#college setting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inorganicone2230 · 3 months

Text

Like Hoarded Gold (Part 1) Yandere!Gojo/Geto x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Summary: Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo are complete strangers to you, but when they unexpectedly learn of the tragic news that has irrevocably shattered your life to pieces, the two of them become determined to help you and make you happy again, whether you want them to or not.

Warnings: Not many for this chapter, just the guys being nosy creeps for now.

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in this or any future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact that all of this is purely fiction.

“Come on, babe.”

Satoru Gojo moaned shamelessly into the kiss he shared with his lifelong friend and romantic partner, Suguru Geto, as he pressed the dark haired man down into the gym mat of the darkened storeroom they had snuck into.

“You're so fucking needy.”

Suguru playfully taunted him, even as he groaned and pawed at the other young man just as desperately, his hands finally finding purchase on Satoru’s hips so he could grind their still clothed and aching erections together.

They’d had a break between lectures and when Satoru had teasingly suggested that the two of them find a quiet spot for a quicky, he had been more than happy to agree, which was how they now found themselves in their current situation; namely, the two of them laid out on an old mat in the storeroom of the college gym, desperately dry-humping one another.

“You're not gonna sound so cocky once I’m balls-deep in your tight fucking ass.” Satoru shot back, nipping his neck hard enough that it was surely going to leave a very noticeable bruise, one he knew Suguru would wear with immense pride and satisfaction.

Suguru’s chuckle was deep and sensual as he reached between them to begin unbuckling his boyfriend's belt and pants, desperate to get his large hands wrapped around Satoru’s fat cock.

“Wanna bet on-”

The door to the storeroom suddenly creaked open and both men instantly froze as dim light from the previously empty gym briefly flooded the space before closing and going dark again.

“Shit!” Satoru whispered harshly into his ear, just loud enough so only he would hear it. “Did a professor or someone else follow us?”

It's not like the two of them had ever tried to hide their relationship from the public, such a thing would have been an impossible endeavor anyway, what with how affectionate and touchy Satoru could be most of the time. But even with their relationship being public knowledge, it still hadn't stopped the occasional creeper or fame-chaser from trying to catch them in compromising situations, usually to try and extort the white haired young man for a cut of his rather impressively large fortune and inheritance.

With the unexpected death of his parents only four years prior, and Satoru being their only child, he had been the sole beneficiary to the Gojo family's vast wealth and assets, and while he still had to graduate college first before he could receive the entirety of his inheritance in full, the monthly stipend he received every month to fund their lifestyle until then was certainly nothing to sneeze at.

But it also had the unfortunate drawback of painting a big red bullseye on his back, and subsequently Suguru’s as well, one that led some people to think that they would be an easy target for some quick cash if a compromising photo could be taken and dangled over their heads.

“Just stay quiet for now.” Suguru replied, then tenderly kissed Satoru's cheek with the kind of affection he knew would leave the Gojo heir blushing. “If they try anything, I'll be the one to handle it.”

And he meant it to, he had already beat the shit out of a few creeps for trying this kind of shit, and would be more than willing to do so again if it came down to it.

Satoru was his, and he would always have his back, just like he knew Satoru would always have his.

The two of them, thankfully, were tucked away in a corner of the storeroom behind some stacked boxes of equipment, so they would see anyone that came around the corner, but when no one came, the two of them slowly rose to their feet to take a peek around, wondering if maybe the individual actually hadn't stuck around and left when the door shut.

But there, leaning against the wall next to the door was a young girl, one who both men briefly recognized as a first year, more specifically, she was a foreign exchange student who they just so happened to share one or two classes with this semester.

You had your phone drawn up to your ear and seemed to be calling the same number repeatedly as your expression grew more and more frantic every time the person(s) on the other end failed to pick up.

“The fuck?” Satoru silently mouthed as they looked at one another, confusion written all over each other's faces, but Suguru was just as lost as his partner and only shook his head at him.

He now suspected that you had no idea you weren't alone in here, which meant that you weren't a threat, so his posture had relaxed once more, but now he was also fairly curious as to what had brought you here, and who you were so desperately trying to get ahold of.

And based on the noticeable gleam in Satoru's bright blue eyes, Suguru knew he was also just as curious.

And then, as if their nosiness had triggered something on the other end of your phone, they suddenly heard your voice speak, your tone sounding both relieved and panicked as words, in what they were able to tell was English, began tumbling out of your mouth in fast succession.

The only problem however, was that neither of them knew enough of the language to be able to piece full sentences together.

“Oh come on!” Satoru quietly groaned in exasperation.

He knew enough to be able to pick out a few words here and there; words like ‘no’ and ‘please’ and ‘wait’, which you seemed to be repeating quite often as your voice grew more and more panicked, but eventually, whoever was on the other end must have abruptly ended the call, because you stopped talking as the phone slowly slid from your slackened grip and fell to the floor with a loud enough crash that he knew without even seeing it that the damn things screen was likely shattered to bits from the impact with the concrete flooring.

You looked so sad and heartbroken in that moment, and before either man knew what was happening, you dropped to your knees with a sickening thud that left both of them wincing. Your knees were most definitely going to be in a world of hurt once you finally managed to pull yourself out of whatever dark hole that conversation had thrown you into.

And then came the wailing…

The sounds that came pouring out of you were absolutely gut wrenching, and despite not knowing anything about you, not even your name, it took everything Satoru and Suguru had to stop themselves from going to you and demanding what it was that had caused this.

You had your arms wrapped so tightly around yourself, like you would fall to pieces if you weren't holding yourself together in that lonely embrace, and you were sobbing so hard that they both feared you might actually make yourself sick if you didn't get your breathing under control.

“What do you think we should do?” Suguru whispered.

Satoru didn't once take his eyes off you as he shook his head in uncertainty.

“I honestly don't know.” He answered. “We would probably just make things worse if we suddenly pop out and she learns we've been here this whole time.”

Suguru had to agree, and as much as it killed him to stand back and let your trauma unfold like this, he knew that Satoru was right.

Neither of them completely understood why they had this unexplainable urge to go to you, someone who was a complete and total stranger, but it was a matter they were going to have to ponder together and discuss at great length before making any solid decisions on.

But for now, they simply had to let the situation run its natural course and hope for the best, even if waiting and patience was never either of their strong suits.

And so they did.

They waited for almost thirty minutes, watching and listening to the sound of your very soul shattering as you cried yourself into exhaustion before you eventually managed to pick yourself back up off the floor and slowly and silently exit the storage space. Neither of them failed to notice the dead expression on your face or how utterly lifeless your eyes appeared to be, and both men knew it had little to do with the poor lighting from the few small windows sprinkled along the walls near the ceiling.

