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the-ginger-avenger · 2 days

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My main gripe about how Ted Lasso handled Jamie and James’s relationship in the second and third season is that, in a way, it contradicts Jamie’s arc from the first season. And I LOVE Jamie’s arc from the first season. I love how sweet Jamie became later in the show, but if I have to pick a Jamie, it would be season one Jamie, hands down. Even with him being an egotistical jerk. Even with him pushing back against everyone who tried to help him. Because that progression he had from the beginning to the end of that season was the most heartfelt, emotionally gut-punching arc for me. And then they ruin it.

Because what is Jamie thanking James for in Mom City? For pushing him to be a better player? Even if you ignore Jamie literally saying in the bonfire episode that his mother is the reason he works so hard, the whole point of his arc in season one was that, while he was a good player, he wasn’t as good as he could be BECAUSE HE WAS THE PLAYER HIS FATHER PUSHED HIM TO BE. Listening to his father, making it all about HIM, acting like he was the only good player on the team, was actually holding him back. And even in the second season, when Jamie talks to Ted about how James keeps pushing him, it’s about the wrong things: how long he plays, how long he sits on the bench, how many times he scores. Every single thing that goes against what Ted was trying to teach Jamie in the first season. So what is he thanking James for? Why did they have Ted go from trying to get Jamie to stop acting the way James wanted him to act, to telling Jamie that a lot of famous people’s dads were “real pieces of work” as if that was the reason they ended up working so hard or became great (can you imagine if, instead of telling Rebecca that she’s not the only one who could see who Rupert actually was, Ted told her that a lot of strong, independent woman had ex-husbands who were “real pieces of work”? It’s infuriatingly dismissive)? And if he’s thanking James for pushing him to be a better player, then he’s thanking James for pushing him to be the player he was in the first season, which they spent at least eight episodes trying to get Jamie to not be that way??

And I honestly don’t think the writers really knew why he was thanking James. You can compare Jamie’s speech in Mom City with Ted’s speech to his mom. Ted clearly lists out what he’s thanking his mother for and what he’s angry with her about. Which works out great because the audience has never met Dottie before. The show only gave bits and pieces about what she was like, or what her relationship with Ted was like, so they had Ted clearly state why so the audience could understand better.

But not Jamie. He doesn’t have to state why he’s angry with his father because the show went to great lengths to show why. Nothing good or redeeming was mentioned about James once in the entire show. That character had maybe a grand total of ten minutes screen time, during which he threw a shoe at his son, screamed at him, got angry when his son wouldn’t let him and his buddies on the pitch, acted like he was going to hit Jamie, and BEAT UP BEARD. So, no, Jamie didn’t have to explain why he was angry. But then he says “thank you” and doesn’t offer any explanation. The show didn’t even give the audience any reason why Jamie should be thanking his dad. Unless, it’s somehow for pushing him. Which again, goes against his arc in the first season, and, in way, makes that whole scene feel like it was put in there solely for Ted’s benefit.

And they could have developed Jamie and James’s relationship more in the third season. Heck, they could have humanized James more, the same why they did with Rupert (who the show actually kept as a villain, who Rebecca let go of her anger towards but was never told to start a relationship with him again. Honestly, the parallels between Rebecca and Jamie’s characters and yet how differently the show handled their arcs makes me go insane but that’s a rant for some other day), but they chose not to which is honestly baffling considering how much screen time Jamie had in the third season. Nothing about his arc should have felt rushed or tossed in at the last minute.

And it’s so opposite from the end of his arc in the first season that it’s like watching two different shows? Because that season one finale? That pass he made at the end of the game? That decision to not listen to his father? That carried so much more weight and so much more character development than that half-baked forgiveness arc.

Because that pass? That was a CHOICE, man. It wasn’t something he did because he was trying to make amends with his teammates. It wasn’t something he did because his current coach was telling him he had to. He passed the ball, he gave up the chance to score the winning goal and the glory that would come from that, even knowing his dad was in the stands, even knowing how angry James would be, because he knew that was the better choice. He knew that made him a better player. (It was also a very strategic move. He knew Zoreaux, and every other player on Richmond, would never even consider that Jamie would pass the ball. You can even see how Zoreaux was fully focused on Jamie. In way, it’s kinda similar to that decoy play Jamie was so against).

And that moment between Jamie and Ted at the end surpasses any other moment they have because it was actually about Jamie, and everything that followed after (except for bringing Jamie back onto the team in season two) felt like it was more for James’s benefit. But that was Ted reaching out to Jamie, giving him that bit of encouragement and praise that his father should have given him. That was Ted, essentially saying “Hey, your dad is wrong. You did a good job." And it’s a very private moment. It’s not in front of cameras or the press or even in front of other players. Ted himself doesn’t even deliver the note. It’s as far from “mind games” as it possibly could be because the season is already over. Richmond has already lost. It’s a “good job, I’m proud of you, now here’s something my son gave me to protect me that I’m now sharing with you”. It’s something short and simple and quiet from someone who is usually very long-winded and convoluted and loud, and it is so much more sincere because of that and you can see how much that impacted Jamie.

And wouldn’t it have been more impactful, for both Ted’s arc and Jamie’s arc, if Ted hadn’t told Jamie to forgive James? If Ted had been able to heal enough to take a step back and look at the situation without it getting tangled up in his own trauma and guilt over what happened to his dad? Wouldn't it have been deeper for Ted, who later would learn that yeah, his son might end up leaving him but he still has to try, to have actually seen a situation where a son chooses to not reach out to his father? Wouldn't it have been more profound for Jamie to no longer let his actions be dictated by his anger or his feelings towards his father. He's no longer angry, but he's also no longer striving for his father's approval either. He no longer cares if his father thinks he's weak or not (kind of like how Rebecca stopped letting her anger and hurt over Rupert control how she reacted, and yet didn't have to start a relationship with him? But again, they paralleled each other and yet they took them in completely different directions). They could have had a moment that had the same amount of emotional weight as that scene in the last season, but no. Apparently we should just forget everything that happened in the first season because James was actually doing his son a favor the entire time.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #james tartt sr #I don't know if this makes any sense #it's been a year and I'm still so angry over that mess of a third season #so many things that happened in the third season contradicted what happened in the first #and you don’t mess with that first season #that first season was perfect #they can pry that from my cold dead hands #this got super long sorry #the Ted lasso brain rot has come back #and sadly so did the season three hatred rot

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magpiepills · 3 days

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Honor and Obey

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia x Santi’s wife! Reader

Word count: 3.9

Summary:you are Santi’s wife and when Frankie moves in, you have an idea that Santi helps you make a reality.

Warnings: SMUT! Threesome, sort of fucking, oral m and f receiving, m/m dynamics, sort of dom reader, sort of sub Frankie and Santi, Frankie is the Pussy Eating King, big dicks, teasing, flirting, mentions of alcohol, mentions of curls, fuck licking, cum shots, creampies, a little overstimulation, one spank, pwp, just porn. Possibly more, idk.

A word from the author: This is a repost! this has been rotting away in my WIPs for months. I am in a little slump working on Made Me Love You, so I decided to finish this to hopefully get things going again. It’s not my best work, and I may fix it up and post another version some other time. Maybe not. Who knows. Anyway, here it is.

Frankie knew exactly what he was getting into when he came to stay with his best friend and his new wife after his lady finally kicked him out. The lies and the coke and the abandonment for misguided jungle romps were finally too much for her.

When Santi offered the spare bedroom in the house they’d just bought, Frankie gladly accepted. How could he say no to a roof over his head, his best friend down the hall, and you?

It was so innocent at first that he felt like it was his fault. You’d left the door open when you showered. He didn’t mean to see you, naked and wet, patting your hair with a towel when he walked down the hall. He reluctantly looked away.

When the three of you lounged by the pool, he dove into the water when Santi untied your top and reapplied your sunscreen, then left you shiny, slick, and bare under the warm July sun. Frankie didn’t bother pretending not to look. You smiled at him and raised one knee, planting your foot on the lounge chair and letting it drop just enough to give Frankie something to think about later in his room alone, heavy cock in his fist.

Frankie couldn’t deny his attraction to you. Anyone who looked at you would fall for you. You were beautiful in an effortless way, warm and always interested in what others had to say, making everyone feel special and important. Your hair, your face, your body, your voice, Frankie knew exactly what had attracted his lovesick friend to you.

Once he understood what you wanted, he even let himself flirt with you a bit. He winked at you when your eyes met. He went commando under his gray sweatpants, settling them low on his waist, jutting his hips out just so while he stood at the foot of the couch while you read. He let his touch linger on your waist when he scooted between you and the counter in the kitchen, fingertip grazing the soft skin under your shirt, light enough that you might believe it was an accident.

•••••••••••••••••

Weeks went by, glances became stares, and brushes of bare skin became teasing touches. Frankie was in a constant state of sexual frustration. His mouth watered, his cock was half hard, he spilled his seed over his stomach every night as he thought of you. You bent over the couch, you on your knees, you sitting on his face and coming on his tongue. He imagined what you might sound like when you begged him to fuck you harder. It drove him mad.

•••••••••••••••

Your own patience was wearing thin. You weren’t sure how much longer you could restrain yourself, to play innocent, keep your hands to yourself. How many more ways could you temp him? You’d done your best to goad him into coming on to you, but he had never crossed the line from longful looks and lingering touches. Every day you wanted to push Frankie against a wall and drop to your knees taking his cock as far down your throat as you could. He just didn’t seem to be getting the message. Santi laughed at your failed seduction, he had tried to help, but couldn’t be mad at the restraint Frankie had shown with another man’s wife.

