#at least i know i feel sad about the art thing anyway. i just don't know how to feel about mom

[myce]

the ennui today is real

[cathymee]

discourse is wiiiild

who is this

so true bestie

[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.

[sooyaumvm]

interruption — summary. 'being interrupted during a intimate moment wasn't on your bingo'

characters ;; Octotrio tags ;; reader is gender neutral(lipstick is mentioned on azul's part), reader is yuu, a lil teasing, romantic/fluff

Azul Ashengrotto was a refined man

that's what he likes to think at least, he has created a great reputation for himself, he had the awesome Moutro lounge and even had his incredible contracts to offer though the position he is in right now does not match his cultured persona, in this moment he finds himself sitting on his office chair having his face smudged and marked by your new lipstick, the one he bought for you actually "Dearest I think that's enough-" you frown at his words "it's not enough, I'll know when it's enough" Azul sighs but allows you to continue on your small task that until he hears a knock on his door his eyes widen at the realization someone was at the door and he wouldn't be able to fix himself before they enter the room when you let go of his face and turn to look at the door you hear a laugh, one you learned to recognize too well by now Floyd is stading there and ready to talk when his brother interrupt him "Looks like we will have to come back later, my apologies" you can sense how Jade was holding back his own laughs while pulling his brother and the poor student they brought out of Azul's office, instantly when the door closes you feel your boyfriend melting under you "Let's remember to lock the door next time, please"

Jade Leech was a man who prouded himself

He believed he had mastered the art of observation. Initially, understanding the landman's customs was challenging, but he prided himself on his adaptability. As a curious person, his interest in you was expected, but falling for you was unexpected. Nonetheless, here we are — while you were working a shift at Mounstro Lounge, you needed money, and Azul would never refuse a new employee anyway. You've been dating Jade for a while now, and on a little break between attending orders and fetching the food, you ended up here, sitting on the counter and making out with him. You had your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his own hands were on your waist. Your hands slowly got higher, reaching his hair and tugging it a bit. You could feel him smirking on your mouth; you don't know when he became such a good kisser until "OH- I'M- I- I WAS- I'M SO SORRY!" You abruptly let go of Jade and looked behind him. An Octavinelle student was standing there, all flustered from what he had encountered. He stormed outside of the kitchen without further warning. Jade looked at you and chuckled, "It looks like we got him a little show." The way Jade says that made you scoff before getting off the counter and going back to what you were doing before being attacked by him. "You're just going to leave me like that?" Jade says in a sad, mocking way, but with his usual smile on his face. "Yes, I will," you say before leaving

Floyd Leech was a menace

Everyone knew that, so when you first started dating him, everyone thought two things: 1. You were crazy or 2. He was threatening you. But in reality, it wasn't either of them; you just loved him. So that's why right now you're taking advantage of the time alone you two have without Grim to pick a fight with him to just enjoy your time with him. You were kissing him normally when you felt him smirk on your neck, which is not a great sign. "My turn now," he said with a grin that showed his sharp teeth. He suddenly switched positions, having you laying on the used couch of Ramshackle. He kissed you before going for your neck; he kissed you before affectionately biting you, making you gasp from surprise. But that gasp rapidly turned into a laugh when he continued to kiss and carefully bite you. When he was about to bite your collarbone, you heard a "OH!" You fastly pushed your boyfriend from on top of you to be greeted by Ace's shocked face and Deuce's flustered self. "Wow there, prefect, didn't know you had that on you," Ace said with a smirk. "Ne, Crabby, why don't you come back later? I was kind of busy here," your boyfriend said with his eerie smile. "Uh—we—I—he," Deuce stuttered. "I wanted to see my henchman! you get me?" Grim said with his fake confidence Floyd's grin widened. "I think that's enough, okay? Come here, Grim," you say, patting your side. "Thank you for bringing him, you two," you say to the duo at the door. Ace whistled. "No problem, prefect, just warn us when you're making out with your scary boyfriend," Floyd looks at him with a smirk. "Or maybe you can learn to knock?" you say to him with a smile.

im really sorry if this is not great, i think its so hard to write Floyd and Jade and its so easy to mischaracterizate them 😵‍💫

[vanesycho]

Hihi! I saw that you were accepting requests, so I wanted ask if you write the “…. is for the girls who” for the rest of the Stray Kids members?

I loved Bang Chan’s one so much!😅

a/n:thank you so much for your request🤍🤍

I didn't write bangchan because I already made the bangchan version but if you haven't seen it you can read it here

stray kids is for the girls who...

Lee Know┆︎리노

lee know is for the girls who get called "you're so cold" too much. for girls who have been forced to be cold and receive negative comments from society because of it, even if they are not actually like that.

lee know is for the girls who love the ones they can’t quite have. the girls who see the tenderness in his eyes, even when he turns away. he's for the ones who are willing to break their own hearts, just to make sure he never has to break his.

lee know is for the girls who understand that sometimes love is hidden in the shadows. the girls who have fallen for the silence between his words, for the way he holds back as if afraid to be truly seen. he's for the ones who know that love can be painful when it's unspoken but choose to stay anyway, hoping that one day he'll let them in.

lee know is for the girls who show their love through actions rather than words. for those who are afraid to openly say the word love out loud and hope that the other person loves them at least through actions.

lee know is for the girls who stay away because they are afraid to love. for those who think they are lost from the start because they can't show their love. for those who try to get used to being alone and don't accept anyone near them. that's why they are seen as cold by most people, but for those who are used to it.

Changbin┆︎창빈

changbin is for the girls who feel the need to change their appearance to fit into society. for those who try to appear more confident and prevent people from making negative comments about them, but deep down they know they still have the same insecurity.

changbin is for the girls who can be happy even for the smallest things. for girls who think about even the smallest compliment given to them for weeks and smile to themselves.

changbin is for the girls who love fiercely but feel the sting of unreciprocated feelings. the ones who see the way he lights up a room but wish they could share in that joy more intimately. he’s for the girls who wish he could see how much he means to them, even when he’s caught up in his own world.

changbin is for the girls who still have the heartbreak of the past even though they seem to have gotten over it. for those who say everything is fine on the outside but still feel the same pain, sadness and insecurity when the subject is brought up.

changbin is for the girls who prefer love words. for girls who like to talk openly about why they are loved and who like to convey their love to the other person.

Hyunjin┆︎현진

hyunjin is for the girls who like to hide their pain behind art. for those who do hobbies such as music, painting, dancing or writing to forget their pain.

hyunjin is for the girls who need someone to laugh and have fun with even at ridiculous things. for those who can laugh for hours with the person next to them, even at the smallest joke, are looking for that person who will fill the room with laughter.

hyunjin is for the girls who everyone loves but get rejected when they love someone. for those who think that love is unfortunate for them, that they will never see true love.

hyunjin is for the girls who are not aware of their talents because of their appearance. for who want to be remembered for their own talents but no one praises them and no one tells them how "proud" they are.

hyunjin is for the girls who think that there is something bad in all that beauty. for girls who see a bad comment among the best comments and think about it for days and maybe weeks and try to correct their mistakes.

