#still not great but! we take what we can get!

[eamour]

avoid any action.

with manifesting, there comes an intrusive urge to act. a deep need to do something to get something. we often try to change our world or ourselves through actions. however, we don’t alter or attain things with the use of our bodies. we can only ever achieve things with the use of our MINDS.

! this post was partially inspired by @sparklingself and her post called "do nothing" !

law of assumption.

let’s take a look at what the law of assumption states.

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law of assumption

/lɔː/ /ɒv,əv/ /əˈsʌm(p)ʃn/

"the law of assumption postulates that the assumptions of an individual shape and create one's physical reality."

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so, what does that mean? how does this help us?

mentally, not physically.

just like assumptions take place in the mind, so does everything related to manifestation. after all, manifestation is forever done in the mind, and not with the body. all events that have taken place physically, first took place mentally. everything external used to be internal. conversely, you can only put out what you already put in.

in conclusion, you cannot DO anything. there is nothing for you to perform, nothing for you to execute, nothing for you to accomplish. you can only BE. so, in order to become someone new, to coerce something into BEING, you need to refrain from taking any action. let go of all efforts to alter the physical. instead, alter the mental.

mental and physical in contrast.

okay, alright, but what if you still try to physically achieve your goals? how about we try to prove the law wrong. let's say you want to get xyz while being in a negative mindset in relation to xyz. you don’t really believe in getting xyz, nor do you believe in yourself. but if you try your best physically, it should still workout, right?

nope. and i'll tell you why. you can never alter yourself with an act in opposition to your belief. your desired version of self cannot be attained by force. you cannot force yourself to achieve something while already knowing you won't or can't. if it isn’t already withIN you, it won’t and can't be withOUT you.

on the other hand, that version of yourself with your current mindset in that present state is NEVER going to achieve xyz. because that version of you is tied to that self concept, that state and that reality. creation is finished, meaning, this reality is finished. it’s forever going to look like that. you are forever going to be like that. ONLY if you change your state from within, you can ensure a change from without. that’s when you shift your state of mind, and therefore, your physical reality. you cannot physically shift. you need to mentally shift. because no matter HOW much you try to make reality B (undesired) look like reality A (desired), it won’t ever change the fact that you are still experiencing reality B.

externally dependent action.

now, what about the 3D? what if i am changing my assumptions but don’t experience them physically yet? this part is very important for any of you who are thinking of completely turning your back on your 3D, who feel overwhelmed by it or don’t know how to deal with it.

1 · first of all, you are doing great. keep doing it.

2 · second of all, living in the end and focusing on embodying your desired version of self does not mean that you start refusing to LIVE. you aren’t supposed to deny or reject your human experience when it’s not convenient for you. you are still going to do your chores, have your responsibilities, attend school, go to work, and so on. in your mind, however, you are being who YOU want to be and have what YOU want to have. it’s about knowing the external world is going to change because it has to, plus balancing experiencing both worlds. in the end, your outer world will show you how your inner world looks like.

often times, suddenly abandoning yourself in the physical world will only harm you because then it will only be harder for you to dismiss the negative parts of your reality. it usually makes things a lot more draining and challenging.

physical techniques and methods.

this is just gonna serve as a reminder: techniques and methods are only there to help. they aide you to obtain a feeling of "naturalness" in correlation to your desires. they don’t do the manifesting. actually, they have no power on their own. you know who does the manifesting? YOU. you and only you. thus, you can do a method 111 times and still not manifest your desire because your assumptions say otherwise. everything you manifest with the support of a method or technique can be traced back to you, moreover your MIND's power. not your bodies power, and certainly not your hands ability to write down a script 123 times.

"there is no need to do something. don’t do anything. because if you WERE who you wanted to be, all you would do is experience BEING it. you wouldn’t DO anything." — edward art

don’t change it. let it be changed.

with love, ella.

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ make it known (op81)

You and Oscar have been friends for almost two decades and it’s been smooth sailing, except for now—when you have to make it publically known you're pining for him to even notice.

oscar piastri x childhood bestfriend!reader smau / face claim: none :D

warnings/notes: none really? one kinda bitchy comment from oscar bc he's king of the sassy man apocalypse. i love this so much, also do we like the new insta post format ?? im kinda meh about it.

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and others...

uruser: last week of cramming before the summer ( and visiting my favorite aussie in monaco ...)

user1: literally my queen.

nicolepiastri: best of luck with finals !!

⤷ uruser: thank u mama piastri !! 🩷

user2: best of luck yn!!

oscarpiastri: see u soon loser

⤷ ururser: u too bitch <3

⤷ logansargeant: what book are u reading now??

⤷ uruser: rereading pride and prejudice again

⤷ logansargeant:so we're watching it again after monaco ? @ oscarpiastri

⤷ oscarpiastri: movie night !!!

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, landonorris, and others...

uruser: ' i know im just a fool who's willing to sit around and wait for you ' 🩷

user3: stop who are u pining for queen ??

oscarpiastri: now whats all this then.

⤷ landonorris: u sound like @ georgerussel

⤷ uruser: lando don't bring more brits on my page pls im scared of u people

⤷ georgerussell: right, whats all this then?

⤷uruser: BACK!!! OUT!!! SHOO!! ALL OF U BOYS. THIS IS FOR THE GIRLS.

user4: oh honey its BAD.

logansargeant: oh this is the approach?

⤷ uruser: im desperate man.

⤷ oscarpiastri: wow. i introduced you to logan and you tell him your secrets before me?

⤷ logansargeant: oscar. i beg you to use your brain.

⤷ user5: logan what do you KNOW?

liked by laufey, nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri, and others...

uruser: new low: crying over lovesick by @ laufey

oscarpiastri: and you still wont tell me who this is about?

user6: and shes so real for this !!

laufey: NO. i didn't mean to make you cry beautiful :(

⤷ ururser: you've revived me by commenting so its ok queen <3

user7: hot take: she's pining over oscar.

⤷ user8: clearly you havent been an oscar fan since prema. this is not a new take LMAOO

user9: oscyn truthers RISE

nicolepiastri: you are too pretty to cry over a pretty song ! be brave and follow your heart !

⤷ uruser: i would if i wasnt afraid it would all go horribly wrong :(

⤷ nicolepiastri: trust me, if he's as smart as he was raised to be, it wont!! 😉

⤷user10: MAMA PIASTRI KNOWS?

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, alexalbon, and others...

uruser: we'll end up like always.

user12: second time shes posted that handwriting....

user12: can someone explain how she and the f1 grid know eachother?? im so confused

⤷ user13: yn is oscar's childhood best friend!! her older brother karted with oscar and logan so she ussed to hang out with them a lot. shes an engineering student at MIT right now :)

lilymhe: oh my god STILL?

alexalbon: this is gonna go to after belgium PAY UP @ logansargeant

⤷ logansargeant: let me have faith alex please

⤷ uruser: i cannot BELIEVE you bet on this.

user14: is oscar writing the notes??

⤷ user15: you might be onto something...

logansargeant: we need to enact phase two. i swear it will work.

⤷ nicolepiastri: uh oh. be careful logan !!

⤷ logansargeant: i will mama piastri !

⤷user16: god speed logan

liked by williamsracing, logansargeant, alexalbon, and others...

uruser: help me tom cruise !! (i got abducted by williams this weekend)

tagged: logansargeant, alexalbon, lilymhe, oscarpiastri

logansargeant: tom cruise, use your witchcraft on me to get the fire off me !! ( it was great to have you !!)

user17: oscar only in the group photo... logan in almost every picture... yn and logan quoting talladega nights?? we are SO OVER OSCYN TRUTHERS.

williamsracing: blue is a nice change of color for you!

⤷ oscarpiastri: no >:(

⤷ uruser: LMAO OSCAR PLS

oscarpiastri: WOW. my TWO BEST FRIENDS hang out WITHOUT ME.

⤷ uruser: you both hang out without me ALL THE TIME.

⤷ logansargeant: i am the superior driver

⤷ oscarpiastri: and who has a seat next year

⤷ uruser: JESUS CHRIST OSCAR 😭

user18: IS THIS JEALOUSY?

user19: jealousy on oscar is FUNNY

alexalbon: i would say something but im afraid oscars gonna come at me too

⤷ oscarpiastri: 🧍‍♂️

⤷ alexalbon: @ uruser get ur man im scared

⤷ uruser: not my man

lilymhe: so fun to see you this weekend <3

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, logansargeant, and others...

uruser: i forgot cats get jealous....

tagged: oscarpiastri

user20: THE IDENTICAL SHOE TYING PHOTOS IM IN TEAARRSSS

oscarpiastri: the cat agenda is so mean

⤷ uruser: says the man literally smacking me to get my attention

⤷ oscarpiastri: it worked didnt it?

nicolepiastri: oscar has always been like that since you two were very young!

logansargeant: phase two complete. good luck soldier 🫡

⤷ uruser: thank u logan, ive got it from here

user21: did they plan to make oscar jealous?? so he would admit he likes yn??

user22: SHUT UP THATS SO FUNNY

landonorris: oh thank god he'll stop whining now

⤷ user23: HELLO?

user24: OSCAR BEING JEALOUS OF LOGAN SHUT UPPPP

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon, oscarpiastri, and others...

uruser: logans plan worked?

tagged: oscarpiastri

logansargeant: and im still alive?

⤷ nicolepiastri: oscar won't kill spiders half the time, I didn't think he'd kill you, logan!

⤷ oscarpiastri: i was gonna ask kmag to hit you again (@ FIA this is a joke.)

⤷ uruser: oscar PLEASE THE FIA??

oscarpiastri: 🧡

⤷ uruser: wow u have such a way with words.

⤷ oscarpiastri: my pr team is staring over my shoulder i have to be careful

⤷ oscarpiastri: what i can say is sorry for being a blind idiot

alexalbon: i cannot BELIEVE this worked?

lilymhe: logan the mastermind, cannot wait to hear his speech at the wedding

landonorris: finally.

⤷ uruser: lando the strongest man thru this all

⤷ landonorris: i have heard oscar admit things you couldnt pry out of me.

⤷ oscarpiastri: literally what?

⤷ landonorris: ur mother is in this comment section, i can't say.

⤷ uruser: LANDO TEXT ME RIGHT NOW.

⤷ oscarpiastri: i was drunk probably

⤷ landonorris: stone cold sober. after practice during belgium?

⤷ oscarpiastri: oops.

⤷ uruser: JAW ON THE FLOOR.

[sceletaflores]

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

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

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

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No question marks. Motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

Art loves you.

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

“He smiles more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was never about the goddamn massages.

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

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

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

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

These people are so fucking weird.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes

[deerlino]

Hey hey hey

Can i please request producer!grumpy! Chan x producer! Sunshine! Reader? Enemies-to-lovers?? Like chan has a bad first impression on reader and doesn't like her but like they get put together for work and he falls in love?? Can you make it really fluffy and domestic at the end (like they're in a r/s and like they kiss and cuddle alot????)

thawing the ice.

bang chan x fem!reader / at first, chan really didn’t like you and had a bad first impression of you. but then, you got teamed up for a project. spending time together changed everything, and he found himself falling for you.

additional tags / grumpy producer chan x sunshine producer reader (i mean… i tried. 😭), fluff, domestic fluff, forced proximity, mutual pining, workplace romance, love confessions, love-hate relationship, dislike to lovers — 1.5k words in total.

content warnings / kisses, smooches, and cuddles

authors notes @ anon / hey heyo anon <3, thanks for the awesome request! loved writing this. you asked for enemies to lovers, but the enemies part kinda fizzled out while i was writing—not my strongest trope, lol 😭 still, hope you enjoy it !! <3

You glance at your watch, groaning internally. It’s barely eight in the morning and you’re already heading to the studio for another day of work. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that you were going to be working closely with Chan. Again.