When you couldn’t wait any longer, Santiago had taken Frankie out for a drink and clapped him on the shoulder as he explained that he needed Frankie to stop being so respectful. It took several more drinks before Frankie was convinced it wasn’t a joke or a trick and that you actually wanted to fuck him and that Santi was not just ok with it, that you’d be fucking them both. His head spun, not just from the Stella.

••••••••••

Two nights later, it was time for your date as you’d taken to calling it. You had told Santi exactly what was to happen. “He’s going to be good, isn’t he Santi?” You asked him, nuzzling into his chest while you sat waiting with your husband for his best friend to get out of the shower. Santi never got tired of telling you how much he and his friend were going to enjoy sharing you. He hummed into your hair, thick arms around your waist. You let your mind drift to images of Frankie in the steamy stall, soaping his body, suds rolling down his broad chest to his soft belly. Images of his big hands sliding over his arms and to his cock. You knew it must be something special. You’d seen him in those sweatpants, knees spread wide on the couch. His bulge may as well have had a neon arrow pointing at it.

When Frankie emerged, warm and slightly damp, smelling like citrus and mint, hair damp and curling wildly, you pressed a drink into his hand and guided him to the couch next to Santiago while you took your seat in a chair across from them. Santi raises his own glass in silent, subtle greeting as you spoke, soft and sweet. There was no sense in wasting time.

“Touch him.”

Your command was gentle.

“Touch him?” Frankie asked, eyes wide and voice wavering.

You nod and smile patiently, your eyes never breaking his gaze as you sip from your glass before continuing. “Why don’t you help him out of his shirt?”

Frankie shifted up onto his knees and scooted closer to his friend, he had heard what you said too, and made room for Frankie between his legs. There was no hesitancy about him at all, just a buzz of desire and the smell of sweet cologne.

“Gotta do what she wants, Fish. Happy wife, happy life, right?” Santi’s gaze was steady and sure, leaving no room for second thoughts.

Kneeling between Santiago’s knees on the couch, he reached hesitantly for the hem, tongue slowly licking across his bottom lip as he pulled the t-shirt over his friend's head, making his thick, dark curls bounce.

Frankie tossed the shirt at your feet.

“Now yours. Let him take it off.” Your directions were cool and calm, but heat was building inside you, Santi had delivered on his promise to bring you your third and now it was time to see how he would behave for you.

Frankie kept his eyes on you as Santi leaned forward to drag the shirt up Frankie’s torso, finally revealing his strong, wide shoulders and a soft belly with a trail of dark hair leading down under his jeans.

He was perfect.

“I’d like Santi to kiss you, Frankie. Is that alright?”

Frankie nodded, but didn’t look back at his friend until Santi wrapped his warm hand around the back of his neck. Frankie let his eyes fall, glassy and half lidded, to Santi’s plush lips, then lifted them to meet the other man’s intense gaze. Frankie lifted his own hand and mirrored Santi’s grip on his neck before tilting his head slightly, just enough for Santi to catch his lips in a deep kiss.

Santi, of course, had left this part out. He had explained that his wife wanted to have sex with him, and that she wanted Santi to be there. Frankie assumed that this was some cuck kink they had and he was more than ok with that. It stroked his ego to give a woman what another man couldn’t. The prospect of Santi joining them changed the dynamic a little, but Frankie was game. Santi was handsome and flirtatious, the two men had toed the line of flirtation themselves for years. It shouldn’t have been a surprise.

••••••••••••••••

You looked on, feeling warmer by the minute, a dampness growing between your thighs as you watched two such masculine men, so powerful and strong making out for your enjoyment.

Santi’s hand drifted down Frankie’s back, and his other hand came to cup his cheek posessively. Again, Frankie mirrored his action and cradled Pope’s cheek in his hand, deepening the kiss.

“Take his pants off, Santiago.” You directed from your perch. You wanted to see who got hard first.

Santi broke the kiss, and guided Frankie to stand while he unbuttoned his jeans, drew the zipper downward, and pushed the soft denim off his narrow hips, leaving him in snug gray boxers, ones that you had picked out.

Frankie stepped out of his jeans and looked to you for approval or direction or anything, but it wasn’t necessary. The look on your face urged him on. He looped his index fingers through his friend's belt loops and pulled him closer to strip him of his pants as well, leaving him in a pair of matching underwear, just how you wanted them.

Nearly bare, the energy in the room thrummed. It felt warmer, more humid, felt as if the walls had closed in.

You didn't need to tell them what to do next, the two men, older, graying, battle scarred, no strangers to violence, held each other close and kissed with a passion that you hadn’t expected, Frankie leaned down to close the difference in their height, Santi kept a guiding hand on Frankie’s cheek.

“Alright Santiago, Francisco. I want to see you now. Both of you. All of you. Is he hard, Santi? Why don’t we find out” Santi grinned up at Frankie, and chuckled as he brought his hand to grip at the taller man’s half hard cock before hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pushing them down to the middle of his thighs.

“Tsk. I think you can do better than that, sweetheart. I need him hard. Help him out. Get on your knees for him.” Frankie’s head snapped to you, his eyes wide, unable to believe this is what you wanted. He only had to look at the way your chest heaved as you watched the men act out your fantasies to know you were serious. Santi, on the other hand, needed no confirmation. You were the boss. He had already dropped to his knees, cock in his hand, ready to show you exactly what you wanted to see.

With you in the chair soaking your panties and directing your own personal porno and Santi on the floor, tugging at his throbbing length, all of Frankie’s inhibitions evaporated. With no hesitation left, he threaded his thick fingers into Santi’s curls and pulled him close until his cheek was against his hip and his lips just inches from his quickly hardening length. “Do as she says, Pope. Suck.”

No sooner than the words left Frankie’s mouth, a shadow seemed to cross his best friend’s face and he huffed through his teeth, greedily taking Frankie’s cock into his mouth. His eyes were dark and dangerous as he stared up, groans rumbling deep in his chest as he worked the length into his throat, all for your pleasure. “That’s it. Take my cock down your throat. Suck it like you mean it.” As Frankie spoke he began to thrust his hips shallowly. He loved the power of having a strong man on his knees. Santi was a year or so younger, shorter but thick with muscle where Frankie was tall and lean. Santi’s beard grew in thicker but grayed sooner, making him look older where Frankie had maintained a bit of boyishness into his forties. Neither had ever wanted for the company of women.

“Don’t let him come.” Your words were sharp and cut through Frankie’s panting and murmuring and the squelching of his cock against the back of Santi’s throat. The men immediately stilled, and Frankie’s cock was left wet with saliva and his hands tight fists at his sides. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathed deeply, and willed himself back from the edge.

“It’s your turn now, Frankie. Help Santiago. Get him close. Frankie’s heart pounded in his chest, suddenly unsure of his own abilities. Frankie knew exactly what to do for women, knew what to do for himself, knew how he liked to be touched, but he wasn’t sure how to touch his best friend to make him feel good and he really wasn’t sure what you wanted to see. He took a deep breath, and decided he would stick with what he knew.

Frankie pushed Santi backwards by his hips, smirking down at him before looking back to you. “He likes taking directions, doesn’t he? He likes being good.” Then turned back to Santi. “You’re going to be good aren’t you?” Not waiting for a response, he shoved him gently onto the couch, anchoring his hips with both hands and kissing down Santi’s woolly jaw, down his neck, across his scarred shoulder, then slowly back to suck dark marks across his throat. He could feel the vibration of the other man’s soft moans, it ignited something familiar in him, a need to take him apart, explore every piece, study and commit it all to memory, tuck it away for reference, become the expert on his needs. Not now, though. Now he just settled between Santi’s knees.

You crossed the room to sit on your knees next to your boyfriend, up close you could see the shine of saliva on his chest, hear his heavy breaths as Frankie took his twitching cock in hand and began to stroke him in long, firm movements. “You’re hard as a fuckin’ rock, Pope. You like this? Like letting your girl watch you suck my cock? Yeah. You like getting on your knees,too. Did good, Pope. Almost had me coming down your throat.” Santi whimpered at Frankie’s words, closing his eyes, furrowing his thick brows.

Licking his lips, Frankie moved slowly, lowering his head, licking a wide, slow stripe up the underside of Santi’s cock, mimicking the way he ate pussy, something he knew he excelled at.

Your eyes met Frankie’s as he continued licking and swirling his tongue over your boyfriend’s shaft. The sight sent a fresh wave of arousal to your already dripping core. You imagined him between your own legs, his expert tongue and wide hands working you to your release.

Santi’s whimpering and squirming brought you back to the moment, reminding you that this was for your pleasure, not theirs. You are in control, and they’ll do what you say. Breathlessly, you command Frankie to stop,and he sits back, panting and needy, but obedient. His hand splayed over your thigh, silently begging for you to give him his next command. You placed your hand over his, admiring the difference in size and texture, his much larger and rougher than your own, callused and rough with thick veins across the back, but his nails were blunt and clean. You squeezed his hand before turning your focus to Santi, who was watching how you looked at his friend. He recognized the lust in your eyes, recognized the same in himself. When he shifted closer to you, you reached for him, pulling him into a kiss.