Han Jisung┆︎한지성

jisung is for the girls who think they want to disappear but actually want to be found.

jisung is for the girls who have sad feelings that come to them out of nowhere. for the girls who they don't understand why they are sad when everything is going well, but in fact they have to express it because everything is accumulated inside them.

jisung is for the girls who are a little shy at first, who need someone patient enough to break down their walls.

jisung is for the girls who laugh a little too loudly at bad jokes, who love the feeling of butterflies when someone remembers the smallest details about them.

jisung is for the girls who dream big but sometimes doubt themselves, who need someone to remind them that they are capable of achieving anything they set their mind to. he’s for the girls who seek comfort in someone’s touch, who love the feeling of warmth that only a genuine hug can bring. for the girls who see the beauty in vulnerability, who know that behind every joke is a heart that beats with kindness and care.

Felix┆︎필릭스

felix is for the girls who find comfort in a warm smile and a soft voice, who feel safe in the gentle embrace of someone who knows how to listen.

felix is for the girls who love sunlit afternoons and the smell of freshly baked cookies, who need someone whose presence feels like home. he’s for the girls who believe that kindness is a strength, who sees the world as a place that needs more love and understanding.

felix is for the girls who are emotional. for girls whose eyes immediately fill with tears when they see the love that comes to them because they thought they don't deserve it and didn't expect it.

felix is for the girls who need someone to remind them of their worth on days when they can’t see it themselves. for the girls who crave a touch of magic in everyday moments, who believe that a little bit of positivity can change everything.

felix is for the girls who wear their hearts on their sleeves, who sometimes feel too much and need someone who understands their highs and lows. he’s for the girls who want someone to be their light on the darkest days, whose laugh feels like sunshine on a cloudy morning.

Seungmin┆︎승민

seungmin is for the girls who need someone to always understand them because they can't show their love.

seungmin is for the girls who want to feel like kids around someone because they're mature. for those who want to know that they can do whatever they want around that person and never be judged.

seungmin is for the girls who like late night talks. for girls who feel the need to fall asleep listening to someone's voice and want to hear sweet nothings whispered.

seungmin is for the girls who believe that love is built on trust and understanding, who want someone to stand by their side through thick and thin. he’s for the girls who thrive in a relationship that feels like a partnership, where both can grow and inspire each other every day.

seungmin is for the girls who appreciate a good cup of coffee or tea shared in cozy cafes, where they can talk for hours without any distractions. he’s for the girls who understand the importance of communication.

Yang Jeong In┆︎양정인

jeongin is for the girls who embrace their quirks and celebrate uniqueness, who need someone to remind them that it's okay to be different.

jeongin is for the girls who don't want to be judged when they act childish. for those who often avoid overreacting because they hear "you're too loud, be quiet." too much.

jeongin is for the girls who yearn for deeper connections but often feel like they don’t belong. for the girls who sometimes feel invisible, who need someone to remind them that their feelings are valid and that they are seen, even in their most difficult moments.

jeongin is for the girls who often replay past mistakes in their minds, wishing they could go back and change things but knowing they can’t. he’s for the girls who need a partner to remind them that every scar tells a story, and that it’s okay to be imperfect and still be deserving of love.

jeongin is for the girls who have experienced loss and struggle to move on, who yearn for a companion who can offer comfort and understanding in their darkest moments.

[reiderwriter]

Unfair We're Not Somewhere

Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.

A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.

You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too. 

Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it. 

“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with. 

You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway. 

You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.

“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in. 

“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her. 

You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her. 

“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé. 

“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you. 

“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.” 

“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.” 

You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain. 

You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again. 

“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before. 

“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-” 

“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her. 

How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it? 

You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been. 

“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.” 

“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.

The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid. 

“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter. 

“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.” 

Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity. 

She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate. 

“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.” 

“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”

Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact. 

Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too. 

After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again. 

“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.” 

You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten. 

You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you. 

Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids. 

JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly. 

“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-” 

A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused. 

“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…” 

“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world. 

“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right? 

“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.” 

You nodded at the answer. 

“And Spencer?” 

“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised. 

“If I told him, you'd know.” 

“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb. 

“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?” 

“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.” 

You waved him off, and sat down with the kids. 

JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art. 

In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again. 

“So, you're not dating?” 

“Nope.”

“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?” 

“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other. 

You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him. 

“Okay. What's your next move?” 

You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her. 

“I… what?” 

“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”

“Oh god…” 

“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?” 

It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about. 

“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words. 

“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.” 

Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip. 

“We don't do anything but argue.” 

“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you. 

“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.” 

“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”

“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.” 

“Don't need to-” 

“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-” 

“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.

“You like him,” she said. 

You sighed and finally gave in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.” 

“Great. What next?” 

“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.” 

She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table. 

“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”

You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear. 

The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it. 

JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly. 

“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”

“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”

She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts. 

You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was. 

You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer. 

Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…? 

You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities. 

You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in. 

“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile. 

“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed. 

“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.” 

That one was mostly a joke. Mostly. 

“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby. 

You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again. 

The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him. 

Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open. 

Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were. 

Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you. 

🔖@mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig

@pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read

@ari-aurelia @flipsideoflife @mggreidsreads @@farfromthehomelands @spicyspirit @donttrustlove @chicaconfudidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @@nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @famouslynerdy @batrensworld @batrensworld

@Cattosmush @im-this-girl @Sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere@ Cattosmush @lariclifford @daphnesutton Ccatstars @Iniyalovesall @solemnarration @emma-e-a @haygirleyhay Mel-knee @broadwaytraaaaash @Wildflowerpassion @itshardtopickaname @Timidquindim

@yourfavoritefangirl @waywardxrhea @Aliceofonederland @joshuafatubaee @jc10622 @timeboundkate @Roslxnxx @Gensthoughts23 @marvelshittt @lavvylove @Slitherss @mythumbhurts @Xiaexact @Honestlyloving @maryyy-8

@timeboundkate @justdamnpeachy @awezomezauce @darling006 @thefalseapp @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @fabulouslynerdy @short-mess @maeganme @crazyunsexycool @redmoonsofvenus @supraveng @lilscb @jackierose902109 @thebooklocket

[reachartwork]

crossposting from twitter;

are you guys really telling me in the entire two years that this has been a Federal Fucking Issue for a certain type of extremely online artist you still have refused to learn even for a second how it actually works?

the information has been widely available for you to consume and teach yourself for the past two years (even longer if you've been paying attention). at this point if you say and believe shit like this you are deliberately keeping yourself stupid uninformed, i'll be diplomatic. and it's sad to me because if you knew how it worked you would be substantially less afraid of it!

it genuinely makes me upset that instead of just accepting a new medium into the artistic world these people are just doubling down and will continue doubling down on MAKING THEMSELVES UPSET FOR NO REASON via anti-intellectualism.

if you're going to reject out of hand an entire art movement and its purveyors, you can at the very least teach yourself how it works to have a more informed criticism. this person even SAYS that they like it!

it's like... i don't know, if i went to critique a bunch of brutalist sculptures and expressed my displeasure at not knowing where the rocks they quarried and carved into these statues came from. like does that make sense? there's a total mismatch here of what they know vs what the actual problem is here (in this case, this person does NFTs, which is what you should've started the fucking thread with!)

i don't know. i know it's a fools game to worry about this but it makes me really upset that there are people in this world who are just... incurious. like to me that feels like humans trying to understand cthulhu. what do you mean you don't research the things that make you afraid so that you can understand them and be less afraid?

i don't really have a point here i'm just sad and annoyed. anyway.

