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call-me-eds · 2 years

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Lecture

Masterlist

Eddie x Reader

Wayne walks in on something..unbecoming. He has a special relationship with you, but now all of that is out the window.

“You live under my roof, Boy, don’t you forget that! Your mother is probably rolling over in her grave right now, she taught you better than to disrespect a home like this. Jesus, Ed, that is where we prepare food!”

You were in the bathroom looking at your cheeks grow redder by the second in the mirror while your boyfriend got chewed out, deservedly so. Eddie told you that Uncle Wayne wouldn’t be home for hours. “I barely see him nowadays now that he got himself a girlfriend,” were the exact words out of his mouth.

It wasn’t the first time you ventured out of his bedroom for a quick romp, but it was the first time you got interrupted. Sure, Uncle Wayne would flick the outside lights on and off a couple of times when you and Eddie were taking your time saying goodbye, or he would make a comment about keeping hands above the blanket when you three were watching one of his nature documentaries, but that was different, all innocent.

Now, everything has changed. Eye contact was out of the question for at least a decade, if you even worked up the courage to go back to the trailer before then.

Uncle Wayne made you feel like their home was yours, too, and you took advantage of that. Sleepovers were allowed, as long as your parents knew where you were. You had a standing dinner invitation, and he even picked up a bottle of hot sauce for you after you asked if there was any in the cabinets just one time. It had become such a place of comfort that you felt free enough to undress and let Eddie defile you right there on the counter. And the worst part about it was that it wasn’t even the first time.

Your body almost folded in on itself when you heard Eddie fighting back with him.

“I told you I will clean it-”

“Oh, I’ve seen your version of clean, and that’s not going to cut it. Bring Y/N home, and when you come back, I don’t want a peep from you for the rest of the night.” Eddie was 19, almost 20, but he was being spoken to like a child. God, Uncle Wayne raised him from childhood and now he saw him hunched over you, hips moving against yours faster than his uncontrollable mouth.

Silent most of the time, it was the loudest expression you had ever heard come from Uncle Wayne when he walked inside. You had almost been too overtaken by pleasure that you didn’t even hear him. Almost. That shout would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Eddie grabbed on to you even tighter, moving you behind him swiftly. This wasn’t happening. There was no way. It had to be some sort of twisted nightmare you got from eating too late again.

“Come on, man,” Eddie groaned, hands cupping his now exposed self.

“Oh my God,” you whimpered, crouching behind him, hoping that if you shut your eyes tight enough you might just disappear.

““I just want to come home after work and relax and this is what I get greeted with! In my own house!” Uncle Wayne yelled through eyes squeezed shut. “I am going to go outside, count to ten, and everyone better be fully clothed.” The door didn’t even have time to click shut before you were sprinting to the bathroom. Eddie started to try and talk you down, but Uncle Wayne kept true to his word and was back inside, yelling for Eddie to get out of his room.

“Take a shower and get changed, okay? I’ll handle it,” he said, rubbing your arm reassuringly before pulling on boxers and a t-shirt to do damage control in.

Getting in the shower, even if you didn’t use any of their limited hot water, was out of the question. You wouldn’t use a single amenity the Munson’s offered, and in fact were trying to think of ways to escape so you wouldn’t even need to use the front door. While you spun around, hoping a window had been added in the 30 minutes since you were last in the bathroom, a knock made you jump out of your skin.

“Sweetheart? Want me to take you home?” Eddie’s low voice came through the door, offering a way out as if you hadn’t heard Uncle Wayne demand it from him. You opened the door and Eddie smiled to try and console you, but a whimper came from your mouth still. He just nodded in commissary and put his hand on your back, leading you to the scene of the crime. Not seeing the witness was almost worse than facing him.

“Where did he go?” you whispered like he might jump out at any moment.

“Smoking,” Eddie said. Only when you became a more regular fixture did the boys take their habit outside. There was still an ashtray on the coffee table, but if they just had to indulge they did it where the smell wouldn’t sink into your clothes or their furniture.

The deep breath you took did nothing to calm your nerves as you stepped outside. For just a second you thought it would be better to see him not in direct lighting, but it just made his aura more ominous.

“I’m sorry, Mr.-”

“Oh, I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to say to you, yet. Get on home.” You nodded and put your head down, rushing toward the car.

“That was totally unnecessary,” Eddie huffed.

“I was going to tell you to be back in 30 minutes, but make it 15,” Uncle Wayne bit. Eddie must have felt your pleading energy coming from you, because he didn’t answer back for once and just climbed in the van, where you were curled up as small as you could get in the passenger’s seat.

Normally, you would wave until you were out of sight, and Wayne would wave right back. Having each other’s presence around was comforting, and you both knew how much it meant to Eddie. It was unexpected, but you developed a special relationship.

“I can never step foot in there again,” you said, shoving your face in your hands, skin still hot. Eddie put his hand on your knee, and it’s usual comfort just made you feel even more shame. “Did you see the way he was looking at me? He hates me,” you swiped under your eyes and Eddie clocked your movement instantly.

“He does not hate you,” Eddie assured. “Me, maybe. But he’ll be over it by the morning, I swear.” You grumbled your disagreement and grabbed his hand, holding it firmly for the rest of the drive.

“Come on, Doll,” he separated from you to climb out of the car once he pulled up to your house, but you pushed him back into his seat gently.

“No, you have to get home,” you sighed, looking at your watch.

“He wasn’t serious about that,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “I can spare a minute to walk you to your door.”

“Please, it’s fine. I don’t want you to get into any more trouble,” you begged. He went to fight, but saw how your glassy eyes were filling with tears and your lip wobbled.

“Okay,” he sighed. “I love you, please don’t worry about this. It’s kind of funny,” he smiled.

“It’s not,” you sniffled, although you appreciated his sentiment. “I love you, too,” you kissed him quickly and scampered up to your house, itching to shower off the humiliation.

“It has been two weeks, I promise you he isn’t going to be weird.”

“I am going to be weird! I can’t face him!” Eddie drove right to the trailer after your dinner date, and you were threatening to yell out kidnapping claims.

Eddie had been to your house almost every day in the last two weeks, and you had your intimate moments in your locked bedroom or his car under the sheath of night. Going to the trailer wasn’t an option, and you made that clear; you didn’t even call for fear of Uncle Wayne picking up the phone.

“The longer you avoid him the worse it’ll get. I have to live with the guy, and you’re much braver than I am,” he said, basically pulling you out of the car.

“He used to change your diapers, it’s different,” you locked your legs but he grabbed your biceps, lifting you up and carrying you to the front door. “Eddie, please, please, I am begging you. I’ll watch any movies you want for a month, two months!” you bargained desperately, but he wouldn’t hear it.

At first, he thought it was weird how much you liked to be around his uncle, and vice versa. Initially he was convinced that you were both just being nice to each other to appease him. But then he realized just how similar you were; it was gross. The situation was more messed up than one of those guys that dated someone like their mom, he was dating his uncle.

Having you separated was even worse. Uncle Wayne had been forcing Eddie to listen to his rants about work and you had been so upset and anxious it was making him feel horrible.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, opening the door with one hand and keeping a supportive grip on you with the other.

“No, no, no,” you grunted, trying to grab onto the doorframe to stay outside. Eddie nudged your foot with his, not unlike he had the two fateful weeks ago.

You were in the small kitchen, heating some water for tea. Warm hands slithered around your bare waist and dipped under the band of your shorts.

“Hi,” Eddie breathed in your ear. There was a smile on your face in half of a heartbeat. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you giggled. He rubbed his nose against your neck and snaked his ankle around yours, tugging slightly so you were in a wider stance.

“Turning me on,” he mumbled, lips sinking into your skin.

20 minutes later, you were crouched behind Eddie, wishing you could sink into the floor.

“So you didn’t forget where we lived, huh?” The gruff voice you would have made a deal with the devil to avoid greeted you as Eddie forced you inside.

“Hi Mr. Munson,” you mumbled, fingers twisting your bracelet so rapidly Eddie thought it might break.

“‘Mr. Munson,’” he scoffed. “I don’t remember telling you you couldn’t call me Uncle Wayne anymore.” He had always been soft spoken, but you never recalled a time where you struggled to hear what came out of his mouth. Finally, you looked up and found that his cheeks were aflame as well, and the label on his beer bottle was picked clean off.

“We’re going to hang out in my room,” Eddie said, making you jump. You almost forgot he was there, you were so focused on his uncle.

“Hell no, you’re not,” Wayne laughed boisterously, animation coming back to his body. “You’re going to go to the store and get the batteries for the smoke detector that I gave you money for a week ago.” It was no question that if you had been at the trailer in that time the errand would have already been done, the beeping of the low battery already bothering you.

“Why didn’t you remind me before I went to get Y/N,” Eddie whined.

“Because she’s going to keep me company here.” Your heart fell into your stomach, and you thought you might pass out. This was your worst nightmare.

“I can just go and get them,” you quickly offered. “What kind? I’ll just get a bunch of different ones. Give me your keys,” you demanded of Eddie.

“No, no, my nephew can go. This is as painful for you as it is for me, Honey, let’s just get it over with,” he grunted, sitting up a bit in his chair.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Eddie promised. If today was the day he decided to start following traffic laws, you were going to break up with him.

Once the door shut, there was nowhere to divert your attention to. You took as many small steps as possible to the couch, hoping to delay the inevitable awkward conversation. Maybe if you apologized and promised to never come back, Wayne would take it easy on you.

