt.

Gaston could feel your walls clenching around his fingers. He immediately pulled out and you whined. He smirked, “Don’t want you cumming without me in you, love.” He quickly unbuckled his pants and slid them down. He ran his hardened length along your slit collecting your juices.

“My love, please.” You pleaded.

Gaston nodded and slowly entered you. His head fell back and your back arched, “You always feel so good, Y/N.” He began to thrust into you desperately. He began to unlace your corset to reveal your breasts. He bent over and began to suck at your breast.

“Yes, right there, Gaston!”

Gaston let go of you nipple with a ‘pop’, “You like me taking you in front of all these people, Y/N? Do you love everyone knowing who you belong to?”

“Yes! I belong to you, Gaston!”

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. My love. I love you. I’m yours and yours only.” He began to thrust into you harder. You fekt his balls hitting against your ass. The wood table creaking underneath you, “No one else can have you. You’re mine!”

You gripped onto Gaston’s arms as he balanced himself onto the table, “Yes! I’m yours! All yours!”

Gaston grunted as he began to slow his thrusts thus signalling that he was ready to cum. He began to thumb over you clit fast and hard. You pulled him by the shirt and captured his lips moaning as your walls tightened against him, cumming hard. Gaston groaned and his hips stilled. He pulled up and came all over your dress skirt.

He pulled your skirt down and pulled his pants up. He wiped the sweat off his head and face, “I hope you all took this as a message: Y/N has my heart and body. And I have hers. You speak ill of her or our relationship, I will not hesitate to make your life here Hell. Is that understood?” The men and women in the tavern all nodded.

Gaston scooped your tired form into his arms, “Time to go home, love.” He kissed your head and you smiled. Being with Gaston definitely had its perks.

Sirius x Reader: Pureblood

Warnings: argument with mum

Requested: yes (it’s so late I’m so sorry)

A/N: THIS IS SO LONG I HOPE YOU LIKE IT- GOOD TO BE BACK!!! Thank you all so much for the support! (Also 1,600 followers?! I love y’all) I hope you enjoy reading this my loves and that it was worth the wait!!xx

I posted ‘pictures’ of the dresses described which you can check out HERE or a few posts down on my blog!

“MOTHER! I AM NOT WEARING THIS!” You yelled, looking at yourself in the mirror. A dark green gown with silver ruffles- Slytherin much? “When I walk in, roll your eyes to my mum- she won’t scream at you next mistake you make.” You whisper to the stylist stood behind you.

“Oh- Miss- I’m not sure what you mean.” She stuttered.

You winked at her and smiled before hiking your dress up and walking into the main room.

“Y/N, it’s the perfect colours.” Your mother said, smiling sourly at you.

“Mother, I’m not wearing it. Unless you want me to spend the party reminding everyone I’m a half blood.” You taunted.

“Find something.” She ordered, turning to the brown haired stylist behind you.

Your mother, Adia, had been ‘tricked’ by your father. When they first met, your dad thought she was joking about being a witch and ‘joked’ that he was also a pureblood from the North. So, long story short, she got pregnant and soon after found out your father was a muggle- quickly allowing him full care of you (the disgrace) once you were born and only seeing you when there were ‘purebloods and family’ parties. Like now.

You looked at the Slytherin green fabric hopelessly, not the best choice for a Gryffindor.

“Here.” The stylist said sheepishly, holding out mint green fabric.

You smiled and took it thankfully, turning into the small room to change.

“Y/N- HURRY UP!’

“Calm down, it’s just a party.” You called, knowing it would irritate her.

You turned to the mirror one last time and took in your appearance. The stylist had given you a mint green, floor length gown, the beaded chiffon hanging elegantly from one shouler.

Your mother roughly grabbed your arm and immediately apparated to the party, “Tell anyone you’re a half blood, I’ll curse you.” She whispered in your ear before turning into the party, emerald cape trailing behind her.

You stood for a moment, looking at the purebloods before you and smiled- time for some good old pranks.

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Bubs || Conor Maynard

Originally posted by conormaynardaf

Requests are currently [ OPEN ]

Word Count: 900+

Summary: As far as nicknames go, (Y/N) didn’t quite mind hers. 

Dedicated too: How gorgeous Conor Maynard is.




“Bubs has been here for literally five minutes and she’s already taken over my kitchen.”

“Bubs, truth or dare?”

“Bubs, think fast!”

As far as nicknames went, (Y/N)’s wasn’t the strangest out there. She’d only ever been referred to as a shortened version of her name before, and was never given any truly sought after nicknames; but the day she met the boys, that all changed.

She’d been dating Conor for around three months, and after a series of totally spontaneous and unplanned events, she’d managed to meet every single member of the buttercream squad within the space of five hours.

It was crazy, really. You went from being strangers one day to acting as if you’d known each other for years the next. It was as if you all just instantly clicked, like you were the missing piece to their puzzle.

Back to the nickname fiasco, the first time you were ever referred to as ‘bubs’, was when Joe heard it on a TV show and immediately thought of you: for some unknown reason. The boys were all watching TV in Joe’s house and seeing as the kitchen and the living room were joined, (Y/N) had volunteered to make dinner whilst also watching the show from across the room.

It started off with just Joe calling her it, until it slowly but surely spread infectiously to the rest of the group, from Joe to Conor, to Jack and then Josh and Oli; eventually Caspar and Mikey caught on too. Within two months of knowing her, they’d already found a solid nickname that just eliminated any need for her actual name.

After you and Conor decided to go public with your relationship, the boys began to catch you in more of their vlogs, have you feature in their videos and help them with their setups. You were a huge part of the buttercream squad, and you meant alot to each and every member.

