#IF IT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR A FANCY CHEESE WHY ISN'T IT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emmg · 12 days ago

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Hello love Can I ask for Raphael x reader where Raph actually shows love, buuut in his own twisted way? One of my fam members had autism and he never ever said those three words, but showed it in acts of service and paying attention to what you say/do aaand i was thinking about Raphael who tries to show how much he loves her(or them) but well he's not very good at this. Tav reading book- he will read it too, because he cares...just to tell her how much it sucks. She's bleeding after a fight? Throws her into his healing pool and tell her how stupid she is for the whole time he's with her and how she wastes his time, but won't leave her alone, because what if this dumb mortal drowns herself? A guy said something to her and she felt like sh*t or he touched her to make her uncomfortable? He would give her a very fancy box with big bow and smiles innocently at her ; 'Come on little mouse..open it' just for her to see somebodys hand or head 'oh..this? its this creep from yesterday' Tav wears something cheap? oh boy he would tell her everythink he thinks about this rag. She thinks he wants her to wear only expensive things, because how she looks=his reputation but the truth is he thinks she deserves only the most lavish things in her life and he wont allow her to live below HIS standards And his fav way of showing love is giving her mortal who hurt her in any way already beaten so they wont demage his precious possesion, but conscious enough so she can enjoy torturing them (for sure he does it for his own amusement more than hers)

What a fun prompt! Although, to be fair, I can't exactly make it totally healthy because Raphael isn't an emotionally healthy person to be in a relationship with so this is still a little bit dark, though definitely not awful haha.

ETA: ah crap I missed the part about x reader. So sorry about that. In my defence, I truly cannot write from second person point of view. I’m very, very sorry anon. I’ve tried before and it feels awkward to me and everything comes out… bad.

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Sometimes she feels hollowed out, as if something essential has been scooped clean from within her. She’s not sure why she stays—or even if she’s staying at all. Maybe he’s holding her here, maybe she has no choice, maybe she lost that freedom long ago. Because you don’t walk away when Raphael is speaking; you don’t walk away when he’s watching you. And his eyes are always on her, always, always, always following.

That gaze—it leaves her feeling half trapped, half sanctified, as though caught in some dreadful, holy spell. He doesn’t look at others this way, she knows that, but that knowledge only tightens the hold, winds the snare around her. It’s nothing, she tells herself—this attention, his careful watch—yet it feels like everything, a binding without words, a noose drawing tighter, a claw sinking deeper. Time twists strangely when he’s near, spiraling into something she can’t name, and she can’t help but wonder: will his interest wane, fade away to nothing? Or will it sharpen, tighten, until it consumes her, leaving her breathless, until there’s no space left at all?

If it does—if he closes around her entirely, if his grip becomes her world, pressing in until there’s no air, no light, only him—what will she be then?

And she’s not even sure if he cares. He holds her there, yes, but it feels like watching a game; his own personal mousetrap, an exquisite little experiment to see how far she'll reach for the cheese. She wonders if he’s simply taking what he can, drawing her deeper until he tires of her, only to discard her when he does, laughing at her fascination with him. She can almost see it—him spitting in her face, turning her out with a sneer, then pulling her back in just as quickly. He'd fuck her, taunt her, pull her close only to watch her shatter, then laugh, invite her back with a gift, something golden, expensive, dripping with indulgent mockery.

But then there are the other things he does, things that somehow feel worse—things that make the walls seem as though they’re closing in, or maybe as if he’s drawing her into some embrace she can’t escape from. She’s not sure which would be more terrifying.

Sometimes, when they’re in Avernus together, she finds the portals dead, the way back to her world—a world of soft light and mortal trivialities, the Gate and its grime—suddenly blocked, cut off. And it's always the same dance. She demands an answer, asks why she can’t pass through, why she’s stuck here in this burning place with him, unable to flee back to the familiar. And he only waves her off, barely looking up, irritation flickering in his gaze. He says he hasn’t the time to bother with “simple magic,” that she can wait.

But he knows, he knows damn it, that she can barely summon a spark, let alone force open a gateway on her own. He knows she’s trapped, helpless as a moth in a bottle, wings beating frantically against glass she can’t see. And he watches her, almost bored, as she paces, her panic ripening, sinking roots in her chest. Because he knows she won’t leave, can’t leave, and he’ll let her struggle just long enough to make her feel it—the helplessness, the claustrophobia, the bitter thrill of his control, closing around her, almost gentle, almost loving.

And then, only then, he flicks his fingers, and the portals blaze open, bright and mocking, as if they’d never gone dead at all.

She's interrupting him, Raphael says, a nuisance he has no time for. Important matters, contracts to seal, souls to collect—real work to do, and here she is, lingering in his shadow, hovering as if she belongs, asking him to breathe life into a stupid portal. He snaps at her to leave, to stop her pestering, to get out of his sight. And so she does, shrinking back, biting her lip, retreating into her quiet corner.

But then, later—always, somehow, later—he comes to her, waking her from half-sleep as he climbs over her, pressing down with a heat that seems to burn straight through her skin. He murmurs his need, his lust, his rough, clumsy want, lips grazing her ear with words that are half-whispered, half-demanded. And she lets him, wraps her arms around his back, holds him, breathes through the rush of his hands, the awkward rhythm of his taking.

She feels the weight of him, the feverish heat, and she sighs into it, into him, because in the Hells, everything is unbearably hot. His skin burns against hers, more furnace than flesh, and though she knows he’s hasty, heedless, that she’s just an outlet, a brief relief, she takes it. She lets herself be consumed by it, that pressing heat because here, with him, it’s as close to comfort as she’ll ever get.

But sometimes there are moments that make her think he might care, moments she savors, drinks in slowly, wondering if they're real or merely the product of his boredom. She can never quite tell, but she doesn’t mind; she lingers on these glimmers of gentleness, holds them in her memory far longer than she should.

Like when she’s soaking in his absurdly large bath, reclining in the steaming water with her arms folded along the edge, her head resting on cool stone, hair spilling loose behind her. She’s doing nothing at all, simply breathing in the warmth, letting the steam curl around her. And then he appears, slipping into the room, extending those long legs of his, rolling up his sleeves as he settles by her side. He doesn’t join her in the water; instead, he simply sits, a book resting in his hands, the very one she finished days ago.

She watches, amused, as he leafs through it, the prominent wrinkle between his brows deepening with each page he turns. His expression is one of studied distaste, the kind that would be comical on anyone else. But on him, it’s strangely captivating.

“Unhinged drivel,” Raphael mutters finally, his tone ripe with disdain.

“Hm,” she echoes, half-lidded, watching him through the steam.

“Why do you read this?” he questions. “I have half a mind to burn it. The sheer embarrassment of sharing the same air with it—I hardly want it in my library.”

She smiles, faintly, eyes closing as she stretches a little deeper into the warmth. “I’m done with it,” she replies, lazily. “Do what you wish.”

He taps two fingers against the spine. “The Duke is an absolute cretin, I must say.”

“Oh?” she murmurs, her voice barely a breath above the water’s surface.

“Utterly insipid,” he continues. "Such posturing, such shallow arrogance. I wouldn’t offer him a contract if he were the last soul on the proverbial platter.”

She laughs then, quietly, letting the sound ripple through the steam. She knows Raphael is just indulging in his own particular brand of superiority, delighting in the verbal dissection, and maybe he doesn’t care for her company at all. But still, he stays, perched beside her, weaving disdainful monologues that settle like warm coals in her chest. And for a moment—just a moment—she lets herself pretend that he’s here for her.

He continues, eyes fixed on the offending book as if it’s a particularly irksome insect. “The Duke’s speech in chapter five...” he says. “So very witless, wouldn't you say? Who professes undying love with such clumsy metaphors? And in the garden, no less, like a character in a tragic farce. ‘You are my sun and moon,’” he scoffs, his voice rising to a mock-romantic lilt. “‘My stars, my breath, my—’”

He pauses, catching her wide-eyed, incredulous look. A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, and there’s a glimmer of something—mischief?—in his gaze. “Oh, little mouse, don’t look at me like that. Surely you didn’t think I’d stoop to reading this… for enjoyment?”

She raises an eyebrow, half-laughing, half incredulous. “You read it?”

“Of course I read it,” he replies, with all the haughtiness of a scholar who’s just suffered through a poorly constructed essay. “I couldn’t very well leave such intellectual refuse lying about in my library without inspecting it first.”

“Just inspecting it? Raphael, you just quoted chapter five.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “A tragic misfortune. I assure you, it was purely incidental. I only skimmed enough to confirm my suspicions about its total lack of merit.”

“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes, watching as he flips another page with painstaking precision. “Is that why you’re carrying it around?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking at her over the book with that familiar, aristocratic arch of his brow. “Little mouse,” he drawls, his tone both affectionate and condescending, “you really must learn what jests are. I can’t go about explaining them every time, you know.”

The novel is set aside.

His hand slips below the water, and she knows, he’s done talking, at least about her books. His fingers graze her skin, tracing erratic patterns. She feels his hand leave her only to hear the soft rustle of fabric, and then he’s there, sliding into the water, slipping behind her.

His arms wrap around her even as he pushes her against the cool stone of the bath’s edge. She feels his impatience in the way his hands move��roaming, relentless, almost rough, his fingers pressing into her skin, biting, digging between the ribs, as if he can’t bear to be gentle.

One hand cups her shoulder, anchoring her as his other hand travels down her side. It moves in a slow sweep, now a caress, almost reverent, then shifting, tracing a path with no pattern, simply moving, as if he’s learning her contours anew. His grip tightens, loosens, a rhythm that speaks of need and very little restraint.

He dips his head, face buried in her hair, and she feels the weight of his breath, the moist heat of it on the exhale. There’s a hunger in his closeness, an intensity that borders on obsession. He’s quiet now, all the long-winded, self-important monologues silenced, his usual need to fill the space with words abandoned.

She feels him pressing against her back, the hard, insistent weight of him, the subtle rock of his hips, and she sighs, her body folding further against the edge of the bath, yielding to him. The warmth in her chest spills out, dissipating into something intangible, and once again, she wonders: Was this all just a performance for her, or something he needs for himself? Was that little, half-sweet conversation meant to soften her, make her more pliant? Or, against all logic, did he truly want to speak to her, to share in that strange, fleeting intimacy?

She wonders if he cares, even a little, if those sarcastic, needlessly elaborate jests of his are meant to coax a smile from her, to make her laugh. Or is it all calculated, a ploy to keep her engaged, to ensure that when he fucks her, she meets him with something more than passive resignation? She feels his fingers tighten on her waist, his breath hitch, and for a moment, just a moment, she allows herself to believe there’s something deeper beneath his touch, something that holds her in place as much as his arms do.

There are other moments too, moments that sink into her like a sickness, twisting her stomach, filling her with a dread so deep it almost makes her want to flee, to scrub herself clean, to be rid of him. And yet, those same moments leave her feeling strangely exhilarated, a little unhinged, as though some part of her is thrilled by the horror of it all.

Take the merchant, for instance. A two-penny swindler, trying to pass off cheap fabric as something exquisite. She spots his scam instantly—anyone with half a brain would—but he’s audacious, leaning in, voice low and greasy as he sells his lie. She calls him out, unimpressed, and he snaps, calling her a cunt. She flips him off without a second thought and moves on, thinking nothing more of it. She’s heard worse, so much worse, and just because she looks the part of a noblewoman at Raphael’s insistence doesn’t mean she’s forgotten the dirt and sweat of her own past. She knows the cheap tricks—how cloth is dyed in back alleys, stained with whatever can be found, how insect paste and a dash of alchemical solution turn cotton into “silk” for gullible morons. She’s done it all herself, seen the worst of it, and this pathetic attempt to cheat her hardly scratches the surface.

She forgets the encounter entirely—until the next day. Raphael barely glances up from his writing, absorbed in the ink-stained pages of yet another infernal contract, when he pushes a small, ornate box across the table toward her. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge it beyond a faint, almost bored gesture. She blinks, glancing from the box to him, and then back, curious but wary, wondering if this is another one of his games.

She takes it, hesitates, then lifts the lid.

Inside, nestled against dark velvet, is a finger. Blue, bloated, stiff with the grip of death. Her stomach turns, nausea creeping up her throat as she stares at it, bile rising as the realization settles—this isn’t just some random, expensive trinket. It’s a message, as clear and cold as the dead flesh before her.

“Oh,” she whispers, voice strangled, unable to look away from the pale digit lying in the box, rigor mortis locking it in a ghastly curl. Her hands are trembling, fingers itching to drop the box, to shove it away, to wipe away the memory of this grotesque gift.

She looks up at him, horrified, and finds his gaze resting on her, idle, yet somehow amused.

She stares some more, her mind spinning as she tries to process what she’s holding, what this grotesque little gift is meant to convey. A part of her wants to retch, to bolt from the room, while another, unhinged part of her feels an inexplicable pull, an urge to draw closer to him, to be entangled in whatever madness constantly hangs off his sleeve.

But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, she lets out a half-laugh, shaky and weak. “That’s… not what usually comes in jewelry boxes.”

