#the cat is a weird game piece i found??

[possumteeths]

i made this n i love it

[omedapixel]

MORE DEBUG OBJECTS

By poular demand, here are the rest of the prop and miscellaneous objects enabled for decorating! I don't have any pics right now, but the full list of objects is below the cut, and each package is merged by expansion pack.

As with my other debug objects, these can all be found under DEBUG > MISC. The catalog names are often something weird, because I haven't edited or added any strings.

These objects are technically not CC, it just allows you to access and decorate with objects that are already in game. Therefore you can uninstall these overrides, share worlds and lots using them, and they'll still remain wherever you've placed them.

Also, if you have a default replacement for any of these props, for example a plate default, then the object will also be updated to reflect that.

I highly reccomment using this in conjunction with my S3DT mod, since some of the objects are half sunk into the ground by default.

DOWNLOAD HERE

Object List Below

BASE GAME:

Guitar Case

Amplifier

Bottle Spigot (unused asset)

Child Ladle

Child Mixing Bowl

Cutting Board (slots do no work, unfortunately)

Fire Extinguisher

Fire Poker

Fire Lighter

Hammer

Bartending Bottle Prop

Ice Cream Cone

Microwave Meal

Paper Plate

Screwdiver

Sponge

Toilet Brush

Wedding Ring

Wrench

WORLD ADVENTURES:

Canteen

Chopsticks

Dig Site Brush

Flour Bag

Fortune Cookie

Map (looks like plain parchment)

Nectar Glass

Nectar Tray

Pamphlet

Pickaxe

Pungi (snake charming instrument)

AMBITIONS:

Chisel

Fire Axe

Blowtorch

Chainsaw

Detonator

Gnubb Bunny

Gnubb King

Junk Pipe Piece

Magnifying Glass

Notepad

Shovel

Tape Measure

Tattoo Gun

Triangle Ruler

Walkie Talkie

LATE NIGHT:

Drink Shaker

Drumstick

Party Glass

Round Party Glass

Bartending Bottle Prop

Juice Can

GENERATIONS:

Envelope

Love Letter Envelope

Cheap RAM Disk

Expensive RAM Disk

Beaker

Rolled Diploma

Flashlight

Game Controller

Greeting Card

Round Flask

Sparkling Juice (champagne)

PETS:

Hoofpick

Adult Pitchfork

Child Pitchfork

Plastic Pet Food Bowl

Cat Hunting Chip Bag

Cat Hunting Feather

Cat Hunting Leaf

Dog Treat

Foal Bottle

Horse Brush

Litter Scoop

Pet Brush

Stick (for playing fetch)

Freezer Bunny Ice Cream

Kitty Litter Pile

Rainbow Ice Cream

(forgot to do the chocolate ice cream, sorry!)

SHOWTIME:

CD Case

Record

Golf Ball

Juggling Pin

Microphone (grey)

Snack Bowl

Headphones

Golf Club Average

Golf Club Expert

Golf Club Old

Firefly Jar

FireflyJar Lid

Juggling Knife

Magician Sword

SUPERNATURAL:

Fly Swatter

White Glove

Bonehilda Key

Alchemy Bowl

Alchemy Package

Beehive Smoker

SEASONS:

Horseshoe

Child Rake

Adult Rake

Barista Bar Cup

Egg Hunt Basket

Trick or Treat Basket

Carving Knife

Fruit Punch

Hot Beverage Cup

Stack of Hot Dogs

Love Letter

Pie (from eating contest)

Snow Cone Syrup

Soccer Ball

Tissue

Spooky Day Candy

UNIVERSITY:

Clipboard

Red Juice Cup

Art Scanner

Bonfire Logs

Candy Bar

Cold One

College Letter

Energy Drink

Manilla Envelope

Macot Plushy

Ping Pong Ball

Ping Pong Paddle

Mistletoe (unused asset)

Protest Banners (3 versions)

Protest Flyer

Smartphone

Soda Can

Paint Sray Can

Suitcase

Whiteboard Eraser

Whiteboard Marker

ISLAND PARADISE:

Broom

Coconut Drink

Cold Beverage

Grim Reaper Trident

Pineapple Drink

Rescue Tube

Glass Bottle Pool Bar

Pool Bar Juice Can

INTO THE FUTURE:

Microphone (black)

OIl Puddle

Stardust

Paper Bag

[howlingday]

Hello Hollowing, my prompt is this: After team RWBY finds themselves in the Ever After, they are met by a small child happily waving and guiding them towards the Tree instead of a certain Cheshire cat. Soon they were guided to the tree, with a mansion carved within. With children that looked like recoloured versions of their guide happily waving toward RWBY. They meet Neo, and Jaune, the small older woman clealry pregnant, along with Mint, and Trivia, and a woman similar to neo called CC... basically I want Jaune to explain why he has a harem of Neos with constant flashbacks of each neo having babymaking sex with him. With CC requires everyone else to overcome her instability. Blame Fatally Obsessed. I do not know why I make statements instead of questions.

Ah, okay.

This is way less terrible than I thought it would be.

---------------------------------------------------

This world is weird. Like, super weird. No, but like, SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPER weird! Like, think of the weirdest thing you could think of, and it wouldn't be half as weird as what this was.

Okay, maybe not THAT weird, but it was weirder than Remnant, at least. Game pieces moved around, walking and talking like all the faunus and humans did back home. Not only that, but there were also talking animals, too! So yeah, this fairy tale world was weird.

But not as weird as what happened next.

"Hey! Over here!"

Team RWBY looked behind them and found a little girl waving at them. She had short, blonde hair, pale skin, and, as they got closer, blue eyes. Her dress was pink with a black sash wrapped around her belly.

"Um, hi?" Ruby awkwardly waved.

"Are you a Huntress?"

The question shocked the group. This was the first person they met in the Ever After, and she KNEW what a huntress is! Who was she?

"Um, ye-"

"Nilly!" A girl with long, brown hair ran up to the other girl and grabbed her wrist. Her dress was white with a pink sash wrapped around her belly, similar to the other girl. "We're not supposed to talk to strangers!"

"It's okay, Gats!" Nilly replied. "They don't look bad!"

"Don't you remember what Dad said?" Gats wagged her finger. "Looks can be decieving!"

"Um," Ruby stuttered, "we're not bad. Uh, y'know, if you wanted our opinion."

"She's right." Weiss added. "We're just trying to get to the tree."

"Oh! That's easy!" Nilly yanked her hand away. "Daddy can take you!"

"Daddy?" Yang asked.

"Mhm!" Nilly nodded. "Daddy is, like the best person to take you to the tree! He was up there before, y'know?"

"Nilly!" Gats chided. "They're bad guys!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh!"

As the girls bickered, Team RWBY gave each other glances. This was very uncomfortable.

"Were we..." Ruby looked to her sister. "This bad?"

"Eh...." Yang shrugged. "Kinda?"

"Well, none of my siblings were like this." Weiss said with an unamused look.

"Pretty sure you're not as close with your siblings as Ruby and Yang were." Blake added. "It kind of makes me wonder what it's like."

"It's not great."

Suddenly, in the center of Team RWBY, stood a small girl with pink hair done in a ponytail, wearing a black dress with a white sash. She was so quiet, none of them heard her! As she walked to the other girls, they noticed she had a pink tail sway from under her dress.

"Nilla. Gats." She addressed the girls. "Mother's waiting for us." At this, the two girls stopped bickering. The leader looked at Team RWBY. "You come, too."

The little girl in the pink dress then walked forward, followed closely by the other two. Following the trio was Team RWBY. From a distance, a pair of eyes watched the seven girls curiously.

---------------------------------------------------

Neo sipped her tea, enjoying the quiet of the house. Her girls were out playing while her husband had left to run errands. They would all return before supper, as they always did. She looked down, admiring the one change to her otherwise routine life she'd made in the Ever After.

Every morning, she woke up, had breakfast, woke up her daughters, and then spent the rest of the day planning dinner. Tonight's dinner would be stewed vegetables.

"Ugh... Couldn't we have something with more meat?"

Neo cast a glare at the whining voice. The voice belonged to another Neo, though the voice was not quite her own. Instead, an annoying creature had taken residence in her body, wearing it like a coat, doing with it as they pleased.

"Oh, don't give me that look." The being replied with a roll of their neon-blue eyes. "Even Trivia is sick and tired of it!"

The woman in question, hanging clothes to dry outside, flinched. She shivered as Neo quirked a brow at her former self. She hid herself behind a wet sheet.

"Ow!" Mint, a disguise of herself used to infiltrate Beacon during the Vytal Festival with Cinder, flicked the being in Neo's ear. "Oh, I was not being mean to her!"

Neo hefted herself to her feet, hands to her back for support. Soon, it would be her turn to bring life into this world. She couldn't help but wonder what her child would look like. What mother didn't?

"Oh, and before you set the table," the being said, "we're going to have guests tonight. Four of them."

Neo eyed the being, unsure of what they meant. For all their schemes and plots, the creature wasn't a liar and often made use of their ability to see and hear things outside their home. If there were guests coming to visit, then there would be guests coming to visit. Neo would need more vegetables, and hands to pick said vegetables.

"Speak of the Grimm, as you say."

Neo looked to the door, and a tiny knock came from the other side. She opened the door, finding eight familiar faces.

"Mother." Greeted Berry with stoicism.

"Mommy!" Squealed Vanilla joyfully.

"Mom?" Called Gateau in concern.

Neo glared past her daughters to the four huntresses behind them. They swiftly reached for their weapons.

"Neopolitan?!" Litte Red exclaimed in her surprise.

"Of course she'd be here!" The Ice Queen growled.

"Is she pregnant?" The Kitty Cat asked.

"Guess she found someone dumb enough to knock her up." The Blonde Bimbo rudely remarked.

"Now that's just rude." All eyes focused on the timbre voice in the distance. A figure in rusted armor dismounted a large jackalope, named Juniper, and removed his helmet. Beneath was a ruggedly handsome bearded face with tired, blue eyes. He gave a chuckle. "Rude girls don't get dessert."

[daffodildelight]

Enemies (Part One) | Shuntarō Chishiya x Reader

Title: Enemies (Part One) 

Pairing: Shuntarō Chishiya x fem!reader

Summary: You and Chishiya always had a rocky ‘friendship’ if you would even call it that. But feels get revealed under intense pressure

Themes/Warnings: fluff, guns, season 2 spoilers

Word count: 2500sh

A/N: So unedited, will deal with it later. First ever fanfic lol so please be nice, made this in under 3 hours.

You and Chishiya always had a rocky relationship, you had arrived at The Beach after him but slowly made your way up the ranks. Becoming semi-close friends with the Hatter can do that for you. Since you were making your way up the ranks you began getting close with all the high-ranking members, you got along with most of them except for Niragi and Chishiya. Niragi because he saw you as a piece of meat and you would do all your power to get away from him and Chishiya because in you’re eyes he sees you as a weak little girl.

But your relationship with Chishiya started to change leading up to the 10 of hearts games. He would start to act nicer towards you, making sure you had arrived from your game unscathed or even trying to make conversation with you. You had to admit, it was kind of nice. But you also found this rather confusing so you went to the one person who you could get answers from Hikari Kuina.

You found Kuina sitting in the main bar at the beach, wearing her signature blue bathing suit while chewing on her dummy cigarette. ‘’Now look what the cat dragged in, how are you doing (Y/N)’’ she looked genuine when she says this but you can see a little glint in her eye. ‘’I know you and Chishiya have gotten closer in the past few months and I was wondering if I could ask a question?’’ You tried to sound as neutral as possible but Kuina could always see right through you. ‘’Let me guess, it has to do with our mutual friend Chishiya?’’ she smirked, always right on target.

‘’Yeah, why has he been checking up on me lately? It’s getting kind of weird because it’s not in his personality. Is he trying to use my connection with Hatter to get something? I mean it’s the only logical reason’’ Kuina laughed at your comment. ‘’Only logical reason! I’ll tell you this right now but you can’t repeat this to anyone, he totally has the hots for you.’’ Now it’s you bursting into laughter. ‘’Very funny Kuina, tell me the real reason why.’’. Kuina looks stunned ‘’You know I would never lie to you (Y/N)’’. Giving up on your line of question you left with a ‘’yeah whatever.’’

A few days passed, and tensions are rising within The Beach, you can feel it. Ever since Aguni has taken over from the sidelines things are going from bad to worse. Chishiya seems more in his head than usual. You were hanging out in the bar when suddenly the P.A. went off. ‘’We would like to take this opportunity to sincerely thank you for staying at Seaside Paradise, Tokyo…’’ A man with a calming voice spoke on the P.A. Everyone at the bar looked around confused as were you, then the man continues ‘’As a token of our appreciation, we will now commence a game with all 59 participants in the venue…’’ All the TV’s around the room flash with one image which gains everyone's interest. The 10 of Hearts. The Beach is a venue and it’s a 10 of hearts game? You were not looking forward to this. ‘’All participants must assemble in the lobby immediately. The rules of the game will be explained.’’ There was a feeling in your stomach that this game was gonna cause massive problems. So you and everyone else in the bar migrated into the lobby and grabbed one of the many phones on the table to register for the game.

While waiting for all the players to arrive you make eye contact with Chishiya from across the room, none of you pulls away and it was probably the first time you never felt a dislike towards him, instead it was something much different. My focus was pulled away when someone yells ‘’Momoka!’’ and there she was living lifeless on the floor with her orange and white striped bikini knife stabbed into her heart. Being a part of the games you had seen lots of death but watching it be someone who lives in the house as you and has been helping you since you arrived sets a horrible gut feeling within you. A ding rings from the phone in your hands which now gains your attention. ‘’Game, witch hunt. The murderous witch who killed this girl is hiding amongst you in plain sight. The witch role is not limited to women. To clear the game you must find the witch and burn him or her in the fire of judgement. Time limit: 2 hours.’’ Massive roars were held within the lobby and you knew things were gonna go south within seconds. As you were trying to think of a plan to do anything Chishiya carefully grabs you by the arm and walks you away from the group in the lobby without raising any suspicion. He leads you through multiple corridors and rooms before placing you in a wardrobe. ‘’Things are going to turn into shit (Y/N), stay in here and don’t the door open for anyone except me, I’ll get you when this is finished.’’ Chishiya gets up to close the door before you ask: ‘’Why are you doing this? How do you know I’m not the witch?’’.Chishiya looks at you carefully. ‘’Because I need to know that your gonna be safe, and I know your not the witch because your not the type to kill a person (Y/N).’’ He then leaves through the door and you stay in the closet. After around 10 minutes you believe this to be a good idea because you can lot of screaming and multiple gunshots.

After what seems like an hour and a half sitting in a closet listening to screams Chishiya opens the door and pulls you out of the closet. The hallways were full of smoke and dead bodies on the floor. Chishiya takes you to Kuina and you guys make your way to god knows where. ‘’Will someone please tell me what's happening? Who’s the witch? Where’s Hatter and Aguni? Where are we even going?’’ you groaned loudly while walking barefoot into the city. ‘’Everything will be explained to you soonly (Y/N)’’.

You make your way through some ground tunnels until you reach a room with loads of dead bodies and computer scenes. Then you finally explode. ‘’What the fuck is happening!? Someone explain everything to me now! I'm so confused… where are we? Where’s hatter?” Chishiya sits me down and gives it to me straight, how hatter died a few days ago and thats why aguni took over. How Asahi told everyone she was the dealer of the game, and why Momoka killed herself because she was the witch. It was very hard to listen but Chishiya sits next to me and comforts me the best way he knows how. By stroking my hair, it was really nice minus the horrible things he was telling but all that stopped when we heard footsteps coming towards the computer scenes.  Arisu and Usagi walk through the darkness and Chishiya make us known to them. “So you actually found this place. I expected no less from you. Thanks to you two, I have all the numbered playing cards right here. Thank you.’’ Chishiya looks as smug as ever, you can’t help but feel a little bit more attracted to him.

Conversations were exchanged between the four of them, trying to figure out how each person got to the same place, and what even was this place. You tune yourself out of the conversation and decided to turn and sort out your conflicted feelings. Why did Chishiya save you? You don’t have anything to bring to the table, maybe a few hand-to-hand combat skills but that’s it. Why are you even having feelings for Chishiya? This was starting to get very annoying for you but your train of thought cuts out when all the screens turn on and you see Mira walk into the shot. Everyone exchanged confused glances. She goes on to explain how there are going to be new games and these games will be the ‘face’ card games. But it left all of us wondering, when will we ever get back home?

We all make our way into the centre of Tokyo trying to think about the new information Mira has given us. We look out into the streets of Tokyo and see multiple huge blimps with different kinds of face cards on them. One huge billboard with ‘Next Stage: Start’’ written on it. ‘’None of the games has started yet’’ spoke Arisu standing in the middle of the group looking so tired. ‘’Maybe we still have time’’ Usagi spoke next trying to reassure Arisu. ‘’Or they forgot to push the big red start button’’ Chishiya replied, Arisu and Usagi turned around and gave Chishiya a look, and I couldn’t help but give a chuckle. I noticed Chishiya smirk a little. ‘’They didn’t tell us about the rules for this one.’’ Signs Kuina. Everyone in the group continues to look around confused. Usagi looks like she notices something. ‘’What is it?’’ I ask with Chishiya to my right. ‘’I hear something’’ Usagi replies and looks towards the street. We all turn and watch the street with her. Multiple cars approach us, and I recognise them as Beach people. They all hop out of their cars and Arisu goes to investigate. ‘’What is this? What are you doing here?’’ He asks one of the members. The members of The Beach go on to say ‘’We saw the blimps show up, there are rumours that the next stage is starting’’. Arisu getting a little frustrated says ‘’Right… here's the thing’’ Suddenly the members of The Beach are getting shot down.

‘’A riffle, get moving,’’ Chishiya says in a weirdly calm way when people around him are dying. ‘’That thing is an anti-tank rifle. So I’d forget about hiding behind a car.’’ He tells the group. I decided to take initiative for Chishiya at this moment, I grab his arm and we follow Arisu towards some buildings. Chishiya runs ahead of me and covers me with the rifle. When the group meets behind the building Kuina asks ‘’Does this means the game started?’’ Chishiya quickly replies ‘’I don’t know’’. Kuina continues ‘’Did they give us any rules?’’ We slowly make our way around the building. ‘’Without rules this is just a massacre’’ Shouts Arisu. ‘’That rifle can kill from about a kilometre away,’’ Chishiya tells the group, he goes from covering me to holding my waist if not for the adrenaline I would assume my bodies reacting like this because of him. Different sounds now come from the gun. ‘’And now we’ve got an assault rifle.’’ Chishiya continues. We all huddle as a group and give comments about things we are witnessing and ideas on what could be happening. ‘’Maybe there are different shooters’’ Usagi speaks up, ‘’Other players are grouping up, I didn’t know there were this many players left’’ Kuina adds. ‘’There almost here!’’ Arisu shouts and backs away from the mysterious shooter. ‘’Let's go!’’ Arisu yells while taking the group back into the street. ‘’I don’t think this is a good idea Arisu!’’ I yell in hopes he can hear me but the blast from the rifle is too much. ‘’We need to split up’’ Chishiya yells and grabs me by the hand and pulls me from the group.

