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celebrityfanfictionblog · 2 months ago

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"Husband of The Princess Royal"

Chapter One: Encounter at Balmoral Castle

Featuring King Charles III and Sir Timothy Laurence

As the British royal family gathered at Balmoral Castle for their annual summer retreat, the Scottish Highlands offered a serene escape. The estate buzzed with activities like hunting and fishing, attended by the Wales family, Princess Anne with her husband Vice Admiral Sir Timothy Laurence, the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, and princesses Beatrice and Eugenie. Among them was James Cole, King Charles III’s American PR chief, a 6'1" muscular man with dark brown, wavy hair, piercing blue eyes, and an 8-inch cut cock. Dressed in a light beige jacket with a white collar, a light blue collared shirt, light gray trousers, and brown suede boots, James was charming yet ambitious, secretly entangled in affairs with multiple royals, including King Charles.

King Charles, 5'10" with a slim, aging build, thinning silver-white hair, and blue eyes, wore a brown double-breasted coat with a shearling collar, a green scarf, black dress shoes, and a checkered flat cap, holding a walking stick. His 7-inch cut cock was a detail James knew well. Charles proposed a walk to James, eager to share the Highlands’ beauty.

“It’s wonderful up here,” Charles murmured, his tone hinting at anticipation as they ventured into the isolated landscape.

James’s desires surged in the privacy of the Highlands. His eyes traced Charles’s form, lingering on the bulge in his trousers. Charles, sensing the gaze, smiled knowingly.

“You’re awfully quiet, James,” he teased. With no one around, James acted, their eyes locking before he leaned in for a heated kiss. Charles responded with fervor, his hands roaming to James’s crotch, feeling the hardness through the fabric.

“My, you’re eager,” Charles whispered against James’s lips, his own arousal evident as his trousers tightened. Driven by lust, James unzipped his trousers, his 8-inch cut cock springing free, already glistening with pre-cum.

“I need you, Charles,” he growled, his voice thick with want. Charles, with a predatory grace, sank to his knees on the soft heather, his experienced hands trembling with excitement as they wrapped around James’s shaft. Charles' breath was hot against James’s skin before his mouth descended, enveloping the head of James’s cock with hunger.

Charles’s mouth was hot and wet, his tongue swirling around the head, teasing the slit before taking James deep. The warmth, the slight scrape of teeth, sent tremors through James. Charles’s silver hair, perfect in the setting sun, bobbed rhythmically as he sucked, his blue eyes occasionally flicking up to meet James’s in a silent, intense exchange. James gripped Charles’s hair, guiding his head.

“Deeper, Charles, take it all,” he urged, his voice rough. Charles obeyed, relaxing his throat to accommodate James’s length, the wet, slick sounds of his mouth filling the air. Each thrust was met with a moan from Charles, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through James. Charles hummed in response, the sound reverberating around James’s cock, driving him closer to the edge.

The king’s tongue worked expertly, swirling along the underside of James’s shaft, then flicking against the head with every pull. James’s body tensed, his cock swelling in Charles’s mouth.

“I’m close,” he warned, but Charles only doubled his efforts, his hands gripping James’s thighs as he took him deeper, his throat constricting around James’s length. With a final thrust, James came, his body shaking as he spilled into Charles’s mouth, the king swallowing every drop with practiced ease.

Their moment was shattered by the snap of a twig. James turned, heart racing, to see Sir Timothy Laurence standing there, his expression a mix of shock and envy. His 8-inch uncut cock stirring beneath his green zip-up jacket with a brown collar, white checkered collared shirt, gray trousers, and brown dress boots. Charles, ever composed, stood, adjusting his coat.

“Ah, well, that was a bit of a misstep on my part, wasn’t it? James, would you be so kind as to manage the situation? I trust your discretion,” he said calmly, before continuing his walk back to the castle, leaving James to handle Timothy. James, still catching his breath, noticed the bulge in Timothy’s trousers and saw an opportunity.

“Sorry you had to witness that, Sir Laurence, but His Majesty has his moments of need,” James said smoothly, his tone diplomatic. “I hope we can count on your discretion.”

Timothy’s face flushed, and he nodded, his thoughts clearly racing. An awkward silence stretched between them before James stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“We all have needs, don’t we? Do you have needs, Sir Laurence?” He took another step, backing Timothy against a nearby tree. “Does the princess take care of yours?”

Timothy froze, his lower lip quivering as if words were trying to form, but James’s presence overwhelmed him. James fixed the collar of Timothy’s shirt, looking into his brown eyes.

“Does she suck your cock every night and morning? Does she make you feel good?” he whispered, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t think so.” Smirking, James placed a hand on his chest, kneeling before Timothy. “May I?” he asked, licking his lips.

Timothy, his lips still trembling, nodded. “Yes… please,” he managed, his voice barely a whisper. James’s hands deftly unzipped Timothy’s trousers, revealing his 8-inch uncut cock, veiny and hard.

“You’re impressive, Sir Laurence,” James murmured, his breath hot against Timothy’s skin as he licked from the base to the tip, savoring the musky scent. Timothy shuddered, moaning softly. James slipped his lips over the head, swirling his tongue around the foreskin, teasing it back to expose the sensitive tip. James took Timothy deeper, his mouth stretching to accommodate the girth. He bobbed his head slowly at first, letting his tongue trace every vein, the wet heat of his mouth drawing gasps from Timothy.

"You like that, don’t you?” James asked, pulling back to flick his tongue against the slit, lapping up a bead of pre-cum.

“Yes… don’t stop,” Timothy pleaded, his voice hoarse, his hands hesitantly resting on James’s shoulders. James hummed, the vibration sending a jolt through Timothy as he took him deeper, his throat relaxing to take more. The slick sounds of James’s mouth filled the air, his lips gliding up and down, his tongue working the underside with every pull. James' blue eyes locking onto Timothy’s glazed-over gaze, knowing he had him completely under his control. Timothy’s hands hesitated before gripping James’s shoulders, then his dark hair as his moans grew louder.

“God, you’re… incredible,” Timothy groaned, his hips bucking slightly. “I… I can’t hold on.”

James wanted it all—wanted Timothy’s release, his satisfaction as he sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing, his tongue swirling relentlessly. With one final, deep pull, Timothy’s cock slipped from James’s mouth, and he came, his cum spraying across James’s face as James jerked him off, milking every drop. James felt the warm release seep down his face, opening his eyes to watch Timothy’s cock go limp as the older man panted, exhausted.

“You’re a good man, Sir Laurence,” James said, standing and wiping his face with a smirk, secure in Timothy’s silence. He left the clearing, leaving Timothy to compose himself, the encounter a secret sealed in the Highlands.

#Husband of The Princess Royal #fan fiction #royalty #royalty fan fiction #the house of windsor series #king charles iii #king charles #timothy laurence #sir timothy laurence

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sixpennydame · 2 years ago

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Sailor Bestie ♥️

How are you? I hope everything's fine for you!

I missed your *Smut Dialogue Prompts* post yesterday but maybe it's not too late? If it's still ok, how about Reader saying "you taste so good" (16) to Levi?

Because we all know what is the better angle to look at him, right?😈

Lots & lots of love & hugs ♥️♥️

Hi Bestie! It's never too late - I'm always happy to write for you. <3

I hope you'll enjoy this "angle" of Levi, hehe.

Forbidden Fruit

16. You taste so good.

Levi x Fem!Reader

C/W: oral (m receiving), nsfw, minors do not interact

Your father had warned you about Levi Ackerman, the man he'd recently hired to help him with his orchard during the summer harvest season. He'd seen how you both looked at each other, eyes resting on each other just a little longer than he deemed appropriate.

"He's just a seasonal worker, darling, a brat from who-knows-where. You stay away from him," he commanded at dinner one evening.

But you couldn't resist the way Levi's blue-grey eyes followed you as you walked through the orchard, or how his hand would graze yours when you offered him a drink in the hot sun. He often preferred to be alone in his off-time, but always seemed to be around when there was a chance you'd show up.

Your father would be irate if he knew that Levi Ackerman was kissing you under a big oak tree in a far and isolated corner of the orchard, his tongue licking up the juices of a peach you had just eaten, the liquid running down your neck and chest. It wasn't the first time you two had met in this place, each time exploring each other's bodies a little bit more; hands moving under shirts, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears.

You wanted more. Needed more.

This time, your hands wander down his chest to the waistband of his pants. You play with the button the move down the zipper slowly.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks with a smirk, then pulls you further behind the tree.

"I want to taste you," you respond, pulling his pants down slightly and touching the bulge in his underwear. You fall on your knees in front of him as you pull down his boxers, his dick springing out.

He bends over slightly and lifts up your chin. "You dirty girl. What am I going to do with you?"

You look up at the ravenette, his eyes full of yearning and expectation, and lick his cock from base to tip. He hisses, then his hand rests delicately on top of your head as you take him fully in your mouth. You bob up and down and he moans; what starts as low growls are now almost whimpers as you continue to suck on his beautiful cock.

His hips start bucking against you and his hand weaves into your hair.

"So good...I can't...I just..." his hand tightens in your hair and his voice shakes as he groans. "I'm sorry...but you can take it, right?"

