#did not expect to write so much

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Not beating the allegations.

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𖦹. “𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐖𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔?” — (𝐒𝐘𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐘)

𖦹. — 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. as they say, every innocent church boy has once been fucked by their cute friend in a bustling cafe, at least once—right? or something along the lines of that. 8.4k words. (unplanned.)

𖦹. — 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . . . purest of people, male sydney who so stupidly thought this was merely meant to be a study session, dubious consent that slowly morphs into full-on yearning, established friendship, cock sucking, fingering, anal fucking all in the holiest of pretext to teach, manipulative, model student, male reader (amab) that really just means well, yeah. least, sydney thinks so while being bent in half.

𖦹. — 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬, doc?: “I think he was cute to begin with, but then he patted at his belly spouting some shit about how ‘warm’ it was after my pc shot his load inside and I’ve never needed anything more than to bend some bitch over in the cathedral they pray to.”

Although it may have been unfortunately irritating to some, actually, more like many, really—he’s always truthfully prided himself for his unwavering professionalism and unmatched dedication when it came to school itself. More notably, his unending studies that seemingly only keep on piling up like an intimidating mountain never meant to be ultimately finished.

Or perhaps, what he’s naturally grown more accustomed to for having blindly pursued it for the entire span of his youthful, blossoming life; the Temple’s dictating principles—the questionable need and obligation to importantly preserve his untainted being, virginity, to be more precise. Dutifully stray himself further from the tempting sin that is, well. . . the numerous activities of life itself, most of which his peers mindlessly participate in themselves. As though they could hope to pitifully understand the church boy’s stifling path towards the underlying answers he continuously seeks, strives forward in an unnerved will to earnestly discover.

See, there’s undeniably no need to try and somehow explain the sheer amount of efforts Sydney irrefutably puts in to eventually achieve his long-term goals, correct?

At least, he’s positively and oh, so naively thought so up till now. Ah, brother Jordan’s perpetually warned him of others that may possibly lead him astray, whether intentionally so or not. Stray, golden, strawberry blonde strand of hair delicately placed behind the curved tip of his heated ear, well-preserved lips discreetly pursued inwards into a thinly veiled frown because honestly—he’s confidently speculated of you as otherwise, hm. And weren’t you supposedly meant to be his sole salvation of sparkling light and reprieve from that terrible and horribly selfish town you both regrettably reside in?

Which, couldn’t be more wrong for that matter—could he? Foolishly and frustratingly so, all too trusting that he can sometimes be. Consistently mindful of the potential threats that lay at bay, promising utter defilement if given the chance to swiftly sink their claws and pearly canines in the tender flesh of the boy’s untouched being.

Particularly, not this time it seems—not with your overly distracting presence perfectly positioned in front of his calmly seated own.

If it were anyone else, certainly they would’ve predictably seen this coming way before he has so, but pristine innocence itself—has always been the initiate’s first and foremost, silly shortcoming, hasn’t it? Oh, pointlessly stupid, Sydney. . . It’s inherently your fault for happily sticking along to the deceptively beautiful place that is, the starving tiger’s drooling maw, yeah?

So, really—it’s merely natural for it to have somehow derailed the way it did. An absently made lie to falsely convince himself of such, that he’s indeed above the rest of this sickeningly pervasive town in return, isn’t he? Right??

Unlikely. For as the all too well-known saying allegedly goes; the excessively ambitious bird unreasonably flew close towards the infinitely scorching sun, right?

Hah—

“. . .What are you doing?” Curiously peering upwards from the neatly laid and spread sheets of papers he’s meticulously sorted atop the creaking, wooden table. Almost faltering in the instinctual, heated sigh that’s bound to solemnly come out of his usually quiet mouth as his shimmering gaze automatically locks with your. . . annoyingly bored one, apparently. Since, what’s the exact point to be pleasantly inquiring him with the delightful idea to silently study together in some bustling cafe stationed nearby if you, yourself—won’t even tentatively participate in your aforementioned suggestion, huh??

“Studying.” Poorly fabricated falsehood at most, he can effortlessly see through that. Straying eyes sluggishly evading his as if to secretly rid yourself from some misplaced guilt incessantly residing within your thudding chest. Though, swiftly recovering with a quipped, cheeky retort of your own soon after—as it is so expectantly common of you to do, yet still. . . can’t truly bring himself to be sincerely annoyed by that endearing antic of yours. “—and modestly admiring the view in front of me. I can’t do that?”

Hmph, that sole and insignificant compliment shouldn’t have suddenly brought forth a crimson flush to his cheeks, beautifully painted his complexion a deeper hue for your. . . ah, so stupidly childish, cherry lips to unabashedly grin back at in muted satisfaction for his lack of response. Ahah, pretty please—do get a grip on yourself, Sydney, before he’s indecently ruined you too!

Seriously. . . For a well renowned model student collectively respected by most at the establishment you two simultaneously attend—you’re ostensibly quite the sneaky trickster on multiple occasions, aren’t you? Especially towards him for some particular reason which, he hasn’t remotely registered as to why yet. Yes, he’s been somehow oblivious to your unmistakably evident flirting during all this incessantly wasted time because well, that’s how he’s been continuously raised to be, despite the strikingly opposite demeanour of his other parent, Sirris.

However, fine. The religious boy might as well reluctantly grant you this momentarily acquired victory for his infuriatingly stunned silence to eventually catch up to, someday. Arrogantly emboldened by that mind muddling smile you oh, so proudly wear amongst your enraptured features—further pushed towards the edge by the reasonable expectation that he’s bound to similarly allow you to selfishly step all over him as so many others do, but no. . . Not today, considering the weighted amount of importance he relentlessly dedicates to maintaining nearly perfect grades amidst his plentiful classes.

Merely an exception made for that one tiring, swimming course however, as athleticism and specifically, raw stamina has unluckily never been his main strong suit. Truly no need to embarrassingly reminisce upon the various moments he’s nearly drowned in the incessant, violent waves of water within the limited pool, helplessly fought for his life in that surely. . . dangerous area. At least, he nearly thinks of it so—unless, some other snickering students were the guilty culprits responsible of disrespectfully splashing loads of liquid in his unfortunate direction? Oh, that too.

Though, that harmless treatment seemingly ceased altogether the second you consequently stepped into his previously mundane life. Huh. An enigma, indeed. Must be what gaining a friend in your reclusive bubble similarly does, probably. Yes, probably. Unbeknownst to the agitated huffs and shrill shrieks delinquents ultimately make at the sheer sight of your figure constantly sticking to his blissfully ignorant side, y’know—like a true, amiable friend does, right?

“You said we’d only be coming here to study, but all you’ve been doing for the past hour is just. . . staring at me! Do I have something on my face? Is that it?? Or is it—really, really that amusing to poke fun at me, huh??” Stubbornly settled upon the illogical fact that this is unquestionably a ploy methodically thought out by yours truly, objectively intended to spur him in a state of constant nervousness and mumbling bashfulness around you. Well, that is to say, he’s not sparingly letting you off the hook this time, no!

Conclusively blind to the sudden thump! he’s sorely responsible for by—of course, hastily slamming the dusty cover of his used, worn book downwards, fiercely landing itself against the furniture’s now disorganized surface. And there he inevitably goes as per expected, apprehensively jumping in fright to his own undoing with a clumsy huff. Immediate jolt coursing throughout the entirety of his curved spine upwards before finally, nearly losing balance of his glassed frames delicately placed atop the curvature of his pointed nose.

Oh. Maybe he’s—uncontrollably lost his cool there, huh. Talk about being humiliatingly disruptive in an otherwise, intimately tranquil space solely reserved for relaxing and such. Fortunately, it seems you’ve mainly reserved a private space firstly for that, having feasibly anticipated that sudden, usually concealed temper of his.

“Ah. . . Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud. I’m just slightly confused and frustrated at the same time because you said you’d—we’d study together for once, and I was looking forward to it, you know?” Ultimately deciding upon awkwardly easing the persistent prickle within the all-too delicate curve of his bobbing throat or, is it his ears, maybe? Forsaken by how sheer embarrassment comes to muddle his aimless apologies, strains his well-placed, intentional words in a desperate attempt at making you understand that first and foremost—he genuinely cherishes the preciously made, quality time you both simultaneously spend together. No matter how futile or short-lived it may be in the face of. . . unavoidable external factors like the distinctly noisy school bell, yet there’s no such rule when it comes to that, especially outside of the school’s limited bounds.

Although, evidently—he only intends for that to be solely interpreted as a friend namely would because certainly. . . the insistent butterflies that wildly flutter within the depths of his tensed tummy, has his thumping heartbeat hurriedly beating against the cage of the flustered boy’s chest is—something most friends frequently experience when the other is decisively near, yes?

. . .Certainly so. There’d be no other explicit reason as to why—the initial shock at his spurred reaction is soon dampened by a slight snicker from your cunning mouth. My, do you actually find the irritated pout presently adorning his puckered lips all that funny, too?

“You have a lot to say on the matter, I see. It’s true, I did make you come here to study with me—but, don’t you think your way of studying is pretty inefficient, Syd?” Purely uninterested in whatever recent remarks he’s made up till and, oh my god—do you ever faithfully listen to him or merely play coy with the poor, naive initiates to your hearts content? Incidentally irked at how a hint of curiosity tentatively peeks forward at your unforeseen commentary, has his nose scrunched upwards in utter bewilderment.

Inefficient? Him?? To say, he’s notoriously prided himself on swiftly achieving far more of the Temple’s various duties and additionally, more than a few unmotivated members that garner no interest towards the establishment’s dedicated ambition. Unsurprisingly so, preferring to sluggishly dust at some messied rooms laid askew, here and there—which, largely ends in one carelessly dozing atop the tousled beds, even going so far as to set the unused broom aside like it’s particularly nothing!

“M-Me?? You think my method of studying is inefficient? How so? What’s unfulfilling about it?” Overwhelmingly astonished, perhaps more taken aback as to why you might necessarily think so considering his sticking-to-the-books methods he habitually executes with thought out grace. Still, can’t stubbornly deflect such a statement if the model student himself is the one lamentably pointing that out. . . .Is he really, though?