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know Frankie was watching intently, canting his hips, searching for relief he wasn’t due. You simply held out your hand for him and he rose, planting his knees between yours and Santi’s so that he could straddle your legs at the same time before inviting himself into your kiss, licking at where your lips met, mouthing at you and his former squad mate, noses bumping.

Santi broke the kiss, pulling Frankie by his thick curls into a deep kiss of their own before guiding his face to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me what you can do, Frank. Santi’s been telling me you’ve got quite a reputation. I really want to see for myself what kind of skills you have. See if you really are “the pussy-eating king.”

How devious he looked, lips curling into a smirk at your challenge.

“Alright, cariño. I’ll show you, but don’t be disappointed when nobody ever does it good enough after this.”

He didn’t waste any more time. He pulled you down the couch so you were on the edge of the cushion, and lifted your knees. “Hold her knee, Santi.” The men worked as a team, it should have been no surprise. Santi’s familiar hand held your left knee up and out, giving Frankie unfettered access while he kissed you, licking into your mouth, grunting into you as you lazily stroked your husband’s cock.

Frankie rubbed over the soft skin of your thighs with his warm, rough hands. He squeezed and kneaded and worked his way down to your mound, covering it with one hand and gently sliding the heel of his hand to your clit, circling it, rolling it, making you groan into Santi’s mouth, your hand stilling on his cock.

Frankie’s left hand joined his right at your glistening pussy and he let his fingertips slip over your folds, smearing your slick from where it pooled up over your clit, rubbing with intention there before fluttering over your delicate inner folds. You gasped when he thumbed a wet stripe of your own slick over your pebbled nipple, and whined when Santi was quick to cover it with his mouth, tasting you there, cock twitching with need.

You were wetter than you could ever remember being. Almost embarrassingly so. Your pussy, Frankie’s fingers, down onto the couch you dripped, and when he pushed two thick fingers into you, the wet sounds were obscene. He twisted his wrist, licked and sucked your throbbing clit, groaning and humming against you as he worked you diligently toward your orgasm.

Santi’s eyes were locked to where Frankie devoured you, even as he kissed you and kneaded your tits, pinching and rolling your nipples, helping push you closer to the edge.

“Fuck. Doin so good do us, baby. Look at you. This what you wanted? Want him to make you come?”

You whimpered into Santi’s cheek, nodding, delirious with pleasure so many sensations overwhelmed you. “Close!” You managed finally. Frankie had taken his sweet time about your cunt, applying his tongue, his lips, his fingers with precision, easing you up to the apex of pleasure. With one last focused effort, he tongues your clit while he crooked his fingers against the spot inside you that he knew would finish you off.

You writhed, squeezing his head between your thighs while Santi kissed you messily, letting your climax wash over you until you were dazed and panting, too sensitive to move.

One of them handed you your drink and you sipped it as you came back to yourself, only then seeing the hungry way they looked at you. Santi ran his land through your hair and Frankie kissed your thigh and rubbed your knee.

“Frankie that was amazing. Santi, thank you.” You kissed Santi again, grateful that he was so willing and happy to let another man, his best friend eat you out to the best orgasm you’d ever gotten from oral, and possibly ever. But you knew that wasn’t where this would end. You placed your empty glass on the table and reached for Frankie, kissing him, unsure if that was crossing a boundary, but too deep into this dynamic to care. You pulled him onto the couch, sandwiching yourself between the men. Frankie leaned in to kiss you again, the force pushed you back into Santi’s warm chest and you felt his scratchy chin on your shoulder, voice soft, urging you onto Frankie’s lap.

“Don’t you want to show him how grateful you are? Why don’t you help him now, cariño?”

You turned to kiss Santi, but the moment was interrupted by Frankie’s hand landing a sharp smack on your ass. My turn.

You crawled onto his lap, whining when his cock brushed against your over-sensitive cunt. You settled happily with your arms around his neck, kissing him while he squeezed the plush round of your ass, letting him pull you up to bury his face between your tits, kissing and nipping at your soft skin, breathing deep to smell your sweat and perfume.

“Lift up. Want you to sit on this big cock.” You obeyed, raising enough for him to run the thick head of his cock through your slick folds and tease at your entrance, making you whine until Santi stopped you. “Uh uh. Not like that.” He pulled you to your feet and spun you around. “Like this.” He pushed your hips back and together he and Frankie guided you to sink down the thick length of Frankie’s cock. You squeezed your eyes shut and moved slowly, breathing deeply and adjusting to the full, throbbing, wanting ache of your pussy around him. When you felt ready to move, you opened them to find your husband between your wide open legs, staring darkly at the place where Frankie entered you. The delicate skin stretched so prettily over a big cock. He didn’t think he would ever get the image out of his mind. Neither the sight nor the sound of slapping skin, the harmony of your cries and Frankie’s grunts as he fucked up slowly into you. Not the smell of your arousal, covering all three of you now.

Frankie’s arms were around you, one across your stomach and one across your chest, giving him leverage to fuck your as he saw fit. Soft and crazy or hard and fast. He tried it all and you took it. You took his cock while Santi shifted on his knees, face mere inches from where you were speared on Frankie’s fat cock. He watched you rub your clit in small circles before he knocked your hand away. “Yeah. Look at that. Look at that pretty pussy. Look at how greedy. Think we could both fit?” Santi teased, before spitting onto your pussy. He watched it drip down past your clit before leaning in to lick it back up. He repeated the vulgar action, then sucked your swollen clit between his full lips.

You couldn’t help the pornographic moaning. Frankie cursed in Spanish under you as your clenched around him. When Santi relented, releasing your clit, they spoke strained, clipped sentences to each other in their native tongue. Frankie thrust deeper and Santi resumed his licking, fisting his own turgid member while thumbing at your puffy lips, licking up your slick, then tipping his head lower to press his tongue right over the place where Frankie entered you. He was wild, licking and mouthing as your cunt and Frankie’s cock, laving wet licks over his friend’s heavy balls until Frankie slammed into you one last time, filling you with his hot cum, fucking it deep. As Frankie covered you on the inside, Santi jerked himself to completion, shooting his load onto your cunt in thick white ribbons, lacing it over Frankie’s balls, the bottom of his cock. He admired his work for several moments, heart racing. He watched as Frankie’s cum began to leak out of you and dripped down fo mix with his own on Frankie’s cock.

When the three of you peeled yourselves apart, you relaxed a while on the desecrated sofa, Santi held you and you held Frankie. You ran your hands through his sweat damp curls, kissed his neck tenderly, told him how good he did. You gave Santi the same treatment, showering him with adoration and gratitude for agreeing to this and for helping you bring Frankie into the fold.

“Next time,” Santi suggested, “we should film it.”

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters #bat writes #smut #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x santiago garcia #catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #pope Garcia #Frankie x Santi x you

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lily-fics-11 · 19 hours

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Good Luck, Babe! Part 1 (Ellie Williams, TLOU)

Good Luck, Babe! Part 1 //Ellie Williams, TLOU//

(Inspired by Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan)

@dynsdiary made a post about Ellie x closet!reader Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan and I couldn’t go to sleep without writing it, so this is not super well edited

Word count: 1.2k

CW: Angst, profanities, allusions to sex, internalized homophobia, drinking, not well edited

You had spent another night with Ellie and you slipped out of her bed without waking her up around sunrise like you always do.

The feelings you have for Ellie Williams are undeniably strong, but you won’t let yourself take things further than your sexually explicit kind of love affair. You are straight. “I just needed a little lovin’,” you reassure yourself every time she has you moaning her name.

Even if you were gay, you would never come out of the closet. Certain members of your family, and several of your friends, would exile you. You see how many of the people in town treat Ellie like a pariah, and you know you aren’t strong enough to live like that.

*****

Waiting for your drink at the bar, a mere 12 hours later, you feel an arm slip around your waist. Your head snaps around to see Ellie’s mischievous grin emerald eyes. You push her away from you and hiss “not here Ellie, not in front of these people, not in front of anyone.”

Ellie looks heartbroken, running her hand through her auburn hair and averting her eyes. “You know I cry when you leave without saying goodbye. It’s not fair.” She whispers in distress. That rips your heart in two. Ellie deserves so much better than this but you are too selfish to let her go. “Can we please talk about this?” She begs.

“Fine, but not right now.” You promise her and she looks relieved. You instruct her to find you before she leaves and she bites back a smile before disappearing into the crowd. Thoughts of Ellie consume you for the rest of the night. The loud music isn’t enough to drown it out so you come up with a different plan.

You find the most eligible bachelor in the bar and bet him a kiss if he can beat you at darts, knowing you wouldn’t win. You are more than happy to oblige when one of his objectively attractive friends wants to make the same deal.

Approaching the poker table without any cash, you put in 5 kisses to the winner as your buy in instead of the $5 they were asking for.

About three drinks in, you tell one of your close guy friends that you would finally give him the chance he has always wanted with you. If he could take the most shots in 30 seconds. You know he could out drink you on your best day, and he celebrates his victory with a passionate make out session against the wall in a dark corner. When you finally pull away from him you stumble out of the bar and sit on the curb, you need a little air.

Ellie is the only thing on your mind, she has anchored herself there and held on through every forced kiss. At first you think you are imagining her beautifully familiar laugh. When you look up and see that she is actually there, she rolls her eyes. “You are so cliche.”

