#Thanks a million for the ask!!

[is-the-post-reliable]

Hey, could you fact check this one:

@is-the-post-reliable is pretty neat

RATING: 🟢 Reliable 🟢

Source: trust me bro

[nyoomfruits]

osctober day thirty one

prompt: halloween pairing: lando/oscar word count: 1200w

“Lando,” Oscar says, when he makes his way into the living room to drop his work bag next to the couch. “Why is my baby dressed as a pumpkin?”

Becca is in her little baby playpen banging a few blocks together, dressed in a felt pumpkin suit. There’s even a little hat with a stalk on top perched on her little blond curls. “Da,” she says, when she spots Oscar.

“Hi love,” Oscar says, picking her up and snuggling her closing, earning him another, more decisive “Da!”

“Oscar!” Lando says, appearing from the kitchen. “I can explain.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, putting his daughter back down. “Can you?”

Lando bites at his lip. He has a spatula in hand, which means he’s attempting to cook dinner again, which means Oscar needs to make this as short as possible so he can make his way into the kitchen and salvage whatever is going on there.

“It’s Halloween?” Lando eventually settles on. “And like. I don’t. I’m not overstepping, or like, I don’t want to overstep, but I just thought. It’s her first you know. I think she should go out trick or treating.”

“She’s fourteen months,” Oscar states, but he’s mostly amused.

“Yeah? So? It’s Halloween, Oscar,” Lando says. Something in the kitchen beeps, and Lando quietly curses under his breath, making his way in there. Oscar throws one last look to Becca, who’s gone back to banging blocks together, and follows Lando into the kitchen.

“Maybe it’s time to revoke your babysitting privileges,” Oscar says, leaning against the doorway and watching Lando flit through the kitchen. There’s a pasta sauce bubbling away in a pot, next to one filled with pasta. It doesn’t seem disastrous yet, so Oscar’s happy to lean back and watch.

“Oh, please,” Lando says. “You would die without you convenient next door neighbor who works from home and loves your kid and is therefor willing to watch her whenever you need someone.”

Unfortunately, this is true. For reasons other than just the convenience, too. Like the way Lando smiles at him sometimes. Or the way Lando’s eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Embarrassing stuff like that.

“You really want to go trick or treating with her?” Oscar asks.

“We are going trick or treating with her,” Lando says, grinning at Oscar, clearly feeling like he’s won something here. “I have matching outfits.”

The matching outfits, thankfully, are just headbands with little pumpkins on bouncy springs. Oscar is pretty sure he looks ridiculous, especially next to Lando, who somehow makes the damned things look cute.

There really is no going back now, so after they finish their pasta, they put Becca’s coat on under her little pumpkin suit, don their stupid little headbands, and head to their first house.

Which is when things get kind of. Weird.

“Oh, your family is so cute,” The first lady says, as she deposits a few pieces of candy in the little bag Lando is holding. “Reminds me of my own daughter and her husband. Precious. Have a good night.”

“Uh,” Lando says, but she’s already closing the door.

Oscar adjusts Becca on his hip, mostly so he kind hide the blush on his face. “On to the next one?” He says quickly, mostly hoping that means Lando won’t bring it up.

“Yeah,” Lando says, still staring at the now closed door. “Yeah, next one.”

But at the next one, roughly the same thing happens. And the Next one. And the next one.

Oscar is coping with this wonderfully, mostly by pretending none of this is happening and no one is actually confusing them for some kind of cute young family rather than for what they are, which is two totally platonic neighbors who are friends who are trick or treating with one of the neighbors kids.

It’s going swimmingly, if he says so himself, even though is heart aches at the thought. Becca, entire unaware, babbles happily in his arms and tries to grab at the pumpkins on his headband.

Lando is quiet, too, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t correct anyone and that’s. Something, right? Nothing, for sure. But.

But.

Except then he does say something, when an young mom smiles at them and says, “Oh, what an adorable little family you have. My kid is her age, too. It’s the best, isn’t it?”

“We aren’t-“ Lando blurts, a little too loud, making Becca startle a little as she looks at him with wide eyes. “A family. I’m just. We’re not. Together. That’s his kid. She’s not. She’s not mine.”

Oscar doubts that. Becca thinks the sun shines out of Lando’s ass on most days. She’s just as much Lando’s as she is Oscar’s, but that’s. That’s dangerous territory, he thinks.

“Oh,” the woman says, a little taken aback. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Lando says, smiles tiredly. It must’ve been bothering him more than Oscar thought. Oscar tries not to be too hurt about that. “Have a good night,” he says, and stalks off the porch.

“You too?” The lady says, but Lando’s already gone. Oscar smiles awkwardly at her, and then follows Lando as quickly as he can with Becca in his arms.

“Hey,” he says, when he catches up.