Chishiya and I start sprinting down the street, hands holding each other while bodies fall all around us. I trip on a rock and Chishiya is there to scoop me up from the ground and we continue running. Hands still interlocked tugging each other towards different directions. I see Kuina from a distance and drag Chishiya with me to catch up with her. Kuina looked grateful that somebody else was with her and the 3 of us crouched behind a car. Kuina looks down and see’s Chishiya and I’s hands interlocked. She gives me a knowing look and I turn around to focus on more important things like Arisu and Usagi running along the opposite side of the road trying to help somebody. I make eye contact with Arisu: ‘’Are you trying to get killed out there!’’ with that comment the gunman takes fire in our direction. I hide back behind the car. My back is up against Chishiya's torso and I can feel his breath on my neck. Kuina speaks up ‘’Where are they shooting from anyway?’’ we then hear a loud rumbling from above us and see the huge blimp with a kind of spade flag hanging below it. ‘’Huh, he must be the king of spades’’ Chishiya tells us he then turns to me. ‘’Take this it’s a good luck charm’’ He gives me a handmade explosive. ‘’Thank you Chishiya, I don’t know what to say’’ I can’t believe Chishiya would give up an explosive for me. ‘’Just use it if you have to.’’ and he gives me a smile. I turn to look away feeling a bit flustered but then I notice a man dressed in a long dark black cloak. I point towards him and direct Chishiya and Kuina towards what I’m looking at. ‘’That must be the king of spades’’ I whisper lightly. Chishiya whispers back into my ear ‘’I think your right’’ I turn around to say something but got caught looking into his eyes. My concentration on his eyes disappears when Kuina spots Arisu, Usagi and some random dead guy in the car next to us. ‘’Hey! You two okay? You hurt?’’ Kuina pipes up, and Chishiya gives them a wave. Shots continue to fire as we hide behind the car. ‘’We’re pinned down here’’ I say loud enough for us to hear. ‘’If we step out, he’ll get us!’’ Usagi replies. All of us try to figure out a plan to get out of there but nothing seems to be working out and the king of spades is getting closer. My train of thought gets broken when I green car that I’ve noticed from the beach before pulls in front of us honking its horn. ‘’Get in!’’ yells Tatta from the passenger seat. ‘’Tatta!?’’ Arisu and I yell in surprise and relief. ‘’Don’t just stand there!’’ someone yells from the driver's seat. ‘’Ann!’’ Kuina yells. Usagi and Arisu are the first to make their way to the car followed by Kuina, me and Chishiya. Ann opens the passenger seat and Arisu, Usagi and Kuina make it safely. Different story for Chishiya and me. A grenade is thrown towards the car door and Chishiya stops me from walking on it. ‘’That’s bad. Get going!’’ He yells towards Ann.

In a split-second decision, I decided to kick the grenade towards the kings of spades will Chishiya grabs my hand and tugged me the other way. ‘’(Y/N)! Chishiya!’’ I hear Kuina yell from the car. Chishiya pulls me behind a car and uses his body to shield me from the blast. At that moment I’m glad that I was stuck with Chishiya because I know that if I had to pick anyone out of the group to survive with it would be him and unfortunately for us, we won’t be seeing the group in a while.

[rosypenguins]

Day 13! Jomies Headcanons! (I got quite a few!)

Jake:

💛Unironically listens to boy bands.

💛Has Spotify open 24/7. Is always looking for new artists and songs, and probably has over 3000 songs liked.

💛He’ll listen to any song of any genre, but tends to lean more towards alt-rock.

💛Used to listen to Billie Eilish in Middle School.

💛Whenever it’s too quiet, he’ll either hum to himself or make random noises with his mouth.

💛Physically incapable of standing still.

💛Probably ate an eraser as a kid.

💛Does not believe in closets. Keeps his clothes either on the floor or in his chair. (If it’s in his closet he’ll genuinely forget he even owns the item.)

💛”Processing your emotions? What the hell’s that?”

💛Oh yeah, he definitely has ADHD.

Drew:

🖤Really likes FPS games.

🖤Always has to have his weight shifted on one leg. He cannot stand up straight to save his life. (Heh cuz he’s gay-)

🖤Small waist. (He’s a twink in my eyes.)

🖤Could probably be picked up by the other Jomies. (Has yet to be tested due to safety concerns.) (The concerns being Drew beating the shit out of them.

🖤Doesn’t like black coffee but drinks it anyways. (Why? We don’t know.)

🖤TERRIBLE eating habits. He’ll literally just have a piece of toast and be like “welp that’ll last me for the next 48 hours.”

🖤Those hot-pink girly desserts are his guilty pleasure.

🖤Listens to a lot of rap music. Mostly emo rap. He says it’s cuz it sounds cooler but it’s actually because he finds the lyrics relatable.

🖤Stalks Jake’s instagram for purely platonic reasons.

🖤Doesn’t know how to show affection so he’ll sometimes just randomly punch Jake in the arm. No warning, no explanation.

🖤Cat person. Doesn’t really like dogs. (Terrified of Oreo but would rather die than admit it.)

🖤Bullies cats relentlessly, but will also meow back at them if he thinks no one’s around.

🖤Likes being cuddled way more than he’d like to admit.

🖤Having his hair played with puts him right to sleep.

🖤Struggled to make friends in Elementary school due to his temper. (His lack of attention at home led to him lashing out a lot.) Other kids found him to be intimidating so Drew didn’t really have any friends until Middle School.

🖤Was put in time-out a LOT in Kindergarten so it basically just became Drew’s Corner.

🖤IPad kid. Definitely had a mascot-horror phase when he was 10.

🖤“Processing your emotions? What the hell’s that?”

🖤Oh yeah, BPD. He has BPD.

Liam:

❤️Hands are always fucking clammy it cannot be helped.

❤️Definitely listens to Breakcore.

❤️Has a bunch of those weird, perverted anime stickers somewhere in his desk drawer because he thinks they’re funny. (They were included in a random anime sticker pack Henry bought online.)

❤️Had a super edgy werewolf OC back in Middle School. Drawings of it still exist in that same drawer.

❤️Lets Henry play with his hair when they’re alone together.

❤️Refuses to use chairs properly.

❤️Has so many 0.5 photos of the Jomies. (Except Drew because Drew threatened to break his phone if he ever took one of him. But Liam still managed to sneak a few bad photos of Drew as well.)

❤️Type of guy to moan when someone’s on the phone with their parent.

❤️Knows how to drive a manual. (I imagine his mom’s car is an older one soooooo if Liam wanted to drive around he had to learn.)

Henry:

💚Baby face. (Liam likes to hold his face.)

💚Wears anime merch with pride.

💚Pretends to be a girl online sometimes so people give him free shit.

💚Almost always hits Drew with the 🤓 emoji anytime he says something smart/logical in their group chat.

💚Would definitely like matcha because it tastes like g r a s s.

💚He ate grass as a kid. And leaves. And dirt.

💚The type of kid that always had to be the dog in any game he played.

💚Really likes bunnies. He held one once and felt his life was complete.

💚Oh, and frogs too. He loves frogs.

💚Typically takes the role of mediator during fights, even if he has no context on the situation.

💚Relies way too much on being funny. If a joke doesn’t land he genuinely hates himself for a couple seconds.

💚Sensitive to loud noise. (Unless the loud noise is on his terms.) (Like, he’ll have his music on full blast and shout at his friends standing right next to him and be completely fine, but if a balloon were to suddenly pop right beside him, it’d startle him quite a bit.)

💚Drew glaring at him and telling him to shut up hurts a little more than he’d like to admit.

💚Probably also has ADHD.

Zoey:

🩷This bitch knows how to steal shit. You got a necklace she likes she will find a way to take it.

🩷Can and will find a way to make everything said against her about her gender.

🩷“Oh my God, I am LITERALLY just a girl.”

🩷Definitely took dance for a P.E credit.

🩷Almost everything she owns is covered in flowers.

🩷Everything has to be aesthetic.

🩷Always had to initiate any sort of affection between her and Drew. She was always the one asking him out. Always the one to kiss him first, or reach for his hand. (Whereas Drew never really thought about that sort of stuff.)

🩷Her views on relationships were also very different from Drew’s. She wanted excitement and fun. She wanted to go out and do things. And whenever they were home alone, she wanted to make out with him and stuff, meanwhile, all Drew wanted to do was cuddle and watch stupid videos on his phone with her. (But she just found that boring.)

🩷Honestly, their best dates were their at-home ones. Where they’d watch movies together and Zoey would bring some face masks and they’d pamper each other and cuddle and whatnot. (Fun for Zoey and relaxing for Drew.)

🩷And because of their height difference, Zoey would sometimes grab Drew’s collar and pull him down to her level to kiss him. (And this definitely never once flustered Drew.)

🩷Probably knew Drew cared more about Jake than he did her and that pissed her off.

Lia:

💜Big fan of Olivia Rodrigo. (And one time, while her and Drew were waiting for the others after school, she was listening to one of her songs and singing along, and Drew ended up correcting her on a lyric, causing her to realize he ALSO listens to her music, and he was super embarrassed about it afterwards and made her promise not to tell anyone.)

💜So anyways Lia now wants to take Drew to an Olivia Rodrigo concert.

💜She’s also a big fan of Nessa Barrett.

💜Surprisingly really good at singing. She never took lessons or anything, she just sings in the shower a lot.

💜Sprays perfume on herself like 50 times in a day.

💜Always comparing herself to people online.

💜“Self-esteem? What’s that?”

💜Genuinely could not describe herself if she was asked to. She’s so used to changing herself for others she doesn’t even know who she is or what she wants to be.

💜Imposter Syndrome 100%

💜Had a huge crush on Hailey in Middle School but didn’t even know being gay was a thing so she didn’t really know how to explain her feelings at all.

@31days-of-freakblr

[bonbonchocolates]

Game Over

Yandere Taehyung x Reader

Summary: When you and your friends get trapped in a game......

Warnings: yandere tae, obsessive behavior, death (of minor characters), blackmailing

A/N: Again originally from my Wattpad account. If you like it please leave a like.

Masterlist

____________________________________________

"Look everyone, what I found?"

Jiwon yelled coming towards you with a big box in her hands. She placed it down on the coffee table near the couch you were sitting on.

"What is it?"

Serim asked in curiosity. Being the curious type she got excited as soon as she saw the box that Jiwon brought.

All your other friends left what they were doing and rushed to see the box. You observed the box.

"It seems like a game to me."

You being the most intelligent among all your friends guessed it without opening the box.

"This seems fun."

Sihyeon commented.

You all sat on the ground surrounding the coffee table where the box was kept. Eunji tried to open the box but to her disappointment she failed.

"It's too tight."

She complaint.

"Let me try"

Yoorim suggested and tried to open the box. To her luck the box opened this time. She is the strongest among all of you afterall.

"You are strong, Yoo"

Jiwon complemented her while clapping.

"I know bish."

You all erupted in laughter. Just Yoorim being Yoorim.

After the box was opened you found a model of something that looked like that of an amusement park to you. Though it was a small model, it seemed real. You were totally intrigued by it. Your eyes then caught a piece of paper beside it, you picked it up and and began to read.

"Welcome to my game of hide and seek. The game is very simple, you need to hide from me and escape from the amusement park. You all have two hours, if you escape then you are free but if you are caught, you lose the game and if you are not able to escape within the time given to you, you'll be trapped with me here, FOREVER.

But there are rules you all need to follow:

1. Don't be in pairs. It will be easy for me to find you.

2. If you feel like I'm behind you, don't turn back and continue the game.

3. Don't expect me to play fair because I never play fair.

4. The last and most important important rule, don't beg in front of me if you lose the game because I will show no mercy.

If you want to still proceed then it's up to you. The choice is yours now. Good luck.

-KTH"

You read out loud so all your friends can hear.

"But, how to play it?"

Eunji asked.

Just then Jiwon discovered a small box made up of cardboard. She opened it and found small miniature characters inside it.

"Guys, I think that each one of us needs to take these small characters and place them in the miniature amusement park."

Jiwon explained.

"Isn't it like playing with dolls?"

Sihyeon complaint.

You all did what Jiwon told, completely ignoring Sihyeon. Then you found a small character of a man dressed weirdly between the bunch of miniature characters. It was bigger than the others in size and had a strange clothing.

"He must be the one who will try to catch us."

You explained to your friends and they nodded their head in understanding.

"Guys I don't think we should play the game."

Yiren said. Truth to be said you also got negative vibes from it and your gut feeling was saying you not to play it.

"I think Yiren is right."

You commented.

"Oh ho, Y/N you are no fun."

Yoorim said.

"And Yiren what is wrong if we play it. It is totally harmless, right? Stop being a scaredy cat."

Yoorim complaint.

"Let's start the game."

Serim clapped her hands and placed the miniature of the weirdly dressed man on the miniature amusement park.

As soon as she placed it you heard a weird sound coming from the kitchen.

"Must be a cat."

Jiwon said.

"Guys look"

Sihyeon showed you a picture of a man that she found in the box where the game was kept.

"He is so handsome."

Eunji commented.

"He looks creepy"

I said being completed uninterested. Then you snatched the picture from Sihyeon's hand and started observing it. You feel like you saw it somewhere but you couldn't recall where.

"Let's not play the ga-"

Before you could complete the sentence you found your friends, they laid on the floor. They all fainted and now you to started to feel dizzy.

What is happening to me?

Then everything blacked out.

____________________________________________

"Y/N, wake up!"

You heard someone yelling at you. You opened your eyes to find the faces of your friends looking worriedly at you. You got up and imagined to find yourself in your room but as you observed your surroundings you found yourself somewhere else.

"Where are we?"

You asked.

"I don't know but it seems like an amusement park to me."

Sihyeon said.

(Sorry, I couldn't find a better picture)

You observed your surroundings more clearly this time and it looked like an abundant amusement park to you. You feel like you saw it somewhere before. You tried to recall what happened before you fainted, you remembered about the game. You joined the dots together and you understood everything.

Oh no, we are trapped in the game.

"Guys, do you remember the game?"

You tried to indirectly inform that you all are trapped in the game, you don't know why.

"Wait, don't say that we are trapped in the game?"

Serim said finally understanding it.

"This is why I told you not to play the game."

Yiren said while a few drops of tears were rolling down her face.

"It's just a nightmare, we'll wake up soon."

Sihyeon said trying to come with an explanation with what is happening right now. You hoped that she is right but deep down you know she is not. Still to convince yourself you pinched yourself and felt hurt, that means you are not dreaming.

"It's all Serim's fault, she was the one who was so eager to play the game."

Eunji complaint.

"Shut up, Eunji. You are saying as if you didn't want to play the game."

"Stob it you all. It's not the time to fight, right now we need to find a way to get out of the game."

Jiwon said.

Just then you heard someone laughing. It sounded like a male voice. You looked around and found no one except your friends. You all were confused now.

"Welcome girls, I hope you all know the rules of the game, so let's get started. I can't wait anymore, it has been decades since someone came here. It will be fun to hunt you all down. Let the game begin, find a good hiding spot, somewhere that I won't find you. Best of luck."

A deep male voice greeted you from somewhere. You could only hear his voice but couldn't see him.

"Who are you?"

You asked with all the courage that you gained. Once again you heard the sound of laughter.

"Curious, are we? Don't worry Y/N dear I'll soon reveal myself, till then try to hide from me."

His voice sent shivers down your spine and moreover he knew your name. That means he knows everyone's names.

"We only have two hours, we need to escape from here soon"

Jiwon said and told you all to follow her. At first you all started following her but then he remembered something and stoped in your track.

"Wait, in the rules it was written that we should not be together or it will be easy for that man to catch us."

You said.

"Does it mean that we need to separate from each other?"

Yoorim asked.

"Unfortunately yes"

You said her.

"Just remember all the rules and don't let your fear take control over you. We'll surely win the game, just trust yourself."

Jiwon said and with that you all parted your ways. However you need to find the way out. You randomly started walking not knowing where you were going.

After a few minutes of walking you couldn't find anything that can lead you to the exit. The only thing you observed was that the amusement park was huge and there were randomly wardrobes placed here and there. It was weird for wardrobes to be in a theme park, maybe it is for hiding.

Just then you heard footsteps behind you, you were about to turn back but you stopped after you remembered the rule.

If you feel like I'm behind you, don't turn back and continue the game.

You started running and then you hid yourself inside a wardrobe and closed the door. From the holes of the wardrobe you saw a man outside. Your eyes widened when you saw the man was weirdly dressed but you couldn't see his face.

"Clever, sweetheart, I like it."

He said in his deep voice and he went away. Deep down you felt like he knows where you are hiding but he is just acting as if he has no idea. Obviously, you don't think that he is as stupid as Granny.

After waiting for a few minutes you got out of the wardrobe where you were hiding. You then continued on your way and soon you found a tent. You got inside in hope of finding a clue to get out.

You started searching everywhere inside the tent but you couldn't find anything. At last you found a picture. As soon as you saw the picture, your eyes popped out, it was a picture of the same man whom you saw in the picture that Sihyeon showed you. He was with a girl and unexpectedly the girl looked like you. The photo seemed to be old and soon you kept the photo from where you picked it up.

Maybe my mind is playing tricks with me.

You continued on your way. You just hoped that your friends are okay. You had no idea how much time do you have left with yourself. You need to be fast.

After some time what happened to be a small house caught your attention. You quickly went towards it and tried to open the door. To your luck it was not locked and you entered inside. This place was not like the others, it looked like it was recently used. It was cleaned and decent.

The house had only one room attached with a bathroom. You began to investigate the house. You saw the room had a bed, a couch and other furnitures. All were clean and dust free like they have been in use recently.

Maybe this is where the weirdly dressed man lives.

Then your eyes went to the pictures hanging on the wall. There were several of them and to your surprise it was pictures of the same man with a woman who looked like you. As you observed the pictures you felt like they were memories rather than a simple pictures. Now you figured out that weirdly dressed man and the man in the pictures were maybe the same person.

You ignored them and started to investigate the house in order to find a clue or something to escape from here. Right now your only mission was to escape from here. You hoped that your friends have all escaped or have found a way to escape.

Just then you found a newspaper on the bed side table. You picked it up and saw the date and it was..................1915.

"Businessman Kim Taehyung arrested for charges of murder."

Wait, he is a murderer too. That means he is a dangerous person you need to take him seriously. How much you wished this all to be a nightmare.

Then you heard the sound of ticking. You turned back and found a wall clock and you saw the time. You only had half an hour left. You don't know how you wasted so much time. Now you have no more time to waste you decided to get out of this house.

You went towards the door and tried to open it but unfortunately you couldn't. You banged on the door but to your avail you couldn't open it. You sat down there and silently cried. You never in your life imagined to bring this situation.

Your eyes then went to the bed where the same game was kept, which trapped you here. You quickly went towards it and found that the miniature character you choose was on the top of a small house. Then you understood that it was showing your current location. But you couldn't find the miniature characters of your other friends and the miniature of the weirdly dressed man was just outside the house you were in, so that means he is just outside.

You began to observe the miniature amusement park that was kept in the bed in front of you. Then your eyes landed on a particular place where it was written 'exit' and there was a small arrow near it. You finally figured out the exit.

Why didn't I observe it before playing the game?

"Smart, aren't you, sweetheart?"

Your heard a deep voice, you looked back and found the weirdly dressed man in front of you. This is the first time you saw his face for the first time and you were right it was the same man from the picture.

But one thing, he was hella handsome. What are you even thinking right now?

"So you finally figured out the way? You all the ones who played the game before couldn't find the way out but you, my love are a genius. You know the way so you are free to leave."

You couldn't think of anything and got up and tried to run away past him. And to your luck he let you go and the door opened this time.

"But-"

His deep voice stopped you in your tracks.

"But you'll be the only one to leave because your friends are all out."

He said with an evil laughter.

"What do you mean?"

"Sweetheart, this will disappoint you but your friends lost the game. They were not smart enough and now they are trapped here forever as my personal toys."

After hearing that you broke down.

"No worries, my love, I can make an exception for you. You have two choices either you escape alone or your friends escape without you."

"What?"

You asked in curiosity.

"You are smart, sweetheart so you should already understand it. Ok so let me explain to you if you surrender yourself to me I'll let your friends go."

You started to think. If you escape alone without your friends, what are you supposed to say to their family about their sudden disappearance. It will be very selfish of you to escape alone without your friends when they were with you your entire life.

"Think fast, sweetheart. Time is running."

You wiped the tears from your face and decided to take your final decision.

"I'm ready to surrender myself."

Your words brought a sinister smirk on his face.

"Great choice, my love."

He came towards you and engulfed in a hug.

"Now will you let my friends go?"

"Ofcourse sweetheart"

He said and kissed your forehead.

"This time I will not let anyone take you away from me."

You had no idea what he meant by that but still a drop of tear escaped from your eyes.

____________________________________________

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JT COMPHER x reader (main); TYSON JOST x reader (side); COMPHER x JOST (brief) wc — 14k synopsis — what's a reunion without some groveling?

note — this takes place a few of years after part one, go out with a bang (post-college/college au — tyson and kate are now out-going seniors!) sorry not sorry for the length of this behemoth, i got carried away per usual <3 there are more parts to come, and i would absolutely love to hear any theories/predictions if yall have any!

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — cameos on cameos on cameos, we're at a party so drinking and mention of dr*gs + yacking (no description), drinking games, sorority terms/processes, me getting too invested in multiple subplots and potential background ships, soft!service!dom!JT makes my peabrain go brrrrr, everybodies a bit masochistic because i, registered heathen, am masochistic, reader’s wearing a short skirt for plot reasons, slight compher x josty, oral (reader receiving 2x), unprotected piv (i know, i know, i know i need help), me letting my brat self take the kink reins, praise baby praise, angst AND IM NOT SORRY, + happy fluffy bits... possible cliffhanger??? 