“Hm, let’s put it this way—what’s the point of studying if the methods used aren’t efficient and doesn’t aid in easing your brain into learning, huh? Like for example, what’s your second weakest subject in school again?” Thoughtful mind earnestly coming into focus at the subtle nudge of your teasing foot provokingly pressed against his crossed one beneath the low-end table as if to. . . ahah, temporarily catch him off guard, impatiently center the focus of his working brain onto you—as if, he isn’t doing that already. Sometimes, or more like the majority of it all, you truthfully do act like a petulant child eagerly begging for its parents unwavering attention.

And that, he’ll happily give forth to you if such is needed. Solely if you wistfully promise to do the same in return, of course—fair trade and all, regardless of the inborn selflessness he proudly possesses. Properly trimmed fingertips timidly curling inwards in mild embarrassment at having to carefully admit this aloud to you, of all people, despite already consciously knowing it yourself, too.

“Well, I mean—you know what it is, it’s. . . science, I suck at science. Despite my mom’s teachings, I just can’t seem to grasp the material properly no matter how hard I study. Maybe, I’m just really bad at it.” Alright, honestly. . . that little sore admission of his, did somewhat drain whatever lingering aspirations he potentially withheld earlier in hopes of truly understanding the inexplicably difficult basis of that confusing subject. Shoulders sorrowfully slumping downwards, resembling that of a—funnily enough, dejected little puppy that’s been meanly kicked by its owner or better put, crudely denied a sweetened treat for its lacking efforts.

“But, ah—you’re pretty good at science, aren’t you? In fact, you’re my mom’s favourite! She talks about you nonstop, all the time. To the point that it gets a lil’ bit annoying, though I can’t really complain, can I? That’s just how good of a student you are, after all!” And there it comes, as endlessly expected. . . an unspoken plea for your eventual needed aid that’ll be so nicely granted in due time, since—well, that’s exactly why you’ve generously brought him here, correct?

“. . .So, is it fine if you taught me instead? I feel like I’d understand it better if it came from your mouth. Your way of explaining is more comprehensible than my mom’s weird—you know, comparisons to. . . uhm, uh. . . sex, every time.” Merely articulating that singular, oh so dreadful word causes a pronounced shiver to noticeably make its way throughout the passage of his tensed spine. Yes, yes, it’s expectantly natural to participate in these sort of activities—that he’s exceptionally informed of. Even if briefly envisioning your normally unperturbed self in those indecent situations further stokes the burning ache in his groin like no tomorrow.

God, coming forth to visit the confession booth would serve him some good right now, wouldn’t it? Enough of that, however—alternatively wishing to concentrate upon the more pressing matter at hand as he meekly regards you with irresistible, puppy doe eyes from underneath the reflective rims of his glasses. Oh, oh. Surely, you wouldn’t have the stone cold heart to selfishly refuse him of such?

“Pretty please? I’ll think of a way to repay you, I promise! Swear! We could. . . ah, even do a pinky promise if you wanna, too?” Candidly clasping his palms together with a resounding slap!—an ushered and frantic request for you to explicitly accept as though, you’re his sole remaining hope. Which sort of is the case considering his lacking amount of friends, unfortunately so.

Idiot. Haven’t your parents ultimately taught you better than to credulously place your barren trust in a deceptively attractive boy? One whose glimmering eyes shamelessly ogles at his silken skin like he were a freshly ripe, juicy peach shortly prepared—prettily available for the taking? Yours, especially.

Don’t think so.

“Sure thing, I could do that for you. What kind of friend would I be if I couldn’t, anyway?” Nodding pleasantly in return to the uttered query and to say, he admittedly didn’t expect to necessarily get this far with you when taking into account your supposed habit of—however irritating it may be, to gleefully demand some sort of payment in exchange. As to what that may conceivably entail? That, he’s thoroughly uncertain of in the worst way possible, to be fully left in the shadowed, lurking dark like this. . . But, no way you’ll likely insist upon a suggested favour for something this straightforward, huh??

“Though, you know—“ Oh, never mind! Legitimately, what did he wholeheartedly assume to himself to begin with?? “My way of studying when it comes to particular subjects like science is. . . pretty specific. I’m just letting you know in case, cuz’ knowing you—you’d start squirming at the mere idea of it, alright?” Slight prickle of hesitation finding itself within the swelling of his held breath, wondering as to precisely what you may perhaps, be indirectly referring to for an added precaution to be meticulously placed beforehand. “—And just an important reminder that you specifically asked for this first. . .”

“So, don’t back out on me now, Sydney.”

“Huh? What do you mean by tha—“ Hitched breath immediately faltering in its wake, momentarily tipping backwards to then, clumsily land atop the cushioned beanbags squishy exterior with a sudden, delicate oomph! Fluttering lashes and eyes instinctively squeezing shut out of pure, utter reflex on his end from mostly, having wrongly anticipated something else altogether. No, no—it wasn’t a melting kiss, at all!—what’re you talking about? Nevertheless, please wilfully ignore the modest pucker of his peachy, expectant lips.

And for a supposedly fast-working brain, it fails to rightfully catch up to the salacious absurdity of your inexplicable gestures in time—accordingly process the unforeseen, present warmth of your lingering palm neatly settled along the creeping edge of his inner thigh. Affectionately smoothing over the ruffled material of his perfectly fitted trousers poorly concealing the natural curve of the flustered initiate’s slimmer legs.

“W-Wha. . . ? What’re you doing??” Like that’ll presently answer the mind boggling questions hastily swirling throughout the crowded turbulence of his psyche, somehow appease the searing, unbearable heat intimately dusting his blooming face so—ah, damn it. You’re unreasonably too close to his dearly cherished proximity, you know that? But, of course you would, as you’ve always been pleasantly considerate of his preferred need to retract away from other’s unwelcoming touches—grazing nearly too close for his supposed liking before he’s mentally keeling over like a screeching, hot boiling kettle. And here he is, similarly blazing in that same hysterical manner from the mere dizzying proximity you’re now both sharing amongst two boys, which. . . really shouldn’t be remotely happening, at the moment.

Yes, honestly speaking—even if he doesn’t like to presently face the evident cues on their own, he’s got a semblance of a rather. . . lewd vision curiously peeking through the tendrils of the blonde’s usually enclosed mind. Sorrowfully rearing its ugly head towards a blissfully ignorant alternative as if to mock the very delicate fabric your esteemed friendship is crucially built upon.

Ah, really!—now isn’t the appropriate time to be embarrassingly sporting a straining hard-on crudely presenting itself before your very eyes. Incessantly throbbing like an insistent reminder as to why you two cannot ever supposedly call one another, simply ‘friend’, either. Nor should the even more humiliating way your expanding pupils are coolly drawn towards its shape that’s poorly hidden underneath the slim material, be his ultimate undoing. Akin to how a drooling predator has seized its prey right beneath the inescapable grasp of its unrelenting claws.

Speaking of such, he does somewhat feel that way right now, timidly shrinking in face of your sheer silence or perhaps, it’s another one of those meddlesome ploys of yours he’s grown familiar with—to further mess with him till he’s inevitably become beet in the fullness of his cheeks. Mhm, surely. . . That’s all there is to it and nothing more.

Although, he’d be more surprised at the clinically made statement that spills forth from your lips soon after, however.

“What does it look like? I’m tutoring you, obviously.” Peering your head slightly to the side as if it weren’t blatantly obvious that you were indeed, purely teaching him how to do whatever this is—and not well. . . however else you can call the current position you forcibly have him in. Noticeably firm grasp atop the pervasive spreading of his open thighs resembling one of those—ah, uh—various videotapes his parent, Sirris, withholds in the back of their popular shop which shall not be named. No, he’d prefer not to reminisce upon its increasingly erotic nature at a consequent time like this one. So irritatingly indecent that he cannot hope to regard you wholly in your eyes, too. Y’know, how is he allegedly meant to do so, anyway??

“A-Are you??” As though, further questioning you twice might potentially snap him from this daze spreading itself amongst his brain tirelessly working overtime—solely intended to make sense of this, even if he’s struggling to keep up with it, himself. “Because I don’t think. . . ah, I really don’t think this is how you usually tutor people.”

“That’s because this isn’t conventional tutoring, Syd. I guess you’ve never done it before, then—since you look. . . . ahah, got that look on your face, again.” Almost tempted to meanly huff back in return for your sheer audacity to snicker in a situation such a this one, yet he stops himself in time. Merely due to the relaxing sound of your laughter discreetly echoing throughout the confidential cubicle you’ve solely reserved for the two of you. Which, ah. . . was it intended to be scandalously used like this from the initial start? Between two promising students supposedly meant to be quietly studying amidst the bustling cafe’s welcoming environment—instead, settled atop each other like the obscure, romance films the initiate secretly views in tranquil privacy?

Oh, gosh—seriously, he cannot take any more of this. And neither can the thumping, warming blood making its way downwards to the swollen tip of his cock, apparently.

“How is this remotely meant to help me understand the teachings of my mother again??” Helplessly craning his neck sideways in a futile attempt to maintain eye contact with yours truly, that is—if you’d oh, so generously give him the time of day to do so. Though, something else subtly inches at him that you’re probably far more interested in reenacting the next unclear footage that’ll present itself in his mom’s class or something along the lines of that.

“Didn’t you know? The body tends to remember better than the mind and you know, you’re pretty forgetful, yourself, at times. I’m just helping you, that’s all. So, be more grateful, will you?” Obviously, no one save for yourself would have a cheekily made up response ready for his reasonable inquiry. Nonetheless, the indistinguishable puff of an unfinished giggle that spilled out of his poorly sealed mouth, wasn’t necessarily done on purpose, either.

