#assuming it doesn't break containment anyway

[total-drama-brainrot]

hi idk if this has been said but . pls hear my vision… lindsay and noah platonic duo. brains and the beauty. noahs the brains. lindsays the beauty. noahs like “jeez this girl is dumb i cn manipulate her or smth” but then he starts warming up to her and they like paint eachothers nails and talk about boys or somthing idk please theyre besties trust 🤞

(also noah finally gets a makeover courtesy of lindsay)

I think I might've mentioned this exact duo before, though I may be wrong about that. Regardless, I've had Many A Thought about the potential dynamic between Lindsay "reclaiming bimbo as a term of empowerment" and Noah "could be god's biggest hater but was nerfed with an inability to GAF", to the point where I have a few drafts exploring this exact concept.

Through the lens of my eyes (blurry as it would be, my prescription fairly strong), I don't think Noah would ever consider manipulating Lindsay- at least, not in a similar manner to the likes of Heather or Alejandro. He's shown in canon to be pretty adverse to the idea. Why else would he make those comments about Alejandro in "I See London..."?

Not that he doesn't think about how easy it would be to use her. But his morality wins out over his scheming thoughts pretty quickly- no one wants to be New Heather, after all.

However, he's also shown a capacity to explore sneakier options of deception and trickery; pretending to pass out during the 20k run in The Big Sleep, trying to excuse his comment about Alejandro under the guise of it "being a compliment where he's from", tricking the Sasquatch with his fake ball throwing, getting himself eliminated on purpose in Dodgebrawl. I'm trying to think of other examples In Canon off the top of my head, but I'm coming up short since most of his actual speaking lines in the show are 'zingers' and 'witty one-liners' instead of actual character moments.

And we also know, from the way he treats Owen, that he's a lot more patient and indulgent towards the... 'slower' or 'simpler' contestants. He very rarely gets mad at Owen's mistakes- see how he gently chastises him in "Super Happy Crazy Fun Time Japan" when he's disturbing their set, he'd pretty much gentle parenting him, or how he doesn't even raise his voice against Owen after being blasted by nose-shake in "I See London...". You could argue that Owen just has best friend privileges, but given the way he also talks about his dog I think Noah just has a soft spot for happy-go-lucky, heart-of-gold, kind of stupid people (and blondes). Sound familiar?

Lindsay would fall under this umbrella of 'treat with kindness' because of this, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't try to subtly nudge her in the 'right direction'- out of Heather's and/or Alejandro's influence and into his own. For her own safety, of course.

Not that I think he'd even like Lindsay at first. The two of them are opposite ends of the social spectrum; I'd take a while for Lindsay to break through his snarky exterior, but I think eventually Noah would realise that she isn't the 'two-faced airhead popular girl' he'd assumed her to be and quickly warm up to her (she's airheaded, sure, but there's nothing two-faced or nefarious/mean-spirited about Lindsay). It's a classic case of "extrovert adopts introvert".

Meanwhile, Lindsay would be dead-set on breaking Noah out of his sour little shell. Either because she overhears Owen/Izzy/Eva explaining how Noah struggles to make friends because he's "very shy" and "mixes up his insults and his compliments", thus she assumes that, hey, Noah's made fun of her a few times, maybe that was just him trying to be friendly? So she makes it her mission to reciprocate his efforts and befriend him (much to Noah's initial suspicion, and begrudging appreciation).

Or she gets the concept of a 'gay best friend' stuck in her head (an impressive feat, getting anything stuck in such a vacant space /j) probably from watching too many high school teen dramas, and sees Noah as the ideal candidate since he pretty much embodies most of the stereotypical GBF traits; a sassy twink who's defining characteristic is making snarky comments. If Noah ever caught wind of this, he'd either be mortified by the concept and avoid Lindsay like the plague until she'd eventually hunt him down, or he'd think the whole concept is too funny to pass up and gladly play the part- if only for his own amusement. (Personally I headcanon him as bi, but he's so canonically queer coded that he fits the stereotype anyway.)

Which is all just a long-winded way of me saying I think Lindsay would kindle the friendship without giving Noah much of a choice (again, extrovert adopting introvert) and Noah would just go along with it, being the lazy guy he is, and quickly grow fond/protective over her.

If he and Owen are the golden retriever and black cat dynamic, Noah and Lindsay are an afghan hound and a black cat; Noah has a lot of black cat energy (that's just a given) and you cannot tell me that Lindsay isn't an afghan hound- they're pretty, gentle-natured and renown for their low intelligence.

Plus, Lindsay's capacity for meanness (as unintentional as it may be) would be comedy gold to Noah. He'd encourage her to keep that sharp tongue and steel spine, if not for his own entertainment, then to ensure she doesn't become someone else's doormat again. In return, Lindsay would bring out a softer side of Noah, likely a result of her reminding him of his several older sisters.

She'd absolutely abuse her 'soft Noah' privileges too by roping him in on sleepovers where the two of them gossip and paint each other's nails (Noah's against the idea at first but Lindsay hits him with the puppy eyes and he folds like a lawn chair), eventually leading to Lindsay giving Noah a much needed glow up. He finds himself enjoying the pampering- though he'd never admit it- and Lindsay's just ecstatic that she has someone to use as a dress-up doll (Tyler wouldn't let her give him another makeover after Paris).

[radiance1]

Danny has been reincarnated.

Which was an odd thing to realize, it wasn't even a slow one he just... snapped into it one day. One moment he was staring at a wall out of boredom the next, well, he was staring for an entirely different reason.

It was a task for his now young -he thinks around three years old?- mind to work its way through the memories, but it wasn't like he had much else to do honestly. So, what does he know?

His name is Danny, like, his actual name and not just a moniker. He was once a halfa and he already knows he's going to be missing invisibility and intangibility. He, well, died. For like, a second time which actually makes sense because reincarnation-

Anyways.

He was a clone of two people from this thing called the Justice League which, weird name but probably some government or activist group. Wonder Woman and Superman. Which were pretty weird names to name your kids but eh.

He doesn't really remember much besides that from this life, or the one from before but he's an adult! He'll figure things out once he gets out of this containment tube thing.

Did he mention he was in a test tube? He's a tube baby now. He thinks? Or maybe it's more like he's being contained.

Whatever.

So he breaks out. Thank you apparent superstrength that he has no idea why he has but he's not going to complain! He then wandered around all of the other test tubes, able to remember just enough of English to see that yea, they're dead.

He probably was too, before he had memories zapped into him. Or a vegetable.

He then finds this really big container, checks it out, then opens it because the clone inside isn't dead!

'Project Match' it said. He'll just call him Match.

Was he thanked for helping him? Nope. You would think that he would be thanked or at least somewhat respected for saving this guy but nope!

He was, quite literally, held up by his leg and dangled in the air. Who dangles a three-year-old?! Well, he was technically and adult but still! The next few things were a blur but after pulling off the old Fenton charm he found him and Match outside as he tried to stop him from attacking random people.

Luckily the charms and privilege of the youngest (he's assuming he's the youngest, because he's physically three) was more than enough to get through to him. Sure, the guy couldn't form words, really aggressive for literally no reason, really weird but also absolutely cool looking eyes. But he worked around the first issue by developing their own personal language from like grunts and stuff, the second he once again used his youngest privilege to boss him around and the third a pair of sunglasses easily fixed.

He just had to steer Match clear of those random S crest mark thingies. Which was a weird thing to hate but hey, he's not there to judge.

[sceletaflores]

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

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

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

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

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

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No question marks. Motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

Art loves you.

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

“He smiles more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was never about the goddamn massages.

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

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

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

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

These people are so fucking weird.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

R̸̜̈́u̵̟͘t̶̺̓ḧ̵͇l̷̟̋ē̶̘s̵̨̎s̵̩͒ṋ̵̋e̵͙̐s̵̡̈́ś̸͙

Get in the Water prompt Storm alternate version Animatic Fanart

There was a spell, Constantine had explained after his own trip to the afterlife. Something to contain Danyal's soul long enough to resolve his unfinished business, to keep him still and away from the influences of his fellow dead. And if that didn't work, Constantine continued, then there were ways to force a spirit to rest. It was better for a ghost to move on by themselves, but if there was no other choice...

Damian hoped Danyal would choose to rest on his own. That he'd let him explain, finally.

Danyal had been weak. Strong in a fight, but too weak to kill, and that infuriated Damian. But he was scared more than he was angry. Because that weakness would get Danyal killed, could get Damian killed, could get the League killed. Even the newest recruits had a stronger desire to kill than Danyal.

He was the weakest link in the chain. And while their mother had taught them to be ruthless, Danyal had remained limp with mercy.

They needed Danyal's body. It would be Danyal's tie to the earth, Constantine explained as he joined them on the Batplane. The souls of the dead don't often linger on the mortal plain. The magician had speculated that the only reason Danyal had managed to manifest in the waters below Gotham was because of Damian's presence, but his remains would keep him stable this side of life for however long it took to heal his soul.