“Hey,” Lando says, not looking at him, setting a pretty brutal pace. “Let’s go back to the apartments, yeah?”

“Okay,” Oscar says, noting how he says apartments, plural. Nothing how he doesn’t say home.

They walk in silence, for a bit, Becca dozing off on Oscar’s shoulder, before Lanod finally speaks again.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what,” Oscar says, confused. He doesn’t think Lando has anything to apologize for. If he’s uncomfortable being linked to Oscar as a husband, that’s. I mean. He’s allowed to feel those feelings, even if they hurt.

“I just. I’ve been inserting myself in Becca’s life, in your life, and this should have been a cute little milestone, her first Halloween, and instead you spend the whole time listening to people thinking we’re like, what. Together?” Lando is still not looking at him, aggressively biting at his lip.

Oscar takes a moment, unpacks everything Lando’s just said, tries to think of the right thing to say. Eventually he settles on. “We wouldn’t have had Becca’s first Halloween if not for you.”

When Lando finally turns to look at him, if only to send him a confused look, Oscar continues. “You got her the outfit. You got the headbands. I was just going to spend the night inside giving candy away to kids, but you made it special. So you’re not inserting yourself. If anything, I think you’re making her life much, much better.” And then, because he feels like it’s important Lando knows, even though it will probably not lead anywhere, “Also I don’t mind. When people think we’re together.”

“Oh,” Lando says. “You don’t? I mean. I don’t, either.” They’ve stopped, in the middle of the walkway, staring at each other over Becca’s head.

“Good? That’s. That’s good,” Oscar says, a little unsure all of a sudden. If this means what he thinks it means…

“Oh fudge it,” Lando says, and leans forward, softly presses his lips to Oscar’s. It’s a little awkward, with Becca still snoozing happily between them, but it’s the most perfect kiss Oscar’s ever gotten. When Lando pulls away, he’s smiling, a smile Oscar is sure is mirrored on his own face. “Let’s go home, yeah?” He says.

“Home,” Lando says, nods. Shakes his head like he can’t quite believe it.

They can’t hold hands, because Oscar’s are still occupied, but Lando’s hand finds a place at the small of his back, and that’s just as magical, Oscar thinks, as they slowly start making their way home.

[deerspherestudios]

Evening! I was a bit late for playing day 3 but when I did get around to it OMG CHEEA YOU HAVE DONE ABSOLUTELY WONDERFULLY WITH THE NEW INSTALMENT!!! The animations, the new sprites, the story overall SHDIUCSABSDHDBCA, chef's kiss! Day 3 is my absolute favorite so far!!! It shows us so many new and different sides of Mychael, his playful teasing with ruffling our hair, his honestly eerily threatening demeanour (honestly that one scene where he grabbed our wrist and yelled at us just sdiubciscni mychael pls chill bro), and especially tickling him?!! I was fully planning a frontal attack like mc had but he's saved by the kettle… for now >:3 I cannot emphasise how much of an emotional rollercoaster and how much I was invested into every single part of every single scene!! (i was honestly smilling like an idiot for the most of it/pos)

I absolutely adore mychael as a person because he genuinely feels so alive, someone I would honestly love to be friends with and just hang out about!! Gentle giant mushroom man with crippling social anxiety, mychael you lovable man hhhhhh. But in all honesty, that smack we did on the beginning of the third day is deserved. Sorry not sorry mychael but you have to learn to properly communicate, I will make it my mission to make you thoroughly understand how important proper communication is if you want to befriend someone! The little cooking scene too!! Honestly cheea, on every single meal time I always go back to see every single food option cause every single one makes me hungry, they all look so tasty and very scrumptious, and iusdhcisuadhaiusdh mychael you absolute madlad for learning all of these things on your own like how?!?

Thank you so so so very much for making the game and mychael cheea, no proper amount of words can properly describe how I absolutely love your creations. Please do rest properly and take the time you need to relax for a while. And please do remember to take care and stay hydrated!

Aaaa a a thank you for the ki n d wor d s <3 < 3 < 3 ,, .

[royalarchivist]

Pac: I don't know if you remember, we left Cell on an island with just a bullet and a revolver at his disposal and we fled. So, theoretically, we outsmarted* Cell and gave him what he deserved, understand? So, my headcanon, understand? You know? But the drawing was really cool.

[ *passar a perna – literally to deceive, but the direct translation is like a leg sweep, which is why Chat responds with "What leg?" ]

Pac: [Reading chat] What leg? Yeah, not the right one. Wait– not the right. Exactly. The left. Is it the left? Wait, which leg did I lose? [...] No, wait– the left, because my dominant leg is the right. So I will choose the left. [Reading chat] "You chose?" I like to think I had the power to choose.