It’s not that you dislike Chan. Honestly, how could you? He’s talented, driven, and ridiculously handsome. But from the moment you met him, he’s been nothing but cold and dismissive. It’s like he’s made it his mission to make your life difficult.

As you walk into the studio, you see him already there, his back to you as he fiddles with some equipment. You take a deep breath, plastering a smile on your face. “Morning, Chan!”

He doesn’t turn around. “Morning.”

You suppress a sigh. Another day, another brush-off.

You set your bag down and get to work, trying to ignore the icy atmosphere. The day drags on, the silence between you both filled with nothing but the hum of electronics and the occasional muttered curse from Chan.

Finally, after what feels like hours, you manage to get him to talk. “Hey, Chan, can you listen to this track? I think it needs something, but I can’t figure out what.”

He looks up, eyebrows raised. “You want my opinion?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re one of the best producers here,” you say, trying not to sound too sarcastic. He might be a jerk, but you still need his input.

He listens to the track, his expression unreadable. “It needs more bass. And the vocals are too soft. They need to be more upfront.”

You nod, making notes. “Got it. Thanks.”

The rest of the day goes by in much the same way, but you notice something strange. Every time you ask for his help, he gives it without complaint. And every now and then, you catch him watching you, a strange look in his eyes.

***

As the weeks go by, things start to change. It’s subtle at first. He starts offering his help without being asked. He brings you coffee in the mornings, saying it’s just because he’s getting one for himself anyway. He even starts making small talk.

One day, as you’re both working late, he surprises you. “Hey, do you want to grab some dinner after this?”

You blink, taken aback. “Uh, sure. That sounds great!”

You end up at a little diner, talking and laughing like old friends. It’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile, and it takes your breath away.

“You know,” he says, looking down at his plate, “I don’t actually hate you.”

You laugh, but it’s a little shaky. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He looks up, his eyes serious. “I’m... I’m not good at this. At feelings. I’ve liked you since the day we met, but I didn’t know how to act around you. I thought being distant would make it easier.”

Your heart skips a beat. “You like me?”

He nods, looking almost shy. “Yeah. A lot.”

You reach across the table, taking his hand. “I like you too, Chan. A lot.”

***

From that night on, things change even more. You’re not just coworkers anymore. You’re friends. And, slowly, you become something more.

There are late nights at the studio where he pulls you into his lap, kissing you softly as you work.

It’s nearly midnight, and you and Chan are the only ones left in the studio. The room is dimly lit, the glow from the computer screens casting a soft light over everything. You’re both exhausted, but there’s still work to be done. You’re hunched over your laptop, tweaking some last-minute details on a track, when you feel his presence behind you.

“Hey, take a break,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky from hours of talking and singing.

“I just need to finish this part,” you reply, not looking up. “Almost done.”

He sighs, but there’s a smile in his voice. “Alright, Miss Perfectionist.”

You hear him move around, and then suddenly, you’re being lifted out of your chair. “Chan!” you yelp, but he just laughs, pulling you into his lap as he sits back down.

“Relax,” he says, his arms wrapping around you. “You’ve been working too hard.”

You lean back against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“I know,” he says, his lips brushing against your ear. “But you need to take care of yourself too.”

You tilt your head, looking up at him. “And what about you? You’ve been working just as hard.”

He grins, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m taking care of myself right now.”

You smile, your heart fluttering. “Okay, fine. Five-minute break.”

“Good,” he says, his lips trailing down your neck. “Because I need more of this.”

You close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his lips on your skin, the warmth of his arms around you. In that moment, all the stress and exhaustion melts away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

Then, there are lazy Sundays spent cuddling on the couch, watching movies and stealing kisses.

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you’re both sprawled on the couch, watching a movie. Chan’s arm is draped over your shoulders, and your head rests against his chest. The movie is some cheesy rom-com, but neither of you are really paying attention. You’re too busy stealing kisses and laughing at each other’s jokes.

“Hey, pay attention,” you say, swatting his hand away as he tries to tickle you. “This is the best part.”

“Oh, really?” he teases, his fingers brushing against your side again. “What happens?”

You laugh, trying to squirm away. “Stop! You’ll see.”

He grins, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

You settle back against him, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek. It’s moments like this that make everything worth it. The late nights, the long hours, all of it. Because at the end of the day, you have this. You have him.

“You know,” he says suddenly, his voice soft, “I could get used to this.”

You look up at him, surprised. “What, lazy Sundays?”

He shakes his head, his eyes serious. “No. Us. Being together like this.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Me too.”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss you. It’s slow and sweet, full of all the things he can’t put into words. And you know, without a doubt, that you feel the same way.

Then, there are also mornings where you wake up tangled together, his arms around you and his breath warm against your neck.

The first rays of sunlight are just starting to filter through the curtains when you wake up. You’re tangled in the sheets, Chan’s arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck. You can feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, his body a comforting weight against yours.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to see his face. He looks so peaceful, so different from the grumpy, guarded man you met months ago. You reach up, brushing a strand of hair away from his face, and he stirs, his eyes slowly opening.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply, smiling. “Sleep well?”

He nods, pulling you closer. “Always do when you’re here.”

You feel your heart swell at his words. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

He chuckles, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “Only for you.”

You laugh, rolling over to face him. “Lucky me.”

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes soft as they meet yours. “Lucky me.”

You lean in, kissing him softly. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You smile, your heart feeling like it might burst. “I love you too.”

And as you lie there, wrapped up in each other, you know that this is where you’re meant to be. With him. Always.

***

One evening, as you’re sitting on a bench at the park together, he turns to you, his expression serious. “You know, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. You make me want to be better. For you.”

You smile, your heart swelling. “You already are, Chan. You always have been.”

He kisses you, and it’s slow and sweet, full of all the things he’s never been able to say. And you know, without a doubt, that he loves you.

As the months go by, you can see the change in him. He’s still grumpy and a little rough around the edges, but there’s a softness to him now, a warmth that wasn’t there before. And you know that, no matter what, you’ll always have each other.

One night, as you’re both lying in bed, you turn to him, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “Hey, Chan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we ended up working together. Even if you were a jerk at first.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Me too. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For being a jerk.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You’re forgiven. Just... keep being you. That’s all I need.”

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that you’ve found something special. Something real. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

© deerlino (est. 090624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

[hedgehog-moss]

I finally planted my garden last week! We had a couple of days of sun which gave me hope, but it's once again raining every day. Thoughts and prayers for my tomato plants, but I couldn't keep everyone in the greenhouse forever, I had to make room for other plants.

(In the fourth picture above you can see what's inside the hügelkultur mound—it's a pile of branches + llama manure + compost + potting soil. One thing I find great about it is how well it retains moisture! Well it's not a problem this year so far but during heat waves I water these plants a lot less than non-mound plants.)

In the greenhouse my seedlings have been struggling due to lack of sun. Impossible to get courgette plants so I had to buy a few from the young couple in town who recently started a plant nursery—they didn't have many either, and I had to share with the mayor who also came looking for courgette plants because slugs devoured all of his.

He must have seen on my face that I thought my plants didn't stand a chance if slugs don't even respect municipal authority, because he kindly advised me to place crowns of bedstraw (see above) around my plants to protect them. I didn't dare to ask "If it works so well why do you have no courgette plants left?" I just said thank you, and then spent an entire evening last week weaving this sticky weed into crowns and whatsapping photos of my art to the mayor, who always replied "More! More! It needs to be thicker! Like a doughnut!"

Meanwhile 1 leek in the greenhouse suddenly grew a lot thicker while the other 3 remained skinny and fearful-looking and I'm not sure why. They share a pot, so maybe it's like vanishing twin syndrome. My bell pepper seeds had the same asynchronous development issue—one pot is just now starting to have timid seedlings while the other (right next to it) already contains a grown-up plant with baby peppers:

By far my happiest greenhouse plants are the potatoes and lettuce. They shot up so fast! I've been eating a lot of lettuce lately but I can't keep up with how quickly they grow in this cold, rainy spring. And I haven't had any slug raids in the greenhouse so that's great.

My greenhouse squash, onions and pickles are still tiny and not worth a photo (harsh, but this post already has too many photos). My strawberries in the aquaponic towers are beautiful despite the lack of sun and I've been getting mini-harvests of 2-3 strawberries a day for two weeks! They're done now, but I started more seeds so maybe I can get a second round at the end of the month.

Three more things:

1. Morille helped a lot as I was planting the garden. She kept an eye on my gardening tools so no one would steal them, and sometimes used them as cheek-scratchers. At one point I put one of my beautiful bedstraw crowns around her neck so she looked like Philip III of Spain in that painting where he wears a big ruff, but tragically she ran away in outrage before I could take a picture, and when she returned she'd got rid of her collar.

2. At the cow parade the other day there was a lady at the market who sold jars of homemade pesto sauce made from all kinds of different plants, and it opened up my mind to entirely new pesto horizons!! I always make the traditional kind with basil, but I have plants that grow much faster than basil, like my rocket, so I tried making pesto with 1/3 basil 2/3 rocket (plus garlic, olive oil, parmesan, cashews) and it was so good! I have to explore all of her recipes now, like plantain or nettle or sage pesto...

3. There's a monster in the greenhouse. It appeared practically overnight and is quickly claiming more and more territory. Unlike last year it's not a parsley monster—it's my lemon balm. One day it was growing in its vertical tower, luxuriant but tidy, like a normal plant, and the next it had quintupled in volume and was threatening to swallow the nearest planter. Look at the tiny tomato plants, they look terrified of it!

I urgently need to fight back against this giant mélisse (as we call lemon balm) but I've been really busy and I keep putting it off, and then remembering anxiously at 11pm that I still have this creature to take care of, which is ironic seeing as lemon balm is supposed to relieve stress and anxiety. This is the exact opposite of why I planted you. Anyway if you never hear from me again after this post it's because I finally engaged in battle against this year's vegetal menace, and lost.

[chaldeanu]

think twice ノ sunday

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 3.9k ノ fem reader — reader is sunday’s subordinate . i won’t say maid specifically (not this time lol) but you know the deal with my penacony fics hehe ノ nipple play . tit play . lots of touching and sucking ノ petnames — little bird . dove . darling . doll ノ a pinch of mind break . obedience and corrections . calling him “sir” ノ fucking against the wall . cumming inside . making a mess ノ sunday acting weird . lots of references to harmony and birds and cages and sins ノ proofread mostly done but i gave up — forgive any repeats or mistakes ♡

“now,” he trails off with a subtle voice. his gloved hand finds its place on your chest, squeezing your tit featherly yet enough to make you wince. “i remember we were talking about what would happen if you failed me again... and what if you successfully completed your task, yes?”

“yes, sir…” to say these two words is difficult, oddly enough, whilst your answer gets stuck in your throat and you fear that you’ll misspell even the simplest sentence. “and that i should always think twice.”

“exactly. think twice.”

you watch his palm slowly rise and fall to the rhythm of your uneven breaths. his digits gradually wrap around your clothed skin in a delicate but demanding gesture, a vine of obsession.

there is no way back — once sunday asks you to do something for him, there’s no refusal possible.

only compliance.

the young leader of the oak family glances over his shoulder as you feel another person behind you, but he silently orders them to leave before they can notice anything going on between you two. however, that short, tense situation was enough to harden your nipples from the cold sweat. something he immediately felt under his fingers.

“your body betrays your feelings right now. are you nervous or excited? tell me, which one is it? and, kindly, please don’t lie to me.” his whisper travels to your ears so clearly that you wonder how anyone can remain unbothered by his sultry voice — you certainly cannot.

