#but this is what they look like in my peabrain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

videovamptramp · 1 year

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love’s never been much to me (but i’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need)

// wednesday hates the new girl. //

warnings: minor character death (not that important) wednesday being mean, wednesday being a jealous asshole, sensitive reader, crying, harsh words. angst but happy ending <3

when your parents first sent you and your sisters to a boarding school in vermont, you tried your hardest not to be upset about it. you understood your mothers death impacted your father in ways you couldn’t imagined. you were sure it impacted you in ways he could never fathom as well— but you couldn’t help but feel like an outcast on the first day. your older sister elise was fitting in great, as soon as she showed up. her high grades put her in honors classes, and her contagious smile along with that charming, intelligent intellect caused people to migrate to her quickly. your younger sister sabrina was no different, she was beautiful, and had the best style out of anyone you’ve ever met. it wasn’t hard for either for them to make friends.

you however, tugged at the longsleeves of your tight black cropped top, and you kept your eyes open and aware of your surroundings. everyone at the school looked like they were either rich, or smart as hell. “hey i really like your jeans.” a tall, dark haired brunette tells you as she approaches you. you smile, “thanks! i love your cardigan.” you compliment her, and she smiles back at you. “i’m yoko. i think your my new roommate.” she admits, and your eyes widen. “oh shit, seriously? i haven’t even gotten a chance to see my roommate yet. i just put my stuff on the empty bed… but the rooms nice. you’ve kept it clean!“ you begin to ramble, and yoko laughs. “you seem nice. i think we’re gonna get along great.” she proclaims, flashing you a grin.

yoko was your first friend at nevermore academy. she was bright, generous, gave great fashion advice, and was someone you knew you could trust right away. it didn’t take long for you both to become nearly inseparable. that’s when you begin getting close to enid, divina, and even bianca; some of yoko’s other close friends. you and enid have the most in common. you find yourself hanging out with the blonde whenever your roommate is busy with nightshade society. it isn’t until you and enid have plans for the mall one afternoon, that you end up in her room. that’s when you see her. wednesday addams. her long braided black hair, her long lashes, and that all black outfit. you had barely seen her in the halls, but had no classes with her at all.

“i hope you and your friend aren’t planning on staying here. i’m working on my novel.” wednesday states, barely looking up from her typewriter. you look at her with pure interest, “you’re a writer? what are you writing about?” you ask curiously, and she rolls her eyes. “things a peabrain like you wouldn’t understand.” she mutters, and you giggle at her cattiness. “ignore wednesday, she’s allergic to color and all things nice. let’s go y/n, the mall closes at 6 today.” enid says, as she grabs her coat. “okay! sabrina’s tagging along, she said she needs some new shoes.” you explain, and enid smiles, “that’s fine! i love her! i heard she has a crush on joey from physics.” enid admits, and you gag. “ew! he looks like one of those guys that doesn’t wash their ass.”

enid bursts into fits of laughter as you both make your way to the door, “bye wednesday, it was nice officially meeting you.” you wave at the raven haired girl, who doesn’t even spare you a glance. “i wish i could say the same.” she grumbles, and you can’t fight the smile that tugs on your lips as you and enid make your way out. as you two walk down the hall, and towards sabrina’s room, enid pipes up; “hey, don’t take anything wednesday says personally, she’s like that with everybody.” enid explains, and you shake your head. “oh it’s fine! she’s pretty cute.” you admit with a blush, and enid shakes her head in disbelief. “wednesday and cute don’t belong in the same category. maybe violent, or irritable; even sassy fits.” enid jokes and you laugh. “well, she’s still pretty. even if she doesn’t quite like me.” you say as you walk into your younger sisters room.

“who doesn’t like you?” sabrina asks, as she looks away from the mirror where she was fixing her make up in, and over to you and enid. “wednesday.” you say, and sabrina furrows her brows, “who?” she asks. “my roommate. she’s in our grade, super grumpy, wears all black.” enid explains bluntly as she takes a seat on sabrina’s bed. “is she short?” sabrina asks and enid nods eagerly. “yup that’s her!” the blonde exclaims. “oh god, y/n/n, you like her? she’s emo.” sabrina points out, and you pout, “what’s wrong with that?!! she’s totally cute!” you declare, and enid flashes you a pointed look. “and totally hates you.” she reminds you, and you blush sheepishly. “hate and love are two very similar things.” you joke causing enid to groan and throw a pillow your way.

you start seeing wednesday a lot more after that. you always go out of your way to say hi to her, or even talk to her. even though she never seems excited to talk to you, she doesn’t ignore you, and you take that as a good sign. sabrina and you have always been the closest out of your siblings; she was only a year younger than you, yet you two were more like best friends than sisters. that’s exactly why she’s the first person you confess to about having a crush on wednesday.

“you can’t be serious, y/n/n. she hates your guts!” sabrina points out as you two eat lunch under the old oak tree. you had just admitted it to her, and the brunette was staring at you as if you had three heads. “i know! but she’s so hot! and have you heard her voice? ugh… i got it bad, the other day i asked her if she came her often… to school!!” you groan, and she shakes her head, chuckling softly. “damn… i for sure would have thought you would’ve fell for yoko… or even enid. but wednesday? seriously? have you guys even had an actual conversation that didn’t involve you trying to awkwardly flirt with her?” sabrina asks, and you nod.

“i was talking to her about her novel the other day… she’s a smart ass, but she’s definitely smart. like probably smarter than elise.” you admit, and sabrina laughs. “damn, maybe you should ask elise how to tutor you in the art of being a bitch.” she jokes, and you giggle. “maybe. she’s definitely too busy with jake. have you seen the way she gets when he texts her?” you inquire as you eat a cookie off your sisters tray. “yeah, it’s disgusting.” the younger girl says after rolling her eyes. “she still hasn’t talked to me because i stained her flannel. i got her a new one and said i was sorry!” sabrina exclaims, and you laugh. “she’s taking it personal. you’re gonna have to gravel. or just buy her food after her debate club. she’s always hungry after arguing.” you retort, taking a sip of your chocolate milk.

“ugh, she was made for debate. i’m thinking about joining the soccer team.” she reveals, and your eyes widen. “awww that would be awesome! you’d be great!” you say honestly, and she flashes you a smile. “thanks y/n/n.” she says softly as she finishes her sandwich. “hey that reminds me! my friend xavier was saying something about a book club on thursday’s at the library. you should check it out!” she says as she opens her backpack and pulls out a flyer. she hands it to you, and you take it, skimming over it. your eyebrows raise slightly, “huh, i actually think i’m gonna check it out. i need new book ideas. i’m tired of re-reading ‘black house’.” you tell her and she beams. “i thought of you as soon as he showed me the flyer!“

unbeknownst to you and sabrina, wednesday also received the same flyer from xavier. that’s how the two of you both ended up in the library on tuesday. you’re a bit early, and so is she, along with a few other students. you take a seat right beside her, and she glances at you. “are you lost? this isn’t the romance novel book club. they meet on tuesday’s.” she cattily remarks, and you chuckle. “i didn’t even know they had a club for that.” you admit, ignoring her comment. wednesday can’t help but continuously glance at you; you’re wearing baggy jeans, a tight fitted top, along with a pair of gray converse. wednesday is wearing an oversized black knitted sweater, fishnets, and a pair of black doc marten boots. her hair is braided and she looks gorgeous as ever.

“i actually don’t enjoy romance novels. it makes me feel like i’m reading really cheesy fanfics. my little sister gave me the flyer for this club. i need new book recommendations.” you say simply, and wednesday purses her lips, “this is a book club for thriller and horror novels.” she points out, and you nod. “i know. i read the flyer, addams.” you joke, and she looks at you. “what’s your favorite book?” she asks, and you blush sheepishly as you reach into your bag and pull out your old copy of ‘black house’ by stephen king. “i know it’s a bit basic but he really does have wonderful novels. i really enjoyed ‘she’s gone’ by david bell as well. the ending was a plot twist. poor girl.” you ramble slightly, and you blush as you realize she’s staring at you. you tuck a strand of curly hair behind your ear, your eyes meet hers, “what’s your favorite book, wednesday?” you ask her, sounding genuinely curious.

“the original frankenstein book is unmatched. but i suppose the haunting of hill house is good as well.” she answers curtly and you smile at her as she avoids your sweet gaze. “i too carry a copy of frankenstein around because it’s my favorite.” she confesses, making you grin. “you’ll have to lend it to me sometime. if that’s okay of course.” you say so gently she nearly grimaces at how soft your voice is. she reaches into her backpack, and pulls out the old copy, before handing it to you. you reach for it, but she pulls it away abruptly. “black house. i’d like to read it.” she declares, taking you by slight surprise. you nod vigorously, “sure! here!” you say happily, as you shove the copy of your favorite book into her free hand. you gladly take the original ‘frankenstein’ copy, and flash her a smile that makes her nauseous.

“hello everyone. i see we have quite a few eager readers. i’ve picked out a few good reads, and we’ll all have a vote on which one you all wanna read this week.” one of the teachers you hardly know interrupts your moment with wednesday, as she sits down in front of the group. wednesday doesn’t say a word to you during the rest of the session. though, she cannot seem to stop thinking about you as she reads ‘black house’. the little side notes you wrote— the highlighted parts you thought were important. she finds herself enjoying the book, and she can’t believe someone like you actually has good taste. perhaps wednesday misjudged you.

she’s pulled out of her thoughts one evening by your giggling. you’re laughing at something sabrina and her friends were saying. that’s when wednesday sees you take a hit of one of their wax pens, blowing the smoke in your younger sisters face, and giggling wildly. she shakes her head, prying her eyes away from you. nope. you’re still an idiot, she thinks. an idiot who seems to be interested in good books. but that’s your only redeeming quality in wednesday’s opinion.

“hey wednesday, are you enjoying the book?“ you ask as you approach the raven haired girl. wednesday looks over at where you were just sitting with your group of annoying friends and little sister. they seemed to have scattered, and she hadn’t even noticed you making your way up to her. “it’s not terrible. i truly enjoy the way he doesn’t shy away from the gruesome details and thoughts.” she explains, and you nod in agreement as you sit next to her. she doesn’t tell you to get lost even though she should. your girly perfume fills her senses, and she sticks her nose in the air as she looks away from you. “yeah, stephen king is already not afraid to cross any lines, but peter straub is totally fucked in the head. i like it.” you confess in a dorky way that makes wednesday turn her head and stare at you for a second.

“what?“ you ask curiously, wondering what she was staring at. “how did i never notice how much of a dork you are?” she asks, and you roll your eyes, blushing deeply— you pull your knees up to your chest, and you stare at your shoes. “maybe because you’ve never bothered to get to know me.” you joke, before looking at her. the sunlight is hitting your hair, and the way your bangs falls just above your eyelashes— wednesday never noticed how brown your eyes are. they change in the sun and she’s never noticed that about anyone. “well, you are insufferable… but i suppose i don’t mind speaking to you.” wednesday mutters, and you smile widely. there’s that nauseating feeling again. she wants to kiss wipe that smile right off your face.

“oh! i finished frankenstein! it was so fucking good but so fucking sad— i almost don’t want to read ‘black phone’. i know i’m gonna end up crying again.” you admit, and wednesday shakes her head. “you cried? i understand frankenstein is tragic, but crying is a bit dramatic don’t you think?” she asks, and you shrug. “i’m a sensitive person. here’s your book, thanks for lending it to me. if you have any other book recommendations i’d really appreciate them.” you confess shyly, and wednesday takes note of the rosy pink blush coating your cheeks and nose. she doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on getting to know her and talk to her. shouldn’t she have scared you off by now like she usually does with everyone else?

“thomas harris. silence of the lambs. i have a copy in my room, i’ll lend it to you tomorrow.” she states, and you smile widely. god she wishes you’d stop doing that.

wednesday begins to notice everything you do. the way you laugh, or mess with the holes in your jeans when you’re bored. you heart your ‘i’s’, and chew on your bottom lip when you’re nervous. you’re kind to everyone, and she hasn’t encountered a single person who has spoken badly about you. wednesday finds herself at a loss because she actually wants to talk to you, but she realizes she never wants to talk to anyone. she can’t for the life of her figure out what’s so different about you. or how she went from hating you, to thinking about you nearly every hour of the day. she even catches herself thinking about your giggle in the middle of class.

in december wednesday finds you sitting alone in the garden; a spot she enjoyed coming to be alone. just when she was about to tell you to get lost, she got closer, and heard the sniffling. “y/n?” wednesday’s voice causes you to jump a bit. you weren’t expecting anyone to be here and see you like this. you look up at her; those bambi eyes are red and full of tears, and your cheeks were stained, as if you had been crying for awhile now. wednesday forgets who she is and immediately feels concern wash over her. did somebody make you cry? was she going to have to commit murder? “what happened?“ she asks demandingly, before she takes a seat on the bench beside you. “i-it’s my moms birthday today…” you trail off, trying to hold back tears but failing miserably. “oh. did you call her?“ wednesday questions, and you shake your head, “she— she p-passed away last year.” you explain, and wednesday looks at you intensely.

“i’m sorry.” she sounds sincere, and it takes you by surprise as you stare at her with those vulnerable eyes. “she probably misses you as much as you miss her.” wednesday adds, and you feel your heart flutter in your chest. “y-you’re sweet. thanks for sitting with me.” you thank her gently, and she responds with an eye roll, “i’m not sweet, and if you tell anyone i sat with you, i’ll cut all your pretty hair off.” she threatens, and you sniffle as you blush, an inevitable smile creeping onto your face. “you think my hair is pretty?“ you ask, and for the first time since you met wednesday addams, the heat rises to her cheeks causing them to turn a shade of crimson red. “shut up, y/n.” she says warningly, shooting a murderous look your way. instead of lookinh terrified like anyone else would, you stare at her with an expression of pure adoration.

things change after your encounter with wednesday in the garden. you catch her staring more than she normally would, and whenever you approach her, you notice she doesn’t seem as annoyed as she used to. sure, she’s still as grumpy as ever, but your presence didn’t annoy her anymore, and that was strange. she normally gets irritated with everyone, but you somehow have become an exception. wednesday was not only okay with you coming up to her and talking her ear off, she was also looking forward to it. thoughts of you and even your voice would plague her mind. she thought of you before she fell asleep, and as soon as she awoke, there you were on her mind like clockwork.

it isn’t until wednesday sees you talking to aaron from botany, he seems to be staring at you with a glint in his eyes. you’re smiling at him in that way that always makes wednesday’s stomach flutter. but you’re directing it at him instead, and that nauseating feeling she usually gets, turns into a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach. suddenly she has never hated anyone more than aaron jeffery. she glares at him; she’s certain if he notices he’ll probably shit himself. but he doesn’t notice; you do. you turn your head, and your eyes lock with wednesday’s tenebrous orbs. you light up at the sight of her, and now your smile is directed at her. you wave cutely, “hey wednesday!” you greet her from across the courtyard before looking at aaron. “i’ll see you next period!” you exclaim, and he nods with a smile as you rush over to the raven haired girl.

“hi.” you giggle as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. wednesday tenses up, “hi. what were you talking to jeffery’s about?” she asks, trying to sound as uninterested as possible. “we got assigned to be partners earlier this year in botany class, and we just sort of became friends that way.” you shrug, and wednesday has an uncomfortable knot in her stomach. “oh.” is all the shorter girl responds with, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. “is there a problem between you and aaron? like some sort of secret beef i don’t know about?” you ask half jokingly, and she shakes her head. “i don’t like him.” wednesday answers quickly. “he stares at you like he’s never seen a girl in his sorry little life. don’t get me started on the way he dresses.” wednesday rants a bit, and all of your confusion seems to dissipate as a wave of realization washes over you. wednesday addams is jealous of aaron, because she thinks he likes you.

“but aaron is crushing on stacey mathew’s.” you remind her and wednesday scowls. “i don’t care. since when does that stop boys?” she mutters, and you tilt your head to the side, like a confused puppy. “wen… are you jealous of him?” you ask her, and the way you’re smirking makes her shoot a murderous glare your way. she’s not an idiot. she’s completely aware she’s jealous of that tall boy and his kind smile that wednesday doesn’t have. but to admit she’s envious of him, would be to admit how she feels about you. wednesday would rather die before admitting that your voice is something she looks forward to hearing every single day. or even how every time she reads a stephen king book she thinks of you.

