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#so im going to put the shipping costs for one at a time

deoidesign · 6 months

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Hiya, I wanted to share a kinda weird story and ask a question. Just wanted to say you’re a very talented storyteller and I’ve been thinking of your work a lot. I ended up having a dream about time & time again last night where Steve tries to steal the American flag for a bunch of children. It was a pretty angsty dream but I still found it kinda funny because it seems on brand for Steve lol. Also, for those who can’t afford to buy the books on kickstarter, will there be other options to help fund? If the kickstarter succeeds will you list the books on your website or are they one and done? I hope you’re having a lovely day!

I love how the way you've approached this makes me unable to ignore the first part to be able to answer the second.

To start with the questions though, I'll be making a PDF people can get to help support (that will be included in all tiers)! It should be a fun item for any fan of the series... You'll also be able to get just one book instead of all 4 from season 1. I'm trying to plan some other things, but it's all still very much in development so I'm wary of committing too openly to it!

And I am planning to have the Kickstarter goal fund extra copies for me to put on my site and take to conventions, yes! So if someone can't support when it comes out, if it funds then they can order the books later, or find me at a convention with some copies!

I'm planning to be incredibly up front about the costs and processes by which I came to all my decisions, because I've made quite a few strange choices but I assure you they're all just in service of getting books out as soon as (and as fun as) possible!

And for the first bit, it's incredibly flattering to hear that you think about my work... And to the extent that it's invaded your subconscious! Wow! Depending on the context it's definitely something he'd do, complete with angst in a silly situation. Thank you for sharing this with me, I hope your day is kind to you.

#the pdf is going to be an activity book you can print out at home!#it's designed to be activities that line up with each arc #so youre meant to 'play along' as you read!#which of course is something that can be done without the books ^^#but im planning on paper dolls #maybe some crosswords #mazes #stuff like that!#no promises i haven't made too much of it yet... ive been uhh #busy with making the comics and prepping the books for print #its all been nearly a month of work so far #and ive nearly a month of work more to go #but im right about halfway and i think things are settling down!#as for the books... im planning to ship them out one at a time.#so its a bit more expensive for this...#but my reason for doing so is that I'd have to either do a Kickstarter for each book #which is WAY WAY WAY too many kickstarters theres gonna be like 10 books or something by the end of this comic #OR id have to wait a year to do them all at once.#so im going to put the shipping costs for one at a time #and then explain 'if you wait a year to get them all at once shipping will be approx this much'#again trying to be very very transparent about the costs of things #cause im trying to make it as inexpensive as it possibly can be...#but 4 books is like $100 pretty much any way you slice it :(#so im very nervous about it all succeeding #so im trying to add in as much as i can to hopefully help ease it towards success #cause also 4 books... thats like a 10k goal minimum.#very big project and incredibly scary!!!#anon #asks #Kickstarter stuff

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mcfuckity · 10 months

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You know what? Im breaking my silence. Im TIRED of people missing Jess’ character on purpose. Like, everyone can use context clues and fill in the blanks for every other character but somehow Jess is the only one taken at face value? Jess is being seen as a cold, detached, mean bitch by fans but I cannot determine whether we even watched the same movie.

Let’s address the elephant in the room, because she is a black woman who is NOT a mammy character, people criticize her harsher. Jess was MORE than Miguel’s “lackey”. She had her own thoughts and opinions. She definitely had her own personality and feelings about the entire situation. She lowkey stalled time to give Gwen chances to fix her mistakes.

If Jess was as cold as Miguel and such a “bitch”, she would’ve left Gwen the first time. Let’s not forget that Miguel was fully about to leave Gwen with her own father holding her at gunpoint, JESS vouched to bring Gwen under her name. Jess put her OWN position at risk to help Gwen and it required that she do her job accordingly. Jess made the boundary VERY clear, she is NOT Gwen’s mother. She is NOT her friend. I seen people argue that “Jess’ maternal instincts” should’ve kicked in to protect Gwen” but fully ignoring that Jess HAS A FAMILY! Jess is PREGNANT with her OWN child. Her instincts DID kick in and she chose her dimension with her family in it!

Jess was stuck in a rock and a hard place. She obviously wanted to help Gwen (considering she brought her in at the cost of her own position) but UNFORTUNATELY, GWEN messed up. Gwen saw Miles and that ultimately led to Spot escaping. You can love these characters and acknowledge that every character had their OWN thoughts and motivations that led to fuck ups. It’s not right to try to make Jess sound worse than the man who fuckin replaced his dead self out of grief, was about to leave a teen at gunpoint, and had an entire society of people chase a teenager who wanted to save his dad.

Don’t get me started on the “she’s fighting crime while pregnant argument” because we can accept superpowered people but NOT the possibility that their bodies are more resilient. NOT TO MENTION THAT PETER B HAS A WHOLE BABY ON MISSIONS???? Like, no one is calling him a bad father so what’s different with Jess? Miguel was mean as fuck to Miles upon meeting but Jess doing her JOB is considered being “mean”.

Then the “I didn’t see her enough to connect with her” is fair until everyone can somehow create entire {TERRIBLE} mischaracterizations of Hobie, Pav, and Peni who (arguably) had just about the same amount of screentime. She also shares traits with every other spider person with being snarky and quick-witted while being completely grounded. She’s literally one of the spider people that Miguel fully trusts but somehow the fandom erases her and goes “He loves Peter B and Lego Spidey🤪🤪”

Like, it’s crazy how people find it so easy to erase Jess and Margo (Spiderbyte) in fanworks for things they easily dismiss from other characters and it’s feelin like misogynoir. Like, Margo and Hobie served the same purpose with deciding to go against Miguel for Miles, yet only Hobie and Gwen gets that credit.

AND THEN THE MANY EXCUSES WHEN IT COMES TO SHIPPING! People keep hating on Jess/Miguel because she’s “obviously pregnant and married” but go right around and ship Miguel with Peter B. Same with Margo/Miles because it’s a bunch of “Miles and Gwen are obviously endgame” ANDDDD???? Since when did every ship HAVE TO be canon in order to be a ship? It’s especially crazy because I BARELY EVER see those comments on Miles/(Peni, Pav, or Hobie) or have no problem with having all the boys huddled around Gwen. The double standard is glaringly obvious.

In conclusion, some of you mfs dont deserve ATSV.