—

Pac talks about Fuga Impossível lore and implies that Cell let him decide which leg he'd lose. 🔪

[ Full transcript / translation ↓ ]

—

Pac: Guys, it's not the other way around, in my headcanon– in my headcanon– you have to know how to respect my headcanon. In my headcanon– because, I don't know if you remember, we left Cell on an island with just a bullet and a revolver at his disposal and we fled. So, theoretically, we outsmarted* Cell and gave him what he deserved, understand? So, my headcanon, understand? You know? But the drawing was really cool.

[ *passar a perna – literally to deceive, but the direct translation is like a leg sweep, which is why Chat responds with "What leg?" ]

Pac: [Reading chat] What leg? Yeah, not the right one. Wait– not the right. Exactly. The left. Is it the left? Wait, which leg did I lose? Oh sht... [Long pause] I don't remember, man. Oh, I don't know guys, I don't know. Did I decide? Oh, man. None? I'm kidding–

Pac: Well, if I have to decide? The right? I don't know. Nobody knows, right? But this drawing was really cool, it was really cool. You choose one there and I choose the right one. No, wait– the left, because my dominant leg is the right. So I will choose the left. Because like, I'm thinking like this, look what came into my head: Which leg would go away? Wow, I thought "So, if I'm going to kick a ball, I'm going to shoot it with my right leg. If I didn't have a right leg, I wouldn't be able to shoot the ball properly. So I prefer the left." That was my line of thinking, you know? I don't know. It's a bad example, right? And that's it, right? [Reading chat] "You chose?" Yeah, I like to think I had the power to choose.

[orengejoshi]

Hell yeah dude congrats on the mini human!!! If you’re craving chocolate chip cookies, brownies etc but don’t want to worry about a messy kitchen after, there’s a few ways to make single servings in a mug in the microwave and a few of them don’t use egg if you’re worried about things like salmonella and any other health concerns that come with not using a conventional oven. Also, if you REALLY want another layer of protection, heat treating flour can kill a lot of harmful stuff as well for extra peace of mind. Either spread a thin layer on a cooking sheet and bake at ≈150°C (converted from freedom units lol) for 10 minutes, or you can nuke a bowl of it in the microwave for 30 second intervals, stirring occasionally.

I know when my mom was having my sister years ago, she had to be careful about things that were normally okay before and my dad would take a couple extra precautions when cooking for us.

I’ve also seen packets of Betty Crocker mix in stores marketed as “(X) in a mug” (the blueberry muffins are my favorite personally)

They’re marketed as just “Mug Treats” and so far I’ve seen one with Hot Fudge Brownie, one with Soft Chocolate Chip Cookie, and another with Funfetti.

Whew, sorry for the yapping 😅 I just remembered you mentioned craving chocolate and sweets so I thought I’d share with the class in case you wanted baked goods quickly and without all the mess afterwards.

Congrats again on the pregnancy, and don’t let the bastards get you down👏 you’re doing awesome

THANK YOU this is godsent, omg🙏🏻😭💗

I'll share it for everyone who's also pregnant or just hungry for no reason🫡 this is amazing and easy (and I'm a great cook and baker! I love being in the kitchen) I made one a week ago and then I made 5 more (aka my own mom made them with/for me) and I said it was literally the best thing my taste buds have ever witnessed in that moment. it really hit the spot. we also threw some cherries from a jar in that bih and it's🤌🏻 chef kiss

I should have put some empty mugs around him but this still conveys an accurate picture of what my past few weeks looked like

[boringa55binch]

I had this cute thought in my head, basically Gregory’s getting ready for bed but recently he’s been having trouble sleeping, so Vanessa decides to tell him a story she made up, when she ends the story she gives Gregory a forehead kiss, Gregory a bit shocked at first then says he loves Vanessa and she says she loves him too, meanwhile Freddy is just listening and is so heart melted.

Bedtime Story

i got a teensy bit carried away;; I wanted to make something from the scenario you gave, but have it be closer to my characterization of them. hope it's okay!

wonder what Freddy wanted to tell her...

[xxrat-punkxx]

🐰+🔪

[stellar-collective]

I simply adore your ghost hunter au. Can we please see Phoenix and/or Reginald interacting with the ghost of Fabricator? She's my fav ghost design!

Phoenix should probably start running before the Fabricator unleashes her 5 million pins and needles attack

[somegrumpynerd]

heard you were down soooo

I think you deserve (illustrated) Horror cuddles

AGHDGUOGJVKHDCJVGHVJH,CVGHJ

CUDDLES???? CUDDLES!!!!!! ;A;

I'm sleeping on him like a bed ;-; agkdvbkjbvkjv Pidge I'm gonna fall into the ocean and land on the titanic ths is so CUTE AKBGKJDBVKHVSK LOOKAT THE TINY LITTLE PILLOW I'M GONNA TURN INTO A BIRD AND FLY INTO THE SUN LOOK AT THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!

ough... OUGH... I will never be the same, I have double health now thank you ;-;

[newrochellechallenger2019]

2 / 2 / 1 please

ahh!!! hi saoirse thank you so much!!! stick season x patrick zweig x smut especially for you my love!!!

also i got so carried away writing this...please forgive my ramblings...

wc: 2873

writing game!

