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astralnymphh · 10 months

Text

saturated sanctity

tonguefucking raw in the barn, away from dina's eyes ౨ৎ

. part two 𝜗𝜚

❛you had cunt on your mind, 'n cum on your breath❜

PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER > .ᐟ ♡. summary; a chore so innocent and prosaic, far from featherbedding and near to plucking grain from your scalp– turns for the worst, or the best? i soundly connote, fornication ventured on two bends of eager knees, drinking you from beneath the hood 𐙚 .ᐟ ♡. cw; depictions of infidelity, homewrecking, semi-risky sex, jealousy, bit angsty, tension, guilt, pining, tears are shed, playing around, lusting, clit stim (r, fingers and oral), fingering (r), pussy eating (r), scant nipple stim (r), ass groping, ass slapping, breast groping, swallowing slick, pussy slapping, steamy make-out buildup, dirty talk, needy ellie, smug ellie as usual, dom!ellie, sub!reader (i swear sub!ellie is coming next chapter) domestic acts, bold text is flashback dialogue, petnames; babe, baby, good girl (lmk if i missed anything) .ᐟ ♡. pairing; farm!ellie x farmhand!reader .ᐟ ♡. a/n; ending feels a little lazy but it is what it is. hey i'll pull through on ss3 that's like the smut crux, if u get my jizzst..

✵ masterlist ✵ series masterlist ✵ got too lazy 2 proofread right away ✵ WC; 9.8k+

VOLUME TWO - The skin that flakes/ Under the hood

𝄞

Indulgences have the gall to peck at you.

Pecky and prickly as the oncoming hens do, handwriting–on–the–wall misgivings that throttle you off a steady minute by minute track. Small nuances under light of sun kept doing so this week, numerous things apropos of bawdy suggestions wisped by that reckless pink snake of hers– always mere footsteps from running into Dina, ‘I think it would be, really, reaaally hot if you didn’t wear your p-panties at the table, tonight..’ always brain–caked in a bit of alcohol, hiccuping. Or, even when a cold cuff cocoons the hind of your upper–thigh, an inch below the crease of your butt and done as she passes like a ghost behind you in the kitchen.

A plum bruise should have formed from how often you flicked that forehead of hers. But no, of course no. The only thing that formed each time was a cocky curl into her lips, corkscrewing those fine hazel freckles connate to a whirlpool in water.

Owing to the fact that she lacked sufficient care from you, has her pouting when you deny her. Denied her of that fiendish wish to lie beside each other– even if it be upon that packed sofa, or– of her vehement dreams, reposing within sniffing distance of an ambery lit fireplace, running her work–worn fingertips along your hill of chest, letting the beat beneath your breast verse in her hands a tale to beckon her own in accordance, toasting aflutter with love. She would push a kind pressure to said breast, emboss prints to squishy skin, mold it to her liking, and smirk when your nipple erects and bends under her hardy palm.

On the other hand, woe of denial, she sought Dina in your figment. When she wasn't courting twisted fingers up your billowing skirt, she instead smelt her heart in twisting her from the inside out, which– even more woefully, gave Dina the impression that Ellie had come crawling back on starved knees. Woe is her, to misreckon and take what she thought was hers to safekeep.

Arteries, wrenched and awreck, you felt a toy in contrast to what really stood. Worry.

Worries are the hens, pecking at you.

Will Dina catch you two here? Over there? This night, or the inbound day? Tines of time aren't obligated to tell, ringing of peril whenever they yen a sign to sow.

Thoughts would only continue to foment come light of day.

A lemony sun has risen beyond the hill laden skyline, plucking rays for your wake. Muted orange tones mingle and caper into flaming reds on the crest of your sealed eyelids, caught just as you bid adieu to your cotton sogged dream. For dreams die, at every crossroad.

“Mhh..” the gentlest brush of breath hinders sun washed quietude split, and a set of toes curving down to a stretch. Achy aches ache, as there’s enough ache to go around for farm hands such as you, ugh right?

Disturbing be the sunlight drawing blinding rays on your bleary pupils, attempting to shade out familiar nooks of your room. Ah, there we go, hues of sable dark in unvisited corners and shyly crowding the light, fluid out of the clear glass pane. As the couch is situated opposite of this blaring window, it greets you quite rudely.

The moment colors begin to mature and petrify within your vision, you're already hiking up a foot and rocking your bottom off the quaint sofa, veering a peek to the indent left. Slept like a log, huh? Feet plant weight on plods carrying you towards the wardrobe, grantingly aside the wide pearl–border window, flitting a forearm up to block incoming light.

A huff bloats your cheeks and pouts ducky lips, then grumbling a burden off your shoulders, “Hhhmmmm..” no truer words were spoken.

You lodge fingers in oaken crevices and pull a sundry of drawers from their frame, rubbing cotton on wool as you dig without aim on what you may don, this or that, with which and what, where and when. Blah, yawn, bored, you avert your gaze on lucent glass and scrutinize a pine bough panorama– only for your eyes to spring and espy a sparkle.

A gleam of skin.

And a tuft of copper.

Ellie.

Her torso fit in a white ribbed tank, soaked in hues of gray at the dip cut collar, and handsomely clung to her perky breasts. An arm raises, a graceful length likeness of a canopy above her head, stretching freckled flesh over toned muscles, the grooves– shadowed in a whisper of brown, highlighted celestially, and exposing a small auburn bush beneath her pit. A seen groan escapes her slit gob, brows hefty– she crumples them dear into her eye sockets, ruching the thin skin. Exertion tapered her body akin to clay, and it was undeniably hot, scrunching her face up like that. Ellie then juts her hips forward and casts her head rearward as she stretches, releasing all tension in a swing of her arms down.

Seems like she's tending to the fore yards.

Dew gleams honey, sweat paints skin, and portrays your girls as a ruddy rose in dashing spring. Ruddy, yeah, that solar ball in the sky sure made her skin popping arid of paleness. Naturally, her freckles betone like pepper, bulging on her red face– which scrunches in her gripe of stress.

Her lips part, mouthing an obvious, ‘Fucking hell.’ and baring teeth after, slightly. Lashes interwoven, her eyes stayed squinted, only to widen and dart when a muffled shout rattles the walls.

Right, fuck, Dina needs me.

Just as the drizzly auburn–head jogs from a peeking view and presumably into the house, you reverse and capsize through stacks of cloth until you land your choice– a sundress. Hey, it's hot today, let your butt breathe for a change. You dangle it by the thin straps prior to pleating up the skirt and slinking it over your crown, yanking every seam in place. Ruffles hit a stonecast above your knee, a sensible length.

But one question stands unturned.

Bra, or no bra?

Hmm.

No bra.

A proper chest of cotton cradles your breasts come rain or shine, not like Dina would mind with brine, nor judge off the heart– just freeing the girls. No biggie. The woven material lollops to a fare–thee–well, cozy on the curve, ribbing as it falls in place. Now, you just need something on your feet. Striding forth, waxing a gale, bare steps soften on each oak board's scant gap, sylvan grain texture grazing your toes. Just a few feet ayond the couch is your shoe cubby, small box frames home to varied work boots and scuffed sneakers, and based on today, you choose boots, clasping the hardy backstays in a pinch. You crouch and gripe at the sore sting your knees gave, manning it through and sliding foot by foot plumb to the squishy sole of your boots, tying up the cordy laces.

Guh, these boots are near rugged.

Ignoring the plain–in–sight fray to your boots’ hemp laces, you grasp and wrench the icy knob ‘round till the door grinds a cry open. Stepping under the arch, you brisk thump by thump and cut where the hallway bends, advancing the dining table.

A dyad of ears harks your growing din of solid steps, calling, “There you are, did'ja sleep like a log?” mellifluous notes of Dina's cadence carries, veering your sight on the kitchen– where she be, perching an oaken honeycomb rack to forearm.

That I did.

“Yuup–” you pirouette, spanning the table's border and hiking that very ridge plane into your butt, sighing, “sun was there to greet me, obnoxiously.” leaning into the table, you grouse lightheardedly.

“Oh shit– sorry ‘bout that, swear I'll put up a–”

“Don't worry, it's the one thing that actually wakes me up these days,” you crack a quip, chuckling with an open mouth.

Dina caters a kind tug on her mauve lips prior to whisking her eyes returned, a glossy honey to be. Syrupy knuckles press and crinkle in the hilt of a honey fork, pruning waxy slices and welling gold bubbles, crafting a drippy stream that canals into a glass bowl. Through laden light it gains a gilded life, casting a tiny star on the moist blob– and there you witness, nectar of the gods.

Capricious minds might have swiped a dollop of that sweet, sweet delicacy by now.

Weighing the silence, you tempt thoughts racing around your skull. What chore am I assigned today? Where is the cacophony of babbles and gurgles that follow Dina like a haunting spirit? Where did Ellie go? Ellie, Ellie, Els.

God did she look breathtaking in that tight–

A rush of thuds divert your curious eyes to the creaking stairs, preluding the swell of said babbles and a husky voice, Ellie's voice.

“Dina?” hailed she, echoing halfway down the steps, “I changed his diaper!”

Dina cocks her head in heed, crowing back, “Okay! Just– give ‘im to her!” tone knocking against the hollowed walls, then, she sheers attention to you, “mind feeding him?”

You hum a keen, “Mhm.” void of second qualms and wait on that certain honey–head to appear, hearing the increments of footsteps draw lower and nearer.

The honeylike cowl, stria of fawn auburn drapes soft strands to laze with a purpose on her neck, fashioning that scruffy mullet eyes prize after. Honeykin defines the head that tags after gray, deadbeat converse hop the last few steps and plant still on the oaken floor. For a honey so sinful sought you, and buys a bite of time, to stare.

Her liven pasture eyes catch on you, just a moment, and skip away, reminded of what she intends, “Uh, here.” her forearms unfurl and slink to you, offering JJ up in thankful arms.

You rub in bare flesh to hers, scooping the gurgly baby in a shyer than thankful human cradle, foreheads feckly bumping into each other as you swap, a ghosting of heads. A whaff of her work–spent scent digs into your brain, and you had to admit, it was a tinge sort of lovely. She had the farmyard tang about her, blessed with sweat, a firming physique, a stare that caught you a corpus melting in her esse.

Fairer than the weeks before her touching of you, the bounty it procured was tame, fair is the present. Fairest days, faring a harvest more splendid than dreams carping yonder ebony skies and heavy heads. An unruffled weightlessness many souls find hopes fed in, you found aplenty of in the waking world. With Ellie, you drank laughs, fiddled about the haystacks, snuck apples in your fist– nicking dewey chunks down her gullet in shared kisses, or let her shamelessly tug some of your ass meat in horny hands. Oh, isn't infidelity just the niftiest drug.

Smitten as a kitten, you are.

Carpe diem.

“You’ sleep well?” asked Els in monotone, pitching a paw up to weave through her jumbled locks, splitting strands.

Heaving a breeze, you sigh, “Decent enough, you?” and counter the question, bobbing your stance on bending knees– pray that baby doesn't scream, as always.

“Like a baby,” she asserts, lush of a brag, dropping her hand and poking at the chubby–cheeked fella, who just got a free mention, “not so much this one, yeahh? Did you scream my ear off all night?” cooing.

“Mhm, heard that.” you add.

“Betcha did.”

“Hmm.”

Her eyes peek up, and goddess, it's that look again. Oh yes, the very gaze spilt upon the oaken table that hale spring day, a twinning star. These eyes, ladies and gentle–non–mens’, fondled a plight of husky play sat on the edge of her mucky mind, and it showed vividly in those flourishing pupils that thin her pine–lined eyes. Tilted smirk dotting dimples in her big appley cheeks, cuspid teeth goring a dint in chapped lips crying with dire need of moisture. Sexy– minus the lips maybe.

She knows what effect that look has.

What exactly sits vanward of that hormone tipsy mind, is an excerpt best served in the formula of two tongues tied– for even Ellie herself may strive to compose hunger incarnate at this fledgling hour of daybreak. And yet she cannot. The mere thought of your pussy clots her brain cells. So, how do we fix that?

Play pretend!

“Hey babe,” that auburnette already had her head whipped south towards Dina before you could flit a blink, feet sparking her a brisk carry yon the shabby oak floor. Creak, creak, clonk, foot by foot she departs a sliver of bitterness in your chest.

A demure bitter, a sense you can simply shake off. For now.

“There you are..” spoken so softly from Dina, who still had a rack of flaxen honeycomb in her hold, slanting to an angle, “what took ya so long?” voice curling.

“Wasn't that long,” she emphasized her vowels, “m'here now..”

“Good..”

She was far from there.

“Mhh,�� hummed Ellie, pressing her lips into a thin stroke, puckering about to intone a curly, “ohhh, honey– can I have a lick?”

“Mh–mm, that's for the apples.”

“Aww.”

A meshing of lovers. Real love, virgin love, dying love, feigned love, it all wreathes together on the outside– for the sake of earthly vein, tender were those emotions long ago. Hasty do the doves encircle a budding entanglement, and bells chime where dust remains uncollected on wanton hearts. Uncanny, do the crows crawl in their grandeur of an affection died– sprawling sooty wings through tough gravel and mushy mud, rendering them unable to fly again. Unearth that shit, and you're seated for a whole fuckfest, indeed.

So consume what you see with a grain of shit–face nothingness.

Ellie slinks a glide upon Dina, pushing her harsher on the counter's nook and slumping arms to swaddle her torso. She cradled her in the natural bow of her body, projection of her bony hips plated dual plumb dimples in her ass, grinding with a purpose. Denim chafes on denim, bringing a light noise of fabricy licks. The cottony hem of her soiled tank begins to bunch with each rolled hump, proving the friction to be– lustful. Her hands wander her body, not yours, pausing and choking the fat plush of her thighs, losing sunny–ruddy pigment to wanting pressure, then releases, and traces back up.

Pupils of yours aimed so pinpoint on each sweep of her hand, yet, you bore an idle set of gestures. Cupping a waxy rubber bottle in your grasp, brimmed with milk opaque of lily–white and feinting a crisp chill to your fingertips, you park the nozzle to the baby's lips. Giving a squeeze with care, you feed him– idly, idly turned from the scene afore, except for your eyes.

Strain sets a pull on them as you stare.

A bitsy wince of, “Ellie..” dries moistness on her lips, shuddering to an ajar gasp.

“Mhm, like that?” husked with a bass that ripples, so, so deep in her diaphragm, you swore it nearly rattled your ears from where you poise.

A gasp died into, “We can't–”

“But we can..” a frugal answer, meant for one pair of ears only. Only, what a joke. An ill timed joke on Dina.

Had it truly been for one person only, Ellie would not be striking risk right in the butt. Nifty as she is, juggling those risks aimlessly, she stares at you. The crown of her head ruffles up messily on her scruff as it pivots, flushed nose pointed to you, pale lids of supple creases kin to a beach cove as they open, batting reeds of chestnut everlasting. They flap, waiting for you, in the delay of that week–past chance snuffed.

Intimidating, austere demeanor flowering in those buttony pupils– and she eyefucks you with them, even tugging a wink your way. A fucking wink. Her ploy of fondling Dina, so obscenely, clearly dirty, read in gold typeface as ‘Wish this was you.’ loud and proud. Much more so when her digits curl and dig dents in her waist, and her teeth carve marks as she bites her coral lip down, showing you.

She's showing you how she wants to play with you.

Being an unwelcome voyeur, you felt the tail–tug to glance away. And in that fleeting veer, a loud smack resounded and left you surprised on the tips of your boots.

“Uh!” a yelp ejects air from its jailed position in Dina's gullet, forwarding her body with a jounce.

