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helen-with-an-a · 18 hours ago

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Putting on a Show (18+)

This is thoroughly, thoroughly self-indulgent as it is my birthday. It's a long one and almost entirely all smut, so I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think.

Ona Batlle x Reader

Description: Ona has a plan

TW: Smut; 18+ only

Word Count: 8.1k

I am no better than a man

Ona had a plan, one that had been simmering in the back of her mind for weeks. It was a simple idea at first, a fleeting thought that had gradually grown into something more substantial with each passing day. She had nurtured it quietly, letting it develop in the quiet moments between matches, in the late-night hours when sleep was elusive, and in the rare, fleeting minutes of solitude. Today, finally, she was ready to bring it to life.

It was the first day off she’d had in well over 6 weeks. The relentless pace of the season had been gruelling. International camps had wedged themselves between a never-ending stream of commitments – Liga F fixtures, intense Copa de la Reina showdowns, and the high-pressure Champions League matches. The packed schedule had left little room for anything else, least of all for the two of you to spend any meaningful time together. Every moment was consumed by the game, leaving her little chance to focus on anything other than training, tactics, and recovery.

But today was different. The plan, meticulously crafted and eagerly anticipated, was set to unfold. Ona had been waiting for this moment – a chance to break free from the rigid routines and the demands of professional football, even if just for a day. A chance to reconnect with you, to remind herself of the life beyond the pitch, and to bring to life the idea that had danced around in her head for so long.

Her plan had technically started the night before. With a sense of purpose that belied her casual demeanour, Ona had set things in motion. She joined some of the girls for an evening out, knowing full well how the night would unfold. They hit a few favourite spots, laughed over drinks, and soaked in the rare moment of freedom away from the rigours of their usual routine. But while the others might have been intent on letting loose, Ona had a different objective in mind. She made sure to enjoy herself – laughing, dancing, and sipping just enough to reach that perfect balance where she could still think clearly, yet feel a little lighter, a little more carefree.

She was careful, though, never crossing the line from pleasantly tipsy to outright drunk. Every move she made was deliberate, every drink measured. She had a plan to follow, after all, and it required her to stay in control. When the others decided to continue the night, she graciously bowed out, offering an easy smile and the excuse that she wanted to rest up. But really, Ona knew this part of the plan was crucial.

You had opted out of the evening from the start, claiming pure exhaustion after the relentless weeks of training, travel, and matches. The prospect of a quiet night and an early bed was too appealing to resist. Ona hadn’t been surprised by your decision; in fact, she had counted on it. It worked perfectly in her favour.

She made sure to put on a bit of a show as she prepared for the night out. It was all part of the plan, every detail carefully considered. With a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, she switched on some gentle music, the kind that filled the room with a soft, inviting rhythm. The melodies flowed through the air, creating an atmosphere that was both relaxed and intimate. As the music played, Ona began to move, letting the beat guide her. Her hips swayed effortlessly, a subtle, rhythmic motion that was as natural as breathing, yet deliberately captivating.

Ona knew you were watching her. She could feel your eyes on her as she made her way through the room, and she leaned into it, letting the music draw her movements out, make them more fluid, more intentional. She moved with a grace that seemed almost unconscious, but every step, every turn, was a silent invitation for you to keep watching.

Taking her time, Ona lingered over her skincare routine, something that was usually a quick and functional process. Tonight, though, she turned it into a ritual. She smoothed the lotions and creams onto her skin with slow, deliberate strokes, as if savouring the feel of the products, letting them soak in not just to nourish her skin, but to heighten the anticipation that hung in the air. She caught your gaze in the mirror, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, and smiled softly to herself, knowing she had your full attention.

Applying her makeup became an art form, each brushstroke and touch of colour done with care and precision. She took significantly longer than usual, drawing out the process, knowing you were watching her every move. The way you followed her with your eyes, tracking her as she moved around the room, was exactly what she wanted. It was part of the game she was playing, a way to keep you intrigued, to keep you wondering what was going through her mind.

For the final act, Ona had saved her outfit – or at least, part of it. She had chosen a tight white crop top, the fabric hugging her torso and finishing just below her bra line, though she had conveniently "forgotten" to wear that particular item. The top clung to her curves, the soft fabric hinting at the shape beneath, while leaving just enough to the imagination. But it wasn’t just the crop top that made a statement. As she sat at the vanity in your shared bedroom, her dark blue thong was on full display. The fabric, or lack thereof, hugged her in all the right places, accentuating her figure and adding an extra layer of allure to the scene.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Every movement, every choice was part of a calculated plan to captivate you, to draw you in, and to leave you wanting more. And as she caught your gaze in the mirror once again, a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. Ona was in control, and she knew that tonight, the night she had carefully orchestrated from the very beginning, was only just beginning.

"Bub, do you have to go out?" you asked from the bed, your voice carrying a note of quiet pleading, as she slipped on her trousers, purposefully turning around and struggling to pull the material over her curves. The question hung in the air; your words softened by the drowsiness that had settled over you after the long, exhausting weeks. You watched her from where you lay, the comfort of the bed pulling you deeper into its embrace, yet your eyes remained fixed on Ona as she moved around the room with an almost hypnotic grace. The dim light of the room, combined with the gentle music in the background, made everything feel dreamlike, and you couldn’t help but wish she would abandon her plans and stay with you instead.

"Why don’t you just stay in?" you continued, your tone taking on a more persuasive edge as you propped yourself up on one elbow, trying to meet her gaze. The thought of her leaving after the demanding schedule you both had endured over the past few weeks made your heart sink a little. It had been such a hectic time, with barely any moments to breathe, let alone spend quality time together. The idea of her heading out into the night, while you remained behind, felt almost unbearable.

"It’s been a long couple of weeks," you argued softly, trying to appeal to her weariness, hoping she would see the sense in staying home. Your eyes followed Ona’s every movement, the way she meticulously finished getting ready, and you couldn’t help but notice the little details – how her skin glowed from her careful skincare routine, how the soft material of her crop top clung to her in all the right ways. Despite how stunning she looked, a part of you wished she would change her mind, slip out of her outfit, and climb back into bed with you, where you could both relax and enjoy each other's company without any distractions.

You could hear the faintest hint of longing in your own voice, a subtle plea for her to choose you over the night out. The quiet intimacy of your shared space, the warmth of the bed, and the comfort of simply being together seemed like the perfect alternative to whatever the night might hold for her outside. You knew how much she enjoyed these rare moments of freedom, but still, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd decide that tonight, staying in with you was the better option.

She pouted, her lips forming a soft, irresistible curve, accentuated by the sheen of the lip gloss she had just applied. The gloss caught the light, making her lips look even fuller, the subtle sparkle adding a touch of allure to her playful expression. It was a look designed to tug at your heartstrings, a mix of teasing and genuine consideration, as if she was weighing your suggestion against her own plans.

For a moment, Ona’s eyes lingered on you, taking in the sight before her. You did look thoroughly inviting, wrapped in the familiar comfort of your shared space. One of her ratty old Nike tops, well-worn and slightly oversized, draped over your frame, the fabric soft from years of use. It was one of those shirts that held a certain nostalgia, infused with memories of countless lazy mornings and late-night talks, a tangible piece of the life you two had built together. The sight of you in it stirred something warm and tender within her, a reminder of the simple, quiet moments you both cherished.

The fluffy duvet was tucked around you, enveloping you in its warmth, adding to the picture of cozy domesticity. You looked so at ease, so content, with your head resting lightly on the pillow, the soft material of the duvet pulled up to your chin. Your hair, slightly tousled from your earlier nap, framed your face in a way that made you look even more endearing, and the faint trace of a smile on your lips only deepened Ona’s internal conflict.

The way you looked at her, with that irresistible blend of sleepy affection and a hint of desire, made it abundantly clear that you wanted her to stay. It tugged at Ona’s heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated. For a moment, as she stood there with those glossy, inviting lips pouted just so, she seriously considered giving in. The idea of abandoning her plans and curling up next to you, of letting the night slip away while the two of you revelled in each other's warmth, was incredibly tempting. The image of the two of you tangled up in the duvet, talking softly or just lying in comfortable silence, made her heart flutter. She could almost feel the softness of the sheets, the way your body would fit perfectly against hers, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulling her into a state of peaceful contentment.

But then she caught herself. No. She had a plan – a carefully crafted plan that she’d been piecing together for weeks. That was the whole reason she was doing this, the reason she’d put on the show, the reason she was dressed and ready to go out.

Ona took a deep breath, steeling herself against the temptation. She reminded herself of how she wanted tomorrow to go, how all the little pieces she’d set into motion would come together. This was the kind of plan that required patience and a bit of sacrifice. And as much as she wanted to climb into bed with you right then and there, she knew that sticking to her plan would make everything even more worth it in the end.

So, she held onto that pout just a little longer, letting it soften into a small, knowing smile. ��You know I’d love to stay, bellesa meva” she said, her voice warm and affectionate, “but I promise, this will be worth it.” She leaned down to give you a soft, lingering kiss, the taste of her lip gloss lingering on your lips as she pulled away. It was a kiss full of unspoken promises, a reminder that she wasn’t going out to escape you, but to create something memorable for the both of you.

With one last glance at you, tucked so comfortably in bed, she straightened up and gave a little wink. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she added, her tone playful yet full of intent. She leaned back down, gifting you a sweet kiss, filled with the promise of more.

And with that, she turned and headed for the door, her heart beating a little faster as she reminded herself of what was to come. The plan was in motion, and as much as she wanted to stay, she knew that leaving was the right choice. The night was just beginning, and when she returned, everything would be just as she had envisioned.

When Ona woke up in your arms the next morning, she felt a wave of contentment wash over her, knowing that the second part of her plan was now in motion. The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the room and highlighting the peacefulness of the moment. She lay there for a few seconds, savouring the feel of your body pressed close to hers, the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath her. She could tell you were awake – your fingers were drawing random patterns on her ribs, the feeling making her tingle and goosebumps rise up on her skin.

Her head was nestled against your collarbone, a spot that had become so familiar and comforting over time. With each breath she took, she could feel the warmth of your skin against her cheek, and as she exhaled, her breath fanned out gently against your neck. The closeness between you was palpable, a kind of intimacy that came not just from physical proximity but from the deep bond you shared. Your legs were tangled together in a way that made it impossible to tell where you ended and she began, your bodies seamlessly intertwined in a comfortable heap of limbs.

Ona marvelled at how natural it felt to wake up like this, how your limbs, no matter how intertwined, seemed to fit perfectly together, as if they were meant to be like this. Her arm was draped over your torso, her hand gripping onto the fabric of your shirt.

She knew you knew she was awake. The subtle shift in your breathing, the gentle tightening of your arm around her, and the way your hand began to drift slowly down her body were all telltale signs. You were playing a familiar game, one that she loved more than she could ever put into words. Your hand moved with an unhurried, maddening rhythm, fingers brushing over her skin with just the right amount of pressure, lingering in places that made her breath catch. It was a slow, deliberate dance of touch and sensation, designed to tease and heighten her awareness of every inch of her body that you explored.

Ona felt a shiver run down her spine as your hand traced the curve of her waist, sliding down the dip of her lower back before gliding back up again, repeating the motion with a rhythm that was both soothing and intoxicating. Each pass of your hand over her skin sent ripples of anticipation through her, stirring a heat that built with each gentle caress. The sensation was enough to make her want more, to crave the touch of your hand moving lower, pressing harder, but you kept the pace slow, drawing out the moment, savouring her reaction.

She couldn't help but shift her hips, instinctively seeking more contact, more friction, as your hand continued its torturous path. The slight movement brought her body closer to yours, pressing her body against yours in a way that her toes curl. Your thigh, firm and strong, pressed against her clit as she shifted, creating a pressure that was nothing short of heavenly. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her, making her gasp softly against your neck.

The pressure of your thigh against her was perfect – just enough to tease, to keep her on the edge, while leaving her yearning for more. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, the tension building with each subtle shift of her hips. It was a delicious kind of torture, the kind that made her want to lose herself in the sensation, to let go of everything except the feeling of you against her. The maddening rhythm of your touch and the pressure of your thigh were driving her to the brink, her body responding with an urgency she could barely contain.

You smiled slyly at her movements, a knowing glint in your eyes as you watched her. The subtle shifts in her body, the way she shifted her hips and pressed closer to you, were all part of a carefully orchestrated plan that you were fully aware of. Last night, when Ona had sat down on the bench in front of you, wearing your favourite blue thong of hers, you had known exactly what she was up to. The thong, with its daring cut and dark colour, had been a deliberate choice – a bold statement that spoke volumes about her intentions.

From the moment she had switched on the slower, more sensual music as she began to get ready, you had recognised the cues. The music set a mood that was unmistakable, a deliberate contrast to the usual upbeat tunes that accompanied her preparations. The soft, seductive melodies had been a clear signal of her plans, an invitation to indulge in a night of intimacy and connection. You could practically feel the rhythm of the music syncing with your own heartbeat, heightening the anticipation for what was to come.

As you had felt Ona climb into bed beside you later that night, her short, tight top still hugging her body and her underwear on full display, it was evident that she was playing a game, and you were more than willing to play along. The sight of her dressed like that, with every curve and contour accentuated, had been a delicious tease. Her presence beside you, her warmth pressing against you, was an enticing mix of sensuality and closeness, perfectly aligning with the plan you knew she had in mind.

If she wanted to put on a show, to tease and tantalise, you were more than happy to let her. You were fully aware of her intentions, and rather than resisting or interrupting, you found yourself enjoying the dance she was performing. Her subtle hints, her knowing smiles, and the way she moved with purpose and grace were all part of a game you both enjoyed – a way to deepen your connection and explore each other's desires.