And only once they were certain they were alone again did both Satoru and Suguru finally release the breath neither of them realized they were simultaneously holding.

“Fucking hell…” Satoru groaned and slumped down to the floor to sit on his haunches. “What was that all about?” He asked, looking up at Suguru through feather soft lashes.

Suguru leaned back against the wall across from him and let out his own sigh of frustration.

He didn't understand what this feeling was or where it was coming from, but it was taking all his restraint not to go chasing after you, to make certain you didn't do anything foolish.

Perhaps it had something to do with seeing you in such a vulnerable state when you thought you were completely alone…

He had seen plenty of his friends in bad moods or had been a shoulder for them to cry on when they were stressed and upset, but he had never seen anyone in real life break apart so uncontrollably the way you had just now; not even Satoru after the death of his parents, if one could even call those two absent shit-stains by the title of parent.

“I don't know.” He whispered. “Maybe she has a significant other back home and they got into a fight or something?”

He saw the darkened look that flashed across Satoru's face and knew immediately that the thought of that prospect didn't settle with him any better than it did with Suguru himself.

“Or someone she knows could have gotten hurt, or even died.” Satoru casually stated, and wondered what it must have said about him that he hoped it was that and not Suguru's option.

This was not what either of them had expected to deal with today, not that anyone could have predicted it, but now that they had witnessed what you obviously must have thought was a moment of extreme vulnerability, their interest was thoroughly piqued and he knew that neither he nor Suguru would be able to walk away and just forget about it so easily.

At the very least, he wanted to know the details of the situation, even if they couldn't do anything about it to help you in the end, because if he didn't, then those mournful cries of yours would follow him for a long time, possibly forever, and he wasn't entirely sure he could stay sane if the burning question of it wasn't answered.

“Come on, let's go home for the rest of the day and figure out what we want to do.” Suguru said, and held his hand out to help his boyfriend rise to his feet. “There's no point in attending any more of our classes today if neither of us will be able to properly concentrate.”

It wasn't until they were almost to the door that something caught Satoru's attention and he had to pause for a moment to thank the heavens for his good fortune, because there was your shattered phone, still laying on the ground where it had originally dropped.

“It must be our lucky day, babe.” He said with a grin, bending down to pick up the device.

“I'm not too surprised, the poor thing was practically catatonic when she left, and a broken phone was probably the last thing on her mind.” Suguru wrapped his arms around Satoru's middle and rested his chin in the crook of his neck to look over his shoulder and watch him gingerly tap at the screen. “Maybe we could use returning it as an excuse to talk to her?” He suggested, but dismissed the idea just as quickly when he realized that would mean needing to explain how they found it and how they knew it was yours.

Satoru nodded his head absentmindedly, already knowing that he and Suguru had likely reached the same conclusion on that option, but he had one that might prove to be a bit more useful to them in the long run, especially as the lock screen lit up and showed both men that it was only the protective cover over the screen that was shattered. The sturdy case and screen protector had spared it from any true damage, and as he stared at the picture you had set of you and what appeared to be your parents at your high school graduation ceremony, he couldn't help but feel that fate was too good a word to describe this opportunity, and it had to mean something so much more.

“Let's stop by a cell-phone store on the way home.” He suggested, before pocketing the device and turning to give his boyfriend a conspiratorial wink and smile. “I have an idea of my own that I think you'll like a whole lot more.”

----------

Later on that night, Satoru and Suguru found themselves snuggled up together on the couch that faced the large wall of windows in their penthouse apartment that overlooked the Tokyo city skyline.

When the two of them had first graduated high school together nearly four years earlier and started apartment hunting together, they had immediately been sold on this particular property, located in Minato, based solely on the views it provided of the city at night, and naturally, with Satoru being who he was, they ended up with the absolute best the building had to offer, right at the very top on the 45th floor.

It had already come fully furnished at the time they had first moved in, but over the course of their almost four year residency, they had slowly replaced everything with pieces that were more suited to their own tastes and preferences.

That was one thing that he loved so much about Satoru, despite the apartment being in his name and the money from his monthly stipends paying for everything they had, his boyfriend never made him feel less than for not being able to contribute more than his ability to cook and help clean. Satoru always told him that the money was just as much his, and had even gone so far as to get Suguru's name put on the account and debit/credit cards of his very own so he never had to ask for money.

Satoru, for all his childish tendencies and spoiled entitlement, saw the two of them as equal partners in their relationship, and did everything he possibly could to show him that at every opportunity.

But the greatest gift of all, besides just being in his life, had been in the form of his college expenses.

Satoru had always been destined to attend his parents alma mater, the University of Tokyo, but for Suguru, with his poorer background and lack of financial resources, despite his excellent grades and a long list of extracurriculars that had earned him a full scholarship to the elite high school they had both attended, the prestigious university had always felt more like a far off and unattainable dream as he'd sent in his application for it, and half a dozen other more affordable and realistic schools.

Schools that were far enough away that it would have seen him and Satoru separated and likely to break up.

So when, mere days after his parents' funeral, Satoru had expressed a keen desire to pay for his tuition entirely from his own pocket, just to help him achieve his dreams and keep them from being separated, Suguru had known then and there that the white haired young man was the one for him.

It wasn't about the money though, Suguru had never given a single thought to asking his, admittedly very wealthy boyfriend, for financial assistance. It was Satoru's genuine desire to help him and not lose each other that had cemented it in his mind that they were it for one another; that, come hell or high water, he would fight tooth and nail to keep what they had, and Satoru had been more that eager to share the sentiment.

And now, here they were, making what might be one of the biggest decisions of their life together as they scrolled through your now deactivated phone, and seething with rage at what they were learning.

“You're reading the same thing as me, right? I’m not misinterpreting this?” Satoru asked through clenched teeth.

Suguru's mood wasn't much better as he took the phone from his boyfriend's tightening grip to read the translated email more closely.

“No, you're not.”

After leaving campus for the day, the first thing they had done was drive to a small electronics store on the outskirts of the city to have your phone deactivated. And thankfully, with the help of a very hefty bribe, the creep working the shady storefront had been more than happy to ignore the questionable ethics of forcefully disconnecting and resetting the password on a phone that clearly didn't belong to either of the men asking for it to be done, and in less than thirty minutes, the two had been on their merry way back home.

It had been Suguru's idea to run everything on your phone through a translator app so they could try and figure out what was going on with you, and while they both felt a mild sense of guilt over snooping so deeply into your private life, they told themselves it was for your own good, that they were only trying to help.

The translations were by no means perfect, but both men were smart enough to read between the lines and mentally fix whatever errors there were in the process, and while your text messages had been a bust, with most of them being fairly quick and concise, your emails proved to be much more fruitful.

