#and hearing his voice on vid still hurts me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plasticferal · 3 months

Note

girl PLEASE write something for facetime/phone sex with matt (he was looking a little too fine on that ipad in the last vid omg)

kiss me through the phone | matt sturniolo.

authors note: matt is looking fine as fuck lately, i'm going absolutely feral. short and sweet 2.8k words. not proof read! just brain goop.

warnings: 18+ content. fem!reader, masturbation, facetime, sweet talk, praise, explicit language. reader discretion is advised.

the vibrating sound of your phone rattling against your side table echoes in your room. you’ve been waiting for matt to call you all night, and with how sick he’s been lately, it’s the only way to actually see him.

you eagerly answer the facetime call, holding your phone up as you lay in bed, revealing the intricate lace bra and pyjama shorts you’re wearing.

matt answers the call, slouching tiredly at his desk, headphones on. his hair is messy. he’s shaved his facial hair into a faint goatee, and he looks perfect. even when he's unwell.

“i can’t believe you look that good and i can’t touch you” his eyes are wide as he speaks, smiling the second you're in his sight.

“i can’t believe we’re talking through a screen” you pout, rolling over in bed and hugging a pillow close to your cheek.

“you can blame nick” matt scoffs, making you chuckle lightly, watching as his eyes dart between his display screens quickly, then focusing solely on you.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asks, scooting closer in his desk chair, rubbing his hands together in that way he does when he speaks, and you get lost staring at his hands.

you’re too familiar with their touch to ignore the thoughts running through your mind. how much you miss them on your body, even if it’s only been a couple of days of not seeing him face to face.

"y/n?" he snaps you out of your trance.

"sorry, i'm good. i just miss you" you huff, rolling over once again with your phone tight in your grip.

you get positioned in an angle that pans down your body as you shift on the mattress, and you hear matt hum through the screen.

"i miss you more," his smile is so infectious.

you're giddy like it's the first time you're speaking to a crush, despite being in a secure relationship with him.

"you look so good right now, you know that?" he sounds so smug, somehow being able to be alluring through a device as he would in person.

"you do too. i like this look on you" you nod toward the screen, as if he's physically ahead of you.

matt rubs his jaw and bites his lip, the same way he would to make his brothers laugh, and you roll your eyes playfully. you know it's to entertain you, but somehow hit little bit genuinely has an affect on you.

you rub your thighs together, feeling a buzz in stomach as your mind shifts, and goosebumps rise on your skin. he just looks so good.

"does it turn you on?" he charms.

"you could do anything and it'd turn me on" you speak sweetly, a light lace of tiredness in your voice that you can drives him insane.

you can tell by the way he drags his hand down his face. suddenly his little joke hit too close to home.

"ugh, don't say that" he groans into his palm.

"why? does it turn you on?" you mimic him, in a luring tone.

"i've been pent up for like four days" he huffs, shifting in his seat.

"alright baby, i'm sorry" you chuckle, watching him suddenly become tense.

"don't be, it's not your fault you're gorgeous" he winks through the screen and you roll your eyes with a smile.

"alright romeo, are you feeling any better?" you ask pleasantly, trying to redirect the conversation, realizing you haven't even asked him how he is.

"my head still kinda hurts" he scrunches his face.

"my poor boy" you frown, genuinely.

you hate seeing him sick, but you know he handles it well. the boredom makes him more uncomfortable than the actual illness. proof being the hundreds of messages he's sent you, having full conversations with himself through text. his screen time would have been off the charts.

"distract me, tell me what you did today" he coos, a dopey grin on his face as he leans into his hand while looking at you.

"nothing exciting. i did some shopping, bought some new panties. you'd love them" you flash a warm smile, knowing your words are going to get his skin hot.

"not exciting? i'm gonna get hard just thinking about it" he blurts out, an abrupt confidence in him that he's had lingering lately. it's awfully attractive.

you watch his hand dip under his desk, where your view is cut off. you assume he's adjusting himself in his pants. you're trying to squeeze your lips together to hide a smirk.

"don't even show me, i'm going insane as it is" matt adjusts his headset, but it looks like he's doing it to make sure he can hear you better. it's like he can read your mind.

"you don't even wanna see the pair i have on now?" you begin to shift your camera closer to your body, slowly, teasingly down your torso.

"fuck" you hear matt sigh, and you lose sight of him as your phone faces down on your waist.

you slip a thumb under the band of your shorts, tugging them down and only flashing him the lace that hugs the crease of your leg. your dainty fingers caress the skin at your hip.

"i thought about you when i chose them"

he grabs your attention through his lack of response. instead, he stifles a cough, as if he's covering up another sound. it's a soft strain in his throat.

you narrow your eyes, snapping your phone back up to your face, the brightness taking you aback for a moment, and you need to readjust your vision. you're laying on your back, neck perked up on your fluffed pillows, but you lean closer to the screen to observe his actions.

matt's mouth is open ajar, and his right arm is tucked tight to his side, moving ever so slowly. you can't see the view past his ribcage, but you can string together what's happening.

“matty?"

"y-yeah baby," he asks, clearing his throat soon after.

you squint, trying to envision what your full view would be, where his hand is hiding, and the way he's in a state of stupor.

"are you touching yourself?” you bite your lip.

"’m sorry baby. just hearing you speak. your body” his voice is breathy and coarse, and he's staring at you on his screen like he's watching porn, viciously lost in his own thoughts.

“it’s been lonely in that room, huh?”

"mmph-you have no idea," he shakes his head, hesitantly picking up the pace of his strokes, making his voice shake.

you're rolling your hips at the thought of him jerking off, knowing he hasn't been able to satisfy his needs unless you're the one helping him through it. it brings you more pleasure than it should, how quickly he crumbles. even when you're miles apart.

"do you want me to stop?" he asks, and you can tell he's slowly palming himself, shamlessly all of a sudden as he does so.

you can't deny the ache that's been growing between your thighs since you've realized what he's doing. your legs arch up on the bed, and he can't see you, but you're spreading them open slightly.

“keep going" you order, sliding a hand into your own panties, and matt sharply exhales through his nose.

matt nods, leaning in his chair. he silently shows you gratitude by the look in his eyes. they soften, but are full of lust. the office chair dips with him, and the further he leans back, the more of him that's revealed.

taking time to let both of you get more into it as he strokes himself, turning the volume of his phone up to hear the breathy sounds you try to hold back. your fingers working between your thighs as you listen to his soft grunts and moans.

"are you imagining that's my hand, matt?" your voice lowers an octave, using your most seductive shift in mannerisms, voice, and stare to guide matt through.

"or my mouth?" and when those words escape your lips, he throws his head back with a moan.

"i wish i could fuck your pretty mouth so bad" his teeth are tight as he speaks, chest rising and falling heavily.

pushing his chair back so he can finally release his cock from his sweatpants, your heart skips at a beat at the sight of him with his hard dick in his grip, leaking tip and veins prominent in his big hand.

"you touching yourself, baby?" he asks, giving long, wrist twisting strokes to himself.

"mhm" you strain a hum, and pan your phone down so he gets a preview of you your hand under your shorts, caressing through your folds steadily.

you circle your clit that's already soaked, spreading your juices, and you're seeping through the fabric of your pants. you know you need to pull them off, becoming impatient by your own restriction. plus, how badly matt wants to see you.

"you have no idea how bad i wanna be in-between those thighs right now" the nearly desperate moan that spilled from his lips makes you clench around your own touch, whimpering as you rock into your palm.

trying to find the same sweet spot matt has always manages to find, you put your phone down by your side, so the camera view is on your ceiling momentarily.

“don’t stop talking, y/n" he pants, focusing the pump of his hand on his swollen head.

"you wanna see this pussy, baby?" you speak while he doesn't have a visual source for a second.

"who's pussy is it, y/n?" matt growls, and you can hear the wet sounds coming from his hand moving more savagely.

you quickly, ferociously strip from your undergarments, discarding them. you whip out a decorative pillow from under your back and rest it at the edge of your bed, using it as a phone stand so matt can have the perfect view, as if he were actually between your legs.

"yours. all yours" you swallow as you look at your screen again with heavy eyelids.

you watch as matt spits into his hand, making your core tighten.

“bet your fingers don’t feel the same as mine. do they, sweetheart?” he huffs, pace of his hand picking up when you moan in response.

you start groping your breasts with closed eyes, imagining it was his strong hand grasping at you.

“you’re a tease” you murmur, pinching your nipples hard with one hand and squeezing your legs together against the other.

"say it" he chokes out, continuing to fuck himself hard and fast, eyes flicking between a narrow stare and shutting tight with a halted breath.

"n-nothing is better than your touch"

you want to get a better view of him. you can see the entirety of him in his chair, but it's just not close enough. his sweats cover most of his hand movements, and you're mentally begging for him to pull them off.

"for someone who's whole life is behind the camera, your angles could be better, baby" you tease, breathless, and matt glares at you.

he yanks his pants to his ankles first. the sight of his shirt pulled up enough to show the tensing muscles of his abdomen and throbbing erection begging to be relieved. needier moans and whines coming from both of you before he finally fixes his camera angle.

he reaches forward to the screen, bringing it closer, and panning down more. your screen is engulfed by a close up of matt's face and lap. a perfect view.

"better?" he rushes his question. you nod, chuckling lightly.

you continue to roll your fingers across your vulva, spreading yourself open for him and tease your own hole with your fingertips. his whole arm is shaking from the quick rhythm he’s set, drowning himself in the fantasy he’s creating as he watches your expressions of bliss.

pushing into yourself while you watch him, matt almost releases right then and there.

the sight of him masturbating is something you're going to be replaying in your mind, and you already know he's going to make this a more common occurrence.

“i’ve been aching all week for this,” he speaks, voice singing through the speakers of your phone, trying not to sound too much like he's whining.

“you have no idea how hard it is to not get myself off when i think about you, y/n.” matt continues, and it makes you fuck deeper into yourself, arching your back.

you feel yourself growing a sickeningly sweet pain in your stomach, a sharp feeling that bubbles like champagne and brings you such a overwhelming sensation. you're a moaning mess. anyone hearing your vocal exchanges would think it's an act, almost sounding scripted.

“matt-” his full name is cut off in a stuttered gasp, pleasure washing over you wave after wave until all you could do was pant and grind against your palm.

"ngh, keep going. that's my girl," you're both desperate to keep hearing each other and melt completely into your own touch, using nothing but desire and the memory of him devouring you to push you over the limit.

you can hear his skin slapping with how forceful his strokes are, almost like he's putting himself through misery by going fast, then slow. playing with himself, giving his cock the same feeling you would by changing the momentum.

"wish that was my fucking hand. oh, fuck” he groans through gritt teeth, following right behind you as his release spills out onto his stomach.

"mm-matty," you shriek, grinding into your quilt cover and pushing into your fingers to feel like your climax hit it's peak, abs tightening and a sharp inhale flooding your entire body. your pleasure slowly subsides.

your mouth feels dry from gasping and you need to lick your lips straight away, to bring some relief. to regain your composure. you lean forward, grabbing your phone with your clean, shaky hand.

"god that was so fucking hot" matt grabs at the armrests, head tossed back, staring at the ceiling in a post-orgasm daze.

you giggle at the state he's in, watching his cock slap against his lower stomach, resting next to his happy trail that you'd give anything to lick clean. he gives himself a few more lazy stokes, overstimulated as he jolts to his own touch.

you wipe your sticky fingers on your shorts beside you, so you can hold your phone more comfortably.

"i can't wait to touch you again" you admire, snuggling back into your pillow and curling into yourself, bringing the screen to your face.

"better be soon, i don't know how much longer i can last without you" matt pulls himself to slide back under desk, hiding the explicit sight. you know he won't be putting pants back on anytime soon.

"come closer to the screen" you implore.

"why? you want a kiss?" he jokes, and you play along.

"i do actually. c'mhere" you wave him over as you hold your phone to your lips, probably not your most flattering angle but matt adores you in any state. from any angle. even when you're virtual.

"you seriously want me to kiss the screen?" he snorts, shaking his head at you while flashing his teeth.

"if you don't, i'll hang up" you shrug to yourself, earning a grumble from matt.

"you're ridiculous" he laughs.

"kiss me through the phone, baby" you both exchange a fatigued half-smile, as you know it's past his bedtime, so you initiate a parting line.

your eyes strain to see the screen as you pucker at the circle camera on the black mirrored surface, and matt is trying to be serious as he leans forward with a 'mwah' sound, smacking his lips onto his more advanced ipad setup.

the messy burgundy silk sheets in his background shot look so enticing, and you're sure he wants nothing more than to tangle himself between them.

"was that your way of telling me to say goodnight?" he raises an eyebrow, and you nod, trying to be stern in your sentence.

"it was, my love" you speak in a gentle tone.

as much as you want nothing more than to fall asleep to his voice, or his light snores, or even the sound of him playing videos. he needs to rest. and you know it'll be a good sleep after his much deserved orgasm.

"alright my angel, i'll let you go" his eyes are getting darker, and heavier with each word.

"goodnight, matty bear" you slip the nickname in, knowing he's too delirious to argue against it.

"goodnight, baby. dream about me." he smiles with his flushed cheeks, blowing you one last kiss through the screen before it turns black.

you're left alone with the vision of him, and your own arms to wrap around before you drift into a sleep where you will absolutely be dreaming about matthew.

end.

tag list: @luverboychris @recklessmatt @floofparker @teampurpleforlife @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @fake-sturniolos @recklessmatt @kentahoe

#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo oneshot #kiss me through the phone

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g-xix · 5 months

Text

🔞 Lockdown vids Pt.2 [KINKTOBER] Harry x reader x WillNE x ChrisMD

Part 1

CW's: cyber sex, exhibitionism, masturbation, degrading + praising combo

--------

"You guys were here the whole fucking time?!" Harry asked incredulously, like me, struggling to believe what was happening. "And you didn't tell either of us we had camera on?!"

"Well, we did tell you..." Chris responded, shifting in his seat. "You were the one that couldn't hear us given your earphones were in..."

