#i just love everyone so so much and id like to do your art justice

[ddeck]

um. hi guys @ivvmell @phi-guy @forcesensitivebantha @ominouspuff @dragon-subway @keldabekush @/tobytost (cannot tag :/) @sithbian @calamity-aims

thank you so much for letting me use your art styles. this was as hard as it was fun. apparently none of us draw armor the same way and this is beautiful

each of them separately is under read more if you want to look closer

thank you again. peace and love

[your-subby-creature]

Yall ever cry (/pos) because of how much you care about the people you've met on kinky tumblr or is that just me?

[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.

[nightwonder7]

Hey! I discovered your Tumblr like, now haha, I loved your art and your Norton AU! I wonder, other than Norton, How did the other survivors and shape-shifting Hunters deal with it? Does Alice also change to Little Girl?

AAaaaahhh I'm so late to this ask! ;<; But thank you so much!! Q////////Q I'm really glad to hear you like it!! ;U;

---------

So I'll just get Orpheus out of the way first; as Novelist and Nightmare had release dates very close to each other, I like to think that he has always had both forms in the eternal manor, and thus didn't really have any learning curves where he had to adapt to another faction. He was the first identity switch character and kinda adjusted to both at the same time with his new living situation.

---------

Luchino and Joker I feel like had a similar experience becoming survivors after being hunters for so long, but handled it differently. So characters with identity switches are often described with the id/ego model, where one side acts on impulse and pleasure, and the other on morals and rationality. Hunters seem to represent the id, and survivors the ego for these guys.

So imagine someone who has been a hunter for a long time suddenly snapping out of this impulsive, freeing mindset when being reminded of their morals and values. I imagine it as a "waking up from a long nightmare" kinda ordeal. They weren't hunters before entering the eternal manor, but were twisted and forced into such roles upon entering for whatever reason. I can see turning into their survivor mindset after so long in chaos as sorta cathartic. But also an emotional roller-coaster. The denial of their new vulnerable position as survivors. Getting used to their old bodies again. The sinking realisation and regrets of everything they have done while being "free" that has gone against their morals and values. Navigating the jungle of gaining trust from the other survivors as well as learning or relearning how to work in teams.

I can see Luchino would approach it as a bit of an experiment. An opportunity to explore his new position with curiosity and fascination and learn from it. He'd probably handle it the best out of everyone tbh. Joker would need a lot more time to adjust to the changes. Perhaps he'd have a long period of being reticent and depressed. In denial while he comes to term with his predicament.

I have gotten a few asks about Luchino's and Joker's identity switches that have given me a few ideas that I intend to draw some day.

---------

This ask came before the announcement of Hullabaloo, but I'll say a few words about him regardless. It's probably similar to Norton as it is a situation of a long term survivor turning into a hunter. But I feel like Mike would have a harder time with it. In Fool's Gold's case, it was gaining the freedom to express all his pent up emotions. He is happy and relieved, albeit on a surface level. Hullabaloo seems like an empty husk, tormented by the pain from a life that imploded. All those negative emotions coming back to him in the eternal manor and twisting him into this wraith-like shape. Perhaps as a hunter he doesn't really realise what he is doing when in a game? In his hunter mindset, he is only focused on bringing justice to his tragedy and doesn't care who it affects. Snapping out of it after a game would be... interesting nonetheless.

Furthermore, Mike was probably more liked by the other survivors than Norton. And he was super popular and loved at the circus. So seeing everyone being suddenly on edge and distrusting of him (maybe even hated) would hit him hard. Whereas Norton was kinda used to people not liking or caring about him.

On a more comedic note, I can definitely see Mike forgetting his dual roles at the manor from time to time. At least the other survivors have learned to play along after all the shenanigans with Fool's Gold.

---------

Now to Alice... so technically in-game, Alice is Memory and vice versa. She is considered an identity switch character. However, I see them as two different entities. My reason for this is that the other identity switch characters have one thing in common; no matter what faction or form they take, they are the same person with the same names. Fool's Gold is Prospector, and he is Norton Campbell. Evil Reptilian is Professor, and he is Luchino Diruse and so on. One represents the ego, while the other represents the id. How others perceive them under the influence of the drugs happens to be the form the id takes. Memory is straight up a hallucination conjured up by Orpheus. She shows up when Orpheus as a detective is alone, so she is not there in place of Alice. Furthermore, Little Girl's name is Memory, not Alice; maybe because she is a memory from Orpheus' psyche. Then there is the whole can of worms of whether Memory is human or not cause she can teleport and sync with other survivors in-game, but I don't know if I can use that as an argument when there are flying lizard-men and humanoid rock piles gfshgfjskd

Though I'll say some of this could change with AoM3. Perhaps the little girl will be how Orpheus sees Alice during this event. But it would be a little odd if that is how he perceives Alice under the influence of the fear drugs, cause Memory is not some scary monster; she is the representation of the past Orpheus is longing for. And perhaps there is another reason for why she goes by a different name than Alice. Furthermore, I feel like we don't know enough about Alice or Memory to pinpoint if Memory really is a part of Alice in the id/ego model, or if she is just an ideal version of Alice in Orpheus' mind. But as things stand now, I'm seeing them as two different entities. In the Eternal Manor AU, Orpheus' imagination is apparently so strong that it has conjured up a whole person.

So yeah... that's the best I can explain my thoughts on this.

[obsessedwithceleste]

What was the saying? Anon off cause we die like men?

I’m giggling sm rn can’t wait for mine. Also whoever submitted the first one we’re basically the same person so here 💍💍💍

I’m quite tall, with mid back length hair. It’s like a chestnut brown, and slightly wavy. Got blessed with assets on the top and bottom, definitely on the curvier side.

My interests include reading lots and lots of philosohy, playing all my instruments, martial arts and (weirdly) learning new subjects all the time. My most recent endeavour is computer science.

