#that's so out of character and i love it so much damn

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up.

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, malpractice? unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

authors note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment. The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want some random massage therapist.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk about that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You���re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” you whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes

#✧: 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 #natalia cant write anything under 1.000 words #this took me so long #it's seven in the morning lmao #someone help me write faster #cause it's such a problem #like seriously #okay bye #love you hope you like this #challengers #challengers movie #challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #challengers smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x you #sort of

[coolshadowtwins]

Shen Brothers where the system puts SY into the role of SJ’s brother (younger or twin, either), and changes the world accordingly. This happens around the time that SY would have come to the world normally (Binghe is 14~)

Ask YQY, and of course he would tell you about Xiao-Yuan, who had been there all their childhood.

Ask LQG, and he will tell you how he absolutely hates SJ, the bastard, but he guesses his brother is ok. He doesn’t like him or anything but.

Ask QHT, and she will angrily tell you about the man who ruined her life, SJ, and how he just pulled his sweet brother into it. How SY was always quiet and withdrawn in the manor and so obviously wouldn’t have helped kill her family.

As NYY or MF, and any of them would tell you about their Shizun’s brother who only comes around sometimes but is really nice to them.

Ask SJ? He will tell you that he has no brother, he has never had a brother and who the hell is this stranger with his face?

The system changed everything, except for the tagged characters- ‘protagonist’ and ‘scum villain’ did not get involved with the world change, and have no idea who SY is. LBH is pretty ok with this. SJ absolutely is not.

SJ- You stay away!

YQY- Shen-Shidi, I don’t think Xiao-Yuan has done anything….?

SJ- Xiao-Yuan? Xiao-Yuan?! Who is he?! We did not grow up with him!!

This does lead into a horrifying idea where, as SY breaks SJ’s walls down and befriends him, SJ becomes less of a ‘scum villain’. And as he loses the title, then he gets more memories of ‘his brother’ back from childhood. Idk, that level of manipulation, especially where they can’t do anything about it, sounds horrific lol

(I did think of a funnier thing as I was writing this where the title of ‘wife’ was also excluded. It wouldn’t change much, because not many wives would have come into contact with SY but that does mean a couple of things.

1) NYY has no idea who all her martial siblings are talking about. Shizun’s nice brother? Since when??? At least A-Luo has also not met him.

2) LMY has no idea when her brother had gotten this crush, but are we sure this guy is even real? Don’t get her wrong, the idea of falling in love with your hated rival’s sibling sounds romantic, but she has never in her life heard LQG talk about this guy before. And apparently they were disciples together! Does her brother just not tell her things, or is he making things up? LQG, on his part, insists he had mentioned SY just last week. Also, he didn’t have a crush on his hated rival’s sibling, thank you very much!

Man’s QHT would only know about SJ. She sees him together and goes… ‘who’s he?’ And SJ is like ‘Thank you! I never want to see you again, but someone else finds this weird!’

And then someone, probably OPM, pulls out a slave contact and goes ‘hmmm… but it says here both Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan were sold to the Qius…?’

QHT:……. That sounds fake, but I’ll go with it for the sake of my accusations.

SJ-Damn it!)

#svsss #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #shen jiu #shen brothers #luo binghe #yue qingyuan #liu qingge

[dalekofchaos]

Not interested in LIS:Double Exposure

Okay I saw the Double Exposure trailer and I am not playing it.

Multiple reasons.

The Deck Nine IGN article. I will not support a developer that knowingly protected a bigoted groomer and allowed a Nazi to sneak in White Supremacist signs in the game.

Max learned nothing about the first game. Nevermind there is no Chloe, Warren or anyone from Arcadia insight(we'll get to that) Max apparently formed another codependent relationship that she couldn't let go to the point where she's fucking up reality by creating yet another parallel world. Either Deck Nine is entirely unoriginal or Max didn't learn a damned thing

That is not Max. If your defense is "she grew up" I got news for you. I've looked the same for nearly a decade. I've had friends while changing their aesthetic, they look the same. you don’t look like an entirely new person when you age, the new model looks nothing like max there’s barely even resemblance. Also I know, we all change our style as we get older, but Max's style was unique and it made Max Caulfield who she is. It didn't need to change. Deck Nine just Stephified Max. Was it really that hard to give Max bangs? Not just that. No freckles, eyes and eyebrows look completely different. This is not Max Caulfield.

4. No one from Arcadia Bay returned. It's pretty obvious Deck Nine is either keeping Chloe's fate a secret, but it's also clear they are trying to skirt around the issue of the endings without pissing everyone off. Feels like a copout to whatever ending you chose to give a new cast of characters. For the fans who wanted more time to play as Max and Chloe, I feel bad for you, I especially wanted to see Chloe again. So what the fuck was this supposed to be for then?

Though another point; why the hell are we supposed to be okay with the fact that Max is using her power again to save this brand new character we have zero previous connection to? Especially if the game’s gonna try to straddle both endings to LiS 1; seems very insulting to have Max be okay with doing it for a character we have no previous attachment to, but she’s left her girlfriend to die alone, thinking nobody loved her?

Also you had the perfect chance to make a fucking game that has Max save Rachel. I know I just did a tangent about Max not learning anything, but if you were just going to have Max use her powers again, why the fuck didn't you do it to save Rachel from a fate she never deserved? Godfucking forbid you give attention to Warren, Kate or Victoria. I just wanted to see these characters get some screen time, make cameos or give us SOME hint to what they are up to after the events of the first game. But no, we can't have that. We can't be given anything of substance for Warren, Kate or Victoria. Can't learn anything about their fates in the LIS 2 Save Arcadia Bay ending, can't find out Warren or Kate survived the storm in Wavelengths via talking to Steph during the storm anniversary and we can't see them again in DE. I know it's just a teaser, but seriously why even do a new Max game if we don't even get cameos from these characters? Knowing how Deck Nine is, they are just gonna find a way to demonize Warren to paint him like Eliot, regress Victoria's character and not even give Kate the time of day to mention. Jesus fucking christ, I just wanted to see Max and Warren Go Ape, fun Max and Victoria photodates and to see Max and Kate have one fucking Tea date. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR???

5. Deck Nine are literally just swiping DontNod’s characters for the purposes of chasing that brand recognition. It's just copy pasting lighting in a bottle and milking a cow out of this franchise. BTS was remotely successful because of Chloe and Rachel's relationship. True Colors is fun at first, but realize it's just a hollow imitation of the first game. DONTNOD's story was original, fun and unique. I had problems with it but it was still THEIR story on their terms and not developed from a place of corporate cynicism asking for preorders ASAP that come bundled with a box of tissues and bobbleheads of dead teenagers. Read recent interviews from DONTNOD and you can TELL they got burned by SquareEnix over this. I hope they can channel that into something with Bloom and Rage because I’d love to see them recapture that magic again.

I had fears of what would happen if Deck Nine ever got their hands on Max. And looks like I was right to be worried.

To be clear, I think making stories with someone else’s character is great and cool and it’s literally what fanfiction is and technically, MUCH of mass media now IS “fanfiction”. The difference here is DONTNOD deliberately wanted LIS 1 canon left alone, near as I can tell. But no, Square Enix wanted a franchise and Deck Nine was more than happy to milk the cow for all it was worth and Deck Nine has shown they don't understand DONTNOD's characters

The game looks like it's repeating everything about the first game, but none of the charm that made it great. It's beat for beat the same fucking game. Dead friend, murder mystery, but without the ambiance, charm or magic that made the first game good. Deck Nine is completely unoriginal, DE is a soulless cashgrab and their hyperrealism killed the entire essence of the game and its characters.

It's quite literally a copy and paste of True Colors, but with Max.

And when we just look at this. Double Exposure is just soulless. It's style over substance and I knew. I just KNEW that if Deck Nine got their hands on Max it would be half-assed and soulless shit like this. They dared to slap Max's name on a Steph lookalike and then just do True Colors again, but more hollow.

There's something just so disappointing about the change in art style over the years. The art direction in the first game was charming and now it just feels kinda soulless. The awkward chunkyness of the models really made it stand out but now it feels way too smooth

life is strange going from one studios passion project to another’s cashgrab is one of the biggest modern tragedies in the world deck nine they could never make me like you. All the charm of the franchise from the cartoonish artstyle to the episodical releases has been completely stripped away it’s just very disappointing to see.

This meme is literally Double Exposure.

#Life Is Strange #Life Is Strange Double Exposure #Max Caulfield #Grahamfield #Marshfield #Pricefield #Chasefield #Amberprice #Chloe Price #Warren Graham #Rachel Amber #Kate Marsh #Victoria Chase

[reyreadersblog]

THIS IS MY RANT

Alight, i'm a bit mad and we need to disguss something, so @f4iry-bell and me made some joke about Grayson being a virgin, since yk he never gets girl and he's just that type of person that would secretly being a virgin..BUT DAMN WHY ARE PEOPLE SO PRESEED??😭😭💀

I think i should take my words back about how i said that TIG fandom isn't toxic on this platform, bcs why are we so..idk..mad and frustrated by the fact that people are just having fun and headcanons? Bcs first it was Lyra, some of us were just exited that we were going to get a new character and potentially Grayson's love interested, so we just made some silly headcanons and fanfics about her, and some of y'all were prolly mad, i uderstand that you may don't like her, that's fine, since we don't know almost anything about her character, but we are you attacking someone who's just trying to have fun, saying "you shouldn't ship them" "i hate her" "y'all are delusional"...let people have fun, it's not that deep.

THEN when we started joking about Gray being a virgin, suddenly we're disrespecting author and invalaiding a book character's privacy?? BFFR..don't say things that doesn't make sense, first of all, people can post whatever they want, they can post fancasts, Fanfics, Silly hcs about idk..a book character's fav book, fav movie, what would dating them be like and even about sex life, bec guess what..we can. And it's not a crime to do so, we're not in 19th century to taboo this theme. And it's no disrespect to the author by the way, which if you look at JLB's intagram you'll understand, bec she says some "naughty" thing about the plot and the characters (and on last year's live she named condom brands each brothee would use and it was hilarious). Some of you are just dramatic, bec if we, TIG fandom are doing "too much" then you haven't been in many fandoms for sure.

And one again, i want to say that making a silly jokes about a book character's sex life, does no harm, nor to you, nor to the author, and especially it does no harm to the character themself, in this situation Grayson, because again, he's FICTIONAL. F-I-C-T-I-O-N-A-L. (i'll spelled it, in case you don't understand.)

Anyone in any fandom can freely talk about anything. And talking about character's sex life doesn't mean you have no respect for the author, unless they publiclly say it makes them uncomfortabe or something, and i don't remember JLB saying that.

And the most funny thing is that i've seen people make hcs about how each brother would be in the bad, how would they act when they're horny, their favourite position,nothing is wrong with them, but i've never seen anyone making drama about it, but when we say Grayson Hawthorne is a virgin suddenly some of you feel like we're disrespecting author...you know what? I have this tiny little feeling you find Grayson attractive but you don't like virgins and that's why you're making drama about it..and that's honestly..embarassing.

Author's always say "the other is up to your representation and imagination" and that's why we make HC, fanfics, fancasts, theories.

So please, don't make drama out of everything, learn to have fun and if you don't know how to, let people have fun

#the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #grayson hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #avery grambs #the brothers hawthorne #the grandest game #the final gambit #libby grambs #nash hawthorne

[coveholdenmyluv]

Mean Girls - Eren Jaeger

synopsis. Eren's the new kid at Trost Academy and being fresh meat in his senior year isn't easy. Especially so when the only friends he's made yet have managed to convince him to help them mess with "The Plastics". The problem?