Staring up at the Alpha Chi house is like stepping back in time. 

Like trying on an old pair of shoes you found while deep-cleaning your closet only to find their once-perfect fit gone. Growth is funny that way; you never realize just how far you’ve come until it pinches you.

You’ve outgrown this place, though not from a lack of love or any great tragedy. It occupies a different place in your mind, just as you’re a different person than you were three years ago. 

Your younger self would balk at this development, wouldn’t believe it’d one day feel too small. You can’t fault her for that near-sightedness. In college, your whole world existed on one street. You had everything you needed then between two stop signs.

But your world is bigger now, and your needs are different too. 

Still, it feels good to try on your past for the night. Even if it's a tad ill-fitting. 

The drive between your new life and your old one hadn’t been too bad, but that’s probably because you didn’t do much of said driving. JT got the engine going before you could even make a grab for the keys and, despite spending the last year in the literal trenches of clinical rotations and shelf exams, refused to switch at the halfway mark. Yet, your boyfriend is practically vibrating with excitement as you cross the all-too-familiar threshold hand-in-hand. 

“This is so weird,” JT remarks, his lips low to your ear. His musky cologne, warm and woody, does its best to soothe your nerves.

As you survey the crowd, you nod. 

He didn’t need to elaborate further for you to understand because you were already thinking the very same thing. Watching students, the vast majority as unfamiliar to you as you are to them, milling around your old haunt stirs an odd, uncanny feeling akin to a surreal dream. You’re well-acquainted with the setting, almost to an uncomfortable degree, and you don’t think you’re all that different, but everything still feels foreign.

All the right pieces are there, and you’re sure you’ve put them in their proper places, but the image won’t behave.

You quickly realize the only thing that’s misplaced is you. Grief hangs from your back like a wet blanket. 

“Look what the cat dragged in, boys!”

A burst of riotous laughter shakes much of the gloom from your system.

Gabe Landeskog barrels into your boyfriend like an overgrown puppy. Gray-blue eyes twinkling under the rainbow of LEDs, he embraces you both in a warm hug, not minding that the spontaneous act of affection has just cost him an entire Solo cup.

“Compher and the missus,” the blonde addresses you both with a wide grin and a big palm to a cheek each; he gives JT’s a quick pat but merely cups yours. 

His breath still smells of spearmint and something spicy, an imposing combination your eighteen-year-old self could never find comforting. Just another thing that's different now. If you could package the scent for all the little moments of nostalgia, you would. 

“I was starting to think we’d have to drag you from the city kicking and screaming, but alas! You've left the cozy, vanilla bubble of your own volition for a weekend of debauchery with your favorite degenerates.”

JT’s affectionate eye-roll is big and dramatic even in your periphery. The levity brings a smile to your face. It grows wider and wider, enduring until your cheeks burn. If anyone deserves some light-heartedness, it's your sleep-deprived, perpetually-stressed boyfriend.

“A night, Landy. We’ve got to be back by tomorrow night to relieve the dog sitter,” your boyfriend amends with a pat to Gabe’s flushed cheek, returning the favor. 

The older man groans like the overgrown boy he is and will always be. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible. All domestic and shit. With a fur-baby and everything. I bet it’s as well-trained as your firstborn.”

Your eyes follow the line drawn by Gabe’s strong chin past the entryway through to the room used for table-top drinking games.

Half-kneeling on the rickety table you helped customize a few years back is Tyson Jost, head tilted to the sky as he guzzles down the center cup. More beer spills down his chest than into his mouth, effectively turning his white tee sheer. The crowd is comprised mostly of giddy sorority girls who don't mind a bit. 

Free booze and a free show—lucky them!

Once the plastic cup is empty, he crushes it in his palm before sinking the balled plastic into the basketball hoop on the adjacent wall. The converted dining room swells with hoots and hollers so quickly you would’ve thought Tyson emerged from some mythic quagmire, blood-soaked and victorious. But there are no winners in Rage Cage; everybody loses.

Tyson’s loopy grin falters when he registers you and JT on either side of Gabe.

You would like to say nothing’s changed between the three of you over the past couple of years. That you’re just as close as you’d been in college, that distance hadn’t done as much damage as it has.

You'd be lying if you did. 

You tried your best to keep him in the loop; you really did, but that didn’t end up mattering much.

JT hardly had time to socialize with you most of the time, and you’ve practically lived together since graduation. He, like you, tried, but at some point, his bandwidth could no longer accommodate Tyson’s sporadic texts and calls. Many of which came in the dead of night, when your boyfriend’s head was either buried in a textbook or in the pillow beside yours.

Whenever you could, you invited the forward to spend the weekend in the city with the two of you. You even went so far as to offer to put him up in a hotel between your and JT’s respective apartments, knowing your adult salary could stretch further than the Atomic tips he was splitting with Tyler. He always had something conflicting going on, and it didn't feel like your place to question the authenticity of his reasons, so you just kept extending the invitation, hoping things would align eventually.

After finally taking the leap and signing a lease together, you decorated the guest room with Tyson in mind. He’s yet to see it, still.

Your little Kate, on the other hand, needs a frequent flyer program.

A small part of you felt this shift was inevitable once JT went from best friend-slash-unrequited crush to full-blown, live-in boyfriend. Despite Tyson’s insistence on you finally hooking up and “putting everyone out of their misery,” his smile didn’t meet his eyes when JT broke the news that it wasn’t a one-night thing.

Maybe his “little crush” hadn’t been so little after all. 

If that’s the case, you can't blame him for avoiding your slice of grown-up love like the plague. It just would've been nice if he hadn't left you in the dark, wondering where and how you fucked up enough to get iced out.

Tyson responded to every third or so text of yours, so you mostly kept up with him and his life through Kate, who briefly dated him between ill-fated Gunnar stints, and social media. You weren’t sure how often he spoke to JT; after several attempts that ended with your boyfriend clammed up and irritated, you stopped asking.

Judging by how tense he is beside you right now, you have a pretty good guess.

“Yikes,” Gabe drawls. “Trouble in paradise?”

You remain carefully quiet, allowing your boyfriend to decide what, if anything, to share. This—whatever it is —feels like it's more so between them two than Tyson and yourself.

JT clears his throat so hard it cuts through the music blaring through the packed house—some remix you don’t remember learning the words to. “Trouble? Nah, Josty’d have to give us the time of day for that.” 

Gabe laughs, but you know JT isn’t trying to be funny. You can taste the undercurrent of bitter resentment. It’s impossible not to without an artificial buzz.

There’s no time to dwell because a flurry of red hair darts through the crowd dispersing out of the dining room and straight into your arms. A fresh, but faintly-candied scent tickles your nose as the cool metal of a bracelet digs into your neck. 

Kate.

“Fuckin finally!” The almost-grad squeals directly into your ear.

Definitely drunk. Or high—or both. 

“Don’t look at me,” you say, beaming when she pulls back. “I wasn’t driving.”

Kate swats JT’s chest with her open palm. “And this is why we don’t let you drive anywhere, Grandpa.”

The playful jab makes your smile deepen. His driving made her tardy to a ZBZ charity gala one time over a year ago when she made the mistake of hitching a ride with you, and she’s probably brought it up a million times since. Kate pretends to hold a grudge, JT pretends to find it aggravating, and you get to sit back, enjoying the warm camaraderie overfilling your cup.

The pair have been friends almost as long as you've been friends with either of them, but since your graduation, they’ve settled into something more serious and more genuine. Where your connection to Tyson wilted outside the conveniences of college, your relationship with Kate matured and flourished. She’s more than just your chapter-appointed Little Sister to JT now, having become more of a true sister than anything else. Hence the juvenile teasing.

“Well, we’re here now. Alive.”

Your little snatches your hand in hers, tugging you away from JT, who feigns offense.

“And now I’m stealing your girlfriend in retribution for making me wait. Go do… whatever it is you two heathens used to do at parties. We have a pong title to defend.”

“Excellent idea, Madame President,” Gabe declares, hands roughly massaging the male ginger’s shoulders. He tosses a wink in Kate’s direction.

Before the other ginger can drag you away for good, your boyfriend catches your free wrist, pulling you back to him so his lips can find your ear. Breath hot, he drops his voice an octave, “President’s bathroom. One hour. Nod if you understand.”

Your chin dips, quick and subtle confirmation.

“Good girl.”

As your respective keepers separate you, JT shoots you a wink of his own. Then, you lose him in the crowd.

Kate leads you through the sea of party-goers to the living room, her grip on you tight and comforting. Her thumb rubs small circles on the inside of your wrist as you approach the table, almost as if privy to your worry. Kate is incredibly perceptive; she can read someone’s mind without even looking at them. With you, her Spidey senses transcend county lines, so it’s no real surprise she deduced your current condition from no more than your erratic pulse thumping against her palm. 

When you reach the bustling folding table commandeered for the BP tournament, Kate does all the talking.

It’s not too hard to get on the bracket despite the late entry with two newly-minted Alpha Chi brothers manning the post. The absolute last thing they want to do is get on the bad side of the president of their sister chapter (Kate) and the girlfriend of a legendary former chapter president (you). The pairs for the current game are only a couple of throws in, so it’s going to be at least ten minutes before it's your turn.

“You, my dear, look thirsty,” Kate declares through a mischievous grin.

You let her pull you towards the kitchen across the hall but have more difficulty than you expect actually getting there. Every few steps, someone stops either you or Kate. Mostly the latter, but she’s quick to show you off to whoever’s trying to seize her attention. Apparently, Kate’s been building quite the mythos of your time on campus, and it’s very… dizzying, to say the least.

“Kit-Kat!”

Kate abandons the poor freshman boy shooting his shot (and missing fantastically) in favor of the feminine voice sliding into the conversation.

In the blue-ish hue washing over the small space, you’re having a hard time placing her, but she seems very keen on making your acquaintance.

“Blake Meyers,” the newcomer announces, extending her hand with a smile.

You take it, giving her your name and a matching expression in return. The flattened vowels are distinct and recognizable, as is the last name. 

“Meyers?” you ask, attempting to work it out.

“Ava’s younger sister,” Kate interjects. “And one of our best steals this past recruitment.”

Blake blushes so brightly her freckles disappear.

You remember that feeling. What it was like to have an older member, especially someone as established and accomplished as an outgoing ZBZ president, go out of their way to make you feel special. You have zero doubt Blake will be walking on air for the foreseeable future, any of the common little doubts about whether or not she made the right choice vanishing.

“I was really hoping I’d get to meet you tonight,” the freshman tells you bashfully. “Kate gave the most beautiful speech about you and your legacy on Preference Night, and when she told me you might be coming with your boyfriend, I had to put a face to the name. And Jenny was the one who pref-ed me, so it seemed like—I don’t know, a non-negotiable?”

Jenny is one of the twins Kate took her junior year, and she couldn’t have picked better. It gave you peace of mind knowing your Kate would have good people around her once you couldn’t physically be there for her.

You won’t be surprised if Jenny takes Blake as her little. Kate pref-ed her, and before that, you pref-ed Kate. It’s basically a family tradition.

Not long after you thank Kate for her generous words and Blake for her kindness, Thomas, one of the new initiates in charge of the beer pong table, flags you down for your game. Not ready to end your conversation, invigorated by the breezy, jovial chatter your new life lacks, you tug Blake along with you.

Between exceptionally beautiful throws (if you do say so yourself), you learn more about Blake and her roommate and fellow ZBZ spring initiate, Emory. They pepper you with questions: about your first-year college experience, advice on getting the best room possible on the sophomore floor for mandatory live-in, whether or not you got anything particularly valuable in the various leadership positions you held, and what fraternities to steer clear of. You’re more than happy to answer them all. Kate sprinkles in comments and jokes occasionally, but she mostly defers to you so she can celebrate the end of a smooth second term as president.

Once Kate and you have successfully defended your title, you pass the torch to the future of your chapter. Blake and Emory make quick work of the first challengers and are close to a similar sweep with the second pair when your little remembers her earlier mission: refreshments.

This time, you both keep your heads ducked as you speed through the dancing bodies and make a beeline for the dinged-up lockers propped against the wall. You can’t help but smile when you see her reach for the lock—your old lock.

Every upperclassman (and a few select friends of the chapter, like Alpha Chi Sweethearts such as Kate and, once upon a time, yourself) is assigned a secure, personal locker in the oversized kitchen for quick access to personal items. During parties, they essentially become personal coolers. At your very last formal chapter meeting, you will-ed the hunk of metal down to Kate, along with the more sentimentally valuable items you wanted to leave behind with her.

“Wait, can you even drink?” Kate asks you from where she’s kneeling. Sarcasm scrunches her brows together.

“Hilarious,” you reply with a playful glare. “And before you loudly ask about the non-existent fetus like the devious bitch you love being, don’t. Unless you want to give JT an aneurysm."

Kate fishes out two slim, chilled cans as she grumbles about how boring you two have become in your “old age.” She shoves a ratty sweatshirt—an old favorite of Tyson’s—back into the small locker, quickly refastens the lock, and scrambles the dial. Then, she returns to her full height beside you.

“So, do you want to tell me what that wink from Gabe was about?” you ask, brow cocked.

“Do you want to tell me what your horndog of a boyfriend whispered in your ear?” Kate counters.

“Touché.”

Kate cracks open a Spindrift Spiked and slots it into your waiting palm. She taps the rim with her own, then sighs back against the cluttered kitchen island. She’s going to crack, you know it. Kate, even when she has a secret she wants to keep, never stays quiet for long. Especially not when you’re the one doing the asking.

“Okay, so, d’you remember how Tyson was, like, completely apathetic after we broke up right before Heaven & Hell last Halloween?”

You nod, recalling how irritated she was over FaceTime while you helped her pick a costume out of your box of hand-me-downs. You did your best not to laugh because Kate was clearly distressed, but it was kind of hard not to when she was buried in a heap of red and white feathers, wearing a too-small tutu dotted with rhinestones.

Kate takes a sip of the spiked strawberry lemonade before elaborating, “Well, I was understandably pissed—Don’t give me that look, okay? I know I broke up with him, but he shouldn’t have been that blasé that soon—so, I hatched a plan.”

You shake your head, laughing. Kate and her schemes.

“I wasn’t planning on taking Gabe as my date, but when I ran into him at Atomic the day before… I don’t know; I just couldn’t resist. I mean, Tyson worships the man. If anyone’s getting a reaction, it’s Landy. I had to.”

“And?” you prod. 

“And…” she stalls, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of pesky eavesdroppers, cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. “…we might’ve done it in the backseat of his truck.”

“I’m scared to ask where.”

She buries her face in your shoulder. “The venue’s parking lot.”

Your eyes bulge so hard you, for a split-second, worry they’ll pop out of your head onto the sticky hardwood and land amongst the discarded cans.

“And I didn’t tell you because I was so scared you and JT would hate me,” Kate moans into your skin. She shifts to peer up at you, hesitant. “You don’t, right?”

“I don’t think I’m even capable of hating you, Katie-Kat, let alone for something as silly as banging a hot blonde,” you giggle, and she’s quick to join you. Lowering your voice, “Especially the hottest of hot blondes.”

“I’m so telling JT you said that,” she teases, pulling away.

You shrug and take your first sip. “Go ahead. He’ll agree.”

“And this is why you’re my favorite couple,” she says, bumping her hip against yours. “The worst part is Tyson didn’t even care about that either! At the post-game, when he saw my lipstick smeared all over Gabe’s neck, he high-fived him. Tyson fucking high-fived him for screwing me. His ex-girlfriend! How supremely demented is that?”

“I wish I had an explanation for you, but I don’t. I’m starting to think I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

Kate takes hold of your unoccupied hand and squeezes it three times.

“I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any better?”

You shake your head, eyes downcast like there’s something super interesting between the floorboards. “I know he’s busy, and we’re busy, but he’s acting like our friendship meant nothing.”

“Not to start a therapy session in the middle of a rager, but did you... did you ever actually talk about That Night? I know you said JT whispered, but how positive are you that Josty didn't hear him?"

A few months after That Night, your guilt was on the brink of hemorrhaging. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped; you broke down in the middle of Talladega Nights. Fucking Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. All fat tears and snotty, incoherent spiraling, your chest heaved as JT rubbed your back. He was quiet, more concerned than confused, until you calmed down enough to explain what’d been weighing on your conscience. 

Then, your boyfriend looked clueless—because he was. JT didn’t remember his heat-of-the-moment pseudo-promise to taint Josty’s image of you.

After a scene or two, you broached the subject you’d both been avoiding since getting together. You wanted to apologize, and not that you needed JT’s permission, but you felt it wasn’t entirely your amends to make. He agreed but was adamantly opposed to operating on assumption alone. If Tyson was truly upset by the pillow talk he overheard, JT reasoned, he was old enough to be frank about it.

You found yourself agreeing, but also not? On the one hand, you could see this being an instance of your anxious mind making a mountain out of a molehill, finding fault where there’s none. But you knew Tyson, and you knew how sensitive he could be. 

Something shifted that night. You’d known then, too, even in the hazy afterglow. His despondency wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t uncommon for his dejected expression—his forced smile dipped in feigned nonchalance—to visit you in therapy sessions or in your nightmares.

But every time you typed and re-typed one remorseful novel after another, every time your gun-shy thumb hovered over his contact, every time you nearly drove out to your alma mater to track him down… You couldn’t get yourself to see it through. 

At first, it was the nerves, the fear of hearing his pain and seeing his anger. Then, it was your own temper, stoked by indignation, that rose with every sign of withdrawal. Now, it’s just plain, garden-variety sadness.

It was—is disappointing how cleanly he severed ties. There one day and gone the next, no blow-out fight or melancholic hear-to-heart. Tyson was there; he was within reach, but at the same time, not at all. The casual dismissal is worse than outright rejection; the door ajar but wholly uninviting.

"In the moment, I was certain he didn’t. Now? Fuck, the percentage drops every time I replay it in my head,” you murmur, remorse bogging down your confession. "I know you made a point not to bring it up when you were together, but did he ever, I don’t know, say anything?"

Kate shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it's not like we actually did much talking anyway."

You snort despite your woes.

“Alright, that’s enough doom and gloom for one night. How’s my nephew?” Kate asks, bright smile chasing the blues away with all its might.

It’s a distraction and a good one, too. She listens intently as you prattle on about the bi-weekly training sessions you’re starting next month to help with the leash pulling and the ridiculous pet parents you’ve met at the dog park near your apartment. She inquires about the fluffy lamb she brought over the last time she stayed with you—it lasted all of a day in his over-excited grip—then gushes over another variation she saw last week while getting litter for Salem, her diabolical tuxedo cat.

By the time Kate has your phone in her hand, swiping through the designated album and asking more questions than each picture really warranted, you’re feeling a bit better.

Noticing the clock, you stumble through a totally-not-suspicious excuse to venture upstairs—alone. Kate shoots you a knowing look but doesn’t give you a hard time. To be honest, she’s just glad you came tonight. Instead of a witty jab or half-hearted guilt trip, she slips a gold foil square into your unsuspecting palm and sends you on your way with a supportive swat to the rear.

Access to the second floor during parties is typically mediated by two to three gatekeepers, depending on the scale and projected rowdiness of each gathering. Three’s the magic number tonight: two up-and-coming juniors and an outgoing senior. They grant you passage with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.

“What? No riddle this time?” you tease over your shoulder.

The senior, an engineering major with a penchant for brain teasers, answers with a hoot. Cale Makar shakes his head, both amused and flattered you remembered his signature move. His puppy crush on you is an open secret. “I was given strict instructions to ‘keep the shenanigans’ to a minimum with you, Your Majesty.”

“JT?” you venture a guess, hand paused on the paint-chipped banister. He’s the only one who still sprinkles in the silly nickname these days.

“Landy, actually.”

Well, close enough.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time the former chapter president enlisted Cale, his little, to assist in your and JT’s more salacious antics.

As soon as Gabe had the defenseman under his wing, he was putting him to work. Not that the younger blonde particularly minded, as his affinity for creative, slightly devious schemes rivaled that of Kate’s. It was Cale, you later found out, who ran interference during Semi Formal… while you were defiled on the balcony.

“Still doing his bidding, I see.”

He counters with that lopsided “Get Out of Jail Free” grin. “What can I say? The man puts up a mean bribe.”