“Who cares?” You reply nonchalantly with a smirk and you can see a darkness grown in her eyes as she is overcome by anger.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” She snaps.

You bat your eyes at her the way you always do, hoping it will calm her down. “I’m just having a good time.”

Your flirty disposition does nothing to soften her anger. “Right in front of my face? With this…this thing between us?”

“Ellie I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, there is nothing between us. We are not together. We are nothing,” you remind her.

“You know what, it’s fine.” She spats. “It’s cool. I may be a fool but I know that you know the truth. Make a new excuse, another stupid reason. I know how I feel about you, and I can’t do this anymore.” Ellie turns to walk away and you grab her hand. “I don’t want to call it off!”

“But you don’t want to call it love!” She yells at you.

“Ellie please keep it down, we aren't the only ones out here.”

She obviously doesn’t care. “You can tell me you want that, why can’t you tell me what you really want?!”

You squint your eyes, growing irritable and raising your voice. “I’ve told you what I want, so please, tell me what you think I want.”

“You only wanna be the one that I call “baby”.” Ellie tells you as she kicks a rock.

You stand up. “So what if I like being called “baby” by you? So what if I have feelings I don’t want to admit? That doesn’t mean I’m going to throw my life away. This is just the way I am. I will do whatever it takes to fight the feeling.”

Ellie gets right up in your face. “You can say that’s just the way you are, but do you really think this is a battle you can win? You came onto me. I see the way that you look at me. I’ve heard the sounds you make when I touch you and I’ve listened to you beg for more. Go ahead, you can kiss a hundred boys in bars. I’ve seen the way you cringe away from them.”

“I just get nervous.” You roll your eyes and take a step back. “Nothing a few drinks can’t fix.”

“You’ve had plenty to drink. But feel free to shoot another shot to try to stop the feeling. Eventually you’ll drink yourself to death and that’s the only way you are going to escape.” Ellie has never been so harsh with you and her words hit you like a freight train.

“I would stop the whole world if it meant I could stop this feeling!” You cry out, on the verge of tears.

“That’s not how it works, babe. I can see it all now. You, in the years, with some sad excuse for a husband and a couple of bratty kids. You’ll wake up next to him in the middle of the night and look over at him in disgust. Put your head in your hands and cry because you are nothing more than his wife. You are going to think about me, all of those years ago, and want to sneak out on him while he sleeps, like you always did to me. Oh how the tables will have turned. But you won’t leave. You are too proud to come face to face with I told you so. You know that I would hate to say it, but all I would be able to say is ‘I told you so’.”

The tears start to fall, you can’t hold them back any longer. “Fine Ellie. I’ll admit it. I don’t want to be stuck with some man for the rest of my life.”

She crosses her arms. “I think I’m going to call this off.”

You try to plead with her. “Please don’t do this to me Ellie. I just wanna love someone who calls me ‘baby’. You call me baby. Would you still leave if I called this love?”

“Even if you call it love.”

You literally get down on your knees to beg. “Please Ellie!” You sob pathetically.

She backs away from you, and her face is saying that this hurts her more than it’s hurting you. “Good luck, babe.”

Update: Someone mentioned wanting a happy ending and I had so much fun writing this, so I will be writing a part 2! If you are here for the angst you can end here but a happy ending will be coming soon in part 2!

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mangakachan · 3 days

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“And there was another man who began writing a story. That story, full of hope, has only just begun”

(Spoilers for the ending of Princess Tutu!)

Daisies, like many flowers, symbolize new beginnings. Blackthorns, though prickly, offer a safe refuge for birds to roost and nest. Put together, I think these flowers are truly a perfect match for Ahiru and Fakir, whom by helping and supporting each other, are able to leads everyone to a new beginning at the end of the story.

That being said, those of you who’ve watched the anime to the end know the scene I depicted is not canon. But those last words from the narrator, combined with the image of a winged Ahiru making the sign for love with the words “Auf Wiedersehen” (which in German literally means “until we meet again”) left a HUGE impression on me as a fan all the way back in 2006. I always felt it was an invitation to the audience to imagine their own story for Ahiru and Fakir’s future, and safe to say, it launched a thousand ships within the fandom and birthed a whole slew of fanfics in its wake. I was amongst those who set out with their own stories for these characters, though mine ended up going the AU route and is still chugging along, 15 years later! 😆

And that is all for the Princess Tutu Flores Aurei series! I’ll be focusing on said fanfic for a bit but I hope to start on some additional Sailor Moon designs later on. And just as another reminded, there is a potential for these to become enamel pins in the future, so if you are interested, please give moonie_fan_collections a follow on Instagram and let her know you’d like to get these as pins one day (we had tentatively discussed possibly offering the designs as a set of two based on pairings, i.e., kinda like what you see with the Fakiru designs here).

Princess Tutu series parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 & 10 / 11 & 12

#princess tutu #fakir #ahiru #fakiru

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rwby-confess · 3 days

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Confession #89

#rwby #confessed by anonymous #I dont really ship them myself but real !!!#strawbana #sun wukong #Ruby Rose #shipping #I imagine in the beacon days Ruby getting flustered/embarrased over being with Sun who is token hot guy with fangirls (see: v3 tournament)#(+ being let into the school early and being team leader and now this)#Sun is actually just dork so he didnt even think about how others would see it all but insists that it doesnt matter #maybe there would even be people who'd say team SSSN is almost perfect (bunch of token hot guys) if it wasnt the faunus leader #so he doesnt think about how his team looks or how he affects it #Ruby loves his gunchuks and Sun tries many time teach her how to use them (shes used to handling only one and way heavier weapon...)#post beacon Sun would send her lots of messages asking if shes okay and they'd send memes to each other #Ruby also would ask him to look after Blake since she knows hes with her #they would talk about their leader skills which would eventually prompt Sun going back to his'#slay #they would be cute #WHEN RUBY FEELS SOCIALLY ANXIOUS HE COULD HELP HER GROUND WITH SOOTHING HER WITH HIS TAIL OMG #okay thats all #maybe #rare pairs

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sophieeeet · 3 days

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Do that again, Baby.

OT5 X Reader Series ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Pairing: Husband! Yeonjun X PregnantWife Fem!reader

Warning: General Fluff, Tooth-roting fluff, Written au, Pregnancy, Husband x Wife

Genre: When Their Baby kicks for the First time

YEONJUN | 연준

Yeonjun was always all over you, one clingy and affectionate husband.

Truthfully, while you would like to say that he is annoying and is making you regret ever getting pregnant, you have to admit that he makes being pregnant a lot easier to endure. His light-hearted way of speaking puts you at easy somehow.

He also made it very obvious that he is excited for the baby, maybe even more than you’re. one of the many ways he shows his enthusiasm is through buying baby clothes and baby equipment and I mean a shit ton of them.

That’s why you’re not surprised when he enters the house with yet another batch of baby clothes, “wifey, I am home!”

You get up and waddle your way to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “what did you get this time?”

“I thought you would never ask,” he smirks before pulling out each and every one of the outfits he got.

You’re sat on the couch with a cup of your favourite warm drink as you listen to his rambles, “first off, I got this really cute pink dress! Call it a dad’s instinct but I think she will have these beautiful pink cheeks I swear I can feel it ,” he grins.

You nod absentmindedly as he continues, “second, I got this yellow jump suit? Cute right? Well I bought them in our size too, family matching night !!” he talks as if he is rapping and you roll your eyes smiling. He resumes, “eh, I don’t care, but it’s pretty so who cares?”

He puts the clothes aside before kneeling in front you, hand resting on your stomach, “right, baby?” he coos, “daddy’s going to get you all the pretty outfits you want!”

You’re about to drift to sleep while your husband busies himself with the baby, but you’re quickly brought back to consciousness when you feel her kick against your stomach.

Your husband’s gasp quickly follows after before he presses his ear to your stomach, “can you do that again for me, pretty?”

His other hand moves to hold your own and he guides your hand to his hair, “somehow, this is making me realize just how close she is to finally join us, right, wifey?”

“right, ‘junie,” you smile softly and he quickly starts peppering your face with kisses, murmuring about how his pretty wife is simply

Irresistible.

“ she’s going to be our sunshine right babe? ” Yeonjun asks after he settles down in the Crook of your neck.

“Of course she’s going to be our little sunshine bundle, she’ll have everyone wrapped around her tinny finger prepping her with love and gifts especially her Uncles” you reply with a laugh as you can imagine how they’re gonna spoil her with her dad.

“ yeahh’ but you know’ I have to keep her away from Beomgyu, I’m afraid he infect her with his Annoying presence ” Your husband mumbles against your neck as you smack his chest from his broken humour.

“ He’s funny Junie, also He is fun to be around with , I personally think our baby gonna love all four of them ” getting a nod from Yeonjun as he smiles while massaging your belly.

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eldritch-spouse · 2 days

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I want to know how many monsters spend their paychecks at Gallon's bar crying because they developed feelings for Santi 💀

" I just... He's so amazing man. I don't even know why I'm crying, I don't deserve him. "

The latest sad sap cries onto his precious counter. Gallon circumvents them to give Fasma a shot of plain whiskey.

" You really don't. " He mumbles.

" H- Huh? "

" Nothing. Say champ, why not have another night with the hunk if you like him so much? " The bartender tilts his head, trying to cheer up the loser, or get them off his metaphorical nuts.