But was that even possible?

"I don't know, kid," Constantine admitted during the plane ride. "Wish I had a better answer for you, but... Your brother is a siren now. And from the sound of it? He really wants you dead."

"Then why didn't he kill me?" Damian argued. "He had hours to do it... or minutes..." The time he spent in that green world felt longer than the ten minutes Father couldn't find him, but... "He had me in his grasp and let me go. Doesn't that mean he didn't want to-"

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'Playing with your food?'" Constantine asked instead. "Sirens aren't known for letting their prey go. If we're out here, its because he wants us here."

They--Damian, Father, Constantine, Grayson, and Todd--landed in Nanda Parbat after a few hours. There was a crypt inside for members of the Al Ghul family who didn't use the Lazarus Pits. It was there Danyal's body was entombed. They would have to steal it.

And it was unfortunate that Constantine got them caught within five minutes of entry.

Damian glared daggers at the man as they were led towards the Lazarus Pit. Constantine shrugged. "What? I don't want assassins chasing after me because of some light grave robbing! Besides, we need to explain the situation anyway-"

"And what, precisely, needs to be explained?" asked a woman from inside the chamber. The heroes were pushed inside, only to see Talia Al Ghul standing where her father should have been. The Lazarus Pit hissed and boiled behind her, casing the cave in a ghoulish light.

Damian could hear laughing.

Father stepped forward. "Talia. Where's Ra's?" Grandfather was the biggest threat to their plan succeeding.

Mother... looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I do not know. At the present moment... the Demon Head is missing."

You could hear a pin drop. "What do you mean?" Father demanded.

"It's as I said; he is missing. Yesterday, he was alone in the Pit, and hours later, no one could find him." She glanced behind her, at the waters, before looking back at them. "I had assumed he'd left to care for the League's interests. Now-" She tilted her chin up, looking down at them. "What exactly do you need to explain? What is so important that you break into my home to tell me?"

Stepping forward, Constantine explained. Mother looked grim as he spoke of Danyal, but did not interrupt. "We want to put his soul to rest. But for that, we need access to his body-"

"You dare ask for such a thing?" Mother snarled. "As if I even believe you. My son would never-"

"Your son?" Grayson snapped. "From the looks of it, you didn't care for either of your children!"

As the group descended into an argument, Damian heard laughter again, Danyal's high pitched giggle harmonizing with something deep and bone shaking. The Lazarus Pits loomed over him, beckoning him, whispering. Damian took a step towards it as his mother said, "I don't even have his body!"

"What?" Damian snapped at his mother, focusing back on the conversation. "But the crypts-"

"After your brother's murder, the Demon Head ordered for the culprit to be found. But they were never discovered." Because the culprit was Damian, he knew, and no one else ever learned about it. "I wanted to place him in the Pits immediately, but I was ordered to stay my hand until the murderer was caught. But..."

"He never was," Damian finished for her. "And then you put Danyal into the waters?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes. "And he never came back out. Even if it was too late, he'd still come back as the undead, but he never rose from the waters."

"Then this is entirely my fault."

"Finally," Danyal whispered in his ear, breath chilling his skin.

Damian did his best to ignore it. Danyal was haunting him. Danyal needed to be put to rest. If they couldn't do it Constantine's way, then they had to put him to rest another way.

Grayson looked troubled. "Robin, it's not your fault-"

"I'm the one who killed him," Damian confessed. Everyone stared at him. Grayson, horrified; Mother, blank; Father, betrayed. Damian continued, "I overheard you and Grandfather arranging a fight to the death, and I knew who would win. I couldn't... I couldn't allow Danyal to die without the Al Ghul name, in disgrace as the one who wasn't good enough. So I killed him, assassinated him, and now he's haunting me for revenge." Damian looked at the Pit. "So go ahead, Danyal."

"Damian, what are you saying?"

"Danyal wants revenge on the person who killed him; I'm giving it to him." Todd was staring at him. Damian might not be able to see past his helmet, but he could feel the respect coming off the man. "Danyal, I know you're here. Please come out." If he focused long enough, he could just making out wheezing breaths. "I can hear you, please-"

Father grabbed Damian by the shoulders. "Damian, listen to what you're saying! You're offering your life up for nothing!"

"B's right." Grayson placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's got to be another way. You don't have to do this!"

"Yes I do!" Damian ripped himself out of Nightwing's grip. "I'm the one who killed him! I'm the one at fault! My brother is suffering because of me, I have to save him-"

Stepping between them all, Mother slapped him across the face.

And the Pit's whispers fell silent.

Damian stared up at his mother, cheek throbbing with pain. She glared back. "Cease this behavior at once," she snapped. "There's no need to get so worked up over a ghost, of all thing-"

"T̴̯̃al̵̬͂ị̴̿a̵̮̕ ̵̼͐A̴̗̕l̷͈̆ ̴͚̓G̵͎̀h̷̻͒u̶̜͋l̴͍̀."

This time, everyone could hear Danyal's voice, filled with static and corrupted. Damian swallowed as his dead brother continued,

"D̸͕͠o̶̪̅ ̸͍̆ỹ̵̗ö̸̲ũ̸̧ ̶͖̚k̶̻͊ņ̸͐o̸̹̚ẘ̸̙w̷̛̹ḧ̸͚́o̷͉̅ ̵͈̑I̶̪̽ á̵̞m̶͙̂?̸̻͂"

The cavern shook as the Lazarus Pit bucked, a wave forming in the absolute center of the water. The wave rose, pillaring up above their head and brushing the ceiling. A cold wind rushed through the room and blew out the torches on the walls, leaving only embers and the occasional florescent behind. Damian braced himself for the waters to rush out and flood.

Instead, the water fell back into the pit, like it had never risen in the first place, leaving behind a lone figure in its wake.

"Danyal," Mother whispered.

And the dead boy glared back at her with pure contempt.

[mingtinys]

" have you eaten today ? "

pairing : boo seungkwan x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : mentions of food , language (seungkwan calls the reader "dumbass" lovingly)

word count : 0.6 k

a/n : words cannot describe the love i have for boo seungkwan , if my future partner isn't boo seungkwan himself i don't WANT them .

You'd like to think after two years, you've grown used to Seungkwan's disapproving glare. But jeez, if he isn't laying it on thick tonight. You're pretty sure he's actually burned two dime-sized holes through your laptop with the way he glowering from his spot across from you.

"Boo..." You draw out his name in a warning, not bothering to look up or cease typing. "You're gonna strain your corneas if you don't quit it."

"Your fingers are gonna fall off if you don't quit it." He mocks.

You spare a full three seconds to look up from your computer just to shoot him a look that says really? Now you're just being immature.

"I told you when you insisted on coming over I wouldn't be able to entertain you. This project is due in two days and I need to focus." You huff out.

It's true, you literally told him three times over on the phone he was welcome at your place, but that he'd have to be quiet and let you work. Which, in hindsight, you really should have known better considering it's Seungkwan, but you felt bad having already blown off your boyfriend three times this week due to this project. And judging from his tone when he called, he was two seconds from marching over and kicking down your door anyway.

Seungkwan clicks his tongue. "This isn't about being entertained—" you highly doubt that "—it's about you being a dumbass and overworking yourself."

You roll your eyes, but that only seems to fuel his persistence. "It's been hours since I got here and you've yet to take a break."

"I will in a bit, just let me finish this."

Seungkwan doesn't get the chance to retort. The doorbell rings with what you assume is the take-out he called in for himself a little over thirty minutes ago. You'd originally told him you didn't want anything, shooing him to quiet down when he tried to ask. But now, you're starting to regret that. Especially when the smell of his food wafts into the room moments after the door shuts.

He sits back down across from you, opening the containers and making quick work of digging in. The scent of it hits your nose tenfold, and at that, your stomach growls. Loud enough for Seungkwan's head to pop up and his eyes to narrow. Traitor, you curse at your stomach.

Seungkwan tilts his head and you're too scared to meet his gaze for fear of being scolded.

"Have you eaten today?" He asks, with a soft tone and unexpected seriousness. You just shrug, not wanting to let go of your pride.

"I'm fine."

He scoffs and immediately starts using the container's lid to dish out a heaping portion. All the while muttering to himself about you being difficult and how you're going to give him at least twelve new grey hairs.

"Here, take half." He shoves the lid, which definitely has more than half piled onto it, towards you.

When you just blankly stare at it, he sighs and picks up a piece with his chopsticks. He extends his arm as far as it can go until the item, drenched in a sweet-smelling sauce, is centimeters from your lips. "Eat." He instructs. So you do, admitting defeat by finally pushing your computer to the side and exchanging it for the plate Seungkwan fixed you.

