I absolutely need everyone to reblog this right now. This is an offline browser meant to read Homestuck as it was intended, with Flash.
This project is absolutely BIG and the person behind it BIGGER, and you guys have no idea how glad I am to have a complete Homestuck archive right at hand that also has stuff like The Baby Is You and Humanimals among so much more. Like what?? It’s the real MSPA.
Please share this. Go to the creator’s Twitter (Bamboshu) and retweet too! Donate.
Also, all the content is less than 4GB? I’d think it’d be way more heavy. You can even save it on a USB and you’ve got the entirety of Homestuck and MSPA in your hands…
okay so I know Homestuck is a meme and all, but like - it is absolutely no kidding one of the most influential works of the last fifteen years? Undertale is fucking massive for an indie game and got the kind of critical accolades that last and inspire all kinds of imitation, and it was started in Homestuck’s author’s garage - its most iconic song was also used in Homestuck for crying out loud. Two of the 2019/2020 Hugo and Nebula nominees for Best Novel, including the Hugo winner, are by former Homestuck fic authors who are open about the fact. I can recognize threads from Homestuck, and, more than that, from those authors’ specific interpretations of Homestuck, in both. Neither the Hugo nor the Nebula are small potatoes! Both those books are going to impact SFF in their own right; it’s gonna ripple out from there. I can name at least three other books published through major houses whose authors spent time in Homestuck fandom. This is just off the top of my head.
I am being one hundred percent sincere when I say that when if we lose Homestuck to the digital decay of Flash, we lose a modern landmark in SFF and experimental fiction. It’s worth grabbing a copy of your own, and this is a service to the world that’s been done here. I’m not joking.
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simon whines when he cums, making pathetic little noises as you work him through his orgasm, still trapped in your walls. you brush his hair away from his face, his blonde curls growing out of the army crop.
your hands brush against his scars, before he buries his face in your neck, “love- love…” he lets out a sigh, and your fingernails scratch his back, “y-you feel so good love.”
you just gently pry his chin off you, looking into his eyes, cock softening in you, as you look up into his eyes. “you feel so good.” you say, gently, “you always do such a good job baby.”
he just looks back down at you with hazy eyes, that clear quickly. “love, i gotta get you pregnant, gotta make sure it sticks.”
you smile up at him, “course it’ll stick.”
“just one more time, just to make sure?”
( + he sits with you through all the morning sickness nausea )
something something simon riley wearing his slutty little glasses to read on the opposite end of the sofa. he looks so so relaxed that you really do try and leave him alone. but he's got those big thighs spread wide and one beefy arm draped across the back of the couch and his brown eyes all big and soft behind those gold wire frames and he just looks good enough to eat whole.
so soon enough your grinding against his thigh like a pup in heat, looking up at him through lowered lashes, tracing your fingers over his chest, waiting for him to finally give in and toss his book to the side.
"five minutes of peace pet, that's all i bloody ask for." he sighs, sliding a well worn bookmark between pages.
but you can tell from the way his lips quirk upwards and his hands find your hips that he doesn't actually mind you interrupting his afternoon.
They were always too big, considering his behemoth size above the rest of his peers. Long, spindly fingers that over the years in the military, became thick with callouses and scars. Yellowed with cigarette butts, a knuckle here and there slightly out of place from all of the fractures and breaks.
The palms of his hands were completely webbed with delicate lines from both age and the extensive length of times he had worn his fingers in a fist. He had tried to make them look a little better, had gotten tattoos, would lotion when he could remember. The ink ran deep, little swirls and designs eating up the thick, aged skin on the back of his hands, fingers blotched on the first knuckle with little images or letters. It had started to bleed and fade that strange sort of navy that tattoos do after a prologued time under the skin.
But no amount of ink on the planet would erase the blood that they carried each day. Breaths silenced by those jagged palms, lives ended with just one pull of an index finger. His hands were dirty. Worse than the muck constantly tucked under his trimmed nails. They were forever stained crimson with decisions he would never be able to take back.
