#yea it's a bit predictable on the whole...

[figure-frenzy]

Ooooooooooh we got a "What's in my bag" video from Yuzu! ELLE Japan is a proper MVP 😏😌🔥✨

[aria0fgold]

I just remembered! That my dream was helpful enough to give me something neat for Alerik! My dream overall was really messy but one scenario in it was about this group of friends where one of them has the power to summon gods so long as he knows their name or appearance. So then, one of his friends was like: "What if we summon Alerik?" and the guy was like: "We don't know his true name, that's just one of his many names."

And then another friend was like: "What about appearance then? We know what she looks like." and then another friend answered that one instead like: "No, his appearance changes with our perception, we don't know what they actually look like." And then my dream changed during then but that's a really! neat thing to add to Alerik! I'm doing it!

[morzowo]

I really enjoyed only friends, it was a wild, chaotic and messy ride as promised but at the same time there was still so much lost potential, so many opportunities to elevate this series from really good to great ehh

presented above real footage of me during about 85-90% of final episode watch

[cottonlemonade]

Omg i always love your fic events!! You put so much effort into them and they're so creative! Can I get a small pineapple lemonade with pomegranate seeds for Kita? Thank u! ❤️🌾🧑‍🌾🦊

Accidental Confession

word count: 814 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy accidental confession with pining Kita

In hindsight maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

But then again, confessing your feelings to someone wasn’t an everyday occurrence so of course he didn’t have a routine for it.

Nothing about you was ordinary or predictable. Except that little smile you got when you doodled in your planner or you offering your help when you saw someone struggle or the absolute determination with which you would first push a door that was clearly marked pull. Those things he could count on and his heart jumped every time.

“Kita-san?”

He snapped back to the present, meeting your curious gaze. “Yes?”

“You wanted to ask something and then… well, you haven’t said anything yet.”

“Oh! Right.” His face grew a little warmer and he cleared his throat. Kita looked around the courtyard of the school for a moment, trying to remember how he wanted to start his question. It was on the tip of his tongue until he got tripped up by the sun hitting your eyes and all thought had vanished from his mind. Somewhere off to the right he spotted Aran and the twins blatantly staring in his direction. The ace gave him two encouraging thumbs up, Osamu managed to nod while getting lost in the taste of his lunch and Atsumu said something and then pretended to throw up, earning himself a smack over the head from Aran.

He never should have told them about his crush.

“I wanted to ask for yer help.”, he finally began and you sat up a little straighter to show you were listening.

“There’s someone I really like and I want to confess to her but I don’t know how. I was hopin’ ya’d have some insights.”

“Me?”, you said perplexed, “Why me?”

“Because yer really pretty and interestin’, ya must get confessions every other week.”

He frowned when you burst out into laughter.

But when he didn’t join in, you stopped. “Oh, wait. You were serious.”

“Was tryin’ to be. Yea.”

You cocked a brow and looked down at your pudgy tummy, barely hidden by the school’s jacket, and tucked at the hem of your skirt that always felt too short because your butt required so much fabric to cover.

“Uhm, I hate to break it to you, but I think you got the wrong girl. Why not try Kotoha? She is very popular and sweet - unless she is the one you want to confess to.”

“Who?”

“Ko- nevermind. - I can try to help you, sure. But I need a bit more info. Tell me about her.”

Kita pondered. It was the whole point of asking for your advice so he’d have the best possible set up for success. He wanted it to be tailored to your taste. What if you liked a public announcement and meanwhile he would have only handed you a private letter? He needed to be sure.

“She is quite outgoing.”, he began, putting a hand to his chin in thought.

“Outgoing from your point of view or outgoing like Atsumu?”

“Not like Atsumu.”, he said quickly, “More … confident and less…”

“Obnoxious?”, you offered with a chuckle and he pretended to cough to hide his snort.

“Yes. She is also really smart and funny. She knows how to make people comfortable and …”, he looked at his shoes, “has a beautiful smile.”

“Oh you’re down bad, I see.“

“She is beautiful in general.”, he went on, not noticing your comment because he wasn’t close to being done listing everything, “She loves to read and I also know she knits. And when she thinks no one can hear her, she starts humming while she is knitting and that sounds really nice.”

You frowned. You were part of the Knitting Club so you mentally flipped through the members of said club to figure out who he was talking about.

“One time,”, he said and gave a slow, low laugh, remembering the scene, his eyes still fixed on the ground, “she was knitting in the classroom and she was so proud, showing off a little thing she made and I asked her what it was and ya said it was obviously a frog.”

Kita’s shoulders shook and a few seconds later he was doubling over with laughter. He didn’t realize what he had just done.

“But it was just so round and wonky and had tiny stringy legs.” He gasped for air, trying to stop laughing.

Your heart hammered in your ears and your cheeks threatened to cook under the heat rising in them continuously. “H-hey, I’m still proud of my frog!” It was the only thing you could think of to say.

He started coughing from laughing so much, “As ya should be.” Raising his index finger to his eyes he wiped away the tears.

“So, uhm. I think as far as confessions go this was unconventional but… it definitely worked.”

“What?”

art: @cookiechochop on Twitter

a/n: thank you so much for the request, I’m sorry it’s taking so long for me to get to them all!

I didn’t make it post-time skip (like your emojis suggested ✨) because I already have him accidentally confess in A Simpler Life ^^ I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless and thank you so much for your kind words!

[hexedwinchester]

Early seasons of SPN are superior

so I'm re-watching Supernatural (I'm always re-watching SPN, don't mind me) and I realised why the early seasons are so freakin good whereas the laters ones are a complete mess...

Horror was the core theme of Supernatural (yes, I'm not discarding the brothers' drama, I'll get to it in a minute). These beautiful scare tactics that they employed were amazing: the crib mobile toy rotating, shadows moving out of the corner of the eyes, toys going off, subtle bloody Mary reflections in the mirror, creepy skulls dug from the ground, the ghosts flickering. Hell yea they nailed 'Scary just got sexy' with these.

Don't get me started on the background music. Whimsical music crescendo, building up the anticipation. The rock music blaring through the Impala. What happened to the cool ass music in the later seasons? They just played this weird, sad tune like someone's blowing raspberries to show grief and that's it!

Monster of the week theme and the lores/legends in early seasons were much, much better than S12's Foundry or the later season episode with bizarre tentacle porn thingy (you know which one I'm talking about). It just didn't feel the same. The stories were poorly written and even more poorly executed.

Early seasons used to be purely about Sam and Dean (as it should have been throughout) Them against the world, heaven and hell. No dumbass angel lurking in the background like a pathetic third wheel. No king of hell bitching about his sad childhood for two whole seasons. No Soccer mom half assing their way into hunting.

Foreshadowing was done so beautifully! Everytime I re-watch the early seasons I find a few bits that connects to something that happened initially in say S1-2. The parallels are done beautifully and writing is good, and I mean 'I wanna use this quote as a wallpaper' good.

The struggle for the boys was real. They had to do their own research, save their own asses, stitch their wounds, pop their dislocated shoulders back in the place. Later seasons? Bunker has answer to everything, angel healing wounds with a flash of light, Lucifer bringing Sam back from the dead without asking for anything (and no, taking him to Jack is not a good enough bargain), Jack healing wounds or whatever. Where is the damn struggle?! Where is the hero's journey?!

I miss the beautiful, colourful motel rooms that had its own personality. I HATE the bunker (yes I know a lot of people love it because Dean has a good shower, they have a home etc, etc) but no! Bunker is lame and boring and monotonous. There isn't a single thing I like about it. Gimme back my motel rooms with the sunburst mirror!

Story arc or lack thereof from S12 onwards. The main plot just got duller and duller from S12 onward and it felt like the writers got lazy and stopped putting efforts. There was no build up and the plot felt forced. The main arcs didn't feel exciting enough. BMoL and Kelly's pregnancy: the who and why? Jack: predictable. Other Micheal and Micheal Dean: meh, next! God as the big bad: interesting but I don't think they have it in them to execute this correctly.