"I swear, what would you do without me." He teases, beaming with pride.

taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi @myfavoritedelusion @tanya596carat

[yurozo]

resident evil — vape shop au

this overtakes restaurant au for the dumbest thing i've ever written. i work in a vape shop, and this has been a month-long conversation between the coworkers on what each resident evil character would smoke.

18+ only, because smoke stuff, don't do it kids. contains: carlos, leon, chris. please let me know if you want other characters, i am at your humble service.

as customers:

carlos: this man isn't much of a vaper, but he smokes weeds like nobody's business. every two weeks he comes in looking for a new bong (usually small, and needs to have some sort of cool decoration on it. if it has something pink, the man is handing over his credit card) because he keeps breaking his. either he drops them or one of his pets knocks it over. he also never goes through the process of cleaning them, which inevitably leaves jill the burden of having to buy bong cleaner for him in hopes that one day he will use it. it will collect dust with the rest of the bottles somewhere in his room, laying dormant on a shelf.

the employees are all horrendously down bad for him, mostly because he always comes right after the gym in muscle shirts and a tight pair of shorts. the whole work groupchat is filled with carlos smiled at me today, he wants me so bad.

not that it's necessarily their fault, he's annoyingly chivalrous and has a litany of pickup lines at the ready. you need a ladder to reach something? carlos is behind you and ready to grab it at a moments notice.

leon:

a firm man of routine-- buys the same flavour, same brand, every time without fail. peach blue razz, low puff count because he likes a small device. no, he does not want to try something new. you're wasting your time offering it to him. by the time a couple weeks roll around, you know exactly what to grab the moment he swings open the door.

he's embarrassed he's gotten into this whole thing honestly. hit luis' once after a stressful shift, and it was hook line and sinker. he calls them his shame vapes, and hides it in his sleeve so no one he works with will ever know.

god forbid if an employee ever flirts with him. he tried once to say something flirty back and got so embarrassed he didn't show up for two weeks, nicotine addiction be damned. if you can convince him into trying something new, he's not gonna tell you if he doesn't like it. he'll nod and walk out with his tail between his legs.

and honestly? he just kinda looks like a cop. younger people know to pull out their id when he's browsing, assuming he's undercover. ask him how his day is? he will respond "it's going." every single time.

chris:

tobacco flavoured vapes only. "what tastes most like a cigarette" type motherfucker. he'll try whatever cotton candy vape claire has, claims he hates it, and then take multiple puffs anyways. he really only got into it because claire claimed it was better for him than smoking a pack every day. he buys a vape and then proceeds to smoke a cigarette outside the store anyway.

his routine entirely depends on how stressed out he is, and this shop is both his nicotine hookup and his social outing for the week. it takes him a while to open up beyond the typical customer interaction, but once you get him out of his shell, there's no putting him back in it. bring up sports or something else he's interested in, and he's giving you a long lecture.

hitting on him will entirely depend on his mood and your approach. going in strong by complimenting his arms will only get a half-sheepish response, but gently nudging him into talking about himself is what will get you the full chris redfield experience. sometimes he forgets that these people live relatively normal lives, and will pull some batshit insane lore with the casualty of someone who has forgotten that most people have never even held a gun.

[cocklessboy]

So here's the thing about having a post break containment on tumblr: if you make a mistake in the original post, there's absolutely fucking nothing you can do about it.

The people reblogging once you realize your mistake aren't reblogging it from your blog. They're reblogging it from someone you never even knew existed. If you edit the original, it does not affect the copies already being passed around.

You can make an addition to the post with a correction! But here's the thing. Posts tend to break containment if they are tagged and people see it in the tags they follow. But reblogs don't appear in tags. Only original posts do. So your addition will only be reblogged by people who follow you, and it's pretty rare for a post with a correction added in a reblog to break containment in the same way as the original.

So you wind up getting a lot of reblogs with angry comments about how you're wrong (and that's if they're being polite - the less polite ones will attack you rather viciously, which is not something I would wish on anyone). And even if you didn't make a mistake, if there's something you didn't make clear enough for Tumblr Reading Comprehension™️, you'll wind up inundated with angry comments from people who missed the point, and it's too late to go back and adjust your wording to make it clearer.

(That's why I'm making a new post for this instead of responding to the comments I got on the post in question, by the way. I'm hoping some of the same people who spread around the original might spot this one in the tags and share it around as well.)

So what is this about? I recently made a post about how a friend was worried that I was addicted to my ADHD meds purely because I said I look forward to taking them and they bring me joy.

The purpose of that post was:

Something bringing you joy doesn't necessarily make it addictive. (For fuck's sake stop being afraid of pleasure.)

Even if something is addictive, that's not inherently harmful.

Don't be afraid to take your meds just because they might be addictive. If they help you more than they harm you, take them.

I also made a comment about how my ADHD meds aren't addictive anyway. This is the point people have been pouncing on me about. So allow me to explain where that assertion came from.

My psychiatrist, an ADHD specialist who manages my meds: I know you're nervous about addiction and tolerance to meds, but don't worry. If you have ADHD, methylphenidate is not physically addictive.

My GP, who I got a second opinion from out of nervousness: Yup, your psychiatrist is right. You don't need to be afraid to take these. Take them as directed and you will not form a physical dependence on them. If you notice them getting less effective with time, though, you can always just take a break from them to remove any tolerance.

Me, after a year and a half of taking these meds: Yup, no addiction here. I guess my doctors were right.

So here we are. Two doctors and my own personal experience have assured me that ADHD meds are not something to be afraid of. Yet I keep seeing people afraid to take their meds because they're afraid of dependence. So why don't I do a nice thing in this post of mine and reassure my fellow gremlin-brained tumblrs that their meds are perfectly safe to take!

And to be fair, I've gotten quite a few reblogs with tags and additions and comments saying thank you, I was afraid to take my meds, even though they help me, but now I'm reassured that I shouldn't be scared.

And I think that's a positive outcome.

On the other hand, I'm getting some very angry comments from some people who seem to think I'm attempting to spread a vicious, intentional lie claiming that people with ADHD are immune to stimulant addiction and that I'm going to do all kinds of harm, presumably on purpose, because there's nothing I enjoy more than ruining other people's lives! 🙌

I would assume that anyone who thought about this for more than three seconds would realize that's not the case, but this is tumblr.

I've gotten angry rants ranging from "this author you've never heard of wrote a book where he defined addiction as inherently harmful, and therefore you're harming people by saying being addicted to something is not inherently bad!" to "STOP SPREADING MISINFORMATION!!!" to "OP is making statements that are incompatible with reality!" and folks? I'm real fucking tired of it.

Is it possible that my doctors are wrong? Of course! Doctors get things wrong all the time, especially when it comes to stuff like ADHD! But yelling at me from across the internet and accusing me of lying is not helpful.

There is nothing I can do about the original post. I can reblog it with an addition clarifying that yes, everyone is capable of becoming psychologically dependent on basically anything in a way that would be considered addiction, and yes, that includes ADHD people and their meds.

To be clear, this does NOT contradict the intent of my original post: that ADHD meds are good, you should take them, medication making you feel good is nothing to fear, pleasure is not the same as addiction, addiction is not inherently dangerous, and according to my doctors, who are fallible human beings but my most trusted source of information as of the writing of that post, ADHD meds are not physically addictive - as in, your BODY will not become dependent on them to function. This is the definition of "addiction" I had in mind when I wrote that post - and I think in a lot of cases the thing upsetting people is that we don't even actually disagree on what we're trying to say, but there was a miscommunication in terms of what I actually meant.

If I could go back and edit that original post and have it change everywhere it's been reblogged, I absolutely would. I would clarify where my information was coming from and what definition of "addiction" I intended, and reiterate that even if something can cause physical dependence, that doesn't necessarily mean you shouldn't take it.

But I can't. That post is out there now and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

Keep this in mind as you go forward in your tumblr journey, friends. If you come across a semi-popular post with a mistake in it, you can bet every bit of your ass that OP has heard about it many, many times already, probably in very impolite terms, and there is nothing they can do about the original post. Unless they're a massively popular blog, a reblog with an addition or correction will not be seen by the people spreading around the original.

And for fuck's sake, stop assuming ill intent on the part of people who say something incorrect online. There are people out there who intentionally spread misinformation, but those people are rare, and usually trying to get you to not vote democrat in US elections, not trying to encourage you to take your fucking meds. If you see a mistake, it's probably an honest one, and if you really want to correct it, be a decent fucking human being, be polite and kind, and try assuming good intentions on the part of the person who said it.

The person telling you to take your meds is not your fucking enemy.

Oh, and do me a favor and reblog this, please. I actually have very few followers so no one will see it if it doesn't get reblogged. Thank you.

[ailithnight]

Care to elaborate on 'Caught and Content'?