[wachtelspinat]

i can't help but feel like my drawing days are kind of over. not entirely, i'll still be drawing from time to time. and deffo not because i want to. but i'm having this exact same feeling since mid 2022, since i was really struggling with my elective period, i kind of disconnected with art there and never truly found my way back. on top of everything that came after - moving, starting a job and working to be good at it which leaves such little room for other things because i can't handle my life well - there is just so much horrible shit going on. and i'm having a hard time comprehending it.

a part of me also feels very stupid for drawing one thing for almost 4 years now constantly, but another part of me knows "hey, but this makes you happy". it's a constant battle in my head because online spaces are like school grounds, and i don't actually wanna stand in the corner as that one kid that just can't shut up about that one character. but then again all i ever did was drawing fanart so... what does it. who gives a shit. be cringe and be free alright. but it kinda feels so hollow, esp. when you're at it for so long. a lot of mutuals move on. some are not even active anymore anywhere. and i wonder what happened. plus a huge chunk of the tone of the fandom has changed. also with the source material getting butchered so hard (since the release of ow2) it just kills the fun. playing this game used to be fun. playing this game was one thing that helped me getting through the last meters of university. it's like watching the downfall of the simpsons again without making the comparison too set in stone, just... this thing that used to be decent and nice and watching it getting ruined in real time (broken promises about pve, the recent gameplay changes?? the lore was fucked up from the start but they kind of tried, now it's just skins for 20+ dollars) while still having feelings for the characters is shit. anyway...

i recently went through a big folder of stuff i'd drawn at the age of 12-15 and there were so many fucked up but cool monster and cyborgs designs and just silly stupid stuff and all i could think of was that i felt so distanced from it, like i don't even know i think this is normal? because a lot of time has passed and a lot has happened and i knew i've drawn all this but i wasn't able to locate the person who did in my present me now and... it's just so normal that things move constantly forward but i feel like i missed huge chunks and passed a few stops and now i'm kind of lost.

i don't even know what i'm trying to say here anymore. i just feel sad because it feels like sth is slipping out of my grasp or sth has changed tremendously and i don't know how to make damage control.

i keep trying tho, i try to draw once a week at least. it's just like as soon as i take a step back and look at it i don't feel it at all. gonna continue tho, until it makes sense again i hope.

[saint-vagrant]

god it feels so cheap (though i don't feel that way abt other people saying similar) and i really don't know what i feel about "this is when artists get to work!" (reminds me of 2016's "art/comedy/punk is gonna be so cool under trump") but with my anger burnt off into sadness for the moment... i gotta say i'd really like to keep making art. i am old, disabled, and have been trans for so long, i have no connection to family and for most of my life i've struggled to walk back from the ledge. whatever political criticisms i've had, and will have, come from a deep, complex place, just as it must for you. i really don't think i'm stupid or thoughtless or evil for maybe differing from your own feelings or actions by what i'm certain is a very narrow margin. most of us— at least most of the people i know and respect— are in some way vulnerable and suffering, and it's unbearable how many people i Don't know are suffering in conditions i can and profoundly cannot fathom. there is work beyond art to do, certainly. obviously. personally, i want to want to live, and atm (and most of the time) i don't know how to do that other than through art. i want to honour the life/lives that've always been intimately viscerally real to me, freakish, sick, perverted, difficult, complicated, and often unseen and unaccounted for. and, honour and imagine lives as of yet unattained. it's my tether, my language, and i hope it always brings me closer rather than pushes me further away. to you, even. that was true before and it's true now.

anyway, please take care of yourself and each other. no it's not okay, grief and disappointment are well-warranted. but please don't ignore the massive amounts of people— and the very small ones— who are fighting as hard as they can. more will follow and join in because they already were, many have been learning and are ready and willing to try. idt i'm the person you need to hear this from, but i really do believe these things.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Just Wanna Bewitch You In The Moonlight

Written for @steddieangstyaugust - Day 7: Moonlight. Another cursed statue Steve because I have been sitting on this idea for ages. Title from Ghost lyrics.

The garden of the Harrington manor was quiet when Eddie snuck in. He already knew all the patrols, cameras, everything important. It wasn't like he wanted to steal something anyway, the worst he could get charged with was trespassing. Or at least he hoped so - Harringtons weren't exactly the most forgiving bunch.

He soon found what he was looking for. A statue of a handsome young man, reaching for the sky. There was something sad about him, the curve of his lips, forever frozen in a wistful smile. Just as beautiful as he was a month ago. 

"Hi, sweetheart," muttered Eddie and squeezed his stone hand. He sat down at its feet, leaned against the statue's legs and waited. The sky was clear today, he could even see stars through the light pollution, so it would not take long. If only the moon hurried up.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Eddie leaned back and smiled at the upside vision of the handsome boy, now with color in his cheeks. "Hi, sweetheart," he repeated, pulling him down for a kiss.

The statue obliged. "Hi yourself. I don't mean to rush you, but can I have my legs back? I'd like to stretch for a bit."

"Sure thing, Stevie." Eddie quickly moved away and offered the statue - Steve - a hand so he could leave his pedestal. He seemed uncertain on his feet for a moment, but soon he was on the ground and doing stretches that Eddie would never even consider. "I'm always amazed that this is what you want to do with your precious time," he laughed and watched Steve stretch his calves.

"And I always tell you that if you have to stay still for a month, your body will scream for a good stretch," Steve smiled at him and changed legs. "I'm more amazed that you still haven't given up. It has to be annoying, always having to come here. How long has it been?"

Eddie pretended to count on his fingers. "Hmmm, let me see…two decades, give or take. I was nine when I met you, I'll soon be thirty. Why, are you counting?"

"I lose track. Still, I feel guilty about it. You should be living your own life too, you know." Steve finally stood up and nudged Eddie's side. "I'd understand if you wanted to quit. I can't ask you to keep doing this for the rest of your life."

Eddie caught Steve's hand, swinging it back and forth. "You don't have to."

..

They always did this, ever since Eddie was a child roaming the Harrington grounds where his uncle worked. He couldn't sleep one day and got lost in the fancy maze that was the estate's garden. The moonlight made everything so pale, it was difficult to find his way back to Wayne's shed. Eddie was getting tired and cold, but he wasn't about to panic. He just needed to catch his breath. He half collapsed against another piece of art that Harringtons had collected over the years.

And then, just as the full moon showed up in all her glory, the statue that Eddie was leaning against moved.

Eddie was so terrified he couldn't even scream, he just fell backwards into a thorny bush. Before he knew it, the statue rushed to him, pulled him back up and started fussing over him. "Are you okay?" it asked. "I overheard you talking to yourself, you're going the wrong way. The shed is further to the right, come with me."

It took Eddie's hand and swung it back and forth, establishing a brisk pace with Eddie skipping next to it. They didn't really talk, but when Eddie was back safe with Wayne, he saw a moonlit figure give a small wave.

After that, Eddie would go to visit the statue every night, but it never moved. It just stared towards the stars, as if it was reaching out to grab the moon itself.

It finally happened a month later, at another full moon. Eddie thought that maybe he'd hallucinated the whole thing at that point, maybe he just hit his head when he fell into the bushes, but as the moonlight hit the statue, it yawned and stretched its arms. "Oh," it said when it noticed Eddie, "you're back? I hope you don't end up like a pin cushion this time."