And rage inducing…

Satoru had been right in assuming that whatever had brought on your traumatic breakdown had to do with your family, but if what they were reading had any kind of truth to it, which neither of them were truly doubting, then it was so much worse than just someone you knew and loved dying on you.

The email in question was from your mother and read as followed;

(Y/N), I know this will come as a tremendous shock to you whenever you read this, and I need you to understand that me and your father are not making this decision to be cruel to you, but you are no longer a child, you are a grown woman on her own at college, in another country no less, and I feel like I should be allowed to be honest with you about the changes both our lives are about to take.

I think you are well aware by now that having you was not a choice neither I nor your father made willingly, you were a genuine accident, and while we care about you and want you to succeed more than anything, you are grown now and fully capable of no longer needing us. Me and your father put our dreams and desires on hold and raised you for nineteen years, and now it is time for us to be allowed to live our lives how we see fit. We have already sold the house and all but its most important items, all of your belongings have been packed up and moved to a storage unit that I have provided the number for down below. It has been paid off for the next six months while you decide how and what to do with it, but this is the final assistance we will give you, as we need all the money we can spare to begin our new lives elsewhere.

I know this is going to be very hard for you to understand, but your father and I were free spirits before we had you, travel and adventure was our life, and while we did our due diligence upon having you, I won't lie and say that you were our greatest joy. Having to be tied down to one place for so long in order to give you the stability you required, it killed us a little inside with each year that passed, and now that we are finally free, we feel it is best we no longer keep in contact with you going forward. It will only serve to remind us of a time we no longer want to think about, and it will only give you false hope in the end that things could go back to your perceived version of normal, and that is not fair to any of us.

We will be replacing our phones and numbers at the end of the week, so feel free to call us anytime between now and then if you have anything to say or add.

And please, take care of yourself and live your life to the fullest.

That was where the email ended.

It had been sent less than 24 hours ago, and a quick check of your call log showed them that your parents were indeed the last people you had tried calling, your mother having been the one to finally pick up and respond to your, now understandably, very frantic calls earlier in the storage room.

“What kind of sorry excuse for a mother would do this to their own child?” Satoru asked, his voice as cold and icy as his eyes and hair. “My parents were shit at being parents, and even they would have never done something as cruel and heartless as this.”

Suguru nodded in complete agreement as he reread the words on the screen again for a third time, and had to fight down every urge he had to punch this awful woman's number into his own phone and give her a piece of his mind.

“The only kind of people who could do this with as little remorse as she seems to have, are the kind that should have never been allowed to conceive in the first place.” The dark haired man responded, and draped an arm over his loves shoulders for comfort.

The two sat in silence for a long while after that, slowly processing everything they had learned, and in that time, Satoru had opened up your photo gallery for them to look through, idly scrolling through picture after picture, wanting to understand you further and gain insight into who you were. They started from the oldest ones at the very top, which seemed to date back three years, and while you seemed more interested in taking pictures of other people and the things and places around you, when a photo of yourself did eventually pop up every now and then, it always blindsided then how joyful and happy you seemed, especially in contrast with how they had seen you earlier, so sad and broken.

“So, what do we do now, Suguru?”

Suguru sighed, having known they would eventually have to discuss this.

“I know we were mostly just curious to find out what was the cause of her breakdown earlier, but now that we know the whole story, I don't think I can just leave this situation alone.” He said, and felt Satoru relax beside him, that was enough to tell him that his partner felt the same as him.

“Normally, I'd say that destiny and fate can suck my fat cock, but I don't feel like it was just mere coincidence that led to us being in that storage room with her today, it was definitely something more.” Satoru said, his confidence returning in full force as he stared down at a picture of your bright and smiling face, wishing more than anything that they could see it in person. “So who better to help a poor damsel in distress than the two best equipped guys in the city; we have the money, the means, and the time to show her were on her side.”

“I couldn't have said it better myself.” Suguru chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Now the only question is how do we proceed and make it happen?”

Satoru flashed him that signature too confident grin as he leaned back into his arms and pulled out his own phone.

“Don't worry, I got us covered on that front.” He said, scrolling through his minimal contacts to find the one he needed. “She might not figure it out right away, but our girl isn't going to know what to do with herself once she realizes she's got two knights in shining armor looking out for her.”

I've recently gotten really into JJK and since I'm not really feeling the motivation to write for any of my other fics at the moment, here is the newest idea that is rotting my brain from the inside out.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn’t for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME! And who has also started their own Yandere!Overhaul fic called Crossroads and is set in a 1920′s prohibition style era, it’s amazing and you need to check it out!

#18+ONLY #MINORS DNI #Like Hoarded Gold #yandere!suguru/satoru #fem!reader #yandere!suguru/satoru x fem!reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #original female character #no curses au #college setting #light stalking #light smut #typical yandere behavior #yandere jjk

170 notes · View notes

weiying-lanzhan-fics · 4 months

Text

Players gonna play by Scrippio

Absolutely loved this story! It made me laugh out loud many times and was a joy to read 🥰❤️

Also lots of in-depth storylines for the other characters as well!

Quotes:

Wei Ying goes through his pockets and tries to figure out if he has anything that he can pick the lock with. You know, if he could remember how to pick a lock.

He’s only managed to do it successfully the once, so it might have been a fluke, now that he thinks about it. Maybe he’s never successfully picked a lock, maybe he just brute-force opened it after a few weeks of messing with it.

“Can I help you?” someone says, behind Wei Ying.

And just when Wei Ying was going to see if brute force would work in this instance as well. Again, classic.

Wei Ying pastes a smile on his face and spins around.

He almost spins right back around because Jesus Christ, that is an attractive man. And Wei Ying is a raccoon gremlin trying to break into a fucking closet. Fuck.

Wei Ying forces his smile wider.

“I’m Wei Ying? The new director for the theater club? I’m supposed to be meeting with them soon and I wanted to get a better feel for the space?” Wei Ying says.

He swears, he’s not trying to ask questions, but he’s been thrown solidly off his game and now everything out of his mouth sounds like a valley girl impression.

————

“So,” Xichen says, once Lan Zhan sets out the tea.

And then he waits.

Classic mistake.

If he thinks Lan Zhan is going to pick the topic of conversation, they can just go ahead and sit in silence. Lan Zhan loves silence and he’s getting less and less of it as Wei Ying has started popping up with alarming regularity.

There’s no stopping him now that he knows where Lan Zhan’s desk is, and he’s just as likely to be in the dining hall or the library. Lan Zhan doesn’t know how Wei Ying keeps gaining access to all of these places without a campus id.

