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possiblyaworldbuilder · 9 months

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Time for more infodumping on magic!!

Another long (and long awaited) post!!Don't worry tho to make it less boring there's some art along the way for you! Anyways I hope it will be interesting anyways!

First a little more on the workings of the magic! As said in the previous post, every user of the magic has a certain amount of energy they use. This isn’t the same for everyone and some people have more than others. Why this is isn’t confirmed and at the moment it is most often thought of as just dumb luck. However, users can gain more energy over time. This is done with devotion. Both to Saròs, by worshiping, doing favours and ‘aligning’ yourself to Saròs, and to the art of the magic, by practicing and using the magic a lot. These methods are not very scientific at this point in time and exactly how well and how consistently they work is debatable. How much energy users gain also wildly varies. Some never get much further than what they started with and some get significantly more over time.

Anyways, with more energy you can do more stuff! Distances you can travel increase and also the radius in which children of Saròs can use their magic ‘sight’ increases. The passive abilities like the sense of direction will also improve by this. Users can also use more abilities at the same time. For instance: using their magic sight and while opening their pocket dimension or teleporting a large distance.

On top of that, skilled users can open tears without using their hands, and solely using their energy. Though, if both ends of the tear are far away the two distances between you and the tears add up. Commonly it is just used to open a tear close, and not having to use your hands is useful enough. For a multitude of reasons.

But now we get to some fun exploits of the system!

I assume most of you are well aware of the portal games. So you must know what happens when you put two above each other. You get an infinite falling loop! Now what if after you’ve build up all the speed, you could redirect the portals! This is something that gets used a lot by children of Saròs in various ways. But Lets get to the fun one first :)

FLIGHT!! Sorta. Not exactly. But close enough! After gaining enough speed in a loop, the user redirects the portal to shoot in whatever direction they want. For example upwards with a 45 degree angle. This way they get launched through the air in whatever way they want. They can then repeat this a few times, hopping through tears for large distances, and whenever they start to slow down, they can start another loop and continue on again. This is both fun and it can give you a nice and strategic view of any location from high up too. Now if you want to land again simply shoot upwards, wait until you lost your momentum, and you can teleport down safely. Users should always keep the current gravitation in mind while doing this.

Now this trick also works on people who don’t want to fly and who won’t be able to land safely. This is a good example for why opening tears without your hands can be fun. Just open one below someone and trap them in a loop until you send them to the clouds. This is however viewed as a disrespectful move, because it is needlessly cruel. This does not mean it is never done just that it’s not a something you try to do often if you don’t want a negative reputation. This is an acceptable move to pull on monsters during hunts.

Another way this trick is used is to launch projectiles. Thick heavy darts are commonly used for this. And I made a little (very rough) animation to illustrate it!!

Spears, arrows or just heavy rocks even can be used for this very effectively. Especially if gravity is on your side terminal velocity can be faster than here on earth and the impact force is enough to kill fully armoured opponents. Not only that but huge beasts and monsters are a lot easier to kill this way.

Now it can take a while to reach terminal velocity normally, but one little detail about the magic system can help with this. From the last post:

The tear closes again as soon as the user lets it go. Things that are still inside when it closes are pushed out in the direction of it’s momentum or to the side where the largest portion of it’s mass is.

closing the tear at the correct moment gives it extra speed. This added acceleration becomes bigger the higher the projectiles speed is while passing through. This way speeds can build up higher and faster than they would otherwise. It has in some cases been recorded that a loud booming noise occurred when objects were launched at incredible speeds. This is believed to be the roar of Saròs there to show that the projectile has reached a high enough speed and to bless it to hit it's target. (Yes this is actually a sonic boom from breaking the sound barrier.)

In sieges it is common to launch large rocks this way at walls. This has way more destructive potential than any catapult or trebuchet. Children of Saròs don't really have to take castles and fortresses seriously anyways, but using them to their full potential in sieges makes castles a lot less effective entirely. Gòlhyík having by far the most magic users means that they have a massive advantage in wars. This was in fact crucial in many ways to them regaining independence after the Banyíro occupation.

Another way the magic is used on a larger scale during battle is to avoid melee range. One user opens a tear and someone helps them to draw it out to a larger size. The other and it the tear can be placed above the enemy for example and a line of archers can shoot through it, or pike men can start stabbing from above or even behind enemies. As soon an the enemy adapt to the threat the magic user can close and open a new tear from another point and do the trick again. Dropping things in top of enemies is also common to do. Get in two or even more children of Saròs to work together and you can do even more crazy things. Really there’s a lot of creative and deadly ways to use magic and most likely there are still plenty to be discovered.

War and battle and fighting is what magic gets used for the most now, especially on large scale. Obviously there are a lot of non-violent uses too though. After the gaining of independence and before the assassination of the kings husband, there was more done with this. But that death took a great toll on the King and in turn Gòlhyík as a whole and so a lot of progress was stopped. Most of the magic users are monster hunting, fighting in border skirmishes, showing off in special tournaments or just busy with the religious aspect even though they could do more good for the people elsewhere.

Another very different way the magic is used is to help against the inconsistency of gravity. By carrying useless weight in their pocket dimensions, users feel less affected by weak gravity when they want to and they can loose dead weight when the gravitational pull is stronger.

That’s about all I’ll say about uses for now tho there are so many more that I forgot to mention or never even came up with yet. However now we get to a bit more of the mystery surrounding the gift of Saròs!

This starts with one very important place: the capital of Gòlhyík. See, in the capital, at the center is a gigantic, ancient tree. One that looks a little like this:

If you look at it you'll notice something at the bottom in the tree. This is a tear. A giant one. And it's a mystery.

One reason for that is that it is permanent. Normally tears closes when a child of Saròs stops using it. This one is not being held open by anyone. This has been investigated for a while until the assassination but it is hoped that there will be more investigation into it soon in the future. There have been experiments to keep portals open by hooking the edges and attaching it to poles. However if no magic user is using their energy to keep it open, it does not want to stay open. It seems like the force whith which it wants to close increases exponentially and in all the performed experiments the hooks either got bend or broken by it. The edges tear free no matter the material used for the hooks and closes. What makes it stranger is that the tear in the tree does not seem to be attached to it’s borders with hooks or any other way.

Yímálu, a well respected scholar and daughter of Saròs, has speculated that the tear is held open by in a way by “attaching the expended energy to the material” so that it does not want to be closed. She used the term ‘enchanting’ while talking about this. She had gone missing and presumed dead for a while before she returned. After this she had tried a while to get a patron for her research with little succes. Finally Mèrèk of Ìryítàr has decided to take up this role and her research was Able to continue. No break throughs have been made yet but it seems promising.

Another mystery surrounding has to do to where the other end goes to. See, the tear leads to Hedràr. The other world up above. This however is an incredibly long distance. Far longer than any distance even the most gifted child of Saròs could travel. The amount of magic energy that would be needed is massive, so much so that it’s commonly believed that it was Saròs itself that created it long ago. Some credible researchers (notably not including Yímálu) have theorised that it could have been than long ago in the time of the (even larger) Tèràl ancestors had access to stronger magic and were thus able to create it. Or that there is a way to combine the magic energy of multiple users together to pull it off. These are just theories so far though and have not been proved yet, nor do they have much strong evidence.

And I think that’s it for now!! Probably forgot some smaller points along the way but this is already long enough so I thinks it’s fine lol. Hope it was an interesting read though!! Let me know what you think! But for now goodbye again!

Havéja!

#my world #worldbuilding #yídràl #writing #art #my art #magic #magic system

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lord-tekron · 1 year

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Oops, I am once more in a “Behind the Scenes” mood, let’s see what there is to talk about... Well we talked about Dave Miller last timed, so let’s talk about the dark side of that coin.

For some clarity sake, I am assuming you have already read the post where I went on a tangent talking about Dave Miller. If not then take a quick glare at it as while I may repeat some stuff I don’t know what I will repeat, so make sure to check there. https://lord-tekron.tumblr.com/post/711905032118943744/got-your-attention-good-now-its-time-for-some

Now let’s talk about the funny rabbit man.

When Dave was finalized, there was this debate on when/if Springtrap would appear and how. After all it sorta showed that Dave finally wrangled control so how would I even get him to appear? Well that is when the Mob Boss Freddy arc began. In Chapter 10 there is a small little detail that shows Elizabeth and Dave walking past the building Freddy and his Goons were ransacking, and if you notice REAL close, you can see remnant falling from the sky.

Now, where does this land? Well it lands right on the Springtrap arm. This led to the bit with Michael and the now reawoken arm doing some hijinks for the rest of that chapter.

(This is fanart from Ooftroop btw, and it is a joke that works on multiple levels because it’s a recreation that was show to them out of context AND they stopped reading TSP at chapter 9, the chapter BEFORE this scene happens in. Only reason I am sharing this is because when else am I gonna show this in any natural context?)

But yeah, soon Armtrap hooks himself up to the one mafia robot and takes control of it, and then a new problem occurs. What is his personality like? I mean he is evil, obviously, but what kind of evil is he? If William Afton is the mad genius, and Dave Miller is the guilty aspect, what should Springtrap be?

And thankfully the Silver Eyes trilogy gave me an idea, in The Fourth Closest there is a bit where Springtrap (or well, a Springtrap illusion thing, fuck fnaf lore sometimes man) where he is singing and dancing as he mocks Jessica.

That, is beautiful. Springtrap is a killer, but he is also fucking EXTRA with it. He ain’t just gonna kill you, he is going to put on a show for no one but himself for the hell of it. And as such the pieces sorta fell together, as he is the only character that gets musical numbers in the damn comic (even in Nightmare Countdown where there are other “singers” he gets the most dynamic one as the judge/worm), much to peoples confusion.

I scare people very easily. But another thing I wanted Springtrap to be is, for lack of a better word, wrong. Like even for all the Mushroom Mutants, Soul Dozer, and Shadow Kings, something about him is different. And the most obvious example is for him to be the only one that has the sense of awareness of the 4th wall, like others may look at the “camera” in disbelief, but he takes it a step beyond and has jabs at it. Not to mention him being unique with having colored text unlike everyone else usually does.

Another thing is that, while he may be the big bad of the trio (Him, Freddy, and Baby), he had to be used correctly. He may be fun to write, but too much of a good thing can make a person sick of it. So after the first music number, he mostly takes a working in the shadows role as the story focuses on Freddy and Baby, with him only coming up here and there for a goof or gag to remind the audience that he is still there.

And then, with Baby was defeated, it was time for him to take control, and one thing I feel bad about is that I think I was a bit too vague about how he did somethings. Frankly I don’t think that there are even any good way to describe it even right now, but to put it bluntly. Springtrap had Freddy send a message to Baby, who was asked to put an emergency thing of remnant on the side incase she fails. This side remnant would then be used to temporarily give Springtrap enough juice to wiggle as a bit of Freddy’s endo wires.

And he would inch his way to someplace they wouldn’t suspect, and temporarily hijacked Lefty’s head.

And then, as we saw in Grand Return, he was able to get himself a new body.

Now, I won’t lie... Another poor writing aspect on my end, relied on ALOT of coincidences for that to work. But I will say, it did lead to the best character ever, Paradox Springtrap.

This fucker is FUN, he is evil, he is wacky, and he is overly dramatic. Everything during the Springtrap arc was a joy. There is a reason I end up constantly redrawing him, he is just a fun character to have do stuff for. Fuck I wrote a throwaway line saying he “installed the laser vision feature” cause it was funny, and then said “wait, LETS ACTUALLY HAVE HIM SHOOT LASERS OUT OF HIS EYES CAUSE THIS IS DUMB AND HILARIOUS AND AMAZING”

AND EVEN THEN HIS BULLSHIT DID NOT STOP, BECAUSE AS IT TURNS OUT HE HAD A SECRET FINAL FORM WITH THE REMNANT MONSTER HE TURNS INTO AT THE END!

And as a little treat, Remnant Springtrap has an entire thing I did that saves me the work of writing everything and gives you some more stuff to look at.

I don’t know if there is a proper term to call this type of remnant, my brain just defaults to calling it “Dark Remnant” but that is kinda dumb, meanwhile far as I can tell only kind of Remnant besides regular Remnant is “Shadow Remnant” but that is from Fnaf AR and no one cares about Fnaf AR. :V

Another thing I liked was how he was defeated, not only by having Dave throw Springtrap for a loop and do something he thought he wasn’t going to do, but also how he suffers something worse than death, I mean he’s died like what? 2-3 times already, give or take? And since one of the main gimmicks of The Springlock Paradox was the dimensional device, it only made sense that it would be the thing that sealed his fate by trapping him in a place that doesn’t exist.

And we’ll never have to worry about him ever again!

None whatsoever

Gone like yesterday

But hey, plenty of elbow room in the void!

I am certain he’ll be completely rational and sane in a place with no beginning and no end, where even time is but a suggestion, right?

Yeah... I think I am right.

#The Springlock Paradox #Springtrap #Dave Miller #Fnaf #Behind the scenes #fnaf au #fnaf comic #au #comic #au comic #fnaf au comic #remnant #five nights at freddy's #springlock #paradox

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kulemii · 2 years

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I wasn't sure whether to ask here or your other blog as this is the blog that made the RGG questionnaire? I'd thought i'd ask you some questions of your own post!! A.3, B.1, B.4, C.9, D.9 and F.7!!!

i betcha forgot all about this ask huh? well, i didn't- thanks to me leaving this one baking in my ask box since march i decided to start this shit up again today so i'd have an excuse to finally answer you after all this time lmaooo. hello saiiii, please forgive me! 🙇🏾‍♀️

A.3) Favorite protagonist(s)? Majima- I was so mad that I had to play as this man after I fell for Kiryu during those first chapters of 0. I really disliked him and by the middle of his first chapter I was already in love. Round of applause for Mr.Eyepatch man for breaking my 3+ year writer’s block slump. What a guy, that Majimuh! Haruka- Loved her as a protagonist almost solely based on how risky it was for RGG to create such a different form of gameplay just for her part and it was entertaining from start to finish. She upset me so much because Miss Girl, we don’t bow to these hoes. She really should’ve been able to fight. Ugh! Akiyama- He’s a sleaze but he’s a funny sleaze that goes Kicky Kick :) Honorable Mention: Kiryu- I mean, he’s alright. Like… Overrated as Fuck in my opinion. I mean.. And you know what though? That’s typically how the bullshit goes. Ya feel me?

B.1) Which character do you relate to most and why? I used to believe that it was Y0 Majima but after playing through the whole series up to 6, i realize that the real answer was Haruka! This one went one for a while but the "why" has been answered [here]

B.4) Who would you like to post more about but you don’t? Why don’t you? Oh, that's easy! Aizawa ^-^ I don't feel like I talk about him enough and i really should hehe 🥰 Jk. Umm, yeah last time I answered this, I said Majima and while I do believe that I wouldn't mind posting about him more I-- still think there's really nothing left for me to say. I've got such brilliant mutuals that can put their Majima thoughts into words in a way that I just cannot lol so i just, let everyone else have those conversations. I have been thinking about how I tend to keep my Reina obsession in private but i'm kinda tired of doing that- the reason why is pretty simple, the fandom ain't too kind to the ladies of RGG so to avoid those sorta debates I just keep between me and my moots. But, yeah fuck that. Reina deserves praise too! So be prepared for me to act mentally ill about my gorgeous wife. >:D Also, I feel like I could post more about Nishiki- i know that after I finished my Nishiki project I sorta closed the book and left him sittin pretty on my bookshelf because I channeled so much of my fascination with him into that project but I still love him so much. So, I should talk about him. Also, I feel like I could talk about--

C.9) What was the most emotional scene in the series? I don't now if I would call it the most emotional scene but it's certainly the freshest one on my mind- The Scene in 6 at the end when Iwami and that other bitch ass mf tried to murk Kiryu in front of Haruka. Hoooboy that was- I cried. Like, I ugly cried. Another scene that made me ugly cry, Nishiki and Kiryu in The Woods in 0. Another scene that made me ugly cry? Majima, Makoto and the watch. Another sce--

D.9) Any hot takes? (Something that might not win ya any new friends) I think my answer [here] remains my hottest take. I can't come up with anything else at the moment.

F.7) Who are you fighting on the Millennium Tower rooftop? Kiryu, I gotta teach this old man a lesson. Then, after that, I'm fighting the RGG writing team-all at once.

Wanna send in more? Questions are found [here]!

#rgg questionnaire #round 2 #partylikemajima

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gay-salt-amber · 2 years

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Twisted Wonderland x Warrior cats HCS

This is very much a Ruggie centered au cuz I love this boi any why not, human au btw but I think thats obv enough

Ruggie is a Windclan daylight warrior, I debated making him ShadowClan but hes better built for WindClans territory and style

He trains in the dark forest with the other trainees and its very much inspired by Halo the Dreamers Dark Forest Shenanigans au

Windclan has met every one of Ruggies partners except Jack for obvious reasons

Ruggies mentor in the DF is Darkstripe surprisingly enough

His mentor in the normal world was originally going to be Antpelt but as we all know, he died so he got apprenticed to the medicine cat instead

Thunderclan thinks hes just the coolest thing and multiple cats tried to get him to join Thunderclan but he declines

He tells the kits all these stories of NRC and they love them more then the elders tales

He goes inbetween places because hes debating on where he belongs

He took a two year break from the clans to focus on school and he showed up at a gathering, Graystripe style and everyone freaked out

Breezepelt and him are somehow besties and no-one understands how

He kinda thinks of Frecklewish as a mom figure in a way.. not much but sort of

Jay feather and him gossip to eachother at gatherings all the time

Leona is so confused abt his medical knowledge and even more confused when his mentor comes to talk to the school abt clan life and medicine cat things and stuff like that

This also follows the canon of the 9 8 7 (Im feeling blue) fic on ao3 so medicine cats can have mates now... I just really like that fic so-

Whenever hes in star-clan, which isn't often, Tallstar gives him advice. From one old gay to a young one lol

This au has a playlist I'll post separately later

Y'know how ghosts sorta just... Appear around NRC? Yeah Antpelt did that to tell Ruggie something abt the DF or something and scared the shit out of the others

Snowtuft: "Hello, this is my favorite child named Ruggie, you wrong him you die :D"

His favorite leader was Heatherstar, he never served under her but he just thinks shes really cool

He gives the kits badger rides

His least favorite cat in the clans is Dovewing and hes def on Ivypools side of their whole sibling rivalry/hatred thing. He has nothing personally against Dovewing, he just knows Ivy better

His weapons are throwing knives and a longish sword

Kestrelflight tells him all abt his crushes on Flametail and Jayfeather and Ruggie is just there for the tea

On the playlist, there's a song called 'Maybe' by Sick Puppies and I put it on there cuz it makes me think of Ruggie debating his spot in the clans and if he should leave and live life with the Epel 5 forever, sort of like Tallstar with Jake in a way

I think a lot of medicine cats (esp Flametail and Willowshine) like lil knicknack things from different places so whenever the meds meet at the moonpool, Ruggie gives them gifts... that he may or may not have stolen

Epel is everyones favorite out of Ruggies partners

Once, all the medicine cats came to talk to Ruggies class abt what clan life was like and Kestrel looked at Ruggie and said, "What in the name of Star'clan are you doing sitting there?? You're a medicine cat too, get down here!"