"Mmmhmmm," you reply, and the vibrations of sound elicit another moan from him. He's rougher now, his cock hitting the back of your throat, causing tears to form in the corners of your eyes. You look up at him, doe-eyed, his own eyes feral and intense, until he finally closes them and bites his bottom lip.

You feel his warm cum fill up your mouth - a salty, sweet taste you've never experienced before. As he pulls his cock out of your swollen lips, you wipe the corner of your mouth.

"Levi...you taste so good..."

--//--

I've recently added drabbles as a choice on my Taglist!

@mrsackermannx @notsaelty

#levi x reader #Smut Scribbles #sailor's smut scribbles #levi ackerman smut #n.sfw #sailor's secret bookshelf

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professionalsillygirl · 3 months ago

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Writepril3 - Day 0

Once more, gifted loop around the sun, and once more, time spinning a wheel inside my head, and once more, some invisible hand pulls one more invisible thread and here I land again, the spring with all her mists and flowers like some holy showgirl, mother nature's concubine, April once again.

Three years ago, this practice begun, irreverently dubbed "Writepril" by Ava and I, sat cheeky and youthful and life-drunk in a cafe in some other space and time. To return to this feels religious, to water some budding tradition, to give time and space and oxygen to something that didn't know it ever meant to take root.

To speak with any rhythm is almost sacrilege. The practice serves me well and has served us in years past; a small commitment to some larger thing, a daily promise to write and place a small tile in an invisible mosaic, a promise to a future you who will return in springtime with new lines, new prose, new wrinkles, and reflect.

In all truth, this practice, in the many forms that it has taken over the years (see: its ugly cousins, Writevember on spacehey, and on substack, Rawgust) has always rewarded me in ways that I cannot anticipate, but always meet with openness. Though I've never sustained it for longer than a month, it seems that a ritual of daily writing, especially shared within a group, creates some kind of magic thread, and a portal within time that seems to vibrate, isolated, in experience and retrospect.

I tend to struggle with writing in rhythm and flowery language, something I've teased at abandoning with years of getting-too-close-to-the tongue in my writing, thrilling myself with sudden breaks in keeping it real. I love this practice because it shakes and loosens me up in this way, most of these 30 days, I can't commit to writing something on purpose. Most of these 30 days, I write irreverent, I write sloppy, I write like a heart: not like a glowing metaphysical chest-centre but like an organ, functional, practical, ugly and soft.

So, if this is your first time, thank you for taking this step with me. Welcome to Writepril; the only rule is to write and publish something, anything, every day of April. (If you miss a day, you must write two separate entries the following day.)

Follow inspiration when it knocks, RESIST the urge to edit or censor or refine or perfect, remember the clause of confidentiality between just us; the writepril-ers, the self-identified writers and shy-to-identify alike, it is always the intention that here we should share informally, authentically, ugly and cringey and honest. Sometimes this is a journal entry, sometimes prose, sometimes a grocery list, sometimes a stream of consciousness, often just a mundane couple sentences, often nonsense.

Expect this from yourself, from us, commit only to making and sharing. We are not here to write something good, we are not here to write something at all, we are just here to write.

Parttaking in Writepril this year are:

Ava, Colleen, Gabrielle, Oliver, and (Potentially) Maeve. Welcome and thank you, I hope you all enjoy this experience, grow closer to yourselves and maybe one another, and, ideally, stoke a creative fire to last long after the spring turns hot.

I'm so sincerely excited and honoured to be sharing this with you all, and so looking forward to engaging with and reading all of your entries, bit by bit by bit, on our own timelines, as the month tumbles on.

The gate opens today.

Welcome to Writepril (entrance only for the ugly-duck hearts)!

FREEEEKING LOVE YOU GUYS!!!!!! :D

Yours truly,

Professional Sillygirl

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ventureswifey · 1 year ago

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Venture x Fem Reader.

Forbidden love. - 5k words.

You were a medic that works for Talon, you are often isolated from other soldiers due to the fact the only reason you stay is because you're tied down with a contract. You had been sent on a mission with five other Talon members to retrieve several abandoned artifacts from a forgotten cave system. Although Talon did not frequently send you on expeditions they had granted access due to the fact they cleared the area prior to the mission. Your medical skills within Talon were too significant, they could not afford to lose you as a soldier.

As your crew walks through the tunnels of saturated stone the air grows thick, you begin to choke you as if you were forcing it to allow you to breathe. Your violent sudden coughs make the individuals around you flinch, tensing up with each cough. The closest crew member covered your mouth with their gloved hand, their eyes glaring at your frightened face. Your coughing dies down, slowly fizzing into silence. Your ally removes their hand carefully as if you were to scream with any sudden movements.

After a few hours of aimlessly wandering and searching, your crew leader decides you all should investigate deeper into the ruins. You hesitated. This area hadn't been cleared of danger and enemies. You begin to protest, grabbing the higher ups hand, forcing their stiff body to turn around. “This has not been cleared yet, sir. Do you not think we should wait until it has been?” You muttered, fumbling over your words as if it was a word search. The leader scoffed right into your face, your slight amount of confidence was drained dry.

They roughly yank you down into the narrow tunnel, rocks and dirt kicking around as you stumble forward. Your paranoia poisons the rest of the crew as you all walk slowly through the hallways of endless rock. You eventually come to a stop, you begin to feel heavy vibrations through your feet traveling to your legs. Your crew glance at each other, questioning if the others felt it too. How do you know which card to play when you don't know which game you're playing?

The ground shakes violently, your crew huddling together as an attempt to stand your ground. Soon enough a drill from underneath the solid rock emerges still spinning with energy. While you back away hesitantly, your team shuffles towards it. They glance into the hole created from the drill, it begins to push out entirely from the ground. They draw their guns, aiming defensively towards it. Suddenly, a person springs out of the ground gripping onto the drill, their ear to ear grin lighting up the room. Your crew stands tall, pointing their weapons at them.

Your curiosity bleeds through your skin, your body dripping in attentiveness. You scramble to find your weapon, turning around in circles patting yourself down, stumbling in the process. You finally grab a hold of your pistol, aiming it at them too, the person smirks while locking eyes with you. The silence is a contagious gas and they are immune, “So, what are we doing here guys?” They question playfully while staring at the golden artifact in your crew leader's hand.

One of your team members holds their gun steadily, about to shoot. The mysterious person notices and sprints off to the side of them. They grab his arm and yank him towards the ground. Your ally falls, yelping in pain as the person finishes him off, the sound coming from your teammate haunts you as it echoes in your mind. The individual stands tall, one foot placed on top of your teammate as if taunting their victory. You rush over towards your fallen ally despite your crew's cries. You latch onto the person's body and pull them towards you, desperately trying to patch them up.

As you're focusing on your lifeless crewmate, you begin to dissociate from your surroundings only focusing on the horrifying sound your ally had made. As your vision tunnels, you hear faint screams, loud sounds varying between gunshots and bangs echoing through your ringing ears. As your mind clouds you hear a specific sound that had frightened you from the start of this mission, rocks cracking. You frantically looked around without moving your ally, your eyes scanning every part of the cave system.

Your eyes darted around the cavern urgently, searching for the source of the unsettling noise. The sound of rocks cracking sent chills down your spine, the realization setting a knot in your stomach. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes scanned the dimly lit cavern frantically. You held your breath, trying to remain perfectly still even as the sound seemed to echo throughout the cavern, taunting the silence.

Suddenly, a deafening crack echoed through the cave, the sound of rocks giving way above you. Your blood ran cold as you realized what was happening. The ceiling gave way, and an avalanche of rocks and boulders came crashing down upon you and your ally. The weight of the falling debris bore down upon you, pinning you and trapping you. The pain was unbearable, and just as you thought it couldn't get any worse, a particularly heavy rock crashed down, hitting you in the head and sending you into a deep unconsciousness. Your world darkened, and you slipped into the comforting embrace of unknowingness.

You were abruptly pulled from the comfort of unconsciousness as the mysterious enemy roughly removed the heavy stones from your body, their hands roughly yanking you out from under the debris. Despite the pain searing through your body, you struggled to stay awake, your vision blurry and your consciousness slowly flickering. As your vision begins to focus you glance down, noticing the extent of your injuries. They wrap bandages tightly around your body, stained with blood that has seeped through the fabric.

Their hands moving with a practiced haste. Their brow was furrowed deeply, their eyes scanning over your injuries, a tinge of fear seeping into their expression. As they worked, you could sense the tension between them, their movements becoming more and more agitated with each passing moment. Their hands trembled slightly as they carefully applied the bandages, the quiet of the tent seeming to amplify the anxiety that hung in the air.

Though the pain was still present, the initial shock of the situation began to subside as your senses returned. As you struggled to make sense of the situation, your eyes darted back and forth, taking in your surroundings. The person who had been fighting on the opposing team was now the one tending to your wounds, their face contorted with a mixture of worry and anxiety. You felt a wave of confusion and disbelief wash over you - how had you ended up here, with the enemy showing such concern for your wellbeing?

As you stared up at the unexpected enemy turned medic, a mix of emotions swirled within you. There was the lingering pain from your injuries, mixed with a sense of confusion and bewilderment over their sudden concern. But amidst it all, there was a growing feeling that caught you off guard - a strange attraction to this person you had once considered an adversary.