Not that Lan Zhan…it’s just that—he—there’s never any warning of where Wei Ying is going to be, so Lan Zhan has to be ready to be ambushed at any given moment. He’s so tense all day that his entire body hurts by the time he gets home.

T, 68.5k

Summary:

In which the Gusu University theater club is looking for a new beginning, starting with a new faculty advisor (Lan Zhan) and a new director (Wei Ying).

#wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #the untamed fic #wangxian fic rec #the untamed fanfiction #untamed fic #mdzs fic #modern au #college setting

9 notes · View notes

shion-yu · 3 months

Text

Experiment

Cliff and Elliot meet on Cliff's 18th birthday. My entry for the @hurtcomfort-bingo space "Experiment." 1,237 words. No TWs.

On Cliff's eighteenth birthday, he met Elliot. They were at a party and Cliff didn't do parties, but he thought he'd try one because turning eighteen is supposed to be a big deal and he had no one to celebrate with otherwise. He'd been at NYU for nearly two weeks and yesterday he finished his first week of classes. Someone called it syllabus week, and Cliff thought that was a good name for it because he felt like that was all they did. What little homework he'd received was already done and it was too early to even know where to begin studying for exams. He was bored and some part of him deep down wished to be acknowledged on the day he was "officially" an adult by just one person (other than his sister, who didn't count).

So far, Cliff felt he'd learned two things about life after high school. One, people in college seemed to care less about everything and anything - for good and for bad. And two, he was never going to make friends here. At least, Cliff was worried he wouldn't. It wasn't like he'd had many close friends in high school either, but he had people he liked and talked to every day. Here, he felt surprisingly lonely for someone who was sure he was an introvert. He'd even started texting his sister back sometimes just so he had someone to interact with.

He was passing through the dorms last night when he heard several people discussing an open house party that one of the NYU fraternities held every year. It wasn't exactly recruitment, maybe pre-recruitment. Cliff didn't think that was his scene, but he was bored and although he tried to put little stock in the day that just happened to be the anniversary of his birth, he couldn't help but feel like a loser for spending yet another night in his dorm room this time.

So that's how he ended up at this party. A girl far taller than him said, "Aww, he's so cute," and shoved a four loko in Cliff's hand. He sat awkwardly sipping it, the distasteful flavor making him slightly nauseous. He'd skipped dinner, and as a result began to get drunk very quickly.

He had been tipsy a few times in high school, but drunk only once before: a graduation party that got out of hand and ended up with Cliff getting into a fight with the girl who he was supposed to go to prom with. Supposed to because he had ended up standing her up - not on purpose though, he was super sick that night - but she'd taken it personally anyways and well, it hadn't been a good time. Cliff thought about that day and wondered why people had to be so troublesome. He didn't even know why he was lonely - it's not like he liked people much. It was stupid to be here.

He stood to leave, swaying slightly. He glanced around for the tall girl who had been treating him like a puppy since he'd walked in to let her know he was going home only to find her making out with some guy in a corner. Okay, he guessed she was too distracted to notice him anymore. Cliff turned to leave and ran straight into another body. He heard a sharp yelp and the feeling of a beer being poured down the front of his shirt.

"I'm sorry!"

Cliff looked up at the voice in shock. A boy with curly dark hair and shiny green eyes was across from him and clearly the reason Cliff's shirt was now soaking wet. He was trim and a bit taller than Cliff and began frantically looking for something to wipe the mess up with. The nearest thing that met this description happened to be an old napkin in the floor, which blotted basically none of the liquid up as the boy pressed it to Cliff's shirt over and over.

"I don't think it's working," Cliff said faintly. The boy looked up from his task, paused and then cracked up laughing. Cliff couldn't help but smile too.

"You're right," the boy said, still giggling. "I'm sorry. Want my shirt?"

"Your shirt?" Cliff repeated incredulously. "I can't take your shirt."

"I meant my jacket," the boy blushed. "Sorry. I'm a little drunk. Never been drunk before. Ah, crap, I don't think I'm supposed to tell people that, that's really uncool."

The boy's awkwardness endeared himself to Cliff. "Okay, sure, your jacket." Cliff turned around and quickly tore his wet t-shirt off to change. He slipped his arms into the jacket that the boy was holding up for him. It felt warm and smelled good. "What's your name?" Cliff asked as he turned back around and began buttoning the jacket up. His fingers felt clumsy and a little numb.

"Elliot," the boy said with a grin. "You?"

"Cliff Barrows," Cliff said, automatically including his last name as he was so accomstomed. But Barrows meant nothing to Elliot, and that was refreshing to Cliff. A relief he hadn't anticipated.

"Cliff, like Clifford the big red dog?" Elliot asked. "You've even got the red hair to match!" Cliff had heard this before and he usually didn't appreciate it. But Elliot didn't seem to be unkind in saying this. In fact, he seemed earnest and sweet, and Cliff felt drawn to him. He had such a genuine smile.

"Yeah," Cliff said. "Like that."

"Awesome," Elliot grinned. His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled and Cliff could see that he had dimples on either side of his mouth. "So... Do you know anyone here?"

Cliff considered lying. But then he glanced at the tall girl in the corner still making out and shook his head. "Nope. No one. Do you?"

"My roommate invited me, then ditched me," Elliot laughed. "Why'd you come if you don't know anybody?"

Cliff hesitated, but Elliot had admitted his drunkenness so Cliff figured he would admit his intentions. "Don't laugh," he said. "It's my birthday."

Elliot's eyes widened in shock. "Seriously? Happy birthday!"

"Thanks," Cliff said. Elliot opened his mouth. "You're not going to sing, are you?" Cliff asked quickly.

Elliot looked at him sheepishly. "Not anymore," he said. "But we have to do something to celebrate. You must have wanted to. Why else would you be here?"

Cliff thought about the question, then shrugged. "I don't know. An experiment, I guess."

"An experiment?" Elliot repeated incredulously.

"Yeah. To see if I could make a friend." Cliff wasn't sure why he was telling Elliot this. It sounded pathetic and weird. It must be the alcohol, he thought to himself. Making him brave and warm all over, or maybe it was just Elliot's smile.

To his surprise, Elliot didn't call him a weirdo. He just grinned. "Well, I think you succeeded," he said. "Friends?"

Cliff blinked. "Us?"

"Yeah. If you want," Elliot said, suddenly a little shy. "Do you want to?"

Cliff nodded. "Yeah." He just couldn't believe it.

"Perfect. Let's get out of here, then," Elliot said. "I have a feeling this isn't really either of our thing. Wanna go to the diner instead?"

It sounded ten times better than this noisy party, and something about being alone with Elliot - just having the opportunity to get to know his enthusiastic and mysterious new friend - made Cliff's stomach flutter with excitement. "Definitely. Let's go."