"So you just sat and... watched?" The words tumbled from my mouth in confusion, and as much of a shock as it was, the thought of being watched by those two made my head feel fuzzy in a... good way...

"Well, when you're putting on a show like that you can't blame us-" Will smirked as he spoke, knowing his words would annoy Harry, which they of course did.

"Mhm, you don't know just how good you look, Cam..." Chris spoke with Will, though his voices didn't only annoy Harry, they also only added to that hot feeling I was getting and clearly showed on my cheeks, as Chris said "Look at you getting all red at us, d'you like having us watching you, gorgeous?"

A silence fell, Will and Chris watching and waiting for the response whilst I felt Harry shift beneath me, clearly waiting for my answer as well.

"I- I-" All words left my mouth as I felt their eyes on me, not knowing how to respond. I closed my mouth and simply nodded as I felt my face heat up even more whilst admitting it.

Harry put his arm around my waist protectively, pulling me further into his lap, only for my eyes to shoot wide and lips to elicit a small gasp as I feel his stiffness beneath me and realise he's still not finished either.

"She's mine either way you pricks," Harry responded, his fingers trailing down my body and back towards my core which had become wet again, the inner exhibitionism reigniting my body.

"She'd be better with me though." Chris responded cheekily, settling his back into the chair and pushing his shoulders back confidently. "Took your time finishing there, darling, I know you'd just melt if that was me..."

I moved back from Harry's fingers, sick of his teasing (as if the other 2 boys weren't teasing me enough), settling on Harry's length instead and shuffling and grinding back and forth just giving Harry and inch of satisfaction.

"You'd be absolutely brain dead in my arms, pet," Will grinned on the other side of the computer. Harry began gripping my waist tighter, and I had no clue whether it was because of Will's teasing or mine.

"Or the both of us." Chris threw in the idea with a shrug and cocky grin. Slipping my hand down I found the waist band of Harry's sweatpants, pulling them down slowly and slowly running my hand up and down his length. His hand on my waist got even tighter if even possible, and the pain I knew would eventually bruise didn't even hurt me. It just felt even more pleasurable. "I wouldn't even mind which side I got-"

"You're fucking delusional, you-." Harry choked on his words as I shuffled backwards, running his tip along my core, teasing him by putting just the tip in.

"He said your fucking delusional, Chris, Will," I spoke at the camera with a grin of my own now, a completely bratty and overconfident grin. "Cuz he's the only one fucking me right now-"

Harry threw his head back, letting out a husky groan as I sank down his length, bottoming out and biting my lip to prevent myself letting out any other noises.

I let out a groan as I propped myself up, pulling back slightly before slamming back down and feeling his tip kiss my cervix as I did, the feeling causing my body to feel fuzzy and eyes to roll back, a moan slipping from my lips.

"Fuck..." I heard Will whisper in one of the earphones I almost forgot I was wearing, and seemingly Harry had as well, as his hands found refuge on either of my hips, holding me steadily and controlling my movements and pushing me down harder so that I couldn't control the lewd whimpers and moans that came from my mouth as this feeling drove me insane; hearing Chris and Will's heavy breathing and knowing they too were watching and getting off as Harry and I fucked, the pleasure of both making my spine arch and body press into Harry's.

I pulled an earphone from Harry's ear, resting my head against his shoulder and letting me heavy breaths fan his neck, which only seemed to encourage him more, as I felt his hips thrust upwards to match my movements as well. I managed a breathy chuckle between my moans, whispering into Harry's ear: "Maybe we should do this more often..."

"What, you a little exhibitionist? Enjoying putting on a show for them." Harry smirked.

Words failed to describe just how much I was taking pleasure in putting a "show" on for them, so I instead responded with a shaky nod.

"Let's put an even better one on then."

Harry pulled me up with a squeal, my legs feelings too dead to support my weight- but Harry held me up by the waist nonetheless, pushing my back down so that I was bent over the desk, his hands moving down to find the hem of my shirt, pulling that off in one slick movements and throwing it to the side, my tits now visible in the camera.

His hand found purchase in my hair, bringing it back in a bunch and pulling it backwards as he thrusted from the back, causing me to let out an almost pornographic moan as I felt new spots reached from this angle, my tits bouncing with each thrust he continued- taking his earphone out and putting it into my other ear so that it was only Will, Chris and myself able to communicate now.

I looked to the monitor and found myself impossibly even more aroused at the sight of Harry's webcam- the video reflecting myself- cheeks reddened and expression wasted, with hair salaciously messed, and my whole frame visible for the other two to see as I had whole-body shakes with each of Harry's thrusts.

And somehow the view of Chris's biceps bulging through his shirt as he rolled his head back in pleasure at the sight, and Will's eyes screwed shut, shoulder jerking up and down as a clear indication of what he was doing, only made my toes curl more, head during fuzzier by the moment.

"How's it feel, Cam?" Chris spotted me looking into the monitor and questioned, never failing to impress me with his brazen nature- smirk even more brash if even possible. "How's it feel to have us here as well..."

"S- So fucking good-" I breathed out, letting out a gasp as I felt Harry's hand against my ass, slapping it before kneading the soft skin before tugging at my hair once more, my back arching at the feelings only Harry could bring to me.

"You look so fucking good, Cam," Will spoke next, through gritted teeth and following his words with a unholy groan. "I wish I was with you- using that pretty little mouth of yours for no good,"

The combination of Harry's calculated thrusts and Will's dirty words with that stupidly sexy voice making me let out one of the loudest moans yet, stomach bunching into a tight little knot.

"Oh yes Cam, and I could take those perfect fucking tits of yours and have you them 'round my cock," Chris breathed unsteadily, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Have your face dripping with my cum once we're done..."

Those words had some effect on me, as I felt my core tightening, barrelling towards my orgasm.

"F-fuck, Harry, I think- I think I'm gonna-"

"Me fucking too, Cam," Chris's voice was strained.

"Hold it a minute gorgeous, wait for me..." Harry's voice kept me on edge, waiting as I felt his thrusts get more erratic, more desperate, before he said- "Come on, Cam..."

I felt the knot in my stomach unfurl furiously as I let out a obscene moan, feeling Harry's load fill me before he pulled out and sat back down- myself collapsing against him and onto his lap just a moment later.

I heard Chris's and Will's groans peak and watched as they climaxed, before leaning back with heavy breaths and heaving chests- just as Harry picked one of the earphones from my ear and slotted it into his own.

"That was..." He began. "Something."

I felt myself let out a chuckle. A short, ironic chuckle. Followed by Chris letting out a breathy laugh. And Will giving a short giggle, which started me up laughing again- and suddenly everyone was just laughing in the call, laughing at whatever the hell just happened and laughing at the fact we were just laughing at it all.

"Just so you guys know," I heard Harry begin a few minutes later, "That is NEVER happening again."

BONUS SCENE!!

A few minutes later, I began pulling my clothes back on and reshuffling bits and bobs on Harry's desk whilst the boys made small talk in the background, moving on from the moment and starting to remember that they originally came here to film the online mukbang.

Speaking of that mukbang, they were missing one-

BANG!

The door of the other, ignored webcam sprung open and Stephen, dressed in a fitted tuxedo, staggered into the room, hair ruffled and eyes bloodshot.

"Sorry I'm a bit late guys turns out that strawberry gin didn't sit too right with me and I had to go throw all my organs up into the toilet..." Stephen rambled before sitting down in his chair with a sigh and plugging his earphones back in. "Did I miss anything whilst I was gone?"

I looked at Harry.

Harry looked at me with a bursting smile.

We looked at the monitor.

Chriss pressed a hand to his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

Will let out a giggle.

Oh poor Stephen...

---

LOOOOL hope u guys like this one it's a bit of a shambolic shiggles but who gaf, smut is smut... Vote/spam the inbox for what u wanna see next girlies :D

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

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bbyquokka · 11 months

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🤌🏻 you've seen the vid of binnie taking a donut from a STAY at the fan meet? Imagine that it wasn't just any STAY it also happened to be his s/o!

Just thoughts of binnie scanning which stay to take from and he spots you and takes yo donut and you sit there like.

... "bruh, I got this for us to eat at home why 😭" still had fun at the fan meet tho and you adore interacting with your boyfriend at fan meets loool.

powdered donuts paired with sugary sweet love

FLUFF BELOW CUT – MINORS, AGELESS & DEFAULT BLOGS; DNI

warnings: she/her pronouns used, idol au, food mentioned (donuts), established relationship. words: 0.6k ~ (689)

dont repost. dont translate. feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

the local bakery is just a few blocks away from where skz are currently holding their fan meeting. you can hear the sounds of the cheers and screams from the many stays as well as the music for s-class playing.

as you step inside the bakery, pick out four donuts for you to indulge later on tonight. you hear his voice bellowing in your ears as you pay. you smile to yourself as you listen to his cheerful laugh, a laugh that erupts from deep within his chest whilst making everyone else around him laugh too from how contagious it is.

you step outside, clutching the box. you decide on making a detour to see how the fan met is going plus, you want to see your lover after not seeing him for a few weeks.

you stand a few feet away from the crowd. enough to be seen by changbin but not enough to be shooed away from the event organisers plus security.

you chuckle to yourself as you watch skz interact with stays, taking photos and talking to them. you spot changbin, feeling your heart swell and butterflies flutter in your stomach from how beautiful and soft he looks. your body fills with pride, eyes filling with tears as you watch him. you couldn't be proud of changbin, proud of how far he has come.

you've watched him struggle with his own mind at times. the exhausting hours, the never ending sleepless nights and his body battered and bruised from the ruthless dance practises as well as him losing his voice a couple of times. you've been by his side, his shoulder to lean on and you're so proud of him for sticking at it and never giving up.

whilst reminiscing, you fail to notice changbin making a mad dash towards you only to be stopped by security. changbin frowns and pouts, protesting as you watch him become flustered and somewhat annoyed.

“she's my girlfriend! she won't hurt me, just let me past please.” you see him mouth, practically begging the guy, but security just won't budge–until stray kids manager comes over and explains the situation and who you are. luckily for you, you're on good terms with skz and the team behind them, which allows you just that little bit of leeway when it comes to stuff like this.

changbin hugs the manager before beaming as bright as the sun. he runs over to you, engulfing you in his arms. your eyes widen as you laugh, holding the box of donuts away so you don't drop them.

“i've missed you so fucking much.” changbin whispers, eyes closing as he inhales that scent of yours he has missing so dearly. you smile softly to yourself, melting into his body. the scratchy fabric of his outfit rubs against your cheek but you endure it just to be held by changbin that little bit longer.

“i've missed you too binnie. so so much.” you whisper.

“i only have a few minutes until i have to go back. i know i shouldn't stray away from stays but as soon as i saw you, my body went into autopilot.”

“i understand baby. you have a job to do so it's ok.” changbin pulls away slowly before cupping your cheeks and kissing you sweetly on the lips. you hum softly, reciprocating the kiss and melting into his touch and the heat from the palm of his hands.

“what you got there then?” he says, nodding at the box of donuts.

“oh!” you open the box to show him the powdery, sugar coated dough. “just a small snack for tonight. thought i'd treat myself for after dinner.”

“yum!” changbin smirks playfully as he grabs a donut. you pout and whine as you watch him take a bite out of the soft dough. “this is delicious! very sweet, but delicious!”

“binnie!” you whine. he giggles softly as you sigh and roll your eyes playfully at him. you reach out, swiping some powdered sugar away from the corner of his lips with your thumb.

“it's a good thing i love and adore you, seo changbin.”

note: soft binnie eating donuts equals a yes from me. 🥺 he's so baby girl coded -sobs-

tags (open): @sstarryoong ; @oshimee ; @fairylouist ; @septicrebel ; @bbujiikseu ; @alyszaen ; @writerracha ; @aestheticsluut ; @xcookiemonsteer

#💀👑#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz soft hours #skz soft thoughts #stray kids soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #changbin #seo changbin #changbin fluff #seo changbin fluff #changbin x you #changbin x reader #seo changbin x you #seo changbin x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 10 months

Text

Love Misunderstood

Warnings: None really. Brief mention of sexy times. Angst.

Summary: The moment came and went so fast, but Y/N has regretted it ever since.

Pairings: Dean x Y/N

Word Count: 505

A/N: This was written for @deanwanddamons Rock SPN Flash Fan Fic Challenge 3. I was given the song Why Can't This Be Love by Van Halen. Reading the lyrics and listening to the song again made me think of young love, and the bad choices we make in our youth. I was also slightly influenced by Cassie and Dean's story. (Though this is obviously different.)

Thanks for hosting this challenge once again, my dear! I love them!

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89

I didn’t understand regret until I watched heartbreak bloom in a pair of exquisite emerald eyes. It’s been years, but I still remember every word, every shift of emotion on his beautiful face.

I hadn’t grown up in the life like Dean had, but I’d been hunting for a few years when we met in our early twenties. His boyish grin, and undeniable charm had me tumbling happily into his bed. He’d surprised me; by day he was this rough, sometimes ferocious Soldier. But in my arms, in the dark, his lips were soft, and his hands unbearably gentle on my skin.

He played my body perfectly, murmuring sweet words of praise and encouragement in my ear.

“So beautiful.”

“So perfect.”

”Need you so bad.”

I fell fast, hard, and quick.

But…well, I was so young, and so terrified of everything - of losing him, of keeping him, terrified of what it meant to love another hunter. So, when Dean spoke softly against my heart one night, as he laid in my arms, I panicked. His voice was soft and silky, a little trepidatious, but hopeful.

“Y/N, I…I love you.”

I was sure he could hear my heart speed up to double time as I stopped breathing. Without speaking, I slid out from underneath him, and pulled on my t-shirt. He sat up slowly and swung his legs over the bed, his back to me, before standing and pulling on his boxers.

His voice was a bit harder when he spoke again.

“You don’t have to say it back, or anything. I just…” He trailed off and I felt my heart crack as he turned to face me. I could see the deep hurt on his face, though he tried to cover it. He shrugged. “It’s not that big a deal.”

I shook my head. “It is a big deal, Dean. Those words are a big deal. And I…”

“What?” He challenged.