“b-both.”

he reaches out and strokes your face lightly while tilting it up just enough to make you look into his eyes. then he descends lower and grips onto your chin to keep you in place; you involuntarily let out a moan of shame and delight. his smirk grows wider, for he takes great pleasure in playing with your tit while hearing all these cute sounds and seeing your confused expressions. when his other hand also finds its way onto your clothed breast and both of them circle the nipples so gently, your knees tremble.

trying to pull away from the sensation that is almost painful, but you regretfully fail since he presses your back against a wall with no further escape. sunday leans forward to bring himself closer, as if he wanted to catch each of your shaky exhales and have them only for himself.

to gather a moment to breathe is a miracle; time counts with the pounding of your heart. but the break lasts shortly before he’s on you again, this time to pinch your nipples in a torturous fashion. you find yourself melting under his touch, face growing hotter and hotter with every second of this silent assault.

“already a mess when you’re still fully clothed. it makes me wonder how you would act if i used my tongue instead… would it feel good for you? oh, my poor little angel… i hope you aren’t imagining it, not right now… correct?” he teases, only to pull down the frills of your deep collar with one quick motion.

how pitiful it is that you will probably ruin such a pretty set, he thinks with a gentle smirk, evaluating the sight of your revealed cleavage, squeezed deliciously by the laced hem from both sides.

he kneads at your soft breasts without hurry and occasionally pulls at them playfully while pinching your hard buds in between, and your mind blurs out from the sensations. his beautiful face comes closer to yours with his shimmering gaze fixed on your own, the glow resembling honey gold and drowning you in an ocean of warmth.

the luxurious perfume reaches your nose when he leans to kiss you. everything inside screams that maybe you really should refuse him and withdraw. lips on lips, like velvet caressing the skin, lulling you to believe that it’s only wise to stay obedient under his grip, all while his breath fans over your features until you close your eyes out of anticipation.

that’s expected, and he chuckles knowingly at your blind expression — he stops being shy. he takes hold of your wrist and moves your own hand to press it to your mouth just when you are about to moan too loudly, covering needy whimpers as he descends to nuzzle his face against your tit.

teeth biting on the inside of your cheek, driven crazy but faithful, like he wanted, because you don’t want to disappoint him. sunday kisses around your sensitive peak while purposely avoiding its centre, just to tease you even further and see how frustrated you can get from his games. his free palm continues to squeeze it roughly to your dismay, or perhaps it’s entirely because of that.

the same pair of lips that had been sucking on your boob is now moving up to your jawline so softly that it sends shivers through your entire body while they brush past your skin and reach your ear, his breathing not much steadier than yours.

“i believe that you must be suffering a lot here, am i correct? look at your poor body shaking already.” the harmonious voice fills up your mind; the whisper flows right into your consciousness.

to emphasise his point, his hand reaches for your leg, slowly crawling up until it rests upon your inner thigh. but just as he moves his glove further inside to make contact with your covered heat, his thumb just barely grazes your sensitive clit over the thin fabric and makes you mewl in desperation immediately.

tease until you are nothing but a trembling mess — it’s his favourite, how he always takes his time playing with you in more ways than one. you bite back the wail before it gets louder by reflex and hide your face in the crook of his neck, letting his palm run along your outer folds through your underwear.

stimulating, yes, but not giving enough.

“how pitiful it is that you try so desperately to conceal yourself. do you want me to see what i have done to you or not, angel?”

a ragged whisper is all you spew out while your vision turns cloudy; liquid diamonds gather between your lashes as his thumb presses against your throbbing bundle of nerves and circles it in agonisingly slow motions.

at the same moment, he brings his lips down to your other exposed tit to suck your hard nipple leisurely with such delicate gestures. that is, until he bites the pebbled skin roughly and your voice responds. you try to shift yourself to slip away from his attention, but he merely giggles together with the flicks done back and forth over your clit, drawing another high-pitched moan out of your chest.

how close you are to falling apart — sunday knows each reaction from memory. his hot touch travels lower to where the lace of your undergarments is sticking to your skin, your panties soaked through completely from his persistent work, and he slides one digit in between your puffy folds with no difficulty.

the silk feels divine, a godly presence bestowed upon your body, as it presses up against your bundle of nerves until you’re unable to articulate any of the desires that tighten around your heart.

“poor little bird, can’t endure it without sliding down a wall. dove, you would fall completely if it wasn’t for the support i offer. just what shall we do about you? your sweet whines… they’re driving me insane, darling.” you feel how he breathes against your sensitive chest, goosebumps appearing even though he’s so warm.

as he says these words, his gloves carefully unwrap your clothes, uncovering more of your bare thighs. a shaky exhale leaves your lips at the special attention he gives to the entrance of your cunt, brushing his fingers delicately in circular motions while whispering tender things into your ears.

it feels so good. it’s useless to deny the cravings — the delirious flame he feeds so tenderly to let it burn more. he knows exactly what he’s doing with his experienced hands, pressing deeper inside so easily thanks to your dripping essence, right before withdrawing them just as abruptly. you mewl at his cruel treatment, and your hips instinctively chase after his fingertips.

this little rebellion takes your entire courage to finally muster up enough strength to grab his shoulders, to steady yourself, and to force him to slow down.

he lets you do as you wish for a moment, taking pleasure in your impatience whilst he rubs himself between your folds to soak the fabric with your juices until it sticks to your dewy flesh, causing you to grind against him needily again. and yet again, he stops.

“why should i spoil you that much?” he asks; meanwhile, his digits slide away from your swollen nub. “or, should i rather say — why must you continue to look so innocent? i love how you try to hide your true face. no one can see the gloss of your skin, soiled under my kisses, or how your body responds to my words. i could watch you all night, just like this, if i only could…” he smirks mischievously at your incessant tantrum, a smug glint flashing across his eyes as they return to your own.

you gasp and whimper pathetically in reply since you’re unable to form coherent words anymore, much less make proper retorts. he watches your features twist with shame, gently cradling your face while leaning closer to breathe onto your skin with an exhale filled with yearning, his lips barely grazing the arch of your brow.

and then suddenly, the tension disappears, and sunday pushes you forward with no effort. with his forceful arms, he forces your legs wider and swiftly slams his own hips between them, embracing your waist and burying his nose into your soft neck. he immediately sinks his teeth into it with no hesitation, leaving you squealing from shock and pleasure alike, his grip so harsh that he will surely leave marks that will remind you of his demands later.

“dove, please, open my pants. quickly, now…”

you comply without question, knowing he’ll reward you handsomely for this, and shakily take ahold of his belt, which is cold under your touch and somehow gives you a pleasant thrill that only increases with each second. the buckle is decorated with a gilded pattern of polished metal, and your hands tremble slightly as they move to unfasten it.

the moment you’re busy undoing the clasp, he grip the fist around your wrists to prevent you from finishing the job — he does it himself, quite impatient, and holds you close enough for his pink cockhead to press against your clit hidden behind the dewy lace.

sunday grins triumphantly with a certain amount of arrogance; he takes pleasure in watching you tremble beneath his own frame, savouring your strangled gasps and whimpers, but that is not enough for him to release his hold on your cottony limbs.

you let him move your panties to the side to rub his tip with slippery strings of arousal, clinging to his arms like a trembling leaf to a branch whilst he’s busy doing so. your chest heaves erratically as your nipples brush against the fabric of his suit, worsening their fatigued state.

soon he cannot stop himself from teasing you further, so he presses his palm over your sensitive clit and spreads your slick all over your pussy before inserting his two digits back into your heat. with a single thrust, he drives his fingertips straight against your most sensitive spot, a jolt of ecstasy coursing through you along with it, nearly disrobing you of the last shreds of your sanity.

“no, sir… please, i want you— your cock, please…” you beg.

but sunday does not listen. he only smiles softly while observing your squirming figure underneath his pristine form before murmuring, his tone as gentle as a lullaby.

“don’t worry, angel, i will fill you with everything that you desire… so just wait a little longer. for now, i want to ensure that you’re ready.” he explains, stroking your walls with ease.

despite your protests, you can’t help but whimper. your mind turns into a mush, lost in the sensations, and all you can focus on is how your entire body aches for him — aching for something that you're not yet sure about — but all he does is just pump inside until he can’t find any resistance within. you hear yourself babbling out an apology at some point, but that makes you look pathetic.

when he notices it, his expression immediately changes into a frown.

“darling,” he coos, saccharine sweet, as if speaking to a frightened kitten. “you aren’t feeling guilty, no? for showing me how much you enjoy this? such silly thoughts do not fit you at all. especially when you should know by now that i’m more than glad to accept.”

he looks directly into your eyes after finishing the sentence, his golden pupils locking you in place. they burn brighter and more fiercely than any fire. what lies beyond his gaze — perhaps it is passion itself, raw and untamed yet neither violent nor destructive. it merely wants to consume your entire existence so thoroughly that you may never come to realise how completely it devours you until there’s nothing left.

maybe the only reason he won’t go all out is because you willingly give yourself to him repeatedly, the very proof being the liquid of your love leaking from the crevices of his palm.

before you can respond, sunday leans his upper half over to take you by surprise with a swift kiss, successfully muffling your cry when he grabs the underside of your thighs and sets you over his aching cock. your cunt’s already welcoming him with wet melodies, spilling all over his shaft.

although his fingers have made your body loose enough for the entire length to slip into your needy pussy in a single motion, it’s no easy task. it surprises you at first, as he pushes right through the ring of your hole with relative ease and slides all the way back in one continuous thrust until his pelvis presses flush against yours, but that soon dissipates when you clench desperately around him.

you sob, feeling him cover you entirely, every inch of his skin connecting with yours while his salivating tongue enters your mouth to steal the rosy kiss, a promise unbroken that once again you let yourself be claimed by sin. he tastes as delicious as he looks and as he smells — something like expensive incense mixed with a faint trace of sweetness — which makes you unable to resist sucking on his lips harder than before, which causes a chuckle to rise from his throat.

after breaking apart to allow air between you two, sunday leans towards the crook of your neck, his beloved harbour where he can hide from the world, and nibbles gently over the pulse point, like a snake inflicting its venom.

you shudder, losing balance for a moment and slipping by an inch or two from his grasp because he lets his hand cup your chin instead of supporting the underside of your thighs. you have to react, wrapping your calves around his hips like a rope that will bind you two together. and he tilts your face so that you may gaze upon him, directly into his eyes.

“i would like to apologise for the short notice… however, you are taking me in so wonderfully that i do not have it in me to stop. it almost feels as though your body is melting under me. am i not correct in assuming that much, my dove?”

a timid nod from you makes him grin from ear to ear.

“well then, if that is so, i must repay your generosity in full. i could not bear to disappoint you, after all.”

“that’s not it! i didn’t mean—” you stammer out, but it takes a great deal of effort just to talk through the haze in your mind. you feel like you’ve been injected with some kind of poison. his words. sentimental orders. every time his length prods against your fluttering walls, your heart seems to swell in your chest as though you were an overflowing river bursting out of the banks, threatening to spill over.

he chuckles once more before bending down and planting a firm kiss at the junction where your shoulder meets your neck.