After that, they talked. A lot. The statue was called Steve, and he didn't always use to be a statue. He never really knew the scorned witch who cursed him, or what he did to her. "I used to be a real jerk back in the day," he smiled at young Eddie. "Maybe I trampled over her herbs when I was rushing back home after another party. Maybe I knocked into her. Or maybe it wasn't even me, maybe my dad did something nasty to her. He isn't really the nicest person."

"The old Mr. Harrington?" Eddie asked. "But he's like, ninety? How long have you been here?"

Steve shrugged, stretching his arms. "Hard to say. I only get to fully wake up every full moon. The rest of the time, things are hazy. But I think I got cursed in nineteen thirty two. I was twenty then."

Eddie's jaw dropped. "Wow. That has to suck. Does your dad ever come and visit you? Maybe try and break the curse?"

"Not really." Maybe it was just the moonlight playing tricks on him, but Steve's smile seemed sad. "He doesn't believe in the whole magical mumbo jumbo, you see. Or that's what he used to call it. He's ashamed that I made a spectacle out of our family."

"But it might not have even been you!" blurted out Eddie. That's not fair!"

Steve reached out and ruffled his hair. "I know. He tried bribing the witch, but that didn't work. Then he tried to destroy me or move me, but that's impossible. So he just ignores that I'm around. He used to send someone to leave a snack for me, before I woke up, maybe to ease his conscience, but now that he's old, I don't think he remembers me anymore. Maybe it's better for him this way. And since another part of the curse is that I can't leave the garden...he doesn't really have to worry about anyone finding out about me."

He fell silent, but Eddie's mind did anything but that. He stood up and grasped Steve's shoulders. "Well, fuck your dad."

Steve blinked at him. "Hey, aren't you too young to swear like that?"

"Fuck that too. And shush, I have something important to say. I, Edward Munson, herefore...ther....I mean, I promise on my soul that I'll find a way to free you." Eddie was grinning at him, but there was something in his eyes that made Steve take that promise seriously.

"Eddie. I appreciate it, really do. But you don't have to do that. I'm fine."

Steve smiled at him as he said it, he tried to sound persuasive, self-assured. But that scrawny kid in front of him just rolled his eyes and, much to Steve's surprise, patted his head. "Now now. Wayne says that pretending to be okay isn't cool, so we're not doing that. I'm keeping my promise, Steve. You'll see."

..

The evening was colder than usual. Eddie threw a blanket over himself and Steve, cuddling close. "The research is going well, you know. Dustin believes he found the origin of the curse, or at least some of the components. He believes we have a real shot at freeing you."

"I still can't believe you roped other people into this," laughed Steve. "How did you even get them to humor you and come here? Did you just tell them that you met a cursed statue when you were a kid, and they just went with you?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how curious these little assholes are. Not so little now, they're starting college, but they're all committed. Especially Max, she considers it an insult we haven't solved it yet."

Steve sighed, staring into distance. "College already? I met them when they were barely teenagers. Time flies so fast."

"Not for you, baby," whispered Eddie and kissed Steve's cheek. "Not for you."

It was soon time to part. Steve's hands grew colder and more stiff by the minute, pulled back into their original position. As life gradually left Steve's body, Eddie repeated his promise again, just like he had for twenty years. He didn't know if Steve could hear him at this point, but it didn't matter. It was equally for both of them.

Maybe they would finally set him free in a year, five, or twenty. Maybe Eddie would be older, full of wrinkles and with grey streaks in his hair, while Steve would still be young and handsome. It wouldn't matter, as long as Eddie could see him walk past that garden's gate, feel the sun on his skin again.

Steve might have been worried about the day that Eddie would inevitably stop coming. Maybe he'd give up, or something would happen to him. Maybe, as he told Eddie many times, he'd finally find a life purpose that would bring him happiness.

But Eddie made a promise, and as long as he was alive and breathing, as long as he had anything to say about the matter, one thing was certain: Steve Harrington would never be alone on full moon again.

[codysmonsterstuff]

Привет, Человек-мотылек!

My aunt introduced me to Astonishing Legends a couple nights ago, and so far I really like the podcast it's great, I watched all of the Mothman ones so far (that I knew of, I found out this morning there's a part 5) and while listening started drawing this lil fella.

I thought the whole thing was super interesting, I loved all the tangents, and most interestingly I tried to look into the 2013 show they mentioned, following the similar stories in Dalnegorsk. They mentioned it being entirely in Russian and hey, whaddya know, I'm trying to learn Russian anyways and figured it would help since I'm already interested in this topic and it would keep me engaged. Couldn't find it (I searched as well as I could, maybe I was using the wrong keywords, I couldn't find it in their show notes sadly, if you happen to know about it/have a link or something I would be thrilled to know) but I did make this art so! That's cool! I wanted to make him a little more detailed but also wanted it to kind of speak for itself? So I stuck with this.

Because I drew this up while listening, I very much took after the descriptions I was hearing with this design. He's kind of like a bird-man?? In a lot of the descriptions??? So I tried to combine bird and moth traits here. I love the neck fluff, any day I don't have to draw a jawline is a good day in my book, and I believe as they were going through the Dalnegorsk story one account mentioned bird-like feet with one toe on the back. Originally I actually skipped that, but it came up as I was doing the lineart so I went "oh that's a neat detail," and yeah, it looks better. At like the very end I gave him a second pair of little mothy arms on his back because they're cute and I figured moths have six legs Mothman can have four arms. Every description I saw specified big muscular legs, not skinny bird legs, So of course, I did my best.

Definitely in the Dalnegorsk part, they mention he just, gave them a sad look and it compelled them to back off, which didn't do much for the art in truth, but I found that very very interesting and sort of entertaining to think about. You got this big scary bird fella and instead of attacking them or scaring them he just pulled at their heartstrings, because he could.

Also complaining about folks exploring the mountain was kinda funny

Admittedly, I have a very love-hate relationship with drawing bird feet, because on one hand they don't come very easily to me, but on the other, they look really cool and I enjoy when they turn out good. This is one of those cases, at least in my opinion, where I do think they look nice.

All in all I love how this turned out, very big fan. Regarding the Russian up top, I also saw Молерот used for Mothman as it's shorter, but looking for more context almost everything I did see using it was Fallout-related, so I figured I'd just use Человек-мотылек as it at least seems to mostly bring up stuff about The Mothman Prophecies and some other stuff at least somewhat related to him. Not that the Fallout stuff isn't, I suppose, but that feels more like an offshoot in my mind.

If you have any tips (or learning resources that don't involve me paying for a subscription I'll hardly use- books, free stuff, etc) I'd be thrilled to hear it. So far I'm not having too hard of a time, though, the hardest part is the special characters so far but otherwise I'd say I'm doing well by my own standards.