“I don’t think you really know what they mean. This…this isn’t love.” I said quietly, sure I was right.

Dean clenched his jaw tight, his eyes wounded. “No? Why not? Who says?”

I shook my head. “We’re too young, this is too fast. And our lives are…” I was silent for a moment, tears clogging my throat as the fear built within me. “It’s not love.”

Dean licked his lips, turning his head to hide his gaze from me. He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

He stepped into his jeans and pulled on his t-shirt. “Sorry.” He said simply, glancing at me long enough to let me see the tears he blinked away. “Didn’t realize it wasn’t love. Guess I was wrong, so - thanks for correcting me.” He turned and walked silently out the door.

More than a decade later my heart still picks up when someone mentions his name, and I’d give anything to tell him how wrong I was.

Cause it was love, and it was real, and bright, and worth so much more than I gave it.

I miss it every day.

Tags under the cut:

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #deanwanddamonsrockflashfic3

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wysteria-clad · 1 year

Text

The wolf man.

paring: Jack Russell x fem! reader

genre: fluffy af

warnings: other than Jack's cuteness, none

a/n: the joke is based on a vid i saw on ig

-------

What better way to spend a lazy afternoon than watching vintage horror movies, snuggled in the arms of the one you love?

The afternoon sky outside darkened, laden with grey clouds as if the mother nature herself wanted to set the ambience for your little horor movie fun. You could hear the wind howl outside before you closed the windows of your home shut.

You held a collection of movies in your hand, lifting it up for Jack to choose.

"Frankenstein, good. The wolf man? really, amor?" he shook his head playfully, as if he already knew you wouldn't let the opportunity slip.

"It's a classic, babe," you grinned, smooching his cheek, and walking past him to grab popcorn and other snacks from the kitchen.

He spread the blankets on the floor, and threw in pillows more than enough for you two.

"Jack?"

"Did you see the news?"

"What news, bebé?"

"Few scientists have discovered a link between wildlife and a particular mineral," "Yeah, in our national park, wolves displayed an odd behaviour in winter months"

"Oh, really?"

"They were observed tracking down mineral deposits with their strong olfactory sense. Scientists assumed that it helped them communicate efficiently with other packs"

That got his full attention. He had that confused look on his face. 'what did I miss?' 'Am I a real werewolf if I don't know this?' 'What is that mineral?'

"This unusual mineral is called Howlite."

It striked him after a couple of seconds. He adjusted his position, and threw a piece of popcorn staight at your face. "You almost got me, cariño" he snorted, his eyes crinkling adorably.

"Hey!" you chuckled, pretending that hurt before popping that popcorn in your mouth.

You moved closer so you could sit between his legs. He was leaning back on the couch, facing the tv.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. Your familiar scent instantly made him feel even more comfortable.

Your back was pressed against his chest. You leaned back, resting your head on his shoulder, making yourself comfortable on your man.

The Wolf man began to play.

Half way through the movie, you called out to him, "Jack?"

He angled his neck to look down at you.

"You are so cute" you stated as a matter of fact. You tilted your head back to capture his lips with yours.

His eyes were soft with tender love. Smiling, he kissed your lips softly, "te amo, bebé."

You kissed him one more time before turning your attention back to the movie. But your hand had found its way to touch his face, you pinched his right cheek, making him let out a chuckle.

You turned around too see his face lit up with amusement and love.

"You're quite handsy, cariño "

"Only with the man I love."

Even though Jack knew how much you loved him, he couldn't help but smile every time you said you loved him, as if you had confessed your love for him for the very first time.

He pressed a kiss to your head, before focusing the attention back on the movie.

Half way through the next movie Frankenstein, he had noticed you fell asleep, with your hands still on top of his. You had completely made him your personal body pillow.

He turned off the tv. He adjusted your body so you could sleep in a more comfortable position, making you stir slightly.

"Jack?"

"Yeah, bebé?" he worried he had woken you up.

"You are my favourite wolf man..." you mumbled, still half asleep.

He placed a pillow for your head and brushed few pieces of hair away from your eyes. When he moved away from you to grab a blanket, you sleepily reached out to clutch his hand thinking he would leave you.

"You are my favourite human, mi vida," he said softly, his voice just above a whisper, his thumb touching your cheek.

He swore he could feel his heart swell at that moment. He kissed the side of your head softly, and layed down next to you, covering you with a soft blanket and sharing it with you.

You nuzzled closer to him, your face pressing against his chest.

Soon enough, the darkened grey clouds outside began to rain.

Although for Jack, your warmth and soft breathing were more comforting than the gentle rain outside.

------

He kissed your forehead softly and carefully, not to wake you up.

This couldn't be anymore perfect.

wwbn taglist:

@toracainz @i-still-dont-like-your-face @damnzelsoul @21stcenturycirce

#wystie-verse #jack russell x reader #jack russell imagine #jack russell fluff #jack russell #werewolf by night x reader #wwbn x reader #wwbn imagine #werewolf by night #wwbn

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galacticgraffiti · 2 years

Text

✿ Baati’gar ✿

Wordcount: ~800

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: slightly ill!reader, Wolffe taking care of you, some mildly lewd comments and innuendos, mostly just so much fluff

I am dedicating this ficlet to my beloved @pinkiemme who deserves the world and so much more. Love you babes 🥺❤️‍🔥

.•°°•. ✿ .•°°•.✿ .•°°•.✿ .•°°•.

Wolffe’s nose nudges yours.

“You awake, pretty girl?”

“No,” you groan and pull the blanket up. “Everything hurts.”

Wolffe grunts, placing one hand on your forehead.

“You’re hot,” he states. You snort and let the blanket sink down a bit to wiggle your eyebrows.

“Aren’t I always?”

Wolffe rolls his eyes.

“No joking about you being sick, you won’t distract me. You caught something.”

You roll to your side, groaning quietly when your aching joints refuse to cooperate. Wolffe’s large hands settle on your shoulders.

“Nuh-uh, you stay right where you are,” he commands.

“Yes Sir,” you mumble, earning an exasperated sigh from Wolffe. You chuckle quietly, then suppress a hiss when your head starts pounding. Wolffe, of course, hears you anyways.

“What is it, cyar’ika?” His face is carved in stone, but the worry in his voice impossible to overhear if you know him.

“My head hurts,” you murmur. Wolffe nods matter-of-factly, and swings his legs off the bed.

“Stay right there, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You try to protest weakly, but there is no force behind you words.

“I won’t hear it,” Wolffe calls over his shoulder as he rummages through the medkit in the fresher. “You’re sick, cyar’ika. You deserve to be taken care of.”

“‘s not your job,” you grumble, pressing your thumbs into your eye sockets to stop your head from pounding so hard you can barely breathe.

“Not my job, no,” Wolffe murmur. You flinch, you didn’t hear him come up to your side. A cold pack is placed on your forehead and you sigh in relief. Wolffe clicks his tongue. “Not my job. But my responsibility, sweetheart. And I want it to be. Let me take care of you.”

His voice is unexpectedly soft, and when you open your eyes to look up at him, you melt at the expression on his face. Instead of protesting more, you simply hum, and close your eyes again. Wolffe feeds you some bacta, and laughs at the faces you make at the stale taste. He makes tea for you, feeds you some porridge, he lets you lay on him with your head in his lap and gently massages your scalp until your headache is gone entirely.

You sigh and relax into him, falling asleep more than once. When you wake up, he is always still there, quietly holding you.

The day passes like this, quiet and content. You watch holo vids together, although you sleep through half of them. Wolffe makes broth - an excellent choice since it is the only thing he has the skills to cook - and lets you sleep and sleep and sleep. You fall asleep to his voice quietly humming a faint melody, a song you have never heard before but that bears the universal comfort of a lullaby in its tune.

When you truly wake up for the first time, it is already dark outside, Wolffe asleep beside you with a datapad on his chest. You pull yourself up to kiss his cheek, and he stirs under your touch.

“You feeling better, sweet girl?” His voice is rough with sleep. You smile softly at him.

“Mhm, all better. Thanks to you,” you kiss his cheek again. “My hero.”

Wolffe grumbles something under his breath, but you swear you can feel the flush in his cheeks against yours.

“I feel disgusting,” you complain eventually. “I’m gonna take a bath, I think.”

“Hmm,” Wolffe hums, his hand slipping around your waist and squeezing gently. “Want me to come with you?”

“What exactly are you implying, Commander?” you smirk at the insinuation. Wolffe’s hands slip down and down, pinching your thigh before settling on the swell of your ass.

“I’m implying whatever you feel up for, pretty girl. Let’s not overdo it, though. I’ll get into the tub with you if that’s… something you want.”

“Hm-hm,” you sigh. “That sounds perfect.”

“Good.” Wolffe groans when he gets up, but shushes you when you inquire concernedly. “My leg fell asleep is all. Come on, sweetheart.”

Strong arms wrap around you and lift you up bridal style. Wolffe carries you to the fresher, letting you cling to him until the tub is filled up. You moan when you slip into the warm water, and smile up at him, tugging at his hand.

“Come on in, baby.”

Wolffe snorts at the pet name, but he holds his tongue, quickly divesting himself and sliding into the tub behind you. Thick thighs wrap around you as he sighs in deep contentment.

“Thank you,” you whisper into the quiet room. Wolffe pressed his lips into your hair.

“Ba’gedet’ye, ner kar’ta.”

.•°°•. ✿ .•°°•.✿ .•°°•.✿ .•°°•.

Baati’gar - (roughly) Caring for you

Ba’gedet’ye, ner kar’ta - You are welcome, sweetheart.

Taggies for some moots 🥰

@baba-fett @cyarbika @thebitchformerlyknownaskenobi @twistedstitcher27 @rexxdjarin @rain-on-kamino @purgetrooperfox @rowansparrow @maybege @fett-djarin @ashotofspotchka @thefact0rygirl @rescuethewretched @clonecyare @tenderclio @maygalodon @spaceydragons @equalityforcats @solidago-sempervirens @rexscyarika @damerondala @shadesofshatteredblue @nahoney22 @ulchabhangorm

#commander wolffe #fluff #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #galawrites #gifts for friends

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hmslusitania · 1 year

Note

Mass Effect Inquisition for the WIP ask game (if youre still doing it?)

I am always available to talk about this fic. As may be apparent from the label on it, it's Dragon Age Inquisition, but the Inquisitor is Commander Shepard. Have this snippet from chapter five! TW: brief drowning mention

It turns out that drowning isn’t anything like suffocating in the void. Drowning burns when the water goes down his throat, when it fills his lungs like each atom of oxygen and hydrogen that make up the stuff has caught fire all at once. He’s pinned underwater somehow, somewhere, and he can’t hear anything besides the occasional distant, echoing clinks of metal and he can’t breathe—

He’s dying.

There’s light from a distant star, shining behind his eyelids and he’s dying but he shouldn’t be dying because he’s already dead. Right?

But, no, he can feel the life seeping out of his limbs, can feel the screaming burning sensation in his lungs start to dull while he. . . stops.

And then he’s not dead.

“Come on, come on, come on!”

The voice is swimming somewhere above him, along with an uncomfortable compression on his chest.

“Don’t fucking do this to me,” the voice continues, and then there are hands on his face, a mouth against his, and someone’s breathing air into his lungs.

Shepard feels the water in his lungs race for his throat and rolls away just in time to cough up two lungfuls of water into the – standing pool of water in this…cell?

Slumped in the one raised part of the cell, visibly relieved, Dorian pushes his sodden hair off his face and exhales. Shepard coughs again, more water flinging itself from his lungs.

“I’m – alive,” he says, the horrible reality of it all crashing into him at once.

“You’re welcome for that,” Dorian says.

“No, I’m – I’m alive,” Shepard says. “Oh, god, no wonder things still hurt, because it wasn’t dying in Hell it was just dying – I’m – the – the crucible must’ve opened a wormhole, and I guess I got caught in the – oh my god I thought this was just Hell, I thought this was my afterlife, like ‘hey you killed all advanced technology! Enjoy living in the 10th century but also with magic because you spent too much of your childhood watching fantasy vids!’ I thought it was like – this was one of the Star Trek episodes where they get sent down to a planet that’s just like a prior era of earth and—”

His panicked rambling cuts off when he coughs up more water and he’s vividly aware of the blood running in his veins because there’s blood rushing in his veins because he’s alive.

“Shepard?” Dorian tries.

“I thought – I mean the time magic was tripping me up because I can kinda get the physics of everything else here but that one’s just – I don’t – I would never come up with that, because I don’t believe in it, and—”

“Jack? Darling?” Dorian interrupts, clapping both hands on each side of his face.

Shepard stops talking and looks at him while Dorian squeezes his face. His grey eyes are wide enough that Shepard can see a rim of white all the way around. It’s a stunningly lovely shade of grey.

“I appreciate that you’re having some sort of breakdown,” Dorian says, still squeezing Shepard’s face. “But considering Alexius just flung us forward in time and I don’t know how far, and I don’t know why there’s some sort of red lyrium growing out of the cell with us, I need you to pull it together until we get out of here. Can you do that?”

Please come talk to me about my wips!