“of course, i know what you meant to say. that’s why i don’t plan to stop even if you ask me to, though that isn’t necessarily required since you’re doing so beautifully without using your words…”

he moves his mouth back to your ear so that you can feel the breath tickle against the erogenous flesh; he whispers anything, everything, meaningless compliments to fill the void of the grand ceiling above, his voice reverberating through your bones and resonating in your system like the strums of a harp.

slow but steady strokes push his balls forward against your folds. his cock brushes against the roof of your soaked walls, hitting upon spots that send waves of ecstasy surging up your spine and shooting straight into your brain, but the sensation lasts for a mere second, and he is already withdrawing to repeat the motions again, giving you no time to adjust and instead merely causing more warmth to flood your groin while you struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

his pace gradually hastens, and the muscles of his arms clench in a manner similar to your own thighs squeezing around his hips as they threaten to cramp under the immense pressure building within them. your nipples slide across the slick material of his suit and continue to graze against his chest. you can feel his heartbeat drumming out an irregular rhythm beneath your breasts, but it matches perfectly with yours, nonetheless.

the air in your lungs vanishes suddenly, and your hands tighten their grip on the silk of his shirt in an attempt to steady yourself. a particularly sharp shove against your sweet spot causes a yelp to burst out of your throat without warning, bringing forth tears that flow freely down your cheeks. bucking your hips against his and slamming your legs together, squeezing him with all your might, both physically and emotionally — like the cage he wouldn’t mind being trapped in.

it’s so overwhelming. it’s too much. his scent, his sweet praises, and his talented touch roaming your heated skin. your knees quake as you try to remain upright and avoid collapsing altogether.

but sunday does not falter or relent in the slightest. his palms firmly grab onto your ass, helping you rock against his erection. the wet squelches and slaps echo around the room, growing louder and more frequent, and your nails dig into his shoulders.

“wonderful. your tightness feels just wonderful, my dove. i hope that you will continue to cling to me as such in the future, too,” he sighs, pressing his lips to your jawline before moving along and nuzzling at your collarbone, licking up a trail from your neck to your chin with his tongue. you respond to his affections eagerly, tossing your head from side to side whilst lust engulfs your brain, allowing your mouth to fall agape so he can swallow your moans of pleasure greedily and suck your saliva from your mouth.

he snaps against you, practically rutting you into submission until your juices ooze everywhere around his cock and create a slippery mess on your thighs that drips drop by drop on the floor, syrupy strings of what is called ‘making love’.

he’s obviously getting off just as much as you do from this profane connection, judging by the way his breaths grow ragged, struggling to maintain equilibrium amidst laboured gasps, and his pupils are blown out completely until all you can see are ultramarine circles ringed with bright yellow light.

“and… my adorable doll, you deserve nothing less than the best. i swear that i’ll spoil you… oh, i promise to spoil you rotten,” he utters between his groans, noting the sheen of sweat coating your skin.

with your arms wrapped around his shoulders and his length ramming your honeyed spot repeatedly, it isn’t long before you cannot stop yourself from crying out loudly, releasing all your pent-up feelings. your walls clench spastically around his shaft until they reach a new height of sensitivity; it overwhelms everything else, and your climax hits, a lightning running along your nerves, knocking the air from your lungs in a strangled gasp.

“that’s it, love. you look beautiful, so please let yourself go, angel… aah—!” he grunts as soon as his hips lock against yours, his cock twitching rapidly inside you while pumping cum deep within your womb, the white essence mingling together with a squirting fluid that drenches his lower abdomen.

the shared orgasms happen at once.

the highest form of harmony for your bodies to sync so perfectly; you can’t help but tremble in absolute delight, savouring the closeness of having your lover pour all of himself into you as he did. feeling the way he fills you up and douses your insides while simultaneously drawing out the delirious experience until his countenance blurs before your eyes.

with little steps and fatigue pressing you down, finally coming to your fucked-out senses. before you can gather the thoughts, he pulls out with a shattered gasp, putting your panties back where they should remain, trapping the mixed slick of his cum and your juices between your battered folds and the silk fabric.

too much. he always gives you too much of his love — and too little space to breathe in this carnal abyss, it seems.

yet, there is no better place to drown in the heat of passion, for you cannot imagine anything greater than sunday smothering you in all your most exquisite desires, risking his reputation just for a moment of entrapment that doesn't feel suffocating around his throat. you're cradled in his embrace and sighing shallowly, feeling the hot stickiness dripping from your thighs, spreading beneath you like a sinful halo on the ornate floor.

“do you still remember your lesson from today?”

“that i should always think twice before taking action…”

“exactly. yet, it appears that you did not apply that wisdom when opening your legs for me, sweet little bird,” he notes, embracing your body like you are a piece of art and kissing your damp forehead tenderly.

“i apologise, sir… i—”

“no, that’s quite alright. i want to be your first choice. always.”

[valyrfia]

still not over the national anthem incident yesterday btw because max verstappen throughout his career has constantly been disrespected either by those he has been nothing but friendly and encouraging towards and it pissed me off a great deal that three world championships under his belt later some drivers still don’t respect that he is THE generational talent

can i ask what exactly happend, i turned off before the podium

Crowd started chanting “Lando” during the podium, which in itself is a little disrespectful but nothing we haven’t seen before (ie. chanting Charles during Imola). The national anthem started and Lando put his fist in the air cheering them on/encouraging them DURING the national anthem. Needless to say, Max and George gave him the biggest side eye. A lot of people have also drawn comparisons to Charles’ behaviour during Monza qualifying last year, where the tifosi booed Max and Charles told them off/shook his head.

Lando also went on to blab about how he would’ve won if not for the safety car, which a lot of Max fans were a little ?! about because Max’s skill definitely made the difference during this race. Also Max would have won Miami if not for the safety car, but you didn’t hear him say any of that directly to the press, instead he just praised Lando’s skill.

All in all it’s plain disrespect and immature as hell. I would NOT guess that Lando, George, Charles, and Max all fall within the same two year age range. Also it’s disheartening because this level of entitlement and general non-awareness is nothing new, lest we forget when he broke the Hungarian GP trophy last year (which takes like 4-6 months to make) and he said some pretty dismissive stuff about it forcing McLaren PR to go into overdrive, or him saying that Trump is his lucky charm after his Miami win. I’m sort of done making allowances for some rich asshole’s behaviour, especially because the media seems ready to glorify him. If a non-British driver had pulled that same shit during the national anthem you bet all English-speaking F1 media would be up in arms but no Lando gets a pass because the British are desperate to have a second coming of Lewis Hamilton.

[magewritesstories]

[ SPENCER REID ] GIRL DINNER

cw. you and spencer are alone in the bullpen after a long case and you introduce him to girl dinner, guest starring spencer's glasses bc why not. [ fluff ] note. i used what my comprehension of girl dinner is but there's a lot of different opinions on what it's supposed to be. wc. 622

THE BULLPEN IS QUIET AS THE CLOCK STRIKES 11:30 PM. Spencer sat in his office, wondering why he ever took Emily up on the offer of becoming Unit Chief.

The pile of unwritten reports seemed never-ending, and the pile of written ones barely growing.

The man sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, casting a glance out his office window to look at the single lit light coming from your desk, where you're also hunched over a profile.

He quickly checks the time on his watch and gets up.

"You should head home, it's late," he stated, leaning against Luke's desk, which was parallel to yours.

You looked up from the report in your hand. "It's okay, I'm almost done anyway—what about you?"

"That doesn't count, I'm unit chief," he replied with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"I didn't realize unit chiefs weren't human," you replied with a teasing tone.

Spencer just shrugged. "I told JJ I'd write her share of reports so that she could go home and spend some time with Henry and Michael. What's your excuse?"

"Just looking at the pile of unwritten reports on your desk made me tired," you answered. "I didn't want to add to it."

"I don't mind, you know."

"I know, but just because you don't mind doesn't mean I should take advantage of it every time—besides, believe it or not, I had nowhere to be anyway."

You gave him a small smile that made his heart flutter.

He stayed quiet for a minute (by accident) before quickly clearing his throat. "Uhm, have you—have you had dinner?"

"Sort of," you shrugged. "I had girl dinner if that counts."

Spencer frowned as he said something he found himself saying a lot more often with you around, "I—I don't—I don't know what that means."

You used your pen (pink with a small kitten attached to it—probably from Penelope's 'Batcave') to point at the empty plate sitting at the far edge of your desk.

"I had a small container of yogurt, a cup-o-noodles, and some apple slices," you explained.

"That's just a bunch of different snacks," Spencer blinked in confusion.

You shook your head as you corrected him, "Actually, it's a bunch of leftovers I found in the fridge—don't tell Terry, he's very serious about his yogurt."

"Still not sustainable," he countered with a smile, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"It's three out of the five main food groups," you replied with a grin. "Besides, it's not like I eat like this every day. I just didn't want to waste time getting dinner when I wasn't that hungry anyway."

You leaned against your chair, spinning slightly, as you looked at the slight crease between his brows.

"Tell you what, boss," you said, "If my choice of dinner bothers you that much, why don't we go out?"

"Wha—what?" he asked, snapping out of his daze.

You smiled at his flustered expression. "For dinner, obviously. C'mon, my treat, y'know, for being such a great boss."

"I—I—"

"It'll be fun," you insisted. "There's this great Thai place that opened a few streets down from that bar we went to the other day. JJ said you don't know how to use chopsticks, and I would love to see you try."

Spencer shook his head. "I taught myself, actually. I can use them now."

"Great, I guess you can prove it to me," you replied.

"You really think that place is still open right now?"

"Yep, opening hours are from 7 to 2," you answered. "So if we can finish these reports before then, we should be fine."

Spencer sighed before giving you a smile. "I'm going to try."

"Great, it's a date!" you exclaimed as he turned back around to walk to his office.

You were going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR ACCIDENTALLY RUNNING INTO A ONE NIGHT STAND YOU THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER SEE AGAIN *  assorted dialogue for that specific scenario where your muse slept with someone and then they parted ways, never expecting to run into each other until that amazing "oh my god, it's you" moment, adjust as necessary

please don't tell me you work here.

admit it. you still think about me.

that was the best night of my life.

i tried finding you, tried tracking you down.

you never told me your name.

well... this is awkward.

we could go for a round two later.

could i take you out for drinks?

this cannot be happening.

there were no feelings involved.

they're asking how we know each other. what do we say?

i never thought i'd ever see you again.

did you ever tell anyone about us?

maybe we could try going on a proper date this time.

you didn't even give me a chance to talk to you the next morning.

by the time i woke up, you were gone.

you didn't even leave me your number.

i never got your name.

can we just start over and try this all again? pretend like we never met?

so... wait. we're going to be coworkers?

they're very strict about fraternization.

there is no "us." we were never anything.

i cannot mix my professional life and my personal life.

act like you don't know me.

it was just a one night stand.

we should start over.

you can't flirt with me anymore.

i should have spent the night.

can we just act like it never happened and carry on like normal?

i thought about you every night.

no, i've never met you before in my life.

i didn't have time to get involved in anyone.

i never promised i'd stay the night.

i'll admit, it was great.

so it was a night of great sex. big whoop.

they can't know we slept together, okay?

i've moved on, and so should you.

keep this between us.

did you tell anyone we hooked up?

don't give me that look.

so you do think about me.

i wish i stayed overnight.

if they find out we slept together, we're in big trouble.

of course i think about you.

you were honestly the best i've ever had

it was a mistake to hook up like that.

it was just for fun.

we never should have crossed that line.

let's just put that in the past and forget it even happened.

i have to focus on my work now and not think about you.

pretend like we just met.

will you finally give me your name?

so... what should i call you?

i'm not used to seeing you with clothes on.

you look different in daylight.

you can't flirt your way into my pants this time.

it was amazing, i'll admit, but we can't go back.

please don't tell them what happened.

to tell you the truth, i missed you.

i haven't been with anyone since.

we could try being friends.

admit it. you loved it.

please don't mess this up for me.

you've always been on my mind.

i can't believe i finally found you.

if we're going to work together, we need to put everyone aside and focus.

don't smile at me like that.

[winwintea]

how dreamies would react to helping you with your homework

REQUEST ▸ how dreamies would react to having to help with your homework?

