#okay so funny thing
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HERE IT IS I DID IT
#okay so funny thing#i lost the coloring + painting over details process#its just gone i dont have it anymore lmao#so thats why he magically gains colors at one point#its just me manually painting over him with an overlay layer#plus another layer where i paint stuff like hair strands and polish some stzff#i did also go in after and added some stuff like glow#my art#spoiledmilks art#digital art#speed drawing#genshin impact#venti
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elita pep talk
#transformers one#transformers#b 127#bumblebee#elita one#i want more content of elita and bee#their dynamic would be so funny i think#ur mean aunt who acts like she hates u but she gets u that one really obscure thing u mentioned in passing conversation#i think their relationship can be really sweet#i think bee would geniunly really look up to elita and think shes so awesome#and elita is just like okay this annoying yellow thing follows me around now i guess#(she loves him)#her stupid son that she hates#shes tough on him but she cares...
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in spite of everything, I had fun <3
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fanart#jjk spoilers#jjk manga spoilers#jjk leaks#yuji itadori#fushiguro megumi#nobara kugisaki#itafushikugi#jjk 271#well we made it :'>#im kind of ignoring a lot of the tag rn ghsdff ik people are upset#if u follow me u know th full extent of my thoughts on the wrapping up of the series but tl;dr the caption says it all#this series meant a lot to me and im working on a bigger tribute to fully express that love and gratitude#but take a redraw 2 tide u over for now#im just so happy. its bittersweet but those r my kids n theyre tgt and theyre okay#i think the return to normalcy is good fr them. i say let them rest n b together n process everything in time#/i'm/ satisfied with what i got out of jjk as a whole and that's all that matters to me#however ik that not everyone shares tht sentiment n thats valid!#regardless of how u feel abt the finale i hope that u at least take time to remember things abt the series that brought u joy#thats all i can say#oh yeah anyway i lightened up megumi's expression his face is so funny in that panel i can't believe he really said -_- until the very end#still tho i think megu deserves a content lil smile
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So we all know by now that Dazai is comfortable enough around Chuuya to show nervousness/worry.
Enough times for Chuuya to pick up on that pattern. The pattern, may I remind you, that doesn't have evident correlation to either nervousness or worry to most people. One that can even be interpreted as misplaced given the situation.
Which means that Dazai has done this in front of Chuuya so often, that Chuuya at first was hella confused, before he finally made a connection between when and why it happens. And still remembered that connection after four years of separation. Which gets us to my point:
What if this isn't the only emotion Dazai displays weirdly?
What if he has multiple unconventional patterns he displays for sadness, frustration, content, or disgust? The times he really feels them, and they become too strong for him to just deal with normally? What if these are the only times he's actually being genuine with his emotions?
And Chuuya is the only one who is familiar with them all?
Dazai would be jumping rope and Chuuya would be like, "quit sulking, let's get icecream"
Dazai hanging upside down on the couch and Chuuya going, "It's okay, mackerel. You can cry."
Dazai actually crying, full on heart-wrenching sobs, and Chuuya unironically going, "What, good news?"
It's just... comforting, for one person in Dazai's life to read him like a book. Everyone else would look at him like he's crazy, displaying wrong emotions/behaviors at the wrong time, but Chuuya knows that it's just how he processes feeling properly, and thus he's the only one Dazai can count on to put things into context and understand, which makes him display them even more openly.
Because Chuuya never shamed him for his quirks, as much as Dazai never did his.
#It's such a funny situation to imagine as well#Dazai doing the most out of pocket shit and Chuuya being like âIt's okay. I'm here.â#and everyone else going like: ?????#I'd like for everyone to imagine weird Dazai quirks and how they relate to his true feelings#maybe even take moments from the manga that would be so cool#imagine the out of pocket things he does had just been him processing his feelings this entire time??#and there was no Chuuya to tell us#I mean seeing Dazai roll around with any ADA member would have made that a âhaha quirky Dazai momentâ#Instead of. Oh. He's *actually* worried.#bsd#bungou stray dogs#skk#soukoku#dazai osamu#chuuya nakahara#bsd dazai#bsd chuuya#bsd hcs#bsd headcannons#bsd analysis#J's post#J's writing âđ˝#Edit: as one tag said I just described autism lmao
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No Context Reasons You Should Watch Dead Boy Detectives
#dead boy detectives#OKAY SO HERE'S THE THING#1. these are the least annoying teen characters I've seen in just about anything#2. it is actually queer and diverse but also it's funny and heartfelt and gloriously dumb#3. if it *does* get cancelled you're not left in an awful go2 type place#so like if you like dumb supernatural stuff give it a go
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he is the only funny person on the damn app
#charlie slimecicle#slimecicle#twitter#look who made me laugh out loud againâŚ#OKAY LOOK for as long as it takes tumblr to discover the enigma that is Charlie Slimecicle#I will continue to post funny gloopy gunky guy propaganda#THATS JUST HOW THE COOKIE CRUMBLES#If it takes me scrolling through twitter everyday to do it the so be it#We all have to make sacrifices lmao#but thank you fellow slime enjoyers for spreading my message previously#itâs really sweet seeing the collective enjoyment over slimecicle on my post of all things#<3#quackity#qsmp#juanaflippa
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Eddie, posting to his socials: Pro-tip! If you had a questionable childhood and youâre thinking of throwing out some lore about your past, maybe think twice before describing it as a funny story.
Eddie: Maybe say to yourself, âHmm, would I think this was funny if one of my thirteen year old students told me this? Would this make me immensely sad hearing it from a child?â before deciding to violently vibe check your husband with the saddest fucking thing Iâve heard in a while.
Steve, off-screen:
Steve: First of all, I agreed with you. Saying it out loud, itâs not a funny story. My bad.
Steve: Second, do not describe my childhood as âlore.â Iâm not an elf in your nerd shit.
#Steve: Wanna hear a funny story?#Eddie: Thatâs actually child neglect but okay#Based off all the horrorified looks I get when I tell the story of the guy that broke into the house I was housesitting#Itâs one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me but was so damn bizarre that itâs funny#eddie munson tiktok saga#steve harrington#eddie munson
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Finished Turnabout Serenade with my sisters today and I had to quickly draw this concept (Also an excuse to draw Apollo AND my girl Ema.. love her.) Also I had to draw them mugshots for this THE KISSY FACE IS NOT SERIOUS just like he's not serious.. he'd so pull the Instagram influencer lips..
Slight spoilers below the cut, just in case!
