#adventures of a late narrator

[the-parable-daily]

December 23:

Today, Stanley seemed oddly secretive. This annoyed Narrator greatly, so much so that he came down to try and talk face to face with stanley, rather then face to... well, voice. It didn't help, infact stanley seemed more secretive, but he promised Narrator if he stayed in his human form all day tomorow then he wouldn't regret it.

December 24:

Today, Narrator spent the whole day in his human form at Stanley's request. He had thought this was so they could spend some quality time together, but it seemed to be the complete opposite. He barely saw Stanley all day and spent a good chunk of it wandering around the Parable grumbling to himself until the Curator found him and asked if he would like to join her in a game of chess.

December 25:

Today, Stanley surprised everyone with a Christmas party. Everyone was there, Stanley, Narrator, Timekeeper, Curator, Mariela, The Bucket, The Adventure Line, The Fern, and even The Tape guy were all in the employee lounge. It certainly surprised Narrator, and Stanley told him he wanted to throw a party. They spent the day dining, drinking and talking... (well, it wasn't actual food or drink, and most of them couldn't talk...) In the evening, Stanley gave Narrator a gift. It was a sleek, black notebook with the Narrator's name on the side. Inside was a handwritten note that read: 'Merry Christmas Narrator, I hope you write some more nice endings and don't kill me so much. Love from Stanley x' Narrator instantly started blabbering about how he didn't know they were exchanging gifts, how much he loved it, and how he thought that his patience with Stanley was quite enough of a gift already, but Stanley just laughed silently and kissed him.

December 26:

It turned out that the drink from the Christmas party was actual drink, and everyone, (including The Bucket and The Adventure line, do not ask me how they managed to drink), woke up with raging hangovers. They did not do anything today.

[maxdanposts]

hi everyone. this is my narrator design

his name is nick pelvec. he is my son. my special little boy.

i had forgotten he had his 2nd birthday in august. 3rd of august, to be exact. so. happy 2 years old, nick. sorry. ill try not to forget next time.

[teenagefeeling]

searched for humor in my school's library catalog and there's a lot of shit like this and im a little obsessed

[flux1563]

The Beast Party

Another part of The Best Party

tags : orgy, sex party, squirting, ass and pussy gape, gangbang. 

Words : 11245

On a relaxing afternoon, Kim Minju, a former member of the idol group IZONE, and Kim Chaewon, a current member of LE SSERAFIM and also a former IZONE member, were hanging out together in the heart of Seoul. It had become somewhat of a tradition for the two to catch up whenever their busy schedules allowed — a comforting return to familiarity amidst the whirlwind of their separate lives.

Chaewon, true to form, was a whirlwind of energy, her laughter echoing through the cozy café they had chosen for their meetup. A free spirit with a penchant for spontaneity, she launched into vivid tales of her latest adventures, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her stories, often filled with late-night escapades and unexpected twists, left Minju both amused and slightly horrified. As Chaewon animatedly shared the latest gossip, her hands moved like a silent film starlet narrating a scandalous drama, drawing laughter and wide-eyed reactions from her old friend.

One evening, as the two friends lounged on the couch, surrounded by takeout boxes and forgotten TV shows, Chaewon's latest idea struck like a bolt of lightning. "Remember that wild party we had?" she began, her voice low and mischievous. "What if we went even wilder? Like, really wild. We could go on vacation and throw a beast party!"

Minju's eyes widened, and she sat up straight, a forgotten chopstick slipping from her fingers. "Africa?" she whispered, her mind racing with the possibilities. The continent was a canvas of adventure, a place where their most daring desires could become reality.

Their conversation grew heated, a tangible excitement charging the air. They scoured the internet, eyes glossing over images of vast savannahs and exotic beasts. They weren't just looking for a party, but a once-in-a-lifetime experience that would blow the doors off their mundane lives.

Their excitement grew with each click, and before they knew it, their dreams of a wild African adventure had crystallized into a plan. They'd leave the concrete jungle behind and immerse themselves in a place where the rules were theirs to rewrite. Little did they know, this journey would be the catalyst for a tale of passion and debauchery that would make their previous escapades seem tame.

Minju and Chaewon took a much-needed break from their frenzied preparations and stepped onto the golden sands of a secluded African beach, the sun setting in a fiery blaze behind them.

The villa they'd rented was a modern marvel, nestled in the embrace of lush palm trees, its gleaming white walls and thatched roof whispering of luxurious secrets. Inside, the cool embrace of air conditioning and the scent of tropical flowers greeted them like a soothing balm. They flopped onto the plush couches in the open-plan living area, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings.

"Can you believe we're actually here?" Minju said, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's like a dream come true."

Chaewon leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips. "I told you we could make it happen. Now, let's get down to business. We've got a party to plan!"

But Minju's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the fiery sun melted into the sea. "But we need to take a rest first," she murmured, the fatigue of their travels finally catching up to her.

The next day, they prepared themselves for the ultimate beach day, each donning an erotic bikini that screamed of their daring spirits. Minju's was a simple yet elegant black two-piece that accentuated her curves without revealing too much, while Chaewon opted for a flamboyant red number that barely contained her ample assets. The fabric was so skimpy it was practically a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Minju felt a jolt of excitement as she took in Chaewon's reflection. She'd never seen her friend look so... predatory. "You're going to turn heads," she said, her voice thick with desire.

"That's the idea," Chaewon purred, her hands smoothing over her hips. "But we need to make sure everyone's invited. Let's start with the locals. They know how to throw a party like nobody's business."

They spent the next few hours exploring the beach, their eyes peeled for any signs of life. The ocean rolled out before them, a vast, untamed sea that mirrored the wildness they sought. They approached a group of muscular young men playing beach volleyball, their dark skin gleaming with sweat. Chaewon wasted no time, sauntering over with a seductive smile. "Hey, guys," she called out, her voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "You wouldn't happen to know how to throw a party around here, would you?"

The men stopped mid-game, their gazes drawn to the two foreign beauties. The tallest one, a man named Kofi, grinned, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. "We throw the best parties on this coast," he boasted. "But we need more than just us."

Minju and Chaewon exchanged glances, their hearts racing with anticipation. "We want to invite everyone," Minju said. "Make it a week-long celebration. We've got the villa, the drinks, and the stamina. What do you say?"

Kofi's eyes lit up. "Seven days, seven nights of pure madness," he mused, a hint of challenge in his tone. "You're on. But you'd better be ready for what we bring to the table."

The two friends nodded eagerly, their imaginations already running wild with the possibilities. They had eight days to make their wildest fantasies come true, and they were going to use every single moment to its fullest. They returned to the villa, adrenaline pumping through their veins as they set about transforming the serene retreat into a hedonistic playground.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of excitement and preparation. They spent hours on the beach, soaking in the sun's kiss while they discussed party themes and guest lists. They swam in the warm waters, letting the waves crash over them as they laughed and plotted. The local market became their personal treasure trove, as they bought exotic foods and decorations that would make their event the talk of the town.

"This night gonna go wild for us," Chaewon said with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling like the diamond necklace she'd bought from a street vendor. She lounged on a sunbed, sipping a cocktail that was as vibrant as the setting sun. The alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, and she began to dance to the music playing softly from a nearby radio, her body moving in a way that was both sensual and uninhibited.

Minju watched her friend with a mix of admiration and nervousness. She knew Chaewon's power over men, and she hoped that their plan would not only be successful but also safe. They had spread the word far and wide that their villa was open to any man who sought a night of unbridled pleasure, a promise that had sent whispers through the local community like wildfire.

As night descended upon them, the air grew thick with anticipation. The scent of spicy meat sizzling on a makeshift BBQ mingled with the sweet aroma of tropical flowers, creating an intoxicating bouquet that hung heavy over the partygoers. The DJ, a local talent they had discovered in the market, had set up his decks on the beach, the bass thumping through the sand. The lights from the villa cast a warm glow over the gathering, which grew by the minute.

Minju and Chaewon didn't know how many men had responded to their invitation, but as they surveyed the growing crowd, they realized it was more than they had ever dreamed of. Each one was a potential dance partner, a conversationalist, or perhaps even something more. They felt a thrill of excitement, their hearts pounding in their chests like drums echoing the rhythm of the night.

As the party grew wilder, so did their drinking. The cocktails flowed freely, each one more potent than the last, and the two friends threw caution to the wind, letting the alcohol dissolve their inhibitions like sugar in water. Minju giggled as she sipped from a concoction that changed color with every sip, feeling the warmth spread through her body like a lover's embrace. Chaewon, ever the social butterfly, flitted from group to group, her laughter as potent as the drinks she handed out.

The music grew louder, the beats pulsating through the night like the heart of the jungle itself. The sand beneath their feet vibrated with the rhythm, and before long, the two friends found themselves at the center of the makeshift dance floor, their hips swaying to the hypnotic melody. The men watched them with hungry eyes, their gazes lingering on the way their bikinis barely contained their voluptuous forms.

Suddenly, the DJ couldn't resist the siren's call any longer. He abandoned his decks, leaving the music to play on repeat, and strutted over to Minju and Chaewon. His movements were fluid, almost feline, as he slipped between them, wrapping an arm around each of their waists. They laughed in surprise as he began to grind against them, his muscles flexing with the beat. The other partygoers cheered, creating a circle around the trio, egging them on with whistles and claps.

The air grew electric as the music's tempo increased. The men in the crowd, their eyes glazed with lust and alcohol, began to step closer, reaching out to touch the two friends. Minju felt a hand slip beneath the fabric of her bikini top, and she gasped, her body tensing. But instead of fear, she felt a thrill of excitement. This was what they had come for. Chaewon's eyes met hers, and she saw the same hunger reflected in her friend's gaze.

As if on cue, the DJ reached behind him and untied the string of his board shorts, letting them fall to the sand. He stepped back, revealing a cock that was indeed larger than any they had ever seen. It was thick, with a girth that could easily wrap a fist and a length that seemed to stretch on forever. The men in the crowd murmured in awe, their own desires swelling as they took in the sight.

The DJ's confidence grew with every beat of the music, and soon, more men began to follow his lead. They pulled down their swim trunks, exposing themselves to the warm night air. Each cock was a testament to the raw, unbridled lust that pulsed through the gathering. The sight was overwhelming, a veritable smorgasbord of male virility.

But it was the DJ's member that truly stole the show. With a diameter that could easily wrap a hand and a length that defied belief, it stood proudly before them like a monument to carnality. The crowd's murmurs grew into a dull roar, a primal chant that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath their feet.

The sight was both terrifying and thrilling, and Minju felt her pussy throb in response, wet with a need she hadn't realized she had. Chaewon's eyes widened, and she licked her lips, a wicked smile playing on her face as she took in the display before her. "Looks like we're in for a wild ride," she whispered into Minju's ear, the heat of her breath sending shivers down her spine.

Minju could only nod, her eyes still transfixed on the monstrous cock that seemed to have a life of its own, pulsing in time with the music. The DJ took a step closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, the promise of pleasure and pain wrapped up in one delicious package. She knew that she'd never be able to handle something so... substantial, but the thought of trying sent a thrill of excitement through her body.

"All of us are naked now," they murmured in unison, their voices a siren's call that echoed through the night. One by one, the partygoers began to shed their clothing, revealing their own desires for the world to see. The beach became a sea of naked flesh, each body a canvas of wanton need.

Minju's eyes were drawn to one man in particular, his cock a testament to the beauty of the African night. It was as big as her forearm, thick and veiny with a girth that had to be at least three inches in diameter. "Look at that," she whispered to Chaewon, her voice a mix of awe and apprehension. "It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

Chaewon followed her gaze, her pupils dilating with excitement. "Twelve inches lengths and three inches diameter, if it's an inch," she murmured, her hand absently reaching down to caress her own clit. The thought of taking such a monstrous member inside her was both terrifying and exhilarating. "I want to feel it," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music.

Minju felt a tremor of excitement run through her as the man with the colossal cock approached them, his stride confident and predatory. "You'll get it soon, baby," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate in her very core. His eyes were dark with lust as he looked her over, his cock jutting out before him like a spear.

The other men gathered around, their tongues already out, eager to taste the sweetness that was Minju and Chaewon. They began to lick them, starting at their toes and moving slowly up their legs. The sensation was strange, a mix of tickling and pleasure that made Minju's knees wobble. Chaewon moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as the men took turns, their tongues dancing over every inch of their skin.

One by one, the men knelt before them, their tongues flicking out to taste the nectar that was their pussies. Minju gasped as the first man's tongue met her clit, sending shockwaves through her body. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever felt, a symphony of pleasure that had her bucking against the sand. Chaewon's eyes were squeezed shut, her body arched as she rode the waves of pleasure that crashed over her.

Their hands reached out, tentatively at first, to the men surrounding them. They touched, explored, and teased, learning the contours of each cock as if they were sacred artifacts. The men groaned in unison, their hips jerking with every stroke of the girls' soft fingers. The party had become a ritual, a tapestry of desire that wove together the wildness of the jungle with the decadence of civilization.

Minju and Chaewon's tongues danced over the velvety heads of the men's cocks, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded at their tips. They took turns, each one eager to prove their skill, to show the others what they were capable of. The air was thick with the scent of arousal, a heady perfume that intoxicated them further.

The men groaned in unison, their eyes rolling back in their heads as the two friends worked in tandem, their mouths moving in a rhythm that was as ancient as it was erotic. Chaewon took the lead, her mouth sliding over one cock while her hand stroked another, her movements a symphony of seduction. Minju watched, her own desire spiking as she saw the effect they had on the men.

"Give us all that cock," Chaewon demanded, her voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Minju's spine. The words were a declaration of war on their inhibitions, a battle cry for their most primal instincts. The men didn't need any more encouragement. They surged forward, eager to satisfy the hunger in the girls' eyes.

Minju's breath hitched as she felt a cock nudge against her wetness, the tip teasing her swollen clit. It was the DJ, his member so thick it was like a battering ram at her gates. She spread her legs wider, welcoming the intrusion, the anticipation building to a crescendo within her. Chaewon, on the other hand, was surrounded by a group of men, each eager to claim a piece of her for themselves.

The man with the twelve-inch monstrosity didn't waste any time. He grabbed Chaewon's face and forced his cock into her mouth, his grip unyielding. Her eyes watered as she took him in, her throat stretching to accommodate his girth. He began to thrust, the sound of her gagging muffled by the cacophony of the party. Despite the fear and discomfort, she felt a twisted thrill, her body responding to the sheer power and dominance he exuded.

Meanwhile, two more men positioned themselves behind Minju, their cocks standing at attention. She felt the tip of one nudging at her pussy, the other at her ass, both so thick they seemed to be testing the limits of what she could handle. Her heart raced as she looked over at Chaewon, who met her gaze with a look that was a mix of terror and excitement. This was it, the moment of truth.

"Ready?" one of the men murmured in her ear, his breath hot and heavy with desire. Minju nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she braced herself for what was to come. With one swift movement, they entered her, one after the other, filling her completely. She screamed out, the word "fuck" torn from her throat with the force of a tornado. It was more than she'd ever felt, a sensation that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The man with the colossal cock took his position at the back, his grip firm as he guided himself into her tight, unexplored depths. Minju's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself stretched to the limits of endurance, her body trembling with the sheer size of him. Chaewon, on her knees beside her, watched with wide eyes, her own mouth full of another man's cock. She could feel her friend's pain, a mirror to her own, and she reached out to grip her hand, a silent offering of solidarity in their shared debauchery.

The two men inside her began to move in unison, their rhythm a brutal dance that had her body jolting with every thrust. She could feel every vein, every pulse of their cocks as they claimed her, their girth stretching her to the point of agony. Her pussy and ass burned, but amidst the pain was a blossoming flower of pleasure, a sweet agony that had her hips rising to meet them, eager for more.

"Aghh, my pussy and ass stretch so much," Minju groaned, her voice a desperate cry that was swallowed by the roar of the party. Her words were a siren's call, drawing more men to her, eager to claim a piece of the exotic beauty before them. They watched with hungry eyes, stroking themselves as they waited for their turn, the sight of her being used so thoroughly only adding to their arousal.

Chaewon's mouth was a cavern of pleasure around the thick shaft in her mouth, her cheeks hollowed with the effort of taking him in. She could feel his cock pulse with every beat of his heart, his excitement growing as he watched his friends claim Minju. The taste of him was musky, a blend of sweat and lust that she found oddly intoxicating. Despite her own discomfort, she felt a thrill run through her, a heady mix of power and submission.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body responding to the relentless pounding. She felt her orgasm building, a tsunami that she had no hope of holding back. The man with the colossal cock was a maestro, his strokes deep and sure, hitting a spot inside her that she didn't even know existed. The pressure grew, a tight coil in her belly, until she could bear it no longer.

With a scream that was lost in the din of the party, Minju squirted, the force of her release so intense it drenched the men behind her. Chaewon watched, her eyes glazed with a mix of shock and arousal as her friend's body bucked and writhed in pleasure. The sight of Minju's pussy gushing was a revelation, a display of sexual power that had the men around her stumbling over themselves to get closer.

The man with the massive cock took this as his cue to let go, and with a triumphant roar, he began to pump his seed into Minju's welcoming depths. The sensation of being filled so completely was almost too much for her, and she collapsed onto the sand, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Chaewon felt a wetness spread between her own thighs, the sight of Minju's pleasure triggering a climax of her own. She squirted, her pussy spraying the man who had been fucking her face, her juices mingling with the spit and cum that already coated her features.

As the first round of passion waned, the men withdrew, their cocks slick with the girls' cum and their own. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady mix that seemed to intoxicate everyone present. The men looked down at Minju and Chaewon with a mix of awe and lust, their seed spurting from their pussy and ass, painting the sand with a sticky, white trail. The girls lay there, panting and spent, their bodies limp as ragdolls.

"Our dreams come true, Chaewon," Minju murmured, her voice shaky with the aftermath of her climax.

"I think my pussy keep spasming," Chaewon gasped, her breathing still ragged as she leaned against Minju, their bodies sticky with a mix of sweat and cum. The feeling of the cool sand against her back was a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had just consumed her.

"Mine too," Minju agreed, her voice a hoarse whisper. The man who had just filled her to the brim with his seed looked down at her with a smug smile, his eyes lingering on the gaping O her pussy had become. His friends crowded around, their own cocks still erect and glistening with pre-cum, eager to take their turns.

One by one, they stepped up, each taking a moment to admire the sight before them. They were like animals in heat, each more primal than the last, as they claimed Minju's body with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She felt their weight upon her, their cocks sliding into her, stretching her until she thought she would split in two.

The men took turns, their grunts and groans mixing with Minju's cries of pleasure. Each round was a new adventure, a new level of depravity that she had never before experienced. She felt her body respond to their every touch, her pussy contracting around their cocks as if it had been made just for this. Chaewon, not to be outdone, was busy taking on two men at once, her mouth and pussy a never-ending source of pleasure for them.

Their juices flowed freely, mingling with the sweat that coated their bodies. The sight of Minju's pussy, stretched and dripping, was too much for the men to resist. They took turns, each one more eager than the last to feel her squirt around them, to be the one to make her body convulse with pleasure. Her moans grew louder with each round, her voice hoarse from the sheer volume of her passion.

The partygoers watched, their own desires stoked by the sight of Minju and Chaewon being taken so thoroughly. The beach had become a carnival of lust, a place where inhibitions were left at the door and every desire was allowed to roam free. The music continued to play, the bass pounding in time with the rhythm of their hips, as if the very earth was in sync with their carnality.

As the night wore on, the men grew more aggressive, their strokes more frenzied. They were like a pack of wild animals, each fighting for dominance, each eager to leave their mark. Minju felt herself become a part of the landscape, her body a battleground for their desires. Yet, through it all, she never once felt less than the queen of the night.

The men took her to the edge and beyond, pushing her to heights she had never dared dream of. Her squirts grew stronger with each round, her body a fountain of pleasure that seemed to have no end. Chaewon, too, was lost in her own world, her eyes glazed with lust as she took on more and more men.

Ten rounds, then eleven, and still they came. Each man took his turn, each one more vigorous than the last. The beach was a blur of limbs and flesh, a tapestry of desire and debauchery that stretched as far as the eye could see. And through it all, Minju and Chaewon remained the center, their bodies a canvas for the men's pleasure.

Their cries grew louder, their bodies weaker, until finally, with a collective roar, the men released their seed. It spurted into Minju, filling her to the brim until she could take no more. She collapsed, her body trembling with the force of her climax, her pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. Chaewon followed suit, her legs giving out as she was drenched in cum.

As the twelfth round came to an end, the crowd erupted into applause. The men, their cocks now sated, stepped back, their chests heaving with exertion. They had given the girls the experience they had craved, and in return, Minju and Chaewon had given them a night they would never forget.

The two friends lay there, panting and exhausted, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. They looked at each other, the reality of what they had just done setting in. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, a moment that had surpassed any party they had ever thrown in Seoul.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shaking as she felt another round of pleasure build up inside her. She didn't think it was possible, but her pussy was still pulsing, begging for more. Chaewon, equally spent, leaned into her, their bodies sticking together with the remnants of the men's passion.

Their breathing grew shallow, their hearts racing like wild horses as the men continued to worship them. Each new cock brought with it a fresh wave of sensation, a symphony of pain and pleasure that seemed to never end. It was as if their bodies had been taken over by some primal instinct, a hunger that could never be fully satiated.

With each new round, Minju felt herself slipping further into the abyss, her mind a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. The men's grunts and groans grew fainter, the world around them a blur of color and sound. The only thing that remained clear was the feeling of their cocks inside her, a never-ending dance of dominance and submission.

As the night grew darker and the stars twinkled above them, the men grew bolder. They pushed and pulled at her, their hands roaming over every inch of her flesh as if they could never get enough. Her pussy clenched around them, her ass spasming with each thrust, a silent scream of pleasure that echoed through the night.

The girls' moans grew weaker, their bodies no longer able to keep up with the relentless onslaught. Yet even as they reached their breaking points, the men didn't relent. They had become beasts, driven by a lust that seemed to have no end. Minju felt her vision swim, the world going dark at the edges.

Suddenly, with a gasp, she felt it. Her orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer, her body arching off the sand as she squirted once more, the force of it so intense that it sent shockwaves through the very air. Chaewon's eyes rolled back in her head, her own body responding to the symphony of pleasure.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The men stepped back, their cocks still erect but their eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and awe. They had taken the two friends to the very brink of their limits and back again.

Their bodies lay still, their breathing ragged and uneven, as the reality of what they had just done set in. They had given themselves over to the night, to the wildness of Africa, and had come out the other side forever changed.

"I think we should stop, it's been fifteen rounds," one of the men spoke up, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the universe. His words hung in the air, a sobering reminder that even the most hedonistic of nights must come to an end.

Minju's body continued to quiver, her pussy and ass clenching around the two cocks still buried inside her. Her squirts had turned into a constant flow, a river of pleasure that seemed to have no end. She could feel her muscles protesting, begging for respite, but the desire was too strong, too all-consuming to ignore.

Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climaxes. Her face was a mask of ecstasy, her eyes glazed over as she too succumbed to the relentless pounding. The men had become a blur of skin and muscle, a never-ending stream of cocks that filled her to the brim.

Finally, with a collective groan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth, the men withdrew. The last of them pulled out of Chaewon's pussy, leaving it gaping and swollen, a testament to the night's excesses. Minju felt a pang of jealousy as she watched the cum dribble out of her friend's tight hole, her own desires flaring up once again.

The beach was silent except for the sound of the waves and the heavy breathing of the exhausted partygoers. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a reminder of the carnival of lust that had unfolded before their very eyes. Minju's body was a map of bruises and bites, a roadmap of pleasure that she would wear proudly for days to come.

Her eyes fluttered open, the world coming into focus slowly. Chaewon lay next to her, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, her face a mask of exhaustion. The men had moved away, leaving them alone in their post-coital bliss. Minju pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting the movement but her spirit unbroken.

Her eyes traveled down to her pussy, still glistening with cum, and she watched in amazement as it spasmed, releasing another stream of fluid into the night air. It was as if her body hadn't gotten the memo that the party was over, the orgasms still coming in waves even when she thought she had nothing left to give. Chaewon's body seemed to echo her own, her pussy clenching and releasing in a silent symphony of pleasure.