A foul, “Hehe–” trebles a giggle from Ellie, shit–eating grin withal, “so sensitive.. again?” her hand rubbing circles to where she struck ass.

Fuck.

Fuck, because she has uttered those exact words to you before, wetly on the shell of your ear, yesterday. At dead noon eve, stark flat on your bedroom door, a makeout you'd rather not divulge. Though, did Dina hear that thumping racket?

You feel a throb, a throb that drops. It beats from your maddened heart to your aching hole, literally. A web of hot arousal dribbles over the ribbing of your walls, leaking into a sticky splotch on the plateau of your panties. Fern eyes of something unholier–than–the–moan–of–a–devil felt denser working than self–pleasure, it tickled just right.

But it doesn't belong to you, so don't pluck that apple. Ignore that tickle.

“Okay, baby–” Dina gruffs and shoots her shoulders up, nudging Els’ clingy head off, “seriously, I got shit to do.”

“Hmm, suit yourself.” Ellie gave up and wacked her hands up in defense, feigning offense.

You slither that milk–glossy tap gently from purling lips, cooing, “There you go.” as you set the bottle down with a placid thud, spurring a lone finger up to bat slowly upon the baby's nubby nose, how maternalistic of you.

A gait of striking steps softly approaches you. With your head huddled and stance shielded the opposing direction of the two, you couldn't see who that person was. Although, you deemed it safe to assume it may be Ellie, coming to poke at you again.

“Hey, could you help Ellie sweep the barn?” a honeyed voice entrances your focus instead, Dina, of course, “sheep dragged in a whole buncha’ shit, shouldn't take long though.” she notes, casually.

A long droning intervenes “Uhhh, I never volunteered to–”

“You did when you chose to live on this farm with me,” her voice strains, flowing into a breezy chuckle whilst gesturing for you to hand her JJ, “Right, babe?”

“Pshh–”

Bearing aloft, you slink that baby's bum right into her curviform arms, feeling the cottony onesie drag on your forearm as his weight lifts off, bending at the knees scantily.

“Fiiine, I'll muck the– smelly sheep shit for ya’,” her voice bores deeper in exaggeration, becoming a blurry blob moving behind Dina's poise as she slinks forth, “gunna’ need a mask, I think.” and quips, wrapping her lithe arms to a cinch on her waist.

Dina grunts, butting her arms loose before it gets tighter and coasting a few feet yonder, “Barn, please.” reiterated she, flatly.

Tapered as her jaw is, she clenches it further, taking that blow of a refusal to her touch peevingly, teeth to a grind. Jeez, she's quite handsy today.

“Hmmph,” a grunt deadlocks at the fore of her compressed lips, rolling at the neck and cocking aside a signal for you–”c'mon.” she mumbled, clicking her waggish tongue.”

A scoff jumps from you, “M'not a horse.” you squint and trot your feet along, heavy timber steps pittering towards the ajar backdoor, dash of light spilling through.

“What? Didn't say you were.” she headstarts and jerks the door chasmally open, banging against the oaken trim.

“Door!” shouted Dina, now muffled as you enter beneath true light of day.

“Sorry!”

You wince both muck–free feet into a macula of moist earth, feeling your weight sink and squeeze a taint of muddy blob as you hoick off and traipse forth. A kittenly, “I think the only horse here is you– smelling of sheep shit,” comeback lightens the air, giggling, “Peee–yuuu, somebody get me a mask.” and shooing an invisible stench from your nostrils.

“Puuh–lease, as if you don't smell like a hot pile of garbage after your chores,” thrummed out of her gob easily, just so she could smooth in, “Emphasis on the hot.”

“God, you amuse me.” you shake your head low and smile, bloating the inwards of your cheeks ‘till they hugged your nose, two blooming mushrooms.

Her body spirals in a swing of her leg, now walking completely backwards, “Wasn't trying to amuse, m'being serious. U're hot.” she brownnosed, even giving you the fucking eye–up–and–down.

This baser, coy weirdo. Can't go nary a breath without summoning a smile unto you.

Your wandering eyes travel up a stream of fading cumulus clouds, sheer stranding like a veil pierced with astral rays– and you mull mind over answers across those clouds, for how could you reply, origin of wit?

Then, so cross the dumbest, possibly weakest retort, transferring from sky–gaze to mouth.

“Andddddd u're not.” you skip ahead of her with a feign of sass, causing her to whip back around.

“Not what you said last night.”

Okay that's true, but..

You egg her on, splayed palm melding to cold, rusted iron grip of a shovel, “I said a great many things, remind me?” as you tease.

“Gladly.” a hotness more snug than the sun cupped your wrist, pricking your grasp open free of the shovel–hilt and spinning you like a ballerina– knocking shin to shin so you plaster flat on the splintered wood door of that barn. Els hovered close, horridly close, breath fervent to your mid–face, “where should I start, babe?”

You freeze, blizzard of a kindled burn, a smolder trenching roots through your reddening cheeks. That throb, returns. You just couldn't gauge which throbbed more severely– the banging of a mad heart, resounding echoed thwacks against caved ribs, or the chokehold of your beaded clit, squeezing up into your cunt and getting you to chafe moist arousal from your labia, wringing webs across your entrance.

No, not again, not here.

“You should start..” a gulp burdens the words back in your gut, re–rounding with a deflect, “by mucking the stable.” silkenly fallen to a wholly nether topic.

Dumbfounded was the look to darken her visage, bristly brows dropping like sawed trees and cleft of her lips bowing to a frown, unamused, “Seriously?”

“Mhm!” you swerve the shovel handle at her unprovoked, letting her catch it prior to crouching under her barred arms and strolling off towards the sheep stall.

And like a dog, she tailgates hot on your hind. Bark bark bark, yapping ditto to one too, “Why do I gotta shovel shit n’ not you? –Huh?” yet in the most unserious, sportive tone, ever. Dorky smirk lingering in her words, pounding a laser through the thickset back of your skull.

Man, if Ellie was a dog– she'd be a damn Siberian husky. Pining for unending attention and peskily playful, too playful, even.

Each crunch of hay behind you, every little sigh she put forth in bone–dry air, the sum of her laughy scoffs that no way in a verdant pasture heaven wouldn't be expelled without a toothsome smirk. She was the blight of you, your anathema, pockmarking inside your brain imagery of how she looked when you averted your gaze, meanwhile she beheld the rear of your head, cocksure of her annoyance. Oh, and goddess how it never falters to soar her heart high of a heavenly altitude, skirmishing every cloud with her melodious drum of life when even simply laying scrutiny to the hair awry with mess, shrouding your nape in the natural fall of it, bouncing on each step. A love of life that you could give.

That is all her mind bends to, pestering you, so help her goddess, she will enact anything, to make this abominable sin a grounded relationship.

Look upon me, won't you?

You tuck a finger around the tiny hook lock, opening the large sheep stall, “Because–” you pause, cutting past the rails and drawing an arm over to grasp a rickety rake, elevating it over the half–wall, “someone's gotta uncover the shit first.”

Her knee pooches out mildly as she recasts her weight on a wall, twiddling her thumb over every scuffed mark of the shovel, examining its ridges beneath her print. Yet, her eyes stayed absorbed in you, taking the waft of every leg stride, arching of your spine as you stoop down, extension of your hands grasping the rake's shaft– stabbing the crooked tines into a labyrinth of heaping hay, the screaming of metal scraping on concrete, causing her ears to tremble and tighten, alongside a squint. The noise muffles, then awakens as she relaxes her facial muscles, slacking her jaw to speak, “Y'really good at that, y'know..” mumbled, even.

“Mmht–” you smack your tongue moist, dithering your head in puzzled wags, “–I am literally just raking the ground,” humbled you, thinking of her dumbly so, “weirdo.”

“Pshh, yeah, but I bet you'll have this whole stall swept in like a minute tops.” she claims through a fried rasp, vailing her pale lids low as she stares– stares of yearn.

Further squashed upon hilarity, you whack a tuft of hay clean through air, then stake the rake upright to a wooden beam and lean, staring back rich with spite, “And I bet an hour for you, what– just standing there?”

“I don't see any shit yet, m'waitin’ on youu..” her vowel drawls long, smug–fuck expression curling those rosy lips.

“Oh really?” your thumb unlocks from the lot of your clutching digits, breaching the rake with a springy sound as it bludgeons against the oaken column. Ranging your foot forward, you brace the skimp distance from you to her, planting softened steps.

Maraschino cherry of her chubbed cheeks, a puckish smirk reads more and more intently as you approach. Each thwack of sole leather to hardy ground is a pump of excitement for her– reckoning your current passage as a rite of igniting something. Sway of your hips, stopping of your tracks in front of her, she wonders– or hopes, of what you'll do next.

You gave that freckled face a prompt pore–over, recognizing that flare of her brows jerking up slightly when you park optics onto her slit–open ones, inhaling, “Then let me do it.” and splaying your palm up to the ceiling, expecting the shovel plumb in–hand, easily.

“Hmm, nah.”

You furrow a lone brow, “Why not?”

“Cuz’ I got it.” spoken cockily, lips flubbed out and head swung like a whip, winding the crescent strands of burnished hair out of her eyesight.

So cavalier.

If Dina were here, the place’d be fuckin’ primely polished. Be for real.

“Sure,” you blunt your accent, nigh on sarcasm, “what's gotten into you?” pleating your fist to a ball, you slot it between the warm pocket of breast to bicep, crossing your arms.

You.

You– are what's gotten into her. Two horny adults unchaperoned, in the convenience of privacy, sub rosa, a smidgeon apart, lusting with their parts of lechery, staring down at sorely empty hands that could be full of each other's flesh, it doesn't fare well. Emptiness, a sphere of it, sleeping in palms where it is an unwelcome voyeur– snoring, vibrating. Dormant touch never falls short of pulsation, like a magnet, it reaches for her.

Stroking the shovel rod as she does, with those knobby fingers of hers, twining the length, was patently suggestive. Soft rings resonate with each tug of her clewed hand, rubbing up and down, slow and thorough, what the fuck.

And worst–best of all? Eyes. Her sooty, pebble blown pupils thinning the evergreen in her eyes, pierced yours. Forbidding ones.

God, wary of reality or not– admit this, it was definitely hot. Hot, how her ashen lids embrace the snow and veins, a human cadre of gossamery skin. Hot, because they read debaucherous– and could carbonize a bible to cinders with a single glance, sacrilege to poetry, ergo; ‘Fuck me’ eyes. And lastly, hot, as they sat a throne upon a wicked smile, exposing her front teeth lightly, spit line attached top to bottom. In short, breathing you in, made her high off lust.

Asudden, the bow indenting her mouth is backwashed in a swallow, and her eyes disappear beyond the hood of her brow bone, captivating her soul upon a sigh. A sigh she breaks contact for, a sigh she must take, in lieu of composure– when all she perceived of you was a temptation.

A bastion of forced air swells up her cheeks, lukewarm on the gums, pouty of the lips, “Fffffffuck–” mouthed she full of that exhale, shaking her head to a low duck.

“Fuuck, what?” a mimic of her quiet curse befell your lips, curving tone and brow in confusion.

That's when her head perked, an inch, a slanted inch, bedeviled eyes divided by the drop of a short russet strand, mouth pursing to vowel out, “You.” hoarsely.

“Like ‘Fuck you bitch’ or in a ‘I'm gonna fuck you’ typa’ way?” you undulate your head cartoonishly, heightening the emphasis of both those options, cause both appeared likely.

Fluff of her brows crooking weirdly, she gawks with an inlay of temptations, bought, “That is the dumbest fuckin’–” she chuckles dryly, nose facing heavenward as she spins the shovel, going clockwise ‘round you, “–question, I've ever heard.”

Step by step, on beat, you slowly spun with her encirclement, noticing now that you're inclined to back up into the wall as she kitty–corners you, idle mitt pressing finger wads to textured wood, laying spread.The scratch of it smooches your shoulder blades as you smush plane on the wall, calves ghosting wales of wood coarse enough to leave blushy marks, and yet you rely on it to camouflage from her intimidating gaze.

A heartbeat hastens, brimming your throat with a blockage capable of consuming the words before ears could, tethering a timid gasp out instead.

Ellie rasped deep, “Cat got your tongue, hmm? Don't back down ‘n me now..” the heat of her face hovers close, cocking her head laterally to fit perfectly in your headspace, air blown from every syllable fanning your sutured mouth.

The weight her stare threw upon you was, probing, and direful. Every attempted scape–glance was a gut instinct, a reflex when shagged to a set of human bars. Flesh of bone, bone in flesh, arm to arm, what a bloody mess.

You curl your shoulders inwards, pressing folded elbows skin–tight to your ribs, “Dumbest question?” a gulp cuts the sentence, “you didn't even answer.”

“Want me to?”

“Yeah,” in defense, you tested her, “I do.”

“Ohhaha– okay..” Els’ cadence rose to amused laughter, shifting on her feet slightly, “We can fuck.” but she spoke it like you requested of it, although, did you?

Fuck.

A bulbous mass pushed your legs clean apart, trampiling the dress to a tight pull around your thighs. Confounded, you drop sights, sinking your chin in towards your neck and realizing– it was her knee.

Rough denim rustles clemently, a whisper of two fabrics meeting, between your quads. A friction so faint, so hush, begins to purr more acutely when a– ahh, pressure. A carnal pressure is given, given with urge, urging on your barely confined clit.

It stings as she drives her knee in, getting you to clench your insides, to seize up.

A juxtaposition doomed to interblend skin.

You impel up on the wall, heel sloping to rest on the flat trim. It smashed your pussy lips, causing a chafe, ramming fabric inside the rim of your hole, a velvety draw of sleek depressing on the cotton tongue of your panties makes it stay there. Thereupon, her groin grinds a roll, nudging your pussy on top of her knee.

“Remember this, babe?” Ellie gives thrall to the dense steel in her vocals, ticking her head aside more to pass that breath firmly on your ear, “–‘member how good my knee felt? Mhm? ‘So fuckin’ good’, you said?”

A diabolical coo, she's trying to get under your skin figuratively– and literally further.

But it surfaced that memory like a buoy, erecting ayond the navy sea line with its eye–catching signal. In you, it materializes. Last night, came a blanket of umbra, yawning its penumbra in the horizon. Witching hour, obscene–eyed, gloaming your senses and eating away at deceit. Deceived? Yeah, that's how you felt, daylight by day bright, a misinterpreter.

All throughout the day, she would ghost right past you en route to Dina, much like earlier– and love up on her. Spread her taint of arousal between you, her, and you, then her again. Leading on last night, where she stowed her knee, just like now, affirming how mortally she may succumb to madness without your vulnerable phasing unto her, except, in a casual way, short of poetry. On top of that continuous grind she gave on your groin, she marked you with a claim so bold,

So freakish, so outré.

Dirty with her perverted thoughts.

You remember it, hard.

‘You love me just as much as your pussy does, face it.’

Hence, her knee felt as fucking liberating as it did that stone stark night. Your clit throbs with an ache, coiling your womb in moreish begs, more, moree.. please more.

“I remember.” uttered softly, throat shutting on the words as you choke up in sensation.

A cordial chuckle blows summery hot on your ear, “Hehe, good,” and is soaked deeper in with a puckered kiss, popping quietly, “Good girl.”

That made you shiver, in a growing delight. A heat seeping between your folds, has you bearing down on her knee, slopping that raw precum all over the ruined seams of your underwear. In bodily reaction, your cunt shriveled in on itself, squelching a drop on barely–there textile– glossing a wet patch on the knoll of her knee.