Such a shame, yes, that one cannot help but to be intimately pliable under the methodical ministrations of your. . . almost reverent fingertips—not the least bit hasty in your movements and instead, mindful in how your softened palms perfectly cup the surface of the initiate’s quivering thighs. Nor should it further fluster him due to the seamless nature, in which his perched legs presently find themselves hooked along the curvature of your reliable shoulders. Always secretly liked the feel of them, didn’t he? Though, not like he’ll ever outwardly admit it for the life of him—regardless of whichever gruelling trial the Temple dutifully presents before him.

Truly, he should’ve initially seen through your deceptive methods from the mere start, shouldn’t he? But, what is there to do when he’s received such a sheltered upbringing from the slightest second he’s been brought into this tainted world, to begin with? Foolishly taught with repeated chants that certainly many shall eventually come for his pleasurable innocence—beautifully witness it fester underneath caring hands. For the addictive way it prettily spills itself from between bitten lips, nudging teeth poorly serving its purpose by failing to stifle disastrously wanton moans is too nice of a sight, isn’t it?

Yet, by god—could he not have fully anticipated how right it sinfully feels to experience the slippery tip of your tongue tracing across previously untouched skin. Unsure whether to direct his busying hands upon the parting of his open lips in hopes of partially concealing the needy whines your surroundings shouldn’t be privy to pervertedly hearing, by chance. Or, to where your head currently resides and that is, comfortably nestled between quivering legs bound to buckle beneath the sheer weight of your dizzying actions. One precarious moment you’re swiftly chucking the hem of his pants down—and the next, you’re boldly laving the flattening surface of your. . . ah, ah—oh gosh, warm tongue amongst the tensed muscles of his fluttering tummy.

Although, not quite for long as it seems your prime focus descends below to where a pretty, weeping cock embarrassingly greets your line of sight in turn. Inwardly irritated at this stuttering heart of his, beating within the confines of his ribbed cage as your attentive gazes—his, being far more blurry, at this point. Especially, with his unfound glasses laid askew somewhere around here, after being carelessly knocked forth thanks to your tactic pouncing. Quite the gentleman that you can be, at certain times. If not purely acting like an unabashed horndog, which he’ll never verbally say so, but doesn’t mind it in the slightest. Not that it withholds much importance for the time being, not when you’re simply a feathered breath away from making actual contact with his inexperienced cock , and—. . .

Ah, wait! You’re going to make genuine contact with his. . . hah—riddled with sheer and absolute embarrassment to even be uttering that one out in the plains of his clouded mind.

“Y-You’re going to touch there?? You know that’s a dirty place, though—!” Maybe it was an incidental mistake on his part, for requesting that he have his protective and reassuring chastity belt removed, after all. Solely for all intended purposes, of course; that occasionally didn’t have to do with any sinning, no—not due to the crude heat pooling at the bottom of his tummy whenever glimpses of you, by chance—filtered through his distracting brain during solemn prayers. Definitely not.

And yet, still—he makes no sudden movement to personally stop you from doing so, despite the jolting whine that ceremoniously slips past from between bitten lips. Head lolling backwards with a heaved sigh at your experimental lapping of his dribbling tip as though to test the waters, somewhat. . . ? That, or more along the insistent fact that a flicker of relief briefly flashes throughout the frantic beating of his thudding chest, only to immediately still upon your pretty mouth perfectly suited to envelop his length whole. Unashamed in the way you’re practically shoving the, well. . . nicely slim girth of his virgin cock past uncharted lips which, he may or may not have sometimes, fantasized about in the private remnants of his mind. Albeit, at ill suited times whenever you’d linger in the welcoming nature of his timid presence. But, certainly not like this! Truthfully speaking, he had envisioned it to be far more romantic than—ah, your unending exploration of his now vulnerable body bared for your grateful eyes solely.

Yes, not with your admittedly. . . soft lips thoroughly swallowing him down to the hilt that the initiate’s instinctually registered the surface of your throat merely bumping against the leaking head of his cock. Unable to cease the magnetic pull of his expanding pupils drawn to where you’re presently settled—that is, pervasively sucking on his cock and perhaps, either unbothered by the copious smearing of his translucent pre-cum glistening along the puffiness of your lips or, blissfully ignorant of its sticky texture adorning the bottom half of your pleasing face. Unconsciously admire the slight flutter of your twitching eyelashes temporarily caressing along your heated cheeks in sheer, utter concentration dedicated to pleasuring him so. Plus you’re evidently taking delight in the accidental squeeze of his soft thighs pressed against your head—like a pair of warming earmuffs meant for yours to wear, even though it’s the comforting heat of his naked skin instead.

Ah, remarkably so, he must be progressively turning into a pervert himself from the abundant amount of time he’s spent his free days with you. To genuinely revere your debauched state as such, wishfully yearn to bear witness to more of you like this. Considering how he’s grown accustomed to an unperturbed version of yourself delicately fabricated in his pictured mind, untouched by the degeneracy that others around him similarly indulge in. In spite of that, however—there’s an almost gleeful joy to know you’re no exception, divine being that’s shockingly immune to temptation laid at your reaching fingertips.

And you do so boldly reach—in your confident manner that he’s now used to. Stubbornly refusing to relent with the noisy suckling of your slippery mouth enclosed around his inexperienced cock, more like you’re openly relishing in each and every whine that threatens to alert unsuspecting and ignorant customers nearby. Repeatedly tugging on each and every individual strand of your now thoroughly messied hair in a vain plea to at the very least, ease up on that. . . ah, warmth surrounding his sensitive tip, further guided towards the edge from those drawn out slurps!

Oh, that’d be a shame, yes. To be precariously caught in a lewd position like this, for all to see—innocent, ol’ church boy receiving such treatment from the adored model student known by all. Gosh, the inexplicably absurd thought has him pathetically quivering underneath your lips, importantly dedicated to have him shyly swipe a taste of the addictive nature that is, none other than melding sin itself. Because if that is so, the cradling heat of your head preciously nestled between the comfy embrace of his spread thighs. Intimate hold of your fist deliberately stroking along the veiny base of his pulsing length to make up for what your undeniably tight throat unfortunately cannot reach, all the while paying devoted attention to his puffs or rolling breath. Quiver of his puffy bottom lip accompanied by the slight shudder in furrowed, thin eyebrows and noticeably tightening of his neglected balls. Then, he’d graciously welcome it so, with open arms, again and again.

Oh, God and heavenly deities watching from above; please do forgive him so, for the disgraceful noises that are rolling off his stuck-out tongue, too.

Restlessly echoing the methodical scripture of the Bible’s commandments won’t conceivably make up for the erotic act he’s indulging in—and neither for the incoming approach of his release, teetering over the steep edge.

“W-Wait, please—I think, ah. . . My tummy feels all weird and hot inside, a-and I think I’m gon’ cum—I’m cumming—“ Breathlessly announcing beforehand, lest he rudely spilled the sticky mixture of your slippery saliva along with a heavy load of his seed upon your pristine face. Surely, that isn’t his proper intentions whatsoever nor an actual way of repaying you back for coating the entirety of his weeping cock in your wet spit.

But, like the sneaky prankster that you are, that he’s so often reprimanded in the desolate area of the library; you disappointingly retract yourself away from his abused cock in turn, letting it slip free with an audible squelch! and an even lewder pop! to noisily ring throughout the confines of your shared cubicle. Cruelly deprive him of such a well-deserved orgasm that was soon enough, at stake, within reach for his shivering frame to melt into—whine at in sheer protest from the distracting press of your thumb atop his swollen cock head oozing creamy pre for you to appreciatively tut down at.

“Sorry, wifey. You don’t get to cum yet, not till I’m finished prepping you up for the most important part of the lesson. Just a little more. . . —and I promise it’ll feel even better than before, alright?” Behold what you seamlessly do—softly caressing away at the almost spoiled, hidden part of him that was bound to irritatingly swipe at your dizzying hold along his weeping length, though you somehow shush him first for such—as if happily conscious of that predictable response. And he, in turn, cannot hope to go against you for it, either.

Also, wait a second there—did you just casually refer to him as ‘wifey’? Akin to how a husband would’ve ceremoniously called along after his beloved and cherished wife on a sunny afternoon so that she may fetch him a cup of brewed coffee. A seemingly trivial nickname withholding all the spilling adoration one might possess by chance.

However, before he can remotely register that salacious statement and let the lavish heat of his churning bloodstream traverse towards the tip of his ears, you do the honours of redirecting the devious and moist surface of your tongue downwards—below; a forbidden place that he hasn’t necessarily explored due to the overwhelming guilt that’d perturb him in his nonsensical dreams. Resounding squeak at the foreign sensation of something else, something besides the overly nervous pads of his fingertips circling around that flushed rim—worming its way through his previously sealed, puckered hole. Smoothly breaching past what shouldn’t have been disturbed to begin with and, ah—ohhh, that certainly feels. . . weird. Shamefully pleasurable, type of weird, he mentally admits.

“Y-You’re really, hah, pushing it—. . .” If that was supposedly intended to be read as some dignified scolding then, it certainly falls short when wracked between muted babbles. So like you, to reduce him to a pile of mush, that is. Experienced thumbs inching forward, nudging upon the squishy flesh—spreading his asscheeks apart much to his humiliated bearings, in further pursuit of burying yourself in its velvety warm insides. Hot, slippery tongue laving across clenching walls that immediately twitch at your intrusion of the sensitive bundle of nerves, leaving behind crescent marks etched in the softening skin that’s unused to such treatment.

Oh, holy, holy Father—is this what Heaven feels like when you’re warmly enveloped in its comfortable embrace? Because if so, please do not stop until I’ve succumbed to this sinful pleasure.

And Gods from above, forbid that you stretch this on any further then it needs to, maybe due to a cautious need that he fully enjoys himself—however, what he salaciously desires at the moment is for you to remove those fingers that reach further than his does—sinking in the warmth of his greedy hole hungrily sucking at the feel of your two digits. Oh, perish that meaningless thought, now you’ve seemingly allowed another to join in, scissoring at the exceptionally tight ring struggling to adjust to its sudden intrusion. Seamlessly allowing you to be granted a full view of slicked and wet insides, sticky strings of fluids predictably snapping away once you’ve deemed his untainted hole to be sufficiently loosened.