Despite the strange circumstances, you found yourself studying their features more closely, taking in the gentle furrow of their brow and the way their eyes seemed to dart between your wounds and your face. The person carefully continued placing the bandage around your wound, their touch surprisingly gentle compared to the fierce individual you had known before. As they finished, they stepped back a bit, their eyes fixed on you, waiting for a response.

"How are you feeling now?" Their voice carried a note of genuine concern, their previous animosity seemingly forgotten in the face of your injury. You blinked, still trying to process everything that had happened. The shock and pain had left you feeling dazed, and the unexpected care from your former enemy only added to your confusion. "I..." Your voice was shaky as you searched for the right words. "I'm okay, I think. Just a bit sore."

Despite your confusion, you couldn't help but notice the worry in their eyes, and a part of you couldn't help but feel strangely touched by their concern. As you watched the enemy tend to your wounds, a bitter thought crossed your mind. Your own team has always treated you with hostility and disdain, forcing you to do things against your will. They never appreciated your abilities or acknowledged your worth, leaving you feeling like an outsider.

A sense of resentment towards your own team began to grow within you, mingling with the already complex emotions you were feeling. As you snapped back to reality, the danger of the situation became clear. You were still wounded and vulnerable, and this person could easily overpower you if they wanted. With a start, you tried to stand up and make a hasty exit, but your injuries slowed you down, and you stumbled, clinging onto the cave wall for support.

Panic surged through your body as you realized you had been letting your guard down, and now you were stuck in a dangerous position with no immediate escape. A worried look crossed the face of the enemy as you stumbled, their instincts kicking in to catch you before you fell. But you panicked, shoving them away, desperate to escape the dangerous situation you found yourself in.

The enemy-turned-medic staggered back for a moment, their eyes widening with surprise and concern as they watched you try to flee. "Wait," they called out, their voice filled with worry. "You're still hurt, you can't run like this!" As you stumbled away, trying to gain some distance from the person, a wave of dizziness overcame you, and you suddenly felt lightheaded. The pain from your wounds and the emotional turmoil of the situation combined to send a wave of weakness coursing through your body.

Gasping, you leaned against the cave wall, struggling to stay upright as the world started to spin around you. The individual looked concerned, taking a few steps forward towards you. Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you mustered a fierce yell, your voice echoing through the dimly lit cave. "Stay back!" Your body trembled with the effort of speaking, every word feeling like a struggle.

The enemy froze in their tracks, surprise crossing their face as they heard the desperation in your voice. They stood a few steps away, their head tilting slightly as they observed your struggle. The combined effects of your injuries, the emotional turmoil, and the exertion of yelling began to take a toll on your body. You felt the world around you spin, your vision growing fuzzy around the edges as you leaned heavily on the cave wall.

With a final gasp, you lost your balance, collapsing against the rocky wall as the darkness swallowed you, unconsciousness claiming you.

As you slowly regained consciousness, you found yourself lying in a cozy bedroom. The scent of old books and ancient fossils mingled in the air, and the walls were adorned with various artifacts and trinkets. Soft light trickled in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

As your eyes flickered open, you saw the person sitting nearby, watching over you with a mixture of concern and relief on their face. Despite the lingering pain in your body, you struggled to push yourself up against the wall, desperately attempting to put some distance between you and the enemy. You couldn't shake the instinctual fear that gripped you, feeling vulnerable and exposed in their presence.

They notice your attempts to move away and frown, a look of concern and hurt crossing their face. "Calm down," they said gently. "You're safe here." Your voice rose with anger and frustration, fueled by the pain, fear, and loss you had just endured. You glared at them, your eyes filled with a mixture of anger and pain. "You killed my entire team! How can I possibly feel safe with you after that?"

The person flinches at your words, their eyes widening with guilt and remorse which quickly turns to a sour expression. They quickly turned serious as they explained the situation. "Your team," they said, their voice heavy with disappointment, "is trying to steal artifacts and sell them on the black market. This behavior is disrespectful to the artifacts' cultural and historical value, and it has to stop."

They went on to describe how your team had raided numerous archaeological excavations, causing irreparable damage to archaeological sites in pursuit of profit. The individual's tone was filled with disappointment and frustration. You listened intently as the enemy-turned-medic explained, and a realization began to dawn upon you. The pieces started to come together, and you finally understood why your team had been so secretive about their true motives.

"Wait," you said, your voice tinged with shock and anger, "My team never told me this. I believed we were there to protect those artifacts, not to steal them..." They noticed your growing anger and disbelief, and a small flicker of understanding crossed their face. They explained further, elaborating on your team's methods and the damage they had caused to archaeological sites and cultural heritage.

"Your team has been pillaging and looting ancient sites," they said, their voice filled with disgust. "They aren't interested in preserving history or protecting artifacts; they only see them as valuable commodities to make money." You felt a wave of panic wash over you at the revelation of your team's true motives. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your breath came in quick gasps. They took a moment to reassure you.

"Breathe. You're going to be alright." Their voice was firm yet comforting as they noticed your distress. "How about this, what’s your name?" "Y/N," You say in a panicked tone. “Y/N, beautiful name. My name is Sloan Cameron.” Sloan repeated your name gently, committing it to memory. They offered a small, comforting smile, hoping to ease your panic.

"Listen," they said seriously, their tone softening a bit. "I know this is a lot to take in, and you have every right to be upset. But right now, the important thing is for you to rest and recover." You nodded slightly, Sloan responded with another nod, noticing your agreement and the exhaustion evident in your actions. They got up from their seat and approached the bedside. "Here, let me help you get more comfortable," they said gently.

With careful hands, Sloan helped you move to a more comfortable position, adjusting the pillows and blankets around you to ensure you were comfortable and supported. "There you go," they said softly, watching you settle into the bed. "Just focus on resting now." As Sloan adjusted the pillows and blankets around you, their gentle touch and caring demeanor put you at ease. A small blush began creeping up your cheeks, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your stomach at their closeness. Your breath hitched slightly. You found yourself suddenly hyper-aware of their every move, the sound of their breathing, and the scent of their cologne. Your heart raced a little faster than usual, and your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue.

You tried to distract yourself by focusing on your injuries, feeling the dull ache in your body as a way to anchor yourself to reality. However, it only helped to remind you of how close Sloan was, and the conflicting emotions swirled within you.

“Thank you," you murmured, your voice soft and slightly flustered. You tried to brush off the feeling, attributing it to the whirlwind of emotions you had experienced. But deep down, you couldn't deny the strange sensation stirring within you.

Sloan couldn't help but notice the way you were responding to their presence. Your slight blush and the change in your breathing didn't go unnoticed by them. As they leaned over you, adjusting the pillows, they could sense the conflicting emotions and tension in the air.

Their eyes darted to your flushed cheeks and the way your breath hitched ever so slightly. Some part of them wanted to reach out and touch your face, to offer comfort and reassurance, but they held back, unsure if it would be welcome. At that moment, Sloan felt conflicted. They continued to adjust the pillows and blankets, trying to maintain a professional bedside manner while keeping a respectful distance from you. But their eyes betrayed their emotions, filled with a mix of concern and longing. As Sloan adjusted the pillows and blankets, their hand brushed against yours, and an electric shock seemed to ripple through the air. They hesitated for a moment, their fingers grazing against yours, and then, driven by a momentary burst of courage, they gently took your hand in their own.

The skin-to-skin contact sent tingles shooting up both your arms, and a strange mixture of apprehension and exhilaration settled over you. Your eyes widened slightly as you felt the sudden touch of Sloan's hand on yours. A sharp inhale of breath escaped your lips, and your body tensed involuntarily. Your fingers twitch involuntarily, your heart racing in your chest.

Sloan's gaze darkened slightly as they noticed your reaction. They could feel the tension in your muscles, the flicker of panic in your eyes, and they quickly pulled their hand back, silently scolding themselves for their impulsive action. As Sloan pulled back their hand, the immediate shock of their touch receded, and you found yourself suddenly missing the warmth of their hand against yours. The regret of your initial reaction washed over you, and you fumbled to apologize.

"I...I'm sorry," you stammered, your voice small and filled with embarrassment. "I don't know why I reacted like that. I think I'm just a bit on edge from everything that happened." Sloan nodded as a way of accepting your apology. Sloan begins to stand up as they assume you need space. As Sloan stood to leave, you impulsively reached out and grabbed their arm, your grip weak but determined. "Please," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Don't go."

Sloan froze at your touch, a flicker of surprise in their eyes. They looked at you for a moment, torn between giving you space and staying with you. Eventually, their concern and care won out, and they nodded silently, sitting back down by your side. As Sloan sat back down next to you, their emotions were a tangled mess. Concern, care, desire, and apprehension swirled together, leaving them uncertain of what to do next. Their heart raced in their chest as they looked at you, observing the way your hands trembled slightly and the vulnerability in your eyes.

Feeling the lingering tension in the room, Sloan attempted to break the silence by delving into their realm of expertise – ancient artifacts. They rambled on about the ones they had discovered, their significance, and the thrill of the hunt. As they spoke, their passion and curiosity about the artifacts was evident. They went on about the mysteries surrounding each piece, the legends and stories associated with them, and the importance of preserving these relics from the past.

Sloan's enthusiasm and passion for the artifacts were contagious, and you found yourself smiling involuntarily as you listened to them speak. There was something endearing about their animated gestures and the way their eyes lit up as they talked about their discoveries. As they described the historical significance of the artifacts and the efforts to preserve them, you felt a renewed sense of respect and admiration for Sloan.