#the ghost ship scribbles #mass effect inquisition #the ghost ship answers questions #sharpbutsoft

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sparatus · 8 months

Note

🍇 because your food descriptions are so ghibli-like

that is the greatest compliment i could ever receive thank you

snippet asks

🍇 share a snippet with food(or the palpable lack of food)

went looking for a longer one specifically to fit that compliment. from The Weight of Memory ch1 [read on ao3]:

Valis was already picking through Des’s little herb garden on the counter when [Saren] walked in. She flicked one mandible in acknowledgment. “You hear from Nihlus?” He hobbled over to the kitchen table and pulled out the nearest chair to sink down into. He hoped they got the new leg built soon, only having one hand available was going to drive him insane. “Every night.” He undid the wrist strap and propped the crutch up next to him, then sat back in the chair, idly rubbing at his wrist. “We watch vids and play games, sometimes, if his connection is stable enough. Mostly, we just talk.” Valis thrummed understanding. Of course she did, she and Des had had their fair share of being long-distance over the years. Still did, with Desolas being a general and getting sent to work his charismatic magic on troops all across the stars. “He doing alright? Des said he was in a bad state.” Saren clicked his mandibles. “Better, now that I’m out of the hospital, but he’s… shaken. He didn’t want to leave, but I insisted. He…” His mandibles moved in and out slowly, remembering the sunken eyes and tense posture Nihlus had worn the last time he’d seen him. He needed time to recover, too, psychologically if not physically, and he hadn’t been allowing himself any. He’d argued, of course, and Saren would be lying if he said he didn’t want him to stay there with him, but as much as it hurt to send him away, it was killing him that much faster to watch Nihlus swallow back his own stress for the sake of not upsetting Saren. “He needed to go home.” Valis nodded along, padding over to check the temperature on the roast. Any turian worth their teeth preferred their meat rare, but with Lucipius still being only eight, they had to be careful. “Everyone’s shaken,” she commented, grabbing a mismatched pair of oven mitts off the counter. “Been hearin’ from people who ain’t reached out in years. Nobody knows what to do when a Titan falls.” She said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that Saren almost didn’t process it at first. Then one mandible twitched as the word wormed its way in, and he had to stop and stare. Titan. Was that really what they all thought of him? He certainly didn’t feel like one, sitting in his brother’s kitchen in a loose band shirt and old cargo pants. Titans were people like Desolas, burning bright and strong and inspiring everyone to follow them to something better than themselves. He was strong, yes, unstoppable on the battlefield, but a force of nature was no Titan. Maybe he might have believed himself a god, once upon a time, but he knew better now. Holy things didn’t grow old and retire; he’d only ever been a man. If Valis realized what she’d said, she made no indicator, just calmly taking the roast out of the oven and setting it on the counter. The air swam before Saren's eyes as the rich, honey-drenched scent flooded the kitchen and elbowed everything else out of the way. He leaned forward in his chair, sniffing deeply. Valis chuffed. "Uh-huh. Should taste better'n it smells. Wanted somethin' special for you lot to come home to." She started sprinkling herbs over the roast, her claws clicking together with every little rub of her fingers. Saren settled back and leaned an arm on the table, closing his eyes to savor the scent, and – “So, when were you two planning on telling me Harper’s back?” His eyes snapped back open. There was an edge to her voice, something in her subvocals he couldn’t quite name. Uh-oh. He froze, watching her patiently pull a carving knife out of the block, trying to decide how best to answer. They had, in fact, barely discussed it at all – Desolas had asked him you know we can’t tell Valis, right?, he’d agreed, and that had been that. Valis had been through enough at Shanxi, and Des didn’t want to reopen old wounds. He was taking too long, evidently, because Valis sighed as the knife touched the meat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she grumbled.

#press conference #korblez #ierian's writing

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areweevercameraready · 1 year

Text

more than beliefs (9: gaston)

A/N: bro grad school is kicking my ASS!! and it's my last week at my current job!!! thank fuck !! it's been a horrible few months!! but we've got it !! we're in it to win it !! and honestly as long as i'm updating chapters before thomas puts out the next vid, i'm fine LOL

WARNINGS: Imagination-induced-amnesia, blunt force trauma, some light scheming, conceptual self-harm — we're really getting into the violence now. if I've missed anything, please let me know!!

Words: 4,110

here it is on AO3!

here is the masterpost! be aware that this is the sequel to chivalry is dead, which you can find more about here!

When the Playwright opened his eyes, he found that it was remarkably difficult to see. Things were quite blurry and one of his eyes was covered with something, such that even when he opened it a crack, all he saw was darkness. And it was not too comforting. Maybe he was designed with one eye? He couldn’t remember.

There’s….a lot he doesn’t remember. Had he just formed? He felt like…he knew some things. He’s the Playwright. He knew that much. And he knew he could travel, he went around the Imagination, he was in charge of it, like a housekeeper. He’s meant to make sure the daydreams are in order. But why couldn’t he remember beyond that? Had he ever actually done that, or was that just his charge that he’d been created with, just now?

Perhaps someone was here to help guide him. He was laying on a cushioned surface at least, and the more he woke up and focused, the more he noticed voices coming from the other room. He wore a sweater and slacks, tucked beneath a blanket. He’s probably been left in some bed somewhere. He doesn’t know where.

The more he woke up, however, the more his head throbbed. Curses. He isn’t even fucking real, why does this wound cause pain?! Illogical.

“Hello?” he croaked, voice softer than it felt like it should be. He was parched.

The voices outside quieted, and then a door opened. The Playwright could see it but everything was so damn blurry, he couldn’t make out any of the details.

“Playwright,” someone said.

Slowly, he nodded in response. “That’s me. May I ask, who are you?”

The person didn’t say anything for a moment. They stood still, still facing the Playwright, as if watching. It was a bit unnerving to be stared at by strangers, though, and his hands balled into the blanket as he pulled them back to push himself up.

“Who—” he tried to ask again, before wincing in pain.

“Does your head hurt?” the person asked.

“Yes, it fucking does,” he grunted. “I imagine something went wrong with-with the creative process here, because I sure hope the pain is temporary.”

“It should go away soon,” someone else asked, a voice so familiar.

The Playwright immediately let out a breath, one he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. That was Roman. It must be. He could recognize his creator anywhere.

“Roman,” he greeted, trying to be as calm as he could. “It’s a relief to hear you.”

The figure in the doorway, that must be Roman. He shifted a little, gestured at himself. “I’m glad. You got hit on the head. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Sorry for…I’m sorry for hitting you on the head,” the other person said. “I thought you were…It was stupid reasoning. I’m sorry it happened.”

The Playwright shrugged. Roman was here for it, he must have been. And Roman wouldn’t…let him get hurt like that. He was a good man. “No worries from me.” He was pretty sure Roman could just…make it disappear. Right? That was something Roman had the capacity for, right? And just…chose not to do.

It was a decision that the Playwright disagreed with, for obvious reasons, but. Well. He trusted Roman, he had to.

“I’m sure with a little more time, it’ll go away. May I repeat, though. Who are you?” he gestured to the other figure, the first one in the room, and they sighed.

“I’m the Director. You and I, we’re figments Roman’s created to help guide him through certain parts of his duties,” the Director explained, until his voice trailed off. “I’m…”

That made sense. And the name ‘the Director’ coupled with his own title made the Playwright think that they worked together often. There must have been something that went wrong, of course. That’s how the Director ended up striking him. It sounded like that, at least, and he sounded sorry enough.

“It’s okay,” the Playwright repeated, waving a hand. “Is there any reason I can hardly see either of you?”

The Director nodded and the Playwright could see him fumbling for his pockets. “I—yes, your glasses—I cleaned them, sorry,” he leaned forward, arm outstretched, and as he came closer, the glasses in his hands came more into focus. As did he.

A blonde man, hair slicked back, with green eyes. He looked worried as he stood closer to the Playwright, as he put on the glasses. The world clarified around him once he did. The Director’s outfit was definitely befitting of a stereotypical director, red scarf and trenchcoat and all. Roman was wearing a much more casual outfit as well, seemingly at peace here. They must be backstage somewhere. Perhaps there was an accident while they were preparing for some dream or planning session.

Roman watched the interactions quietly, thinking to himself about what this would mean. He didn’t want the Playwright questioning him on anything here, so he had to remove more than just the incident. And he wanted to know more about the Director’s plans. Especially if he was going to be taking it up.

A plan to help Roman be more perfect. Perfection was unobtainable, but you could always strive. Roman always tried.

Maybe it’d help fill this emptiness in his chest.

“Trivial,” Logan had said. Roman’s lapse in pride was “trivial.” That’s what Janus thought, too. Even Patton. Maybe even Virgil, it sounded like what he’d said so long ago, and had anything changed? Or did Virgil pity him? Roman didn’t know. He couldn’t trust any of them. He couldn’t trust Janus, he couldn’t trust any of them.

If Logan thought that, then Roman should have to make the change. Logan was often right. And if only it didn’t hurt so bad to be told it…

Roman had to be able to trust himself. Maybe the Director was onto something. Maybe Roman could live with a little less naïvety. Maybe it would hurt less.

He rolled his shoulders with a sigh. The other Sides were likely still milling about the living room. Patton was probably waiting for him to apologize or something for making a scene. He did indeed make a scene, but…he was tired of having to be the bigger man. And tired of having to apologize when the other party, the one who hurt him, didn’t. Or, at least, wasn’t told to. And made no motion to do so. Why did he have to continue being the bigger man? Because it was “chivalrous” or something, the kind of thing a real prince would do? He wasn’t even a real prince. He wasn’t even real! Why should he be held to such a standard?

Why couldn’t they just treat him like a person, too.

Sure, they weren’t people. That was part of the whole thing. But they all had feelings. And they all had their own independent thoughts and opinions. So maybe they weren’t fully developed people but they certainly weren’t just facets, not anymore. They were something in the middle. It was a balancing act. And the others, namely Janus, couldn’t just keep toppling him on the tightrope. Roman wouldn’t let him.

Roman had to cut the parts out that made him so easy to manipulate. He had to be smarter, more cunning, to keep up. It fell in line with the Director’s reasoning. Roman understood it. He wondered why the other advisors hadn’t seen the solution so clearly before. It was how they’d all begun, wasn’t it? A battle to the death?

They just had to figure out how to actually incur death. Roman remembered the Damsel telling him how hard he’d tried to kill himself, kill all of the others, and how nothing seemed to work. That was because they still had bits of Roman in them, without Roman being his own being.

Now that he was separate from them physically and now that they were all metaphoric representations for parts of him, they might be easier to mold. And the Damsel’s old plan…coupled with the Director’s plan…yes. Yes, this could work.

“He’s going to rest for a bit more before getting food,” the Director murmured, interrupting Roman from his thoughts.

He hadn’t been paying attention to whatever the Director and the Playwright were doing, but given how he’d erased all of the Playwright’s memories and left him with the injury’s pain, he figured they weren’t conspiring. Probably just asking simple questions and planning for what they’d do in a bit.

“Fair indeed,” Roman hummed, stepping back into the Director’s living room again.

The Director closed the door behind himself with a sigh. Then, he rounded on Roman.

“How much of his memory did you take out?” the Director hissed, brows furrowing in confusion. “He didn’t know his own name.”

“If he remembered anything, his one brain cell would activate and he’d find us out,” Roman argued. “I took it all out.”

“All of it.”

“Mhm.” Roman took a few more steps back toward the kitchen. He figured they were going to prepare some food.

“Roman. That’s…I’m sorry to question you, but isn’t that a bit…”

Roman turned around slowly to see the Director standing stock still in the hallway, right in front of the door to the Playwright’s room. His voice had dropped, and their voices were soft already. If the Playwright heard them, missing his memories wouldn’t protect them from his scrutiny. So Roman? Glared.

The Director didn’t seem willing to go against him, however, which was good. That’s what Roman wanted to see. To get this done right, he’d need cooperation.

He took in a deep sigh and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“If he remembered that he’d met me before, he’d have some kind of…oh, I don’t know, some big idea about how he can fix things. Or how we need to talk to the other Sides, if he remembered meeting them,” Roman waved his hand while he turned back to the kitchen. “I wasn’t going to risk it.”

He could hear the Director let the rest of his breath go behind him. Of course, even the parts of him didn’t trust him. No one did. And that’s why he had to be wary with all of them, too.

“No, you’re right. I’m just…You’re much more willing to go with this than I’d expected,” the Director admitted as he followed Roman into the kitchen.

“Of course. It’s a new kind of plan, and nothing else has worked,” he tried not to sound too bitter. “I think it’s time to get creative.”

In response to that, the Director snorted. “What’s your favorite idea,” he mumbled. “Mine is being creative.”

“Don’t even go there, Macbeth.”

Lunch was easy to make, a solid standard cream of broccoli. Lucky for Playwright that he didn’t inherit Roman’s sensitivity to cream-based broths. Roman was dicing the broccoli while the Director did the potatoes, and throwing it into the blender to purée was easy. It was a strong feel-good recipe. It…was one of Patton’s recipes. The scent made something in Roman’s chest pang with an indescribable pain, like familiarity and regret all at once.

…Breakups aren’t easy for him. That didn’t seem to be something that anyone really processed. Sure, Janus and Patton and then Virgil and even Logan were putting pressure on Roman’s ability to trust. He barely wanted to work with them, he couldn’t trust them. But love? Love was a literal part of him. A broken heart felt like a bruised rib.

So…watching them all fall apart…feeling them all grow distant…oh, just throw him on a rack and tug him asunder! Just tear him apart! Again! He could do it again! Fourth time’s a charm! And this time, he’ll tear his heart out, TOO!

“Easy, my prince,” the Director murmured, voice soft behind him.

Roman sat at the kitchen table slowly, hands crossed in front of himself. He felt weary. Much too weary, like he’d undergone a journey or a tribulation, for naught.

The Director gently patted his hair, raking his fingers through in a careful manner. Almost loving.

How sad, his voice echoed back at him, to comfort himself. It had come full circle.

“I’ll bring this to Playwright and we can talk turkey when I’m back. I’ll tell him to go back to sleep and shout if he needs us,” the Director explained quietly.

Fair enough; Roman waved his hand, and the Director was gone.

There were no windows in the Director’s house, not really. His home was carved into the side of the overhang of Roman’s world, the precipice right above the Subconscious, far too deep into Thomas’ brain to be remembered or even called upon. One wrong move and the Director and maybe even Roman would be eradicated. Who knew if it could erase Roman, given his necessity to Thomas’ functions.

He’d tried. Before. Long before. But it was an accident, somewhat. The Dragon Witch had flung him a bit too far, and he skittered off the edge, only to reappear in his castle.

…But could the Director be erased?

There were no windows in the Director’s house, so Roman leaned back and stared at the wall, which was carved from the smoothed limestone cliff. It was something to look at while he thought.

He wouldn’t want to throw the Director to the subconscious. He…these were creations. His advisors, they were creations, with a little something extra. Could he separate that something? Could that be erased? Would it even need to be?