Ellie espied that moistness saturating through her jeans and spreading warm on flesh when it seeps, slinking her leg a wimp inch out to gauge the spot, a fucking masterpiece, smack dab on her knee, “Fuck,” she spews, pinning teeth to lip, “for me?” she questions, even with an obvious ass answer staring her in the eyes.

Forget Dina, this felt right– too right.

“For you.”

Her teeth bare vast in a smirk, doubling up her cheeks, “God, I love you.” because finally, fucking finally, she will have her cake and eat it too.

But first, eat the space before you.

And so she does, tucking the wad of her nose squashed in the crevice of your nostril and cheek, brushing of her mildly cracked lips greet yours to part, a balmy ask of entrance. Wagging against, the skin barely hugs with cushy compress, then she nips your bottom lip and wedges her own between, indulging the bump of your cupid's bow to cradle a whisker inside her suckled hold– her humid realm of fog. Buds connected, she felt like butter searing, softness melting, disintegration inside your clasp of a satiny hole, and she was pungent of farmland, muck sweat, everything you could have prest for. Ellie pushes passion in the form of little spit bubbles down your throat– ingesting your voice, your taste, your brain, essence in whole. Taking each other in your own two gullets, bolts of song, and long gaping moans– and even longer pants of make–out exhaustion.

“Mhhh,” she shoves another groan to rattle your teeth, hopping over cloud nine with each moan you reciprocated– like music in a fairytale, a ballad, or of a siren song, splendidly spellbinding, yes? “–fhhck yeshh–” She hums, forwarding a buck of her knee fiendishly.

You yelped, and she liked that, an impish grizzle pushing past the swollen smile and drags saliva across yours.

But.

Those hands once empty, cannot lie powerless to being so. Hers, fly from the wall behind your head and trace down your biceps, buckling unfurled over the bulge of your loose breasts and cup them tender, giving a squeeze that dimples flesh above the neckline of your dress. Not a complaint rose from you, you liked it, yearned hard of it– loved it.

She could tell by the mere movement of your back, arching into her grasp, getting her fingers to squish them even flatter, laughing the kiss to a pause, “Look at you–” she hinds back to look at you, taking your eager rush to follow her lips into regard, “fucking cutie.”

“Don't call me cutie.” you astern.

“Why noott–”

“No.”

A grin enlightens her anyways, “Got it,” and slides her lip back between yours, suckling the plump of your upper, “Mhmm..” hummed so gravelly, so good on your ears, yummy.

This girl will be the first suspect of your murder. Murder of love.. in spring.

Adjourning the freshly–sown kiss with a sloppy smack, you interrupt, “Y'know–” mhhp, a quick peck, “–think I love you too.”

“Think?” she knits her brows together dumb on your featherly melded foreheads, squishing the grooves that form in–between, “could already tell from last night,” her rasp makes it sound of a patent fact, chuckling like an asshole when you whine amid her tease, “hmm–hm, sorry babe.”

“God, you're such a dick,” you bind your head lower and ghost your barren lips over her chin, smiling amongst your dim shadow.

Index and thumb of her hand thaw ripely of your chin, exerting under the bone and beckoning you up with a kind pull, “Would a dick do this–” she twines you to the left, “Mmph,” pasting a kiss beneath one eye, “or this,” twines you to the right, pasting another peck, “or even this?” and lastly, twines you faceward.

Patent of her pattern, you expect a delicate pair of those blood swell, pouty lips to spare something planets away from porny lust– a promise, that none of this was bad. However, hopes are dashed like a racehorse when your chin rears free and a blur of her auburn head plunges out of sight, and under the hood.

“Els’, where are you–”

Oh.

A gale of air spills up the gap of your thighs, sought upon by the whipping of your sundress’ hem up crinkled in her dual grasps, pushed against your hip bones. Knees grind in shallow dust, planting just next to your parked feet with a soft rub between the four, the perfect position, an orgasmic view. Ellie lets a gasp free upon eyeing the fat blotch soaked thoroughly to a glisten, fabric eased in your labia, showing her the shape of it. God, ‘think she saw you clench just now.

She balls the fabric to one hand, dropping her other and husking dry, “There she is– fuck, missed me?” a waggy finger rises to your clit, toying it in meager flicks– almost as to pet it.

A wince cries from you, “Ahh–” and you perk on your toes, inching away from her fingertip now padded in your sodden arousal.

Yet that fucking finger follows, pressing a hiemal print to flatten your bloated clit, clothed labia hugging the willowy knuckle. Cocky chuckle– likeness of her unabashed assholery and spilt through grit teeth, she muses in your clamping pussy lips, “Hehe, yeah? Need my fuckin’ fingers, huh?” and those damned coos, that tender tune, gosh– you can't get enough of it.

But you've had your fill of plaguing rumination.

Dina's away, nay a breath of her lingers here, not a peep of her can disrupt you, disrupt what you feel– how Els’ makes you feel. It's not wrong, if you're not the one suggesting it. It's not immoral, if it was never held in the hands of your intention. It's not your fault, if you let it transpire. Nothing to rue, not your sin, not your wrongdoing.

So you pluck the apple.

An ease of your quads down pricks your clit with the poke of her finger, cushing the delicate flesh, “Mhm– yes, yess.” whined you, nigh on breathless.

“That's right,” thick is her voice– like a coddling of wood thicket, pushing past the devout lips that embed themselves in the chub pliancy of your belly, lain of a smooch to your womb, a quiet one, “thaat's fuckin’ right.” and jerking your clit measured with tease, idly rubbing.

The gentle marrow of that contact with your belly and your clit, sent you aquiver. Your abdomen, shaking lightly against her mouth with a breath in, lading your stomach with a rise, high–strung by that simple kiss. Too sweet, you thought, sweetly toxified of honey, unorthodox to how hoggish she usually strikes as– you expected her usual playfulness.

Softness can be addictive, and her version of soft, definitely was.

“Soo fuckin’ good t'me..” her lips detach only to press back in, multiple times, same exact spot. She wouldn't dare budge, not when it was deemed her duty to kiss you there by some unknown force, or her own accord. Ellie whispers, lugging those honey–drug lips over the pouch of your belly, “need that good fucking pussy n’ my mouth.”

A tilt, a modest slant of your hips projecting your crotch against her collarbone was your ask of entrance, and she gave her answer so fast.

“Hold this,” she cranes the clump of skirt to one of your paws, letting go when you meet fingers over fingers with her and hold your skirt to your ribs. She stops playing with your clit completely, tracing said finger up your groin and under your pantyline, pleating the band in on itself as she journeys it to your knees– letting it freefall from there.

Despite the milk–warm weather lambent to your forehead when settled under the sun, meant zilch to the cooler world inside the barn. Not wintry, but a tangible change sensed in your bare pussy. That's why you fastened your quads to a clench, nearly sucking in your cunt– oh, and the fact that two olive fern eyes are bluntly viewing it. Stage fright, much?

A fried gasp of, “Ohh, shit–” chills it further with exhalation upon discovering the raw truth to your aroused pussy, engorged in size and pinkish in sex irritation. Ellie was drunken in that eyeshot of serumy precum wetting a film between your slit, drawing gluey webs over your hole, barely open for full study. She needs you open, she longs to see, gulping a horny thought audibly before speaking, “spread them pretty legs for me, hmm? C'mon, it's just me–” she assures, donning that calming placidity whilst palming the round of your knees apart to guide you, “–there we go, uh'huh, fuck..” departed of her voice, husky as she studied the open spread of your filthy hole, dripping for her like it fucking knew she was looking at it.

All you could engage was a tunneled stare down of your protruding crotch and her reddish–brown dusted crown, the slump your knees took clung on the flank of her biceps– plowing with an indent in her bare sun–baked skin. Els’ face so sanguine compared to the paler pigment of her fingers, which now push your thighs uncomfortably agape to the extent of bulging fat between her knuckles. Eyes bark, luring under lids so heavy and lashes like a vignette– they bark and say, ‘Keep your fucking legs open.’

Say no less.

Taken in awe, “She's so fucking pretty–” she curses with meaning, a means to make it known, licking up a river between your folds upon seeing that exhilarating view, cupping a glob of slick in her pink muscle.

“Shit..”

Withdrawing her tongue, she swallows the creamy delight, “Prettiest pussy ever, ‘uh'huh, that's right.” Ellie being Ellie, she slaps it, eyeballing the spongy skin recoiling.

“Ah!”

“Yeah..”

Your nude cunt was honeydew heaven in her eyes, gleaming wet like grapefruit, that's why her tongue was already slipping out on open air. Head inching to intimacy, the button of her nose dovetails seamlessly between the tippity top of your folds, and your clit, kissed with a hot spell. That bud, it fit perfectly in the wrapping of her lips, straightaway suctioned further into the gummy pucker of her mouth.

An ache zaps that little bouquet of nerves and coerces you to nearly swoon over it, yelp hitching, “Ha– aah,” and shudder teething, “Ellie..” with a hump of your glutes butting her head back, only stirring that hungry mouth of hers to pop off and swaddle it back in, tongue flicking.

Her nostrils sunk deeper in, airflow turning muffled in your crotch– yet her moans remained, abounding, vibrating on your sensitive pearl, “Mhhhh, mhmm.” rumbling deep under the soft squelching her moving jaw brought to fruition.

Ellie, you fucking god, giving those plumate licks that are barely there, but scarily paired with deftness, getting you to squirm and squeal, “Yess– baby, yess..” That pink muscle snagging under the hood sometimes, smacking that pretty tiny clit of yours around with foams of flavor whisking onto her taste buds, humming in the notes of sex.

“Mhhh, fhhck.” her lips sever an inch, mumbling into your clit, “fuck you and your pretty little hole, god, fuck you.” she curses, cause how dare you let her impulses conquer, returning a trio of digits along your legs and swiftly finding your pussyhole, dilating the lips apart and shoving all three inside. How dare you, engross her ears in your moans echoing akin of a cathedral in her skull, ushering her to fuck you unholy.

“Ellie!” you wail, hoisting on your toes a second and clutching her in those slobbering walls– which only gushed a leak of arousal on her digits, and blocked her from further thrusting slightly, taken aback by the sudden stretch.

Her lips pop off again, slurping up the wet laces strung to her pout from your fattened labia, “Schlp– jesus, you are fucking tight,” the deepness rippled in her voice, groggy from the moist caking her gob, “let me in, don't push me out.. c'mon..” she coos gently, eyeballing the swallow her fingers took past your soaked lips, knuckles disappearing.

“O–ohh,” you tried to mouth ‘okay’, but the word just didn't fit the part.

“Just like that..” Ellie cools a fresh sigh, praising with a proud curl on her face, “Good fuckin’ pussy..”

Letting go, your gut loosens and heightens the sensation of her skinny fingers bottoming soundly inside your vagina, feeling the callouses rub as they curl and tickle your angelsent spot, airing lips find purchase behind her fingers– and a pointy nose bumps your clit pervaded with purpose.

Spry is the moan, moaning over ‘spilled milk’, “Oh my g– uhnn..” woe is you, clawing phantomly at the spring that coils inside your womb, unknowingly providing Ellie's eager mouth with your precum.

The physical reality around you, suddenly only consisted of you, her, the barrier that stills your back, and a void inside you– being filled.

Literally.

And figuratively? Cause jeez, you must give sanctuary to a sin–eating, fleshoid beast inside your bone prison of a body, coming back here for seconds like that.

Might you be the dirty.. dirty dog instead?

Rivers of filth, she pumps those glossy droplets out of you, leathery scars caressing your ribbed canal with each pleasuring undo of your senses, she steals them like they are impartial to your bliss– bliss is all she needed you to feel for her. Fuck the worry, trash the heartache, yank the anxiety out, and soften into a pretty blob atop her fingers.

Her sultry blessing sitting upon those fingers, that's how she deems you– you do well to remember that. Her, willing frame of hips thrusting back down on the friction she gives, burrowing her nose a scent so naturally seducing, a pheromone, fucking elates her own throbbing pussy. Nothing sugary, nothing stomach–churning, just the taint of you. The threading of her jean's crotch was enough of a brute, bullying her egged clit by driving a split in it, flattening the fleshy hood everytime she shifted weight from knee to abdomen, poor her.

“Huhnn– shit,” heaved grizzlier in her carp of stimulation decay, lack thereof rubbing one out herself and watching your delicate skin expand and crease. How could you blame her– her hand looked so right plugging your hole.

You suck your belly in, drawing tense on that thickset motion playing with your g–spot, whimpering, “Els’, please.. I can't..” a well floods in your waterline, searing with tears of crystalline iodine.

You really can't.

That scruffy mullet hides most of her big cranium, but, it was so fucking hot seeing the nominal stroke of her face, blushing strawberries betwixt your butter–spread legs. Her nose bobs north and south, dragging the bulb of cartilage over that nippy rosebud she happily exhales onto, pushing you over the earthly edge born of paltry touching. Ellie cognizes the slick–clear gospel that you were pending climax, manifesting as your needy bear downs into her slopping mouth practically lactating your pussy juices deep in the pit of her stomach, and the swelling of your wooed clit led on by her tongue, growing big and reddish on her nose to where it clasps the tip in a pillowy fashion, dabbing a glob of creamy sap.

A mouthquake splutters wetness mixed with her spit across your inner–thighs abd vibrates your folds, betrothal of her voice waking back up, sourly muted, “She's– suh good.. mhphh– to me..”

“Ellie..” you falter on breath, leavening in pitch.

“Phh–” a frothy sound garbled in your pussy lips, pushing her spit bubbles inside your gaping hole and traveling deeper with her fingering you, “makin’ this pushhy’ mine..” flubbed she, lapping up her cupid's bow of smeared sleek.

Your hole clamps her in as the pang begins to tick its patchy count of time, wearing the glass knot of your womb to a cracking, and troubling the base of her digits.

“Fuck, you wanna’ make this harder?” she sterned to the velvety rim of you locking on her triple shafts, porking webs of your pre–finish to teardrop down your walls as her palm splashes against your loch–sodden slit and mashes your g–spot repeatedly, plush of your labia bouncing in ripples. The noises were abundant, and pornographic, mushy as she fixes so much of your arousal on the pads of her fingers, hormones spiking at the lewd noises, “you hear that baby, ooh, fuck.” foxily ‘ooed’ that foxy–maned girl, beguiled in how your pussy spurts for her.

It wept in slaps, eliciting a palping squelch to bang, bang– bang– pound, brandishing a chilly tempest through and through your bloating labia, quivering as it readies to release. The stuffing was intimate– like a punch inside your spirit, coaxing the fragile glass to a rend, ergo, pushing out every lash of pure lucid squirt.

On the beat of your hole gushing, yelps batting you shut in the plain intensity such an orgasm brought forth, tore Ellie from simply just watching– to drinking every drop. Her voice, dusky in the backdrop of your wails sounded, “Yes– yess, babe fuckk that's it.. mhm, all over my fuckin–” her words wane as her lips clock in, a sudden rush of void fleets with her fingers sheathing out, drawing a long lubricous bunch of webbing only to be nourished in the warmth of her mouth– pursing into your labia and shaking about as you squirt.

Ellie has no shame in getting soiled of you, even the devil himself blushed at the linkness of her mid–face pancaking your lissom skin apart, spewing you wide.

“Ah! Nuh– nonono, t'much, too– uhhnn..” your throat fails you, clumping wads of words that wanted to breach, but her mouth was too good, and it's fucking obvious that she wouldn't stop, not when she can have you like this, bucking onto her flat tongue. Sinfully good, disgusting in the rawest fashion, making your crotch burn with ecstasy more than it already did.