“jealousy is a feeling, y/n, and we both know i don’t do feelings.” she declares trying to sound serious. you raise your eyebrows, “then you wouldn’t care if i said he was cute?” you question, clearly just trying to get a rise out of her, and it obviously works because she glares at you. “he looks like a burnt chicken.” she hisses, and you giggle wildly. “no feelings my ass.” you retort sarcastically, and the raven haired girls expression stays firm. “i don’t have feelings, y/n! much less any regarding you and that fried roach.” she snaps in that usually harsh tone she always saves for other people, and never you. yet today her stare is harsh and it’s directed towards you. the trace of softness you usually see in her big brown-black orbs is gone; instead there’s something inscrutable in her gaze and you can’t quite figure out what it is.

you frown, “no feelings regarding me at all? is that your polite way of saying you don’t care about me whatsoever?” you ask uncertainly, and she rolls her eyes. “i don’t care about anybody. everybody at this school is a dimwitted, supernatural moron with no concept of reality or the real world. if that bothers you, maybe you should just go run along and follow aaron jeffery around everywhere like a lost, pathetic puppy. the same way you follow me around.” her tone is so cold, and so unlike whenever she speaks to you. she sounds the same way as when you first met her. you blink a few times, and then, something terrible happens to wednesday. not the good kind of terrible that she loves— no, the terrible that makes her stomach twist and churn… your bottom lip begins to tremble and the heart she’s been so intent on hiding from everyone, falls into the pit of her belly.

tears well up in your eyes, and suddenly she’s replaying every cruel word she just said. they were all because you were right. she was jealous of aaron. “you could’ve just said you didn’t want to hang out with me. or that you don’t like me… you don’t have to be so cruel just because you know how i feel about you.” you manage to say while your voice shakes and wednesday can see the look of hurt in those chocolate brown eyes. you turn around and rush off, leaving wednesday alone with her thoughts and unwanted emotions. that interaction hadn’t gone as she planned, but what could she do about it? chase you and beg for forgiveness? admit that what you said was not only true but spot on? she was jealous, and she did know about the way you feel about her. though you weren’t aware of what she was feeling for you. the more she got to know you, the more she realized she liked. even the things she was supposed to hate, she found made those dead butterflies in her stomach resurrect and flutter around with pure life.

she found herself having to pretend to dislike your presence, but it seemed as though you could see right through wednesday and her grumpiness. you even dealt with it just to hang out with her. though, there were undoubtable moments where you just knew wednesday returned all those feelings she claimed she didn’t have. you would ramble on and on about a book or show, and when you’d look up her eyes would be on you, taking in every word. even when she wasn’t looking at you, she was listening. you knew because she remembered every detail, down to the silliest thing. though it was never silly to you, it always made your heart skip a beat. almost everything wednesday did for you, made your heart rate pick up. you noticed everything when it came down to her; the way her gaze would soften up whenever looking at you, or how she let you hug her and hold her hand.

yet, wednesday’s words sounded so serious and cold. you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, wednesday addams has hated you this whole time. maybe everything was in your head, and she really didn’t like you or anyone else at this school for that matter. maybe wednesday really was as heartless as she claims to be… but you don’t believe that. you can’t. there’s too many things she does that prove her wrong, yet if you ever called her out on them, she would most likely deny everything. if she didn’t want to like you, wasn’t that just as bad as not liking you? she knew she liked you, and she still didn’t want you. that hurt you more than anything else regarding your love life has.

when enid sees you crying she rushes in your direction, excusing herself from ajax and their mutual friends as she follows you towards your dorm. “y/n, what happened!?” she asks in pure concern as she follows you into yours and yoko’s shared bedroom. “did— did wednesday make you cry?” she asks cautiously, and you sniffle, nodding. enid feels a wave of nerves hit her. if wednesday was in a bad enough to mood to snap at you, maybe that meant everyone should stay clear from her today. there’s no telling what she’d do to people she actually hated. “what happened? did she say something to you?” the blonde asks patiently, and you look down at your converse. “dimwitted, supernatural moron… and a pathetic puppy. that’s what she thinks of me.” you whisper, and enid frowns.

“you’re none of those things, y/n. you’re a great friend and i know wednesday didn’t mean what she said. she’s just a grump.” enid points out and you shake your head. “i think she did, enid. i can’t keep trying so hard for her to like me. i should’ve taken the hint a long time ago and just left her alone.” you mutter, looking up and meeting enid’s eyes. her eyes are empathetic and sincere, “no, y/n, wednesday loves you! she just doesn’t want to admit it! she’s changed since she started hanging around you… she’s been nicer in her own little wednesday way. there’s less threats, and hate towards color or people. it’s because of you.” she insists, and you look at your fingers that you’re playing with nervously.

“i’ve seen the change, but until she apologizes or tells me how she feels herself, i think it’s best to keep my distance from wednesday…” you trail off, and enid can see the words hurt you to say. she frowns, but nods, “i understand and respect your decision, even it means i will have to deal with a very grumpy wednesday.” she murmurs and you flash her a sad smile. “sorry, enid…” you trail off, you thoughts immediate going to the raven haired girl you’re so helplessly in love with.

wednesday notices the change right away. it’s been a week since she said those mean things to you, and she couldn’t stop thinking about you. wednesday went from being the only person you’d seek out to talk to, to being the only person you’re avoiding. she feels like she’s been hit with the plague, because you won’t even look at her anymore. it drives her crazy when sees you and you don’t light up the way you used to, or even smile in her direction. she never thought silence (one of her favorite things), would drive her this mad when it was coming from you. she hated to admit she missed your voice, and all the things she thought she hated about you… like the way you talk too much, and practically shower in that girly perfume that tickles wednesday’s senses in the worst way. when she smells it in the halls her belly burns.

“she’s been miserable without you.” enid cuts into wednesday’s thoughts one lunch period, as she notices her roommate staring at you from the other side of cafeteria. you were sitting with elise and her friends today, looking absolutely miserable. it was no secret your older sister often was one of your biggest bullies, though it came from a place of love, the things she said still affected you. much like wednesday, she said things bluntly and honestly, not caring if she hurt anyones feelings. “she’s the one that decided to stop sitting here.” wednesday says back, her tone harsh and abrasive. enid rolls her eyes, “because you called her a dimwitted, supernatural moron, wednesday!” enid points out, causing everyone at the table to look at the two.

wednesday shoots daggers at the blonde, “i said it in regards towards everyone at this school!” wednesday hisses, and enid shakes her head in dismay. “it’s the same thing. not to mention you called her a ‘pathetic puppy’, don’t you have any idea how much your words hurt? especially to someone who has feelings for you.” she states sternly, and the raven haired girls careless expression falters. a trickle of silence passes, and wednesday speaks. “i didn’t mean it.” the shorter girl mutters, and enid raises a brow as she reaches for her fruit cup. “then why did you say it?“ the werewolf questions curiously, causing the short girl sitting beside her to sigh in frustration.

“because she was gushing over aaron jeffery!” wednesday snaps and enid raises both of her eyebrows in amusement. “and why did that bother you? i thought you and y/n were just friends; didn’t you say you hated the idea of love and romance because of your parents?” enid inquires, and wednesday grips the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles change in color. “this isn’t romance or love, i merely believe that y/n can do better than someone like that gross ogre.” she declares simply, and enid smirks, clearly not believing wednesday. “she can do better? as in someone like you?” enid asks with a shit-eating grin on her face, and wednesday glowers at her roommate.

“you may be my roommate, but i wouldn’t think twice about ripping your tongue out with my bare hands.” wednesday threatens the blonde, causing enid to giggle. “oh my god! you really do have feelings for y/n!” enid whisper/yells excitedly. “you have to tell her!” she exclaims, and wednesday keeps a straight face as she looks back down at her open book, deciding to simply ignore enid’s presence. “i mean, sure, you may have royally messed up by saying those things to the only person who’s genuinely not afraid of you, but she’s a sweetie. she’ll understand if you just tell her you were jealous.” enid rambles, and wednesday snaps her book shut, glaring at the blonde.

“call her a ‘sweetie’ again and i really will rip your tongue out.” she hisses as she stands up and walks out of cafeteria. enid gulps, and she looks over at you who’s watching wednesday walk away. wednesday’s head is plagued by thoughts of you. she goes to her room and tries to work on her novel, but she can’t concentrate long enough to get anything done. her homework got done later than usual because of how much she’s thinking about you. the raven haired girl sighs in frustration as she looks over at thing who’s sitting on the corner of her desk.

“i messed up.” she says aloud, making thing perk up at the sound of her voice. he makes his way towards her, and she looks at him with eyes of vulnerability. she’d never let anyone see her like this, but thinking about you and your face of hurt makes her feel enormously guilty. “what did you do?” thing taps, and wednesday purses her lips. “i… god this is embarrassing… i was jealous of aaron jeffery.” she says his name with disdain, curling her upper lip in disgust. “i know, i know. why should i, a superb young woman, who is by far the most amazing person at this awful place, be jealous of a burnt chicken like him? well, because y/n thinks he’s cute. can you believe that? she thinks he’s cute.” thing is silent while wednesday rants, finally allowing all of her feelings to come seeping out in her rushed words. “what was i supposed to tell her? that i think she has the most soul crushing smile on the planet and i would die to see it over and over again? that when she smiled at him it made me want to add him to the list of murders? she makes me sick every time she looks at me, like there’s a bunch of moths in my stomach that are about to fly out of my mouth. i can’t tell her any of that.” wednesday hisses, and thing taps, “you are in love.”

wednesday viscously glares at thing, “love is for morons!” she snaps, “you are a moron.” thing taps back, and wednesday goes silent. “yes. i suppose i am. i mean, i did let her get a way.” she whispers, and thing taps again. “talk to her. say sorry.” he insists, and wednesday purses her lips. “i’m not saying i’m going to, but hypothetically if i were to apologize, how would i do that?” she inquires curiously.

you rub your temples tiredly after you finish revising your essay for botany class. you had been doing homework all evening and were finally done. though, your homework was slightly prolonged due to the way your thoughts would trail off towards a certainly pig tailed addams. you would think about the way her eyes would pour into you, or the way her lips would twitch into the faintest of smiles as she would listen to you go on and on. yet, you can’t help but think about what she said. truthfully, you wouldn’t be so angry if she’d just apologize. sure, the words hurt, but you’d forgive her if she just said she’s sorry.

but she hasn’t even tried to speak to you, and that’s what hurts the worst.

*knock, knock*

the light knocks on your door cause your head to snap in its direction. an envelope flies under your door, and you furrow your eyebrows as you stand up and make your way towards it. you pick it up, your name is written on it and you recognize that handwriting anywhere. wednesday. you open the door, but there’s no one there; you can see thing thumping down the hall towards wednesday’s room. you can’t fight the smile that tugs at your lips as you open the envelope, and pull out the letter inside.

“y/n,

please excuse how late this is. i understand if you don’t read this, but if you do, would you do me the favor of coming to my room whenever you can? i wish to say a few things to you in regards of our last conversation. if you don’t come, that’s alright too. i’m deeply sorry for what i said. you were right, and i was jealous. you aren’t a moron, or pathetic. you aren’t like anyone at this school. — w.a”

your heart flutters in your chest as you read the letter. wednesday wants to apologize? was this some kind of trap to hurt your feelings again? you chuckle at the absurdity of this, but you can’t help but feel your cheeks heating up at the sincerity of the letter. you take a step out of your room, and close the door behind you. you hold the letter in your hand the entire way to wednesday’s room. when you knock the door flies open, and there’s wednesday standing in front of you with an unrecognizable look on her face. “you came.” she states observantly, had she really thought you wouldn’t? you were crazy about her after all. “you asked me to.” you respond softly, and there are those butterflies in her belly again

“i didn’t mean what i said. i’m sorry i hurt you.” she says, and her usual monotone is laced with vulnerability. your eyes often as you pull her in for a tight hug, “oh wednesday.” you gush as you squeeze her tightly, and she feels a wave of heat wash over her. she immediately feels okay as soon as you embrace her. “do you… forgive me?” the raven haired girl asks carefully, and you pull away, nodding eagerly. “of course! i… i guess a part of me knew you didn’t mean it. i know you’re not good with feelings, and that’s why i try my hardest to understand your reactions to everything i do. but i really hope from now on, you try your hardest to understand my feelings as well.” you explain timidly and she reaches for one of your hands cautiously. you gladly accept and interlock your fingers with hers.

“i promise i’ll do better. i’m barely starting to understand my own feelings for you, and they’re a bit overwhelming.” wednesday reveals, causing you to blush. “well, if you ever need help sorting them out, you know i’m here right?” you ask, and she looks at her for a moment. thing taps on the desk, “invite her in, moron!” and wednesday blinks as the back of her neck gets coated with a crimson blush. “would you like to come in right now and help me sort through them?” the goth asks smoothly, and now it’s your turn to blush. “i would like that.” you respond and she lights up as she steps aside, allowing you entrance into her shared bedroom. a wave of relief hits her, as she realizes you’re back and she doesn’t want to ever lose you again. that’s when wednesday realizes she may be in love with you, and that terrifies her.

though, losing you terrifies her even more… so if making you hers and keeping you by her side forever is what you need, then she’ll be content with doing so.

///////////////////////////////

a/n: this was my first fic on here!! i’ve never seen the netflix series so excuse me if i get anything wrong, i’m just crushing sooo hard on jenna ortega rn 😂

#wednsday addams #wednesday addams x fem reader angst #wednesday addams x fem reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #lgbtq #this is my first post #be kind #lesbian fanfic

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holy-puckslibrary · 3 months

Text

━ 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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kuroosdumbslut · 1 year

Note

Please some write some fluff snape x femreader have crush on each other long time and Severus make a first move. Thanks

//Thank you for the request! This one came out to 1.7k words, so I hope you enjoy! I realized half-way through I was using gn pronouns and changed it once I re-read your request cause my peabrain didnt realize lmao but enjoy!//

This year was perhaps the most unusual for Severus. It wasn’t nearly as intolerable this year with the students and one professor in particular, Professor Y/N, had made her way into being one of his closest friends. After two years of a friendship, Y/N surged to the top of the list of close friends and Severus didn’t even realize it until he realized he was making time to visit with her and accepting weekend hang outs and meet ups with her. Severus would be lying if he said he hadn’t developed some form of feelings for Y/N a few weeks after he realized how close they had gotten. During the time of their friendship, Y/N had been there for him the most and didn’t hesitate to admit her own struggles, sympathizing with his struggles to an extent. Severus was surprised at first; this professor, who’s only worked at Hogwarts for the last three years, managed to make her way into his heart and get him to open up about things in his life he never thought he’d share with anyone else. Now he had a new type of problem; he’s developed romantic feelings for her and is now sick of denying it.

Professor Y/N rapt their knuckles on Severus’s office door, waiting until they heard a muffled “enter” to step inside. “Hello Sev! Got some paperwork for you, sadly.” Severus sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. “What kind this time?” Y/N flipped through the stack and groaned. “Midterm exam paperwork for the Ministry. Merlin, I really don’t want to do this shit…” Severus huffed out a laugh, nodding along. “I second your sentiments. Why’s the Ministry assigning so much paperwork? A lot of this could easily be condensed into two to four pages. They must be some kind of sadists, I swear.” Y/N broke into laughter, doubling over and gripping the edge of Severus’s desk. “H-How do you manage to do that?” Severus smirked a bit but tilted his head a bit.

“How do I do what?” Y/N caught her breath for a moment before continuing. “How do you manage to say something funny while looking absolutely disgusted at the same time? You are so effortlessly funny, I envy you.” Severus laughed a bit is disbelief. “Me? Funny? You’re the one telling jokes here.” Y/N shook her head and grinned. “I’m serious! But anyways, since midterms aren’t up yet, how about we get a drink at the pub? It’s been a while since we had a chance to get a bite to eat together.” Severus was a bit taken aback but nodded along. “I suppose I could use a break from all the papers. Let’s say for around six or seven tonight?” Y/N nodded with a smile. “Sounds like a plan! I’ll catch you tonight, for now I gotta get back to my own office… Got a student coming for detention. See you later, Sev!” And with that, Y/N left Severus sat at his desk in a slight daze.

One part of him is convinced he should just get it over with and confess his feelings, but another part has him convinced she would never feel the same, so why waste his breath? Either way, he’s already agreed to it. With his fate for that night sealed, Severus continued to work on papers in between classes and retiring early to his room to get ready to meet up with Y/N. Several outfits later, Severus settled on a nice pair of black slacks with a white button up. Debating on whether to bring a jacket or anything, Severus decided to throw on a black sweater and knocked at Y/N’s chamber door. A few seconds later, Y/N opened the door with a grin. “Sev! Right on time. Ready to go?”

Severus nodded and extended his arm to them, to which she looped her arm with his, and made their way towards to pub. “Well, it’s the weekend and Minerva is on duty tonight, so we could probably get a few drinks while we’re out.” Severus hummed, nodding along. “Why not? It’s…what, Saturday?” Y/N made an affirmative hum and whispered a happy little “thank you” when Severus held the door open for her. Finding a fairly private booth, they both slip in and catch up for a while. “…and then, as per usual for these dunderheads, Longbottom managed to melt his godforsaken desk again. I swear, I turn around for a moment and all hell breaks loose. I’m tempted to put bloody monitoring charms in place if they keep it up.” With a small laugh, Y/N patted his hand gently. “Well, if it does come to that, at least it’ll be easier to catch the little snots being reckless. Plus, if it happens again, I’ll bring you a bottle of fire whiskey for you! We can drink and try to forget anything from the week.” Severus sent Y/N a half-hearted frown, lightly scolding her. “Drinking isn’t the answer to everything, you know? Though…I will admit, it would be nice to have a drink mow and then when we aren’t too swamped with impertinent children.”