‘Welcome to Vermont!’ The sign seemed to taunt Patrick as he drove down the highway surrounded by thick forest, like this place had been anything but welcoming to him. His parents had decided to move here whilst he was at the MRTA because of the ‘potential’, like the millions they’d made in New York weren’t enough for them already. Patrick’s eyes were drawn back to the passenger seat, the crumpled ‘Zweig Christmas Gala!’ invitation staring back at him, not your soft features, your feet up on his dashboard even though he’d always tell you to sit normally and quit dirtying his car with that telltale smirk because he could never stay mad at you. He could already sense the smug looks on those aristocratic faces as his father retells the story of the ‘wasted money’ in sending Patrick to a tennis boarding school and how he had to ‘grovel at his father’s feet’ for a job in the company and how he had to be ‘put up in an apartment in Chicago for the foreseeable’. It’s enough to make him want to drive his beat up car into a ditch.

But he doesn’t, because he could never see things through, you’d’ve teased him for that. So, it wasn’t long before he was rounding the corner into his parent’s drive, parking besides stretch limousines and estate cars, his engine sputtering as he turned off the ignition, kicking his door open. The car boot creaked as he opened it, grabbing his suitcase, badges of the tennis tournaments he’d been to ironed all over it, a ribbon tied around the handle, a gift from you he couldn’t bear to get rid of, the constant aching reminder of the day you left. Rifling through his jacket pockets, Patrick’s fingers close around a joint, a calming presence as he holds it to his lips and lights it, taking a drag and watching the smoke fill the air, polluting these grounds the way he always does as he makes his way to the door. 

‘You can’t smoke in the house sir’ comes a frigid voice, Patrick looks over to see a man in a well ironed three piece suit standing by the door. 

‘It’s my house’ retorts Patrick, lips curled in a frown, barely through the door and he already had to deal with his mother’s bullshit. 

The man’s eyes widened in surprise, ‘Master Zweig? Why, we weren’t expecting your attendance-’

‘Yeah yeah’ Patrick mutters, pushing himself through the door, dragging his suitcase behind him. 

Before his thoughts could drift to the insane opulence of just the front entrance, Patrick’s mother swans into view, ‘Oh darling’ she crows, sweeping him into a perfumed hug, ‘I thought you’d given all that up years ago’ she frowns, prising the joint from between his teeth and putting it out before Patrick can protest as he watches his last bit of freedom sizzle away between her fingers. 

‘Jesus Christ mother, you’ve got servants now?’ The disdain in Patrick’s voice is evident as he takes in his mother, her wrinkles appear to have smoothed since he last saw her but he knows better than to mention it. 

‘We don’t call them servants! George is our doorman darling, he’s just there for security purposes.’ his mother croons in that patronizing tone that he remembered all too clearly from his younger years. 

‘Right.’ Patrick gives a noncommittal nod before heading upstairs with his suitcase, beady-eyed family portraits watching him as he climbs the grand staircase. 

You used to laugh at these portraits, especially when he'd poked fun at his Great-Great Uncle’s moustache, mimicked the pompous facial expression of his Great-Great-Great Grandma, he used to make you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe sometimes. Now he can’t remember the last time someone even smiled at something he’d said, Patrick looks down at his feet, he can’t face their judgement, not today. He tosses his suitcase onto his bed and sighs, walking over to his bay window, where the two of you would sit and talk about what you wanted to do with your lives, where he’d told you he’d drive you to the airport that day you left, the day you didn’t take him with you. Just as he’s trying to force the memories from his head, rain starts to drizzle, coating the manicured gardens in a dewey darkness. 

‘You’re my forever’ you whispered as the two of you lay in the gardens, surrounded by bushes and red clovers, your own version of paradise. 

‘Forever?’ scoffed Patrick, ‘What does that even mean?’ he chides, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

‘Well you know…it means I’m not going anywhere’ you shrug, ‘and you’re not either’ you elbow him. 

‘I don’t plan on it’ Patrick nods mockingly and you sit up, moving to straddle him, eyes lit up with an intensity he rarely saw in you, ‘pinky swear we’re forever?’ you murmur as you look down at him, pinky held out like a sacred being. 

‘Pinky swear we’re forever.’ he repeats with matching seriousness, pinky interlocking yours and you smile, satisfied. ‘Good.’ before flopping down beside him again, watching a plane fly by miles above you both.