The monster sniffles, looking into the distance, where none other than the incubus is seen on his knees, hands on his thighs and tongue out as he apparently waits for a woman to squirt in his mouth while her hammered friends cheer her on. Gallon follows their gaze. Yeah, seems like a standard night for the resident manwhore.

" Just look at him, so radiant, so perfect. I don't want sex, dude- I want to love him! "

Fasma grimaces, definitely not because of the alcohol. He's seen Santi effortlessly do some of the dirtiest shit he could ever imagine, the thought of kissing those lips could send the old geezer into an early grave.

Gallon continues to work. " Oh boy. " He hopes this one makes a scene. It's a bit fun when they break down and throw a tantrum because the incubus won't give them the light of day unless they're putting out.

The depressed sod sniffles. " Do you think I have a chance? I... I have his phone number. "

Everyone and their mother has Santi's phone number. Maybe their father too.

Gallon grins creepily wide. " Suuure buddy, give it an honest shot. The worst he can say is no, right? " Fasma wordlessly shakes his head in disapproval of the slime's cruelty.

His client starts clumsily tip-tapping at their phone, likely typing something extensive and heartfelt, and now Gallon has to admit he's invested. If only because he knows how it'll end, and he likes to see the light fade from a hopeless romantic's eyes.

A phone eventually pings on the opposite corner of the counter, Santi's. It prompts the incubus to come over, still sucking the cuntjuice out of his fingers, some coating his chin. He doesn't bother to look around as he unlocks his device and squints at the notification. Gallon, Fasma and the client are eerily silent while he opens the text.

The incubus reads about the first three lines, frowns, then looks up. " Gallon, are you busy? "

" Uhh... Not any more than usual, why? "

The phone is slid his way. " Write me a rejection message here, please. I don't want this one coming back. "

And just like that, he turns back around, likely to see if any of the other girls can play with him too.

Gallon has to contain a maddening bark of laughter that is slowly turning him orange. He didn't even recognize the mess of a monster looking so hopefully at him from just across the counter. Oh that has got to sting!

He absolutely loses his cool and has to muffle his cackling when the monster in question wails brokenly and buries their head in their arms, sobbing like a dejected baby.

Fasma pats their back twice. They need that whiskey more than him.

#Gallon oc #Santi oc #Fasma oc #tce rp ask #pov: Santi rejects you

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shimmershy · 1 day

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You could just talk or ramble about how you imagine drawing you're oc and give update for us and you, could be fun.

True, I could do that! I'm a little hesitant to talk about my OCs because most of my ideas are very much in the "just vibes and vague concepts" stage, and I want to figure them out a little more before I share them anywhere. But I do like talking about these two:

This is Mellody and Blu! A doodle from almost exactly two years ago but that's alright. They're the characters I've had the longest, and the ones I've put the most thought into over the years, so they're really important to me. I haven't actually done much to start writing their story yet but..... I will someday. Soon I hope. Basically Blu can erase memories from other people, but it has Consequences, and he's very bad at setting boundaries so it ends up taking a toll on his mental health over time. Mellody doesn't have any special abilities, but she DOES have trust issues and Trauma and a whole lot of personality. They're enemies at first, not due to any negative feelings on Blu's part, but only because Mellody decides she hates him when they first meet and she proceeds to go out of her way to mess with him. But they have a lot of shared angst and issues that leads to them becoming good friends eventually. But yeah I love these guys so much. They're my faves they're my Guys they're the OGs. I have so many random facts about them and their world/story floating around in my head and one day they'll get a comic or something. :]

I guess I've never really posted about any of my OCs on Tumblr? Mayyybe I'll do it more in the future, we'll see.

#ask #godofchaoss #my art #Volta's OCs #idk if anyone else would be interested in my characters especially with just a simple description of them #but I took this as an opportunity to ramble a teeny tiny bit anyway so thank you heeheehee

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fushipurro · 2 days

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Red Lights Red Flags

Chapter 8 - Secrets & Betrayal

<- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, implied non-con (two very brief sentences), emotional hurt/little comfort, physical violence, degradation, angst

☆ Word Count: 3.6k

As warmer weather takes hold and the trees begin to flower, it’s a sure sign that spring is on the horizon. Not a cloud in the sky dares to block out the sun, and all the mounds of snow are but a distant memory. However. in its wake, the ground is left exceedingly parched, with no telling of rain to cleanse its thirst.

With these conditions, many of the courtesans have taken to spend their daylight hours enjoying the light out on porches or in the courtyard of the brothel. Shion had made plans with you ahead of time to enjoy some tea with her, alongside a few others close to her.

You enter the courtyard, making your way towards the gazebo with a tray in hand, only to see that the guests of honor or none other than two other high-ranking flowers ─ Murasaki and Tsubaki.

The latter perks up upon your arrival, cheerfully pressing her palms together. “You must be Marigold,” she greets with a rich, sultry voice, “Come, sit with us, my dear.”

You dip your head in a slight bow, setting the tray down and distributing ceramic cups evenly filled with fresh tea first. In the presence of Shion alone, you feel comfortable being yourself without all the extra mannerisms expected of you. But with this being your first formal meeting with the reigning courtesans, you decide it best to appear proper and refined.

The last thing you want is another ordeal about respect or remembering your place like Botan had beaten into you.

The three flowers carry the weight of the conversation while you opt to sit in silence, enjoying this chance to be in their presence. Contrary to the rivalries you’ve witnessed in your working career, these women act as though they’re friends ─ sisters even.

There’s no tension or complaints, simply humor and mundane conversations. At least, until Tsubaki narrows in on a topic that unravels that momentary peace.

“Have you heard the news yet?” She asks, her question posed towards the aster.

Shion’s response comes with a smile laced in underlying sorrow, “I have, it’s quite a shame.” There’s a brief pause as she sips on her tea. You glance up to them with a raised brow, unsure what they’re referring to. “I’ll miss days like these after you’re gone.”

“As will I,” Murasaki speaks with a somber tone, but her lips form a smile nearly betraying those feelings. “I am looking forward though to my new life.”

“Where are you going?” you ask, unable to sustain your curiosity any further.

“I’m to be sold to one of my top clients ─ an official from the Kamo Clan,” she tells you, and it makes perfect sense now to you.

Buying out courtesans from their duties is a common tradition, but the price ranges based on the status they hold. For someone to have the funds needed to acquire the wisteria herself, they would have to belong to one of the founding clans.

The thought of it forms a new question in your mind, one that’s been bugging you for quite some time.

What about your debt?

You were among the dozens sent to the Gojo estate ─ the payments for those services would have to be a large chip off the debt you hold. How much more could you possibly owe at this point?

“Do you believe your love will do the same for you soon?” Tsubaki asks of you.

Your eyes widen at the insinuation that she knows your secret. You look to Shion for an answer, but her eyes remain closed with a knowing smile as she takes another sip.

“Don’t look surprised, Shion’s told me all about your routine escapades,” she snickers teasingly so, “Quite the little scandal, but one I would never feel good about spoiling so don’t fret, my dear.”

You sigh, relieved from her words. “I can’t imagine he needs to,” you remark. “Once my debt is paid off, I’ll be leaving of my own accord.”

There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere, the air stilling as each of the three exchange unspoken words with one another.

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure if I should be the one telling you this but…” Tsubaki’s eyes flicker to Shion, who nods with approval. “…you should know that there is no walking out of here without a price.”

Huh? That can’t be right?

“What about my debt? What’s the point of it then?” Panic settles in over your features, making you feel as though everything you’ve been told has been all one big lie confessed to you now for the first time.

“Control,” Shion says. “Some come to the pleasure district on their own accord, while others are born into it.” She looks down at her cup, eyes coating with a thin layer of gloss. “Then there are those like you ─ a victim of circumstance. What you call your ‘debt’ is merely the price for your life that Hanami has already paid up for.”

“H-how am I supposed to leave then? To be free?” Your voice cracks between words. “Toji has a bounty on his head, he can’t just walk in here with a pouch of gold and leave with me!” Tears spill from your eyes despite your efforts to remain poised.

“Shh, little one,” Shion coos, grasping your hand between hers, rubbing smooth shapes over the top. “Hope is not yet lost for you, do not give up.”

You don’t, or rather can’t answer right away as you need a minute to calm down. “What can I even do?” you whisper.

“For now, nothing. The answer will reveal itself to you in time,” she answers, cryptic as ever, but it’s not good enough for you ─ no, not this time. You’re tired of secrets and want a straight answer.

“Are there any other ways to leave besides being bought?”

“Tainting your value,” Tsubaki informs, earning a scolding glare from the aster.

Shion turns back to you, sighing softly, “As Tsubaki says, that is an option, but not one I recommend. I tried it once, but it made no difference in the end except for losing a piece of myself in the process.”

The hurt in her voice tempers your anger. “May I ask what happened?”

The motions of her thumb cease, but in turn, her grip tightens around you. “I met a man I truly loved around the time I first arrived here, much like yourself. My family had sold me to pay off their debt, and I sought solace in the only one who understood me under the moonlight.”

She pauses, a ghost of a smile appearing as she recalls the memory through her mirrored form in her teacup.

“Hanami had her reasons for wanting to maintain my purity, but I desired an escape above all else. When the day came that my moon-cycle disappeared, I was overjoyed to finally taint that vision of hers.”

Her expression drops into one filled with sorrow and residual spite. Tsubaki and Murasaki keep their eyes on Shion throughout it all, supporting her in silence as they too are reliving this moment in time.