A few stories later, the food and drinks arrived and they ate in relative silence, occasionally pausing when a good story or interesting topic came to mind. By the time dinner was finished, they were both maybe two or three drinks in and the conversation went from light-hearted to a more flirty undertone. “Y’know Sev, I still don’t get why you’re single.” Severus rolled his eyes a bit, the alcohol warming his cheeks a bit. Just the alcohol, of course. Nothing else. “Well, I suppose not many enjoy my company quite like you. You may be one of the few who can stand to willingly hang around me. Though, I could say the same for you. I don’t get why you’re single either.” Y/N blushed and shook her head. “Oh please, I’m sure not many care for my presence really. Or it could be I have a very specific type?”

Severus hummed and rested his cheek against his hand that was propped on the table. “Type? Please, do tell.” Y/N rolled her eyes and grinned a bit. “Oh, fine I’ll tell you. Just don’t laugh, please?” Taking a deep breath, Y/N continued. “Well, I suppose I do enjoy a bit of a taller man. I have this pattern of liking and dating men with longer hair, darker features too. Dark eyes, dark hair, oftentimes dark clothing as well.” Severus wasn’t daft to not pick up how much the descriptions related to him, but he played innocent until he could truthfully say that there was a chance for him. “Oh? Sounds like someone I know…Please, do continue.” Y/N was definitely much redder in the face from either embarrassment or slowly revealing her true type, he didn’t know. “W-Well…who I’m thinking of does have a particular interest in the dark arts and potions…” Severus felt that was enough of a clue and leaned forward a bit to get her attention. “Y/N…I have a feeling you may be referring to me, yes?” Y/N nodded, not fully trusting her voice. “Well, then. I’d say you’re in luck. I…I happen to have fairly strong feelings for you. Romantic feelings, that is. How about tomorrow we meet up in my chambers to talk more about this, if you’re willing?”

The next day, Severus still couldn’t believe he had been able to just…confess as he did. By the time he was up in the morning, he started pacing his room and thinking over every little detail from the night before. What if Y/N comes by to say she changed her mind? What if she realized that Severus isn’t good enough for her? With his mind swimming with questions, he was just present enough to hear a knock at his door and he froze momentarily. Gathering whatever courage he had left, he opened the door and invited Y/N in. “I’m glad you made it. Please, get comfortable. I’ll bring us some tea and potentially hangover potions?” With a sheepish nod from Y/N, Severus retrieved the potions and conjured the tea to the area where they both were sitting. Luckily, Y/N was the first to speak up. “So…did you really mean it? That you had feelings for me?” Severus hesitated for a moment, but still nodded silently, looking at his lap.

“I do, yes. I understand if you don’t-” Severus was cut off by Y/N carefully putting her hands on his cheeks and gently making him look at her. “If I don’t what? Cause if you’re about to say ‘if I don’t feel the same’ you are sorely mistaken. I’m positive you picked up the hints, I wanted you to. I just…I wanted to make sure that we are on the same page.” Severus cracked a grin and placed a hand over one of hers that was still cupping his cheek and held it, removing her hand and placing a feather-light kiss to the top of her hand. “We are. How should…How do you suppose we go about this? I know I’m not the easiest to get along with, but…” Y/N smiled kindly and scooted closer to him on the couch. “We’ll figure it out, I’m sure. I’m sure you know I can be stubborn and a few arguments or misunderstandings isn’t going to deter me, you know that. How do you think I weaseled my way into being your friend when I started working here?” Severus grinned and nodded. “Fair enough, you were particularly stubborn no matter how much I complained and was distant.” Y/N laughed and nudged him with her shoulder, settling against him when he started chuckling along with her. “I hope you know how glad I am you said something first. I was close to pulling you into a closet and snog you till you got the point.” At that Severus, laughed hard enough to shake the both of them. “Well, luckily you can snog me anytime now. I- well, I mean, if you wanted to, of course.” Y/N grinned and carefully turned him to face her once more, this time leaning in to press a gentle, loving kiss to his lips. Severus was shocked for a moment, but recovered just as quickly and stole another kiss. For once, he was extremely glad to have someone break his walls down and worm their way in.

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #pro severus #pro snape #severus snape x yn #snape x reader #snape content #snape community #snape fluff #love writing for severus

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toe-cheese-with-rice · 1 year

Text

Dokja x reader

Some fluff of the reader almost dying and confessing their feelings to Dokja.

Female reader, f!m

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You searched Dokja’s eyes, hoping - pleading there was a shred of feelings You felt. But he stayed silent, your brows furrowed as he stayed still. The silence felt like barbwire wrapping around your neck, it was suffocating, your feelings choked up in her throat as you swallowed.

“Dokja, Say something, I’m begging you.” your eyes started to sting and prick with regret as they filled with water.

“Dokja…” Your voice cracked “I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep my promise I-” Dokja cut you off.

“That doesn’t matter, I don’t care about that dumb promise; I just… Wish you would’ve taken me with you.”

You paused for a moment, trying to gather the words you wish you would’ve said before.

“You are the only thing that I fight for, if not for you I would be a lost soul trying to keep sane, Dokja. So don’t grimace or glare at my wounds, because I have seen yours through and through. You are the reason I push myself to stay alive, I really love you, more than my life.”

Dokja gritted his teeth, all he wanted to do was protect you but he ended up hurting you more. you hadn’t been in the novel nor were you ever mentioned. This woman had read just as he did and fought just as he did, but now she is the one sacrificing herself for him. You are the one losing the wine-red blood that seeped from your body.

“You will make it, you have to,” Dokja mumbled, holding your wounds closed while he searched the shop for potions. you sighed in response, “I’ll try my best, but if I do die, you have to stop making Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung worry so much you idiot.” Dokja smiled a little as he bought the potions, “They’re fine, I’m not nearly as bad as you.”

You laughed, wincing as Dokja applied ointments and potions to your wounds. You could feel the energy slowly entering back into your body.

“Geez, how much did you spend on this many potions?”

Dokja just shook his head, “That doesn't matter, what matters is your safety.” He went silent for a moment after, making you look up at him. He seemed to be thinking about something, conflicted about it. So you reached up and caressed his pale cheek.

“What are you thinking so hard about you peabrain?” Your thumb snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked away and back at you, your eyes locking.

“Earlier... Did you really mean what you said?” You looked at him confused, “about what?” Dokja seemed nervous but spoke anyway, “About loving me?” You smiled at his shyness. “Of course I did, what else would I mean by that.” Dokja’s eyes shimmered a little, pouring the last bottle of medicine on your arms.

“In that case, I… Really love you too.” Your cheeks turned slightly red as you looked at him, peace falling over you. “And... You are also the bane of my existence too, so never do something so dangerous without me. You nearly died, I thought..”

You put your finger to Dokja’s lips, catching him by surprise. “I get it, I won’t do it again, my love.” You whispered as he held you gently, “I’m getting tired so if you don’t mind, I’m just going to - I’m going to…” He smiled as you fell asleep. “Sleep well, my love.” He spoke softly as he kissed your delicate forehead.

#kim dokja #dokja x reader #fluff #female reader #omniscient reader fanart #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader novel #han sooyoung #yoo joonghyuk #yu joonghyeok #x reader #fem reader #x female reader

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the-present-is-a-gift-au · 3 months

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Chapter 4: In Which the Past Comes Back to Haunt You

If Twig hadn’t glanced over her shoulder as she passed— if her unease hadn’t shot off the charts as she turned the corner— she wouldn’t have even caught a glimpse of the guy that had messed her life up even worse than the Dark Future. Her mind was going a mile a minute, wondering how Darkrai was still alive, why he was so close to Verdant Village, what nefarious plans he had for the world and all the people she loved within it— he knew she was alone, he had to, and he knew that she didn’t have any backup—

But all her thoughts ground to a stuttering halt when he rasped a quiet Hello.

“Uh.” She blinked. “Hi?”

Silence.

“What— what are you doing here?”

He tilted his head, looking up in consideration, and paused before he answered. “I’m not sure.”

More silence.

He eyed her bag for a moment, icy gaze slowly turning back to her face. “Could you spare some food?”

Mechanically, she reached into the satchel and held out an apple, fingers twitching with nerves as he came forward to accept it. Darkrai looked… different somehow, coming out of the ferns. There was something off about him that she couldn't place, but she also noticed he was scuffed up pretty bad and realized he was definitely at a disadvantage with the types of pokemon frequenting the mystery dungeon. She was still on autopilot when she reached into the bag with her other hand and held out an oran berry as well. He accepted them silently, moving back to lurk behind the ferns. Though with the way he held himself, it wasn't lurking, not really. More like waiting, or hiding. Cowering.

He swallowed the berry first and was slow in finishing the apple. He watched her as he ate. She watched him in return.

"Where are you going next?" She found herself asking.

"I do not have many plans as to my destination. I lack much direction, as of now."

That didn't match up with the master planner she was so terrified of. Was she imagining this? Had her janky little peabrain finally overclocked itself enough to start hallucinating things?

She grit her teeth. Summoning her courage, she intended to threaten him with something along the lines of 'Listen up, Darkrai, we beat you once and we'll do it again.' But she only got as far as the first three words when his response made everything fall into place.

"How—" He looked completely disoriented, shocked. "How do you know my name?"

… Oh.

Right. He went through a Passage of Time that was tampered with just like she had, didn't he? And now he had amnesia. Poetic justice, she supposed. A bit of tit for tat, eye for an eye, quid pro quo comeuppance for the sadistic dastard.

And yet.

Was the jolt of concern she felt something like Kip felt when he first found her, or was it fear that he was bluffing, and that this was another ruse like Cresselia was?

He was waiting for an answer.

"Lucky guess," she lied.

The look he gave her was less one of a monster relishing the way she squirmed and more one of confusion. “Hm. I have not encountered someone who recognized me enough to know my species name. Apologies for losing my composure, albeit briefly. It was not right.”

Was this the same darkrai? Were there multiple darkrai? Cresselia sure as heck never mentioned there being more than one member of the type of Legend she’d been tracking down across time and space, and she didn’t seem the type to let something so important go unsaid. But Twig could not wrap her head around the lord of nightmares apologizing for simply raising his voice in surprise. That jolt of concern had settled to wrap itself up around her ribcage now. She was definitely afraid of the possibility of this being another trick, but it was becoming clearer that she felt more pity for the person before her than terror.

She knew what it was like to be lost without knowing anything other than your name. She wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy. And yet, here he was, having suffered the same fate as he had inflicted on her.

She spoke before she realized she’d opened her mouth. “Do you have somewhere to spend the night?”

He blinked, eyes widening in surprise. “No.”

“You can crash at my place tonight. You look… Well, you’ve looked better. I think some rest would do you a lot of favors.”

Darkrai followed her out of the mystery dungeon, noticeably wary whenever the pokemon within cast appraising glances their way. Twig hadn’t thought twice of the stares before that ominous paranoia flared up, and she was starting to realize why all of the dungeon’s inhabitants seemed so strangely on edge today. People didn’t have to be asleep to feel unsettled by Darkrai’s presence, and that was putting it lightly. She didn’t stop by Gardevoir’s place, only leaving the massive apple and a note for Lyra on their porch— the family was always out in town square by this time anyhow, and even if they weren’t, she wasn’t in a rush to expose them to the dread that was so painfully thick in the air thanks to the Legend trailing in her wake like a second shadow.

Darkrai took in the interior of Twig’s home with a scrutinizing eye similar to Gardevoir’s. She was starting to get the feeling her decor situation was more dire than she realized. She tucked the thought aside and went about her usual routine of unpacking her bag of wares to sell and goods to use herself, and was surprised to find that Darkrai’s presence was actually less noticeable than she expected. It was more like a bruise than a dagger between her shoulders. If she pressed on it, she would realize just who was standing in the corner of her kitchen and watching her prep sitrus berries for supper. But if she left it alone, it was only a dull ache at the back of her mind.

She wasn’t used to cooking for two anymore. It had taken her weeks to stop making meals like Kip was there to eat them with her, but she had finally adapted, and now she had to add in a second serving at the last minute when she remembered that was what you were supposed to do when someone was in your home.

Darkrai hadn’t spoken since he had passed over her doorstep. She dished a second bowl of simmered vegetables and savory berries and offered it to him, and he stared down at the bowl for several moments before accepting it. It was then that he broke the silence. “I appreciate your hospitality, Charmeleon.”

Somehow, Darkrai referring to her by her species name was the strangest part of this situation. It always weirded her out how Pokemon made such a big deal out of only using personal names when you were good friends with someone, or at least significantly older or of a higher rank than them, but it oddly managed to clash even harder against her upbringing as a human when Darkrai didn’t refer to her as Twig. She told him she didn’t mind it if he used her given name, introducing herself.

“... ‘Twig’ is your name?” He asked, a note of confusion in his level tone.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“It seems a peculiar monicker for one of your heritage.”

“What do you mean by h—?” Her tail twitched as she puzzled out his meaning, and the flame at its tip flickered a slight peach. “Oh. I, uh, I was named by a grass-type.”

Darkrai hummed in acknowledgment, then began to eat.

Twig realized that she must have had a human name once, and she didn’t know what it could have been. Did Grovyle know? Why did she feel such a need to learn a name that didn’t matter anymore? It stung at her heart, the idea of her forgetting a name given to her by a family she couldn’t recall the faces of.

And then she realized something horrible.

She had remembered her past. Yes, she had only recovered bits and pieces of it, but she had remembered them nonetheless. But if she had begun to remember who she was before her amnesia… couldn’t Darkrai do the same? Couldn’t the person sitting across the table from her remember whatever motive he had to shroud the world in darkness? Couldn’t he recover his cruelty, his sadistic cheer at others’ misery?

She’d been treating him as a charity case, but she should have been seeing him as a timebomb.

It was a struggle to sleep that night. She’d locked and barricaded the door of the guest room she retired in despite knowing it meant nothing— if Darkrai wanted her dead right now, she would die. She didn’t have Cresselia to guide her through a maze of terrifying shadows. She didn’t have Kip to back her up and keep her from breaking down. When she did manage to close her eyes and slip away into slumber, it was only to be greeted by nightmares. Dreams of being chased by monsters, of being crushed by walls that closed in further on her with every inhale, of being eaten alive or burned until her very bones were nothing but charred ash… When she woke in the morning, it was to an exhaustion that weighed her limbs down like lead and to a fear that made them buzz with anxiety.

What if Darkrai remembered? Was it even a matter of ‘if’, or was it a matter of ‘when’? Could she do anything to stop it? She had often reflected on how different her life would've been if she encountered someone other than Kip on the beach that fateful day. She had wondered if she had been picked up by Koffing and Zubat if she would have become just as vile as them, or if she had been taken in by Kanghaskan whether she would have ever become an explorer. She had wondered if she had wandered off on her own, alone, if she would have evaded Dusknoir’s initial discovery of her identity, if she would have never reunited with Grovyle, and if by the following chain of events Temporal Tower would have truly fallen and the Dark Future would have been guaranteed. If she had been taken in by someone who had told her they knew her before she lost her memory, though… If she had been given lies that seemed to click together well enough to be true…

She slid the lone piece of furniture that she’d placed in the guest room— a dresser that was scratched up and cheap as dirt when she bought it— out of the way. She unlocked the door. Darkrai was staring out the window when she entered the main room, watching the sliver of light on the horizon grow brighter as dawn broke.

Darkrai began to greet her when she cut him off. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

He paused. “As I said yesterday, I do not have a designated residence at the moment. I—”

“Why not stay here? Indefinitely. I don’t— I don’t mind, and I’ve got the room. So it would work out great for us both!”

He watched her in silence.

She could feel herself breaking out in a cold sweat. Arceus, don’t let him see through this. Please, please—

“Very well,” Darkrai finally said. “If you do not mind my remaining here, I will not refuse your hospitality. Thank you, Twig.”

“Great! Great. Uh. Cool.” Her forced smile wavered. “I’m going to go, um… check my inventory for when I go to sell at the market.”

Darkrai watched her disappear into the hallway. She could feel those icy eyes picking her every move apart with surgical precision, analyzing the way she ducked into the guest room again to lock the door and get her hyperventilating back to a nigh-undetectable volume.

She couldn’t help but wonder just how much of a mess it was that she’d dived headfirst into.

#pmd2 #pmd eos #pmd sky #pmd explorers #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd fanfic #pmd fanfiction #pmd fic #the present is a gift au

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amor-immortalem · 1 year

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Obey Me Nightbringer plot theory/Prediction also some extra questions that’ve been living rent free in my head

I know this isn’t my usual style of content but ever since the announcement, the cogs in my little peabrain have just been turning and turning- especially with the hints we got during the livestream Friday night trying desperately to put together a cohesive story.

So, what little do we know about Nightbringer’s plot and how can we use those pieces to try and figure out an idea what’s going to happen?

The three hints given to us were this:

The game takes place after the Great Celestial War

Satan and his brothers

Solomon and the attic

The opening movie also had some interesting imagery namely Barbatos and the doors.

So let’s start with the first hint, shall we?

The game takes place after the Great Celestial War

First off, this is the most straightforward of the hints. I’m excited by this. The period after the Great Celestial War is a timeframe for the brothers that we haven’t seen a whole lot of in past seasons other than a majority of them grieved over Lilith for possibly hundreds of years afterwards. It holds a lot of angst potential.