He's got the biggest crush on their queen bee, Y/N.

series masterlist.

chapter warnings. Foul language, rich ppl, mentions of vomit, mentions of shitting your pants (what even are these warnings LMAO), laxatives, mentions of giving a character laxatives, hitch is a bitch (I love her I’m sorry I made her like this), drama drama drama, a lot of menstrual product talk (these characters are very comfortable talking abt these things!)

chapter synopsis. From a brawl at the supermarket to a meeting with the Queen bee’s arch nemesis, our trio’s plan preparations seem to be coming together! Though, will learning some lore regarding our resident plastics impede on Eren’s drive? Perhaps the future isn’t looking so bright for our revenge seekers…

chapter 2. Fuck with the Plastics: start

"Bag secured, over." Mikasa spoke in her usual monotone voice.

"And... you're completely sure that this will only make her a bit gassy, right 'kasa?" Armin spoke next, the shake in his voice painfully obvious even through the speaker of Eren's phone. With no answer, he tries again, "Guys? Hello?"

Silence.

"You're supposed to say 'over', Armin!"

"Oh! Over."

"Alright, mine is secured too... over?" Eren announced as he slipped his arm through the plastic bag, doing his best to be inconspicuous, though the hood over his head isn't helping his case. His attire was mostly to calm his troubled conscience.

The three way call had one purpose and a very important one at that.

Phase one of 'Fuck with The Plastics'.

"Good boy," Mikasa purred and Eren swore he could hear the mischievous grin his reply had caused to form on her face. "Now Armin, relax. All this is gonna do is make her tummy a bit upset, a little gas here and there never hurt anyone. She'll get the humiliation she made Eren bear... only much much worse because of her status, plus ruin her chances of winning this highly anticipated game and possibly her entire athletic career. Over."

"Please, stop repeating what could go wrong. I'm getting nauseous again..." Eren groans into the speaker.

"Mikasa, you say that now but, what if she's allergic to it or something? Ohmylanta, what if she dies?!" Armin screeches and Eren fears he may begin to wail soon. "I don't wanna go to jail guys! I can't go back!"

"Geez Louise, Armin." Eren winces as he pulls the phone away from his ear. "My ears are bleeding."

"Oh wait Eren, now that you reminded me, can you get me some pads from the store? My cycle is pretty heavy today." Mikasa asks.

"Uh, T-M-I Mikasa..." Armin mutters as he glances around the student aid center. His portion of contribution to the trio's master plan is arguably the least interesting, though the boy didn't seem to mind. All he was put in charge of was attaining their tickets for the game, which they receive free of charge with their student ID's.

"Mikasa, I'm literally already walking out of the store." Eren says exasperatedly, though his pace has already begun to falter in preparation for his U-turn.

"Well then, go back? If I bleed out all over the bleachers, it's your jacket I'm using to wipe it clean. The ball is in your court."

"Oh my gosh, fine!" Eren relents. "What size?"

"XXL."

Silence reigns over the three, and Eren swears everyone in the supermarket had audibly halted all movements along with them.

"Mikasa, you know damn well..." Armin begins.

"Armin! Shut the hell up, the length helps with my leakage so mind your own business!"

"Zayum, okay geez."

"Wings or no wings?" Eren asks, already having made his way back into the multiple isles freshly restocked.

"Wings, please. I want to be ready for anything." The girl answers ominously.

"I don't even want to know what that means. I'll head back to the academy after I'm done with this, where do you guys want to meet?"

"The restrooms near the cafeteria are right beside the doors that lead to a path straight to the stadium. We can meet there." Armin suggests, already beginning to make his way towards the meeting spot.

"Okay. Actually, since I'm here, do you guys want any snacks for the game?" Eren asks while he grabs a box of fruit roll ups and a bag of hot Cheetos for himself. "How long does a soccer game last?"

"A little under an hour and thirty minutes, and that's if they don't go into over time which they probably will, considering who they're playing against." Mikasa answers, "Oh, and I'll take an oat meal crème pie and a red Gatorade. But! The one with the twistable cap that you can suck on."

"We'll see how long this one will last with what we have planned, though." Armin mutters into the speaker anxiously, "Anyway, I'll take some Skittles, baby Gerber puffs, Teddy Grahams, Hubba Bubba, strawberry Hello Pandas, Scooby-Doo snacks, Gushers, Pirate's Booty-"

Eren hangs up before the other boy could finish, deciding it wasn't worth his weekly allowance.

He had already arrived at the feminine hygiene products aisle by the time Armin had sent him the remaining 27 items on his wishlist for tonight, which Eren promptly ignored. The wall that held most of the menstrual supplies was expanse and slightly intimidating to the teenage boy's eyes, though that was not to say he was taken off guard. Having a close relationship with your mother desensitizes you to a large amount of aspects of womanhood that most immature boys his age would either cringe at or ridicule.

He knows the brand his mother uses is best for absorbing, but they're not the best at being discreet. He wonders which Mikasa would prefer, though he decides that coverage and preventing leakage must have been her priority considering her earlier words. Deciding upon the trustworthy brand he had always picked up on late night pad runs with his mom, he notices how it seems to be the only brand that has yet to be restocked. The one in his hand being the very last one in XXL.

As he turns to leave the isle, a high pitched voice, practically whining curse words, catches his attention. Before he instinctively turns his head towards the sound, he internally prays for there to be no reenactment of his first encounter with Armin, knowing he couldn't bear to handle another stereotypical bully, much less work up the courage to stand up to them once more. 

"They don't have that one today, I swear I've looked everywhere!" The, now visible, person speaks into the cell phone clutched to his ear. "I don't know? Does everyone suddenly use the biggest size available? I know you do not need double X."

It seems to be a young boy, perhaps only a few years younger than Eren himself, with messily styled H/C hair and a few piercings adorning his delicate face.

"The one with the purple flowers on the box or the navy blue one with the stars?" The young boy asks, his impatience slowly making its way into his features.

Wait, purple flowers?

Eren's gaze moves back toward the box in his hands and his eyes trace those exact purple flowers printed and plastered smack dab in the center. Though, he knows there are tons of other brands that use matching floral patterns, perhaps this boy was looking for the one with the green background instead of the pink one Eren held.

"The one with the pink box, right?" The boy asks.

Well, perhaps he was searching for the 7 hour wear edition instead of the 8 hour one Eren got for Mikasa. Surely that was the case-

"8 hour version? Do you need to charge it or something, why is there a time limit?"

Certainly he couldn't be looking for the same size, not many people would be as paranoid as Mikasa due to leakage-

"Mm, XXL? Oh, cause of leakage, got it."

Run, that's what Eren needs to do. He knows how far passionate boyfriends would go for their lovers, especially ones as young as the boy he is sharing the aisle with. Kids his age will either pay romantic relationships no heed or take them far too seriously.

Though, before he could pivot in the other direction, the boy ends the call and turns to presumably search for the pink floral box in the size XXL. Coincidentally, the exact box Eren plans to buy.

The last box.

Green meets E/C.

His heart drops to his ass and his arm hastily shields the prized object behind his back as visible sweat forms on his forehead. Though, truly his efforts were all for naught.

Silence follows as the two teenagers hold eye contact, one accompanied with worry creases near his brows and the other with an unamused pout to his lips.

"Those are the last double X they have in stock, aren't they?"

"...Perchance..."

The H/C boy sighs and holds his hands up in surrender. "Look, dude. I come in peace, it's fine. What do I look like to you? Someone who would go batshit over menstrual products?" Eren shakes his head hastily, to which the younger boy agrees. Of course, what was Eren thinking? Incriminating a person who looked to be no older than the age of 15 was not cool on his part.

"You're right, My bad."

Letting any past thoughts flee his mind, Eren resumes his standstill with the stranger, neither seemingly knowing what to do next...

...before the stranger juts a finger behind Eren and exclaims, "Hey, look over there, it's TSwift!"

"What?! Where?!"

Eren was tackled to the ground and landed with a coherent 'oof', the assailant clambering on top of his chest and tugging at his arms to loosen the tight grip on the box that remains in his hands.

"That was a low blow, you psycho! I haven't seen her since I was in fifth grade!" Eren whines as he tries to free himself. Deciding that his actions were amounting to nothing, he thrusts the box away from his body and above his head, the cardboard sliding across the tiled floor of the supermarket.

"Morality is non-existent when it comes to the last box of pads, pretty boy!" The younger boy grits as he abandons Eren's body in favor of stumbling to his feet to reach the box.

As the boy steps over his head, Eren grabs onto one of his leather boots, causing him to plummet with his fingers outstretched only inches away from the prize. Eren flips himself onto his stomach and scrambles over the other boy, laying a palm atop his face to thwart his vision. In retaliation, though not after a sharp squawk, the boy chomps on the fingers overlaid his mouth, causing the brunet to cry out in pain.

"Give up!" The boy demands, "I don't care if I have to bite every one of your fingers off, I'll be leaving with that box!" He declares and delivers a torturous blow to Eren's crotch, causing him to wheeze and topple over in pain. "Aha!" The boy proclaims as he nears his victory, emitting a cry of premature success.

Though, before his slender fingers are able to reach the jackpot, his worst fear is born into existence.

"My Prada boots!" He squeals in agony and fear as Eren holds the cherished shoe above his head triumphantly and a pained smirk creases onto his face. "Don't you dare you monster, they're monolith!"

"You rich people are all the same," Eren scoffs as he throws the boot aways behind him, not sparing a glance in the direction as the boy abandons the box in favor of running over to his beloved shoe. Eren limps over to the pink box and swipes it up with an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. "I win." He states in a cocky tone, taking pride over the brawl he emerged victorious from, already preening at the amount of bragging rights he had just earned himself. "Mikasa, you owe me big time- ack!"

Not without a war cry, the unrelenting stranger rams a shopping cart into Eren's body, forcing the brunet back onto the ground and causing the box to slip out of his grasp and slide onto the floor once again.

"Never mess with my Prada boots again," He heaves and delicately steps over to the abandoned box, taking it into his hold and placing a kiss atop the the printed flowers. "Auggie, you're awesome." He then turns to face Eren and boldly upturns his pierced nose at the sight of the older boy sprawled on the floor. "You put up a good fight, unfortunately for you I reign superio-"

"I didn't hear a bell!" Eren shouts as he springs up and tackles the shorter boy, resulting in the two wrestling on the ground once again, just as they had originally started. Scratching, kicking, and biting their way across the floor, though noticeably making zero progress towards the box they both sought out.

An awkward cough acts as the bucket of cold water that halts their movements, both boys craning their heads in the direction of the sound alike deers in headlights.

An employee that hauled a cart filled to the brim with pink cardboard boxes and printed purple flowers decorating their surfaces stood before their tangled ball of limbs, gifting them a critical stare. Leisurely, and hesitatingly so, she tucks the prized boxes where they belong, before scurrying away with her haul of products stacked into her squeaky cart.

An air of silence follows the departure of the poor retail worker, both boys remaining stunned by the sudden appearance. Though, after realizing what a compromising position they had been caught in, the unraveling of their limbs went unspoken as they stood simultaneously.

Another awkward cough, though this one originating from the brunet, filled the vacant space between the two. Eren grabs ahold of one of the boxes that was recently stocked, his head hanging low in embarrassment. "So..." He utters hesitatingly.

The younger boy clears his throat, "M sry." He mutters.

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry! ...I know that Tswift joke was wrong of me."

Eren sighs in resignation, now realizing how idiotic his actions were, especially considering the fact that he seemed to be the older of the two. "It's fine. I guess we were both signed up for errand boy today, huh?"

The stranger shook his head, "Yeah but, to be honest, this is my first time going on a pad run for my sister. I wasn't 'old enough' a few years ago, and even then we don't usually do our own shopping. Our butler handles all of that."

