primevcl

[primevcl]

GASTON + text posts

[primevcl]

created by belledesrosiers and reposted because it got flagged

[primevcl]

belledesrosiers:

His touch burns against her bare skin. His hand is hot and sends a shiver running down her spine, her knees lose a little strength but she chastises herself in her own head and stands straighter than before, begging the Gods to not let her loose all the composure she manages to, somehow, keep. From the corner of her eye she contemplates him, expecting to see satisfaction splattered across his face in the form of a smug smirk, but instead there’s a weak smile, far from his usual wide and bright, and in his eyes there’s a sort of blur that makes his often vivid hue, dim. For a moment, a wave of heat takes over her body, thinking perhaps he’s about to tell her something horrid about his father (I’m so sorry Belle, he’s dead). But as she confronts him head on, she can see he is lost in a place she can’t reach and wouldn’t be able to even if she tried - the sort of place only the dead or the doomed have once visited.

                                             ( She has been farther away from that place than she is now.)

What she doesn’t expect is to feel her own heart clench at the sight of his sorrow, quickly shut down by Gaston’s typical nonchalant attitude. Still, she starts to see through the cracks, the facade of bulletproof armor he masks himself with. She can’t imagine what he’s been through, and while that doesn’t excuse all his attitudes, it sheds new light.

But then, just as quickly as Belle started to search for meaning, she bumps into the solid barrier of Gaston’s shield in the form of smug arrogance, the one thing she can’t stand. She returns his eye rolling with a stone-cold look, hopefully enough for him to understand her displeasure towards his behaviour. “It is your desk, all the more reason to keep it…” she takes a glance at the desk, all unorganized papers and out-of-place reports and lets out a sigh “… nevermind.”

She has come to the station with one purpose and one purpose only: to find out if there were any breakthrough in her father’s case. Every day that passes her hope slowly fades away and her sense of impotence weighs her body down, sorrow pilling inside of her, feeling like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world. Gaston’s eyes locked on hers make her bit her lip. She cannot tell if it’s because in his eyes, now all the more clear, she can see the pity that fill them or if it’s because his blue eyes looking so deeply into hers make her skin long for some more of his touch. She tries to see past all that, ignore the tingling at the tip of her fingertips, and focus on her Father. Guilt washes over her. Wherever he is, he is lost and alone, confused and forfeited, and here she is: thinking about the touch of a man she used to loathe so.

“There must be something else you can do.” Her features turn into a plea, pushing her chair and her body closer to the edge of the table, closer to Gaston. “It’s not just important, Gaston. This is my father!” Belle’s voice goes a little higher, enough to draw the attention of some of the police offer’s across the room. She clears her throat and grabs a lock of her hair, holding it behind her ear, taking a deep breath. “He is all I’ve got.” Her eyes search for his again, laying bare all the sorrow and the despair, hoping that he can find the strenght to search it and find it, beneath all the layers of self-containment she has built these past months.

Something quite resembling SINCERITY flits across his face and lands across cracked lips in the form of a half-smile. Again, instinctively, impulsively, he reaches for her. When she begins to lean into the center of the desk, towards him, he finds himself leaning in to meet her, and one hand reaches out ― slowly, as though not to frighten a wide-eyed woodland creature ― and settles on her upper arm, thumb already beginning to CARESS her skin the moment he touches her.

"That's not true," he murmurs, and his hand slides down her arm, pulling her hand up and onto the desk, where he takes it in the grip of all ten of his own calloused fingers, "You'll always have ME, Belle." The warmth creeping into his tone, his features, is unmistakable. With Belle, the line seems to blur between HOLLOW WORDS used to get his way and dulcet affection which is every bit as sincere as it is sweet. It's unusual, and most of the time he doesn't even quite catch himself doing it. It's something strange, seeing a selfish and PREDATORY creature like Gaston around Belle. He claims to love her, even as he backs her into a corner with no escape in sight, but his end goal might just be precisely what he claims it is and nothing quite so SINISTER as one would fear.