As if cued, Cale’s companions, who you now recognize as Alex Newhook and Bowen Byram, step into view. In Alex’s raised grip is a case of Labatt Blue, and in each of Bowen’s, a bottle of bottom-shelf cabernet. You doubt the trio would notice or mind the subpar quality, though. Between their happy heads, Cale fists a bottle of champagne you know he’ll misplace before he can polish it off.

“Jesus, how drunk is he?” you tease, the follow-up to an exaggerated gasp.

Sure, the quality’s shit, but their haul is far more valuable than your appraisal of their job; it’s a frat house, not Buckingham Palace.

“Not drunk enough to not see you here with us.” Cale’s voice tapers off, his pale eyes tracking someone stalking down the hall before nervously flicking up to the ceiling, “…and not up there with JTC.”

JTC — Talk about a blast from the past.

An anticipatory tingling erupts between your inner thighs just knowing he’s up there right now waiting for you. This is the part of your “homecoming” that excited you most and had been since the moment your boyfriend pinned the invite from the alumni association onto the fridge.

As blissfully domestic as your life together has become, it lacks the spontaneity your college life had been brimming with. Your sex life could never be categorized as mundane or clinical, but you’re finding it difficult to replicate the adrenaline rush stealing secret moments inherently provided.

Sometimes, in your more (admittedly) desperate moments, you’ve caught your fingers moving beneath the sheets to mindlessly chase the thrill of those fleeting intimacies, despite how awful the constant wondering and wallowing felt then or, maybe because of it, pain and pleasure are uniquely human indulgences sought in equal measure. When intertwined, they’ve been known to satiate masochistic cravings the way a sad movie or a sprawling, high-speed rollercoaster might.

However, this time, your risk-spurned euphoria will be at your own hand. The newfound agency—the ability to choose when, how, or if any risk is involved—has you darting up the stairs with a fire under your soles.

Before you round the corner and disappear down the hall, you make sure to call out, “Thank you for your service!” accompanied by a two-finger mock salute. You don’t stick around to catch their responses, though.

As you make your way down the dim corridor, you run smack into a very giggly Sarah Jones, just shy of your destination. Eyes distant and wide, she attempts to apologize for something—Something about sabotaging the Big-Little pairings your senior spring?—but it’s more bubbles than actual words. You nod along, still not quite sure what you’re accepting an apology for but too antsy to forge ahead to play detective. Your purposeful strides went unnoticed in her cloud of intoxication and nostalgia, but Erik Johnson, who’d been JT’s vice president, mercifully ushers his inebriated fiancé out of your path by the shoulders.

You offer him a faint smile of gratitude as they head in the opposite direction.

Over the music, you faintly hear Sarah begin chattering on about something unrelated, your reunion long forgotten already. You can’t help but chuckle a little on behalf of your younger self, who would’ve gawked at snobbish Sarah Jones drunk and voluntarily slumming it in a ramshackle house on Greek Row. And sporting a rock from a Degenerate on Ice (her nickname for your brother fraternity, not yours), too? That would’ve been the icing. But, the older, more mature, once-weekly-therapy iteration of yourself is happy she’s happy.

Thoroughly amused but happy nevertheless.

As you reach for the tarnished doorknob of the president’s suite, the rickety door flings open to reveal your boyfriend, all flushed cheeks and frenzied eyes.

JT pulls you inside, lips easily taking possession of yours, the heel of his lived-in/loved-on sneaker nudging the door shut. The hinges groan in protest to the rough treatment. Still fussy as ever. This house is a goddamn time capsule, you muse. Neither of you has the patience for benevolence. If it jams, it jams. That’s a future-self problem. Diligence now would only slow you down.

And would a prolonged stay on memory lane really be all that bad?

Your boyfriend cages you so close that when he manages more than panted praise between hot-and-heavy touches, the words barely fit in the gap between your mouths. “I was beginning to think you stood me up, sweetheart.”

The light-hearted accusation is semi-whispered, somewhat hoarse, in the way his voice always sounded when he came home from a long shift at the hospital downtown or post-game at the height of his collegiate career. JT isn’t a hard person to read—downright wolfish when he’s homing in on a target—but the low, raspy tone makes his intent glaring.

Your body thrums with anticipation.

“Never,” you croon back. A breathy moan sweetens your voice, courtesy of the calloused hand inching up the back of your bare thigh, bypassing the hem of your skirt with no effort or resistance. Arms looping around his neck, you make an inquiry: “Is there a reason we’re in your old bedroom instead of, I don’t know, the king-sized bed in the honeymoon suite you insisted we spring for?”

Tufts of faint copper tickle your cheek. Your boyfriend lands a kiss on your crowd-warmed forearm. Then, much to your displeasure, he steps out of the tight embrace.

“Y’know, I remembered something earlier when I was downstairs,” JT supplies in an apparent non-answer.

He guides you, as understanding rises in your mental periphery, through the barely-lit space toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this room and the next. Then, he flicks on the secondary light, the dimmer of the two, before tugging you over yet another threshold. His fingers twitch at his sides, lascivious.

You stare back at him expectantly, vision tunneling as you wait, wait, wait.

The latch might as well have been a starting pistol; the subtle click ringing in your eardrums like the sonic crack of a live round; his breath a plume of smoke from a charged muzzle well beyond its flash point. Pent-up, needy tension burns hot and burns brighter. Residue from the night prior aflame; you, a moth seduced.

JT drives forward. Stalking, like a cat on a bird, until he’s pinned you to the door. His dash was easy, made short and hasty by the starting block eagerness in your dilated eyes.

Mouth descending on your sensitive neck, hips grinding his want into your squirming form, harsh belt buckle nudging just right with each sharp rut.

“There’s still one thing left on my college bucket list.”

He sinks the candor in with his incisors. Not hard enough to break the skin, but that was never his intention. The sting is a reminder. Of your shared past, of his unwavering desire—of who is in charge.

Message received. Loud and clear.

JT leans away to admire his handiwork. One big hand poised at your jaw, and the other braced beside your head, keeping your shyness from blocking the perfect view; you’ve never been able to hide from him and never will.

His curious thumb deviates from the original objective to caress the skin, now splotched violet and angry. Softly, at first, like he’s committing the damage to memory. Then, emboldened by a sudden piercing hiss forcing itself from your throat, JT pushes down on the tender spot. The cruel, unexpected pressure pulls pitiful bleating cries from your undulating chest.

This is no longer an expedition to gather intel; it’s a primal instinct.

For a few moments, he just holds you like this. A cloistered existence made worthwhile by him occasionally digging deeper into the column of your throat, the pressure taking on a raptorial quality. Your boyfriend wears his herald grin at a rakish angle. It unfurls with refined delicacy, an effective diversion for his next endeavor. Breathe like a precision instrument; the sharp phantom-edge fans across the sucked-raw skin with unhurried ease.

There isn’t enough alcohol in your system to dull the twinge — and you’re glad for it. It’d be a crime to dilute a burn this good, this all-consuming. You crumble between him and the door, your world only this big. His name tumbles out with a pulled-candy moan, completely devoid of dignity.

JT’s chest rumbles beneath your clammy palms. “You gonna be a good girl and help me tie up loose ends?”

His strawberry-blonde crown dips to nuzzle your cheek. Hot tongue tracing an experimental line, JT groaning as it does. The muscle trawls for tears you didn’t realize you shed, humming through the pursuit. The low-pitched moan sends a chill straight down your spine right to your toes.

The hand gripping your jaw lowers so his fingers are able to coil themselves around somewhere more advantageous — your neck. Your eyelids flutter, woozy. His firm squeeze, just enough to make everything spin and keep you still, has become blissfully familiar over time, but your breath still hitches like it’s the first.

“Hm, sweetheart? Don’t be rude. I asked you a question.”

Your lips part, a barbed retort to his condescension on your tongue, but all you can push out is the strangled yelp of a wounded animal.

The hand by your temple no longer rests against the door. In the fog, it snuck up under your skirt; JT never meant to get an answer out of you; he just likes to watch you squirm. Likes to have something to reprimand you for.

His nimble fingers dance over the thin, sodden material pulled taut over your heat. Less touching, more hovering. Small, lazy movements that betray how well he can play your body. They float above the tingling bundle of nerves, further movement pending, contingent upon your obedience.

“P-please,” comes your pouted whimper.

“Focus for me, pretty baby. Tell me what I want to hear. Come on, let me make things easy for you. I can feel how badly you want to — and you aren’t in a position to be difficult, are you?”

You give in, and though the words you babble are largely unintelligible, JT’s ultimately satisfied.

“Such a good listener I’ve got myself. But you’re always to eager to please, aren’t you? You might throw stones from behind that tough girl act, but it’s just that: an act. I have a puddle in my hand to prove it.”

His frankness sears your face.

You’ve acquired a tolerance for his raunchy silver tongue through months of close proximity, but the mechanism is shoddy at best. Stalls and misfires galore. Against all odds (said “odds” being his fingertips toying with the edges of fabric between your thighs), you summon up a tawdry retort from the growing arsenal. “Don’t l-let it go to waste, Compher.”

It's not your best work, but much better than the slurred gurgle that preceded it.

He loves how you manage to be any sort of cheeky with him, even with your head swimming, stuttering and all.

“I don’t think it matters, sweetheart. I know there’s no shortage. Plenty more where it came from.”

With your knee, you nudge his hard-on and supply some honey-tongued snark of your own. “Is that your ego, or are you just excited to see me?”

Your boyfriend chokes out short-lived mirth. Then, with an accompanying smile, his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. Amused, but by the sting of the remark’s undeniable truth, not your cleverness. The protrusion moves just below his bottom lip as he swipes the muscle over his teeth, a half-second sardonic gesture. It calls attention to your impudence without dignifying it with a verbal reply.

His brow lifts to negate any confusion, feigned or otherwise. “Are you going to keep being a brat, or are you going to let me fuck you with my fingers?”

You gulp down your ready-mixed wisecracks.

“Nothing to say now?” JT taunts. “Funny how that works.”

Fuckin’ wisenheimer. His voice is so haughty you have to bite your lip to keep your foot out of your mouth, unwilling to jeopardize your impending pleasure for short-term gratification.

Your boyfriend’s smugness—and your subsequent annoyance—becomes irrelevant when your panties are roughly pushed to the side, and his thick finger slips past your taut entrance. Tip to knuckle in one succinct trust; your startled gasp drowns out the noise rising up through the floorboards.

Hips bucking forward—you just can’t help yourself—you're in search of some friction to marry with the blinding stretch. He’s made the tensile opening accommodate far more in length and thickness, but not like this. Rarely does he create space where there is barely any, having forgone tenderness. Slowly widening a gap with gentle pressure, not demanding room like it’s already his to occupy.

Your surprise drips down his hand.

The bliss—the relief, is palpable. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, and the gravity of the situation felt for the first time.

Before, you didn’t see any substance in a tipsy frat bathroom hook-up. The older you got, the more pointless it seemed, especially with an established, long-term partner. The novelty wasn’t lost on you, of course, but that’s all you’d written it off as.

Countless collegiate nights were spent imagining one like this one. A moment where your inescapable feelings for him would be matched outright. When the pressure of his stifled emotions would build too fast to keep them from boiling over, too mighty in stature. Suddenly overcome by unrequited feelings of his own, unable to uphold all the ridiculous unspoken platonic conventions with the same authority he commands now.

This is important. For your past and present selves. The significance of this overdone, soapy teen drama scenario cannot be overlooked because it underscores the progress you’ve made together. Years of dancing around one another, the unconventional catalyst and nontraditional timeline, every hushed conversation in the wee hours before responsibilities wake, the sleepless nights and the snooze-filled afternoons—this ostensibly clichéd moment is an amalgamation of it all.

One thought rises above the frenzied rest: Was this here all along?

Is this what was waiting on the other side of the aimless pining and the confusion and the hurt?

The journey might’ve been fucking hell, but the view from here is pretty damn heavenly.

Overwhelmed by your epiphany and his dexterous motions, you moan into his skin far louder than your pride would’ve otherwise allowed outside your shared apartment.

His arrogant laughter grates before it really registers. Venom secretes from your salivary glands when it does, but the melted retribution never makes it past your lips. His second finger robs it of the opportunity, and the third sends all thoughts out your ears. The light circles over your clit cloud your vision, nails digging into his jersey-clad back—I’m feeling nostalgic, he’d said. In more ways than one, apparently.

“S’good—wanted this for so long, Compher—k-kept wishing it was you that night, not Miles.”

JT seethes at the admission, curling his fingers until your knees buckle and you’re entirely reliant on him to keep you off the floor. Even as your mind slips further and further away, your hips manage to move in time with his hand. Meeting each stroke with equal hustle and vigor, a clear end goal on the horizon.

Then his thumb drops away, his hand coming to a halt, and he steps back. 

Away.

Frustration pushes the amassed tears waiting in the wings down your cheeks. Emotion runs down your face; a heavy spill indeed.

“I don’t ever want to hear another man’s name outta your mouth when it’s my fingers buried in your pussy.” His jealousy is well-polished. Manicure-smooth, like he’s been maintaining its luster in preparation for this very occasion. "—'specially not the motherfucker that made sure I heard all your pretty sounds through the walls.”

You’d grin if you weren’t so miserable.

That’d been your intention. It wasn’t anything Miles had or did that made him different from the rest of the chapter (who all, at one point or another, tried their luck with JTC’s hot best friend), just simply when he decided to shoot his shot. The only reason you’d been out in the first place was because you reached your breaking point, no longer able to stomach what you felt for JT, and you made sure Miles knew this before you let him call an Uber.

Despite playing for the same team, the pair shared a touch-and-go rivalry. You never knew if the intensity would result in a sweeping victory or an in-house, all-out brawl. If they ever saw eye to eye, you’d of never known. Miles needed no convincing to push JT’s buttons.

There was some heavy petting, nothing more. The only time Miles saw you undress was to change into the pajamas he lent you before knocking out on his futon, leaving you to take the bed. But JT didn’t know that. If sitting in their chapter house’s kitchen at 5 o’clock the next morning didn’t raise suspicion, the non-Compher borrowed t-shirt and ruffled hair certainly did.

Back then, he refused to ask. Even though you could see how badly he wanted to pry. Miles didn’t have anything he worth sharing, so JT was left to fill in the blanks.

You’d tell him the truth later, but right now, you wanted to see what milking his assumptions could get you.

“Did you like what you heard?”

His jaw ticks. Your hips push against his with a knowing simper.

You lean forward, closing the space he forced, lips barely brushing his ear, “Did you get off on it? Fuck your hand picturing yourself in his place… wishing it was my pussy instead?”

You hear the thud before you feel your head against the door or his hand back around your throat, his fingers deep between your walls again. The everywhere-throb makes you laugh. Giggle, really.

He squeezes until you’re no longer capable of mockery. His pace hastens, leveling out only once your thighs have started shaking around his wrist, knees cutting off his circulation elbow-down. Somehow, he keeps going despite the icy tingle. His determination overrides physical discomfort, knowing how close you’re getting. Feeling it in the distinct fluttering around his digits, seeing it in your trembling, swollen bottom lip.

“You’re so full of shit.” His mouth twitches at your throaty moan. A defiant hint of levity circles his pupils; he never stays riled up for long when it’s you yanking his chain. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him then, messy and crude, love-drunk. He tastes like your chapstick and gin, with a biting citric aftertaste —Grapefruit, maybe?—and you suck it in like you haven’t had a drop of water in days. And, in turn, he drinks down every choked sob and nonsensical half-thought you babble, every drop shooting straight to his loins.

He drives into you with fervor, humming as his tongue slips against yours, iron bulge omnipresent. The hand around your neck loosens but never leaves its post, thumb stroking your pulse point. I know everything about you, his movements whisper. Over and over, in and out. He, just as much as you, gets lost in the repetition.

“Don’t want him, never wanted him. Jus’ you—Always you.” It comes out slurred, mushy like your head, like your heart.

JT’s cock isn’t immune to affirmation and twitches through his too-tight jeans. Groaning, “Go on, sweetheart. Scream my name. I want every single person in this house to know exactly who’s fucking you this good.”

You do just that, writhing on his hand, eventually burying your face into his warm neck when it gets to be too much. He continues fucking you, and you continue crying for him, the pathetic little whimpers muffled now by his body.

JT guides you through the rest of your orgasm, as he always does. He watches your face carefully on the comedown, searching for any sign of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he cradles your shaking form against his solid chest, the hand that, only moments ago, tore you apart, soothing you back down to earth. Once you’ve settled, he walks you back and away from the door.

A startled yelp falls from your lips when you feel the chilly edge of the countertop. You pull away from your boyfriend, brows furrowing with confusion.

His hand taps the outside of your thigh. "Up."

You’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, let alone stringing thoughts together, so the command is met with inaction. Impatient as ever, JT wordlessly hoists you where he wants you and sinks down to his knees, big hands cupping yours.

“What’re you doing?” Strained, barely above a whisper.

He stares up at you with dopey, lovestruck eyes. “Come on, Compher. You can gimmie another one, can’t you?”

You aren’t an idiot. Often sleep deprived beyond belief and, more often than not, fucked-out on JT’s… Well, anything—but definitely not an idiot. You knew exactly what that loaded gun of a pet name implied the moment he used it. It first slipped out during a frantic supply closet rendezvous midway through your company’s holiday party, then a few more times in the months after.

It hasn’t lost its sparkle. It does make you more and more impatient each time he flashes it, though.

Fuckin’ tease.

Your fingers burrow in his hair, tugging from the root until his eyelids flutter prettily. “As long as you let me return the favor after—need to taste you so bad.”

“Deal,” he mumbles into your skin a half-second later.

His hands push your already-short skirt up, bunching it atop your hips and out of the way. Your boyfriend takes the time to remove the fabric barrier this time, and you don’t miss the way he tries to slip them into his back pocket without you noticing. Likely because it’d normally be a tease-able offense.

But not tonight, not right now.

Instead, you let a shiver speak for itself. The risqué gesture reminds you of the pair he used as a pocket square when his parents took you two to a celebratory dinner following his white coat ceremony. The rumble of his chuckle tells you his mind went there, too.

JT leans in, big eyes never moving from yours, his warm exhale fanning over your swollen folds. The tooth-marked bruise forming on the side of your throat pricks in tandem response. The action, a repeat of your boyfriend’s earlier antics, naturally yields similar enough results. He catches on, inching forward to—

Something bangs against the door.

His face falls; your heart seizes.

“Occupied!” your boyfriend barks, hands paused but gripping you tightly. He looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.

A full, lilting sound barrels into the door—too-good-to-be-true laughter. His breathy timbre is an unsteady balance of cocksure and skittish; a preference for one side or the other is blurred by the wood in its way. “It’s me, dickhead.”

Then, the curtain is lifted. A pocket of silence ushers in a stillness that cracks like a bolt from the blue.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel right now. You most definitely suffered a concussion somewhere in all JT’s reprimanding; you’re hallucinating right now. That, or the singular seltzer in your system magically turned psychotropic after consumption.

Waiting in the threshold is Tyson Jost. A quarter-drunk fifth of Jack in one hand and that goofy, irrepressible smile plastered on his face. Almost frozen in time—good-humored, untouched. As if nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. Suave, and standing there like he hasn’t ignored you for months on end, like your and JT’s absence in his life wasn’t felt the way the Tyson-sized void in yours was.

Idle and morose, his eyes are the only defectors to his blasé demeanor. Timid and downturned, akin to a kicked puppy, they beg you and your boyfriend to assuage his guilt. An olive branch, a white flag in the wind. Amid their vulnerability, they still manage to cut into you in a way that feels too intimate, too honest—too much.

The worst part of this charged maelstrom is knowing Tyson isn’t capable of being cruel on purpose, then or now. It's bittersweet.

Careless or callous, it hurts all the same. It’s difficult to sift through the muck and decide which feelings should guide your actions when there’s no easy place to lay blame.

A gnarly, muddy morass of emotion climbs out of your gut and fills your throat, threatening to make an appearance each time you dare to exhale. You’re nervous and confused, elated and optimistic, angry and reproachful. The burn of betrayal rushes up your neck and across the bridge of your nose, but all the words you’ve stockpiled for this rainy day stick to your tongue like tar. Dark, thick, and flammable—your silence is probably for the best.

Bronze eyes, somber beneath the fan of flaxen lashes, adopt a strange aloofness that doesn’t suit his face. Lacquered just so as to protect the gooey softness beneath, the finish does nothing to obstruct or disguise his desirous longing or a brand of blues you’ve never seen in him before.

The intensity of your braided gazes is sanguine at best, duplicitous at worst, but disorienting all the same.