But how exactly do we see this unfold? This leads me back to Barbatos and the imagery of doors we see during the beginning and ending of the opening. All of us who are caught up through at least Season 1 know Barbatos utilizes his time magic through doors. When he sends us back in time to figure out who set Belphie free, its through a door in his room. But Barbatos has also canonically stated he doesn’t like using his time and reality magic very often if at all essentially because it would make life boring to know what’s coming next.

I think I’m getting away from the point here but what I’m trying to say is that I believe a very credible threat to the Devildom (possibly all three realms, even) may arise and the only way to deal with this threat is to go back in time and subdue or contain it before it can get out of hand and that’s how we end up experiencing the events after the Great Celestial War.

Satan and his Brothers

I find this as an interesting hint because it kind of goes hand in hand with the first hint. I also find it interesting in the way it was worded too. It makes it seem like Satan is meant to stand out here. This could just be a hint that we’ll be seeing how Satan formed the relationships he has with his brothers and how they dealt with suddenly having a new brother *coughnephewcough* after having just lost their sister.

It could also hint toward something being wrong with the brothers as a group. If you remember in the opening, there was this one scene of what appeared to be this little ball of light kind of surrounded by this liquid-y substance and then the substance also appears in the backgrounds of the character reel.

Perhaps this liquid is somehow corrupting the brothers even further to be the absolute worst versions of their sins that they can be (that could also be why lucifer looks to be in pain, satan looks far more aggressive than usual like he’s not even trying to hold back his wrath, and levi looks cold and distant and Asmo was Yuno-fied. Also as a side tangent Belphegor was giving me heavy lesson 16 vibes for whatever reason. Beel and Mammon were the only two where I didn’t get an immediate ‘oh something is very wrong with them’ vibe.) moving on!

Solomon and the attic

One of these hints is not like the others~ All jokes aside, this hint - when I heard it- made me really stop and think about it. Why was it important- I can’t think of any reason why Solomon would be interested in the attic in the first place. Unless for some reason he ends up trapped there.

I believe it was stated that Lucifer used to store his things from the Celestial Realm up there after the fall. What if there was something Solomon needed in the attic and then Lucifer ends up trapping him there like he did with Belphie? That’s really the only story beat I could see coming out of this hint.

So… to finally get to what I predict the plot might be like:

the story begins with MC and Solomon living together.

he’s helping them fine tune their magic as any good teacher does when Mammon (under the influence of that liquid-y substance we see in the opening) attacks them, jealous over the fact that MC and Solomon have been living together when MC is his human and how dare Solomon attempt to encroach on what’s his.

MC is quickly able to subdue Mammon with their pact but gets the feeling that something is horribly wrong with the rest of the brothers as well so they along with Solomon take Mammon back to the Devildom and stop in to check on the rest of the brothers as well.

It becomes clear very fast that something is off as they can’t even get into the House of Lamentation so Solomon and MC make their way to the demon Lord’s castle to meet with Diavolo and Barbatos.

When they get there (along with Mammon because the clingy bastard refuses to let MC leave his line of sight) Diavolo fills the humans in on what’s happened with the brothers and how they were exposed to a liquid called ‘the Nightbringer’ which corrupted them to exhibit and indulge in even more of their sin than they already did. (Think everyone back in S1 but even worse. They’re almost completely feral in this state.)

Dia then goes on to explain that under the effects of the Nightbringer, Lucifer attempted to stage a coup believing himself to be a better ruler than Diavolo so the Avatars had to be sealed away in the HOL for the time being until the effects of the nightbringer wore off or Dia and Barb could find a way to reverse the effects themselves.

Solomon remarks how similar the situation is to the great celestial war and that’s where Barbatos gets the idea to send MC back in time. If they can secure or contain the Nightbringer before the brothers get a hold of it in the present day then they can reverse this situation. The only issue is they don’t know where to start.

Thats when Mammon reveals the Nightbringer was originally a strength enhancing potion from the Celestial Realm all of them had used during the war that had been tainted from the change in environment and age and was something Lucifer had brought with him during the fall and that they have more vials of it in the HOL’s attic because Lucifer was trying to find a way to dispose of it.

And that the only reason they were under its influence now was because Mammon had stolen a vial from their stores and attempted to sell it but he accidentally dropped and broke the vial and it spread quickly through out the HOL.

With that information, Barbatos takes MC to begin their time shenanigans while Solomon is sent to the HOL to try and get his hands on the rest of the Nightbringer stores in the attic but he eventually get trapped there.

This got really fanfiction-y in a hurry but yeah that’s basically my prediction on how the story will go… I’m probably dead wrong though.

Tell me your plot predictions.

Extra thoughts that don’t really fit with the theory/prediction but were still rattling around in my empty skull

What are the game mechanics going to be like in Nightbringer? I can’t imagine why they would make a whole new app just to reuse the current game mechanics from the og app. Perhaps it will be like twisted wonderland? Where you have the story section and then actual turn based battles or rhythm game levels? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

I’ve also seen on twitter that one user thought perhaps Nightbringer might be a visual novel and if that’s the case would that mean routes for our current set of love interests?

The devs did confirm that the og app would still continue on. Whether this means s5 is coming or not in the near future is still unclear. Whatever the outcome I’m expecting the story for S5 to not be any better than what we got for S4 but I’m also infuriatingly optimistic it might be better since Nightbringer and S4 (perhaps even S3) were likely both in their plot development stages at the same time. Maybe that’s why the writing was oddly paced in S4 too.

Hey what the fuck ever happened to Ruri Tunes? Did it get cancelled? just turned into Nightbringer? Does anyone know? The last we heard of it was back around late September, early October-ish when they did the beta test. (It was really fun and easy to play. I just wish they had more songs on the beta than Sinful Indulgence) I’m assuming RuriTunes just got turned into Nightbringer hence the need for the character song remixes but who knows now.

Is the anime getting a season three? What I wouldn’t kill to have full length episodes with an over-arching plot line instead of the 5 minute episodic stuff we get currently (not that there’s anything wrong with it though it just doesn’t feel long enough ya know?)

When will the English translation for the rest of the Manga come out on Manga plaza? Will we ever see it completed in english not that I probably couldn’t translate it myself with the help of a Japanese dictionary but damn I don’t wanna do all that extra work man…

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futuristic-disaster · 10 months

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ROTG x Child!Reader (Part Eight)

(This episode has been brought to you by me forgetting how to spell 'eight', despite knowing how to write it for ages) --------------------------------------------------

Previously in a land far, far away

Pitch : Well, well, well...

Pitch : It seems they've found their way back home...

Pitch : *smiles*

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Location : North's office

Jack : *barges in*

North : *looks up at him, annoyed and not surprised at all*

North : Oh, what now?

Jack : North! The Kangaroo is getting suspicious about Y/N!!!

North : Kanga- When did we get a kangaroo? Did you bring in a kangaroo without my knowing?!

Jack : No! I MEANT ABOUT BUNNY!!

North : Why is he getting suspicious? Doesn't he already know?

Jack : Well ... No ...

North : Then just tell him.

North : *insert old grandpa sigh*

North : *mumbles* Kids these days...

Jack : Huh?! What?! We can't "ThEn JuSt TeLl HiM"!!

Jack : His teensy tiny eeny meeny cupcake weenie Sofia and Emily Spidy Widey little peabrain won't be able to handle it!!

North : Then handle it yourself, I have inportant stuff to d-OH!!

Y/N : *in front of him*

Y/N : Candy?

North : Oh, right.

North : *hands two pieces of candy*

Y/N : Yay!! *runs off*

Jack : *smiles*

North : What?

Jack : Look at you. Being all soft.

North : You still have to tell Aster about this.

Jack : Oh!Right. *runs off*

North : And that. Is what we call...a smooth topic change.

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Location : Globe room thingy

Jack : Alright ...So when Kangaroo walks through that door all we have to tell him is that there's a kid, living with us...that he can't see.

Jack : Sounds...

Jack : Totally...

Jack : Normal...

Jack : Oh Shi...iiitake mushrooms! He's going to thing we're crazy!

Jack : But then again...

Toothiana : *Taps him on his shoulder*

Toothiana : Hey Jack!

Jack : AH!

Jack : Oh...Hey...Tooth

Toothiana : What are you so nervous for?

Jack : *smack lips*

Jack : I'm gonna tell Bunny about the kid today.

Toothiana : Wait...Really?

Jack : Yes!

Toothiana : And what did North say about this?

Jack : IT WAS HIS IDEA

Toothiana: HUH?!

Jack : YEAH!!! I WAS SURPRISED TOO!

Toothiana : DA....AAARK CREEPY HALLWAYS!!! THIS IS MAKING ME NERVOUS

Jack : DON'T WORRY!! WE GOT THIS!!! ALSO WHY ARE WE YELLING!!!

Toothiana : I DON'T KNOW!!

Toothiana : Oh, look. Here he comes.

Toothiana : Be cool.

Jack : We got this.

(Jack and Tooth right now 👇)

Bunny : Hey guys, have you seend Sandy? I need to talk to him about leaving sand all around my tunne-

Jack & Tooth : We need to talk.

Bunny : O...k? Can this wait? Because-

Jack : No, it cannot wait, E.Aster Bunnymund.

Toothiana : Exactly. This is important.

Bunny : Alright then. Out with it.

Jack : How would you feel if we say that a child...

Toothiana : ...Who can use magic...

Jack : ...Has been living with us?

Bunny : A child?

Bunny : Oh,you mean like that kid? *Points at Y/N who's just entering into the room*

Jack & Toothiana : Yeah, exactly like tha- wait how long have you known?

Bunny : I've known about them for two weeks...I think.

Jack : How did you...

Tooth : ...Find out about them?

Bunny : *Sighs*

Bunny : Sandy spilt it out when I was talking to him.

Tooth and Jack : *Facepalm*

Y/N : * waves and motions to follow them*

Bunny : Oh, look. It's steal candy from North'o clock. Catch you later.

Tooth and Jack :

------------------------–––––————————

Extra :

North : Alright, goodnight you little gremlin.

Y/N : Ok..but we have two problems..

North : ???

Y/N : One : I'm not tired

Y/N : AND TWO. THERE'S STILL LIGHT OUT.

North : WhaAaAt??? What are you saying?

Y/N : I know you closed the curtains but I can still see the sun!!

North : Shh...Go back to sleep...

North : *Walks out*

Y/N : I CAN STILL SEE THE SUN

(Hats off to Hedger Humour. Best thing I stumbled upon)

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nottapossum · 10 months

Text

Itty Bitty Imps chapter 21: Resolutions💚💙❤️💜

Summary:

Blitzø and Fizz fight again, this time while regressed. Can Stolas and Asmodeus get them to see their faults and apologize?

Notes:

TW: Fighting, biting, discussing abuse, implied sexual assault, time out, lecturing, implied sibling issues, threatening to cut off someone’s genitals in a joking way.

~~~Past: Fizzarolli~~~

“This movie makes no sense, why does the guy leave the gun? Won’t that leave evidence?” Fizzarolli asks.

The three teenage hooligans just got out of a movie they totally ‘’didn’t’’ sneak into.

“It’s a metaphor, ratnose peabrain.” Barbie explains. “Leaving the gun and taking the cannoli means he’s taking the good parts of life and leaving the bad stuff behind him.” She explains.

Blitzo shrugs. “Whatever that means, it was still the best thing I’ve ever seen!” Blitzo says.

“I thought you said die hard was the best thing you’ve ever seen.” Fizz says.

“I can like two things, Fizz!” Blitzo says. “Let me live my life.”

“You get way too obsessive.” Barbie says.

“Yeah? Look who’s talking.” Blitzo retorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”Barbie asks.

“Can you two stop fighting, please? It’s literally all you do.” Fizzarolli complains.

“We don’t always fight!” Blitzo argues.

Fizz crosses his arms.

“Okay, yeah, we do. But, it’s never in a mean way.” Barbie says. “Mostly. I mean, don’t get me wrong he’s an annoying pain in the ass! But, I’m his sister so only I get to call him that.”

Blitzo gives Barbie a snarky look. “Yeah, right. If we didn’t fight all the time, how will we know we really do care? If we stop fighting, that’s when you should worry.” Blitzo says.

Barbie laughs. “True.”

Fizzarolli rolls his eyes. “Twins are so weird.”

“Oh, like you’re normal.” Barbie mocks.

“Fizz, if you’re going to date me you have to be at least a little criminally insane.” Blitzo says.

Fizzarolli laughs. “Okay, I’ll work harder on that then.”

“You two are some strange fucking doorknobs.” Barbie says. “Listen, Fizz. I think it’s great you two are dating and all- but, if you hurt my brother, I will cut off your dick.” She threatens.

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t cut off his dick first.” Blitzo scoffs

“I’ll flip ya for it.” She suggests.

Blitzø thinks about it.

“Guys-“ Fizz tries to get them to stop.

Barbie flips the coin, “call it.”

“Heads!” Blitzo shouts.

Barb catches the coin and laughs. “Ha, tails!”

“Damn it!” Blitzo curses.

“Blitzo!” Fizz whined.

“Relax, Fizz. You honestly think you’d hurt me that bad?” Blitzo asks.

Fizz takes Blitzo’s hands. “I never want to hurt you.” He says, before wrapping his arms around Blitzo. “Ever.”

~~~Present: Everyone~~~

Fizzarolli and Blitzø were in the playroom while Stolas and Asmodeus chatted it up in the living room area, droning tea and being fancy birds in high society.

“Fizzarolli is such an angel when he’s regressed, I mean, he’ll get a little bratty when he wants to play instead of taking a nap or going to bed, but for the most part he’s very well behaved.” Ozzie explains. “He hates to disappoint people. It honestly makes it really hard to say no to him.” Asmodeus explains.

“Consider yourself lucky, Blitzy is a monster almost all the time.” Stolas chuckles. “No matter what headspace he’s in.”

“You know you love him.” Ozzie teases Stolas.

“Well, of course I do! I wouldn’t change a thing about my adorable little gremlin.” Stolas explains, He absolutely adores his mischievous little imp. “But, I can’t help but being just a little bias towards his younger clingier side of regression.”

Blitzø suddenly runs over to Stolas and climbs up on his lap, hugging the bird tightly as he cried into the prince’s shirt softly.

Stolas immediately sets down his tea and wraps his arms around the little imp. “Blitzy, what’s wrong, darling?” He asks.

When Blitzø doesn’t answer, Stolas hums and simply continues to comfort him.

“What’s wrong?” Ozzie asks Stolas.

“Verbal shutdown, he cannot talk at the moment.” Stolas explains. “But something must have upset him. He doesn’t usually just cry like this.”

“Fizz!” Asmodeus called. “Will you come in here, please?”

Fizzarolli, looks angry as he walks out of the playroom and over to the caregivers. His tail is angrily twitching side-to-side like a cat while his arms were crossed tightly to his chest.

“Fizz, do you know why Blitzø is crying?” Ozzie asks.

Fizzarolli sighs angrily. “Yes.”

Stolas raises an eyebrow. “Care to tell us why?”

“Because I yelleded at him.” Fizzarolli mumbles.

“You yelled at him? Why?” Asmodeus asks gently.

“Because he bited me!” Fizz explains.

“He bit you? Blitzø, did you bite, Fizzarolli?” He asks sternly, holding up the Imp so he can look him in the eye.

Blitzø nods, no discernible changes in his facial expressions, he’s not crying anymore at least, but his face still displayed conflicting emotions.

Stolas sighs. At least lying wasn’t an issue. “That was very naughty, Blitzø. You are getting a time out, and then you are apologizing to Fizzarolli.” Stolas says. He picks up Blitzø who hisses violently. The prince sets him down in his playpen Stolas had brought last time they were over.

Asmodeus turned to Fizzarolli. “Where did he bite you?”

Fizzarolli holds up his tail. “Here.”

Asmodeus examined the bite, it was hardly visible; nothing much to worry about.

“Hiss at me again, and you’re going to be in here longer.” Stolas warns. Stolas walks back to the other two. “I am sorry, I really thought we had handled the biting issue.” Stolas explains to Asmodeus and Fizz.

Asmodeus looks suspiciously at Fizzarolli, he was clearly hiding something. “Why did Blitzø bite you, Fizz?” He asks.

“He couldn’t take a joke!” Fizzarolli says. “He wasn’t listening to me so I called him a stupid baby, then he bit me!” Fizzarolli complained.

Asmodeus sighs. “Thank you for being honest with me, but you know better than to be mean to someone. Stolas, how long do you put Blitzø in time out for?” He asks.

Stolas looked over at Blitzø who was curled up in his playpen, clearly too tired to fight. He had his binkie in his mouth that was helping him stay calm, Stolas always made sure to keep one in his playpen as well as one of his stuffed animals. “I usually go by age, so for him now, he’s only in there for two minutes. But if he misbehaves further or tries to leave the playpen, I add an additional minute.” He explains.

Ozzie nods. “Sounds fair to me; Fizz, stand in the corner for six minutes.”