Raphael arches a brow. “I’ve given you plenty of jewelry, little mouse. Rings, bracelets, earrings—a whole collection of baubles you hardly deign to wear. Lavaliers, circlets, gems so fine even the simpering nobles of Waterdeep would weep for them. And yet, here you sit, determined to remain a rube.” He tsks, rolling his eyes with theatrical annoyance. “Mayhaps, I thought, just mayhaps, you might appreciate something different to suit that plebeian palate of yours.”

“Whose is it?” she asks, though she already knows. She feels the answer in the pit of her stomach, in the memory of yesterday’s insults and her dismissive walk away.

He only shrugs, dipping his quill in ink. “I’m told he was a merchant.” He pauses, as if to savor the uncertainty flickering across her face. “Or was it a dockhand? Perhaps a barkeep. Truly, who can keep track of such insignificant lives?”

She watches, spellbound in a way she can’t quite understand, as he sprinkles pounce over the wet ink, the tiny white particles catching the dim light. He lifts the paper, blowing the pounce off with a sharp exhale that sends the fine dust scattering into the air, drifting toward her. She coughs, swatting it away, a moment of reflexive frustration breaking through her discomfort.

“So many names,” Raphael murmurs, almost to himself. “So many lives, so many inconsequential little people. It’s hard to keep them all straight, isn’t it?”

She stares at him, a blend of revulsion and fascination churning within her. His words hang in the air, so careless, so detached, as if snuffing out a life meant nothing more to him than discarding an old, forgotten knickknack. And yet, he looks at her now, watching, as if expecting her reaction, waiting to see if she’ll recoil or lean closer.

She leans closer, letting the moment pull her in, and he gives a satisfied little hum, returning to his writing with an air of contentment, as if the world is exactly as it should be. She watches the steady flow of his hand, the way his quill glides across the page in elegant, looping strokes, his cursive rising and falling. Her mind, however, catches on another thought, one that wraps around her and refuses to let go.

He cares, she thinks, or at least he acts as though he does. This is how he responds to insults aimed at her, as if her offense is his to avenge. But another thought lingers, darker and heavier. He knows—that’s what unsettles her. If he knows, that means he saw, or had someone watch on his behalf, and that means she’s never truly alone, even when he isn’t there. She wonders how far that gaze extends, if he’s tracking her every step, every word, if he’s marked her movements like pinpoints on a map, an invisible tether she’s unknowingly bound herself to.

Her hand drifts to her throat, almost absently, fingers brushing the skin there as if she might feel some hidden collar, a leash she’s been wearing all along without realizing it. But of course, there’s nothing—just bare skin and the faint, lingering warmth of her own touch. Still, the thought unsettles her, sends a flutter of anxiety mixed with something else, something uncomfortably close to… warmth. A warmth that spreads through her chest, that holds her in place despite the quiet urge in her feet to stand, to move, to walk as far as she can.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays there, leaning close, just watching him as he writes, utterly absorbed in whatever Infernal text he’s crafting. And as she watches, that warmth in her chest grows, mingling with her apprehension, a mix of dread and fascination that knots itself around her, binding her there as securely as any leash he might conjure.

Another day, another reckoning.

She’s a mess of bruises, skin mottled and darkened so thoroughly she resembles a patchwork quilt rather than a woman. There had been a brawl, Astarion may or may not have thrown punches he couldn’t back, and they both may or may not have drunk too much. Korrilla may or may not have been at the Caress at the same time, her wicked laughter mingling with the chaos, and now her nose is a crimson fountain, dripping ceaselessly. Even the potion Korrilla forced down her throat did nothing to blunt the ache, the slight sneer on Korrilla’s face as she half-carried her back to the House of Hope making it clear she didn’t particularly want to be back tonight.

When she stumbles in, Haarlep just laughs, calling her a “bloody, battered fool” and waving her off in disgust when she starts peeling off her clothes. With a muttered “Ew,” he disappears as she limps toward the restoration pool, her one salvation tonight. She knows it’s usually reserved for soothing injuries from far more… pleasurable encounters, but she hardly cares as she sinks into it, wincing as the water starts working its magic, stitching up minor cuts and scrapes as she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back.

She drifts, the water lapping around her, letting the throbbing recede—until a sharp yank at her scalp rips her back to the present, her head wrenched above the water. She chokes, sputtering out bloody droplets as her eyes snap open, and she finds herself staring at Raphael’s livid face, exasperation etched in every line. His hand is tangled in her hair, and her scalp stings from his tight grip. He glances down at his dripping sleeves, soaked from pulling her up, and curses.

“What a stupid way to die,” he hisses. “Drowning in my boudoir because you’re too idiotic to stay awake.” His fingers tighten in her hair, and there’s no mercy in his eyes. “Take a deep breath now.”

She barely has a second to react before he shoves her head under the water, his hand pressing down with unrelenting force. Her body jerks, and she inhales raggedly before he drags her up again, just long enough for her to gasp for air and catch his sharp, appraising look before he shoves her down once more, holding her under like a misbehaving dog in need of punishment. Water floods her nose, stinging as she chokes, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the pool’s edge.

Up again, another cursory glance, and then he plunges her under once more, his grip firm, a rhythm of punishment and cleansing, as though he’s scrubbing the night’s sins from her with each forced dunk. She claws at his wrist, nails scraping against his skin, and he finally releases her, leaving her gasping and hacking as she collapses against the pool’s edge, water pouring from her lungs in a desperate, wheezing cough.

She realizes then, as she shudders and coughs, that the blood is gone; her nose, once a mess of numb throbbing, now feels raw but whole. She clutches the pool’s edge, head bowed, catching her breath as the water stills around her. Raphael just stands there, dripping, sleeves ruined, as he observes her.

“Well,” he mutters, flicking water from his fingers with a faint sneer, “at least you’re less of a mess now.”

He hauls her from the water, pulling her sodden form from the boudoir and away from the rumpled heap of her clothes. His eyes drift over them—the plain tunic, the uninspired trousers, the scuffed leather boots—with a look of disdain so pointed it almost makes her wince.

“An offense to beauty itself,” he murmurs, almost to himself, though the words slap her just the same. “These… things.” His lip curls. “They will burn. They’re an affront to my eyes, and my patience is wearing thin.”

His gaze slides back to her face, catching on her bruised nose, and he tilts her head with the care one might give a very expensive artifact. His fingers are unhurried, methodical, as he surveys her battered skin. “I don’t keep unsightly things, you know,” he says. “I like my things beautiful. It’s why I collect them—why I keep them close.”

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his tone shifts to something almost conversational, a careless elegance in his words that sets her nerves alight. “Tell me, little mouse,” he begins, fingers tapping idly on his thigh, “shall I lock the door?”

She feels a shiver run through her, her voice faltering. “Which… one?”

He tilts his head in mock contemplation. “Why not all of them?”

“Raphael…” she starts, but she isn’t even sure what she wants to say, or if there’s anything to be said at all.

Unhurriedly, he begins to strip off his clothes, each gesture carried out with an almost ritualistic elegance. He slips out of his doublet, casting it aside with a look of mild annoyance. “Your doing,” he sighs, smoothing an imaginary crease before discarding it. “This fabric—fine enough to silence even the heavens—ruined by your negligence. It cost more than you could dream, more than most would spend in a lifetime.”

She watches, stuck somewhere between disbelief and fascination, unsure if he’s preparing to fuck her or simply indulging in the strange meticulousness of his undressing. Each cufflink is unfastened with almost absurd care, each tie released with the same flawless precision she knows so well. The clothes fold neatly under his hands, smoothed and arranged as if they were sacred relics, and though part of her wants to laugh at the absurdity, she knows better than to test his patience now.

Raphael pauses, shirt open just enough to reveal the line of his throat, his collarbone stark against tan skin. His eyes pin hers and his voice takes on a melodic, almost regretful tone. “Perhaps if I lock you in,” he murmurs, “you might refrain from throwing yourself into every pit of squalor in the Gate, seeking out any hand willing to smash that face of yours.”

“No one seeks that, Raphael,” she says, her voice sounding distant. “It just… happens.”

He snaps his fingers with a sharp, final click. “Yes, yes,” he echoes, almost as if humoring a child. “And doors just… lock themselves.”

#my asks #shortstories #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #he sucks and she can't make him better #but he cares in his own way #tho it's not a healthy way lol

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pxme-granate · 7 months ago

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Cooking Headcannons??

Anah

She's very average for an 11-13 year old; she probably helped the nuns make meals by peeling potatoes or something. I don't think she would do that badly if she tried. I also think that by the end of Hollowpox, she has barista-level skills at making coffee.

Thaddea

No creating, only destruction. If someone does not put food in front of her, she will simply drink the blood of her enemies. Good for her, wish that were me

Francis

Hear me out, he's not actually that good jk. I'd imagine he would try to avoid cooking when he's trying to relax, or at least just make simple comfort food if he wants to feed himself (his standards for simple are probably...interesting, though).

Hawthorne

Great at making little snacks he has to share with Baby Dave, also excellent at making mud pies. Very aesthetically pleasing, not so edible.

Morrigan

Has never cooked a day in her life, has never even looked at a stove; the cook at the manor would always chase her out. She would burn water. Every cooking related conversation she has with Francis ends with him staring off into the distance in horrified silence.

Cadence

Assuming she lives only with her mom and grandmother (and goes to school? did the kids go to a school before wunsoc?? 🤨), she probably only has to cook herself lunch sometimes. So she's excellent at making kraft mac n cheese, and not very good at anything else (pulling from experience here lol).

Arch

Why learn to cook when you can shoplift? jk unless?? I can't imagine him cooking, but I CAN imagine him enjoying a good TV dinner or something. I like to imagine him browsing the frozen meals aisle and picking out the most random and possibly disgusting stuff, like Kids Cuisine Gourmet Shrimp ✨

Lam

She's probably in the same boat as Morrigan...the only saving grace she has is the abiltiy to forsee disaster. Her water may burn, but it will never boil over, yk.

Mahir

I think he might have an idea of basic techniques and what to do in general from studying languages/cultures, but he has never cooked anything before and has no experience. Not quite as bad as Morrigan, but not good either.

Miss Cheery

GREAT at baking; she's only really interested in making deserts and sweets, and every other cooking skill she has is the bare minimum she needs to survive. Undercooked, underseasoned, the whole nine yards.

Roshni

She also has the bare minimum amount of skill you need to survive...she'd rather order something from a cafe and read than make her own food. She has more patience than Marina, at least, so her food isn't so bad.

Jupiter

Maybe he's good at no-cooking-required meals (sandwiches, salads, soups technically) since he has to survive his fancy Captain-y trips somehow. If you actually make him cook something, he will hand you back a burnt crisp that only vaguely resembles the ingredients you gave him.

Squall

I don't think he ever touched a stove before coming to the Republic. The process of learning was nothing short of a disaster in which he nearly starved or died several times, but he's probably good enough now.

#nevermoor #morrigan crow #jupiter north #ezra squall #roshni singh #marina cheery #francis fitzwilliam #i don't wanna tag all the kids...#i wrote all this while i was panicking over trying a new recipe so I don't have to eat spagetti every day #spaghetti*#cooking is THE WORST #anyway feel free to vehemently disagree with me lol #long post

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anopenbookunderlockandkey · 10 months ago

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The 118 Sauce Chat

Eddie: I definitely make spaghetti sauce extremely wrong but I’m not going to stop

Chim: please elaborate on the wrong way to make spaghetti sauce; it sounds highly entertaining?

Eddie: 1 chop onion and put in a pot

Eddie: Add 1 or 2 cans of diced tomatoes. Whatever makes the ratio of onion look right.

Eddie: Add a ridiculous amount of frozen peas. Peas should make up a notable portion of this sauce.

Eddie: Add frozen corn also if you wanna be real fancy. If I have bacon I’ll ad that too. But I very rarely have bacon.

Eddie: Cook on HIGH

Eddie: While sauce is cooking, grab the nearest bottle of mixed spices that isn't obviously for desserts. Add some. How much? I dunno, enough that you feel like you've added seasoning so it's technically cooking. (For me this is most often a mix called Moroccan, but it could be anything. Buck reorganised my kitchen recently so tonight it was something called Pizza Topping.)

Eddie: If you happen to have green herbs lying around, add those too. Whatever you have on hand that's green

Eddie: Let the sauce boil on HIGH until all the water is gone. Stir occasionally so the saucepan will be easier to clean later. Serve on cooked spaghetti noodles with no cheese

Eddie: Today I added a new step called "while the sauce is cooking, duck out for 15 seconds to text the group chat about spaghetti sauce, then get distracted and forget you are cooking." This adds a novel Extremely Burnt edge to the flavour profile.

Chim: I am not Italian, or of Italian descent by *any* stretch of the imagination.

I am also not one of those "cooking purists", who believes that everything must be done in a specific/ traditional way (unless you are making a cooking video with the title "how to make x" in which case if you don't specify mid video that your way is not traditional god help you).

I am a firm believer in "If it tastes good, then it is correct for you".

Chim: Except in this case

Bobby: This hurts every cooking bone in my body. The latent ancestors in my soul. The judgmental elf in my brain just bit a cyanide capsule

Hen: Why? The spices.

Using a different spice mix every time, based on what is ready at hand just ... hurts

Eddie: *sends SPICE IS SPICE meme*

Ravi: absolutely deranged, Eddie. Food crimes.

Bobby: Hey Eddie, looks like you forgot to mention the part where you obviously sweated the onions, because nobody would make spaghetti sauce that had straight up raw onions boiled in tomato juices.