PAIRING ▸ friend!dreamies x reader 

TAGS ▸ none, crack, most of them are confused af and very unhelpful, DO NOT TAKE ANY OF THEIR ADVICE ESPECIALLY CHENLE’S…

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ anon i lost your ask somehow… it appeared on my computer but now i can’t find it but i still remember it! i apologize if the formatting is weird this time lol i’m writing this on my phone 😭

Mark Lee

marks TRIES to help you with your homework. emphasis on ‘TRIES’ cause we all know he is no help at all. you ask him a question about the problem as you’re both attempting it together and he looks at you with the most confused look you have ever seen, “i was just about to ask you the exact same thing…” you two are probably never going to figure it out, so good luck getting your homework done tonight!

Huang Renjun

renjun is an actually good tutor. of course he’s going to walk you through all the steps on how to solve the problems and then discuss with you the subject better at hand, “I think it’s 47… stay focused y/n!” renjun’s the best study buddy, and even if he doesn’t understand the subject well, he’ll try his best to understand and learn on his own, just so he can teach you better.

Lee Jeno

jeno. poor jeno. he’s trying his best too okay? “why are there… letters… isn’t this math?” he hasn’t had much education past a basic high school level, so anything beyond that bewilders him, “we used to solve… much different problems… back when i was a kid” (okay boomer) next time remember that jeno and statistics do not work well together!

Lee Donghyuck

haechan looks at the problems for a few seconds before deciding that is simply something he does not want to attempt at all. “you know… you don’t need school!” he throws the pencil down on the table in a fit, “who needs school anyways?” haechan glances at the work then back at you, “there are so many other options on the table! just drop out!”

Na Jaemin

jaemin is great for emotional support! not the best for helping, but at least he’s there cheering you on from the sides. he’ll take a look at you with a happy smile on his face, “you’re doing great!” but then as soon as he looks back at the problem you’re currently attempting he arches his brows into a look of pure confusion. he’s just as clueless as you are, but at least he can be your cheerleader!

Zhong Chenle

chenle gets quite impatient with how slow you’re doing the problems, “wrong… wrong again…” until eventually he snatches the paper across from your seat and mumbles to himself, “you know what, give it to me…” you two sit in silence as Chenle does the homework for you, but before he finishes he looks at you again dead serious, “why don’t you just cheat?”

Park Jisung

jisung was everywhere but school… so what you even expect this man will do to help you study? “what’s the purpose of this again?” he asks as he lets out a big yawn, and stretches in his chair, rocking back and forth impatiently as you attempt the problem yourself. jisung watches as you struggle for a couple of seconds before grumbling to himself, “just tell your professor it doesn’t make sense… i don’t know… you can gaslight him, you’re good at that.”

[brailsthesmolgurl]

LOSE YOU TO LOVE YOU

Preview: You had to lose your lover to protect them against harm but what happens when someday, fate connects the two of you again? Warnings: Angsty but yes to fluff too, slightly-slightly suggestive towards the end! this is gonna be a bit of a lengthy read as always

P.S: This is an extremely detailed request by one of you guys, its a bit challenging for me to write it hence I decided to take it upon my own twist for the story. Or else, I might actually get so demotivated to write this piece and I do not wish for that. Overall plot would still be half-preserved but I had decided not to use any names just for the overall inclusivity for other readers. Great ideas should be shared and I think my readers would like to be included too in this wonderful plot :)

"What...what have you put into this y/n?" Rafayel stumbled, the mug slipped out of his hand when his legs started buckling beneath him. He was in disbelief as he watched the mug broke upon impact against the hard tiled floor. It was like time had slowed down for him and he could only blame the orange juice he had drank. "Y/N!" He calls out to you again, hands now clasping onto his slender neck when he slowly crumpled to the ground. Yet, his calls for you fell upon deaf ears, four walls on each side of the room watched him suffer.

You peeked over the heavy door leading to his room and your eyes watered at the sight of your fiance lying motionless on the ground. Knocking him out is the only way you can think of the moment you were threatened by an elite group of assassins. They are the reason behind his bounty value--that had exceeded by two million-- and they presented the only option for you to 'save him' is by leaving him.

They cornered you on one of the days when you were out dealing with Wanderers. Although you are fairly combative, one woman against a dozen of elite assassins would not grant you a survival route. Hence, you were practically forced to listen to their proposal. Not much details were disclosed to you about why they were willing to retract the bounty for your fiance but you figured if he could live a better and safer life without a bounty hung on his head then why not? Even if you were to be at their disposal.

"Leave him and he shall walk like a free man he once was." You remembered the grim voice of a man as he relayed the terms and conditions to you. "We do not seek a confrontation here as you are with child."

Flashing back to the present, you lightly rubbed your belly, still wondering how they know of your pregnancy when it was not even announced to Rafayel. This further tells that those assassins are not to be messed with. "I am sorry." You knelt down beside your lover, studying his peaceful features as he was snoozing. "I am sorry I have to do this to you. I promise you that I will be back for you when the time is right." Pushing yourself off of the floor, you left without turning your head back. Each step taken ripped your heart out of your chest even more.

Years had gone by, with you disappearing off of the grid and went into hiding. During then, you had been living under a pseudonym, revamping your whole image and identity to go full on undercover. You did this because you did not want Rafayel, nor anyone from your past to track you down. However, peacefulness does not last long when news of Rafayel’s bounty is on the rise again and it got you wondered what he could have done to piss them off. You did some digging yourself. With the help of your new identity, you can slip in and out of the clubs without a worry. Eavesdropping just enough to get the information you need to propagate further in tracking down the same man who once threatened you to leave Rafayel.

The trail has led you back to Linkon City and you stood at the balcony of the unit you had rented, overlooking the scenic view of the concrete jungle below. The city has changed a lot since the last you had been here and that is probably years ago. “Mummy.” A child-like voice snapped you out of your reminisce and you looked down, watching the toddler walking up to you. A perfect photocopy of your ex-lover; with dark purple locks smooth to one’s touch and eyes the same as his hair. He is like a doughy-faced version of Rafayel. The child that you bear while you left Rafayel now stood in front of you, eyes full of hope before another similar face joins him. Yes, you gave birth to twins. The other is yet another photocopied version of Rafayel, but adorns the eyes as deep as the blue sea. That is how you manage to tell them apart from one another.

“Mummy you okay?” The blue-eyed toddler followed up with the question. Although only been in this world for three years, the both of them had grown so much, not only in terms of height but also knowledge and other aspects that would commonly be found within a toddler’s growing age. They inherited Rafayel’s artistic talent; always doting on painting to pass time whenever you are home with them. Whereas from you, they certainly are highly adaptable and smart. “We go for walk mummy?”

“Yes, let’s go for a walk.” You stood upon and went over to the front door to grab your coat, handing the twins their coats as well. “Put them on alright, the night is going to be chilly and I do not want you guys to be sick.” Out of habit, you slotted your baseball cap right over your head. It is a good strategy to not stand out from the crowd when you get to shield parts of your face at certain angles. You grabbed your wallet and phone and proceeded to walk out with the twins.

Nights in cities are never boring; with bustling traffic and chatters hailing from crowds. This was what you had missed out on for the past years. Staying by the countryside does have its perks but still, you missed the noises of a city that is alive. Dank pathways were sprawled out at the park as you walked with your toddlers by your side. The rain had just subsided and it smelled of dew and silt. But, something seemed off. There were hints of metallic smell in the air, a smell closely resembled to fresh blood. You stopped in your steps and started scanning the area, your ears perked up to maximise picking up even the slightest of gales. “I’m scared mummy.” Your toddler had seemed to pick up on the shift of aura as well.

A twig snapped and you too, snapped yourself towards the source of the sound, shielding your kids by pushing them behind you and hands dug deep into your coat, ready to draw out your weapon if danger ensues. Your eyes were narrowed into slits, relying on dimly lit street lamps to highlight the bushes in front of you. “You know what you should do right?” You looked down, watching your toddlers nod towards you. They were already trained from young to flee should there be any situation that requires them to. Both of them have a watch equipped with a navigation system that will lead them directly to the nearest police station or anywhere that is a confirmed safe house for them. With that, you ushered them and watched as your kids held hands with one another and started to tread lightly out of the park, the watch illuminating their way.

You pulled out your gun the moment an amorphous figure emerged from the bushes and before it could reach you, it burst into flames, screams of agony like a banshee on a killing spree tore through the empty park. Luckily, your children had already fled and a beep on your watch notified you that your kids are safe, and they are currently back to the unit that you had rented. You lowered your gun and stared at the tallowing figure in front of you, the blazoning red tinge of flames looked familiar, it was as if you had seen it—“Y/n?” You blinked, looking up to find another figure emerging from the same path taken by the man who had now disintegrated into ashes and blended into the night skies. “Is that you?”

“Rafayel?” Your jaw dropped, watching him emerged from the bushes. It must be because you missed him so dearly that your mind decided to deploy a mirage of him amidst danger right? It’s like those final wish scenes and you could not help but feel goosebumps slowly drawn to the surface of your arms. “You’re not real.”

The man in black clomped over and you stumbled backwards, gasps fleeting out of your lips as you thought you just saw a ghost. “Careful.” The grip on your arm gravitated you back to reality. You are now staring right into the eyes of your ex-lover, the same guy you thought was killed because there were no news of him anymore. The same man that you were forced to leave in order to protect his safety. The love of your life, the father to your twins. “You are back.” He enveloped you into his arms, his breath disheveled, his tone of voice ebullient. You were expecting a frustrated Rafayel, not forgiving you for leaving him, not acknowledging your existence because you had left him so suddenly without a reason.

Yet, you could not seem to fathom his current state as he held you tightly in his arms. Rafayel had been nothing but the bearer of a deft husk of a ‘widow’. Ever since he woke up to an empty home, he became relentless. Thomas too, was greatly affected by his melange of emotions. Everyone else who worked around him were forced to be more obsequious than ever, showcasing utmost sycophancy in fear of getting panned by the artist. For he had went through a change of heart, thirsting only for revenge upon the group of people that took away his lover. Succour was indeed offered by Thomas, to seek out information regarding your whereabouts. Rafayel agreed and thanked him, providing him all of the money needed to seek you out but deep inside, he knew that finding you would not be a simple matter and his worry haunted him further.

The walk back to your place was awkward, one-sidedly perhaps. Rafayel had not stopped talking, telling you about his journeys of tracking down every single one of the members of the elite group and threatening them to spill their guts about your whereabouts. Given that you left him on your own will, none of the men knew where you had migrated to and that literally got their guts spilled afterwards. He then went on, telling you about how he had handled the truth of you leaving him, that, when it came to a certain point in his life, he was the one that caused you the suffering instead. His words did travelled into your ears, but it was not being processed properly as you were too occupied on thinking about how does one tell their long time lover that they had became a father without their knowing?

The both of you stood at the front of your door now, you praying quietly to yourself, hoping Rafayel would not freak out if he were to meet both of your twins upon stepping into the entrance. You imprinted your thumbprint on the scanner and the door unlocked with a crisp click. Two sets of footsteps were heard clomping towards where you stood and you looked over to Rafayel immediately to analyse his reactions towards your twins. “Mummy— who’s this?” The both of your twins immediately froze, being only a couple of steps away and their eyebrows were strewn together in confusion. The father of the twins stood frozen too, eyes darting in between the two toddlers, noticing the familiar and yet uncanny features of theirs.

When Rafayel got to the leader of the elite group, he was foretold that you were pregnant when you left but he supposed that he was unable to take a grasp of time after you had left. Both of the boys are a bit taller than kids of their age, both rocking the same purple locks as his, pallid and flabby cheeks that Rafayel was certain to own when he was younger back in the days and not to mention, the both of them got your lips. Every lip motion is a total reflection of you. “You were pregnant with them when you left me right?” You took the note that Rafayel does probably know of the existence of you having a child but maybe, he is still in shock, not expecting twins at all. You nodded in response to his question.