‘Forever’ Patrick grumbles under his breath as he watches the raindrops slide down the window, ‘What a bunch of bullshit’. He grits his teeth, eyes falling to the dent in his wall from the day you’d left, he wasn’t going to let that happen again. Opening his suitcase, he grabs his suit and pulls it on, looking in the mirror as he fastens his tie and tries and fails to sort out his unruly curls. 

‘Patrick!’ his mother’s shrill voice reverberates through the house. ‘I’m coming!’ he shouts back, muttering under his breath about her impatience as he spritzes cologne before strolling back downstairs towards the expansive dining room. 

‘There you are! I want you to meet some people!’ his mother swoops in all smiles while her eyes scold him for his tardiness, pushing him into the growing throngs of people, ‘This is Sandra and Bill.’ she gestures and Patrick’s stomach drops. Your parents are staring at him blankly. ‘Yeah…uh…nice to meet you both’ he manages, his throat dry as he shakes both their hands. 

‘Now Bill was just telling me about his daughter, I believe she’s about your age, did you two know each other?’ his mother continues and Patrick bites back a scoff, it was certainly more than that. ‘Yeah-’ he goes to say more but meets Sandra’s eyes, there’s not a flicker of recognition in them and his heart aches, ‘I- uh- sort of’ he finishes awkwardly. 

‘You see she never told us if she’d be coming tonight and we know it’s ever such a long flight from London and-’ Sandra starts, ‘I thought you might have her number, dear’ his mother finishes for her. ‘Could you give her a call? See if she’ll be here?’ she says with a tight lipped smile, this was not a question. 

‘Oh’ is all Patrick could muster, of course he still had your number. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d stared at your contact, his finger just barely hovering over the call button. His thoughts are interrupted by his mother pulling him close to her side, ‘Wonderful, thank you darling!’ she praises before disappearing off into the crowd. 

Patrick pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before landing on yours. What was he doing? Of course you weren’t going to answer, he knew that for certain. Even if you were on your way here, why would you want to be somewhere he was? He didn’t need to do this, Bill, Sandra and his mother had long since walked off, out of sight- 

Ring…ring- ‘Shit!’ hissed Patrick, without thinking his finger had slipped and now he was dialling you. He stared in horror, panic slowly seeping through his veins before the number rang out, ‘You’ve now reached the voicemail of-’ his worries eased, hoping to feel relief but instead the ache in his heart only increases as he hangs up. Patrick tries to take a deep breath as he shoves his phone back in his pocket. He needs to get you out of his head and fast. 

Making his way over to one of the tables, he grabs a bottle of beer and chugs half of it immediately, his grip on the bottle so tight he’s shocked it doesn’t smash right there in his hand, bringing his pain to the surface. He’s grimacing as he finishes the bottle, grabbing another before his father is pulling him into yet another conversation. 

‘Tell them how much money I spent on that bloody tennis academy of yours’ snaps his father, gesturing to the two men standing before him, Patrick could tell by his bloodshot eyes his father had had one too many drinks already but he was not in the mood to pick a fight about it. 

‘$675,500’ Patrick replies numbly, the number drilled into his head ever since he’d graduated. 

‘Right! And what did you do with it?’ his father continues, growing more irate at each word. 

‘Lost’ mutters Patrick, looking down, suddenly feeling a lot like that little boy hiding from his father in his bedroom again. 

‘Right! You and that stupid blonde boy won one trophy and it was enough to make you think you could go pro!’ his father scoffs, turning to the two men for approval, ‘He’s crawling up to our door, telling us how awful the tour is, how he’s lost every match and how wrong he was and how he wants to work for me-’ his father is practically yelling, revelling in Patrick’s shame. 

Just when Patrick’s starting to think he can’t stomach much more of this, debating making an excuse, grabbing a tray of wines and hurrying out the door, he catches a glimpse of a young woman attempting to slip into the party unnoticed. Patrick’s heart stops when he realises it’s you, the one he’s been dreaming about ever since you left. Tentatively, he starts to walk away from his father’s complaints, away from the nodding businessman and closer to you. The gold dress you’re wearing clings to your body like it was made just for you and the lights adoring the room make your doe eyes twinkle like stars in the night sky. 

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he says dumbly, playing host at a gala he wishes he wasn’t at.

Your soft gaze turns to him and you brighten, like it hasn’t been years since you spoke. ‘I’d love one, Patrick, thank you.’ 

He turns and grabs a glass of wine off one of the passing waiters and hands it to you, ‘Here’. You smile gratefully and take a sip. ‘So…London?’ he broaches. 