Nobody knows how hes such a good cook since Jayfeather taught him a good amount of it since they're the best cook out of the medicine cats and it makes no sense to the others since Jay is very much blind

He ships Ivypool, Breezepelt and Antpelt HARD

Everyone is so confused why Darkstripe is Ruggies mentor and Ruggies like, "Actually he just walked up to me and started training me, said I had potential or something like that."

#Ruggie bucchi #warrior cats #twisted wonderland #gay #headcanons #epel 5 #jayfeather #kestrelflight #windclan #breezepelt #antpelt #ivypool #frecklewish #darkstripe #crossover #twisted wonderland x warrior cats

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all-things-fic · 4 years

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Spoilin’ for a Fight

A/N: Happy Sunday loves! Hope you’ve all had a lovely and restful weekend. No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you... I have indeed (finally) posted another piece of writing. Here’s 6.7k of Harry riling up his partner all because of a bloody vest.

Thank you as always for all the love and patience everyone has given me. Especially @waitingfortwilight, @haute-romance-quotidienne and @harryfeatgaga. Hopefully this lives up to any hype the sneak peek created! I’m going to disappear again .x

***

You rolled your lips into your mouth as you watched him walk his way around your master bedroom. His movements were confidently familiar as he tucked his vest into the waistband of his white boxer-briefs and kept his eyes down to the dress shirt and trousers he had laid out across your bedspread, sitting next to choice accessories.

He was running late. Both you and he knew it. Yet the leisurely motions he undertook would never have told you that if you didn’t already know. The way he had taken longer in the shower, carelessly stepped out of the towel (and stepped over it too, meaning the item was now damp and in a bunched up pile closer to Harry’s side of the bed waiting for someone to put it in the laundry basket) and meandered his way through getting ready.

Boxers first, then black ankle socks. Then the bloody vest.

You exhaled through your nose, trying not to release a breath that would catch his attention and let him know that you were becoming slightly vexed by how lackadaisical he was choosing to be.

The vest had to go.

Not even in a sexual way either.

And it wasn’t the fact that it just wasn’t doing it for you - on the contrary it was quite the opposite, the tight item clearly letting you ogle and appreciate the fine specimen you were proud to call your partner - but it was just how much of grandad-move it was.

You understood how having some sort of undershirt kept his actual shirt looking pristine acting as a defensive layer between his body and his clothing.

But, the vest had to go.

It just had to.

Blindly reaching down to your dresser for your tube of mascara, you unscrewed the gold lid and coated the wand with product.

Mouth slightly fallen, you washed your lashes with the High Density Black mascara and quickly made the switch to the other eye making sure to get your bottom lashes too.

Looking at Harry through the mirror, you wondered what he could be debating as he stood silently in the middle of the room. A soft frown traced his brow, his eyes looking down at the bed. His hands were digging into his waist, as his lips jutted slightly in thought.

Your conclusion was that he was debating his outfit choice for the evening.

Lid gently screwed back on, you placed your mascara into your cosmetic vanity, before then reaching out for your brow gel. A quick brush through each side and you were done with that step.

You happened to quite like his outfit choice. It was a little less formal than usual for one of your dinners. Classic houndstooth patterned trousers and smart black shirt. The kind of material that made a scratching noise which was music to your ears as you clawed at your man, wanting him closer. Whether that was in the booth of a restaurant, on the car ride home while you were sat at a red traffic light, or when he had you pinned against the locked door for your house.

Eyes dropping, you watched as your hands - with freshly lacquered nails - gently drew the opening of your silky-satin dressing gown together as it started to gape.

From your fidgeting, Harry’s attention was stolen by the movement he had seen in his peripherals and when you next looked up at him in the mirror you were met by his already awaiting gaze.

His face looked worn, as his still slightly damp hair fell across his forehead. Lines lingered in his skin from the way his head was tilted and his arms were bent as his hands faffed around with what appeared to be a trinket box. He must’ve reached for it at some point while you were otherwise occupied.

Gold cross dipping underneath the neckline of the vest, the width of his chest seemed to be getting wider the longer you kept your eyes on his reflection. In moments like this you always became hyper aware of the amount of tattoos that were scattered across his body - arms, shoulders and chest. If you were able to let your eyes drop lower, you were sure the ones of his legs would be just as vivid.

But while everything else about him just seemed content in the moment, his eyes were different. They were strong as they held yours. Waiting for something.

And you knew you couldn’t keep his gaze as you let your words leave your throat, albeit with less conviction than you originally thought them.

If you were after a bicker before dinner then he was absolutely going to bite and give you what you wanted. You just knew it.

“You’re not going out in that, are you?”

“‘S there a problem ‘f I am?”

A charged pause.

Harry’s remark was shot out instantly, on yours as fast as a predator was on their prey.

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you looked back at him through the mirror. A slant to his lips as he waited once more.

Gentle raise of his eyebrows. Faint but definitely there. Goading. Knowing you would be so aware of every moment, every twitch with your eye for detail. His eyes shone in a way that he was daring you.

Oh, he was spoiling for a fight. Most definitely.

See, this wasn’t new territory for you and Harry. He knew that it sometimes got on your last nerve in how he opted for a vest to cover his top half as an undershirt but especially when he only wore that as the item of choice and simply slung a suit jacket over the top to complete the outfit.

Like that one time when he attended The Store X The Vinyl Factory's Transformer exhibition and swung by your then rented London townhouse after said event in the small hours only for you to chastise him on the doorstep for how he hadn’t even put on a proper shirt for the evening.

That night he had teased you - “‘least let me in the door before you start dressing me down, darling. Especially considering ‘m halfway there with not putting on a clean shirt an’ everythin’” - in that slow draw that maddeningly managed to warm you through even when you were irritated with it’s orator.

Blinking, you knew you needed to respond but you weren’t sure which route you wanted to take with your tact.

“Not a problem, ‘s just not my favourite.”

“Didn’t realise we’d become tha’ sorta couple,” he paused, his sentence obviously not finished. When your eyes met his again, he continued, “The kind that tells the other what they can and can’t wear, can and can’t do.”

Sighing, you fiddled with your diamond earrings and spoke, “Forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” he spoke clearly, ringless hands rising in defeat. “You don’t like the vest, ‘s fine. Allowed an opinion.”

“Nice to know.”

A suppressed laugh spluttered from Harry’s lips as he pressed them together.

Looking at him again, you watched him wrinkle his nose up at you through the mirror. By now your gaze was flat and you were far from impressed with his taunting.

“Come on,” he encouraged, eyes alight. “‘S have a row.”

“I’d rather not.”

“‘S healthy to tell me to piss off every once in a while, y’know tha’?”

“So, piss off.”

“Ouch,” he dragged the word, playing offended. “Could say it wi’a bit less conviction next time.”

“That’s if we make it to a next time,” you muttered, seeing his smirk. “‘M not doing this.”

He watched the way you snatched at your other earring, your hands quick to try and place it gently to your lobe but in your haste you fell foul of losing the item.

“Shit,” you hissed when the dainty jewellery slipped from your grip and to the wooden floor below with a dull clink.

“Hang on-“

“It’s fine,” you rebutted any chance of his offering to help, swiping for the earring and managing to make good the second time around.

There was tension in the air now as Harry remained quiet while you continued busying yourself, ignoring the bubble of annoyance and unexplained upset simmering within you.

Gently scooping at your necklace next, you fiddled with the clasp of the fine chain and tilted your neck down as you raised your hands and arms to place the necklace onto yourself.

From behind you, Harry nervously chewed at his bottom lip. He knew the outcome wasn’t going to go well as he looked on at your slightly shaking hands struggling to successfully bring the two sides together.

Rather than point out the possibility of ruining the nails that you had endlessly chewed his ear about all afternoon and constantly stuck under his nose to show off; he waited with baited breath, more than willing to step in if required.

It was when he heard the small and soft growl omit from your mouth with sheer frustration that he decided to change tact.

Gone was the trinket box, tossed aimlessly back onto the bed with a soft bounce. His hands gently placed to rest against taut shoulders, Harry leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head. Nose tickled by your hair he muttered into the silky strands, “Let me, darling.”

You froze as you sat in your seat, eyes still slightly lowered from the way you had dropped your head. Frantically blinking as you mulled over how you were going to play your next move.

Harry hummed, noticing that you had gone quiet on him, knowing you wouldn’t want to engage with him just yet considering how soon he had previously provoked. He just had to wait it out a little more.

A slump came to your shoulders at his words, partially irked at how he had been the one to coil your spring - pushing and pressing and prodding - and now he thought he could be the one to so easily offer you release.

“Let me just-,” he spoke more so to himself, cutting himself off, as he scooped your hair into his hands and mumbled soft apologies considering he knew you had spent some time on styling.

When he was happy that your neck was open enough and there wasn’t going to be anything to hinder him with your tresses over one shoulder, he reached for the item.

Harry’s right hand met yours first, his thumb and forefinger easily pinching at the delicate chain that he knew so well having been the person to pick and purchase the item.

Surprised at how easily you gave up the treasure, Harry darted his eyes to your left side and reached for the other side of the fine chain.

“Have you got it?” You were reluctant to let the one side of the necklace go, in fear of losing the pendant that was currently bouncing against your chest from the way you held the jewellery item.

Again, a throaty hum vibrated through Harry’s chest.

“Which idiot chose the finicky clasp?”

“You did,” you outright answered him.

He chuckled in concentration, eyes zoned in on the way his thumbnail pressed at the clasp to hold it down, and his left hand fed itself to the right. “‘S right, I did. Fucking big idiot over ‘ere.”

You then felt the chain gently tickle the back of your neck as Harry let the item go. “But he’s only gone an’ bloody done it.”

Lightly sighing, you pressed your hand to your chest and felt the necklace sitting cooly against your hotter than usual skin. A soft smile at Harry’s choice of words to let you know he had successfully put on the necklace.

Slightly inside your own head as you raised it to sit up straight, you quickly busied yourself with returning items that you had been using to get ready, to their rightful spots.

Behind you, you heard Harry chuckle as he gently dropped himself down to sit on the edge of your side of the bed. He was clearly amused at how you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Ignoring me now? Not even gonna gi’me a thank you?”

If you hadn’t been so stubborn, and focused on the task at hand you would have heard his question and thanked him. However, given your own bloody-mindedness, you never stood a chance.

Learning forward, Harry’s hand reached down to one of the four legs that made up your dressing table pouffe - the one closest to him - and swiftly pulled.

Of course, you squealed. The quick change in motion was enough to cause anyone to omit a noise fit only to dogs hearing due to its pitch.

“‘Ve got yer,” he spoke around a chuckle, enlightened by your reaction as the chair scraped against the flooring and made it so you were virtually sat in his lap. “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed...”

Sharply, you turned to look at him and pushed at his shoulder. “Hope you’re not implying-“

“Wha’,” his expression was boyishly cheeky as he cut you off with his question, his hand keeping hold of yours that had pushed his shoulder. “What am I implying?”

Nostrils flared as you looked at him, feeling your arm slowly wrap around his neck as he tried to pull you closer once more on the chair. Legs man spread, he managed to slot you in between his thighs and enjoyed the way your soft knees squashed into his inner thigh from how close you now were.

“I’m implying what the proverb is implying,” he smarmily responded, forever having an answer for everything.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” he turned, noting the way your arm was still draped around his neck.

“Shame that,” you commented. “Cause if you were alluding to the other thing then you would’ve really gotten the fight you were looking for.”

Harry’s eyes cut to you from the corner of his vision, his lips now pressed gently against your forearm. “Would I? If that’s the case, I take it back.”

Again your nostrils flared, as you mumbled a veiled threat of, “Swear to god, Harry.”

“So, so easy to wind up-“

Harry’s voice was abruptly cut off when your fingers came into contact with the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled as hard as you could. His only response was to gently graze his teeth to the skin of your arm and the silk of the gown in the tiniest of nips as he ascended to your neck.

“D’yeh know how much I love fighting with you?” He mumbled against your skin, “How much I love doing anything and everything with you?”

“Have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” you swallowed around your dry response, feeling his lips quirk against the shoulder of your silk gown as he gently brushed your hair away once more.

With it falling down your back, you became all too aware of the gape to your coverup, revealing your clavicle and the top of your breast, as Harry’s lips rubbed against where your neck and shoulder met.

Growl-like hum heard from your suitor, you gently pushed your finger through his drying hair. Forcing it in haphazard directions before bringing it back and smoothing it down.

When he showered you with affection like he was currently doing, it was hard to stay mad at him. Which is why you found the direction of conversation so intriguing. What was he trying to achieve here? Whatever it was, he really was going the wrong way about it.

“Know why I love fighting?” He felt you shake your head lightly as he brought you back to him with the question. The rustle of your hair against his was heard prominently in your ears as he now lightly rested his forehead to your temple. “Yea’, you do,” he disagreed with your non-verbal response, tone gritty as he tried to rouse once more.

“‘S cause I love shagging when we’re angry,” he heavily pressed his nose into your cheek, knowing you were watching him through the hooded eyelids regardless of how you wouldn’t fully let your gaze meet his long enough to be suckered in. “How you really dig your nails into my back an’ shoulders when I properly get going - not to mention my arse cheeks - and how it feels when I step under the shower the next morning and wince like a little wuss.”

You laughed breathily, stopping your feelings of joy by biting down on your bottom lip. Laughter however played on your lips, lingering in a soft smile that danced along and up the corners of your mouth.

“Fight me, darling.”

Amused didn’t even cover it as you pulled your head back in a slightly uncomfortable way to look at him. The smoulder of his dilated eyes that were clearly set on what he wanted, they jarred so evidently against his messy hair that looked fit for a toddler who had woken from a heavy nap.

He seemed awfully whiny for a man who was confident with what he wanted. Supposed to be the instigator of an exchange of diverging or opposite views, creating most likely a heated happening. Then again, maybe he was onto something.

Soft frown set in the middle of his brows, his eyes dropped so brazenly down to your lips. A quick swipe of your tongue had them glistening enticingly for him as saliva lingered and caused his groan to get caught in his throat.

Hand against the back of your head, he tilted your face down to his once more and let his mouth sit at the corner of your lips. Your breathing and his had started to become staccato, as anticipation bubbled within you both from your shared close proximity.

“‘M waiting,” you challenged knowing he would rise up to the provocation, as his hand turned you face a tiny amount more so when he stuck his nose against yours, so they would slot perfectly together.

Harry’s vision blurred as he felt your warm breath bounce against his face, licking his own lips now and rolling them into his mouth to take away any dryness.

Hand drawing you to him and mouth about to take your bottom lip, he felt the soft draw back of your head causing his lips to tweak as his breathy laugh mixed within his short and sharp exhalations.

“‘S tha’ how it’s gonna be?“

You fought the way your hooded eyes wanted to close at the gruff tone that laced his question, wanting to marvel in the glow that had started to coat the skin of his face.

“Said you wanted a fight.”

No sooner had the words left your mouth were his lips abruptly upon yours. His hand spread across your entire cheek as your free hand reached for his wrist and tightly gripped. Noses squashed from the force; desperate to have each other.

Harry's lips were fierce and bruising, his body feeling heavier against yours as he rested his other hand against your chair and gave you more of his weight.

For him your smell was everywhere, as your other arm wrapped around his neck and clawed at the fabric of that bloody vest. The sweet of your hair care juxtaposed against the woody florals of your perfume that sensually drew and tied him to you.

Knees knocking together, you felt the way his hand stumbled as it peeled away from the chair and clawed at the silky fabric of your gown. Fingers quickly became frantic as his concentration moved to his hands that lifted fabric and slipped underneath craving the feel of your warm, soft skin.

With his mouth slightly slower and fallen as he was pulled elsewhere, you tried to take the lead as his hands wandered and he explored.

His hands were softer than usual, time away from music and instruments meaning the callouses had faded. Short nails were dull as they clawed, fingertips dancing against your plush thighs as they flattened to the seat and then upwards along your hip, scooping around your back and confidently spreading out just shy of the top of your bum.

God, he loved knowing you were completely naked underneath. How with a quick and sharp tug of his hand, he would have you bare to him.

Small press against your lower back had Harry silently asking you to raise and fall into his lap. You ignored him at first, far too wrapped up in the way he gave you his tongue around his quivering lips that were trying not to smile at the way the two of you were shamelessly necking on and he was managing to get his own way.

Pressing your toes into the patterned antique Persian rug which sat underneath your bed, your body created a break between your thighs and their seat. Harry took advantage of the space without any need for a nudge, his hands curling against the clammier, warm skin as he urged you once more to come to him.

Your knees hit the side of your mattress first, lifting and mounting Harry’s lap and he moaned as he enjoyed your full weight against him. Fingers digging into the skin of your thighs, you felt him squeeze as he started to lower himself down to the bed.

Body laying atop an outfit priced easily in the early thousands, Harry hummed clearly letting you know how pleased he was with himself. This was only solidified by the crack of his hand, as it slapped against you bare bum cheek now on show.

“Can’t believe you’ve got your arse in the air like this,” he rasped, head lifted so he could leave lingering kisses to the hinge of your jaw.

Mouth slightly dropped, you could feel the way his right hand danced against the curve of your cheek and the way it dipped as it met the back of your thigh.

His eyes were on your face, chin soft as he tilted his head down to his chest. You admired him, somehow able to find a stillness woven within a intoxicated, sensual love between the lewdish comments and suggestive wandering hands.

Lips melding to the skin of your cheek, he asked, “Who’re you showing it off to?”

“You, ‘f you want it like that.”

The coolness of the room hit your bare skin even more as Harry roughly pushed up the fabric of your gown up as he palmed your cheeks once more, skin massaged and squeezed between his digits.

Raw groan, he found his voice, “Turn over for me.”

Harry slid himself closer to the side of bed, hands making light work of his socks and his briefs before he turned to throw you a glance over his shoulder.

You had removed your gown, item somewhere now on the floor revealing yourself to him proudly.

As you lay gently on your stomach, the expanse of your bare back on show for him. He greedily let his eyes wander, the curvature of your shoulders and the indentation of your spine line.

The way your right leg was slightly bent creating a crease to your hip and your left leg a little straighter. You certainly gave him plenty to devour with his sight.

He didn’t give it much thought when he joined you back on the bed, his hands pressing into the mattress closer to your head.