Right now, he was fighting hard to stop his fingers from trembling. He’d never felt his heart race this way. His palms were tense, outstretched to minimise the age lines that spanned them, and waiting for when the weight settled between them.
His breath stopped.
Bundled up in blankets and a tiny pink hat, those same hands that had carried grenades and guns and knives, was now so carefully balancing a tiny baby girl. No bigger than the length of his hands held open side by side, weighing nothing more than just a small few pounds and ounces.
Just her face was visible. Still a little smushed up from birth, peach fuzz coating the softest, pinkest skin. Her eyes shut, tiny lashes splaying across little rosy cheeks. She had his nose. Well the one before it has been broken four times. A little button nose, a little long, with a tiny bump down the bridge. But she had the poutiest little lips on the planet. Glossy with salvia, undoubtedly a carbon copy of her mother’s.
Simon was breathless and speechless.
This tiny thing, no bigger than this calloused, ugly hands… it had come from him. And the fact somebody loved him so much to give him one.
He could feel the hot sting of tears in the corner of his eyes.
His daughter stirred, her little face scrunching up even more before she yawned. Simon only watched, how her tiny pink tongue flexed in her mouth, how the fat of her cheeks shifted to accommodate that teeny tiny jaw to open as wide as it could go. Then, she settled back into the blankets, clearly comfortable in Simon’s hands. She squeaked quietly before settling in completely.
The first tear streamed down Simon’s cheek. Then the next. And the next.
His hands. Those calloused, ink stained, bloodied evil-doing hands. He had hated them for as long as he could remember.
But now, holding the smallest, most delicate, precious being in the world.
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Ghost desperately needs to fuck his client. (You) pt. 2
tags | plug! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader, smoking, weed, shotgunning, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, creampie, jealousy, not edited, my current brain worm
prev. part
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You text Simon a week later.
‘You got anything? Had a long day.’
‘Made some pre-rolls just for you, bird.’
‘Yay!!! Coming!!’
You give him a tight smile when you sit on his couch. It’s not like you. He doesn’t say anything until you take a few puffs and your tense shoulders start to sag.
“What happened?”
“Boss was just being a dick all day.” You turn to give a real smile, eyes crinkling, “Good thing my drug dealers got a soft spot for me though, huh?”
“Who told you that?” He smirks.
Your mouth drops in surprise, smacking his shoulder playfully.
“That’s mean.”
“You’re my favorite client, you know that.”
That makes you smile, head rolling onto the back of the couch and he decides he likes making you do that. He goes to get you water, and when he comes back your eyes are closed.
He lets you sleep.
The next time he sees you, you’re leaving the club, and when you recognize his car you jog over with an excited smile on your lips. You’ve got this little black dress on that makes it awfully hard to focus on anything else besides the curve of your hips.
“Simon! What are you doing here?”
“Bird? The hell you doing out here?”
“I went out with my friend.” You point to a man standing close by.
His jaw tenses, “Get in.”
“Huh?”
“Get in the car, bird. I’m not arguing.” He’s already climbing out of the driver's seat to open the passenger door for you.
“I’m not gonna leave him, Simon!” You say, but you let him guide you into the car anyway.
“He’s a big boy. He’ll survive.”
When he gets to your house you turn to him with a mischievous smile, “Were you jealous?”
“Of who?”
“Don’t play dumb!”
“Just making sure you’re safe s’all.” He shrugs casually.
You lean across the center console, “It’s okay. I’m not interested in him.”
“Good.”
That makes you smile bigger, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, “You gonna come in and smoke with me?”
“Course I am.”
You drag him inside giggling, stumbling a little over your high heels. You waste no time changing, pulling the dress over your head as you walk down the hallway, giving him a glimpse of your lacy covered ass before you disappear into your room.
You come back out in an oversized shirt and shorts. “Proper smoking fit now.”
“Could’ve stayed in the dress for me.”
You frown, “Was getting uncomfy.”
“Like you like this more anyways.”