Anxiously, you chew on time; you’re trying your best not to swallow minutes and hours in big gulps. Your attempts to savor their confounding guilty-pleasure flavor are as futile as hoping the animosity would dissipate on its own. Or wishing the distance was just a nightmare you were on the verge of waking up from.

JT’s pulse races against your skin. He’s just as affected, just better at hiding it.

“Took you long enough,” is what JT says in greeting from the floor, dry words flung over his shoulder to curb the growing tension. Blithesome and biting and far more hospitable than you imagined.

All you can do is blink, slack-jawed; there are pieces you’re missing.

JT chuckles at your expression. He pecks your inner thigh to regain your attention. “Fuck now, talk later. Sound good?”

His words crack any and all inhibitions. Like opening the door to a cage, his reassurance grants your mind and heart the permission to succumb to the wave of emotions—lust overtaking the pack with ease.

Eyes still stuck on the ghost in the doorway, you nod your head in agreement. It’s as if you’re afraid your voice might rupture the bubble.

“Figured you’d be a little parched, baby.” Tyson, voice becoming jocular as ever, wags the bottle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tone might be light-hearted, but his gaze is anything but. Starved is the only way you can think to aptly describe the shadow. “And we can’t have that, now can we?”

You barely register JT vacating the prime real estate to accommodate his best friend, and subconsciously, you scoot closer to the edge. You knew you missed him, but you underestimated how needy you’d become if he ever stood before you again.

Both men notice.

Grinning, Tyson takes hold of your jaw. His hand emits a small tremor of unease, hesitant where JT had been demanding. The accidental brush of his fingertips over your boyfriend’s trailed claim rattles free a melancholic whimper. Your eyes glaze over, watering as your neck cranes up at him. He gently tilts your face to the side to assess the damage. You can feel his eyes raking over the marred skin, a sensation akin to your boyfriend’s weaponized breath. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

In reference to the Neanderthal surveying you over his shoulder, Tyson sniggers. “Filthy bastard.”

Charming as ever.

“She deserved it.” JT’s nonchalant shrug is more dismissive than his verbal nod.

Wicked eyes twinkle. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

You pinch his side, offended. Nevertheless, you purr at the certitude dripping from his husky vibrato.

He yelps and bats your hand away. “Got you good, didn’t he?”

You nod.

The baby talk-adjacent voice is demeaning, but with your only shield burning a hole in your boyfriend’s back pocket, lying about the effect it's having would be pointless.

Propriety is becoming increasingly moot, as this conversation circling around you carves space for new possibilities.

“Poor thing,” Josty hums, his thumb coasting back and forth over your jaw. His breath is smokey-sweet, honeyed. “M'gonna make it all better. Open up, baby.”

It’s something straight out of an early aughts raunchy teen comedy, the way he holds your mouth open to pour whiskey straight down, doing so without the lip ever touching either one of yours. The thin stream drags slightly as it goes down, but you’d never know watching the pillowy spirit disappear into you. You’re too eager to impress them both to give in and react—to the burn in your throat or the circumstances of this affair. You guzzle the oaky vanilla-clove flavor, smiling dumbly at the toasted aftertaste, all too happy to take anything and everything you’re given.

Still, either by virtue of Tyson’s lingering tipsiness or your inattention, some of the amber liquid escapes over your bottom lip, dribbling over your chin and down in between your cleavage. There isn’t enough time to consider wiping it off; Josty’s mouth is sucking you clean before the bottle even hits the counter beside you.

“Would be a shame…” Tyson starts, briefly interrupting himself with a succession of wet, open-mouthed pecks he’s decided to spoil your décolletage with, “…to let it go to waste.”

JT’s begrudged scoff cuts through the trance. “Jesus, kid. Where’d you learn that? What the fuck have you been doing? Or should I be asking ‘who' you've been doing?"

Tyson flinches at the coarse overtone the questions carry. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of reaction only you’re close enough to feel. He just laughs into your neck rather than humoring JT or feeding into whatever he’s implying.

You’re too woozy to toss in your two cents in favor of either side.

Cold countertop lapping up your wetness, the burning palm cupping your face to aid the pursuit of sugary lips, the memory of his tongue gliding over your sticky skin—your boyfriend a few paces away, watching. That’s more potent than any liquor, mixed or straight. It doesn’t take long for you to pull away, in a there-but-not state of mind, to slouch against Tyson’s chest. Head heavy, warmed and spinning.

Happy.

“Somethin’ special, aren’t you?” Tyson muses as he kneads the tender spot where your hairline meets your neck. You peck his forearm.

“As sweet as this reunion’s been, you came up here for a reason. Get to it; we don’t have all night. I imagine La Tornade will be wanting his bathroom back eventually.”

You whimper at the sharp edge of his voice, even though you weren’t the intended target.

JT’s dark drawl was laden with protective affection for you, his devotion hardened by a hue of discontent reminiscent of a paternal chide. An outsider looking in might not see beyond the mediator-in-shining-armor ruse, mistakenly pruning away JT’s thorny pain and rotted grief, but you know better. The situation and him. While genuine, his defense of your bruised feelings is a trojan horse for his own. He’s conveying his rage how he can: under the guise of selflessness.

Tyson gulps, eyes downcasted, then nods. He understands as well as you do. When he finally looks up, the shadow’s fallen over his face once more, cloud drooped low overhead.

“You’re scaring me, Josty.”

This makes him laugh, his mood brightening a tad. “If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

In your periphery, you catch JT urging him to continue with a stiff glare.

“I-I’ve been such an ass. I—I just care so damn much. About you. About Compher, and our friendship. When you graduated, m-my whole world changed. Like someone gutted my life, scooped out all the good, comfortable stuff and left me with the shell. I felt like I lost my people. Like I was left behind. And then I had to watch you two get closer than ever—without me. It fucking sucked, and I didn’t cope well. Didn’t cope at all, really. Kate’ll tell you, she took the brunt of my tailspin.”

You can’t help but snort despite the thick emotion welling up behind your eyes. The boys smile, too. Things look up.

Tyson takes your hand in a tight squeeze; his pulse jumps into your palm. “But that’s no excuse for what I did—didn’t do. How I treated you. You were trying so hard, and all I did was punish you for it. For constantly reminding me you guys are there and not here. For moving on with your life like you’re supposed to.”

He claims JT’s old spot knelt between your parted knees. “And I’m sorry. So deeply sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you—let me apologize properly.”

Tears of his own shine up at you from his flushed cheeks. Gently, you take his face in your hands, rubbing away the spilled emotion with the soft pads of your thumbs.

A silent pardon.

The walls throw back the echo of his low, audible content—of relief.

“Is this okay?” His voice is barely a whisper, dwindling to a hush as the question tapers off.

Too determined to quiet his audible fear of rejection—and to have his mouth on you as fast as humanly possible—to bother with words, you nod immediately.

“With how much she’s been dripping onto the counter since you walked in, what do you think?” JT interjects, mood vastly improved.

Your cheeks and neck heat just as he intended.

The younger forward chuckles, hands massaging up and down your sensitive thighs, gripping them as if holding himself back from lunging too soon.

A predator lurking in the brush, lying in wait.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything. Didn’t want to embarrass her.” He winks up at you, confidence rising to the surface once more. You have to fight to maintain eye contact; he’s that stupidly attractive. “ —was try t’be a gentleman.”

You’re a flurry of butterflies, a whimpering mess.

Tyson wants to tease your body; it’s in his nature. But he won’t. Namely, because he can’t. No matter how good some old-fashioned edging would eventually make you feel, he’s already on JT’s shit list as is.

Besides, he’s only been fiending for a taste since you introduced yourself to him. And there's no time like the present...

Your guttural scream—an appropriate, albeit mortifying reaction to his baby pink lips enveloping your swollen clit—pumps his chest full with pride. Tongue flat, he charts the length of your heat with a gentleness you hadn’t thought your collective excitement would allow for. His hands coast over your legs, syncing with his mouth, until he physically cannot wait any longer. One final pass, one so agonizingly slow your greedy hips thoughtlessly vie for more of anything, brings his wistful, fidgeting digits to rest at the apex of your thighs.

“Pause.”

JT’s clipped command is a bucket of ice water.

Your vocal annoyance is matched by Tyson’s, but you both know how delicate a game you’re playing.

With his thumb still lazily swirling to your clit, Tyson’s inquisitive head begins to turn around. Before he gets anywhere worthwhile, it’s swiftly spun back into place by your boyfriend’s firm hand.

You can’t even convey how hot you find JT’s fingers casually twisting in his friend’s curly mop—just the way you love; all you manage is a warbled, mostly airy cry. Your distressed state worsens watching the show unfold between your lax, parted knees: reluctant, fluttery lashes over neon cheeks; a rosy, glistening bottom lip sacrificed to cage mousy whimpers, his ragged breathing betraying all effort toward feigning indifference to JT’s self-assured manhandling.

Your boyfriend snickers at your expression, a fish lingering open-mouthed for a surface sip, an ill-attempt to supplement a natural mode gone inadequate. No matter how much oxygen your widened jaw draws in, it never feels sufficient. A bottomless pit, a balloon with a fatal puncture wound. Gone before your depleted brain could make use of it.

“Have to make sure he does it right, don’t I, sweetheart?” JT’s voice is smooth and low, charring by the second; he’s enjoying the view as much as you are.

Tyson rolls his tawny eyes. Half-hearted annoyance. “Controlling much?”

“I know what my woman needs.”

The look you share with your friend is unequivocally feral.

And the growl JT hurls back, a low-pitched rumble permeating the tight space with little effort on his part, is just plain mean.

His attitude could not be more arrogant. The cavalier persona makes you shiver, and Tyson’s breath hitch. Humming, your boyfriend tugs on his curls until the two’s eyes are locked. Inescapable. The brunette gasps as he tries desperately to hold his eyes open, waiting with bated breath.

JT licks his lips, triumphant. “Open her up for me, will ya?” Mischief catches in the light as quickly as it falls into your boyfriend’s lap. His grip tightens, and Tyson whimpers like a naughty puppy caught red-handed. “Don’t screw around, ‘kay? She needs all the help her tight pussy can get, and we don’t have all night.”

Panting, his nod is the only affirmative he can muster up. And the only one his limited range of motion will allow for. Smug and pleased enough, JT all but throws his friend into your fire, his nose bumping where you’re most sensitive. 

You actually yelp.

Holding your torrid gaze, Tyson dips his marriage and middle into you. You groan out what you meant to be his name—But who knows? And who fucking cares?—unable to control yourself while he’s finally touching you like this. Finally back.

Tyson finger-fucks you at an even pace, steadily pushing you up the hill. His satisfaction is tangible when he pulls out and away, so very delighted by your wonton hiss of annoyance. Even more so when the volume hikes up in response to the slippery pads of his fingers circling your clit. Your lewd whines harmonize with your audible arousal as he works it back into your fragile skin, playing with your wetness, utterly fascinated.

“What d’ya think, baby? Think you’re wet enough to take another finger?” JT’s tone is as cocky as his stupid rhetorical question. He, however, made no move to conceal his growing impatience.

“Mhmm,” you murmur, head like a rubber ball hitting the pavement. Still, you remember your manners. “Please—c-can I? Can I have another?”

His smile is pure adoration, dreamlike.

JT’s reverent eyes stay with you, but his words pour down over the eager man on the floor as he coaxes you halfway to heaven. “You heard her, kid. Give the lady what she deserves.”

Kid—Tyson hates when people call him that, but he especially loathes JT's usage. There’s barely an age difference, but with the way everyone acts, it might as well be decades. It seems like no matter what he does to prove himself, he’s still the baby. Every additional candle is like an annual slap in the face, a mockery that won’t end.

He can feel anger and frustration curdling low in his stomach just thinking about all the attempts that fell flat, and he decides to put the grumbling to good use. The vibration is red-hot and deliberate against your responsive, slick center, irritation like lighter fluid.

He gives you more than just three fingers. He splays all three—wide. Even as they stroke your soft inner walls, Tyson keeps you stretched so as to leave no slack. Your boyfriend wants you open? Tyson will fucking tear you apart, happily. (Yes, spite is a factor.)

Highly sensitive and spread to the limit, you ascend far quicker than usual. Fisting a bushel of golden-brown curls, nails digging rapt half-moons, you guide his willing face to the necessary places to see yourself through. Every slight adjustment has your entire body jerking haphazardly as it struggles to process the rocketing shockwaves.

JT’s hand retreats—only slightly—to make way for yours, to give you more leverage to fuck yourself through it. Less than a foot away, your boyfriend’s chest heaves in time with yours, his eyes pits of lust you dive into with clumsy enthusiasm.

During one particular, delicious pass, the tip of Tyson’s tongue catches your strained entrance, and when you unexpectedly gush against his mouth in response, he begins lapping over and around your carnal connection.

“Holy shit — Ty, I-I’m — I’m — “

The denouement of your climax is nothing short of glorious, as rude of a sentence interruptor as it was. Half-mewls and purred praise rain down from your loosened lips, eyes screwed shut.

Tyson melts over the way you take control of your orgasm, so unabashed and authoritative. You go after what you want; he respects that majorly. And getting to feel and taste what makes you tick doesn’t hurt either.

Neither do you and your pretty, throbbing walls cutting off blood flow while your boyfriend tugs his hair from behind.

“Just like that, keep fucking her through it. Did so good—doin’ so good for us.”

JT’s praise sends the brunette’s unoccupied hand right to his bulge.

This is the best he’s felt in months.

There’s the mythical balance of bliss-to-tension to key up his senses, shooting white-hot tingles of want from his head to his feet and flaming between his ribs, affection for you. You forgive him, JT forgives him, and, most importantly, he forgives himself.

He feels buoyant with his face coated in your climax, so much so that it runs down from his chin to his neck, staining the collar of his beer-soaked tee; he hopes you might return his favor later.

Josty’s guilty hand is knocked away by a firm toe.

“Y’haven’t earned it, bud,” his mentor chides.

The delinquent appendage flops lamely at his side for a split second, then lifts beside his nose to join its partner at your slick core. As if remembering there’s work to be done, a goal to attain. Beneath this new asset, your achy, spent clit pulses, egging him on with every thump, thump, thump.

Tempting him to do something, to take it further…

He thinks about it. Fuck, does he think about it—you can see the tape winding in his eyes.

JT can read Tyson’s mind through his skull, apparently. “Don’t even think about it, kid. Her last one’s mine, but you’re more than welcome to watch from right here.” —Your boyfriend points to the remaining space between the sinks, knowing it’ll be close quarters for you both— “Just remember: I only said watch. This is groveling, not a treat.”

And Tyson does. Without question or complaint, he’s just fine sitting next to you, sitting pretty.

He’s always been the perfect teammate. Always willing to do whatever it takes, regardless of the role. The only difference is he no longer wants his anxiety to be the sole motivator behind said selflessness.

Finally ready to play fearless.

JT helps you down; Tyson hops up.

Immediately, your attention fractures. Split between messy brown curls and lust-blown pupils and your own disheveled appearance: smudged makeup, knotted hair, mauled neck, and spit-stained, bruised lips. Thank fuck you’re graduated and gone. Otherwise, you’d never live this down—Kate might treat you to a taste of would-be campus humiliation later if she’s feeling particularly charitable, though.

Your boyfriend’s grip is heavy on your hips. Happy to have you back. You feel one hand coast over your lower back and down to grope your ass as if trying to keep you in the palm of his hand. White-knuckle hold withstanding, JT presses his chest flush to your backside and uses his free hand to yank every remaining hindrance to your navel.

He wants you on display.

Your gasp is rivaled only by Tyson’s pitiful whimper and twitching, touch-happy fingers.

The ginger’s chuckle is molten and deep, mouth barely a breath from your ear, his eyes pinning Tyson still.

Your mind rewound back to when he made this proposition, wondering how the hell you got from there to here.

“Bend over, sweetheart. Arch that back nice and pretty so we can show Josty what a good girl he’s been missing out on—what a filthy thing you’ve turned into.”

As soon as you’ve done just that, your boyfriend drives home. It’s fast and dirty; primal. He knows there’s no need, but JT marks his territory anyway.

You watch Josty’s mouth part like he’s about to ask you something. Staring through his eyes as if ducking into his pesky daydreams and up-too-late musings, all specifics watery and indistinct.

Ultimately, you wind up disappointed by silence. But, with the slow return of your boyfriend’s bare cock between your soft inner walls, it dawns on you; JT had used a condom last time. Even made Tyson retrieve it for him. The depth of your relationship is sinking in; that’s what you’re now watching. He’s mulling over the information, caught somewhere between wanting to swallow his guilt one go and choking on his own assumptions.

JT follows your charged concern, performs a similar triage, and then gives you a concise nod through the fogged-up mirror.

I’ll handle it.

At that, your walls noticeably ease, and he shudders, groaning as even more of him sinks deeper to occupy the newfound space. He gets a few strokes out before Josty slots his body between your palms to lean in. Here, he does something that collapses the simple but effective status quo. 

“Fuck, kid. K-Keep doing that.”

Keep rubbing your clit.

Keep playing with you.

Keep being an accessory to his pleasure. To yours.

Be present.

Be here.

“Such a fucking mess, baby. Don’t know how Compher gets anything done with you there, sweet and ripe for the taking.”

The two halves of Tyson’s demeanor are antithetical, and infuriatingly so, a saccharine smile split open by filth. It paints a sordid picture that must stand for itself, as you find it impossible to pluck out of thin air any coherent thoughts.

Be that as it may, your friend did not set out for a reply. At least not one other than the befuddled stuttering you’re doing.

A familiar palm shoots to your raw neck—tender, inside and out—lightning quick. You're yanked up before you can blink. JT mercilessly nips at the gaps in between his tight grip, hips pushed just as firm against the swell of your backside.

Still, he furthers their madcap banter. “I dunno either, Josty. And, believe me, the little vixen sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I think she’s tryna milk me dry for good.”

If Tyson Jost were ever going to cream his pants—post-pubescence, it would be now.

Like, right fucking now.

The proclamation of your third orgasm is wondrous. Proud. Grateful. One of your hands flies back to catch the nape of JT’s neck to steady yourself as he continues pistoning in and out of you. Tyson's generous touch stays, too.

Your back arches this go around, head rolling against your boyfriend's shoulder before slipping back down towards the counter, free palm absorbing the impact of the abrupt sway. Too much, too much—it’s all too much for your tender muscles and soupy brain to handle. You surrender to the plethora of sensations, each more overwhelming than the last—half-collapsed back against into your boyfriend, half-crumbled forward into his best friend’s damp, tented lap.

“Not gonna last, sweetheart—y’feel too damn good, s’tight and warm, always strangling my cock—know you’re close, too. Gonna give me what you promised, Compher? Please, pretty girl—need to feel your perfect pussy squeezin’ me dry.”

It's refractory; your world goes from washed-out to vivid and back, over and over, as though impatiently flipping between channels.

You’re a tangle of sticky limbs and physical reverie, blanketed by a warm afterglow and cleared air. Body scaffolded by muscular forms on either side, your mind gives your body permission to slacken at last. JT’s arm winds around your midsection when it becomes clear the all-consuming exhaustion is giving way to the relaxation that eluded you for so many months. Tyson massages your arms, your hands still cemented to his knees. Your head drops to his shoulder, too heavy for your bruised neck.

For a long while, no one says a thing. Not intentionally or for fear of disturbing the peace; there’s simply no need. No words exist to shoulder that much weight, none able to capture precisely what emotions swirl between you. Silence says enough—silence says it all.

Banging cuts through your sex-drunk stupor. Again. The abrupt sounds function like metaphorical smelling salts, restoring consciousness and rousing decorum laid dormant. Your mutual, unadulterated bliss circles the drain in the absence of a psychological plug, ripped free, half-baked.

JT reluctantly leaves you empty and dripping, tucks himself away, and cracks open the door—only as wide as is necessary. Behind his imposing physique, you remain hunched over Tyson, waiting for your boyfriend to make the problem go away; you’re too tired to take any initiative.

Golden hair and familiar grey-blue eyes fill the gap, shining in your periphery. Barely a sliver, that’s how much of this your boyfriend’s willing to share with the world. You like that, and judging by his lopsided grin, so does Tyson.

“Paging Mrs. Compher!” Gabe hollers over JT’s head. “Clean up on aisle ‘Kate.’”

Just hearing her name puts you back in action. Damn you, maternal instincts.