Caught up in the moment, Sloan suddenly realizes they've been rambling on for quite a while. Feeling slightly embarrassed, they let out an awkward chuckle and rub the back of their neck. "Ah...I may have gotten carried away there," they said with a sheepish smile. "I guess I just get a bit excited talking about this stuff." Sloan pauses for a moment, hoping they haven't bored you with their enthusiasm.

As Sloan checked the time and noticed how late it was, they realized you must have been exhausted after the day's events. They suggested you get some rest, mentioning the late hour – it was already past midnight. With a nod, you agreed, feeling the fatigue catch up with you. Meanwhile, Sloan curled up on the couch nearby, a few steps away from your bed. Exhaustion tugged at their own eyes, but their concern for you kept them awake for a few minutes longer, watching over you until they too succumbed to sleep.

As you woke up an hour later, the pain in your body rousing you from your slumber. You were incredibly thirsty so you decided to grab a glass of water. As you stumbled into the kitchen, trying to move quietly to avoid disturbing Sloan, you weren't even aware that they had followed you. You were surprised to hear footsteps behind you. You turned to find Sloan entering the kitchen, their eyes filled with concern. Before you could utter a word, Sloan's arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close in a tender embrace. Their half-asleep state prevented them from fully processing their actions, but the unconscious gesture spoke volumes about their instinctual desire to provide comfort and protection. As Sloan's arms encircled your waist, a flicker of surprise crossed your features, mingled with a sense of solace. The warmth of their body against your back brought a sense of security and comfort, dulling the pain in your body.

Sloan pressed their forehead gently against your shoulder, their breath warm against your skin. There was a sense of intimacy in their touch, a quiet moment neither of you were fully conscious enough to acknowledge. As your awareness fully returned, the weight of Sloan's arms around you became more pronounced. Your heart quickened slightly, and a gentle shiver ran down your spine as their presence pressed closely against you. You felt both soothed and confused, the comforting embrace clashing with the uneasiness you felt towards this person who was once an enemy, or was your team the enemy? A myriad of emotions swirled within you, and you leaned back into their embrace, conflicted yet craving the warmth they offered.

Sloan's voice, husky with sleep, jolted you out of your thoughts. "What are you doing up?" they murmured, their arms still wrapped protectively around your waist. Curiosity tinged their tone, mixed with a hint of genuine concern. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "I just needed some water," you replied softly. "The pain woke me up." Sloan's arms tightened around your waist for a brief moment, offering silent reassurance. They understood the pain you were enduring. "I see," they murmured, their voice filled with understanding.

"You should be resting. Is there anything else you need?" their tone gentle, yet laced with concern. Their grip on you remained firm, as if they weren't ready to let go just yet. Sloan's grip on you tightened further, their body molding against yours in an attempt to provide support and comfort. "I'm worried about you," they confessed softly, their voice tinged with concern.

"You've been through a lot, and your body needs rest to heal. If there's anything I can get for you, anything at all, just let me know." Their words carried a sincere desire to aid and protect you, the vulnerability in their tone hinting at the depth of their care. As Sloan's arms enveloped you, you found yourself puzzled by the affectionate gesture from someone who was initially considered an enemy. Feeling a little flustered, you turned slightly in their arms and asked, "Why are you suddenly being so...affectionate toward me?”

Sloan was surprised by your question, their arms loosening slightly. "Affectionate?" they echoed, a hint of confusion in their voice. "I...I suppose I just want to ensure your comfort and safety. That's all." You felt a mix of gratitude and relief as Sloan explained their actions, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice tinged with appreciation. "I...I appreciate your concern and care."

As you spoke, Sloan's grip on you tightened briefly, a silent affirmation of their commitment to your well-being. They held you for a moment longer before gently pulling away, their touch lingering on your skin. Sloan reluctantly released their embrace, their arms untangling from around your waist. They glanced at you with a concerned look and spoke softly, "You should go back to bed. Rest is essential for your recovery."

Their voice was firm yet gentle, urging you to prioritize your health and healing. They understood the importance of rest after the physical strain you had endured. “Well to get to bed I do need to be able to walk without a little someone hanging onto me.” You chuckle lightly. There was a hint of amusement in Sloan's voice as they responded to your comment. "Well, if you're going to sleep, I do need to step back, yes," they replied softly.

Reluctantly, they loosened their grasp on you gradually, allowing a little distance to form between you. The warmth of their embrace faded, but their watchful gaze remained, ensuring your comfort. As Sloan gently drew back, their grip on you loosened, allowing you to stand on your own but keeping a supportive hand on your arm as they guided you back to the bed. With each step, they matched your pace, offering a steadying presence.

Upon reaching the bed, they helped you carefully under the covers, ensuring you were comfortable and supported. Their touch was tender and cautious, careful not to cause any further discomfort to your injuries. As Sloan prepared to make their way back to the couch, you reached out and gently grasped their arm, a silent plea for them to stay. "Wait," you murmured, your voice tinged with weariness and a hint of vulnerability.

Sloan halted immediately, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and concern. They seemed to understand the silent request in your eyes – you didn't want to be alone in your vulnerable state. Seeing your exhaustion and the vulnerability in your eyes, Sloan hesitated for a brief moment, their resolve wavering. They knew the importance of your rest, yet the sight of you seeking their presence tugged at their emotions.

With a soft sigh, Sloan nodded, their voice filled with a gentle understanding. "All right," they replied softly. "I'll stay. But only if you promise to rest." As you nodded, a wave of reassurance washed over you. Sloan's presence would provide a sense of security and comfort during the night, easing your anxieties about resting. Sloan gently settled into the bed, ensuring that they maintained a respectful distance, yet close enough to provide a calming presence. The room fell silent, the only sound being the gentle rhythm of their breath syncing with yours.

As the silence settled over the room, Sloan, driven by an unspoken desire, slowly inched closer, their arm reaching out to pull you closer to their body. They wanted to bridge the distance between you, filling the space with their presence and warmth. You felt the movement, the sudden distance between you two caused your breath to hitch. Sloan's touch was gentle and unassuming, a comforting gesture that allowed you to bask in their closeness. Your bodies inched even closer together, the distance between you diminishing. Sloan's arm, now firmly wrapped around your waist, provided a sense of security and warmth. You could feel the rise and fall of their chest against yours, a soothing rhythm that lulled you into a state of relaxation. Sloan's breath fanned gently against your skin, their presence tangible and comforting. Every breath they took seemed to be in sync with yours, filling the air with a shared harmony.

As you laid your head in the crook of Sloan's neck, you found solace in the warmth and comfort it provided. Their scent, subtle yet unmistakably theirs, surrounded you, a soothing reminder of their presence. Sloan's arm tightened ever so slightly around your body, their hand gently tracing small patterns on your back, further enveloping you in a cocoon of security and reassurance. Sloan's hand gently cupped your face, tilting it slightly upward. Their gaze met yours, their eyes filled with longing and affection. A moment of silence hung in the air, the world seeming to pause as their lips gently brushed against yours in a tender kiss. The softness of their touch sent a flutter of butterflies through your stomach, the connection between you deepening in that simple gesture of affection. It was a small act, yet its significance resonated profoundly within the depths of your soul.

As you gently pulled away from Sloan's embrace, you couldn't help but notice the dirt still on their cheek from the earlier fight. With a stifled chuckle, you pointed it out with a lighthearted comment. “You know," you remarked with a wry grin, "you still have a little bit of dirt on your face." Your fingers traced the edge of the smudge, teasing them gently. Sloan's eyes gleamed with amusement as you mentioned the remaining dirt on their face. They playfully pretended to look offended before turning it into a mischievous flirtation.

"Oh, is that so?" they teased, their voice dripping with mock indignation. "Maybe I left it there on purpose as a memento of our fight. Does it make me look tougher?" Their tone was laced with affection and a hint of challenge. “Yeah it does.” You smile reassuringly. Sloan's lips curved into a warm smile as you played along, acknowledging the charm in their rugged look. "Well then," they replied softly, their voice filled with genuine affection, "I suppose I should keep it there."

The atmosphere between the two of you grew warmer, the banter and the gentle back and forth creating a sense of closeness and connection. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, sharing this intimate moment in the quiet darkness of the room.

REQUEST PAGE IS UP!

#venture x reader #venture ow2 #ow2 #overwatch #x reader #enemies to lovers #fanfiction

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easyflexnoida · 2 years ago

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#Spring Vibration Isolators #Vibration Isolation #Vibration Isolation Pads

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noiseproblemsonline · 4 months ago

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The Acoustic and Artistic World of Fibreglass Ceiling Tiles

In any room, the ceiling is the biggest decorative space available. There is so much that can be done from plastering to dropping to tiling. Though the reasons can be either decorative or functional or both, the option of tiles is varied and vast.

From plastic ones to wooden ceiling panels, Fibreglass ceiling tiles are lightweight construction materials that enhance the aesthetics and acoustics of a commercial, industrial or private space.

Different types of fibreglass ceiling tiles

Ceiling tiles are available in acoustical, cork, tin and plastic. The acoustical fibreglass ceiling tiles are installed using a drop technique. They are hung by metal straps which can be seen or not. The panels and Wood sound diffuser should be fixed by a professional to ensure their insulating properties will be kept intact.