"Oh..." It was stupid of Eren to forget that most people in his city were lathered in riches, but he did. His recent encounter with this new boy only furthered his forgetfulness, because what sort of opulent teenage boy was willing to engage in a full out brawl for a box of pads? "Well, either way. I'm guessing these aren't for you?"

"Nah, they're for my sister's friends. But, she can get pretty impatient real quickly and I'm not in the mood to deal with teenage Godzilla. She'd probably run me over with her convertible."

The mental image of Godzilla driving a convertible, only to then run over an edgy teen made Eren chuckle, "I get it, this size seems to be in high demand."

"My sister says that it's because of leakage, whatever the hell that means. I don't even think I want to know."

Eren smiled sympathetically, little brother ignorance was something he knew about all too well. "So, why are you here instead of your butler? I think I would have stood a better chance against him if I'm being honest."

The boy shrugs nonchalantly, "She says it's an emergency. Those girls can get pretty scary when in a state of panic. For being older than me, you'd think they'd be better at dealing with stress."

"I understand completely." Eren huffed in exhaustion, "My friends and I are dealing with these real popular kids at our school, we've got an ulterior motive of course, but we've seen a fair share of their antics and I can tell we'll have our hands full. At least the pay off will be worth it. We have a whole plan and everything."

The boy cackled a laugh that shook his whole body and clapped a palm onto the older boy's shoulder, "You don't say? What's such a good prize worth dealing with what seems to be a bunch of rich maggots eating away at your soul?" He asked.

"Well, it has to do with this girl..." Eren begun to attempt to elucidate the entire situation to this stranger but in the end only arrived with stutters, before he decided that the effort of reliving his trauma was not worth it. He sighed, "It's a long story."

Unexpectedly, a highly pitched rendition of 'I'm Just a Kid' began to chime in the stranger's pants, causing him to wince and groan in annoyance. "A story that I can't stay for, unfortunately." He muttered before slipping the device out of his pocket. "It's Godzilla." He confirmed his suspicions but made no moves to accept the call. Instead, he offered a jeweled hand towards the brunet.

This hand wasn't like the one that was offered to him earlier today. Instead of diamonds and gold, silver and various colored stones wrapped around this boy's digits, crowning them with luxury and status.

"My name's Augustine, but you can call me August." He paired with a friendly grin, bringing attention to the silver lip ring hung on his bottom lip.

For some reason, this boy struck something within Eren. He didn't know what it was, but there was a sense of reminiscence flooding his senses when he stared at his smile. The reminiscence that creeps up on you when you look at your sibling and recognize that the shirt they have on is in fact not theirs but yours.

He can't put his finger on it... but August reminded him of someone.

Nonetheless, he excepted his dressed hand with his own bare one. "Eren, it's just Eren."

"Alright, just Eren. I have to go, but hopefully I'll see you around!" August called out as he scampered down the aisle before Eren could have gotten another word of parting out.

What a nice guy, Eren hopes to see him again.

After grabbing the snacks that his newest friends had ordered, promptly ignoring 25 items on Armin's list, he pays the nice woman working the register and makes his departure. By the time he steps back on the pavement, the sun has begun its decent, painting the concrete buildings and vibrant trees in a golden hue.

Trost truly is a beautiful district — the architecture alone places it on a superior level when compared to many other extravagant districts out there.

Eren himself has never lived the kind of life that his new friends or acquaintances were born into. Although having a successful doctor for a dad, it was never an aspect that had ever brought upon wealth for the Jeager family. His mom rapidly rising in her fashion designer career is what has brought him to such a district as this one. Mrs. Jaeger is well on her way to being known for her individuality, and he couldn't be filled with more pride.

Having to leave his old school was pretty easy for him, he had never had many friends there anyway. Sure there were the few he could greet in the hallways, but none that had ever willingly stricken a genuine conversation with him, much less an interesting one. Though, that's not to say the experience of moving out of the blue in your senior year was something he was excited about either, that wouldn't be a nice time for anyone.

It was just his luck that he'd already made a fool out of himself on his very first day. In front of his crush to boot.

Y/N Ackerman.

He wouldn't lie to himself and proclaim that he has no feelings towards the girl. He quite literally puked on her because the amount of emotions she made him feel at a single glance proved to be overbearing to his body. Though, a portion of himself finds itself conflicted. Actually, scratch that - multiple portions of himself find themselves conflicted. As if the little people in his head are arguing against each other, and he isn't sure which side he should be on.

On one hand, the purple person that he decides to name Armeen is arguing that he should hate the girl. Mikasa said that Y/N had surely made it her goal to embarrass Eren in an attempt to solidify her superiority against him and that she was a vicious person with the ugliest soul she had ever seen. 

On another, the red person, Mika Mika, proclaimed that he already hates her. Armin and Mikasa have informed him of her vile friends, the people she willingly surrounds herself with. She condones their actions by mere association. Not to mention the absolute joke she had made of him, which was sure to have cost him a year's worth of ill-repute. Hell, probably even the rest of his soon to be miserable life.

But then, as if he had grown a sudden third hand, there appeared a pink person. This one unnamed, whispered details the other two would surely never approve of. How could she be a vicious person, when she had went out of her own way to not only invite him, but his only friends, to her highly anticipated game AND her own home, knowing that everyone in their grade had heard the abrupt invitation? She was willingly attempting to help him fix his image. How could the person those little people in his head describe as ruthless and callous, ever make his insides light on fire, as if he was a skewered rotisserie chicken on a white Sunday morning? How could the devil herself bring upon him feelings only talked about in movies?

Manipulation.

Gaslighting someone to their wits' end by batting her fluffy lashes. It's an old tactic really, but one that would never die out, nor could it. Eren isn't stupid, he knows the truth of the situation. How dire a messy set up like this could have affected her reputation as well, he gets it. Understands that measures need to be taken to prevail through such a trying time. When you're at the top, tiptoeing a razors edge, everyone at the bottom has a clear shot to shoot you down. Those mean comments and accusations of prejudice are just the paint strokes crafting a precise target onto her back.

But, to bring him and his friends into her little scheme?

To escape that threat, you need to move, and to move, you need stepping stones. Eren won't let himself or his friends be used as stepping stones.

That's exactly the reason why the three of them have developed a plan to knock her off of her prodigious throne. No longer will they allow the Queen Bee of Trost Academy to continue her reign of exploitation.

Instead, she will... shit her pants?

Well, that's the best they could come up with, so it'll have to do.

It was simple in nature really, Eren simply needed to buy her a drink, one that Mikasa claims has always been her favorite pick to drink before a game, though Eren still questions how she even had that information, and then he will offer that said drink to her as a peace offering.

A seemingly innocent gesture, except it's not. Mikasa was in charge of acquiring laxatives which they would infuse into the refreshment, which Y/N would drink and whatever happened next would be left up to fate. Though, Armin had elucidated three paths that which this plan could take.

Probability 1: She'd harbor a stomach ache, forcing her to be benched due to her poor performance, effectively eliminating the captain of Trost's varsity soccer team. Ruining her image, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

Probability 2: She'd fart up a storm, or worse, ruining her image of the ideal senior of the year, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

Probability 3: She'd pull an Eren and projectile vomit all over her teammates and opponents. Ruining her stellar image, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

The third was preferred for their goal of seeking revenge, but they wouldn't complain if either of the other two played out perfectly.

"Finally, Eren! You took so long, we started to wonder if you had gotten lost on the way here." Armin says as the boy approaches their meeting spot.

"I did, three times. There is no need for this school to be so damn huge."

"Well, you're here now so..." Mikasa surreptitiously looks over her shoulder and then Eren's, "You got the goods?" She asks.

"Stop acting shifty Mikasa, you're making me nervy." Eren rebukes, eyes glancing from side to side in paranoia.

"Do you have it or not." She exasperatedly asks. He timidly ushers the plastic bag her way, his back moving to obstruct the exchange from any prying eyes. "Good boy, keep me covered and I'll crush these bad boys and then pour them in."

"Hurry 'Kasa, I don't wanna go to jail!" Armin's nerves get the best of him, and just as Mikasa began to pour the laxatives into the energy drink, his trembling palms latch onto her shoulders and begin to shake her back and forth. Unfortunately, the forcible motions cause her hand to slip and pour more than what was necessary for what they had planned. "Oops..." He breathes.

Eren's jaw drops at the amount, "Holy shit, are you- are you sure that's okay?" A dramatic gasp forcibly rasps his throat, "She's not actually gonna die, right?!"

"Uhm... no... I don't think so."

"What do you mean, you don't think so?!" He screeches.

"Ohmygosh,we'regoingtojailI'mnotbuiltforthatimgonnadie-"

"Armin, chill." Mikasa grits, before twisting the cap of the bottle and giving it a good shake. "She'll be fine, we're not going to jail. All that'll change is the addition of one more possibility, which is shitting her pants for real."

"I thought we were only joking about that? You mean she'll actually shart herself?" Eren asks.

"Yeah," Mikasa declares with no amount of remorse in her irises, simply tilting her head to face him head on, smirk standing proud on her lips. "Even better than we planned, right? Give the bitch the humiliation she deserves."

After a moment of maintaining arduous eye contact with the ravenette, Eren relents, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling instead and interlocking both hands in his shaggy hair. "You're crazy. Like deadass, you belong in a mental hospital."

"Okay but, wait. The bottle is already open, no one who has a right mind would accept an already opened drink from someone she met yesterday." Armin points out, ever the observer.

"Well, she's gonna have to in order for this plan to work..." Mikasa mumbles, lips pursing in thought. "Oh, Eren! Why don't you be a doll and offer to open it for her, that way she wouldn't even notice it has already been open." She announces with a proud nod, clearly impressed with her solution.

Eren however, isn't as impressed. If anything, the pit in his stomach twists and turns even tighter, bringing forth creases onto the surface of his skin as his face lightly scrunches in disgust. Playing a direct hand in the demise of anyone's athletic career can be catastrophic to the psyche, though he doubts Mikasa's is being affected much if at all.

"Fine."

"Good boy-"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Anyway, we should get going now. Or else, we'd be late. The game starts in 20 minutes, and the walk there is about five, give or take. Though, the introductions take up a good 10 to 15." She ignores the boy.

"Plus, we still need to find seats. Hopefully we won't have to sit on the opposing team's side, or else we'd be royally fucked." Armin adds as they exit the school building.

The pathway that leads them directly towards the stadium is beautiful and cleanly. The school itself is exceptionally cared for, with vibrant green bushes that looked as if they were clipped with the utmost precision. Marbled vases for various other plants and polished benches littered across the lawn oozed a luxurious aura.

"Who are they playing against?" Eren asks.

"I think it's Stohess Prep." Armin answers.

"Oh, that means drama~" Mikasa adds, "10 bucks Levi chokes out Coach Nile?"

"Mm, nah. 20 bucks it's Ymir and Hitch." Armin replies, pointer finger prodding at the fat of his cheek in thought.

"Oh, I forgot about those two. 30 Y/N is forced to step in either way."

"40 bucks she joins."

"50 that they recreate that one Euphoria scene from season 2."

"60 someone yells plus ultra."

"70 bucks Y/N gets hit by a bus and dies."

"..."

"..."

"Okay, you need an exorcist." Armin quips.

"I've been wondering, why do you hate her so much? There's gotta be history you're not telling me." Eren asks the girl.

It was true, he can feel the animosity she seemingly reigns in 24/7 and he wonders if it was at all reciprocated. Though, he has the feeling that it's heavily one sided.

"Mikasa and Y/N-"

"Armin, shut it." The girl grits before her friend could have thought to utter the remainder of his statement.

Eren groans, "Armin, don't shut it. Open it. Open it wide."

"Don't word it like that, Eren..."

