#if you have another idea I would love to hear it

[onlyyvette]

idk why but i just needed to get this off my chest :p

warnings: a little bit of corruption + dom reader + handjobs

Personally, I absolutely love the idea of having a "straight" guy as one of your favorite bros. The two of you have such a good relationship, always meeting up at the gym with each other, bringing an extra water bottle for the other, hanging out at each other's home, great stuff. Until he brings up the idea of blowing off some steam by jerking each other off. Like bros though, of course.

And like a good friend, you agree because that's what bros do! Totally not because of his perfectly sculpted arms, that big and bouncy chest, and thighs that would absolutely crush you between them. Of course not.

Little do you know, your bro has been struggling with a little crush on you. By crush, he means that he needs you to fuck him so hard he breaks. He always thought he was straight, never even gave it much thought besides the guys he would see once in a while that he would find hot if he were a girl. That was until the moment he saw you half-naked in the showers, his eyes nearly glued to you unclothed dick. He couldn't help but feel a throb himself while he ogled your form.

Of course he was still straight! It was only normal that a male would want to size up another male, just guys being guys. And it's pretty normal for guys to jerk off together, right?

Maybe he was wrong.

He can barely keep up with your precum slicked hand moving up and down your cocks, he's too busy whimpering and fucking up into your fist. He's letting out whines of Bro, slow down and Too much, if only he could hear himself, how pathetic he sounds nearly losing his mind just from getting jerked off by another man, his bro.

He's so damn sexy like this, his brows scrunched up as he holds back his tears. Beads of sweat roll down his flushed and panting face. You might pull on his dick a little too hard, but he's so cute you can't help yourself. His eeks of pleasure only worsens(betters) his situation.

By the time he's already shot his load, another one upcoming, you finally release. As his mind tries its best to unscramble itself, he can't help but want to do something like this again, or even go further. You may call him gay for it, but you have to understand, right? It's just bros helping out bros.

[imsofreakingtired]

sevika gets drunk and ends up forgetting about her own wife and ends up in the brothel, and reader end up knowing all, but dont have courage enough to confront her, but she noticed the changes on your behavior like, dont wanting kisses often, dont wanting to cudlle at nigh or worried when she tells you that she have to work and etc.

(I am obsseeeed how you write angst, mwah mwah)

- 🧸

ohh absolutely. i love that idea<3 also tysmm!

leave you with nothing

content warning(s): idiot lesbians (slight angst) (not too bad i swear)

"are you sick of me? would you like to be? i'm trying to tell you something something that i've already said"

~~~

i think she would get drunk only when work was really stressing her out. or if her sense of self-worth is just at an all-time low (i’m thinking of the time silco dead up ordered her to help with a dead body, which was shocking even to renni, who was literally the mother of the victim.) when she feels trapped, hopeless, powerless, like the enterprise isn’t getting zaun anywhere closer to its ultimate goal. she doesn’t want to confide in you about this, she wants to keep up a front of stoic confidence to you, because she’s afraid if she reveals herself to be vulnerable you will leave her. 

so she drinks her troubles away and tells herself she’ll clear everything up to you in the morning if you ask why she came home late, she tells herself she’ll just play a round of cards or two with her drinking mates, that you’ll never know the difference (never thinks she’s more sober than when she’s stinking drunk.) 

one drink leads to another and she’s vaguely aware of her desire for something else that night - a woman’s touch, a woman’s voice, someone to hold her and tell her she is doing alright. she’s too drunk to remember where she’s felt this before, who has held her like this, and all she is aware of is an all-consuming loneliness that threatens to devour her alive. she’s thrown back into the old days before she met you, when all that awaited her after a hard day’s work was an empty apartment strewn with emptier liquor bottles. she doesn’t want to go back to this home. 

so she makes her way to babette’s, incredibly calm and collected—she’s good at playing sober when she wants to, and babette is surprised to see her check in— isn’t she married? — but she asks no questions and Sevika sees a woman who kind of looks like you. the eyes. the shape of the face. the hips, the way she moves in the dusky light. she picks her immediately. 

she’s too drunk to care about how it might look, asking the woman if it’s alright if she just lay with her head in the woman’s lap. telling her to stroke her hair and let her sleep for a while. even on the walk here she was hot with desire, but now she just wants to rest and hear the pretty words you would whisper in her ear when you thought she was asleep. 

she comes home at around 4 in the morning and promptly passes out on the couch, not even bothering to change. smelling of someone else’s perfume. you find her there in the morning and she doesn’t remember a single thing except that the coins in her pocket are gone. 

you know the signs; you’re not stupid, but you don’t want to think the worst. until you overhear Chuck talking to some of the patrons at the last drop. 

“yeah, Sevika was here, swept the table and then left in the middle of the round talking about Babette’s.” “Babette’s?? doesn’t she have a wife?” 

you wander through the rooms in a daze for the rest of the day as you wait for Sevika to come home. you’re furious at first, then you’re cold with dread. was it you? had you done something wrong to make her want something else, someone else? 

you don’t want to confront her, you’ve convinced yourself by now that whatever it was, it must have been something you did wrong, and even though you can’t think of a single time Sevika seemed angry or even unhappy with you, you can’t bring yourself to start the conversation. 

she comes home tired and her eyes light up when she sees you. when she tries to kiss you, you turn your face away. her hand reaches for your waist, you dodge her touch. 

“baby, what’s with you?” she asks. “i smell funny or what?”

yeah, you smell of babette’s. you smell of liquor. you smell of lies. 

“nothing. i’m tired. you want dinner?” 

“i ate already,” she says. “i’m going to bed.” 

okay, so we’re playing ignorant, you think. two can play at that game. 

as the days go on you avoid her more and more. you still clean up after her in the apartment, cook her meals, wash and mend her clothes as usual. but you don’t stay up waiting for her to come home, and you don’t let her kiss you in bed. Sevika’s at a complete loss—she’s never seen you this way before. unlike you, she’d never wonder if maybe she were at fault. if she feels she hasn’t done wrong, she’d stick to that conviction to the bitter end. but it exasperates her, the way you elude her touches, answer her with monosyllables, stare at her with a strange apprehension in your eyes when you think she isn’t looking. 

“i’m working late tonight,” she tells you one day. “don’t wait up.” 

you feel your heart drop. she’s already a regular for someone at babette’s, you know it. 

“what time do you think you’ll be back?” you ask, a little too quickly. 

she looks at you oddly. you’ve never asked her this before. “i’ll be back when i’m back.” her brows furrow in concern. “why, is something wrong?” 

“no,” you say. 

after she leaves you pace the apartment for about an hour before making up your mind and running out into the street. hood over your face so you won’t be recognized, you run straight to Babette’s and burst through the doors, ignoring the strange looks you receive. no one deters you—you were also a frequent patron before you met Sevika, but you see the workers look at you and whisper to one another. it only confirms your suspicions. you reach Babette’s office and she looks up at you in surprise. 

“can i help you, hon?” 

“Sevika,” you say breathlessly. “how many times has she checked in here?” 

her brows lift. she checks her records. “i don’t do this for anyone, you know - confidential information. but since you’re her wife…”

“how many times, please?” 

she looks up at you. “just once. a month ago. she seemed inebriated. stayed only for two hours.” 

just once? and drunk? Sevika, drunk? you couldn’t imagine it if you tried.

you walk back out of the brothel, barely thinking of where you’re going, barely thinking at all, when you hear a familiar voice call out your name. 

Sevika’s walking swiftly down the street towards you, her eyes dark. 

“what are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing your wrist. 

“what am I doing here?” you shoot back. “i’m here finding out what you were doing here!” 

she looks up at the sign of Babette’s place, as if she can’t understand what you mean. “i haven’t stepped foot in this place,” she growls. 

“Babette’s records say otherwise.” your voice is cold. 

then it all comes back to her at once. Sevika’s lips part slightly as she recalls that night, the desperation, the way she had lain in another woman’s lap. 

“baby,” she says. “listen.” 

“i’m done listening,” you snap, and turn on your heel. you walk away from her, leaving her behind on the street outside Babette’s.  