Usage of ceiling tiles

Drop ceilings are suspended by metal grids that are filled by lightweight tiles. The ceiling panels and the Spring isolator are made of metal, fibreglass, cork, plastic and are used basically in offices, schools, and retail stores. Decorative tin ceiling tiles are attached directly to the ceiling and are available in standard size. Wooden ceiling panels are available in planks that are either suspended by a grid system or directly attached to the ceiling.

The Vibration control panels are used not only on the ceiling but on the walls also. O’Neill Engineered Systems has the solutions and they will be able to guide in the installation of both types of panels. Depending on the amount of sound control necessary, you can select from acoustic panels to perforated timber panels that are covered with fabric. The finish type of the panels, the density of the acoustic insulation and also the surface area that is necessary to be covered are points to consider while selecting a panel.

#Fibreglass ceiling tiles #Wood sound diffuser #Spring isolator #Vibration control

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sephirthoughts · 1 year ago

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Vincent Got a Phone Ch. 4

YES I'M STILL WRITING THIS IT BRINGS ME JOY

Vincent got a phone and then Aerith adopted him as her friend, and all kinds of other shit started happening and he's very tired.

ships: valenwind, background sefikura, background aerti

rating: not explicit yet but it will be

Chapter 4: Vincent is Quite Literally a Boomer

“Vincent! Come on!” Aerith said, banging on his hotel room door. “You’ve been in there for three days, you can’t keep hiding forever!”

Her phone vibrated just then, and she paused her onslaught to dig it out of her skirt pocket.

VValentine: i am not hiding.

VValentine: now please stop shouting and go away, before anyone realizes i’m in here.

✿FlowerGal✿: no way! i’m not going anywhere! in fact i’m gonna yell even louder!

“Vin! Cent! Let! Me! In!” she bellowed, punctuating each word with a heavy thump on the door. “Vincent! Valentine! Let! Me—”

Her phone vibrated again.

VValentine: you said you wanted me to come out. if you wanted to come in, you should have clarified. the door is not locked

✿FlowerGal✿: …

After putting her phone away and taking some deep, meditative breaths, to prevent herself committing an act of violence, Aerith opened the door and entered Vincent’s room.

The rooms at this hotel were all different, so it wasn’t much like her own, which had more of a country-cottage aesthetic. This one was like an old library, with dark wood paneling and a well-worn leather easy chair, as well as a shelf of old books, and a small, ornate table with a reading lamp.

The large bed was of the antique, four-poster variety, with a burgundy damask comforter. It was a very lovely piece of furniture. The problem was that it was immaculately made, like it had never been touched, and Vincent was nowhere in sight.

“Um…Vincent? Where are you?” Aerith said, as the door swung closed behind her, with an ominous creaking sound.

The curtains were drawn, so the room fell into pitch darkness, till she flipped the light switch, and the incongruently modern overhead lights lit the place up like midday. She heard a muffled groan, from somewhere near her feet.

“Too bright!” Vincent’s voice complained. “Turn it back off!”

“Oh, there you are!” she laughed. Getting down on her stomach, she lay on the floor, facing the bed. Vincent was lying underneath, with his arms crossed sullenly on his chest. “Your room is really great. Love the vampire ambience.”

“Cid chose it for me, when he assigned the rooms.”

“He did well. It’s perfect for you. So…you want to tell me what you’re doing playing monster under the bed?”

“I am not playing. This is where I sleep,” Vincent glowered. “I’m also avoiding human contact, and you know that. Why do you persist in coming here?”

Aerith reached under the bed and poked his arm. “We’re friends, Vincent. This is what friends do for each other. When they see a friend who’s depressed and isolating, they pester them until they feel better.”

“Cid hasn’t come to pester me,” Vincent muttered, scowling up into the box-spring.

“He might be avoiding you, because he thinks seeing him would make you uncomfortable, right now. Didn’t he act super weird about it, that night?”

“No,” Vincent sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “He’s not the one who was weird. I’m the one who was weird and ruined everything. He had every right to be upset.”

“Ok, Vincent, you’re an old man, so you probably don’t know these things, but you shouldn’t equate your queerness with weirdness. ‘Queer’ and ‘weird’ are not the same thing.”

“‘Queer’ and ‘weird’ are synonyms, Aerith,” Vincent replied patiently. “They are quite literally the same thing.”

“Not anymore, they’re not. I mean, the dictionary definition didn’t change, but queer is way more commonly used to mean gay, now.”

Vincent looked at her like she was deranged. “Gay means cheerful. Are you flashlighting me?”

“Am I what? Oh—gaslighting! No, I’m not gaslighting you. Terms evolve to mean different things, all the time. I’m just trying to tell you not to equate your homosexuality with weirdness.”

“Homosexuality?” Vincent said, taken aback. “But I’m not homosexual. Or, what did you say young people call it, now? Cheerful?”

“Gay. And queer. Queer is more of an umbrella, though.”

Vincent was utterly bewildered. “Umbrellas are gay?”

“Yep. But, why do you say you’re not gay? Are you uncomfortable with the label?”

“I say it because I’m not. I have been seriously attached to one person, before Cid. She was a woman.”

“Oh, got it. You’re bisexual.”

“I don’t know what bisexual means.”

“It means you’re equally attracted to people who present as male and people who present as female. You’ve been into one woman and one man. Fifty-fifty is about as clearly bisexual as it gets.”

“I suppose I am bisexual, then,” Vincent replied dourly. “I wish it sounded less vulgar. I think I prefer queer.”

“Whatever makes you most comfortable. Anyway, what I’ve been trying to say is, you’re not weird for being queer. If Mr. Highwind can’t accept you the way you are, then he doesn’t deserve your friendship, in the first place.”

Vincent sighed heavily. “He didn’t say he couldn’t, he just said he needed time. For which I don’t fault him. It must be startling to have a trusted friend, who he thought he knew well, suddenly announce that they feel entirely differently about the friendship than he does.”

“Mm, maybe,” Aerith said, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “I just can’t figure it out, though. My detection system has never been wrong, before. I would swear on a stack of yaoi that Mr. Highwind was under the umbrella.”

“You think Cid seems gay?” Vincent frowned. “He’s so rugged and masculine, though.”

Aerith groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Ugh, Vincent, can you try not to be from the 1950s for like, one second?”

“No, I cant. That is when I was born.”

“I didn’t mean literally, I meant don’t perpetuate outdated stereotypes, like equating queerness with levels of perceived masculinity. Lesbians aren’t manly, and gays aren’t feminine. Unless they are. In which case, it’s because that’s how they are as individuals, and not because they’re queer.”

“I don’t think of lesbians as manly,” Vincent said, indignantly. “You’re not manly, at all. You’re the most feminine young lady I know.”

Aerith stared at him, wide-eyed, with her mouth hanging open. “You…how did you know I’m—”

“Twelve days ago, when I confronted you in the area between the hotel buildings, you said, and I quote, ‘Even if I swung that way, you’re like a million years too old for me, yuck.’ And then you stuck out your tongue, as if the idea disgusted you.”

“Whoa. I can’t believe you both noticed and remembered that.”

“I have a near-perfect memory. But even if I hadn’t noticed that statement, your very obvious feelings for Ms. Lockhart would have alerted me.”

Aerith stared at him, wide-eyed, with her mouth hanging open, part II. “It’s not…that obvious. Is it?”

“It is to me, but I can hear your heartbeat and sense fluctuations in your hormones. I don’t think most humans can do that.”

“Well, congratulations, you’re the first person I’m out to,” she laughed. “But don’t tell anyone else, ok? I’m not out to the group.”

“Out?”

“Good lord, grampa. I’m gonna get the sisters to whip you up a queer dictionary. It’ll make everything easier. ‘Out’ means having your sexuality known by other people. Though, it’s a bullshit concept, since it implies an assumed heterosexual baseline, that you have to ‘come out’ as not fitting into.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why should anyone assume anything about another person’s sexuality, one way or another? Are people these days so sorely in need of something to occupy their time?”

“Tch. You’re preachin’ to the choir, old man. But I didn’t come here to get you square on the queer lingo. I came to drag you out of your lair into the living world. Cloud wants everyone to meet at the hotel restaurant for dinner, and I think you should come. Cid will be there. It’ll be a good opportunity to test the waters between you, in a casual setting, with other friends as a buffer.”

“I don’t think—”

“Come onnnnnnn. Solidarity, Vincent. If worse comes to worst, at least we can be two sad queers with unrequited crushes, together.”

“That doesn’t sound—”

“Before you decide, be aware that if you don’t come to dinner with me, I will be staying here with you. And singing the entire score of Loveless.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes. “There is no way you know every song from Loveless.”

Aerith narrowed hers back. “Try me.”

Thirty seconds later, the two were stepping out of Vincent’s room, into the balmy, early-evening breeze. At that same moment, Cid also happened to be exiting his room, which was directly across the walk from Vincent’s.

“Evening, Mr. Highwind!” Aerith said cheerfully, not giving him a chance to pretend he hadn’t seen them, which it very much appeared he’d intended to do. “Looks like we’re all headed to dinner. Let’s walk together.”