‘Mmm’ you nod seriously, ‘It’s wonderful over there, they do the most divine teas and some of the views in Notting Hill are just-’ 

Patrick stopped listening after that, watching the way your lips moved as you spoke, the way you gestured with your hands animatedly when you were excited about something, the way the dress exposes your collarbones and how easy it would be to just lean in and- 

‘I miss you’ he says calmly, so much for staying steadfast. He watches you intently, looking for any change in your facial expression and when he realises you’re not staring at him in shock and disgust, he continues. ‘I still think about you a lot, about us a lot.’ 

You blink, brow furrowing ever so slightly, ‘You do? I thought- I thought you were happy for me? You drove me to the airport that day-’ 

His hands move to cup your face and you don’t pull away, after all these years it still feels so familiar to the both of you. ‘It killed me to let you go but I couldn’t let anyone else drive you there, I needed that one last drive with you.’ 

‘You always did love driving me around’ you laugh, cheeks blushing red as the easy energy crackles around you both. 

‘Please’ Patrick utters, somehow distilling everything between you two into that one word. 

You down your wine and nod, ‘Fuck it, I missed you too’.

That’s all Patrick needs to hear before his hand is enclosing around your own and he’s dragging you out of the dining room and you’re sprinting down the hallway with little to no abandon and it’s almost like you never left. Patrick pulls you into the nearest bathroom breathlessly and lifts you up onto the counter besides the sink, your heels clanking against the marble as he drinks you in. 

‘How’d you get even prettier?’ he murmurs, hands running up and down your sides reverently. 

‘Maybe it’s the London air’ you shrug, looking down at him endearingly. 

‘Maybe…’ he murmurs, before he’s pulling you in for a kiss and it’s everything he could’ve dreamt of and more. 

Your lips are softer than he remembers but the feelings are  still there, the desire and hunger for each other as his tongue prods your bottom lips, asking for entrance. You oblige and his tongue collides with yours messily, fighting for dominance as the air in the bathroom grows stifling hot. Panting, you break apart, his hands gripping your hips like a vice, terrified to let go for fear he might lose you again. 

His eyes are pleading before he says the words, ‘I think we should…’ and you nod vigorously, already starting to hike up the skirt of your dress to your thighs. 

‘I agree’ is your murmured response, and he’s tugging at the belt of his suit, tossing it aside and unzipping his trousers, letting them pool around his ankles, his dick already prominent in his boxers. 

Patrick’s hands find your thighs, and he slowly starts to move his fingers towards your panties, rubbing carefully against the fabric and you squirm, he takes that as a signal to keep going, creating more friction until your hips are bucking against him and he smirks, pulling the fabric to the side and tracing his finger across your slit, feeling the wetness starting to collect there. 

You shudder as he slowly pushes one finger in, prepping you for his cock as he presses right to the hilt. He adds a second finger, scissoring them inside you and you gasp, ‘Patrick-’ as you feel his fingers stretching your gummy walls. ‘Ready?’ he whispers and you nod, craving his cock inside you. Pulling his fingers out, you whimper at the loss of stimulation but watch in awe as he licks his fingers clean of your slick, before pulling his boxers down and letting them pool around his ankles too. Patrick lines himself up with your entrance, hands gripping the counter as he slowly pushes into your cunt. 

Even two fingers can’t prepare you for the size of his cock and you’re choking on your own breath as he buries himself inside you. You moan as his tip hits your G-spot but his hand clamps over your mouth and your eyes widen. 

‘You gotta be quiet, sweetheart’ he mutters urgently. ‘My parents would kill me if they heard us’ 

You nod, your parents would too. Still, he keeps his hand over your mouth as he starts to thrust in and out of you, causing you to shiver in delight. Once Patrick sets his rhythm, he’s relentless, his hands clutching at your hips as he pushes in and out, in and out, in and out, your pussy squeezing tight around him so hard he’s struggling to stifle his own moans. It’s when his rhythm disappears that you know he’s about to cum, he starts to pant, going faster and faster till he’s practically pounding your pussy so hard you fear you’ll fall back and hit the mirror. 

‘I’m- I’m-’ he grunts before bottoming out in you one last time, you can feel his seed filling you and you gulp, thanking god for birth control. Patrick’s out of breath, head resting against your shoulder as you squeeze every last drop from him. He meets your eyes, a little dazed and it’s like he can tell without you even needing to say anything that you haven’t orgasmed because his hand is snaking back down between your thighs and rubbing your clit, giving you the last push you need, ‘Oh- Oh-’ you cry out, it’s too much, full of his cock, fingers on your clit and your legs start to shake, jolting as you cum, nearly seeing stars. 

‘Still with me?’ Patrick croons gently as he pulls out of you, watching your cunt spasm and drip with his seed and you nod, rubbing your face. 

‘Mhm’ you swallow thickly, sliding off the counter carefully and into his arms. 

‘That was-’ Patrick breathed, pulling his boxers and trousers back on, it was beyond words. 