The way she looked at you, the way she deliberately brushed against you, was all part of the seductive choreography that had begun the moment she had started getting ready. If she wanted to turn up the heat, to push boundaries, or to indulge in promises that had been simmering all night, you were more than ready to let her. After all, it was a game you both enjoyed.

Just as she was about to tip over the edge, her body trembling with anticipation, you suddenly and roughly squeezed the flesh of her arse, halting her movements entirely. The unexpected pressure jolted her, causing a sharp intake of breath and an involuntary gasp that escaped her lips. The sensation was a mix of surprise and intense pleasure, the sudden, firm grip on her body sending waves of heightened sensitivity through her.

She let out a soft, frustrated whimper, her voice laden with a mix of irritation and desperation. “Wh-no, bellesa meva,” she whined pitifully, her words barely coherent in the throes of her near-release. The endearment rolled off her tongue in a blend of longing and annoyance, a testament to the frustration she felt at being so tantalisingly close yet abruptly denied. Her eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours with a pleading gaze, the heat in her expression both intense and vulnerable.

Her hips were still, frozen in the position you had left them, her body quivering slightly from the lingering intensity of the interrupted pleasure. The flush on her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest only underscored her agitation. She wanted to reach the peak, to feel the release she had been so close to achieving, but the sudden stop had left her hanging in a state of frustrated anticipation.

With a soft, almost desperate pout, she looked up at you, her voice catching slightly as she continued to whine. “I was so close,” she murmured, her tone a mixture of pleading and exasperation.

The way she looked at you, her eyes searching yours with an almost desperate hope, made it clear how much she had been invested in the experience. She had savoured the build-up, every touch, every movement that had led her to the brink, only to be pulled back just before she could reach the climax she had been yearning for. Her pout was an expression of the frustration that came from being tantalisingly close to release but abruptly denied, a stark contrast to the playful teasing that had marked the rest of the evening.

“Trust me, bubba, I am well aware of just how close you were,” you teased, a smirk playing on your lips as you tightened your grip once more. The firmness of your touch was both punishing and invigorating, accentuating the delicious tension that had been building between you. You knew precisely what you were doing, prolonging the game in a way that made her squirm with both anticipation and a hint of impatience.

“But you put on such a show last night,” you continued, your tone carrying a playful edge that was both affectionate and slightly mocking. You pouted theatrically, the gesture adding to the teasing atmosphere. “Did you really think I would let all your hard efforts go to waste?” The question was rhetorical, meant to underscore the fact that her deliberate display and the care she had taken to set the scene were not going to be disregarded so easily.

“You wanted me to watch you,” you said, your voice softening slightly as you looked into her eyes, the teasing edge giving way to a more tender undertone. “You wanted me to see you, to appreciate all the effort you put into this.” Your words were turning Ona on even more – she could feel herself get wetter by the second. The fabric of her underwear clung uncomfortably to her, damp and sticky, exacerbating the sensation of need and anticipation. Each slight movement caused the fabric to rub against her sensitive skin, intensifying the feeling of pressure and desire.

Your gaze remained steady, your eyes locked onto hers with a look that was both commanding and affectionate. The way you spoke, acknowledging the care she had taken in preparing for the evening and recognising her desire for you to witness it all, made her pulse quicken. She felt a delicious mix of embarrassment and thrill, knowing that her efforts were having the exact effect she had hoped for.

“So, Ona,” you continued, your voice now carrying a more provocative tone, “why don’t you put on a little show?” The challenge in your voice was unmistakable, the eyebrow you raised adding an extra layer of daring to your request. The playful, almost mischievous glint in your eyes dared her to fulfil your demand, to turn the moment into something even more exhilarating.

The invitation was clear: you wanted her to perform, to take the teasing you had started and turn it into an act of intimate exhibitionism. The thought of putting on a show for you, of turning the tables and making the night revolve around her display of desire, sent a thrill through Ona. Her mind raced with the possibilities, her body aching for the opportunity to respond to your challenge. She could feel the heat rising within her, the urgency of her arousal demanding release.

Ona didn’t like to back down from challenges. She was fearless on the pitch and just as brave off it. She thrived on pushing boundaries and embracing opportunities to showcase her strength, both physical and emotional.

With a determined smile curving her lips, Ona began to slowly shift her body, each movement chosen carefully and infused with purpose. Her eyes locked onto yours, a confident glint of mischief and resolve reflected in their depths. The smile on her face was both sultry and resolute, a clear signal that she was ready to rise to the occasion and meet your challenge head-on. You placed your hands on her hips, not guiding but as a silent acknowledgement that you were there, a subtle reminder of who she was doing this for.

She started by shifting her hips with a deliberate, twisting motion, the fabric of her tight top brushing against her skin as she moved. Her body rolled gracefully; every curve accentuated by the dim light that filtered through the room. The anticipation in the air was palpable, creating a charged atmosphere that seemed to hum with expectation. Each subtle shift of her hips, each arch of her back, was designed to captivate and tease, drawing you in and making every moment feel like a tantalising eternity.

As Ona continued her performance, she made sure every gesture was both seductive and purposeful. Her hands roamed over her body, lightly grazing her curves and creating a visual feast that was impossible to ignore. The fabric of her underwear, already damp with her arousal, pressed against her skin with a heightened intensity, making every movement feel electric. The way she arched her back and pushed her chest forward, the way she traced her fingers over her own body, was all part of an intricate dance designed to keep you enthralled.

You let your eyes roam freely, taking in every detail of Ona’s hypnotic performance. The movement of her body, fluid and captivating, drew you in completely. The dim light that bathed her in a soft, golden glow made her skin appear even more luminous, creating a halo effect that heightened the allure of her presence.

Your gaze followed the way her muscles rippled beneath her skin, the gentle movement of her abs and the curve of her waist as she moved. The sight of her body in motion, so perfectly attuned to the rhythm of the moment, made your heart flutter with a mixture of excitement and admiration.

You knew she was amping up the sounds as well. The moans and whines that escaped her lips were like a symphony tailored just for you. Each sound was a delicate note in the melody of her performance, a musical accompaniment that heightened the intensity of the experience. The soft, breathy moans were punctuated by occasional whimpers of frustration and longing, creating a soundtrack that matched the visual spectacle of her body in motion. The sounds were raw and unfiltered, a testament to the pleasure she was experiencing and a seductive invitation for you to share in it.

The combination of her visual allure and orchestra of moans was almost overwhelming. The rhythm of her moans matched the cadence of her movements, creating a seamless connection between sight and sound that left you captivated. Each time she arched her back or pressed her body closer to yours, the accompanying sounds grew more pronounced, a clear indication of how deeply she was immersed in the moment.

But you knew she wouldn’t be able to come from this – no matter how hard she tried, the thing that she so desperately craved would always stay out of reach without your input. The teasing show she was putting on was exquisite, a perfect blend of effort and seduction, but it lacked the final piece of the puzzle that only you could provide.

Her body was a masterpiece in motion, every curve and ripple a testament to her dedication and desire. Yet, as captivating as her performance was, it was clear that the final release she sought remained just beyond her grasp. The pleasure she was experiencing was intense, but it was unfulfilled – a longing that could only be truly satisfied by your touch, your guidance, and your complete engagement.

You waited for as long as you could. Ona’s eyes, filled with a mix of determination and need, continuously sought yours for reassurance and a hint of what you would do next. Her moans and whines, though beautifully melodic, were underscored by a subtle note of frustration, a reminder of the yearning that lingered in every sound she made.

“Si us plau,” she eventually whined, her voice trembling with a blend of desperation and vulnerability. The plea was soft, almost breathless, and it hung in the air between you, a poignant request for the very thing that had been eluding her. The simple words, spoken in a voice that carried the weight of her need, were a powerful testament to the intense longing she felt. The combination of her exquisite performance and her heartfelt plea made it clear that she was at the edge of her limits, her desire reaching a crescendo that demanded a response.

Her eyes locked onto yours with an earnest intensity, seeking not just acknowledgement but also action. The frustration that had tinged her moans was now replaced by a raw, open yearning that could only be addressed by your direct intervention. The sight of her so vulnerable, her body still quivering from the anticipation and effort, was both heart-wrenching and thrilling.

You took in the sight of her, every detail of her arousal and effort etched into your mind. The way her body still moved subtly with each breath, the way her skin glowed with the sheen of exertion and desire, were all compelling reasons to act. Her plea, spoken with such heartfelt longing, was an invitation to complete the intimate connection you had been building.

Without breaking eye contact, you sat up, leaning in so close that your breath mingled with Ona’s, the warmth of it sending a shiver through her. “Please, what?” you teased, your voice a soft whisper that vibrated against her skin.

Her eyes fluttered, a mix of desperation and desire reflecting in their depths. The playful challenge in your voice contrasted sharply with the raw need evident in her gaze. She took a ragged breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping herself composed under the strain of your teasing.

“Por favor, hazme correrme,” she murmured again, her voice more insistent now, though still trembling with vulnerability. The simple plea carried the weight of her frustration and yearning, a heartfelt request for the final piece of the puzzle that would bring her the satisfaction she so frantically sought. The way she said it, with a mixture of desperation and a soft plea for relief, made it clear just how much she needed you to complete the experience.

“I don’t know if slutty little brats like you deserve to come though, bubba.” Your voice, though soft and teasing, held a firm edge that underscored your control over the situation. The playful challenge in your tone contrasted with the intense longing in Ona’s eyes, creating a dynamic of anticipation and desire that was almost palpable.

Her reaction was immediate; her body tensed, a mixture of frustration and eagerness evident in her posture. The way her breath hitched, the slight tremble of her lips, and the way her eyes widened with a blend of need and playful defiance showed just how much she was affected by your words. She leaned closer, trying to close the gap between you, her movements a silent plea for the release she was craving.

“He sido buena. He sido buena para ti,” Ona stuttered, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and a trace of defiance. The earnestness in her tone, coupled with the intensity of her gaze, highlighted Her plea was not just about the physical satisfaction she sought, but also about the emotional validation of being acknowledged and rewarded for her efforts.

She shifted slightly, her body pressing closer to yours, as if trying to bridge the final gap between your teasing and her ultimate fulfilment. Her movements were slow but deliberate, each gesture an attempt to demonstrate just how much she had been trying to meet your challenge.

You met her halfway, pulling her down into a kiss that was anything but gentle – a filthy, messy kiss that conveyed just how turned on you were by her little performance. The kiss was intense, filled with a raw passion that left no room for subtlety. Your lips moved against hers with a fervent energy, a dance of dominance and submission that mirrored the tension of the moment. The taste of her, the way her breath mingled with yours, and the way she responded with equal fervour, all combined to create a moment that was absolutely electrifying

“Hmmm,” you murmured against her lips, deliberately drawing out the anticipation. Your voice was a mix of mock contemplation and teasing affection. “I suppose you have been a muy buena niña for me, doing exactly as I said, putting on a fantastic show … just for me.” The words were spoken with a playful tone, though the underlying sincerity of your acknowledgement was clear. Ona felt a wash of calm flood over her, your words easing her fears.

“Just for you. Sólo para ti,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice a soft, eager echo of your words. The way she repeated the phrase, her eyes locked onto yours with so much love, made it clear how much she craved moments like this – the push and pull of your relationship made her head dizzy sometimes. The sincerity in her voice and the look in her eyes spoke volumes about her dedication and her desire to please you.

“Only for me? How kind of you, Oni,” you mocked gently, your tone a playful blend of admiration and teasing. The mockery was light-hearted, designed to keep the mood playful. You raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “I suppose I could let you come.” Your words, though teasing, carried a promise that hung heavily in the air. The decision to grant her the release she had been craving was now in your hands

In one swift movement, you had Ona lying on her back, her hair splayed out on the pillows, creating a halo of dark waves around her. Her chest rose and fell with each breath.

The room was filled with the soft rustling of sheets and the muffled sounds of her breaths, creating a backdrop of intimate noise that only heightened the tension.

You positioned yourself above her, your gaze unwavering as you took in the sight of her beneath you. Her eyes were wide and full of yearning, a mixture of vulnerability and unspoken desire. The way she looked up at you, her body slightly trembling with anticipation, added to the sense of charged expectation that filled the space between you.

Your hands moved with deliberate intention, tracing a path from her shoulders down to her hips, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin beneath your touch. Each movement was purposeful, a way to both explore and command, to reinforce the power dynamic that had been building throughout the night. Your fingers lingered just long enough to make her shiver, creating a teasing contrast to the more direct pressure you were about to apply.

“Remember,” you murmured, your voice low and intimate, “you’ve earned this. You’ve been so good, putting on that incredible show just for me.”

You let your hands glide further, exploring the contours of her body with a mix of tenderness and assertiveness, placing kisses as you went. Your touch was both comforting and electrifying, a blend of affection and authority that added to the intensity of the moment. The way she responded, the soft moans that escaped her lips and the way her body arched towards your touch, made it clear just how much she was craving the final resolution.

Finally, you reached where Ona wanted you most. The anticipation in the room was palpable as your fingers traced along the waistband of her thong. With a playful snap, you pulled the band gently against her hip, creating a slight, teasing sting that made her gasp. You couldn’t help but smile ruefully, your satisfaction evident as you watched her reaction.