Before you could give that plan a try, though, he started to talk.

“You know how much I love ya,” he said, kicking things off in a much different direction than you thought it would go. “You’re good to Ed, you help out around here no matter how much we tell you to stop, and you’re respectful.” That last word stung.

While you knew your home life was privileged and your childhood was infinitely more peaceful than Eddie’s, that didn’t mean you and your parents were immune to arguments. You were a young adult, after all. The Munson’s trailer provided a safe space for you to escape. The small home was packed with love and comfort, it quickly became your favorite place to spend time.

“But you are a young lady, and I don’t want to see you get in any trouble. Eddie’s mother was too young when she had him, and I won’t have him be stuck in the same cycle.” You wouldn’t believe it if you weren’t seeing it, but he was getting choked up. “He’s a good boy, and he would give everything up if you got into a situation, but I do not want that to happen. And it would be even worse for you, the way people talk. You both deserve to have the freedom to do whatever you want in this life, and I don’t like that you’re doing all of that but I know I won’t stop you, so just, be safe. And for God’s sake, keep it out of the kitchen,” he finished his speech, sitting back in his recliner and taking a long drink from his beer.

Uncle Wayne wasn’t going to ban you from the residence, or shame you, or even judge you. He was looking out for you both.

“I am still, so so sorry. I never meant to take advantage of your kindness.” He had to have heard the sincerity in your voice, it was almost shaking.

“How I treat you isn’t conditional. That boy is my son, and you are like a daughter. I wish you would both get that through your heads,” he sighed.

“Oh,” you breathed out. Never had you seen him be so straightforward with his emotions. That was where he and Eddie differed. You knew instantly if Eddie stubbed his toe or felt dissed by someone in the band, but Wayne played his cards extremely close to his chest. He had laid it all on the table now, though, nothing left to say.

You had to clear your throat so your next words wouldn’t get stuck as you tried to force them out. “And we are always safe, for the record.” He waved his hand and focused his eyes on the TV flickering.

“Well I know you have a good head on your shoulders. I wonder about that boy, though,” he grinned, making the tension from your shoulders release all at once..

“Oh, he means well,” you smiled. A few minutes of silence, not as terrible as you thought it would be, went by before you spoke up again.

“Uncle Wayne?” He turned to you and quirked up the side of his mouth, encouraging you to go on. Eddie made the same face, and you were happy to imagine him at Wayne’s age. “You didn’t, uh, see anything did you?”

“Oh, Jesus,” he shuddered slightly and the color returned to his cheeks. “I would have let a tool slip at work and rip my eyes out. At least then I would have gotten some workman’s comp,” he joked.

“I guess I would have had to come take care of you then, huh? Eddie can barely remember to pick up batteries.” Speaking of the devil, he walked back inside with a pack of batteries and a soda.

“If that ain’t the truth,” Uncle Wayne smiled.

“What?” Eddie asked, handing you the cup and flopping on the couch next to you. He raised his eyebrows, asking if everything had gone alright. You weren’t outside crying like he half expected you to be, so he guessed it went well. Once you leaned forward and kissed him briefly and gently, his worries melted away.

“Nothing. You have to change that battery, though, it’s driving me nuts,” you said, pushing him off of you.

“I don’t know how to do that shit,” he shrugged right as another piercing beep came from the machine.

“Come on, I’ll teach you,” Uncle Wayne said to you, grunting as he stood up. You nodded, grabbing the step-stool and climbing up, getting ready to listen to Wayne’s instructions. He reached down to pull Eddie up by the shirt. “It won’t kill you to learn this, too.”

“That’s what I have you two for,” he grinned, allowing himself to be dragged along.

“I have to put up with him, legally. Why do you do it, girl?” he asked you. Before you could give a sweet, cheesy answer, Eddie got the brilliant idea to offer his opinion.

“Well, I think you saw why.” Your gasp was right in time with Wayne’s palm meeting the back of Eddie’s head.

“You’re sick,” you scowled, ripping the batteries from his hand.

“Shameless,” Uncle Wayne shook his head.

“Kick him out, I’ll take over his room and even keep it clean,” you teased, sliding the battery into place and snapping the cover back on.

“When can you move in?” he asked, offering his hand to help you down.

“I think I liked it better when you two weren’t speaking,” Eddie said, almost regretting bringing you back together. He’d never admit it, but your relationship meant a lot to him, too. His two favorite people.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #eddie munson smut #Eddie Munson fluff #wayne munson #Eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #st4 #st4 fanfic #my writing

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robobarbie · 8 months

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I'm sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you have any advice on bringing a character concept into a consistent, compelling character. I have so many character concepts, but I always struggle with giving them unique, consistent identities and voices, and you're so great at that. Thank you so much for creating such wonderful stories!

u r too kind to me. i am no expert, but this is generally my strategy when i'm writing/creating characters:

Remember that characters are more than stereotypes. If I'm making an FFXIV player who loves to shill, I'm not going to make shilling all that he is. That's how you get one-note characters that get a little boring. I try to picture a three dimensional personality that fits around that, even if all parts of it aren't used in text. Like, if I picture all the people who have shilled FFXIV to me over the years, what do they have in common? Quieter IRL, a bit tired of bullies, bad eating habits, etc etc.

Find a way to connect it to something you're familiar with. You write what you know best. If your character is an architecture student, but you know nothing about it, do some research about the field while also connecting that love of architecture he has with a love you might have for something else. You'll be able to write about his love for it more believably if you're tying it to something else you yourself adore.

Life hack: base the character on a person you know in real life. When you base characters off of characters that already exist, I think you run the risk of it not feeling authentic (but that's not always the case). The entire cast of BP was based on a server I was in ages ago -- the characters weren't carbon copies of the people I knew, but those people were good reference points for typing style and initial personality quirks for them all.

Find the fine line between similar characters and emphasize that. Felix already gets a lot of comparisons to Onionthief (deservedly so) but we're making them distinct in the following ways: Felix is colder, Onionthief is less mature, Onionthief is bullied more often in chat than Felix is, Felix is quieter, Felix is less judgmental of mistakes, etc. You find those deeper details that really separate characters and create... well, back to point #1. You create three-dimensional people that could exist in real life.

Edit to add: talk a lot to strangers. You will learn a lot about the variety of people in the world, and the way they interact realistically, if you brave the world and meet new people.

ramble over

#anon ask #robo dev

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japhan2024 · 5 months

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Review of Smosh's Funeral Roast

I am harsh at times, but know it all comes from a place of love!

Spoilers under the cut

I live in Europe. This is relevant because of timezones: the funeral roast of Anthony Padilla was live at 6pm for them, meaning 3am for me. I am not the youthful insomniac I once was so I had to train my sleep schedule the entire week - otherwise I would miss it because I fell asleep. But I wanted to witness this live. I love smosh.

The trailer for this roast deserves an award: Ian and the cast have a movie night as suddenly the light turns blue and everyone but Ian freezes. He seems to know what's going on and discovers a zombie or ghost like Anthony levitating. The cast of the roast are all introduced and all play a gothic, churchy kind of character. See the full trailer here (it's currently at 666k views, how fun):

youtube

Around 1am I got impatient and decided not to wait for my alarm clock but to install myself on the couch, with a blanket and a scarf, and a hot cup of tea, god knows I would need it. I watched episodes of the Scott Pilgrim Netflix series to kill the time. The character Todd Ingram reminded me a lot of Anthony and I wonder whether Anthony has 'vegan superpowers' as well. Probably so.

Finally, the pre-show begins. This is pretty uneventful as they play a game and succesfully convince thousands of viewers to buy their tickets to the main show. I look at them. Everyone is gorgeous. But I can't look away from Ian and Anthony. And here is where I stray from actually reviewing the show to let my inner fangirl out: holy fuck they are hot. Me and my friends on tumblr have been making 'forgive me Father, for I have SINNED' jokes because his character, 'the pastor', just brings that out in people. We're not used to Ian in black, or in a robe, and he looks phenomenal. And then there is Anthony, clothed in a ridiculous Harry Styles-esque lace top with lace gloves, resting his head on Ian's shoulder. It's such a cute moment, Ian pushes him upright. He can be alive for a second before his funeral. My heart melts. Honerable mention: Courtney's bikini girl cleavage right behind Ian. The girls were ready to rock. Okay, okay, back to the review.

The room feels kind of small and a bit claustrophobic. The Smosh art dept. always steps up, so the stained glass "friendship never dies" high-five looks incredible, and the megachad-Anthony portrait hilarious. The casket is huge. But the props make the set look even smaller. I think the problem is the cameras. I realize how difficult camerawork is when you have multiple focus points to switch between, but next time they should do a lot of practice with this to streamline, to get everyone in the shot and better capture people's reactions to the roasts.

Ian walks in. He starts off with a bit about who Anthony is: a hot, hardworking guy with a big dick. Those are the main takeaways of his roasts.

Amanda is next. She looks beautiful but very wacky. Her deliverance and accent are stellar, though. She truly is top talent at Smosh. Her roasts are also some of the most scorching of the night. She doesn't shy away from calling out Anthony's past problematic behavior and less than stellar performance in the bedroom ("look it up!") She gets a round of applause and deservedly so.