Water upon the push of her mouth, blowing in and slopping noisily at the meat of your pussy lost it's carry to your ears. A biome of shadow, veils your vision and a pressure rains less than tender between your eyes, blurring everything before you, ebbing the grasp of your skirt to an impossible job, hands ashake. All you could gauge above the hood was fiery sweat, hot, steaming– taunting sweat, licking at your forehead.

Her nose headbutts into your vagina, slinking languidly as her head finally smacks off your numb folds, laughing, “Holy fuck– y'taste so good,” the air windy to your soaked entrance, convulsing in front of her barren eye, “shoulda’ let me lick you sooner.”

Huff, and puff, until the binds of your chest blow down, sprouting with an entire current of air, panting more than dramatic as you dwindle down like a bird's plume, “Too.. huh– haah, bad.”

A new kiss is savored to your clit, absorbing the snift her snort gave, “Haha– yeah yeah, n'you liked it, don't lie.”

No lie was home to call. You’ve a truthful virtuality.

You truly did like it, love it, cave obsession over that moment– for now it passes, and not a peck of guilt ran prickly on your arm hairs, saving your gullet free of a stony gulp. No crows died in the revelation of your scandal, only doves, encirclement in a trance chirping nuptials to be had.

I really do love you, Ellie.

Is that so bad?

“I can’t catch my– oof,” you grab sudden air with your fructifying lungs, “–can’t catch my fuckin’ breath.” and the struggle was visible, muscles like puppet strings to your fingers losing proper grasp and billowing the skirt plop on her head.

The rotund shape of it wiggles from the draping hem, continuing to laugh when her wet–handed fingertips poked thin on your ankle, bulging on both sides as she drew your panties back up all the way, slithering under your skirt’s canopy and stretching the band to a snap on your hips, skin tiding, jerking you off warning, which for sure winded the breath back in ya.

“Sheesh, no care for my panties at all?” remarked you of fun wit, gliding your thumb apart to rub the bend of your hip crest.

“You literally ruined them before–”

“And whose fault is that?” you winched from the barn wall and met pupil–to–pupil with her rising figure, revealing how slick–fucked her face really is, glossing with evidence of your cunt.

“Mine..” proudly, guilt was basal to her tone, nonexistent, inching closer to you with a slight wobble swaying on her heels.

You hark the crunch of gravel below, but keep your gaze airborne, Ellie–borne, “Exactly.”

“Cause m'hot?”

“No,” you rock your head, evil smirk deepening the corners of your lips to your gums, “that's a dumb question.”

Her arms begin to slink at fore, elbows chafing her flank, “Wow, stole my line.”

“Still dumb.” you pinch the neckline of her tank, straining it up to wipe her mouth clean.

“Coulda’ just used my hand.” she still does, the dork, purging any excess to the hill of her bent wrist.

You scrunch your nose fakely, “Uck,” and express, mumbling, “Bring a rag next time.”

Her hands then drop, creeping towards your sides, “Didn't think we were gonna–”

“Liar.”

Those strapping hands bend with wrinkles in her knuckles as they plant pleasantly on your hips, fingernails curling with lustier keys, tugging you plane on her body, “You're so fucking cute,” is all she could say, because there was no stem of denial baying for a different answer,

Doing this was always lingering a tail on her thoughts.

“And such a bitch, fuuck– want you so bad,” complained she, pushing the last of her grizzled groans past her blood–swell lips, which now dive in the sweaty nook of your swan neck– bespattering the sensitivity, “–need y’so bad..”

You comb a paw of fingers through her honey–cresten mane, dividing strands apart and giving a fond press to her scalp, whispering upon her pale–rosen ear, “Then have me–”

“I can’t,” her crumbled lips fail to cling, dragging dry beneath your ear, “I fucking can’t.” wearily said, wearing her voice to nothing.

Infidelity.

Wasn't nice at all, on both sidewalks.

A purer bid of tears wet her cheek, drenching into the flesh of your neck as she pushes into you, holding you dear, vast afar from intentions to let go.

“I know..” was a rare comfort, and wasn't one to you right now– for plucking that apple, ripped you of innocence. A blind eye you turn when sensuality is awake. Enrapture chokes your senses, sweeps you in the moment, clouds your memory of those ugly, nasty etceteras– those facets that deplore it. Even now, when Ellie collapses weight onto her ankles, pressing you into that same wall you saw heaven on, touching heartbeats incandescent for each other's total consumption, weeping wet on your bare shoulder– it hurts, aches you to say, “But I don't want to know.”

Clutch of your neckline, she bruises her knuckles tight in it, spiteful almost– gagging on tears that roll the wrong road, “Guh– fucking hell, don't say that..”

“Ellie, it's–”

“Don't.”

“Not your fault.” you flap your fingers up, palm still glued, patting her head.

She doesn't belong to you.

Yet you act like she does.

Pity.

A sniffle is the intake of air you feel before her nose skims off, craning her neck to an angle where she can gaze adjacent to your cheek, for beholding may prove a demise. But she can't forgo this one ask, this dream perched upon her brain, “Babe..” she purrs, dead of cadence.

“Hmm?” a whirl invites your nose to her cheekbone, offering you the picture of her side–profile. Oh, those lashes so dashing, they curl, darken her snow of eye, and trap tears.

Why, it's as if a rainbow overcasts those auburn reeds.

Ellie's capsized tune finds its stream back to that scratchy rasp, silkenly intoning on your earlobe, “Can you sleep with me tonight?” her buds ghost the rim, popping on the syllables.

Is that even possible?

You debate with the figments in your mind, casting doubt over your facial muscles, knitting, “Ellie, you know–”

“I don't.”

“Els.”

Long forked strokes of her fingers run up your jaw, scrolling you to then focus on her face cocooning your entire sight, and a husk enlaces you, “Forget about Dina,” a glimmer summons her lips to curl once again, “just tonight, fucking please?”

Fucking please.

A silence rots in the cordial space sparsely separating you, wrenching her brows with a ravine indenting between them– the serious look you love. And her hold of hands appear to deepen in your cheeks, claiming your skin as one, melting into her prints, squeezing a reply from you.

“Please?”

Odds may dote on you, think about this.

“Okay.”

(couldn't tag everyone who wanted to be)

taglist; @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @beforeimdeceased @fleshunger @williamellieslilho @mcqueeferson @pretty-prrincess-13 @naomis-daydream @weridcatttyy @gold-dustwomxn @evera-era @criminallydownbad @yohibmbi @ang3licpretty

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adhdtsukasa · 3 months

Text

tsukasa tenma has ADHD!! except it's an actual analysis because 1. look at my url 2. i'm mentally unwell (and i started to love tsukasa mostly because i immediately recognized my ADHD traits in him). which is a thing i should probably leave for ADHD awareness month, HOWEVER!! it was my birthday yesterday and i wanted to spoil myself (i just kinda overlooked how much time writing it from scratch would take me, so i'm a bit late with it). and i reaaally don't wanna wait until november when i finally wrote it down because i'm so HYPED because i was preparing for it like what? two years? somewhere around it. and that's a LONG time.

please keep in mind that i'm no psychologist, psychiatrist nor a neurologist and while i do use some sources (cannot really confirm if they are true, though... because i forgot to write credits down... so i'm really sorry for that), most of this analysis was just based off on my personal experiences with the disorder (and i don't really have the full professional knowledge of what i struggle with i'm just a Boy). i mean, i am analyzing a character from a hatsune miku game. i think i'm already putting way too many effort than i should.

also the examples of tsukasa's behavior here are not all of the things, because i wrote down only the things i remember off from the top of my head. sorry, guys. my hyperactive ass is not sitting thru all the stories again just to get my crumbs, unfortunately.

anyways, with this a little bit unprofessional and messy introduction, let's get it started!

1. THE MAIN PART OF THIS WHOLE THING, AKA HOW THE ADHD SYMPTOMS CORRESPOND TO TSUKASA'S BEHAVIOR

i wanted to write it down in my own words, but i think the screen above has summed it up perfectly; there are some established symptoms of ADHD, but to be an ADHDer you don't have to experience them all. and this is going to explain why i'm gonna show a lot of these symptoms later, yet gonna connect only some of them with tsukasa. it's only these i have evidence for, and yet i think they're good enough to point at tsukasa and already say woah! an ADHDer!!

in short, there are three types of ADHD: hyperactive, inattentive (ADD) and combined. the combined one is the most common iirc, so that's also what i'm going to focus on today. especially since for a rep of the other types, i could say that shizuku's a rather great representation of ADD — but that's not the point of my ted talk today, so i'm not going to go into the detail about it. i'm sure some momojan or shizuku oshi would do better than me in this field, so i'm leaving it to the experts.

these are the symptoms that i managed to gather — the first two screens being about the symptoms viewed in children, the last one being about the symptoms viewed in adults. "in which one of them tsukasa belongs to?" that's a good question, because i actually don't know. calling a high schooler a child doesn't sit quite right with me, yet a freshly turned 17/18-years-old is not exactly an adult, either (although most of the symptoms i'm analyzing come from these that are viewed in adults). and while i do think tsukasa has more of the symptoms viewed in adults, we're gonna analyse them all! because i'm putting my all into this.

FORGETFULNESS

i believe there's not much left to say, as this is the most obvious one and everyone already knows that. even though it's not touched that much anymore for some reason, tsukasa's forgetfulness is his very apparent trait. it varies in severity a lot of times: from him basically forgetting both his childhood and true feelings in the main story to him, for example, forgetting his own phone and lunch (in the same day!!) in hinamatsuri. even saki in the same event, while they were arguing, called him a "big, dumb forgetter" and assumed that he forgot what happened the day he brought her the hinamatsuri dolls to hospital. while forgetting basically half of your life is not exactly normal and can be a sign of something bigger, like dissociative amnesia, his forgetting of just the ordinary things and it happening a lot definitely still fits this trait.

EXCESSIVE TALKING/PHYSICAL MOVEMENT

while this is something that you'd rather connect to emu (and for a good reason), it's not like tsukasa is completely devoid of it either; he talks a lot. he moves a lot. it's not on emu's level of hyperactivity, but it's also not "a lot" that's taken as a social norm, based on how the people around him react. he's putting the 1 in oddball 1 2, after all.

in holy night or some side stories connected to it (it might be meiko's side story? but i'm not exactly sure) it was also said that tsukasa moves in his sleep a lot to this point that his parents have to leave his christmas presents under his door instead of next to his bed.

oh, and he also talks to himself a lot. even in class, which was confirmed in chapter 6 of dazzling (or maybe even earlier, it's just the one moment that i remember). (but i'll get to this moment later on)

he says his long monologues, he strikes his poses at every occasion — and while i don't think that's the first thing you think of when you have "excessive talking/movement" in mind, for me it sure does count as it.

LITTLE OR NO SENSE OF DANGER

this point can seem rather weird, because "isn't tsukasa always riddiculed at rui's weird inventions"? well, yeah, he is, that is not a thing to deny. but he also agrees to try out most of them, if not all, if it's for the sake of the show. he's aware of what can happen, but he also doesn't back away if it means that he'll be one step closer to achieving his dream of stardom.

does it count as "little sense of danger"? well, i'm actually not sure, for me it doesn't, but maybe for someone it does. i'd say that's a rather weak point, but i wanted to include the explanation for the counterpoint of it — that's why i even mentioned it in the first place. i don't have a lot to say about this tbh.

update: oh, actually no, wait, i just remembered. remember how tsukasa in phoenix decided to not eat anything for three days just to be able to resonate with rio, while also having to do straining exercise on top of that? you certainly cannot say that's a safe thing to do, but he still went along with that in order to get the role. it makes me come to a conclusion that tsukasa actually has a sense of danger, but sometimes chooses to willingly ignore it if only it makes him get closer to fulfilling his dream. i think it's coming close enough to the little/no sense of danger to be actually considered an ADHD trait.

DIFFICULTY KEEPING QUIET

while i'm not sure if what i'm going to talk about is a difficulty keeping quiet in a traditional sense of way, it definitely counts as it, somehow: tsukasa is loud. like, really loud. and that's another obvious fact both for us and for characters in-universe, especially when thinking of tsukasa shiho's first thought is that he's kinda noisy, which can be seen in the "a friend's brother" 1koma. (and probably a lot of other cases. free shiho.)

tsukasa doesn't seem to realize that he's way louder than he should be and that him being loud is his first impression in most of the cases, though, or at least i don't remember any moment where it happens (and it's a possibility. then that's on me, i guess.). and yeah, i know what's the reason for it, obviously — he's supposed to be a comic relief character. because wansho's stories are mostly supposed to make you smile, as this is what wansho's aspiration is. however, as much as being intended to make the viewer laugh it wouldn't be, it still is a part of tsukasa's character, and a rather important one on top of that. his constant loudness is something that's definitely not considered normal by the society and could very well fit into this symptom.

and since i promised to elaborate on the mentioned before scene from dazzling chapter 6: when tsukasa talks to himself in class, it always ends up to be loud. and it already happened a few times.

(tl by tsukasa's #3 fan on youtube because i don't have proseka on my phone wah)

if it's not a difficulty keeping quiet, then i don't know what is. bro can scream up to 120dB as measured by robonene for god's sake.

IRRITABILITY/QUICK TEMPER

again, this is something that was more apparent with early game tsukasa, maybe he just got medicated. idk man. but even if it happened three, almost four years ago, it still happened, i don't make the rules. back in the early game, tsukasa was really easily losing his temper and getting annoyed, mad even — i mean, that was the whole point of the main story argument: tsukasa's first response to nene accidentally messing up their show, which was not even her fault, was to shout at her. and while this was obviously very important thing to him and being upset at this is a rather understandable reaction, taking this as far as screaming at a poor girl for not being to face the audience because of her anxiety is not something a person who can control their anger would do.

it could be also easily seen by his reaction to emu and rui's antics back in the early game, which were often stained with irritation.

another example is his hinamatsuri argument with saki, where, despite loving her so much, he still got slightly mad at her for not liking the new dolls he bought her. he started to regret his harsh words and actions soon enough, obviously, but it doesn't change the fact that it was rather easy for him to get him across.

INABILITY TO DEAL WITH STRESS

if i'm not mistaken, tsukasa has once said something along the lines of "is it anxiety? there's no way a star like me would feel anxiety" — but i cannot recall for the love of my life in which story it appeared, so i don't want to take it as a face value when i don't have a solid proof for it.

other than this vague mention of "something that's in the story but i don't remember where", i'll admit, i don't really have anything backing me up for this tbf. i mean, i guess maybe tsukasa doing his best to appear strong as a child to not worry his parents could work? because the stress of saki being in the hospital definitely was also present here, although i just see this more as a coping mechanism for his situation than a reaction to stress, so that's not a solid evidence either.

so, yeah. take this one with a grain of salt, actually.

from the symptoms that weren't listed here, i remember reading something about people with ADHD enjoying to show off more, which is certainly what tsukasa does often — and while it actually applies to me too, it wasn't on an english site so i didn't screenshot it and i cannot really find it anywhere in english... so even though i treat it just like my whole argument for the inability to deal with stress, i thought it's just worth mentioning.

however, there is obviously one more thing...