The viewers didn’t exactly know how to react to the nickname, they were still getting used to seeing you so often and the fact that the boys seemed so attached to you just made things a little more easy. There was never much hate sent towards her, though she was constantly spammed with comments that just said 'bubs’.

Everyone wanted an explanation for the nickname, but there really wasn’t one to give. Instead, when asked the question during Q&A videos or anything like that, the boys would just shrug and move on; which raised suspicion.

There was a period of speculation from the fans, a whole bunch of wild theories being thrown out into the open. In the end, Jack featured (Y/N) in a video and they gave the most honest answer the could, that Joe had simply heard it on the TV and it’d just clicked.

Tonight was a Friday night, and you and Conor had decided against going out with the boys and instead planned on staying home, streaming the new season of Game Of Thrones and eating takeout food. It was the perfect plan, until Mikey decided that he wanted to join in on the action too.

It’d been a long week for the majority of the boys, but they were all willing to plough through the exhaustion and enjoy their longly awaited night out; all except Mikey.

He was like a piece of gum stuck on the bottom of a shoe, once he’d made himself at home there was no getting rid of him. God, they loved Mikey to bits, but sometimes they needed their alone time.

But (Y/N) didn’t have the heart to tell the man to leave, so instead she found ways to include Mikey in their festivities, from playing a cut throat game of shot scrabble to having competitions to see who could eat their noodles fastest without using their hands.

Now though, (Y/N) and Conor had cuddled up on the loveseat and Mikey’d made himself comfortable on the one seater. They were watching some trashy comedy show that actually wasn’t so bad, and the takeout containers were abandoned on the coffee table, ready to be cleaned up at a moments notice.

“You tired, baby?” Conor murmured as you snuggle further into his chest, nodding slowly and yawning into his black shirt. Conor looks up and narrows his eyes at the guy in the leather jacket. “Mikey, out.”

He looks up in shock. “Wait, what? It’s only like,” he glances down at his watch. “Ten pm.”

“My girlfriend is tired, therefor you are leaving. So, shoo.” He says, a serious tone in his voice but even as tired she was (Y/N) could tell that he was only kidding. “I’ll pop over to Jack’s tomorrow, you’re filming, right?”

Mikey nods as he stands up and begins to gather together his things. “Bubs, can you bake some brownies and bring them?”

(Y/N) hums and glances up at him from Conor’s chest with another yawn. “Yeah, be safe getting home.”

“Always.” He grins widely as he opens the front door and leaves before slamming it way more aggressively than necessary.

Conor rolls his eyes, but they soften when he looks back down at his sleepy girlfriend. “Come on you, let’s get you into bed.”

As he stands up with her in his arms, she rests her head on his shoulder and breathes against his neck softly, causing the hairs on his arms to raise. “Hey, Con?”

“Yeah, bubs?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Assistant

Ship: Hunk/Keith

Words: 1630

A/N: Remember when I said I would personally make Heith content well here you go. 


Keith Kogane prided himself for keeping a level head most of the time. When times got tough, he knew he could trust himself to not get into a panic and think of a way forward. It was just who he was.

But not now.

To be fair, the entire situation kind of threw him off a little bit. There he was, brooding as he normally did, when a certain yellow paladin came bursting into his room with a bright smile on his face, telling him that he needed an assistant chef and apparently it was Keith’s (un)lucky day.

He normally rotated ‘assistants’ between Pidge and Lance. Apparently he’d had Shiro once but that ended up as a disaster. As much as the paladins admired Shiro as a leader, he was terrible in the kitchen. Hunk never asked Allura or Coran, not that Keith could blame him; Altean food was really weird so he tended to avoid them like the plague, even though they offered to help on many occasions:

But he’d never asked Keith before. Not once. And Keith had to admit that though he knew he shouldn’t have been bothered by it, he kind of was. Every time Hunk would go into the common room, declaring his assistant for the day, a bit of Keith got…hopeful. Though he knew he would ultimately turn him down in that suave, cool way he adopted, at least he would have been acknowledged.

But he never was. At least, not until today.

“Keith, please help me out today?”

It was so out of the blue that, though Keith had initially planned to decline, he found himself stuttering out a “Yeah, sure,” and was whisked away by the incredibly happy yellow paladin.

Though Keith had ventured throughout the ship plenty of times, he hardly went into the kitchen unless it was for water or a snack. Usually when Hunk was cooking, Keith was in another room, so he was surprised when Hunk turned back to him in the kitchen with…a yellow apron?

Keith couldn’t stop staring.

“Okay, so I was doing a bit of experimenting earlier and I think I can make the Altean equivalent of cupcakes.”

The red paladin’s eyes shot up. When was the last time he’d ever had a cupcake? Back when he was still in the garrison? Before? It had been so long. There was a bakery close to his home that sold the best ones he’d ever had. He’d gone there every Saturday as a kid with his dad and he’d always get the chocolate one with the strawberry on top. The entire place just smelled of good food and comfort and home.

“Just don’t get your hopes up, okay? Last time I tried to bake, well…”

“Your cookies saved us in the end, so don’t worry about,” Keith said matter-of-factly. “If they’re inedible maybe Coran could use them to jumpstart the engines.”

Hunk chuckled as he went to fetch the ingredients. “Okay, that was a good one. Let’s get started.”

“I’ve never made cupcakes before.”

Hunk paused and looked back him. “I’ll guide you through it. Don’t worry about it.”

And then he smiled and, quiznak, it was like his joy practically radiated from him and Keith, well, he couldn’t help but smile back, albeit softly. It’s not like he could help it. Hunk’s joy was practically contagious. He was like a bright sunny day, and though they were in the middle of space and Earth’s sun was a ton of lightyears away…Hunk was becoming more and more like the paladin’s sun.