"But there is NOTHING else," he continues sternly, icy blue gaze still locked onto hers. The emotion which perhaps should be behind this statement should cause him to need to look away for shame of the meager efforts he knows the police department is providing, but Gaston cares about Belle, NOT her father. Never mind that Maurice's absence is hurting his daughter. Gaston knows just as well as every one of his coworkers there is nothing more then can possibly do and, quite frankly, nothing more they WANT to do. "We're trying as hard as we can, but it's as though he just... vanished. And you getting so UPSET about it isn't helping him, or yourself." His tone takes on an authoritative color, trying to insist as much as he can that she set aside these SILLY concerns, and focus on what Gaston considers to be the more important pieces of her life. Though he could never say that to her.

                                             ( Well, not again. He did say it once, several weeks                                              ago, right after Maurice went missing, and it didn't                                              go nearly as well as he had hoped. Belle slapped                                              him. LeFou laughed. Really, just a bad situation. )

He sighs, gaze finally dropping to their hands on his desk, where he's absently, CONTENTEDLY tracing light circles on the back of Belle's hand. "You need to start considering that your father just isn't coming back, Belle." The assertion comes after a few moments, and quieter this time. Just as sure, but with less intensity, less urgency. "I know it isn't what you want to hear, but shouldn't you start thinking of how to take care of yourself? Just in case? You said it yourself, he's all you've got." He turns his line of sight back to her face once more, taking a moment to study the lines of her jaw, the color of her eyes; a warmth, something which feels almost like a CALMNESS he hasn't known since before Avenant's death always spreads through him when he's able to be close to Belle, and the feeling grows the longer he's near her.

"I could take care of you." He doesn't quite stumble over his words ― he's much too practiced at being suave for that ― but it's something close, which almost smells of it if you pay close enough attention. "Let me take care of you, Belle. PLEASE."

[primevcl]

relationship aesthetic ➛ gaston & adam

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”                                                   ― Friedrich Nietzsche

[primevcl]

rosedivined:

If he never heard that voice again, he would be glad; it was a voice which haunted him, which perpetuated nothing but horrid memories - what pleasantries that might have been associated with the booming candor which now shook him to the very core had died long ago. It was a casualty that he did not regret, a death in the family which he’d not found the wherewithal to mourn. Gaston had been dead to him long ago - to hear the voice of the dead was to reach beyond bounds not meant to be crossed. To be heartless in the face of a heart-rending death; this was the sort of calloused, beastly coldness which Adam required now, which had been so easy when Gaston was nothing but a figment of his memory. 

Memory was a fickle thing, however; Gaston’s memory lived in the same place in his mind which housed his mother, the garden, the broach. He very much did not belong there, and yet he persisted. 

For a moment he could not bring himself to turn, to face him; Adam had known that venturing outside would be a horrid idea, but he’d never expected it to take such a turn for the horrifying. He’d mulled over a number of times what he might say to Gaston, should he find the courage wherewithal to speak to him again; in fact, much of his time spent lying awake in the small hours of the night were spent thinking of the strange dichotomy between the then and the now of his tumultuous non-relationship with Gaston. If the Adam of years previous had known that they’d meet again now, like this, with Adam cornered against the wide window like a hunted animal, he’d have thought the idea a mad one. Even his reflection, distorted in the mid-morning sun upon the glass, was a warped, monstrous discoloring of the Gaston he’d once known. 

But, by that same merit, Adam was just as dissimilar as he. Were they to be truthful, they should have donned masks before speaking. 

“I am not,” he turned, then, for something raw and bleeding lurched deep within his stoic chest, “a beast.” It was a weak retort, unless it were to be followed by the looming ‘but you are’ which found itself lodged at the back of Adam’s throat. It was much harder to face Gaston than he realized, what with his hunched shoulders, shadowed eyes, and jacket which smelled too strongly of coffee and cigarettes; where Adam had grown darker, Gaston had come to burn far too brightly - it was nearly impossible to look at. Resentment, hatred, and lingering melancholy at his expense; Adam felt his stomach turn. 

He followed the matching coffee cups up to where they framed Gaston’s too-smug face, eyes narrowed and lips pulled downward into an ostentatious grimace. It was almost pathetic, the patronizing expression upon his face; Adam had learned long ago to deflect snide smiles and jabs with minimal effort. In fact, he’d been the one to teach him the invaluable skill of condescension. But as wandering eyes found the all too bold second name upon the untouched coffee cup, his composure faltered. How was it that her name alone held such power over him? How was it that he had the right to wield her name as if it was some sort of bloody weapon in his collection? It was sacrilege; Adam took great pains to refrain from slapping the cup from his hand. Visibly, tangibly - in the clench of his jaw, the paling of his cheek, the shock behind his eyes - he was wounded. 