“I like this,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of appreciation. You pressed a tender kiss to her hipbone, the warmth of your lips sending a shiver through her. The gesture was both intimate and affectionate

Her response was immediate, her eyes fluttering closed as she treasured the touch. “Gracias,” she murmured breathlessly, her voice carrying a note of pride and affection. “I bought it with you in mind.” The knowledge that she had chosen this particular piece of lingerie specifically for you, with the intention of enhancing your experience, made your heart skip a beat.

You looked up at her, your gaze meeting hers with a mixture of admiration and desire. The room seemed to shrink around you, the rest of the world fading away as you focused purely on the woman in front of you. Her body responded to your touch, her hips shifting slightly as if instinctively seeking more contact. The heat radiating from her skin was undeniable, a warm, inviting glow that contrasted sharply with the cool air of the room. The softness of her body beneath your fingers was a luxurious sensation, each caress sending ripples of pleasure through her.

You left a trail of kisses down the inside of her thigh, each touch deliberate and gentle, tracing a path of increasing anticipation. Her breath quickened with each kiss, a soft, rhythmic intake of air that was both a response to your touch and a testament to her mounting desire.

Slowly and deliberately, you peeled the damp fabric of the thong away from her, your movements careful and measured. Holding the delicate garment in one hand, you bunched it out of the way, your attention now fully on her exposed skin. With a tender, teasing touch, you settled yourself comfortably, one leg on either side of her shoulders, positioning yourself to offer her the most intimate kind of attention.

You blew gently on her clit, the unexpected coldness of your breath causing her body to react instinctively. Her muscles tensed, and she let out a sharp gasp, a sudden intake of breath that was both surprised and aroused. The delicate shock of the cold air made her entire body quiver, her hips twitching in response to the sensation.

As the initial shock of the cool air faded, Ona’s gasp morphed into a low, throaty moan. When you finally made contact, it was with the softest of kisses, a tender, deliberate press of your lips right where she had been craving. She arched her back, her hand flying down to grab at your head, her fingers instantly taking root in your hair.

With the kiss as a prelude, you began to lick up her sex, your tongue exploring her with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each lick was thorough and purposeful, your movements designed to maximise her pleasure. The softness of your tongue against her sensitive skin, combined with the lingering taste of her arousal, was an indulgent experience that intensified her moans. You traced each contour of her sex with your tongue, cherishing the way she responded to each stroke.

Her reactions were a continuous stream of pleasure; her breathing became ragged, her sounds a mix of soft whimpers and deep, satisfied moans. The way her body responded to your touch – her hips thrusting slightly, her legs trembling, and her head tilting back – was a testament to the pleasure you were giving her. The combination of the gentle kiss, the exploratory licks, and the way you maintained a steady rhythm created a symphony of sensations that drew her ever closer to the edge.

You knew Ona was close; after a night filled with teasing and edging, anyone would be on the brink of release. But as you slipped your finger inside her, you quickly discovered just how near she was to the edge. You effortlessly found that spot deep within her that elicited such a powerful reaction. The instant you touched it, her reaction was immediate and intense. Her eyes screwed shut, her entire body tensing as if a jolt of electricity had passed through her. Her toes curled tightly, her legs quivering with the force of the pleasure that was surging through her.

The sensation of finding that sensitive area was gratifying. Each subtle movement of your finger, each gentle pressure, elicited a series of responses from her – sharp intakes of breath, soft moans, and the way her hips instinctively pressed against your hand. You could feel her body reacting almost rhythmically to your touch, each spasm a testament to the pleasure you were giving her.

You adjusted the angle of your finger slightly, applying just the right amount of pressure and movement to maximise her pleasure. The rhythm of your touch became a steady, deliberate dance, designed to push her further and closer to the precipice.

Her moans grew more urgent, the sound a mix of need and impending climax. The way her body arched and shifted in response to your touch indicated that she was teetering on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure you had meticulously prepared her for.

You could sense the exact moment when her control began to slip, when the dam you had carefully built up was on the verge of breaking. Her breathing became erratic, her body trembling with a combination of pleasure and exertion.

“Voy a... Estoy... mierda” she cried, her voice a mixture of desperation and ecstasy. The pleasure she was experiencing was now all-consuming, her entire focus narrowed to the sensations you were evoking. With each movement, each touch, you were guiding her to a powerful, fulfilling climax.

Ona came with a shout - raw and primal. Her body jerking and twitching as pleasure coursed through her veins. It felt as though she was on fire, her skin radiating an almost feverish heat as the intensity of her orgasm spread through her entire being.

The sheer force of her release caused her hips to buck uncontrollably against your hand, her breathing coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Her moans were punctuated by sharp cries, each sound a vivid indication of the depth of her pleasure. Her fingers tugged harshly at your hair.

As the climax took hold, her body arched beautifully, her back curving in a graceful line as she succumbed to the pleasure. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face contorted in a mask of bliss and concentration. The muscles in her legs and abdomen twitched and spasmed in time with the waves of pleasure that surged through her, making it clear just how intense the experience was for her.

You worked her through it gently, maintaining a steady rhythm as she rode out the peak of her orgasm. Your touch was both deliberate and tender, ensuring that the pleasure remained intense but not overwhelming. Each caress and stroke was designed to prolong her satisfaction, to help her enjoy every last moment of the euphoria that had taken over her senses.

The room seemed to echo with the sounds of her pleasure – the rhythmic gasps, the soft whimpers of aftershocks, and the occasional, breathless cries. As the climax began to ebb, her movements gradually slowed, her body relaxing into a state of deep contentment. Her breathing, still ragged, started to return to a more regular pattern, the intensity of her release giving way to a blissful, tranquil aftermath.

“Merda santa,” she gasped, the words escaping her in a breathless rush. Her body continued to tremble as the last waves of her orgasm rippled through her. Her voice, though still tinged with awe and satisfaction, was now softer, a lingering whisper of the intensity she had just experienced.

Her eyes fluttered open, the heat of her climax still evident in the flushed cheeks and the slight sheen of sweat on her skin. You shifted, kissing your way back up her body until you were face to face again. You smiled down at her, your eyes scanning her flushed face, taking in the way her lips were slightly parted and the glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes

“Well, that was fun,” you teased, the playful note in your voice contrasting with the tenderness of your touch. Your smile was a mix of gratification and affection, a reflection of the pleasure you had both shared. You brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, your fingers lingering gently on her skin.

Her lips curved into a soft, exhausted smile, the kind that spoke of complete contentment. “You could say that,” she murmured, her voice still carrying the remnants of her earlier intensity. There was a warm glow in her eyes, a look of deep happiness that mirrored your own feelings.

You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “You are so beautiful. That was incredible,” you said softly, your tone sincere as you lay down beside her, pulling her into your chest.

She responded with a contented sigh, her body relaxing further into the pillows. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she whispered, her eyes closing as she let herself fully unwind.

You continued to hold her, your touch gentle and reassuring. The aftermath of her climax had left both of you in a state of serene satisfaction, the bond between you strengthened by the intimacy of the experience. The room was quiet, the only sounds being the soft rustle of the sheets and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

As she began to settle, her breathing slowing to a steady, peaceful rhythm, you took a moment to simply enjoy the closeness you shared. ““T'estimo molt,” she whispered, her voice a soft murmur of affection as she nestled closer into your embrace.

“Yo también te amo mucho,” you replied, your tone equally tender,

You could feel her heartbeat gradually slowing, syncing with yours in a soothing rhythm that spoke of complete trust and contentment. Her body was relaxed against yours, her warmth a comforting presence as she let go of the lingering tension from the night.

You gently brushed your fingers through her hair, your touch both soothing and affectionate. The intimate atmosphere of the room, now filled with a serene quiet, was a stark contrast to the passionate intensity that had preceded it. The gentle hum of the world outside seemed distant, and in this cocoon of closeness, it felt as though time had slowed down just for the two of you.

Every so often, she would shift slightly, her movements subtle but full of unspoken communication. The soft sighs that escaped her lips and the way her fingers occasionally traced gentle patterns on your skin were a testament to her lingering satisfaction and the depth of your bond.

You let your fingers graze her back, your touch light and tender, reinforcing the sense of intimacy and connection between you. As the moments passed, you took in the peacefulness of her expression, the way her features had softened into a serene smile.

You could the moment she finally fell asleep, her breath evened out. The gentle rise and fall of her chest against yours was a soothing, rhythmic lullaby, a comforting reminder of the bond you shared.

Her body relaxed completely, her muscles softening as the tension from the night melted away. Her head nestled more deeply into the crook of your shoulder, and her fingers, which had been lightly tracing patterns on your skin, came to a still, relaxed rest.

“I am going to marry you one day,” you whispered into her skin, the quiet confession escaping your lips as a gentle promise. Your words were barely audible, a tender declaration meant only for her ears, a gently promise to the universe of you love for the woman sleeping in your arms.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3

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korrasera · 2 days ago

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Yes, we had a vote at the last leftist meeting and I got appointed head explainer, so it was my turn to pick a way to refer to people who pretend to be leftists but don't actually adhere to any leftist values.

No leftist worth their salt would be spreading propaganda and despair. And anyone who gets serious about being a leftist starts by educating themselves about politics, so they wouldn't be repeating nonsense that's debunked by the google equivalent of a single episode of Schoolhouse Rocks.

That said, let's talk about some of your specific points:

I just see you saying “the right isn’t getting stronger” and all I wanna ask is what kinda Kool-Aid you’re on, because I look around the world and see a generational trend towards authoritarianism and fascism.

That's your fear talking.

No, really. It just looks that way to you because they frighten you.

I live in a country where people used to consider it a fine day out, a sunday best clothes kinda day, to wander down to the tree to watch someone lynch a black man. I live in a country that inspired Hitler's policies towards the Jewish people. I live in a country that has been responsible for genocide many many times.

I also live in a country where a man said "I have a dream" and helped bring about the end of a century of racist terror. A place where pride has become a nationwide celebration of diversity and strength. A place where people want to live up to the ambitions of the New Colossus.

So yeah, the authoritarians have been losing for a long time, but social change takes a long time. Politically, they were almost sunk in the 50s, with the way the Republican party was set to collapse. Sadly, we hadn't made as much social progress, so the Republicans rebuilt their base of power and started with new policies to try to undo progress. Every surge they've made to try to reclaim their position has gotten weaker and weaker.

Here's what the electoral map looked like for Reagan:

This is the first time in something like 20 years that the Republicans have won the popular vote for president and it required not just a colossal mistake on the part of the Democrats but also an unprecedented time of economic inequality across the entire planet.

What you see as a generational trend towards authoritarianism and fascism is just a reactionary surge. The trend is going the other direction. They're thrashing that much harder knowing that their way of life is dying out. It means they're dangerous, but it also means they're dying.

Maybe you're too young to know this from experience, maybe you don't have the broad picture yet, but they are getting weaker. A party known for being able to mobilize and unify wasn't able to pickup any additional support when they really needed it.

If the Democrats had really supported the working class, if they'd really tried to allay fears about the ongoing economic woes? The Republicans won by a hair in a year when the Democrats made big mistakes.

In closing, Re: Israel

Yes I can say both of those things at the same time.

Biden doesn't have the ability to dictate Netanyahu's behavior *and* he also should have made it policy to end offensive aid to Israel, not just slow roll it. I'm not sure why you think Israel is only able to do what they do because of US aid, especially because they currently aren't even getting that aid. They're a developed country with a large GDP and a completely modern military. They aren't another arm of the US military that can be disarmed at a whim.

If you don't know all of the things that the Biden administration did to put pressure on the Israeli government to end the genocide, you should go do some research, it's a decent list.

We tried to warn you, and you wouldn’t listen to us over the sound of your own self-righteousness. You must be so proud of yourselves.

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bahrmp3 · 3 days ago

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[id: 10 gifs from season 3, episode 21 “the die is cast” from the tv series “star trek: deep space nine”, the gifs show three scenes from the episode the first has elim garak, odo, enabran tain on a romulan warbird on fire, the second scene garak and odo escaping using a runabout, the third scene shows them back on the defiant with miles obrien, and julian bashir.

1st gif: the first scene features garak from the shoulders up, the romulan warbird is on fire in the background. garak begins to realize that he's not going to get tain out of that chair, but he won't leave without him.he shouts "i can't just leave you here."

2nd gif: camera cuts to tain seated on a chair. he looks at garak and says, "i always did have a soft spot for you, garak... another of my flaws..."

3rd gif: camera cuts to garak, he shouts, "enabran," he is about to make another plea, when suddenly odo's hand pulls him back from the shoulder and he punches garak hard.

4th gif: camera cuts to show a wider angle of odo punching garak. the punch is hard enough to knock garak out and as he crumples to the deck, odo carries him.

5th, 6th, and 7th gif: the second scene, odo is sitting in the pilot seat of the runabout and garak is in the other seat. garak is rubbing what is now a large bruise on his head ruefully. garak says, "you can be very persuasive on occasion, constable. but you might consider using... gentler language in the future." odo replies "i'll keep that in mind."

8th gif: the third scene, in the transporter room of the defiant. miles says, "welcome back." the camera moves from miles to show odo and garak after transporting into the defiant. camera cuts to face enabran from the front and the back of garak, he is looking at garak from the corner of his eyes as garak continues, "why do you think i'm here?"

9th gif: odo says, "thank you." julian appears in the frame, he sees the bruise on garak's head. "oh, that looks painful."

10th gif: garak says, "it is." and turns to look at odo as he continues, "but it did save my life." /end id]

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theformulaimagines · 1 day ago

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Look at that woman (breaking my heart) | part one

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Vettel!Reader

Summary: For one and a half years Lewis and y/n managed to keep their relationship a secret, until it blew up in their faces. Now, they're trying their hardest to pick up the pieces...