I’m an ENTJ, usually described as quite commanding. I enjoy taking on more of a leadership role, and can come off (as expected) quite rude and unforgiving. I beg to differ, because I know i’m quite the opposite. I definitely come across as such, but that’s because people haven’t gotten to know me. Id like to think i’m quite funny, I sort of have this knack for finding something in common with everyone and getting them to warm up to me. An introverted social butterfly of sorts.

Assigned as slytherin but i think my values can align with ravenclaw aswell. I’m quite diplomatic, in the right environments i can be very charismatic too.

I’m good with people. If it doesn’t benefit me i don’t really care that much, but in environments where it really benefits me or I have to, i become a completely different person.

I’m a no bullshit person when it comes to other people. I will happily point out what others won’t. I have strong values and stick to them, and people who don’t like that aren’t worth my time

In terms of relationships i am THE BIGGEST LOVER. I switch up so much. I love domestically sickening relationships, cooking for one another, lazy mornings etc. I think physical intimacy and ‘acts of service’ are the things i love. I would probably show my partner acts of service and quality time. I would also do physical touch, but if they’re the type to crave it too.

I really love when someone is obsessed with you. I think it gives a sense of security in a relationship. I’m very driven and need someone who can match that, but also need someone who can take a step back at times and bring me back to earth.

My music taste is just depressing. It’s all shoegaze and classical. In all honesty i can be a little all over the place, a sweetheart one moment and aggravated at everyone in the next, so someone who isn’t put off by that? dream.

My clothings is variable but i’m always well put together. Even if it makes me late, i always make sure to look my best (it’s what people first notice about you, so may aswell make the best impression)

Academically driven, i’d say i’m a high performer but i lack motivation. When i put the work in I excel, but it’s hard for me to focus.

I think this makes me seem super serious but given my reposts you can tell i’m very much a yapper, who says things that need to have me restrained 💀💀💀

I think my personal type varies largely from who i’d actually be best with so i won’t mention it.

If you asked my friend to describe me in three words (one of them has my tumblr, yes i’m taking abt you my fellow gatekeeping queen. Pls say this is correct): They’d probably say funny, messy (drama wise, not literally) and caring.

My family would probably say fiercely protective, lowk a bit mean but deeply loving

CANT WAIT!! I did just give you like a whole character analysis but WOOOOOOO

I’m living for your full on character analysis😭 hope I do you justice Queen🫶🏽

Pairing: Theodore Nott

Theodore is generally quiet and understated, but this boy has such a superiority complex. He always assumes that he’s the smartest in the room.

He takes so much pride in his academic prowess, but has an equally sharp and witty tongue.

The first time he meets you, you definitely take him down a peg or twenty. (Boy needs to be humbled fr) You’re able to match him in intellect and snap right back at him when he makes snide remarks which he finds infuriating, but also admirable.

When he finally realizes that he can’t beat you outright, he switches up tactics and turns up the charm. He’s then sent spiraling once again when it’s turned right back around in his face. (Takes a Slytherin to know a Slytherin I suppose)

When the two of you are eventually able to come to a truce, it’s like the puzzle pieces slowly begin to fall into place.

Sure one of you might get heated up every once in a while, but the other is always there to make sure it’s reeled back in.

Theo loves listening to you talk about all of your niche interests and ideas and happily sits with you for hours at a time (sometimes you catch him staring a little too long when you’re both studying in the library, but he vehemently denies it)

He’s a big fan of dry humor and thinks it’s so funny when you blurt out random, out of pocket shit.

He loves leaving silly little notes in places you’re not suspecting and tries to pretend like he’s not watching as you read each one.

At the first quidditch match of the season, he tries to casually suggest that you wear his jumper in the stands while you watch. Yes the one with his name written across the back in big bold letters.

After the game, you’re not even able to get a word out before Theo barrels over to you, sweeping you off your feet and into a bear hug. He’s sweaty and he smells horrible, but you can’t seem to mind.

Later that evening you both find yourselves curled up in your dorm room with warm hot cocoa smuggled in from the kitchens and stacks of books long forgotten. You’re chatting away but Theo can’t seem to string a single one of your sentences together as his eyes keep falling back to your lips and the animated way they’re talking about some guy named Aristotle.

He doesn’t really remember much of what you said after that as he crashes his lips against yours. It’s warm, and sweet, and you just melt.

The next morning you’re greeted by a nice, loud wolf-whistle from Mattheo, and you’re very sure that you hear Enzo mumble something about “it being about bloody time”.

His friends adore you though, and Theo just loves being able to tell everyone that he’s your boyfriend. You thought he had a god complex before? This is a whole new level, even for him.

Theo is completely and utterly devoted to you, always wanting to be close, preferably with an arm wrapped securely around you. And when that isn’t an option, it’s rare that you leave his eyesight.

He just loves doting on you, always making sure you’re fed, you’re not too cold in the chilly halls of the castle, heaven forbid you have to carry your own books to class. He can be a full blown mother bird.

Anyway, the two of you are sickeningly in love (much to the disgust of Mattheo) and you each have the other wrapped around your finger.

[44insects]

hi insects (is that how you like being called or do yu have another nickname??? 44 ??? not sure sorry anyways) i love ur art so much i think abt it constantly ur ocs are very very cool i specially like kiwi!!! not sure if u have stories mapped out for them or anything but im very curious about her backstory and also elizabeth's (like, she's made out of meat right. is she alive? is she a meatloaf? is magic involved? what kind of meat is she??? Who made her??)

totally understand if u don't know or don't want to share those things just thought I'd let you know i admire ur art a lot!!!

hi! everyone online calls me insects, you can call me insects! thank you so much for your kind words! i'll reply to your questions under a readmore!

ive had a few ideas about kiwi and stories id like to write about her but it all feels unsatisfying since ive had her since i was like 10 years old! so she feels really important, it almost feels hard to do her justice.. but i think that if i keep making paintings of her, eventually i could figure something out, it might involve her blue friend as well.. its hard to say

as for elizabeth, she was made by nina! nina was originally my idea for a doll i want in real life(but she had blonde hair in my mind), and then i made her in secondlife and she ended up looking the way she does, then i made eliza out of prims in secondlife and eventually in blender.. i have a blog about them where i write from ninas perspective sometimes but its not so great or active. i would say eliza is not sentient and doesn't move, sometimes in my sl gifs she does but thats mostly because it looks fun! meatloaf would be cool but i think the closest that comes to her consistency is like a cloned or 3d printed steak. maybe i will change these facts later but this is the way i look at it for now..

thank you again for your interest! i hope you have a wonderful day!!

