#100 player challenge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kryptonitejelly · 4 months

Note

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson x female reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers imagine #not cm #not tg

2K notes · View notes

animatingforfun · 5 months

Text

This was a pure joy to work on.

For the behind-the-scenes story of how I made this animated mini-short, click “keep reading” below.

I started this 6 weeks ago, just before Nintendo shut down its 3DS and WiiU servers. The server shutdown meant no more multi-player online play for 3DS games, like Mario Kart 7, but also no more uploading to the Butterfly Animation online gallery directly from the app.

As an homage to the Inchworm and Butterfly Animation apps for the DSi and 3DS that I’ve been animating on since 2011, I originally was just going to animate just a single shot featuring something butterfly related.

But the story evolved as I began asking myself a series of "what if" questions that I had fun answering, like, “what if it was a little girl playing dress up as a butterfly?” And then “what if she was first cosplaying as a caterpillar then the butterfly?” “If this is a story of growth, what if she stumbles? What is her attitude when she stumbles?” “What if the design of the girl was something like Isao Takahata or Yoichi Kotabe would draw?”

Making this was the embodiment of everything I hope to achieve with my personal animation: to let creativity flow and just have fun animating and creating.

Since this mini-short was animated on my Nintendo 3DS, there was a memory limit of only 100 drawings, which was a bit of a challenge for longer or complex actions, but was a fun puzzle to solve. Sometimes limitations force you to come up with even more creative solutions. (I was able the squeeze in more drawings than the memory allowed, and filled it to the max!) :)

The song I used is from Rebecca Sugar’s album, "Spiral Bound", and perfectly fit the theme of the short. Initially, while I was drawing the character, I found myself humming a tune from Steven Universe that dealt with beginnings, endings, and not being ready. It’s amazing how the brain can subconsciously pick the playlist!

In the end, that song, sung by Steven’s father in the show, didn’t quite fit, but then I remembered another song by Rebecca Sugar which was more on theme with my story, called “My Own Way to the End”. The whole album is wonderful! You can check it out here:

Painting the backgrounds for this was the most challenging thing for me, but also the most eye opening! After painting, I would look around at the trees in the neighborhood differently. So many colors when you really look closely.

There’s so many talented people at my work and it was great that I could ask them for advice. One person I asked was the talented Tia Kratter, who happened to teach a mini-painting class for the animators while I was working on this short. I asked her for advice on one of the background paintings and she asked great questions which challenged me to try different things, but I still felt like I was having fun and playing without fear of failure. I mean, it was still hard though! Hahaha!

If you’ve read up to this point, thank you for reading this. :) I hope you enjoy this mini-short as much as I enjoyed making it!

#animation #2d animation #butterflyanimation #nintendo 3ds #animators on tumblr #artists on tumblr #rebecca sugar

1K notes · View notes

sailoryooons · 6 months

Text

Boyfriend Material | jjk (m)

☾ Pairing: Hockey Player!Jungkook x f. Reader

☾ Summary: Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material – except when he is.

☾ Word Count: 2,127

☾ Genre: FWB, Hint of Angst, Smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Friends with benefits who are very obviously pretending not to have feelings, being in a confusing relationship that is basically a relationship without titles, feelings of confusion and self-doubt, lying to oneself, mentions of some toxic interactions with other people/women, repressed feelings, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving) in the shower, honestly, in general, some very cliche/stereotypical conflict you’d find in a relationship with someone of status

☾ Published: March 23, 2024

☾ A/N: This is a self-insert of one of the most confusing relationships I have ever had in my life and I will die on the hill that no one should date athletes because 98% of them are the rule, not the exception no matter how much they seem like it! TRAUMA!!! Also, should I have been dating a professional athlete for the sport I worked in? No!!!! This is for all the people who have been in a not-relationship-that-is-a-relationship why the fuck do people do that like it is okay to have feelings and call ur partner ur partner??

☾ A/N 2: This is drabble number six for the Drabble Challenge that I have been utterly failing at! Today I rolled for ‘athlete’ but I didn’t feel like writing actual sports so I was like :) I worked in sports for ten years, I can just share a glimpse of my life when I was 23 years old :) Enjoy

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

“Fuck, I’m so tired,” Jungkook groans, leaning back in the chair and stretching his arms. Sun beats down on his golden skin. You feel the heat of it on your back and the top of your head. It’s pleasant, the cool spring breeze threatening to send the napkins on the table running. “Wanna lay out at the pool?”

Finishing the rest of your coffee, you nudge the empty plate away from you. Where once an eggs benedict had stood is now smears of leftover yolk and a single onion you missed when eating your hashbrowns.

“Not sick of me?” you ask, raising a brow.

Jungkook isn’t looking at you, scrolling on his phone. The bill of his hat is pulled low, hiding most of his face as he squints down at the device held low in his lap. You wait patiently for his answer, running your finger up and down the now-empty glass as it sweats from the sun.

“Nope,” he answers, popping the end of the word sharply. “Did you ever get your desk fixed? Yoongi said he would fix it if not.”

“I have not.”

He nods. “He said he’ll swing by this afternoon. We can lay out at the pool at my place and then head to yours after?”

Your mouth twitches. You don’t say it out loud because you don’t want to risk him backing out, but another full day spent with Jungkook is a surprise to you. Not because it doesn’t happen often – it does. But rather because it keeps happening more often.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. He’d established that the first night he met you at a bar. Him being a professional athlete was a warning sign enough that you didn’t want to romance that but what had come afterward has been nothing short of surprising.

Friendship and… well. You don’t know how to explain the extras.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. But you do your groceries together on the weekend. You drop him off at the arena when they’re heading out for a road trip. You take him to doctor's appointments to monitor the knee injury from last season.