Can you IMAGINE how freaking funny it'd be if you were Daryan, listening in over the headset, only to hear two people talking about "wanted? Nobody wants him!" about your band mate? Ngl if it was me, I'd end up laughing LMAO which would be bad for him considering.. you know. I really enjoy the worsties dynamic Ema and Klavier have because.. it's just hilarious, honestly. I love how she talks trash about him every waking moment, she is waiting for the SECOND she passes her exam and her 2 weeks notice is ON his desk
Joke made by my sister here @abandonedart
#ive been trying to post more random things without thinking too much about it TT#hopefully people enjoy it nonetheless lol#teagies art#fanart#my art#ace attorney#ace attorney fanart#apollo justice#aa#aa4#ema skye#klavier gavin#daryan crescend#the actual formatting is pretty boring#but the concept is funny so its okay#maybe someday ill make a more full fledged one
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(breathing into a paper bag) FRALIO....
can't believe they gave us another guy. oh my god. so I guess Kelka is more, uhhh, more OOO then, and Fralio is Ankh? not that it matters too much, although they do seem to be doing something with the connected Riders so. who knows. anything goes! or if I may, anything gOOOes! god. of course they're the Ambition parallel. of course they are. oh my god.
fortunately there's nothing else they can throw at me right now that could possibly --
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
#art#ride kamens#ride kamens spoilers#OKAY i am caught up through show my cards so i feel more confident about going into main story part 2#unless there's some absolutely wacky lore thrown into the fun rollerblades event WHO KNOWS AT THIS POINT#extra excited for these guys now! can't wait to meet them properly :D#gosh though i am so afraid for jou in part 2#he's grown on me so much and i can't help but think getting backstory so soon is an ominous sign#especially for a wisdom guy i mean COME ON#i'm getting kiriya vibes and i don't like where this is heading#on the one hand if they legit kill off a character in their joseimuke gacha game...i mean. respect.#but also i want jou to be okay :(#i want everyone to be okay except maybe taiten because what is even going on with him#me yesterday: oh i don't think he's straight-up evil :) now let me just finish up the space event...#taiten: let's talk about plan DOMINATE PLANET#damnit taiten#tangentially i do think it would be EXTREMELY funny if the whole soun thing was a fakeout and murakumo was just some other dude entirely#soun's soft spot for uryuu and dislike for taiten is entirely coincidental#(probably based around the fact that taiten is INCREDIBLY evil) (or is he) (i mean yes)#he's multilayered he doesn't need a narrative reason to have opinions about other characters what are you his MOM
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Question for the DP fandom:
Do you think Dannyâs hair turns white when it falls out? Itâs technically dead cells anyway but when it naturally falls off his head, do you think it turns white? Because I think it would be hilarious if his hairbrush just has white hair, no black strands whatsoever, and his significant other thought the worst until they know his secret.
#danny phantom#dp x dc#dc x dp#dp x dc prompt#dp x dc crossover#danny fenton#dc x dp au#sorry itâs a no thoughts head empty kind of night#I know itâs a dumb thing to think about#but it was a shower thought and sometimes those are good#I just think it could bring so much angst to the plot#any plot#like Tim or Damian or whoever you want his significant other to be could think the worst#it would be something theyâd notice for sure#could even be Tucker until Sam reminds him that heâs an idiot and their idiot boyfriend turns into a ghost#or it could be another small thing Jazz has to explain away to their parents#she makes up a whole person that is friends with Danny and it becomes a thing#I know itâs gaslighting and Iâm not sure sheâd do it but itâd be funny#his name is Garrett and heâs one of Dannyâs best friends mom. Jeez how do you not know this#or what if Jasonâs hair turns white too and thatâs when it clicks for Jazz that he is not completely human#if Jazz is liminal her hair could be blue and boy would that be fun to explain#HER HAIR IS BLUE AND SHE HAS FEELINGS ABOUT IT OKAY#all caps on purpose#because I for sure would be freaking out if my hair was the wrong color in the hairbrush#I would purposely pluck a strand and watch it change then freak out#anger management ship#hardcover ship#everlasting trio
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sanji's weird
#one piece#sanji#black leg sanji#usopp#nami#chopper#one piece fanart#OKAY so i only drew this to be funny but also i think this man is one step away from being a marine biologist??#like maybe im biased cos sanjis my fave but listen!! hear me out!!!#he studies fish and ocean ecosystems and fish migration and he appreciates all the different kinds of fish and variety in ocean life#he can tell the difference between a million different fish species and he documents all of them#and can even tell where a fish is from by looking at its characteristics. he knows ocean currents and reefs and coral and like everything#and like yeah its just so he knows how to cook every damn thing in the sea but also its just a genuine passion and love for the ocean#you CANNOT CONVINCE ME that he is not borderline a marine biologist i am very passionate about this#pls tell me other sanji fans have considered/noticed this. pls tell me im not just delusional lol
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"Dependence Is Weakness, Darling."
pairing: older!patrick zweig x fem!reader
summary: it wasnât just the cigarettes or the lighters. it was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. and as much as you wished it, he wasnât someone you could easily erase from yourself.
âor: it's been a little over twelve years since you've seen patrick zweig.
word count: 7.8k (hopefully this is long enough lol)
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex but in a loving way, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it yâall!), semi-public sex (fucking in a car, you know i had to...), angst, swearing, cigarette smoking as a love language, slight mommy issues lmao, hints of mean!reader cause i still live for that shit, love confessions, rain scene cause i'm corny as hell, porn with SOOOO much plot, no use of y/n.
author's note: this might me the filthiest thing i've ever written lols. i actually DID get a couple asks for some more angsty patrick fics and ofc i love writing angst i'm just a girl i live for that shit. look at me doing what was asked of me and not just whatever i wanted! i'm a giver, what can i say. this fic was revived because of a few anon's who demanded it and i'm so glad they did. you guys got me to give this a second chance and i'm so proud of how it turned out. extra special shout out to @bii-aan-ckaa who fiercely advocated and waited very patiently for this! i'm so obsessed with you and your beautiful kind words. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.
Fifteen minutes.Â
Thatâs how long you can stomach sitting in the sticky booth of the bar watching Patrick Zweig flirt with a woman you don't recognize across the dimly lit room. Fifteen measly minutes until you were giving your friends some lame excuse of needing fresh air and leaving the table to escape out into the alley.
Itâs been a little over twelve years since youâve seen Patrick. A little over twelve years since you turned your back on him with tears spilling down your cheeks and your favorite racket a mangled, smashed mess gripped tightly in your shaking hand as you walked out of his life forever.Â
Or at least what you thought was forever, you guess you were wrong.