Rafayel got onto his knees and smiled, tears started jerking around in his eye sockets, tainting his purplish-pink eyes a glassy tint. “I am your father.” He opened his arms to the twins but your kids cautiously looked over to you, awaiting for the confirmation as they had never seen their father before. Upon noticing your nod and smile, the twins squealed in surprise and hurtled themselves into his arms. Just like that, a family reunion happened.

“You already got them to bed?” Couple of hours later, Rafayel had placed the two reluctant twins of his to bed. Given both of the kids had been longing to have a father figure in their life, a few hours of interaction with Rafayel are definitely not enough for them. However, bed time at 9pm came to be an obstacle for the twins. Yawns started replacing laughs and Rafayel knew it was time to call off play time and switch to story time. You would usually read them to bed and Rafayel thought it is a great idea to put the kids at ease by telling his story, portraying himself to be the main protagonist set out on a journey to save a princess and to rescue her minions as well. The princess being you and yes the minions are the twins.

“Yeah, they could barely listen to my story for five minutes.” Rafayel plopped down next to you on the couch and extended his arm across your back, an invitation for you to lean against his shoulder and you did just that. “I might have went a little hard on them for the tag game.” That explains the heavy stomps and patters of footsteps coming from the room and hallways just now as you were taking a rest. You settled your longing gaze on your fiancé, realising that years had done no harm to him. The same hairstyle that he wears without much styling, the same siren like eyes that only holds you as the apple of his eyes, the same moles that were dotted across his face and the same warm smile he could ever emblazoned onto his features when it comes to being around you. He never changed.

As your insecurity started to settle upon you, particularly towards your own looks. Where time and stress has taken a toll on you, imprinting its effects with fine lines and wrinkles on your face, painting dark circles under your eyes and causing you to constantly wear a fatigued smile. “Do I look different to you even after all of those years Rafayel?” You peered up to him.

“My love.” Rafayel’s warm hand came up to caress your pinched cheeks, you had indeed became much more thinner than he last seen you, before you left him. He knew you must have not suffered any lesser when you had to constantly be on the run while having to bring up both of the kids by yourself as well. But, part of him was grateful that you no longer had to run, for he had eliminated every single member of the damned association. “You still look the same as how you always were.” His eyes wandered, down your cheeks and to your lips and back up again, lust wriggling its way through his gaze. “I missed you dearly my wife. I promise you that no matter what happens ever again, I will not let anyone convince you to leave me anymore. For I, will take full responsibility for the safety of our family.”

Your eyes reflected like glass under the dim lighting, words of affirmation coming from your lover after such a long time seized all of the rumination in your head. You did not notice the streaks of tears till you felt the pads of his thumbs swiped across both sides of your cheeks, his hand now fully cupping your small face. “Now, may I take the responsibility to care for my wife and to make love to you all night to prove my love to you?” The words he spoke were laced heavily with romance and lust that he had held back for years and little did you know, he is going to give you another child and make up for all of the lost times with you and his children.

A request from @cherriejoyponce, fulfilled with my own twist. Hope you like it!

[petr1kov]

hey guys, i'm making a different post to not make the original one too long. so, i just got back from the orthopedist i took my cat charlotte to and he said what i feared he would: she will need surgery. she has a salter-harris type of fracture, and if left to heal by itself, it has a high chance to heal in the wrong position and leave after-effects that might even be painful.

he said the sooner we do it, the better, as to not risk this exact thing - healing it wrong. there's a small chance that the pins that will have to go on her knee might need replacement in the future because she's not done growing yet, but her chances of a full recovery are very high, at least. so we scheduled the procedure for tomorrow.

the only problem, as you might have guessed, is that the whole thing is way too expensive: 3.370 reais total, and that's not even counting what i had to spend today. the donations i received have already been a huge help too, but i stilll don't have enough money to pay for it in full, just cover most of it, so i'm even borrowing money to do it. still, even if manage to get that amount like i think i will, it will take quite literally everything i've got in the bank to do it. i will do it because i care too much for her to just leave it, but really, i can't afford it.

so again, if you can donate any amount right now, it would be of immense help! and if not, spreading this post around would also be of great help. thank you! 🌟

‼️ k0-fi

[tossawary]

I still think that the ending of "Avatar: The Last Airbender" was poorly foreshadowed, specifically the lion turtles and the energy-bending. (Not Aang not killing Ozai! I like that part! It suits the themes, it suits the characters! That part is fine. I am glad that the last airbender found a way forward that respected his people and beliefs.)

Like, I saw ATLA when it was originally airing and I thought these things kind of "came out of nowhere" at the time. I have heard the arguments to the contrary over the years and I have never really been persuaded by them, while at the same time personally agreeing that the lion turtles and the energy-bending absolutely do fit the world and lore! They are fitting elements! They work! I like this ending at the same time that, in my personal opinion, I think it was poorly established.

I think that the story BEGINS to establish lion turtles and energy-bending well enough. We meet both many other spirit beings and bending-capable animals earlier on, including the Moon and Ocean Spirits who apparently gave the world water-bending. S2 introduces Ty Lee's chi-blocking techniques and Guru Pathik teaching Aang about chakras. There are also a handful of lion turtle easter eggs in the background of some episodes, the most prominent perhaps being on a scroll in Wan Shi Tong's library.

But the story then jumps from these various establishing elements all the way to "lion turtles are real and not extinct and telepathic and can also energy-bend and Aang has suddenly mastered this new art well enough to take someone else's bending away permanently, and these relatively new elements are going to resolve the main conflict of the show". It feels like "1+1=3" to me. I think that last jump in the story is too big. Like, we're REALLY close, but I personally needed another 1 in there somewhere to bridge that final gap and get to that 3.

(Includes some fic ideas / suggestions on how to maybe add to strengthen the foreshadowing under the cut.)

The fact that a lot of people, especially more casual viewers, were really confused by the way all of these elements suddenly came together at the end says to me that, no, the foreshadowing that WAS done (there WAS foreshadowing, I cannot rightfully say that it all came completely out of "nowhere", but it) was not good enough. Or maybe I should compare it to someone presenting me with all of the necessary ingredients for a cake and then telling me that it IS cake? Yes, all of the right ingredients are HERE, I agree, this COULD be a really great cake, but... you still have to mix it all together in a bowl and then put it in the oven to bake to get that specific cake. It's not quite cooked yet.

(Okay, wow, that sounds kind of mean. Maybe I should compare it more to a missing stair? We have MOST of the staircase, I just need one last step to get to the Deus Ex Machina at the top. To be clear: I don't think a "Deus Ex Machina" is inherently bad. I often like them a lot. I just wanted a little more foreshadowing than the stuff that is already there.)

In storytelling, there's this technique casually called "The Rule of Three". (And yes, of course, rules were made to be bent or broken depending on what story you're trying to tell, but usually, these rules exist because they are effective.) This rule is also sometimes known as "Introduction, Pattern, and Payoff". (It has other names, but that's how I remember it.)

Very loosely, this rule states that an important element of the story must appear at least three times. 1. It must be introduced / established in the world. 2. It must appear again to remind the audience that it exists / and establish a pattern such that the audience begins to expect it to appear again later. (And is hopefully excited for it.) 3. Payoff. The element returns in an important way, probably to resolve part of the plot. The previous two appearances have acted as foreshadowing for this ending.

There's also a "Rule of Two" version of this general storytelling technique. Like, "If this special crystal can zap the bad guy and save the day, we have to have shown or at least told the audience that it can do that BEFORE the big final fight scene."

In regards to ATLA, no, I don't think that a scroll in a library or a statue in the background of some scene served as adequate introduction and reminder for the existence of lion turtles, so it didn't necessarily feel like a payoff for me that they solved the main conflict. (It's the "solved the main conflict" that's most of the issue for me. If the lion turtles had just appeared in another episode as a random cool thing like those sea monsters by Kyoshi Island, I would not have cared.)

I actually think that the establishment of other spirits like the Moon Spirit and bending-capable animals like sky bison and dragons can serve as a decent enough "Step 1) Introduction". Though this does not establish that lion turtles specifically exist, we have established that powerful creatures similar to lion turtles exist. But I still needed a solid "Step 2) Pattern / Reminder" that would have established that lion turtles specifically exist and are important BEFORE one shows up at the end like that.

I think that there's at least one episode somewhere in Book 1 or Book 2 that could have been cut in favor of an episode where the Gaang meets and rescues a young lion turtle baby or something.

Maybe Guru Pathik could have learned his ways FROM a lion turtle? Aang could have gone to an isolated village somewhere (with more brown people besides just Guru Pathik?) where people are living in harmony with a lion turtle, or maybe even on the back of a lion turtle! That would be cool!

Concept: Aang encounters Guru Pathik living alone on the back of a lion turtle which doesn't talk to people anymore (Aang swims down to look at its face and it doesn't even look at him), because its kind have been hunted nearly to extinction and it's tired of violence. Guru Pathik learned his ways from his old teacher, who learned from his old teacher, all the way up the teaching lineage from a person who once learned from the lion turtle itself before it gave up on the world. Guru Pathik tends to this nearly empty temple on the back of a silent lion turtle who ignores him, because he will not forsake his teachings even when the world seems uninterested in hearing them and the old lion turtle seems like it could die any day now. The people in the fishing village on the shore think that Guru Pathik is crazy and most of them don't even believe that the floating island really is a lion turtle, it's just weird geography.

Guru Pathik could also have chi-blocking abilities! We could see him demonstrate them in self-defense! He could teach a few chi-blocking moves to Aang, who could later go on to use them occasionally in Book 3, and it would have been really cool to see Aang exploring non-bending skills. We don't need Guru Pathik to explicitly name energy-bending here, but I would like to connect him just a touch more strongly to chi-blocking. Like, he IS connected already by helping Aang clear chakras, which is kind of like a reverse of chi-blocking, but it would be nice to establish Guru Pathik as somewhat capable of the opposite but perhaps not liking to use the skill.

Aang really vibes with this dying culture of pacifists, but he still has to leave Guru Pathik before he can finish the training. Later on, he can encounter Guru Pathik and the silent lion turtle again, and he can confess to them how desperately he doesn't want to have to kill anyone, no matter what his past lives say. He just wants to STOP the violence and restore balance to the world without sacrificing himself. And THEN the lion turtle could wake up and gift him with energy-bending.

Or something like that! The foreshadowing doesn't have to be THAT heavy-handed, but SOME brief appearance by an actual lion turtle would have served as a better "Step 2) Pattern" to me.

Things like chi-blocking, chakras, water-bending healing, water-benders losing their bending when the Moon Spirit was killed, and even Zuko's spiritual turmoil serve as a good "Step 1) Introduction" to the concept of energy-bending to me. The ingredients are THERE. But again, I would have liked some clearer "Step 2) Pattern" that had actually baked the cake in regards to this being a skill Aang had specifically.

The above episode concept with Guru Pathik on the back of a lion turtle could have worked as a "Step 2) Pattern / Reminder" for energy-bending.

ANOTHER option would be to have Aang temporarily lose his bending at the beginning of Book 3, after Katara resurrects him with that special spirit water after Azula killed him at the end of Book 2.

I think Aang losing his bending for at least 3-4 episodes would have been really good for him / the show. So much of Aang's identity is tied up at this point in being the Avatar and the responsibilities of being the Avatar. Losing his bending, especially his AIR-BENDING, and his connection to the spirit world and his past lives would send him into a personal crisis. The Gaang could worry over whether or not a new Avatar has somehow been born or if the Avatar powers are gone forever. The characters could confront the fact that perhaps they've been relying too much on Aang as the Avatar and what they'll do now without the Avatar.