“Uh. Ha. Evenin’ Ms. Aerith. Evenin’ Vinnie,” Cid said awkwardly, not making eye-contact with either of them. “Sure, I’ll walk with y’all. If ya don’t mind a third wheel.”

“Not at all!” she chirped. “More the merrier.”

The three walked on, Aerith making breezy chit-chat to her stiffly silent companions, for about thirty steps, before she saw Tifa and Yuffie, who’d just come from their own rooms.

“Ti-chan! Yuff! Wait up!” she called out, waving to her friends. “You fellas can keep each other company, right? I’m gonna walk with the ladies.”

With that, Cid and Vincent were left to themselves.

“She’s, uh…energetic,” Cid attempted, casting about for a topic of conversation.

“Yes, very much so,” Vincent answered obliviously.

“Kind of a handful, huh?”

Vincent scowled behind his collar. “You don’t know the half of it. She barged into my room, a little while ago, lectured me for being an old man, and threatened to sing the entire score of Loveless to me, unless I accompanied her to dinner.”

“Hoo boy,” Cid whistled. “There ain’t gonna be any winnin’ with a woman like that. I’ll tell ya from experience, Shera and me got along lots better once I learned to just say yes ma’am and do as I’m told. We’re just roommates, but I figure it’s the same kinda thing with…uh. What d’ya call her, anyway?”

“I call her Aerith. She gave me permission to be less formal, since we’re friends.”

Cid’s eyebrows went up. “Friends? She ok with you sayin’ she’s a friend, still?”

“Why should she not be?” Vincent asked, a bit more defensively than he intended. “Do you think she should be ashamed of me?”

“Ashamed? What the hell you talkin’ about?”

“You know what I mean. Because I—I’m under the…umbrella,” Vincent explained fumblingly, in his agitation. “There’s a…weird umbrella. No. Queer. A queer umbrella.”

“Oh shit, Vinnie, are you havin’ a stroke?” Cid said, stopping him and grabbing his shoulders, to peer concernedly up into his eyes. “What year is it? What’s your full name and birth date?”

“I am not having a stroke,” Vincent said, shying away from the sudden touch. “I was only trying to explain that no one should be ashamed to be my friend, because of the way I am. It is not weird to be queer.”

Cid squinted. “Ain’t those synonyms?”

“Apparently not. At least, not the way young people use them, now.”

“Hm. Only other way I heard people use queer is for LGBTQ stuff.”

“I have no idea what that acronym means,” Vincent said dejectedly.

“Least, I thought that was how people use it,” Cid said to himself, scratching his chin. “Maybe I ain’t in the know, anymore.”

Before he could consider the matter any further, Vincent clenched his fists and blurted out what was on his mind. “Cid, are we really still friends? Or have I ruined things between us?”

“What? Well…of course we’re friends, Vinnie,” Cid said, clearing his throat against a slight waver in his voice. “Uh. So. About that. Sorry I acted like a jackass, the other night. I just never expected to hear ya say somethin’ like that. I guess I never thought of ya as a romantic type. And, to be frank, ya don’t seem like the kinda guy who’d go for…y’know. Someone so much younger.”

Vincent’s face fell. “Oh. You object to the age difference. I hadn’t considered that. I…I understand.”

“Not the age difference, per se. It’s just, when one of ya’s been around and seen some shit, and the other one’s barely outta the nest, there’s uh…an imbalance. Y’know?”

“Barely out of the nest? At what age did you leave home?”

“What, me? What’s that gotta do with anything?”

They had arrived at the hotel restaurant at that point, however, and couldn’t discuss it any further. During the seating shuffle, Aerith was trying to maneuver Vincent and Cid into seats beside one another, and unbeknownst to her, the others were trying to put her and Vincent together.

Vincent became the unwitting tuber in this game of social hot-potato, and wound up in the uncomfortable position of sitting between his two friends, rather than on the end, as he preferred. Tifa sat across from Aerith, with Yuffie in the middle, and Cloud across from Cid. The table was meant to accommodate eight, so there were two empty chairs on the end.

After drinks were ordered, the conversation became general. Cid anxiously downed an old fashioned and was already halfway into a second, before the appetizers even arrived. Vincent’s red wine stood untouched, however, as he had crossed his arms and promptly fallen asleep, as soon as the party were seated.

Cid thought it was strange that he wouldn’t be paying more attention to his girl, but she didn’t seem the least bit concerned with Vincent, either, and was intently focused on her friend across the table. It was like her and Vinnie weren’t even together, Cid thought, as he sucked down the remnants of his third drink and signalled the waitress to bring another.

He usually enjoyed all the lively banter between the young people in their group, but the mood was off today. Everyone seemed kind of tense and on edge, like they were expecting something to happen. Especially Cloud, who was usually so flat in affect, he could be taken for a cardboard standee.

Or maybe it was just Cid’s imagination. It was taking every bit of his energy to put on a cheerful and supportive face for Vincent and his young lady, and he wasn’t even doing a great job. But how could he be expected to, after he’d been bulldozed by his revelation, the other night?

He’d called Shera in a near panic, about it, at which she’d laughed for far longer than he thought was strictly necessary, and then said she was glad he finally figured it out. She didn’t have any advice regarding what to do, however, except to commiserate about it being really unfortunate that his first gay crush was on a bisexual guy who already had a girlfriend.

Then there was a whole back and forth where Cid asked why she thought Vinnie was bisexual, not straight, at which she’d laughed even harder, and called her girlfriend over so she could laugh, too. Damned women and their already knowing everything, Cid groused internally, as the waitress delivered his fourth drink. He was getting tipsy at this point, though, so he slowed down and nursed the beverage, while he tuned in to the conversation.

“People can’t control who they love, but if it’s someone they know is bad for them, or might even wind up hurting them, they should come clean to their friends and ask for support,” Tifa was expounding, in response to something someone had said. “I, for one, would be really hurt if a close friend didn’t trust me enough to talk to me about those things.”

“But maybe it’s not about trust,” Aerith put forth. “Maybe it’s just a really complicated situation, and that person isn’t ready to be outed to their friends yet.”

“I guess anything’s possible,” Tifa replied, looking unconvinced. “I’m just saying I think people should rely on their support systems, more. And by that same token, if their support system sees them doing something incredibly stupid, they have a responsibility to say something.”

“And I think everyone should respect each other’s privacy, especially about relationships, until they’re ready to talk about it, in their own way and their own time,” Aerith contended.

Cloud nodded vigorously, at his end of the table.

“Yeah but, if they’re going to be super obvious about it,” Yuffie interposed, “like basically eye-fucking every time they’re in the same room, not to mention running off to be alone together, all the time, they’re kind of making it everyone else’s business.”

“What do you mean, eye-fucking?” Cloud wanted to know. “Intense eye contact can mean all sorts of things. Especially in combat situations.”

Aerith ignored him and leaned around the unconscious Vincent, to look at Cid, who was sucking disconsolately at his drink, through the teeny cocktail straw. “What do you think, Mr. Highwind?”

“Hm? Ya wanna know what I think?” he said, slurring his words a bit. “Well, gather round, cause the old man is gonna tell you kids the way it is. It’s like this. People’s gonna follow their hearts, whether you like it or not. Best ya can do is respect your friends’ choices and not interfere in their shit, where you’re clearly not wanted. Even if they were your best friend, and it hurt that they didn’t come to you with it sooner, cause ya just want ‘em to be happy, no matter what, even if it means ya can’t be their most important person anymore, and you’ll probably die alone in a ditch somewhere.”

There was a beat of baffled silence.

“Well, you won’t die alone, though. Right, Cid?” Tifa asked. “Isn’t Shera your girlfriend?”

Cid choked on his beverage and actually spit some out. “M—my what? Hell no, she ain’t! Can’t a man and woman be friends and work together and live in the same house without people makin’ wild assumptions? Damn!”

“Once again, I awaken to Cid spitting all over me,” Vincent sighed, dabbing his cloak with a napkin.

“Sorry, Cid, yeesh,” Tifa laughed. “I didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“I ain’t offended, but I’ll tell ya what. Don’t ever let her hear ya say it, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

Yuffie blinked around at the group, none of whom had reacted to Vincent’s statement. “We’re all just going to move past that?”

Cloud looked at his phone and immediately hopped up from his seat. “Sorry, guys. Excuse me, for a minute.”

“Cloud, damn it! Not this again!” Tifa called after him. “You invited us to dinner, you have to actually eat dinner with us!”

“I’ll be right back. I just have to…go to the bathroom,” he said, as he walked briskly away.

“The bathroom is the opposite direction,” Yuffie said, squinting suspiciously. “What is he up to?”

“Morning, Vincent,” Aerith said sunnily, to the yawning vampire. “Cid ordered you a basket of breadsticks, but I ate most of them, while you were asleep. Also, I drank your wine.”

“You’re welcome to it,” Vincent replied, unconcerned. “I don’t think the wine here is all that good.”

“S—Sephiroth!” Yuffie shouted suddenly, giving everyone a jolt. “Cloud, look out! Sephiroth is right behind you!”

“Wait, wait! Everyone calm down!” Cloud pleaded, holding up his hands, as his friends leapt to their feet and summoned their weapons. “He’s not here to fight! I asked him to come!”

This elicited stunned silence from the group, in which the sound of Cerberus’ hammer clicking back rang out very clearly, followed by Vincent’s deep voice.