You’re not Jungkook’s girlfriend but he takes you to team events. He lets himself in and does your laundry at your apartment while you’re at work so you don’t have to do it when you come home. He has his teammates fix furniture for you and they’ve asked you to babysit their kids.

“Babe?” the endearment makes you blink a few times, realizing you’d been staring into your lap. Jungkook’s dark eyes are focused on you now, phone shoved into his pocket. “We don’t have to go to the pool. We can just nap.”

We. Not you. Jungkook is going to hang out with you regardless if you like his original idea or not. Your stomach flips in that way you hate, the way that you know you’re doing everything you said you wouldn’t.

“Sounds good.”

Jungkook flashes a grin and you become acutely aware that thinking you could be friends with benefits without being anything more was a stupid idea. Jungkook is not made to be resisted, with round eyes that darken when he’s turned on, a giggle that contrasts with the big, broad-shouldered athlete built, a smile that lights up the room and can dispel any tension, a sweet voice that can tempt anyone the moment he pouts or when he decides to pur.

You were fucked - literally and figuratively - that first night you let him in your apartment.

Instead of thinking about it, you hide from the truth. Again. Jungkook is not boyfriend material, despite the fact that he pays for breakfast despite your protests, and reaches over the center console in the car to squeeze your thigh.

“Mmm,” he hums, fingers skating over your flash and making you squirm in the passenger seat. “Warm.”

“I was sitting in the sun.”

“I like it.”

Jungkook likes a lot about you. He tells you all the time, very open about how he likes the way you taste, likes the way you organize your books by color, likes the way you sing in the shower, likes the way you speak in Star Wars quotes.

Perhaps that’s what makes you the most wary about him. He says he’s not boyfriend material, but his actions betray his words. And you let them, every single time.

Jungkook smells like sunscreen, sweat, and a little bit of his cologne from earlier that morning. You’re hyperaware of him as you lounge on the cabana bed together, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his firm body.

His tattooed arm is tossed over his eyes, blocking out the sun as he snores a little. Careful not to knock into him, you lean over him and grab his phone to check the time. You haven’t been lounging in the sun long, but you don’t want him to get a sunburn.

Again.

You wager you can stay a little longer, placing the phone back down under his discarded shirt where it can hide from the sun’s heat. Sitting back in your spot, you pick up your book from your sweaty thighs as the sound of the gate to the pool yard opening catches your attention.

Some of Jungkook’s teammates live in the same apartment complex. It’s easier that way, especially for the players who get sent up and down from the minors. You catch a few of the younger players with a few girls you don’t know the name of tugging a cooler on wheels behind them with a speaker blaring.

Jungkook doesn’t so much as move. He can sleep through anything – has slept through you falling into his gaming setup while trying to get to the bathroom drunk. His slumbering leaves you to watch them head to the beds a few over from yours.

One of the girls notices you. You don’t recognize her specifically, but she recognizes Jungkook. Looks back at you. Frowns and mutters something to one of the other girls, who is not very subtle as she cranks her head around in your direction.

You don’t wince anymore. It’s not an uncommon thing, among these circles. You refuse to engage with any of it. You used to tell yourself it was because a casual whatever-Jungkook-is simply isn’t worth the drama. At night, you know you don’t engage with it because you don’t want to know.

Ignorance is bliss, especially in this dangerously plastic world Jungkook exists in.

Thankfully, you’re not alone in the matter. Jimin appears out of thin air, dropping down on the empty bed next to you. Namjoon – arguably Jimin’s better half and team captain – is nowhere to be found. Jimin lowers his shades and looks beyond you to the group of now rowdy players.

“Gross,” he huffs. He slides his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and stretches out on the bed like a cat. Jimin doesn’t play, but he certainly has the body of an athlete, all fine lines and corded muscle. “Ignore them.”

“I was doing that already.” You lift your book as if to prove yourself.

He snorts. “You were thinking about it, be honest.” Your silence is answer enough and Jimin grins, lacing his hands behind his head as he tilts toward the sun. “Don’t let Jungkookie burn again.”

“I’m not,” you huff before snapping your book shut. Jimin is in the circle of player’s partners that you genuinely enjoy, but he has the keen ability to get under your skin and tell you all of the truths that you don’t want to be voiced out loud. Still, having him on your side has more benefits than just keeping the hyenas away from you. He’s also genuinely nice when he wants to be. “Jungkook, wake up.”

The man mumbles and turns his head away from you. You sigh heavily, squeezing his strong, very sweaty arm gently. “Come on, you’re gonna burn if you stay out here any longer.”

“Mm. Feels nice.”

“A sunburn won’t feel nice.”

“You can rub aloe all over me.”

“I will not.”

“Just five more minutes.”

“Jeon.”

He drops his arm from his eyes, squinting in the bright light at you. His hair is damp with sweat and hangs in his eyes. He’s been growing it out longer and longer, especially since Seokjin keeps encouraging Jungkook by telling him he has the best flow on the team.

“So you don’t want to rub aloe all over me?”

“You don’t need to get sunburned for me to touch you, Jungkook.”

“Bleh,” Jimin grunts.

That makes Jungkook sit up, rolling his shoulders and twisting to pop his back. He sighs for a moment, closing his eyes as though willing himself to get up. When he opens them again, there’s a light in them and he smirks, looking you up and down.

“Wanna shower?”

Your mouth twitches and you roll your eyes to hide how much you want to shiver. “Come on,” you sigh, getting up, the fabric of the sunbed clinging to your sweaty skin.

Eyes cling to you as you pull the sundress over your head and slide your sandals on. You don’t have to glance over at the mini-party a few sunbeds over to know you’re being watched. You suppose they’re watching Jungkook more than anything, but you’re in direct view behind him, grabbing your book.