Sweet Maker, that sounded like something out of one of those terrible teen romance movies.

Keith was forced out of his thoughts when Hunk placed a large bag of…whatever in his hands. It nearly knocked the wind out of him and he almost stumbled, but Hunk steadied him.

“Whoa, you okay there Keith?”

His touch was like electricity. Keith rushed out of it as soon as he could, not expecting it, not knowing what else to do.

Hunk looked slightly taken aback and, disappointed? Keith couldn’t tell. Usually Hunk was an open book, but at that exact moment he was difficult to read. Like he didn’t want Keith to know how exactly he was feeling.

Awkwardness heavily settled in. Red and yellow were on opposite sides of the kitchen, not daring to say or do anything.

Keith cleared his throat. “So uh, what did you want me to do with this?” He gestured at the bag in his arms.

Relief washed over Hunk’s. “Um, yeah, there’re some jugs in the cabinet over there. Altean measurement is pretty weird, but just take the medium one and measure two of those.”

Keith nodded mechanically and set to work. The two of them soon relaxed into a routine. Hunk was doing most of the talking, he didn’t seem to mind it much either and any of the previous awkwardness was melted away.

The way they worked was pretty methodical. Hunk would ask Keith for a spoon or direct him to certain places for weird ingredients. Keith didn’t do any of the actual baking, which he was fine with. Hunk looked like he knew what he was doing.

But there was one thing Keith noticed over time. Throughout their time in the kitchen, after that one incident, Hunk never touched him. And it wasn’t coincidentally either. If the two of them were close, Keith noticed Hunk subtly adjust himself slightly so they were further apart.

He was doing everything in his power to make Keith feel comfortable. He was joking around and laughing so Keith was too busy enjoying himself to notice it at first, but Hunk was adapting himself to accommodate him. It hit Keith in waves. It made him feel grateful that he would go through such lengths for him. But at the same time…

At the same time he thought about Hunk’s relationship with the others. About how he’d ruffle Pidge’s hair, bump shoulders with Lance, sweep Allura up in a hug, high five Shiro, pat Coran’s back. Hunk was a tactile person. He was affectionate. It was just who he was. And now Keith yearned for the same. He wanted Hunk to touch him; ruffle his hair, bump his shoulder, be swept up in those arms which he knew probably felt safe—

“Dude, you okay?”

“What?”

Hunk was looking at him in concern. “I said we need to put these in the oven, but you kind of zoned out there. Do you need to lie down? I can take it from here.”

“No, I’m fine.” He found that he said this almost too quickly. “I…”

I really like spending time with you.

The concerned look didn’t leave, but Hunk put the cupcakes in the oven anyway and set the timer for fifteen dobashes.

There was a comfortable silence as Hunk cleared away the supplies after taking off his apron. Keith stared after him contemplatively before finally asking him the question that was plaguing his mind the whole time.

“Why me?”

Hunk looked back at him in confusion.

“I mean…you always ask Pidge or Lance to help you out in the kitchen. Were they too busy for you or something?”

Hunk’s face thawed slightly. “You were the first one I asked today, actually. I thought it would be good for you to get out of whatever headspace you’ve been in the past few days.”

“But…you’ve never asked me before.”

The yellow paladin chuckled sheepishly. “Because I’d always assume you’d say no. And honestly I couldn’t really stand the thought of—”

He stopped speaking abruptly, as though he’d said too much.

“The thought of what?”

With a sigh, Hunk palmed his face. “Please don’t make me say it.”

Now Keith was curious. Whatever was going on was really bugging Hunk and making him uncomfortable and wasn’t one way of getting rid of discomfort talking about it?

“Hunk, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Hunk looked away, avoiding eye contact. In that moment, Keith couldn’t help but think that for someone so large he looked really small.

“Ththougofrejction,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“The thought of rejection,” Hunk said slightly louder this time, still avoiding eye contact. And with the way he said it, Keith knew immediately that he wasn’t talking about cooking anymore.

There was a silence, but only externally. On the inside it was as if those words had opened the floodgates that contained Keith’s emotions. He was swamped, floored, he could barely stand up.

All this time. All this time.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin the dynamic of the team. We work so well together. I just…” Hunk trailed off and scratched the back of his head. “I’m sorry.”

Was he…was he seriously apologising?

“I didn’t know…”

“Would it have changed anything?”

Would it? If Keith had known that Hunk felt that way about him…

“Look, we can act like this never happened. I don’t mind,” Hunk continued, taking Keith’s silence as a ‘no’.

But Keith knew, he could see that Hunk minded. That Hunk cared. That this was killing him.

Keith walked up to him, closing the gap between them. He reached out to touch his arm, hesitantly at first, before he placed it there completely.

“It would have changed everything.”

Hunk froze at his words, completely overwhelmed.

Then, something snapped and Keith was wrapped in his arms. And it was everything he thought it would be. It felt safe. It felt like how that bakery he went to smelt. It felt like home.

“Is…this okay?” Hunk asked after a moment, remembering how Keith reacted to his touch earlier.

Keith looked up at the yellow paladin before stretching up and pressing their lips together in a soft kiss.

“No. This is perfect.”

Hotel Books - Nicole

I think I’m losing you, but I will never regret choosing you
Because I am in love, and for now that will be enough
And the ones around me convince me that I was the only person who was dumb enough to believe that you and I had hope.
But now I know even after you began to let your emotions slow the only reason I stood alone was because I was the only one who knew our love was never going to let go.