To put it lightly, your relationship with Patrick wasâŚcomplicated. You met him the summer before you started at Stanford. He was tall with green eyes and curly hair and he was kind of an asshole but he made you laugh, so you let him fuck you anyway. At the time, you thought that was it. One really good fuck with a really hot guy youâd never see again.
You thought you were hallucinating when you saw him on the campus courts two months later, when he sauntered up to you with an unmistakable âI know what you look like nakedâ smirk on his face. He was just as tall and had the same green eyes and the same curly hair and was an even bigger asshole than he was before. You still let him fuck you anyway.
You never thought youâd get sucked into the storm that was whatever the fuck was going on between Art, Patrick and Tashi. Never thought that it would completely ruin your self esteem, your tennis, your everything.
You werenât particularly close to Art or Tashi in college. Sure, you were all in the same circle. That didnât make you best friends. Art was nice enough, but he never went out of his way to talk to you. You and Tashi were on the same team but that didnât mean anything. You respected the hell out of her and her game, and you could tell she felt the same. Even with that respect, there was still a tiny part of you that resented her.Â
She was number one, the pride and joy of Stanford, had a constant slew of brands and scouts up to her ears. It seemed like no matter how hard you worked that she would always be number one. It felt like you were always just inches behind her.
Clawing and scratching your way through the ranks since you were twelve to be second best was never the plan. Your mother made sure to remind you of that every chance she got.
Then slowly, she started beating you at more than just tennis. Patrick wanted her, it was more than obvious. At first you didnât care, he wasn't your boyfriend. He was just a guy you fucked, he could do whatever he wanted. You were friends. There wasnât a problem.
When you realized you knew more about Patrick than just how he worked dick, then there was a problem.Â
At first, all the things you knew about him were boiled down to the vulgar little tidbits youâd notice when he fucked you. You know that he has a birthmark on his lower back. You know when heâd be close because heâd always bite your shoulder before he came. You know his favorite position was really missionary even though he told everyone it was doggy.
Knowing all that was fine.
You also know that heâs allergic to kiwi. You know that he only holds his cigarettes with his thumb and his pointer finger. Youâd always know when he was nervous because heâd start tapping his fingers on his thigh. You know that when heâd listen to music he loved, that his right hand would drum along to the beat just a little bit faster than his left would.
You knew all those things because you were falling in love with him, and Patrick Zweig is not someone you fall in love with. Especially not with Tashi Duncan in the picture.
You tried your best to push it down, to pretend you werenât hurt every time Patrick chose Tashi over you. When heâd miss your games because he was with Tashi, when heâd blow you off to go meet Tashi, when he started to stop returning your calls or replying to your texts. All things you never cared about before started slowly eating at you. You felt awful most days, holed up in your room wallowing in self-pity. Your GPA was steadily dropping as the semester went on. Even your tennis started slipping, and you lost your winning streak to a fucking scrub. When you finally cracked and broke down to your mother over the phone one night she just scoffed.
âWell what did you think would happen when you started to depend on that boy? Dependence is weakness, darling.â
Dependence is weakness. You blocked Patrickâs number that same night.
It all came to a head when he blew up at you after Tashiâs injury. Everyone was pretty shaken up about it. Youâd never forget the way it buckled, the way the sharp snap rang through the court, the way she fell to the ground screaming. Youâd never seen her cry before.Â
Patrick found you later that night, all alone on the practice courts trying to burn the day out of your mind by serving balls till you collapsed. It was the first time he talked to you in weeks. He was pissed. Screaming at you, calling you every nasty thing he could think of, getting up in your face. It was a fucking mess. You both said some things that should have never been said, but it ended when Patrick accused you of somehow being the cause of all of it.
âYou hate Tashi, fucking hate her. You wanted something like this to happen. I bet youâre just over the fucking moon that sheâs finally out and you can take her place. You can finally be number one seed and you're fucking ecstatic, aren't you? Youâre so fucking pathetic, so desperate for validation. Maybe if mommy paid attention to you for once, you wouldnât be so fucking needy. You're just a sad, delusional fucking runner-up, grasping at whatever shreds of importance you think you still have.â
You stood there, stunned by his outburst, each word hitting you like a physical blow. It was insane, nothing but Patrick blowing things way out of proportion in the midst of his anger.
You wanted to scream, to deny it vehemently, but the hurt and frustration choked off your words. Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of anger and heartbreak swirling in you. Vision blurring out everything but Patrick's face twisted up with rage as he glared at you, his words lingering in the air like poison.Â
You told him about your mother because you thought you could trust him. You thought he was the only person that really understood you, his dad was a piece of shit too. Him using something so delicate as material to hit you where it hurts was the last straw.
You blew up, all the things youâd been keeping bottled up for months finally boiled over in you swinging your racket down on the green concrete over and over until there was nothing left of it to break. You didnât even look at Patrick as you walked away. You never saw him again.
Youâd love to say it was also the last time you thought about him, but that would be a lie. As much as he hurt you, and as much as you hated him for it, your mind refused to let you forget him.
You still smoke Camel Blues because that was your guysâ brand, even when you should have quit years ago anyway. You still buy the same color lighter, pink. You tell yourself itâs nothing more than an easy choice, that itâs a good color. Itâs not at all because you can still hear Patrickâs teasing voice in the back of your head bitching, âI canât believe you make me use a pink lighter.â when he always forgot his and had to borrow yours.Â
Itâs not based on a compulsive need to be reminded of him every single time you use it. Itâs just convenient, okay.
You know deep down that they were the only remnants of a past that you still couldnât fully let go of. As much as you tried to bury those memories, they lingered, melded into the corners of your mind like stubborn stains.Â
It wasnât just the cigarettes or the lighters. It was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. Patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. And as much as you wished it, he wasnât someone you could easily erase from yourself.
Even twelve years later youâre still trying to convince yourself that dependence is weakness, that you were better off without him. But sometimes, in the quiet moments like this when the smoke curls from your cigarette and the pink lighter flickers in your hand, you wonder if he ever thinks of you, if he regrets how things ended between the two of you.
Maybe it's not that you can't escape Patrick's grip on you after all these years, it's that you just won't.
Youâre so lost in your own thoughts that you don't hear the heavy door to the bar swinging open, or the sound of gravel crunching underneath approaching footsteps.
âHoly shit,â a deep voice rings out from your right, âsomeone pinch me.â
Your whole body tenses, your cigarette freezing a few inches away from your lips. Something like fight or flight starts to quietly buzz beneath your skin. Youâd recognize that voice anywhere, even despite the gruffer, more grown up tone that wasnât there the last time you heard it.