"I just don't see the point," Mikasa admits, though her face was telling to how difficult the situation seems to be for her, "What's in the past should be left there, why open up that can of worms?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but it's pretty damn obvious that those worms have been out for a while now. You don't think I've noticed how personal this seems to be for you?" Eren rebuts.

"Oh, and I'm not supposed to notice how personal this is for you? As in, more than just some revenge brought upon by petty high school humiliation?" She challenges, and her piercing gaze bore into Eren's own. "You've made your little crush pretty obvious, the addition of this information might change more than you think it would, Eren."

"Who I have a crush on is none of your business. Besides, yeah, I'll admit I'm not blind, I can tell Y/N is an attractive girl. You can't blame me for admitting so, but a silly little school crush is just a silly little school crush at the end of the day. I don't get how your past with her had anything to do with something as minuscule as that."

Mikasa's arms crossed before her chest in frustration, and she kept her head forward, not relenting at unsealing her lips. Though, Armin, being placed in the middle of both teens, hates being a quiet middleman.

"Y/N and Mikasa are cousins." He blurts.

Eren's jaw drops, "What?!" His fingers thread through his hair once again, this time gripping at the roots because what the actual fuck. "You're fucking with me, right?"

Armin shakes his head vehemently, "Deadass. They even have the same last name! You'd have never guessed, right?"

"Well, not really. Like, at all."

"Trust me, I wish it wasn't true either." Mikasa sighs.

Eren's arms flail before him defensively, "No! It's not that I wish it weren't true, it's just that it's hard to believe considering how you guys are like polar opposites. I mean she's so... y'know-" He awkwardly shrugs his shoulders, expecting the action to speak the words he couldn't find in himself to utter out loud. "And you're... y'know..."

Armin coughs, "Emo."

"I'm not emo! As a matter of fact, I'm not even a goth, contrary to popular belief. I'm just edgy, how hard is it to look up, people?!"

"...what's the difference?"

"Oh, shut up, Armin! That's why your balls haven't dropped!"

"You promised you wouldn't bring that up anymore!"

"Armin, your balls haven't dropped?"

"Oh, look! We're here!"

As Eren looked before them, he was met with the front of an impressive industrialized soccer stadium. The words 'Home of the Scouts' were engraved above the entrance in proud bold letters. He notices that they are currently standing in the middle of the massive parking lot, containing multiple first class busses bearing the titles 'Stohess Stallions'.

Guessing that those belong to the opposing team, and that team was no where to be found, Eren concludes that both teams must be inside already. Which begs the question, how late is this trio?

"You're in the way."

Eren nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden stern voice, and the freight was not limited to himself. Armin squeaks and hides behind his two friends, using them as human shields, though Mikasa simply whips around with a nasty scowl at her face because, who would have the audacity?

Oh, that's who.

"Hitch." She grits.

Coming face to face with a group of girls clad in forest green shorts and jersey's, though their matching team jackets obscured the latter, was intimidating, to say the least. The one standing with the most pride, right at the front and center, wore a smug smirk on her face that her short and wavy dirty blonde hair framed beautifully.

"Well, well, well, would you look at who we have here." She drawls with a laugh. "This is such an interesting trio you guys have going on."

"Mikasa who is this, and why did she come up to us like an anime villain?" Eren whispers towards the ravenette.

"Just our luck." The girl mutters under her breath, not at all a just answer in Eren's eyes, but he was not about to voice his thoughts.

The stranger eyeballs Eren in a way that a certain Ackerman did just a few hours earlier in the day, though this time it did not have him weak in the knees, instead an eerie shiver ran down the length of his spine and caused him to gulp down a yelp.

"Come lookin' for a barf bag, new kid?" She decides to single him out directly, "You know, it's almost funny. I always have the same reaction you did when I see Ackerman as well! I don't blame you, hell, I'd even praise you if it wasn't so disgustingly embarrassing." She jests. "You are new aren't ya? Man, the balls you must have to pull that stunt on your very first day. Oh, the look on her face was enough to have me in tears, I've got to tell you."

"It wasn't on purpose." He mumbles with an eye roll.

"Oh, be careful Hitch. You'll make him mad and we just had our jerseys dry cleaned." Comes a voice from beside her, one of her teammates presumably. This draws out many more chuckles from the group of girls, causing Eren's cheeks to heat up from the jab at his poor stomach.

That voice, low but smooth, causes both Armin and Mikasa to stiffen, as if they had recognized it.

"No way..." Armin mutters, his eyes widening in surprise as the owner of the voice made herself visible.

Another blonde, though this one a paler tone, with glacial blue eyes and a sloped nose emerged from the group, a large bag slung over her shoulders and purple cleats hanging from her fingers.

She had an aura about her, one familiar to Eren. One that wrapped itself around every throat and forced the people around her to pay her heed.

"You're right, Annie. Coach would bench us if we happened to sully them and he can't afford to bench his star players." Hitch agrees, though her eyes are not on her apparent teammate. Instead, they seemed to be inspecting Armin and Mikasa's faces, clearly amused by their starstruck expressions.

"Kasa, do something..." Armin whispers.

"What do you want me to do, hex her?"

"Mikasa, long time no see." Annie continues. It seems that the two know each other, perhaps they are old friends? What a heartwarming reunion. "How's it feel living in your cousins shadow?"

Or, perhaps not.

Mikasa's eyes darken and she begins to fumble in her bag for a pair of scissors, "I quite like the shadows, it gives me a place to properly plan your downfall. Maybe even your murder."

Hitch gasps and feigns a frightened expression, "Oh shiver me timbers, small emos are so scary."

"I'll show you scary cunt-"

"Hey hey hey! What's going on here?" Connie unexpectedly appears from behind the trio, his arms making their way around their shoulders. "You guys will be late if you keep loitering around."

"You could never be Bokuto." One of the girls murmur.

"Oh, Connie, I'm so glad you're here. Bend down a little will you? I feel like I have something stuck in my teeth." Hitch jests as she rubs a finger across her pearly whites.

"Aha, funny." Connie grits, "Hey, how's Marlowe by the way? I imagine he's better since he left you for, who was it again?" He asks with a false pensive look.

"Her mom." Armin declares with a proud grin.

The girl clenches her jaw and scowls, "Fuck you, Connie. Isn't yours chilling upside down on a roof?"

"Wrong AU, hitch."

"At least my hair doesn't make me look like I call corporate." Connie retorts.

"Yeah, well at least-"

"Hitch, we don't have time for this." Annie interrupts, holding her wrist out and allowing her teammate to glance at her watch... is that a Rolex? "We still need to warmup."

Eren doesn't think he has ever seen Connie's eyes darken as much as they did then, shooting daggers at the blonde on par with the ones Mikasa fires at her cousin. "You finally decide to talk, Annie?" He calls the girl out.

Without even sparing him a glance, she states a monotone, "I have nothing to say to you." And walks away from the group in pursuit for the entrance.

Following her departure, Hitch scowls at the fact that she too should follow. "Whatever, I'll save my energy for your little friends on the field. You better watch your captain, it'd be a shame if she forgets her place and mysteriously finds herself on her knees where she belongs."

"Don't dish out what you can't take." Connie asserts.

The girl simply rolls her eyes, "Let's go." She says and takes her leave, taking her army of followers along with her.

"Saweetie did it better!" Armin yells after her, to which Mikasa agrees and waves her hand daintily at the group.

"Man, you are having the worst of luck today, aren't you, Eren?" Connie says with a guffaw.

Eren groans and holds his head in his hands. "Trust me, I know."

"I'm surprised you held your own, Connie. Considering that was literally Annie... and she's with Stohess." Mikasa says.

The boy sighs, "Yeah, I know. Fortunately, Reiner found out yesterday, so we weren't as blind sided. Though, we still haven't told the team, and that's been a topic of discourse amongst a couple of our friends." He answers, and the pained expression on his face almost forces Eren to feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Shaking his head lightly to disperse his frown, he instead returns his attention towards the brunet once again. "Anyway, don't worry about Hitch. She's always like that. It's petty school rivalry shit that we used to have with Marley till they shut that school down. Now Stohess thinks they need to step up and claim the spot as our rivals." He explains, though Eren laughs at the ridiculousness of his joke.

They're in high school, clearly it wouldn't actually be that serious, right?

Why is Eren the only one laughing?

"No literally, look." Connie says and juts a finger towards the busses they had spotted earlier. Eren hadn't spotted it before, but right under the school name seemed to be the words, 'Trost Academy rivals! Fuck Marley and Fuck Trost!'

"Oh..." Eren utters breathily, "We're too old for this shit."

"Anyway, we should really get going or else we won't find good seats." Armin ushers his friends with his hands.

"Oh!" Connie exclaims with a newfound grin, one that Eren thinks fits him better than his previous frown. "Don't worry about your seats, you can come chill with us. We've already saved some for you guys."

Armin gasps dramatically and his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull. "Y-you mean, your VIP section? We get to sit in VIP?!" He screeches. Even Mikasa seems taken aback, her jaw slack and her brows hiding behind her bangs, though she didn't dare voice it.

"Yup! Though I had no idea it was called that, Sasha is gonna freak when I tell her!" The teen buzzes with anticipation. "I'll lead the way, come on."

As they begin to follow him, Eren leans into Armin's ear to ask, "Why are they called the VIP seats?"

Armin sputters, "Why else, Eren? They're the best seats in the stadium. The plastics are the only ones to ever use the space, but today we're making history."

"We haven't even told you about the rest of their clique." Mikasa adds.

"The rest? There're more than the eight we've talked about?"

"Oh Eren... there are levels to this shit, okay? Not to mention, lore." Armin says whilst his fingers wiggle before Eren's face to build suspense.

"For instance, remember Annie from earlier? The blondie with blue eyes and a tongue as sharp as a dagger?" Mikasa asks.

"Yeah?"

"Well, she might not act like it, but she's a retired plastic."

"What? You mean she attended Trost at one point? Also, you can retire? Why would she retire?"

"She didn't just attend Trost, she was a founding member of the plastics. A true OG. She helped run our halls. In fact, I'd go as far to say that she was once closer to Y/N than Jean has ever been." Armin said.

"Then, what would make her willingly give that up?"

"Something so simple and obvious, yet achingly torturous that you wouldn't help but sympathize with her. Especially someone like you, wearing your heart on your sleeve like that." Mikasa lightly jabs at her friend.

"Just tell me, 'kasa. I'm not as soft hearted as you think I am." Eren grumbles.

"Unrequited love."

Eren's breath catches in his throat at her words, for he couldn't believe what she was implying. "W-what? You're telling me..."

"Yup," Armin decides to finish his sentence, "We're not sure which way it went or how exactly it went down, but...

One of those girls loved the other far deeper than just mere friendship."

Taglist: @idreamitski @str4wberrylover @jesus-son-of-god @hoejosblindfold @caycaysblogg @simpingmyassoff @youatemylollipop @enouche @longestline [comment to be added, dm to be removed!]

A/N: im sorry this took so long, its shorter than the last but twice as long as my first draft 😟

#coveholdenmyluv #anime #fanfic #attack on titan #aot #eren jaeger #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #eren yeager x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x reader #eren aot #high school au #aot high school au #reiner braun #annie leonhart #connie springer #jean kirstein #Historia reiss #ymir aot #attack on titan fanfiction #aot fanfiction #levi aot #levi ackerman #captain levi #mean girls au #mean girls #mean girls spinoff #mean girls eren jaeger

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Some spoiler thoughts for episode 2x05

I haven't done a rewatch yet, so these are just some initial thoughts on the episode (spoilers):

Daniel was so not let go after those 3 days. Bank on it.