Tommy follows with a kind of angry roast, and proceeds to read the will, from which nobody comes away unscathed. I feels like his words about Anthony supposedly hating the cast are a necessary evil. Just the same day Anthony posted his interview with Shayne on his personal channel. There we learned that Shayne didn't know before if Ian and Anthony actually had wanted to hire them. Anthony said they were very much involved, something I don't know whether to believe. As apparently, Ian never talked about it with Shayne either, for all those years. Shayne had also been very apprehensive when Anthony came back, not knowing what would happen and the first change was to boot the entire cast off the main channel. I feel like Tommy's roast puts the topic on the table and hopefully they will talk about it more until nobody has any doubt left.

Now I have to insert that one of my main critiques of the night is that lots of people both did a lot of obvious jokes (tattoos, leaving smosh, general appearance) and did not go hard enough. Anthony kind of has an awkward CEO vibe (he's not the ceo but still) about him that seems to make even the cast a bit wary of him. I had hoped for jokes about that.

Brandon Rogers is next and rightfully points out the lack of celebrities in the line-up. Doesn't Anthony have more friends who want to roast him? Either he doesn't or the rest of Smosh don't have access to them. Which is both fine, because it is a Smosh party after all.

Arasha comes in swinging with all kinds of Zoomer slang that I frankly don't understand but her deadpan delivery is like a breath of fresh air. She ends with a very nice message. That kind of undercuts her roasts though, I wish she would have been meaner.

Now it is time for the musical half-time show, which actually deserves its own review. Performed by Angela and Chanse, this is incredible. By far, the most professional part of the evening. These are no theater kids, as they still call themselves. These are Broadway acTORS! I was really taken away by their talent. Not only do they act, but they also sing amazingly? Did you hear Angela do screamo?! And Chanse's riffs? They pointedly mention the sexual tension between Ian and Anthony, both on- and off screen. This has been occupying my mind ever since. Wow, sorry I went fangirl-mode again. But the halftime show simply is that good. Keith makes an appearance at the end and brings the show back down to earth with his humor.

The biggest surprise guests are next in what I can only describe as Dan telling the horny tale of his years long obsession with Anthony, and the many, many times he unloaded on the 'sexy Anthony' calender (which is a real calender, I was there when it came out but was broke at the time, darnit). Dan and Phil have been shedding their PG personas on their own channels for a while now, but for those who don't watch them daily this December - they're doing gamingmas and it's chaos - it is shocking what X-rated stuff comes out of their mouths. Anthony is visibly taken aback. Good!

As the show progresses, Ian keeps moderating as the pastor. It is great to see him so in control and enjoying the roast of his best friend. The joke of Ian not being able to show his emotions comes up a lot, but today I see him mainly just having fun.

Of course, then there is Bikini Girl, whom I had high hopes for, maybe too high. She is hilarious, but nothing really stings. Courtney does also direct the whole show, so super kudos to her. I just don't think she has the best roasts. She is followed by Rhett and Link, who just do their regular thing. It is funny but not very original. You can only hear so many tattoo jokes before it gets old. We do see Link's bare torso, so a win for fangirls (gender neutral).

Then Shayne, or should I say the Chosen has his turn. He is absolutely in character and does great. I just don't know if the Chosen is the best person to deliver roasts. It feels more like a Shayne party than a roast of Anthony. Which enough people love all the same, I'm sure.

Angela is 'the vessel', a possessed girl, reading the roasts from the audience. These roasts are very mid (they should have included mine! /j), but her delivery is again stellar. Smosh is really lucky to have her.

And last but not least, Ian goes on a second roasting spree. Only, it isn't a roast? He just makes fun of Anthony’s baby picture and then proceeds to tell Anthony how grateful he is for him, how he's so glad they are friends again and that he loves him? Anthony is crying by this time, which makes the moment even more tender.

Of course, Anthony has to do a counter-roast. It is apparent that he is still affected by all the roasting or 'love-bombing' as Amanda calls it. And he's not as good at live comedy yet. Still, his jokes are funny and really in Anthony's own style. He concludes with Ian's quote of being happy to burn Smosh to the ground with him. I knew that quote would be ingrained in Anthony's mind. It was one of the sweetest things Ian had ever said to him, after all. Until Ian has now told him he loves him, of course.

And then it was 5 am. I got a healthy two hours of sleep in! I came away from this roast with a content smile and a full heart. This was well worth the ticket, the staying up late. I am happy to be a member and support them monthly, I've loved their humor even before they started their youtube channel. I love Smosh. I'm so happy that Anthony is back. Smosh is whole again. And it brings out that light in Ian's eyes. He is funny in an unhinged way again. I truly love Anthony and Ian and their dumb videos. I want them to continue to make them forever. These kinds of live shows are fun. But Ian and Anthony truly shine in their off the walls absurdist sketches.

Special shout-out to my bestie @only-frann who I could scream at this whole day.

#smosh #Anthony’s funeral roast #Youtube

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red-dead-sakharine · 5 months

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Raphael x Tav/Reader (gn)

Dinner plans - Part 3 (good path)

hurt/comfort, pining, fluff

I'm hyperfocusing on writing today, so let's continue!

> Part 1 | Part 2 <

He did his best to look annoyed at the way you were dragging him to camp, even if his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest at the way you were holding his hand so tightly.

"Little mouse, my time is precious." he had to keep up appearances. Had to sound like he only barely tolerated to remain here. Partaking in your party had not been his plan, but it was a better start than he had thought possible mere moments ago.

"Look who's here, guys!" you sounded so happy to announce him to the group, even though the faces that turned to you two were frowns and wrinkled foreheads without exception. Even the dog looked uncertain, nose in the air, trying to catch the intruder's scent.

There was one face that didn't look entirely disapproving. The vampire spawn had mischief in his eyes as he smirked over the brim of his wine goblet, "Ah, the future ruler of the nine hells." Astarion chuckled, "So glad you decided to show up. Tav was going mad with worry."

"No I wasn't!" you blurted out, avoiding to look at Raphael. Astarion's snickering barely registered to the devil's ears, as he stared at you in curious confusion. Eventually you gave him a short, reluctant look, before quickly glancing away again, "He's exaggerating. I just pondered if you had already started your war, and if it was going well." You let go of his hand and busied yourself with filling a wine goblet.

Raphael didn't say anything. He idly rubbed his thumb along the fingers of his now free hand, already missing your touch. His brain felt like it was sinking into a bog, that his thoughts had to slowly wade through. You were worried about him? You were thinking of him? And not in a 'hope I'll never see the damn devil again' kind of way, either. His bogged down thoughts finally arrived in his brain and he remembered to keep up his casual facade, "I'm touched that you're concerned about me, pet." he gave it his most patronizing tone, "even if it is entirely unwarranted. I am quite capable to look after myself. And with the crown, you so graciously provided me, I will be able to swat the other archdevils like flies."

Yes, good. He was slowly finding his way out of the bog and back into his normal self. He just hoped that nobody noticed how beside himself he was tonight.

You turned back to him, offering him a goblet which he took. "Well,... good!" was all you said in response. Raphael tried not to frown at the curt answer, and instead gave the wine a sniff, then wrinkled his nose. Whatever plonk the merry band of misadventures had scrounged up was an affront to his fine taste.

"Seven hells," your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, "it's not that bad. It's not like it will poison you!"

"I'm not so sure about that," he replied coolly and set the goblet down on a nearby barrel, without even taking a sip. The look of annoyed disapproval you gave him, amused him. Yes, this was the kind of dynamic, he so enjoyed between you two.

"Alright suit yourself, your royal highness," now it was your turn to drip with sarcasm, and it made him crack an amused grin.

"No need for formalities yet, little mouse," he said, earning a snort from you in return. He knew you would never grovel before him. You were to headstrong and proud - perhaps deservedly so, he admitted - and would likely rather fight a bone devil with bare hands, than to fall to your knees before anyone. And he wouldn't have it any other way. As long as you were loyal to him, that is. Which you had been so far.

He let out a silent sigh as he looked at you while you were pouring yourself some of the wine. He couldn't help but imagine - to wish - you'd bring that unconquerable determination of yours willingly into his arms. Be at his side when he finally kicks his own father off his icy throne. Be there willingly, loyal, because you believe in him, trust in him. Because you want to be at his side. Because you like him.

He wanted to ask you - offer to take you to Baator with him. But whatever courage was driving him to declare war on all nine hells, it wasn't enough to dare ask his little mouse to join him. He didn't want to admit it even to himself, but he was loathing the thought of you rejecting him. Rejecting his offer.

Hope's voice intruded on his thoughts again - defiant, never agreeing to join him; cursing him, calling him a monster. He wasn't sure what he would do, were you to act the same way. Most likely he would turn this whole camp and everyone in it to ash, and be done with it. He could torture you like Hope, but right now, when he looked into those beautiful eyes of yours, the thought of harm coming to you filled him with rage.

He could get lost in those eyes. Those eyes that were... staring at him. He blinked, looking down upon you. You were holding his gaze - how long had he been staring? How long had you been staring back? Damn these distracting thoughts! Damn his mortal half, which surely was to blame for all this trouble!

He was not normally lost for words, but right now, he couldn't come up with something smart to say, that wouldn't make it even more obvious that he had been miles away, while staring longingly at you. Other voices slowly registered in his brain - the other adventurers were talking amongst themselves. He caught mention of the wizard's students. Banal topics for banal mortals. You were not like them. You were... special. And you were still staring at him, but a smirk was tugging on the corners of your mouth. Oh you would be insufferable about this moment, he just knew it.