~~~

note: idk why this idea struck me as so funny i think i'm sleep deprived lol. obviously she will explain herself as best as she can and you'll forgive her. she sleeps on the couch tonight though.

~~~

taglist~ @notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @00valentina-writes00 @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika

[midnite-c6]

hear me out — nam-gyu is actually soooo icky. i don’t care what anyone tells me. he’s a icky icky man. he’s so fucking mean too. he thinks of women as possessions (he’s sooo misogynistic. you can’t convince me otherwise) like what do you mean women are their own person and can control their own lives?! no…. they are possessions!

additionally, he is sooo convincing with his words — he can get anyone to trust him quite easily (especially if they’re naive) and he’s taking full advantage of that.

honestly nam-gyu probably has anyone naive trying things they were always against. he has such a way with words when it comes to getting anyone to open up or doing what he wants them to do. he'll give them everything they need to get them to say yes even if it means making promises he doesn't even plan to keep or fulfill.

also, no one can convince me otherwise that this man doesn’t have a thing for trad wives. he definitely likes the idea of codependency and the fact that someone clings to him like a second skin (but let’s be honest, he definitely doesn’t make it out to seem like he likes it — it’s always constant degradation from him: “stupid bitch, can’t ever do anything for yourself, huh? i have to do everything for you”). also likes the idea of baby trapping, because you can’t leave him ♡ but 100% does not like kids.

i also can see him fetishizes the FUCK out of lesbians (once again… this man is ICKY) and i definitely feel like if he was the type to get into a relationship with someone who is bisexual (or closeted lesbian. specifically if he coerces them) he would exploit the shit out of it. bro definitely has a premium subscription to ph. constantly doom scrolling to find something he hasn’t watched yet (specifically lesbians or threesomes (two girls, one guy) it’s definitely one of his biggest fantasies. he is soo gross ♡)

he would probably likes giving some naive, lightweight (never done drugs before) drugs that he knows they wouldn’t be able to handle just so he they can take advantage.

I AM GOING INSANEEEE. i am clawing and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

warnings: 18+, DARK content, dubcon, baby trapping

bro i am so sorry i haven't let this out to the public sooner, this is so good and factual fr 💔 like this guy is an misogynistic incel honestly, idfc what anyone else says, u literally can see it in the show how he treats se-mi. he's a meanie.

THE PH SUBSCRIPTION IS SO REAL. also, forces or not, makes u watch porn with him, the disgusting ones like heavy bondage/bdsm, prolly whilst sticking a wand vibrator on ur clit in a setting that's intense BUT wont make u cum so its pure torture..

guys has anyone done se-mi x reader x nam-gyu ? like hello? hello????? ITS RIGHT THERE prolly would watch u & se-mi whilst he's cucking himself. or he's right in the middle of the action, both ur pussies rubbing on his dick.

also, i love nam-gyu corruption kink, to someone whos absolutely clean, pure, law abiding citizen, prolly doesnt even know half of the kinks or stuff u see in pornhub, BUT THAT'S WHY NAM-GYU EXISTS!! to teach you allat, to corrupt u :^

i just dont feel like hes a good person at all, in smut mindset, and in fr the character, hes those toxic bfs who's only "strong" cuz u're just a lil bit weaker than him. and if u try to leave, nuh-uh, u can't, u wanted a child to begin with right?

"fuck you mean, 'i'm leaving you'? bitch please," he scolds, pumping another load inside- straight to your womb, "you wanna be a single mom?" you shake your head immediately, you were on birth control.. but maybe not... oh no! "then don't bullshit me with saying you're 'leaving me'... you know you love me." let's just hope he'll be a good dad... (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

if anyone needs a fluffy lovey namgyu smut this aint the place.. jk, i would prolly post one too heheh <3 also, now i wanna make a full on incel!nam-gyu x reader smut mannn

[multi-fandom-imagine]

To go with the latest Fred fic you wrote - them finding out they’re having triplets?

A/n: Fred deserved this life ���

Fred Weasley had never known a love so consuming until he became a father. Hell he never thought he would even get a chance of this life after the Battle of Hogwarts.

But.

Standing over the cribs, watching his three tiny miracles sleep soundly, he still couldn’t believe it.

Three.

Three beautiful, perfect, red-haired babies.

His triplets.

His and your triplets.

Fred exhaled softly, his chest tightening with overwhelming love and awe. Their little faces were peaceful, their tiny hands occasionally twitching in sleep, their chests rising and falling in the most delicate rhythm.

As he reached down, gently brushing his knuckle over one of their soft little cheeks, a flood of memories came rushing back.

The day they found out had been—well—chaotic.

Fred had walked into St. Mungo’s with you, excited but nervous, absolutely ready to hear about his future child. His arm wrapped protectively around your waist. He watched as you sat down on the examination chair, watched as she applied jelly to your belly.

One child.

That’s what he’d been expecting. One. Singular. A baby.

Then, the Healer had smiled far too brightly as they examined the scan.

“Congratulations, you two! You’re having—”

A Pause.

Fred had felt his stomach drop at the pause. Why was there a pause? His smile faltering on his lips as he squeezed your hand.

The Healer had turned to you both, beaming.

“Triplets!”

Then Silence.

Fred’s brain short-circuited. A strangled sound escaping his lips.

You, who had been clutching his hand, froze completely.

Then....

“Sorry—what?” Fred had asked, blinking rapidly.

“Triplets!” the Healer repeated cheerfully, pointing at the image. “See? Three little heartbeats, all strong and healthy!” Her fingers pointing to each little blob on the screen.

Fred had made another strangled noise, his grip tightening on your hand. He could feel his knees almost buckle out from under him.

You, on the other hand, had just stared at the screen, your eyes comically wide.

“Fred,” you had whispered, your voice shockingly calm.

“Yes, love?”

“We are having three babies.”

Fred had nodded dumbly a little "hmmh" leaving his lips.

You had continued staring.

Then, suddenly, had burst into tears.

Fred had panicked instantly.

“Oh, bloody hell! love—are you okay?”

You had just nodded between sobs, gripping his hand so tightly his fingers had turned white.

“There’s three of them, Fred!” You had wailed, shaking slightly.

Fred had absolutely no idea if you were crying because you were happy, overwhelmed, or just spiraling into hormonal shock.

So naturally, he had done what any loving, supportive husband would do.

He had fainted.

Right there.

In the bloody Healer’s office.

Fred smirked to himself, watching the babies twitch in their sleep.

When he had woken up, flat on the Healer’s floor, you had been hovering over him, still crying but also laughing hysterically.

“You—you fainted?” she had choked out between sniffles.

Fred had blinked up at you, still woozy. “You cried first!”

You had snorted, wiping your eyes. “I was emotional!”

Fred had groaned, covering his face. “We are so doomed.”

And yet—here they were.

Surviving.

Thriving.

And most important of all.

Raising their three little miracles together.

Fred smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the forehead of his daughter, then his two sons.

He turned, glancing at you, who was curled up on the nearby chair, dozing lightly.

His heart swelled.

Reaching over, he brushed a stray curl from your face, his thumb tracing your cheek lovingly.

Then, looking back at their sleeping babies, he whispered, so softly it was barely audible—

“Best surprise of my life.”

[queensunshinee]

So sweet- part 2 || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mention of p in v sex, oral sex), mention of an eating disorder, family drama, death in the family, cheating. It's a mess.

Word Count: 7.9k

(Part 1)

So sweet- part 2:

Art leaned against the doorframe as he looked at you. Since your back was to him, you hadn't seen him yet, and he felt like he had the upper hand. As if he didn’t need to be defensive. As if he was still part of your life. Your hair looked shorter than the last time he saw you. But then again, the last time he saw you, you told him you never wanted to see him again, so maybe he didn’t remember all the details as well as he’d like to.

Maybe he felt that "never" was subjective. That everyone could choose what to take from the word "never." That a year and a half without speaking to you was enough "never" for him, and you'd be a hypocrite if you said it wasn’t for you too. "Are you going to stand there much longer, Donaldson?" Your voice sounded the same. He'd recently discovered he hated a lot of things, but at the top of his list were all the times you called him by his last name instead of his first.

"You really do have eyes in the back of your head," he tried to joke, but he didn’t hear you laugh, not even a chuckle. He hadn’t seen your face yet, but he could guess you weren’t even smiling. "Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta?" you asked. If he didn’t know you, he might have thought you were fine. That this was just polite conversation between two acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while and ran into each other by chance. "My first match isn’t for another two days. I couldn’t miss the funeral," he said quietly. "I’m really sorry for your loss, you know that, right?" He took a few large steps and sat on the bed next to you, hoping you’d give him this moment. Hoping you wouldn’t be angry. Not when he was trying so hard.

"She was a mean drunk," you muttered. "Not a huge loss," you added, glancing at him for a second, allowing yourself to surrender to the moment. He recognized the piercing gaze. Maybe a wrinkle that wasn’t there before, but your eyes were the same eyes. You were the same girl he used to love. Used to. Used to. Used to. Before he went on his path in life and you on yours. Before he made a decision, and then you made a decision, and then both of you made decisions. Before words were said. Before he left and you stayed. Before he opened up and you shut down. Used to.

"You’re a grown man, you should know how to tie a tie by now, don’t you think?" you asked, probably trying to lighten the sadness that filled your childhood room, located right across from his childhood room. He wanted to thank you for that. But he never knew how to talk to you honestly. Why would he start now? "Tashi usually does it," he said quietly, and you stood in front of him, starting to adjust the damn tie. You had no idea what you were doing to his heartbeat. "I’m sorry about your grandmother. I was at your parents’ house afterward. I don’t know if they told you," you mumbled.

He was so angry at you for not coming to the funeral. Because by what right did you take his tragedy and make him consumed with thoughts of you? About your absence. About your hand that could’ve held his tightly, just like you did when he was eight, and Jameson died. Instead, he held Tashi’s hand. She didn’t squeeze. She let go after a few minutes. He was so angry that at his grandmother’s funeral, more than anything, he missed you. So now, a few minutes before heading to your mother’s funeral, he squeezed your hand for a moment while you adjusted his tie, looking at him with big eyes filling with tears you refused to let fall. "Better," you said.

He didn’t think it was better. He didn’t want to argue. He just nodded. . . . Patrick couldn’t focus. Every time he hit that stupid ball, he thought about the fight he had with his dad a week ago and the dumb argument he had with you before leaving for Atlanta. He hadn’t told you yet that his parents decided to cut him off from the trust fund. He hadn’t told you that he was basically broke. Sometimes Patrick thinks you’re the only person in the world who looks at him like he understands something about life. Like he’s capable of pulling off magic at any given moment. Sparkling eyes and a smile. He wonders when was the last time you looked at him like that. It’s been a few good months. He can’t deliver. Not the damn ball and not in real life.

He hesitates. Everything he does comes with a certain delay. He knows that at 24, he’s expected to understand who he is and what he wants from life. But what he wants from life doesn’t want him back, and that’s something he’s not willing to accept. He blames his parents for the fact that he’s too spoiled. That he doesn’t know when to stop. That he can’t let go of dreams. That he has to be the best, even though he’s drowning in his own mediocrity. He moves too fast between knowing how good he is at what he does and the harsh slap of reality that comes with each of his failures. Every tournament he loses in the second round, every person who was once in his life and doesn’t want him anymore. They found something better. Something more put-together.

He saw Tashi from a distance for the second time in the last two days. Always alone, Art wasn’t with her. He wondered why Art wasn’t here. He knew Art was competing. Everyone knew Art was competing. The rising star of American tennis. Motherfucker. His dad screamed it at him when he lost it a week ago— “I wish Art Donaldson were my son, maybe then I wouldn’t be so ashamed.” Patrick won’t tell anyone that it hurt. Not because he cares what his shitty dad thinks of him. Not because he cares that Art is succeeding on an international level, breaking into the world’s top ten. Fulfilling all the dreams they once dreamed together. Patrick cares because he knows that at any given moment, he could beat Art. He’s better than Art. So how is it that Art is ranked eighth and Patrick is a nobody? No one takes him into account.

“You planning to embarrass yourself in another tournament?” Tashi’s voice crept up behind him. “You know that if he competes against me, I’ll win, right?” he asked. Overconfident. Always overconfident. “I know you’re ranked 243rd, and he’s ranked 8th. It doesn’t matter who wins this, you’ll still be a loser, and he’ll still get a Nike campaign. They asked us about a winter collection.” She was trying to hurt him. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to her—to hurt him. But he thinks only two people can: you and Art. Tashi isn’t on that list. He doesn’t think Tashi comes close to being on that list.

He thinks Tashi is beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman he knows. Maybe you’re the most beautiful woman he knows. He doesn’t really know- it’s blurry and messy. But hearing you moan or say his name softly, sweetly, is the most beautiful thing he knows. So maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe he measures beauty differently than he did four years ago. “Sounds good. I promise to buy a jacket with his name on it. Do you need anything, Tashi?” he tried to end the conversation. He didn’t want her to see the pathetic training session he was having with himself against a wall. “I don’t know, maybe to ask why you’re here?” She shrugged like it was obvious. Like she cared about the useless existence of Patrick Zweig. Like he mattered. “I’m competing, just like Art-” he started, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but Art’s not here. How is it that you are?” she cut off the monologue he was about to throw at her. “I don’t know why Art isn’t here, Tashi.” If it were possible, his eyes would roll so far back into his skull they’d get stuck there. “Because he’s at a funeral, obviously. She’s your girlfriend last time I checked- how are you not there?” The furrow of her brows showed she was genuinely confused. But now he stood in front of her, terrified too. Whose funeral? Who the fuck died? “What are you talking about?” he muttered, feeling his heart pound. Every muscle in his body tensed. “(Y/N)’s mom passed away, Patrick. How am I the first one telling you this?” She doesn’t understand. But he does. And right now he hates Tashi. And Art, who’s with you. And himself- mostly himself- because after four years, he’s still a selfish bastard who only cares about himself. . . . You’re not crying, and you suspect it bothers your father. He looks at you strangely. As if you’re making things difficult. Because this is an event. A funeral is an event, and you need to behave the way you're expected to behave. You just can’t seem to do it. Because you don’t think you have a warm spot in your heart for the woman you called Mom for the pathetic 24 years of your existence. To anyone else, it would sound sad. Pathetic. You don’t say it out loud very often. You don’t want to make things harder for anyone. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. You considered cutting an onion before you left, just to save yourself from the weird looks from the extended family you haven’t seen in years, but Art fucking Donaldson hasn’t left you alone since the second he heard she kicked the bucket.