And though Adam may not deserve Belle, neither did Gaston. 

     ( they still had so much in common, it seemed )

“It seems as if she has the stomach for most detestable things,” Adam clipped, jaw tensed and hands shoved, in fists, into his pockets in a forced display of nonchalance. For a moment he wondered if Gaston’s coffee order remained the same; perhaps, however, he’d switched to poison. Unbidden, longing, utterly aching to disappear, he stole another quick glance into the shop. It would do him no good to be seen now. “Is there something you needed?” he snapped, turning back once more, “Or are you simply here to be a nuisance? You do it so well, after all.”

All he can do is LAUGH. It’s something booming and bracing, and the sound of it echoes through the nooks and crannies of Hermosa's small town square like CANNON FIRE as it bursts ― unwarranted, unwelcome, unwanted ― through a home you can only recognize as your one once the ringing in your ears ceases and the walls crash into the warm, inviting earth. War has CHANGED him, as war so tends to do, and now Gaston finds himself so very like the gun he spent hours compulsively tending to in the barren comforts of his barracks ― loud and brash and HUNGRY and hollow, searching only for something to call his own and going about it in all the wrong ways. Like the best of weapons, he could very easily be used to provide safety and security, but no. No, his own beating heart in his hands ― the WRONG hands now, it seems ― is deadly, to be looked at with eyes gone wide in terror and handled delicately, as though it might EXPLODE at any moment.

As though he himself might explode at any moment, as very well he might.

But today, in this moment, he only laughs, steely, intent gaze still focused through the shimmering glass on Belle, on her face as she moves about the book store. "Come now," he chides Adam in a tone which is PLAYFUL in the same way that a wild bear is sweet, "Why loose your venom on me?" He takes another sip of his coffee, relaxing ever so slightly at the sheer magnitude of CONTEMPT with which the other man is spewing his words. Had Adam already laid claim to Belle, as Gaston had been, momentarily, concerned about, his reaction would surely be less severe. A man who knows his treasure is well-guarded regards a thief with AMUSEMENT, not anger.

"I'm only trying to have a pleasant conversation," he scolds around the plastic lid of his cup, gaze sliding back over to Adam for the first time in some minutes now, gauging his expression once more. He's gone pale, jaw tensed; ready to POUNCE, it seems.

                                                                                               How quaint.

Somehow time has managed to turn the tables on the men who once knew each other as boys, and, had Gaston not managed to REPRESS nearly every memory of his childhood and adolescence, perhaps the irony would not have been lost on him. But all he sees in the man standing beside him is something of a shadow; someone he can tell he used to know at once time, though if you asked him to put his thumb on the NATURE of their relationship, to describe it in words, he could not. Could not tell you that Adam's had been the first pair of lips he had kissed nor all the now broken vows exchanged on breath thick with liquor. It's a fascinating thought, to entirely forget the person with whom you once thought you would not be able to SURVIVE without, and perhaps some might think it impossible. And yet here he stands, Gaston LeGume, psychological wonder, not two inches away from a man he once LOVED and no trace of past emotion even wisping through his figure. A curious being indeed.

"What business do you have at the book store?" he finally inquires, lowering the coffee cup before he finds himself draining the whole thing dry before he can even give Belle her own, "Come to buy a self-help book, maybe? How to Get Out of the House and Make Friends For Dummies?" Lips quirk up into a smile once more, PLEASED with himself at the joke, however unintelligent it may actually be. At least one person thinks he's funny, even if that one person is only Gaston himself. "I can't believe you'd be applying for a job here, unless you've somehow managed to WASTE an entire fortune in a matter of years. Although," He pauses to make an exaggerated show of consideration, turning slightly towards Adam, angling his torso towards the other man, "It really wouldn't SURPRISE me if that's what's got you locked up in that mansion of yours all day, is something stupid and expensive like online poker. Or a hooker who's SERIOUSLY ripping you off. That,” he chuckles once more, rolling his shoulders back, tension coming off of him in waves now, “Would not surprise me at all, coming from you.”

[primevcl]

aesthetic boards ➻ gaston & belle ( @primevcl )

“I do love you, you know. In my cold and unfeeling way.”