Bobby: RIGHT????

Bobby: Please Eddie

Eddie: I don’t know what sweating the onions means

Hen: It means. It means you cook em a little in a pan with a bit of oil first

Eddie: A pan? How many dishes do you want me to have to wash here?

Hen: I mean you can also do it in the same pot you're making the spaghetti sauce in! The important thing is the onions get a little cooked before the wet stuff goes in, so they're not so wet and limp and boiled....

Eddie: Honestly this depends entirely on whether I remember to chop an onion first or I find the can opener for the tomatoes first. The ingredients go in in whatever order they go in.

Ravi: Eddie, who hurt you???

Eddie: A pack of wild chefs herded my mother off a cliff

Chim: Theres probably a hit out on you for this

Eddie: What kind of stupid idiot would waste money assassinating someone who's so clearly going to accidentally poison themself for free at some point

Bobby: hi Eddie, big fan of your firefighting, this is the sauce equivalent of the running up a metal ladder in a lightning storm to try to pull up a 6’0” tall man instead of lowering him to the ground

-Athena

Eddie: Athena, that is the meanest review my cooking has ever received

Chim: congratulations you found the worst way to do it! this feels like a spaghetti recipe made by AI before it got really sophisticated

-Maddie

Eddie: this group chat’s hate mail game is insane

Ravi: at this point please just eat every ingredient raw… please

Eddie: Do I look like Tony Abbott to you

Buck: As a former Committer of Food Crimes, I have decided to make this sauce this weekend after I have a chance to go to the store. I will report back.

Eddie: Excellent, I look forward to vindication.

Hen: No one's going to vindicate your boiled onion in cinnamonny tomato juice on noodles, Eddie

Eddie: Not cinnamon. Cinnamon is a dessert spice. You use the nearest non-dessert spice.

Ravi: cinnamon is absolutely not a dessert spice

Eddie: Yes it is! It's for muffins and pancakes and fruit pies!

Chim: Cinnamon powder is absolutely a dessert “spice” and Eddie if your cooking is this bad I can’t imagine your baked abominations

Eddie: I put lemon juice in everything I bake that isn't bread

Written for the only two gremlins (endearment) who find this as entertaining as I do @professionalprocrastinator22 and @gravelyhalversobbing

Inspired by:

#things i decided i could make about 911 #Eddie diaz commits food crimes #Buck is his accomplice #buddie fic #911 fic #911 fanfic #text fic #incorrect 911 quotes #911 abc #911 fox

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navree · 7 months ago

Note

Not sure if this has been asked, but if so then you're free to ignore this message. I was wondering if you could articulate why you like Aemond Targaryen as opposed to Daemon Targaryen. The latter seems to have more prominence in the story than the other.

I'm gonna go off the show, since that's what I'm currently more invested in when it comes to Dance stuff (I read all of F&B but the parts I reread the most are always about the Conquerors, as I love them).

So, part of it is that, quite simply, Daemon's a misogynistic ass and Aemond, as far as has been portrayed, isn't. I don't care for Daemon trying to groom his fourteen year old niece, I don't care for Daemon calling his wife misogynistic slurs when she didn't do anything except be married to him, I certainly don't care for him bashing her head in with a rock and getting away with it, I don't care for him trying to ruin Rhaenyra's reputation, I don't care for him then literally leaving her half naked in a brothel in a city notorious for being dangerous (she could have been raped, she could have been killed, the fact that she got back to the Red Keep without a scratch is a miracle), I don't care for him calling Alicent a whore because his half-rotting brother finally croaked, I don't care for his neglect of his children by Laena and even Laena herself (and I don't care for it in metaverse either, I really liked Daemon and Laena's book relationship and I hate how they screwed that AND how it's yet another example of how poorly the Velaryons, the only prominent characters of color, are being handled by the writers), and I definitely won't care for when he orchestrates Blood and Cheese to go after women who had fuck all to do with what happened to Lucerys's boring ass. He's a dick, which already isn't gonna endear me to him, and he's a sexist dick at that, and I don't like it.

Getting a bit deeper into it, my dislike of Daemon also comes from the fact that there's just nothing there. I've complained about this before, but everything that's actually interesting about Daemon seems to come primarily from stuff admitted about him after the fact or from Matt Smith's own acting choices beyond the script. In the actual writing of his character, he's an asshole and he wants to be king and he has a sexual obsession with his niece who he's known since she was a baby; that's it. It's left to the audience to then lean into Matt Smith's choices for the character, extrapolate what we can from creator interviews and some pretty heavy subtext, and then try to craft something ourselves. And even canon events about Daemon that I could get invested in, like his relationship with Nettles (problematic? yes, but it still tickles my fancy because there's a Lot there), just hasn't happened yet and isn't enough to get me pre-invested.

That's not the case with Aemond. The stuff about Aemond I enjoy and that endear me to him as a character, like his struggles with bullying, his bond with Vhagar, his contentious but ultimately loyal relationship with Aegon, his love for his mother, his internal issues surrounding justice denied and the need for retribution, even just his basic characterization in the four episodes we've seen him in, those are in the script. Those are integral parts of his character, that are present and visible and impactful to other characters and the story at large in the broader narrative. There is actual substance to Aemond as a character in a way there just isn't as Daemon. And even Daemon is going to be more "prominent" due to his connection to Rhaenyra, the storyline at the ready for Aemond is FAR more interesting than Daemon's. Daemon in season two is going to orchestrate the worst thing that happens in the Dance and then bounce around Westeros doing God knows what, the only thing I'm looking forward to from him are any interactions with Alys Rivers, but because I'm excited for her, not him. Aemond, on the other hand, has a lot of good set up. Because of his actions, he created an accident that he tried to avoid that has had profound repercussions on his family, and is tied to a horrible act that is going to affect the people closest to him. How is he going to deal with his emotions regarding his own culpability? How much hate and blame is he going to place on Daemon? On Rhaenyra? How will this impact his relationships with the people affected, his mother and his sister and his brother? How is this going to duel with his feelings of superiority, especially once he becomes Aegon's regent? What's gonna motivate him to take the regency but also never allow himself to be called king and remain steadfast for his brother? Is he going to enjoy it or not? We seem to be getting more stuff with him and Criston, how's that gonna be affected by Blood and Cheese and their subsequent military campaign together?

Like, see? There's so much more richness available for Aemond's character, because there's so much more to Aemond's character than Daemon's. Daemon may be more prominent, yes, but he's incredibly shallow on a writing level, and combined with the fact that he's mostly a shitty person, he becomes something I dislike (and I love characters who are shitty people, my favorite character in The Magnus Archives is Peter Lukas and I constantly blab about how I want his cruel sadism to be given more attention by the fandom). So prominence doesn't really factor into it for me, because there's just too much working against Daemon beyond that, and conversely, too much in Aemond's favor.

#personal #answered #anonymous #anti daemon targaryen #the only reason daemon isn't on a writing level that we see with characters like corlys and rhaenys #(who were both bungled spectacularly my god)#is that we see more of him since he's in almost all the episodes of the show in some form #so at least he's got a minor degree of consistency

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lumine-no-hikari · 6 months ago

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #140 (part 2)

Okay! So I'm finally home!! We got back kinda late, and that's okay! We've got snacks on the way, and I've got so many pictures for you!! Some of them are from the sky, and some of them were taken on the way home in the car, and some of them are of the wonderful surprises that were waiting for me when I came home!! I can't wait to show you everything!!

While we were flying, we passed two hawks that got alarmingly close to us; I wasn't fast enough to get a picture. I'm sorry about that... But! I got a few nice pictures for you on the drive home, too...

...And when I came home, there was a cardinal in the tree next to our house:

...I hope the soul of the one that died in my hands is doing okay. If you see him, please tell him I said hello and that I love him, won't you? And if you see the song sparrow, will you tell her, too, that I said hello and that I love her? I'd really appreciate it if you could. 💖 When I got home, I found Hunter and Hoshi waiting for me! They seemed to miss me, and came to chill out right where I normally sit:

And also there was a box of things waiting for me! One of the things inside was the fancy sticker book I got! I wonder what @tinyfluffyshark will think of it!! 🥰

I can now be trusted with stickers!! And Hoshi seems to approve!

Two of the kites I bought also came in:

...I have PLANS for that eagle kite! But I'm not gonna tell ya what they are, even if you ask me with big huge pouty eyes!!! You'll have to wait and see, because I'm horrible and evil like that!! BWAHAHAHA!!! 🤪🤣💖

And in the end, I got to have all kinds of tasty snacks! I ended up not eating the leftover pizza; J ate half of what remained when we returned to the airport, so I'll have it for breakfast tomorrow! Instead I had a tornado potato and some bibimbap!

And you might be thinking, "But Lumine, what in the world is a "tornado potato"??? It sounds VERY dangerous!!" But no, my wonderful, beautiful friend - I promise you that it isn't dangerous at all!!! A tornado potato is when you take a small potato, cut it into a spiral, fry it until it's crispy, and dust it in cajun seasoning and parmesan cheese! They're DELICIOUS! I split mine with J:

...And here's the bibimbap! It's basically rice with all kinds of stuff on it; it's also really, really good:

...I could eat maybe only a third of this, haha! But that's okay!! All it means is that I'll have yummy pizza and bibimbap waiting for me tomorrow!! It's gonna be so good!!! 🤩🤤

...I wish I could share this with you. I wish I could share all of this with you. I wish you could be in the plane with us, or maybe flying alongside us. I wish you could take pictures, too; I bet you would have snagged up a picture of those hawks, easy-peasy! I wish you could try the tornado potato. I wish I could share some of my bibimbap with you. I wish you could have some pages in my sticker book all to yourself. I wish for so many things.

But when J and I returned to the airport we departed from, I went to the place where all the dandelion poofs were, and I scattered some seeds while wishing for the same thing I always wish for: your healing and freedom. I wished you could have a wholesome life full of tasty snacks, caring friends, and lots of fun and peaceful things to do. I wished for you to be happy and safe. I wished for so many good things upon you.

When I think about it, I wonder how many others are wishing upon dandelion poofs for good things to happen to you; I'm willing to bet that it's more than a few. 💖

Anyhoot, that's all I've got for today. I wonder what tomorrow will bring...

I love you. I don't know what sort of stuff you get up to over at the Edge of Creation, but... please stay safe out there, okay? Please come back to us; you have so much life to live still, and there are so many good things waiting for you.

I'll write again soon...

Your friend, Lumine

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lileeeeee · 2 years ago

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prince and his mage

me frfr

also me knowing their relationships are so heavy and complicated and gentle respectful love mixes with guilt and rivalry that goes through their dynasties for centuries since morty’s father wants to colonize a continent and caden’s father unlived him and now morty basically is safe because his father hated, despised and was ashamed of his son that much he even hadn’t had ONE picture with him in a whole palace so no one actually knows morty is his son that supposed to ruin that kingdom secretly but he refused to do so from the start n that’s why his dad thought he’s weak and not won’t ever achieve greatness like father wanted, but morty stole one important thing to literally kill everyone and be a king of the whole continent so no one from his siblings would try to do so, but not everything went how he wanted

btw here’re the families of both gays

on first picture:

hazel (dad, dumb and funny man) is a king of that kingdom;

arthur (a bitch, will be a king later) is his and kitty's first child, very ambitious and cynical, but very witty and has nice strategy on kingdom management;

kitty (mom, even a bigger bitch, runs everything and probably has questionable hobby like idk taxidermy) is a queen, not the best person tho, but mostly because she's very tired since she's in charge of many things, because hazel isn't that good in social politics and their own portray and more concerned about pretty idealistic n immature things like "veryone should be happy";

caden (lmao, "dAd I dOnT wAnT tO bE a KiNg i PrEfEr BeInG a KniGht..." bro) is a middle child (yeah, he's 16 here, and arthur is 20 lol) prince, but he wants to be an armyman, not a next king, of what he notified his family;

mimosa (is done with everyone being brainless) is the youngest child, wants to be either a queen either a battle lady after she'll grow up.

on second pic:

pandora - middle kid, dad`s favorite kid, very cynical, smart, wise, cunning and actually cruel, has ambitions of an empress;

hans - homophobic and evil bitch, not just because he wants to own a whole continent, but also because he hates his sons bc they're not good enough due to his ideals;

ursula - was too young and too unaware of all horrors hans will make her to go through, but tbh she's very loyal and very kind person;

amadeus - just clues dumb dumb baby, knows nothing but wine and be dumb, idk, maybe he eats cheese?

from all kids, only pandora was ready to conquer a whole continent, if you'll ask hans. morty is so weak and distant, that hans even refused to let him be on this family picture (yeah it's not painting in their world, rather magic photo, only palace magicians and witches can make them)

if in short: morty is just a disgrace to his family (except ursula, she loves him, he kinda resembles her mentally and she feels bitter about it a bit, because she understands how easily he might be traumatized, because she faced so much pain and it changed her A LOT, and mortyimer is very sensitive and gentle, just like her) and he's absent on every picture or painting, he's not really even there on different family meetings. he doesn't mind, mostly he's grateful to his father hating, disrespecting and being ashamed of mortimer so much he refuses to take him on his fancy royalty meetings and parties, because now morty has so much time for studying physics, magic and potion making. and their dynasty is mostly an almighty necromancers, mages and witches, so for morty it was mostly for the best.

at the age of 12-13 he got into magic academy, where he met caden. since morty has his mother's last name in that au - lamorte, not todenhofer - caden hadn't realized who mortimer is. and since caden was mostly an outcast in that academy, because he's not good at magic at all, morty was the only one who helped him to at least pass exams and get out of this lace in a few years.

that saved him from getting caught in some way, especially when caden asked his father to let "talented and outstanding mage" from the academy caden was studying magic in, be their next palace mage. that title means a lot, and since hazel was already thinking about retiring and handing the crown to his son - arthur - he agreed to let new blood in. like, it's a part of a change - to replace outdated with a new one, and most of the palace ministers were already too old to be able to help new king rule his country. some of them stayed, of course, to guide the king still, but they were not so many.

morty always wanted to break that circle of evil in his family, that curse in his dynasty. so finally he had a chance to change something.