Warnings: age gap (reader is 27), heat!!!!, other drivers are mentioned, tiny bit of angst, english isn’t my first language

Prologue

That night…

“As much as I absolutely adore you guys.”, Y/N says as she joins the group, her lips connecting with her champagne glass:” This party is super boring.” The men all look at her, while some eyes make their way up and down her body. One more often than the others.

“Well, I don’t think it’s that-.”, poor Lando gets cut off almost immediately. “I know that this is your first party, considering how they didn’t host them during Covid, however, believe me- back in the good old days these summer parties were the main event of the year for us.”

“Don’t say it like that.”, Lewis scoffs softly, furrowing his eyebrows in distress:” ‘Good old days’, please. Don’t make it sound like we’re in our sixties now.” George giggles.

“Anyway, Lando. When my brother was an active driver, we used to steal a bunch of champagne bottles and hide out in the Ferrari garage.” Her eyes shift back to Lewis, and she stares at him for a moment:” Don’t make that face.”

“What face? I’m not making a face.”, he blinks in confusion. Y/N shakes her headc while holding her index finger up at him: “Don’t act like you weren’t the main burglar back then. Sneaking behind the bar and just handing those bottles over to me like your life depended on it.” At that, all the other drivers in the group laugh out loud. “That was the old, alcoholic me.”, Lewis explains, his eyes scanning her features- almost as if he’s searching for something he can’t quite put the finger on.

“Well, what’s stopping us from doing that again?”

“Wait what?”, Charles asks and exchanges looks with the men around him:” Are you implying we-.” “Bingo.”, she takes another sip of her drink. There’s just something about the way Lewis looks at her side profile that makes her knees weak…he has been staring a lot lately. After a few seconds, Lando is the first one to react, he nods almost violently:” Okay, well- I mean, why not? Could be fun! Lewis and Y/N, you go get the bottles, and the rest of us-? I don’t know. We just distract the others?”

Lewis nods:” Well, yeah. Sure.” He chuckles as he notices the smile emerging on his best friend’s face and the woman quickly sets her glass down on the closest table :” We’ll meet you guys at the exit in five.”

Y/N can sense his presence close behind her. She doesn’t have to turn around to check. His brown eyes are moving down her backless dress and he subconsciously wets his lips at the scenery in front of him. “What’s so funny?“, he asks, as if he knew she was silently giggling to herself.

“Oh, nothing.”, Y/N replies as they reach the bar. The y/h/ced woman quickly leans over and grabs two bottles before shoving them into his hands. Then she takes two more. “You’re still good at this, aren’t you?”, he asks, voice low. “Only when it comes to expensive things. Now, let’s hurry.”

landonorris has made a post

liked by y/nvettel, mclaren, f1 and 378,500 others

landonorris: first f1 summer party- many more to come 🥂🥂

view all comments…

user 1: 😍😍

user 2: hes so fine GOD

y/nvettel: cheers 🙂‍↕️🥂

user 3: my favorite 🤩

user 4: is it true that y/n and lewis left together

user 5: please you guys are starting to sound ridiculous they’ve been friends since forever

user 6: @/user 5 thank you!!! plus friends don’t date their friends younger siblings

user 7: @/user 6 yeah they do

mercedesamgf1: that garage sign looks familiar 👀

“I think we should head out.”, Lando lets out and yawns, pointing at the clock on the wall. 03:56 am. A soft sigh leaves Y/N's lips while she eyes how the men all get up from their spots on the floor.

“Wait, you’re all leaving?”, she asks, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I don’t think Lewis is.”, Charles says and cracks his neck. Y/N turns her head to look at her best friend who merely shakes his head.

“Well, okay. Yeah, sleep tight you guys.”

A silence falls on the garage, as the sounds of the voices and footsteps gradually fade away. “I like your outfit, by the way.”, she suddenly declares, cringing as soon as those words leave her lips. She doesn’t understand why she’s becoming so nervous around Lewis- it’s only Lewis, right?

He chuckles:” Thanks. It’s the new collection.” Y/N's gaze falls to the glass in her hands.

“You look stunning.”, he whispers, and when their eyes meet again Y/N suddenly understands why she has been feeling so strange around him recently. “This is going to sound creepy.”, she clears her dry throat:” But I’ve read your latest Vogue interview, where you said-.”

“I like black dresses.”, he cuts her off, eyes once again roaming her body:” You’re trying to impress me?” He knows the answer already. “Well, what kind of impression are you trying to make?”

The younger woman chuckles softly:” A good one.”

“Ans you’re successful. You look unbelievable.”

There’s a line. And they both know it.

Y/N takes another sip of her drink while peeking out of the garage door and into the night sky. She shouldn’t be doing this, she really shouldn’t. Instead, she should be getting up and leaving. Walk away before she does something extremely stupid.

“Can I ask you something?”, Lewis tilts his head. “Of course, yeah. Always.”, Y/N tears her gaze off the stars and looks back at one of her brother’s oldest friends. She should leave.

“What’s your end goal here?”

”I think we both know what my end goal is.”

#lewis hamilton x reader #f1 texts #web weaving #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 social media au

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3liza · 2 days ago

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everyone arguing with material analysis/assertion about how art is a "luxury" has rarely if ever spent rent or food money on art, if they even pay rent or buy their own food, and if they did that would be considered extremely dysfunctional, and thats what i/we mean. artists are not providing a necessary service.

our plane crashes in the Andes and you are not particularly excited about my "can draw that Playboy centerfold of Marge Simpson from memory" like that is not an essential survival skill. lots of extremely skilled workers work in luxury artisan and craft jobs, it's not an insult to say even a very famous and very talented and influential artist is not producing a commodity necessary for the furtherance of human life. none of us are doing that, no matter how we stretch and strain the definitions of "essential" or even things like "morale" or "group identity". i will burn my copy of Finnegan's Wake to stay warm and thats what it comes down to.

i get foamy crazy snarling and biting about the idolization and obfuscation of what artists actually do because it is a labor issue! the public conception of artists as people possessed of a divine talent they dont consciously work to develop like any other skill, and the public idea that we are simply pleased and privileged to make art all day and "not work", something people say to my face every time i get asked "what i do", is largely responsible for the absolute dogshit reality of how subsistence and working class artists have to survive. we usually dont have health insurance unless we're so poor we qualify for medicaid AND live in a state that will enroll us. most of us are too disabled or crazy to go to a real job every day. most of us have tried, over and over, to enter the normal workforce, and have failed, and been forced to develop alternate skills that allow us to make rent in the ten hours per month we're actually functional. many of the artists i know work from bed because standing up is dicey. this has been turned into a charming eccentricity of famous artists and writers instead of people wondering why a person would need to stay in bed all day and take the enormous bother of bringing their stupid pens and paper and writing board or typewriter or whatever to their bed instead of just getting up and getting dressed and going to work. ive done this, i spilled ink in my sheets. its a huge hassle.

and artists play along with this mystique because people dont want to buy paintings from sadlords! they want to buy paintings and books and marge simpson nudes from cool guys who get a lot of chicks and wear rockstar outfits and party a lot, because of the transitive properties! of course!!! this is basic marketing!!!!! and if the artist doesnt play along they turn into Sad Story Artist where they're doing emergency commissions and posting about how sick they are all the time. this is not cool or fun or sexy. it's a sand trap and its very hard to recover from. im struggling with this right now!

famous and successful artists and writers are constantly ending up 60-90 years old with cancer and multiple sclerosis and dementia, being the subject of some sort of public, last-ditch, humiliating GoFundMe because painting paperback covers fr 60 years means you dont get a pension, you often dont even have kids who can take care of you, you dont have life insurance, you dont have health insurance. 'died penniless and alone' is one of the stereotypical artist endings for a reason, that is not fiction. this happened to more artists than i can list on two hands. look up what happened to Peter S. beagle, the guy who wrote The Last Unicorn. you write a book like that you should be set for life, right? NO. thats not how it works

i'm not saying 'all artists are disabled and working class or poor' because that isnt true, observably. nepo babies and trust fund artists exist, obviously. but they take an outsized portion of the spotlight when the public thinks of the concept of "artist". they are not actually the norm. the average artist is probably making under 40k and living in extremely precarious circumstances and has had periods of homelessness, illness, extreme debt and/or bankruptcy.

this is true even for the 'successful' artists. having one or two or ten good projects and being a household name does not save you from just not having the safety net provided by a normal career path. i was very close with a major, famous 2000s network television creator and team that you have heard of. they won awards, they changed culture entirely, they were a big deal. one of them was turned down for a half dozen projects by the same network that made millions or bilions on their franchise over several years (each pitch is completely unpaid btw, imagine carefully preparing a PowerPoint for morons for months at a time for no reimbursement and thent he morons ask you if you can put a teenage witch looking for her lost cat in the alps in it and you're like, haha, well, it's a 4 part hard sci fi miniseries set on Europa and takes place entirely inside a pressurized lander settlement, i mean Ridley Scot said he was interested already and he pitched a bottle episode about a carbon monoxide poisoning, soooooo....and the executives look at each other and they're like "it's jst not really what we're looking for right now, thanks for coming in" and you go to coffee bean and tea leaf and kill yourself and thats sort of what its like. i made that example up it didn't actually happen i'm using an illustrative example), worked on a canceled film, and just. gradually ran out of money. thats what happens. that guy ended up slowly selling off all his belongings, getting roommates in a one bedroom apartment, and then eventually having to just live on a friend's couch for years. famous guy. you probably know his name. another major member of that same team ended up in GoFundMe/commission hell for years (might still be there) because they had to take care of their two dying, dementia patient parents by themselves. these are people who go to GenCon and sign autographs for four hours at a time. THE PUBLIC IS NOT AWARE OF THIS SHIT and i'm sick of it. im sick of going to a gallery opening night ("vernissage") and drinking bad wine and having a guy with an email job that pays six figures and benefits tell me being able to push "undo" on the computer is cheating. that's a real example, that has actually happened to me. more than once.

artists currently have zero labor protections whatsoever. all of us are undercutting each other in an unregulated market and relying on welfare and private insurance and not having families or buying houses. zero security until we get so old all our illnesses and dysfunction finally ground us permanently and then we get turned into a charity case by fans (humiliating) or just fade away into ghosts and die

whats my punchline? idk i dont have one. it's possible and likely that any given artist you meet is permanently in precarity and will be until they die, even the famous ones. the culture of selling art demands that artists do not admit to this in public unless shit gets really really bad. i guess my point is you should know this, as a person who looks at or listens to or reads things that people have made for your amusement, not for your survival

#blog

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theeoriginals · 20 hours ago

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“It was- not love at first sight, but familiarity. Like, oh, it’s you.” With Klaus or Elijah please! Something to make me feel better while I do this awful assignment 🥲

deep breaths | elijah mikaelson

pairing: elijah mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

warnings: noneeee this is just sweet

author’s note: i wrote this at work on my phone just now so sorry if it’s not the best <3

The thing is, Elijah Mikaelson has lived many, many lives. He has had so many names, faces, stories, and voices he can hardly remember them all at this point. That, he supposes, is just part of the curse of immortality. Esther likely didn’t think that far ahead out of her grief when she turned them all into monsters. She didn’t think to consider that she wasn’t saving herself anymore loss, she was cursing her children, leading them to damnation and then blaming them for what she did.

Elijah would likely live another thousand years before he was able to fully comprehend all of the tangled, contradictory emotions that came with vampirism. A gift and a curse, like most things.

What he could for certain say was that he’s loved just as much as he’s hated. He would even argue that you can’t possibly know what it means to hate someone unless you loved them before, unless you still loved them. And although he believed that, he was not someone to give second chances often. At least not to anyone besides his siblings— though that was a different beast altogether.

Elijah knew that even if he hated someone, someone else could love that person just as much. He’d seen it often enough, felt betrayal in his gut like a stake to the heart.

Love, in all of its glory, was not often kind to Elijah.

So whenever his siblings found it necessary to tease him for being so uptight and closed off, he did nothing more than roll his eyes, because it was much easier than telling them that he was scared. Truly, deeply, in his ancient bones, he was scared. Not of love itself, but of the continuously growing sense that he would never truly find real love. And perhaps it was entirely too human of him to think that way, and perhaps it made him weak to some, but Elijah knows that his brothers and sisters more than anyone crave love just as much as he does. He knows they feel it just as deeply as he does, that want in their bones that rushed through their blood, the want for someone to just come in and never leave.

It’s hard to find that when you outlive most people. Harder than one might think, even if you fall in love with an immortal being. It’s not just that he’ll outlive most everyone he could fall in love with, either. It’s that every time it seems he’s done it, he’s fallen in love even knowing it won’t last but letting it happen anyway, it doesn’t— it doesn’t fill that void inside of him.

It doesn’t flood his mind and his body, it doesn’t fill him with life, it doesn’t make him want to breathe.

Elijah doesn’t have to breathe, but he wants someone to make him feel like he has to.

For the past thousand years he’s fought and won and lost, and he’s done his best to keep his family alive despite everything they do to drive him insane, despite the fact that they try to kill each other more than anyone else. He has been holding his breath for a thousand years, fighting and fighting and fighting. He wants to exhale.

He can’t explain this to his siblings. They would understand, he knows, but it’s something he’s never said out loud to himself let alone anyone else. Saying it out loud makes it real, and he can’t— he can’t admit it. When you are drowning, when you are holding your breath, you don’t realize you’re drowning for a long time. And the moment that you do, you realize that you can’t breathe and suddenly you’re gasping for air and you’ve all but killed yourself.

Elijah can’t admit that he’s drowning.