Your heartâs already kicking into overdrive when you finally start to hesitantly turn your head, time almost slowing down as your eyes sweep over the alley. You kind of donât want to believe that your luck is this shitty. That maybe it was all in your imagination, that you were thinking about him so much you were starting to hear things that werenât really there, that he was still back in the bar feeling up that blonde girl. But it can never be that easy, and sure enough, there he is.
Patrick Zweig is standing a few feet away from you with both hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a wide, achingly familiar grin lighting up his face.
Youâre quiet for a few long moments, completely shocked into silence. Your mind races with a million different things you want to say but canât find the voice to. You should be causing a scene. You should be losing it, screaming, crying, throwing things, slapping him hard across his unfairly handsome face. But you donât, too surprised to even move.Â
Patrick speaks again, taking several steps towards you. âIt is really you, right?â he asks, eyes wide and mouth pulling into an easy, lopsided grin. To anyone else, the laid back, carefree tone he was going for would sound genuine. You can barely pick up on the stunned, almost breathless edge lacing his words, like he also canât believe youâre standing right in front of him.
He steps into the light shining from a dingy lamp above the door, it basks around him in a yellow orange glow.
Same eyes, same ears, same Patrick.
For years youâve thought about this exact moment, what youâd say if you ever saw him. You lose all of that practice the closer he gets. Heâs less than a foot away from you now, an expectant look on his face. Heâs waiting for you to say something.Â
You feel like running, like stubbing your cigarette on the pavement and making a break for the door. You already ran from him once, but old habits die hard.Â
You donât run, you refuse to take the easy way out. Youâre a grown woman, youâre stronger than you were in college, youâre going to the goddamn Olympics. Itâs only Patrick for Christâs sake.
âWhat are you doing here?â It sounds harsher than you meant, but thatâs probably for the best. He doesnât deserve kindness from you.Â
âTennis.â Is all he says, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Camel blues. âWhat are you doing here?â He parrots back, smacking the bottom of the carton, plucking the one that shakes out between his long fingers. âIâd think that Miss. Team USA would be too busy for bar crawls.â
You bristle, eyes narrowing skeptically. You canât tell if heâs making fun of you or not. âItâs not a bar crawl,â you shoot back childishly, feeling defensive under his heavy gaze. âWeâre celebrating.â
Patrick just nods, letting out a small hum in lieu of replying. He's close enough now that you can see gray strands streaked through his hair. He looks older, a few barely there wrinkles creasing his skin as he pops his cigarette between his lips. âGot a light?â he asks around the filter, holding his hand out expectantly before you even answer.
Itâs still just as annoying. You roll your eyes, sighing dramatically as you fish your lighter out of your skirts pocket. You place it in the open palm of his hand, ignoring the fireworks that go off at the base of your spine when his fingers catch on your wrist as you pull away.
He mumbles out a half-assed thanks, cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from the wind. If he notices the color, he doesnât say anything. It feels wrong that he doesnât tease you about it, staying silent as he tosses it back to you when his cigarette finally lights. You ignore the hurt blooming in your chest as you pocket it.
Patrick takes a deep inhale, the tip of his cigarette burns bright red. The way his lips wrap around the filter has heat spreading through you. âShocked youâre still smoking,â he waves his free hand at you vaguely, smoke flowing from his lips as he speaks. âItâs not super admirable.â
You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. âThatâs really how you want to start this?
âStart what?â he asks coyly, leaning his shoulder too close to you against the brick. Heâs playing dumb, the smirk on his face gives him away.Â
You say nothing, not trusting yourself to speak. He has a beard now, sort of patchy and fairly new looking. You wrinkle your nose up at it.Â
It doesnât surprise you that heâs acting like this. All calm and collected like heâs catching up with an old friend, like he didnât say all those horrible things to you. As if every single word he said that night isnât still engraved in your mind and carried with you through your whole career.Â
Patrickâs quiet for a bit, taking another slow drag. âHave you seen either of them?â His voice is hesitant, like heâs treading the water of your boundaries by bringing this up. âOr am I your first?â He lets the innuendo hang in the air, trying to joke his way through something neither of you really want to talk about.
You donât look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the part of the street you can see through the alleys opening.
You donât need to ask who âthemâ is.
You just shake your head no, not wanting to have to say anything out loud and make this into a whole thing. The smoke from your cigarette swirls through your lungs, warm and familiar.Â
Youâve seen them both at multiple tennis events. Things like matches, and galas, and charity auctions. Hell, they watched from the stands when you won Wimbledon for the first time. You just make sure and avoid them like the plague, always running the other direction the second you see a short bob and cropped blonde hair.
Youâve been in the same room with them countless times over the years but you might as well have been in separate worlds. The only âcontactâ youâve had with them since you all graduated was weirdly ominous.
Art followed you on Instagram after you got your third career slam, but he doesnât like any of your posts. Youâre one of the mere twenty accounts in his following. You never followed him back.Â
Then, when your career first started taking off, the press somehow learned about your past with Tashi. They started using it to their advantage when picking headlines for any pieces written about you. âThe only woman in the world to beat Tashi Duncan!â It pissed you off to no end. It was stupid, a way to get clicks on their sad little gossip sites. And it wasnât even fucking true.
They finally stopped when you threatened to sue their asses. Apparently, Tashi noticed.
She sent you flowers. You threw them out.
Patrick nods back, taking his own slow drag. The sound of traffic hums in the background, the music from the bar bleeding through the wall mutely.Â
âCongrats on that,â he says casually, looking you up and down slowly. You fight not to squirm under his gaze. âOn making the team. Thatâs some serious shit. I always knew itâd be you, out of all of us.â
Itâs a blatant lie. You were always four out of four in college, the one person in the group with the least potential for stardom. If it wasnât for Tashiâs injury, sheâd definitely be in your place â on top of the world.
Heâs trying to pacify you, to butter you up. All it does is grate on your nerves and leaves a sour taste in your mouth.Â
âDid you just come out here to interrogate me? To mess with me?â you ask sharply, frustration starting to get the better of you. âDo you want a fucking autograph or something?â
Patrick laughs, throwing his head back. âNope, I wanted to catch up. It's been a while.â he shrugs, eyes darkening ever so slightly. âI just know how much you like talking about yourself, thatâs all.â
You pause, picking up on the clear implication of his words. âExcuse me?â you question, turning towards him.