[kohabielnin]

Truth & Inference headcanons working together

It's been a while since I wanted to put down on paper all the knowledge I have about the Truth & Inference universe, so… here it is

D.M/Désire Mélodis

• As a famous nobleman and art teacher, in front of others he treats you well and pleasantly, not so much when behind closed doors,

• He often sends you on missions with Noir or simply to come if Gatto is okay,

• Even though it doesn't seem like much, he actually cares about you, always teasing you and things like that,

• If you stay in the same environment as him, Noir and Tuberose, the only one who will defend you will be Noir because both Tuberose and D.M will provoke you,

• D.M is like a devil in human skin, but anyway he thinks you are a very important person in his life and will take care of you,

• He often likes to show you off as his, even though you are just an employee at his service, he is very proud of the little mouse he has in his hands

Gatto/Aesop Carl

• Gatto is by no means a person who enjoys company other than four-legged furry ones, but after so long he has learned not to care so much about you,

• Cat and the other kitties seem to just love you, so it makes Gatto feel a little better around you,

• Both you and him share the fear of being left alone with Tuberose,

• As you have a degree in chemistry, he usually asks for your help when he has some difficulty in an experiment,

• Usually trusts you to make his coffee and look after Cat while he's away,

• You are the only person he trusts to tell you that he has been leaking information about D.M to Sir Inference and you don't really care about it, but you still promised to keep it secret from the others for the safety of the Silent Rebel

Tuberose/Jack

• As soon as D.M told him that you would be his partner, be sure he held back a lot until the day he could have your confidence to tease you,

• Generally he likes to talk about Lady Rosemary and you can be sure that this conversation only ends when you end up sleeping,

• Even though he is an idiotic provocateur, he is very kind when he wants to be,

• As I said, he has his moments of kindness, presenting you with flowers, but then he goes back to teasing you again if he sees your face flushed,

• Pray you never have him and D.M in the same room, they both love to tease you,

• We all know that Tuberose is a hot man, and he clearly knows that so the normal tease he uses on you is just how you look at his six-pack on display.

Noir/Saphir Mélodis

• You and him always worked together because you both wanted to, not at D.M's request,

• Since you've known each other since you were children, it's as if you two can read each other's minds and that helps a lot when it comes to getting your hands dirty,

• It's not just him who has a certain affection for you, Leon your falcon also likes you a lot and likes to receive affection from you,

• D.M lets the two of you stay together because he says Noir is happy in his company and performs great on missions when he's by his side,

• Of course, not everything is a bed of roses, after all, there isn't a day that goes by that Tuberose doesn't tease you because of his childhood relationship with Noir,

• In the same way that Tuberose provokes you, Noir always appears at the right times to save you, of course, not before giving beautiful answers to Tuberose

Lady Truth/Emma Woods

• You, her and Mr. Inferece met at the orphanage and have been together ever since.

• She is very affectionate and dedicated to her two childhood friends, so there won't be a day that goes by that you are sad that she doesn't try to make a smile appear on your face,

• Unlike Mr. Inference, she is not as serious and is more relaxed, trying her best to make the agency's atmosphere light,

• She loves to surprise you with her favorite snack at least one day a week, it only changes when it's your birthday week which is every day and on your birthday she throws a surprise party for you,

• When it comes to investigations, she relies heavily on her deductive potential, so while she looks for clues, she usually lets you come up with the line of reasoning to solve the case,

• Once a month she changes the flowers in the vase on her table, always to her favorite flowers.

Mr. Inference/Naib Subedar

• He always saw you as a little brother/sister,

• Even with his serious demeanor, he cares a lot about you and often asks if you're okay,

• When the two of you are alone, he often shares his concerns about D.M.

• Usually you, him and Lady Truth go to events as guests and you can be sure that you are the only person who can calm him down when they meet D.M,

• D.M, in turn, really likes to provoke the detective and you, which clearly doesn't come very cheaply to the count,

• As your relationship with him is long-standing, you understand each other without needing words and he also trusts your deduction a lot.

White/Saphir Mélodis

• He is always extremely affectionate with you,

• You two haven't known each other long, but you feel like you've known each other for a long time,

• His owl also loves to sit on his shoulder and receive affection,

• He usually sleeps at work, according to him it's a nap to work better, but he usually keeps muttering things like "I really like your company" and things like that while he calls your name in his sleep,

• On his days off he loves going out with you to a park and being able to sleep under a tree on your lap, according to him it's a moment of peace for him,

• There's no denying that he's extremely cute, and sometimes he uses that to his advantage to get your attention.

[9w1ft]

I'm a gaylor myself so this isn't coming from a place of hate but I really don't think karlie and taylor are still together, I think taylor still references her in her art and probably will for quite some time because that relationship -- whatever the nature of it was -- left such a deep impact on her. but I really can't see them still being together, I think she's forced herself to move on from karlie and has since dated a lot of other women. that doesn't mean her feelings for karlie have faded, just that they will probably always be there but they broke up for sure before 2019, I think. folklore and evermore, midnights even, are all breakup albums, I just can't see how they could still be together. especially all her anger and sadness in those songs that are thought of to be for karlie (like my tears ricochet or exile or mad woman) also the cover art being shoot in bedfords, new york, the exact same place where karlie got married feels more like taylor revisiting this place to really say goodbye and mourn her for one last final time so she can move on

sorry, this got a bit long, I just don't understand the appeal or the reasoning for lsk's because taylor has indicated so many times that they are over, she's been mourning her relationship with karlie quite publicly since 2019 (wearing all black during the lover era) so yeah

hi! i don’t usually respond to these but i’m not sensing any ill will so i’ve decided to give a reply a go.

first off, for me, i kinda just interpret her wearing black in the back end of lover era because her masters had gotten bought by scooter. and maybe the fact that she decided to not come out. there can be other reasons, but i really do not think that her breaking up with karlie has to be one of them.

another thing i can’t shake is the fact that it was a very notorious troll/manipulative person on tumblr who spread the first rumor that they broke up in 2019, a fact that is well understood by a lot of OG’s, and this troll got in the head of a few popular kaylor and gaylor swift accounts at the time and in doing so she got a lot of people to fold. she then went on to write all this progressively unhinged fanfiction about taylor and karlie trying to make one another jealous and sleeping with all these women, presented with the same level of seriousness with which she pushed the breakup agenda. even to this day, i see present day gaylors talk about stuff that stems from narratives this account and a few other power hungry accounts spread around many years ago and it honestly just goes to show how a lot of well known gaylors may be platformmed up but that don’t really know what they’re talking about.. i only write this because the troll deactivated about a year ago (maybe they’re lurking on platforms with more malleable minds—once a troll always a troll—but at least they’ve left here), they were a really dangerous person.. and several have wild receipts to prove it.

anyways sorry i recognize that’s a tangent, i guess what i mean to say by it is, a lot of the sentiment surrounding the idea of a 2019 breakup and the reinforcement of the narrative by a gaylor community none the wiser stems from the work of someone with disingenuous intentions. a lot of “masterposts” or “realistic timelines” draw from what this person made up and it’s gone through enough filters for it to seem like credible sentiment but like, if you were there and you read all of what she wrote you know how silly it all sounded and how incoherently it was all written.

okay so to circle back to more of a content-centric angle, in my interpretation of the events that gave us folklore, evermore, and midnights, taylor had so much to be sad about. her mom had been very sick, the pandemic arrived and she had to cancel lover fest, she had to come to terms with scott b having sold her work to her sworn enemy… songs on midnights and folklore, and on her lover era apple music playlist allude to certain other things that may have had her in a mournful mood. things were bad! and i don’t doubt that her and karlie have been through a lot. but for me, when you’ve got a ride or die love, you don’t just break up. this has been something frustrating for me and others, i think, to see so many people treat a relationship as either being all systems go or broken up, as if long term partners can’t experience sadness together, difficulty together, even heartbreak together.

i don’t like getting in to touchy subjects so much but there’s just been too much pointing towards what i consider to be a rather simple narrative that is a natural progression for people committed and in love. how did the lover music video begin and end? whats a randomly specific word in a song she performed at the grammys minutes after someone was announced to the world? what about taylor’s envisioned future stands out about the anti hero music video? i think i’ll stop here but idk man 😆 poke around my archive if you feel like wasting a few days of your life… there’s just been a consistent flow of the same kind of hijinks that we’ve seen from them for years, and i’d say that there are many songs that back up everything i’d want in order to stay invested in seeing if what i believe is true.

now, i know i just wrote what reads like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to people not following kaylor. but im okay with that. i’ve accepted that. and i know that the whole patterns and koincidences and twinning and symbolism beat isn’t for everyone and so i respect people’s decisions to believe they aren’t together, but in closing i’ll just say im sometimes at a loss to see time and time again people suggest that kaylors believe in kaylor because they find it appealing or because they want to ship it. when it’s literally not that— it just makes the most sense to a lot of us!

also, does this look like the face of someone mourning?