"Done for tonight guys, they got faint," one of the men announced, his voice a mix of concern and satisfaction. The crowd of men around them nodded in agreement, their cocks still hard but their eyes filled with a newfound respect for the two friends who had taken them on a journey they would never forget.

Minju and Chaewon were hoisted up by the strong arms of the beach volleyball players and carried back to the villa, their legs limp and their bodies covered in the sticky residue of the night's festivities. The moon cast a soft glow over the path, lighting their way as they stumbled through the door, their hearts racing from both the exertion and the excitement of the evening.

The girls were brought to a grand floor-to-ceiling bathroom, the white marble gleaming in the dim light. They were laid down gently on the cold, hard surface, their bodies shivering from the sudden change in temperature. The men looked down at them with a mix of lust and affection, their own cocks still standing tall despite the hours of use.

Without a word, one of the men stepped forward and positioned himself between Minju's legs, his cock still slick with her juices. He began to piss, the warm stream hitting her swollen clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Chaewon watched, her own desire flaring up again as she felt the warmth of another man's urine cascade over her. It was a strange, almost tender act, a communion of bodies that transcended the mere physical.

The men took turns, their golden rivers mingling with the cum and sweat that coated the girls. The scent was pungent, a potent mix of sex and bodily fluids that seemed to fill the room. Minju's body reacted involuntarily, her pussy clenching around the warmth, her squirts joining the stream to create a small pool on the marble. Chaewon moaned, her own pussy spasming as the urine hit her sensitive flesh.

The sensation was oddly soothing, a balm to their abused bodies. They lay there, letting the piss wash over them, cleansing them of the night's excesses. It was as if the very essence of the men was being transferred into them, marking them as their own.

When the last man had emptied himself, they stepped back, their eyes never leaving the girls' prone forms. The music from the party outside grew faint, the night air a gentle caress against their skin. The moment hung in the air, a tableau of desire and submission that neither Minju nor Chaewon would ever forget.

With a nod to each other, the beach volleyball players turned on the jet shower, the powerful stream of water hitting the marble floor with a sharp hiss. The spray arced over the girls' bodies, the water a warm embrace that began to wash away the evidence of their night of unbridled passion. The men stepped aside, leaving them to the mercy of the water, their eyes lingering on the two friends as they retreated from the bathroom.

Minju felt the water hit her face, her eyes still squeezed shut from the intensity of her experiences. She let out a soft moan as the warmth began to soothe her, the pressure of the jets massaging her sore muscles. Her pussy, though still pulsing with need, seemed to have finally found a moment of reprieve. Chaewon lay beside her, equally spent, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

The men had been surprisingly gentle in their aftercare, their rough hands tender as they had helped clean the sticky residue from their bodies. They had worked as a team, wiping away the evidence of their passion with a thoroughness that was almost clinical.

As the last of them left the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click, Minju and Chaewon were left alone. The only sound was the steady drip of water from the showerhead, a gentle reminder of the river of fluids that had flowed between them.

Minju's body was a canvas of ecstasy, her pussy and ass gaping open like a pair of surprised O's, a silent testament to the men's unyielding dominance. Chaewon's legs were sprawled out, her own pussy and ass still pulsing with the aftershocks of their shared experience. They lay there, unmoving, their bodies a testament to the unbridled passion they had just endured.

"Wow, their pussies are still gaping," one of the men said to the others, his voice filled with amazement. The rest of the group chuckled, their laughter a mix of disbelief and admiration. They had never seen anything quite so depraved, and yet, there was something undeniably alluring about the two women's vulnerability.

The night had been a blur of pleasure and pain, a symphony of flesh that had left them all reeling. But as the first light of dawn began to peek over the horizon, the reality of what they had done set in. They had pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable, and the aftermath was both exhilarating and terrifying.

 

Minju and Chaewon lay there, their bodies a tapestry of bruises and bites, their pussies and assholes gaping open like open flowers, begging for more. The cool water from the shower had brought a slight respite, but it was the gentle touch of each other's hands that truly helped to soothe their spirits. They climbed to their feet, their legs wobbly as newborn foals, and stumbled into the massive bathtub that was part of the villa's luxurious bathroom.

The shock of the sperm continuing to ooze out of them was something they had not anticipated. It was as if their bodies were a sponge, soaked in cum and now slowly releasing it back into the world. They giggled to themselves as they slid into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the last remnants of the men's seed slide out of them with a soft plop. The tub filled with a murky white mixture, a silent testament to the marathon of fucking they had just endured.

"Did we go too wild last night?" Chaewon whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Minju chuckled, her body still buzzing from the endless stream of pleasure. "Maybe," she said, her voice equally raspy. "But look at us now. Our pussies are still giving us a standing ovation."

They slid into the tub, the warm water enveloping them like a comforting embrace. It washed over their sore muscles, the jets massaging away the tension of the night. The sperm and piss swirled around their bodies, a bizarre mix that seemed to symbolize the unity they had shared with the men.

As the water grew murkier, Minju reached for the soap, her hand shaking slightly. She began to lather herself up, her movements methodical and precise. Chaewon watched her, a strange sense of awe filling her chest. Despite the pain, she felt a sense of pride at what they had achieved.

They had pushed themselves beyond their limits and come out the other side, forever changed. The soap slid over Minju's bruised skin, bubbles popping as they touched the myriad of bites and scratches that adorned her body. Chaewon followed suit, the foam clinging to her curves as she washed away the remnants of their wild night.

When they could no longer ignore the call of their weary bodies, they stepped out of the tub, the water draining away and revealing their exhausted forms. The plush bathrobes that had been left for them were like a warm embrace, the soft fabric caressing their sensitive skin as they wrapped themselves up in them. Their feet padded softly against the cool marble, leaving wet footprints as they made their way back to the bedroom, the warmth of the robes a stark contrast to the chill of the floor.

The bed was a heavenly sight, the crisp white sheets beckoning to them like a cloud. They collapsed onto it, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs. Despite the pain and the stickiness that lingered, they felt a deep sense of satisfaction, a bond that went beyond friendship, forged in the crucible of their shared experience. They lay there for a moment, panting and trembling, their hearts slowly returning to a more normal rhythm.

Then, the knock came.

It was a firm, insistent knock, echoing through the quiet villa, a stark contrast to the symphony of pleasure that had filled it just hours before. Minju's eyes snapped open, her heart racing. Chaewon stirred beside her, a sleepy groan escaping her lips as she too was jolted from the haze of their afterglow. They stared at each other in shock, the reality of their situation crashing down upon them like a tidal wave.

Minju's hand trembled as she reached for the knob. As she pulled the door open, she was met with a sight that was both erotic and intimidating: a sea of naked, aroused men, their eyes hungry with desire.

"We heard it was a week-long party," Kofi, the DJ from the beach, said with a wink. "We didn't want to miss our turn."

Minju and Chaewon shared a look that was half fear, half excitement. They had never intended for things to go this far, but there was something in the air that night, a primal energy that had taken control of everyone involved. With a collective sigh, they allowed their bathrobes to be taken off, their bruised and swollen bodies once again on full display.

The men's eyes were like those of hunters who had just spotted their prey, filled with a mix of awe and greed. They had seen these two women in their most vulnerable state and were eager to claim them once more. The air grew thick with lust as the robes fell away, revealing the two friends' still-dripping pussies and the marks of the previous night's passion.

Minju felt a rush of excitement and fear mingle in her chest. Her body was still raw from the previous night's festivities, but the sight of the men's hard cocks made her stomach flutter. Chaewon, ever the wild one, gave a low, guttural growl, her body visibly responding to the challenge laid before them.

With a grace that seemed almost predatory, the men stepped forward, their bathrobes sliding off their muscular frames to reveal their arousal. The room was filled with the sound of fabric hitting the floor, the gentle thuds echoing in the quiet. Their cocks stood tall and proud, a silent promise of more pleasure to come.

The first man approached Minju, his cock thick and veiny, the head glistening with pre-cum. Without a word, he pushed her onto her back, her legs falling open as if on instinct. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he positioned himself at her entrance. With one swift movement, he plunged into her, filling her up without a moment's hesitation.

"Fuckk, still sore," Chaewon screamed, her voice a mix of pleasure and pain as she was claimed by another man. Her body arched off the bed, her toes curling in ecstasy as he slammed into her, his cock stretching her beyond what she thought possible.

Minju felt a similar wave of sensation as she was taken by Kofi once more, his rhythm relentless and demanding. Despite her exhaustion, she found herself meeting his every thrust, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. Her body had become an instrument of pleasure, a vessel for the men's desires.

The days turned into a blur of sexual excess, each night more intense than the last. The local men took turns with them, their appetites seemingly insatiable. They had become the main attraction of the week-long party, the center of a sexual circus that never stopped. The girls' bodies bore the marks of their encounters, a tapestry of bruises and bites that grew more intricate with each passing hour.

And yet, through it all, there was a strange sense of camaraderie that had developed between them. They had become a team, each one pushing the other to new heights of pleasure, each one eager to explore the depths of their sexuality. They had discovered something within themselves, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

As the week progressed, the men grew more daring in their requests, eager to claim every inch of the two friends. They had become a part of the fabric of the party, a symbol of the unbridled lust that had overtaken the beach villa. The other guests watched with a mix of envy and admiration, their own sexual escapades seemingly tame in comparison to the marathon sessions that Minju and Chaewon endured each night.

The two women had grown to crave the attention, the pain a strange comfort in the sea of pleasure. They had become addicted to the feeling of being used, of being the object of so much desire. And with each new cock that filled them, they grew more confident, more in tune with their own desires.

The days passed in a haze of orgasms and exhaustion, the two friends rarely leaving the bed except to eat or use the bathroom. Their bodies were pushed to the brink, their pussies and assholes gaping and swollen from the constant attention. Yet, they never said no.

On the final night, as the party reached its peak, the men gathered around the bed, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and satisfaction. They had saved their best for last, a night that would be talked about for years to come. The girls lay there, their bodies trembling with anticipation, their hearts racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

The last man stepped forward, his cock the largest they had ever seen. Chaewon looked at him with a mix of trepidation and desire, her eyes wide with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Without a word, he positioned himself at her tight, stretched asshole, her pussy already filled to the brim by another man. With one hand, he gripped her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her throat.

With the other, he pushed into her, the head of his cock stretching her open. She screamed, her body bucking against the intrusion, but he didn't relent. Inch by inch, he filled her, his cock claiming her in a way that was both brutal and beautiful.

Minju watched, her own pussy being pounded by a different man, her body a trembling mass of nerves and pleasure. She felt a strange sense of pride as she watched her friend take the final challenge, her body stretched to its limits.

And as the night grew darker and the music grew louder, the two friends reached new heights of ecstasy, their screams mingling with the crash of the waves outside. They had become legends, the center of a sexual odyssey that had changed them forever.

As the last man pulled out, their bodies lay there, spent and used, their eyes glazed over with a look that was half-defeated, half-triumphant. They had done the unthinkable, and in doing so, had discovered something new about themselves. They had become more than just Minju and Chaewon, the roommates and idol from Seoul. They had become the embodiment of desire itself, a living, breathing testament to the power of sexual freedom.

The partygoers erupted into applause once more, their cheers a cacophony that filled the night air. The two friends looked at each other, their bodies slick with cum and sweat, their spirits unbroken despite the relentless onslaught of the past week. They had become the embodiment of sexual endurance, a spectacle that drew both admiration and envy from the crowd.

The men took turns, each one more eager than the last to claim his piece of the two exhausted women. They approached with a hunger that was almost feral, their cocks hard and insistent. The rhythm of their fucking never changed, a steady beat that had become a part of Minju and Chaewon's existence. The pain was a familiar friend now, a constant companion that they welcomed with each new thrust.

Each man took his time, savoring the feel of their tight, abused pussies, pushing deeper and harder as if trying to conquer some unspoken challenge. Minju felt a strange mix of pride and fear as she took each one, her body adapting to the relentless pace, her mind a haze of sensation. Chaewon lay beside her, her body a mirror image of her own, a symphony of pleasure and pain that seemed to have no end.

The night grew wilder, the air thick with lust and the scent of sex. The men grew more aggressive, their movements more primal as they claimed the two friends in every conceivable way. They were no longer individuals; they were a single entity of desire, a living, breathing representation of the human capacity for pleasure.

And through it all, Minju and Chaewon held on, their bodies stretched to the limit, their minds soaring on the wings of ecstasy. They had become one with the night, with the beach, with the very essence of the party. The line between reality and fantasy had blurred, leaving them in a state of perpetual arousal that seemed to have no end.

The final round approached, the air in the villa electric with anticipation. The men had saved their most extreme desires for last, a crescendo of depravity that would leave the girls forever changed. They had pushed them to their limits, and yet they still hungered for more.

The local DJ, Kofi, took the lead, his eyes burning with a hunger that was almost frightening. He pulled Minju onto all fours, her ass in the air, a silent invitation to the men who waited eagerly. One by one, they took her, filling her pussy and ass with their seed, the sounds of their pleasure a symphony of grunts and groans that seemed to shake the very walls.

Chaewon watched, her own body being used by the others, her eyes never leaving her friend's. There was a connection there, a bond that went beyond friendship, beyond any experience they had ever shared. They were in this together, two souls forever linked by the wildness of the night.

The final man stepped up, his cock the largest of all. With a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, he plunged into Minju's gaping asshole, his thrusts brutal and unyielding. She took it all, her body shaking with each powerful stroke, her eyes never leaving Chaewon's.

The tension in the room grew palpable, the men holding their breath as they watched the two friends reach the peak of their endurance. Chaewon's own climax grew closer, her pussy clenching around the cock that filled her. The room was a blur of skin and sweat, a maelstrom of passion that seemed to have no end.

And as the final man reached his climax, filling Minju with his hot cum, the two friends shared a look that was part triumph, part terror. They had survived the week, their bodies a testament to the power of sexual desire. They had become more than mere mortals, they had become goddesses of lust, worshipped by the men who had sought to conquer them.

As the last of the men withdrew, the two friends collapsed onto the bed, their bodies trembling with exhaustion. They lay there, their breathing shallow and uneven, the room silent but for the sound of the waves outside. The party had reached its climax, and as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over their bruised and spent forms, they knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

The second night of the week-long party had been just as intense as the first. The local men had once again claimed them, their hunger for the two friends seemingly insatiable. As dawn approached, they had been led into the bathroom, their legs shaking with fatigue. The men had taken turns pissing on them, their warm streams washing over their bodies in a strange ritual that had become a nightly occurrence.

But this time, something was different. The men didn't wait for the shower to be turned on, they didn't watch the water cascade over the girls' bodies, washing away the evidence of their lust. Instead, they simply left, their eyes filled with a mix of respect and awe. The urine grew cold on Minju and Chaewon's skin, a stark reminder of the power dynamics that had been established.

Their bodies continued to spasm, their pussies pulsing with each aftershock of pleasure. They had pushed themselves to the brink and come out the other side, their bodies no longer under their control. The men had used them, claimed them in the most primal of ways, and now they were left to bask in the aftermath.

The silence was deafening as they lay there, their breathing the only sound in the cavernous bathroom. The marble was sticky beneath them, the floor a testament to the night's events. They were alone, their hearts racing from the sheer intensity of their experiences. And yet, there was something exhilarating about it all, a sense of freedom that neither had ever felt before.

Their bodies grew still, the tremors of pleasure subsiding as the last of the men's cum oozed out of them. The bruises and bite marks stood out starkly against their skin, a roadmap of their week of excess. But amidst the pain, there was a sense of accomplishment, a knowing that they had tapped into something deep within themselves.

As the last of the men disappeared from view, Minju reached for Chaewon's hand, their fingers entwined in a silent promise. They had been through hell and back together, and their friendship had emerged stronger than ever. They had become warriors of desire, untouchable and unbreakable.

They lay on the cold marble floor, the stickiness of the cum beneath them a constant reminder of the night's events. Despite the discomfort, exhaustion claimed them, their bodies succumbing to the much-needed reprieve of sleep. Chaewon's breath grew deep and even as she drifted off first, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when they were jolted awake by the acrid scent of urine and the sticky warmth of cum seeping from their overused pussies and assholes. Their eyes snapped open, the harsh reality of the new day assaulting their senses. Minju groaned as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her body protesting every movement. Chaewon's hand found hers, a silent offering of comfort as they took in the aftermath of their sexual marathon.

"I think... I regret it," Chaewon 

murmured, her voice thick with sleep and pain. The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the wild cries of pleasure that had filled the villa just hours earlier. Chaewon stirred beside her, her eyes opening to meet her friend's gaze.

Minju looked down at her own pussy, still sticky and bruised from the relentless pounding. A small trickle of cum slipped out, a silent answer to Chaewon's question. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It still feels... full."

They managed to get to their feet, their legs wobbly and unsteady. The floor felt like it was moving beneath them, a gentle reminder of the waves that had crashed against their bodies the night before. Chaewon reached for the shower handle, her hand trembling with the effort. The water came on with a rush, the steam billowing out to fill the room.

"Come on," she said, her voice still thick with the night's pleasures. "Let's clean up."

They stumbled into the shower, the hot water washing over their bruised bodies like a balm. They stood under the stream, letting the warmth soothe their sore muscles and wash away the stickiness of the night. Minju looked at Chaewon, the question in her eyes. "Did your pussy keep squirting a little bit until now?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Chaewon nodded, her eyes closed as the water cascaded over her face. "Mine too," she murmured. "It's like it's not finished with us yet."

They stepped out of the shower, the steam clinging to their skin like a lover's embrace. They wrapped themselves in plush towels, the softness a stark contrast to the rough treatment their bodies had endured. The bedroom beckoned, the bed a sanctuary from the world outside.

And, as if by some unspoken agreement, the villa remained pristine, the evidence of their depraved night erased as if by magic. The sheets were fresh, the floor clean, the air faintly scented with the sweet smell of tropical blooms. It was as if the very walls had absorbed their cries of ecstasy, the room a silent witness to their sexual odyssey.

Minju couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude as she looked around the space, her body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure. "We are lucky," she said to Chaewon, her voice filled with wonder. "The guys always clean up the room for us."

Chaewon nodded, her eyes distant. "It's like we're in some kind of twisted fairy tale," she murmured, her fingers tracing the fresh bruises that adorned her breasts. "But instead of a dragon, we have an endless supply of cock."

They climbed into bed, their exhausted bodies sinking into the plush mattress with a sigh of relief. The clean, crisp sheets enveloped them in a cool embrace, a stark contrast to the sticky mess they had left behind. They lay there, side by side, their hearts beating in sync with the gentle pulse of the ocean outside.

Minju closed her eyes, her mind racing with images of the men's faces, the feel of their cocks inside her, the sound of their moans. Despite the pain, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a feeling of having conquered something profound. Chaewon's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining as they lay in silence.

The third night of the week-long party had started innocently enough, with the two friends sipping cocktails by the pool as the sun set over the horizon. The local men had been more attentive than ever, their eyes never leaving the girls' bodies as they flitted from guest to guest, ensuring everyone's needs were met. But as darkness fell and the party grew more raucous, the air thick with desire, something within Minju had shifted.

As she lay on the plush bed, her body still sticky from the shower, she felt the mattress dip as the first man of the evening joined them. She didn't even bother to open her eyes, the anticipation of his touch already making her pussy clench with need. But when she felt his cock pushing against her, she was taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Without a word, without a single gesture of consent, she was filled once again, his thickness stretching her already tender pussy. Chaewon stirred beside her, a soft moan escaping her lips as she too was claimed by another eager participant. They had become so accustomed to the constant intrusion that it almost felt natural now, a part of their daily routine.

"When did you come in?" Minju managed to ask, her voice a hoarse whisper as she felt the weight of the man's body on top of her. "Is it already night?"

Chaewon moaned with a little voice, her eyes still closed, lost in the sensations of the man's rough entry. "I don't know," she murmured, her hips already beginning to rock back to meet his thrusts. "Does it matter?"

The man chuckled, his grip on her hips tightening. "Not at all," he said, his voice a dark rumble. "You're both so beautiful, so open." He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "So eager."

Minju felt a strange mix of fear and excitement as she heard the click of cameras, the flashes of light piercing the darkness. She knew they were being watched, their every move recorded for posterity. It was a thrill that she had never experienced before, a heady mix of power and vulnerability. She looked at Chaewon, whose eyes were open now, the same mix of emotions swirling in their depths.

The men took turns, each one eager to leave his mark on their bodies, to claim a piece of the two friends for himself. The cameras rolled, capturing every gasp, every moan, every drop of cum that spurted from their abused holes. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, a symphony of desire that seemed to have no end.

The night was a blur of cocks, of hands and tongues and teeth, of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. They were drilled in every possible way, their pussies and assholes stretched beyond what they had ever thought possible. The men took turns, their faces a mix of lust and concentration as they sought to outdo one another in their pursuit of pleasure.

And as the gallon of cum filled them, their bodies quivering with each new round, Minju felt something within her shift. It was no longer about the party, the fashion line, or even the money. It was about this, the raw, primal connection between flesh and desire. She had become a conduit for their pleasure, and in doing so, she had discovered something about herself that she never knew existed.

The local men had noticed their lack of vocal response and took it as a challenge. "The video is bad when you two don't moan and speak," one of them said, his voice low and demanding. The words sent a jolt through Minju's body, and she understood what he wanted. The cameras were rolling, the audience eager to hear the sweet sounds of their pleasure.

Chaewon, ever the performer, took the lead, her moans growing louder, more exaggerated with each thrust. Minju followed suit, her voice joining the chorus of passionate cries that filled the room. They spoke to the men, whispered sweet nothings and dirty words that made them growl and pump harder. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of their surrender to the night.

Their lovers grew more aggressive, their strokes more punishing as they sought to elicit the reactions they desired. Minju felt a strange sense of power as she watched the men respond to their cues, their eyes glazed with need as they pushed themselves closer to the edge. She had become a maestro, conducting the symphony of their desires with her voice and her body.

The room grew hotter, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. The men took turns filming and fucking, their phones capturing every moment of the two friends' degradation. And amidst it all, Minju couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. They were the stars of this show, the center of a universe that revolved around their pleasure.

"Again, squirt for us," one of the men ordered, his voice gruff with desire. Chaewon's eyes snapped open, a look of determination crossing her features. She knew what they wanted, knew the power that lay in her ability to perform. With a deep breath, she pushed back against her partner, her pussy contracting around his cock as she forced herself to orgasm once more.

The room erupted in cheers as she squirted, the evidence of her pleasure arcing through the air like a fountain. The man filming her let out a groan, his hand shaking with the effort of capturing the perfect shot. Minju felt a thrill run through her at the sight, her own pussy clenching with envy. She had never felt so alive, so in control.

The third night had started with a ferocity that had taken even Minju by surprise. The local men had wasted no time, their cocks already hard and demanding as they claimed the two friends the moment they had settled into the bed. There was no gentle warm-up, no tender kisses or sweet whispers. It was raw, animalistic, and it was exactly what they needed.

Minju's mouth remained open, a silent scream of pleasure escaping her lips as cock after cock filled her to the brim. Each time she came, the cum of the man before spilled out of her mouth, mixing with her own saliva as she gagged and swallowed. Chaewon, equally lost in the haze of pleasure, had her face buried in the pillow, her cries muffled by the fabric.

The party had become a marathon of lust, and the two friends had become its champions. As the night stretched on, their bodies had become a canvas for the local men's desires, painted with sweat and cum. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a potent cocktail that intoxicated them further. They had transcended the limits of pleasure, each new sensation a revelation of their own carnality.

It was almost 3 AM, and yet the party showed no signs of winding down. The local men, fueled by a mix of alcohol and adrenaline, seemed to have an endless supply of energy. They took turns with Minju and Chaewon, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. The girls had become more than just participants; they were the embodiment of desire itself.

As the night grew later, the rhythm of the music grew more primal, the bass thumping through the floorboards like the pulse of a giant beast. The air grew thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady aphrodisiac that only served to drive the men to greater heights of passion. And yet, amidst the chaos, Minju and Chaewon remained the calm center, their bodies accepting each new partner with an almost mechanical grace.