Bare fingers caught your attention as you watched his hands scrunch around his expensive dress shirt, the familiar scratching sound music to your ears as it caught against his nails and not yours for once while he threw it to the floor at the bottom end of the bed.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going to make it to tha’ dinner,” he spoke, his words not really warranting an answer. Beside your hips, you could feel his knees as he leaned for the trousers on the other side of you and pushed them out of the way too.

He continued with, “Already late. ‘S no point.”

From the way he spoke you wondered if this was what he had been aiming for all along. To scrap dinner and have his way with you. It wouldn’t have been the first time and definitely not the last.

Eyes already heavy from the deep lull of Harry’s voice, they closed when you felt his lips hit your back, making light work of inhaling you in. His mouth was wet as he reacquainted his lips with your skin, suckling the lower he got.

Nose gently sweeping down, you found yourself dropping your forehead to your forearm giggling from the light tickle, only to sharply cry out as his teeth sunk into the top of your cheek and your head lifted once more.

Your hand reached behind you pressing against his forehead, “Don’t you dare leave a love bite on my bum.”

His lips twitched at your squealed but breathy chastise, tongue laving against the startings of a mark. “Always begrudging me of eating, darling.”

A devilish grin laced his features as you dared to look over your shoulder at him and take in his gaze that owlishly looked at you from behind your curved hip. All you could see were his eyes as your hand gently pushed his head while he pulled your hips upwards with him, lips skimming the backs of your thighs.

“Mm,” he started. “Not everything though, ‘s tha’ right?”

The man simply didn’t want to part from his meal.

“You always did like dessert better.”

There was nothing more Harry loved than when you let him put his face between your legs. But when you let him do it from behind, he couldn’t even explain the difference yet there was one.

Maybe it was the way he could grab and smack your arse, fingers digging into your hips as he got to pull you onto his face when things started to get hot and heavy. That animalistic grab to your hip bone, loins pulled onto his face as he went to town.

Even better when you would push back against him. So caught up in the way he felt that you couldn’t wait any longer. He could talk to you easier this way too, really coax you not only with the feel of his tongue but the words that dripped off it too.

And then there was the possible anticipation of assplay. Tongue always ready and willing to stimulate if it were desired and communicated.

The way his hands massaged you, softly pulling apart your rounded cheeks and opening you to the cool air of your bedroom almost stunned. Your body quickly gathered itself with a warm moan when you felt his warm salvia drip messily down onto your ass and your middle.

Then he was leaning forward - lapping at your skin - lapping you up. Tongue greedy at your cheeks and folds, building his own desires before he actually ate.

This was his starter.

The most feminine gasp exited your open mouth when you felt his mouth land where you needed him the most, somewhat too cautiously for your liking at first but you knew he sometimes liked to play this game. You found yourself wiggling back, Harry’s hands wrapping around and squeezing into your thick thighs welcomingly when he knew you’d caught on.

He hummed, pleased that you had fallen from his meek offerings and gave you more of his mouth.

“There’s my girl.”

“H,” you panted, pressing your forehead onto your forearm.

“Fuck,” he muttered against you, enjoying how you were letting him have a taste. Your sweetness quenching his starved fancy.

You were wet, but he wanted you wetter. Just wet enough so that you were tacky when he tapped himself against you teasingly.

With his eyes closed, Harry opened his mouth wider as he pulled your hips back to his lips. His nails dig into your skin as your hands clenched into the sheets beneath.

He worked slowly against you, tongue licking at your wetness and saliva mixing with your early arousal. Nose buried inside of you as he devoured you in a way that had you thinking he had been wanting you this way for weeks. A little bit rougher, grabbing you to him and not in the way that quickies usually brought. In a way that sex selfishly commanded sometimes.

“God, baby-“ how was it always so- gratifying?

With his eyes closed now as he tried to focus, Harry felt your body shuffle and his own limbs followed after you without restraint. Your bum became slightly raised as you pressed your arms deeper into the mattress due to the way you began to play with yourself.

Your fingers swiped upwards in gentle pulls against your clit, Harry’s mouth barely letting up. He must’ve figured out what you were doing though from your slight change in position as he hummed against your heat, light mutterings that you couldn’t make out.

“‘S tha’ feel good?” he asked, voice hot as he pulled back to bring his focus onto the glide of your fingers against your wet and neglected clit. “Couldn’t wait, wanted to play.”

You knew you were slick, you could feel it but rather than feel embarrassed you found yourself without a care as you pushed yourself back again. His chuckle made you feel on fire, “Not done with me? Still need some more?”

His lips and tongue dove straight back in rather than wait for a verbal answer, feeling the way your legs widened further when he licked in a particular way. The smell and taste of you was everywhere, gleaming against him with a tackiness that was the perfect piece of free memorabilia.

Breathing heavier, you both listened to every small gasp and light moan that was drawn from you. The sound of his lips pulling at you making a heat spread across your chest and down to your core.

Harry knew your reactions like the back of his hand, and was waiting for that one sound that was so sweet and enough to get him to cheekily pull away.

The thought alone had his lips curving into a smile against you, as he felt you starting to clench against his tongue from your joint efforts of pleasure.

“Harry,” you whispered, rushed. The slow burning feeling starting to form in the pit of your stomach as your fingers began to move with that little bit more fervour. “Want you.”

His mouth was away from you and against the skin of your bum cheek not long after, lips messily wiping as he moved them up your back leaving a trail of arousal in his wake as you felt yourself fall flat to the mattress as he mounted you.

Hands pinched into the skin of your back, Harry pressed his pelvis against you.

Feeling him nestled between the cheeks of your bum, caused your eyes to close. He was so full and hard for you, you couldn’t contain the throaty moan that accompanied his grind into the dip of your bum.

“‘M gonna fuck you,” he panted, hands sweeping your hair to one shoulder so his lips can find your skin again. “Want that, hm?”

Your fingers wove into the hair at the nape of his neck, as he craned his head to look at you. His left hand pressed into the bed, holding his entire weight as his right hand reached down for his leaking cock.

“‘S this what you want- how you want it?” He goaded in question again, gently tapping himself against the skin of your bum before he slid himself down and watched as you slightly raised your own hips for him and started to reach behind you to encourage him to press his weight on top of you.

Harry lined himself up, pushing forward and shifting his eyes from his sinking cock and up your back to see your head dipping forward to fall between your shoulders. He knew he’d never grow tired of the welcomed blissful moan of ‘yes’ that always left your lips when he finally gave it to you.

Humming deeply, Harry bit around his smile as he started with shallow, teasing thrusts. A series of strokes that you found frustratingly sexy but knew as ones he wouldn’t be able to keep up due to his own insatiable desires.

He swore, in the least teenage boy way possible, you were always tighter to him like this. Especially if you crossed your legs at your ankles behind him while he pushed into you.

It was usually the position you adopted when you’d let him take you this way, however in the dusk evening he could feel that you had lifted your legs up so your calves were resting against his bum and holding him to you; cutting his shallow thrusting short to press and hold him deeper inside.

As his pelvis flattened against your bum, he gritted his teeth and released a deep noise from the very back of his throat. The sound had you giggling, slightly wiggling your hips from beneath him, the moment quickly halted by one of his hands cupping at your skin.

“Darling, steady,” he warned.

“Come on,” you wiggled again. “Fuck me then.”

Pulling back, Harry nudged forward just as smooth, the intent behind his thrust obvious. Eyes dropped down he enjoyed the bounce of your cheeks from the force of his pelvis.

A content hum left your smiling lips as you jolted from each push of his hips; his grunts of exertion delightfully pleasurable as his hands pressed into the mattress next to your waist.

Thrust measured - slow, hard and deep - knowing what they wanted and needed. How to get it too. Undulating and determined.

Harry’s eyes closed as he felt you squeeze him, your legs dropping away from the cheeks of his clenching arse and down to the bed with a soft bounce. You moved again and he followed, legs opening wider against the mattress beneath you both.

The way your face was now half buried into the sheets, muffling your moans that were usually hot against his ear and coaxing him to places he was still dumbfounded he was able reach let alone find.

Teeth gritted once more, he could feel the tightness in his limbs and lower back. The work of his hips was unyielding but you were opening up to him, only making him want to continue the steady rhythm. To push and pull. To chase.

And it was enough. It was nice. Simmering. And if you opened your legs just that little bit wider you could rub yourself against the sheets but you wanted to give as good as you could get. Being engulfed wasn’t going to give you that.

“Give it to me,” you requested, “Harder, baby.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Really need it, don’t yer?”

He pulled you upwards, hands at the curve of your waist so his fingers indented and left lighter marks against your skin from the pressure.

Now on your knees he could really have his way with you.

Soon the sound of your skin slapping together only started to add to the growing fire in the pit of his stomach and yours. The sound of it so obscene but so welcomed to both your ears.

Harry’s eyes raked over your naked body, the pert cheeks of your arse bouncing enticingly against his hips, to the tops of your fingers that were fisting tightly into your bedsheets. Knuckles so prominent due to the unrelenting grip.

He had noticed that your body was on its way to folding in on itself, arms stretching above your head and hands finding purchase on your plush bed pillows closer to the top of the bed that had been reached and pulled for by your own lack of knowing what to do with your hands.

“D’ya love me?”

His question was so gritty. Throat dry from his heavy breathing. You found yourself collapsing again.

Your body, in its lethargy, started to curl up into itself with hands pressed down and your legs bent as your arse begins to bob more against him rather than thrust itself back.

“Said d’ya love me.”

He was sharp with his thrust.

“So much-“

It was wet and it was gasped. Low moan as he cracked his hand against your cheek.

“‘S tha’ the sex talkin’,” he heaved goadingly, and you knew he was smiling. It wasn’t the sex talking, but it could be. Both so taken by the waves of pleasure that could easily sway even the most sound of minds.

You whined into your arm from his smarmy laugh, a writhe to your hips as Harry licked at his thumb and pressed it enticing against your arse. Gentle rubs had you gasping his name and pressing back, as his thumb slid down to collect your arousal that was sat coating your outer walls and his cock each time he retreated.

As you became more excited, his thumb pressed against you with a bit more pressure, gently popping inside and sitting there.

“Harry,” you whined, the loudest you could around biting your lips, a soft frown forming against your brow at the pleasurable intrusion.

“You fuckin’ love it,” he growled, watching as you pushed back against his next thrust. “You dirty mare.”

Heavy frown against your brow, you dropped your head onto your forearm once more and felt yourself start to clench around him. “Yea’,” he muttered to himself, “You’re coming.”

Nodding your head against your forearm, you felt his free hand rest onto yours that was pushed above your head. He pressed down, fingers slotting through yours as he grunted in time with his harder thrusts into you.

With shaking thighs and aching knees, you feel your mouth fall as his teeth grazed over your ear and his heavy pants warmed your already perspiring cheeks.

“Don’t fight me,” he pleaded. “‘S nice to give in.”

His head was heavy against your temple, your hair messily in your face. You felt your expression fall as you teetered, starting to lean slightly more to one side. He was nodding, you didn’t know who to but you knew what about and you found yourself craving his narration of whispered ‘yeses’ but instead you were both overcome and the best he can do was huskily groan to encourage you.

Suddenly it tipped and your limbs started to shake as you pressed back against him both in want of more but more so to ground yourself so you didn’t collapse. He stuttered from your vigour but held you there, feeling you helplessly writhe and mercilessly squeeze around him. His cock grinding and dipping into you, drawing out each tremor, desperately seeking its own sexual gratification.

Your other hand was wrapped around his face, fingers digging into the back of his neck and whispering begs for him to come inside of you. Pleas of how you want him to give it to you. Fill you up.

And you were lewd because sometimes that was how he liked it.

Such a pretty face and pretty mouth - yours - speaking to him in such a way. Admonishment was forgotten. Who needed or cared for it when his balls were pulling up tight with each slap against you.

And then he collapsed against you. His thighs roughly spread you as he clenched and groaned deeply - guttural - giving you everything he had.

Blood rushed around his ears as he shuddered and shook, the force of his orgasm causing his hips to continue with little pushes just to be sure he was done. Lost to himself, the silence and his sensitivity.

He roused to your dirty snicker, one of disbelief. Right hand wrapping behind to feel for his arse cheek and digging your nails there, wanting to keep him deep inside, or just behind you for long enough to feel him pressed flaccid and wet against your cheeks.

The filthy reminder caused you to flush, as Harry shuffled behind you, lips seeking out your clammy skin.

“Make you mad more often, ‘f tha’s my private penance.”

His words were muffled, spoken into your shoulder as his hands soothed and massaged over your joints in preparation for the aching reminders tomorrow.

And the vest was still on.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry fluff #harry x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry fic #my writing

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mooniefics · 3 years

Text

— first impressions

pairing : zeke jaeger / fem reader / reiner braun

word count : 7.5k

tags : sorta fluff (i can’t help myself i love reiner), eventual smut, threesome (f/m/m), situational humiliation, one night stand, spitroasting, drunk + unsafe sex

warnings : nsfw, mild sexual coercion

summary : a chance meeting between you and reiner leaves you enjoying an evening with the warriors upon their much anticipated return from the war. but doing your new friends a favor leads to a night you'll never forget.

— originally posted 12 / 22 / 20 on ao3 —

"reiner! is that really you?!"

you stood quickly from your place at the booth, unable to stop yourself from scrambling up to the small group of soldiers, who were all looking down at you with a mixture of confusion and amusment.

"you didn't tell us you had a girlfriend back home, braun." the dark-haired woman to his right teased, earning a crossed frown from your friend.

"not my girlfriend." he muttered, ignoring their chuckles as he turned his attention back to you, "i haven't changed that much in a few months, have i?"

you sighed, a relieved grin breaking out across your face as he opened his arms to you, gratefully accepting his invitation and squeezing him tight, face pressing into his shoulder. the scent of gunpowder that usually clung to him in his uniform was absent on his civilian clothes, replaced instead with the pleasant smell of fresh linen. "a few months? felt more like a whole year to me."

you stayed cognizant of the people behind him, now exchanging curious glances at the sight of their comrade's affection, the woman who'd initially teased him whispering something to the stern looking man by her side that made his expression crack into a small grin. he pulled away from you after a moment, a soft smile warming his usually sullen features, which dampened at a hand being placed on his shoulder.

"would you care to introduce us, reiner?" a low voice asked, the speaker stepping to reiner's side to get a good look at you.

you instantly recognized the man, face flushing with embarrassment as you scrambled to find your words. "c-captain jaeger! i apologize for interrupting your evening, p-please forgive-"

"nonsense." he said, holding out his hand for you to shake, "and no need for the formalities, feel free to call me zeke."

you clasped your hands gratefully around his, shaking vibrantly much to his amusement. you exchanged names with the remaining three, the tired looking but jovial woman, pieck, insisting that you join them on their night out. seeing as you had already planned to be at the old bar for the rest of the night by yourself, you had no qualms with inviting them all to fill the remaining seats of the booth you'd been occupying before they entered.

"pock here isn't much of a talker," she said after everyone got themselves situated, poking the cheek of the man she'd been whispering to earlier, "he's a little shy, but don't hold it against him."

"i thought i told you not to call me that.." he grumbled in reply, smacking away her hand and earning a small round of laughter from everyone at the table. the freshest face among them, colt, flagged down the barmaiden that was milling about the tavern floor, ordering a beer for everyone at the table with a kind smile.

"this'll be the only one for me tonight." you told him across the table after the woman had sauntered away, "i kinda didn't budget to be drinking more than one beer tonight anyways.."

"don't worry about it." you turned at reiner's voice beside you, gaze flitting down to see him thumbing through the bills in his wallet, "i'll pay for you tonight. my treat."

"nice to see that you know how to treat a lady." zeke quipped with a grin from his place on your left, earning another unreadable frown from reiner, but you could see the flush creeping up on his cheeks as a result of the implication.

before he could dismiss his friend, the barmaiden had returned, toting six mugs filled to the brim with beer on her serving platter. everyone murmured their thanks as she passed them around the table, her eyes lingered on colt before she slipped away to attend to another awaiting party.

"look at you, colt! haven't even been here for thirty minutes and you've already got the ladies swooning." pieck drawled, taking a long sip from her mug with a smile on her lips as she watched the young man stammer out an excuse.

you couldn't help but laugh along at the display, taking a generous drink of your own as you watched the conversation pick up around you. pieck seemed to be more than comfortable with everyone at the table, fueling the majority of the discussion with her playful words. porco, as she'd said, didn't seem to be much of a talker, but nodded along to what the others said, contributing a brief input when he saw fit and staying silent for the rest of the time. colt wasn't naive, but he was easy to tease, the perfect target for little jabs here and there from around the table that drew irritated, flustered protests from him and made everyone laugh.

the dynamic that had intrigued you the most was that between zeke and reiner. they didn't speak directly to the other often, mostly relaying remarks through their responses to the others, but when they did, there seemed to be an odd sort of tension between them. not exactly rivals, but not exactly friends either. they were on the same team, but there was a clear disconnect between them despite that. you felt every slight shift that reiner made when zeke addressed him, debating on whether you should request to move from your place between them for your sake or stay as a buffer for reiner's.

everyone was on their third glass—the only exception being reiner, who was nearly through his fourth—definitely loosened up though not quite drunk yet, but before you could put much thought into how you'd go about doing that, porco spoke to you for the first time. "so, how do you even know reiner?"

"oh! i'd also like to know too!" pieck piped up between sips, downing the rest of her mug in one go and resting her chin in her hands. everyone's attention had turned to you in an instant, intently waiting for your response, making your posture stiffen as you twisted your hands in your lap.

"well, it was a few years ago, when the war with the mid-east had just started ramping up." you began, tensing up the slightest bit when you felt your hand brush reiner's under the table, "i was working at the produce shop down on kaiser lane, and one day reiner came by with his mother on one of her grocery visits, she had always spoken to me about him when i was counting up her total. i asked her if this was son she was always talking about, and she said yes and introduced us. reiner looked tired," pieck giggled at that. "so i tried to hurry it up a little for his sake, and then she paid and they both went on their way. later that day i came here, and i saw him sitting alone at the counter, so i decided to sit down next to him and see if he could put up with my insufferable small talk for a little while. we ended up talking all night, and we've been great friends since then."

"well, isn't that the sweetest thing," pieck smiled warmly at you from across the table, balancing her head on one hand so could pensively drum her fingers across the wood, "if i didn't know any better, i'd say you two made a lovely couple!"