His hand held yours like his life depended on it. Maybe yours. Someone’s life depended on it. Definitely not your mother’s. She’s dead. You wonder if the need for sacrifice died with her. You wonder if your constant need to make everyone feel comfortable all the time died with her too. It’s exhausting. You wish you could be less like that. Your hand is sweating into his. He probably thinks it’s disgusting. He probably doesn’t like it. You miss the time when your whole world was making sure Art Donaldson was comfortable. His parents hugged you, and you’re pretty sure his mom left lipstick on you. He’s been staring at you for an hour straight. Maybe two. Maybe your whole life. You can’t know; it’s an emotional day.

You try to move your hand away from his; there’s no way this is comfortable for him. He grips harder. Doesn’t let go. Doesn’t leave you alone. Your father says the Kaddish, everyone responds "Amen" and cries. You don’t. Maybe you really are crazy, like she hinted at a few times when she got drunk and called you at an inappropriate hour. Maybe you really are the reason for every problem she ever had. Maybe you didn’t sacrifice enough. Maybe you didn’t love enough.

Maybe you just don’t know how to love, and then it makes sense that you don’t deserve to be loved. Not really. Not unconditionally. Not like your father loved your mother. Not like Art loves Tashi. Not like Patrick loved Tashi. Not like Patrick hated you. Maybe he still does- sometimes you’re not sure. Patrick isn’t here. Art’s hand keeps holding you both steady. You finally cry.

When you walk into the house, your extended family is already there. Uncles, cousins- you think you saw the grandfather of someone your father goes to synagogue with. All you wanted was to sit quietly in your room for a second. Take off the heels and the damn dress. You felt the thong digging into your ass. That’s what happens when you let a dead woman dictate what you'll wear to her funeral. A woman who had conditions for her own funeral. Who told you what dress to wear. What underwear to put on. Sometimes you wonder how many years ahead you’ll keep dragging her advice, her judgmental looks. The tongue clicks. The general dissatisfaction with the world, wrapped in fake smiles. Maybe that’s where you learned to fake so well. To fake who you are down to your core. To fake and fake until you don’t know what you want or from whom.

“You disappeared. I figured you’d be here.” Art walks into your childhood room like it’s his. Like he always did. “You’re still here?” you mutter, and he hands you a plate of food he picked up from downstairs. “Where else would I be?” he sighs. As if that’s the only answer that makes sense to him. As if you two were in touch. As if you know anything about his fancy life or he knows anything about your painfully mediocre one. “In Atlanta,” you answer and place the plate on the nightstand beside you. “When’s your flight?” you ask, not looking at him as he sits next to you on the bed like he did before the funeral.

“I can stay-” he starts quietly. You know he’s looking at you, almost begging you to see that he means it. "Ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself, but you know he hears. “When’s your flight, Art?” you ask, your voice steadier, looking at him with an almost hollow expression. One that doesn’t show any emotion or maybe shows all emotions at once. A look that scared him. A look that worried you. A look you’ll think about a month from now. You’ll sit at home, writing the structure for one of your classes, and you’ll think about Art Donaldson and the empty look you gave him when your mother died. Embarrassing. Everything is so fucking embarrassing.

“Tonight,” he sums up. You glance at your phone’s clock. Sixteen missed calls from Patrick. Instinct says to call him. But it’s 6 p.m., and his first match is at 8 in the morning. “Don’t you need to pack?” He rolls his eyes, ignoring your attempt to dismiss him. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly. “Excuse me?” you snap back, not understanding the direction of the conversation. “Now. In general. What are you doing?” His gaze surrounds you from every direction. You can’t look anywhere that isn’t Art Donaldson. He reflects off the damn mirrors in this room. “Trying to sit quietly in my room, clearly,” you reply stiffly.

You remember how all your conversations used to be warm. Soft. You’d talk about dreams. About books you’d write. About tournaments he’d win. You’d kiss. He’d touch you. You’d touch him. There was curiosity. There was love. Or at least that thing you’ve spent years believing was love. The thing where you become exactly what he wants and needs and disappear when he needs something else, something better. That was the unwritten contract between you. Lately, you’ve been thinking that’s the unwritten contract between you and everyone you know. A depressing thought. You try not to dwell on it too much. On the way you please people in your suffering. Please in deprivation. Please to the point of tears, and more tears, and more tears. You try not to think about all the dreams you had when Art Donaldson -maybe- loved you. You try not to think about the joy of life. About how much you loved seeing him happy, how much you loved making him happy. How much you loved being responsible for his happiness. "Why isn’t Patrick here?" He quietly asked what he really wanted to know. He wanted to understand if you’d broken up. If you were alone. If he could laugh and say he told you so. That he told you; you had no business being with Patrick Zweig. "Because he has a match tomorrow at 8 a.m., and he trained too hard to miss it," you said it coolly, without breaking eye contact. As if it made perfect sense that you hadn’t told your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to be your confidant, that your mother had died. "He didn’t want to come?" Art continued, confused. Ice. That look again. The immediate shift in his mood confuses you, but it doesn’t throw you off balance. You know him. For the past four years, every time he’s seen you, all he’s tried to do is confuse you, to knock you off balance. It never works, at least not in his eyes.

"Hedoesn’tknow," you mumbled the words as if they were one. Quietly, knowing that what you’d done didn’t make sense. Wasn’t reasonable. Wasn’t acceptable. Didn’t fit into the unspoken rules of a relationship. "You’re an idiot." He stood up and started pacing back and forth. "A fucking moron, really." He was angry, as if he was the one who hadn’t been told your mother had died. If it were up to you, he wouldn’t have known either, but his mother told him. Whatever. "I’ll tell him when he gets back from the tournament, it’s not a big deal," you said and shrugged. Art stopped and looked at you like you’d just fallen from the moon. Like you were some natural phenomena. "If you did that to me, I’d kill you. If you thought some shitty tennis tournament in shitty Atlanta was more important to me than you, I’d murder you and then die myself. I don’t like what you have with Zweig, God knows I hate it, but how could you not tell him? Do you even understand the concept of a relationship?" He let out this Shakespearean monologue while looking at you with a half-pitying, half-angry expression. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he thought you were Tashi.

"Art, I’m not your problem. Do you remember that?" You didn’t know what else to say, so you said the only thing you knew for sure in a defeated voice. Art Donaldson was not a part of your life. "You’ll always be my problem. You should know that by now," he said, half despairing at himself. As if wondering how you both got here. As if wondering if there was anywhere else you could be. . . . Patrick was beyond frustrated. He won his first match after two and a half hours, barely. It didn’t come easy. All he could think about was how nothing came easy for him anymore, and how everything used to be so easy.

The thought that you didn’t tell him your mother had died, and then didn’t answer his calls either, hovered over his head like a rain cloud focused solely on him. He didn’t know how to approach it. He knew why you didn’t tell him- because unlike what Art thought, unlike what your dead mother thought, he knew you. He knew how you thought. He understood the mechanics behind your strange decisions. He hated that he had become someone you had to overthink things for.

That afternoon, he went to one of the courts and caught Tashi and Art’s practice. They both saw him sit down. He thinks it made Art play better. He wondered if Art imagined his face when he hit the ball. He thinks he does. Because when Tashi checkmated his relationship with Art, Patrick wrapped his life around yours as if that was how it was always meant to be, while everyone involved knew it wasn’t. While everyone involved knew that you had embroidered Art’s name on bags from the moment you learned how to stitch. While everyone knew that Art Donaldson didn’t know how to exist in the world without you.

So, Patrick took you for himself. Most of the time, he didn’t think of it as something technical, as a game he was playing against Art. Most of the time, he looked at you, really looked at you. Most of the time, he tried to make you laugh and understand the world through your own eyes. Most of the time, he tried to protect you from complex emotions you couldn’t express, from hunger. He tried to protect you from yourself, the way you protect some helpless creature. In some way, you were. In his eyes, you were helpless.

When you first started sleeping together, Patrick treated you with kid gloves, in a way he had never treated anyone before. Like you were porcelain. Like you could shatter and crumble in his hands at any moment. You had gestures and habits, ones you thought no one noticed. But he always saw. You tried to please everyone all the time. You switched from a smile to a sad look in a second, for the sake of the feelings of whoever was in front of you, for the sake of what you thought they wanted from you.

But Patrick didn’t want anything from you. He wanted to give you all the orgasms that you missed and for you to eat at least three meals a day. Some days, he didn’t know how to make you do it. Some days, he raised his voice. When he was desperate, he cried. When he was really desperate, he asked you to eat for him, so that he would be happy. That was the easy way, it always worked. He exploited a destructive mechanism someone had embedded in you (he suspects your dead mother) and used it to get you to do something he thought would be good for you. He wanted to throw up.

Art was playing well. He was playing against Tashi in front of him, and he was playing well. Too well. Patrick no longer thinks he can beat him. Not something he would ever say out loud. He wanted to ask him how you were. He didn’t want to admit that you hadn’t answered his million calls. He didn’t want to admit that he was a loser who didn’t know where his life was going. Not when Art had been with you at the fucking funeral of your awful mother. He hated that woman with everything he had. More than he hated his own father, and that had to be some kind of record. Art looked at him for a moment. The moment passed. Patrick thinks Art won. He’s not sure. . . . Patrick finds Tashi alone in the evening. Completely alone in the middle of the lobby restaurant. She suddenly looks small and fragile to him, holding a drink he can guess is whiskey or cognac or whatever it is that Tashi Duncan drinks these days. He doesn’t know anything about her anymore. Only that a few years ago, he thought he loved her, and in return, she took his best friend away from him.

When he stands in front of her, he is like a streetlight- impossible to ignore. It dawns on him, belatedly, that he is wearing her shirt. She must think he’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t think he cares about being pathetic in front of her. Because he sees her for what she is right now, and she is miserable. She doesn’t have much in life. She clings to what Art has. Which is fucked up on so many levels, but that’s reality. They both cling to things they shouldn’t be clinging to, and his eyes wander to her ring. Massive. Flashy. A bit like her, like the woman she tries to be when she’s not half-drunk and pathetic in front of him.

He places his hand over hers just as she’s about to take a sip of her drink, stopping her. He doesn’t know what he wants. Not from her, not from himself, but his lips find hers within seconds, and she doesn’t resist. He knew she wouldn’t resist- he saw it on her face. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Maybe more. And what a thought that is- that Tashi Duncan wants Patrick Zweig more.

They exit through the back door of the restaurant, go up to his room. Naturally. As if more than four years haven’t passed since the last time he was with Tashi. He wishes he knew what he was doing; it would make this easier. But it’s not particularly difficult, either- otherwise, he wouldn’t be pressing Tashi against the wall. Otherwise, his lips wouldn’t be kissing every inch of her body he can reach.

Hunger. Patrick feels hunger. It’s the only emotion coursing through him as he looks at her. He thinks he wants to hurt Art. He thinks about how Art was there for you at your mother’s funeral, and that was supposed to be his role, but you didn’t call him. So he strips Tashi of her shirt. Only to discover she isn’t wearing a bra. He compares her to you every few seconds. You never go without a bra. He can barely convince you to just be at home, without clothes, without defenses. Just be. He doesn’t think you’re capable of that. He doesn’t think you know how to feel at ease. That worries him more than he’s willing to admit.

“You’re thinking about her?” Tashi’s voice is almost angry as she kisses his neck. “No.” A lie. A complete lie. He can only think about you. He realized that a few years ago and stopped fighting it. You and tennis, as if that’s all there is in the world. What else even exists? What else even matters? “You’re a terrible liar,” she mutters against him, and somehow, the ugly shirt he’s pretty sure was Tashi’s -he doesn’t even know why he wore it- ends up on the floor. ‘You’re not thinking about Art?’ he should have asked, but he’s not here to ask questions. He’s here because he’s angry. At Art, at you, at Tashi for telling him, at the world. So he’s here. And they’re both shedding more pieces of their clothing and maybe their souls, because what they’re doing now has no way back. No forgiveness. They are bad people. Patrick knows it. Tashi knows it.

And after he wrings a heavy moan from her, one that follows an orgasm, she quietly tells him she thinks Art loves you. Patrick stares at the gaudy ring stuck on her finger, the ring that, in another universe, Art would have placed on yours. “Why do you think that?” Patrick asks softly, because what else is left to do? “I didn’t want him to go to the funeral. I wanted him to stay and train, but he went anyway,” she mumbles. Patrick says nothing, just nods. He would have done the exact same thing, and that’s why you didn’t call him. He would have come. Despite the dreams. Despite the tennis. Despite everything.

And Patrick remembers all the times Art called you sweet. All the times Art never wanted to tell him anything about what happened between you two. All the times Art didn’t want to talk about you. And it wasn’t because it wasn’t good. It wasn’t because other girls were better. It was because there was depth Patrick can only put his finger on now. So much happened beneath the surface- so much that Art had no words to describe it. So much that Art drowned in his own emotions. Repressed them and kept them bottled up until he found something shiny to bury his feelings in. Until he found Tashi.

And Tashi is safe. With Tashi, you can’t get lost. With Tashi, there’s a plan. With you, he just has to be himself. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. And that’s terrifying.