[nuclearpoweredsniper]

this is an open letter to michael jackson that many of you will probably think is cringe and parasocial but i genuinely could not give less of a fuck, dont like dont read.

hello, applehead. i hope your cloud is especially fluffy today, bathed in an especially warm and golden beam of sunlight. first and foremost, id like to tell you that we miss you so much. we have never stopped missing you, we never will.

we will never forget the good things you did in your short time on earth. we will never forget your messages of peace and love, your selflessness, your devotion to making the world a better place for us and especially our children. you instilled in me such a strong sense of justice, a fierce love for the downtrodden, the oppressed; i thank you for being a role model, i thank you for being in my life in my formative years. i thank you, and of course my own strength and resolve combined with what was left of yours, for the person ive become.

i hate to say that i envy you, but i do. i envy the amount of forgiveness you gave your father for the hell he put you through, i try and try to find the same within myself for my mother but i just cant. i envy your love and patience for children, i hate myself for my inability to handle them. i will never be as good of a parent or caretaker as you, i know this. this is what sets me apart from my mother, this is what makes me better than her. im aware i wouldnt make for a good parent, so i refuse to be one. that, im proud of. im proud to end that cycle of abuse. i want you to know that.

i also want you to know that we will never stop listening to your music, we will never stop watching you dance, i cant stress enough how it will literally NEVER get old. i cant speak for everyone but personally, ive made it one of my lifes missions to keep showing new generations your art, your magic. i will never stop spreading your message of love and light, i will never stop believing in the inherent, genetic kindness of humanity that you showed me when i was just a little kid, no matter how hard it gets. you will NEVER be forgotten as long as i live, applehead. i love you, we love you. gone too fuckin soon.

[natsmagi]

I love ur art!!!! really its so gorgeous and the style brings me sm joy, its so soft and cute!! and ofc fem ntsmg is THE GOAT!!!!!!

BUT I JUST WANNA ALSO SHOW APPRECIATION FOR HOW U ANSWER ASKS AND STUFF AND IDK JUST UR WHOLE PERSONALITY IN GENERAL?? I love reading ur text posts especially when u kinda analyze the characters and stuff like its so fun to read and tbh, both natsume and tsumugi are characters that I feel are often mischaracterized in the fandom, and like idk I feel like u get them so perfectly and its sooo !??!?! Awesome getting to read ur awesome takes when new events come out and stuff like YOURE SO RIGHT ABT EVERYTHING, i be reading ur posts and going "you!!! YOU FUCKING GET IT!!!!!!!!!!" *happy stimming*

if you honestly did like a proper character analysis for them one day just now i would be so here for it and read it over and over again probably. Im currently hyperfixating RLY HARD on ntsmg so sometimes i just go through ur entire text post/ask tag and read everything over and over again 😭😭😭 I JUST LOVE THIS BLOG IN GENERAL KEEP DOING WHAT YOURE DOING, YOURE ABSOLUTELY AWESOME AND VERY MUCH BASED USER NATSMAGI!!!!♥️♥️♥️♥️

OIUGOHGOOHH OH MY GODDDDD ANONNNNNNNN THIS IS SO SWEET I HARDLY EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAYYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH U HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME 🥺🥺💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

im a very chatty person so im very glad u like hearing what i have to say 🥺!!! and im glad u like my personality too since i feel i can come off as harsh or arrogant sometimes AKJHFSKJH THOUGH TBF I DO TRY MY BEST TO BE KIND......

ID LOOOVE TO ANALYZE NTMG MORE !!! main reason i dont do it as often or hold myself back a bit is because admittedly its been a While since i read alot of the stories, a majority of which i have only read once, and when i make actually Proper analyzes i like to have reread the material and see if i maybe misinterpreted something on my first read or am misremembering, bc when given new info other interactions can be read differently and all that. and i also wanna actually do them justice and not accidentally spread misinfo AJHSFKJH AND I UNFORTUNATELY HAVENT HAD THE TIME NOR ENERGY TO DO THIS </3 but even without remembering every single piece of dialogue verbatim i like to think my grasp on them is still somewhat decent, and im very glad u like my interpretations 🥺❤️

it always makes me so incredibly happy when people view the characters similarly to me aswell bc like u mentioned they Are kinda prone to getting mischaracterized in some ways...... i think it mainly comes from both natsume and tsumugi having MANY factors to their characters though, and the mischaracterization comes from only highlighting one aspect of them and failing to think about how their different attributes overlap (although this can probably be said for the entire cast tbh). like an easy example that im sure everyone gets by now is natsumes little tsundereisms. if you only focus on him being rude to tsumugi it can look like hes just some edgy guy with anger management issues, but when you take into account other factors such as him having a rather spoiled upbringing both by his parents and nii-sans, and his distaste towards feeling "weak" (also caused by his upbringing, since he was frail as a child and raised as a girl) you start to see that oh. alot of that is just him being defensive and emotionally immature. since he had such a comfortable upbringing those hints of discomfort and vulnerability are threatening to him as someone who always had everything handed to him. and when you dont know how to deal with situations like that ASWELL as being afraid of being seen as "weak" youre Gonna start resorting to harsher words and sometimes even get physical because you have no clue how else to handle this. its also why the natsumes character consists of him being pretty obsessed with "growing up" and "not being a kid anymore," because he knows how immature he could be SKHDGJH he doesnt have bad intentions he just. doesnt know how to be vulnerable with people

[restinpeacesensei]

@ironpaladont

#HES GETTING KISSES!! #awwww theyre so cute!!! #the little hearts over them theyre so in love #god i love akoya's eyes theyre so big and shiny #it looks like he's trembling with happiness #i love them!