âJust saying,â he says, raising his hands in surrender. âWhen we were younger everyone always thought I was this arrogant, cocky, self obsessed prickâŚâ he trails off, an infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. It does nothing to soothe you, only adding fuel to the fire of your anger. âAnd they were all right, I was. But, thatâs also exactly what you are right now.â he finishes, tapping the ash off his cigarette.
You feel it, all the emotions swirling inside you of at seeing Patrick again threatening to burst. Anger and misery waging a war in your stomach. The wind is starting to pick up around you, making goosebumps break out over your skin. The fabric of your skirt swishes around your thighs. You feel clammy, but it has nothing to do with the temperature drop.Â
âWas?â you ask, condescending and mean, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. âYou really donât think youâre still all of those things?â
Patrick chuckles, shoulders shaking with amusement. He goes to say something, but you beat him to it. âIâve changed, Patrick.â you say sternly, brows furrowing in displeasure. Your tone is hard, frustration seeping into your words. Considering the last time the two of you spoke, this was almost going well. Itâs just like Patrick to ruin something before he needs to.
You know distantly that you could deescalate the situation, but maybe youâre more alike than you thought. Maybe youâre just too greedy to keep the peace. âSo fucking sorry that Iâm not the same person I was in college, but I actually chose to grow up.â
Patrick snorts, exhaling a plume of smoke through his nose. âYeah, clearly.â he mutters under his breath, itâs condescending and sarcastic. It pisses you off.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â you ask sharply, cigarette now forgotten and steadily burning away at your side.Â
Patrick shrugs, like itâs obvious. âYouâre still so lost. I sure as shit donât have a red, white, and blue track suit hanging in my closet, but at least I know who I am.â He doesn't sound angry, only sure of himself, like he may have been thinking about this for a while. His face is passive, body relaxed as he leans against the hard brick.
Your jaw clenches, anger running hot through your veins. He doesnât know anything about you, hasnât for over ten years. He doesnât have the right to try and talk down to you, not after all the hard work you put in to get to where you are.
âMy wrist alone is worth ten million. What are you worth now, Patrick?â Youâll be embarrassed about bringing up status later, you always try to stay as humble as possible, but youâre too mad to care. You just need to hurt him, to hurt him like he hurt you. Youâd heard from a friend of a friend that Patrickâs parents cut him off a while ago, that heâs been slumming it ever since. âI know exactly who I am, Iâm a fucking Olympian.â
The venom in your tone is sharp, each word from your lips like a knife stabbing through the tense air trying to draw blood. âYouâre a fucking nobody, Patrick. Youâre irrelevant. Washed up. Buried. Forgotten.â You pause when your voice starts to shake, taking a deep inhale of smoke to try and calm yourself. Your hand is shaking too, ash falls from the burnt out tip down to the gravel. Patrick just watches you, his expression doesnât change. Smoke billows from between your lips, blowing away with the wind. âWeâre not on the same level, not anymore.âÂ
Patrickâs unfazed, staring back at you with his cigarette dangling from his lips. He takes it between his fingers, letting his arm drop to hang at his side. âIâve been thinking about you.â he says casually, head lolling to the side lazily. He looks at you through his lashes, eyes sweeping over your face slowly. âI was just thinking about you, and now youâre here. Right fucking in front of me.â he shakes his head with a dry laugh. âYou lookâŚâ he trails off, green eyes taking in every inch of you. âYou look amazing.â
Your pulse flutters wildly, you feel so light headed, like you could pass out any second. âIâve missed you, missed you everyday since that night.â His expression is that same half cocked grin from before, all smooth bravado and easy smiles as if heâs not staring at you like youâre the very blood coursing through his veins. All the air drains from your lungs, mind racing what feels like a thousand miles per second.Â
He sounds like he means it. He looks like he means it. He canât possibly mean it.
A loud chant ringing through your skull is the only coherent thing screaming through all the mess. Donât fall for it, donât fall for it, donât fall for it, donât fucking fall for itâ
âWell I donât miss you.â A lie. âYou were nothing to me, Patrick.â Another lie. âYou were just easy dick.â Your stomach twists painfully, like your body is physically trying to stop you from lying to yourself any further.
His face stays neutral, it frustrates you to no end that you canât tell what heâs thinking. Patrick had a terrible poker face in college, you could read him like a book with a single glance. It was one of your favorite things about him, how expressive his face always was.
Now heâs just staring down the bridge of his nose at you passively, the picture of indifference. Itâs another reminder of how long itâs been, that heâs lived a whole life without you in all that time. He takes a long drag off his cigarette, never breaking eye contact with you as he does.
His lips are slick and pink, just how you remember them. The beard isnât so bad, it makes him look more rugged, more like a man. Itâs the most drastic change in his appearance, far different from the smooth skinned pretty boy he was before.
He exhales, a long stream of smoke blowing past your ear. âWhat are you still doing here then?â he muses with a small shrug. He leans in even closer, slowly, like you were a cornered animal he didnât want to spook. You can smell him, something woodsy with a hint of musk. You can see the clusters of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose, almost completely faded. âIf Iâm nothing,â he clarifies, simple, easy. âWhy are you here?â
Itâs a loaded question, one he obviously knows the answer to. Itâs a dick move, forcing you to confront what youâre really feeling. Your eyes start to sting, complicated emotions welling up in your throat. âFuck you Patrick.â you whisper weakly, all the bite in your tone getting lost in your dejection. Your lip wobbles warningly, you try your best to stifle it. You refuse to cry in front of him.
Patrickâs face does something funny, turning his eyes to the sidewalk. âI need someone like that again. Someone that isnât afraid to fucking check me, that wants me to do better and not because they just see a check or a legacy or whatever the fuck else my parents expected from me. Someone that wants me to do better because they actually believe in me.â
The honesty in his voice takes you by surprise. He gets more worked up the longer he talks, chest rising and falling a lot faster than before. Rare vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his hardened exterior. âI fucked up that night, I know. Now my lifeâs a fucking mess, and I need someone to help make it make sense again.âÂ
You scoff thickly, shaking your head in disbelief as you fight back tears. âAnd Iâm that person?â you ask skeptically, brow raised in question.
âYou always were,â he replies easily, his face forming into a sad smile. He almost sounds like his old self. Your brain flashes the image of Patrick leaning outside the door of your science lecture, waiting to walk you back to your dorm. Heâs smiling wide enough to show teeth, looking down at you with brilliant green eyes, just like he is right now.