Daniel already said it -- the drug den thing was a fabrication of his memories being rewritten. But, more to it, Louis' memories of that time were also rewritten. Between that as well as his extensive burn? Who knows what Louis even remembers of the 1970s either.

Neither Louis nor Daniel remember a damn thing of what happened during what would be the Devil's Minion period! (Particually because who knows how long it took Louis to even heal. With those types of burns, I'm going to say a few years at least.)

The show left things extremely open-ended for both Daniel and Louis' characters at the end of the flashbacks which can be filled with whatever the show writers might have ideas about that time period over how many whatever seasons. They haven't locked themselves into one single thing going forward leaving it open-ended that way.

Yeah, even if they want Louis and Daniel to have had sex sometime later. Because again, they both don't remember anything. 😏

But Armand -- Armand does. He remembers all of it. And oh you dear, f-ed up gremlin, I really did think you might not have been responsible for Daniel's memories, but now I'm starting to wonder . . . .

Louis, in 1973, doing what he does in Merrick. Because it was remembering Claudia -- how she manipulated him -- that sent him running into the sun. And even though he tried -- and failed -- to do it in 1973, he's going to fully remember it in the present day too IMO and, this time, he'll succeed at doing it.

Because yes, in Merrick, Louis actually succeeds in killing himself. It's only because of how vampire blood works, and a lot of it being poured over Louis' body, that he is revived. And I really think we are headed toward a "rule of three" wrt this. I think Armand clocked Louis was close to killing himself sometime directly after Paris because of maybe almost really trying so, and that is why Armand put a veil up over Louis' mind.

Because even back in 1973 it's clear that Louis actually didn't remember the bit about Claudia until he drank Daniel's drugged-up blood! Between that and Arman directly saying "She didn't love you!" (which yes, was a line taken directly from toward the end of the IWTV book that Armand says to Louis about Claudia), whatever cloud Louis was actually under in 1973 lifted for a bit . . . enough for him to run out into that sun and almost succeeded -- which I feel we'll learn/see was actually his second attempt.

His third (and final) attempt will be in the finale. And that time will be the one that succeeds. (And then he'll be resurrected/reborn).

"Am I going to be on suicide watch for the next 1000 years?" Yeah, Armand, it looks very well that you are -- will be.

I loved Luke as young Daniel! And I feel very sure we're going to see more of him. He and Jacob had such a bouncy chemistry.

And oh, the scenes between him and Assad as Armand -- so creepy and sinister! Just what it should be at this point in time between Daniel and Armand, at the beginning of things. They even had Daniel held prisoner in the house for three days, the same length of time he was held in the cage in the books. But everything Armand did to Daniel here was so much more unnerving, particularly the chair thing.

So . . . Armand really didn't know the Talamasca was watching then? Hmm, okay show but I'm side-eyeing that one. Because really, he should have IMO.

Though I did notice that Daniel strategically didn't show Louis the pictures of him and Armand taking Daniel out of the house. Which I still don't think makes any freakin' sense, them doing it the way they did, even with Louis being hurt like that. I supposed Louis wanted to make sure Armand didn't hurt Daniel still, but . . . .

And oh, Armand. I can see any and all attempts to defend you wrt what is coming have really slipped away much after this. I know why you are doing all of this, I get it I do, but . . . *sigh*

You should have told Louis that Lestat was saying, "I love you." But you are still so scared of being alone . . . this is all going to bite you back next season Armand. So, so much.

Would I say it's my most favorite episode of the show ever so far? Not yet. But I known it's the one of Season 2 that I'm going to rewatch over and over the most so far. Yes, I love it for the beginning of Devil's Minion that it gave us, of course. But I love that it also really started to show the friendship and trust that Rolin Jones kept saying last season was between Louis and Daniel. Louis and Daniel just being friends is something I never expected going into the show and has become such a favorite dynamic of mine too.

So yeah, it was a wonderful episode. I do think it was hyped up a bit too much in the "most disturbing thing I've ever seen" department because I actually did not find it to be all that disturbing in the horror department. But as far as character development and dynamic building goes it was stellar and revealed some great things, so I can ignore my little nitpicks.

#Daniel Molloy #Louis de Pointe du Lac #Armand #The Vampire Armand #Devil's Minion #The Devil's Minion #Interview with the Vampire #amc iwtv #iwtv #iwtv spoilers

[justatalkingface]

New leaks are out

Izuku loses One for All. The one thing he wanted in life was to be a hero, and we all know Horikoshi wouldn’t let him be one without a Quirk. He got One for All for a year and change and then it just gets taken away from him.

It’s so mean-spirited

*siiiiigh*

This shit. This shit is why I'm reluctant to catch up.

Worst thing is, this has been broadcasted as coming for awhile, because that MHA movie? Hero Rising, or whatever, the one where Izuku hands over OFA? If you believe (random shit I found on the internet) (which... admittedly, seems sus, I'm not sure of the validity) that was apparenlty supposed to be the original ending.

(Never mind that Bakugou only came into prominence after MHA got rolling, so unless he was forking it over to... I don't know, Shigaraki, or Uraraka, or Shoto (... my god, imagine the look on Endeavor's face if his anti-All Might child gained All Might's power and became his defacto heir, that'd be amazing) or something, that's already a different ending than the 'original' ending.)

That said, that rumor seems pretty damn validated now, doesn't it? I really don't get why Hori seems to hate his own character so damn much, because the first couple of chapters he seemed to like him well enough; the narrative respected him, he made sense, there was a steady build up of confidence and ability... and then he just... lost all interest, and just seemed to include him more and more grudgingly every time he showed up.

Considering how often the main character had to show up, it really feels like Hori built quite a grudge over the years. And between how damn hard Izuku has been side lined in every possible way, and how much Bakugou is being thrown into the spotlight, this really isn't surprising, all things considered.

A good deal of manga like to end with 'main character is brought down to normal', and honestly I've never liked it; I can only think of one where it was really done well, where I liked the ending (the main character never wanted it in the first place, he always wanted to be normal), and even in setting it only works because shonen manga in general love the 'secret world hidden from the rest of society' bit, so they can 'retire' gracefully to being a normal person without any issues (beyond probable PTSD), but in MHA they can't even do that, because there isn't a hidden world; Izuku is world famous, and without powers I'd honestly expect some random psycho to revenge kill him to get some fame, like that Ending guy.

(...I hate that that doesn't seem impossible still?)

Moreover, big part of that kind of build up is that the character has grown up, and doesn't need the super powers any more, to save the world from the world ending threat, to live the chunnibyo dream of being special instead of being part of society, but being a hero is a job, a career he can do for most of his life and make money in. The super police are still needed, because as far as I can tell, the overarching problems haven't been resolved at all. Just like how Naruto ended up, status quo is god, and the normal that was once terrible and to be fought against is good and just.

And, of course, he's just going to be happy about it, too, I know he is. That's how this kind of thing goes. He's going to be happy about losing everything he's always wanted, even though his friends (which he only got from being heroes) are still going to be heroes, even though Bakugou is almost certainly going to be number one at this point (speaking of which; whatever happened to the 'this is how I became the greatest hero' bit? Let me guess, he'll be referred to that somewhere, and that'll be it.)

He's going to be happy and content with what he was allowed to have (and even though he'll never be able to truly realize it, it is allowed, it's that Hori will allow him this much), and will never dream of wanting anything more. Just like an abused spouse in a truly fucked up marriage that has accepted that this is the 'best' they're going to ever get.

#ask #bnha critical #mha critical #bakugou critical #izuku deserves better

[sid-the-sandwich]

Ok, so feeling a little underwhelmed by the new lesson teaser, and besides the Simeon FNAF jumpscare at the end, it was basically what we already knew, I thought it may have been like the first mini-lesson or something (not the whole chapter, just one book part)

I wanted to write what I think might happen in the next set of lessons, based on what we saw in the teaser but like... there's nothing much to expand upon. (Go girl give us nothing)

So what I am going to do, is I am going to write a plot for season 3 that I think would be the most outlandish thing ever and that would never happen, based on the little summary we got from the description of the video! so here it is (I'll put a TLDR at the end):

Season 3: False Hope

Returning to the Devildom is hard for MC after the events they just went through, all they want to do now is put their feet up, rest and hang out with their favs

Everything is the best its ever been, despite MC only disappearing for mere minutes in their time, it felt like an eternity and more had passed by them.

The characters' are all constantly happy, everything is bright, warm, exciting, and everyone is in high spirits; even Raphael and Mephistopheles, who once seemed to hate each other, getting along like long-lost best friends.

The characters dote on MC, anything they could have ever wanted is given to them:

MC wants to go out? Mammon and Asmo would happily spend all their money just for them.

MC wants food? Beel happily hands his food to MC.

everything is just... odd

But at first, its nothing notable, sure, the brothers are acting weird, but that's because they are practically family and MC did technically disappear for a while so it fits.

But then... things kept being too convenient, random good luck, people where being nice, very nice; everyone, even Solomon was smiling like nothing happened,

MC is seriously doubting the few months they spent in the past since no one has brought it up since that initial return

its something MC cant shake, everything feels too surface-level, too sweet... too fake,

but the most damning piece of evidence... Simeon was an Angel again. and when asked about it, Simeon avoids the question, suddenly being whisked away by Luke or Raphael very conveniently.

Solomon can now cook good...

MC deduces something is definitely wrong, this isn't the present they left,

MC starts noticing weird oddities, but not with our characters, but rather the landscape around them, whenever MC tries to venture too far out the Devidom, they are brought back to the main city as if the world is wrapping around this city.

MC tries telling the characters that something is wrong, but none listen to them, dismissing MC for having an 'overactive imagination'

it goes so far that the brothers lock us in our room once we are more adamant and threaten to find out the truth by ourself, the brothers saying we just 'need some alone time'.

The brothers periodically check in on MC, seeing if they have 'calmed down' and each time MC badgers on about the same point.

Eventually, MC manages to steal the keys of the bedroom from one of the boys and escapes the House of Lamentation in the middle of the night

MC tries to run, somewhere, anywhere they can think; The demons lord castle? Purgatory Hall? Damn, even Thirteen's cave!

But while running through the woods someone grabs MC rather strongly, covering MC's mouth, its... Solomon?

Solomon shushes MC, signaling MC to the sounds of rustling and voices of other characters looking for MC.

Despite how weird Solomon's been acting since they got back, this time Solomon felt warm, comforting and familiar.

MC crawls, following Solomon's instructions, only to be met by... ANOTHER SOLOMON?

The two Solomon's Brawl using Magic and honestly MC is just confused, because what is even happening?

MC recites a magic spell they know and threatens to shoot one of the Solomon's

Both Solomon's freeze and each say something to plead their case, one Solomon expresses Love for MC while the other says the same thing He said when he first met MC in Nightbringer. MC shoots the first,

Solomon explains how this world is an illusion created by Nightbringer to keep MC away from the present,

With the illusion broken, The world becomes grey and devoid of colour

Hastily, Solomon drags MC back to where the portal in the sky that brought them their, With all the 'fake characters' chasing them, Solomon repeats a very strong spell alongside MC so get transported back

Now they are actually back to the right timeline... or are they?

(Side Note: Originally, the character helping Mc was different, but Solomon made the most sense)

TLDR: MC goes back to the present but it is actually an illusion created by Nightbringer to prevent MC from returning

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me brothers #obey me mammon #mammon obey me #obey me lucifer #sidthesandwich #obey me leviathan #mammon om #obey me asmodeus #obey me simeon #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me belphie #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me luke

[2minutesnotice]

do you think the others ever treat blitz like a sugar baby? cause, while he has a successful business, he is the poorest of the four. two of them are literal hell royalty and fizz is one of the most famous people in hell.

i just like imagining them showering blitz in gifts and being silent partners in his business so he doesnt have to worry about going under if he doesnt get enough clients one week

Just so you know, I'll go just with my headcanon Polycule and kiiiinda ignore canon here, if that's okay?