You scramble to right twisted fabric and smeared makeup to a soundtrack of expletives. It’s pointless, though, because nothing settles how it should. No amount of smoothing, brushing, or tucking seems to help. Hazy vision and the legs of a newborn fawn don’t exactly lend themselves to effective primping.

And it’s not like you’ve got a hickey-remover magic wand stashed in your purse, either. 

Accept your fate, you acquiesce with a sigh.

Tyson does a piss-poor job muffling his laughter, which lands him a crisp swat to the chest.

As you stumble over, you catch the end of your boyfriend’s irritation. “—and you’re sure there isn’t anyone else to hold her hair back? Why can’t you do it?”

The gears in Gabe’s skull clank so loud you can hear them over the audible chaos seeping into your haven—he’s intoxicated, not stupid.

“CupKate wants her mommy.” The blonde winks at you over JT’s shoulder. His tongue gives a knowing click of approval at Tyson’s equally disheveled state. “And what do you care, Compher? Smells like you three already made your express trip to Pound-town, USA. How was it? I hear the weather’s hot and steamy this time of year.”

“Real mature, Landy, real mature,” JT scoffs.

The sound just revs him up. “Says the fucker who’s locked in a frat house bathroom with his girlfriend and his best friend. One of whom, might I add, looks like they got mauled by a hormonal freshman after a high school dance.”

“Can you two go measure your dicks, I don’t know, anywhere but in the way? I have a child to tend to.” 

You almost have to laugh. At the situation and at the words coming out of your mouth. At Kate, sick to her stomach like a kid who ate too many sweets on a holiday. 

Years have passed, but you’re all still the same.

“Me-yeoh!” Gabe sing-songs while miming what you assume are claws scratching at nothing.

Again, his drink is the sole casualty of his jubilation. A golden wave sloshes over the rim and onto the floor. The spray makes JT’s jaw tick.

The former winger offers a sheepish grin in repentance. “Whoops?”

Your boyfriend steals a glance to check that you’re decent, then side-steps out of your way with an exasperated sigh. His dilated gaze flits over your ruffled appearance, shamelessly drinking in the state of your throat but tripping over the questions dancing in your eyes.

He juts his head in Landy’s direction with a sardonic eye-roll. “Go on. Save your damsel, Mother Hen. I’ll fill you in on in the Uber back to the hotel.”

“Meet you out front?” You ask, and he nods.

You dart back to Tyson, plant a chaste peck on his flushed cheek, and then repeat the gesture with JT and his peeved lips. It’s faint, but they instantly soften for you.

Before they know it, you’re slipping out the door. Gabe gets an affectionate pat on the shoulder as you squeeze by him before you disappear in the direction of the Girls Only bathroom; no significant differences, only marginally cleaner and occasionally stocked with helpful accouterment—chivalry isn’t dead!

Lingering in the wake of your departure, Gabe sways like an inflatable man on the curb of a car dealership. A smirk twists his lips. “Nicely done, boys. Nicely done. Can’t say I thought we’d see the day—or that either of you had it in ya—but I feel like a proud father.” He wipes a phantom tear, the final straw. “Makes you wish you listened to Daddy Landy sooner, huh? Think of all the lost ti—”

JT slams the door in his face. Through the wood, Gabe cackles.

The two men slip back into sync as they wordlessly scrape themselves back together with the time and privacy you were not afforded. 

As JT yanks his jeans back into place, his belt clanking around like a bell’s hourly chime, a black velvet box tumbles to the floor, and Tyson’s stomach along with it.

The air shouldn’t, but it turns on a dime. Their progress is seemingly more fragile than expected.

“If—uh, wow.” A crunchy, anxious bark of a laugh cuts his thought in half.

JT doesn’t interrupt; he holds space for the blossoming discomfort.

Tyson rubs the tense knots along the back of his neck as his eyes drill into the floor. “If I’d known this would be our swan song, I would’ve tried to enjoy it more. I don’t know—savored it, I guess?”

“This,” JT says, scooping up the dud he hopes isn’t hanging fire. “— is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.”

Before they got into it in the garage, before they’d been forcibly separated by Erik and Nate. Before they, punch-drunk and drunk-drunk, teetered between tears and anger in the shadowy, too-quiet backyard.

They spun in circles until they had nowhere to move but on. To make amends, to stumble through chary half-apologies that mean more than they say.

JT’s alleviation was short-lived; his calm trepidation squashed before it could fly. Tyson now understands why.

Tyson balks. “Me?”

Your boyfriend sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge. He’s bidding time. Digging for the right words but knowing there are none.

“I love her—and I know you do, too. I’m not upset; she makes it hard not to fall for her.”

Tyson’s head hangs lower, chagrined.

JT continues, “I’m going to ask her to marry me, but I didn’t want to do it without talking to you. Without making sure you’d be okay. Eventually. The last thing I wanted was for you to be blindsided or to feel even more left out.”

Tyson can’t help but snort at the sheer absurdity. “Left out… God, how pathetic am I? Getting all butt-hurt over a relationship that isn’t even mine.”

“Pathetic was going AWOL.”

Josty winces. He doesn’t argue because he has zero ground to stand on.

“But feeling something? Far from it.”

“I didn't—don’t want to take her from you. You have to know that, Compher.” The hurt’s been hammered from his voice. Left behind is softened sincerity.

JT’s smile is just as downy. “I do, and you’d be wasting time by trying.”

Josty chokes on an unforeseen bubble of laughter.

You love JT Compher so openly and ardently it might as well be a neon sign plastered to your forehead. He’s always been it for you. There’s never been any competition, Tyson Jost included.

“Thank god we got this ironed out before the wedding,” the older forward chuckles as he leans back against the counter.

They’re side-by-side, as they should be.

“Why’s that?”

JT digs into his other pocket and pushes something into the palm of his best friend, whose cheeks flame tout de suite in response. With a bump of his shoulder, your boyfriend tacks on, “Something to remember tonight by.”

Tyson shoves the memento into his own pocket, then raises a quizzical brow.

Your boyfriend grins.

“The best man pining over the bride while giving the groom the cold shoulder would make for an awkward wedding, don’t you think?”

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All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 @holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

[simon-roy]

The idea of logging on a colonized alien planet brings my mind back to the planet Lalonde from Peter F. Hamilton's Night's Dawn books - a world that had very hard wood as its only meaningful export, and was also stuck developing its economy from agriculturalism (due to investment shortages, though).

All this is to say - Hey! What are some foundational inspirations for your sci fi verse? You gotta have some like recommendations of classic or older sci-fi for us, right? What are some of your suggestions of books and authors to read?

OK SO - My sci-fi tastes have sort of ended up in some very specific niches. Growing up, I was a Larry Niven +Jerry Pournelle man, in part because my dad amassed a huge collection of their books - then gave 90% of them away before i was old enough to read them. So one of my teenage missions was rebuilding that library, trash and all!

Stuff like Footfall, Ringworld, Gil "The Arm" Hamilton, Protector (yes i attempted to name a comic series similarly, and paid for it) "The Mote in God's Eye"... you name it, I read fuckloads of these books. And while they tend to land on a sort of human chauvinist "mankind will win based on his inherent adaptive human-ness, and the aliens will fail because of their rigid alien-ness", this shit was very foundational to me.

Their more collaborative series, The Man-Kzin Wars and War World, also loom large in my teenage mind. The Man-Kzin wars are super fun - humans meet a race of tiger-men, and go from being NWO peaceniks to roughneck cat-skinners in a generation! PEACE AND LOVE WONT DEFEAT TIGER MEN!

Similarly, war world (like lots of that 70s/80s military sci fi) was a sort of catch-all for western military nerds to play with their favorite factions - it was a planet where all the un-ruleable ethnic groups and nationalities had been deported by the authoritarian earth government, and left to rot... until a race of genetically engineered fascist super men land on the world, and start trying to rule the place. Pretty fun shit.

As I got older, I turned hard into William Gibson, and read the absolute shit out of both the Neuromancer trilogy and the Bridge trilogy, as well as his short stories. Bruce Sterling was part of that wave for me, too, and I religiously sought his old paperbacks out too. In terms of novels, "Distraction" is my favorite coherent Sterling Novel - though the short stories in the "Schismatrix" novel/collection of his remain my absolute favorite space opera pieces.

At this age, too, I found my top-top fave Sterling Stories - "Taklaman" and "Bicycle Repairman", both gritty pseudo-cyberpunk stories of the highest degree, in this collection:

This thousand-plus page collection of short stories and novellas was basically my bible for a few years - i put sticky notes on each story i loved and meant to return to, until the book was so festooned with sticky note bookmarks i abandoned the practice altogether. If you have the chance, just buy this book and chew on it for a few years.

As i got into my 20s, Charles Stross became my lode star - his books like Accelerando and Glasshouse were total game changers for me. They come with their own peculiarities, but I loved his transhuman/posthuman musings (or at least i was obsessed with his stuff for a good few years - the venn diagram of his obvious interests and my own overlapped enough that his books were great fodder for a growing sci-fi loving brain).

But since then, my main literary squeeze has been the great man, JACK VANCE. Working on Prophet, my friend @cmkosemen made a remark about how much the early issues of the series reminded him of a book series called "Planet of Adventure" or "the Tschai Cycle", by Jack Vance. The book has a beautifully simple setup - a man from an entirely undescribed spacefaring human civilization crash-lands onto a weird planet. But on that planet, he finds four separate civilizations, each who possess a population of enslaved humans, culturally and physically molded to the needs of their masters. And each book of this series covers our generic hero's interactions with each bizarre expoitative culture. I was extremely intrigued.

Soon thereafter, I found my current absolute favorite book - "THE DRAGON MASTERS". A book about an isolated medieval world... which gets visited, once every few generations, by a black pyramid starship, flown by a reptilian race known as the Greph. The greph capture humans to (surprise surprise) breed them into hyper specific slaves... who in turn become Greph-like in their thinking and demeanours. But the last time the BLACK PYRAMID landed, a bunch of angry medieval dudes stormed the thing, blew it up, and captured a bunch of greph... who became the breeding stock for a whole new human world of slave labour. By the time we meet this planet, the two rival lords of the human-populated regions have been breeding greph slave warriors, or "dragons", for generations, for combat against one another. But soon, the black pyramid will return...

I love this book I even spent a good few months during covid talking with the Vance Estate and several publishers about developing it into a graphic novel, but nobody could quite agree on how it could get made with old Simon getting a paycheque... so sadly it fell apart. There are concept drawings floating around my patreon and other corners of the internet. But one day I'll use 'em...

My other favorite books of his, to name a couple of the MANY books of his I love:

THE BLUE WORLD: A caste system of humans, descended from a crashed prison ship, live on floating settlements on an ocean planet, paying protection to a giant long-lived intelligent crustacean. But one man is tired of giving up all his crops to this tyrannical megafauna...

THE MIRACLE WORKERS: Rival lords on a planet descended to medieval tech (surprise surprise) fight using armies... and rival SORCERORS who employ the powers of suggestion to voodoo each others' warriors... but when facing non-human intelligences, these sorceror's skills fall short.

But there are heaps more, and I love most (thought not all) of the ones i've read. They're generally short, concise, and full of all sorts of bizarre bullshit.

THere are more books i've read and enjoyed in my life, of course, but these are the core ones that I think of when I think of my career as a sci-fi reader... let me know what your top recs are!

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Rogue and The Barbarian

Summary: Six months after the game, Astarions asks Tiriel why she's stayed with him.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, patch 5 epilogue, named Tav, established relationship, f!tav

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

This line from the epilogue really got me so I decided to write the confession scene featuring my beloved OC Tav named Tiriel.

One night he tells you that these six months of happy memories are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery.

Thanks @satanicspinosaurus for the amazing work as a beta-reader. Your comments and suggestions were super helpful.

Tiriel is a half-elf Barbarian with Chaotic Good allignment. More about her here

Steam rises over a small pond at the back of the cave, and it almost looks as good as a hot bath in the inn. The warm spring nicely heats the air, contrasting to the cold nights Astarion and Tiriel have faced for the last few months. 

Six months, to be precise.

Astarion cautiously approaches the pond. The murky surface can’t reflect anyone, and the vampire touches the water. 

"Go on, I'll join you!" Tiriel says, and her voice echoes in the cave.

"Don't make me wait too long, then," he answers.

Six months ago, the tadpole which allowed him to walk in the sun dissapeared. Six months ago, the insane adventure he had found himself in was over. Six months ago, he murdered the monster who had made him a vampire. 

Six months ago, he became free. 

Astarion undresses, laying his clothes beside the pool. The clothes are dirty with blood, and so is he.

Being naked feels weird and uneasy. The sense of vulnerability returns as he sits at the pond's edge, submerging his legs in warm water. 

It would be naïve to believe his demons and darkness would disappear after the monster's death. That the gnawing void in his chest would somehow miraculously heal in one day. His darkness lingers in his mind daily, devouring thoughts and sanity. The only thing he can do is fight. 

Astarion takes a piece of cloth and starts washing dirt off his skin. If only it was possible to wash away all the non-consensual touches he'd endured over years. To forget, to peel it off. 

If only…

A soft thump takes Astarion out of his thoughts, and he sees a pile of clothes getting bigger – adding Tiriel's trousers and shirt under her armor. 

Tiriel stays at the edge beside him for a heartbeat and then jumps into the water, splashing Astarion with a warm wave. 

"Finally!" the half-elf says, returning to the surface and sitting at the pond's edge. 

Astarion can't take his eyes away from Tiriel. Hair, red as fire. Her right eye is greyish blue, like the autumn sky. The other used to be green as spring before the hag had transformed it. 

Freckles dance all over her body, especially plenty on her back. Half-elven ears with a thin scar on one of them. Breasts, small and perky. A bigger bottom. "Elven tits but human butt!" she once told him after receiving yet another playful slap from him. Hands so elegant and feminine, elven-like. Legs more human-like, thick, and strong. 

She is stuck between two worlds and takes the best from both. 

Tiriel the Barbarian is a woman of no kin and no home. 

"Need help?" she asks.

"I am pretty capable of washing myself."

"I know, but do you need help?"

"Yes, please."

Tyrael smiles and kneels behind him with a piece of rag.

"Tell me if it hurts".

He nods. Somehow, being both naked doesn't have anything sexual. It is something else, some new level of intimacy. Tiriel lovingly washes his body, and her touches are gentle and caring. Occasionally, she plants a kiss, and a shiver goes down his spine.

Astarion relaxes, closing his eyes like a content cat. His world reduces to the sound of dripping water and Tiriel's humming.

The song sounds unfamiliar. Sometimes, Astarion thinks he's already heard all the songs and ballads Tiriel knows. Still, every other evening, she chooses another. Sometimes, he thinks she composes them, but she laughs at the suggestion.

Astarion, my heart, do I look like a bard to you? It's just how humans tell their stories.

Astarion concentrates on Tiriel's voice and her gentle caress. She starts washing his hair, massaging the scalp with long, stiff fingers.

"I never heard this song."

“It’s a ballad of half-elves. A human woman falls in love with an elf. She offers him gifts – a heavy sword made of iron, sleeping potions to make him dream, a fur cape to warm him in the coldest winter, a stallion fast as the wind. And he just mocks her. Because human lives are short and their ways are animalistic. But it seems the mocking is dishonest, since half-elves are born anyway."

Astarion catches her arm and presses lips against Tiriel's wrist. She giggles and nuzzles his neck.

"Which would you take if someone offered you such gifts?"

"Difficult choice," Astarion chuckles. "I don't think I could pick up the sword; horses fear me. The cape sounds nice."

"The cape enchanted with fire magic - that has its own warmth," Tiriel sings.

"Then definitely the cape."

She laughs. "I would have taken the sword."

"Who would ever doubt that, my ferocious love?"

Tiriel hugs Astarion from behind, placing her cheek on the upper part of his scars. Her grip is tight, as if she tries not to let him fall. 

Astarion places a palm over her hands. Tiriel is so warm. He doesn't want to let her go. If, a mere year ago, someone told him that this would be his life very soon enough-he would bitterly laugh at their faces.

Freedom? A monster dying a painful death? Tiriel? Those things were unreal. 

Tiriel finally lets him go and returns to washing herself. 

"Tiriel"

She looks up at him. Her eyes were so close he could see the green iris behind the foggy hag eye.

"What is it?"

"Why do you stay?"

She pulls back a bit.

"What do you mean?"

"I – I don't understand why you are with me. You could choose any man but chose me. Why?"

Tiriel is silent and Astarion fears he has hurt her. There is an instinct to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. He shouldn’t have asked. 

She sighs. "Apart from the fact you are the most beautiful and handsome man I ever met in my life?"

"Six months ago, I would have thought that was enough."

Tiriel takes his hand. "Look at me, please." 

Her smile shines like the summer sun. "You want to know why I am with you? Because you sometimes think that I am with you either for pity or just because of your looks?"

He nods. 

"I love you for being brave. For being strong. All these decades of torments and you preserved yourself. You survived where madness was the only choice. You never allowed to break yourself. What can be more heroic? Every day you fight the darkness in your soul – and win. It is an invisible fight but, gods, it's more formidable than fighting dragons and monsters. I can see it. I see it daily, and I admire you for that. Because accepting darkness is easy."

She touches a loose strand of silver hair and kisses his cheek. "I love you for being so smart and good with words. I can't even read – and you know so many things I didn't even know existed! You open a new world for me, every day!"

"You know I can teach you how to read?"

"My eyes hurt when these letters jump on the page."

"Unless the book is enchanted, they are not supposed to."

Tiriel cups his cheek and plants a kiss on his forehead.

"You care about me. You protect me. No one ever did! I am this wild warrior girl who can kill a giant with one swift of her sword. Who can be beaten to death and then stands up with bones broken and wounds bleeding and shrugs it all away. No matter how in pain I was, no one ever asked me how I felt. No one cared. Do you know why people like me drink ale all the time, especially celebrating victories? Because we're in pain. But we can't show it, it's a weakness. And we can't be weak."

Tiriel suddenly turns her eyes away, and Astarion sees a glimpse of pain as if she re-lives those moments. He pictures a wounded woman who drinks herself to numbness while people cheer her for slaying a monster. Then a bleeding half-elf curled up in the tent, hollow and miserable. 

"But you – you care. When I don't rage anymore, when I feel the pain and exhaustion again, I don't have to think how to get back to camp and make sure my companions don't steal my part of the loot. I can just fall into your arms and let you take care of the rest. Washing me, helping to undress. You help me with my flesh wounds and broken bones. You wait till I recover – and don't let me risk myself."

"It would be cruel to let you return to the fight with internal bleeding."

"Aastarion, that's the point. I've never had anyone who would do that to me. I never knew I could sleep so worriless. My heart, you are safety. You are protection. You let me hide behind your back. No one ever did. Because if someone with a two-handed sword joins your party, she is supposed to protect you. Sometimes I would vomit blood after the fight and people would surround a delicate looking maiden-sorceress who was just shocked by seeing so much blood and gore. I was always the last one to get the potion or healing. I am Tiriel the Barbarian, after all. No one would check up on me, no one would look after me. But you – you do that. Astarion, you can't even apprehend how much love there is inside you. And how much I need it."

Astarion finally makes himself move and pulls Tiriel closer. She wraps her hands around his neck. 

"You remind me of a fairytale I loved as a girl. When I was beaten by my mother and when my stepfather called me a "fairy bastard," I would run to the village healer and listen to his wife telling fairy tales. There was one which always caught my attention.”

"A long time ago there was a warrior woman whose ancestors were giants. She was fierce and strong. One day she got a mission – to kill a monster. She realized the monster was indeed an enchanted prince. She broke his chains and they married. I always pictured this prince as an elf in my head. Like, he was described as someone very beautiful. It couldn't be a human! Human males are ugly. Or maybe it was my own desperate hope my elven father would come back and take me with him".

"And what is more important, you understand me. You laugh at my stupid jokes. You know how to make me feel better. I love talking to you. I never thought I would find someone I would be so comfortable with. Yes, I fell for your looks. For your sweet words. You made me feel wanted, desired. Everything I thought I wasn't. I knew you were manipulating me; it was easy to understand. But I felt good when you dragged me to the woods. I am going to live for fifteen or twenty decades more and I want to live these years with you. I don't want and don't need anyone else." 

Astarion stares at Tiriel as if seeing her for the first time. As if they hadn't shared a bed for half a year. It was like she was talking about someone else. Someone he doesn't even know. How come… how come he has her? What a weird coincidence made them meet? Maybe some god was responsible after all. Heard his prayers and made that unknown elf hook up with a married human woman thirty-six years ago. 