"pieck, would you stop bothering reiner." porco chided, waving a hand at your friend, "just look at him, he looks like he's one more girlfriend comment away from popping a blood vessel."

reiner grumbled out a low 'fuck you', gulping down the rest of his beer and flagging down the barmaiden as the rest of the warriors shared a hearty laugh at his expense. you yourself were similarly blushing at their constant assertions of something more between the two of you. it's not as if you hadn't mulled the idea over in your head many times before on all the previous outings you'd been on together, and the few times the two of you had gotten drunk enough to fool around a bit before one of you came to your senses and excused yourself for the night.

there were some days where you were glad you kept a modest distance between yourselves, and there were others where you wanted to do nothing more than throw all caution to the window and just enjoy one irresponsible night of doing whatever came to mind, no doubts or worries or responsibilities to get in the way, politics and the war be damned. you started to shake away those unnecessary thoughts, but zeke did a much better job of distracting you when his arm fell around your shoulders, giving you a friendly squeeze as he spoke.

"i see that even in good company, my colleagues' manners still aren't up to par," he said, directing his words at you but talking loud enough for anyone to hear, "allow me to apologize on their behalf."

"oh hush, zeke, you're the worst out of all of us!" pieck argued through her laughter, playfully kicking his shin under the table, "you're only playing nice because she's here."

her words didn't draw his attention away from your face, gleaming grey eyes intently drinking in the emotions passing over your flushed features. you laughed nervously, turning away to face the rest of the table, sneaking a glance at reiner as the barmaiden swept by to clean up the empty glasses and replace them with filled mugs. he had an irritated frown drawn across his lips, worry lines creasing his face as he gulped down half of his mug in seconds.

"look's like you're finally not the one overdoing it, huh colt?" you heard pieck whisper into the young man's ear, snickering at him when he turned away from her and huffed.

just glancing around at them all made you forget that everyone of them were living on borrowed time, that in less than a month they would most likely be shipped out on their next assignment to defend marley against any one of the neighboring nations that were just waiting to pounce at the slightest slip up. aside from reiner, they all seemed to be forgetting that fact as well in favor of just enjoying this night while it was still young.

another banter-filled hour passed, your table not noticing how the bar had been steadily emptying as closing time drew near. zeke had kept his grasp around you for the entire time, much to reiner's dismay, which was evident on his face each time you tried to coax him back into the conversation, always faltering each time zeke peered over you to repeat your question to him with a thinly veiled haughtiness. reiner had gone through more beer than anyone at the table, his flushed face and low-lidded gaze along with his slurring words letting you know just how drunk he'd really become. but aside from his borderline unpleasant exchanges with your friend, zeke was incredibly charismatic, almost overbearingly so, your own intoxication making it easy for you give in to his infectious energy and laugh along with him and everyone else at the table.

sure, you were worried about reiner, but he knew that you would always be friends at the end of the day, and you had to make a good impression on these newly introduced people who were so kind as to invite you in on one of their rare leisurely getaways from the military barracks. so you let yourself lean into zeke's side, relishing in the warmth that you'd been craving for so long—a warmth that the alcohol only made you want more and more—the break in your routine that you'd been searching for in an evening alone turning into a night that you were sure you wouldn't forget for a long time. they didn't even seem to care that you weren't an honorary marleyan, or even that you were a lowly blue-collar worker that made a measly sum at her meaningless job on a forgettable street corner.

but alas, the blissfully ignorant fun of the table's atmosphere was dampened by the arrival of the barmaiden with your table's tab, setting it down in front of colt with a coy smile as she gathered up the rest of your empty glasses and disappeared into the back of the tavern.

"aw colt, you never made your move!" pieck chided, giggling as she dug into the pocket of her skirt to reach for her wallet just as everyone else around the table was doing.

"reiner.. are you okay?" you gently nudged his arm, looking over with concern at the sight of him. his elbow was propped on the table, forehead resting in the heel of his palm as he stared down at his lap, mouth drawn into a slight frown.

"shit, he's loaded." porco commented snarkily.

"we can't let magath see him like this!" colt said nervously, looking around at his colleagues, waiting for one of them to come up with a plan to deal with this new issue.

you glanced from colt to reiner, then up at zeke, turning back to everyone as you made an offer. "well.. i have a guest room at my house, he could stay there for the night if it makes things any easier for you all."

"oh, you're an angel!" pieck sighed, reaching across the table and clasping your hands in hers, "and if the commander asks, i could say that he decided to stay with his family!!"

"sharp as always, pieck." zeke chimed from beside you, "though, i don't think it'd be fair to make her watch him all by herself, so i think it'd be best if i help her out with him for the evening, just to be sure he doesn't cause her any trouble."

he met eyes with pieck, and for a moment you thought you saw the briefest flash of realization cross her features, the slightest smirk perking up at her lips before her face relaxed back into its natural smile and she nodded at him. "great idea." she said, tugging at porco and colt's sleeves, "i'll deal with these two, and i'll tell the commander that you had a change of heart as well. reiner, hand me your wallet if you can't count the bills."

"i've got it." he grunted, fumbling with his wallet for a few moments before slamming a fistful of bills down in front of her.

"thank you very much!" she sang happily, getting all the money in order and putting her own small tip for the barmaiden before she slapped colt's arm a few times, prompting him to start scooting out of the booth.

zeke finally retracted his arm to begin leaving the booth, standing out on the floor and offering his hand out to you. you flushed, taking it and allowing him to help you to your feet. everyone got themselves situated, stepping out of the bar and saying their goodbyes, pieck, colt, and porco turning to make their way back to the barracks, zeke slinging reiner's arm over his shoulder and following you along as you gave directions on how to get to your home.

there wasn't many words exchanged between the three of you on your short walk, only having some small talk with zeke between the bouts of comfortable silence hanging around you in the warm night air. you arrived home within minutes, wrestling the key into the old lock and holding open the door for zeke to help reiner in.

"i can walk myself, jaeger." he muttered while kicking his shoes off, earning a low chuckle from the older man.

"then why aren't you doing it right now?"

he didn't get a response as you directed them to your bedroom, hoping to settle him down as soon as you could in the hopes of him being able to get enough rest to sleep off the worst parts of his hangover. while zeke assisted him, you scampered over to the guest bedroom to get it ready for your other, less intoxicated guest. but as you opened the door to the bedroom, you were mortified at the sight of your mess upon looking into the room. in the moment of wanting to do something nice for your friends, you'd completely forget about how you'd basically turned your spare room into more of a storage closet.

looking around to try and think about where to get started, hopefully make it look like you didn't completely neglect this room for the past few months before zeke finished putting his friend to bed, you felt a hand on your shoulder, stiffening in surprise as you slowly turned to look at him.

"i-i'm really sorry, i totally wasn't expecting guests tonight, and i promise i've been meaning to move everything to the basement-"

"don't worry about it, really." he stopped you before you could continue to profusely apologize, offering you another one of those warm smiles that made your knees feel weak, "let me help you, it's the least i could do after you opened your home to a couple of irresponsible soldiers." to your surprise, he brushed past you, picking up one of the many boxes that had accumulated on the bed and floor over the months. "you said you had a basement, right? would you mind showing me where it is exactly?"

unable to find your words, you pointed halfheartedly to the door at the end of the hall, watching him carry one of the few boxes that had left you panting by the time you'd transported them across the house with ease, not even having to set it down to open the door and begin descending the steps. his quick return up the steps finally spurred you into action, hauling another box into your arms and repeating his path of depositing it down in your basement and returning to your room to grab another, making sure to take it slow on your way down the steps from how heavy the alcohol made your limbs feel.

within a few minutes, you both had everything squared away. you let yourself take a seat on the now empty bed, breathing out a sigh of relief and wiping the sweat that had begun to bead around your forehead with the back of your hand, watching as he settled down next to you. "sheesh, you made all that heavy lifting look so easy! and thank you again, for doing such a generous favor for me."

"there's no need to thank me." he replied earnestly, a hand settling on your thigh, making you suppress a small flinch, "you have a lovely home, do you really live all on your own?"

you tried to laugh off the warmth of his hand on your skin through your long skirt. "y-yeah, it's just been me for a while. sometimes friends come over for the night, but for the most part, it's just me."

zeke hummed pensively, grey eyes shining with something dangerous as he gazed down at you. "makes sense that someone such as yourself hasn't found anybody qualified enough to settle down with," he grinned at your flustered expression, openly appreciating the way your eyes widened and you breathed out a soft, indecisive 'thank you', "though, i was so sure that you and reiner had something between you.."

"n-no! it's not like that." the words spilled out of your mouth before you could even think about them, the desire to answer him overriding any clear thought that might cut through your intoxicated embarrassment, "i'm sure s-soldiers such as him and yourself don't really have time to play around with people l-like me."

you mentally slapped yourself for coming to such a conclusion, let alone allowing it to actually exit your brain and be heard by the most esteemed guest you'd probably ever have the honor of hosting.

"oh?" he peered curiously at you, thumb rubbing a slow stroke over your leg, face seeming much closer than it was a few blinks ago, "and what exactly is that supposed to mean?" you knew just how intentional his word choice was, practically setting up a verbal trap for you to fall into, but how could you not take the bait when it was marley's strongest warrior dangling it before you?

"i-i-i'm sorry, s-sir— zeke!"

you scrambled to correct yourself, looking any place except his face and wanting to do nothing more than hide away somewhere where neither him nor reiner could find you to sober yourself up before you could humiliate yourself any further. but you felt the desperation that was now gripping your pounding heart start to squeeze like a vice around it when a rough hand found your chin, gently turning your head to face him again.

"again with the apologies.. what am i going to do with you?"

your bottom lip quivered, more frantic sorries threatening to spill out, but stopped by the lack of air that you were able to take in from his proximity. you hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until you felt a tight ache seize your chest, exhaling an alarmed breath as you stared up into the glinting grey irises studying your face, mirroring their actions at the tavern but containing all of the hunger he'd been hiding in front of his comrades. the hand of your thigh slid up your leg just an inch, zeke breathing out a chuckle at the feeling of you tensing under his touch.

"if you must know," his face was so close that you could even see the pale freckles dotting across his sharp cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, the shadowed contour of his face looking even deeper in the dim light of the guest room, parted lips exhaling a warm breath that fanned across your face, the scent of alcohol still evident as he slowly spoke, "a soldier such as myself can make plenty of time to play around with someone like you."

you couldn't barely contain your awe, drawing in another shaky, shallow breath at the feeling of his lips brushing across your own, just daring you to indulge in his offer. you could barely form a cohesive thought before your brain forced a new topic into your conscious, confusion and shock and abrupt desire drowning out all the rationality that you were so desperately grasping for in this moment.

you'd just met this man tonight, it didn't matter that you'd known of his grand legacy even from when you were a young girl or felt like you'd gotten to know him quite a bit in that short amount of time, you'd only shaken his hand and drank with him and sat face-to-face with him for the first time just a few hours ago. not to mention how the person you were truly familiar with, the one who wasn't nearly a decade your senior, the one you had really been yearning for was just down the hall in your bed, only two shut doors and a few thin walls away from this spectacle. but, zeke was right in front of you, and he was offering out an opportunity that was impossible to refuse—an offer that you really, really didn't want to refuse.

so you didn't. you gave in to the sinful temptation of his warmth, his skin, his soft touches with calloused, work-roughened hands, the knowledge that this kiss was only just the beginning of something unforgettable.

in contrast to his hands, his lips were soft, ridiculously soft as they pressed over yours, the fingers at your chin unfurling to cup the length of your jaw. you leaned into his touch, earning a pleased grunt from him when your trembling hand found his hair, slowly carding through it as you focused on maintaining the easy rhythm of his kiss. you stifled a small sound when the hand on your leg smoothed up to your inner thigh, not pressing any further, just gently stroking and giving the occasional squeeze to the pliant flesh through your skirt.

you could feel the light flutter in your chest heavy and knot into something familiar, twisting deep in your stomach as he sucked at your bottom lip, nipping at it before his attention wandered across your cheek, the hand at your jaw tilting your head up to expose more of your neck to his eager mouth. faint kisses gave way to teasing bites and licks, drawing a soft whimper as he sucked with the intent to bruise where your shoulder met your neck. he seemed to appreciate the way your grasp in his hair tightened, the hand on your thigh traveling across your waist to find the knotted string holding up your skirt.

the progression of his actions felt natural, but almost too fast at the same time, your hand giving an apprehensive tug to his hair when you felt the waistline of your skirt go slack with the undoing of its lacing. he groaned lowly at the sensation, spurring you to do it again when his teeth grazed over the forming redness just right. you could feel the haze of arousal fogged your mind already, all rationale dissipating under the influence of the alcohol and the hands that were now roaming your body, searching for a moment for the top button of your shirt before they began to messily undo those as well. each brush of his fingers across your bare skin sent goosebumps across the expanse of your chest, making quick work of your blouse as he pushed it over your shoulders, guiding your arms out of the sleeves before tossing it aside in favor of working on the clasp of your bra, never pulling away from his place at your neck for more than a moment before returning the bruising attention of his mouth back over the flushed skin.

you breathed out a weak whimper at the feeling of his thumb and forefinger taking one of your nipples between them, bra forgotten somewhere on the floor with your shirt, baring the entirety of your naked torso to him. he could feel how you squirmed when another hand smoothed down your stomach, slipping beneath your skirt's waistline and settling just between your legs, only a sheer barrier provided by your thin underwear, the arousal threatening to soak through the fabric leaving it clinging to every fold. he hummed appreciatively at the welcome surprise, drawing more stifled sounds out of you when his fingers slowly stroked over your clothed cunt.

"all this just for me?" he murmured lowly in your ear, thumb pressing down on your clit, rubbing slow circles over the sensitive nub.

his touch was electrifying, almost overwhelmingly good as you arched into it, the hand at your breast now groping at the supple flesh, palm offering a much-needed friction over your nipple. you finally registered his teasing question, barely managing a disoriented 'mhm' and a small nod, unable to think of anything else besides your heartbeat pounding loud enough that you though he might be able to hear, and the fingers prodded at you and teasing your body as they pleased.

your half-lidded gaze drifted to the door, blinking away the fogginess when you realized it wasn't actually properly shut. you opened your mouth to try and murmur out your observation, but the words in your head spilled out as an incoherent moan, feeling his mouth detach from your bruised neck before he urged you down onto the mattress. but the sight of him standing above you, tugging off his shirt and revealing the impressively toned physique of his stomach and chest, made you forget the ajar door behind him entirely. your hands moved without a second thought, pushing your skirt and underwear down your legs as far as you could, kicking them the rest of the way off as he began to unbuckle his belt.

you couldn't help the way your eyes widened when he shoved down his pants and underwear in one go, unable to choose between focusing your gaze on the smug smirk drawing across his lips or his achingly hard cock, already looking like more than you could handle even at a distance. he plucked his glasses off his face, setting them on the bedside table before he moved over you in bed, your hands tugging him down into a kiss and earning a low chuckle against your lips.

"eager little thing, aren't you?" he only pulled away for a moment to speak, knuckles dragging down the swell of your breast and curving down your waist. your legs spread in anticipation, back arching off the bed when his fingers finally trailed down between your thighs to smooth a finger down your pussy. "and so, so wet."

you squeaked at the intrusion of two thick fingers pumping into you, sliding in easily with a soft, wet sound. the rhythm of your lips faltered, whimpering as his tongue slid between your teeth, tangling with yours, mouth greedily swallowing every desperate sound you made for him. you were grateful for how he was muffling you, just barely remembering that there was another presence in your house besides you and zeke that you had to worry about, heat sparking up your spine at the feeling of his fingers curling just right inside you.

the thought of reiner finding you in here with the captain of his squad, so pathetically obedient and practically dripping from just his fingers, was horrifying and unnervingly thrilling all at once. would he be angry with you? why would he be? what did he even consider you as?

you couldn't dwell on that thought for too long, hips bucking and toes curling when his thumb rubbed firm circles over your clit, wordlessly begging for more. he seemed to be just as impatient as you were in the face of your desperation, pulling away from your lips and removing his touch from between your legs, rolling himself onto his back and tugging you on top of him in one swift motion. you flush even deeper as you watched him drink in the sight of your naked figure, large hands finding your hips, pupils blown wide enough to nearly swallow up the silvery grey of his irises as he eased you down so his cock was just at your aching cunt, offering a sliver of mercy by allowing you to seat yourself onto him as fast or slow as you'd like.

just the first few inches had you whimpering, hands settling on his chest to steady yourself, teeth worrying the skin of your bottom lip, trying to contain the borderline humiliating sounds that were making him grin so smugly up at you. you could feel tears pricking your eyes by the time you finally sank all the way down, deep, shaky breaths giving away your lack of composure even more so than the way the thighs on either side of him tremble, or the nails now digging into the toned muscles of his shoulders. he gave you just a moment of respite, letting you get used to the feeling of something so big before his grip on your hips fastened, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he began to guide you up and down on his cock.

the low groan your motion earned from him was enough to make your already pounding heart race even faster, heat echoing through you in a way that made it impossible to silence the heated whines that were spilling out of you. the bed squeaked in protest beneath you, but you could care less as you quickened the pace he'd started you at all on your own, admiring the flush that had darkened over his handsome features and the parted lips breathing out low curses and appraising groans.

his eyes fell shut, head falling back before he forced it back up, gaze wandering across your face, then your body, then flitting elsewhere for the briefest moment before they returned to you, hips now thrusting up with even more vigor to meet your own. you moaned openly, struggling out a meaningless string of pleas, the ache beginning to burn in your legs drowned out when he reached out to rub tight, fast circles around your clit. he was grinning now, licking his lips before he spoke in a knowing slur, "you're gonna cum soon, aren't you?"

"yes, f-fuck yes..!" it took you a moment to find your words, embarrassed by how fast he'd managed to work you up to this point but unable to be dishonest in your current position.

his motions didn't falter in the slightest, only seeming to grow more and more urgent as you quivered and whined, bouncing yourself up and down on his cock like it was the last time you'll ever get the chance to do it. and while that's likely the case, you don't care to think about it, too wrapped up in the way you could feel that pressure that had been welling in your stomach finally reach a breaking point, stammered curses devolving into breathless cries as you came hard around him.

you could feel the movement of his hips slow significantly, still rocking up into you to let you ride out your high but not nearly enough for him to push himself over the edge along with you. but you're grateful for his mercy, knowing that if he'd continued at the pace he was going you probably wouldn't be able to walk the next morning. so you took it as a testament to his goodwill, falling forward onto his chest in a whimpering heap, trying to steady your breathing and calm your heart rate, remaining seated on his still hard cock.

you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, the other resting across your shoulder so he could settle his hand on the back of your head, fingers working their way into your hair and gently carding through it. the attention was comforting, unexpected but definitely comforting as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, still too hazy off of your post-orgasm bliss to have any shame about wanting to be close to his warmth. you didn't think about whether he was expecting you to get him off at some point, or if he was just content letting you rest on top of him like this, but you soon found that he had a much different answer—or rather, a question—that didn't at all take you into consideration.