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wistfulrat · 7 months

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・❥・lesbian wangxian reccs ・❥・

ao3topships poll gate made me realize there are hundreds nay thousands of u who dont know abt lesbian wangxian ?? that’s so sad can i proselytize u real quick

mimilamp cinematic universe (the ppl’s mcu) sorry for starting this list with a whole author catalog. as if it's my fault!! these gave me covid. no listen mimilamp fics have feverish lesbian angst levels of hot horny despair that could paralyze a large forest animal. and on a sentence level it's just stunning. messy dykes fumbling toward love confessions while making emotionally insane choices and the sex scenes fuckn bang ??? god is real

good, good - 13.5k E Wei Ying has two broken wrists and now she needs Lan Zhan to help her do stuff (jerk off)

here’s a story - 46k E Wei Ying reluctantly joins her recently-dumped best friend, Lan Zhan, on a couples' holiday retreat. Snow! Drinks! Truth or dare! There's a s-s-s-single bed! You'll never guess what happens next.

out of your system - 20k E “Maybe you should get me out of your system,” Wei Ying blurts. “Maybe that’ll help.” // Wei Ying finds out her best friend Lan Zhan is in love with her and offers a really super solution.

exposure therapy - 14k E Wei Ying clambered up from the floor, put the joint on the corner of the night stand, announced, “Exposure therapy,” and got into Lan Zhan’s bed. // Lan Zhan doesn't like to be touched, Wei Ying likes to touch.

know no one else - 20k E Lan Zhan moves out, Wei Ying's boyfriend moves in. Six months later, Lan Zhan visits, they go to a party, and Wei Ying has something to tell her.

74243 this author should be studied in a lab bc these 2 fics ruined my life. a pulitzer prize short fic with immaculate tone followed by the fuck nastiest shit you will ever read. "wei ying swipes right" still a top 3 bar of all time re: fic summaries. like people died.

chef’s kiss - 6.5k E Wei Ying said, “You know, in some ways I’m kind of depressed. I took your biggest dick on my first try. Now I don’t have anything to build up to.” “There are bigger ones available,” Lan Zhan said lazily. “I can pay for express shipping.” // (Lan Zhan works the late shift.)

pull out game weak - 22.7k E Wei Ying swipes right.

plonk this is the only fic in many ways. dyke nmj's mustache academy award winning breakout role. possessive hot dyke lwj. the sentence "don't knot her you freak." have u ever seen a group chat get rabies in real time. the slut rot breached containment. it was a public health crisis. it brought back horny cinema. cultural reset.

good friends - 11.5k E “I could invite her over for when the game’s done,” Nie Mingjue offers. Lan Zhan hums, considering it. They do that sometimes. Take omegas down together.

occultings will i ever get tired of -wwx thinks she's straight and wants to practice being gay with sadsack lwj who is like sure im in love with u and this will cause me psychic damage but mayhaps that's the cost of being homiesexual--? no i dont get tired of the classics it's called taste

give me one good honest kiss - 25k E The text keeps flashing over and over in Lan Zhan's head like the bulb lights on a marquee. They’d been talking about homework directly before that, swapping notes on music theory in the baroque period. Then, like a fork of lightning out of a clear blue sky: wanna practice kissing? 😚 // Wei Ying suggests an arrangement. Lan Zhan, in love, deals.

saltyfeathers ok so like sure it's ill advised to get your cartilage pierced at claire's but if you wanted the experience of participating in deranged hysteric behavior that kinda bangs in a badgood way? well then.

the mall that has it all - 8k E She introduced herself in the food court, breathless after sprinting across it in Lan Zhan’s direction and vaulting over a table only to crash into the seat across from her, ask, “Can I have a sip?”, spring forward with both elbows on the table to wrap her burgundy lips around Lan Zhan’s smoothie straw, wrinkle her nose, and say, “What is that, kale? Not really my thing, as like, a mall goth. Oh!” A pleased, chaotic exhale. “My name’s Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said, after taking a moment to fully process the last forty-five seconds, “What?” or; mall goth au

#just thought abt mimilamp “baby are you happy” and almost walked into traffic #wangxian fic rec #lesbian wangxian #mdzs #the untamed #cql #femslash #wlw wangxian #mimilamp #74243 #plonk #occultings #saltyfeathers

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licorice-tea · 3 months

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The Way Things Go

Pairing: Kaku x reader

Content: huge spoilers for water 7 and enies lobby!!! kaku calls reader “miss” but gender nuetral pronouns are used besides that, reader is a strawhat, flirting and things!

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: this is going to be a mini series covering the reader’s arrival in water 7 (with the straw hats ofc!) to the end of enies lobby. basically, how the reader meets kaku, falls for him, learns his true identity, etc. it’s been a WHILE since i watched the water 7/ennies lobby arcs so im sorry if some things aren’t accurate!! also this is very self indulgent, ik he doesn’t have a ton of fans but seeing him in egghead put me back in my kaku era😇 enjoy! <3

Part 2

You walk towards the doors of the shipyard nonchalantly, but with clear direction and intent. “I need to help find a shipwright who can evaluate the Going Merry and tell us what it’ll cost to fix.” Just a few minutes ago, you’d split up from Nami, Luffy, and Usopp in favor of heading straight to the shipyard while they went to find a place to exchange all of your “stolen” treasure for berries, first. Which is how you ended up standing outside a set of massive doors and an equally tall wall to what you had been told was the Galley La Shipyard. However, after finding no buttons or opening mechanism, you try and fail to push open the incredibly heavy doors.

“Afternoon, miss. Are you looking for a way into the Galley-La Company, by chance?”

You turn around expecting someone older, who has lived a life and now finds no reason to speak in anything other than proverbs and make casual small talk using the same dialects that were popular half a century ago. But instead you’re met with a young man, no older than 25, and a nose reminiscent of Usopp’s. He’s tall, with pretty eyes and strawberry blond hair. You notice the words “Galley La” stitched on the front of his baseball cap, and realize he must work there.

“Hi! Yes, I’m looking for a way into the shipyard.” you nod earnestly.

“Allow me to introduce myself then,” the man removes his hat and holds it to his chest as a gesture of respect, “I’m Kaku, one of the shipwrights of the Galley La Company.” Then he extends his hand toward yours, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss…?”

“Y/n,” you take his hand and shake it once, “and the pleasure’s all mine.”

He smiles and (ever so slowly) lets go of your hand, then brings two fingers up under his chin in a pondering expression. “Say, you look awfully familiar miss y/n. Don’t tell me… you’re a model!”

You giggle at the compliment, “Only on wanted posters!”

“Ah, we get plenty of pirates around these parts, but I’ve never met one as pretty as yourself.” he punctuates his comment with a wink.

You smile and shake your head, “I’m sorry but I’m kind of on a time crunch; would you be able to let me into the shipyard? My crew and I need repairs on our ship.”

“Certainly, miss. Wait here, and I’ll have the doors open in a jiffy.”

As the shipwright leads the pirate through the yard, he makes quick work of getting closer to you. It doesn’t take long for Kaku to boldly rest his hand on your lower back as if to guide you in new directions. At one point he even hooks his arm around your shoulders to turn you toward a particular construction area, but his flirting does not go unnoticed.