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rikki-roses · 9 months ago

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Fluffy February Day 12: Discipline

SWTOR

Set during KOTFE

I spelled anaphylactic right the first try, go me lol

Soft TW for mention of health issues

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smell from the fancy cheese platter that Senya had managed to import (smuggled) from Zakuul hit Setra's nose two feet outside of Odessen's cantina, and she was forced to immediately turn away.

Her throat was already starting to itch.

Setra had exactly one allergy: dairy. It didn't matter what animal or which planet it came from, anything with dairy triggered the allergy. When she was younger, she could eat small amounts as long as she took allergy pills right before, which later turned into a bite or two followed by an epi-pen as the bites tried to send her into anaphylactic shock. Now days, she couldn't even taste any; the smell and proximity alone were enough to cause a reaction, with consumption being an almost-guaranteed death sentence even with said epi-pens.

Which was a problem when cheese was her absolute favorite food in the Galaxy, the stinkier the better. It took every ounce of discipline and Jedi training for her to walk away from the cantina and the tantalizing cheese platter, giving passerby a polite smile.

And so, she found herself wandering back to the Force Enclave, one of the only ones not attending the party that the platter had been smuggled ordered for. Setra didn't blame anyone; she wasn't sure how many people even knew she was allergic to dairy. It was unreasonable to expect the entire base to avoid dairy just for her, especially when Setra did have alternatives for most dairy products, minus the more exotic cheeses.

It was just as well; she got a bout of vertigo as she walked through the entrance to the Enclave, barely catching herself as she sat down hard. Paws, bless the nexu, immediately jumped into Work Mode and settled down behind Setra, giving her something to lean against as the room spun around her. Setra was suddenly glad she was alone; she still got embarrassed and awkward every time someone witnessed it, even those closest to her. Especially those closest to her.

After several minutes the vertigo settled just enough for Setra to shakily stand up and wobble over to a cushion placed against one of the wall; she sighed gratefully as she slid down the wall onto the cushion. She crossed her legs and got comfortable, Paws laying down close to her with his head on her lap. She closed her eyes as the room started to spin violently again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Lana who finally found her, a plate of dairy-free cheeses in hand as sympathy treat, guilty expression on her face. She sat down next to Setra and proffered the plate of food, which Setra took with an appreciative smile. She promptly started to eat them.

"How do they taste? They're among the cheeses that Senya was able to bring from Zakuul."

"Like sadness."

It didn't stop Setra from nearly inhaling them - cheese was cheese, and she wasn't going to be picky, even if fake cheese wasn't as good as the real thing. Lana chuckled as she watched.

"Good thing that isn't stopping you. I'll make sure those are set aside for you and our other lactose intolerant staff, then."

"Appreciate it."

"That being said, Senya will probably seek you out later to apologize; she wasn't aware of your allergy, it was sheer luck that the dairy-free cheeses were included. She also didn't know the platter would keep you out of the cantina completely."

Setra shrugged as she put down the plate in her lap, letting Paws lick the crumbs. "Why? I didn't exactly tell her. I don't want people tiptoeing around just to cater to me. when I'm the only one with an allergy this severe."

"Yes, but it's generally bad optics if one of our leaders no-shows a base-wide party because her allergies weren't considered; the cheeses could have been placed elsewhere, or saved for after you left the party. That being said, I do appreciate your discipline."

Setra humphed in response, and the two sat in companionable silence.

#swtor jedi consular #zabrak oc #fluffy february

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rosetheex-editor · 1 year ago

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[Video transcript begin.]

[The transcript begins from a bedroom floor, someone can be heard hammering nails into something. Before propping the phone up to show a metal torso, with one arm. And a lady sitting on the floor. The woman doesn't speak but a voice is heard in the background.]

?: Rose? How long have you been up?

[Voice identified: Henry.]

[The other person responds with something out of frame, causing Henry to gasp.]

H: ROSE YOU HAVEN'T SLEPT? YOU SHOULD HAVE ISN'T PR COMING OVER TODAY?

[A sharp knock can be heard, along with giggling.]

[The other person speaks pointing at the metal torso. Her voice sounding like it was put through a cheese grater.]

R: h- hide buddy…

H: Yep.

[Rose grabs the phone and slowly gets up, grabbing two crutches before moving to the door.]

R: o- ow… my throat…

[Rose opens the door slowly.]

[Behind the door stands a group of women. All smiling. Ness is there with the leader, who happens to also be the tallest.]

?: OMG! Hey girl!

[Voice identified: Ophelia.]

R: tall…

?: Yeah… she's very tall and a lesbian… Brain why?

[Voice identified: Ness.]

R: n- nobody in… pr is straight.

O: Damn straight! I mean. Um. Damn gay!

[Ophelia giggles, the volume of her voice increasing. Seemingly by accident.]

O: So! May I come in?

?: Before you do, can I just say, Rose. Your voice sounds like shit.

[Voice identified: Eden.]

O: Eden! Be nice!

R: hi… evely-

[Rose cuts herself off, Ness looking worried by the second.]

R: eden.

Ed: Yeah. Thanks for getting it right this time.

[Eden clacks her teeth together, showing off the fangs that had sunk into Rose’s arm just over a month ago.]

R: t- that reminds me…

[Rose lifts her arm into frame, slowly removing the bandages and showing the scar to the PR members and Ness.]

R: s- still alive bitch

?: Woah! Eden, you can just. Give scars like that now? Awesome!

[Voice registered, awaiting name…]

Ed: Oh, shut up, Becky!

[Name registered: Becky.]

Be: Fine! We’ll be talking about this later though. That’s cool as fuck!

R: not so… c- cool when you’re in a hospital bed… f- for almost a month.

Ed: I’d do it again in a heartbeat, dicknips.

R: a- and i'd be happy to bash… y- your fuckin head in bitchlips.

O: Okay, I totally love mixing swears together as much as the next gal, but we have a few things to work out, don’t we?

R: eden… isn't coming in.

Ne: Rose just.

R: Eden. i- isn't. coming. i- in.

Ed: I didn’t want to, anyway. Lived here for weeks, I’ve seen enough.

[Before anyone can delay her entry any longer, Ophelia steps in, grabbing Ness and Becky, pulling them in after her. Her grip on Ness’ arm is tighter than her grip on Becky’s hand.]

Ne: OW! Ophelia my arm-

O: So! Where’s Adam? I’ve been so curious about him since I heard about the little guy!

R: d- don't know. nice dress tho-

[Rose is cut off by Henry screaming and a cat meowing.]

H: MY TOE!!!!

R: i- ignore him. nice dress ophelia.

O: Aw! Thank you! I actually… Oh, where is my bag! Adelia? Where’s my suitcase?

[A distant voice is heard, presumably Adelia.]

Ad: Right here girl! Sorry, I had some trouble with it.

[A suitcase is rolled into the apartment. Ophelia grabs it and opens it up. Revealing a ton of shopping bags.]

O: I felt bad about taking Ness out of the country without permission. So I got you some things to make up for it!

[Ophelia beams at Rose. Almost eerily. But the rest of her face and tone is friendly.]

R: n- none of this is gonna… spy on me right?

O: Of course not!

R: a- and speaking of ness… i… s- see y'all gave her… a b- bit of a makeover?

O: Yep! She bought that on her own, though. Amazing what a Showfall company card can buy you!

[Rose turns to only face Ness, She has on a long purple dress with red roses, a red bow is placed on her short green hair. as well a fancy necklace is placed around her neck.]

R: y- you good ness?

Ne: Oh yeah! They took care of me, don't worry! Right Ophelia?

O: For sure! Yeah! Ness was a great addition to girls night.

R: d- don't hurt her and… m- maybe if you want she can tag-

[Rose is cut off by another scream, causing her to scream in return.]

R: GIVE ME A MINUTE!

[Rose coughs.]

R: keep her safe… she c- can tag along again i guess… just don't hurt her.

O: Of course, Rose. Why would we ever hurt her?

H: ROSE IT’S ON MY FOOT!

R: give me a minute!

Ne: Wait what's on henry's-

[Rose sets her phone on a counter in a way everyone is visible, before running off.]

Ne: -foot.

O: She’s nice!

[Ophelia elbows Ness, a smug grin on her face.]

Ne: Ow! what was that for!

[Ness laughs, clearly joking.]

O: You’ve gotta shoot your shot, girl!

Ne: WHA- I- UM-

[Ness' face turns a bright red, she hides it in her arms.]

Ne: I… was already gonna do that actually.

O: Well hurry it up, buttercup! You’re going to lose her to some other girl if you don’t act fast!

Ne: I WAS GONNA DO IT TONIGHT-

[Ness cuts herself off before falling to the ground, As soon as that happens A brick comes flying through the window being caught by Ophelia. Attached is a piece of paper.]

[Ophelia stares at it, before showing it to Ness.]

O: Look. Seems like your secret admirer wants to give you a gift.

Ne: 'You won't get the chance, you'll lose your head'? What the fuck?

O: Oh well. Doesn’t matter.

[Ophelia grabs the note and shoves it into her mouth. Swallowing it.]

Ne: God… I really hope y'all find this person… But um yeah… I was gonna give Rose a literal Rose tonight and do this whole thing…

O: Awww! That's so adorbs! Let’s get this wrapped up so you can go do that, eh?

[Rose can be heard sighing.]

R: s- sorry… a project of mine… f- fell on henry's foot.

Ne: IS HE OK???

R: y- yeah… laying with luna right now.

Be: Hate to interrupt. But… Adam? Can we see him?

[A man sneaks far behind the women, fire extinguisher in hand.]

Be: And Leon, you can put the fire extinguisher down.

?: How the fuck?

[Voice identified: Leon.]

Be: Hey! These enhancements aren’t just for show!

[She motions to her mechanical antennae.]

R: ugh… I'll get him. he's not moving though.

O: Wonderful, bring him here.

[Rose slowly walks out of frame, returning after almost a minute with Adam.]

R: h- here… j- just don't hurt him.

[Before Ophelia can take the arm, a robotic voice rings out through the apartment.]

?: CALIBRATION COMPLETE.

[Voice identified: Adam.]

O: Oh?

R: ADAM?

A: VIRUS WIPED. POWERING ON.

[The arm whirs into motion. Moving each individual part one at a time. Before turning to face Ophelia.]

R: ADAM OH MY GOD YOUR BAC-

[Rose's voice stops as she enters a coughing fit, coughing blood visible on her bottom lip.]

A: You.

O: Hm?

[Adam lunges at Ophelia, wrapping himself around her neck. She yelps in surprise.]

R: a- adam no! stop!

[Ness tries to remove Adam only to fail.]

R: ADAM GET OFF!

[Rose coughs some more.]

Ne: ADAM ROSE IS HURT! GET SOME WATER!

[Ophelia laughs, seemingly unaffected by Adam’s attack. Until he curls the tips of his fingers inwards, and she stops laughing. Instead grabbing for the base of the prosthetic.]

R: DON'T HURT HI-

[Rose coughs even more.]

Ne: Adam now!

[Ophelia yanks the arm off of her neck, red now dripping from a few spots down onto her dress, she pouts a little, and holds Adam away from her.]

R: d- DON'T YOU DAR-

[Rose makes a noise that barely sounds human, Ness turns pale and starts screaming at the people in the room.]

Ne: I'LL GET THE FIRST AID KIT ONE OF Y'ALL JUST GET HER SOME WATER!

[Ness runs out of the room.]

O: Now, what was that for?

A: You know. Bitch.

R: a- adam… what are you talking about…

A: PR. Virus.

[Ophelia rolls her eyes. And stares at Adam, smiling slightly.]

O: You’re upset about that? Jeez, dude! Way to hold a fuckin’ grudge!

R: adam. bat.

[Rose slowly stands up, using her hand to wipe the blood from her mouth.]

O: Don’t.

R: w- what's stopping me?

A: Me. Sit. I need to. Converse.

R: f- fine…

A: Thank you.

O: I feel a little goofy holding you up like this. Can I put you down or are you going to attack me again?

A: Please place me down.

O: Alright.

[The arm is set down, Ophelia tilts xer head at him.]

A: Why.

O: Why what?

A: Why put the virus. In there.

O: Buddy, I don’t know the reasoning, I’m not the one who did it.

A: Caused me to hurt. People. Immensely. Why would you do that.

O: I’m trying to think like Cass, here. A distraction? But from what? Hm. Yeah, I have no clue.