Everyone wanted me to see that we could not thrive, so gouge out my eyes.
Because if this is reality then I guess I’m not alive,
Because I don’t know a life in where I can’t make things right.
And when life teaches you to drive and you finally say goodbye
And you won’t let me stand by your side
Ill know that though some feelings are hurt, none will have died.
Cause I used to stay up at night and picture myself looking into your eyes
Shouting as you would sigh “how dare you think you can fall asleep with water dripping from the kitchen sink, how dare you think you can fall asleep with all these little leaks in this home we built in our dreams”

A picture is worth a thousand words or whatever people say to me.
It’s hard to believe when your mind is lost and in need,
And all you can picture is a memory inside of someone else’s sheets.
A prayer that nothing will keep,
A hope that light will seek before the dark sinks too deep.
Or at least the sinking feeling inside of me will decrease when the release of perceived dreams burn in the flame of feeling free.
So feel free to be free if that’s what you need.

And if someday you feel alone and everything caves in when you try to breathe,
Know that you are not alone as far as I can see,
Because you were everything to me.
Through this I have realized that if I were God we would have all just died,
Because darling you were mine and now I feel so dead inside,
And what good am I if all I can create is a projection of my own mind.
A dream of finding time to remind you that I’m still here and I’m not fine.
And darling if you’re going to leave just remember who you are,
And do what you can to remember me.

Maybe someday we can talk about our past and we can talk about the weather.
Whenever you leave I don’t care what I’m remembered for,
I just want to be remembered.
Because even if I failed you at least I tried,
And maybe our lives don’t add up now but someday our graves will look the same when we both die.
And if I had a chance I’d give you one last kiss and I’d bite down on your lip
And I’d try to puncture it so you’ll never forget that time,
But you’ll always regret.
And darling I know sometimes life will take a turn for the worst,
And sometimes life will even hurt.
And I know some days, some days you’ll be afraid of the lessons you’ll have to learn
And some days you’ll even feel burned,
And I want to let you know that I want to love you through them.

But I always get what I deserve.

Made with SoundCloud
Breakfast - John Shelby

@johnsheiby  “Show me what’s behind your back.” With John please x
- John Shelby 24 plz ( “It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.” )
- Please do more like suit up, I’ve read part one and 2 and love them. Do more with the family please!! 


Despite the sun only recently rising, John and I have been awake for hours. A grizzly baby, a sick dog and six other children who never miss an opportunity to be out of bed means that our house has dissolved in chaos.

“Want me to have Dotty?” John asks, glancing at me from the floor as I cradle Dotty to my chest.

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“Those two seem to be complete opposites, but they’re the perfect pair.” 

In which Mira’s kid and Mitsuku are best friends surprising everyone they meet. 

In this pic Mitsuku is excitedly talking about some fight he got in while Mira’s kid read’s his book. It might not look it, but he’s listening to every single word the other is saying. They are wearing winter clothes because the heating went out, and it’s cold.

Designs @askstrawhatsanji

people who asked for the kids 

@miranmacha

The other was an anon

Royally Screwed

A part of the drabble series When Two Worlds Collide for the 500 Followers Celebration.

(gifs aren’t mine)

Pairing: T’Challa x Reader x Chadwick Boseman

Summary: A playful banter turned into one of the most horrifying moments of your life.   

A/N: Third one of the series! And I don’t care what anybody says, Chadwick Boseman is a beautiful human being and anyone who disagrees can fight me. 

DRABBLE MASTERLIST

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Nampara Garage, ch 10 update

Verity exited the lift at the lobby level, immediately dazzled by the massive, blown-glass chandelier that sparkled in brilliant copper and teal over the circular reception desk. Huge photos of various aspects of their business were artfully arranged on the walls, providing some of the history and the family behind the company. The same portrait of the Carne family found on their website was featured front and center.

“Welcome to Carnemore, miss,” a voice chirped from somewhere near Verity’s left elbow. “May I help you?”

Verity started. “Forgive me,” she said to the petite blonde with bright blue eyes smiling up at her. The nameplate on the desk read “Amanda Kirkpatrick, Reception”. “Such a lovely space to work in, Amanda.”

Amanda beamed. “It truly is, miss. Is this your first time visiting with us?”

“Yes, it is,” Verity confirmed, setting her parcels down. “My name is Verity Poldark and I have an appointment with Demelza Carne.”

“Oh!” Amanda checked her computer screen. “Poldark, did you say?” Verity nodded, confused at the tone of curiosity teasing the girl’s voice. “Ms Carne’s assistant told me to expect you. Please sign and print your vehicle’s number plate at the bottom,” Amanda said, handing Verity a document that titled “Carnmore Residence Access”, “and I’ll need a copy of your identification, thanks.” Moments later, Amanda handed Verity a cardkey. “Go to the lifts to the left. When you get inside, hold the cardkey on the reader and press “R” to go up to the residence.”

Verity tucked the card in her pocket and picked up her bags. “Thank you very much, Amanda.”

“Oh!” the receptionist said as Verity turned to leave. Amanda was peering over the edge of her desk, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Verity said, continuing on her way. “I shall do just fine.“ She could feel the young woman’s eyes following her as she crossed the lobby to the lift. The doors couldn’t have closed fast enough. 

The doors were whisper-soft when they slid open on the residence floor, revealing a lovely foyer filled with the sound of jazz piano. A beautiful Waterford crystal vase sat on a pedestal table directly in the center of the space. Verity only had a moment to appreciate the shimmering light reflecting through its facets before Demelza came around the light-washed stone privacy wall to greet her.

“Verity! I’m so glad you’re here,” she sighed, tension easing from her shoulders. “We’ve just got the last of the kitchen things from my car.” 

We? Who’s ‘we’? Verity wondered to herself. “I can’t wait to see what you bought! I love going to the kitchen shops but don’t dare to very often. There’s not enough room in the cottage for everything I’d want!”