The Director, no, he needed his direction, but…but the Child…maybe the others…

Maybe it would be merciful, too. If Roman could separate the parts of the Child that connected him to Roman, then that would possibly solve the problem identified by the Director. Whatever parts of Roman the Child represented would be freed. And Roman could throw that to the Subconscious, bury it away, while the Child could continue as a character.

That might work. It would be a plan that the others would oppose less. Of course, they would oppose it initially, but some of them must understand that Roman had to do what must be done. And the Child would be back! It wouldn’t be anything drastic, not like the Damsel had wanted. And with much more thought put into the planning, compared to the Damsel’s. Right?

When the Director came back, Roman was still staring at the wall. He did a double take, looking between the wall and his prince a few times before waving his hand.

Roman jumped when the wall indented, opening to a garden. Still surrounded by stone, as he looked, but a full garden. Fruit trees and all.

“You seemed like you wanted something to look at,” the Director said.

“If I did, I could have made it,” Roman retorted, only for the Director to sigh.

“I’d like to make something for you, for once. There’s only so much I can make.” He slid into the seat across Roman, holding a mug. It smelt like chocolate.

Another mug appeared in front of Roman. He also wanted a drink, and if they were having hot cocoa, then he’d love to indulge as well. Sure, it was technically a mocha. Sue him.

The Director rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his face. “Show off.”

And Roman snorted.

It was nice. Peaceful.

…This was the kind of ease he wanted more of. As often as possible. If he could ever have it again. Just a quiet peace without having to question people’s intentions with him.

Roman took the first sip and it tasted bitter in the back of his throat.

“I’ve been thinking, about your plan,” Roman murmured.

“You’ve said that a few times, but I don’t actually have a concrete plan. I’ve got a theory, but it’s nothing workable,” the Director responded, voice harder this time. “What’s the plan?”

That was fair enough, Roman supposed. He leaned back again, rolling his shoulders. It was nice to not be wearing his princely garb, too. Here, he had it hung in his room’s closet (he had a room here, a cozy, quiet room that faced the waterfall into the Subconscious) and got to wear clothing that was just comfortable. Fuzzy socks. Shorts. A hoodie.

The safety of it all helped stifle the growing dread, the numbness in his stomach. If this plan had to be done, then it had to be done. There must be some reason that two of his facets had come to the same conclusion. That parts of him had to die. So he could simmer in the comforts while facing these realities head on.

“It’s a combination of your theories with…the Damsel’s original plans,” Roman said, beginning his explanation. “The Damsel…I remember knowing something was wrong with me. That there was a reason everyone…I had to become something that would be more effective. A form Thomas would find more use out of. That’s why you all came into being, after all.

“The Damsel wanted everyone to die. But what he ran into was that all of you, all of my advisors, have some part of me in you. That’s part of how you’re able to predict what I would do and see what I do out in the Mindscape. Just because I’m myself doesn’t mean you don’t have that connection anymore. It’s just weaker.”

“Like we’re your self-inserts and this is a fucked up alternate universe,” the Director suggested.

Roman snapped his fingers. “Bingo. And you all, like myself and the other Sides, are me in different ways. Not in as clean a split as myself and the others, but still split in ways regardless. So if I separate myself from one of you…then that piece just becomes another character of the Imagination. If I disavow, say, David. The Artist. I would stop creating as much.”

The Director nodded, though his eyebrow was still raised in confusion. “Where are we going with this?” he asked.

“Well,” Roman gestured. “If it would work with any of you, it could also work with Child. And you’d suggested that Child was the root of most of my problems.”

In that instant, the Director seemed to understand. He had been about to take a sip, stopped halfway, and put his mug down with a slight slam. His eyes were wide as he stared at Roman, who only grinned back.

No. Roman really…Roman would do that. Roman trusted his judgment that much? He was willing to go through with it? This would…It was completely possible. Roman himself could use the Imagination’s powers to its fullest extent and then some. If he claimed that killing the Child and removing his connection to Roman through this…

What, this “disavowing” as he called it, if he thought that would work, then it must. Because Roman said it would. Because in this world, Roman was the prince. He was the ruler and controller of everything.

If Roman said the Director was right, then he must be.

Because in this world — in the Imagination — in the play-reality of Roman’s mind — whatever Roman said went, and whatever Roman believed happened.

“How would we do that?” the Director asked. “Like, how do we get the Child here?”

That wouldn’t be tricky, Roman initially thought, before realizing…that it was going to be incredibly tricky.

The Child was well-protected, all things considered. He was strong. Too much sway and too permanent a position with Roman (and Thomas, even) meant he was able to protect himself pretty well so long as he believed he could. Not to mention the Thief. Roman was a good swordsman himself but the Thief did it for a living.

“You need the Child?”

Roman and the Director both jumped. The Playwright was standing in the doorway holding a tray of empty dishware. He tilted his head at them both.

His glasses were hanging off his collar. It hurt to keep them on for too long, like a headache in the back of his neck, and if all there was in here was these two then he didn’t need them on. Plus, he could navigate the space well enough without them. The Director bid him rest but he wasn’t exactly sleepy. Might as well bring back out his dishware.

He shuffled toward the sink, casting them both quick looks. He must have interrupted an important conversation about the Child.

“Is he particularly hard to get?” the Playwright asked again. “Or should I not know about this?”

Quickly, the Director shared a look with Roman — one that very plainly read ‘help me so fucking god I’m dying’ — before shaking his head at the Playwright. “I wouldn’t want to implicate you in anything,” the Director said. “This is…this is behind the scenes work.”

Huh. Interesting phrasing. The Playwright tilted his head. “Am I not…your behind the scenes worker? Am I not literally named ‘Playwright’?” he asked.

Ah. Well.

The Director shot Roman another look, one that Roman did not return.

Something must have been moving in his brain, something the Director wasn’t privy to, because Roman was watching the Playwright with a small smile. Almost knowing.

“You are, actually,” Roman said. “As you know, I consult with all of the advisors.”

The Playwright nodded, then stopped. “All? Is the Child an advisor?” he asked.

“Yes, he is, and I’m a little worried about what he’s been advising about. After all, I can’t be too childish. I can’t put anything out that isn’t my best, and I want to achieve STARDOM!” The Director leaned back when Roman’s arms jumped out, gesturing in a grandiose way at the world around them. “I need to be taken seriously as the prince I am!”

“Aren’t you already taken seriously?” the Playwright frowned. “Virgil and Logan have both verbally sparred individually against you and you’ve come out clean on both fronts. If I…remember. Correctly.”

Roman tutted, waving his hand dismissively. “That’s almost the problem. No one trusts me to not battle my wits. And Deceit—Or, oh, Janus—”

“Ah. Janus,” the Playwright cut Roman off. “The two-headed Grecian god of duality.”

“Yes. And Deceit, that’s his name. And duality’s the right word for the dual-faced dueling he’s been doing. I need…him. To take me seriously.” Roman leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms with a petulance that had the Director reminding himself Roman as much a prince as he was an actor.

A pause fell over the group, as the Playwright turned to continue washing his own dishes. It was followed by Roman, quietly, earnestly adding, “And I need the Child to understand that.”

It was a reasonable request, the Playwright thought. To be taken seriously, well. Even Logan couldn’t achieve that, as much as he desperately wanted to. It’s what the Playwright wanted for Roman. He had to be organized, methodical, and practical. If the Child was impeding that…

“I know where he is.” The Playwright turned off the water and pulled a dishtowel off of the oven’s handle. “I can fetch him for you.”

Roman and the Director turned quickly toward him.

“Really?” Roman asked.

“Of course. It’s my duty to know where every member of the Imagination’s cast is, including us advisors. The Child just left the Thief’s Tree. I can retrieve him for you,” the Playwright rolled his sleeves back down. “Should I bring him here?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

The Playwright nodded. As assured as his movements were, as much as the Director knew he could, he still felt an unease crawling up the back of his throat. He couldn’t quite place the worries, but they were making his stomach tie knots. Maybe it was just the Playwright. Without his memories, he was just methodical and driven by the ends that could, perhaps, justify these means. Almost moreso, to an enforced degree. He never got to meet the Playwright when he’d just formed, but he has a hunch that it was something like this.

It was unnerving. The Director almost wanted his old companion back. He wanted someone else to look at this plan. But it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Roman, no, it wasn’t. So he didn’t need someone else. He wiped the doubts away as quick as it came.

One of the biggest roadblocks in the Director’s plan has been the Thief. The Child’s Imagination-assigned guardian. But if the Child left the Tree, left the Thief’s side, then he would be a thousand times easier to get. The Playwright would just need to confront him and open another trap door, and they’d be here.

“Consider it done,” the Playwright said and, without much further ado, the ground beneath him swung open and he disappeared.

#more than beliefs #sanders sides #sanders sides au #sanders sides fic #tss roman #sanders sides roman #i like don't know if i should tag this #at this point i'm not writing this for readers i'm writing this for mf me LOL #i was rereading this and realized i had only updated to chap 8 #but in fairness i do have like #a whole nother book with these characters that's outside the sanders sides universe #like a whole other two books #lmao rip

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adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 1 month

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 31

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: VIFRI

“You really think that’s a smart move?” Udre exclaims now, I hear the dismay in her voice but still pick up on just how tired she is underneath it. The same as the rest of ‘em, I know. I been feeling the fatigue as much as the rest o’ my squad for a while now. “I mean that’s your … Thorin, is that five now? Really?”

I pause just short of stepping into sight of the group at large sat in the booth, not wanting to give my presence away just yet as I listen in on my friends and those they’re sharing their evening with. Even so, most of the others are sat at the table close by, and I’m in clear view of them now, catching Gril’s eye quick enough as he gives his a roll. Like he’s heard this a thousand times before.

Tuthi just raises the tankard in her hand the rest of the way and takes a big pull from it before treating the cleric across from her a particularly sharp look that so far don’t seem too dulled by drink. “For your information, I plan on getting good and shitfaced before we go back to … wherever it is we’re going. I’m gonna get up sometime tomorrow afternoon with a big bastard hangover so I don’t have to think about what we had to deal with today. You can’t stop me.”

As I step up now, her eyes shoot up to watch me pass, widening a little as she wipes her sleeve across her mouth, and while there’s a little alarm in her feeling like she’s been caught out now, I think there might be a little bit of challenge too. I pause in front of her now, cocking a brow, and she looks away fast, visibly blanching as she sits back, putting the cup down on the table. “Shit … um … sorry, boss. I’m … um –”

“Carry on, Private.” I sigh, starting to walk again but giving her a little sidelong glance as I go. “You’re off duty now, for better or worse. Just remember what it is we’re doing right now.”

As Tuthi growls low, her cheeks visibly darkening even more than they’ve already started to, Udre shoots her a reproachful look. “See? You’re being an idiot. What if we get called back into it? You won’t like me having to sober you up again.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” the half-orc snarls back, but there’s no real threat in her words. Udre’s her closest friend in the squad, Tuthi’d die before she even tried to hurt her.

Keeping on to the back of the room, I hook my foot round the leg of my chair at the smaller table in the corner, drawing it out so I can settle into it easier once I’ve put the two tankards of ale I’ve brought from the bar down. Tormed gives me time to get comfortable again before picking his up and casting a watchful eye towards our two mingled squads across the way, seeming strangely wistful as he ponders for a long moment. Meanwhile I pick my mug up and take a small swallow before putting it down again, planning to continue taking it as easy as I’ve been doing since we came in here while I wait for him to make the point he’s clearly working his way to.

Finally turning back, the half-elf takes a similarly light sip of his beer and puts it down too, licking his lips before finally speaking. “They’re tense. Even now.”

“You can’t blame ‘em. That was a rough fucking scene they left to meet us. ‘Side from Gril an’ Vid, the rest o’ mine didn’t serve on Barricade. That was their first taste o’ that kinda mess. I doubt yours are much different.”

Leaning back as much as the crappy chair he’s folded his tall, long-legged form into can really allow, he folds his arms again and looks across the room, not at our folk now but just off into no particular distance. Thoughtful again, but with an edge, as before.

“They ain’t alone, either.” I add after another beat, leaning forward to cross my own arms across the table as I just keep my eyes on him. “Are they?”

He looks my way at last, blinking a little, but if he’s really surprised he hides it well. Mostly he just seems a little annoyed. “I’ll admit, it was a first for me too. I’ve worked on some … difficult cases in my time, some of them with Mil, but … no, nothing like this.”

“You’re lucky, then. Today was bad, but … we seen worse, up North. Some of it’d turn your hair white. You might never sleep a full night again, not without a nightmare or two.”

Turning away, Tormed returns his gaze to that empty spot he marked before, frowning a little now as he ponders. I don’t press him anymore, instead reaching out to start turning my tankard around on the spot, shifting it in a slow, tight circle the way I often do when I’m trying to draw out my drinking, instead of just cutting loose. I’d rather not take the chance in case Udre’s right, we might still have to go back out again. So I’ll nurse this second pint for as long as I can, and I’m not sure if I really will have another after.

When I look out across the room again at the others, I quickly catch sight of Starkheart, sat across from Gril, looking past him at our table. I’ve caught her doing that a few times now since we first settled in, her face never changing much even when she’s spotted me watching her too. Not suspicious, nor even particularly wary, she’s just … restless, it looks like. Reckon I’m started to get a sense of what she’s actually thinking now.

Mostly she’s watching him, looks like. Not so much watching out for him, there’s something more subtly possessive about this particular regard, I think. It helps me make more sense of before, in the Hellcat’s house, how reluctant she was to separate from him in those unfamiliar surrounds. At a guess, reckon she’s in love with Tormed.

Far as I can tell he’s largely oblivious to it, but then she’s guarding it well. Or maybe he just got good at ignoring it. Either way, she seems reluctant to act on this impulse.

Well she don’t have to worry about me, anyway. He is definitely not my type.

Eventually I give up twiddling and pick my tankard up again, letting my fingers slide through the handle to get a good grip on it as I raise it towards my mouth, but don’t take a drink. Not yet. I just hold it in front of me, letting my other hand curl around it now as I lean forward on my elbows a little more, starting to scan the room again like I been doing, on and off, since we came in.