R: j- just a guess… m- maybe from… eden

O: Maybe. But you don’t have to say her name with such disgust, Rose. That’s mean. She was just doing her job, you know.

R: i… t- trusted her… t- thought of her like m- maybe a sibling… a- and she put me in the… h- hospital for almost a month.

O: That’s on you for doing that, girl. There were tons of people warning you. I remember seeing all of that and sweating bullets, but you just wouldn’t believe them.

R: i… i g- guess i've always… d- done that…

O: Mhm. You need to trust people way less. I learned that the hard way 75 years ago. Anyway. Adam. I have no idea what to tell you, dude.

A: Liar.

O: Hm.

[She leans in, and whispers something that the phone can’t pick up. Her volume lowering to a near silence. Despite being metal, Adam seems to tense up.]

A: I hope you explode.

O: Alright, man. Uh, so… can I get some water? Please? If you wouldn’t mind.

[A friendly smile can be seen plastered on her face, she looks directly at Rose. For just a second too long. And then looks back at her suitcase.]

O: Oh! Right! Gifts! Hold on, I’ll get them out!

[Rose continues coughing, out of frame enough where it isn't visible what's happening. She speaks, her voice now even more messed up.]

R: f- fine. g- get a glass… g- get the tupperware of food… too.

O: Alright!

[Ophelia bends down to rummage through the suitcase with one arm, and the other extends over to the cupboard, which is fairly far away, and out of frame. The tap can be heard turning on. A few moments later, it turns off, and her arm retracts with a glass of water in hand.]

Be: I keep forgetting you can do that. Scares the shit out of me every time.

O: Ha! Yeah, sorry, Becks! Now, where did I put that…

[Ophelia pulls out a few bags. And hands them to Rose, not getting up.]

O: Open it! I made sure to get you something you’d like.

R: g- give me a second…

[Rose seemingly points at something out of frame.]

O: Do you need help cleaning that up? I’m an expert, you know. I’d be happy to clear all of that up for you.

R: w- we have a mop… w- where? uhhhhhh s- shit where did dad… put the mop…

[Ophelia looks at Rose for a few seconds, her expression softening for a small moment, before snapping right back into place. xe gets up and starts looking for the mop.]

R: d- don't worry about it… j- just… i- I'll open the bags…

[Rose opens the bags one by one, pulling out multiple shirts and jackets. Each one looking as if they were taken from the 80s and 90s, many of them having pastel colors. Rose sets them back in the bag before slowly standing up.]

R: t- thanks… i guess…

O: Do you like them? I really hope you do, I’d feel terrible if they weren’t to your liking.

R: i… like them…

[Rose coughs again, this time the blood falling from her mouth is visible. As Ness walks back into frame.]

Ne: Hey adam. Uh Ophelia I got the first aid kit.

O: Thanks!

[Zey extend their arm to Ness, grabbing the first aid kit, and retracting it back. Beginning to bandage her neck.]

O: Today’s visit has been wonderful, thank you for having me over!

Ne: Um… Did anyone get Rose water? Like I asked?

O: I took care of it, don’t worry.

[Rose drops to the floor again, the coughing continuing.]

R: s- son of a BITCH!

Be: Ooooh. That doesn't look good. Does she have tuberculosis? We have a bit of experience with that. Remember when Cass had it? That wasn’t fun.

Ne: No um… I actually don't know…

R: n- none of your business… j- just know s- showfall t- tried and f- failed… t- to get me back…

O: Hm. Ness, keep an eye on her, not like you haven’t been, but… yeah.

Ne: I mean… It probably doesn't help that she screamed bloody murder for god knows how long… When Edgar… Y'know and um…

O: We should get going, but before we do, I have another thing for you guys!

[Xe takes another bag out, and places it on the counter, closing her suitcase. Before rummaging around and grabbing a tupperware container. She takes a step towards the door.]

Ne: What's that?

O: We forgot you didn’t have your ears pierced… so we got these. They’re real diamonds, by the way. So don’t lose them!

Ne: Huh?

Be: Ophelia, you can tell them upfront!

O: But that’s no fun!

Be: Ugh. We got you diamond earrings, but we forgot you don’t have your ears pierced. So we had to get you the necklace.

Ne: Oh um…

[Rose can be heard seemingly talking to herself.]

R: m- mai… y- you really couldn't wire anything right… i said that outloud…

O: That’s a little deeper than I want to go today! There’s a few more pieces of jewelry in there, too. Just as a fun treat. Some of that stuff is from my own jewelry box!

Ne: Oh um… Thanks!

O: Only the best for our very own honorary PR member! Now, we should really get going, have fun, you two!

[With that, the PR members finally leave the apartment, their giggling can be heard retreating down the hall, along with a few giddy shrieks. Possibly from gossip. They finally fade. Leon stands up straight, having been crouched in the corner for the whole visit.]

Le: ‘Honorary PR member’? Ness. You have some explaining to do.

Ne: I know I know! Right now can one of y'all get Rose her medicine while I find the mop?

Le: Alright. [Aside.] Coast is clear! Y’all can come out now!

[Leon goes to rummage through some cabinets while Liam and Katherine emerge from a room.]

R: h- hi… m- mom… l- liam…

?: Hey, I heard the commotion from in there, are you okay?

[Voice identified: Katherine.]

[Liam waves, but says nothing.]

R: B- besides the blood… and whatever e- else… y- yeah… j- just wish that wasn't one of the side effects from… y'know the night that task m- manager tried to get me back…

K: I know, you’re going to be fine, though. You’re going to have some medicine, and maybe a bit of rest. Alright?

R: a- alright… i w- was… working on buddy all n- night so…

Ne: [Distant.] Who the fuck is "Buddy"?

R: r- robot me and henry a- are… w- working on for sparrow…

[Katherine walks over and picks up Adam.]

K: You’ve caused a lot of panic in this apartment, you know.

A: Do not. Focus on me. Other issues. All software and hardware is in perfect condition.

Le: Found it!

[Leon walks back into frame and hands something to Rose.]

R: t- thanks…

[Rose takes something out of the bottle, presumably medicine.]

R: s- soda?

Le: Won’t the carbonation hurt your throat?

R: d- damnit… kool-aid?

Le: Yeah, of course. I can do that.

[Leon walks back out of frame. Just as Liam walks over with a piece of paper.]

R: 'I’m g- glad the blond one wasn’t here. b- but I don’t like that any of them were in here in the first place… t- they killed my dad. I d- don’t like them'… i k- know liam… i k- know…

Ne: [Distant.] Sorry about all of that by the way…

[Without saying anything, Liam hugs Rose. Then retreats back into his room.]

R: i… feel so b- bad for l- liam… g- god…

Le: Yeah. He’s just a kid. He hasn’t even graduated… high school– FUCK WAIT. HE HASN’T BEEN GOING TO SCHOOL.

R: o- oh… fuck…

Le: LIAM. PLEASE TELL ME YOU WERE HOMESCHOOLED OR SOMETHING. PLEASE TELL ME WE HAVEN’T MADE YOU MISS MONTHS OF SCHOOL.

[Liam’s hand pokes out of the room in a thumbs down.]

Le: FUCK! SHIT! WE NEED TO–

K: Leon, calm. It’ll be fine.

R: i n- never got… t- to graduate… a- and i turned out f- fine.

[Liam pokes his head out, a neutral expression on his face. He goes back in and then returns with another note. A linear equation written out on it. He hands it to Rose.]

R: s- seven times five… equals fifteen… um… um…

Le: Rose.

R: Um… x equals… um…

[Liam grabs the paper, and writes something down on it. Showing it to Rose.]

R: I WOULD’VE GOTTEN IT!

[Rose coughs again.]

R: ow.

[Liam shakes his head, then walks over to Leon, the two of them having a conversation via Liam’s paper. It fades into the background.]

[Ness runs in with the mop and a bucket.]

Ne: Katherine I'm really sorry about PR coming in I swear on m-

[Ness cuts herself off.]

Ne: On Mari's mother. I didn’t mean for any of that!

K: It’s fine. We’re just mad that you let them take you to the fucking Bahamas without even CHECKING IN FIRST.

Ne: In my defense. Alcohol blood loss and 5 hours of sleep do NOT mix well.

K: The hell even happened on that trip?

Ne: Apparently I sang 'Copacabana' on top of a table… Uh I don't remember much else.

K: I’m going to guess we’ll get a detailed description from one of them on that blog.

Ne: Yeah probably… Um…

[Ness shows Katherine her hand, missing ring finger and all.]

Ne: That happened.

[Katherine shrieks, grabbing Ness’ arm and inspecting it.]

K: What the fuck did they do? Was this during the trip? Is it infected?

Ne: Me and Eden got in a fight in the park. I'll explain if you ask. No. And also no.

Le: Oh yeah! There was a transcript!

[Katherine turns to where Leon’s voice was heard from, a look of disbelief on her face.]

K: This is why you shouldn’t confiscate my phone, LEON. I would’ve liked to know about that!

Le: Sorry!

Ne: I did more damage to her than she did to me… Stabbed her with a spear and almost broke her nose.

K: Your finger is missing! We– hold on, what's in that bag on the counter? Have you opened it yet?

Ne: No? But Ophelia said it was filled with jewelry.

K: I… we should open it, I think.

[She grabs the bag and opens it after walking back over to Ness. She yelps, and nearly drops the whole thing. Shoving the bag into Ness’ hands.]

Ne: What?

[Ness looks in the bag and slowly turns her head.]

Ne: Oh… There’s my finger…

Le: Guess it’s not missing, then! Sorry.

K: Of course they’d do that.

[A loud metal crash coming from one of the rooms, followed by a cat meowing.]

H: [Distant.] Buddy fell again!

Ne: WE'RE BUSY!

K: HENRY GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE. NESS IS MISSING A FINGER.

H: BUDDY FELL ON MY FOOT I CAN'T WALK!

K: IT CAN’T BE THAT FUCKING HEAVY, CAN IT?

R: t- torso is like… a foot tall i think? and made of three inch thick metal… s- so yes it can.

K: Henry, you’re weak as fuck. You can walk. Don’t make me drag you out here.

[Henry walks into frame with a limp, His hair is messed up and his eyes are red.]

H: What?

K: Ness is missing a fucking finger!

H: Oh god damnit… Ness what school jock did you piss off this time?

Ne: I DIDN'T PISS OFF A JOCK THIS TIME! EDEN BIT IT OFF! Damn you get into one-

[Henry cuts Ness off with a cough.]

H: You went to the school nurse almost every day FOR A WHOLE SCHOOL YEAR! fighting the school football team. It was more than one.

Le: I had a friend like that back in the 80s!

K: Who?

Le: … Do I really need to say.

R: d- dad?

Le: Yeah, it was always something with that guy. One time he broke a water fountain after tripping into it. They gave him ice and he was back in class within 30 minutes.

Ne: Sounds like edgar. Anyway this is nothing! One time one of the members of the school football team hit me so hard into a locker, Like three of my ribs cracked!

K: Ness you’re missing a finger.

Ne: I still have nine more!

K: God, you guys are impossible! Since you won’t take your injury seriously, let’s change the damn topic before I bite one of them off. What day did you say those tickets were for?

Ne: The 28th? O H S H I T-

R: i- I'll get changed… e- end the transcript. wait… that's not the command…

Le: Wh– did you have one going on PURPOSE?

R: n- nope. i just know it's recording… b- because when the fuck is it not?

A: On. it.

[Adam skitters up to the phone.]

A: Goodbye chat.

[Transcript end.]

#((OOC) TW: blood)#showfall ask blog #encoreverse blog

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lorei-writes · 2 years ago

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Goodbye, 2022: year in review.

I never truly fancied summaries, yet this year I've been craving to write one. Perhaps because all things which happened were rather... Unexpected? It almost feels as if I crashed through a surface of a mirror and entered a different world. My health, my family, my goals and obligations -- for the most part, so many things I thought to be set in stone turned out to be birds which merely decided to perch on a branch for some time. I was thrown, sentenced to exist upside-down.

I think it showed in how this blog operated this year. It was definitely full of new experiences and experiments.

All editions of @flash-exchange ran this year were a team effort. It was a big change to adjust to, but it would be impossible to ever regret it. @nuttytani & @cheese-ception are the best co-ducks (aka staff members) I could be working with. I can't wait to see just what we can come with in the future.

Anna is the first OC I've created that I have further plans for. Generally, my OCs live for the story, not the other way around. The story ends, and so do they -- Elisa, Magdalena, Maria, and some which didn't even get a name, they don't generally occupy my mind once I finish writing. Anna is different. There are more stories with her than the ones I've written down as of now, and I hope to eventually put them to paper.

I started drawing again! I used to draw portraits. I never thought I'd have enough skill to draw two characters kissing, digital art or not.

Samurwise Advice -- the first collaboration event of this kind I contributed to. Asking @the12thnightproject whether she wouldn't want to maybe collaborate with me was a thought that followed me around for entire days on end. It seemed impossible at first. After all, why would she? The very idea behind the concept of the event isn't even mine, it's hers. She's probably busy. She probably has better things to write. Can I even collaborate with somebody this inspiring? -- And then she agreed, much to my disbelief and joy. It was an utter blast.

Canva fever. It just so happens that one of the perks of working with @nuttytani is seeing her prepare graphics, and she's the absolute Queen of Aesthetic. She introduced me to Canva and so, I've started making wallpapers, banners, and just generally having lots of fun with putting together simple designs!