So, as I said in the post, Caught and Content is not really an active WIP. So I don't have any snippets to share from it. It's really just a vibes and 'as the mood hits' kinda thing.

That said, there are some things I've settled on for it I'm happy to share. So here's what I've got for you: Danny is not going to understand that the League genuinely just wants to help him for a long, long time. He's going to keep thinking around the truth, trying to rationalize and reconcile these heroes behavior with how he understands things are supposed to go now. That is, when he bothers to question anything it all.

They take him back to the first room with the big window? Well, Superman did just break the table in the other room. Maybe this table is built to withstand super strength in case Superman loses control again.

They switch the dampeners for ones he can use his hands with? What do that want him to use his hands for?

They put food on the table? Huh, must be lunch time.

Oh, it's for him? Is it... poisoned? Is there blood blossoms in it? This is... a test. Should he eat it because they told him to? Or should he not because ghosts don't eat? It was always hard to tell with the GIW.

They take him to a new room, with a bed and a window and even a bathroom? Damn, these guys have cushy holding cells. Although, they probably usually expect to be holding real people. Sentient people. People with rights.

Days pass and Danny doesn't understand why he's still here. Or why they're still feeding him. Or why people keep coming by and talking at him. But he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He is content to wait here, drinking in starlight until the end.

Oh, the Ward has been disbanded? Huh. Guess the government decided the Justice League did the better job at it anyway. After all, they're the ones that have Phantom caught and contained. Bout time they stopped wasting money on those mostly incompetent idiots in white.

Over and over and over again; Danny is either to busy dissociating to ask questions, or he invents answers that fit his preconceived notions. He does not allow himself to Hope that this won't end how he assumes it will. Not until someone gets fed up and spells it out for him. Someone enough like him that he listens to them. Someone enough like him that he inherently trusts them.

And once a little birdie gives him Hope again, that's when Danny finally lets himself fall apart.

[saeyoungchoismaid]

Okay so I just finished my first round of Andromeda Six and here are some thoughts I have (both good and bad!). Pls feel free to comment with your thoughts or send asks or message me or whatever!! I'll update this anytime I get more info or think of smth new to add lol. Warning: obvi will contain spoilers.

The amnesia thing - I think the biggest thing for me that I wanna talk about rn is the whole royalty thing. While in general the whole thing is a really cool idea and either way I still love the plot, I think the whole 'I'm royalty' thing was WAY too obvious. Like the SECOND the a6 crew revealed where they found me, I was like "okay cool so I'm the princess got it." and then everything after that only fueled that theory (which obvi turned out to be right). Idk I just think if you're gonna have a game that's based around your main protagonist having amnesia, you need to make the player just confused as the char yk what I'm sayin? Like I shouldn't be able to know stuff that the char I'm playing as doesn't know yk? 😂

Nerissa - I think one of the biggest things for the fandom (that I've seen really only on Tumblr by the way lol) is the whole Nerissa thing so here's my two cents lol. I actually really like the plot twist of Nerissa being alive. My only thing is that it doesn't really make sense and bc she's alive, the whole thing with Vexx at the prison where he breaks down kinda gets (almost?) vetoed in response. To explain, I think it doesn't really add up that, at first, Oppo and others were like 'yeah, only the youngest princess' body wasn't found' (which in general was already weird cause ??? how do they know that her body wasn't found but then people also apparently quote unquote "didn't know she existed" like huh????). They mentioned NOTHING about the literal heir's body being missing??? Like idk if Zovack did that on purpose (and if so ???? homie wyd lmao) but if not, it's a big plot hole in my opinion lmao. Also just the fact that she was literally shot by Vexx (who held her bleeding out and dying body in his arms) and then shows up later like 'yeah no I'm completely fine actually' is CRAZY. Like what kinda medicine do these folks got that makes that so easy?? Like she's not on crutches, has a cast, a limp, like ANYTHING. It's absolutely bonkers to me. It's just very OP like okay so she can literally be shot in the future now and I literally won't react cause she's apparently immortal 💀 N e ways I think it's cool that the MC can choose to basically defy Nerissa and be like miss girl you're so wrong and I don't wanna do that is SO SLAY. Cause yeah no she was not it at first (and I lowkey didn't like her for a phat min). Also, kinda off topic, but I was surprised they actually showed what she looked like. Like, I guess her skin tone is ambiguous enough to work, but I think it would make more sense if they just said somewhere that the king had more than one wife, had a side hoe he got pregnant, yk smth like that lmao

Different species/race - As someone who has only played the game once, I'm not completely sure about what I'm about to say next, so pls correct me if I'm wrong! I think it's really cool that you get to choose from 3 different species in the beginning of the game. I was hoping that this meant that this would change your backstory, but from seeing some posts about this on Tumblr, I'm assuming this means that certain things will change but overall your backstory is the same and you're still royalty. Which is fine as long as the different species thing actually makes a difference. I just thought it'd be cool for one if it's like oh you're a human? Yeah, you're Peg'asi. Oh, you wanna be Tilaari? That's cool, but this character doesn't like you bc of it. Like that kind of thing would be super cool! Anyway, either way it's fine lol it's just a thought I had

Vexx - I haven't seen anyone say otherwise, but I personally really love Vexx and his arc/development. I never really blamed him for what he did since it was literally done against his will (and turns out Nerissa is alive anyway so it's like okay I can't even be upset that you killed her when she's literally alive). Something I will say though (which is kinda similar to my stance on the amnesia thing) is that I think it'd be nice to have a little more doubt on whether or not Vexx is on our side or not. Like, when you first find him and regain your memories, he's pretty cutthroat after the shock he initially feels. After that though, anytime you see him, it'd be described as 'an emotion I can't decipher crosses his face' or 'a piece of the old him flashes in his eyes' kind of thing and I was just like "yeah okay so he's good but is just being brainwashed or being blackmailed or smth." Like, there was no danger in it. Not once was I ever like "omg no he's gonna kill me/my friends/my boyfriend/etc!!!!!" Like no dude he's just a lil guy that needs help lmao. So yeah, a lil more uncertainty about him would've been super cool (or even an alt route where he really is bad and they didn't make him do anything. like there could be choices in the memory section of the game of your time in the palace where like if you were rude to him, he actually betrayed y'all kind of thing)

Kitalpha - I might just be dumb, but when Aya was explaining her backstory about her home planet, I was a little lost. Like, I understand the basics ig, but I overall am still confused on how it actually got destroyed lol. I read the Wiki and it still kinda doesn't make sense to me. Also, the info dump they give on this (and a lot of stuff in general) is CRAZY. Like I need so much time to process what you just said and you're already laying another bomb on me lmoa. That aside, I think it's really weird that such a (apparently) major planet that (apparently) hosted a major species went supernova 10 years ago and you just never hear anyone talk about it??? Even Aya says that people kinda just forgot about it and moved on. Like girl HOW?? (Like okay yeah with the whole Zovack thing I can understand cause they got more important matters ig but he only overthrew the throne a MONTH ago like what were people doing before then lmao). It also didn't make sense to me as to why no one wanted to help them??? Like Aya explains that they were just met with closed doors from EVERYONE. Like why??? What about a dying planet/species is so bad that people are like 'yeah, that sucks and all, but we aren't gonna help. Good luck w that tho! 🥰' Also, I saw someone on here say that they wish there was more definitive features for the Kitalphan than just having gills and I agree! I didn't even notice that Vexx had them for the longest time. Also the fact that we never get a scene where Aya/you/Vexx get to actually use them (to my knowledge anyway) is insane. Like, what's even the point of giving them the gills then??? lmao

Update: I found this post that explains more in detail about the races. "It was, despite that, their own choice as to whether to live above or under water, and those who chose to do so submerged, had their bodies altered to further adapt to their environment; webbed fingers and toes, bright colored skins to allow for better camouflage among sea life, nictitating membrane over their eyes. Those who chose to live inland, on the other hand, kept to the more human appearance, with only the gills telling the difference." So, from my understanding, those who choose/chose to live underwater are the ones that are more fish like whereas the ones who choose/chose to live on ground are the ones who look like Vexx and Aya (more humanoid looking but still fish-like qualities like gills). Still think it would be cool if we could then meet a Kitalphan that chooses to live underwater!!