Suddenly, he wasnât the boy that broke your heart on a tennis court twelve years ago.Â
He was the boy that held your hair back when you threw up after drinking too much at a frat party and still stayed the night even though you didnât hook up, his chest pressed against your back like a security blanket the whole night. He was the boy that let you make friendship bracelets on the handle of his favorite racket, and secretly kept the one you made for him braided around the neck for weeks until you finally noticed the fraying blue strings still in place when he forgot his tennis bag at your dorm room one night.
Suddenly he wasnât anything but the boy you fell in love with when you were eighteen years old.
You swallow hard, heart pounding against your ribcage. Your cigarette falls from the slack grip of your fingers, plummeting to your feet where it burns out on the pavement.Â
Itâs like you lose control of yourself, like all your morals get shot out of a cannon into the sun. Youâre lunging forward before you know what youâre doing, fisting the fabric of Patrickâs shirt and pulling him down to meet you halfway. Your first kiss with Patrick in twelve years.
Itâs a mess of teeth clashing together roughly, with way too much tongue and spit to be classified as romantic. Itâs desperate. Itâs angry. Itâs fucking filthy and itâs exactly what you need.
Your tongue forces its way between Patrickâs lips when he gasps in shock, mapping out the familiar territory of his mouth like muscle memory. His big hands fly up to hold onto your hips as he eagerly returns your kiss, pressing you up against the brick and sucking your tongue lewdly. He tastes like smoke and bottom shelf whiskey. You moan into his mouth, wetness starting to seep through the thin material of your panties.
You stay like that for a while, just kissing until Patrick slides the hard line of his cock against your hip strategically. You moan at the size of it pressing onto you through his jeans, breaking the kiss to inhale a couple lungfuls of air. âYouâre not fucking me in an alley.â You say bluntly as he trails wet kisses down the side of your throat.
He laughs, nipping at your collarbone teasingly. âMy carâs a block away,â he offers between kisses.
You think about it for a second. Deciding on whether or not youâre going to let Patrick fuck you in the backseat of his car like youâre two horny teenagers and not full grown adults.
âLead the way.â Is all you say, finally letting yourself smile when Patrick starts to drag you away from the bar.Â
You shoot your friends a quick text letting them know you decided to head home early, already in the uber you ordered when youâre actually letting Patrick drag you across a blessedly empty parking lot to an old SUV parked in the middle. A completely one-eighty from the Porsche he used to drive.
He takes a second to press you against the door, capturing your lips with his again. Itâs a slower kiss, sweeter than the one you shared outside the bar. You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach when he cups your face, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He fumbles blindly for the car door with his other hand, pulling it open and pushing you into the back. He follows closely, climbing in and shutting the door behind him.
Patrickâs back on you in less than a second, yanking at the buttons of your shirt impatiently, fingers too big to work them through the holes as fast as he wants to. He lets out a frustrated growl, grabbing both sides and pulling hard. The buttons all go flying in different directions, landing in different spots around you.
âThat was three hundred dollars,â you mumble against his lips, not wanting to stop kissing him for even a second. He looms over you, broad and all encompassing. He sits up to yank his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside and popping open the button of his jeans.
âYou can buy another one,â he says simply, shucking his jeans and boxers off all in one go. His dick is long and lovely, tip red and drooling pre-cum that drips all the way down to his balls. Your mouth waters, desperate to taste it, to feel the weight of it on your tongue and down your throat. You push it to the back of your mind. Thereâs no time for that, both of you too keyed up to do anything other than fuck.
Patrick leans down, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. He turns his attention to your pulling skirt down, panties going with it and getting tossed onto the floorboard carelessly. His eyes zero in on your bare pussy, wet and on display. The cool air shocks your system, making you want to press your thighs together but Patrickâs hands keep you spread open.
âFuck,â he whispers quietly, moving to roll the knuckle of his right index finger over your slick entrance, just barely rocking it into you. You gasp, your whole body trembling with need. âJust like I remember.â He mutters to himself, pushing in the smallest bit deeper.Â
Your leg kicks out, patience starting to wear thin. âCâmon, Pat.â you mewl sweetly, bucking your hips up in a clear invitation. âFuck me.â
Patrick shifts up onto his knees, silently shuffling closer to your spread thighs. His cock juts out from his body, so thick and heavy that it doesnât point straight up, instead hangs angry and red between his legs. His big hands slide halfway up your thighs, you shiver at the way they skirt across your skin lightly. He presses you backwards by them, leaning over you with your legs slung across his shoulders.
His cock drags across your inner thigh, trailing a sloppy line of pre-come as it does. You nearly wail, wrapping your arms around Patrickâs broad shoulders as you beg for him to give you what you want.
âGod Patrick! Put it in. Please, put it in. Let me have it, please, fuckâ,â you beg frantically, arms tightening around his shoulders like youâre trying to drag him impossibly closer to you. He goes willingly, burying his nose in the soft skin of your neck. He presses a small kiss directly over your pulse.
âIâm gonna give you this cock, baby.â he whispers lowly, hot lips brushing against your skin with every word. He slides the head of his cock through your wet folds, stopping to rub it over your swollen clit a few times. âGonna get all up inside you and fuck you exactly how you like.â He slides the length down, letting his tip catch on your empty, clenching hole.
Youâre so damn worked up, writhing and pushing back and begging Patrick to just fuck you already, that you canât take anymore teasing. Your hole contracts around the tip of his dick like itâs trying to suck him in. He sinks in deeper, slowly feeding every thick inch into your aching cunt.
âGod,â Your name falls from his lips in a shuddery breath that fans over your fluttering pulse. âYou still smell the same.â Itâs the same stunned, breathless tone from when he first saw you. He presses his face cheek to cheek with yours, the rough texture of his beard scraping against your skin.Â
Patrick moves his hips against you slowly, deep strokes that drag every thick inch of him against the walls of your cunt. The tip of his cock stabbing that sweet spot inside you that makes stars glow bright on the ceiling of his car each time you blink. The angle has his balls pressing against your cunt as he fucks into you, the excessive pre-come leaking from his tip mixing with the sticky wetness of your juices leaves an obscene ring of creamy white around the spread hole of your cunt. It sticks wetly to the base of Patrickâs cock with each thrust, shining back at you on his skin when he pulls out.
The slow thrusts feel amazing, but you know itâs not enough. You need him to pound into you, to bully his big cock into your cunt like heâs getting back at you for shutting him out. You need him to fuck you.Â
âHarder, PatâŚâ you whine breathlessly, clawing desperately at the polyester seats.