#shionwrites #oc: cliff #might have a part 2 later idk #mostly just fluff but cliff needs a break every once and a while #hurtcomfortbingo #oc: elliot #expirement #fluff #college setting #meet cute #whump blog

2 notes · View notes

desdasiwrites · 1 year

Text

– Rachael Lippincott, She Gets the Girl

#book quote of the day #rachael lippincott #she gets the girl #romance #sapphic books #Molly Parker #Alex Blackwood #ya #new adult #romcom #college setting #Pittsburgh #Pennsylvania #book quotes #book recommendations

8 notes · View notes

untilyouremember · 5 months

Text

How I Met My Soulmate

Available on December 12th, 2023 digitally and in print

Literally so soon

I'm so excited send help

Check out kodanshas site for the first chapter!

2 notes · View notes

umbrellagoblin · 2 years

Text

Plague Be Upon Ye, Son of God!

Hello!

This is basically a fanfic featuring two original characters tormenting one another. I was greatly inspired by @kwillow 's Ambroys, because he's simply the perfect dumpsterfire of an angelic bastard and I wanted to make my own little mage, Mortimer, bash heads with him. That's a story of how they met and how their relationship follows suit for, well, a while...

// CW: Grotesque displays of sickness and bodily harm, mental torture.

Ahh… No better sound in the world than a somber “Lecture over.” Especially after a long, grueling, and utterly boring day of kinda-studying. The (literal) golden boy spent all this time twirling his locks and snoozing the class away. It wasn’t all that boring, though; the occasional nudge from a groupmate, a mocking giggle of his own, and an incessant barrage of whispers occasionally broke the dignified silence… If one could call it such.

A teacher’s monotone voice was interrupted with the occasional stammer. Awh, did he feel embarrassed even an angel refuses to grant him attention? How unfortunate it must be - to be this pathetic. That’s all there is to the pretty slacker’s mind right now. But at long last - it’s over.

Clearly, Ambroys DeLuxe is not interested in studying - in spite of keeping a high scoreboard. Nor is he too keen on socializing (and no, dragging the “impure” through mud doesn’t count). Yet in spite of walking alone, the plentiful classroom stares suggest he’s dipped his fingers into everyone’s life, somehow… Be it through charms, or the livid personality this preppy frat-boy is notorious for. Reveling in his own purity and perfection, it appears as if the slightest breeze could knock Ambroys off his high-horse. Lo and behold - it’s exactly what happens next:

February is still in full swing. One should expect it to get warmer, but alas - it has not. Roads are still covered in ice and snow, while the wind’s high speeds make the bits of exposed skin turn blue. A nasty, frigid, windy month it is - and the golden boy came ill-prepared.

“Rhnf… Why in Dad’s name did he invent winter?!” Ambroys hissed through gritted, clacking teeth and biting his lip. Tugging tighter on his scarf of pure-white silk did not save him from a frosty wind gust nearly knocking the delicate thing down. Immediately muttering an apology, Ambroys simply put his coat’s collar up, and went on his merry way to the pick-up spot. Shame it was on the other end of the campus alleyway…

A familiar figure sat on the bench nearby. Sulking, its round face buried in a big book. That made Ambroys stop in his tracks, forget about the frosty weather, then come on over and loom over the nerd in question. Said figure was Mortimer Killinger - Morty for short. Even though Ambroys and Morty were from entirely different faculties, their classes often matched. How Applied Alchemy and Theology of Evocation could be so similar is still a mystery to the two of them. And, judging by a sore look upward - Morty isn’t too happy about the golden boy’s presence.

Amber eyes, thus, stared into eyes of pure gold. Keeping up the staring contest, Mortimer closed his book and let it rest on his lap.

“Lord Ambroys Leriche Belrose Deluxe,” he said, “To what do I owe the pleasure of being graced with your attention?”

A gasp, and a press into his own luxury-laden chest followed suit: ”My oh my,” the golden boy cooed, “Simply Ambroys would have sufficed… Hello-hello!~ How do you know my full name, Killinger?”

“Uh, checked the enrollment ledger?” Morty said. Oh boy, he’s already getting tired of this…

What an awkward silence that was. The look of dismissal on Mortimer’s face remained quite contrary to the lively, toxically-positive mug of Ambroys. A few more moments of that and Morty would have left, but unfortunately - he still has manners and dignity.

“...Don’t you have places to be?” he asked.

“Mmn, not really,” Ambroys replied, “My chauffeur can wait, and isn’t the weather just lovely today?”

That’s it. Mortimer’s brows furrowed and he prepared to get up: “Not particularly, no. I’m not into smalltalk, Ambroys - stop beatin’ around the bush or get lost.”

That was the exact moment Ambroys’s expression shifted from a snooty nobleman’s smirk to haughty offense, instead. Almost turning away to the side and glaring down at the tired nerd.

“I know what you are, Killinger,” Ambroys hissed, “You are a witch. Studying witchcraft. Dabbling in the arcane like it’s your business. Making deals with devils my tongue cannot turn to name! You should redeem yourself of this wretched pseudo-scientific heresy and-”

“Blah-blah-blah, you’re a sinner, blah-blah-blah, I’ll pray for you more… I’ve heard it all before,” Morty interrupted there and then. His eyes rolled back and his body oozed onto the bench. This goody-two-shoes really didn’t get the hint, so he’s as direct as it gets: “I know somethin’ about you, too, Ambroys. You run with Alpha Nu Omega - and I don’t want in. Thank you for the offer. Now please, move on.”

The angelic harassment did not end there, however. Another moment of awkward silence later, Ambroys walked up even closer. His amber eyes were laid on Morty’s grimoire. A cocky smirk turned into a mirth-filled smile:

“...In all fairness, witch - I need your services,” Ambroys murmured, “No - I need your goods. What’s this tome you have here?”

Mortimer only squinted at first. “What’s it to you, frat-boy?” He asked then, clutching it closer.

Ambroys’s hand reached for the book, as if politely asking for it: “I assume it’s a grimoire, right? I need it for research purposes. Ones which your devil-worshipping brain should not concern itself with!”

Although the tired mage was clasping the book tight, Ambroys still reached for it and took a firm grasp at its edge. His face haughty and demanding, the golden boy’s squint was supposed to make Morty intimidated, now: “...Well? Forfeit your grimoire to me! Come on then, chop-chop!”

“I don’t think you know how research works,” Mortimer hissed in response, “First of all - that’s not how you politely ask to share research material. Secondly, Ambroys - I don’t trust a word coming out of your mouth. And lastly - you could be in trouble for it! So it is you who must let-”

But it was pointless. All Ambroys did now is tug at the grimoire like a stubborn donkey. Mortimer refused to let go - for obvious reasons - and so, it only resulted in further confrontation:

“Just give me the damn book!”