HYPERFIXATION/SPECIAL INTEREST

obviously, i'm talking about acting here: for tsukasa, acting aligns with all these criterias. it is his deep passion; it is something highly engaging for him; it is sometimes all-consuming for him; he tunes out the world around him when he thinks about how can he possibly improve his acting (see: the dazzling moment i showed earlier. yeah, i like to use it as a backing point a lot, as you can see.); and it is something that is his life-long interest.

is it his special interest or his hyperfixation, though? well, it's hard to tell...? because while according to screen two, spinterest revolves around a topic and hyperfixation revolves around an activity, so it would qualify what tsukasa feels towards acting as a hyperfixation, it's still kinda hard for me to call it so because of its length. yes, screen three clearly says that hyperfixation can last years, but they mostly revolve around shorter periods of time, after all (my longest hyperfixation was just a year long, for example). i think it's up to you to determine whether you'd call tsukasa's love for acting a hyperfixation or a special interest, but it's something from these two most certainly.

i'm also a big fan of the headcanon that tsukasa's other spinterest is kaito ww it's in no way a canon evidence (unfortunately!), but kaito's 1* side story, where tsukasa and emu are watching kaito's show and tsukasa is explaining to her why kaito's wearing a scarf somewhat implies that tsukasa knew a thing or two about kaito before the main story. and i'm all for it. colopale let tsukasa be a kaito fanboy pleaseee.

2. I REALLY LIKE ANALYZING SONGS, IF YOU CAN'T TELL

those who have already read a few of my things probably know what i love to do the most — analyzing songs!! so i wouldn't be myself if i just left tsukasa's commisions without analyzing them under the angle of neurodivergence, especially since the sole reason i became obsessed with the thought of ADHD tsukasa was that one sekahaji line (there's too much noise, so much noise and it keeps getting worse you will always be famous).

of course, remember that only the world hasn't even started yet should be taken as a canon value! producers are often given space to do whatever they want in the lyrics of the songs they are commissioned for, so they're not canonical in any way. i think it's still fun to look at their lyrics and ramble about them for a bit, though. i've already got too carried away anyways.

won't be posting photos of the lyrics since i'd hit the images limit, but you can check them yourself — all the translations i'm taking, as always, from the vocaloid lyrics wiki. (since filament fever has two tls on there, i want to clarify that i've only looked at and considered in my analysis the official english one, because it's, well, official.)

THE WORLD HASN'T EVEN STARTED YET

besides the mentioned earlier there's too much noise, so much noise and it keeps getting worse, which i think of as a representation of overstimulation (since i used to see people asking "oh but why tsukasa has something about there being too much noise in a song made out of his feelings when he's such a loud person himself". because he likes the noise he makes, not the overwhelming, overstimulating noise from the outside!!), sekahaji also has a rather good amount of quotes that could be read as something connected to neurodivergence (based on the fact that it's not supposed to be a song about this topic): the main theme of these are procrastination, which can be seen in let's cross the end of all of this, partying forever and the world hasn't even started yet line itself. the thought of the world not even starting implies that there's still a lot of time left to do something, while "partying forever" can refer to deciding to give up on doing the things you should do and going to drown in something that indulges only you and yourself for the rest of eternity. while procrastination is not counted as an official ADHD symptom, it's a trait that people with the disorder very often have (for reasons obvious).

other lines, which i couldn't entirely fit into a box of a certain symptom, are there's too much conflict, so much conflict and it keeps growing (a parallel line to the noise one, so it means something! right) and let's break the plans for a harmonious future. in my personal interpretation, they both can be viewed as your typical neurodivergent struggle in a neurotypical society — "too much conflict" refering to an internal struggle of not being completely normal, while the "harmonious future" that's going to get broken are just the social norms that are going to be broken because of an off-putting, neurodivergent behavior. something that some neurotypical people dooon't really like.

TONDEMO-WONDERZ

since i've just talked about breaking the social norms, "why?!" and "do it like this!!" aren't like you, huh? line from tondemo-wonderz is going to go first, because it revolves around the same topic. it's the same case: it's about (subconscious, not intentional) fighting what's accepted by the society by just being yourself — because you're neurodivergent, you're different.

from the other lines in tondemo-wonderz, i have only one and it's take an eraser to your memories?!, which is pretty much self explanatory. as always, a mention of forgetting something in tsukasa's commision. who would've thought.

88 SHOOTING STARS

another self explanatory line that i have written down as first: it's okay if you only remember a little part of it sometimes. another mention of tsukasa forgor™, and while it corresponds with what happened in dazzling, it's still a line mentioning forgetfulness — so it's worth mentioning.

aren't we just inevitably going around in circles? and it's okay if you take a rest for a little bit sometimes can be interpreted as another mention of procrastination and while it's not that apparent as it was with sekahaji, because going in circles can refer to something else and taking a rest sometimes is not a bad thing at all, i still wanted to mention them here. for the record.

you ought to slip and fall in panic in the final moment is connected to a symptom that i showed, yet didn't elaborate on it (because i didn't have anything to work with) — making careless mistakes. the same case, yet with another symptom goes with is this not enough yet again? is this not how it's supposed to be? couldn't we go even further than this?, which can be seen as a reflection of unability to listen to instructions. a bit of reaching with this one (like this whole part damn), but as i said earlier: for the record, i'm leaving it here. to show that i had some intense thoughts.

tbf, when i think about it now, maybe the mentioned earlier "why?!" and "do it like this!!" aren't like you [...] could very well fit this symptom too.

MR SHOWTIME

mr showtime you will always be famous, because this is a song that gave me a looot of things to work with. i was so flabbergasted when i read these lyrics for the first time. tsukasa tenma why are you like this. /aff

there are a lot of lines hinting being easily distracted, and these are basically the very first ones, too: you know what? i just can't make up my mind, it's so messed up that i can't put my thoughts together and a merry-go-round (my thought process) goes round and round are all about it. like you cannot deny it this time, if it's not about being unable to stay focused then i really don't know what is [insert the tsukasa don't look away stamp here because i love it and it's my biggest motivation to actually focus whenever i do something]. the more i mess around and waste time, the more i become hungry / and i can't handle it can be seen as about procrastination again, and even not "can be seen", it's literally being frustrated at yourself for wasting time, that's the sole outcome of a procrastination!! being bothered by feeling anxious, meanwhile, is resonating with the inability to deal with stress once again.

also jumping the gun. driving in a zigzag manner can actually connected with the little to no sense of danger. because, as far as i'm aware, driving in a zigzag manner is certainly not a safe activity. don't do it at home.

from the symptoms that i haven't yet mentioned to this point, am i taking a long way? am i making a fruitless effort? can be reflecting difficulty organizing tasks — since the poor planning of your activities can make you take a long way and can make you do a fruitless effort. then, where's the fun in taking shortcuts all the time? can be read along the lines of something coming close to extreme impatience and while a person that's extremely impatient would actually enjoy taking the shortcuts to get closer to their goal or destination, said impatience can be also connected with the desire for something interesting to happen. a task can make you impatient not because it's long, but because it's simply boring — avoiding shortcuts can make it less boring, even if it extends its duration. with this explanation, it makes the unexpectedness (unexpected program) is the best part of the show (my life) perfectly fit into this category, even though i wouldn't call this line a sign of impatience on its own.

i have some issues with i'm pathetic. i can't satisfy myself, because... at first i thought of connecting it with either mood swings or inability to deal with stress, however i'm not sure if that's really it. i'm pretty sure it connects to neurodivergence in some way, but i just can't put my finger on it, so... i'm just leaving it here for the record, once again.

oh, and there's also i got lost in the world (stage) and / the end credits rolled (the curtain fell), which also is pretty much summing up the experience of being neurodivergent in the neurotypical society. in the middle of trying to stay true to yourself and having to mask just to be accepted, it's easy to get lost — and once you do so, there's no going back. the curtain falls.

to end this part of the analysis, i'd show the lyrics from filament fever and sekai wo terasu tetrad here. i won't do this, however, and the reason for it is fairly simple — they don't give me much material to work with and i'm not really surprised, because mr showtime has succesfully sucked all of the neurodivergent coded lyrics into itself. there just won't be another song like mr showtime, i fear.

i can just say that in filament fever there is running away from the flow of time — which got me thinking of either procrastination and unability to stick to time-consuming tasks, with the former being more plausible as a potential interpretation... but that would be it.

3. NAKAYAMA IS A METAPHOR FOR NEURODIVERGENT MASKING AND IT'S THE STUPIDEST THING I'VE EVER SAID BUT YOU HAVE TO HEAR ME OUT ON THIS

listen, i know how it sounds.

i'm not actually a fan of trying to fit every thing a character does into a box of a metaphor, symbol or allegory, i really am not. i think some things should just stay as simple as they are, but this thought has been bothering me ever since i've first seen spoilers of what's happening in a story where you're the star for the very first time. i'm in no way saying it has any canonical meaning, but i just thought it would be fun to include. because maaaybe someone sees my vision.

for those who haven't seen tsukasa4 yet or want to have a recap of what has happened in it: the whole event story revolves around tsukasa trying to grasp his role (as always). wxs got recommended to shunmei-za by shousuke and went there to practice their acting skills, immediately getting thrown onto the preparation for their next performance. tsukasa, however, is not a lead this time — he got the role of a supporting character and has got basically three lines to say on stage total. since tsukasa's used to playing lead roles, he obviously has issues with grasping the role — it's hard to use method acting in regards of a character that says three sentences total and nothing more. with help of bakuno reki, one of the actors in shunmei-za, and the rest of wxs, he manages to create a portrayal of nakayama that would make him "come to life" and "be a protagonist of his own story", something that would make it easier for him to get into role, however...

he gets a little bit too carried away with his acting during the actual performance.

and this is not something that would ruin the whole play, obviously, he's just a supporting character, the less invested audience would probably forgot about his impact on the story after five minutes of his last appearance — but he still made a slip-up. he still resonated with his role, but didn't achieve the utmost perfection. he still did well acting, after all, he managed to receive praise from the director in the end... but it's still a very apparent mistake that was made.

(tl, once again, by the awesome tsukasa's #3 fan)

and that's where the nakayama masking metaphor theory (it's not even a theory but it sounds cooler this way) comes in.

nakayama is supposed to be just a man. from what we know about him, he's in his late twenties and works as an editor — and even though tsukasa makes up a whole backstory for him later on, he's still supposed to be ordinary. nothing special. he's coming nowhere near the other roles that tsukasa has played, he's not on the same level as miles, torpe and rio. and while you could possibly consider torpe and rio as rather ordinary, they still had something interesting to happen to them, the main reason why they were lead roles for their respective plays. in the tsukasa4 play, nakayama has nothing like that. he's literally just a guy, he's normal. and "normal" is a keyword here.

tsukasa did everything he could to fit into nakayama's role. he followed the script, he took the advice from a more talented and professional actor that is bakuno, he didn't do any mistakes during his preparations — and yet he still managed to mess up in the end. why?, besides of the fact that he just let himself become one with nakayama during the performance and it resulted in a supporting character outshining the lead?

if we take as a fact that tsukasa is, in fact, neurodivergent, it would make sense that he's having troubles with playing a normal person — because he's not exactly normal either. and this would very well work out as a metaphor of masking; even when you try your best, even when you mask yourself perfectly, you can still make slip-ups. you can still accidentally drop the act in middle of something that absolutely required it, or, similiar to what tsukasa did, can accidentally overdo it and end up perceived as even more weird than you'd be without masking. something something i got lost in the world and the end credits rolled. rings a bell?

and i'm not saying that tsukasa has a problem with masking, because he doesn't. he tries his best to pass as a normal member of society, but he also makes no effort in actively masking his weirdness (or else he wouldn't be a part of oddball one two). however, if you want to neurodivergent code your character, it would make sense to include a possibility of it in some way, right? especially since wxs stories' already had the theme of dealing with being perceived as weird (eg. rui's whole backstory, obviously). even if it's not affecting tsukasa directly, i think it would be cool to include something that indicates this issue's existence in his story and, in a way, his struggles.

however, as i said earlier, this is a very stupid thought and that's why i left it for the very end. i don't actually think that how tsukasa played nakayama was supposed to be a metaphor for masking, it's just a pure coincidence that it could be interpreted like that when you think about it too much.

aaand with this, we've finally come to an end!! (finally. i'm so exhausted.) i don't have anything more to say about this topic. maybe i'll retweet it with some more evidence in the future if we ever get more ADHDkasa content. for now, it would be all!

is tsukasa actually intentionally written as an ADHDer? Who Knows! there's a possibility that he is, but even if he's not, he's still one in my heart. regardless of the status of his possible neurodivergence, analyzing his behavior in this light was still very fun! and maybe i even converted someone into the ADHDkasa hell.

feel free to add something if you want to, and feel free to correct me if i got some things wrong! i still hope that even though of how messy this whole thing is written, i did tsukasa justice and didn't accidentally say too much nonsense lmao

...i hate ending analyses.

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thesonicpunk · 4 months

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My favourite SNS fanfics (part 1)

Someone in the comments of my own fic asked for NaruSasu recs, so I thought I'd also make a post compiling my absolute favourites here! I've been so fortunate with the response to my work on AO3 so I hope this is a nice way to share the love around:

Inside this place is warm by magma. One shot, a cozy night in with Sasuke and hokage!Naruto where they figure out what they are to each other. It's short, so well written and the author really grasps the subtleness/complex nature of their relationship! (the author is @magmavox on tumblr!)

Swimming against the current by GODZILLA90095. Part 1 of the series with the same name. College AU. When I tell you I devoured this fanfic........ Lowkey-emo!Sasuke, hockey-player!Naruto. It's funny, it's got lots of pinning, it's got feels, it's got Naruto figuring out his sexuality in the most typically Naruto way, basically it's got IT ALL. And the writing is amazing. It was the fic that inspired me to get on the website and post my own work.

Tears don't fall by GODZILLA90095 (again bcs they rule). Part 1 of the series A different way but just as good. Modern AU. It's kind of a Naruto and Sasuke get a second chance in their 30s after a huge break-up. Naruto has kids with Hinata, but he's gay. It's heartbreaking, raw, real, beautiful.... fuckkkk read it!!!

The Symposium series by candlewix. Told from the perspective of ace!Kakashi. We see Naruto and Sasuke's love story across the years from his eyes. No one, I mean NO ONE, is as funny as this author. The way they write Kakashi's POV is hilarious, but so well balanced by the profound and beautiful descriptions the author writes about what Nart and Sake mean to each other. ugh.

We Deserved a Better Ending My Love by narutophobia. Reencarnation babyyy! Naruto and Sasuke in modern times, but everything that was in canon was real just reaaally long ago. Naruto remembers, searches for Sasuke (who doesnt remember!!). SHENANIGANS ensue. Beautiful love story and such an interesting take on things.

love like this is forever by moonplums. Part 1 of the series forever. It's set in Boruto era/world - I am not usually into that tbh, it gives me anxiety to think about Sasuke and Naruto not getting together after the war BUT this series does it quite nicely, kind of like they have their awakening later in life and it's very cute how they have a family with the kids. Sarada's POV. Worth reading for sure!

when it all comes together, there's just you by kintou. It's short fragments of both Naruto and Sasuke discovering their sexualities across the years, with and without each other. Super cute and interesting, and smutty! I love the concept. (author is @ao3-kintou on tumblr!)

I might one day make a part 2 to this, but so far these are the ones I've read that I really love! I hope it was ok to share these on here, if you are the author and would like me to remove (or tag you!) just message me.

If you read any of these and you like 'em, remember to leave a comment (any comment!). You can make the author's day with just a little emoji. <3

#naruto fanfiction #sasunarusasu #sns fanfic #sns #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction rec list #naruto x sasuke #sasuke x naruto #sasunaru #narusasu #narusasu fanfic #sasunaru fanfic

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drewharrisonwriter · 1 year

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Donor

Part 1 | Part 1.5 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairings: Bestie Henry Cavill x OFC A/N, Warnings: 18+, Talk of artificial insemination, peeing in a cup, sperm, and more. LOL I wrote this in an hour, IDK where I pulled this from. Not beta-ed. Also, I'm pretty sure this doesn't make so much sense in terms of plot, and being realistic. But come on, let this delulu queen live her life. You're welcome to join. Summary: You ask (beg) your best friend, Henry to donate--sperm.