Demelza giggled. “I didn’t wipe them out, but it was a near thing.” She noticed the grocery bags. “Oh dear, those look ridiculously heavy. Andrew?” she called over her shoulder, “can you come out here and give us a hand?”

Rule of Thumb Pt. 6

Requested: yes

TW: a shit ton of happiness, pregnancy 

Summary: Life in Lawerence proves to be amazing as Dean searches for a home.

Tags: @imurchild 

@percyanddean

@illisea

Originally posted by hunterchesters

There was a soft silence in the Winchester homestead. All the alphas and omegas were tucked away in bed, that is to say until Jess left the spare room she and her husband shared to go satisfy a bacon craving. A typically pleasant, savory scent flooded the house pulling the members up and out of bed. 

Dean lingered around the kitchen daring Jess to eat it all while he called Crowley. Crowley was a peculiar family friend and was holding the treasured Winchester lot until one presented themselves as ready to buy. 

Dean wrote down the time he and his little omega would go and scout it out. He  hung up and pulled up a chair. His nose crinkled happily at the new scent of his omega mixing into the kitchen. She offered a smile, joining his lap. 

“Got us that appointment.” He murmured, concern flickering his gaze as y/n hopped of his lap, running to the nearest bathroom. 

He was quick to his feet, following her just behind Mary. His mother held the girls hair away from her face as she retched into the toilet. “Sorry.” Y/n finally mumbled leaning away from the toilet, seeking the cool tile for comfort. 

“Don’t apologize baby.” Mary soothed pouring a small cup with mouthwash. “I’ll leave this right here for when you think you’re done.” 

Dean crouched beside his omega, kissing her forehead softly. “You want to stay in today?” 

Y/N shook her head, leaning against Dean. "No, I’ll be fine, it happened yesterday too. Today the smell just got me.” 

Mary grinned, digging around in her medicine cabinet. She pulled out a small box and sat it next to the mouthwash. “You might want to take one of these.” 

Dean felt his chest expand with pride as he peppered kisses all over Y/N’s head. “My pups. You could be having my pups.” 

A new sense of excitement rushed through the Winchesters. Everyone was on edge, nervously excited for the results. As the timer rang, Dean stood and silently walked toward the counter where the plastic test was balanced. His chest pounded, aching for a family. Two pink lines stared back at him, causing a smile to spread across his face. “We’re pregnant.” 

What followed was mass chaos in the home. Henry didn’t really understand, Mary was chewing Dean’s ear off for not be more attentive to your needs, John admittedly was crying, Sam had a wondrous grin on his face, and Jess, well, Jess had to burst the bubble so to speak by saying her water broke.

For the Winchesters, drama wasn’t unusual, but a new baby and impending baby was a lot for one day. Dean decided to keep the appointment with Crowley after Y/N’s morning sickness became too much due to the sterile hospital smell.

He already developed a stronger alpha presence. His hands never left her body, his teeth ready to bare and growl at anyone who so dared look at her longer than a second. Crowley was amused to say the least, but somewhere deep down he felt a fondness for Dean and happily filed the paper work.

Dean parked Baby outside of the bunker the family owned. Normally he would have been nervous, but he was too high on life to care. “Um, Dean?” 

His eyes flickered her way. “Yeah sweetheart?”

“Why the fuck does your family own a bunker?” 

At the sharpness of her tone and the way her eyes narrowed at the fact the Winchester property was under the fucking ground, he knew he had faulted. “I’ll explain inside.” Hoping she would just believe him.

8 Birth of a Child

(req)

Dan: For a self-described ‘clumsy prick,’ Dan Howell, your best friend and one true love, was your rock throughout your pregnancy. It wasn’t exactly planned, you had to admit, but when the news broke, Dan was with you every step of the way… Well, almost. You couldn’t have asked for a better father to your future child. But mushiness aside, Dan only really understood the responsibility of incoming fatherhood when the time came.

“Hey, Dan?” You called for him. He was only metres away in the kitchen yet you didn’t dare move.

“Yes, my love?” He responded with habitual lovingness. With an expression so calm, he was likely expecting you to ask some mundane question or spew some inconsequential information. But you always seemed to catch him off-guard in these moments.

“I think I’m in labor,” you said. It wasn’t a joke, no; you were literally sitting in a puddle of fluid you could only assume was from your water breaking. Dan called back with a ‘what was that, dear?,’ not hearing you at all as he whisked himself away with a cup of tea in the kitchen. You repeated yourself at once, this time with a flair of concern in your voice.

You heard the clang of a teaspoon being dropped to the floor followed by the hurried footsteps of a worried man. “You what?” Dan stood now in the threshold of the lounge, processing the sight of the wet sofa and your newly-pained expression. You heard him mumble some ‘oh Gods’ followed by some choice expletives as he helped you from your place of the sofa. He took both of your hands into his and did his best to lift your albeit heavy body into a comfortable standing position.

In the delivery room he was even more of a mess, if that was possible. Never had you seen such a stoic man so nervous, but in a weird way, it helped to relieve your own nerves. Pain was approaching little by little and you knew it wasn’t going to get any easier from here. You let the waves of pain ebb and flow through you for the hours being with as much grace as you could muster, yet Dan felt all the pain himself. ‘Are you alright? Do you need me to go and get a nurse?’ The endless inquiries amused you and frustrated you at the same time. At this point you were just thankful for the company.

“Holy shit,” you muttered, another contraction finding its way through your body. You sat yourself down on the hospital bed holding your overgrown bump, now missing the freedom of pacing about the room. Good Lord, this was it, you thought, this is when I literally explode. A young nurse took notice and ushered a small group of women in pink and blue scrubs into the cramped room, causing Dan to stand up in confusion. This was it.