"I know, I'm unbelievably attractive," you quipped, "or have you already returned to the Hells, and just forgot to take your mortal form with you?" If you were trying to hide the amused grin on your face, you were doing a poor job of doing so.

He sighed theatrically and rolled his eyes, "I was planning ahead for my campaign. There are a lot of things I need to keep in mind." Good excuse! He'd pat his own shoulder, if he could.

Though he wasn't quite sure if you bought his excuse, your smile did vanish. After a pause you spoke up again, sounding a lot less chipper than before, "If you're really that busy, I shouldn't keep you. Much as I enjoy your company." You avoided looking at him, and he could only interpret it as you being ...sad, that he seemingly didn't want to be here. It gave him just a little bit of courage. Or maybe too much.

"Join me." The words escaped him, before he could stop himself, and he swiftly offered a hand with a half bow - there was no turning back now. That invisible orthon returned to pummel his insides, and he felt oddly cold all of a sudden, as he waited for your response. Should he elaborate? He wasn't sure he'd find a steady voice. He watched your eyes moving from his face, to the outstretched hand, and back to his face - then you looked over to your friends. Ah yes, your mortal companions. Raphael cursed himself - how could he have been such an idiot! You were loyal, and you were their leader; never would you just up and leave them. Especially not for him.

He felt another punch from the imaginary orthon, and Hope's cackling rang in his ears - but she was cut off by your voice, "To... do what?" you asked with slight hesitation.

Say something smooth and alluring! "To conquer the hells, of course." Ugh. Ah! "After dinner, that is." Yes! Great job, good save.

Your brows rose not quite in unison, giving you a somewhat lopsided expression of bewilderment. But after a moment, that expression made way for a shy smile that slowly crept onto your face.

"I'll admit, the thought of helping you has crossed my mind."

He had to be dreaming.

"But I didn't think you'd have use for some puny mortal."

He'd pinch himself, would that not be too obvious a gesture.

Scrambling to find his voice, he replied "My dear, I will always have use of your singular talents. I would very much enjoy having you at my side, when I take over the hells. Good, loyal help is so hard to find in Baator."

He watched as a smile grew on your face again - the sight caused his heart to start cartwheeling again, and he had to put quite some effort into keeping up his cool facade, as you finally took his offered hand. Despite himself, he ghosted a kiss over your knuckles - purely for correctness, of course. "Come." he said, and with a snap of his fingers, both of you returned to the House of Hope.

#bg3 #raphael #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #fluff #pining #ok I somehow could now post the entire chapter in one post #so I've privated the 3.2 part since It's not needed anymore #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #rds #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3

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srbachchan · 1 year

Text

DAY 5500

Jalsa, Mumbai Mar 8/9, 2023 Wed/Thu 2:46 AM

🪔 .. March 09 .. birthday wishes and affection to Ef Altaf Ali Kondkar from Riyadh - KSA 🇸🇦 .. and Ef Misti Das from Assam .. 🌿

And the greetings of togetherness to our Mili from Bangalore - Ef Mukherji Ratna .. for her 43th marriage anniversary .. happiness .. 💍💕

And happiness to the Ef twinning in their wedding anniversary date .. Ef Manoj Lahoti and Ef Amit Lahoti .. both completing Sizzling Sixteen years of marriage .. on March 8 .. 💍💕

One can sit back and lament lost opportunity .. or get up, retrieve it and beat it ..

Yes .. defeat loss suffering is painful .. but the body mechanism heals as rapidly as it injures .. get up , get going , and get it ..

.. no philosophy here .. no grand proclamations of adamant bravery .. or the incline to demonstrate line of work for praise and will .. those for whom work brings fresh start , shall ever do , in the interests of the self .. teach yourself a lesson .. doing it to reflect in teaching to others is a fake .. a falsehood that needs to be abandoned .. it is my body , my mind , my will , my desire ..

For this once the ‘me’ is deliverance .. selfish to thyself .. deservedly and in compliance with what you will decide .. not any other .. the ‘other’ is after all just another ‘other’ ..

he may not have been translated into this .. but changes do occur .. and once they do , the ‘other’ moves behind opaque glasses .. seen to be there .. but not ..

Your own limits of physicality .. limits of your cerebrum .. shall ever remain as the build on birth .. what we treat it to, is the condition that we build for ourselves .. indulge in the unwanted and be prepared for the dive .. indulge in the wanted and be prepared for the dive to swim out ..

Tough ..

But there for us all ..

I have known not peace .. there be some shortcomings within , some without .. but I have determined myself to rid me of both .. shortcomings .. in both .. for I have not known peace and quiet ..

proclamations are worthless .. proclaim and be defeated because they were not fulfilled , is a head down embarrassment ...

say yes .. but to thyself .. do yes , but for thyself .. repair yes , but for thyself .. for when the ‘thy’ thrives, so does the rest ..

I thrive because I wish you to keep in my join ever ..

.. life is but a pierced arrow ..a disturbed mind .. a quivering , shuddering , trembling bod .. this be the truth .. does it deserve the need to bring it to proof .. its is pain pain pain ever .. pull the arrow out first from the body .. who did pull the bow to work the arrow , why did he do it , these are questions to be dealt with later .. take the arrow out first ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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wordywarriorwrites · 8 months

Text

Burning Hearts

Burning Hearts | A03 | Master List | Rating: M

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Frankie gave you up for all the right reasons, but he just can't seem to let you go...

Pairing: Frankie Morales X F! Reader, Triple Frontier AU

Warnings: Language. Smut. Mentions of violence.

It’s well past last call, but the bartender pours Frankie another without him having to ask.

He knocks it back and chases the burn with a long drag off his cigarette. The combination of nicotine and booze gives him a pleasant buzz, but his favored tried-and-true vices bring him no relief.

All the club’s patrons shuffled out about an hour ago, but the staff carries on, seemingly content to remain open just to wait on him. Frankie knows they won’t cut him off or boot him out, but the need to maintain appearances, at least in public, prompts him to reach for his wallet.

He doesn’t pay for drinks – not at this particular watering hole – so, the Benjamin he slaps down on the counter is more for the speedy service and absence of questions than anything else. He stabs out his smoke, and when he gets to his feet, the peanut gallery on the peripheral of his pity party of one simply moves off to do other things.

An armed enforcer – especially a drunk one, out after hours and clearly spoiling for a fight – would prompt most people to run for cover, but the strippers are pros, and the guards don’t flinch easily. Plus, Frankie’s part owner, which means he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and what he wants, more than anything, is to see you.

So, he gives in to the urge.

He walks by the stage, tips the lone dancer for still bothering to put on a show, and salutes both the DJ and bouncer as he exits out the back. His driver is seated behind the wheel of his always-at-the-ready Bentley, and Frankie parks his ass on the supple, buttery leather of the backseat for the journey. By the time he reaches your estate, he’s sobered up a bit, answered all the texts he’s been ignoring, and pulverized about a half-dozen mints into the grooves of his molars.

The security guys at the gate know who he is. They take pity on him, allowing his vehicle to pass and continue on up the winding driveway. As the car crests the small hill, Frankie’s eyes sweep over the acreage, taking note of the tables and chairs set up on the grass. There are also at least a dozen catering trucks and twice as many hands, all busily taking apart centerpieces, pushing overflowing bins of linens, packing away decorations, and breaking down a podium, dance floor, and sound system.

There are other armed guards – way more than usual, in fact. Vested bodies dressed in black, with their intimidating visages dispersed in strategic places along the peripheral and in blind spots. Frankie isn’t nervous; he knows they’re on the job, and he doesn’t intend to do anything that would spur them or their semi-automatics into action.

Foregoing the bell, he uses the knocker, allowing the old, iron lionhead to wallop against the mahogany front door. Your head of security, Will Miller, answers promptly, weapon drawn and ready for action. He’s young and a bit tetchy, but he’s got sharp eyes and knows how to handle himself. Will’s been by your side for years and takes his job very seriously, and though Frankie would never admit it aloud, he’s relieved the guy is ready and able to protect you with unhesitating ruthlessness.

“Morales,” Will greets tersely. “State your business.”

“I just wanna see her,” Frankie replies without preamble.

He scoffs and curls his upper lip, but before he can reply with something undoubtedly and deservedly curt, your voice lilts through air.

“William?” you call out. “Who is it?”

It’s clear by Will’s thunderous expression that Frankie’s unexpected arrival has caused a disruption of the regularly scheduled programming. He’s positive the guy is just itching to plug him, but that doesn’t happen. Instead of being pumped full of lead, a quiet exchange between you and Will takes place, ending with him re-holstering his weapon and you graciously inviting Frankie inside.

The polonaise runner just beyond the threshold guides Frankie into the foyer, the hardwood floor beneath it polished to a high shine and positively gleaming under the soft light emitting from the chandelier hanging overhead. The ornate mirror situated above the marble console in the entryway reveals his slumped profile and wrinkled suit, and Will’s unimpressed sneer is all it takes to get him to straighten his tie and square his shoulders.

Will resets the alarm, and takes your slight nod and murmured thanks for the polite dismissal it is. Once he’s gone, you motion for Frankie to follow you, traversing a familiar path toward the kitchen. He clocks the sway of your hips as he trails behind, paying no mind to the cleaning crew who stops mid-task to hurriedly make themselves scarce. The chef and small army of assistants packing up leftovers and scrubbing the hell out of cookware are just as respectful, filing out in a silent, quick procession.