Time - speaking of it only being a month, it's only been a MONTH bro???? Like, Zovack overthrew the throne, had the entire Peg'asi family killed, you've been with the A6 crew trying to regain your memories, visit like 4 planets, find love, discover your sister is alive, and start planning out your plans for a war all in ONE MONTH. Like, ig it's not super inaccurate, it's just kinda crazy yk? 😂 I saw someone say that they wished we could've spent more time on all the planets and I completely agree. For some like Orion, it makes sense that we couldn't really stick around lmao. For others though, I didn't understand why there couldn't be more downtime ig? Idk maybe it's as simple as there's nothing interesting enough to write about that will keep the player's attention that's not just boring filler? But eh idk how much I believe that. Instead of info dumping a lot of stuff, they could've spread it out for moments like these where like yeah we aren't exploring this planet or whatever necessarily, but we are learning more lore while we are here getting gas lol. Also the fact that other planets get mentioned but we don't actually get to see or learn anything about them. I can't think of any examples off the top of my head (but if anyone really wants I can go through the logs to find them), but like planets or stations they'd stop to refuel or whatever just never really get talked about. I think there was a place that was similar to Teranium or Cersa that everyone was like 'omg be careful here like don't wander off alone' and then like nothing happens (or am I crazy and mixing my stuff up and I'm just yappin??? lmao. I'll probs come back and edit this once I play the game again). (I actually think it might've been the pitstop they mentioned that was ruled by mercs so they probs wouldn't have any problems with the K'Merii. Maybe it's the place they're supposed to go to on their way to Goldis?? Cause isn't it that the place that Khandar (help is that their name??? Google isn't telling me his name help pls 😭) said he has contacts??)

Damon - I'm so down bad for this man it's not even funny. His route is the first and only route I've done so far and I really just have one thing to critique I suppose. I fell in love w his char bc he's this super tough, mysterious, elusive guy that teases the shit outta you and just in general dgaf lmao. When you choose his route, pretty much all of that goes out the window. Now, don't get me wrong here. I still love Damon and I love that we get to see his sweeter/softer side, but I don't like how his bad boy side kinda just disappears. Like, maybe in chap 9/10 it'll show up more, but since choosing his route, he's kinda just become a big ol softy (which again I love that about him but I just kinda miss mean Damon lmao). Like, when the whole Wren thing happened, I feel like as soon as Wren points the gun in our face, OG Damon would've gone FERAL. Like, even if knows he can't actually like stop them or whatever by fighting, like just starting to mouth off to get attention off of us would've been so UGH. Idk maybe this is just a me thing bc I like crazy men but yeah would've liked more consistency ig in that aspect?? lmao. Like, there was one point in the game where I lowkey almost didn't choose Damon cause he was such an asshole (and almost went w the other loml Bash). Like THATS THE ENERGY IM HERE FOR. Make him a morally grey char and stick w it yk what I mean? Yes, he has walls up and he's actually very sweet and care about his found family and has a soft spot for cats and blah blah blah, but you also need to remember his upbringing and why he is the way he is ykkkkk

June - Maybe this gets explained later or more in his route, but when he's explaining his backstory and who he is, I was a little stumped. I mean, he wonders the exact same thing, but why is it that he can withstand the testing that was done to him and is now a super human, but his own twin brother and soldiers and whoever can't. What makes him so special? I figured he was able to become this super human and the K'Merii and whoever couldn't bc he was being tested on when he was still in the womb. Again though, if this is the case, why did his brother not make it? Would love to know more about that whole thing

Okay I'll stfu for now...but I'm sure I'll be back LMAO

[annbourbon]

Mystic Messenger Timeline (Explained)

I'll be obviously skipping a lot of stuff in between, but this is just to make things clear. It's not the way you're supposed to play, just the timeline.

⚠️ Contains Spoilers ⚠️

⚠️⚠️ Spoilers ahead ⚠️⚠️

⚠️⚠️ You've been warned ⚠️⚠️

First Rika Behind the Story (DLC)

Then I'll start counting as Year 1, the events that lead to the RFA and Mint Eye foundation.

Year 1:

V and Rika know each other

They meet Saeyoung

Saeyoung leaves

Rika kills the Twins's mom

Rika gets engaged to V

Mika and Rika (Mina) create 1st draft of Mint Eye

V buys the department

*on that note, seems that there are 4 cameras but Saeyoung only knows of one*

**This also implies that Saeran was abused as soon as V and Saeyoung took their eyes off of him since Rika used Saeran as model to defeat Saeyoung's skills as a hacker.

***What happens because neither Saeyoung nor V know anything about Saeran whenever they reunite for RFA parties and their engagement? Why no one asked anything?

Year 2:

Rika meets Jumin

RFA begins (yes, it was Mint Eye first, and the reason why the name was Magenta first. Mika?) June's Route in The Ssum, First Season. According to Jumin.

The Ssum Timeline

3. RFA 1st party is held

4 Jaehee joins RFA

5. Rika kills Sally

5. RFA 2nd party is held

6. According to V and Saeyoung this is where the hacker starts attacking the RFA (first time)

7. Jumin said he lost contact with V and Rika after the 2nd party.

There's a point where Jumin admits barely seeing Rika after the 2nd party. Meeting with her and V for the last time 3 months before her death. Yoosung Route. Day 9. Chat room 7AM called V's eyes.

According to several chats during Yoosung route, they barely paid attention to V being blinded. This of course included Zen, Yoosung, and Jumin (who is worried and suspects something but doesn't intervene despite V having severe corneal damage from external trauma)

8. Rika must have blind V at some point during these three months.

9. Saeyoung installed the Special System. AKA: The Bomb

10. "Rika commits suicide"

Plot holes: Where's Mika? Why they don't notice there's another person living there? It's not that easy to hide your presence 💀

But according to V, he knew about Mika. It's at least implied.

*At the same time, there's a line, I forgot where exactly, that says that both, Rika and V called off their engagement at some point. They don't say anything about coming back together after that. wtf!?*

Another Story

1 month after her death, prologue.

Five months later

*means 4 months after they break up their engagement? Assuming they did not break up before but because of Rika behavior blinding him. Which kind of solves the plot holes from Year 1 setting Mika on the apartment and V not fully knowing but suspecting, although it would be impossible or almost impossible without his eyes do something about it. Especially since his blindness is recent. If you need to understand a bit more about blindness watch my post on Rika killing Sally. It may be a dog, unlike V lol but it's still enough information to set up the rest of the story.

Anyways, let's go back to our timeline no?

Bad ending prologue #1 (Casual & Deep) and #2 (Another) are part of the same story and unlikely that it is set into an *alternative route* like some people like to say. Bad ending prologues even from Another Story seem to fit almost too perfectly when you think about it, but only if you agree to go with Unknown after rejecting him several times.

Because it would fit into the idea that the MC's were captured by the cult and discarded after a while (or put to work under Mint Eye. But also because according to the opening on the Casual and Deep, it would mean that Saeran's been watching you, so does Saeyoung.)

As I said before, the other MC's are either dead or anything but MIA (whatever that means for Mint Eye?) and this one, the brunette, is selected and it's the only one who survives and passed the whole trial. Not at first but it doesn't matter. This MC is not dead. The others are. You think "The others" are just the player with different image? I've got news for you, each one of this has a number~ check this post ^^

Either you become the assistant of Unknown with that bad ending which is an option available for every prologue or you enter Day 1 to Day 4 of Another Story and play throughout to reach:

Day 6 and Day 10 from Ray/Saeran Route which are part of the same ending. They're not a different ending. Both however lead to the Casual Route, Day 1 (after the prologue)

Which means, if you get the bad ending in the prologue of Casual/Deep you'll be going back to Mint Eye. Yes. It's not supposed to be your first rodeo there. And if you have a Bad Ending on Mint Eye, you're brainwashed andd set on Casual/Deep (You're supposed to be an spy, but who do you work for? Are you a victim or a villainess? that's another story 😜)

My theory?

*This is where I'm still stuck, so I'll be fixing major plots here and there and editing this same post over and over until I get it right. Please bear with me 😭*

Rika DLC > 1st party > Rika gets engaged > Saeyoung leaves > Rika kills Sally > Rika kills Saeran's mom > Rika starts torturing Saeran > Mint Eye begins > 2nd party > Hacker attack > Bomb is installed > Rika blinds V > Rika dies > Another Story (prologue) > Another Story (Day 1 to 4) > Another Story (Day 6 & 10, bad relationship both of them) obviously with what causes these bad endings > Casual Route (with bad endings included) > Deep Story (with bad endings included) > Secret Endings (except for V dying, we'll get there) > Another Story again but V route happens first (no happy or normal ending) and then something weird happens:

And this part if I'm being honest, I have no idea but I'm fixing it cause my theory is that

V and Saeran's route become so intertwined that is almost impossible to know what happened.

The bomb on Mint Eye? Saeran? Although it is suggesting in the bad endings that he died, we never saw that to happen.

V dying in the secret endings?

Saeran burn?

Seven does mention a couple of numbers, associated with the other MCs, somewhere in the game. Unfortunately I can't remember if it's on a call or a chat so I'm going back all over again because I was so shocked at the time I was unable to take a screenshot.

Truth to be said I can't fully find the order rn but! I will, I definitely will. I need time. I mean, more time. I've been working on this for 6 to 7 years now, I'm posting this because it's so big I can't keep it to myself and I'm freaking out here. So I'll be editing this in the future. As many of my other posts. Sorry lol

Ironically, Saeran's AE would be indeed the Final Ending.