[sillydog33]

now that you’ve finished Worm what are your overall thoughts!!!! favorite characters? favorite arcs? favorite powers? must know everything

Oh boy I don't even know where to start.. the ending was so good holy cow. I mean, I was sad how none of my favorite characters really got happy endings, but at the same time its worm so what can you expect. I thought Taylor's ending was perfect. The whole concept + world building was insanely cool even if I didn't completely understand it lol. Taylor's descent into madness + degeneration was very disorienting and hard to follow but honestly a satisfying payoff watching all the insane things she did finally catch up to her..

My favorite characters are pretty much all the main characters honestly... I cant decide T_T Taylor, Lisa, and Alec are my all time favs but also Amy, Rachel, Aisha, Bonesaw, Noelle.. the more of a trainwreck they are the more i love them i guess. I also really like Dragon, Parian, Genesis, and Sophia (surprisingly). I joke about wanting Trickster to die horribly but its actually endearing how pathetic and annoying he is.

I don't really care for Brian though (not that he doesn't have potential, but he's kinda underused and underdeveloped, and his relationship with Taylor wasn't very believable. honestly wish wildbow did more with his character)

my least favorite characters were probably Armsmaster, Jack (like honestly he's the worst and most corny villain of all time) and Amy and Victoria's parents. I also hated Accord.

My favorite powers are also hard to decide.. powers i'd actually want are probably Genesis's, Lisa's, or Contessa's, except if I had Contessa's power I'd probably go crazy. Taylor's power is pretty cool in concept. Aisha's sounds cool but would also kinda suck. Most of the coolest powers belong to tinkers. If i lived in their universe I'd wish so hard to end up with a tinker power but i'd realistically end up with some lame low-level mental ability.

Favorite arcs? ummmmmm i don't know specific ones but i really liked the travelers' arc, the whole ending is great, and the first few arcs hold a special place in my heart. I really had no idea how crazy the story was gonna get when I started reading it lol. I honestly wish that as it continued it didn't lose so much of those interactions between the undersiders. Taylor's friendships with them and especially watching her interact with Rachel are the best part of the story but i feel like in the last half its just chapter of chapter of Taylor monologuing to herself. I get that it's kinda trying to show how she isolates herself from them but the others hardly get any development after the middle of the story. I mean there's a lot of issues with worm's pacing + structure but that's my main complaint lol.

Sorry I can't give better answers to that cause I honestly forgot a lot of specifics since I finished it T_T but it was definitely one of the best things I've ever read, and I'll probably reread it again. hopefully it wont take me an entire year the second time around.

Anyway, I haven't had much time to draw lately but I'll draw something finale-related soon.. also I'm gonna start ward eventually, so that'll probably give me some more art ideas. i hope Aisha shows up more in it cause i'm very interested to see how she deals with Alec's family lol.

[tinyfantasminha]

Hi op! Just wanted to say I love your art and your oc, and of course your brainrots over Jack  🫶 they made me like and appreciate Jack a lot more! If it's okay to ask, how did you ended up liking him? Was he already a fave from the start or did he worm your way into your heart gradually? And (if you're comfortable ofc) what made you decide to yume with him?

Hope you have a good new years!! 💕

AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH CRYING ON MY KNEES.....!!!!! This makes me so jkgjgjfkdjkfkh,,gfhfgjddjfh ...... thank you so much 😭💕

No matter how many people still say to me they've come to appreciate Jack more because of me I can never get used to it but it's still a wonderful feeling!! Like YES that's what I want !! Love Jack Howl!!

Anon, you just opened pandora's box...... I wished I could answer that in a few words, but I can't. Too much thoughts, too much words I need to get out of my chest. FINALLY THIS OPPORTUNITY HAS COME... *rubs hands*

I might as well put up the whole Jack-loving saga from start to present in chronological order. This is gonna be a VERY long post. (a lot of spoilers and thoughts on book 2 and 3)

To tell the truth, no, Jack was not an immediate fave! I remember seeing the official promotional art for the dorms back in 2019 before the game even released. The ones that immediately got my attention first were Leona, Ruggie, Malleus and Silver. HJDDHHGNJDSD I remember being immediately excited seeing savanaclaw cause they tick a lot of boxes I like… ''ohh??! furry kemonomimi dorm with edgy biker aesthetics?!'' <- is obsessed with leather jackets. But I regret to say that Jack didn't catch my attention, aside from the wolf ears. I-It makes me sad to remember that I judged him at first… 😭 Since Leona and Ruggie are smirking in their official sprite, and Jack looks so overly serious and closed off. BUT BOY, IF ONLY YOU HAD TOLD ME BACK THEN THAT I WOULD HAVE A 4+ YEAR OBSESSION WITH THIS WOLF GUY…………

I had missed the game's launch (march 2020) and only got to know they had already released it when I saw an user on facebook sharing screenshots of their game. Before downloading the game, I decided to watch all of the released main story segments on youtube (god bless Shel_BB's channel). I got invested right off the bat, and as I watched my faves basically fluctuated every week or every a few days... I remember my first (?? was it actually first? I don't remember anymore) fave being Ace because of course hE'S THE FIRST CHARA OF THE MAIN CAST TO APPEAR... that is, until Leona's first appearance in book 1 it ruined my life. I was like ''ah, there he is. Hot lion guy. He's my fave. Can't wait for his chapter'' I SEE A HOT KEMONOMIMI I PRESS LIKE but after book 1 ending, I was so moved by Riddle's backstory that he also became one of my faves?! DAMN GIRL DECIDE

OKAY SO HERE COMES THE GOOD PART, which is book 2. Nowadays I think that book 2 is in fact not good from a writing perspective, Leona's plan is dumb, Ruggie and Jack never got the closure they deserved, it felt too rushed etc. But I wasn't really thinking about it in a critical way, I was just excited to see new characters and how the story would go (good for me ig?? at least I had a good experience). Anyway, I remember taking an immediate liking to Leona and Ruggie but I was still super neutral about Jack throughout most of the chapter. I remember admiring his sense of justice and willingness to betray his dorm, so he was already getting on my good side. sfgsdkjgs I think the first... spark... was the moment when Jack came into ramshackle to personally wake up Yuu. ''I wanted to make sure you didn't mess everything up by oversleeping'' OKAY LIKE BUT WE JUST MET...? I wondered why he'd go that far for a nobody he just met? Then it occurred to me, could it be that he... CARES.... 😱

I thought him being a tsundere was cute. I always had... a thing for characters that look stoic and edgy but are actually big softies. I blame Lucario from the movie Lucario and the mystery of mew for starting my obsession with canine stoic ''I need no friends'' energy characters when in fact they DO need friends And I was also both amused and surprised that he could transform into a literal wolf?! JKDSJKFGSJK I STARTED TO THINK AAWW THATS CUTE FOR HIM... I love fuzzy animals so this was a bonus for me. And then after Leona's overblot there WAS... THIS SCENE--

Something about Yuu pointing out that Jack genuinely smiled and him going all tsun about it stirred a warm feeling in me... I just thought it was the cutest moment in the game so far. This was the point where I realized Jack is a genuinely sweet and caring character. After book 2 ending he had already ranked a lot higher in my tier list.