He sighs loudly, and it’s not an exhale and it doesn’t lift that weight off of his shoulders. It’s an expression of his annoyance with his siblings, because this far into their collective immortality, all they live for is getting on each other’s nerves.

And here at Rousseau’s is the last place he wants to entertain their petulance. You never know who could be listening, and Elijah really doesn’t want anyone less than favorable to hear about his love life, or lack thereof.

“I wish you’d just bring someone home to meet us at least once!”

“I wish I could go out and have a drink without being harassed by you people,” Elijah says moodily.

Rebekah pushes her bottom lip out in a pout and widens her eyes in a way that has always gotten her anything she wants from anyone ever. Elijah is, in fact, very aware that he and his brothers have worked overtime in making her as ridiculously spoiled and entitled as she is and yet he still manages to be surprised when she behaves like this.

“We aren’t harassing you, Elijah, we want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

He sighs again and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again and fixing them on Rebekah and Klaus. “It’s not wrong. But I don’t know what you expect me to do about my lack of prospects, it’s not like the perfect person can be conjured at whim.”

Klaus lifts a finger and Elijah knows that he’s going to say something ridiculous before he even speaks. The gleam in his eye never bodes well for anyone. “I bet we could find a witch to do just that. We could compile all of your wants and desires in a partner and get a witch to mix it all together for you. Problem solved, Elijah has a soulmate!”

Elijah gives his brother a deadpan look. “Is this witch Victor Frankenstein?”

Rebekah snorts in amusement, and Elijah dutifully ignores it.

“Be creative, Elijah! Open your mind,” Klaus swipes an arm out dramatically, sloshing his drink over the side of his glass, splashing a few drops of bourbon onto Elijah’s suit jacket.

Elijah’s lip curls in distaste and he gives his brother a look of disdain that goes ignored.

“I have an open mind, what I don’t have is an open schedule,”

“You are not as busy as you like to believe,” Rebekah drawls out, finishing off her own drink. “Your life will never change if you don’t go out and do something different! You’ll be stagnant forever, and I do mean forever, brother,”

“I will never be stagnant with your dramatics, Rebekah,”

She rolls her eyes at his avoidant response. “Your love life is stagnant. I don’t even think stagnant is the proper word, it is downright nonexistent. It is extinct.”

“Thank you, Rebekah,”

“Even if you have a sleazy, completely forgettable one night stand, you need to do something. You’re constantly dealing with us, you need to focus on yourself!”

Elijah pours the rest of his bourbon down his throat, barely tasting it as he swallows. “Maybe if you did less idiotic things that I have to deal with I’d have a more active love life. And truly, I’m not sure why I’m being lectured when you two are the furthest thing from romantically successful.”

“I have a child, I’m plenty romantically successful!”

“She was conceived during a drunken one night stand with a werewolf who is now married to someone else.”

“The details don’t matter, I have a child to show for it. I have a father’s wisdom now, you should listen to me!”

Elijah raises an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I am not part dog and therefore am actually incapable of reproducing much like you thought you were. And considering the trials and tribulations we went through with Hope, I can’t imagine I’d have any better luck in my own venture to fatherhood.”

“You’re being purposefully obtuse,”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Elijah simpers, gesturing to the bartender for another round for them.

“I have a challenge,” Rebekah cuts in before Klaus can continue their bickering, and Elijah narrows his eyes at the determined gleam in her eyes.

“I don’t like this,”

Rebekah dismisses him with a flutter of her fingers. “The next person to walk through that door, I want you to go and talk to them. You don’t have to have a one night stand, you absolute prude, but you need to speak to someone that you’re not related to, and that isn’t trying to kill you.”

“Rebekah—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Just do this one thing for me, for your darling little sister,”

“My darling little sister—”

“Shut up, look! Someone’s walking inside, get ready to go be your charming self,”

Elijah groans and turns to look at the door as it opens and someone walks through. He sighs again, weighted, empty, scared.

When he lifts his gaze, though, he finds a woman. He takes her in— eyes, nose, lips, hair— and thinks beautiful.

The bar is as crowded as ever, no breaks in sight for the bartenders and waiters, and he’s tucked away at a table with Klaus and Rebekah in the back corner because they are particularly antisocial and Klaus really just wanted to use this outing as a way to remind everyone that they are still here, and that New Orleans is still theirs. The exit is across the room, Elijah has not paid much attention to the distance at all, and yet now.

Now, the crowd of people in between him and the door is frozen and endless. Elijah’s standing before he realizes, and it feels like he’s stepping around the people frozen mid-laugh, mid-drink, mid-bite, because the world has stopped just long enough for him to cross the room.

He parts the crowd and stops before her, eyes roaming over her face. Committing it to memory and vowing to keep it there for the rest of his eternal years.

She looks at him with a smile, blinking at him slowly like she’s got all the time in the world. There’s a necklace sitting on her chest that has a familiar blue stone hanging off of it and he inhales sharply.

He thinks vampire, perhaps a coincidence but things rarely are for him and it’s something new to think that she is immortal, too, of course more fragile than an Original but if she’s smart, and he knows that she is, he can feel it, then she’ll last just as long.

“Hi,” She speaks first, and the world starts up again, the noise comes back and people unfreeze. Now that he’s stood here before her, the world can keep spinning, but it had to wait— it just had to wait for him to catch up.

“Hello,” He responds quietly, too quiet for the bar, but she hears it anyway. “I’m Elijah.”

Her smile widens and she says, “I think I knew that already,” and then she tells him her name and Elijah repeats it for himself, and then for her, and then he turns it over in his head a hundred times over so it never gets lost.

She tilts her head slightly, looking up at him. “Were you trying to leave? Am I in your way?”

“No,” He responds quickly, almost rushed. “Not unless you’re leaving, too.”

She seems pleased at his response and the longer he looks in her eyes, he thinks he’s found a new favorite color.

“I’m not leaving,”

Elijah exhales, and the weight is gone, and the void is no more. And he thinks— oh.

There you are.

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries fanfiction #klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #elijah x reader #elijah mikaelson fluff #klaus mikealson x reader

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shinystealingbirb · 3 days ago

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This is a bit of a rant, but I wonder what Ratio's opinion on people who are in majors they don't want to be is.

Like, the people who clearly want to be studying one thing, but through one reason or another, are in a different major/professor.

From a teacher standpoint, I imagine it sucks to watch the life leave a kid's eyes every time they look at their worksheet, and it must be annoying if they turn their stuff in late because they were working on something else or just not paying attention.

I know that ratio puts an emphasis on not only wanting to be in that specific class, but actively participating and listening. Failure to do either of these gets you kicked out. i wonder if he would toss people from his class without a second look, or if he would take the time to consider why someone who fought to be in his class so clearly doesn't want to be there? if they're still taking notes, still somehow scoring decently, but its so obviously half-hearted, like they've resigned themselves to this, would he transfer them? Let them stay? kick them out entirely?

im certain he'd just toss them out, but they'd be better in the long run, and anotehr slot would open in the class for someone who wanted to be there. but i wonder what he himself thinks about those types of people. if he pities them for not being able to follow their own ppath, or finds himself disgusted that they turn away knowledge in favor of some other course. or if he considers this class itself, for these people, to be a roadblock in their own pursuit of knowledge. Does he consider what they want, if they're still in college, still trying to study, but forced to be in that major, to still be a pursuit of knowledge? i wonder how far his idea of "knowledge" spreads, if its purely math and phyiscs and medical and philosophy, or it if extends to art and writing and drama. if people want to learn to create expression, is that still knowledge to him? or is it the act of learning he finds so important, that as long as they are not closing their minds off and accepting what they know as fact so solid that nothing else can pass through it, then they are learning and willing to understand?

(honestly, i like the last one. it would explain why Ratio likes Stelle so much. She's got no education, but she's willing to question most things and think critically instead of accepting things as solid fact, and I think he appreciates that.)

i wonder all of this because college has been rough for me so far, and sometimes considering it from a more intelligent and higher perspective than my own helps me see a bigger picture, if there is one. If i am still learning, even if i am struggling, even if its not where i want to be, is it pitiful or embarassing? and could it still be cosnidered a worthwhile pursuit?

#hsr #doctor ratio #rant #college #teacher stuff ig #dr ratio #dr veritas ratio #stelle #honkai star rail

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d-criss-news · 2 days ago

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From Hedwig to Helperbot: Darren Criss Looks Back on His Stage Journey

It’s nap time for Darren Criss’s newborn son, Brother, when the Glee star hops on our video chat. The camera’s off, but he quickly turns it on to say hello face-to-face dressed in workout clothes — a green sleeveless top and a ball cap — as he tries to do some chores at the same time.

Criss has a limited window at home as he prepares to star in the new musical Maybe Happy Ending, now playing at Broadway’s Belasco Theatre. The story, with book, music, and lyrics by Will Aronson and Hue Park, takes place 100 years in the future in Seoul, South Korea. Criss plays Oliver, an obsolete Belperbot along the lines of Siri or Google, “except more human-like, who is definitely past his prime and has been just waiting [in a Helperbot retirement facility] for his owner to pick him up,” Criss describes to Broadway Direct of the role. He stars opposite rising star Helen J Shen, who plays Oliver’s retired Helperbot neighbor. “It almost feels like two people in an old-folks’ home trying to connect with a family member.”

The plot sounds dramatic, but “make no mistake: This is a musical. It’s a musical comedy,” says Criss. “It has a lot of heart and a lot of joy and a lot of humor and amazing music, and it’s a hell of a spectacle.”

His friend Michael Arden, who won a Tony Award for his direction of Parade, was a big reason for Criss to sign on to the project — and serve as an executive producer as well. Arden brought the show to Criss’s attention many years ago, and again recently when Criss was starring in Little Shop of Horrors Off-Broadway.

“This had been kind of percolating for a while, and between the pandemic and strikes and just a lot of other things, that really comes down to timing. So the stars just kind of aligned,” Criss says.

Criss, a figure on Broadway for well over a decade, started to gather a following while at University of Michigan as a founding member of Team StarKid, the student-run theater company behind the viral Harry Potter musical parody A Very Potter Musical. His big break came on the hit Fox TV show Glee back in 2010. The show had already aired for a full season before he was cast as Warbler Blaine Anderson and future love interest to Chris Colfer’s Kurt Hummel. If not for Glee, he believes his career would not have had the same trajectory.

“I felt like this was my master’s in performance of music on camera,” Criss says, admitting that, until Glee, he didn’t consider himself a singer — rather, a musician who acted. “I have that show to thank for giving me any headway in the musical-theater space.”

In the middle of filming Glee in 2012, his Broadway debut called. Criss was asked to succeed Daniel Radcliffe in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying for three weeks during a winter break from filming Glee. “I left on, like, a Friday night from my last day of shooting. I started rehearsal on a Saturday. Within 10 days, I was on a Broadway stage. I left my Sunday matinee, got on the plane, and went to work [at Glee] Monday morning as if nothing had happened. So it was a bit of a fever dream. It goes by as quickly as it came, like all other moments in life.”

Three years later, Criss stepped into his next Broadway role. This time, he played Hedwig in Hedwig and the Angry Inch for about two and half months, succeeding John Cameron Mitchell. “People always ask me, ‘What’s your dream role?’ I’m like, ‘I kind of did it,’” he says of the opportunity. “Hedwig was a role I always loved so much when I was a teenager, and getting to jump into it was so special to me and my wife. We both love Hedwig so much. It’s a big part of our relationship.”

More recently on Broadway, Criss starred in the play American Buffalo with Laurence Fishburne and Sam Rockwell in 2022 for a three-month limited run. “I completely idolized them,” he says of his scene partners. “I mean, if you see a pattern here, I recommend this to everybody, to just chase their heroes. I’ve just been chasing my heroes my whole life, and I’m not being bashful about it at all.”

Getting Rachel Evan Wood to play Audrey opposite Criss’s Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors at the Westside Theatre earlier this year was something that he says was his idea.

“I pitched her pretty hard,” he said of getting casting directors to choose the Westworld actress as his costar. “When they heard her sing, I think it was very clear that this wasn’t like a favor to anybody. She was doing us a favor. The fact that she said yes just blew my mind.” The role of the nerdy floral shop worker wasn’t something Criss thought he’d get the opportunity to add to his résumé “because it just was never something that I thought anybody would let me do. … I wasn’t sprinting to that in the way that I was the other things in my life.”

Criss welcomed Brother, his second baby, this past June with his wife Mia. The timing couldn’t be more coincidental, since their first, Bluesy, was born during his run of American Buffalo.

As our conversation comes to a close, Criss says he kind of got all of his chores done and haphazardly put things away and folded laundry. The next project he wants to pursue is his writing, something he hasn’t tackled much in five years. Until then, he’s reveling in Maybe Happy Ending.

“I do find myself at a loss for words, trying to truly put into words how special this experience has been,” he adds. “I think it really is a thing of beauty that can really add quite a bit of ornamentation in perhaps a grim world.”

#darren criss #broadway direct #maybe happy ending #maybe happy ending bway #american buffalo #mia swier #bb criss #bl criss #little shop of horrors #hedwig and the angry inch #glee #how to succeed in business without really trying #starkid #uofmichigan #press #nov 2024

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kurigohan0909 · 3 days ago

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Rewatching Link Click: Easter eggs in your noodle soup?

So I've just finished watching both seasons of Link Click/Shíguāng Dàilǐ-rén, which means that obviously I'm watching it all over again. What did you expect me to do, sit around waiting for Bridon arc while the Bilibili official account taunts us with replays??