Irrelevant/Unnecessary characters and their mini plots. S1-5 focuses purely on the brothers and that's what I'm here. I don't care how and why an idiot angel opened purgatory. It sounded more like a dull spin off plot than main story arc. I don't care about prophets and their lives (yeah Kevin is in Advance Placement, what am I to do with that?). I don't care about the different angel garrisons at war (again a plot for a lame spin off). I don't care about Crowley, his son or his relationship with Rowena. Tell me how this affects the boys. If it doesn't, please let's move on. Whatever was going on with Cole Trenton was pointless. I don't care about Mary and her hunting escapades with BMoL. I don't care about Kelly's pregnancy. The multi-universe and all characters they vomited back in the show with this. Not needed! Let Charlie, Gabriel and Bobby's memory rest in peace. Nick's killer storyline and wayward sisters. Enough said. Empty and the deal with Cas and Meg 2.0? Boring! Billy playing the bad cop, the whole death's library? Poorly executed and it turned into a bowl of cold spaghetti. In the end, the focus moved from the boys to useless characters and mini plots. Fuck that! Supernatural is about Sam and Dean and that's about it.

The direction. Later seasons lack the beauty of scenic shots of the landscape, close on up the boys' faces, the lights hitting their faces to show their beauty. Camera angles and slow panning shots. I miss the beauty that were the early seasons.

[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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[missbuckyhellfire]

This Will Be My Year: Eddie Munson

Part Five: Welcome To Hellfire

Warnings: Some Language, Flirting, Sexual Innuendos, NO NSFW AND SMUT content in this chapter.

Previous Part

Even though Audra had ditched Jason, he didn’t want to let her go that easily. He continued to send her flowers with a card each day. At this point, Audra was amused but a tad bit creeped out by the gifts. It was kind of soon to be receiving gifts, especially since they were daily and she had no fuckin clue who was giving them.

Eddie seemed to be on his nerves with the gift giving as well. He wasn’t too sure of what these gifts were. Were they legit signs of admiration for the only female of his club? Or were they a form of mockery? He has seen it before with Gareth and was not going to let it happen again.

Little did he know that Jason was trying to do both. You see, he wanted to take Audra out, with getting her out of the freaks reach. By taking her out on a date , he will also be pissing off the freak. However, he was not having any type of luck except for a couple “fuck you’s” from the apple of his eye.

While she was having the top grades of her class, she also took the time to ensure that she helped her cousin and his friends with their homework. This was especially true on campaign day, namely her first session with Hellfire.   The boys were running around trying to figure everything out with their characters while Audra got ready in her room. She was wearing the hellfire shirt and busy putting her hair in a high ponytail with a black scrunchie. All while dragging the kitchen phone cord to her room so she could talk to Robin.

“So you are ditching us to go to the nerd fest? If you wanted nerdy we could have picked out some flick at the video store.” Robin complained to her.

“Yea, but DnD is different, it isn’t predictable like the corny ass movies you been renting!”  Audra chuckles as she twists the scrunchie in her hair and pulled out small strands of red hair in front of her face.

“Come on though, isn’t everything that Eddie does unpredictable, there is a reason why he is called the freak Audra.” Audra could sense Robin’s eye roll on the other end of the line.

“I will call him a freak if I see him act like one.” Audra sighs. Sure, dude got a temper but she hasn’t seen anything that would discourage her from talking to him again.

“Fine don’t say that I didn’t warn you. Besides your too cute for a group of freaks anyways. You should hang out with people more attractive and I don’t know have a movie night with them?” Robin had laughed but realised she may have crossed the line.

“back at you Robin but I promised the group and it is going to be fun” Audra chuckled, trying to hide her flattery with Robin’s comment by giving her a compliment.

“What you think I’m cute?” Robin said after a couple moments of silence.

“Like in a straight way yes.” Audra had said slowly. “ I need to finish getting ready.”

“Straight people don’t say that babe. I knew you were not straight and that’s ok. But if it makes you feel any better, you’re the first chick to give me that compliment.” Robin tried to ease the conversation while hiding her whole shock of the situation.

“O..Oh” Was all that Audra could say. “Sorry if I made it weird.”

“It’s cool, it takes one to know one. I’m gay but I kinda figured. “Robin shrugged. “Just don’t fall for me Wheeler.”  Audra heard a small chuckle from her.

“I am as far away from loving anyone else that anyone could ever be” Audra said adding some lip gloss onto her lips. “I am only down for some harmless flirting.” . She was not going to get hurt again by anyone for as long as she is able to.

************************************************************************

The drama room was full of laughter and smelt of BBQ chips and beer when Audra, Mike, Dustin and Lucas came inside. The group of old senior students had glanced at Audra and gave her a small wave as the younger boys had taken their seats.

The Dungeon Master had immediately locked eyes with the red head as soon as she came into the room. He stood up and gestured her to sit in the chair next to him. The older students had taken note of this and let out a soft chuckle to each other.

Audra sat next to him and smiled softly. He leant close to her and mumbled.

“You ready to get these boys to loose princess?”

“Loose, is that all we are trying to do here? Let’s destroy them, Also have you been drinking Munson?” Audra whispered back. The older student’s eyes never left them as they wondered what they were talking about.

“Right, destroying sounds better and I am almost of age it’s close enough” Audra had rolled her eyes at his response as she thought that drinking was stupid. But she didn’t want to start anything, she was here for dnd. Eddie did not seem to recognise her reaction as his mind was elsewhere.

Eddie was trying to hide his eagerness to having a small assistant for the session. It was a experience for sure since he never really collaborated with anyone before, but he got inspiration from Audra’s character and saw so much potential and development for the current campaign in her. He was also intrigued by her stats and spell abilities.

The boys were not too sure what to make it for. They were warned ahead of time that Audra would be a pawn for the session, but they were not expecting the persuasion that she put into her character. They knew not to trust her, but they were quite puzzled. Her character was yet to meet her, but her introduction was a persuasive performance.

Audra had explained to the group that Thia Nova was a wood elf from a land known as Ambrosia born to a family of bakers. At a young age she was sent to the academy where she trained to be a druid, and nearly finished graduating. She went on a cruise where she had met with a former flame, Danar, a half-elf. Upset, she had went on a few adventures with him and quit school realising that the academy was basically a cult. He left her again, even after she had faked her death to run away with him. Now, she is kidnapped by another former flame, a vampire prince who is not willing to let her go.  

Eddie and Audra had took some important points out, especially factors such as the Drow that kidnapped her and took her down during their private session. They didn’t want them to be told everything.

“And we need to know this because?” Mike said shrugging it off. It wasn’t like Eddie to have a damsel in distress in his session. Usually, he focused on slaying beasts or mind flayers but this, a vampire prince was indeed a unique situation.

“Because it will be important to introduce this future character, and you need to save her ass” Eddie had matched Mike’s tone.  “And your group ended up at a abandoned castle remember?”

Mike sighed, noticing the sudden change of his overall behaviour. Something was up between Audra and Eddie. He had a feeling that the two are going to fuck with them.

Throughout the entire session, the group would bicker amongst each other unsure who to trust. Especially with the Drow introduced as the “Marked One”, however there was no choice for them to.  Eddie and Audra would casually glance with subtle smirks to each other, watching them struggle with the session they planned together.

Eddie had set up some simple, low hp enemies such as skeletons and some lower vampires to warm them up for the vampire prince that was going to be the conclusion. The group had took them down like they were nothing. It had boosted up their confidence, thinking they would have a change to take them down.

If only they knew.

************************************************************************

The group had finally reached the boss battle of the session. Eddie had them in the main dining hall. He described Thia, Audra’s character tied up to a chair with the vampire prince standing behind her. The group had brought the Drows head and tossed it on the table, hoping to get a reaction from him.