Also, it would be really funny if Aang woke up and picked up his glider to jump off that boat, then just fell into the ocean, and Katara needed to fish him out. (Which would then transition into the dramatic revelation that he has lost his bending!!!)

Katara could use her healing abilities to tell Aang that what's happened to him feels a lot like Ty Lee's chi-blocking. Katara would then probably try to emphasize with Aang, who gets angry with her and says she has no idea what this feels like! Katara could then have a really good intimate scene with Aang over how scary it was when the Moon Spirit was killed, what it physically felt like to lose that spiritual connection, and how scared she was even afterwards about what it would have been like to permanently lose that connection to her people and her culture. Aang then apologizes to Katara and they resolve to find his bending again.

Aang then goes on some spiritual journey with his friends to reconnect with his bending and his past lives as the Avatar. Probably some partially internal spiritual journey with Guru Pathik's teachings. Katara and Toph could both talk about what bending means to them personally as different people, and also what it feels like to them as they interact with the elements of the world around them.

Aang could have some cool fight scenes where he dodges some random thugs using all of his bending skills (martial arts) without the actual bending, air-bending techniques, water-bending techniques, and earth-bending techniques, and then finally some chi-blocking techniques that Guru Pathik showed him. There could be some scene where Aang saves a kid from these random thugs and realizes that he can still do good in the world even if he's not the Avatar! Even if he's not a bender anymore!

There could also be some REALLY funny scenes of Aang trying to get Appa and Momo to teach him how to reconnect with his air-bending. Aang mimicking their movements and so on. (Sokka: "Is that... working so far, buddy?" Aang: "NO! They're terrible teachers!!!" Cue sad Appa bleating and offended Momo chittering.)

You could even do it in a cycle of sorts, where Aang reconnects with his air-bending first using Guru Pathik's teachings and his friends' help. (He is OVERJOYED.) And then Aang slowly regains water-bending and earth-bending over the next few episodes, culminating in him having to face his fears learning fire-bending again. I think you could accomplish this storyline by squeezing it into about 3-4 episodes, or else starting off with losing then regaining air-bending plus the Avatar state in the first 2 episodes of the season and then threading relearning the other elements in the background through later episodes.

ANOTHER option where Aang temporarily loses his bending is after the eclipse, because he has a spiritual crisis over the fact that he was resolved to kill someone and he really doesn't want to do that. I don't like this option so much because it feels a little too late in the season compared to kicking off Book 3 with the drama of Aang losing his bending(!!!), but it's an option.

See, if Aang temporarily loses his bending and has to find it again somehow, then the show could establish what this kind "energy-bending" and spiritual manipulation within a person looks like. If Aang has had to get his bending BACK, then it would better establish Aang then using this ability he has now practiced on himself to take bending away from another person. It's a pleasantly surprising twist that Aang figures out how to reverse a previously established energy-bending technique and successfully uses it against Ozai.

And then the ending, though arguably still in the realm of a Deus Ex Machina (which is cool), would feel more like "Step 3) Payoff" instead of "What just happened?"

Anyway! This post became way longer than originally intended! I hope this has made it clear that I like both the lion turtles and energy-bending as concepts. I think there are many elements in the show that begin to introduce lion turtles and energy-bending as Aang uses it as things that COULD exist. I just think that the show needed some kind of additional baking step in the middle to establish a pattern and use those ingredients to foreshadow that specific "an ancient lion turtle teaches Aang energy-bending" ending.

[bloodyjuls-blog]

We are okay with you here

So guys this is the part 5, could consider it like an ending but maybe I'll do a sneak peak ⚠️

So here we go...

It is y/n's tenth day in the ICU and we are waiting for the results of the MRI to see if her brain injuries have a good diagnosis.

"Miss Alexia good morning" says the doctor entering the room. "I have good news y/n shows movement in her brain and we believe that in the next few hours she will be able to wake up with this we will reduce the possible injuries of being sedated" doctor says looking at his notebook.

"Thank you very much doctor, I'm super happy" she says hopefully. "Listen love, everything is going great, open your eyes soon, my life, I need you" says Alexia with a tear in her eye looking at you.

Leah and AnaMari enter the room with food for Alexia "Here Ale, you haven't had breakfast" says Leah handing her the bagel bag with the cup of tea. "Thank you so much guiri really, for everything you have been here with her and me and you too Ana" says giving them a hug Alexia. "You're welcome girl, as a family already? " Leah says to which Alexia says "Of course".

"Any news?" Ana says towards Alexia. "Yes, the doctor came in and said the results have come back good but time for everything and she will probably have the sedation removed today" Alexia says contentedly. "that sounds perfect, we hope to see y/n soon fighting like always" says Leah stroking the hair left out of y/n's bandage.

A few hours go by

"Love, these days have been hard but I ratify that I will be with you and the girls too all the way, I can't wait for you to wake up so I can give you some kisses and give you a cuddle of the kind we like" Alexia said holding her hand. Y/n moves her hand a little to which Alexia notices and sees how y/n is trying to move. "Honey what are you going to hurt yourself for baby, I'm going to hold you" alexia says as she takes both of y/n's hands between hers. She watches as y/n struggles to remove the tube that passes between her mouth. "I know it hurts but the doctor is coming and will take that off, don't cry my love" Alexia tells her as she notices the tears falling from y/n's face and goes over to give her a little kiss.

"But well what do we have here?" doctor said entering at the room and greeting cheerfully. "Our fighter eh" he says looking at y/n. "Good afternoon miss y/n, we are going to proceed to remove your endotracheal tube and put you on an oxygen mask" says the doctor looking at y/n who is a little agitated. "Baby stay still so they can remove that annoying thing" says Ale while stroking her girlfriend's head and holding her hands.

Okay Alexia, please hold y/n's hands tightly because it will probably be uncomfortable when we are removing the tube" says the doctor looking at Alexia and y/n.

Moments later you already find yourself breathing with an oxygen mask and trying to adjust around although very sleepy too. "Ready Miss Alexia and y/n, now it remains to wait for evolution, a doctor will be passing by every 4 hours to supervise that everything is going well" doctor said more relieved.

"Hello my love, you don't know how happy I am to see you awake" says Alexia looking at her girlfriend while kissing her hands and cheeks. "Hiya" says y/n wincing. "What's wrong love, are you in pain? Shall I call the doctor? "* She looks at her worriedly. "My leg hurts a little and my back" she says in tears. "Give me a moment baby I'll call the doctor, but you're going to be fine" she turns to head for the door to which his girlfriend says "don't go, please stay I'm afraid (said mumbled)" with her weak little hand she grabs Alexia's hand. "I'm not leaving my life, I'm just going to call the doctor we will be alright" she walks over and kisses her forehead and leaves to call a doctor or nurse.

After the doctor passes he prescribes her a painkiller that makes her drowsy and while that happens Alexia goes downstairs to get a snack and to let everyone knows that y/n is awake.

What Alexia didn't know was that the doctor had come back and told y/n the bad news.

Flashback

"The extent of your injuries are very serious and that generates the thought that you are not going to play again at a professional level, the blows you had and the internal injuries were very serious, and I don't have the heart to tell you lies or give you an encouraging report about your career, I may be telling you that yes and give you a time to expect and maybe in a year or two you're back on the courts but with pain in every moment of your exercise. And your well being is what you should put first. You have a good support system, your girlfriend, your sister and your guiris have come and taken care of you" says the doctor when he sees you crying.

End of flashback

Alexia goes upstairs and the doctor continues talking to y/n. "What's up doc everything ok?" says Alexia quizzically. "Here chatting with the lady and telling her not to play soccer" Alexia's shocked look leaves Ana and Leah in shock. Since they had come back to see their friend.

[diminuel]

Further thoughts on Garp in the Stinky Child AU and beyond - Luffy is absolutely not planned at all and Ace is a couple of years older so when Garp gets baby Ace dragodile are still in their (kinda) secretive hookup phase rather than their domestic bliss phase so Ace goes to Dadan. THEN Garp finds out (very much after the fact) that he has a grandson and just. shows up at Croc's place (dragon. why tf is vice admiral garp in my living room. he's your WHAT) and Garp is like wow you guys are actually doing pretty good here! Maybe I should bring that other kid around...

and Croc is like NO I have already accidentally gained custody of one additional Stinky Child and I will not be taking a third. Ace get in here and say hi to your gramps i guess. And Ace and Garp are just staring at each other like -_- what are YOU doing here

(Croc does, in fact, get custody of a third stinky child because Dragon just. comes home with Sabo one day.

Dragon: can we keep him?

Croc: absolutely not. Put it back where you found it.

Dragon: if you get to bring home a stinky child so do i. look, he comes with a little hat)

Oh, that is excellent! *chef's kiss* Let's do that then X'D

Does Garp know that his son is dating a warlord? Did Dragon tell Garp anything?

(Btw, "look, he comes with a little hat" is a great argument. How could Crocodile say no?)

[howlingday]

When I was a boy, I only had one dream. I wanted to grow up to be just like my dad. You see, my father wasn't just an adventurer. He was a LEGENDARY adventurer.

Papa Arc: And then I kissed the beast so fair~

Papa Arc: And kissed her beastly bits down there~

When he would come back from his trips, I would sit in the tavern an listen to his songs, and I'd imagine myself traveling with him.

Papa Arc: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA~!

Lady: Kyaaah~!

That's right! My father is the one and only NICHOLAS ARC, the greatest Bard in the whole Kingdom! And I was going to be a Bard just like him!

Or, at least, that's what I thought at the time.

I guess part of growing up is realizing that your heroes aren't perfect. They're flawed people, and sometimes those flaws get really, REALLY messy.

Jaune: Dad, I'm home~!

Papa Arc: NOT THE PROSTATE! NOT THE PROSTATE~!

It was the day when I walked in on my father getting his butt plowed in the middle of an interspecies foursome. Again.

At that moment, I decided that I didn't want to be like my father.

Jaune: Dad...

Papa Arc: WHOA?! You're home early! Wait, let me explain! I'm practicing wrestling!

Jaune: Dad...

Papa Arc: Remember the basics of CQC!

Jaune: Dad, I know what sex is...

Jaune: Dad... I said I wanted to be a Bard like you when I grow up... But I've changed my mind. I'm going to become a PALADIN.

Papa Arc: ...

Papa Arc: Heh... That's a great idea, son! Chicks dig Paladins!

Jaune: No, Dad... A REAL Paladin, not the Fallen kind.

Grimm Lady: Ooh~! Your son is really cute~!

--------------------------------------------------

Years later...

Jaune: Ambrosius, Spirit of Creation and Control, please give me the strength to continue living a healthy and disciplined lifestyle, monogamous and uncorrupted by lust....

Yup, that's me. My name is Jaune Arc, and I'm a "Paladin of Order" now. I try my best every day to be a Lawful and Good citizen.

Nora: HEY! Are you STILL praying, church boy?! Get your ass in gear! It's dungeoning time! We don't got all day if we're gonna loot B3 and get back before happy hour!

Pyrrha: Hello, Jaune~!

This is Nora. She's a real dwarfy Dwarf, and a really good person.

Nora: Hmph!

Pyrrha: Nora's anxious because she's run out of lien again. (Giggles)

And this is Pyrrha, she's a Fighter of Jinn, and has been my best friend since I was a kid.

Nora: So, when did your dad say he was gonna be back?

Jaune: Around sundown, but I'm not exactly excited to be back before then. Really not looking forward to spending time with him.

Pyrrha: Oh, come now, Jaune! He's going to be off on a new adventure soon! Who knows when you'll see him again?

Nora: Yeah! Nicholas Arc is a legend! You should be glad he's your dad!