Additional Note: Because of time travel, Mystic Messenger is a non linear story, which means you need to pick upon clues here and there to understand where the timeline goes. The other games have a similar issue but not as pronounced as this.

[littledead-ridinghood]

Jason’s final monologue in Under the Red Hood is so impactful and important because he’s being honest. His speech hinges on the fact that he’s being open and honest with his feelings on how the last few years affected him. I’ve seen many people argue that because Jason is an unreliable narrator at times, that means he is an unreliable narrator all the time, therefore nothing he says can be trusted. Unfortunately, this feeds into the “anything can be canon behavior for Jason because he’s written so inconsistent therefore I don’t care and besides fanon is better anyway so there” argument where actual consistent character traits often get ignored.  

While, yes, Jason can be an unreliable narrator, and while, yes, Jason is written incredibly inconsistently, this doesn’t mean there’s nothing consistent about him. I remember a couple of years back, some people were arguing how absurd it was for Jason’s opening line to be: “Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me” because it would be impossible for anyone, especially “someone like Jason” to not hold a grudge against a person for not making it in time. They couldn’t buy the fact that someone could concede like that. Of course, Jason is lying here, how could he not, in some part, blame Bruce? But this completely side-steps that Jason does that all the time, pre and post-death. Some of his last words were forgiving Shelia for murdering him and apologizing to Bruce for not being good enough. He doesn't blame Catherine for forcing him into the parental role for both him and her and Jason usually places Willis strictly in the “it’s complicated” box. He constantly takes the fall in his tumultuous relationship with Bruce like his apology letter to the man at the end of TFZ. It’s not out of character for Jason not to place the blame on Bruce, but rather forgive him and dictate his ire to where the real blame falls: the Joker. Again, he doesn’t even place the blame fully where it belongs because he doesn’t mention Shelia’s role. (yes, DC wants us to forget about her role in his murder. Especially in UtRH as can be seen in all the bad robin!Jason rhetoric, but that outer world meddling affects the inner story) 

It’s a cop-out to claim that because Jason is unreliable at times and inconsistent at others that means you can subscribe whatever meaning you want to his words and actions. He’s not his own character anymore, he’s an OC to fit you’re narrative which strips him of his story. By saying he’s actually lying(whether over if he forgives Bruce or so he can blame Bruce later on because “he needs something to be angry over”), it strips away the farther-son tragedy of this moment.

Jason is having a contained breakdown. He’s trying to keep it together, and that’s why when his voice breaks on “doing it because–because he took me away from you” and he starts crying, it’s impactful. He’s raw and alive and it’s still not enough to be seen. He has no point to soften the blow with “I forgive you.” He has no reason to lie about that when trying to get his father to see him. If it was just about the joker then Jason could’ve said “I blame you for not saving me and to redeem yourself, you have to kill the Joker.” But Jason Doesn’t ask him to kill the Joker but instead demands to know why he’s free without consequence, why he is still breathing.

If Jason wanted “to push his goalpost farther with Bruce,” he would prey on Bruce’s blaring guilt complex. It’s incredibly telling and significant of Jason's character that he doesn’t do that in this moment. Therefore, we can assume that if Jason had succeed in killing the joker, he still wouldn’t use that to guilt Bruce.

Jason instead talks about how much he loved Bruce–still loves Bruce–and how the man meant the world to him, and how he feels used because he thought he meant the same to Bruce. By saying he’s lying in this moment to trick and ruin Bruce, you are undercutting some of Jason’s most consistent behaviors: his desire to love and be loved, his desire to be a part of a family, his desire to be important to someone, and how he will put up with almost any and all maltreatment to get that connection.

Jason “pushing his goalpost” further highlights how many don’t understand his emotional distress tied to his murder and instead want to place him solely in the “completely delusion” category where his victimhood is undermined. It’s not about getting Bruce to kill, at the end of the day, the ultimatum was to kill Jason, not the Joker, it’s about wanting his father to understand what he needs to feel safe. That is Jason’s request. Not the clown. Him. He’d rather his father kill him with his own hand so he’s not forced to live on the same earth any longer with and share the same air as his murderer. What makes this as an ultimatum is that Jason fully believes that Bruce loves him too much, therefore, the man would never kill him allowing Jason to achieve his peace. Whether you agree with Jason’s methods or not is a different matter, but that is the tension in this contained scene.

Furthermore, a lot of meta lately says that if Bruce had let Jason kill the Joker then he would guilt Bruce by saying “why would you let me do that? You tainted my soul and hands!” which ignores: 

A. Jason’s actual legitimate reason for wanting the Joker dead. The former belief falls back on the “Jason is so delusion and dramatic!” trope, the “he’s not the right kind of victim” trope because he’s angry instead of submissive and “actually has no good reason to be angry, he’s just being difficult for the sake of.” It completely undercuts Jason’s actual trauma with getting no justice. Bruce preaches Judge and Jury, but Jason got neither. So many victims get neither, and Jason’s anger represents that. What gives Bruce the right to say Jason’s not allowed to play his own executioner in relation to his victimhood when he never got the morals and ideals that Bruce himself preaches so thoroughly? 

And B. more obviously, Jason killed in UtRH before their big confrontation? Famously, the duffle bag of right-hand mans’ heads. He killed in front of Bruce already as well? Captain Nazi? Like, also in lost days, which is a prequel to UtRH, he kills? What’s the actual argument here? Loosely, It reminds me how everyone wants to blame the entirety of Jason’s takeover on pit madness. This “you’ve tainted me” argument sounds as if Jason is not aware of his actions and traumas. Not to say he’s completely sane or not delusional at times throughout his publishing history, but to think Jason would be pissed at Bruce for letting him kill the Joker is to dismissively say “no, you don’t know what you need, but I do.” 

No, the Joker being dead won’t fix everything, but with the joker dead, it would literally be removing a real-life constant trigger of Jason’s. Yes, Jason is a synecdoche for victims, but he is also that himself: a single victim. Joker is a stand-in for everyone who’s ever gotten away with a vicious crime free of judicial step-in or failure, but he also is just that: Jason’s murderer. Yes, they both metaphorically represent something bigger in this scene, but on a fundamental level, the Joker is also just the person tormenting Jason and nothing more. By saying Jason doesn’t actually want what he wants stands in for saying victims are too wrapped up in their trauma to understand what’s causing it. It’s mitigating and demeaning how bad it actually was/is. Jason’s murder in comics still holds such power over the mythos today even though “everyone’s died. He’s not special” for a reason and it’s because his life is actively shown to be affected by it.

Jason has been shown to have PTSD-induced panic attacks around the joker (Lost Days), and about the joker (famously the rebirth issue where Jason hallucinates murder victim him), it’s not far off the say that whenever Joker commits a mass atrocity, that it affects Jason in some way. 

And we canonically know that it does! In Lost Days, Jason breaks down in tears in the streets over all the families that have been and will be destroyed by the Joker. So that Survivor's Guilt train of thought is canon for him: “those people are never coming back, I’m here and I’m not supposed to be, but they’ll never return”-esque

No, killing the Joker won’t fix all of Jason’s issues and trauma surrounding his murder, but that’s obvious. Yet, have you ever been in a bad relationship and part of the issue is literally just being around that person? The healing process starts when you step away. You can’t heal in the same environment that’s harming you. This goes hand in hand with how Jason will only begin to heal as a person when away from Bruce because he’s such a dominating, constant trigger in Jason’s life (again, proven in canon when Jason backs away from Gotham and the Bats). No, the joker being dead won’t fix everything, but it will allow the process to begin where Jason isn’t constantly rehashing his trauma every time the Joker escapes. Jason has tried to heal on his own except the clown keeps coming after him. Whether it’s him attempting to burn off his face or in his mind when Bruce physically drags his murder to the forefront of Jason’s thoughts shoving him into a breakdown over how he’s trying so hard to heal. Part of the reason it’s so hard for Jason to move on is because his trigger buttons are constantly being held down for extreme amounts of time. It’s not that he heard or saw something that brought him back to his murder, it’s that Jason is literally being held in a constant state of panic, grief, fear, and unsafety.

By saying Jason is looking for something to be angry over and he’d find that in Bruce if he let him kill the clown, it frames the moment as a winning vs losing moment that Jason will always lose no matter what. This is a faulty understanding of how healing works and is reminiscent of Three Jokers. You can’t win at healing like Geoff Johns tries to say Barabara did and Jason failed at. Healing is something you do with ups and downs. At the end of the day, it’s a son yelling at his father to help him. It’s not about winning or losing, joker tries to make it about that (“everyone still loses”), but that frames the interaction in a much pettier light. This strips the moment of both Jason and Bruce's raw, exposed wire in water, vulnerable emotions. This looking to be angry argument is also reminiscent of the fandom's love for pit madness which strips Jason of his righteousness. Jason has very understandable reasons to be angry. His life was stripped and stolen away from him. It’s like when people say Robin Jason had anger issues which completely ignores what he was angry over! He hated rapists and pedophiles and big, authoritative tough guys who beat on women! He wasn’t angry all the time over everything; he had very real, systematic issues that upset him in overwhelming ways. Boiling him down to “he needs to be angry” wipes Jason of his motivations.