But it was only during book 3 that ACTUALLY started my spiral to madness made me realize he was gonna be more than just a character I liked.

I want to clarify that when I was watching the main story, I was self inserting as Yuu the entire time, meaning I was trying to imagine myself in their situation and how I would react if I were in said situation. There wasn't anything of substance directly affecting Yuu in book 1 and 2, but book 3 was when it got a lot personal for me. Right off the bat in book 3, adeuce and Grim got separated from Yuu and were forced to be Azul's slaves alongside a bunch of other... idk 100+ students? (or was it 200?) this was the first time since the prologue that Yuu was completely alone, and it made me feel a pang of dread. I'm not proud to say I was never the most independent person, (must be from neurodivergency + always being the pampered youngest sibling of other 4 older siblings 💀) and being socially awkward, I'd completely freeze in this situation. It's just a very stressful and scary situation to be in. That's why I was immediately relieved when Jack appeared. He refused to help at first but all it took was ONE phrase (either tease him or make him feel pity for you) to convince him.

''You've gotten pretty used to how things work in this school. Can't be helped. I'll tag along with you for a bit.''

He said he would tag along FOR A BIT... AND HE LOYALLY STAYED BY YUU'S SIDE THE ENTIRE TIME, UNTIL THE END OF THE EPISODE. I was SO deeply moved by that, you have no idea. When I was in middle school I had really bad social anxiety, like Idia-level. I was the type of person who had to cling on every possible chance of being helped and escorted around in social situations, and I couldn't vocally ask for help, so I had to wait until an extrovert took pity on me and helped me. Once in a school trip, we had to take a train at the metro station and everyone else seemed to have a magnetic card but not me... I thought I was gonna be left behind so I started to panic real bad and have an anxiety attack, and when I pleaded to my extroverted 'friend' for help, they turned their back on me. It was an awful feeling that still makes me feel helpless every time I remember it. So that's why at first I thought Jack wasn't actually gonna help Yuu, and when he... changed his mind so quickly and decided to tag along, it was a very special moment to me. I thought, ''you have no reason to be helping me but you're doing it anyway.'' Feels like in twst most of the characters have an ulterior motive when helping others, but not Jack. He claims he's not worried about adeuce and grim, but he's too easy to read. He cares, even though he gets no compensation, or any kind of reward for this. It made me feel safe around him, like I could rely on him for everything. This was the first heart arrow.

Every time spent with Jack in book 3 I fell more and more in love with him (even though I wasn't aware of it yet). He's a lot more nuanced here than he was in book 2; he shows more sides of him like his silly puppy side (when he was excited to see that octavinelle was underwater and gushed about it like an excited puppy and then got self conscious and awkward about it STOP HEWASJSGJKGSOOSOCVNSMDOSO CUTE) his caring, worried, nervous sides… He also totally did NOT NEED to accompany Yuu in Mostro Lounge's VIP room since Azul had business with Yuu only, and yet Jack was ALWAYS on their side, like a loyal guard dog. Feeling safe and reassured around a person is EXTREMELY important to me. No matter what happens, Jack is not the type to turn his back on you. If you're nice and genuine with him, he will help you with anything and never let you down, it's what I thought.

AND THEN UH.... THERE WAS THAT ONE SCENE WHEN ADEUCE + GRIM + YUU + JACK HIDE UNDER AZULS TABLE IN THE VIP ROOM... THIS IS A SCENE I THIN K A LOT BECAUSE UH... SQUISHED-UNDER-A-TIGHT-SPACE-TOGETHER-TO-HIDE MAY BE ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES..... AND I CAUGHT MUYSEFL THINKING NOT SO FAMILY-FRIENDLY THOUGHTS LIKE....DOESS THAT MEAN I'M PRESSED AGAINST JACK HERE,,?!??'/? AGAINST HIS BIG, WARM... tibbies... WHERE I CAN FEEL SAFE AND PROTECTED.... ADNW WE HAVE TO STAY QUIET AND VERY STILL SO AZUL DOESN'T CATCH US OOOooooHHHH....... LET ME REMINGD YOU I STILL DIDNT CONSIDER MYSESLF A SIMP FOR JACK BUT MY CHEEKS WERE AFLAME I WAS RED IN THE FACE AND IT GOT ME THINKING '''''''N-NO WAY I DONT LIKE HIM LIKE THAT RIGHT??? (This was the second heart arrow.)

AND THEN AND THEN AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaAA…… WHENB YUU AND GRIM ARE KICKED OUT OF RAMSHACKLE AND HAVE NOWHERE TO SLEEP AND SINCE ITS LIKE NOVEMBER IT MUST BE COLD AS FUCK OUTSIDE….. THIS IS BY FAR THE SCARIEST SITUATION FOR ME, I LIVE IN A WARM PLACE IF I HAD TO SLEEP OUTSIDE AT A TEMP UNDER 10 DEGREES CELCIUS WITH ONLY A SCHOOL UNIFORM I WOULDNT JUJST ''CATCH A COLD'' ACE TRAPPOLA I WOULD GET HYPOTHERMIA AND FUCKING DIE PROBABLY, GETTING KICKED OUT OF YOUR OWN HOME WITH NO PLACE TO SLEEP? I'D JUST GIVE UP CURL MYSELF INTO A BALL AND CRY……. BUT TJEN BUT THEN JACK LIKE AN ANGEL DESCENDED FROM HEAVEN OFFERED YUU AND GRIM TO TAKE THEM TO SAVANACALW?????????????? AND HE CLAIMS ITS CAUSE EVEN THOUGH HE SAID HE'D HAVE THEIR BACK, HE DIDN'T FEEL LIKE HE ACTUALLY HELPED THEM UNTIL NOW…. AND ACE AND DEUCE AND GRIM ALL SMIRKED AND TEASED HIM ABOUT LIKE ACE'S VOICE TONE IS VERY REMINISCING OF THE TONE SOMEBODY USES WHEN THEY TEASE SOMEONE ELSE ABOUT THEIR CRUSH I FELT IT IN MY BONESSS… LIKE HEY JACK WHY ARE YOU BEING SO NICE TO THEM IF IT DOESN'T BENEFIT YOU… COULD IT BE THAT YOU'RE (GASP) CRUSHING ON THEM…?!?!? YOU KNOW THIS IS THE ENERGY I GOT FROM THIS SCENE AND IF ONLY THIS GAME WAS ROMANCE-INCLINED THATS EXACTLY HOW THIS SCENE WOULD GO I FEEL IITTTTTTTTTTTT DSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAJGNNJNJCFNJBCVÇ;CV;/VC;ÑCV~]DF.ÇHFDMHFDNJDHFJHBNDFJ

……..That was the third heart arrow.