[primevcl]

hanswestergaardian:

Eyes rolling, Hans leaned back against the wall once more. He took his gum out once more, folding it neatly into the piece of paper it had come in. He flicked that towards a trash can nearby and allowed some of the tenseness to flow out of his shoulders. The recent events in Hermosa hadn’t exactly affected him, but there was a sense of tension in the town; as though everyone was holding their breath. It set him off as well, soaking the feeling in around most people. That was the one thing Gaston was good for. There was no reason to be proper around him. “There a reason why you’’re looking for me, then?” He questioned, in no mood to dance around anything. Gloved fingers tugged unconsciously at his clean suit jacket, adjusting it into place as he had done thousands of times before, until it wore into muscle memory. 

“I have my reasons to be.” He replied, unaffected by the correction. The cigarette was met with a distasteful look, though he did take it. There was no telling where it had been, and by now even Gaston had to be aware of Hans’ aversion to the spread of germs. Still, it wasn’t worth making a fuss over, and he held it up to take a long, settling drag of it. He had no intentions of offering it back, either, instead letting it dangle limply between his fingers as the smoke soaked into his lungs. “Did you come just to share a cigarette?”

When Hans takes the cigarette from between his own expectant fingers, a TRIUMPHANT grin spreads across Gaston's face, crinkling up crows feet and laugh lines, sending delight across grooves in an age-worn face in waves. He steps forward in response and brushes one hand across Hans' jacket, just where the other man's gloved hand has just been, as though both teasing and COMFORTING simultaneously, reminding him that his suit was already pristine, exactly in place, and yet threatening to muss it in the same motion. His gaze has yet to leave the other man's, smile still wide.

At the inquisitions, Gaston merely chuckles, shuffling ever closer until their shoulders brush, shoes scuff against one another, and he's able to lean one shoulder against the wall as well, half facing Hans.

"Just BORED," he replies flippantly, a pleasant, almost playful tone to his voice. He retrieves another cigarette from the depths of his jacket and lights this one as well, bringing it to his lips and turning his head down towards the pavement in the same motion, exhaling a second stream of smoke down into their shoes.

"Can't I come see a FRIEND when I'm bored?" he asks, head dipping back up to look Hans in the eye once more, offering up another smile as he does so. What he fails to mention is that Hans was, in fact, his third choice; he couldn't find Belle and LeFou insisted he was too busy. "Or is that suddenly SUSPICIOUS now? Not like you weren't already on your oh-so-secretive smoke break anyway."

[primevcl]

levimcqueen:

How did it happen?

Levi answered slowly, each word dragged out of him like pulling teeth. “I was driving.“ He paused. Took a sip of the miserable coffee so the next word was muffled against the mug. “Fast.” He left out the part where he managed to wreck a mile of road. Now, that–was an accident. The driving? Not so much. But he couldn’t figure out why they were so worked up about a street. Didn’t tax dollars cover that?

“And, hey. If the coffee’s just for cops–maybe you should put a sign up.“ Really. After one taste? Nobody would head back for seconds. But before Levi could voice his opinion about the coffee, he was sidetracked by Gaston’s question. “Yeah. I followed you into the kitchen. Whoa. Wait. You didn’t hear me? I was right behind you for the past five minutes. Might want to work on that situational awareness if you’re gonna protect and serve.“

Realizing he was sassing a cop, Levi quickly threw in– “Not that I’m a criminal. You probably have a sixth sense for those types, huh? Smell their criminal B.O. from a mile away. No problem. That’s why you didn’t notice me. Innocent Levi Mcqueen.“

He was already on thin ice with the law. Might as well not push it.

“You were driving,” Gaston repeats, eyebrows raised in a mixture of incredulation and amusement, reaching for a copy of a file which had been flung onto his desk several days ago and which he was only now realizing he's never taken the time to read. It does have the name LEVI MCQUEEN written across the top of it, and while he's certainly not the officer in charge of the case, it never hurts to stay informed.

A dry comeback is on the tip of his tongue when the other man feels it necessary to throw in one of his own. Gaston's piercing blue eyes flick up from the poorly photocopied sheet of paper, boring into Levi's skull with a sudden INTENSITY. Who is this kid, and where does he get the impression that he, in all of his six foot four glory, and ARMED to boot, is someone to be trifled with? Gaze narrows, and his mouth snaps shut once more, lips curling into a tight, humorless grin.