Finally, as the first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, the men grew satiated. They had taken everything the girls had to offer and then some, leaving them trembling and spent. With a final round of applause, they helped the exhausted duo to their feet, leading them unsteadily back to the bathroom. The cold marble floor was a stark contrast to the heat of the bed, sending a shiver up Minju's spine as she stepped onto it.

Chaewon's legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of her last orgasm. The men chuckled, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction as they stepped over her, heading back to the party. Minju leaned against the vanity, her hand shaking as she reached for the shower handle. The water was cold, almost painfully so, but it was exactly what she needed.

The spray hit her body, the chill making her gasp as it washed away the sticky mess of the night. She looked down, her pussy still gaping, the muscles inside spasming with each aftershock. The sight of her own body, so used and abused, only served to heighten her arousal. Chaewon joined her under the spray, her eyes meeting Minju's in the steamy mirror.

They were a mess, cum dripping from their mouths and down their chins, their breasts red and bruised from the rough handling. Yet there was something undeniably erotic about it all, something that made Minju's heart race even as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

Chaewon leaned against her, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her own climax. "We can't keep this up,".

Minju nodded, her eyes glazed over with the intensity of the night's events. "We need to rest," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the pounding of the water.

Their legs finally gave out, and they collapsed to the floor, the cool tiles a welcome reprieve from the sticky mess that had been their bed. The water rained down on them, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered in their loins. They leaned against each other, their bodies trembling with the effort of standing.

The men had retreated, their laughter echoing through the villa. "After they faint, they can still keep squirting and shaking" one of them said, his words carrying a mix of amazement and contempt. "Such sluts, the two of you."

[the-secretary-of-baker-street]

How Dr Watson fooled a nation: And why we continue to hide his secret

Everyone has heard of Mr Sherlock Holmes: within the same breath, we are usually moved to mention his companion, and the man who we have to thank for narrating the famous detective's life, Dr John Watson. One only has to mention a terrifying hound, perhaps relate to a watery death by the Reichenbach falls, or even (for more dedicated readers) discuss retirement in Sussex, for the name ‘Holmes’ to come to mind. Who out of us has not responded to a blasé statement with the phrase ‘No shit, Sherlock’? Who out of us does not link the deerstalker and pipe to the familiar detective? Who out of us hasn’t watched a single adaptation, in which the malicious Moriarty or mysterious Mycroft are referenced? It is highly improbable one has never heard of this detective duo, even if one hasn’t ever been moved to read any of the sixty stories produced over a forty year time frame. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are icons, arguably cemented into the fabric of the nation.

But how much of it is true?

Obviously, it is fair to state that no, none of the fictionalised work penned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century is real, aside from occasional real-life inspiration (such as Sherlock Holmes being influenced by Sir Doyle’s deductive teacher, Dr Joseph Bell, or John Watson feasibly being a stand-in for the author himself). Although, it is worth mentioning that in a 2008 study, 58% of British teenagers believed Mr Holmes to be a real detective (whereas 23% thought Winston Churchill was a fictional character), so it is worthwhile to first and foremost clear up this grey area. 

However, for many Sherlock Holmes fans (often called ‘Holmesians’ or ‘Sherlockians’) we take our reading a few steps further. Perhaps Dr Watson was fictional, but are his narratives also fictional within his reality? We, as readers, are only able to read what he writes (apart from the select few cases in which Holmes has his say, or the elusive tales where the narrator is unknown… more on this later), so how do we know if he is telling the truth? 

Personally, I have a hard time believing anything Watson tells us, as he is proven to alter the truth to fit his own preferences on multiple surface level cases. Famously, he creates quite a bit of uncertainty surrounding his wife, introducing her as Mary Morstan, the orphan in need of rescuing, then including her visit to her mother’s in The Five Orange Pips- and this is only the beginning of his falsehoods. Watson shapes the narrative to suit his needs, contradicting himself through many ‘mistakes’, which could be attributed to his (or, more believably, Sir Doyle’s) forgetfulness. After all, many people have minced up the dates of events in their life, or forgotten the name of their landlady, or been called the wrong name by their wife…supposedly. Can we not forgive Watson/Doyle for mild absent-mindedness?

Admittedly, this is the easiest and more likely option. Over the forty years, Sir Doyle’s attentiveness for chronology understandably dwindled, given that his dedication to the detective eventually waned. Sir Doyle wanted to explore different aspects of life and his career outside of serial ‘penny-dreadfuls’ which required new and updated twists and turns every week, and can we blame him? But, I ask you, dear reader, to suspend your disbelief momentarily (committing to death of the author), and imagine a reality in which Sherlock Holmes and John Watson actually lived and worked in 221B Baker Street, solving crimes and going on adventures in and around London, whilst the detective’s ‘Boswell’ dutifully wrote-up and published their time together on The Strand. 

Now, I reiterate my initial question, how much of it is true?

In whichever adaptation you have watched (as I highly doubt you have never glimpsed any), whether it be an exciting action movie version; a modern-day update which rose to fame as quickly as it… disappointed; a more faithful television series that pulls direct dialogue from the canon; a movie series clearly laced with war propaganda but still beloved; or any adaptation produced over the past century, one element is essential to any retelling of these well-known stories- the topic of Holmes’ and Watson’s relationship. To joke about two close men living in close quarters with each other potentially being gay is a tale as old as time (although this joke can have serious real-life implications) but to believe it? To say that, yes, Holmes and Watson were in a loving, homosexual relationship with each other and were incredibly happy together- this is not taken seriously. It is attributed to the recent surge of ‘over-homoerotisicing’ male friendships and not allowing men to just be friends; or, dismissed as usual ‘fangirl shipping’ without any real understanding as to why many believe this to be a fact. (I should point out, the phrases I have written between apostrophes should be read with both sarcasm and tiredness, as I do not believe it is fair to state either of those occurrences as lesser than, or something to mock). 

When I first approached the canon at the ripe age of eleven years-old, I came from a background of murder mysteries suitable (sometimes unsuitable) for young eyes, all under the shadow of Sherlock Holmes, and was beginning to watch a certain infamous television series which probed at ‘gay’ jokes like a bear sticking its paw inside of a bee’s nest and surprised when it is stung. Of course, I was learning about this new and interesting ‘fandom’, where people viewed pages and scenes under a microscopic lens, searching for intertextual clues or meta thematic elements that might just hint that the two main male leads, known for their intimate association, might, maybe, potentially be more than friends. I took it all with a grain of salt. I knew what ‘gay’ meant, and knew I was likely gay myself (I told myself that was a ‘problem’ for later), but I had hardly ever seen it respectfully depicted in the media. Sure, the odd mention of a gay man was possible, but for it to be treated the same way as a heterosexual couple might? Doubtful- I wasn’t holding my breath. 

I read the Holmes books with a sense of glee, like I was being accepted into some sort of ‘community’- one of iconic detectives and the ability to off-handedly reference exactly how Holmes deduced Watson’s brother was a drunk (scratches around his pocket-watch keyhole, a mistake a sober man would never make) and to say ‘elementary, my dear Watson’ whilst wearing a deerstalker and smoking a pipe… all in my young imagination, of course. 

I was obsessed. From the start- Watson’s direness to find a suitable flatmate, indicating a life of misfortune, followed by a miserable descent into adulthood, only to find Holmes, a light in his darkness. Their adventures full of action and twists and turns and fear, at times, all parenthesised by breakfast at Baker Street and supper at Claridge’s, or a visit to the music hall. All of it felt comfortable, familiar- baring Watson’s unreliability to tell the whole truth, which, at the time, could be ignored. 

As I’ve grown up, I’ve revisited these stories multiple times, ‘silly’ detective stories which might not have the same depth and subtext as Dostoyevsky or Dickens. 

Slowly, I lost faith in that belief.

Led on by like-minded people who also agreed that Holmes and Watson (in whichever universe they existed) were more than friends, I began to invest in the evidence, which I hadn’t realised had been glaringly staring me in the face all along. Whereas before, I told myself that Holmes and Watson were never intended to be together, it was impossible and merely a light-hearted misreading of the text, I started to join the dots. How I solidified my belief?

1895.

‘Here dwell together still two men of note’, so begins Vincent Starrett’s poem, titled ‘221B’, where he claims ‘it is always eighteen ninety-five’, often cited as Holmes’ most successful and ambitious year of solving crime. Watson tells us specifically which cases happened in this notable year, without any need to search for intertextual clues that the cases of The Solitary Cyclist, Black Peter, The Bruce-Partington Plans and The Three Students all occurred in 1895. Surprisingly, we are given specifics: respectively, we are told these cases happened on the 23rd of April, July and November, although he wasn’t as precise with The Three Students. In fact, in this case, Holmes and Watson have left London, for reasons he doesn’t care to indulge.

What else occured in 1895 which has so convinced me Watson was cleverly concealing the true nature of his and Holmes’ relationship? The shocking Wilde trials. 

The celebrated author and playwright who bolstered the aestheticism movement, or ‘art for art’s sake’, was found guilty of gross indecency and imprisoned for two years- this led to many homosexual couples evacuating London, for no given reason. Why on Earth would Watson specify a year (which, as many readers know, dates are not spared lightly in a Watsonian narrative) only to refuse to provide information as to why he and his close, intimate associate decided to leave London? Why specifically 1895, a year apparently not short of mystery and intrigue for the detective duo? Why else but to hint to knowing readers of the Victorian/Edwardian period that there was something more to the stories he told? And this, dear reader, is why I (finally) state my case: Holmes and Watson were a homosexual couple in a time when their mere existence was vilified and criminalised, so to protect themselves, Watson began to publicize their life under carefully constructed narratives- one big lie wrapped in truths so it is deemed believable. The cases might be real at times, as Sherlock Holmes was still a detective and Watson a doctor, but could be reflective of other events in their life, or Watson’s own imaginings to fill up a gap where they were, for example, out of London for reasons Watson ‘need not enter’. Those inconsistencies and mistakes? The elusive wife who might be an orphan or might be at her mother’s or who might have passed? The shifting chronology which is near impossible to pin down if we believe everything Watson tells us? Breadcrumbs.

Watson is lying to us, and he hopes that one day ‘the true story may be told’. 

Therefore, I have attempted to construct my own order of the published cases, both when the events occurred and when Watson wrote them up (somewhat like William Baring-Gould, but with a very different mindset) to establish where he has told us the truth, or where he truly takes on the title of ‘unreliable narrator’ to hide his and Holmes’ romantic relationship. In doing so, I’ve wilfully ignored much we have been told directly, often creating my own lines to read between, but trying to gauge the mindset of the biographer turned doctor to understand the reality of this piece of fiction and faithfully reproduce an order of events. I will add, Watson is a complicated man, too humble to admit that in his own narrative of course, and should these stories all been written by Holmes (unlikely), I might have found it easier since I understand his mindset better. Whilst connecting these cases, I felt like Holmes on a case, but grasping the human nature, the human errors behind them? I needed a Watson.

Reader, I admit, I have taken liberties. But all, I believe, are justified. Again, I ask you to suspend your disbelief as we return to the very beginning: the Criterion Bar, 1881. 

[sophiewritesworld]

ROLL FOR REDEMPTION - E.M.

SUMMARY: in which Eddie cuts you of his life, under his girlfriend’s influence, discarding mementos of your friendship. As you withdraw, becoming a shadow of yourself, Eddie feels trapped, clinging to a small reminder of you.

PAIRING: Eddie Munson x Female best friend

previous part - next part

TWO : The Weight of Absence

The library at Hawkins High smells like old paper and dust, a quiet sanctuary where the world’s noise can’t reach you. You’ve claimed a corner table near the back, hidden behind stacks of encyclopedias no one ever touches. It’s your fortress now, a place where you can bury yourself in books and pretend the ache in your chest isn’t growing sharper every day. Your backpack slumps against the chair, heavy with textbooks you don’t need but carry anyway, as if their weight can anchor you when everything else feels like it’s slipping away.

It’s been a month since that night at the quarry, since Eddie looked at you with those guilty eyes and chose Tara over you. The memory replays like a broken cassette tape, stuck on a loop you can’t eject—his voice, low and cracked, saying, I need to put her first. You haven’t spoken to him since, haven’t seen him except in fleeting glimpses in the hallways, his arm around Tara, his laughter muffled by the crowd. Each sighting is a fresh wound, a reminder that the boy who once knew every corner of your soul now treats you like a stranger.

You avoid the cafeteria, the parking lot, the arcade—anywhere you might run into the Hellfire Club or the rest of Corroded Coffin. Gareth, Jeff, and Dustin used to be your people, your fellow outcasts who’d joke about your terrible dice rolls or beg you to come to their gigs to “keep Eddie’s ego in check.” But now, their faces are landmines. You can’t look at them without seeing Eddie, without hearing the questions they’d ask: Where’ve you been? Why aren’t you at Hellfire? What’s up with you and Eddie? You can’t face their pity or their confusion, so you retreat, pulling away like a tide receding from the shore.

In class, you’ve taken to sitting in the front row, right by the door. You keep your head down, your notebook open, scribbling notes you barely process. The moment the bell rings, you’re out the door before anyone can stop you, your sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as you make a beeline for the library or your car. You’ve perfected the art of disappearing, of making yourself small despite your body’s insistence on taking up space. Your curves, once a source of hard-won pride, feel like a burden now, a reason Tara saw you as a threat. You tug your oversized sweaters tighter, hiding yourself, as if you could shrink into someone who doesn’t hurt this much.

Your grades are slipping, not because you don’t understand the material, but because your mind is a fog of grief. You stare at equations in math class, but all you see is Eddie’s handwriting on the margins of your old D&D notes, doodling dragons and skulls next to your character stats. You read The Great Gatsby for English, but the words blur into memories of Eddie reading Tolkien aloud to you, his voice dramatic and teasing as he narrated Bilbo’s adventures. Everything reminds you of him, and it’s suffocating.

Your friends—well, the ones who aren’t tied to Eddie—notice the change. Robin tries to corner you after history class, her eyes soft with worry. “Hey, you okay? You’ve been, like, a ghost lately.” You force a smile, mumble something about being busy, and slip away before she can press further. Steve, who you used to joke with at the video store, catches you in the parking lot one day, his hands on his hips like he’s about to lecture you. “You’re dodging everyone, you know that, right? What’s going on?” You shrug, your throat tight, and mutter an excuse about needing to study. You can’t tell them the truth—that losing Eddie feels like losing a limb, that you’re terrified if you open your mouth, all that’ll come out is a scream.

Hellfire Club used to be your refuge, the one place where you could be yourself, rolling dice and laughing until your sides hurt. You were the cleric, the group’s healer, always saving their asses when Eddie’s campaigns got too brutal. Now, the thought of walking into that drama room, seeing Eddie at the head of the table with his DM screen and his wild grin, makes your stomach churn. You stopped showing up, letting your character fade into the background of their story, just like you’re fading from their lives.

On the other side of Hawkins High, Eddie’s dodging questions like he’s dodging arrows in one of his campaigns. You don’t see it, but you hear whispers of it through the grapevine—classmates who pass by the Hellfire table at lunch, friends of friends who catch snippets of conversation. Dustin’s the first to ask, his voice loud and earnest during a Hellfire session. “Where’s she at, Eddie? She hasn’t been to a meeting in weeks. Is she okay?” Eddie freezes, his dice clattering to the table. “She’s fine,” he says, too quick, his eyes fixed on his notes. “Just busy, you know. Let’s move on—Gareth, what’s your next move?” The group exchanges glances, but they don’t push. They know Eddie well enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers fidget with his rings when he’s uncomfortable.

At band practice, it’s the same story. Jeff strums a chord, then pauses, looking at Eddie as he tunes his guitar. “You talk to her lately? She’s not coming to the gig at the Hideout, is she?” Eddie’s strumming falters, a sour note ringing out. “Nah, man,” he says, his voice clipped. “She’s got stuff going on. Can we focus?” Gareth raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, and the rehearsal stumbles on, the air thick with unspoken questions.

Tara’s always there now, perched on an amp during practice, her legs crossed, her eyes scanning Eddie like she’s making sure he doesn’t slip. She’s sweet to the band, all smiles and compliments, but there’s an edge to her, a possessiveness that lingers in the way she loops her arm through Eddie’s or leans into him when someone mentions your name. The band notices, but they don’t say it out loud. They miss you—the way you’d heckle Eddie from the crowd, the way you’d bring snacks and cheer louder than anyone—but they don’t know how to bridge the gap Eddie’s built.

You, meanwhile, are sinking deeper into yourself. You spend lunch periods in the library, your nose buried in a book you’re not reading, your Walkman blasting Joy Division so loud it drowns out your thoughts. The music is a poor substitute for Eddie’s voice, but it’s all you have. You avoid mirrors, avoid your own reflection in the library windows, because every time you catch a glimpse of yourself, you hear Tara’s unspoken accusation: You’re too much. You’re in the way. Your body, your laughter, your years with Eddie—it’s all too much for her, and now it feels like too much for you too.

One day, you’re in the front row of chemistry, scribbling nonsense in your notebook, when you hear his laugh from the hallway. It’s unmistakable, loud and unapologetic, the kind that used to make you smile no matter how bad your day was. Your pen freezes, and you strain to listen, catching Tara’s voice too, high and sharp. They’re close, probably by the lockers, and for a moment, you imagine running out there, grabbing his arm, and begging him to talk to you, to fix this. But the bell rings, and you’re out the door before anyone can stop you, your heart pounding as you duck into the library.

That night, you’re in your room, the lights off, the Polaroid of you and Eddie at the arcade pinned to your corkboard like a wound you can’t stop picking at. You’re curled up on your bed, your knees drawn to your chest, when the phone rings. Your heart leaps, but it’s not him. It’s Dustin, his voice hesitant. “Hey, um, we miss you at Hellfire. Eddie’s being weird about it, but… you okay?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice barely steady. “Just… busy.”

“Bullshit,” Dustin says, blunt as ever. “Something’s up. You and Eddie have a fight or something?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “It’s nothing like that. I just need… space.”

He sighs, and you can picture him pushing his cap back, frustrated. “Okay, but you know you can talk to me, right? We’re worried.”

“I know,” you whisper, and you hang up before the tears come. You don’t call back.

The next Corroded Coffin gig is at the Hideout, and you don’t go. You used to be their biggest fan, screaming lyrics from the front row, your voice hoarse by the end of the night. Now, you sit in your car in the school parking lot, the engine off, staring at the flyer someone left on the bulletin board. Corroded Coffin, Friday, 9 PM. You imagine Eddie on stage, his hair flying, his guitar screaming, Tara watching from the sidelines like she owns him. The thought makes you feel sick, so you drive home, the radio silent.

Eddie, meanwhile, feels the weight of your absence. He doesn’t admit it, not to Tara, not to the band, not even to himself. But it’s there in the way he scans the crowd at the Hideout, hoping to see your face, only to find Tara’s instead. It’s there in the way he fumbles lyrics he’s sung a hundred times, because you’re not there to mouth them back at him, your grin a beacon in the dim light. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing, that Tara’s worth it, that love means sacrifice. But every time he sees your empty chair at Hellfire, every time Dustin or Gareth brings you up, he feels a crack in his resolve, a whisper that he’s made a terrible mistake.

You don’t see any of this. You’re too busy hiding, shutting down, letting the silence consume you. Your world is smaller now, confined to library corners and front-row seats, to nights alone with music that can’t fill the hole Eddie left. You wonder if this is what it means to disappear, to become a ghost in your own life. And somewhere, deep down, you wonder if Eddie even notices you’re gone.

Taglist : @whisperingwillowxox @robinsbuckleys @iyskgd @hereforshmut @poshpinklace @kissmyacdc @nubedeoctubreval @hellhoundvv

(did I do this taglist thing correctly ?)

[ghostbees]

A Scandal in Bohemia

Much has been written about the affairs of the late Irene Adler and her supposed romantic entanglements with a man that she never saw out of costume. It is true that the first serialised Holmes adventure is incredibly fascinating: you’ve established your friend as a man of incomparable intellect? Well, he finds his match. He is good at solving problems? Here’s a failure. A bit of a misogynist? The foeman worthy of his steel is a woman.

Yet it’s clear from both the story itself and Watson’s teasing narration that there is nothing between the two but intellectual admiration. Why would he keep her picture, like her sovereign on his watch-chain, except as a token from a memorable adventure? Or to better commit her face to memory, lest he fails to recognise her again?

In “Holmes and the Fair Sex” (SHJ Vol. 2 No. 3), Dr. Richard Asher, while assigning other dubious intrigues to Holmes, surprisingly comes to the same conclusion, and it did make me giggle to see my thoughts echoed in an otherwise bizarre essay from the fifties:

“Is it not patently obvious that Holmes, having been deceived by her skill in disguising herself, wanted the photograph to add to his records to make sure that he would recognise her if she ever crossed his path again...? I ask you, would a man keep the biography of the woman he loved sandwiched between that of a Hebrew Rabbi and that of a staff commander who had written a monograph on the deep sea fishes?”

Our Little Adventures 03/60 | Tumblr | RSS | Newsletter

[matmiraculous]

Encanto TV Show

So. I had Ideas. I want to know peoples thoughts before I actually start writing. (Ignore the fact that i'm almost 4 years late to the fandom)

Season 1

1 - Pilot: The Family Madrigal (Whole Fam Feat: Mirabel)   Mirabel helps the family adjust to healthier habits in the early days after Casita is rebuilt, gently guiding them into a new chapter of life together. 2 - A Room of Ones Own (Mirabel)   Mirabel feels like the family is avoiding her and gets really upset and lonely, only for the family and Casita to reveal that they made her her own room! 3 - Luisa Lets Go (Luisa)   After accidentally breaking something during a vulnerable moment, Luisa realizes she still ties her worth to being strong and learns what it means to rest. 4 - Camilo Cares To Much (Camilo)   Camilo shapeshifts nonstop to please everyone, but when a young fan copies him a little too well, he starts to unravel. 5 - Of Rats and Men (Bruno and Julieta)   When a strange illness spreads in town, Bruno’s rats are unfairly blamed. He and Julieta team up to solve the mystery, healing a bit of Bruno’s reputation. 6 - Antonios Big Adventure (Antonio)   Antonio discovers a creature that can’t speak to him, forcing him to explore other ways of understanding, and learning that connection takes more than magic. 7 - Game Night (Madrigal 3rd Gen + Mariano)   The Madrigal kids (plus Mariano) have a game night that quickly devolves into chaos, competition, and comedy, before ending in giggles and heartfelt bonding. 8 - Flashback 1 (Madrigal 2nd Gen as Teens)   Teenage Julieta, Pepa, Bruno, Félix, and Agustín navigate early gifts, clumsy romance, and Alma’s rising expectations during the miracle’s first years. 9 - Guys Night (Agustin, Felix, and Bruno)   Félix and Agustín drag Bruno out for a night in town, challenging the village to treat him better while Bruno learns how to loosen up and be seen again.

10 - Power Swap (Whole Fam)

   The family wakes up with their gifts completely shuffled. Cue hilarious chaos, instant regrets, and a whole new respect for each other’s daily struggles. 11 - An Artists Touch (Isabela and Mirabel)   Mirabel and Isabela try to collaborate on a mural, but their wildly different creative styles clash until they find a way to blend beauty and mess into something uniquely theirs. 12 - Pranksters (Mirabel and Camilo Feat: Whole Fam)   Mirabel and Camilo start a petty prank war that escalates into full family participation where everyone picks a side. 13 - Flashback 2 (Madrigal 3rd Gen. Pre Camilo and Mirabels Door ceremonies)   A goofy happy episode about the Madrigal grandkids before Camilo and Mirabel both ahd their gift ceremonies. 14 - Still Abuela (Abuela Alma)   As the village moves forward and relies less on her, Alma questions her place in the family, until Mirabel reminds her she’s still their light, even without the candle. 15 - Bedtime with Bruno (Antonio and Bruno)   Bruno tells Antonio a bedtime story, and one by one the other kids gather to listen. Bruno feels like a part of the family finally. 16 - The Babysitters (Mirabel and Camilo)   Mirabel and Camilo babysit a group of chaotic village kids and clash hard on parenting styles, until they learn that fun and structure can coexist. 17 - La Ratonovela (Rat Telenovela Feat:Bruno and Dolores)   Bruno narrates one of his full-on dramatic rat telenovelas in person for once while Dolores keeps interrupting with ideas and questions. 18 - Hearing Hearts (Mariano +Madrigal 3rd Gen)   Mariano tries to plan a romantic surprise for Dolores, while navigating the absolute nightmare of dating someone who can hear literally everything. 19 - Flashback 3 (Pepa Feat: Newborn Antonio)   The story of Pepa’s pregnancy and the day Antonio was born. Its chaos obviously. 20 - Birthday (Madrigal Triplets)   The triplets celebrate their first birthday together since Bruno returned, unlocking sweet childhood memories, unresolved guilt, and the quiet power of forgiveness.