“Why? He’s the one who bited me! That’s worser!” Fizz argues.

“There’s no worse, Fizz. You both hurt each other so you’ll both be punished for it. Now, go face the corner, now.” Ozzie demands.

“Not fair, he got less!” Fizz says.

“Fizzarolli...” Asmodeus warns.

Fizz whines, but complies. He walks over to the corner and faces the wall.

Stolas smirks at Asmodeus.

“Oh shut up, yours is a brat all the time.” Asmodeus laughs.

Stolas laughs too. “You did well.”

“Then why do I feel horrible?” Asmodeus asks.

“Unfortunately that’s bound to happen, you’ll feel better once it’s over. When he’s out of time out you can talk him through his actions. Then we’ll have them both apologize to one another.” Stolas explains.

“If it’s that easy, why didn’t we try that the first time they fought?” Asmodeus jokes.

Stolas laughs. “Oh sure, that wouldn’t be crossing the line.” Stolas says.

“I think Blitzø has made you sassier.” Asmodeus retorts.

“Or maybe I finally I see you more as a friend now instead of my superior?” Stolas suggests.

Asmodeus smiles. “Well, whatever it is, I like it.”

Stolas smiles back at him, then realizes what time it is. “You know what I think? I think they’re just tired.”

Asmodeus turns to the clock. “You’re probably right. It’s almost nap time.”

Stolas nods. “After we talk to them, we’ll put them down for a nap.” He says.

~~~Later, Stolas and Blitzø:~~~

After the two minutes were up, Stolas walks over to the playpen to get Blitzø.

“Blitzø, did we learn a lesson about biting?” Stolas asks.

Blitzø nods silently.

“Is it nice to bite our friends?” Stolas asks.

Blitzø looks to the side as if contemplating.

“Blitzø…”

The little shakes his head no, even if his eyes are not showing the same certainty; why can’t he bite his friends if they call him names? It seemed like fair game to him.

Stolas decided it was good enough. “I’m going to pick you up now, alright?” Stolas asks.

Blitzø nods, he reaches for Stolas and held on tight when Stolas picked him up and sat down on the couch. Stolas removes the imps arms around his neck and sits him firmly on his lap so they can talk face to face. “Now, listen to me carefully, little one. Once Fizzarolli is ready, you’re going to apologize for biting his tail, do you understand me?” Stolas asks.

Blitzø growls with a high pitched whine like a cat does when you try to take its food.

“Unless you’d rather go back to your playpen?” Stolas suggests.

Blitzø whines softly.

“Are you going to apologize?” Stolas asks.

Blitzø nods.

“Good, you don’t like when people bite you do you?” Stolas asks.

Blitzø shook his head. He didn’t, he honestly didn’t like people touching him without asking in general when regressed.

“Then you should show other people the same respect. Biting hurts others and spreads germs, and we don’t want you getting Fizzarolli sick.” Stolas explains. “If you have a problem with him, you either talk it out, or come to me if you can’t, understand?” Stolas asks.

Blitzø nods.

“Now that we’ve covered that issue… did he hurt you, dear?” Stolas asks softly.

Blitzø shook his head.

“Surely, you bit him for a reason. He said he called you a name, did that hurt your feelings?” He asks.

Blitzø shrugs, he doesn’t want to admit that it did hurt.

“That’s alright, darling. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wish to, we can just stay like this if you’d prefer.” Stolas says.

Blitzø snuggled closer to Stolas; he really doesn’t want to talk, but he was hurt by what Fizzarolli had said and he just needed to be held right now.

~~~Fizzarolli and Asmodeus:~~~

After the six minutes were up, Asmodeus walked over to Fizz to let him know that he could come out now.

“Alright, Fizz. Would you like to tell me why I put you in time out?” Ozzie asks.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Fizz asks back.

“Now is not the time to be snarky, little imp. I’m asking to make sure you understand why.” Ozzie explains.

Fizz sighs. “Because I was mean to Blitzo?” He asks.

“Blitzø.” Asmodeus corrected. “Yes, you called Blitzø stupid.”

“He. Bited. Me!” Fizz repeated.

“Yes, I know he bit you, and he got in trouble for that. But you have to take responsibility for what you did too, and apologize.”

“He has to apologize first.” Fizz says. “Because how do I know he’ll actually do it?” Fizz asks.

“Fizz, you were mean to him first, so I think it’s only right for you to apologize first.” Asmodeus says.

“We used to call each other names all the time! Why can’t he take the jokes now?” Fizzarolli asks.

Asmodeus sighs. “Fizz, I know you just want your old friend back. But that-“ he points at Blitzø who was being cradled by Stolas on the couch. “That is not Blitzo your friend when you were kids anymore, that’s Blitzø, the two year old regressor who got his feelings hurt, do you understand?”

Tears escapes Fizz’s eyes, Ozzie was right, that wasn’t Blitzo at all. “Will I ever get my Blitzo back?”

Ozzie shrugs. “I don’t know, bug. But Blitzø might be just as fun, if not better. You just have to learn to get along with him, and give him a fair chance.”

Fizzarolli nods. “Okay.”

“Also, he’s littler than you are, so you have to be a little gentler with him. Alright?”

Fizzarolli nods again. “Okay, Ozzie. I’ll be gentler.”

“That’s my Fizz.” Ozzie says, opening his arms to the little one. “I’m very proud of you.”

Fizzarolli hugs Asmodeus. He does feel bad for how he treated Blitzø, he didn’t mean to hurt him, not really. At least he knows Asmodeus still loves and forgives him, but will Blitzø?

~~~

Fizzarolli walked over to Stolas and Blitzø awkwardly, he felt embarrassed by his actions and being in this position, but he also knew he deserved it.

Fizz climbed up on the couch next to Stolas and Blitzø. “Can I talk to Blitzø, please?” He asks.

Stolas smiles. “Certainly. Would you like some privacy?” He asks.

Blitzø shakes his head and holds on to Stolas tighter.

Stolas pets Blitzø’s head. “Blitzy…”

Fizz looks at Blitzø and replies, “No, it’s okay; you can stay.” He says.

Stolas nods. “Alright.”

“Is he okay?” Fizz asks Stolas.

“Yes, he’s perfectly fine. He can understand what you’re saying; he just can’t talk right now.” Stolas explains.

“Oh, Is that because of me?” Fizz asks.

Stolas shakes his head and cups Fizzarolli’s chin. “No, little one; Blitzø simply gets like this sometimes, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Fizz nods again. “Oh. Okay, good. Blitzo- I mean Blitzø, I’m sorry I called you stupid; I didn’t want to hurt you. I was trying to mess around like some friends do; but if it hurts your feelings, I won’t do it anymore. I also shouldn’t have yelleded at you when I was upset either. I really want to be your friend and I hope you still want to be my friend too.” Fizzarolli says.

Stolas looks to Blitzø. “Is there anything you’d like to say, Blitzy?” He asks.

Blitzø nods, reaching out his arms to offer Fizzarolli a hug.

Fizz gladly hugs him back, he’s just glad Blitzø wasn’t mad at him anymore.

~~~Stolas and Asmodeus~~~

“Alright, Carneys. I think it’s nap time.” Asmodeus says, walking over to the trio.

“Aww.” Fizz deflates.

Stolas nods. “Asmodeus is quite right, little ones. Let’s go.” Stolas says, picking up Blitzø as the four of them walked to the nursery.

Asmodeus had added a changing table to Fizz’s nursery for Blitzø as well as an extra crib. It was really very kind of him to care enough to do that for Blitzø. He even let Stolas keep some spare clothes there which really came in handy.

Asmodeus helped Fizz into something more comfortable for nap time, while Stolas changed Blitzø.

Blitzø usually took a little longer since he’s younger, so Ozzie was able to get Fizz in bed first.

Technically Fizzarolli didn’t need a crib, but he liked them, he liked the protection and how cozy they were. Ozzie never made him feel like that was wrong, even though he’s a big boy. He said Fizz should do what makes him happy, not what others say should make him happy. So he has a beautiful blue and green crib in his nursery, and if he wanted to sleep in a bed, he had one in his room.

Stolas attaches Blitzø’s pacifier clip to his onesie. “Alright, Blitzy. Here we go.” He says, picking up Blitzø and setting him in the crib.

Blitzø whines and tries to get out of the crib.

“Blitzy, what’s wrong?” Stolas asks, picking Blitzø up before he could fall out.

Blitzø points to Fizzarolli’s crib.

Stolas’s head turns to where Blitzø was pointing. “Oh, you want to stay with Fizz, is that it?”

Blitzø nods.

“It’s okay with me!” Fizz says.

“I don’t know, Bug. Will you two actually sleep?” Asmodeus asks.

Fizz and Blitzø both nod.

“We will! I promise!” Fizz says. “Please? It’ll be like a sleepover!”

Asmodeus looks over to Stolas. “What do you think?”

Stolas smiles. “I suppose it’ll be alright, but if we hear too much ruckus, we will separate you two, alright?”

“Deal.” Fizzarolli says.

Stolas places Blitzø next to Fizz.

“Sleep well, you two.” Stolas says, kissing both Fizz and Blitzø’s heads. “Pleasant dreams.”

Asmodeus smiles and waves at the two littles. “Get some rest, pups.” He says.

“Stolas?” Fizzarolli asks.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Stolas asks.

“Will you sing for us?” Fizz asks.

Asmodeus looks at Stolas who couldn’t help but say yes. “Of course, Fizz.” He says.

As Stolas sang, the two little imps relaxed: “Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part. Baby of mine.”

Stolas tucks the two of them in tight.

“If they knew all about you, they'd end up loving you too. All those same people who scold you, what they'd give just for the right to hold you.”

Asmodeus smiles, leaning on the doorframe, watching the two little ones relax.

“From your head, down to your toes, you're so sweet. Goodness knows, you are so precious to me, cute as can be…”

Fizz and Blitzø were fast asleep.

Stolas smiles and pets both of their heads. “Babies of Mine.”