“Next on our tour,” he gestures forward at a building with one hand, with his other on the small of y/n’s back, “this is where we design some of the new ships.”

The building is one of few within the large, outdoor shipyard. Kaku opens the door for you and announces to his fellow shipwrights, who are hard at work designing various ship parts inside, that he’s brought a guest. The building isn’t very large inside, either- just a few tables decorate the interior, all covered in blueprints and drawing tools. You wave politely around the room and even excuse yourself for the intrusion, but your tour guide puts his arm around you once again and assures you that it’s no bother. And he’s right; the ship designers either pay you no mind or kindly explain what they’re doing as you make your way through the room. Their work is intriguing, and extremely detailed- almost artistic, in a way.

Kaku catches the glint in your eyes and asks, “Are you an engineer? Or- no, an architect?” he incorrectly guesses your occupation, but his attempts are cute at the very least.

You laugh and smile, “No, I’m not. But this work is really amazing… there’s just so much attention to detail; it’s very…”

“Beautiful?” he offers with a proud grin.

“Hm. I was going to say skilled, but yeah, beautiful.” You continue in a slow lap around the room to observe the blueprints and the shipwrights drawing them. When the two of you exit, you give another wave by the door and thank the shipwrights for letting you see their work. Kaku stays behind and winks at his coworkers, who all grin or shake their heads in amusement at his clear pursuit of the visitor (you), before following you outside.

He jogs to catch up and falls into step alongside you. “So, what do you do then if you don’t mind my asking, miss y/n?” Then, he takes on a teasing tone: “Besides pirating, of course.”

“I do plenty.” You joke back. Sure, you could tell him your dream and your role on the crew but… where’s the fun in that? Besides, you barely know the guy.

“You’re awfully mysterious, miss y/n.” He not-so-discreetly observes your profile as you continue walking through the shipyard. “Say, how long are you and your crew in town?”

“Oh, well.. however long it takes for our ship to be repaired, I guess.” Then, your gaze meets his with a somewhat knowing expression. “Why do you ask?”

Kaku smirks, “I’d like to get to know you better.”

With a smirk and a hum of acknowledgment, you both continue walking side by side with an added air of flirtation in every brush of your hands or shoulders. You reach the end of the shipyard, and turn around to head back. On the way back to the front entrance, Kaku agrees to personally asses the Going Merry free of charge, “just for you.” The two of you make plans for him to come to the place where the Straw Hats hid her later that evening when he has time. Finally, you two have done a complete lap around the Galley-La Shipyard, and you find yourselves back at the entrance.

“Thank you again for agreeing to check out our ship. She means a lot to us; my crew and I.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, sort of mimicking your own nonchalant demeanor; “It’s no problem at all, miss. In fact, it’ll be my great pleasure to work for you.”

You giggle at his flirting once again, and bid him farewell. “Well, I’m going to go find my crew mates. I think they probably found us some hotel rooms by now.” (You’d all planned to stay in a hotel while in Water 7, in order for repairs to be carried out.)

Kaku nods, “Then I hope you’ll come visit me when you have the time. Or would you prefer it if I came to you?”

“…You don’t have to do that.” Awkward laughter escapes your lips.

“No, but I sure would like to,” he takes one of your hands and surrounds it with both of his, “if you’ll let me.”

This has your mouth gaping as you search for the right response… He’s so straightforward, unlike most of the young men you’ve met on your travels. “W-well, ok.”

“Ok? So, that’s a yes then?” He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood and ease your nervousness (though he does find it endearing.) “I could only accept your enthusiastic consent, miss y/n, if I were to go ahead with courting you.”

“I- Courting me?” you hold back a laugh, not wanting to tease him for his old fashioned way when you find it so charming. “Then, yes. I enthusiastically agree.”

He grins, “Swell! I think I’ll swing by your Going Merry around 5, shouldn’t talk long to asses damages and give you a quote on how much she’ll be to fix. How about we meet then?”

And you nod, “Sounds like a plan.”

“It is one.” He leans in conspiratorially and wriggles his brows, “One could even call it a date.”

You hide another smile by biting your lip and take a step back. “Right… Well, I’ll see you then!” With a wave over your shoulder, you’re off. He watches for a moment as you disappear into a more crowded area of the street and chuckles to himself.

What a sweet guy. A little old fashioned, but very polite, and so tall and handsome and- sigh.

You’re already falling for him.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #fanfic #one piece #x reader #op kaku #kaku one piece #kaku #kaku x reader #self indulgence at its finest #my man my man my man #i need him actually

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holy-puckslibrary · 3 months

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━ 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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caffeine-high · 2 months

Text

KIAN KUSHIM?

STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING KIAN GOD DAMN FOOL BODY STEALING DUST EATING OLD ASS BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT CARRIER OF THE WHORE RELIC BIGGEST CLOWN IN THE CIRCUS LAUGHED OUT OF TOWN COWBOY MOTHERFUCKING KIAN

THINKS HE KNOWS ALL YET FUCKING LOST TO PEOPLE WHO COULDN'T EVEN OPEN A FUCKING DOOR

KIAN “YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND THE AWESOMENESS OF MY PLAN” KIAN FUCKING 4000 YEARS OLD YET NEVER LEARNED EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE GIVING 13 YEAR OLD YELLING AT VIDEO GAMES CHIQUE

SPENT 4000 YEARS BEFORE BEING ABLE TO DO RITUALS, LOOSES THEM IMMEDIATELY TO A GIRL WHO ONLY TRANSCENDED FOR THE FIRST TIME A DAY PRIOR

STOP PINNING ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT KAIN I HATE HIM SO MUCH WHY DOES HE HAVE SO MANY FUCKED UP RITUALS WHY DID HE DECIDE TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT JUST SET THEM LOOSE MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERAL AFFECT ON ME

if i could go to tenebris and explore the unexplored, but the other side said kian was waiting inside i would piss on the other side’s feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back to reality, i would make a thiago and cesar special and kick that door so hard it gives me damage to close it

if i had to deal with taking kian seriously for one moment of my fucking life not only will i close the tab i will delete every bookmark and generated subtitle out of fucking spite have to watch all of desconjuração again and spend half my life in the manor for the experience of being able to then skip over the parts where kian is mentioned

yes he has a fucked up backstory to explain how he is, but it does not explain just how much of a fucking child he is wheeeh wheeh you were mean to me so now i have to kill you and keep beating your dead body while shouting about how superiour i am SHUT THE FUCK UP

if the mask they put him is does not include a fucking gag i will go all eliasbouchard on him

paypal.com/FuckingHateKianKushim every cent goes towards getting merch shipped to places it currently is not

the story should not even be about him, taking 4000 years just to get marked and get noticed by senpai then to looses all of that within a fucking year

mr i am the first occultist mr i know all, mr planned for this his whole 4000 year life and managed to so catastrophically fuck up that within a year it is undone

man’s never heard of the sunk cost fallacy, oh i've already killed thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people truly i cannot stop now FUCKER you can quit at any time ya know best time was 4000 years ago next best time was after the first life you took next next best time after the second, but truly, the (next*x^n)th best time is right fucking now

handpicked an elite team of marked and they could not even stop hating each other enough to work together and despite that they still worked with YOUR enemies to lock you up

disconjuration? well discon-tinue your fucking story mate

i fucking hope we know the exact date of your imprisonments because im going to set a reminder in my phone and every year i will see it and i will laugh at this fucker who at the height of his power could not even keep himself composed enough to not sound like a fucking preteen who needs a nap