That makes you smile shyly, sitting next to him on your couch. He’s already lit a joint, it’s pink, and the sight of his big hands around it makes you giggle.
“Couldn’t even wait for me to start?”
“C’mere.” He grunts, pulling you on to his lap.
It’s the first time you’ve been there since you begged to ride him. The memory makes him chub in his jeans.
He takes a big inhale before gripping your chin, dragging you to his mouth, and exhales the smoke into your mouth. You writhe in his lap in surprise, fingers fisting his shirt, but you inhale as much as you can.
“Let me try.” You murmur.
He places the joint in your lips. You inhale deeply before leaning forward and blowing the smoke into his mouth.
The two of you take turns shotgunning the smoke into each other’s mouth. The pause between each inhale gets longer and longer, the both of you keeping your lips close, not kissing, just there. Breaths fanning over each other’s faces, your body becoming heavier and heavier on his thighs.
You smell like tequila, and there’s a part of him who knows he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re drunk, but you’re so fucking pretty in his lap, eyes lidded and edges stained red, lips parted to take shaky breaths.
“‘s all gone.” He says, holding the tip.
“Yeah.” You whisper, but your eyes stay focused on his lips.
The corner of his mouth twitches, “That’s not a good idea. You’re drunk.”
“But you’re high now too, aren’t you? Evens it out.”
He chuckles, “I need more than just one j to be high, pretty.”
You frown.
“You were on a date anyway. Don’t think you want this.”
Your frown deepens, “Wasn’t a date. He’s just a friend.”
He hums, ignoring the irritation pulsing at his temples, fingers smoothing along your hips.
“Just a kiss?” You murmur, “Hold me over til I’m sober.”
He tuts his tongue, but he pulls you down anyway because he’s a man after all, he can only resist so much. You smile against his lips, eyes fluttering shut and tugging him closer to you.
It’s slow, the both of your lips are a little numb from smoking, and the taste of the strawberry paper he buys for you has left a fruity taste in your mouths. His fingers tingle where they’re at your hips and there’s a pressure in his head from smoking.
He can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss when you taste like that and sound so sweet against him. You let him lick into your mouth, and your hips start to grind along his hardened length in his jeans.
You gasp against his lips every so often, filling your lungs with air before diving back in. He’s strong, god he’s strong because he manages to pull away, your lips stained a darker color, and you blink at him sadly when he stops your hips. All he can think about is how wet you probably are, just ruining your lacy panties, but he slides you off him anyway.
“Should drink some water, and go to bed.” He says.
Your brows crease, pout on your lips, but you nod anyway.
You text him in the middle of the night two weeks later.
‘You up?’
‘For you.’
‘I think I’m greening out andd I’m rlly scared can you pls come pick me up?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I don’t knowww.’
‘Send me your location.’
You’re at some random party, and you give him a wobbly smile when you see him. That same friend at your side.
“Hi.”
“Hi, bird. Let’s go.”
You nod, your hands shaking when you lace your fingers with his and he drags you through the crowd. He takes you to his, helps you change into some of his clothes, and presses a glass of water to your lips. You chug it like you’re parched, barely saving any room to breathe.
“You’re gonna stress me out.”
You laugh quietly, “Sorry.”
“Gotta be careful smoking too much when you’re not somewhere you’re familiar with.” He sits you down on his bed.
“I know. It just kinda happened.”
“How you feeling?”
“Better with you.”
That makes his teeth show.
“You want me to put music on?”
You shake your head, “Just want to lay with you.”
He invites you over for a smoke session a few days later. You roll the joint between your thumbs nervously.
“If you don’t wanna smoke we don’t have to. Just thought since it’s kinda our thing now.”
You smile big, “Our thing?”
“Mmhh.” He hums with a nod.
“That’s not what I was thinking about.” You murmur quietly.
“What’s it then?”
“You sleep with a lot of your clients?”
He chokes on the smoke he’s inhaled, coughing so much that tears well in his eyes.
“What?”