Jason doesn’t plan for a future. Really, he never even thought Bruce would kill for him in the end. When he first came back, sure, he thought Bruce would kill the joker and make Jason “the last person he ever hurt”, but in their final confrontation, Jason just asks “why on God’s earth is he still alive?” and then “I’m going to blow his deranged brains out and if you don’t like that you’ll have to kill me. Shoot me right in the face”: his ultimatum. In the confrontation, Jason doesn’t even believe he has a full claim to be upset over the Joker for just himself. He talks about Barabra being hurt by the clown and is pretty rescind to his murder in the fact that he says he was one of so many corpses filling dozens of graveyards made specifically by the Joker. Again, “last person he’d ever hurt,” Jason is fairly fine with being dead and doesn’t even think he deserves to be back, but because he wasn’t the last person the clown hurt he pushed that as his climax for why he’s angry. 

Really a better commentary focuses around “well, what does Jason think is going to happen after?” because Jason clearly doesn’t want to be alive. He sets up like four ways of suicide in his final scene. One of my mutuals a while ago posted their thoughts on what they wanted the after to be. They said they wanted to see a story where Jason killed Joker in this showdown. They believed he would probably enter this dissociated shock over the joker’s dead body, over the fact that it was just that easy, that it’s over. But, this fact would lead Jason to the realization that he doesn’t need Bruce to “save” him (i.e. protect him/keep him safe). This has literally been rotting in my head for months, you have no idea. And I truly see this as the outcome of the showdown if it had gone that way. Sure, Bruce didn’t stop him, but he also didn’t stand up to protect Jason from his murderer. Jason, just like in every other aspect of his entire life, had to protect himself. Once again, he has performed his own emotional labor, and that would probably break him away from Bruce’s chains. He got what he wanted and he didn’t need anyone else to do it for him. This interaction further shattering the heroic image he upheld Bruce to. I think that’s a much more realistic outcome based in Jason’s characterization rather than him throwing a fit over the fact the Joker’s dead therefore he has nothing else to be angry over when Jason is shown to be angry over a lot of other things as well.

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hi there! If you don't mind, I would like to request something.

How do you think Knights of Favounius (you don't need to write for all of them, just pic few please) would have handled it if they found out their lover is a spy/traitor?

Sorry if it doesn't make much sense.

no this made pretty good sense don't fret! for the Knights of Favonious i went with who i assumed you met playable character wise, i hope you enjoy!

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behavior, being held against will, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Jean would be impervious to it, she doesn’t care who you are or where you came from, what matters most to her is that you remain hers. She’ll do to you what she often does to Klee, locking you in a room until you’ve learned your lesson. Except instead of it being a spare room in the Favonius headquarters it’s a room in the basement of her home. Somewhere no one is allowed to go. 

“Don’t fret my dear, I’ll be back to check on you later.” Jean smiles warmly at you, double checking the locks on the iron cuffs to ensure that you’d stay put. One cuff kept your left hand stuck directly to the wall while two others sat snugly around your ankles, just in case you managed to get your wrist free. She kindly left you a glass of water and a few snacks, just to tide you over until she could return from work. She’d keep you in the dark, windowless room for as long as it takes. You claim to be a traitor but she knows you’re lying. But that’s alright, she’ll keep you here in this room, just for you, until you clear your head and remember who you are.

Yandere!Kaeya would simply raise a brow, mildly intrigued by your confession. He doesn’t believe you, putting more faith into this being a ruse to get away from him than it is the truth, but he sits you down as questions you anyways.

You don’t remember how long you had been sitting in this chair. At your insistence that you were a spy and not really in love with Kaeya, said male had sat you down in a chair in his office. Your wrists were bound to the back of the chair with some spare fabric Kaeya had laying around his office, your ankles and legs remained free though. Kaeya hadn’t brought any physical harm to you, but somehow it seemed that his words alone burned deeper than that. The two of you had been at this for long enough for Kaeya to shed his fur overcoat piece, leaving him in just his cavalry captain uniform. If you wanted to continue to play the act of a spy, then he’d treat you as one, ruthlessly questioning you with a fierce intensity until you give in and break. 

Yandere!Lisa would give a look of surprise, a soft ‘oh?’ leaving her lips as she processes the information. While she had never suspected you of being a spy, she could certainly see where the pieces fell into place. She doesn’t care that you’re a supposed spy, it doesn’t change her love for you.

Lisa’s curious gaze looks up at you from the book she currently had before her, wordlessly she marks her page and closes it. Slowly she stands, coming to a stop before you and bringing her hands up. Her left hand rests on your shoulder as her right comes up to cup your cheek, her thumb gently caressing your skin as she gazes into your eyes. “Dear, such stories should be saved for children’s books.” She smiles kindly at you, placing a kiss to your cheek that wasn’t held in her hand. “Come now, it’s nearly time for lunch. I packed enough to share.”

Yandere!Albedo will act indifferent to the emotion, telling you that he already knew. He’ll tell you that he took care of whoever you were supposed to report back to, and that now you need not worry. Now you are free to spend all your time with him, helping him with his experiments and such.

Albedo doesn’t even need to look over his shoulder as you stand there at the entrance to his lab. He heard everything you said, but simply didn’t feel the need to turn around. “Can you pass me some lizard tail, it’s in that box over there.” Albedo absently points to a box across the room, turning to look at you when he doesn’t hear you move. He takes note of your astonished look. “I already knew of you being an informant. While I don’t appreciate being left in the dark, I did already handle the situation. You no longer have anyone to report back to.” Once more, he motions to the box, asking you to grab him so lizard tail, this time with a little more weight to his words.

[anamericangirl]

what would be your answer to such a question/situation ?

https://defused.com/shuts-up-pro-life-people/

Ah, I remember seeing this fiasco when it first appeared on Twitter. Patrick Tomlinson thought he came up with some genius scenario that, according to him, "no pro-lifer had ever been able to answer" when in reality he was ignoring and blocking everyone who answered him in a reasonable way that showed he and his scenario were foolish and not the clever trap he imagined it to be.

He is approaching this very disingenuously from the start with the way he poses the question. He will only accept a person saying A (save the five year old from the fire) or B (save the 1000 viable human embryos) and that's it. He won't allow you to even rationalize to him why you selected one or the other because he's already decided why a person picked one or the other. He decided that if a person picked A that meant it was because they thought the child's life had more value than the life of the embryos and were not equal and if you picked B, well, you're just a monster. And that was it. And when you ask a question to other people where you decide beforehand what the only possible explanation for any answer is you're setting yourself up to look like an idiot. And when you pretend the reasons you imagine are the only rationalization for the choices and you do not allow people to say "well, actually, this is the reason I'm going with this option, which is different then the reason you imagined up" then you're not there genuinely looking for answers. You're just trying to "own" pro-lifers. Case in point, one person answered they would save the 1000 embryos using the rationalization that I've seen pro-aborts use when they justify murdering children which is "save as many lives as possible" and he just called them a monster.

So he created a scenario. He gave two options. He decided beforehand that there was only one certain explanation for each answer and there was only one right answer that he would accept. Which makes him a pretentious fool who cannot have an honest discussion about the scenario he invented.

But, anyway, this illustration he came up with is you're in a fertility clinic where a fire breaks out and you only have the chance to save a crying five year old or a container with 1000 viable human embryos and it is just a rehashing of the trolley problem.

Do you pull the lever on a runaway trolley to divert it to a track where it will kill one person or let it keep barreling down the path its on where it will kill five people?

It's a thought experiment that poses a moral dilemma to explore human ethics and moral responsibility. These questions are not designed to have perfect solutions where everyone gets a happy ending and they are not questions that determine who are people and who are not and which human lives are more valuable based on a decision you make in a high stakes situation where no matter what you do someone is going to die.

In the trolley problem, no one makes their decision because they think the individual human lives at stake don't have equal worth or value and no one assumes that's the rationalization behind the choice you're forced to make. So the fact that Tomlinson is presenting the revised trolley problem as a scenario where whichever choice you make means the other lives have less value and are not equal to the life you chose to save means he doesn't understand the question he is asking.