HES GETTING KISSES!! 🥺🥺 thank you so much for being excited about it, im so happy you can tell!! \>////</ WAAAA im so happy you say they're so cute!! so excited!! \;;w;;/ i love how you say the little hearts over them mean they're so in love omgggg that's so cute,, now i have little hearts over me too!! /)/////(\💕💕

IM SO HAPPY YOU LOVE AKOYAS EYES OMG thank you so much for looking at them, im so happy you find them big and shiny!! 🥺🥺 i made this bc i wanted an akoya with big shiny eyes, i am looking at this message with big shiny eyes too!! /)//////(\ I LOVE HOW YOU NOTICE HE'S TREMBLING!! i love how you say it's from happiness THAT'S SO CUTE!! \>////</💕💕 im so happy you love them! thank you for saying such cute things to them, they feel so loved waaa!!! /)//////(\💕💕💕

#yoooo sensei art! #hes so so pretty!! #the lighting on his hair #i love him so much ill give him all my votes!! #as for magical boys on the poll i love #i love masayoshi (samurai flamenco) #i love tokusatsu characters and hes just so good #he wants to be a hero and save everyone #he goes from a random guy just doing vigilante justice to an actual hero #the show is so much fun and i love watching him grow as a character #plus it has such awesome vibes exploring multiple types of toku genres #and ofc masayoshi is the star of them all

waaaa thank you so much for getting excited to see this rai!!! \;;w;;/ im sooo happy you think hes so so pretty omg!! \>/////</ thank you so much for noticing the lighting on his hair AKOYA APPRECIATES ALL YO UR VOTES SO MUCH!! \;;w;;/ thank you for loving him that much waaa!! it's so cute you would give him all your votes omg /)/////(\💕💕 AND THANK YOU for telling me about masayoshi, i voted for him!! ive heard about samurai flamenco so much and the meta aspect sounds really cool! he sounds like a great hero!!! \;;w;;/

omg smash bros with akoya sounds like so much fun i would love to play together with him as peach! id let him get the smash ball cause peach's final smash is so pretty

OMG that's so cute and kind of you to let him get the smash ball!! \;;W;;/ akoya would be so happy, he would love peach's final smash with all the flowers!! im sure he would have tons of fun just trying to set up pretty screenshots!! ;;w;; he would probably want to play on the most beautiful stages, like fountain of dreams!! TuT

[friskibitz]

[Image ID: A black banner with white text in Undertale's textbox font. The main title reads, "Frisk Month 2022", and smaller text below it reads, "(it was originally supposed to be Frisk February but shhhhh)". To the left and right of the text is the Red SOUL from Undertale. End ID]

Hey UT/DR fans!!! Do you love Frisk? Do you want to show your appreciation for them? Do you want to join me as I create an army of Frisk superfans and wait no cut this part out of the script

Frisk Month is a full month of art prompts dedicated to Frisk, running from March 1st to March 31st! All forms of art are welcome: drawing, writing, music, interpretive dance, just go where your heart takes you and make Frisk proud.

Of course, no need to create something for every day! Create as little or as much as you'd like, I just want to make this a fun event for Frisk fans to come together and show their love. Just tag your posts as #Frisk Month 22 so everyone can see what you've created! And I promise next year it'll be Frisk February maybe

Also, I would like to give a shoutout to @clowngeneratedcontent. I was greatly inspired by Queencember to do this, so go check out Bee's blog and the great Queen posts they've put together!

So, if you wanna join in this year's Frisk Month, here are the prompts under the cut!

Week 1 (March 1-7)

Introduction

Ruins

Snowdin

Waterfall

Hotland

New Home

Surface

Week 2 (March 8-14)

FIGHT

ACT

ITEM

MERCY

Check

Flee

Free Day!

Week 3 (March 15-21)

Toriel

Sans

Papyrus

Undyne

Alphys

Asgore

Free day!

Week 4 (March 22-28)

Cyan / Patience

Orange / Bravery

Blue / Integrity

Purple / Perseverance

Green / Kindness

Yellow / Justice

Free day!

Week 5 (March 29-31)

Chara

Asriel/Flowey

Home

---

P.S. Please tag any neutral and no mercy route content you create for this event, if applicable! Just tag it as "#neutral route" and/or "#nm route". Thank you!

[cuewulfir]

one last post for the finale.

i’ve been trying to write this post for like twenty minutes at this point but i can never quite find the words to do my thoughts justice, so i’ll keep it simple: i’ve listened to hundreds of hours of audio about these characters, and i would do it all again in a heartbeat. hitting play on episode 0 all those months ago changed my life just a little, and i would not be where i am now without the show and the friends i’ve made because of it. to aforementioned friends (yes, you): i love and appreciate all of you so much. and thank you to *everyone* in the fandom for making up this wonderful community, for your art and writing and all other creations. thank you for encouraging me to make art and start writing again. y’all are the loveliest.  let’s see what comes next.  [ID: a digital drawing of all seven pcs from rqg. they are all in diamond-shaped frames in two rows. from left to right on the top row is cel, wearing a coat, button down shirt, and bandolier; zolf, wearing a breastplate with a star on it; hamid, wearing a three piece suit and a cape; and azu, wearing full plate armour with heart designs on it. from left to right on the bottom row is sasha, in probably historically inaccurate roman robes; grizzop, in plate armour with the symbol of artemis on it; and bertie, in elaborate plate armour with falcon designs on it. each diamond is a light blue, and the background is a very dark gray. along the border of the canvas run two white lines, and at the corners there is a floral design in blue. end ID]

and another, slightly different version of this. just in case :>

[ID: the same image as before, but this time all the characters have blue veins on their necks and faces. end ID]

[redrobin-detective]

Robin, hon, can you explain to me why there is bad blood between Bruce and Jason?

I could go on and on and on but in the name of both our sanities I will summarize.