"If you're not a criminal, why are THEY holding you here against your will? Failure to pay on all this property damage sounds pretty criminal to me, wouldn't you agree, INNOCENT MISTER MCQUEEN?" Hand holding the paper flattens against the desk and head jerks to a sharp forty five degree angle, edges of his eyes wrinkling into what perhaps holds the slightest edge of humor once more, if only the most SADISTIC kind, the type with which one might watch an animal about to step into a carefully laid trap.

[primevcl]

“Selfish. Wanting. Aching. Weak. There are traits which all three of them have possessed at different times, echoes of former selves, looking into each others’ faces like looking into a dark mirror. Belle is soft and she is tender and kind and loving; the world has not yet stripped this of her, no matter how hard it tries. But the men which she loves have both become grasping, monstrous things in their own rights, and yet she is strong. She loves them anyway, and they allow themselves to be made weak for her, chipping away at facades built up over many years and many long-fought wars for the privilege of looking her in the eyes. And somewhere in this mess of brick and mortar, two pairs of bright blue eyes meet for the first time since it seems as though two different men possessed them, and the love they once shared comes flooding back the very moment they allow it to. Suddenly life becomes a tangle of hearts and limbs where only emptiness once was.”( @rosedivined, @belledesrosiers )

[primevcl]

[text] I don’t think he likes that I’m always sending him pictures of me in my bra but he needs to get it together

[text] I completely agree.[text] And if he doesn’t appreciate pictures of you in your bra, do you know who always will?[text] Me.[text] I will.

[primevcl]

ebbandflcw:

SOLACE – this is what his morning began with. It was a sleepless night spent with eyes pinned to the stars. His rich and wealthy estate did little to satisfy Eric’s crave for sleep in that particular night and the moon was his only companion in the calm silence. Minutes before the sun was about to rise, Eric quickly changed into his favorite white beach shirt and the most casual pair of pants he could find and stuffed his earbuds in his ears, the strumming of an acoustic guitar vibrating through his mind. With his bag hanging loosely on his shoulder, his feet carried him to the beach, the calm still waters painted in red, orange and sky blue as the first rays of light swam above the surface. A sight to behold, Eric’s eyes couldn’t really resist the view once he had arrived. Taking every detail and each separate color into consideration, his being soaked the pure art that the skies had painted for him.

It was foolish, one would say, to leave your things unattended when your mind was too busy with admiring beauty. One of Eric’s favorite things to do was swim in the crack of dawn when the ocean was still untouched and pristine. Little did he knew, thieves lurked around in places so special to him like this one and now, instead of returning back to his house, he was walking down the street and towards the police station in search for justice – both, for his wrist watch and for the thief. His hair was messy and dampened by a towel, his sunglasses hanging on his shirt and his watchless hand pushing the door open, his eyes took in the room for a single second until he caught the person he needed. Gaston.

“Mister Legume?“ Eric inquired, voice high and articulate, though the man seemed not to hear him or perhaps was too disinterested in him. The young man advanced forward, sitting on the desk while waiting for Gaston to finish whatever he was doing, fingers patiently tapping on the side of his chair. “Well, I suppose you could help me with filing a report for a thief. Or a lost watch, whichever seems easier or more convenient.“ Abernathy stated, blue eyes squinting at Gaston, “It’s unpleasant when something like this happens.“

Even as Gaston approaches his desk, he looks over Eric with an AMUSED chuckle. Perched on the edge of the desk as though he owns it, blatantly IGNORING the chair — such drama, such confidence! It really does his blackened heart good to see someone appreciating his way of life. And so he takes his time sauntering over to his own chair, plucking the earbuds from their place, letting them hang around his neck, eyes raking over the other man's form, languidly sipping at his coffee; truth be told, he's not quite sure what reaction he's trying to elicit, if he really is trying to FLIRT, or simply to see if he can make Eric squirm.

He decides he just see what happens and go from there. "Well, that depends on what happened," he replies, voice low and gravelly, falling backwards into the chair at his desk, "Did someone STEAL your watch or did you lose it? Big difference there." Either way, he's not wrong, it is unpleasant for both of them — Eric because he's missing what Gaston is sure is an EXPENSIVE watch, and Gaston because now he has to fill out the paperwork for it — but those are two very different investigations.