You smile weakly as you go to use the toilet, ‘Yeah…it was’ you agree, still reeling from your orgasm. 

Patrick adjusts his tie in the mirror before calling out, ‘Will I see you back in there?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world’ you call back cheerfully and Patrick smiled to himself, by god was he glad to have you back in his life. 

[owl-bones]

I've got to ask what is Eos or swap nightmares type? And can we get a little more background on him please? Sorry if this was asked already

his type is someone that he feels safe around and that makes him laugh!

more info below the cut:

he’s a pretty standard swap nightmare, i think! he’s cynical and stand-offish, but craves connection with people. he’s just been dealt enough bad hands that he assumes the worst of everyone around him, so he doesn’t bother trying to form meaningful relationships. he does want to help people though, if only to feel useful and hold onto a glimmer of hope that maybe someone will like him. despite that, he takes his job as the guardian of negativity very seriously and tries his best to uphold the balance— even if his brother is constantly expanding his territory and eos is vastly outnumbered by his followers. this of course comes into conflict with his want to help people, as upholding the balance means often spreading negativity. so a lottttt of AUs consider him a menace/bad omen and he’s generally treated rather poorly. 😔 but hey, at least he has one friend (aka killer, who followed him one day and never left him alone)

there’s lots more to him and his brother but i want to expand on that in a fic someday so perhaps i will keep it secret for nowwwwwwww

also a plain version of the pic

[gingermintpepper]

I would love to hear you talk about Kassandra???

So, what can I say about Kassandra.

Well, firstly, I've been thinking about how I want to answer this question since I got it however many months ago and I figured I wanted to speak about my own interpretation of things rather than formal stuff - half because I don't want to cite anything since going through Iliad based papers brings me little joy and half because I figure I could treat it a bit more casually this way. So here's like, a very brief selection of thoughts I have about Kassandra, Saintess of Troy.

I view her tale as a microcosm of the wider tale of the Fall of Troy from Apollo's perspective. A human is given a choice and, of their own free-will, they make the most destructive decision ignorant of the way they're sealing their own fate and no matter how much their patron will want to save and help them, they will be unable to so much as lift a meaningful finger because the choice made is one that is sealed in Fate and powers far beyond any one god. The themes of doomed love are also shared; Kassandra loved Apollo just as Apollo loved her but she couldn't be what he wanted of her. She couldn't accept what it was he was offering, no matter how much power, honour and love he tried to tempt her with and in a lot of ways, I think of her devastating visions of doom and death(tm) as a physical parallel to the feelings Helen must be tormented with knowing that she will be cited as the reason of such mass death, destruction and violence. Likewise, I see Apollo's inability to save Kassandra up until the end as representative of his wider inability to save Troy. All his love and blessing were not enough, even though all she had to do was take his hand, it simply wasn't meant to be and so I imagine that must be a fresh hurt for him with each beloved mortal he loses during the campaign.

Kassandra is genuinely so interesting? Both as a character and as a narrative idea; she sits almost in the center of so many fascinating parallels and foils that it gets me so excited whenever she comes up in conversation! I've mentioned it briefly before but she forms a very neat triad with Iphigenia and Troilus which runs parallel to the three dominant male powers in Iliad - Agamemnon, Achilles and Apollo. They're what I somewhat refer to as the sacrifice trio, innocents who must ultimately be abandoned and stripped away for the sake of the desire of their sacrificer, in turn revealing something intrinsic about the nature of the man. For Iphigenia, she reveals that Agamemnon truly values his ambition over all, that his image and status as a leader is more meaningful to him than the love of his family (which, of course, dooms him in the end). Likewise, for Achilles, Troilus' sacrifice reveals that no matter the glamour or glory that crowns Achilles' head, his rage is ultimately his most powerful feeling and it burns bright and hot no matter the circumstance, opponent or arena. For Apollo, Kassandra's sacrifice (which is much more symbolic as he is a god and therefore need not actually physically kill her) reveals his position as the 'loser', one who will be scorned and reviled and lose all the things he loves no matter how closely he cherishes or adorns them. He can't protect the mortals he's blessed, he can't protect his children - he can't even save one woman. She also has that aforementioned triad with Helen and Andromache - the sequestered women; doomed to wait and pray but each, in their own ways working to save and support their own in the conflict. They're all haunted by the promise of what awaits them - Andromache's hopes and future lies with Hector and with her son yet she is the embodiment of a war-wife, solid and stoic in her support when Hector returns but suffering deeply knowing each fight could be his last. Helen, of course, carries with her both the suffering of the greek women and the hatred of their men - if Andromache fears death taking the breath from her beloved fighters then Helen bears the weight of death upon her shoulders, all grief and scorn is bore like a crown upon her head and she must bear it. It is her duty to bear it. Kassandra then becomes the suffering of the young women - they who are surrounding on all sides by throngs of death and do not know why it has come, they whose screams intermix with that of the dead upon them. There is no avatar for Kassandra to experience the war through, no reason for her to be stoic or strong or upright. She tears her hair, hysterical at the suffering that is poured into her mind day in and day out, wild and unrestrained where her elders must hold their grief and tame it. In this way, she gives voice to the voiceless, she screams for those who cannot and is reviled for it - a young woman surrounded by death yet ordered not to speak a word of its stench or horror. There's many more things I can talk about too such as the whole Kassandra as Apollo's living Palladium thing or the Kassandra-Electra-Clytemnestra trio or even Chryseis as a reflection of Kassandra and how the taking of a priest's daughter could be seen as tantamount to trying to steal away Kassandra (and how this eventually wraps back around to the actual incident of Kassandra being stolen away and ending up right back under Agamemnon's care just as Chryseis before her) but like, we would be here all day.