“Care to elaborate?”

the author has something to SEPHIROTH JUMPSCARE

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37q · 3 months ago

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last night at like 2am i went to the bathroom to ensure that my water chugging + small bladder + water chugging didnt wake me up later in the night.

it was perfectly still and deathly quiet in the whole neighborhood, not a peep from any of our communal "outdoor" cats and their strange nightly squawks in the rewilded plots meant for bushes at the front and side of our house. once were more stable in life we plan on getting a native habitat permit so we can grow "weeds", but in the meantime we like to see how full the ivy and wildflowers and shrubs can get before they realize the only space left to grow is our facade and old cables that seemingly go nowhere.

we have an end unit rowhome, so were graced with 270° of sunlight, street lights peaking through our bedroom blinds at night from all directions, and adorably advantageous extra space for songbirds and doves to roost and hold congress. we have a white mulberry tree in our own side yard, and split by a T between 3 backyard fence lines is another tree, or maybe multiple trees. they both* just barely touch our facade with no inclination that theyll grow into it, so we get to experience the simple pleasures of life flourishing under the habitat and with the food they provide.

our neighbors across our two adjacent side-yards, the ones we share that tree* with in the next end unit over, are together? but i see them come out of different next-door homes... kai tells me theyre both two doors down, they just help out the resident of the end unit with yard work and facility management stuff due to his age, disability, and isolation. theyre very courteous, and the lady is a little nosy but she does so much amazing work maintaining our stretch of the neighborhood. bless her. bless him too! but bless her especially.

our neighbor, the one we share a wall with, is a quiet guy, maybe single but not afraid to have guests. only time ive heard from him was spring cleaning last year when he told me he focused best when he could feel the vibrations of his music. also very kind and courteous. the other night his car door was open, but we thought he was just in the middle of transferring stuff from his car to his house until the next morning when it was still open... oopsie.

anyways, there i was pissing. dead silent. sheer bliss. but i hear something, familiar but distant. the only sounds in our house were the standing fan running and the crickets and frogs playing from my phone in our bedroom, but theyre both behind two closed doors. baby vibrates but not that heavy...

was it in the walls? maybe the plumming? but it had a vibrational ring to it, more like it was reverberating inside something. sort of hollow, like someone was filling up their water bottle.

but i had a lightbulb moment. this was a bonding experience! what joy! i was pissing together with my neighbor! i wish we couldve held hands. god damn he mustve felt the relief of a lifetime. and, final thoughts, men piss weird.

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autoacafiles · 1 year ago

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Obscure Lifeforms of the Greater Galaxy

Kitspeedune

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Foxtrot"

Kitspeedune possess the ability to move at lightning fast speeds, coming close to rivaling that of the Citrakayah. High speeds like this generate excess heat, which the Kitspeedune vents out through a pair of "exhaust spikes" on each leg. In addition, instead of perspiration, Kitspeedune can store excess water in sacs within their palms and fire blasts of water through pores in the tips of the index fingers.

Pistrisperfodioid

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Sandshark"

Pistrisperfodioids possess an incredible digging ability, being able to chew through most forms of rock and sediment. When underground, they are able to move at incredible speed, faster than most motor vehicles. In addition, Pistrisfodioids are able to sense even the most minute vibrations in order to navigate while underground.

Flosmanducar

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Plantapocalypse"

Flosmanducar are a species from an unknown planet that takes up residence in an isolated area, mostly lifeless preferably, physically consumes a huge amount of matter to make themselves bigger and more imposing, and then departs after a period of time, with large amounts of plantlife springing up soon after. It's believed that they're a terraforming mechanism from some unknown party that went rogue.

Vypirion

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "MantiPython"

Vypirion are a snake-like species capable of wrapping themselves around their opponents and crushing the life out of them. Indeed, their arms evolved from ancestral display flaps and thus are boneless, allowing them to bend every which way. In last-ditch efforts they can even projectile-spit a toxic liquid from their fangs, though this takes a lot of metabolic energy to produce and can leave them vulnerable.

Dynasti

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Launcher Horn"

A formidable species, the Dynasti are incredibly strong, being able to rival that of a juvenille Tetramand's. The Dynasti's main feature is their horn that, when at full speed, can punch through solid concrete walls or generate an energy blast. Dynasti also possess a powerful crushing jaw. However, they lack the digestion system to be able to consume non-organic objects such as metal or rock, though it is believed to have inspired the creation of the Oryctini.

Lucanidi

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Smashgrab"

The Lucanidi's main feet is their incredible crushing pincers. With these pincers, Lucanidi can crush solid metal with ease. In addition, Lucanidi possess a degree of enhanced strength, and can scale vertical surfaces at ease.

Satiri

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Scramble Bug"

While not adept fighters, Satiri are probably the strongest species native on Coleop Terra, being able to lift masses hundreds of times their own wait. In addition, Satiri are able to scale vertical surfaces and ceilings with ease, and have a perfect sense of balance.

Metaloceras

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Ironbrow"

Metaloceras possess metal infused bones and cranium, making them immune to internal injury due to blunt force trauma and highly durable. Due to the metal on their head, when at their top speed a Metaloceras can charge straight through even solid metal or rock.

Quartzicule

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Sandbox"

Native to a number of desert planets in the Andromeda Galaxy including Terraexcava . Quartzicules are a hive mind of sentient grains. Thanks to this, Quartzicules can shapeshift into various shapes by reorganizing their grains. In addition, Quartzicules can absorb more grains from around them in order to increase their size and mass, and even regenerate missing body parts.

Solar Manzardill

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Volcanamander"

Due to being native to the boiling hot hemisphere of X'Nelli, Solar Manzardills are able to spew flames from their mouth. In addition, they can consume rock matter, melt them in their mouths, then spit them back as molten magma.

Terra Manzardill

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "Chasmodo"

While they lack their Polar and Solar counterparts elemental abilities, Terra Manzardills are shown to be excellent excavators, able to burrow with ease. In a more recent evolutionary trait, it's be noted that more and more Terra Manzardill have been displaying a clubbed tail for offense, with the club taking on a variety of shapes.

Formixa

Pictured - Prototype Omnitrix Transformation "TerrAnt"

Formixa are giant insects with internal lungs, capable of digging through the soil and establishing massive tunnel systems. They also possess a strong affinity for mechanical problem solving, though calling this technological intelligence is a bit of a stretch. They can set up an electrical grid, but if you asked them how the hell a power grid would work, they'd be a little confusing in the explanation. Each individual functions both as themselves and as synapses for a larger hivemind accessed through psionic means, and thus work better in large groups. These usually congregate around oversized "hivequeens", though these act less like leaders and more like large cell towers with a centralized server.

#Autobot Academy #Ben 10

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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year ago

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YOTP - April

I've only realised now that this has never been posted! I am so sorry! I am really not super good at keeping track of these things.

Pairing: Caranthir x Finrod

Prompts: pranks, canon divergence, (seemingly) unrequited love, "No, I am not dating your brother", peace, university

Words: 2 205

Warnings: sadness, insecurity, misunderstanding

Caranthir frowned.

His brothers would have qualified his present mood as cantankerous—he would have called it the “status quo”.

As such minor inconsistencies in vocabulary did nothing to dispel the storm clouds sitting heavily on his fair brow, though, he put the thought from his mind and returned his focus to the vexing problem at hand.

Before him, in the middle of his perfectly orderly desk, flanked by neatly arranged stacks of notes and copies, lay a garish flyer, announcing the upcoming spring ball organised by and held at his university.

Usually, Caranthir managed to avoid this kind of overly dramatized, idiotic social gathering, but a strange sense of unease and helpless frustration had kept him from simply throwing away the crumpled piece of paper.

He wanted to go.

Of course, he would rather have bitten off his own tongue than admitted as much to anyone alive, but a part of him was sick and tired of being perpetually alone—undeniably unloved and universally unwelcome.

Nonsense, he chided himself sternly. It would only exacerbate his reputation as an unpleasant curmudgeon and his subsequent misery if he were to turn up alone and uninvited to a party where everyone else was making out in deserted classrooms and unsanitary lavatories.

“Good grief!” he exclaimed softly and pushed the flyer under a stack of homework—he was already late for his afternoon classes, and he’d rather not lose any more time just moping around.

The first thing he saw upon stalking into the much too brightly lit foyer of the university was his brother, winsome as ever, and his mood soured even further.

Leaning suavely against a very old, very valuable pillar, Maglor was entirely caught up in a hushed conversation and thus didn’t notice his younger brother sweeping past dramatically.

Caranthir’s heart sank—for a fleeting moment, he had considered approaching Finrod to find out whether he had any intention of attending the laughable circus that was upon them.

He knew for a fact that his co-student—ridiculously radiant and blindingly handsome—was not entirely averse to mopey, overly serious, and unbearably stiff specimens of his own gender; after all, he had dated Turgon, the only man who could compete with Caranthir’s glowering looks and hostile demeanour, for a while.

Considering how bright-eyed Finrod now looked, though, as he hung on Maglor’s full, sensual lips pointed to another conclusion: the cheery, popular, charming object of all Caranthir’s repressed desires had surely grown tired of men of his calibre. It made sense—unfortunately, that sober realisation did nothing to alleviate the painful twinge in Caranthir’s heart despite the quick onset of gruesome rationalisation and well-rehearsed self-denial.