For the first time, Patrick understands Art in absolute terms. He lies in a hotel room, stroking the hair of a woman who isn’t you, and understands everything there is to understand about life. Mainly, he understands again- that you are so fucking sweet. And that there’s no way he can win. . . .

You're going over tomorrow’s lesson when you hear the door open. Without turning around, you already know it’s Patrick. Who else could it be? His scrutinizing gaze doesn’t waver from you, even when he says nothing. “How was it?” You find yourself breaking the silence, lifting your head toward him with a smile. He doesn’t smile back. He looks exhausted. The message Art sent you lingers in the back of your mind; He’s cheating on you. -Art Donaldson- Art has his reasons to make something like this up, but you doubt he’d be cruel enough to lie about it. Not while you’re mourning your horrible mother. No matter how angry he is at you. No matter how angry he is at Patrick. You don’t think Art is capable of that. You want to believe he isn’t capable of that. Then again, you also want so badly to believe Patrick wouldn’t do it. That Patrick wouldn’t cheat on you. That he wouldn’t find someone prettier, better, more cheerful and do all the things with her that he probably can’t do with you. You don’t want to think about the possibility that you haven’t sacrificed enough. That you didn’t try as hard as you were taught to. Your fault, your fault, your fault. You don’t want to believe it’s your fault. That another love will slip through your fingers, as if you’re trying to hold water. So, you choose to say nothing, because even if it’s true, even if he was with someone else, he came home. And home isn’t big, to say the least, not grand, not dazzling. But he came back. He’s right in front of you. You’re not alone. He knows you. He knows such ugly parts of you that sometimes you’re scared to acknowledge they even exist. He knows what you refuse to recognize in yourself, and sometimes he reminds you that you deserve more than you think. Which is a bizarre thought in itself. But you let him think it, you let him believe it enough for him to believe it for the both of you. “I lost in the third round. To Peter Michelson,” he says shortly, and you nod. “No choice but to make a voodoo doll with Peter Michelson’s face,” you try to joke. He usually laughs. At least smiles. He does neither. He just stands there like a block of wood, with the same expression. “I’m sorry you lost. I wish I’d been there,” you mumble, not knowing what else to say. “What about you? Anything special happen this week?” he asks, his gaze never leaving you.

Now you could tell him your mother died, but there’s no way to say it without it turning into a fight about the fact that you didn’t tell him the moment you found out. “No, nothing special, you know. My routine is boring.” You shrug and shift your focus back to the lesson you’re supposed to teach tomorrow. The Great Gatsby. A shitty book. “Nothing special at all?” he presses. “If you count the fact that Mr. Grace forgot to put in his dentures on Monday -again- and I had to sub for his class, then no.” It’s a half-lie because the thing with Mr. Grace and his dentures did happen, just not this week. Most of this week, you were at your parents’ house, helping your father deal with shiva and all the people who came by. He was completely heartbroken.

You see Patrick shake his head slightly and close his eyes. You know this is something he does when he’s trying to restrain himself. When he doesn’t want to lash out. When something is bothering him, and he doesn’t want it to turn into the biggest fight in the world. He has a bad history with fights that spiral out of control. “No one was born? No relatives died? I don’t know, maybe the woman who gave birth to you?” he says, his piercing gaze back on you. “Shit,” you mumble. Because what else is there to say in this situation? “Yeah, shit,” he stays exactly where he is, making you feel like a child being scolded. Like you dropped a lollipop and won’t be getting a new one.

“I’m sorry-” you start. “My mom isn’t dead; your mom is dead. I think I’m the one who’s sorry.” Patrick hated when you apologized. He said it was irrational with you. That you apologized more than was normal and more than people around you deserved. “Patrick,” you sigh, scrunching your nose as you try to think of a good way to explain it. “I really need to understand this, (Y/N). When were you planning on telling me your living mother was no longer alive? Another month? Two months? Two years? What was the timeline in that head of yours?” His words drip with sarcasm, like the way he used to talk to you before you became you and Patrick. Before you learned to love who he was and before he started treating you like you weren’t the worst person in the world.

“I didn’t want you to withdraw from Atlanta. You trained for it so hard.” You sigh again, quietly. This time, you’re the one closing your eyes, not wanting to look at him- and in doing so, you miss the fact that he moves toward you in giant strides. “I wish you’d told me, Little Dove. I wish I’d been with you instead of being there.” His hands cup your face as he crouches in front of you, looking up to catch your eyes. “I’m sor-” You stop yourself mid-sentence when you see his displeased expression. “How do you feel?” he asks, and you shrug in response. Because what you feel isn’t something you can say out loud, not even to Patrick. It’s not okay to feel relieved. A lot of sadness, of course. But also, relief.

“Tell me,” he insists. He has a habit of knowing the things you don’t want to say. He can look at your face and catch the slight twitch of your left eyebrow to understand what you’re feeling. To see what you try so hard to hide. You can’t beat him at this. You can’t lie to him, not too much. Not about your feelings. Not when he spent years of his life learning what to hate about you, and then a few more years learning to love it. “She wasn’t the nicest woman in the world,” you murmur quietly, like you’re confessing the most forbidden secret. Like it’s a secret that could start a world war. Like Patrick would tell someone.

“She didn’t like me.” Patrick lets out a dry chuckle, his eyes glassy as if he’s remembering something. “She used to call me Art all the time and then correct herself, like it was an accident, but she did it on purpose. So I’d know she wanted me to be Art.” His jaw tightens slightly. You can see the anger and frustration behind the fake lightness in his tone. “I’m sorry,” you say because you don’t know what else to say, and he sighs. His large hands wrap around you in an almost crushing hug. Almost making it hard to breathe.

But that’s how Patrick is. Everything he feels is out in the open. Everything he thinks, he says. Everything he wants, he does. And most of the time, he wants to be present in your life, which is ridiculous because there is no one more present in your life than him. He still acts like he needs to prove something to you. “I wish you’d let me take care of you, Little Dove. It would be easier.” He whispers into your hair, not letting go for a second. You can almost feel him thinking, almost see him guessing what might help you. “I know you care about me,” you say, shifting slightly to look at him, to show him that he doesn’t need to prove anything. That you’re okay.

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asks, stepping back slightly, scanning you, then moving toward the half-empty fridge. “What did you eat?” he follows up. “I don’t know, Patrick. I don’t keep a journal,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit. What did you eat, (Y/N)?” He doesn’t let up. “A sandwich,” you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Since this morning?” His eyes stay locked on you. “Patrick, my mother just died. Can we not focus on what I eat for one second? It’s exhausting,” you roll your eyes and cross your arms, turning your face to the side as he steps toward you and nods. . . . "What do you want to focus on?" he asked. Patrick felt guilty. He looked at you and saw nothing but the fact that just a few days ago, he had been with Tashi. While you were mourning your unbearable mother, he was busy fucking Tashi in a fancy hotel room, at a tournament he lost and that Art Donaldson would probably win. "You," your voice was small as you looked at him, almost pleading for a break from the interrogation and the anger. He hated when you made him the center of your focus, when you tried to do what you thought he wanted you to do. So he nodded and placed a small kiss on the crown of your head, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Patrick felt like a man on a mission as he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Pat-" you tried to protest, to tell him he didn’t have to. You always tried. As if going down on you was a burden to him, as if all it would take for him to spend a lifetime just like this was for you to fucking ask. "Baby, can you take these off for me?" It was a question, but there was no question mark at the end. Not in that tone. Not when he was looking up at you like that, completely in control of the situation.

So you slid your pants down slowly, trying to hold on to the last bit of control slipping away with every second he stared at you like that. He took care of your underwear himself. Leaving you bare in front of him. "Fuck, Pat," you mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment, leaning back against the wall, making him look up at you one last time with a smirk stretched across his face. And then he got to work.

His lips explored you like you were his source of oxygen. Like his natural place was buried under you, his mouth inside you. "Baby, I’d eat you for the rest of my life. Every day. Every fucking day." His grip on your thigh was ruthless. Patrick felt like he was holding on for dear life, like this was all there was left to do. Like it was all he knew. "Sweet fucking pussy," he kept mumbling into you, until his face was coated with his own spit and your slick. He was ready to take it all, everything you gave him. In these moments, everything that was yours became his, and the little that was his became yours.

So he was milking it. He licked your clit in slow, agonizing strokes- for both of you. He took his time. The euphoria would come, but he was going to enjoy it until it did. Your small whimpers made him growl directly into you. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," like a prayer. He felt it. He felt divinity in all of it. He sped up and slowed down and sped up and slowed down. Merciless to the near-sobs escaping from you. "You're so sweet, baby. Do you want to come?" And he wasn’t asking if you wanted to come for him, because he wanted you to come for yourself. Because he wanted you to always, always come for yourself. He wanted to be a vessel. He wanted to erase all the stupid patterns in your head and make sure every orgasm you had was yours and for you. "Patrick." He thought that was the only thing you were capable of saying coherently, and he was fine with that. He was selfish enough to be satisfied if his name was the only word you could say forever.

And when you came with a moan he had learned to recognize and nearly worship, he told you how good you were. How rare you were. That he was yours and that he would always take care of you. He looked up at you from below, saw the tears slipping down your face, and pressed another kiss to your thigh. One that emphasized the word always. Because he didn’t think he could ever let this go. He was too selfish to ever let this go. . . . Art peeked through the door of the room every few seconds, searching for you among the guests. At this point, he didn’t even bother lying to himself about it. Because he didn’t know what else was left for him besides admitting the truth to himself- things he was never able to admit before. Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about the nights he used to lay beside you. When you didn’t even fuck. When you just lay in that rickety twin bed in his dorm room. He was willing to take that. He was willing not to fuck you if it meant you’d hold him again. More than that, he was willing not to fuck anyone ever again. But you were too sweet, you wouldn’t let him go through life without sex. The thought made him chuckle for a second. But he was nervous. So fucking nervous.

He was about to marry Tashi, and she didn’t cross his mind even once. He accidentally saw her dress, even though he told her that he hadn’t really noticed it was there. He knew she would be a stunning bride. That months from now, people would still be talking about Tashi Duncan in a wedding dress. He knew people would envy him, he knew everything. His mind knew everything.

But all he could think about was what kind of wedding dress you would have chosen. He was almost sure it would be something less extravagant; you’d try to draw as little attention as possible. But the Art he was today wouldn’t have let you. He would’ve told you that you deserved all the attention the universe had to offer. That you deserved to be seen. He hated himself for how long it had taken him to realize that. Only when you truly weren’t there. Only when you belonged to someone else. Only when you chose Patrick Zweig of all people.

Patrick Zweig, who hated you with every fiber of his being. Patrick Zweig, who Art was almost certain had cheated on you with Tashi. It should have hurt him much more than it did. But all he cared about was figuring out if this would be the thing that made you get up and leave. You had to know you deserved better. That if not him- if not Art, the guy you both knew you loved with all your heart- then at least someone who didn’t want anyone else. That was the bare minimum you deserved. For years, he’d wondered if he had something to do with how little you thought you deserved, with how low your standards were.

He convinced his mother- who probably loved you even more than he did- to take upon herself convincing you to come to his wedding. Which was almost sadistic of him. Maybe masochistic. Maybe both. But he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. Sometimes he dreamed about that day and how his hand held yours, he wanted it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to die if it meant he could hold you like that again. If it gave him an excuse.

He noticed that everything about you required an excuse. It hadn’t been like that when you were his. Except you were never really his. He didn’t even understand why it had been so complicated- why you hadn’t told him that’s what you wanted (though he could have guessed). And more than anything, he didn’t understand why he hadn’t known what he wanted. Why it hadn’t been clear to him that you were his person. That you knew the deepest parts of him.

He saw you walk in and texted you, almost begging you to come to the room where he was. You could tell him to go to hell, but that wasn’t your style. No, you were sweet. So sweet that all you did was knock on the door and push it open. Looking at him while he already had his eyes on your little black dress. While he was already studying the red nail polish. While he was already focusing on the lipstick he so badly wanted to wipe off of you.

“Your mother asked me to prepare a speech. Was that your idea?” you asked. There was no coldness in your voice, which made him happy. You stepped closer and started fixing his tie. He wanted to close his eyes, but at the same time, he wanted to see you. To remember you like this; in a little black dress, in heels, standing in front of him, helping him with his tie. “What can I say? You’re my best friend,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, just as much as it wasn’t the truth. “That’s really sad, Art,” you said, probably referring to the last four years you spent apart. “Are you saying you have a better friend than me?” he asked, hoping you’d deny it because a yes might make him break down crying.

“It’s a mediocre speech. I didn’t know what to say at your wedding,” you sighed, confessing a secret. “Saying you don’t want me to get married would’ve been a good start,” he said, taking a risk. Because he calculated the timing, and you were late, so he had a very short window for this risk. “Don’t be ridicul—” you started, quietly. “If you tell me not to do this, I won’t get married. Tell me not to do it. Tell me it’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay,” he whispered. Not looking away from you.