The two of you are alone, so, you play hostess, going for the fridge and emerging with a bottle of Voss in hand. After placing it on the island within his reach, you move off, and the physical distance between you isn’t lost on him. It hurts, but affords Frankie the opportunity to take you in. Louboutin heels. Trendy cocktail dress with a modest hem length and neckline. Tasteful jewelry, light make-up, and hair pinned back in an elegant twist.

You’re straight-up class. And so far beyond his reach.

You – blue-blooded and born into generational wealth. Him – a nobody from nowhere. Your name commands respect. His incites fear. You’re an admired, contributing member of the community, full of kindness, and always willing to help. He’s a trigger man, constantly on the precipice of chaos, dragging around a sordid reputation, and always ready to run.

You’re the real deal. You’ve got the pedigree that demands a high-class match with someone important. Someone who doesn’t have a permanent target on his back. Someone safe, who doesn’t always have to fight, fuck, kill, or steal to keep what he’s got. And he knows – damn it, he knows he’s not worthy…

“Why are you here, Frankie?” you prompt gently.

Thoughts grinding to a halt and at a loss for the right words, he simply shrugs. The picture of patience, you remain silent, which is just as well. He knows he can’t keep doing this to himself or to you. He needs to do right by you. He needs stay the fuck away, but it’s always so much easier said than actually done.

In fact, it hasn’t been that long since he last saw you. A month, maybe? He wondered then, as he does now, if you’ve moved on because he certainly, obviously, hasn’t. And the thought of anyone else touching you? The mere idea of you with another? Someone who could be part of your world, whose mere presence wouldn’t put your life at risk? It makes Frankie reexamine both you and his surroundings with a more observant, suspicious gaze.

Beyond the obvious chaos of a messy kitchen is a small chef’s table, and on the surface, a half-eaten chartreuse board and an open bottle of Merlot. Two pieces of stemware; one stained with lipstick matching your shade, and the other, blemished by the remaining inch of red at the bottom. The lingering stench of a cigar. The presence of your favorite handbag on the chair.

What he perceives amounts to nothing more than a collection of assumptive, so-called evidence that fits the wild narrative in his mind. Still, Frankie seethes with jealousy. Mind and body all tilt-o-whirl, he snarls – deep and nasty, like he’s some sort of fucking animal protecting his territory, but you don’t balk. Instead, you reach for your clutch, pop the clasp, and fish out what looks like a folded piece of paper.

“The charity fundraiser was this evening, remember?” you explain without any guilt or guile. “Pope asked for a private audience after. Apparently, I forgot to rescind his invitation.”

Frankie runs the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, eyes narrowing at the nondescript check you slide across the island’s countertop. Temper unjustifiably flared and now subsequently doused, he snatches up the proffered bottle of water, uncaps it, and forces gulps past the fist-sized lump in his throat.

Fuckin’ Pope. When it comes to making money, he’s merciless, indiscriminate, and not one to let personal feelings get in the way of business dealings. Of course, he’d want to rub elbows with your people. His presence at your soiree, along with Will’s trigger-happy mood, and all the extra staff and guards? It makes complete sense.

But a one-on-one so late afterward? It must’ve been important – something urgent that couldn’t be spoken of in mixed company or discussed over the phone. There are only so many things a man like Pope and a woman like you would have to talk about. Last Frankie knew, the police were still sniffing around, and the lawyer you have on retainer is having a fucking field day, but the heat isn’t bad enough to warrant a face-to-face.

Then again, maybe Pope sought you out for personal reasons and professional gains. Pairing up with the big Boss would guarantee your continued safety and silence a lot of wagging tongues. Your connections would also open up a plethora of new revenue streams, providing Pope with unfettered access to some very deep pockets. Shit, Frankie can practically hear Pope listing the mutual benefits, spinning the rationale of it all, and it makes him feel sick.

Sick and absolutely fucking murderous.

You’re an honest, good woman. All that forthrightness and decency – it’s right there, in your beguiling, steady gaze. And you’re not stupid. In fact, you’re too damn smart for your own good, and the thought of you putting yourself at risk makes Frankie itchy all over. You’re so disarmingly calm, while he’s barely fucking holding it together, and damn it, he has to know for sure…

“Did Pope –” Frankie croaks, scraping a hand through his hair. “Did he ask you to do something for him? Or want to take you out on like, a date, or whatever?”

Lips parting in shock, you blink as if taken aback, and that’s answer enough. Relief buoys and deflates him, and Frankie downplays his seesawing emotions and outlandish, self-sabotaging thoughts by moving over to the table and busying his hands. He pokes at the slices of baguette and the cubes of gourmet cheese. Feigns interest in the thinly sliced prosciutto. Tilts the wine bottle to glance at the label.

None of it interests him because the only thing Frankie’s interested in is you. He gave you up for all right reasons, but still, the feelings you stir inside of him, and the white-hot desire he has for you – they’ll never go away. They roll through him now, stronger than ever; dark possessiveness and furious agony punching him in the gut and pulsing between his legs and clawing at his already tender, bleeding heart.

Frankie met you while scouting some swanky restaurant ripe for poaching, and after cajoling you into abandoning a dinner party, he somehow talked you into drinks, and then, seduced you into his bed. What should’ve been an amazing one-night stand morphed into eight months that quite literally rocked his world. Your acceptance of who he is, your ability to compartmentalize, the way you simply fit in and adapted to his extremely fucked up reality – hell, if the shoe were on the other foot, Frankie’s not sure he could’ve risen to the occasion or withstood it.

What he’s found and experienced with you – it’s fucking lightning in a bottle. Insane, magical, incomprehensible. It never happens for guys like him because guys like him don’t get the girl or the happily-ever-after. Too good to be true? Maybe. Was he in too deep? Absolutely. But it didn’t matter if you were ignorant or a willing participant – it was dangerous either way.

And Pope’s not just the Boss – he’s Frankie’s best friend. His brother. And Frankie’s a loyal soldier – has been since the two of them were in diapers. Yes, he’s in love with you, and if you moved on, he’d get over it eventually. Someday. Maybe. But if you moved on with Pope? He wouldn’t – couldn’t – survive that. And because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment, he has to ask the million-dollar question.

“What if he wanted to?” Frankie asks, pressing his thumb into what he believes is a hunk of Parmesan Reggiano and mashing it flat. “Would you consider it?”

“Consider what?” you wonder.

“Being with him?”

A sharp breath. A ragged exhale. Your lower lip trembles before it gets bitten into submission by your teeth, and when you meet his gaze, he sees his own pain reflected back at him a thousand times over.

You tell him to leave, heels tap-tap-tapping as you hastily move for the intercom system, voice clipped and cold as you inform him a maid will see him out. He hasn’t just offended you; he’s hurt you, again, but a halting hand on your waist and a fervently whispered apology keeps you from the call button.

Frankie knows he’s got no fucking right – no right to question you or touch you, and certainly no right to step forward when you step back. He’s got no right to dig his fingers into your hip or press you up against the pantry door or burrow his nose against the crown of your head and slowly, greedily inhale.

“I’d fuckin’ kill him,” he growls. “If he ever – I swear, I’d fucking rip his throat out.”

You place your hand over his, and your touch is so soothing, immediately calming his too-hot temper like top-shelf whiskey. Your index finger ghosts over his knuckle tattoos. Ink that means nothing to outsiders, but showcases to anyone who knows his world just how dangerous he is. It’s the hand he uses to dispense justice; it’s scarred, tainted and stained with blood, yet, you touch it with such reverence, such fearlessness…

Frankie closes his eyes and rolls his jaw, “I shouldn’t have – I didn’t mean –”

“I wouldn’t,” you interject, words weighted and insistent. “Not ever.”

“You don’t – shit, you don’t need to tell me that,” he insists, shaking his head at his own uncouth stupidity. “Besides, it’s none of my business. And you’re right – I should go. I should go and stay gone.”

You let out a soft, contrary sound, “You shouldn’t have left.”

He swallows hard. You turn your head. Then, your nose and cheek are brushing against his jaw in a gesture of affection that settles something inside of him that’s too feral to define. Your palms gliding up his arms, along his shoulders, and down the expanse of his chest – it pulls him back from the ledge he’s been tiptoeing along since the day he said goodbye to you.

Frankie meets your eyes. Cups your cheek. Allows his thumb to caress your soft skin. You say nothing, but you look at him as if he’s the only one – as if there could never be another – and he wonders if you can tell that he feels the same way.

“I love you, Frankie,” you assert. “It’s always going to be you.”

“Cariño…” he sighs against your temple.

You’re braver – so much braver than he’ll ever be – and you’re the one who gives into it. You press your lips to the scruff covering his chin, and that gentle, achingly familiar prelude to a kiss destroys his already too-flimsy resolve. Frankie is the one surrendering to you, but you’re the one who yields to him, tilting your head back and opening up to his eager mouth.

He dreamt of you every night. Woke up every day to cold sheets. Had been unable to throw away your toothbrush or part with the half-full bottle of your shampoo. Was unwilling to change the lock screen on his phone from a picture of you to something less painful to look at. He couldn’t delete the playlist you made for him or stop buying the books you put in his Amazon cart. Your favorite fuzzy socks are still in his top drawer, tucked safely next to the pristinely folded, ridiculously threadbare boyband t-shirt you’ve had since you were a teenager.

