i’ve got some news for those of you that’ve been asking for any of the following: another squa imagine, a hailey imagine, and/or squa living in the same apartment complex a lá friends™. @somedayimagines and i will be collaborating on a 6-part mini fic involving just those things !! another mini fic based on the infamous bizzle years that i’m still bitter i wasn’t around for will also be coming soon, but it won’t be a collab. one of those will be posted sometime this week, so keep a look out !!
Honestly so many people are giving Chris Martin shit for being the headliner but not really commanding attention at the super bowl. But honestly I think all three artists worked so flawlessy together??? Like it was great
<p><b>me:</b> *watching love stage.*<p/><b>chris:</b> i love love stage...<p/><b>chris:</b> junjou romantica is good too.<p/><b>me:</b> junjou romantica?<p/><b>me:</b> i'm not watching that gay-ass anime.<p/><b>chris:</b> YOU'RE WATCHING LOVE STAGE!<p/><b>me:</b> so...?<p/></p>
“Kind of, yeah,” Chris says meekly. It doesn’t help how the doctor’s kitchen looked like it was full of loot- food, that is. “Can ya make meatballs with people meat? I wanna see how ya make ‘em. I grew up eatin’ spaghetti an’ meatballs, ya know. My pops always made it on Fridays,” he grins.
Send me a ( ˘ ³˘)♥ for my muses reaction to your muse randomly kissing them —
At first, Jake is gob-smacked. Fish-mouthing for a good few seconds–and Chris looks a little apprehensive, too, now, maybe thinking he fucked up, even with fingers digging into Jake’s arms (not on purpose, but there’s tension in the air now, and both are on the edge of freaking out)–then Jake splutters into giggles, burying his head in his hands.
“Ohhhh my Godddd, you coulda just said, Chris.” Still all giggly and not meeting his eye. But warm and giddy and bubbly in the stomach.
the man chris was feeling too good he couldnt wait to get out of those tight briefs. Kaa tells him to sssstrip out of them. “yessir” said Chris as the musk and flour manstank aired out of the dirty cloth. The jungle heat and hypnosis were too much for the speedos to handle, one more burst of excitement and they would have ripped anyway
it’s not the first time chris wonders, halfway into a shared bottle of jeremiah cragg, whether this is a good idea.
as a general rule, he knows booze and meds tend not to mix well. he doesn’t know the ins and outs of how much is too much. most of all, josh is a good actor – a great one, and chris has always been all too ready to take the excuse. all in good fun. no need to be the wet blanket, here. he’s gonna be fine, right?
it’s obvious that his best friend isn’t feeling well now, slumped over the kitchen counter and eyes staring unfocused into the middle distance. the feeling creeps up on his muddled mind that maybe, just maybe, he’s been too dismissive about the issue, after all. that’s why, for once, he levels josh with the most discerning look he can muster ( which is not very. )
“ i think… you’ve probably had enough, dude. “
josh, while loopy, seems genuinely interested in what chris has to say – or that’s what it looks like before he lifts the glass to his mouth once more. chris is far from sober, himself, and what was supposed to be gently prying the drink from josh’s fingers results in a drunken struggle, a slur of ‘come on‘s and ‘no, man‘s, a back and forth of arguments and grappling hands –
something gives, and a particularly spirited tug sends the tumbler smashing against the edge of the table. chris’ reflexes, while poor at best, kick in now, of all times – of course they would. only to a drunk would this seem reasonable – gotta save the broken glass from dropping to the floor.
“ shit –! “
his hand clenches around one of the larger shards – it clatters to the floor when chris yanks his arm back and, with a sharp hiss, inspects the gash running across the ball of his hand. the bourbon that spilled across his palm and seeped into his jeans stings like hell.
well, at least josh has finally let go. that’s something, he thinks, irritation souring his mood. he’s not proud of himself for the pain- induced thought of ‘ i guessthat’s what you get for worrying ‘ that flits across his mind.