I’m AO3, too as MoonDjarin ^_^

“Hank, pleaaaase…” You pleaded, dragging the last word. Henry laughed at your frustration but still could not wrap his head around what you’re asking of him.

“You’re going insane.” He jokes, causing you to drop your back on the carpet with a soft thud, covering your face with your palms as you landed.

“It’s just like peeing in a cup.” Your reply came out muffled. Henry just snorted and tried his best to stifle a laugh.

Nearly 18 years of friendship and here you are, seemingly at the end of your rope, asking your best friend to father the child you so ache for and he laughs at your ridiculous solution, telling you he’s not going to be responsible for a “turkey baster baby”.

“I don’t like peeing in a cup. Besides, why go the turkey baster way when you can go… au naturelle?”

“You know exactly why…” You said, sitting up, and gathering the profiles of sperm donors from the (sperm) bank. You and Henry had been going through each profile over the past few hours, laughing and making faces at the notes.

“And I thought Tinder was bad.” He commented earlier.

Henry got up and took the bottles of beer on the coffee table and walked back to the kitchen to open new ones.

“Tell me why won’t you do it?” You asked him, eyes round and glazed with tears that are threatening to fall any second.

He hates seeing you like this.

He sighed and admitted, “If I were to have any children of my own, I’d rather have them borne out of love and not out of… desperation after a really bad break up.”

“But I’m not asking you to be… a father. Just a donor.” You countered.

"Darling, please. Reaaally think about what you're asking of me."

"I have! I wouldn't be asking you if I haven't. Come on, Hank..."

"Right, not more than an hour after dropping sperm bank Tinder and you've thought this through." He said sarcastically and you pouted.

"Well, think about it, too!" You asked of him. "It's the ideal situation."

"How? Tell me exactly why it's so ideal." He said, running a hand through his face and resting his chin on his palm as he waited for your brilliant idea.

"Well, first of all, we love each other. So the child won't be borne not out of love." You began, mocking his accent and his statement from earlier. He snickered and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Jesus," He muttered.

"Plus, I won't ask you for anything, Hank. No child support, no emotional support. You don't have to see them. You're not even going to be on the birth certificate."

Henry winced at each of your points. "Darling, you know so well that I'm always your emotional support. And d'you really think I can go around just being Uncle Hank?” He replied with an eye roll as he took a sip of his beer.

"Yeah, how hard could that be?" You exclaimed.

"Very." He said sternly, looking you straight in the eye.

"Y/N." He began. "You know so well I won't be able to sit here with you holding a child knowing it's mine and not be involved in all ways."

“God, you’re too emotional.” You rolled your eyes at his response as you drank from your beer bottle.

“I am! And I’m sorry, darling. I can’t just give away my children. They’re not the meals you make for me every week.”

You laughed at that. "So you admit it, you don't like the meals I prep for you?"

"That's beside the point."

You'll get back to that later. You sighed out loud as you both drank.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you desperately want this?”

That ought to get you thinking hard.

You sighed and asked yourself the same thing, reflecting on what started this vision of yourself with a child, and what turned it to longing and aching, then desperation.

Growing up without present parents, you basically become an extended Cavill sibling. The sister they never had, or as the youngest Cavill, Charlie, would like to joke, the no-choice sister. That family took you in like their own kin, having you over for dinner almost every evening, and spending weekends and vacations with them.

It's not that you're not well off, financially. Your parents were just really successful actors who don't pay you much any attention but showers you with plenty of lavish gifts and an American Express Black card. Which, Henry's mother found really heartbreaking and his father pitied you on.

You were 15 when you met Henry. He was already a budding actor with a couple of productions and a movie or two in his portfolio. You were a bright and young singer-songwriter from Italy, about to break it into the English-language audience with a catchy single that Henry happened to star in the music video of.

It was easy falling into a friendship with Henry. He was kind, funny, a little nerdy, but he's also such a gentleman, and treats you and talks to you like an equal despite the five-year age gap.

It didn't take long before you met his family when he invited to his birthday party. You didn't know exactly how the events played out that day, but somehow, at the end of it all, you walked out of their home being a part of it.

You got along so well with his brothers, you and his mother already sharing secrets. You figured she was excited to have a girl in the house as none of her children would bring their girlfriends for them to meet. His father was so easy to please, a couple of jokes here and a few football arguments there, and you won his heart. Not like you were even trying, but you were glad that you got along with all of them.

Henry drove you home that night and when he parked in your empty driveway, he jumped out to open the door for you. You cried in the passenger seat with the door open and he stood there, leaning on the doorframe as you confessed to him your jealousy and longing for that kind of family.

He pulled you in and wrapped you in a tight hug beneath the street lamp.

"Hank, you know so well there is nothing I want more in life at this moment than to have a family."

"I don't get it, Y/N." He said quietly, "You're definitely the smartest person I know. You're a literal genius..." He thought of your first few conversations on the set of your first English-language music video, and learning that not only you spoke several languages fluently, but you are also about to start university at such an early age. It impressed him so much.

"You've accomplished so much in your career, you're still young, there are so many things you can do with your life, why do you go back to this?" He asked and you just shrugged.

"I feel incomplete. What can I say? A dream is a dream."

"Gerry was a dream, too." He said and you looked at him surprised at bringing up your ex fiancé.

He was indeed a dream. You met Gerry at an evening talk show as a fellow guest. He didn't hide the fact that he was so enamored by you and that he's such a big fan of your music. You, being a fan of him, too, was just so happy to hear him say all that in person.

It was an instant connection, and it didn't take long for you and Gerry to start a long, and at the time, seemingly, lasting and perfect relationship.

"Sorry." He muttered. "But it makes me wonder, you never talked about it, just casually said that things didn't work out. Knowing you, things don't just not work out like that."

And he's right, you know he's right.

Gerry loves you a lot. You love him, too. But for all the years you've been together with the high-profile action star, the talk of kids almost never came up, at least the serious talk about kids. Until you brought it up soon after he proposed, and he confessed that he had a vasectomy shortly before you met.

You were not mad. You understood, vasectomies are reversible. But Gerry didn't want to have it reversed, ever. He admitted that the reason he got it in the first place was to not accidentally have kids as he fully intended to be childless.

You understood that, too. But it broke your heart.

Regardless, you had a clean break up, but never felt the need to tell people, even your friends or family as to why. Just that things didn't work out.

"Gerry didn't want to start a family." You told Henry.

"What?" He asked, surprised. His brows furrowed and his mouth hung slightly open at your revelation. You just nodded.

"I don't understand, you were to be married." You just nodded again, and took a sip of your beer. You told him the truth about Gerry, and Henry felt his heart breaking for you.

Henry reached for your hand from across the coffee table, enveloping your tiny hands in his big ones.

"And that's a deal breaker for you." He said softly, coming to the realization.

"Yeah." You replied. "So... there you go."

"But you know what comes after the last one, right?"

"What?"

"The next one." He joked, trying to make the air in the room lighter. He smiled at his success when you snickered.

"I'm tired, Hank. Tired of getting to know new people. I've been with Gerry for four years, and before that... well you know." It was Henry's turn to snicker.

He knows so well. All the heartbreaks, disappointments, even the rebounds, met most of them. He was always there at your highest of highs, and always down with you when things didn't work out.

"I get that." He finally answered, thinking about his own strings of ex girlfriends, and an ex-fiancé. At one point, you both feel very proud of the situation you found yourselves in, both engaged to beautiful people at the same time.

You even toasted to it last New Year's eve, not knowing that both promises of a lifetime of love would fall apart in a matter of months. He, too, wanted what you wanted. A family of his own, being the only one amongst his brothers to be single and childless.

He thought he might have had that with his ex fiance. Telling him she was pregnant when she caught a whiff of him about to break things off. He was caught off guard when she told him and he didn't even waste a moment to put a ring on her finger, falling for her lies.

Maybe it was not so bad, making your dream come true. You can always discuss co-parenting, he thought and he's sure you'd allow it.

He pondered on it some more.

Henry rested his head on the cool glass top of the coffee table, his hand never left yours. He let out a breath, fogging the glass beneath him as he gently squeezed your hand.

He shut his eyes tight, and muttered to himself, "Please don't make me regret this."

"What?" You asked, not quite hearing what he said.

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll do it. I'll--be your turkey baster baby's donor."

With that you burst out crying and he stood up, took your hand and guided you to his arms. He wrapped you up in that big, warm hug, that you always find comfort in.

"Set an appointment in the morning, darling." He whispered and you cried some more and muttered a yes, thank you.

18 years of friendship with Henry Cavill, and this is where you find yourself: at a crossroads that neither of you could have predicted.

The weight of his decision settled between you like a tangible presence, and as you hugged each other tightly, you knew that this was a turning point in your relationship, an uncharted territory.

Read next part: Part 1.5 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

#henry cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x little!reader #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x you

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esprei · 5 months

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Can we know more about that dystopia Emmet of yours?

dystopian!Emmet... my sad little meow meow... my favorite AU Emmet. my pride and joy. he's certainly the most tragic emmet of mine... why? well. his life was torn apart in childhood thanks to Emperor Volo (as a reminder or for those unfamiliar, Emperor Volo is a version of PLA Volo that won at the Temple of Sinnoh and was able to carry out his plan of remaking the world as he saw fit. and subsequently went mad with power. hence where we end up in this AU, where he's built a wonderful, beautiful city in Upper Unova... while Lower Unova is left to the dogs... Houndours...? Herdiers...? either way, Lower Unova suffers while Upper Unova prospers).

his family killed by the Emperor's army, he was left in the home all alone, hiding and terrified but luckily undetected until the leader of the Resistance, Alder, takes him under his wing and essentially becomes his adoptive father. under Alder's leadership, Emmet learns how to fight, how to survive. he becomes hardened by such a rough and tragic turn in his life that by the time he grows up, he's become serious, stern and scrappy. wary and skeptical. while he still IS Emmet, while he still has a smile, it's a more... serious smile. a tighter smile. definitely not as happy of a smile. aside from that, he has his own workshop where he'll make weapons for the Resistance (aka the banded together group of folks seeking to take Emperor Volo down for his tyranny, they battle with the Emperor's army quite a bit), or repair parts for the trains that he works on that help transport supplies that other members have snatched from the upper city or just transport in general. he's also a fan of woodworking! does that often, too :D when he's really upset he'll lock himself away in his workshop and work, work, work away, sometimes just welding or carving away aimlessly (though not reaaally aimless because he ends up making something in the end). bonus little thing of him working in said workshop (btw that's probably Skyla calling his name, she drops off supplies for him that he needs):

that's quite a bit to read so I'll stop there :D i just wanna say thank you so so much for your interest in him! this emmet really is dear to my heart and i love talking about him (and sorry this answer is so late!)

#submas #subway boss emmet #subway boss kudari #submas au #dystopian!emmet #my art #anonymous #asks #he definitely has huge character growth throughout the story #or at least i try to make it that way sdfklj

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sailing-ever-west · 6 months

Text

The Vinsmoke men are misogynistic and it's so narratively important even though it's mostly subtext and never outright stated. None of them ever say anything against women specifically, and they don't seem to discriminate as far as who can be warriors, but their actions reek of it nonetheless and I can't stop thinking about it.

On the surface it seems like Sanji gives thought to treating women differently and the Vinsmokes don't, but it's clear through their actions that the only "equality" they're really upholding is that no gender is exempt from abuse and exploitation.

It's like when people say "well if you want equality, women should get drafted into the military too!" When the problem is that no one should be forced to join the military. That's basically exactly what Germa is doing.

Sanji's view of women is frequently flawed and a bit myopic, but he seeks to treat them with kindness and love and respect, whereas the Vinsmokes make no attempt at philosophy about women and just treat them horribly.

The most glaring example is probably Cosette, who they berated for making food they didn't like and then proceeded to beat unconscious solely to shatter her confidence and upset Sanji. And when Sanji is understandably enraged at their horrible abuse, they assume the reason is that he was physically attracted to her and didn't want the object of his attraction damaged (saying they didn't know he Liked her, and if the busted up face wasn't a dealbreaker they could make her Sanji's personal attendant, which also reaaally sounds like code for something else).

Another aspect is that despite having no emotions, the Vinsmoke brothers still seem to experience attraction to women. But it's not love in any sense of the word, just purely physical. They find Nami attractive, even wanting to arrange to keep her around when the Strawhats are captured by Big Mom (ew), and there's that scene of them and Judge in their private room surrounded by mostly drunken unconscious (and rather scantily dressed if I remember correctly) barmaids that were sent to them. Granted, nothing Happens in that scene, but the undertones are gross and we're only shown a small portion of the night. Whatever the case, it's clear that these women were not sent in to be equal, respectable company, but an objectified distraction to pair with alcohol, and were treated as such.

And then there are the internal family dynamics, which I think are the biggest and most important part.

To start, there's Reiju. On the surface she seems like she has the same status as her brothers, a modified Germa weapon capable of performing as her father wants. But whenever Judge talks about being proud of his children, he always emphasizes the triplets. Often he doesn't even mention Reiju, and his attention to the boys' training seems to be much closer than to hers. Her raid suit is also more sexualized, as though that's expected to be part of her arsenal. And of course, there's her name meaning "zero" while the boys are all numbered. She is the eldest, but she survives by being ignored, and it's clear that her father prefers her emotionless brothers. This feels symbolic as well since being emotional is often seen as a feminine trait, portrayed as a weakness. Judge hates weakness. And so he hates emotion, hates women.

But at the root of it all, really, is Sora. Sora who's choices and body and children were stolen from her for an abusive man's ideals about war and domination. We don't really get to know how much choice she had in her marriage, but given Judge's royal status and the fact that they obviously share zero values I think it would have to be a strategic political arrangement at best, and something she got no say in at worst.

The kids are all named in a numbering system, which also reeks of Judge not letting her into the decisions. And, of course, there is the absolutely horrific experience of being forced into prenatal surgery to genetically modify her children against her will, to the point that the only way she could exercise any agency was to poison herself in an attempt to save even one of them. She was literally just a baby-producing machine to Judge and it couldn't be more blatant.

The violent, self-centered, and misogynistic Vinsmoke brothers are born directly from a woman's choice being taken away from her. Kind, selfless, and loving Sanji is born directly from her one act of defiance, and then later saved by his sister's one act of defiance as well (after which, she was programmed to be obedient).

Basically, the Vinsmoke family is built and preserved on the abuse and exploitation of women, and Sanji is the black sheep for many reasons, but I suspect a rather large one is that he's the ultimate antithesis to that.

#one piece #black leg sanji #vinsmoke reiju #vinsmoke sora #vinsmoke judge #vinsmoke siblings #vinsmoke family #germa 66 #whole cake island #wci spoilers #character analysis #one piece meta #essay #misogny #women in media

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yamujiburo · 1 year

Text

POKEMON SERIES RANKED (IMO)

I get this question a lot and haven't made an updated list with Journeys

Original Series (S1-S5)

Sun & Moon (S20-S22)

Chronicles (S0)

Diamond and Pearl (S10-S13)

Advanced (S6-S9)

Journeys (S23-S25)

Black & White (S14-S16)

XY (S17-S19)

Original Series (S1-S5)

OS had that first season charm. Very unpolished, still finding its footing but super enjoyable for those reasons

Probably the strongest series comedy-wise

That GORGEOUS 90s anime style

Main character dynamics were REALLY strong

Ash's personality felt much more like a shitty little 10 year old which was entertaining

Dub writing was also the best hands down

Sun & Moon (S20-S22)

Honestly tied for first with OS for me

REALLY fun ensemble cast! They do a fantastic job giving each character enough time for you to get to know and care about

Excellent modern anime style that perfectly fit the vibe of the season and allowed for some of the best character animation of the show's run

Finally figured out how to write Ash like a 10 year old again (but in a kind/sweet 10 year old way as opposed to OS)

Very different from previous series in terms of the formula they'd follow. Doing a school series instead of another "8 badges to championship" plot felt new and fresh!