You have no idea what you do to him. No clue about the kind of hell he’d raise for you, the bodies he’d put in the ground, the lives he’d destroy – all for you. He can’t explain it, not in words, so, he coveys it with his body. Seeking the taste of you with his tongue and searching for your skin with his hands. Sliding his thigh between your legs and rocking into you because he just wants to be close – he just wants to feel you, to lose himself inside of you, to make you smile at him again.

“Upstairs,” you whisper into his ear. “Come upstairs with me, Frankie.”

Powerless to resist, he follows you to the privacy of your room, located on the second floor at the very end of the hall. Jacket, belt, tie – you divest him of his modern-day armor, letting the pieces fall like petals leading up the path to the altar that is your California King-sized bed. Frankie’s shoulder holster is last, and once he’s placed his gun safely on the nightstand, you begin frantically working apart the buttons on his shirt.

“Love you, cariño,” he pants as he yanks his arms free of the sleeves. “I love you so goddamn much.”

You kick off your heels before giving him your back, “Show me.”

Frankie lowers the zipper on your dress. Pushes at the straps. Watches the inky, supple material slip and slide off your figure. You work your panties down, ass teasingly meeting his crotch as you push the delicate silk and lace past your garter belt. Then, you ease down onto the bed, back hitting the downy comforter with a soft thud.

He’s palming himself through his pants, trying to decide where to start, and your thighs parting in invitation help him make up his mind. He kneels. Hooks his arms around your calves. Yanks you forward until your ass is practically hanging off the mattress. You let out a peal of laughter, and he grins up at you rather dopily as he hitches your legs over his shoulders.

“This okay?” he breathes against your calve.

You touch the tip of your tongue to your upper lip and nod, “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Are you?”

It’s impossible to miss the vulnerability and doubt in your eyes. Frankie knows he wasn’t the only one brokenhearted and that his mistakes hurt you both. An apology seems so inadequate, but he says it anyway, listing the litany of ways he intends to make it up to you, but only if you’ll allow it.

You cup his face and let out a sigh, “I just want you. That’s all.”

Frankie nods. Presses a kiss to your palm. Allows his lips and tongue to trace a path up your thighs, canines sinking into supple flesh along the way. He seeks the center of you with a parched tongue and fingers longing to touch, and when he reaches his destination, you cry out for him.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, suckling your clit and dipping his tongue inside for a taste. “Let me take care of you, cariño. Just let go for me, yeah?”

Your left breast – plump, soft, and encased in silk – spills free when he yanks the cup of your bra down. Frankie pinches the hardened peak of your nipple, and you arch into his caress, clamping down on his fingers and writhing all over his face. You’re lost to it, just like he is, and when you come against his mouth, it’s indescribably beautiful.

“I need you,” you declare fervently. “Need you inside me, Frankie.”

He doesn’t heed your call until he makes you come again. When he does get to his feet, you’re boneless, but still, you sit up and reach for him. As soon as he’s popped the button on his pants and worked the zipper down, your hands are there, tugging at his boxers. You take him out and wrap your fingers around him, nice and snug, just how he likes. He’s leaking like a goddamn faucet, unable to stop his hips from pumping into your firm hold, and he has to put a halt to your teasing or risk coming in your hand.

His boxers and pants are in a tangle over his shoes, but he manages to kick everything off and crawl into the soft pile of blankets and pillows after you. Frankie peels off your stockings. Winds your silky-smooth, bare legs around his waist. He kisses you, teasing you and bumping your clit with his hard length until you beg him for it.

He lines up. Pushes in. And then, it’s paradise – pure and true.

You twine your arms over his shoulders, pulling him down into the cradle of your embrace until he’s practically smothering you. Forearms braced on either side of your head and face buried into the crook of your neck, Frankie eases back and slowly thrusts forward to the hilt with a roll of his hips. You meet him halfway, tilting your pelvis up and bearing down, engulfing him in a fist-tight wetness that forces him to work for every deep stroke.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, cariño,” he groans, smearing his lips along the hinge of your jaw. Frankie puts more effort and weight behind each thrust, hitting deep and keeping a firm, steady pace that he knows gets you off. “Did you miss this? Miss me?”

You mewl. Nod frantically. Forehead pressed to yours, he reaches for the bend of your knee and loops your leg over the crook of his elbow so he can put his back into it. Driving and grinding into you possessively, gaze fixated on yours, flitting between nipping at the tops of your breasts and licking into your mouth and sucking at the pulse point of your neck.

“N-no more,” you stutter, biting into the meat of his shoulder. “No more running, Frankie.”

Frankie nods and snaps his hips forward, “No more running.”

The promise is sealed with another kiss, and when you come for him again, Frankie loses what little finesse he still possesses. You encourage his rutting, whispering in his ear that you want it, that you need him to come inside you. And you’re so wet, he can hear it – how turned on you are, how good he makes you feel, and it’s so good – so goddamned good – that when he comes, his vision dims and all the noise in his head goes silent.

Save for your mingled, harsh breaths, it’s quiet. Peaceful. You welcome his weight on top of you, holding him, scratching at his scalp and kissing his forehead and running your hands up and down his spine. Affection, freely given, without any expectation or ulterior motive behind it. It reminds him of what he almost lost, and he vows to himself that he’ll never let you go again.

Frankie looks up at you with sleepy, half-lidded eyes, “What did Pope actually want?”

“He begged me to take you back,” you reply, letting out an amused sound as you trace a fingertip over the shell of his ear. “Said he’d donate ten thousand dollars if I did.”

“Is that so? And what did you say?”

“I told him it wasn’t my decision. Then, he upped the offer to twenty, so, I said I’d think about it.”

Frankie snorts and squeezes your waist, “Oh, I bet he hated that.”

“Well, you’ve apparently been a real pain in his ass lately,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug. “So, I told him to donate fifty, and that I’d call him when you came to your senses.”

He laughs – full-bodied and freely. He kisses you – proud of the hard bargain you drove. And once Frankie’s tucked into bed beside you, absorbing your warmth into his cold bones, he makes a mental note to thank Pope for his meddling in the morning.

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales smut #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier au #triple frontier fanfic

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calzone-d · 8 months

Note

"breaking down mid-hug because they just needed this so much" with Jason please!!!

oh really?

love bringing up the angst and scandals. who cares if some of this isn’t 100% accurate let me be delusional.

read more here!

tw: olivia, cheating, mentions of failed marriage, mentions of divorce

—

you’d heard it from jason before you’d seen the pictures. olivia had chunked their marriage away for harry styles. she’d spent plenty of time with him on her movie set, and while you knew she was kind of a spoiled brat with jason, you never thought she’d actually cheat.

by the time he’d arrived at your house with the kids, you already had your spare room set up. the kids looked happy as ever, completely oblivious to the situation.

jason, on the other hand, didn’t look too well. his phone kept a buzzing and ringing from all the calls and texts from her. it wasn’t easy to hide the disgust in his voice when he took her call in the next room.

you took the kids grocery shopping to give him space to cool down, and they were over the moon for a sleepover at your place.

jason seemed a lot more calm once you’d all returned. the kids wanted to spend the evening watching tv on your back patio, so you let them have fun while you tried your best to comfort jason.

“i just…really? i mean, fuck! we had a fucking family. what did i do that was so fucking wrong?”

“jase, you didn’t do a thing and you know that.”

“i knew things were getting rocky, but i didn’t think it was because she was fucking some kid!”

he rubbed his hands over his face and took in a shuddery breath. when his hands stayed on his face for a moment, you stepped towards where he was sitting on one of your barstools. you slid an arm around his shoulders and one on the back of his neck, holding him to you.

the way he squeezed you made it seem like he hadn’t been held in forever.

“s’feels so good..”, he relaxed in your arms.

after a few seconds you felt him began to shake, and heard him sniffling. his tears soaked the shoulder of your t-shirt and it was warm against your skin.

“should’ve left her years ago.. just tried stayin’ and acting like things were good so otis would be happy growin’ up, you know?”

you nodded and rested your cheek on the top of his head while your fingers stroked at his back through his shirt.

“he was, hun. still is.. you’re the best dad to those kids, don’t let her mistakes make you doubt that..”

his arms had found their way around your waist and he held you tightly to him. “that’s the thing, she doesn’t think it was a mistake! she thinks that it was totally justifiable! but i can’t even take a 10 minute phone call from you, o-or bring the kids over without being called a cheater!”

you just held him tight while he let it all out. this had clearly been pent up for a while.

“and as soon as I got the balls to leave, she ditches the birth control and fuckin’ gets pregnant with daisy. i didn’t even know she’d quit! which, i’m not saying i wish she wouldn’t, that’s my baby girl. it just felt so convenient for her.. she knew i’d reached my limit with her. all she ever wanted was a girl. gives otis the cold shoulder half the time just to spoil dais.. i wouldn’t change a thing but i wish she just had better fuckin’ morals, or.. or something.”

you sighed against his head. “there’s not too much you can do about that, other than just keep being the best dad like you have been.. when they get older they’ll realize how much time and care you put into them. deservedly so… they’re great fuckin’ kids, jase.”

he let out a huff that somewhat sounded like a chuckle.

“i just don’t know what the fuck to do now..”

“look, you guys can all stay here tonight. for as long as you need, you know that.”

he nodded against you.

no other words were spoken as your hand moved from the back of his neck up into his hair. he relaxed even more at the feeling of you twisting his graying locks through your fingers. after a few seconds you softly pressed a kiss to his temple, and that’s when the dam broke.

he let out a soft whimper into the fabric of your shirt and squeezed your waist when you muttered, “oh, hun..” and held him closer.

jason began crying as you held him and shushed him.