Bruce found orphaned street kid Jason stealing tires from the Batmobile, adopted him and made him Robin (which pissed off original Robin, Dick, bc it wasn't Bruce's mantle to give away but I digress). Things are good for a while. But Jason had a lot of unresolved anger and depression from year living on the streets, he became reckless in the field and was overly aggressive with criminals (esp those who abused women or children like same boy). Bruce, angry and worried, pulled him from heroing to get him help. Only Jason didn't listen and when he heard his birth mother was in trouble, he ran across the world to go help her only to be caught by the Joker. He is beaten half to death by the clown and left to die in an exploding building. Robin II and Bruce's son is dead.

It's a tragedy, Bruce mourned Jason so hard almost falling apart as Batman and Wayne. Tim Drake, avid Batman fanboy who uncovered their IDs through investigatory work, tries to bring Batman and Nightwing back together to help stabilize Batman. Once the dust settles, Tim is chosen to be the new Robin, Dick and Bruce have started to reconcile and real healing is beginning to happen. All is well right?

Wrong! Turns out Jason has been brought back to life (pick your version, Superboy Prime punching reality from the inbetween space he's trapped in or Ra's al Ghul stealing the body and Lazarus Pitting him). Jason comes back mundo scrambled and it takes him awhile to get his bearings under him. All he knows is when he looks around, Batman has replaced him with another Robin and appears happy as can be. Underlying anger issues + genuine hurt feelings + post resurrection mind fuck means Jason is Pissed. He dedicates himself to learning the deadly arts Batman never taught him.

He returns in the Under the Red Hood comic (chef's kiss) as the criminal vigilante, Red Hood, who uses terror and murder to become Gotham's premiere crime lord. He lets Bruce and everyone know who he is, as dramatically as possible, with heart breaking results.

This ended up being a very long explanation to say: Jason had some tension with B before he died, blamed Batman for letting him die and then quickly replaced him not long after. He believed B didn't love him and saw his Robins as expendable pawns used to uphold his moral high ground version of justice that didn't fix Gotham. It's why Jay went on his murder spree to "do what Batman couldn't and save Gotham". He's especially mad Bruce didn't kill Joker, the man who murdered him.

Ofc Jay doesn't know everything, doesn't know how deeply and painfully Bruce mourned Jason, even years later. Didn't know that he did his best to prevent another Robin from happening and Tim basically forced his hand. Couldn't understand how close B came to killing Joker, not just for Jason but for paralyzing Barbara and torturing Jim Gordon. Jay brings up good points but in his post-Lazarus Pit single minded focus rage, all he could see was that his father didn't avenge him and took it personally.

From Bruce's end, his spunky, smart, big hearted child died and what came back was wrong. Red Hood Jason was hard and cruel and spat on Batman's number one rule to not kill. Bruce's greatest grief is shoved back in his face and B, who has never handled negative emotions well, doesn't do much to explain himself to Jason. In the end, he puts Gotham first by trying to stop Jason's murder spree not knowing he's reinforcing Jason's ideas on not being loved. Jason also attacks Tim which Bruce takes very personally bc he will NOT lose another Robin. Not even to his own child.

Once Jason calms down a bit and has some conversations with B, they come to an uneasy impasse where he's a part of the fam always but he's not quite ready to let go of the past and be a Bat or Bruce's son again.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 3

So I picked option 2 cause I just had more ideas around it. I could probably still do 1 and 3 sometime but this is the direction we're going now. Y/n gets a call from her horrible grandmother who is expecting a visit.

Trigger warning: discussions of emotional and mental abuse, gaslighting

That night at his dining table was the start of something wonderful. You made a point to apply a bit of perfume to your neck before you left your apartment. Your three slightly judgmental but overall supportive roommates even donated a few drops of their own fragrances from time to time. 

You didn’t like the sound of the sentence “Hannibal is my boyfriend”. It just didn’t hit your ear right. ‘Boyfriend’ was too childish of a title for him. By extension, he found something very diminutive about referring to you as his girlfriend. You were, of course, a grown woman. He remedied this right away, resigning to call you his ‘darling’. You, however, had to use ‘partner’ as a placeholder until a more suitable pet name presented itself. Although the titles were never stated outright, after a while, you knew it was more than just a passionate affair. Hannibal (and you were calling him Hannibal, now) saw potential in you. He nurtured you and had been since day one. 

Finally, things were starting to go your way. You were in classes you loved, had wonderful, supportive friends and a fulfilling relationship. It took over twenty years, but better late than never. 

But, if there was one thing you learned from your short stint as a student of physics, it was that what goes up must come down. Your long-awaited bliss was about to be tested by an equal and opposite force bearing the name “Beatrice [L/N]” on the caller ID. 

Not only did she call, but she called three times in the middle of your meal. And that was followed by multiple texts, several of which containing words like “emergency” in all caps. You were just trying to enjoy another one of Hannibal’s culinary works of art, but the old bitch was persistent. 

You apologetically excused yourself from the table and retreated to the office with your phone. 

Grandma, you had better be on your fucking deathbed. You thought to yourself before sliding the green answer icon across the screen.

“[F/N]!” Came her shrill voice. “You finally answered. I was beginning to worry.” 

“What do you want, grandma?” You groan. 

“I wanted to ask you what you were wearing to Anna’s wedding next weekend.” She explained, calmly as ever. “The color scheme is seafoam and coral and she wants to make sure everyone adheres to it for pictures.” 

You covered the speaker with your hand and pulled your phone away from your ear so she couldn’t hear you bite back a scream. It physically pained you to return the phone to your ear. “Yeah, I RSVPed no to Anna’s wedding.”

“[F/N],” Your grandmother said in that scolding tone you knew all too well. “Your cousin expects you to be there. I expect you to be there. I invested so much money into this wedding, I will take it as a personal affront if you don’t attend.” 

You take everything as a personal affront. You thought.  

“It doesn’t matter, I already said no. She’s not going to have a chair or food for me.” You explained, hoping that you found some way out of this conversation. 

“No, she will.” Your grandma corrected. “I won’t have any child of mine absent from another’s wedding. I put in all the work to pull this event together.” 

For a moment, you almost felt bad for Anna. Having to endure your grandmother’s micromanaging was a circle of hell even Dante refused to tread.