#ordem paranormal #calamidade #'you cannot understand the awesomeness of my plan' broke me and after i was unable to take him seriously anymore #anyway! i finished calamidade!!:D #and in honour of that here is the jurgen leitner rant but then specialised to kian #caffeines cackles

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potahun · 14 days

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Do you have any WataMiku headcannons? I saw your art and now this is one of my fav ships.

!!! my watamiku agenda!!! is !!! working?!!!! <33

thank you so much, im so glad if my art could make you ship watamiku??

more than headcanons, i have a lot of scenarios, but they mostly boil down to what i wrote for this fic, so, that wataru: 1) doesn't flirt with mikuri; but 2) enrols him in spy missions in which mikuri always gets the beautiful spouse, beautiful lover role (and mikuri is so scarily good at the spy thing too); and 3) wataru is so serious about his g-man job, so damn serious, that mikuri finds him weirdly endearing / charming. the rest of the tsme gang is always there for these and daigo is always exasperated by wataru very politely asking him whether he can help pay extra-budgetary costs of missions. it's for the greater good, wataru says. g-men missions are for justice, and kanto funds arent enough (daigo believes (rightfully) that wataru is doing this strategically to cut down g-men expenses. mikuri finds all of this so amusing)

the pattern gets watamiku from mere 'i know about him and that he's a respectful champion', to acquaintances, to mikuri flirting with wataru and wataru not quite catching it, to wataru considering mikuri a friend and telling him once that 'i'm sorry i keep putting you in these situations during g-men operations. acting these roles may be a bit uncomfortable at times for you - i'm sorry' and mikuri is just ^^ 'you are a silly man' *takes off his shirt

they bond a lot over gyarados, mikuri has "water" sessions with him where they go to the pool or a lake and wataru practices a different way of using the strength of water types, by channeling their grace. mr hyper beam and the graceful contest master that is mikuri can complement each other so well <3

conclusion: i love watamiku, thank you for shipping them as well <3333

#watamiku #wataru #mikuri #wallace #champion wallace #champion lance #i still dont know what to name this ship tbh i dont think it has a english ship name yet #pokemon #pokeani #tsme5 #because wataru is now tsme gang to me (and mikuri already was)#thank you for this ask!#trivial-writing #replies #lance

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p4nishers · 2 months

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i don't know if you even posted about it but

which discworld books have you read already?? and maybe you have some favourites like I STRONGLY SUSPECT THAT IT'S NIGHT WATCH but what if im absolutely wrong..please share

anon i will lay my life down for you i've been waiting for this for so so long (literally since november. but whatever)

so. from the rincewind series i've only read the last continent and unseen academicals bc reasons. one of them being is that i am weirdly passionate about the ridcully/bursar ship only i care about and they're developed enough characters by those books for me to actually have something to ship. i can't think of other reasons but. they're there definitely i promise. oh yeah unseen academicals was by FAR my fav from the two but i found the ending a little eh so i dont consider that one a FAVORITE favorite. but its still insanely fucking good.

then i've read all of the witches novels except equal rites and that's only cause i was listening to the audiobook and then i forgot where i left off and i just didn't finish it. anyway the clear winner for me is and always will be carpe jugulum and it's DEFINITELY one of my top 3 discworld books. like i know you didn't ask for this to be a hundred pages long but fuck me that BOOK. i could write ESSAYS. also wyrd sisters is a fucking masterpiece and i wont hear a WORD against it. thank you.

all of the death books expect thief of time and i honestly i just dont want to end the series yet so i'm still putting it off. give me some time. favorites from that hmm well hogfather DUH but also reaper man. listen man it's about found family it's about bill door it's about death giving his TIME for a little girl it's about I NEVER WORE A CROWN YOU NEVER WANTED TO RULE it's THE FIRST FUCKING TIME WE MEET REG SHOE also the wizards are fucking GREAT in that one i just love it. not top 3 material but definitely a comfort read.

from the watch books i've read up to thud! which i'm still half way thru bc i'm not ready to move on from night watch like i had to listen to it on audiobook two days after i've first read it bc it just sucks you in man. does NOT let go. and yeah you're so so so right and true about night watch being one of my absolute favorites that book changed me as a person i'm still definitely not over it. like at all. also feet of clay and fifth elephant will always ALWAYS be my children and have my heart for obvious reasons (cheery. its cheery).

from the moist books i only have raising steam left and yes again im putting it off bc i dont wanna finish the series whatever dont look too deep into my issues

uh. shit this is so fucking long ok sorry. from tiffany novels i've read up to wintersmith and so far the wee free men is my absolute favorite i cried so much reading that book it's embarrassing.

small gods was my very first discworld novel and let me fucking tell you man absolutely HILARIOUS place to start when you dont know shit about the world building that's all im gonna say. also it's just so fucking good it's insane to me like yeah maybe it's not as funny as the others but the way terry wrote about faith and gods and devotion and the church and ugghh. (sidenote i read an brutha/om fic a few weeks ago that changed my fucking LIFE im being so so serious rn that was a masterpiece)

and i think the only one left is the truth which is in my opinion one of the best written discworld books from what i've read and definitely in my top 3. like otto chriek would be enough to convince me and THEN there's mr tulip's backstory and william confronting his dad (man that scene where william gives his father thousands of dollars to pay back for what he "cost" him over his life. anyone got reminded of that one ladybird scene? yeah.) and it's just like the best thing you've ever read.

im so sorry this got so long im insane i hope u got some kind of answer out of it

#the problem is carpe jugulum and night watch and the truth are all 1. for me i couldn't ever choose #discworld #gnu terry pratchett #night watch #carpe jugulum #the truth #terry pratchett #idk if u want a number but i think i've read like 23. which is insane there's so little left im rocking back and forth and back and forth

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fumblingmusings · 9 months

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what do you think/like about (romantic) usuk in historical hetalia? how do you see their dynamics? im curious

I like how they can be one of those relationships where its hard to define what they are to each other, because they have been so much at varying points. They are everything. You know? You know.

Oh look. This turned into a bit of an essay. USUK let's go.