Jaune: Easy for you guys to say. Every time he goes on an adventure, he comes back with a new WIFE. I heard he was in the Kingdom of Mistral, so he's probably impregnated another Dwarf noble.

Nora: Damn... What an alpha...

Jaune: Do you know how awkward it is to deal with a new stepmom every year? You should see the drawings I did as a kid.

In hindsight, I had a weird family structure growing up.

Jaune: Anyways, it's not like I hate him or anything. I'm just sick of introducing myself to another new "mom".

Nora: Mm... I get that you have daddy issues.

Jaune: Gee, thanks.

Nora: But you don't have to be the opposite of him! You're living with a stick up your ass!

Jaune: I'm living with discipline, Nora. That's what it means to be a Paladin of Order.

Paladins of Ambrosius, the Spirit of Creation and Control, are champions of their own personal laws.

Ironwood: I only poop standing up! THIS is my solemn vow!

By living within the confines of a strict individual code, they seek to free themselves of animalistic desires and act through reason.

Nora: BAH! Order, schnorder! You need to get LAID! That'll fix ya!

Pyrrha: Yeah, Jaune! You do need to get laid! As your best friend, I'll take responsibility! That way we can lose our virginities together~!

Jaune: PYRRHA, YOU SHOULDN'T MAKE JOKES LIKE THAT. YOU SHOULD ONLY HAVE SEX WITH SOMEONE YOU HAVE DEEP, ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR. I KNOW WE'RE CLOSE, BUT YOU WOULD REGRET LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY TO A GUY WHO IS ONLY YOUR FRIEND.

Pyrrha: Yeah... You're right... Ha ha...

Nora: You okay?

Jaune: Let's go.

--------------------------------------------------

Nora: Alright! Get your crap in the bag! It's go time!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: Gear check before we go in.

"The Black Roads." It's said it was created by a shunned Witch to avoid outsiders; this cave system leads down into one of the largest dungeons in the continent.

Guard: Hey, Jaune!

Jaune: Hey man.

Guard: Going down the pit, right?

Jaune: Yup.

Guard: Oof... I'd take a rain check on that. There's a horrible creature that was spotted last night.

Jaune: Like what? An alpha beowolf? Or maybe an Ursa?

Guard: WORSE! Word is, someone ran into...

Guard: A GRIMM-KIN!

Nora: A GRIMM-KIN?!

Grimm-Kin are a Grimm subspecies that live deep in the Black Roads. They have a harsh, matriarchal society that enslaves men. It's well-known that Grimm-Kin women are inherently evil.

Jaune: We haven't had a Grimm-Kin sighting in years. Did something happen?

Guard: I'm not sure what's going on, but you be especially careful, Jaune! A handsome guy like you? Grimm-Kin would be slobbering just for the chance to get at your pecker!

Jaune: Don't worry. I'm an expert at rejecting the advances of horny women.

Pyrrha: Oh boy... Wouldn't I know...

Nora: You okay?

--------------------------------------------------

Nora: I HATE GRIMM-KIN! In fact, I HATE REGULAR GRIMM, TOO! I'm not racist. I just don't like Grimm.

Jaune: You're a real dwarfy Dwarf, Nora.

Nora: WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!

Dungeon Level B3

Grimm: (Barks)

Grimm: (Snarls)

Grimm: (Growls)

Grimm: (Yips)

Grimm: ?!

Grimm: (Snaps, Snaps in two)

Pyrrha: Do you ever wonder what the Grimm talk about?

Jaune: Probably Grimm stuff, like how to get the most negative emotions out of a person. Oh, scoop up that ash.

Nora: How much ash have we got? What's the market price?

Jaune: Er, not great. Last I heard, Grimm Ash was going through another inflation.

Nora: AGAIN?! SERIOUSLY?! HOW AM I GONNA PAY MY RENT?!

Jaune: Well, you can stop drinking syrup from the top shelf.

Nora: Wow... That's a low blow. You think we can go deeper than this?

Jaune: I wouldn't do it. We should get at least a four-man party, preferably five.

Nora: Mm...

Pyrrha: (Turns, Sees arrow flying at her)

Jaune: (Grabs Pyrrha, Blocks arrow)

Pyrrha: Thank you, Jaune!

Jaune: See? This is what I'm talking about. We need a scout to prevent ambushes like this. Show yourself... GRIMM.

Cinder: (Steps out) Well, well... You parried my arrow cleanly. Looks like you're not just a pretty face... HUMAN.

Jaune: Why did you attack us, Grimm? We mean you no harm.

Nora: I DO! I'm gonna harm that skull into PIECE, BONE-FACE!

Jaune: Nora, can you please be quiet for just a second?

Cinder: Oh my... Isn't it obvious? I attacked you to get what I want. Because there's one thing every Grimm-Kin girl wants...

Cinder: HER VERY OWN MAN-SLAVE~! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO~!

Cinder: YOU, PRETTY BOY~!

Jaune: Huh?

Cinder: I like you~! Ufufufu~... Back home, all the men I got were broken hand-me-downs from my mother! Now, I get to finally have my own boy-toy~!

Cinder: Don't worry, I won't kill anyone~! My blades and arrows are coated with knock-out poison, so I can take you all down with just a scratch! Then I'm going to drag pretty boy off and teach him how to please a woman~!

Jaune: Ah... So, let me get this straight. You're attacking us just because you want to have sex with me.

Cinder: Oh~? Have I piqued your interest~?

Cinder: It's not a big deal, is it~? You only need to become my pet and I'll allow you to play with this body. Imagine the desperate moans I'll make as you drag your tongue over my peaks and valleys, driving me wild with pleasure~!

Jaune: Hm... That does sound like a good deal.

Pyrrha: J-Jaune?! Wait! Don't fall for her lies! She's trying to trick you!

Jaune: I'll admit, you're a very attractive lady, and I'm sure there are many men out there who would give up everything to be with someone like you.

Cinder: So you'll be mine then?!

Jaune: BUT I REFUUUSE! GIRLS AND BOYS MUST NOT FORNICATE BEFORE MARRIAAAGE! NO CASUAL ENCOUNTERS! NO KISSING BEFORE THE TENTH DATE! NO MOUTH PLAY! NO ASS PLAY! DEFINITELY NO ASS TO MOUTH PLAY! ONLY MISSIONARY FOR THE PURPOSE OF PROCREATION! BETWEEN MARRIED COUPLES! MONOGAMYYY! NO HAREMS! NO ORGIES! HAND HOLDING IS OKAY, BUT DON'T! LOCK! THOSE! FINGEEERS!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: ...

Nora: ...

Cinder: ...

Nora: ...

Cinder: ???

Pyrrha: Whew!

Jaune: Khm! My name is Jaune Arc, and I am a Paladin of Order. THIS is my solemn vow.

Cinder: Uh... Is every surface dweller this prudish, or is it just him?

Jaune: ...

Nora/Pyrrha: It's just him.

Cinder: Okay! So, uh... Kinda got sidetracked, but you're not volunteering to be my man-slave, right?

Jaune: Yeah.

Cinder: Good~! I prefer doing this the old-fashioned way.

Jaune: Here we go. Stay behind me. I'll handle this.

Cinder: Hoohoohoo~! A little overconfident, aren't we? THE ONLY THINGS YOU'LL BE HANDLING ARE MY NIPPLES IN BED~!

Jaune: (Holds action)

Cinder: (Leaping strike)

???: Oscura Ventos...

Cinder: (Knocked on her back) GAH!

Jaune: ?!

???: What have I told you about "No more man slaves"? Such a naughty girl~...

Cinder: Dammit! You always get in my way...

Cinder: MOTHER!

Salem: But then again, I'm not surprised. You always were needy for attention.

Cinder: Why did you stop me?!

Salem: Because slavery is WRONG, Cinder. We need to start treating men as equals.

Jaune: You okay?

Cinder: Oh, fuck off! You were going through three men a day just a week ago, so cut the crap!

Salem: That was the old men. I'm a new woman now, ever since I met...

Salem: (Cuddling to Papa Arc) My husband~! Mr. Nicholas Arc~!

Papa Arc: Heya, son~! How ya doin'?! (Laughing with Salem)

Jaune: ...Hi, Dad.

Papa Arc: Jaune, my boy! How's it hangin'~?

Jaune: I'm fine, Dad. Why are you in the dungeon with two Grimm-Kin?

Papa Arc: Ah, yes... These lovely ladies. It's a long story, one full of danger, adventure, and rrromance~...

Jaune: Let me guess; you and your party were hired by a rival faction in Mistral to attack a Grimm-Kin nation, single-handedly destroying their army and were supposed to kill their leaders, too, but then you saw the Grimm-Kin queen was hot, so you couldn't resist and just had to seduce her and screw her brains out, and then you smuggled her out of the war zone with the promise of marriage... again.

Papa Arc: HUH?! H- H- HOW DID YOU KNOW?!

Jaune: This is, like, the eighth time you've done this, Dad.

Papa Arc: Aw, geez... Don't tell me I'm getting predictable!

Nora: By the Brothers! I'm in awe of this GigaBard! This man is my HERO~!

Papa Arc: Ahem! Well, I was going to do this later with your mother, your sisters, and all your other mommies around, but since you're here now, allow me to introduce...

Papa Arc: Your new stepmother, Salem Arc, formerly Salem, Queen of the Grimm-Kin, and her daughter, Cinder, your new stepsister!

Salem: Apologize to your brother, Cinder~.

Jaune: Grr! I'm sorry I tried to enslave you... I guess...

Papa Arc: I was showing them around the dungeon since it's the most profitable job in the Kingdom of Vale.

Jaune: They'll be living with us in town?

Papa Arc: That's right! They'll be strangers in a strange land and they'll need someone to help them get used to our lifestyle. I'll be with Salem, so could you take care of your sister?

Cinder: Hmph! (Turns away)

Jaune: Uh... My "sister" tried to kidnap me and turn me into her sex slave... five minutes ago.

Papa Arc: I know! Isn't it great?! You're like family already!

Papa Arc: C'mon, Jaune, if someone doesn't watch her, she'll be arrested in a day. And besides...

Cinder: (Turned away from everyone)

Papa Arc: She looks like she could really use a friend.

Jaune: ...Fine, I'll do it.

Papa Arc: Attaboy, Jaune~! I knew you'd say yes! That's why I already bought a HOUSE for you! You two will be living together without any supervision~!

Jaune: What?

Cinder: What?!

Pyrrha: WHA- WHA- WHAT?!

Papa Arc: Sorry, Pyrrha. That's just how these things work.

Jaune: ...

Cinder: ...

Pyrrha: ...

Cinder: Ufu~! Ufufufufu~! I've always wanted a little brother~.

Pyrrha: HUH?!

--------------------------------------------------

And so, in this new house, my strange new life began.

Cinder: Step bro~! Step bro~! Oh, it's just awful~! I forgot to bring my clothes with me, so now I have to come out of the bath NAKED and SOAKING WET~!

Jaune: (Eyes shut) Here, I brought you a change of clothes. Cinder, please stop trying to seduce me. Seeing your nipples aren't going to make me break my vows as a Paladin.

Cinder: (Hugs him) Are you suuure~?

Jaune: Yes.

Some journeys start without taking a step away from home.

Cinder: Help, Step Bro, help~! I'm stuck in this conveniently positioned hole~!

Jaune: NO, YOU'RE NOT! WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT?!

I didn't know this at the time, but my stepsister's appearance was about to steer my Lawful life into a Chaotic world I was utterly unprepared for. But even then, one thing was obvious...

MY GRIMM-KIN STEPSISTER WASN'T GOING TO LEAVE ME ALONE

--------------------------------------------------

Nora: I'm a huge fan of your work, Mr. Arc! Could you sign my hammer?!

Papa Arc: Why, of course, my dwarven friend! Anything for a fan~!