You know Jungkook notices them. He says nothing, though. Instead, he offers his hand out when you shove all your belongings in a bag, wanting to carry it. You grin and hand it over to him, smile growing as he shoulders it easily and offers his hand again, this time for you to take.

And you do take it. Perhaps the satisfaction that thrums through you as he leads you out of the pool yard and onto the deck that crosses the lake toward his apartment building is a little bit insidious. You don’t care. The momentary triumph that you shouldn’t be feeling at all is far too powerful and Jungkook’s hand is far too warm and safe in yours to care about why you feel good about the public display of affection.

It isn’t like he hasn’t done it before. Jungkook isn’t shy with others in front of you. It’s what makes the whole thing worse, somehow. Because Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he introduces you to people and friends and slides between your legs to lean on you when you’re sitting on a barstool. He holds your hand when you go on a lunch and shopping spree with your mom and he brings her coffee and flowers.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but you don’t care when the shower hits the warm skin and runs down your back as he presses your chest to the cold shower wall in front of you. The cool stone stings against your nipples, over-sensitive and sending a shiver down your spine as your eyes flutter shut.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he curses low under the sound of the shower as he pries your legs apart, tongue seeking the heat between them hungrily. Your mouth falls open as Jungkook’s tongue licks you soft-slow, lips sucking gently against your clit.

“Shit,” you hiss. The difference in temperatures between the hot water and the cold wall makes the room spin. Steam makes it harder to breathe, your head pleasure-dizzy as Jungkook laughs and rolls his tongue lazily around your dripping cunt. “Fuck.”

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he eats you out slow and hungry. He doesn’t care that the water starts to lose its warmth as his mouth works you, smacking his lips loudly and moaning, vibrations going straight to your core where you drip on his soft tongue.

His hands grip your ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he pries you apart further, tongue delving into your aching hole. He slurps at you, mouth loud and sticky over the sound of your panting and the water hitting the tile floor. His little hums of appreciation buzz through you, making the room spin.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing your cheek to the wet, cold stone as you try to ground yourself. You twist an arm backward, gripping Jungkook’s wet hair. He lets out a loud groan in appreciation, always pleased when you pull on his hair. “Don’t stop.”

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he does whatever you want him to. His tongue delves in, working you to orgasm until you’re shaking against the wall, knees knocking together and nearly collapsing on him. He catches you easily, standing and pressing you against the wall as he grabs your chin and brings your mouth toward him, his to devour.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material.

But more than anything, you want him to be.

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook bts fic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #100 drabble challenge

2K notes · View notes

kafus · 2 years

Text

please let me introduce you to NeverHappy, my most beloved pokemon ever.

i found her as a budew on someone else’s save file after buying a used copy of pokemon platinum. the name “NeverHappy” was a pretty obvious joke about how budew evolves from happiness, and since the previous owner was going to keep her in a box forever, never use her, and never evolve her, she would never be happy. this activated some feral response in my brain and i decided no. she WOULD be happy. i was still replaying through all my old gen 4 games at the time but i traded her off to my other gen 4 files for safekeeping until i could do stuff with her.

oh trust me game. i would.

so you might have thought my plans were to simply evolve her and beat the game with her, get her to level 100, maybe even EV train her - but i had much bigger plans. i was going to ribbon master her. the ribbon master challenge, or the process of “ribbon mastering” a pokemon, is getting every single ribbon possible on a pokemon from the game it was caught in to the most recent game it can be transferred to. if you weren’t aware, that’s a LOT of ribbons. there are 40 in gen 4 alone. i had a lot to do.

(the above clean screenshot was taken by backing up my cartridge save and screenshotting a battle video in emulator. however, i did all of this on my actual DS! i don’t like playing on emulator. not as fun)

i had to beat every contest (normal-master rank in all 5 categories) and do a bunch of other random stuff but my favorite part of the process was defeating the battle tower... 6 times. the battle frontier contains the most challenging battles in gen 4 by far, as opponents have good stats and competitive movesets. there’s 6 battle tower ribbons in gen 4 - two for singles at different points in the win streak, one for doubles, one for multis /w NPCs, one for multis /w another player (i just played with myself on two dses), and one for ranking up in the wi-fi room, which is now accessible again due to fan servers restoring internet functionality for gens 4 and 5.

NeverHappy was randomly caught in the wild and did not have a competitive nature or stats, so i figured that she would just be tagging along in the back while i took out all the win streaks with 2 good pokemon, but she ended up clutching out wins in times of dire need... multiple times. she even ended up being necessary in the wi-fi room to stall out prevalent hacked pokemon like no guard sheer cold machamp, which hits 1 hit KO moves every time, with a gimmicky and convoluted leech seed + substitute strategy.

i could go into all of my team members and the excessive lengths i went to get them all (don’t even get me started on my shiny competitive latias from pokemon emerald) but that’s a story for another day.

by the end of gen 4 i was extremely emotionally attached and she was already becoming one of my favorite pokemon, now with 40 whole ribbons after days and weeks of effort.

i have ribbon mastered pokemon before, so all of my save files in gens 6, 7, and 8 were already set up to transfer neverhappy into and grab all of the ribbons. i had a lot more battling and little tasks ahead of me. it’s really cool how ribbon mastering forces you to interact with pretty much every feature of every pokemon game.

and so i transferred her! gen 5 doesn’t have any ribbons, so it was just an intermediary to transfer into gen 6. at this point, i had also acquired a shiny luxray from pokeradar chaining in platinum named Nightlight, and i was ribbon mastering them together, but once again, a story for another day.