The volume in the room increased exponentially as nurses and midwives shouted orders at each other, over the sound of your cries of pain. They situated you in a rather vulnerable laying position, one that didn’t frankly ease your pelvic pain, with your legs up onto chilly metal stirrups. And Holy Hell, was it uncomfortable. One nurse instructed Dan to sit in the cushioned chair at your right side, to which he obeyed immediately. You took note of his terrified expression, and if you weren’t in such a state, you would have laughed at it. Despite his fear, he reached out a warm and loving hand to you, stroking your arm as you laid feeling like a dead fish being squeezed dry.

The eldest nurse, likely the ‘midwife,’ you assumed, rattled off some numbers loudly to her colleagues before preparing an arsenal of what sounded like a thousand metal tools. Fun. She barked a list of orders to you that your cloudy head could hardly comprehend, instructing you to hold Dan’s hand and push.

“I’m right here,” you heard Dan say, holding your one hand with both of his. It was the last thing you remember hearing for what seemed like hours upon hours of pushing and pushing. Your screaming and crying broke his heart, but he let you sprain his hand until the pain was over.

A commotion broke through the nurses as you felt a white jolt of pain followed by a blissful release. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, signifying your healthy baby’s first moment of life. Dan was beckoned to the end of the bed to cut the child’s cord and ascertain her sex. You saw immediate tears fall from his eyes as he looked at the child, his face turning pink with the widest grin you’d ever seen. “She’s beautiful,” Dan said, choking on his own joy, watching as the little human was placed upon your bosom. Your own gaiety soon followed, tears wetting your hospital gown. She was so small, warm with vivacity, loud and proud, just like her father.

As evening approached, you dozed off sat up in bed, exhausted from the day’s demands. Dan, however, spent every moment with a big, dumb smile on his face, announcing to family and friends via text and Skype and Snapchat the safe arrival of baby Howell. The tears commenced again, though, when a smiling nurse arrived with your newly-cleaned and swaddled daughter, passing her off for Dan to hold. Never had he held something, someone, so tiny and miraculous and utterly beautiful. He couldn’t help the tears that fell from his cheeks, he must’ve been the luckiest guy on Earth with two beautiful dolls like you. “I love you,” Dan whispered to the wiggling child, her tiny hand grasping his ring finger with ardour. He cried and laughed and smiled more.

You watched your little family with tired eyes half-opened, sighing at what a lovely sight it was. Dan looked back at you, noticing your awoken state and smiled. He brought the girl to you, placing her ever-so gingerly in your arms before kissing you with all the love and tenderness he could muster. And a thousand more ‘I love yous’ fell from his mouth again.

Phil: “Ready to go?” Phil faced you with a nervous smile, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in front of him. Your bags were packed and stowed away in the backseat; your car was the most prepared one to bring a baby home.

You patted your middle, giving him the most reassuring smile and nod. “Are you?”

“I guess we’ll see,” Phil said, laughing a nervous chuckle. You knew he was anxious, but what new father wouldn’t be? Excitement was in his eyes, though, and you reciprocated that. He backed out of the driveway and chatted giddily about the near future during the drive. “I hope it’s a girl, so she looks like you,” he commented at one point. He smiled that dumb cute smile, his tongue sticking out slightly as he glanced at you, his own beautiful sight.

“Yeah?” you played, “Well I hope it’s a little boy, so he looks just like you.” You thought of the pictures and videos you’d seen of Phil as a toddler; his red hair and chubby cheeks could’ve melted your heart. However the little one turned out, though, they would be perfect. Even if they had just the slightest bit of Phil in them. Phil chuckled and rested a protective hand on your thigh. “Oh, Jesus,” you groaned, clutching your bump as the first signs of labor presented themselves. You shut your eyes and did your best to breathe for the time being. You were only minutes away from the hospital, was the little bugger really so excited to come out right now?

Immediate worry washed over Phil’s countenance, realization hitting him like a double-decker bus. “Oh my God, are you okay?” His eyes faltered from the road to look to you, pain twisting your face. You assured him it was nothing out of the ordinary, that you were, in fact, literally in labor, instructing him to just drive, please.

But as for all good things, you had to wait. And wait. And wait. You were settled, rather uncomfortably, mind you, in a homey delivery room for six hours before reaching the point of Oh, God, here it goes. It was nearly eight hours until the pain was too much to stand, quickly disabling you from walking about the room and chatting comfortably with your husband. You felt stabs and jolts of pain from between your legs and up your back for hours on end, only being able to wince and ride it out until the waves passed.

At times it was a bit much for Phil, he was never really the best when it came to you feeling unwell. He wished he could just wave a magic wand and have your pain be gone, or take it on himself at the least. But alas, that was not a possibility, so he did what he could. Holding and kissing your knuckles with a warmth so refreshingly soft. Stroking the top of your hair, fingertips gliding along your temples and forehead gently when the pain was especially bad. It was the best he could do to ease the discomfort, and for that you were infinitely grateful.

At the ten hour mark, or eleven or twelve (you could hardly keep track at this point), you were finally allowed to begin pushing. It was likely the most painful thing you’d ever endured, and it seemed to go on for hours more. With every groan and shout of discomfort you gave, Phil grew more nervous. He worried you’d get hurt, that something awful might happen to you or your child. So he sat as close to your side as he was allowed.

Anxiety finally swallowed Phil whole when the nurses announced some ‘complication’ with the birth. Your head was in a hazy cloud of pain and exhaustion that you didn’t understand what was the matter and couldn’t fight back. Your nervous Phil, however, was fully conscious and seemed about ready to cry when you were moved onto a wheeled bed that would transport you to an operating room.