He groans loudly, hips immediately speeding up, getting rougher, meaner. He leans up to get more power behind his thrusts, breaking your tight hold on his shoulders. âThis is where you belong,â he grits out, sweat dripping from his forehead to fall onto your heaving chest. The sharp smack smack smack of his hips bruising your ass gets louder, the lewd noise filling the car. âWhere you should have been this whole fucking time, spread open on my cock.â
The only thing you can even get out anymore are pleading whines and loud moans of Patrickâs name as he pounds into you like heâs trying to kill you. The harsh snap of his hips inching you further up the backseat until your headâs knocking against the doors handle on each mean thrust. Your feet bounce by his ears, body almost completely folded in half so all you can do is lie there and take it.
The car rocks steadily, anyone who spares a glance at the SUV will know whatâs going on inside.Â
Patrick sneaks a hand between your legs, fingers sliding over your swollen clit. You scream, throwing your head back in pleasure as the calloused tips over his fingers work you over. âFuck yeah,â Patrick mutters, turning his head to lick and bite at your ankle. âYouâre so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful. I missed you so much, missed this pussy.â His voice is pinched, hips fucking into you impossible faster.
The wet squelching noise of your cunt is filthy, splattering against Patrickâs heavy balls with each thrust. âI know she missed me too, didnât she baby?â he taunts, eyes wild and blown out. âTaking my cock so well, squeezing me so fucking good.â
âClose,â you gasp out. Patrick pitches forward, licking into your parted lips as he rubs tight circles over your clit faster. He kisses you sloppily, smearing spit all over your lips and chin. His sweat drips onto your face and mixes with your own, it should be gross, but it makes you even wetter. The primal part of your brain overjoyed to be claimed by him. He lifts his fingers up the tiniest bit, smacking them over your clit with the smallest amount of force.
Your orgasm hits you suddenly, back arching off the seat wildly as you gush around his cock. You claw at his back desperately, nails raking down his skin hard enough to leave angry red welts in their wake.
âShitâ thatâs good, milk it out of me baby, work for this fucking load.â he groans, hips not slowing down as he chases his own release. His breath puffs over your skin, the rhythm of his hips starting to falter the closer he gets. You whine, trying your best focus on clenching your cunt over his cock in your fucked out state. âThatâs it, babyâ God â youâre gonna make me come, squeezing me so tight I can barely fucking moveâŚâ he growls, teeth sinking into your neck hard.
You hiss sharply, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure starts to become too much. He licks over the bite mark, like heâs apologizing. âGonna fucking come inside you, fill you up so good, fuckââ
His rambling dissolves into a loud groan, hips giving one last thrust as he buries himself as deep in your cunt as he can. You feel rope after rope of warm come flood your insides, painting your walls with it. It feels like hours, him unloading into you with cut off moans and grunts.Â
You're still desperately trying to catch your breath when he finally starts to pull out of you as gently as he can. The red tip of his cock popping free lets the river of his come leak out from your abused hole, spilling out of you to drip onto the carâs seat.
Patrick curses at the sight, scooping the white, creamy mess onto his fingers so he can fuck it back into you. You hiss at the over stimulation, thighs squeezing together around his hand. Your chest is still heaving, breathing erratic as you slowly come down from your orgasm. Patrick tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, smiling warmly as he takes you into his arms and shifts around until heâs sitting up against the door with you curled into his chest.
The windows are steamy, melting all the streetlights outside into a swamp of warm colors on the glass. They shine through the car like sunlight piercing through a stained glass window. You feel light and hazy, like youâre in a dream. Patrickâs body grounds you, firm and familiar against your back. Itâs quiet for a long time, only the sound of soft breathing fills the car. You're scratching your nails through the hair on Patrickâs chest when he finally breaks the silence.
âThereâsâŚâ he says into your hair, trailing off near the end. Heâs idly tracing shapes on your lower back. A circle, a square, a circle, a diamond, a square, a heart. âThereâs this challenger in New Rochelle in a couple weeks, Iâm entering it. You should come.âÂ
Your heart drops, the delicate cloud encompassing you and Patrick forcefully ripped away in less than a second. Youâve already heard of this challenger, seen all the publicity itâs been getting since Artâs name came up in the conversation surrounding it. The âPhilâs Tire Town Challengerâ is all anyone can talk about.Â
If Artâs there, she will be too. Sitting in the stands in a classy Ralph Lauren two piece, watching her husband and Patrick on the court, looming over the two of them for the first time in years. You canât stomach the thought of seeing her. You canât stomach the thought of Patrick seeing her, terrified that the second she spares him a glance youâll be right back where you were in college, an afterthought left in the dust for something better.
Your stomach lurches violently, you feel nauseous. The heat of Patrickâs backseat becomes almost unbearable, making it harder to breathe. You rip yourself away from him, tearing through the backseat to find your clothes.Â
Patrick startles, sitting up with a concerned look on his face. âJesus, what's wrong?â You can feel the warmth of his hands hovering over your back, not sure if he should touch. âWhat did I do?â
You donât say anything, you canât. Your throat feels tight, chest constricted and heavy as you try to take in lungfuls of air. You tug on your skirt and panties haphazardly, grabbing the first shirt you find strewn across the car's floor and yanking it on. You know itâs not yours but you donât care, too busy trying to shove your shoes back onto your feet and push open the door all at once.
Patrick questions you the entire time, voice confused and insistent as you tumble out into the parking lot. The cool air feels like a life jacket, the smell of rain fills your nose as you try to steady your erratic breathing. Youâre still trying to tug your right shoe on as you start to speed walk away from his car.
You can hear the sound of feet slapping behind you on the pavement as you walk. A strong hand wraps around your bicep, whipping you around. Patrick only has his pants on, shirtless and barefoot in his haste to catch up with you.
âWhat the fuck are you doing? Whatâs wrong?â He sounds genuinely concerned, his eyes searching your face closely. It makes tears burn hot at your waterline, blurring your vision and falling to trickle down your cheeks when you try to blink them away.
âThis was a mistake, Patrick.â your voice is thick with emotion, you try to wrench your arm out of his grip. He doesnât let go, not squeezing tight enough to hurt but to try and keep you in place. You need to leave, to get as far away from Patrick as you can before youâre in too deep. âPlease, let go.â Your voice is small, shaky and weak and so unlike you. The panic from the car is still wrapped around you, growing tighter every second you spend with him.
Patrick shakes his head wildly, raindrops slowly start to fall onto his bare shoulders. âNo, fuck no! We can talk about this. We just need to talkââ
âPatrick stop!â Your voice cracks embarrassingly, loud and desperate as you double your efforts to free your arm. âPlease just let me go!â
You donât know if itâs the way you said it or the look on your face, maybe itâs a bit of both, but something makes Patrick let you go. Dropping your arm from his grip and letting his own hang limply at his side.