Once Stolas left, Asmodeus quickly kissed both boys on the head before leaving too.

~~~Later: After nap time~~~

Blitzø and Fizzarolli woke up next to each other, both now out of their headspace.

“Oh…” Once Blitzø made eye contact with Fizzarolli, he sits up to look at him.

“Uh Hi. I’m guessing you’re big again?” Fizz asks.

“Yeah, I’ll get up.” Blitzø says.

“No- wait! I can leave if you want, but you don’t have to.” Fizzarolli says, grabbing his shoulder gently.

Blitzø shrugs. “I don’t care, either way.”

“I had a great time with you today.” Fizzarolli says, attempting to get Blitzø to talk to him again.

Blitzø looks at the other crib in the room. “Why didn’t they just put us in separate cribs?” He asks.

“You wanted to stay with me.” Fizz says.

“Oh.”

“You don’t remember?” Fizz asks.

Blitzø shrugs.

“Blitzø?” Fizz asks.

Blitzø looks at him, confused by the fact he just called him Blitzø instead of Blitzo.

“I’m sorry.” Fizzarolli says. “I got upset and I said a lot of things that…just wasn’t fair to you.”

Blitzø sighs. “Yeah, well. We both said things.” He says. “None of it was exactly fair.”

Fizzarolli nods. “I don’t know why I said what I did- I know you didn’t mean to- I mean…”

“I don’t want to talk to you about this, okay?” Blitzø asks. “It’s over, it doesn’t fucking matter who meant to do what.”

Fizzarolli nods. “Okay…that’s fine.”

A few moments of silence pass. Blitzø slowly looks at Fizz, who looks disappointed…

Damn it…

Blitzø sighs. “I wasn’t trying to set the tent on fire.” He says.

“I know.” Fizz says.

“I was trying to kill Cash.” Blitzø admits.

“You…what?” Fizzarolli asks, eyes widening.

“Barb was stressed out, you were leaving! Mom was getting worse…I thought, If I could only get rid of him, Barb and I could take care of mom and everything would be okay! I was trying to help!” He insisted.

“You tried to kill him?” Fizz asks.

Blitzø nods.

“So…what went wrong?” Fizzarolli asks.

Blitzø sighs. “He fought back. And I was a stupid kid who wasn’t strong enough to fight… also I had terrible aim.”

Fizzarolli listened carefully, he never would have guessed something like this.

“He shot me, that’s when I knocked over the lamp…and you know the rest.” Blitzø says.

Fizz doesn’t feel like that was true at all, he didn’t really know anything. “You and Barbie escaped. Why didn’t you come back to save me?”

“I thought helping barb off a tightrope wire would be harder. I told you, Tilla and I split up to find you two. Barb and I barely made it out, the flames were already so fucking bad that we just couldn’t run back in. I wanted to- but then I realized I wouldn’t have mad it. And I wasn’t going to leave Barb behind. So, we just let the firemen handle it…”

Fizzarolli nods. “I’m sorry.”

Blitzø shrugs. “It’s over.”

Fizz and Blitzø stayed quiet for a couple more minutes. Fizzarolli wished he knew what Blitzø was thinking, was he mad? Did he hate him? Fizz wouldn’t blame him if he did…

Blitzø speaks again, “Cash-“

Fizzarolli looks at him.

“He never let someone…hurt you, did he?” Blitzø asks.

“What do you mean?” Fizz asks.

Blitzø shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Fizzarolli’s eyes widen. “Blitzø, did he let someone hurt you?” He asks.

Blitzø doesn’t answer that.

“Blitzø?” Fizz rests a hand on his shoulder.

Blitzø shrugs it off. “Like I said, it’s over. I’d rather not relive it.” Blitzø says, holding his arms in his hands.

Fizzarolli nods and looks away. “Okay, I understand.”

The special clients… How could he not see it?

There was another silence, less awkward. It felt more like they were just giving a moment of silence to what happened.

“Do you think he’s still alive?” Fizz asks.

“Who?”

“Cash.”

“To be honest, I don’t really care.” Blitzø says. “In fact, I couldn’t care less about his whereabouts.”

Fizz nods. “What about barbie?”

Blitzø curled up tighter. “I know where she is…but, she doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m pretty sure she hates me, and I don’t really blame her for that.”

Fizzarolli sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.” Blitzø says.

“Well, I’m more sorry. Okay? I hated you for our relationship and for our lives, I blamed you for a lot actually…What happened to Tilla and me wasn’t your fault, and though you did do a lot of horrible shit, I did too! I guess I just conveniently forgot that you had issues, just like I did. You were a teenager too. The point is, I just want to move on from here if that’s okay? I want my best friend back.” Fizzarolli says.

Blitzø sighs. “Fizz, I’m not-“

“I know that’s not who you are anymore. But, that’s okay! Whoever you are now, I can accept that. We can start again.”

“Really?” Blitzø asks. “You think you can?” He asks.

Fizzarolli smiles. “Yeah, what do you say we leave the gun and take the cannoli?” Fizzarolli asks, holding out his hand. “Start again?”

Blitzø smiles. “Yeah…okay.” He takes Fizz’s hand, and fizz pulls him forward to hug him.

Blitzø hesitates at first but…he hugged Fizzarolli back.

“I lied to you.” Fizzarolli confesses. “Mammon fired me, I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Oh…why’s that?”

“Because you were right, he just wanted to control me, he used my little space against me to do whatever he wanted…”

“Shit.” Blitzø curses.

“Yeah, but you know, I’m doing great now. I have Ozzie who is absolutely amazing and I’m a lot happier, maybe even healing.” Fizz explains.

“I’m glad to hear that, Fizz.” Blitzø says. “Honestly, you deserve to heal.”

“So do you.” Fizz says.

Blitzø feels his chest ache, he knows he doesn’t. He doesn’t deserve anything of the sort…

Instead of bringing the conversation down, he changes the subject. “So, since you’re out of a job, wanna work at I.M.P?” Blitzø jokes.

“You know what? I’m good.” He chuckles. “Killing is more your thing.”

Blitzø forced a chuckle. “Yeah…right.”

‘You kill everything you touch and you ruin every good person out there!'’

No.

Notes:

One chapter to go... I know, I'm scared too. If you're not scared, you should be. Like/kudos/comment or whatever if you like this and want more! If you don't...why did you read this far silly goose? The last chapter will be posted this friday.... Taglist: @todayimfour

#itty bitty imps #helluva boss age regression #helluva boss agere #age regression fanfic #little!blitzo #hazbin hotel agere #agere #helluva boss #little!fizzarolli #age regression #cg!stolas #CG!Ozzie

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nifflermini · 20 days

Text

Finding You Pt.2

I opened the door to my apartment, sighing in relief an leaning against the door as soon as it shut. I reached a hand behind me to lock it, groaning at the familiar ache in my feet. I dropped my bag to the floor, the black hoodie dripping with rain water. I hung it on the hook, and dragged my bag over to the beanbag chair in front of the TV.

I limped over to the counter, rediscovering a cramp in my foot as I did. “Note to self, drink more water.” I muttered, pulling out a plastic blue cup from the dollar store down the street. And filling it with some water from the sink. Wincing as it washed down my throat. “Note to self, get some filtered water from the store.” I thought, putting the cup in the sink. I trudged to my room, a running to-do list in my head, as I sighed again. “Y’know, life probably wouldn’t be as mundane as this if i talked to my friends more often.” I mumbled drowsily. Deunk on fatigue, and needing to actually rest. I took a few deep breaths, before they quickly slowed down, as I fell into a dream.

My morning started great. I had no idea things would change like they did today. But my morning was just like any other morning. I twisted my spine, so i could get a good look at my Laker Girls poster. I sighed, rubbing my hand over my face, and turned to the calendar on the wall. “Six more months.” I thought, stretching my arms out, head still comfy on the pillow. “Six more months until I go to California, and try out for one of the most popular American dance teams.” I sighed, I’ve loved dancing since I was 8, I just don’t want to do it here, where there’s bad memories everywhere I go. I swung my legs out of my bed, and padded over to my bathroom, staring at my self in the mirror, and turning to the side, pulling the fabric to my stomach, and growling in annoyance at my stomach. It didn’t seem to like that, and growled back. “Well screw you too.” I thought at my stomach, and looked for something to eat. I opened the fridge, finding nothing but a few carrots, and leftover takeout. “Groceries.. right.” I searched the counters for a sticky note I could stick on my phone, finally finding my pale pink stack of notes, and writing down the six or seven things I needed. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants, pushed my glasses onto my face, not even bothering to change out of the hello kitty top one of my friends had given me. “ I really should text him, I heard he’s in Paris now… should I call him instead?.” I thought, adding that to the pink slip of paper.

I gripped my key, half awake as I walked down the street to the store, knowing that I was walking, but almost on autopilot I put on some headphones, blocking out the world, so I could stay in my head for a little bit. “I need ramen. And some spinach. Tuna, maybe some chicken? And maybe some milk?” I sidestepped the part of the sidewalk I usually tripped over, while I gnawed on my bottom lip. The cold air of the convenience store hit my face, and I sighed in relief, as I automatically strolled over to the refrigerators, presenting a colorful assortment of drinks, mild annoyance rippling through my spine, as I was too short to get to the top shelf. Which was where the milk was. Of course. I glanced around, trying to find something to get me up there. I went on releve, elongating my spine as much as possible, trying to get to the top, but the door to the fridge hit me, causing my balance to falter. Now, if your brain works properly, I’m sure you’ve come up with a thought that I completely forgot about in this moment. I could’ve just dropped the heel of my foot right? And you would be correct. However, I was too intent on my milk, so I wasn’t thinking. My peabrain self thought “I can just jump, then I can grab the whole jug.” But those hopes came crashing down. Along with the rest of my body, landing with, what I’m sure was a very comedic, “Oof.” My side throbbed, as I pushed myself to my feet, only to be met with a pair of brown eyes looking down at me in confusion. I blinked.

“S-sorry, am I in your way? I probably am, aren’t I? These aisles are really small, but y’know, that’s okay?” I rambled, ending with a question. The guy tilted his head, a small, polite smile on his face.

“No, you’re not in the way, I just wanted to ask if you were okay? I, um- I saw you fall.” He explained, looking to the side. I nodded slowly, not actually process what he said. His eyes were so pretty, an earthy brown, and even though I also had brown eyes, there was something else about his. Something different… I blinked out of my thoughts, realizing he probably said something important.

“I-i’m sorry, what’d you say?” I stuttered, looking away. His eyes were too distracting, so I turned my visual focus anywhere else, while he spoke.

“I was just asking if you were okay, is all.” He repeated, looking away again. “Crap! He probably thinks I’m weird for staying quiet for so long! Quick, say something, before it gets worse!”

“Milk me!” I blurted out pointing to the milk in the fridge. The guy blinked in surprise, and there was awkward silence between us for a bit. Then i made it worse and blushed furiously. “Uh, No! I meant, Milk needs! A-and Ramen!” I mentally face palmed at myself. “Shit. Um, can I- I can I restart please?” I begged, looking back up at the stranger , who seemed to be holding in a laugh.

“Go ahead” His shoulders shook a little, as my face warmed up, an awkward laugh starting my next sentence.

“Uhm. Okay…” I took a deep breath, still a bit flustered by what I said a few minutes ago.

“Uh, Can you please help me out with getting the milk?” I asked slowly, pointing to the carton of milk, and smiling sheepishly. The guy smiled.

“Sure, I can get the milk for you.” He responded a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I promise I don’t just walk up to cute guys and tell them to milk me.” I blurted, out of nowhere, and the guy finally gave me a peek of his smile, as he handed me the milk. I nodded in thanks.

“i would hope not. That’s um-“ He laughed a little. “That would definitely be an interesting way to introduce yourself to people.” He pointed out. I nodded, walking towards the isle with snacks. I smiled awkwardly as the guy stuck near me. He smiled too, though his just made my heartbeat a little faster.

“i, uh, I think I can reach everything else by myself.” I mentioned, hoping that sounded casual, when I’m absolutely sure it did not. The guy laughed, and my heart fluttered a little.

“Jeez, would you stop it heart? This is absolute simp behavior.” I scolded the fluttering. In my head as his laughter started to die down.

“I-I don’t doubt that. I was just looking for pocky, that’s all.” He explained, his cheeks a little red. I made an O with my mouth, and my earlier blush returned in full force.

“O-oh. Yeah, that would make sense. Sorry.” I laughed awkwardly again. “Wow. Hah. That’s embarrassing.” I hid my face, staring down at my shoes when my eyes widened in realization. I hid my face in my hands, hit with a wave of embarrassment at my matching hello kitty top and pajama pants.

This could not get any worse. Eventually I got all the stuff i needed, thankfully away from the guy, so i could be free of anymore embarrassment. Except for one last moment when i walked out the store, and I made eye contact with the guy and waved.

I have never hated myself more.

Author’s Note: Hi! I feel like Semi might be a little ooc and sorry about that, but it’s explained eventually! Anyway, I’m working on a masterlist for this story, as there are 8 parts all together, and that will be out, probably after the third part.

I don’t actually know how to start these, or end these, but yeah! Hope you enjoy this!

#Semi Eita x female reader #haikyuu #semi eita #romance #female reader #slow burn #Still kind of suck at tags #that’s fine #hope you enjoy

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banavalope · 1 year

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Calling it an ARG isn’t just ‘technically’ incorrect its 100% incorrect. It wasn’t even a fandom thing the creator made it as an art project and it blew up overwhelmingly and now they don’t even want to do it anymore

Look bud, you’ve kind of got me between a rock and a hard place here. The artist has asked people not use his words as artillery against each other, and quoting him directly is the only way I can accurately respond to you, so we've come to an impasse.

Anyway I wanna talk about ARG semantics instead, which is an interesting conversation we can both have together.

It involves analyzing analog horror as a whole to understand how we've arrived at having both a modern, and a traditional, definition of ARG.

To make a long story short, just in the event you're not here in good faith or perhaps don't like reading long essays - also to like. Do everyone a favor rq - the word people are looking for to properly define Welcome Home is ergodic analog horror. This is the umbrella term you're all looking for. Ergodic. We're moving on now.

Might I also recommend two video essays I love if you find this topic interesting: Ergodic Literature: The Weirdest Book Genre by CloudCuckooCountry and History of Analog Horror by Alex Hera

So lets ask: What makes something (not Welcome Home, we're not talking about that anymore, I do literally mean Something in General) "technically" an ARG?

Our modern day definition of an ARG has quite honestly become interchangeable with the term ergodic literature, most likely due to "ergodic literature" being an obscure term; however, the evolution of the analog horror genre subverting what it means to be "a game" is a much more likely cause that I think is important to appreciate.

By traditional definition - perhaps having been lost to time, this was the early 00s after all - an ARG is only a proper ARG when there is a game master orchestrating a game, and the story does not, will not, and can not progress without player participation. There are quite a few famous ARGs our there that went on for years before being finished because the participants got stuck. It's entirely on you to finish the narrative. Think of them like global LARP sessions, a lot of visiting physical locations to get your next clue is involved.

There are lots of traditional ARGs, some famous ones include projects like I Love Bees, Blair Witch Project, and the very infamous "Hey Peabrain, you teleport?" that happened right here on tumblr dot com. These games are my experience with defining what is or isn't an ARG.

Of course, time moves on with or without us, and I've come to accept that ARG is a broader term than it was before.

It's important to note that ARGs are the direct birth parent of modern analog horror. In fact, while analog horror has always existed as a sort of artistic backdrop, it wasn't a named genre until Local58 offhandedly defined itself with the term "analog horror". Many well known analog horror projects such as Mandela Catelogue, Gemini Home Entertainment, or Mystery Flesh Pit National Park, take much of their inspiration from the groundwork Local58 laid, and took to calling themselves analog horror as well, as one might expect.

Now, these influential supergiants are in, what you might call, "read only" format. Audience participation is not needed for the story to progress, which is a necessary component of an ARG.

Until it isn't!

Looking at art projects like This House Has People In It, Liminal Land, Doki Doki Liturature Club, or House of Leaves - just to name a few - they are all alternate reality "games" (one of them is literally a game). AR"G"'s, if you will.

The narrative presents itself as being contained, but very much is asking you to engage with it, if you so choose. They lay out clues to be found that take you to the next Easter Egg, and a deeper story can be ascertained, but only if you want. This is, technically, an ARG.

You can also just choose to play Doki Doki without digging into the sound files and extracting the meta data to get the secret art, or just watch This House Has People In It without finding the related secret website explaining Links Disease, either option is a "correct" way to read the media. You only stand to gain a different perspective by looking into more.

Which again, that's ergodic literature.

But these projects are famously considered ARGs.

These projects were huge, some of them mainstream, and were a lot of people's first time introduction to analog horror and ergodic literature. Some of these self define as an ARG when that's technically incorrect.

Altruistically, what these projects are accomplishing, is creating accessibility to the game space of the ARG genre. Cherrypicking all the self contained, gamelike elements, without committing to orchestrating a game. Traditional ARGs are typically extremely time sensitive, and one might "miss out" for arriving late to an event, or having limited access to necessary tools. Perhaps some people feel unsafe at the prospect of going to an unknown physical location, on the hope it's part of the game. Traditional ARGs were once incredibly niche for that reason. Modern AR"G"s keep this to a minimum, if not outright omit it in favor of telling a good story.

I'm not sure if there's a recent example out there of a traditional ARG, other than Hey Peabrain? Certainly there are some, to be honest with you I've moved on from traditional ARGs in favor of modern ones and other analog horror media subgenres, but my point being that they're becoming less common as they're increasingly replaced by Hunt-A-Killer style story ""games"". Shortly, we'll see some of the same evolutions begin to happen as digital horror outpaces analog horror as the shiny new popular horror genre. With digital horror's inclusion of formats like tiktok, I would expect to see us circle around again to traditional games being explored within the alternate reality space, as it lends itself well to that kind of thing.

In general, people are going to be familiar with this form of ARG, where "game" means "a story asking you to engage with it", and will default to using ARG in that way. In the broader experience of others, ergodic literature is an ARG, even though ARGs are not ergodic literature, technically. Most ARGs calling themself an ARG are not ARGs, mntechnically.

With any luck, this essay was compelling. It's just a thinker, really, I'd be interested to hear what you - or anyone - might think.

I'll reiterate, here, in closing, that by no means is this analysis meant to be seen as being in defence of, or opposition against, how anyone chooses to use the term ARG. I'm making no statements about Welcome Home or the people who took to it as if it were a traditional ARG. Neither am I expressing my opinion on the way fans engage with art projects, or even actual ARGs. That's a whole other conversation we aren't having here.

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clanofjones · 10 months

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Ghosts of Our Days: Chapter Ten

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Ao3 (working on updating from the shutdown)

Cowritten with @theosb0rnway!

Chapter Ten: Sleep is Not Listed in the Plan of Casey Jones

Casey's POV

It took several more hours and the police on the ground below them for Raph to get Casey off the rooftop and guide his ass back to the apartment. Of course, his first stop once inside was the ice box, but with his newest discovery, it felt strange. Which Raph should he kiss now? ‘Cause he could totally kiss both.

Both sounded good. Both was good.

Unfortunately for him, Raph had other plans, which included pushing Casey away from the ice box and onto the couch before asking him gently to lie down.

"No."

Raph's POV

"Casey, please-"

"I WANT THE ICE BOX."

"I'm right here, Case, you've got me-"