“Um, well. Have you fucked any of your other clients?” You bite at your bottom lip.
“Jesus, bird. No.” He coughs.
“Are you lying?” You squint.
“Never lie to you.”
“Okay.”
You smoke in silence after that. Your feet rest on his lap the entire time as you lean against the armrest. He runs his fingers along your ankles and up your calves. It’s innocent at first, but then you nudge your toes on the bulge in his sweats and he raises his brows at you.
You shrug, a devilish smirk on your lips.
“Accident.”
But then your legs fall open a little, your pretty thighs parting slightly for him. It’s an invitation, an awfully tempting one. It all happens so fast, he almost doesn’t even realize he’s nosing along the wet patch of your underwear and placing your legs on his shoulders until you squeak in surprise.
Your panties come off easy and he beelines straight to the source. He kisses along your thighs, your breath getting faster with each approaching kiss. His thumb finds your clit first, just soft strokes while his breath fans over your vagina.
He licks one flat swipe along your clit and your back arches. He dips lower and fucking groans into your pussy when he gets a real taste, eyes closed like he’s got sugar melting between his teeth and not you filling his senses.
When he returns to your clit, your toes curl against his back, and your head falls back. You’ve got one hand stifling your moans and he’d make you take it off and sing for him, but he’s more concerned with laving at your swollen clit than anything else.
You cry out when he takes the bead between his lips and sucks softly. Your mouth forms an o and the look you give him is so cute that he smiles into your pussy. Furrowed brows and big beady eyes, lashes wet at the edges like the stimulation was becoming too much.
You don’t try to pull away though, instead, you arch deeper into him, hand curling around the back of his head and pushing him closer to your clit. His big hands find your hips when you start to grind on his face messily, and it takes everything in him not to buck his own into his couch because he’s sure you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever fucked.
His nose bumps along your clit with each thrust, and his face is drenched in juices down to his chin. He hopes the smell fucking sticks, hopes he can taste you on his tongue later tonight when you’re not there.
You finish with his name on your lips and your thighs squeezing around his head tight. He licks it all up, lapping eagerly at your walls while your legs slowly relax, falling open onto his shoulders, and twitching with each lick.
When he comes up, your chest is heaving, like you were the one down there suffocated by your thighs and pussy. There’s this dopey smile on your lips and he can’t help but smile back, leaning down to kiss you with your arousal all over his face.
You don’t even scrunch your nose, you lick right into his mouth hungrily.
“You’re fucking perfect.” He grunts between sloppy kisses, hands fumbling with his sweats.
He feels you smile, “You’re the one who just ate me out.”
You make a surprised noise when his head slips into your entrance, hands clambering to your shoulders. He slides right in, your pussy nice and lax from your orgasm. He rests his forehead against yours when he bottoms out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth popped open in pleasure.
“Fuckkk,” He drawls, “She feels so good.”
You whine, nodding against his forehead.
He starts with shallow thrusts, fucking into you just deep enough for you to get used to the stretch. When you start to impatiently arch into him for more, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and leans forward.
The new angle makes you moan loudly, the pace Simon sets is more brutal.
“Been fucking stressing me out all month, you know that?” He grits his teeth.
You shake your head, but he wasn’t really looking for a response.
“Can’t just fucking stay home, can you? Always gotta get yourself into some trouble, don’t you?” His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh.
You whimper at his tone, “It’s not on purpose.”
“Asking if I sleep with other girls, like you aren’t smoking with other men.”
His hips slam into you hard at the end of his sentence, like he’s emphasizing his words.
“They fuck you like this? Huh?”
You shake your head again, “No! No, just you Simon.”
He’s not even sure where that came from when you guys have only fucked once, you’re not his, but you’re wrapped around him, pressing kisses against his neck because you think he’s mad and how can he not be jealous?
“You all mine?” He whispers, hips stuttering with his strength to not finish.
“Yes, yes, god, yes.”
You finish around him again, pussy just gushing, and compressing tight. He buries himself deep and joins you, pumping you full of the past month of blue balls you’ve given him.