first into gen 6... getting the super training ribbon was really annoying but the battle maison was pretty easy. i had a team in multis with terrakion and a whimsicott with beat up that could 1 hit KO all of the boss battle’s legendaries in one hit LOL

then gen 7... this one went by pretty quickly but i opted to get the best friends ribbon here instead of in XY or ORAS because it was really simple to get with rainbow pokebeans, since all you have to do is max out affection and it only takes a couple rainbow beans to do that in USUM.

and gen 8! you can see nightlight to the left in this picture. by far the hardest part of gen 8 was getting the ribbon awarded for winning a battle in master rank in online VGC against other players. i definitely had to grind that one for a while.

then, she even got an award in BDSP for being a pokemon originating from the original diamond/pearl/platinum games, which was really cool.

oh, and since i had cloned neverhappy back in gen 4 with a glitch so that i would always have a copy of her in her origin games, i was able to take this neat picture! how the times have changed LMAO

luckily she was even a part of PLA’s roster and i was able to take a picture with her there, too... which actually might end up being important since there’s an invisible flag somewhere in the game’s code that gets turned on when you take a picture with your pokemon in the photo studio, which could potentially become a ribbon in the future in another game.

so, trainer Platina from 2016, you were wrong! NeverHappy is in fact happy now and has done more than most people’s pokemon have seen in their entire lifetime. she is my most cherished pokemon and i love her more than i love myself. i think i would die for her

i abbreviated this story a lot because i didn’t want to make this post longer than it already was but i was randomly inspired to talk about this today since SV is coming out soon and there will be more ribbons to collect for any of my ribbon masters that can be transferred into SV, which got me thinking about her. my journey with ribbon mastering has taught me more about pokemon games than any normal person should ever know and if you were interested in any details i left out or how i accomplished certain ribbons (including battle frontier strategies) feel free to shoot me an ask! :D i love talking about pokemon at any time any day of the week.

#pokemon #pokemon platinum #budew #roserade #dppt #long post #kiki was here #probably no one will see this but i was in an infodumping mood ok #kiki.txt #kiki plays games

18K notes · View notes

mcytblrsexymen · 2 years

Text

ROUND FOUR:

JOE HILLS (3)

nominated from Hermitcraft, Beetlejhost, Joemez Addams, UHC

WILBURSOOT (14)

nominated from DSMP, 100 Player Challenges, Ghostbur, Editor ARG, Tommyinnit Mod Videos, smpronpa, OSMP, MCC

#actual polls #joe hills #wilbur soot

9K notes · View notes

hawkepockets · 2 months

Text

actually. 🫷😀🫸 THOUGHTS ON AVELINE

i think aveline is a CORE da2 character, and her relationship with hawke is super super interesting. she’s hawke’s oldest friend in the game & by act 3, maybe the only enduring connection to their homeland & childhood besides the mabari. her voice, her bearing, her stated values are all very noble & movingly fereldan—but her actions both as guard captain & as a party member should be so profoundly disappointing to hawke almost no matter how you play them, which generates a powerful tension. imo it’s really poignant and adds a lot to the game’s central tragedy.

because how can hawke cut her off! but look at how she behaves: ignoring the serial killing & sexual assault of isolated older women and elf girls, baiting the arishok, slut shaming isabela, condescending to merrill. but how can they cut her off? the question is a privilege and a torment!

in this way i think she strikingly complements gamlen. like no matter what gamlen does and says to you, your love interest, leandra, the surviving hawke twin—he’s family and the only way into kirkwall. hawke is not permitted to sever those ties. and no matter what aveline does and says to you and all the women in your party, she remains your oldest friend and the only way back to ferelden, emotionally.

both aveline & gamlen will maintain a warm relationship with hawke as long as hawke tolerates their picking on those in proximity to hawke—but if hawke pushes back with aggressive dialogue options, both will tone match and became sour and hostile. aveline can be really quite awful to a red hawke, and will throw them to the ground and beat them at 100% rivalry. so there’s kind of an underlying challenge in both of these characters: how much will hawke, as gang leader & player character, put up with when it’s not directed at them?

of course, for all the nostalgia that seems to occlude av’s wrongdoings in kirkwall, she’s not really a childhood friend of hawke’s. she was a grown woman when they met, lothering was lost, and the moment was pretty heated thanks to aveline’s hostile templar husband.

and yet hawke is no more reliable & objective in their treatment of the past than varric is. and aveline is what they have! she’s standing in for all of ferelden, all of the past before the blight!

and likewise hawke for her! hawke is the only one left in act 3 who remembers wesley! aveline is the only one who remembers the dead hawke twin!

and as reprehensible as some of her decisions are, aveline’s grief for wesley and her enmity toward the old corrupt guard captain are sympathetic and her voice is sexy and husky and beautiful enough that. well im sorry i just lost the plot for a minute. uh

there’s also the act 3 subplot of the templars trying to take over the city guard, which sets up aveline as the only thing standing between kirkwall’s mages & absolute templar authority in the city. it’s literally her or cullen at his most brainwashed & violent. (to cullen’s credit he also thought it was a bad idea. but i won’t give him so much credit that i believe he’d turn down the position if aveline was removed.) between a knight-commander and a hard place, a pro-mage hawke has to choose the hard place.

so both of my playthroughs i’ve felt like hawke’s friendship with her is at the very least strained, if not completely ruptured, but they have to back her. how much that feels like fucking sandpaper may vary from hawke to hawke.

ultimately i just think she brings a lot to the table. i don’t necessarily understand why she’d be anyone’s all time #1 favorite companion, but you know.