One or three shots? I feel like my stories this year were somewhat unusual overall. They definitely felt too long to contain within a single one-shot more often than the year prior.

That's weird, but I'm writing them either way. On the topic of weird -- I think I explored things I didn't necessarily dare reached before, even if sometimes I retreated as not to dip into genres I wasn't ready to try. Gen Fics, Slavic demonology combined with retelling of a Greek myth, grief and dealing with an illness, but also experimenting with form, sneaking music into words, parallels in construction of a story itself.

And lastly:

Slow down. Some weeks I posted daily or nearly daily. But I'm things other than what's visible online. It's good to focus on them too.

Perhaps falling ill (and then more ill, this time not chronically so) was not so bad after all... Farewell, 2022. What a year have you been...

#update #personal

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marvel-snape-writes · 2 years ago

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18+ Palmerstrange smut

One Night With You… Again.

Chapter 2/4: The Suit Stays On.

Stephen’s fingers fumbled with what to say for several moments before eventually typing something simple:

S: I missed seeing your face tonight.

He placed his phone on his thigh and swallowed hard, a little nervous of what the response would be — if anything. His phone buzzed.

C: I couldn't have crashed your fancy dinner. Anyway, I was otherwise engaged.

Stephen squinted his eyes and felt his heart rate increase just from having her name on the screen.

S: You wouldn't have ‘crashed’ anything. You missed out on a good evening — it would have been even better had there been a familiar face for me to buy a drink for.

C: You’ll have been happy to save some money, then. Besides, you get to see me at work tomorrow, and instead of spending money, you’ll be getting paid instead.

Stephen’s lip twitched as he immediately thought of what his current state of mind wanted to reply. He paused for a brief moment before daring himself to go ahead with it.

S: I’d pay anything to see you right now.

The time between pressing send and waiting for the response felt like a lifetime. Stephen attempted to get out of the armchair before immediately darting his eyes to his phone as it buzzed — tumbling backward into the chair again.

C: You’re drunk. How much have you had to drink?

S: I’m not. Not anymore.

C: That doesn’t answer my question.

S: Fine. I’ve not had enough to result in me hallucinating that you’re here, but I’ve also probably had too much that has resulted in me texting my ex.

C: You’re so dramatic.

S: No, I’m not. Both of those scenarios end with the perfect outcome.

C: Which is?

S: You being here, and the thing I want the most.

C: Dare I ask?

Again, Stephen dared to test his luck.

S: The both of us waking up wearing nothing but each other. Again.

C: You really need to learn how to be subtle.

S: Why? Being subtle is just the long way round getting what I want.

C: Ever the romantic, as usual.

S: Wining and dining you never worked in the past.

C: We’re not in the past anymore. I’m here and you’re there.

S: You could be here.

C: Where is ‘here’?

S: My place.

C: Give me one good reason why I would want to do that.

Stephen smirked to himself as several ideas sprang to mind — his thumbs beginning to type before deleting it each time and rewording it until it was something he was happy with, chuckling to himself as he wrote it.

S: I am hosting a party in the not so distant future and I need to know which cheese pairs with each wine, but I'm afraid that, should I have any more alcohol, it would result in me either tumbling and hitting my head on the floor or me being too hungover in the morning. Both of which would result in the death of many patients because I wouldnt be there to make them better. Could you live with that guilt? Knowing that people died because the hospital’s greatest surgeon can’t make it into work, and it’s all because you wouldnt help him with his wine and cheese selection?

C: Wow. Okay. Since you went to all that effort to create a fake scenario just to try and earn my company for a little while, I may just pay you a visit.

Stephen’s eyes widened, quickly responding.

S: Really?

C: It better be worth it.

S: Isn't it always?

Suddenly, he was nervous. He never got nervous usually. He tried to put it down to the uncertainty of Christine’s arrival. He placed his phone down on the table and poured himself some more whisky into his glass, sipping at it as he leaned back into the armchair. Switching the TV on with the remote by the side of him, he got himself comfortable whilst waiting for the buzzer on his keypad. By the time it finally sounded, he had almost convinced himself that she would never arrive. He quickly finished what was left in his glass as he stood up and walked over to the sink to place the glass in it before walking toward the door. He paused for a moment to brush down the front of the suit he was still wearing and cleared his throat before unlocking it.

“I know I'm good, but I did not think I could make you come that quickly,” He smiled sweetly as he opened the door, mumbling under his breath, “Though, I suppose I’ve had some practice over the years when it comes to that subject.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Stephen,” Christine rolled her eyes, “And hello to yourself, too.”

“After how cold you were with me today, pardon me for not expecting you to take my invitation.” Stephen shrugged, crossing his arm across his chest.

“Still in a suit?” Her eyes scanned him up and down.

“I couldn’t risk you turning up and not being dressed nice and smart,” He winked, “Feel free to take it off, if you wish.”

“Are we just going to continue here for the rest of the night or does this invite actually extend to allow me past the doorway?” She chose to ignore his previous response.

“Well, that would depend on what you consider we are ‘continuing’,” Stephen raised his eyebrows, “Because, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that, that very doorway you are standing in is one of the very few places in this apartment that we haven’t had our way with one another.”

“Stephen Strange, you are such a slime ball.” Christine shook her head and pushed her way past him, heading toward the couch.

“That isn't very nice!” Stephen scoffed, shutting the door before walking in the same direction.

“Neither was the way you tried to convince me to come to your fancy dinner tonight, but you didn't hear me complaining.” Christine looked up at him from the couch.

“Actually, I did.” Stephen squinted his eyes, standing with his hands on his hips.

“Oh, so you actually listened for once? Shocking.” Christine widened her eyes.

“Did you just come here to insult me?” Stephen frowned playfully.

“If the shoe fits,” Christine shrugged, “We’re usually too deep into other mouth-occupying acitivities before it got to this point.”

“Oh?” Stephen smirked.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Stephen,” She sighed, “Do you not think its obvious by now why you invite me here?”

“Well, I actually didn't think it was, no...” He pouted his lips, innocently scratching the back of his neck.

“I thought you said you didn’t like being subtle because it was the long way around getting to what you want?” Christine arched a brow.

“Would you... like a drink?” Stephen asked, feeling himself blushing slightly as he changed the subject.

“Sure. That is the reason you invited me here, right?” Christine leaned back into the sofa.

“I... Uh, yeah! Yeah!” Stephen nodded quickly and turned in the direction of the kitchen.

“To go with the cheese?” Christine raised both eyebrows.

“Ah, well, yes...” Stephen spoke louder from the kitchen, “I— I, of course, don’t yet have the cheese...” He continued speaking as he carried two glasses of wine back into the room.

“No?” Christine watched him from the couch.

“No, because it would be stupid of me to have already bought it without knowing which wine and cheese combo I was going with, right?” He winked as he sat down, handing Christine a glass.

“Right. No, of course,” She nodded appreciatively as she took the glass, unable to stop herself from letting out a quiet giggle from the look on his face, “Of course.”

“Cheers.” Stephen held the glass up, tilting it toward Christine.

“Cheers.” Christine crinkled her nose and tapped their glasses together before bringing it to her lips.

Stephen paused for a moment as he watched her take a sip, waiting for her approval of the taste.

“Good?” He asked.

“Good.” She nodded, resting the glass in her lap.

“I’m glad.” Stephen lifted his glass to his lips, his eyes trying to be as discreet as possible as they ran over the dress she was wearing.

“Hang on, Stephen,” She moved slightly closer to him, making him pull his glass away and raise his eyebrows, “Shouldn't a doctor know better than to mix his drinks?”

“I’m sorry, how did you...” Stephen squinted his eyes.

“You’ve already been drinking, you told me,” She shrugged, “Unless it was wine, also.”

“Why don’t you tell me, hm?” Stephen tried not to smirk, his eyes flitting from hers to her lips.

“I’m not a mind reader, Stephen.” She felt herself blushing, averting eye contact.

“No, but your taste buds are pretty well in tact, aren't they?” Stephen arched a brow.

“Stephen...” Christine exhaled slowly, absentmindedly biting her lip as she watched him lightly place his hand on her knee.

“Otherwise, why would I have chosen you to come and do this whole... wine and cheese dilemma with me, huh?” He grinned, taking a drink from his glass.

“Oh, are we still sticking to this story?” Christine laughed, rolling her eyes.

“What story?” Stephen played dumb, shrugging and finishing what was left in his glass before setting it down on the coffee table and turning back toward Christine, “Oh, shit, look what's happened now... I’ve mixed the previous alcohol with this one!” He gasped dramatically, widening his eyes and glacing down at Christine’s hand inching closer to his thigh on the couch, “You’re going to have to dig even deeper with those taste buds now, sweetheart.”

“I wish you wouldn't make your arrogance so sexy...” Christine spoke quietly and swallowed hard, her eyes falling to his parted lips as her fingertips brushed against the material of his suit pants.

“Please accept my apologies, but I don't think there’s anything I can do about that.” He smirked, placing his hand over hers that was on his thigh and squeezing it gently. Their eyes met as their bodies turned to face each other and Christine lifted both of their hands, brushing the back of his against her cheek. Their breathing patterns were now in sync — shaky and heavy as their lips parted.

“What is this power you hold over me, Stephen Strange?” Her words were barely audible, feeling herself burning up just from the touch of his hand now cupping her face and the want in his eyes.

“Kiss me,” He whispered, moving his face closer so she could feel his hot breath against her lips, “Just... fucking kiss me, Christine. Please.”

“Only because its my favourite way to shut you up.” Christine grinned and leaned in, in unison with Stephen — her heated body now freezing as their lips touched.

There was a pause, not for long, just enough time to confirm that this was what they both wanted. Stephen’s thumb repeatedly stroked her cheek as they tilted their heads either way to deepen the kiss, their eyes closing. Christine made a soft noise as Stephen’s needy kisses resulted in him accidentally nibbling on her bottom lip. He placed his free hand by the hem of her dress and teasingly swept his all-too-familiar fingertips against her skin, something that always resulted in her body turning to jelly. The wine glass fell from her grip and smashed onto the floor, the liquid already seeping its way into the carpet.

“O—Oh, Stephen, I—I’m sorr—” Christine whimpered out her words, almost completely lost in his kisses.

“Don't be,” He panted against her lips, turning his body so his back was now leaned against the back of the couch. Christine immediately took his body language as invitation to climb onto him, straddling his lap and pressing their bodies back together like magnets, “I have more important things to worry about right now.”

“Mm, like what?” She mumbled against his lips, pushing her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as his hands moved up and down the back of her dress.

“Like worrying if my dick will still work after all this alcohol.” He half joked, pressing a harder kiss to her lips.

“Stephen!” Christine giggled and swatted his shoulder gently before gripping onto the lapels of his blazer and pulling him off the back of the couch briefly before pushing him back against it with a little more force, “Let me help.” She whispered seductively against his lips, burying her fingers in his hair again and starting to rock against the crotch of his pants with each kiss, also pressing her breasts firmly against his chest.

“O—Oh, baby, I take it back...” He let out a breathy moan against her lips, “I don't think we’re going to have a problem.”

Christine smirked against his lips and groaned softly as he placed his hands against her thighs again, squeezing them firmly as he pushed his hips upward to meet hers. Their tongues tangled and danced together, eyes rolling back in pleasure. His fingertips traced further up her bare thighs from under her dress and he teasingly drew patterns with them against her skin, able to feel her trembling against him as a result.

“Fuck, I can’t take it anymore,” Christine whimpered, climbing off him but instantly reaching for his hands — afraid her weak legs wouldn't allow her to stand, “Come on.”

“Wh-Where are we going?” Stephen blinked his heavy eyes, clumsily standing up as she tugged on his hands.

“Anywhere,” She spoke against his lips, standing up on her tip toes to ensure their kisses didn't break, “Anywhere that will allow me to feel the weight of you on top of me.”

“Jesus, you don't have to tell me twice.” Stephen grinned, walking her backwards as their bodies remained close together.

“Oh!” Christine gasped quietly as she felt the back of her legs hit something cold.

“I always knew I had this damn piano built at a particular height for a reason.” He spoke against her lips, biting down on her bottom one and tugging it out slightly.

“Your piano?” She giggled against his lips, trailing her hands down the front of his body and sucking her stomach in slightly as she felt Stephen’s hands caressing down her sides.

“I’ll make you cry out a better tune than anything ever played on this goddamn thing.” He growled against her lips, his fingertips tracing over her hips.

“Stephen... fuck.” She breathed out her words as he lifted her off the ground, able to feel the rise in the front of his pants press against her as their bodies properly brushed together.

“W—Wait, wait,” Stephen panted, setting Christine back down on her feet instead of on top of the piano.

“What?” Christine’s eyes opened, resting her hands on his shoulders, “You okay?”

“Are you... are you sure this is what you want?” Stephen asked, his expression serious as he gazed down at her, “Right now?”

“Stephen...” Christine bit her lip, trailing her hands down the front of his body again, “This /is/ what I want,” She stopped at the waistband of his trousers, glancing down briefly before back up into his eyes, “Right now,” One of her hands dipped, tracing her fingertips back and forth over the evident protrusion now severely restricting the space within his pants as she leaned up to whisper against his lips, “Every inch.”