Loosened? That’s—. . . Speaking of the devil, of what will be the one to ‘loosen’ him or perhaps, better put; ‘stretch’ his quivering entrance dumbly clenching around absolutely nothing whatsoever—‘course unless you grant him the selfless permission to be the one to adorably choke around your pretty cock. Dizzyingly bear witness to its pulsating girth imprint itself within the smooth surface of his tummy, bulge at the repeated snap of your hips, hah—that wouldn’t be so bad.

So, you do so—wordlessly gazing in absent thought at the debauched sight you’ve aided in creating. Stray strands of strawberry blonde hair splayed across the softened surface. For the delicate elastic that once held those docile locks have now unraveled anew; such as is the same with those glimmering eyes that would similarly stare back in an absent flush, reduced to a melding pool that wants to swallow all that you allow it to.

Truly, resembling that of a meticulously drawn out masterpiece meant for its sole purpose to be hung in a sophisticatedly built museum, thoroughly admired for all to potentially see. But, no. . . However else, it seems you’ll be the one to intimately keep this ruined appearance of his, to your egoistic self. And for that, he doesn’t withhold any sort of complaints, no—none at all, really.

“You look nice like this. With your loose hair down like this, I mean.” Puffing out almost. . . shyly from between parted lips, straying eyes traversing downwards to where his are, too—that is, your tented bulge showcasing itself through rustling trousers. Silently cursing him for being the sole one to blame for your unusually heated state. Although, there’s a twinge of smugness that secretly peeks through concealed uncertainty for knowing that he’s irrefutably responsible for this. For the fact that your length is dribbling out copious amounts of sticky pre to stain your underwear sheer in a similar debauched manner, restlessly throbbing underneath the weight of his tentative palm placed atop it. So, apparently; even you do get shy, too. Under the necessary circumstances like this one.

“. . . It’s so warm.” Outwardly shuddering at your poorly stifled hiss that drawls past bitten lips meant to fuck, furrowed deepening in dwindling concentration from those explorative rubs of his. Unable to help himself, that is—since it’s far too addictive to feel its hot outline twitching along careful stroking, circling around your leaking tip like a soothing balm dedicated to temporarily satisfy your aching cock. Not for all that long, it supposedly seems and he’s not vocally protesting either.

“Fuck, why do you think that is exactly?” Hitched breath barely slipping from an open mouthed ‘o’ at your snuffed annoyance, for it is so unlike you to be using such crass language to begin with. Albeit, it seems he’s come to unfurl at the methodically placed platitudes you roll yourself in—like a lovingly formed gift adorning a pretty bow atop it all. Maybe greedy of him, to eagerly scratch away at the useless plastic paper he bears no interest in and instead, peer in awe at the tainted sin that greets the church boy in turn.

And for that—he holds no particular answer because he does indeed know as to why you’re churning a heated mess in the depths of your tummy, precariously straining against swiping fingertips that experimentally paw at your now loosened belt. Absently leave it to jingle and sprawl along the carpeted floor to then, let your impatient cock finally spring free from beneath its restricting confines. Ungraciously land atop the flat of his tensed stomach with an even lewder slap! to stain its softness with a milky trail of sticky pre-cum. Oh, wow. Certainly didn’t expect for it to be. . . so pleasurably appealing to gaze upon as though it’d just about taunt him to dip it inside his needy, begging hole.

“I won’t lie. . . You’re really asking for it, Syd. Either that, or you’re just dumb. Well, you sort of are—who’s the one that had to pick up after your spilled pieces again? Me, of course. But, you’ve gotta know by now it wasn’t out of mere kindness, right?” Spilling forth from between open maw before he’s gotten the allotted time to potentially gasp at in fraught surprise—immediately process the salacious announcement which he’s been inwardly craving for. Ah, will you do so? Be so generous to grant him the rare opportunity within cupped palms or perhaps, obsessive hands that pinch and prod at unmarked skin? “So, I ask you this; and I’ll only ask you this once.“

“Pretty please, dearest Sydney—will you allow me to fuck your pretty pink, dripping hole? Because either way, I really can’t fucking wait, right now.”

Hah, it shouldn’t be so indecently effective to the warmth pooling below—for your vocal request of his uttered consent. Truthfully, is there any genuine need to secretly inquire what’s so painfully evident?? Teeth nudging atop his puffy, bottom lip that hopelessly quivers in face of your seriousness regarding the rather. . . embarrassing prospect at hand, here.

“Please—. . .” Eventually drawls out from parted lips, trembling arms hastily hung over fluttering lashes that don’t dare to steal a glimpse from angled gaps. No, for he wordlessly fears that if he were to catch a supposing glance of your strained expression within this very instant—the initiate wouldn’t be able to mutter another solemn prayer devoid of wanton desire, to be railed into the nearest surface below. Still, hung along a teetering thread that’s bound to disastrously snap under the guise of your undeterred focus. Urging him to mirror those spoken words in the filthiest manner possible considering his rare share of utilizing such disdainful vocabulary. But yet, nonetheless, he does between stuttering gasps. “—F. . . Fuck me.”

“That’s my good boy. I knew you had it in you after all, hm?” Unspoken sighs silently tumble forth from what supposedly must be your shared cubicle, but he cares no further at the mere idea of getting possibly caught in this form. Not with the dribbling tip of your eager cock lamentably dragging along the surface of his spread asscheeks solely presented for your intended amusement. Half lidded gaze inwardly pleading from under, at how each tentative nudge of your hot, red cock head momentarily knocks out each quivering breath out of him—deepens this burning urge to guide you in the intimate walls of his puckered hole.

Which, he so graciously does the honour of doing so by a shaky grasp held upon its throbbing girth. Tightening palm clumsily placed atop your hipbone for wordless support as you finally. . . finally—do continuously ease yourself in all at once, stretch the aching emptiness deep within his stirring guts that longed to be deliciously filled to the utter brim.

“H-Hah—you’re tighter than I expected, but that’s okay.” Muttering from between ushered curses, wistfully cooing down at the glistening droplets of shiny tears that threatened to spill past the entire length of his crimson cheeks. Of course, not due to some unsuspecting pain supposedly coursing throughout the hefty and sudden stretch of his now thoroughly defiled hole—no, because that’s where you surely belong. Or so, he’s subconsciously deluded himself of such. Nestled deep in the warm softness of his drooling insides that so gleefully welcome your veiny girth, like a comforting flesh light preciously suited to be molded to yours truly. He’d ask for nothing else, truly.

Instinctually, his sweating hands delicately place themselves along the reassuring curvature of your shoulders which he oh, so does adore to often rely on in times like these. Yes, supposed encounter where you’re dizzyingly getting fucked full within an inch of your life, now that your drooling tip has nicely settled deep in the melding suckling of his clenching walls. And he possibly can’t help the mutual huffs of shuddering breaths that collectively fall forth from both of you—resembling that of those foolish students that like to sneak around the peaceful library he dutifully manages; one telltale hand down each other’s pants. Gosh, even thinking back on it now—embarrassingly knowing he’s no better than those pervasive harlots that noisily fuck in semi public places, if not; then unabashedly out in the grand open. Unable to hopelessly lay off one another’s greedy touches in the same manner that he presently is doing so, but. . . please, don’t take pitiful notice of that minor aspect.

This is what it’s like, is it not? Straining features furrowing deeper in a scrunched expression of unadulterated bliss—useless, little finger that he has at his disposal, to barely stifle the pleasured moans that’s bound to roll past firmly pursued lips. Something about the affectionate way you shush that teensy, disruptive method away with a mouthful of your cherry-perfect lips enclosing themselves around his digit. Because even if he secretly wishes it so, those trained eyes of yours won’t dare to momentarily stray away from that scarcely concealed note of wracked gratification painted along the heat of his face.

“Don’t run away from me, Syd. Tell me—I wanna see it, I wanna see your face when I’m properly inside you like this.” Considerably gentle despite the undeniable amount of control which you possess in this unbecoming position, practically folded in half by the slight hunch of your heaving back looming over his ragged figure. That is, ignoring the miniature distance that only noticeably shrinks with each of your practiced thrusts inside his greedy hole—not to mention, sloppy squelches! loudly ringing throughout the limited confines of the cafe’s walls—that he blearily hopes no passerby catches note of. Merely millimetres away from ineffectively bumping your foreheads together in a connected touch. “The way your eyelids flutter, shit. . . hah, your hole is clenching in on my dick like the perfect cock sleeve. Does it feel that nice to have someone’s cock inside you like this—with your best friend being balls deep inside your hole??”

“U-Uh huh—“ Obviously can’t hear you when he’s helplessly babbling revised prayers, as though that might erase the sheer depravity of this situation—excuse him of the unbridled enjoyment he’s partaking in. Ironic in its nature, considering the holy pendant formed into a pictured cross, loosely hooped around his neck and continuously bouncing due to the precise humps your fat cock has to so kindly offer him in return. One hand splayed atop his marked waist as if in an afterthought, something to hold onto lest he ceremoniously was guided to the nearest wall—thanks to your eager fucks, too. Bump his precious head against, which you’re softly cradling in additional carefulness.

Judging by the whiny begging uncontrollably escaping in response, something along the lines of ‘please, don’t stop’ and ‘feels so good’—ah, he cannot distinguish much when reduced to he’s a cock-drooling mess, tattered shell of his usually composed self.

Ah, talk about sickeningly intimate it is to be unbearably connected to one another like this. Irrefutably against the sheer prospect of cruelly pulling out and Gods, he honestly doesn’t want you to, either. Please, please. . . heavens from above, don’t dare to cease in the repeated slaps! of your balls taut with sticky seed—against the receptive spreading of his open thighs. Nor mind the bold movement seamlessly acted out on automatic, to desperately hook the length of his legs—definitely unused to this much, of course—along your waist in a silent plea or rather, ploy to messily keep up with the slight roll of your untiring hips. Forbidding you from so much as popping your oozing tip out before then, soon enough; you’re savagely ramming it deep inside once more, hissing at the cushioned nerves that greet your tingling head and so forth.