Much of the following chaos was but a blur in your memory; you were drifting in and out of consciousness as a result of the pain for what felt like the longest time. When you did finally come to (that is, enough to really process reality), you were comfortably habituated in a clean hospital room, a red-eyed Phil huddled in a yellow armchair with a tiny powder-blue bundle in his arms. One of his large hands held the baby’s head with the gentlest caution, sweeping back the soft fuzz along his crown with a look of awe on his face. You couldn’t tell whether his eyes were red and rubbed raw because of emotion or exhaustion, probably a mixture of the two. You inhaled deeply to clear your head of any lingering pain and negativity.

Phil lifted his head from the infant’s face to yours. “You’re awake,” he smiled with a hushed voice, getting up and walking slowly to your side. All you could do was smile weakly in response. He bounced the boy gently in his arms as he sat next to you. Both of your arms were anchored to IVs, electrodes attached to various parts of your body, and Phil didn’t want to put pressure on your weak body, so he opted to sit at your side instead. “Look, it’s your Mummy,” he said softly to the half-asleep child, “she worked very hard to bring you here.” He smiled brightly at you, giggling in a fit of joy. You laughed too, it was rather funny how lucky you were to have such a wonderful man in your life. “She scared me half to death trying,” he continued, “that’s how much she loves you.” Phil brought the boy to his face, kissing his forehead and placing him back in the tiny bed next to yours.

You couldn’t bring your eyes away from the child. “He’s beautiful,” you said. Indeed he was. It looked as though some red hair was already beginning to show itself on the little one’s head, just like Phil.

Phil nodded and took your hands in his, kissing them lightly before kissing your lips. “As are you,” he cooed. The smile he wore didn’t leave his face for a moment. “But don’t you scare me like that ever again, okay?”
House aesthetics
  • Griffindor: Summer. Day hikes. Song lyrics you wrote in permanent marker on your shoes during a road trip. Shots of Fireball whiskey. The sound of a late night basketball game in a driveway. Talking your friends into getting season passes to a theme park with you and going as many times as you can. Tickets to the warped tour. An epic pub crawl. Unfinished books and Facebook rants. Tried to start a fight club (as a joke but not really). A fridge light spilling out into a dark kitchen. Your friend dared you to jump off a neighbor's roof into their pool and you did it. Ring toss and shooting games on the boardwalk. Warm vanilla chai. Fallout boy. Video game controllers at 130am. Weapon of choice - nerf gun. The warm feeling of power and excitement when lighting something on fire. Clapping someone on the back. You used to make up all the super complicated secret handshakes that your friends used. Athletic wear. Drawing dragons in hyperrealistic detail and doodling anime. Joining a crossfit gym. Racking up speeding tickets. Running off your mouth and inadvertently hurting someone before you realize what you're doing.
  • Ravenclaw: Winter. Going to the bookstore. Scrawling your favourite quote on every card and letter before you sign your name. Vodka in a teacup. The sound of rain hitting a windowpane and rolling thunder. Flying out to a new country and staying in a super luxe hotel. Tickets to the philharmonic. A Shakespeare performance in the park. Your unfinished novel and subsequent blog complaints about the problems with said novel. Tried to start an online book club (which is still going). A collection of candles in mason jars lighting a living room. A Griffindor dared you to play a piano song in the middle of the night and you "did" - you just let your nails clack on the keys. Boggle on a sunlit kitchen table. Loose leaf earl grey with lemon. Cello recordings to read to. Knitting needles working. Weapon of choice - isolation. The thrill of getting every jeopardy question right before the contestant. Awkwardly waving. You used to use an old wwii code to send secret messages. Black tie. Drawing mazes of geometric shapes and experimenting with pointillism. Going for a run early while listening to an audiobook. Trying to balance friends and work and life and you and the world and somehow feeling like you've failed in spite of looking successful.
  • Hufflepuff: Spring. Baking cupcakes. Lettering original poetry on canvas with a fine marker to give to your mom. Chaucer's Mead. The sound of sand being shaken out of a blanket. Renting a beach house for a week to relax with friends. Tickets to Hamilton. A new exhibit at the zoo. Unfinished chores and pinning new recipes. Tried to start a YouTube channel (has one video set to private). Like 18 strands of fairy lights tacked up near the ceiling. A Griffindor dared you to propose to a stranger and you said no because that's awkward for both you and the stranger. Constructing a scavenger hunt for you and your friends. Green tea with mint or peach. Mumford and sons on vinyl. Organizing books (for the 800th time). Weapon of choice - kindness. The electric feeling of spotting constellations for the first time. A firm handshake. You used to find the perfect hiding places for secret clubs. Warm jumpers. Painting murals of seascapes in your living room. Taking walks through the park with your dog. Excessively watching food network. Being unsure and hypercritical of yourself but knowing exactly what to do for others in any situation.
  • Slytherin: Fall. Reading through the night. Scribbling fiction in messy green ink in a journal. Half drunk glasses of Bourbon in odd places. The sound of boots tossed onto a hardwood floor. Holing up in an old mansion for the weekend. Tickets to coachella. A special screening of a Hitchcock double feature. Unfinished Netflix movies and making 8tracks playlists. Tried to start a band (was successful enough to make it to iTunes; broke up because life happened). The soft glow of a heat lamp for your pet but also the harsh blue light from reading on your phone. A Griffindor dared you to vandalize property and you refused because you don't see a point for needless destruction. Monopoly - and it gets INTENSE. Darjeeling. The base turned up in your car for Lana del Rey. Rubix cubes being solved. Weapon of choice - honesty. The satisfying feeling of saying the perfect thing at exactly the right time. A strong hug. You used to pass secret notes in class and never get caught. Elaborate af Halloween costumes. Working with charcoal on thick paper or creating optical illusions with sidewalk chalk. Walking around a uni town in the middle of the night. Cigarettes and too many drinks and antiques and family history. Standing up for what is right and saying what you think every time - even if it hurts.