The silence in the room was deafening, and the chuckle that escaped him was bitter. Fake. He felt pathetic and small and miserable, and maybe he was all those things because he never knew what he wanted in time. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. Not knowing what else to add, because what was left to add? He could see the wetness in your eyes. He knew how unfair he was being. “I’m sorry,” he echoed. He didn’t think he had ever told you that before, but he really, truly was. “Did you write something good about me?” he added. “That you’re my best friend. And that my soul will always love yours,” you said, letting a single tear fall as his rough hand wiped it away with whatever gentleness was still left in him.

It was a nice speech. Everyone applauded. Art cried. . . .

Here we are- the second part of So Sweet! Hope it turned out good enough. Thanks for stopping by and reading what I write, it means a lot. Let me know what you think. Love you guys, stay sweet! 💕

[i-dared-myself]

Sick Day

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by anonymous: can u do a ninth member one where she’s feeling sick but is forced to go on stage but is like coughing and not giving it her all or something like that? I don’t know just I love your writing and I would really love if u could do that :)

You throw your legs over the side of your bed and pad over to the door. You push it open and sniffle as you go down the stairs, throat aching.

“You look pale,” Changbin remarks once you throw yourself onto the couch with a groan.

“Don’t feel good,” you mumble back. You toss an arm over your face. “I feel so gross.”

“Who’s ready for this?” Jisung screams as he rushes into the living room. You cover your face and bite back a whine at the headache he causes. “Big performance today!” 

Changbin hushes him, motioning to you. “She’s sick.”

Jisung freezes, eyes widening. “That’s not good. We’re supposed to have that-“

You cut him off. “I know! You think I wanted to be sick?”

He throws his hands up and slowly backs out of the room. “I’ll go find some medicine.”

Changbin presses his hand to your forehead. “You feel warm.”

Felix walks by, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Does she feel warm to you?” Changbin asks.

“Is this a trick?” Felix suspiciously questions. He narrows his eyes at you. “You’re… smoking hot. Sexy.”

“No!” Changbin snaps. “Does she have a fever?”

Felix’s mouth forms an ‘O’ as he approaches. He puts the back of his hand to your forehead before nodding. “Yeah, kinda.”

Hyunjin scoffs, leaning on the doorframe. “You just have cold hands. Let me see.” Hyunjin checks, before recoiling. “That’s a fever! Someone put a mask on her!”

“Has anyone used an actual thermometer yet?” Seungmin demands, hovering in the doorway. “Idiots.”

“Do we even have one?” Changbin asks. “Is it in the cabinet or…?”

Seungmin holds it up. “I heard you all shouting and grabbed it.”

Hyunjin winces. “Is it… an ass one?”

You duck behind Changbin. “It better not be!”

“It’s not! It goes under the tongue!” Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

You reluctantly walk over, opening your mouth. He sticks it under your tongue, eyebrows pulling together when it beeps and flashes red.

“Fever,” Seungmin confirms.

Jisung sprints inside, juggling bottles of medicine. “What are your symptoms? We need to find the one that matches exactly with it.”

Felix peers at the bottles before taking one and inspecting the label. “This one is just vodka.”

Minho shuffles in, rubbing at his eyes. He yawns before noticing everyone. “Whats going on?”

“She’s sick,” Changbin announces. “Don’t tell Chan.”

You perk up. “Why not?”

“He’ll worry the whole time,” Hyunjin chimes in. “If you take some medicine you’ll be fine. Okay, maybe not fine, but he’ll worry himself sick if he hears.”

“And we don’t need two sick members,” you agree. “Okay, no one tell him.”

Minho clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Nonsense,” Jisung says as he pours some medicine for you. “Now take these drugs.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s so- Just don’t do that.”

Jeongin wanders into the living room. “Who’s making breakfast? We leave in an hour and I’m hungry. I could eat a horse. Or Hyunjin would work. Pretty much the same thing.”

Hyunjin smacks the back of Jeongin’s head. “Careful. I haven’t had my coffee yet and am not in a good mood.”

Chan tugs at the strings of his hoodie. “What’s going on?”

You force a smile and push away the pounding headache. “Nothing.” You turn around and take the cup of medicine from Jisung, downing it like a shot. 

Chan scratches the back of his neck. “Okay then… Is everyone ready for today?”

You nod confidently, although it’s definitely not how you feel inside. “Yes. Very.”

Chan smiles softly. “Good. You’ll be great.”

Your stomach tumbles at his words. You really don’t need another reminder. This is your first time taking such a main spot. You’ll be in the front for the majority, being main vocalist.

And you’re sick.

Chan rolls up his sleeves. “I guess I’ll cook breakfast, then. You all be ready to go when it’s time.”

Felix grins, freckles scrunching up. “Sir yes sir.”

Chan points a finger at him. “You. You’ll be my kitchen helper for that.”

Felix sighs and his shoulders slump, but he obediently trails after Chan into the kitchen. “Sir yes sir.”

“Stay strong,” Jeongin whispers to you. He clenches a fist. “Fight the patriarchy!”

You bury your face in your hands. “Jeongin… No…”

Changbin grins, seemingly intent on making you suffer. “Down with the patriarchy!”

Seungmin pumps his fists, eyes glinting with mischief. “Up with the matriarchy!”

Jisung eagerly joins in. “Mommies rise up!”

Everyone stared at him.

Minho breaks the silence. “What?”

Jisung laughs nervously. “I was just… doing what everyone else was.”

“You really weren’t.” Hyunjin shakes his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You grip your microphone tightly. You’re fairly certain that the medicine has worn off by now. You keep flashing between too hot, and too cold. Your head is pounding and your throat burns.

You adjust your belt before stepping out onto stage. The rest of your group follows shortly behind, waving enthusiastically to the crowd.

You take your place at the front, listening to the introductions. When they come to an end and the music begins, you raise your microphone to your lips.

And your voice rasps.

You quickly push it aside, continuing with the song. Your voice thankfully clears, but your head is growing light.

Chan shoots you a worried look a you stumble over a step. You ignore him and push through the movements.

Felix and Hyunjin rush past you, using dramatic hand gestures. Hyunjin had designed that part of the dance and was very proud of it and you’re so tired and-

You twirl in the wrong direction and Jeongin barely manages to slide around you. He plays it off with an extra movement that’s honestly impressive.

You hold off a cough long enough for Jisung’s lines to come up. You dart behind Changbin to cough, grimacing when it tastes like mucus.

Seungmin’s upper lip curls and he offers you a sympathetic look.

The rest of the group parts so you can make your way to the front. You sashay as the choreography expects, only to crumple as soon as you reach the front.

Minho falls to his knees next to you and loops his arms under yours. He drags you off the stage as the others continue with what little remains. You distantly hear Seungmin take over for you, too busy blinking to really pay attention.

Minho props you up, stroking your face gently. “Come on. Deep breaths and I’ll get you some water.”

You take a sip from your bottle when it’s offered to you. “I don’t feel good. I wanna go home.”

Minho hums and presses the heel of his hand to your forehead. “I think you have a fever.”

Chan springs backstage, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? Are you okay? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

You cough into your elbow. “I’m fine. Just sick.” Your voice is nasally and you can’t possibly imagine how bad you just sounded on stage.

Chan’s expression shifts. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Told you,” Minho whispers as he glides away.

“It was their idea!” Your voice is gesture to the others. “They made me! I’m just sick and you should take pity on me!”

Chan crosses his arms. “That’s no excuse. You need to tell me these things so stuff like this doesn’t happen again. Got it?”

You nod. “I got it. Totally understand.”

Chan sighs and holds out his arms. “Come here.”

You bound towards him and bury yourself in his arms. He squeezes you once before releasing you.

“Now let’s go home.” Chan takes your hand in his and guides you out the doors. “The public and press are being dealt with now. You have nothing to worry about.”

You can barely keep your eyes open by the time you reach the company van. You fall asleep on Changbin, and he carries you inside the dorms.

“Wake up,” Chan softly says. “You need medicine.”

“Drugs,” Seungmin pipes up to make you laugh. “She needs drugs.”

“Mm,” Jisung wiggles his eyebrows, “I love drugs.”

Felix spins around and marches off. “I’ll go get some juice boxes.”

Jisung cheers and runs after him. You sit up to take the medicine you’re given. It’s disgusting and you gag.

Hyunjin jumps away. “Don’t vomit on me!”

You shoot him a dirty look. “Thanks, Hyunjin.”

Jeongin pats the top of your head. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t think about how no one thinks they’re going to die because of a cold, then bam they’re dead.”

“Let’s not talk like that.” Chan swoops in to place a hand on the small of your back. “Go up to bed and get some rest. When you come down we’ll have your juice boxes and maybe even some takeout.”

You cough into the crook of your arm. “I don’t wanna sleep by myself.”

“Ew.” Hyunjin curls away from you. “Don’t infect the rest of us! You’re a walking biohazard!”

“Here.” Changbin hands you a Dwaekki. “Just throw it in the wash when you’re done covering it in disease.”

Minho clears his throat. “Or we could just burn it.”

“Did someone say bonfire?” Jisung pokes his head into the room, a crazed look in his eyes.

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

[inu1gf]

you bloom inside my heart

now playing: blooming day by exo-cbx

who: isagi yoichi

what: childhood friends to lovers, slight ooc (tag just in case but i know deep down in my heart that isagi is a yearning man when it comes to love)

the seed of you took root in isagi’s heart when you were both 4 years old.

meeting the new next door neighbors was something his mom wanted for everyone in the household to do. with him in between his parents, holding a tray of cookies, they waited patiently for someone to open the door.

“i’m coming! just a second!” a women’s muffled voice rang through the door slowly getting closer.

“hello! welcome to the neighborhood! we’re the isagi’s, your nextdoor neighbors. we wanted to come by and say hi and get acquainted. this is our child yoichi, if you do have a kid around their age we would love for them to be friends if that is alright with you?” isagi’s mom seemed to be beaming at the idea of having new neighbors and friends.

“hi we’re the [last name] and yes we do have a kid. let me call them over. [reader]! get over here! there’s someone who wants to meet you!” echoing through the home, the cute sound of pitter pattering foot steps seemed to get closer and closer, stopping behind the woman at the door.

peeking out from behind her legs, a small child with wide doe eyes that didn’t seem to stray away from isagi’s.

“isagi don’t you have something to say?” a little nudge at the boys shoulder, he moves forward and stretches out the plate full of cookies.

“welcome to the neighborhood. do you wanna be friends?” pink cheeks and wobbly hands, he wouldn’t have expected the next words to come out of your mouth.

“you have a bean sprout on your head.” isagi didn’t make the first move just to be insulted. he couldn’t help but lower the plate and loudly cry in front of the new neighbors. with snot and tears running down his face, he didn’t hear the scolding your mom gave you, nor did he hear reassurances from his parents. both not being able to take the situation seriously because it was one of isagi’s most prominent features.

and all that could be heard next was your cries and apologies. “m’ sorry. i didn’t mean it in a mean way. i promise. please forgive meeee.” oh if it weren’t for the eardrum shattering wailing from both youngsters, it would’ve made such a cute sight of a new friendship blooming.

but it didn’t stop the the small emotions that started to bud in yoichi’s heart.

from the seed started to sprout at the age of 8.

elementary was not for the weak. it took guts to survive everything everyday. sure isagi knew that at the end of the day, he got to walk home with you right next to him, but that didn’t stop the craziness around him to influence you and your whims. no matter how crazy they were or how ridiculous they sounded.

but nothing could have prepared him for your next thought process at hand.

with talks of kissing and hand holding going around, it didn’t bother the bean sprout at all. not when soccer was all he could think about… and you but that wasn’t anything special when you were always attached at the hip.

“do you ever want to know what kissing feels like?” the soccer ball that was in isagi’s hold was now on the ground rolling away for him.

“no, why would i want to know about that? that’s something you do when you’re older?” he sputters out as if the thought of kissing anyone disturbs him. if only you knew the red tinge that started to creep onto the boy's cheeks, just the thought of your face being so close to his face had his heart beating wildly faster than it normally does.

“every girl in class is kissing boys to see what it feels like. maybe i’ll try it out and see what they’re talking about. do you think if i ask who they kissed and ask them if they could kiss me, they would do it? shouldn’t be too much to ask for, right?” oh it was as if pins and needles were being used to squeeze poor isagi’s heart. he didn’t know why the thought of your face being close to another boys face made his heart squeeze out in pain, but if he could do anything to stop that from happening, then he’ll do it.

“i’ll do it!” red faced full of determination. he wasn’t going to let anyone else take this moment away from him.

“but you just sa-“ now you were confused. first he said he doesn’t care to know but now he does?

“i said i’ll kiss you!” why did you have to keep asking questions?! he thought this is what you wanted?!

even if it meant awkwardly placing his lips on yours….

that had you both reeling back because he accidentally put too much force that had you both knocking teeth together.

the full flurry of questions being launched at you both by your parents wasn’t something either of you wanted to happen right now (isagi’s embarrassment intensifying because he didn’t want to explain what happened and your nonchalant behavior toward this was not letting you admit that even though the kiss hurt it meant more to you that isagi was willing to do it for you cause your stomach to flutter).

leaves and petals didn’t start to grow out until the age of 16.

man was the second year of high school a whirlwind of emotions for isagi.

sure now he knew more about his feelings for you better than what he was questioning after almost making both your lips bleed after that failed first kiss (it still counted for him), but it didn’t make him feel any more secure when he heard all the locker room talk about girls. boys left and right asking him if he could ask you to meet them after school so that they could ask you out. all isagi did was nod, but he never did tell you.

not that you needed to know anyways. or when he noticed admirers slipping letters into your locker, he’d take them out and keep them in his bag. you didn’t need them and he especially didn’t need more competition. all you had to do was enjoy school life without any of these stupid guys trying to take his place (not like they had a chance when all you could think about was the new random last minute plans that isagi made for y’all to visit the burger joint after school).

that didn’t stop the whispers of rumors to linger around.

rumors of you being heartless.

rumors of you not caring for others feelings.

rumors of you leaving people standing alone.

sure they knew that you didn’t have to accept their feelings, but the least you could do was show up to reject them…

until they see the scene in front of them.

walking down the halls to your class, you didn’t pay any mind to the whispers and such that was going around, all you were focused on was giving isagi the attention and encouragement he needed for his most anticipated match this season. the prefectural finals.