A married human woman who hated the little girl she gave birth to. Who abused Tiriel and beat her for her mere existence. 

"My stepfather once lusted for me and he suppressed his desires with violence. He snatched a knife and cut my left ear off. The healer stitched it back but I have a scar left."

The girl grew up. Survived. Made her way to Baldur's Gate.

Tiriel, with her absolute lack of self-control or respect for anyone, solved most of the problems threatening to break people's bones.

"He told you "No!", I will smash your head against the wall if you don't leave him alone, you drow bitch!"

His very own knight in shining armor. Well, barbarian rags rather than actual armor, but Astarion is also far from an innocent prince. 

Tiriel puts her head on his chest as if trying to hear his undead heart. They both don't move, holding each other in silence. Astarion wants to say a thousand words. How much he loves her. How she makes his undead heart ache. How he adores her – with her dark humor, easygoing nature, and bravery.

But he can't. The words are stuck in his throat; meanwhile, Tiriel keeps humming. A song of the north, of the wilderness. There is wind and cold, battles and blood. The smell of burning wood. The rage. The sorrow. And dragons. 

Tiriel, the unwanted daughter of the barbarian kin, holds Astarion, and he drowns in her arms. Safety, protection, freedom, love. Such simple concepts and yet so unknown.

He doesn't want to let her go. He won't let her go unless she wants.

"Ok I am freezing and want to sleep. I will be in the tent," She pulls away, shivering. "How do you say "my love" in Sylvan?"

"Salen Aster," Astarion answers, and the words sound like a spell.

"Then see you later, Salen Aester."

He chuckles – Tiriel pronounces the words clumsily with a terrible Common accent. 

"Have a good rest, my love."

Being alone is uncomfortable. So he quickly puts on clean clothes, leaving the dirty pile for the latter, and returns to the small camp they had put up. Tiriel is already under the fur blanket but knows she hasn't fallen asleep yet. She never goes to sleep without him. So while she rests, Astarion stays beside guarding her or meditating himself.

Astarion crawls beside her, and she immediately wraps herself around him, placing her redhead on his chest, sharing body warmth.

Astarion concentrates on the heartbeat. He can feel blood streaming around her body. Her short breaths. Tiriel is so alive it's enough for two of them. 

"Tiriel"

"Hm?" she looks up at him, her eyes already sleepy.

"These six months we've been together are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery I endured. My worst memory lasted longer than I know you but somehow… somehow it holds the same gravity as those years of darkness. I don't even know how this is possible."

She smiles and caresses his cheek.

"Rage is louder than tears, fire is brighter than shadows. Rags are cheap but fur is paid with gold."

It seems like she wants to say something else, but she falls asleep in his arms. Astarion looks at her with adoration, trying to memorize every small detail of her face.

"Salen Aester", he whispers in her ear. 

--

Tag List

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

[anthrophobixx]

can u share with us why/how you chose the typings for the characters like why karen fairy, why oliver ghost and so on

of course !!

Karen got the fairy type because fairy types are mostly known for being quiet, calm, collected, but also very hard hitting, which I feel like resembles Karen quite well

Oliver got ghost because of the spooky mansion !! At the end of his good route he talks about how the cinema was indeed haunted by ghosts, but he managed to befriend some of them. This was actually suggested by a different tumblr ask, since we originally wanted to give Oliver the electric type :]

Randy got poison, since poison types usually live in conditions that are deemed "poor" by humans, but they're infact optimal for them. That's kinda how they found Randy actually. Bro is also probably a walking hazard so it only makes sense. Not to mention the kind of poison type pokemon that exist that just...scream Randy Jade (eg garbodor, who's actually his strongest guy)

Gabby got electric since she works at a phone shop and her job is to fix phones, printers, typewriters, all that good stuff. Since she fixes items that require electricity we thought electric type was the most fitting. Even if electricity isn't always needed when repairing things, pokemon such as magnemite, magneton and rotom can be useful regardless as shown in the games

Jerry got normal since he is probably the most casual citizen in dialtown. He's just livin his life, got nothing too special going on, he's just a regular guy

Norm got fighting and I feel like it's kinda self explanatory why. Fighting types are known for being angry and aggressive, but also reasonable and kind once they get used to their trainers. Some fighting type pokemon are also known for wanting justice and they fight for whatever they feel is right (eg lucario). Sounds kinda like Norm imo

Mingus got dark because she's a corrupt mayor, but also because the dark type has the most cats. Majority of dark type pokemon are sassy and they all give off this weird mingus energy I can't put into words.

Callum got steel because he works with metal. His arms, legs and his head are made out of metal. There's pokemon that shed pieces of metal when they evolve (aron) so he doesn't only use his pokemon in battle, but also in his workshop, kinda like Gabby. I can't explain it any better sobw

Bunny got ice since he's "cold as ice" iykwim. Tried to give him as many passive aggressive pokemon as possible (and this includes alolan ninetales somehow)

Gingi doesn't have a specific type since it probably ate the gym leader guide book it got from the higher ups. It also doesn't keep it's pokemon in pokeballs since 1. no money 2. the concept of big ass creechurs being trapped in tiny balls terrify it and it doesn't want its pokemon to be "put in ball prison". Gingi also resembles the player in this au thing

Abel got fire since fire does resemble anger, but also power. Abel owns a whole ass funfair and is also part of the minglings !! Bro got plenty of power !! He is also angry at Gingi for wasting his time, bothering his employees and pissing on one of his attractions I totally didn't forget what it was but I remember it happening !! We tried giving him all the passive aggressive fire type pokemon we could find in the dex (he's also matching w his boywife bc love wins)

Mr. Dickens got psychic since psychic types are known for being the wise, knowledgable pokemon. Like fairy types, they're also calm, quiet and collected, but they got a lil touch of wisdom in there. They also represent the power of the intellect, which is pretty mr. dickenscore if I say so myself.

Theoroar got the dragon type, since theo doesn't actually give a damn about building a bond or relating to his pokemon. He wants the rarest, most powerful pokemon under his grasp and dragon types just so happen to fit in both of those categories. His logic is that his pokemon work for him and whatever gets him to the top he will use it

Hobo got all the gods. Dialga, the god of time, Palkia, the goddess of space, Xerneas, the goddess of life, Yvetal the god of death and Arceus the creator of it all and the being above everything. He probably has Groudon and Kyogre in his pc, since they're the god of land and the sea respectively. He got herdier for good measure, it's kinda like Red's pikachu in the johto games.

Tango and Billy are both rocket executives so they don't have a specific type they specialize in, but Billy has a more offensive team no pun intended, while Tango has a more defensive one

Shooty and Stabby well....they obv don't have a type they specialize in since they're pretty much just rocket grunts. Their goal is to become executives one day

[yanderederee]

Nerd’n’ShiningArmor

April2nd, 2004

Before… › here! › next! › …

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

Ryoko teasingly asked her son, “why did I just get a phone call from the nearby vet asking for you to pick up a cat?”

Busted-

Keisuke never technically asked if he could keep the cat, but after a little sob story about how you cried over the poor kitten’s broken form, Ryoko found herself bending backwards.

She owed you a lot for all your help, after all. Caring for a disabled kitten wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Keisuke went to inform you of Sango’s release as soon as he could. It’d be easier if he could afford a flip phone or something, but face to face was better.

Just before he reached the front door, he realized.

..he forgot his damn glasses. He backtracked to his room, pulling the hair tie from his wrist and twirling it around his hair to pull back most of it. He wasn’t as picky as he used to be when it came to how slicked back he kept his ponytail, leaving behind a few bang pieces to hide his ears.

Baji slid the frames up his nose, and made his way out the door for the second time.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

He first came to your house four weeks ago.

In those four weeks, he’d walked you home once a week. He tried doing so more often, worried about who might be lurking in the shadows these days. And while it wasn’t his place to force his hospitality, you seemed adamant that he shouldn’t walk you home most days.

You were hiding something, and by the looks of it, the source was your home.

You get especially defensive when he brought up your parents.

He didn’t press about it, but even as time passed and he began warming up to your company, his concerns began to fester.

But he took his mom’s advise when he went to her for it: don’t pry. You helped him more than enough already, the least he could do was give you space and patiently wait for you to confide in him, if you ever so chose to do so.

Baji was trying to be patient.

There was an unsettling feeling pooling in his stomach when he finally found his way in front of your house.

Was there normally a car parked on the side of your house?

Baji paused. No, your house was definitely more occupied now than it’s ever been. Yet, it felt… haunted. Why was he getting nervous? He could turn around and not even deal with it. Pick up Sango by himself and tell you the next time you run into eachother. That’d be smarter.

So why?

His legs were moving on their own, and a simmering feeling of worry started to steep in his chest.

Why was he angry?

Why was he rushing to the door?

Suddenly, a memory of your fave came to mind. That’s why, he concluded.

That distant, far away look you sported at every mention of your parents.

He couldn’t accurately explain it, but knowing you were home with your parents put a weird, instinctively bad feeling.

Turning on ‘the boy-next-door type charm’, Baji’s hardened resolve knocked on the door before an actual game plan was thought out.

When the door opened, it was your form that greeted him, to his surprise. You were dressed a little different, and the way you moved was forced with more grace. But it was you, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“K-Keisuke?” You gasped, starring into his glasses with a shocked expression. You closed the door a little bit, trying to hide a nervous flicking gaze back and forth before looking at him like nothing happened.

“What’s up?” You asked.

Every single word died in his throat. Gaping like a fool, he simply repeated the words he was supposed to say. “The clinic. They just called, said Sango’s free to go home. So,” he unintentionally swept his gaze over what little he could see in your house.

On Mondays, you’d invite him inside the house, if nothing more than to offer snacks or study late. The atmosphere of the house felt much different than it had in the past.

You seemed to grow progressively nervous, feet fiddling together.

Was it your father? Or your mother too? Trying to recall, he’s baffled to realize he didn’t know a single thing about your family.

You’ve never had the opportunity to own a pet before, as your parents are “allergic”. And, that they work Late. He knew when you spoke truth or lie, you were no good at hiding it.

For which reason are you nervous, right now?

Was it due to how your parents would react?

“T-that’s great..! Um, r-right now isn’t a great time,” you tried to whisper something to him, tiptoeing to inch closer and he helped your endeavor by leaning closer. “My parents aren’t in a good m-“ you tried, but the door swung open quickly, and you gasped as you were pulled in sturdily.

A man just about Keisuke’s height came into view, glaring behind the reflect of his glasses. “Who are you?” He asked quickly, quickly.

Keisuke felt himself need to respond quickly, all else meaning death.

“Baji Keisuke.”

“Why are you here?”

“I-I had a question. Y/n helps tutor me.”

“Why not text her?”

“I don’t have a phone, sir.”

S I R ? He’s never used that for any old geezer.

“Hm.” Your father narrows again, at you.

“How does he know where we live?” He asked you, in a much quieter decibel, but with all the same strict quick force.

“He’ll walk me home on nights I feel unsafe,” you lied.

“Why were you out at night? You’re always indoors by 7pm, isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, m-most .. most days. I.. may have overlooked the time, some days.” You admitted while staring at the ground firmly.

“Typical.” Your dad rolled his eyes. “Thank you for being mindful of my daughter’s inconveniences. Please refrain from coming here again, though.”

“I’m very strict on curfew. What with all these biker gangs revving their engines at ungodly hours.” Your father looked Baji up and down dramatically.

He had never been more thankful to wear his school clothes. Baji tucked his canines back and talked a little more gently.

“That prescription seems awfully high for a man your age.” Your dad spoke with a definite air, yet stood at the door prepared for any feedback.

Baji faltered out, “I-I used to read a lot. In the dark. Messed up my sight really bad. By reading a lot. In the dark.”

You wanted to giggle at how lamecute of an excuse it was, but you held it back with professionalism. Baji noticed this. And smiled just a little bit.

“You seem like an okay kid, Baji. Now, if you’ll excuse-” before your father had the chance to close the door, Baji stiffly stuck his foot out.

Your father was not a fan of this.

The air surrounding them seemed to thicken.

“S-sorry, wait, I mean.. I still, needed to ask my question.” He shoveled out under sweat.

“… right, go on than.” Your father nodded and opened the door just wide enough and stepped back just enough for you to peek past.

Baji was stunned. He didn’t actually have a question.

“M-my mother has offered to treat.. you to dinner, as apprentice, for my better scores.”

Trying to Talking smart was hard.

The three of you were quiet. You couldn’t reply without your Father’s say, and your father was not saying anything.

“..D-dad, I’ve met with Ms. Baji a few times now, t-to deliver fruit gift bags as our family’s thankful gesture. She’s very kind.” You added to the statement, careful to hide your glint of excitement.

“She’ll decline. Your shirt is absolutely covered in cat hair. Fix that. Goodnight.” You father said coldly, before closing the door gently.

Both you and Baji were baffled at the encounter.

The only choice you had was to accept that for what it was, and talk about it later.

But Baji really really just wanted to swing the door open and give that high and mighty punk ass dad of your a clean uppercut. Alas, he held back. Especially once he caught glimpse of your waving figure in the closest visible window.

He smiled at your frazzled expression. He walked over quickly and quietly. You opened the window just an inch.

“I’m sorry about him. My dad works late a lot, but he’s always home on Fridays. He’s very picky with the people I associate, is all.”

“About Sango… I-I can.. figure out how manage, later …” your whisper dies low, and Keisuke nods.

“Don’t worry about it, mom said we could keep Sango. Told her bout how we found her and she cried buckets,” he chuckled affectionately. “Come visit her anytime you want, or to study… whatever.”

His last sentence caught you a little off guard, as you caught a sliver of his affectionate gaze, Behind the plastic rims.

“A-anyway, I’ll see you later.” Baji straighten up his glasses, and gave dramatic robotic like wave.

Like a lovesick puppy, you rested your cheek on your hand, watching him walk away at brisk pacing. Your Nerd is Shining Armor. ♡

Well, I was going to add more to this, but I think this is cute as is, and I’m getting into Angsty writing now so~ ❀

[lovelylittlelosers]

🚨 TOP TEN ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN (Hellenic) POTTERY SHAPES (and their best in show) 🚨

A lot of these are going to be from Athens. This isn’t because Athens is the best polis at pottery, but because most of the surviving material culture from Greek antiquity was found in Athens. This is just the facts of classics, deal with it.

10.  The Oinochoe ⭐️⭐️

This is just a pitcher. A boring boring pitcher used to pour wine. It could have been so much more. where’s the flare? I have nothing left to say.

Best in show: Wtf is he doin with that hog? Wheelbarrow racing? Just kidding, this is actually Herakles defeating that boar and bringing it to Athena. which is cool  but its still just a fucking pitcher. (~510 BCE Athens)

9. The Alabastron ⭐️⭐️⭐️

It’s a little vial/jug that holds oils and perfumes. BORING. Do more, be better. Alabastra  are the type of vase that wouldn’t stand a chance in a fist fight. I need a bad bitch piece of pottery and this shit isn't cutting it.

Best in show: This Etruscan alabastron. She’s cute! I too like to paint little cats. (620-590 BCE, Corinth)

8.  The Amphora ⭐️⭐️⭐️ 

She’s tried and true. She’s a classic. She’s basic as hell. Amphorai have many uses but mainly they’re just glorified modern kitchen Pyrex. They just contain shit. Grains? ✔️ Oil? ✔️ Human Ashes? ✔️ Multipurpose icon, but it’s also the only pottery type with its own emoji 🏺 so she’s too mainstream for my taste. All my homies appreciate the amphora, but it’s never gonna be top 5.

Best in show: Exekias’ pot of mythic warriors Achilles and Ajax playing a lil game. How fun! I love a game night. (~540 BCE Athens)

7.  The Stamnos ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

The amphora’s cooler cousin. stamnoi are bad bitches all around. They’re stouter and are made to hold liquids like water and wine (and sometimes as diluting vessels.) They have the same powerful vibe as amphorai but they’re more underground, you’ve probably never heard of them before.

Best in show: Listen. Is she a little flawed? Yes. Is she serving cunt? Kinda. This stamnos depicts Dionysus and his maenads and satyrs! Rad as hell. (370–360 BCE Etruscan)

6. The Volute Krater ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

Kraters are wine mixing pots where water is added to super concentrated wines to make them actually drinkable. Kraters have many different styles but the best of them is the Volute Krater - just like a normal krater, but with fancier handles. They’ve got a very classic look I think, I’d want to hang out with one they seem like they have really expensive and classy tastes. The sugar mommy of ancient pottery.

Best in show:  What a pretty mother fucker. (~320 BCE Etruscan).

5. The Lebes Gamikos ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

So... This one is really weird looking and also really pretty. Has maybe the least practical lid I’ve ever seen but who can even blame it when it looks that pretty? A lebes would have been used as a cooking pot. A COOKING POT. CAN YOU IMAGINE WHIPPING THIS BITCH OUT TO MAKE MAC AND CHEESE????

Best in show: TO COOK WITH??????????? It’s got Eros on it and a smaller decorative lebes as the handle. So extra and for what? (350 - 325 BCE Apulia.)

4.  The Loutrophorus ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

 These guys are tall and skinny and potters liked to go ham on the handles. They were ceremonial vases that held water. They’re just really impressive. I mean just look at it. Potters and Painters got to go crazy on these things because they were only really used for big and important rituals and events so they could be as fancy and special as they wanted.

Best in show: I mean,,,, come on folks. This piece has the head of a woman on the lid and each side is decorated with tons of gods and goddesses. It is ornate, it was expensive, it is a fucking queen. (330 BCE)

3. The Kylix  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

Perhaps a little over rated but definitely not as overhyped as the amphora, the kylix is a wide shallow pot used for sippin’ on drinks in super style. They have painted eyes and when you drink from them the eyes become part of your face and the handles look like ears. This is life changing information. These bitches are big and dramatic, much like me. They were really popular in Mycenean Greece (before the dark ages that birthed the classical Hellenic period we all know and love -- the ancient Greece of ancient Greece) which just screams Scorpio energy; how mysterious and cool of them. These baddies have art not just on the outside, but the inside too! 

Best in show: Reminds me of that crazy look anime characters get when they’re about to go off the rails (~510 BCE Athens.) a second less cool kylix is also pictured to show you what they would look like when you drank from them. Hilarious.

2. The Pyxis ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Pyxides are the unsung hero of ancient pottery. Most pottery charts will not feature them. But Pyxides are a girl’s best friend.

The pyxis serves as a little jewelry box, a little box for all your trinkets, a little makeup kit. This is the fun type of versatility (👀🏺 get good amphora) These little guys sit on your ancient vanity and open up from the top with a fun shaped handle. Because they were made for women we get a lot of cool insights on women’s lives (and a lot of wedding stuff) in antiquity from these little guys!

Best in show: THIS pyxis depicting a bride preparing for her wedding. Outside she takes a little bath with Eros (winged god of love who later becomes our modern Cupid) and inside he sits on her lap. Talk about a wing man! (~410 BCE Athens.)

1. The Kantharos  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

If you don’t think a kantharos could steal your girl you’re wrong. These bitches have everything you could ever look for. They’re smaller drinking cups that were most likely used for rituals due to how crazy ornate most of them are. Some of them are even molded to look like heads, that is simultaneously really badass and also very unserious!!

Best(s) in show: A classic ornate kantharos with silver plating depicting the death of Orpheus and the kidnapping of Helen. Look at how fucking GORGEOUS it is (~415 BC.)  And a head kantharos (also called a janiform kantharos as they have two faces!) of a satyr and a woman. Imagine drinking from this I would feel so powerful (420 B.C. Athens.)

[oswanily]

Medieval Recolors of Objects Dump, part 1

There isn't enough maxis match medieval cc, so here is a little set of recolors, making some game items look more appropriate for the era. Not everything is pictured, but apart from the Ye old cookbook oven, everything on the pictures is included. As you can see there is enough to furnish a house (apart from the bathtub: I found enough good cc bathtub options, and the base game wooden one can work fine, so I didn't bother with it).

This set contains 21 items, please read the item description (below the cut) because not everything is base game compatible!

Also, as you can see, this is part 1, there is a part 2 planned, and some CAS items too.