"so, reiner, are you just going to stand there and watch all night?"

there was confusion for a brief moment, then a horrifying realization that made an ice-cold fear prick under your spine, blood draining from your face as you felt the fine hairs on the back of your neck raise, completely frozen at the knowledge that the worst of the night you had imagined had come true. zeke's hand didn't stop its slow petting across your head, arm fastening around your body, seemingly in preparation for you to start squirming or fighting to get away. but you couldn't move an inch, not even enough to turn your head and risk a glance at your friend who was apparently right at the door.

"well?" his voice rumbled low in his chest once more, dripping with arrogance, entirely absent of any shame, just tempting him to step past the unseen boundary that had kept him there for however long he'd been watching, "i know, i know, you haven't your fair share all night. it's just so, sohard to let go once you finally get your hands on her. you should know all about that feeling, right?"

"fuck you."

you felt a warm curl in your stomach at the sound of his voice, breathing short and fast as your heart skipped anxiously, but mentally almost enjoying the fact that he was feeling something for you, even if it was some sort of possessive envy. the sound of his heavy, uneven footsteps making their way towards the bed.

he clearly still sounded drunk—who wouldn't be after so many beers in one sitting—and that was probably why he didn't hesitate at all to start tugging his clothes off, the ruffle of fabric and clinking metal of a belt being unbuckled finally snapping out of your compliant state, shaky arms trying to push yourself in bed. zeke allowed you to sit up, hands dropping to your thighs as your foggy gaze wandered from his face over to reiner at the bedside, heartbeat nearly drowning out the other sounds in the room as it drummed loudly in your ears.

"you don't mind, do you?" zeke called your attention back to him, gently stroking up and down your thigh just as he had been when you'd first accepted his offer.

your mouth had gone dry, leaving you struggling to get enough saliva back for your tongue not to stick to the roof of your mouth, feeling the heat of arousal flickering back to life when his cock twitched inside of you. did you mind? well you definitely minded the humiliation, the anxiety taut within your chest that made each breath an effort, the fact that you had no idea what was going on or would happen next. but did you mind enough to force yourself off of him, to struggle to collect your clothes from the ground and stagger out of the room with shaky legs that you weren't sure were capable of doing even that right now? did you really want this?

but it seemed that the choice had already been made in both of their minds, your answer—or lack thereof— speaking for your choice in the matter as zeke's hands lifted you up off of his lap, enough for him to slip out from under you. the sudden emptiness after being so full made you whimper, falling back down onto your calves in the middle of the bed and staring down at zeke's cock, slick with your arousal and still aching to be tended to.

the sinking weight of reiner clambering onto the bed behind you made you exhale a shaky breath, still in disbelief as his hand settled on your cheek, turning your head to face over his shoulder to press his lips onto yours. his kiss was messy but familiar, his low moan making you shiver alongside the feeling of zeke's stare wandering across the display before him. your exchange didn't last long before he pulled away, gazing at you with an unreadable look in his golden eyes for a moment, hand moving to the back of your head to push you down onto your hands and knees.

you obediently complied, met with the sight of zeke's cock once more, peering up to meet his gaze, features showing a mixture of eager expectancy and relaxed pride, just knowing that you were willing to do whatever he asked of you. and he relished in the changes your expressions went through in the next few seconds, the way your eyes widened when reiner's hands grasped your soft hips, how you swallowed thickly to try and get enough saliva down your tongue to get your mouth ready, and finally your mouth falling open and face twisting when reiner eased himself entirely into you in one solid thrust, finding little resistance from how soaked you were. you whimpered out a shaky curse, fists bunching up the sheets under you as he picked up a steady rhythm from behind you, zeke's fingers tangling into your hair and guiding onto your parted lips onto his awaiting cock.

he groaned out at the wet heat of your mouth engulfing him, tongue laving up over the underside of his length as you did your best to take as much of him in as possible without gagging. you wanted to be ashamed of how much you were enjoying the feeling of being entirely overwhelming, fuller than you'd ever felt in your entire life, but you'd be lying to yourself if you said that you'd made a mistake by giving in to the lustful temptations. you could feel your eyes water as zeke hit the back of your throat, your teary gaze and muffled moans against him only seeming to enthrall him further. reiner's hands felt up your waist, one reaching down your front to pinch and roll a nipple between his fingers, driving more stifled sounds and shaky breaths through your nose out of you.

you felt yourself squeezing around his cock, earning yourself a few low, muttered curses as he began to pound even faster into you, evidently approaching his limit just as fast as you are. the hand in your hair was guiding you up and down on the cock in your mouth, the tip of your nose just brushing zeke's stomach each time you surged forward with the momentum of the thrusts from behind you. it was all far too much in the best way possible, vision going hazy at the edges from the lack of proper air you could get into your lungs, insides aching from overusing alongside the tight knotting deep in your gut that was threatening to send you over the edge.

it was zeke that came first, heat pooling over your tongue and spilling down your throat, nearly too much for you to swallow as you tried not to choke. but he kept himself in your mouth and his hand firmly grasping your hair, if not to feel the hum of your desperate whines across your skin then to admire your pathetic expression, half-lidded eyes barely able to hold themselves open enough to stare back at him as you came hard for the second time that night. you could hear reiner give a generous groan of your name, thrusting as deep as he could go just a few times more, having enough sense to not cum inside you, pulling out and making a sticky mess of your trembling thighs.

only after you'd blinked away the glossiness in your eyes did zeke pull himself out of your mouth with a wet pop, holding your head up to appreciate the way your mouth still hung open to gasp in much needed gulps of air, tears and saliva dripping down your chin, halfhearted whimpers still escaping you as you trembled.

"you have good taste, reiner." zeke said, releasing your hair and letting you rest your cheek down against the mattress under you, grabbing his glasses off the side table and putting them back onto his face.

you watched as he stepped off the bed, picking out his clothes from the messy array of garments strewn about on the floor and tugging them on. he fished a handkerchief out of the the pocket of his pants, tossing it at reiner's side and glancing over your body, offering you a lazy smile when he caught your gaze.

"clean her up," he instructed, reaching out to give one last soft touch down your back, "and don't give her anymore trouble, alright? i expect to see you bright and early tomorrow."

you assumed that reiner nodded, since zeke turned without another word and exited the bedroom, making sure to shut the door behind him. for a moment, there was uneasy silence, only occupied by your breaths and the faint sound of zeke pulling on his boots somewhere in the living room and leaving out the front door. you gave a low hiss at the feeling of the fabric smoothing down the backs of your thighs, skin far too sensitive for your liking and legs aching uncomfortably.

you lifted your head up enough to wipe your chin with the back of your hand, eyes and limbs heavy with the desire to sleep. there were no words exchanged as he helped you move to lay down on your back, his face just as tired as he'd looked at the bar, but there was something else weighing down his expression as you took his face in your hands, staring up at him with a soft look of concern.

and though he still said nothing, he kissed you, so much gentler than he'd ever kissed you, with a tenderness that made you want savor this brief moment for as long as you could. but he eventually pulled away, and the brief worry that he might leave just as his captain had minutes before, but he rested down beside you with a low sigh. he didn't protest when you curled into the warmth of his body, head finding a comfortable place on his chest, not even bothering to try and venture out onto the floor to turn off the lamp before you settled down and let your eyes fall shut.

it was easy to fall asleep after he wrapped his arms around you, firm chest rising and falling with steady breaths, heart slow in your ear. you didn't think about the fact that you'd probably wake up alone in the morning, or that walking properly would be a monumental task on its own without even considering going to work to stay on your feet for the entire day—just appreciated this night while he couldn't slip away from you like all the other times before.

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granolabird · 3 years

Text

Hope for Better Days

Post 2x09. I figured we didn’t get much Hournite content this EP so I made my own :) This follows Beth going to visit Rick at the jail just before the storm starts after she gets off the phone with Courtney. Just some good ol Angst/Fluff content. Sure Rick is in jail but I can still make him kinda-sorta happy. Ish.

Warnings: N/A

Taglist: @hournites @bethchapelsbonnet

If you’d like to be added to my weekly Hournite fic tag list feel free to ask :) .

“Has Rick called?” Beth finds herself asking as soon as she gets the chance.

Courtney called her to help devise a plan on what to do about Eclipso. It’s a valid mindset, one that Beth is trying very hard to reciprocate but she just can’t. She can’t stop thinking about Rick, alone and cold in his jail cell. The storm that’s hitting today is supposed to be really bad, there might even be a tornado. And sure Beth’s safe at home. So is Courtney, and Yolanda too, but Rick? He’s in a jail cell, which is probably one of the least safe places he could be.

“No, he hasn’t called. Yolanda still hasn’t answered my calls either.” Courtney snaps Beth from her train of thought.

“Oh. Okay.”

Beth isn’t sure what else to say. Courtney seems to ignore her disappointment and continues to prattle on about how to use the staff and the goggles together to beat Eclipso. Beth tries to listen, she really does. What Courtney is saying is important, but Rick keeps flitting across her mind. She can’t help but worry about him. She looks out her window at the storm, wondering how long until it unleashed itself. Would there be enough time to go visit Rick? The police station wasn’t that far, and he should still have his twenty minutes of visitation time, nobody had gone to see him today. Beth could go see him.

“Beth?” Courtney seems to have asked a question that Beth has absolutely not heard.

“Sorry, can you say that again?”

Courtney sighs, but repeats her question; “You said Eclipso presented himself as a child?” “A child version of Bruce Gordon, yeah.”

“Well then it’ll be…”

Courtney’s voice fades into obscurity as Beth spots her Dad’s car pulling into the driveway. He’s home early, this is too perfect. If she can convince him to drive her to go see Rick, then she’ll be good to go. It’s a foolproof plan, probably.

“Sorry Courtney, my dad just got home. I have to go.” Beth manages to get her words in between Courtney’s seemingly endless rambling.

“Oh, yeah of course. I’ll call you later, okay?” There’s a hint of disappointment to Courtney’s voice that makes Beth feel a little bad about the whole situation, but she really has to go see Rick.

“Yeah! For sure!” And with that she hangs up, sliding her phone into her bag.

She’s still wearing her goggles, and spends a moment debating whether it’s safe to take them off or not. She resolves to put them in her bag just in case, not wanting to endure another questioning from her father regarding her wearing her ‘swimming goggles’ everywhere. Then she grabs her bag, pulls on a sweater and races down the stairs to see her Father.

“Dad! You’re home early!” Beth tries to put as much enthusiasm into her voice as possible, and judging on the smile her dad flashes her way her tactics are working.

“Yeah, work was worried about the weather so they sent everyone home early.” He’s already taking off his jacket and hanging it up.

Once he gets his shoes off and sits down on the couch Beth knows he won't be moving. She has to act quickly. She steadies herself, shaking off any worries before she asks to go visit Rick. The worst he can say is no is all she keeps telling herself in a (failing) attempt to keep herself calm.

“So, dad.”

“What is it sweetie?” He’s halfway through unlacing one of his dress shoes.

“I was wondering if we could go visit Rick? You know, before the storm starts. I just want to make sure he’s okay.” She’s rushing her words, but her Dad seems to understand what she says perfectly well as he gets up and looks at her with some concern.

“Beth, it’s about to start raining any minute now. Don’t you think he can wait?”

“His hearing got cancelled today. I just think he could use someone to talk to, you know? The station isn’t that far away, I could walk there if you don’t feel like driving me-”

“Absolutely not. You’ll get soaked. I’ll drive you, but we have to be quick.”

Beth mentally jumps for joy, but she doesn’t vocalize her excitement, just offers her Father a smile.

“Thanks Dad!”

Beth leans against the window as the car rolls down the street, her eyes scanning the dark clouds in the sky as they go. The drive to the police station seems to stretch on forever, especially with her Dad asking questions near-constantly. They’re just around the corner when her Dad asks,

“What is it with you and Rick anyway?”

“What?”

“Sorry, I mean, you two just seem close… You’d tell me if you had a boyfriend right? Your Mother and I would be so happy to hear that you-”

“Dad! No, it’s not like that! We… We're best friends, that’s it. He doesn’t really have anyone else, so I have to be there for him.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”

The rest of the ride is silent.

Beth doesn’t tell her dad that she wishes her and Rick were more than best friends. It doesn’t feel like the right time to admit it. She doubts there ever will be a right time to admit it, but this would definitely be one of the absolute worst times. Her dad would never shut up about it. Not that that was a bad thing, Beth could talk about Rick and how much she cared about him for hours. But with her Dad? It doesn’t feel right. She continues scanning the clouds and fiddling with one of the straps on her bag while dwelling on thoughts of her relationship to Rick all the way to the police station parking lot.

Rick is slumped in his cell, leaning against the wall as he sits on his cot. This place is hell, but at least he doesn’t have to deal with Matt. That’s an upside. The downside is the fact that he rarely gets to see his friends, especially Beth. Beth. His mind lingers on her name a moment too long, and he has to shake his head in an attempt to dispel any thoughts of her. He’s found it best not to think about her unless she’s visiting him. Every time he does it feels like his soul is ripping in two, a deep ache in his chest that he can’t dispel, so he finds it better to not think about her altogether. As he sits now, staring at the blank ceiling of his cell, Rick hears footsteps approaching down the hall. Probably just a guard going for an hourly checkup. The steps however, stop in front of his cell, and Rick turns his head to see an Officer waiting at the door.

“There’s a visitor here for you Mr. Harris”

Rick cringes at the name, but forces himself not to say anything about it. He’d rather not start any kerfuffle.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a bad storm out there? Why the hell is someone visiting me?” Rick wonders aloud and the Officer shrugs.

“Not my business. I just gotta get you to the phones, the faster the better. I have a break in ten.” The Officer sounds exhausted, and Rick can’t help but feel himself sympathizing.

He really just wishes he could fall asleep, and wake up to find all of this was a dream. It won’t happen of course, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. Sometimes he wonders if all this is one giant illusion done by Eclipso, if he’s still stuck in that hellish landscape. But nobody would visit him if he were still in Eclipso’s hellscape. He’s not sure if it’s reassuring to know he’s not still there, or awful to know he’s actually trapped in jail. It’s a lose-lose situation, really.

When Rick sees Beth waiting on the other side of the glass to see him, his heart does a flip. He spots her Dad standing awkwardly in the corner, and makes a mental note not to say anything too personal, and not to mention the JSA. All inhibitions leave his mind as soon as he sits across from Beth and picks up the phone, however.

“Beth, what are you doing here?” He tries to keep his voice steady but he can't help the relief that he feels encompassing his entire body.

“Visiting you, obviously!” Beth smiles, and Rick swears he’s going to melt on the spot. Nothing but a puddle of love-struck Rick Tyler left on the chair. The Officer would have to mop him up to get him back to his cell.

“I thought there was a storm out there? Shouldn’t you be at home preparing?”

Beth shrugs as if that’s the least of her worries, which it really shouldn’t be, but she doesn’t seem to share that sentiment.

“It hasn’t started yet. I figured I’d come check on you before it got too bad.” As if on cue the police station is shaken by a peel of thunder that makes Rick wince and the lights flicker.

“You don’t need to check on me Beth, I’m doing fine.”

“I don’t care if I don’t need to check on you Rick. I want to. I want to make sure you’re okay, and not freezing, and well fed, and as happy as you can be given the conditions. I just… I just want you to be okay.”

Rick can’t help but smile at this, wishing more than anything to reach through the barrier separating him and Beth so that he could hug her. She’s too kind. Too good for Rick. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her. Frankly, he probably doesn’t deserve her. And yet here she is. Making sure he’s okay.

“Thanks, Beth. I’m doing okay. I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll be alright.” This doesn’t seem to reassure Beth at all, but it’s all he can offer.

“You’re in jail, Rick. Of course I’m going to worry about you. There’s not really much else I can do.” Beth looks so serious, so distraught, and Rick hates himself for causing her so much stress.

“I guess you’re right. But try not to worry too much, okay? I don’t want to stress you out. The thought of me stressing you out stresses me out.” He half-laughs, and butterflies fill his stomach as he sees Beth laugh with him.

It’s a small laugh but it’s enough.

“Alright, I’ll try, I promise.” Beth agrees.

The conversation lulls into small talk about Courtney and how she’s doing, and how Yolanda still hasn’t called back. Nothing too consequential, but Rick likes it that way. Makes his life seem more normal if only for a moment. It reminds him of all the days spent with Beth in her living room or in the Pit Stop just rambling about nothing and everything. Enjoying each other’s company, because they had nobody else to talk to. Because they were made to talk to one another. Those are the days Rick misses the most. He just wants to go back in time to tell himself to enjoy those moments more, to take in everything Beth is saying, to tell Beth everything he’s feeling. Because right now it’s looking like he may never get the chance again. He wants more than anything to have that chance again.

The lights flicker once more, and that seems to spook the Officer enough that he puts a hand on Rick’s shoulder, gesturing for him to get up.

“It’s only been ten minutes.” Rick growls, and the Officer taps his watch idly in response.

“Twelve minutes actually. I’m sorry, really, I just want to get you back to your cell before things get worse. It’d be best your friend here goes home too, I don’t think anyone should be driving in this weather. Car accidents kill so many people every year, you wouldn’t believe it!”

Both Rick and Beth wince at that statement, and Beth shoots him a sympathetic look. Rick swallows down any malicious retort, knowing the Officer only has good intentions, deciding to respond with a nod.

“I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.” Beth reassures him as Rick starts preparing to leave, and he smiles at her softly. “Yeah, of course. Get home safely, okay?” “Of course I will. Sit in your cell safely, okay?”

Rick can’t help but laugh at that as he nods, blinking tears from his eyes.

“I always do.”

And then he’s hanging up the phone and being escorted down the hallway. He throws one last glance back at Beth as he goes, but she’s already talking to her Dad, so she doesn’t notice his longing stare as he’s carted away.

The walk back to Rick’s cell is relatively silent. Most of the other cells are empty, save for a few sleeping drunks in some of the holding cells. Blue Valley isn’t particularly known for it’s non-supervillain related crime. It is a small town after all, so Rick’s incident was quite the exception. As they reach his cell, and Rick steps inside, the Officer finally speaks up.

“You know, that girl really must care a lot about you to come all the way out here to see you in this weather. You’ve caught yourself a good one there Mr. Harris.”

Rick gives a breathy laugh as he walks into the cell, sitting down on his cot. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” And he does. Beth is like no other girl he’s ever met, and for that he will forever be grateful. She’ll always be there for him, and he knows that as long as he’s alive he will always be there for her.

He hopes it will stay that way forever.

And a few blocks away, driving home in the pouring rain, she hopes for the same thing.

#I'm pretty happy with this one #Cute with just a dash of angst #Hournite #Stargirl #cw stargirl #stargirl spoilers #beth chapel #Rick tyler #beth x rick #Hourman #dr. mid nite

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satashiiwrites · 3 years

Photo

I’m definitely on the whumptober train when it comes to Buddie. Gah. So actually making some headway on the next chapter (prolly? I mean I think this scene will fall in there). I posted the first part of this earlier this week but I’m trying to decide if i’m getting too repetitive or if Buck really just needs to have this chat with Steve to move forward.