They are genuinely one of my favourite ships and have been for like 15 years at this point. I'm a sucker for them being soft on each other. You know when a fic allows Arthur to say 'my love' or 'my darling'? Or Alfred dropping a 'sweetheart?'

You can find me on the floor like

It's the way in which they grow from 'you never fucking understood me' to 'you know me better than most anyone' and what they see and understand is in equal parts gorgeous and horrifying, and yet they still pick the other.

The fact that getting there for the two of them took a lot of hard work too! It took rivers of blood and trenches of soldiers and burning of cities and the promise of 'no-one can hurt you without also hurting me'. The willingness to end isolationism for the other.

The way the past for both of them holds nearly nothing but grief, and despite this, they still think their futures are entirely entangled and genuinely believe it to be the right course of action. The formation of an unconditional affection from what was - for Alfred - a series of targets he never had a chance of hitting and - for Arthur - the projection of a love which never truly existed in the first place because they just did not understand each other.

Arthur maybe puts in more work than Alfred in the early years, but its his fault their relationship is in tatters to begin with, so...

Personally, and this leans into what I think canon tries to show, is they go through the following stages :

Arthur is a teenager pretending to be an adult to big himself up as this big powerful nation but at the end of the day he is pretty much still a child himself. He completely fails to connect and understand Alfred to the cost of any warmth the two may have had for each other.

Alfred tries once to salvage something from the ashes, but is blocked by Matthew (I don't blame Matthew for doing so, Alfred was barging in unannounced to his house and Mattie was trying to do right by a sick Arthur) and thus Alfred resolves not to try again. Their relationship thereafter is purely economic and formal, and as Arthur retreats into isolationism, Alfred goes West, and they do not think about each other. They don't see each other for a long time. That wound festers and weeps, becoming infected at the back of their minds.

Arthur thinks, lying to himself that, 'I never loved him. Not once,' and focuses his attention elsewhere. Alfred knows he made the right choice and that expecting anything from Arthur is just an exercise in disappointment.

When the 19th century begins to end, and Arthur is realising that A) his power is fading as much as America's is rising B) he has no pals to soften the fall and C) he is lonely. Him being rejected by Germany and then his response to that is to ask Alfred is interesting to me. He's angling it from the perspective of 'who are the nations that I deem as my equal' at this point, but that shows how Alfred has risen in his estimations, even passively. He immediately recognises that Alfred is lonely, too. They mirror each other, except Arthur is initially far more willing to be emotionally vulnerable. Almost running opposite to what you would expect, but Arthur is an emotionally vulnerable character. He always has been. Especially with Alfred.

But Alfred, as we know, shoots him down rather harshly (for a whale... jokingly. i think). It's the way that Arthur continuously trusts Alfred with those moments of emotional vulnerability even though the man is far more likely to laugh in his face about it.

I flip flop on when they genuinely truly start to reconcile. Maybe in the trenches, the muddy foundations are laid. They are still cautious around each other, but maybe Alfred breaks, just for a moment, and Arthur is privileged enough to be allowed to watch (but not to comfort). Maybe in the 20s, when they are both very drunk, they admit that what they were to each other was not real necessarily and the regret of such a realisation. Was it really just a label they assigned to pretend they weren't crippingly lonely even in the other's presence? But they go no further than that. They don't voice out loud that that moment felt more real and genuine than a thousand new suits or toys or dance lessons or taxes. They're not quite there yet.

Then honestly Lying in that Sound, Tonight does such an impeccable job of writing the two coming (not saying you have to read a 100,000 word fic to understand why I love them but it don't hurt) together that I really cannot see it any other way at this point - the argument where Arthur has to point out it's Alfred who is stuck on the past, not Arthur. Arthur, meanwhile, is very much struggling to see a future worth living for at that point and really isn't worried about what they were two hundred years ago.

Arthur, who at some points is struggling to remember why he is even fighting because he is so goshdang tired. And Alfred is young, and strong, and bright, and I think Arthur maybe still has rose tinted glasses on when it comes to Alfred and sees him as 'better' than old Europe in many ways. I mean he'll scoff at whatever spiel Alfred regurgitates about being the hero but... well he is Arthur's. Just a bit.

I think though by the 70s those glasses well and truly crack. He sees that Alfred can be ambitious for the sake of ambition, can be cruel for the sake of being cruel, etc. etc. Like Alfred is just a man. A bright, beautiful, spiteful, self absorbed, joyful, kind man. And Arthur is always just a little in awe of him. I think for Alfred, Arthur represents quiet, steady, cautious and un-conditionality, all of which are things he lacks or craves. Arthur is not some great towering giant (you used to be so big). He's just... tired damp little Arthur.

So yeah. I like that there's no masking around each other. They have learned through experience exactly who the other is, whilst still believing that the better version of the other is their true self. They have genuinely seen the other at their absolute worst and most monstrous, and decided I still want you and I am not afraid and... I just like it.

Yeah.

Also they're cute and when I got reminded of the sexy carnival outfit strip I took psychic damage.Unhinged behaviour from the two of them.

#hetalia #hws england #hws america #usuk #headcanon #~they~#are whatever I want them to be to each other #my little dollies #dance puppets dance!!!#q&a

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dwindlinghaze · 4 months

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hi, so happy that you’re having an event !! can i please get a 🩰 and 🪞 (just the vibe you get from me and my akk ig, also i looove you theme so very looking forward to the moodboards)

male preference, marauders era / well, im 21, studying literature and linguistics in the uni. im leo (which says a lot)/ im really into literature - my fav books are probably classic english novels like little women and frankenstein. but i also adore sci fi and fantasy / i love abba and taylor swift a lot / i love wearing sweaters, classic suits and vintage shirts with collars and puffy sleaves. also obsessed with jewellery (pearls, golden rings an hoops) / my weird obsessions are true crime and supernatural (the tv show)/ i love going out in cinema and theatre/ i am bubbly until you are disrespectful to me or which is worse to my friends, my bestie says she’s scared when im mad/ hate stupidity and being late/ hope to become a researcher in the field of education 🦢🕯️

heyy ty for participating in my 500 celebration 🫧

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

🩰 : i ship you with remus lupin

╰┈➤ remus loves spending time with you in silence while reading english classics. it could be in his dorm, library, couch, anywhere.

remus' head was positioned against your thigh, he was listening attentively as you read 'little women' out loud to him. "I can't say 'yes' truly, so I won't say it at all," you said. "do they end up together?" the boy looked up at you. "jo and laurie?" you ran your fingers through his hair as your face stretched into an amused smile. remus hummed in reply. "well, we've got to finish the book to find out," you answered although you knew the ending all too well.