[wonyowonyo]

Pixel Hearts (K. Gaeul X M! Reader))

when college gamer Y/N is pulled into the mysterious RPG Aetherion, he teams up with IVE’s Gaeul, trapped as Princess Seraphine, to escape the game. through perilous quests and heartfelt moments, their bond grows, forging a real-world connection that promises new adventures beyond.

genre: fluff

w.c 6.7k a/n: slowly finishing up the remaining pendings i've stockpiled heh. also for those who don't know, i'm starting a new njz book on my wattpad page, so if ya'll are interested u can check it out! anyways, hope you all enjoyed this one.

The thrift shop smelled of old books and forgotten summers, its shelves crammed with relics of yesteryear—faded board games, chipped teacups, a rotary phone that probably hadn’t rung since the ’80s. Y/N’s sneakers squeaked against the worn wooden floor as he wandered the aisles, his eyes scanning for something to spice up his Saturday night. A college sophomore with a penchant for gaming, he was always on the hunt for retro consoles or obscure titles to fuel his late-night sessions. Today, though, nothing had caught his eye. Until he saw it.

Tucked in a corner, half-hidden behind a pile of dusty VHS tapes, was a sleek, unmarked gaming console. Its design was a paradox—retro curves like an old Nintendo, but its surface gleamed with a futuristic sheen, catching the dim shop light in a way that felt… alive. A small screen on the front glowed faintly, gold letters spelling out Aetherion. No brand logo, no manual, just a single controller with buttons that shimmered like opals. Y/N’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t just a console. This was a mystery.

“Yo, how much for this?” he called to the shopkeeper, a grizzled man who barely looked up from his crossword.

“Twenty bucks,” the man grunted. “No returns. Thing’s probably busted.”

Y/N didn’t care. His gamer instincts screamed treasure, and twenty bucks was pocket change for a potential gem. He handed over the cash, cradled the console like a newborn, and hustled back to his dorm, the autumn air crisp against his cheeks. His room was a chaotic shrine to gaming—posters of Zelda and Final Fantasy plastered on the walls, a tangle of controller cords spilling from his desk, and a mini fridge humming softly in the corner. He set the console on his desk beside his digital clock that displayed 5:55 P.M, plugged it into his ancient TV, and held his breath as he pressed the power button.

The screen flared to life, not with the usual static flicker of old tech, but with a burst of color and sound that made Y/N’s heart skip. A cinematic unfolded: a sweeping vista of a fantasy world—lush forests, jagged mountains, a castle gleaming under a sky with two moons. A deep, resonant voice narrated, “In the realm of Aetherion, the tyrannical Sorcerer Valthor has imprisoned Princess Seraphine, plunging the land into shadow. Only a true-hearted warrior can restore light to the realm.” The words Start Game pulsed on the screen, and Y/N’s fingers itched to dive in. But something felt off. The console hummed, a low vibration that seemed to pulse through his bones, and the air in the room grew heavy, like a storm was brewing.

He gripped the controller, its buttons warm under his thumbs, and selected Start. The screen flashed blinding white, and a jolt—like static electricity, but sharper—shot through him. His vision blurred, the dorm spinning away, and then… nothing.

-

Y/N blinked, his head throbbing like he’d just face-planted off his bed. But he wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t even in his dorm. He was sprawled on a carpet of moss, surrounded by towering trees that swayed in a gentle breeze. The air smelled of pine and earth, so vivid it made his nose tingle. Above, a sky stretched endlessly, twin moons casting a silvery glow over a landscape that looked like a painting—except it was real. Too real. His hands brushed against his clothes, no longer his hoodie and jeans but a rough-spun tunic and leather boots. A rusty sword hung at his hip, its weight unfamiliar but grounding.

“What the hell?” he muttered, scrambling to his feet. His voice echoed slightly, swallowed by the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds. This wasn’t a dream. Dreams didn’t feel this… tangible. He pinched his arm—ow—and then noticed a faint shimmer in the air. A holographic panel materialized, like something out of a sci-fi movie, displaying:

ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ʏ/ɴ, ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ 1 ᴡᴀʀʀɪᴏʀ. ʜᴘ: 100/100. 

Qᴜᴇꜱᴛ: ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜɪɴᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ.

The words blinked insistently, and Y/N’s stomach did a flip. He wasn’t just playing Aetherion. He was in it.

His gamer brain kicked into gear, pushing past the panic. Okay, RPG rules: explore, level up, follow the quest. He took a tentative step, the forest floor crunching under his boots, and marveled at the details—the way sunlight dappled through the canopy, the faint buzz of insects, the glint of a treasure chest half-hidden behind a tree. He pried it open, finding a measly 

Health Potion (Restores 20 HP), but the thrill of discovery made him grin. This was next-level immersion, like VR on steroids. But the question gnawed at him: How am I here?

He didn’t have time to dwell. A rustle in the bushes made him freeze, his hand fumbling for the sword. A slime—classic RPG fodder—oozed into view, its gelatinous body pulsing with faint green light. Y/N’s first swing was pathetic, the blade bouncing off like he’d hit a rubber ball, but he dodged its sluggish lunge and hacked again, adrenaline pumping. The slime burst into pixels, dropping a single Aether Shard that glittered like a tiny star. “Nice,” he panted, pocketing the shard. If this was the game, he could handle it.

The quest marker on his HUD pointed north, toward a clearing where stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken teeth. As he approached, the air grew heavy again, charged with something ancient and electric. At the center of the clearing stood a ruined shrine, its altar overgrown with vines that pulsed with faint runes. And there, chained to the altar by shimmering magical bonds, was a girl.

Y/N’s breath caught. She was stunning, her short, dark hair framing a face that was both fierce and delicate, her eyes sparkling with defiance despite her predicament. Her gown was regal, all flowing silk and embroidered stars, but it was her presence that hit him like a critical hit. He knew that face. He’d seen it on posters, on his phone screen during IVE’s latest comeback. Gaeul.

-

She noticed him, her head snapping up, and for a moment, they just stared—him frozen, her assessing. Then she spoke, her voice clear and sharp, cutting through the silence. “You’re not one of Valthor’s goons. Are you… a player?”

Y/N’s mouth went dry. He nodded, then cleared his throat, trying to sound less like a starstruck fanboy. “Uh, yeah. I’m Y/N. I… got sucked into this game, I think. You’re—wait, you’re Gaeul?”

Her lips twitched, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Bingo. Though here, I’m Princess Seraphine, or whatever this stupid game calls me.” She tugged at the magical chains, which sparked but didn’t budge. “Long story short, I was messing around with some sketchy game file on my laptop, and next thing I know, I’m trapped in this pixelated nightmare. You gonna help me out, or just stand there gawking?”

Y/N flushed, his inner IVE fan screaming, but he forced himself to focus. She was real—well, as real as he was in this bizarre world—and she needed him. He stepped closer, inspecting the runes. They glowed brighter, almost mocking him, and his sword did nothing but clang uselessly against them. “These are magical,” he said, more to himself than her. “I don’t have any spells or—”

“Great, a noob,” Gaeul teased, but her tone was playful, not cruel. She leaned forward as much as the chains allowed, her eyes scanning him. “Check your inventory. Games like this always give you something to start with. Hurry up, hero, my arms are killing me.”

Y/N fumbled with the HUD, his fingers clumsy in the air, and found the Aether Shard from the slime. On a hunch, he held it near the runes. The shard pulsed, and the chains flickered, then dissolved in a burst of light. Gaeul stumbled forward, rubbing her wrists, and flashed him a grin that made his heart do a backflip. “Not bad for a level one warrior,” she said, brushing dirt off her gown. “Stick with me, Y/N. We’re getting out of this game, and I’m not leaving without a fight.”

The shrine’s vines seemed to shiver, as if the game itself was watching. Y/N gripped his sword, his nerves buzzing with a mix of fear and excitement. Gaeul stood beside him, her presence electric, her smile a spark in the dim clearing. He was just a guy, a gamer with no clue how he’d ended up here. But with Gaeul—Princess Seraphine, or whatever she was—by his side, he felt like he could take on anything. Even a sorcerer. Even a world that felt too real to be just a game.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” he said, half-joking, and her laugh—bright, genuine—echoed through the forest, a sound that promised adventure, danger, and maybe something more.

-

The forest of Aetherion stretched endlessly before Y/N and Gaeul, its canopy a mosaic of emerald leaves that filtered the twin moons’ silvery light. The air was cool, laced with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and every step crunched against twigs or rustled through grass that felt too real for a game. Y/N’s rusty sword bounced against his hip, its weight a constant reminder of his new reality. Beside him, Gaeul moved with a grace that belied her princess gown, the hem catching on roots but never slowing her down. Her eyes, sharp and curious, darted to every shadow, as if she expected the game to throw a curveball at any moment.

“So, level one warrior,” she said, her voice teasing as she glanced at him, “got a plan, or are we just wandering until Valthor sends his welcome committee?”

Y/N grinned, his nerves easing at her playful tone. “Plan’s simple: follow the quest marker, bash some monsters, save the princess. Classic RPG stuff.” He tapped the air, summoning the holographic HUD. The quest log glowed: 

ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜɪɴᴇ. 

ɴᴇxᴛ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ꜱᴇᴇᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀʏꜱᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀᴠᴇʀɴꜱ.

A golden arrow pointed west, through a misty ravine up ahead.

Gaeul snorted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Save the princess, huh? Newsflash, Y/N, this princess can handle herself. You’re just here for moral support.” But her smile was warm, and the way she bumped his shoulder—light, almost accidental—sent a flutter through his chest. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that Gaeul, IVE’s Gaeul, was here, bantering with him like they were old friends. Or maybe more, his traitor brain whispered, before he shoved the thought away.

The ravine loomed closer, its walls jagged and shrouded in fog that swirled like liquid silver. The path narrowed, forcing them to walk single file, Y/N taking the lead with his sword drawn. The HUD pinged a warning—Enemy Detected—and his grip tightened. “Heads up,” he whispered, just as a low growl echoed from the mist.

Three shadow wolves emerged, their fur black as ink, eyes glowing like embers. They were bigger than the slime, faster, and definitely not beginner-friendly. Y/N’s gamer instincts kicked in, but his first swing was a disaster, the sword glancing off a wolf’s flank as it lunged. He stumbled back, heart pounding, and barely dodged its snapping jaws. “Okay, not cool!” he yelped.

“Focus, noob!” Gaeul called, her voice steady but urgent. She raised her hands, the runes on her gown flaring with light, and a burst of blue energy—a Frost Bolt, Y/N’s brain supplied—slammed into the wolf, slowing it. “Hit it now!”

Y/N swung again, this time connecting, and the wolf dissolved into pixels with a satisfying ding. Gaeul’s magic danced around them, freezing one wolf while Y/N tackled another, their movements chaotic but syncing up. He tanked a claw swipe—his HP dropped to 80/100, the HUD flashing red—and gritted his teeth, slashing until the last wolf burst into loot: three Aether Shards and a Wolf Pelt. 

They collapsed against a boulder, panting, their laughter bubbling up like a shared secret.

“Holy crap, we’re not half bad,” Y/N said, wiping sweat from his brow. The ravine’s mist clung to his tunic, damp and chilly, but the adrenaline high made it worth it.

Gaeul nudged him, her grin mischievous. “You’re welcome for the assist, hero. Next time, maybe don’t swing like you’re chopping firewood.” She picked up a shard, its glow reflecting in her eyes. “These are the key. Valthor’s curse runs on Aether energy. Enough shards, and we can break his hold on me—and maybe get out of here.”

Y/N nodded, pocketing the loot. The ravine’s walls were etched with faded carvings—knights, dragons, a crowned figure that looked eerily like Gaeul. The game’s lore was everywhere, woven into the world like a story begging to be unraveled. But as they pressed on, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Aetherion was watching them, its rules bending just enough to keep them on edge.

-

The village of Elderglow appeared like a mirage, its thatched roofs and cobblestone streets glowing under lanterns that bobbed like fireflies. The ravine had spit them out into a bustling hub, alive with NPCs bartering at market stalls, bards strumming lutes, and children chasing a pixelated cat through the square. Y/N’s HUD updated—Objective: Gather Information—and he marveled at the details: the smell of fresh bread from a bakery, the clink of coins, the way Gaeul’s gown caught the light as she spun to take it all in.

“This place is unreal,” she said, her voice soft with wonder. “If I wasn’t trapped, I’d almost enjoy it.” She caught Y/N staring and raised an eyebrow. “What? Got something on my face?”

“N-no, just… you look like you belong here,” he stammered, then cringed at how cheesy it sounded. “I mean, like, you’re rocking the princess vibe.”

Gaeul laughed, a bright, musical sound that made his cheeks burn. “Smooth, Y/N. Come on, let’s upgrade that trash sword of yours.” She grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward a blacksmith’s forge where a burly NPC hammered glowing metal. Her touch was warm, fleeting, but it left his heart racing.

At the forge, Gaeul worked her charm, her smile disarming the blacksmith as she bartered for a  Steel Longsword (+10 Attack). Y/N traded the Wolf Pelt and a few shards, and the new blade felt solid, balanced, like an extension of himself. They hit the market next, stocking up on Health Potions and a Mana Crystal for Gaeul’s spells. Every interaction felt like a mini-quest, the village pulsing with life—vendors haggling, a leaderboard in the square showing “player” names (all NPCs, Y/N noted with a shiver), and a fountain where water sparkled like liquid starlight.

They ended up at a tavern, its wooden beams creaking under the weight of raucous laughter. Y/N ordered virtual cider—sweet, fizzy, and surprisingly refreshing—and they claimed a corner table, the glow of a hearth warming their faces. Gaeul sipped her drink, her expression softening. “This is the first time I’ve felt… normal since I got stuck here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Back in the real world, I’m always ‘Gaeul from IVE,’ you know? Schedules, stages, smiling for cameras. But here…” She trailed off, tracing the rim of her glass.

Y/N leaned forward, his curiosity outweighing his shyness. “Here, you’re a badass princess who shoots ice bolts and saves my butt from wolves.”

She chuckled, but her eyes were distant. “Maybe. But I’m scared, Y/N. What if we can’t get out? What if I’m just… code now?” Her fingers tightened around the glass, and the vulnerability in her voice hit him like a critical hit.

“You’re not code,” he said firmly, surprising himself with his conviction. “You’re Gaeul. And I’m not leaving you here. We’re beating this game together, okay?” He held her gaze, hoping she saw the promise in his eyes.

Her smile returned, small but genuine. “You’re not as noob as you look, Y/N.” She clinked her glass against his, the sound a quiet vow in the noisy tavern.

-

The seer’s hut sat at the village’s edge, a ramshackle structure draped in vines and glowing with an eerie light. The NPC inside was ancient, her eyes milky but piercing, her voice like wind through dry leaves. “The prophecy speaks of a true-hearted warrior and the princess,” she intoned, her gnarled hands tracing a star chart that shimmered in the air. “Together, you may defeat Valthor, but only by combining your strengths. Seek the Heart of Aether in the Crystal Caverns. The path is perilous, but the stars guide you.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. True-hearted warrior? He was just a guy who liked Pokémon and instant ramen. But Gaeul’s expression was fierce, her jaw set. “Prophecy or not, we’re doing this our way,” she said, her voice cutting through the hut’s heavy air. “No offense, lady, but I’m not some damsel waiting for a hero. We’re a team.”

The seer’s lips curled, almost amused. She handed them a Map of the Caverns, its parchment pulsing with golden lines. “Then prove the stars wrong, child. Your hearts will light the way.”

Outside, the village hummed with evening life, lanterns casting long shadows. Y/N clutched the map, its weight grounding him. Gaeul stood close, her shoulder brushing his as they studied the path ahead. “Crystal Caverns, huh?” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “Sounds like a dungeon crawl. You ready, warrior?”

He met her gaze, his nerves buzzing but his resolve solid. “Born ready. Let’s kick Valthor’s butt and get you home.” He held out his fist, and she bumped it with hers, her grin infectious. The twin moons hung above, their light a silent cheer for the journey ahead.

But as they left Elderglow, the map glowing in Y/N’s hands, he couldn’t shake the seer’s words. Your hearts will light the way. His heart was racing, sure, but not just from the quest. Gaeul’s laugh, her trust, the way she made this crazy world feel like an adventure worth fighting for—it was all starting to feel like more than a game. And that, he realized, was the most dangerous quest of all.

-

The Crystal Caverns shimmered like a galaxy trapped in stone, their walls a dazzling array of prismatic shards that refracted the twin moons’ light into a cascade of colors. Y/N’s boots crunched against the translucent floor, each step sending faint ripples of light outward, as if the cave itself were alive. The air was sharp, laced with a metallic tang that prickled his lungs, and the faint hum of the caverns pulsed like a distant heartbeat. His Steel Longsword caught the glow, its edge a silver promise, but it was Gaeul’s steady presence—her gown trailing like starlight, her eyes scanning every shadow—that kept his heart from racing out of his chest. 

The Map of the Caverns, tucked in his inventory, glowed faintly, its golden lines urging them deeper into the maze. “Feels like we’re walking into a trap montage,” Gaeul said, her voice low but laced with her usual spark. She brushed a crystal stalactite, its chime echoing softly. “Bet you’re regretting that ‘born ready’ line from the village, huh, warrior?”

Y/N grinned, his nerves easing at her teasing. “Nah, I’m good. Just don’t cry when I outscore you in loot.” He tapped the air, the HUD flickering to life with their quest: Claim the Heart of Aether. The golden arrow pointed down a narrow path, where mist swirled like ghosts. Their banter was a shield against the caverns’ eerie weight, but Y/N couldn’t ignore the runes etched into the walls—faint, glowing symbols of knights and dragons, hinting at a history older than Aetherion’s code.

Trouble found them fast. A pressure plate clicked under Y/N’s boot, and he barely registered the whir of gears before spikes shot from the floor, their tips glinting like daggers. Instinct took over—he dove, grabbing Gaeul’s waist and pulling her down with him. They hit the ground in a tangle, her breath warm against his cheek, her eyes wide but glinting with adrenaline. “Okay, hero,” she gasped, shoving him off with a playful scowl, “watch where you step, or I’m billing you for this gown.”

“S-sorry!” Y/N stammered, his face hotter than a Fire Spell. He scrambled up, offering her a hand, and her fingers lingered in his, soft but firm, sending a jolt through him. The caverns didn’t let them linger—a crystal golem lumbered from an alcove, its faceless head glowing with inner light. Y/N swung, his sword sparking against its hide, while Gaeul’s Frost Bolt froze its arm, giving him an opening. His HP dipped to 80/100 from a glancing blow, but her Healing Touch—a warm pulse of light—mended the ache, her hand brushing his arm. “Stay alive, noob,” she muttered, but her smile was softer than her words.

The path twisted deeper, bridges of crystal arching over chasms that swallowed light. Every trap, every golem, drew them closer—Gaeul’s magic lighting the way, Y/N’s blade clearing the path. The caverns’ pulse grew louder, the runes brighter, as if Aetherion was testing their resolve, daring them to reach its heart.

-

The cavern’s heart was a cathedral of light, a vast chamber where crystals soared like spires, their reflections dancing in a haze of color. At its center, a pedestal held the Heart of Aether, a glowing orb that pulsed with a rhythm that matched the cave’s hum, its light both inviting and ominous. Coiled around it was a crystal dragon, its scales like molten glass, its eyes twin flames that seemed to see through them. Y/N’s HUD flashed—Boss: Crystal Guardian—and his throat tightened. This wasn’t just a fight. This was judgment.

The dragon didn’t strike. Its voice echoed in their minds, deep and resonant, like a storm trapped in stone. Only those bound by trust may claim the Heart. Answer, or perish. Its first riddle hit Y/N like a blade. What do you fear most, warrior? The air grew heavy, the chamber’s light dimming as if the game itself demanded truth.

Y/N’s grip on his sword faltered, his heart pounding. He glanced at Gaeul, her eyes steady but searching, and the words spilled out, raw and unguarded. “Failing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not being enough to get you out of here.” The confession hung between them, heavy and real, and the dragon’s form flickered, its scales losing their sheen, as if his honesty had chipped away at its power.

Gaeul’s turn came next. And you, princess? The question seemed to pierce her, her confidence wavering as she twisted the hem of her gown. She looked at Y/N, her eyes glistening, and her voice trembled. “Losing myself,” she said. “Becoming just… Seraphine. Not Gaeul anymore.” The vulnerability in her words made Y/N’s chest ache, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, a silent promise that she was still her. The dragon flickered again, its eyes dimming, but it wasn’t done.

What binds you? The final riddle demanded they speak as one. Their eyes locked, and without hesitation, they answered together: “Trust.” The word was a spark, igniting the chamber’s light, and the dragon roared, its form solidifying as it lunged. The fight was brutal—Y/N darted in, his sword sparking against crystal scales, his HP dropping to 60/100 from a tail swipe that sent him sprawling. Gaeul’s Frost Bolts slowed the beast, her voice fierce as she shouted, “Get up, Y/N! We’re not done!” Her magic wove through the crystals, amplifying into a dazzling Aether Surge that stunned the dragon, giving Y/N the chance to climb its back and strike a glowing weak point. The beast shattered, its fragments dissolving into light, and the Heart of Aether floated toward them, warm and alive in Y/N’s hands.

-

The victory was fleeting. The Heart pulsed in Y/N’s grip, its light flooding the chamber, but the caverns trembled, a low groan echoing as cracks splintered the crystal walls. The HUD glitched—text flickering into gibberish, colors bleeding like a corrupted file. Gaeul’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. “Y/N, it’s breaking!” she cried, her voice sharp with panic as the ground bucked beneath them. Pixels sparked in the air, and for a horrifying moment, her form flickered—her gown dissolving into static, her hand in his turning translucent before snapping back.

“No!” Y/N grabbed her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as the chamber shook. “You’re not disappearing, Gaeul. I’ve got you.” His voice was fierce, cutting through the chaos, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his tunic, her breath shaky against his chest. The Heart’s warmth steadied the glitches, its pulse a lifeline, but the caverns were collapsing, shards raining like glass.

The HUD flickered, barely legible: 

ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ. 

The Heart was their key—Valthor’s weakness, and maybe their way out. But the glitches revealed something darker. Runes on the walls flared, showing glimpses of Aetherion’s truth: a sentient program, designed to trap players, feeding on their will. The dragon’s defeat had destabilized it, but at a cost. Gaeul’s eyes met Y/N’s, her fear tempered by the same fire that had carried them this far. “We’re ending this,” she said, her voice steady despite the trembling ground. “Together.”

Y/N nodded, his hand still in hers, the Heart’s glow a beacon in the chaos. “Together,” he echoed, his grin shaky but real. The chamber’s light flared, the caverns’ pulse fading as debris fell around them. Whatever lay ahead—Valthor, the game’s final trap—he knew one thing: Gaeul’s trust, her warmth, was worth fighting for. And he wasn’t letting go.

The wasteland stretched before Valthor’s Tower like a scar on Aetherion’s vibrant heart, its cracked earth dusted with ash and lit by a sky roiling with storm clouds. The tower itself loomed, a gothic spire of black stone that clawed at the heavens, its spires wreathed in lightning that crackled with menace. Y/N’s boots sank into the grit, the Heart of Aether pulsing warmly in his inventory, its glow a faint counterpoint to the storm’s fury. His Steel Longsword felt heavier now, as if it sensed the battle ahead, but Gaeul’s presence beside him—her gown tattered but her stride fierce—made the impossible feel within reach. 