Either way, Buck emotional whump ahead. May or may not keep this as i’m still debating. First draft as always.

From: Family, Familia, ‘Ohana, Ch6, Steve POV

Fandoms: 911, H50, SWAT

Pairings: Buddie, McDanno, Hondo/Deacon.

Other tags/warnings: first draft. Buck emotional whump and references to his therapist sleeping with him. Cut put in for length.

Steve hesitated, listening with both his eyes and ears to what Buck was saying.

“—And it’s obvious that something happened. He had these bruises on his face. It was like… he’d been hit and he knew that if he stayed on the call with me I would have asked so he handed me off to Chris as quick as he could.” Buck stared pensively out at the water, longboard hanging loosely from his hand as if he’d forgotten it. The hunch to Buck’s shoulders and the way his spine curled was pure worry and distress which made Steve want to fix it but he wasn’t sure if he would make things better or worse by telling Buck what he’d heard from Hondo.

“The worst thing? He said he owed me an apology—like I hadn’t screwed up.”

“What did you screw up?” Steve asked, wanting to know what was going through the kid’s head so he could understand more.

Buck was silent for a few heartbeats before he took a swig of his beer then wiped his mouth. He turned just enough so he was facing Steve, eyes the color of the ocean at sunset when the light hit it at that low, perfect angle to turn it almost aqua blue. “How much did you look into the lawsuit? I know you talked to people but how much do you really know about it?”

Steve shrugged. “I know that you were suing your captain and the department—you’d passed all your recerts and the docs had cleared you for full duties. That you turned down the money you would have gotten because your case had merits—they should have let you back to work without suing.”

Buck’s mouth twisted unhappily, gaze becoming flinty as they stared through Steve unseeingly. “Bobby’s… he’s been like my dad since I joined the LAFD. Sorta like a more father-like version of you but he’s got… baggage. HIs family died and I think… I almost died twice right in front of him and he was scared because he cares about me. Still is which is why it’s been so hard.” Buck looked away back out over the water, lip trembling just a bit before he bit it.

“He wants to keep you safe?” Steve prodded gently. He could get where Nash was coming from. It was difficult as the team leader to send your men—brothers really—into danger but Steve had been doing it most of his adult life. If he couldn’t do it then he should do everyone a favor and get out of the way because him having feelings about his men didn’t mean there still weren’t going to be terrorist attacks or major crimes in Hawaii. Innocent lives were at stake and while it was difficult to put the people he knew at risk he still had to trust them to do their duties.

Steve really, really understood Captain Robert Nash. However understanding him didn’t mean he agreed with how he’d handled Buck.

“I think… I think that’s why? He recommended that they not reinstate me—it was his recommendation that held me back. The whole reason I sued was because he didn’t tell me it was him. Like how am I supposed to take that?” Buck waved his hand with the beer in it at the waves, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “How am I supposed to take that Steve? Bobby’s like family and he… he did that!”

Steve didn’t know what to tell him. “He shouldn’t have done that,” he finally said. “If you’re responsible for someone like he is you have to pull your personal feelings out of it.”

“I know,” Buck agitatedly took another swig of his beer before repeating himself plaintively. “I know. Why couldn’t he just have talked to me? Being told I was going to be on light duty for god knows how long…. It was like I was being cast out as not good enough.”

“I’m sure that’s not what he was doing,” Steve reached out and pulled Buck to him, the younger man slumping into his side despite being bigger and turning his face into Steve’s shoulder, eyes sad as they met Steve’s.

“Really?”

Steve sighed, tightening his hold on Buck. Danny was so much better at this stuff than him. “I struggled you know—giving you guys orders sometimes when I knew it was going to be bad. Like that time in…. It’s hard. I know I’m putting you in danger and that you’re capable and strong but you—all of you—are my brothers. We eat together. Sleep together. Keep watch over each other. The navy became my family and you’re my kid brother.”

Buck was silent, pressing more into Steve’s side for comfort. He had to pick the right words to make Buck understand what it was like being the one who made decisions. Buck had never had to do that—he’d just thrown himself into whatever needed doing but he’d never had to send someone else in.

“It’s hard to feel like that and not try to stand between you and whatever harm is coming your way. If I could predict it I’d try to make it as safe as possible but I know that’s not always what I should do. You’re capable. You’re a badass motherfuckin’ seal as Hondo would put it,” Steve smiled at the memory of Hondo calling them all that the last time they’d had a mission together.

“I had forgotten about Hondo,” Buck said softly. “It was good to see him.”

Another squeeze. “I get why your captain wrote the recommendation—that doesn’t mean I agree with him. And you should look up people you know—Hondo told me he’s always got an open door for you.”

“I know,” Buck looked away.

“You said that you screwed up—with Eddie?” Steve prodded after a moment.

Buck pulled away, sitting with his arms draped over bent knees looking so young it made Steve’s heart hurt. “Eddie and I… we’re…. He’s my best friend and I’ve never had one like him—either in the Seals, after I got out or before I joined. We’re there for each other always and after the accident he was trying to pull me out of the funk I was in.”

“Sounds like a good man.” The longing in Buck’s voice was palpable and Steve realized that Buck probably didn’t know what he sounded like when he mentioned Eddie.

“He is—one of the best. Eddie trusts me and he gave me Christopher to watch because he knows that I won’t—that I can’t let Christopher see me be like I was. He trusted me with Christopher and that kid is Eddie’s entire world and I… I took him to the pier and then the tsunami hit.”

Steve’s inhale was sharp. He knew this but having Buck tell him all over again. “Danny told me,” he tried to stop Buck from having to repeat the whole story, aware that it hurt Buck to talk about it.

“He did? Of course he did… but you have to understand—Chris is Eddie’s life. I know my father was shit and everything but Eddie’s not one. He lives and breathes for that kid and I’d do the same. He trusted me with him and I lost him and then the next day….”

“What happened?” Buck hadn’t told this part of the story. Steve knew there was something important here.

“The next day he brought Christopher back. He trusted me to watch him again knowing… knowing that I’d lost him in the tsunami. He said…” Buck stumbled on the words before gaining steam, “He said that Christopher didn’t remember it that way. That I’d saved him and that there was nobody else he trusted more with his son than me.”

Steve frowned. “I think I’m missing a few details…”

Buck waved his beer again, this time less agitated and more smooth. “You are but the big thing is that Eddie still let me watch Chris again and I needed that. I needed him to trust me and he still did which… I still can’t believe he did.”

“You’re a good man too—Buck.” Steve needed Buck to believe that.

Buck ignored his comment. “My point is… is that Eddie is a good man and my best friend. He’s had a bad year—his estranged wife Shannon came back into his and Christopher’s life and then she died right in front of him, Eddie almost died in this well rescue that went bad and then I almost got Christopher killed in a tsunami.”

“That does sound like bad luck…” Steve knew there were details Buck was glossing over but the emotion in his voice was wrecked.

“It’s terrible luck but… but Eddie was the only one who really kept reaching out to me through the whole leg injury. Maddie…”

“Your sister? What does she have to do with this?”

“She doesn’t really,” Buck deflected. “She’s had a tough year too with leaving Doug and Chimney getting stabbed and—“

“Yeah but what was she doing when you were struggling? She’s your sister.” Just what had been happening in LA? If Buck ever went home again Steve was going to have to keep a much closer eye on him. Stabbings? Tsunamis? The hell..

Buck shrugged, eyes dimming. “She was supportive but I don’t think she really understands how I’m feeling. She’s been gone for so long and she wants it to be like we were when we were younger and I try to—“

“Okay stop. So Maddie was—is—slightly helpful but Eddie was the one there for you?”

“Yeah.”

“So what happened? You keep saying that he doesn’t owe you an apology but you owe him one?”

“Kinda? I mean…after the tsunami Christopher had been having all these nightmares of being stuck in the water. At first I was like… he’d ask for me and Eddie would call me. He was always so worried waking me up in the middle of the night but it wasn’t like I was sleeping good anyways so—“

“Wait. Back up. You weren’t sleeping? Did you see anyone after all of this?”

“Well no. The last time I went to therapy it didn’t… I don’t want to do that again.”

“Do what again?” The uncomfortable look Buck gave him set off alarms in Steve’s head as he watched Buck almost fold himself into half as he tried to make himself smaller. “Buck—what happened at therapy?”

“I slept with my therapist,” he whispered, eyes downcast as his chin dug into his chest.

“What?” Steve was outraged. What kind of therapist would…

“She said that she would clear me to go back to work if I did. She’d looked me up on social media and—“

“No. Whatever she did was wrong. You know that right?” Steve was about to fly to LA, find this therapist and give her a piece of his mind and maybe put the fear of god into her. Buck didn’t say yes or nod. “Buck—Evan. Did you tell anyone about this? That your therapist made you sleep with her?”

“I just wanted to go back to work,” he said in a small voice. “She was pretty and she wanted me so I did it. I just wanted to go ba-back to wo-work.”

Steve wasn’t sure if it was the right thing but he pulled Buck back to him, fully wrapping himself around him. Buck was shaking and kept repeating, “I just wanted to go back to work,” and it was breaking Steve’s heart. He no longer wanted to just talk to this therapist—shooting her would be too kind and Steve had been trained in other methods of information gathering that were painful and would be more satisfying. “I’ve got you,” he kept repeating, trying to soothe Buck who now was crying, hands running up and down his spine in a soothing motion.

It took a while for Buck to cry himself out and Steve could do nothing except hold him. The entire time he mentally was making a plan for how he was going to take care of this. Danny had said Buck needed therapy but Steve didn’t think Buck would trust a traditional therapist after what had happened with his last one.

Telling Buck to get over it or some such stupid thing wasn’t what he was going to do but how did you help your kid brother who’d had his choices taken away from him? Vengeance would be easy but how did you put Buck back together again?

“Steve?” Buck’s voice was hoarse from crying.

“Yeah?”

“I just want to talk to Eddie again. Like we used to. I want my… partner back.”

Steve swallowed. He still didn’t have the details about what exactly had happened but he knew what it would feel like if he couldn’t talk to Danno and Eddie was Buck’s Danno. There had been so much that had happened to Buck and been done to him that to unravel it all in one conversation wasn’t going to be possible. “Do you want me to…”

“No,” Buck interrupted, voice calm. “I think… I think Eddie and I need to figure this out between us. He’s… he messaged me asking for Chris.”

“I thought you looked better after talking to his son.”

Buck frowned. “It’s always good to talk to Christopher. He’s… he said that he tried to feel sorry for himself one day and it didn’t fix anything so he doesn’t do it any more. I wish I could do that…”

Steve smiled sadly at Buck. “Sounds like he’s a great kid.”

“He is. He’s the best—him and his Dad. They’re…. The lawsuit made me not talk to them because I was suing the department and the lawyers got involved and then it was just silence between us.”

There it was—the reason Eddie Diaz had stopped talking to Buck. Steve’s immediate reaction was to blame Buck’s captain for this whole mess but he knew that he was being uncharitable—both Buck and Eddie could have ignored the lawyers’ advice. “And after the lawsuit?”

Buck’s lower lip trembled. “After I think we’d forgotten how to talk to each other. I wanted… I wanted to just go back to how it was but I…I left Eddie alone. Just like Shannon did and I know how much that hurt him. I hurt him and I knew I had and I tried to just ignore it like we could just go back to being Eddie and Buck…”

“Eddie and Buck?”

The shrug was barely there. “Something the rest of the 118 says—that we’re a pair. BuckandEddie or EddieandBuck. Attached at the hip since the first day. Something happened when we weren’t talking and I… I think Eddie blames me for it.”

“Are you sure?”

Buck sniffled. “No. I mean… I think I want it to be that but he probably doesn’t. Eddie forgives people better than anyone I know. I mean he forgave Shannon for leaving him and I… I don’t know that I did.”

“You didn’t forgive—Shannon’s his estranged wife right? Why would you need to forgive her?”

“She… she twisted Eddie up so much. He wanted to do the right thing for Christopher and what kid should be without their mom? Eddie wanted to let her back in but he was worried that she’d leave again and then she did—permanently. She died just weeks before my accident and Eddie was so stressed with funeral plans and everything and… he was hurting. She hurt him again despite him forgiving her.”

Eddie’s situation was hitting a bit too close to home for Steve. His own relationship with his mother was fraught with pain and abandonment. His father had never been the same after his mom had faked her death—had thought she’d been dead and sent Steve and Mary away to protect them after thinking that it’d been his fault that Doris had died in a car bombing. There were some days Steve wondered why his Mom had never tried to let Dad know she was still alive. It’d been twenty years that John McGarrett had lived with the pain of thinking he’d caused his wife’s death.

Steve would have given anything for a long time to have his mom still alive and finding out she’d been in hiding for so many years hadn’t done good things to his psyche. He was still struggling with his father’s death and it’d been almost four years and that death had happened because of Steve. If he hadn’t let Anton die maybe…

For Eddie to forgive as Buck said… maybe Steve could learn something from Buck’s Eddie. “If you say Eddie has the capacity to forgive his wife for leaving him… perhaps he has the ability to also forgive you Evan… and maybe he seeks the same forgiveness from you.”

Buck stilled as if frozen, his eyes icy blue in the moonlight. “He would do that. Eddie would.”

“Forgiveness—real forgiveness is hard in my experience. It’s even harder to ask for when you don’t think you deserve it.”

Buck’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “I… I’ll message him. He seemed much more comfortable with that then talking to me over FaceTime.”

“It’s a start,” Steve encouraged knowing Buck needed it.

The small smile that Buck sent him in response was sad but Steve liked to think it had some strength to it. Buck was going to be okay—Danny would help Steve with it and he’d figure out someone Buck could talk to about the whole therapist thing tomorrow. Maybe Mamo would have some suggestions.

They sat out on the beach until late, long after the beers had been drank. When Buck’s head began to nod, Steve guided him up and back to the house, tucking him into bed after Buck had sent his message to Eddie that he didn’t reveal to Steve.

Steve left the door open so he could hear if Buck needed him in the night before retreating to his own room.

He wished Danny had stayed over tonight instead of heading home with his kids, afraid of overwhelming Buck. Steve had the feeling that Buck would appreciate having Grace and Charlie around… and he wanted desperately to talk to Danny but it’d have to wait. It was too late and…

Well he’d just keep an ear out for Buck.

He could do that tonight at least. Stand guard against his little brother’s nightmares.

***

The next morning, Buck stumbled into the kitchen bleary eyed as Steve made scrambled eggs. “Mornin’,” Steve greeted him.

“You didn’t get me up for our swim,” Buck hiked himself up on the counter exactly like Danny was wont to do and Steve found himself smiling.

“You needed the sleep.”

Buck was silent a moment, eyes focused firmly on the floor. “Do you think less of me?”

Turning the burner off, Steve began plating the eggs. “No.”

“You said that… that you understood why Bobby benched me.”

“Understand it yes.”

“But?”

Steve sighed, dumping the now empty pan in the sink. “I’ve lost men before.”

“Freddie,” Buck interjected with a nod, face sad.

“Yes Freddie. And I had to let others go work with other team leaders or commands that weren’t me and I struggled with it ever time one of you so much as bumped your head or scraped a knee and I wasn’t there.”

“I sense there’s another but here…”

“But I know I have to let you do it. All joking aside you are like my kid brother. Freddie was my best friend and he’d come back and haunt me if I ever let something happen to you and I could have prevented it.”

“Again—but?”

“The key word there is prevented it. I get why your captain-who you refer to as almost like a father to you and I’m assuming he feels the same—did it. I get it but I hope I’d never do it to you but if you almost died in front of me and then I thought by keeping you on light duties for a few more weeks or month might be best? I might have done it.”

“So Bobby was right.”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“He should have sat down and talked with you before making that recommendation. I don’t like that he kept it from you—knowing you as I do.”

Buck’s frown deepened into a scowl. “I was so angry—why wouldn’t he have just told me? Instead I felt like I’d been thrown away. Unworthy.”

“You’re not. Not any of those things,” Steve interrupted before Buck could gain steam.

“I’m not.” Buck said it like he was trying the words out—not as if he fully believed them quite yet.

“Anger is fine. Be angry all you want….”

“But?”

“What do you want to do now?”

Buck’s expression melted into neutral, gaze inward. “What do I want?”

“Do you want to go back? Do you want to stay here? Do you want Eddie?”

Buck’s head went up sharply at the last question. “What do you mean? Do I want Eddie?”

“It seems to me that answering what you want to do with Eddie will answer the other questions.” Steve winced as he said it. Danny was going to have a field day with him going on about having the emotional intelligence of a rock.

While he’d been internally berating himself for asking the question, Buck was in thought and he surprisingly answered Steve—rather quickly even. “You’re right. If… if I can go back to working with my best friend that’s what I want.”

“Did Eddie reply to your message?”

“He read it. No reply.”

“He will,” Steve promised, putting Buck’s plate in front of him and handing him a fork.

Eddie would respond or he’d send Hondo out to shake the man until he did.

#Family familia ‘ohana #911/hawaii 5-0 crossover #navy seal Evan “Buck” Buckley #buddie #mcdanno #first draft #wip wednesday #buck whump #steve pov

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stellarcascadeblogs · 2 years

Text

Hello!

Been sitting on this account, debating if we were even going to use this for blogging, or just online-surfing. Finally decided to! If not to add a positive voice to the plural community, then at least to quell our boredom XD

Don’t know if this is something we’re going to do consistently or not, but I suppose we can start with a brief intro to who we are and what this is for.

1: We’re the Escariots (system name pending— this may change).

2: We’re polyfragmented which, to those unfamiliar with the term, means that we’re a large system (about 450+ members).

3: Who’s writing at any given time will change, but we’ll always put who contributed at the end of every post, and their basic info (pronouns, age if-applicable, role(s), what species they identify with, etc.).

4. This blog is mostly catering to those already familiar with plurality, systemhood, etc. We’re probably just gonna write about plural topics, as they come to our mind.

Although, we will occassionally throw out definitions of terms we’re using. If you don’t know something we’re talking about, feel free to either ask or google it. You can usually find a good definition on websites like https://system-dictionary.carrd.co

5. We don’t tolerate hate of any kind, and do accept endogenic (non-trauma-originating) systems, or however else they may identify. Life’s too short to argue over how someone else chooses to live their life or how they experience it. We don’t feel entitled to questioning people on the basis of who they are, nor feel like anyone should.

Questions we get asked:

I: Basic info?

We’re a mixed-origin (primarily traumagenic) system, whose body is transmasc AFAB, 22 years old, from New York, USA and English is our first language.

Fun fact— we play piano and write poetry in our pastime. We plan on eventually becoming an author.

Our collective pronouns are they/them.

II: How do you keep track of your members?