This series genuinely made me cry the most (MEMORIES IN THE MIST!!!!! LIKE ARE YOU KIDDING ME)

Chronicles (S0)

Fun concept! It was really nice to see more of the side characters without Ash there. We get to see more of Misty, Tracey, Daisy, Brock, Ritchie, Oak, Delia, Butch, Cassidy, Jessie, James and Meowth!

Stylistically really nice. Just solid drawings all around and it retained the 90s anime style in digital form more successfully than other digitally done series imo

BUTCH AND CASSIDY!!! Team Rocket centric episodes!!! Training Daze!!!!!!!

Idk how possible it would have been (seems like a TON of work) but it made me want one of these in between each season, where we'd follow the characters that Ash had just said goodbye to for the next region.

Diamond and Pearl (S10-S13)

Series I grew up with! Honestly I was kinda a hater as a kid but having watched it back, I love the series

Love that Ash and Dawn were bros. They had a really fun dynamic.

Debatably peak Team Rocket. They had some of the best Team Rocket centric episodes this series.

Contests were really fun and a bit more figured out compared to the Advanced series

Fun, memorable rivals for Ash (Paul and Barry) as well as Dawn (Zoey, Kenny and Jessilina sometimes)

This is unfortunately where I stopped caring about Ash as much. He feels kinda watered down for the next couple series.

Advanced (S6-S9)

Pretty tied up with DP for me

Really fun series! Still had some of that early Pokémon charm

I appreciated that they put Ash in more of a mentor role for May (but he still had a lot to learn himself).

Ash and May constantly butting heads was really fun

May was a very compelling character to me, being very clumsy, kinda lazy, directionless, not really into Pokémon, etc. But then over time, she comes around and finds something she's interested in!

Journeys (S23-S25)

I love the episodic take as well as the way they let the characters jump around from region to region at random

Goh was a GREAT travel companion to Ash. They contrast each other nicely, have moments where they get on each others' nerves but still get along and have a mutual admiration for one another.

It was fun that they made Goh's thing catching every Pokémon (the motto of the entire series) so they could focus on Ash just training and prepping for Worlds.

Amaaaazing style. Took the great parts of classic Pokémon, roundness of SM and blended em together for a really fun look.

Black & White (S14-S16)

I don't think it's that controversial to have BW this low haha

I did enjoy Iris and Cilan but it felt like the writers didn't reaaally know what to do with them? Also this was their first time in a while not having Brock and it shows. I feel like Brock was successful because he was grounded and lower energy compared to the rest of the kids. Having 3 pretty eccentric characters is kind of a lot. No hate to the characters in the slightest, there was just not as much balance.

I think maybe they leaned on Cilan and Iris for more comedic relief because they killed the comedic relief that was Team Rocket this series. I appreciate them trying something new with Jessie, James and Meowth but I don't think it worked very well lol

XY (S17-S19)

I've ranted about this series a lot LOL. I get the appeal of it, but it just wasn't for me. I felt like it was the weakest comedy-wise and took itself a bit too seriously for my taste

My main gripe is that Serena, Clemont and Bonnie all like,,, worship Ash. By doing so, Ash begins to feel like a side character because we're constantly looking at Ash through their eyes. There's so little conflict within the group so their dynamics feel really flat. I think this dynamic could have worked if they leaned waaay more into Ash being a mentor and maybe feeling the pressure of having to be a role model for the people around him.

Team Rocket very much feels like an afterthought in this series. They did in Journeys as well, but at least in Journeys they were doing something silly and also had a handful of episodes dedicated to em.

Outside of that, the episodes weren't super memorable for me

I think it's just frustrating because there was sooooo much potential character-wise

#long post #ranking

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jongbross · 8 months

Note

Hi, it’s boyfriends things with Exo😅🤍

Thanks

kim minseok:

cutest boyfriend out there

will take such good care of you 🥹

is literally a keeper

your family loves him, he just charms everyone around him

might be a bit difficult as sometimes he can't see why you're still with him

doesn't realize that you're the luckiest person for having HIM

kisses your nose a lot

holds your hand while walking on the street

listen to you vent and gives you the best advices

won't let you sleep in though, so good luck with that

kim junmyeon:

the personification of a gentleman

pulls chairs for you, open doors, makes sure you're with your seatbelt on, doesn't let you walk on the side of the sidewalk that's closer to the street, etc

has the warmest hugs

can literally hug you for hours if you let him

secretly plans to pop out the question in the near future

buys you anything you want. anything.

respects your opinions SO MUCH, it's ridiculous

has the boyfie vibe somehow, so people don't hit on him anymore

chanyeol can see how much he changed because of you, how he's much more bubbly now

"you made him worse!!" (joking)

zhang yixing:

nicest boyfriend out there

dude is just soooo chill, your friends adore him

shows you random stuff on your phone just so you can laugh about it together

hands you his jacket whenever you're cold, but scolds you for not taking one with you

calls you a lot whenever he's away

you'll have to take care of his cats, i'm sorry

does this thing where he kisses both your temples before kissing your lips when he has to say goodbye to you before traveling

passes out beside you on bed while you're talking about a nice recipe you saw on tiktok

doesn't bring up marriage if you don't

really, really hopes you do

byun baekhyun:

i hate him, but congrats to you, i guess

ugh he's just so sweet

takes you out EVERYWHERE, like picks you up at your place

always has a smile on his face when he's around you

asks you about your day and listens to carefully

holds your hand while driving

charms your mom with helping her on the kitchen, it's like a scene straight out of a movie

sings 24/7, so your house is never silent anymore (your neighbors hate you though)

has a whole way of talking that's for you and for you only

you can't trick me baekhyun, i know you must have at least one (1) flaw

kim jongdae:

sunshine boyfriend

let's you sleep in whenever you feel like it

clears some space on his wardrobe/drawers for your clothes and things

"jagi, can we cuddle?"

has so much fun playing with you, you're literally he's best friend

always places bets with you

lots of kisses on your cheek

randomly smiles to you because he knows it makes you happy to see him smile

likes to take you away for the weekend, just you and him

loyal af

park chanyeol:

the "it's okay, i got it" boyfriend

personal uber driver, takes you everywhere if you let him

really, reaaally stubborn

can't sit still, is always looking for something to do with you

"did you see they opened a new bowling place downtown?"

purposely leaves his things at your place

his house is way bigger than yours but he doesn't care

plays guitar while you cook dinner

kisses you everytime you feed him

loves when you sleep on top of him

do kyungsoo:

he's comfort embodied in a person

likes to have breakfast with you, it's like his favorite part of the day

bonds with your pet if you have one (and they love him)

saves new videos on youtube to watch it with you

is in charge of cooking, always

asks you to help him shave just because

gets excited whenever something good happens to you

is your number 01 supporter

loves when you cuddle closer to him in your sleep

shy forehead kisses whenever he can't find the words to express his feelings

kim jongin:

cutest, most caring boyfriend

respects you more than anything in this world

listens to you so carefully whenever you have something to say

is willing to fix some of his bad habits for you

needs constant reassurance that you love him, just because he loves you so much and can't stand the thought of you falling out of love

laughs so hard at your jokes, and they're not even that funny

pays for every meal but lets you pay for his coffee so you won't feel bad

helps you choose your outfits

loves when you play with his hair

wanna have a baby with you so bad

oh sehun:

gets offended whenever someone treats you badly

"why didn't you tell me?? i would've give them a piece of my mind"

smirks whenever he sees you wearing his clothes, he just loves it

calls you whenever he can't go see you

encourages you to go see your friends, especially when he can't be around

but let's be honest, he's attached to you by the hip

rolls his eyes whenever you baby him, but secretly loves it

stares at you dearly when you're talking to his hyungs or his family

lets you play with his fingers when you're bored or too shy to talk to people

dude is so in love it's actually sickening

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formulapookie · 2 months

Note

I would love some marc/bez and rosquez fic recs if you have time < 3

YEAHHHHHHHH

I love doing thisss

marcmarc: I'd definitely check out

@anitalianfrie (on Ao3) it's a oneshot, straight up smut and it's reaaally good, not long but a really good read @yamahussy wrote a three parts fic that got me first into the ship, I loved it a lot, also more psychological smut? idk how to describe it in these terms, it's Marc messing with Bezz's head in a sexual way @yeastinfectionvale and the domestic marcmarc fics they wrote, really cute if you're feeling less like reading smut and more fluff of those two freaks @hotmessmaxpress wrote a fluffy piece about them and also a REALLY GOOD smut which is a threesome between Vale Marc and Bezz @boxboxluckybird and their amazingly cute crow!Bezz fic where EBzz collects and gifts trinkets to the ones he loves, including Marc and Marc...well read it and find out :) fluffy and reallyyyyyyyy cute, a bit angsy because BEzz doesn't believe in himself/is scared of Vale's opinion @vanillow WHAT CAN I SAY EXCEPT PERFECTION MADE FIC AUTHOR her turbulent -> smut, angst, fluff, it has everything you can possibly need or desire, hints to rosquez too, the scars Vale left on Marc and how Bezz tries to heal them somehow and the devil electric (there's a pt.2 too, this one's smut) they are OHHHH SO GOOD she's my personal favourite :) @montemei and their beautiful fic where the academy boys + Vale and Alex find out about Marcmarc is aaaaaaaa amazing it has both fluff and smut, the ending is OH SO GOOD

I would also say my fic but it's on hold for now so if you'd like to check it out be aware it didn't end it's just I've not been in the right mood to continue it

rosquez: oh god it's going to be long 😭

@vanillow ONCE AGAIN SHE'S AMAZING her reconciliation (for now just angst) and amnesia (ANGST AND FLUFF AND EXTERNAL POVS TOO IS AMAZING) AUs are amazingly written, also the cyborg! and the VR46!Marc AUs (still haven't read the last two but I swear I will) @yeastinfectionvale THE GENDERBENT ONE IS MY FAVVVVVV and also love this one fluff right here :) @anitalianfrie and her reconciliation fic that made me smile like a thousand times, it's rosquez reconciliation seen through tumblr eyes @sammyche oooooo not only her asks are amazing and her answers better, she wrote this smutshot here that I personally read like five times already, plus a really good WAG!Marc (seriously check out the asks and her answers you'll get lost into a ton of possibilities) @thesunthemoonthestarstheearth oh god THEIR TALENTTTTTT personal favourite is forever seeking ; forever binding it's angst, DEEP AND CRUEL ANGST but it's worth every tear (you WILL cry) also the fluffy one shot and the smut one :) they wrote other fics and they're all in their bio (I'd want to out them all but it's currently 1.30 am and I've got work tomorrow, but CHECK THEM OUT) @hotmessmaxpress HORROR AU HORROR AU HORROR AU -> angst and fluff, a beautiful introspection into Marc's mind, all of its parts, amazing showstopping spectacular ANDDDD their OnlyFans! AU smut and fluff, really beautiful and the cameo of my flop babies Bezz and Celin @moonshynecybin is a wonder with words, I love her fics, can't find the tags fo rall of them but go check out her blog!! @ray935sworld wrote a cute academy boys de-ageing fic where Vale and MArc are together and act like parents, beautifulll fluff @october3811 also wrote very intersting fics (Iswear I'd tag all of them but I'm tiredddd) @lastlatebraker and all her ficss

once again I surely forgot someone (sorry) I am just tired will cehck tomorrow moring and add those I forgot <33

as before I'd love for you to check out my rosquez fics too, they're all tagged in my pinned post, but no pressure, enjoy those I spoke about above first <333

#alice journal of asks #anon🩷#fic recsssss #marcmarc #bezquez #rosquez

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skyloftian-nutcase · 2 months

Note

Congrats on 1500 followers love!!

If you're doing prompts, then here are some😈

Option 1: Mystery Link encounters Zelda and Gerudo Link and a town :"don't talk to me, someone might think we're friends "

Option 2: Power Link being a good Dad to his kids(he deserves good things every now and then lol)

Option 3: Abel ate a plant he reaaally shouldn't have😀 bonus if he flirts with Til while in between worrisome bouts of delirium🤭

Option 4: HC Wind experiences something either really traumatic or really hilarious at the hospital (depending on what mood you're in lol)

If you like none of these, then write whatever! You know I love your writing haha🥰

Tilieth had been trying for six months to forget about everything that had happened. She knew it had been six months to the day because she'd been counting, making little tick marks on the wall, waiting to see how long it would take for her son to wake up in that Sheikah shrine. In that time, she and Abel had been trying to piece together some sort of routine, and one of the things Tilieth did to try and help was forage for food while Abel hunted.

She knew eventually she'd have to hunt as well. It seemed unfair for Abel to be the sole fighter when they were stuck on the plateau together with no other help. She should at least know the basics. But for now, she couldn't get near a weapon, she felt her entire body tremble when she walked to certain parts of the plateau; she could hardly venture farther than the little camp site they had created close to the Temple of Time and the Shrine of Resurrection.

Today had been a decent day. She'd found some new plants around a pond near the temple, and their berries looked delicious. She'd picked them and cleaned them, setting them on a cloth to dry while working on mending Abel's tattered clothes.

When she glanced back to see if the berries had dried, most of them had disappeared.

Startled, Tilieth looked around to see if an animal had taken them, and she saw her husband settling down beside her.

"Those weren't ready yet," she chided lightly.

Abel hummed. "How are they not ready?"

"I washed them, they needed to dry some more."

"You were going to store them?" Abel asked, before adding, "Sorry."

"It's fine," Tilieth waved off, rubbing his back a little with a smile. "I can let the sun dry out the rest."

"Where did you get them? They look like wildberries, but those only grow in cold places. Did you go to the river?"

"No," Tilieth answered. "I got them by the pond near the temple."

Abel blinked. Blinked again. Then he stood slowly, eyes boring into the remaining fruit.

Tilieth grew a little nervous. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Abel said dismissively. "But I don't think we should keep the rest. They rot quickly, you won't be able to dry them. I'll, ah, eat the rest. Don't pick anymore - it's best to find alternatives."

"Abel, you're acting strange," Tilieth cut in, catching on to his change in attitude quickly.

"I just remembered something," Abel explained. "I need to go patrol to the south. It might be a while. Stay here at the camp, okay?"

With that, her husband departed quickly, taking the rest of the berries with him. Tilieth squinted, confused and worried, and she leaned over to look down the hill where he'd gone only to see him toss the rest of the berries into the grass.

Something was wrong, wasn't it? Did he just not like the flavor? Did it make him feel ill?

She made him ill, didn't she? Tilieth felt her stomach churn with guilt, felt awful that she could make such a mistake, wishing desperately that she'd learned more about the flora of Hyrule, but she'd never had a reason to! Hateno was self sustaining, and she'd always just gotten food from the local market and her own little garden.

She was trying to make a garden. She really should just stick to that instead of wanting to eat new plants. But she'd never heard of anything particularly bad, either. Was Abel just not feeling well? If that were the case, he wouldn't have taken the rest of the berries, right?