Besides, Link Click is one of those dishes that is best served twice. The early episodes are packed with hints and foreshadowing that only become clear once you've gotten up to date, so I've made it my mission to catch 'em all.

You don't say.

It's well known that certain early mini-arcs (for instance Chen Xiao's basketball match, and Doudou's kidnapping) have implications for the larger plotline or at least contain important exposition/character insights that the story would not feel complete without. There are also several that get written off as filler, or are generally considered to not have any purpose beyond familiarising the audience with the characters and setup, and lulling you into a false sense of comfort before everything goes to shit. Episode 2: Secret Recipe, AKA the Noodle Lesbians episode, beloved as it is, tends to fall into the second category.

Or does it?

On a rewatch, I still don't think it does anything to advance the main plot. We don't even really know where it fits into the timeline, because we're never told what day it is and Lu Guang's watch is never shown on screen (I'll get around to a longer analysis of this another day). However, I'm instead inclined to believe that it's one of the most important episodes in the show - if not THE most important - because it's essentially an allegory for the story of Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang, and gives you a bird's eye view of how the relationship between them is going to develop - which, as you know, is what the show is all about. And the fact that it's not situated in a specific time, in a show that cares heavily about timeline construction, makes it better.

The episode starts with this quote from German photographer August Sander, who believed that, through photography, he could reveal the characteristic traits of people. "The portrait is your mirror. It's you." It's pretty explicit, when you think about it. This episode is a mirror of the entire series, specifically of its protagonists.

Moving on. The episode's storyline is quite simple: two college "roommates" start a noodle shop together, and as time passes, they drift apart and eventually fall out as their priorities change. Yu Xia, the business-oriented one between them, wants to get hold of the secret ingredient used by Lin Zhen, to whose cooking the shop attributes its success. Does Yu Xia really want to steal the secret recipe? Or is it just one of the many things that the quieter Lin Zhen keeps hidden from her that she desperately wants to know, along with everything that went wrong between them? Your guess is as good as mine. Either way, there are lots of indirect parallels between Xialin of the noodle shop and Shiguang of the photo studio, even if for now they're very distinct individuals with their own personalities and struggles. It does, however, give some indication of what's to come.

This question isn't purely rhetorical, as we find out in the very next arc, where Cheng Xiaoshi has a fight with Lu Guang over letting his client's loved ones perish in the Wenchuan earthquake. Even if they eventually come to a consensus, they have fundamentally different life philosophies and approach their missions in very different ways. Cheng Xiaoshi is a hyperempathetic idealist who keeps trying to use his forays back into the past to fix his clients' personal problems, while Lu Guang remains utterly indifferent and staunchly against interfering, even in life-or-death situations. Which turns out to be a facade, because we later learn that he's just as much of a meddler as Cheng Xiaoshi - except he's focused on a singular, selfish goal, which is to keep Cheng Xiaoshi alive at any cost.

Let's go back to the noodle shop. After ten years of running the business together, it becomes clear that the ladies' aspirations are no longer compatible. Yu Xia has big plans for the shop. She wants to broaden their customer base - for profit, of course, but also so that more people can be made happy by the chance to taste their noodles. Lin Zhen's dreams, however, are on a smaller scale - perhaps only on a personal scale. Throughout the episode, it seems that she only really cares about making noodles for one person.

Sound familiar?

At the risk of digressing, it needs to be said that Yu Xia and Lin Zhen are absolutely very much a WLW couple. This isn't bait, it's elegant and really quite unsubtle queercoding that says 'to hell with censorship' loud and clear. Honeymoon jokes, the taxi driver assuming Lin Zhen had fought with her husband, and Lin Zhen's very bold attempts at flirting... we see you.

More to the point of this post, I think it's important to point out that Lin Zhen does not actually care for too many people other than Yu Xia. She's all worn out from making noodles for customers, but she forgets all about that when it's time to make a bowl for Yu Xia. She also keeps her special ingredient - which is one of the secrets she shares with Yu Xia, as we find out - highly guarded. She's never going to let these pesky reporters in on something so intimate.

Why is this important? Because, as it turns out, the episode's storyline - and Lin Zhen's motives - are all about saving Yu Xia.

We learn that the secret ingredient is a local specialty from Yu Xia's hometown. Lin Zhen has been using it for years, keeping the taste of home alive while Yu Xia's drifted further and further from home to the point where she can no longer remember where the ingredient came from. At the end of it all, when Yu Xia returns home, she finds Lin Zhen there waiting for her. Lin Zhen, mind you, does not hail from the same town. The girls met in college. It's home to her simply because it's Yu Xia's home.

This comes directly after a pilot episode that establishes the contrast between urban isolation and rural/familial warmth, through Emma's eyes, and in a show that continually reinforces the concept of longing for home and loved ones. By forcing Yu Xia to reevaluate her priorities, Lin Zhen manages to bring her back home - which is a place that includes herself.

Perhaps it's too early to say. But to me, it's a pretty neat thematic parallel of Lu Guang's solo quest to save Cheng Xiaoshi from death; which is intertwined with a greater goal of giving Cheng Xiaoshi a home, one that is safe and secure and surrounds him with those that love him and are there to stay.

But in the process of achieving this, one of his biggest obstacles is Cheng Xiaoshi himself - his insistence on interfering with the timeline so that Lu Guang can't predict events with certainty, his objections to the way Lu Guang does things, and the definite resistance Lu Guang will come up against if Cheng Xiaoshi learns about his plan. Pretty much every minor mission they undertake is a rehash of the same argument; Cheng Xiaoshi wants to use their combined powers to make a difference to other people's lives, and Lu Guang just has one goal in mind which means that he's going to ignore absolutely everyone else.

Notice how Yu Xia's looking to the future, while Lin Zhen's dream is to go back to a point in the past? Neat.

And when they finally part ways because it's clear Yu Xia is not going to support Lin Zhen's goal? Yu Xia asks her where she's going to go after they part ways, and Lin Zhen says:

I wonder where we've heard that before.

And if you need any more proof that this episode is in fact intended to be a mirror, do consider:

Their seating positions are mirrored too. Yeeeeaaaaaahhhh.

In conclusion: if this allegory is to be believed, then trust that Lu Guang will eventually succeed in his mission and Cheng Xiaoshi will find his way home to him. It'll happen, guys. In the meantime, at least our beloved noodle ladies will be living a peaceful life out in the countryside.

Since I don't know how to shut up and this website seems to be giving me infinite space to yap, let me include some more details about this episode that I found cool. There are so many.

Lin Zhen and Lu Guang are both shown while this line is being said. What with all that the fragrant flowers represent, it makes you think about what these characters' best memories might be and how much they treasure them.

This is such a tiny detail that you'd almost definitely miss it on the first watch, and it seems insignificant - until it isn't. When Cheng Xiaoshi hops into the girls' picture taken during their college days, he screws up and suggests they'd be better off dabbling in tech stuff like apps or intelligent management than running a noodle shop. Lu Guang makes him quickly eat his words, but they seem to have still struck a chord with Yu Xia - because later we see that she works over years to integrate an intelligent supply chain management system into their business. In fact, one of the reasons for Lin Zhen to alienate herself from the business is because she feels like it's gotten too techy and lost its human touch. Not really fair considering it was her own idea, is it?

I mean. This is probably a stretch. Digitization is pretty inevitable for big businesses nowadays, so Yu Xia, being as enterprising as she is, might have gone for it whether Lin Zhen suggested it or not. But it's interesting to think that it might be Cheng Xiaoshi's tiny alteration of the past that unfurled outwards like a hurricane from the beating of a butterfly's wing and catalysed their falling out. Especially because these kinds of bootstrap phenomena very much occur in later episodes and are a core feature of Link Click's time travel model.

Some suspicious behaviour on Lu Guang's part. He's quite certain there are no useful clues in the last picture Yu Xia and Lin Zhen took in front of their shop, despite it being the only one taken by Lin Zhen (seriously! you could go to her house, look through her phone, the possibilities are endless!) and the fact that this is the photo Cheng Xiaoshi did end up solving the mystery in, thanks to the ticket stubs he found in her purse (see?) Secondly, they outright miss a picture in the envelope - the most important picture of all which would have given them the answer right away, since this was when the fragrant flowers were first used. Not your best work, Lu Guang.

...or is it? Lu Guang is pretty meticulous, and it's unlike him to slip up in such obvious ways. He's also skilled at slipping things back into envelopes when he doesn't want them to be seen, as we know. Could it be that he didn't want Cheng Xiaoshi to solve the mystery? But why? Maybe it's metaphorical, like so much else of this episode: he doesn't want Cheng Xiaoshi to uncover his true intentions. The fact that all this is ultimately for his sake.

Interestingly, Lu Guang was very dejected at the idea of them seemingly being out of luck - they'd tried so many times and failed to fulfill the mission. Was he, perhaps, thinking about another mission he'd hate to fail? Anyway, it falls to Cheng Xiaoshi to cheer him up and give him hope for another try, which he accepts, with a small but genuine smile. My heart.

If you've scrolled this far, I'm glad you enjoyed my ramblings! I must say I don't know much about how Tumblr works so apologies if I mess up on formatting or tags, but I'll probably get the hang of it soon enough. I'll also probably end up enjoying Tumblr more than Twitter since it allows me unfettered yap space and won't feed my writing to the machine (yet). It's late and I should probably stop stop thinking bout it around now... but look forward to more random ramblings and thank you for reading!

#link click #shiguang daili ren #link click spoilers #sgdlr #shiguang #lcs1e2 #cheng xiaoshi #lu guang #analysis #noodle lesbians #you can't have me watch a series about time shenanigans and expect me not to theorycraft

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vigilskeep · 18 hours ago

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give me the Sol good & bad endings in detail pretty pls 💖

sol as a character is defined by the crows and the blight, so here’s a spread of what i might have to work with

some bad sol endings:

crow version: the Widow Dellamorte. sol commits to being first talon lucanis’ right hand, but fail to protect him when the rest of the crows go to war with the ascending dominance of the dellamorte-de riva-cantori block. desperate to cling to whatever they have left of him, they allow themself to be possessed by spite—a fuller meld than spite/lucanis ever was, more in the anders/justice style—and become a vengeful winged monstrosity effectively haunting the dellamorte villa. black veil over golden heavy armour. for now, they still recognise their friends

blight version: the blight finally catches up. sol was intensely careful about fighting the blight right up until the final days, where there was nothing for it but to cut blindly into blight cysts. obviously it’s awful and pointless for them to suddenly die after all that, which is why i think we should at least explore the possibility. for awful and pointless drama. the ending they were kind of hoping for, just when they no longer want it??

alternate blight version: okay this isn’t an ending per se but i still think ghilan’nain should have gotten to turn them into a sick crow-themed blight monster at some point, as a special treat. this can also be a neutral or good ending depending on how much of themself they retain and how much of a monsterfucker lucanis is. sorry for saying that

some neutral-ish sol endings:

crow version: the First Talon’s Executioner. this is the version where sol goes back to the crows and it’s essentially business as usual. i can’t imagine this as good, but with their renewed appreciation for what they have and the lifetime of focus and activity ahead in order to just keep their heads above water, it could be survivable. and lucanis is there. but then i think about how permanently damning the step is where you start raising the next generation for it and i feel a bit sick

blight version: warden sol! sol finally gets up the nerve to cut ties with the crows, making the necessary choice for themself even if it means losing the people they love most. they take the joining and build what life they can alongside davrin, evka, and antoine, slaying darkspawn and finding a new path for the wardens following the tracks of a changing blight. it’s ugly and terrifying and hard, full of horror they never get used to, that will still be making their skin crawl until the day it kills them and drags them down, far from the comforts of home. but as a life, it is, at least, theirs to choose

some good sol endings:

crow version: a newly re-energised sol takes their place at lucanis’s side but considers things in ways they never could have before. why does going back to the crows have to mean they’re locked in place? they aren’t the underdog just clawing for survival that they once were, and they don’t have to act like it. they can do better! they have viago and teia and lucanis and people listen to them. if the dread wolf can change, can’t the crows? through a certain connection via the wardens, they make a contact who has very interesting ideas on the crows’ future

blight version: sol accepts they can’t stay with the crows, does a whole tear-stained confession to a shocked and distraught lucanis, and walks away. they settle into helping davrin, evka, and antoine against the changing blight. nobody actually requires them to take the joining because, hey, they’ve already gotten rid of more than enough archdemons for one person (showoff), and sometimes it is actually helpful for them to do their crow thing as the combatant the darkspawn can’t sense coming. maybe a year or two later, the world’s most miserable first talon (“they don’t even let me do my own assassinations anymore!”) quits his job, thoroughly disappoints his grandmother, thrills his demon, hands all his power to teia, and shows up somewhat nervously with as many antivan delicacies as he fears forgiveness will require

#veilguard spoilers #sol de riva #in the last one sol would have not even a thought that forgiveness is required here #it’s actually assan you have to placate lucanis. good fucking luck he’s up to your shoulder now

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atheneum-of-you · 21 hours ago

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I've talked a lot about priest/ priestesshood on my blog recently as well as my journey as a priestess in training for Lord Hermes. (I promise I'll post other stuff as well this has just become the forefront of my life recently and I enjoy sharing my journey!)

With that in mind, I wanted to share what it's like deciphering card pulls with Hermes, particularly when it comes to tasks. As I've started in a couple of previous posts, tasks are basically your training and given to you by your god to strengthen your skills with them and teach you how to work under them. It's similar to job training.

The Cards

Before I ask for my tasks, I like to ask him if he has any messages for me, typically a 1 or 2 card pull. I was immediately given the Sword card.