Utterly smitten is what he is, so much so that he doesn’t remotely take notice of your fist now loosely pumping at the neglected length of his quivering dick between slippery skin. Oh, oh—y’know, that’s far too cruel to be simultaneously stimulating both ends of his overly sensitive, tingling body! “Hah, you can’t—ah, suddenly do that!” Open mouth unconsciously falling forth at the constant press of your flattening palm along his glistening tip. Head falling backwards in which his entire curved spine follows along to, arching in a way he’d never have thought possible if it weren’t for your cock driving itself deep inside his squishy, warm walls.

Still, in a vain and pitiful effort to alert you of such—fingertips digging deeper in the delicate texture of your flesh, almost deep enough to draw spilling blood. Though, not his intention at all to instil searing pain in you whatsoever. Not at all, truthfully! It’s just. . . ah, it’s becoming increasingly clear that he’s nearing inevitable release due to your added pleasure inducing actions from both sides. Inefficiently peering up from below lidded lashes and stray pinches of your now thoroughly marked back to signal his eventual descent into adoring defilement.

“S-Slow. . . down—“ He hadn’t meant to meaninglessly scorn you like you had any shred of chance of doing so—but, it’s ultimately humiliating to feel the teetering edge of himself reaching his dreaded limit. Glassy eyes stupidly rolling back to meet pitched darkness once that sickeningly long coil in his stuffed tummy finally snaps. Pink tongue prettily sticking out for your cherished gaze to etch into focus all while slobbering over the added thumb you’ve generously lent to suckle upon—drool over and coat it in transparent spit as the first load of milky cum uncontrollably squirts out of his swollen slit. Crudely stains the momentarily pristine surface of his clenching tummy and even going forward, to drip amongst his slackened jaw.

Ultimately, he must certainly appear as a wracked mess before you with dripping globs of his dirty release adorning the entirety of his upper body. Heaving chest puffing at each ragged gasp that crawls out of his sore throat from the sheer muddled consciousness he’s presently bearing, at the moment. Clutching onto the remaining familiarity there is and that merely happens, to be your observant self perched atop his bent figure.

But, that’s of no importance to you, is it now? For the entangled limbs you’ve now collectively fallen into—a heaping thread preciously formed from him to you, there’s no other way you would’ve gone about it, after all.

Here and now, he’s acknowledged it, too, himself—whether the Temple allows it or not, the distinct reverence in your eyes and the unspoken bond shared amongst you two. Uncaring for how twisted it may be in the critical eyes of his worshipped religion, the shocked gasps that will surely follow at the discovered ignorance of the strict restraints placed upon oneself.

Even if you haven’t properly spilled your seed in him yet, the mark has been done—effect irreversibly washing on his cracked perception. Since you’ve laid your claim, staked the original urge you’ve been meaning to this whole, extended time. Beared witness to the melded fluids you’re now licking along in renewed affection, brought upwards at his petulant tugs for your returned proximity near his own. Yes, he does indeed know it so and evidently, so do you.

And honestly, he doesn’t wish to let go of your warming skin closely held against his own anytime soon, either.

[popppyfur]

EDIT: someone wrote a fic based off of this and im holding you all at gun point to read it rn

i did noooottt mean for this to be as long as it is lmao!! I LOVE THESE PINK BITCHES !!!!!

and their. questionable father

[luguangs]

@animangacreators challenge ⟡ spring 2024

↳ WIND BREAKER

You haven't given up on others yet. And you don't need to give up. At the least I'm looking your way, Sakura. So why don't you look this way as well? If you do, I'm sure… you'll become what you want to be.

[the---hermit]

how I take notes on non fiction books

I recently made a post on my study method, and decided to make a whole separate post on my note taking method. The structure of the notes I write doesn't vary too much from my lecture notes to things I might have to read. A couple of useful informations you might want to know before I start actually talking about note writing is that I am mainly focused on studying history (tho I have had other humanities exams in my degrees), and that I study for oral exams in which the material is mainly composed of non fiction books, but sometimes include articles as well as lecture notes. Somehow I have also failed to mention that I am speaking about HANDWRITTEN NOTES. I only do handwritten notes, I don't work well digitally, so keep that in mind. And with this being said brace yourselves for a very long post. The bullet points I will be making are not really in a specific order and I will be including a few pictures too.

The first step when I am working on the materials for an exam is to figure out in which order I will be reading (and writing notes) the books. This hasn't really much to do with the notes themselves, but it's important to know which of your materials is more general and what other things go more in depth, so that you don't struggle too much while studying. Another plan related thing I always do is to write down each chapter of the book I have to study on my bullet journal and how many pages it is so I can plan my studying more comfortably. If the chapters are very long, and divided in subchapters I sometimes also write those down.

The goal of the notes I write is to fully take the place of the book, so they tend to be very detailed and long. I do this because the very act of writing is part of my study method, and working on things I have written down in my own words is just much better for the type of learner I am. So basically I read the book only once, then it goes back on the shelf and I work exclusively on the notes. This means my notes need to be detailed and well organized.

My method is to read a chapter, underlining important stuff as I am reading, and then right after I am done reading I work on the notes for that chapter before moving onto the next. I do this because it makes the note writing more effortless, I am fresh with informations I just read and I basically just need to skim over what I have underlined.

On underlining, since it is so important. I underline everything I will be including in my notes, it might seem much as sometimes it consists of full paragraphs, instead of key words. But this is okay because my notes I don't just copy and paste.

To create useful notes you need to be re-elaborating the informations. You need to read, understand what you read, and be able to write it down using your own words. That way the notes will be easier to review, they will often be composed of shorter sentences, and by doing so you are also actively making writing part of your studying and not just a mindless activity.

Personally I don't work well with full pages summaries, I need the text to be visually broken into sentences/small paragraphs, and I use a lot of symbols as well as abbreviations.

Symbols and abbreviations are in a way part of your very own language when you are writing notes, you tend to develop these with time, but they are so useful. I personally use different types of arrows, all caps words, position of the text in the page, different methods of highlighting and abbreviations (usually for words that come up often like country names, for example Italy becomes ita, France becomes fr, etc.).

Your notes need to be useful for you, they don't have to necessarily be comprehensible for another person (which means you can and will fuck up sentence structure because sometimes skipping a couple of words makes the notes shorter and still understandable), and they do not have to be pretty. They should be as tidy as possible, but again that might change from person to person, I have some very messy looking notes that make total sense to me. With time you'll learn what works best for you.

I have a visual memory so as I mentioned titles, highlighters, all caps, the placement on the page and other similar things are very important in my notes. I cannot fully exapain some of these things because some definitely only make sense to me in the moment (like the words I choose to write in all caps, or the way I highlight things).

I like to have a clear chapter and subchapter break (so that in case I need to refer back to the book it's super effortless). I like to write those with a red pen, usually the chapter title is in all caps and the subchapter in coursive, but it really depends.

I use only two highlighters in each set of notes yellow for dates, and the colour I associate with the book/the subject of the book (I have synesthesia I don't make the rules when it comes to colours). This of course might change depending your preferences and on the element of your notes you want to focus on. I like to have spacific colour for dates and time periods, because of course while studying history that is a fundamental element. If you are focusing on other subjects you might want to have a specific colour for names, or other elements.

I like to leave a big side margin to add either key words (especially in lecture notes since they might be messier and jump around informations more often), or additional information in a second time (sometimes it happens, after you read another book, or attended a particular lecture you have to add a couple of sentences and I rather have a blank space that never gets used rather than no space at all for emergencies).

I honestly mentioned everything that came to mind right away, but since note writing is now basically a mindless skill I have been practicing for years I surely forgot about something. I might end up adding to this post in the future or write another one. My note-writing method has also changed a lot thought the years from high school to university, it's a skill I have been perfecting for the past decade. This to say that depending on what you are working on things might change, and by experimenting with different things you might find out things that work very well for you. If you have any questions on specific things I didn't mention or that wen't clear my inbox is always open and I am more than happy to help.

Since this post is already very very long I am adding the pictures below the cut

Example of a page of notes before and after highlighting

Example of symbols and structure of the notes and the way I highlight things (in which you'll hopefully be able to understand my handwriting, and in which there might be some spelling errors but alas that often happens in my real notes as well so if there are any it's for the sake of accuracy lmao). If I end up adding informations on the margins I always use a pen of a different color so I can tell which informations I got from what source (ex. main notes from lecture, colorful notes from additional article).

Example of messier notes in which the main text in black are the notes I took during lectures and the additional colorful text was added while writing the materials (I rarely do this, it usually happens when the lectures follow a book precisely, which happens when we have to study books or summaries written by the professor). As you can see I often use post it notes to add more writing space, and sometime I even use them to create visually separated sections. If I end up adding some drawings I also usually like to have them on post it notes so they stand out more (and if you are wondering why the hell would an history student need drawings it's usually either because I need a map or a region/state to mark things out, or when studying for archaeology exams I often needed visual references, for example to identify different types of vases or decorations).

[letsbesharkfriends]

the joy of suddenly finding text posts to make SFTH memes with

[meltedmush]

Keep making the Binghorse. We gotta ward off people from entering this fandom. We need to keep it pure. I fr don't want this fandom to become famous. I'm scared that there will be toxic fans left and right.

HAHA I absolutely understand the sentiment. I feel a bit contradictory since I want more people to appreciate SVSSS, but the at the same time I like small tight knit communities and I personally can’t handle large fandoms whatsoever. 😭

Although I do feel as though describing the SVSSS as pure is very funny for how lawless this fandom is. But behavior wise, it is definitely a very positive and supportive space!! I haven’t met anyone or seen anything unpleasant since I’ve entered the fandom. Albeit, it’s only been a few months since I’ve started interacting with the fandom, and over half a year since I first read SVSSS, so I have no clue what horror stories the SVSSS fandom has. (I honestly haven’t interacted with that many SVSSS fans tbh…. Even though I want to.)