The HUD’s quest log burned bright: 

ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ᴅᴇꜰᴇᴀᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ��ᴜʀꜱᴇ.

“Last chance to back out, warrior,” Gaeul said, her voice light but her eyes sharp, scanning the tower’s arched entrance. A gust tugged at her hair, and she tucked a strand behind her ear, the gesture so ordinary it grounded Y/N in the chaos. “This place looks like it eats noobs for breakfast.”

Y/N smirked, his nerves buzzing but his resolve ironclad. “Good thing I’ve got the best co-op partner in the game.” He bumped her shoulder, a playful echo of their village days, and her laugh—bright, defiant—cut through the storm’s howl. The warmth of that sound lingered as they stepped into the tower, the air shifting to a damp chill, heavy with the scent of old stone and magic.

The ascent was a gauntlet. Spiral stairs wound upward, their edges worn smooth by unseen centuries, lit by torches that flickered with unnatural blue flame. Minions—shadowy wraiths with glowing eyes—swarmed from alcoves, and Y/N’s sword sang as he slashed through them, his HP holding steady at 80/100 thanks to Gaeul’s Frost Bolts and quick Healing Touches. A magical barrier blocked a landing, its runes pulsing red, and they pressed against it, their shoulders brushing in the cramped space. Gaeul’s fingers traced the runes, her brow furrowed, and Y/N shielded her from a wraith’s claw, his grunt of effort drowned by her triumphant shout as the barrier shattered.

“Nice one, princess,” he panted, wiping sweat from his brow. Her grin was all mischief, but the way her hand lingered on his arm—steadying, grateful—sent a flutter through him. The tower’s stained-glass windows cast eerie patterns, depicting a crowned figure falling to darkness, and Y/N’s HUD pinged with lore: Valthor, once a hero, succumbed to greed, binding Aetherion to his will. The game was telling its story, but the real one was unfolding between them—every shared glance, every brush of hands, a thread tying their fates tighter.

-

The throne room was a void, its walls swallowed by shadows that pulsed like a living thing. At its heart stood Valthor, a towering figure cloaked in darkness, his eyes twin voids that seemed to drink the light. The Heart of Aether flared in Y/N’s inventory, its pulse syncing with his racing heart, and Gaeul’s hand brushed his, a silent signal to stay sharp. The HUD flashed—Boss: Sorcerer Valthor—and the air grew thick, charged with power that made Y/N’s skin prickle.

“You dare challenge me?” Valthor’s voice was a hiss, slithering through the void. “A boy and a puppet princess, bound by fleeting trust. You are nothing.” His words targeted their doubts, and Y/N felt them—fear that he wasn’t enough, that Gaeul would be trapped forever. But her eyes met his, fierce and unwavering, and the doubts crumbled.

“Shut up, creepy,” Gaeul snapped, her Aether Surge flaring, a dazzling arc of light that lit the room. “We’re taking you down.” She squeezed Y/N’s hand, her warmth grounding him, and they charged.

The battle was chaos. Valthor’s spells—shadow bolts, chains of dark energy—tore through the air, and Y/N dove to shield Gaeul, his HP dropping to 50/100 as a bolt grazed him. Pain flared, but her Healing Touch soothed it, her voice fierce: “Stay with me, Y/N!” He struck back, his sword sparking against Valthor’s barriers, while Gaeul wove magic, her Frost Bolts slowing the sorcerer’s movements. Valthor’s taunts grew desperate, targeting their bond—“She’ll forget you, boy, in the real world”—but Y/N roared, “She’s not your puppet!” and Gaeul’s laugh, sharp and defiant, echoed his resolve.

The Heart of Aether was their edge. Y/N tossed it to Gaeul, who caught it mid-air, its light amplifying her magic into a blinding Aether Nova. The room shook, Valthor’s form flickering, and Y/N saw his chance—a weak point in the sorcerer’s chest, pulsing with stolen light. He sprinted, dodging chains, and drove his sword deep, the Heart’s energy surging through the blade. Valthor screamed, his body dissolving into pixels, and the throne room pulsed, the shadows retreating to reveal a broken man—Valthor’s true form, frail and defeated, before he vanished entirely.

Y/N collapsed to his knees, panting, his HP at a shaky 30/100. Gaeul dropped beside him, her breath ragged but her grin triumphant. “We did it,” she whispered, and before he could think, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tight around him, her warmth chasing away the void’s chill. He hugged her back, his heart pounding not from the fight but from her—her laugh, her strength, her trust. For a moment, the world was just them, and it was enough.

-

The tower trembled, its stones cracking as the Heart of Aether pulsed wildly in Gaeul’s hands. The HUD glitched, text dissolving into static, and the throne room warped—walls bending, floor rippling like water. Valthor’s defeat had broken Aetherion’s core, and the game was unraveling. Gaeul’s eyes widened, her grip on the Heart tightening. “Y/N, it’s now or never,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos.

A portal tore open at the room’s center, a vortex of light that hummed with promise and peril. Beyond it, Y/N glimpsed his dorm—messy desk, flickering PC, the real world—but the portal flickered, unstable, as debris fell around them. Gaeul’s hand found his, her fingers lacing through his, and he felt her tremble, her fear mirroring his own. “What if it doesn’t work?” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “What if we’re stuck?”

Y/N squeezed her hand, his voice firm. “We’re not. You’re Gaeul, I’m Y/N, and we’re going home.” He pulled her close, their foreheads nearly touching, and her nod was small but fierce. The Heart flared, its light stabilizing the portal, and they ran, hand in hand, as the tower crumbled behind them. The vortex’s pull was dizzying, light blinding, and Gaeul’s grip tightened, her voice a soft, “Don’t let go.”

They leaped, the world dissolving into white. Y/N’s senses spun—weightless, then heavy, the air shifting from Aetherion’s storm to the stale warmth of his dorm/ He landed hard on his carpet, Gaeul beside him, her gown gone, replaced by jeans and a hoodie, her short hair framing a face that was unmistakably her. The console sat on his desk, dark and silent, its screen blank. The Heart was gone, Aetherion with it. He looked at the clock at his desk:

6:02 P.M

What was eternity for them, was merely a minute in the real word. Gaeul’s laugh broke the silence, shaky but real, and she punched his arm lightly. “We made it, you dork.” Her eyes sparkled, relief and something softer—something that made Y/N’s heart skip. He grinned, rubbing his arm, and for a moment, the dorm felt as vibrant as Aetherion—because she was here, real, and they’d won.

-

The dorm smelled of instant ramen and faintly of burnt popcorn, a stark contrast to Aetherion’s pine-scented forests and metallic caverns. Y/N’s desk was a mess—empty soda cans, a tangled mess of controller cords, and the now-silent console, its screen dark as if it had never pulled them into a world of magic and danger. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, casting golden stripes across the carpet where Y/N and Gaeul sat cross-legged, a steaming pot of ramen between them. Gaeul, no longer in her princess gown but in a borrowed hoodie and jeans, twirled chopsticks with the same grace she’d wielded Frost Bolts. Her short hair framed her face, and her smile—bright, unguarded—made the dorm feel like the coziest place in the world.

“Never thought I’d miss instant noodles,” she said, slurping a mouthful with a contented hum. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned closer, nudging Y/N’s knee with hers. “You’re a terrible cook, you know. This is, like, 80% water.”

Y/N laughed, his cheeks flushing as he poked at his own bowl. “Hey, I’m a warrior, not a chef. Besides, you’re eating it, so I’m calling it a win.” Her nudge lingered, her knee still pressed against his, and the warmth of it sent his heart into a familiar flutter—one he’d felt in Aetherion, dodging spikes or hugging her after Valthor’s fall. But here, in the real world, it felt bigger, realer, like a spark that refused to fade.

They traded stories over the ramen, their voices overlapping in a giddy recount of their adventure. Y/N mimicked his clumsy first swing at the slime, earning a giggle that made Gaeul’s nose crinkle. She reenacted the dragon’s riddles, her voice dropping dramatically, and Y/N couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how her hands danced as she talked, how her laughter filled the room like music. “You were so serious back there,” she teased, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing his. “All, ‘I’m not leaving you, Gaeul.�� Total hero vibes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his blush deepening. “I meant it, you know. Couldn’t let my favorite princess stay trapped.” The words slipped out, bolder than he’d planned, and Gaeul’s eyes softened, her teasing grin shifting to something warmer, something that made his breath catch.

“You’re sweet, Y/N,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere. She reached out, her fingers brushing his, and didn’t pull away, letting their hands rest together on the carpet. The touch was simple but electric, and Y/N’s heart raced as he laced his fingers with hers, tentative but sure. Her smile widened, and she squeezed his hand, a silent acknowledgment that this—whatever it was—was real. The dorm, with its cluttered chaos, felt like their own little world, a new adventure just beginning.

-

The sun dipped lower, painting the room in hues of orange and pink, and Gaeul’s phone buzzed on the desk, a reminder of the real world waiting outside. She sighed, checking the screen—messages from her IVE members, a schedule packed with rehearsals and interviews. “Duty calls,” she said, but her tone was reluctant, her hand still in Y/N’s as she leaned against him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. The weight of her was warm, grounding, and Y/N’s heart thudded, torn between the thrill of her closeness and the ache of knowing she’d leave soon.

“You’re gonna be okay, right?” he asked, his voice soft, almost afraid to break the moment. “Back to being Gaeul from IVE, dazzling the world?”

She tilted her head to look at him, her eyes glinting with mischief but softened by something deeper. “Only if you’re there to cheer me on, warrior.” She poked his chest, her finger lingering, and Y/N caught her hand, holding it against his heart. Her teasing faded, replaced by a quiet intensity, and for a moment, the dorm was silent, the world narrowing to just them.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said, sitting up but keeping her hand in his. “We game together again—something less… life-threatening. Co-op, you and me, maybe some Mario Kart to see if you’re as good with a kart as you are with a sword.” Her grin was playful, but her eyes held a promise, a future beyond this moment.

Y/N’s smile mirrored hers, his nerves replaced by a quiet confidence. “Deal. But only if you let me take you out for real food first. No more watery ramen.” His boldness surprised him, but her laugh—bright, delighted—made it worth it. She leaned in, her forehead brushing his, and the closeness stole his breath, her warmth a reminder of every moment they’d shared in Aetherion.

“You’re on, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice a mix of challenge and affection. She pulled back, grabbing her phone and typing quickly, then handed it to him. “Put your number in. No escaping me now.” He did, his fingers shaky but sure, and when she saved it with a heart emoji next to his name, his grin was unstoppable. The dorm’s glow felt like Aetherion’s twin moons, a light that promised new quests—together.

-

Night had fallen, the dorm now lit by the soft blue glow of Y/N’s PC. Gaeul had left an hour ago, her IVE van whisking her back to her world of stages and spotlights, but her presence lingered—in the hoodie she’d “borrowed” from his closet, in the warmth of her hand still tingling in his. Y/N sat at his desk, the console still silent, a relic of their adventure. He powered on his PC, half-expecting it to be as ordinary as ever, but a new notification popped up—a game invite from “SeraGaeul.” The screen flashed, and a pixelated heart appeared, its glow a nod to the Heart of Aether, to everything they’d fought for.

Y/N’s heart skipped, a laugh bubbling up as he grabbed his headset. He accepted the invite, and Gaeul’s voice crackled through, bright and teasing. “Took you long enough, noob. Ready to lose at Among Us?” Her giggle was infectious, and Y/N leaned back, his dorm transforming into a portal of its own—a bridge between their worlds.

“Only if you’re ready to admit I’m the better gamer,” he shot back, his grin wide as he joined her lobby. The game loaded, but it was her voice, her laugh, that filled the room, making the ordinary extraordinary. The pixel heart lingered on his screen, a reminder of Aetherion—of wolves and dragons, of trust forged in chaos, of a bond that had crossed worlds.

As they played, bantering and scheming, Y/N’s eyes drifted to his phone, where a new message from Gaeul glowed: 

See you soon, hero. Don’t forget our deal ❤

His heart soared, the promise of coffee dates, game nights, and maybe more stretching before him like a new quest. Aetherion was gone, but this—this spark, this connection—was their true victory. “Here’s to new adventures, Gaeul,” he murmured, his voice soft but sure, and her laugh through the headset felt like a vow, a pixel heart beating forever.

[youngsadlesbian]

THE ONE SHE CHOSE

pairing: taylor swift x reader

summary: what started as a secret turned into heartbreak. but when taylor finally chooses love over fear, will you be able to trust her again?

a/n: my first with taylor x reader in a romantic way. hope u like it <3

word count: 2,5k

warnings: angst but with a happy ending <3

The first time you met Taylor Swift, it was at a high-profile music industry party—one of those events where champagne flowed endlessly, executives laughed a little too loudly, and every conversation felt like a transaction. You had just landed your first major record deal, your name beginning to make its way through the industry like an echo of something promising.

And Taylor? She was already Taylor Swift. The empire. The legend. The woman whose songs had narrated your teenage heartbreaks and dreams in equal measure.

You hadn’t expected to meet her, much less talk to her. But somehow, fate—or maybe just good timing—placed you right beside her at the bar.

She turned her head, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, and smiled. "I don't think we've met yet."

Your throat dried instantly. "Uh—no. I mean, I’d remember if we had."

Her laugh was soft, effortless. "You’re the one everyone’s talking about. The rising star."

You tried to play it cool, shrugging as you picked up your drink. "And you’re the one everyone’s been talking about for, what? Almost two decades now?"

She smirked, swirling the wine in her glass. "Touché."

That night, the two of you talked like old friends. It was easy—too easy. She made you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t just another newcomer struggling to prove your worth. The industry could be ruthless, but in that moment, with Taylor by your side, you almost believed it didn’t have to be.

And so, the friendship began. The kind that was private, stolen between studio sessions and late-night texts.

The kind that turned into something more before you even had the chance to realize it.

It started as an adventure.

The kisses behind closed doors, the whispered secrets in dimly lit hotel rooms. You told yourself it was fine—this was Taylor Swift, and of course, things had to be complicated.

"Just us," she’d murmur against your lips, her hands tangled in your hair. "No cameras, no headlines."

And for a while, you didn’t mind. You were still finding your place in the world, and she was offering you something so intoxicating it felt worth the secrecy.

But then, the contract happened.

You had known about Hollywood relationships being fake before, but when you heard about this one—Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, the golden couple—your heart clenched in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, you pretended it didn’t bother you.

"He’s just for the public," she told you, lying in your bed after sneaking away from yet another high-profile event with him. "You know that."

And you did. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

Because then came the moments you hadn’t prepared for—watching her hold his hand in public, hearing her gush about him in interviews, seeing her eyes light up for him in a way that looked too real.

The way you had always wished she’d look at you.

The breaking point came on a quiet evening in your apartment. You were supposed to be happy—your album had just gone platinum, your name was no longer just a whisper but a headline of its own.

But all you could think about was Taylor.

About how you had been the one there in the silence, in the moments in between the flashing lights. And yet, she could never claim you the way she claimed him.

When she walked through your door that night, you didn’t even let her speak before saying, "I can’t do this anymore."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

"This." You gestured between you. "Loving you in the shadows while the world thinks you love someone else."

She stepped closer, panic flashing in her eyes. "You know why I can’t—"

You shook your head. "I did know. And I let myself believe it was enough." You swallowed hard. "But it’s not."

Her hands reached for yours, but you pulled away.

"I wanted to be the person you’d be proud to love in front of the world," you admitted, voice breaking. "But I can’t keep pretending that hiding is the same thing as being loved."

The silence between you was deafening.

And then, barely above a whisper, she said, "I’m sorry."

But "sorry" wasn’t enough to stay.

So you left.

Years passed.

You became someone. The world knew your name, your music, your story. You stood on the biggest stages, your voice echoing in sold-out arenas.

And unlike Taylor, you had made the choice to be open.

You came out, let the world see you for who you were, and never hid the way your heart loved. And the world loved you for it.

Taylor never stopped watching from the sidelines.

She cheered for you in private, liked your posts from a secret account, hummed your songs when no one was listening.

She never stopped wanting you.

And then, one night, she found you again.

At another industry event, just like the first time.

You felt her before you saw her. And when you turned, there she was.

Older. Wiser. Still the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.

"Hey," she said, as if no time had passed at all.

"Hey," you replied, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, softly, she asked, "Are you happy?"

You hesitated. Because the truth was, you were. You had built a life for yourself, one where you didn’t have to hide, where love wasn’t a secret.

But Taylor had been your great love, your burning red, your almost.

And so you answered honestly. "I am."

She nodded, exhaling. "Good."

You should have left it at that.

But then, before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Are you?"

She looked at you for a long time, as if debating whether to tell the truth.

And finally, she whispered, "I could be."

For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly.

"I could be."

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. Because that wasn't a yes, wasn't a declaration of contentment—it was a quiet admission that somewhere along the way, she had lost herself in the life she had chosen.

And then, as if realizing she had said too much, Taylor cleared her throat and offered a small smile. "I, um—I've been keeping up with you."

You raised an eyebrow, attempting to ignore the way your pulse quickened. "Oh?"

"Yeah." She tilted her head, watching you carefully. "You've been doing amazing. Headlining stadiums, breaking records." A pause. "Coming out."

You swallowed. That had been a turning point for you, a choice to live freely, without fear or shame. A choice you had made knowing full well that Taylor could never make the same one.

She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering away before she murmured, "And… dating a certain British pop star?"

Ah. There it was.

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "Are you fishing for information, Swift?"

She gave you a look, one that was half-amused, half-something else—something unreadable. "Can you blame me?"

You thought about lying. About teasing her, leading her to believe the rumors were true just to see if it would crack that perfectly composed exterior of hers.

But you weren’t that person.

"She’s a friend," you admitted, watching her carefully. "We’ve collaborated, we spend time together, but—" You sighed. "No. I’m not dating her."

Taylor let out a breath, something that sounded dangerously close to relief, but she quickly masked it with a sip of her drink.

Still, you saw it.

You felt it.

"Why do you care?" you asked, keeping your voice soft but steady.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. "I don't know."

Liar.

She did know. She knew exactly why she cared.

"Taylor—"

"I shouldn't have let you go."

The words slipped out so quietly, so suddenly, that for a second you thought you had imagined them.

But then she was looking at you, truly looking at you, and you saw it—the weight of all the years, all the regrets.

And just like that, you were twenty-two again, sitting in your apartment with your heart in your hands, listening to her tell you she couldn’t.

Couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

Couldn’t give you a future where you didn’t have to hide.

Couldn’t be brave enough to choose you.

Your throat tightened. "Taylor, don’t do this if you’re not sure."

She stepped closer. "I am sure."

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "No, you’re not. You weren’t back then, and I can’t—" You swallowed hard. "I can't go through that again. I won't."

Her eyes softened, and this time, when she spoke, it was almost a plea. "I've spent years pretending that I don’t miss you. That I don’t regret every single moment I let you believe you weren’t enough for me."

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the way your heart was screaming at you to believe her.

"Let me prove it to you," she whispered.

You hesitated. Because this—this was everything you had wanted back then.

But was it still what you wanted now?

Could you risk it?

Could you let her back in, knowing what it had cost you the first time?

Taylor reached for your hand, fingers barely brushing against yours.

"You don’t have to decide right now," she murmured. "But if there’s even a part of you that still believes in us, I—" She swallowed. "I won’t hide anymore."

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

And for the first time in years, you felt something crack open in your chest.

Hope.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, you wouldn’t have to be her secret.

Maybe this time, she would choose you.

You didn't give her an answer that night.

Despite the raw honesty in Taylor's words, the years of unspoken longing, and the way your heart ached to believe her, you weren't ready to just fall back into her arms.

She had to prove it.

And she did.

Slowly. Patiently.

Taylor started texting you again—not in the casual, distant way she had before, but genuinely. She wanted to know how your day was, if you had eaten, what book you were reading. She sent you songs she had been working on, asking for your opinion. It was a small thing, but you knew what it meant coming from her—sharing her work had always been the most intimate way she could express herself.

Still, you kept your distance, only meeting up with her a few times over the next couple of months. And always in private.

Because as much as you wanted to believe she had changed, a part of you still feared history repeating itself.

But then she started doing something different. Something she never would have done back then.

She started mentioning you in interviews.

Nothing obvious at first. Just small things. A passing comment about how talented you were. A story about a song you had written together years ago.

Then, she started going to your shows.

It was discreet at first—backstage visits, sitting in the VIP area with a hoodie pulled over her curls. But the real shift came when she posted about your album.

Not a cryptic like on a tweet. Not an anonymous Spotify playlist addition.

An actual Instagram post.

"This record is magic. I'm so proud of you, always."

The internet exploded.

For the first time, Taylor Swift wasn’t pretending you didn’t exist.

For the first time, she was acknowledging you in a way she never had before.

And you? You felt something shift inside of you.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

The real turning point came one night in New York.

You were at an awards afterparty, chatting with a few friends, when you felt it—the unmistakable weight of her gaze from across the room.

When you looked up, Taylor was already making her way toward you, completely ignoring the small group of people she had been talking to.

Your heart did that thing again. That stupid, hopeful, aching thing.

But you forced yourself to stay put as she finally stopped in front of you.

"Hey," she said, voice warm but hesitant.

"Hey," you returned, tilting your head. "What are you doing over here? Thought you were busy charming the room."

A small smirk played at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I got bored."

"Of them?"

"Of pretending I wanted to be talking to anyone else but you."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let her see how much those words affected you. "Smooth, Swift."

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. But then her expression softened.

"Come outside with me?" she asked.

You hesitated, but something in her voice, in the quiet please hidden between her words, made you nod.

The air was crisp as the two of you stepped onto the balcony, the city buzzing below. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Taylor exhaled and turned to you. "I meant what I said."

You looked at her, waiting.

She swallowed. "That I don’t want to pretend anymore. That I want to be with you—for real, this time."

Your chest tightened. "You say that, but—"

"I'm going to tell them," she interrupted, voice firm.

You blinked. "Tell who?"

"Everyone."

It took you a second to process her words. "Taylor—"

"I don’t care what happens. I don’t care about the rumors, or the media, or the backlash. The only thing I care about is you."

Your throat felt tight. "Are you sure?"

She stepped closer, reaching for your hands. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

And when she looked at you like that, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, you believed her.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, she really had chosen you.

It happened a week later.

It was a random Tuesday, and you were in your apartment when your phone started blowing up.

You frowned, unlocking it, only to see her name trending everywhere.

With shaky fingers, you clicked on the video that everyone was talking about.

It was a clip from an interview. Taylor, sitting across from the host, answering a question about love.

And then, with a soft, almost nervous smile, she said your name.

Out loud.

In front of the whole damn world.

"She’s incredible. One of the most talented, kind, and beautiful people I’ve ever known. And, um—" She laughed, almost to herself, shaking her head. "I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m very, very in love with her."

You stared at the screen, barely breathing.

Taylor had just confirmed it.

No contracts. No secrecy. No hiding.

She had chosen you.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe—

This was the beginning of something real.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

So I read the first 30 or so animorphs many times over. I also read #54 and the Ellimist Chronicles a lot. But the ones in the late 30s through the 50s, I probably only read once or twice. What are the highlight books in that span? The ones that you get excited about in the re-read?

TBH, #36 - #52 really is where the series dips in quality. Continuity gets shaky, Jordan and Rachel especially have out-of-character notes, and some of the plots are After School Special Handled Badly. But. Many excellent books to be had in there. My favorites:

#38: The Arrival One of the less popular books overall, but my favorite Ax story. I love how the andalite Suicide Squad coming to Earth becomes this visceral demonstration of how much better the Animorphs have gotten than even elite andalite fighters, because the Animorphs are just so damn experienced. It also forces Ax to confront his growing discomfort with andalite imperialism while also driving home just how lonely he is as the only member of his species on this entire planet. He wants to go home, but even if home's waiting for him, he's no longer the person who fit in there.