The card represents birthright and purpose. I had taken this as another small confirmation that priestesshood was the right path for me (as I had done a small tarot reading for myself earlier saying something similar). I had no clue that he had drawn the card for a meaning I would only figure out later, but with that now in mind, I moved on. I asked for my next task for him and drew the following cards:

I was a little surprised to see 2 cards from my last task reappear (the fields and the cottage in the woods) and at first glance of the cards I assumed it would be another Demeter message (as it is winter it would make sense for her to be particularly active). But the crossroads stumped me. The crossroads are typically associated with Hecate, not Demeter. Additionally, I didn't draw the Herald card (Hermes's card), so I wasn't entirely sure if this was a message to be delivered. Did Hecate want to speak with me directly? But why draw the Pair card? Hecate is a trio goddess.

Epithets

The cards stumped me for a while and I ended up leaving the task incomplete, deciding it'd be best to revisit with a clearer head (I was dealing with a lot yesterday).

As I woke up this morning, I looked to my references to find a suitable epithet of Hermes to pray to this morning. And while looking, I noticed one specifically that piqued my interest. One I wasn't aware of before.

Hermes Trikephalos.

Hermes of road-intersections. Hermes three headed.

Hermes has a crossroads association.

Suddenly my cards started to slowly piece together. The crossroads card was never about Hecate, Hermes is the god of travel, the messenger of gods. ALL gods, including the chthonic. I didn't need the Herald card, he had represented himself using an epithet he wanted me to learn.

Interpreting the Cards

I had learned from my previous task that Hermes doesn't always use the cards' intended meaning when giving me my tasks, so I always observe the cards themselves and the picture they create before interpreting them individually. I almost exclusively use this deck for Hermes because it's a panoramic deck, meaning when put together, the cards can form a much larger image:

While naturally everything doesn't line up perfectly, it does create a scene. A pair (which I immediately considered lovers) overlooking a field and home in isolation. Across from the home (a little distance away), a goddess statue points to a crossroads. I'd already established that the crossroads card signified Hermes, but it was more than that. The crossroads represent the intersection between our world and the gods' and are heavily associated with the chthonic gods. It represented a goddess at the crossroads, her back turned to a lonely field that she overlooked with her lover.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The cards spoke of Persephone, leaving the mortal fields of her mother's (hence me drawing both cards of Demeter's from my last reading) and making her descent back into the Underworld. My task was not a message to deliver, but a study session.

The Completed Task

I had learned a new epithet oh Hermes, had learned how to read my cards without using the actual meanings of them, and learned how to read them as a vision/ story. Sometimes, my duties as a messenger will involve me needing to not observe the strict meaning of the cards and instead interpreting them as a vision. Similar to skrying.

I was fully prepared to run around trying to figure out what message to give to who, but this was an absolute blast to decipher. Hermes's tasks tend to be criptic and very much as a combination of games. Clue, Guess Who, word association, puzzles, riddles, etc. He makes you have to think critically and outside of the box and purposely tries to stump you. Things won't mean what you think they mean, and it turns into a battle of wit, and if he can successfully outsmart you. And your job as his underling is to not let him. Honestly, I think if I were using any other deck, I'd be pulling my hair out.

I revisited the Sword card from earlier and realized it had a whole new meaning. It wasn't just confirmation. He was telling me to be sharp, and to always be ready for his tricks and games. And I'll be moving forward with that in mind from here on out.

This is what it's like, training under Hermes. And it's the most fun I've had in years.

#hellenic worship #hellenic polytheism #hellenic deities #hellenism #hellenic community #helpol #hermes devotee #hermes worship #hermes #hermes deity #hermes god #priestess of hermes #priestess in training #witchblr

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ladylooch · 22 hours ago

Text

Bones - Part 4 [Mack x David]

A/N: *inhales and exhales heavily* Here we go.

I'm sorry...... & good luck. Would love it if you came to talk to me in my asks about this one.

Word Count: 5.1k

Rangers Looking To Make Moves, David Carlson could be one of them.

Insider Sources Hint at Huge Deal Between Stars and Rangers.

Rangers In Search Of Forward Depth: Potential Move Involving David Carlson?

“Mack? Ready in about five?” Her editor, Sonja, asks as she power walks by Mack’s cubicle.

“Yep.” Mack answers back absentmindedly. She is currently scrolling through her newsfeed, scanning the ballooning elephant of David’s trade rumors.

Mack tried to talk herself out of looking, but she hasn’t been able to put her phone away. Social media is a dangerous drug. Mack considers herself an expert navigator, but these rumors involve her life outside of 280 characters. The line between reality and rumor has begun to blur. While this happens in her brain, David says nothing. He probably has his reasons, but Mack can’t help but feel betrayed. Why isn’t he talking to her about this? Doesn’t he trust her? This feels like something they should be talking about, even Lucie said as much at breakfast last week.

Mack finishes reading over the comments of speculation. The rumors seem to be trending towards Dallas or Seattle. Mack’s stomach drops out when she realizes how far away both those options are.

“Ready?” Andrew, her colleague asks. Mack nods, putting her phone into her desk and gathering her notebook. The entire walk to the glass enclosed conference room, Mack tries to shed her personal life. Normally, she steps over that threshold and she can become whoever she needs to be to tell a story. Not today.

Today, Mack is quiet, listening to her team members add productive discussion for next quarters issues. Several locations are floated around that should make Mack excited and jumping to go for them. None of them do. Instead, she finds her focus trailing out the window to the building across the street. The world moves around her, but Mack feels stuck in place. Her least favorite thing.

“Mack, how is your hand not up?” Cecilia, another team member, asks. Mack turns back to her.

“What? Sorry?” Mack’s eyes divert to Sonja who looks back at Mack with a neutral face.

“Would you like to volunteer for Ireland?” Sonja repeats.

Mack has been dying to go to Ireland. There is so much to do there, so many different directions she could take her story, and although she has lived in and traveled all over Europe, she hasn’t made it there yet. She is constantly chatting with her coworkers about how she wants to do a story there. But now her hand stays in her lap. How could she leave the country with it being such tumultuous times at home? What if she leaves and David is traded? Coming back to New York and him not being here would slice her open.

“When?”

“Three weeks, but you could go as early as Thursday if you want more exploring time.”

“Oh. Um.” She anxiously rubs at her thighs. “I-”

“You could go after Cabo too.” Sonja answers. Cabo is the Allstar trip she has put together for the Rangers with recommendations from her colleagues. Everything is scheduled including a huge house right on the water. It has multiple pools, a hot tub, a private beach, and exclusive access to the Yacht club.

“I’m gonna have to say no.” She hears herself say. WHAT!?She shakes off her inner demon who wants to launch a ‘just kidding’. Her whole team looks back at her with surprise. “I just need to stick around here right now. If that’s okay? I’ll take something close.”

“We have that story on hidden gems in America? A lot of them are on the East Coast. Easily day trips.”

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Mack answers with enthusiasm she doesn’t actually feel.

The meeting moves on, but Mack can’t. Did she really just turn down Ireland for New Hampshire? With everyone’s assignments in hand, the meeting ends. Again, Mack is slow to react. Sonja stays behind.

“Are you okay?” She asks when it’s only the two of them. “You are not yourself.”

“I am a bit distracted.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Nope. Thanks for letting me stick around though.” Sonja laughs, shrugging.

“Something is definitely up if you’re missing out on Ireland. Let me know how I can support you, okay?”

Mack nods then Sonja power walks off to her next meeting. After swiping her phone from her drawer, Mack avoids sitting down at her cubical and heads straight to the bathroom at the back of the office. She walks into the last stall, letting her back hit the cool tile. Mack’s head finds her hands, awkwardly shoving her nose to the side due to her phone.

What the hell is happening to me?

Her phone starts to vibrate against her face. She pulls back, seeing David’s picture.

“Hello?” She answers quickly.

“Hi, are you home?”

“No.” Worry settles into her voice.

“Oh okay, no worries. I left my wallet at your place. Just figured it out, now Woody is buying me lunch.” He chuckles.

“Oh, you can go grab it after lunch?”

“Okay, can I wait for you to get home too? Kinda miss ya.”

“Yeah.” Mack smiles to herself.

“I’ll take a look at your bathroom sink too. The water pressure is horseshit.”

“I put in a maintenance request.”

“Why? They didn’t fix it right last time? I hope they come up while I’m working on it so I can teach them what to do.”

“Please don’t.” Mack sighs, but she can’t help a little giggle.

“When will you be home?” He asks her. Mack can hear traffic whizzing by him as he presumably walks along a sidewalk.

“Probably a few hours.” She mumbles.

“Alright. I’ll entertain myself.” He assures her.

When Mack gets home, she realizes that means he cleaned her entire apartment, fixed her sink, and has dinner in the oven.

“Wow…” Mack trails off as she walks in. She puts her work bag on the counter and smiles at him by the stove. “Thank you. I haven’t had much time to clean.” She murmurs.

“I know.” He nods, toweling off his hands with the one over this shoulder. “I’ve been keeping you at my place a lot. I figure if I created the problem, I should clean it up.” He puckers his lips for her. “Hi.” He greets her after their kiss.

“Hi.” She smiles. It doesn’t quite brighten up her face or reach her eyes, which David takes notice of.

“You okay?” He tilts his head at her.

“Yeah. Tired.” She lies.

Well, maybe not fully. She is tired, but the things that are keeping her up at night are things she could be discussing with him. Yet, Mack believes that if he wanted to talk to her about any of this, he would have already. She swallows hard, trying to will the anxious energy in her body away. David’s hands on her hips hold her in place when she tries to move around him.

“I’m not believing that.” He smiles sympathetically. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” Mack nods. She brushes her hand over his stomach as she walks past. She heads to the fridge to grab a sparkling water from inside. David watches her as she cracks the cap open, taking down a few gulps. She hiccups as she pulls the bottle down from her lips. “Why don’t you go change? That outfit looks great, but you should be comfy with the weather we are having.” He points to the window where sheets of snow fall down.

“Oh that escalated.” Mack murmurs. She walks to the window, looking out at the droves of swirling snow flakes. She sighs, happy to be in here watching it than still commuting home.

“Mack.” David calls softly to her. She looks over her shoulder at him. “Go.” He encourages her, head tilted towards the hallway. She nods again, doing as he asks and wandering down to her bedroom.

She knows she is spacey and acting weird. But she isn’t quite sure how to act with him right now. A giant elephant is sitting on her chest and he is behaving like everything is normal. Mack quickly changes into a soft sweatsuit in a sage color. She pulls her hair back into a pony tail, then pulls on new, warm socks with reindeer faces on them that her mom put into her Christmas stocking. When she walks into the main area again, the TV is playing local news. The sports section is on but it rolls through without any mention of David, other than his goal a few nights ago, the last time the team played.

“It’s weird you’ve had so many days off.” Mack says, leaning against the counter by the bar stools.

“Yeah. I hate it.” David shakes his head. He pulls the towel off his shoulder, tossing it onto the counter.

“What are we having?”

“Spatchcock chicken and asparagus.”

“Fancy.” Mack smiles at him. He stares back at her.

“Why are you over there? C’mere.”

“You’re so sensitive today.” Mack rolls her eyes. “If you wanna cuddle just ask. No need to get grumpy that I’m standing across the room from you.” She tries to keep her tone light, but it’s a little snippy.

“Kay, get over here I want to cuddle.” He begrudges. Him and Mack both know she is deflecting. She doesn’t want him looking at her too closely right now.

Mack walks across the kitchen, sliding her arms around his waist. David crushes her into his chest and she can’t help but melt into him. Her shoulders drop, jaw unclenches, and mind quiets completely. The trade rumors dissipate. The worry about what could happen to them floats away. It’s just the two of them holding each other in her kitchen. David’s hand smooths over her pony tail, then begins to rub long strokes up and down her back. Mack turns her nose more into his chest. David tightens his grip on her, then drops his mouth to her hair.

It’s clear they both needed this hug.

They don’t break away until the timer for the chicken goes off. David pulls it out. As it rests, he roasts the asparagus. Mack puts together a salad with leftover vegetables in the fridge. Then they sit down and eat dinner together with a glass of wine each. When it’s over, Mack and David move through the apartment in sync, cleaning up the main space. As the dishwasher roars to life, Mack flips all the lights off and takes David’s hand to lead him down to her room.

There, they make love to each other. It’s soft and slow, filled with gentle smooches and quiet moans of pleasure. Afterwards, they tangle their limbs together. David falls asleep first, surprising to Mack. She studies his face as he sleeps, seeing the lines on his face soften in his slumber. With David out, a familiar monster begins to awaken inside of her.

It comes out in the quiet, darkness of night. It confuses her and brings back all the things that had melted away when she was in David’s arms. A huge lump fills her throat. She rolls over to her other side. Doing so makes David’s hand fall off her hip. A cold shiver rolls through Mack as she buries her nose into the pillow case beneath her face.

During sex tonight, David had murmured really sweet things to her. He told her he loved her. He told her how beautiful she looked today. He told her how much he missed her while they ran through their different, separate days, that the world gets quiet when she is in his arms. But he didn’t say anything about the rumors that swirl around him in his professional life. Every time he has an opportunity to tell her and he doesn’t, Mack can feel herself retreat a little more.

Right before he drifted to sleep, David had sleepily murmured that he couldn’t wait until they find a place together. The memory of that now has a single tear dragging down Mack’s cheek.