Eddie had only chuckled “The Vampire prince had shrugged and flashed a sly smile to the intruders.  “You are bringing me something that has been a long time coming to the Drow. You however will be in a similar shape by the time that I am done with you””. He had reached over and put his hand around Audra’s neck. Even though they had talked about it earlier, it was still a shock to the two of them. Her neck was so soft against Eddie’s callused hand, and he was in deep thought for a moment as Audra was too spaced out, rather enjoying the new undiscovered feeling.

It was Audra that had broken the uneasiness of the group. “P…Please heroes get me out of here!” Unconsciously, she had let out a soft whimper in the absence of his grip as he raised it to her cheek and rubbed it slowly. With this, he had placed oh so slight friction on her jaw, making her look into his brown eyes. Both were frozen in the spot.

He nervously cleared his throat, sensing the tension between the two of them “Do you think she will make a good vampire bride?”.

“Eddie, remember what I said before. “Mike warned. He along with the group were definitely sure that the two were going to bone sooner or later. But Mike doesn’t want his dungeon master banging his cousin. Audra glanced at Eddie in confusion and he had brushed it off.

“I am aware of your concerns and I will not dream of it Mike” He had rolled his eyes. He can admit that doing the session with Audra is a lot of fun. “Fine, fine, I will end the foreplay with Thia.” He had dropped his arm from her jaw and listened to the groups having mumbled amongst each other. “Ok then, you want to have fun? Roll initiative, including you Thia” He said as the group had looked at the Dungeon master in confusion.

“What? We agreed…” Audra began.

“Agreed to what? We never talked about you not being in combat, we only talked about role playing” He winked at her. “Roll for a survival check”

“Survival check? For what?” Audra was confused until he cleared his throat.

“The vampire prince had pushed Thia’s red hair to the side as he leans over to her  gentle, soft neck and lets off a slow lick around her neck. He then punctures her neck with his fangs. He sucks for a couple moments before letting go followed by his pale hand whipping her blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.”  He watched as she had rolled the dice and noted the 11. “Your safe for now”

************************************************************************

The session had ended quite quickly after that. The group had been taken down one by one as they tried to take down the Vampire. Eddie and Audra had expected it and of course had created a suitable ending to the session, bringing more dnd lore to the campaign.

They were all at zero hp and Thia was unconscious in the chair due to the additional blood loss that Eddie “forgot” to tell her about.   The older group was three beers deep and were getting rather rowdy so Eddie thought it would be best to end the session. Audra was surprised with his composure as he was four beers deep.

“So, you all lie unconscious, tired and at the mercy of the vampire prince. He sends some servants to take your bodies to the dungeon while the prince takes his new bride to their wedding chambers. I am ending the session here and see you guys next week.” He said it so casually to the dumbfounded group. He stood up and began cleaning up.

“Um Eddie?” Dustin began.

“Yes my fooled one?”

“What. The. Fuck”

“Find out what happens next week, think the bandmates drank too much today” He shrugged. “I am going to clean up then drive home.”

“You think your going to be, ok? I will drive you home.” Audra offered.

“Shit I may have drunk a lot. Could you?” He said. He watched the older group wave and walk off “They Walk home each session they will be ok.”

The younger group of kids looked at Audra and waited  for her and Eddie to finish cleaning up the room before they started to head out. Mike and Dustin would glance at each other every now and again knowing that Eddie usually would go off tipsy into the night with his buddies. God knows what they do after, and the younger group kind of wish they don’t know.

************************************************************************

Audra drives up to Eddie’s RV with a tipsy Eddie resting his head on her shoulder. She notices that there is a older busted up car next to the RV and she figures it is his parent’s car.

“At least your parents can keep an eye on you for now.” Audra comments. The comment sobered Eddie up for a good second.

“That’s funny, don’t got any of those. That’s my Uncle’s car, guess he got off work early” He said trying to hobble to open the door. Audra got up from the driver’s seat to help him out of the car. She opened the door and offered her hand to him, in which he takes. With a swift motion, she pulls him up and he wraps his arm around her shoulders as she walks him up to the door.

“It’s unlocked, can you bring me to my room? My booze does fuck all with my coordination” He says.

She opens the door, noticing that it is unlocked. She glances around and no one is in sight, but the shower can be heard. Eddie hobbles over in the direction to his bedroom, the only room in the RV that has a slight smell of cigarettes and weed. She pushed open the barely closed door.

His room was definitely not clean to say the least. Rock posters were plastered all over his walls and there was a faint smell of leather from the jacket hanging in his closet. By the scattered closet was a gorgeous guitar handing in a glass case.

“Hey you can look but you can’t touch her Audra” Eddie chuckled and she rolled her eyes.

“You truly are a horrible drunk, you drink like this often?” Audra asked. It was in her head all night if the drinking will be a normal thing. She knew some who didn’t drink like her, but it was stupid how some people could do something so irresponsible at a young age.

“Only when I am nervous” He stuttered.

“What about the game?”  Audra had ushered Eddie to his bed. He shook his head and was trying to find a way to explain his behaviour to her.

“Like I drink during the sessions just not as much as I did tonight” He shrugged. “I just wanted everything to go right.” His honey brown eyes had looked at his feet and he smiled softly.

“Dnd is a game where nothing goes as planned” Audra chuckled softly “This comes from a player and former dungeon master. You should know this.”

“I know, I know, it’s just that. I want you to stay around. The shit with Jason and you being a goody-two shoes gets attention from everyone.”

“I am staying Eddie, You got me as a member of your club. I had a lot of fun tonight with you” She assured him. “ I also want to say sorry for hugging you, I didn’t know that you were not the hugging type.”

“No! I am!” He laughed. “ It’s just that a girl hasn’t hugged me like that in a long time. I am just used to the occasional girl… coming here”

Audra rolled her eyes “For a fling”

“Very rarely Audra, usually to…hang out…” Eddie had to pick his words very carefully about his job.

“I see.”

“I also want to make sure I did not overstep tonight as well when I was touching you. I know it did get a bit heated.” He muttered, thinking back to the more intimate moments during the session.

“No, we talked about it, I just didn’t expect to…”

“To what?”

Audra stopped herself. She didn’t want this now, she just had her heart broken from the girl of her dreams. She did feel intensity with his touch and all but she only wants to have fun now. She didn’t want to start anything that will lead to heart break.  Just some flirting and fooling around for her, for now.

“Look it’s not important. I am just getting over a heartbreak right now and I don’t want to overstep as well. So let me know if I do anything that may break your trust ok?” Audra grabbed his hand and grasped it firmly as Eddie repeated the behaviour.

“Got it, just stop making it so persuasive then. You are making it hard for me to not blush when I see your lovely acting skills” He leant closer to her in that moment and let off a soft chuckle.

“You need to stop doing the same thing. You are very persuasive” Audra said back, continuing the flirting. She didn’t know where to stop the flirting and questioned if she wanted it to stop at this point.

“As Dungeon master, I must to entertain all members of the group” He smiled sarcastically.

“I am sure that helps you get the ladies.” Audra purred at him as she inched even closer. It was a sarcastic remark, but she wasn’t going to say that she admired a person who loved being in charge.

“Very few have gotten as close as you have princess.”

Their lips were brushing against each other at this point. It would have only taken a slight gust of wind to push their lips together. Yet they froze, the two of them looking at each other’s brown eyes. Eddie wanted to say something that she smelt nice or that he thought she was pretty. Audra was tempted to push their lips together but remembered that Mike and Dustin were in the car.

“Shit, I should let you get some sleep, don’t think your uncle would want to see you hung over.”

“He has seen worse sweetheart. But sure, I’ll see you Monday.” Eddie almost looked disappointed by lied down in the bed. Audra had taken notice of this, realising that she may have crossed the line. Yet, she didn’t know what to say or do.

“I’ll see you on Monday” Was the last thing she said before she left his room.

NEXT PART

[cannebady]

Imagine for me that crystals have been given and received and time has taught the lessons it's wont to do, and perhaps love has been spoken into the space between horns and feathers, given and received in equal turn.