#dragon age #aveline vallen #long post

697 notes · View notes

helen-with-an-a · 2 months

Note

could you please write some kim little angst/fluff to do with a reader with anger issues and all their walls up and kim/rest of the older members of the team having to go full captain on them?

like maybe reader snaps and lashes out at someone during training over something tiny or they get in trouble and gets worked up over it and end up punching a wall/breaking things? kim and the rest of the girls having to make them know how they’re acting isn’t okay or fair on anyone else and slowly start breaking down their walls and get back to themselves again?

Hiiiii. It's a little sadder than I anticipated but I think it works quite well. I hope you enjoy it <3<3<3

Be The Best

AWFC x Reader (focus on Kim Little)

Description: R needs to be the best. The best don't show emotion

TW: R has bad mental health

Word Count: 2.8k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You were a hot head. No two ways about it. You were an angry girl with even worse anger issues. Some people compared you to Katie on the pitch, but the players knew you were nothing alike. Katie might have been angry on the pitch, throwing as must gusto as possible into every match, but the team knew the moment that whistle went, it was all happy smiles and teasing jokes. But with you, the anger never stopped. There was an intensity behind you that scared most of the girls. You were quick to raise you voice and never backed away from a challenge. Maybe that was why you were the best goalkeeper in the world? At least on a technical level. You read the pitch like no one else could do – you made saves that would’ve slipped past other people’s fingers; you had an aura of ‘fuck around and find out’. You knew that the reason people didn’t acknowledge you as the greatest of your generation was because of your personality. You weren’t goofy like Mary; you weren’t charming or funny. You were deadly serious all of the time with a short fuss that was ready blow at any moment.

You knew exactly why you were like that too. You had grown up in a house where shouting and screaming was the only form of communication. You coaches skreiched obscenities at you from a young age, and eventually you started bellowing back. It was all you had ever known.

Your anger was both your shield and your weapon. On the pitch, it made you fearless. Opponents were intimidated, and even your own teammates tread lightly around you. This intensity was reflected in your play. You were always on high alert, your mind and body ready to react to the smallest movement. Your reflexes were unparalleled, and your ability to predict the opponent's next move was almost uncanny. You could dive and catch a ball that others would have missed by a mile. Every save, every block, every leap was a testament to your raw, unbridled passion for the game.

You didn’t tone it down at training either. It was something a guest trainer had told you years ago. To be the best, you had to train like every moment was like a match. There were no ‘easy’ training sessions. 100% all the time. Nothing less would do. It didn’t help that you father was a failed professional footballer. He had played in a third-league team, he never earned the big money that most players dream of, but he had made enough to get by. And if it was for that bad tackle. He had showed you the footage repeatedly throughout your childhood – it was a horrific tackle to be fair, the opposing player had his studs up and was nowhere near the ball. It had shattered is leg completely – six surgeries later and he was back to normal, but he would never play football to a high level again. So, he turned his angry energy to you. You had been there at the match that ended his career. You were just 3 years old, but you could remember the screams, the terrifying silence of the crowd and your mother’s palpable fear. You had to be the best. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your emotion may have been a saving grace on the pitch, but off it … your anger isolated you. Friendships were hard to maintain when people were constantly walking on eggshells around you. You often wondered if the trade-off was worth it. Was being the best goalkeeper in the world worth the loneliness that came with it? But then you would step onto the field, and all those doubts would vanish. The roar of the crowd, the adrenaline rush, the sheer thrill of making an impossible save—it all made sense. For those 90 minutes, you were invincible, and nothing else mattered.

You were surprised Arsenal had kept you around for so long. They were always preaching about being a family, so what did that make you? The cousin no one wanted to be around? The strange long-last aunt that everyone was wary of? You weren’t too sure of your place off the pitch, but you knew what it was on it. And that was all that mattered, right?

You had a few teammates in your time at the club try to connect with you. Usually, the newer girls when they first signed. But they were quickly swept away, being pulled along by the more friendly people and they never looked back. Each time they stopped speaking to you, it hurt a little more. But you didn’t have time for pain. Pain was an emotion that stopped you from being the best. And you had to be the best.

This season, you were determined. Last season had been a flop in your eyes. You had crashed out of the Champions League on penalties. And that was entirely your fault. You had lost in the FA cup too. Which was entirely your fault. Yes, you had won the Conti cup – but you had technically let a goal in. Yes, it had technically been discounted but you had let it roll into the back of the net. You let too many goals in during the league and you finished in 3rd by some way. It wasn’t good enough. Not for you.

You had also had a disastrous season (in your eyes) for the Lionesses. You could feel Hampton and Earps’s presence lingering behind you, their breath on your neck as they aimed for the no. 1 shirt. It had been yours for a while now, but you could feel them creeping closer. You had let too many goals in during your short-lived Nations League campaign. You had let Sweden equalise at Wembley, and you had let the goals in against France. It wasn’t good enough. Your father’s words lingered in your mind. Be better. You aren’t good enough.

The summer had been horrific for you. With no friends to speak of, you were either totally alone in your flat – although that was nothing new – or with your family. Your family that constantly berated your every performance. You felt like you weren’t getting a summer. Not with the footage your father made you watch, the analysis of where you had to be better. You were in the gym almost every day. It was unrelenting. But you had to be better. Do better this season. You were fairly sure it would break you if it was a repeat of the last 12 months.

It was one of the last full training sessions before competitive matches began. The girls from the Olympics had returned, the WSL season was rapidly approaching. You had the Champions league qualifications to get through first. You couldn’t lose. Not again. You had to be better.

Although, it seemed like you were the only one feeling that way.

The training session had been … horrific, terrible, awful, horrendous. It was a training game, a full 11-sided match with all the intensity it brought. Your team was losing. Badly. Your defence was not listening to you at all. Lotte was sloppy, Leah was average. Teyah wasn’t listening and Laura wasn’t paying attention. Mariona had capitalised on two mistakes so far, and you could feel another goal would come from Cloe sometime soon.