Worry ate away at her, and she grew restless. She didn't want to just sit around and wait, she wanted to make sure he was okay. What if Abel was getting sick and she was just sitting here doing nothing about it? She'd dealt with plenty of sick relatives, she could at least try to make something to ease his stomach.

Tilieth rose, taking a shaky step down the hill. The farther she moved, the more her chest hurt from fear. She was getting close to the edge of the wall dividing the Great Plateau from the rest of the kingdom, and up ahead were ruins that—that—

Tilieth froze, breath growing somewhat erratic. She had to find Abel, but she could hardly walk ahead anymore.

Praise Hylia, though, for she could see her husband a little distance ahead. He had paused, leaning against a tree. Tilieth found her courage and swallowed, walking forward to get to him, pointedly ignoring the ruins and the wall to her right. Her voice hadn't quite come back to her yet, so she had to make it all the way to him without speaking.

Slowly, she stepped cautiously towards her husband. He didn't seem to be getting sick, simply standing there. When she finally reached him, she cleared her throat, still not able to speak but knowing better than to sneak up on him.

Abel turned a little, face flushed, eyes looking almost glazed, a kind of off-focus expression that she was not accustomed to seeing on him at all. Her husband hardly ever zoned out, and when he did it was because he was deep in thought, not because his head was in the clouds, as hers often was.

She finally found her voice. "Honey?"

Abel squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Then he looked at her again, clearly struggling to focus. "T-Til, I... I s-said wait at the camp."

"Honey, what's wrong?" Tilieth asked, growing more nervous.

"'S n-nothing."

"It's not nothing, you're acting strange!" Tilieth accused. "You threw away the rest of the berries, and you look sick!"

Abel leaned his back against the tree now, gaze drifting elsewhere. "They're b-bad berries."

So this was her fault! Tilieth wrung her hands nervously, mouth clamped shut, wondering what she should do.

"'S okay," Abel assured her, closing his eyes. "J-just... not a fun afternoon. I'll be fine. P-please, go... go home."

Home? He never called the camp home. "Abel, why don't you come back with me? We can figure something out."

"I'll be fine," Abel said, voice growing tight, muscles tensing. He was growing agitated, and Tilieth backed off a little at the sight of it, not looking to start a fight. "I... I promise. I'll be fine, Tilieth. It g-goes through, and then it s-stops. Please leave."

It goes through? Tilieth wondered if that just meant her poor husband was going to be very unwell but pass it through his system quickly. She'd want privacy too in that instance, she supposed, so she nodded and made her way back to camp quickly. She still felt immensely guilty, though, particularly at the realization that Abel had been fully prepared to just deal with the consequences alone and never tell her how much she hurt him.

He always tried to protect her like that.

When the sun moved from midway through the sky to almost kissing the mountains in the distance, Tilieth started to worry again. There was no way it took that long, and if it did, Abel was going to be dehydrated.

But that meant she had to go back to that place.

Tilieth gripped her fraying green dress. She wasn't going to let her anxieties stop her from checking on her husband. So she got back up and headed towards the place where she'd found him earlier.

She encountered him closer to camp than she expected to, and Tilieth almost wondered if he was on the mend and heading back to her. The feverish flush to his cheeks, paired with sweat on his brow, plastering his fringe to his forehead, quickly eliminated that idea.

This wasn't just feeling unwell for an afternoon, something was wrong.

"Abel?" she called, moving more quickly.

Abel was standing in the middle of the field, staring off in the distance, and he didn't quite seem to hear her. As she approached, she could see his expression was something she hadn't seen very often, an open vulnerability so prevalent her heart hurt at the sight of it.

"Abel... honey, what is it?" she asked softly, moving to soothe him, seeing tears starting to shine in his eyes.

"Mom?" he whispered softly, still staring at the distance.

Mom? His mother had died when he was a child. Was... was he dying?! Tilieth looked around wildly, frightened and frantic. Her skin crawled, her body felt like ice had frozen her from the inside out.

"Abel, nobody's there," she said shakily. He'd said he'd be fine, what was happening?!

There wasn't a ghost, was there?!

No, no. There couldn't be. Abel had never seen ghosts. Tilieth surveyed the area once more, eyes blown wide, heart racing. There was no way, right? She instinctively moved closer to her husband, hands wrapping around his arm, pressing herself against his side.

Abel's gaze snapped to her at the touch, breaths coming out in little panicked rasps. Tilieth looked between him and the space he'd been staring, took a steadying breath, and smiled at her husband reassuringly.

There was a moment where he just stared, that same feverish glaze covering his eyes, and then he blinked a few times and seemed to come back to himself. "T-Til..."

Tilieth sprang into action, immediately hugging him. "Abel, honey, you scared me, what's wrong? This is because of the berries, oh honey I'm so sorry—"

"'S not... n-not..." Abel tried to say, holding her with trembling arms, terrifying her even more. "Go b-back to... I'm okay..."

"No! You're not okay!" Tilieth argued, pulling away to look him over. "What do these berries do? You know - that's why you went away! Are they... you said it would get better, but—they're not—"

They're not lethal, are they?

Please, she begged, feeling tears well in her eyes, Please don't leave me too. Please just tell me what's happening.

Abel looked down, seeming hesitant, and then sighed, trying to regulate his breathing. "B-berries cause... seeing th-things... it'll s-stop... promise..."

The berries made him hallucinate? Why didn't he just tell her that from the start? Why did he have to try to bear this alone? Goddess, she shouldn't have left earlier when he asked, this was her fault anyway.

She felt awful.

When Abel stumbled in another direction, though, she came back to life, grabbing his hand. "Wait! This is—I caused this, let me help. Let's get you back to camp, okay?"

He'd said that it would run its course. She had to trust that. But she couldn't just leave him out here like this. This wasn't just a stomach illness, this was dangerous and frightening, for both him and her.

Goddess, why would he try to deal with this alone?! Tilieth couldn't even imagine being in such a position that she would be questioning whether everything she saw was even real or not, she couldn't fathom how absolutely terrifying that would be.

She hated that she'd caused this.

Abel let her guide him closer to their camp, stumbling a little, seeming to have zoned out. Tilieth remained vigilant, growing steadily more anxious as they moved. It was getting dark, and there were some monsters that still crept in the shadows of the plateau, though not many. Tilieth had no way of defending herself or her husband, aside from maybe using a pot or a ladle or a tree branch while screeching. The mere thought of encountering a beast made her lose her breath.

She felt her arm jerk a little as Abel stopped moving, and she turned to look back at him. The confusion, the openness of emotions were back, but this time he was staring directly at her.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, sounding nearly enchanted.

Tilieth barked out a confused and surprised laugh, dumbfounded. "What?"

Abel smiled a little, innocent and shy as it was, and took a step towards her before freezing again. His face turned a shade paler, eyes widening, and he shook his head. "N-no, no..."

Tilieth moved quickly to soothe him, wondering what he was seeing now, dreading to find out. "Sweetie, it's okay. It's okay. Let's keep going, okay?"

Abel jerked his hand out of hers, hugging himself and curling in on himself, trembling. She noticed, abruptly, that his knuckles were scraped, that his knees had grass stains on them. He'd fallen sometime earlier in the day while in this state.

"Oh, love," she lamented, feeling a million times worse.

Her husband groaned, nearly tipping backwards as he stumbled a little, and Tilieth gasped, lunging forward to steady him. He latched onto her in a heartbeat, grip suddenly far more intense than before. "Ama..."

Tilieth rubbed circles on his back. "Honey... Ama's not here. Your sister's not here. It's me, Tilieth."

Her heart broke anew as the words came out of her mouth. Abel hadn't kept up too much with his sisters as an adult, but he'd definitely been closer to Ama, his twin. She'd lived in Castle Town, though, and Abel...

Abel didn't talk about what happened to Castle Town.

Her husband groaned, pushing her off him. "Stop it. Sh-Shola isn't—Ama—"

Tilieth tried something different, blinking the tears away. "Ama's this way, love. You want to see her?"

Abel slowly lowered himself to the ground, taking measured breaths, head in his hands. "I... I want to go home."

Tilieth swallowed the lump in her throat.

The silence between them was deafening, a chasm developing between the couple that grew larger by the second. Abel took another steadying breath, pushing his hands to run through his hair and slick the sweat fringe out of his face. He looked at Tilieth as if he was just seeing her for the first time. "Til?"

Tilieth came to life in an instant, reaching for him, taking his hands in her own and squeezing them. "I'm here, love. I'm here."

Abel's eyes were unfocused, but he kept them fixed on her, expression raw. "Where are the children?"

Oh, goddess. Why are you doing this? Please, just make him sleep. Tilieth lost her voice in trying to reply to him, biting her lip and squeezing his hands again.

Her husband watched her, searching, waiting for a reply, before his mind finally seemed to slip somewhere else, and he rose shakily. Tilieth tried to direct him as best she could, helping him as he stumbled occasionally. Sometimes he would get distracted, seeing something new, but generally the journey was uneventful until they were just at the bottom of the hill to their camp.

Tilieth glanced upward, chest a little less tight at the thought that they were almost to safety, when Abel grabbed her by the back of her tunic and yanked her behind him. "Abel, what—"

"Stay quiet," he hissed, body stiff as a board, arms spread out slightly in a protective stance, hiding her from whatever he was facing. Tilieth worriedly looked around him, knowing that nightfall was upon them, but she saw nothing.

Tilieth waited a moment, trying to figure out if there truly was a threat, but the more time passed, the more erratic Abel became, reaching for a weapon he no longer was holding (she had taken his sword), stepping forward uncertainly.

Abel registered that he was unarmed, and his breathing rapidly increased to a near panic. Tilieth reached for his arm, dragging him up the hill, but he fought back, pulling away.

"It's—it's a—where—" he gasped, eyes wild.

"Abel," Tilieth begged, taking his face in her hands. "Love, look at me. There's nothing there. Let's go back to camp."

"C-camp?" he repeated, breaths reaching a regular rhythm and depth, brow relaxing slightly from outright panic to confusion. "W-we're camping?"

Tilieth blinked, trying to keep up with the changes. "We—yes. Yes, we are."

Abel giggled all of a sudden. "You're too pretty to be a soldier, though."

His face went white as soon as the words escaped his mouth, and he took an anxious step away, waving his hands a little. "I—I b-beg your pardon, I'm—"

Tilieth laughed now, recognizing this patterned behavior, remembering when her beloved, wonderful husband was a shy, sweet knight fresh to Hateno. "It's okay, Abel. Please come with me."

Her husband, bashful and ashamed and mortified as he was, lowered his head a little and complied.

When they finally made to camp, Tilieth wanted to cry she was so relieved. She could hardly hold the tears back, honestly, with as guilty as she felt anyway, so she just let them fall. She sniffled quietly, trying not to attract attention to it, hoping Abel was too addled to notice. Instead, she made him sit while she gathered supplies. She cleaned his knuckles first, listening as he stammered at her, insisting to his dead sister that he could take care of himself, asking where their mother was a few moments later, before poking Tilieth in the chest.

"Ow!" she yelped mildly before flicking him. "That's not very nice, love."

"What're you doing, silly girl?" Abel asked, a soft smile pulling at one side of his mouth. "Don't you know your Papa can take care of himself?"

"First your sister, now Lyra?" Tilieth sighed. She tried to play along, reaching her hands out. "I can't learn how to take care of myself if you don't let me practice on you."

Abel hummed thoughtfully, and Tilieth wondered if he was actually going to stick to this particular delirium, but he lost focus soon after. She gently took his hands in her own again, finishing wiping the dried blood off. She stared at his knuckles a moment, fingers running along his palms, feeling the callouses and cuts. Silently, she pulled them to her lips, kissing them, her tears diving to every curve and crevice in his skin, trailing away with what little dirt was left.

He wiggled out of her gentle grip before one hand reached to her face, wiping the tears away.

"I'm sorry," Tilieth choked out, looking at him, seeing his sky blue eyes worriedly watching her. "I'm s-sorry you're going through this because of me."

Abel sighed, suddenly tired, but so, so tender and seemingly innocent. "It's okay, Mom. I know you miss him."

Tilieth felt her heart break anew, and she bit her lip. Abel reached forward to hug her, but before he could really encircle her in his embrace, she made the first move instead, letting him rest his head on her shoulder as she held him close. She knew... she knew he'd had to comfort his mother in her final years after his father had died. She knew he hadn't known comfort since then, always having to take care of everyone else.

She could take care of him, though. He didn't have to be strong all the time. She was his wife - she could protect him as much as he did her. Even if right now he didn't quite realize it.

That was what this was all about, after all, wasn't it? The reason he hadn't told her that the berries would cause delirium and hallucinations was that he didn't want her to worry, to feel guilty, to see him in such a weak state.

Tilieth held her beloved more tightly. She'd told him time and again in their marriage that he didn't have to do that. It had taken years for him to believe it.

She hadn't seen him break once since they'd reunited after the Calamity.

Tilieth felt a new sort of guilt eat away at her. She'd been completely reliant on him these last six months. She knew that. She'd hardly had the self awareness to recognize it, bereaved as she was. But tonight, she realized it, as her husband tried to hide his hurt from her.

"I love you so much," she whispered into his hair.

Abel didn't reply, didn't seem to react, perhaps didn't even hear her. So she said it again and again, whispering it like a mantra, like music carried in the breeze on festival nights, serenading her husband with warmth. He seemed to settle, muscles slowly relaxing as time passed, and as he finally fell asleep she leaned against a tree, letting him press his weight on her.

Tilieth herself had almost fallen asleep a few hours later, heedless of the way her stomach growled, when Abel stirred once more.

Her husband nearly fell off her as he rolled, and both of them yelped as she tried to catch him. Abel quickly sat up, palm cupping her face, and he asked, "Are you alright?"

Goddess, his voice sounded so strong, his eyes looked clear, he was no longer sweating.

It was over.

Tilieth burst into tears.

Abel jumped, startled, and quickly moved to assuage her. "Love, I'm okay, I promise."

He gathered her in his arms and she sank into the embrace readily, so relieved at the safety and warmth, the strength of his hold, the assurance that it meant he was feeling better.

"I-I'm—I'm s-sorry," she sobbed, pushing with all he rmight to get the words out.

Abel hushed her, kissing her cheek. "I told you I'd be fine, Til. It's okay."

That was awful, she wanted to protest, but her throat was too closed up at this point, hiccupping instead. Abel simply held her, steady as a rock.

She hoped he at least remembered her words as she'd comforted him.

Eventually, the tears dried, and both spouses heard their stomachs roar in frustration.

"Maybe I'll cook something," Abel offered with a cheeky smile, and Tilieth wanted to clock him for how lightly he was taking this entire ordeal.

He must not remember most of it.

Sighing heavily, she crossed her arms, not wanting to dig up the issue, accepting the easy forgiveness her husband gave her despite the guilt that still gnawed at her. "Fine. I'll work on the garden."

"Do you know what you're growing in the garden—”

"Yes, Abel. I know."

Her husband chuckled heartily, kissing her briefly, and moved to the cooking pot. Tilieth sighed, staring up at the starry sky, and thanked Hylia for keeping both of them alive despite both of their idiocy.

And then she moved to the half demolished wall where she'd been keeping tabs, and scratched another day passed.

#you ask skye answers #lovely oma #abel #blood of the hero #Abel knew exactly what those plants would do to him so he tried to spare Tilieth from seeing it #which backfired spectacularly #writing #Tilieth definitely started making a journal after this to figure out different plants #Hylia is probably facepalming somewhere #Link would 100% eat those berries by accident too

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