Perhaps, after regular meet ups, and other, erm, meet ups, and coffee dates in Stolas's fucking excellent kitchen with his ridiculous selection of coffee flavors, Blitz gets it in his head that he can try the whole date thing again. Be a proper romantic about it and show Stolas that he can be more than he's given himself credit for in the past.

He can be the kind of guy who takes his hot fucking birdbrained boyfriend on a hot fucking date that will, most likely, end up in some other very enticing hot things.

Ozzie's is out for a wide variety of reasons, ranging from "the worst possible sense memory of getting his proverbial ass handed to him in every highschoolers nightmare scenario", to the fact that it's Fizz's big fuckin' boyfriend's place and he wants to indulge in the cheesy romantic shit he's never allowed himself (and he knows will put the most beautiful blush on those feathered cheeks just knows it, can't fuckin' wait for it) but would prefer not to have a play-by-play relayed to Fizz who will never let him live it down.

So he sucks it up and asks Moxxie (who is, predictably, completely insufferable about it), and gets a recommendation good enough that he lets his pompous dickhead behavior slide with only a bit of mocking. Before he knows it he's dressed in his best suit (jet black, tight as sin, and complemented by a pair of platform boots he definitely didn't five-finger-discount because his boyfriend is ten solid feet of sexy), holding a bouquet, and staring slack jawed at Stolas because holy fuckin shit he's lucky. His long legs are wrapped in a low slung pair of slacks perfectly tailored to make Blitz want to get lost between those feathered thighs. His shirt open so low he can see his chest feathers fluffed and fuck he wants to put his mouth there too. But the choker, a gift from Blitz, is the thing that does him in. Just his gift, sitting tight and beautiful and perfect against his pretty throat.

Fuck.

He looks fuckin gorgeous (he always does, but this kind of subtle confidence has Blitz's blood hot).

Alas, they power through (more like save it for later but who's counting) and with a quick walk through a portal, they're seated at a dimly lit club with an honest-to-Satan string quartet playing. They're holding hands across the table and Blitz's heart might just give out from how happy he is (and how happy Stolas looks, because he did that, he made him happy and he can do that and that's a fuck load to think about).

He tells Stolas as much because he deserves to hear it and he's working on the communication bullshit.

"Fuck you're pretty," he says as he moves closer. Stolas blushes, which hell yea, but then he hands him the fuckin flowers he bought (actually bought) and Blitz is momentarily concerned they won't make it to dinner based on the look he gets in return.

Blitz is floating on a cloud, so obviously something comes along to try to fuck it up.

Some hoity toity prude scoffs at them from a nearby table, loudly and often enough to garner their attention and Blitz is about to grab his flintlock and let it do the talking, when the fuckhead mumbles, "Can't believe he's out with an Imp," pointing to Stolas, and yeap, Blitz is definitely gonna kill this sonuvabitch.

"You mother fucker do you know what I do for a living?" he shouts back, reaching for his holster despite Stolas squeezing his hand in a silent plea to show restraint.

The sinner piece of shit scoffs at him again and says, "Who do you think you are, tangling with royalty? It's sick."

A million of Blitz's worst fears and thoughts of himself start to close in and he's quickly losing his grip on calm. His eyes are hot and the hand not holding Stolas's (he hasn't let go, they haven't let go, he can't let go, not again) is clenched so tight to avoid grabbing the pistol he thinks he's close to breaking it.

Suddenly, a soft taloned hand touches his face and turns his head away from that classist fuck, and his ichor eyes meet four stunning rubies and he's back in his body, back from the edge.

"He's not worth it darling," Stolas says sweetly, "Shall we take a walk? I'd like to show you off a bit," he winks one of his lower eyes and looks so fucking in love that it heals something that's been festering in Blitz since Ozzie's. Stolas isn'thiding behind a menu this time, not shrinking back in embarrassment. Across from him is just his favorite fucking stupid bird that he loves, loving him out loud back in front of some unimportant fuck he should forget about. In a second, he's back in the driver's seat.

He calmly turns back to the sinner, hops down from his chair and says, "Get fucked shithead, I'm his darling. That's who I am."

He walks over to Stolas and holds out his hand to help him up like a gentleman would, and he gets another honeyed blush and a fluff of feathers and it's worth it. All of it, for this moment here.

"Shall we, pretty bird?" he says, pitching his voice low to see that shiver run through Stolas. Oh, his bird is going to get it good tonight.

"Yes, my love," Stolas replies, a little breathless, placing a taloned hand in his.

They walk out together, hand-in-hand and heart-in-heart, until Stolas pulls him in for a heated kiss outside the restaurant in front of all and sundry, and fuck it feels like coming home and it feels so good to be wanted in the light. The kiss turns soft and deep, tongues syrupy sweet against one another, and hands wandering as much as possible in polite company.

"I love you, you know," he says into the humid space between them, just to keep that blush where it belongs, and to hear the cute little bird noise Stolas always makes when Blitz catches him off guard with declarations of love. And also because it's his most honest truth.

"Oh darling," Stolas sighs, "I love you too, more than you know."

[thegodmother007]

My New Neighbor Chapter 5: Got Plans?

TRIGGER WARNING: This story will eventually contain violence, angst, threat of death, swearing, dark humor, adult themes like sex & drugs, racism, classism, sexism etc. Do not say you have not been warned

Chapter 5: Got Plans?

It’s been about a week since Vi has fully moved in and besides the occasional shaking of my floors from a heavy misplaced footstep, things were going smoothly. I had not talked to Vi since we first introduced ourselves, and that was okay with me. I was meticulous about keeping to my routine. My routine was safe, manageable and predictable. It did not involve me interacting with giants, despite the new tenant. This was comfortable for me. 

I was sitting in my living room, catching up on some Baldur’s Gate when I heard and felt a knocking at my wall. The same wall I shared with Vi and also separated our units, giving us privacy from the other. I was not sure if that knocking was intentional until it happened a second time shortly after the first, but a little harder this time. I looked down to see I only had a pair of basketball shorts on with some powdered cheese smeared around the pockets from the doritos I was munching on. I quickly jump up, running to the door & pushing my thumb against the speaker we had that would allow us to hear the other through the door. “Hold on” I say quickly, grabbing a worn out sweatshirt I had hanging off a kitchen chair. Once zipped up, I pressed my buzzer, requesting entry & she buzzed me in. 

As I walk in, I can see that Vi was lowering herself to her knees to be closer to my level. Although still high above me, it did lessen the intimidation I felt at her great height. As I enter, I offer a confused smile as she sits on the floor, holding a flier in front of her. “Uh, yea?” I asked, looking up at her, not bothering to read the flier first. At the time, I only registered that the giant wanted something from me and I didn’t know what. I could see she was smiling, excited over something. “I just picked this up from the front desk!” she said, shaking the flier a bit. My attention was grabbed & I began to read this flier she held. Looking at it, it read: “Hedge Heights Trivia Night! Monday at 6:00pm, in the Common Area. Must be 18+ & have a  partner to enter. Apartment residents only.” I stared at it, finally understanding why she might be excited. “Trivia night?” I asked her, feeling immediately uninterested in the whole idea, but trying to hide my aversion. “Yes! On Monday, they’re having a Trivia Night for all Hedge Heights residents.” She turns the poster over to read more detail. “Subjects will include History, Science, General Knowledge, Sports & Movies! You have to have a partner to enter & I was wondering if you’d maybe be interested in going?” I stood there, kind of surprised she asked me at all, so I felt kind of bad declining the invite. “Ehh…I am not much of a trivia person. I was never a good test taker in school, I don't know if I would be much help to you…” I tried giving any excuse I could to get out of it. But in truth, I wasn't lying, I never was good at taking tests, so there is no way I'd be good at trivia. Vi’s face went from excitement to disappointment, clearly banking on a ‘Yes’ from me. “But you mentioned that you liked sports when we first met, that's the only category I don't have confidence in.” I felt nervous telling Vi “No” but reminded myself that this is my roommate, I would have to be honest if I am to remain comfortable in my own home. “I don't know Vi, I've never really been good at being put on the spot, I only follow a few sports, there is bound to be someone who knows much more than I do.” Again Vi slumps a bit, looking at the poster again but not saying much. I try to break the awkward silence “Thank you for thinking of me though, but it’s just not my scene…” I turn to walk back towards my door, trying to remember where I left off in my game. I am then stopped in my tracks by Vi’s next question: “Not even for $250?” She asked with a tempting inflection. I turned, looking at her puzzled. Vi reads off the poster “Grand prize of $250 to the winning team…” she says with a raised eyebrow. 