“Tight on,” you screamed. At least Lotte actually did what you wanted. She stepped forward, engaging in a 1-on-1 battle with Lina. “Watch Frida,” you yelled, readjusting your stance – knowing a cross would come into the box. You saw the play before it happened. Lina would cut to Frida, Frida would push back to Katie and Katie would swing from outside the box, aiming for the top corner. “Cover McCabe,” you shouted to Kyra – who looked absolutely terrified of you. Now was not the time to ponder on her reaction.

You watched the ball bounce to Frida, who tapped it over to Katie, who belted it right towards the top corner. Just like you said it would do. You leapt, your fingers making contact, but it had too much power. It sailed passed your gloved hand, the net rippling behind you.

Usually, in training matches, the winning team would get a few bits of bragging rights, before everyone got on with their lives – forgetting about it by the time they made it home. But this time, you saw red.

“What the fuck, Cooney-Cross?” You rounded on the young midfielder. She paled slightly – impressive with how tanned she was after the summer. “I told you to cover McCabe. Are you deaf or just stupid?” Your voice was like a razor cutting through the tense silence. The other girls stopped, watching the confrontation with wide eyes.

Kyra stammered, "I-I’m sorry, I thought—"

"You thought? You don’t get paid to think, you get paid to listen and execute. Do your job!" You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the familiar pulse of anger pounding in your temples.

"Hey, calm down," Leah stepped in, trying to diffuse the situation. "It’s just training."

"Just training?" you snapped, turning your fury on her. "That’s exactly the problem. You all think this is just training. But every moment on this pitch matters. Every mistake matters. And if we don’t treat it like that, we’re going to keep losing."

Leah's expression hardened. "We’re a team. We win together, we lose together. Yelling at Kyra isn’t going to help."

"Then what will, Leah? Because whatever we’re doing right now clearly isn’t working."

The tension was thick, the air almost crackling with the intensity of your anger. The rest of the team stood in uncomfortable silence, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t the first time you had exploded like this, but it never got any easier for them to witness.

“Enough.” The Scottish accent was plenty to halt to attack. Kim was the only one you would truly listen too at Arsenal. She was your Captain. “Go to the showers. You’re done for the day.” You were being sent home? You pushed down the feeling of you heart splintering a little.

“I’m not the one-” you pressed.

“I said. Enough. Go shower and change. Wait for me in the media room. We will talk after we’ve finished here.” You set your jaw, looking down at the small Scot. She looked back at you, equally unafraid. It was a game of cat and mouse, and you knew it.

You blinked first.

Turning around, you let out a short huff and marching inside. No one said a word. The only sound was you ripping the Velcro strapped from around your wrists. Anger swirled inside you. Hot and red. But the icy pain of hurt started to swell. How could you be so stupid. You had let three goals in. During a training match. If that was what you were like when nothing was at stake, what would you be like when you had actual opponents to play, with points and competitions to play for.

The water was far too hot – leaving a scorching trail of red where it hit your shoulders. You could cry. You didn’t know the last time you actually let your emotions out in anything other way that wasn’t anger. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Your pressed the heel of your hands into your eyes. It wasn’t working. You could fell the tears start. To be the best, you couldn’t feel. You had to be the best. The best didn’t let silly little emotions get in the way. You turn slamming your fist into the cubical wall a few times. It left a slight dent, and your knuckles throbbed in a strange way. It did little to calm your seething thoughts. The sting of being sent off gnawed at you. You replayed the training session over and over in your head, each mistake glaring brighter than the last. It wasn't just frustration at the defence or Kyra's mistake. It was a deep, gnawing disappointment in yourself. You were the last line of defence. If the team couldn’t rely on you to do your job, then what use were you?

After showering and changing, you made your way to the media room, sitting alone in the dim light. Your wet hair dripped onto your shoulders as you stood in silence. You had to get a hold of your emotions before Kim came in. You had to be better. You felt your breath quicken and your heart pound. You bit your lip hard – the inside not the outside. It had become a coping mechanism for you. You used to bite your lip when you were younger, but you dad had seen at shouted at you. Biting your lip was a sign of emotion. Emotion was a weakness. Weaknesses can be exploited. So, you started biting the inside of your lip – where no one could see the scars and cuts. Where no one could see you have emotion.

Finally, the door opened, and Kim walked in. Her presence filled the room with a calm authority. She didn’t sit, choosing instead to stand opposite you, arms crossed.

“Talk to me,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “What’s going on with you?”

You stared at the floor, the words struggling to form in your throat. “I just… I want us to be better,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “We need to be better.”

“We or you?” she asked after a moment. You knew it. You knew that she thought you needed to be better.

“I’m sorry. I know I need to be better. And I’m trying, I …” you voice cracked. Fuck.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. Do you think that we as a team need to be better? Or do you think that you as an individual need to be better?”

You paused, “I need to be better. I know everyone thinks it. And they’re right, I need to be better.”

“Sit down,” Kim instructed, her voice softening as she gestured to a nearby chair. You reluctantly complied, feeling the tension in your muscles as you sat. Kim took the seat across from you, her eyes studying your face with concern.

“Listen,” she began, her tone gentle yet firm, “I get it. I understand the pressure you put on yourself. We all do. But you’re not in this alone. We’re a team, and that means we support each other, not tear each other down.”

You looked up, meeting her gaze. “But if I’m not the best, then who am l? I can’t let my guard down.”

Kim nodded thoughtfully. “Pushing yourself and the team is important, but there’s a difference between pushing and breaking. You’re not a machine. None of us are. We have to find balance. You can’t carry the weight of the entire team on your shoulders. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to the rest of us.”