Tormed brought us here after we finished up at Redarra House, albeit leaving with more questions than answers, which rankled me some. In the end he sent Erahadur on ahead to fetch the others, prompt ‘em to finish up their own work at the house and meet us here. Meanwhile we mounted up and began a more direct ride back down the Hill towards the riverfront dockyards at the bottom of the Hind. Ultimately leading us to a nondescript terracotta-hued cul-de-sac signposted as Tarahou Yard.

Half of its stetch is lined with close packed, uncomfortably narrow apartment buildings, but at the bottom there’s a livery stable and what looked like a converted slaughterhouse, with a sign over the gate marking it as the Yard Station House. Turns out this is what their squad calls home, along with three more squads o’ regular townsguard they share the barracks with, although most of the rest of the buildings are given over to their own investigative needs. We stalled our horses, stowed our saddles and put our gear away in the antechamber we were directed to, directed by the Yard’s conspicuously stoic quartermaster Ghagol, before heading back out at Tormed’s behest to duck into the tavern next door.

The Vague Pike is every inch a watchman’s pub, seeming to cater almost exclusively to those barracked at the Yard Station or other townsguard who might’ve been brought in by regulars for a drink, or just wandered in on their own. It’s definitely cleaner than most o’ the taverns in the area I been in in my time, mostly on the clock, and a lot less rowdy, the peace likely enforced as much by the inherent nature of the clientele as the watchful ire of the landlord. He's got the look of a battered old veteran of the force himself, although something about him suggests he took most of his scars in the Wars. To be honest, it’s a wonder he’s even willing to serve us, even if we are in such particular company.

The others arrived a half hour after, quickly settling down into their groups as we ordered food and drink and kicked back to unwind after … well, we really didn’t want to think about that shit any more. So we ate the food, then the others bought more beer while Tormed and I slunk off into the corner to ponder what we’d learned, letting them distract themselves without us shading their atmosphere so much. Meanwhile Trick wandered off to the other corner to start playing pool with some o’ the other regulars, and soon enough she was laughing and having the best time of the whole group. The rest … they’ve done the best they can, but the mood’s been changeable at best, and I’m worried none of ‘em are gonna sleep too well tonight after what we saw today.

I took it easier on Cafi Sirsk than I would’ve liked, in the end. Even after I braced ‘em, they remained stubborn, not willing to give away more’n they absolutely had to, not even when Tormed pressed ‘em a little too. In truth there was only so much I could do to press the issue, they’re an Authority official of modest but still great import, so there was risk in letting things get out of hand.

They gave us a few names, here and there, but nothing that really meant anything in the moment. The group they were meeting at the Transit House were indeed a mercenary crew out of Hocknar, apparently, known as the Creeping Bam. It didn’t ring a bell with me, but it seemed to jog Trick’s memory. She withheld on that particular nugget, though. And Sirsk remained stubbornly tight-lipped on the business they had with ‘em, beyond admitting they were there to meet the late Madame Daste. On behalf of the Silver Order, of all things.

That gave us all pause for a few moments. Evoking the goddess Minerva’s vaunted sect of high-powered mages added a whole extra layer o’ complication to this already tangled mess. All eyes in the room turned right to Erahadur, but this just seemed to shock him into apoplectic stammers that made him useless to anyone until we moved on. Honestly, he seemed just as surprised as the rest of us.

So I moved onto the subject of the Hellcat of Kumehn Valley, the Lady Thura Vezrim, and why these particular sellswords were in her house last night right when all this unpleasantness was happening. Sirsk denied any direct knowledge of that, asking how we could really be so sure it was them and not some other mercenary crew in the city. Even when I made it clear how little I thought of that idea, given the sheer unlikelihood of more than one such specific group of specialised individuals being here at the same time, they didn’t waver. That might’ve gotten me the most frustrated during the whole interrogation.

Finally they recommended we just ask the Lady Vezrim herself what happened, since she could be found at the Temple of Minerva in the Gods Round. But they requested that we perhaps wait a little while, and when we do brace her to take care an’ show her proper respect. After all, her eldest son was among the dead.

Tormed met my eyes when they said this. It’s a real important detail on its own, going a long way to explain that blood-soaked imprint we found in that girl’s bedroom in the house. And the bloody trail we followed from the broken window. There’s no way the Hellcat would’ve let her own son’s body get left behind, even if the house hadn’t been on fire at the time.

It’s yet another complication, though. I was all for heading over there soon as we left Redarra House, propriety be damned, but Tormed really put his foot down at that. “Leave her to her grief a little longer, at least.” he said. Something in his tone spoke of genuine sympathetic understanding, like he knows exactly what she’s going through.

Turning back now, I find myself pondering that telling little detail again. Finally I take another little pull from the mug and set it down with particular deliberation, turning it round a few times before finally letting go and clearing my throat. “Who was it, then? If you don’t mind?”

“Hmmm?” He don’t quite jump at the question, but he still straightens up a touch as he turns back to me, frowning a little. “I don’t follow.”

Working my mouth for a beat, I consider the opportunity he’s unwittingly given me to drop it after all, not sure if this is really the right question to ask. Not when we’ve managed to hit it off so well until now. But I’m too curious, after the way he reacted back in Redarra House, so I set my jaw and ask after all. “When we heard about Vezrim’s son, you had a look. Like you understood. You lost somebody. I was wondering …” Faltering, I look down at my beer for a long beat, trying not to frown even deeper now.

In the end he saves me from having to press after all, but he sounds grave enough I guess he’d still rather not. “It was my sister. When we first came to the city, we were both very young, she was little more than a child, barely fifteen, and I still couldn’t really call myself a man yet. We didn’t have a copper mark between us, it was a rough month before we even had a proper roof over our heads. And then one night …” He sighs, and it’s very heavy, filled with regret and a lot o’ sorrow. “I came home after a particularly tough shift on the docks, and she wasn’t there. She didn’t come back that night, either. Or the next. Or ever again.”

Sucking in a tight breath, I ponder my tankard for another long beat, wary of looking up at him now in case I really don’t like what I see. “No chance she just ran off then, I take it?”

“All we had was each other, there’s no way she would have abandoned me like that. And when I began to ask around, I heard enough to worry me. Girls had been disappearing from that neighbourhood for almost six months, on and off. No bodies were ever found, no-one ever brought to heel for any deaths, but …” He sighs again, finally picking his mug up and, when I look up, taking a much bigger swallow from it this time. Even so, when he puts it down again, brushing his lips with thumb and forefinger, he mostly just looks tired. “I joined the ‘guard at the end of that week. I suppose my working my way up to this was always driven, at least in some unconscious way, by the hope I might be able to find some resolution someday. Realistically I doubt I’ll ever actually find whoever it was responsible for that, but … I can still hope.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, picking up my tankard and taking a hefty pull of my own. I really mean it when I say it, feeling proper shitty for having brought it up in the first place.

“Of course you are.” There’s no reproach in his words, it simply sounds like an acknowledgement. “You know that pain as well as I do. After your father. Although the Captain was … less than forthcoming with the details there.”

Gods … fucking Ceinog. Even when he’s trying to do me a favour … I put the mug down a little more forcefully than necessary, and it almost sloshes a little onto the table. That puts a little dent in my indignation, but not enough to strip the edge from my words. “He was murdered, on the job. Coming out the training barracks in Neveht, somebody put a blade in his back, seven or eight times, one o’ the perimeter patrols found him practically bled out on the pavement right round the corner from the gate. He was already gone by the time one o’ the duty clerics arrived, so that was it. Middle of an investigation, so his squad figured it was a sign they were getting too close for somebody’s comfort.”

Tormed clears his throat with a polite little cough into his fist I suspect is as much to cover a wince, since he studiously avoids my eyes. “I see … did they find the culprit in the end?”

Sitting back, I stretch my legs out under the table, having to really spread ‘em to keep from getting tangled up in his, and fold my arms good and tight. “They did not. Caused a bit of a stink in local command, actually, how it just wound up grinding to a halt, the way it did. Since it was right there in the middle o’ the Capital, more’n a few higher-ups smelled corruption, but nothing ever came of it. Couple o’ da’s colleagues quit the squad cuz of it, they weren’t happy with how it just … fizzled out.”

He watches me for a long beat, and I get the feeling he’s weighing up how to ask me the next question. “I take it you felt similarly sore about that too.”

“Made me a bit of a handful for a few years, yeah. He was all I had left then, ma died when I was four so he raised me on his own. Well as he could, anyway. He was a career officer in the military police, so he didn’t spend a whole lot o’ time at home, and even then he wasn’t exactly … parent material. But he tried his best. So it hurt.” I look out across the room again now, my eyes wandering over the rest o’ me squad that I can see. “I was fifteen when he died, so one of his friends in command pulled a few strings and I got folded into youth training instead o’ getting sent to the state home. Which might’ve been a bit of a mixed blessing, way I was at the time.”

“Angry.” He seems more thoughtful than anything else, I notice when I look back.

“That’d be selling it short. Might’ve pushed myself a little too hard, in the end. The army were happy enough when I turned eighteen, though. They got more of a weapon than a recruit.” Loosening my arms now, I pick my mug up again. “Barricade did cure some o’ that fervour. But I do still hate leaving a job half-finished, reckon it’s something of a hang-up. So it’s … difficult for me, being back in an investigation now. Vessof thinks he did me a favour putting me up for this duty, and it is that, in a way, but …”

Watching me take another big pull from the mug now, Tormed continues to just ponder, and he remains silent for a few minutes after I’ve put it down again, folding my arms again and hunching my shoulders. Waiting for the question I can feel coming. The one I been waiting for him to ask since Sirsk brought up the subject back in Redarra House.

“What did happen with Beneva’s son, Sergeant? I know the official party line about what happened there, but now I’ve met you … I know there’s more to the story than that. An officer like Vessof Ceinog wouldn’t go to bat for a disgraced non-com with that kind of reputation, even if he did know them from serving in the worst kind of hell imaginable. Unless it was a smokescreen.”

Gritting my teeth, I blow a long, slow breath out through ‘em and fix him with a particularly cool look. “Ask me some other time, please, when we got to know each other a little better. Now ain’t the time. And I really ain’t got the stomach for it after the day I just had.”

Tormed meets my glare well enough now, holding my eye for a long beat before finally clearing his throat as he sits up again. “Neither have I, in truth. But I’d appreciate a little more restraint moving forward. Especially tomorrow, if you do insist on going to the Temple. Cafi’s right, that poor woman’s in the very worst kind of hell, we’ve no right adding to it.”

I watch him stand up, rising with an uncanny grace that only comes from elven blood, and pick his tankard up, knocking the remainder back in one long pull before swiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, which is enough to surprise me on its own. Up until now he’s been the very air of propriety, even here. He lets a little sigh go as he sets the now empty mug down next to my still reasonably full one. “And on that note …”

“You’re calling it a night? Even for an officer, this is proper early. What is it, ten?”

Taking a beat to check his fancy watch, he offers me a cocked little smile. “You said it yourself, it’s been quite the day. And I suspect tomorrow will be the same. I’d suggest you consider following my example, I know how human constitutions tend to be more fragile than elven ones, even for someone as large as yourself.”

Cocking my brow, I’m ready to give him a real smart answer back, but I stop myself. Mostly cuz it’s occurred to me that the whole place just got a whole lot quieter, somewhat akin to when we first came in, and then again when the rest of our combined squads arrived after. Tormed picks up on it too, frowning as he turns to look out across the room now, and I do the same.

Four more troopers have come in, and unlike us they’re still fully armoured, complete with shields and halberds with visors down. I’d almost think it was a patrol except there’s an officer with ‘em, already breaking away to come straight towards us now. I know who it is even before he’s plucked his helmet off.

“Fuck’s sake … Vess! What the hell?” Folding up my legs under me now, I push myself upright with a little more effort than the half-elf needed, but stay where I am as he draws close. I see my own troopers have all stood up now, as much in deference at having an officer in their midst as the pervading shift in mood through the whole group.

Ceinog tucks his helmet under his arm as he stops a few feet short, frowning a little as he looks me over, then inspects the table, particularly my mug o’ beer. I just give him a sharp glare in return, daring him to give me shit about it. “You weren’t in the Yard, so I followed my nose. I can’t say I’m that surprised, not after today, but still …”

“I’m off duty, so’s my squad. Under the circumstances, I’d say regular shifts don’t apply right now. We been up almost two days now, anyway. Let ‘em cut loose. They earned it.”

Raising his free hand in supplication, he lets out a heavy sigh. “I am not judging, Vifri, I swear. I’ve simply come to …” His frown returns as he reaches up and scratches the back of his neck, looking a little flustered now. “I’m sorry. It’s just you might have been somewhat premature calling it a night.”

“Thorin …” I growl, taking a step closer now. “Vess, out with it. What’s so –”

“The Oceanic Playhouse is on fire. It’s a shitshow.”

Tormed and I share a wary glance before I turn back, clenching my jaw again as I feel a chill roll up my spine. “Oh hell … not more o’ that shit, is it? Like the Hellcat’s place?”

“What? Oh … no, it doesn’t seem like it. Nothing fell about it, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Then what the fuck has it got to do with us? Vess, please, I thought the point o’ me bein’ on this is that I’m focusing on this case, not dropping everything to take care of –”

“There’s a golem in there.” He shuts me up with one word, and Tormed’s brows rise appreciably too. That chill grows instantly. “Just went crazy, apparently. And there are people running around in there killing the security staff, and probably more besides. They damn near caused a stampede of highborns and other rich folk trying to get out, more than a few of them were hurt in the chaos too. The fire brigade’s there but … well, given what’s in there right now they’re wary of entering.”

“Shit.” I hiss, immediately turning to step back into the corner and pluck my swordbelt up from where I left my weapon propped against the wall. Tormed’s already plucked his own from the table, starting to strap it on with quick, deft hands. As I turn back I look over at my people, seeing Gril’s already retrieved his from under their table, while Udre’s clutching her spear as she watches me with particularly large eyes. “Gril! Get ‘em all mustered! On the double! Looks like R-an’-R’ll have to wait!”