When money talks, I listen. I stood there, thinking about it, now there was added incentive. I don't work this upcoming Monday & $250 between us is $125 each, that could help me buy some new gaming equipment. I could even afford a new game or two if I wanted. “So?” She asks, holding up the flier “You in?” She says with a smirk, knowing she just won me over by the look on her face. I nod with my hands on my hips “I guess I could clear my calendar for that night. What about the other categories though? I really only know sports from what was listed on the poster.” Vi smiles “Don't worry, I got us covered” she says with a confidence I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe. “You got us covered? Are you sure about that?” I saw Vi’s face contort into one of questioning & obvious annoyance “Are you doubting me?” She asks with an almost playful offense in her tone, crossing her arms. I did not mean my question to come across as condescending, so I elaborate “No, no, I’m not doubting you. But those are a lot of categories for a gian- I mean, for a single person to cover…that’s just a lot to know.” I was hoping I did better at explaining myself as I watched her roll her eyes “Don't worry about me, I paid attention in school. Just worry about answering the sports questions, maybe a movie question or two & I’ll handle the rest.” She said pretty concretely, so I gave a nod. It’s not like I had much of a chance in any of the other categories, so if she felt she could do it, I was inclined to believe her. 

Although I still had my doubts, that $125 was a tempting prize to at least try for. “Alright, if you think you got this, I will meet you in the Common Area 10-minutes before 6:00pm.” Vi’s smile returned “I’ll go sign us up!” She says pushing off the floor to stand once again, which made my stomach do flips as her staggering stature once again felt like it was invading my personal space. I backed up as her footsteps were shaking the floor beneath me, but  in a moment she was already up & turned around, walking to her kitchen where her phone was. Immediately Vi was texting the Event Supervisor, entering our names into the contest. I caught my breath from the sudden jump Vi made to stand again and took that opportunity as my cue to leave. Closing the door behind me, I was suddenly no longer interested in playing my video game. Now I had the urge to brush up on my sports history & stats. I pull out my phone and begin prepping. 

Football, basketball, baseball, soccer & hockey were all I consumed for the next 3 days. I started feeling really confident in my skills as I brushed up on my sports history & caught up on recent sport developments, wins, losses & trades. By the time Monday rolled around, I had eaten and breathed nothing but sports, I felt ready to win the $125. As I got ready, I thought about my concern over Vi’s confidence in the other categories. Giants weren’t known for being very brainy or overall the kind of people to value high intellect. Often using their size, brute strength and senses to survive the world, they aren’t known for holding scholarly positions throughout history. Knowing what I learned in school about giants, the main jobs available throughout history were very laborious and required enormous amounts of strength. While giants worked in fields & built structures, Humans were the ones inventing technology, advancing medicines and developing modern conveniences. Giants were tasked with the harvesting of crops, wrangling animals, construction, lumber harvesting, landscaping & things that weren’t entirely easy for Humans to complete at our size. In the recent century, giant schools and education programs had become more popular & eventually became the standard requirement for giant children, just as it has been for Human children for many years leading up to that. From what I have seen in the media & heard when discussing the topic, the curriculums being taught in giant schools have remained rudimentary & are less challenging than that of a Human school’s curriculum. Considering many giants end up as laborers anyways, it made sense to keep things simple & stick to basics. 

I still had my doubts about Vi’s ability to win us the $250, but what else am I going to do on a Monday night? Looking at my phone, I saw it was 5:40pm, I had to be at the Common Area in 10 minutes. I grabbed my apartment keys, phone & wallet just in case, and began making my way towards the Trivia Night. I saw a few other Humans, a couple who lived together in the apartment, making their way down to the Common Room as well, undoubtedly going to Trivia Night as well. It would have been nice to have a Human roommate to do a Trivia Night with, would make collaborating a hell of a lot easier. I approach the doorway that leads onto a large balcony that resides in a much larger Common Room area that could host a few dozen giants at a time. The human platform had smaller cat-walk trails branching off of it, which allowed access to the tables where some giants were already sitting. I could see Vi at one of the tables, on her phone, probably brushing up on her facts & trivia. As I walked towards our table, I noticed there was a button for her & a smaller button for me on a human size table that sat on top of the giant table. I was surprised by the setup. It seemed like a lot of effort went into it by the Apartment Staff “This feels like some kind of game show” I thought to myself, as I saw the projector display some cheesy graphics about the approaching trivia contest. “Welcome to Hedge Heights Trivia Night!” The graphic said, with some clip art of a game show wheel & a crowd of people cheering in the background. I rolled my eyes and descended to where our table was, Vi’s eyes landing on me once I reached the stairs. “Hey! Glad you made it.” She greets me with a warm smile. “Are you ready to win this?” she asked me with a cheery attitude. I chuckled, both because she seemed very excited and, in a really weird way, it was cute to see. But also because I was not overly hopeful that we would win. 

Once I reached the table, I stood in front of Vi, who was seated at the table, next to her button. “As ready as I ever could be! I have been doing nothing but researching, memorizing & tracking everything sports the last few days. I feel like my brain is going to explode!” I joked. Vi nodded “I feel the same way. I’ve been brushing up on all my topics too. I’ve done nothing but prepare for Trivia Night. Shoot, I am still preparing” as she wiggles her phone in the air. I was right, she was still studying. I was impressed with her tenacity, though. “Just remember Vi, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. If we don’t win, it’s not your fault. There is always next time” I tried to reassure. Vi scoffed & smiled “That’s loser talk, Cain! This is the winner’s table, I won’t have any of that here!” That got a smile from me “Alright alright” I yielded with my hands up in a surrender “No more ‘loser talk’ from me, then!” I say taking my seat, but not before being stopped by Vi’s approaching fist. 

Out of pure instinct, I turn away, lowering myself to be on my knees in a ball & cower, covering my head and body from the impending strike I feel is coming. From above me I heard Vi say with a panicked voice “Oh shit, Cain, no, I was just trying to give you a fist bump!” She pulled her hand away quickly, I could see the shadow of her hand retract, as I keep my eyes cast downward, still in my ball. I wait a few moments before uncurling myself from my tense position and catch my breath. I thought for a moment she was going to crush me, my whole life flashed before me in the moment I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t look up at her right away, I was just making sure to ground myself before standing, feeling slight embarrassment at the misunderstanding and my extreme reaction. As I sat on my hands and knees, I felt an incredibly light & gentle weight on my back. I thought maybe another Human saw this and came rushing over to see if I was okay. I looked up finally & over my shoulder to see it was not another Human, but Vi’s finger gently patting my back, her face lowered further than it naturally would be. I made eye contact with her the moment I realized it was she who was trying to comfort me. Her touch was a lot softer than I anticipated. When I realized it was her finger, I felt goosebumps run up my back as she stroked it. With a low voice she says “I’m so sorry if I scared you. Are you alright?” she asked as if I were some wounded animal. I quickly try to right myself again, clearing my throat and pushing my hair from my face. With wobbly knees I stood & her hand stayed close to me, which was not entirely helping my composure. “I-I’m good. Sorry, I thought…I don’t know what I thought…” I did not want to admit I thought she was going to crush me at that moment, but I could see it on her face that she already knew. “I’m okay though..” I assure, hoping to just forget my overreaction and sit down. “Cain?” I hear her ask above me. I turn to look at her before sitting “Just want you to know I would never intentionally hurt you, okay? I get it, though. You have to protect yourself, but just know you’re safe around me.” I just stared at her as she said this, processing what she was telling me. “I figured I would clear the air before Trivia Night started…” I could tell she was feeling guilty for having scared me, it was like a billboard plastered all over her face. Her words brought a level of relief I did not know I needed. “Thanks Vi. I appreciate that.” Was all I could muster as I sat down. Just as I did, a giant man, the Event Host, approached the stage with a remote in one hand and a clipboard in the other “Welcome to Trivia Night Hedge Heights residents! I am Don, the Event Coordinator & I will be your Game Host this evening!”