ichinan vs matsukaze

you’ve told him time and time again. no matter what happens he’ll always be a winner in your heart, but you know that’s not what he needed right now. he just needed to know that you believed in him and that you know he can win.

and that’s what you did, ignoring the stares and giving your whole attention to him. nothing else mattered more.

and everyone could see that. that’s why no one bothered to confront you when they saw the scene of a blushing boy and his over enthusiastic friend throwing compliment after compliment at him. if they didn’t know any better, they’d think you two were already dating, just trying to keep it private.

and after the long awaited match and the devastating defeat, it was the walk back home that showed just how much he cared for you.

the silence was deafening, and you knew nothing you could say would make him feel better.

but to him, he couldn’t help but feel like he let you down. you believed in him but he couldn’t believe in himself to take the last shot on his own.

the only thing that brought you both out of this silence was the sound of him yelling out in agony, and boy was it soul shattering. here was the boy that worked hard no matter what, only to be stopped by his own what-ifs and uncertainties.

“i wanted to win…” all you could do was pat his back to soothe his pain.

it only lasted for a couple of hours until he got back home.

with the opportunity of a lifetime prompted itself, in the form of a letter, ensuring him that there’s more chances in soccer for him out there.

man he couldn’t wait to tell you about this (so much so that he ran to your house next door to share the news).

the flower of his love bloomed not too long after at the age of 16.

being invited to watch isagi play against the u-20 team with his parents warmed your heart.

you haven’t been able to keep in contact with him during his time in the blue lock program, but that didn’t stop you from continuing to support him with all your might from the outside.

seeing him zoom across the field, make plays you never got to fully see when he would play with his old team, and the all in all happiness that showed itself when he made the winning goal. you couldn’t have been more proud. watching him be interviewed and proclaiming to the world that he will bring home the u-20 world cup.

and it seemed that feelings were still running high because once he saw you he couldn’t help but run to you and press a deep heart filled kiss flat on your lips. with the whole world to see but not giving it a second to stop him from giving him a retry at a first kiss with you.

it meant a lot more when he could feel you pull him closer by his jersey.

letting everyone know just who you belonged to this whole time.

[paperyowl]

This is a weird ask. Feel free to ignore it.

But post breakup Buck staring at Rockon thinking Tommy has a date with this hot silver daddy (he ain't blind) and confronted them cos he's jealous to find out he was wrong. They bought him home for either a threesome (cos David never had one) or maybe just cuddles cos looks at the sad puppy and doting on Buck.

(what buck doesn't know is that Donovan is Tommy's cousin with a hilarious sense of humor who texted him the very next day to collect his man cos he ain't sharing his daddy with his cousin's ex no matter how pretty he is)

It's not weird at all. I love the idea! And I have two vastly different thoughts for this - lets go with this one for now. (I might have changed it a little bit - but I definitely need that threesome happening sometime still.)

+++

Pick up, idiot.

Calling me names doesn't make me want to talk to you more.

Tommy dropped his phone somewhere on the couch, not really bothering to check where it fell. He was not in the mood for his cousin's antics. His week had been so busy that Tommy was aching in more places than he knew he could. Maybe was is getting too old for this job.

Or perhaps he'd been slacking. Not eating well, not sleeping enough. These days, Tommy is usually good at taking care of himself. A hard-learnt habit, but he'd put in the work.

Not that it mattered now when his mind kept circling back to the rather sweet sentiment of someone saying, 'You don't have to do everything by yourself' and 'I'll take care of you'.

It was a certain someone with those impossibly warm baby blues that Tommy was trying very hard not to think about. (And failing miserably.) He deserved this. After all, he'd been the one to implode what they had.

His phone kept buzzing. After the third or fourth time - which frankly was ridiculous Don, what the fuck, get a life - Tommy hunted it down in the cushions and unlocked it.

Only to almost drop it when he saw the last message was a photo of -

"Hi, cuz," Donovan drawled, sounding deeply satisfied with himself. But Tommy wasn't focused on that at all.

"How do you have a photo of Evan? Is he there with you? Why is he with you?"

"Okay, first of all, ouch, I think I'm insulted-"

"Donovan."

Tommy heard his own voice rise and wondered since his fuse had become this short. Then he remembered that Donovan had always had this way of riling him up. That's why they hadn't talked in months. They'd been fighting about something; Tommy couldn't really remember what it had been about.

"Figured that pic would get you to call me," Donovan said. "No 'Hello, my favourite cousin, how are you doing?' It's nice to hear you, too, you know."

"Don't be mean, Rocker," another voice said in the background, one that Tommy didn't know. Or actually, he might - he'd heard it once before, and now he could remember what the fight had been about. But his focus was somewhere else completely.

"Hi. How are you. It's been too long. I miss you - is Evan okay?"

Donovan laughed at the way only one of those sentences ended in a note high enough to count as a question. Tommy hissed his name again, and finally got a 'yeah, yeah, alright.' before the phone was handed off to -

"Hi," Evan said softly. He sounded like he'd been crying. His sniffeling was hard on Tommy. "Your cousin and his partner are nice."

Tommy couldn't help but scoff. "Maybe they're doppelgängers."

There is a momentary pause, and Tommy is almost certain that the rustling he hears is a bit of a grapple for the phone. But it's still Evan on the other end when the noise dies down.

"I wouldn't know about that," Evan said. "You never mentioned them."

Fuck.

"Evan-"

"So we're back to Evan?"

"Bu-"

"Don't," Evan pleaded. "Just. Don't."

"Want me to go and rough him up a little? I still remember where he lives."

Donovan's offer sounded weak, and Tommy could imagine the way he had probably put a hand on Evan's shoulder. Or his back.

Evan didn't exactly laugh, but it was similar enough. The sound still unravelled something in Tommy's chest.

"Can we talk in person?"

"I'd like that," Evan breathed. "Just maybe not tonight?"

"Of course. Do you want me to text-"

"I'll take over from here," Donovan said, and Tommy vaguely heard the muffled noise of the receiver being covered. He checked his watch, aware that whatever conversation happened on their end took less than a minute, but to Tommy, it felt like ages more.

"You free tomorrow? Wanna come over for lunch?" Donovan asked without any lead-up, startling Tommy a little. "I somehow think you have a bit more of a reason to say 'yes' this time."

Tommy huffed a laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm free," he said. "Is he alright?"

"Are you going to stop being an idiot?"

"Don."

Donovan sighed. "Listen, I know it's not really my place, but I know you, and I can make an educated guess what happened here."

"I don't like you," Tommy groused.

And like the total bastard that he was, Donovan only laughed and responded, "But you love him."

Like that was a normal thing to say. Tommy spluttered.

"Just be here tomorrow at noon, I'll cook" Donovan completely ignored Tommy's rather childish comment, 'You can cook?' and just went on. "And I'll introduce you to Deacon."

"The ominous partner that you wouldn't tell me more about when I asked?"

That was a rather shortened version of the outright shouting match of a phone call that they'd had all those weeks ago. There had been a lot of implications about very different, and Donovan wouldn't even tell him the name of the man who had him all secretive.

It was easy to read between the lines, and perhaps Tommy had been protective in exactly the wrong way. But he'd never been able to help that when it came to Donovan. The only family member that Tommy cared about.

"He just filed for divorce," Donovan told him. Tommy hissed in sympathy, starting to apologize for the whole fight, but Donovan went on: "And you wouldn't believe the things he can do with his tong-"

"Shut up."

Donovan kept laughing at him, and Tommy felt too exhausted to do something about it. And perhaps a little relieved.  

"Noon, you said?"

He might have only imagined it, but Donovan softened a little after that. But he proved he was still an absolute asshole when he yelled out, 'Hey Evan, say goodnight to your daddy,' and like the absolute cheeky brat he was, Evan did just that. (Tommy almost choked on his own spit, but after hanging up, he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in months.)

[forcepushthinker]

Bathroom Shenanigans

"A trans girl got great head here." The third bathroom stall in their favourite bar. Astrid had stared at the graffiti a lot over the months. She didn't remember who wrote it, if she had ever been told, but she was acutely aware that so many of her friends have followed in its footsteps over the past year. "A trans girl got great head here." The sentence, so simple in its execution had given her so many titillating thoughts of being one of the trans girls that had given head here. Not that she had ever given head before. She was actually terrified by the thought that she might suck at it. Pun absolutely intended. But she wanted it badly, if only she had anyone to do it with.

"Astrid? You in here?" Christine. Astrid had spent weeks trying to flirt with her, trying to be obvious enough without telling her directly "Please, would you fuck me?" She suddenly realised that she was all alone in the bathroom. No one else of the few patrons tonight was in here with her, only Christine. Her heart began to beat faster. What did Christine want? There was only one way to find out. "Um, yes. Back here. What's up?" She saw by the shadows on the floor that Christine was now standing directly in front of the stall she was in.

"Can I come in?" What? Did she actually hear that? Was she serious? Her hand moved like on auto pilot, as she watched herself reach for the lock and open the door. Christine sidled in carefully and looked down at her with a playful smile on her lips. "I hope you don't mind, I was thinking maybe you'd like some company." Astrid was screaming internally. Yes! Yes, she did. Was this really it? Would she finally get her chance at playing with Christine? She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. "It was kind of empty in here." Smooth. She was proud of the fact that she managed to keep her voice steady despite her heart beating out of her chest. "What did you have in mind?"

Christine reached out and placed her hand on Astrid's cheek. "We've been talking quite a bit lately about maybe hooking up, so I was wondering if you might be interested in finally going there." She gently tilted Astrid's head upwards so their eyes could meet. She could see that Christine was serious, without giving any sign that no would not be an option. Not that Astrid had any intention of declining the offer. She smiled up at Christine and replied softly, "And here I thought I might have been too subtle. I would love to try that."

Astrid reached out and began to undo Christine's pants, until her half erect girlcock flopped out of her clothes. She didn't hesitate for a moment and, while pulling Christine closer with her left hand, carefully gripped her cock with her right. With a smile on her face she leaned forward, closed her eyes and opened her mouth, sealing her lips around the head and sucking it into her mouth, causing Christine's foreskin to remain at her lips and her tip to slip into her mouth. Christine uttered a satisfied "Mmh." as Astrid sucked the head of her cock into her mouth and began to run her tongue along the underside of the tip and around the neck of the head.

Astrid was incredibly excited. This was the first time she had ever given head to another trans girl, the first time she had ever handled another penis than her own. Christine's lustful reaction encouraged her, quickly forgetting her fear that she might turn out to be lousy at sucking a girl's dick, reinforced by feeling Christine get hard inside her mouth. She closed her lips firmly around Christine's shaft, pressed her tongue against the bottom of the head, pushing it against the top of her mouth and began to move closer towards Christine's crotch, pushing her girlcock deeper towards her throat. She had no idea how to deepthroat, or if she would even be able to do it, but she wanted to take as much of it as she could. Her mind became fuzzy, as she lost herself in the act, moving her head back and forth. Having forgotten where they were, she became a little insecure about a lack of feedback from Christine, but her doubts were quickly erased, when she felt Christine place her hand on her head. Christine began to breathe heavily as she held Astrid's head more firmly and began to reciprocate with thrusting her dick into Astrid's mouth. Slowly, with short movements at first, and faster and deeper with each successive thrust. Astrid's mind began to melt, as she thought lustfully "Yes, throat fuck me, please."

Astrid had fantasised about sucking a girl's dick for quite a while, and while she had gotten excited at the thought every time, she had never thought that it could actually give her such levels of pleasure too, to just have a girl's cock in her mouth. And yet here she was, sitting on the toilet in her favourite bar, her skirt down at her ankles, and she was loving every second of it. Her breath had gotten heavy and she was struggling to suppress the ecstatic moans that welled up in her throat. She was happy for the obstruction in her mouth that helped her keep the passionate noises down, lest they might get discovered before Christine could finish.

Astrid had firmly gripped Christine's hips by now, greedily sucking her cock as far down her throat as she could, while Christine continued to counter thrust Astrid's sucking motions. If Christine felt only half as good about any of this as Astrid did, she turned out to not nearly be as bad at it as she had feared.

Christine was beginning to get close and whispered hotly to Astrid, "Oh god, yes! Keep going." Astrid lost all restraint at this point. She wanted to make Christine come like nothing else. She had never expected the act of sucking another trans girl off to cause such unbridled lust in her. She felt like she would burst in ecstasy if Christine would come down her throat right now. Astrid kept moving, sucking Christine's cock down her throat with a passion she had never felt before, stimulating Christine's tip with her tongue, begging for her to shoot her hot load into her mouth and letting her swallow it all. She wanted that so much, she couldn't wait. "Please give me your cum, give it to me right now! I want it, I want it all, please!" she thought.

"Yes! Oh fuck!" That was what Astrid had been waiting to hear. She continued to play with Christine's dick in her mouth, waiting desperately, and refusing to let go until she could get every last drop off of her. Then she felt it. The pressure with which Christine came surprised her, but she didn't flinch, she didn't let Christine pull out, as she felt Christine's cum flow over her tongue and fill her mouth. She hadn't expected there to be that much, but she deeply enjoyed the sensation and the taste of Christine's juice in her mouth. With Christine's cock still between her lips, she swallowed deeply, her tongue brushing around Christine's head, causing her to shiver as she felt Astrid continuing to caress her cock despite her having finished. Sucking back, Astrid pulled Christine from her mouth with a sloppy wet plop, and looked up at her with a dreamy smile on her lips. She couldn't hold in a little giggle and said "Damn, that was really exciting. I really liked that."