“No! You can’t have it! It’s my personal diary!”

“Obey what an Angel tells you to do, Witch!”

“I am not going to! Let go, you jerk!”

“No! Give me the book!”

“No!”

“Let go!”

“You let go!”

“Fine!” - Ambroys barked, and, after giving the grimoire his harshest tug, suddenly stopped clutching at it. The resulting inertia flicked the book out of Mortimer’s arms, as well. It landed directly in a dirty snowpile - much to the witch’s horror.

“Oh look, now neither of us can have it!” Ambroys gawked with faux-disappointment. Prepared to dash, it doesn’t seem like Mortimer’s ready to throw hands. No - he’s simply sitting here. Waiting, as his grimoire gets soaking-wet with both snow, and… The angel’s spit.

Indeed, the golden boy was fuming - so fuming, in fact, it gave him enough courage to disrespect a witch even further. “Hp-Thoo! Why can’t you on the losing side just confess and obey the higher power, hm!” Ambroys babbled on - and Morty let him. Calmly rising from his bench, the witch’s delicate hands reached for the book again. Ink and spit with golden sparkles ran down the moist pages… And a beautiful diagram of elements ruined.

Mortimer didn’t even listen to Ambroys anymore - he let him have his moment of victory. Cackling, the angelic frathouse jerk then went on his merry way, shuddering from the nasty wind in the midst of it. Some might consider it a moment of weakness - but alas, it was not. Au contraire - Mortimer’s plan had its cogs put in motion the moment Ambroys chose to spit on his prized possession:

The rest of the day went as usual; a smooth ride home from a handsome chauffeur, then - a fruit salad for dinner, a pack or two of IPAs, an excessive nightly routine, and lastly - a few litanies before bed. In spite of his lavish lifestyle, Ambroys still studied somewhat-diligently. He read and read, the rustling of pages mixing in with the golden candles’ crackling. In the midst of it, prayers and mutters mingled together with belches and guttural huffs. They were oozing past the golden boy’s lips thanks to all that liquid creativity. Minutes of doing actual work felt like hours, draining Ambroys of his life forces…

“Hhh… To Sheol with that,” the paladin said, and the reading time was over. Still dressed in naught but a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, he immediately went to bed. No point in staying up if there’s no house party to ruin. Ambroys fell onto his grand resting palace of a bed, surrounded himself with cold blankets and pillows, then - drifted away immediately afterward. The golden steed’s rest was surprisingly-dreamless. Nothing of note - only some mediocre silence and a lingering sense of boredom. Suddenly - a spark of familiar voice, a giggle, rumbled somewhere deep inside his head. Ambroys felt that in his skull. And so, he woke up in cold sweat… Unable to move, or speak. Only watch and feel as his body was getting coated in something slimy and itchy.

Ambroys then let a strained moan ooze past his clasped, dry lips. Nothing worked - he thought of the litanies and prayers beforehand, reciting them in panic. No matter how hard he tried to lift his arm or leg up - it felt heavier than lead, and this strange, itching sensation soon turned to burning. As it progressed further upward, Ambroys could finally tense his calves up and move his legs around. Though it wouldn’t help him, regardless - as the small, black, bubonic blisters forming all across his delicate frame made it painful to even shift in bed. Still, moaning and straining, the golden boy turned to his side and tried to slide off the bed, to try and get help, somehow! Reach for his books, or something… But as soon as his hand lifted and tried to grab at the book of litanies, it burst into flames.

Already frightened beyond any common sense, Ambroys gurgled out a whelpish whine. He crawled back onto the bed and tried to wrap himself into a blanket - it was too painful to handle. And then, it finally clicked in the golden boy’s mind; he was being cursed. The strange and sudden malady already seeped past the skin and muscle, making his stomach twist and turn, while his lungs were squeezed by constant, agonizing pressure. Ambroys couldn’t take a breath of fresh air, hungrily swallowing and gasping to no avail. It felt like he was burning without flames, drowning without water. Left entirely helpless, with all his cockiness withering away alongside his powers.

Some form of relief came when the blisters stopped appearing altogether. Those that were already there threatened to pop at any moment, though. Ambroys shakily lifted himself up from the bed, and looked down onto it with great horror; it was drenched in dark pus. The disgraced paladin rushed himself to the bathroom, stumbling and itching at his face and shoulders. His robe was an equal mess, but he couldn’t ditch it altogether - that’d be quite indecent. What he saw in the mirror was even more horrifying:

Bloodshot eyes with missing color glared at their own reflection. A body coated in scars and popped blisters looked disfigured beyond recognition. And in fact, the golden boy’s face and mane lacked color altogether. As if something drained him of life, itself. Something malicious, bloodthirsty, already feasting on his body, mind, and soul, like… A bat. It flew past the open window and right into the common bathroom, squeaking and slapping its wings against the terrified paladin. Yearning for a good scream, Ambroys still found himself unable to. So a pathetically-quiet yelp that was.

“Ffffollow! Ffffollow!” - the bat hissed at Ambroys, letting him be and slowly flying away, through the window. Blindsighted by fear and agony, the paladin in training stumbled his way downstairs, clutching his stomach and drooling onto the floor. The sight was… Amusing, to the flatmates at least, so their loud chuckling signified an even further downfall of Ambroys DeLuxe; his reputation would be ruined after this! But now it wasn’t important. Now - it was necessary to just, survive. There were no quips or hisses from Ambroys, himself, as he dashed through the front door and spotted the bat under the streetlight. Little did he know his way would be long, draining, and laced with agony.

Surely magic must be at stake. Ambroys could feel the malady moving down from his lungs to his pancreas, and then - vice versa. He felt sick, drained, exhausted. Minutes of walking and stumbling felt like hours. Soon enough, concrete was replaced with bricks, bricks - with dirt, dirt - with podzol. The bat led him deep into the grove nextblock, off the known trail and into its heart.

Without any footwear, the sticks and leaves and whatever else the students threw on the ground dug into Ambroys’s heels, causing him to gurgle. That’s right - gurgle. The curse imposed on him caused his lungs and stomach to flare up with the same dark pus, which tasted of vinegar and gall. Drool turned that same, sickly dark-green, as he spewed it down and contorted in awful cramps… But not long after Ambroys felt like he won’t make it - he saw a campfire nearby and rushed straight to it - only to find the worst possible host:

Mortimer Killinger summoned the bat to his sleeve with a click of his fingers. Dressed according to the weather, the coat of hide he adorned was encrusted with silver weaves and ruby buttons - shaped like cats, because apparently witches love cats. As the soft, delicate hands unleashed their claws - the gloves of black cowhide simply let them slide through designated pockets. High-heeled boots tap-tapped against the ground in evident disinterest, as the golden pony finally had the courtesy to show up. The witch’s burning charcoals for eyes looked Ambroys over. Well - he is late, but he at least looks delightfully-pathetic in contrast. Hence - Mortimer smirked, and reached for the side of a log he sat on, right as Ambroys felt his limbs lock in place once again.