"Of course, heaven forbid someone in your life show an ounce of autonomy." You finally snapped.

"I don't know why you're acting so rude, but it stops now." Grandma ordered. "I raised you as my own daughter. You should be more grateful for the luxuries I can extend to you. I didn't have to take you in, you know..."

It pained you to stay quiet when all you wanted to say was "I wish you hadn't".

"Your emotional manipulation isn't going to work on me anymore." You informed her.

“So, naturally, I’ve seen to it that you are expected." She continued her own conversation without even acknowledging yours. "You and a plus one, of course.”

You hadn’t even considered the possibility of attending the wedding with Hannibal. The two points never once intersected. And they never would. You vowed that Hannibal would never meet your grandmother or cousins. At that moment, that was the hill you were willing to die on. 

“If I come at all, I’m coming alone.” You snap. “You can punish me all you want but I am not letting you get him involved.” 

“Him?” Your grandma repeated. “So there is someone?” 

“Someone you are keeping me from.” You said, thoroughly frustrated and now panicked at the idea that your grandmother knew Hannibal existed. “Goodbye.” 

You didn't want to rejoin Hannibal in such a sour mood, but you didn't want to keep him waiting either. You returned even more apologetically than you left and took your seat.

"Everything alright, love?" He asked. You could tell he was raring to psychoanalyze you.

You shook your head. "It was my grandma."

"I could tell that much." He admitted, beginning to cut into his steak. "What with all the frustration you're trying so desperately to hide. What did she want?"

"She called to tell me she expects me at my cousin's wedding next Saturday." You rolled your eyes. "I'd already declined the invitation, but she didn't like that, apparently."

"Which cousin is this?" He probed. "The one that works as an engineer for Halliburton?

"No, that's Theresa." You shook your head. "And she works for Halliburton, but she's not an engineer. She's a PR executive."

"Right." Hannibal nodded, taking a bite of steak between his teeth. "She took after your grandmother and turned gaslighting into a career."

You smiled a bit. "Right."

"So, it's Anna, then?" He concluded. "You haven't told me much about her. Perhaps she is the benign tumor of the family?"

"More or less." You shrugged. "She works at a publishing agency. Only got the job because her boyfriend's uncle's the CFO. She didn't even make it to the interview. It was pure nepotism."

"And now she's marrying the boyfriend, I presume?"

"Yeah." You felt a grin cross your face thinking about what you were going to say next. "She wasn't even dating him at the time. She was dating someone else and cheating on him with the guy she's marrying now."

Hannibal grinned. "You like knowing this? Having information that could potentially ruin her life?"

You knew there was no use in lying. The look on your face said it all. "Absolutely I do. When you're the black sheep of the family, you've gotta take power where you can get it. Mine just so happens to be potential blackmail."

"I'm quite delighted to be privy to this side of you, love." He smiled. "We're a bit vindictive, now are we?"

"Are you kidding?" You snicker. "These are the girls that psychologically tormented me growing up. Of course I'm vindictive."

"So about this wedding." He didn't look up from his plate. "Do they expect you to bring a date?"

"They do." You nod, your eyes wandering off. "But I can't let them meet you. They're just so unspeakably rude all the time."

For some reason, you felt that this didn't deter him. Perhaps it even compelled him a little. "Oh?"

"They take this really strange pride in making scenes everywhere they go." You explained. "They've already ruined so much of my life. I can't even give them the opportunity to ruin this too."

"Darling," Hannibal leaned in. "Is there a part of you that wants to attend this event?"

You held your tongue before you said anything you both know to be untrue. "...maybe a small part."

"That small part of you that wants power. That wants justice." He nodded. "Indulge it for a moment. What does this wedding look like to you?"

Trying to keep up the illusion that you hadn't thought of this before, you paused for a moment. "...we would show up--you and I--and I'd be wearing a stunning gown that doesn't fit the stupid color scheme at all. And there's just an unspoken knowledge that I could absolutely ruin Anna's entire day. Anna and Theresa and Grandma are all being nice to me because if I so much as mention the name of that boyfriend she cheated on, I'd ruin her life and possibly her career. So finally I hold all the cards."

Hannibal looked proud. He took a sip of his wine. "You want to be powerful, but with just enough restraint so they know you're the bigger person."

"Exactly." You agreed.

"Perhaps my fondness for you is clouding my professional judgment, darling." He put his wine glass down. "The thought of you in an evening gown, commanding attention and reverence... that's just something I have to see."

"...something you have to see?" You met eyes with him, realizing you were on the same page.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket again. This time, you didn't feel the need to step out.

"Hey [F/N], care to explain why my sister is crying?" Theresa snapped through the receiver.

"Is someone cutting onions nearby?" You offered. "That usually makes me tear up."

"Fucking hell, for once in your meaningless life can you care about someone other than yourself?!" Theresa yelled. "Grandma told us you're not coming to the wedding."

You looked back at Hannibal, who gave you a nod. "Actually, I am. We are."

[shinelikethunder]

So what is with Hannibal. I mean, I know the basic concept of the series, but what is compelling about it. I ask you this as someone whose tastes are very similar to yours. I also ask you this as someone who has always been morbidly fascinated with cannibalism, but like... survival cannibalism, not "this dude is one sick fuck" cannibalism

Oh god. Uh. How do I even begin to explain what is with Hannibal. The closest analogy I can come up with is “in musical theater terms, take the id appeal of The Phantom of the Opera but make the execution even more Sweeney Todd than any production of Sweeney Todd that’s ever been staged.” That doesn’t do it justice though. It is so many things and all of them are ridiculous:

“Let’s take a series of iconic psychological-thriller novels and adapt them into... a 3-season-long pretentious art film that’s initially forced to masquerade as a network-TV crime procedural!” Which is ludicrous enough. But on top of that, halfway through first season, the “retelling” has already shown its hand as fanfiction: they don’t have the rights to all the source material? Fine, then they will mix, match, remix, embroider, recontextualize, and allude to whatever they want to--it’s a freeform improvisation that’s based in loving, respecting, wanting more of, and also fixing (and occasionally roasting) the canon.