“Hanami was mad, unimaginably so, but I could tell from her wicked eyes that she had something new in mind. Right then and there, I knew that if I were to have a daughter, she would live a fate worse than mine. She would’ve been born and raised, in service to this brothel until the day she dies as Hanami’s perfect gem, carefully crafted as such by her own hands.”

You grimace at this revelation, knowing all too well that she’s right. Hanami at her core is a twisted curse, a cruel woman who cares nothing for others. With how often Shion treats you like her own daughter, you finally understand why after this.

She is a mother, or at least was.

“I was kept in a cage for a while after, but not even Hanami could hope to break my spirits. That would become my duty, the night my daughter took her first breath of life, I had to let go.”

She spares a thoughtful look to Tsubaki who you conclude must have been at her side when it all occurred. As one of the oldest courtesans in this brothel alone, she must have all sorts of history to tell.

“I hope when my darling little Mei grows up, she’ll understand why I couldn’t be there for her all this time.” Shion concludes her tale with a one sole teardrop falling from her eye onto the surface of her tea. A wave ripples through, soon settling back to an eerie calm.

You take a few moments before responding, “I am so sorry, Shion. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must have felt.”

“I truly hope you never know the pain of losing one of your own, my little Marigold.”

“That crone never has forgiven you for that, has she?” Tsubaki snorts. “Even with the stack she’s getting from Kamo, I’m betting she’ll be out for blood soon enough.”

“Relief is what she should feel for not having me around with my technique to worry about,” Murasaki retorts with an amused face, but her words confuse you.

Technique?

“My birth family may have thought of me as a stain for it, but Noritoshi shows much more delicacy on the matter. I’m certain we’ll have a true, loving family with each other.”

“What do you mean by techni–“

“Excuse me,” someone interrupts. You and the three turn to a courtesan standing just outside the gazebo. “My apologies, but Hanami is requesting your presence,” the woman says, looking directly to you.

Shion releases your hand, almost begrudgingly so with cautious intent. Whatever the case, you can’t refuse an audience with the proprietor, so, you stand and bid farewell to the flowers.

The courtesan who came for you urges you to follow her, but along the way you realize she isn’t leading you to Hanami’s Rose Room. In fact, they’re taking you the complete opposite way, down a familiar stretch of hallways only to stop in front of a set of doors you hoped never to have to enter through again.

The Peony Room.

You now recognize the woman at your side to be one of Botan’s own, reality dawning on you that whatever is inside cannot be good. They slide the door open before you can react, all while your heart starts to beat a mile a minute, threatening to escape the confines of your chest if this keeps up.

The group inside only makes it worse. Not only are Botan and Hanami present, but in the center is a man you know to be one of the Zenin Clan’s own ─ Jinichi Zenin.

It’s instantaneous the way fear takes hold of your body, draining you of color, leaving you feeling cold and clammy. His piercing gaze alone is enough to have every hair on your body standing, your mind begging you to run while you still can.

You wouldn’t get far anyways.

“Sit. Now,” Hanami decrees, with a low growl that forces you right to your knees. “Care to explain what you’ve been hiding?”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your trembling hands folded over one another on the tatami. “W-what do you mea–“

“Don’t play stupid,” Botan scoffs. “We know all about the secret you’ve been keeping.”

Your eyes widen.

“Did you honestly believe you could hide it while under my roof?” Hanami clicks her tongue, her patience thinning. “I certainly don’t let you live here for free out of the kindness of my heart.” Her words are anything but kind, instead dripping with animosity.

Jinichi raises his hand, motioning for their silence. “Where is my brother?” he then inquires, his voice noticeably calmer than the two women.

“I-I don’t know,” you reply, meek as ever from the weight of his gaze.

“Did no one ever teach you respect? You should know better than to lie to me.” Jinichi’s eyes narrow with malice as he looks down on you. “Now I’ll ask again. Where is Toji,” he repeats in a commanding tone, rich in hostility.

His calmness was but an act to fool you, and it failed. Now he can resort to his other means.

“I don’t know!” You lift your face to meet his, tears coating your cheeks. “He doesn’t tell me where he goes!” You tell him the truth, only because it can’t betray Toji. You really don’tknow where he is.

“You lying bitch!” Botan spits with unrepressed fury. “What is it that you think will happen? Do you honestly believe he’s going to come ‘rescue’ poor little you if you protect him? Don’t you get that he’s just using you for his pleasure and nothing more?”

“He’s not!” you argue, baring your fangs at her with fire in your eyes.

That’s not who Toji is.

“Don’t you talk back to me! Did you not learn your lesson after–“

“Enough!” Jinichi bellows, causing you both to flinch.

He exhales heavily after a moment. “Come here,” he orders.

You don’t move, not yet at least as you stare up to him with a fearful look. Obeying his command will only send you further into the demon’s maw.

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

You swallow again, your throat devoid of any moisture that’s been sapped. The urge to run intensifies again as you shuffle closer, even if it’s a futile effort. You stop, but it isn’t enough yet for his liking, so he urges you even closer with a two-finger motion until you’re within arm’s reach.

Slap!

The force sends your face down against the tatami with an audible thud that sends your head spinning. He then grabs a chunk of your hair, lifting you painfully back up while at the same time drawing his face closer. You cry out in pain, but he and everyone else in the room ignores your plead for mercy.

“We’ll get the information we need from you one way or another,” he warns, releasing you from his hold only to send you flying backwards with a sharp kick to your stomach area, knocking the wind straight out of your lungs.

Your screams are silenced from whatever bones just snapped in your body. You lay there on the ground, clutching yourself, feeling a pain worse than anything you’ve felt before in your life.

Botan’s laugh echoes throughout the room like that of a hyena, cackling away at your misery. “Oh, how I’m going to enjoy this,” she says with a sadistic intent.

As you lay nearly lifeless atop the frigid, stone tile, you stare up through the bars of your window at the only thing you have to keep you company ─ the moon. Even then, she’s barely visible, hidden away behind a curtain of black. It’s like the moon or the stars can’t bear to see you in your current state.

Jinichi had dragged you through the halls and passed other courtesans in a cruel display of power. You were the perfect opportunity to make a point of what happens to those who cross the leadership of their country, or more specifically, the Zenin Clan.

From Hanami’s request, you were thrown into one of the many basement rooms that hold more of a resemblance to a prison cell than anything. The walls and floor are made of stone, with iron bars to contain those deemed defilers. This must be where Shion was once held during the many months of her pregnancy.

Another cage within a cage… how ironic.

Jinichi abused you for some time after, demanding information you don’t even have for his own selfish desire to end Toji’s life. He didn’t stop when you were beaten and bruised, nor when your body gave out as black spots filled your vision until nothing remained.

Hanami was there when you first woke up after, feeling especially sore and dirty ─ no doubt used for acts you weren’t even fully aware were happening as you were unconscious. But that wasn’t the end of your torture.

“I had hopes you’d grown into a functional tool, but it appears you need to be reshaped,” Hanami muses, staring down at you with a mixture of anger and disappointment. “Don’t get yourself caught up in feelings, you’re nothing more than a hole to be filled. Remember that.”

It hurt, unimaginably so, even making you forget about the pain of your broken ribs for a short time. None of it however could possibly compare to the words Botan spoke in passing only a few days after.

That day, she had chosen to be the one to bring you your meal ─ a tray with some scraps and rotting fruit, topped off with some of her fresh spit as seasoning. She held it just out of reach from you, as far as the chain around your ankle would allow you to move from the wall.

“You want to know how I found out about your little secret?” she laughs in a wicked tune. “You have daddy dearest to thank for that one,” Botan reveals, tearing a piece from your heart.

“After you took Toji from me, I decided to take something from you…” She sneers, mocking your distressed expression. “It wasn’t hard since he owes his debt to me, but I’m glad I managed to convince that old hag to let him back in here for my plan.”

The contents of the tray spill out across the dirty floor as Botan thrusts it towards you, taking her leave with a trail of shrill laughter in her wake. You pay no mind to the state of the food ─ too hungry to care, too tired to fight.

This is your fate.

If you had any tears left to spare, you might break down further into this abyss. In the end, your father betrayed you again, only this time by playing with your feelings for his advantage.

What a fool you were to believe he was changing, not when the only person he ever truly cared about is dead and gone. Why else would he have been absent from so much of your life?

This is all his fault.

But loving him was your fault for thinking the blood you share made it any different.

Curse him.

It wasn’t only moments from your life; it was your whole family’s as well. Perhaps that’s why Akane couldn’t bear to be born, or why your mother fell ill in the time after. Was his absence the true reason she declined? Did he truly love her or was that also some façade?

Curse him.

You hate that in the depths of your darkness, these whispering voices sound like music to your ears. They’re all you have right now and the only thing making you feel even the slightest bit better. Does it make you a bad person for wanting to listen more?

In your weakest moment, it’s all you can do.

“Curse you, Daisuke,” you weakly mumble to whatever shadow is listening.

You’re no father of mine any longer.

Toji was right to hold worries over the man’s sudden return, and you regret not paying it more mind. Although, now you understand Toji more than you would like to admit. It’s a wonder how Toji is even related to Jinichi, let alone the rest of his fucked-up family.

But maybe that’s okay.

Family is what you make of it after all. It’s where your heart and soul come together to make a loving bond that transcends all else. You don’t need blood relation to share that with someone. You just need the right person to trust with that piece of you. To trust with you.