There’s a cauldron resting atop the campfire. Two logs by either of its sides were occupied by Mortimer’s buttocks and Ambroys’s legs. There also rested a puppet, right next to the malicious witch. While woven out of hay and pebbles - it had a particular strand of golden-blond locks streaming down from its creepy smiling head. Most importantly - it was coated and soaked in the bubbling concoction from within this big pit of wrought iron. Now the golden boy knew exactly where the malady came from; Killinger dragged the little thing across the cauldron again, letting it absorb the noxious fumes and knock the paladin back to the ground.

Ambroys collapsed and writhed in agony, soaking himself in forest mud as Mortimer sat there, silently.

“...Ah. So it works more potently than originally expected,” he spoke at last, “Given the circumstances, I can’t blame you for arriving so late. My messenger tried their best to find a good route. But you must understand - my work demands a degree of secrecy.”

The golden boy looked up as the warlock mused. His sparkling eyes are full of rage and pain. Shakily, Amroys tried getting up, grumbling: “I knew it, y-you damned witch… I knew you’re a dirty, filthy servant of some low-end imp. You’re disgusting! Heaven will not pardon yor-gh- GHRGHL?!”

Suddenly - the disgraced paladin choked on his own words. As well as muddy water, which outpoured from his gaping maw and coated his skin in more blisters. Mortimer lowered the puppet’s head into the cauldron. That, in turn, caused Ambroys to slowly suffocate and cook. He stood there, petrified, helpless against the circumstances. Nothing could compare in degrees of terrifying as this. The witch held him like so for a few seconds more, then yanked the puppet out of the concoction and gripped it even tighter. And while Ambroys still couldn’t move - he felt his lungs, his innards, being squeezed at with powerful, invisible claws.

“I don’t like it when I’m being yelled at,” Mortimer added, “Raise your voice again and I’ll ensure your cosmetic changes are permanent. Is that clear?”

Ambroys was beyond-terrified. Whimpering like a beat dog, he had no choice but to quiet down and nod - much to the witch’s relief. As the bat flew away altogether, the black cat rose and stepped forward - perhaps just to look at an angel up close. Long, wavy brown hair covered most of his face, save for the eyes and the upturned lips showing off one menacing scowl of a grin. The tense silence is broken by water boiling and fire crackling, with Morty making a full circle around the horrified paladin.

And now, the witch is… Bored. So he casually relieves his grip on the puppet and pokes it right in the stomach. “Doesn’t mean you’ve got to be entirely quiet, though,” Mortimer said.

Ambroys obliged, huffing and trembling and taking a few steps back: “Oh God, oh GOD! Whatever you want, I can give you, o-okay? Money, jewelry, books, prayers, gossip- Anything. All I ask of you is to not let me perish, pghn- Please don’t kill me!”

To that, Mortimer only raised his brow and chuckled. “Oh no, no,” he said, “There is no point in outright killing you, Monsieur DeLuxe… Even though there are plenty of reasons for me to do so.” The witch’s tone changed drastically, as he started circling around the petrified paladin and let his claws run loose against his bathrobe.

“For one, you’ve shown gross disrespect to my family and craft. Furthermore, you actively sought to ruin my grimoire and doom my research with it, thus causing me more harm than your blade ever could. Hmm…”

Ambroys only stammered and whined in return: “L-Look, uhm- Mortimer, right? Right, um- I know I did a bad, BAD thing, but I really can offer a lot in exchange for you not, heh-heh, doing that- No, seriously, please don’t end me like that, I erm- I really prefer to live-”

“I know you do,” Mort interrupted, “But… I struggle to find purpose in you being around, you know? You’re quite the tattle-tale, you’re vain, you’re a fucking idiot. Hm, but you’re popular, so I guess some will miss you. So there’s one argument against your untimely demise…”

As the golden boy stood there, quivering and sobbing, Mortimer casually pulled the robe’s wrists up. What he found was surprising: Scars. Loads of them, dozens. Big or small, wide or narrow, covered the paladin’s arms up to his elbows. And no, these weren’t battle-scars - he was either cutting himself, or someone else did. And then - a clue; a few small, red dots along the veins. Needles, they must be! Mortimer smirked, and leaned in to give those cuts a teasing few licks… Much to the cringing and huffing of the disgraced paladin.

“...Ah. So you’ve already been claimed, then?” Mortimer muttered, a low purr of a growl oozing out of his lungs.

“Claimed?” Ambroys asked, shocked, “What do you mean by that?! I am my own person, you nerd!”

“Oh no, I feel someone else’s presence here,” Mort then poked Ambroys in the wrist, “...Someone potent, no less. Your body is not of your own, Ambroys DeLuxe! You’re used as some rich mage’s gilded blood bank! Haw-haw-haw!”

The black cat of a witch couldn’t help but laugh in the golden boy’s face. Clutching at his prominent belly, the young wizard took his seat back on the log and tossed the voodoo doll out altogether. Ambroys was freed immediately therafter, and collapsed on the ground right in front of the campfire.

“You know what? Yeah, I think you’re worth more keeping alive,” the witch said, “You’re at least entertaining, and you could be of good use to me.”

“Oh, of course. I’m a dignified paladin, after all,” Ambroys replied, rolling his eyes.

Mortimer offered Ambroys some warm “broth” from the cauldron, but the golden boy’s still proud enough to openly refuse it. And furthermore, the complains returned immediately after the witch offered a modicum of hospitality:

“...Look, i-it’s very cold, I’m about to freeze. Can’t I just…Go home? I told you I’m-”

“No.”

“But I said I’m sorry!-”

“No. Sit upright, and warm up by the campfire. I am not done with you.”

“Who are you to-”

“I literally have a cursed doll of you in my hands’ vicinity. So shut up and listen to me, DeLuxe…”

Mortimer paused, for a time. His quiet mutterings made Ambroys all the more concerned. He could take his chances and pray to the Lord, then run. But that’d only mean he’d meet a fate worse than death - and there are loads of those, no doubt. So in spite of the cold, the terror, and the utterly humiliating defeat at the hands of some nerd - the disgraced paladin waited, with some degree of patience.

Then, at last, the witch broke his silence: “...Well. Since your body is already used by someone else, for whatever reason, I don’t wanna know, your mind could still serve some purpose to me. As reparations for damaging my grimoire.”