We don’t XD

We do have a few online documents to monitor about how many people we have floating around, but we try not to worry about such minute details as how many exact members we have or who’s doing what when every day.

III: What’s your innerworld like?

To those reading that may not be familiar with the term, an innerworld is a place inside the mind where alters/headmates/whatever-you-wish-to-call-parts can interact.

Ours is very vast, and takes the form of three dimensions linked together. So, basically the size of three earths sandwiched together. Very hard to keep track of, and sometimes difficult to map. But people tend to stick together in well-known places, so its size doesn’t necessarily pose a problem.

IV: Do you have NPCs? What do they do?

Yes. But we personally call them insiders; calling parts of ourselves— fronting or not— “non-playable-characters” feels a bit dehumanizing. But we don’t judge people who do use the term “NPC.” Sometimes our insiders can gain self-awareness and become headmates too. So, yeah.

As for what our NPCs do, they do a lot! They run innerworld governments, perform a lot of different jobs, etc. Basically, they mill around in the background, while those that have self-awareness and can front and do whatever they feel fits them, inside or outside.

That’s all we have time to write as of posting this. This was kind of a spur-of-the-moment, write-what-you-can-think-of sorta situation. I suspect we’ll probably write more introductory information in future posts, if we stick with this; probably more in-passing as it comes up, but still.

Thanks for reading! It means a lot that more and more people are becoming open to plurality, let alone endogenic and mixed-origin systems.

We never would have written a blog like this when we first discovered ourselves; even during our own lifetime, it has become something more understood. Of course, there’s so much more progress to be had, but still!

Spoons and hugs,

Escariot

Fronting:

Flynn (voi/vois)— protector, caretaker, fused part, non-human

#pluralgang #system #plural community #endogenic friendly #plural system #mixed origin system

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wonda-cat · 3 years

Note

You mentioned rewriting that one analysis post on Tommy’s revival stream and I’d really look forward to it! I never got to read the full og post and that’s the only place I saw these takes. Especially the one about the afterlife being too depressing. It’s not even just about Tommy, the implication that even if every character is safe and happy by the end, this is their inevitable fate is messed up. It’s not “a neat subversion” it’s just depressing and doesn’t add anything.

Hey, anon!

I sorta decided to not rewrite it? I feel a bit differently about the essay in the end, although I still believe in most of my points. I’m also just not nearly as passionate about it as I was when I wrote it (I finished it in a single sitting, which was... interesting.) However, yes, the afterlife stuff still bothers me just the same, as well as the odd changes to Wilbur’s characterization... post mortem.

But—just for you, anon—here’s the entire meta-analysis essay anyway, with some minor edits to the stuff I don’t agree with anymore!

My Many Narrative Issues with Tommyinnit’s Revival Stream

I want to preface this by saying that I dearly love the Dream SMP and understand it isn’t exactly comparable to other mediums like TV and film. With this being the case, most criticism against it is generally in bad faith or strange in foundation. Complaining about streamers for bad acting is the best example that comes to mind.

These aren’t professional actors. Most have never acted in this sort of setting, or even at all. Quite a few have admitted to never roleplaying before. Which is why it’s warranted to praise Tommy, Dream, Wilbur, Ranboo, and others when they deliver stellar performances. The same applies to criticism of music choice, dialogue delivery, focus, tone, etc.

However, one such category I cannot overlook is in regards to its writing. The writing of a story is its entire foundation. It encompasses many things—conflict choice, character development, themes, and morals. The author creates the blueprints for the architect, who then expresses the story with light, sound, color, pacing, and music. It is in its execution that we see if this connection is made or broken.

The reason I find poor writing mostly inexcusable is because it is one of the most available skills to practice and perfect. I don’t mean to say that it’s easy, I mean to say it is something anyone can attempt to cultivate. Whether they do it well or not depends on their methods and experience. If anyone can self-publish a novel and be criticized online for its quality—and even compared to the works of Mark Twain—then I find critiquing the writing of the Dream SMP to be perfectly reasonable.

However, since the Dream SMP script is a set of loose bullet points, tearing apart dialogue and scene continuity—which is nearly all improv—is rather useless. It doesn’t exactly have a clear focus as the plot plays out. The characters talk in circles until they hit the story beat required, and then they move onto the next. Thus, when criticizing it, one should generally critique grand events and narrative-specific shifts, more so than small-scale character interactions.

Which brings me to my main point: The broad narrative choices taken in Tommyinnit’s most recent livestream, ‘Am I dead?’ may lead to disastrous writing pitfalls in the future.

I’ll be outlining each of my issues below, in hopes of creating a better understanding as to why I feel this way.

This might become quite lengthy, so please bear with me for a bit.

Tommy’s relationship to Wilbur has flipped. This change is jarring and seems out of character.

Tommy and Wilbur’s friendship is rather complicated. While Wilbur does care for Tommy immensely, especially during the L’Manburg Revolution and the Election Arc, his mental spiral during exile put a massive strain on their relationship as a whole. Wilbur brushed off Tommy’s feelings and wants, while clinging to him and pushing everyone else away. He was simultaneously distant and suffocating.

Tommy, on the other hand, has an unclear view of his mentor. Since the beginning, and even long after Wilbur’s death, Tommy held him in especially high regard. He saw him as a brother-figure and a wise leader. He followed what he said and did everything he could to impress him. Yet, Wilbur still hurt him while the two were together in exile.

When speaking of him, Tommy tends to flip infrequently between remembering Wilbur the way he was before his mental decline and thinking of him as a monster. Both of these images conflict with each other, but they weren’t nearly as extreme as what Tommy described Wilbur as when he was revived from death. The fear Tommy displays to Wilbur is beyond intense—it feels as if the audience may have missed a month’s worth of character development.

This can make sense, especially since it was stated that he’d spent what felt like two months in the void. However, this shift is still deeply at odds with Tommy’s previous impressions of Wilbur, which is both disheartening and confusing. The fact that Tommy would agree to stay with Dream—his abuser and murderer—over his past mentor is simply head-reeling. It paints a very different picture of Wilbur’s character, somewhat conforming to the fandom’s ableist impression of him—the idea that Wilbur is insane and irredeemable, and always will be.

It also ignores Dream being the driving factor in Wilbur’s downfall, as well as the double-bind deal with Dream which required him to push the button, no matter the outcome. Others have pointed out that Tommy may be lying to get Dream to bring Wilbur back, and there’s compelling evidence for that. For one, Tommy and Wilbur’s conversation seemed uncomfortable, but it was certainly nothing like Tommy implied. (Unless this fear comes from something Wilbur said off-screen.)

Tommy also begged Dream to not bring him back multiple times over, which he should know would make Dream even more tempted to, simply because he likes seeing Tommy in pain. Tommy is also a known unreliable narrator. He may be making Wilbur out to be worse than he is by accident (even still, I’d argue this is a bit of a stretch.)

However, there are some issues with this theory. Tommy offered himself as payment to Dream if he chose to let Wilbur rest. This is a deal Tommy knows Dream is extremely unlikely to refuse. Tommy is what Dream has coveted all this time. If Tommy genuinely wanted Wilbur back, he would not offer this. This sort of compromise is Tommy’s greatest nightmare—something he would only do in response to his friends being threatened or his home being destroyed.

To add, Tommy is not great at lying. Unless he was taught by Wilbur for those two months* in the afterlife, there’s no chance Tommy would be this good at it. Thirdly, Tommy is terrible under pressure. He uses humor to cope. When he can’t, he cries and shouts and spills his heart out. While cornered, Tommy will tell the truth about anything, especially if Dream casually debates killing him again, just for fun.

For now, it’s too early to tell how the relationship shift will play out. In the grand scheme of things, this issue is rather minor.

Season three’s writing is needlessly bleak. The portrayal of the afterlife is a nightmare. There is no rest, not even in death.

I adore the Dream SMP storyline in its entirety. I believe the first season is fantastic, and while the second season has some narrative clarity issues, I enjoyed it just as much. Although, I would argue season one had a more concrete understanding of its Hope-Conflict balance.

To briefly explain, the Hope in stories are its ‘highs’ and good moments. These appear when a character the audience is rooting for is narratively rewarded. They happen during character building in the text—it’s the downtime and peace that allows for connection and relatability. It’s a moment for the viewer to breathe easy.

The other half is Conflict, an obstacle in the story that gets in the way of the main characters’ goals, beliefs, and motives. These are the ‘lows.’ They give the narrative focus and weight. They make the highs feel even higher. They establish consequences and force the characters in the story to change in order to adapt and overcome them.

I bring up the Hope-Conflict balance because a traditional hero’s journey would have an appropriate amount of both. Their highs and lows are generally equalized, as the name suggests. However, this balance has been awkwardly skewed in the latter half of season two and in the current plot of season three. To clarify, it is perfectly reasonable, and even common, for some stories to tip the scale more to one side.

But a common mistake for amateur writers is to create their stories as either hopelessly dark to cause the audience continuous distress for the sake of distress, or to keep everything entirely conflict-free for most of the plot. What do these both have in common? They each make the story boring and predictable.

Season three has taken this concept and thrown a monstrously heavy weight onto the Conflict side and flipped the scale so hard it has crashed through the ceiling. The viewers are hardly given time to find any joy in Tommy’s character, as he’s thrown into yet another abusive situation, just barely after his first narrative reward. The world is painted as relentlessly violent and traumatic.

Every person Tommy meets is morally grey, unhinged, or out to hurt him. Everything most of the characters love is taken from them by those in positions of power. Ranboo cannot even grieve properly because it scars his face. Puffy, Sam, Ranboo, and Tubbo all blame themselves for what happened to Tommy.

The audience watches lore stream after lore stream with the same depressing tone (with the exception of Tubbo’s, but I assume that’s unintentional.) Tommy is revived after being brutally beaten to death by his abuser, surrounded by all of his greatest fears. The afterlife is revealed to be akin to inescapable torture. It’s a colorless void that wraps the individual like fabric.

Time moves thirty times slower within. There’s nothing—nothing but the voices of others who’ve passed on before him. Dying in a world already devoid of happiness takes the characters to a place worse than hell. When a narrative delivers unfair suffering to the entire cast without a moment of joy to speak of, the story will feel simultaneously overwhelming and pointless.

Why watch characters suffer when there’s no light at the end of the tunnel? What happiness could they strive for when we know they’ll never get to keep it? How can I be satisfied with a good ending, if I know that an afterlife too terrible to name is what awaits them, truly, at the end of their story? Death isn’t even a white void that offers rest—it is eternal torment.

Obviously, it isn’t a good message to send by making the afterlife seem like a quiet, perfect place or an escape from pain. But making it an unspeakable anguish which awaits, assumedly, every character who will die in the future? I deeply hope Tommy was only being an extremely unreliable narrator.

More likely, I hope the place Tommy was taken to was a Limbo of sorts, not an end-all-be-all destination for everyone.

The degree of Tommy’s narrative punishment continues to escalate, to an almost absurd degree.

Tommy is one of the most tragic characters to exist in the storyline. He was sent into war at a young age and experienced two traumatic events during it. He was exiled by the newly elected leader and witnessed his mentor Wilbur spiral and break down with paranoia. Tubbo is executed publicly in front of him. When expressing rightful anger at the person who murdered him, he’s beaten nearly to death and never receives an apology.

Schlatt dies right in front of Tommy, after his initial refusal to hurt the ex-president. His brother-figure and mentor is killed in assisted suicide on the same day his nation is blown up. His best friend exiles him from his home for the second time. He routinely self-sacrifices to protect his country and those who live there. His most treasured possessions were taken from him and he was called selfish for trying to retrieve them (although his methods were self-destructive and volatile.)

He was pushed to the brink of suicide after being relentlessly abused and isolated in his exile. He was horrified when he thought he was responsible for drowning Fundy. After making an objectively good decision to stand by his old friends and change for the better, his country was obliterated by the man he once idolized, his father-figure, and his abuser.

He was left scattered and without purpose for many days. Then he fights against Dream and loses, while also reliving his trauma. He watches Tubbo almost die at the hands of someone he once thought was his friend. He doesn’t tell a single person about what happened to him in exile. The day he tries to sever his connection to Dream and heal, he’s trapped with him for a week, surrounded by everything that terrifies him.

He threatens to kill himself, speaking about his own life as if it were an object—something to hold over Dream’s head. He blames himself for everything bad that’s ever happened to L’Manburg and his friends—internalizing a mentality as a scapegoat for everyone around him. He is forced into the role of ‘hero’ despite the title being unfair and distressing to him.

As if that weren’t enough, he’s then beaten to death by his abuser and spends what feels like two months in an afterlife that is worse than hell. When he returns, his senses are excessively heightened. Dream can cause him excruciating pain, just by pinching him. He can send Tommy into an instant panic attack, just by raising his voice.

The punishment Tommy’s character receives is a thousand times worse than everyone he has ever met, or ever will meet. And it shows no signs of stopping, as Dream now has control over Tommy’s very mortality. Tommy now fears the slightest damage and feels as if he’s losing his best friend all over again. He is also forced into a position where he has to kill Dream out of necessity, to protect everyone he cares about.

Characters need fitting punishments in relation to their actions. Not always, but in order to be satisfying? Yes, they do. It is preferred that a main character deal with unfair situations and difficult conflicts, but this is borderline torture p*rn. Putting Tommy in these distressing and abusive situations on repeat and punishing him for doing objectively moral or healthy things is exhausting to watch.

To quickly add, I find the general insinuation of Tommy going to hell distasteful, especially considering the contents of his storyline. I know this may be hard to believe, but Tommy is one of the most moral characters in the plot, besides Puffy and Ghostbur. He’s also the only character, followed by Ranboo, to recognize that they can be wrong and make mistakes. He changed himself in order to heal and be a better person. He was in the process of paying people back for the things he’d stolen.

He’s learned to be hard-working and less violent through the guidance of Sam. He has apologized to everyone he’s ever hurt (with the exception of Jack Manifold, because that man is allergic to communication.) He puts himself in harm's way to protect others. He doesn’t set out to purposely hurt anyone. He goes out of his way to make connections with people and maintain them, even if others don’t reciprocate.

He’s hopelessly optimistic, despite his outwardly bitter façade. He loved so much and put meaning into the smallest things. The thought that a person like him—a suicide and abuse survivor—would go to hell after being beaten to death by the man who took everything from him; it makes me sick to my stomach.

The only thing more morbid than Tommy’s afterlife being different than everyone else’s, is the concept that everyone will end up in this same eternal torture, no matter what they do. Take your pick: Tommy is sentenced to anguish until the end of time for no reason, or everyone will receive the same disturbing ending, regardless of their actions.

The narrative weight of Ranboo’s character is potentially out the window.

For the past few months, I’ve watched all of Ranboo’s lore streams faithfully, curious to see what role he would play in the future. His ‘hallucinations’ of Dream seemed to be sowing the seeds for a plot that has Ranboo taking the fall for every single insidious thing Dream has done. It would also be a tragic parallel to Tommy’s trial.

Ranboo being convinced he was the one who blew up the community house, when Dream himself admitted to doing it, was one of the bigger indicators for me. This is just one of many other unexplained occurrences. Dream seemed to be making an effort to trigger and control Ranboo, especially after Sapnap’s prison visit. It appeared, from the way he went about this, that Dream had some grand use for Ranboo as part of his plan to be freed from Pandora’s Vault.

However, after Tommy’s stream, the way Dream explains himself makes it seem like there was no plan besides seeing if the book worked on people. And if he didn’t after all, then what was Ranboo for? Was Ranboo unimportant? Was Ranboo just some weirdo who happened to phase out when seeing smiley faces and imagined conversations that may or may not have happened?

I bring this up more as a worry, and much less so as an active problem in the narrative. They haven’t actually thrown Ranboo to the way-side or written themselves into a corner yet. In future streams, this could very easily be explained away or developed as more information is revealed.

Only time will tell.

The potential for Wilbur’s future development and importance to the plot is unfeasible.

I feel as if I am the only person on earth who doesn’t want Wilbur Soot or Schlatt revived. There are many reasons for this, but one of them is not a dislike for these characters. I especially adore Wilbur, as he’s one of my all-time favorites. I don’t want either of them resurrected because their stories have already been told. They each had a fitting conclusion that ended their involvement perfectly.

Bringing Wilbur back would especially cheapen the impact of the War of the 16th. It’s the end of a man who was brought to the absolute edge and out of desperation, shame, and self-hatred, he destroyed himself alongside his creation. Bringing him back would leave the climax of the previous story hollow. My biggest issue, however, is that a lack of story importance would likely follow his return.

The only real impact I’d like to see is through a healing arc with Tommy, an apology to Fundy, or a confrontation with Phil/Niki. But that’s really all the potential I can realistically see. While I don’t doubt Wilbur as an agent of chaos, able to create plot out of thin air; what is he going to do now? His country is gone, his friends and family are scattered about, and his mission from the 16th is already accomplished.

What is a well-educated, charismatic politician supposed to do in a world already broken and without nations? Read poetry to himself and cry evilly? However, this is working off the assumption that Wilbur would be returning as his old self.

If Wilbur is resurrected as a ‘villain’ of sorts, then what? He’s not good at fighting in the slightest. He would have no materials. There are no real allies he can make, other than the arctic group. On top of that, there are already more than enough villains to last a lifetime.

We don’t need any more, I promise. Quackity seems to already be shaping up as another antagonist, alongside Sam’s slip into darker and darker shades of moral ambiguity. We also have Philza and Techno, which are already overkill. But then we have Dream who, despite being in a prison, has the ability of selective revival. This is mercilessly overpowered, especially if he makes many allies. The dude could just bring his dead friends back so they can keep fighting forever.

Then there’s Jack Manifold and the Crimson followers; Antfrost, Bad, and Punz. That’s not even including characters who are refusing to get involved. How are Tommy, Tubbo, and Puffy expected to do literally anything to fight back?

Dream’s experiment on Tommy implies he had no backup plan to begin with. This makes his character seem both short-sighted and foolish.

When Tommy woke up after being brought back to life, Dream sounded surprised that the revival worked at all. This instantly shatters the perception that Dream was highly intelligent and thought ahead. With just a few lines of dialogue, it’s implied that Dream killed Tommy, unsure of if the resurrection would even be possible on humans.

Which, to risk something that important, seems unbelievably stupid. Dream needs Tommy, from his perspective. Tommy is his ‘toy,’ the one who makes everything fun. If he lost him and couldn’t get him back, what then? Oh well, everything Dream was doing was all for nothing, I guess.

Why not attempt this experiment on literally anyone else first? Like Sapnap or Bad or, hell, even Ranboo. I suppose it could be that, as soon as Dream got the book, he experimented with it after the 16th. This appears to be insinuated with Friend and Hendry’s revival, although this is uncertain. But even then, he was still unsure of the book’s effect on a human being.