"I want the FUCKIN' ICE BOX, GODDAMNIT!" A fresh wave of tears down his face reminded Raph of the now very unrecognizable paint job he'd done on Casey's face. It needed to come off for his safety, whether he liked it or not.

"Ya' need to at least take that shit off."

"What?"

"If ya' won't sleep like a normal person, at least just wash the paint off in the sink." Casey looked mortified.

"No way in HELL am I taking thi' off!!"

"Your face is gonna get worse if you don't!"

"DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE 'BOUT MY FACE? ALL I CARE ABOUT IS YOU!!" More tears, falling down his face like a waterfall, making things worse just like Raph feared, but he had a solution.

"I've been teachin' myself to hold things while you were gone."

"What?" That was really Casey's favorite word that morning.

"I'm learnin' how to touch and hold things, Case. I can hold a brush now for like, a minute, if I really try." Casey looked hopeful, his eyes bright and his paint crinkling into a smile.

"YOU CAN DO PAINT AGAIN?!?"

"Yeah, babe, I can do paint again!"

"THEN WE NEED TO GO BUY SOME! I've got money I stole from the Foot punks! LOTS OF IT!"

That was great and all, but Casey needed sleep before he went out on another adventure into the city. He'd just gotten home after hours of crying on a rooftop! Raph was surprised that he even had any more tears in him, let alone energy, but that's just the benefit of Casey Jones: unlimited energy and lots of repressed emotional trauma.

"No, Case. Not right now."

His smile faltered. "Why not?"

"You need to wash the paint off and sleep. No buts."

"Bu-" Raph cut Casey off with a hard stare. "FINE. But I'm not sleepin' on the couch and no way in hell am I showin' my face, so you get the mask tonight."

Raph sighed. "I don't care what I get as long as you're healthy and safe. You know that, right?" Casey knew that extremely well, but would he admit that out loud? No way in hell.

"Whatever."

"Case."

"I said whatever."

"Casey!"

"FINE! I know. Just leave me 'lone! Now, I gotta go take this thing off. Thanks lot."

He did not sound thrilled in the slightest, so Raph got up and walked over to the window in the opposite corner of the apartment, as far away from the sink that Casey had limped to. He heard the sound of water running and Casey's many creative curses, so he was clearly doing what Raph asked. Yeah, he felt bad for making Casey take the paint off, but it wasn't healthy for his body and Raph could try again!

For now, he'd make Casey buy cream at the store to keep his face nice, and then once he looked better, he could take off the mask and don his signature paint all he wanted. Casey came back a few minutes later, standing by Raph with his mask firmly on his face.

"Better?" He snarked.

"Yeah, much better. Now my boyfriend doesn't have crusty shit all over his face."

"Hey, that was YOUR 'crusty shit', asshole, I was wearing it for YOU!"

"Well, don't. You're gonna get acne and nobody fucking wants that."

"All I want is you next to me and that ugly, horny motherfucker DEAD."

Raph couldn’t keep himself from laughing. "Hah! You said horny!"

"Shut up, peabrain!"

"Crustface!"

"'Least I got a face!"

"Douchebag!"

"Asshole!"

"Love you."

There was a moment of pause. "...Love ya too, Raphie. I really do."

"I know." He leaned his head against Casey's mask, trying to keep it so he didn't fall and go right through Casey's body. "Now go the fuck to bed or I'll find a way to unplug that damn freezer."

He could see Casey's horrified expression even with the mask on. "You WOULDN'T!"

"Oh, I would. Bed. Now."

Casey's POV

"God, you sound like Leo. Whatever you say, Raphie." He muttered sarcastically, stalking over to the freezer, kissing Raph's slowly decaying corpse goodnight, and crawling on top of it, curling into his usual position.

After weeks of adapting, his body was finally getting used to the temperature and texture of sleeping on cold, hard metal. Casey didn't care what Raph said, he was still going to do things his way. He needed that security, that sense of normalcy. Especially after finding out that his dead boyfriend is now a ghost that only he can see. What a day.

Five Months Earlier

Casey Jones just needed a break. Between not trying to flunk classes, daily hockey practice, vigilante patrol, and the problem that was Arnold Jones, he was just about ready to crash on his couch and call it a day.

Provided that the couch wasn't occupied by said problem Arnold Jones, which it most likely was. Before he could get home, however, his T-Phone started to ring. If it was anyone other than Raph, he would've smashed the phone on the sidewalk and run over it with his Heelys.

"Hey, Raphie..."

"Case! You okay? You don't sound so hot." For once, Raph seemed to be in a good mood.

"I'm always hot, Raphie, I'm just tired."

Raph rolled his eyes, letting out a soft groan. "Not too tired for jokes?"

"That's all I've got for today."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Anyways, I wondered, since today's a slow day, if you wanted to come over and watch Space Heroes with me?"

That was an offer Casey Jones couldn't refuse. He was at the lair in three minutes, tossing his shut aside and practically running towards the couch where Raphael was waiting for him. ,

"Woah! Slow down, Casey, I'm not goin' anywhere!"

"Missed... my boyfriend..." Casey mumbled into Raph's shoulder.

The turtle softened. "Missed ya too, Case."

And for a while, they sat there, filling their brains with mind-numbing cartoons until Raph seemed to feel that Casey was asleep, or at least relaxed enough that he felt asleep. Turning off the TV, Raph picked Casey up bridal style and carried him to their shared room, setting him down on the bed as softly as possible.

As it happened, Casey Jones was not asleep, in fact, he was far from it. It wasn’t often that he let himself take trips into his mind, preferring not to think too deeply most of the time cause it was just too much work. It also meant thinking about topics that he was scared about, like his father, his mother, and his own identity.

The last one was the thought currently eating away at his remaining brain cells, the one he wished would just go away. It all started with Angel's tea parties.

His little sister, ever the perfectionist, insisted that everyone who participated in her tea parties had to wear a skirt or a dress. She wasn’t picky about which. Casey didn't mind that at all, in fact, the part that scared him most was that he liked it.

He liked dressing up like a girl, acting like a girl, being a girl. Casey Jones was a boy, he knew that he'd always been a boy and that was fine by him, but he'd recently discovered that maybe he was okay being a girl too.

So, at night, in the comfort of his room, when Arnold was fast asleep in front of the TV, he put on that tea party skirt and called himself she instead of he, and as stupid as he felt, he loved it. Casey Jones loved being a girl.

He was obviously scared to tell Raph given that Raph was Raph. Tough, manly, acted like he was too good for Angel's tea parties even though he secretly loved them.

Not that Casey knew that part. Raph was his boyfriend, but even mutant turtles living in the New York Sewers could judge things. He figured he might as well try, and if it went south he could ignore his feelings, bottle them up again, and be the completely normal, trauma-free Casey Jones!

Right? Yeah, that would have to do.

"Hey, Raphie?" Raph jumped, not realizing Casey was still awake.

"Holy SHIT, Case! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Some ninja you are."

"Shut up." Casey went quiet.

"Raph?

"Yeah, Case?" "Can I tell you somethin'?"

"Sure."

Casey paused for a minute, then shook his head. "Wait..I...Um... never mind."

Raph's brow furrowed, and he put a hand on the back of his boyfriend's head, stroking his hair softly. "You sure?"

It was killing him, he couldn't keep it in any longer. Raph would still love him, right? Casey took a deep breath in, and blurted out: "I wanna be your boyfriend but I wanna be your girlfriend too!!"

Raph's POV

Raph blinked, trying to process what he heard.

"You wanna be my boyfriend and my girlfriend?"

"Yeah..."

"So... are you a girl now too?" He asked curiously, not wanting to upset his lover. Casey looked terrified and Raph could feel him shaking the entire bed from nervousness.

"Yeah..." He nodded.

Raph smiled, placing a kiss on his girlfriend's head. "That's pretty cool, Case."

Casey was shocked, to say the least. "Really? You're.... you're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad? Now I have a girlfriend and a boyfriend all in one person! That's awesome!"

Casey felt like she was about to explode from the happiness, kicking her legs and letting out a loud cackle. "YES!"

"So.... are you... still Casey, or-"

"Yup! Still good ol' Casey Jones! But now I'm a girl too!"

"So do I... call you a boy, or, um... how do I-"

"You can call me a boy, girl, he, she, whatever! Just don't call me late for hockey practice!"

Raphael could now state with confidence that he had the most annoying boyfriend and girlfriend on the entire planet.

"So, do you wanna tell anyone else or just... keep it between us?"

Casey thought it over for a minute. "Ya think your brothers are gonna be like you were?"

"They should. We're mutant turtles, we're used to people reacting to us weird. But ya know Donnie will probably tease you 'bout it."

"Eh. I don't care what he does, he's pretty wimpy at insults. Nothin' like you, babe!"

Raph chuckled, remembering all the times in battle that he'd thrown some killer insult, and heard Casey laugh in the distance. At least somebody liked his jabs! "Thanks, Case. Ya know I love ya, right?"

"You gettin' soft on me, Raphie?"

"Only for my girl." Casey blushed bright red, biting his lip and burying her head in Raph's shoulder.

"FUCK, why does that feel so nice-"

"Now who's gettin' soft?"

"Shut up, douchebag, I didn't know bein' a girl would be this nice!"

"But it feels good?" He sure didn't get it, but if it made Casey happy, then he would do whatever it took to make sure she stayed that way. "It feels AWESOME. Like, like there's been a part of me missing for years and you just gave it to me with one fuckin' WORD."

That's what it felt like to Casey? Raph calling him a girl was that important? He'd never felt like a part of him was missing after he found Casey, Casey was the missing piece, as corny as that sounded to him. He would ask her more questions later, but for now, he was going to enjoy this time alone with his lover before the Foot attacked again or some random goon tried to threaten the city. They both deserved a well-earned break and a nice cuddle session after everything they'd been through together.

Not that the aforementioned cuddle session could lay to rest Raph’s own thoughts and worries. Moments of levity, whenever he, Casey, and the others weren’t facing mortal danger in one way or another, were few and far between, which made relaxing a feat only achievable by someone like Mikey, who Raph was sure was down a brain cell or two or ten.

Casey, for all her virtues, contrary to what Donnie seemed to be holding fast to, didn’t really relax anymore, and Raph had noticed.

Between school, patrolling, spending time with Raph, hockey, staying an active figure in her sister’s life, maintaining enough energy to deal with his dad, and probably devoting some time to thinking extensively about the whole gender thing, sleep, and relaxation were both about as frequent as a blue moon.

Which was probably why the vigilante was out in record time, snoring lightly as all the tension finally left his body in the way only sleep could do. If Raph held him a little tighter, it's not like anyone could prove it – not even Donnie.

The temperature of the lair was never really finite and pretty dependent on the temperature topside, and as they had quickly figured out, thermostats hadn’t been super high on Donnie’s list of fixes since the Kraang and the Foot had taken notice of them.

Because of that, Raph curled in a little closer, running a three-fingered hand through Casey’s hair. It was a little difficult, given how tall Casey was (and no, dickwad, Raph wasn’t short, everyone else except for Mikey and Leo was unfairly tall as fuck), but he managed, inching up so their heads were level with each other. It was also a useful position if Casey leveled a kick at him because then Raph was in a position to kick back as a gag reflex.

“G’night, Case,” he whispered, and Casey nuzzled in a little closer, and Raph felt her breath hitch against him momentarily before leveling out.

By now, he’d long perfected the art of sneaking Casey back into his room, sometimes seeing his little sister, and the little squirt would always promise not to breathe a word of it to anybody else, least of all their father.

Most importantly, he was able to sneak Casey into her room without waking said lover, which really was the kicker, given that most days, when Casey was without his corpse paint, he looked metaphorically dead on his feet. This effect was especially heightened on the days when he had his corpse paint, the poor girl actually looking dead on his feet.

He kept a careful eye on a small radio with an analog clock, the numbers flicking to the early, ungodly hours of the morning, the sweet spot where that god-awful douchebag Arnold Jones would be asleep, or at least so far gone that he likely wouldn’t register a ninja sneaking his son in through the window. And if he did, then there was a good chance it wouldn’t occur to him to inspect the room until Raph was long gone. Of course, there was a minuscule chance that Arnold would catch them, and in that case, Raph and Casey would snatch up Angel and get the hell out of there. If Arnold Jones had a few broken bones to speak of – that was, assuming he’d be able to speak – then it wouldn't be Raph, Casey, or Angel’s problem.

Raph blinked the lingering thoughts away, despite how much he wanted to let the thoughts persist.

Performing the difficult task of situating Casey in his arms without waking him, he peered over his girlfriend as he made his way to an exit.

Jumping across roofs with minimal difficulty, Raph picked out the Jones apartment. Honestly, the place looked like shit, but according to Casey, it had always looked like that.

As Raph touched down on his target roof, he slowed as a particularly hard draft of wind blew in their faces. They had figured out early in the game that the two combined forces would sometimes wake Casey, and Raph believed that Casey deserved any and all of the limited sleep she could get.

He took them down the rickety stairs that lead into a small balcony, and balanced himself on the railing, finding his center of gravity, before he leaped onto a window ledge, which had been graciously left ajar. Raph ducked into the room and dumped his partner on the bed in one corner of the room.

“Sleep tight, Case.” The vigilante let out an odd snoring noise like someone had plugged his nose in the middle of the process so that it sounded more like a ‘snurf’ than anything else.

Raph helped himself to a brief snort at the sound, and for a second, let himself just exist there.

He took in Casey’s room – the numerous hockey posters and equipment littered around the walls, a mess of school textbooks that spilled out of a broken school bag, a spinny chair in front of a desk that held the remnants of a rotting meal composed of something that smelled fit for an actual turtle. Raph couldn’t help the scrunching of his face that accompanied the aroma of it.

Raph took the largest blanket from an asymmetrical pile adjacent to the foot of Casey’s bed and brought it over her.

“You’d be a mess without me, Jones,” Raph muttered as he turned back to the window, allowing a genuine smile to cross his face before closing it behind him and leaping from the railing into the night.

A/N: Plan 10, bitches!! If you're going to tell me that Casey was being cis at ALL in that episode, then we're gonna have some problems /j

I feel you, Casey, gender's hard.

But yeah, this chapter was really fun to write! Oz and I hope you enjoyed!

#TMNT 2012 #Ghosts of Our Days #2012 raph #casey jones #angel jones #arnold jones

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dear-mrs-otome · 2 years

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Silvio Ricci - Bond Stories

My standard amateur/irreverant disclaimer still applies, as always. I’ll add to these as I collect more!

Bond Story #1: First Impression

He stops Emma and says he needs a maid. She should be thrilled to attend his party and she can’t refuse, so hurry it up and come along.

I’m not going! (He’ll tell her to remember her place and that even a peabrain like her should know what it means to try and defy foreign royalty)

Tyrant… (He’ll say that unfortunately for her, he takes being called a tyrant as a compliment, so all she has to do is obey. And once she knows her place, she can do something about being so rebellious.)

I’m not thrilled. (He promises to work her until she does enjoy it, and show her the pleasures of obedience)

He’s still amused though, and says her cheeky gaze is the same as always. Those stubborn eyes that don’t look anything like a proper ‘lady’s’. He challenges her to see how long she can keep up the tough gal act…and says for her not to let him down/disappoint him easily.

Bond Story #2: Usual Haunts

Emma comes across him in the gardens, and seems to wonder if this is where he often spends his time. He asks if she’s finally ready to serve him and heed his demands. He says he spends his time wherever money changes hands, and suggests she come along with him.

Ask whether that sounds more like the mindset of a merchant than a royal? (He’ll reply that his perspective is that a man without business acumen isn’t suited for royalty. So in theory, she’s not wrong - but the difference between them is whether they’re lining their own pockets or enriching their entire country)

Point out that he likes money. (He’ll say that there’s never enough of it to run a country, and someone who doesn’t like it can’t serve as royalty)

Refuse, and say she has zero interest in going. (He scoffs that she’s lame if she can’t get along with someone with a different set of values and if she thinks her way of looking at the world is absolute)

He observes that she seems to run willy nilly about the castle, like a bunny…and says that he doesn’t know what she’s trying to do or hide, but she’d better be a bit smarter about it. Depending on how she acts, he’ll buy her at whatever her asking price - giving her a place at his side isn’t such a bad deal, right woman?

Bond Story #3: Tastes

Silvio proudly shows Emma a bunch of foreign jewelry he’s just bought, and then seems surprised when she’s stunned, saying that she should look thrilled and impressed.

It’s too much janglebling. (He’ll scoff that there’s nothing wrong with someone wearing it who makes it look good, like he does, and says jewelry is meant to be worn. That’s the whole point of it.)

Say she was struck speechless at the gaudy sight. (He allows that it’s rare to see such a display, and it was worth it having them brought in)

Do you love jewelry? (He says he definitely doesn’t dislike it, it’s fitting for someone with as much money and good looks as him)

He says that each piece is rich with the culture of a country it came from, the effort and time that went into crafting it, and the value of the gold and gems it’s made up of. And that it’s the duty of the privileged to spend a lot to honor all that - the royal family has to help prop up the economy. He’s in a good mood right now so he’ll pick a thing or two for her, and tells her to come closer and let him bling her out. Maybe with a custom-made collar/choker? Then it’ll be blatantly obvious she’s his property.

Bond Story #4: His Type (of Woman)

He stops Emma and says she’s got some real nerve, always running and trying to hide the moment she sees him. Observing smugly that it almost seems like she wants to be caught and tormented.

Leave me alone. (He takes affront, and says he gets to decide what to do with her - he’s told her that countless times, but she still doesn’t seem to get it does she?)

That’s not my intention… (Whether she intended to or not, that’s how it comes across, he tells her. And this is all her fault for turning her back on a beast.)

Oh, look at that weird light in the sky! (He tells her not to try and mess with him, and that Yves is the only one who’d fall for that trick jdkljfdkjlfjl)

She doesn’t seem to get why he’s so all up in her business? Ask yourself why, he tells her - and points out that it’d be weird NOT to be interested in a mysterious woman living at the castle with the Rhodolite beasts. Not to mention her sassy attitude towards him. Which of the two of them is the stronger? Which the weaker? He doesn’t mind someone with a bit of spine to them…so keep giving him that rebellious look. It’s well worth the effort of trying to make her yield.

Bond Story #5: About Benitoite

Silvio’s in a good mood this evening, and offers to tell Emma anything she wants to know, pointing out happily that she seems to have been secretly researching Benitoite in the library.

What can you see from the Benitoite castle? (He says the castle overlooks the sea, with all the boundless possibilities that lay across it)

What’s your favorite thing about Benitoite? (That it’s a place appreciative of people with power, and that there’s people from countless countries coming and going through the port. That anyone can be a self-made success, regardless of their status or title.)

What kind of country is Benitoite, in his opinion? (He says it’s a simple place to understand - the winners get rich, the losers get exploited. What you need isn’t sentiment, just unbridled ability/competence)

Benitoite will only get richer and richer he declares, since after all, he’s going to become king. He observes that she looks happy - if she’s that interested, he’ll take her there with him right now. Seeing is believing, after all. And then he says it’s boring she doesn’t want to take him up on the offer…he’d have loved to see the panic on the faces of the beasts when their little bunny was stolen away.

Bond Story #6: Appearances