Previous ||| Next

[moth-p]

TPOT 13 RAMBLE

Huge spoilers obviously.

How we feeling BDFI fans?

Well, you're about to find out what I am feeling so lets get into this nonsensical ramble since y'all seemed to like the last one for some reason

1. ONEE??!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?

Okay so ANY chance that One isn't a villan is uh. Dead and buried. And honestly it should stay that way I really enjoyed her this episode! BFDI was lacking a true villan

I actually predicted their deal with Basketball in this episode a while ago soo yea (more about Basketball later, dont you worry)

What about Bell and Bomby (And now Needle and Barf Bag)? WHERE ARE THEY? Well, dear reader who probably does not care, I have a theory!

I think that they are in One's version of the EXIT

If my theory that the place TPOTs eliminated contestants is a "Two EXIT", is correct, it is likely that every algebralien has something like that.

Did One and Three interact like I hoped they would? No. Buut another thing that I really fucking liked in this episode is the confirmation of One's motives. And that, as you have seen is

Two's power. Why does she need it? We don't know. To free Three, to take over the world to do something else.. I honestly can't wait to find out

TLDR: I loved One in this episode bro

2. Yuri (cw basketbot if you dont like this ship scroll to point 3)

LET IT BE KNOWN TO THE PUBLIC THAT I WAS HARDCORE SHIPPING THEM SINCE I WATCHED TPOT 7 AND I HAVE BEEN FED. GOD.

BASKETBOT FOREVER BABYYY

"The best version of you is the one we have here" honest reaction

This ship should be way more popular

HAVE YOU SEEN THE WAY BASKETBALL LOOKS AT ROBOT FLOWER WHEN SHES HERSELF AGAIN.

Okay basketbot ramble over

TLDR: lesbians

3. Eliminations and the rejoin

So I got a few things right in my tpot 13 predictiom post (i think) but I have been completly wrong with who will be eliminated

Barf bag: I was kinda expecting it..? I mean I'm still VERY sad about her elimination DONT GET ME WRONG but I kind of knew that her time was coming. But

NEEDLE?!: GUYS. GUYS COME ON. I THINK THE ONLY THING MORE SHOCKING THAN HER ELIMINATION WAS FIREAFY ANGST IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2024. I actually thought that she would EASILY be in top 3 but I guess she wasnt. But the whole thing with pen was so good rahshsggdhshs im still not over it

The double rejoin was a welcome suprise, even though I know it will have a huge impact on the story later. I voted for pencil because I wanted to see her interact with the alliance (and she did yippie), but LIY joining is also very good, she was eliminated way too early imo

I voted for pin because. Shes pin. I love pin (and I also think that Tree and Black Hole will get enough votes to stay no problem wait apollo what are you doing no put the dodgeball dow-)

I also voted for snowball! He was great in the last few episodes and i hope it will stay like that

TLDR: Needle deserved better

4. Random shit (this will be long)

1. THE MENTION OF GELATINS STEAKHOUSE IS ENOUGH FOR NOW BUT PLEASE, WITH THE FIREAFY SIDEPLOT THING LET HIM APPEAR AGAIN JNJ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I WILL BE SATISFIED WITH ONLY SEEING HIM IN THE BG AS LONG AS HE APPEARS PLEASE (you will not guess who my favorite character is)

2. Fireafy? In the year of our lord 2024? Am I repeating this joke? Maybe?

But seriously, their appearence was a huge suprise and seeing as Leafy (probably) got kidnapped by One, it will most likely turn out to be a sideplot (bonus points because the robot flower one ended)

3. Gatys paint falling off a bit. Idk why but that detail was so good rahdgsusghejs

4. Fanny and BH being friends is something I did not expect that much but its cool. (They are MLM WLW solidarity to me)

5. Im a bit dissapointed that Three didnt make an appearence in this episode but whatever. (They will appear in tpot 14 guys trust me)

6. Congrats to Pillow for actually doing something and not having your team be UFE again seriously I think it was like 3 times in a row

7. I know it was basically nothing. But seeing Price Tag and Book interact with each other makes me so happy you have no idea

8. I KNOW IT WAS BASICALLY NOTHING. BUT SEEING TB AND GB INTERACT WITH EACH OTHER MAKES ME SO HAPPY YOU HAVE NO IDEA

9. Two sleeping was kinda funny (this also implies that algebraliens need sleep)

10. Four and X going on vacation. Thats it

11. (II 16 SPOILERS!!!)

Someone (me) will draw Needle and Barf Bag getting deleted by mephone X

I think thats it if I will have the need to ramble about this episode more then it will be reblog time

[spookygingerr]

weekly tag wednesday thursday

thanks so much for the tags @michellemisfit (and for making it!), @mybrainismelted, @creepkinginc, @energievie, @jrooc, @ms-moonlight-inn, @deedala, @em-harlsnow & @francesrose3

name: ice

age: nosho - 327 days

location (globally): rimmel london

location (physically): hotel bed

favourite food to eat: at the moment it’s croissants, specifically pistachio pain au chocolat’s

favourite food to cook: mac and cheese

will you be attending @too-schoolforcool’s ☀️ Kitchen Shenanigans🍴with Cherry on the 6th july? unfortunately i won’t be able to make this one :(

what’s your zodiac: the goat

will you be attending @heymacy’s ☀️ Astrology 101: More Than Just Your Sun Sign ☀️ lecture on the 13th july? yea!

(check @gallavich-fic-club’s lesson plan for details here)

now let predictive text complete each sentence for you after the 💭

my age is 💭 in my life now so i’m just a bit younger and i have more of an interest to the world

my favourite animal is 💭 the cat that i love the best but the other two have been so far apart that they have to go back and look for a different one and i have no clue why i have a problem finding a new cat (okaaay, i don’t even have a cat)

i love to cook 💭 with you guys but i’m so sorry i don’t know what you mean about this lol

i love to eat 💭 and eat with my family but it’s so much more than just eating a salad or something to make me happy (so true)

i have a lot of ideas about 💭 the game but i’m just gonna go for the original game instead and try and make a new game with the new game in it and then try and get the original one i want and try and find the new one that will make it more interesting

i have no clue 💭 how you got this picture of you in your head and you don’t have any idea how to do that but you are a very beautiful person (omg 🥹, kinda sweet but kinda sassy?)

my dream career is 💭 now a reality check and i’m not sure how i feel now about that lol

my favourite character on shameless 💭 and the only one i know who has the most fun in it and i am not even a big person yet (so true, i’m very short)

debbie gallagher is 💭 the only person i can trust in my future life right here and i’m so excited for this one day to be a reality

carl gallagher is 💭 the only person i can think of that would make me feel like i have to go through a whole new phase of my career

mandy milkovich is 💭 the only one that matters

mickey milkovich is 💭 the most important person on this planet (yeah)

ian gallagher is 💭 the most beautiful man in this universe and he deserves the best (true)

to me ian and mickey are 💭 both the best people on earth but they don’t know what to say to me because they are the most amazing person on the earth

gallavich means 💭 a little more of the world to him and he has been in a good mood and i love it

i wish anyone who reads this to 💭 understand that this isn’t about me and that it’s not a good idea for them or me and my kids (rightio then, for the record @michellemisfit this was a great idea!!)

no tags today bc i’m late!!!