Huffing an unnerved sigh, he hastened up the winding steps and slammed down his supplies on an old, worn table, determined to lose himself in his statistics class. He’d think of that silly ball and his agonising loneliness no more.

As soon as the class was dismissed, Caranthir slipped into the comforting silence of the library so he could make sure that he’d not meet anyone else, crush or sibling, once he was ready to return to the self-imposed isolation of his childhood room.

There was much work to be done, and he prided himself on his irrefutable excellence. This, he knew he could not only do, but do well, and so he disappeared into theories and long lists in his sullen escape from the bleak reality of wanting.

Every so often, his phone vibrated in his pocket, but Caranthir didn’t feel like reading the updates in the family groupchat, undoubtedly pertaining to the exciting plans of his various brothers to which he was never invited anyway.

The sun had gone down and the world seemed to have been dipped into translucent black ink by the time he re-emerged from his frenzied study session, and Caranthir dragged himself to his locker reluctantly.

A pounding headache was taking root behind his bleary eyes, and it took him a moment to realise that the flash of white he’d only vaguely registered upon tugging at the rusted metal door was a note addressed to none other than himself.

With trembling fingers, he unfolded the missive and gasped. It was an invitation to the very party he’d refused to obsess about all day long, and it was unsigned.

Caranthir was known for having no patience for this kind of childish game, but—as nobody but the mysterious sender—knew about this, he didn’t have to pretend that he was utterly untouched by the instinctive excitement such a communication would have incited in any living soul.

Nevertheless, before his fancy could absolutely get the better of him, he shoved the precious paper under a stack of hefty tomes and went to bed without expecting to find much sleep with the way his heart was pounding, and his mind was racing.

“Lame,” Beren commented as he folded a half-torn flyer into a paper aeroplane and sent it sailing across the spotty lawn. “How about you come with me and Lúthien instead? She’s had a rad plan for…”

“Something illegal?” Finrod interrupted pointedly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be your get-away driver this time—I’ve been recruited by another mischievous rogue for his morally questionable scheme.”

“Oh? Tell me all about it,” Beren exclaimed, suddenly no longer fashionably bored by the mundane and yet deeply moving intrigues of the small university his friend attended. “I truly hope there is a handsome someone involved…”

“Several,” Finrod purred.

“Not your stuffy ex, though?”

Shaking his golden head, Finrod leaned back on his elbows and stared at the sky wistfully—he had no doubt that, once he’d explained the whole ploy to Beren—he’d be mocked cruelly for his fatal weakness when it came to overly serious, lethally handsome men with dark hair and flashing eyes.

“Your stuffy crush, then? A bird has told me that you were seen in an intimate conference with Maglor,” Beren—who somehow always managed to stumble upon the most extraordinary bits of information—drawled provocatively.

“If you know everything already, there’s no point in testing my patience!”

At once, the shaggy-haired youngster lifted his hands—palms outward—in a gesture of apology and goodwill. “No need to be so touchy! My source, of course, misunderstood and speculated that you might go to the ball with the pretty singer. That doesn’t sound right to me, does it? Tell me then, what is going on?”

“He’s asked me whether I’d consider inviting his brother to the party,” Finrod replied anticlimactically. “And I’ve agreed.”

“So, it’s some elaborate hoax?” Beren cocked one eyebrow in unashamed scepticism. “You know that you’re allowed to disagree with people, right? You may say that their idea, at the root, is not a bad one, but also express your uneasiness when it comes to their way of going about things. This sounds like one of those stories that get you into serious trouble only because you were too kind to share your doubts.”

He took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth downturned expressively still, and then shrugged lopsidedly. “So, did you ask the brother out?”

“I’ve sent him an anonymous letter,” Finrod confessed—he’d just been all but explicitly called a coward, which took the wind out of his sails regarding his big reveal.

“Sounds more and more like a prank,” Beren groaned. “You bloody fool. What’s his name again? Cat something?”

“Caranthir,” Finrod sighed longingly. “’Moryo’ to his brothers, hitherto ‘unobtainable’ to me…”

Nodding seriously, Beren pondered the matter for a while. “Say,” he then piped up, startling Finrod out of his own longing thoughts, “how will he let you know whether he accepts or rejects your invitation?”

“I thought that I’d wait for him in the foyer, flowers and all, a banner maybe…” Finrod admitted sheepishly.

As expected, Beren was highly in favour of that ploy, and, strangely enough, his very enthusiasm—earnest and exuberant—gave Finrod pause. He knew that this friend would have broken into the darkest, dankest dungeon or wrestled a wild beast for his girlfriend, but Lúthien was a woman who expected and enjoyed ridiculously grand gestures—Finrod was almost certain that Caranthir was not.

“Wish me luck, man,” he muttered as he changed his mind and cut his timeline in half. “I’ve got to run!”

He’d pick his secret date up at home, he decided, so as to give Caranthir a chance to let him down discreetly without anyone but his brothers witnessing the embarrassing scene. It was a sacrifice, and it left Finrod very little time to make all the purchases he’d planned, but he was now sure that this was the right way to go about his own grandiose gesture.

Caranthir paced across his room nervously; he felt foolish for having gotten ready for a party he might very well not attend after all.

Fingon had arrived 20 minutes earlier and was presently regaling his parents with funny stories while Maedhros was trying desperately to keep from blushing every five seconds—Caranthir hated them, and he loathed his father’s throaty, echoing laughter booming through the whole house.

Celegorm and Curufin had also already left; as always, they had “things to do” before even considering going to the ball, and everybody only half-expected them to make an appearance.

The twins had gone to the cinema with friends, and Maglor was sitting on the stairs, yowling to himself.

Drowning in an ocean of sound and life, Caranthir felt profoundly lonely.

And then, the doorbell rang.

At once, he threw his door open and hastened out onto the landing only to hear Maglor’s pleasant voice. “Ah, finally. I’ve been awaiting you.”

Of course, Caranthir thought bitterly. His brother had secured a date with the most beautiful, eligible bachelor on campus, a fact he’d banished into the remotest corners of his usually meticulously rational mind.

Now, though, the envy and jealousy almost made him black out with impuissant rage—here he stood, in a suit he’d stolen from Maglor’s wardrobe and embroidered in long hours of painstaking labour, to be the only one left behind, again.

Not that anyone would notice, he thought miserably; everyone was so enthralled by their own pleasure and delight that nobody would even remember that he, sullen and unloved, was still puttering around in his room.

“Good evening, Maglor,” Finrod’s chiming voice resounded, followed by a suspicious pause. “Will those do?”

“Carnations,” the gracious host cooed in his most detestable singsong tone. “How adorable!”

Caranthir was already halfway back in his room when he heard his name being called, no yelled, up the stairs for Maglor’s voice carried far and wide, and nobody could outrun it.

“Moryo, for Eru’s sake, tell me you’re ready! Nelyo said you were good to go half an hour ago…”

Leaping down the stairs two by two, Caranthir came to a slithering halt—wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked—in the brightly lit entrance, only nearly missing a stunningly handsome Finrod who was kneading a bouquet of bright red flowers in his slender hands.

“I wasn’t sure you’d accept my invitation,” the latest arrival said carefully. “So I thought I’d give you a chance to politely decline without witnesses present.”

“Ooops, that’s my cue,” Maglor laughed and moonwalked into the living room and out of sight.

“I…But…I thought you were taking out my brother,” Caranthir stammered, his eyes darting between Finrod’s luminous face and Maglor’s retreating frame. “Aren’t you dating?”

Throwing his head back, Finrod gave a merry peel of laughter. “No, silly, I’m not dating your brother. Maglor, as ever fond of dramatics, has graciously agreed to be my confidant in this.”

Caranthir gave a strangled hum of doubt and insecurity, dreading the imminent and inevitable arrival of the others on the scene, laughing at how gullible he was, to share a ride or just to distract their father so someone could steal some liquor from his private cabinet, and rubbed his thumbs bemusedly against his other fingers in a desperate attempt to soothe the contradictory impulses and desires raging within his chest.

“Please, say something,” Finrod pleaded. “I realise now that it was cowardly not to ask you in person, but—after Turgon—I wasn’t feeling quite brave enough to stomach another rejection…”

“Rejection,” Caranthir jeered feebly. “Of course, I wouldn’t have declined. I’m not doing so now—I just need a moment.”

“Certainly,” Finrod said fervently, extending his battered bouquet jerkily as if he’d forgotten that it was there. “Here, these are for you. They compliment your charming complexion.”

“Charming complexion,” Caranthir muttered mockingly. “Sure thing, my man.”

“You’re lovely—you must know that!” Heartened by the quasi-acceptance he’d been granted against all odds, Finrod quickly grew bolder and grabbed one of Caranthir’s pale, trembling hands. “I will make it up to you; I promise. Please say you’ll be my date for tonight!”

“Very well! As you can see, I’m already dressed. Let’s go before Maglor wants us to go over in a big cluster of noise and strangely clad limbs…lest you’d prefer going with my brothers?”

“They’re of no consequence,” Finrod assured him. “Let me walk you to your carriage then.”

And, extending his arm gallantly, he promptly abducted Caranthir from his parental home unnoticed.

How did those two become one of my OTPs? Nobody knows (well one person certainly does)!

Anyway, thanks for indulging me!

-> Masterlist

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