Also, this means, hypothetically, Dream’s entire plan of escape hinged on the experiment working, to begin with, and also on bringing back Wilbur if it somehow did. I find this even more ridiculous. Why Wilbur? That man couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, let alone get through the traps in Pandora’s Vault. Even if he is intelligent after years* in the afterlife, that’s also a strange assumption.

How do people learn things in the void? Where do they even get this knowledge? I’d honestly argue Techno is a far more competent choice than Wilbur. And even if Dream did bring him back and tell him he owed him his life, what’s to stop Wilbur from just killing him permanently? Or killing himself, continuously?

No way would Wilbur want to be controlled by anyone, ever. The dude would sooner fuck off into the mountains and become a nomad than help a neon green bodysuit cosplay as Light Yagami.

Dream’s discussion about Sam implies that he wasn't playing any part in Dream’s plan, making Sam appear entirely incompetent and neglectful of Tommy.

Dream talked about Sam in a way that seems detached and unaffiliated. He also mentioned him being broken up about Tommy’s fate and not being aware he’s still alive. Dream not being partnered with, or not using Sam in his plan leaves many plot holes. I��ll go through each one. The initial incident was an explosion, coming from the roof of Pandora’s Vault. This did not affect the Redstone mechanism for the doors or dispensers.

Meaning, Sam could’ve had Tommy leave the way that was expected for visitors after he investigated and found no issues. This likely couldn’t have been done in less than a day, but it would be better than an entire week. If Tommy was required to stay for longer, due to protocol, he could’ve gotten Tommy out and then placed him in one of the minor cells for the remainder of the time.

Also, no one else lost a canon life for leaving via the splash potion of harming and returning outside the maximum-security cell; why would Tommy? To add, Sam being uninvolved means that the explosion could have only been caused by Ranboo or Foolish. That, or it was placed long before and timed for the moment Tommy entered the main cell. (I’m going to ignore how ludicrous it is that someone would know the exact time Tommy would’ve entered the room with Dream.)

If Ranboo was the person behind the detonation, this implies he was necessary for Dream to kill Tommy to test the book. But that makes it even stranger. If this was Dream’s goal all along, why not kill Tommy the instant he was trapped with him? It makes no sense for him to wait so long.

Sam is also directly at fault for not letting Tommy out, even after the week was up. There was no reason not to. He already knew there were no issues with the prison at that point. Although, to be fair to Sam, his character may have been paranoid and checking everything more than necessary, just in case. But this still isn’t a good excuse for him ignoring protocol in this one instance, and yet, not in any of the others.

All of these plot holes or inconsistencies would be removed if it was revealed that Dream was blackmailing Sam in some way, or Sam had been working with him since the get-go. That Sam was the person who set off the explosion in the first place to trap Tommy inside. It would also explain Sam’s refusal to let Tommy out and by keeping him in there for longer than necessary.

This can also coexist with Sam’s attachment and care for Tommy. He probably wasn’t told about Dream’s plan to test the book and genuinely believed Dream wouldn’t hurt him. On top of that, Dream is known to be a pathological liar, so his statements about Ranboo and Sam could be entire fabrications.

Who knows?

The Book of Revival invalidates death entirely. The narrative now lacks both tension and consequence.

Another way the Dream SMP differs from other storytelling media is in the way it goes about its character deaths. In a TV show, for example, there will be characters who die just because, or when it’s important to the plot. However, it seems as if the Dream SMP is hesitant to commit to killing its characters. And there are many reasons for that.

The most important one being, killing someone’s character excludes them from the story and some of their livelihoods depend on them regularly streaming on the server. There is also the issue of the cast becoming extremely sparse if characters keep dying. Typically, in stories, when you kill a character, you should introduce another.

This keeps the cast from dwindling as the storyline goes on. This means the writers would have to find new streamers to join, who will develop their own characters and relationships with the plot’s continued momentum. This can be stressful and daunting to those who may be newly added in the future.

Keeping this in mind, the Book of Revival is annoying from a writer’s perspective. When death is no longer an issue for a story hinged on its characters’ mortality, then what do you have as a consequence anymore? We’ve explored every kind under the sun; from abuse, to betrayal, to loss, to destruction.

In stories, traditionally, death is a finality. It’s a conclusion. Whether it’s good or not depends on the character’s actions, its build-up, and the event’s execution. Without this lingering sense of danger, tension evaporates from the story.

Why should I care if Tommy loses in a fight to someone, if he’ll just come back a day later? Why should I care about what happened to Wilbur, if he just returns as if nothing happened? The answer is simple: I won’t. I will no longer care if Tubbo or Ranboo or Sam die in the story, because the idea of revival even being a possible outcome leaves me unenthused and uncaring.

The Dream SMP likes to flirt with death. It teases the demise of its main characters many, many times. More so Tommy’s than anyone else’s. Wilbur’s failed resurrection, which had unforeseen and unfortunate outcomes, is now strange in comparison to Tommy’s, which happened without a hitch.

To be fair, we actually don’t see how many attempts it took. But here’s the problem; Dream could do it without the book being physically present. He’s trapped in a prison with nothing on him, meaning he doesn’t need any materials either. It’s also implied he could do this as many times as he feels, for anyone he wants. This would be exceedingly overpowered, if not for one thing—Dream himself is mortal (at least, I fucking hope he’s mortal.)

If someone kills him one last time, that knowledge is gone forever. And I’m glad they’ve established at least some way for Tommy to win. Because at this point, I was losing faith.

There is also the bare minimum establishment that Dream can refuse to bring back those he doesn’t care for. He can also use it as a shield, holding this power over other people. If Dream is gone, death is permanent. But isn’t that how death is supposed to be, anyway?

What a bleak premise—the afterlife is pure eternal torture while life is cheapened by a lack of consequences.

Conclusion

All this to say, I am cautiously optimistic for the future. I hope dearly that every single one of these can be disproven or developed in the coming livestreams. Obviously, there’s not enough information to really determine what the end result will be, or how everything will fall into place.

Every time I have theorized about the story, it has done something completely different and pleasantly surprised me. I want this trend to continue.

Surprise me again—I’ll be here to see where it goes.

#answered asks #long post #tommyinnit #dream smp meta #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #this is slightly outdated still but whatever #hope this was helpful anon #tw abuse #tw suicide

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olde-scratch · 3 years

Text

So I watched LUCIDS 1-4 without any prior knowledge...

and here were my thoughts. I didn’t watch any backstory or anything so enjoy my suffering.

PART 1

“So what happens when the people inside of their dreams go to sleep?” They die

“What happens when we wake up? Do they go on living while we’re not there?” THEY DIE-

“Who are they anyway?” they’re faces that our brain catalogs and stores for later use, although it’s also arguable that every time we dream we go to an alternate reality and inhabit the body of another version of ourselves. Now, were you in a car accident and trapped underwater or-

Are they twins?

(Me tuning out to do something)

“-the squirrel in spongebob was your soulmate, making you a Sandy simp-”

Me, snapping back to the video: hold up-

[missed the part about the worksheet, realized it when i rewatched 10 mins later to make this post]

yall speakin gibberish idk what youre saying-

“I’m gonna go to bed.” bro it literally looks like morning-

“You should get some sleep you look terrible.” i get six hours of sleep a night minimum and i look worse than him shut up bro-

“jump into someone else’s dream” ah i know this con-

why they all got the same face-

haha funni meme

“--an interruptiion can create feedback and tear them apart.” Death. I long for thee.

Is that Karl Jacob’s jacket?

“a second grader” makes me think this is a different school system. [i was wrong? i think?]

“[get him to] eat your apple”

[in the dream sequence] weird dream, but ive had weirder. now, Why Pamper’s-

why does he suddenly have a knife-

“You put a filter on the Dreamscape feed?”

“Technically, you are seven years old.”

???????????

the second hand embarrassment is UGGGHHH

[reading the description] you mean like the guy who was knocked out for 2 minutes on a football field and woke to find he’d dreamt 17 years of his life? oh this shall be Fun

PART 2

[I check the description] “jasper cult” what the fu-

how many camp camp references can i make during this

Is the apple a reference to religion or does the creator just really ilke apples?

“meal.”

“meal?”

meal????

Wait why couldn’t that guy eat the apple? If he wanted it in the fruit bowl, wouldn’t there be a chance of the guy eating it anyways?? Why can’t the guy who brought the apple eat it?

well he’s Dead

[debating if I should read the backstory}

n a h h h h h -

Was he gonna feed the dead guy the apple or something? Why is he upset about the apple in this scene???

oooo the grownups are fightinnnngggg

Is he an antagonist?

HE WROTE A BOOK???

oh now i want food

ESTABLISH JUSTICE ENSURE DOMESTIC TRANQUILITYYYYYYYYYYYYY

“I watched all those aforementioned shows” what shows did i miss something what-

man why you gotta hate on her jane austen fanfic let her live bro

string theory! i can get behind that! sorta-

o no he found the memes-

BOY GOT KNOCKED OUT-

kim there’s people that are dying-

is SHE an antagonist?

quinn? calling himself jasper? u sure hes not just nonbinary? is this just a metaphor for transphobic parenting?

“He died... but somewhere, he grew up.” So is your plan to take a Quinn from a different universe and make him your own, thereby robbing another version of yourself from happiness? When does this ever go well?

Yknow most people, when they lose a kid,,,, kinda,,,,,,, dont go on a ceaseless quest to find another version of their kid that grew up without knowing that another version of his mother was invading other peoples’ dreams to find and kidnap him,,,,,,,, like aint u got a therapist-

“Once you get past the point of not knowing what’s real anymore, you realize it doesn’t matter.” Well, I Got Called Out-

PART 3

“you’re real, oliver.”

aRe yOu sUrE aBoUt tHaT-

“you’ve been infected by the anti-love parasite of Mandadon” the amatonormativity is strong

so anyways ive been infected since birth hbu-

“James Jasperson, creator of Japple” did you mean to Fancy Well-Educated Man in a Black Turtleneck? cause the only FWEMBT i allow near me is prof. hidgens

“are you winning?” says the capitalist

why did you rewind to see his face?? you have the same face????? is this just bc the creator doesnt like working with other people cause in that case same but???????

“it’s a bad idea. i’m not gonna do it.” we’ve all been there. and we’ve all done it.

looks like me trying to study. (i say, a person who has studied a total of five minutes throughout their entire life.)

your “Spartan trial” looks like a bunch of guys standing on a hill pretending to be something they’re not. Let The Man Bring His Snacks.

eat the apple.

is this your first existential crisis or something what a loser lets all point and laugh

“One of you should be spared, the other shall’nt.” did you mean shant or was that a choice-

yall gonna get called out for talking shut UP

“sorry if this is too personal, btw. are you okay?”

me, confused and half understanding what’s going on and also needing to sleep cause its almost one in the morning but wanting to finish what i can find of lucids which i only starting watching cause i saw an animatic of ranboo and dream w audio from it: i don’t know anymore

“i just want my life back... i was gonna get married-” AREN’T YOU LIKE SEVEN-

ay man if this is a sacrificial cult yall gotta get daniel-

UPDATE: I H A V E N O T F O U N D I T -

“oliver”

I F O U N D I T -

WHICH ONE IS QUINN?? WHO’S JASPER???? WHICH ONE IS BENJAMIN???? I THOUGH BENJAMIN WAS SEVEN BUT I THOUGHT HE WAS THE ONE GETTING MARRIED WHAT-

oliver. eat the apple.

“Can you still have memories even when you’re dreaming?” One time I woke up to my alarm and fell back asleep and in my dream I remembered that I had class in a few minutes and my dream self woke my real self up so fast I thought I was gonna get whiplash. Anyways, I was late to class bc of my computer but that doesn’t matter.

NOPE I FOUND IT. HERE’S THE AUDIO. THE ANIMATIC ONE. FINALLY.

im thinking car crash. but also maybe murder. but also maybe both? is it raining or was he drowning? is he in a coma? hmmmmmm?

wait olivers the one with the apple does that mean he’s the one dreaming? is the ending gonna be him and jasper (quinn? idk) fighting against ben and mrs hills about jasper eating the apple to save oliver from the dream? hmmmmmmmmmm-

waitwaitwait i thought oliver was 7 how is benjamin 7 years younger than him if they look the same age what what what explain america explain what you mean arkansaw-

are the cuts on his nose plot-relevant or

“What if you hadn’t been driving?” So I was right about the car accident but Mrs. Hills still said he was seven so did i mishear her say that BENJAMIN was seven? but even then oliver would be 14 and that would still be illegal-

“How are you feeling?”

“Like you’re a pretty bad therapist.”

mood

“--it makes it all bearable to have power over the stories we write in our heads” that’s why i write fanfiction

HE’S GOT THE NOTEBOOK HE’S GONNA WRITE SOMETHING ONE OF US ONE OF US ONE OF US

WHAT YOU MEAN AN EXPERIMENT THAT’S HIS NAME-

[upon reading the description] so i was right.

wait was that supposed to be the twist in part 2 about the apple in his pocket is that what the existential crisis was about i thought it was because he was introduced to the multiple worlds theory-

PART 4

wait wasnt the other one january 2018 why we going back to 2017-

appol

“--the future and the past all already exist” mhm yep figured this out long ago

there was simultaneously a point in time in which i hadn’t known about this, had been looking it up, had been watching it, and had been writing an ending to this post, and had been posting it the next morning before class. that time is both now and not now. Welcome To The Multiverse Theory or whatever its called-

“--my favorite scene of the movie is waking up next to you.” Mine is eating fast food as I listen to AJJ and play Minecraft. We are not the same.

Now I’m hungry but it’s 1 in the morning and i already put my retainer in god fu-

[reading description] what do you mean previously??? she did that in the first episode????????

[still on description] WHAT DO YOU MEAN WILL QUINN BITE THE APPLE AND GO TO BENJAMINS REALITY ISNT THIS OLIVERS REALITY AND HE HAS TO GET BEN TO BITE THE APPLE WHY IS APPLE CAPITALIZED IS THIS THE DOING OF THE FWEMBT

i should have watched the backstory i should have watched the backstory i should have watched the backstory i should have wa-

[description] oh ive been spelling quinn right the whole time nice

i hope she rejects you /j

WAIT BENJAMIN WAS THE ONE GETTING MARRIED TO ISABELLE

ISNT HE IN SECOND GRADE-

HE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD HOW IS HE GETTING MARRIED ARE THERE TWO BENJAMINS THAT WE’RE FOCUSING ON-

bro get out of the road ull get hit

how do you knOW WHICH ONE IS QUINN THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON-

wait

hills wants ben to feed quinn the apple bc in his mind, that will give hills and quinn a happy ending and she doesnt want ben to see the apple bc thats gonna mean ben will know that his reality isnt reality at all. so then oliver has to,,,, not let anyone eat his apple? he just has to wake up?

IS HILLS THE VILLAIN AFTER ALL ORRRRR

wait but if ben sees the apple wont he realize that his reality is wrong and his reality will change, making it so that hills doesnt get her son? or is there some time-based rule that says they’re only transported to the reality that the person believes at that moment? or is this another stab at the multiverse thing where an infinite amount of hills gets their happy endings while an infinite amount of hills doesnt and etc etc?

i should have watched the ba-

oooo dramatique

they’re in a time loop?

nope thats a new powerpoint

wait so theyre,,,, no-

wait-

nvm-

IS THE BEN WE KNOW AN ADULT GETTING MARRIED TO ISABELLE OR NOT-

“they were actually pretty nice” didnt they throw someone off a cliff-

oh so it got confusing THEN??? NOT BEFORE?????

“it all seemed so real.” is that Not the point of vivid REM sleep hallucinations-

is oliver gonna show ben the apple and ruin hills’ whole operation

WHO ARE ALEX AND RYAN-

“what’s 25-8″ bro dont do this to me-

yep hes gonna show the apple

ayyy the guy who stole karl jacobs jacket it back

the second hand embarrassment is back and I Hate It

all that happens in episode ONE??? bro get some better writers that is bad pacing

“it’s the best!” wait until season eight. no show has a good season eight.

quinn knows about the apple thing w the dreams and multiverse and realities dont he

YOU KILLED HIM

NOT KARL JACOBS NOOOOO HES ALREADY DIED ONCE

oliver is v relatable

wHaT iN tArNaTiOn-

lemme hear that explanaton again-

is bill cipher gonna show up? i hope bill cipher shows up. i miss gravity falls

“ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree!” moooooooood

did hills murder quinn

is your family the jasper cult

TOXXIICCCCCC get that lady out of your life quinn that is so toxic

“ ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree! ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree!” mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT’S THE END NO WHAT WHY NO

The Adventures of Benjamin and Oliver

he is Not Good

ope-

wait so ben is equal parts an adult AND a child?? okay that clears a lot up

I MEAN HE WAS RIGHT THO BEN U CAN’T REALLY ARGUE ON THAT-

ew get off the floor

butterfly effect, multiverse theory, memory decay, and your imagination ALL exist yall gonna ignore that cause you wanna be famous?

“We already know what the future looks like!”

aRe yOu sUrE aBoUt tHaT-

to add to the list of bad things: Cats (2019)

YA BOI THINKS IT’S NOT ALREADY FIFTY YEARS TOO LATE TO START FIGHTING CLIMATE CHANGE FFFFF

BINGO BABYYYY

get what what

what mapped-

awwwww he thinks THEY’RE creating the multiverse

you gonna dismiss the multiverse theory bc of something you created in your current reality? loooserrrrrr

ABUSE YOUR GODLIKE POWERS

she draggin that seven year old

a lot makes sense now why didnt i do this first-

Jasper

the food shortages-

bro that calculators like 90 bucks at walmart

imagine meeting a stranger and they know Everything about your life like that’s gotta be so weird

what’s even weirder is them telling you you’re the deity of a cult that sacrifices animals

THAT FOURTH WALL BREAK WAS-

KARL JACOBS IS DEAD NOOOOOO

ooohhh there’s context for that

OOOOHHHH THERE’S CONTEXT FOR THIS TOOOO

w h a t -

W H A T -

Conclusion:

it’s 2 in the morning and i need sleep but hOOOOO MY GODS THAT WAS GOOD IS IT OVER OR NOT IDK ANYMORE IM TIRED THAT WAS CRAZY I HOPE QUINN AND JASPER GO ON TO BE VERY GOOD FRIENDS, AND I HOPE BENJAMIN AND OLIVER STAY VERY GOOD FRIENDS AND I HOPE HILLS FINDS A THERAPIST WAS A LITTLE CONFUSING BUT I ENJOYED IT

if i dream about apples im suing /j /lh

#lucids #nicholas podany #there's a metaphor in there somewhere #but im not gonna be the one to find it #i dont think i dreamed about apples #youre safe for now podany #for now #EDIT #I PUT 'something their not'#WRONG THERE #I HAVE NO EXCUSE #IM SORRY

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