#45: The Revelation Of course I'm a sucker for any book that lets Eva be awesome, but I also really like the pacing and tonal shifts in this one. It goes from light (Marco at dinner with Peter and Nora) to horrifying (Peter almost infested) to bittersweet (Nora infested, Rachel being a true bro) to bleak and disturbing (Visser One's near-death) to almost giddy with tension and humor (stealing the Bug fighter) to horrifying again (Eva not being the sweet person Marco remembers). It feels like the best of Marco's narration, silly and dark all at once.

#49: The Diversion Mostly I like this one for the deep irony in Tobias's and Jake's arcs. Tobias starts out darkly humorous about how he's their least source of worry since he doesn't have any family, while they're all micro-focused on Jake because they plan to evacuate Tom. Tobias ends trying not to pity the now family-less Jake (because he knows how much it sucks to be pitied) as he and his mom and her dog sit on a park bench playing fetch together. It all reverses, in the span of a few hours. And Jake's mistake is what got them there.

#51: The Absolute Another one of my all-time favorite books, because the Marco-Ax-Tobias dynamic is unparalleled. It's a breath of fresh air before the awful bleakness of the endgame, a chance to let the three Animorphs who are actually having an okay time of it have one last wacky adventure set against the backdrop of their friends falling apart around them.

[marionette-j2x]

TSP: NEW SCRIPT AU Stuff

(Stanley and The Narrator AU heights)

Stanley : ["No fair! How dare you guys be taller than me?!"]

Edit: Narrator is 6'4" now- (Stanley: ["Are you kidding me?!"] 😢)

(A Tsundere... Probably)

Narrator : "Me? Care about Stanley? Oh, please. As if I really care for that story wrecking delinquent!"

Also Narrator : "What did you parasites do to Stanley?!"

(At the Beginning)

Stanley : ["It's kindda weird to have another person, in this hell hole. Even if it's just the Narrator."]

(A Problem)

Stanley : ["Is... Is that what's been making the hallway all... glitchy?"]

Narrator : "Unfortunately. We better terminate this one before it starts to multiply."

Stanley : ["MULTIPLY!? What even is that thing!?"]

Narrator : "That, my dear protagonist, is a MALWARE."

(Narrator Eldritch Form)

(The Fruit Parable)

Bananarrator : *grumbling* "This is a story of a fruit named Stanberry- OUGHSCKJHH-! STANLEY, THIS IS JUST RIDICULOUS!"

(Stanley Drip)

(need to design better clothes next time)

(The Older Sister)

Curator : *sighs* "This is the umpteenth time the alarms had been blaring in my museum. What have you two been arguing on about now?"

Narrator : "He called me an old man with a gimpy leg!"

Stanley : ["He called me an incompetent 'pillock' whatever that is but knowing the Narrator, I could only guess it's an insult."]

(The Curator gave a sharp glare making them both shut up immediately)

(The Adventure Line™)

Just follow the Line™!

(The Confusion Ending)

(^Consider it a continuation of the art above)

Mariella : "Whoah. Are you two okay?"

Narrator : *grumbling* "Never been better."

Mariella : "Riiightt... Where have you two been anyway? Madame Curator has been tracking you down a couple of resets ago."

Narrator : *cringes* "About that. The Line™ had been quite 'fussy' lately ever since changes had been added in the Parable and we decided to give it™ a little bit of a 'cheering up' and well..."

Mariella : *squints* "Wait, how many times have you guys been doing 'The Confusion Ending'?"

Narrator : "Honestly, I've lost count at around 20-"

*Stanley then fell forward, face planting on the carpeted floor. Snoring away as if nothing happened*

Narrator : "..."

Mariella : "..."

Narrator : "...He's meditating."

[nanamineedstherapy]

Heat & Dust: Where the Wind Calls Her Name

Modern AU: Nanami Kento x Indian F!Wife Reader

Summary: Nanami & his wife were happy. That was before Rajasthan. Because when the wind howls through the ruins, the whispers call a name. (A slow-burn tragedy about a love lost & a man who never stopped looking.) Trigger Warnings: Smut (so minors & ageless blogs please touch grass), Heavy Angst, Unreliable Narrator, Shakespearian Tragedy, Haunting Love Stories, Loverboy Kento Nanami, Emotional Torture, Rajasthan & Indian Folklore, Death (Past & New), Ghost Prince GS, Hopeless Romanticism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. The Reader is of Indian descent, but you can hallucinate whatever you want, body type, skin complexion, etc., descriptions have not been used. The town is real & abandoned overnight for haunting reasons, but the palace described is fictional. A/N: Welcome to My TED Talk on Why Nanami Kento Can’t Have Peace. So yesterday, I watched an Indian horror movie, & then I remembered a convo I had with my Indian atheist friend (hardcore non-believer), who casually dropped the fact that in India, “Oh yeah, we don’t dress up too much around ruins.” And I was like… excuse me???. Apparently, this isn’t just a "women beware" thing—even guys warn each other about this, because it’s not just women—cute men have also disappeared or gone insane. So instead of reacting like a normal person, my brain said: “What if Nanami Kento went full Majnu?” So naturally, this is now Nanami’s problem. Also, why do I keep making this man suffer? I love him, I really do, but if he’s not in maximum emotional distress, am I really doing my job? Anyway, Nanami is suffering & the narrator is a liar. Believe nothing. Enjoy the pain, besties. 🖤

Rajasthan was a furnace in late autumn. The sun bled into the horizon, streaking the sky with burnt oranges and bruised purples as a foreigner husband and his local wife trailed behind their tour group.

"Are we really doing this?" She murmured, her fingers lightly brushing his wrist. The tour guide was droning on about the history of Kuldhara, the abandoned village known for its curse. But their real interest lay in the looming structure ahead—the palace of a prince, a name lost in history but kept alive by local whispers.

The palace was breathtaking, a relic of Rajasthan’s royal past, its sandstone walls glowing amber under the setting sun. Nanami Kento had never been one for grand romantic gestures, but even he couldn’t resist the allure of this Mahal, with its intricate mosaics and whispered legends. His wife had been the one to suggest the trip. “It’s a place for lovers,” she’d said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And we could use a little adventure, don’t you think?”

They had been married for five years, a union that defied cultural expectations—a half-Danish, half-Japanese man and an Indian woman who had met in the unlikeliest of places: a student exchange in Tokyo. Their love had always been quiet but fierce, built on mutual respect and a shared disdain for the supernatural. They were atheists, both of them, grounded in logic and reason. Ghosts, spirits, curses—these were the stuff of fairy tales, not their reality.

Nanami adjusted his sunglasses. "It’s just a palace. You wanted to see something ‘haunted,’ right?"

She scoffed. "I was joking."

"You were not."

A smirk tugged at her lips. "Fine. Maybe a little."

The group paused in front of the arched entryway; the marble cracked and overgrown with creeping vines. A hush settled over them as the guide began to recount the tale:

“This story isn’t in most history books, but ask the locals, and they’ll all tell you the same thing. Hundreds of years ago, a foreign prince came to this land—as a conqueror, though he stayed because of a person who lived here. Some say it was a woman, others say a man. The details were lost over time, but what we do know is that he had wealth, power, and control over vast territories. Yet, despite all of that, he chose to stay here, in a kingdom that wasn’t of his customs.

The prince was renowned for his striking beauty—his unique hair and captivating eyes—a ruler of immense charm but even greater misfortune. He built alliances, settled disputes, even took on the customs of the land. He was even undefeated in wars, a genius strategist. Some say he did it all for them—for the one person he couldn’t bear to leave behind.

But love like that rarely ends well.

One night, he vanished alongside his lover, a woman likely, promised to another. Some say they were caught and killed before they could run. Others say the prince’s enemies set a trap, making sure neither of them left these walls alive. But the strangest stories come from those who claim he never left at all.”

Nanami’s wife rolled her eyes. "He sounds like a tragic anime protagonist."

Nanami exhaled sharply—a rare, barely-there laugh. "You watch too much TV."

She elbowed him, and he caught her wrist, pulling her closer. The air between them shifted—heavy, charged.

"Come on," she whispered. "Let’s go somewhere less... crowded."

His hesitation was brief, a flicker of logic against the pull of her hand. They drifted past a crumbling archway, slipping into the shadowed halls of the abandoned palace. The moment the voices of the group faded behind them, the atmosphere thickened.

It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation.

She tugged him into a hidden alcove, her back pressing against cool stone. "No one’s here," she murmured, fingers curling into his shirt.

"Careful, darling, you sound too eager," he smeirked, his voice lower and rougher.

"Maybe I just believe in you more than the ghosts," she teased.

But the Mahal had other plans.

He kissed her before she could say anything more—slow, deliberate, consuming. The taste of sweat and dust mixed with the softness of her lips, and for a moment, nothing existed beyond this—just the weight of her body against his, the sharp intake of breath when he gripped her waist beneath her t-shirt, the warmth of her skin beneath his palms. Her lips kissing his with a hunger that made his chest ache.

They kissed like they were the only two people in the world, the cool marble at their backs and the faint scent of eucalyptus in the air.

When they finally pulled apart, she laughed, her voice echoing strangely in the empty hall. “This place is magic,” she said, her fingers tracing the patterns on the wall. “Can’t you feel it?”

Nanami smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I feel you,” he replied, his voice low. “That’s enough magic for me.”

And then—

The wind shifted.

A whisper of cool air, unnatural against the desert heat, coiled around them.

She shivered.

He pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. "Are you cold?"

She shook her head. “I just... felt something.” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if she couldn’t quite put it into words.

A beat of silence hung between them, heavy and unspoken as he waited for her to elaborate.

Then she laughed, the sound light and airy, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Forget it. Let’s go back,” she said, her smile returning as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Her lips brushing against his ear, voice dropping to a whisper. “I want us to start trying for a baby.”

He shivered, a mix of surprise and warmth flooding through him. He’d wanted to have a family with her ever since he’d laid eyes on her.

Without a word, he pulled out his phone and called the driver, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.

As she stepped away, though, she hesitated.

Just for a moment.

Her gaze flickered toward the shadows of the palace, her smile faltering.

But then she shook it off, linking her arm with her husband’s waist, who kissed her forehead and pulled her towards the exit.

---

The first time he noticed something was wrong, it was subtle.

She was quieter on the ride back. Thoughtful. Her fingers tapped against the car window, her gaze unfocused.

"You’re not feeling sick, are you?" he asked, eyes flickering toward her.

She turned to him too slowly, blinking as if shaking herself from a daze. "No. Just tired."

He accepted it. At first.

But the things were going to change forever.

The moment the words had left her lips—“I want us to start trying for a baby”—Nanami’s world had narrowed to her, like it already didn’t revolve around her. His hands, usually so controlled, had trembled as they gripped her hips, pulling her closer. His lips had found hers in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and reverence; his breath had hitched as she melted into him.

“Are you sure?” He’d murmured against her mouth as soon as they walked inside their hotel room, his voice rough with need. When she nodded, his restraint had shattered.

He had been everywhere at once—his hands roaming her body, his lips trailing down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her gasp. He was drunk on her, consumed by the idea of her carrying his child, and it showed in every touch, every kiss, every ragged breath. His composed demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw, primal hunger that left her breathless.

Nanami had been relentless, each thrust drawing a gasp or moan from her lips. He’d already brought her to the edge multiple times, his hands and mouth working in tandem to unravel her completely. But now, as he hovered above her, his hips moving with a rhythm that was almost possessive, he was focused on one thing: filling her. The thought of it—of her carrying his child—had him teetering on the edge of control.

“K…Ken…Ahh,” she had whimpered his name, her nails digging into his back as she arched against him. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, his forehead dropping to hers.

“I’ve got you,” he’d murmured, voice rough, breathless. His hand had slid between them, thumb circling her clit as he felt her tighten around him again. “Come for me one more time, love.”

She had, her body shuddering as she cried out his name. He was about to follow her over the edge.

But then, she had frozen. Her eyes wide, as she’d turned her head sharply toward the window. “Do you hear that?” she’d whispered, voice trembling.

Nanami had stilled, his brow furrowing as he tried to catch his breath. “Hear what?” he’d asked; his tone had been calm but tinged with concern.

“Music,” she’d said, her voice barely audible. "It's... it’s faint, but it’s there. Like a sitar or something.”

He had seriously listened but had heard nothing except the sound of their breathing and the faint rustle of the curtains. “I don’t hear anything,” he’d said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Are you sure?”

She’d nodded, eyes wide with confusion. “It’s there, Kento. I’m not imagining it.”

Nanami had studied her face, his analytical mind kicking into gear.

He had known her well enough to recognize when she was serious, and right now, she looked genuinely unsettled.

“Alright,” he’d said softly, pulling out of her and sitting up. “Let’s figure this out.”

She’d blinked, surprised by his calm reaction. “You believe me?”

“I believe that you heard something,” he’d said carefully, his tone measured. “Whether it’s real or not, we’ll find out. But I need you to be honest with me—are you sure you’re ready for this? For us trying for a baby?”

Her eyes had been filled with tears, and she’d shaken her head. “I’m not lying, Kento. I want this. I want us. But I heard something, and it's...”

He’d sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, let’s take a breath and figure this out together.”

As he’d reached for his robe, she’d grabbed his hand, her grip tight. “I’m sorry,” she’d whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”

He’d turned back to her, his expression softening. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he’d said, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure this out. But for now, let’s just... breathe.”

She’d nodded, but the unease in her eyes remained.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Nanami had muttered before walking away.

She’d sat there, alone and confused, the faint strains of music still echoing in her ears.

Later that night, as they lay in their bed, she had sat up abruptly, her eyes wide. “Did you hear that?” she’d whispered.

“Hear what?” Nanami had asked, already half-asleep.

“A voice. It was… singing.”

He’d dismissed it as a trick of the wind or her exhaustion, but the next day, she’d insisted they return to the palace, her tone urgent and her eyes wide with something he couldn’t quite place. “I need to see it again,” she’d said, her tone urgent. “There’s something there, Kento. I can’t explain it.” He had to spend two hours convincing her it was nothing and they’d stick with their itinerary with the hotel.

Maybe it was the stress of traveling. Maybe the unfamiliar environment was playing tricks on her senses. Or maybe, just maybe, she was overwhelmed by the idea of starting a family. He’d convinced himself it was temporary, something they could work through together.

But then it started happening every time.

Just as he was about to cum inside, she’d flinch, her body tensing as she turned her head sharply, her eyes darting toward some unseen corner of the room. “Do you hear that?” she’d whisper, her voice trembling. “Music. It’s… it’s faint, but it’s there.”

And every time, he’d stop, his patience wearing thinner and thinner. He’d listen, his brow furrowed, but hear nothing. “There’s no music,” he’d say, his voice calm but tinged with frustration. “It’s just us.”

She’d insist, her eyes pleading with him to believe her, but he couldn’t. Not when it kept happening. Not when it felt like she was pulling away from him in the moments they should have been closest.

Nanami was a logical man. He prided himself on his ability to analyze situations, to break them down into manageable parts, and find solutions. But this... this defied logic. He’d run through every possible explanation—stress, fatigue, even the lingering effects of jet lag—but none of them fully accounted for her behavior. And the more it happened, the harder it became to ignore the gnawing doubt in the back of his mind.

Maybe she doesn’t want this. Maybe she doesn’t want kids with me. Maybe she doesn’t want me.

The thought was like a knife to his chest. They’d been together for so long—twelve years of knowing each other, five years of marriage. He’d fought for her, convinced her family to let him marry her, to leave everything behind and build a life with him. He’d never doubted her love before, but now... now he wasn’t so sure.

He didn’t want to believe his intrusive thoughts; he really didn’t.

She loved him, right? She married him.

But then why did this trip feel like he was better off back home than traveling the world with the love of his life?

So next time he hadn't been as kind to her.

“Ken baby,” she’d breathed one night, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. They had been in their hotel room, the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Her touch had been warm, familiar, and for a moment, he let himself believe everything was okay.

He’d kissed her deeply, his hands sliding under her thighs to lift her onto the bed from the table he’d been fucking her against. His movements were urgent but reverent, as if he couldn’t believe this was real. He wanted her, wanted this, wanted the future they’d talked about for so long.

But then, as he’d continued to roll his hips, tettering on the edge of her and his own release, his eyes dark with desire, she’d froze.

Her head snapped toward the window, her eyes wide with fear. “Do you hear that?” She’d whispered, voice trembling.

Nanami had stilled, jaw tightening. “Hear what?” he’d asked, tone clipped.

“Music,” she’d said. “It’s… it’s coming from somewhere.”

He’d stared at her, his frustration bubbling over.

“There’s no music,” he’d said flatly, voice tight. “Are you... changing your mind? Is that what this is?”

“What? No!” She’d protested, voice rising. “I heard something, Kento. I’m not lying.”

He’d clenched his jaw and pulled out and away, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “If you’re not ready, just say so. Don’t make up excuses.”

Her eyes had been wide, hurt flashing across her face. “I’m not making anything up! I heard music. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because there’s nothing there!” He’d snapped, voice sharper than he intended. He stood, pacing the room, his frustration boiling over. “If you’re not ready for this, fine. But don’t play games with me.”

She’d stared at him, her chest tightening. “I’m not playing games,” she’d said quietly, voice breaking. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not lying to you.”

Nanami had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to take a shower,” he’d muttered.

He’d grabbed his robe and left the room without another word.

She’d sat there, alone and confused, the faint strains of a voice singing her name still echoing in her ears.

Kento didn’t know that was the last time he was ever going to have sex with her.

---

Then, back in Tokyo, small things had began piling up.

She flinched at things he couldn’t see.

"You’re being ridiculous," he said one evening when she refused to step into their dimly lit living room. "It’s just shadows."

"You don’t understand," she whispered.

"You’re right," he snapped, patience thinning. "I don’t."

She recoiled as if struck.

Then she’d begun walking in the night, her side of the bed cold. She claimed she heard music, faint and haunting, like the strains of a sitar playing in another room. Nanami would check the apartment, of course, but there was never anything there.

“It’s stress,” he’d said one evening, his tone gentle but firm. “You’ve been working too hard. Maybe you should take some time off.”

She’d glared at him, her usually warm eyes icy. “You think I’m imagining this?”

“I think you’re exhausted,” he’d replied, reaching for her hand. She’d pulled away.

And then there were the whispers—half-heard murmurs when she thought he wasn’t listening.

She’d started to wake up in the middle of the night, staring at the corner of their bedroom. Sometimes mumbling under her breath, as if answering a question.

The fights started small—her frustration at his refusal to believe her, his exhaustion at her growing paranoia.

But resentment festered like a wound left untreated.

She’d insisted she wasn’t crazy and that something—or someone—was following her.

Nanami, the pragmatist, had suggested therapy. “Just to rule things out,” he’d said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Please, darling. For me.”

She’d agreed, but the sessions only seemed to make things worse.

The therapist diagnosed her with schizophrenia, a word that hung between them like a death sentence.

She stopped going to work, retreating into herself. She spent her days at home, staring out the window or pacing the apartment, her once-vibrant personality dulled to a shadow.

Then the arguments got more frequent.

When he suggested starting medication, she laughed.

It wasn’t a kind laugh.

"You think I’m crazy?"

"I think you need help."

Her lips curled. "Of course you do."

She stopped sleeping beside him.

Stopped talking to him unless necessary.

Work became a distant thing, then a nonexistent one.

Nanami tried to be patient, but the distance between them grew. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing her. The woman he’d married—strong, independent, full of life—was slipping away, replaced by someone he barely recognized.

And one day, he came home to find her in the dark.

---

Nanami had come home to the sound of laughter. It was a sound he hadn’t heard in months, and it stopped him in his tracks.

It had been rich and warm, spilling from her lips like it belonged there.

A weight had lifted from his chest, and for a moment, he allowed himself to hope.

Maybe she’d been getting better. Maybe they’d find their way back to each other. Maybe she’d been finally healing. Maybe—

But as he’d stepped into the living room, his heart sank.

She’d been sitting on the floor, her back to him, knees tucked beneath her, hands gesturing lightly—casual, intimate. Her shoulders had been shaking with laughter as she spoke to someone, voice soft.

Except there had been no one there.

“Darling,” he’d called, his voice trembling.

She’d turned then, still smiling, but the moment she’d seen him, her expression had shifted—a flicker of something unreadable before she’d schooled her features.

Her eyes had still been bright with a joy he hadn’t seen in so long. “Kento. You’re home.” She’d greeted him like he was an afterthought.

He’d forced a smile, though his pulse had thundered in his ears. “Who were you talking to?”

Her expression had faltered, just for a moment. “No one,” she said quickly. “Just… thinking out loud.”

“What was so funny?” he’d pushed.

She hesitated. Then, softly added, "you wouldn’t believe me."

His fists had clenched. "Try me."

Then her eyes had flicked—just slightly—to something over his shoulder.

And that was when he’d felt it.

The air had moved.

A cold breath against the back of his neck.

A presence too close, too real.

He’d turned.

And for the first time in his life, Nanami Kento saw a ghost.

Tall. Pale. Dressed in fine, outdated robes.

Beautiful eyes and hair.

Beautiful white hair and piercing blue eyes.

The man—the prince—was watching him with an unreadable expression.

Like a king appraising a pawn.

Like a conqueror surveying his land.

Nanami’s knees had buckled, and he’d fallen.

His wife had rushed forward, instinct taking over, her hands gripping his face, her touch grounding—alive, but her hands had been cold against his skin.

"Kento—!"

But he wasn’t looking at her.

He’d been looking at him.

And the ghost, Prince Gojo Satoru, had simply smirked.

Like he’d already won.

Nanami had realized then—this wasn’t just madness.

It wasn’t a break, a disorder, a cruel trick of the mind.

She hadn’t been losing herself.

She’d been taken.

And he had let it happen.

The pieces had fallen into place with cruel clarity.

The voice she’d heard in the palace, the laughter, the way she’d become distant—it wasn’t schizophrenia.

It had all been Gojo.

The ghost of a prince who had taken a liking to her, who had followed her home and woven himself into her life.

Nanami felt sick.

He had failed her.

He had dismissed her fears, convinced himself she was ill, when the truth was far more terrifying.

And now he was losing her to a man who wasn’t even alive.

“I’m sorry,” he’d choked out, his voice breaking. “I should have believed you.”

Her face had crumpled, and she’d pulled him into her arms. “It’s not your fault,” she’d whispered. “I didn’t want to believe it either.”

But as they clung to each other, Nanami couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too late.

---

In the weeks that followed, she’d grow weaker, her once-vibrant spirit fading like a dying flame.

Nanami watched helplessly as the woman he loved slipped further and further away, her laughter now a ghostly echo in their empty home.

And in the corner of the room, Gojo watched, his smirk never wavering.

But as he’d sat by her bedside, holding her hand as she slept, he’d make a silent vow. He would find a way to bring her back, even if it meant confronting the dead monarch himself.

After all, love was the only magic he had ever believed in.

Then Nanami had tried everything—doctors, therapists, even a desperate visit to a priestess who had taken one look at him and shaken her head. “There’s nothing I can do,” she’d said. “This is beyond me.”

And now, she was gone.

She died on a quiet morning, as if the universe itself was too ashamed to make a sound.

No violence, no struggle—just silence.

Nanami had left for groceries, and when he returned, the door was ajar.

The air inside was stale, thick, suffocating.

He’d called her name.

No answer.

He found her curled on their bed, her body unnaturally still, her hands resting lightly on her stomach as if she had merely dozed off. Her lips were parted, and for a moment, he swore he saw them move.

But she was cold.

Kento stood there for a long time, unable to move, unable to breathe.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

He shook her once, twice. "Darling."

Her head lolled to the side.

His fingers clenched around her shoulders. "This isn’t funny."

Nothing.

A sound escaped him—raw, broken.

They told him it was heart failure. A tragedy. Sudden. Unexplained.

But he knew better.

The days that followed were a blur.

Nanami moved through them like a ghost himself, his grief a heavy cloak that suffocated him.

He expected to see Gojo’s ghost lurking in the corners of their apartment, taunting him, but the white-haired figure was nowhere to be found. It was as if Gojo had vanished the moment his wife had taken her last breath.