… Luke offered up a prayer, quick but heartily meant, as he pushed open the doors to the kitchens.  

A half-dozen of the gas lamps had been lit, giving the room a soft, almost cheerful glow. Sitting at one of the long tables with his back to the door was Finn. He had Artu perched on his shoulder; as Luke came into the room, Finn turned and smiled — but not at him.

 “Just the thing!” exclaimed a voice. Luke peered further into the room to find Rey rummaging in the ice box, emerging triumphantly with a small jug of milk. She caught sight of Luke and her eyes went very, very wide.

-scene taken from ch 3 of And the Light That Shines in Darkness by @leupagus

Vile Wench! Take Responsibility- Tokugawa Ieyasu (SLBP)

@cottonballwithmustache Revenge!! 😈😈😈 I’ll get you hot and bothered ♨♨♨ The young lord was angered beyond description. How dare that kitchen wench make him feel this way. He was going to make sure she took responsibility for it. He casually sauntered off to find her. She was in for hell. ********** He found her cleaning up her chambers; and snuck in ever so silently, locking the door in process. “Vile wench. Take responsibility for this-” And with that, he shoved her onto the bed, pinning her hands above her head.

Originally posted by coupleaims

3

kastle halloween gift exchange: reunited after a long time for @thekastlediaries! This was going to be an actual and legit fic, but I panicked and couldn’t get it done in time for the deadline :D so it’s a drabble :D Happy Kastleween.!!

She feels bad for her lack of enthusiasm, but she’s been falling through like this for every passing holiday over the last year and a half. If her family was too busy being a family, back home, for her to feel disruptive calling in to pretend she wasn’t lonely and always tinged with a little bit of fear. If Matt couldn’t put down his … sticks and his masks and his ego for just a few moments to remember that there were people in the world, in the real world without the flames of hell’s kitchen and his growing list of super friends. If Foggy was too busy with work or with Marci or with both of them simultaneously, to give her a ring or a text about getting together. She felt a lack of energy to pretend away the day. After all, tracking down, following, and collecting information from sketchy sources and an abundance of overnight research on all of the wicked dark deeds of the baddest of the bad in Hell’s Kitchen  was a lot of work. A lot of herself expunged throughout the days and nights.

So, she’d gotten through the work she’d wanted to (there were rumblings of the Russians trying to find their way out of the graves Vladamir and brother had found themselves in and rise back up) – wrapped alone in her office that she didn’t really deserve, with the purple string of lights the front receptionist had hung throughout the Bulletin casting a ominous hue over the files on her desk, all day. She’d bypassed all of her coworkers and Ellison in their ironic or silly or ‘scary’ costumes (she’d seen far scarier things in her life, real things) and the bowl of candy set out by the front door for children who happened to stop inside and made her escape. She’d watched through the taxi window as they drove by the hoards of people taking to the pavement. The streets had been lined with excitement rarely felt in this part of the city, as of late. Kids bundled up in ugly polyester superhero capes and plastic werewolf masks they couldn’t breathe through – parents trudging along behind them yelling at them to slow down and wait for crossing. She’d passed teenagers doused in fake blood (not real, not real, not real for a long time), talking about how they could manage to sneak into the major parties of the night and Karen couldn’t believe, with the current state of the Kitchen, that parents would dare let them travel the streets so alone.

Eventually she’d made it into the familiar of her own apartment and thrown the couple of bags of candy she’d bought on the way home, on the table by the front door, along with her keys. Without Foggy around or Matt or anyone else she knew, she could allow her lack of enthusiasm. She could remember last Christmas and Matt’s need for a dramatic bombshell present instead of, say, some nice candles. She could remember this past St. Patrick’s Day and Foggy heading home with Marci before the night had even done. And so, she stopped pretending this was any different, turned on the television, ordered a pizza, and answered the door with each knock of little fists against wood. 

And that’s where she’d been for the past hour – opening the door to little kids, smiling softly, and tossing pieces of candy into open pillow cases. 

Karen reached out to pull the door open for the billionth time that night, bag of kisses clutched in hand, to her next visitor in the hallway. Her eyes traveled upwards, from where the children normally rose, over combat boots and black beaten gear. Past the haphazard spray of a white skull and up through the cuts on the top lip and eyebrow. No polyester. No masks. But, blood. Real, real, real. It’s been so long since real, real, real blood. She’s tried to avoid it. Tried to keep her promise. Only speaking his name or paying him any mind when Ellison had her on a story where she had to let him occupy space in her mind for a moment.

“Great costume,” Karen stared blindly, her voice carefully and thoughtfully dead of emotion. Frank did nothing but stare back, the tip of a word somewhere in his eyes. “So lifelike,” Karen continued. “The blood almost looks real.”

“…Ma’am.”

Karen grabs at a kiss and places it in his hand, before moving to close the door, “Happy Halloween.”

“–Karen,” Frank’s foot presses out to stop it from closing. It wouldn’t do well for her neighbors to notice that The Punisher on her doorstep wasn’t just a really fantastic Halloween costume, but the real thing. She’d already seen a few of them, little kid versions, walking around with little kid Spiderman’s and little kid Black Widows. The world they live in – she doesn’t know what her dad would say. And Karen feels like a fool when she does nothing but sigh, shake her head a little, and let him inside.