“But I’ve let everyone down,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I’ve let goals in, I’ve made mistakes. I’m supposed to be the best, and I’m failing.”

Kim reached out, placing a hand on your arm. “Making mistakes doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human. And being the best isn’t about never making mistakes. It’s about how you recover from them, how you learn and grow. We all have bad days, bad matches. It’s part of the game.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, embarrassed by the display of emotion. “I just… I don’t know how to be anything else. I’ve always been the one who’s angry, who pushes harder. I don’t know how to be any different.”

Kim gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay to feel angry. It’s okay to feel frustrated. But you need to find a way to channel that in a positive direction. We’re here to help you with that. You’re not alone, and you don’t have to carry this burden by yourself.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the tightness in your chest begin to ease. “I don’t know how to start.”

Kim smiled gently. “We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time. For now, just know that you’re not alone. We’re a team, and we’ve got your back.” You nodded, the weight of her words sinking in.

Maybe it was possible to find a new way forward, to be both strong and supported. For the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. It wouldn’t be easy, but you were willing to try. For your team, for yourself. You could be better. You would be better. And with their help, you would find a way to balance your intensity with the support of those around you.

425 notes · View notes

alonetimelover · 2 months

Text

So High School - part 2

read part 1 ------》 here

pairing: tennis player!reader x Lando Norris

fc: Iga Świątek

summary: Lando keeps pursuing his attempts at scoring a date with THE YN YSN - to the enjoyment of his on-track besties. But nobody has better days on social media than his haters. And sometimes being passive is not an option - you need to silence them.

warnings: internet hate

F1 masterlist taglist

🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎🏎🥎

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo, yourinstagram and 2 001 292 others

f1 Padel, tennis or maybe carting? Which of these sports are the best and worst to try for our drivers - Lando, Max, Fernando and Daniel, and our special guest at the British Grand Prix - YN YSN? Stay tuned and watch what they all were up to right before the Grand Prix start on Sunday!

view all 23 100 comments

ynsmybestie YN YNYNYNYN YSN

ynsmybestie she is finally AT THE RACE

landogirly yn's going to be lando's lucky charm or he's going to be so stressed it's all over

landonorris best challenge ever

⤷ oscarpiastri are you saying that because of what I think orr??

⤷ landonorris shhhh Osco

⤷ oscarpiastri you're very ungrateful to the person that gave you the place in this challenge

⤷ landonorris LOVE YOU OSCAR

danielricciardo how did we lose playing 4 against 1????

⤷ maxverstappen1 Because you couldn't stop talking!

⤷ fernandoalo_official We played against world No. 1. Maybe that's why. Oh, and landonorris couldn't stop tripping over his feet

⤷ landonorris thank you, my racing father. you embarrass me like my own father

fernandoalo_official Great playing and speaking with you, yourinstagram!

⤷ yourinstagram the pleasure was mine!!!! thank you for all the tips during the race 🧡

⤷ fernandoalo_official Any time! I hope you'll enjoy your time during the race and will come say hello!

ynsmymama not yn only responding to nando's comment

⤷ landogirly lando can do everything and he's still ignored

⤷ norizzfan well, let's have hope he can step up his game

comment liked by landonorris and 4022 others

⤷ ynsmyno1 not lando liking norrrizfan comment 💀

landofan77 not Oscar giving up this challenge so Lando could have a chance with yn

—————————————————————————————————

f1gossippage

liked by landogirly, ynsmybestie and 40 292 others

f1gossippage A little story thanks to our followers from UK!

1st picture: Lando meeting some fans right before entering one of the London's restaurants (very chic and date-like outfit).

2nd picture: a fan caught Lando and some woman entering the photo booth together and stayed to take this photo! Looking rather cozy!

3rd picture: IG story from YN YSN deleted mere 2 minutes after posting! The outfit awfully similar to the one wore by Lando 😏

4th picture: Lando during today's stream "I just came back from the dinner, guys. let's chat" "yes, the date was amazing, thank you for asking!" "I've never said I was at the date. what do you mean?" "Oh no."

Could that mean something? New wag alert? Let's keep watching!

view all 1 088 comments

landogirly I mean it checks out but I can't believe that lando could get THE YN YSN... like let's be real

landogirly BYT if it's true... THE BEST COUPLE IN THE PADDOCK

ynsmybestie one time yn posts something not related to tennis and it gets deleted... and it's also A MAN 🤢

ynsmymama let it be true let it be true let it be true

landofan92 no way

landofan99 he did not bag a baddie like yn, no way

formula1fan93 yeah, no. that did not happened

ynysnfan833 ewwwwww get that away from me

ynysnfan911 really? an f1 driver? she could do much better

—————————————————————————————————

mclaren

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 1 003 292 others

mclaren Our newest addition to the papaya family has arrived!!!! YN YSN (yourinstagram) - WTA No. 1 player has joined Lando and Oscar for their Silverstone fanzone hour! Tune in to our YouTube channel to follow it live!

view all 10 392 comments

landogirly look at lando being all smiley and giggly and blushy 🤭 he has the fattest crush on yn

landosarmyohmy PROTECT THEM AT ALL COST

ynsmybestie not yn saying "well, my favourite driver was and always will be Sebastian Vettel. Fernando is a close second" and then not wanting to say her third favourite!!!!

⤷ landogirly i bet she wanted to say lando (im delusional)

ynsmymama lando saying, "i don't care what people say about me as long as they're not bringing other people down with it. what you want to say about me - say it. and at the same time, you can be respectful about it, can't you?"

landofan99 BEST FANZONE IVE EVER ATTENDED

landoscarfan77 the more I see them interact the more I think there's something going on between them

⤷ ynsmybestie they do have some chemistry going on

⤷ landofan99 wasn't it confirmed that yn went on a date with lando?