Because for the first time, she doesn’t feel like her and David are on the same page. He is already thinking about them moving in together. She’s never thought of that. She’s never thought of anything beyond the current day with him. Now he sees a future for them that Mack isn’t sure she wants this way. A future outside of New York isn’t of interest to her. If David isn’t in New York, there is nothing tying them together anymore, therefore if he leaves New York nothing ties him to her anymore.

Meanwhile, she has stupidly turned down assignments to stay with him. Her brain is consumed of thoughts of him even when she is away. Panic begins to thread through Mack’s body. She’s too in love with him. This is all way more than she signed up for. She never wanted this. He’s changed her entire life and she went along with it.

How could she have let this happen? How could she have let it go this far?

Mack rolls to her back, staring up at the ceiling. Tears race from the corners of her eyes, falling into her ear canals. This has gone too far. She can’t do this with him. With perfect timing as always, her monster starts to whisper:

You’ll never be able to keep him. You can’t pretend all the time to be good enough for him anyway.

Mack shudders at the words that slice deep into her soul. She wipes her tears then wills herself to sleep.

In the morning, this will all look different. She is sure of that.

Long before the sunlight streams into her room, David awakens her to make love again. He is above her, dragging his cock through her core with soft strokes that set her on fire. When she shudders through her orgasm, he fills her up with his own, then collapses into the bed next to her. As his breathing evens out, he brings her into his side, holding her close to him.

“I’m excited about our future.” David murmurs, fingers getting slower. “We’re gonna give Lucie and Connor a run for their money.” He kisses the top of her head.

Guilt swirls through Mack’s body.

David continues planning for a future with her while she is choking in fight or flight.

A tear slides silently down her cheek. David’s soft breathing behind her tells her he has fallen back to sleep.

Mack blinks more tears down her cheeks, bottom lip trembling.

He deserves so much better than this. So much better than her. Those words are no longer the dark monster from before. Instead they’re just the truth.

And she’s going to make sure he is free to find what he deserves.

In his arms, attempting to memorize his touch, she starts to make her plans. The Ireland assignment comes to mind.

On Thursday, she’ll go there. Do what she was always going to do.

Run.

Or fly… like the humming bird he compares her to.

He won’t be surprised. He’ll be hurt, sure. But he’ll move on. He has to.

She tells herself this is all for his freedom.

But deep down, the monster reminders her its for her own.

- - - & - - -

(David)

On Thursday, David looks down at the burger he ordered, mouth salivating at the big, half pound patty dripping cheese and bacon grease. Now this is a damn burger. One he might even find in his home state. Props to the place for sticking to the owner’s midwestern roots. He assess the sandwich, deciding two hands on this one would probably be best.

“That looks fire.” Connor murmurs. He opted for a French Dip sandwich and fries.

Between the two of them, there isn’t a green vegetable in sight.

“I’m going to crush this.” David confirms. He unrolls his silverware set, putting the napkin in his lap just in case some drippage misses his plate. Connor does the same.

“I’m so excited to have beef. Haven’t been able to have it at home since…” Connor trails off. David raises an eyebrow. Connor grins then shakes his head. “I can’t tell ya.”

“Slut.”

“Can’t get enough of her, man. Don’t act like you don’t get it.”

David smirks. He does get it. In fact, he almost cancelled on this lunch so he could stay home and bury himself between Mack’s thighs again and again. But Mack said she had to get some work done, so here he is for the second time in two days eating lunch with his D partner. Mack and David had transitioned over to his place last night to meet up with the Woods. He loves that she is comfortable working from his place when he isn’t there.

David swipes a tater tot through some ketchup then pops it into his mouth. He hopes by the time he gets home Mack is doing better. She was weird when he left this morning, weird last night too. He is glad they have some time together before he goes on the road this weekend. Mack has an assignment in New York that is keeping her home with him during that time. All he wants to do is go to the rink, order glutinous take out and fuck.

Connor hulks down a huge bite of his sandwich as David digs into his burger. He needs his napkin immediately, swiping it across his covered lips.

“So how you doing with everything, man?”

David swallows.

“What do you mean?” He asks, then goes in for a second bite.

“With the rumors.”

“Oh. I’m not listen.” David dismisses. “I can’t worry about that shit and play. It’s too hard.”

“Yeah, I get it. I was the same. Where are you at with your contract?”

“Doug said we would talk about it after the season. My agent doesn’t think here is any concern. It’s not like I’m gonna ask for the bank.”

“No, but get what you’re worth. I need you around here with me. Can’t handle the Hischier girls by myself.” David chuckles. Silence fills the space between them as they both take a few more bites. “How is Mack taking it all?”

David pauses mid-chew. He shakes his head slightly, then answers when he swallows.

“We haven’t talked about it since none of it is true.”

Connor looks up quickly from his fries. They hover in his pile of ketchup as alarming blue eyes look across the table at David.

“Yeah, but you warned her and everything right?”

David’s tongue runs along his back molars as an awkward silence fills the table.

No, he didn’t.

“I mean, no? She knows that shit out there isn’t true.”

“Sure, but you told her that right?” Connor clarifies, pointing at the center of David’s chest.

David stares back at his defensive partner. Slowly, Connor’s mouth falls into a cringe.

“That is not the person to leave in the dark on those rumors, man.”

As if Connor’s words are the final puzzle, it all clicks for David. The way Mack was this morning. How she turned away from him immediately after sex last night. How quiet she has been, almost to the point of calculated. His heart hammers to a stop in his chest then a big intake of air raises his huge shoulders.

“Oh FUCK!” He yells.

She’s running.

He knows it and the awareness cools his blood, sending a chill down his spine.

“What?” Connor asks, concern etching his brows together.

“She wanted me to go to lunch with you so she can run. I’ve gotta go, Woody.”

In a calmer moment, David would pull out his wallet and throw down a few bills. But a glance at his phone tells him he doesn’t have time. He’s been gone for over a half hour. She might already be packed and he’s gotta stop her. His long, athletic stride carries him the five blocks back to his place. He rushes by Philip without a greeting, then pounds the up button on the elevator.

“Come on!” He shouts when it takes too long. He eyes the stairwell, but his heart might explode if he runs up all those flights of stairs. The doors open and he almost barrels over a couple and their kid as he rushes in. “Sorry.” He mumbles, pushing the button for his floor, then the ‘close door’ one repeatedly until it does. He bounces on his feet, heart pounding in his ears as he attempts to catch his breath. The doors open, he flies into the hallway, not seeing her. He tries the door on his place and finds it open.

Fuck, he hopes she is still here.

“Mack!” He yells.

No answer.

His sneakers slap hard against the wood floors as he heads down the hallway. He can see her pony tail floating in the doorway. Instant relief flowing through him.

She’s still here.

His relief is short lived when he walks forward and sees her packed suitcase on the bed.

- - - & - - -

(Mack)

Mack is zipping up her suitcase when she hears the apartment door open. Her gaze snaps to the doorway. David’s hurried foot steps rush down the hallway. She frowns, then goes back to stuffing her phone charger into the side pocket. This is not ideal, but she planned for it. She is ready for this interaction. Ready for him to beg her to stay here with him and prepared with an army of reasons why they are never going to work, now or in the future.

“Mack, stop packing.” He calls to her from the hallway. Mack freezes. Of course he already knows. She keeps going, putting the suitcase on its wheels. They meet at the door of his bedroom. “Babe, I’m not going anywhere. I talked to management. None of this is real. I’m not being traded.” Disappointment has Mack sighing internally. She wishes he had told her this days ago.

“Okay.” Mack shrugs, keeping a blank face. David frowns. His eyes move to the right, looking over his room. Every single thing of hers is gone, down to the collection of hair ties on her side of the bed. “I’m heading out of town for awhile on a long assignment. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” David chews on the inside of his cheek, searching her face. He shakes his head slightly, looking confused and hurt.

“Mack, what are you doing?”

“I’m packing.” She swallows hard, hating the way her voice wobbles slightly.

“You’re going out of town. Why do you need your house slippers?” He motions to where they used to sit by the door.

“Because I want them at my place.”

“So, you going out of town means you aren’t going to keep anything here either?”

“I don’t see the point to that.” Mack shrugs. “Like I said, I am heading out on a long assignment. I’m going to be gone for awhile. I’m not sure when I will be back, so I’m taking everything with me.”

“What?” He questions. “Where are you going?”

“Ireland.”

“Since when? You just told me two nights ago you were here in New York through the Allstar break, and suddenly you’re leaving for an undetermined amount of time?”

“Yeah. That’s this business.” She says flatly, unemotional. David shakes his head.

“What is happening?” He whispers, getting closer to her. He reaches out for her cheek and Mack immediately pulls away. “Is this about a few nights ago? I didn’t mean-“

“No. It’s not. But that was a reminder to me how… different we are. And I think we should be realistic about our shelf life.” David’s eyebrows furrow together. That hurt him. Mack looks away, not wanting to see the sting on his face.

This is inevitable, the monster reminds herself. She’s just pulling the plug before they go back to hating each other and make this harder for everyone around them.

“Shelf life?” He sighs heavily, stepping aside for her to pass by him. He is hot on her heels into the main area of his place. “What the fuck, Mack? We love each other.”

“For now.” She shrugs her shoulder, going to her purse and double checking she grabbed everything she needed from the main area. She finds her water bottle and phone where she put them a few minutes ago. She’s officially packed. Mack grabs the key to his place, trying to ignoring the light up, corn key chain and the way it burns her skin in her hand. “I can give you your key back.”

“Stop.” David snaps, enclosing her hand with his. He grabs the keys out of her hands. He shakes his head, looking at her, panic all over his face. “Just…” He licks his lips, looking out at the city. “Talk to me.”

“I am. You don’t like what I’m saying.” She retorts.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. We literally had an incredible night and I make a comment about how I’m excited to move in together someday, and you’re running now? What are you afraid of?” He emphasizes the last line at her, pausing with his hands out to the side. The Iowa keychain in his hand is blinking red, green and blue. Mack stares at it, pursing her lips. A huge lump swells in her throat. She tries to swallow but can’t.

“I just don’t think this is going to work.”

“What?”

“You and me. So I think we should.” She moves her hands apart. “Go in different directions.”

Stunned, David straightens. He blinks, trying to absorb the blow of her words. He runs the hand without her keys in it through his hair then blows out a heavy sigh. His hand roughly rubs at the stubble from where he shaved his beard off yesterday, leaving only his signature mustache. Mack blinks off the slight hitch of his breathing on the inhale.

“Okay.” He nods his head, taking another deep breath.

David stands on the other side of the island, green eyes intense with emotion as he pins her to the cabinets behind her. He shakes his head then stands to his full height. The keys in his hand slide across the counter to her. They skid to a stop next to her right hand. His arms cross over his chest.

“Okay, I’ll see you when you get back then.”

“David.” Mack rolls her eyes, throwing the keys into her purse.

Why won’t he let her go easily? How can’t he see what she sees? How different they are? How this started with them hating each other and grew into this thing that was never supposed to happen? How she isn’t meant for this WAG, farm wife, American lifestyle that he wants? She needs to be free- wings wide open so she can breathe. Not turning down assignments and worrying about moving to Dallas.

David doesn’t say anything else to her, just stares her down. Mack can tell he is holding everything he can inside. For her benefit or his, she can’t tell.

“I don’t know when I’m coming back.” She reiterates.

“Okay.” He is eerily calm now.

“So we should go separate ways.”

“No.” He says clearly and assertively. “You wanna run from me, baby? Then just run. Go. But when you’re done with that, and you come back home, I’ll still be here, loving you. You can more your shit back in then too.”

Mack swallows, looping her arm through the handles of her bags, looking down at them because she can’t look at him.

“It’s for the best.” She repeats.

“Mack. I love you. So much.” He whispers, words rough and callused like his hands from working the farm his whole life. The words sound painful as if they rip up his body when he says them. Nothing like the ones he whispered to her last night when they made love.

It almost gets her to stay.

She hesitates for three more seconds, but her mind screams go. So she does.

“Goodbye, David.”

He puts his head in his hands as she turns to walk out of the kitchen. She can hear his heavy, uncontrolled breathing behind her until the closed door cuts them off.

Mack doesn’t breathe the entire ride down the elevator. A numbness comes over her as she tries to convince herself to keep moving forward. She thought she would feel better after doing this. That she was holding them back, him mostly, and cutting the tie would give her back that feeling of freedom she craves. The freedom that he deserves too.

All she feels now is dead inside.

Mack walks out of the building, strutting across the sidewalk with her hand high in the air to hail down a cab. She isn’t sure how her feet are moving so fluidly with how violently she shakes.

“Goodnight, Ms. Hischier.” Philip calls cheerfully behind her.

“Bye!” She calls, waving over her shoulder. She can’t turn around. If she turns around, her feet are going to go right back through that door.

And she just can’t.

This is not who she is.

She isn’t a WAG. She isn’t a farmer’s girlfriend. She isn’t anywhere close to wife material or a forever kind of girl.

She is a runner. A lone wolf. Who should have taken that elevator home a year ago instead of jumping into bed with her brother-in-law’s teammate.

The words continue on like a self-deprecating mantra she can’t silence.

David deserves better. He deserves a wife. Someone who wants to settle into that small country life with him, or in Dallas, and stands next to him through the storm. Not someone who can only see this working if all the cards are stacked in their favor.

Mack, I love you. So much. His voice rings through her brain.

“Fuck.” Mack sobs, shakily trying to breathe in the back of the cab as it pulls away from him.

Over her heart, her fingers clutch his number on her neck. She pulls, snapping the necklace off her body.

“Ow.” She whispers to herself as her head falls back to the head rest.

If this was what she needed to do, then why does it hurt this damn bad?