╰┈➤ remus loves seeing you in sweaters all snuggly and warm, he'd lend you his sometimes too. oh and also, he thinks your style looks so flattering on you and would definitely buy clothing items or jewelries that remind him of you. you didn't care if it was expensive or not, you love anything that he gives you. pearls, rings, and hoops give the vibes of elegance which he adores so much!!

both of you were shopping together and he stumbled across a gorgeous piece of clothing. "wait, this one will look stunning on you! try it please?" his finger pointed to a puff sleeved top with pearls decorating it. "well, what do you think?" you questioned as you did a spin with your arms out. "i love it." he ended up buying it for you and you kiss him in return.

╰┈➤ you and remus will have a movie night twice a month to watch sci-fi movies and if you're having a rough day, he'd put on supernatural- because he knew it's your favourite- while cuddling you on the bed with different kinds of snacks to cheer you up. he would take you out to the cinema when there's a good film you've been eager to watch or on special days he will get you tickets to see live theatres.

"honey, c'mere to bed," he said when he saw you walking in, face tired and body exhausted. "i've got your favourite snacks," he continued as you plopped down beside him, a sigh escaping your lips. "thanks, love," you gave remus a chaste kiss before positioning yourself to get comfortable under the blanket with him. "relax yourself, dove, you've had enough of work today," he kissed the top of your head before pressing play on the screen.

"oh my god you did not!" you gasped when remus held out two tickets to watch 'the phantom of the opera'. "i know you wanted to watch a live performance lately so...." he said shyly as a wide smile appeared across your face. "it must cost a fortune!" you shook your head in disbelief, looking at him with love and admiration. "don't worry about that." he just loves making you happy.

╰┈➤ after hearing from your friend about how scary you were when you're mad, the last he'll do is making you mad. he's a bit reckless sometimes so he'd be more careful about what he says or does.

╰┈➤ remus is a man of discipline. he would never be late!!!

╰┈➤ he is so supportive of your dreams of becoming a researcher in education. we all know he's very academically smart and well educated so he gives you little opinions (though you don't need it because i'm sure you know what you're doing but love hearing his thoughts anyway)

╰┈➤ i also ship you with james potter solely because you both have fire signs and uh hello?? twin fire signs (yes a taylor reference)

#dwindlinghaze's 500 celebration #moots <3 #🩰 dancing princesses #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #marauders x reader

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bramble-scramble · 6 months

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so i just saw the necromancer Woodrow AU thing, and now im curious..

what would Phantom think of this Woodrow, and how would they interact with each other in this specific universe in general? im a sucker for AUs that make a character fucked up, so thats why i wanted to ask

Well! Recently I said I'd come up with a new scenario, and it was actually putting Phandrow into this AU, since this and the werewolf one are the only Woodrow AUs I have that are untouched by my persistent shipping, lol.

I'll probably write it out eventually, but the problem is... I like the idea I've come up with but it was just a little silly thing, and I don't want to commit to saying it's the only thing that would/could happen. At any rate, being supernatural himself, Phantom wouldn't be freaked out by Woodrow's secret, and would therefore be one of the few people he could tell about it. (The only other people who knew were Sweetlopek, who had himself become undead, and Dryad, who figured it out on her own- I figure after he gets the bony hand in the original story he would just start wearing black gloves at all times and no one would really question it. They just think he developed a skin condition or burned himself due to his bad luck, lol.)

From there, I feel like there are so many different ways Phandrow could go in the necromancer AU. Phantom being a more unscrupulous person who loves (and needs) attention, you could see him encouraging his boyfriend to tap deeper into his powers and raise an army of undead who admire both the necromancer who brought them back to existence, and his partner, who can command them due to Phantom's natural game-boss charisma. Whereas beforehand Woodrow just restored things to "life" out of pity, and because he thought they died unnaturally or too soon, and then let them go on their way... Phantom would encourage him to reach deep into the graveyards of Palette Prime and Spooky Trails to raise the dead for specific purposes. This helps Woodrow gain confidence, but in turn he becomes a corrupted version of himself. With an army of half-decayed creatures at his command, he is now safe from anyone who made him an outcast, and no longer needs to keep his powers hidden... but at what cost?

#mario plus rabbids #mario + rabbids #alter answers #phandrow #woodrow #ts woodrow #the phantom of the bwahpera #soh necromancer au

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hanasnx · 6 months

Note

wait what are your thoughts on sabe and vader? just curious

MINORS DNI 18+

well :D i just wrote and posted a one shot about them bcos i could not stop thinking about them

theyre an interesting ship to me, or at least a dynamic. i havent gotten to read the actual comic run that features them but ive seen some bits and pieces and im pretty sure i know how it ends. but idc, i like seeing them together. i like the idea of vader having a soft spot for her all because she was so largely connected to his late wife, and looks like her. i like that conflict, i really wanna sink my teeth into it. the fact he knows he shouldn't be around her, that he should keep his distance, and yet he keeps hanging around.

i dunno if he helps and also sabotages her and her brigade because he doesnt want them to discover padme's true killer but he also does want them to discover it bcos he wants to be punished in a way? i know eventually things are uncovered and it doesnt end well but man the ride is so fucking fun.

its all so layered and interesting it makes me froth at the mouth. as a smut writer, i cant help but imagine what sex between them would be like. sabe would have to know something deeper is going on here, and vader would hate himself for using her as a last resort to connect with his dead wife. he goes back and forth between imagining her as padme, feeling guilty for it and condemning himself, and focusing on the traits that make sabe... well, sabe. focus on the traits he admires about her that are either separate from his wife and/or are ones that remind him of padme.

his juxtaposition of protecting her at all costs, but is ultimately is his own undoing for a budding friendship. i love it when he fucks things up for himself, he does it a lot.

and sabe, sabe has no fucking idea who this guy is and why hes so weird. shes probably heard his legends, and here he is. awkwardly waiting around for action. seemingly insisting on joining her cause of his own accord, certainly this cant be sanctioned by the emperor of the galactic empire. and he'll still put his signature vader spin on things, acting like he runs her ship and her brigade works for him and shall listen to him unquestionably. sabe is probably constantly confused, never a dull moment. one second hes holding her bridal style and the next he's yelling at her for prying on him and his feelings during brooding time and acting like she should Just Know Better. sabe is trying to avenge her dead friend, a cold case that the galaxy seemingly forgot, swept under the rug. and the one guy youd least expect, one of the highest higher ups you can be in the government of the literal space dictatorship, is interested in helping her (or at least lets her think hes helping her as an excuse to get closer to her because of some freaky unknown obsession bcos she bares a striking resemblance to his dead wife who surprise! theyre both not over)

like how do you not just

#vader x sabé #dv #sabé #indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!!#anon #smutty