In addition, funny enough, I feel as though the book almost acts as its own barrier of entry. SVSSS isn’t the type of book you can read once unless you’re good at reading against the grain and noticing all the nuances and subtext. I know the first time I read SVSSS, SVSSS disturbed and confused me so badly. I talked to a few other people who read SVSSS once, who said that LBH and SQQ’s relationship felt like Stockholm syndrome. But people who’ve read SVSSS several times will know, that is not the case, and that SQQ is an INSANELY UNRELIABLE narrator.

I honestly find it funny how effective Binghorse or all the other skin creatures is at filtering toxic fans.😂

There’s always a general reaction to the skin creatures: “Omg, cute!!”, “wtf, but I like it”, “wtf”. Or getting blocked, or death threats. (I haven’t received any…? I don’t think…? One message I received is definitely debatable since I can’t tell if it’s sarcastic or not….😭)

But regardless, I’ll definitely keep drawing Binghorse!!! It’s actually really enjoyable!

[otaku553]

Haha

[gbirrd]

6/9 - Jason Todd tarot card designs for Complete Candor by @vexfulfolly as part of the @batfam-big-bang

Read the fic here!

Other cards:

1-Babs 2-Cass 3-Bruce 4-Tim 5-Damian 6-Jason 7-Duke 8-Steph 9-Dick

Image IDs

Image 1:

A design of "The Devil" tarot card. It has the texture of recycled paper and reads "THE DEVIL". A symbol of a gravestone is visible behind the numeral "XV".

A young Jason Todd in his Robin uniform tugs at a thick chain around his neck that comes down from the top of the frame. Matching shackles are around his wrists and he is buried up to his waist in dirt. His head is tilted up towards the chain. There is blood on his hands, arms, chest, and dripping down the right side of his face as well as from his nose.

Image 2:

A design of "The Devil" tarot card. It has the texture of recycled paper and reads "THE DEVIL" upside-down. A symbol of a flame is visible behind the numeral "XV".

Jason Todd faces forward, filling most of the frame. He is in his Red Hood uniform and has narrowed pupil-less white eyes. He is holding the end of a thick chain in his right fist. Flames fill the background and bathe him in an orange light. The entire card is upside-down.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

here is the second poseidon 'snippet'. this takes place after this part! hope you guys enjoy a little look into poseidon's home life...

first snippet here!

there's a masterlist now!

*not long after poseidon had received telemachus’ gift and said good night to everyone*

poseidon: *making his way through the ithacan palace’s halls to the entrance for the gardens*

poseidon: *holds a hand to where the gift is kept in his chiton and thinks back to all of telemachus' questions and interest in him* 

poseidon: *internally to himself* hmm i wonder what he would have thought, if he knew his father’s and mine’s true relationship-

odysseus: *calling from behind poseidon* poseidon!

poseidon: *jumps a little because he didn’t hear odysseus approaching*

poseidon: *puts his hand down and turns to face odysseus*

poseidon: odysseus…i’ve been gone only moments, what have i possibly done?

odysseus: nothing-

poseidon: *hand on his hip* what do you want then? 

poseidon: *pinches his nose bridge with his free hand*  please don’t say another dinner

odysseus: what- no!- *coughs*  

odysseus: trust me there will be no family dinners for a while…

odysseus: *under his breath* sitting for hours next to you was enough ruthlessness for one evening

poseidon: *dropping his hand from his face* what was that?

odysseus: i said what i said

poseidon: *rolls his eyes* well next time, maybe don’t let my niece get involved

odysseus: *grinning* oh so you want a next time then?

poseidon: *hand drops from hip and slightly panicking* THAT’S NOT- I MEAN-

odysseus: *tucks hair behind his ear* 

odysseus: oh poseidon, as good as that sounds….

odysseus: *now has his arms crossed over his chest* 

odysseus: *facade drops* …no thanks.

poseidon: *sigh of relief* 

poseidon: just- just tell me why you’re here

odysseus: *still in little shit mode* i mean this is my palace, i do live here

poseidon: *about to start pulling out his own hair in frustration* 

poseidon: odysseus…please

odysseus: *grin returns* yes, yes, go on, since you’ve already proven you’re so good at begging…

poseidon: *scowls* 

odysseus: *grin finally leaves his face and his arms return to his sides*

odysseus: ok look… i just thought, considering i was the host for this evening, i would follow xenia and escort you back to the cove…

poseidon: *sighs*

poseidon: *shakes his hand in front of him in a ‘no worries’ motion*

poseidon: no need… i’m able to make my own way back home

odysseus: are you sure? i mean they are your brother’s rules…

odysseus: *not really wanting to ever see zeus again after his last experiences*

poseidon: *dropping his hand and snorting out a laugh* i’ll make sure my brother doesn’t bother anyone about the lack of normal hospitality tonight

poseidon: *turning back around to leave* go back to your family odysseus

odysseus: *not to look a gift horse in the mouth* uh sure

odysseus: *about to turn and make his way back to the dining hall*

poseidon: *from over his shoulder* oh and odysseus?

odysseus: uh yeah?

poseidon: …don’t go easy on my niece

poseidon: remember… ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves

odysseus: *rolls his eyes and while he now knows that phrase isn’t true now….he decides to humor poseidon* 

odysseus: wasn’t planning on it.

*both leave in opposite directions*

*a short while later in poseidon’s palace*

poseidon: *walking into the bedroom* wife i’m back

*no response or movement*

poseidon: *raised eyebrow as he thought she’d be home* amphitrite?

*still nothing*

poseidon: *sighs* i guess she made last minute plans for tonight

poseidon: *goes to get changed when he remembers about his gift*

poseidon: *takes the gift out of his chiton, unwraps it and looks at it again*

poseidon: *remember telemachus' smile from the happiness of him accepting it*

poseidon: *huffs a laugh at the fact that odysseus produced a son that may look identical to him, but completely different in personality* 

amphitrite: what’s got you laughing? what do you have there?

poseidon: *quickly shoves the gift back in his chiton, and turns to face his wife*

poseidon: *dodging her question* i thought you weren't here… you didn’t respond to my calls

amphitrite: i was just checking on fysallída, he hadn’t been his usual self tonight.

poseidon: *eyes widen in worry* 

poseidon: what do you mean? he was fine earlier! is he sick? should i call apollo?

amphitrite: *smiles at poseidon’s worried rambling* 

amphitrite: *moves closer to poseidon and brushes her hand through his hair in comfort*

amphitrite: and he still is fine my love. i think he just missed you tonight.

amphitrite: also while our nephew may be able to help some animals… i don’t think sea creatures fall under his ability

amphitrite: besides, he was playing with pelagos and kýma 

poseidon: *the worry leaves his eyes* if you say so... i’ll just check on him before we go to sleep.

amphitrite: *hand leaves poseidon’s hair, and now joins her other one in crossing over her chest*

amphitrite: now, back to my original question…. what do you have there that had you laughing?

poseidon: *was hoping she’d forget* uh… uhh…

poseidon: …moly?

amphitrite: *raised eyebrow* 

amphitrite: the king of ithaca- odysseus gave you…moly? 

poseidon: *furrowed brows at the thought of odysseus giving him a gift*

poseidon: this isn't from odysse- *coughs* i mean- no… he didn't 

poseidon: it's… from his son.

amphitrite: *now has both her eyebrows raised in disbelief* 

amphitrite: the prince of ithaca, gave you moly.

poseidon: *now panicking as he's the god of the seas, not of lies* 

poseidon: well if you didn’t know…they're descended from hermes… 

poseidon: and he practically hands out this stuff… the prince probably didn’t know what it truly was.

amphitrite: *staring at the clear not moly shaped item, hidden in her husband’s chiton*

amphitrite: *deciding to leave it be for now* uh huh, whatever you say husband

*poseidon leaves the bedroom and heads to the palace reef gardens where amphitrite had not long come from*

*sensing the gods approach, bioluminescent corals light the area like oil lamps would on land*

poseidon: *staring out into the reef* hmm where is he?

poseidon: *makes a whistling noise like a dolphin’s echolocation*

*two whinny’ing noises are heard, then seconds later two hippocampi appear and are hurriedly making their way to poseidon*

poseidon: *strokes the both of them on their faces* yes, yes i'm home… where’s fysallída?

poseidon: *suddenly feels something small, bump repeatedly into him from behind and hears tiny grunting sounds*

poseidon: *snorts in laughter and turns around*

*the tiny grunting noises get louder and quicker in excitement, the small sea creature that has been bumping into poseidon is none other than…a small yellow pufferfish*

poseidon: *placing his hand out for fysallída to settle into* hello little one, i heard you caused amphitrite some worry earlier

*fysallída puffs out a little bit and then wiggles more into poseidon’s hand still making tiny noises*

poseidon: ah! none of that…i said i was going to be gone this evening

poseidon: besides, i can’t always be home, i do have godly things to do i'm sorry to say

*pelagos and kýma both whinny at poseidon’s back*

poseidon: *turning around with fysallída still in his hand* and we can’t forget, you have these two to keep you company

poseidon: now, i’ve had a long and tiring evening, so i’m going to retire for the night. 

*the pufferfish gives a final wiggle and swims out of his hand and then settles in between the two hippocampi*

poseidon: ok, you can all go back to whatever you three were doing-

*the three sea creatures all start to turn to leave*

poseidon: *putting one hand on his hip and raising the other to point at all of them, like he’s talking to children rather than sea creatures* 

poseidon: but! try not to get into too much trouble, yes fysallída i am talking to you mostly

*almost ignoring poseidon, they all quickly swim back in the original distance they came from*

poseidon: i swear to zeus, if i wake up to an angry nymph at my palace doors again…

*poseidon claps his hands and the bioluminescent corals dim in response, leaving the reef in darkness again. he then turns to go back inside his palace, and finally head to sleep for the night*

[scarapanna]

New AU just dropped folks!!

First things first, this is a different one compared to what I teased back around september (Wanted to try and finish up the main designs/polish up some of the lore before revealing it). It's nothing that big but I have a few concepts to polish up more back there shsfsjdbj

Putting that stuff aside, here's what I got for y'all today!!