My mind is hazy after this. I don't know what else to say for the climax + ending of book 3, I really enjoyed Azul and the tweel's characters, but my mind was still on Jack and how I came to love him after this. I remember hoping that… we would get to sleep in Jack's room (this was before I realized that all of first years room were a shared 4-person room, I thought only heartslabyul was like this 💀) but I was not disappointed to find out we'd sleep in Leona's room instead 😋 is bonked

While Jack was super high in my tier list at that point, he had to share first place with some others for a while… I downloaded the game in july 2020, but it was only during august that I started to actively post art here on my blog and engage more with the fandom. And during that time I was passing through a octavinelle + scarabia phase which was especially strong during august and september if you follow me ALL THE WAY back then…… congrats soldier my faves fluctuated between Jack, Jade, Floyd, Jamil and Kalim constantly and there was even a time where I considered the Ja-trio (Jade, Jack, Jamil) my favorite characters and couldn't choose between them. So what made me ultimately lean towards Jack? Uh, to sum it up it's because he was the least popular. I was in a somewhat big twst discord server back then and although I'm super grateful to have been part of the server and met wonderful people there who are friends till this day, I also had a few unpleasant experiences. Jade, Floyd and Jamil were super popular in the server I was in, so whenever I tried to talk or gush about them, I was talked over. The server was also yume-friendly but I was still figuring out this whole yume thing and who I'd yume. The more I was talked over and ignored in favor of the louder and more popular tweels/jamil stans in the server (I think there was AT LEAST 5 yumes for each of them...) the more I felt unmotivated to keep gushing for them. Whenever I made art of them, people would immediately tag the popular loud stans to gush other THEIR reaction, and suddenly the conversation was immediately shifted towards them. I know this sort of thing is expected in a big server since people already have their circles but man… It made me a lot insecure to yume them.

But whenever I talked about JACK I was actually listened to, and my opinions were validated. Simply because back then there were little to none Jack stans, so most of them looked up to me as reference for a ''Jack enjoyer/simp''. I started to think how unfair it was that the other characters had plenty of love, plenty of attention already while Jack had almost none. No one hated him but no one quite loved him either to consider him their #1. I was baffled because he's genuinely one of the sweetest characters. I know it sounds silly, but I felt compelled to be his advocate. I WANTED people to see just how sweet he is, how he's more than just a big, uninteresting jock that only talks about working out.

I always sympathized with the odd, with the outcasts, with the ones that weren't chosen because they were not like the majority because they remind me of what I went through as a socially anxious aspie kid (I was never really comfortable revealing my diagnosis online but there you have it, autistic vic reveal lol as if that wasn't obvious before ig) do you know the feeling of being in PE class and the two kids forming groups are choosing who they want for their team and you know you'll be dead last because no one wants you in their team? So you end up in a random team not because someone chose you, but because you were the only one left and they needed to fill the space. They don't necessarily want to kick you out of the team, but they don't want you either. You're indifferent to them. This is how I imagined how Jack must have felt like in the fandom. Always ''he's such a good boy'' ''he's so sweet'' but never someone's favorite. I've lost count of how many self proclaimed ''savanaclaw stans'' I met that are just solely Leona stans who talk 90% of the time about Leona, the other 10% about Ruggie and outright IGNORE Jack.

After getting Jack's first birthday card in the first 10 rolls, I decided, well he's gonna be MY favorite. The other popular characters have enough fans, enough people to make art and writing for them. It wouldn't make a difference if one more fan is added or removed. But for Jack, at least back then, it DID make a difference. Finding people in the eng fandom who would do fanart of him (like just HIM, not him being part of a group like savanaclaw or first years) was so rare. And especially finding accounts or blogs dedicated entirely about him…?? I don't remember seeing any of it. This…erasure, this indifference towards him made me feel even more connected to him. I want to keep supporting him, to keep giving him the love that he deserves.

In these 4 years he's been a massive source of comfort to me, if I feel anxious or stressed I imagine his big, warm hand on my shoulder, on the small of my back, patting my head etc… I imagine him motivating me to work harder, to push myself out of my comfort zone, telling me to stop moping and to get up and try again. I imagine him giving me his tail to hold and pet when I need to keep myself grounded. I imagine his disapproving look when I have dishonest thoughts or think about taking shortcuts.

I don't know how to finish this, but if you read ALL of this congrats and thank you for bearing with me lol it took me almost 4 hours to write this entire bible...... if you DID read all of this, I hope I could, if only a little bit, change your perspective on Jack Howl for the better.

I love Jack Howl.

[lizardkingeliot]

rewatching iwtv with one of my partners, and they also love these trainwrecks—but we just finished season 1, and rewatching that scene when Lestat grabs Claudia off the train... I think that may be the cruelest he ever is to her, which is saying a LOT. Do you think we're gonna get extra context about that scene in season 3, or would you bet it's just one of those "yeah Lestat can be Like That" moments? Because it seems pretty hard to square with his ~everything~ in the season 2 finale

Ohhhhh boy I'm so glad you brought this up because @tothevines and I are rewatching right now and when we got to that part my immediate reaction was holy shit Lestat HAS to die now. Like??? Yeah. That was it. The cruelty was truly unmatched. Not only forcing her to go back home but waving her trauma in her face like that... oof.

Lestat is complicated tho!! I do absolutely think we're supposed to take that moment at face value. The reason Lestat works so well for me as a character is because he IS capable of such cruelty. Especially cruelty driven by his deep need for love. Cruelty driven by his need to not be abandoned. The one thing Lestat needed more than anything in that moment was for Louis to not be sad anymore, for him to not fall into the state he was when Claudia left the first time. He knew it would be even worse this time around. He simply couldn't risk it...

I guess in order to square it you have to look at the whole picture of who Lestat is as a character. Which Rolin has said recently we've seen, like... 80% of on screen. He's a lot!!! I don't consider Lestat at his worst to be the full Lestat any more than I consider that sad man in the tattered robe eating rats in a cottage in the finale to be the full Lestat. He is cruel he is a monster he is a big crying baby who needs everyone to look at him and pay attention to him RIGHT NOW he is a lover he is a hopeless romantic he is on his knees begging Louis for just one kiss he's tender he's giving he's a monster who takes great lustful joy in the art of killing...

What's funny is if you asked me to compare Lestat to one real life person I know... I would say my father. At least a few very particular aspects of his personality. I absolutely hate my father. My father is a monster. I haven't talked to him in 20 years and will gladly dance on his grave when he's gone for the things he did to me. I relate to Claudia so much in this sense. But Lestat is also my favorite character on the show. Possibly my favorite character ever at this point??? I love him so much it's insane. And I guess it's because he's fake and my father is very much not that I'm able to feel that way. But that might also be a big reason why I find his cruelty and his most monstrous moments to be so cathartic to watch...

Anyway. Not the point of this ask. The point is HE REALLY IS A LOT!! He is everything. All the good and all the bad. The best and the worst any creature could ever be. He is fully driven by instinct and emotion and LOVE and the need to never be abandoned. And more specifically, to never be abandoned by Louis, the one he loves more than he's ever loved anyone.