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swordsmans · 1 year

Note

I neeeeeeed to know about "luffy slips into an alternate timeline/dimension where he "died" instead of sabo and meets an older ace/sabo" I live for stuff like this please

sorry this took me so long! i. didn't realize you had sent an ask rip (that stupid sanji post has annihilated my activity page im in hell)

omg this one is actually one that i'm least likely to actually write because it has the potential to be Long (as you can see with the giant outline), but i wanted to kind of play around with the idea of luffy-less world in the post-timeskip era, because i really like time travel/redo fics where everyone is better/stronger but i think it would be NEAT if the straw hats had to fix things that might have happened if luffy died as a kid. think "doomed timeline" (if that means anything to you). even though the premise is technically ASL i am a straw hat bitch through and through so it's actually more of straw hat fic than the original idea.

here's a copy/paste under the cut (you will see that i write a lot of notes to myself in these things)

takes place post-timeskip era

sabo has no connection to the revolutionary war; he and ace set out as pirates together. because of this, they are not associated with whitebeard (therefore no marineford); instead, they are associated with shanks somehow (maybe; not subordinates tho)

they're no longer two captains one ship, two captains (allied) on two ships (SEE ALT 2)

straw hats have all experienced some form of "bad" ending that leaves them jaded, cynical, or (for some) borderline evil

luffy = strength, joy, freedom optimism; most arcs involve rescues, but i dont think any of the straw hats are "weak" enough to die during their initial crises without luffy, otherwise they wouldnt be straw hats--just win at a massive cost and the next three years would be significantly harder

zoro - frees himself from the courtyard and continues being the demon of the east blue but--

nami - gets the money to free her village, arlong refuses to free cocoyashi; nami seeks out the demon of the east blue in order to take out arlong (in exchange for the money she earned and that arlong has stashed). fight is brutal but they kill arlong; nojiko dies, nami ends up traveling with zoro afterwards bc she has no reason to stay behind with nojiko gone.

they become a well-known, ruthless, and efficient bounty hunting duo on the grand line (bc it earns money and zoro wouldnt make it out of the east blue without her); both are jaded as FUCK bc zoro's dream is stagnant and nami is still wrestling with the guilt of failing her family years later, they're also bloodthirsty because money + power fills the void

usopp - kaya dies in the initial plot to kill her, usopp is blamed and flees the village; gets picked up by the buggy pirates (please this could be so funny please but remember this is supposed to be sad but think of how funny this could be though circus sharpshooter usopp he and buggy would be. so funny in the same room together)

sanji - stays at the baratie until the vinsmokes have a use for him. "wedding"/WCI goes through(?) and/or sanji is a member of the big mom pirates; pudding refuses to kill sanji, big mom is going to kill her but sanji bargains for her life; germa mods are awakened; in order to protect zeff+etc, pretends to be emotionless like his brothers, ends up working as a germa agent instead of staying on WCI because now pudding is as much of a liability as zeff or smth (pudding tho??? pls be nice to her but figure smth out). sanji war crimes

chopper/brook/jinbei remain stagnant

franky - whore do not forget this man was a gang leader who did actual violence; franky family is bigger and badder than ever, babyy

robin - can't stay with crocodile (boring bland unoriginal) put her somewhere she can experience problems; maybe she leaves, ends up on water 7, encounters franky; joins franky family(?) for protection but since she's no longer under a warlord's protection she's fair game for marines/bounty hunters; continues to work as an assassin tho and doesn't stay around much to protect the franky family from the people after her

franky family could potentially work as an alt strawhats "maybe i dont want to die actually" environment for robin; franky helps robin stabilize a little but since they're both kind of Messed Up it's less of a "we're fine actually" and more like "we're fucked up but at least we're fucked up together". they run a Criminal Organization together. they are a gang. robin is an assassin. no one is happy go lucky here even if they have found measure of """"""peace""""""

luffy encounters ace/sabo, it's emotional (obvs; this is self-indulgent)

however his brothers are both fundamentally fine, they are thriving and alive--there's nothing here to fix. you know who isn't fine? his crew.

convinces ace/sabo that they need to find them--whether it's to convince them to join their crew or just to make sure they're okay (whats the motivation here besides luffy wanting them to be happy because they're his family? does he need one? does it even matter?)

ALT 1 are luffy's crew here or did luffy enter the doomed timeline alone. if so--everyone? or just a few

interesting interactions: doomed/real zoro (consider the implications of a zoro who has stagnated/given up on his dream; this guy's got issues but our guy has no self-preservation however maybe they both have no self preservation. interesting convo about worth or value of life without drive)

doomed/real nami (LOTS of grief here babes, but maybe an interesting convo here about strength vs vulnerability)

doomed/real sanji (ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my god can you imagine. can you imagine how much that would mess him up to see himself become Sanji Vinsmoke)

luffy has fundamentally changed all of their lives for the better but the straw hats are all strong as individuals (physically and emotionally) even before they join the straw hats. that's the point

even if the "doomed" straw hats encounter/join luffy would their lives fundamentally change for the better or are the experiences they accumulate as straw hats what changes them--it's not just luffy going "ur mine now you're happy" it's the development they go through during events/by interacting with each other; maybe some choose to stay where they are but have a shift in perspective of some kind

at least try with asl here

is sabo still kind of unstable? is ace still depressed? how does luffy's absence change them?

ALT 2 consider that they drift apart without luffy to hold them together; luffy makes an effort to reunite them?

#answers #oh my god this is so long #some of my outlines are like this unfortunately #the one i am using for my current fic is just under 8k words #bc it has whole convos and stuff in it and like half a dozen alts #doomed timeline au #gyro.odt

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xplrvibes · 2 months

Note

part two. Ive decided to make comments as i watch big bulks so i don’t forget what i’m thinking.

1. the more sam and colby talk abt cody and satori… the more i believe them. like maybe im just a chameleon to opinion but they genuinely seem to believe in c&s and i wasn’t there, i haven’t experienced any of this so i think i’m back to ‘hey maybe it wasn’t all bs and this might be real’. I also firmly do not believe cody was cracking joints bc how? they felt it in the floor, heard it in the walls.. doesn’t make sense. also if the house ever goes up again they need to put an offer down. i get what sam was saying and it not being practical (properly value 300k but asking for 1.4m? that’s steep). it’d be a great investment tho.

2. with sam and colbys luck, one of them would get the most undeniable evidence of the paranormal (someone levitating, thrown a distance, possessed…) and people would still be like ‘fake!’ Lol Also gram (?) just mentioned a similar experiment to what we were discussing the other day! except he said take random people and not tell them which is haunted, we were saying put snc in a place and not tell them its haunted and then see what happens. they liked that idea so who knows… they might lol

3. i will always be so fascinated and proud of colby for how he handled and continues to be so transparent about his cancer journey. i say journey bc it will continue to be apart of his life for years to come, whether through medical appointments, anniversary anxieties, or just talking about it. mad props to him, mad props.