"Yeah, I could feel that." Christine smiled at her and placed her hand under Astrid's chin, as she pulled her off the seat, meeting her lips on the way up and pushing her tongue deep into Astrid's mouth. Astrid let out a shy laugh, as they separated, feeling affirmed in her role as a bottom. She was absolutely sure she was a switch, now more than ever, and she was determined to make this newfound bottom part of herself a permanent fixture that would extremely enjoy to explore further.

As she pulled up her skirt and unlocked the door once more, she smiled at Christine and cheekily said "Maybe next time I can turn around for you."

[phaazev]

I have a crossover idea: JJBA x Life series

Sofar I only have the idea for Jimmy, but I have to share it. His stand is Canary in a Coal Mine (based off the song by The Crane Wives) and it’s designed to look like a gargoyle with a torso made of a bird cage.

Gargoyles are traditionally thought to ward off evil spirits, so symbolically the stand should protect Jimmy from the gaze of malevolent beings. The bird cage is obvious- it’s what you keep a canary in, but it’s empty. You could interpret that two ways- one, that Jimmy is the canary and so that’s why there’s no bird in the cage. Or two- Jimmy as of secret life isn’t the canary anymore and so it’s been freed from the cage. I also added a broken clock as a nod to limited life- which is when the canary curse really started to become obvious. Broken clocks are also an ominous sign of bad luck.

As for jimmys design I gave him his bad boy glasses and spikes on his jacket. I gave him a hat for the ranchers, and flower embroidery for flower husbands. I didn’t go too crazy with the design of his outfit because I’ve always liked the simplicity of jimmys designs in the fandom and didn’t want to loose it. But it wouldn’t be Jojo themed if it wasn’t a little strange- hence making his blue shirt some kind of Jean jacket trenchcoat.

As for the stand ability? I’m not sure yet. It would make sense that the actual acquisition of the stand would break the canary curse so maybe it works similarly to Wonder of U where it pushes jimmys curse onto another individual? If you have any ideas ide love to hear them.

Anyway I’m brainrotting over this crossover so tell me which lifer I should do next!

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Can you talk more about your opinion on Mary and Arthur’s relationship? I genuinely don’t think that they could have ever worked, with Arthur being an outlaw or not, it seems more like they loved the idea of each other and even if they had ran away, that they would end up resenting one another (something that is sadly quite common in high school sweethearts who end up married)

Absolutely!!!

So before I get started, I just want to say that I don’t necessarily like Mary. Okay, I said it. It’s off my chest. Guys, don’t come for me yet. I’m not saying I don’t like Mary because she’s a woman or anything like that. It is entirely a personal opinion on why I just don’t enjoy her, and it’s absolutely debatable on the reasons I’ll be giving as to why I don’t enjoy her or their relationship.

A few things that sort of rubbed me the wrong way are the way that Mary talks about the gang and the people in it. They’re bad people, they’re murderers and outlaws, and she doesn’t have to have a high opinion of them. However, she knows that these are people who are dear to Arthur that he loves and cares for, and speaking of them to him in such a demeaning manner has to sting. In her letter to him the first time, she says something along the lines of not knowing the polite term for the women that ran with them, as if those women are beneath her or not deserving of the title of just being women because of where they are in life or what she assumes they do (this assumption of them being SWs is fair, but being uppity about it is not). She makes a few other off-comments that rub me the wrong way about the people themselves, which leads into my first point of why I don’t like their relationship.

Mary doesn’t see herself and Arthur on the same level. Again, that’s fine; she doesn’t have to, but that to me brings their relationship down a peg. If you don’t see your partner as an equal, then it won’t ever work; you won’t ever have a healthy relationship, and we can see that by how quickly they argue with one another. I mean, Arthur yells at her in the middle of the street, and she just takes it because she has said some stuff too—they aren’t this perfect lovey-couple, and I don’t think they ever were. You don’t feel that comfortable being that nasty with one another if it isn’t a staple in your relationship. They both felt fine doing that and acting like it never happened after.

This one is overdone, and it can go either way, but their relationship on her end, in the game, is completely transactional. I know, I know, but before you come after me with the “it’s a video game! That’s the point,” hear me out first. Other members of the gang, even in stranger missions, will have missions or scenes where you’re not doing anything for them: Charlotte making Arthur dinner as a thank you, Albert inviting Arthur to the gallery and hanging a picture of him, same with Charles (painter), The Nun sits and talks to Arthur, comforts him as he confides in her, even Rains Fall takes Arthur to get some herbs for his cough. In camp, you can interact with people like normal; there are even times where you can sit down and talk with the women in camp about everything, have heart-to-hearts. The only time they see one another was when she needed something, and the only way they go out on a date is if Arthur agrees to it. This is after the mission where you help her get her brooch back. I feel like this is intentional. There are no fun letters sent back and forth, no additional interactions of them just being (other than the date, which again, only was out of convenience). The only time they see one another is for transaction. Which I feel was intentional.

Them running away together could’ve never worked. Mary even says so herself. She has this wonderful idea of Arthur in her head when they’re together, but as soon as they’re apart, all of the flaws and demons he has come rushing back in. I can’t imagine how maddening it would be for her to be with someone who she knows deep down is someone she loves the idea of, the prospect of what they CAN be, not what they are. For him, it would be maddening to know that the person you’re with looks down on you, that they don’t see you as an equal, that you’re beneath them. Pushing this notion in their head, you can be better than what you are while never truly accepting you as you are, flaws and all. Not to mention that irresistible pull for him to go back to that life eventually. Those demons he does face would always be right around the corner, and giving into them even in the slightest would strain the relationship more.

There was a reason their engagement didn’t work, and Mary has every right in the world to not want to be with Arthur or be involved in the life he leads, no woman who has had the experiences and life she has would. We can see how that works out with Molly. Their relationship is built on idealistic versions of the other and transactions. They miss the nostalgia, that first love. Not to say they don’t have love for one another because it’s very clear they do, but not the love that’s going to weather any storm. Mary and Arthur have such a complex relationship, and I love to talk about it, but I don’t like them together as much as I may get flamed for that. They would, as you said, absolutely end up resenting one another because of these issues. They would never have truly worked out as much as I wished for the both of them.

Loved this ask!

[slcmml]

charlie & gn! reader — as long as i’m with you.

“i’d like to see the sharks.”

☆ this one is very self indulgent, because i adore sea life, but i like to imagine your first date with charlie was at an aquarium.

☆ he LOVES the touch tanks; he thinks they’re so fucking cool (and they are, by the way).

☆ walking through the underwater tunnel with him.. “are they fucking?” “..i think so.” “us?” “sure.”

☆ FEEDING THE ANIMALS WITH CHARLIE AUGGHHH!! he named each and every single animal he fed (despite them already having a name). “can i call you glub? you seem like a glub with the way you eat that fish.” “what does that even mean, charlie?”

☆ if you’re anything like me, then you definitely brought a polaroid camera with you. TAKING THE SILLIEST PHOTOS WITH CHARLIE AUGGHH.. kill me now.

☆ also buying the stupidest shit in the gift shop before you leave (shark gun shark gun shark gun)

“hey, that statue kind of looks like you!”

★ would it be horrible of me to say this is also self indulgent because i also adore museums?

★ now. i do not physically believe this museum date would be one of those cute ones where you hold hands and enjoy the silence together. because this is charlie we’re talking about.

★ he’s probably giggling at the paintings of naked people. “oh wow, he’s got a small cock.” “charlie, you said that so loud.”

★ physically cannot stand there and look at a painting for more than thirty seconds. he NEEDS to be in the kids section with all the interactive stuff.

“i fucking hate being an adult. why do stinky children get the cool shit?”

★ as always, will take the goofiest photos in front of anything he finds even slightly silly.

★ you both probably spend nothing more than an hour and a half in there before leaving to get something to eat, but that’s okay, the ice cream you shared was a banger.

“you spent fifty dollars trying to win me that?”

☆ arcade dates.. aughhh they’re so cute.. AND WITH CHARLIE??

☆ i think we all know the claw machines are rigged. but i’m not one to lay there and take it in the ass so i WILL spend as long as it takes trying to get a toy from it if charlie even SLIGHTLY mentions thinking it’s cute.

“babe, it’s fine, you don’t have to—” “i’m not letting this fucking machine dictate whether or not my boyfriend can have this goddamn octopus plush.”

☆ also i just KNOW that charlie would suck ass at dance dance revolution but he’d still spend at least half an hour going through songs and trying to win.

☆ spending SO fucking long going through the arcade games, trying to beat the high score on at least ONE of them (you never end up getting the high score).

“i’m tired, can we start heading back, please?”

★ i.. also enjoy hiking. another self indulgent one. but whatever.

★ you two probably take the silliest photos (like always). you laying on the ground, playing dead, in one photo while charlie has a shocked expression in the next.

★ collecting rocks and leafs. placing said rocks on the ground once you both decide to go off trail because it seemed fun. losing track of said rocks and getting lost.

“where the fuck are we?” “i think we’re in hell.”

★ watching as charlie tries to climb literally ANYTHING, and being slightly worried that he’ll fall.

★ getting SO fucking bored as you’re walking, trying to find the trail again, that you both just start playing i-spy.

“oh shit, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! help me, i’m fucking falling!”

☆ roller skating dates.. mmmm.. has anyone seen that clip of charlie spinning around and then pointing to the camera? because of that clip, i don’t think he’s a HORRIBLE skater.. but definitely not a pro.

☆ he sure acts like it, though! tries to do these cool ass tricks and lands directly on his ass before whining about it.

“if i can jump and spin, can you please buy me nachos?”

☆ his ass does NOT land. you buy him nachos anyway.

☆ teehee.. i really like the idea of holding hands and skating around and just being silly little goobers.. charlie please save me, charlie if you can hear me, please save me charlie..

☆ takes your hand and dramatically dips you, “so, uh.. you come here often?” and then you both get off balance and fall.

© slcmml

[hallowpen]

The Idea of Shared/Linked Karma as it Relates to Home and Peach in Peaceful Property

I made a comment in my last post about Peaceful Property that Home and Peach exist in balance of one another... and that if I were to elaborate on that, it would make that post longer than it needed to be.

Well, thanks to @thebroccolination, I have once again boarded the Peaceful Property train... and the time is nigh!!!

I just want to preface this by saying, this is all just my own personal read of the series and I, in no way, hold any of this to be an absolute interpretation. Ideas of cyclical karma and karmic soulmates / linked karma have always interested me... if my love of The Sign is anything to go by hehe

So, what are the beliefs around shared/linked karma? It's basically the idea that two or more spirits are interconnected through their actions and inactions. The karma created by one will affect the experiences of the others through shared circumstance and interaction. This interdependence would create shared karmic consequences. An example of this would be familial karma, which is dispersed throughout the series as the "curse" (or negative karma) of the Vimarnsukman family.

The relationship between Home and Peach can represent the ideas of a negative karmic relationship blossoming into a positive one. And their linked connection started the instant Home hit Peach with his car.

Buddhism doesn't necessarily propagate "predetermined destinies" so much as "fates" or karma born of individual choice. Circumstances will always present you with a choice, and your decision is what will determine your karmic fate. The choices that are presented throughout one's lifetime, give one with the opportunity to balance their karmic scale... but only if they are willing to pursue positive actions that foster good karma.

Karma has a funny way of trying to balance the scales. Peach and Home reconnecting after the hit and run was the universe's way of presenting Home with the choice to correct his past mistakes... but only happens because of that mistake. Home hits Peach with his car, Peach dies and is resuscitated... but with the ability to see ghosts, Peach's friend Best purchases one of Home's properties that is haunted by a ghost only Peach can see and exorcise, Home wants to hire Peach for his ability. Home needed Peach to help "see" the manifestation of his family's negligence and ignorance, and Peach's ability to do that was granted to him only after Home's own negligence and ignorance. Karma is such a tangled web hehe

In developing a relationship with Peach, someone who Home has wronged in the past, Home can begin to foster enough good karma to counteract his (and his family's) negative actions. Their working together to alleviate the suffering of other spirits creates a positive and important karmic bond, which perpetuates a sense of shared communal well-being that mitigates Home's negative karma. (A lot of this also falls into the idea of harmonious justice which was another prominent concept throughout the series... this is a much larger discussion that I lack the mental capacity to delve into right now).

Home eventually gaining the ability to "hear" those who were never listened to... when the thing him and his family struggle with the most is communication, when he wanted Peach to hear him out after finding out about the hit and run, when his spirit seeks to connect with Peach after his own accident. If Peach can see the ghosts, then in order for them to continue down this shared karmic path, Home must hear them (whether literal or figurative). Balance!!!

Home helps Peach to overcome his fears, Peach helps Home to be aware of and accept his wrong behaviors. Without each other, their cycles of fear and harm would continue. Them "choosing" each other, is what allows them to acknowledge and change their own self-damaging and isolating tendencies... to learn and experience forgiveness, and to find inner peace within themselves. They find a community within each other and use that community to help others. That's the ultimate definition of harmonious karma.

[miyakazashi]

Xia Fei's whereabouts

I've thought about it for a bit (2 days to be exact), and I found an theory that could potentially make sense, so hear me out...!

Bridon Arc Episode 6

from the last scene of Bridon Episode 6, we know that Xia Fei went missing 3 years after bridon arc and also after the "Li tianchen, Li tianxi incident", but what else also happens 3 years after bridon arc and after the "Li Tianchen, Li Tianxi incident"

Season 2 Episode 12 (btw I love this scene so much help-)

Liu Xiao returning to China and "recruiting" Li Tianchen (atleast in the original timeline, but I'll believe Vein "dying" doesn't effect this event), and it is also confirmed in an earlier episode that Liu Xiao only came back from Bridon recently.