“did- did i say something? i didn’t mean to-“

“no! no.. just.. feels good havin’ you close again. s’been too long.. jus’ needed this.”

you couldn’t find the words to tell him you felt the same, but when he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder that was now damp from his tears, you knew that he knew.

thanks for reading!

#jason sudeikis fanfic #jason sudeikis rpf #jason sudeikis fluff #jason sudeikis imagine #jason sudeikis x reader #jason sudeikis fanfiction #jsuds #prompt list #my writing

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gabessquishytum · 8 months

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Concept: Hob's in his first year at university, and he’s actually become good friends with his randomly assigned roommate (Destruction). He knows Destruction has a... less than ideal relationship with his family, that he's basically only in contact with them at all because he doesn’t want to lose touch with his younger sister.

And then Destruction complains to him that his older brother is coming to visit/check up on him/take him to dinner, and he’s such a self righteous asshole this is going to suck-

And Hob's like "Just bring me along to distract him. I'm SO good at being annoying, he wont be able to judge your life choices if he's judging mine." It's a toned-down of that "I'm a convicted felon do you want me to come to your Thanksgiving dinner" Craigslist post.

Dream shows up. Destruction insists that Hob come to dinner with them.

Hob proceeds to switch whatever filter he had off and spends the whole meal just. Talking at Dream. He starts the evening a textbook overconfident jock who acts like no one's ever told him no and ends the evening very drunk (hey, Dream is paying and it's good alcohol) and earnestly telling Dream he's going to become a doctor and figure out how to cheat death. The concept, not his sister. Why does their family have such weird names, anyway?

Dream comes away from the meal unwillingly fascinated with Hob. He wants to watch as the stress of university deservedly takes him down several pegs and bleeds the light from his eyes. He figures it'll take a month.

So even though the older siblings had set up a 'check in on Destruction' schedule he volunteers to go again the next month.

And honestly there are two directions I could go from here:

A: Destruction once again panics about seeing family he's trying to distance himself from. Hob once again offers to run interference. But somehow they orchestrate it so that Hob ends up spending an entire day with Dream, and they end up doing a 12-hour enemies to lovers speedrun. Hob gives Dream a manic pixie dream girl tour of the campus and its surroundings. Poor Destruction comes back the next day to find his asshole older brother and his roommate in bed together.

Or B: the slowburn version. The first time Dream comes back he meets a slightly mellower version of Hob, and decides he doesn't hate him, actually. And then he just keeps coming back, and he and Hob end up genuinely becoming friends. Dream and Destruction actually start to repair their relationship, too! Trouble is, he's convinced Hob and Destruction are dating (partially bc Destruction still brings Hob along to everything, partially bc both Hob and Destruction are very casually touchy and very lax about wearing clothing while at home). So when Hob finally works up the courage to ask him out, he pulls a "YOU DARE".

He very unhappily tells Destruction "so Hob hit on me"

And Destruction's like "fuckin finally. The man is so stupid about you I swear his pupils turn into little cartoon hearts when he looks at you"

Dream's like "You're not upset?"

And Destruction's like "No, I'm happy for you both, you deserve it. You did. Reciprocate. Right?"

And then Dream establishes that he wasn't actually the other woman and does some over the top rom-com bullshit to win Hob back (this is unnecessary) (he'd never lost Hob) (Hob still appreciates it very much and falls even more in love with him)

Chaotic ADHD coded med student Hob + cutie art student Destruction + stuck up older brother Dream... this is absolutely the ideal combination.

At the end of that first evening Dream is hissing "your boyfriend is unbearable!!" And Destruction is like "he's not my boyfr- you know what never mind. yes i love my very annoying boyfriend hob gadling."

And Dream can't wait to see Hob’s dreams and spirit crushed, but... this doesn't happen. If anything he gets MORE annoying and sunshiney, and Dream becomes unwillingly fascinated by his little brother's terrible boyfriend. Destruction has exams to do so it's Hob who ends up showing Dream around on his next visit, and of course Hob teases him the whole time and makes sure that Dream pays for his lunch and dinner. He sometimes feels like Hob is flirting with him but he tries to ignore that, putting it down to being a part of Hob’s personality.

Destruction is desperately trying to find a way to tell Dream that he's "broken up" with Hob and tell him that it's totally ok to ask Hob out now!!! It doesn't help that Hob keeps sitting on his lap. And braiding his hair. But he can't tell Hob to stop being himself!! What a mess.

There are two possibilities in my mind: Destruction eventually tells Dream that he was lying about the relationship with Hob BUT if Dream doesn't ask Hob out, he will!! And so Dream is faced with the sudden realisation that he's not irritated by Hob, he's actually in love with him!! Oh no!!

OR. For my Hobstruction fans. Destruction is like. "What if we act like good siblings and share him?" And after Dream has recovered from passing out on the floor he has to consider that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea?

Either way Hob is getting Endless dick tonight, as he deserves. Bless our favourite annoying gremlin cockslut <3

#the sandman #dreamling #hobstruction #dream x hob x destrustion #nsft

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'Doctor Who star David Tennant has been announced as the host of next month's Bafta Film Awards.

It will be the actor's first time hosting the prestigious ceremony, which is being held at the Royal Festival Hall in London's Southbank Centre.

He will be taking over from last year's host, Richard E Grant, who presented alongside Alison Hammond.

The 2024 ceremony will take place on 18 February and be broadcast on BBC One and BBC iPlayer.

Tennant, 52, who has appeared in TV series including Broadchurch and Good Omens, recently returned to Doctor Who for the show's 60th anniversary episodes, where he played the 14th Time Lord.

He said: "I am delighted to have been asked to host the EE Bafta Film Awards and help celebrate the very best of this year's films and the many brilliant people who bring them to life."

He starred in Doctor Who's 60th anniversary with Catherine Tate, who reprised her role as Donna Noble, a companion of the 10th Doctor, also played by Tennant.

Jane Millichip, the chief executive of Bafta, said the organisation was "over the moon" at Tennant's appointment.

She added: "He is deservedly beloved by British and international audiences alike.

"His warmth, charm and mischievous wit will make it a must-watch show."

The Bafta Film Awards longlists have been announced across 24 categories.

Greta Gerwig's Barbie, Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer and Martin Scorsese's Killers Of The Flower Moon feature in 15 categories.

All three are in the running for best film, director and screenplay awards.

Saltburn, Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget and Poor Things are among the 15 films which will advance in the Outstanding British film category.

Lily Gladstone makes an appearance in the leading actress category for her performance in Killers of the Flower Moon, while Bradley Cooper is among the stars listed for leading actor for his performance in Maestro.

The nominations for the 77th annual awards will be announced on 18 January by English actress Naomi Ackie and Barbie actor Kingsley Ben-Adir.

The nominations for the EE rising star award, the only Bafta where the winner is selected by the British public, will be announced on 10 January.

Last year Tennant appeared with Tate at the TV Baftas to present the best features award to Joe Lycett vs Beckham: Got Your Back At Xmas.

Tennant previously collected two best actor awards for his performances in both Doctor Who: Doomsday and The Escape Artist from Bafta Cymru and Bafta Scotland respectively.

The awards season kicks off with the Golden Globes on Sunday while the Oscars will be held on 10 March.'

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anonymoushouseplantfan · 1 year

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Happy Mother's Day Plant! Please share with us your opinion on how the KP seems to be going for Hollywood-esque PR with the bts videos and photos, obviously, and rightly so, promoting the Waleses. And contrast that with them really touching advocacies that have real lasting impact, not only to a few people, but to a wider set of the UK population. Like how Prince Philip's and the then Prince Charles' foundations seemed to touch and really impact people's lives and livelihood. More and more people seem to bring back the work-shy Wills era nowadays, and tbh, it definitely looks their work needs more quality and quantity.

First, I’m amazed at the impact the video has had. Wow.

Second, I suspect the contrast is the point. KCIII is resting now, we’ll-deservedly so, but when he return I expect the formal start to his reign will emphasize the personal quality of his work and that individual, everyday impact.

I did. It expect that. I thought Charles would go more glam (as he did in the coronation pictures). But I have to say I like it. It seems that he’s going to be “The People’s King.” That surprises me, but as you say it fits the character of his work. It also fits his age. They seem to be setting him up as be supportive grandfather figure, and I think it’s clever.

And they are going to contrast that with the Waleses glam. This could work because the contrast highlights both aspects of the monarchy. You can kind of see that in the Eurovision videos. Charles and Cam are behind the scenes looking very down to earth and relatable, and then Kate shows up looking like a Victorian painting come to life.

And that also fits the Waleses’ work which is grander in scope, what with Earthshot and Early Years.

It could work. Both sets of fans are going to be unhappy because the images being projected are very one-sided. KCIII is very glamorous himself and the Waleses are also relatable. But this level of image-making is inevitably cartoonish and two-dimensional.

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bookishtheaterlover7 · 2 months

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👸

We've all seen ilarias posts inckuding the one that says not Chris and the caption that has Chris listed

1st off it has been a hot second since she took credit for styling Chris. There was a fasion article that credited her a specific look, bringing Polos baxk that included Chris Evan' s , donald glover and Dwayne johnson wore and she did tag him when she posted that article but outside of that its been a while.