Y'all maybe this is a hot take but scorned woman Kassandra is like, the most boring interpretation of her ever. She has so much life and passion in her, so much joy, so much despair, so much love - making her jaded and cynical towards both her fate and her god is such a slap in the face to me of what her character could and generally does seem to stand for. Kassandra never stopped loving Apollo - likewise, Apollo (at least to me) never abandoned her. All in Troy suffer heavy, cursed fates - Kassandra is one of the few who at least had some awareness of how hers would turn out. I like that she's a fighter. I like that she screams and cries and spits and is expressive and ugly in her torment and grief when so many of the women around her cannot afford to be. I like that she said no and despite how much she suffered for it, she never begged for her yolk to be taken from her because she knew that the choice she made was the right one for her. She's raw, she's vivid, she's human and more than anything, that's what I love so much about her.

[transdemon]

I wanna eat your Gojo art. He looks incredibly edible (compliment)

he's so squishy....

....just a mochi to me 😭🥺🩷🩵

[kenzan-brainrot-mp4]

Adding to the post credits scene a bit. The way Majima kept staring up at the hospital (presumably the floor Kiryu is on) made everything just that much more painful.

And I know this is a reach but I got serious flashbacks to Majima's one-sided attraction to Makoto. It happened again, he fell hard and I don't think he can let go this time. Can they please stop tearing into his feelings like that my god.

OUGH I DIDN'T EVEN THINK OF THAT Of course I guess we can't know for sure, but god. God, Imagine the possibility. *holds head in hands*

Also now that I think about it, you're right, when you put them side-by-side, the shots of Majima walking away from the camera in pirate yakuza is a bit reminiscent of the shot of him in yakuza 0.... Oughh imagine the parallels though, Majima walking away from the viewer and away from Makoto in yakuza 0 (and yk2) with the intent/hope that they never speak to each other or see each other again, vs Majima walking away from viewer but towards Kiryu (y8 gaiden) to spend whatever time he's able to afford left with him.

Obviously there's a lot of factors surrounding why Majima decided to keep Makoto specifically at a distance post-y0, but I think what's killing me with this parallel in particular is the idea that Majima, by the time we get to post-pirate yakuza, doesn't really have anywhere left to run/can't afford to walk away like that with Kiryu in this game.

Like, it's not like with Makoto where he can keep their relationship suspended indefinitely until they forget about each other (or rather Makoto forgets about Majima), it's not like yakuza like. Five-to-infinite wealth where Kiryu was keeping everyone at arm's length, which prevented Majima from really reaching him in general (Majima's own avoidance at being anything but roundabout with Kiryu aside), or all the previous games where Majima could just get away with not voicing his feelings towards Kiryu directly. They're on a very directly stated time limit now (in all fairness rgg has left a window of possibility of Kiryu surviving, but typically you'd probably assume the worst), and now they're in a situation where Kiryu can't push people out anymore, and Majima can't keep this distance going for much longer because he's already spent years and years dancing around this and now he's officially running out of time and he Knows it (basically there's no room left for the possibility of them reaching a point where they can just 'forget about each other and move on', that he was hoping to achieve with Makoto (not that he'd want that atp with Kiryu probably but you get what I mean)). There's nowhere for them to run anymore, so this time when Majima walks away from the viewer, he's actually going to fact the object of his interest, rather than run away from it.

[saltyfinalboss]

He has already caused over $800 million dollars in damage so I think its going well 😌

he rlly did that!

[karkatbug]

I love Grubkat so much with my whole being, and I love the fact that he is getting to grow up loved and cherished and not have to live in fear of himself or his blood color. The fact that both Karkat and Dave have trauma surrounding the color red but won’t allow Grubkat to have that trauma is so important to me. Are they gonna call him anything different to distinguish him and Karkat from each other in name?

They will eventually come up with a name for him, but for now, they have plenty of silly little nicknames to help distinguish him from Karkat!