I'm still trying to stay in character as possible but there's some stuff I'm still trying to figure out, without ignoring their own character traits.

For your question:

Private Blitzø appreciates gifts, as long as they're mindfully chosen. He's not into expensive stuff, he has no need for expensive clothes or jewelry, he's fine with his last generations phone, he loves to chose his weapons himself.

But he definitely loves the little gifts, horse merch, a new blanket from Stolas, a date night in which he doesn't need to pay (and sometimes he does and they let him).

I think he would be really pissed when it was obvious that they would gift him things just because he's not in wealth. Like, when Stolas's tried to buy him clothes for an fancy event they attended to (and it was nerve wracking anyway since it was one of the events in which they showed up together, like officially announced and Stolas was all over him the whole time, nervous energy spreading) he got really angry at some point, since it felt like a weird degrading dress up game for him.

Or Fizz gifting him expensive tech, like, he doesn't need a damn watch that talks to him, thank you very much.

BUT Ozzie is smarter lol

Ozzie involves Blitzø into things. He shows him fancy cooking and Blitzø is so damn well good with a knife, cutting those onions without shedding a single tear, and that pan which they use has a special knack to it and nothing sticks on it and oh, these plates are nice, thanks, they're from a manufacturer handmade from Sloth.

So he gifts him these thing, like, a fancy cutting knife for cooking, to prepare dinner faster. Nice looking tableware, in Blitzøs favorite color because he liked them so much and now he can prepare fancy dinners for them on fancy plates.

He involves Blitzø into HIS business and the man is all over the pleasure bringing things, why not gift him those, he had his fingers in them anyway.

If they think Blitzø is absolutely wrecked tired from doing mission after mission and keeping a relationship with 3 people, Ozzie will tell him how good he is and that his business is thriving and gifts ALL of IMP a day spa gift card. That he owns that Spa is a secret lol

So, Blitzø is good with gifts but they know he has boundaries and even if it is hard to accept these sometimes, they really try to not make him uncomfortable. Also, he loves gifts that involve all of them, LuLu Land tickets, coffee dates, sex toys, vacations (he pays his share of the expenses but who would say no to free drinks). He just does not like to feel like he's using all of them for their money.

(And that's something that hits hard, since Stella constantly is on their back screeching that into the crowd. Also tabloids and newspapers rip their relationship apart, since Blitzø moved into the palace, calling him a Homewrecker and that his status is definitely not good enough for a prince, that he's a moneychaser. That does something to people..)

Business Blitzø will talk business.

IMP is good, they're making money and some of that really gets into their pockets. They can buy better guns, better ammo.

It's not as chaotic as it was at the beginning, since they now can use the damn Crystal (yeah it exists, yeah there was a sad hiccup in Stolitz relationship. They worked it out..kinda) and Ozzie is way better at keeping that a secret then Stolas was, with letting Blitzø handling the book.

(I'm still waiting for that court episode since I think the use of the book will be addressed there and they will be in deep shit lol)

Since I headcanon that Blitzø is half Succubus (or Incubi, since he's a male), Ozzie has that card ready when someone asks.

They also have human disguises now (and yes, Stolas fucked him human, he really wanted to try lol), which makes dealing with the human world way easier.

And when it comes to his business, Blitzø allows his partners a little bit of help, but mostly to keep things smoothly. Obviously Ozzie did his biggest part by giving him a Crystal, but sometimes Stolas does some long overdue Paperwork ("You have to do your taxes, darling! You're throwing away money" "Of course Hell would have taxes, it's literally Hell!") , Fizz looking over their schedule ("You should keep up with the timezones, Idiot. Look, if you do your killing in France and then go to Japan, there will be daylight in Japan and it's way easier of you do that at night, I'll keep an eye on that!") and trying to keep his boyfriend alive lol

But no, no partnership with anyone. IMP is Blitzøs work, his pride. He's good at what he's doing there, he loves his employees, he's glad he has something to get up to every morning. There's his name and his name alone on that door.

He needs that and they accept that. It's that one step to a better picture of himself and his self worth. They even got him to hang a picture of them all into his office and his face isn't blacked out. Just a post it glued over it.

So, thank you for your question! As you can see I love to rant about these idiots lol

#helluva boss #fizzarolli #blitzø #stolas #asmodeus #fizzarozzie #stolitz #2minutes answer

[rontra]

My hand never seems to actually translate the ideas that are spinning up in my brain. how do you get it all out? any advice? just draw more? do i need to use more references? your art is just so beatiful you are one of my top inspos.

ah first of all thank you very much! i'm honored! 😳

(long post incoming lol)

to answer the question though, i don't think i sufficiently translate what's in my mind and i frequently let myself down! but it's important not to let that Stop you. i think overall it's sort of multifaceted and different for everyone--theres no single answer i can give you that will guaranteed work for you--but for me personally i think it mainly comes down to Derangement, DISCRETION!!, Discipline, & Diet

before i say anything more though it's important also to remember that making visual art (in our case drawings/comics) is training like 2 or 3 separate skills (depending on how you divide them). the HAND represents your current drawing ability & technique; what your drawing hand is physically able to produce when you set pen to paper. the BRAIN is the creative engine that cooks up your ideas and thinks of ways to assemble them. and the EYE represents your ability to recognize what art looks like and how it "should" look. when your brain is thinking of ideas and your hand can't capture them, that is not because you're "bad" at it: it means your eye skill is currently outpacing your hand skill. your ability to discern art, to see things like proportions and anatomy and composition and whatever else is going on, is currently stronger than your ability to draw them yourself. this is not a flaw. this is not a flaw. this is not a flaw!!!! but it does mean your hands' ability to capture what your brain has imagined will let your eyes down until your hands catch up. once they do--by studying, practicing your technique, using references, and gaining confidence--your eye skill will then begin to outpace it again. this cycle, the dance between the two skills, is why you might sometimes feel yourself suddenly "getting good" at art, then just as suddenly plateauing or "getting worse"; you are training different parts of what makes art happen. there is nothing wrong with this. you are improving even when it doesnt feel like it--even when it feels like THE LITERAL OPPOSITE is happening. because you're improving different skills!

(and of course as your eye skill develops you will look back at previous stages of development and go "HOW COULD I NOT SEE HOW BAD THIS LOOKS!"--and yeah. that's the thing; you probably, rather literally, couldn't see it! you only think it looks bad now because you've improved your "eye" skill. you should try to be proud of that feeling, even though it also likely sucks and is embarrassing to you at the same time. there's posts, even recent ones, that i go "i cant believe i thought that looked OK enough to post PUBLICLY" and it is embarrassing for me! but all it means is that i'm better at what i do now...so it doesn't get me down too badly. you gotta shrug that stuff off.)

with that out of the way, my four evil councilmen are as follows:

DERANGEMENT: find something you are not normal about. this can be anything (whether it's a topic that interests you, The Character, a medium, a damn color palette...anything!), as long as it captures your mind and motivates you to create. your brain should be spinning up ideas like crazy and your only choice is to draw them. because once you have Derangement the only thing that feels worse than Making Something Subpar is sitting around Not Making Anything At All. you should be interested in what you draw. you should ideally love it, even if you don't love your own art yet. once you know what motivates you, let that simmer until you have no choice but to draw even if you're scared it'll turn out bad. and hey--there will probably (unless you become some kind of Art God) always be parts you think should've turned out better in some way, however:

DISCRETION!!: realistically nobody NEEDS to know what parts of a piece you're unhappy with. it's valuable to have friends/art partners/mentors/whatever that you can comfortably check in with and go "i dont like [part], what do you think" and get feedback, but that's for YOU. for the audience at large, maybe people will notice, maybe they won't, but as an artist you are constantly growing and you will very likely be constantly looking back at past pieces (even just days or hours old sometimes) and going "what the hell was i thinking? how did i not see [error/s], or why didn't i go for [different idea/finish/color palette/etc]?". getting hung up on this will probably either light a fire under you or demotivate you completely depending on your particular brain soup. for me it can go either way depending on where i'm at in my current hand/eye development phase. but i try not to fixate on it. it's enough to observe it and take notes for next time. every drawing is part of your growth and you have to make wonky art in order to occasionally make something that satisfies your eyes. in the meantime, don't beat yourself up or put yourself down. you are gaining experience and technical know-how, and spotting things you'd like to work on for next time; especially if you're sharing this work and other people are telling you they like what you made, there's no need to undercut this by dwelling on the rough parts so much that you can't enjoy it. the important thing is that you made it.

DISCIPLINE: you made it, it's done, now make something new. do it again from the top! you're right: Drawing A Lot is absolutely the key to Drawing Better. it is also usually an evil curse that reveals How Bad You Drew 3 Months Ago. but you have no choice, if you want to hone your skills and improve the Brain Image -> Art Image translation. you have to do it even when it sucks. do it bored, do it scared, but you have to do it or you'll never get anywhere. when improving yourself, you have to draw a lot to see change, and this is the part that sucks, right? feeling like you're not really getting anywhere or like you'll never capture what's in your mind. you can do studies where you collect references and focus in on ironing out something that's bothering you (such as, like, specific objects, perspectives, clothing details, anatomy pieces, light and shadow, etc etc); this can help crack the malaise for sure... learning how to use references is good, as well as whatever tools are available to you (in your medium/software). How To Do This is sort of a different post, but it does help (and sometimes annoyingly so; there's been rare but very annoying moments in my career where i will be simply looking at a picture and idly make an observation that cracks a style/anatomy problem i've had for Years and im always like COME ON!!! hahaha--but yes looking at references and studying them "like an artist" definitely helps, even when it's not as miraculous as that). overall work smarter and nail down the stuff you're unsure about, then incorporate what you've learned into your art style until it looks a way you like. you will likely have to just grind it out sometimes, and often this grind will not feel particularly fun. but you can Dog Medication Salami Pocket yourself into it if you're drawing something you're sufficiently Deranged about. <- this is what diesel is always doing with those women (LOL)

also, Output. you do have to Be Making Stuff in order to finish stuff. for example for comic projects like adastra or failteacher au, if i can draw ~1 page a day, the update will be complete in no time. but i have to draw that 1 page every day to make it happen, even if i feel off or lack confidence about what i'm making. of course i'm not saying you shouldn't take breaks; you NEED to take breaks, set your goals to your own level, and listen to yourself (and don't get some kind of wrist problem like me please). but the point im trying to make is that if you can make yourself sit down and do it even though you're scared it'll turn out bad, (or, hell, even if this part of your project is Simply Boring), then you can do it anytime. this is important too. but you will probably still sometimes feel stuck if you try to work and grind all the time.