Tormed simply gives Starkheart a subtle nod, and she immediately pushes herself up a good deal quicker than I expected her too, instantly barking orders at own people while Gril’s already beaten her to the punch with ours. As I step out, Ceinog falling into step beside me with a rueful look on his face, I hear some of ‘em muttering with frustration as they start gathering their gear together.

“I told you.” Udre hisses at Tuthi now as she steps close.

The half-orc gives her a very sharp look and points a finger at her. “Don’t you dare. I mean it. I promise, it will not end well for you, I swear to Thorin.”

“Take that up with him, Tuth.” She purrs now as she reaches out with her free hand, starting to smile with a particular mischievous glint in her eye. “You know the rules.”

Tuthi gives me a look which, for her, could almost pass for pleading, and I nearly relent, but the cleric’s right. Unfortunately this has to be done. “She’s right, Private. Stand to.”

Growling under her breath, the half-orc hugs her still loose swordbelt to her chest and gives her friend a thoroughly pathetic look as the young cleric lays that hand on her broad shoulder, clearing her throat in order to start praying. “All right, just … please be gentle.”

When I turn back I find Gril’s already stood close by, strapping his belt up. He’s got his game face back on, but I sense a little wariness in him all the same. “This more o’ the same, boss?”

Shooting a sidelong glance at Tormed, who I find stood by with Ceinog, leaning in to speak quietly now, I have to shrug. “Honestly, much as I’d hope not, sounds like we might be onto something. Just stay sharp. I need you to watch my back like old times.”

Raising his brows, Gril looks at me like I shocked him some. “C’mon, boss. You never even need to ask.”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 31 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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blondrichclosetwitch · 1 year

Text

She'll change your whole damn life, you just watch one of her vids

I'll go out of my way to prove I still smell her on you

Don't tell me what I wanna hear

I’ll tell you all my secrets

And if anybody fucks with you

They fuck with me

And I was talking to you and I knew then it would be a life long thing

I got the voodoo for you bitches

Whole crew’s In here, cause I don’t even know who I’m-a lose this year

Throw off your shame or be a slave of the system

You like to dance to the rolling head of the adulteress

Moving with grace the men despise, and women have learned to lose

One more lost soul to raise your flag

We know it’s not Caroline

Should’ve been over for me

You know that I can breathe even when I cheat

I don’t think you even know what you think you just said

Just tell the DJ

To play your favourite tune

Then you know it's okay

What you found is happening now

True love waits in haunted attics; just don’t leave (the minute changed on 31/34)

Song for my father (mother stands for comfort, father is absence)

Things are tougher than we are

She's a griever, my believer

It's not a fever, it's a freezer

I believe her, I'm a griever now

l am Calling You

Can't you hear me

l am Calling You

That's not the way the world really works anymore.

We're an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while you are studying that reality - judiciously, as you will - we'll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that's how things will sort out.

We're history's actors, and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do.

If I'm gonna get back to you someday, I'll need you light.

I might never be normal again

And there's only so much you can take

Cause they're earning me lots of money

Writing comedy prose for radio shows

I loved you from the start and not all the prayers in the world could save us (37/36)

12th Soundscape

Are harnessed in slums but they want to be free

“Lay it on heavy and make the wrong size fit.”

How much do I not give a fuck?

Let me show you right now 'fore you give it up

He'll give us what we need

It may not be what we want

Baby girl tryna get a nut

And her girl tryna give it up

Chopped'em both down

Don't judge 'em, Joe Brown

Slip and I fall and I die

Symphonie concertante 3

And you find something to wrap your noose around

And there's nothing like a mad woman

We will not let you go (let me go)

State of love and trust as I busted down the pretext

Sin still plays and a-preaches, but to half an empty court

Sacrifice receiving the smell that's on my hands

And I listen for the voice inside my head

I just want to feel everything

My eyes can’t see but my mind wants to cry out loud

I get undertones of sadness when I think about the moments that I never got to spend with you

Darling, you will bury me before I bury you

Wanted a woman, never bargained for you

You hurt and abused, tellin' all of your lies

The worst little woman I once ever had

Tongue wag so much when I send you the bill

Something in you brought out something in me that I've never been since

That part of me that was only for you

Here we go again (hi john Henry)

Lots of people talking, few of them know

“My face turned to stone when I heard the news.”

I lost my mind

And nobody believes me

But all I do is write about him

Bury parents in a moment's time

I've seen your drugs and they don't look so good

Love is blind.

Baby be good do what you should, you know it will be alright

And when the battle was done I was promised my son

Hold on

when at last, life on earth is through I will spend eternity with you

“It was just a game.”

#today’s a 34/16/07

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sk3tch404 · 1 year

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Bro, don't even get me started on the video quality- if I could get a cent for every pixel I'm seeing on screen, I wouldn't even have enough money for chicken nuggets 😔 (affectionate)

Fr though, these women didn't have to go that hard, but they still went and absolutely knocked it out of the park with their vocals, even with the video compression. For example:

https://youtu.be/MxMwVoiih3U

(TW: flashing lights, you can also find it on Spotify btw!)

LIKE,, THE GUITAR SOLO,, THE B E L T I N G,,,,, God I'm in love with her voice fr it's so beautiful- 😭😭😭

(Unrelated but my mind immediately tried to autocorrect the "it's been so long since-" in your tags with "I last have seen my son" 😔 istg the song has permanently tainted my ability to read/hear that phrase like a normal person)

-Ren'py anon

OKAT WRITING THROUGHOUT THE VID

THE EXPLOSION???? CONFUSED ALREADY

anime beach ep ok ok

MY GOD ITS FIVE MINUTES???

The hair flying in wind, THE POWERFUL VOCALS, the pretty woman... I'm fuckin with it okay

they are digging smth. I hope it isn't what I'm thinking it is.

ALSO THAT MAN IS STRONG FOR DIGGING LIKE THAT. THROWING IT OVER UR BODY??? GOLLY JEE CALM DOWN

is that money blowing into her face? If so that's a really good metaphor.

where is my dude in orange walking?

is he Moses making the rocks smooth? 😭 idk if that's a thing/story apart of ur culture or not, but it's cool.

I like that they focus on the flower and are ignoring all of the money surrounding it. It's a nice message.

I think I know what the kid giving the flower to the woman means, but at the same time I'm not so sure.

Why is he on a mountain/hill? idk lol

I thought the guy in orange was gonna be bonked with the rock at the end,

Okay, review time.

I think this was about war/violence in their country? I mean, shit there was an explosion in the beginning. There was a little girl playing an instrument with healed burned/wounded skin on her face. The guy also had healed injuries on his hand while he was digging too.

I think that signifies that they are both hurt or dead in a sense. The child is what I think, is dead, and he is the one digging up her grave. He is tied with her death as he is also taking part if it?

The flower through the money represents the things they truly care about other than material items. Though flowers can wither and die off easily, if you take care of them correctly, they can give bountiful results and give sentimental value.

I don't know what the man in the orange represented though? I don't know if the government is the right word, but perhaps a sort of authority? He looks like a monk of sorts, so maybe he has some sort of spiritual or mental power over the general people?

The little girl giving the flowers to the woman was also nice. Perhaps she was her mother or a close family member. I think the little girl is telling her not to worry about her death, or to keep her flower cared for, dead or not?

Maybe the man in orange making the ground smooth was a metaphor to industrialization? Taking nature's natural form, taking money and replacing it with something manufactured? idk I could be wrong, it lowkey looked like a legend or from a story.

10/10

Vocals, music video story, visuals, melody...

Perfect. Though the video quality isn't perfect, the messege it is sending is very impactful and beautiful.

HER BELTING IS AWESOME I LOVE IT.

From this lovely beautiful video, to Fnaf is funny 😭

That fnaf song is a banger though. And yeah no same, I didn't have a serious fnaf phase, but it is INGRAINED IN MY MUSCLE MEMORY

#renpy anon #god #this was a whole essay #thank u for blessing me with this #it was s relaxing and nice experience

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football-writing · 3 years

Text

Jack Grealish - real smooth

Note: I haven't seen the david and liza vid that this request was based on, and I have the attention span of fresh gravy so I didn't watch it either lmao. But I had a bit of an idea in mind for this more like Mason's fifa forfeit vid with Chunkz (let's be honest that vid was hilarious I still watch it sometimes for laughs lmao) anyway I hope that's okay. Also this features other players too bc why not

Warnings: contains some curse words probably, slight mentions of sexy times at the end, also I have no idea how waxing actually works as my only knowledge comes from that Mason vid so,, this is probably not accurate sorry xoxo

Hope you enjoy babes x

It wasn't unusual for Jack to invite some of his friends over whenever he had a day off. In fact, his days off were usually spend either with you or with his friends, most often opting for eating out with you before getting back and playing fifa with the boys for well past midnight. Today was no different. You had occupied yourself with a book and and cup of tea in your shared bedroom, while Jack was downstairs with his friends playing fifa. Their yelling and laughter could be heard even from behind the closed bedroom door. Not that it bothered you too much: as long as they were having fun and cleaning up after themselves once they left, it was fine by you.

However, it surprised you to hear footsteps coming up to the stairs, then down the hallway to your room. They had everything they needed downstairs, and never before had they bothered you upstairs, so why would they now?

A knock sounded on your bedroom door and you yelled out a quick 'yeah' as you closed your book and sat up on the bed, curious as to what it was they needed.

"Hey angel." Jack said as his head popped through the door before making his way into your bedroom, sitting down defeatedly onto the edge of your bed. He had a slight pout on his face, and bit his bottom lip nervously as he looked at you.

"What's wrong, baby? Please tell me you didn't break anything down there." You said, a stern look plastered on your face.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's just- uhm." He hesitated as he looked down, playing with the hem of his shirt instead of maintaining eye contact with you. Worry took over your features. What was he up to now?

"We were playing fifa forfeit, right. And Ben said I had to wax my legs if I lost-"

"Oh my god, Jack!" A releaved sigh left her lips. It was never gonna be anything serious with these boys anyway. She should've known better. "Did you lose, though? Please tell me you did."

He only nodded in response, and she let out a squeel as she fell back on the bed.

"That's hilarious, I was worried there for a second, but this is great."

"Don't get too excited. The boys asked if I'd ask you if you had any wax. But I just came up here to chat for a bit and then I'll go back down saying you didn't."

"Now, why would you do that?" She said as she looked at him with raised brows, challenging him.

"You know, I actually do have some strips left, I'd be more than happy to wax your legs. Besides, a bet is a bet, Jack. You can't just back down now." She smiled thriumphantly and he groaned in response.

"Why won't you just have my back with this?"

"Oh, I can wax your back too, no problem."

"Not what I meant sweetheart."

"I know." She smiled cheekily as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, before telling him she'd be downstairs in a bit with all the necessities to wax his legs.

"Hey boys!" She hollered as she rushed down the stairs with her wax kit, the boys looking up at her. Jack was already sitting on the chaise longue with his legs up. His shorts ridden up a bit more than usual to expose his muscular thighs. The others sitting next to him on the couch, ready for the action that was about to unfold.

"Ready, babe?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him as she sat down her kit.

"Oh I sure am!" Ben replied with a big boyish smile on his face.

"I'm sure you are, Ben." She chuckled as she ruffled his hair. He'd usually have it gelled back whenever he had a game, but kept it natural and curly when he came around theirs. It was her favourite look of his, perhaps partly because she could mess with his hair more easily.

"I remember when I had this done, hurts like hell. Good luck bro!" Mason interjected, patting Jack's shoulder in mock-sympathy.

"Yeah, I cannot wait to see you cry like a baby. I love you for coming up with this, Ben."

"Babe!" He whined. "You're supposed to support me here."

"Well I am supporting you, I'm the one waxing you. Trust me, you do not want to have this done by someone who has no idea what they're doing." You said as you warmed up a few strips of wax between your hands.

"Seconded." Declan replied with a serious face. Everyone looked at him in confusion; he had never told them about getting waxed before, but it sounded like an intriguing story.

"I'm not even gonna ask, mate." Jack said. Horror stories would not make this experience any more bearable for him. It left Dec pretending to be upset, eager to tell the - no doubt ridiculous - story.

"Alright, I'm gonna get these on." You interrupted their banter, tearing the strip to reveal the sticky substance underneath.

She put the strips on his leg as the boys chatted away. Just as she was putting the fourth strip on, Jack swatted her hand away.

"You have to put all those on?" He questioned her.

"Well the forfeit did say 'legs'. As in, both legs. Completely." Declan argued.

"I did say that. But that's a bit too harsh innit?"

"Yeah, there's already three strips on now, let's see how he gets through those first." Mason offered.

"Will hurt like hell with that much hair." Declan hit Jack's leg for emphasis.

"No doubt." You laughed as you smoothed out the strips once more.

"Ready, Jack?" You asked as you hold the edge of one of the strips, ready to pull it off.

"Wait, wait I gotta film this!" Declan was quick to exclaim as he took out his phone, much to Jack's dismay, who had his hands in front of his face as he waits for the inevitable pain of ripping off the strips.

"Alright, 3. 2. 1!" The boys count down in unison as you rip off the first strip.

"Jesus, Y/N!" An array of curses leave Jack's mouth as he yelps, gripping his leg in pain, his eyes wide with shock. Clearly he had underestimated how much this was really going to hurt, which has all of you rolling over with laughter. Mason is gripping his stomach as he's sitting on the floor, barely able to breathe between his giggles. You're trying to ease Jack's mind and soothingly rub the sensitive skin on his leg, but you're shaking too much from the laughter leaving your lips.

"Oh my lord, and look at the hair that's come off!" Declan hollers as he takes a step closer to properly film the strip that was, indeed, covered in Jack's leg hair. You held it up for the camera as you shrieked at the sheer amount of hair. It's like a lion's mane got glued on the strip.

"Jeez, Jack, you hairy lad." Declan laughs, which earns a grumble from dissatisfied boy. You're pretty sure if Dec wasn't responsible for filming the whole ordeal, he'd be on the ground just as Mason was.