The pretentious art film’s aesthetic goal, which it is utterly relentless about, is to take you on a ride that obliterates the boundaries between hungry, horrified, and horny. Everything is beautiful, especially things that shouldn’t be. Everything looks disturbingly appetizing, even things that aren’t food. Everything is weirdly sexy and alluring. All of this is accomplished without flinching from how horrific the subject matter is. And it’s all intercut with characters having Deep and Thematically Relevant Conversations that sound like a bunch of vampires smoking weed and talking about their feelings. It’s just... a hell of a headspace to get drawn into.

Highly stylized yet unexpectedly earnest and heartfelt meditations on mortality, trauma, and every human’s relationship with their own potential for darkness? The more any particular character looks purely like a victim and a poor wounded bird to others, the more complicated their actual relationship to their own agency and what they've done to survive. There’s a beautiful, thoughtful, heartbreaking subplot about a marriage between two strong and dignified people when one of them falls terminally ill--and it plays out in tandem with Grand Guignol bullshit about, like, an aging serial killer who commemorates his own life’s legacy by digging up all his corpses and hacking them together into a totem pole. It’s batshit. It shouldn’t work, and yet.

It’s so incredibly fucking funny. If you’re into humor of the pitch-black and/or gallows variety. The entire show is a comedy anchored in the dramatic irony of “none of these very serious characters know they’re on a show about Hannibal ‘The Cannibal’ Lecter, Notorious Serial Killer Whose Dinner Parties You Should Avoid At All Costs.”

The central relationship is... I don’t even know how to put it. It’s operating in the same “gothic horror and/or romance” territory as, say, most vampire fiction--locating and exploring and ultimately wallowing in the part of the psyche that finds darkness alluring. But it’s very eclectic in what it pulls into that dreamscape, and it manages to sustain an incredible amount of ambivalence between allure and acknowledgement of how awful everything that’s going on really is--between giving in and trying to maintain control over your darkness. And it’s a show where “giving in” means not just acceptance but participation--it’s about falling in love with the monster, but also about people identifying with and potentially becoming monsters themselves.

And also, like, unexpected bonding between weird, fucked-up, lonely people who are used to being looked at but not used to being seen and understood and accepted. And constant power struggles between people who will never settle into a stable dynamic where either of them comes out on top. And weird relationships to vulnerability. And games of manipulation that leave room for, even celebrate, the inherent non-deterministic and unpredictable nature of even the people you know the best.  And, you know, problematic murder queers who appreciate the intimacy of a good stab wound.

If you want to try it out: Watch the first 2 episodes for essential setup/context and to get a feel for how the show works. (And whether the way it does gore and horror is going to be too much. The case-of-the-week in episode 2 is... uh, it’s A Lot.) If you want to continue, awesome! If you want to keep sampling before you commit, here’s a few recs:

Peak dark-comedy romcom episode, minimal spoilers, minimal additional context needed: 1x08 Fromage, aka the human cello.

(Runner-up: 1x07 Sorbet, which is a bit structurally odd and less representative of how the show rolls, but still a fun time.)

Peak “that’s it that’s the show” episode, if you don’t mind spoilers through mid-s2 and are OK rolling with lack of context: 2x08 Su-zakana, aka the nightmare turducken.

Peak id-fic episode, spoilery as fuck and probably akin to an acid trip without context: 3x06 Dolce, in which everyone bleeds real pretty and marinates in Yearning up to their eyeballs, except the murder lesbians, who are the only ones sensible enough to just fuck already

(Runner-up: 2x10 Naka-choko, aka Relationship Status: Both “In Cahoots With” and “It’s A Trap”, aka peak inappropriately horny episode.)

[sagessoftwings]

Hello!! I love how much you put into your matchups and i was wondering if i could participate😁

My name is Elena, im a bisexual girl (she/her) though i have a preference towards guys, id like a matchup with a Haikyuu character. Im a taurus, a Ravenclaw/Slytherin and an infj

I love travelling a lot and would like to visit the whole world, im actually a tourism student, but i also like going on walks, baking, watching movies, going to museums, trying different types of food and window shopping, im a city girl but I like the countryside too!! I too love memes, flowers, art, chocolate and sunny days

Im a very sensitive and empathetic person, im always worrying about those around me and making sure that they are okay and happy, specially if the are my beloved ones, i also have a crackhead side, i enjoy my alone time a lot but I enjoy going out with people (not big groups, they make me uncomfy!!) i consider myself an ambivert because my mood and how i act changes on the vibe I receive from the environment im at, i also have a huge sense of justice and im very into body positivity and feminism

Im not very good at describing myself because of body dysmorphia so this are some pics about me, i hope it okay😅

Neway, i hope this is enough and if not please feel free to message me!! Im also open for chatting anytime! I hope you have a great week and please hydrate yourself and stay safe💖

OH MY GOD YOU’RE FAWKING GORGEOUS BABE AHH. Whew 😩💦

I can totally see you with someone like Wakatoshi Ushijima

HE IS SO SWEET TO YOU OML

He loves to travel with you, always plans stuff for you two to do but his favorite was Europe

He loved watching your face when window shopping it just make his heart dance

MUSEUMS WITH HIM ARE SO FUN

He loves taking goofy pictures with you

Despite what everyone thinks he does have a sense of humor

He also adores watching movies with you

He’ll make a whole set up just for the two of you and make so many snacks

He never got that with his parents so he wants this to be special

He adores you love the country it makes him so happy because it’s what he is used to

Will totally take you strawberry picking

Will try anything new as long as it’s with you

He introduced you to tendou so you two get his chocolate samplers all the time

You and tendou are actually good friends and gave you and Ushi a tour of France

Ushijima loves to take you out on sunny days wether it’s the beach or just a day out on the town he loves it