“F—Fuck...” He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth as she repeatedly rubbed her fingertip over the head of his cock from over his trousers.

Christine smirked from his reaction and watched him closely as he tried to compose himself enough to steady his hands against her hips. Letting out a shaky breath his eyes fell shut again and their lips pressed back together — as if the desperation of her kiss was enough to give his trembling hands the confidence to lift her up onto the piano.

“Come down here...” She grinned, immediately leaning back on the top of the piano and pulling him with her by the lapels of his blazer.

“Instruct me to do one more thing and this whole event may end right now in my pants.” He chuckled uneasily, feeling himself throbbing against the material.

“Oh, no, we don’t want that...” Christine giggled, gazing up at him as he began to unbutton his shirt and removed his hands for just a moment to begin to take his blazer off, “Wait, Stephen, no...” Christine quickly sat up, shaking her head.

“Hm, what?” Stephen instantly stopped and swallowed hard, “I’m sorry, did I... did I presume wrong? I’m sorry if I... I shouldn’t have...” He stumbled over his words, narrowing his eyebrows.

“No, shh, it’s not that,” Christine whispered reassuringly, sliding her hands up his shirt-covered chest before setting them on the shoulders of the blazer he was wearing, leaning further up to speak lowly against his lips, “The suit can stay on.”

“The suit can...?” Stephen let out a singular laugh, unsure of if she was serious or not.

“Yeah,” She nodded, her fingers now grasping onto the lapels on his blazer again as she lowered herself back down onto the top of the piano, “It’s one of the sexiest things I have ever seen you wear.”

“Thank you.” Stephen grinned against her lips, his body now hovering over hers as their kisses began once more.

“And I'd like you to wear it while you fuck me on top of your piano.” She growelled against his lips, pulling at his bottom lip as she felt his hands slide under the hem of her dress, grasping desperately at her underwear and tugging them down her legs with no mercy.

“I’m sure I can make that work.” He smirked, carelessly tossing her underwear to the floor.

#benedict cumberbatch #marvel #doctor strange #stephen strange #multiverse of madness #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #marvel cinematic universe #fanfic #fanfiction #christine palmer #stephen strange x christine palmer smut #palmerstrange smut #palmerstrange fic #palmerstrange fanfic #palmerstrange fanfiction #palmerstrange #stephen strange fanfic #stephen strange x christine palmer #doctor strange x christine palmer

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poetsandlores · 4 months ago

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Suitcase Essentials: don't forget to bring these things or you'll end up in trouble, Lilly.

A wallet containing my visa, passport, and all the necessary cards for any transactions throughout my three-week stay.

Bringing my passport and visa for a three-week stay in Switzerland isn't just about being prepared—it's about avoiding some hilariously disastrous scenarios. Imagine this: I arrive at the border, all excited about Swiss chocolates and picturesque lakes, and the officer asks for my passport. I reach into my bag, only to pull out my favorite snack instead. "Sorry, I must have mistaken it for a passport," I say, as they give me a look that screams, "Really?"

Then there's the visa situation. I picture myself trying to explain to the Swiss authorities that I thought my winning smile would be enough to get me in. "But look, I'm charming!" I'd insist, while they shake their heads and direct me to the nearest exit.

Without my passport and visa, I'd probably end up camping out in the airport, making friends with the janitorial staff, and forming a one-person band to entertain travelers. "Welcome to my terminal concert!" I'd say, strumming on my makeshift instrument—a broom and a dustpan.

So, to avoid turning my Swiss adventure into an airport comedy, I'll definitely pack my passport and visa. After all, I'd rather be exploring the Alps than getting to know the airport janitors!

You're not only taking some pictures with your camera, you're making memories!

Alright, picture this: I’m heading off to Switzerland for three glorious weeks at a villa by the lake with Wütrich's grandparents. Naturally, I’m packing the essentials – clothes, toiletries, and my trusty camera. You might wonder, “Why the camera?” Well, let me paint you a picture – pun intended. First off, Switzerland is basically a real-life postcard. Every corner you turn, there's a scene straight out of a fairy tale. I'm talking snow-capped mountains, crystal-clear lakes, and picturesque villages that look like they were crafted by elves. My phone camera is great for selfies and quick snaps, but to truly capture the majesty of the Alps and the serene beauty of those lakes, I need my real camera – the one with the fancy lens that makes me look like I know what I’m doing. Now, let’s talk wildlife. There’s a good chance I’ll run into some friendly Swiss cows with their adorable bell collars. And who doesn’t want a close-up of a cow smiling for the camera? Exactly. Plus, there’s always a possibility of spotting some majestic alpine creatures. Imagine trying to explain to my friends that I saw a marmot without photographic evidence. They'd probably think I was just hallucinating from too much cheese fondue. Speaking of food, have you seen Swiss cuisine? Raclette, fondue, chocolate – oh my! I’m going to need to document every delicious bite, partly to make my friends jealous and partly to remember what happiness tastes like. And let’s not forget the epic family dinners at the villa. The Wütrich's grandparents are going to be dishing out some serious wisdom and hilarious stories, and I’ll want to capture those candid moments of them laughing and enjoying life. And then there’s the adventure aspect. Hiking, boating, and maybe even a little yodeling contest (I hear it’s a thing). These moments are pure gold and deserve more than a shaky phone video. I’m going to need crisp, clear photos to truly capture my inner mountain goat spirit. Lastly, think of the bragging rights. When I get back, I'll have a treasure trove of stunning photos to show off. My Instagram is going to look like a travel blogger’s dream, and my friends will be begging me for tips on how to take such epic shots. Little do they know, it’s all thanks to bringing my trusty camera. So, in a nutshell, bringing my camera to Switzerland is not just a good idea – it’s essential. Because when life gives you Swiss mountains and lakes, you don’t just take pictures – you make memories. And those memories deserve to be captured in high definition.

Perhaps it is time for a moment of tranquillity and a break from our busy lives.

There's only so much talking I can do with the grandparents and new friends before I start repeating myself. "How's the weather?" "Lovely lake, isn't it?" I've got these lines down pat. But there are times when I need a break from small talk, and that's where my trusty book comes in. Picture this: the villa by the lake is a slice of heaven, but let's face it, nature can be a bit too... natural. Birds chirping at dawn, the wind rustling the leaves – it’s like Mother Nature’s alarm clock, and she doesn’t have a snooze button. So when I need to escape from all that "peaceful tranquility" and plunge into a world of adventure or mystery, my book is my portal to sanity. Also, let's talk about those picturesque moments by the lake. Sure, sitting by the water is serene, but after you've counted the ripples for the hundredth time, the novelty wears off. Enter my book. Now, I can lounge with a stunning backdrop, looking intellectual and cultured to any passerby. “Oh, that person must be really deep in thought,” they’ll think, not knowing I'm actually chuckling at a plot twist involving an overly enthusiastic parrot. Then there's the inevitable rainy day. We all know it’s coming. The clouds roll in, and suddenly, everyone’s cooped up inside. The grandparents start reminiscing about the good ol' days – stories I've heard a million times. But with my book, I can politely nod along while secretly escaping into a thrilling chase scene or a romantic escapade in a far-off land. And let's not forget the Swiss food comas. Cheese, chocolate, more cheese – it's a deliciously dangerous cycle. After stuffing myself with fondue and truffles, I’ll need a good lie-down. What better way to recover than sinking into a comfy chair with my book? It’s the perfect way to digest – both my food and a great story. In short, my book is my travel buddy. It's my conversation starter, my escape plan, my entertainment on tap, and my perfect excuse to look fabulously introspective by the lake. So yes, my book is definitely coming to Switzerland. Who else is going to keep me company when the grandparents start the third round of “When I was your age”?

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dcviated · 1 year ago

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@more-than-a-princess sent: Hopefully she had gotten this right. "Okay, so I have gathered the following for today," Sonia began, taking items out of various bags and boxes and placing them in front of Wylan. "American sausages, American sausage bread," she began, picking up a package of uncooked hot dogs and hot dog buns. "Why are there not the same number of sausages as there are breads for them? How odd. Oh, and apparently hamburgers are important today, so I have included those and their breads. Now, there is also ketchup, this bright yellow condiment that is apparently mustard, this bright orange sliced thing that is apparently cheese, crisps, cupcakes with red and blue frosting and toothpicks featuring the American flag, and the light American Bud lager." But that wasn't all. With a small grunt, Sonia heaved the last box onto the table and opened the lid: full of fireworks, most unlikely to be sold even in the most remote American fireworks shops. "So, I am rather puzzled: do Americans blow up this food on the Fourth of July? I believe I have all the components to American independence here but how are they enjoyed?" She just wanted to take part in celebrating some of Wylan's heritage, even if America's customs were rather confusing sometimes. At least this holiday did not require mandatory chocolate: she did not trust the Americans with that anymore, except for their delicious peanut butter chocolate confections. Those, Sonia had to admit, were brilliant.

Out of place, might be the best way to put it. Using one of the open fields around the royal palace for a small (not so) private celebration of American Excellence could be considered blasphemy at that. Wylan is dressed the part of course. Rather than his usual suit and coat that he chose to don when going around in public he's dressed to the 5s. Or the Five-Oh, as it were. Stained white tank top with torn off jeans and a belt buckle that can (and might) be used as a murder weapon. Flipflops and socks. Perfect.

About the only American thing he isn't doing is carrying. This is actually unique compared to his usual, but not out of respect for any laws. Depending on who you asked he didn't exactly have much respect for Novoselic in general, which would be wrong, because he's a puppy for the crown princess. And behind his extravagant public image he was a force for helping out education and children's issues. To say nothing to how he has the uncanny ability to keep Sonia smiling.

All this wrapped up around the small 'barbeque' he set up himself. Charcoal grill, set of cheap aluminum tools, and a wooden picnic table to eat at. Sonia may have brought some beer, but Wylan already had that ready to go if the cooler of ice and Yuengling was anything to go by. That's fine and dandy. Another step of American Excellence would be drinking more than necessary.

"Oh good, you got most everything else we needed then. Such a good helper you are." Wylan chimes happily, possessing none of the mannerisms necessary for his technical 'cosplay' of American Excellent Male #5. "You even brought fancy cups. Look at this! These fireworks! Mwahahaha." An eager rubbing of hands together as he passes by for inspection, making sure to apply a thorough smoocha to Sonia's head before sweeping in and getting things out and set up on the table. A tantalizing display if there ever was one no we're not talking about Sonia.

"Uhhh. I mean. Nobody's stopping us from blowing up the food... you even got some M80s in here, which'd do the trick. But! Plan of action is an old fashioned grill. Have I grilled before? Don't give me that look~" He dismisses her concern should there have been any. "Just because I can't cook doesn't mean I can't grill. I know what a good 'dog looks like, and the same goes for a burger. You got enough here to feed a good few people... and by my guess... yeah, about a dozen security guards are gonna flood in once we set off the fireworks. So yeah. Plenty. A dog and burg for each."

Assured nodding before he starts going about packages, ripping things open and getting everything set out. The charcoals were already white and hot and ready. So was Wylan.

Pulling out a bottle of Yuengling and swiping the bottlecap off with a sword-like swing of the spatula, Wylan holds up a hand in toast.

"Happy America Day, babe. We're gonna make this one nobody forgets." Who knows how much trouble he's about to get in? This is a little louder and more dramatic than his usual antics after all. But so long as Sonia was around... he'd have the usual line of defense. To everyone else's chagrin. After all, good chance that the parents are gonna see this particular show.

#morethanaprincess #muse :: wylan #inbox :: answered ic #YEEEAH HAPPY FOURTH #🦅🦅🦅🎆🎆🎆

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castle-dominion · 1 year ago

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c3x20 a slice of death

I love this episode already. I've worked in family owned diners with rivalries, I love stories about italian new yorkers & I've definitely seen goncharov (tho that also had russian mafia).

Poor alexis, that is humiliating! This is so sad! Who has a live band playing? She's 17 cool. She was 15 in s1e1 & she's 17 near the end of s3. Cool

I love all the nicks & their names this is the life. It reminds me of that steven universe episode with the fry shop & pizza shop.

Not super funny, either of you. Nick Jr. Uh, authentic, not terrific. I love the new york pizza scene & how everyone knows who is whom but it's so confusing & I loved this episode so much when I first watched it

Oh but I kept her number! I don't think there's going to be a second date. So new york. So italian. This Is The Best Episode Ever. Exactly! Who wrote this episode??? It is amazing!

Maybe they did get it from a medical school, you don't know beckett!

They used the same audio already. I mean it's not a big deal.

Costumes: Rick: brown coat (gasp browncoat?) & violet/blue shirt Ryan: tbh he looks like he did in s1 a bit. idk why. So what looks like an aviator jacket, nice dark brown, leather looking, has the fuzz in the hood/collar, no lapels, dark brown tie, actually a good brown, & a plaid-type dress shirt (purple, maybe another shade of purple idk, probs black & white in there too, maybe grey & blue & pink... idk I'm not good with this... I think it's brown actually) Espt: Leather jacket & normal collared shirt underneath. It's like, safari style almost. Collared so it is fancy enough for work, but the put-together of the blocks is odd. Beckett: Detective coat. (double breasted light grey trench coat looking thing)

Castle: We should talk to the other Nicks. Ryan: He's right. Pizza is serious business in this town. (Remember that mafia family who used the pizza shop as a front but then became legitimate bc the pizza was so good?) Beckett: Ok you can talk to them. Ryan: wait; Me? no; why? (why is he upset at this...? I'm also rly sad castle didn't go with him)

Pottery kiln? Like Joy from the The Cat Who series! She made red ceramics & when I say she MADE red ceramics...