Nanami hated him for it.

Hated him for taking her, for leaving him alone, for existing at all.

But most of all, he hated himself for not being able to save her. For not believing her in time.

The days stretched into weeks. He drifted, weightless, his mind full of echoes.

He stopped speaking to people. Stopped working.

The world became a distant thing, muffled and unreal.

But the pull remained.

---

It was a month after her death when Nanami stood in the shadow of the Mahal, its sandstone walls glowing in the afternoon sun, looming over him like a specter from a past he couldn’t escape. It didn't hold the same allure anymore.

Now, it felt like a tomb.

He didn’t know why he’d come. He hadn’t planned it.

He hadn’t planned on anything at all.

Maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was the faint hope that he could confront Gojo, demand answers, scream at him until his voice gave out.

But deep down, he knew the truth: he was here because he had nowhere else to go.

The palace was empty; no tourists.

Nanami wandered the corridors, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

He found the alcove where it had all begun—the place where he had shared that fateful kiss.

The memory was sharp, painful, and he clenched his fists to keep from breaking down.

There was no sound, no music, only the faint rustle of wind through the palace’s ancient halls. Nanami sank to his knees, his anger giving way to despair. He whispered, his voice cracking. “Why? Why her?”

Still, there was nothing. No ghostly figure, no laughter, no sign that Gojo had ever been there at all.

Nanami felt a surge of frustration.

Had it all been in his head? Had her illness been just that—an illness—and he had been going insane and started seeing it too?

As he sat there, his mind racing, the air got heavy with the scent of eucalyptus and decay, and a faint sound reached his ears.

It was music—soft and haunting, reminiscent of the tunes she had described hearing all those months ago.

But this time, it was accompanied by the gentle jingle of the anklets she’d worn on their wedding day and during Karwachauth ever since.

Nanami’s breath caught in his throat.

He stood, following the sound through the palace’s labyrinthine corridors until he reached a small, hidden chamber.

Inside, the walls were covered in intricate carvings, their details illuminated by the faint light of a single oil lamp.

And there in the center of the room—

She’d looked just as she had in life, her eyes warm and full of love, voice soft. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Nanami stumbled forward, reaching for her, but his hand passed through her like smoke. “Darling,” he choked out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Nanami demanded, his voice rising. “You didn’t choose this! He took you from me!”

She shook her head, her form beginning to fade.

“No!” Nanami shouted, lunging for her, but she was already gone, the music fading with her.

The next moment, there was nothing.

Only silence. Vast and consuming.

Then—a shimmer in the air, warping the space around it, like heat rising from the desert sand.

A figure materialized.

White hair. Piercing Blue eyes. Pale skin. A presence that did not belong.

Nanami could barely breathe.

Gojo Satoru stood before him, his gaze vacant, his posture relaxed in a way that felt unnatural—like he was here, but also elsewhere. His voice, when it came, was soft. Too soft.

"Why her?"

There was no malice, no satisfaction. Just neutrality. An absence of feeling.

Nanami swallowed, his throat dry. His fingers curled into trembling fists. "You really don’t know, do you, Kento?"

Nanami’s jaw clenched. "Enlighten me."

Gojo tilted his head slightly, as if considering the request. When he spoke, there was no anger, no cruelty—just a simple, unwavering truth.

"You married an Indian woman. Lived with her. Loved her. And yet, you never learned the most basic rule."

The air around them shifted, thick with something rancid. The wind through the broken palace walls carried the scent of decay, of age, of something that did not want to be disturbed.

Gojo’s voice remained even.

"In India, there’s an unspoken rule—one even atheists follow."

The air grew colder.

"You do not show off your women in ruins."

Nanami’s stomach twisted.

Gojo blinked slowly, like a creature that had forgotten how to mimic human expression. "You don’t dress them up and parade them around cemeteries, old buildings, palaces." His voice lowered. "People get possessed. Things follow them home."

Nanami felt his breath leave him.

The memory came back. The moment he lost her.

The way she had laughed in that alcove, her lips swollen from his kisses, her body pressed against his, flushed and breathless. The gold that had glinted at her wrists, her throat, catching the dying sunlight—making her glow. The way her voice, filled with love, with life, carried through the hollow halls of a palace where no living thing should have heard it.

They had looked so blissful.

But now, the memory felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

Because he’d been watching.

“You looked so happy,” Gojo murmured, his voice almost thoughtful. “So in love.”

There was no malice. No regret. No sympathy.

"And I…" Gojo’s voice barely wavered. "I wanted that."

Nanami’s heart threatened to crawl out of his throat.

Gojo blinked, his expression unchanging. "My love left me," he said. "Married another. Her family pushed her into it, and she stayed once she met him. I waited for her. I waited for her to come back."

His head turned slightly, looking out the window, gaze distant. Like he was watching a memory. Like he was watching something only he could see. "She never did."

The stillness in his voice was unbearable.

Nanami’s vision blurred with rage. "So you took mine instead?"

Gojo turned to face him, eyes boring into Nanami's.

His face was still empty. Void of anything human.

"Maybe I did," he said. "Maybe she left. Maybe she came back to me. Maybe you stole her from me in another life. Maybe she chose you. Maybe she didn’t love me as much as I thought. Or maybe—" Gojo exhaled softly. "Maybe I see why she fell in love with you."

Rage coiled in Nanami’s chest. His hands trembled, nails biting into his palms.

Gojo watched him without blinking. Without caring. "After everything I lost—after she left me to marry someone else because her family pushed her into it—I wanted what you had."

Gojo’s voice did not rise. It did not falter.

"So I took it."

Nanami’s body locked up, something primal and violent rising in his chest. His throat burned. His vision swam. His grief was a wildfire, an avalanche, a noose tightening around his own damn throat.

“You’re a monster.”

Gojo continued, reactionless. "Maybe," he admitted.

Then—Gojo’s head tilted ever so slightly.

"But you’re the one who brought her here."

The words slammed into Nanami’s ribcage like a hammer.

"You didn’t protect her," Gojo murmured. "You thought she was insane before you believed her."

The words hit Nanami like he was being set on fire. 

Because he knew.

He knew.

Deep down, he knew the truth in them.

He’d been so focused on their future, too confident in logic and reason, on starting a family, that he’d ignored the warnings—both spoken and unspoken—the unease in her eyes, the way her voice had shaken when she begged him to listen, to believe her.

And now she was gone.

He would never see her again.

She had slipped through his fingers like smoke, like an illusion he was never meant to hold onto in the first place.

He stood there, rooted in the ruins of a past that no longer existed, a future that had been severed clean from his grasp.

Gojo did not smile.

He did not mock.

He simply stood there, blank and unfeeling, watching as Nanami shattered into something that could never be put back together.

"Give her back."

Nanami’s voice cracked, raw and desperate.

It was not a demand.

It was a plea.

"Please." His fingers twitched, reaching for something that wasn’t there. "Just give her back."

For the first time, Gojo’s expression shifted. Not in pity. Not in regret.

Just something fleeting. Almost human.

"I can’t."

His voice was quiet. Unshaken. Final.

"She’s not mine to give."

And then he was gone.

No shadow left behind.

No footprints in the dust.

As if he had never been there at all.

And maybe he hadn’t.

Nanami never saw Gojo again.

Not in the palace.

Not anywhere.

And neither did he see her.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Not in the ruins where he had kissed her for the last time.

Not in the house where she had once lived, where the echoes of her voice had turned to silence.

But still, he searched.

Through the palace.

Through the crumbling ruins.

Through the empty villages.

Through the desert, where the sand swallowed footsteps whole.

Through the places where even the ghosts had grown tired of lingering.

But there was nothing.

There had never been anything.

No ghosts.

No answers.

Just silence—cold and unrelenting, stretching on and on until it hollowed him out from the inside.

Or maybe—maybe he had seen her.

Maybe she had whispered to him in the dead of night, her voice curled around his ear like a secret. Maybe he had caught glimpses of her in reflections, in the shimmer of heat rising from the sand, in the spaces between dreams and waking.

Or maybe it had all been in his head.

Maybe she had never been there at all.

The whispers started soon after.

Of the foreigner with blond hair who wandered through the ruins, his steps slow, his gaze hollow.

Of the man who murmured to the crumbling palace walls, who spoke to shadows, who waited for a love that would never return.

At first, people tried to help.

They approached him with cautious kindness.

“Are you lost, sir?”

“Do you have family we can call?”

“Here, drink this—eat something.”

But Nanami did not answer.

Did not acknowledge them.

Did not even seem to hear them at all.

He knew you’d be mad. 

You never liked when other women gave him attention.

He would sit in the dust, his fingers tracing invisible patterns into the stone, lips moving in silent conversation.

With whom, no one knew.

And slowly, they learned to leave him alone.

He became part of the ruins themselves.

A figure wrapped in dust and sorrow.

A cautionary tale whispered to children.

"Don’t wander too far, lest you meet the mad foreigner who searches for his dead wife."

The weeks passed. Then the months.

His hair grew long and matted, strands clumping together, dirt and sand tangled in the once-golden locks.

His clothes frayed at the edges, sleeves torn, fabric thinning from exposure to the harsh desert winds.

His face, once sharp with quiet confidence, sank inward—cheekbones too prominent, lips cracked, skin burnt raw by the unrelenting sun.

A living corpse.

The police and NGOs found him once, coaxed him into a rehabilitation center, gave him food, bathed him, handed him clean clothes.

But the moment they turned their backs, he was gone.

He ran.

Back to the palace.

Back to the ruins.

Back to the last place he thought he'd seen her.

He was twenty-seven, but to those who saw him, he was ageless.

A mad saint.

A lost soul.

A pagala baba, dressed in tattered rags, muttering prayers that weren’t prayers—just a name, her name, over and over again.

Still—he walked.

Because maybe, if he searched long enough—

If he wandered through the ruins until his feet bled—

If he kept looking, kept listening, kept believing—

Maybe one day, he would find her again.

Maybe she had just stepped away for a moment.

Maybe she would return.

Maybe one day, he would wake up and she would be beside him.

And the desert, mercifully, swallowed his grief whole.

Because one day—

He disappeared.

No one saw him leave.

No footprints in the sand.

No body was found.

Just gone.

But still—the whispers remained.

At night, when the wind howled through the ruins, when the air was thick with the weight of something unseen—

Some swore they heard it.

A hum.

A laugh.

A faint, lingering strain of music.

Some claimed they saw a figure—tall, blond, beautiful, with kind eyes.

A man, waiting. Searching. Wandering.

Still looking for the love stolen from him.

Still lost in the ruins, long after his body had faded into the sand.

Still hoping—

That maybe, this time, he would find her.

Or maybe he already had.

No one knew.

No one ever would.

But they all agreed on one thing—

That sometimes, in the dead of night, when the desert wind carried the echoes of the past, those who listened closely could hear it—

A faint hum of laughter.

The ghost of a love stolen.

Or the sorrowful strains of music that followed him wherever he went.

A/N: So, my dear readers… how did you like Schizophrenia? No, Just a Rajasthani Prince With No Bitches. Did Nanami ever find her? Did Gojo win? Or did our beloved blond idiot just walk himself into an early grave, Majnu-style? Comment below: 🔘 “They were reunited” (Delusional Romantic)🔘 “Nanami died searching” (Realist Pain Enthusiast)🔘 “Gojo gaslit gatekept girlbossed all of us” (Clown) Let me know which version of suffering you believe in. Your engagement fuels my villain arc. 💀✨

All Works Masterlist

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Snowed In

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, light teasing, being snowed in, food descriptions, lots of love.

Author’s Note: This was such a cozy and heartfelt story to write! I loved imagining Soap and his beloved tucked away in a little Scottish cottage. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The Highlands were everything Johnny had promised and more. A vast expanse of untouched beauty, the rolling hills were dusted with snow, and the towering mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks hidden by thick gray clouds. You’d been enchanted the moment you arrived, your breath taken away by the serene quietness of it all.

Johnny had been just as excited, his boyish grin practically splitting his face in half as he guided you up the narrow, winding path to the little stone cottage he’d rented for your honeymoon. The way his Scottish accent thickened in his excitement was enough to make your heart flutter all over again.

“Wait till ye see the view in the mornin’,” he’d said, unlocking the heavy wooden door and stepping aside to let you in. “Sunrise over the hills—ye’ll think yer dreamin’.”

The cottage was perfect. Warm and inviting, with its exposed wooden beams, a roaring fireplace, and plaid blankets draped over every surface. It felt like stepping into one of Johnny’s stories, the ones he’d told you over late-night phone calls during his deployments.

But now, just two days into your stay, a blizzard had rolled in, trapping the two of you inside.

---

You sat curled on the plush couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs and a steaming mug of tea warming your hands. The large window beside you framed the storm outside, snow falling in thick, blinding sheets, obscuring the world beyond.

Johnny stood by the window, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the snow pile up against the glass. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and his messy blond hair was sticking up in every direction—likely from him running his hands through it every few minutes.

“Looks like we’re snowed in for a while, love,” he said, turning to face you with a rueful grin. “No celebratin’ in the village tonight.”

You smiled back at him, your heart swelling at the sight of his dimples. “Well, if anyone could turn being snowed in into a romantic adventure, it’s you.”

His grin widened, and he crossed the room in a few long strides, dropping onto the couch beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Aye, that’s true. Ye married a man o’ many talents, after all.”

You laughed, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer. “Oh, really? And what talents are those?”

“Cooking,” he said, his voice filled with mock seriousness. “Buildin’ fires. Tellin’ stories. Keepin’ you entertained. Name it, lass, and I’ll deliver.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Cooking, huh? I seem to remember you nearly setting off the fire alarm last time you tried to make breakfast.”

Johnny gasped, pressing a hand to his chest as though you’d wounded him. “Ach, that was one time! And I still made the best bloody eggs you’ve ever had!”

You laughed again, the sound echoing in the cozy room. “Alright, Mr. Chef. Why don’t you prove it? The kitchen’s all yours.”

His eyes lit up with excitement, and he jumped to his feet. “Prepare tae be amazed, bonnie. Ye’ll be beggin’ me tae cook every meal from now on.”

You watched him disappear into the kitchenette, shaking your head with a fond smile. He began rummaging through the cabinets, narrating his actions like a host on a cooking show.

“First, ye take the bread. No’ just any bread, mind ye—Scottish bread. It’s got soul,” he said, holding up a loaf as though it were a prize.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, biting back a smile. “And the soup? Does it have soul too?”

“Aye,” he said solemnly. “It’s a soup o’ champions.”

Minutes later, he returned with two plates of grilled cheese sandwiches and steaming bowls of tomato soup. He set them down on the coffee table with a flourish, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Bon appétit,” he said, sitting beside you again.

You took a bite, your eyes widening in surprise. “Okay, I’ll admit it—this is really good.”

Johnny beamed, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Told ye. Stick with me, lass, and ye’ll never go hungry.”

---

Later, as the storm howled outside, you and Johnny sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, wrapped in the same blanket. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the softness in his blue eyes as he gazed at you.

“You know,” you said quietly, resting your head on his shoulder, “this isn’t exactly how I imagined our honeymoon.”

His hand stilled where it had been tracing idle patterns on your back, and he tilted his head to look down at you. “No?”

You shook your head. “I thought it’d be more… extravagant, I guess. But this? This is better. It’s just us. No distractions, no big plans. Just you and me, snowed in, eating grilled cheese and soup by the fire.”

Johnny’s expression softened, and he reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “Ye mean that?”

“I do,” you said, leaning into his touch. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your heart skip a beat, and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Good,” he murmured against your mouth. “Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you, love.”

You closed your eyes, savoring the moment—the warmth of the fire, the sound of the storm outside, and the steady beat of Johnny’s heart beneath your palm.

“Here’s tae the first o’ many adventures,” Johnny said, his voice low and filled with love.

You smiled, tightening your arms around him. “Here’s to us.”

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[martyrbat]

batman/tmnt adventures #1

[ID: Alfred Pennyworth approaching Batman as he clanks away at the Bat-computer. Alfred is carrying a silver serving tray with a matching dome lid. He asks, “I don't suppose you could spare some time for a late-night dinner, Master Bruce?” Bruce tells him, “Not right now, Alfred. Thank you.” Alfred sarcastically replies, “I'm shocked, Sir. And here I went and prepared this generous portion of nothing. Now it will all go to waste.” He lifts the lid as he speaks to show the empty plate as the narration boxes read: ‘Alfred Pennyworth. Batman's butler and right-hand man. Rarely shocked.’ Bruce smirks slightly at the joke and says, “Cute, Alfred.” After briefly discussing the current Gotham woes, Bruce takes off running due to breaking news! Behind him, Alfred mimes emptying the (still empty) plate into a trash can. END ID]

[zeherili-ankhein]

Now tell me the gay montriputro story please🙃🙃

KSKSJDJDHD NOW IT'S TIME FOR MY ANOTHER FAVOURITE TALE MUAHAHAHAHAHA

Ok so this story is actually so cute I wanted to retell it in my own ways someday... (nvm im too lazy to get going with anything) and this story's characters also had no names so I thought “hmm since I'm already planning to retell this why not give them brand new names....”

You might have (or might not have) seen me making some random gay doodlings and showing them to @igotadigbickandureadthatwrong [the uponkor ones lol...] and sometimes I sent one or two pictures from the og book to @randomx123 too ig..?

So this story has 4 main characters... (Well that's what I consider but you can consider 3...) And for the love of god non of them had a fucking name (and a fucking side character had a name 💀🤌) That's why the names I allotted to them are...

Dun dun dun...

Im revealing them in the narration lol...

Tagging people whom I want to share this crazy story with @randomx123 @jeahreading @krishna-priyatama @no-idea-where-i-am-lost @foreignink @igotadigbickandureadthatwrong @prettykittytanjiro @ishaaron-ishaaron-me @stxrrynxghts @desigurlie @crystraniqelle @priestessofuniverse @dwarpharini @shubhadeep385 @hydestudixs @dreamer-in-sleep @aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna @livingtheparadoxlife @groovycynicalcheesecake @wulfricnavy (im sorry im adding you late 😭 but consider this the return gift for Depth of Despair)

Trigger warnings: bitchass people, unfortunately those bitchass people don't die well in this story... sigh, infanticide, homoerotic friendship, divine intervention, snakes, snake dying, snake coming out of nose, turning into stone, talking birds and swearings

So in the starting of the story we are told about this rajkumar Upendro (yes I named him) and his verryyy verryyy verryyyy close “friend” the montriputro Shonkor 🗿 (I named him too yeahhh)

They are such good “friends” they can't even spend a day without eachother. They grew up together and do everything together eat sleep roaming around. They are literally the do dil ek jaan kinda “friends”. It's a hot topic how close these two are with eachother...

Their “friendship” is so deep Shonkor sometimes falls asleep in Upendro's room and nobody gives a flying fuck about it... Not Even the king. 💀🤌

(Me interviewing the maids of the palace*

Maids: ohh then they fell asleep together, such good friends I mean...

Me: 💀💀🗿✨ yup... Very good friends... 💀✨)

.....

So whatever back to actually plot

One day Upendro is like

Upendro: yk... I feel like going on some adventures...

Upendro: roaming around the kingdoms... Seeing new things..

Upendro: just you and me...

Shonkor: ...

Shonkor: ok

So yeah, they decided they'd go do Dora the explorer shit in the wild and went away. Just the two of them on their horses and didn't take any men or soldiers with them. 💀

And they roamed around here and there in different kingdoms and places, like those discovery channel dudes.

.....

One day after travelling for long enough they are in a forest and it's getting late. And they come across a BEAUTIFUL lake and it got really clear water like glass.

So our boyfriends besties decides “yeah let's spend the night near this lake on that banyan tree nearby”

And they tie their horses at the bottom and then get some water from the lake for hath mukh dhona and drinking and climbs the tree to sleep on it (I have no idea what they were planning to do on those branches or if it's even possible to sleep on branches 💀🤌)

.......

Now after sometimes a lot of light literally blinds them, like there's too much brightness like my mom's phone screen all over the forest and they are both like o.O trying to figure out where the light came from

And their eyes fall at the lake and they see a bigass snake coming out of it, and it has a BIG mani on it's head (hehehehehehd nag mani lessgoo) which is the source of all the blinding light.

So they see the snake crawling out of the pond and into the forest and under the tree. Snake bbg puts the nagmani down from it's head and below the tree (idk how that even happened considering it has no hands or anything 💀💀)

And then the snake eats up those two pookie horses (MY SHYALAAAAAA NO MY SHYALAAAA 😭😭) and goes away deeper into the forest 🗿🗿 blud didn't even try to climb the tree bruhh

So now Upendro and Shonkor are like 💀💀 because one wtf is that giantass snake and two their horses are gone 😭😭 (I just really love horses ok!!)

So Shonkor my ultimate gadha climbs down the tree to look at the mani and he just fucking covers that stone with the horse saddle for some weird reasons idfk 💀🤌 and then climbs back next to his boifren

......

So snake dude?dudette? idk comes back after sometime and when it couldn't find it's mani it just makes all those growling sounds like crying and all. Then it fucking dies. 💀 In dispression. 💀 Because it lost it's stone. 💀 (Ykw mood 🗿 I'd die too if I lost my favourite stone)

So now Shonkor and Upendro stays awake the entire night on the tree scared shitless 🌝 because yeah obviously you don't wanna end up in a anaconda's stomach even if you know it's ded. Like take no chances my boys.

So next morning early in the dawn they come down from the tree and Shonkor picks up the mani from those hiddings to wash it in the lake (why's he always doing the labour Upendro you hypocrite bitch)

And as soon as the mani touches the water it again starts to glowwwwwww ( read it in the you make me glow tune) and they notices a literal PALACE under the lake 💀💀

And they are like “GURL DAMN WHAT”

......

So these gayass bitches decides they wanna know what's in tha palace (like no thoughts of self preservation or safety or anything... 💀🤌 dumbasses)

And they go under the lake and yeah surprise surprise they can breath under water because of the mani 🗿

So whatever... they get under water in that palace and it's really gorgeous and big and a lot of stuff are there like trees and fruits they never heard of, flowers with sweet smells, and ofcourse lots of gemstone and stuff and as expected NO ONE fucking no one's in that palace 💀🤌

So they get inside the palace (bro that's trespassing where's your poribar's shikkha??) And starts to search all the rooms like some local chor because bruhh 💀

......

Then they suddenly hear some very feminine crying sounds coming from one of the rooms, and ofcourse they are like o.O and go to see what's wrong and comes across the room where the sound is coming from

Inside they see a gorgeous maiden sitting on the GOLDEN bed and sobbing like her world ended (which yeah it did)

And she hears to footsteps and looks up to see those two randomass dude standing there like🧍And she's like

Bbg cutie: who are you all? 😭

Bbg cutie: why are you here? 😭

Bbg cutie: go away or the snek will eat you 😭

Bbg cutie: it already ate my mom dad siblings and everyone in this palace 😭

Bbg cutie: only I'm alive now (because of unknown reasons) 😭

Bbg cutie: so go away before you become the 3 course 5 star meal for the snake... 😭😭

So Shonkor is like

Shonkor: girl dw that snek is ded, we killed it :D (where dude? It died from grief stop lying idiot)

Shonkor: see see the mani from its head :D

And he shows her the mani (also Upendro you bitch why tf are you just standing and doing nothing you kamchor lyadkhor harami)

[Ohhh btw I named my bbg Kumudini just because 🗿🗿🗿]

So now

Kumudini: umm ok... But who tf ARE you??

Shonkor: ummm I'm Shonkor... You? (Well in the og tale he just says he's montriputro but since I gave him a name he's saying his name ok)

Kumudini: I'm the princess of this place Kumudini 🥹🤌

Kumudini: will you two go away from here 🥺 (goshhh she's so pookie I love her soo much ahhhhh)

Shonkor: no no! We're here to stay ofcourse :D

Kumudini: omgg yayyy welcome you all will be as comfortable as possible here :D

[I love how Upendro is just standing there like 🧍 while these two chat like he's such a dumb and introverted gadha... I love him so much lmao]

......

So they start to stay in that patal palace (that's how that place is described ok it's said to be patal... cool ig?)