4. i just got a series of flashes in my mind of black and white photos of snc respectively announcing engagements to their partners and births of their children and it made me smile. one day, boys. one day that’ll be your future, your “purpose”.

done.

- aussie anon

always nice to listen to podcasts where everyone knows each other well, its less interviewy and more just a convo with friends caught on camera.

Also I hope their merch is still in stores next time i’m in the usa bc i would definitely grab a hoodie. just don’t wanna pay the insane conversion rate and shipping costs. i priced it, a hoodie + shipping works out to be $149aud. sorry boys… can’t do it 😂

1, I believe that they believe in Cody and Satori. I've never called snc's credibility into question with that whole mess, and it kind of annoys me that others do - not cause I think they are above reproach or something, but because people love to say "oh snc never bothered to even try to debunk these guys, so they must be in on it." Like, WHAT? They literally flew back across the country weeks later to try and debunk it cause they knew full well that there were a lot of ways out and around this. When the controversy started, they reached out to C&S and asked if they could run more tests and C&S said no. SNC, having done all of that, came out still believing them while also fully acknowledging that they could be faking - not much else they can do besides that right there, so why they are still coming under fire about it when C&S are the "frauds" is beyond me.

Literally, do y'all want them to kidnap these two people, tie them up, remove their shoes, and force them to do this barefoot? Do you want them to release this additional footage they have that C&S did not give them permission to release that they could probably get sued over (since releasing it would be done without consent) and possibly blacklisted from the entire paranormal community, just so reddit can have their fucking jollies? Like...?? Go after C&S and let snc continue to have their beliefs on the whole thing, since they did everything they felt they could to disprove this before making their decision on where they stood on the issue.

Sorry for the rant, that whole situation just annoys me.

As far as them almost buying the house - that made me laugh, cause we joked about the possibility of them doing that on here back when the house went up for sale. So knowing it almost happened is not only funny, but also explains some vague shit they said back in the day about possibly owning a haunted house lol.

2, You know, Sam's exuberant insistence that he wants to have some horrible thing happen to him so that he could have the experience and finally know for 100% that the paranormal is real is exactly the problem with Sam, and I've been calling that out for years. The fact that he can so casually say it out loud made me both feel vindicated and perturbed by him and his hubris (here's a good example of his hubris again lol).

But yea, I hope they take the idea and run with it!

3, I thought it was interesting to hear him be honest about the fact that this whole situation with the cancer is hitting him harder now than it did while he was in the thick of it. That is trauma. That is shock and adrenaline wearing off, and hindsight creeping in. I think it's important to be able to come out and say, "Yea, not all of this is a positive, and some of this will stick with you for years." Colby tries his damndest (to a fault sometimes) to always come across as a glass all the way full and overflowing kind of guy, or a stoic soldier who doesn't complain and keeps his head up, but then he's also very open about his emotional state, and vaguely alludes to his deep mental health struggles from time to time and I just think there's a well of really dark emotion buried deep, deep inside of him that would be healthier for him and everyone to let out every once in a while.

Anyway, that was a side tangent to the main point, which is that it is very impressive that he continues to put himself out there and speak so candidly about such a stigmatized topic.

Although, I don't think he grasps what the word "celibate" means, but he tried and that's what counts lol

4, I think it's high comedy that these two act like they've never given thought to their kids growing up together when they literally were just joking about this on xplrclub a few months ago. These two have brains like sieves lol.

Also, the looks on their faces when the host said "you should have girlfriends that are friends with each other" like yea, they are working on that right now, as a matter of fact.

And I think they'll be in Zumiez for a long time, so you should be good!!

#asks #aussie anon #snc video review

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gay-sin · 11 months

Text

dreaming about alternatives & togetherness

sometimes i go back on instagram and it is soooo baddddd every time!!! i get sucked in and it makes me addicted to proving myself at an unsustainable pace even if i'm only on there for a little while. being offline also sucks though because it is so alienating. this world is already so alienating and it feels strange to compound my alienation by just running away from the problem. but what else is there? i linked a podcast above that i really love. this episode made me feel so hopeful for a future where sharing art online wouldn't be hell. because of the alienating hell of instagram and the lack of alternatives (although tumblr does feel somewhat better i think?) i often feel alone in my frustrations and desires for change. but obviously i'm not alone and i'm not the only one who is upset. there are really smart people dreaming up really smart alternatives and new ways of sharing/relating to art and each other online. everyone knows that social media as it now exists sucks but it feels totally obligatory. it's not though!

i want to talk about alternatives. fun ones!! new things to try!! even if most alternatives fail, i think that dreaming of a better future is what we all need right now so that we can fight to make it a reality. i often feel deflated and defeated about the world but today im feeling hopeful. this is what imagining can do to you!!

i've been trying to practice my own alternatives to instagram/social media for a long time even though i can't be perfect about my own ideals. i'm just one person and i think all of these issues need collective solutions. but until then... here are my own individual solutions that i've found that make my life feel more peaceful and connected. yes, a lot of them are about art because art and life are not separate!! here they are: emailing and sending letters to my friends, getting a flip phone and forcing myself to remain present and problem-solve in real time, creating art/doing things that won't be shared online, making art/doing things that i'm bad at/can't post about/take a long long time (process over product), creating art in the material world (i <3 sculptures), using art as play and experimentation (not a place for ego but for earnest attempts at discovery), collaborating with others in art, generally slowing down, etc...

the reason that i went back on instagram was to share that i made a zine. i wanted to make a zine so people that appreciate my art could interact with it in physical space that isn't instagram. ironically those people are all on instagram so i had to use the stupid app to break the news.... smh!!

i ordered 33 of the zines and they will be here in 2 weeks!!! im very excited to see how they turn out!! it is a collection of photos, drawings, & paintings that i've made over the past 8 years. it's mostly more recent stuff though. i just wanted to put them all together to map the things that I continue to make art about and also people that i've made art with/taken photos of over the years. my photos are really a collaboration between me and my subject. most of the time my photos are of those that i am closest to. the zine is full of people that have really meant something to me and that makes it feel precious to me. anyways... yeah. i'm thinking about people, places, ideas, & patterns that i return to. what is significant about those things? what do i bring to them each time? how do i recontextualize them each time that i return, with my new experiences and ways of seeing? how do they continue to shape me? i have no answers but i have questions and guesses.

i will need to charge $7 to make up printing/shipping costs for anyone outside of boston. if you're in boston, it will just be $5 and i can hand it to you. that will be nice. if you don't want one - that's also totally fine!! im just trying to stop complaining about how much things suck and do something about it all. well, i'll actually still probably be complaining at least a little bit. but i also want to attempt to find better ways of being. i want to imagine a better future. a future that feels less like a race, a competition, a path of endless alienation. i just want peace and love! that sounds dumb but it's soooo true.

#instagram #social media #art zines

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