Items list:

Bench: Outdoor Retreat required, recolor

Bunk Bed: Horse Ranch required, retexture, I also tried to up the energy and comfort level but I haven't tested those (but it should work, I have done it before)

Candles: Base Game, recolor and tuning edited so they work as an anti monster under the bed lamp

Chair: Base Game, retexture

Changing Table: Growing Together required, retexture (don't add the safety belt thingy, there wasn't really a way to make that era appropriate so i left it as is)

Chest: Base Game, retexture, works as a dresser

Counter: Base Game, retexture, the angled pieces look a bit weird but I did my best

Double bed 1: Outdoor Retreat required, retexture of the mattress with the original frame wood swatches

Double bed 2: Base Game, retexture

Dresser: Kids Room Stuff, retexture

Fridge: Cottage Living required, recolor, this fridge doesn't work off the grid (for the ultimate decades challenge you can't have a functional fridge, so I made it based on what I needed, if you want a functioning off the grid version just ask!)

High chair: Base Game, retexture

Infant bed: Base Game, retexture

Mission tables: Base Game, retexture, three sizes

Potty: Cottage Living required, retexture

Screen (room divider): Base Game, retexture

Single bed: Cats & Dogs required, retexture

Toddler bed: Base Game, retexture

Toy Box: Cottage Living required, retexture, (don't look in the toy box when it's open, the toys have a wood texture but there's a very anachronistic robot in there)

The swatches don't match on all items, but most have at least 6 swatches in common.

The download is a .rar file, extract it and you can pick and choose which items you want. Remember, only keep items you have the corresponding packs for!

If you have suggestions for objects you want to see in part 2, tell me!

Download: SimFileShare | Dropbox

@allhistoricalcc @ts4medieval @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @mmfinds @sssvitlanz @emilyccfinds @public-ccfinds @alwaysfreecc thanks!

[mercair]

You hear something coming from the water... Will you answer to her call?.

Finally, my next Secret Boss is *partially* finished. I present to you, the amazing, beautiful; Sonatta.

"Once, she was a talented ballerina that performed every year for the festival. When she stood on the stage, the audience would cheer for her mere presence, everybody loved it. But it wasn't all just her; her lightner was the real Maestro behind all her performances, she was the one who wrote the music, and the one that played it.

But... One day, something happened. Something horrible happened. Her lightner was no longer around, no matter how hard she searched for her, she just couldn't find her. It was as if she just vanished...

She couldn't perform again... Never again.

Suddenly, another lightner came to her, and for some reason, trapped Sonatta inside of a cage, and exiled her to the bottom of the ocean, she was no longer needed anymore.

In the depths, someone called for her, a mysterious person reached to her, and told her... Something horrible.

Now, she waits alone in her cage, singing one of the songs her lightner wrote once, waiting for someone to release her, so she could help everyone in the same predicament as her, and maybe... Just maybe... Find her."

Was that sad enough? Do you feel bad now? No? Oh, ok...

Anyways, so Sonatta. A beautiful, talented ballerina, bound to a horrible fate, and forced to accept it, yet still dreaming about a better future for herself and the ones in her same situation. This bit is *partially* based on The TWILIGHT ZONE Theory.

Her lightworld counterpart is a Sheet Music Paper book, full of various, familiar songs. Now, does that mean that the song Onion-san keeps hearing is hers? Yeah, indeed! It is really dark down there after all.

Trapped inside a chest, guarded by several, terryfing creatures, she can't escape, and even if she did, the water would hurt her, what a predicament.

Now about her design, you may be wondering; Why is she cat? And the answer is: She's not, she just looked weird without some kind of ears. About the rest, i tried my best to make her look like, actually defenseless and fragile, to fit a lot more the circumstances she is in.

Super Form Design: After absorbing the missing piece of her music sheet, she transforms into one of the most powerful darkners ever been. Full of memories, hope, and love; Moonlight Sonatta.

I made her MOONLIGHT form thinking of Gargy's Fairy Tale. It is inspired by a fairy tale called "The Light Princess" with the ribbons around her wrists bounding her to the earth (lol), cuz without them she'd just fly away. And in the tale, the only way to stop the princess from flying is to get her wet. In game, your only way of defeating Sonatta, is to make her CRY.

And now, her battle theme. This one is uh... rather different from your conventional Superboss theme, or at least, the feeling it gives, i don't think i've found it before in one of these. Im quite happy with how it came out.

If you want to listen to the rest of her song, feel free to check my soundcloud.

Anyways, that's all folks, keep dreaming!

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober Day 20: Found Family

Day 20! This one was very fun to write, and is a continuation of Day 16 because I can <3 Bruise angst my beloved and I really dug into it in this batch. You guys will see the fruits of that labor in a couple hours.

Taglist: @splinnters @abigailxoxo @tornoleander @mondothebombo @ghostwalloper @toastingpencils37 @lightning-chicken

Words: 2.3k

“Are we brothers?”

The question caught Cole a bit off-guard, and the training dummy plowed straight into his arm when he stopped paying attention to it. He rubbed at his arm, glancing over to Jay as the other boy stood on the steps with his hands on his hips. Jay looked troubled, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and hands clenching and unclenching. They had been together long enough for Cole to recognize the signs of Jay’s anxiety.

It was a weird question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jay looked down at the ground, “say my parents just called me and I called you my brother, would you be mad at me?”

Cole raised his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t think that they would’ve been close enough or spent enough time together to call each other brothers. Although, now that he thought about it, they fought at least once a day over the stupidest of things that could be solved in an instant; he would put Jay in a headlock and give him noogies all the time; every time there would be a chore that Wu would give them they would start fighting over it like screeching cats until one of them eventually had to do it, but at the end of the day they would still sit on the couch and play video games until Jay was knocked out with his head on Cole’s shoulder and the earth ninja would have to carry him to bed.

He never had a brother, and he knew Jay didn’t have one either. So how could either of them know what brothers were supposed to be?

“No,” he said honestly, “I wouldn’t be mad. Why?”

“I, uh, may have just done that.”

Figures. Jay wouldn’t have been asking him otherwise. “Do you think we’re brothers?”

Jay rocked on his heels. “I mean, I don’t have any. But I think that if I did have a brother, I would want it to be you.” He looked panicked for a second, probably worried about Cole’s reaction. “Is that weird? Oh that’s probably really weird I’m sorry-”

“Woah!” Cole said, stepping forward and taking his friend (brother) by the shoulders. “Hey, now. Calm down, Jay, I already said that I wasn’t mad. I-I’m really flattered actually.”

“Really?”

“Really. And hey, I’m happy to call you my brother any day of the week.”

Cole cringed in his waiting room chair as the memory finished playing in his head, the plastic seat hard and uncomfortable. It wasn’t the first time he had been here, and it wouldn’t be the last, but you would think that after all the trips they’ve had to make to the emergency room they would’ve started to bring seat cushions for the long waits in-between. However, it was the first time that he had been alone in the waiting room since he was a small child and his mom was sick. He couldn’t say that it brought back good memories to be back here.

His mind kept flashing back to just a few minutes ago, watching as his brother convulsed on the gurney in terror, fighting against the nurses trying to hold him down. Cole was angry, insisting to the nurse that he needed to get to Jay, and eventually he stormed past her despite her saying that only family was allowed behind the scenes.

Jay was his brother; it didn’t matter whether there was a stupid piece of paper to prove it or not.

His little brother had been so scared, terrified of the strangers’ voices connected to faces that he couldn’t see with their hands all over him, but especially the oxygen mask that they had strapped to his face. Cole pushed down the anger that threatened to bubble over, choosing instead to focus on getting his brother to calm down so they could treat his stab wound.

Kissing his forehead well after Jay had gone back to sleep, Cole watched as his brother was wheeled back to somewhere that he couldn’t follow just quite yet, trying to channel the natural patience that came with his element.

“Excuse me?” a nurse called from the door, and Cole picked his head up to look at her. “Are you here for Jay Walker?”

“Yes, I am.” Cole said, getting up from his chair and feeling his back pop as he did so.

“Are you family—”

“He is my brother,” Cole said shortly; part of him felt bad, but the other part didn’t care, “and if you try and keep me from going to see him just because it’s not on record, I will have to ask you to step aside.”

The nurse looked terrified. “O-Of course, you may go see him now. He’s in the third room on the right.”

Cole thanked her, and she stepped aside to let him pass through the door. Walking down the hallway brought back memories from years ago, and Cole could feel himself continuing to shut down with every step he took, and this wasn’t even the hospital where she passed. He couldn’t imagine how strong the memories would be if he ever went back; all it had taken was one trip and a meltdown before the team unanimously agreed to never visit unless they absolutely had to, and if they did then Cole would stay home.

But what happened to his mom wasn’t going to happen to Jay.

The door opened easily, making no sound as he stepped into the room, and Cole sucked in a breath when he saw his brother lying on the bed.

Jay was pale, making his auburn hair stand out against the stark white of the pillow. There was a cannula on his face instead of a full mask, and Cole was grateful that there wouldn’t be another meltdown. Beeping unsteadily, the heart monitor stood alone in the corner, opposite of the IV line hooked into Jay’s arm. The room was as blank as any other room that they had ever been in, and Cole was grateful for the bare walls. Her room hadn’t been barren because of how much time they spent in it.

Standing next to the bed, Cole brought the room’s one chair with him, its legs scraping against the floor with a sound that made him cringe. Making sure that Jay stayed asleep, Cole sat, taking his brother’s hand in his own and starting to play with the blue ninja’s fingers.

“Would it kill you to go on one mission without giving me a heart attack?” Cole asked, getting no answer other than a soft wheeze. The others were still chasing down the bad guys, Cole having been designated as the one to take Jay to the hospital after taking the knife to the gut.

It was almost too common at this point. Jay never used to act so recklessly, throwing himself in front of every possible danger as if he couldn’t die. Recently, there were too many missions ending with someone taking him to the hospital, or bringing him to the medical bay on the Bounty to get treatment well into the wee hours of the night. He knew that the others were starting to notice, trying to intervene before Jay could throw himself to the wolves so he would stay safe. 

He and Nya had spent too many lengthy conversations about it. Cole knew something was wrong, but he didn’t even know where to start pushing to find out what it was.

Groaning, Jay cracked open his eyes. “Cole?”

“Yeah, bud,” Cole answered, standing back up and making sure that Jay could see him.

Jay squinted, his freckles standing out against his pale skin. “What happened?”

“You got stabbed. I took you to the hospital and you’ve got to stay here for the next couple days to make sure your stitches and whatnot don’t get infected.”

“Oh,” Jay closed his eyes, leaning into Cole’s hand when it cupped his cheek, “where are the others?”

Cole bit his lip, and he really hoped that the rest of the team wouldn’t make a liar out of him. “They’re on the way, they should be here soon. Do you need anything?”

Licking his lips, Jay brought his hand up to his face, and Cole saw how he relaxed when he shot a small bolt of lightning between his fingers. Did he really think that Cole would’ve let the hospital staff put the vengestone back on? “Is there any water?”

There was a small pitcher and some cups on the other table. “Yeah, I’ll get you some.”

Picking it up was a bit of a hassle with his new hands; he kept forgetting that it really hadn’t been that long since he was revived. You would think that would be something you would remember, but it was just another day in Ninjago when Cole was concerned. Filling the cup to about halfway, Cole brought it back to Jay, helping him to hold it when the blue ninja’s hand couldn’t stop shaking.

Actually, Jay couldn’t stop shaking. “Are you cold? Do you need another blanket?”

“It’s probably the blood loss,” Jay said, and he wasn’t entirely wrong, “don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“Jay, you’re my brother. If you need a blanket then I can get you a blanket—”

“I said I’m fine, Cole,” Jay said quickly, and Cole was surprised to hear his brother’s voice crack mid-sentence. “Stop worrying about it, please.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cole helped his brother sit up enough to bury his face into Cole’s shoulder, resting a hand on the blue ninja’s back while Jay’s fist latched onto his uniform. Kissing the top of his head, Cole sighed, remembering that Jay was probably a little loopy from the pain meds and that he would need to be gentle. “Bluebell, it’s fine. I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t want to do it. What’s got you so worked up?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He sniffled, and Cole could feel tears start to soak into his gi. “For getting hurt and making you take me to the hospital and I know I’ve had to go here a lot recently and I know it’s probably super expensive but I can get a second job if I need to since it’s not fair that it has to come out of everyone’s paychecks—”

And Jay kept rambling, words flying so fast that Cole could only catch every fifth word, but he didn’t interrupt his brother. Clearly, Jay had been bottling this up for a long time, and Cole knew that if he wanted to get a rational explanation from Jay then he would have to listen to the panicked word vomit version first. It was just how Jay worked.

Rubbing his back, Cole stayed quiet and nodded when he was supposed to and hummed whenever Jay “wanted” a response. It took almost ten minutes for Jay’s words to finally run out, and he slumped against the black ninja, exhausted. Cole kissed the back of his head, tucking Jay closer to his chest and laying his chin on Jay’s crown. “Thank you,” Jay said softly, shivering.

“You’re welcome,” Cole said, “now I’m going to get you that blanket, and you’re going to repeat everything you just told me but at a quarter of the speed. Or you’re going to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Helping Jay to lay back down against the pillows, Cole ruffled his hair and gave him a small smile before leaving the room to try and find a nurse. There was one right outside of their room who looked friendly enough. He could’ve just used the call button, but he knew Jay, and he knew that the younger male would appreciate a couple minutes to himself after having a breakdown.

“Excuse me?” Cole said, and the nurse turned around. “Are there any of the warmed blankets left?”

She led him to the heater and grabbed one, folding it up neatly and handing it over. Thanking her, Cole made his way back to Jay’s hospital room, but not before pulling his phone out and dialing Nya’s number to update them on the situation.

“Hello? Cole?”

Shifting the blanket in his hands, Cole smushed the phone between his cheek and his shoulder. “Hey Nya. Are you guys on your way?”

“Yeah, we’re in the car right now. We had to make a quick pitstop to patch Kai up but we should be there soon. How’s Jay?”

“Fine,” Cole sighed, “you might have a little trouble getting back here. They wouldn’t let me go through until Jay started having a meltdown.”

“What? Why was he having a meltdown?”

He reached Jay’s hospital room, so Cole lowered his voice. “They put an oxygen mask on him and then slapped on some vengestone. He started panicking pretty bad but I got him to calm down. No one got hurt.” Too badly, anyway.

Nya growled on the other end. “I don’t care if they were hurt or not, I’ll maim them myself.”

“There’s no need for that,” Cole said, “you guys are gonna have enough trouble getting to his room since they’re only letting family in. Don’t cause any more.”

“I’ll cause as much as I want to,” Nya paused, and Cole knew that she was thinking, “but fine. We’ll be there shortly.”

She hung up, and Cole stuffed the phone back in his pocket. Opening the door to Jay’s room, Cole noticed that the blue ninja had found the remote and turned on the tv to some cartoon channel, and now the blue ninja was fixated on watching the goofy events unfold on screen.

“Jay?” Cole asked, not wanting to startle him. Jay shushed him, still watching, and Cole chuckled at the rare focused expression on his brother’s face.

Silently, Cole made his way to the bed and climbed into it next to Jay, spreading the still-warm blanket out over the both of them. Jay leaned into his big brother’s side, yawning, and Cole wrapped an arm around Jay’s waist while being careful of his stitches.

If Jay wanted to watch cartoons for the rest of the day, then Cole could wait for their conversation.

[changingplumbob]

Romero Household: Chapter 1, Part 5

After a brief visit to the humour and hijinks festival Keira tries to teach Marta how to play chess.

Marta’s first language is Spanish so she is teaching Keira (and me) some common Spanish words/phrases Ay dios mio: omg equivalent Buenas noches: Good evening / Good night Gracias: Thank you Hasta luego: See you later Qué?: What? Si: Yes

The couple sit down for dinner and Keira entertains Marta with stories about her day at work. The sea otters and harbour seals are some of her favourites but there is a particular cheeky walrus you have to look out for. She mostly stayed prepping food at her current level but she enjoyed feeding, even if it was slightly chaotic.

The two make a quick stop at the humour and hijinks festival.

Keira: Sweetheart I think your hair is doing weird things to your hat

Marta: It’s worth it, I’m attached to these ponytails. Get it, attached because they’re my hair

Keira: *giggles* Someone has had to much jokesters tea already

The two go to the tables when they are joined by someone unexpected, Keira’s ex.

Morgan: So I heard you were getting married

Keira: Yes, this is Marta

Marta: Buenas noches

Morgan seems grumpy and not to keen on leaving their table so the two decide it’s best they clear out. They’re interested in their future, not their past.

Keira: Do you know how to play chess

Marta: Si. I get my pieces to the other side of the board

Keira: Not all of them, just the pawns, and that's not the main goal

Marta: *whispers* que? Why are we talking about porn in public

Keira: Oh I’m not it- they sound similar si but they are completely different words. A pawn is one of these smaller pieces

Marta: Ah. And they move forward, si?

Keira: You got it. Let me show you the rest

Keira: The rooks can only go in straight lines, forwards or backwards until they run into a piece

Marta: They are the hetero pieces

Keira: *chuckles* exactly. The bishops here, these pointy ones, they move diagonally. Again just until they run into a piece. If you run into a piece of yours you stop on the square before it. If you run into a piece of mine you take it and put your piece where mine was

Marta: Si. What about the pony

Keira: The pony? It’s called a knight but I kind of like pony better

Marta blushes.

Keira: Ponies… move to their own beat. They move like they’re making capital L’s

Marta: Que?

After giving her best explanations, the two start to play but honestly Marta is more interested in flirting.

Marta: *blows kiss* two more sleeps

Keira: Aww. Are you counting down

Marta: *grins* Si! I’m looking forward to being wives

Keira: You’re so cute sweetheart

Marta: Gracias. I would make cute infants, no *raises eyebrows and pouts*

Keira: *giggles* That has never been in doubt

The game carries on and Keira eventually wins, she does have a higher logic skill after all. But she blows Marta a kiss so who’s the real winner? Back home for bed when-

Marta: Ay dios mio! A cat

Keira: I can see that

Marta: Can we keep him carino

Keira: Since he belongs to the neighbours I’m going to go with no

Marta: *sighs* Hasta luego friend

The next day after work Marta is bring in the washing when Tiana says hello.

Tiana: Was it you that put my washing in the dryer

Marta: No, it would have been my fiancé Keira. She was in the laundry yesterday

Tiana: Ah. I wish my husband helped out that much

Lawrence: Afternoon ladies

Tiana: Lawrence dear, how are you? How is your lovely family

Lawrence: *sighs* A handful at the moment. Roger keeps getting in spats with some other kid at school so I need to supervise pick ups

Tiana: Here is where I’m glad I don’t have kids

Marta: Did you really never want kids

Tiana: No, never. I’m so glad I found a man who didn’t expect me to pop them out

Marta: How do you handle our neighbours infant shrieks?

Tiana: They shriek? Blessings of losing hearing in my old age, I've yet to hear them. I’ve never minded kids, I just have no desire to raise any

Lawrence: To each their own. Oh, I better go, school ends soon. Hey Marta, best of luck for your wedding tomorrow

Marta: Gracias. Hasta luego Lawrence

Keira has been working hard and burnout is threatening, luckily she has the wedding and honeymoon to slow her down. Sitting down for dinner she notices something strange on the floor… a cursed book? Weird. Must be a landlord problem.

Keira: Panya? Yes it’s Keira Foster from 2 Dockyard Way. Could you come and check some things? Thanks

Marta: What was that about

Keira: Just calling the property owner to come check out that book

Marta: What bo- ay dios mio! Que? Where did it come from

Keira: I don’t know, maybe I should just toss it before the property owner shows up so he doesn’t think we’re hysterical

Marta: Que? No! You cannot get rid of it. It could hurt you

Keira: What? It’s a book

Marta: But the glow, it’s cursed. Leave it for Panya por favor.

Keira relents and when Panya shows up she invites him in to check the thing out. He assures her he will deal with it and takes it out of the unit.

Keira: Oh come on! That score can’t be right. You’re using a mod or something

Joey: Can’t do mods on console, you just need to up your skills

Keira: Whatever. Don’t be late tomorrow *disconnects*

Marta: I gather you didn’t win

Keira: Not this time. I suppose we had better go pack

Marta: *smiles* for the honeymoon

Keira: I’d offer to do it in the morning but I know you’ll want to pack your own suitcase

Marta: Si. Just think, this time tomorrow… we’ll be married

Keira: You still won’t let me see your dress?

Marta: No. I want you to have surprises carino

Keira laughs and pulls Marta into a dip, raising her hand for a kiss.

Keira: Te amo sweetheart

Marta: Te amo carino

And so the two spend a few hours ensuring everything is packed for the honeymoon then lie down and try to sleep while bubbling with excitement.

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