As he waits for Eric to answer, first one leg and then the other hoist onto the surface of his desk, landing just next to where Eric is perched. He takes another slow, deep sip of his coffee, eyeing the other man all the while. "And that's OFFICER LeGume." Mister. Mister my ass. He hasn't been simply a mister for years now. From private to captain, and now officer. None of this mister bullshit.

[primevcl]

[text] Be careful.

[text] I can take care of myself, princess.[text] It’s not like it’s LOADED.

[primevcl]

ariaruysch:

Aria’s daily strolls at the beach helped her relax, inhale deeply after a long run through Hermosa. She’d never been a fan of cars – not if she could use her feet to travel and keep herself in shape. Even without the health aspect, she could focus on her surroundings rather than the insides of a tiny Volkswagen. Sure, cars were much fast than a bicycle or her own feet, but her newfound freedom wasn’t dictated by time alone – it ticks to the rhythm of her curiosity, her own desires – a clock which would never stop. And yet, every answer brought more questions, more artifacts she couldn’t quite name nor understand. Old bracelets, coins, brushes, rings – Hermosa was filled with unusual objects and things to find – Hermosa wasn’t just a city, but a treasure chest – almost. Usually, with objects she could potentially give away again, Aria visited the police station to find a former owner, someone whose clumsiness has lead to them losing their keepsake. 

So, as she entered the police station, her voice drumming her ear as she called out for an officer – well, not anyone – officer Legume, someone she dreaded, slightly. “Officer Legume?” she raised her voice, again, the corners of her mouth pointed downward as she examined the different documents close-by. Alas, he arrived faster than she’d anticipated, leading to Aria staring at him, lost for words. He immediately reminded her of a Junky craving his next fix. Well, she wasn’t any better with her adventurous heart and problematic ways of exploring and being free.

Luckily her frozen state turned into a chuckle, a smile and a single, smooth gesture, greeting him almost naively. “I found this golden hand mirror not too far from Little River Park. I’d actually like to know if someone has been looking for it, because if not I’d like to keep it,” Aria looked through her bag, which was clearly audible crammed with metal. After a short while, Aria pulled out an oval-shaped hand mirror and carefully placed it onto the desk in front of her. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

This one. Pretty thing with the red hair, what's her name again? She seems to be here a lot. It's STRANGE to him, really; if she finds so many things lying around town, why bring them here? I mean, sure, the station does TECHNICALLY have a lost and found, but why not just keep them? It's not like the lost and found is ever used much anyway. It's pointless, really. A waste of time.

Most good deeds normally are. As she speaks, he languidly raises one hand, taking his time pulling the earbuds out one by one, letting them fall to his chest, tinny music still floating out of them as he grunts occasionally in acknowledgement. "Well, miss, ah." A beat as he tries to remember her name. "ARIA. I haven't seen any reports of anyone missing a... golden hand mirror, so I'd say you're in the clear." He offers her a tight smile, examining first the mirror and then her with a sort of dry curiosity. Such a strange little thing. His Belle is certainly of her own breed, but Aria is something else entirely. What kind of girl carries around metal in her handbag? And where does she keep finding this GARBAGE?

Bewildered amusement flickers across his face as he leans forward, lips parting and spreading into another smile, something softer this time. "You don't really have to come here every time you find something that doesn't seem to have an owner," he tells her quietly, as though he's imparting bad news to someone who's been quite out of touch with reality for some years now, "If it's my dashing good looks you're coming for, then by all means, come by whenever you'd like." He bares blinding white teeth at her in a way that would almost resemble a smile were it not so PREDATORY, only half joking with this sentiment. "But otherwise, there's really no reason for you to report every little thing you find. I promise."

[primevcl]

[Drunk text] You are the most beautiful girl i have ever met <3

[text] Damn right I am.

ten minutes later

[text] It just occurred to me you might have the wrong number.

[primevcl]

[text] Let me help, please?

[text] …fine, but tell NO ONE.[text] Especially not Belle.[text] I’m a MAN, damn it.[text] Can do things my own damn self.

[primevcl]

rosedivined:

[text] you don’t want to play this game, asshole. sober up and reconsider.

[text] you just know thta i'wll win [text] again

[primevcl]

rosedivined:

[text] Fantastic. Drown in it.  [text] On second thought, hold off on the drowning. That’d hardly be a fitting way for the GREAT GASTON to go. Asphyxiation, maybe.

[text] coem mthe fuck over here so i can intryucdoe ygour insides to your outsiades