“Are you falling in love?” The aster’s words from before ring in your head.

“Yes, Shion,” you declare with the stars as your witness this time, rather than the darkness. “I am in love with him.”

A cawing sound pulls you back from your reverie. Outside your puny clerestory now in place of the night sky is a piebald crow, hopping along the dirt. You force yourself to sit up, clenching your jaw tightly together as sharp pain shoots up the side of your body in agonizing bursts.

The crow has something with it that it uses its beak to push between the bars until it falls onto your bedroll. A tangerine. You glance back up to the bird as it almost appears to be examining you before taking flight, leaving you alone once more.

With shaky hands, you peel away the skin of the fruit. Juices overflow with each bite that seem to replenish the tears in your eyes that had long since dried up. Between each bite of the ambrosial treat, you wipe your cheeks dry using the torn sleeves of your tarnished marigold robes.

A common theme you feel ─ to have something you deem perfect become stained and anything but.

You manage the strength to stand up fully again, this time on two legs, clutching your side with one arm. From the tips of your toes, you look out into what little of the world you can see for the first time in what’s felt like weeks but has merely been days.

In the distance, there’s a warm, glowing light bouncing off the clouds that rest low on the skies, moving quickly across.

Dawn? No…

You’ve witnessed the light of dawn enough in your time with Toji to paint a clear picture in all its possible colors in your sleep.

This is different.

What you see growing ever closer to you isn’t the sun’s golden hues, nor is the smell that hits your nose that of dewdrops and freshly bloomed flowers.

No, what rages on in the distance is disastrous in nature with only one clear desire ─ to devour everything in its path.

A true calamity.

Fire.

☆ Notes: “wow, what a crazy turn of events with a cliffhanger to top it all off! I can’t wait to read what happens next!” I mutter to myself, staring at the blinking cursor of an empty word document.

Fr though, this was a little intense to write since I kept having all kinds of different ideas and trying to figure out how I wanted certain scenes to play out, but things are happening!!! I’m super excited for the next chapter but you guys miiight kill me depending on what I decide to do with certain things :’)

☆ Taglist: @fandomtrash5092 @catmania-choco

#toji fushiguro #jjk #jjk toji #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen #toji x reader #jjk au #toji x female reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #courtesan!reader #ronin!toji

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brighteststar707 · 2 days

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Parallels

You carry parts of past lives with you. You can't help it, you're made up of all the people you've loved before.

A reset theory idea I revived from a years-old draft about picking up traits from people you spend a lot of time around (as I'm quite prone to doing🤭).

There has always been this strange familiarity to you. Even back in the early days, it always felt like you were someone Saeyoung had known for years.

He likes to tease you about being easy to read, but it's more than that. The things he recognises in you are things he has grown to love so much in his closest friends.

He loves to tell silly jokes just to hear you laugh. When he promised you a life that would be happy and without worry, he meant it. Your laugh is infectious, addicting even. A laugh from you is an affirmation to someone as insecure as him.

It took him a while to catch on to the way your giggles resemble Yoosung's sometimes. It's not every time, but more than enough times to be a noticeable quirk of yours. The slight hiss of air escaping through your teeth, the precursor to a proper, real laugh.

That was the first parallel he drew. But it was not the last.

He thought he was imagining things at first, making connections where there weren't any to be made. But then you teasingly called him honey for the first time, truly affectionate and sugary-sweet and it was impossible to not think about how he had seen Zen do the same thing before to make fans of his blush. Of course, this trick worked just as well on him when you did it. When you were in these moods, you were magnetic, more so than even Zen could be.

There is something about how, during discussions, you pause to gather your thoughts right before you're about to conclude a point. You have told him you do it to try and collect your thoughts into a coherent sentence so you don't jumble everything up. He thinks it's smart (and cute). It's something he is trying to implement in his life now.

He also knows it's something Jumin practices and advises others to do too. On occasion, during RFA gatherings, Saeyoung watches you and Jumin have a conversation and fall into similar patterns of speech. It's mesmerising, like watching two mirror images.

It is only after a few years, after getting closer to Jaehee at all that realises there are similarities between the two of you too.

He sees a small echo of her in the way that you tackle challenges, not just the resilience he has always known you're capable of but the way you can dissect a problem down to its core and handle it piece by piece. In the tone and cadence you use when instructing others, kind but deliberate, with no room for doubt.

But she's also in your excitement, in the way your voice builds up and rises in pitch when you're talking about something you love. If it wasn't something he recognised from your first weeks together, he'd attribute it to your many musical movie nights.

It wouldn't be fair to say that these traits are identical to theirs. They're things that are so inherent to you, he couldn't imagine you without your funny hiss-laugh or the cadence of your voice when you're measuring out your words. He finds comfort all the same in the little overlap between you and his friends. It may puzzle him sometimes, but he wouldn't change it for the world.

The cherry on the cake was one day when you were chatting and you scrunched your nose before telling a joke, in the same way he knows he does sometimes. His heart swelled three sizes that day and he wouldn't stop teasing you about it.

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daresplaining · 3 days

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Daredevil vol. 2 #48 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, Matt Hollingsworth, and Cory Petit

I've written about this scene before, but I just keep coming back to it. Matt has just been attacked by Typhoid Mary, approximately thirty seconds into his second date with Milla. With the help of Jessica Jones and Luke Cage, who are bodyguarding for him at the time, Matt manages to fight Typhoid off and get Milla out of harm's way. He brings her back to his apartment, where he can treat his injuries and Milla can get some breathing space to recover. As the evening progresses, they end up in bed together.

There are so many stories— heck, so many Daredevil stories— in which a scene like this would turn sexual. And there isn't anything inherently wrong with that, and there are certainly undertones here for anyone looking for them. But instead, Milla and Matt get into something much more somber: a direct examination of what they've just been through, and what Milla wants to do about it. The bed scene begins with Milla tracing her fingers over the scars on Matt's body while he tells her which villain gave him each one. The conversation slides into the exchange above. This is not long after Karen Page's death (a fact that will pop up in more emphatic ways later in the run). Milla has just been on two disastrous dates, the latest of which put her in direct physical danger. Matt is brutally aware of the kind of target he is putting on her in by allowing her to associate with him, and now he knows that Milla knows it too. In previous relationships he might not have brought it up; before Karen's death, before Elektra's, before Glori's, he might have said nothing here, eager for love and brashly confident in his ability to be the hero and keep his girlfriend safe. But no matter how much he likes Milla, and no matter how desperately he might want this relationship— because he's into her, because he needs something pleasant and consistent in his messy life, because the guy rebound dates like it's his damn job— he has the wherewithal, and the honesty, and the fear to tell her that she should take all of this danger seriously and leave. He gives her that choice.

It's easy for us as the readers, with the benefit of hindsight, to say that Milla was foolish to ignore the warnings and to pass up this opportunity to get out of the relationship before it turned ugly. But what I think hits me so hard about this scene is her conviction, and her courage to push all of that aside and offer up the hope that this time, things might be better. Milla has not known Matt for long, other than by reputation, but she has already proven that she is willing to go to great lengths to protect him. She isn't easily frightened, and she likes Matt too much to let him go this easily. Look at the framing and pacing of this moment. Matt makes his long speech about the horror Milla has just been through, and how much he likes her and how little she deserves what she will go through by being around him, and how he can't imagine why she would possibly want to stay. It's a speech full of stutters and pauses; Matt is rattled and frightened. And then there are two panels of silence, in which Milla seems to consider him, and he seems to consider her (it's almost framed as if they are looking at each other, and while obviously that's not what they're literally doing, it does create the sense that an examination is taking place). And then Milla just snuggles in closer and gives her answer: "Because I'm quite fond of you." And there's immense power in such a simple, almost casual response. She has witnessed the danger. She has thought about the danger. She wants to hang out with him anyway because she likes him.

The final panel is beautiful, framing Milla's single line of dialogue. A breeze lifts the curtain on the open window. The walls of the bedroom are transparent, letting in a view of the city and the sky, as if they are lying outdoors, perhaps invoking that feeling of the sounds of New York coming into the room and shattering that illusion of spatial separation. In this moment, neither of them can know what is coming, but with her choice to stay, Milla has conjured a world in which they can both imagine that this kind of peace might be possible.

#Milla Appreciation Day #Daredevil vol. 2 #Milla Donovan #Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Commentary #ID in alt text #(One more post under the wire.)

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genderqueerpond · 2 days

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You know, I think Clara knew about Amy.

Not at first, of course, but Clara grew up with her --- that is, grew up reading Amelia Williams books. And they were precious to her, books she's read many times over the course of her childhood -- how else does she know exactly which chapter holds what in the book she gave Artie? Perhaps she has always felt connected to her, this moderately obscure children's fantasy author, following in the footsteps of E Nesbit; this contemporary (and sometime friend (oh yes!) ) of Edward Eager's; although not nearly as widely known as either of these. Perhaps because of her choice to publish openly under a "woman's name", thus, in the time in which she lived, relegating her books to the inferior realm of "girls' books", despite the more than equal balance of male viewpoint characters.

But Amelia Williams is different from these authors too -- often fantasy, but sometimes more like early science fiction, a barely- recognized pioneer in both genres. Her views were feminist and daring. In so many ways she was ahead of her time, and the innovations she imagined! almost as if she knew what the future would hold.