The post of the pic thst says "Misc. Hord (Not Chris)" was odd. But maybe its her way of saying not Chris' clothes and that she isnt doing much of his styling because lets face it a posit it saying: Misc. Hord (not Chris)There are many Chris' in Hollywood as well. Maybe Chris Pine or Pratt are going and she's styling one of those?

Was odd at that.

She did mention Chris in the post for a Vanity party but she also listed others and apprently the Vanity Party is extremly hard to get into. Unlike someone else.

Looking at her styling and her past Styling for Chris as well as those she styles similarly Dwayne and Billy, I feel like she goes diffrently for John. You can see its clear she did not dress Chris for the party he went to.

First off she never uses just a regular button down shirt unless

A) theres a jacket or sweater going over it

B) no way in hell would be look that wrinkled. She had standards her men always look pressed. She even ironed bareys underware for god sakes!

C) IF it was just a plain white shirt there would have been a stlyish element such as big buttons like Billy had worn at a diffrent even

D) She couldve gotten 3/4 sleaves. And dont all be like she wouldnt have know if he was was going tonroll his sleave -shes dtyled this man for waht i think 10 years she knows him

E) the first is way too big especially in the pecks. The stylist job is to get him clothes thst fit, like he wore to the White House. She wouldn't have given him a shirt that was too large.

F) Look at Chris pants from the pic and then look at Billy pants from his recent post as it is a similar style. Bully is qearing pants that are dress pants Chris looks like he's wearing Kaki jeans from Sears.

Now, there is nothing wrong with kahkis or jean kakis or sears but his "date" is qeaing a white sheer dress braless. And hes wearing Kakhis.... yiu can also look at Dwyanes clothes as I said theyre styled alike for evens espeically the tops he wears dress pants.

And the NUMBER 1 REASON HOW WE KNOW ILARIA DIDNT STYLE HIM FOR THE PARTY:

She didn't take credit! And credit where credit is due i may mot always agree with her style but she takes credit deservedly so when she styles.

I know some people dont like her because she did testify on danny master's behalf, if she did that but wont style chris what is that saying about the state of association with Chris....

Yes she did put chris' name down I have 2 theories she is either styling for a diffrent Chris as theres a lot in hollywood, putting a few things together for Chris because she sees how horrible he looks it was a bit of a care package after seeing how horrible he looked in the photos and dont want his bad style to be atrributed to her ainxe she is still referrd to as his stylist.

Her post about the clothes qe can guess on we need context. She couldve just found it funny because she has a hord of chris chlothes and then saw a lable of hords of clothes that aren't chris'. We dont know. We jusr know Ilaria would never let Chris out in public like that.

Drcils avocate I'm hooing the lack of ring in audi and Ilaria maybe coming back ss a signal its almost over butbweve been hoping thst for a while so imma just assume like i said in my other post theyll give us what we said we wanted chris looking alive and happy and them together and i expect names might be used but more alone the lines of of I brought Chris with me (in her low pitch american accent) or oh I have A__a with me. Like the marketing annon said for legalilty reasons they have confirmed marriage with the use of names and we need to read between the lines, personally im reading un between the spaces because nothing says love like newlyweds almost 2 arms lenfths away while one is being pulled so muxh his hand is bent as hes going down the stairs- thsts exactly what Emily Blunt and John look li-oh wait its not theyre always affectionate.

Anyway I'm still holding on to hope.

👸 you're throwing more and more shade. And I'm just here for it 😍

Another awesome one in the bag!!!

#An🫶n asks #👸 asks #👸 PSA for the Fandom #booky reacts #booky answers #chris evans #chris evans fandom #Team Chris

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wisteria-lodge · 1 year

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GUEST POST: WHAT I LOVE ABOUT EACH PRIMARY & SECONDARY

BY BALERION6

I decided I wanted to make a post on why all the sortings are top-tier, but I don’t have an active tumblr myself, so I’m using you as a conduit. (Also, originally I was going to make a post about every individual sorting instead of just doing the primaries and secondaries, but I decided that was nuts and did this instead.)

Now.

WHY EACH PRIMARY IS GREAT

Badger: Y'all care so much, about so many people. It’s incredible how big your hearts are. Even if you’re burned, I know you want to care about everyone in your community, and that alone is extremely admirable. When Birds and Lions get too caught up in theoreticals and ideals, it’s Badgers who remind them that their actions affect people and bring them back down to Earth. When Snakes get stuck in a “my people vs. strangers” mentality, it’s Badgers who remind them that their people were once strangers too, and every person matters. Thank you, Badgers, for being true humanitarians, and for reminding the rest of us what’s really important.

Bird: Is there any pursuit more noble than the pursuit of truth? Not many, I should think. Birds are the people who face the harshest, cruelest truths this world has to offer–and don’t flinch away. Instead, you try to take those truths and use them to build something that will make the world a better place. You’re careful and deliberate and thoughtful with your morality. Lions have a reputation for courage, and deservedly so, but it takes its own sort of courage to hear your instincts screaming to do one thing and to choose instead to do the thing that you logically know is right. So thank you, Birds, for standing up for what’s right even when it’s difficult or painful, and for seeking the truth no matter how unpleasant it may be.

Lion: The world needs Lion primaries like a navigator needs a compass. Some people just know deep down in their bones that something is wrong, and they set out to right it no matter the cost. I guarantee that in every great social movement, there was at least one Lion who kept the fire burning and reminded everyone else why they were fighting even when all hope seemed lost. Your ability to stand up even when the whole word is trying to make you kneel is an incredible gift–as is your total inability to back down from what you know to be right. Thank you, Lions, for fighting the good fight in the face of all odds, and for knocking down the bullies and tyrants who stand in your way.

Snake: Ever gone to an animal rescue and had an animal immediately take a liking to you, even though the handlers say that animal doesn’t like anyone? That’s what it feels like to be a Snake’s person. It’s an amazingly secure, comfortable feeling. It makes you feel so special and loved. Snakes are safe people to be around because you know you’d have to fuck up pretty spectacularly in order for them to drop you. In that sense, no one is quite as trustworthy as a Snake. You guys take such good care of your people–and if asked why, you seem endearingly bewildered. “Of course I helped you; you’re my friend!” Not to mention that you have an excellent sense of self-preservation that extends to your people as well; you remind the rest of us to stop and take care of ourselves rather than sacrificing ourselves endlessly for our ideals or our communities. If everyone was a Snake’s person, the world would be a better, more secure place. So thank you, Snakes, for your steadfast loyalty and the way you look out for the rest of us.

WHY EACH SECONDARY IS GREAT

Badger: At the heart of every community is at least one Badger secondary putting in the work. Communities just wouldn’t function without y'all. You’re the foundation holding up the whole thing. You just innately know what people need, and you give it to them, no questions asked. You can be almost TOO selfless, honestly–remember to take a break and care for yourself! You matter too! The community probably couldn’t last forever without you, but it will last long enough for you to rest and recover, I promise. And your consistency is so admirable. I wish I could just show up and keep showing up the way y'all do. Plus, the way you become whatever the people around you need you to be? Wow. It’s awe-inspiring. We all have a lot to learn from Badger secondaries. So thank you, Badgers, for taking care of us all and working your asses off every single day.

Bird: There’s no situation in which you DON’T want a Bird secondary around. Lost your keys? Don’t worry, your Bird friend learned to pick locks for fun a few years back. In a foreign country and don’t know the language? Not to fret, your Bird is amazing with languages–get them a book on the local language and you two will be conversational in no time. Need to negotiate something? It’ll be fine; your Bird has a persona just for this situation, plus a knowledge of exactly what the person you’re negotiating with wants. Bird secondaries are so cool, man. If they don’t happen to have a tool for a given situation, that’s okay–they’ll just use the tools they do have to build something new. Thank you, Birds, for always pulling something out of your back pocket when we’re in a pinch.

Lion: In a world full of people with ulterior motives, your honesty and directness is SO refreshing. With a Lion, what you see is what you get. There’s no secondary more trustworthy than a Lion. You can count on them to do exactly what they say they’ll do, every time, and that’s worth a lot. Plus your tendency to take the most direct possible path makes you very efficient in some ways. You’re the type to kick down doors and slice through knots while others are still deliberating on what to do. And woe betide all who stand in your way! Nobody is as willing to stand up and fight for their people or their ideals as a Lion. So thank you, Lions, for your integrity and determination–and don’t be surprised if you need help one day and look around to find a whole army of people willing to fight for you.

Snake: You guys are so much fun! Seriously, ever hung out with a Snake friend? It’s incredible watching them shapeshift every thirty seconds. You’re the supportive friend, the class clown, and the sneaky schemer all within the span of five minutes. You have this striking ability to see what would best fit the situation, and then just… become that. You’re so clever and observant, and you know just what the people around you need and want at any given moment. Each of your masks is a special gift just for the person you show it to, and should be treasured as such. And the way you solve problems is so creative. You have this tendency to take a tool and use it in a way that was never intended, yet somehow works flawlessly. Plus it’s a real treat when you go into neutral mode–when a Snake drops all their masks, it feels so special, kind of like seeing the birth of a baby panda. It’s an honor to be trusted with something like that. Thank you, Snakes, for becoming whatever the situation demands of you and gifting us all with your lovingly crafted masks.

TL;DR: Every primary rules. Every secondary rules. The SHC community in general also rules. Thank you all for being you.

#submission #sortinghatchats

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