DIET: regularly, but especially when you're stuck in a rut, step away from your craft and enrich your diet. you have to play just as much as you have to work. for example, i am always ALWAYS reading comics. at any given time i probably have 1-4 (sometimes more) tabs open of different comics i am simultaneously reading!!!! i read webcomics, webtoons, manga, DC--any demographic or genre, i take random recs from people and just go read them. whatever medium you're in, you have to take in what other people are doing with it, you have to let them teach and inspire you. you have to branch out and look at genres and styles you usually don't. unwind and look at comics, at illustrations, at design, at animation, at video games. enjoy them as an audience, but look at them like an artist too. when you like something, pause and examine (as both an artist and audience) why you like it. (vice versa: if you don't like something, you can try to figure out why that is!) let other people's ideas and habits flow over you. you have to relax and enrich your mind, to refresh your creativity and motivation. this is crucial. when you come back, you'll feel refreshed and ready to go, and your big brain cauldron of tools + ideas + techniques will be all shiny and bubbling. it's just as important to experience art as it is to make it. i really can't stress that enough!!!!

i talk about comics specifically here because right now obviously i am making a lot of comics (adastra, failteachers). i often feel like i get stuck in boring page layouts and can't think of how to panel something. and honestly sometimes a basic layout that just Gets Through The Scene is simply sufficient (after all, not everything has to be a Groundbreaking New Masterpiece; we would all get fatigued by that!)--or otherwise a "boring layout" is just what i have to put down in order to put down anything at all. but in both cases, reading comics and taking in what people are doing with their layouts makes me feel refreshed and i can return to my own work all rested and bright-eyed. everything we read and watch and take in is added to our "mental library" for the brain to reference when it's time to create something. it is just as enriching and important to experience someone else's art and perspective, and to enjoy a diverse range of impressions. you are always learning and observing, so try to pay attention--it's feeding your brain... :j

(and now, hopefully, your enriched Diet has added fertilizer for your Derangement, and the entire council can take their turn again from the top of the order. HDFHBJFS)

hmm...

well, overall, like i said at the top, there's no One Solution or really Single Piece Of Advice i can offer you. but i hope maybe you got something out of it anyway. everyone's a bit different and everyone's ideal workflow and journey is different too. but don't give up, keep at it, and...GOOD LUCK!!! 🫡🫡🫡

& always remember: in the end, making something YOU like, that looks good to YOU and fulfills YOUR goals, is more important than making something "perfect" (if such a thing even exists). as long as YOU'RE enjoying making your art (yes, even when making the art is hell and sucks!), that's all that matters. 🤝

[idontplaytrack]

I didn't know you take character X character fics! I have this Rejanis idea, where the gang goes swimming, and Janis sees a very nervous (because of her scar) Regina in a bathing suit for the first time, but Janis is just going absolutely feral. (idc if its smutty or not, but if feel like it powerbottom!Janis lmao!) (un-established relationship btw)

Don't feel pressured yo write this! I live your fics and u are amazing!

Bruises

Janis ‘Imi’ike x Regina George

Warnings: mentions of Regina’s bus accident, scars, coarse language, fluff, smutty ending

“Metaphorically though, you could flip me inside out and they would show black, purple and green.”

— Bruises, Reneé Rapp

Janis and Regina didn’t get to spend much time together. Not just at school, or at each other’s houses. Anywhere. The pair started dating almost four months ago, and no one knew. Not even their parents— so when Regina’s Mom went on a vacation off in the Gold Coast, the first thing Regina did was ask Janis to come over. She was dying to spend some time alone with Janis.

“Hi, baby.” Regina opens the front door, stepping aside to let her enter.

“Hi.” Janis grins, standing on her toes to press a kiss to Regina’s lips. Janis steps inside, Regina shuts the door and locked it back.

Once they broke away, Janis couldn’t help but notice what Regina was wearing— that swim suit. Ever since her accident, she’s never worn anything but a one-piece. But today, she was wearing what she would usually wear. Pre-bus accident. A two-piece swim suit. Janis was enamoured, gaze focused on every little part of her. “Why’re you looking at me like that?” Regina asks softly.

“Just admiring you. You’re beautiful.”

Regina cringes, “Ugh, no. C’mon, let’s get into the pool. It’s so freaking warm today.” Janis drops the subject, following behind the blonde. Janis sat at the edge of the pool, legs dipped inside while Regina immediately went into the water. Janis figured she was trying to hide, and judging by the way Regina was avoiding eye contact, Janis’d be correct.

“G.” Janis exhales, “Look at me.”

Regina grumbles quietly, still looking away from her girlfriend. “Regina.” Janis repeated. The other girl still didn’t budge. “Alright, you don’t have to look at me, but you gotta listen.”

Janis continues, “I know you don’t like those scars. But, they’ve never bothered me— I don’t care how many you have, I don’t care how many pimples you may get, I don’t care how messy your hair may look. All I know is, I love you and all of those things don’t make you any less beautiful. You’re you— that blonde hair, your blue eyes, that cheeky ass smile or smirk you give me all the time. You care about me, you take care of me. That’s all I ever wanted. Someone who loves me for who I am, and care about me. We’ve been through hell, but we’re still here. You’re still here. And I’m so glad you’re still here. I’m so glad we made up and are where we are today, Regina.”

As a result of getting hit by the bus, she’s had a scar on her back, but that wasn’t the end of it. She also has a couple of scars on her abdomen from other injuries from the accident. Janis knew them, Janis saw them, Janis couldn’t care less about them. All that mattered to her was that Regina was alive. That she still had Regina in her life.

“I get how you feel to a certain extent…feeling insecure and all. You know how I always wore swim shorts? With a one-piece?”

Regina finally made eye contact with Janis, flashing her a very tiny smile but her expression soon turned solemn, focusing on Janis who was about to continue speaking. Regina nods.

“Well, I for the life of me didn’t want you to see those stretch marks on my thighs, on my butt, on my hips.” Janis reveals, “You figured that out too, so quickly. So, I get it. But little by little, you made me feel more comfortable with being myself and not having to hide parts of myself from you feels so damn good because it’s so freeing. I don’t have to worry about anything with you, and I don’t want you to have to worry about anything while you’re with me. You’re perfect the way you are. This body is yours, and you should be proud of it. It’s been with you through a lot, but it’s still here— fighting, thriving even.”

“Thanks, Jay.” Regina’s smile widened, “I love you, so so very much.”

Janis smiles back, going into the pool now as well but stays at the side. Regina swims over, staying beside her. “It feels very nice when we’re in the pool, this weather.” Janis remarks.

“Absolutely.” Regina agrees, tilting her chin to press a lingering kiss to her lips. Janis chuckles, “What ya doing, G?”

“What do you want me to do, Janis?” Regina plays along.

“Right here? Bold.” Janis laughs some more, lips tugging into a grin.

“You’re the most fucking beautiful person I have ever seen in my life.” Regina mutters into the kiss.

“Oh, yeah. I am loving this.” Janis deepens the kiss, “Keep going, you freaking goddess.”

“Well, damn.” Regina breaks away slightly, out of breath. Janis hurriedly reconnects their lips again, wanting more. Obviously, wanting more.

“Shit,” Janis mutters, “Should we just—”

“If you want, otherwise we can go back insi—”

“Y’know what? Fuck it, let them hear us for all I care. We’re still in your house.”

“We’re outside.” Regina nearly snorted, Janis pulls away exhaling harshly and sulking. “You wanna say that again?” Janis raised a brow, asking.

“Hell no.” Regina bites back a grin, “Kiss me, idiot.”

“Fine, idiot.” Janis obliges, but not before giving Regina’s ass a good squeeze, “Pull that shit again and I’ll make you regret.”

“Try me, Jay.” Regina says back, barely audible. “I highly doubt I’ll regret anything we’re about to do.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N: I apologise for how short this fic is, but I didn’t want to add on more to it otherwise it’ll just end up being too draggy bc the rest of it wasn’t good in my head so I didn’t put it in

#auli'i cravalho #janis ‘imi’ike #renee rapp #regina george #janis ‘imi’ike x regina george #rejanis #wlw #gxg #rejanis fanfiction #wlw fanfiction #fluff #character x character #requested fic #drabble #blurb

[windybreeze12]

I am so very late sksksksk but you have asked, and I shall provide. Welcome to today's episode of A Fangirl's Analysis of DBD and today we have:

Edwin and The Cat King

okay now listen to me. I love payneland so much. I think they're amazing both romantically and platonically. BUT GOD THESE TWO.

I am very sick and tired of people trying to hate on this pair because honestly it's like we didn't watch the same damn show. Yes he's old beyond comprehension and yes he is very much attracted to Edwin (and to an extent vice-versa) but yall are completely overlooking the fact that without the Cat King and his infatuation with Edwin, most of the things that happened in DBD wouldn't have happened. Dare I say, all of the events of DBD.

Yes, it was the Cat King who was also the reason for the boys to go through all the events both good and bad but can we please stop forgetting that he also actively (actively) tried his best to help Edwin (and Crystal and Charles by association).

And can we also please stop overlooking the fact that even though Edwin is a teenager in a physical sense, he is very much emotionally, mentally, and in every other way, a hundred years old. Now, if Edwin were still as emotionally mature as a 16 year old, there would some ethical issues but we can very well see that this is not the case.

I find the Cat King to be a wildly interesting character. A fun sort of anti-hero if you will. A mischievous, fun-loving, playful and flirtatious character who's pining led to his boo being sent to hell (which honestly i find hilarious). Despite his sort of unpredictable nature, he still has a strong moral code and follows through with it. And we can also see that he is actively trying to woo Edwin like mans is showing up with vital pieces of information and saving Edwin just so he'll like him back. He's absolutely pathetic and I love him.

I love love love the last interaction we get between Edwin and the Cat King when he gives Edwin the lilies in honour of Niko. In that scene, it's subtle but clear that both characters have changed. It's obvious that Edwin has changed but it's also obvious that the Cat King has changed. Rewatching that scene i just keep finding new things and UGH. One important thing that stood out for me were the increasingly soft smiles he gave Edwin. These were less flirtatious and more understanding. Like he had already come to terms with the fact that Edwin would be leaving and mostly likely would have a different romantic path (maybe Charles) than him. Yes he is still very much a flirt and still trying to woo Edwin (because characters dont change like that overnight) but he does so with respect and boundaries. When Edwin didn't go in to hug him, he backed away. It's also super fun noticing how the Cat King kept freaking glancing at Edwin's lips when he was talking about how lonely they are.

And at the very end, when Edwin told him that he forgot to count himself, the smirk the Cat King gives Edwin is much less flirtatious and much more like the kind of smirk that someone would give when seeing someone as an equal.

Overall, I find Edwin and the Cat King's relationship to be extremely intriguing and very interesting to talk about and your honour, I love them.

Wanna see more interest dynamics like this? WATCH DEAD BOY DECTECTIVES!!! It's got dynamics like this and more and it DOES NOT deserve to be cancelled so please please PLEASE go watch it <3

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #the cat king #your honour i love them #thank you to the people who voted on that poll from like last month i think sksksksks

[kaisturntoshine]

Ranking the Alien Stage songs based on how much anguish they caused me upon first reaction

Obviously, spoilers for the entirety of Alien Stage.

Disclaimer: This is not me ranking the songs themselves, rather the feelings I experienced when I first reacted to them.

Just because I ranked a song low does not mean I dislike it!

7. Sweet Dream

It was the first song of the series, so it did a good job on making me interested! But, since it was the "opening act" and nothing major happened to the characters, it didn't really affect me emotionally.

6. Unknown (...Till The End)

Now, as a hopeless romantic, Till really resonated with me. His desperation really showed through the vocals. But for some reason, the other songs hurt me more when reacting to them.

5. All-In

For its majority, All-In was Hyuna serving as the queen she is. So when I first reacted to it, the shots of her dead brother and of Luca startled me to say the least! Especially her expression, it was heartbreaking.

4. Ruler of my Heart

My girl Mizi was going through it this whole song! Being a major Sua fan, it also hurt to see Mizi's hallucinations (?).

3. Black Sorrow

Ivan has been my favourite ever since I first laid eyes on him on "Sweet Dream", so when I listened to Black Sorrow it really got to me, especially the ending! (Ivan's persona slipping for a single moment before he re-composes himself I can't-)

(See? This is what I'm talking about.)