And if Clara knows and loves her books so well, she can hardly fail to recognize the most frequently repeated character archetype in them. especially after she rereads a few on a subconscious hunch, during that summer after the Maitlands found a permanent nanny and she insisted that before anything else, she go off and fulfill her original travel plans from 101 Places To See. (The Doctor purported to leave her alone to forge her own way with this, but was in actuality very bad at that, and kept popping up nearly every place she went.) She's Clara, she's clever, how can she fail to look up from her book and notice that the person who's just appeared out of nowhere to stand in front of her with a plate of jammie dodgers and a goofy smile has stepped directly out of the pages?

And then of course, there are the dedications. Sure, there's normal stuff like "to my daughter", "to my loving and patient husband", and "to my parents, who are children now" which is rather weird and whimsical, but fits in with the fantasy author's signature style of dream-like imagination.

But the majority of Amelia Williams' dedication pages say things like "to You", "to My Doctor", "to My Raggedy Doctor" "to my raggedy man" (weird but clearly connected to the other variants), and, cryptically, over and over again: "to you", "to you", "to you", "to you (wherever in time and space you are)".

There's "to my imaginary friend" and "to my imaginary friend, and to all children who have an imaginary friend" and "to my imaginary friend, and every child in the universe who's ever met him, or ever will". Nerds and English teachers have occasionally debated what, if anything, she meant by all this, and now Clara thinks she knows, but she can never say....

And then there are the nights that the Doctor wakes up crying out for "Amy!" and then refuses to talk about it when Clara asks, refuses to acknowledge ever even knowing an Amy, "well everyone shouts random things when they're asleep, it doesn't mean anything" and "I don't remember." if pressed for details about his dreaming. And later he might go off somewhere and cry quietly, reading a book he never lets Clara see.

And then he regenerates, and calls out for "Amelia!", "the first face this face saw."

There's newborn twelve, with his Scottish accent, letting her name slip. It's the first - and only - time he's spoken of her while awake and not actively dying. And Clara is too busy with the immediate threat to their lives to think about it in the moment, but at this point she at the very least has a hunch about the connection between him and the Scottish-American author with the rather opaque background --- that as far as anyone can trace it (although to be fair, no one really cares enough to try very hard) she and her husband just kind of appeared out of nowhere in pre-WWII New York. It seems kind of obvious, now, that the doctor would have had a hand in that.

And now with all the books everywhere, the library gradually migrating into the console room, what else is obvious is that he owns every single one of her books. multiple copies, first editions, last editions, signed copies, mass paperbacks, everything. There's a TARDIS key hidden in a well-worn, well-loved, tear streaked copy of The Cuckoo And The Doll's House, which Clara finds when she's cataloging all the locations of TARDIS keys, just in case she should ever need that information one day.

This all is enough for Clara to know. There doesn't really need to be any more proof, but there is. What totally and fully clinches it are the pictures. Tucked in the pages of another tearstained book (The Beast Below this time), are photographs of Amelia, looking just as she does in her black and white author photos, but younger, and in 21st century clothes. Elsewhere, later, she finds photo booth polaroids of a still younger Amelia, goofing off and smiling. Some of them feature another young man Clara doesn't recognize, and some of them feature the Doctor. He's wearing a tweed jacket instead of his purple wool, and no vest, but otherwise he is exactly the same as the Doctor she first met. The three of them hang off each other like old friends, like family.

idk how to end this.

#clara oswald #amy pond #augh i just! so many feelings about post-TATM writer Amelia #she made the doctor up and then she grew up to Make Him Up professionally #she created him she created him she created him #lavender thoughts #dw #ndw #doctor who #meta #ANOTHER dw ficlet/meta in one day i am on a roll #like six half finished ones in my drafts too btw

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muwapsturniolo · 2 days

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✯𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬✯

IN WHICH… I give yall sum baseline personas that will be reoccurring in my fics down the line. These personas are interchangeable meaning they can be used for any triplet of my/your choosing. Feel free to request any of these with any of the boys!! (These are the ones I decided on for now but if anyone has any they want to add feel free to send it in and I will update this post🍑🍑🍑)

WARNINGS: This should not have to be said but imma say it anyway. all the y/n's i write for are black and black only. I'm not saying if you arent black you can't read my fics or support but i do understand if it does become hard to read with the way i describe y/n.

feel free to still imagine yourself as y/n even if you arent black, i have no problem with that whatsoever, just wanted to make it clear i write for black girls and boys🍑

✯ALSO THIS IS NOT PROOF READ BECAUSE THIS IS NOT A FIC!✯

Earthy boho Y/n

"Half of us chasin' fountains of youth and it's in the present now"

have you ever wanted to swim next to a waterfall naked, or frolic in fields as the sun beams down? have you ever danced in your livingroom with a blunt in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other?

this is y/n.

she's a earthy girl, finding joy in the simple things in life, finding joy in the heart and soul. you can always find her wearing some shade of green, brown, or orange. you often might find a crystal in her pocket or even in her hair. her whole body is usually decked out in jewelry. beaded bracelets on her writs, obnoxious rings on her fingers, multiple piercings on her nose and in her ears, beads on her waists, anklets, and even toe rings!

the curly brown tresses that sit on top of her head are usually in its natural form, or being protected by locs or some form of knotless braids. when she gets lazy she throws it into a puff and wraps one of her many silk scarfs around it.

she likes to do yoga and meditate in the early mornings before the world wakes up, followed by a quick smoke session and painting.

although you can often find her alone, blasting neo soul or her guilty pleasure genre (pop), she hates it. she hates being alone because being alone means you are left with your thoughts and she hates her thoughts. they can be so mean sometimes and she doesn't understand why.

shes soft spoken, never raising her voice or cussing anyone out. she doesn't see the need to act like that when everything can be talked out.

She has a brown cat named Janelle meow-net (named after Janelle Monet).

songs:

"my love, do you ever dream of, candy-coated raindrops" ☆ candy rain

"Brown liquor, brown sugar, brown face Black skin, black Benz, black plays" ☆ almeda

"Read my mind, free my mind, feed my mind, make sense" ☆ purity

Princess Y/n

"Raw bitch, ain't never been a groupie"

her daddy is baldheaded....meaning she has never heard the word no in her life. the few times she has been told no by her dad or her boyfriend at the time... lets just say it got uglier than amy scheumer. shes spoiled and she doesn't see anything wrong with it. why would she? she is a princess after all.

she has the face and smile men would go to war and die over. she has the fashion style that has you wanting to raid her closet and drain your bank accounts. there's never a day where she doesn't look good.

her hair, nails, and toes are ALWAYS done. and i mean always.

she hates getting dirty. meaning, dont ask her to do any hard labor. she refuses to get dirt on her hands or even break a nail. she (her dad) paid good money to get her hair done and she will fight to keep that lace melted and laid.

it's usually her dad who is supplying her shopping addiction and making sure she's pampered and well off. if it's not her dad, its whoever shes talking to at the moment. speaking of whoever shes talking to... she doesn't see her self as a player by any means, but she does talk to multiple guys at once. if they can do it, why can't she? shes just a girl having fun and she does not care what anyone has to say about it.

she may seem like a mean girl (she wears pink everyday, not just Wednesday) with her resting bitchface and a mouth that always talks shit, but she truly is a big baby. she loves love, is a girls girl, and hypes everyone up. shes always giving to people, whether its clothes, bags, makeup, or even money. she has a big heart and wants everyone to be happy.

songs:

"I taste like sugar but ain't a damn thing sweet bitch" ☆ beatin down yo block

"im pretty than a motherfucker hoes be looking ok." ☆ ok

"Penthouse suite, sitting pretty by the pool" ☆ pretty girls

MUA Y/n

"No makeup on, and I could still take your place, lil' bitch"

yall ever see someone with nice skin and know they never had a pimple a day in their life? or have you ever met someone whos makeup is always beat to the gods and not a lash is out of place?

yeah that lucky person in y/n.

she has her makeup and skincare routines down packed. so down packed shes able to do it with her eyes closed.

she's so into her craft, she could tell you what you need for your skin or what makeup would suit you best by one look. shes a girls girl, never judging anyone and always willing to help.

you want a new foundation? say less shes giving you at least five options and giving you multiple reasons as to why she picked that one. want to learn how to do winged liner? grab your liquid liner and get ready to learn because she is going to teach you until you get it right.

she loves the beauty world and everything that has to come with it, always picking up the newest products and testing them out. shes not a beauty influencer, but she does post on tiktok for fun, not caring about followers or pr.

she works at ulta (that discount helps her out A LOT), but still finds herself in the gloomy lighting of sephora. her makeup room (yes...she has one) is filled to the brim with different types of makeup and skincare products. she has drawers on drawers of eyeshadow pallets, concealers, setting powders, blush, etc in that room. she often lets her friends come over and raid the room because in reality, she knows shes never going to use everything.

songs:

"bad bitch im the bar, alien superstar" ☆ alien superstar

"I ain't one of them hoes who look better in they pictures (facts) Face like a model (what?), body like a stripper" ☆ conceited

"Bitch I'm fine Slim waist, pretty face, he know I'm a dime" ☆ beatin down yo block

PLEASE REQUEST ANYTHING FOR THESE VERSIONS OF Y/N AND EVEN SEND IN MORE BASELINE TYPE CHARCTERS THAT I CAN ADD TO THIS LIST!!!!

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