When you were pregnant, Simon was so worried she would be huge like he was. He lived in terror that the birth would be horrendous for you. He felt so guilty, blaming himself for a scenario that he made up. The thought of doing anything to hurt you was torture for him.
But, when she came out, she was tiny. Little fingers and just over 5lbs. Simon had never held something so little. He could hardly even believe it when he took her into his arms for the first time. This tiny little thing was his and yours. Perfect and ridiculously miniature.
Her little fingers wrapped around his thumb as she makes little frustrated sounds. “Don’t think she’s a big fan o’ me, Lovie.” It comes out as a joke, but for him, it’s a half truth. One of his biggest fears coming out, trying its hardest to damper his mood.
“She’s just hungry, Si. She likes you plenty. She’s only about an hour old.” You smile tiredly as you look at your large husband cradling your impossibly tiny little girl.
Your daughter pulls his thumb forward, trying to nurse on him. “Ah wrong one, darling. You’ll need mummy for that.” He laughs. You swear if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was crying.
simon's team finds out that he has a missus and she's heavily pregnant.
simon had never taken you to fancy galas before, and this time, he said he'd introduce you to his team, hence why you were so nervous.
he walked through the doors like he owned the place, a firm hand pressed on the small of your back.
everyone expected him to show up alone, like he always did, but tonight, he had a companion. behind him, clutching the fabric of his dark silky suit, was you. you were dressed in a flowing floral dress that hugged your body perfectly.
your cheeks were flushed, not used to all the attention on you, and you kept your eyes fixed on the floor, hiding behind his massive frame. you felt overwhelmed, completely out of place.
and then their focus shifted to your growing belly. you could hear the whispers and their gasps.
your bump was unmistakably showing. simon had helped you pick up that dress, let them see how beautiful you look, knocked up with my child. he had said, before leaving the house.
simon's hand rested possessively on your lower back, while his other hand was protectively splayed across your stomach.
lieutenant riley has a missus? and she's pregnant? was all you could hear.
gaz, who was exchanging words with a recruit, nearly choked on his champagne. soap dropped his glass. price just stared, his cigar forgotten in his hand, his eyes wide.
simon leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear, his voice so low that only you could hear. "you're doing well, love." he murmured, and there was a dark satisfaction in his tone.
simon's intention was clear. he'd brought you here deliberately, knowing exactly what the reaction would be. he wanted everyone to know who you belonged to.
it was a silent warning. let them talk. let them stare. at the end of the night, he would be the one listening to your sweet moans.
You look from your place in bed, glasses almost sliding off of your nose. You glance around the room once before pointing at yourself. Simon gives you a dead-serious nod of his head, drilling holes into you with his eyes.
“Huh, what’d I do, Si?”
“All that. I’m tellin’ you t’ stop bein’ a tease.”
You take yourself into account. You are sitting in bed in your ugly, mismatched pajamas, reading a book with everything about you totally undone. You were just nodding off when he walked in. What’s Simon on about?
“I’m-… Are we playing around? Joking? I don’t get it.” You’re about as un-sexy as you can be.
He huffs and walks up to the edge of the bed, reaching under the covers to wrap a large hand around your ankle and pull you to the edge, locked under his gaze as blankets crowd around you. “Look at ya, love. Quit playing games.”
You finally find it in you to laugh at his ambiguity, watching the corners of his mouth quirk. He shifts on his feet uncomfortably, tightening his grip around your ankle. “I don’t understand. I’m very unattractive right now. Startlingly so.”
“Don’t say tha’.” He mutters, leaning over to shove his face into the crook of your neck, humming in relief as he presses into you. You wrestle your arms free to throw around him, curling into his heavy body. The moment goes on sweetly until his hips roll lazily against you, exhaling shakily.
It's a bit late but it's still Jason's birthday somewhere on earth 🥺🙏
Part 7 zombie Jason is amazing, I like this scene that there are some balloons in the room with him.
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