[abiiors]

george fluff PLEASE 🙏

Okay, okay, I hope this turned out how I wanted it to turn out but enjoy!!

George Daniel x female reader

Red Hearts

‘Alright, alright, you've got to sit very still for this part, okay?’ you instruct as a very sceptical George sits in front of a big mirror. 

He’s currently shirtless and wearing his old sweatpants that sit so low on his hips that you’ve had to consciously keep all the thoughts at bay. Right now you have a very important task at hand. 

‘And where did you get this idea again?’ he asks doubtfully.

‘Mm, Pinterest.’

‘Of course.’

You mix the dye with the brush and look at him in the mirror once again. When George agreed to let you do anything you wanted for a whole day, this was probably not what he had in mind. But now he can’t say no to your excitement. 

The only catch? He has to wear a blindfold while you use his hair as your canvas. 

‘I suppose I can always shave it off if I hate it,’ he mumbles more to himself but you’re quick to flick him with the brush.

‘George Daniel, you will do no such thing.’ 

‘Fine, fine,’ he surrenders with his hands raised and resigns himself to his fate. 

He wiggles a little in place when the cold dye first touches his hair but apart from that he sits still. His fingers drum some rhythm that he’s come up with as you get to work drawing little hearts on his hair. 

The first heart is a bit wonky, not exactly to your taste but you reckon with a bit of adjusting around, it would look good. It’s right at the back of his head so it’s not like he can see it. Still, as a silent apology, you press a little kiss to his neck. 

‘Mmm, that is a kiss of doom,’ he laughs. 

‘A kiss of doom?’

‘Yea that’s an apology kiss.’

How he figured that out is beyond you, but you are so glad he can’t see your face right now because you’re sure it’s turned just as red as the dye in your hands. 

‘I have a different apology kiss?’ you ask just to divert his attention from the fact that you may have fucked up. 

He swivels in his chair so that he’s facing you now but doesn’t make a move to take the blindfold off. 

‘You do,’ he confirms, ‘and you have an “I want something from you” kiss, and a kiss when you’re up to something, one for when you don’t feel like doing chores,’ he lists off one by one.

‘Oh, and how could I forget,’ he brings his arms around your waist and scoots a bit closer so that his torso is pressed up to your middle. ‘You have a horny kiss and an “I love you” kiss. Those are my favourites.’ 

He looks so adorable as he presses his chin to your stomach and looks up at you smiling that you can’t help but place tiny kisses on his face. One on his nose, the other on his cupid’s bow and finally the last one on his lips. 

It’s sweet and lingering but also just suggestive enough. It’s clear what his intentions are but you still have a task to finish. So when you straighten up he tilts his face up at you with a knowing smirk. 

‘And that was a horny kiss.’

‘It was not!’ you defend but his smirk only grows bigger. 

‘Whatever you say,’ he shrugs. 

Instead of responding, you lean over and start painting the second heart. This position is so much better, you realise. It gives you much more stable access to his head. 

Of course, he also realises that this is a much better position. For one, your boobs are now right in his face. 

‘Mm, these are nice,’ he laughs as he buries his face right between them. 

What a sight, you think. Shirtless George with his face buried right between your boobs while you paint little red hearts on his hair. 

Just as you’d predicted, the rest of the hearts turn out much better than the first one. They are equally spaced and more or less the same size. He whines in protest when you step back to survey your work but you quickly shut him up with another kiss. 

‘Alright, alright,’ you clap in excitement. ‘Do you wanna see?’

He nods and then goes to take the blindfold off while you wait with your fingers crossed. He faces the mirror again, surveys his hair from all angles and then smiles a big, goofy grin. 

‘Okay, these are adorable, actually!’

‘You like them?’ you ask with barely contained glee. He turns around only to pull you closer. 

‘Darling, I love them!’

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

This is the reference btw, tell me he won't look adorable with this hair!

[deltastra]

My Thoughts on Witch Watch by Kenta Shinohara

Last month, I binged Witch Watch by Kenta Shinohara.

A bit of background information to what led to me deciding to binge this. Back in 2019, I LOVED Kanata no Astra, which was by the same mangaka. When Witch Watch was announced, I was excited, but the first 3 chapters didn't interest me. 3 years later, I decided to give it another shot, and it did not disappoint!

Now, I'd like to share what I liked about this manga! Summary: Walked in expecting a typical highschool romcom with a sprinkle of fantasy, walked out with a funny manga about friends that live together and how hard love can be. Also acquired a new-found appreciation for denim jeans! This post does not contain story spoilers, however, there are screenshots from the manga, but they do not spoil the main plot.

So, I won't lie. I was not interested in the story at first. Witch Watch is about a witch named Nico Wakatsuki, who moves in with her childhood friend and human-like ogre, Morihito Otogi. Morihito becomes Nico's familliar and protects her from any danger.

Why was I not a fan at first? Well, it felt a bit too predictable at first. I viewed it as every other "Quirky highschool girl lives with highschool guy for some bizarre reason" that a lot of anime and manga are known for. Yea, I know very shallow of me...

BUT IT WAS SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT! It felt more like 'found family' with a some romance to keep things fresh (which was also handled nicely).

And oh my gosh, this manga is REALLY funny. Like I did not expect myself to be laughing almost every chapter at the sheer nonsense Nico puts the cast through. Heck, sometimes Nico doesn't even do anything, the others just rope themselves into something insane!

However, comedy is subjective, and to be honest, sometimes I find myself wanting to skip a chapter because it wasn't amusing to me in any way. Never did though, because even when the comedy aspect of a chapter wasn't my cup of tea, the characters' chemistry is what pushes me through!

(^ OK BUT THE SCREENSHOT ABOVE THIS WAS FUNNY DON'T MISUNDERSTAND, ALL THESE SCREENSHOTS ARE PARTS I LIKED)

While the comedy is great, the overarching story was really interesting. I won't go into detail, but do not expect the manga to be a typical romcom. There are some pretty heavy moments at times.

I never felt like the serious moments felt out of place or pointless, I loved every arc and how much the characters had to push themselves through those situations.

I know it's getting an anime adaptation and I am cautiously optimistic as the trailers didn't impress me too much. I just hope the serious scenes are done as much justice as the silly scenes.

Overall, I am so glad I gave Witch Watch a chance. I will admit though, I am not a huge fan with the current events going on at the moment, but I'll give it time! Regardless, I loved binging this manga and I am now looking forward to a new chapter every week!

In fact, this manga finally gave me the push I needed to watch Sket Dance, another story by the same author. That's kind of the reason why it took me so long to make this post. I was binging Sket Dance and I have one episode remaining, then I'll continue with the manga. Looking forward to it!

If you survived through my whole yap session! Thanks! And I hope you give Witch Watch a chance!

(Man, this manga was funny)

[smoreboi]

following this post, might as well give my predictions, even tho I’ve been wrong two months straight, so anyways, yea. (Summary in comments)

first. we average one book 7 update month to every one month w/o an update, anomaly in two months between parts 2 and 3 and then no months between 3 and 4. June was a break month, however it’s entirely dependent on the content, and for some reason I can find barely anything rn about the unreleased in en book 7, so I can not confidently say either way, but if we follow one on one off, we will have an update in July.