And ig in those days Upendro and Kumudini have their Kuch Kuch Hota Hai moments cuz Shonkor then one days tells her Upendro wants to marry her 💀🤌

(Lmao imagine the conversation that went between our cookie Shonkor and his adopted introvert Upendro...

Upendro: bhai 🌝

Shonkor:

Upendro: setting karwa de 🌝

Shonkor:

Upendro: plj 🌝

Shonkor:

Shonkor: ok 💀

Upendro: yaayy ilysm 🥹)

And unsurprisingly Kumudini agrees to marry him cuz ofcourse duhh they are in looveee~ 💀

So they get married in that place (idk how they got a purohit tho... Ig allrounder Shonkor became the purohit... Or they simply married without a purohit which is also not at all wrong)

......

Now after somedays Upendro starts to feel homesick because they have been away from there kingdom for SO LONG

So Upendro tells Shonkor that they should go back home but Shonkor is like

Shonkor: yaaa you're right. But idt you two should go like this....

Upendro: wot? woi?

Shonkor: cuz you both are newly married 🗿

He basically tells them both to stay at the patal palace and enjoy their honeymoon while he goes back to their kingdom to get the king daddy to come and fetch them, since Upendro's the prince and he just got married so that would be appropriate.

And so Upendro and Kumudini agrees, while Shonkor tells them bye bye and sets off for home. (Sighh... Things you do for your homoerotic friendship huh)

......

So now Kumudini and Upendro are spending their days well and good in that patal palace.

BUT one day Kumudini was getting really bored in the afternoon while Upendro was giving a mosher moto ghum (this bitch also likes bhat ghum my brother in maa Durga ufff 🫂🥹🗿✨)

And she looks at the nagmani kept close by and wonders how the upside world looks like cuz she had NEVER been there in her entire life (you need a guide for your first trip bbg don't do it alone pls)

So she decides “yeah nothing bad will happen I'll just go and come back before hubby wakes up...” and takes the mani to get out of that lake and wonder around the forest :p 💀✨

And she goes around admiring the things and all yk typical snow white behaviour, and it makes her really excited and happy because she's seeing all those for the first time in her life.

Then she comes back to the patal palace before Upendro could wake up and acts all normal and happy 🌝 telling him nothing (because more gele ke dekhche what's safety what's precautions???)

......

So this shit continues for some days, everyday she goes up and wonders like Dora the explorer during the afternoon and then comes back before Upendro can wake up from his moron ghum and she pretends everything is normal. 🗿🗿

BUT how can they live in peace right? Some crazy shit is bound to happen...

So one day as she was sitting by the lake and just playing with the water like the pookie cookie she is, that kingdom's bitchass rajkumar (the kingdom in whose area that forest falls) was out hunting with some of his equally bitchass friends and they come across the lake and banyan tree. (There's a buri mohila near the tree too, keep that in mind, it will be important to the plot later)

The rajkumar (I'm not naming him I'd just call him bitchass rajkumar) sees Kumudini only once and Kumudini get's scared and just jumps back in the lake and goes back to the palace.

And now dude is like shocked pikachu face because tf happened and he falls back down unconscious because of how GORGEOUS Kumudini is.... 💀🗿 (i mean I would too 🗿)

.....

This side Kumudini got REALLY scared so she stopped going out of the lake for some days and just spends her days in patal palace like normal, not wanting to get caught roaming by some randomass men (see everyone is scared of unknown men)

And on the other hand, over there bitchass rajkumar's sakha gang are like “yoo dude wtf happened??” and they worry for him but all dude could say is “where did she go?? where did she go??” 💀💀💀

So they are like “beta pagla hoye gache” and they take him back to the palace to his father the king. And in a few days bro becomes absolutely bedridden and mad only ever saying “where did she go?? where did she go” 💀🤌

.....

Now king dude is like “wtf gotta save my baby boy” and he does what any typical king does when no raj vaidya works... And makes the announcement that whoever can cure the rajkumar and decode who's “she” that person will get half the kingdom and the hand in marriage with his daughter the rajkumari 🗿💀✨

And now nobody fucking knows what to do because who IS “she”??? So nobody is able to save rajkumar and the king dude is getting frustrated...

THAT'S WHEN the buri mohila from before randomly appears claiming she knows how to cure the rajkumar and who “she” really is...

But ofc nobody believes her not even the king (cuz she got a rastar pagol type er chhele who's called Fokir and everyone thinks she's also pagol like her son) 💀💀💀

But she insists and says she will do it she'd just need a lake side view hut and a bunch of soldiers to help her. And if she succeeds her son must get that half kingdom and the princess' (king dude's daughter not Kumudini don't confuse) hand in marriage... (I first thought she was gonna ask to get married to the princess herself 💀🤌)

So king dude is like yeah what's there to lose? And agrees to her thinking the buri mohila can't do shit.

......

Then she gets the lake view hut and soldiers and starts to stay there starring at the lake all day.

Now this side after many days Kumudini finally gets the courage to go back outside and gets out of the lake to sit near it. 💀✨

NOW as soon as she's out in the wild sitting and playing around with the water, that old hag approaches her... And pretends to be friendly telling her not to be scared and anything and dumb dumb blorbo Kumudini agrees and tells her who she is saying she's the patal puri rajkonna and stuff showing her the nagmani.

The buri mohila pretends to be curious and asks to see the mani taking it in her hand and as soon as Kumudini gives it to her like a bokach*** she tells the hidden soldiers to come out and basically kidnap Kumudini 💀💀💀 (that's why you should trust NO ONE in an unknown place)

.....

They kidnap her and take her back to the palace while she's crying and begging them to let her go (too much traumatizing shit goes on in this story trust me)

And the buri is like “dw girl you'll be fine here the rajkumar just wants to see you”

So in the palace they call the half mad depressed bitchass rajkumar who's still murmuring “where did she go?? where did she go??” and as soon as he sees Kumudini he's like

Bitchass rajkumar: THAT'S HER THAT'S HER THAT'S THE MAIDEN I SAW BACK THEN

Kumudini: just lemme go plssss 😭😭🙏

Bitchass rajkumar not even listening to her: you're so gorgeous ahhh I wanna marry you 🥹

Kumudini, trying to save herself: ummm umm I- I can't marry for six months I'm doing a vrat 😭

Bitchass rajkumar: okk bbg I can wait for you for eternity what's six months to that 😩✨✋

(💀💀 that's legit a line from the book ok... 💀 And as much as I like the flirting romantic line he just said he's still a big long smelly piece of shit so I hate him)

......

And now back to patal palace, Upendro wakes up and is in deep depression cuz Kumudini is missing and even the mani that enables them all to get out and inside of lake is missing so he can't even go search for her.

He's literally in pieces, crying himself to madness in that lonely palace (ok yeah bro really loves his wife sigh... I just love him so much)

So now six months are going by and Kumudini is still kept hostage in that bitchass palace.

And this side Shonkor had returned to the lake side after months with those delegation party men and is waiting for Upendro and Kumudini to come out of the lake on the given date and time. But for obvious reasons non of them does that but who's gonna tell that to my baby boy sigh... 💀🤌

So he and the men he brought wait for them for some days camping in the lake side 🗿✨

......

But then one day he sees some randomass man of that kingdom going by and he asks

Shonkor: yoo dude why is there so much noice in this kingdom?? Is some festival going on?? (Cuz dude's been hearing shanai er awaj for the past days)

Dude: donchu know?? The rajkumar of this kingdom is getting married to the beautiful patal puri rajkonna...

Shonkor: .....

Shonkor: ohhh

(YEAH THOSE FUCKERS ARE FORCING MY GIRL TO GET MARRIED CUZ SIX MONTHS ARE ABOUT TO BE OVER)

And now Shonkor is like.... Damn something sus is going on and decides he'd go and investigate further cuz wtf?!?!

.....

So he goes to the city and just stays as a guest to a randomass brahmin's family to get more info

Shonkor: umm so... I heard the rajkumar is getting married to some patal puri rajkonna... Where did he find her??? 💀

Brahmin dude: ohhh yeah thats a really long story so atleast a year ago.... *tells the entire tale of bitchass rajkumar becoming depressed and muttering “where did she go??” and then buri mohila bringing Kumudini and etc etc*

Shonkor, internally fs: 💀💀💀💀 FUCK- GOTTA SAVE MAH GURL-

Shonkor: ohh umm achha... Ummm

Shonkor: so... Uhhh did the king get his daughter married to that buri mohila's son Fokir as promised...??

Brahmin dude: lmao nahhh that dude is a rastar pagol ahh person idt the king would keep his promise LOL

Shonkor: ahhh damn... How does he looks anyway??

Bhola bhala brahmin dude: hmmmm tbh he looks kinda like you... Just a little more mad and dirty and he roams around in torn clothes and all

Shonkor: ohhhh achha achha well thank you ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ

......

So next day Shonkor is like dress up bitches ✨🗿💀 and find some chhera fata clothes and becomes Fokir 🗿 cuz ofc he's THE FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED personified (he's my shona mona chader kona frrr ahhh)

And then he goes to that psycho bitchass buri's house during the evening cuz well buri must have cataract at that age and won't be able to tell properly if it's her son or some randomass dude 💀

So he goes infront of the buri's house and starts to 🕺🕺🕺✨ .... Yes... Dance 🗿🔥

Psycho buri: yoo Fokir you home??

Disguised Shonkor: ..hmm 💀

Psycho buri, rambling on: where tf do you stay you dumbass

Psycho buri: do you even have any idea I fixed your marriage with the rajkonna???

Psycho buri: you'll marry her right??

Disguised Shonkor: ..hmm 💀💀

And then she drags him inside not even knowing that it's not her son because well... As I said it's evening and she got cataract fs

Psycho buri: do you even know how I fixed your marriage??

Disguised Shonkor: 💀💀 ....no...

Pyscho buri: ok so listen...

And she PROUDLY tells him how she kidnapped an innocent maiden just like that and practically held her hostage so that people can force her in a marriage without her consent 🤡🤡 and then shows him that mani which she kept with her all this time

Shonkor internally: BITCH I WANNA BEAT YOU UP YOU HORRIBLE FUCKING WOMAN- 🥰🔪⚡🔥👹💀✨ (this is legit in the book ok)

Shonkor internally: gotta somehow.. anyhow get that mani out of your hands asap and save my bestie and return back to my boyfriend...

Psycho buri: ykww.... Fokir... You keep this mani with yourself... AND DON'T LOSE IT!

Disguised Shonkor: o.O ok... 💀

Psycho buri: now lessgo to the palace and meet that patal puri rajkonna

Disguised Shonkor: ...hmm

......

So she dresses him up in somewhat bhalo jama kapor and takes him to the palace, where the king dude does some khatir jotno 💀🤌 cuz yeah Fokir is gonna be his ghor jamai afterall... (like bro how tf did this bitch of a man even agreed to get his daughter married to a rastar pagol typa guy?? 😭 I hate him so much)

So whatever now Disguised Shonkor looks here and there and when the buri asks what's wrong. He does some ishara to that buri to say “where is Kumudini” and she goes “ohh yeah lets go see her” and takes him the chambers she's kept locked in.

They go by the gaurds who look at them like 🤨 but still lets them go cuz yeah one's a madman another's a buri mohila what can they do...

.....

Inside the chamber Kumudini bbg is still crying because ofcourse she would be

Psycho buri: ahh girll why do you keep crying?? You will literally marry the rajkumar he'd be such a nice husband...

Shonkor, internally: BITCH HOW'D YOU EVEN KNOW WHY MY PHUL JAISI LADKI IS CRYING YOU'RE THE REASON FOR THIS 🥰👹👺🔥🔪💀

So after sometimes buri mohila was like “lesgo home now” but disguised Shonkor refused to go anywhere and just shaked his head.

Buri was like “yeah if this bitch said no then I can not convince him, I'll just let him stay and hangout with Kumudini then...”

So she left and Fokir looking Shonkor stayed in the room with Kumudini who's still depressed and crying and what not.

.......

So late at night when everyone has already retired to sleep and all

Disguised Shonkor: yoo bestie can you recognise me???

Kumudini: wha- *looking closely* OHHH

then she just breaks down in more tears out of relief ig...

Kumudini: TAKE ME OUT OF HERE BY TONIGHT PLS PLS PLS BESTIE PLS 😭🙏

Shonkor, covering her mouth: shhh don't say that

Shonkor: dw da'lin I've found you now and I will get you out I promise 🥹🤌

Kumudini: okk bestie 🥹🥹

......

Now Disguised Shonkor keeps roaming around the place and doing his ✨🕺dance🕺✨ in front of the gaurd who suspect nothing cause he's a madman and he goes in and out of the palace quite a few time to gain their trust.

THEN when he's sure they will let him do anything he wants, he gets to Kumudini and tells her to dress as a man and then he takes her and they both escape from that hellhole 🗿🗿✨ (boi is so smart)

And they FINALLY get to the patal palace under the lake and see that Upendro is literally on the verge of his n'th mental breakdown.

Seeing his boyfriend and wife returning like that Upendro is like o.O And then Kumudini again starts to cry

Kumudini: I'M SORRY I WENT UP WITHOUT INFORMING AND ALL THIS HAPPENED WAHHHH 😭😭😭

Upendro: IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT THO WAHH 😭😭😭

Shonkor, awkward thirdwheeling most probably: ..... 🌝

Upendro: broooo you're my ultimate broooo come here 😭😭😭

And then they HUG 🗿✨ (and kiss ig)

.....

So now they all decide that “yeah let's get back home” (Upendro's kingdom) so they get out of that lake but to their surprise and horror all the people Shonkor brought to fetch them left lmao (like I wouldn't be waiting so long for them either) 💀💀

So they all get disappointed and starts to walk on their own like dumb bitches but obviously gets tired after quite some times so they decide they'd spend the night in that forest under a bigass tree.

......

Now under the tree as Upendro and Kumudini falls asleep and Shonkor is... Idk what he's doing he's just awake for some reasons ig... He hears two birds talking (bengoma bengomi reference yooo ahhh)

Husband birdy: yo wifey yk that montriputro Shonkor did so much to save the rajkonna and rajkumar but it's of no use...

Wife birdy: wot? why??

H. birdy: yeah see so when the king would send elephants and horses to fetch his son and daughter-in-law...

H. birdy: Upendro will fall down while climbing the elephant and die

W. birdy: 💀 what if someone doesn't let him climb the elephant??

H. birdy: ohh he'll be saved then

H. birdy: but then once at the kingdom, the shingho daar of the palace will fall on his head and he'll die

W. birdy: 💀💀 what if he doesn't goes from under the gate??

H. birdy: he will be saved but...

H. birdy: when he sits to eat at the feast, the fish bones from the machher matha would get stuck in his throat and he'd die

W. birdy: 💀💀💀 ...what if he doesn't eats the machher matha??

H. birdy: ohh he'll be saved then

H. birdy: but at night when he'll be sleeping next to Kumudini

H. birdy: a snake will come out of her nose and bite him and he'll die

W. birdy: 💀💀💀💀 what if someone kills the snake before it can bite Upendro??

H. birdy: then he will be saved...

H. birdy: BUT that person can't speak these words to anyone else or they'll become a stone statue

W. birdy: 💀💀💀💀💀 YO WTF

W. birdy: then is there no way to save that person???

H. birdy: yeah there is...

H. birdy: when Kumudini will give birth to her first born child

H. birdy: that first born child must be cut in half and it's blood must be poured on the statue for that person to again become a human

W. birdy: 💀💀💀💀💀💀

.......

So yeah Shonkor listens to those birdies for the entire night 💀💀💀💀 and goes “DAMN GOTTA SAVE MY MAN-” because obviously he's the greatest “friend” ever

Now in the morning Upendro and Kumudini wakes up and they all again start their lalala journey back to the kingdom. 💀

But comes across the king's send men on their way and they are all glad and then Upendro tries to climb the elephant

And Shonkor stops him 🗿

Shonkor: bestie lemme ride the elephant once pls 🥹

Upendro: ...

Upendro: ok :)

Upendro feels a little weird that Shonkor would ask something so out of the blue but lets him take the elephant ride anyway cuz anything for his boyfriend and Shonkor literally saved his and his wife's ass just recently. 🗿🗿✨🤌

.....

They get back to the kingdom, Upendro on the horse and Shonkor on the elephant (and Kumudini was in the palki ig I forgot lol)

But now when time came to cross the shingho daar

Shonkor: bestie pls break the door na 🥺

Upendro: 💀💀💀

Upendro: ok

Upendro starts to get a little annoyed but complies with everything Shonkor is asking cuz same reasons he can't deny his boyfriend, especially after he did so much.

So now they are all happy and everything coming back home and blah blah

But the same thing happens while they were eating, Shonkor notices that his boyfriend is served with that bigass rui machher matha and he's like

Shonkor: lemme eat that machher matha bestieee 🥺

Upendro: uhhhh

Shonkor: yaayyy thanks :3

Atp Upendro had started to get irritated cuz wtf is this son of a bitch (respectfully) doing.... Just because he saved their lives doesn't mean he owns them 💀💀💀🤌 but he still keeps quiet in the public to not cause any chaos.

......

Later time comes and Shonkor is like “ok bye darling I'm going home :D” (ufsos wo kabhi ho na saka...) but Upendro is still angry and he pretty much ignores his boyfriend... glad that he's finally going home 💀🥹🤌

BUT BUT BUT my sweet child of heavens Shonkor didn't went to his home... INSTEAD he literally went to Upendro's bedroom in secret and hid under the bed 💀💀💀

💀

Yeah....

So now later Upendro and Kumudini comes to the room and it's said they fall asleep after yk talking and stuff... But we all know that's not what happened right? 🗿💀 (Don't tell me I'm the only dirty minded bitch here I swear-)

......

Once Both Upendro and Kumudini are finally asleep, Shonkor crawls out from under the bed and stands at the corner with his sword like 🧍🤺

Then by midnight he notices some thread like stuff coming out of Kumudini's nose and he gets ready as that stuff slowly becomes a poisonous snek.

As soon as the snek tries to get close to Upendro and bite him, Shonkor is like 🗡️🐍🩸☠️ and kills it. But it's blood splashes all over Kumudini 💀🤌

So this dumbass bitch is like “yeah ykw it would be rude to let her sleep with blood on her face I should maybe clean it.."

BUT while he was trying to wipe of her face, Kumudini startled woke up and started to scream, which in term woke up Upendro 💀🤌

....

AS SOON AS Upendro is awake he's angry as fuck and starts to cuss at Shonkor 💀✨

Shonkor: pls don't misunderstand me lemme explain

Upendro: omg leave it Ik how you are

Upendro: you disgusting p.o.s

Shonkor: babe listen-

Upendro: I don't wanna listen

Shonkor: bestie I did it to save YOU

Upendro: SAVE ME? Save me from what? Stop lying

Shonkor: I- I can't say that I'll turn into stone

Upendro: idfc just tell me or I won't believe you EVER

Shonkor: you won't even believe even after I told I'll turn into stone.... 🥺😭😔

Shonkor: ....ok listen then.... 😔

.....

So now Shonkor starts to narrate whatever he heard from those birdies and both Upendro and Kumudini listens to him intently

By the time he told them about the elephant incident both his legs are stone, but Upendro insisted he continues... And by the time he's done telling till the machher matha incident he's all stone till his neck

Shonkor: you still wanna listen why I was in your room??

Upendro: yeah ofcourse duh I NEED to know the entire thing...

(I mean he got a point 💀 BUT DUDE YOUR BOYFRIEND IS TURNING INTO A STONE STATUE BRUH)

Shonkor: ok then 😔

Shonkor: BUT remember if you even want to turn me back... You will need to sacrifice your first born child and drench the statue in it's blood..

Shonkor: now listen....

And he tells them the entire thing and yeah... He's a stone statue now 🗿

Upendro and Kumudini now notices the cut up snake on the floor and they are like “damn buddy was telling the truth...” 💀💀

.....

So they both keep Shonkor's statue at a corner in their room from then on...

And soon Kumudini becomes preggo and in an year gives birth to a beautiful baby boy (whom I named Mukundo btw.... :D)

And then both of them are solemnly sitting in their room as Upendro takes little baby Mukundo in his arms and raises his sword AND- yeah... I ain't saying that.... 💀

The blood splashes all over Shonkor and in an instance he's back to normal.

......

The first thing Shonkor sees as he opens his eyes is Kumudini CRYING, SOBBING, SCREAMING IN DESPAIR and Upendro trying to comfort her through his own tears 💀💀

And Shonkor is now is despair and trauma because it's all because of him their baby is dead because of him.

He picks up Mukundo in a piece of cloth and RUNS to his own home, because he remembered his WIFE was a great devotee of maa Durga and perhaps she could help him... (YES YOU PEOPLE ALL THESE WHILE THIS MAN THIS DUDE THIS FUCKER WAS FUCKING MARRIED AND I WAS SHOOK)

But as he reached his home, he didn't knew what to do, so he ties the cloth which had Mukundo in it to the banyan tree in his backyard and goes inside trying to pretend everything is normal 💀🤌 (arre amar gadha reee)

.....

His wife (I named her Jogodomba hehe) is happy that he's back after so much time and it's all going good and well. But soon she starts to notice that something's wrong with her husband (fuck of Shonkor that' my wife, my woman, the love of my life 🗿🗿)

He'd sit quietly all day lost in thoughts and look really guilty and scared and sad and everything.

Jogodomba: hey... what's wrong...

Shonkor: ....nothing....

And she tries to ask him many times for the past days but when she sees nothings working she goes to the mondir to consult maa Durga (all problem one solution maa 🗿🗿✨✨)

Jogodomba: maa maa he's so weird these days he looks so sad and idk something is definitely wrong with that dude of mine... 💀🤌

Maa Durga: hmm I see... Go ask him tonight what's wrong and tell me tomorrow

Jogodomba: okk (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

.....

So FINALLY that night Shonkor at last tells bbg what's the matter as he have a emotional breakdown crying and all and Jogodomba goes to maa Durga the next day and tells everything to her 🗿

Maa Durga: ohh I see ok yeah bring the baby to me I'll revive him :D

And so Shonkor runs back to the tree and brings Mukundo and hands him over to Jogodomba who as soon as puts him near maa Durga's feet is back to being alive and well 🗿✨ (Joy Maa Durga 🙏✨🗿)

So now Shonkor runs back to the palace with Mukundo and hands him over to Kumudini and Upendro who are all SUPER GLAD to have their baby back alive and healthy

And Upendro hugs Shonkor crying saying how much of a great “friend” he is and how grateful he'd be to Shonkor for the rest of his life (I bet they kissed)

And happily even after Ig...? (Jogodomba is mine tho-)

.......

SOOO THAT'S IT. Amar kotha ti furalo note gach ti muralo....

And I'm so sorry these took sooo fucking long to post 😭🤌 I had been so stressed and busy this week trying to cope with school and shit that I got zero time to type and everything 😭😭

But here's it! The story that I wanted to retell... Hopefully... One day... 🥹🤌 But idk if that will ever happen LOL

So now coming to why I named my characters what I named them...

Shonkor and Upendro: well... They are inspired by Harihar 🗿✨ and their “we are the same we can't live without eachother we are eachother's heart” propaganda 🗿🤌 lol.... As I was once telling @igotadigbickandureadthatwrong

Kumudini: well... Kumudini means lotus so... Lotus = Kamala, hence Kumudini = Kamala/Lakshmi so Upendro's wife being her made sense to me... 💀🤌 Also because she's from patal in the story and that was also another iconic thing that matched with Lakshmi hahahaha

Jogodomba: well duhh obviously because she got that ✨special✨ connection with Maa Durga as we saw 🗿✨ and her husband is named fucking Shonkor so it only made sense right??? 🗿💅✨

(I am such a genius no?) so I got my own Shri-Hari-Har-Uma Quad now hahaha 💅✨

Also because Shonkor Jogodomba and Upendro were names that sounded bangali enough so I choose them specifically... Kumudini well.. since she's patalnivasini she is a little different then the rest ig...

Yaaa that's it LOL I hope y'all enjoyed it :D and lemme know how you liked it :))))

P.S. this silly doodle I made of Upendro and Shonkor one day hehe