2. My Clematis

THIS. HURT. MY. BEING. I didn't even know someone would die! And sure, at that point I hadn't really emotionally connected with the characters, but this song did an extremely good job putting the pair's love for one another on full display for us to see. And the fact that it was only a single point-

(-> Btw, this song only continues to pain me, as I think about it more and as we have gotten to know the characters. Also, MiziSua for life)

The winner: Cure

I WAS IN SHAMBLES. ON THE FLOOR. Remember what I said in "Black Sorrow"? Well, that sure turned out well. I cried man. The fact that Ivan only wanted for Till to see him, just to achieve that goal post-mortum!

(Expect a more coherent analysis some other time...)

(Bro looks heavenly!...Damn it.)

Expect proper song-analysis soon!

#alien stage #alnst #alnst till #alnst ivan #alnst mizi #alnst sua #alnst luka #alnst hyuna #vivinos alien stage

[altocat]

No I totally agree with you there. Sephiroth’s downfall is so heartbreaking precisely because he seemed like such a nice person. Pretty much every time you see him out of combat he’s sort of awkward, standing around by himself but still being super polite and sweet to anyone he interacts with (his whole thing with Tifa pre-Nibelheim and guiding her back to town even though it would be a major inconvenience for him will never not make my heart twist a bit) so to see him go from that to… whatever the hell he is now is definitely depressing.

And about how he was talking to Rufus as Glenn, I was also wondering about that. I audibly gasped when he started tearing into him and saying he was- if I remember correctly- “a pathetic, pigheaded, daddy hating child” I was like damn enough, he’s down 😂 It definitely did sound personal. But then you also have to wonder if that’s because he assimilated into the lifestream and just got a glimpse into Rufus’ greatest insecurities and used them against him, or if he perhaps started hating on him more after he found out about Glenn and then suddenly everything Rufus did annoyed the hell out of him. The Kendrick Lamar Drake diss comes to mind here (“I hate the way that you talk, I hate the way that you walk…”)

I really do hope first soldier goes into more detail with them though, because they have such an interesting dynamic going on and it brings so many questions. I’ve also always found pre-insanity Sephiroth so much more interesting than the crazy version. He just kind of loses complexity after he snaps and becomes sort of boring to analyze 🫤

I love Post Nibelheim Sephiroth to pieces. He's a great villain and is extremely entertaining to watch. But yeah, he does lose a lot of his complexity. Sane!Seph sorta feels like a completely different person, complete with a full character arc and eventual descent. Sephiroth as he is now sorta feels like a character that's already reached his final conclusion, just short of a final death.

I really hope First Soldier shows a lots of lore, especially for Rufus, Glenn, and anyone else important in Sephiroth's life. I was so worried about them handling a previously mysterious segment of Sephiroth's life. But after Episode 1, I'm very confident about where it's all going. So I can't wait!

#asks #ffvii #ff7 #sephcanons #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #first soldier #sephiroth #Ffvii first soldier #ffvii ever crisis #ever crisis #ff7ec #ff7 ever crisis

[mrstsung]

Omfg these shang tsung pics be sending me

Cw: mini vent in there. Srry bout that.

Especially this last one. Omfg the face and reaction is how i feel about mk12/mk1

* (and personal vent here but the fact people just seems to me,never liked or truly appreciated shang until he was turned way younger and it pisses me off and grosses me out that people are obsessed with alan lees shang tsung's appearance,yet don't appreciate shang tsung as a character truly. Like honey i find shang hot young or old,but especially that dilf look,and love his complex character as well,we are not the fucking same,like i feel so much more can be done with his character yet people are too damn scaredy cat on it to do it properly. Also plz be normal about mr.alan lee,he doesn't deserve to be hounded by horny fangirls/guys like that,plz be normal about his shang tsung at least try to. He has amazing talent,he's a cool dude it seems,but damn man. Chill. I could say the same for Mr.Tagawa, tho that man has earned his dues and deserves rest and respect. I dunno man i just feel nobody truly loves the character and if they cant love him at his dilf and gilf look. Then they don't deserve him young,scholarly, and college guy age. Also it concerns me they gotta make everyone so young. It's disturbing. More so cuz there's no natural facelines or wrinkles or anything. It feel fake and airbrushed. Mk12/mk1 is so gross on the faces to me. Mk11 felt like fucking real people because they actually used face models. And it was better. Because maybe it's me but when they go freehand,it feels fake,wonky,and grossly dated and it's supposed to be a "new" game? Like i dunno maybe it's just me. But there's no shame in using actual references. But they dont wanna pay them and they wanna use them without giving them body autonomy. That's the problem. And that's where this becomes an issue. If they learned,they'd actually give the characters face lines and not make them so young and babyfaced and maybe im tired of games having people look like they are going thru a midlife crisis? I just feel mk11 didn't deserve the hate it got. And i am guilty i admit for harsh judgment. And i apologize. But i never knew the mk12/mk1 game was gonna be THAT bad. But it did,and it is,and for that i gotta say on a final note. Fuck 12.) *

But mk11 shang tsung,mk11 aftermath especially. His facial expressions are priceless.

And i feel it needs to be talked about more the charisma shang has in mk11. (Again not saying he never had it. He does. But nobody does sassy,rizz worthy,bad guy swagger lioe cary hiroyuki tagawa. Im sorry.)

#mortal kombat #shang tsung #💚heart and soul🐍 #shang tsung mortal kombat #mini vent #cw vent #mk11 #mk11 shang tsung #shang tsung mk11 #mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat 11 shang tsung #cary hiroyuki tagawa

[beneathsakurashade]

why did my favorite game turn into a dating sim? twst x gen reader (crack fic) CH: 2 me. u. church. in wedding outfits. rn

CH: 1

The two of you sit across from each other on opposite sofas.  Enjoying a pleasant late afternoon meal of tea and various cakes, it felt like a scene from a fluffy fanfic.  “Man, I remember one time I had a birthday party at a cafe or something and we got served lemonade and cookies” you smile, serving yourself another small cake.  “Lemonade and cookies? I haven’t heard about that before, processed sweets and drinks are forbidden in my household” Riddle remarks taking a small sip of tea.  “Damn, that’s crazy, is that why your fave food is strawberry tarts?” You reply.  “Yes, the tarts that Trey makes are my exception to that rule.  In fact, Trey bakes all of the desserts for our dorm.” he explains.   

    “Wait Trey makes these? Like ALL of them? Dang, bro’s a great baker, I’m banned from the kitchen in my household for some reason” you say “Banned from the kitchen? H-how did that happen?” He sighs nervously and you shrug in response “I think it was because of that one time I microwaved a mozzarella stick for like a minute and almost burned down the house.  Or that time I gave my family food poisoning the first time I cooked dinner.  Wait maybe it was that time I cooked a pizza and it fell down to the bottom of the oven from the rack and we had to buy a new oven… Dunno, tbh they're prob just being haters”.  Riddle chokes on his tea and coughs “Uh-I-I see…I suppose then I’ll have to be the one cooking in the relationship”.

“Speaking of this relationship, am I gonna take your last name for a month?  Or are you gonna take mine?” You ask “I thought about this, and while I would like to keep my name.  I don’t mind taking yours, it is only a month after all”. “Hmmm, Y/N Rosehearts or Riddle L/N…” you sigh “Quite the conundrum” “Indeed…”     The door is flung open by two students who you recognize as Ace and Deuce.  You jump in surprise and drop the cookie that you were holding.  “Housewarden Riddle! Is it true that you’re gonna get married?” Ace exclaims and Riddle stiffens “Y-yes that’s correct, but only temporarily! A month at most”.  You pout and pick up the fallen cookie “Rip soldier” you mutter and turn to the two “What have you to say for killing my cookie?” Deuce bows “Our deepest apologies!” Ace groans “No need to be all proper Deuce, its not like they’re a celebrity or something” he smiles “The names Ace Trappola, and this here -he points to Deuce- is Deuce Spade”.  You sigh “Erm actually, I have three hundred and sixty seven followers on hoyolab, so yes, I am a celebrity. Also I know, Riddle complained about how you’re among the worst students that he’s seen in all his twenty years.  Btw I’m Y/N L/N, professional failure and yapper, with rizz”.     “I feel bad for ya’ to be honest.  With all the rules here n’ stuff” Ace sighs and sits down beside Riddle on the couch, much to the other’s chagrin.  You shrug in response “I know, but that’s the price you pay for love I suppose.  I don’t mind it if I can be married to my husband here for a month”.  Riddle turns red and Ace laughs “We better get used to seeing a strawberry red housewarden Deuce!” Deuce responds confused “Okay!” You smile “You two are silly, I like it, but stop harassing my pookie”.  Riddle turns an even darker shade of red if that was possible and collars Ace.  Deuce watches on in confusion, unsure of whether to defend his friend or his Housewarden.  You liked Ace, he reminded you of a childhood friend that you had back home, though said friend always pretended not to know you at school for whatever reason.  That’s probably what drew you to his character in Twisted Wonderland.  Deuce reminded you of yourself, though not the whole middle school gangster thing, your mom would kill you if she ever found out that you used to ditch school and joined a gang.  But the whole working hard and it never being enough, nothing ever sticking in your head no matter how many times it was drilled into you, staying up till ungodly hours in the night to get a good grade to impress her. 

    The two of you, yourself and Riddle, head back to his room.  “Did we miss a few chapters?” You tease and Riddle turns to you confused.  “Pardon?” You sigh “Of course you wouldn’t get it…” he still looks confused while opening the door “Guests first” he smiles and you walk in.  “Woooah, aw man, there’s only two beds” you mutter “Is there something wrong?” Riddle inquires. “Nah, just a fanfic reference, iykyk” you shrug and sit down on the twin bed near the wall. “Fanfic?” “Yea, y’know, fanfiction?” You lie down on your back and turn your head to face him. “Fanfiction? Oh, Cater mentioned something about that…” he nods and sits down on his bed “Is your bed comfortable, Mx. Y/N?”. “Its nice, but it would be better if you were here with me” you sigh dramatically.  To which he blushes and sighs in mock annoyance “Y-you’re certainly quick to act like a married couple Mx. Y/N”.  You turn and set your chin on your palm “Call me Y/N, we’re more than a married couple less than lovers correct?” He sighs softly “I suppose that’s a rather accurate description, forgive me for acting incorrectly at all during our time together.  This is the biggest thing that I’ve done without Mother’s permission…besides that one time I got fast food with Cater”.  The teasing look vanishes from your face “Your mom doesn’t let you get fast food??” You gape.  “She considers it extremely unhealthy, saying that fast food is the beginning to a short and poor life.”    You blink and finally say “So…she’s an almond mom?” He looks down “Cater said something like that once…I researched the topic and it isn’t an incorrect description of my mother.  But she’s a good woman! She is a doctor so she knows all about what she is talking about! Mother wouldn’t lie to me…she wouldn’t…”.  You sense the saddening gloom that's starting to settle in the room.  Riddle's mom was a sore subject for him, most of the fandom, (his stans especially) absofuckinglutely hated her guts, you couldn't blame them though, she was a real daughter of a nice lady... “Welp, usually I’d say listen to your parents.  But I have an idea, how about we go to a fast food place for our first date as a couple?  You guys probably have a McDonald’s or something like it here right?”.  He brightens up at your enthusiasm “Are you sure about that? Aren’t first dates usually more classy?”.  You respond smugly “That’s what the tv shows say, but my broke ass says otherwise! Don’t worry pookie, I’ll make our first date the best that you’ve ever seen!”

AN: hiii everyone its me, also random thing but I remember the time I was reading a twst fic on wattpad and there was a comment that I found so goofy and what made it extra memorable for me was that the user of the commenter was theevilfoodeaterbanica or something like that and it made my Evillious Chronicles fangirl heart happy. Anyways hope you all are doing great! (つ≧▽≦)つ⊂(｡･ω･｡⊂)

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst #fanfic #robbedofeggsaladwriting #twisted wonderland #crack fic #goofy ahh fic that i wrote at 3am