"Oi, what are you crying for, mate? I'm the one in pain here." Jack points a finger accusingly at Ben, and when you turn around you see he has tears in his eyes, breathing coming out in desperate gasps as he shakes his head no, signalling he can't take any more of this banter. It seemed like everyone had at least slightly calmed down, but looking at Ben made everyone burst out in laughter yet again. Mason had tears streaming down his face now too, and you're sure he might piss his pants if he laughs any louder. It even makes Jack chuckle.

"Just get it over with, alright. I don't wanna be in pain any longer." Jack asks you nonetheless, guiding your hand to one of the other strips.

"It can't be that bad." Ben's voice is higher than usual from his earlier laughing fit, but he's wiping the tears from his eyes as he seems to have calmed down considerably. Mason can only nod in confirmation, still unable to form words without giggling.

"I have no problem waxing you lot too, babes." You smile up cheekily at them, which results in loud protests from the boys.

"Now that I would love to see." Jack replies, before looking down at his leg and rubbing the spot that was now rid of any hairs. "Perhaps this would be funnier if there weren't two other strips on me leg." He sighed in despair, staring at his leg with sad eyes. It made you chuckle, but seeing Jack's stern look dericted at you, you quickly focused on the task at hand.

"Alright, next one Jack."

"Lord have mercy."

The next strips don't have any other effect than the first one. It sends all of you rolling on the floor laughing, and Jack with tears in his eyes and red skin on his leg. Dec leaves the room at one point because he genuinely can't breathe, and Mason has to sprint to the bathroom, like you predicted. Meanwhile your hands get shakier and shakier from laughing, and you can barely see what you're doing due to the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. Jack's decided to rip the last strip off himself, and you're shrieking with laughter as he pulls at it but chickens out from the pain, resulting in it only coming off halfway. When it is finally off, and all the hairy strips are disposed of, everyone slowly but certainly calms down. You're getting some lotion from upstairs to soothe the stinging, and when Ben orders pizza, it all seems long gone.

Yet when you're watching tv, and Mason steals a sneaky glance at Dec, the both can't help but try - and fail - to surpress their giggles.

It's how the rest of the night continued until the three other boys finally left in the late hours of the night.

"I'll clean, love. Get in bed and I'll see you in a bit, yeah?" Jack's offering once they're gone, and you're accepting gratefully as you kiss his cheek. The night was fun, but the laughing fits had you beyond tired.

So when Jack slips into bed next to you, you're already in bed with your eyes closed, dozing off.

"Hey, babe."

"Hm?" You mumble as you open your eyes at Jack's whisper.

"Wanna feel my leg?" He asks, but he's already draping his freshly waxed leg over your legs, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You've known the guy long enough to know that he won't stop bothering you if you decline, and the request makes you think of the many times you've asked him to feel your legs after - finally - shaving them again.

So you decide to humour him and softly carress his smooth leg.

"Feels pretty good, huh?" His voice cocky as he questions you.

"Sure, real smooth Jack."

"Wanna have sex with a sexy smooth beast like that?"

You snort loudly at his inappropriate request, shoving his leg off of you in a joking manner.

"Oh come on, don't tell me I went through all that for nothing!" He exclaims in agony.

"No, you went through all that because you suck at Fifa." You deadpan as you grin at him.

His eyes are darker as he watches you intently, and the knowing smirk on your face makes you apprehensive of what he's up to now. He's moving closer, hovering over you and effectively trapping you as his muscular arms hold himself up on either side of you. And next thing you know, he's placing a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, before trailing down to your jaw. A gasp involuntarily leaves your lips as he nibbles at your earlobe.

"You know with how soft my leg is and all." He starts to whisper in your ear. His voice is husky and smooth - and normally you know what it means. But you have no clue where he's going with this sentence. "Would you mind if I-" And he's pausing again for dramatic effect as his lips graze over your hot skin. "Slitherin." He finally whispers in your ear, accentuating the 's'.

And just like that, you're back rolling over with laughter just like you had been that very afternoon.

#Jack grealish #Jack grealish x reader #jack grealish oneshot #jack grealish imagine #jack grealish fanfic

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redwinterroses · 3 years

Note

for requests how about: impulse, encountering some or all of the day one crew and getting Very Uneasy because oh shit, the 3rdlife memories are coming back hard

Hey! Sorry this took me SO long to finish. It was a hard one to write because between you asking this (I think?) and now, Impulse had that whole encounter with Bdubs on the path and I was like "Well I don't want to just write that" and then Cleo showed up? And I haven't ever written her before (except for a few lines in another hero, another mindless crime) so I had to go watch a ton of vids and streams and--

okay. Excuses over. Please enjoy this little "Impulse has a bad time but Friends Are Good" drabble. <3

~~~

Sweet Dreams

The Crastle was bigger than he remembered. Had this hallway always been here? This doorway? This arch that led to another hall…which branched and spiraled and led up stairs and down Escherian ramps in a labyrinth of stone walls and a floor dotted with pressure plates?

Impulse found himself running, breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he dashed down the halls, throwing open doors and darting around corners, leaping over the pressure plates—someone was chasing him.

They were coming for him, glowing red eyes and white teeth—fangs—glinting in the shadows. And over all, the ever-louder beat:

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It pounded in his ears, deafening, and he stumbled to cower against a wall, hunching with his arms over his head, trying in vain to drown it out. But no—no, it was even louder now, thumping so close it rattled his teeth, and he looked down to see blood spreading across his shirt and at the center where his heart should be: a golden clock embedded in his chest.

“They gave me a clock, Impulse.”

His head snapped up. Bdubs, eyes blank and red like two burning embers, stared down at him, no expression on his grey face.

“Ride or die?” Cleo’s voice came from behind him, and Impulse spun to see her glaring down the length of a crossbow, her eyes as scarlet and expressionless as Bdubs’. “How about… die.”

She fired the crossbow, the bolt exploding into flames that swarmed toward Impulse’s face—

He shot upright in bed, gasping for air. He swallowed hard, rubbing his chest as he gradually caught his breath. His heart pounded so loudly that for one horrible moment he thought it might really have been replaced with a bloody golden clock.

But no. Around him, the night was cool and dark, the silence of the Boatem village broken only by the faint rattling of a distant skeleton and the lowing of cows.

Just a dream. Just a nightmare.

Just another nightmare.

Impulse slumped back against his pillows, flopping one arm over his eyes and letting out a long, shuddering sigh in the darkness. It had been months since they’d moved on from the 3rd Life server, months of good times and laughter and the excitement of new projects and builds… and yet at night, when the voices of his friends faded away and Impulse was left alone with himself—he found himself back. Time and again, his sleeping mind returned to the Crastle, or to Dogwarts, or to the sandy dunes of the Red Desert. And inevitably, he found himself face to face with nightmare versions of his day-one crew: Bdubs and ZombieCleo, red-eyed and vengeful.

“I never betrayed them,” he muttered to the darkness. “Never.”

So why did he feel guilty?

Well. If he was honest with himself… it wasn’t really guilt. Or it was, but not because of anything he’d done in 3rdLife—no, the guilt he felt was because the primary emotion associated with Bdubs and Cleo in his dreams was fear.

These were his friends! Being afraid of them went against every instinct he had, every good memory and inside joke and shared experience. And that was a different world anyway—different rules, different lives. It didn’t change anything here on Hermitcraft.

And yet…

And yet when he saw that clock on Bdubs’ belt the other day, or when he’d come up out of the mines that first morning in Boatem and Cleo had been standing right there, Impulse hadn’t been able to suppress the rising wave of panic that swept over him. Panic over being caught in his web of lies, panic that he might hurt the only people he trusted, panic that they didn’t trust him—

Enough was enough. He needed to get past this; he couldn’t spend the rest of the season (the rest of his life?) having anxiety attacks whenever he encountered any of the other Crastle crew members. Talking with Bdubs on the trail had helped, but… he hadn’t seen Cleo since the first days of the server.

That needed to change.

Impulse threw off the covers and pushed himself out of bed, padding down the stairs to the main level of his house. Grabbing his communicator from where he’d left it atop the crafting bench, he tapped out two quick messages:

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: hey, can we meet up and chat? Spawn egg, around noon?

He set down the communicator and turned to go to bed, but to his surprise, it buzzed with an immediate reply.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: everything alright?

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: yeah sure, I just |

Impulse stared at the blinking cursor for a moment, then backspaced and started again:

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: not really. but it’s nothing major. just want to chat a few things over with you.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: Impulse it’s 3 in the morning. you wouldn’t be messaging if it wasn’t major. want to talk now?

He blinked. That… wasn’t the response he’d expected. He hesitated, finger hovering over the touch screen.

<impulseSV> you whisper to ZombieCleo: sure.

<ZombieCleo> ZombieCleo whispered to you: i'll come to you.

///

Impulse was waiting on the roof when Cleo arrived, swooping in with the dry rustle of elytra wings to land on the cobble-and-slabs rooftop.

He looked up at her with an automatic smile, but she didn’t even wait for a “hey” before plopping down beside him.

“Alright, Impulse,” she said, her brisk tone ordering, rather than inviting him to speak. “What’s going on?”

Pulling his knees into his chest, Impulse wrapped his arms around his legs, the cobblestone beneath him still radiating a bit of warmth from the day’s sun.

“I…” he let his voice trail off, not sure where to begin.

“Out with it.” Cleo held out her hand, palm up, as if waiting for him to drop something into it. “Spit it out. It’s not gonna get any better for stewing on it.”

This was a dumb idea. Impulse closed his eyes and, before he could talk himself out of it, let the words spill out in a rush:

“I keep having dreams. Nightmares. About being back… back there. At the Crastle, mainly. And, ah—” he chuckled nervously and opened his eyes, looking sideways at Cleo. “You and Bdubs are there. And you’re… mad. Yeah, you’re really mad. And you don’t trust me. And—" he took a deep breath. “I keep dreaming that you’re so mad you kill me.”

Cleo tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “But we didn’t. Well,” she corrected herself. “I didn’t.”

“I know, I know—it’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, and I know that, but…” he swallowed, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I need to get it off my chest. Because even thought I know it’s not real, and I know this is an entirely different world, and I know that nothing from that server really changes anything, I can’t just… turn off what my brain does when I’m not paying attention to it. You guys are my friends and I’m getting real tired of feeling like I need to start running every time I see one of you. To be honest, sitting here right now even is making me antsy.”

Overhead, the stars continued on their paths in silence, and somewhere in the village a couple of sheep baa-ed at each other plaintively.

“Well. That’s… something. That’s certainly something, isn’t it.” Cleo was quiet for a moment, examining him. Impulse looked away, suddenly finding his fingernails deeply interesting.

“Impulse.”

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, and he instinctively flinched away. Cleo raised both eyebrows at him this time, pulling her hand back—then deliberately replacing it, her fingers cool and firm through the thin fabric of his sleeve. “Impulse,” she repeated, her tone gentle but brooking no argument. “You… you know I’m not good at this stuff. But at the risk of getting in way over my pay-grade: we’re good. We’re your friends.” She gave him a shake. “We love you, you idiot. No amount of murdery games on another server gonna change that.”

Impulse gave a little laugh, pretending neither of them could hear the emotion that made his voice catch in his throat. “Wow, Cleo,” he said. “Love. Big word.”

“Bah.” She shoved him away, throwing her hands in the air. “I love everybody, you’re not special.” But there was a grin in her voice. “And anyway—why me? You’ve got a lotta nerve, Impulse, having nightmares about me killin’ you.”

“Hey, you were scary with that crossbow.”

“I was, wasn’t I.” Cleo sounded satisfied about that.

The knot in Impulse’s chest was slowly loosening, and he glanced over to see Cleo leaning back on her hands, staring up at the sky. The faintest tinge of pinkish-grey was starting to appear on the eastern horizon. The Boatem crew would be up and about soon—Grian in particular had a tendency to be up at an ungodly hour of the morning.

“Hey—” Impulse said, lowering his voice again. “Um. Thanks. For swinging by. Sorry for being weird about all this.”

“Impulse if you start apologizing for being weird you’re never going to stop.” She made a face at him. “Because you’re very weird.”

“Thaaaanks.”

Cleo gave him an easy punch on the shoulder. “You know you adore me,” she said. “And if it makes you feel any better, I can promise you this: I will kill you again at some point, I’m sure. And it’ll have nothing at all, whatsoever, to do with Third Life: it’ll be because you deserve it.” She paused. “Or because I just want to.”

Somehow, out of all the things she could have said, a casual threat of violence was the thing that did the trick. Impulse laughed—out loud, for real, a genuine laugh that shook loose the tension in his shoulders and chased away the phantom of Cleo standing over him with a crossbow.

“Thanks, Cleo.”

Cleo stood, and patted him on the head, ruffling up his hair. “There’s the obnoxiously-cheerful Impulse I know and loath,” she teased. “Can’t have you being all maudlin over here—I’m the gloomy one on this server.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Impulse asked, smoothing down his hair and also standing.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. You know me—I don’t do the sleeping thing much. Too much work to do: graves to dig, bodies to—” she grinned darkly “—find. ‘S a lot for an entrepreneuring zombie like myself.”

“Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to it.” Impulse tried to stifle a yawn. He wasn’t entirely successful.

“Go to bed, Impulse,” Cleo laughed, activating her elytra. “And try to only have normal nightmares about me for a while. Ya know—ones where I’m properly zombie-terrifying, not this Crastle nonsense.”

“I’ll do my best.” He watched her fly off, and yawned again, this time wide enough to pop his jaw.

Alright. Let’s try this one more time. Sleep.

He left the roof and reentered his house, which suddenly felt much more cozy and far less empty and cold than it had when he’d first awakened. Sliding back under his blankets, he tugged them up around his ears and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Something exploded outside, and his eyes popped back open.

Maniacal laughter echoed over the hills of Boatem, and Impulse deliberately rolled over, burying his head under the pillow.

Tomorrow’s insanity would come soon enough. For now: sleep.

((sweet dreams, Impulse.))

#here have some impulse hc #as a treat. and because impy deserves it #redwinterwrites #sweet dreams #impulsesv #hermitcraft

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