⤷ ynsmybestie well... most likely, it was true, but there are no pictures of them together being at the same place

landofan729 LOOK. AT. THEM.

—————————————————————————————————

ynupdates

liked by ynsmybestie, landogirly, danielricciardo and 8 393 others

ynupdates YN congratulating Lando Norris (F1 driver) for his podium finish at the Britidh Grand Prix! photo posted by Lando's father!

view all 638 comments

landogirly AHAHFIRKDNXJIWKSKD

landogirly fuck offfff

landogirly look at himmmm, crinkles by the eyes, hand placement, the JOY IN HIS EYES

ynsmybestie yn once again fulfilling the dreams of her fans

ynsmymama I wasn't on this really but... I SHIP IT

landoscarmyohmy but the video, THE VIDEO, how she just falls into his arms (as if she did that multiple times already), he's little "oh, hi" when she places her head on his chest, her quiet "congratulations, you did so good" and OSCAR in the background grinning like a devil

⤷ ynsmybestie was it also posted by lando's dad????

⤷ landoscarmyohmy yes, it was! he is the captain of this ship!

hater93 another one to put on the list of "seeing an f1 race to just find a driver dumb enough to go out with me"

hater993 why would I care man

hater839 lowlifes found each other

⤷ danielricciardo didn't know you met YN and Lando yourself

⤷ oscarpiastri oh yes, lowlifes of the best tennis player in the World right now and the guy who won an F1 race and is competing for a championship. such lowlifes

ynsmymama Daniel and Oscar backing Lando, THATS FREAKING RIGHT, THESE ARE MY DRIVERS

—————————————————————————————————

landogirly

liked by ynsmybestie, ynsmymama and 7 493 others

landogirly LANDO AND HIS PARENTS ARE AT YN'S MATCH AT WIMBLEDON!!!!!!!!!!!!! it is happening my loves. IT. IS. HAPPENING.

view all 349 comments

ynupdates lucky charm?

ynsmymama please bring mother luck, please bring mother luck, please bring mother luck

landofan75 that man will be everywhere but at the sim room practicing his starts

landoscarmyohmy meeting the parents???????

⤷ ynsmybestie yn met lando's parents at the silverstone race!

landofan588 he looks so gooooooood *drooling*

landofan686 watched it and his dad smirking at lando after every time that lan cheered for yn!!!!!!!! that was everything to me. e v e r y t h i n g

—————————————————————————————————

Twitch: Lando and Max talking and playing COD!

—————————————————————————————————

yourinstagram

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton and 810 292 others

yourinstagram trophies, cars, some love and nature

view all 18 494 comments

ynsmymama A MAN????????

ynsmymama a love letter

ynsmybestie she won wimbledon, she has A MAN, she is happy, she is in love, SHE IS EVERYTHING HE'S JUST KEN

landogirly no fuckin way no fuckin way no fuckin way

landogirly HOW DID IT HAPPEN?????

landogirly also not you trying to soft launch when we all know who that man is

norizzlan lando norris wrotes love letters??????? who is this man

landoscarfan85 WTF

danielricciardo i didn't know you loved OUR picture this much

⤷ yourinstagram how could I not? ;)

oscarpiastri happy to see my stickers being used properly

lewishamilton watching you win more and more titles is truly inspiring! you are the force, YN!

⤷ yourinstagram thank you, seven-time world champion, record-breaking driver and my favourite dog dad!

⤷ lewishamilton waiting for you to break more records! roscoe is waiting for more belly rubs!

fernandoalo_official come to the race when i'm on the podium, princesa!

⤷ yourinstagram i'll blow max's tyres and we're good

⤷ maxverstappen1 hey! i thought we were friends

landonorris keeping cuddles for noir!

⤷ yourinstagram snacks are better to bribe him

—————————————————————————————————

f1gossippage

liked by landofan85 and 20 393 others

f1gossippage Lando Norris seems to be enjoying his free weekend accompanied by his new beau - YN YSN!

view all 1 074 comments

landogirly fucking disgusting to take pics while people are having such a PRIVATE moment

ynsmymama "new beau" google YN and call her accordingly to her accomplishments

ynsmybestie creepy to post these type of pictures

landoscarfan85 not a moment without a camera pointing right at them.... disgusting

landofan854 wine, dine & shine

landofan664 can't get used to lando being all lovey dovey

hater85 waiting for her to flop just like him

hater92 focus on your job

—————————————————————————————————

landonorris

liked by yourinstagram, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 1 001 399 others

landonorris new beau, focusing on my job and looking for a better man

view all 24 430 comments

landogirly HAHAHAHHAAHHAHHAHHAH

landogirly that's the biggest "fuck you" to the haters that i've ever seen

ynsmymama oh i love him, your honour

norizzlan someone found his rizz and used it perfectly

landoscarmyohmy using haters favourite words to make your relationship public? ICONIC

ynsmybestie loved the soft launch for the first 8 pictures and then BOOM - the queen's here

danielricciardo no problem for taking those photos, no problem!

⤷ landonorris what photos?

⤷ yourinstagram tickets for the Olympics matches are waiting for you, danny

⤷ danielricciardo you are my best friend

oscarpiastri YOU'RE WELCOME

lewishamilton treat her right

⤷ landonorris 🫡

fernandoalo_official yourinstagram, will i see you more on the track?

⤷ landonorris apparently we don't have time to visit each other at our jobs so....

⤷ yourinstagram i sent you tickets for my next match

carlossainz55 5th picture is your bedroom

—————————————————————————————————

should I add more drama to this or just leave it here?

—————————————————————————————————

#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris social media au #lando norris one shot #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff

401 notes · View notes