Rain starts to come down all around you, large drops hitting your skin and soaking the cotton of your shirt. You let yourself meet his eyes, they're sad in a way youâve never seen before. The green turned dull and lifeless. It looks wrong on him.
When you canât stand the hurt look on his face any longer, you leave. Walking away deeper into the rain, small puddles splashing up around your shoes with every step. You hope Patrick doesnât follow you, that he lets you go. Youâre doing him a favor by making the choice for him, itâs easier this way.
âYou know, I think I really loved you.â He calls from behind you as the rain really starts to pick up. His voice almost gets swallowed by the thunder, you wish it would have.Â
Against your better judgment, you look back. Patrick hasn't moved, still standing in the middle of the parking lot. The rain is making his hair stick to his forehead, starting to seep into the denim of his jeans to darken the gray.Â
âIâm sorry,â you say quietly, voice tiny and pathetic. Patrick probably couldnât even hear you over the wind whipping through the air. He stares back at you, there's too much distance for you to see the look on his face. You turn on your heels and keep walking.
Itâs nostalgia in its sickest form, the dark familiarity of the situation washing over you with the rain as you walk away from Patrick again. Ignoring every call of your name and desperate pleas for you to come back is new, you canât tell if it hurts more or less than the silence of last time.
You wrap your arms around yourself, tears mixing with the trails of rain running down your cheeks. Itâll make it easier to convince yourself later on that you werenât really crying, that it was just the rain. Tomorrow youâll wake up and this will all be behind you. Patrick will be fine, he doesnât really love you. In a few weeks heâll go to the challenger and forget all about you.Â
You hear your mothers voice ring out in the back of your head as you walk.
"It's for the best, my love. Dependence is weakness."
You hope to God that she's right.
tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
#â đŻđ˘đľđ˘đđŞđ˘ đ¸đłđŞđľđŚđ´ âĄ#natalia cant write anything under 1.000 words#and just like that...this is my new favorite thing i've ever written...#like seriously this is my baby#i birthed it#for real#i'm SO fucking proud it's not even funny lmao#okay bye!#love you!#challengers#challengers x reader#challengers x you#challengers smut#challengers imagine#challengers fanfic#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig smut#patrick zweig fic#patrick zweig imagine#patrick zweig fanfic
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dugon my friend my buddy my pal
#just roll with it#jrwi#potatart#just roll with it riptide#jrwi riptide#dugon#jrwi dugon#gillion tidestrider#okay this interaction was kind of hilarious and dare i say#cute (?)#i have a lot of things wrong with me its ok#no spoilers again im on episode 59#I LIKE THAT DUGON IS MENTIONED IN GILLION'S LIST OF TITLES LIKE SIX TIMES THATS SO FUNNY#guys i think he might be friends with dugon idk tho i might be wrong (joke)#idk aomething about imagining gil still speaking into its ear in primordial#somrthing something i like gillion very much#i love jrwi auuuhggh im gushing again#P.S. UM I MIGHTVE GOTTEN DUGONS SIZE A LITTLE WRONG. FORGIVE ME#I BELIEVE IM CLOSE TO ITS ACCURATE SIZE CUZ OF THAT ONE THUMBNAIL BUT LIKE BLEH#IK ITS SUPPOSED TO BE A LEVIATHAN
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Wanted to redraw a gay pulp novelâs cover as devilman stuff because what else am I to do. Palette was colorpicked from various ova screenshots I just had on hand and I kept the bookâs bright red background w/ bold yellow lettering because it was too perfectly vintage to deviate away fromâŚ
#me art#eyestrain cw#devilman#akira fudo#ryo asuka#ryokira#okay so like. funny thing about the book#that I didnât learn until I was done#the original painting for the cover has like#a woman there too. but so many likeâŚposters of this for the sake of art#have removed her from it. help
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sure ango may have betrayed every organization under the sun but tachihara put in the effort to build up the perfect stereotypical gangstersona and act his silly little heart out for the perfect plot twist so we all know who deserves the award for best port mafia betrayal
#ango should have created a gangstersona too⌠it would have been a bit more spicy#although I do admit that not knowing where angoâs loyalty lies does make the betrayals in dark era good#but I guess similar things apply to Tachihara too which is why chapter 77 hits so good#Rimbaud gets third place for pm betrayals ig I like that his motives are about gay love but otherwise itâs just an okay betrayal#dazai isnât even on the list because no one except Chuuya seems to count his defection as betrayal lol#I giggled so much during the episode because Tachihara was so dramatic throughout the episode ^_^ he is so funny#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#bsd season 4#tachihara michizou#bsd tachihara#ango sakaguchi#bsd ango
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im a child of divorce
#the bit is over when i say its over and even when its so joever for these two its not over for me!!! (once again i am on heavy copium)#anyway. thoughts behind the spoiler tags#gempearl#shiny duo#wild life smp#life series spoilers#wild life spoilers#i feel like. i actually was expecting that#no but its so funny the one time the negative consequences of something does actually get acknowledged its the SL finale âbetrayalâ/j#like cmon fuck me i guess/j (BIG EMPHASIS. ON THE SLASH J. OKAY.)#but honestly though i did expect Gem to hold a grudge over the 2v1 in SL. and. its good that there are consequences???#it IS a âbetrayalâ in Gemâs eyes. they were friends. they were murder besties for the last two sessions and then Pearl chose Scar over her#and its awesome man. [through gritted teeth] this is awesome man this will be good for character development ok ok ok. ok?#its also got something to do with Pearl having the red creep in. i think#because during SL Gem was like. nearly idolising the Scarlet Pearl persona while vaguely aware that her own reputation has a similar effect#and yknow. the horrors. the fact that their image is so heavily built on what others deem them to be and they can only play into it#but by the end of SL Gem gets âbetrayedâ by this persona that she looked up to#and also her own âGeminiSlayâ intimidating image is also starting to fall apart. partly of her own will#and now shes watching Pearl slowly turn red again. and this time she knows its not good for her or Pearl#so shes distancing herself from it. shes âtrying to fix her reputationâ. she sees Pearl falling into it again and just. no. i dont love you#you betrayed me last season#but on Pearlâs end of things sheâs already deep into the idea that as long as you say you âforgiveâ someone then everything thats happened#in the past doesnât matter and they can all be friends. and nooo absolutely no grudges will be held. no emotional repression here#so. because thats happened to her in her own team she thinks the same can happen with her and Gem#and thats so. im going to blow myself up now
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