He always has to be holding your hand or linking pinkies

Gives you soft temple kisses when in public or quick pecs on the lips

Also makes you bomb baths, he’ll get you cool bath supplies for you to enjoy

Whenever he has to go to get together for sports you two always sneak away

His favorite is sneaking of during parties to a field and just dancing

He loves you and always reassures your body

He kisses every stretch mark and every scar

<33

Ps. He thinks you’re so hot good lord, he tries not to think about it to much because he’ll get horny ;))

[disney-rapunzel-merida-vanellope]

-…………..😬…………… so…….. I’m not the biggest Alice in wonderland fan……. DONT CUT MY HEAD HEAR ME OUT. I like logic……… ok so its not like i hate the movie. I have a love hate relationship with the movie but the story itself is just so frustrating to me. I dont see the point. I dont understand. And i know thats the point but for a story that is supposed to be batshit crazy, imaginative, insane…. It just feels frustrating to me. I enjoy the movie enough, the animation is great, it has some nice moments, i like some of the world. What i love more is the play cards, garden roses, tea cups, old England mix of aesthetics. But as a whole, it just frustrates me how Alice never does, gets or goes where she wants. Something is always in her way, holding her back, running from her or mocking her. The movie is also very quiet i feel. Idk if i where to to a movie with no logic id just go all out with crazy animation, visual gags, different art styles like in the dumbo elephant parade scene, worlds beyond imagination, ridiculously catchy and hardcore songs…. Idk. Its frustrating, makes no sense and is too quiet. Ok imma stop the slander and actually go rewatch the movie to see if i change my mind. But please alice lovers, its not you, its me 😭

- i must have seen this movie as a child but i dont own it in. Watched it in kindergarten or rented it…. Or maybe just watched some clips of it on the magic English collection and never actually watched it as a kid… but that side story of the shells was so nostalgic… idk

- the opening shot is beautiful

- disney has many great cats and Dinah is 100% one of them. If she had gone with Alice the movie would have been better

- laying on the daisies omg iconic. I wanna recreate that in photos

- I’m curious by nature… not enough to go through a whole on the ground tho. Again, why didn’t Dinah go??? Doesnt curiosity and cat go hand in hand?

- the falling down the hole bit is so good. Love her interacting with the objects and all the background details

- her hair is so voluminous, tell me your secret girl

- shes on drugs the whole movie

- those cookies look delicious, id eat them too

- i love the turning big and small bits

- she went from crying a river to being upset at herself for crying a river in 1 second. She really said “ugh i was so dramatic just now”. Honestly same

- hate the oysters story. Way to ruin the whole mood and we’re not even mid way through 😭 JUSTICE FOR THE OYSTERS and I’m not a fan how it just pulls us out of the world entirely. Sorry but I’m gonna stay picky

- its like in into the woods. Big woods and something weird is happening in every corner of it

- the rabbit’s house is the best setting. Love the details so much, i want my house like that yep yep

- everyone is so dumb 😭 why is the dodo burning the house? Why is the rabbit helping him lit the match? Why does alice keep eating? EVERYONE STOP

- love the butterfly pun 😂

- i love the flowers scene so much….. and then they start bullying alice……. I JUST CANT HAVE NICE THINGS

- THE WHITE ROSE THO ✨

- the flowers character designs are SO GOOD. This scene is just so colorful and pretty, really wish that last bit wasnt attached to it 😒 such a polarizing scene

- love the animation and color pallet of the cat. Thats probably the first outright crazy thing about the movie that i enjoy. Its super creative, the way he moves, disappears, makes body parts do crazy things. It must have been super fun and challenging to animate. The cat in the remake in cuter tho

- the designs of the bunny house & furniture, the flowers, the tea bulls & cups and the animalsXobjects are top tier.

- the craziness at the table is also very good. I love seeing the different crazy types of ways the animators came up to have them serve tea and just other crazy uses for the tableware that doesnt even evolve tea 😭 they absolutely understood the assignment

- guys, today is my unbirthday 👉🏻👈🏻

- that cake looks so delicious 🤤 is it me or does disney make the best looking food ever in every movie except the one where they should? I’m talklking of beauty and the beast. Belle was a guest to have dinner and just stuck her finger on a grey mushy thing GIRL WHERES THE DINNER? THE DELICIOUS FRENCH CAKES OF MARIE ANTOINETTE??? I side tracked and probably have to make this same commentary when i watch batb…..

- drugs

- the trees being so big making the forest so dark and making the sky not visible makes me uneasy. Idk, girl is already lost, bullied in every corner and surrounded by such darkness, makes me feel claustrophobic idk idk

- who cares about talking dodos and talking rabbits?? The real craziness are these glass birds, mirror birds, bird cage birds… THIS is what i wanted from wonderland

- this scene is so depressing but the animals designs are so good 😭

- thanos snapped them away 😳

- i like alice, she has a really cute design, shes a smartass and i feel bad for her but she also frustrates me so much at times cause of her stupid decisions 😭

- i want heart shaped trees with roses too, i dont mind the color

- the backgrounds and animation on the cards in this scene are amazing

- “and the king”kkkkkkkkkk

- everyone cheating to make then queen win 😭 whatever you need to keep you head on your necks

- “and the king” AGAIN 😭

- THEY SUSHED THE QUEEN AND SHE WENT QUIET 😭

- at this point I’m frustrated like alice

- why is everyone disrespecting the queen for that mouse? 😭

- girl, you shouldn’t have eaten both mushroom pieces. Seeing her shrink makes me, once again, frustrated

- I’m always worried for alice in this last bit but its the most crazy and energetic part of the movie so i like it

- i think the ending being a dream was a shock when i first found out about the ending. She goes through all that but its all in her head

- these characters walk a fine line between being alright and annoying. I like alice but even her has her unlikable moments

- its for sure not a movie i put on rewatch just because. I understand why its a classic, it has many iconic scenes and the nonsense might be appealing to some but its not my tea (oh what i did there 👀) i prefer wonderland when its about mysterious unreliable cats that defying the laws of….. having a normal cat body and forest animals with objects body. I totally dont see the appeal in taking dodos and rabbits, whose only thing is they wear clothes, that speak literal nonsense.