Now I’m gonna talk a lot of nonsense about the jp to en event release order to tell you why July almost must have the sunset savanna event. listing only og releases of story and culinary crucible events, of the first 28 on JP, sunset savanna’s was the 23. en jumps around a bit, doesn’t release in the exact same order as jp, of our 27 released events, only cc fish, fairy gala remix, glorious masquerade, cc noodles, twisted tsumderland 2, and cc cream have the same space in their release orders, but our largest positive and negative discrepancies have been by 5, with terror is trending being released five events later in en than jp, and with cc meat, beansfest 2, and cc spice being released five events earlier in en than jp. If tamashina-mina isn’t the next event released, it’ll be the first discrepancy of 6 in en’s 2 and a half years of running. Thus, I have full faith in it being a July drop. If it isn’t, I will in fact scream, that is a threat and a promise.

possible reruns are much harder to predict, we haven’t had one yet in 2024 and we’ve only had seven total in en’s whole run, but if July has to have one and I have to call it, I’d say beansfest: survival of the beanest or glorious masquerade, we haven’t had those reruns yet and they’re less holiday/season oriented than most of the reruns jp has run.

the Jack and Vil Sweets cc is currently within discrepancy range, it’s the 30th released event on jp, so if we had it in July it’d be in the one early/same order/one late range

rapid fire, if we get a club banner it’ll be ruggie, i don’t care enough to predict joint exams or training camps, we’ve got Leona’s bday on the 27th, i think this is everything

[lampmanliveblogs]

And there we have our title, Thanks to Them.

Now, I already know the titles of the next two episodes and the secret message they spell out, so I won’t dwell on that. I don’t really have any predictions based on the title alone and I’ve already gone over some of my bigger predictions. For example, that the kids are going to discover some Titan’s blood in the Human Realm, Philip will pop up to cause trouble, and this will possibly lead to some flashbacks or expansion on his backstory.

I am ready to be wrong however, it wouldn’t be the first time. Being wrong is not a moral failing, although staying wrong might be considered one.

Camila: ”I never expected to be a mother of six.” My mom, mother of seven: ”Get on my level, scrub.”

I gotta agree with her that the old shack looks a lot nicer now that they’ve fixed it up though. It’s got everything a cool clubhouse needs; light strands, plants, a bean bag, somewhere for the club mascots to rest, a minifridge for snacks, a basketball hoop, plants, schematics for an interdimensional portal door. Normal things you find in a teenage clubhouse.

So the kids are learning Spanish from an app that for legal reasons is totally not Duolingo, not at all. It’s, uh… Bilingua. Original character, do not steal.

They’re struggling, which is understandable, learning a new language is very hard. Vee doesn’t have any problems though, because, as you know, basilisks have the gift of tongues which lets them speak any language they hear.

Oh, and it seems like I was on to something when I pointed out Flapjack was acting weird before. It’s because he is acting weird. Pecking at the floor, looking for something, and refusing to tell Hunter what it is. At the top of my head, I’d guess he’s looking for Philip. Maybe he can sense the remains of the dictator moving under the floorboards or something.

…or maybe it was this thing he sensed.

You know, I was just about to stop and point out how Amity’s plan was a Bad Idea, but then Amity went and literally tripped over a Plot Point before I hit pause.

So. What have we got here? Some magical doohickey left by Eda? A stolen artifact Philip left during a brief return to the Human Realm before he lost the portal door? The box with the bowl from the Engelsfors Trilogy?

”Fifteenth century China. Varnished woodcarving. A whole lot of magic too. Exquisite craftsmanship. But what you see is of course just the surface. The item inside is significantly older. From the time of the first Council.” 

Inside we find… some kind of map. I watched just a few seconds further, and Amity points out that the eye symbol kinda looks like the eye on the old portal door. And yea, I agree, though I would also like to point out that there is a door symbol right above it. So, you know, that’s a pretty big clue too.

There was a golden symbol with a bird on it on the box. The Gravesfield town symbol is a golden shield with a bird on it, though this one is different.

Next to the eye symbol is another diamond with what looks to me like an ear in it. And some squiggles which could be soundwaves? At the bottom of the page we find three more diamonds. Two small ones and one big, mirroring the top of the page. One of the small diamonds has a ribbon in it. The other small diamond has… I dunno, it kinda looks like one of those cartoon fight clouds Donald Duck would find himself in. The large diamond at the bottom has a hand with what looks like a drop of something. 

…yeah, I’ve no idea what most of this means. the best I have is that the hand at the bottom with the drop is supposed to represent either a Titan bleeding or someone trying to get the Titan’s blood.

The middle of the document makes a bit more sense to me, it’s clearly a map. It has the town with little houses and trees, a path to follow, and even an ”X marks the spot.” Solklart, as we say where I’m from. The one thing that’s a bit confusing is the roman arch in the middle of the map. Maybe that represents the building where the buried treasure chest can be found.

”FATe VS FRee Will”*

”The Plight of the Hero”

”’Foes vanquished, he trod the shores of his fatherland, family by his side, finally at peace.’ This epic ends with the homecoming of not just a man, but a hero.”

Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we? What is this, a kid’s sho-oh.

(*hey teach, why the heck did you write it like that??)

(also, I gotta say, this school goes hard with the halloween decorations)

[blackjackkent]

@zenjestrr: is Rakha gonna slurp the worms

zenjestrr: *drops a wriggling creature into her eyeball* this will fix me

blackjackkent: rofl

blackjackkent: I suspect possibly yes.

zenjestrr: 🦑🦑🦑🐛🐛🐛🎺🎺🎺

blackjackkent: Lae'zel doesn't like them and Lae'zel is like 90% of her impulse control, but they also potentially Have Answers

zenjestrr: will she go for the Super Worm in Act 3 or are you gonna play it by ear

zenjestrr: (embrace the power)

zenjestrr: (there's no downside)

zenjestrr: (other than looking like you took evil crack cocaine)

blackjackkent: XD

blackjackkent: I'm going to play it by ear.

blackjackkent: I can't even begin to predict what Rakha will be like by act 3

zenjestrr: lol i get it

blackjackkent: she's already evolving a bunch. she's practically a worm herself with how slippery her characterization is to get a grip on XD

zenjestrr: will you side with Baldy Boi or go Orpheus

zenjestrr: and if Orpheus again will you see how the ending changes if he stays gith or will you drop that hot potato on his lap again lol

blackjackkent: I have a sneaking suspicion the Emperor is going to die the moment Rakha learns what he is

zenjestrr: you know that's a game over, right lol

zenjestrr: like you CAN kill him at that moment but it's a game over

blackjackkent: oh really? lol

zenjestrr: yea

blackjackkent: well then :P

blackjackkent: she will spend the whole time WANTING to kill him :P

zenjestrr: Balduran is correct in saying that he never explicitly lies to you

zenjestrr: he is the only reason you haven't turned

blackjackkent: [nods]

blackjackkent: makes sense

blackjackkent: Orpheus I'm not sure about. Rakha has REALLY strong respect for Lae'zel tho so probably he will remain gith. which I guess means Rakha takes the worm herself?

zenjestrr: or have Karlach do it if you bring her with you

blackjackkent: yeah

blackjackkent: hrmdehrm.

zenjestrr: but yea I think squid x Wyll makes for a cool ending, especially since you can still do the Avernus roadtrip

blackjackkent: eeenteresting.

zenjestrr: I thiiiiink Lae'zel is the only one who breaks up with you if you go squid mode but I think maybe Ascended Astarion also does it

blackjackkent: no spoilers obvi, just thinking out loud, but I imagine it plays interestingly with the Durge situation too. illithid seem very chill. maybe settles the chaos a bit.

zenjestrr: [REDACTED]

blackjackkent: hehehe

zenjestrr: squid x Wyll also has the monster loving dynamic. Wyll is a devil now and has some self-hatred about it and Rakha (in this hypothetical scenario) would be a mind flayer, a monster, and might have some self-hatred about it

zenjestrr: Shrek ass ending

zenjestrr: both people seeing past the physical and loving the person

blackjackkent: truuuu

blackjackkent: bro your mind

zenjestrr: also if you go on the Avernus field trip there's PLENTY of brains for you to snack on

blackjackkent: truuuuuuuuuuuu

blackjackkent: ALSO

blackjackkent: fundamental climax of everything she sees in Wyll that she does not see in herself

blackjackkent: the self sacrifice

zenjestrr: ye

blackjackkent: wahhhhh feelings.

blackjackkent: OK I'm actually quite jazzed about this now haha