RM: I heard you found a body in the oven at terrific nick's KB: Authentic nick's RM: OH THANK GOD, the wife loves terrific nick's lmao full bodied flavour (btw yes I do indeed love his jacket)

Castle that's a heck of a leap & the audio reflecting the mood XD Gordon BURNS??? b'y the pic would have also been melted.

Oh. Poor man. Hugs to him. Oh not the pizza wars XD.

Terrific, authentic, & otherwise.

Sounds like u'r talking from experience espt. Did you survive firefights with gangbangers & then got killed doing a speeding ticket? & then came back to life to join homicide so u could investigat ur own death?

Nice handkerchief, murdoch vibes. KB: U ok? RC: Yeah no yeah... I wonder if he ever did that with alexis, had her colouring while he was signing books. Espt had that much information thrown at him in that short amount of time he was gone? Poor ryan, exiled to work talking to all the other nicks, & then exiled again to work computer stuff Wrong nick bro XD I thought he meant nick jr.

Hold the extra cheese wasn't funny.

Oh def steal the oven. Ah yes italian new york mobster money laundering in a pizza place? So the captions are willing to put nada in the captions here but put "speaking spanish" last episode when esposito said it? Seriously? Seriously?? You couldn't write "nada"? Like at this point it's a loanword & everyone knows what it means, but even so you should still write down everything that is said. Not translated, not "speaking [language]" but the actual words.

Like how he says "luds" for L.U.D.s I love his fake little accent he does "i'll kill ye"

True. You can't threaten to kill someone, it is not covered in free speech. It's the fat isn't it.

You can find out where things are from a phone call on a cell? That's sus af.

Tips the concierge even tho u'r not really here. Love it. Rick speedreading moments. Who would write nicely like that & then spend an entire page of notebook on two lines of writing? RC: *sees a cool new app* KB: no RC: Fine but you don't get to play my angry birds! Ok that was the funny one, the only funny one. I wonder if they had pizza!

Still do! (he's literally an author)

So WHEN were u in a relationship? fate <3 (except he withheld the information abt the story he was working on for a reason, if you've seen it before like me u can see why.)

Ryan with the financials! How big are new york blocks?

Woah a nice transition! Cool!

Nice heck yeah party crasher!

Woah language but martha is right. She's totally allowed to swear in this situation. It's like the kitchen. No swears at my catholic school unless you were working an event with the culinary program & physically in the kitchen. RC: Bitch! *realizes what he said & covers mouth*

Aw cyberbullying...

RC: Where's beckett? KR: Uh, Hall of Records. Tracking down what Burns was looking for. (Pink shirt : ) & also a vest, he looks pretty) RC: Great. *hands Beckett's coffee to Ryan* (we know time that ryan & esposito stole castle & beckett's coffee & then switched after one sip that ryan like beckett flavoured coffee & espt likes castle flavoured coffee) RC: Listen, if I gave you a website, could you have your friends at Tech hack into it and take some pictures down? (bribing ryan & not his friends at tech?) KR, taking the paper from castle with a little smile: Did someone find naked pictures of you again? (HOLD ON WHAT? & HAS RICK ASKED RYAN TO DO THIS BEFORE?) KR: *unfolds paper with a lighthearted little smile at castle's antics* RC: No. Not me. It's Alexis. KR: *stops* KR: *thinking someone posted castle's daughter's nudes & now castle is asking him to take them down* KR: *looks up at him with fear in his eyes* (also bc she is 17 her pics would technically be CP & this would be a bigger issue so maybe that's what ryan was thinking. He was thinking they needed to take this to Vice or smth.) RC: This is for Alexis KR: *eyes searching* KR: Uh, this just got awkward. What's this about? (his voice suddenly got hella squeaky) RC: Okay. Mean girl at school kiss ambushed Alexis's boyfriend (ryan nods & makes faces in sympathetic outrage) then posted the photographic proof on her website. Alexis is very upset. KR: Mmm. I-- I could have my friend Tony take care of it. You know, off the record. (Love a good "tony") RC: Thanks. And, uh, no need to mention this to Beckett. You know how she gets with these things (Castle and Ryan smile & start to laugh & go to sip their coffees. Beckett appears and grabs her cup from Ryan.) KB: Things like abusing police resources for your own personal agenda? RC: Whaat? That's ridi-- No, you don-- No. That's-- that's--- (Castle gives Ryan the OK sign as he follows Beckett to her desk. Ryan slips the slip of paper into his vest meaning he's still willing to help out rick & his daughter even w/o the coffee bribery) Yes yes yes castle yes ryan this is an abuse of power but that is so valid & I think it's funny & great & I love it Ryan, trying to act casual after this little thing: Yep?

Espt has a denim-looking dress shirt on what & then beckett has a nice green scarf & longsleeve

Yo the guy's alive??

Ooh I love a good noire film but why say noowahr instead of nwar. RC: I haven't heard the story... Oh... that sucks.. he couldn't even crawl over to hold her. That's got to be traumatic.

Neat, learning abt history. Cool. So Ryan was in narcotics back in '03, he went into homicide in '06 maybe, & then three years later (I might be mixing this up with Ike Thornton's (fake) death tho) as mentioned in I think that very episode, castle shows up: '09. 03 narco, 09 castle shows up & there is a mention of "three years ago" so, 06 ike dies ryan goes into homicide. idk I'm just trying to get a timeline. Anyway, I always love it when they bring back character's pasts before we knew them. & during this Ryan is also fidgeting with his file, point for the adhd ryan headcanon.

Castle never specified HOW to flip it so he could follow the movements. Glad he said to slow it down tho. Is the man left handed?

Alexis got into a fight? Good for her. Oh no castle & ryan & tony got alexis in trouble : ( but also XD Heck yeah girl! Tho yeah rick you're right violence is not the answer "& then one of you ends up dead in a pizza oven" & then he quotes beckett & hugs her. RC: Did u kick her ass? AC: I kind of did RC: Good girl. Good. Even when he tells her retaliation is not the way, he still lets her know.

Bro teenagers ARE criminal masterminds. High school bullies are NOT some dumb-as-bricks doorknob who beats you & but can't chew gum & walk at the same time, they really can be evil geniuses.

Costumes: Castle & beckett are normal, tho I don't like beckett's shirt. Esposito is wearing a boring not-fancy long-sleeve with jeans & ryan is wearing a typical dark blue dress shirt & dress pants, no tie this time, nice grey coat. Really fancy coat too. I like it.

How can you tell someone dialed the numbers for a call but never hit send...? Unless it was already on the phone & they didn't get erased for some reason. Mine closes every time I switch apps.

Esposito, breakin down the doors! Music is great rn! The boys just run out the window

Oh so she IS in with the drug dealers.

She's good. She's really good. I'm speaking from the perspective of having seen this before. It's obvious that he CANNOT be cavallo pretending to be his own right-hand-one. Poor R+E, out of breath from the chase So she DID know those names when castle asked her the first time!

OH MY GOODNESS HOLY CRAP THAT'S A LOT OF FIGHTING & POOR RYAN IN THE MIDDLE TRYING TO GET THEM TO STOP

Castle u really just went back on what u & beckett put ur money on? Whose tab? Whose tab did they put it on? What? Winner winner pizza dinner & wow that's a lot of smack.

He's a pizza man! He would never disrespect his oven like that! It is SO not his speed castle! Oh so you wanted to burn down authentic nick's? Girl if you can call him then that's helping!

See like this is what got my eyes on ryan in the first place, his movements are so weird, like he's walking too big for his body. Oh & again unassuming middleman is dumb

Is she limping? why is she in homicide? I thought she was in narco. also I can't use my question mark button on tumblr anymore for some reason & so it reloaded the page & got rid of a mini fanfictioin I wrote & I am fucking upset. I had added some notes to my liveblog. What the hell tumblr^/ why won't you let me use a proper question mark^/ at least my french é&É still work. Ηοwever, my greek keyboard does not.

Ok sweetheart, just Don't Use Easy-to-Catch Names Calls ryan & esposito the best detectives. Ooh une femme fatale

Love the music & oh no please don't be nick's pizza Oh thank goodness it's stephano's So mature of Alexis OH THAT IS A GOOD LOOKING PIZZA

& it seems like all the bonus features are deleted scenes which I have seen. Yuck tho I don't need to see this.

#castle 3x20 #castle 3x20 spoilers #castle 3x20 quote #the pizza episode

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cruelprincae · 1 year ago

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Black eyes slowly rise to meet the chocolate hues of the shadow-singer, first darting from his sandwich to the table and then from the table to the other's face. It requires a good amount of effort to will his face from showing the disgust that's piling within his stomach, for he doesn't want Azriel to feel offended or that he can't talk to him when he is actually opening up to him for a seemingly serious topic but at the same time, the image of the dark-skinned Fae having sex is something he wants to keep as far away from his mind as it is humanly ― or well, critchly ― possible.

But no matter how hard he tries to prevent it, the image gradually solidifies before his very eyes and Cardan is overwhelmed with this sudden desire to gag his lunch out, which he soon suppresses. He could have lived his entire immortal life without knowing that piece of information. Now he is in desperate need of therapy, or a good smack in the head, hard enough to delete anything said in the past fifteen minutes.

❛ Okay, ❜ The Fae starts, albeit hesitantly, as he pushes the cheese sandwich away for his appetite has now evaporated into thin air, like sand in the wind. If the image of Azriel having sex is too much to handle, he doesn't even want to begin to imagine what it would be like for the dark-skinned Fae to self-pleasure himself, and Cardan is quick to shut the thought before it has the chance to formate in his mind by clearing his throat and dusting the bread crumbs from his hands by patting them down upon his trousers. Yeah, non-sexual means of releasing the pressure sounds absolutely terrific, especially when the shadow-singer is concerned; and although Cardan doesn't fancy murder, he's willing to let Azriel be the exception by turning the blind eye whenever he's off doing. . . whatever it is that he is doing, so long as it isn't pleasure related. But, for the sake of whatever friendship exists between the two, he ought to continue this conversation.

❛ Obviously, I cannot explain why or how one feels attraction toward another person because there is no manual for that. You either feel it or you don't. And if you don't, that's okay too. ❜ States the Fae. His voice is laced with a kind of seriousness that is both strange and unfamiliar to the point where even he is taken aback but it doesn't stop him from further adding to his point; ❛ There are people who like sex, and there are others who prefer to spend their lives doing cryptic shit like the old witch hag who takes a special interest in gutting cats or something. The point is, if you're satisfied with the way you live, then you don't owe anyone any sort of explanation. And to be frank, we're quite literally locked in a hell hole and if I'm to look outside the window I can guarantee you that I will spot at least three burguish men pointing guns at me, so fuck everything. There's more important things than sex. ❜ A dark, manicured brow rises, this time in amusement. ❛ Metaphorically, for you, of course. ❜

azriel has no issues with sex work and he respects sex workers. anyone willing to earn a living honestly, really. especially in this fucking hellhole. what he doesn’t get is how come people are so obsessed with the idea of sexual pleasure with a partner (or more). he gets the need to blow off some steam and release the stress on his own, but with someone else? it’s not that he hasn’t tried (he very much did in his teens and early twenties), it’s just that he never really felt the urge for the act itself. it was more out of it being a convenient way to release the stress than actual desire to be intimate that way with another person. also, the others had wanted it — he’d seen it in their eyes, their body language. it felt wrong to refuse them, especially when it seems he felt indifferent on the matter of doing it or not. so, why not try and please them? so, he’d done it. he’d given his hundred percent because azriel doesn’t do anything half-assed. it’s anchored in him so deep. burned with red-hot iron onto his bones. the perfection. the accuracy. when he served in his human father’s household as a child he would scrub surfaces until his fingers bled because if he’d missed a spot his stepmother would burn his hands with cigarette butts and leave him to starve.

❛ i’ve had sex before. ❜ azriel states, brow knitting together as cardan steals his sandwich. he refuses to let the other assume he hasn’t. that he’s a virgin. because, again, that wouldn’t be accurate. he's had sex before. and more than once. he also refuses to let the prince think he is inexperienced in any way. that also would be inaccurate.

❛ and i know i’m not missing out. ❜ he says, looking away from the prince’s face, suddenly focussed by an old stain on the counter of the tavern, which he attempts scratching off with his nail. when it doesn’t work, he sighs. defeated. ❛ i don’t really see the point of partnered sex when i can release stress and blow off steam otherwise. on my own for instance, and through non-sexual means. and it’s—— noisy. ❜ he’s not sure of this last word. maybe that’s not the right word but, right now, he’s too unsettled by the discussion (and the fact he’s having it with cardan fucking greenbriar!) to think of a better one. maybe it’ll come to him later. for now, it does convey enough how he’s bothered by the sounds emitted during the activity.

#veritasumbra #( veritasumbra | azriel )#( 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐥𝐟𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞 ┊ verse )#( cardan: uncomfortable #( azriel: more uncomfortable #( i LOVE THIS JHGSFJGS

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