But, anyway, now that I've gone over the very serious flaw in the question asker and the way he is approaching this issue, the answer I give is the answer most people would give. I would save the crying five year old. But the reason I choose this option is not because I don't see the embryos as having equal moral value as Tomlinson thinks is the only possible reason. The reason I go with this option is because if I am in a situation where I am about to die and only have time to grab one or the other before we are all gone, it's ridiculous to assert this is a time where I would be at an intellectual peak able to weigh the moral and ethical questions raised by any choice I would make when I just have to get out as quick as I can and only have the time to hastily go with one or the other. It's also fallacious to assume that the choice I make under such extreme pressure reflects how I feel about the moral value and worth of the life I do not save. Even if I hypothetically chose the five year old because I thought their life had more value than the lives of the embryos that does not actually determine what the reality is. My choice in a high stakes situation does not determine what lives are valuable and which ones aren't. Like of course in a situation like that I would instinctually try to save the child I can hear screaming for help. But that doesn't mean that I think the embryos are less valuable because my gut instincts do not determine human worth.

But I just don't like the dishonesty Tomlinson brings with this question. He can't give you a situation where two (or more) people are going to die, give you the option to only save one and tell you that your decision means whoever you don't save you see as lesser and think their lives don't matter on the same level as whoever you choose to save. Because I can ask him that question right back and just change who his choices are to save. I can say you're in a burning building and your mom is one room and your dad is in the other. You can only save one before exiting the building. There is no third option or way to save them both. And whoever you choose to leave behind in this scenario, you are leaving behind because you know the lives of your mother and father are "not the same, not morally, not ethically, not biologically." If you rescue your mom that means you don't believe your father's life is morally equivalent to the life of your mother and vice versa. So, who do you save? Whose life has the most moral value? Your mom or your dad?

Sorry for the long rant but the arrogance he has over his deeply flawed and disingenuous "question" annoys me to no end.

[thewisaaaaad]

@squish--squash I hope you know that you did this to me. I took a break from my narilamb oneshot for this.

Anyway here's more "Heket has a crisis" yw

After discovering the truth about Forneus's children, Heket is left with a problem. She can't really have a Narinder worshiper just wandering around her domain, but she also really doesn't want to force her love into a cage. She's already forced enough people close to her into cages. So, they just make an agreement: Forneus doesn't tell random people about her god, and Heket allows her to wander her domain. Every day, Heket fears that Forneus will forget, and that will be the end of her. Heket will not be able to protect her from War itself, after all.

So, after discovering that Shamura had gone off the deep end, Heket naturally assumes that the madness must have been caused by the damage that Narinder had done to their head. That's great, but now what?

Well, Heket of course makes the most rational decision: to sweep it under the rug! She takes over as the leader of the bishops, mainly to take the pressure off of Shamuras failing mind. This works great, even if the eldest sibling sometimes makes strange demands of them ("I thought we were meant to protect our people, not lord over them" "We need the sacrafices for more power. He cannot be allowed to overpower us." "...alright, I guess.") She is still able to keep the fractured family together. Secretly, Heket fears Narinders return, because of the damage he has already caused when they had the upper hand. Its irrational, she knows, because he's sealed away forever, but a part of her hopes he breaks free if only so that Forneus's kits can be returned to her. (little does she know that all narinder wants in this au is to have their family back.)

Then Shamura drops the bombshell of a prophesy about the sheep, and orders their siblings to begin the culling. Heket immidiately sees the problem with this (as do the other two gods). Killing all the sheep not only sends them directly to their brother, but would also give those sheep ample motivation to work with narinder to wipe out the old faith. So, behind Shamuras back, the three siblings make a plan to hide the sheep within Darkwood, given that the forest is a maze that only those with the bishop of chaos's blessing can traverse. (you can read all about that meeting HERE, you will need an ao3 account because I am afraid of AI scalpers.) So, problem solved, everything is great, right?

Shamura thinks so too! In fact, they managed to contain the red crown!

At that point Heket begins to panic, wondering what the hell Shamura meant by that, considering that the spider never extrapolated on how they were containing their brothers crown. She had never told them about how they were containing the sheep, so how did they find out? What do they mean, "contained the red crown"? Do they know about Forneus? Is her family safe?

And some years later, Heket realizes that she has someone who could answer that question: Forneus! She is a devout follower of The One Who Waits, so maybe she could tell Heket if the red crown is actually on this plane or not. And as it turns out, she can! It is in fact on the mortal plane, and it has found its destined bearer!

So Heket panics even more, and organises a meeting with her siblings individually so as to not raise alarm but still get the message out. However, when she goes to meet with Kalamar, she finds that he is ACTIVELY OPERATING ON THE BEARER OF THE RED CROWN. anyway that stuffs gonna be in the next chapter of my fanfic when I get around to it.

bye :)

ps this was thrown together so like im sorry that its not quite up to my standards I'm struggling man

[mayajadewrites]

Moth to a Flame: Levi Ackerman x Fem Reader

C H A P T E R T E N

chapter synopsis: Levi sets some ground rules for your rekindling of your relationship.

ao3

Your heart races as you wake up, watching the sun peer in from the window adjacent from Levi's bed. You press your palm to the matress, hoping to feel skin.

Nothing but sheets.

You hear Levi spit into the sink. He always brushed his teeth first thing in the morning, he hated the thought of morning breath.

Your heart rate went down when you realized you woke up still in his room. You weren't kicked out, he didn't wake you up to leave.

Levi walked into his room, looking like the Gods took their time creating him. His abdominal muscles lead to his 'v' line, where his boxer briefs started.

"I would kiss you, but I need you to brush your teeth first." Levi ran his hand through his hair, walking toward his office.

"Ok. I'll go back to my room."

"No. You have a toothbrush here."

"The same one from the last time?"

"No. I got you a new one." Levi looked at you like you were stupid. "You can't keep toothbrushes that long. It's unsanitary."

You raise your eyebrow and walk to the bathroom, where you see a toothbrush in its own container. You smile at the sight and start brushing your teeth.

Once you finish brushing your teeth, you find Levi already in his office chair, scanning a pile of paperwork on his desk.

You lean down to his eye level and purse your lips. "All clean."

Levi pressed his lips to yours, bringing his hand to your cheek. You leaned your cheek into his palm, observing his features.

"You're not on the mission for tomorrow." Levi let go of your face, looking back at his paperwork.

"Why is that?"

"Because I need to make sure you're okay. You just healed."

"The doctor cleared me. I'm -"

"Can you please listen to me instead of protesting everything I say?"

"You assume you know what I'm feeling and how I'm feeling. I'm not helpless, Levi."

"We need to set rules if we want this to work." Levi shook his head, peering at you through the jet black fringe in front of his face.

"Okay." You sit on top of his desk, gently moving a pile of papers to the side.

Levi leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs slightly. "1. You have to listen to me, especially when it comes to battles."

You rolled your eyes at the rule. "Next."

"2. You have to break the news to Kirstein. Obviously."

"Fair."

"3. You stay with me every night."

You nod. "Can I suggest a rule?"

"Try me." Levi laced his fingers together.

"You have to tell Erwin and Hange about us." You lean in, your nose almost brushing his.

"How do you know I won't lose my title?"

"Levi. We're in a war. I think the last thing they're worried about is Captain Levi Ackerman, aka, humanity's strongest soldier, getting distracted. You were born to fight. Anyways, they'll probably be happy that you have someone. I know Hange will be ecstatic."

Levi looked down, pondering different scenarios that could happen. "What if you're not allowed to be on my squad?" He looked at you. "You're the second strongest to Mikasa. It would be a shame to lose you as a soldier on my squad."

"We can deal with that if the opportunity is presented to us." You scrunch your nose, hoping that that opportunity never comes. "This doesn't have to happen all today. I just want you to work on it."

Levi nodded, pressing his palms to each of your thighs. "You should start with rule number 2 today, though." He kissed your lips gently. "I have to go over some of the mission plans for today. I'll see you later." he caressed your face before returning his focus to his paperwork.

You sigh thinking about how you have to essentially break up with Jean. Levi is worth it, but you don't like hurting someones feelings either.

You make your way back to your room, where Mikasa and Sasha are waiting for you.

"Uh, where the hell have you been?" Sasha looked up from her book.

"We thought you were with Jean... then Jean came here looking for you." Mikasa said.

"If I tell you guys something, will you promise me, swear on your lives, that you won't say a word?" You sit at the edge of Mikasa's bed.

"Of course."

"Yes."

"I'm seeing Captain Levi."

"Oh, NO ONE saw that coming." Mikasa rolled her eyes, her tongue spewing with sarcasm.

"What?!" You look at Sasha. "Does everyone know?"

"We all had a feeling, which is why we were all surprised you got with Jean." Sasha shrugged. "Personally, I didn't know Captain Levi could convey anything other than orders."

"He can convey a lot." You smirk, raising your eyebrows. Mikasa and Sasha laughed, throwing their pillows at you.

"So... how are you gonna tell Jean?" Mikasa looked at you.

"I'm not sure, I-"

You were interrupted by a familiar knock.

Hint: It's not Levi.