“My mind?! You’re not going to teach me your satanic rituals, right?!” Ambroys inquired, raising his voice once more. He soon corrected himself and fell quiet: “...I’ve no idea about any of your customs. I just know they are that of malice and wrongdoings against God!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” the witch mused, “Poor you - all you know is hedonism and nepotism under your Lord’s guise. And thankfully stupid enough to lose a lock of hair! But ohh, tell me, isn’t being vain and rich also quite sinful?”

Ambroys crossed his arms and pouted: “It is different for our kind. For me. I deserve all of this bliss, I fell from Heav’n itself.”

“Ah, but of course - it always is different, after all,” Mortimer replied, “Maybe I should teach you some of the things I know of how the world works… Well anyway. No, you won’t corrupt your puny little soul for my sake. What I want to know, are the customs, traditions, and culture of you Angels.”

Woah now. That was a surprise like no other. The golden boy raised his brow and leaned forward, to give Mortimer a closer look: “...Customs? Traditions? So you want me, to tell you, about my lifestyle and trials? As retaliation?” Ambroys could not believe his ears, but… If this was true, it was the mildest reparation he could offer! Boring, but mild. “May I ask - why?”

“Because, Ambroys, my grimoire is not just spells and witchcraft,” Mort replied, “Unlike you - I have better goals than virgin maidens and common indulgences. I want to know a bit of everything about everyone, all at once - and since you’ve ruined my research on Halflings - you’d be a great, direct source about Angels… Aasimar… Whatever you call yourselves.”

Ambroys had to give it a bit of thought. Naturally, it’s an offer he can’t refuse - especially in the presence of a wizard, vulnerable and without protection. However, maybe… Just maybe. He could turn it around into mutual benefit. Finally letting his pearl-whites shine in a big smile, the deposed angel stretched his hand forward: “Fine! Whatever you ask of me, nerd - I will tell you. In full, macabre detail. First maiden to last, quiet litanies to loud prayers, and so on and so forth, yada-yada-yada. I specialize in smiting, though, so you best expect to travel on missions with me - IF you want the full experience, of course~”

Mort reached his hand forward, too. He shook hands with DeLuxe, and held it there: “Did not expect anything less than that,” he said, “Our faculties are so, very much alike. It’ll be easy for me to join you… And study a twat- I mean an angel’s, way of life~”

With that said, Ambroys felt a sudden sting on the back of his palm. Golden blood rushed out, droplets of it painted the noxious-green of the cauldron gold… Then crimson. Mortimer held onto Ambroys with both hands now, then grabbed the puppet from the back and held it taut. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull as he whispered in tongues. Terrified, the disgraced paladin tried to yank back - to no avail. A few seconds more of agony, and…

The wound is gone. “The contract is sealed,” Mortimer proclaimed - but not with his own voice. A guttural, low voice of something much bigger than him said so. His face contorting, it then returned to its accustomed, smug expression. “That’s… Actually about all I brought you here for, really,” Mortimer spoke in his “normal” voice, “Be there or be square when I call upon you, Ambroys DeLuxe. I think we’ll make a great team! IF you’ll stop being such a frat bro.”

“Sure, whatever - if you stop being a dork and a devil-worshiper, Killinger,” Ambroys grumbled dismissively. For a moment, his eyes pulled away into the side of the forest. Dawn was approaching. And, to his surprise - he could still move with Mort’s doll still in his hand. As he paid attention to it, Mortimer dropped it into the cauldron with a face full of malice.

“No, wait!!!-” Ambroys yowled out… And then it suddenly faded to black.

It’s not quite clear for how long he was gone. The golden boy woke up with a loud scream and a shudder… As well as a sore spine. He’s been laying on the cobble steps of the frat-house’s porch, for quite some time at that. Upon inspecting his own body, Ambroys found his robe to be clean and good as new. Furthermore, the blisters disappeared, the cut - healed, scarless, and the aches were gone. Was it… Even real? It couldn’t be. Huffing and stretching out in relief, the golden boy shakily got back onto his legs and loudly knocked on the door.

Huey and Toby, the two oafs Ambroys had the (questionable) fortune of sharing the house with, were already up and dressed.

“Ambroys? The fu-... Wow, man, you look like shit,” Toby said.

“Yeah, bro, you do,” Huey added.

“Shut up, you three,” Ambroys replied, “And let me in! At once!”

The twins didn’t resist, their bright-green eyes sparkling like emeralds as they looked DeLuxe over, up and down. Ambroys stormed in, grumpy, and immediately went to the kitchen. He needed some well-deserved coffee… No, water. The poor boy’s throat feels like hell incarnate!

Ambroys yanked the plastic filter with grubby hands, still dressed in just a bathrobe and barefoot. The twins stared him down as he gulped the entire contents down. And as he couldn’t talk, they argued between each other:

“Think he caught a bad trip, bro?”

“Looks like it. He had weed, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Good weed, too.”

“And he never shares it with us!”

“He doesn’t, yeah. Can’t blame him, though.”

“That’s right, but the shortie at the door did!”

“Sure did, bro!”

“Wuh- Wait,” Ambroys stammered, terrified, “Which- Which shortie are you talking about?”

“Some shortie,” Toby said, “Said he knew ya and gave us a pack to rest up on. Gave us a letter an’ told us to give it to ya. Kinda weird, but friendly. Must be fun at parties.”

Ambroys’s heart sank down to his stomach: “...Well do you still have that letter?”

Huey nodded, and fished it out of his pale-pink polo shirt. He handed it to Ambroys just as silently. Panicking and flustered, Ambroys was in no mood to talk. The twins left him alone, chuckling. And boy what a letter it was to wake up to!

A crimson envelope, with a black rubber stamp on it. A cat blacker than the rubber of the stamp glared directly at the paladin in training. It invited him to open it, and see what was inside. Within, of course, was a small note, with a golden fingerprint and very recognizable handwriting. To Ambroys’s horror, it read:

“Welcome to the Killinger Organization, Amby! Last night was fun, but it won’t happen again - unless you fail, and you OBVIOUSLY won’t. Your blood’s actually quite “cool” in properties, so I’ll examine it more during my spare time. You don’t mind, right? Anyway - fancy seeing you in college today. You’ve lots to tell, or else your tongue may dry out just a little bit prematurely. We meet at noon - and don’t be late! I will be waiting~

Mortimer Ollivander Killinger, Baron of the Killjoy Estate.”

Some friends Ambroys has the luck of finding. Christ Almighty… FIN.

#original character #oc #amaranthine #fanfiction #ambroys deluxe #mortimer killinger #my writing #original writing #college setting #college au #angst #mental anguish #plague be upon ye

8 notes · View notes