Just as a small rundown as to what's going on here: all the ancients and beasts embody their assigned virtue, not being guided by their corresponding lights but instead being said lights and guiding the cookies of earthbread.

This is a role they were baked for by the Witches, whom initially planned to have one cookie per virtue; after some trial and error, they eventually settled on it being two instead, since otherwhise there was the risk of corruption and/or a balance loss in cookie society.

The initial virtue the witches worked on was Knowledge, with it's corresponding heralds being alongside the first to have been baked.

These two are known by cookie kind as the "Heralds of knowledge", respectively being the "Representative of Truth" and "Representative of Deceit"

Starting off with Deception, and thus Shadow Milk:

Being the "bad" half of Knowledge, his purpose consists into tricking cookies trough manipulating the seemingly endless supply of information he's given trough his core (aka. the souljam), often playing into half-truths and making even the most false facts seem true. He near-constantly bears a mask, under which he's more prone to the latter.

As all heralds do, he leaves his target once the job is done.

This quality of his does not make him any malicious however, being something engrained in his being and nature, but instead an incredibly neutral being.

He decieves anyone he's encountered/consulted by, regarthless of their true intention. Thus meaning that, anyone with ill or genuine intent will be tricked by him.

Outside of his role, he can be a tiny bit mischievious at times and kind of a trouble maker, especially when it comes to cookies who believe they've become "his friend". The guy finds those types to be pretty funny.

These ""pranks"" are, once again, not inherently malicious, instead serving as a slightly annoying form of entertainment for a bored Virtue every once in a while. He views it as nothing more than innocent pestering.

But putting deception aside, it's time to discuss the "good" part of the virtue known as Truth

Unlike the other half of Knowledge, Pure Vanilla is the one (most) cookies aim to consult. As he instead shares the very same information both him and Shadow Milk hold with cookie kind, often finding himself answering questions or un-doing the work of Deceit.

He takes his role to heart, and will resort to fighting against what does not align with Truth if necessary..though he sometimes gets caught up fighting for causes that would otherwhise not involve his duty (A prominent one being the fight for Freedom, after it's herald fell from grace.)

Purpose aside, he's not as "expressive" as his counterpart, instead outwardly appearing rather unphased by most of the things he encounters. With such an exterior, he still deeply cares for those he's consulted by, and overtime grows more and more genuine with those he takes a liking to.

When this is the case, he tends to smile much more often and ask questions himself. All the information he (and Shadow Milk) know about their interlocutors is only at face value, they might know life experience but certainly don't the personality and interests of that cookie.

Deep down truth is endlessly curious, and satisfying those he encounters brings him great joy.

They do actively make eachother's jobs more difficult, but still respect one another. It IS what they were baked to do after all.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I came here for the silly haha doodles, but I've stayed for the absolutely blazing commentary in the tags. Your analysis of this story is so so so good! Thanks for all the work and thought you put into this!

I am just a silly little comics blog. I am not hiding anything in the tags, no way. Never.

[thenationofzaun]

"It's a show made by Riot Games and distributed by Netflix, did you really think it would be revolutionary, what did you expect"

Just because it was expected doesn't mean I won't call it dookie dogshit garbage writing on tumblr.com

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Sky having asthma, or some kind of breathing issues? For the prompt event?

Link had always known his lungs were… sensitive.

For the longest time, it had been a minimal issue. Sure, he didn’t sprint as well as others—he typically struggled with stamina anyway. But he could hold his breath longer than many, he could exercise well enough, and he still fought better than any of his classmates. Just because he had a propensity to getting respiratory illnesses didn’t mean he couldn’t handle things. It was nothing a little air potion and stamina fruit couldn’t fix.

That was the case. Before he’d gone to the Surface.

Nowadays it seemed like anything and everything could make him sick, could take out his ability to breathe. During his journey he’d compensated with air potion after air potion until his fever had climbed so high he’d passed out. Thankfully, he’d been in Faron Woods, and the kikwis, while not the most experienced on the matter, had at least thought to bring him water and nuts and let him rest in the shade until he could drag himself to the Sealed Temple.

He hated it. He felt like anything could knock him down. He kept trying to reassure himself that he’d still managed to keep up, to save Zelda, to end the war before it could restart. But he’d nearly died afterward because he’d ignored it for so long, pushed himself too hard, and everyone treated him like he was practically made of glass nowadays as a result.

Link wasn’t a particularly rebellious teenager. He was fairly lazy by his instructors’ standards, and he preferred to rest. He could cause problems when he wanted, though. He didn’t go out of his way to cause problems, of course, but… nothing was going to stop him from doing so, either.

So when he got a little too antsy to linger on Skyloft being watched by everyone, he flew his loftwing farther into the sky than he had in a long time.

The Great Sky was vast, beautiful and terrifying in its infiniteness. While the Surface’s enormous scale was overwhelming because it was all inhabitable, the Sky was more akin to a void to get lost in, a fabled sea where its depths could never be fully explored. Islands speckled the air in varying pockets, but there were enormous swathes of open air with nothing as far as the eye could see. It was said some knights died trying to explore, their loftwings tiring out and plummeting through the cloud barrier to their doom.

Link wanted to test his limits, though. Not because he felt particularly ambitious, but simply because he felt like he was going insane. He used to be content daydreaming on Skyloft, but nowadays if he stayed too still in one place he felt like he was missing something. As much as he loved to lay about, and as little energy as he had that sometimes forced him to lay about, he couldn’t sit still for long unless he was caught in a spiraling slump.

So here he was, pushing Crimson to tear into the sky farther than ever before. He recalled seeing a small pocket of islands in the far distance a little over a year ago when he’d last tried exploring like this before the knights had reeled him in. Now that he’d earned his knighthood due to his adventure, he wouldn’t be stopped.

The nagging pain in his chest was nothing to worry about. That was just nerves. He just needed to move.

The cold wind snapped around him, flushing his cheeks and biting at his nose. He clutched the leather around Crimson’s chest more tightly, glaring into the sky, and his loftwing squawked, reflecting his defiance with a loud seeming battle cry. His companion was filled with as much energy as he was, and had been scraping at the edges of Skyloft the entire day before Link had finally plummeted off its edges.

The pocket of islands grew larger. One in the center was entirely square shaped, seeming endless in its crevices and walls that inhabited its center.

A maze?

Link smiled. A puzzle. Perhaps he’d find something useful in its center. He wondered what Hylia might have left for him here. Perhaps he’d missed a goddess cube? It wasn’t like it made much of a difference now, but his curiosity was piqued nonetheless.

He flew directly overhead before jumping off his loftwing. As he crashed through the air, the pressure in his chest continued to build, but the thrill of skydiving overruled it. Link maneuvered his body left, right, rolled, flipped, and laughed. He loved this.

Eventually, just before he could hit the stone floor in the labyrinth, he deployed his sailcloth, letting himself gently land before looking around eagerly.

This was going to be fun.

XXX

It was getting dark.

Zelda looked out at the sky worriedly. Link had gone flying around noon. She’d let him be, as she was busy figuring out plans for the Surface, but she was growing worried now. Where could he be? She’d investigated all the usual local islands, and when the best lead she’d gotten was that someone had seen him fly beyond all of them, she started to wonder if he’d gone to the next community over.

Skyloft was their largest settlement, but not their only one. Still, if Link had visited Nestout, Loftwing Roost, or the Dragon Spire, he should’ve been back by now.

Well. Loftwing Roost might distract him more. But… maybe that was all it was.

When Zelda asked Groose to help her investigate to cover more air, though, it quickly became apparent that he wasn’t anywhere they knew.

“You think he went to the Surface?” Groose asked as they looked out at the vast expanse from the Dragon Spire. It was the farthest out island in the usual communities, and it boasted the most dangerous territory.

That would be the most likely explanation, Zelda supposed. But Link didn’t usually go down there alone. “I guess…”

“Don’t worry, Zelda,” Groose assured her with an easy wave of his hand. “Airhead probably lost track of time or something. I can check Faron and the Sealed Temple, you go back to Skyloft.”

Telling Zelda not to worry about Link was the most pointless venture imaginable, but she didn’t bother correcting Groose. Instead, she nodded, watching him take off on his loftwing before looking back out at the sky.

He wouldn’t… why would he go to the Surface alone?

Zelda squinted at nothing, wondering, listening. She tried to focus, tried to remember how to use magic to track others. She’d been able to do it before, back when…

Closing her eyes, she inhaled and exhaled steadily. The world around her changed, pulsing and colorful and tasting of sensations she couldn’t even describe. Everything felt so alive. Her loftwing chirped a little, fluffing and rubbing her beak against Zelda’s face.

“You can sense it too,” she whispered, eyes still closed, feeling the connection to her partner.

Her loftwing chirped a little, feathers flattening in anticipation. Then she took off, and Zelda dove after her, and they were as one as they tore into the farther expanses of the Great Sky.

With the cloud barrier gone, daylight lasted a little longer, allowing Zelda more time to fly. But she knew she wouldn’t make it back to Skyloft before dark. She would either have to make camp somewhere or risk flying in an environment she was still not entirely trained to navigate.

Instinct drove both her and her loftwing forward, tracing Link’s presence. When they neared a squared shaped island, her loftwing circled it, indicating that this had to be their destination.

What in the world was Link doing here?

Furrowing her brow in determination and trying to ignore the gnawing worry in her gut, Zelda leapt off her bird and descended into the stony structure below. She maneuvered her body as her eyes scanned different passages from above, honing in on a feeling that chewed at her fraying nerves.

A speck. Small, still, green.

Her eyes widened. Link.

Zelda tipped herself forward, making her body more stream lined so she could move faster. She didn’t pull out her sailcloth until she was seconds away from touching down. The harsh winds helped her steady herself, and she felt breathless as she ran to her beloved friend, who was laying motionless on the floor.

“Link!” She called, falling to her knees, voice carrying on the winds. She shook him, surprised at the heat radiating off his body.

Sick. He was sick, he was sick, they were out here in the middle of nowhere and he was sick.