Silvio scoffs at Emma’s repeated sentiment - the idea that she’d tell him, who’s more like royalty than anyone else, that he ‘doesn’t look like a prince’? He asks, if she doesn’t think he looks like a prince, what does she think he looks like?

Like a pirate. (He’s offended at being compared to those thieves...but then admits a certain strange sort of fondness for them when he came across them on past voyages)

Vampire-like, in her opinion. (He laughs that she’s been reading too many stories…or maybe it’s just that she wants his teeth at her neck?)

A king already. (He’s pleased and says he agrees with her on that. There’s no man better suited to the throne than him.)

He observes that she’s not very ‘noble’ - they tend to wag their tails and suck up far more blatantly. With the way she acts she’d be better off if she were, say…a shopgirl in some sleepy little bookstore, no? He laughs at her ‘oh shit’ face, and asks if maybe he’s happened upon the real her?

Bond Story #7: About His Brothers

Silvio warns her away if she doesn’t wanna get snapped at, he’s in a bad mood right now. Cursing about the Rhodolite beasts and how he can’t stand them, how it’d be the worst to have that many brothers. Emma seems to ask about his own brothers, and he agrees he has some - it’s the duty of the royal family to produce heirs and keep the bloodline going.

Do you get along with them? (He laughs that if by ‘get along’ she means trying to kill each other…but then that’s pretty normal, right? He says it’d be best if people in your way just disappeared, it makes more sense than continuing any stupid fighting.)

What are they like? (He says they’re nauseating to even look at, the way the bastard wags his tail at everyone)

Are they all flashy too? (He says he’s not a flashy guy because of his country, that’s just who he is. There’s a bro of his that’s unbelievably boring and tedious.)

Then he sighs and says he needs a drink, and it’s her fault and responsibility for making him talk about this crap. He’s gonna come have an evening drink in her room…and imperiously he demands that while he’s there, she let him hear all her rambling. Hearing about Rhodolite from her ain’t nearly as bad as he’d thought.

Bond Story #8: Game of Love

Silvio tells Emma that drinking with her is going pretty well now…he doesn’t mind doing it with her, because she puts him pleasantly at ease. He’ll grant her something in return, so what does she want?

I want you. (He laughs that she’s come to the point of saying that, but he also isn’t a fan of how blasé she seems about it)

I don’t need anything else. (He doesn’t seem to buy that she wouldn’t)

Another compliment, please! (He seems surprised, wondering if she wants him to say something else or wants another round of drinks, but either way she’s a sly gal for trying to just slide nonchalantly into his good graces)

He says having her around makes him want to coddle and pamper her, but by the same token he wants to torment her to the point of tears. Does she want him to sleep with her? He’ll spend the entire night spoiling her and making her cry. Then he laughs at the look on her face, like a bunny about to run away in a panic. He says she’s not cut out for playing these sorts of games, because she wears every thought plain on her face - but he likes that about her. Never change.

To Be Continued...

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #spoiler #spoilers #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri spoilers #sir please #my mood after every one of these always #also it's always dangerous listening to him talk for this long #i'd agree to probably anything if he asked it in that voice

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midnightcreator12 · 6 months

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The Portal Home is Built with Roadblocks - Chapter 24: Field Test

AO3 Link

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The day had been going swimmingly, in Raphael's option. And he meant that genuinely, without even an ounce of sarcasm! The sun had been shining, their breakfast pizza had been particularly good, training hadn’t wiped them all out.

And, yeah, Shredder had taken over Channel Six again but that was basically a given on Tuesday. They had been planning to just jump in and then jump out again, just in time to catch some shows.

Except Shredder had actually come up with a good trap, one that ended up with all four of them tied up like Christmas turkeys in the main newsroom while Chrome-Dome gloated to half the city and demanded for Master Splinter to come get them.

Even though it was clearly a trap, all four turtles knew that their sensei would come for them. And they were all dredging it because, hey, they had gotten caught, who’s to say Splinter wouldn’t get grabbed too?

So, yeah, the day was going great but Raphael was being sarcastic this time.

Which sucked because Raphael had very much been looking forward to a chill afternoon after knocking Shreddy’s goons around but nooo, they had to get dragged into a suspenseful plot line.

“Dude, this majorly blows,” Michelangelo muttered on Raphael’s left. “How’d he even get the drop on us?”

“Well, he’s gotta get lucky once in a while,” Donatello answered, unhelpfully.

“We can’t focus on that right now!” Leonardo muttered, wiggling against Raphael’s shell. “We have to escape before he captures Master Splinter too!”

“And, uh, how do you purpose we do that fearless leader?” Raphael poiantly squirmed, rattling the chains wrapped tightly around his arms and torso. “Kinda at a disadvantage here.”

“I’m working on it,” Leonardo muttered back.

“Hey, you’s turtles better shut yur yaps,” Rocksteady growled, stomping over to jab his laser gun into Raphaels snout. “Boss says you’s ain’t allowed to escape this time.”

“Oh, our bad, we didn’t realize we were inconveniencing your boss,” Raphael rolled his eyes. “Could you point that thing somewhere else? It’s cramping my style.”

“Oh, heh, sorry,” Rocksteady grinned sheepishly, starting to step back again.

He drew up short when Shredder slammed his hands on the newscaster desk, “Don’t do what the turtle says you peabrained plebian! They’re our prisoners!”

“Oh, right,” Rocksteady nodded and brought the gun back up. “I don’t listen to’s you’s!”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Raphael shrugged.

“Maybe don’t poke fun at the guy that has a gun,” Donatello murmured. “I don’t want to spend my afternoon patching you up again.”

“Oh please, this meathead can barely aim that thing. Bet he couldn’t hit the turtle van if it was parked right in front of his horn.”

“Hey, you’s startin’ to’s make me mad,” Rocksteady growled, jabbing the barrel of the gun at Raphael’s chest.

The Shredder hummed, leaning to peer around his hinchman, “Their Master is certainly taking his sweet time, perhaps he needs a little motivation. Bring me the turtle!”

“Hey!” Raphael struggled as Rocksteady grabbed him, dragging him closer to Metal-Mouth, “Boy, the tension’s really kicking up in this episode.”

“Unhand him!” Leonardo yelled, trying to sit himself up into a standing position.

Shredder ignored him, grabbing up Raphael and holding him up in view of the cameras. “I grow tired of waiting, Hamato Yoshi! For every minute you do not come, your students shall pay the price!”

“Reallllly high tension this episode,” Raphael laughed nervously, eyeing Shred-Head’s claws as he started to draw them back-

The doors burst open with a crash of splintering wood, “I wouldn’t do that!”

All eyes snapped to the new voice…well, almost new.

“Hey, it’s one of the alternate Donatellos,” Michelangelo said. “How’d you get here dude.”

“You dare interrupt my plan!” Shredder yelled, shaking Raphael slightly. “I didn’t account for more of this alternate reality garbage! That’s all supposed to be over and done with!”

“Oh, trust me, we hadn’t planned to stay long,” Don moved further into the room…Bo staff not out and ready for some reason. “But then we saw the news and…certain individuals got pretty mad. Which brings me back to my original point, I would seriously consider getting a head start if I was you two.”

Shredder scoffed, “Just because your Shredder was a unhinged maniac doesn’t mean you can make demands of me! I have an army at my disposal!”

At the words, the Foot-Bots that were scattered around the room all turned to the new turtle, yellow eyes gleaming as they started to close in.

Don, still far too unbothered for Raphael’s liking, just started walking to the three turtles still on the floor, “Yeah, those won’t be an issue in about ten seconds.”

“Uh, could we save the banter for when I’m not in possible mortal danger?” Raphael asked.

“Silence!” Shredder yelled, voice almost going shrill. “I have succeeded! Victory is nearly in the palm of my hand! I don’t care what other turtles you have brought with you! This will be the end of Hamato Yoshi and his meddlesome terrapin twerps!”

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Don paused and an explosion burst from the hall, sending a screaming Bebop into the room and into Rocksteady. “Only one person of my backup is a turtle.”

Smoke poured from the hall, obscuring the next figure to step through. But the silhouette was definitely not a turtle. They towered easily over everyone in the room, and the staff they held crackled with electricity, gleaming off a dark helmet. More features appeared as the smoke dissipated, black armor with yellow stripes, a sleek gun held in the person's other hand, and a healthy amount of Foot-Bot parts scattered around their feet.

And a black visor that locked right onto Raphael, light catching it just enough to reveal glowing, green eyes.

A growl filled the room as the person stepped forward, clawed feet digging into the floor hard enough to leave grooves, “Put. Him. Down.”

Raphael froze, eyes flicking to Shredder to see he’d done much the same.

This new lady was very, very clearly not a ninja in any way, or resembled anyone Raphael and his brother had encountered before-

But the deep, growling voice, the dark armor and glowing eyes was bringing back some not so pleasant memories of a certain Grater-Face that was still giving Raphael nightmares.

Shredder took a small step back, still holding Raphael.

Another explosion sent a new cloud into the room, but this one was followed very quickly by a blur of purple and green and a loud screech of, “HOT SOUP!”

Purple light burst into almost every corner of the room, shredding any Foot-Bot in its path to pieces. The force of it pushed Shrddy, and Raphael by proxy, back a few more steps.

And only a few steps because tall, dark and scary had started moving when the blasts started, vaulting over the desk and swinging her staff in an upward arc. The crackling end caught Shredder in the jaw, forcing him to let go of Raphael and sending him flying.

Raphael tensed, ready to have an unpleasant landing, but another hand grabbed him. He looked up, air seizing in his lungs when he found himself being lowered to the ground by Scary-Voice.

He opened his mouth to quip, deflect, do his normal ‘cool but rude’ stick, but the words got stuck in his throat. The green was stuttering, flickering to a bloody red that stared right into his soul-

A massive, clawed hand grabbed the chain binding him and snapped the links like cheap plastic before ripping them away. Raphael cringed as his arms started to tingle at the sensation of blood flowing again but he couldn’t really think about that, too busy trying to not have a panic attack.

Scarier-Batman stood once the chains were gone, helmet slowly turning to where Shredder, Bebop and Rocksteady had ended up in a tangled pile. Shredder popped out first, sitting up and looking around before he noticed the giant…maybe mutant?- stomping over to him.

“Quit laying around you bumbling buffoons!” Shredder hissed, kicking at his mutant mercs to try and get them to their feet. “There’s two of you and one of her!”

“B-but boss,” Bebop skittered back, shoulders hunching. “Nothin’ works on er, all our laser j-just bounced off!”

“Imbeciles,” Shredder grabbed up a stray laser gun and turned it towards Tall-Lady.

She paused, helmet tilting, the gesture seeming almost board.

Raphael yelped when the Shredder released a barrage of laser fire at her and she didn’t freaking move-

Only the lasers…did indeed bounce right off her.

The whole room seemed to pause, watching Shredder try, once again, to shoot her.

The woman rolled her head, looking to where a skinny, possibly another turtle, was still bouncing around and bashing bots, “Hey, Edeemir’ika, tell me when he starts shootin’?”

“The tech here is ridiculously weak!” Edee- Eder?....the purple turtle replied, spinning a glowing rocket fist. “I doubt you even need the armor!”

The woman hummed then snapped her gaze back to Shredder, taking a very large, exaggerated step closer.

“Remember what we said about no murder?” Don piped up, helping Michelangelo to his feet.

A low laugh crackled out of the helmet, “You didn’t say anythin’ about maimin’.”

The comment sent Bebop and Rocksteady running, shrieking for their Mama’s as they retreated. The Shredder, to his credit, didn't follow after them right away, still standing his ground and pointing his ineffective weapon at his opponent, “You dare defy me! I am the Shredder- !”

“And I gotta feral teenager with permission to go semi-lethal,” she interrupted breezily.

“Hell yeah!” The ‘feral teenager’ in question, who seemed to have fully taken care of all the Foot-Bots, now spun and dived for his very tall friends back. He kicked off her shoulders, rocketing into the air and spinning his staff. Purple light engulfed his arms and weapon, lines quickly overlapping each other to form a longer version of the staff.

“FIIIIIIIIIBOOOOOO-NACCI!”

Shredder yelped as he was stuck and sent flying out the window in a fantastic burst of purple energy, “Curse you tuuuuuurtles-”

Raphael blinked, staring at the spot where Shredder’s voice was slowly disappearing, only turning back to the room when ‘Feral’ let out a manic laugh.

“I would call this test an absolute success!” He crowed as he ran back to Metal-Mouth 2.0, leaping up to plant his feet on her torso and grab her face. “And we landed in such an amazing dimension to boot! Oh, I am so glad you insisted on helping! All this data is simply incredible!”

Raphael watched, confusion growing as the scrawny turtle kept gushing, while his improvised jungle gym nodded and hummed along. It was like night and day, looking at her. She was still decked out and holding her weapons, but her shoulders were relaxed and her claws seemed to have drawn back. They were little things but, thankfully, they helped further her from the much darker image playing in Raphael’s head.

He edged around the pair, moving to the one new face he recognized, “Yo, thought we were leaving the dimension hopping behind us?”

“We did,” Don nodded. “But then that Donatello was messing with a gateway because his Leo got pulled into another dimension. And then a bunch of other stuff happened and we needed a way to send them home. Unfortunately, I don’t possess Donatello’s ability to use ‘positive thinking’ to whip up something in a few hours.”

“So where does the new lady come in?” Donatello asked.

“She’s also from another dimension. We’re actually using her ship for the gateway generator.”

Donatello frowned, crossing his arms, “What was wrong with my Portal Gun designs?”

“Oh so that was YOU!”

Raphael and his brothers all jumped at the yell. The second turtle, another Donatello, if he had to guess, had left his friend and was now right in his Donatello's face, grinning way too widely to be natural.

“I saw those blueprints! There is no way that thing should have worked! Your power source was far too inefficient, there was nothing to determine position, and half your notes didn’t make any sense! Yet clearly it worked! You must show me your secrets! Is the tech here just secretly advanced? Don said you used ‘positive thinking’ but there has to be more to it than that! Oh, where’s your lab, I’m sure we have time to visit that and swap some notes!”

“I, uh, ah-” Donatello spluttered, clearly just as lost as the rest of them in the mile a minute babble.

The woman huffed as she stepped over to join them, hands moving up to pull off her helmet, “Donnie, be nice. I think it’s pretty clear the rules of this reality are a bit…different.”

“Which is why I want to stick around for a while!” Donnie continued, throwing out his arms. “This universe certainly meets the criteria of being vastly different from our own dimensions! We could confirm our Self-Contained Dimensional Laws Theory.”

“I think the fact you and your brothers can use your ninpo in both this one and Don’s dimension proves that theory already.”

“There is nothing wrong with more data! And I can see you want to stick around longer too!”

“You do?” Don asked, brow furrowing. “I thought out of everyone, you’d be the most eager to get back on the ship and head back.”

“Excuse me,” Leonardo stepped forward, waving an arm between the new group. “We can guess that he’s another Donatello, but who is she?”

“Ah, right, sorry,” Don said. “This is Chula Verd, she’s a Mandalorian who helped out Donnie’s Leo. Some mad scientist from her dimension managed to make a rudimentary way to jump between realities and she got pulled into it by mistake.”

“And we improved on it!” Donnie puffed up his chest, oozing pride. “It is now a sustainable, reliable way to effortlessly travel from one dimension to another!”

Raphael leaned towards Michelangelo, stage whispering, “We sure this guy is a Donatello?”

“Sure he is, dude,” Michelangelo said. “It’s just Donatello cracked up to eleven.”

“If you say so,” Even if Raphael had trouble seeing it.

But speaking of Donatello, it seemed he’d finally shaken his baffled confusion and was now raptly listening to Donnie ramble, “You don’t happen to have this Gateway Generator close by? I’d love to take a closer look at it.”

Somehow, Donnie puffed up even more and his grin got even bigger, “Of course! Only another Donatello can truly appreciate the construction of such an amazing device-”

Chula cleared her throat.

Donnie sobered slightly, grinning up at her, “Ah, present company notwithstanding, of course.”

Chula smirked, opening her mouth to speak-

Only to pause, head shooting up and ears twitching.

Don and Donnie tensed, eyes flicking towards the door, just in time for April and Master Splinter to come skidding into the room.

“My turtles!”

“Guys! Are you okay? The signal from here suddenly…cut…out…”

Both paused, taking in the general destruction of the room and the three new faces.

Splinter sighed, shoulders relaxing as he folded his hands into his robe, “I see help came to you in my absence.”

“Is this another dimension jumping situation,” April asked, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “Am I actually going to be able to do a story this time? You four were really cagey about the first one and I barely got any material.”

Both Don and Donnie stiffened, Don going as far as to move back a step so that he was more behind Chula.

Leonardo must have noticed their discomfort, because he moved to intercept April’s camera as she started to lift it, “I don’t think our new friends are up for an interview.”

“What? But this story could be huge!”

“We must be respectful of our guests, Miss. O’Neil,” Splinter said, walking closer and bowing to the trio. “Thank you for helping the turtles escape.”

“It was no bother,” Don said. “We happened to be in the area.”

“Yes and Chula has a tendency to hear ‘turtles in trouble’ and go running,” Donnie added.

Chula shrugged, “It’s a curse.”

“Oh, she’s got jokes now,” Raphael huffed. “Didn’t you say something about a ship?”

“Yes!” Donnie grinned, clambering up Chula to sit on her shoulders. “We have at least another hour before the Gateway is ready for another jump.”

“If Chula is fine with giving a tour?” Don added quickly.

She shrugged, slapping her helmet back on, “I’m cool with it…but she can’t bring the camera.”

“What?” April groaned. “What’s with all the dimension jumpers not wanting to be in a story?”

“Aw, don’t be too upset April,” Michelangelo tried to placate. “They’re just a bit camera shy.”

“Hey!” Donnie protested but he couldn’t do much more when Chula started walking.

Donatello dogged at her heels, already asking questions. Don stayed for a moment, sheepishly smiling at April, “Sorry, we just…don’t really like being in the spot-light. Ninja’s and all that.”

April sighed but nodded, “I guess I can respect that.”

A sudden yelp from Donatello had everyone looking up, just in time to see he’d tripped on a chunk of Foot-Bot. But before his face could meet the floor, Chula’s arm snapped out, scooped him up…and she kept walking.

Everyone blinked as she left the room, a Donnie on her shoulders and a Donatello under her arm, casual as could be.

Raphael turned to Don, raising an eye ridge, “She do that often?”

“Oh yeah,” Don nodded. “Donnie wasn’t kidding, I think it’s programmed into her brain to have weird Mom Energy when around mutant turtles.”

“Right, so, stay out of grabbing range, got it.”

“Speak for yourself dude!” Michelangelo started moving, running to catch up to the Mandalorian. “I want free rides too!”

Chula ‘s head popped back through the door and, even if he couldn’t see it, Raphael could hear the smile in her voice as she held out her free arm and said, “Heck yeah kiddo, get in here!”

Michelangelo whooped, “Cowabunga dude!” As he dived at her. She snatched him out of the air and spun in a neat circle before continuing down the hallway.

Raphael blinked in confusion, slowly turning to Don, “She's weird.”

Don shrugged, “Yeah, but she's genuine. And she helps curb Donnie’s energy.”

“They're both weird,” Raphael argued, even as he started shuffling along with the rest of the group towards the exit. “You have weird friends.”

“I’m friends with you lot, aren’t I?”

“He’s got you there Raphael,” Leonardo chuckled.

Raphael grumbled in response, crossing his arms and snapping his beak shut.

She was still weird, in his option, her and the possibly insane Donatello clinging to her back.

At least it seemed like they would be on their way soon…and in the meantime, he was a little curious about this dimension jumping spaceship.

#lone hunter and turtle #tmnt 1987 #tmnt 2003 #rottmnt #fanfic #au #tmnt au #tmnt fanfiction

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