Season 2 Episode 1

After what we've seen in Bridon arc, I'll assume Liu Xiao "recruiting" Li Tianchen is probably the start of his and Vein's plan in china (ignoring what Vein has been doing on his end), basically they're gonna cause havoc, but where am I going with this you may ask.

What if, Xia Fei returned to China with Liu Xiao, which basically implies that he's still working with Vein and Liu Xiao, whether that be because he knows what Lu guang did or something else, that's for another theory, anyways for obvious reasons (cause he's famous and all) he had to sneakily take a plane from Bridon to China with no one noticing. And in that case, he would indeed be considered "missing" to the people of Bridon and China etc, but not actually missing if you get what I mean.

Bridon Arc Episode 6

Plus, Xia Fei got to know about the “時光照相館” so that's one way to explain why the season 3 gang would know where Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu guang are (not like they need it though, there's probably hundreds of other methods for Vein and LX, plus Li Tianchen probably knows, but just something to note)

On an unserious note though, I wonder how that plane flight would look like😆 or would Xia Fei make sure he doesn't sit next to Liu Xiao on the plane, that is, of course if Liu Xiao doesn't buy the tickets for him, and basically forces Xia Fei to sit next to him- you know, friendship and stuff

Bridon Arc Episode 6

And you may ask, "But what about that Jack guy that literally none of us care about" ahem, the other missing model — Jack, and look, I actually have no idea why he's reported missing at the same time. Oh but while I was brain storming, one thing (not related to this theory) came to mind, which is, what if he was disguised as Vein so Liu Xiao could get the real Vein out of the mortuary, but alas, I don't know how that would work, cause like a ten is a ten and well, Jack....Jack's not a ten. Ok,ok on a serious note, I think it could still work with enough make-up and stuff, but like...it wouldn't make sense for him to be reported missing 3 years later, unless people just don't give a sh*t about him, like us.

And I have another weird thought about Jack's disappearance, for context though, I was watching someone talk about Xia Fei possibly getting an ability from someone before or during Season 3, and don't know why but Jack came to mind, I was like "what if Xia Fei (or LX) killed Jack to take his ability or something" but the more I think about it, Xia Fei, being in the Bahati school, which is assumed to be like a school for kids with abilities, probably has a higher chance of having an ability than this Jack guy, so....

If anyone has any guesses regarding Jack, or is able to link a Jack theory to the "Xia Fei flew back to China with Liu Xiao theory", please, be my guest😌 but yeah, that's basically all I have for you all.

[speaknow-sw]

ok ok hear me out- sexting with hayden, when hes at a con

like you stayed home at the farm, while he went to like a con (not in cali otherwise you wouldve gone) but you send him a mirror selfie of you just in one of his plaid button down shirts with it buttoned up but with nothing else on and you just say "i really miss you", like youre not even trying to be "sexy" or anything and when he gets it he just smiles, but then he keeps staring at it and can see like the outline of your boobs and instantly gets hard and then like YA JUST GOES FROM THERE AHHHH

OMG SO GOOD UGHHH MY THIGHS ARE DRENCHED

Hayden stood in the bustling convention hall, surrounded by the noise of chatter and the flashing of cameras as fans and paparazzi alike vied for his attention. He flashed a charming smile and waved, signing autographs and posing for photos, all while his mind wandered to the quiet solitude of his farm back home.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down at the screen, expecting the usual flood of social media notifications or messages from his team. Instead, he saw your name and a preview of a mirror selfie you'd sent. His heart skipped a beat as he tapped on the message, bringing it to full screen.

There you were, your beautiful face filling the frame, surrounded by the soft plaid of one of his old button-down shirts. It was obvious you weren't wearing anything else, the outline of your curves visible beneath the thin fabric. Hayden felt his breath catch in his throat, his pulse quickening as a wave of desire washed over him.

He glanced around, making sure no one was watching too closely, then slid the phone into his pocket. He couldn't stop staring at the photo, his mind racing with thoughts of you, the softness of your skin, the scent of his shirt mixed with your own, the way it would feel to slip his hands beneath the hem...

Hayden shifted his weight, subtly adjusting himself as he felt a stirring in his jeans. He knew it wasn't the time or place, but he couldn't deny the effect your simple, heartfelt message had on him. He missed you too, more than you could possibly know.

With a deep breath, he typed out a quick reply, his fingers trembling slightly as he tried to focus on the screen amidst the chaos of the convention.

"God, I miss you too, baby. You have no idea what that photo is doing to me right now. I can't wait to get home and show you just how much I've missed you. Love you more than words can say. Xoxo"

He hit send, already counting down the minutes until he could hold you in his arms again. Until then, your photo would be his secret treasure, a reminder of the love waiting for him at home.

“Why don’t you show me now, big boy ?” You replied naughtily.

Hayden's heart raced as he read your daring reply, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He glanced around the convention hall, realizing the risk of getting caught in a compromising position. But the temptation of indulging your request was too strong to resist.

Unable to hold back, he ducked into a nearby alcove, the dim lighting casting shadows across his face as he typed out a response with shaking fingers.

"Oh, you naughty girl. You're playing with fire, teasing me like this. I'm in the middle of a crowded convention, with fans and paparazzi everywhere… and all I can think about is pinning you against the wall of our bedroom, slipping my hands beneath that shirt you're wearing, feeling your bare skin beneath my fingertips…"

He paused, his breath coming faster as he imagined the scenario, his jeans growing increasingly tighter.

"I'd start at your neck, my lips trailing kisses down to your collarbone, my teeth grazing your skin. I'd work my way down, slipping a button free, then another, until your shirt was open and my mouth was on your breasts, worshipping them, tasting them, until you were writhing beneath me…"

Hayden's grip tightened on the phone, his heart pounding in his chest as he continued.

"I'd slip my hands around your waist, pulling you flush against me, letting you feel just how much I want you. I'd grab your ass, squeezing it, kneading the flesh as I grinded my hips against yours. I'd walk you backwards until your back hit the wall, my body trapping you there as my mouth found yours, kissing you deeply, passionately, claiming you as mine…"

He hit send, his chest heaving as he waited for your response, his body aching with need. He knew he was taking a risk, but he couldn't deny you anything. Not when it came to showing you just how much he loved and desired you.

Hayden's phone buzzed again, and he glanced down at the screen with bated breath. When he saw the preview of your new message, his heart stopped. With shaking fingers, he opened the attachment, and his eyes widened as he took in the breathtaking sight before him.

There you were, in all your glorious nakedness, the soft plaid of his shirt now pooled on the floor beneath you. Your skin glowed in the soft lighting, curves and valleys inviting him to explore every inch of your body. Hayden's mouth went dry, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly parched lips.

He could feel the heat building in his core, his cock straining against the confines of his jeans as he drank in the exquisite image. The convention hall faded away, the noise and chatter dissolving into a distant hum, until all he could focus on was you, and the all-consuming desire coursing through his veins.

With a low groan, he typed out a response, his fingers flying across the screen as he poured out his thoughts.

"Fuck, baby, you're absolutely stunning. Seeing you like this, wrapped in nothing but my shirt, your beautiful body on full display… it's almost too much to take. I'm so hard it hurts, my cock throbbing and aching for your touch."

He paused, his breath coming in short gasps as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control.

"I want to worship every inch of your skin, to map out every curve and contour with my hands and my mouth. I want to kiss and lick and suck on your breasts until you're begging for more, until you're dripping with need."

Hayden's grip tightened on the phone, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to touch himself right then and there. But he wanted to save that pleasure for you, to make you watch as he brought himself to the brink of ecstasy, all for your viewing pleasure.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard when I get home, baby. I'm going to take you in every room of the house, on every surface and in every corner. I'll make love to you slowly and tenderly, savoring every moment, until we're both drunk on pleasure and exhausted from exertion."

[ganondoodle]

so, after this phase of depression, i am back at too many ideas at once and getting overwhelmed by all of it bc i cant do it all and dont know how to decide which one to focus on or which ones actually good and not just a brainfart

(so, some more botw2/totk rewritten ideas-

mostly text but i am unsure what to actually work on and draw or if its even any good, so id be very happy to hear your opinion on some of this qoq)

-was thinking about designing the sonau even though they might not show up physically, to keep their mystery alive, but i am playing with the idea of a dead one preserved in crystal in a larger cave, perhaps their last stronghold, i like the thought of them being rather small monkey like creatures with long tails that end in a light fern looking thing

--been also thinking more about the ancient queen zeldas and ganondorfs relationship bc i feel its compelling for them to have had a much more personal grudge agaisnt each other than i previously planned, gives more weight to everything-

though it is mostly background stuff that is not directly shown in the game, except for environmental storytelling -which botw was pretty good at- and diary entries you can discover (perhaps finding it and then telling riju and a gerudo researcher about it since it would be in ancient script zelda hadnt encountered before?), current thought was to have there be a secret lair that one of ganondorfs daughters used to live in after the sealing disaster sent both kingdoms into conflict, and with their mother dying in battle the eldest daughter would surrender and agree to whatever the princess of hyrule demanded, while the younger one would not bow down and those that followed her split off to live in the gerudo highlands, like another reoccuring theme with this being the prescursor to what happens with the shiekah and yiga later- of those are none left by this time (or should there?) and the diary of the younger daughter talks about her fathers secret hideout having being sealed shut as a sign of respect- it is inaccessible due to the structures beign damaged, but its serving as a hint there will be more; it will be made accessible after the mid game fight with ganondorf, in which you see the scene of the sealing, and he changes his position from hyrule castle that fell into the underground to the innards of the plateau- that being the final dungeon- in his room, might also be a part of his diary, at least from his younger days, and a bracelet of obviously hyrulian origin, which is meant to imply-

that the ancient queen zelda and him were in love once when they were both younger, though neither really acted on it (noble families pressures and conflictions yippie) until it was decided she would be married to a young knight of a noble hyrulian family, as it had been per tradition, after which they would not be able to visit each other anymore in the way they sued to as her father wanted her to prepare to take the throne and was way more strict than before, with one last meeting in that secret chamber and her leaving a bracelet there as a gift-

now heres the problem i ran into, that they had feelings for each other and used to be very close, as well as both having their own families later on is pretty solid and i want to keep all that but i also randomly thought about weaving the drama further (in that noble families kind of way especially, though again this would only be mentioned in his diary entry from the secret room you unlock, and since his younger daughter doesnt mention anything at all save for makign a point about not rummaging through her late fathers things out of her deep respect for him, its pretty clear she didnt know and neither did anyone else except for ganondorf himself and perhaps his mothers, this is all meant to make all of these characters have more depth even with getting little to literal no screentime, not to be a big focus)- so there was the stray idea of the ancient queen having a daughter 'just' after being married to that hyrulian knight.. and it being obviously not his, but gerudo, as gerudo traits are rather dominant(i think?) and the knight and ganondorf look nothing alike, so to avoid any sort of royal disaster that daughter would be secretly given to ganondorf to raise instead (which he would gladly do), and the official story being it was stillborn (the whole thing being worked out by a few maids sworn loyally to their queen .. im torn about the queen herself knowing or not tbh or if that even matters in the grand scheme of things (though i do like the idea of her knowing but acting like it is nothing to live up to being a wise and proud queen now thats shes under that pressure, she would change alot during her time of reign, going from that more typical unsure of herself but trying her best princess to a self confident cold and calculating queen, maybe he could even make a short remark about it), again this is still just vaguely implied background details most wouldnt even find out about, i just .. like to think about the background of things that make sense and give more weight to it all but arent what it revolves around and its neither essential to know, might as well be one of those things people would likely hear about in youtube videos)

i didnt find or dont know if theres any rule that princess zelda cant have siblings (i think she had a brother once but idk that may be different about sisters is the question) bc ganondorfs older daughter then not awakening any special (zelda reserved) powers could be simply bc she wasnt trained to do so (perhaps she would be able to hear things like zeldas often do but that too being only mentioned offhand) and him just not putting any focus on royal hyrulian traditions, it could be a secret rite too and honestly .. why would he try to train her to be the traditional princess of hyrule, awakening powers that are reserved for the hyrulian royals would make everything go haywire in terms of the secret about her mother, though im worried it would seem like her being gerudo is seen as 'tainted' instead, like she isnt a 'real' or 'pure' zelda and that being the reason, which somethign i do not like at all

either way that second part is purely an idea that i am 50/50 about using since its really not a big deal in the end and ultimately doesnt change much except make their relationship a bit more messier

---ahem, anyway, i also decided i wanted to model most sky islands after this one photo in my collection since it looks cool and would make sense to have these island be worn down by constant winds

---- i also want to flood the tabantha canyon with the forgotten temple and considered actually breaking of some pieces of landmass, like it is now a giant island, imagine akkala a kilometer away from the mainland for example, it wouldnt inherently change much about the structure but it would make it feel alot more different and provide good ground for different kinds of interactions since the people there would need to adjust to that, you can melt ice around the riot region easier than you can reattach a broken off giant piece of land after all