Despite the gales howling, she could hear distinctive whistle and rattle, ominous and horrible and far too familiar. It sounded off rhythmically with every heave of Link’s chest, and she could see how his belly moved paradoxically to his chest, trying to assist his exhausted body in every way possible to move air.

This was bad.

What was she going to do? What could she do? Link got breathing illnesses so easily, but usually an air potion, warm food, lots of rest and even more coughing would help fix it. He’d only gotten truly, desperately sick for the first time after their adventure, and that had been from infected wounds rather than anything in his lungs. Her friend was no stranger to pneumonia, but they’d never been this far from help when it had struck.

Surely with all this wind, she could figure something out. Zelda moved to sit him up, knowing that laying as he was would do him no good. She tried not think about how there was barely any light left in the sky, how they could potentially be trapped here the entire night with few supplies.

There was no way she could fly him in this state.

Gritting her teeth, Zelda braced her feet on the ground, pulling him to sit up by his tunic and dragging him to lean against the wall so he could remain that way. Link’s head lolled with the movement, and she noticed with alarm that he looked beyond exhausted. How long had he been struggling to breathe? How much longer could he last? She’d heard nightmarish scenarios in the past, when he’d gotten particularly ill, warnings of how he had to rest, how working too hard to breathe could make one’s body give up altogether, and then nothing but forced air could save them.

Zelda dug through her pouch and then Link’s, desperate for anything that she could use. She herself was carrying a stamina fruit, and Link seemed have half of one in his pack—clear evidence that he’d been nibbling on one throughout the day in an effort to keep going.

She felt frustrated and terrified at the same time. Why would he run himself down like this? Why did he always run himself down like this?!

Her gut churned uncomfortably, guilt nibbling at the edges of her mind. You know why.

She shook her head. Then she pushed against Link, tapping his cheek. “Link. Dove, wake up. Please.”

She had no air potion to spare, but if she could just get him to wake up, she could at least feed him the last of the stamina fruit he’d been carrying. Hopefully it would help. Then perhaps she could investigate this place to find somewhere more suitable for him to rest. The sky glowed crimson, and she knew it was too late to leave this place.

Link groaned, bringing her some relief, though his breathing still sounded wretched. Sluggishly, his eyes fluttered open. There was hardly any recognition in them - he was exhausted.

Zelda held the stamina fruit out in front of him, having peeled it into smaller pieces. “Eat.”

He took each piece one by one from her, chewing slowly. A flush returned to his pale face, and he stared at her for what felt like half a minute before seeming to come to himself. “Z-Zel…?”

He could hardly get her nickname out for all the rattling in his lungs. Zelda could hardly breathe just listening to it. “We need to get you out of here, Link. Get you somewhere warmer.”

Was there even anywhere warmer on this island? Was there an indoor area at all? The place looked strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place why - she’d definitely never been here before.

Oh. That meant… she knew why.

Looking around, she tried to recall something, anything of whatever memories Hylia had to show her. But try as she might, she couldn’t recall this place.

Perhaps exploring wasn’t the option right now. Perhaps they just needed to hunker down and deal with it where they were. But the more she thought about it, the more she was certain that she could find a centralized location, which would be far better shelter for Link in his state.

“You think you can glide with me?” She asked, raising her voice to be heard over the wind.

Link tried to reply and instead fell into a coughing fit. It was a wretched sound, heavy with phlegm but not able to move anywhere. He clutched his chest, grimacing a little, and nodded.

That was not reassuring. “Link. I can’t carry you, don’t lie to me if you can’t do it!”

Link swallowed, sitting up a little straighter, more energized after the stamina fruit. “I… I think I can. J-just… not for long.”

That meant she had to figure out the route first.

Zelda went to work quickly, hugging Link and whispering in his ear that she would be back. He slumped against her, letting himself rest in her arms, and it made her heart ache. She wanted to just stay and hold him, to protect him and let him find some relief in her, but she had to figure this out quickly, while there was just enough light left.

With another promise of coming back quickly, she pulled away, leaping into the air. The wind smacked against her, and she quickly pulled out her sailcloth to let it guide her around the walls of the labyrinth. She tried to go by instinct, remembering each turn, at one point rising above all of it to get an overhead view. Eventually, she found the central area, which promised some relief from the harsh winds. It wasn’t hard to retrace her path, and she quickly found Link once more.

Her beloved was asleep again, shoulders rising and falling with his breaths in an attempt to help air move as best it could. It was an ominous sign, and Zelda felt nauseous at the sight of it. She nudged him awake, gave him half of the stamina fruit she herself was carrying, and helped him stand.

Link was unnervingly shaky on his feet, but he again insisted he could handle it. She had him hold her hands to ensure his grip was tight enough to hold the sailcloth and maneuver. Although he clamped down on her hands with enough strength to prove his point, she still worried.

There wasn’t much else she could do, though. She just kept assuring herself that if he slipped, she’d dive down below the maze with him and call her loftwing. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d caught him in midair (she tried not to guiltily think of the last time that happened).

Together, the pair stood at the edge of the platform and then Zelda counted down quickly so Link wouldn’t lose what little strength the stamina fruit had given him. Her heart nearly stopped when they jumped together, eyes never leaving Link, but he managed to hold on as his sailcloth rode the winds around them. Zelda had to lead at that point, but her head felt like it was constantly swiveling to keep track of her friend while they moved through the air.

The journey back to the center felt infinitely longer this time around, but they made it nonetheless. Link’s knees completely buckled when he landed, and though he tried to wrap himself in the sailcloth Zelda had gifted him so he wouldn’t lose it in the wind, but it slipped through his slack fingers as he felt. Zelda caught it as nearly an afterthought as she rushed to help him to the ground.

She pulled Link to her, letting him sit up against her chest so he could breathe better. “Link, what were you thinking coming out here when you were sick?”

Link’s breath rattled in reply as he grew limp with exhaustion. Zelda just buried her face in his shoulder, feeling his head loll against hers.

This was going to be a long night.

Zelda prayed to Farore for help as she counted Link’s breaths. Time crawled by, agonizing in its length as Link’s entire body heaved. As the sky grew black, and the stars twinkled in their excellent fervor, her beloved’s breathing eased a little, having recovered from flying. However, he coughed often, in harsh, horrible fits that hardly moved what it should, and those left him completely depleted. Zelda would rock back and forth, taking him with her, strengthening her back so he could sit against her as tall as possible, watching his ribs become more prominent as the night progressed.

Just when it felt like this nightmare could never end, the stars started to hide behind a shroud of pale pink, and Zelda thanked all three of the ancient goddesses that they’d survived the night.

The instant she determined it was light enough, she leapt over the nearest edge and called her loftwing. When she flew over the maze, she saw Link’s crimson companion circling the area, trilling worriedly. She wondered if he’d been there the entire night - she hadn’t heard him. She probably should have looked, but she was too terrified to think straight. In either case, she whistled sharply at him.

Link’s loftwing eyed her. Zelda whistled again. No loftwing was obligated to listen to someone who wasn’t it’s bonded partner, but Zelda and Link were close enough now that their birds would occasionally tolerate commands from each other, and Link’s intelligent friend could tell he needed help. Crimson followed Zelda and Indigo as they dove towards the center. It hardly had enough space for a loftwing, but Crimson spotted Link and maneuvered easily into place, swooping in and grabbing him with frightening precision.

Zelda hoped the position wouldn’t make Link’s breathing intolerable. But they didn’t have any other option.

The pair flew back to Skyloft at breakneck speed - the other settlements didn’t have the same medical care that Skyloft did. Zelda rushed to Link when his loftwing gently placed him on the ground.

Her friend was awake, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, and he clutched his chest. Zelda slid to her knees beside him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had… better flights…” he huffed with a tired smirk.

Zelda wanted to punch him. “This isn’t the time for joking! What were you thinking yesterday?!”

“I… didn’t think… it was…” Link tried to argue only to have to pause to catch his breath, bracing his hands against his legs and leaning forward a little.

Zelda’s worries overrode her frustration, and she waved down the first person she saw, as many had noticed their arrival. Pipit and Groose both came running, as well as Professor Owlan. Thankfully Pipit had an air potion, and the relief on Link’s face was immediately apparent.

Zelda let the men take Link back to his room in the academy, giving them a moment before she checked on him. She found him sitting up against multiple donated pillows, two air potions at his bedside table, bundled up and in comfortable clothes. She smiled in relief, feeling her own chest steadily unclench at the sight.

She offered a quick thanks to Farore before kneeling on the floor and resting her arms and head on the bed. She was exhausted.

She felt Link’s fingers run through her hair before he settled his hand over the back of her head. “Zel…?”

Zelda reached blindly, fingers finding Link’s tunic before she jabbed his chest with her finger. “Don’t. Do that. Again.”

Link let out a sheepish huff. “Sorry, love.”

“This isn’t—your journey is over, and—Link, why—” Zelda shot yo, suddenly agitated, tears stinging in her eyes.

Link looked adequately schooled and apologetic, clearly upset that he’d worried her. “Zelda, I… I’m sorry. I just… I’m used to… to pushing through it. I don’t notice sometimes.”

Used to pushing through it. Zelda felt guilt crush her. She knew why he was used to it.

“Please rest,” Link requested softly. “I’ll be right here. I promise.”

Zelda sighed, reaching over to stroke his cheek. “Only if you rest too.”

Link nodded, offering a tired smile. Zelda wasn’t inclined to kiss him since he was sick, but she gently hugged him instead.

She still worried this would happen again, though.

[luthordamnvers]

'The next time Lena sees Kara, the blonde is 25, and she's in Thorul as a diplomat, to again try to convince Lex to stop the war, to see if they could come up with a solution.

The moment she sees Kara again, it's like everyone and everything else has come to a standstill, and maybe Lena has always been more than a little in love with Kara. She looks incredibly handsome, with a dark coat with gold thread sewn into it with beautiful designs and her family crest.'

As you wish

[lucyshypemaster]

you will NEVER see anyone writing paragraphs after paragraphs hating on keefe like they do with sophie.